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LEGENDS OF THE RHINE 
 
 AND OP 
 
 THE LOW COUNTRIES. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "HIGHWAYS AND BY-WAYS,' 
 
 M All thynges in this Boke that ye shall rede, 
 Doe as ye lyst, there shall no manne you binde 
 Them to beleue as surely as your crede ; 
 But, notwithstandynge, certes in my mynde, 
 I durst well swere, as true ye shall them fynde, 
 In euery poynt eche answere by and by, 
 
 As are the iudgmentes of astrologye." Sir Thomas Moke, 
 
 LONDON : 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET ; 
 
 ETC. 
 
 AND BELL & BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH . 
 
 1849. 
 
London : 
 
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 New-stieet. Square. 
 
em 4 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 "° The following stories were gathered from various sources, 
 and some of them freely adapted from the literature of the 
 countries where the scenes are laid. Brabant and Flan- 
 ' ders, so fertile in subjects of romantic history, and of 
 which the author has availed himself in previous produc- 
 , tions, have furnished materials for some of those included 
 ? in the present publication. The « Bijdragen tot het oude 
 , Strafregt in Belgie," and the " Chroniques et Traditions 
 ] Surnaturelles de la Flandre," works not readily acces- 
 I sible in England, have been freely borrowed from ; and 
 in selecting from the German Legendary Tales the au- 
 I thor's chief object was to pass over such as turned on 
 I magic and enchantment, and to choose those which em- 
 I bodied motives or passions merely mortal. He has ad- 
 ( mitted but one exception to this rule ; and that only 
 ^because human feeling was there predominant over fairy 
 I spells. One of the Rhine Stories had been already made 
 I the subject of a poem, the author's earliest literary at- 
 I tempt, and which he soon suppressed. For one or two 
 others contained in the present voluirie, it might not be 
 easy to give any other authority. But it is hoped tliey 
 will be read with that confiding good faith which prefers 
 taking things for granted to sifting evidence or com- 
 x paring proofs. , 
 
 Anecdotes of authorship are perilous subjects tor the 
 
VI 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 writer who would so illustrate his own works, whether 
 they be serious or trifling, grea t or small. Egotism too 
 often endows such matters with undue importance ; and 
 although personal recollections are generally palatable, if 
 detailed with candour and simplicity, one naturally 
 shrinks from what involves private feeling, which the 
 public may be amused by, but rarely sympathises with, 
 and most frequently disdains. 
 
 That consideration restrains the efforts of many a 
 man who could tell true and curious things of the world 
 as it is; and forces him into fiction, as the safest chan- 
 nel for giving vent to his observations on real life. Such 
 has been the case in regard to the present volume, and 
 others which have preceded it from the same pen. Several 
 of the characters have unconsciously sat for sketches 
 which have been placed in old historical frames; and 
 the author is satisfied if no violence appears to have been 
 done to the Human Nature of to-day, by its being trans- 
 ferred to by-gone times. 
 
 These stories were written several years ago, and pre- 
 pared for the press in one of the most secluded spots 
 u the valley of the Neckar, and recently revised for 
 re-publication in this collection on the banks of the 
 lihine alter a long interval of absence in another 
 hemisphere, where rivers, on a scale too vast for com- 
 parison, have no pretension to the interest attached 
 to its traditions. The Hudson and the Ohio are per- 
 haps in portions more beautiful, and certainly on the 
 whole more grand. But another age of chivalry and of 
 the picturesque in architecture must come round, and — 
 long after the relics of both are decayed -a new ope- 
 ration exist, before those who draw from this favourite 
 Emporium of European Romance need fear any direct 
 rivalry from writers whose inspirations are due to the 
 noble streams of the New World. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 vii 
 
 If popular authors here valued more highly the fame 
 that passes the ocean, and cared less for the profit to 
 be reaped under a more protective system than exists 
 beyond it, they would be reconciled to the reluctance of 
 America to grant privileges to foreign books, which 
 would restrict those multiplied and cheap editions that are 
 so many tributes to our living literature. For whatever 
 may be thought of existing laws, it is at any rate a conso- 
 lation to know that millions of eyes between the Atlantic 
 and the Pacific will peruse pages which under other 
 enactments might never find a reprint there ; though the 
 subject of copyright is likely to stand as it does at present, 
 quite as long as some of the old chateaux now introduced 
 to the reader's notice. 
 
 And in closing these discursive remarks, and bidding 
 adieu to scenes which fact and imagination, the real and 
 the ideal, have by their combined influence endeared in 
 the author's memory, he might be tempted to moralise on 
 the events which now agitate so large a portion of his 
 former haunts. The reader owes his escape from such an 
 infliction rather to the narrowness of the author's space 
 than to the breadth of his forbearance. He however at 
 present confines himself to the hope that the season which 
 is coming may bring a good and quiet time with it, for 
 both tourists and politicians, and that the struggles of the 
 Rhine districts for the establishment of liberty, may be 
 modified by the example of the Low Countries. For it 
 is assuredly in Flanders, Brabant, and the rest of the 
 kingdom of Belgium, that is to be seen at this moment the 
 freest and happiest people, and the wisest ruler of the 
 Continent. 
 
 T. C. G RATTAN. 
 
 London, May 20. 1849. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Forfeit Hand - 
 
 The Orphan of Cambray - 
 
 The Curse of the Black Lady 
 
 The Three Foretellings - 
 
 A Year of Joy - 
 
 The Lady of the Cold Kisses 
 
 The Double Doubt - - 
 
 The Tragedy of the Truenfels - 
 
 The Prisoner of the Pfalz 
 
 Countess Kunigund - 
 
 Heidelberg Castle, and its Legends 
 
 The Legend of the Wolf's Brun - 
 
 The Legend of Ruprecht's Building 
 
THE 
 
 FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 A FLEMISH LEGEND OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 Yolenta de Melna, the dame of Corteryke, sat surrounded 
 by her maidens, in the large chamber appropriated to their 
 hand-work, on the ground-floor of the old castle which gave 
 the lady her title. The building, coarse, massive, and in- 
 elegant in architecture and decoration, was situated in the 
 marshes about a league from the city of Ghent, close to the 
 village of-Zwinarde, and within the jurisdiction of the Abbey 
 of St. Peter, one of the most important endowments in the 
 diocese of Tournay, which at the period of our story, the be- 
 ginning of the fifteenth century, extended far over Brabant, 
 and penetrated even into Flanders. And often did the fat 
 oxen of Abbot Gerald, which in good neighbourhood and fair 
 play should have kept within the pale of the church pastures, 
 crush with the harsh hoof of ecclesiastical power the illl 
 trimmed fences of Corteryke Park, and make unseemly riot 
 among the sheep and kine which browsed or chewed the cud 
 under its spacious elms. 
 
 These violations of territory were the subject of frequent 
 dispute between the seneschal of the castle and Christopher de 
 Roden, the abbot's head bailiff. But a more serious cause of 
 remonstrance on the part of the dame, and of retort on that 
 of the churchman, was produced by human trespasses on the 
 bounds created to keep them asunder — the sure method by 
 
 B 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND, 
 
 which near neighbours might be kept fast friends. There 
 was, in short, little doubt, (and great was the scandal,) that 
 sundry lay brothers of St. Benedict, the order of the Abbey 
 occupants, had from time to time encouraged their cattle to 
 stray into the castle domains, as a pretext for their own in- 
 trusion among the pretty damsels who worked at the looms 
 and wielded the distaffs of the dame. 
 
 As often as the latter complained to the superior, she was 
 sure to receive a reproach on the score of her handmaidens' 
 levity, to which he paternally attributed any little amatory 
 snapshooting that might possibly pass between the male and 
 female skirmishers. But like a true shepherd, he never failed 
 on these occasions to send one or more of the monks to keep 
 order among the introduced wanderers of the flock. Yet this 
 only made matters worse. It was roundly asserted that the 
 clerical brethren were little better than the lay ones ; and it 
 was certain that two of the former were on different nights 
 caught prowling about the dark avenues which skirted the 
 wings of the castle, while double that number of maidens had, 
 during one short summer, given evidence of symptoms that 
 according to law should be conjugal. 
 
 The strictures of the gossips might have been libel, which 
 in those days meant calumny, but is now construed truth. 
 But whatever was the issue of these affairs, it was laid at the 
 door of the monks, and such was their effrontery and their 
 power, that they openly took in the reproach, and scorned the 
 censures of the world. But no matter ! we have little now 
 to do with those pious propagators of the gospel, those holy 
 hypocrites of the olden time. Many a hand has dragged 
 aside the veil of their misdoings. For our parts, we are not 
 at present disposed to rake up the ashes of their reputation 
 nor is it our care to sift the few grains of seed from the chaff 
 of their morality. We have now to deal only with the chief, 
 whose character was, at the period in question, free from the 
 stigmas that stuck so close to the younger members of the 
 fraternity. The religious father in God, Lord Geraldus, as 
 he is called in the documents which furnish our labours, was 
 now in the vale of life, far on the downward slope, where 
 passion's sun rarely warms the gloom of prejudice, and where 
 men fancy themselves chaste because they find themselves 
 chill. 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 3 
 
 No terms of neighbourhood could be more hostile than 
 those between the Abbot of St. Peter and the lady of Cor- 
 teryke. Prolific causes of ill-will, besides those above alluded 
 to, existed. They hated each other with all the cordiality of 
 Christians who never failed to say mass or hear it at regular 
 times. But their hatred was of shades as different as their 
 characters. The lady's was impetuous, uncompromising, and 
 candid ; the priest's crafty, cautious, and mean. Scarcely a 
 day ever passed without the proud Yolenta openly uttering 
 sarcasm against the abbot, — ay, and curse too, when anger 
 called for an especial vent ; and as regularly did the holy 
 Gerald put up public prayers towards Heaven, (too faint to go 
 many stages of the journey), for the conversion of " his well 
 beloved daughter and fair neighbour, the choleric dame of 
 Corteryke." 
 
 And we must confess the fact. She was quick and fiery 
 of temper, even beyond the too common weakness of those 
 high spirits which wage war with fortune. Her main fault 
 is now told ; a somewhat unusual way of introducing a hero- 
 ine to one's readers, but it was well to state at once the chief 
 trait of character on which our story hinges, and without the 
 development of which, on one important occasion, Yolenta 
 Van Corteryke, otherwise de Melna, had never gained a niche 
 in the Chronicles, or formed a heroine in the Legends of the 
 Low Countries. 
 
 We said just now that she sat among her damsels. We 
 recall the term. It would imply a steadiness of manner and 
 habit which was very foreign from hers. She sat down oc- 
 casionally no doubt, but in her usual way she moved among 
 them rather, presided, overlooked, bustled through the seden- 
 tary ranks with her wonted vivacity, and encouraged the indus- 
 trious or reproved the idle with an air of prompt authority 
 peculiarly her own. 
 
 " Verily, my good Babette," said she with a smile, and 
 tapping the cheek of the girl to whom she spoke, " that is a 
 neat piece of stitching. The wimple that is made by thy 
 finger- work deserves to be worn with a robe of honour. Well 
 done, Dorchie/' continued she, addressing another who plied 
 the embroidering needle at a loom close by, fC it is thus that a 
 stomacher should be studded — the pearls are quaintly placed, 
 and the braiding fairly proportioned. But eh ! what in the 
 b 2 
 
4 
 
 THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 name of St. Bavon have we here ? " exclaimed she, briskly 
 turning to a loitering wench who held her distaff awry, and 
 was casting smirking looks out of the window. 
 
 " Is this what must pass for spinning in the opening of the 
 fifteenth century ? Is it thus a thread should be twisted and 
 knotted that was meant for a sandal web as fine as Cyprus 
 lawn ? How would our mothers have stared at such modern 
 degeneracy ? So, Bettye, your eyes must be fixed for ever on 
 that grinning red-headed rascal who leers through the park 
 paling ? The curse of St. Martin be on him and his insolent 
 compeers, and their hypocrical old hierarch to boot, who sets 
 on his lazy herd to infect my wenches after this fashion ! So, 
 you will not answer me ? you will not confess your fault, but 
 hang your head down, and look as red as your own mantle of 
 ingrain cloth ? Very well ! " continued the dame, still more 
 wroth at her handmaid's silence, for nothing increases gra- 
 tuitous ire so much as submission, while a brisk retort often 
 makes it die away as a sound in its own echo ; — " Very well, 
 Bettye; this stubbornness shall have its reward. You ex- 
 pect, no doubt, to go to Zwinarde next Wednesday, to witness 
 the procession of the holy blood. But I promise you, your 
 mantle shall hang on its peg, and no bodkin fasten your hood 
 that day. What ! " continued the choleric dame, turning 
 again towards the window, w he is there still. Is this to be 
 borne ? Is Yolenta de Melna to be stared and grinned at by 
 the scurvy menial of a bloated priest? Where. is the se- 
 neschal ? Let my men at arms turn out, and drive away 
 yon foxy-pated loon. Where is the seneschal, I say ? " 
 
 " Please you, dame," replied one of the maids, " master 
 Roger van Oulternyk has ridden over to Dolislacgher, to gather 
 in the geese and turkey tallies which fall due to day/' 
 
 " Indeed ! and is this the way the service of Corteryke is 
 performed ? Is the seneschal to do the duty of the bailiff, 
 and the bailiff that of the cook, mayhap ? Where is Van 
 Kulmar ? " 
 
 " It seemeth, my gracious lady, that you are pleased to 
 forget " 
 
 « No, wench, I am not pleased to forget either my own 
 bidding or myself. I am wroth with myself and all about 
 me. Nay, nay, you need not tell me that Berlo van Kulmar 
 is gone to the notary about that last new proceeding of the 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 5 
 
 odious De Roden. — I remember it now. Therefore, since 
 the superior officers are abroad, let the lowest of the menials 
 attend me. Call Kobus." 
 
 " Oh, my fair mistress ! " exclaimed one of the women, in 
 real or affected horror. 
 
 u Kobus ! " echoed several of the others. 
 
 " Gracious lady ! " said the foremost of these female fa- 
 miliars, " how can you breathe such a thought ? — Can the 
 dame of Corteryke condescend to call the attendance of such a 
 fellow as Kobus, while serving-men and grooms throng the 
 halls and stables — or while her faithful handmaidens are all 
 ready to do her bidding, be it what it may, and what woman's 
 powers may do ? Dear lady, we wait the word of your com- 
 mands." 
 
 " I dare say ye do impatiently. No doubt, ye would joy- 
 ously set out to encounter the profane flatteries of that ill- 
 favoured hedge-loiterer and his base associates, or perchance 
 to fall in with some prowling hypocrite in cowl and coif, and 
 give cause to new scandal from their foul-mouthed abbot, 
 whom I scorn to call holy or reverend. No damsels ! ye stir 
 not an inch beyond the walls to-day; nor shall any but 
 Kobus be sullied by the ignoble task of driving off yon tres- 
 passer. Let the scullion boy attend me." 
 
 From this peremptory order there was no appeal. In a 
 few minutes the individual alluded to in terms of such une- 
 quivocal dishonour, made his appearance at the chamber door, 
 and justified the contemptuous astonishment of the maidens. 
 He was a most ungainly and unfashioned lump of humanity ; 
 a Flemish boor of the first water, rough from his native 
 swamps, and rather retarded than advanced in any chance 
 of polishing by his recent promotion from the court-yard 
 to the scullery. He had become, in consequence, the butt 
 of the servants, high as well as low ; and the refinement of 
 kitchen wit, compared to stable scurrility, had so completely 
 addled its subject, that he was fast losing, in his in-door as- 
 sociations, the scanty stock of his former ideas. Hurried 
 about from morning till night, badgered, bamboozled, and 
 buffeted without mercy, he was accustomed to run, or rather 
 reel along, at the repeated summonses, which sometimes came 
 so thick upon him from the wicked wit of the upper menials, 
 that he was frequently kept in a state that seemed to solve the 
 b 3 
 
6 
 
 THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 problem of the perpetual motion, and prove the possibility of 
 ubiquity. Called now by a dozen voices which echoed the 
 commands of the dame through the corridors, halls, and pas- 
 sages, and into the penetralia of the scullery, Kobus ran off, 
 " accoutred as he was/' but unjerkined and unwashed, in the 
 direction of the sounds ; and duly arrived, half breathless and 
 bewildered, at the entrance of the chamber where his mistress 
 awaited him. He was accompanied on his course by roars of 
 laughter from the lazy servants who loitered on his passage, 
 and a tittering chorus from the working maidens received him 
 at the term of his course. 
 
 " Kobus ! " exclaimed the dame, as she saw him appear. 
 At the sound of her soft yet authoritative voice, he plunged 
 instinctively forward, then stood fixed in astounded veneration 
 on finding into what a presence he was now for the first time not 
 only suffered but ordered to appear. He waited awhile with 
 gaping mouth, staring eyes, and outstretched arms, brawny and 
 bare to the elbows, one hand wielding a frying pan, and the 
 other the impure clout with which he had been scouring it. For 
 some seconds the lady's voice buzzed in his ears, and her form 
 danced before him ; but as he gradually recovered his senses, 
 and she emphatically repeated her words, he began to com- 
 prehend her meaning and his own duty. 
 
 " Dislodge, and drive him away/' said the dame following 
 up her orders. " Seize the goeden-dag* which hangs in the 
 hall, or the gagne-pain from over the pantry door, and chastise 
 the daring loon ; or wheel out the little springall from the 
 porchway, and discharge a dozen darts or stones at his flaming 
 pate. Quick, Kobus, and do my bidding well ; and by this 
 hand and my lady of grace, I will dub thee knight on the 
 field of honour ! " 
 
 The lady's gravity could no longer keep its bounds. She 
 burst fairly out into a fit of laughter, as she saw the grotesque 
 delight of her champion. The maidens, free from restraint, 
 now pealed a merry chorus ; they broke up from their seats, 
 capered and danced at the prospective fun, and thronged 
 round the half-witted scullion, whose first impulse of en- 
 thusiasm was to fall down on both knees, and fling himselt 
 prostrate at Yolenta's feet. 
 
 * Goeden-dag (good morning), a peculiar sort of pike G ^f a i n >**f£:™***9 
 a huge sword so called, the common weapon of the Flemish foot soldier in those 
 ,i»v S SnrintrniL a machine for throwing various kinds of missiles. 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 7 
 
 "Rise, rise, Sir Kobus," cried the dame, striking his 
 shoulder a smart stroke of a distaff, which she snatched from 
 the stool on which its late careless owner had thrown it. 
 " Rise up, good knight, to great feats of chivalry and deeds of 
 fame ! " 
 
 i( Rise up then, sluggard ! Be quick and valiant, booby ! " 
 exclaimed the maidens, pushing with their sandal- covered feet 
 the uninviting carcass they scorned to touch with their fingers. 
 Their wild frolic knew no bounds. The lady had given them 
 their cue. The quick transition of her temper from serious to 
 light was nothing unusual. Her attendants, who humoured 
 her in every mood, gave way to their own levity whenever 
 hers broke loose, and a dozen wild and girlish pranks were 
 now the consequence. In a few minutes the newly-dubbed 
 parody on chivalry was fitted out at all points. He passively 
 lay, or knelt, or stood, as suited the whim of his equippers. An 
 osier basket covered his head by way of casque ; the faded and 
 fag-end of a torn curtain was flung scarfwise over his shoulder, 
 and tied in a bunch at one side. A couple of huge knitting 
 needles were stuck in his shoe heels for spurs, a wooden tray 
 tied to his left arm as a buckler ; and a long house broom 
 placed in his right hand, a lance with which he was com- 
 manded to sweep the territory of the castle clear of the in- 
 trusive rubbish which had given rise to this undignified if not 
 indecorous scene. 
 
 Of all who acted in and enjoyed it, the late so serious and 
 peremptory dame was the foremost. She laughed the loudest, 
 and took the most active part of any ; and when the accoutring 
 was completed, she seemed the most impatient to witness the 
 result of the freak. 
 
 Sir Kobus was now hailed with a general roar of joy, and 
 driven out grinning and capering, and not unaffected by the 
 glee of which he was negatively the author. 
 
 " Vlanderen den leeuw ! Slae doodt, slae doodt ! M * vocife- 
 rated he, as he rolled sidewise out of the room and along the 
 corridor that led to the drawbridge, just beyond which lay the 
 meadow, in the green hedge whereof the carroty head of the 
 lay brother was still stuck, while his leering physiognomy 
 
 * " Flanders and the Lion ! Kill dead ! Kill dead ! " The first the Flemish 
 war-cry ; the latter that of the house of Corteryke, and somewhat Irish in its con- 
 struction. 
 
 B 4 
 
8 
 
 THE FORFEIT HAND* 
 
 showed no consciousness of the attack so visibly preparing for 
 him. The windows of the bordueren kammer*, which 
 looked on the moat that surrounded the castle, were all soon 
 garnished with the laughing faces of the maidens. The lady 
 herself occupied a prominent place ; and all the indoor servants, 
 among whom the news soon spread, poured out from every 
 passage to witness the issue of the adventure. 
 
 The chronicles of Flanders do not state the minute par- 
 ticulars of Sir Kobus' s attack on the lay-brother, nor the 
 means of defence used by the latter. But a short quotation 
 from an old English work, descriptive of an affair between two 
 combatants, furnishes, in lively and appropriate phrase, a very 
 good notion of this. " Well, sur, they soon set to argue the 
 point cum face to face. Very feerse both tone and t'oother. 
 If one plucked by the thrate, t'other, with havers woold claw 
 him by the scalp. Thearfore thus, each fendin and proo vying 
 with plucking and lugging, skralling and byting, by plain 
 tooth and nayll, a t'one side and t'oother. Such expens of 
 blood and leather was thear between them as a month's licking 
 I wean wold not recover. It was a sport verrie pleazunt to see, 
 one with his pinkings and leering after t'oother's approache. 
 If he were bitten in one place hoow he woold pynch in 
 another ; and if he wear taken onez, then what shy ft with 
 byting, clawing, roryng, tossyng, and tumblyng, he coold 
 worke to wynde hymselfe away. And when he was loose, to 
 shake his ears twyse or thryse with the blood and salver about 
 his fiznamy, was a matter of a goodlie reliefe." 
 
 This to be sure is the description of a fight between a bear 
 and a dog ; but the imperfect state of science in Flanders in 
 those days (and it is but little improved in our own) left small, 
 if any, difference in the conflicts of men or beasts, except 
 those wherein the champions of chivalry had a right to kill 
 each other in a gentlemanly manner. 
 
 The result of the battle is recorded : Sir Kobus was totally 
 discomfited : neither his valour, nor skill, nor the inspiration 
 of his cause, were sufficient to resist the lay-brother's obstinacy 
 and superior strength. Monastic dependents were too well 
 fed, and too conscious of their consequence, not to possess great 
 advantages in a conflict with a secular adversary, be he who he 
 might ; and it is certain that on this occasion Sir Kobus was 
 
 * Embroidery room. 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. Q 
 
 cruelly unnerved by his enemy's whispered threats (enforcing 
 every thump) of church vengeance and its horrors. 
 ' Interference was at length necessary to save Sir Kobus from 
 strangulation, for the victorious lay-brother having finally suc- 
 ceeded in getting him undermost in the boundary ditch, 
 grappled his throat so unmercifully with both hands, that death 
 must have ensued had his grasp not been loosened. This 
 movement, so fortunate for the sake of Sir Kobus, was ac- 
 complished in and by the twinkling of an eye. Bettye, the 
 most careless and coquettish of dame Yolenta's spinning 
 Jennies, knowing the power of her glance on her pugnacious 
 admirer, implored the lady to suffer her to sally forth to 
 Sir Kobus's relief. The lady, though indignant and some- 
 what ashamed at her champion's defeat, had no wish that he 
 should die in a ditch ; she therefore gave her consent, and 
 Bettye, resolved to prove that she loathed the red-headed pre- 
 tender to her smiles, hastily arranged a plan of punishment 
 with her companions, which she left them to communicate to 
 the dame. 
 
 Darting from the chamber — flying through the corridor — - 
 whisking across the drawbridge — and arrived at the place of 
 combat, she excited the attention of the lay-brother, who sat 
 astride the prostrate body of his enemy, by giving him a no 
 daintily dealt whack across the shoulders with Sir Kobus's 
 broken weapon. Turning suddenly round at the summons, 
 the victor saw close behind him one of those very eyes (Bettye 
 looked at him en profile) which had been the original cause of 
 his quarrel. At the sight he relinquished his hold of Kobus, 
 and following the beckon of the deceiver, he fawningly traced 
 her steps towards the castle, as though her eye had been of 
 onyx whose magnetic magic is well known — or was in those 
 days — to every believer in the black art, which priests and 
 their satellites were, ex officio. 
 
 Scarcely arrived at a large and gloomy clump of cypress 
 and yew, which stood among the cheerless decorations close to 
 the moat, the luckless lay-brother saw himself in a moment 
 surrounded by a group of the mischief-meaning damsels, who 
 had repaired thither with full consent of the dame, in pur- 
 suance of their plot. Before time was afforded for conjecture, 
 much less for defence, Bettye flung her scarf round the body of 
 her victim, and aided by Dorchie, Babette, and the rest, bound 
 
10 
 
 THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 his arms effectively. Then the whole developing a blanket of 
 most capacious size, caught it at sides and corners with such a 
 grasp as was befitting to damsels nourished in the fashion of 
 those sinew-bracing days.* 
 
 In a moment the lay-brother was rolled down, and in 
 another he was tossed to the height of the topmost branches of 
 the yew-trees hard by. At every elastic bound the arms of 
 the executioners seemed stronger, and their hearts harder. The 
 more he roared, the more they laughed. Sir Kobus, who had 
 slunk off towards the stables, and had been well pumped on 
 by a friendly groom, now came chuckling forward, and gave a 
 helping hand ; while sundry of the varlets were not slow in 
 relieving the panting damsels; the dame herself being the 
 while a delighted witness of the sport from the nearest window 
 of the castle. 
 
 But loud as was the laughter, the cries for mercy, and the 
 shouts of execration and contempt, which burst from the 
 various parties, they were all out-noised by the harsh and 
 sudden utterance of a tremendous oath which scattered dismay 
 into the ranks of the servants, (Sir Kobus himself included,) 
 put the maidens to flight with screams and shrieks, and pro- 
 cured the lay-brother a timely respite from his torture. 
 
 (( Sacred thunder — devils — and storm gusts ! " f vocife- 
 rated the terrible voice of Christopher de Roden, the high 
 bailiff of the abbot Gerald, as he rose up in the stirrups 
 of his charger or war horse, and thrust his head and half 
 his body, both being, as was their wont, in almost the full 
 accoutrements of war, over the hedge which separated him and 
 some half-dozen armed followers from the scene we have 
 described. 
 
 " What do I see ?" cried he, " a lay-brother of St. Bene- 
 dict tossed in a blanket ! Sacrilegious hands desecrating the 
 church property ? Monstrous, monstrous ! and frightful will 
 be the punishment to all concerned ! Get up Claesman Blit- 
 tersburgel ! come out of the bounds of this hell-gap of Cor- 
 
 * We at this moment recollect Sancho's treatment by the Spanish wenches. 
 Even so. That neither proves us to be plagiarists nor discredits our adventure I 
 on the contrary, it confirms the chronicles, for there is little doubt that Cervantes 
 heard the story of Sir Kobus from some of the Flemish allies who fought with 
 him at Lepanto, and that he wove into his satire one of the incidents which pro- 
 perly belonged to our legend, and which we therefore reclaim and appropriate. 
 
 t This is the nearest approach we can make to the translation of an oath winch 
 is much more sublime in the original Flemish. 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 11 
 
 teryke ! What the fiend brought you into that pickle ? and 
 how did this happen ? Ah, dame, this is the worst of your 
 wild pranks ! All that has gone before is as nought. The 
 fourteen suits depending in the episcopal senate of Tournay 
 between you and his reverence may be now abandoned — the 
 fine of a hundred and fifty Paris livres for cutting the tail of 
 the black tithe pig — the mulct of four moutons dJor for 
 muddying the waters of the perch-pond — the penalty of the 
 sixty wax tapers to St. Bavon's shrine for the snow-balls 
 pelted last winter at father Ysenbaert — these and many more, 
 the prices for the irreverent, spiteful, un sanctified doings of 
 your people, instigated by you and the foul fiend together — 
 all may be now forgotten — an outrage like this cancels all, 
 as a moral sin swallows up a dozen peccadilloes. Vengeance 
 and woe to the dame of Corteryke ! The ban of the church 
 and anathema be on her and her household, of every sex and 
 age ! This I speak in the name of my holy lord spiritual, 
 
 the mitred abbot of St. Peter. Why, in the devil's name, 
 
 I say again, Claesman Blittersburgel, dost thou lie log- like 
 there in that sink of iniquity, with thy blanket about thee as 
 though thou slept there at ease instead of being most uneasily 
 tossed therein ? " 
 
 " Oh, valiant Herr Christopher, noble de Roden, chief of 
 the feudal men of our reverend liege lord Gerald ! I am not 
 able to move — I am dislocated and bejellied from blade-bone 
 to anklet. It is well my neck has been spared ; every other 
 member is disjointed, and my bones ache most fearfully. 
 Take me hence I prithee, ere those vixen miscreants, those 
 impure harpies, pounce on me again ; for sure I am that the 
 siren-like deceiver, Bettye, has sworn my destruction at the 
 shrine of the false gods to whom she and her sister mermaids 
 offer up service." 
 
 iC Nay, Claesman, I cannot, in due point of law, cross this 
 mere-dyke even for thy rescue. Such a step might invalidate 
 our right of justice on the perpetrators of this heinous deed. 
 But lie thou there in peace of mind, let thy bodily discomfort 
 be what it may. Should these cannibals return when I am 
 gone, and slay thee outright, thou shalt have full justice. I 
 promise thee that, on the dignity and honour of the abbey of 
 St. Peter." 
 
 A piteous groan was the answer to this assurance. 
 
12 
 
 THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 " And moreover I shall forthwith betake me to his reverence 
 the divine Gerald, and engage that he shall say a mass for 
 thy soul within an hour, — myself vowing in the name of the 
 martyrs, and taking your old comrade here, John de Week, 
 as witness, to bear the charge of the tolling of bells, and of 
 the priests' and choristers' tapers, at my own private cost. 
 So peace to thee, Claesman, shouldst thou, as all appearances 
 promise, die soon and unshriven." 
 
 iC Ah, graceless and heartless De Roden ! well did I deem 
 that such would have been thy conduct in this case ! " ex- 
 claimed Yolenta, as the bailiff turned aside his horse's head 
 and prepared to move away. " What brave champions of 
 church wrong, and spoliation, and oppression ! Art thou 
 then afraid of a houseful of women — thou, and thy swords- 
 men, and thy lazy troop of monks, and all thy vile appurte- 
 nances ! By my troth and by St. Bavon's shrine, I should 
 have honoured thee, instead of opposing and prosecuting, 
 hadst thou boldly broken bounds to the rescue of thy fellow 
 there ! But thou art sunk in new disgrace by this cowardly 
 abandonment of him. I invite thee and thy followers. Come 
 over and take away that justly punished intruder, who dared 
 to thrust his red pole like a fire-brand into the combustible 
 materials of Corteryke. Take him away, and I give thee 
 the blanket wherewith to carry him off, as a token of remem- 
 brance to him and the crew ye belong to, of what awaits the 
 insolent interlopers who put a hair of their head into my 
 domain/' 
 
 As Yolenta spoke, the bailiff listened attentively, an in- 
 voluntary air of respect mingling with the look of insolent 
 defiance which he was forcing up. He paused a few seconds 
 after she had ceased, and his satellites seemed to be murmuring 
 some words of advice. He shook his head at each suggestion, 
 with the proper dignity of a feudal retainer to his underlings, 
 and then addressed the lady. 
 
 (e Dame of Corteryke, I have listened to and pondered your 
 words ; and I shall ask you in reply, Do you think Chris- 
 topher de Roden is the dolt such words should be only ad- 
 dressed to ? Believe you that I have served the Abbey of 
 St. Peter seven-and-twenty years, and not learned enough to 
 save me from being the dupe of a woman ? or that I have 
 been in daily quarrel with you and your wenches ever since 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 13 
 
 your widowhood, only to fall into your snares to-day ? No, 
 no ! that poor devil that lies there before my eyes is example 
 enough, if I could be such a fool as to be caught by your fair 
 words. And there must he lie, or die, if such be your 
 devilish malice. Be satisfied you shall see me again to- 
 morrow, with due form of law, to cite you to judgment for 
 this crime ; but at this face of the hedge I have justice on 
 my side." 
 
 " Injustice and roguery, and cowardice and cruelty are at 
 whichever side may shelter Christopher de Roden," retorted 
 the dame in high tone ; " and to make the medley complete, 
 impudence, ugliness, and rank rascality shall be added. Hark 
 ye, my serving-men, wrap up yon filthy fellow in the coverlet 
 which his vile carcass has polluted, and roll him over the 
 mere-dyke, and into the abbey lands. Let Master de Roden 
 bear him off to the abbot, and tell him he would do well to 
 beware how he shows even his priestly cap over my bounds/' 
 
 " Beware, dame ! " cried De Roden in great ire, " beware ! 
 remember that holy Gerald has ban and anathema in his 
 power." 
 
 " Fellow, I scorn him and his ill-gotten and unholy 
 power. Did he ban the bravo who struck down Humbert of 
 Corteryke at the altar's foot, and stained my maiden robe with 
 the bloody stamp of widowhood ? Did he then or ever vindi- 
 cate religion and justice ? and dost thou, his mean minion, 
 mumble forth threats against me now ? Away wretch, or 
 by the heart's blood of my murdered lord, I'll let loose the 
 watch dog from the fosse upon thee and thy creatures. I 
 give thee five minutes to bear off yon pestilent fellow, and to 
 take thee clear out of sight — away ! " 
 
 With these words the angry dame retired from the window, 
 commanding her maidens to resume their various occupations. 
 The serving-men followed her directions, and removed the 
 lay-brother beyond the bounds, when De Roden, placing him 
 carefully on one of his followers' horses, rode away towards 
 the city of Ghent, muttering terrible threats against all con- 
 cerned in the transaction we have faithfully narrated. 
 
14 
 
 THE FORFEIT HAND, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 <e Ah, London ! was it well in thee to throw me upon my 
 own unruly temper for support, in a moment of mutual pas- 
 sion, when we were both wrong, both too hot-headed, and too 
 warm-hearted — when a soothing word, or a kind glance from 
 thee had smoothed all, and secured our happiness for ever ! 
 Why did thy pride prevail over thy love ? What disastrous 
 consequences have flowed from one rash step ! and I — what 
 a traitor was I to my own heart ! How did I betray its best 
 interests, for the indulgence of one weak sentiment ! How 
 sacrifice, in one maniac moment, all the blessings of life ! 
 But it is now too late. The die is cast. Instead of joy and 
 love, and all their bright enchantments, I am doomed to the 
 basest drudgery in existence ; cooped in by rules and forms, 
 which I continually revolt against, like some imprisoned bird 
 that flaps with ineffectual wing the bars of its cage ; the cur- 
 rent of my better feelings turned aside by the harsh impedi- 
 ments of my fate ; all that was gentle in my nature ruffled, 
 and the evil parts stirred up into boisterous froth and foam, 
 until whirlwind passion is become the only element in which 
 my unquiet spirit can exist! I was not meant for this. 
 Whose doing is it, Loridon, thine or mine own ? No matter 
 now. Reproaches are unavailing, of thee or of myself. My 
 doom is cast in suffering, and I must fulfil it/' 
 
 So soliloquised the lady of Corteryke, when she retired to 
 her private chamber, after the undignified bustle was over, 
 and when her mind, recovering from its turgid state, sunk 
 into painful recollections of past times and events, from which 
 she gained fresh cause for disquiet, and scarcely one element 
 of consolation. 
 
 The passages of her life had as yet been few, for she was 
 but in her eighteenth year. Her title of dame, her matronly 
 rights, her tone of authority might have given other notions 
 of her age to those who only heard of her as we have hitherto 
 shown her: but even those, when turning back a thought to 
 the levity and almost indecorum we have described, will per- 
 haps make some allowance for a high-spirited girl in a rude 
 age ; her affection balked, her short career chequered by vio- 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 15 
 
 lent events, and she left totally to her own control, which 
 few even of more sober years, or in better regulated times, 
 apply very severely against self. 
 
 As soon as reason began to regulate the girlish fancies of 
 Yolenta van Melna, she was convinced that she had been right 
 in having bestowed her whole heart, without knowing or caring 
 what reason might think of the measure, on young Loridon 
 van Bart, son of Johan van Bart, lord of Lettelhausen, and 
 consequently nephew of that feudal tyrant's brother, Gerald, 
 Abbot of St. Peter's. 
 
 The cession of her affection thus made was without the 
 knowledge of any member of her lover's family or her own. 
 Loridon was as cautious as herself on a point which engenders 
 prudence in minds that on other occasions seem unsusceptible 
 of its influence. They loved as love is best and purest, in 
 utter secrecy ; but they both paid dearly, on one painful and 
 fatal occasion, the tax for that greatest of luxuries, and felt 
 keenly the want of some confidant, whose friendly counsel 
 might regulate the aberrations of youthful passion, stepping in 
 between lovers and the ruin they often hurry to in a paroxysm 
 of delirious affection, or, as in this case, of unreasonable re- 
 sentment. 
 
 Loridon cherished jealousy among the degrading drawbacks 
 which were in those days considered as a part and parcel of love, 
 as though a forced deformity were a natural accessary of the 
 passion ! In the spirit of feudal pride, he on all occasions 
 worked himself up to fits of suspicion, and seemed to take 
 especial pleasure in embittering the pure chalice which nature 
 had filled for his own and his mistress's delight. He seemed 
 haunted by a morbid longing for their mutual misery. It was 
 rare that a meeting, even in the delicious stealth of a twilight 
 grove, or a moon-illumined corridor, in solitude and secrecy — 
 love's own natural atmosphere — did not end in a quarrel on 
 some frivolous pretext, and that the sweet hour was not de- 
 faced by frowns and taunts, reproaches and tears. 
 
 The consequence of these habitual broils was at length an 
 actual belief, on his part, that he had reason for his ungene- 
 rous, and, in truth, his unmanly conduct. He justified it, too, 
 by the feeling that he made himself as unhappy as her ; more 
 so perhaps, for remorse added a sting by which she was never 
 assailed. But she became by degrees irritable, and at times 
 
16 
 
 THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 intemperate. She was ashamed of the yoke which she hugged 
 so closely, and angry with herself as with him. She at length 
 learned to give herself relief by retorting his reproaches, and 
 anticipating them now and then. Her ardent mind thus 
 opened under the influence of a tempest, for it was such, and 
 not the soft gales of feminine affection, that Loridon had raised 
 in her bosom. Thus the infatuated pair went on. Quarrel 
 grew on quarrel. The deeper they loved, the more profound 
 was their misery. They, on a dozen occasions, saw each other 
 a for the last time," and met again and again in more torment 
 than before, to lament the past, swear forgiveness and forget- 
 fulness, and break away once more in a wonted fit of phrensy 
 — for such conduct, whether in the fourteenth century or the 
 nineteenth, is nothing short of that calamity. 
 
 At length, on one occasion of more than common absurdity 
 and violence, Loridon swore he would set out for France, as a 
 volunteer in the war then waging with the English invaders of 
 that country, and never more see Yolenta. This was a new 
 form of a usual threat ; and she met it by declaring, for the 
 first time, that if he so abandoned her, she would instantly 
 accept the offers of marriage (his pretext for all their quarrels) 
 almost weekly made to her by Humbert of Gorteryke, who 
 was not only repugnant to her taste, but the sworn and hated 
 enemy of her lover's family. 
 
 Their common proud feeling was now up in arms against 
 their own happiness. The false point of honour was raised, 
 as the standard under which they were to perish sooner than 
 yield. Loridon persisted in his threat — Yolenta completed 
 hers. Within a week after their utterance, the former was 
 riding in the ranks of the Constable de Richemont, as a gen- 
 tleman aspirant for chivalric honours, and the latter was led 
 in triumph to the altar by the grim and grizzly lord of Cor- 
 teryke, more than double the age of her lover, and in every 
 other respect immeasurably his inferior. 
 
 The haughty energy which had enabled Yolenta to force 
 herself to this sacrifice was evident in her look and bearing as 
 she moved towards its consummation. She had the air of a 
 self-immolating victim for a false principle, not of a suffering 
 martyr to a good one. She could not rob herself of her per- 
 sonal beauty, but she had deprived herself of that without 
 which beauty has no charm. The exquisite expression of 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND, %*] 
 
 female grace was not displayed in her resolute glance and 
 proud step, nor in the contemptuous defiance with which she 
 silently hurried towards the fate she volunteered. Her parents 
 and friends, long time the advocates of Humbert von Cor- 
 teryke, and to whom her sudden resolution had given astonish- 
 ment as well as pleasure, seemed awed by the desperation of 
 her manner; while the fierce bridegroom himself, amidst all 
 the pomp and pageantry of the ceremony, looked ill at ease, as 
 though he augured nothing good from the accomplishment of 
 his suit. And well might he have his misgivings, if indeed 
 fate, according to the belief of the age, gave warning to its 
 doomed victims, sometimes however too late for their safety. 
 
 The procession advanced up the aisle of St. Peter's church 
 m Ghent, the priest stood at the altar steps, the music pealed, 
 and the throng of spectators gazed with painful admiration on 
 the young bride and her mate, whom a universal murmur 
 pronounced to be an ill-assorted pair. The ceremony went on, 
 and no one, not even the bridegroom, wore a smile of joy! 
 The lookers-on exchanged glances and shrugs of significant 
 meaning. " Such a marriage bodes no good/" seemed to be 
 spoken by a hundred tongues; though not a murmur was 
 heard, and it was only the responsive looks of each that ap- 
 peared to acknowledge that sentiment in his neighbour. The 
 priest's voice ceased, the book was closed, — the nuptial 
 anthem was just going to be pealed from the choristers' gal- 
 lery, and the organ sent forth a few lively notes, when a loud 
 voice exclaimed close beside the new-married pair, " Let a 
 death-dirge be sung, not an epithalamium ! " While those 
 around turned their eyes in the direction of the words a 
 rapier was plunged deep in the body of Von Corteryke • and 
 as he fell dying to the ground, the white robe of Yolenta was 
 stained, as she herself said to De Roden, « with the bloody 
 stamp of widowhood." 
 
 As is usual on the perpetration of such startling crimes, all 
 eyes were turned on the victim, attracted by the mixed groan 
 and scream of death, the voice of which is a summons where- 
 lrom none may turn aside. Humanity and curiosity are 
 among the strongest principles of man ; and when combined 
 on such an appalling occasion as this, no one had a look to 
 turn from the bleeding bridegroom and the stupified figure of 
 ner who stood transfixed in speechless horror by his side. 
 
Jg THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 But during the general consternation, some of the observers 
 were for a moment attracted by a human form darting like 
 lightning from the main group across the altar steps and into 
 one of the small vestry doors which flanked it at either side. 
 The figure instantly disappeared — the door closed with a 
 violence which startled the agitated group that raised Von 
 Corterykes body, now a breathless corse, from the ground ; 
 but no certainty as to him who struck the blow had ever been 
 obtained. The abbot of St. Peter's replied, to all inquiries, 
 that " the sinner had sought sanctuary, and found it." The 
 relatives of the murdered man had no appeal. His widow 
 obtained possession of his castle and domains as her undoubted 
 right ; and was installed in her new honours, under these 
 circumstances so singularly shocking, which appeared to one 
 so inexperienced more like the fulfilment of a marked and ex- 
 traordinary doom, than a course of those accidental events 
 which chequer the scenes of life. 
 
 It was therefore no wonder if the overboiling temperament 
 of our heroine was in constant ferment, in a state so ill adapted 
 to control it. She was perpetually at war with herself, and 
 very often with those around her ; and when intervals of soft 
 and amiable feelings took place, they were usually filled up by 
 some extravagant freak of girlish vivacity. The abbot of St. 
 Peters was the object of her especial detestation. That he 
 had screened her husband's murderer from justice, was enough 
 to justify it to her own conscience. But independent of that, 
 she felt bound to adopt the bitter hatred of him to whose title 
 and honours she succeeded, against all who bore the name of 
 Van Bart. One exception she no doubt made — but there is 
 no general rule without one. And that which she religiously 
 observed in favour of poor Loridon, was compensated for in 
 the increased proportion of hate which she bestowed on his 
 father, his uncle, and all the rest of the family. 
 
 Conjectures were many as to the perpetrator of the murder. 
 Every body, Yolenta included, was convinced that some one 
 of the Van Bart family had done the deed. General elements 
 of vengeance existed on their side, quite enough to fix it on any 
 individual of the name. But he, who of all others had the 
 greatest motive to urge, if not to justify the crime, escaped 
 suspicion. His absence was known to all ; the existence of 
 that motive but to one : and she would as soon have accused 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 19 
 
 Heaven's justice or the purity of her patron saint, as have 
 imagined Loridon capable of an act of even trifling dishonour, 
 much less one of coward treachery. 
 
 Little more need be said to prove that she loved him with 
 her whole heart. But, in her situation, and with her temper, 
 love was no longer what nature meant it to be ; no longer a 
 balm poured on the mind's asperities, but a subtle poison, cor- 
 roding the proud heart it could not soften. 
 
 Nearly a year had passed over. Yolenta had thrown off the 
 first weeds of widowhood. Her lively spirit required relief 
 under the pressure of her situation, and found it in the indul- 
 gence of a love of dress, and in the display of the dignities so 
 strangely acquired and still so uncongenial. Preparations for 
 gay entertainments to her relatives, and expensive additions to 
 her wardrobe, chiefly occupied her now. Every needle and 
 bodkin was put in requisition, every broidery frame was full ; 
 and such scenes with her maidens as that in which we intro- 
 duced her, were the common occurrences of the day, varied by 
 tricks played upon the abbot of St. Peter's and his little- 
 honoured fraternity, such as were passingly alluded to by De 
 Roden in his recapitulation of complaints. 
 
 Yolenta slept but little on the night of this last adventure. 
 Her pride was urged to its topmost bent, by the audacity of 
 De Roden ; and in her involuntary recurrence to the lover 
 whose rash abandonment had led to such humiliation, she found 
 fresh nourishment for irritation and anger. The dawn of 
 morning found her risen from her uneasy bed, and prepared 
 to meet the threatened visit of the high bailiff in the most 
 determined of imperative moods. 
 
 And long ere the sun had travelled his meridian course, 
 Christopher de Roden was seen at the great gate of the castle ; 
 and by the voice of a herald, who was habited in the livery of 
 the proud abbot he served, he demanded entrance for himself, 
 the poursuivants, and other functionaries charged with the 
 delivery of a summons to the dame, and various members of 
 the household, " to appear before the feudal baron of Lettel- 
 hausen, lord paramount of the territory of Corteryke, to an- 
 swer various charges of high misdemeanors and misdeeds 
 acted in and upon the body of a lay-brother of the order of 
 Benedictines," and a long array of technical ambiguities and 
 etceteras wound up the herald's speech, the remainder of 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 which we shall leave to any faculty of the mind our readers 
 may please to exercise. 
 
 It is very probable that the doughty De Roden hoped for a 
 refusal to this summons ; for he surely gave symptoms of 
 surprise mingled with alarm, when the huge wooden gates 
 creaked backwards, the drawbridge was lowered, and a for- 
 mal invitation to enter pronounced by the sturdy old seneschal, 
 the high bailiff's declared antagonist on many an occasion of 
 legal and illegal dispute, not only since Yolenta's accession, 
 but long before her bright black eyes had opened on the 
 world. 
 
 *' Come in, fair gentlemen all, bailiff, notary, and pour- 
 suivant," said the seneschal — " valiant Christopher de Roden, 
 learned Lyens van Leenward, honourable Martin Sky net, pass 
 the bridge, and enter the court of Corteryke in peace and for 
 the due fulfilment of your bidding." 
 
 " Hark ye, Master Roger Oulternyk," replied De Roden, 
 with a doubtful look — "I hope, and so do these worthy gen- 
 tlemen, my very good friends and associates in this business, 
 that all is fair meant as well as fair spoken. You see that we 
 come unarmed and unharnessed, in due form of law, with civil 
 herald and the banner of peace ; but no trumpet nor feudal 
 men-at-arms, lances or swordsmen, nor the war-standard of 
 our holy abbey, which, albeit, in good cause of quarrel, and 
 against all enemies, I am ready to carry, or to die in good 
 guardianship of the same.'* 
 
 " Let not your valiant limbs quake, nor your teeth chatter, 
 bold Christopher — all is as it should be." 
 
 " That phrase likes me not, master Roger ! A twisted 
 yarn makes a straight cord ; a polished rind may hide a 
 gnarled knot ; rocks lie deep that cause no ripple ; and many 
 another wise saw of our good country of Flanders tells me to 
 ask the meaning of that * all is as it should be ? ' " 
 
 " What a plague ! Does the lion-heart of De Roden con 
 the cowardly proverbs of old wives, and his tongue of thunder 
 condescend to utter them ? — Come on, come on, gallant Chris- 
 topher " 
 
 < c 'Tis not for myself I have any qualms, — 'tis for the 
 sake of these peaceable functionaries, d'ye see, for their sake 
 that I, unarmed and unable to protect them, must have my 
 wits about me for want of better weapons." 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 21 
 
 "Not for us, not for us, most worshipful bailiff/' ex- 
 claimed the notary of the poursuivant, ashamed of becoming 
 avowed sharers in De Roden's fears ; " we are begirt with 
 the armour of civil privilege, — the municipal rights of our 
 noble city of Ghent be our guardianship, — we are not 
 afraid ! " 
 
 " Afraid ! who's afraid, gentlemen ? " exclaimed the bailiff, 
 turning sharp on his comrades, who were used to hear and to 
 quail before his bullying tone, for he was the essential spirit 
 of valour when he had to argue with a civilian. " Who's 
 afraid, I say again? If another word so dishonouring is 
 whispered, I shall immediately retire from this business and 
 leave it in less resolute hands ; — and I am very well disposed 
 to do so even now/' 
 
 The seneschal could not suppress a laugh ; and the keen 
 ears of De Roden distinguished a shrill echo to it, as though 
 from a woman's throat, in the porch -way beyond the bridge. 
 This operated on him with marvellous effect. It must be a 
 daring coward indeed who can brave the test of female ridi- 
 cule. The grand bailiff stepped across the bridge in advance 
 of his friends and attendants ; but halting yet another mo- 
 ment, he asked the seneschal "if the watch dogs were all 
 secure, and the working wenches fastened up ? " 
 
 " Neither dog nor damsel shall be let loose on you, without 
 the orders of the dame," replied the seneschal. The doubtful 
 answer struck a new chord of alarm in the bailiff's breast. 
 He would have retreated incontinent beyond the bridge, had 
 he not at this moment perceived it to be drawn up. In 
 another, the ponderous gates were fastened behind him, and 
 he saw himself, for the first time, in the court-yard, and in 
 fact, in the custody, of the feudal mistress of Corteryke. Sad 
 misgivings shot through him and made him shudder like the 
 night wind that sweeps the forest and shakes its every branch. 
 But ere he had time to utter another word, or to advance fur- 
 ther, the dame herself appeared standing just within the porch 
 of entrance, in front of a formidable array of half a dozen 
 figures drawn up in line, cased in iron, armed cap-a-pie, and 
 looking more awful from their showing no sign of life be- 
 yond the tremulous shake of their black plumes, which gave an 
 almost supernatural air to their display. 
 
 " To you, most noble dame, Yolenta of Corteryke, in all 
 c 3 
 
22 THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 honour and privilege the seignorial proprietor of this manor, 
 domain, and castle, the right reverend and holy father in God, 
 
 Gerald, Abbot of St. Peters, greeting : " 
 
 So far had De Roden, summoning up all his courage, pro- 
 ceeded, when the dame cut him short : — ei What mumbling 
 mummer art thou," cried she, " who comest hither with 
 whining tone and set discourse, assuming the name and title 
 of that most pious priest, Abbot Gerald, of St. Peter's? 
 Speak, fellow, to thine own name and quality ; — I know thee 
 not." 
 
 " Not know me, noble and amiable dame ? I am Christopher 
 de Roden, in all humility your servant.'' 
 
 « Thou, fellow, that pride of church service, that pattern of 
 high bailiffs ! — Impostor that thou art ! Did Christopher de 
 Roden ever appear in such a shabby suit of civil garniture ? " 
 
 " It is required by my present functions, magnanimous 
 dame." 
 
 " Could his voice of thunder ever sink to that squeaking 
 tone ? — His lion-look change to thy sneaking aspect ? Pes- 
 tiferous wretch, out on thee ! Away this moment from my 
 bounds, or by my saint the ban dogs shall tear thee limb from 
 limb ! " 
 
 " Oh, merciful lady ! " 
 
 "Speak not a word, foul libeller of the thrice valiant 
 Christopher— Out on thee, I say! Charge, halberdiers! 
 Slae doodt ! slae doodt ! " J 
 
 At the utterance of the terrible war-cry, the mail-clad 
 figures, automaton-like, levelled their lances, and advanced 
 without speech, but at a clattering trot, towards the high 
 bailiff. He turned and would have run, had not the solid 
 obstruction of the great gate stopped his way. There he could 
 not stay, inviting, as it were, the hostile lance to pin him to 
 the wood- work ; and to stir now, either right or left, was to 
 rush on their points. Down therefore he fell flat on his face, 
 uttering piteous cries for mercy and pardon for all offences 
 past and present against the dame and every person of her 
 household, whom he almost individually named. 
 
 Yolenta advanced close, and with a hazel twig, which 
 stretched invitingly to her hand from a tree close by, she laid 
 several well-planted stripes on the sprawling poltroon. The 
 gate in the mean time was wide opened, and the scene amply 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 23 
 
 displayed to his companions beyond the bridge ; and when, on 
 repeated commands from the fair executioner, he arose to 
 withdraw, a loud burst of revelry accompanied the rattling 
 clash of half a dozen suits of mail, which were at once un- 
 buckled and dropped to the ground, by as many of the mirth- 
 making damsels who had been cased therein, and who now 
 pursued their runaway victim (persecuting him the while with 
 gibes and laughter) to the utmost verge of the bridge, where 
 even his grave companions could not refrain from joining in 
 the laugh. 
 
 Once beyond the castle's verge, De Roden recovered in 
 some measure from his fright, on beholding from what species 
 of danger he had escaped. But burning shame took place of 
 frozen fear. The vengeance founded on exposed cowardice is 
 deeper than the well in which truth lies hid. The look, the 
 tone, the gesture it now inspired are not to be told, and 
 scarcely to be imagined. 
 
 " Dame Corteryke i " exclaimed de Roden, in half- 
 smothered accents, — " the soft white hand that struck an 
 officer of Holy Church is forfeit beyond redemption ! Ponder 
 well on that truth, and enjoy your triumph ! " 
 
 There was a terrible tone of reality in these words, that 
 spoke conviction to Yolenta and her attendants. Their laugh- 
 ing voices were all at once hushed. The broad smile on each 
 face was turned to a sad and solemn expression. Every limb 
 seemed paralysed ; and each maiden stood motionless, with 
 eyes turned on their menaced mistress. Yolenta betrayed no 
 visible signs of fear. Had the axe been raised over her wrist, 
 she would have scorned to let a nerve or muscle betray the 
 weakness of alarm. But a chill struck her heart ; and her 
 eyes turned involuntarily on old Roger van Oulternyk, as if to 
 inquire into the truth of De Roden's threat. 
 
 " It is too true, my gracious dame," said the seneschal, as 
 though he replied to a positive question. " The abbey privi- 
 lege is notorious — the vengeance of the church implacable — 
 the lord of Lettelhaussen and his brother the abbot will be 
 too glad, alas 1 to seize this frightful occasion for your 
 destruction." 
 
 " What must be done, good Master Seneschal ? " asked the 
 dame. 
 
 " You must fly instantly these walls — these wide domains; 
 c 4 
 
24 
 
 THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 all will be sequestered to the church ere sunset ; the forms in 
 such a case have the wings and the force of the whirlwind. — 
 If seized on, your fair hand will surely be severed on the block, 
 by a ruffian executioner, and banishment for ever be added 
 to the sentence." 
 
 ee Indeed ! it is a hard sentence — a dear price to pay for 
 a few strokes on the back of a base craven like that. But with 
 the blessing of St. Bavon, good Roger, I shall baffle the blood- 
 suckers/' 
 
 With these words, uttered in a steady, if not a daring tone, 
 for that she could not assume, Yolenta turned into the castle, 
 and lost no time in preparing for her safety. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Within an hour from this untoward adventure, consternation 
 and confusion had established their reign on the ruins of all 
 that had existed of domestic enjoyment in the castle of 
 Corteryke. The tremendous power of the brother tyrants, 
 who, in right of their feudal fiefs and ecclesiastical prerogative, 
 ruled over the territory included in our scene of action, was at 
 this period of Flemish history at a frightful height. No 
 individual suzerain of the lower classes of the nobility could 
 hope to resist it effectively. To do so at all, for however short 
 a period, would have required the skill of a warrior and the 
 desperation of an adventurer, joined to a prodigious influence 
 over the mind of each follower. What then could be hoped 
 from the power of a mere girl, who, though endowed with 
 courage and energy, was deficient in every other requisite of 
 resistance ? She readily enough found support from her ser- 
 vitors and dependants in minor attacks on the tyrant abbot's 
 authority, when they only assailed his fish ponds, his profligate 
 monks, or any other unimportant or worthless portion of his 
 possessions. But when it came to the fact of striking a high 
 bailiff — the supreme instrument of church exaction, there 
 was scarce a heart that did not quake with fear, and scarce a 
 voice that was not ready to cry i( sacrilege ! " The exceptions 
 were probably to be found among the women. They either 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 25 
 
 did not consider the clanger so immediate, or hoped it would 
 fall less heavily on them, or were affected by some other of 
 those light influences of the female mind, which in times of 
 threatened peril give them an air of courage that would be 
 ungraceful and unfeeling in the tug and tumult of conflict. 
 Exertions of female prowess at such times are exceptions to 
 the general rule of nature, which regulates the duties and the 
 charms of women. We cannot withhold our admiration from 
 those who mix in such doings, and overstep the limit of 
 feminine duty : — but we view them as though they stood on 
 a pedestal above both their sex and ours ; and are seldom 
 anxious to take them down and hug them in our arms. 
 
 Yolenta's maidens found a charm even in the threatened 
 horror of anathema, while it procured them one busy and 
 bustling day of variation to their life's monotony. They 
 played a thousand fantastic tricks of affectation, and prepared 
 for concealment or flight with airs more suited to a masquer's 
 revels than to the serious occasion at hand. 
 
 The men, excepting only the seneschal and scullion, escaped 
 as best they could, and scampered away across the wide and 
 wooded plains to the shelter of relatives and friends. But the 
 two extremes just alluded to, to wit, Roger Van Oulternyk 
 and Kobus, met upon this occasion on a common point of 
 duty ; stood firmly to their post, and showed no symptoms of 
 flinching from the danger which perilled the mistress they 
 were bound to serve in weal or woe, and the place they had 
 sworn to abide by in honour or in ruin. 
 
 Old Roger declared, that having for thirty years and more 
 braved all the dangers that had so often threatened Corteryke 
 Castle, in civil feuds beyond reckoning, he would die sooner 
 than abandon it now, even though the heavy hands of its 
 worst enemies were raised to crush it. 
 
 Sir Kobus, — for his title was confirmed beyond reversal, 
 — inflamed with valorous gratitude towards her who had 
 raised him so high on the roll of dignity, vehemently vowed 
 that he would serve her to the last as a true follower, and 
 never quit her side but at her own positive command, or for 
 her special welfare, till death, or some of the abbot's strong- 
 armed feudal men, dragged him away with irresistible force. 
 
 Thus the castle was sure of one devoted guardian, and the 
 lady of one determined follower ; and each soon entered upon 
 his hazardous and solitary functions. 
 
2b 
 
 THET FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 Among various articles of dress composing the wardrobe 
 which for some time past had occupied Yolenta and her 
 attendants, there were more than one suit of male attire, in 
 which it was very common for women of quality to appear at 
 masquerades and other fanciful entertainments. In one of 
 those suits she was now speedily equipped ; and a favourite 
 palfrey, of size suited to her light weight and accustomed to 
 her hand, was quickly caparisoned by the care of Sir Kobus, 
 and ready to receive her on its back. Sir Kobus himself, 
 hastily accoutred, well armed, and furnished with a large 
 saddle-bag, filled with some necessaries for his mistress, and a 
 smaller leathern sack containing articles of his own, was soon 
 mounted on a strong horse and riding at full speed from the 
 castle bounds after the apparent boy who cantered away before 
 him, gracefully waving one hand in farewell to the solitary 
 seneschal, while the other tightly held the reins of the high- 
 spirited palfrey. 
 
 Manifold and curious, no doubt, were the adventures that 
 befel the maiden-widow and her attendant, who, to the sturdy 
 stupidity on small matters common to his class, joined much 
 of that cunning sagacity on important occasions which is so 
 remarkable in half-witted persons. But whatever those adven- 
 tures might have been, they have found no record in the 
 chronicles which furnish our materials ; and we have there- 
 fore to bound over a considerable chasm of time, unfilled by 
 any event which might serve as a stepping stone for our 
 passage. 
 
 Weeks, most probably of pain and peril, elapsed before 
 Yolenta and her squire reached the destination she had fixed 
 on from the first moment that she resolved to abandon her 
 castle and all her earthly possessions to the harsh grasp of the 
 law and the church. There is not one female reader who will 
 not have foreseen that destination. But, for the information 
 of the less sensitive sex, we must say it was the French camp, 
 in the heart of Normandy, where, as Yolenta had been pre- 
 viously informed, her never-forgotten lover was at that time 
 serving with great honour and eclat. 
 
 This was a bold step — a weighty undertaking. But while 
 Yolenta pleased herself by considering it as urged by despair, 
 it was in fact the suggestion of undying hope, mistaken awhile 
 for its drear antithesis. In short our heroine was 
 
 m in love, and pleased with ruin," 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND, 
 
 27 
 
 ■which came in a shape that justified her having recourse to the 
 measure for which her heart had long heen imagining an ex- 
 cuse. She therefore abandoned all her possessions without a 
 regret, and threw herself on the wide world with such buoyant 
 animation as the mariner braves the ocean's waste withal in 
 search of the home of his young and long- cherished affections. 
 
 " Halt, and rein up, young Sir, and you, irreverent fellow ! 
 Who and what are ye ? Friends of King Charles, or of the 
 English ? Answer quickly, or this arrow will whistle through 
 one or both of your bodies." 
 
 Such was the address of a French sentry to our heroine and 
 her follower, as they trotted briskly out of the confines of a 
 small wood in Normandy, immediately beyond which lay the 
 rear-guard of the Constable's army, at that period opposed 
 front to front to the English force. 
 
 " Good soldier, we are neither enemies of King Charles nor 
 friends of the English," replied Yolenta, reining up her pal- 
 frey — " so let us pass towards the French camp, where we 
 have pressing business." 
 
 u Ay, with your good favour, master bowman, let us pass ; 
 our horses are much blown and we need refreshment," said Sir 
 Kobus, striking his heels inwards and urging on his steed. 
 
 " Hold, I say ! " cried the sentry. " This ambiguous an- 
 swering and suspicious haste please me not. What do ye seek 
 in our camp ? " 
 
 " A dear friend," answered Yolenta. 
 
 " Young gentleman, you must be, methinks, even younger 
 than you look, to seek that article either in camp or court. 
 What is his name ? " 
 
 " Loridon Van Bart, a Flemish gentleman, of name and 
 condition. Where is he to be found ?" 
 
 " Vertu Dieu ! That is more than I can tell. We have so 
 many adventurers and vauriens ' of name and condition' with 
 the army, that it would puzzle the provost marshal to find out 
 any given individual among the marauders and pillagers which 
 throng its ranks." 
 
 Yolenta s blood rose high, but an instinct of prudence 
 floated on its tide. She suppressed any retort, and merely 
 asked what was to be done. 
 
 " Blood of the saints ! that I know not as far as your con- 
 cerns go/' replied the soldier ; " but as regards my duty, it is 
 
28 THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 that I hold ye hoth here, hostages for each other, till the re- 
 lief comes round, and ye may be led prisoners to the picquet 
 guard/' 
 
 Sir Kobus's freckled face blushed a copper-tinted crimson, 
 and he gave first a look of defiance at the sentry, and then 
 another of fierce meaning at his mistress. 
 
 "No, Kobus," said she, interpreting his thoughts, a we 
 must obey the rules of the camp ; this honest archer does but 
 his duty in holding us secure. " 
 
 ee Which he will do, depend on it, in spite of flattering 
 speeches or scowling looks from master or man. So dismount 
 ye, and stand back to back under that elm. There — that 
 will do ; now let me blindfold ye both with the ends of your 
 own kerchiefs. So — good! Stand quietly now, for the first 
 that shows a movement towards escape shall be instantly trans- 
 fixed to the tree's trunk with this ell- yard arrow, and his com- 
 rade swing presently up to its toughest branch." Yolenta saw 
 that submission was the best policy. Both she and her fol- 
 lower submitted to the irksome operation ; and within an hour 
 were released and conducted by the visiting patrol within the 
 lines of the French encampment, with all the precautions 
 usual in such cases. The whispered buzz of voices as she was 
 led along could give Yolenta no clue to discover what was the 
 conversation of her conductors. But on one occasion she fan- 
 cied a murmured exclamation of surprise ; and a little after- 
 wards some one took her by the hand and pressed it softly, 
 and as she thought reassuringly, in his own. Whatever might 
 have been meant, the effect was comforting, as is the slightest 
 mark of sympathy, whether by look, word, or action, in cases 
 of doubt or peril. Yolenta could not account for the feeling 
 of confidence that seemed conveyed to her by this simple inci- 
 dent, nor did she wish to examine it very profoundly. Young 
 and sanguine minds rarely like to scrutinise whatever seems a 
 token of hope or promises pleasure. If they did, they would 
 be less frequently the victims of self-deception. 
 
 When the bandage was removed from Yolenta's eyes, she 
 could scarcely believe the evidence they gave ; and Sir Kobus 
 seemed bewildered even more than she. The imperfect no- 
 tions which they had both formed of a camp, were all belied 
 by the scene now before them. The rude tents, coarse treat- 
 ment, hard living, and strict discipline which had been always 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 associated with our heroine's notion of military service in the 
 field, were little in unison with what she now gazed on. 
 
 The first object which caught her attention was a splendid 
 canopy, of many coloured silk, surmounted and flanked by 
 banners, pennons, and standards, under which were seated 
 several richly dressed men, at a table covered with such a gor- 
 geous specimen of feasting as was superior to any thing in the 
 circle of Yolenta's previous experience, even in the entertain- 
 ments of Flemish wealth. 
 
 When she turned her looks to the right and left, she was 
 amazed at the prodigal display of luxury and splendour under 
 canopies of dazzling brilliancy, or in elevated balconies : and 
 on stages all round were to be seen bands of musicians, groups 
 of mountebanks, rope-dancers, and jugglers, all playing most 
 fantastic tricks ; sorcerers and soothsayers surrounded by 
 ardent listeners ; while cooks and badged servitors prepared or 
 carried about the most luscious dainties. A little farther off 
 were paraded a prodigious number of horses in magnificent 
 caparisons; hawks, dogs, and their attendant falconers, hunts- 
 men, and varlets in rich liveries ; and mixing in ail the shows 
 and splendour, was a company of most beautiful women, 
 whose extravagant style of dress and bold looks and gestures 
 proclaimed them to be of a class of which Yolenta had heard, 
 but wherewith she had never before come into contact. 
 
 The silence which had been studiously observed while the 
 prisoners were brought blindfolded into this scene of enchant- 
 ment, was suddenly changed to a burst of various noises as 
 soon as the removal of the bandages gave a loose to restraint. 
 The sudden crash of music, the clamour of voices, the bursts 
 of laughter, and the chorus of all other incongruous sounds, 
 aiding the impression of visual wonders, made Yolenta start^ 
 stare, and thrill with undefinable awe, as though magic had 
 conjured up the scene ; while Kobus seemed as though struck 
 dumb, and crossed himself vehemently, as his eyes rolled 
 wildly and his mouth gaped wide, to the infinite amusement 
 of the bystanders. After a sufficient time had been allowed to 
 give the wonder-stricken strangers a general conception of 
 what they saw, but not enough to allow any attempt at ana- 
 lysing, much less accounting for, the strange details, a man 
 arose from his seat under the main canopy, which being the 
 place of honour, added to the deference with which he was re- 
 
80 
 
 THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 garded and listened to, proved him to be the chief in dignity 
 and importance of the motley assemblage. The appearance 
 of this individual rivetted Yolenta's attention. He was tall 
 and harsh-featured, and a mixed expression of cunning and 
 ferocity gleamed in his eyes. He was armed cap-a-pie, but 
 over his coat of mail he wore a large mantle, such as was 
 common to possessors of the black art, a white beard fell far 
 down on his breast, and he held a wand in his hand such as it 
 beseemed a conjuror to bear. As he waved his hand with an 
 air of authority, immediate silence followed ; and then fixing 
 his eyes with a piercing look on Yolenta, he exclaimed, "And 
 who art thou that comest in that impostor's garb into my pre- 
 sence ? Speak ! " 
 
 '< If you know my garb to be assumed, you may perhaps be 
 able to divine the rest without my telling," replied Yolenta, in 
 a tone that betrayed no fear. She was buoyed up by an un- 
 der! nable notion that she had a protector at hand. 
 
 " Bravely answered ! but somewhat bold withal, and more 
 beseeming the sex you assume than your own," said the man 
 sternly. 
 
 A blush passed over Yolenta's cheeks, and she trembled to 
 find that her sex was discovered. Sha attempted no answer. 
 
 " Come hither !" exclaimed the mysterious personage; and 
 she obeyed as if by a spell. When she was close beside him 
 he took her by the hand. 
 
 " Let me examine this fair palm," said he. " Why, how 
 is this ? Here are lines of virgin token, crossed by those of 
 marriage, ay, and of death ! What may'st thou be — maiden 
 or dame ? or is it that thou art both ? " 
 
 A buzz of astonished exclamation from the many wassailers 
 present broke on Yolentas ears, and completed the confusion 
 caused by the words of the wizard — for so she no longer 
 doubted her questioner to be. She attempted to withdraw her 
 hand; but he held it with a firm grasp, and continued as 
 follows. 
 
 « Maiden, wife, and widow V 9 so say the chiromantic lines 
 
 but more is spoken on this tell-tale palm. Sacrilege is 
 
 written here — and deadly punishment — this hand is forfeit \" 
 
 At these words, pronounced in a terrible tone, Yolenta 
 shuddered and felt herself growing pale and faint. She looked 
 round for some protecting glance, some outstretched hand, to 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 31 
 
 give again such pressure as had erewhile thrilled through her 
 with delicious hope. She felt that all was hut delusion ; and 
 as the fearful man who had so truly read and so strangely 
 spoken her sad history let drop the hand which he denounced, 
 she felt it fall by her side, palsied and numb, like some 
 withered branch struck dead by lightening on its parent stem. 
 
 "Bear away the doomed one — let the church recover its 
 victim !" said the mysterious being under whose control Yo- 
 lenta seemed so magically to have fallen. She was led away, 
 she knew not how, into a tent apart from the canopy where 
 this strange scene had passed before her, more like some 
 pageantry of magic than an action of reality. 
 
 In the tent she found a female attendant, and several suits 
 of dress adapted to her sex, but bearing painful evidence of 
 her own humiliated condition. They were coarse, and of the 
 pattern worn by penitents doomed under ecclesiastical sen- 
 tences. The woman signified to her that she was immediately 
 to throw off her male attire, and equip herself in one of the 
 more suitable habiliments. Yolenta at first started back, re- 
 pugnant at the change, for she had become accustomed to the 
 dress she wore, and was revolted by the texture and make of 
 that now destined for her. A moment's reflection however 
 told her to submit ; and she had no sooner reassumed the wim- 
 ple, the kirtle, and the coif, than she experienced a return of 
 those feminine feelings which had been laid awhile in abeyance 
 by her disguise and the manly bearing she had assumed with it. 
 
 It was some time before Yolenta could recover her self- 
 command sufficiently to address her attendant in a way likely 
 to gain her good will. At length she inquired into whose 
 hands she had fallen, giving a turn to the question as though 
 she considered herself obliged rather than hurt by the treat- 
 ment she received. 
 
 u In truth, my good mistress," replied the woman, <c you 
 may look upon yourself as well treated — so far. Giles, mar- 
 quess of Laval, seldom deals out any delicacy to those who 
 fall into his hands, but commonly hands them over to the 
 sacrifice without ceremony or delay." 
 
 " The marquess of Laval ! and is it into the power of that 
 monster that fate has thrown me ? Oh, Loridon, Loridon ! I 
 am indeed now lost to thee as thou art to me ! " 
 
 " (C Hush, hush, fair lady ! the mighty one has ears for every 
 whisper, more than mortal man possesses!" said the woman 
 
32 
 
 THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 with a stifled tone, in which fear seemed mixed with pity. 
 Yolenta caught the double feeling with the readiness inspired 
 by her own alarm. 
 
 <e Oh ! " said she, " can you not save me ? Can you not 
 tell me tidings of the young lord of Lettelhausen ? " 
 
 " Bless you, mistress ! I have not been able to save myself, 
 and I hear tidings of no one beyond the bounds of this prison, 
 for such, alas ! is this tent to me." 
 
 " Yolenta would have renewed her appeal, but before she 
 could speak again, a curtain door of the tent was drawn aside, 
 opposite to that which had seemed the only entrance, and 
 the awful object of her terror was seen standing beyond in 
 another and larger compartment. While Yolenta' s eyes were 
 fixed on him, the female attendant disappeared ; and as he 
 motioned with his hand for the advance of our once courageous 
 and daring heroine, her knees tottered, and fear almost para- 
 lysed every limb. 
 
 " Come forward ! " exclaimed he, in a voice of irresistible 
 command. She knew not by what impulse of obedience she 
 was in a moment standing close before him. 
 
 " Do you know me ? " asked he, in a tone of thunder. 
 
 " Yes," answered she ; " the reputation of the marquess of 
 Laval has penetrated even into the marshes of Flanders." 
 
 " And what do you know of me ? " 
 
 "Your undaunted courage, your immense wealth, your 
 princely establishment of men and animals, your hunting train, 
 exceeding even that kept up of yore by Edward of England 
 or Gaston de Foix, — your more than mortal knowledge — 
 your — your " 
 
 " Go on, go on, do not hesitate ! Fill up the measure from 
 the withering blast of fame — my cruelties, my sorceries, my 
 demon tricks, is it not so ? What then, the walls of Ghent 
 have echoed to the voice of my deeds ? But have they heard 
 of all that has driven me to hate mankind, and form a com- 
 pact with man's arch-enemy ? Does your remote world know 
 why I call up the fiends and dance the round of demon re- 
 velry ? Can those who execrate my name dive into the 
 mystery of my nature, and who — like you, weak woman — 
 call me monster, tell the difference between that and man ? " 
 
 Yolenta could not have answered, even if she had known 
 how to reply to this outburst. The power of utterance 
 seemed to have forsaken her. 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. $S 
 
 "And what would you here, fair dame?" resumed the 
 Marquess of Laval. 
 
 " You are not one who needs to ask questions — my object 
 is no doubt known to you," faintly murmured Yolenta, in- 
 spired to the exertion by the hope of hearing tidings of her 
 former lover. 
 
 " You seek a friend, forsooth ? Whom do you seek ? " 
 sternly asked the marquess. 
 
 " The son of the lord of Letrelhausen." 
 " The lord of Lettelhausen has no son:' The emphasis of 
 these words struck cold on Yolenta's heart. 
 
 "Then Loridon is dead ;" faintly murmured she; and she 
 would have sunk to the earth under the shock, had not her 
 arm been powerfully grasped by the terrible being whose 
 words still echoed in her heart. 
 
 " The lord of Lettelhausen lives—let that suffice thee " 
 continued he; "lives to claim and exact the penalty of thy 
 sacrilege. This hand, soft and white and gentle as it feels 
 and looks, is nevertheless doomed to repair its outrage A 
 blow on the back of the bailiff of a consecrated abbey p 
 Stripes on the sanctified shoulders of an anointed dignitary's" 
 deputy ! Oh, monstrous, monstrous ! but the offending mem- 
 ber is doomed — the hand is forfeit to thy liege lord— and his 
 feudal ire, whetted by the holy vengeance of his most reverend 
 brother, calls out for prompt and plenary satisfaction." 
 
 Yolenta thought that she perceived in this tirade a tone of 
 bitter irony, a mock heroic violence blending with a smothered 
 laugh. It was one of those instances of overacted energy 
 which leave one in dcubt as to their being meant in joke or 
 earnest. She stood still and gazed for a solution of the doubt 
 "Go then," continued Laval, « go to the place from 
 whence you came— back to the scene of your crime and the 
 site of your punishment. You shall be well tended on the 
 way— that I take in charge — and from the mouths of the 
 no.y abbot you have outraged, and the mighty lord who claims 
 you in judgment, you shall know your fate. The altar of 
 sacrifice is ready — away ! and think yourself a rare instance 
 ot good luck to escape thus harmless from the power of Giles 
 de Laval; — you, who for passion's sake drove a lover to 
 despair, drew a husband to death, and doomed yourself to 
 destruction!" 
 
34 
 
 THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The ferocity with which the last words were uttered deprived 
 Yolenta of a wish to prolong the interview which they were 
 so well fitted to conclude. She felt released, as though of a 
 heavy weight, when she found herself alone, but it was like 
 the relief of death to a life-burthened wretch. Despair and 
 desolation seemed now her lot. She looked round for the 
 female who had given her at least looks of pity, and who, 
 herself a sufferer, was likely to sympathise with, if not able 
 to serve her. She too had retired, and for a few minutes our 
 heroine stood in solitude of the worst and most agitating de- 
 scription, the very opposite to that delicious kind which the 
 reflective or suffering mind flies to, as the wearied body seeks, 
 repose. The torture of Yolenta's silent thoughts became 
 almost intolerable ; and she was on the point of rushing out 
 among the libertine population of the camp, whose revelry 
 resounded in her ear, when the curtain was again raised, and 
 two men cased in steel, with visors down, and bearing no 
 visible cognisance by which their service could be known, en- 
 tered the tent. They beckoned Yolenta away; and she 
 readily obeyed the summons that removed her from a state of 
 impatient suffering, than which she could imagine nothing 
 worse. They passed along several covered passages, some 
 faintly lighted, some quite obscure, until at length they reached 
 an opening, beyond which the verdant colours of herb and 
 tree told that the limits of the encampment were passed, and 
 that the champaign country was at hand. 
 
 Yolenta hurried forward to the open air, and felt the com- 
 parative delights of freedom, as it blew freshly on her face. 
 A litter, closely covered, stood ready. She scarcely waited the 
 motion of her conductors to spring into it. They mounted 
 two horses, which stood ready caparisoned close by. The 
 driver was in a moment in his seat. All was, in an instant 
 more, in movement. Yolenta closed her eyes and sank back 
 on the seat, without venturing a conjecture as to where she 
 was going, or wasting a thought in vain efforts to unravel the 
 strange mystery of the scene through which she had just 
 passed. A confused maze of images danced before her mind. 
 The wizard marquess and marshal of France, for he was both, 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 35 
 
 who had given so weighty a proof of his magical powers in 
 divining at a glance who and what she was, appeared to her 
 overheated fancy in a thousand forms. The pageantry of his 
 court — for so it might be called — sprang up in more than 
 even its fantastic variety, — hut mixed with every vision and 
 every recollection was the pale, ghastly figure of Loridon, in 
 a thousand forms of death, while the knell-like sounds still 
 rang in her ears — " The Lord of Lettelhausen has no son I" 
 At times anxiety for the fate of poor Sir Kobus crossed her 
 brain. But this was a light cloud, that left a lighter shadow. 
 The absorbing gloom of her lover's loss overcast every lesser 
 shade. 
 
 Yolenta was never a good calculator. She had often im- 
 patiently " counted the hours," in the common acceptation of 
 the phrase. But that is done by the irregular pulsation of 
 over-ardent temperaments, not with the steady reckoning 
 adapted to dates and distances. She therefore had little notion 
 of the space she travelled, or the time occupied by her journey, 
 when on a certain day at nightfall she was told that she had 
 reached her destination, the dungeon-keep of the Abbey of St. 
 Peter's at Ghent. She felt some emotion at the mention of 
 the place, but she betrayed none. Her mind was lowered to 
 the deepest pitch of apathy. She followed her conductor to 
 a gloomy cell ; and neither asked a question, nor expressed a 
 wish for aught beyond the wretched accommodations of the 
 place. 
 
 Reflection however came on, in her despite. She could not 
 stifle the thoughts which rose buoyant on the flood of memory, 
 deep tinctured as they were with the bitterness of its waters. 
 The images of past days of happiness floated before her, but 
 they were imbued with colours of woe. Events of late oc- 
 currence returned with less vagueness than they were clothed 
 in at the moments of their action. Notions of the future 
 rose up, embodied into shapes of fact, all hideous and revolt- 
 ing. Her lost lover, her blasted hopes, her horrid and igno- 
 minious punishment, for what she held it but mockery to call 
 a crime, all mixed together in a confusion of pain and anger ; 
 and she passed one of those nights of misery which none but 
 the sensitive and the impassioned can imagine, much less be 
 ever called on to endure. And while we may suppose her in 
 these heavy hcurs of suffering, we may slightly sketch what 
 d 2 
 
gg THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 had happened during her absence, in the matter of her offence 
 against the ecclesiastical dignity of her enemy the Abbot of 
 St Peter's. 
 
 ' Yolenta had friends and relatives— words not by any means 
 synonymous,— but the Chronicles do not specify their names. 
 Whoever they were, they took an active part in her cause, 
 which she herself had seemed so totally to abandon. Aided 
 by the efforts of her venerable and faithful seneschal, they 
 made a prompt appeal to the Council of Flanders against the 
 penal sentence pronounced by the Lord of Lettelhausen which 
 condemned Yolenta to the loss of her right hand, and that of 
 banishment for fifty years, adjudged by the Abbot, as well as 
 the decree of confiscation, which condemned the castle and 
 domain of Corteryke to swell the revenues of St. Peters 
 abbey. The procurator fiscal instituted a process against the 
 abbot Gerald, for having overstepped his authority by this 
 severe sentence, and having thereby encroached on the rights 
 and privileges of the Count of Flanders, whose feudal tenant 
 the Dame of Corteryke was— the fiction of law which exists 
 to our day being then in practice, making the sovereign a 
 party aggrieved in offences against the subject. 
 
 The Council of Flanders at that time held its sittings 
 at Lisle. The abbot was summoned thither; and on non- 
 appearance had his aforesaid decree reversed, and was more- 
 over mulcted in a fine of 2000 nobles. To give a better 
 colour of justice to this sentence, and to deprive the abbot of 
 all excuse for appeal to a higher authority, some of the mem- 
 bers of the council betook themselves to the town of Alost, 
 which belonged to the empire, and were thus out of the juris- 
 diction of the parliament of Paris, which the county of Flan- 
 ders still at that period acknowledged. There the decree 
 against the abbot was promulgated ; but he denied its legality 
 and refused obedience, inasmuch as he denounced it as being 
 made « in fraudem legis;" and while the question of justice 
 thus lay in abeyance, (the natural and common consequence 
 of law proceedings in those days of confusion,) the intended 
 victim was, as we have related, handed over to the custody of 
 her inveterate enemy, by an agency as remote as it was mys- 
 terious. • . .\ 
 
 The cause had excited an intense interest throughout tne 
 county of Flanders ; but at the very moment when this was 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. $J 
 
 at the highest pitch, and every one waited with impatience 
 for the decision of a point which compromised the safety of 
 so interesting a personage as the young dame of Corteryke as 
 well as the privilege so important both to clergy and laity 
 the matter seemed suddenly hushed up— the Lord of Lettel- 
 hausen ceased to appear in public— the abbot and his people 
 as well as the relatives and friends of Yolenta, no longer 
 spoke of what had been lately a subject of their incessant 
 clamour — and the name of the sentenced offender was no 
 more pronounced either by friend or foe. 
 
 This was immediately after the period of her falling into 
 the hands of Giles de Laval, and during her journey from his 
 camp in Normandy to the city of Ghent. 
 
 But quite unexpectedly, and without any previous an- 
 nouncement to the public, the abbey gates were one day at 
 noon thrown wide open ; a procession of unusual splendour 
 appeared, directing its steps towards the great church of St 
 Peter ; choristers, taper-carriers, shield-bearers, men at arms' 
 and all the imposing mixture of feudal and religious pomp 
 preceding Abbot Gerald himself, who appeared clothed in his 
 magnificent white garments, bearing his abbotal staff in hand 
 his choral cap on head, and loaded with ornaments of state 
 He was followed by a train of relatives of the houses of De 
 Meina and Corteryke, with their dependants in various 
 liveries, and more than a usual display of state. At some 
 distance following came a female dressed in white robes, but 
 without any hood of honour on her head, which was covered 
 with a simple veil of penitence, concealing her face from the 
 gaze of the multitude, which poured out from the then 
 thickly populous streets of Ghent. She was preceded a few 
 paces by a servant bearing a silver lavabo or tray, whereon 
 was a lighted wax taper ; and another who carried a shield 
 on which was painted the heraldic cognizances of De Melna 
 and Corteryke, and under them the effigy of a hand as though 
 just severed from the arm. Behind the penitent, but at an 
 interval which was so filled up by attendants as not unneces- 
 sarily to shock her, was the public executioner of the city 
 carrying a small axe, sufficient for the punishment of an 
 offender far more robust than the fragile being he followed, 
 but not adapted to those dismemberments which he was in 
 the frequent habit of operating, on the persons of the nu- 
 d 3 
 
38 
 
 THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 merous criminals which then abounded in that profligate city 
 and its neighbourhood. 
 
 The wondering crowds soon learned that it was the young 
 and lovely dame of Corteryke that was thus led in solemn 
 state to the church, to hear the sentence of her sacrifice pro- 
 nounced, and the mockery of religious service poured over 
 this act of cruelty. In spite of the bigoted devotion with 
 which the people of dhent regarded all the observances and 
 privileges of religion in those times of ecclesiastical tyranny, 
 they revolted from the horrid spectacle which was now pro- 
 mised them ; and it was only the excitement of curiosity and 
 wonder that kept down the loud expressions of a discontent 
 which was not imperfectly murmured in the throng. But 
 the procession had reached the church. All the main actors 
 had been admitted within the chancel, and some beyond the 
 railing of the great altar, on the steps of which stood the 
 abbot surrounded by his officiating band of monks ; while an 
 imposing force of armed servitors kept due order among the 
 breathless crowd that thronged the aisles and avenues beyond, 
 and pressed forward to catch every word of the solemnity 
 which was about to take place. The executioner remained 
 outside the church door, in the court-yard, where it was un- 
 derstood the execution was to take place: and never were 
 looks more sinister cast, or execrations more deep-felt mut- 
 tered, against this necessary but hateful evil of civilised so- 
 ciety, than those now spontaneously breaking from the eyes 
 and voices of the astonished and anxious people, who were 
 unable to obtain an entrance into the body of the church. 
 
 While all eyes within were bent towards the altar where 
 the abbot had taken his station, or on the white-robed victim 
 who knelt at its foot, she, uninfluenced in that solemn mo- 
 ment either by fear of what was to happen, or by any senti- 
 ment of vain display, unseemly anger, or weak hope, raised 
 her white veil and cast her looks around. She saw on all 
 sides faces of enemies long time avowed mixed with those of 
 still longer imagined friends. How such a junction could 
 have taken place, she could not by any means understand ; 
 but she did not perceive in any the expression of either 
 triumph or compassion. A strange look of undefinable en- 
 ioyment seemed to pervade all; but it was in every individual 
 so much the same, that in her hasty glance around she could 
 
TRE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 39 
 
 not trace varieties, nor had she a wish to analyse or account 
 for aught that she perceived. She had passively obeyed the 
 instructions of her gaolers and attendants during the pre- 
 ceding night and on that eventful morn, which was the one 
 immediately following her arrival in Ghent. No murmur 
 had escaped her at the precipitation with which she was 
 hurried to her fate. She was not conscious of one bitter 
 thought against her persecutors. The concentrated power 
 of despair had absorbed all lesser passions ; and the only 
 feeling to which she seemed alive, was that associated with 
 the oracular sentence of woe — " The Lord of Lettelhausen 
 has no son ! " 
 
 Yolenta would not have even noticed any one individual 
 face among those now within her observation, had not, at the 
 moment that she was about to replace her veil and calmly 
 wait the issue of the awful scene, a buzz arisen beyond the 
 altar railings, and loud shouts been heard from without the 
 church. A piercing sentiment of hope darted instantly through 
 her breast. She felt involuntarily impressed with the belief 
 that the indignant people were about to rescue her from her 
 threatened doom. Her eyes fixed themselves intently on the 
 large grated door of the chancel, which now flew wide open ; 
 but instead of that rush of popular deliverers whom she ex- 
 pected to see, she had the anguished mortification to observe 
 the heralds and shield-bearers of the Lord of Lettelhausen, 
 whose liveries were too well known to her, while audible men- 
 tion of his name ran through the congregation. 
 
 Despair now kept her gaze fixed where hope had before 
 directed it ; and to complete the pang, she soon discovered the 
 commonly inexpressive face of her former follower Sir Kobus, 
 shining with a beam of what she thought ferocious joy, while 
 his body, decorated with the badges and cognizances of Van 
 Bart, came rolling onwards, with a speed as indecorous to- 
 wards the holy place, as it seemed infamcus on the sad occa- 
 sion. " Ingratitude and treason are the last sharp stings 
 reserved for me!" murmured Yolenta; "Let me now then 
 die !" and letting fall her veil once more over her face, she was 
 sinking to the floor, when she felt herself caught in a powerful 
 yet gentle grasp — one hand was seized within that, whose pres- 
 sure she even then could recognise as the same which had 
 thrilled through her when a blindfolded prisoner in the French 
 d 4 
 
40 
 
 THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 camp — with the other she instinctively raised her veil again 
 
 — and with eyes straining in the double excitement of ecstasy 
 and wonder, she gazed on the face and figure of her Loridon, 
 until the united force of feelings which threatened to drive her 
 mad, was subdued and softened by a dissolving flood of tears. 
 
 " Yes, Yolenta, yes ! " exclaimed her ardent and deeply- 
 affected lover — <{ Here I am, to claim the forfeit due to the 
 Lord of Lettelhausen by his too powerful vassal, who proves 
 her might even in the very payment of her penalty. Yes, 
 Yolenta, this hand is mine ! mine, by every privilege of law, 
 and by the still holier right of love ! Mine, to foster and 
 cherish, and hold in my throbbing bosom, while the heart's 
 blood runs which its soft touch now stirs into redoubled speed 
 
 — mine, while this into which it is now locked has nerve to 
 grasp a weapon in its defence — mine, till death severs the 
 sweet bond by which I am now here to be joined to thee for 
 ever ! " 
 
 So spoke the Lord of Lettelhausen, for such was Loridon 
 become, by the sudden death of his father, even at the very 
 moment that Yolenta fled from her castle under dread of his 
 and his brother's tyranny. It was said that a secret blow 
 from one of the men of Corteryke cut him short in his course 
 of tyranny. On that point, however, the Chronicles are not 
 explicit, but they agree in stating that with his dying breath 
 he confessed to the murder of Baron Van Corteryke by his 
 own hand. How little had he foreseen, in his short-sighted 
 vengeance, that his son, Loridon, would so soon and so amply 
 redeem the wrong to her whom it most shocked but least in- 
 jured ! 
 
 Reasons of private and family urgency caused the sudden 
 death of the old lord to be kept secret till Loridon could be 
 apprised of it, and at the same time made acquainted, by the 
 trusty friends whom he had left to watch and report the con- 
 duct of Yolenta, with the circumstance of the assault on 
 Christopher de Roden. A swift messenger soon reached him, 
 and a faithful and prudent agent kept him well informed of 
 all Yolenta's measures, from the moment she fled from Cor- 
 teryke till she appeared at the outposts of the camp. We need 
 hardly state that this agent was Sir Kobus, who preserved the 
 secret of his engagement with Loridon with all the phlegm 
 and fidelity of his nation. 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 41 
 
 Loridon had been for many months serving in that portion 
 of the French army commanded by the celebrated Giles de 
 Laval, whose valour and eccentricities obtained him the double 
 reputation of high courage and deep infamy. His splendid 
 establishment has been already alluded to, though by no means 
 described ; and for its details, as well as the accounts of his 
 sorceries and cruelty, we must refer to some of the old French 
 historians. It was the good luck of Loridon to save the life 
 of this remarkable man in battle. His influence over him was 
 in consequence such, that he consented to shelter Yolenta, and 
 see to her safety, instead of making her his own peculiar prize 
 ■ — the common fate of every young woman of personal attrac- 
 tions who happened to fall into his power. 
 
 But he did this on one condition, that he might deal with 
 Yolenta as he liked ; and the way he liked was to torment her 
 with his pretended magical power, and to torture her with 
 threats and semblances of a coming punishment, which he 
 never meant her to suffer. For he was the inventor of the 
 sentimental quibble by which Loridon claimed and secured 
 her " forfeit hand/' The latter was bound by a solemn oath 
 not to reveal himself to his love, though he was close by her 
 side ail through her journey to Ghent, until the moment of 
 the denoument arranged by Laval, and strictly followed to 
 the very letter of his plan. Sir Kobus was sent forward to 
 prepare Abbot Gerald and the friends of Yolenta for the part 
 they were to act — and now, we believe, all necessary explana- 
 tions are summed up. 
 
 These were afforded to Yolenta herself in many an after- 
 moment, when she could find leisure from the making up 
 of that long arrear of love which existed between her and 
 Loridon. But to lead to the fair exercise of all that was due 
 to both of them on that account, Abbot Gerald proposed an 
 adjournment from the chancel of the church to the little 
 chapel of St. Benedict hard by, to complete a certain private 
 ceremony of partnership, as soon as that of compromise was 
 performed in public in the way arranged for the legal satis- 
 faction of all parties. The curious document that specifies 
 this last-mentioned solemnity is carefully preserved ; and we 
 cannot better or more authentically conclude the relation of 
 our legend than by inserting a translation of this instrument, 
 which so slily slurs over the chief cruelty of Yolenta's sentence, 
 
42 
 
 THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 and all that might tell the secret circumstances by which the 
 main fact could be explained. It is well, however, that the 
 minute accessories of the principal transactions were within 
 reach, otherwise the memory of Yolenta Van Corteryke would 
 have gone down to a posterity even more remote than is 
 formed by our readers of to-day, as a record of compounded 
 felony, instead of overpunished levity and amply rewarded 
 love. 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 Instrument of Reparation of the noble Lady Yolenta 
 Curtrosinis, called De Melna, for having abused and even 
 struck with a stick, in the discharge of his duty, Christo- 
 phorus de Roden, bailiff of Lettelhauthem, on the fourth 
 day of April in the year 1396. 
 
 In the name of God, Amen. It happened on the day above 
 mentioned, that a cause was to be heard, of and concerning 
 some controversies, complaints, and debates between the reli- 
 gious father in God, Lord Geraldus, by the divine permission 
 abbot of the monastery of St. Peter, at Ghent, of the sacred 
 order of Benedicts, in the diocese of Tournay, in the name of 
 his congregation on the one side, and the noble Lady Yolenta 
 Curtrosinis, called De Melna on the other, from certain causes 
 arisen on the part of that same noble lady, (as is declared both 
 in actual letters, and as in other authentic documents, con- 
 cealed and openly in the power of the same lord abbot,) 
 relative to the same complaints, concerning the religious father's 
 sentence, decree, or order, (to which the noble lady had sub- 
 mitted, as is proved by letters written on that subject, and 
 placed in the custody of the same lord abbot,) the already- 
 named noble Lady Yolenta being assigned, appeared in person. 
 The noble lady having thought on the enormity of her crimes, 
 and especially, that she had injuriously and spitefully ill-treated 
 a certain Christophorus de Roden, bailiff of the same lord 
 abbot, and of the aforesaid church in the parish of Lettel- 
 hauthem, in the diocese of Cambray, whilst performing his 
 duty as bailiff, and even so far as to strike him with a stick. 
 For which enormous deed, lawfully proved by the feudal men 
 of the same religious father, and of his church, on a certain 
 day being banished by a trial without the dominion of the 
 church of St. Peter aforenamed, for the space of fifty years, 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND, 
 
 43 
 
 publicly, solemnly, and judicially, within the boundaries of the 
 said monastery of St. Peter, and in the virstallium therein 
 existing, to obtain the remission of which banishment, indul- 
 gence, and peace from the same religious father, she appeared 
 personally in the aforesaid monastery of St. Peter, followed 
 both by a decent suite of shield-bearers of a noble race of 
 parents, as well as of footmen. Therefore the same noble lady 
 being present in the aforesaid church of St. Peter, and awaiting 
 the arrival of the same religious father, the religious father in 
 God, Geraldus, the abbot himself, clothed in his white eccle- 
 siastical garments and other ornaments, and wearing above the 
 choral cap, with the abbotal staff which one of his shield- 
 bearers carried before him, came down, and placed himself 
 within the solemn choir, before the great altar of his church, 
 in which his underlings, in white, sang the sacred office, a 
 great multitude of people of both sexes standing round about. 
 Of which-named religious father the abbot, the same aforesaid 
 noble Lady Yolenta awaiting the arrival, going from the place 
 where she had waited, her relations going before, and the foot- 
 men following, in the arms of two noble shield-bearers, only 
 wearing a slight veil on the head without any hood, humbly 
 advanced to the presence of the aforesaid religious lord father 
 the abbot, and reclining in sign of humility, offered to the 
 same lord abbot, in and for amends of the abovementioned 
 deed, a certain silver lavabo, which one of her servants bore 
 before her with a lighted wax candle placed in it, (and on 
 which lavabo were placed and are placed clearly and distinctly, 
 and in large and notable letters on the outside, the title or 
 superscription of her fault and reparation, and the fist and 
 figure of a woman, together with the arms of the said noble 
 Lady Yolenta Curtrosinis ;) begging him, as a guilty person, 
 that he would be well pleased to pardon her, and to take off 
 from her the banishment pronounced against her, on account 
 of the enormity of the crime perpetrated by her on the person 
 of the said bailiff, and her contempt of the said lord abbot and 
 his church. But there, at the command of the said lord 
 abbot, Johannes de Vracht, bailiff of the feudal men of the said 
 church of St. Peter aforesaid, in the presence of several feudal 
 men of the said church, namely in the presence of the noble, 
 and powerful, and honourable man Symon de Linteme, a 
 soldier, of the son of Peter Symoens, of John de Schaghe, of 
 
44 
 
 THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 Symon Parys, of Henry Maech, and William Drieghe, asked 
 the same noble Lady Yolenta if she had performed the first 
 fruits of the amendment, for and because she had beaten with 
 a stick, and otherwise ill treated Christophorus de Roden, 
 bailiff of the same religious father, and of his aforesaid church, 
 and although bailiff of the same, and exercising his office, and 
 because he did perform his duty ? Which noble lady replied 
 in a loud and audible voice, that she had done the things before 
 appointed for the aforesaid guilt and fault ; but pardon being 
 asked by the same, and a confession of the aforesaid guilt being 
 made, the same aforesaid religious father in God, Geraldus, 
 made the lavabo offered to him, with the lighted wax candles, 
 be hung up before the altar, before the noble lady removed 
 from the place of the oblation of the lavabo, and where she had 
 asked pardon ; and then he benignantly granted an indulgence 
 to the said noble lady, and remitted the aforesaid punishment ; 
 which favour, indulgence, and remission the same Johannes de 
 Vracht intimated to those of the people standing round about 
 from the great altar as before, and called upon the aforesaid 
 feudal men, together with Lord Martinus de Mors, the priest's 
 notary, and required of the same notary an instrument in the 
 name and at the request of the said church of St. Peter ; which 
 aforesaid feudal men and notary again asked of the same noble 
 Lady Yolenta, if it would please her to give her own testimony 
 to the truth of the things done, acted, and confessed by her ? 
 who replied with a benevolent look, and of her own accord, 
 Yes. Upon which, as before, the said Johannes de Vracht 
 called upon the testimonies of the aforesaid. But the said 
 noble lady being pacified, and reconciled to the lord abbot and 
 his church, the aforesaid religious father lord abbot, with his 
 servants and feudal men, and Lord Martinus de Mors, and the 
 often-mentioned noble Lady Yolenta, with her shield-bearers 
 and followers, together with the above-named Christophorus de 
 Roden, entered a certain chapel of St. Benedict, situated in the 
 said church of St. Peter towards the door, a great multitude 
 of people of both sexes standing outside, and looking and 
 earnestly listening through the lattices, posts, and door of the 
 said chapel. And which people being there congregated, the 
 aforesaid Johannes de Vracht repeated with a loud voice the 
 words of the same lord abbot, from the high altar as before ; 
 that although the noble Lady Yolenta was truly called to the 
 
THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 45 
 
 church of St. Peter, and that she was reconciled to the bailiff 
 for injuries she had done both to him and the church in his 
 person, yet that it was the intention of the lord abbot, that 
 both persons, namely, that the noble Lady Yolenta and Chris- 
 tophorus de Roden as Christophoi-us and not as bailiff, should 
 be in peace, and should remain in good and firm tranquillity ; 
 and that thus they, namely, that noble lady and Cristophorus, 
 should abide by the decree and mandate of the same lord 
 abbot ; expressly declaring, that whoever should do the con- 
 trary, and thus be the aggressor, should pay a fine of a thou- 
 sand Parisian livres. In sign of which agreement of peace, 
 the noble Lady Yolenta before Christophorus, and then Christo- 
 phorus himself, and also afterwards he and the noble Lady 
 Yolenta Curtrosinis remaining together, touched a certain 
 white wooden rod which the same Johannes de Vracht had in 
 hand ; but for a fuller or farther conviction, the persons also 
 standing about the said noble Lady Yolenta and Cristophorus 
 touched it, at the request of the same religious father, who 
 reserved to himself the right of pronouncing the above fine on 
 a violation of the peace. Then the same Johannes de Vracht, 
 in the name of the said church of St. Peter, repeated with a 
 loud voice, not once, but often, the testimony given by the said 
 feudal men and Lord Martinus as public notary; to which 
 requisition and repetition the said feudal men and notary, with 
 the consent of the said noble Lady Yolenta and Christophorus, 
 replied in terms of acquiescence, and upon all and each of 
 them on the same day below written, which was the third 
 holiday of Easter, and indeed upon all things agitated, per- 
 formed, done, offered, begged, granted, pacified, and otherwise 
 in any manner completed, promised to give testimony to the 
 truth, by placing in the proper time and place the accustomed 
 sign, subscription, and seal, on the letters or papers then pro- 
 duced. But upon all these things written by me, public 
 notary below signed, a public instrument has been requested 
 for the testimony of the persons present. Done in the places 
 and hour appointed, in the 1496th year from the birth of our 
 Saviour, on the fourth day of April. For the perpetual right 
 between the two, Eonifacius, called the ninth, as successor of 
 Urban, called the sixth whilst he lived, and Benedict, called 
 the thirteenth, as successor of Clement, called the seventh 
 whilst he lived. Oh grief! a schism existing in the holy 
 
46 
 
 THE FORFEIT HAND. 
 
 Church of God ! The honourable men who were present at 
 this are, John Carpentator, licentiate in arts, from Paris, and 
 Leyns van Leenswarde, senior, the witnesses of the Tournay 
 and Utrecht dioceses being specially summoned. 
 
 And \, Johannes Bargh, of the diocese of Tournay, sworn 
 public notary by the apostolical and imperial authority, and by 
 that of the episcopal senate of Tournay, have been specially 
 present at the said oblation of the lavabo, at the asking of 
 pardon, at the granting of grace, and at the remission of the 
 banishment, together with the repetition of Johannes de 
 Vracht, and at the researches made by the feudal men, and by 
 the said Lord Martinus respecting the aforesaid noble lady, 
 and the answers of the same noble lady, and in the aforesaid 
 chapel at the reformation of peace, and all other and each 
 thing above written, with the said witnesses ; and when I saw 
 and heard that these things were thus done, I at length com- 
 pleted the present public instrument, written with another 
 hand, myself being occupied with other things, and I have 
 signed with my accustomed sign, and subscribed myself to the 
 same, being called to the testimony of all the aforesaid. 
 
47 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In the year of grace 1305, and about the month of March, and 
 during the episcopal reign of his reverence John de Bethune, 
 of Hainault, the king of the guild or confraternity of the mul- 
 quiniers, gave up the ghost, in the ancient city of Cambray. 
 
 After long intrigues and longer speeches, for the worthy 
 cambric- weavers and thread-makers of those days were almost 
 as prone to quarrelling and prating as the burghers of the 
 present time, the election of a successor to the defunct chief 
 
 1 of the corporation, fell upon Master Eustace Dinault, a safe 
 and jovial companion, and a discreet member of the town 
 
 | council. 
 
 One may guess, without being told, what scenes of festivity 
 and feasting, what indigestions and head-aches abounded for 
 fourteen days. 
 
 In the first place, the king of the mulquiniers, in honour of 
 the three persons of the Holy Trinity, (the common custom,) 
 fed for three days running, and three times each day, all the 
 members of the guild, to say nothing of their relatives, friends, 
 and acquaintances, who were all entitled to be thus treated, bv 
 the statutes of the town and immemorial usage. 
 
 On the other hand, the richest members of the guild took 
 their turns to entertain, in their private mansions, and in due 
 course of custom. Glorious days of hospitality ! when feasts 
 and festivals were, what they ought to be, the types of good 
 fellowship and the links of social life, instead of formal cere- 
 monies, exchanged in stiff observance of conventional habits, 
 in obligation to those who partake of, and an annoyance to 
 those who give them. 
 
 Small chance is there now of calculating how many golden 
 
4S 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 crowns were spent, or what quantity of victuals were con- 
 sumed, any more than the number of wine-flasks which, 
 according to the facetious saying of King Eustace, " yielded 
 up their spirit" on this occasion. 
 
 Far better at once to say, that the malquiniers sat down, on 
 their wooden stools, to table soon after noontide mass each 
 day, and that they never stirred till night-fall, and only when 
 the warning sound of the curfew-bell made them start from 
 their revelry, with a general exclamation of rt already ! 99 
 
 It was at the same hour, and a few days after Easter-day, 
 that one of the most highly considered members of the corpo- 
 ration, Master Bartholomew le Baudain, had wished a cordial 
 good night and pleasant dreams to the numerous guests who 
 serpentined from his mansion towards their various homes. 
 
 There only remained with him in the great eating-hall two 
 persons, and those of very different descriptions. One was the 
 reverend canon of the cathedral, Father Nicholas Watermetz ; 
 the second a man dressed in a many-coloured pourpoint, 
 covered with little brass bells, which tingled at every move- 
 ment of the wearer. He, at a signal from Master Bar- 
 tholomew, hurried out to prepare the varlets of the canon, and 
 they in their turn prepared his reverence's mule — but this 
 they did not accomplish with equal speed ; for they had so 
 often clinked their cannikens in honour of the king of the 
 guild, that their fingers found it no easy task to buckle the 
 straps, and tie the various knots of the animal's caparison. 
 
 Seeing this state of things, Le Baudain ordered the bell- 
 covered attendant, who, by name Jacob Parigault, was the 
 sot-souris or fool of the corporation, to walk steadily before 
 his reverence's mule to the bishop's palace, where he lodged, 
 torch in hand, and with a keen eye around him ; necessary 
 precautions in passing through the quarter called Heirs Gap, 
 • which lay about half way on the road. 
 
 The place distinguished by this uncourteous title still exists 
 in the town of Cambray ; but in the days we write of, it was 
 very different from what it is now. But even now it is 
 hideous. Narrow lanes, miserable huts, a poisonous atmo- 
 sphere, a lazy and filthy stream, and a wretched population 
 form its main features. In this vile place, one never sees the 
 broad day-light ; a modest woman hurries through it, her 
 eyes cast down, and does not breathe freely till she is beyond 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 49 
 
 its precincts- And well she may put forth her speed ! For 
 nothing is seen at the doors or windows of the huts but 
 infamous young females, or, crouching on the steps, or sitting 
 against the walls, odious old ones, bandying base jests or 
 coarse abuse with drunken and ragged men. At times, the 
 sounds of cracked and screaming clarionets and fiddles are 
 heard, playing a fit accompaniment of miserable music to 
 degraded nature. 
 
 At night the aspect of the place is certainly not improved. 
 At all hours there arise cries of pain, the sound of blows, the 
 oaths of the depraved. Attracted by the tumult, the patrol 
 arrives. The lights are instantly extinguished ; the noises cease. 
 The unnatural calm is only broken by the measured tread of 
 the guard. But no sooner is the regular tramp lost to the keen 
 ears of the listeners than a new murmur begins ; new uproars 
 break out ; and the peaceable and honest citizen, who has ven- 
 tured into the deceitful repose, hastens his steps towards his 
 own respectable and quiet neighbourhood. 
 
 This is not a pleasant picture. But five hundred years ago 
 the place presented one still worse. 
 
 There were then no signs of civilisation, even in its lowest 
 aspect. There were neither streets nor houses. Nothing, in 
 fact, but a wide marsh, traversed by an ill-made and worse- 
 kept causeway, which passed through a large mass of crumbling 
 ruins. No Christian ever put foot within them, unless in com! 
 pany with some priest, who could set at rest the evil spirits by 
 which they were notoriously haunted. 
 
 The place was approached by a sort of outwork, called the 
 " Hole of the Damned." It was the corner of the town in 
 which were the "Jews' Street," "Cut-throat Cross/' and 
 " Rogues' Alley," the haunt of miscreants of the lowest degree 
 of villany. The house of the hangman and the town-gallows 
 stood prominent here, as a perpetual remembrancer for the 
 edification of the inhabitants. 
 
 During the early part of his homeward ride, the Canon Bar- 
 tholomew, who seemed to enjoy the freshness of the night-air, 
 after the heating debauch from which he had risen, entered 
 with much glee into the spirit of the jester's practical jokes, 
 and laughed heartily at the strokes of his rough satire, dealt 
 about on the varlets of the churchman entirely for their master's 
 amusement. He imitated their somewhat staggering gait, and 
 
 E 
 
50 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAM BR AY. 
 
 ' the stuttering utterance which was the natural consequence of 
 their excess. He quizzed them without mercy ; and when 
 they strove to reach him with the end of their quarter-staffs or 
 the thongs of the whips they carried for the service of the 
 canon's mule, Jacob Parigault twisted and turned from them, 
 or upon them, with attitudes as grotesque as theirs were awk- 
 ward, and in a way very often to leave them sprawling in the 
 dirty streets. But as the party approached Cut-throat Cross, 
 a more serious air was mingled with the fooleries of the sot- 
 souris. 
 
 "Brother," said he, taking by the arms a fat and fuddled 
 varlet, who could by no means walk straight, so often had he 
 put hand to head during the evening, " my worthy friend, you 
 would do well to cross yourself, as well as your legs, in this 
 unholy spot. Sign, sign quickly, Martin, for God preserve us ! 
 the devil himself comes here at night, and his comrades are the 
 dead felons whom he slips down from the gibbets, and the 
 Jews — miscreants whose very mention makes my hair stand 
 on end ! " 
 
 The canon laughed less faintly than before, and his man 
 Martin began in good earnest to cross himself as the fool 
 went on. 
 
 " Saint Nicholas save us ! what was that ? What a tall 
 black figure ! Ah, it is gone — easy enough for it ! for mayhap 
 it was some pale thin ghost, or worse still, some demon of hell." 
 
 "Hush, hush, good jester/' said Father Nicholas, "there 
 should be bounds to wit, even were it broader than thine. These 
 jokes are now out of season and place ; we are entering on 
 Hell's Gap, and I must not be disturbed while I repeat the 
 exorcism against all evil spirits so go on quietly and silently 
 
 and hark ye, Martin and Gobert, hold well the bridle, and 
 
 keep yourselves steady on your limbs ! " 
 
 " Reverend Father, the road is long and difficult," said one 
 of the varlets ; " would not your reverence help to cheer us as 
 we go with the story of this accursed place ? it will be all over 
 by the time we reach the ruins, and it is there, if your reverence 
 remembers, that you always begin the exorcism." 
 
 " Aye do, your reverence," said the fool ; " so that if the 
 devil comes while you are telling the story, and carries away 
 fat Martin, we shall be only one the less, you know." 
 
 " Hold thy graceless tongue, Jacob Parigault," retorted the 
 
THE ORPHAN OP CAMBRAY. 5j 
 
 other ; « dost not see his reverence is crossing himself before he 
 begins to tell us the story." 
 
 « Very well, my children, so be it/' said the canon, hemming 
 and hawing, and raising himself up in his saddle, with all thf 
 consequential an- of a story-teller _ the men knew his rage for 
 recounting marvellous events when they asked him to begin 
 the oft-told tale with which they were all familiar. « Know 
 ye, then, that those ruins through which we are by and b V to 
 pass, safely, I trust, by the blessing of the holy Virg „ \° 
 blessed patroness of the town of Cam bray, -are those offing 
 and massive castle, inhabited many and many a day ago by I 
 baron named Truandre, who was sold to the devil by his own 
 mother, even while he was an infant in the cradle 
 
 " The traditions of the country tell us, that this miscreant 
 adored the father of evil, and that he 'committed Th mo" 
 
 carried oft, and treated in a way unbeseeming the tellina: bv a 
 man of my cloth. Children were murderfd that hfir fat 
 might be made into diabolical unguents; and pilgrims wt 
 sought shelter m the castle, were forced to deny L\oly'name 
 of God or die of hunger in desolate dungeons - but perhaps 
 my children, you have heard all this before > " I ,erna P s > 
 "Oh no no, good father," exclaimed the varlets — their 
 common reply to this common question of the story-teEg 
 
 J^r hey ^ ^ * *»« -verence," S aid the 
 
 all 'l^f 5 the "' U P articuIari y against priests, and above 
 all of them, against the Bishop of Cambray, tha Truandre 
 was most violent. He treacherously caught m L I Z ! 
 
 z^isr, an ; when they ^lur/the p P 
 
 of safety of the church treasures, he used to scourge them till 
 hey dropped dead under the lash, or stretched theS onlurn 
 ing coals and consumed them by a slow fire " 
 
 " Hot A^/^i^ 41,6 ChUrCh ' " Clie(i the ™ ,e ^ 
 
 » A vn ' h ™ bUrned ! " muttered the fool. 
 
 Ay, even so, my children," resumed the canon « But 
 
 toZTthl tef P i ty 0n affliCted P rOTi " Ce ■> a " d * cam 
 to pass that one day during a violent storm, sent from heaven 
 
 dead, and his castle burned to the ground. A couple of ser- 
 
 U. OF ILL LIB. 
 
52 
 
 THE ORPHAN OP CAMBRAY. 
 
 vants alone were saved, not honest fellows like you, Martin- and 
 Gobert, but base, polluted wretches worthy of their master. 
 
 < ' Well ; these two rapscallions went to the good bishop, and 
 bad the impudence to ask Mm, a Christian priest, to forgive 
 them their sins and pardon their defunct lord, and bury him in 
 holy ground, as became one of his noble lineage. But the 
 bishop having first, as a duty to the church, asked them what 
 they had saved of Truandre's wealth, and found it was all con- 
 sumed, piously turned them out of doors, cursed them and 
 their latest posterity, as in duty bound, and caused the body of 
 Truandre to be flung into the castle-moat, close beside a gal- 
 lows erected to mark the spot. Besides which, he declared 
 excommunicate and relapsed from the holy church whoever 
 touched the accursed carcass, except to spit in its face, or 
 otherwise degrade it*" 
 
 « Served him right ! " exclaimed the varlets. 
 
 u 'Twas treatment too good for him/' said the fool. 
 
 " Ay, but it was of little need," continued the canon, " for 
 no sooner was the body thrown into the ditch, than the earth 
 all around took fire, and threw out flames so fierce and un- 
 quenchable that the rains of four successive years could not put 
 them out. A thousand little devils — so says the tradition — 
 were constantly at work pouring oil on the fires of this earthly 
 hell, the approach to which was guarded by a huge green 
 dragon. 
 
 es Night and day were heard the cries of Truandre and his 
 guilty crew. Their spirits were seen attempting to fly from 
 this place of torment, while fiends, armed with pitchforks, 
 shoved them back into the flames. Songs, such as the mouth 
 of man may not repeat, nor his fancy conceive, bursts of atro- 
 cious laughter, mixed with the cries of the damned ones. Some- 
 times even the demons seized on them with their burning 
 hands, and forced them to join in their aerial dances — and 
 when tired of the sport they used to let them drop again into 
 the boiling pit ! " 
 
 « Warm work, your reverence! " said the fool ; but the var- 
 lets had nothing to remark at this pause in the story, for they 
 were now close on the much dreaded spot, and their hearts 
 began to sink, and their tongues refused to utter the faintest 
 sound. n 
 
 " Thus matters had gone on till this blessed hour, once 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 58 
 
 more resumed the canon, " had not the tender-hearted bishop 
 taken compassion on the suffering souls of Truandre and his 
 fellow-victims — besides being very anxious to redeem the 
 place and make it church property. So he sprinkled some 
 holy water on the flames, which suddenly disappeared, after 
 having so long vomited forth all that hell held most hideous — 
 and the marshes around recovered their dingy verdure, and 
 their stagnant and discoloured pools. All that was worth 
 reclaiming was adjudged by due appropriation to become part 
 of the abbey lands ; but the name of Hell's Gap has stuck to 
 
 the place, and in God's truth it may be considered to merit " 
 
 " Help, help ! mercy, mercy ! The Virgin save us ! Avaunt 
 Satan ! Martin ! Gobert ! Holy father, make haste, begin the 
 exorcism, begin, begin ! " and other most voluble exclamations 
 burst out this moment from the fool, who lay prostrate on the 
 road, his torch extinguished, and the affrighted company con- 
 sequently left in total darkness. 
 
 To describe a scene so gloomy and involved is what no 
 chronicler would have the hardihood to attempt. 
 
 Jacob Parigault had fallen over some substance of greater 
 bulk than a paving-stone, as the varlets could barely distinguish, 
 without being able to judge of its exact magnitude or nature. 
 The canon's mule made a sudden stop, and had infallibly jerked 
 Father Nicholas right over his head into the road, had not the 
 good man seized a fast hold of the animal's ears, balancing 
 himself the while on its neck, while the frightened varlets each 
 held one of his reverence's legs, convinced that their only 
 chance of safety was in sticking to his skirts, and at the same 
 time keeping him in a position that would allow of his freely 
 repeating the exorcism commanded by the church in such 
 cases. 
 
 " What ailest thee, thou jesting ass ? " replied the canon to 
 the fool's exclamation. " Is this a place for thy fooleries? 
 Thou hast nearly caused me to keep thy profane company 
 closer than I covet.'* 
 
 " Holy father, take pity on me ! I am in the gripe of the 
 devil ! " cried the fool. 
 
 " Hold thy impious tongue, fellow, nor provoke Heaven s 
 wrath ! On, varlets, on ! Let this malapert jester follow as 
 he may," said Watermetz, in an unwonted tone of anger. 
 
 " Holy saints ! He tears me with his claws ! He bites me 
 e 3 
 
54 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 with his teeth ! Do you not hear his infernal voice ? Cruel 
 Father Nicholas ! " 
 
 The piteous tone with which this was uttered, and the un- 
 doubted sounds of a most unchristian voice, fiercely chattering 
 in the direction where the body of the fool was lying, convinced 
 the canon and his followers that it was no joke. One of the 
 men by repeated puffings, restored the light of the torch, from 
 a spark which was not quite extinct, and its lurid gleams falling 
 upon the road showed a very appalling scene. 
 
 Jacob Parigault had doubled himself up, his face and knees 
 resting on the earth, afraid to look round or to attempt to rise, 
 while a huge monkey fastened on his back was scratching and 
 biting him unmercifully. Close beside lay the object over 
 which the fool had stumbled. It was the dead and bleeding 
 body of a woman. 
 
 Father Nicholas and his followers, almost petrified with 
 fear, attempted to push forward, the canon calling loudly to 
 Martin to flog the mule with all his might, while Gobert drove 
 away the monkey and released the fool. 
 
 " On, on, good varlets ! On from this unholy place, and 
 give notice to the provost of this cruel murder — forward, 
 forward, kind fool ! Pick thy steps, fellow ; there may be 
 more of this loose company ere we get clear of Hell's Gap !" 
 
 « Loose company, indeed !" muttered the fool, wiping the 
 mud from his bleeding face with one hand, and waving the 
 torch with the other, while the varlets whipped on the mule, 
 throwing fearful glances around them the while, and Father 
 Nicholas, now settled in his saddle, began in good earnest to 
 repeat, in an agitated tone, the regular form of exorcism against 
 the evil one. But all were again interrupted by the plaintive 
 cries of a child, and in a moment more the helpless little ob- 
 ject was discovered lying at some short distance from the 
 body of the murdered woman. 
 
 Moved with compassion at this sight, the worthy canon 
 forgot for a moment his alarm, and wrapping the little inno- 
 cent carefully in his mantle, he carried it home with him ; 
 and his next step was to waken his elderly maiden sister, 
 Madame Bertha, who had lived with and kept house for him 
 for three-and-twenty years. 
 
 After a good deal of grumbling, according to her custom 
 when she was at all put out of her way ; after snappishly 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 55 
 
 asking her brother, « What should she know about children 
 after having rapidly run over the list of annoyances, fatio-ues 
 watchmgs, and torments with which such a charge would 
 overpower her, the good lady began to take as much care of 
 the little stranger, and with as much tenderness as the fondest 
 mother could have afforded. 
 
 « Well, it is a lovely little girl !" said she to Mademoiselle 
 Cunegonde, her waiting-maid and confidant during a quarter 
 of a century. « Her skin is as white as the marble columns 
 m St. Michael's chapel ! Run, run quickly and bring some 
 milk ; and warm it, do ye see, in the silver pipkin— she is 
 half dead with cold and hunger. How slow you are, Cune- 
 gonde ! You might have made it in less time ! Sweet Sa- 
 viour be praised for having spared the poor little innocent ' — 
 Ah, there you come ! Thank God ! Now, now ! See how 
 the dear little thing devours the food ! — There, there, let her 
 sleep ! ^ I will keep her here in my own bed, that her sweet 
 little voice may waken me with its first sounds." 
 
 But the little girl never awoke during the night, and when 
 father Nicholas came to his sister's chamber-door next morn- 
 ing after nones, to inquire about the foundling and her new 
 nurse, he learned from Mademoiselle Cunegonde that they 
 were both still fast asleep by each other's side. When he 
 repeated his visit, an hour later, he found Madame Bertha 
 iondling on her knees her new acquaintance, whom she had 
 neatly dressed m clean and simple clothes. 
 
 After having patiently listened to his sister's long disserta- 
 tion on the theory of bringing up children, and on her own 
 peculiar superiority as an authority on the subject, Father 
 .Nicholas, in his turn, held forth at some length on the result of 
 the inquiry instituted by the town provost into the circum. 
 stances of the last night's adventure. 
 
 Judging from her complexion and the fashion of her vest* 
 ments, the murdered woman was a Bohemian, or gipsy who 
 was known for some days in the town as gaining her liveli- 
 hood by showing a monkey, and making it cut capers for the 
 curious and generous citizens. Some of the vagabonds of the 
 accursed suburb where she sought her lodgings, had seen her 
 imprudently display a scantily filled purse. No further 
 temptation was required to make them put her to death The 
 lacerated state of her ears, from which the massive gold orna- 
 e 4 
 
56 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 ments had been torn or cut, left no doubt as to the motives of 
 the crime — the criminals were never discovered. 
 
 " No matter what she was — no matter, brother Water- 
 metz," interrupted Madame Bertha, " we at least will not 
 abandon this poor little object. In the first place we must 
 have her christened — which her miscreant mother never 
 thought of, no doubt. Nor have you, brother, I am sure. 
 You are nevertheless a priest, and more than that, a canon ! 1 
 
 Watermetz quietly observed, but did not quail under, his 
 sister's triumphant look. 
 
 "Yes, sister/* said he at length — " Yes ; you will hold 
 her at the font, and I have found a godfather/' 
 
 " No — no/' said Madame Bertha impatiently, " I have 
 chosen the Provost of St. Mary's, and I positively will have no 
 other. In your eye, no doubt, the commonest mechanic in 
 Cambray had been a fit gossip for me ! M 
 
 u I am then to inform his lordship the bishop that you 
 refuse him for one ? " replied the canon with a smile of good- 
 natured importance, mingled with an expression of drollery. 
 
 " His lordship the bishop ! The bishop, brother ! He 
 deigns to fill this office ? He ! How did it happen ? How 
 did you bring yourself to ask him ? Oh, the worthy, the 
 condescending prelate ! " 
 
 Madame Bertha strove to accompany this speech with a 
 smile of pleasure ; but so little were her starched and formal 
 features used to such an expression that all she could accomplish 
 on the present occasion was at best but an equivocal grin. 
 
 Some days afterwards the christening took place in the 
 episcopal church, with a parade and pomp that made Madame 
 Bertha's somewhat twisted figure look at least two inches 
 taller. The child was named Lydorie. 
 
 The bishop gave a grand christening dinner. The worthy 
 Canon Watermetz, being a great lover of good living, had a 
 habit of paying a visit at times to the kitchen. As he ap- 
 proached it on the present occasion, to make some inquiries 
 about the anticipated repast, he heard a child crying bitterly, 
 while the rough voice of Master MagaloufFe, the bishop's 
 head cook, was scolding severely the little culprit. 
 
 The canon patronised the cook, and as the latter was pleased 
 to say, honoured him with his familiar friendship. He was 
 now however much shocked to find Master MagaloufFe unmer- 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 57 
 
 cifully flogging his son, who was between five and six years of 
 age, with a half-roasted peacock which he wielded by one of 
 the drumsticks, and thus made a very formidable scourge. 
 
 " Holloa! Hold! How is this, Magalouffe?" asked the canon, 
 throwing himself between the executioner and the victim. 
 " What causes this intemperate anger against the gentle 
 Severin ? " 
 
 <e Reverend sir," replied the cook, " if I did not give vent 
 to my rage, I should burst into tears of despair ! By Saint 
 Martha, my holy patroness ! I never knew suffering like this. 
 For the first time I have disgraced the noble profession of 
 cook! — Have I not cause, Father Nicholas? Look at this 
 peacock ! Was ever so fine, so fat, so beautiful a bird spoiled 
 on the spit?" 
 
 " Patience, patience, Magalouffe ! " 
 
 " No — I renounce patience and philosophy in a case like 
 this ! Ever since vespers yester-eve my whole establishment 
 has been preparing for this day's dinner — clerks of the 
 kitchen, grooms of the porringer, turnspits and scullions, all ! 
 Never was framed a plan more perfect or dignified than mine! 
 Look here, worthy canon — just for one instance — for, Heaven 
 be praised ! I am no boaster, or I might give you a dozen — 
 look at these fried slices of venison — or this roasted sucking 
 pig — or this sauce of sweet herbs with Tourraine plums and 
 Greek raisins ; or just taste this gilded soup ! Most assuredly 
 it is not from vanity I say it, but the world holds only two 
 cooks capable of manufacturing a soup like this — and if it be 
 true that Taillavant, head of the royal kitchen of France, can 
 make it, as undoubted is it that it was I, Jaques Magalouffe, 
 who invented it, when I served under that celebrated artist." 
 
 "Nay, but Magalouffe! " 
 
 "Nay, nay, reverend father, but hear me — what hands but 
 Taillavant's or mine could properly cut these slices of pain- 
 primos, let them imbibe their due time in their bed, so to call 
 it, of honey, white wine,' and yolks of eggs — after which fry 
 them to a turn in marrow and lard — due proportions, mind 
 ye ! — toss them on the frothing surge without ever letting 
 them touch the bottom — and finally saturate them in a sauce 
 of rose-water, drudged with saffron, sweet spices, and impal- 
 pable gold dust ? " 
 
 This long harangue, broken even as it was by the canon s 
 
58 
 
 THE ORPHAN OP CAMERA Y. 
 
 interruption, somewhat cooled the ire of the cook ; but it ex- 
 ploded anew at the sight of the fresh peacock brought to him 
 to replace that which little Severin had so carelessly singed. 
 
 " A feast like this — like what this should have been," re- 
 sumed Magalouffe, trembling once more with passion, and 
 raising his voice to its highest pitch, " what it would have 
 been but for the villany of this young conspirator, had im- 
 mortalised me ! And now, I merit nought but opprobrium 
 and disgrace ! What now can I do, but fling aside my white 
 rod of office as episcopal cook, and hide my dishonoured head 
 behind the meanest burgher's kitchen- wench, who puts on a 
 Sunday her bit of beef or her smoked goose into an earthen 
 pot, with a couple of onions and a handful of pepper and salt! 
 Heaven give me patience ! " 
 
 " Magalouffe, Magalouffe, I call on you as a cook and a 
 Christian to listen to reason ! " exclaimed Father Nicholas, be- 
 ginning to lose his own temper, while striving to moderate 
 that of another. 
 
 " Reason, Father Nicholas ! Is it reasonable to see that 
 degenerate brat of mine studying some scribbled parchment 
 instead of basting my precious peacock? Cursed be the 
 officious chaplain's clerk who taught him such pernicious 
 knowledge \" 
 
 " What, then, thou cans't read, Severin ? " asked the canon 
 of the weeping boy. 
 
 ( " Alas ! Yes, holy father," replied he, timidly quitting the 
 niche where he had retreated. 
 
 " Read ! " cried Magalouffe. " Read ! and what will that 
 make of him, let me ask ? " 
 
 (< A canon of the blessed cathedral — the chaplain's clerk 
 told me so/' said Severin, emboldened by the encouraging 
 looks of Father Nicholas, 
 
 " Canon, canon ! Insolent young varlet ! Can your rever- 
 ence forgive him }" 
 
 "Be quiet, Magalouffe. Forgive poor little Severin — come, 
 come, for my sake !" said Watermetz. " Since your son shows 
 such a wish for learning, I will myself take him in charge, 
 and we'll make him, if not exactly a canon, at any rate a 
 chaplain, with a good benefice." 
 
 " And is it come to this ! " exclaimed Magalouffe in a tone 
 of grief, and at the same time replacing his white cap on his 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 59 
 
 pate — <e A stranger and not my son is to receive from my 
 dying hands the white wand of head episcopal cook !" — and 
 with tearful eyes and woeful countenance, he began to trim, 
 pluck, and skewer up another peacock. 
 
 From the day following, and for fourteen successive years, 
 Father Nicholas kept his word ; and Severin became and con- 
 tinued his intelligent and industrious pupil. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 And now we must imagine ourselves in the episcopal reign of 
 i Monseigneur Godefry de Fontaine, in the year 1320. 
 
 Severin had become by this time a fine-looking, a gentle, 
 and most pains-taking young man. The good canon Water- 
 met z, who remembered well what a wild young fellow he 
 himself had been at nineteen years of age, wondered at, while 
 he admired, his pupil, studying the not very attractive science 
 of theology with such extreme ardour and untiring persever- 
 ance. The fervent piety of Severin, and his holy ambition of 
 entering into orders, smoothed every difficulty in the way. 
 His only recreation was to devote three or four hours of each 
 day in copying missals and rare manuscripts, and in colouring 
 the fantastic ornaments of those illuminated writings. In this 
 species of employment he had acquired an extraordinary degree 
 of perfection, which the most celebrated rubricators might 
 have envied. Father Nicholas was indebted to the exertions 
 of Severing talent for a library of fourteen thick volumes, — a 
 literary treasure of no small value at the epoch at which we 
 write. 
 
 During the fourteen years which we have just jumped over 
 with such a bound, Madame Bertha had ceased to reside with 
 her brother, having gone to live with, and give the full benefit 
 of her acidulated kindnesses to, a female relation near Mons, 
 who was infirm and old, and who had declared that whichever 
 of her cousins, no matter in what degree, would nurse her 
 during life, should have all her property at her death. 
 
 Madame Bertha had taken Lydorie with her to her new 
 abode. They seldom came to Cambray, although her affection 
 
60 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 for her brother, as strong as it was sour, had not m the 
 slightest degree changed its quality. When the worthy canon 
 lost the society of his sister as a constant resident, he persuaded 
 (easily enough) Severin's father to allow him to take the boy 
 wholly to his own care, and he accordingly brought him home 
 as one of his family. 
 
 As soon as — and Dame Bertha did not think it soon at all 
 — the old relative was dead and buried, the brother and sister 
 were once more united under the same roof. Severin was just 
 then waiting the sacred permission to enter on the first grade 
 of his intended holy calling ; and he sighed for it with the 
 impatience with which one longs for the chief object of their 
 earthly wishes. 
 
 Madame Bertha's pupil — thanks to the mixture of contra- 
 diction and kindness, both in their turns exaggerated, of the 
 good old lady, — was far from possessing the tranquillity of 
 taste and equability of temper which distinguished Severin. 
 By turns frolicsome and docile, silent, animated, gentle, and 
 impetuous, she was sure to please every taste at times, and there- 
 fore to be a general favourite. The good canon was foolishly 
 fond of her. Madame Bertha scolded her twenty times between 
 matin and vespers, and kissed her at least as often. The whole 
 family yielded to all her varieties of temper. The canon, his 
 sister, the maidens and the varlets — and Severin like the rest. 
 
 Lydorie was always to be seen as was becoming a young 
 person of the first respectability. Never was any pretty girl, 
 with fine blue beaming eyes, more gracefully dressed than she, 
 as she went in the morning to mass, or walked in the afternoon 
 under the double row of chestnut trees which shaded the prin- 
 cipal promenade of the town of Cambray. 
 
 One day it so happened, that being particularly struck with 
 a beautifully illuminated missal which Severin was employed 
 in copying, she took the sudden fancy of becoming herself a 
 learner of the art of rubrication ; and quickly as the notion was 
 conceived, she insisted on Severin beginning to give her lessons, 
 in laying on the colours, and intermixing the stripes and spots 
 of gold foil on the snow-white vellum pages. 
 
 During the lessons which followed in daily succession, it 
 became necessary that Severin should guide, with his accustomed 
 fingers, the fingers — not over docile at all times — of the now 
 blooming and beautiful Lydorie. Gay and mischief-loving as 
 
THE ORPHAN OP CAMBRAY. 
 
 61 
 
 she was at times, she used often to strive to provoke into 
 peevishness her steady and studious instructor, by splashing 
 with large stains of black or blue the fair white margin of the 
 ornamented page. But failing in every attempt to ruffle 
 Severin's temper, or draw a reproach from him, she did not 
 fail, after a while, to remark that either his disposition must 
 be the very best in the world, or her influence upon it the most 
 unbounded. Neither of these notions was a bad recommenda- 
 tion for Severin. Together they made his claim on Lydorie's 
 regard irresistible. 
 
 When the daily lesson was over, and Severin once again 
 alone in his chamber, he invariably set himself to prayer. But 
 the instinct of devotion, so lately all in all with him, was now 
 quite overpowered by another, as natural but much stronger. 
 We need scarcely say what it was. It is enough, that in every 
 prayer put up for himself, the name of Lydorie insensibly 
 found a place ; and all his lessons of theology were utterly 
 forgotten, in the memory of those in which he acted as teacher 
 instead of learner. 
 
 The first effect of the discovery of his true state of mind 
 was dreadful regret. He thought he had committed a budget 
 of mortal sins. He vowed to risk no repetition of his error. 
 Lydorie implored him not to abandon her to her but half-en- 
 lightened ignorance. He struggled, excused himself, refused 
 her — but could not resist for ever ! In short, her empire over 
 him was completely confirmed. 
 
 Thenceforward his thoughts took a totally new direction. 
 The life of a priest began to appear severe, isolated, and un- 
 natural ; and when he chanced to see some young burgher 
 taking a nuptial ramble with his younger wife, while perhaps 
 a little urchin trotted beside or gambolled before them, Severing 
 heart seemed full, a vague melancholy weighed him down, and 
 a wild longing for he knew not exactly what. But whatever 
 was the change towards which nature seemed to urge him, he 
 was at any rate quite convinced that it was not to be found in 
 solitude. He at times thought that he and Lydorie might 
 perhaps discover it together. 
 
 And Lydorie, on her part, began to find her lessons of ru- 
 brication very much too short ; while from a gay and giddy girl 
 she became all at once transformed into a steady, serious, and 
 somewhat pensive young woman. Sitting by the side of her 
 
62 THE ORPHAN OF CAMERA Y. 
 
 instructor, she listened with a pleased and patient ear to all he 
 taught. She no longer blotted the vellum, nor mixed the 
 colours for mischief's sake ; and when Severin read out to her 
 some interesting story of sacred history, her eyes used at times 
 to fill with tears, and her bosom to heave with sighs, par- 
 ticularly at the page of Holy Writ which records the loves of 
 Jacob and Rachel. Now, whether by accident or, perhaps, by 
 instinct, which we have found guiding Severin before, it hap- 
 pened that almost every day he opened his bible at that same 
 place — and always found, as well he might, something new 
 to admire and descant on in that beautiful and touching pas- 
 sage. 
 
 And now the festival of the Holy Trinity had come round ; 
 and the epoch fixed for Severin's reception in the earliest order 
 of priesthood was not far off — it was for the day of the Na- 
 tivity. 
 
 The unfortunate student wept tears of sorrow, not unmixed 
 with remorse, at the anticipation of this day, long so ardently 
 looked forward to. 
 
 In the fourteenth century, the festival of the Trinity was 
 celebrated by a procession of prodigious pomp, all through the 
 district called the Cambresis, but particularly in the chief town. 
 All the guilds of the corporation bore a part in this ceremony ; 
 trumpets blowing, colours flying, and each burgher dressed in 
 the gaudy pourpoint, cloak, plume, and covered cap distinctive 
 of his trade or calling. 
 
 After the ceremony, the various guilds carried in great state 
 to the houses of their several chiefs the finely decorated effigy 
 of the blessed patron whom they respectively invoked ; that is 
 to say, St. Pelagie for the weavers and mercers ; St. Fabien for 
 the cross-bow makers ; St. Sebastian for the archers' company ; 
 St. Maur for the bakers' ; and Our Lady of Mount Carmel for 
 the mulquiniers. 
 
 On Trinity Monday, in the aforementioned year 1320, after 
 the procession had gone the whole course of the town of Cam- 
 bray, the right reverend Bishop Godefroy returned into the epi- 
 scopal palace, somewhat fatigued, but still not forgetting to give 
 his parting benediction to the guilds at the foot of the draw- 
 bridge. Then rose upon all sides a loud noise of trumpets and 
 viols; and shouts were raised from thousands of voices in 
 honour of St. Maur, St. Pelagie, St. Fabien, and the rest. 
 
THE ORPHAN OP CAMBRAY. Q$ 
 
 Above all these vociferations, however, arose that of the mul- 
 quiniers. "Our Lady ! Our Lady !" was heard dominant in 
 the clamour, for Cambray did not boast of a guild so rich or 
 so numerous as that, inasmuch as the dressing of fine threads 
 was a trade of great profit, and required an immense number 
 of hands to fitly prepare the material before it passed into those 
 of the weavers. And of all the noisy throats that shouted 
 honour and praise to their blessed patroness that day, there was 
 not one that was outnoised by the voice of our old acquaintance 
 Jacob Parigault, the sot-souris of the mulquiniers. Fourteen 
 or fifteen years had not in the least degree lessened his love of 
 fun or talent for foolery, while they had considerably increased 
 his impudence. Long prescription, which is the licence of a 
 great many other placemen and the privilege of their buf- 
 fooneries, had established all his rights to be insolent and 
 troublesome to the whole town of Cambray, and even up to the 
 gates of the bishop's palace. 
 
 With the lower part of his body inclosed in a wooden horse 
 on which one might have sworn he was really mounted— for a 
 housing of red cloth covered his legs and fell down to the ground 
 —the sot-souris trotted and gallopped, or at least appeared to 
 do so, through the crowd, and scattered about his gross jests 
 and vulgar repartees, the best of which were inspired by his 
 conscious impunity, and by sundry bottrines of wine, freely 
 quaffed at the expense of the corporation. He was encouraged 
 and supported in all his sallies by the shouts of laughter which 
 burst from the mulquiniers, the clapping of hard palms, and 
 every other demonstration of applause. 
 
 Madame Bertha and Lydorie, escorted by Severin, looked on 
 from a little mound not far from the drawbridge of the palace 
 but outside its precincts, on the animated spectacle offered by 
 the crowd. The sot-souris recognised the canon's sister, and 
 came prancing round and round her and her young companion 
 m the hope of receiving the usual slight gratification for his 
 foolery But he gained nothing by the volts and demivolts 
 and other grotesque manoeuvrings of his wooden warhorse. He 
 saluted over and over again with his long wooden sword, and 
 paid some overcharged compliments, all for nought. Madame 
 Bertha had left her escarcelle (the portable pocket of those days) 
 it home. J ' 
 
 Disappointed, and a little irritated at Madame Bertha's con- 
 
64 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 temptuous indifference and vinegar-looks, the half-drunken sot- 
 souris began to fling familiar and rather impertinent jokes at 
 the old lady. Severin mildly entreated him to be more re- 
 spectful. 
 
 « Saint Nitouche ! patron of mine ! protect and guard me !" 
 cried Parigault, making a thrust with his wooden sword, half 
 in jest half in earnest, at the young man. " So, my young 
 champion, you have attainted my honour, and touched the tip 
 of my scutcheon ! We must enter the lists. Very well, be it 
 so ! I am ready. And as for you, you must, by way of casque, 
 clap one of the cook your father's copper pots on your head, 
 — and a kiss from the gipsy's daughter here shall be the prize 
 for the victor ! ,f 
 
 At these outrageous words Lydorie blushed deep with mingled 
 shame and anger, and she could not restrain her tears ; for she 
 saw that the insult offered her was greatly relished by the 
 crowd. In fact, she was not extremely popular, for her high 
 spirit had at times shown itself not to sympathise at all with 
 the low-born or vulgar. Besides which, the burghers were 
 almost constantly at variance, and sometimes at open war with 
 the canons of the cathedral, on questions of privilege, which 
 the chapter was on all occasions endeavouring to diminish in 
 proportion as the people strove to increase them. It was natu- 
 ral enough therefore for the lower orders, of which the crowd 
 was now chiefly composed, the guilds having begun to march 
 homewards, to enjoy the rough bantering of the fool, at the 
 expense of the sister and the dependants of a canon. 
 
 Severin, anxious to put an end to this disgraceful and vexa- 
 tious scene, and to relieve Lydorie from her annoyance, gently 
 strove to make way through the crowd. But instead of facili- 
 tating his retreat, or showing any consideration for his compa- 
 nions, the people opposed their passage ; and the sot-souris, in 
 the heat of his insolence, threw his arm round Lydorie's neck, 
 and made the air resound with the gross echo of an audacious 
 kiss. 
 
 This outrage was instantly followed by a well-directed blow 
 from Severin's fury-nerved and rage-propelled fist, which 
 knocked the fool clean down, covered his face with blood, and 
 sent him and his horse most ludicrously tumbling, in a style 
 which no Centaur ever before exhibited. Yet nobody laughed. 
 
 At the sight of their beloved buffoon so rudely handled, the 
 
THE ORPHAN OP CAMBRAY. 65 
 
 rabble sent up a yell that carried fright to the inmost heart of 
 the well-disposed— for it was a voice well known. 
 
 " Ate ! aie ! we are mrudered ! we are murdered ! " the re- 
 gular battle-cry of a Cambray mob, was now heard on all sides • 
 while a desperate rush, defeating its own object, was made 
 against feevenn ; but before any of the too-anxious mob could 
 seize upon him, through the impediments made by the general 
 attempt, the bishop's archers hurried to his rescue, and a fear 
 lui melee was the instant consequence. 
 
 The rabble and the discontented burghers, who soon joined 
 in the not, being unarmed, came badly off in the contest. The 
 daggers of the archers cut and thrust with serious effect, while 
 the mob could only return awkward thumps of very unscien- 
 tific fists, or blows of occasional bludgeons, with which, how- 
 ever, they dealt severe punishment here and there 
 
 r,!^!"^ ^ S f Verin t00k advanta ge of the tumult to 
 pass the drawbridge and enter the castle, with his double load- 
 no easy matter, for while one leant on him with a gentle but* 
 
 Z crea^ e T re ' f^™^ ^ ^ the " xcite ™nt 
 she created the other was a complete dead weight, having 
 nearly lost her senses from fright. g 
 The archers fiercely assailed by large reinforcements of the 
 people, now slowly retreated. Thanks to their steady front 
 they got clear off with only a few broken heads or bruised 
 limbs and succeeded in raising the drawbridge without leaving 
 one of their comrades in the power of the mob. But the latter 
 inflamed to madness by the sight of at least thirty of their 
 killed or wounded friends, determined on other means of vZ 
 
 an,l\ WaS , bU V h , e affkir ° f a " h0Ur ' in s P ite of the admonitions 
 and hreats of the grand bailiff, to seize on all the barriers of 
 the town, and tear down the toll-houses, while the great bel 
 of St. Gery sounded the tocsin to all the country round. Four 
 or five thousand desperate rioters were soon assembled whh 
 the sole object of plunder and devastation. The first place of 
 any force attempted to be carried was the fort of Ss which 
 made small resistance; next, the town-house, "hereteZw 
 and the magistrates, paralysed byfear,_the sure cha acter Mc 
 of all corrupt corporations in the hour of trial-sat arguing 
 and suggesting while they should have been out in the sfreetf 
 
66 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 at the head of their police, facing the danger which in nine 
 cases out of ten flies before the boldness it would strive to 
 appal, and giving example and heart to the better order of 
 burghers, who only want such on like occasions, to arm and 
 fight in defence of their property and good order. 
 
 The town-house, the abbey of St. Hubert, the mansions of 
 the grand vicar, Canon Watermetz's cousin, and of the arch- 
 deacon of Brussels, with those of several of the canons who 
 lived in the city, were soon a prey to the flames, first being 
 pillaged from garret to cellar. 
 
 In the bishop's palace all was confusion and dismay. The 
 alarmed prelate held an irregular council of all who chose to 
 give advice or suggest a means of good. But of the hall- full 
 of functionaries, lay or clerical, not one seemed able to do any 
 thing better than heap abuse on poor Severin, the innocent 
 cause of this alarming revolt. 
 
 And now the burghers, in more regular approach, but still 
 bellowing furiously for revenge, rushed onwards, carrying lad- 
 ders to scale the walls of the palace defences. There were but 
 poor means of resistance against these formidable preparations; 
 for the armed guard within the palace was never considerable, 
 and the capture of the Fort de Selles gave the enemy almost 
 the command of the place. 
 
 But even had there been men enough to defend the palace, 
 it did not contain more than two days' provisions ; and sup- 
 pose even that it could hold out so long, it must then be sur- 
 rendered at discretion, unless, indeed, the chieftains of the 
 bishop's free-fiefs, as they were called, came to his reverence's 
 assistance. But there was little reliance to be placed on the 
 allegiance of these turbulent marauders, who were more likely 
 to side with the people than check the revolt. 
 
 But a sudden and chance circumstance happily changed this 
 desperate state of things; and the instrument of the change 
 was no other than the original cause of the evil. 
 
 Jacob Parigault had been carried home by some of his 
 mob patrons. They chose to consider him at least three 
 quarters dead, although he had been only stunned by Severin's 
 blow, and the stupefaction which followed was entirely caused 
 by intoxication; so that when, after a couple of hours' sleep, 
 his wife told him all that had passed, and much of what was 
 passing, the shrewd buffoon rapidly saw the reality of his own 
 
THE ORPHAN OP CAMBRAY. 67 
 
 position, and seriously reflected on the probable consequences 
 that would accrue if matters went on much further in the 
 way they were going. 
 
 "How will all this end?" thought the sot-souris, not much 
 wishing to revert to the way in which it began. " Why thus 
 —they may take and sack the palace, and kill the bishop — 
 Good ! Then comes the emperor, furious and grasping — 
 So ! Next, all the rich burghers get clear out of the scrape by 
 the force of sundry bags of golden crowns — Well ! After that 
 the mass of the rioters are pardoned — it would be impossible 
 to hang them all- Excellent ! And then, what is to become 
 of me? An example must be made — the bishop's honour 
 appeased — the emperor's dignity avenged — Very well f What 
 so easy as to gibbet poor Jacob Parigault? Who would say 
 a word in favour of the sot-souris ? He would never be missed 
 lor the world has fools enough to fill his place ! My wind- 
 pipe swells at the thought of it! No, no, the gallows in Cut- 
 throat Cross shall not see my body dangling on it, if my poor 
 wit holds good — away, away I" 
 
 Parigault was making ready to sally forth, all the while he 
 was soliloquising; and he was soon capering and prancing, 
 fresher than ever, on his wooden horse, in the midst of the 
 mob, and under the walls of the palace. The crowd hailed 
 him wherever he appeared with shouts of welcome and bursts 
 of laughter ; and the ludicrous gravity with which he acted the 
 character of general-in-chief, amused the observers so much 
 that it turned their attention away from the main object of 
 their business there; and not a ladder was attempted to be 
 placed against the ramparts. 
 
 Thus gaining time, the sot-souris turned in his mind the 
 best means of persuading the citizens to abandon the intended 
 assault, when the accidental circumstance before alluded to 
 came to the aid of his projects, and he quickly availed himself 
 
 tl T ¥ h6re remarked ' th at the richest and most 
 sensible of the burghers, among whom were Master le Baudain 
 
 affli t MaSte ' Eu t ce de Dinaalt, saw the revolt with sore 
 affliction They knew well that their pockets would have to 
 pay the damage when the emperor came to the aid of the 
 bishop which he assuredly would, for he swore on occasion of 
 he last riots, by hu hopes of Paradise and by the relics of his 
 saint, that he would make the heaviest purse in Cambray hang 
 F 2 
 
68 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 iuose and flabby,, if the citizens again provoked him h The 
 worthies just mentioned were, therefore, much delighted to see 
 the ready-witted Parigault again appear, and they took care to 
 encourage his evident disposition to settle matters quietly, 
 when both his and their object was marvellously facilitated by 
 a new arrival on the tumultuous scene. 
 
 Little imagining what had happened in the town, and be- 
 lieving that the procession of the guilds alone had caused the 
 large assemblage in the neighbourhood of the palace, Magalouffe 
 approached by a narrow street leading up to the bishop's resi- 
 dence, riding quietly on his mule in his usual attitude of con- 
 sequential ease. Behind him rode two clerks of the kitchen, 
 leading each two sumpter horses laden with provisions, which 
 the learned cook had himself sallied out that morning in search 
 for, in various villages of the neighbourhood, each celebrated 
 for some particular object of provender. And as his mule am- 
 bled on, he profoundly cogitated on the most palatable manner 
 of doing justice to a magnificent salmon-trout which he carried 
 in a basket on his crupper, unwilling to entrust to any other 
 carriage the finest fish that he had ever known to be taken in 
 the Scheldt. 
 
 He ended, however, with the resolution of serving up the 
 trout with a sauce of sweet almonds, white-wine, and hydromel ; 
 when he was roused up by the well known voice of the sot-souris, 
 who called out to him loudly : — 
 
 C( Welcome, welcome, thou king of the kitchen ! But more 
 welcome still, in thy capacity of peacemaker — welcome brother 
 ambassador ! 9 
 
 Magalouffe repulsed the buffoon with all his accustomed 
 disdain ; but the latter, redoubling his volubility, and capering 
 close to the cook, made it appear to the crowd, in the midst of 
 which they now were, that he and Magalouffe were closely 
 whispering together ; while, in fact, the tormented cook was 
 only heartily cursing him, and ordering him to go about his 
 business. But Parigault, raising his hand for silence, as if he 
 were going to proclaim the result of a secret conference, ex- 
 claimed, — 
 
 " List ! burghers, list ! His reverence the lord bishop, 
 satisfied with the frolicsome feats already done — and wishing 
 that we might all repose from our merry-making, has sent, as 
 you see, his head cook, armed with full powers to treat with 
 
THE ORPHAN OP CAMBRAY. 69 
 
 your head fool — not without rich presents such as you 
 witness, as is fitting so serious an embassy on so joyous a 
 day. 
 
 "His reverence is slightly of opinion— and perhaps you 
 will all agree with him — that good humour and jollity have 
 gone a trifle too far— but in consideration of Easter sports 
 nothing that has passed to-day is to be remembered to-morrow; 
 — that is positively stipulated between us two;— is it not' 
 very worthy brother? Is it not, most excellent plenipoten- 
 tiary ? r r 
 
 With these words he threw his arms round Magalouffe's 
 neck, to the infinite increase of mob merriment. The cook 
 prepared to reply, and then to shake off the fool ; but the latter 
 strained him so close that he could not stir, and stifled all his 
 efforts to make himself heard by loud calls on the people to 
 the following effect : — ■ 
 
 "Now, away with you all, men, women, and children — 
 home, home ! Take care that the men-at-arms of the lord of 
 Mivart, who are now galloping full speed towards the citv 
 don t come too fast for ye! Away! and my blessing be with 
 
 With these words he made many grotesque imitations of 
 the bishop s manner of blessing his riotous flock. The well- 
 disposed burghers followed up his efforts, by rapid reasonings 
 with the people, already tired with their excesses, and agreeing 
 that they had gone too far. 8 8 
 
 "Right! right! Wise men all, follow the fool's advice' 
 Uome ! home! Long live his reverence the bishop ! " and the 
 like cries of peace now rose up on all sides. The crowd dis- 
 
 fhw W f ' nc ° nc l eivab , le ra P idit y; and many a bold fellow, 
 throwing behind him looks of inquiry and alarm for the 
 threatened men-at-arms, hurried into his house or hovel, 
 
 Sww&y** own door than * *« 
 
 A deputation from the town waited on the bishop the next 
 morning: and Monseigneur Godefroy de Fontaine, after a 
 more than usually long lecture, granted pardon to the respec- 
 
 dilfons"-" *' SOt ' S ° UriS induded ' 0n the foIlowin S con - 
 lst. That the provost of the town, in presence of the bailiff 
 
70 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMERA Y. 
 
 and forty burghers, should forthwith procure and return to 
 their true owners all the pillaged property. 
 
 2d. That the town should pay a fine of two thousand livres 
 tournois, are imbursement for the damage by fire and otherwise, 
 and that ten burghers were to remain hostages till the fulfil- 
 ment of the clause. 
 
 3d. That a hundred burghers, in white shirts, and tapers 
 in hand, should march bare-footed round the town, and do 
 public penance in the episcopal church. 
 
 4th. That no guild should henceforward carry a standard 
 without the express permission of the bishop. 
 
 5th. That the bells of St. Gery's church, which had sounded 
 the tocsin of revolt, should be unblessed, and muffled up for 
 the space of a whole year. 
 
 "Hard conditions— cruel hard, Master Eustace ! " exclaimed 
 Le Baudain to his brother burgher, as the bishop's secretary 
 read the above terms of accommodation stated to the deputation, 
 "Whatmust we do?" 
 
 " Accept and sign, accept and sign, brother Baudain ! and 
 not a moment to be lost either. — If the troops of the free- 
 fiefs pour into town, as they have been doing all the morning, 
 we are ruined. The emperor will soon be at the heels of the 
 feudal lords, as the lion follows the jackal when prey is to be 
 run down." 
 
 "But two thousand livres tournois, friend Dinault!" 
 
 "No matter, though it were ten! Our privileges, brother! 
 our monopoly! Come, come, brother, think of those — accept 
 
 and sign, sign quickly, brother Eh! what sounds are those? 
 
 Trumpets, again ! hark to the clattering of the cavaliers as they 
 come in, the free fiefs at their head!" 
 
 " St. Mary guide me ! 'Tis true enough, Master de Dinault: 
 Oh, 'tis a grievous sum, hard, a hard condition! Three 
 hundred at least will fall to my share! Eh! what a clangour 
 and clashing is there! What is that, what is it, Master 
 Eustace?" 
 
 "'Tis the bloody lord of Quesnil with his archers and men- 
 at-arms, that's all," replied Dinault drily. 
 
 " The fierce and freebooter lord of Quesnil ! The holy 
 martyrs be our speed!" exclaimed the avaricious old citizen. 
 " The pen, the pen, brother Dinault! There — I have signed 
 — we are well off, after all." 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 71 
 
 <( I think so too/' said Dinault, placing his mark, for he 
 could not write his name ; and the rest of the deputies gladly 
 followed his example. 
 
 And thus ended the memorable riot, distinguished in the 
 records of the town by the quaint title of "The Trinity 
 Troubles/' J 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Among the most distinguished qualities of first-rate cooks, 
 there was one which MagaloufFe possessed in uncommon per- 
 fection, and that one was punctuality. At the first pull of the 
 cord which gave to the dinner-bell that longed-for sound, so 
 dear to the hungry lovers of good cheer, who abounded in the 
 episcopal palace, MagaloufFe and his various assistants were in- 
 variably ready to place the first dish on the table. Never, no 
 never once, had he earned the reproach of causing the appetites 
 of their reverences, the feasters, to wait ; no, not for as long 
 as the chaplain could chant an extra Ave. And never had the 
 intendantof the palace to ask, "Are we ready, Master Maga- 
 loufFe?" The smoking soup tureen spoke for itself and saved 
 him the trouble. 
 
 Now it so happened that four days after the important events 
 mentioned in the last chapter, the varlet in waiting pulled the 
 bell- cord, and sounded the cheering summons to the mid-day 
 repast. The bishop came in, in due form of state, preceded 
 by his chaplain and ordinaries, and followed by the rosy-gilled 
 canons and others who had the honourable privilege of a seat 
 at his dinner-table. But great was the astonishment of all, on 
 perceiving the board unfurnished with edibles — a desolate 
 blank, with the exception of the white rolls, or pains-taillors, 
 placed beside each cover, and the furnishing which was in the 
 province of the groom of the cupboard, rather than that of the 
 cook. 
 
 And well may be imagined the haste and hurry, the bustle 
 and the fluster, with which the half-horrified intendant scudded 
 along the corridors and passages between the refectory and the 
 kitchen of the episcopal palace. 
 
 MagaloufFe, the while, like one struck by the hand of Heaven 
 f 4 
 
72 
 
 THE ORPHAN OP CAMBRAY. 
 
 sat stultified in a corner of his kitchen, unable or unwilling to 
 reply to any of the anxious inquiries for orders put to him' from 
 his numerous auxiliaries. And many a whisper of wonderment 
 went round these savoury satellites of the great luminary thus 
 eclipsed. Much did they marvel as to the nature of the 
 trouble that could so have overcast him. Great indeed must 
 it be, thought they, for never before had grief — not even for 
 the death of his wife — caused him to omit a particle of the 
 important duties of his office. 
 
 The voice of the intendant, tremulously demanding the 
 cause of the alarming delay, made MagaloufFe jump up from 
 his deep reverie ; and with amazing promptitude and presence 
 of mind he gave his orders to his subalterns, so as that in 
 much less time than might have been expected a dinner was 
 served up — good in comparison to that which a less celebrated 
 artist might be proud to furnish, but certainly unworthy the 
 fame of MagaloufFe. 
 
 His business done, he gave himself freely up again to his 
 sorrows ; and sinking on a seat, covered his hot face with both 
 his greasy hands and wept bitterly. 
 
 ^ "Why, Magalouffe!" said the compassionate intendant; 
 "this is too bad — 'tis unmanly so to afflict yourself for a 
 dinner being a little too late. A very venial offence this, my 
 good friend, and you weep as if you repented a mortal sin. 
 Remember, as his reverence the lord bishop often says, citing 
 the Holy Scriptures, < It is written, the wise man falls seven 
 times in one day.' " 
 
 " Ah, Master Intendant ! my grief is indeed great, and good 
 cause have I for it ! By the blessed St. Martha ! if I knew 
 one in the whole district of the Cambresis who was fit to hold 
 the white wand of episcopal cook, I would this hour resign it 
 into his hand, and I would hasten to fill in some Carmelite 
 convent, where they eat only roots plain boiled in water, the 
 degraded functions of a brother vegetable dresser ! " 
 
 The intendant made a new attempt to console Magalouffe, 
 but the reader will remember that it was not his humour to be 
 stopped short when his heart was full or his passion high. 
 
 i( O, why, why," continued he, " did it not please Heaven 
 and my Holy patroness to keep me firm in my first intention 
 of teaching my son the noble science which has gained me 
 such fame ? Instructed by me, he might have handed down 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 73 
 
 the name of Magalouffe from generation to generation ! He 
 might have been episcopal cook ! And tell me, Master In- 
 tendant, where is a prouder title to be found than that which 
 I bear, and which gives rank and precedence among the twen- 
 ty-four free-fiefs of the bishopric, and confers the privilege of 
 treating of the feudal affairs, civil as well as criminal, of his 
 reverence?* Accursed be the officious interference of Canon 
 Watermetz ! His reverence the lord bishop has awhile ago 
 struck me to the heart, touching this ill-starred son of mine. 
 He heaped on him the harshest epithets, and swore — no his 
 reverence did not swear an oath but he looked one — that 
 little was wanting to make him refuse to Severin his promised 
 letters of ordination. Yes, yes ! It is to me he said that— 
 aye and more— to me who have reached my sixty-fourth year 
 without ever before being disgraced by a reproach for me or 
 mine ! Oh ! why did Father Nicholas ever drag the boy from 
 his nook in this comfortable kitchen ? What if he had scorched 
 fifty peacocks, more or less, what matter ! If he had never 
 taken to those foolish studies that bring us nothing but disgrace, 
 he had learned his trade, and the name of Magalouffe had been 
 unpolluted P 
 
 "Nay, nay, worthy Magalouffe, his reverence may be molli- 
 fied !" said the intendant. 
 
 " Mollified ! Do you think, then, I would condescend " 
 
 "Hut! tut — you go too far, Master Magalouffe." 
 ^ tc No, Sir Intendant— the bishop himself allows that I am 
 right — he has acknowledged his error, and strove to repair it 
 by promising to ordain my son to-morrow. Praise be to his 
 reverence for his gracious intentions— you need say nothing 
 to him of what has passed between us— but his reparation 
 comes too late; I shall never recover the injury done to my 
 honour V J 
 After Magalouffe had thus unburthened himself, he retired 
 to his private apartments, and sent to summon his son to an 
 interview. Severin soon arrived. He looked flushed and agi- 
 
 tht I^L t 7^^"//" r fre 5: fiefs Urancs-fievts) were the great provost of the palace, 
 the mailre-d hotel in ordinary, the master of the hunt, the grand master of the 
 
 ^"^a^W 6 maSter ° lthe Cerein ° nieS ' thG ~»P*oller, thehSd 
 *^r£& e »h™ ll $:" SayS Car P e " t l er ' " ^ief of the haute-cour of the palace, was 
 ™ thP rSn rSSS f a ?A qU,r ^ d '- t0 s ! ,mmon the twenty-four free-fiefs to debate 
 ?5« » i> cni ™" a, > and oth r aff ^s which concerned the jurisdiction of the chief, 
 £?• -Ill 8 ? ot f clearl y specified in this quotation whether the cook and the rest 
 lad a right of interference in ecclesiastical matters. 
 
74 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 tated. He had just come from a long and animated tete-a-tete 
 with Lydorie. Kneeling, as was customary, at his father's 
 feet, he asked his blessing, which being duly granted, he 
 modestly inquired for what purpose he was favoured with the 
 infrequent order to wait on his parent ? 
 
 Magalouffe drew himself up with a certain assumption of 
 dignity which never sat worse on him than when he was con- 
 fronted with his son, who, he could not help acknowledging, 
 was of a much higher order of humanity than himself. He 
 however began a fluent enumeration of all the bishop's com- 
 plaints, adding a few of his own suggestions. His voice, 
 which he strove at first to pitch in the due key of paternal so- 
 lemnity, grew insensibly from low and deep to high and harsh ; 
 and having continued for some time in that tone, it suddenly 
 dropped again to what he meant for tenderness, but which 
 was at best but an artificial whine, somewhat like a fanatical 
 ranter, who, after thundering forth a description of hell, con- 
 cludes his sermon with a faint-toned blessing. Thus it was 
 that Magalouffe wound up his tirade with an announcement 
 of the bishop's benign intention of ordaining the culprit on 
 the morrow. 
 
 u Father," said Severin, in a timid but firm tone, « I can 
 never become a priest." 
 
 At these daring words he raised his eyes, and he was much 
 emboldened by observing a total absence of anger in his father's 
 countenance. 
 
 "I never can — I never will be a priest," repeated he, with 
 less diffidence and more decision. 
 
 At every word so uttered, a torrent of balm seemed to pour 
 itself over the ere while excited feelings of Magalouffe. He 
 could not speak ; but thus ran on his thoughts as he gazed on 
 his son. 
 
 " Oh, it is too much ! My blessed patroness, St. Martha, 
 has at length taken pity on the sorrow of her unworthy servant, 
 and inspired the heart of my boy with the thrice blessed wish 
 to become a cook, like his father ! He is, to be sure, a little 
 too old — but never mind ! I will so work at him, that in four 
 years he shall be the second best cook in the Cambresis ! " 
 
 " I am deeply in love with a young maiden," continued 
 Severin, " and we have just now plighted our troth, and pro- 
 mised ourselves to each other for life and death." 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 75 
 
 " Thou shalt have her, my boy ! She shall be thine, I 
 promise thee ! Oh, my son, my dear Severin, what would I 
 not do, what not sacrifice to see thee thus fairly renounce thy 
 foolish learning and fantastic notions, for the solid honour of 
 becoming a cook !" 
 
 " You are mistaken, father, I have no intention, no want of 
 becoming a cook to secure myself a fair subsistence. My skill 
 as a lubricator will always suffice for that, and even allow me 
 to provide comfortably for her whom I adore, my beloved 
 Lydorie." 
 
 "Lydorie! Lydorie !" exclaimed the father, almost frantic 
 with vexation and rage, "What! a base-born gipsy girl— -the 
 child of a— — of an outcast reprobate, odious to God and the 
 saints ! — Listen, Severin ! If ever you again utter a word or 
 breathe a thought of this infamy — if you ever again name the 
 name of that wretched girl, I curse you on the spot ! Enough » 
 leave me!" . 
 
 Neither the tears, the entreaties, nor the despair of the 
 young man could produce the least effect on the old one — if, 
 indeed, they did not the more exasperate him. He ended the 
 interview by driving Severin from his door, with orders never 
 more to appear in his sight. 
 
 Severin, indignant as he was, nevertheless returned with a 
 heavy heart to the apartments of Canon Watermetz. 
 
 When Lydorie heard from him the recital of his father's 
 cruel obstinacy, though Severin softened down all his grossness 
 towards her, the too sensitive girl fainted in her lover's arms. 
 And when the nearly as agitated youth succeeded in bringing 
 her to herself, she burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 But in this moment of misery there was for Severin an ex- 
 quisite delight— an essence which turned his whole cup of bit- 
 terness to balm; for Lydorie, for the first time, lavished on 
 mm the most tender epithets, without a feeling of reserve, and 
 returned hjs warm embraces by others not less warm. Her 
 head dropped on his bosom, and her hand was locked in his. 
 Ihus passed the remainder of that day, of such mixed suffer- 
 ing and joy 
 
 At last it was absolutely necessary that they should part. 
 Severin retired to his chamber. His feelings underwent a 
 thousand fluctuations. -She loves me— and I must quit her! 
 &ne loves me — and I must never see her more! To live 
 
7b' 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 without her is worse, far worse than death ! Live without her ! 
 No, no, I cannot live ! " 
 
 So did the distracted lover soliloquise ; and then, fevered, 
 empassioned, frantic, he seized a knife, plunged it in his breast, 
 and fell on the ground. 
 
 When he recovered his senses, Madam Bertha, the canon, 
 and Lydorie stood by his bed-side, weeping. They had believed 
 him to be dead, having discovered him insensible and bathed in 
 his blood. Father Nicholas, who was deeply versed in the 
 secrets of the healing art, attentively examined the wound, and 
 announced, that so far from being dangerous he warranted Se- 
 vering recovery within a week. 
 
 Lydorie managed matters so well with the old people, that 
 the office of nurse was entrusted to her • and she alone watched 
 over her lover during this first night of actual woe. 
 
 In the morning, just as she was preparing to quit his bed-side, 
 Madame Bertha being about to relieve her she placed a silver 
 ring upon his finger, and said, — 
 
 " As long as thou keepest this ring, my beloved, so long shall 
 Lydorie be thine, faithful and tender to the last ! " 
 
 The delighted youth strove to reply, in a few words, to these 
 sweet professions ; but before they could find utterance, Lydorie 
 was gone and Madame Bertha in her place. Severin turned 
 round in his bed, and thought of the delicious pledge, and 
 pressed the silver ring to his lips. 
 
 The prognostics of the canon were verified. Severin became 
 quickly convalescent. He easily imposed on his simple old 
 friends by attributing his wound to an accident ; and Lydorie 
 found no difficulty in persuading them to yield to her the prin- 
 cipal care of the patient — her brother, as she was in the habit 
 of calling him. She passed the chief part of each day in his 
 room. 
 
 One day, however, passed over without her making her ap- 
 pearance from morning till night. Need we point out or dwell 
 on the torturing anxiety of Severin during this interval ? At 
 length the good old canon came ; and placing himself by Severing 
 side, thus began : — 
 
 " A well-a-day ! my poor Severin, is it then come to this ? 
 I know every thing — your father has told me all — your un- 
 fortunate attachment. And now I understand how it was you 
 got this unlucky wound. But since Heaven, in its mercy, saved 
 
THE ORPHAN OP CAMBRAY. 77 
 
 you from the crime of suicide, it would little become me— a 
 poor sinner like yourself— to show myself more severe. I 
 
 therefore make you no reproach Listen to me now, calmly 
 
 my dear boy ! I have spent nearly the whole day in vain efforts 
 to appease your father. He is inexorable. He will neither see 
 you, nor forgive you. On the other hand, his reverence the 
 bishop is furious at your refusal to enter into holy orders. He 
 insists on your leaving the palace, and it is not possible for you 
 to remain in the town after such disgrace as that. And, in an- 
 other point of view, how could I, my dear Severin, lend my 
 sanction to an attachment disapproved of by your only parent * 
 You see all your difficulties— you must meet them with cou- 
 rage and patience, and put all your trust in the compassion 
 and the goodness of Heaven i-Here, my child, here in this 
 purse are thirty golden crowns -take them, and keep them 
 safely ! To-morrow you will quit Cambray, with my brother 
 the grand vicar, who is going on a mission from his reverence 
 to the archbishop of Rheims. My brother will find you pro- 
 tectors there, and your great talent as a rubricator will find 
 you an ample livelihood until we may succeed in softening 
 your father s anger. — Farewell, then, my dear child, remember 
 those who brought you up, and who love you dearly— but 
 who have little chance of seeing you more -for we are old, 
 Severin, and God will not be late in calling us to him » His 
 holy will be done ! Farewell, farewell, Severin ! and for want 
 of a fathers blessing, let that of an old man, who loves you 
 like a father, be on your head ! " 
 
 " Better, oh, a thousand times better ! You are my father »" 
 exclaimed the youth, throwing himself into the canon's arms 
 and they wept together for many minutes. 
 
 The next morning, just at day-break, as Severin took his 
 sad departure from the long-loved home, and when passing 
 under the windows of Lydorie's chamber he gave one longing 
 look upwards, a scrap of parchment fell on the neck of his 
 mule. He caught it with a trembling hand, while his heart 
 palpitated and his eyes swam, and he read the following words, 
 the delicious confirmation of the last that were spoken to him 
 by his adored one : 
 
 " As long as thou keepest this ring, my beloved, so long shall 
 Lydone be thine, faithful and tender to the last." 
 
 Severin arrived duly, without adventure, and in perfectly re- 
 
78 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 covered health, at Rheims, where he soon became the particular 
 favourite of the archbishop, who was a great patron of the arts, 
 and particularly of those which related to the embellishment of 
 illuminated manuscripts and missals. 
 
 "But why, my good youth/' said the prelate on frequent 
 occasions, when he was particularly pleased with Severin's ex- 
 ertions, e( why do you so obstinately refuse to follow your early 
 intentions, and enter on the duties of the divine office ? If 
 you will even now consent to be ordained, I promise you that 
 before the end of a year, you shall be my private chaplain, with 
 a good benefice — the very best that falls into my gift." 
 
 Severin thanked the archbishop, and thanked him with 
 sincere gratitude. But with a deep sigh, he invariably added, 
 that he could not have the hypocrisy to offer to God a heart 
 wholly absorbed by a mortal passion. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It was, as nearly as possible, two years after the departure of 
 Severin, that Lydorie, sitting in the embrasure of one of the 
 great windows of the palace, and looking out on the sad 
 formality of what was called the bishop's pleasure-garden, re- 
 called the early passages of her life, and wept. 
 
 Orphan of a gipsy — adopted from charity — destined one 
 day, perhaps, to live wretchedly by the work of her own hands, 
 when her benefactors should be no more — and now, after two 
 years of hope, no nearer than when she lost him to a union 
 with him she loved so much, and with little chance of ever 
 seeing him again ! 
 
 What young person on earth more mournfully situated than 
 she? If Master Magalouffe might at length but allow his 
 stubborn tyranny to be softened ! If he would but take com- 
 passion on his banished son and the wretched Lydorie ! But 
 alas, alas ! these are delusive notions — nothing will conquer 
 the pride of the old cook. He is now rich ; and though not 
 descended from a noble lineage, he has not at least to blush for 
 the mother who bore him ! 
 
 Why, oh why had not Heaven given, instead of the infamy 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 79 
 
 of base birth, a rich inheritance, and a noble descent ? How 
 happy would she have passed her quiet days with love, retire- 
 ment, and Severin ! How far above wealth and grandeur is 
 affection ! But how exquisite to shower all the goods of 
 fortune on those we love ! 
 
 While Lydorie was wrapt in thought, composed of com- 
 binations like these, the servant came to tell her that Madame 
 Bertha required her presence in all haste. Terrified lest her 
 old and ailing protectress might be suddenly taken ill, she 
 rapidly wiped away her tears, and descended to the wainscoted 
 saloon, where she found Madame Bertha and Father Nicholas, 
 m high health and apparently in a mixture of astonishment 
 and pleasure, while near them was seated a stranger, dressed 
 m the hat and cloak which by their cockle-shell ornaments 
 announced the wearer to be a pilgrim returned from the Holy 
 Land. The pale face, sunken eyes, loose gray beard, and long 
 and bony hands of the unknown filled Lydorie with a vague 
 feeling of terror, that made her cling close to the canon, who 
 tenderly pressed her hand in his. 
 
 The stranger wept and sobbed aloud, and struck his clenched 
 fist against his breast, exclaiming, 
 
 " Lor d have mercy on me ! Heaven forgive me !" 
 After some time passed in these exclamations of remorse he 
 raised his piercing black eyes on Lydorie's face, and said, ' 
 
 " Yes, yes, 'tis she ! There is now no doubt— 'tis she ' Yes, 
 yes ! Even if this silver medallion found round her infant 
 neck was not here to prove her identity, it were enough to look 
 on her — she is her mother's living image !" 
 
 As the pilgrim spoke thus, Lydorie thrilled with terror and 
 disgust. Her knees shook, and she was near falling to the 
 ground. ° 
 
 "Oh misery, misery !" thought she. — « This pilgrim is 
 my father — the husband of the murdered gipsy woman »" 
 
 And already she felt as if torn from the arms of her only 
 friends, and forced to a base and wandering life of besearv 
 and disgrace. b& 3 
 
 "Show me, show me quickly the small black mark that she 
 bears on her right shoulder," said the pilgrim. 
 
 The almost inanimate girl submitted passively, as Madame 
 Bertha removed the wimple from her lovely neck, loosened 
 the upper agraffe of her pourpoint, and bared the round full 
 
80 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 beauty of her alabaster shoulder. When the pilgrim saw the 
 slight mark — the only farther evidence he required — he 
 dropped on one knee, and bending his forehead to the very 
 floor, he said aloud and in solemn tones, 
 
 "Noble Countess de Coucy, I do homage to you as my 
 sovereign liege-lady ; and I swear by the merits of the blessed 
 cross to remain for ever, in life and death, your faithful vassal, 
 as in duty and allegiance bound! — Oh, right noble lady! 
 grievously guilty have I been towards you — but grant me 
 mercy and pardon ! Not for my own sake, for I deserve 
 neither — but for the honour of our noble family — in the name 
 of the blessed Saviour, who, dying on Mount Calvary forgave 
 his murderers — in the name and for the merits of the holy 
 Virgin, take pity on my remorse, and pardon me, ere I rise 
 from before your feet/' 
 
 All that Lydorie saw and heard seemed but a dream — a 
 delicious one certainly, but which she dreaded was to be at 
 every moment broken. She listened, fearing to draw her 
 breath, to stir, or move a lip or an eye, lest the most trifling 
 change might break the charm in which she loved to believe 
 herself bound. 
 
 And while she thus stood, like one enchanted, and the 
 mysterious pilgrim remained prostrate before her, the worthy 
 Canon Watermetz, almost as much overjoyed as she was, 
 recounted briefly to her by what providential ways all the 
 wondrous discovery came about. The prostrate pilgrim was 
 Lydorie's own uncle, the Lord of Mont Roche. On the death 
 of his brother, Lydorie's father, he caused his niece to be 
 kidnapped and carried off, while a mere infant, by a gipsy 
 woman, who for the temptation of a large reward undertook 
 the diabolical task of stealing the child from its distracted nurse, 
 and promised to carry it away so far that no one in Normandy 
 should ever run the chance of hearing of its fate. The 
 Lord of Mont Roche had been as well, if not better satisfied, 
 that its fate had been disposed of more close to home, pro- 
 vided it had been more surely. A dressed-up piece of wood 
 was put in the cradle in place of Lydorie, and the absent 
 mother, like almost all those on the spot, was deceived by 
 the report of the infant's death. To keep the secret the 
 more securely, the Lord of Mont Roche felt himself forced to 
 put more than one accomplice to death ; and loaded with 
 
THE ORPHAN OP CA1IBRAY, 
 
 crimes, he became the possessor of the territory of his late 
 brother, the Count of Coucy. y 
 
 But remorse weighed heavy on his soul. Sleep flew from his 
 f el^rfo a hoT" himS6lf aching to hfs end, he con! 
 teased all to a holy man, a hermit of great renown This 
 pious confidant, having first cured him of his malady enioined 
 him to employ all means for the recovery of his nfe'ce to re 
 store her to her possessions, and implore her forgiveness And" 
 as a preliminary step, he recommended a pilgrimage which 
 the penitent ,mmediately set about performing ° ' 
 
 After some time the Lord of Mont Roche succeeded in 
 obtaining tidings of his niece, known at that time by the tit " 
 of the Orphan of Cambray; and from many circnmstanc s 
 which came to his knowledge he had no doubt of her S 
 the person he sought. g 
 Lydorie raised her repentant uncle from the ground ■ and 
 .n the rapture of her feelings she not merely forg'ave him the 
 early wrong he a id her , but was di ^ J lum the 
 
 knees, in turn, and thank him cordially for what she was more 
 
 '1'™ ngh h The ^Snm soon retired, a weight being re- 
 moved from his soul, to prepare himself to appear fitly as a 
 
 domaTns T*" ° f "** to C ° nduCt h ^ s --e to her 
 
 domains, and procure her recognition by the vassak ». A • 
 legitimate countess and liege-lady * &S tLelr 
 
 Jewels f£S ' *T ^ ^ 
 
 and sword, and battle-axe ? How delightful would it C ? 
 give him from this hand the chief prize 5 th Znan^t 
 run on I" Lyd r ie / firSt ideas —d so did herToughts 
 
 Ztf„n ""I Sleep ' eSS ni S ht she had passed since 
 
 that following Sevenn's departure from the Bishop's palace 
 
 As soon as it was known in the city of Cambrav that 
 Lydone was all at once discovered to be /noble lady and one 
 of he richest heiresses of Normandy, the only point of con 
 ten ion was to settle who could first succeed in offering her con. 
 ?ratuIations, and making her presents, which latter few of the 
 
82 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 donors would ever have dreamt of throwing away on a poor 
 orphan who might have needed them. f 
 Among the many conversions to a conviction of Lydorie's 
 sudden and amazing worth, MagaloufFe's was not the last or 
 the least sincere. He had a true instinct of belief in the virtue 
 of high rank ; and he chuckled with delight at the notion of 
 having a countess for his daughter-in-law. He therefore re- 
 solved on paving a speedy visit to the new-found lady, to inform 
 her in set terms that he had decided on giving his consent to 
 her marriage with his son. Dressed in his best suit of house- 
 hold livery, which consisted of a gaudy mixture of scarlet, 
 yellow, and white, his pourpoint, his hose, and his short cloak 
 being all of different colours, the long gown and hood of purple 
 camlet hanging in loose drapery over all, he prepared for a visit 
 which he began seriously to consider as one of no common 
 occasion. 
 
 « Might it not be better," thought he, as he tucked up the 
 skirts of his gown under his arm and walked slowly along the 
 corridor, ft that I had waited till she sent to beg my consent 
 once more, and requested that I would receive her in my own 
 apartment? Yes, that without doubt had been more dignified 
 — though no ! perhaps not. I have hitherto treated the poor 
 thing so" roughly on every advance, that she dares not make 
 another, and it is magnanimous to unbend, particularly towards 
 a female. Yes, yes, Magalouffe, you are right, you are right » 
 Enough has been done to uphold the paternal consequence and 
 the honour of an episcopal cook. Let me see, therefore, what 
 I can now do for the happiness of these poor children, towards 
 whom after all I have been perhaps too harsh." 
 
 When Magalouffe entered the saloon now appropriated to 
 Lydorie's use, she was sitting in familiar conversation with the 
 Canon Watermetz and Sir Eustace de Lens, a nephew by the 
 mother's side of the bishop, and a young French noble of gay 
 and sprightly character and somewhat too dissipated and 
 libertine in his way of life. The small patrimonial estate of 
 this young knight touched on the borders of the county of 
 Coucy. Now it very soon struck him, on hearing of the ex- 
 traordinary and fortunate vicissitude which had befallen 
 Lydorie, that to blend the two domains together, and surmount 
 his shield with the scutcheon and coronet of a count, would 
 marvellously suit his purposes, and he therefore lost no time 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMERA Y. 
 
 in procuring, through his reverend uncle, a proper introduction 
 to the orphan heiress. 
 
 The poor protege of Father Nicholas and his old sister had 
 never heard the flashy and flowery diction of high-born youths. 
 So no sooner did Sir Eustace commence his flatteries than she 
 felt a flutter of delight quite new to her ; and even after his 
 first visit, she could not avoid making an involuntary com- 
 parison between him and poor Severin, who, alas for true 
 love ! knew not how to flirt and talk soft nonsense in this 
 fluent style. 
 
 The cunning Sir Eustace marked well his progress, and 
 saw all his advantages over the simple but vain heart of Lydorie ; 
 and he was not long in filling it completely with feelings 
 which nature never intended it to know. 
 
 If her heart was tender, her head was weak — too weak to bear 
 without intoxication the high-toned-flavour of the incense 
 which was now every day thrown up before her. To believe 
 Sir Eustace, — and Lydorie firmly believed him — it was not 
 merely on becoming known to her that he discovered her noble 
 origin. The very first time he had seen her passing through 
 the palace court he had been struck with her distinguished air, 
 and had asked who was the noble maiden, whom he was sur- 
 prised never to have seen among the proud company of dames 
 and knights which he was accustomed to meet at his uncle's 
 table. 
 
 Such were the deceitful compliments that caused a smile on 
 Lydorie's lips and a deep blush on her cheeks, when Master 
 Magalouffe came bowing, with his usual self-important air, 
 into the room. At sight of the flashy young knight, who sat so 
 familiarly chatting beside Lydorie, the inventor of the golden 
 soup felt some misgivings. He strove to hide his embarrass- 
 ment under a tone of assumed tenderness and vivacity. But 
 he could not all at once recover his presence of mind, and 
 forgetting all he had intended to say, he burst out rather 
 abruptly as follows, pulling off his crimson cap, decorated 
 with a thick gold band. 
 
 " Ah, Madame Lydorie, Countess, I beg pardon, Countess 
 of — what's the title, Father Nicholas? Ah, madame, it is Se- 
 verin that will rejoice at tbis good news, for now there is no 
 obstacle to the marriage — none whatever: — I give my full con- 
 sent. I only waited for the two years' probation which I made 
 g 2 
 
84 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 a vow to St. Martha he should keep. By what day shall I have 
 him back here ? I hasten to send him the joyous intelligence, 
 if another — and a fairer hand has not done so already ! But 
 if not, I will send off a trusty messenger forthwith. It will cost 
 me two golden crowns — but no matter ! By All Saints' day, 
 and we are now only at St. Remy, my messenger will see the 
 steeples of Rheims. I have no fear of his fidelity or his speed 
 — 'tis Polycarpe, the cleverest clerk of my kitchen, cunning as 
 a fox and cool as an ambassador/' 
 
 " What on earth or under heaven is this old mountebank 
 chattering about ?" asked Sir Eustace, with a contemptuous 
 smile, which made Magalouffe's heart sink, for he could not 
 stand the ridicule that came from a bishop's nephew. 
 
 <c He is speaking of a friend of my childhood," answered 
 Lydorie, turning her blushing face aside. She dared not say 
 (C of my lover." 
 
 MagaloufTe attributing the cold reception of his future 
 daughter-in-law — as he considered her — to the anger which 
 she cherished for his former severity, came closer to her, on 
 the side opposite to where Sir Eustace sat, for he was glad to 
 have some separation between them — and asked in a half 
 whisper, " Shall I send for Severin, Madame Lydorie, or will you 
 yourself write to him ? Shall we fix for Christmas — or sooner 
 if you like — the wedding that will make us all so happy?" 
 
 C( The wedding ! the wedding !" said Sir Eustace, bursting into 
 a loud laugh. "By the three griffins of my shield! I guess 
 what all this grand secret is about. You are going to give one 
 of your maids in marriage to the son of this cook?" 
 
 Lydorie smiled in a manner to give the knight reason to 
 think he guessed rightly — and she blushed again ! Alas for 
 true love, once more ! — it was for shame of her old affection . 
 
 That MagaloufTe might not see either the smile or the blush, 
 Lydorie turned her back on him quite. The blood of the 
 episcopal cook rose high at this apparently designed affront. 
 He therefore wheeled round and flounced out of the room, not 
 sorry to escape from the renewed laugh of Sir Eustace, and 
 calling St. Martha to witness that the Countess of Coucy stood 
 as little chance as did the gipsy's daughter of marrying his 
 son Severin ! Bursting with rage and foaming with fury, he 
 rushed into the kitchen, "all accoutred as he was," and there 
 a horrid and intolerable scene met his rage-rolling eyes. During 
 his absence a quarrel had arisen — clerks and scullions were 
 
THE ORPHAN OP CAMBRAY. » 
 
 mixed together in a desperate conflict-and three magnificent 
 Articles of flesh, poultry, and game, were frizzing and burning 
 before the fire, so blackened and ruined that no turnspit would 
 have had the conscience to place them on the table of a pig- 
 
 This was too much for the proud heart and excited feelings 
 of Magaloufte. He attempted to utter a cry of anger and 
 despair. He strove to raise his clenched fist— either in 
 supplication to his saint, or to knock down the nearest rioter 
 —but word and action were incomplete. A stroke of apoplexy 
 laid him low, and a short convulsion terminated his career, on 
 the scene of his many glories, and robed in the honourable 
 liverv of his state ! . , . . , 
 
 During all these strange and awful events, the faithful I mind 
 of Severin was continually picturing, night and day the former 
 happy scenes of life, and imagining new joys for the future in 
 the dearly loved country of his youth-the scenes of h.s early 
 his only love. Every day acquiring wealth by the exertions of 
 his industry, and under the protection of his powerful patron 
 the archbishop, he reckoned on overcoming ere long the 
 obstinate refusal of his father, without which this dutiful son 
 was resolved in the first instance not to make Lydone his wife. 
 But he was also determined, if his father proved immoveable m 
 his cruel opposition, to solicit an archiepiscopal dispensation and 
 to make himself happy be the consequences what they might. 
 
 " How grievous it will he to me," thought he, " should I be 
 forced to cause pain to my father ! But how sweet to be 
 united to Lydorie — for I love her better than him ! 
 
 At last Severin found himself in all ways qualified to under- 
 take the journey back to Cambray. He did not seek any 
 means of announcing his approach to his old friend, or the 
 beloved mistress of his heart. « No," said he, " I will take 
 her by surprise even though she should faint for joy m my 
 arms, as she once did from grief. How exquisite to kiss her 
 into life again I" . 
 
 The archbishop was so anxious to preserve his favourite 
 from danger on the road, that he gave him an escort of two 
 men-at-arms, well mounted like himself, to defend him from 
 the manifold chances of robbery or assault, which the dislocated 
 state of society rendered imminent in those days. 
 
 Severin at length set out, and trotted along, indifferent to 
 o 3 
 
86 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 the annoyances of snow, frost, or rain — for it was the midst 
 of winter — but he went to see his dear loved Lydorie. • 
 
 A journey of eighteen days brought him to the town of 
 St. Quentin. It was Sunday when he arrived. His first duty 
 was piously to hasten to the celebration of mass in the principal 
 church. Now it so happened that at the very instant of his 
 arrival at the holy edifice a marriage was about to take place. 
 Severin saw by the outward preparations that such was the 
 case, and his heart throbbed with delight in anticipating the 
 day — the quick coming day, thought he,— when he should 
 lead to the altar his own Lydorie, in her bridal dress and 
 bridal blushes. 
 
 <c Holy saints ! how this young bride resembles her ! Were 
 it not for those robes of silk and velvet, that hat with golden 
 points — a countess's coronet — I could swear it was she her- 
 self r 
 
 Bursting impatiently through the crowd, he reached the 
 foot of the altar. The armed halberdiers who guarded the 
 aisle thought, from his determined step and mien, that he must 
 be one of the official personages employed in the ceremony, the 
 more so as he was richly badged and dressed in the honourable 
 uniform of rubricator to the Archbishop of Rheims. They 
 therefore gave him free passage. 
 
 "It is, it is Lydorie! there is no longer a doubt!" and 
 with the conviction, a pang fierce as though a burning coal 
 had fallen on his breast, fixed him to the spot. He gazed but 
 moved not, until the priest who performed the nuptial cere- 
 mony by accident let fall the ring which he was just giving to 
 the bridegroom, to place on the hand of her whose heart was 
 perj ured. 
 
 Severin darted forwards, and succeeded in picking up the 
 ring before any other could reach it. His whole mind seemed 
 roused into new and instant action by the thought that filled 
 it now. He dexterously pulled from his own finger the silver 
 ring which he had of old received from Lydorie, and he re- 
 placed the nuptial one with it. And while the bridegroom 
 joyously placed this damning evidence of her falsehood on Ly- 
 dorie's finger, her betrayed lover exclaimed in a sonorous tone 
 of bitterness and mockery, "As long as thou keepest this 
 ring, my beloved, so long shall Lydorie be thine, faithful 
 and tender to the last ! *' 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMERA Y. 
 
 87 
 
 At the first sound of the well-known voice Lydorie started 
 back, and raised her eyes, and fixed them full on the speaker. 
 Ere the sentence was finished she burst into a flood of tears, 
 and hid her face in her husband's bosom. 
 
 " Well spoken, by my faith ! fair clerk of his reverence of 
 Rheims!" said Sir Eustace gaily, for he recognised Severin's 
 livery. " What recompense must I give thee for thy apt re- 
 sponse ? " 
 
 But he to whom these light-hearted words were addressed 
 Was already out of sight. He had darted through the crowd, 
 and was soon forgotten in the shouts of joy and clamorous 
 congratulations with which the air was filled by the congrega- 
 tion that led the new-married couple from the church ; Sir 
 Eustace de Lens holding tenderly the while the fair hand of 
 his bride, whose faltering step and downcast look were attri- 
 buted to maiden bashfulness instead of womanly remorse. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 In the legends of the olden time, as in the actual life of man, 
 days, weeks, and months, roll on imperceptibly almost ; events 
 die away, passions are absorbed, and feelings swallowed up in 
 those which successively arise, like the waves that are fol- 
 lowed and swallowed up by those which the swelling of the 
 tide forces after them. 
 
 A full year had passed after the event we have just related. 
 St. Quentin had almost lost the memory of the stranger who 
 acted so extraordinary a part at the wedding of the Countess 
 of Coucy ; Rheims had nearly forgotten its chief rubricator, 
 in admiration of the one who succeeded him in the archbishop's 
 employ ; and Cambray had found other topics to give food to 
 its gossips, in place of the now old story of its orphan and her 
 sudden elevation in the world. 
 
 The scene shifts now to Paris. Much is left untold in the 
 legend, of what happened to the actors of our story during the 
 year which we must now consider past and gone. Fancy may 
 fill up the chasm, but what follows may furnish hints enough 
 to the imaginative mind. 
 
 g 4 
 
88 
 
 THE ORPHAN" OF CAMERA Y. 
 
 And now the curfew-bell bad just finished its solemn .warn- 
 ing to the citizens. It was a night of deep gloom. Had it 
 not been for the torches here and there glaring in front of the 
 palace of King Philip, the citizens who hurried to their homes 
 had infallibly knocked their heads in passing against the low 
 columns and the gothic arcades, which stood high on the open 
 place called the Greve, a sandy extent of waste ground that 
 was bounded and washed by the waters of the Seine. 
 
 A young man came stealthily out from one of the houses in 
 the neighbourhood of the palace. Flinging across his right 
 shoulder the folds of his large cloak, to enable him no doubt to 
 freely use his iron-ferruled stick in case of need, he set off at 
 a quick pace. After having followed the course of the river 
 for some time, he passed opposite the convent and the street of 
 Hieres, and traced the whole length of the Quay of Ormes, of 
 which the street of the Paon-blanc and that of Frosgier-l'Anier 
 formed the two limits. He there stopped ; and first looking 
 cautiously round to see that there was no observer nigh, he 
 gently clapped his hands together twice. 
 
 The door of a small lodge, which flanked a garden-wall of 
 immense height, now slowly opened, and a young woman, en- 
 veloped in a long mantle, came forth, and offered her trembling 
 hand to the warm pressure which the young man was ready to 
 give it. 
 
 ^Severin!" said she, in a faltering voice, and after some 
 minutes of delicious silence, broken only by the echoes of their 
 deep-toned embraces ; " My Severin, this meeting must be the 
 
 last! You must leave this place to-morrow and for ever for 
 
 our love is no longer what it was, no longer pure and innocent 
 as in the days of our youth — it has now become criminal, and 
 may, if you fly not " 
 
 The young man only the more closely pressed her in his 
 arms. 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes, Severin, we must part for ever ! You must 
 forget your Lydorie for ever— -forget our early love, my false- 
 hood, my faithlessness — our renewed acquaintance this 
 
 criminal passion ! Farewell ! Farewell, my Severin, for 
 ever !" 
 
 While the agitated Lydorie thus spoke, Severin remained 
 as though stupified with surprise and grief. But when she 
 withdrew her hand from his grasp and stepped back for the 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. $9 
 
 fulfilment of the purpose announced by her last words, he 
 sprang forward, clasped her again in his arms and exclaimed, 
 « No, by heavens thou shalt not leave me ! nor will I ever quit 
 thee more ! Thou art mine — mine own ! My love, my mis- 
 tress, my wife, every thing that is dear and sacred ! When, 
 children together, we slept in the same cradle, did not our 
 common friend, the holy man who is now in heaven, did he 
 not say that we were destined for each other ? When cruel 
 fate compelled me to leave thee to the temptations of fortune- 
 too powerful for thy innocent heart— didst thou not promise 
 to be mine ? Did I not, the day when thou didst confess thy 
 love, hold thee fainting in my arms, thy cheeks wet with tears, 
 thy hand convulsively grasping mine ? And if the temptations 
 of a false world, the flattering guile of a selfish man, was too 
 much for thy unsupported faith— if in a moment of weakness 
 thou swervedst aside, hast thou not redeemed the fault ? Holy 
 Virgin ! is the oath that united thee to him more sacred than 
 that which bound thee to me ? No, Lydorie, thou art mine ! 
 Come, come then— let us fly ! We shall find in Hamault a 
 sure asylum— nothing can molest us there — all will be joy 
 and peace ! " 
 
 Lydorie wept bitterly, but made no answer. 
 
 « Come, come ! let us away ! " continued Severin, impa- 
 tiently yet tenderly, and drawing his weeping companion 
 closer to him. She raised her head, which had been sunk on 
 his shoulder, and exerting all her self-command, she at length 
 spoke. 
 
 " Severin/' said she, " is it then indeed you who give me 
 this advice, who thus urge me to ruin ? Oh, is not misery 
 enough for endurance, without shame ? You, who so often 
 told me in happier days that true love was holy virtue, that 
 it lived not but in purity, and died in dishonour ? Severin, 
 were I now to follow your mad advice, or listen to your frantic 
 proposal, in how little time would you look on me with con- 
 tempt how soon would my presence be a burthen, my very 
 
 love the nourishment of your remorse ! No, my dear, dear 
 friend, we must part ! — and for ever ! Farewell, farewell ! " 
 
 She darted from his embrace, entered the pavilion, and 
 firmly closed the door. He felt her withdraw from his arms, 
 he saw her light figure vanish from his side, he heard her 
 words and her steps as she fled along the path within the 
 
90 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 garden, yet he neither spoke nor stirred. While he stood 
 thus motionless and dumb, a sudden cry for help roused him 
 from his torpor. A mechanical movement of courage made 
 him grasp his stick firmly, and he hurried off in the direction 
 from which the cries and the clashing of weapons proceeded. 
 He soon reached a retired spot, where by the dismal light of 
 an almost expiring torch he saw a man defending himself with 
 a short sword, against the attacks of two assailants. Just as 
 Severin came running up, shouting encouragement to the 
 single man, one of the cowardly assailants fell to the earth, 
 and the other abandoned the contest and fled. 
 
 " May St. George be your speed, good friend ! You have 
 saved my life!" said the unknown, in French but with a 
 foreign accent which struck Severin as English — and it was 
 such. " But for you it was all over with me. I am hurt, 
 but I think slightly. Let us leave this place — that runaway 
 may bring others to attack us. Complete your good deed by 
 supporting me to my house, which is hard by — I bleed freely 
 — come on, kind sir! What are you groping for near that 
 writhing wretch, who seems at his last gasp ? " 
 
 " I am only seeking for my toque, which fell from my 
 head this moment.'' 
 
 " Haste, haste away, good friend — yon villain and his fel- 
 lows will be soon on our track — come, come ! I will give 
 you a hundred toques for the one you have lost !" and, the 
 wounded man leaning on Severin's arm, they both walked 
 away. 
 
 After some minutes they arrived before a portal, which 
 the stranger quickly opened by a spring ; and securely closing 
 it again, he uttered a short sentence of thanksgiving for his 
 escape. A courtyard was soon passed, and then several rooms 
 of a large and handsome house, in which the whole family 
 seemed to have retired to rest. At length they came to a 
 chamber, richly furnished and lighted up, and in which sat 
 a lady of noble mien, but whose countenance was strongly 
 marked with a melancholy expression. 
 
 At sight of the stranger, pale, almost staggering from faint- 
 ness, and covered with blood, she uttered a scream, and flew 
 towards him, with every mark of agitated affection. Severin 
 heard the following conversation, but understood nothing of it, 
 for it was in the English language. 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 91 
 
 te> Tis nothings Isabella — I feel that the wound is but 
 slight — compose yourself ! " 
 
 " Oh, Aymond ! what wretch has done this ? " 
 
 " Your kind brother, Charles, the handsome and bountiful, 
 King of France, by the grace of God ! He must have all 
 his titles from me on occasion of this ceremony of assassina- 
 tion," said the wounded person in a bitter ancl sarcastic tone. 
 
 ee Can Charles have been so base ? " 
 
 H Aye, Isabella, aye ! Two men bearing his household 
 livery, and one of them of high rank — for I saw his glittering 
 star and collar as I struck him down — have just waylaid and 
 wounded me, and but for this young man's assistance I had 
 now been without life and you without a protector. ,, 
 
 The lady threw a look full of gratitude on Severin. 
 
 " But this danger is not the only one which besets us," 
 continued the stranger. " Frightened by the threats, or 
 bought by the gold of Hugh Spencer — that bitter enemy 
 whom, by God's grace, I will one day pay for this ! — your 
 brother has signed a treaty by which he pledges himself to 
 deliver you up again to Edward — and what is the vengeance 
 which the tyrant king of England has in store for the wife 
 who left his arms for mine ? Need I dwell on this, or rouse 
 your fears ? As for me, Isabella, this attempt proves that 
 there is no intention that I should accompany you to England. 
 My county of Kent is too rich a heritage to allow those who 
 despoil me of it to let me live I" 
 
 " Oh, Aymond ! for myself I fear not Edward's revenge 
 or my own suffering — but to snatch thee from this peril, say, 
 what must be done ? What is our resource ? M 
 
 " Instant flight — nor is even that sure. I know we are 
 beset with bravos and assassins — but we must risk something 
 to escape from worse." 
 
 " And where turn our steps — and when ?" 
 
 " To Flanders — this very night, this very hour, my 
 Isabella, or it may be too late. My faithful Harrys is already 
 on before — I warned him to be ready, for I suspected what 
 was coming. He is at a few leagues' distance, with some 
 fifteen or twenty English men-at-arms, devoted fellows, but 
 whom the jealous fears of your brother would not suffer to be 
 lodged within the walls of Paris. Once with them we shall 
 be safe. We may then easily reach Hainault, w T here Count 
 John will be sure to give us protection and succour." 
 
g2 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 « And how, Aymond, to pass the intricate ways of the city 
 on a night so gloomy as this ? " 
 
 " 'Tis not easy — the scoundrel guide sent to me by Harrys 
 fled when the murderers attacked me." 
 
 With these words the Earl of Kent turned towards Severin, 
 who had stood a silent observer and uninformed listener of 
 what was done and said. To the questions, whether he knew 
 the streets of Paris well enough to find out the road to Hai- 
 nault in the dark ? he readily answered " yes ; " and a heavy 
 sigh accompanied the word, for he thought of his own late 
 project of flight. 
 
 u Put me and this lady safely on our route, kind comrade, 
 and I will reward you well." 
 
 " I want no reward — I am ready to do you this small 
 service.' , 
 
 " Away, away, then ! and God and St. George hold us m 
 their keeping! Now, Isabella, courage and energy! Go, 
 seek your son, and the most valuable of your jewels — one 
 casket only, for we must not be encumbered. I and this good 
 youth will soon saddle three horses — and then all is ready !" 
 
 After a short time, spent in washing away the blood and 
 applying some hasty dressing of lint to his wounded side, the 
 earl hastened to the stables with Severin. The queen of Eng- 
 land was quickly ready, with her beloved son in her arms — 
 her dearest treasure. In as short a time as it was possible to 
 employ on such an occasion, the party was fairly out, and in 
 such speed as prudence commanded them to use. At first 
 they went at a slow and steady walk, in order not to excite 
 suspicion or alarm to the patrols of archers and halberdiers 
 who might be encountered in the narrow streets ; but once 
 the gate of the city passed, and that was accomplished without 
 hindrance, they pushed forward at a good round trot; and 
 when the paved faubourg was cleared and the sandy road alone 
 beneath their horses' feet, a smart canter brought them quickly 
 out of all danger. But it was nearly daybreak before they 
 felt themselves to breathe freely. Silence was natural to 
 their respective states of mind. Few words were spoken, ex- 
 cept a kind and soothing inquiry at times, from Isabella to 
 her lover, when he could not suppress a groan from the pain 
 caused by his wound. The child, who was carried carefully 
 before Severin, firmly placed on a rolled-up cloak, slept soundly 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMERA Y. JfP 
 
 for whole hours. At length the queen, interrupting the deep 
 silence, turned towards Severin, and said, < Now that we are 
 safe and free, and assuredly not far from our escort, had you 
 not hetter turn back, generous young stranger? If they 
 discover that you aided our flight, your life may not be safe. 
 
 " My life is not worth preserving, madame — I have lost 
 all which could give it any value." 
 
 " So young and so unfortunate ! How is this ? " 
 
 Severin gave a brief sketch of his adventures and his hap- 
 less passion for Lydorie. His recital deeply interested the 
 queen. The modest and ingenuous affection of Lydorie, on 
 which Severin dwelt so tenderly, was a bitter reproach to her 
 whom passion had so far carried away as to make her expose 
 to the scandal of two powerful kingdoms her attachment to 
 her husband's brother. 
 
 Her heart was grievously oppressed at that moment ; and 
 she raised her eyes, which swam in tears, on him for whose 
 sake she had sacrificed her throne. She sought for consolation 
 in his looks, but found it not. A sarcastic smile played on his 
 pale face, and he addressed to Severin a few phrases of 
 raillery, on the weak prejudices which had persuaded him to 
 abandon Lydorie for ever, rather than risk her remorse by 
 urging her more forcibly to quit her husband's roof and fly 
 with him.. 
 
 While the queen listened to his ironical, and she thought 
 heartless words, a horrid doubt for the first time assailed her. 
 She asked herself if indeed this man for whom she had so 
 suffered loved her sincerely ; or whether he had not plunged 
 her into the abyss of disgrace from the cold calculations of 
 ambition? The question was too painful for examination 
 then— too deep for solution perhaps ever. She turned away 
 lest she might see in the heart-betraying expression of his 
 features the answer which she asked for, yet dreaded to re- 
 ceive. Ah ! this anguished moment and the like, were the 
 expiations inflicted by Heaven for the criminal enjoyments 
 which to the eye of the world were allowed to go un- 
 punished. 
 
 And now the travellers came up with the faithful domestic 
 and the expected escort, who waited for them at the place 
 appointed. The queen gave to Severin a valuable ring, which 
 she told him to keep in remembrance of one to whom he had 
 
94 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 done such good service, and of the boy he had so kindly taken 
 charge of. The Earl of Kent took him aside : 
 
 " Young man," said he, *' in assisting us as you have done, 
 you have perhaps done yourself a service as well as us. This 
 is not the moment to entrust you with the perilous secret of 
 our names. The less you know of us now, the better. But 
 let our blessed Lady and St. George but have us in their keep- 
 ing, and you shall one day remember with joy the actions of 
 the night we have passed together ! " 
 
 At these words he rejoined the escort; and Severin, throw- 
 ing a wistful look towards the Hainault road — yet irresistibly 
 drawn back to the scene that was to complete, as it had begun, 
 his destiny, slowly retraced his way to Paris on the noble 
 steed which he whom he had served insisted on his keeping 
 as a token of his gratitude. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 At the epoch of these events, under the reigns of King 
 Edward II. of England and Charles IV. of France, — the latter 
 surnamed Le Bel, from his being, as an old quaint chronicler 
 expresses it, "gent de prestance," and having "grand appetit 
 d' amour" — the art of painting was confined to a cold, clumsy, 
 and mincing imitation of nature. The few pictures of that 
 period are particularly deficient- in that spirit of animation 
 which is now the very soul of the art. The painter of those 
 days, wishing to give a representation of life, stamped his 
 efforts with the imprint of death. The portraits seem like- 
 nesses of painted corpses; and figures meant to represent 
 action,, resemble so many skeletons, fixed in a given attitude 
 and covered in the prevalent costume. 
 
 The chief use of the art during the fourteenth century, 
 was in its application to the embellishment of manuscripts. 
 In the miniature ornaments with which they were adorned, 
 the patient talent of the rubricator produced admirable results, 
 and reached a most extraordinary height of perfection. In 
 examining the rare and precious specimens of such works. 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 95 
 
 which now remain preserved in almost all their original fresh- 
 ness, we gaze with astonishment at the rich colours which 
 sparkle and glow over the page, surrounding the capital letters 
 with a halo of gold and azure, dividing the columns of close 
 and regular manuscript, and terminating in some exquisitely 
 finished ornament below them. The mixture of bright with 
 less dazzling tints forms a combination of which modern 
 painting gives no idea ; and the sight would be soon tired and 
 dazzled by so much splendour, did it not in turn repose on 
 the broad margin of white or cream-coloured vellum. 
 
 But the beauty of the art was all confined to the skill with 
 which its brilliant colours were thus arranged. The subjects 
 represented, particularly when human beings were included, 
 were the miniature details of a preposterous bad taste. Whe- 
 ther it was some saint with a gilded halo round his head, or 
 a knight of chivalry armed for the lists, or the author of the 
 book kneeling at the foot of some pope or bishop, whose 
 stiffened hands are standing up in the gest of benediction, or 
 a feudal chieftain with long flat streams of hair parted on his 
 forehead, or a jester in cap and bells with a jay on his wrist 
 — parodying his master's falcon — all wear the same into- 
 lerable air of inanity, and present a total absence of all that 
 is inspiring in human life, or interesting in nature. Men-at- 
 arms, castles, rivers, trees, mountains, all jumble together in 
 a close confusion — for perspective had not yet lent its magic 
 to the art. 
 
 An illuminated manuscript was in those strange days, 
 when intellect was so advanced but civilisation so imperfect, 
 a valuable treasure. Nearly seventy years after the time we 
 treat of, Charles VI. of France possessed but six volumes in 
 his library. And many a chieftain of high lineage and high 
 fame for feats of arms, having by great favour been allowed 
 to examine these rare wonders, returned to his feudal castle 
 and told his gentle dame of the marvellous embellishments in 
 the majestic tomes, paid for so highly to some obscure monk 
 or nameless clerk, but which he, high and mighty warrior 
 that he was, would have blushed to be thought capable of 
 reading. 
 
 From all this it may be supposed that the profession of 
 rubricator was very lucrative ; for rare as was the accomplish- 
 ment of reading, that of illuminating manuscript was in- 
 
96 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 finitely more so. It was often, then, while in the practice of 
 his art, and in the enjoyment of the luxuries and goods, of life 
 which it produced him, that Severin blessed the memory of 
 the good Canon Watermetz, whose name was, alas ! associated 
 so closely with that one which formed at once the blessing 
 and the bane of his existence. 
 
 Returned now from his abrupt and adventurous expedition, 
 and his thoughts perplexed between wonderment as to who 
 his new acquaintances could be, and what their sudden cause 
 of flight, and with the far more absorbing subject of Lydorie's 
 resolute abandonment of him, and the best means for making 
 her renounce her cruel decision, he sat down before the large 
 table, where pencils, colours, gold leaf, and plaquets of foil, 
 with the other utensils of his art, were spread. 
 
 But in vain did Severin hope to gain quiet and calm in the 
 labours of his profession. His turbulent thoughts rose up and 
 ran riot, despite his repeated efforts at application ; and he felt 
 relief rather than annoyance at hearing the vociferations of a 
 noisy crowd, which had entered the street and seemed gathered 
 for some specific object in front of the house in which he 
 lodged. As he approached one of the narrow casements in 
 order to look out, his chamber door was violently burst open, 
 several armed men rushed on him, bound him with cords, 
 dragged him forcibly away, and followed by a furious mob, 
 who heaped on him insult, abuse, and execration, he was 
 finally placed within a prison, and thrust into one of its most 
 loathsome dungeons. 
 
 Bewildered, confounded, yet almost looking with apathy on 
 his fate, he was roused up by the reopening sounds of his 
 prison gate, just as his dungeon door was on the point of 
 being closed. The ruffian gaoler wished to give one additional 
 pang to the suffering prepared for him — but with it he gave 
 a new impulse to his existence. Turning his eyes in the 
 direction of the grating bolts and bars, and startled by a re- 
 newed yell of savage imprecation from the mob without, he 
 saw a female figure carried forward, her delicate arms bound, 
 like his own strong limbs, with cords, her fainting frame 
 resting in the clasp of a fierce man-at-arms. " Heavens ! 
 Ye saints of glory ! can it be ? " Yes, it was Lydorie ! 
 
 He would have sprung forward — but the gaolers pushed * 
 him into the gloomy dungeon ; the door closed with a heavy 
 sound, and he fell insensible on the floor. 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 97 
 
 For three whole months the wretched Severin lingered in 
 his dungeon. No human face ever met his anxious glance, 
 save that of his gaoler, a wretch chosen, it would seem, not 
 less from his brutal disposition than his repulsive aspect. In- 
 sensible to every appeal, he never answered one word to 
 Severin's desperate inquiries as to the charges against himself, 
 or, what affected him a thousand-fold more acutely, the fate 
 of Lydorie. At times, indeed, as if inclined to give some 
 relief to his half-maddened mind, the gaoler would prolong 
 his visit some minutes beyond the usual time ; and while laying 
 down the scanty supply of food, enough to keep body and soul 
 together from day to day, he would seem to listen more 
 earnestly to the prisoner's pleadings ; but then, with diabolical 
 refinement, he would give a fiend-like smile, or burst into 
 coarse laughter, as he retired and fastened the bolts and bars. 
 
 Innumerable conjectures floated on Severing brain. But 
 the most settled of the several notions that seemed to bring 
 conviction was, that the two strangers whose flight he had so 
 effectively helped, had, for some selfish motive of security, 
 sacrificed him to their own enemies. And he concluded, that 
 for some inexplicable cause they found it politic to implicate 
 the innocent Lydorie, as a pretended accomplice in the mea- 
 sures which he alone had effected. How bitterly did he now 
 regret the confidence he had placed in those strangers ! But 
 what a relief was it at the time to unburthen his overloaded 
 heart ! And who could have suspected persons of their evident 
 high rank, apparent candour and cordiality, and whose only 
 probable feelings towards him should have been those arising 
 from generosity and gratitude ? 
 
 But it was too late for regret — too soon, perhaps, for de- 
 spair. The flickering light of Hope was still alive. And the 
 very circumstance which so aggravated his suffering on per- 
 sonal accounts, brought an antidote with it. The fact that 
 Lydorie was implicated in his fate, convinced him that while 
 his was undecided, hers remained in doubt. And there was a 
 deep but dreary element of consolation in thinking that she 
 still inhabited the same mournful mansion with him, and 
 the atmosphere of misery around him seemed purified and 
 brightened, by the belief that she was in it too. With this 
 feeling — one of those heaven-sent consolations which accom- 
 pany almost every variety of suffering — Severin, tired out 
 
 H 
 
gg THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 with the torturing agitation of thought, used to fling himself 
 on the damp straw of his dungeon, and dream hnght visions, 
 which had prohahly not floated o'er him had he pressed the 
 downy couch of a palace. 
 
 One morning his door was opened; his gaoler entered as 
 usual, hut he was followed hy four men, one of them in the 
 costume of a legal functionary. After scrupulously ascertain- 
 ing that the prisoner's chains were securely fastened on his 
 emaciated limbs, they ordered him to follow them, and they 
 all quitted the dungeon. t 
 
 It was spring. The air was soft and clear. The sky 
 brightly blue. In quitting the infected spot where he had 
 crouched so long in anguish, a thrill of joy rushed through the 
 prisoner's frame, as though the inspiring breath of heaven had 
 found a free passage through every pore. He for a moment 
 forgot all past misery, all present danger, and had the thread 
 of life that moment snapped asunder, he had died a death oi 
 perfect happiness. So far for the physical susceptibility of the 
 man - but one lightning flash of thought, bringing back the 
 image of his adored Lydorie, as he last saw her, turned all this 
 riot of sensation into the still calm of despair. His chains once 
 more weighed him down. His heart sunk again, and he 
 walked on, or tottered rather, his feeble limbs scarcely able to 
 support their load of woe. 
 
 After traversing several streets he was conducted to a large 
 building, called by courtesy the seat of justice. He was soon 
 in the presence of those tools of tyranny whose voice was to 
 decide his fate. The crowd who attended to witness the trial 
 received the accused with their usual yell of anticipating con- 
 demnation ; and, as he took his place on the seat allotted to 
 the unhappy culprits, who were doomed to the mockery ol 
 iudicial inquiry in those days, a new shout from the ferocious 
 mob caused him to raise his eyes and look around. He be- 
 held Lydorie, loaded with chains, but a beam of joy and 
 beauty flashing across her pallid cheek as she caught his view. 
 He strove to dart towards her ; but the guards held him down 
 on his seat ; and she quietly occupied hers, with looks of love 
 and confidence alternately fixed on him, or thrown up towards 
 
 Some introductory forms being gone through, the principal 
 judge addressed the two prisoners as follows : — 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 99 
 
 "Severin Magalouffe and Lydorie de Lens, Countess of 
 Coucy in your own right, listen ! You, Magalouffe, are the 
 murderer of Sir Eustace de Lens, a brave and worthy knight, 
 late in the service of his Majesty King Charles, and deputy 
 intendant of the palace, a high and honourable place in the 
 royal household. You treacherously waylaid him in the night, 
 in the near neighbourhood of his own residence, aided by 
 yonder criminal, his wife, who met you by appointment there, 
 to do this bloody deed. The provost and his marshals and 
 men-at-arms, in carrying off the corpse of the murdered knight, 
 found on the spot this green velvet toque. Well may you 
 start with horror at this silent evidence of your crime ! Within 
 the folds of its lining was concealed this slip of parchment, 
 traced with these damning words, 6 This night, Severin, when 
 the curfew sounds its warning — fail not — 'tis the last ' — the 
 last hour my husband has to live, was no doubt what her guilty 
 hand would have written, were ye not already on that point 
 agreed ! The words are traced by you, Lydorie de Lens, for 
 fatally true it is that you were early and foolishly taught the 
 art of writing, which was never meant for women's knowledge, 
 but suits best the holy monks, whose duty is to preserve and 
 propagate the blessed scriptures and the works of the saints ; 
 or the learned clerks and doctors, whose business is to expound 
 and transcribe the laws of the state. This false step in your 
 early bringing up has led you now to conviction. Let it be a 
 warning to those who hear me, to bring up their daughters in 
 that wise ignorance which is suitable to every woman educated 
 in the fear of God, and the simple duties of her estate in life. 
 Severin Magalouffe, what have you to answer ? " 
 
 Severin, overwhelmed by the weight of this unlooked-for ac- 
 cusation, to which appearances lent such a colour of truth, 
 could not, unprepared as he was with arguments or witnesses, 
 attempt a useless defence. For himself he saw there was no 
 hope. His only thought was of Lydorie ; and he exclaimed 
 in a steady voice, — 
 
 " She is innocent ! 99 
 
 " He confesses his own guilt — put it down in the scroll ! " 
 said the chief judge. " And you, Lydorie, Countess of Coucy ? " 
 added he. 
 
 " Heaven be my witness, I am innocent of this foul crime, 
 h 2 
 
100 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 and Severin also ! " said Lydorie in timid but unfaltering 
 accents. 
 
 A shout of indignation broke from the auditory, and the 
 judges shook their heads, and frowned at this perverse denial 
 of guilt. Lydorie saw that it was in vain to oppose her feeble 
 words to their pre-determined obstinacy. She sat down there- 
 fore in silence. 
 
 Severin, at sight of her hopless resignation, and in the 
 pictured horror of her approaching fate, recovered all his 
 energy. He again stood up, and in a clear and determined 
 manner related all the circumstances and events which bore 
 upon the case. But the judges listened in incredulous indif- 
 ference ; and from all parts of the assembled crowd exclama- 
 tions of disbelief and vengeance were heard. 
 
 6< They are guilty ! They are guilty ! Revenge, for the bar- 
 barous murder of Sir Eustace de Lens ! " and such-like sounds 
 reverberated through the lofty hall. The judge then stood 
 up to pronounce the sentence. * It condemned Severin and 
 Lydorie, found guilty of murder and adultery, to a cruel and 
 ignominious death, on the morning following the trial. It was 
 heard in silence by the two prisoners ; and was hailed with 
 loud shouts of approbation by the blood-thirsty mob. After 
 it was pronounced, the business of the day was declared to be 
 over. The condemned criminals were dragged away to their 
 respective dungeons, and the judges retired to the enjoyment 
 of their evening meal. 
 
 * To the curious in matters of judicial and legislative atrocity we give the fol- 
 lowing literal extract from this document, which condemned Severin Magalouffe 
 and Lydorie, Countess of Coucy, " etre justicies de trois manieres, savoir ; a" etre 
 traines sur un bahut, a trompes et trompettes, par toute la ville, de rue en rue, et 
 puis amenes devant la maison de la dite Coratesse de Coucy : en cet endroit ils 
 seront lies sur une esselle (echelle) haut si que chacun petit et grand les pourra 
 voir ; et aura-t-on fait en ladite place un grand feu. Quand ils seront lies on leur 
 coupera la main dextre et senestre, arachera la langue, et creveras les yeux. Apres 
 quoi, on les jettera au feu, pour ardoir, (bruler,) et apres leur sera le coeur tire 
 nors du ventre et jete au feu : apres que les dits Severin Magalouffe et Lydorie, 
 Comtesse de Coucy auront ainsi £te atournes, on leur coupera la tete, et seront-ils 
 decoupes en quatre quartiers, et envoyes en quatre meilleures rues de la cite de 
 Paris." 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 101 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The Hotel St. Paul, the palace of King Charles, was a large 
 and straggling building, or rather a collection of buildings, 
 purchased from different owners, and united together by con- 
 necting balustrades and corridors, and it stretched along the 
 borders of the river Seine, not far from the scene of the events 
 so important to the now desolate Severin and Lydorie. 
 
 In the most distant portions of this palace was a large court 
 planted with trees, in the midst of which a fountain threw up 
 an artificial stream of water, which fell down again among the 
 foliage, on the surface of a broad basin, with a monotonous and 
 melancholy sound. All the windows which looked upon this 
 court, were defended by wireworked trellis, to prevent the 
 intrusion of a quantity of pheasants, pigeons, and other birds 
 domesticated in the place. 
 
 It was in a small tower or pavilion at the extremity of this 
 court, so adapted to the quiet purposes of a dormitory, that 
 King Charles slept soundly and late, for the bright rays of 
 sunshine had long lighted up the rich curtains of gold brocade 
 which enveloped the regal couch. Suddenly the noise of a 
 heavy and hasty step echoed on the marble pavement of the 
 corridor ; and, though almost stifled in the thick matting of 
 rushes which covered the floor of the ante-room, the move- 
 ments of the intruder were still audible, as he passed the pages 
 with an air of authority, and made his way up close to the 
 sleeping monarch. 
 
 " How now ? Who is there ? Who breaks in on my rest 
 thus early ? " cried the imperative king, with the ill temper so 
 natural to all men on being so disturbed. " By my Patron, 
 this is too bad ! Do my chamberlains and pages stand at my 
 door for nought, halberd in hand or sword at side, while I am 
 at the mercy of every intruder ? Ha ! good cousin is it you ? " 
 continued he, on recognising the grave and deliberate physiog- 
 nomy of Count Philip of Valois looking grimly through the 
 curtains. 
 
 " I bring news to your Majesty, enough to make you rouse 
 from your slumbers, aye, and to keep your eyes from closing 
 for a night or more," replied the Count of Valois, with a harsh 
 and somewhat presuming tone. 
 
 h 3 
 
102 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 "What then are these evil tidings? Cut short my sus- 
 pense and your own pleasure in brooding over them," said the 
 angry king. 
 
 "'Tis briefly, your Majesty, that a messenger has just 
 arrived from Hainault, bringing, in troth, bad news. Count 
 John, with his men-at-arms, on landing in England with 
 Queen Isabelle, and Kent her paramour, was warmly welcomed 
 by the turbulent barons. The chief men among them quickly 
 raised their banners for the queen. King Edward and 
 Spencer, besieged in Bristol, were soon taken prisoners. The 
 captive monarch is held close and fast by Lord Berkely, while 
 the hapless minister was executed on the spot." 
 
 " By St. Mark, good cousin, this tale comes quick and 
 glibly from your lips, as though it pleased you well ! What 
 more ? How fares it with my sister ? Who is in power ? " 
 
 Ci Queen Isabelle is proclaimed regent of the kingdom, in 
 place of the king, who is declared unworthy to reign. Earl 
 Aymond is now all in all — the queen is regent ; but your 
 Majesty need not learn who rules over her. Remember, sire, 
 he bears in his flank the mark of the blade which Sir Eustace 
 de Lens meant for his heart, and be not surprised that he 
 means to make a pilgrimage to our Lady of Paris, who pre- 
 served his life — thirty thousand English pikes and as many 
 men-at-arms to carry the torches in his procession.' , 
 
 (c A truce, Philip, to your sarcastic air and words — this is 
 indeed bad news ! How quickly all this has passed ! " 
 
 e< Aye, by my faith, more quickly than we may complete 
 our preparations for the threatened visit of outrageous Kent." 
 
 " What is to be done? " asked the king, in great agitation. 
 " What force to oppose to this enemy who never pardoned a 
 wrong? How raise supplies ?" 
 
 " Force ! there is none/' — resumed De Valois ; " and as for 
 supplies for the empty coffers of the state, you might torture, 
 flay, and hang Lombards and Jews to the last man, and not 
 get a rose noble — witness the obstinacy of Gerard de Guette 
 and many more." 
 
 " I will throw myself at once on the great nobles," said the 
 king. 
 
 " They are more likely in this juncture to throw themselves 
 on your majesty. The great vassals and feudatories of the 
 crown are your worst enemies. They are gained over already 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 103 
 
 by English gold ; and even those that might be faithful are 
 exhausted by their petty wars." 
 
 " Isabelle loves me still — I will depend on her." 
 
 " Remember, sire, your discourteous reception of her here 
 so lately, when you aimed, through your creature's hand, at 
 her lover's life." 
 
 " By the blessed saints! Count Philip, I cannot bear your 
 taunts — you drive me mad ! " exclaimed the king, springing 
 from his bed, and pacing his chamber in a very undignified 
 mood. "Have you nought to advise? No consolation ? No 
 resource ? I still reckon on Isabelle " 
 
 " Your majesty is about to lose, this very day, all chance of 
 her intercession to avert this threatened calamity." 
 
 " How is that ? What mean you, Philip ? " 
 
 " The provosts and judges have condemned and are going 
 to execute a man who, without knowing whom he rescued, 
 was the means of saving the life of the Earl of Kent, the 
 night that de Lens fell in the attempt to assassinate him. A 
 worthy priest has just now told me all the details, having come 
 from the prison of the innocent man to implore my good 
 offices with your Majesty for his pardon." 
 
 " How are we to know that Isabelle cares for this culprit's 
 life ? " 
 
 <f Here is a ring, which I readily recognise for hers, given 
 by her to the youth in token of gratitude — I received it ere- 
 while from the hands of the priest." And then, at the king's 
 request, Count Philip entered into an ample explanation of the 
 adventure by which Severin and Lydorie had been so seriously 
 implicated in her husband's well-merited death. 
 
 " Isabelle loves the marvellous and romantic," said the king 
 to himself in deep reverie, when the Count of Valois had 
 concluded. " Enough, Philip ! " continued he, addressing the 
 count. " This tale tells marvellous well. Give instant orders 
 that at noon precisely this officious youth, who stepped be- 
 tween me and my just intentions towards Kent, be brought to 
 the Church of Notre Dame, to do full penance for his crimes 
 — be even this charge unfounded — and afterwards carried to 
 execution !" 
 
 The count gazed on Charles with stern astonishment ; and 
 attempted to address some remonstrance on this act of mani- 
 fest tyranny. 
 
 h 4 
 
104 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMERA Y« 
 
 " Do as we have ordered, cousin ! " interrupted the Mug, 
 with more than usual peremptoriness of tone; and to cut 
 short all rejoinder on the part of the count, he called his 
 chamberlains and valets, and directed them to dress him in all 
 speed. 
 
 When the confessor of the prison returned from his visit 
 of intercession to the Count of Valois, deeply afflicted with 
 its result, and considering in what terms he could best prepare 
 the unfortunate Severin for his fate, he found him in a crisis 
 of fierce excitement. 
 
 The previous day he had been calm and as it were over- 
 whelmed by the weight of an inevitable evil. But when, 
 after having made his confession to the good priest, the latter 
 informed him who were the distinguished personages whose 
 flight he had assisted, and that he saw a clear means, if time 
 were but afforded, of proving his innocence and that of Ly- 
 dorie, an uneasy and anxious feeling of delight seemed to 
 possess him. The poignant impatience which succeeded 
 during the night and on the following morning caused an 
 agitation approaching to delirium. 
 
 At length the door of his dungeon was once more opened. 
 The old priest appeared. His sorrowful looks and eyes filled 
 with tears told the condemned youth that no hope was left 
 him. 
 
 Then it was that the ungovernable rage of despair com- 
 pletely o'ermastered Severin. He sprang from end to end of 
 , his dungeon, he lugged and clanked his chains, he struck his 
 head against the walls, and vociferated screams and impreca- 
 tions. Neither the gentle voice of the priest nor the robust 
 exertions of the gaoler had power to calm his fury, till he 
 sunk bleeding and exhausted at their feet. 
 
 " Oh, my son, my son ! " exclaimed the holy man, " If 
 human power condemns and punishes us wrongfully, is not 
 the justice of heaven waiting to recompense us for our suffer- 
 ings here below ? Accept, with resignation, the crown of 
 thorns of mortal woe, to receive one of unfading glory here- 
 after ! Think of your manifold sins, my son, and repent in 
 time!" 
 
 " And she, she ! What are her sins ? She, who is pure as 
 the angels of heaven ! And they are going to destroy that 
 beautiful form, in open day and in the gaze of the monstrous 
 
THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 105 
 
 brutality of mankind ! Let me loose — set me free ! There 
 is no justice on earth or in heaven ! " 
 
 At this blasphemy the saintly old man signed himself de- 
 voutly with the sign of the cross, and vowed a nine days' 
 office to our Lady of Grace, if by her powerful influence she 
 deigned to save the poor sufferer from such an excess of despair. 
 
 u Oh, my dear child," resumed he with great emotion, " do 
 not die in blasphemy, and as abandoned miscreants might die ! 
 Reject not the holy palm of martyrdom in virtue's cause, 
 which the blessed angels prepare for you. Innocence is virtue, 
 and you are innocent ! Oh, die not thus ! For such a death 
 would be to inflict on me, who have laboured night and day 
 to console, as I could not save you, an everlasting recollection 
 of anguish." 
 
 " Oh pardon, pardon, holy father ! But it is so frightful 
 to think of! — Oh ! if I could die alone ! But she ! she !" 
 
 At length the good priest contrived to bring the suffering 
 youth to a state of comparative calm ; and when the execu- 
 tioners came to lead him away, they found him kneeling be- 
 fore the holy man, who stooped over him, blessed him, and 
 wept aloud. 
 
 According to the custom of those barbarous times, when 
 every outrage was added to embitter the pangs of tyranny's 
 victim, the prisoner was bound on a hurdle and thus drawn 
 amidst the insults of the populace to the church of Notre 
 Dame, where, according to the orders of the King, he was to 
 undergo the species of penance known by the name of amende 
 honorable. An immense crowd filled the church in all parts ; 
 and contrary to custom in like cases, Severin was led into the 
 choir, across which a long black curtain was suspended, as if 
 to add gloom to the melancholy scene. 
 
 While Severin was placed upon his knees in front of the 
 curtain, it was slowly drawn on one side, and Lydorie, dressed 
 in the splendid apparel of a bride, suddenly rushed forward, 
 and with a hysteric scream of joy threw herself into her 
 lover's arms. Severin, quite overcome, lost for a while all 
 sense of woe or joy. 
 
 When he came to himself, Lydorie was still there, sup- 
 porting his wounded head, embracing his forehead and bath- 
 ing it with tears of rapture mixed with dread. Many persons 
 richly clad, among whom were ladies who wept and smiled at 
 
106 
 
 THE ORPHAN OF CAMBRAY. 
 
 once, surrounded Severin. His arms were released from their 
 cords, and they had instinctively folded themselves round 
 Lydorie's waist. 
 
 The King — for Charles himself was present — gazed on 
 the scene with the interest which the author of a mystery 
 might have taken in the representation of his work, while it 
 was acted by the holy brothers of his convent. 
 
 "Now, my Lord Bishop/' said he to a prelate who stood 
 by in full pontificals — " now celebrate the marriage ; the time 
 is come ! — And here is the dowry which we give with our 
 royal hand to this noble dame, full restitution of her rights, 
 full reparation for her honour, full enjoyment of lands, estates, 
 and privileges falsely forfeited to the crown. And here is a 
 patent of nobility for this brave and injured youth in name 
 of our dearly cherished sister, the Queen Regent of England. 
 For be it known to all men, that it was he who saved this be- 
 loved sister from danger and perhaps death, when we were 
 most treacherously instigated to wrath against her. But this, 
 alas ! is the fate of princes — too often do wicked counsellors 
 make them walk in evil ways ! 
 
 "My Lord Robert of Artois," continued the wily King, 
 after a long-drawn sigh, and turning to a young prince who 
 stood at his side — "it was not you assuredly who wert 
 cause of this our almost fatal error. Your voice was always 
 raised in favour of our dear sister, and we thank you for it 
 now. To you then be entrusted the joyful task of communi- 
 cating the description of this scene to Isabelle of England. 
 Tell her how truly and how well her brave preserver has found 
 protection and gratitude at my hands V 
 
 "And now, my Lord Bishop, proceed. And with this 
 ring, the gift of my ever-beloved sister to this gallant youth, 
 and which has served to discover the mystery so nearly fatal, 
 be the nuptial rites performed.' ' 
 
 The marriage was duly celebrated. The monarch and his 
 court retired. Severin and Lydorie were escorted in triumph 
 to a richly decorated suite of apartments prepared in the 
 royal palace. And the populace, who had so lately hurled 
 their insults and imprecations so unsparingly on an innocent 
 victim, were now with much difficulty restrained from tearing 
 in pieces the judge who had condemned him, and who had 
 been attracted by curiosity to his window to see the triumphant 
 procession as it passed. 
 
107 
 
 THE 
 
 CURSE OF THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 A LEGEND OF BRABANT. 
 
 I Knowest thou, Jam Steen, if yonder skiff in the offing be 
 the craft of Peter Meerman ; she that has been four days 
 missing — as might well be looked for from her sailing out on 
 Friday?" 
 
 " Hadst thou only used thy sound eye and not strove to 
 blink through the other, thou hadst seen that her sharp keel 
 and upper rigging are not Flemish/' answered gruffly the man 
 thus questioned. " Aye, as I thought," continued he, after 
 having attentively peered at the vessel through his half-closed 
 hand, " she is certainly English, and " 
 
 " I think so too," said the first speaker, interrupting the 
 sentence, " and it is that that made me so dubious, for it 
 seems marvellous strange that one of King Edward's ships 
 should venture on our snores since the Black Lady's seizure of 
 the wools, and his reprisals." 
 
 It was in a solitary spot on the coast of Flanders that the 
 preceding dialogue took place between two fishermen, who, 
 while they were employed in drying their nets on the strand, 
 watched what would to a landsman's eye have seemed but the 
 shadow of a ship on the distant horizon. The view around 
 was bleak and wild. The only evidences of vegetation were a 
 few stunted briars, with here and there a thistle struggling 
 through the sterile soil, which occasionally rose into irregular 
 ridges that served as a boundary to the encroachments of the 
 sea. But for these natural dykes it would long before have 
 totally inundated a district so flat that those ungraceful in- 
 
108 
 
 THE CURSE OP 
 
 equalities served as a relief to the dreary and wide-spread desola- 
 tion. The signs of human occupation were confined to a few 
 oven-like huts scattered on the sands, the abodes of some of 
 that amphibious class to which belonged the two individuals 
 whose conversation we have just reported. 
 
 a "J 167 L Y hat n ° W ? — ' Tis a si g na * for a boat," continued 
 the first of those speakers, resuming the subject and answering 
 his own question, while he dropped the net he had been hand- 
 ling and hurried to the beach. The signal was not unob- 
 served by others, nor disregarded by any. In a little while 
 three boats were seen plying towards the vessel, two of them 
 guided by our coUoquists, and presently a fourth appeared from 
 a more distant point. 
 
 When Jam Steen, in his little and clumsily built boat re- 
 gained the beach, it was freighted with a lady extended on a 
 kind of couch her head carefully supported by a man dressed 
 m a cloth of Bruges mantle, trimmed with minivar, and a 
 velvet toque garnished with a heron's feather. Another in 
 the costume of a Knight Templar, aided this person to render 
 the short course of the boat as little fatiguing as might be to 
 the sick lady, who by the richness of her attire seemed to be 
 of high rank. The three other boats were filled with attend- 
 ants and baggage; but the notice of the stragglers who 
 one by one collected on the beach, was particularly attracted 
 by two Africans, whose woolly heads and unprepossessing 
 visages furnished a theme of revolting wonderment to the un- 
 travelled Flemings. 
 
 As the Templar and his companion came on shore, the 
 crowd gradually fixed their attention on the latter, who, having 
 thrown off his cloak, appeared habited in the fashion of the 
 how Countries; but his tunic and hose were of the finest 
 materials, while a massive gold chain and rich medallion 
 stamped authority on his air of proud command. His short 
 Hair, thick moustache, and marked and prominent features 
 soon, m fact, caused him to be recognised as Guy de Dampier 
 Count of Flanders. His attendants quickly placed his lady- 
 wife m a litter, hastily prepared; but scarcely was it put in 
 motion, m the direction of Bruges, accompanied by the Count 
 and his companions and followed by gazing groups, than it 
 was met by a new comer, who approached Count Guy with an 
 exclamation of surprise, while he folded him in an embrace of 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 109 
 
 dubious cordiality, and gave a salute rather familiar than 
 friendly to the Countess. 
 
 " What, Baldwin ! You here to greet my unlooked-for 
 coming ? " exclaimed the Count, breaking from the loosely 
 clasped arms of his half-brother. " How is it with you, and 
 how with the Lady Marguerite, our mother ?" 
 
 " For myself, Guy, I am as usual, neither well nor ill, 
 neither rejoicing nor sorrowing, enjoying nought yet venting 
 no complaint, filling a high station as though it were not mine, 
 and zealously performing duties which it seems a mistake of 
 fate to have imposed upon me. As for our — your mother, 
 let me rather say, she has ever since your departure held on her 
 harsh and rigid course. Shut up in the close recesses of her pa- 
 lace, scarcely seen, never heard, the darkest gloom oppresses her. 
 Subjects, duties, glory, seem all alike forgotten or despised." 
 
 "And this affair about the seizure of English wool, of 
 which I heard obscurely in yon vessel ? " inquired the Count 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Alas ! " said Baldwin, u our mother, imperious as inex- 
 orable, has hurried on that ruinous measure, and scorns to 
 flinch from the evils it provokes. The embassy to England 
 for payment of the old-claimed subsidy was indignantly re- 
 fused. King Henry, though old and feeble, spiritedly rejected 
 
 | the demand. The Lady Marguerite, rousing for a moment 
 from her lethargy, seized on every cargo, every bale, every 
 bundle of English wool within the state, though much of it 
 had passed into the hands of her own subjects. 
 
 M And was there none near her, Baldwin, not one to urge 
 the madness of the measure ? To show the ruin of exasper- 
 ating our most powerful neighbour, whose alliance is a vital 
 necessity of our existence ? Without English wool, our 
 manufactories may crumble, and our weavers starve I " 
 
 "You, Count of Flanders, by your firmness and your 
 martial character, have, I must own, obtained much influence 
 
 1 over the mind of the Lady Marguerite ; born as you were of 
 her second and less unfortunate marriage than that which gave 
 
 j me birth/' replied Baldwin of Avesnes. " And yet I am not 
 
 I at all assured that had even you been here to interfere with 
 the first movement of her resentment against the King of 
 England, that the claws of your Lion had not been clipped as 
 close as the tongue and nails of my brother's Griffin, when he 
 
110 
 
 THE CURSE OP 
 
 dared to oppose her will. Bethink you then what would have 
 been my fate, whose very name recalls the injuries she suffered 
 from my unhappy parent, had I once dared to interfere ! " 
 
 "Enough, enough, good Baldwin. I know too well, that 
 towards thee and thy haughty brother no mother's love glows 
 in her bosom. Yet, methought, as she is not ignorant of thy 
 ability in the transaction of our court affairs, she might per- 
 chance have listened to thy counsel. But tell me then, what 
 followed upon the seizure of the wools ? " inquired Sir Guy 
 de Dampier. 
 
 (i Before any other steps were taken on the part of the 
 English, King Henry died/' replied Baldwin. ec But Edward, 
 his successor, still absent on the crusade, sent orders that all 
 our vessels in the English ports, together with the Flemish 
 merchandise of every description which was found within his 
 territory, should be seized and sold, and that the money aris- 
 ing from their sale should be divided among those whose goods 
 had been confiscated here ; and yet more, he forbade any 
 farther exportations." 
 
 " But we can still get their wools from Brabant, from Hol- 
 land, and from Germany ? " 
 
 " Nay, nay, think not that England's king, aided as he is 
 by his faithful counsellors the Commons and rich burgesses, is 
 to be thus overreached. " 
 
 " Why not ? " impatiently asked Count Guy. 
 
 " Because," replied Baldwin, " when they found we made 
 large purchases from Antwerp, Flushing, and Hamburg, the 
 King of England issued an edict to forbid the exportation 
 of wool altogether ; and he has besides now invited our arti- 
 sans to go over with their looms to England, where a large 
 premium and powerful protection await to welcome them." 
 
 " And do the greasy varlets, forgetting our protection, seek 
 another master?" asked the Count, angrily. 
 
 (: When want and misery stare him in the face, when the 
 hungry manufacturer finds by the privation of his food no 
 strength of body to support the mind's resolve ; when he sees 
 his infants starving around him " 
 
 "Enough, enough \" cried the Count, stamping furiously, 
 but his brother firmly continued : 
 
 " Add to this information your knowledge of the Flemish 
 character. Free even to madness with their governors, and 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 Ill 
 
 proud of their loyalty, as soon as they deem themselves op- 
 pressed, their clamours are proportionably loud, and epithets 
 of the most injurious nature are lavished on those to whom 
 they impute their wrongs. Our mother, though she has given 
 them many useful laws, and has bestowed so many regulations 
 advantageous to their commerce, lives, like some eastern despot, 
 enclosed within her palace ; seldom viewed, even by the 
 Hainaulters among whom she resides, and never visible to the 
 Flemings, whose counts of former times have lived among 
 them, followed their usages, and conformed to their characters, 
 and have at least listened to their complaints, if they could not 
 redress their grievances. The people have therefore taken the 
 Lady Marguerite in abhorrence." 
 " Abhorrence ! " 
 
 " Yes, Guy : though she be my mother, and as such com- 
 mands my duty, however little she be sensible to the claims of 
 nature, 'tis necessary that you know the truth. They speak 
 of her as one entirely destitute of natural sensibility : they 
 palliate my father's severity — nay, frown not, Count of Flan- 
 ders, — they hint at some dark practices, and they designate 
 her so frequently by the epithet of the c Black Lady,' that 
 many, I am persuaded, both in Hainault and Flanders, are 
 ignorant that this is not really her title/' 
 
 Count Guy looked the astonishment he really felt. For 
 some moments he remained silent, pondering over all that had 
 been said, and then changing the conversation, asked, " And 
 have many left our coast for England ?" 
 
 (C The edict is of too recent a date to have been very 
 widely extensive in its effects. Two or three families of 
 Bruges have been imprisoned, detected in their efforts to ex- 
 patriate themselves. But what avails it ? Hunger is stronger 
 than prison walls ! There are continually watches for the 
 arrival of strange vessels, and it was the intelligence that one 
 of English seeming was in sight that brought me to the coast." 
 
 " And the Countess ? " said Count Guy. 
 
 " I have already said, and you need not be told, that un- 
 supported by you, Count of Flanders, I dare not seek to tell 
 her vexatious news," replied Baldwin. 
 
 " Tut, tut, man. Do I not know that your politics reach 
 to the inmost recesses of her palace ? " observed the Count, 
 laughing. 
 
112 THE CURSE OP 
 
 " If it be so, I reserve the secret for confession ; and I 
 think that you have not yet taken the tonsure," replied Bald- 
 win, in the same tone. 
 
 « And my rich town of Bruges ? " said Guy, with some 
 hesitation. 
 
 "Nay, Guy, spare me, I pray you, the mortification of 
 telling you of what your own eyes will too soon read. But 
 more than all, I fear Edward's anger." 
 
 "Fear!" exclaimed the Count, haughtily, U I fear him 
 not, but I dread the effects of his measures upon the trade and 
 consequent prosperity of my country." 
 
 " Pardon me, Guy, if I have used a word unfit for the ears 
 of one educated in the court of the noble Henry of Brabant, 
 and who has fought with so much glory in the Holy Land. 
 But now let me ask, how is it that you are here landed on 
 this wild spot, brought by an English ship ; without troops, 
 almost without attendants, and of all the noble companions 
 of your departure, how comes it that not one returns ; that 
 your only gossips are a woman and a Templar, and that you 
 have doffed your knightly harness ? " 
 
 " I'll tell thee, Baldwin. After St. Louis's death " 
 
 began Count Guy. 
 
 " St. Louis !" interrupted his auditor. " Then the different 
 reports of the disastrous issue of the expedition are but too 
 true?" 
 
 " Yes, he's dead/' replied Count Guy. " And he died not 
 in the front of battle beneath the enemies' attack, when his 
 surrounding warriors might have raised a noble monument to 
 his fame in the dead bodies of his foes piled up around him, 
 but he drooped, wasted and worn by the burning sun and 
 horrid climate ; and he died surrounded by puling monks and 
 weeping women, and warriors worse than either, who cried to 
 bear them company ! " 
 
 " Then France, as well as England, has a new king. Think 
 you not that Philip will give up Labrosse ? " asked Baldwin. 
 
 " Believe it not, for though I hunted the dying Louis 
 almost to his grave — though I appealed to his justice — 
 though I besought him not to permit his son to begin his 
 reign by protracting an act of injustice towards the first high 
 vassal of the crown — though I took upon me your character, 
 and represented how degrading to France it was, to stake at 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 113 
 
 once its peace and honour upon the detention of a miserable 
 barber, all my arguments were unavailing. But I will have 
 my revenge ! I swore unalterable hatred towards his son ; 
 and may this right hand fail me if I forget the oath !" 
 
 So much was the Count agitated while making this narra- 
 tion, that every muscle in his stout frame seemed in motion, 
 and his hands clenched and unclenched with rapid agitation. 
 
 An indescribable emotion played upon the features of 
 Baldwin. Though his countenance was faintly lit up with a 
 smile, his mouth was closely compressed. He remained silent, 
 while Count Guy seemed glad to drop the conversation, and 
 turned his eyes on the crowd by whom he was surrounded. 
 The survey was any thing but pleasing. No frank and loyal 
 cry, as of old, hailed the presence of the prince. But a dis- 
 contented murmur ran along the stragglers who still kept on 
 his path, as he and his cortege moved away. As they ap- 
 proached Bruges, with its wooden, party-coloured houses, the 
 numbers increased, but yet no friendly greeting met his ear, 
 greedy of the expected sounds. The streets were thronged 
 with loungers, not as in former times, when the busy multi- 
 tude, either in careless haste or with engrossed countenances, 
 pursued their path of pleasure or of gain ; but each now 
 paused, with wandering gaze, to spy his neighbour's bearing, 
 or peer on the stranger with the vacant look of hopeless, 
 thriftless idleness. The creaking and humming sound of the 
 loom no longer gave evidence that the houses were filled with 
 busy hands, each one bringing riches and support to the state ; 
 but the oiled paper, which at that time supplied the place of 
 window glass in most of the burgesses' houses, hanging in 
 torn strips and fluttering in rags to the wind which rushed 
 through the tenantless manufactories, seemed to the troubled 
 view of Count Guy as if hung out to mock his entry, in place 
 of the silken pennons of other and better days. 
 
 The spacious market-place discovered men, women, and 
 children placed in quiet endurance on the bare earth, sup- 
 ported by the rough walls of the surrounding houses. The 
 Cloth-house was shut up ; and the Water-mart, an immense 
 hall, through whose extensive walls a canal poured its obedient 
 stream, was entirely closed, and gave no sign whatever of 
 the store of wealth which was formerly unshipped within its 
 
114 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 shelter. All spoke of the ruin which had followed his short 
 absence. 
 
 " And this," he cried, " is the winding up of the eighth 
 crusade, so proudly undertaken, and so boldly supported. My 
 wife's health enfeebled, my own treasures buried in the ocean, 
 my brave followers gone to guard it there, or left to rot in 
 Pagan lands ! And here, where I had at least trusted to find 
 repose after such trials, I meet at each step some memento 
 of my people's lost love and wasted treasure ! " 
 
 He descended at the ancient palace of the counts of Bruges, 
 instead of the more princely residence of Winendale, which 
 was a short distance from the city, and whose twelve fortified 
 towers, together with the magnificent drawbridge and other 
 suitable appurtenances, rendered it the most costly and re- 
 markable building in the Low Countries. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The Count and his two companions were soon seated at table, 
 in an apartment fitted up in a style worthy of the richest 
 country in Europe, for so Flanders was then considered. The 
 walls of the spacious apartment in which the Count had 
 chosen to repose and refresh himself and his friends, were 
 hung with the gilt leather which was then one of the staple 
 commodities of Bruges ; the chairs being also covered with 
 the same rich material, then of recent invention. The win- 
 dows, though high and narrow, and composed of stained glass, 
 were so numerous, that the light, though softened, was not 
 obscured. The rays of a splendid autumnal sun, playing on 
 the grotesque gilding of the hangings, reflecting the rich tints 
 of the coloured glass, produced a gay and pleasing effect. 
 But the Count himself was moody, and vainly endeavoured 
 to shake off the gloom which the untoward events of the last 
 few months had produced. At length, filling his goblet and 
 inviting his companions to do the same, he said, somewhat 
 abruptly, to Baldwin — " Think you the leech who has been 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 115 
 
 sent to the Lady Gertrude has skill to treat a malady unlike 
 those of our colder climes ? " 
 
 " Our mother is so assured of his well-practised skill, 
 that she thinks to invite him to Mons, and she only delays it, 
 seeing that she is herself almost exempt from those trials that 
 demand his care," replied Baldwin. 
 
 Count Guy left the room. 
 
 The Templar, after a moment of thoughtfulness, said, 
 " Count Baldwin, is then Master Labrosse, who formerly en- 
 joyed the confidence of the Lady Marguerite, dead?" 
 
 " It must be many years since you were in these countries, 
 Sir Knight, if you needs be told that Labrosse left Hainault, 
 and threw himself upon the protection of the King of France. 
 He died at Paris, but his son was so much favoured by the 
 late monarch, that he is supposed to be on the road to the 
 highest preferments.' , 
 
 The Templar paused again before he asked, <c What could 
 induce Labrosse to quit the protection of the Countess ? " 
 
 " He was employed by my mother in a very delicate affair ; 
 and distrusting her promises, or having been previously gained 
 by others, betrayed her." 
 
 The Templar was again silent for a few minutes. He rose 
 and walked some turns quickly up and down the immense 
 apartment, as if irresolute. At length he stopped short, directly 
 in front of his companion, and said, " Remember you the 
 beautiful Ada, your father's ward ? " 
 
 Baldwin started, and the Templar thought he perceived 
 him shudder. " Too well I do remember her," replied he. 
 
 "And does she still exist?" said the Templar, leaning so 
 forward in his anxiety for Baldwin's reply, that he almost 
 touched him. 
 
 The politic Baldwin paused a few moments, and then re- 
 plied evasively, — " If you knew her, you must also be aware, 
 that soon after the unfortunate divorce which deprived us of 
 our birthright, though we were acknowledged to be legitimate, 
 she quitted the protection of the Countess my mother." 
 
 " And have you not heard of her since that time ? " said 
 the Templar, somewhat impatiently. 
 
 u They say that she went to the Holy Land," replied Bald- 
 win ; " but I am quite ignorant of her fate." 
 
 i 2 
 
116 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 The Templar drew yet nearer, and, lowering his voice 
 almost to a whisper, said, " Did she not perish in the dungeons 
 ofMons?" 
 
 Baldwin, rising slowly from his chair, faced the Templar, 
 and said, "No, Sir Knight! of that crime, at least, the 
 Lady Marguerite is innocent." While he thus spoke, his face 
 flushed crimson, and his voice expressed at once surprise and 
 indignation. 
 
 The Templar extended his hand to Baldwin, and said, 
 (: Enough, young man, I am satisfied. I knew your father." 
 
 "My father!" repeated D'Avesnes, taking the extended 
 hand, "and can you then lift the veil that conceals the 
 mystery of his fate ? " 
 
 " That can I," said the Templar; "for 'twas I that closed 
 his eyes. It was I who heard his last words, and who am 
 the bearer of his blessing/' 
 
 " Then he is dead !" said Baldwin. " Oh ! what a singular 
 fate is mine ! The second son of a Countess with three 
 princely dominions, 1 am ' sans terre,' though my younger 
 brother be a rich and powerful prince and heir of my mother's 
 broad lands. The legitimate born of a marriage that our 
 church disowns, with both father and mother in existence, 
 alas ! I never knew the love of either. My mother hates 
 me, and yet her most complicated business all goes through 
 my hands ! " 
 
 " The behests of Heaven are just, though inscrutable ! " 
 exclaimed the Templar. " Your father died a hermit and a 
 penitent, in a distant land. Listen to one passage of his life, 
 which may palliate his seeming cruelty in flying his wife, and 
 abandoning you his child. Just after your birth, your father 
 was called to France. Returning one evening from the vesper 
 service in the cathedral of Laon, he was accosted by a Moorish 
 minstrel, who throwing himself in his path, presented to him 
 a ring and implored him to save the owner. He knew it at 
 once for the Emperor Baldwin's " 
 
 " My mother's father ! " 
 
 The Templar continued, without heeding the interruption : 
 
 « The disguised minstrel, who was no other than the queen 
 
 of Bulgaria, who had freed your grandfather from his cap- 
 tivity, having loved him with a sister's love M 
 
 " Fame says with a criminal passion, Sir Templar." 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 117 
 
 u I know it," said the Templar calmly. " But were you 
 acquainted with the evidences to which your father was com- 
 pelled to yield, you might judge her less harshly. She be- 
 came entirely a Christian. The jealous fury of the king, her 
 husband, left flight her only resource to escape an igno- 
 minious death, with total loss of honour. They fled together. 
 Years elapsed ; and they wandered from one concealment to 
 another amid the most savage tribes, ere they could reach the 
 civilised lands of Europe. After unheard-of perils, Baldwin 
 arrived at the castle of Avesnes, emaciated and feeble, and not 
 to be recognised but by the eye of a wife, or a child. He sent 
 to Marguerite a chaplet of holly, which had been formerly 
 blessed by St. Guthred. Baldwin, she is your mother — but 
 I must tell how her pride, and that dreadful selfishness which 
 has so perverted her better nature, revolted from acknow- 
 ledging him; and while the aged greyhound which he had 
 reared fawned upon him, his daughter spurned him from the 
 door; and when the poor old man indignantly refused to quit 
 the castle, he was imprisoned in the deepest dungeon." 
 
 "O God, her father !" said Baldwin. 
 
 The Templar continued — "The Moorish minstrel pene- 
 trated even to his prison. The guard who had formerly 
 served him procured the implements for writing — he ad- 
 dressed a letter to your father." 
 
 " And he saved the emperor ! " said Baldwin, almost breath- 
 less. 
 
 " Your father flew to the prison. The seneschal led the 
 way to the dungeon. The emperor was lifeless. Baldwin, 
 he had been hanged, like a common felon ! " 
 
 <( God ! and this monster still exists ! And I am her 
 child ! And I yet wonder that brother has lifted his arm 
 against brother. That woe and misery are our portion ! " 
 
 « Can you wonder that his wife became hateful to your 
 father ? " said the Templar. " From that moment he felt 
 his accursed destiny, he sought to break his marriage. He 
 threw himself on the pontiff's mercy, and obtained a divorce. 
 But ere the tedious delays of the spiritual courts were over- 
 come, another passion had taken firm and fatal possession of 
 your father's heart." 
 
 " Ah !" said Baldwin, « the unhappy Ada." The Templar 
 made no reply, while his companion continued — " And for 
 i 3 
 
118 
 
 THE CURSE OP 
 
 this fatal and criminal passion he forgot his children — 'left 
 us to a mother's — to such a mother's hate ! " 
 
 " Young man, you condemn with the coldness of a 
 Stoic " 
 
 " I feel, with the bitterness of a victim I 
 
 " Listen awhile. When Ada was first introduced to the 
 castle, to your father's guardianship, she was in the earliest 
 dawn of beauty. All the graces of youth were united in her 
 person. Her winning gentleness was particularly pleasing to 
 the countess, who kept her continually in her presence. Your 
 father gazed upon her till a guilty passion filled his heart. 
 He thought of the ties that should have secured her from his 
 love. Alas ! he could see only the stern and haughty Mar- 
 guerite, with the blood of her parent on her forehead " 
 
 "But us his children, young and then innocent," said 
 Baldwin. 
 
 " We are none of us innocent in the eyes of the pure Being 
 who suffers in our sins," said the Templar, mildly crossing 
 himself. " He did think upon his children, but the image of 
 the young and then equally innocent Ada continually stood 
 between him and them. He wept, but the tears he shed were 
 those of a guilty passion. Ada discovered her guardian's suf- 
 ferings, and her bosom was filled with compassion. But a 
 crowd 'of feelings pressed on her heart. She feared they 
 might alas ! she too surely felt they would — recoil on her- 
 self. She participated in his crime V 
 
 Here the Templar paused. "Alas!" said Baldwin, " too 
 well, notwithstanding my early age, do I remember what has 
 been a source of such lasting misery. And plainly do I 
 recall the malady which seemed to wear and waste my father's 
 life, before the divorce pronounced by the court of Rome 
 arrived. And you, doubtless, are aware that the same decree 
 which pronounced my father's divorce, declared our legi- 
 timacy ? I wept my father's loss, but my mother yet re- 
 mained. Though even then but little of that kindly love 
 which animates a mother's feelings was hers. We were at- 
 tended to, but never with that ardent tenderness which more 
 gentle natures display. Yet Ada, after my father's departure, 
 remained to love and to caress us. But, oh ! when Ada fled, 
 never shall I forget the storm of passion that rent my mother's 
 bosom. For months she would not see us, and when she 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 1^9 
 
 did 'twas only, she declared, that we might learn to hate and 
 curse our father ! When she made a second choice, William 
 de Bourbon Dampierre, a simple knight, and when his chil- 
 dren came to dispute our rights, my brother, Jean d'Avesnes, 
 was taken by the count of Holland, and reared as a warrior, 
 while I was left alone, to pine and want a mother's love. 
 Mine had quite forgot to smile. Companion she had none, 
 save the sad sullen discontent which preyed upon her nature. 
 She seldom spoke except to give an order. She knew no 
 sympathy, nought of one feeling that humanizes our nature. 
 The riches of the court, the charms of nature, the glory of 
 her husband, who was the first warrior of his age, were to 
 her as the vapour of the morning. She sought Ada every 
 where. She sought my father, whose fate became a mystery 
 to all. At length, by the death of her sister Jane, these fine 
 dominions fell under her sway, but not until Dampierre too 
 was dead: and her pursuit of Ada, which had been never 
 slackened, became successful. She was brought a prisoner to 
 Mons. I was not present at their interview, but they say, 
 the ' Black Lady' smiled !" 
 
 " And Ada ? " said the Templar, somewhat impatiently. 
 « Ada was confined and watched with the closest attention," 
 continued Baldwin. " Labrosse attended her ; I confess, I 
 thought, for some dark purpose. How he lost my mothers 
 confidence, and why he fled to France, is still a mystery 
 to me," 
 
 "That mystery I can elucidate," said the Templar. 
 " When Ada fell into the power of the countess, she was 
 pregnant. Unsuspicious of this circumstance, and deceived 
 by the symptoms of her state, Marguerite feared her health 
 in danger, and that she should lose her victim. Labrosse 
 soon discovered the truth ; and the countess gloried in the 
 possession of two victims instead of one. He was appointed 
 to take the child upon its birth. J saved the child. — But 
 Ada ! tell me of her." 
 
 « Where is the boy ? " said Baldwin. 
 
 " The time is not yet come to bring him forward/' replied 
 the Templar, impatiently, — " tell of Adas fate." 
 
 "The Lady Marguerite, you are well aware, was served 
 from fear, and therefore badly obeyed. 1 found a means 
 to send away her guards, and without being suspected myself, 
 I 4> 
 
120 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 I set her free, for she had been kind to me. It was all I 
 dared to do ; the guards dared not acknowledge their absence 
 from their post ; and this circumstance has thrown an air of 
 mystery over the whole adventure, which has given rise to 
 various reports. Some say that she was murdered here, and 
 
 that her spirit walks " 
 
 "And have you never heard of her since ?" inquired the 
 Templar. 
 
 u Never of her nor of my father, except that her spirit 
 has been seen in Brabant, wandering on the confines of our 
 Hainault." 
 
 The Templar searcely appeared to hear this remark, and 
 he interrupted the speaker abruptly ; « And did the countess 
 then never suspect the part you took in Ada's flight?" 
 
 "Alas! I have sometimes thought the hate with which 
 I have so constantly been pursued has become more deadly 
 since her escape," replied d'Avesnes. 
 
 u But how, if she hates you thus, is it that she so trusts 
 you ? " 
 
 f * 'Tis dire necessity, Sir Templar. So close does she live 
 enclosed within the walls of her castle ; so much she hates 
 the sight of human kind, and, more than all, the talk of 
 glorious deeds, that men of talent, spirit, or probity have no 
 means of finding access to her, from the simple reason that 
 she knows them not, and will not know them. Guy de Dam- 
 pierre, when he learned his trade of arms, learnt not to read 
 or write. As to me, neglected by my mother, the bishop of 
 Liege, her suzerain lord, proposed to rear me for the church. 
 This, too, had been my father's intention. But I would not 
 risk my fathers fate and faults, for he was a secularised dean. 
 Therefore I returned to my mother's sad residence, and thus 
 have I insensibly crept into employment, and have become 
 so necessary that they cannot, if they would, replace me. 
 
 " And Count Guy," pursued the Templar, " does he feel 
 or act as a brother ? " 
 
 u Think you, Sir Templar, that he can forget or forgive 
 being vanquished at Kapellen, being made our prisoner, and 
 being kindly treated ? Besides he loves his mother, because 
 he fears her, and dreads even now to lose his heritage, which 
 he has usurped. He thinks that France, when he or Mar- 
 guerite dies, will replace me or my brother in our rights. 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 His mother excites his resentment against France, by cherish- 
 ing this fear, for they have harboured Labrosse — Oh, how 
 a dawn of light breaks in upon me — she thinks that Ada's 
 child M 
 
 " Hush, hush, sir! The walls of palaces have ears!" 
 said the Templar, in a low voice. " There is a mystery 
 about this Labrosse, and his connection with that court, which 
 I cannot fathom yet Be silent and be secret on this our 
 conversation. I go to Brabant ; but we shall meet again." 
 
 c< To Brabant?" said Baldwin. 
 
 H Yes," replied the Templar, " to my convent at Brussels. 
 Should you learn any more of Ada, or Labrosse, or of the 
 court of France, in connection with either, I may be able to 
 serve you, in serving those who should be dear to you." 
 
 <e Dear to me ! " said Baldwin, mournfully. " Would that 
 I could divine the meaning of that ter<m, which seems to make 
 the happiness of heaven, if heaven there be ! " 
 
 " Did you then never see your father ? Never receive a 
 token of his love ? " inquired the Templar. 
 
 w When the two Dampierres fell into our hands, in their 
 expedition against Zealand, a pilgrim from the Holy Land 
 was sent by my father (so he said), and exhorted us to peace. 
 My brother stoutly refused to yield up the advantages he had 
 gained; and I was of his mind. I shall never forget the 
 majesty of look and manners this pilgrim then assumed. He 
 adjured us, for the love of Heaven, he threatened us with the 
 pains of hell, if we yielded not to the countess. In short, 
 my brother released the Dampierres — and peace was con- 
 eluded." 
 
 " And what said the pilgrim ?" 
 
 " He blessed, and left us." 
 
 u That pilgrim was thy father," said the Templar. 
 
 " Most surely 'twas my father," said Baldwin, after some 
 moments of reflection. ki Did he not speak of my mother's 
 Wrongs, though her guardian and husband ? It was indeed 
 my father — he blessed us both. Oh, why did he not disclose 
 himself to us ! 'T would have been so sweet to know and love 
 him — why did he not disclose himself?" 
 
 " Since thou yet lovest him, think when those he loved 
 come across you Oh, think of him, and seek to deserve his 
 blessing — adieu ! " 
 
122 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The summer had passed away, and winter was drawing 
 towards its close. It was an evening in February, when a 
 knight, clad in complete armour, and followed by a single 
 squire, paced slowly across the forest of Soignies, the ancient 
 Sonien bosch, then spreading far and wide over the extensive 
 territory of Hainault. They seemed to have missed their 
 way ; nor was it extraordinary ; for though the season was so 
 far advanced, a heavy fall of snow, attended by a high wind, 
 had succeeded to the clear hard frost that ushered in the day ; 
 so that the road, never too well tracked, had now become 
 quite imperceptible by the accumulation of snow-drifts. 
 
 Upon the shield of the knight, borne by his squire, was 
 blazoned the Belgian Lion, at sight of which the enemies of 
 the faith had so often trembled in Palestine. 
 
 Their horses, though noble animals, seemed jaded and 
 wearied. The snow, which gathered in balls under their feet 
 at every step, became so troublesome as almost to prevent 
 their advance, which in fact became so difficult, that the tra- 
 vellers were glad to accept the shelter, poor as it was, afforded 
 by a cluster of the forest trees, growing so closely together, 
 that their trunks formed a natural rampart, under which both 
 men and steeds seemed equally glad to repose. 
 
 " It is strange, Sir Knight," said the squire, " with the 
 snow driving in my teeth, and the north wind howling around 
 me, that my throat should feel parched with thirst, as when 
 we were on the sandy deserts of Africa, and broiling beneath 
 the rays of a noon-day's sun ? " 
 
 "And," said the knight, interrupting his companion, 
 !?< this goodly forest, which we believe to be a part of the 
 domain of our mother the countess of Hainault, may, when 
 we awake from our illusion, prove to be the mighty empire 
 which fell from the grasp of my grandsire, the blessed Bald- 
 win, crowned emperor of Constantinople, but which he lost 
 so soon, that it might, without any great stretch of imagina- 
 tion, be believed but an ideal dominion. Would, that when 
 the morning dawns, we might be found going to take posses- 
 sion ! I, as well as you, have been suffering from thirst, and 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 123 
 
 would give the best sword ever forged in Brussels for a cup 
 of such beverage as moistens the lips of the anchorite." 
 
 At this instant the storm, which had hitherto unceasingly 
 beat against the natural rampart where they had found shelter, 
 began to subside; and Hugo, declaring that his throat was 
 more tormenting than ever, though his mouth was numb still 
 with the snow he had crammed into it, in the hope of over- 
 coming the thirst that consumed him, asked permission to 
 pursue something like a road, which the cessation of the fall 
 of snow-flakes enabled him to perceive, in search of some 
 reservoir of water. The permission, after some little hesita- 
 tion, was granted, and our knight was left alone. 
 
 Scarcely had the squire quitted his place by the side of his 
 master, when the moon, hitherto obscured behind dark clouds, 
 burst forth in all her brilliancy, and discovered to the asto- 
 nished eyes of our knight of Flanders a living female figure, 
 clothed in black, standing immediately before him 
 
 She wore the habit of the religious order of the Beguines, 
 and her face was towards him, and now fully visible ; for the 
 bright beams fell directly upon her features. She was very 
 pale, the knight thought supernaturally so ; or perhaps the 
 lawn, with which the thick black veil that shaded her face 
 was lined, might, by the reflection of its rays, heighten the 
 effect of the pale light. She was motionless at first. But, 
 while he gazed upon her, she lifted one hand, as if to engage 
 his attention. The other was pointed towards heaven, doubt- 
 less to intimate, that it was the will of Him, who there rules 
 supreme, that she was called upon to declare. She spoke ; 
 and though her voice was low, her every word seemed to 
 penetrate the very soul of the knight, and to fix themselves 
 on his memory, as if engraven there with a pen of iron. 
 
 " It is the Lord that commandeth the elements. It is the 
 glorious Lord that maketh the thunder : gird thou thy sword 
 upon thy thigh, O thou Most Mighty, according to thy re- 
 nown ! But why speakest thou against thy brother ? Why 
 slanderest thou thine own mother's son ? Hast thou forgotten 
 thy covenant? Hark!" she continued, motioning her 
 finger as if to enforce attention — " Do they not seek to 
 shorten the days of the youth, and to cover him with dis- 
 honour ? Go to her, fast bound in darkness, who sitteth alone 
 in her pride, and ask if she hath withdrawn her curse from 
 
124 
 
 THE CURSE OP 
 
 the childless mother ; if she hath forgotten the cry of the 
 motherless babe? Go, and say to her, that she riiggeth a pit 
 for another, in her blindness, which she must fall into her- 
 self. And thou," she cried, raising her voice to a tone so 
 elevated and so shrill that the Knight involuntarily shuddered 
 before he caught the purport of her words; "And thou! — 
 aim not thy sword at the breast of the unacknowledged one, 
 lest it strike thine own best hope. Lest — " and the expres- 
 sion of her face as she lifted it towards Guy de Dampierre, 
 bore in every trait the imprint of a fearful imprecation : but 
 while she glared upon him wildly, as if she would curse 
 with a look as well as with her voice, her eyes closed, her 
 head drooped upon her bosom, her uplifted hand fell power- 
 less by her side, her voice sunk to low murmuring sounds, 
 the moon was obscured by dark clouds, and the figure passed 
 away. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The castle of the Countess of Hainault at Mons was a com- 
 plete specimen of the splendid architecture of the twelfth 
 century, or that which is now called Gothic ; pointed windows 
 abounding in coloured glass, unpolished marble, heavy wooden 
 doors, thickly studded with iron nails, leading into immense 
 corridors, interminable passages, and branching staircases. 
 
 It was early on the morning following this adventure that 
 a horn was heard beyond the castle wall, and immediately re- 
 plied to by the warder ; and when the drawbridge was slowly 
 replaced and the portcullis heavily withdrawn, a knight fol- 
 lowed by a squire, whose surcoat bore the Flanders Lion, en- 
 tered. It was Sir Guy de Dampierre and his squire. 
 
 The seneschal conducted them with much ceremony to the 
 knight's apartments in the castle, where a small table placed 
 by the side of an enormous log-fire in the middle of the 
 room, and plentifully furnished with cold salted and dried 
 meats, together with the thin wines of France, and the more 
 potent juice of the German grape, soon made him forget the 
 cold and thirst he had endured in the forest. The beer he 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 125 
 
 quaffed with peculiar pleasure, as it invitingly foamed in a 
 silver tankard, which had been thickly embossed by the abbot 
 of Wansfort, and presented by him to the Emperor Baldwin, 
 previous to His embarkation for the Holy Land. 
 
 Having praised the flavour of the beer and helped himself 
 to some slices from a well cured wild boar's head, he said to 
 the chamberlain, "And Baldwin of Avesnes is not yet arrived, 
 you say ? " 
 
 " No, Count/' replied the chamberlain ; " we expected he 
 would be with you." 
 
 " Why, my road lay through Namur, and he comes directly 
 from Bruges. 1 marvel, therefore, he be not arrived — and I 
 have news for him/' said the knight. 
 
 The warder's horn was again heard ; and after due time the 
 person in question made his appearance. He looked harassed 
 and fatigued, and gladly took the seat Count Guy pointed to, 
 close by his own ; and having stirred the logs which burned 
 lazily in the huge hearth, be observed, " Methinks the wood 
 emits this sulphureous vapour more strongly than ever. I 
 marvel, Guy, that you have not repaid the compliment of the 
 English king's invitation to your weavers, by bringing over 
 workmen to build you some of those long narrow passages 
 which, beginning just over the fire, project from the top of 
 the house to carry off the smoke." 
 
 " What mean you, Baldwin ? " 
 
 " Nay, have you not heard that in England they are be- 
 ginning to build along the end of the rooms, lodges or troughs 
 to contain the feul, on the base of which they raise a brick 
 funnel, through w r hich all the smoke mounts, and so evaporates 
 at the top of the house ? " replied Baldwin. 
 
 " Think you then, d'Avesnes, that the whole room can be 
 warmed with the fire at one end of it, particularly if the smoke 
 be carried out ? " 
 
 u Indeed they say," replied d'Avesnes, " it casts a strong 
 heat everywhere. — But how goes the war?" 
 
 " But poorly ; I am almost tired of it. What we gain one 
 month, we lose the next," replied Dampierre. 
 
 " Then why not seek some means to finish the dispute ?" 
 
 " At present," replied the Count, " it seems rather neces- 
 sary to consider how we should proceed in the council about to 
 be held with my Lady Mother, touching this business of the 
 wool seizure." 
 
126 
 
 THE CURSE OP 
 
 " The way is simple enough," said Baldwin. " It is but 
 to make good the losses of the British merchants, to offer an 
 apology to the young King of England, and to renew the 
 treaty of commerce with him." 
 
 " But the Lady Marguerite, thinkest thou that she will so 
 condescend ? " 
 
 " That will she. Dost thou believe that the dame cannot 
 relinquish her forced sense of pride when the finest jewel of 
 her crown is at stake ? No, no ! You must make her un- 
 derstand the danger of the line of conduct she has adopted." 
 
 " Hold, hold, Baldwin ! How think you I can do all this ? 
 I can fight for Flanders if necessary ; but not even for the 
 sovereignty of that rich country could I talk for it. No, 
 Baldwin, it is you who must explain the necessity of this 
 case. 
 
 " Count," said &' Avesnes, rising from his chair and pacing 
 the room as he spoke, "thou knowest thy mother loves me 
 not. Thou knowest also that he who risketh this proposition 
 is likely to be banished her presence altogether. I have no 
 interest in Flanders ! If the burghers of Bruges, as those of 
 Ghent have done, rise up to demand increase of privileges and 
 force you to compliance, I have nothing in the stake to win or 
 lose. Thus much is certain. If the trade be not restored to 
 Bruges, the whole dependency will be in open rebellion." 
 
 Here he paused, as if waiting an answer. When Count 
 Guy, his countenance flushed with passion, which he, however, 
 strove to repress, said, in a tone of indignation resulting from 
 the conviction that advantage was sought to be taken of the 
 perilous situation of his affairs, " Well, I ween this hesitation 
 betokens some demand ? Whatever 'tis, I grant it." 
 
 " Then," said Baldwin, forgetting his cold caution for an 
 instant, "let her highness restore to me the lordship of 
 
 Avesnes, and " he paused awhile and then continued in 
 
 a tone less firm, "and ask for me the hand of Mary of 
 Brabant." 
 
 Count Guy looked up, as if doubting the evidence of his 
 senses. " Mary of Brabant?" he at length exclaimed. 
 
 " Why not, my brother The lordship of Avesnes was 
 noble enough to entitle my father to be named regent of 
 Hainault and guardian to its heiress. The nobles here will 
 all aid you in my claims, nor am I without friends in the 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 127 
 
 court of Brabant, as you may perhaps acknowledge when you 
 recollect who made the duke your ally, in this last paltry war, 
 waged for a base serf and miserable cow " 
 
 Here the chamberlain entered to announce that the Lady 
 Marguerite waited them in the council chamber. 
 
 " Count," said Baldwin, " there is no time for hesitation — 
 do you accede to my wish ? " 
 
 The chamberlain was in waiting. Count Guy replied not, 
 but he motioned dissent with his head, and then hurried to 
 attend his mother. 
 
 In the tapestried room into which the brothers were con- 
 ducted, sat the Black Lady of Brabant on a throne elevated 
 considerably above the floor. The dais was covered with the 
 same rich tapestry as the hangings which covered the walls, 
 for even in this early age Bruges was celebrated for such 
 manufactures. The draperies of the throne were of purple 
 velvet fringed with gold, with a canopy and curtains of the 
 same rich materials, the latter being looped back with a mas- 
 sive cord and tassels. The constable supported one side of 
 the throne, and the seneschal the other. Below these were 
 the cup-bearer and grand huntsman. Six pages were placed 
 about the steps of the throne, and the same number of ladies 
 in waiting were also there. Yet Marguerite herself wanted 
 not the surrounding magnificence to mark her superior dignity 
 of " Countess by the grace of God/' then accorded to only 
 one county besides her own ; for there was a sort of fearful 
 majesty about her towering height, unbowed either by the 
 weight of years (and she had already passed what the Psalmist 
 has declared to be the age of man) or luxurious indulgence. 
 Her face was pale and marked by deep furrows, indicating an 
 unlimited indulgence of the strong passions which had ren- 
 dered her life so unquiet. Her eye was black, and retained 
 all the fire of lively feeling, yet it was sunken. Her fore- 
 head was low, yet there was an inflexibility of resolve in its 
 deep lines that added much to the majestic character of her 
 appearance. Her teeth too were perfect, and her thin and 
 colourless lips left them visible to attract the painful admira- 
 tion excited by their contrast with the unlovely expression of 
 her features. Her chin was small. Her hair was all drawn 
 from her face to the crown of her head, and concealed under 
 the black lace veil, which, concealing the upper part of her 
 
128 
 
 THE CURSE OP 
 
 forehead, fell over each shoulder even to her feet. Her upper 
 garment was a long mantle of black velvet lined with ermine, 
 which, opening in front, fell over the arms of her throne, and 
 discovered a dress of crimson cloth of Bruges of that beautiful 
 sort called ecarlate. The boddice was drawn tightly to her 
 shape by rich gold cord, the ends of which, finished by heavy 
 tassels, fell downwards to the edge of her robe. The crimson 
 tunic reached only to her knees, and discovered an under 
 dress of white Syrian silk, on which was a border of gold, 
 evidently of oriental workmanship. Her hard bust was co- 
 vered by many rows of the finest Asiatic pearls, and depend- 
 ing from her girdle was a rosary of jet, which sustained a 
 richly embossed golden cross, probably enshrining a piece of 
 wood of the true cross from Palestine. The small gold crown 
 which circled her brows, and the sceptre she held, were evi- 
 dently made by the same skilful artist — probably the work of 
 the celebrated Erembert, Abbot of Wansfort. Her arms, 
 which notwithstanding her towering stature, were dispropor- 
 tionably long, were covered by sleeves of the finest Bruges 
 linen, which, however, only appeared at the shoulders and 
 elbows, the rest of the arm being concealed by the crimson 
 cloth which formed the tunic, and these were laced with gold 
 cord down to the waist, where the Bruges linen formed a cuff. 
 Her form was harsh and bony, and no grace of motion re- 
 lieved its outlines ; for she was so fearfully still, you might 
 have thought the living form had been placed in sight of the 
 Gorgon's head, and so transformed to stone. Her features 
 seemed alike immoveable, all sunk into a dark, fixed, and 
 settled discontent with life. 
 
 The twelve peers composing her council were all assembled 
 when Guy and Baldwin, conducted by the chamberlain, pre- 
 sented themselves before her. They made their bows, in 
 advancing from the door to the lower steps of the throne, and 
 kneeling upon which, they asked her blessing. 
 
 No member nor feature of the lady moved, nor did the 
 slightest agitation which could betoken any feeling either of wel- 
 come or displeasure, appear either in her look or voice, as she 
 slowly uttered. " Sir Guy de Dampierre, Count of Flanders 
 and Lord of Namur, welcome from the Holy Land — take 
 thou my blessing." Sir Guy slowly rose and took his seat at 
 the council board. 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 129 
 
 Baldwin shuddered as he looked upon her rosary of jet, for 
 he thought upon her father. Perhaps she thought upon his, 
 for no blessing awaited him from her cold lips. <* Baldwin of 
 Avesnes, we invite thee to a seat at the council board/' was all 
 she uttered. He arose, and placed himself by his brother. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 While her chiefs are occupied in the council-chamber, we 
 will return to Marguerite, who, though with children by two 
 noble husbands, lived solitary and childless ; and, though reign- 
 ing countess over two sovereign states, was left desolate in her 
 greatness. 
 
 She was the younger of the two daughters whom Baldwin, 
 crowned emperor of Constantinople, left in their infancy, on 
 the third Sunday after Easter, a. d. 1204, when he set out to 
 join the first crusade. In the following year he was made 
 prisoner by the king of the Bulgarians, and was supposed to 
 have died in his dungeons. 
 
 When the news of his death arrived in Europe, Jane, the 
 elder, and consequent heiress to the rich states of Flanders' and 
 Hainault, was carried over to France, to be educated in the 
 court of Philip Augustus ; and she was in due time married 
 to Ferdinand of Portugal, who returned with her to Hainault. 
 
 The great lords of Flanders and Hainault never loved the 
 French, and they were displeased that their future countess 
 should imbibe the maxims and politics of the court of France. 
 In order to prevent any further innovation, they chose one of 
 their own body to be regent of the states, and guardian to the 
 younger child Marguerite. Thus Bouchard d'Avesnes, in the 
 flower of youth, became her protector, and as soon as she be- 
 came of an age to feel the power of love, she imbibed an ardent 
 passion for him. If he did not return her passion, he was at 
 least nattered by her choice, and grateful for her preference. 
 He became her husband, and two children, John and Baldwin, 
 were the fruit of this union. 
 
 Bouchard had been consecrated Dean of Laon, and was 
 
 K 
 
130 
 
 THE CURSE OP 
 
 looking towards its future bishopric, at that time superior to 
 the sovereignty of France in real power and riches, when the 
 love of his ward arrested him in his career. When Marguerite 
 least expected such a change, the court of Rome claimed its 
 servant, annulled the marriage, but rendered the children legi- 
 timate. 
 
 Marguerite remained for months ignorant that her husband 
 had himself solicited the interference of the pope, and it was 
 only when Ada fled that the appalling conviction arose. 
 
 Love in a rugged nature is a deep and terrible passion ; with 
 the countess it was the only impulse not entirely selfish. When, 
 therefore, she discovered his falsehood, she vowed an implac- 
 able, unmingled, deadly hatred against her treacherous guardian 
 and faithless husband, and everything dear to him. She 
 nourished the hope that the day would arrive when she could 
 make him know the agony he had inflicted on her. And with 
 her curses were mingled vows never to desist from her pur- 
 poses of revenge till they were perfectly matured. 
 
 The separation between Ferdinand and her sister Jane, 
 rendered it little probable that any children should ever be 
 born of this marriage, in defect of which Marguerite and her 
 children were the immediate heirs of these rich states. She 
 therefore determined on a second marriage, and chose William 
 de Bourbon Dampierre, a simple knight, but of an illustrious 
 family ; and Guy de Dampierre, and five other children were 
 born to her previous to his death, which however took place 
 before she became, by the death of her sister, Countess of 
 Hainault and Flanders. 
 
 Thus years passed away ; but though her arm was powerless 
 to execute it, her revenge slumbered not. The sons of her 
 second marriage were become men, yet the direful feeling was 
 not rooted out, nor had it lost its character ; and it was only 
 when Ada was brought into her palace by the armed men ap- 
 pointed by the Countess to seek her out, that her sons had 
 ever seen " the Black Lady" smile. 
 
 Ada sought to conceal her face. The Countess had the 
 cruelty to force her to uncover it. Alas ! no traces of her 
 youthful beauty remained. Her form had lost its symmetry 
 and lightness, and the remains of deep and stormy passions 
 rested on her brow. Long and fixedly did the lady look upon 
 her ere she spoke, as if she sought by a single glance to pene- 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 131 
 
 trate the depths of her heart, and to read not only her present 
 feelings, but every passion which had reigned there since their 
 separation. When at length her rage found utterance, it was 
 with the deep concentrated tones of malice, hatred, and re- 
 venge that she vented the following fearful malediction : 
 " Hear ! " she cried, while her tall, harsh form became yet 
 taller, and her dark countenance became yet darker, from the 
 mingled emotions of gratified passion and deadly revenge which 
 raged within her — " Hear the curse which every night, ere 
 my eyes have closed in rest, this voice hath uttered since I 
 beheld thee not, which every morn my ears have drunk in 
 greedily, more welcome than the softest music ere I have 
 hailed the glorious rays of the returning sun. Hear this curse 
 and tremble! May those eyes which have so long been 
 wanton in unholy fires, become bleared and dim with tears ! 
 May that heart whose quick pulsation hath been quickened by 
 
 unnatural desires, become callous and hard by suffering 
 
 as mine hath been ! " And with these latter words the harsh 
 didactic tone she had assumed changed suddenly to the quick, 
 shrill accents of despair. But immediately recovering herself, 
 she continued, " May every limb fall listless and fail you in 
 that hour when you need them most ! May you tremble and 
 flee before the face of imaginary danger, but when real peril 
 approaches may you be dead to its arrival ! May your ever- 
 lasting portion be with Judas the betrayer of the Lord, in the 
 valley of death and darkness, when your fate here shall be 
 fully accomplished ! May this curse rest on thee and thine, 
 till thou receivest my pardon ; and may it fall in all its direful 
 force on me, if ever I be induced to accord it ! Amen ! " 
 
 m Man y of the household of the countess, besides the Dam- 
 pierres, were present when Marguerite uttered this awful male- 
 diction. Her maidens threw themselves upon their knees, as 
 if to deprecate its influence on those even who heard it. Her 
 sons, with heads bowed low as if acknowledging her fearful 
 power, were pale with consternation. And Ada? She 
 crouched in silent horror, while every nerve seemed to be 
 unnaturally distended : her lips were unclosed, her eyes strain- 
 ing from their sockets, her hands clenched, and her brow fear- 
 fully contracted. She spoke not — she scarcely breathed, and 
 was at length taken out in strong convulsions. 
 
 After her dread curse was uttered, the lady still looked upon 
 k 2 
 
132 THE CURSE OF 
 
 her victim, and her features assumed an air of satisfaction. 
 Then a smile — " Ha ! and can you feel too ? — I have felt 
 
 99 and the emphasis was frightfully expressive. Having 
 
 uttered these few words, she sought her loneliness once more. 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 The mercantile intercourse between England and Flanders 
 began at a very early period ; so early, that its date is lost in 
 the obscurity of time. 
 
 Notwithstanding their commercial relations, the Flemings 
 were very early a martial people ; and their alliance was 
 courted by different European states, particularly by the kings 
 of England and of France. 
 
 So much was their military spirit esteemed, that many of 
 our monarchs were content to purchase their alliance by an- 
 nuities granted to different courts, and determinable with their 
 lives. The contract was on both sides quite voluntary, and 
 founded on mutual convenience ; but the family feuds of 
 Marguerite, which existed for some years, had exhausted her 
 treasury, while they rendered the raising taxes difficult and 
 uncertain. In balancing the ways and means to supply the 
 deficiencies thus created, no method appeared so congenial to 
 her wishes as to assume the payment of this annuity as a 
 right. Whether she depended upon the internal feuds of his 
 kingdom, or the declining health of the English king 
 (Henry III.), to bear her through with impunity, does not 
 appear ; but she demanded a settlement of arrears, which she 
 pretended to have been some time due, amounting to almost 
 forty thousand marks, previously to the death of the old king. 
 Her claim was instantly and indignantly rejected. 
 
 The haughty and imperious countess, regardless of the con- 
 sequences to herself or her people, seized all the English 
 merchandize in her dominions, though three- fourths of it had 
 already ceased to be English property. 
 
 The English king had immediate recourse to retaliation, 
 and by the seizure of Flemish produce raised the sum of eight 
 
THE BLACK LADY. J 33 
 
 thousand pounds, which he divided in different proportions 
 among the English merchants who had been the sufferers 
 from the loss of their goods. At the same time the exporta- 
 tion of wool and wool-fells to Flanders was forbidden. He 
 also invited the Flemish clothiers to come and settle in Eng- 
 land, and offered a premium to induce them to accede to his 
 invitation. 
 
 Notwithstanding his prohibition, it was discovered that 
 wool and wool-fells were still introduced into Flanders 
 through the means of other foreigners. It in consequence 
 became necessary to have recourse to strong measures, and 
 upon the death of his father, his successor, Edward I , for- 
 bade under severe penalties, the exportation of wool altogether 
 When this edict was issued, Edward was absent in the 
 same crusade which proved fatal to the French monarch. 
 But the conclusion of a truce with the Saracens for ten years, 
 enabled him to return to England. And as he was returning 
 through Sicily and Naples he received intelligence of his 
 lathers death, and he hastened his preparations for his return 
 to his own dominions, in order to make the arrangements 
 necessary for his coronation. 
 
 The decisive measures he had employed, so clearly evinced 
 his sense of the conduct pursued by the Countess Marguerite 
 that her obstinacy was for once subdued. She consented to 
 make the apology the king of England insisted upon, as the 
 preliminary step to an accommodation ; and Edward consented 
 to receive her ambassadors at Montreuil, upon his return from 
 the capital of France, where he had been to render homage 
 to the young king for his lands held under that sovereign. 
 
 ihe countess appointed Guy de Dampierre and Baldwin 
 aAvesnes to this embassy, and they were accompanied by 
 several Flemish noblemen. They found Edward attended by 
 John of Brabant, who had agreed to his invitation to accom- 
 pany him to Montreuil, in his way to Brussels from the 
 French capital. At Montreuil, a deputation of English mer- 
 chants awaited to aid him with their advice. 
 
 bi J h ? T a f- hC s " rrounded and attended by many of his 
 highest .nobility, when the brothers were introduced. Edward 
 received them standing, one hand resting on a table; a posi- 
 tion ,n which his majestic height appeared to peculiar ad- 
 vantage; and the young king showed himself by no means 
 
134 THE CURSE OP 
 
 insensible to his personal attractions, for his finely turned 
 limbs were well set off by the white knitted pantaloons which 
 he wore. His tunic was of richly embroidered velvet, and 
 his toque, placed gallantly upon one side of his head, was 
 ornamented with a single ostrich feather, fastened in by a 
 diamond aigrette. There was an assumption of lofty su- 
 periority about the expression of his countenance, different 
 from vulgar pride or vanity, and which seemed rather to pro- 
 ceed from an internal consciousness of high deeds and lofty 
 daring, than a wish to impose the belief on others ; a convic- 
 tion which the splendid reputation he had already acquired 
 seeemd well to warrant. The marked consideration with 
 which he treated the merchants in his suite, showed a capacity 
 to emancipate himself from the prejudices of his age, together 
 with a thorough acquaintance with the only means that could 
 raise the English nation to that pitch of greatness to which 
 her commercial resources have since raised her. 
 
 His eyes sparkled and his cheeks glowed when the Flemish 
 deputation was first introduced ; but he sought to master this 
 emotion, and with the delicacy of a truly generous mind, 
 endeavoured by the studied courtesy of his manner to lessen 
 the awkwardness of their situation. 
 
 When the ceremonies of introduction had been completed, 
 Baldwin advanced one step nearer to the king, and said, " Sire, 
 Guy de Dampierre, by the grace of God Count of Flanders 
 and Seigneur of Namur, is come before you to express his 
 regret that the Lady Marguerite, his mother, should have 
 seized the goods of your subjects. She conceived she had a 
 right to make that seizure ; but through respect to your grace, 
 and to obtain your friendship, she promises to make full repa- 
 ration to the sufferers, and for the performance of this promise, 
 the Count binds himself and his possessions to your Grace the 
 King of England." 
 
 Edward gracefully replied, " Sir, I accept the offer made 
 with so much humility by the Count, and with the greater 
 confidence, because I know he was absent in the Holy Land 
 when my subjects' property was seized, and I am informed 
 also that he always disapproved the conduct of my Lady the 
 Countess, his mother, which, though so injurious, we forgive." 
 
 Then calling the merchants in waiting to recapitulate their 
 losses, it was agreed to accept the 8000/. levied on the goods 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 135 
 
 belonging to the Flemish merchants in England as a part of 
 the reparation. And the commercial intercourse of the two 
 countries was established upon its original footing. 
 
 During the continuance of this ceremony, Dampierre was 
 too much absorbed in the interest of his mission to observe any- 
 thing beyond the general effect of the splendour surrounding 
 Edward, and this seemed to him as if meant to reproach his 
 disgrace. But when from the council-chamber they adjourned 
 to the banqueting-room to partake of a luxurious entertainment, 
 he startled as if he had beheld a spectre when he perceived 
 Adenez Lekoi, the minstrel of the Duke of Brabant, before 
 him. He was the living image of Ada. In vain he tried to 
 persuade himself that his fancy deceived him, or that the 
 resemblance was fortuitous. The nearer he approached the 
 stranger, the more closely he watched him, the more striking 
 did the resemblance appear. The same dark languid eye, 
 with the narrow-pencilled eyebrow, the voice, every thing, 
 even to the graceful indolence of attitude and motion, made 
 the resemblance the more striking. The dark-minded Guy 
 immediately made d'Avesnes acquainted with the nature of his 
 observations, and the latter was himself astonished at the re- 
 semblance, and felt persuaded that there was some mystery 
 attending the birth of the youth. 
 
 He therefore placed himself next to John de Waldenrod, 
 one of the duke's gentlemen attendants, and as soon as an 
 opportunity offered, inquired, " Who is this Adenez Lekoi, 
 and how is it that you have never mentioned him to me ? " 
 
 Waldenrod replied, " By St. Gregory, I could not divine 
 that your highness would care aught for this well-reputed 
 minstrel ! " 
 
 " Why, in sooth, my mind is in your answer to my question. 
 Who is this Adenez ? " repeated Baldwin. 
 
 Waldenrod replied, « He is a youth brought up by the 
 good^ fathers of St. Benoit at Wavre, where you know the 
 duke's natural son, John de Meluive, was educated. This 
 Adenez, though much older, is dearly loved by him, and the 
 more so that they were both, the one and the other, intended 
 for the frock ; but Adenez refused to take the vows, and they 
 say the boy was strengthened by Lekoi's repugnance." 
 
 " But his parents, where are they ? " 
 
 " Nay, that is more than I can tell. There be various 
 k 4 
 
136 
 
 THE CURSE OF THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 reports upon that head. It is thought that he too is a child of 
 mystery and sin/' continued the narrator. 
 
 '* 'Tis strange," said Baldwin to himself ; then aloud, 
 " What are his tastes ? ** 
 
 " In good troth I know but little of him, yet he seems to 
 have made some fair advantages of his gifts. They say he is 
 a great clerk, and as expert at the ' Gai Science ' as the prin- 
 cess herself/' replied Waldenrod. 
 
 " The Gai Science and in a convent ! " said Baldwin. 
 
 u Why, you know, in Wavre nought but the Romance 
 language is spoken, and the holy fathers there love the art. 
 'Tis certain that our troubadour's harp was often employed, 
 and that his talent in music is marvellous/' 
 
 " And how does he spend his time ? " again inquired 
 Baldwin. 
 
 " Sometimes he paces for whole hours the cloisters of St. 
 Gery ; at other times he goes into the dark forest, and there, 
 lying beneath the large old blasted oak that they say St. 
 Hubert planted, he seems to forget the flight of time, and to 
 care nothing for the wolves, though they be so bold and so 
 ravening that they come down even to the town," replied 
 Waldenrod. 
 
 " But does he not mingle with the politics of the court ? 
 nor seek to possess himself of the duke's ear ? " 
 
 " No, he scorns riches ; but they say he is much attached 
 to the princess, and in all honour greatly loved by her," replied 
 the gentleman. 
 
 " Enough," said Baldwin, lowering his voice. " We are 
 observed ; keep your eye upon him, and be you sure the Count 
 of Flanders, my very noble brother, shall not forget you. 
 Your annuity shall be regularly paid. But let your intelli- 
 gence come direct to me, not to Sir Guy, — you understand ? " 
 
 In repeating this account to Guy, all mention of the forest 
 walks were carefully omitted by the politic Baldwin, who 
 immediately formed a plan in which he hoped to derive advan- 
 tage from this circumstance, and congratulated himself that 
 Guy's dread of the Lady Marguerite had prevented his before 
 informing her of his project of a union with the Princess Mary. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
THE CURSE OF THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 137 
 
 VOLUME THE SECOND. 
 
 THE 
 
 CURSE OF THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE TWELFTH CENTURY. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 On the return of the brothers from Montreuil, Count Guy, 
 acting under the influence of Baldwin, asked a private audience 
 of Marguerite. He entered her apartments as usual, and with 
 an humble salutation to his mother, and kneeling upon her 
 footstool, kissed her hand, and then proceeded to say ; " The 
 grand chancellor has doubtless put into your hands the conclu- 
 sion of the treaty with England, thus so happily terminated ? " 
 
 The Countess scarcely moved a muscle of her countenance, 
 so discontented and dark, but made a slight affirmative motion 
 with her head. 
 
 " But I have yet other intelligence of a mission with which 
 you honoured me when I attended St. Louis to the Holy Land, 
 and which my apparent failure made me hesitate to commu- 
 nicate ; but now that two circumstances which seem to me of 
 some importance give me hopes, I have obtained a clue " 
 
 The countenance of Marguerite no longer exhibited a list- 
 less inanity. Every feature was animated with a fierce exul- 
 tation. She invited Count Guy to a place at the table at 
 which she was seated, and resting her head on her hand, she 
 so nearly approached him that he felt her breath on his face 
 as she was speaking. " Guy," she began with a forced and 
 harsh voice, " so long a space hath elapsed since your expe- 
 
138 
 
 THE CURSE OP 
 
 dition, that I thought you had forgotten my message to the 
 late King of France." 
 
 " Believe you then, Madam, that your commands could be 
 forgotten ? I importuned the king for many a weary day, and 
 just before he died I asked a private audience. He yielded to 
 my prayer. ' What wouidst thou ? ' said he, (and methinks 
 his death-like, hollow voice still rings in my ear). < Can the 
 passion of revenge even now occupy thy mind, when thou 
 seest a fellow mortal trembling on the brink of the grave, 
 where all human passions lie buried with every human hope ?" 
 
 " Every passion ! " said the Countess ; u I have but one. 
 Every hope! What hope is left for me ? " 
 
 Count Guy continued. « e And tell the Lady Marguerite 
 to forgive, as she would be forgiven.' " 
 
 " J forgive ? " said the Countess, raising her head from her 
 hand, and fiercely opening her eyes. 
 
 " Madam, I but repeat our conversation. But I said, O 
 king, let but thy son yield up my mother's serf, Labrosse, or 
 desire him to declare to the Countess where he hath placed 
 the boy committed to his charge, as well as discover where is 
 the mother of that boy/' 
 
 " And what replied the king ? M asked the Countess, with 
 the most deep yet suppressed anxiety. 
 
 e< e Go, tell your mother to forget her revenge.' " 
 
 An expression of contempt passed over the features of the 
 Countess. 
 
 It was now Count Guy's turn to become restless and agi- 
 tated. He rose from the table, remained for an instant op- 
 posite to his mother, then walked rapidly up and down the 
 apartment, then again stopped near his mother, and, without 
 looking at her, said, " 1 met with a marvellous strange cir- 
 cumstance as I came here last from Namur." 
 
 The lady raised her eyes to his face, but she spoke not. 
 
 Count Guy then began his narrative of his meeting with the 
 Beguine in the forest, not forgetting her exhortation to him. 
 
 " And saw you her face ? " said the lady, when he had 
 finished his tale. 
 
 " I saw it, Madam, but not to note its features. It was 
 ghastly pale, and when she held her hand up thus, it seemed 
 transparent/' 
 
 " And how long is it since this happened, say you ? " asked 
 the Lady Marguerite. 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 139 
 
 u Madam, when I came here to take counsel of the mission 
 to Montreuil," replied her son. 
 
 0 And why did you not then inform me of the circum- 
 stance ? " inquired the lady. 
 
 The same reason which had prevented his speaking of it 
 then, now again kept him silent. It was that he feared the 
 dame. To change the conversation which was becoming un- 
 pleasant, as well as to ward off the question, he said, " I have 
 another tale to greet your highness's ear." 
 
 u And how old may this next be ? inquired the dame, 
 with sarcastic bitterness. 
 
 " Madam/' replied her son, " 'twas at Montreuil." Here 
 he paused for a moment, as though he waited some encourage- 
 ment from the lady. But no expression of feature or of 
 action informed him that she had even heard him speak. She 
 seemed buried in thought — or perhaps absorbed in her ha- 
 bitual discontent with life. 
 
 Count Guy proceeded. « The Duke of Brabant was found at 
 Paris with Edward, and they travelled to Montreuil together, as 
 I have already informed your Grace. The duke had with him 
 a numerous train. Among his followers was a troubadour or 
 minstrel — the living image of Ada — methought 'twas Ada's 
 self. The same melancholy, the same bearing of the head a 
 little towards the left shoulder, the same flowing locks " 
 
 " Ha ! my son ! " said the Countess, with a fearful empha- 
 sis on the interjection. " And have you secured the bastard?" 
 
 " How, madam ! Under the protection of England's king 
 and Brabant's duke ? When I have bound myself by contract 
 to the former to yield myself a prisoner at Montreuil * if I 
 break the peace towards England ? No ! let us work by surer 
 means. The whelp has all his mother's fascinations, and 
 they say the Princess Mary loves him much. More than the 
 duke or duchess even. Win we the lady, and the minion 
 follows." 
 
 " What mean you, Dampierre ? " asked the Countess. 
 
 Count Guy repeated Baldwin's demand of the hand of 
 Mary, and the lady seemed to forget her bitterness towards 
 him in her pursuit of the minstrel. 
 
 " But how ? " she cried ; " Baldwin has neither lands nor 
 title?" 
 
 * This deed is in existence. 
 
140 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 " But the Countess has both," replied Guy. * The Lord 
 of Avesnes can aspire to the hand of the princess. Baldwin 
 has talents, and better is it that they be employed for us than 
 for our enemies. The inheritance, when his brother hath 
 Hainault, will be his ; to yield it now is only to anticipate 
 his fortune." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The 19th of January is still kept in Brussels in commemora- 
 tion of the return of Henry d'Assche from the Holy Land, 
 where he had accompanied the kings of France and England. 
 The festival is called the "Vrouwkens Avond," and the 
 circumstances attending the welcome of the chief and his fol- 
 lowers render it in general a scene of much mirth. 
 
 But an assembly of a far different description was collected 
 in the ducal palace at Brussels in the year 1276, to com- 
 memorate the escape of their compatriots, for the banqueting 
 room there sparkled with all that was beautiful in person, 
 adorned with all that was costly in dress, at a period when 
 the ladies of the Low Countries were celebrated all over the 
 world for their beauty, and the countries themselves for their 
 wealth. They were now crowded round the Troubadour, or 
 court minstrel, who was reciting the history of the expedition 
 in the rude poetry of the times. He sung how, u Henry 
 d'Assche with his friends and followers went to the Holy 
 Land. The way was long and dangerous, the foes strong and 
 treacherous, and friends uncertain. 
 
 "How days, weeks, months, nay years passed away, and 
 yet they came not back. Wives mourned their husbands, 
 and children wept their parents, despairing of their return. 
 At length the lord appeared with such of his own vassals as 
 had escaped the influence of the sun, and the sword of the 
 Saracens. 
 
 " Their joyful relatives were hastily assembled at the ample 
 board, spread in the trophied hall of their lord, the horn of 
 welcome passed rapidly round, and they caroused so long and 
 deep that their wives were obliged to bear them to their 
 couches." 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 141 
 
 The bard was young and handsome, and the most enthu- 
 siastic praises were lavished on his performance, for he was 
 the favourite of Duke John of Brabant. He received the ap- 
 plause of his auditors with a bowed head, but his raised colour 
 showed him not insensible to their praises. And his glowing 
 glance became more and more enthusiastic while it fell on two 
 young and beautiful damsels, like the rosy clouds of evening 
 following the course of the setting sun and deepening as they 
 imbibe his rays. 
 
 The youngest and most beautiful of the two noble dames 
 to whose bright glances the harp seemed to respire in more 
 animated strains, was Jane, a lineal descendant of that noble 
 lord whose prowess in the Holy Land, and narrow escape 
 from the dangers surrounding him there, the bard had just 
 sung. She was small, almost diminutive ; but the most deli- 
 cate proportions marked the contour of her sylph-like form. 
 
 Her companion was less beautiful, if beauty depend on 
 symmetry of feature ; but her finely shaped head might have 
 served as a model for a statuary. Her forehead was perfect ; 
 her brows, though clearly defined, being small and almost 
 straight, and their light brown lines nearly descended to her 
 hazel eyes. 
 
 But it was round the mouth that played the expression 
 which so bewitchingly characterised her countenance, varying 
 with every emotion of her soul. Her form, too, tall and 
 dignified, was yet so nicely proportioned, and so much of 
 grace regulated every movement, that it was almost as softly 
 feminine as that of Jane. 
 
 Her robe was white and ample, made to fit to the bust, and 
 confined round the waist by a girdle of pure gold.* The 
 light brown hair was drawn up to the crown of her head, in 
 the same manner as that of her companion, and confined there 
 by a coronet of the same precious metal as her girdle, and 
 from it a deep veil fringed with gold fell to her very feet ; 
 but so light was its texture, that her form was visible through 
 its undulating folds; and the sleeves, large and open, showed 
 her lovely arms to the admiring gaze. 
 
 This was the Princess Mary, who, turning towards the 
 minstrel, as his voice sank into silence at the conclusion of the 
 
 * A woman whose character was not unimpeachable was not permitted to wear 
 
142 THE CURSE OF 
 
 # 
 
 last stanza, said, " Sir Adenez, you appear inspired this even- 
 ing ; never before have I heard such melodious tones from 
 your harp ; never so much soul in your voice ! " 
 
 " It is that I am inspired in chanting the prowess and the 
 perils of the ancestors of this beauteous damsel," said ,he in- 
 dicating with a softened glance the fairy form of Jane, " and 
 by the smiles of my noble mistress," he added, bending to 
 receive the chain of gold she threw around his neck, and 
 which her brother's page, young William de Bethune, a son 
 of Guy de Dampierre, presented to the Princess, 
 
 A slight change of her colour, and a scarcely perceptible 
 tremor in the under lip, evinced there was something in the 
 minstrel's speech that touched Mary nearly. She turned from 
 him to the dark-haired page, whose youthful features but ill 
 accorded with his passionate and marked expression as he fol- 
 lowed every motion of the Princess with an eager gaze. She 
 turned towards him, but she spoke not ; and it was evident that 
 her thoughts were pre-occupied ; till he who had sought her 
 notice with feverish anxiety, seized her veil and fondly pressed 
 it to his lips. Then indeed she seemed to recover from her 
 slight abstraction, and extended her hand to him, which he 
 eagerly grasped to lead her up the room. 
 
 The dance and the feast succeeded to the music ; and it was 
 not till a late hour that the Princess retired. 
 
 As she approached her apartment, accompanied by Jane, 
 she was surprised by the sight of a religieuse of the order of 
 the Beguines, then recently established in Brussels. Her pale 
 countenance seemed yet paler beneath the black veil which 
 shaded it. Her form was beyond the middle height, and she 
 was thin even to emaciation. She bent her head to the cour- 
 teous salutation of the Princess, and as the latter sought to 
 enter her apartment, she prostrated herself almost across the 
 doorway, and lifting up her hands to heaven, and turning to- 
 wards Jane, exclaimed, " Tell the Princess to hear my words 
 and to listen to the admonitions of my mouth ! " She paused 
 as the form she had addressed leaned mechanically towards 
 her, as if to enforce her attention, and continued — " O tell 
 her that it is better to trust in the Lord, than to put any con- 
 fidence in man ! " Then elevating her voice, " Tell her it is 
 better to trust in the Lord than to put any confidence in 
 princes. For if she go astray from the land of her youth, 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 143 
 
 they shall persecute her without a cause. Woe, woe in Gallia I 
 Woe, woe in the great city ! For the proud have laid a snare 
 for her ! Yea they have set traps in her way, and therefore 
 shall her heart be desolate within her. Her love " 
 
 " Love ! " cried Mary, with thrilling accents, for the fire 
 had passed from the eye of the prophetess, her face was no 
 longer raised towards Heaven, whose behests she seemed obey- 
 ing. And her voice sunk into silence as she vainly sought to 
 finish the sentence. Her countenance became distorted, and 
 her throat choked with emotion. She fled ! 
 
 " And Love!" again cried the Princess, in tones of intense 
 emotion. But the prophetess heard her not. She was gone. 
 Nothing remained of her but the remembrance, which would 
 not pass away. 
 
 The slumbers of the Princess were broken and unrefreshed. 
 The form of the Beguine mingled with her dreams, and always 
 appeared there associated with that of Adenez. And when 
 the heated imagination of the Princess presented the nun again, 
 it was with the dark eye of Adenez, sparkling in poetic fire, 
 and the tones of his full rich voice, in all the enthusiasm of 
 imaginative eloquence. 
 
 The day was already far advanced when the Princess awoke. 
 Her first thought was of the nun. But it was in vain she in-, 
 quired of the attendants respecting the prophetess; except 
 those near her person at the time, nobody had seen her. 
 
 When she went to pay her respects to the young Duchess, 
 she was greeted with rather more than usual cordiality and 
 kindness ; while a smile of some meaning accompanied her 
 salutation. Having dismissed her attendants, she embraced 
 the Princess a second time, while she said, " At length, my 
 fair sister, my first wish is likely to be accomplished ; and you 
 are about to fill the high station to which your every move- 
 ment declares you to be born. My brother, Philip of France, 
 has sent to demand your hand." 
 
 O what a torrent of feelings rapidly rushed through the 
 bosom of the Princess at this intelligence. To the calls of 
 ambition she was by no means insensible ; but hers was not 
 that vulgar ambition which looks to rank alone without eleva- 
 tion of sentiment or character. She could feel too ; for her 
 high rank had not placed her beyond the sensibilities of our 
 nature. In the midst of the storm of feelings which thus en- 
 
144 
 
 THE CURSE OP 
 
 grossed her heart, the prophecy of the Beguine, appalling as 
 it was, presented itself to her mind. She had foreseen then 
 this demand, and foretold a whole host of evils following close 
 upon it? Yet, how avoid the fate thus thrust upon her, 
 which her sister had welcomed, and which her brother would 
 also, without doubt, support, as consolidating more closely the 
 alliance of the two states ? She felt she should be obliged to 
 yield, however her heart might suffer in the struggle. She 
 therefore turned towards the Duchess, and striving to repress 
 the feelings which rendered her agitation too apparent, she 
 replied, as courtesy dictated, to the congratulations of her sis- 
 ter ; and begged to be allowed to retire, in order to be ready 
 to receive the official notice, which she supposed would soon 
 arrive. 
 
 The next day was appointed for her to receive the congra- 
 tulations of the court. But a dark presentiment obscured all 
 that was brilliant in the prospect before her, and exaggerated 
 all the recollections of her childhood, which made her regret 
 the past. To quit that home where she had been so happy ; 
 to leave her brother the duke, whom she loved so tenderly. 
 To struggle against the vices, the cares, and the intrigues of 
 a court ! Another presented himself to her remembrance, and 
 a shade of deeper thought came over her mind and flushed her 
 cheek. She trembled at its intrusion, started from her chair, 
 and paced the room, every motion indicating that some power- 
 ful feeling agitated her sensitive bosom, till she was interrupted 
 by the appearance of William, her brother s page. 
 
 The boy looked upon her with an eager glance. But 
 though his feelings were precocious, his reason was not enough 
 matured to seek to divine what cause influenced the manner of 
 Mary. But it was with evident reluctance he left her. When 
 she descended, the Duchess met her at the door, and present- 
 ing her to the circle, was the first to congratulate her upon 
 her approaching elevation. Every body crowded round her, 
 and she received their compliments with much self-possession. 
 A single glance told her that one, however, was wanting; — 
 but that one had not forgotten her. 
 
 The harp's full vibrations were heard. And the note's rich 
 swell evinced that no common hand, and no divided emotion 
 waked that strain, where all breathed joy and gladness. And 
 first he sang the maidenly graces and unrivalled beauty of the 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 145 
 
 Princess, for whom nobles sighed and princes contended ; 
 then the brilliant qualities of her cultivated and powerful 
 mind. But oh ! better than all, the virtues that glowed in her 
 generous heart ! 
 
 " Beauty, talent, and goodness so superlative can only find 
 their proper sphere on the most splendid throne. Happy the 
 sovereign who can place her there. Thrice happy he, the bold 
 son of the sainted monarch, who in gaining her heart, raises 
 her to the only rank worthy her beauty, genius, and virtue ! " 
 
 Yes, it was Adenez who raised the joyful strain. But not 
 a single responsive emotion in the bosom of the Princess re- 
 plied now to the notes of the bard. For the first time she was 
 insensible to the influence of his art. The prophetess still 
 exclusively filled her imagination, as she appeared in her 
 dream, withering every hope — darkening every thought. 
 
 At length the bard himself approached, joy beaming in his 
 eyes, animating his light step, and speaking in the lively tones 
 of his voice — for his heart was filled with gladness. And the 
 Princess ? 
 
 She received his congratulations with a coldness she could 
 not repress. No compliment on his music evinced her sense 
 of his talent. No animated smile informed him she approved 
 his efforts employed in her praise. But a desire to know 
 something more of the mysterious being who had so astonished 
 and interested her, induced the Princess to confide to Adenez 
 the extraordinary prophecy of the Beguine, and to entreat him 
 to make every inquiry likely to facilitate her wish, in the part 
 of the town appropriated to that community. 
 
 These societies seem to have been peculiar to the Low 
 Countries. They were first instituted by a priest of Liege, 
 named Lambert le Begue, towards the end of the twelfth 
 century. 
 
 They had an establishment at Ghent which was the largest 
 in the country. It was founded by Jane, the late, and richly 
 endowed by Marguerite, present Countess of Hainault and 
 Flanders. There was also one consisting of 2000 nuns at 
 Nivelles. 
 
 That of Brussels was of yet more recent origin : having 
 been founded in the year 1250. The first five Beguin es were 
 the daughters of a farmer at Goych ; but at the period of our 
 minstrel's visit, they amounted to some hundreds. 
 
146 
 
 THE CURSE OP 
 
 The vows of the community did not compel them to per- 
 petual celibacy. They were professed for only seven years, at 
 the end of which time they were permitted to lay aside the 
 veil and return to the trials and pleasures of the world. 
 
 They were not domiciled under one roof like other religious 
 communities ; but had each her separate habitation, unadorned 
 except by the modesty, humility, and tranquil resignation of 
 its unpretending inhabitant. The Beguines seemed united for 
 mutual edification and the practice of those virtues so difficult 
 to preserve in the vortex of corrupt society. They were con- 
 stantly occupied ; needle-work, prayer, and meditation em- 
 ployed them in turn. Their manners were reserved, almost 
 severe, in the every day relations with the world, the morals of 
 which were at that time frightfully corrupt. In fine, the 
 subjugation of every passion to the service of the Almighty 
 seemed to be the end and aim of their existence. 
 
 Adenez was accompanied in his walk by William de Be- 
 thune. And as they descended the town, they passed before 
 the modest building appropriated to the reception of the her- 
 mits of St. Augustine. This was situated near the Beguinage ; 
 and Adenez, if not so restlessly interested as the Princess to 
 seek the elucidation of the mysterious language held by the 
 nun, yet participated enough in her curiosity, to feel the desire 
 of seeing this inexplicable prophetess infinitely predominate 
 over every other consideration. Though much interested in 
 this society he did not pause to visit it ; but proceeded to the 
 Beguinage, which, in the midst of the populous city of Brus- 
 sels, formed a little town apart. It consisted of thirty-two 
 streets, or ruelles ; and the perfect neatness and almost unin- 
 terrupted quietness of this enclosure, formed a striking con- 
 trast to the noise and bustle, the hurry and confusion of the 
 world beyond its walls. 
 
 In every corner where it was possible to place a sketch, a 
 representation of some scriptural history was discovered- 
 Adam and Eve in Paradise, placed at each side of the tree of 
 knowledge of good and evil ; the apple which was to entail so 
 much of misery upon her frail descendants yet uneaten in the 
 hand of Eve. And the want of the truth and nature which 
 have since so eminently distinguished the artists of the Nether- 
 lands, was supplied, if not compensated, by gaudiness of 
 colouring and strongly marked outlines. In another place, 
 
THE BLACK LADY. J 47 
 
 was a carving in wood of the crucifixion, with the weeping 
 Magdalen at the foot of the cross, or the Virgin bearing the 
 dead body of the Saviour on her knees, while the seven daggers 
 pierce her heart. 
 
 Then again, behind rude latticed-work, Our Lady glittered 
 all resplendent in blue and gold, made doubly brilliant by the 
 flickering lights placed in a row before her, to mark the piety 
 or the superstition of the sainted maidens of the society. 
 
 Adenez had passed a moat with a drawbridge, when a heavy 
 gate creaked on its hinges, to give him admission through the 
 thick wall which surrounded the little community. All means 
 of entrance was closed every night at eight o'clock, beyond 
 which period no man was permitted to be within its walls nor 
 was any egress allowed after that hour. 
 
 They found but few people about the streets, but while 
 they were yet examining the works of art we have been de- 
 scribing, the bell sounded for church service, and each house 
 poured forth its inhabitants, who with that tranquil air which 
 so particularly marked the Beguines entered with noiseless step 
 the spacious church to which Adenez and his young friend 
 the page, followed without further ceremony. As he passed 
 among them to enter their temple, Adenez minutely examined 
 every figure, and looked with worldly irreverence into every 
 pair of fine eyes. And many a veil was drawn demurely and 
 closely over the features which he so nicely scrutinised. But 
 tnougli he looked round with a most poetical determination to 
 find the prophetess, not even the eye of a poet could imagine 
 any thing approaching to supernatural inspiration in the statue- 
 like figures by which he was surrounded. There was indeed 
 the black robe so accurately described by the Princess: the 
 band of white sendel across the tranquil forehead; the short 
 black veil demurely pinned on each side the temple, together 
 with the snowy lawn with which it was lined, and the white 
 guimp which covered the bust. But that look which spoke of 
 communion with beings beyond this world, and which denoted 
 an intimate correspondence with things mysterious if not for- 
 bidden, he sought in vain. 
 
 Mortified with his useless search, he listened to the request 
 of William that he would return through that part of the 
 town which is now called the Putterie, but which was then 
 occupied by the convent of the Templars. Who, at that 
 L 2 
 
148 THE CURSE OF 
 
 moment, looking towards their splendid establishment with its 
 massive walls, its numerous windows, the spacious doors, from 
 which were seen issuing its lordly tenants, bearing in their 
 person that mixture of character, that union of the two in- 
 stitutions then held to be the most sacred, that combination ot 
 chivalry and religion, which it seemed the height of human 
 ambition to attain, could have supposed it leaned so nearly to- 
 
 wards its fall ? . . , 
 
 The page having expressed a desire to go in and visit the 
 Templar Hildebrand, Adenez readily consented to accompany 
 
 hl The Templar having immediately obeyed the porter's sum- 
 mons, presented a noble bearing, having however more of the 
 warrior than of the churchman in his appearance Disdain- 
 ing even the affectation of the humility which had charac- 
 terised the founders of his order; and could the term have 
 been applied to the loftiness which seemed to emanate from 
 conscious superiority of mind, his deportment might have been 
 called haughty. Perhaps majesty would better have desig- 
 nated his peculiar manner. ... 
 
 He approached the boy and took him kindly by the hand, 
 while he proceeded to those inquiries that might have been 
 deemed of mere courtesy, had not their extreme mmuteness, 
 united to an earnest seriousness and a warmth and cordiality 
 in the tones of the voice, given a character of lively friend- 
 ship to the words. He then, following the pages glance, 
 turned towards his companion, and had begun his compliments 
 in the most polished language, when his eyes suddenly be- 
 came rivetted on the countenance of his visitor, with an inten- 
 sity of feeling which spoke at once in his quivering hp and 
 agitated brow. His emotion was but momentary, and he re- 
 covered himself sufficiently to apologize for its display by im- 
 puting his adtation to the very close resemblance his visitor 
 bore to a dear friend. He then made known his desire to be- 
 come acquainted with Adenez. > 
 
 The conversation soon turned upon the marriage of the 
 Princess ; and the Templar asked : - « Do you, Sir Minstrel, 
 accompany your noble mistress to France ? 
 
 » It would be a very severe privation for me to be separated 
 from the Princess," replied Adenez. Yet it will also be 
 exceedingly painful to leave the Duke and Duchess, to be 
 
THE BLACK LAD V. 
 
 149 
 
 established among perfect strangers ! " He paused for a 
 
 minute before he added i( Notwithstanding this, I would 
 
 willingly believe that the Prince, who hath gained the epithet 
 of e The Bold/ is not unworthy the hand of my noble mistress, 
 the Princess Mary. You know him, Sir Hildebrand ? " 
 
 " Yes/' replied the knight ; " 1 knew him in Africa/' 
 
 e< He has been placed in circumstances of considerable diffi- 
 culty , from which he has frequently extricated himself with 
 singular boldness and address. But though he did thus 
 advance beyond the hopes of his friends, I thought I per- 
 ceived in him an indecision, which leads me to apprehend that 
 he does not possess much real strength of character. And the 
 manner in which he suffers himself to be so strangely governed 
 by his barber, Labrosse, seems to confirm my suspicions/' 
 
 " But he is capable of loving, and of rightly estimating a 
 creature so superior as our Princess ! " said Adenez, anxiously. 
 
 " If the Princess will condescend to manage him, she will 
 
 indeed be a blessing to France, and " but here the 
 
 Templar checked himself. 
 
 " And this Labrosse ! How is it, that from so low a station 
 he hath arisen to so high a post ? " asked Adenez. 
 
 " Nay, Sir Minstrel," answered his companion, " that is a 
 puzzling question, and to answer it properly I ought to be 
 able to penetrate the very depths of the human heart. Per- 
 haps he has persuaded the young monarch that in accepting 
 his favours, he loves him for himself alone. Perchance he 
 hath persuaded him that in protecting those whom the late 
 king patronised, he proves that he inherits the saintly wishes 
 of his father ; perchance " 
 
 " I see, I see," said Adenez impatiently, and then continu- 
 ing in all the ardour of an imagination powerfully excited 
 by his subject. " O Sir Templar ! Could you but read my 
 heart ! Could you know from what a pure motive I desire to 
 have my doubts as to the king's character decided, you would 
 approve even if you were to decline answering them. The 
 heart of the Princess is formed of the softest, best, and most 
 angel-like attributes of our nature. With an understanding 
 which, though so superior, is entirely unfitted for a commerce 
 with the world ;— with a mind amply stored with the richest 
 imagery, she cannot look upon aught so hateful as vice. Is she 
 wronged — does she see meanness predominating over modest 
 l 3 
 
150 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 or unpretending worth, her indignation is keen — but let 'the 
 oppressor in his turn become unfortunate, she soon conceives 
 him to be reformed and restores him to her bosom. You, Sir 
 Hildebrand, know far better than 1 can, the dangers to which 
 such a character is exposed in a court — and in such a court 
 as that of France ! " 
 
 ie Such as you have described, I ever believed the Princess ; 
 and willingly would I point out some means of freeing her 
 from the dangers which await her there, could I see any 
 equally powerful with her own uprightness and the benevolence 
 of her disposition. Her unsuspicious nature may indeed lead 
 her into snares, but sooner or later it must be rightly known 
 and felt. Labrosse I know not ; yet I think there is some 
 mystery lurking under his rapid advancement ! " Then 
 lowering his voice almost to a whisper, " Keep an active eye 
 upon him." 
 
 (C But the king ! " exclaimed Adenez, with that irritable 
 impatience so frequently the attendant of the poetic character, 
 £C Is he capable of loving and of appreciating the Princess ? " 
 
 " In good truth/' replied the Templar, " he was never 
 thought to be deficient either in affection or principle. The 
 only danger is, lest the one should be opposed to the other by 
 artifices. Princess Mary has only to be seen and known to 
 be loved, and this is much. For you, Sir Minstrel," added 
 the Templar, significantly, " look you do not fall." 
 
 " I ! " replied Adenez ; " I am too insignificant to serve 
 even as a mark to their shafts." 
 
 The conversation that followed was desultory and unin- 
 teresting, and Adenez soon after took his leave ; to wander 
 silent and sad ; to muse over the mysterious destinies of man ; 
 to ponder upon the perverseness of his own fate ; to regret his 
 cloister; and finally to dwell upon the fortunes of the 
 Princess, and to lose all thought of self in revelling in fancied 
 scenes, of which her beautiful image was the grace and the 
 glory. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 During the time that intervened before Mary's departure for 
 the French court, an uninterested spectator might have sup- 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 151 
 
 posed that the Princess had forgotten her friendship for the 
 minstrel, as their usual familiar interchange of thought and 
 sentiment was completely interrupted. Mary seemed to be 
 entirely engrossed by preparations for the change in her 
 situation, and the minstrel, by his own reflections. Yet a 
 more accurate observer might have noticed the rapid change of 
 colour upon the pale check of Adenez, when Mary spoke of 
 her departure. If the Princess on her part seemed regardless 
 of the presence of her poet, yet her eye invariably detected his 
 departure, and perhaps a light sigh followed him. 
 
 At length the dreaded moment arrived ; and, accompanied 
 by her brother and many of the nobles of his court and fol- 
 lowed by a numerous train of attendants, Mary left Brussels. 
 As long as she could distinguish the dark towers which rose, 
 side by side, in frowning majesty above the stately church, 
 which covered the ashes of St. Gudule, she continued to gaze 
 on them, but when a turn of the road hid them too from her 
 sight, she stopped her horse to take a last farewell of the spot 
 where she had been so happy. " Adieu ! " she cried, " land 
 of my love, with this view vanishes all hope of future peace i " 
 Tears choked her voice, and she wept for some moments with 
 a bitterness which resisted consolation. Her brother sought in 
 vain to turn her mind towards the pleasures, splendour, and 
 honours that awaited her. She found it impossible to shake 
 off the dark presentiment which obscured every glance towards 
 the change in her situation. 
 
 It was only on the fourth day they approached Paris ; not, 
 as now, great in architectural magnificence, for the houses 
 were generally of wood, thatched, low, and without chimneys. 
 Nor did the dwellings of the great exhibit that style of lofty 
 grandeur which the next century produced, and which Mary's 
 own town already partially exhibited. But Mary was young, 
 and endued with that happy flexibility of character which 
 usually attends sensibility and genius. Her sadness faded 
 away before the indications of joy and gladness with which 
 her approach was every where hailed. The whole population, 
 nobles, students of the university, and common people, all 
 poured out beyond the walls to meet their young Queen, 
 yielding themselves up to that enthusiasm of feeling, that 
 fondness for loving an anticipated good, for which the Parisians 
 were ever remarkable. Her fears and dark forebodings were 
 l 4 
 
152 
 
 THE CURSE OP 
 
 dispelled by the contagion of sympathy ; and with a glad -and 
 lightsome heart she bowed her head in return to these accla- 
 mations, till it almost touched the neck of her beautiful Spanish 
 jennet, as she penetrated the thick crowd, which, while it 
 welcomed her approach, impeded her progress. All was 
 pleasure ; and when she descended at the steps of the palace 
 where Philip waited her approach, suitably attended to receive 
 her, he found her countenance radiant with joy. 
 
 The Princess was allowed three days to recover from the 
 fatigues of her journey, during which time those who were 
 nearest the person of the king were encouraged to render 
 themselves agreeable to their future queen. The young 
 princes were also presented to her, and she was affected even 
 to tears as she promised the king (who with Jane were the only 
 witnesses to this interview) to supply to them the parent of 
 whom they had been bereaved. Philip was touched with 
 these marks of sensibility, and whispered some expressions of 
 ardent gratitude and love, which called the blush to her cheek; 
 while the sigh that trembled on her lips, from whatever senti- 
 ment it might arise, excited in him new expressions of de- 
 votion. 
 
 At length the day of the coronation arrived, when the praises 
 of Mary, the beautiful, the good, were sung to the sounds of 
 hundreds of musical instruments, and fifes, viols, drums, psal- 
 teries and harps united in multifarious harmony, to carry the 
 theme to the remotest corners of her new kingdom. While, 
 notwithstanding the University of Paris enclosed thirty thou- 
 sand students, even philosophers forgot the spirit of dispute. 
 
 Every street was gay in various colours to welcome her re- 
 turn from the coronation ; the poorer houses were covered with 
 branches of trees and flowers ; and from the windows of the 
 palaces were suspended the richest tapestry, intermixed with 
 coloured streamers, armorial bearings, and lighted candles. 
 
 The principal owners of these splendid residences were 
 equally resplendent in robes perfectly new, prepared for the 
 occasion ; and to such a pitch had the luxury of the times 
 arrived, that their dresses were changed three times in one day, 
 and each change showed a robe more splendid than the last. 
 
 All the different liveries followed in procession before the 
 windows of the palace, each bearing in front the banner indi- 
 cating its profession. 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 153 
 
 But the most prominent feature in the novelties of the day 
 were the little theatres, erected at each corner where streets 
 crossed ; and when the cloth curtains, of Brussels manufacture, 
 were withdrawn, various scenes were represented ; such as the 
 infancy of the dramatic art, then newly introduced from the 
 East, might be supposed to furnish : but with the idea, little 
 of the poetical inspiration which the poets of the East, beyond 
 any other in the early ages, had displayed, was observable. 
 Drawn from a source which supplied to the sister arts of 
 poetry, painting, and music all that was sublime in conception 
 or grand in execution, the mysteries, which consisted in facts 
 drawn from holy writ, were arid and vulgar. The Saviour of 
 the world was depicted eating an apple, presented to him by 
 St. Joseph and smiling in the arms of the Holy Virgin. The 
 next scene discovered him repeating paternosters with the 
 Apostles, and the last act in this rough picture, showed Him 
 raising up the dead to judgment. 
 
 In another of these representations the blessed were seen 
 singing praises in Paradise, attended by angels with gaudy 
 wings, while in an opposite department, sinners were disco- 
 vered writhing in eternal punishment, while devils, whose 
 mouths flamed fire and brimstone, laughed in spite at their 
 misery. 
 
 Those from the Old Testament showed Adam and Eve 
 rambling hand in hand through the beautiful garden, eyeing 
 with longing looks the luscious apples shining in all the tempt- 
 ing array of red with yellow streaks, through the bright green 
 leaves of the loaded tree. Above, the serpent writhing round 
 its stem, with upreared head and protruded tongue, as he gave 
 his insidious counsel to the weaker vessel. The next act 
 showed how, with beguiling words and yet more seducing 
 looks, she tempted her loving partner to participate in her 
 guilt ; and her punishment formed the subject of the last act 
 of this eventful history. 
 
 In other theatres of similar form pieces called satires were 
 enacted. One contained a wicked allusion to the Pope (Boni- 
 face VIII.) who was personified under the emblem of a fox, 
 whose cunning eye showed rather mundane than spiritual de- 
 sires. Reynard was at first a simple clerk, chanting an epistle ; 
 next a bishop s mitre graced his brow, while the same insidious 
 glance, though cast on the earth in feigned humility, still be- 
 
154 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 trayed a worldly ambition. At length his pointed ears, were 
 half concealed by a triple tiara, and his bushy tail peeped from 
 beneath the magnificent robe of the Pope, while he no longer 
 sought to conceal his carnal appetites, but devoured such dishes 
 as the taste of the times denominated luxuries, with a marvel- 
 lous rapidity. 
 
 Tom Fool then, as now, upon every popular occasion, seems 
 to have taken a conspicuous part in the amusements of the 
 multitude, capering, gambolling, and tumbling. 
 
 Then was a display of animals brought from the tropical 
 climates, marching two and two in most orderly procession ; 
 the most unmanageable chained, and the fiercest muzzled. 
 They were paraded from a building representing Noan's Ark. 
 
 Here was also a Lilliputian tournament, at which children 
 tilted in knightly armour, brandishing their minniken spears. 
 
 And many were the groups of dancers that enlivened this 
 motley assemblage, where ladies nourished a-la-ronde. 
 
 Fountains poured forth wine, at which the animated popu- 
 lace quaffed to the health of the beauteous queen, while they 
 shouted "Largesse" to the bounteous giver, surveyed by 
 groups of persons under different disguises, whose quaint ap- 
 pearance gave somewhat of the character of a modern carnival 
 to the motley scene. 
 
 On the last day of this wedding festival the bourgeosie of 
 Paris marched in regular order from the church of Notre 
 Dame, well armed and neatly dressed, to the number of thirty 
 thousand foot, and twenty thousand horse, and denied past the 
 house where King Philip and his fair bride were stationed at 
 the open window. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Shortly after the marriage of the young queen, Guy de Dam- 
 pierre came to Paris. 
 
 Formerly, when his business or pleasure required his at- 
 tendance there, Labrosse had always a convenient illness, or 
 some mission beyond the walls, or such an immense overflow 
 of business that any communication with Count Guy, beyond 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 155 
 
 what his official duties as grand chamberlain imposed, seemed 
 to be impossible. But now Labrosse himself sought his so- 
 ciety ; and, as the desire of a private conference was mutual, 
 they were soon closeted together. 
 
 The Count began by lamenting that the infatuation of La- 
 brosse's father, in deserting the protection of the Lady of 
 Hainault, his mother, had deprived him of the talents of the 
 grand chamberlain,, and his mother of the pleasure of heaping 
 honours on one so deserving of much more than she could 
 offer him. He then proceeded to say, that notwithstanding 
 the defection of the father, the son might yet reckon on his 
 good offices if he could make up his mind to leave France ; 
 adding, with a sneer, ee The favour of kings is uncertain, and 
 there are those who prophesied that the honours of this court 
 would for the future travel round by the way of Brabant/ ' 
 
 Labrosse replied warily to this harangue. But though his 
 words expressed the most entire confidence in the goodness of 
 the king, yet in his manner he suffered the Count of Flanders 
 to perceive that he was not quite satisfied with his situation. 
 
 " Who/' said Guy, looking steadily at the chamberlain, " is 
 this Troubadour, this Adenez ? " 
 
 "Who?'* replied Labrosse., with such evident astonishment 
 at the question that his companion could not for the instant 
 believe it assumed. " Know you not that he is the queen's 
 favourite minstrel, and brought by her from Brabant ? " 
 
 " But/' said the son of the Black Lady, Ci know you ought 
 of his parentage and connexions ?" 
 
 A simple reply in the negative convinced Guy of Labrosse's 
 sincerity. But where then was the son of Ada ? If against 
 the evidence of all his senses, and of that strong internal con- 
 viction, resulting from so close a similarity that even the 
 choice of words and the construction of phrases, as well as 
 every action, struck on his wondering eyes and ears, — if this 
 living image of her very self be not her son, where is the boy ? 
 
 Lost and bewildered, he turned again to Labrosse, and 
 asked, — <f Heard you ever your father speak of the last ser- 
 vice the Lady Marguerite required at his hands, and which 
 would have been most nobly requited had he not fled her 
 thanks ? " 
 
 " Indeed, Count, my father conversed often upon the failure 
 of that enterprise which caused his night." 
 
156 
 
 THE CURSE OP 
 
 "Howl" retorted Guy, with one of those dark looks he 
 inherited from his mother. cc Do you trifle with me ? Know 
 you not that St. Louis himself was informed by your father of 
 the existence of that boy ? " 
 
 " Stop 5 Count/' coolly interrupted the Grand Chamberlain ; 
 " we begin now to understand each other, and methinks may 
 both be satisfied if we come to terms of mutual agreement. 
 Give me but a sufficient pledge that when I want protection 
 and support I shall find it in one of the Countess's extensive 
 states ; that I shall be aided by you and the noble Dame your 
 mother in my own plans for vengeance, and yours shall not be 
 neglected." 
 
 Guy joyfully caught at the idea. The preliminaries were 
 soon arranged ; and Guy himself feigned indisposition to 
 colour his protracted residence at Paris. While thus con- 
 fined, Labrosse, in furtherance of his plan, told the denoue- 
 ment of poor Ada's story. 
 
 (( When you, Count/' he began, " brought the lady from 
 the states of Brabant, and when he you left there had been 
 also baffled in his attempts to find the partner of her guilt, it 
 was intended, I believe, to keep the prisoner still in hopes of 
 liberation, till her other victim was also in the power of the 
 Countess your lady mother, in order that her vengeance falling 
 on both at once, might at the same time be full and signal. 
 In conformity with this plan, the attendants were instructed 
 to indulge her in such fancies as might solace her confinement; 
 and that even all attempts to escape should apparently be en- 
 couraged, in the hope that the dean's retreat might by this 
 means be discovered. But notwithstanding every effort on 
 the part of those in waiting, the lady seemed to lose alike her 
 hopes and spirits. She grew more and more feeble, her cheek 
 became paler, and the darkest melancholy obscured her life. 
 In short, every symptom of some internal malady appeared. 
 
 u My father, who, besides his ability as a surgeon, enjoyed 
 some reputation as a skilful leech, was called in to prescribe for 
 her ; and he soon discovered that she was far advanced in 
 pregnancy. Then the poor lady entreated him with sighs and 
 tears to conceal this circumstance from the countess. My 4 
 father promised all she desired, but he did not forget his duty 
 to the countess, for immediately upon quitting his patient he 
 proceeded to inform the Lady Marguerite of what had passed. 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 157 
 
 " How often has he described to me the fearful triumph 
 which sate upon my lady's brow, when she understood the 
 situation of her victim, — what rich rewards she promised 
 him, when the whole nest of vipers should be crushed to- 
 gether ! 
 
 66 W on by my father's artifice and the deep sympathy he 
 expressed in her misfortunes, the lady wrote a letter to the 
 King of France, which she entrusted to his care, under a 
 promise that my father would himself take the child to Paris, 
 and place him under Louis's protection. He went directly 
 to the Lady Marguerite, and discovered to her the project of 
 her prisoner." 
 
 " But she knew not of the letter ?" 
 
 M She knew not of the letter, Count. At length the child 
 was born ; and by the desire of the Lady Marguerite, my 
 father was at his post to receive it. He had just wrapped it 
 closely in his cloak, when a Templar came up and inquired 
 what he was doing there ? My father was lightly armed. 
 The Templar insisted upon seeing his burden. He took the 
 child from my father, and instantly disappeared with his 
 infant burthen — 'tis all I know." 
 
 " Infamous liar and scoundrel ! " said Guy ; Ci dare you 
 attempt to impose this tale upon me ? Know to your shame 
 the king acknowledged having received the child — where 
 then is it placed ? Disappoint again my vengeance, and " 
 
 " Fair and softly, Count Guy. Let me finish my tale, and 
 you will find nothing inconsistent with this acknowledgment 
 of the king. When the child was thus snatched from my 
 father's grasp, just at the moment when he thought his for- 
 tune made, the fear of the anger of the countess paralysed 
 every faculty. This was two hours before midnight ; ere any 
 suspicion could be excited by our absence, he, with my mother 
 and myself, then also an infant, were far on our road to Paris. 
 And then it was that my father communicated to my mother 
 his design to present me as the child of the Lady Ada. And 
 the imposition was the easier, because in her letter the lady 
 stated no recent particulars, but referred to my father for all 
 information on that subject. It briefly recapitulated her early 
 faults and sorrows. 
 
 " My father therefore sent the letter to the king, and easily 
 obtained admission to his presence ; supported his interroga- 
 
J 58 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 tions and made a most pathetic appeal to his heart in behalf of 
 the orphan boy. He stated also, the imminent danger in 
 which the life of the child would be placed, should the c Black 
 Lady ' discover its retreat. My father, therefore, received the 
 royal commands, that I should be brought up as Labrosse's 
 child — he supposing the Lady Ada to be my mother. That, 
 to set aside all suspicion, I should be educated to succeed to 
 his situation, and he was made surgeon to the king. He com- 
 manded also that I should be privately taught, besides, all that 
 might prepare me to fill a situation in the state, better fitting 
 my supposed birth and connexions. I think also, his Grace 
 wrote to the Lady Marguerite to implore her clemencv for 
 Ada." J 
 
 " He did ! — And was he not privy to her escape ?** 
 
 " Escape ! — And did the poor Ada indeed escape ?" 
 
 "The poor Ada! You are — deny it not — you are in 
 truth that son ? " 
 
 " Would to God I had that honour ! Then I should not 
 be so killingly alive to the contemptuous glances with which 
 the queen thinks fit to greet me. But had you seen my 
 father's tears when he spoke of her anxious cares about this 
 infant ! — But how was her escape effected ?" 
 
 " Why, have you not heard of her disappearance ? " 
 
 " My father was made acquainted with it, but always 
 thought that the fearful Lady Marguerite, exasperated that 
 the child escaped her vengeance 99 
 
 " No, my lord chamberlain ; her plan was so cunningly 
 laid, that it appears no one about her suspected her intentions. 
 She fretted much that she received no tidings of her child ; 
 and wept when the attendants, who were about her at his 
 birth, were removed ; a precaution taken by the Countess 
 from the belief that they were in league with your father. 
 And one morning she disappeared. Neither servant nor sen- 
 tinel could give any information by which to trace her. 
 Sometimes we think she destroyed herself, but no traces of 
 her remains were ever found." 
 
 The continuation of this conversation was made up by a 
 discussion of the plans to be pursued in furtherance of their 
 schemes. The first object was to discover if Adenez were in- 
 deed the son of Ada and to seek some means to destroy the 
 king's confidence in Mary. Labrosse was particularly desirous 
 to crush them both at one blow. 
 
THE BLACK LADY. ] 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The sensibility which Mary had displayed as she received the 
 flattering testimonies of approbation which seemed to emanate 
 from the whole French nation, together with the deep feeling 
 evinced by her when the king had recommended his children 
 to her tenderness, had created in his bosom a most ardent 
 attachment, which the graces of her mind could not fail to 
 ripen into passionate love. 
 
 Unhappily for the queen, hers was a character which 
 though sure to be loved by those who knew her intimately 
 enough to comprehend the beautiful singleness of her mind 
 was not constituted to be generally popular. She was exceed- 
 ingly high-minded, and scorned by any trickery to solicit the 
 approbation she was conscious of deserving and ought to com- 
 mand. She treated the openly worthless with contempt; the 
 weak with indifference ; and this necessarily reduced those 
 she admitted to her familiarity to a very small number as 
 none were found among them but such as were eminently dis- 
 tinguished for worth or talent. Of favourites she had very 
 few, for she was fastidious alike from principle and feeling 
 She desired to be considered the protectress of virtue and the 
 patroness of talent ; and as a taste for learning had been en- 
 couraged under the late king, it rendered her fostering care 
 very grateful to a little society lately risen up in France, under 
 the name of the « Gay Society of the Seven Troubadours." 
 
 Schools of rhetoric, in which verse appears to have been 
 cultivated with more zeal than success, had been established 
 very early in Belgium ; indeed one at Alost dates from a d. 
 1107. These societies probably owed their foundation to 
 troubadours from the east, brought here by Crusaders, as their 
 uncouth efforts were almost exclusively devoted to celebrate 
 the exploits of these soldiers of the Cross. And certainly 
 nothing could be more likely to awaken the slumbering imagi- 
 nation than the fanciful imagery of those southern climes, 
 grafted upon the wild legends of northern Europe. Indeed, 
 the knightly character itself could only have been formed by 
 such a mixture of empassioned feeling and wild barbarity. 
 
i6o 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 At the termination of the manifestations of joy which hailed 
 her arrival with so much splendour, she received a deputation 
 from the society just mentioned, the idea of which had been 
 borrowed from her country, to lay at her feet the golden 
 violet, the emblem of the art to which they were devoted. 
 
 She received the deputation with much state. At her right 
 was the Rector of the University of Paris, then holding a rank 
 even with the princes of the blood. Adenez was at her left 
 hand, and the Sieur de Joinville, the historian of the sainted 
 king, was supported by him. 
 
 The deputation was introduced, and the golden violet, pre- 
 sented by its president, was received by the princess with evi- 
 dent pleasure. 
 
 Adenez, in the midst of all the happiness and honour which 
 seemed to court his acceptance, was restless and unhappy. It 
 was as if a presentiment of misery weighed down and op- 
 pressed his soul. Was it that distaste for life, that disdain 
 for every thing within the grasp of man, which so frequently 
 oppresses those endued with superior mental powers ? Or 
 was it, that having fixed his affections on one who could 
 neither understand nor appreciate his character, he was now 
 first awakened from his delusive hopes? It is true, that 
 dazzled by the extraordinary beauty of Jane_, he had too 
 hastily arrayed her in all the splendid colouring of a lively 
 imagination. In her love he had expected a balm for every 
 sorrow,, in her mind he had looked for counsel ; for in Bra- 
 bant she had been modest, affectionate, and natural ; but her 
 head seemed to be completely turned by the homage offered to 
 her beauty, and she had become selfish, coquettish, and vain. 
 The lady of the grand chamberlain had aided Labrosse's en- 
 deavours to wean her from Adenez and from her fidelity to 
 the queen. 
 
 Thus mutual discontent took place of the confidence which 
 formerly reigned between them ; and the chamberlain foresaw 
 but little difficulty in inducing her to fill the place he had 
 intended for her in the tragedy he was preparing. 
 
 Adenez, though no fanatic, was deeply impressed with the 
 truths of a religion which then held so prominent a place in 
 the actions and destinies of mortal men. At that time none 
 professed an indifference they did not feel ; for to be indif- 
 ferent was accounted disgraceful ; and no mind harboured a 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 161 
 
 conception that among its professing members avowed enemies 
 to its pure precepts could be found. 
 
 The minstrel had been attending the first mass very early 
 in the morning, when he was struck by the appearance of a 
 man closely wrapped in a mantle, and who had twice passed 
 him at a very short distance. Having thus attracted his at- 
 tention, the stranger approached him yet more closely ; and 
 lowering his voice almost to a whisper, he inquired, if- he de- 
 sired to know aught of his birth, wrapt as it was in such deep 
 mystery. Adenez started: for content with a fate which 
 seemed happier than that of all around him, he had scarcely 
 remarked that those by whom he had been patronised had no 
 natural claims on his heart. The question surprised him ; 
 and he paused, unable to reply. He turned towards the 
 stranger, as if in expectation that he should continue the con- 
 versation he had begun in so extraordinary a manner. The 
 latter seemed to understand his appeal, and was about to 
 answer, when a third person coming up, he again passed 
 Adenez, saying, in a very low but distinct voice, " Be in the 
 Rue St. Jaques to-night at eight." And he walked rapidly 
 away. 
 
 The circumstance acted in a most extraordinary manner 
 upon the mind of Adenez. In proportion as he had before 
 been indifferent to the early events of his life, he now became 
 alive to the feeling of loneliness in the world, which his per- 
 ception of the want of any connexion, however remote, occa- 
 sioned. He retraced in his mind every circumstance, whether 
 of pleasure or of pain, that had attended his youth ; but he 
 could not collect the remotest idea of any thing which could 
 call for an interference such as that he had encountered. As 
 soon as a circumstance so extraordinary, acting upon an 
 enthusiastic and romantic mind, could allow sufficient calm- 
 ness, he demanded an audience of the queen - and when the 
 requisite forms of etiquette upon his introduction were over, 
 he somewhat abruptly inquired, 6( If she knew aught of his 
 parents ? " 
 
 " Nay, now, Sir Adenez," replied the queen, with much 
 sweetness. " Are not Brabant's rulers your parents, and am 
 not I your sister ? * 
 
 " Your grace is always too good," replied the bard, while 
 his eye glistened with the emotion that agitated his heart. 
 
 M 
 
162 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 <e But even your condescension, my gracious queen, cannot 
 make me forget that I have this morning been most painfully 
 reminded how entirely unknown to me are those to whom I 
 owe my being." 
 
 The queen paused an instant. " And to me also," she re- 
 plied in a low tone, after some minutes' reflection, as if the 
 reply was an answer to her own reminiscences, rather than the 
 inquiries of Adenez, which she appeared to have forgotten ; 
 and he almost forgot them himself as he gazed upon Mary's 
 countenance, where the various thoughts that chased each 
 other so rapidly in her mind left their impression on a face so 
 beautiful in all those feelings that render woman lovely. At 
 length his royal mistress spoke. " Indeed, Sir Bard," she 
 said, " I have not the slightest recollection that I ever heard 
 them mentioned. But why does the idea now recur to you, 
 when so many years have passed in happy ignorance?" 
 
 Adenez could only detail his extraordinary rencontre in the 
 morning, which interested and astonished the queen. " But 
 surely, Adenez," said she, her curiosity fading away before a 
 recollection of the Beguine's strange prophecy, and which a 
 conversation so mysterious recalled to her mind. — " Surely 
 you will not go to the place appointed ? " 
 
 " Your grace," replied the bard, with cheeks glowing and 
 eyes sparkling from the emotions thus created, " who have 
 received the fond pressure of a mother s lips, and who have 
 been reared beneath the sunny smiles of paternal tenderness, 
 can have no idea of the tumultuous feeling which rushes to 
 the heart when it first comprehends the possibility of having 
 a new and powerful tie added to its other enjoyments. A 
 mother ! A father ! O let me taste but one half hour of the 
 
 feeling that throbs in the bosom of a duteous child. Let 
 
 me but once," — he continued, but here his voice trembled, 
 "let me but once be permitted to honour my father and 
 mother, and let Fate do her worst !" 
 
 Sensibility beamed in every feature of Mary as she heard 
 this ardent avowal. "Go then, Adenez," she cried; "but 
 recollect I do not court my pillow till 1 hear the success of 
 your mission. Come therefore to my audience when you 
 return, but be careful to let the Grand Chamberlain introduce 
 you, and it shall be my care that Jane be present." 
 
 Adenez yet lingered. The queen smiled. " What now^ 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 163 
 
 Sir Minstrel; something in my arrangement pleaseth you 
 not ! What is it ? " 
 
 " Paris is not Brussels/' he replied, smiling, though it was 
 in sadness. " There be heads which become light in the 
 atmosphere of this gay city, and hearts which change with 
 every climate." 
 
 c( But Jane does not possess such," said the queen, some- 
 what affected by his tone. 
 
 Adenez bowed, but made no reply. The queen extended 
 her hand, which he pressed to his lips as he repeated " Rely 
 on my discretion." And he left her. 
 
 At the appointed hour he did not fail to repair to the Rue 
 St. Jacques, when he was soon joined by the stranger, who 
 silently motioned him to follow. They proceeded along one 
 or two dark streets, only lighted by an occasional shrine or 
 image, before which a solitary candle had been placed by some 
 pious votary, when they found themselves beneath a low and 
 narrow archway, which was the entrance to a dark, silent, and 
 apparently deserted passage ; at the end was a heavy door, 
 through which they passed. 
 
 Adenez found himself within a room of narrow dimensions 
 almost divested of household furniture, but surrounded by 
 shelves blackened by smoke and dust, on which were placed 
 phials of various colours, dried simples, rude gallipots, and 
 cakes of yellow wax. The floor was strewed with crucibles, 
 pincets, and clay moulds. In the middle glared, fierce and 
 red, a furnace filled with burning charcoal, which cast a lurid 
 glare athwart the unplaistered walls. 
 
 Having hastily cast his eyes over the apartment, he next 
 turned them towards his guide, who having thrown aside the 
 mantle in which his long lean form was enveloped, discovered 
 a Jewish countenance, in which the long hooked nose and keen 
 rambling eyes were very marked and striking. His hair was 
 black and frizzled, his beard bushy, his ears large. But what 
 was most particularly striking was the immoderate length of 
 his hands and feet, and the extreme looseness of his joints, 
 which gave a tottering air to his gait. His teeth were as 
 pearls, white and regular, but set within a pair of lips so pale 
 and skinny that the mouth added to the singular deformity of 
 the person. 
 
 m 2 
 
164 
 
 THE CURSE OP 
 
 " I am here/' said Adenez, finding his companion made no 
 effort to commence a conversation. c( Now what would you?" 
 
 " Nay, Sir Minstrel/' said the creature, grinning malig- 
 nantly ; u it is not I — it is you who are come here to un- 
 ravel a mystery." 
 
 " A mystery ! And what mystery, stranger, can attach to 
 my existence?" 
 
 " Go seek it in the church if thou wouldst know thy 
 father ! " 
 
 " My father ! In the church ! — Explain !" 
 
 fi Thy father was a deacon in the church of Laon. — Thy 
 mother was his ward." 
 
 " O Heaven ! nearest thou this blasphemous untruth ! My 
 birth is infamous, say'st thou ? — And what proof canst give 
 to strengthen this outrageous accusation ? "■ 
 
 <s The mark upon thy right arm, as if a powerful hand had 
 grasped the limb, and left a rough impression there. Per- 
 chance," he added in a lower tone, (( the grasp may be re- 
 sumed ! " 
 
 Adenez stood aghast ; for such a mark too sure he bore 
 upon him. Yet, startled as he was at the appalling accuracy 
 of information in the wretch before him, he could not admit 
 the notion that aught superhuman accompanied this know- 
 ledge. Ci Wretch," he cried, ** some slave hath told thee of 
 this mark ! " 
 
 " Slave ! no," repeated the man, hoarsely laughing. tc Ask 
 the Templar who bore thee in his arms to Brabant's duke." 
 
 " A Templar, say'st thou ? And was the Templar tall, 
 prince-like, and noble ? " 
 
 " Tall, prince-like, and noble" — was echoed back, but now 
 it was not his guide that spoke. 
 
 "'Twas not you that spoke?" cried Adenez, turning to 
 his guide. The man shook his head mysteriously. 
 
 " Nay then, 'tis Echo that mocks me. — Tell me more, 
 stranger. — Nay, tell me all — My mother lives?" 
 
 " Lives," replied the voice that had before spoken. 
 
 He turned again to his guide. " I have no more to tell," 
 he said, in answer to this mute appeal. " Go seek your 
 parents ; and, when they are found, come here again. — Fare- 
 well!" 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 165 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 We must not attempt to describe the agitation into which 
 the mind of Adenez was thrown by his interview with the 
 sorcerer, for such he felt himself compelled to believe the 
 stranger. He would have given the world to be allowed to 
 vent his feelings, by wandering alone throughout the night, 
 for he felt oppressed by a nervous difficulty of breathing, 
 which became stifling when subjected to the confinement of 
 the palace ; but the commands of the queen were imperative, 
 and he was compelled to appear before her, to give her the 
 expected account of his mission. 
 
 Had he been less absorbed by his own emotions, he might 
 have observed the air of malicious satisfaction with which the 
 chamberlain ushered him into the presence of his gracious 
 mistress, who, though surrounded by her maidens, was solely 
 occupied with Jane. 
 
 Mary, whose feelings had been wound up to the highest 
 pitch by the protracted absence of her minstrel, almost started 
 when he presented himself before her, while Jane put forth 
 her smiling face as if to welcome him. He only noticed her 
 by a motion of his hand, as if to repulse her from him, while 
 approaching the queen he said he had something for her 
 grace's private ear. Mary preceded him to a recess of one of 
 the windows, while the singular agitation which both dis- 
 covered, and the words that reached her attendants, though 
 few, bespoke high interest by their import. " Son" — " King" 
 — « Brabant's Duke " — " St. Louis " — « Escape" — and 
 " prison." 
 
 At the termination of their conference, Mary appeared 
 scarcely less agitated than her bard ; and on his taking leave, 
 he was invited to repeat his visit on the following morning. 
 
 When they met they were both less agitated than on the 
 preceding evening ; but the deepest melancholy was visible on 
 the countenance of Adenez, and the truest sympathy was 
 imprinted on that of Mary. The result of this conversation, 
 was a letter despatched by the queen to her brother the Duke 
 of Brabant. Mary then endeavoured to discover from her 
 m 3 
 
166 
 
 THE CURSE OP 
 
 young page William de Bethune, who was the Templar to 
 whom he had introduced Adenez. But the page only knew 
 him to he a friend of the Lady Marguerite, and could only 
 name him by the epithet of Sir Hildebrand, by which he had 
 inquired for him. Nothing seemed capable of soothing Adenez. 
 The lovely Jane in vain tried her powers of fascination. He 
 spoke plainly of the impossibility of their union. She deemed 
 it want of affection on his part ; and his declaration of inability 
 to fulfil his engagements as a studied insult. Alas ! despair 
 was in his heart. The son of a servant of the Holy Church ! 
 of an adulterous intercourse ! He seemed to himself to be an 
 outcast from society. 
 
 In the mean time, the lady of the chamberlain sought by 
 every means in her power to gain the confidence of the young 
 Jane d'Assche, and to work upon her jealousy if possible, that 
 she too might take a part in the tragedy about to be performed. 
 The most soothing flattery was employed ; and when the 
 king's admiration of beauty was, as if by chance, the topic of 
 conversation, it was remarked, that her style of person was 
 what pleased him most particularly. 
 
 The change in the character and manners of Adenez was 
 then adverted to. " And was the Troubadour always so sad 
 and dreamy, as he has been since the queen's marriage ? " 
 
 cc O no. At least I think not. He used to be very gay 
 at Brabant." 
 
 u And were the Princess and the bard as much together 
 before she came to France as they are now?" 
 
 <e You know they were brought up and always studied 
 together. The queen taught Adenez to make poetry, and 
 Adenez taught the Princess to play the harp." 
 
 " But was he so very devoted as he is now, when he seems 
 to forget every body that he may gaze on the queen? — Ah, 
 the king has eyes for other beauty ! 99 
 
 Jane smiled. cc And when he called me beautiful, do you 
 think he was as sincere as he seemed to be in manner as well 
 as in look ? " 
 
 " Could you but have seen his highness, when he a dozen 
 times repeated it to me, you would not ask the question. If 
 he could but know that the queen likes nothing but literature, 
 and music and musical people, no doubt his eyes would be 
 opened I " 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 167 
 
 j But here their conversation was interrupted by the arrival 
 of William, who desired Jane to go to the queen. 
 
 The extraordinary resemblance between the nun who had 
 obtruded herself upon the Princess and him who now seemed 
 motherless, with a mother perhaps in existence, had often 
 recurred to Mary ; and now that the nun had been again 
 forced upon her remembrance by the strange combination of 
 passing events, the likeness again struck upon her imagination 
 With romantic force. The dream too which followed her ex- 
 traordinary prophecy, was again thought of ; and the queen 
 could not resist the belief that this mysterious woman and 
 Adenez were, though unknown to each other, in reality closely 
 connected. She had no one about her who had seen the nun 
 except Jane d'Assche ; and however little she approved the 
 change in that young lady's manner and character, the want 
 of somebody with whom to speak, in Adenez's absence, of the 
 circumstance which now so engrossed her attention, induced 
 her to summon this fickle and frivolous confidant. 
 
 In reply to the Princess, — " She had," she said, " remarked 
 the prophetess, but had never seen any body like her ! No — 
 she was sure she had never seen any one with such large — 
 such very large black and fiery eyes; but as to the voice, — 
 yes, she admitted that when Adenez was out of temper (a 
 rare occurrence), he certainly spoke something like her/' 
 
 This was very unsatisfactory to the queen. She pursued the 
 conversation no further ; but such as it was, it was reported 
 to the grand chamberlain and his lady, and they took care to 
 avail themselves of the opportunity to incite the foolish girl 
 to invite the queen to visit the sorcerer, who could doubtless 
 inform her of what she wished to know. The queen's sus- 
 picion of a resemblance between Adenez and the nun, was at 
 first treated as the vision of a woman in love, who sees a 
 likeness to the object of her passion in every thing ; it was 
 subsequently turned to another purpose. Mary, though su- 
 perior in the cultivation of her mind to the generality of 
 women, had in every thing which concerned the sensibilities 
 of her sex all the weakness of the most tender among them. 
 And it can consequently be no wonder if she, in common with 
 the most enlightened of her time, both in rank and reputation, 
 had a strong tendency to superstition. She acceded to the 
 suggestions of Jane; determined to pay a visit to the sorcerer. 
 m 4 
 
168 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 She invited her confidant to accompany her; but Jane*, who 
 really intended and wished it, had yielded to the suggestions 
 of the chamberlain and his wife, and therefore, pretending fear, 
 declined the proposal. 
 
 As Mary did not choose to have her weakness, for such she 
 was obliged to confess it, known to the whole court, she only 
 commanded the attendance of her woman, with Adenez for a 
 guide. She was much struck with the solitary and desolate 
 appearance of the place in the midst of so populous a city, and 
 she entered it with a cold shudder. 
 
 The sorcerer was there. 
 
 Mary, who of course did not wish to be recognised, was 
 dressed like a citizen's wife, — in those days each class in 
 society carried in its apparel evident marks of its station, — 
 and when she appeared at the low door of the dwelling, the 
 sorcerer greeted her with these inauspicious words : — " Enter, 
 Madam, for fate, like death, can make all equal — the beggar 
 and the king. What would you here ? " 
 
 " I come," said Mary, trying to speak with calmness, c( to 
 inquire if I am again to see a female who once appeared to 
 me, and who greatly interested me by her divinations ? " 
 
 " And w r ho spoke of misery and death ? " 
 
 " Ha ! " said the queen, " know you too that ? — And who 
 then is this female ? " 
 
 iC Methinks there be one nearer you than I am, who might 
 better answer that question." 
 
 Adenez started ! " How ! " exclaimed Mary. 
 
 i( Lady/' replied the sorcerer, mysteriously, while the nasal 
 drawl with which he spoke became even more grating upon 
 the ear, " We wait only your consent to reply to all your 
 questions. But as there is now a counteracting power at 
 work, incantations, spells, and calculations are necessary. Put 
 your questions upon virgin parchment, and the reply shall be 
 written," he continued, lowering his voice, "in the blood of a 
 deadly enemy ? " 
 
 Mary shuddered with horror, as she turned from him to 
 Adenez, whose calmness astonished her. In reply to the 
 sorcerer's speech, she could only look her repugnant refusal ; 
 but Adenez exclaimed impatiently : "And who dares to be the 
 enemy of the queen ? " 
 
 - " He," replied the man, looking cautiously round ; and 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 16.Q 
 
 speaking again in a low whisper, while he emphatically paused 
 on each word, he uttered — " He who has dared from his 
 birth to take the place, the riches, and risks of another, till 
 danger approached, and then " 
 
 " And what then ? " said Adenez, impatiently. 
 
 ie And then," continued the sorcerer, " in the hope of the 
 better supporting his perilous career, he made a confidant of 
 him who sought his downfall." 
 
 This description was conclusive, though vague. Both 
 Adenez and the queen now knew who was her enemy. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 No sooner had Queen Mary quitted the sorcerer's den, than 
 another female habited in a similar manner appeared. She 
 bore in her hand a purse of gold ; she wrapt her veil closely 
 about her face and figure as she entered, and she looked cau- 
 tiously round while she whispered to the unhallowed master, 
 that she was a messenger from her who had just left him, who 
 had commissioned her to say that she spoke but half her 
 errand, for that she expected another and a greater service 
 than any she had hinted at from him. 
 
 " By the black spell/' grumbled the person addressed, " she 
 has asked but little yet. What would she ? " 
 
 ts Know you her who came in the semblance of a citizen's 
 wife ? " 
 
 Ci If you doubt my power," he surlily repliol, " why are 
 you here ? " 1 
 
 " At any rate, the weight of this purse," said his visitor, 
 " may tell you she is somewhat more than she seemeth." 
 
 " What would you, or she, for it matters not which, since 
 you bring that to make the cauldron bubble ? " 
 
 ie Ay," replied his guest, in a voice tremulous from some 
 emotion badly suppressed, <( then you know my errand ?" 
 
 The sorcerer cast his penetrating eyes upon the speaker, and 
 his inquiring glance had the effect of making her wrap her 
 veil yet more closely around her, but the purse trembled in her 
 hand. — " Speak ! " he gruffly cried. 
 
THE CURSE OF 
 
 u There be those who stand in the way of her who is just 
 gone/' said the veiled female, mysteriously. 
 
 et And their removal might benefit others rather than her- 
 self," replied the sorcerer, ambiguously. 
 
 " True," said the female, after a pause. — ec Children " 
 
 The man smiled contemptuously, — " 'Tis a drug you 
 seek ? " 
 
 The woman presented the purse. 
 
 (i Speak, woman," said the wretch, imperiously, " What do 
 you ask ? " 
 
 The woman started, her voice faltered. " For a child " 
 
 " Of eleven years of age/' said the man, taking the purse. 
 
 He quickly mixed two powders, which he wrapt in a paper. 
 The woman received the parcels ; but she yet lingered, as if 
 
 undecided. 
 
 ce What ! " said the sorcerer, <c is your mission not yet 
 complete ? '* He marked her eye resting on a wax figure only 
 ha f formed. His instantaneously gleamed with yet fiercer 
 orightness, while his skinny lips, parting asunder, disclosed 
 his pearly teeth as he grinned in horrid satisfaction. <c Ha ! " 
 he cried, lengthening the monosyllable with horrid emphasis, 
 as a hoarse laugh sounded hollow from his throat, without, 
 however, giving the slightest animation to any of his features. 
 
 " What sum ? " asked the woman, in words so faintly uttered 
 that a person less acquainted with the half-tones of those who 
 plunge step by step into guilt would have found it difficult to 
 comprehend. 
 
 u Why, for one so dignified, three times the value of this 
 purse, each coin of which bears the image engraven on pure 
 gold." 
 
 The woman was so thrown off her guard by her agitation, 
 that the veil was for an instant forgotten ; it fell and partially 
 discovered a low wide forehead, and black eyebrows so strongly 
 marked that once seen they could not be forgotten. It was 
 the head nursery-maid of the young princes, who had been 
 lately dismissed by the queen. 
 
 The man smiled grimly as he made this discovery, for this 
 was not the first time he had seen her ; having been led by 
 Labrosse himself into the children's apartment, previous to the 
 dismissal of this attendant, whose discharge had induced him 
 to change his measures. She perceived his smile, and hastily 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 171 
 
 replaced her veil. " Be it so," she continued. Ci You shall 
 have what you demand, and that directly. A kingdom/' she 
 continued, looking full at him, " is thus cheaply purchased." 
 
 The lady of the chamberlain, pretending to discover some 
 unfavourable symptoms about the eldest of the children, was 
 in Mary's apartments as she was retiring for the night. Her 
 warm evening posset was brought in ; the lady would hand it 
 to her herself, and finding it, she said, not well prepared, she 
 stirred it with the massive spoon lying on the salver on which 
 it was presented, and invited the queen to drink it off at one 
 draught, as it might promote the repose so likely to be disturbed 
 by anxiety about the young prince. Mary, who in matters 
 unconnected with her principles and feelings, was the most 
 easily guided of human beings, followed her advice ; and the 
 suggestion of the lady was realised, by a sleep so long that it 
 was not till the hour of dinner next day the queen was roused 
 by her attendant, when she heard of the danger of the eldest 
 of the princes, who was also her favourite. 
 
 Her grief and indignation, when she found herself denied 
 admission to the apartments of the children, may be better 
 conceived than described. Yet she was entirely unsuspicious 
 that any imputation of crime could be urged against her. 
 Even when she sent a box of sweetmeats, and the gift had 
 been refused by the attendants, she could not at all understand 
 the motives which could have caused its rejection, which were 
 no less than pretended fears lest its contents might be poisoned. 
 
 The young Louis died : and a guard was set over the queen. 
 Then it was that Adenez set out upon his mission to Bra- 
 bant. 
 
 The queen was thus placed in a situation in which, though 
 she might assert, it was almost impossible for her to prove 
 her innocence. A single and helpless female in a foreign 
 country, new to its laws and institutions, without witnesses or 
 counsellors, and with a very imperfect knowledge of the late 
 transactions, possessing no means of knowing the seeming 
 proofs that her enemies might adduce against her, ignorant 
 even of the charges they made, the queen seemed inevitably 
 lost, for it appeared impossible to contend with the array of 
 state villains marshalled against her. 
 
 She was in this situation when the Sire de Joinville obtained, 
 
172 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 through the private friendship of the king, permission to visit 
 her. 
 
 The old man wept as he approached, while he seized her 
 outstretched hand and pressed it to his lips, and entreated her 
 to inform him how he could serve her. 
 
 u Send to my brother, my good Joinville, for it is only he 
 that by God's help can establish my innocence ! " 
 
 " By the sainted king," exclaimed the good old man, " whose 
 servant I was for so many years, it shall be done, even if my 
 head fall a sacrifice to this first want of fealty to the King of 
 France — for if it be a step that Philip does not approve, 
 he who under an oak for so many years administered justice to 
 his poorest subjects would not refuse it to a princess !" 
 
 u No, Sire Joinville !" replied the royal prisoner. ({ And, 
 further, you must understand that every memorial has been 
 unnoticed, and every petition disregarded which I have been 
 enabled to forward to him." 
 
 " That," replied the historian, " is no great wonder, since 
 your only enemies had the presenting of them. Would that 
 his father were yet alive ! " he continued. " Your wrongs 
 then would soon be redressed." 
 
 ee They would never have been inflicted," said the queen, 
 indignantly. 
 
 " And have you asked to see the king ? " 
 
 u Indeed I have solicited the permission to throw myself 
 at his majesty's feet — and what was his reply?" she con- 
 tinued, vehemently. (£ That such a measure could not in de- 
 cency be allowed ; that to admit into his august presence one 
 accused of the" — (Mary shuddered as she continued) "the 
 death of the poor innocent — the heir to the crown — was a 
 thing unheard of. — They insisted that I must first disprove 
 the accusation in full council ; and then my lord the king 
 would be the first to solicit an interview." 
 
 When Joinville heard this decision, he said, that much as 
 he desired to have every circumstance elucidated in this dark 
 business, he yet was compelled to object to the trial. " I can- 
 not conceal from you, madam," continued he, " that there is 
 at court a strong party against you, while you have but few 
 friends of any weight in the council. Then again, who will 
 superintend the proceedings ? — He who from the beginning 
 has upon every occasion evinced his enmity against you. 
 
THE BLACK LADY, 
 
 173 
 
 Who will be your judge? — He who from the first has suf- 
 fered himself to be directed by the representations of your 
 enemies, and who has constantly refused to attend to any 
 thing that can be urged in your defence. It behoves you, 
 madam, therefore to demand that your brother be present." 
 
 " My brother ! " exclaimed the queen, passionately. " He 
 who had such a justifiable pride in the poor gifts with which 
 nature hath endowed his sister ! — Is it necessary that he too 
 should see my humiliation ? " and she wept bitterly. 
 
 " His presence, madam, will encourage your friends to de- 
 clare themselves, while it will intimidate your enemies. Let 
 him and Labrosse choose each an equal number of nobles, to 
 decide between you and the grand chamberlain. Little did 
 the good King Louis imagine that in him whom he thus 
 raised to be equal with the nobles of the land, he should find 
 an enemy to his immediate successor ! " 
 
 The good old man carried this proposal to the king, but it 
 ill accorded with the views of the wily chamberlain ; and he 
 induced the king to reply, " That the wife was subject to the 
 husband, the same as was Brabant to France, as his superior 
 lord; and that all controversies between the king and his vas- 
 sals had ever been decided in the courts of the sovereign. 
 That this right could not now be waived, without establishing 
 a precedent which on some future occasion could not fail to 
 be cited to the dishonour of the king." 
 
 This crooked policy roused the indignation of Mary, and 
 wrung from her an expostulation, written with the dignity of 
 a queen and the spirit of an innocent and injured woman. It 
 ran thus : — 
 
 " Sire, and my Lord and Husband, 
 
 " If I do not weep, it is that the shame and anger at 
 being thus dishonoured burn up the source of tears, and stifle 
 ill softer feelings. Let me then recall to your Highness, that 
 when I left Brabant I relinquished without hesitation the 
 guardianship of those whom nature had made to love me, 
 content with the protection and trusting in the affection of 
 four Highness ; and if I am to be bereft of that which I had 
 ;rusted would be the guerdon of my honour and happiness, I 
 lave at least the right to ask that my brother may behold my 
 ;rial, and know the extent of my misery. The crown and 
 ;omfort of my life, your Highness's favour, I feel to be gone ; 
 
174 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 yet know not how it went. But if I be condemned upon sur- 
 mises, I do tell you 'tis rigour and not justice. What I ask 
 is, therefore, that the chamberlain be put in accusation, as I 
 have been. Let him too be thrown into prison. — Let him be 
 also deprived of all communion with his friends. — Let mine 
 be allowed access to your Highness, and I am ready to waive 
 all my rights as a queen, and meet him in a public court — to 
 abide by the sentence of my lord and husband." 
 
 All that Philip had heard from Jane of the mysterious Be- 
 guine had excited his interest ; and embarrassed by the argu- 
 ments of the queen's friends and the importunities of the 
 grand chamberlain, he resolved, through the medium of the 
 Beguine, to seek her interpretation of the mystery which 
 seemed to envelope the death of his son. 
 
 He therefore declared that he could not receive Mary till 
 her innocence had been proved. But that in order to show 
 his extreme desire that justice might be done to both parties, 
 he would appoint a deputation to wait upon the Beguine, 
 whose prescience had been so clearly manifested to the queen. 
 
 Labrosse still retained influence enough to have the Bishop 
 of Evereux appointed to this mission ; and he was accom- 
 panied by an abbe of mean capacity, a creature suited to do the 
 basest bidding of a vile employer. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 It was on one of those evenings of early autumn so beautiful 
 in the westerly parts of Europe, that a traveller passed through 
 the forest of Soignies on his way to Brussels, which was then 
 embosomed within its shades. 
 
 He was dressed in the green mantle so universally worn by 
 the troubadours of that age ; a hood of the same colour and 
 material covered his head and concealed his features, together 
 with the beautiful golden hair which fell in glossy ringlets on 
 his shoulders. 
 
 The sun was setting, and its beams fell full upon the city, 
 and showed tower and turret in picturesque varieties of aspect, 
 as the traveller, having passed the gate, crossed the wooden 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 175 
 
 bridge to penetrate the island, in his way to the Borgval, 
 where the ducal palace was then situated. 
 
 The city itself was calm, and the only sounds that inter- 
 rupted the silence w r ere sounds that communicated pleasurable 
 emotions. The loudest and most sonorous was that of the 
 vesper bells, the call of which was answered by many a veiled 
 figure, bearing in her hand u the rosary by sainted fathers 
 blest ; " while groups of children, earnest in their evening 
 sports, barred up the narrow street. 
 
 But the traveller heeded neither the turret nor tower, 
 whether it rose bright in the setting sunbeam, or reposed in 
 shadow, — nor did he hearken to the call of the church bell to 
 prayer, though its deep and sonorous note would, at another 
 time, have sunk deep into the minstrel's mind ; the sports of 
 the children were equally powerless to attract his attention, 
 though they sometimes impeded his progress. Solely intent 
 on urging forward his tired steed, he looked neither to the 
 right nor to the left, till he alighted at the gate of the palace. 
 
 " Sir Adenez ! " exclaimed the duke, as the stranger was 
 ushered into the apartment where he was eating his late 
 supper, for it was nearer eight than seven o'clock. 
 
 " Pardon, sire!" said the stranger, approaching and drop- 
 ping on one knee, while the hood fell from his head and dis- 
 covered the ingenuous countenance of the page William. 
 " Pardon, if a most pressing occasion hath driven me to break 
 through formal observances, and made me in a forced disguise 
 appear to be in momentary forgetfulness of due respect." 
 
 " William V cried the duke, — (C What brings you here?" 
 
 " Most gracious liege," replied the page, " the most un- 
 welcome duty that could bring a servant to the feet of his 
 most honoured master. The queen to justify my mission bid 
 me deliver this token, the golden violet, which your Highness 
 will at once recognise as hers." 
 
 The duke took the violet, gazed on it intently ; then seeing 
 the agitated countenance of the page, dismissed attendants, and 
 commanded him to speak. 
 
 iC Would that this tongue had been for ever silent ere it 
 had been forced to tell the saddest tidings that ever reached 
 the ear of a brother jealous of his sister's honour, peace, and 
 happiness — 
 
176 
 
 THE CURSE OP 
 
 "Howl A sister, said you? The queen!" And the 
 duke's voice faltered. 
 
 ce Most noble duke— the joy and happiness that wantoned 
 wildly in the streets, and seemed to fill each patriot heart in 
 France, when the glowing feeling excited by the matchless 
 grace and talent of my royal mistress had turned to cool indif- 
 ference or causeless jealousy " 
 
 " O fickle nation ! And the king?" exclaimed the duke. 
 " The king, I yet believe, would have fondly loved her ; for 
 it is not in human nature to resist the charms concentred in 
 her person and her mind. But her talents were too trans- 
 cendent ; her excellence created such an empire over his mind, 
 that Labrosse lost all his influence." 
 
 " His barber favourite !" said the duke, contemptuously. 
 * The same, my liege. Among the virtuous enjoyments of 
 the queen, she felt her chief delight in the society of the 
 young princes; and, sooth to say, they amply requited her 
 care in duteous love and pleased obedience. Their head 
 attendant was not pleasing to my noble mistress; she was dis- 
 missed ; but such was the unsuspicious dignity of the gracious 
 queen, that she made Labrosse name one to fill her place. 
 Soon after this the eldest prince fell ill. The queen was re- 
 fused admission to his chamber." 
 
 " But Philip ? " said the duke, impatiently ; " knew he 
 of this exclusion ?" 
 
 " My liege, the facts are so strange, the truth so darkly 
 shaded round by mystery, that I am quite unable to fathom 
 it. They say that the graces of the Lady Jane have won upon 
 the king, and that her easy temper has been practised on to 
 inflame his jealousy and utterly deceive him." 
 
 {C Jane !*' said the duke, in an accent of surprise. 
 « The queen," continued the page, " felt for the sick child 
 more than for her own indignities ; and sent him a box of 
 sweetmeats. The box was returned — the child was not 
 allowed to accept it !" 
 
 "By St. Joseph," said the duke, rising in a rage, " that is 
 too bad ! — Some of them shall rue this !" 
 
 (i If this so move you, my gracious prince," said the page, 
 " how will you hear the end of this incredible tale ? — The 
 young prince died I" 
 
 The duke, who had hitherto paced the room in much agita- 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 177 
 
 tion, now stopped ; and so intense was the heed he gave to the 
 page's communication, that he scarcely drew his breath lest he 
 should lose a word. 
 
 The page continued : — " Soon after his death the body- 
 was covered with livid spots ; this created suspicion. Sur- 
 geons were called to examine the corpse ; the same symptoms 
 of foul play appeared internally, — no doubt existed but that 
 the prince was poisoned!" — The page here covered his face 
 with his hands, and vainly strove to conceal the tears that 
 trickled from his eyes. 
 
 " Continue ! " said the duke, furiously, — then, in a softer 
 tone, " In pity finish this perfidious tale." 
 
 " O sire ! for words to communicate the truth you needs 
 must know, but which my tongue refuses to utter " 
 
 " They dare not ! " said the duke, after a pause, in tones of 
 concentrated and deep emotion, u They dare not accuse her 
 of the crime ! " 
 
 " And whom has your noble sister there to screen her from 
 their outrages? — whom, save Adenez the minstrel, and me a 
 feeble page ! — Her kindness to these princes had been so uni- 
 form, that they all doated on her very name; — her enemies, 
 therefore, were forced to recur to charges of sorcery, and 
 boldly declared that she had, by means of magical aid, de- 
 stroyed the boys, and practised on the life of the king. Un- 
 happily, she did once visit an unholy practiser of forbidden 
 rites " 
 
 " Go on, — go on ! " said the duke, in a tone of suppressed 
 anguish. — " Why did she not send to me at once?" 
 
 u O, my liege ! Recall to your gracious thoughts the mind 
 
 — the high, the noble spirit of the princess. She long wept 
 her trials in secrecy ; her bearing, though grave, was digni- 
 fied ; her countenance, though sadly pale, was calm ; her 
 dimmed eye, her colourless lips, alone indicated her sufferings. 
 
 — But when the charges of her enemies were aimed at even 
 her life " 
 
 " Her life ? The life of my sister ? " exclaimed the duke, 
 clenching his fist. 
 
 " Then, my gracious lord, Adenez left Paris to inform you 
 of these proceedings. He was arrested by an order signed by 
 the king, who, urged by what influence or what motive I 
 know not, declared he would leave the cause to the prophetess 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 THE CURSE OP 
 
 of Nivelle. ^ Your grace remembers her sudden apparition at 
 the palace?" 
 
 " But indistinct and vaguely did the rumour of such an 
 event reach my ears," replied the duke. " But did King 
 Philip know of it ? " 
 
 "The Lady Jane knew of it, and saw her, and probably 
 told him the whole affair." 
 
 " But you, William ; why are you thus disguised ? " asked 
 the duke. 
 
 The page hung his head. Quick mantling blushes rapidly 
 succeeded each other in rapid succession upon his ingenuous 
 
 countenance. " Please your highness, my the Count of 
 
 Flanders loves not Adenez, and I feared he might oppose my 
 journey. Besides, your highness knows 'tis by far the safest 
 travelling dress. The violet " 
 
 " What of the bauble ?" asked the duke. 
 
 " The queen, my royal mistress, bid me keep and wear it," 
 continued the page. « < And be it/ she said, < down to after 
 times the signal of constant attachment and unshaken fidelity.' " 
 
 On these words, the badge was returned to him by the 
 duke, who then swore, with impetuous sternness, that before 
 daylight on the following morning he would be on his road to 
 Paris. 
 
 The page rejoined him at the appointed time. He found 
 him attended by some of the boldest knights of his suite, 
 among whom rode a Templar, whose dignified stature and 
 lofty bearing instantly recalled to the apparent minstrel his old 
 friend, Sir Hildebrand. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 As it was in the forest of Soignies, and close to Nivelles, that 
 the Count of Flanders had seen the mysterious female, it was 
 resolved to proceed to that town in order to obtain the neces- 
 sary information as to her residence. 
 
 Nivelles was at that time celebrated for a very extensive 
 Beguinage, with little else to recommend it to the attention of 
 strangers. It was situate at the bottom of a valley in the 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 179 
 
 bosom of the forest, but it did not then possess the extensive 
 trade which has since brought so much wealth within its walls 
 and luxury into the dwellings of its inhabitants. 
 
 On making the necessary inquiries, it was found that the 
 person sought for did not belong to this community, though 
 she was frequently in the neighbourhood of the town, wander- 
 ing up and down like a troubled spirit. The nun, to whom 
 the abbe addressed himself, either could not or would not say 
 more. 
 
 The bishop then sent for the principal of the order. She 
 entered the room where the bishop was sitting, evidently much 
 flattered with the honour done her, but seemed frightened 
 when the bishop pushed his inquiries respecting the prophetess. 
 She said that the Beguine had foretold very strange things, 
 but that when people went to put questions to her, she would 
 seldom answer them. That she had no settled habitation ; 
 but that there was a cave, in the side of a hill, in the wood 
 where she had been lately seen. The Beguine repeated this 
 in a low voice ; and, while she spoke, her eyes wandered un- 
 quietly round her, as if in fear of finding the object there of 
 whom she had dared to speak. 
 
 The bishop thought his dignity would be compromised by 
 going to seek the Beguine ; he therefore sent the abbe upon 
 this mission. As the abbe walked slowly into the forest, pon- 
 dering upon the difficulties of his search, he found the narrow 
 pathway, overshadowed as it was with thick forest trees, sud- 
 denly darkened to his view. He looked up, and trembled, 
 and turned pale ; why, he scarcely knew ; for that it was the 
 object of whom he was in search who now stood before him, 
 he could not doubt. 
 
 It was the tall figure of the Beguine, thin to emaciation, 
 with the pale ghastly countenance, and the black eyes dazzling 
 in the spirit of prophecy. She looked towards him with an 
 expression in which scorn and grief were blended. " Go/' 
 she cried, " and tell him that my heart seeth the wickedness 
 of the unjust; that there is no fear of God before his eyes. 
 For he flattereth himself in his own eyes, till his abominable 
 sin be found out. There are they fallen, all that work wicked- 
 ness, they are cast down, and shall not be able to stand." 
 
 She then left him. He attempted to follow her, but she 
 n 2 
 
180 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 made a motion with her hand for him to stop : and he returned 
 to the bishop to render an account of his interview. 
 
 The bishop could not conceal his vexation at the failure of 
 the abbe. He took a guide to the cave that had been de- 
 scribed to him, and he there found the object which had so 
 appalled his messenger. She was sitting in a cell formed of 
 reeds, wood, and rushes, which covered the entrance to the 
 cave. She appeared entirely absorbed in deep reflection. 
 
 As soon as she perceived the bishop and his attendants, she 
 retired to the interior of the cave, nor could she be persuaded 
 to leave it. He therefore followed her there, and remained 
 nearly an hour; and when he returned, the abbe remarked 
 that he wore an air of greater humility ; and perhaps some 
 disappointment was mingled with the softened tones of his 
 voice, as he gave orders for their immediate departure. 
 
 Meantime the king became very impatient for the return of 
 the deputation. And when the bishop's name was announced, 
 he gave orders for his immediate admission. 
 
 After the usual compliments, the king kept silence for some 
 time. His countenance was very pale, and the most marked 
 agitation was visible upon his features. At length, finding 
 the bishop did not speak, u What do you bring me ? " he said. 
 
 6( Please, your grace," answered the bishop, " I have been 
 able to draw nothing from her, except under the seal of 
 confession." 
 
 " How ! " said the king, frowning ; " did I send you to 
 confess her ? " More he would have said, but at that moment 
 a messenger introduced a herald, who announced in due form 
 the arrival of the Duke of Brabant, his master, and demanded, 
 on his part, in peremptory terms, permission to see his sister. 
 
 When admitted to that sister, whom only two years before 
 he had brought so pompously to the arms of her spouse, re- 
 joicing the hearts of multitudes, welcomed by thousands, at 
 whose approach every mouth wore a smile and every eye 
 glanced gladness, and who now alone, in a damp, deserted 
 cell, abandoned by the world and forgotten by those who did 
 not cover her remembrance with reproaches, the warrior wept. 
 He pressed her to his heart, then held her at a distance from 
 him to view the alteration that tears and suffering had made 
 on her countenance. 
 
 He then conversed long and amply on her present confine- 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 181 
 
 ment and its cause, and was indignant when he learnt that no 
 notice of what she had been accused had been delivered to her. 
 That all she knew was vaguely and from common report. 
 
 He had little difficulty in obtaining permission for her 
 removal to her own apartments. He next demanded an audi- 
 ence of the king, when, after a long conversation, he threw 
 down his gauntlet, and challenged all who should accuse his 
 sister to meet him in single combat. 
 
 No one answered to this appeal. Perhaps the friends of 
 Labrosse feared the punishment which was decreed to those 
 who were overcome. It was in truth frightful. 
 
 St. Louis, indignant at the frequency of these single com- 
 bats, had established very rigorous laws in the hope of sup- 
 pressing them. The combatants were compelled in the first 
 place to suffer a very severe interrogatory, in the hope of 
 eliciting the truth from one or the other ; each was obliged to 
 seal his declaration by an oath, and to listen to a solemn ex- 
 hortation of the danger to the soul of the guilty. The funeral 
 service was recited over them, as if there was no hope that 
 either could quit the contest alive ; and they were warned that 
 the vanquished would be dragged out of the lists by the feet, 
 and then fastened to a gibbet. In short, in these judicial 
 contests, every means were employed to induce one of the 
 parties to desist. 
 
 If both knights persisted in desiring battle, the judges of 
 the camp gave the signal, after again warning the combatants 
 that the beaten would, whether dying or dead, be hanged. 
 
 Those who let themselves out for these "wagers of battle" 
 were punished, in case of failure, equally with those who hired 
 them. 
 
 The duke was embarrassed and indignant that his challenge 
 to combat produced no result, and that no expedient could be 
 thought of to re-establish his sister in the king's opinion. 
 
 The crafty chamberlain was well aware that having no 
 knight to answer the Duke of Brabant's wager of battle, the 
 queen was, in the eye of the law, cleared from the charges 
 brought against her. If the king yet hesitated, he knew that 
 it was upon other charges with which he had abused his ear, 
 and he flattered himself that he had now collected sufficient 
 circumstantial evidence to cause her, upon a new accusation, 
 n 3 
 
182 THE CURSE OF 
 
 to be condemned^ if not to death, at least to perpetual confine- 
 ment in a cloister. 
 
 He had hitherto succeeded in neutralising the hatred which 
 the " Black Lady" had vowed against him, as having aided 
 the escape of the victim of her vengeance ; for he was fully 
 aware that as soon as he had openly become the queen's ac- 
 cuser, the Count of Flanders would have ranged himself as her 
 defender, could he have hoped by criminating Labrosse to 
 induce the king to give him up to Marguerite's demands. 
 He had, by avowing himself to be the son of Labrosse, and 
 not of Ada, as he had declared to the king, while he pointed 
 out Adenez as that son, turned his vengeance from himself to 
 another victim. But it was far from his intention, by giving 
 up Adenez into the hands of the count, to gratify Marguerite's 
 vengeance, and to endanger the loss of the king's protection, 
 which he knew was extended to the son of Ada and Bouchard, 
 (in conformity to a vow which his father the king had rigor- 
 ously exacted), rather than to himself. When, therefore, 
 Adenez was sent by the queen on the mission to her brother, 
 it was necessary to interrupt a journey during which it would 
 be so easy for Guy to possess himself of his person. He there- 
 fore persuaded the king to sign with his own hand an order to 
 commit the bard to prison, upon charges which we shall hasten 
 to explain. The friends of the queen, who were more than 
 ever anxious for the arrival of the Duke of Brabant, con- 
 sented, upon the earnest entreaty of the page, William, to let 
 him take the mission intended for Adenez, and in order to 
 conceal his plans from his father, he went disguised as a min- 
 strel ; and as his height was much the same as that of Adenez, 
 he borrowed one of his dresses, and in this disguise reached 
 Brussels. 
 
 It will be remembered that the head nursery-maid had been 
 removed from the prince's apartments previous to his death. 
 She was closely confined in prison, without knowing with what 
 offence she was charged ; but, as soon as the Duke had thrown 
 down his gauntlet to challenge the accusers of his sister, the 
 grand chamberlain, to excuse his not accepting by his deputy 
 this gage of defiance, taxed Mary, in conjunction with the head 
 nursery-maid and her Troubadour, Adenez Lekoi, of sorcery 
 and magic, which accusations being proved, would of course 
 exonerate him from the necessity of accepting the challenge. 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 183 
 
 He had caused the sorcerer, his wife, and servant to be 
 arrested, and a day was fixed for the trial. The crime of which 
 Mary was charged, was that of practising charms to affect the 
 life of the king. A figure in wax was produced, said to have 
 been intended as a resemblance of Philip. It was pierced to 
 the heart with a needle, mutilated and bloody ; and it was 
 supposed that when their incantations were fully accomplished, 
 the needle which had pierced the heart of his effigy would be 
 as a dagger in the heart of the king ; that the wound would 
 be mortal, and the victim would die ! Before the day of trial 
 the sorcerer was found dead in his prison, accused by his 
 enemies of having hanged himself ; but there was more ap- 
 pearance of his having been strangled. This pretended suicide 
 was construed into a proof of his guilt * and the king was 
 prayed to fix a day for his judgment, but instead of granting 
 this request, the superstitious and wavering monarch insisted 
 upon employing another deputation to the Beguine. 
 
 It may appear strange that the wily chamberlain, whose 
 influence over the mind of the king must have been perceived, 
 should suffer deputation after deputation to be sent to a subject 
 of the Duke of Brabant, for such the Beguine appeared to be; 
 but he had in the last mission perceived that the Beguine really 
 believed herself to be his mother, and trusting to this circum- 
 stance, he had no doubt of her declaration of his innocence, 
 which, taking into consideration the queen's belief in the truth 
 of her prophetic mission, he hoped would go far to fix on 
 Philip's wavering mind a confirmation of his innocence ; and 
 he trusted by this means to send Mary back to Brabant, and 
 to decide Adenez's destiny at once. 
 
 When the duke came to Brussels, he brought a Templar in 
 his train, who was now named as principal of the mission. 
 Though Labrosse was annoyed and somewhat uneasy at this 
 unexpected nomination, yet he did not altogether despair. 
 He had pondered over the prophecy to which the queen had 
 lent her ear previous to her coming to Paris, and which Jane 
 had repeated to him, and found in it every motive for consola- 
 tion. A tragical termination was pointed out, death it was 
 declared would attend her at Paris: — that prophecy must 
 then point to the queen or to Adenez, for the queen knew not 
 him when she listened to it. 
 
 The deputation proceeded as rapidly as possible towards the 
 N 4) 
 
THE CURSE OP 
 
 forest of Soignies, and advanced to the cave. At the sound of 
 their horses feet, the Beguine approached the door of her cell 
 She was very pale, and her large and wandering eye had lost 
 its fire; her head too, instead of being turned towards heaven 
 as if to seek its high behests, that she might declare them, 
 now fell dejectedly on her breast, while with a low and broken 
 voice entirely divested of that fitful enthusiasm which had 
 seemed to vouch the truth of her prophecies, she repeated: — 
 I am weary of my groaning, every night I wash my bed 
 and water my couch with tears." ' 
 Here she crossed her arms upon her breast, and seemed to 
 torget that any stranger was present. 
 
 The Templar made a signal for his suite to retire, but re- 
 tained one among them near to him. " Woman ! " at length 
 he said, in an authoritative voice, « thou, who hast devoted 
 thyself to fasting and prayer to make atonement for the sins 
 of thy youth, in the face of thy Sovereign Judge, when the 
 past equally with the future is opened to thy enlightened 
 vision, why hast thou abstained from declaring the innocence 
 of her who. is falsely accused, and the guilt of him who de- 
 stroyed the heir of the French crown ?" 
 
 She lifted up her head as the Templar spoke. His words 
 no longer seemed to penetrate and shake her soul, as the re- 
 monstrance or the reproach of mortal man, but rather to fall 
 upon her ears as an admonition from Heaven ; and she cast 
 her eyes upwards, while both hands were raised as if to give 
 effect to the inspiration of her spirit. " The statutes of the 
 Lord are right and penetrate the heart: the commandment of 
 the Lord is pure and giveth light unto the eyes." 
 
 These words seemed the outpouring of her soul, not the 
 mere rhapsody of an enthusiast, but as if communing with her 
 own heart, she sought inspiration from a higher source. Then 
 turning towards the Templar, she continued : — " Say to the 
 king, Upon his right hand did stand the queen, in a vesture of 
 gold, wrought about with divers colours. But not more glo- 
 rious her vesture than the heart they covered ; nor more pure 
 the molten gold of her crown than was her mind from the 
 guilt, than was her spirit from the imagination, of the crime 
 imputed to her. Let her therefore again stand before the 
 Lords anointed. With joy and gladness let her be brought 
 into the palace of the king. And tell the queen " But 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 185 
 
 here the fire of her eye was quenched, and its spirit became 
 darkened, her arms sunk powerless by her side, and she dropped 
 exhausted upon the bank beside her. 
 
 " Ada ! " said the Templar, when he saw her slowly reco- 
 vering. 
 
 es Who calls her that once answered to that loved name ? " 
 said the Beguine. 
 
 " Ada ! " again said the Templar, unclosing his visor and 
 taking off his helmet. " Look upon me. Do you know me?" 
 
 u Know thee ! " she cried, as she lifted her eyes to his coun- 
 tenance, and slowly perused his features. Long and fixedly 
 did she regard him. Once she drew her hand across her eyes, 
 as if to dissipate a mist or cloud that obscured her vision. 
 Then speaking slowly and low, as if trying to collect remem- 
 brances that flitted across her memory : " Before my mind 
 was darkened by guilt, or the kindliness of my nature had 
 become obscured by that fierce and guilty passion which alike 
 trampled upon every duty and every tender feeling, such a 
 figure used to smile upon me, and it afterwards appeared to 
 me in my dreams, with an expression of fierce resentment ; 
 later it took a gentler aspect, and a look of grief and pity 
 quenched the terror of that burning frown, — who then art 
 thou ? " 
 
 " Ada! I knew the noble Baldwin. — The sad tale I heard 
 told of the sufferings of thy mother awakened in my bosom an 
 interest in thy fate. — How I loved thee," here his voice fal- 
 tered, — "ask the Lady Marguerite, for to her were all my 
 hopes confided. I will not dwell upon my sufferings, when 
 deserting your convent you proved too surely 'twas an earthly, 
 not a heavenly love which rendered you insensible to my vows. 
 I have never known another love ! " Then, in a voice sinking 
 almost to a whisper, he said to her, as he drew nearer, " Where 
 is Bouchard?" 
 
 She half shrieked, " I am ignorant ! When the Unknown 
 gave me to see the light of day, and to wander in blessed free- 
 dom beneath the azure canopy of heaven, I vowed never to let 
 those eyes look upon him again. Never to speak to him, and 
 if possible never to bear him in my thoughts. And I then 
 also vowed never to raise my guilty voice without blending in 
 my orisons the name of her I had so greatly injured. God is 
 my witness how I have kept the vow." 
 
186 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 " And where," continued the Templar, " is your son ? h 
 The Beguine was silent for a minute, then she replied am- 
 biguously, " I wrote to St. Louis, and intrusted my child to 
 Labrosse to present to the king. They tell me the king's 
 chamberlain is that boy." 
 
 " And does your heart acknowledge him ? " said the 
 Templar. 
 
 She replied by throwing herself on her knees and repeating 
 from the Psalms, ee Save me, and deliver me from the hand of 
 strangers, whose mouth talketh of vanity, and whose right hand 
 is a right hand of iniquity." 
 
 When she had finished her prayer, the Templar continued. 
 (t Many years I was away in the Holy Land. When I re- 
 turned, my first inquiry was, Where is Ada ? Alas ! she had 
 fled the saintly vocation for which I had designed her. She 
 had sought the protection of her guardian, a servant of the 
 church. She had fallen into the hand of a much injured 
 woman. A child was born to her. The child of this unholy 
 connexion, which was about to be delivered to the revengeful 
 enemy, 1 took from Labrosse." 
 
 " You, you ! " cried Ada, raising her head from her hands, 
 which had hitherto concealed her features. 
 
 Without heeding her interruption, he proceeded : " I sought 
 the hermits of St. Augustin,and there found Bouchard d'Avesnes 
 so long believed to be dead. I told him of your situation. I 
 extorted an oath from him never to make himself known to 
 you. His acquaintance with the localities of the place enabled 
 him, with the aid of his son, to free you." 
 
 " And my son ?" demanded Ada. 
 
 " I took the boy from the contemptible agent of her who 
 sought his destruction, and conveyed him to the court ot 
 Brabant." 
 
 " O Heaven ! " cried the young stranger deeply moved, and 
 leaning forward as if to catch every syllable that fell from the 
 Templar's tongue. The Templar, unheeding the interruption, 
 continued, " I delivered the boy to Brabant's duke, strictly 
 charging him to rear the infant in the service of that God 
 whose laws his parents had so dreadfully outraged, I acknow- 
 ledged his royal descent, but spoke not of you, nor of the dea- 
 con, but I called the boy Adenez (born of Ada)." The cloak 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 187 
 
 in which the stranger was wrapped fell from his face. In a 
 moment he was at the feet of the Beguine. 
 
 " Mother ! Oh ! my mother ! bless thy son, thy Adenez !" 
 
 " Son ! My son !" shrieked Ada, embracing him with ten- 
 derness. " And art thou indeed my son ? — Oh ! in my 
 dreams/' she continued, " often hast thou stood before me, 
 wearing just this noble form. But though I wept and wearied 
 Heaven with my prayers, though I wandered over Hainault, 
 through Flanders, though I sought thee in Holland, and tra- 
 versed every corner of Brabant, I could not find thee. For," 
 she continued, lowering her voice, " the Curse of the Black 
 Lady darkened my spirit." For some moments she looked 
 upon her son in silence, giving way to the delight of those 
 emotions of parental tenderness which have all the force of 
 passion without their guilt. But suddenly her eye assumed 
 the supernatural brightness which shone there when the spirit 
 of prophecy was upon her, and her finger was raised to Hea- 
 ven. Then starting up to her full height while her frame 
 trembled with the excess of agitation, she screamed, " My son ! 
 conceal thyself, thy enemies are here ! " — She, with almost 
 supernatural force, dragged him into the cave, and implored 
 him as he valued her blessing to rest there. 
 
 The sound of horses' feet were heard in the distance. It 
 was an armed party which approached surrounding a litter, 
 closely covered. At their head was a lady attended by a knight 
 in black armour, who rode proudly by her side. Behind was 
 a troubadour strictly guarded, his face was muffled in his cloak, 
 and he seemed lost in the melancholy nature of his reflections. 
 The Templar, as soon as he had viewed the party, rode to 
 seek his suite, which the approach of a tempest, that had long 
 growled at a distance and now burst over their heads, had 
 dispersed in search of shelter. 
 
 When he again returned, the Beguine was at the door of 
 the cave, as if to guard its entrance ; ie the Black Lady" was 
 close to her. While a smile of horrid delight animated her 
 dark and sunken features, the minstrel was cowering beneath 
 the sword of Guy de Dampierre, and an aged pilgrim was 
 sitting upright in the litter. t . f 
 
 " Thus falls the curse of Marguerite upon her enemies, 
 said the lady, "thus, though late, does she signalise her 
 revenge." 
 
188 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 " Stop, Sir Knight ! " said the hermit, with the low and 
 laboured accents of extreme age; "stop!" slowly muttered 
 the ancient pilgrim, " that is not my son." Whether this ex- 
 hortation was unheard or unregarded, it matters not — but the 
 sword was still upraised, when the Templar rushing forward, 
 exclaimed, "Cease, Sir Knight, it is your son!" — He was 
 too late. The boy staggered beneath a wound aimed from his 
 own father's weapon. The mantle which was muffled round 
 his face, fell from his arm, and discovered William de Bethune. 
 " My father ! " said he, in faltering accents. 
 
 " My son !" shrieked the Count of Flanders in the high 
 piercing tones of despair. These words called together two, 
 who had not met for years. The Beguine and the " Black 
 Lady," losing all remembrance of past events in the horrid 
 sight now before them, stood over the dying page, while the 
 warriors on either side, formed a circle round them. 
 
 "Oh !" cried the Beguine, throwing herself upon her knees 
 at the head of the page, " and is this the end of all my prayers, 
 penances, and watchings ? I have foreseen this horrible sight," 
 she continued turning to the Templar, " and I have struggled 
 and prayed that it might pass away, but it would not be. The 
 curse was registered in heaven. My eyes have become dim. 
 My heart is become hardened. How I have laboured, weary- 
 ing Heaven with my prayers to turn from me the hatred of 
 her I dare not look upon. You well know, the death of this 
 boy must avert every hope of pardon. O yes ! the weight of 
 the curse is upon me. Have I, till now, ceased to tremble at 
 every motion ? Has not the rustling fall of a leaf been sufficient 
 to make me flee ? And now my enemy, she is here, and I 
 wot not of it. And oh, I am going to have my portion with 
 Judas, the betrayer of the Lord, in the land of everlasting 
 darkness and death, if she pardon me not. " Then turning 
 towards Marguerite, " O pardon, pardon ! " she cried, " Oh 
 forgive, as thou wouldst be forgiven ! 
 
 " Oh God ! Pardon ! Oh Holy Mary ! intercede for me !" 
 said the Beguine, casting her eyes to heaven. " The Black 
 Lady" likewise threw her looks upwards, but they were not 
 that of a contrite heart. All the malignity of hell seemed 
 centered there, as she uttered curses long, and loud, and too 
 fearful to repeat. 
 
 The Templar watched the countenance of Ada, he saw her 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 189 
 
 hour was come. He hastened into the cave to free Adenez 
 from his confinement. When he returned with Adenez, the 
 page had already breathed his last. " Tell the queen I have 
 been faithful unto death. I feared lest the malediction of my 
 father should force me to betray — and therefore — I die ! ** 
 
 Just as Adenez reached his mother, a flash of lightning 
 struck quite across the awe-struck group. Quick and vivid as 
 it was, it displayed to all, as it appeared to play across the 
 features of the dying nun, the glorious sign of our redemption. 
 
 She saw it too. A look of wonder, gratitude, and joy, 
 lighted once more her dying features, the Templar and Adenez 
 both sank on their knees in mute adoration, with their heads 
 bowed to the ground. The same flash, even while she was 
 exulting in the dying agonies of the penitent Ada, closed the 
 eyes of the Countess Marguerite in everlasting night. She 
 was struck with blindness. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The Templar is on his way to Paris. Arrived there, all the 
 peers of the crown are cited in council, to hear the report of 
 his commission. 
 
 He brings with him papers from that aged pilgrim, who 
 had been borne to the wood in the Countess Marguerite's litter 
 — they were letters from Bouchard d'Avesnes. The name of 
 that pilgrim was for the king's ear alone, it was sufficient that 
 he knew the secret passages of that chateau. From a conver- 
 sation he there overheard between the Lady Marguerite and 
 her son, he was enabled to unravel the mysteries of Labrosse's 
 dark conspiracy against the fame, and even the life, of the 
 queen. 
 
 The king shuddered, turned pale, crossed himself, and cast 
 his eyes to heaven, in silent gratitude that he had escaped the 
 snare. 
 
 The Templar proceeded to relate the Beguine's exhortation. 
 It was so full, clear, and explicit, that the king wept with joy. 
 The queen's innocence was declared by acclamation. In 
 presence of the council, the king summoned Madame Labrosse 
 and Jane d'Assche before him. He insisted that they should 
 
190 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 take his two surviving boys to the presence of the queen, that 
 Madame Labrosse and Jane on their knees should entreat her 
 forgiveness of their conduct, and that they should make the 
 children in the same attitude entreat her pardon for his unjust 
 suspicions, and solicit her again to take them under her care. 
 
 They proceeded to the queen's apartment, in company with 
 the Duke of Brabant her brother. The ladies performed their 
 part of the ceremony, but the children would not be restrained 
 to enact the scene prepared for them. The queen could only 
 embrace them again, and bedew them with her tears. But 
 there was one witness to her emotion, who felt that every one 
 of her tears carried a dagger to his heart. The king had time 
 to view the alteration that sorrow had made in her beautiful 
 countenance, though its expression again spoke of joyful emo- 
 tion. She made an effort to rise as she perceived him — her 
 feelings overpowered her — he fell at her feet. The monarch 
 himself conducted her from her prison. In the evening she 
 was habited once more in splendid regal robes, and attended to 
 the Hall of Ceremony. There, seated on a throne by the side 
 of the king, her brother close to her, and the Templar just 
 behind, the company in groups discussed the momentous cir- 
 cumstance of her imprisonment. She, surrounded by J oin ville, 
 Marigni, and her children, listened to the narrative of the 
 Templar. Then only was she informed of the fate of her 
 faithful page, who, fearing to encounter his father, or his 
 father's satellites, assumed Adenez's garb, for in those days 
 the character of a troubadour was sacred. Instead of accom- 
 panying the duke back to Paris, he believed he would better 
 fulfil his royal mistress's wishes in seeking the Beguine. A 
 part of his route lay on the borders of Hainault, and there 
 his father's squire met him and made him prisoner. Carried 
 to the castle, in mistake for the minstrel, he was kept in close 
 and solitary confinement ; nor was he taken from his dungeon 
 till he was brought out to be sacrificed an innocent victim to 
 the vengeance of the Countess. 
 
 The pilgrim of St. Augustine appears to have been secured 
 on the journey. He was placed in the litter of the Lady 
 Marguerite. Whether he was known, or for what fate he was 
 reserved, was never ascertained. He died immediately after 
 having made his deposition. 
 
THE BLACK LADY. 
 
 191 
 
 Thus ends my legend; but history details the following 
 particulars. The queen enjoyed the entire confidence of the 
 king during his life. He left her a widow, when his son Philip 
 le Bel who succeeded him was only seventeen. She survived 
 many years, cherished by the king and his brother, as their own 
 mother, and admired by every body. 
 
 The king and the duke probably considered the Count of 
 Flanders sufficiently punished by the loss of his son, but in the 
 following reign, we find him pursued and imprisoned by Philip 
 le Bel for many years ; and he had but just been released from 
 captivity when he died at the age of eighty. 
 
 The villain Labrosse met the reward of his infamy, and 
 perished on a gibbet. 
 
 A little chapel was built over the spot were the Beguine 
 died, dedicated to the " Holy Cross " by Adenez, who entered 
 a religious community. The *' Black Lady " survived the loss 
 of her sight about a year. The legend describes her as im- 
 penitent to the last. She lamented not the loss of her grand- 
 child, but that the sword of her son had not struck Adenez I 
 And the last distinguishable words which fell from her lips were 
 those of the dreadful malediction, which is still repeated in the 
 traditions of Hainault as " The Curse of the Black Lady." 
 
192 
 
 THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 In the whole of the wide districts through which the Rhine 
 winds its way, from the romantic falls of Schaffhausen to the 
 marshy plains of Holland, there was not a finer castle or a 
 lovelier spot than Great Felsberg and its domains ; nor does 
 the ample range of feudal traditions afford an instance more 
 striking than the fate of Karl Von Kreukenthall, the lord of 
 those possessions. 
 
 This chieftain flourished and died about the latter part of 
 the fourteenth century ; but he flourished not like a fine flower 
 of chivalry, throwing beauty and perfume on a desert age, nor 
 did he die the inspiring death of heroism, on the green and 
 blood-stained sward, the flourish of trumpets and the clashing 
 of blades for the wild music of his requiem. His life was ig- 
 noble and his death obscure. Nevertheless, the extraordinary 
 circumstance which governed both the course and the termi- 
 nation of his career, entitles him to a niche in that gallery of 
 portraits, which is furnished from the abounding legends of the 
 Rhine. 
 
 Count Karl had the double misfortune of losing his father 
 while he was yet young, and of coming into the full possession of 
 his power at a time of temporary peace, when neither the em- 
 peror nor his feudatories had any quarrel in hand, which could 
 give honourable employment to the young scions of chivalry. 
 This was indeed unlucky for our feudal hero ; for had the 
 crimson path of war invited his steps, he had, at the worst, 
 met a soldier's fate, arid closed a career worthy of his race and 
 name, instead of running a base course, whose end was in 
 keeping with its commencement. 
 
 No sooner was the old count laid in the family vault, and 
 the decencies of filial regret performed, than Karl gave a loose 
 to the most boundless dissipation, prodigality, and extravagance. 
 
THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 193 
 
 From morn till night, and often from night till morn, the woods 
 of his domains and the halls of his castle resounded with the 
 boisterous noise of idle sports, and the revolting outbursts of 
 debauchery. Great Felsburg became the resort of all that was 
 worthless among the youth of the district, and it was shunned 
 by the virtuous, as though a moral plague spot had marked it 
 with infection. 
 
 The sameness of this dishonouring career, rather than its 
 disgrace, at last turned Count Karl's desires into another 
 channel. Having in the course of a few years exhausted all the 
 varieties of low enjoyment, nearly drained his well- filled cellars, 
 and almost worn out the patience and the means of his vassals, 
 he found it impossible to replenish his coffers without intoler- 
 able exactions ; and disgusted with all around him, because 
 dissatisfied with himself, he resolved to seek in travel some new 
 excitement for his palled appetite, or at least an escape from 
 self-reproach and the rising murmurs of those whom he op- 
 pressed. 
 
 He accordingly proposed to two of his constant companions, 
 and who, in the usual parlance of dissipation, he called his 
 friends, to accompany him in his proposed ramble of some 
 months, — in what direction he cared not. The others readily 
 consented. Few preparations were required. A very scanty 
 supply of dress sufficed, for they were all circumstanced alike, 
 and had none of them a surplus of money ; and the fro- 
 licsome spirit of adventure combining with their necessities, 
 induced them to lay aside both the titles and appearance of 
 nobility, and to pursue their travels in the guise of middle life, 
 if such a gradation may be stated to have existed at a period 
 when there was scarce a class, as now, between the noble and 
 plebeian. The three adventurers had in fact a dubious and 
 mysterious air of half-and-half gentility — such as it then was 
 — and their efforts to act the part they had assumed, sat ill on 
 them. It is easier at any time to ape and caricature the airs of 
 quality than to put on the simplicity of low life. The haughty 
 and self-sufficient consciousness of these feudal lords of the four- 
 teenth century was at every moment oozing out, through the 
 forced assumption of manners in which they attempted to 
 disguise themselves. 
 
 Ludwig of Steinbach and Ulric Von Linz were the two 
 companions of Count Karl. The three friends had few dis- 
 o 
 
19* 
 
 THE THREE F0RETELLING9. 
 
 tinctive points of character by which they might be separately 
 marked. They were in fact all three, in more or less degrees, 
 wild, reckless, and dissolute ; rushing on from freak to freak 
 and folly to folly, like so many untamed animals, without 
 restraint beyond the necessity of their circumstances, or guide, 
 except the wilfulness of their passions. The only plan of 
 conduct, if plan it might be called, on which they set out, was 
 one of intemperate riot. To follow the course of chance, to 
 mock and laugh at every thing like order, to stop at nothing in 
 the way of adventure, to pay no respect to place or person, to 
 despise all moral, and give a free run to all immoral suggestions, 
 was the sum of the tactics which were to direct their roving 
 campaign. And so resolving, away they started, one fine au- 
 tumnal morning, when the sun was peering over the hills and 
 lighting up the vineyards and woods with a thousand varied 
 tints, every leaf of the brown and yellow foliage looking like so 
 many plates of burnished gold. 
 
 But the charms of scenery had no attraction for the liber- 
 tines, who rose from their night's debauch with no feelings that 
 could be influenced by the natural beauties through which they 
 wound their way to the river-side. As they reached the mar- 
 gin of the stream a boat came gliding down the current laden 
 with such stores as the rude commerce of the time sent from the 
 German states to the Low Countries. Count Karl and his 
 companions hailed it as it neared the place where they stood. 
 They soon concluded a bargain for their passage to the end of 
 the voyage, they being indifferent as to its extent or termination. 
 The oars were soon again in motion. The sails filled with the 
 breeze. The old towers of Felsberg quickly disappeared, as a 
 new turn in the river swept the little vessel round the base of 
 a huge granite rock ; and in due course of time, without 
 much opportunity being afforded for the indulgence of their 
 coarse humour, the three adventurers were landed on one of 
 the quays of the city of Rotterdam. 
 
 The legend does not record the various feats of libertine ex- 
 cess they there indulged in. The next scene in which it in- 
 troduces the friends is on board one of those small passage-boats 
 called trackschuyts which plied then, as they do now, on the 
 canal between the towns of Rotterdam and Delft. And in a 
 country where a few centuries have so little changed the ap- 
 pearance of things, however they have altered the character of 
 
THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 195 
 
 the people, we may imagine the primitive looking company, 
 their air, their manners, and costume, among which the 
 three lively libertines were thus thrown. There were no doubt 
 many excitements for ridicule, and the young men did not fail 
 to give vent to their turn for such satire as was suited to their 
 tastes. 
 
 Among the passengers there was one object peculiarly marked 
 out for mockery. This was an old woman, so old, so ugly, 
 and so ill-tempered that the temptation to torment her was 
 irresistible. Count Karl and his companions soon pitched on 
 her as their especial prey ; and they quickly began to assail 
 her in every possible method that could ruffle and agitate, 
 insult and annoy her. 
 
 The old woman bore these attacks ill. She retorted with a 
 spiteful and venomous expression of countenance, that seemed 
 to exceed even the reasonable amount of malice which her 
 provocation might be expected to excite. The young men 
 were well pleased at the success of their attacks. They per- 
 sisted in and increased them ; till at length their victim was 
 roused to a pitch of almost frightful rage. 
 
 ee Bad, base, and bold as ye are/' screamed she, in a voice 
 hoarse with passion, " beware lest ye go too far ! Ye urge 
 me beyond bearing. Another step, and ye plunge over the 
 precipice ! Desist, nor force me to utter the ban against ye ! 
 let my lips close without denouncing your doom ! " 
 
 There was something very serious and very appalling in 
 the words and in the looks of the old woman. The people 
 who formed the remainder of the company, and the man who 
 guided the boat, showed symptoms of terror. They seemed 
 to know more of the old woman than they had before chosen 
 to tell. But they now, one and all, implored Count Karl and 
 his comrades to desist, nor urge her to further speech. A 
 boisterous laugh, a simultaneous renewal of gibes and jeers, 
 and a chorus of defiance, was the only answer vouchsafed by 
 the reckless youths. 
 
 " Then be the consequences on your own heads ! " vociferated 
 the hag, her livid countenance distorted with rage, and her 
 voice trembling as she spoke. "Ye have drawn down the 
 curse in the height of your pride, like some lofty spire that 
 attracts the storm-cloud which hovers over it. Ye shall all, 
 then, — and ye may believe it when I tell it ye, — all die violent 
 o 2 
 
196 
 
 THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 deaths, though different in degree and distant in time. Is 
 that enough ? or will ye know your separate doom ? " 
 
 <e Ay, ay ! each of us must hear our individual fate, old 
 sibyl, crooked crone, distorted mockery of woman ! " said the 
 young men with one voice, but each applying a separate epithet 
 of abuse, while the bystanders once more appealed to them to 
 let the prophecy pass as a general denunciation, without pro- 
 voking the specific mention of the various ways in which their 
 several lives were to terminate. 
 
 But this interference was too late. The old woman would 
 not suppress her wrath, and she resumed her foretelling. 
 
 " Well then, you," said she, (fixing her look on Ulric Von 
 Linz,) " you will be drowned ! You," (pointing her shrivelled 
 finger at Ludwig of Steinbach,) " you will be hanged ! And 
 you," (nodding her head at Count Karl,) " you will die by 
 the hand of a woman ! And now with my withering curse 
 upon ye each and all, go on your vile career till the hand of 
 death, in those several ways, cuts ye short, and the foul fiend 
 receives ye for his own ! " 
 
 With these words her head sunk on her breast, and with 
 closed eyes and compressed lips, as though muttering inwardly 
 some unholy oraison, she sunk into deep thought. The pas- 
 sengers all seemed overwhelmed with horror at the awful fore- 
 telling. Murmured ejaculations, frightened looks at the pro- 
 phetess and her doomed victims escaped them ; and, despite 
 their natural courage, their blustering air, and their assumed 
 indifference, a superstitious dread worked in the hearts of the 
 three adventurers, and tamed them into involuntary silence. 
 The passage was soon ended, and every one seemed glad to 
 quit the boat and escape from the uneasy recollection of the 
 scene. 
 
 Years rolled on and the three young men were still living ; 
 all of them comparatively reclaimed from their vicious career, 
 and all more or less established in the world. Count Karl 
 had returned to his castle of Great Felsberg, and after due 
 course of wooing, had been married to Anna of Lichtenau, 
 one of the loveliest and gentlest maidens of Germany. Often 
 and often used her enamoured husband to say to himself, as he 
 gazed on her sweet face, or held her soft hand in his, " Well, 
 well ! if the prophecy of the hag is to be fulfilled in my case, 
 it is not at any rate this beauteous hand that is to grasp the 
 
THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 197 
 
 dagger, or give me the death stroke— these white and taper 
 fingers are not made to dabble in a murdered husband's 
 blood!" 
 
 Yet even when his thoughts — in his own despite, for he 
 did not like any allusion, even in thought, to the foretelling— 
 took this turn, he used to feel a chill creep on his heart, and 
 more than once he dropped suddenly, or even flung aside, the 
 beautiful member which he had been just toying with and 
 caressing, so rudely that the tears filled the eyes of the gentle 
 Anna, and her blushes, lest she had offended her beloved lord, 
 spoke reproaches to his violence that cut him to the heart. 
 
 He was several times tempted to tell her the secret cause of 
 his emotion ; but he was restrained by shame at the necessity 
 of revealing the disreputable frolic of his earlier days, and 
 still more by a shuddering dislike to recur at all to the pro- 
 phecy which seemed to haunt him like the troubled fancies of 
 a dream. 
 
 With the exception of those occasional moments of weak- 
 ness, Count Karl's days glided on smoothly and happily, with 
 none of the noisy energy of feudal glory, but with enough of 
 enjoyment and importance to satisfy a man who had spent his 
 youth in scenes that wear out rather than nourish the natural 
 vigour of the mind. 
 
 Ludwig of Steinbach had, by the sudden death of an elder 
 brother, inherited his title and estates in the close neighbour- 
 hood of Great Felsburg. He was there settled in all the 
 power of feudality, and following the example of his friend, 
 the Count of Kreukenthall, he was seeking a suitable match 
 among the maidens of the Rhine valleys, at that period so 
 celebrated for their beauty and the accomplishments that threw 
 a grace over the coarse energy of the age. 
 
 Ulric Von Linz had not yet entered into possession of the 
 paternal inheritance, which he reckoned on as one day to be 
 his in the common course of nature. His father still lived. 
 But he had anticipated the usual march of events, and trusting 
 for independence to fortune and his sword, he had clandestinely 
 married a lovely and enthusiastic girl, and entered into the 
 service of the noted Baron Gortz Von Langenfeld, whom he 
 followed to the field in the capacity of squire, and in whose 
 predatory excursions against the wealthy merchants of Frank- 
 o 3 
 
198 
 
 THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 fort,, and the burghers of the other commercial towns of Ger- 
 many, lie soon reaped a rich harvest of booty. 
 
 Whenever the three friends met. and that was often, they 
 naturally recurred to the passages of former days, and not 
 unfrequcntly did they revert to the adventures which signalized 
 their tour in Holland, and particularly to that which had left 
 so deep and serious an impression on each of their minds. 
 They often strove amongst each other, as well as when separate, 
 to make light of the foretellings of the old woman, and to 
 consider them as the ravings of ill-temper, or of assumed 
 supernatural knowledge. But it was in vain that they thus 
 argued and wished to believe. The effect was made, and the 
 superstitious dread of the prophecy's fulfilment, though by no 
 means amounting to belief, continually rose before them in 
 the aspect of an unavoidable — but they hoped a remote — 
 reality. 
 
 It will be remembered that the promised doom of drowning, 
 denounced by the old woman against Von Linz, was the first 
 of the sequence which has given the title to our Legend. By 
 a curious coincidence — if nothing more mysterious will be 
 allowed by the sceptical reader — the first action of the drama 
 fell in the order so specified. 
 
 Ulric Von Linz returned one night in great speed towards 
 the castle of Langenfeld, in which he and his wife, Eleonora, 
 had been granted a commodious lodging by the kindness of 
 his noble master, Baron Gortz. " Blessed be the good Bishop 
 of Bamberg ! " thought Ulric. " Blessed also be the worthy 
 provost of St. Babo, by whose intercession the bishop gave me 
 a dispensation for travelling to-day, All Saints' day, a festival 
 which all sinners should keep sacred. Had it not been for 
 this favour I should have been forced to wait till to-morrow 
 to see my beloved Eleanor ; and by my patron, St. Gobert ! 
 a night of even midsummer passed away from her appears to 
 me the length of Christmas eve, when waiting for the midnight 
 mass ! How surprised and happy she will be to see me to- 
 night instead of to-morrow ! In half an hour I shall once 
 more clasp her in my arms ! 99 
 
 These thoughts were accompanied by two involuntary strokes 
 of the rider's heels into the flanks of his almost jaded steed, 
 which, so provoked, rose again from its tired ramble into a 
 rapid trot. But besides that uxorious longing which urged 
 
THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 199 
 
 Ulric forwards, there were other reasons which lent fresh 
 force to his desire to reach the castle. The wind blew fiercely. 
 The rain fell in torrents. And it was just the hour when the 
 ghosts of the murdered were wont to strike with fleshless 
 hands at the doors of their relatives and friends, to recommend 
 their suffering souls to pious intercessions. For every one 
 knows that all who may have died a violent death on All 
 Saints' day never rest in their graves, without having punished 
 those who caused their death. 
 
 While his various reflections made the bold heart of Ulric 
 palpitate with strange emotion, and he mechanically grasped 
 the lance which rose perpendicularly from his stirrup's rest, he 
 observed, at no great distance, glimmering through the wood, 
 a light, which suddenly fixed the course of his wandering 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Heaven be praised ! " cried he, breathing more freely, 
 "'tis the castle of Langenfeld. This light shines in the 
 western tower, where my sweet Eleanor and I alone reside. 
 This is a true love signal, lighted up even a day before my 
 expected coming. Like a good Christian and a faithful wife, 
 my Eleanor puts up her prayers for her poor Ulric — I come, 
 I come, my beloved !" 
 
 As this brief soliloquy was finished, his horse's hoofs struck 
 on the pavement which announced the close neighbourhood of 
 the Pont-levis. He soon found the horn hanging on its 
 accustomed hook, and he blew a loud blast thereon. The 
 draw- bridge was lowered, and a mail-clad sentry peered out 
 into the gloomy air from a stone sentry-box. 
 
 <e Ah, master squire ! come freely in !" cried he. 
 
 At some paces within the porch stood another man, dressed 
 in a gown of black camlet, with a silver chain suspended round 
 his neck. It was Wisembert Von Skreyer, seneschal of the 
 castle, and uncle by his mother's side to Ulric Von Linz. 
 
 sc Saviour of man ! " exclaimed the seneschal, piously mak- 
 ing the sign of the cross on his breast. " Is it you, nephew ? 
 Holy Virgin ! Have you dared, in defiance of the rules of the 
 church, to travel on a day like this ? If some great misfor- 
 tune does not happen to you for so serious a sin, assuredly you 
 are more lucky than wise ! 99 
 
 u Comfort yourself, my worthy uncle, I am on safe ground. 
 I carry dispensation from his reverence the Bishop of Bam- 
 o 4 
 
200 
 
 THE THREE FO RETELLINGS. 
 
 berg ; and thanks to the sacred parchment, I have not met with 
 ghost or goblin on my way. And well it was, for though I 
 am not a man to shrink from sword or lance, yet at every step 
 I dreaded to see the withered skeletons of some of those bold 
 men-at-arms killed by my hand, this day twelve months at the 
 pass of Furth — Heigh ! halloo, there, varlet I" cried he to a 
 groom who passed near in the direction of the stables ; (< here, 
 take my horse to his stall, and tend him well. He is used to 
 good fare of late, for he comes from Bamberg palace, where 
 he had litter to his belly, and where the seneschal never stints 
 man nor beast, like some whom I know, who make a fuss 
 about a bundle of straw, a measure of oats, or a flask of Rhein 
 wine/' 
 
 While he spoke, Ulric alighted from his horse, threw the 
 bridle to the groom, shook the rain from his cloak and morion, 
 stuffed his battle-axe and dagger into their respective sheaths 
 by the saddle sides, stretched his arms and legs, which all felt 
 cramped after his long ride and soaking seat ; then, grasping 
 his sword in one hand and his lance in the other, he plunged 
 into a low dark corridor, and soon reached the wide and soli- 
 tary hall of the castle. The walls of this apartment were 
 covered with armour and implements of war, some of which 
 hung in dark and gloomy patches, while others reflected, in 
 their polished plates and blades, the rays of a lamp suspended 
 from the ceiling. 
 
 Ulric placed his sword and lance in their accustomed places. 
 He next pulled off his huge boots, which at the outside looked 
 as if solely formed of flexible iron straps, but they were lined 
 with a thick coat of leather. He then stripped off his shirt 
 of mail, which was one of those brigan dines covered with little 
 steel rings, the ends of the sleeves formed to receive the hands in 
 a species of fingerless gloves, which were split in the palm to 
 admit the wearer's weapons and bridle being grasped readily. 
 At the height of the shoulder the iron covered tunic was 
 joined to a hood of the same sort of tissue, and which could 
 be drawn over the head in the hour of battle. Three openings 
 in front admitted of free sight and breathing : and this kind 
 of sack, rounded by a buif leather lining, sometimes served the 
 place of a casque. 
 
 Freed from his cumbrous accoutrements, Ulric remained in 
 the doe-skin pourpoint and haut-de-Chausees, which, fitting him 
 
THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 201 
 
 closely, showed his slight and sinewy figure from head to foot. 
 He immediately began to ascend the spiral stairs of the round 
 tower, inhabited by himself and his wife. As he stole up, his 
 unbooted feet making no sound on the stone steps, he chuckled 
 with joy, anticipating the sweet surprise he was about to cause 
 his longing wife. He reached the door, opened it so gently 
 that it made not the slightest noise, and beheld — O fury, tor- 
 ments, and demons ! — his beloved Eleanor clasped in the arms 
 of his perfidious chieftain, Baron Gortz. He fiercely, but 
 without a word, threw his hand against his side, but no dagger 
 was there to meet its grasp. He fixed his eyes on the guilty 
 pair. They saw him not — theirs were blinded in criminal 
 delight. His revenge must be for a few moments deferred. 
 In a frightful access of despair he turned away, and meant to 
 enter the armoury in search of his arms. His confusion 
 turned his head — no wonder that his steps turned wrong. 
 He missed the entrance to the right passage ; stepped into a 
 wrong opening, which in the deep gloom he did not perceive 
 to be the platform of the tower ; made another false and 
 forward step — instantly the deep water of the castle ditch 
 sent upwards the echo of a heavy splash — Ulric had tumbled in. 
 
 Within a quarter of an hour the chapel bell was heard 
 sounding the call to vespers. Soldiers, varlets, the household 
 maidens, and the ladies of honour of the baroness, all entered 
 the chapel and began their devotions. Dame Eleanor, her 
 cheeks slightly tinted with an unusual blush, took her place 
 close to the cushion-covered stool where knelt her pious, vir- 
 tuous, and ill-treated mistress, Gertrude of Erbach, the ne- 
 glected wife of Baron Gortz. 
 
 After the almoner had recited the evening prayers, and the 
 congregation had performed the due responses, and the psalms 
 were chanted, and the blessing pronounced, soldiers, varlets, 
 household maidens, and all retired; some to their military 
 duties, the others to their beds. Old Wisambert, the seneschal, 
 going out of the chapel one of the latest, gravely addressed his 
 nephew's wife, who was exchanging in a whisper some furtive 
 observations with Baron Gortz. " Dame Eleanor," said he, 
 "you should admonish your husband not to absent himself 
 thus from the household prayers, particularly on such a holy 
 day as this." 
 
 " Master Wisambert," replied she, gaily, « I little doubt 
 
202 
 
 THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 that Ulric has performed his duties to-day — it is not in the 
 palace of a bishop that devotion is neglected." 
 
 " I do not understand your jest/' said the seneschal ; " you 
 may have reasons for keeping your husband's return a secret, 
 but not from me, for I was the first who saw him cross the 
 drawbridge scarce an hour gone." 
 
 Eleanor turned pale, and Baron Gortz showed some slight 
 embarrassment; Wisambert, convinced by the anxious tone and 
 look of his niece, as she uttered some exclamations of surprise, 
 felt a thrill of anxiety. " What then has become of him ? " 
 exclaimed he. "He could not have quitted the castle again 
 unobserved. The bridge is up — the portcullis down — Heaven 
 grant that no evil is hidden in this mystery ! Ah, this was 
 no day to undertake a journey !" And while the weeping 
 Eleanor followed her mistress to perform her duties as one of 
 the ladies of honour, the seneschal, attended by several varlets, 
 hurried from place to place throughout the castle, loudly 
 calling forth his nephew's name. 
 
 The dawn began to break, but no traces of him were dis- 
 covered. 
 
 The disappearance of the squire was soon the common 
 topic of discourse within the wide precincts of the castle. It 
 spread from the halls to the courts, and thence quickly reached 
 the guard-room close to the outermost porch. 
 
 " Paul/' said the centinel to the man whose turn it was to 
 relieve him, and who yawned and stretched after his six hours 
 of sleep, Ci Paul, this is a curious affair about the Squire 
 Ulric/' 
 
 6C The Squire Ulric ? " echoed the other, drowsily. 
 
 " Ay, — you know he passed into the castle yesterday even- 
 ing, near vesper time, and since then nobody has seen or heard 
 of him." 
 
 " Thunder of Heaven ! that explains the noise I heard in 
 the fosse, while I walked my hours near the western tower. 
 The Squire Ulric is drowned, comrade/' 
 
 " Drowned ! " 
 
 " Ay, as sure as there are twenty feet of water in the fosse. 
 The night was as cold and as dark as — as hell/' (continued 
 the soldier, puzzled for a simile,) "when, wrapped in my 
 cloak and half dozing on my post, I heard a sudden scream 
 from a man's voice, and then a splash into the water. 1 saw 
 
THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 203 
 
 nothing ; — I cried, Who goes there ? — got no answer. After 
 that it was no business of mine you know, comrade ; hut there 
 is little doubt it was the squire, who threw himself from the 
 tower and was drowned." 
 
 " But what could, have driven him to such a deed ? " 
 
 The soldier resumed in a low whisper, — (< Why, as for 
 that, there may be another version of the adventure. You 
 know the Baron loves Madame Eleanor, — every one knew it 
 but Ulric; and who can tell but to get rid of him — dark 
 night — a high tower — a deep ditch! Tell me, comrade, did 
 you never hear that our Baron poisoned his father to inherit 
 the sooner " 
 
 " Hist ! silence, Paul ! Such a whisper as that might lead 
 a man to the gallows. God have mercy on us ! These are 
 awful times, and we live in a wicked world ! If this be true, 
 it is a bad turn for the Baron. Yesterday was All-Saints' 
 day, and no man murdered on that day can rest in his grave 
 till he be avenged/' 
 
 The two soldiers trembled with superstitious dread ; and in 
 a moment more an impatient, but as they thought an unearthly 
 cry for admission was heard from outside the fortress — it was 
 the voice of Ulric ! 
 
 The soldiers lowered the draw-bridge, with a mixture of 
 hope and fear ; but at the sight of him who claimed entrance 
 the latter feeling alone had place in their minds, a thousand- 
 fold greater than before. 
 
 It was indeed the face and form of the Squire Ulric on 
 which they gazed ; but as they gazed and trembled, they in- 
 stinctively made the sign of the cross. Ulric looked more like 
 a corpse than a living man. His cheeks were pale and lank ; 
 his eyes sunken and fixed. He said nothing, but his lips 
 moved as though he muttered some words to himself ; and 
 when he seized Paul by the hand and gave it a convulsive 
 squeeze, his felt cold, clammy, and stiff. 
 
 " Tell me, comrade/' murmured Paul, as the figure passed 
 on, " hast thou ever seen a ghost ? " 
 
 " Never — before ! " replied the other ; and both slunk into 
 the guard-house, shivering with terror. 
 
 The figure continued to stalk forwards, silently, and making 
 no pause, nor giving sign of recognition to aught that met or 
 crossed its path, till Baron Gortz himself came suddenly upon 
 
204 
 
 THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 it, as it prepared to enter the portal which led to the banquet- 
 ting room. Then its pale face grew still more livid ; and a 
 shudder of suppressed rage seemed to pass over its whole frame. 
 The baron shook in every joint, like all the previous behold- 
 ers ; but recovering himself, he assumed a haughty air of dis- 
 pleasure, and said aloud, — " Ulric ! whence and how come 
 you here in this strange plight, unarmed, and drenched with 
 rain ? You arrived last night — your uncle told me so. Why 
 have you not communicated to me the result of your mission 
 to the Bishop of Bamberg ? Why and how did you quit the 
 castle again, and unperceived ? " 
 
 " I saw soon after I entered it that I had lost something 
 most valuable — the receipt given by his reverence for the 
 ransom, which I duly paid. I scaled the postern to seek it, 
 — here it is : that mission is completed." 
 
 Such were the words spoken, but the slow, deep tones re- 
 sembled little the Squire Ulric's living voice ; and the action 
 which suited to the words, was more like the mechanical 
 movement of an automaton than the outstretching of a human 
 arm. 
 
 "And how seems this besotted bishop disposed in the 
 affair ? " 
 
 " He refuses," replied the figure, « to release you from the 
 ban. But what need you care for his excommunication ? 
 Were I in your place, noble baron, I would seek revenge 
 instead of settlement. I would have back my ten thousand 
 silver marks. His palace is badly guarded. He goes this day 
 to meet the emperor. He takes half the garrison for escort. 
 Two hundred well armed men, led on by your impetuous 
 valour, would take the rich stronghold in an hour." 
 
 "What say you, Ulric? Repeat me this," exclaimed 
 Baron Gortz ; and taking the figure by the arm, they walked 
 whispering off together towards a private place, the shuddering 
 observers murmuring to each other, "The brave baron is 
 lost : he is in the power of the fiend ! " 
 
 In another half hour the whole castle of Langenfeld was in 
 the greatest possible bustle. Four hundred warriors were 
 making their rapid preparations for departure ; and the baron 
 was seen urging on the different groups in every direction. 
 
 Standing on the lower step of the round tower stairs, the 
 figure that so resembled, yet so mocked, the likeness of Ulric 
 
THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 205 
 
 von Linz, looked on the busy scene with a faint and fiendlike 
 smile, that made the beholders sick at heart. While so ab- 
 sorbed, a soothing voice whispered in the ear of the statue-like 
 figure, — " Ulric, my best loved Ulric ! can it be that, after 
 the torture of suspense you have caused me for the livelong 
 night, you now go away again without one word, one look ex- 
 changed with your Eleanor ? Cruel husband, you love me 
 no longer ! " 
 
 The figure turned slowly round, and threw on her so terrific 
 a scowl that the shocked woman almost sunk in horror on the 
 ground. Consciousness of her fault and momentary repent- 
 ance kept her from fainting outright. Overcoming her repug- 
 nance and her fright, she murmured, " Oh, Ulric, how ghastly, 
 how deathlike you look ! Come, come with me above, up to 
 our tower, and let all this sad mystery turn to joy ! " 
 
 A hideous smile relaxed the rigid features on which she 
 gazed. 
 
 " Come ! " said the figure. 
 
 e( Why, how now? What is this ? " exclaimed Baron Gortz, 
 in affected bantering, and riding over towards the tower stairs. 
 " Ulric alone unarmed, and all the rest on horseback and in 
 movement ! A plague on all newly married men ! They 
 think more of dalliance and love than of donning a coat of 
 mail. This way, Ulric, come ! " 
 
 " A moment, chieftain. I shall catch you at the end of 
 the avenue," said the figure. The baron rode away, with an 
 envious look. In a few seconds Eleanor was on the upper 
 platform of the tower, held fast in the deathlike grasp of her 
 terrible companion. 
 
 " Here is our chamber, dearest/' said she, trembling and 
 afraid to look on him. 
 
 "Stop, here !" rejoined the figure. " Tell me now, while 
 looking down below on that deep ditch into which Ulric the 
 deceived fell yesternight, art thou not a faithful wife ? " 
 
 Eleanor fixed her glazed looks on the demoniacal smile 
 which curdled her blood. " Mercy, mercy ! " cried she. "Have 
 pity on my soul ! " 
 
 " May thy soul, then, be saved — but may his be damned 
 for ever I" 
 
 With these words, accompanied by a piercing scream from 
 the agonised woman, the frightful scene was finished. A 
 
206 
 
 THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 struggle on the platform's verge — a fluttering motion as she 
 was cast below — a heavy splash — and all was over. 
 
 That very evening, at sunset, as the provost of the episcopal 
 palace of Bamberg was busily occupied in paying the amount 
 of their daily hire to the numerous workmen who were at that 
 period employed in the repairs of the cathedral church hard 
 by, he observed, from the little lodge in which he was stationed 
 at one end of the bridge which communicated with the main 
 street of the town, the figure of a man armed at all points, his 
 visor down, galloping full speed towards the palace. As soon 
 as this person perceived that he attracted the attention of those 
 beyond the bridge, he threw a piece of crumpled parchment 
 on the road, and turning round suddenly was out of sight 
 before any of the observers could even form a plan for stopping 
 him. 
 
 The parchment was soon picked up by the provost's order, 
 and found to contain the following words: 
 
 (c Baron Gortz comes to-night, with 400 warriors, to annul 
 the Bishop of Bamberg's excommunication, to receive back his 
 10,000 silver marks, pillage the palace, and burn it to the 
 ground." 
 
 " Up with the draw-bridge ! Down with the portcullis ! 
 W orkmen all, stand fast ! Let no man stir but to mount the 
 ramparts and round towers ! Carry up stones in hundreds to 
 hurl down on the foe! Holloa! captain of the archers, muster 
 your platoons, look well to your bows and quivers ! Men at 
 arms, belt on your jackets of proof, accoutre your horses and 
 stand firm and ready ! Canons of our holy cathedral, while 
 we fight for the blessed house of God, pray in the church, and 
 send up hymns to heaven ! " 
 
 Such were among the manifold orders given throughout the 
 precincts of the episcopal palace of Bamberg, as soon as the 
 mysterious warning was promulgated within. Prompt obe- 
 dience was given to each command. Every one shuddered 
 at the threatened approach of the terrible Baron Gortz : all felt 
 it to be a case of life and death. 
 
 And wild and various were the reports that spread abroad, 
 as to the identity of him who gave the important warning. 
 Many swore solemnly that he melted into air as soon as he 
 threw the scroll upon the ground. Others testified as to the 
 ethereal flames that issued from his horse's feet and nostrils, 
 
THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 207 
 
 and played like a halo round his head. Some talked of fiery 
 wings on which he mounted towards heaven. The least 
 credulous believed that it was the archangel Michael, sent 
 especially by the Virgin to preserve from ruin the cathedral 
 dedicated to her glory. 
 
 At daybreak the next morning, Baron Gortz and three 
 hundred and seventy-six of his followers lay dead in the fosses 
 and at the foot of the ramparts of the bishop's palace. Te 
 Deum was sung gratis for the victory, and de profundis for 
 the souls of those whose friends chose to pay for it, 
 
 A scanty band of those who escaped the slaughter returned 
 sorrowfully to Langenfeld. There were not many words 
 spoken on the retreat. But two of the men who rode close 
 together, both severely wounded, held the following short 
 colloquy as they came in sight of the western round tower. 
 
 " Well, Paul, what do you think of this bloody business ? " 
 
 <c Why I think, comrade, that the ghost of Ulric Von Linz 
 may not rest quietly in the grave." 
 
 The news of this remarkable transaction was quickly bruited 
 throughout Germany. In every circle, in the remotest villages 
 and the most completely insulated castles, as well as in the 
 populous towns, it was soon well known that the famous Gortz 
 of Langenfeld was traitorously entrapped to his ruin by the 
 ghost of his drowned squire ; and many a sermon on morality 
 was preached to the lascivious nobles — these events serving 
 as the text — by monks and friars, who discanted loudly on 
 the sin (and privately whispered on the imprudence) of car- 
 rying on an adulterous intercourse — with unbolted doors. 
 
 But if the story soon became the common talk of the country, 
 excited horror and superstition in the minds of mere general 
 listeners, what were its effects on those of Ulric's two surviving 
 friends, Ludwig of Steinbach and Count Karl Von Kreuken- 
 thal ? 
 
 The ruin or the death of a dear companion is a sad event 
 to the sympathetic bosom of human friendship, when it leads 
 to, or carries a warning of one's own. There is therefore 
 small doubt that Count Karl and Baron Ludwig suffered in- 
 tensely when they learned the sad story of their old com- 
 panion's fate. And great were the encomiums passed on 
 their goodness of heart and keen sensibility, by those who 
 observed their emotion when they first heard the story told, 
 
208 
 
 THE THREE FORETELL1NGS. 
 
 and the shuddering agitation with which they received, every 
 subsequent mention of it. 
 
 And its effect on the morals as well as the feelings of the 
 two friends was not a little remarkable. Steinbach suddenly 
 renounced a most sinful share in a conspiracy (for a pur- 
 pose which he previously thought very patriotic) against the 
 emperor, — the latter having promulgated a decree declaring 
 that all rebels or plotters, no matter what their rank, should 
 for the future die the felon's death of hanging, the moment of 
 their discovery. Count Karl, at the same time gave up the 
 pursuit of two or three low amours, which, in spite of his 
 plighted troth, he had warmly entered on ; and it was remarked, 
 that such was his excess of chastity, that he never touched a 
 woman's hand, save that of his wife ; and often did she ob- 
 serve the increased horror with which at times he shrunk from 
 even the soft pressure of hers. 
 
 But the years continued to roll on ; and by degrees Count 
 Karl and his friend reverted to the fate of poor Ulric, as one 
 of those extraordinary coincidences which so frequently startle 
 us in our passage through life. They took every possible pains 
 to fortify each other's disbelief as to the supernatural power of 
 the old Dutch-woman, and they endeavoured still to laugh to 
 scorn her foretellings — at least those which regarded them- 
 selves. What chance indeed, what possibility almost, of their 
 ever being fulfilled ? 
 
 Count Karl was now the father of children ; and so cautious 
 was he grown, so unapproachable in fact by any thing wearing 
 the semblance of the female form (always excepting the gentle 
 Anna), that he had acquired universally the title of woman- 
 hater, from the odium of which he was not freed, even in con- 
 sideration of the close attachment which seemed to bind him 
 wholly to his wife. 
 
 Baron Ludwig was married and settled quietly in his castle, 
 carefully eschewing conspiracies and all other things which 
 might be likely to end in hanging ; and so strict in avoiding 
 all contact with a rope, that he saw a wing of that very castle 
 burned down one night, sooner than lend a hand to the ex- 
 hausted servants who worked at the well, or pull up another 
 bucket of water, which every one declared would have stopped 
 the conflagration. 
 
 Nevertheless — but we will regularly proceed to lead the 
 
THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 209 
 
 reader to the second part of the drama, arising from the old 
 Dutchwoman's foretellings. 
 
 The legend does not record whether the invitation was 
 given by the count or the baron ; but sure it is, that one fine 
 morning in September they went out together into the woods 
 of Great Felsberg, attended by a goodly train of men and dogs, 
 to hunt the wild boar, an animal which then abounded in the 
 forests, in numbers enough to fill with envy of the good old 
 times the modern sportsman, who is doomed to many a day of 
 fruitless toil, in vain endeavours to rouse up even one of those 
 monsters from its lair. 
 
 The cause of the particular day on which this hunting party 
 took place being so fixed, was the unusual circumstance of the 
 Countess Anna having decided on it on which to pay a visit, 
 which was intended to end with the morrow, to her noble 
 aunt, Baroness Eldegonda Von Lichtenau, who had just 
 arrived at a neighbouring castle for a sojourn of some weeks, 
 to superintend the vintage, from which she derived a large 
 revenue, but which, from circumstances foreign to our story, 
 called imperiously for the mistress's eye at this juncture. 
 
 « And so, Anna, thou hast fixed on this morning positively 
 for thy visit ? " 
 
 " Yes, my husband, if it so pleases thee; but if not, I can 
 postpone it, or put it off entirely ' 
 
 " No, no, Anna, thou must go — I will not thwart thee in 
 thy duty to this relative of thine — I will not have it said 
 that Karl, the woman-hater," (and at these words the count 
 attempted to laugh,) "carried his jealousy as far as his repug- 
 nance, and kept even his wife from visiting her aunt." 
 
 " My dear husband, thy will is my law. I go, as thou 
 biddest it — but I grieve to mark that thou art pained even 
 when thou seemest to smile. Speak frankly, mine own Karl 
 — what is it that thus moves thee ?" 
 
 "Nought but a foolish weakness, my Anna — wilt thou 
 bear with it ? It is, in truth, but my reluctance to part with 
 thee for a night — an unworthy misgiving seems to steal over 
 me at being left alone — but go, go, my wife — thy duty, 
 and perhaps our interest, requires this mark of attention to thy 
 aunt." 
 
 « Ah, Karl ! how delightful is it to see, in this objection to 
 my absenting myself even for a day, such sweet proof of thy 
 p 
 
210 
 
 THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 unaltered love ! Come, come ! cheer up, my husband -r- thou 
 shalt be rewarded for this— I will prove myself not less loving 
 than thou art." 
 
 With these words Countess Anna placed her arm affec- 
 tionately on her husband's shoulder, and taking one of his 
 hands in hers, she continued—" Yes, Karl, this is true happi- 
 ness — to find myself so dear to thee still — to know that for my 
 sake thou hast given up (and it is not for me to blame the 
 excess) even the acquaintanceship, not to say the friendship, 
 of every other living woman ! And is it indeed for love of 
 me thou hast done this ? Are all the early habits and frolics 
 of thy youth — and they have told me, Karl, thou wert way- 
 ward and truant in those days — are all forgotten ?" 
 " Forgotten ! " echoed the count, with a shudder. 
 "And dost thou indeed and for ever renounce all that used 
 to be so dear to thee, Karl, — pleasure, society, the world? 
 And all for the sake of her who has little to requite the sacri- 
 fice, but the truth of a fond heart and the pressure of a friendly 
 hand!" 1 
 " Anna, Anna, this is torture in its worst shape ! Press 
 not my hand in thine — good wife, release me —my blood 
 tingles and runs chill ! Oh i fate, fate, what wouldst thou of 
 me ? Let the curse at once fall down and end these pangs ! " 
 
 Count Karl, violently snatching away his hand as he gave 
 utterance to this outburst of suffering, sank on a seat. His 
 gentle countess placed herself beside him, terrified at his strange 
 emotion. " Why, Karl, my beloved, how or what is this ? 
 This is the worst of those strange symptoms which from time 
 to time I have observed in thee, when in the very moments of 
 love's dalliance thou hast shrunk and started from my side, as 
 though thou hadst felt a basilisk's touch, not mine. But never 
 did look so fearful distort thy countenance — never words so 
 wild break from thy trembling lips, since the day that brought 
 
 the sad news of poor Ulric Von Linz being drowned " 
 
 " Drowned, hanged, stabbed in the dark, or choked by some 
 fair yet treacherous fingers! Ay, those were the promised 
 endings of our days of life ! Stabbed ! strangled ! Ha, ha, 
 ha! 'tis wondrous droll — is it not, my Anna? I feel the soft 
 yet deadly grasp on my throat this moment, and my heart 
 throbs as though it vibrated to the feeble, yet sufficient stroke ! 
 Ha, ha, ha ! Bear with me, Anna — thou hast roused strange 
 
THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 211 
 
 visions in my mind — but the fit is passing away — forgive — . 
 forget this phrensy — kiss me, dearest ! No — not thy hand 
 again ! just kiss my parched lips, and my cold brow, sweet 
 one ! There, that is enough ! " 
 
 " Karl, Karl, my beloved ! I will not, cannot quit thy side 
 to-day — thou must not pass this night alone !" 
 
 (( Yes, Anna, yes ! I must not add disgrace to agony. I 
 am ashamed of this — 1 must not suffer self-contempt for this 
 childish weakness to turn into dislike of her who witnessed it — 
 of thee, my gentle wife." 
 
 " Dear Karl, I will run the risk/' 
 
 (i Thou shalt not, love, nor will I. Man's mind is a strange 
 mystery, Anna. Even when he knows himself unjust, and 
 hates himself the while, he cannot stem the tide that turns that 
 hate on others. Thou must now set out for Lichtenau, good 
 wife. I hear thy palfry neighing in the court-yard. And 
 see ! the sun slopes over Felsberg crags — 'tis late, my love — 
 thy aunt expects thee. To horse, to horse, my Anna! I shall 
 be with thee a part of the way — as far as the cross-roads of 
 the four brothers, where I am to meet Von Steinbach and 
 take to our forest sports." 
 
 In a very short time the Count and Countess were mounted 
 and away. They had neither of them much appetite for the 
 repast prepared in the refectory ; and few words were spoken 
 by either as they passed through the court-yard, across the 
 moat, and into the plantations and garden-ground that skirted 
 the castle. As soon as they gained the road leading to the 
 main route of Lichtenau, Countess Anna resolved to make an 
 attempt to rouse her husband from the uneasy mood of thought 
 into which he was sunk. " Dear Karl," said she, leaning 
 towards him across her palfry's neck, " I would thai we might 
 traverse alone the half-league of the road to cross-way 
 where we are to part. Let my women and page, with the 
 varlets, and all this noisy train of dogs and huntsmen, take 
 the shorter and closer path through the forest skirt, while we 
 quietly ride on together. Wilt thou, love ? " 
 
 " Will I ? Canst thou imagine a refusal to a proposal, 
 Anna, that will give me a half-hour more of thy sweet com- 
 pany unbroken in upon ? " And the Count instantly gave 
 orders in conformity with the wish of his wife. 
 
 They were soon alone, walking their steeds at a slow pace 
 p 2 
 
212 
 
 THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 towards the appointed spot for parting. The Countess scarcely 
 knew how to accomplish her purpose of withdrawing her hus- 
 band's reflections from that inward gulf in which they seemed 
 plunged. It struck her that probably the best way would be 
 to make them revert to some subject foreign to any personal 
 cause of trouble ; and she playfully asked him if he would tell 
 her a story. 
 
 <c A story, Anna?" exclaimed he starting, and with a look 
 of surprise ; " why, what child's thought has taken possession 
 of thy brain ? " 
 
 " None, but the desire to see thee look less absorbed in man- 
 hood's cares, my husband. So do repeat me somewhat of thy 
 early adventures — or tell me some tales of local tradition 
 which abound so in this part of the county. I have heard 
 many a one since I came to live at Great Felsberg, but every 
 spot around has its romantic legend of old times and scenes 
 gone by. Come, Karl, stir up thy memory, and tell me some 
 brief tale to turn me from sadness." 
 
 " Well, since thou wilt — and by my troth I believe thou 
 art wise, my wife — I'll tell thee the legend that lends its 
 
 name to the cross-roads where we shall part anon " 
 
 "The cross-roads of the four brothers? I never knew 
 there was a legend about it." 
 
 " There is though, my love — - and it is called The Be- 
 witched Fiddlestick. Will you hear it, Anna?" 
 
 " Ay, ay, Karl ! The title sounds invitingly droll, and 
 there is nought serious in it — just what I would list to in 
 this morning's mood." 
 
 "Listen, then !" said the count, as reigning in still closer 
 his steed, so as to check even his previous drowsy pace, he 
 proceeded to recount the legend. " Konrad Gerloch was the 
 best minstrel in the town of Kreukenthal. In no village, for 
 ten miles round, would the young folks have danced in good 
 heart, if any other than Konrad played the bass-viol at the 
 wedding and christening parties. He was of course a personage 
 of consequence — and he knew it. He sat at the upper table 
 with the parents of the newly married or newly born. The 
 best bits and a goblet of the oldest wine were reserved for him. 
 Whenever he spoke, all ears listened, for none knew better the 
 knack of telling a story, sung a better song, or cracked a 
 readier joke. 
 
THE THREE F0RETELL1NGS. 
 
 213 
 
 " It was one evening in winter that there was a wedding 
 at Freisbach. They danced late ; and it was pitch-dark, and 
 the night far advanced, when old Konrad strapped his bass- 
 viol on his back, and announced his intention of setting out for 
 home. ' Stay, where you are, good Konrad,' said the whole 
 party with one voice ; ' the wind is to the north — it hails fast 
 — the forest is not safe at an hour like this. Wolves and 
 bandits abound — to say nothing of the witches who hold their 
 sabbath in it.' 
 
 e< e Tut, tut ! ' said the obstinate and foolhardy old man ; 
 1 I have a flask or two of good Rhine wine under my belt, 
 a furred cloak for my shoulders, and this iron-ended stick in 
 my hand. Thus I defy cold, wolves, and robbers ! As for 
 witches or goblins, if I meet any, I'll make them dance to the 
 sound of my viol — and they'll confess, I'll warrant it, that 
 hell holds no minstrel like old Konrad Gerloch,' 
 
 " With these words, which made the young folk laugh and 
 the old ones look grave, he gave a double roll to his fox-skin 
 cloak, and set out to walk, with a firm and steady pace, the 
 path through the forest from Friesbach to KreukenthaL 
 
 u He was not a quarter of an hour on his way when the 
 sky became more and more overcast, and at length every object 
 was shrouded in gloom. Konrad began to regret his obstinacy, 
 and longed for the good bed he had left behind him. But he 
 never dreamt of returning. After all his bragging, he had 
 not courage enough to brave the ridicule and the reproaches 
 which he knew would have greeted him had he gone back. 
 He therefore sturdily walked on ; but the very first glimmering 
 of star-light which broke through the clouds, showed him that 
 he had lost his way. 
 
 " What was now to be done ? To proceed would only 
 entangle him the deeper. To wrap himself in his cloak and 
 lie down at the foot of a tree was a comfortless and hazardous 
 alternative ; for if he did not perish from cold, he would be 
 most undoubtedly devoured by wolves. While he turned over 
 in his mind these various views of his case, leaning with both 
 hands on the top of his stick, he could not help muttering a 
 smothered imprecation — and he bounded with joy at perceiving 
 a sudden light dart through the foliage. ' It burns in the 
 hut of some woodman !' exclaimed he ; c St. Babo be praised !' 
 
 " He stepped forwards, but instantly the light disappeared, 
 p 3 
 
THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 He struck the earth with his stick, and uttered a fierce oath. 
 No sooner had the blasphemy passed his lips, than the light 
 was again visible ! 
 
 " It was not without great difficulty, and after threading 
 many a tortuous path, that Konrad reached the spot where the 
 light still burned. A sort of unholy instinct kept him from 
 using any word of pious tendency — and on he went, his way 
 illumined by the strange and growing brilliancy. Nothing 
 could exceed his surprise when he at length arrived opposite a 
 vast and splendid-looking castle, which he had never before 
 seen nor heard of in those parts. Music swelled suddenly on 
 the air, and groups of dancers passed to and fro within the 
 windows, their dark shadows rapidly traced on the curtains, 
 transparent in a deep red flame. 
 
 " Konrad walked round and round the building, but could 
 find no door, porch, or gate of entrance. At length an old 
 man appeared by his side without his having perceived his 
 approach. He handed a bugle-horn to the minstrel, who 
 instantly put it to his mouth, and blew a blast that made the 
 forest ring. A drawbridge was instantly let down, and Konrad, 
 somewhat bewildered, but too happy at the prospect of shelter 
 and hospitality to ask any questions, followed the old man, and 
 was soon in a magnificent saloon in the very heart of the castle. 
 
 " All that he witnessed filled him with amaze. A crowd 
 of people was before him ; some employed in the luxurious 
 indulgences of the table, on a repast of a magnificence so 
 wondrous that it at once made Konrad hungry, yet took away 
 his appetite. Numerous parties were occupied in play, at 
 games and with appurtenances which his homely experience 
 had never heard of. But the greatest number were whirl- 
 ing in a maze of dances of the most wild and fantastic 
 variety. 
 
 (c Old Konrad marched boldly up to a tall and portly man, 
 whose manner of authority and politeness united, marked him 
 for the host of all this fine company. c My lord chieftain,' 
 said he, c I am a poor minstrel, who have lost my way and 
 found myself here, without knowing how or why. Pray allow 
 me to pass the night in some corner of your castle, and I 
 promise you to take myself off at daybreak without saying a 
 word of what has passed.' 
 
 " Konrad felt that he had gone too far in betraying his mis- 
 
THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 215 
 
 givings that all was not as it should be. But a benevolent 
 smile from the tall gentleman reassured him. At his beckon 
 a page came forward, unstrapped the bass-viol from the min- 
 strel's back, and hung it up on one of the gilded nails which 
 glittered in different parts of the chamber among the rich 
 hangings. While the page did this, he gave a grin of an ex- 
 pression so diabolical that old Konrad shuddered with fear — 
 and still more when he saw that the place where the page had 
 held his instrument was blackened and burned as though his 
 hand had been on fire ! 
 
 "Old Konrad became confused and fearful. He walked 
 about the room, but no one took notice of him. He vainly 
 strove to discover an acquaintance — for he was known to all 
 the nobles of the country— but whenever he fixed his looks 
 on a face, a light vapour immediately spread over it, so as 
 totally to conceal the features. While he strove to convince 
 himself that all these strange things were real, he perceived 
 all at once a bass-viol of most beautiful form, and elegantly 
 ornamented, standing close at the foot of the orchestra where 
 the musicians were seated. Seized with a fit of envious 
 vanity, and resolved to give a proof of his skill to the goodly 
 company and the band of his brother minstrels, he laid hold 
 of the instrument, and at the same time took up the bow which 
 lay beside it. The moment his fingers touched the bow they 
 thrilled with a nervous sense of pain — Konrad attempted to 
 throw away the bow, but in vain — it stuck to his hand as 
 though it formed a part of him. Shocked and astonished, he 
 looked round for aid, or some solution of these many mysteries 
 — and then to his utter horror he observed, grinning at him 
 from the orchestra, the cadaverous countenance of old Martin 
 Metzler, his first master of music, who had been dead and 
 buried for upwards of thirty years. 
 
 " ' Holy Virgin, take pity on me!' exclaimed Konrad. 
 And at the words, musicians, dancers, gamblers, feasters — all, 
 together with the castle itself, vanished from before his eyes. 
 
 " The next morning, some of the wedding guests who, more 
 prudent than the old minstrel, had put off till daylight their 
 return to Kreukenthal, found the poor traveller lying senseless 
 at the foot of a gibbet by the roadside, a very beautifully 
 wrought fiddlestick in his hand. 
 
 p 4 
 
216 
 
 THE THREE PORETELLINGS. 
 
 44 ' Holloa ! ' cried one, e what have we here ? By the mass ! 
 old Konrad has chosen a hard couch ! ' 
 
 " ' And a strange pin for his viol and bow, ' said another. 
 « There they hang on the foot of the murderer's skeleton !' 
 
 "'And, devils and goblins!' exclaimed a third, c was he 
 afraid that the blanched bones would be cold in the night ? 
 Here is his cloak spread over the fleshless shoulders !' 
 
 e< e What a calculating old fellow he is ! ' observed one of 
 the party, who strove to rouse up the old musician ■ 6 see, he 
 brought two bows with him, that he might not be at a loss if 
 he broke or lost one of them.' 
 
 " Brought fairly to himself by the persevering efforts of the 
 good peasants, Konrad soon recovered his presence of mind 
 and his usual cunning air of importance. He attributed to 
 the cold the cause of his state of insensibility ; — but he took 
 good care not to say a word of the infernal vision which he 
 had seen and acted in during the night. 
 
 u But safely lodged in his cottage, he carefully examined the 
 bow of which he had become so strangely possessed. A thrill 
 of terror was the result. The bow was nothing more nor less 
 than a dead man's bone highly polished ; and on it he observed, 
 curiously cut, the name of a neighbour, well known in the 
 town as a practitioner in many different ways of magic. Kon- 
 rad waited till night set in, and then he took his way to the 
 house of this man of evil fame. 
 
 " ( Good Father Hans/ said he, with reverential tone and 
 abject salutation, e here is a fiddlestick which I believe to be 
 yours, and which I found last night.' 
 
 " The wizard grew pale at these words. After a pause of 
 agitation, he murmured: — 6 Ah, Master Konrad, you saw 
 strange sights last night ! A word from you could do me 
 great mischief ! ' 
 
 " ' God forbid that I should say it, neighbour ! ' 
 94 4 You are right, Konrad ; for were I burned alive, some 
 ill might happen to you ! ' 
 
 " Konrad rose to retire, for he was becoming very uneasy 
 once more. The wizard, however, held him down again, and 
 putting his head close, whispered into his ear — 4 Who are 
 your enemies, Konrad ? I will this very night throw a curse 
 on their cattle, or a withering spell on them ! ' 
 
 " ' I have no enemies, neighbour, and 1 wish ill to no one.' 
 
THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 217 
 
 li c How, then, can I be useful to you ? ' 
 
 " ' Give him this purse ! It will puzzle him to spend all it 
 contains, for squander what he may, nine golden crowns will 
 always remain at the bottom.' 
 
 " These words were spoken by a tall man, who was not 
 most assuredly in the wizard's little closet when Konrad 
 entered it, How did he come in, for the door was carefully 
 closed ? His face had a sinister and wild expression, but his 
 smile reminded the minstrel of that which passed across the 
 countenance of the lord of the forest castle, as he had seen 
 him the night before. 
 
 " ' This is the work of the evil-one ! ' cried Konrad, — c I 
 will not risk my soul by accepting it/ 
 
 " ' If this purse is the work of the fiend, I am damned ! ? 
 exclaimed the stranger, with a forced and bitter laugh. 
 
 " Konrad, half re-assured, and tempted beyond resistance 
 by the tingling sound of the gold pieces as the stranger chinked 
 them in his hand, could not refuse. He took the purse from 
 the stranger, put it in his double pocket, and when he looked 
 round again, the tempter was gone. Konrad was almost sure 
 he smelt the faint odour of brimstone, but that might (as he 
 wished to think) have been fancy. 
 
 <e In a little while all things were changed with old Konrad. 
 He was soon the purchaser of a handsome house, and he lived 
 in the style of the wealthiest burgher of Kreukenthal. He 
 nevertheless, for appearance sake, kept up the practice of his 
 art. He attended and played at the balls and weddings as 
 before ; but he travelled on the back of a well-caparisoned and 
 drowsy-paced mule, while a varlet trudged beside him, carrying 
 the bass-viol in a case. 
 
 " This new order of things caused much conjecture in the 
 burg. The received opinion was, of course, that Konrad had 
 found a treasure, and that it was hid in his house. 
 
 " Now Konrad had four nephews, good-for-nothing fellows, 
 for whom he would do absolutely nothing. One day they said 
 among themselves, ' Our uncle is now rich, — we should not 
 be in want ' 
 
 " It was enough. Each procured an arbalette, and all took 
 their station at the cross roads, where Konrad was sure to 
 pass that very day. The minstrel's hour was come — the 
 term of his compact expired ; — four arrows pierced him at 
 once — he fell dead ; — his varlet, more lucky, escaped. 
 
218 THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 " The tour brothers, forgetting in their avidity this witness 
 of their crime, ran to strip the body and seize the key of the 
 house. But a tall man of terrible aspect was already in pos- 
 session of the murdered carcass, which he threw across his 
 shoulder ; then with a yell of laughter that echoed through the 
 wood, he exclaimed, • I bought it ! I bought it ! ' and in a 
 moment more he disappeared. 
 
 " While the murderers stood in the double terror of guilt 
 and superstition, they were surrounded by the provost and his 
 archers, whom the varlet had met in the wood. The bloody 
 hands — the varlet's evidence — the disappearance of Konrad, 
 were more than enough. The four murderers were hanged 
 each on the tree which concealed them from their luckless 
 uncle It was long before their story about the fiend who 
 carried away the body obtained belief. But the death-bed 
 confession of Hans, the wizard, confirmed it, and established 
 the whole of this legend. — And here we are, my own Anna, 
 at the cross roads of the four brothers ! " 
 
 "St. Elfrida protect and bless us ! " piously exclaimed the 
 countess, who, in spite of her assumed air of gaiety as her 
 husband told the story, had grown deadly pale by the time 
 she reached the fatal spot, where her imagination conjured up 
 the closing scene of the tragedy. 
 
 " Thou hast never before heard this old tale ? " asked the 
 count. 
 
 "Never so minutely told as now, — nor yet that the 
 minstrel sold himself to the fiend for gold. Olivy, the in- 
 tendant's wife, who once amused me with some mention of the 
 strange adventure, even said that it was the curse of an old 
 woman that caused poor Konrad's ruin." 
 
 " Indeed," said Count Karl, with much emotion and in a 
 tone of alarm. 
 
 "Heavens, my husband ! what causes this look and that 
 accent ? Hast thou seen aught that thy eyes should start forward 
 thus, and thy lip quiver ? Or does the mere name of woman 
 move thee so ? " 
 
 " Woman, my Anna, young or old is a dangerous animal — 
 thou, thou alone excepted ! Here we part, love, can'st lean 
 towards me and exchange one kiss? Good morning and a 
 good journey, dearest." 
 
 " Oh, Karl, Karl ! " said the countess, a flood of tears 
 
THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 219 
 
 bursting out and breaking the sentence into almost incoherent 
 words, u this kindness, this affection tortures me even more 
 than thy mysterious air of suffering. — What ailest thee, my 
 husband ? Thou art ill at heart, and wilt not deign to un- 
 bosom thyself here, — here in this true breast." 
 
 "No, no, sweet flower of Lichtenau!" replied the count, 
 with a softened, but forced air of gallantry and gaiety. " No, 
 J am well, very well ; but all men have a demon, Anna, and 
 I mine." 
 
 " A demon!" said the countess, gazing intently on her 
 husband. 
 
 u Ay, Anna, even so — a demon in the shape of some wild 
 passion, some strange fancy, some wayward notion — no 
 matter what its shape, but still a demon that haunts and 
 harasses us at times. But I too, Anna, possess an angel to 
 counteract the workings of the fiend — to lead back my vexed 
 thoughts again — to keep the balance even — nay, to bear 
 down in joy's fulness the scale in which the good is weighed 
 against the ills of life." 
 
 " 'Tis sweet to hear thee talk thus, Karl, yet I am not quite 
 satisfied. A spell hangs o'er this accursed spot ; the evil one 
 seems to haunt it still ! Good day, good sport, my husband ! 
 Bear thee well till thou feelest this fond hand once more ! " 
 
 So saying, the countess cantered off, followed by her at- 
 tendants, a smile lighting up her countenance and making even 
 her tears glisten, as though sorrow was brightened by some 
 up-rising beam of comfort. Count Karl had nearly relapsed 
 into his wayward mood at his wife's parting words, and the 
 ever- springing pang which the touch, the thought, or the 
 mention of a woman's hand created. But he gave spurs to 
 his steed, and exchanging one more kind look with his fair 
 partner, he galloped away into the wood; and at the ap- 
 pointed rendezvous, he found his friend, Ludwig of Steinbach, 
 with a train suiting his state and the object of the meeting. 
 
 It was just at this season that large flocks of wild pigeons, 
 migrating from the northern parts of Europe, came down to 
 the forest shelter of Germany and France, and were caught on 
 their passage by the peasants and sportsmen of those coun- 
 tries, by various devices which occupied for awhile men, 
 women, and children. One of the most obvious means of 
 ent apment was the use of large nets suspended from the 
 
220 
 
 THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 trees in the open ways of the woods where the passage of the 
 birds was most likely to take place. As Karl, Ludwig, and 
 their party now trotted on the paths, while the dogs and 
 prickers beat strongly the brush-wood at either side, they were 
 often obliged to stoop low, to pass freely under the nets that 
 dangled above the road, and they at times amused themselves 
 by observing the struggling prisoners, who flapped their en- 
 tangled wings in the treacherous meshes. 
 
 The two nobles were always glad of an opportunity of 
 meeting and being alone together. There seemed to be a sort 
 of mysterious sympathy leading them to this, particularly since 
 the sad catastrophe that tore poor Von Linz from their fellow- 
 ship ; yet it was strange, too, that they should so associate, for 
 they never met that a cloud of gloom did not hang over them, 
 colouring their looks, their feelings, and their discourse. 
 
 But it must be something more real than superstitious 
 weakness, something of actual, material ill, that could over- 
 power the exhilarating inspiration of the chase in two beings 
 in manhood's prime, bold, ardent, and enterprising. As the 
 horns sounded, and the dogs gave tongue, and the wild boars 
 snorted defiance, and bared their tusks for fight, the friends 
 forgot all misgivings, all memory of the past, all thought of 
 the future, and the day went merrily on, hour after hour wit- 
 nessing their animated enjoyment. 
 
 It was at last sunset. They had been led on to a con- 
 siderable distance from Great Felsberg ; and the growing 
 gloom of the forest warned them that it was time to seek the 
 castle, where Steinbach had promised to pass the night. An 
 end was therefore put to the sports. The tired, yet reluctant 
 dogs, were called off and coupled, and the prickers, huntsmen, 
 and grooms ordered by the count to accompany the slow move- 
 ments of the pack, while he and his friend, mounting the fresh 
 horses which had been till then led for the purpose, set off 
 together at full speed by the nearest homeward track. 
 
 Steinbach, whose horse was fiery and instinctively anxious 
 to reach the home-stall, had advanced somewhat a-head of 
 Count Karl, when they reached a rather narrow and pre- 
 cipitous pass. The latter reined in his steed, to descend the 
 broken road with greater safety. His friend, less cautious, or 
 hurried on by the impatience of the animal, galloped rapidly 
 down the craggy way. In a few minutes the count reached 
 
THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 221 
 
 the bottom of the rising ground, and entering again into the 
 level forest- track, was startled by the sound of a voice, which 
 he scarcely recognised for that of Steinbach, uttering hoarse 
 cries for help, while the trampling of a horse's hoofs seemed 
 to say that some struggle was going on. 
 
 Count Karl pressed forward, but what was his horror on 
 observing his friend's furious steed galloping back past hi n, 
 riderless — and, a few paces more in advance, that dear 
 loved friend himself, in whose destiny his own seemed wound 
 up, hanging in the centre of the road, his neck twisted and 
 entangled in one of the pigeon nets, his legs and arms wildly 
 thrown about in the fierce struggle with fate ; while above 
 him and at each side the fluttering birds flapped their wings 
 in the meshes, or were freed by his random clutchings ; and 
 the branches which formed the double gallows from which he 
 hung, bent, creaked, and shook their seared foliage aloft ? 
 
 The pang of agony that shot through Count Karl was more 
 than may be imagined, and almost more than man might bear. 
 It was not mere horror for the dreadful fate of another, and 
 that is terrible to a feeling heart, but it was also the certain 
 conviction of his own awful destiny brought home with an 
 electric pang, at sight of this frightful fulfilment of the second 
 portion of the prophecy. He was for a moment — and at 
 such a time a moment was worth an age — unnerved, un- 
 manned. He had no power of motion or of thought. The 
 gurgling sound of strangulation, the audible heavings of the 
 breast, and frantic struggles, all told that his friend was at 
 almost the latest gasp — yet Count Karl stirred not — but 
 gazed in horror and stupefaction, as though his share of the 
 curse had already come. 
 
 And well might he so believe ! — for in an instant more, 
 a woman, coarsely clad, with active bound and agitated looks, 
 and an unclasped knife in her hand, sprang into the road from 
 the covert of the wood. This seemed indeed the evident per- 
 sonification of his doom. Instinct rather than reason — the 
 love of life rather than the dread of danger — man's most 
 mighty impulse — now re-assumed its sway — and the bold 
 hunter of the forest, he who would have confronted peril in a 
 thousand other forms, fled in disgrace and terror, recreant to 
 his friend, his sex, and his very nature ! 
 
 It would be hard to tell the wild imaginings that possessed 
 
222 
 
 THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 him as he fled, the vagrant riot (as the legend expresses it) of 
 his debauched and inebriated brain. The frightful figure of 
 the struggling Steinbach, and the water-bloated carcass of Von 
 Linz, were for ever before his eyes ; and to these were added, 
 when he reached the cross-roads, the dangling skeletons of the 
 gibbeted murderers, with the fiend who carried off his prey 
 from the polluted spot. 
 
 This was a fearful combination of horrid fancies, goading 
 and lashing on the almost phrensied mind of Count Karl to- 
 wards the goal of utter despair. He reached his castle in the 
 gloom of night ; and scarcely speaking or looking at his as- 
 tonished domestics, he rushed to his own apartment and flung 
 himself into the nearest chair. All wondered at the non- 
 appearance of Baron Steinbach, of whom the huntsmen could 
 give no account. Strange notions filled the minds of the ser- 
 vants. Count Karl was a feudal lord, and ran no risk of in- 
 trusion from his vassal attendants. No one of the household 
 questioned or approached him. The repast prepared for his 
 refreshment lay untouched in the eating-hall. He was left 
 to the most hideous of solitudes, — that which is peopled by 
 the dark phantasms of incipient phrensy. 
 
 As long as his lamp was alight he was heard at times 
 pacing up and down his sleeping-chamber ; and again long 
 intervals occurred of silence, now and then faintly broken by 
 some murmured and incoherent words. Darkness was at 
 length established in the room. One by one the household 
 retired ; and Count Karl himself, worn out by the intensity 
 of suffering, sank on his bed and lay down with his desolate- 
 ness to toss about in waking agony, or sleep in that which is 
 still more terrible. 
 
 All the wild fancies of the last few hours were then multi- 
 plied in every form. Preposterous scenes of horror danced 
 confusedly before him. Every object that imagination could 
 create, in connexion with those whose actual being was so 
 cruelly stamped on his mind, were now around, above, beside 
 him, in that unfathomable mood of mingled fact and fiction 
 which had so wholly possessed him. 
 
 One leading object — one key-stone to the arch of agony 
 which spanned his mind — was ever before him. A woman's 
 hand, armed at all times, but in ever-shifting varieties, with 
 some frightful instrument of death, seemed to mix in the 
 
THE THREE PORETELLINGS. 
 
 223 
 
 crowd of fantastic images, hovering over his head, directed 
 against his breast, or grasping his full and choking throat. 
 
 At length — and Count Karl scarcely knew whether he 
 was awake or slept the while — he thought the actual creeping 
 touch of human fingers passed across his face. His whole 
 frame was cramped and his blood curdled. The bed-covering 
 rose and fell like the surface of troubled waters, from the 
 heavings of his breast as his heart throbbed and he panted in 
 excess of terror. 
 
 The fit passed over. Again he dozed — slept — dreamt ! 
 Again the distorted visions of fevered agony rushed across his 
 mind ; and again, while thus persecuted with unreal phan- 
 tasms, the actual touch of mortality came on him. He 
 doubted no more. He could not be deceived. It was a 
 hand — not hard and broad and bony, seizing him with manly 
 force — but light and fleshy, such as might grace the form of 
 some soft woman, that now fell gently on his breast, and 
 passing thence to his face, moved to and fro, as if searching 
 out some sensitive and vital spot, in which to plant the 
 poniard which imagination pictured as gleaming in its fellow's 
 grasp. 
 
 The sufferer could no more move from this dread con- 
 sciousness than can the victim of torture break away from the 
 bands and bolts that fasten him to the rack. He lay every 
 moment expecting the blow of death, in that state of forced 
 and fearful resignation which a criminal works himself up 
 to in the few moments that see the fatal axe suspended above 
 his neck. 
 
 But this was not long to be endured. Had the hand that 
 now stole across Count Karl's blanched cheek and pressed his 
 panting breast remained thus for another minute, he had pro- 
 bably quite sunk under the appalling torture. But a heavy 
 sigh, which burst involuntarily from him, seemed the signal 
 for its withdrawal. He was again free. The spell seemed 
 removed that had enthralled his feelings ; and the frame that 
 erewhile lay in the torpor of coming death now throbbed and 
 shook in all the desperate energy of recovered vigour. His 
 brain felt a flame — his parched tongue clove to his mouth — 
 his nerves twitched and quivered with fevered force. Again 
 the horrid visions danced their round in his imagination. 
 New forms and new combinations of terror mingled in mazes 
 
224 
 
 THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 more hideous and horrible than ever. He was wrought 'into 
 a complete aptitude for the final explosion of phrensy, and 
 the match was soon applied to the train. 
 
 Again the hand dropped softly on the flushed and fevered 
 face of Count Karl. It was like oil falling upon fire. One 
 pang — one scream — one bound from the bed, with a force 
 that shook the room and rattled every article of furniture in 
 astounding force — and the maniac (for so he was) rushed to 
 the freedom of the open window, beyond which a low balcony 
 hung out in the moonlight air. As he fled, he cast one 
 frantic look behind, and saw indeed a female form, which 
 rushed after him with outstretched arms. He turned away 
 his head — reached the balcony — placed his hands on the 
 balustrade, and vaulting over with the force of fear aiding his 
 active strength, he was in a moment whirling downwards 
 through the air — then dashed to pieces on the craggy sides 
 of the mountain on which the castle was perched. 
 
 It needs not to be told that it was Countess Anna who was 
 thus the innocent and agonized cause and witness of her hus- 
 band's fate. Resolved to give him a surprise, which her heart 
 falsely promised her would be one of delight, she had returned 
 from her visit to Lichtenau, even before the unfortunate count 
 came back to the castle. She gave immediate orders that her 
 return was to be concealed from him. And placing herself 
 in a private closet that communicated with his chamber, she 
 awaited, with the patient playfulness of affection, till he slept. 
 Then, resolved to bring him as she hoped to awaking pleasure, 
 by the gentlest means of surprise, she stole out ; and breath- 
 less with innocent anxiety, she performed, in a much shorter 
 space of time than it appeared to her half-maddened sufferer, 
 the well-meant but fatal series of manual experiments which 
 brought on so frightful a result. 
 
 The legend says nothing of the subsequent adventures of 
 the Countess Anna. But the remains of a little rustic temple 
 near the ruins of the castle of Great Felsburg have borne 
 from remote tradition the title of the Shrine of the Pilgrim 
 Countess ; and it is believed to have been erected by the 
 wretched widow in honour of her saint, after the performance 
 of a long and perilous pilgrimage, in penance for her fatal in- 
 discretion. 
 
 The morning after Count Karl's dreadful death, Baron 
 
THE THREE FORETELLINGS. 
 
 225 
 
 Ludwig of Steinbach was brought to the castle, alive and 
 quite recovered, but still somewhat weak, and not a little 
 frightened at the almost miraculous .escape he had from stran- 
 gulation. The woman who so providentially arrived on the 
 spot of his accident, in time to cut him down and save him 
 by her careful attendance during the night, was the wife of a 
 woodcutter, and was employed in packing up and trimming 
 the faggots of her husband's felling, when the struggles and 
 cries of the half-hanged baron brought her to his relief. 
 
 Baron Steinbach was killed sixteen years afterwards, in an 
 action against a party of imperial troops, and left a large 
 family to inherit and hand down his name and honours. 
 
 About the same period a poor brother of the order St. Bene- 
 dict died, in the odour of sanctity, in the abbey of that order at 
 Bingen. He had been nearly twenty years an inmate of that 
 holy house, and had been remarkable for his austerities, volun- 
 tary penances, and frequent flagellations. His name he never 
 divulged till the day of his death. He then declared it to be 
 Ulric Von Linz, and begged the prayers of the brotherhood 
 for his soul, weighed down by the weight of many sins, par- 
 ticularly that of the murder of his wife Eleanor in a fit of 
 jealousy, two days before he entered the abbey as a noviciate. 
 
 Thus we have the result of the Three Foretellings. One 
 of the random prophecies was fulfilled, solely from the victim's 
 belief in the accomplishment of the others. And what a deep 
 lesson does it read to us, of the weakness of the human mind, 
 and the gigantic power which superstition holds over it ! 
 
 Q 
 
226 
 
 A YEAR OF JOY. 
 
 A LEGEND OP THE TWELFTH CENTURY. 
 
 While the celebrated Frederick Barbarossa, afterwards Em- 
 peror of Germany, was yet a youth, and his uncle, Conrad, 
 the Duke of Swabia, still living, he w r as the hero of a little 
 tale of love, so wondrously pure in its nature, as to throw a 
 reproach on stories of periods more refined, and to convince us 
 that that master passion was not dependent on the progress of 
 civilisation for its most genuine and delicate development. 
 
 The young knight of Hohenstauffen, as Frederick was then 
 called, possessed many of the qualities of heroism ; and even 
 in his earliest youth he gave proofs of the character which 
 afterwards became so celebrated. But historians care little to 
 seek for or to dwell on the romantic episodes of early life, 
 which give a truer insight into the dispositions of public men 
 than those glaring actions either of virtue or vice, which, in- 
 stead of being illustrative of tbe natural character, most com- 
 monly proceed from influences out of its control. 
 
 Among the loveliest of the daughters of the Duke of 
 Swabia's vassals, was Gela, whose father was but a serf, and 
 she, like the other maidens of her station, exposed of course 
 to all the temptations by which the son of her feudal lord 
 might choose to assail her. Frederick heard of her beauty, 
 and with the natural ardour of youth and the usual motives 
 of a feudal knight, he went expressly from the heart of his 
 uncle's state to its confines, which extended to the Rhine, and 
 there, in the town of Muhlburg, he waited an opportunity to 
 gratify his excited curiosity. 
 
 After several ineffectual attempts, which but inflamed his 
 wishes and produced that preparatory excitement so favourable 
 to one who was determined to be enamoured to a certain point, 
 the young knight at last succeeded in getting a view of the 
 
A YEAR OF JOY. 227 
 
 unsuspecting maiden, without letting her know the rank of 
 her observer ; for in the romantic mood he resolved to en- 
 courage, he was determined that no influence but that of his 
 personal persuasion should induce Gela to listen to his suit. 
 
 It was passing under an arcade that connected the principal 
 square of the town with the church where the innocent girl 
 regularly repaired to her devotion, that Frederick first met 
 her, and was told by the dependant, whom he had taken as a 
 pilot on this voyage of discovery, that he now gazed on the 
 celebrated beauty of Muhlburg. Struck with admiration, and 
 already before he saw her half in love, the looks of Frederick 
 did not fail to express all the ardour of his feelings. Gela's 
 eye caught the looks so intently following her movements and 
 so fixed upon her face. She blushed deeply, and betrayed a 
 
 consciousness — and as Frederick thought a sympathy 
 
 which vanity whispered him she would not have accorded so 
 promptly to a common admirer. He followed her into the 
 church, placed himself near her so as to have a full view of 
 her beauty, and during the time of service he thought little of 
 the holy office celebrated by priest, but much, very much, of 
 the lovely votary who silently offered up her prayers to Heaven. 
 
 Satisfied as to the real charms of the reputed beauty, he 
 now began to devise the best means of securing them to him- 
 self ; and having ascertained the place where Gela lived, he 
 entered into a consultation with Rudolf, the devoted attendant 
 who was his confidant in this adventure. 
 
 " Oh, Rudolf! she is indeed lovely— too lovely for her low 
 rank in life — and far too lovely for my happiness, unless she 
 can be mine." 
 
 "Why not, my gracious lord? Myself and your two 
 horse-grooms can drag her from her father's and brother's 
 arms this very night." 
 
 u Forbid it, saints of heaven ! " 
 
 " Count Frederick, you were not so scrupulous when Ger- 
 trude of Arnheim was carried to your bower/' 
 
 " Rudolf , thy reproach is scarcely just. She whom you 
 name was more than half won when she was led from her 
 father's cottage. She wore not the innocent smile of Gela! " 
 
 " Well, then, my master, if force revolts you, try persuasion. 
 A heavy purse of gold secured you the possession of Anne of 
 J^bersdorf. 
 
A YEAR OF JOY. 
 
 i I T l eY j \l n ° sordid or s ^sh expression in Gela's open 
 looks, Rudolf. She is not to be bought and sold ' " 
 
 "Abandon the pursuit, then, good my lord! I know no 
 other means of obtaining possession of the prize except bv 
 purchase or force." F y 
 
 "I do, though, Rudolf; and Gela shall be mine bv 
 other means, or not at all. Conquest shall make her mine ■ 
 Love shall be the sole weapon; nor shall gold corrupt, any 
 more than violence undo her. I swear to win her to my arms 
 by love alone, or to renounce her quite; to make her share 
 my passion, not to submit to it ! " 
 
 " Nay then, count, if this romantic notion has possessed 
 you, my presence can be but of more harm than help I " 
 
 " I think so, too, Rudolf, and I wish you to leave me to 
 myself. Hasten back to court, — say nought of me, — you 
 know not where I am nor on what pursuit. Remember ' vou 
 will not betray me ? 99 ' 9 
 
 " From this hour no mortal shall know more of your plans 
 my noble master, than my tongue has already told." 
 " Enough, good Rudolf, be staunch and secret ! " 
 And Rudolf was so. He told no more, — but he had 
 already told enough to mar the amorous and romantic plan of 
 his young master, not with a treacherous design, but from over 
 excess of zeal. 
 
 The father of Gela was a husbandman in easy circumstances 
 tilling his ground, greatly to the benefit of the lord of the soil' 
 and a little to his own. He was a serf it is true, but not quite 
 a slave ; and his children, though obliged like all their class 
 to work for their own support, were not absolutely forced to 
 toil for a bare existence. Even in those days, when social life 
 knew but few shades, and extremes were almost touching, there 
 were still gradations between the higher and the very'lower 
 ranks. Gela's father stood somewhere — it would be hard to 
 exactly classify his place — but somewhere between his liege 
 lord and the mere drudge of the farm-yard. His sons and 
 daughters had the benefit of his comparative refinement ; but 
 one of them bore that inherent stamp of natural grace,' that 
 patent of superiority to her station, an instance of which is' even 
 now remarkable, but then was marvellous. That one was Gela. 
 ^ Besides her there were another daughter and several sons. 
 The girl was always ailing, and at times almost bed-ridden. 
 Gela was her nurse ; and she acted almost the part of a mother 
 
A YEAR OP JOY. 
 
 to her brothers, though they were older than she, for her 
 father was a widower, and on her had fallen all the domestic 
 cares and household management for all. The house which 
 this family inhabited was at some short distance from the 
 town, on the banks of the Rhine, surrounded by vineyards 
 and commanding a view of the broad river, the very habit of 
 gazing on which might give to the beholders a reflected cha- 
 racter of depth, expanse, and dignity. 
 
 This is not the place to examine the question of moral 
 effects produced by the influences of scenery on the mind. 
 That mountaineers and sailors are susceptible of strong im- 
 pressions from constant intercourse with natures wild gran- 
 deur, is admitted. If so, why doubt an analogous sympathy 
 with objects of lesser proportions? If the boor of the 
 Dutch swamps be dull and heavy, or the shepherd of the 
 sandy deserts of Gascony no livelier than the flock he guards 
 why not suppose the dwellers on the Rhine to catch their' 
 placid, serious, regular tone of character from the grand object 
 of external nature, that not even a casual passenger may gaze 
 on without a deep, calm flow of feeling stealing on his soul ? 
 Be the cause what it might, such was the habitual tone of 
 Gela's well-regulated mind. Her heart and her brain were in 
 constant unison. Feeling and reflection never jarred. No 
 struggle was kept up between sense and sensibility. The 
 whole was harmony, and she its living type. 
 
 It was at the close of a day of usual labour followed by re- 
 pose, that the whole family I have described were sitting at 
 their evening meal in front of their dwelling. Gela was be- 
 side her sick sister, her constant post ; and the common, 
 perhaps the common-place, round of social converse was going 
 on when a young stranger in a hunting dress and on foot 
 appeared before the party. His dogs at his heel appeared no 
 more than himself, fatigued, yet he told a story of his having 
 lost his horse in the chase, and he asked hospitality and lodg- 
 ing for the night. 
 
 The prepossessing air of the stranger would have no doubt 
 procured a hearty assent from the father of the family even if 
 hospitality had not been a law of the age of chivalry. A cheer- 
 ful acquiescence and a cordial invitation to partake of the 
 frugal repast were instantly given by the father, and confirmed 
 by all the children, save one. It was not the invalid who 
 Q 3 
 
230 A YEAR OF JOY. 
 
 silently hung her head, and hid her blushing cheeks, as the 
 sportsman seemed to wait anxiously for one invitation more to 
 complete the general welcome. After a moment's pause he 
 fixed his looks on Gela, and asked, in a tone which she thought 
 seemed to blend something of command with supplication, 
 " And will not you, fair maiden, join your voice to the other 
 biddings ? Is the tired stranger unwelcome to you alone ? 
 Do you fear to give shelter to the wayfarer ? " 
 
 "You are welcome to the shelter of my fathers house, Sir 
 Stranger. Hospitality never stops to take counsel from dis- 
 cretion nor do we fear to do a kind action, even though there 
 
 were some risk in it." 
 
 Gela was hurried to make this reply by the somewhat dis- 
 satisfied looks of her father and brothers, which rather seemed 
 to reproach the previous want of courtesy, so complained of by 
 the stranger. 
 
 " If there be risk, it is all on my side, fair Gela, said the 
 stranger, in a half whisper, and sitting down beside the blush- 
 ing girl with a self-command which was however softened by 
 a tinge of timidity. So it is, that even incipient love teaches 
 diffidence to the high and lordly. When the passion is full 
 grown, its first fruit is humility. 
 
 And it was not long before the admiration of Count Frede- 
 rick ripened into the most powerful attachment for Gela. Day 
 after day he found his way to her father's house ; and having 
 once established a footing of acquaintanceship there, he was at 
 every new visit received with new pleasure. Unknown in that 
 part of the country, the good serfs little thought who it was 
 they entertained, and his modest bearing only allowed them 
 to believe that he was some young man of gentle blood, amus- 
 ing himself, as he asserted, with the sports which abounded 
 in that neighbourhood. His numerous presents of game, and 
 his constant appearance in the accoutrements of the chace, gave 
 proofs in support of the character he assumed, and it was never 
 questioned openly by any of the family. 
 
 Franz Richter, for such was the name he assumed, was 
 quickly a great favourite with his new friends — at least with 
 those of the good peasants who seemed inclined to admit him 
 to the familiarity of that term. But in the manner of Gela 
 there was a constant reserve which would have driven Frede- 
 rick to despair, had not evident pleasure in his society as con- 
 stantly struggled through it. He saw that he had, even in 
 
A YEAR OP JOY. 
 
 231 
 
 despite of all her prudence, her modesty, and an evident, yet 
 unpremeditated air of respect, whenever she listened to or ad- 
 dressed him, gained great ground in her regard; and once or 
 twice, when seizing some fair occasion, he pressed on her with 
 unwonted warmth of language, she blushed and sighed, and 
 gave such token of sympathy that he believed for a moment 
 all that his most excited hopes suggested. 
 
 But Gela as instantly recovered from these lapses of the 
 heart. She started back as if affrighted at the discovery of her 
 danger, and her looks seemed to carry reproach to her tempter 
 and remorse for herself. 
 
 Thus three weeks rapidly passed by. Count Frederick was 
 in no mood to reckon time nor calculate dangers. Yet the 
 long absence from his father's court, and the chances of his 
 being recognised, at intervals struck forcibly upon his thoughts, 
 and finally he heard the warning. He felt it necessary to 
 bring to a termination this romantic freak. He had never be- 
 fore devoted a tithe of the time to complete a conquest. The 
 triumphs of the great over the lowly are, alas ! too often ready 
 made. Yet there was something so delightful in this new 
 method of love-making, and in the exquisite suspense it en- 
 tailed on the lover, that he shrunk back at the notion of success. 
 Strange perversion of feeling ! Strange anomaly of sensation ! 
 Yet. who has not felt it ? 
 
 While thus lingering in the double influence of his passion, 
 he one evening bent his way to his accustomed haunt, and his 
 road lay through one of those secluded little glens which run 
 up in so many places from the river between two shadowing 
 and wood-covered hills. Scarcely had he entered this solitude, 
 when he saw a female figure gathering herbs by the side of the 
 little stream that rippled through the glen. It was Gela. 
 Frederick was soon by her side. He offered to assist in her 
 task of collecting medicinal simples for the use of her sick 
 sister. She consented, and for some time they continued their 
 task silently, and as if neither knew exactly how to finish the 
 work, and had forgotten how it began. At length, as though 
 a sudden inspiration of courage had darted from on high into 
 Frederick's heart, he paused, looked tenderly on the lovely 
 girl by whose side he stood, took her hand, pressed it to his 
 heart, and murmured (i Dear, dear Gela ! I love you !" 
 
 The words were simple, the sentiment obvious ; yet how 
 q 4 
 
232 
 
 A YEAR OF JOY. 
 
 powerful their effect ? All the eloquence of language, all the 
 arguments of sophistry, could never produce as much. Gela 
 was utterly overwhelmed by this avowal, although she had 
 been less than woman had she not previously observed and un- 
 derstood the sentiment, and the symptoms which betrayed its 
 existence. But instead of the rapture which the words and 
 looks of her lover might be supposed to create, her only sensa- 
 tion was terror — terror arising from many causes, for her own 
 honour and the safety, perhaps the lives, of those most dear to 
 her. No sooner did Frederick's words fall on her ear, than 
 she instantly dropped on her knees before him, and raising her 
 clasped hands, she exclaimed, in an accent that thrilled his 
 heart with surprise and sorrow, " Oh ! forgive me ! forgive 
 me ! I am greatly guilty — but you will not refuse mercy/' 
 " Mercy! Forgive you, Gela?" cried Count Frederick, 
 in amaze, and raising her from the ground ; " I cannot com- 
 prehend this — 'tis for me to seek your pity, as I ask your 
 love — for me to prostrate myself before you, beautiful and 
 virtuous as you are — my fate is in your hands ; tell me that 
 you admit my passion — that you return it — or you drive me 
 to despair ! '/ 
 
 " Oh, spare me this mockery — 'tis too cruel ! Is it not 
 enough that my treacherous heart has led me to listen to the 
 seductions of your influence ? I am punished sufficiently by 
 the consciousness of my presumption ! " 
 
 M What language is this ? What mean you, Gela ? Pre- 
 sumption ! in listening to — or, could I but hope it from these 
 vague words, — in returning, the love of Franz Richter?" 
 
 " No, I can no longer act a part of vile hypocrisy — I 
 know you but too well ! Oh ! Count Frederick, forgive, and 
 spare me !" 
 
 " Ha ! you know me ? Rudolf has then betrayed me ? *' 
 " Say not betrayed — he warned me who you were, to for- 
 ward, not to thwart your views — and I, criminal and weak, 
 instead of flying and hiding myself from the danger of your 
 love, have risked my own, my dear father's, my brothers' 
 safety, in spite of this warning ! But spare me, noble count ! 
 at least have pity for the weakness which yielded to attractions 
 that overcame the sense of peril which they excited !" 
 
 " Say then, Gela, oh ! say it and seal my happiness, that 
 despite your dread of my station and my power, which bade 
 
A YEAR OP JOY. 
 
 233 
 
 you to hate, you still loved me for myself alone — say but 
 that you love me ! " 
 
 Gela had just said she would not play the hypocrite, in one 
 sense — she could not, in another. She yielded to the count's 
 embrace, dropped her head on his shoulder, and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 The incoherent and impassioned phrases in which the lover 
 expressed his triumph may be guessed — they are not fit to 
 be told. For, though chaste and pure, such as break from 
 even the most libertine in the first ecstatic moments of dis- 
 covery, these genuine outbursts of the heart would be but lu- 
 dicrous in repetition, though nearly sublime in utterance. 
 Gela's first words were — " And you will not drag me from 
 my father's protection — you will not plunge us aU in sorrow 
 and ruin — you will spare as well as pardon me ? " 
 
 " May the saints of heaven bear witness, and punish or re- 
 ward me as I am false or true to my oath ! I never will do 
 a deed or breathe a thought that can bring harm to you or 
 yours — but will love you ever as now, in purity and honour ! 
 Oh, doubt me not, Gela ! nor break the spell of delight in 
 which I am bound — give me your whole heart in trust and 
 confidence — if you cannot speak it, look, at least, your con- 
 fidence and your love ! " 
 
 Much more was said and looked in this short meeting than 
 tradition has told or fancy cares to imagine. The result was 
 an agreement that the lovers should meet the next morning 
 again — not however in the same place, for Gela, recalled to 
 a full sense of her danger by the ardent advances of the young 
 count, positively refused her consent to make this perilous 
 glen the place of rendezvous. That which she fixed on was 
 the church of the village close by, and the hour that of the 
 celebration of mass. " Impious and profligate ! " may rise to 
 the lips of the harsh votary of cant. Wait patiently, good 
 hypocrite, and you shall be better able to judge ! 
 
 The lovers met the next morning, we need not say punctu- 
 ally. Frederick never paid so little attention to his prayers. Gela 
 never prayed so devoutly. His desires were at the moment 
 > all earthly ; her hopes were wholly fixed on heaven. The 
 service over, and the rustic congregation dispersed, the lovers 
 soon found means to be again alone in one of the shady walks 
 of the neighbouring wood. Frederick, recovered from the 
 
234 
 
 A YEAR OF JOY. 
 
 first effects of his delight, had somewhat reproached himself for 
 the little advantage he had taken of his triumph. And he now 
 hoped rapidly to recover and improve on the time he had lost. 
 He therefore returned to the subject of the preceding evening 
 with all the ardour of youth and hope ; but Gela suddenly 
 interrupted him, and placing herself upon a mossy bank, she 
 invited him to sit beside her, and then with a calm but deeply 
 affecting tone, she said, " Count Frederick, I must, in atone- 
 ment for the feelings I too clearly betrayed yester-even, ex- 
 plain the decision which a night's reflection has confirmed. 
 We met this morning almost at the altar's foot. I fixed on 
 that holy place that you might be a witness to the vow I so- 
 lemnly made to Heaven. I there swore never after this day 
 to see you without ample witnesses — and, oh ! let me add, 
 without risking your contempt — never, after the avowal which 
 escaped me in a moment of surprised agitation, never to listen 
 to words of love from other lips than yours ! That was the 
 solemn pledge which you saw me ere while make to Heaven, 
 and as I keep it, so Heaven help me ! " 
 
 " See me without witnesses, Gela ! And do you then so 
 soon begin to doubt my sworn engagement ? " 
 
 " No. I believe it — would risk my life and that of all 
 most dear to me on your honour. It is not you I fear — but 
 myself! Too deeply have I already erred. My self-confi- 
 dence is gone for ever. But if you will consent to make me 
 undergo a not too long enduring penance, and at the same 
 time make it one of joy, you will come, on every sabbath for 
 a year from this day, to this church, and watch me as I offer 
 up my prayers for your happiness and greatness — and at the 
 end of each new time of service grant me one look, one smile, 
 to tell me you approve my task, and cheer me on in its per- 
 formance." 
 
 The passions of youth are all composed of impulses sudden, 
 vigorous, and at times irresistible. Jt is thus that so many 
 strange and fanciful results take place, so opposite to every 
 calculation of probability or prudence. Who could have ima- 
 gined that the young, the proud, the powerful knight of 
 Hohenstauffen would have listened to without a smile, much less 
 acceded and sworn to fulfil, a proposal so torturing to his ex- 
 cited hopes, so foreign to his prompt, impatient character, and 
 so attended with almost insurmountable difficulties ? Yet such 
 
A YEAR OF JOY. 
 
 235 
 
 was his conduct. He agreed to Gela's proposal ; and while 
 » she thus secured to herself the delight of seeing him and re- 
 ceiving weekly proof of his affection and her own influence 
 over him, she compounded for the dangerous indulgence by 
 the reflection that malignity itself could not misrepresent the 
 nature of their connection, and that Heaven would surely 
 smile upon the purity of her conduct. 
 
 And thus for a whole year did this unparalleled scene of 
 love go on. Frederick, overcoming every obstacle, contrived 
 at the close of every week to snatch one day and night, in all 
 seasons and from all other pursuits, to ride league after league, 
 unattended and unknown, from nearly one extremity of his 
 uncle's territories to the other; and then having regularly 
 seen his beloved mistress in their holy place of rendezvous, 
 exchanged a few looks and smiles — for which she had stipu- 
 lated — and occasionally conversed awhile, in the presence of 
 the good family, with her for whom he was thus preparing 
 the sacrifice of all that might be supposed to influence a man 
 of his age and not totally above the spirit of his time. Wit- 
 nessing the extreme purity of feeling which animated this 
 being so superior to all around her, he could not resist the 
 influence he so admired, and he paid the sincerest homage to 
 virtue, not merely in adoring, but by adopting it. 
 
 And now the year of happiness was nearly expired ; and 
 Duke Conrad being about to set out for Palestine with the 
 other Christian chieftains of the empire, Gela recalled Frede- 
 rick to the high duty which summoned him to attend his father 
 on the crusade. Startled at first, on rinding her an advocate 
 for a separation, the anticipation of which almost rent his 
 heart, he could not resist the dread that her love was only of 
 that vague and vapoury kind which derives its source in fancy 
 rather than feeling, but which has no sympathy with those 
 human desires that were meant to give force and fervour to 
 mortal passion. 
 
 " Oh ! Gela/' cried he, in the bitter disappointment of this 
 fear, "if your love is but ideal — if you worship an abstract 
 notion of which I am but the type — if it is not me, in my 
 bodily form, that controls and commands your attachment, I 
 may as well die at once ; my memory will serve you for an 
 object, though this frame may moulder in the grave ; for if 
 you can urge my absence for a year, you could surely bear it 
 for a life!" 
 
236 
 
 A YEAR OF JOY. 
 
 A passionate burst of tears was the first answer to this 
 speech ; and they were followed by a train of reasoning so 
 clear, so true, and so convincing, as would have done honour 
 to the most elevated princess to whose hand the Count of 
 Hohenstauffen might have aspired. Coming as they did from 
 the daughter of a serf, their effect was a thousand-fold greater. 
 And while Frederick gazed and listened on the wonderful 
 union of beauty and wisdom from whom he was about to tear 
 himself, perhaps for ever, he was lost in grateful admiration 
 of her who could sacrifice her best hopes of happiness and her 
 highest of ambition, for the furtherance of his honour and his 
 fame. 
 
 Count Frederick assumed the cross, and hastened to the 
 Holy Wars ; nor did his conduct for a long period of service 
 belie his noble lineage or his own reputation. After nearly 
 two years of hard-earned honour, he prepared to return to 
 Swabia, and claim the hereditary rights to which his uncle's 
 death entitled him. Mingled with all the calls of pride and 
 the loud acclamations of glory, one still small whisper made 
 itself heard in the young duke's heart. Love, which for awhile 
 had been subdued by the clang of arms and the shouts of am- 
 bition, now resumed its gentle, yet powerful inspiration ; and 
 he hastened to the scene of his former stolen delight and ho- 
 nourable self-restraint, his bosom throbbing high in the ardent 
 hope of at length obtaining possession, as a tribute to his con- 
 stant affection, of what all the blandishments of wealth, and 
 rank, and power would have failed to purchase. 
 
 He rode up to the well-remembered cottage, in the old guise 
 of Franz Richter, the sportsman. He was received by the 
 father and brothers of Gela. But before he could ask the 
 question that sprang from his heart to his lips, he saw that 
 she was absent. His lips quivered and his heart sunk, and 
 the question could not find utterance. But they saw and read 
 his emotion truly ; and they soon told him what he so longed 
 to know, but could not ask. 
 
 Gela, almost worn out with the intense ardour of her feel- 
 ings, and unable to support in secret the passion which con- 
 sumed her, had resolved to enter into a convent not far distant, 
 and had actually taken the veil ; never betraying to her family 
 the rank of her lover, but avowing her love, and declaring 
 that insuperable obstacles existed towards the possibility of 
 
A YEAR OF JOY. 237 
 
 its ever terminating in a way consistent with her honour or 
 happiness. 
 
 The duke, almost frantic at this news, avowed who he was 
 called on the father and brothers to aid him for their own as 
 well as Gela's sake in tearing her from the sanctuary that in- 
 terposed its walls between her and his affection, promising to 
 lavish on them honours, distinctions, and riches, more than 
 were possessed by the proudest nobles of the state. These 
 poor serfs, not knowing the true meaning of honour, nor the 
 real value of rank, dazzled by the promises of the duke and 
 frightened by his violence, consented to his last proposal, and 
 without fixed plan or settled purpose, they led him immedi- 
 ately towards the convent where Gela was immured. 
 
 Nearly arrived at the holy house, a procession met them on 
 the path. It was a burial train, chanting hymns of mourning 
 prayers for the repose of an innocent sister's soul. It was 
 Gela, who was thus carried to her early grave. Consumption 
 had fixed in her fair and too sensitive bosom, and like the 
 canker in the rose-bud, destroyed the flower ere it fully 
 bloomed or blossomed. 
 
 Duke Frederick's anguish was keen and lasting. It was 
 long before he listened to condolence, and then only from the 
 sister who received Gela's last words: — a blessing on her 
 lover, and an assurance that suffering and death themselves 
 were a thousand.fold repaid by the remembrance of her one 
 delightful Year of Joy. 
 
 The town of Gelahausen, built on the spot where the inno- 
 cent girl was buried, was long and is still, under a modification 
 of the same name, a lasting testimony of the better feelings in 
 the character of Frederick Barbarossa. 
 
238 
 
 THE 
 
 LADY OF THE COLD KISSES. 
 
 A. LEGEND OF THE YEAR 1200. 
 
 Op all the valleys whose central rivulets run tributary to the 
 Rhine, there is none more remarkable for its picturesque and 
 isolated beauty than that of Hammerstein. Few travellers who 
 pass through it fail to ask the name and history of the large 
 building which, with outspread wings and vast body, seems 
 quietly to repose by the road side. It is now a manufactory ; 
 formerly it was the Abbey of Rosebach, but it was commonly 
 known by the name of TeufeVs Haus (the Devil's House) in 
 consequence of the story of which it was the site. 
 
 In olden times the forest, which even now nearly covers the 
 whole mountain behind, spread down into the plain and close 
 to the abbey walls ; while numerous avenues, cut through it 
 in every direction, allowed the voluptuous monks to gaze un- 
 obstructed on the verdant valley which loses itself in the 
 broad bosom of the Rhine. The limpid waters of the rivulet 
 which now flows clearly along, as nature meant it, to offer 
 homage to the sovereign stream, were in those days twisted 
 and turned by sundry contrivances, to swell the ponds in 
 which the good fathers fattened the fish that was eventually to 
 fatten them. These ponds are now dried up ; but in the good 
 old times we speak of, their stagnant bosoms often bore, from 
 morn till night, many a little boat, on the soft cushions and 
 under the painted canopies of which the lazy anglers of the 
 abbey threw out their lines, of a summers day. 
 
 The Abbey of Rosebach combined all the reality of those 
 secluded delights which the dreams of the Epicurean conjure 
 up ; a retreat where, far from the cares of life and the fatigues 
 of the world, a votary of idle pleasure might drawl out his 
 
THE LADY OF THE COLD KISSES. 239 
 
 listless existence. The wealth of the brotherhood was on every 
 side evident, in the internal as well as the external aspect of 
 things. Cellar and larder well stored, spoke sufficiently to the 
 good taste and good cheer of the community. The costume 
 of the monks was of white stuff of a fine and silky texture, 
 and of exquisite cleanliness. Their hair hung down in W 
 loose curls on their black scapulars, and the elegance of their 
 sandals has passed into a proverb. Grieved I am, for the 
 honour of monachism, to record that their licentiousness was 
 scarcely less a by-word. 
 
 It was one sultry night towards autumn in the year 1 069 
 that a young man, wrapped up almost to suffocation in the 
 folds of a large black cloak, cautiously approached the walls 
 of the abbey, and when safely under the shade they threw out 
 on the lawn, he crept slowly along to a point that marked the 
 bounds of the dormitory. Arrived there, and looking up to 
 a little projecting window of the tower, he gave out a sup- 
 pressed cough. Suddenly at this sound a bald head was popped 
 out of the window, and a rope ladder immediately dropped 
 down, suspended from and fastened carefully above. The 
 young man sprang up with an accustomed step, and balancing 
 himself from time to time on his vacillating road, he was re- 
 ceived in the open arms of two half-naked members of the 
 brotherhood, who helped him in at the window, and then 
 began to enter actively into a whispered conversation, in which 
 he performed the chief part. 
 
 The young monk, for his calling was betrayed by the mix- 
 ture of sacred and secular in his costume, soon entered deeply 
 into the recital of some interesting adventure, in which the 
 soft name of a woman was certainly mixed, and which vividly 
 excited the feelings of the listeners, as was testified by the 
 smothered sighs and other sympathising symptoms which 
 escaped them from time to time. At length the triumvirate 
 separated for their several cells. 
 
 When the young monk was alone, he threw himself upon 
 his bed; but though it was one on which a minister of state or 
 his crowned master might have found repose for their harassed 
 minds, its possessor could not sleep. Agitated and tormented, 
 by recollections of the past or anticipations of the future, he 
 tossed and tumbled, invoked his patron saint, or repeated aves 
 and paternosters without end, and to no end. His eyes, though 
 
240 THE LADY OF THE COLD KlSSb*. 
 
 , j 1 1 c hnt out the scenes of memory or the visions 
 st^dup at ti.es, bathed his hot brow 
 2th wLr or thrust his flushed face into the night air that 
 IvM freshly on the window. He found that he was 
 r^SytTa ^pless night- which had perhaps 
 cloomea lnevna j i f lltu( j e# 
 
 « Christian Reader, 
 « Much doth it behove you to read and ponder on atten- 
 Much rt ° tn if ' would du iy know when and 
 
 r ^H rneL Count Otto of Reuss-Marlinberg, Lord of 
 
 longer t?^**** l% heA wh at was just and was 
 selfishness after having w fe ^ ^ 
 
 unjust in the balance o Mh« desire , ^ ^ 
 
 in the front of all his movements, and took all tne 
 
 rxs^Lpitais of ^ ;s s; 
 
 tt^defyo h ulust know that his Highness Count Otto 
 f Kens Marhnbetg possessed on the very spot where now 
 L^s the Abbey of Rosebach a strong castle, with four round 
 I " rs % fiSmt**, * ™nned and guarded by archers 
 
THE LADY OF THE COLD KISSES. 24 J 
 
 2LT" a !; ar - m f J ? the ful1 as vicious and cruel as was in 
 those days their lord and master. 
 
 « The wickedest among them all, master or men, was an old 
 sqmre whom no Christian eyes conld look on without terror 
 
 i Int . 0 trU,y ' he C ° UId alm0St as Iittle be- the 
 
 Jooks In At* eyes there was an expression that the hand of a 
 Christian could not well describe unless with a pen dipped in 
 some devilish ink, which we Karl Von Han Z , bmhSflh" 
 ho y Abbey of Rosebach, possess not-blessed be to St Peter 
 patron of the same ! The fiery and copper-coloured int s 0 f 
 h Z etclnZ ■ b / ate \ ski " mad * him look like a malefac S who 
 Jim 2 m \ fa SSots, ere the executioner had burned 
 him quite; or perhaps, rather like a fiend sent out half 
 scorched from the flames of a hotter fire. This man or demor 
 or man demon, or man-devil, boasted of having fought in the 
 ho y land and of having caught his vile complfxion & under he 
 stsT/mem 8 ^ Redeemer ° f the ™ W " tt 
 o-a'E? ilhi ?} od y> indeed > bore arms for a sacred cause it 
 
 c ?ied?l g b d S hiS , S0Ul; f ° r ° ld Ri 1 ue « ba * J * 
 called) dealt out lustily curses and abuse against all the saints 
 of heaven, without excepting even (may pardon be granted me 
 for telling again the like !)_ without even excepting the Hoi v 
 Virgin herself, the immediate source of all earth] v good! 7 
 
 emitter Z t SPlt n ° f ^ ^ Wa ^ in we have 
 
 omitted,— not wilhng to lean too heavy on a fallen sinner 
 drunkenness, pillaging, and ferocit J g Ri ' ~ 
 
 In I Reuss-Marhnberg. 'Tis true that he employed 
 
 e pass 'o^h CUnning ° f hh 0U eX P CTienCe to P-So 
 
 he exce Ue in th ^ U mUSt be know " that 
 
 ne excelled in the noble, art of horse-breaking and it 
 
 enough for him to whisper a few words in a courser s ear or 
 
 st coltTn ^ 3 l0 ° k ' t0 make SCntle a » d manageable the wild 
 es^colt in the pastures of Hammerstein. 
 
 th»n 1™ there W6re f6W thin S s which C °unt Otto loved better 
 than to prance and caper on a high-mettled palfrev hot i 
 
 rh.Vf ! ♦ I J'quenbach, he found the means of mana«in- the 
 chief part of the damsels of his domains, even though ZyZ 
 first proved restive as the young colts of the pastured * 
 
242 
 
 THE LADY OF THE COLD KISSES. 
 
 " It came to pass that one fine morning Count Otto, riding 
 on the high road, met with a young girl, fair to look at and of 
 a lovely presence, who came from a neighbouring village, for 
 the purpose of entering the Convent of Walsdorf not far dis- 
 tant, in fulfilment of the pious intentions with which Heaven 
 had inspired her, of ending her days in the peaceful retirement 
 of the cloister, in perpetual prayer and in the way of grace. 
 Strong in her blessed design, she walked on alone, her beads in 
 her hand, and having already adopted the hood and corre- 
 sponding costume of a noviciate nun. 
 
 " Count Otto of Reuss-Marlinberg took off his cap as he 
 passed her, rather from habit than any feeling of respect or 
 devotion. On seeing this, Riquenbach, who rode beside him, 
 burst into a laugh, and shook so in his saddle that he nearly 
 fell off his horse. 
 
 " ( By the devil of hell ! ' said he ; e by his horns and his 
 tail ! you have nothing now for it, my young master, than to 
 put on the frock and cowl ; and instead of feeling that iron 
 scabbard flapping against your thigh, you should scourge your 
 naked shoulders with the whip- cord of discipline ! Fiends and 
 furies ! in passing a damsel you doff your cap as if you had 
 met the consecrated chalice — I will pay my respects to her 
 in another style ! ' 
 
 " And turning his horse's head he galloped after the young 
 woman and brought her back to the count. To the questions 
 which they put to her she answered modestly, but without 
 fear, telling the reasons which brought her on the road. Count 
 Otto, the while, began to feel uneasy and impatient, in listen- 
 ing so long to a voice so soft and words so touching, and in 
 gazing on a pair of fine black eyes, which beamed with the 
 voluptuous languor of one longing for repose from the world 
 and its snares. He sighed — and fearing the influence of 
 wicked thoughts, he told the young maiden to follow her 
 course ; but while she obeyed this wholesome advice she heard 
 herself called again by Riquenbach. 
 
 <e ( Holloa ! fair maid/ cried he, ' you should not think of 
 trusting yourself alone on this dangerous road. Rogues and 
 rascals of all kinds are abroad and might do you harm. As 
 for us you see we are pious folk who take off our caps at the 
 very sight of a novice's hood. Come with us to the castle, 
 close at hand ; where you can pass a safe and quiet night, and 
 to-morrow pursue your way. 
 
THE LADY OP THE COLD KISSES. 2 43 
 
 " lintfJ / 0U " g ? rea !r f ° ll0Wed this treacherous advice ! 
 Sa nts of heaven ! Martyrs to the sacred cause ' Holy 
 
 SE Whafd t0 ° k , PlaCe ^ CaSt,e ° f ^se^eh t£ 
 ?rfpc / l , moamn g s > Piercing screams what 
 
 cries for help were borne away on the careless winds wh leThe 
 oldiers the servitors, and the serfs, in and about the ac cur e! 
 edifice hstened shuddered, but did not or dared not offer a 
 
 'At dawn the sounds died away entirely ; and before noon 
 a coffin was buried in the dry ditch of the castle, no pr LTde 
 daring as was usual in cases of sudden or violent death the 
 
 W5£r- for whom the De 
 
 " It was somewhat less than a year after this cruel adven 
 tare, that Count Otto of Reuss-Marlinberg espoused Tn leS" 
 Munch n r A' y ° UDg b6aUtifuI dam ^ EMegardT' f 
 
 o^Toset,h J hS marria S e t00k P Iace at *e Castk 
 
 ot Rosebach; and the hour for retiring, after the ceremonv 
 and the supper, soon arrived-but very slowly aLordiTto 
 the calculation of the happy bridegroom. 8 *° 
 
 Left, at length, quite alone with his bride he advanced 
 towards her with gentle animation, and was about to offer £ 
 
 Vk l?^ " UptiaI affecti ™> w hen he suddenly felt him 
 self held back by the pressure of two icy arms ronnd h nect" 
 
 ft iike b t 0 hor;f marbIy - c h old ,e , aned agaiL his > ™* "-h?h 
 
 SSZr^^Sr* corpse inflicted a « 
 
 nat^l^ 
 
 terposed between him and his terrified bride r * ^ t'"" 
 
 v oiet lips, her colourless cheeks and bosom, all proved her to 
 
 Xe to m mm-tT d and mUrdered ™™> -en S m the 
 c\Zl * P hlS unre P en ted crime. Holding him still 
 
 STptoS'wiS'Sr t0 6SCape ' laVi8hed - Wmkii 1 
 ing in^^^S^ t0 his -y heart, exclaim- 
 
 husban^Fortt 10 ^ 1 ,. 1 ^ 8 . 01 " me > " ot her ' thou art the 
 uusband. For thee, and by thee I lost all my hopes of heaven 
 
244 THE LADY OF THE COLD KISSES. 
 
 and the Divine Bridegroom my confessor had promised me 
 thee. Thou art mine, beloved Otto ! I only am thy wife ! ' 
 
 u This bride of the charnel vault disappeared not till morn- 
 ing. When the joyous and mischief-looking bridemaids 
 entered to congratulate the young countess, they found her, 
 dressed as they had left her the preceding night, in a swoon, 
 on a couch beside which knelt the scarcely less exhausted count. 
 
 " And the following night the spectre returned ; and the 
 night after ; and every succeeding night, with her cold kisses, 
 her icy embrace, and her loathsome words of love. 
 
 " And in vain did Count Otto, with the innocent young 
 bride who suffered so severely for his sake, fly from place to 
 place, from castle to castle, from town to town. The Lady 
 of the Cold Kisses followed, or rather accompanied them every 
 where ; and every time that he threw a look of love upon his 
 wife, or held forth his hand to snatch even one pressure from 
 hers, the spectre as surely glided between, repeating some 
 phrase of amorous delight, and sealing it with a kiss that 
 almost turned Count Otto into stone ; while her very beauty 
 of feature and brightness of eye rendered her livid hue more 
 loathsome. 
 
 (C And assuredly Count Otto of Reuss-Marlinberg, and El- 
 degarda of Munch-Benderhausen, his spouse, would both have 
 died in consequence of this persecution, if the holy St. Bernard, 
 Abbot of Clairvaux, in Flanders, had not chanced to come 
 on a mission of peace into the unquiet countries of the Rhine. 
 
 " This pious saint heard of the miraculous events which 
 have just been told ; and it was not for one so learned and 
 keen-sighted in matters of sin to doubt that for a punishment 
 so terrible there must have been committed some enormous 
 crime. Desirous of establishing happiness in the castle of 
 Rosebach, and of banishing for ever the demon which so em- 
 bittered its promised joys, St. Bernard sought Count Otto, 
 and found him in a state of wretchedness that would have 
 melted the hardest heart. 
 
 " ' There is one way,' said the holy man, after having 
 listened to his confession, 6 and but one way of obtaining 
 relief from the persecutions of the evil spirit; — consecrate 
 yourself to the holy monastic life, abandon the pomps and 
 vanities of the world, cover yourself with the robes of seclu- 
 sion. The pious austerities of the cloister purge the soul of 
 its wicked thoughts, cleanse the conscience of its iniquities 
 
THE LADY OF THE COLD KISSES. 
 
 245 
 
 raise a rampart between the faithful and the fiend, relieve the 
 most poignant mental anguish, and open the way to heaven ! * 
 " ' Remember Him/ continued the saint, with redoubled 
 energy, < Remember Him who dwelt on earth in continence, 
 solitude, meditation, and prayer. Embrace the retirement of 
 the cloister, miserable sinner, steeped as you are in guilt, and 
 give thanks to Heaven that affords you a sure way to pardon 
 and happiness. I have told you, and I repeat it, without the 
 cloister there is no chance of Paradise. Embrace then its 
 pure and exquisite enjoyments. Follow up your penances 
 with rigid care, the kingdom of the skies will open to you at 
 length — Satan will be overcome — the head of the serpent 
 shall be bruised ! ' 
 
 " Eldegarda shuddered and sighed when Count Otto and 
 the saint rejoined her, at the idea of renouncing for ever the 
 love and the society of her husband. Seeing her affliction, 
 the count felt his heart half broken, and he stood silent and 
 immoveable. The old Squire Riquenbach, who had slipped 
 into the chamber, no one present knew how, fixed his piercing 
 and discourteous looks on St. Bernard, and said abruptly, fixing 
 his arms a-kimbo in the most contemptuous way: < By the 
 merits of my old blind mule ! you have poured out a rigma- 
 role at which a cat might laugh. Heigh devil ! Ho devil ! 
 as we say in the camp, what would you be at, old bald-pated 
 gossip ? Would you have my noble young master here give 
 up all the joys of life, and leave the harvest of pleasure to your 
 vow-breaking monks, who would laugh while he was praying ? 
 I think I can read the Scriptures, and quote them mayhap, as 
 well as you, old mischief-maker, and if you don't quietly quit 
 the castle and leave this young couple in their natural state of 
 merry making, I may show you a way to lay a meddling 
 monk easier than that which sends a ghost to the Red Sea.' 
 
 " A holy indignation crimsoned the face of the holy man. 
 e Fade retro, Satanas /' cried he, in a tone of enraged autho- . 
 rity ; for he had a shrewd suspicion that it was none other 
 but the devil himself that could have the audacity to brave 
 him in this manner. Old Riquenbach began suddenly to 
 tremble in every joint ; and Count Otto and his wife observed 
 myriads of bright sparks fly out from him in marvellous 
 rapidity, and in a way not to be imagined, much less told. 
 
 " 6 V zde retro , in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti ! 9 
 continued the saint, who saw that his words did their work 
 
246 
 
 THE LADY OF THE COLD KISSES. 
 
 well. And scarcely had he pronounced the sacred exorcism 
 than a crash as loud as thunder shook the walls of the room ; 
 and when the holy man and his astonished companions looked 
 vainly for the figure of the demon-squire, they only saw a 
 heap of smouldering ashes, and they were all obliged to hold 
 their noses to keep out the pestiferous stink of brimstone which 
 nearly smothered them all. 
 
 " And how was it possible, Christian reader, for Count 
 Otto or his wife to resist the conviction of this prodigy ? It 
 was not possible. They obeyed in all things the dictation of 
 St. Bernard. 
 
 ei The reader will also see, in the progress of this edifying 
 history, how Count Otto gave up his castle and grounds of 
 
 — — , that the former might be pulled down and a convent 
 
 built on its site, and the latter converted into walks for medi- 
 tation, and shrubberies for " (here the young monk who 
 
 read the MS. could not resist a smile, notwithstanding his 
 
 state of agitation from the effect of the preceding parts,)- 
 
 " the recreation of the holy men who were henceforward to 
 dwell in the sacred premises. 
 
 " And herein will also be recorded how St. Bernard brought 
 to the place and put in possession of the convent twelve monks 
 of piety and virtue, under the guidance of one Rowland, 
 English by nation, first abbot, who all died in the odour of 
 sanctity. And how the saint performed sundry extraordinary 
 miracles ; among others, his causing to spring up suddenly 
 out of the earth a fountain of clear water to refresh the thirsty 
 labourers who built the convent walls ; and his procuring an 
 iron cart which carried stones, blocks of wood, ready made 
 mortar, and other necessary objects for the construction of the 
 said convent, without being dragged by horses or guided by 
 visible beings. And here be it remarked, that when the build- 
 ing was completed, the before-named cart returned, self-im- 
 pelled, to the woods, and no living eyes could ever afterwards 
 discover it or any part of it, or any trace of its wheels. 
 
 " And while all these miracles were going on, Count Otto 
 and his afflicted dame, in due obedience to the commands of 
 St. Bernard, prepared to retire severally into the seclusion of 
 the cloister. But the said saint saw, one night in a vision, 
 our Lady of Grace, who commanded him not to separate the 
 married couple, who had as yet known nothing of marriage 
 but its name. They were accordingly allowed to live together 
 
THE LADY OF THE COLD KISSES. 
 
 247 
 
 without hindrance, and many years passed over their heads, 
 seeing them give the best example to their children of the fear 
 of God and the most edifying exercise of devotion. 
 
 " For, from the time of the disappearance of the devil, as 
 old Riquenbach was so clearly proved to be, the Lady of the 
 Cold Kisses, who, from first to last, had been nothing more 
 nor less than a fiend conjured up for the purpose of entrapping 
 the young count's soul, was never more seen by either Count 
 Otto or his countess. 
 
 " But — and sinners, hypocrites, and renegades to the true 
 faith and to your holy engagements, beware! — but — and 
 tremble ye false ones, who renounce your religion, your duty, 
 and your God!-— but from time to time it is permitted, by 
 Divine Grace, and for the wise purposes of Heaven, that the 
 aforesaid fiend, or Lady of the Cold Kisses, does return in 
 her already-told semblance upon earth, that is to say, upon 
 the floors of the cells of this consecrated abbey of Rosebach, 
 to hold in her icy embrace, and stifle with her clay-cold kisses, 
 the sinners whom she fills with loathing and affright. And 
 the causes of these her miraculously-permitted visitations are, 
 firstly, whenever the hot blood of a sinful nature mounts 
 higher than the regulated scale of religious duty, and some 
 young brother of the abbey fraternity failing in the vows of 
 chastity which he had sworn to observe " 
 
 At this instant a violent stroke from an invisible substance 
 fell upon the throbbing temples of the palpitating monk, and 
 at the same time his face and neck were covered by a cold 
 shower of liquid, while instant darkness obscured the cell. 
 Terrified beyond the controul of every reasonable conjecture, 
 he fancied himself clasped in the clammy embrace of the Lady 
 of the Cold Kisses, and he roared out lustily for help. The 
 brethren rushed in from the neighbouring cells, and found him 
 pale, trembling, and covered with the oil of his primitively- 
 constructed lamp ; while a huge brown bat fluttered about the 
 lights which the brethren carried in their hands. 
 
 The young monk smiled, after a painful effort, and alleging 
 as an excuse for his screams, some agitating dreams, he betook 
 himself to bed, his reverend comrades drowsily returning to 
 theirs. 
 
 From that period the young monk was rarely observed to 
 wander in the shrubberies at dusk, and was never known to 
 mount a rope-ladder at midnight. 
 
248 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The romantic stories of the Rhine and its neighbourhood have 
 been frequently transplanted to other sites. Such has been 
 the case relative to the legend on which the following tale is 
 founded; and I at least perform an act of literary justice in 
 bringing it back to its original scene of action. 
 
 Not far from the town of Hirzenach are seen the ruins of 
 two castles, called Liebenstein and Sternfels. They are situate 
 close to each other on elevated and rocky points, covered with 
 vineyards intermixed with wild and stunted shrubs. A deep 
 glen lies between them, and the patches of pasture which here 
 and there dot its sloping sides are separated below by a little 
 stream, that loses itself in the thick wood through which its 
 gurglings come faintly up, where all other sounds are still. 
 
 These castles were once inhabited by two chieftains, named 
 Conrad and Eberhard, the first occupying Liebenstein, the 
 latter Sternfels. They were old friends and companions in 
 arms. They had formed through life a marked exception to 
 the general ill-will generated by close neighbourhood in the 
 feudal times. Their castles were not closer than was their 
 friendship, and there were ties of sympathy to bind it more 
 close than is common. They had each married, and both 
 become widowers nearly at the same period, and an only child 
 was left to each to form pledges for the continuance of their 
 close connection. Resolved to devote their whole lives to the 
 care of their children, they totally forsook the boisterous career 
 of chivalry, and consoled themselves for the blessings they had 
 lost in the enjoyment of what was left— the smiles of infancy 
 and the offices of manly regard. The triumphs of the tourna- 
 ment and the glory of the battle field had no further charms 
 for them. They hung their shields, their casques, and coats 
 of mail in the halls where those of their ancestors were already 
 ranged ; and their whole hopes now turned on the prospect of 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 249 
 
 twining for their offspring a wreath of happiness, as blooming 
 and more lasting than their own, which had too soon withered, 
 The name of Count Conrad's daughter was Erilda ; that of 
 Count Eberhard's son, Harold. The fathers watched the 
 progress of their mutual affection with anxious eyes. From 
 infancy to adolescence it was just what they could most desire. 
 They observed two young hearts, as it were, bounding high on 
 the enchanted ground of Hope, wandering at will, careless of 
 the path, so as they traced it together, nor dreaming that it 
 was ever to be darkened by even the shadow of disappoint- 
 ment. In their earliest youth they seemed ruled by the same 
 thoughts, and led by the same impulses. Their pastimes and 
 studies were regulated alike. When Harold gave up the 
 sports of mere infancy for those of boyhood, he seemed already 
 warmed by the fire of chivalry. Armed with a paper target 
 and a hazel-rod for a lance, he used to charge boldly against 
 many a field of thistles and poppies, and strew the plain with 
 their scattered flowers, or build up some turf-formed battle- 
 ment to be razed again by his attacks ; while Erilda stood by, 
 like some lady of the sports, ready to reward with smiles and 
 kisses the champion who did such wonderful deeds for her 
 honour's sake. 
 
 The contiguity of the two castles may still be seen in their 
 ruins. It was such that the lights from the battlements of 
 the one fell reflected on the arms of the other's sentinels, and 
 they could almost catch the whispered sounds of their mutual 
 words of watch. Within the walls of these castles torture or 
 suffering had no echo. Power was not abused, nor dependence 
 turned to slavery. The neighbouring serfs were proud of 
 their chieftains, because they were not themselves degraded; 
 and such chieftains, so rare in the records of their barbarous 
 age, were the lights that faintly glimmered on the opening day 
 of civilisation. 
 
 Twenty summers had scarcely browned the front of Harold, 
 and developed his strength of body and energy of mind, when 
 he had drunk of the deep stream of glory, for which, as a 
 boy, he had so thirsted. We must pass hurriedly over the 
 events and scenes of his youthful growth, and imagine all 
 those that marked the education of a young aspirant for the 
 honours of chivalry. Nor can we dwell on the joy which 
 filled his bosom when old Count Conrad dubbed him knight 
 
250 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 — when the scarf was thrown across his shoulders by the fair 
 hands which worked its embroidered edges — nor on the mu- 
 tual anguish of parting, when he tore himself from her em- 
 brace, and rushed to the scene of his first feats of arms. 
 
 The desultory combats of those days furnished ample oppor- 
 tunity for the display of martial prowess. Sir Harold gained 
 his full share of fame, and having proved himself a worthy, 
 scion of his race, he returned from the turmoil of war to the 
 joys of domestic life. The perils and hardships he had en- 
 countered, enabled him to appreciate the happiness now in 
 store for him. He claimed and obtained the only reward he 
 looked for ; Erilda became his wife in all the glow of her 
 beauty, all the purity of her affection ; and as she gazed on 
 him in the full reality of wedded delight, she only wondered 
 how it were possible that he was indeed her own. 
 
 Inhabiting alternately the two castles, this united and happy 
 family possessed the true enjoyments of a common home. On 
 the wedding-day Erilda left her paternal walls, according to 
 custom, to occupy for a while those of her husband and his 
 father. But on this removal from the home of her ancestors, 
 she knew none of the alarms or regrets of those maidens who 
 are borne away, in the fond arms of their husbands, to scenes 
 foreign to all their former tastes and habits. There was no 
 formal display of strange and curious faces watching for her 
 and annoying her on her arrival at her new home. She 
 removed across the little rivulet as though stepping from one 
 path of her accustomed playground to another. The beaming 
 countenances that hailed her arrival were long known and 
 dearly loved. The bridal flowers were culled from her own 
 garden. Her favourite lamb and fawn were browsing the 
 next morning on the lawn over which her lattice opened. As 
 she looked out on the glen, she saw the osiers that she herself 
 had planted by the side of the rivulet. Beyond she saw her 
 own flowers, blooming in the parterre she herself cultivated. 
 As she waved her hand towards them, in the playful saluta- 
 tion of innocent happiness, they seemed to answer from their 
 bending stems; and the matin song that was borne on the soft 
 breezes came from the throats of the feathered choir which 
 was fed by her own hands. 
 
 W e may well suppose that years flew quickly over a scene 
 like this. Time never rests his wings to dwell with happi- 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 251 
 
 ness. He only lags and lingers with pain and misery. But 
 how does the imaginative mind long to pause amidst the joys 
 it pictures, shining like the hlue spots of a sky which storm- 
 clouds are about to blacken ! How love to see itself reflected 
 in the overflowing fountains, whose sources rise in the holiest 
 sympathies of nature, where fancy flutters like the summer 
 bird that dips his wings in the warmth of some sunny lake ! 
 
 One daughter was the fresh link in the chain of love which 
 bound the four individuals who formed this family circle. She 
 was called Freda. She gave a thousand new springs to the 
 feelings of father, mother, and grandsires. The happiness of 
 all seemed complete. 
 
 The occupations of those to whom literature was indeed a 
 sealed volume must have been monotonous, and can be scarcely 
 called intellectual. To tell and listen to tales of war, love, 
 and magic, by the blazing fire in winter, or in the shady 
 bowers in summer ; to visit the habitations of the vassals ; to 
 feed the pilgrim, or list to the minstrels at the gate ; to walk 
 on the broad terrace that looked down on the beauties of the 
 Rhine, and hearken to the chimes of the convent bell, or the 
 sounds of Erilda's lute or Harold's manly voice — such was 
 the usual round of their pursuits. 
 
 The following was one of their simple and favourite rounde- 
 lays : — 
 
 " ROUNDELAY, 
 i. 
 
 " Brightly beams the placid sky ; 
 Softly smiles the moon on high ; 
 Sparkling dances every star 
 That shoots its fairy light afar ; 
 All above looks blithe and gay — 
 
 Let not mortals then below 
 A single shade of gloom betray, 
 
 Reproaches on the Heavens to throw ! 
 
 ii. 
 
 " Nature speaks in simple tones 
 That modest echo sweetly owns ; 
 Then let not man's presumptuous lyre 
 To loftier harmonies aspire — 
 When friendship's honest vows we breathe 
 
 They need not come from gilded bowers ; 
 And if affection twine the wreath 
 
 No matter where she culls the flowers." 
 
 But this long season of delight could not last for ever. 
 It was at deep midnight that the solemn sounds of a 
 chanted requiem arose in the low vaults of Liebenstein Castle. 
 
252 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 Sighs and lamentations mingled with its sad melody. Pale 
 monks were seen by torch-light, and weeping domestics 
 swelled the tram of death. It was in the following strain 
 hat the dirge gave expression to the general feelings of piety 
 and honour for him who was gone : — 
 
 ' Rest thee in peace, illustrious Son. 
 Ennobler of a noble line • 
 The conflict o'er, the battle won, 
 
 Ihe victory is thine! 
 Rest, till that day when thy dark tomb 
 
 Re-opening bursts its bounds : 
 When, summoning to thy endless doom, 
 
 1 he last loud trumpet sounds — 
 And thy purged soul shall glorious rise, 
 A stream of splendour on the skies — 
 Rest thee in peace !" 
 
 And for whom was all this sad pageant performed - the 
 swelling anthem the passing knellf the stately tapers he 
 solemn mass? What noble sinner was mourned so po'mp'ouSv 
 
 vault tZ7 Y? that St °° d sil -tly besid'e the 
 
 vault taking no part in these noisy demonstrations of woe 
 were hvmg but not speaking answers to these questions. The 
 beautiful young woman who wept so bitterly, leanin* her 
 
 Sst h V sband ' S Sh0ulder > S**T showed 
 
 the ot 7 Urned K a r ent S ^ and the bendi "S *™ of 
 the old warrior by their side, seemed to take, in the deen 
 
 ST ? C Wel1 /, WS f ° rmer frfend and companL I 
 
 arms Count Conrad slept with his fathers. 
 
 had reVred' tIT T . performetL The household attendants 
 5,7 uu offici atmg monks had wended their way to 
 
 VruTt S°, Unng , C ° nVent - C ° Unt E berhard, Sir Harold, and 
 reh t. t t d ° Wn ° n thdr C ° UCheS > but sIee P ha <* ™t yet 
 sounrft 1 thelr „ SOrrOW : ° n US ""availing watch when the horn, 
 
 inhabttils 6 P ° rtal r ° USed "P itS 
 
 ,ont nd W ! II 1 ma y "? now start «P ^ alarmed anticipation of 
 some great change in the even tenor of their lives. Well may 
 Enlda dash the tears from her eyes-they were fitting tributes 
 
 weirmTsi: , but suit r with that Which 
 
 Well may Sir Harold spring from the embrace of beauty and 
 the indulgence of peace. War now claims him as its own 
 1,,! , Impatl t nt COurier who had «> ^used up the castle 
 J aS iT ed mt ° * 6 P resence of Si r Harold, and delivered him a 
 rescript from the emperor • then mounting a fresh horse, for 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 253 
 
 his own had dropped down dead in the court-yard, he gal- 
 loped off at full speed, to serve the remainder of a batch of 
 imperial summonses on the neighbouring chieftains. 
 
 The young knight of Stemfels, thus taken by surprise, felt 
 all the natural ardour of his disposition spring up as though 
 from a slumber of years. The passion for war, the longing 
 for fame, the instinct of loyalty, all acted together ; and every 
 ignoble regret was hushed in the clamour of Christian and 
 feudal sophistries, that told him his first duty was to destroy 
 the Turk and aid the emperor. 
 
 The speed of the courier, and the promptness of military 
 preparation in those days, were proved by his gazing, within 
 an hour, from a hill four leagues distant, on the faintly dis- 
 tinguished walls of Sternfels ; and at the same time seeing 
 the sun-beams glitter on a crowd of helms and spears, which 
 were soon, however, lost in a cloud of dust that rose swelling 
 up, as if proud of the warrior train it enclosed. The fore- 
 most of Sir Harold's band was already on its route ; and he 
 with the remainder of his required quota was not long 
 behind. 
 
 The din of preparation was heard loudly in all quarters. 
 The large bell of the castle sounded the alarm to the vassals 
 whose duty it was to hasten ready armed to that summons. 
 The courts and halls were filled with impatient crowds 
 inquiring the cause of this assembly, and preparing to carry 
 the peremptory orders of the emperor into effect. Squires, 
 pages, archers, men-at-arms, all thronged together, and all 
 soon disappeared. The spacious stables were left empty. 
 The walls of the armoury were bare. In places where the 
 morning light had been reflected back from a martial tapestry 
 of banners, targes, helms, and lances, a broadband cheerless 
 blank met the beams of the noon-tide sun. No longer did 
 groupes of busy idlers pace the courts and ramparts. No 
 songs rose up from sportive voices. The castle maidens were 
 not seen gaily wandering in the garden. Snugly shut up in 
 their several apartments, they wept their departed lovers, 01 
 strove to distinguish from the turrets the one dear form, 
 among the parting troops which now fast faded from even the 
 eagle-eye of affection. 
 
 This sad and dreary change was so sudden that it appeared 
 to those who gazed on it like the shifting cheatery of a dream. 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 s: rjzv-LTXM t ° t r helmed with the 
 
 felt at all. No sigh brokl from eS ™T had not 
 
 "My child! my child'" ™^ T 6 6Xtlnct - 
 
 totally overcome him St ^ hat ° ne ^ ,ance would 
 
 low^vT* W f hiCh ^ ga,1 °P ed d0Wn 80 furiously, foi- 
 mounted men. Foremost amoS th dlSC ° Vere , d a 8 rou P 
 sons on the part of Harold Wo , oiernreis in tailure of 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 255 
 
 and quite indifferent to the entail, 'the advantages of which he 
 did not covet. He was older than Harold, who regarded him 
 with that mixed kind of feeling which is not exactly brotherly 
 love nor parental reverence, but partakes somewhat of both. 
 Erilda had always considered Rupert of Stalbach as the type 
 of moral and martial worth. The emperor, with whom he 
 was a great favourite, had given him some local command 
 which added to his scanty income ; but he would gladly now 
 have forfeited place, profit, and promotion for the distant har- 
 vest of fame which he envied Sir Harold's chance of reaping. 
 
 a Well met, Rupert!" cried the latter. " Thou art on 
 the road to Sternfels ? " 
 
 " Ay, Harold, to give thee a rough blessing on thy expedi- 
 tion, and a rougher curse that I do not share its glorious 
 chances/' 
 
 " I take thy blessing, my friend, and leave thee still a 
 proud and honourable charge. I go, Rupert, to meet the in- 
 fidel and uphold the true faith, in the ranks of our liege lord. 
 It may be I have taken a last farewell of my father — my wife 
 
 — my child " A pause, and a nervous pressure, given 
 
 to his kinsman's outstretched band, told Sir Harold's emotion. 
 
 " While they lament my absence, — or should I fall " 
 
 continued he. 
 
 " No more, no more ! " exclaimed Von Stalbach, cc we must 
 not be unmanned, good cousin. Let this be enough, I swear 
 to you, as a Christian knight, that while I breathe, thy wife 
 shall want no brother, thy sire no son, nor thy child a sire ! " 
 
 A cordial embrace sealed this pledge and ended the interview. 
 In a little more each party had pursued its different route, and 
 no trace remained of either cavalcade. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 In as short a space of time as could be consumed in the 
 journey, Sir Harold and his gallant troop had joined the 
 rendezvous of the imperial rearguard, and gained the passes 
 of the Hungarian hills, across which his road directly lay to- 
 wards the Danube, on the banks of which river the emperor 
 had determined to measure his forces with the Turk. The 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 picturesque varieties of the route from time to time excited 
 the chieftain, and he occasionally hroke from his absorbing 
 reveries to gaze with wonder and admiration on the lovelv 
 scenes he traversed. ' 
 
 Often he would push on far before his followers, and meet 
 the rough breeze that gave its wholesome greeting from some 
 mountain top, blowing aside his mantle, sporting in his jet- 
 black plume, and giving to his cheeks the bright glow of health 
 which too often conceals the canker of sorrow. Sometimes he 
 would stop his horse suddenly on the ledge of a precipice, and, 
 while the trembling animal threw wild glances into the chasm 
 mark the wild goats bounding securely from crag to crag, or 
 whole herds browsing at leisure on the verge, while their 
 
 Sf Une ° n S ° me r ° Cky P ° int ' in a " the instinct of 
 
 Then would Sir Harold be recalled to more home sensations, 
 by hearing the chorus of some song of the Rhine borne upwards 
 on the breeze, while the singers were seen slow-pacing their 
 way on the rugged paths, the spray-shower dashing from the 
 mountain cascades, and the sunbeams playing on the white 
 
 t2Z s f , from the poIished amour - As the s 9 ua <hons 
 
 gradually ascended, some were at times to be seen pausing, to 
 et their steeds snatch a refreshing draught from the stream 
 that oozed out of the rocky soil; and when at length the 
 summits were reached, and the riders stretched their stiffened 
 
 SwT n t W6lC0me gr ° Und ' the blown and tire d hones 
 robbed the wild animals of the hills of a portion of their scant 
 verdure. I was thus that Sir Harold and his brave com- 
 panions worked on their tedious, yet not quitejunvaried route. 
 
 I the ™ e * ntlme > th e main body of the imperial army had 
 reached the Danube; and they soon crossed it in great force 
 and spread far into Bulgaria, where the assembling host 
 ot the infidels was preparing to meet their advance. Many 
 chieftains of renown, of old families, and acknowledged rank 
 had joined the emperor on this expedition; but among them 
 all none was more remarkable than one adventurer, whose 
 titles to distinction were not to be traced to any of those 
 common causes which obtain the homage of the vulsrar His 
 name, as he himself gave it out, for no one else could' vouch 
 for it, was Rudo f of the Hartz_a wild and vague title, that 
 corresponded with the character and all that was known of the 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 257 
 
 career of the man. His course of service could not be traced 
 farther back than some five or six years, at which period he 
 had offered himself as a volunteer in one of the terrible domestic 
 quarrels waged between two independent and powerful vassals 
 of the empire. His haughty mien and proud look, though he 
 was but a youth, made many an old soldier shrink from any 
 curious inquiries as to his lineage or connexions. Once and 
 once only, some comrade, less cautious than the rest' im- 
 prudently put a question of the kind, with a sneer of doubt 
 tor its accompaniment. 
 
 " My name is known," replied the adventurer. «T am 
 Rudolf of the Hartz. Whoever wishes for records of my 
 birth or race must search them on my sword blade Who 
 
 ever doubts them " but, turning quickly aside, he seemed 
 
 to check his rising passion, and a blush was seen to pass across 
 his brow. From that day no one made further inquiries, and 
 Rudolf was allowed to rest in mystery, but not in obscurity 
 Not only his courage but his many accomplishments forbade 
 the latter being his lot. His tall figure and handsome face 
 prepared the observers to admire his versatile talents. His 
 penci was skilful at tracing likenesses of objects in nature or 
 of art. He sang well, touched the lute skilfully, and made 
 verses with the fluency and grace of a southern troubadour 
 Yet, beneath all the semblance of graceful amiability which 
 covered and gave new worth to these attractions, the keen 
 observer might perceive, at times, symptoms of a character the 
 broad reverse of amiable. A hurried and envious flash would 
 
 tint fi T d , ark - frin S ed lid when a «y ^mrade of the 
 battle-field received even deserved applause. And frequently 
 when his fnends-as they were called in camp parlancS," 
 in the fierce contests from which he had the good luck to 
 escape an ardent and pleased glance lit up his large eyes and 
 a fiend-hke smile curled his lip, as though he felt S ev eu 
 from the oppression of a weight of rivalry sieved 
 
 nation 1 !* 6 ^ °l 5* ^ ™ threW Rudolf <»" of occu- 
 pation, his accomplishments were turned to good account and 
 
 c e oJZl d ° n ,tr hS ° f ^ aS a troubadouT WhJ 
 courtly air and lightsome step, singing, sighing, roving and 
 amorous, he pursued his course. A welcom/mefhim wherever 
 he presented himself, -but curses and reproaches generally 
 followed his departure; for the regrets of confiding We we e 
 too commonly the results of his visits. Remorse never seeled 
 
258 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 to sting him; and he loved pleasure less for the enjoyment he 
 indulged in than for the mischief it allowed him to perpetrate. 
 But war again hurst out, and on a scale proportioned to his 
 growing ambition. The expedition of the emperor opened a 
 new field to every adventurer ; and a warrior of his reputation 
 was received into the combined army of Christian chivalry as 
 an acquisition of no common worth. 
 
 The army had crossed the Danube ; the white tents of the 
 Christian encampment spotted the green plains ; and, obscurely 
 seen from the distant cliffs, they looked like sea birds reposing 
 on the bosom of ocean. The palisadoes and trenches were 
 fixed and cut, and the broad banners of the various chieftains 
 gave defiance to the unbelievers. Skirmishes and marauding 
 excursions soon tried the courage and skill of the troops. 
 Reinforcements came on day after day, and all awaited with 
 impatient valour the expected crash of the two armies in de- 
 cisive conflict. But wherever, in the prelusive conflicts, 
 danger was to be braved or booty gained, Rudolf of the Hartz 
 was foremost. 
 
 One evening, after a day of active warfare, the emperor had 
 assembled in his tent the principal leaders of the various forces, 
 — Rudolf among the rest, — to gather their opinions, in a 
 general council, as to the plan of action to be immediately 
 pursued against the now closely approaching enemy. While 
 thus gravely occupied, a cry <that sounded like surprise and 
 superstition broke on them from without. All paused ; and 
 some rushed to the opening of the tent, to inquire the mean- 
 ing of the sounds, which were repeated, louder and more near. 
 In a few moments they returned, making way for a captain, 
 who had guarded one of the passes across the river, and now 
 hurried up from its banks, uttering the exclamations which 
 had so surprised the council, and forcing his way to the pre- 
 sence of the emperor. 
 
 t( Great potentate ! noble chieftains !" exclaimed he, throw- 
 ing himself at the emperor's feet, " woe and ruin are coming 
 on us fast ! The hopes of Europe, the pride of Christendom, 
 are about to be overthrown ! Fly, my great liege, oh, fly from 
 this foul land, where magic encircles and must destroy us ajl ! 
 Where demons troop on against us, and walk the waters and 
 the winds! You doubt?" continued the terrified captain, 
 seeing the incredulous and angry looks of the emperor and the 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 259 
 
 rest. " Go forth, then — see with your own eyes, mighty sir, 
 and ye bold and sceptical chieftains ! see the wizard squadron 
 as it comes slowly up from the river's side, having crossed 
 over on rafts, no doubt as immaterial as the forms it seemed 
 to bear over ! While leading it onwards, is he, the redoubted 
 Rudolf of the Hartz, who stands here a living mortal man, 
 but is there, nevertheless, changed, by some hellish arts of 
 devils' craft, into a bloodless and fleshless fiend ! " 
 
 Incredulous, yet thrilling with the superstitious misgivings 
 of the age, all hastened out of the tent, the emperor at their 
 head ; but those who looked on Rudolf were struck with 
 amaze to see him, always the first on every occasion of real 
 danger, hang back, pale and aghast, at the strange and inco- 
 herent announcement of the captain. 
 
 " Is he indeed terrified,' , thought they, " at this wondrous 
 boding of some evil to himself? Or is this some trick of 
 magic, which he has learned to play ? " 
 
 When they reached the outer opening of the imperial tent, 
 they one and all started back, stunned with astonishment. It 
 was not indeed a spectral delusion that met their sight ; no 
 airy nothing that came to scatter dismay among the imagina- 
 tive heroes of this new crusade. But a tall and gallant war- 
 rior, armed at all points, who, having dismounted from his 
 steed, advanced to pay homage to his imperial master. And 
 as he knelt before him, neither the emperor himself nor those 
 who surrounded him could command a word, or utter an ex- 
 clamation. The stranger chief was so like Rudolf, that sense 
 could scarcely yield credence to the scene. When he spoke 
 some short phrase of dutiful profession to the emperor, it 
 would seem as though a spell had tuned his tongue and voice 
 into sounds the very same as the other so well known to the 
 wondering listeners. 
 
 " ' Tis Rudolf's self ! " cried several. 
 
 " See, see, here comes the real Rudolf ! " exclaimed others. 
 And Rudolf himself did indeed now advance from the tent, 
 having recovered his self-command, and filled with angry con- 
 sciousness of having quailed under the influence of fear for 
 the first time in his life. When he caught a full view of the 
 armed warrior before him, he stopped short — a pang of doubt 
 and terror shot through him — and he looked speechlessly on 
 s 2 
 
260 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 the as evident resemblance of his own person as though a 
 mirror had hung in the air before him. Nor did the stranger 
 — Sir Harold of Sternfels — throw a less astonished gaze on 
 him, their faces alternately exchanging looks of petrified asto- 
 nishment. 
 
 When the first burst of surprise was over on all sides, 
 and the loud greetings of the whole host had risen up to hail 
 the arrival of Sir Harold with the first of the Rhine country 
 contingents, the tired and still wondering chieftain gave his 
 first attentions to the accommodation of his followers. He 
 next sat down to write a hasty account of his arrival at the 
 camp, to be ready for a homeward-bound courier who was to 
 start the following morning. His brief letter contained only 
 a short statement of his safety, and alluded to the extraordi- 
 nary resemblance which had caused sueh amazement to the 
 whole army, and given him sensations quite new to his former 
 ones, — for he felt, he said, " as though he had found a 
 brother in this unknown chieftain." Those who remarked 
 the effects produced by this letter on its arrival at Sternfels — 
 among whom was Rupert of Stalbach — saw in Erilda only a 
 grateful and happy expression of countenance on hearing her 
 husband's safety ; but could not avoid marvelling at the abrupt 
 start, followed by a long mood of uneasy thought, which be- 
 trayed some hidden emotions in Count Eberhard. 
 
 And how did Rudolf of the Hartz feel on recovering from 
 his first alarm, and knowing who it was to whom he bore so 
 miraculous a resemblance? Was his breast filled with the 
 same warm and generous impulses that animated Sir Harold's ? 
 No, no ! far different emotions agitated him. The shame of 
 having betrayed a superstitious sensitiveness, envy of the bold 
 knight who came to dispute the palm of merit with him in a 
 variety of ways, and still a deeper and almost unfathomable 
 source of hatred, all conspired to goad him on to mental agony. 
 The sentries who paced before his tent declared that he did 
 not rest the whole night, but that he held converse till dawn 
 with his own thoughts, or with some invisible companion. 
 But morning saw him step forth, with a smile as tranquil as 
 though an angel's hand had smoothed his perturbed brow. 
 
 He paid an early visit to Sir Harold, and in the course of a 
 few weeks their intercourse ripened into a close intimacy. 
 With characters like that of the knight of Sternfels it requires 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 261 
 
 no long period to induce a belief that what should be is ; and 
 that he should become the easy dupe of an artful designer was 
 the natural sequence. His unsuspecting heart opened freely 
 to the cunning designs of the villain who worked on him ; and 
 he felt as though almost repaid for loss of home and friends 
 by this new-made intimacy. It was by no common vows that 
 it was cemented. Sir Harold and Rudolf agreed to become 
 pledged together by the ties of fraternity of arms, a solemn 
 engagement commfln in those times. This ancient usage was 
 sometimes solemnised by orgies partaking of savage ardour 
 rather than civilised sympathy. But the present votaries did 
 not mix blood with their wine. Religious rites stood in place 
 of that barbarity • and their " brotherhood" was on one side 
 sanctified by sincerity, while cunning and bad faith degraded 
 it on the other. 
 
 It may not be told to what design the duplicity of Rudolf 
 pointed in the first stages of this intimacy. But an accident 
 soon occurred which decided his bias towards an intention of 
 most atrocious stamp. In the frequent encounters of the pro- 
 longed campaign the brothers in arms were never separate. 
 The black plume of Sir Harold and Rudolf's white one were 
 the only points of distinction between them. In the hours 
 spared by duty they partook together of the rude joys of the 
 camp ; stretched on the green sward, and singing their light 
 lays by turns, or mutually recounting stories of their past 
 lives — those of one of them being at least veracious. 
 
 One day they were thus lying in Rudolf's tent, when Sir 
 Harold, overcome by fatigue and heat, fell asleep, and his 
 open vest showed his bosom's treasure, — the miniature of 
 Erilda, which he always wore near his heart. Rudolf's eye 
 was attracted to this portrait, which he had never before seen. 
 An instant passion for the beautiful being it represented took 
 possession of his breast. He fixed his enamoured look on the 
 senseless ivory as though it were an object of life on which he 
 gazed. And this single glance awoke a thousand sparklings 
 through the gloomy den of his mind, like the flashes drawn 
 by a single torch from the spar-formed columns and arches of 
 a cavern. But all tended to bring to light one demoniac pro- 
 ject. This was to destroy Sir Harold ; to speed straight to 
 Sternfels ; to show his almost identical person to father, wife, 
 and child ; to obtain possession of wealth, influence, title — 
 s 3 
 
2 g 2 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 and with them that which he now valued, or fancied he valued, 
 Wgher than all, -the original of the portrait whose beauty 
 
 n^Sr— his assiduities to hisunsuspecting victim 
 were redoubled. With consummate art he led him on to m- 
 Sge to the natural garrulity of affection, to talk of those who 
 Med his heart, to relate a thousand little facts that he loose 
 Sred ta to memory, secrets of youthful love and many 
 mtoor touches of houJdescription and early all 
 of which the designing villain treasured deep in Ins brain. 
 
 Twice did Rudolf steal from Sir Harold's breast, while he 
 dent the portrait of his wife ; and with great care and a firm 
 hand albeU his heart heat high the while, he copied the 
 pSng and forged this passport of true love, whose ranaud 
 smile seemed silently to condemn his felony When the task 
 was over, and some nice and finishing touches added n the 
 Tecurily of his own tent, he looked at the work with gloating 
 yes and he felt that all preliminary measures 
 to clear the way for the main act of the design. The destruc- 
 t on of Sir Harold now alone remained to be «c^£ 
 To perform this safely was not a matter as easy as it was de 
 sirable He wonld not entrust the task to any hand bu h» 
 own for he had all the ferocity without the usual reckless- 
 nlss' of vdlany. To assassinate his confiding companion 
 Sit have been on many occasions easy, but not without ex- 
 iting suspicion of himself ; so he waited, with mipatient cun- 
 ning till fate might throw some safe opportunity on the path 
 they traced together. This opportumty came at length. _ 
 X small division of the imperial army was one day _de ached 
 to make a false attack on a portion of the mam body of the 
 Turkish host, in order to cover some ulterior op rations but 
 particular directions were given to its commande mot to sk 
 an encasement which might lead to a general battle. Hurried 
 on however, by impetuosity, the chieftain went too far, and 
 the consequence was that the few thousand men he commanded 
 Ml 1 al ambuscade, the common tactics of those days, and 
 while he paid with his life the penalty of his rashness, h s 
 Stunate troops were surrounded and left without a sing 
 hope of safety. Sir Harold of Sternfels and Rudolf of the 
 Hartz were among those doomed victims. 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 ZG3 
 
 Prodigies of valour were performed by the furious and des- 
 perate Christians. But as mountain streams that shrink in 
 summer between the rugged banks that enclose them, so did 
 the band of heroes, parched and faltering, dwindle away be- 
 tween the closing flanks of the infidels, whose wild yells of 
 triumph told that there was no mercy to be hoped for. The 
 t( companions in arms/' Sir Harold and Rudolf, both un- 
 horsed and both wounded, stood in the very front of the fight ; 
 and wherever an opening could be made in the foe they 
 moved forward side by side, the same in bold and majestic 
 look, their distinguishing plumes flowing behind, like two tall 
 vessels plunging through the sea with streamers floating to 
 the storm. The gallant men of Sternfels followed close on 
 their chieftain, but one by one they dropped down in deaths 
 choking the wide chasm of glory's grave. 
 
 At length Rudolf sunk to earth, under a powerful stroke ; 
 but as the scymitars of the shouting enemy were about to fall 
 on his head and consummate his destruction, Sir Harold 
 threw himself before his body, and for a time kept his nume- 
 rous assailants at bay. It was in this moment of his com- 
 panion's generous devotion that Rudolf, driven to the madness 
 of villany, by the dread of his intended victim after all sur- 
 viving him and his plans, resolved to violate, not only his 
 oaths of brotherhood, but the still more holy ties imposed on 
 him by friendship and gratitude. Rising suddenly up from 
 his recumbent posture, his fierce aspect caused a moment's 
 relaxation in the attacks of Sir Harold's assailants. The 
 newly revived man looked horrible as well as terrible. His 
 blood-drenched plume streamed down upon his deeply stained 
 visage, his eyes shot forth a wild and meteor-like glare through 
 the raven locks that hung disordered around them. He sprang 
 up like a tiger bounding on his prey ; but while the dastard 
 foes shrunk back, it was against Sir Harold he sprang. The 
 latter, weak from wounds and exertion, opened his arms to 
 embrace his reviving friend ! At the instant Rudolf's rapier 
 pierced his corslet and entered his breast. Sir Harold fell ; 
 and then his assassin struck blow after blow, and forgetting 
 self, safety, every thing but the completion of his desperate 
 design — no matter at what cost — he flung his own body on 
 that of the bleeding knight, while the amazed but rejoicing 
 s 4 
 
264 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 infidels rushed round the prostrate bodies, and hid the result 
 of the almost incredible scene. 
 
 A few stragglers were lucky enough to regain the imperial 
 army. They gave the above-mentioned details of the fatal 
 fight. They could tell no more ; but that as they fled from 
 the elevated grounds which enabled them to see what passed, 
 they heard the clank of chains mingling with dying groans, 
 while at intervals wild shrieks rose up, as if the butchering 
 infidels closed their bloody task at leisure. 
 
 END OF VOL. II. 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 265 
 
 VOLUME THE THIRD. 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 (continued.) 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 As the setting sun softly and gradually retires from earth 
 gilding it with even its latest ray, so does Hope steal from the 
 breast its glowing beams had enlightened, and leaves for 
 awhile the reflection of its influence behind. And long round 
 Erildas lone and widowed heart did the spell continue its 
 delusions; and often deceived by Hope's siren voice, she still 
 clung to each new promise, and strove to be again and again 
 betrayed. The fatal tidings of Sir Harold's fall beneath 
 Kudolf s murderous weapon at length reached Sternfels The 
 anguish of the father may not be told. How then attempt to 
 describe that of the wife ? F 
 
 Six times had the return of spring wakened the torpid 
 flowers, and bade the young year rejoice since the day which 
 had seen Enlda bereft of him who was so dear to her, even in 
 her despair. For her the sad seasons came and went, and 
 seemed at each return to bring her a new load of sorrow. 
 Kumour with its many tongues confused and at length over- 
 powered her. A total vacuity possessed her mind, and sense 
 1 P ^f , See , med , t0 , sl , eep u P°n its throne. But even in this 
 state of deadened feeling two excitements held some power 
 ZZ> father-in-law's soothing attentions, and her 
 
 child s innocent endearments. For these she suppressed many 
 a rising sigh and checked many a rushing tear, striving to put 
 on the semblance of a dreary gaiety, by which none, however, 
 
266 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 were deceived; and indulging, under favour of night and 
 solitude, in the luxury of silent woe. 
 
 Time's untiring chisel continued to trace furrows on Count 
 Eberhard's cheeks, and the tears of parental sorrow found 
 ready channels for their flow. Yet a smile sometimes light- 
 ened his grief-worn countenance when he gazed on the last- 
 springing charms of his granddaughter, who grew more lovely 
 from surrounding woes, like the opening leaves of some sweet 
 plant that seems to spring from nature's griefs as its shoots are 
 refreshed by weeping dews. Freda was indeed the child ot 
 sorrow. Cradled in sadness, nursed with sighs, her infancy 
 was an infancy of thought— an early spring on which winter 
 still threw its lingering clouds, to darken the joys of the young 
 vear. The melancholy attendance on her mother and her 
 grandsire gave a sadness to her very joys; and while she 
 almost incessantly followed the old man's steps or watched hy 
 his couch, Erilda used to steal away from both, to taste, un- 
 broken in upon, the fulness and the bitterness of her own 
 
 ^HT'favourite retreat was a spot on the side of the hank 
 that sloped down to the dell which seems to divide the rums 
 of the castles. A tender motive of attachment bound her to 
 this spot— it was her mother's burial place. The green raised 
 turf alone marked the lowly grave. No dark cypress, no 
 mournful willow, no beggar stone, nor boastful urn stamped i 
 with Death's proud pageantry. But many a scattered sweet 
 was strown around, in accordance with the wish and the cha- 
 racter of the humble mind which chose it for her resting- 
 place, while he who had lived to see her laid in this simple 
 sanctuary was sent, following the forms of pious bigotry, as a 
 banquet for the reptiles of a monument. 
 
 Every adornment that could sanctify the place was furnished 
 by Erilda's care. The fragrant lily sent up its sweets through 
 clustering vine branches, to blend with those of the jasmine 
 and woodbine ; while roses filling the air with perfume seemed 
 to load the breeze that struggled faintly through the shrubs. 
 The graceful acacia caught the slight influence of the air ana 
 shook down its honied blossoms ; while the soft showers, that 
 at times fell on the violet beds, were as warm and mild as the 
 tears shed by a mother on the cradle of her sleeping child. 
 In this hallowed retreat Erilda reigned, sole priestess ot its 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. £>67 
 
 lonely rites. Here she sought relief from the too noisy con- 
 dolences of even the sad world of Sternfels. Over this conse- 
 crated ground she at times fancied that inspiration was float- 
 ing ; and she loved to believe that the spirit of her whom she 
 could not remember in her mortal form hovered around her. 
 For though memory may not retain one trace of the parent 
 lost in childhood, still the venturous imagination will at times 
 dart upwards to meet the bright form, which it knows but in 
 thought, the angel and the mother joined. 
 
 Erilda had few worldly comforters. Rupert of Stalbach 
 on whom she had long leaned for support in her affliction, he 
 whose blunt kindness was more soothing than the whining 
 sympathy of the world, no longer possessed an influence of 
 which he had become unworthy. His whole conduct was 
 changed, and his real character developed ; for until brought to 
 light by circumstances, it was never before evident even to 
 himself. His was one of those unfortunately elastic minds, so 
 pliant as to take whatever form external influences offered to 
 it. Had Rupert never been tempted, he had never fallen ; 
 for there was nothing radically vicious in his temperament' 
 nor ought that would have voluntarily sought dishonour. 
 When he first hastened to Sternfels, in the warm glow of 
 parting friendship, he never dreamt of his own interest ; and 
 for many successive months he was the solace of those who 
 were left, as he had been the hope of him who was gone. 
 
 It was not until the news of Sir Harold's fall had pene- 
 trated to his desolate home, that Rupert felt the wild thrill of 
 expectant avarice curdle his blood, and fill his pulse with 
 a monstrous energy. An empoisoned, yet a genial, fluid 
 seemed to run through his whole frame, and to transform 
 him magically into something he had never before been or 
 imagined. A thousand pageants of grandeur floated before 
 him — castles, domains, honours, and hoards of wealth. He 
 recoiled for a moment with an instinctive, but an expiring, 
 throb of right principle; for wherever he turned, in whatever 
 way he sought to dissipate his newly excited feelings, the 
 same visions of greatness sprung up spontaneously in his 
 mind. At length grown familiar with this train of thought, 
 which was encouraged by a host of dissolute companions, he 
 began to be satisfied that it was but ritfit and natural. 
 Where is the guilt/' thought he, « since my cousin Harold 
 
26S 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 is dead, in hoping for possession of what is legally my own ? 
 And if an old man happens to stand between me and my just 
 inheritance, what sin in wishing him in heaven ?" 
 
 But still the aged count lived on, in spite of the impatient 
 calculations of his hungry kinsman. And the latter soon 
 began to run the usual career of expectant heirs, hurried on. 
 by all the accessory impulses by which they are assailed and 
 mastered. Leagued with extravagance and vice, he rode the 
 giddy round, and folly toiled to win disgrace, while conscience 
 sternly goading him the while, he was by degrees prepared for any 
 act of villany which would end his overwrought excitement. 
 Erilda, thus abandoned by him who had possessed her whole 
 confidence, mourned the change more for her false kinsman's 
 sake than her own ; while she bent beneath the withering 
 blight which strikes down the heart that was ripening in the 
 mellow warmth of confidence. Yet no reproaches broke from 
 her. She suffered in calm serenity, and seemed like the spirit 
 of happiness, left in mercy to hover over the scenes whence the 
 substance had departed. 
 
 The sixth summer since the fatal epoch of Sir Harold's set- 
 ting out for Hungary had now come round, smiling in the 
 breeze or frowning in storms ; and vegetation's ruddy cheek was 
 beginning to ripen in its beams. Frequent travellers, pilgrims 
 and minstrels, monks and mendicants, presented themselves at 
 the gates of Sternfels, and always found a ready welcome. 
 Though no costly banquets were spread, as of old, for the en- 
 tertainment of the gay and happy, worldly cares or wearied feet 
 were a sure passport to the hospitality of the castle. Erilda 
 rarely appeared in the hall, unless some grateful visitant ex- 
 pressly asked permission to thank and bless her, or some 
 itinerant son of song implored the honour of chanting an ex- 
 tempore ballad, in honour of those who had sheltered and be- 
 friended him. 
 
 (e The noon burns fiercely to-day," said the warder, as a 
 wearied and weather-beaten minstrel entered the porch. 
 
 " Ay, but the frowns of fortune scorch still more fiercely," 
 replied the wanderer. " Yet it often happens," and he smiled 
 as he spoke, " that the hottest day melts away in showers at 
 evening ! What think you, Master Warder ; will your mistress 
 be inclined to hear a lightsome roundel ? I should like to chase 
 the tears from the eyes of beauty, and make a joyous strain re- 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 269 
 
 sound in these walls, where they tell me pleasure has not been 
 for a long time a visitant/' 
 
 " Rest thee, rest thee awhile, good friend. When thou art 
 refreshed thou mayst think of song and lute; there is no 
 melody in a parched throat. But much I doubt me, that even 
 when your harmonies are at their best, my mistress will be dis- 
 posed to list any notes of merry cadence. She much better 
 likes the sorrowing tone that reminds her of buried joys." 
 
 A hurried repast was partaken of by the minstrel, and he had 
 very soon collected round him in the great hall a circle of the 
 well-pleased maidens, who but seldom heard so sprightly a 
 measure as that to which he tuned his lute. Erilda had con- 
 sented to become also a listener, and she stood pensively, with 
 Freda by her side, so pensively that the minstrel at length 
 begged of her to deign a greater share of attention to his song, 
 " which told of every sweet that could gratify the heart, and 
 strewed flowers on the path of life." The smiling maidens 
 pressed forward to join in the entreaty, and Freda too put up 
 her gentle supplications to her mother. Erilda, however, 
 checked the general flow of affectionate assiduity, and she 
 desired the minstrel to sing no more of images of bliss, u which 
 were but mockery to her, who saw every form of joy but as a 
 phantom that fled while she pursued it." 
 
 The minstrel seemed affected by this remonstrance, and 
 tuning his lute to a plaintive air, he sung as follows : 
 
 MINSTREL'S SONG. 
 I. 
 
 " No flowers for me ! For here they may not flourish, 
 This wretched breast their dreary tomb might be ; 
 But nought that warmth would cheer or sunshine nourish, 
 Can bloom, where all that's bright must perish — 
 No flowers for me ! 
 
 IT. 
 
 " No smiles for me ! my anguish never sleepeth, 
 Hope beams alone on hearts from sorrow free ; 
 O'er the smooth brow his joyous vigil keepeth, 
 But shuns the heavy lid that weepeth — 
 
 No smiles for me!" 
 
 While the minstrel sung, Erilda's tears flowed freely. He, 
 seeming to watch every movement of her mind, saw that 
 feeling was touched — apathy aroused. Following up the im- 
 pression he had made, and as if resolved to awaken, no matter 
 at what cost of suffering, the deepest and most intense of her 
 emotions, he had no sooner finished the last of those stanzas 
 
270 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 than he suddenly swept the strings of his instrument in a 
 symphony still more sad. He then sang as follows, in a 
 low and solemn strain of recitative, while his accompaniment 
 was so mournful that woe might have heard it and sighed still 
 deeper than before : — 
 
 " Hark to the groans of the wounded brave, 
 As they writhe on the chilling earth, 
 And faintly sigh for their common grave, 
 Or in fits of anguish wildly rave, 
 And curse the hour of their birth ! 
 
 " Their mouths are parched, and their drooping heads 
 Hang listless, as they lie, 
 Pillowed in gore on their earthy beds, 
 And with fearful wailings cry 
 For death — but they cannot die ! 
 
 " That warrior stretched on the brow of the hill, 
 
 Has expiring lain three nights full of pain, 
 Damp, agonized, and chill — 
 
 While the life-blood's thick and sluggard drain 
 
 Weak, drizzling,'flows — but the cruel vein 
 Seems full of vigour still. 
 
 " With faltering tone, he weakly cries, 
 
 ' Now welcome Heaven ! now world farewell ! ' 
 He sinks, he faints, and his languid eyes 
 No longer glare on the dismal dell — 
 But it is not so with him who dies ! 
 
 The lips unclosed — and the frightful stare 
 That in death are seen, are wanting there. 
 
 " Slowly he moves — once more reviving ; 
 He lives ! he lives ! his eye-lids ope ! 
 From transient pangs new hope deriving " 
 
 A long pause after the utterance of these emphatic words made 
 the listeners, and more particularly Erilda, watch for the con- 
 cluding line of the stanza with breathless impatience. The 
 minstrel, fixing his looks on her with a still more marked ex- 
 pression of encouragement and cheerfulness, at length sung — 
 
 " Yes, lady ! while there's life there's hope ! " 
 
 Agitated and overpowered by the various feelings so strongly 
 excited, Erilda sunk on a seat, and her daughter and attendant 
 damsels strayed round her to offer sundry services. The 
 minstrel, as though he had felt his work completed, retired 
 from the hall. Erilda soon recovered, and as she calmly re- 
 flected on what had just passed, she could not resist the ecstatic 
 thought, that the minstrel's wild song contained some direct 
 allusion to her cause of suffering, nor could she believe that he 
 had but wantonly tortured her. She turned her eyes to seek 
 him, and on finding he was gone she despatched several of her 
 maidens to bring him back. But when they reached the portal. 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT* 
 
 271 
 
 they learned that the stranger had left the castle, merely 
 saying to the warder, with a significant smile, when the latter 
 invited him to stay till the burning heat was over — " Thou 
 knowest, good friend, the hottest day may melt in mild showers 
 at eve." 
 
 When Erilda heard of this answer, it gave fresh strength to 
 her belief of good. In her own despite — for she had long re- 
 solved to repress every thing like hope — her spirits seemed 
 rising high beyond their usual depression. Her eyes beamed, 
 her bosom heaved, and her cheeks were flushed, unwonted 
 symptoms with one so long sunk in apathetic insensibility. 
 Hours passed over uncounted. The bell that summoned to the 
 early evening meal was unheeded. Moving with a step so light 
 that she seemed to tread less on earth than air, she hastened to 
 her favourite retreat, unmindful of the threatening aspect of 
 the sky, which foretold a fast-coming storm. 
 
 The sun had sunk in fire and tinged the world, as if in anger, 
 with a crimson glow. Storm-pregnant clouds rose in the east- 
 ward, and rolled upwards in monstrous and fantastic shapes. 
 Broad flashes spread across the hills in sheets of sickly red ; 
 and low thunderings came onwards with every gust that swept 
 the valley. The moon, full and clear, hung high in heaven ; 
 her silvery beams mingling with the lightning's flash and the 
 deep blaze of the sun. Erilda saw these symptoms of awful 
 convulsion, but feared them not. Neither did she note the 
 direful assemblage of omens, which in less absorbing moments 
 might have struck her as presages of ill. The bat was skim- 
 ming the air around her ; the owl sat in a bush above ; a 
 toad croaked in the sedge below ; and a snake was hissing in 
 the grass at her feet ! 
 
 The rain now came pattering in large drops upon the leaf- 
 roofed canopy of Erilda' s bower; and the trees bent and 
 creaked to the gloomy wind. Magic could not combine more 
 portentous solemnities ; nor guilt find more fitting accompani- 
 ments for its dark doings. Still Erilda gazed fearlessly on the 
 scowling sky, rapt in a reverie of long-forgotten hope, when 
 suddenly a voice rose from the shrubbery just below her, in 
 tones so sweet that they might have almost hushed the deep 
 and dismal sounds with which they mixed. Erilda started into 
 a throb of newly-awakened amaze. " Is it," exclaimed she, 
 u the stranger minstrel that mingles his mysterious strains witji 
 
272 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 the sounds of the storm? — No, no! there never lived on 
 earth but one mortal voice that could breathe such tones as 
 those had ! " 
 
 Another thunder-burst gone by, the warbled music came 
 again ; and as the singer had approached nearer and nearer, 
 the air and words both fell distinctly upon the spell-bound 
 listener's ear : — 
 
 " When friendship's honest vows we breathe 
 They need not flow from gilded bowers ; 
 And if affection twine the wreath 
 No matter where she culls the flowers ! " 
 
 " Shield and protect me, saints of heaven ! Holy shade of 
 her whose grave 1 clasp, watch over me — save thy daughter!" 
 exclaimed Erilda, sinking on the mound, breathless and dis- 
 tracted. In a moment more the rustling of the foliage told 
 her that some one burst through it. A man had indeed vio- 
 lated the sanctuary ; and throwing himself on one knee beside 
 her, he caught her in his arms — her form clinging instinctively 
 to his pressure, and a not-to-be-mistaken voice murmured these 
 delightful words: — "Rise, rise my Erilda — my wife — to 
 new-found joy, to the embrace of thy long-lost husband!" 
 And obeying the summons which echoed the laws of nature 
 and love, she arose and threw herself transported into his 
 enfolding arms. 
 
 At this instant a fierce and sulphuric flash enveloped both ; 
 a simultaneous crash, as though a rock of brass was shivered 
 by the rattling peal was heard ; an old oak close beside blazed 
 up as the bolt struck its stem ; yet heedless of the shock, he 
 softly murmured, " Shrink not, my bride, but lead me to hap- 
 piness ! Oh, shudder not, Erilda ! See, the very heavens hold 
 jubilee in honour of our second nuptials!" 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The fury of the tempest passed by. The last echo of the 
 thunder murmured among the distant hills. One breeze swept 
 dying along the waters of the Rhine, as if the storm-fiend had 
 breathed his last. Reviving nature rose up in new vigour and 
 spread a greener garment over the plains. The grass sprang 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 373 
 
 freshly to meet the elastic foot of the hare and coney. The 
 moist grapes shone clustering on the vines. The wild flowers 
 
 Drake shook off the glittering dew-drops, and myriads of insec's 
 were seen sporting over the blossomed herbage, in the mild 
 exhahtions which all earth sent up l ike intense offered to 
 
 if ™f ner nat "e thus paid its tribute of praise how 
 
 fiti thanks ? 6 NZT °h f"*'' P °" r ™ ^£ 
 
 h«*. v. what rapture did she hail the light that 
 
 broke on h b . g gloom> a§ ^ g t to t 
 
 forth after the dreary night of a northern winter^ Vi to a 
 heart full of holy ardour, Erilda stole from the couch wlte 
 her h^band J ay in s]ight slumber) s , ha 
 
 tied the fond embrace of love. She knelt at the casement tea s 
 of happiness stealing down her cheeks, like the sweeTdew tha 
 flows at dawn from the flower-topped tree of Canada T 
 oraisons finished, she turned to gaze again on him w t „«" 
 to heaven, was worthy of her idolatry! The whirl of 1 
 the preceding night had not left her power or Though, to L n 
 each varying shade in his loved form. She only knew hat be 
 was there Changed no doubt, in feature much, to n tu 
 effects of time and suffering; but his feelings of affection ,H 
 right-she heeded not toe rest ! But hanging over him ^ e 
 now slept ,n the morning ray, she could not resit a wanderbt 
 an uneasy sensation. It was not that she marvelled toseThl 
 brow marked with the blighting touch of care; but that h § 
 
 ITZt h° r PeaC6 ' Sh ° Uld MW S roan *« ^ times 
 n perturbed motion, tossing wide his arms as though anxZ 
 to r„s h upon noxjous ugft anxmu, 
 
 phantom's weight oppressed him. Erilda, pained at hS L 
 quiet, even though she felt it to be unreal/was on the po n of 
 
 ZuS t0 the truth of blissfuI fact > -o^y he 
 
 fall E n r ltoreYtsel^^ el ^ ShrUn ,M r0m the thu «^hoIt at whose 
 idiL nature itseJt seemed to shudder W tlw i~ 1 v . 
 
 seemed to carry death to her heaS ha^nt "Lt S 
 
 dreamer, however, soon recovered from Z imagined pa^J 2 
 
274 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 they of what nature they might, and drawing her towards him., 
 with a tender look, he said, " Oh, Erilda ! come and breathe 
 the balm to my tortured bosom — fly not that once treasured 
 home, though memory breaks its rest, as the winds stir the 
 sea's surface into unquiet waves." 
 
 Reassured by his soothing tone — oh, how easy is it to hush 
 the fears and doubts of true affection ! — her heart beat calmly 
 once more, and she pressed him to reveal the cause of his emo- 
 tion. 
 
 " Ask not, sweet love," said he in a cheerful tone, u 'tis past 
 and gone — 'tis nothing! a mere thought — a shadow of dark 
 hours gone by — which like yesternight's storm, only serves to 
 purify our heaven of delight. But hark ! I hear the sound of 
 the assembling vassals. Ah, how much more sweetly will their 
 rude greetings fall on my ear than the forced acclamations of 
 worldly crowds ! We must, love, descend and meet my father 
 — see, he stands already at the gate. And now, my own 
 Erilda, on this happy occasion thou must be my prompter, for 
 in truth I need one. Many of the faces, well known in early 
 youth, have faded from my mind. Look at this wound, one 
 of war's prodigal gifts — the stroke fell close on my brain, — 
 and I doubt me it broke some of the threads in memory's web. 
 I often vainly strive to retrace in my mind the features of in- 
 dividuals, or the minute details of facts ; but some blest cares, 
 some loved faces, lie so deeply graven, they defy corroding 
 time or effacing accident ! Thus, my best life ! each of thy dear 
 traits, every shifting shade of thy expressive countenance, has 
 ever been as freshly before me, as in the days of our early love, 
 when the skilful limner traced them here." 
 
 With these words, and a look of tenderness, he drew from 
 his breast the well-known portrait, which Erilda little thought 
 had escaped the perils of his manifold adventures since they 
 parted. This proof of his constant affection brought tears of 
 delighted consciousness to her eyes. " See, beloved one/' said 
 he ; u here was the amulet that kept my heart safe from a 
 thought unworthy of love or of thee ! " 
 
 She looked doubtfully through a mist of tears. Then turned 
 aside her head, smiling pensively, and exclaiming, u Alas ! 'tis 
 true this once was me — but it is me no more. I cannot 
 believe the whispers of vanity that would tell me I resemble 
 now what I was then, in blushing hope, a promised bride, 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 275 
 
 wSle'Z/ 1166 the - Smile th3t ^ ed ° n thy featu <^ and 
 which the flattering artist made for thee while my own. Alas ' 
 
 thv foZ U t Cha "f d SinCS th6n - And canst thou, Ha old fix 
 thy fond looks still upon a blighted flower ? " ' 
 
 escapeThtlir r " b T l0 rr f^V te "° words lik * these 
 tasted ftd h ' h t Wh ° abandons the swa ™ to 
 
 him ?„ h " t 7? T e ' Wh ° Se y0Ung buds had bef "'-e Pleased 
 Aim, so have I left the world's crowds for the meridian charms 
 of her whose youthful beauty had fascinated me » 
 
 It was in converse like this, suited to young lovers rather 
 har jo d married folk, that the unmarked "minutes were fly n" 
 Ull Freda came to summon them. She sportively chided her 
 mo her s delay ; but silently hid her blushing face against her 
 
 on ZZl t Y , ° f rej ° ICmg break more bUthdy than that 
 
 v T^° f sternfeis and ^eLm 
 
 the echoes of wood and hill with their loud shouts. Tumult 
 and faction may swell the venal crowds of cities; trumpets and 
 mbnls flourish in the triumphal march of Ws flatterv 
 
 L" rut? 4 " 1° ° UtV ° iee the ^ ° f SiiSS 
 
 al is a dead-weight on the heart -all is discord to the ear 
 But .hen true feeling bursts from honest sincerity, the modest 
 
 back the fl^ h6 f ° ld * 0 T erS 0f the twin castles now sent 
 
 clamoured u • t0 " eS - The fetive throng 
 
 elrTT « rej01cln « s > with °ut any mercy to the sensitivf 
 
 St had1"7 ent - £ , Ch ° Start6d t0 hear such sound wh e 
 ST/old ' s if! l0 " g StO0d sentinel - The wondrous new of 
 
 and le ht Wo" nTr?- C ° nVeyed fr ° m haralet to hamlet, 
 to hafi til ° 1116 dlStrkt P° ured forth "s Population 
 
 Lid lord! " and h6art ' S h0mage to "their new' 
 
 And he now stands in the midst of the throng Count Eher 
 
276 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 lightly beats to sounds and sights of innocent mirth. Such 
 may picture the crowd gamboling on the green, decked in all 
 the gaudy display of the rustic wardrobe and the glories of the 
 rifled gardens ; the gay flags and banners ; the dance, the 
 music, the song, the shouts ; the indescribable grace of an 
 assemblage of objects, incongruous to each other, when the 
 rude children of nature let their hearts run riot. Next came 
 the feasting, furnished by Count Eberhard's hospitality to all 
 comers ; when cellar and larder poured out their deepest stores 
 to those in whom appetite kept ample pace with joy. 
 
 The banquet finished, and many a flask of purest Rhine 
 wine emptied in honour of the day, every eye seemed to fix on 
 bir Harold for the promised explanation of the causes of his 
 long absence and miraculous return. Count Eberhard sat at 
 the head of the board, his son placed at one side, and at the 
 other the strange minstrel, the companion of his homeward 
 journey, whose mysterious but significative songs had awakened 
 Erilda s feelings so keenly, and prepared her for the coming of 
 her long-lost lord. The old count rose at length, and turning 
 towards Sir Harold, he. said, while every other voice was 
 instantly hushed, " Prop of my house ! Harold, my beloved 
 and valiant son ! now tell thy marvellous tale, which so many 
 expectant ears are waiting for. Tell us all what miracle has 
 given thee back to us, to be once more the soul of general hope 
 and the source of new life to me !" 
 
 "My honoured sire! my wife, my child— my friends'" 
 said he thus appealed to, in a firm and affectionate tone 
 "endearing names! Associate links in the chain which 
 binds me to these loved scenes of youth and happiness » To 
 all present, whose hopes and wishes blend their magic tracery 
 through my own, I hasten to reveal the main incidents of six 
 years endurance of ills, that would have bowed down any mind 
 not upheld by the excitement of this oft hoped-for scene It 
 were needless now to relate the events of the bloody fight that 
 was supposed to have numbered me with the dead, or the pre- 
 ceding events, which, I learn from my wife and father, were 
 all duly, and with but slight variation from truth, conveyed 
 to astonished Germany. Neither need I now dwell on 
 the suffering I endured when suspended life returned to me 
 again in agony still greater than accompanied its apparent 
 loss. But my astonishment on reopening my heavy lids 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. QfJ 
 
 may be worth relating—it may amuse and cannot give yon 
 
 " When I fell on the field of death -of death in all its 
 most hideous forms— my eyes seemed to close on a scene of 
 bell. Bodies lay around me almost putrid in the fiery and 
 tetid air. Sounds were whizzing in my ear, in all the fierce 
 confusmn of those which the damned might send forth" 
 Vultures were hovering above, and wolves were prowling 
 around, ardent and anxious for their ready prey. In such a 
 scene I sunk into an oblivion which, as I felt it comin R , I 
 believed and hoped was death. When I revived from my 
 trance 0i pain, every scattered thought seemed to bring con- 
 viction that the soul had burst its earthly prison and lived in 
 brighter realms. All round me a scene of wonder was visible. 
 No living form intruded. Not a sound ruffled the still but 
 fragrant air. I lay on a flower-spread couch. A star- 
 enamelled canopy hung above me, beaming with the dazzling 
 lustre reflecting from the soft light of a single lamp. Icicles 
 hung pendent from the arch, shining in diamond splendour 
 g—g fountain soothed me, with its quiet fall and the 
 gentle ripplmgs of its waters, as they were lost in the shade 
 beyond. Trees, shrubs, and flowers, of every varying colour 
 seemed to stand self-planted in magical groups. No fluttering 
 zephyr broke the brilliant cheatery, or shook from the banches of 
 this breezeless grove the crystallized embroidery with which it 
 was spangled, 
 
 "Wildered by this burst of soft magnificence, I believed 
 myself m heaven. But a purely mortal rapture took pos- 
 session of my breast on finding there thy portrait, my Erihla 
 safely reposing Oh ! how I blest the unknown deliverer, who 
 so well knew the mysteries of that true science of healing which 
 cures the body through the mind, and who had placed within 
 my ready reach the object that could best assure my wakening 
 thought that there was still a paradise on earth ' 
 
 wbi.h C ° 0hng ^ ha< ? 8SSUaged the an S uish of ™y wounds, 
 which were covered with healing salves, and bound with neat 
 hllets And soon I saw revealed to me the form of him who 
 had done these deeds of Christian charity. Approaching me, 
 n can ions watchfulness, an old man appeared". He wis in 
 that pride of years when manliness dissolves in age, and snowy 
 tresses give token of wisdom. He was a reverend anchorite 
 t 3 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 one of those abounding blessings of humanity with which the 
 countries of the East are rife. His words seemed the living 
 breath of sanctity-his looks were like light from beyond the 
 grave ! Such was the saint-like man, the genius of the place 
 who had snatched my still breathing body from heaps of s a n 
 and through seas of gore, as soon as night gave facilities to his 
 task. Saved thus by him-let me now picture him dying by 
 me. Nay start not, my friends - 1 must hurry through this 
 sad episode of my adventures. The infidel blood-hounds 
 knew my deliverer well-they knew that he was most likely 
 to brave the conditions on which they tolerated his existence 
 and seek to save one victim from the general slaughter. They 
 came to search his spar-formed grotto- they found me with 
 him - they slew him ! With a deadlier hate, they dragged 
 me to the more ignoble doom of slavery. The very" memory 
 ot that fact leaves a blot on a freeman's purity ! A slave » 
 chained to the earth which was watered by the sweat of 
 toil -reproach my wages— stripes my reward -for five 
 dreary years I dragged on the load of life. Despair more than 
 once ra.sed my hand-but the loud command of Heaven 
 seemed to stay the self-destroying stroke, and a voice seemed 
 
 comfo e rt7 rSt ^ SUfferi " gS t0 WhiSper W ° rds ° f h °P e and 
 " Still might my body rot in chains, or sweltering droop in 
 the land of the infidel, had not one gallant friend been near J! 
 a fellow prisoner— to give me life in the liberty he procured 
 me It boots not to tell the many perils through which his 
 cautious valour had to work to obtain our freedom. He suc- 
 ceeded. I was the partner of his flight. From country to 
 country we have worked our weary pilgrimage together ; till 
 yestermorn preceding me here, his wild harmony prepared thee 
 my Enlda, for my coming, even while his gentle heart was 
 bleeding at the pain he gave, like a surgeon who shrinks while 
 he probes his patient's wound. Watching thee to thy sacred 
 bower, he sought me in my anxious shelter close by ; when I 
 heedless of the tempest, sent forth those blessed sounds of 
 other, but not happier, days, as most likely to assuage thy 
 fears and harmonize with thy hopes. Here sits my friend 
 and while my home exists, and you, all my friends, cherish 
 the memory of this day, he shall ever find it his refuge from 
 worldly care or mortal wrong." 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 279 
 
 Sir Harold ceased, and scarcely had his last words died 
 away, when loud bursts of gratulation rung around the hall. 
 The assemblage soon after broke up, and all wended their 
 homeward way, overflowing with the joyous sympathies of 
 vassal fidelity. But this was not unlike all other cases, in 
 which one or more exceptions are found. And now, as 
 withered branches may disfigure the green symmetry of some 
 shadowing tree, there were found a few among the faithful 
 serfs of Sternfels who gave no response to the clamorous accla- 
 mations of the rest, but looked gloom and disappointment in 
 the midst of the general joy. These were the creatures of 
 Rupert of Stalbach, the engines that worked out his ends of 
 extravagance, the purveyors of his spendthrift cravings, whose 
 supplies were acknowledged by anticipated grants and mort- 
 gages of large portions of the fair lands of Sternfels. These 
 men, who every day looked out for the death of Count 
 Eberhard, and the accomplishment of Rupert's promises, con- 
 tingent on his succeeding to his heritage, were now over- 
 whelmed with grief and rage, at seeing their air-built hopes 
 scattered to the winds. Resolved at least to make Rupert 
 taste the whole bitterness of the draught which they were 
 themselves forced to swallow, they hastened to one of his not 
 distant haunts with malicious speed, and they found him in 
 the midst of his wonted revelry and recklessness. Like the 
 hot Arab, who sucks in the breeze that wafts him pestilence 
 and death, Rupert rushed with open arms to meet the mes- 
 sengers of ill. 
 
 " Ah, my good friends," cried he, " I see the good news in 
 your eyes — I read it in your flushed cheeks. He is dead! 
 The old man is gone at length ! In another day all will be 
 our own ! Our broad hands will grasp it all! But now, my 
 friends, you have brought supplies ? How much ? For 
 much will be wanted to meet immediate calls. Welcome, 
 welcome good friends ! Ho, there ! wine, for these worthy 
 men ! And now, my masters, let us pledge a full cup to the 
 peace of cousin Eberhards soul ! " 
 
 This rhapsody was received in silence. No smile of assent 
 gave back the eagerly watched- for answer. On the contrary, 
 Rupert saw on the countenances of his tormentors an expres- 
 sion of cold and cruel irony mixed with bitter disappointment. 
 He could not bear this suspense. He pressed furiously for a 
 t 4> 
 
280 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 reply and an explanation. It came. Not in relentino- condo- 
 lence for their common misfortune, but with reproach and 
 taunt, and threat that added to the pangs of the plain-spoken 
 truth. Rupert stood for awhile transfixed and speechless De- 
 spair seemed to have paralysed both mind and body. But still 
 his busy thoughts were at work ; and whether from conviction 
 or artifice, he quickly announced the conclusions at which he 
 stated them to have arrived. Self-interest quickened his in- 
 teiiect, and either solved a mystery or suggested the best means 
 or turning it to his own account. His silence was at length 
 broken by a loud laugh : not a laugh of maniac despair, but 
 one that might fitly have expressed the glee of some demon 
 over a ripe plan of mischief. 
 
 « What then ! " cried he, frowning on his companions in 
 the announced ill fortune, -must I bear these insulting 
 menaces, the ignoble scorn of such things as ye ? Paltry 
 miscreants, who come to din me with your credulous selfish! 
 ness ? Ye whose murky intellects make ye mentally blind > 
 bir Harold living? Away, ye pitiful wretches, if ye want 
 proofs of his death, and root them from the rotten graves of 
 Bulgaria. He alive ! What hold impostor has come to 
 assume his place and frighten ye from the truth ? Ha ' ye 
 smile at the suggestion. Ye are pleased with this plain solv- 
 ing of the cheat, that lays this transfigured ghost, and clears 
 your base minds from their unworthy fears ? Ye remember 
 then the story of my kinsman's death? Your palsied 
 memories recover the shock, and recall the facts of the case 
 — how the beholders marked Harold and his murderer stalk- 
 ing together through the battle field, so like that the shudder- 
 ing Turks who gazed on them shrunk back, believing them 
 spectres raised by magic ? And who, think ye, has now in- 
 vaded my rights, and, trusting to the changes of six years and 
 the frail memories of credulous fools like you, usurps dead 
 Harold's place in Stern fels, — who but this Rudolf of the 
 Hartz, come from afar to rob me and ruin you ? I have no 
 doubts — not one. My arm shall quick follow the impulse of 
 my mind. I shall soon crush this reprobate; but I shall 
 need your aid, to follow up the justice of my cause, whether 
 by law or force. So now unstring your common purse I Out 
 with the supplies! What! ye hesitate? Hear me, then: 
 by Hells worst pangs I swear to ye, that should your griping 
 avarice refuse this call for our common interests, I will in- 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 281 
 
 stantly fly to Sternfels, acknowledge the usurper, throw my- 
 self on his sense of what is wisest for his own security, obtain 
 an ample compromise, and abandon all my claims. What ! 
 does this make ye tremblingly generous, for your own sakes ? 
 It seems so." And, as the group of usurers poured out the 
 contents of their purses, and promised further supplies for the 
 morrow, Rupert added, with a sneer of the deepest scorn, 
 " What, all emptied ? Now, then, base minions, avaunt ! " 
 and suiting the action to the word, he drove them with fresh 
 insults from his presence. 
 
 A month had passed fleetly over the mild enjoyments of 
 Sternfels. All was recovered happiness and cheerful quiet, 
 far different from the woeful tranquillity which had for years 
 reigned over the place. Within the castle, as without, every 
 thing breathed the settled calm of security, when one morning, 
 as the little circle were placidly indulging their domestic mood, 
 a murmured din arose from the court-yard, and soon increased 
 to loud uproarious shouts, while thick-clattering feet were ac- 
 companied on the stairs and in the passages by threats and im- 
 precations. Count Eberhard, Erilda, and Freda, alarmed at 
 the rude sounds, turned shrinking for protection towards him, 
 in whom the noisy crash seemed to rouse up every stirring 
 feeling of the soul. Seizing his ponderous rapier, which hung 
 close by, he placed himself before the three objects of his care; 
 threw one arm around them, held the other ready for fight, 
 his well-proved brand high poised above him — his brow 
 gathered, and his look fixed for battle. 
 
 At this moment the door of the chamber was flung violently 
 open, and one of the castle retainers entered abruptly, breath- 
 less and bleeding. — " My noble masters/' cried he, " a, fero- 
 cious band force the entrances too feebly guarded." The man 
 fell to the earth as he uttered the words ; and at the instant, 
 Rupert of Stalbach rushed in, followed by several of his stal- 
 wart associates. His looks spoke desperate purposes, and with 
 voice in accordance with his menacing air, he exclaimed — 
 " Yield, impostor!" — but ere he could proceed in his sentence 
 his eye caught the fixed and piercing look of mixed contempt 
 and scrutiny sent forth from this majestic-looking being whom 
 he so ventured to confront. Rupert turned askance, unable 
 to bear this look, beaming from a countenance which seemed 
 to shine in the dignity of conscious right. 
 
 "This is the work of magic," cried Rupert, turning to his 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 associates. « He is impostor and wizard both. That light 
 once beamed in Harold's eyes, and this sorcerer has caught 
 it for his own ! Living look casts no such expression as 
 that! —and with these words, but without venturing a^ain 
 to brave the glance he shrunk from, he stole shuddering 
 away ; while all his blustering band quickly followed him 
 
 — dispersed and scattered by a frown ! They fled so fast, 
 and the aspect of the whole scene was so suddenly changed 
 to precisely what it was before their irruption, that it seemed 
 scarcely the work of fact, but rather the agency of some 
 illusion, dissipated ere it was rightly observed. The old 
 count looked his amaze, Erilda was silent, her eyes fondly 
 fixed upon her lord, while resentment of Rupert's daring 
 slander flushed her cheeks. At length Count Eberhard spoke : 
 
 — " What meant the ruffian aspersion ? " said he, " does then 
 abandoned Rupert, the disgraced one of his name and race, 
 hope to cover his own infamy by flinging an attaint on thy 
 honour ? " J 
 
 No answer met these questions. Nothing was to be seen 
 in the countenance of the questioned but an expression of 
 high disdain, as if he scorned even to remove the slur cast 
 upon his dignity. He stalked the room in haughty silence, 
 when Erilda, as if awoke to some point in a new train of 
 thought, suddenly addressed him : — « But say, my Harold, 
 
 — and it is the audacious blasphemy which mixed the vile 
 word impostor with thy name that prompts my question,— 
 say why I have never yet heard thy lips pronounce that mar- 
 vellous, that mysterious name, so linked with thy former fate, 
 and which, in spite of my shuddering repugnance, comes still 
 irresistibly blended with every thought of thee— Rudolph of 
 the Hartz ? 99 
 
 Her look asked for reply, but it sunk back within herself 
 as it met the furious glance that darted from his. His cheek 
 glowed deeply, and his very forehead was flushed — with 
 anger it seemed to her — at the mention of this name. But 
 like the excitement produced by his dream, this passed quickly 
 over. In a subdued tone, which marked a struggle to pre- 
 serve his calmness unruffled, he replied : — " Oh, wonder not, 
 my Erilda, if at the collision caused by my memory with that 
 abhorred name, I feel the lightning of thought flashing and 
 searing my mind. Even in my dreaming hours the phrensicd 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 283 
 
 fit comes o'er me, which haunts me at times awake. Wonder 
 not them, my loved one, if even your angel lips cannot sanctify 
 the odious sound of this one word — this solitary name, which 
 must ever stand accursed in my feelings." 
 
 " Forgive me, Harold, for an unintended mischief. Oh, 
 too well I know thy bosom's movements now — too well doth 
 mine respond to the agony of that which broods over out* 
 raged friendship. And if I feel this strongly, how must 
 thou suffer when thy memory is roused to a thought of that 
 fell traitor ! Oh, pardon this first, this last pang by me in- 
 flicted ! " 
 
 Thus spoke the wife's affection — solaced and reassured by 
 one word and look of kindness. But the Count Eberhard 
 sighed deeply, and mused still more so, as if his breast con- 
 tained some secret cause of agitation connected with the words 
 just spoken. Meanwhile Rupert and his recreant gang had 
 disappeared, contenting their valour with a loud utterance of 
 threats at the walls of the castle from which they had so 
 speedily retreated. While the leader, to cheer the drooping 
 spirits of his comrades, checked his own doubts and fears to 
 bring quiet to theirs ; and swore that if human laws had 
 power to justify right and punish wrong, the wizard whose 
 unearthly glance had so overwhelmed him should soon be sent 
 back to his liege lord, the devil ! 
 
 A yell of loud applause hailed this denunciation, and closed 
 the display of courageous boasting, which waged war against 
 witchcraft and wielded no weapons but words. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Another year was gone by, a year of strife, contest, and dis- 
 putation. For Rupert of Stalbach, supported and supplied by 
 his baffled and bewildered crew, urged every means that could 
 agitate the question of his rights before the tardy tribunals, and 
 with the ill-arranged forms which then distorted law and 
 made justice a mere mockery. The proofs which Rupert of- 
 fered in support of his charge of imposture and magic re- 
 solved themselves into (< the admitted battle, where Sir Harold 
 
284 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 was seen to fall under the stroke of his twin-like assassin ; the 
 ominous and evil-boding night on which the stranger appeared 
 at Sternfels, to assume the place of the murdered man ; his 
 forgetfulness of several among the vassals and serfs who 
 thronged to welcome his arrival ; the deep fits of abstraction, 
 such evidence of probable guilt ; unlike the former well-re- 
 membered cheerfulness of Sir Harold. The wonderful resem- 
 blance of form and feature to the latter was not a totally 
 unusual circumstance between brothers; but what could pro- 
 duce it in those unlinked by ties of blood, except the deadly 
 arts of glamour, that change forms and feelings, while a 
 philter, no doubt, cunningly administered to Erilda, had in all 
 likelihood warped her mind to believe the reality of what 
 every one else must plainly see to be false ? " 
 
 Many slighter links bound this chain of evidence together. 
 The accused heard all with calm contempt. When inter- 
 rogatories thronged on him in all the subtlety of law, he 
 merely gave his negative or assent, without the least remark. 
 There were some who did not fail to observe that this looked 
 more like cautious cunning than indignant truth. Numerous 
 witnesses vouched for the identity of the present <f young 
 lord" of Sternfels, with him who had been born and brought 
 up there : others it is true, who passed for keen observers, 
 traced what appeared some discrepancies in manner, and 
 pointed out some points of difference in looks which led them 
 to a contrary conclusion. But these were all silenced and 
 put down by the perfect confidence with which Count 
 Eberhard and so many others confirmed Sir Harold's actual 
 presence, and scouted the notion of imposture or magic. After 
 duly weighing the case, and as Rupert and his friends did not 
 fail to suggest, being much, if not unduly influenced by the 
 interest of Count Eberhard, the judges pronounced their 
 sentence of acquittal. It was founded on the opinion that 
 " villany could not in any case so give the lie to probable 
 truth. That mortal memory could not treasure up, even though 
 industrious deceit might have collected so many, the little 
 trivial incidents of youth as were constantly touched upon in 
 the most natural manner by the accused knight. That it w is 
 above all impossible that the former secrets of man and wife 
 could be known but to one or the other: and that however 
 common persons might be deceived by a striking resemblance, 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 285 
 
 at least the partner of a man's bed and bosom could not be 
 so/' As to the charge of magic, it was scouted altogether, 
 resting on no proof whatever, and the only guilt seen by the 
 judges was in the conspiracy formed by the ravenous heir of 
 Sternfels and his supporters, to crush an innocent man and 
 obtain his rights. 
 
 When the judgment which absolved him from this dis- 
 graceful accusation was conveyed to the acquitted knight, no 
 frown of anger could be traced on his brow — no smile of 
 triumph on his lip — no vaunt broke from him over his foiled 
 accusers. If any emotion appeared, it was one of pity for 
 their disgrace. 
 
 And how felt Erilda, during the heavy period between the 
 early accusation and the final acquittal? Did she, while 
 proofs were raked together and doubts accumulated, vacillate 
 or tremble for his fate? No, firm and confident, she repelled 
 every surmise of uncertainty; and when it was sought to 
 shake her faith by insinuation, assertion, or threat, she only 
 smiled and turned to him she loved and trusted. This, this 
 is true love, fast clinging through danger and ignominy ; and 
 breaking through the tangled web of suspicion, as the breath 
 of morning scatters the gossamer which hangs in frail festoons 
 from branch to branch. 
 
 Rupert of Stalbach, goaded almost to madness by the result 
 of his efforts, stepped on from every gradation between hatred 
 and vengeance, till he was ripe and ready for any desperate 
 act. In spite of the decision pronounced by the judges, and 
 approved by the world at large, he maintained his accusation, 
 and laboured incessantly for new proofs in its support. The 
 associates in his efforts, urged by the common ruin which 
 threatened to engulf them all, did not fail him in each 
 emergency. But it was not for love of truth that they sifted 
 evidence and sought discovery. The light of truth carries 
 blindness to their like, and gain is the divinity at whose shrine 
 they offer homage while working in their own sordid cause. 
 The fame of the disputed title was bruited far and wide, and 
 the lovers of the marvellous did not want excitement, nor fail 
 to follow it up by exaggeration. 
 
 Still the seasons rolled on, indifferent to the agitations of 
 mankind ; and Time napped his steady wings alike over guilt 
 and innocence, though the one might fancy them to lag slowly, 
 
086 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 and the other to fly with redoubled speed. The summer 
 gradually expired, sinking imperceptibly into more temperate 
 months ; and ere autumn was observed to have run its career, 
 ■winter was far advanced. A mild season in a moderate climate 
 brought none of those sudden changes which shake more 
 northern latitudes. Spring had again returned, and the 
 pregnant plains teemed once more with life. And while in 
 the new-leafed groves and woods of Sternfels the young 
 nestlings chirped their early songs, a sound of blither joyance 
 broke within the halls. For Erilda, to crown the height of 
 her own and her husband's happiness, had given birth to a fine 
 boy The joy attendant on such an event, which gave a 
 lineal heir to the title and estates, and placed both beyond 
 dispute, might well demand some more than passing record; 
 but the forms of guilt flit across the tenor of the story, and 
 gathering groans seem to stifle each sound of revelry and 
 rejoicing. , , 
 
 While pleasure filled the halls and bowers, and every heart 
 beat high with sympathetic pride, Count Eberhard formed the 
 sole exception to the common feeling. He was evidently fast 
 drooping to the grave. The lambent flame of life flickered 
 and threatened to subside. His spirit, fluttering, as it were, 
 on the world's confines, longed to sigh itself calmly away. 
 The softened lustre of his eyes would at times fix com- 
 placently on the dear-loved group that watched his couch, yet 
 at times the lids would close as if to shut out some painful 
 forms of fancy, while low sighs spoke a hidden sorrow and a 
 hectic tinge seemed to tell that it was coupled with some 
 thought of shame. Lured by the summer warmth he often 
 left the castle, accompanied by his old confessor or by Freda, 
 to wander in the copses or glades close at hand ; but oftener 
 he sought the silent woods alone, no witness on his wanderings 
 but the eye of Heaven, while he sent up his prayers to the 
 God of nature, in the fitting temple formed by the verdant 
 sod below, and the outstretched branches above. 
 
 The second anniversary of the day on which the strange 
 minstrel appeared at the castle of Sternfels, Mowed by him 
 who now reigned paramount there, was now about to be kept, 
 with the usual festivities and rejoicings. On the evening 
 preceding this now established festival, Count Eberhard 
 showed more than usual emotion. A select party oi friends 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. %8>J 
 
 were assembled at the castle, and they, with his own family, 
 were more than commonly assiduous towards the old man! 
 When the hour for retiring came, he took from Erilda her 
 infant son, and pressing him fervently to his breast, he kissed 
 him, and prayed with all the grace of natural religion, that 
 years of health and happiness might be granted the boy. The 
 pious invocation finished, his mind seemed once more overcast; 
 and after a pause, he said, with an effort at composure,— 
 " Now, my friends, night woos me to retire. My full heart 
 bids ye all farewell ; yet with its fulness, which ought to be of 
 unmixed joy, one bitter drop of early error mingles and turns 
 it to gall. The memory of this taint is always struggling for 
 utterance. Pride has long kept it concealed. But duty to 
 my beloved son here breaks down every restraint. His de- 
 tracted purity requires the confession "of my sin. When 
 abandoned Rupert urged his accusal, and mixed the charge of 
 magic with his wild assertion, I had nearly broken my silence, 
 with an avowal that would easily have solved the miracle, and 
 melted down the wonder, of my son Harold's likeness to that 
 dark wretch, whose name thrills me with horror. I am now 
 exhausted ; but at to-morrow's noon, when we all with the 
 numerous guests of our festival are assembled, I will publicly 
 make my confession, moving a load of remorse off my con- 
 science, and establishing beyond any further cavil the perfect 
 purity of my son." 
 
 After these words the old count withdrew, and whispered 
 conjectures immediately arose as to the promised revelation. 
 But he the most concerned of all uttered no sound nor hazarded 
 any opinion. Buried in a deep reverie, he neither spoke, nor 
 sighed, nor moved. But his expressive countenance told that 
 thought was busy. What feelings might be at work to move his 
 hp and light his eyes none might divine. Emotion for his 
 slandered fame, wounded pride, astonishment, alarm, the fear 
 of danger, projects of ill,— any of these might produce such 
 symptoms. And each or all were evident, as passion or pre- 
 judice coloured the minds of the several observers. Thus 
 Erilda saw nothing but natural surprise and the frown of 
 recollected anger for past injuries. One witness was there, 
 however, whose suspicions took a different turn. He was 
 one of those minions of Rupert of Stalbach, who, feigning 
 friendship for the circle of Sternfels, frequented the castle 
 
288 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 only for the purpose of watching the proceedings of its 
 inmates, and reporting them to his employer, one of that 
 degraded class held in scorn by the veriest dregs of guilt, a 
 
 spy ! short, but eloquent word that speaks all that language 
 
 can tell of infamy. This wretch saw conscious crime in the 
 hectic flush which to Erilda displayed only reflected indig- 
 nation, and he flew quickly to inform Rupert of the scene, 
 and impress him with the truth of his own commentary on it. 
 
 The other persons present at the scene passed an anxious 
 interval between the words of Eberhard and his appointed 
 hour for the promise and wished-for confession. Erilda rose 
 early on the morrow ; but her lord entreated that until noon, 
 « the hour when/' as he said, u his heart's forebodings of a 
 detested consanguinity were to be confirmed or dispelled/' he 
 might be left alone, nor intruded on by any of the anxious or 
 curious visitors. She promised strict obedience, and he was 
 left, as he desired, to his own thoughts. 
 
 The morning waned, and Count Eberhard was seen taking 
 his slow and solitary way into the intricate paths of the wood, 
 as was his wont, to prepare himself, as all observers concluded, 
 for the approaching hour of noon. The expanse of heaven 
 was cloudless. Its deep intensity of blue was so clear and so 
 exquisitely bright, that it seemed as though the arduous vision 
 might have pierced its un fathomed depths, no breeze stirred 
 the grass, nor moved the light shadows of tree or herb. The 
 thin-curling smoke rose up in a straight column to the sky. 
 The swallows glided past on languid wings. The fig's broad 
 leaves hung flaccid. The gasping throats of the singing birds 
 gave out a faint and trembling tone. Heat ruled the hours. 
 It was now burning noon ; the old count was nowhere to be 
 seen ; and the gathering vassals, together with the members of 
 the family and the household, press in anxious throngs towards 
 the path which he had been observed to take. Alarm began 
 to fly among the crowd. They broke away in straggling 
 groups, and their loud halloos were soon heard breaking from 
 all quarters of the wood. 
 
 Freda chose her path alone, in the direction of a shaded 
 grotto, which she knew to be a favourite retreat of her grand- 
 sirc. Scarcely had she entered the deep glen in which this 
 solitary spot stood, when a shriek broke through the woods 
 from her well-distinguished voice, of a tone so piercing that it 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 289 
 
 silenced the shouting groups and filled all with the horrid 
 conviction of some dire calamity. The terror-stricken hearers 
 rushed from every direction towards that of the sound, whose 
 meaning they panted yet trembled to discover. Bursting 
 through the brush- wood which obstructed the way, the first 
 comers had just reached the grotto's mouth, when they saw 
 Freda stretched senseless on the earth, and, prostrate within 
 the grot, the body of Count Eberhard bathed in blood. Death, 
 but not natural death, was stamped on his pale face and con- 
 vulsed features; and closer examination discovered three 
 wounds close to his heart. It was evidently a practised arm 
 that wrought the death-blows on that vital spot. But the 
 trained murderer had met a stubborn resistance from the brave 
 old man. A furious struggle had marked the ground. His 
 garments were torn as though he had fought away his life. 
 One hand was deeply gashed from a probable effort to wrench 
 the blade from his assassin s hand. The other held fast 
 clenched a lock of black hair, snatched convulsively from his 
 head. Such was the picture that met the view. 
 
 Horror seemed to have congealed the observers, and for 
 awhile no hand ventured to touch the dead body, or lift up 
 Freda to recovered sense. At length, however, they raised 
 her from the earth, while a few, with nerves more firmly 
 strung than the rest, bore out the corpse, and they moved 
 along towards the castle in sad procession, blood-stains marking 
 their route. Reports of the dreadful discovery soon reached 
 the castle. The shocked household poured forth in breathless 
 haste ; but outstripping all comers, were two, who rushed on 
 in that desperate speed which urges the hope-bereft sufferer to 
 what he knows for inevitable ruin. It was thus that Erilda 
 and her husband came on. She flung a volume-speaking 
 glance of agony upon the bleeding corpse — then sprang 
 forward and clasped the still insensible Freda in her arms! 
 Pressed to the natural home of her mother's bosom, the girl 
 awoke. Her first wandering gaze seemed to fix on no par- 
 ticular object. The first that caught it was her father, leaning 
 over her with a woe-struck expression in his looks. Instantly 
 the repetition of the horrid scream, before so shocking to the 
 hearers, but now more faint, as if it were but the echo of the 
 former which had lain until then in her bosom's depths, broke 
 from her, and at the same moment she exclaimed, " Oh ! 
 
 u 
 
290 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 murderer! — father !" and then closed her eyes and turned 
 aside as though his presence were intolerable. 
 
 ce Great heavens ! " cried her sire, raising his hands towards 
 heaven; ei she raves in phrensy — she knows not what she 
 says, nor whom she sees ! Oh, God ! who hast snatched my 
 father in thine anger, in mercy spare my child ! " 
 
 Her eyes again reopened — again fixed on him — again shot 
 forth rays of frantic brilliancy — while M murderer, and 
 father!" were still her anguished exclamations. The startled 
 concourse, recovering from their first affrighted amazement, no 
 longer searched for evidence in the gaping wounds of the dead 
 count. A burst of light seemed at once to break on them. 
 The scene of the preceding evening — the promised revelation, 
 which might perhaps have involved truths of some damning 
 import to him most affected in its bearing — the morning's 
 privacy self-sought by him on whom all eyes were now fixed, 
 against whom all hands were ready to be raised, — all was seen 
 with one glance of reverting conviction, and each is satisfied 
 that son, impostor, parricide, were identified together in the 
 person of Rudolf of the Hartz ! 
 
 From the stupefaction which first overwhelmed them, the 
 crowd now sprang to furious agitation. Fiercely vehement to 
 gather the truth, they questioned Freda, and hearkened with 
 impatient fury to the short sad tale sobbed forth by the child 
 in the unhesitating candour of youth. " As I approached the 
 grotto I saw my grandsire's bleeding body stretched on the 
 earth — my father, muffled in his cloak, stood beside it — he 
 said nothing, but looked pale, and frowned — he held a red- 
 bladed dagger in his hand — I thought he laughed horridly as 
 he saw me sinking down — I know nothing farther." 
 
 " Enough ! enough ! too much for human nature. Oh, 
 monstrous ! horrible !" and such like expressions burst spon- 
 taneously from the throng, who rushed round the unresisting 
 culprit ; and while some clamoured for instant justice and 
 strove to immolate him on the spot, the less inflamed majority 
 succeeded in preserving him for the vengeance of the offended 
 laws. He was soon bound firmly, dragged away to the 
 neighbouring town, and plunged, as a loathed criminal, into 
 its deepest prison cell. 
 
 For three days and nights he lay in the living burial of his 
 solitude, while proofs and preparations for trial and execution 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 291 
 
 were making. Left to brood on his coming fate, no sound 
 fell on his ear to tell the tread of time. So deep did his 
 dungeon lie in earth, that the ponderous bell of his prison, 
 which flung its mighty tone for leagues over the surrounding 
 country, failed to reach him. His aching eyes vainly strove to 
 catch a glimpse of light when the thick door opened to admit 
 his food— for though the broad radiance pains the vision, as 
 when the lazy sunbeams crawl on some less hideous cell, still 
 the blessed smile of day gilds even the links of slavery's chain. 
 But the splendid mockery came not on him ! 
 
 And turning our contemplation for awhile from the captive, 
 
 let us fix on her who walks abroad in freedom. Free but 
 
 what a frightful liberty ! Chains, bondage, persecution, are 
 as nought when a pure breast feels no pang of remorse agitating 
 the heaven of conscious innocence. But when that purity is 
 so sensitive that it finds guilt in its own unintended complicity 
 with evil, and self-reproach springs from every reflection on 
 the past, then is the mind wretched in proportion as it is 
 virtuous. And so now did Erilda sink at once from the frail 
 eminence of delight into woe's most intense abyss. She viewed 
 herself as the guiltiest wretch that lived. A murderer for her 
 lord — an impostor for her husband — her infant son a spurious 
 outcast— herself wilfully blinded to the horrid reality by some 
 impulsive and sinful instinct, which did not revolt her the 
 less from its being involuntary and abhorrent to her better 
 feelings. Such were the pangs which assailed her heart when 
 the first accusation uttered by Freda fell on her harrowed 
 mind ; when in one moment of agony, fears, doubts, and self- 
 upbraidings, swept confusedly across her brain like fiends 
 rushing at the waving of some wizard's wand. Many circum- 
 stances, which at their occurrence passed unheeded, now 
 returned in groups of terror. While separate, they were as 
 nought — when combined, a torrent of agony. His dream — 
 his vacant memory on slight points of fact and as to indifferent 
 persons — his inflamed cheek and angry look when she first 
 mentioned the name of Rudolf in natural antipathy — these 
 and the like reflections, coming quick on the identified fact 
 of such a murder, caused a shock which might have broken 
 the hardest heart. Yet she bore it for awhile all meek and 
 gentle as she was, but it was too much for long endurance. 
 The third day after the dreadful discovery saw her stretched 
 u 2 
 
292 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 helpless on a bed of suffering — fever in her blood and phrensy 
 in her brain. 
 
 The hour of trial at length arrived. The judges, in all the 
 ferocious anxiety for conviction natural to those times, but 
 foreign to the notion of ours, had taken their places, surrounded 
 with armed men, and armed in all the terrors of military 
 power. The prisoner too was there, loaded with chains 
 and guarded by grim gaolers, while the headsman stood by, 
 axe in hand, and personifying all the horrors of torture and 
 execution. The crowds, who were by special indulgence 
 admitted to the court of trial, gazed on the dignified mien and 
 haughty demeanour of the culprit, but shrank back as he was 
 led along, from the touch of his very garments, while the 
 rattling of his chains made them quake with fear. A gathering 
 horror crept through the hall. A total stillness reigned around, 
 broken only by the clank of the fetters as the prisoner moved 
 his shackled limbs, or by the hollow echoings which rang out- 
 side, from the hammers with which the workmen fastened 
 the planks and beams of the scaffold. 
 
 The process of trial, as was too common in criminal matters 
 during the feudal times, was prompt. Ere the opening forms 
 were begun the minds of the judges were made up, and the 
 anticipated sentence already ran through the throng. Every 
 one knew the proofs to be adduced, and no one dreamt of 
 sifting evidence or reconciling discrepancies. In an age of 
 blood acquittal was but disappointment, and the sublime maxim 
 of holy writ on which the theory of our own law is founded 
 was then wholly overlooked or despised. But in the present 
 case the most sceptical was satisfied. Guilt seemed as fully 
 established as the broad light of day. The blood-stiffened 
 braid of black hair was of the very shade of the prisoner's. 
 The murderer's foot-prints in the turf were exactly the same 
 as his. Other circumstantial proofs have been already noticed ; 
 and it was agreed by all that sufficient time was allowed 
 between the perpetration of the murder and the assassin's 
 escape by the winding ways through the wood towards the 
 castle, from which he was seen running with Erilda on the 
 alarm being given. These were in themselves evidence suffi- 
 cient. But when the trembling Freda was Led along into the 
 
 court, pale and in tears, drooping her lovely head like a 
 withered lily, the loud sighs and sobs of the beholders — all 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 293 
 
 unheard by her — were quickly followed by murmurs of ven- 
 geance and calls for judgment. Her presence was conclusive 
 proof. 
 
 The prisoner had hitherto maintained a total silence. But 
 when he saw this last and loveliest witness, he struck his fore- 
 head with his clenched hand, and deeply groaning, exclaimed 
 " Fate is too strong for me ! " He closed his eyes for a 
 moment, and his head sank on his breast. It was but for one 
 moment, for in the next be sprang up, as if indignant at the 
 complaint thus wrung from him. His pale eyes beamed in 
 the seeming lustre of suffering virtue, and, like an arch fixed 
 firmer by every increase of pressure, he gained strength from 
 each additional load of obloquy and wrong. The awe-struck 
 observers gazed on him, marvelling how so fiend-like a being 
 could thus bear the aspect of a demi-god. Freda, obeying 
 the commands of the judges, began to answer their questions 
 in the words of her formerly-told recital ; but the impatience 
 of the people would not wait for this, to their minds, un- 
 necessary formality. Yells and threats burst out all around ; 
 and the judges, hurried away by the violence of. the crowd 
 and the sympathy of their own excited passions, pronounced 
 the sentence of death, which decreed agonies of torture and 
 excesses of ignominy to the doomed body of the culprit, 
 that make men of the present time shudder and blush, for 
 what their species was in those dark and bloody days. The 
 prisoner heard the sentence and the infuriate shouts by which 
 it was hailed, but he stood unmoved, like a rock lashed by the 
 frantic waves, and as calm as that wide tract of ocean which 
 remains perpetually still, though thunder roars and lightnings 
 flash without cessation above its waves. 
 
 The headsman and his assistants laid their coarse hands on 
 their prey, and with triumphant delight they were about to 
 lead him to the adjoining room where the rack stood ready — 
 the crowd poured out towards this place of exhibition — the 
 judges prepared to quit the judgment-seat — when, rising 
 above the many discordant sounds, a loud voice was heard, 
 crying out in piercing tones, " Mercy ! — justice ! — he is in- 
 nocent ! " 
 
 The interruption was so unlooked for, and the assertion so 
 startling, that curiosity and wonder for a moment overmastered 
 the eager longing for blood and the desire of vengeance. 
 v 3 
 
29* 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 Free passage was made for a man who burst through the 
 throng, and it was soon discovered that it was Rupert of 
 Stalbach who forced his onward way, and threw himself at 
 the feet of the judges. « Mercy for me ! and justice for 
 him!" cried the suppliant, with convulsed voice, while his 
 haggard looks and blood-shot eyes bore witness to his past 
 and present suffering; "For him against whom hell has 
 worked in vain. No ! It could not be that truth, honour, 
 and innocence should fall beneath the stroke of infamy. Off 
 with his dishonouring chains ! Read in his noble countenance 
 if he be a parricide and an impostor ! Wonder at if ye must, 
 but also obey the words of Heaven, speaking truth and fact 
 through me its unworthy instrument ! And pity me if ye 
 will while urged on by my remorse thus to load my own name 
 with infamy ! Oh, Harold— deeply injured as thou hast 
 been — fix not thine eyes thus terribly upon me! their last 
 glance drove me to desperation — they now fill me with 
 despair ! It was not I that dealt the blow— no, there, there 
 he stands, whose parricidal arm struck down thy father and 
 his own — while I stood aloof, as criminal but less bloody !" 
 
 With unsteady hand he here pointed to a man whose 
 towering height made him easily recognised among the crowd, 
 but whose slouched cap and whose mantle held high had 
 hitherto concealed his face from observation. Those around 
 him shrunk back at Rupert's words; but a better spirit 
 encouraging some, they sprang upon him as he attempted to 
 escape, and in spite of his vigorous resistance they overpowered 
 him and dragged his concealment aside. One glance broke 
 the long mystery ! Judges, gaolers, guards, and every indi- 
 vidual of the promiscuous crowd, threw with wild wonder 
 their looks from this new captive to him whose death-march 
 had for a moment been halted — then back again with a new 
 intensity of amaze — turning first from the demoniac villain 
 denounced by Rupert, to his living likeness Sir Harold of 
 Sternfels — and then back from him to Rudolf of the Hartz ! 
 
 Order and form were completely overturned in the assem- 
 blage. The first impulse was now to list to Rupert's com- 
 pletion of the confession, so incoherently begun, that the 
 darkest part of the mystery might be explained. Broken in 
 upon by sobs and sighs which seemed to ease his overloaded 
 breast, the repentant reprobate proceeded in his connectlew, 
 but still convincing revelation. His first efibrtl wen! to . r 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 295 
 
 tenuate his own early errors. He spoke with a bitter penitence 
 of what was past ; and a flood of tears rushed out as he alluded 
 to the long-enjoyed friendship of those whom he had so suc- 
 cessfully laboured to render wretched and to destroy. cc At 
 length/' said he, (( when I had reached the very brink of ruin., 
 Sir Harold returned alive and well, to snatch from me the en- 
 joyment of that inheritance on which I felt myself on the 
 point of becoming possessed. My mind, prepared for any 
 delusion that seemed to stay off for ever so little the impending 
 ruin, eagerly received the notion that it was indeed an impostor 
 that had returned to Sternfels. I attempted to dislodge him ; 
 and even then, when struck almost dumb by that single glance, 
 which would have brought conviction to any one to whom it 
 did not at the same time bring despair, I refused to admit or 
 own the truth. When justice even decided against my ac- 
 cusations and established his identity, I only became more 
 wilfully blind. Then came revenge, dire progeny of shame 
 and rage, and I revelled for awhile, but yet guiltless, in that 
 dark delight, the worst of man's worse thoughts. It was at 
 this crisis of my career that yonder miscreant sought and 
 found me. He found me, alas ! ready moulded for his 
 purpose — ready to enter into complicity with his most hideous 
 
 crimes — but still not daring to do the last fell deed." 
 
 u Peace, babbling and recreant wretch ! " exclaimed, in a 
 voice of horrid strength, the pre-eminent villain of the strange 
 drama now being acted, " Peace ! nor mention deeds which 
 even in name make you tremble. For me these themes are 
 more fit ; and by me they shall be fitly treated ; for I have 
 laughed through life at the puling distinctions of morality, 
 and never yet bent my knee to man or God. My heart has 
 been of flint, girded with a belt of ice — as hard as it was 
 cold ; a suitable whetstone to the iron-beaked bird of Hecla ! 
 Thus nature threw me forth, and my deeds may tell if I ever 
 strove to thwart nature. Death, I see, is now in waiting, but 
 ere I quit this life I must leave some records of myself that 
 my fame may not be belied. First, know ye then, I am 
 sprung from no word-hallowed and time-honoured source. 
 My mother was the ruined victim of him whom I only knew 
 to be my father that I might hate him, for her sake and my 
 own. Vice and guilt were my heritage and were close grafted 
 in my nature. I owed all this to my father. Was not the 
 u 4 
 
296 
 
 THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 debt duly paid? Is not the account duly balanced? I 
 sprang from him — by me he fell! He gave me life and 
 infamy — I struck him down ! Ere I could lisp the name of 
 father, mine had abandoned me to despair. He married, and 
 yonder wretch, my twice-escaped victim, was born to brand 
 me the deeper with disgrace. My mother loved me with 
 boundless warmth. She lavished learning, accomplishments, 
 and gold upon me ; I asked not how the latter became hers. 
 Bad and bold, I knew my shame, for her first lessons were those 
 of loathing and abhorrence to the name of sire and brother. 
 
 " My mother died. Friendless and without resources but 
 those of my own mind, I plunged on my career, and followed 
 it through scenes too varied to picture now. He came across 
 my path ! The steel that had so long and so well served 
 me failed of its office when turned against his hated heart. 
 He fell under my blows, but not mortally hurt. I arose from 
 the fight, a prisoner, with the alternative of slavery as a 
 Christian, or wealth and dignities as a Turk. I did not 
 hesitate. I became a renegade to Christian forms. I knew 
 no faith, and cross and crescent were to me alike. Believing 
 my victim to have perished among the noteless slain, for his 
 body could no where be found, I sunk in indolence. No 
 thought of him came on my voluptuous course; and luxury and 
 love bent their subtle allurements to turn me aside from the 
 best part of my design. 
 
 " Years rolled along. A Christian slave first brought to me 
 the news of Harold of Sternfels having escaped from a long 
 captivity, and of his being returned to his happy home. The 
 scathing tidings fell like lightning on my scorched heart. I 
 knew no peace until I set out once again to Germany to mar, 
 at least, the bliss that I was not destined to share. This 
 slave had also informed me of the great struggle against the 
 newly returned lord of Sternfels by his greedy kinsman. To 
 him, therefore, I first addressed myself on reaching the scene 
 of my few but not wholly fruitless exploits. Taking advantage 
 of his first astonishment at my miraculous resemblance, I 
 opened all my plans, and dwelt mainly on his own fall from 
 fame and importance to odium and misery. His rankling 
 mind was well fitted for my purpose. We calculated our ex- 
 pected gains* and arranged our plot. 
 
 u Our first notion was to send Harold alone lo liis grave | 
 hiil, the death of the old man held out a double prospect of 
 
THE DOUBLE DOUBT. 
 
 297 
 
 ambition and revenge. My coward partner dared not be the 
 complete villain he wished to be ! He refused to strike the 
 blow — I struck it, and had Harold died as we hoped by — 
 justice! — I had soon appeared as the true heir, and divided 
 the spoils with the base recreant who has betrayed me. 
 
 " One circumstance seemed to seal our success, the coming 
 of yonder pale-faced girl to mark me in my hour of filial ven- 
 geance. My heart leaped upwards in ardent longing to plunge 
 my weapon in her breast. But I staid the blow that she 
 might be the surest evidence against her father. And when 
 I came here to glut my eyes on his agonies, I little dreamt 
 of this ending to all. But his escape is dearly bought. No sire 
 to chant a hymn of triumph — his wife frantic, it may be dying 
 — and the poisoned barb of blasted hope festering in his heart. 
 
 Ci I have spoken ! Let me be now known for what I was. 
 I stood alone in the world, hating it, and now die its unre- 
 lenting foe. But one act of justice shall close and dignify 
 my course — there ! to thy dastard heart, caitiff! " And with 
 the utterance of these words, so abruptly ending his speech, 
 he darted through the unsuspecting throng full upon Rupert, 
 seized him by the hair, with one hand, and with the other 
 plunged a dagger in his breast. The poniard felt its fleshy 
 sheath — the writhing man gasped in short agony — the blood 
 mounted to his throat, and his glazed eyes upturned in death. 
 
 The desperate murderer next raised the reeking blade to 
 strike at his own heart ; but no, his race of blood was run ! 
 The rushing throng arrested his arm, and the final blow was 
 left for justice to strike. The rack was at hand. He was 
 dragged out, and fast descending strokes of torture were plainly 
 heard — but no groan came with them to tell that they fell 
 on mortal form. 
 
 And now loud shouts were heard outside, and a female 
 figure conducted by the joyous crowd came rapidly on, the 
 flush of fever making her eyes more bright, and heightening 
 her natural charms. It may well be guessed that it was 
 Erilda whom nought could hinder from the half delirious 
 bliss, of hurrying from her fevered couch, to hail with fond 
 embrace the triumph of him whom her searching glances soon 
 discover. He sprang forward to meet her salutation, and 
 flung his still shackled arms around her, while she strained 
 the double captive in folds of love stronger than the fetters by 
 which he was yet for a moment bound. 
 
298 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF THE TRUENFELS, 
 
 A LEGEND WITHOUT A DATE. 
 
 In one of the wild and thickly wooded valleys of the Rhine, 
 in a spot as desolate as the story connected with it is dismal, 
 are still to be seen some crumbling ruins of what was once a 
 plain but handsome chapel. Half concealed with moss and 
 brambles, and rising above a steep crag close to these ruins, the 
 fragments of a tomb are yet in evidence. The word Liba, in 
 German characters is plainly legible. Several other broken 
 words are scarcely distinguishable, but they tell no story of 
 the tenant that has for centuries mouldered below. Tradition, 
 however, has preserved one. The name of the place is Tru- 
 enfels ; and both monument and chapel were erected to the 
 memory of a maiden who died in the flower of youth, hun- 
 dreds of years ago. 
 
 In the neighbourhood of this dreary spot lived an old 
 knight named Sir Balther of the Mount, with Liba, his only 
 daughter. This daughter was so lovely and so amiable, that 
 several of the young nobles, whose families then possessed, and 
 whose castles ornamented, the district of the Seven Mountains 
 entered into brisk rivalry for the possession of her hand. But 
 Sir Balther had promised it to Sibert of Ulenthal, and Liba 
 had shown no objection to the match. Had her father indeed 
 destined her for the oldest, ugliest, and most ill-tempered of 
 her suitors, this pattern of filial obedience had not murmured 
 however she might have mourned. It may well then be 
 believed with what pleasure she confirmed her parent's 
 choice of the handsomest, kindest and bravest youth of the 
 country. 
 
 Sir Balther, who was proud and fierce, like most of his 
 brother feudatories, had been for years in constant enmity 
 with the Archbishop of Cologne, of whom he was the vassal. 
 His fiery spirit lost no opportunity of raising freih quarrell, 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF THE TRUENFELS. 299 
 
 and his haughty temper neither brooked injury nor concealed 
 anger. One day, during the access of one of his frequent fits 
 of enmity against the prelate, he entertained at his castle a 
 company of friends, all deeply imbued with his own feelings. 
 Young Sibert alone was absent from the feast, from some ac- 
 cidental cause. 
 
 As the heating effects of large potations of Rhine-wine fer- 
 mented the blood of the inflammable company, explosions of 
 rage took place, all directed against the absent archbishop, and 
 destined to be too fatally followed up. 
 
 " How," cried Schott of Grunstein, " could mortal man, 
 much less a spurred and belted knight, submit to this ex- 
 action ? To claim my kine, my sheep, the very lambs yet 
 unweaned ! To force from me at once both lay tribute and 
 clerical tithes ! By Heavens, it is too bad ! It must not, it 
 cannot be borne V* 
 
 « No — no more than his insult to my honour," exclaimed 
 Hugo of Wolfsbratten, " slighted by him in the very church. 
 The torch which I held in the procession refused his blessing, 
 because it was carried by me ! Me, whose blood is, methinks, 
 more pure than his, whose shield bears quarterings 
 
 " Tut, tut, brother," interrupted the old lord of Swalbach, 
 u what is this grievance compared to mine ? No priest, no 
 prince, no pope even could bear attaint to the honour of Wolfs- 
 bratten — but has not yon proud prelate torn my very squire 
 from my protection ? And does he not lie this hour im- 
 prisoned in Cologne ? " 
 
 " Ay, and has he not lowered my banner from the cathedral 
 choir, and whitewashed the wall in the place were it hung ? " 
 vociferated Ulrich von Zwammel thorp, at the same time striking 
 the table with his clenched fist, so as to make goblets, flasks, 
 and glasses dance, in a fashion that was certainly common 
 enough to the drinking-bouts of those and later days. 
 
 The climax of outrage and indignity announced by the last 
 speaker threw the listeners completely off their centre. It 
 was bad enough to distrain cattle for dues, to refuse a bene- 
 diction to the torch of an obnoxious intruder, to imprison the 
 roaring partizan of a turbulent freebooter ; but to sweep away 
 the cobweb from a banner of nobility, and whitewash the filth 
 which it had for half a century concealed and fostered, was 
 indeed too bad ! The boisterous conspirators — for such they 
 
300 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF THE TRUENFELS. 
 
 were to a man — broke all bounds of decorum or prudence, and 
 uttered the most uncompromising threats of vengeance. A 
 dozen different plans for carrying those threats into execution 
 were proposed by as many different voices ; and all were con- 
 founded by an uproar of feudal clamour. One talked of a public 
 manifesto against the various instances of wrong. Another 
 insisted on a declaration of rights. A third recommended a 
 league of the injured lords, offensive and defensive. A fourth 
 urged an immediate levy of men, and a war of desperation. 
 
 Sir Balther, as in duty bound, listened with as much patience 
 as he could command to the outbursts of his choleric and rebel- 
 lious guests; and having, from his situation as host, been able 
 to preserve his head rather more clear than the rest, he had sense 
 enough to see that all these parallel proposals, though tending 
 towards the same object, were none of them coming or able to 
 come to the point. He therefore made a signal for silence, but 
 that obtained little success. He next roared, at the topmost 
 pitch of his voice, a request to be heard. But his proposal 
 was drowned among the rest. He next devised a plan which 
 succeeded in stopping for a moment the mouths of the party. 
 He filled his glass, and raised it, intimating that he was about 
 to propose a toast ; and while all drained the last drops of their 
 goblets to the animating sentiment of iC Death to our archbishop 
 and arch enemy ! " the president seized the opportunity to 
 deliver himself of the following pithy speech : — 
 
 cc Brother knights, my very esteemed guests, ye are all but a 
 pack of asses ! What do you, and I, and all of us want ? 
 Revenge ? How is it to be obtained ? By treaties and leagues, 
 and proclamations ? No — but by action, instant, immediate, 
 desperate action ! Our persecuting enemy is this very day 
 absent from Cologne — this very hour at Urbach, consecrating 
 the new church — will be this very night on his way back to 
 the stronghold of his tyranny. Shall he ever reach it alive ? 
 A hundred bold men-at-arms can overpower his unprepared 
 guard, taken by surprise, and probably half drunk. Shall the 
 archbishop then ever reach home alive ? M 
 
 " Never, never! We swear it, we swear it ! M was the 
 solemn answer uttered in full deep chorus ; and every one in- 
 stantly sobered by the terrible solemnity of the pledge, ihcy 
 hastened off, to gather each his quota of followers, agreeing on 
 a certain place of rendesvouz — whore all in due time met. 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF THE TRUENFELS. 301 
 
 That night the Archbishop of Cologne was a corpse. 
 Waylaid and surprised, his escort made a feeble resistance ; and 
 he found no mercy, having rarely shown any to his enemies. 
 
 The emperor for the time being, often the just avenger of 
 crime, as often the upholder of wrong, but in most cases 
 moved by their 'direct or indirect influence on his own pre- 
 rogatives, saw in this transaction a flagrant violation of law, 
 justice, and authority, and resolved to make a terrible example 
 of the offenders. Within a few weeks from the night of the 
 archbishop's murder almost every one of the confederates died 
 on the scaffold, or were hung on gibbets erected on the scene 
 of their crime. The confessions of several threw the chief 
 blame on Sir Balther. He had not yet been made amenable to 
 justice — or vengeance, with which it is so often confounded. 
 On hearing of the arrest and execution of his accomplices, he 
 put his castle into the best state of defence ; and as he hoped 
 for no mercy he resolved to sell his life as dearly as he could. 
 
 No one, whether a friend or foe of the unfortunate arch- 
 bishop or his unlucky enemies, was more shocked or grieved at 
 these events than young Sibert of Ulenthal. He thanked 
 Heaven and his patron saint full many a time that he had been 
 absent from the fatal party at which the plot was laid, and at 
 his being thus pieserved, to save at least his beloved Liba from 
 the destruction to which her too guilty father was doomed. 
 He repaired to the court of the emperor, obtained an audience, 
 threw himself at his feet, and implored his imperial permission 
 to accompany the force destined for the attack and destruction 
 of Sir Balther's castle, and to bear away harmless the innocent 
 daughter to whom he was affianced, although the utmost excess 
 of ruin and certain death was inviolably decreed against the 
 father. 
 
 It would be long to tell and tedious to describe the pre* 
 parations made for the attack of Sir Balther's almost impreg- 
 nable retreat, impregnable at least in days before the invention 
 of gunpowder allowed the blasting mine to spring beneath 
 security's feet, or the bursting shower of shells and rockets 
 to fall on the doomed heads of the besieged. But many a 
 bold squadron and platoon was marched forward to the enter- 
 prise. Machines of powerful effect battered the castle walls, 
 and javelins, stones, and arrows, did great destruction on the 
 small but desperate garrison. Sir Balther on his part was not 
 
302 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF THE TRUENFELS. 
 
 idle, and much slaughter was done on the lines of the ex- 
 asperated imperialists. 
 
 The bold Sir Balther was constantly exposed, as he led on 
 sorties against his assailants or reconnoitred their approaches 
 from his towers and battlements. He was lucky enough to 
 escape even without a wound ; but one day he received a shock 
 greater than any that could be effected by the worst missile on 
 perceiving young Sibert of Ulenthal in the enemy's ranks. He 
 could scarcely believe his eyes ; and to confirm their evidence he 
 called Liba to his side. She too saw this apparent proof of 
 her lover's worse than desertion — for his presence there spoke 
 breach of honour as well as of affection. Sir Balther's bold nerves 
 became more firmly braced at sight of what he thought a new 
 enemy. The gentle Liba was differently affected. She sunk 
 insensible in her father's arms, was carried in that state to her 
 chamber, and only revived to the full conviction of her misery. 
 
 In the mean while young Sibert, filled with new hope at the 
 partial sight of his mistress, advanced towards the walls with 
 outstretched arms, and endeavoured to express by his gestures 
 that he was come to save her and bear her from the dreadful fate 
 that impended over the other inmates of the castle. Sir Balther 
 allowed him to approach within certain range of an arrow, and 
 seizing the bow from the hands of an archer close by him, he 
 discharged the flying weapon with unerring aim. 
 
 " That for thy traitorous heart ! " cried he, as the bow-string 
 twanged and the arrow cut through the air. 
 
 (e Thank heaven, he has it ! " was the next exclamation as 
 the weapon too surely struck its mark. Sibert was carried off 
 to the besiegers' camp. Sir Balther took care speedily to in- 
 form the wretched Liba of his exploit. Her despair was now 
 complete. And the fury of the contest between besiegers and 
 besieged reached a greater height than ever. 
 
 Within ten days from this event the castle was reduced to 
 the last extremity. The scaling ladders of the foe were fairly 
 planted against the walls. One after another its works were 
 carried ; and at length on one night of gloom and storm the 
 very body of the place was in the power of the imperialists. 
 A final assault made them masters of all ; and slaughter, 
 pillage, and devastation were to be seen throughout, by the 
 blaze of the fire, which in every part consumed the massive 
 building. 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF THE TRTJENFELS. SOS 
 
 The beautiful Liba would willingly have met death at the 
 hands of the foe. But she dared not venture to encounter 
 their libertine fury. Half dressed, with flowing hair, and 
 trembling steps, she fled therefore to the refuge of her father's 
 protection. Traversing corridors and halls which resounded 
 with the shouts of the victors, and where at every step she 
 encountered the dead or the dying glaring in the fierce light 
 of the conflagration, she at last reached a distant court yard 
 and there perceived her father desperately fighting with his 
 last few adherents against fearful odds. Just as she was 
 darting to his side, to share the fate he braved, her arm was 
 forcibly caught in the grasp of a man, and in a moment he 
 drew her to him and clasped her to his breast. 
 
 iC Oh ! mercy, mercy ! " cried she. " Strike me to the 
 heart, but spare my honour I" 
 
 (i Liba, dost thou not know me ? " murmured a voice which 
 even then spoke not in vain to her heart's sympathies. It was 
 Sibert, who but partly recovered from his wound, but still 
 faint and ailing, had left the camp and braved the perils of 
 the assault, unarmed save by the inspiring passion on which he 
 reckoned to bear him safe. 
 
 " Sibert ! not dead ? O Heaven pity me ! my brain 
 wanders. They told me thou wert dead — killed by my 
 father's hand ! " 
 
 " No, Liba, I live for thee and love. All may now be well. 
 Thy father's cruel weapon rankled in my breast, but thy 
 image was there before it to neutralize the barbed point. Now 
 fly, fly, my beloved ! I am not, as thou seest, an enemy. I 
 have the emperor's full pardon for thee — his commands to 
 snatch thee hence. Turn, Liba, turn with me from this 
 horrid scene." 
 
 " And my father ? " 
 
 " Oh, name him not in such an hour as this ! The ban is 
 on his head — nothing may save him — and all that aid, abet, 
 or linger near him are doomed to inevitable ruin !" 
 
 " Then welcome ruin ! Farewell, Sibert, for ever ! " ex- 
 claimed Liba, springing -from the ineffectual grasp of her dis- 
 tracted lover, and gaining with a bound the side of her despe- 
 rate parent. 
 
 " Ah, my child ! my dear daughter ! " cried the old warrior, 
 forgetting even his furious revenge in beholding her whom he 
 
THE TRAGEDY OP THE TRUENPELS. 
 
 he f ght f ly ^^r^ratsts; 
 
 and hoT y f rU T an l Wh ° had a «him, reeking wit h b S 
 now prepared to resume their attack « T ' , 
 
 ana death ! Look at the flames that everywhere burst out ? 
 Come on, cowards ! come on !" ' 1 ? 
 
 " Father, father, you see they will not fight with vou Oh 
 teaE^ int ° m * b - St ~ than let me^U 2 
 
 tain' ^Th Cann ! 1 d °V by HeaVens ! " re P lied ^ old Chief- 
 tain. J hou art at this moment the living portrait of thv 
 "other. I cannot kill her child!" and he on<£ more caught 
 
 lltt^lt arms ' and strained her with a fi ~ 
 
 vauks 3 -'' y crl h dV"h there / S a " ° Pe " infi: d0Wn there *o the 
 thZrh wwS 5 endeaV0Urin S t0 ^ W» to the archway, 
 thro Ugh which a narrow passage seemed yet left between the 
 flame and smoke that burst out at either side. 
 
 Away then, away, ere I repent me of my own dishonour 
 which now I prefer to thine!" exclaimed the fad Kfc 
 same tune flmgmg his shield and sword with desperate Jo e 
 at the group of enemies who stood before him, the wLpo s 
 
 fnTthe °, hi ? at ^ In the instant, si 
 
 mg the cloak from a dead body at his foot, he wrapped it 
 round Ld,a, and before the lookers on had time to 1 e v ,' 
 
 oZ *ZT e ' both father and dau « hter disa ">— »• 2 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF THE TRUENFELS. 
 
 305 
 
 " Pursue them, pursue — and bring back the girl alive !*' 
 cried the hoarse voice of the commander ; but his orders were 
 unavailing. Just as the men rushed forward the beams and 
 masonry of the archway fell with a loud crash. A volume of 
 smoke, flame, and dust rose thickly up ; and no one doubted 
 but that the chieftain and his daughter had perished. 
 
 But fate had not quite let fall its heavy hand on the desti- 
 tute pair. Forcing their way along, they reached the subter- 
 ranean vaults, but not both unharmed. Liba, securely wrapped 
 in the dead soldier's cloak, was unscathed by the fire through 
 which she passed. Sir Balther, without such shelter, was 
 grievously scorched. His eyes felt as though portions of the 
 flame had settled in them. His agony was great ; and but for his 
 daughter's sake he had lain down at once and waited for death, 
 which had now been welcome come in what shape it might. 
 
 Wandering on at random, for Sir Balther could not see his 
 way through the subterranean windings which he knew so 
 well, and Liba was quite ignorant of their intricate paths, they 
 at length reached an outlet. It admitted them into the deep 
 forest which surrounded the castle at a short distance ; and 
 the flames from the burning pile allowed the half sinking and 
 half maddened girl to see sufficiently before her and prevent 
 any accident to her father or herself from the unequal and 
 obstructed soil. Worn out at length with exertion of body 
 and mind, she sank on the earth, and slept in spite of all her 
 suffering, her agonized parent watching her — yet almost 
 hoping for her sake and his own that she might never more 
 awake, for were her sorrows ended by death, he felt that then 
 he too might die. 
 
 The songs of birds, the bright smiles of the morning sun, 
 the pure breath of the early breeze, the fragrance of opening 
 flowers, formed the combination of natural delights which 
 broke on Liba's awakening senses. For a moment all seemed 
 as if she lay in paradise. But memory is to wretchedness 
 what conscience is to guilt — both ever ready to drag their 
 victims back to the view of what the one has done and the 
 other suffered. Tis the happy alone who revel in oblivion. 
 Even virtue is denied the enjoyment, if sorrow has once crossed 
 its path. 
 
 And Liba, now alive to a full consciousness of her own woes, 
 found her only chance of temporary forgetfulness in the con- 
 
 x 
 
806 the TRAGEDY OP THE TRUENFELS. 
 
 templation of her father's desolate and dreadful state. Ronsed 
 to ^exertion by the sacred duty of solacing his sufferings he 
 led h m farther .nto the forest, gathered plants whose sooth Tg 
 qualities were known to her, and applied them to his burn nf 
 eyes, sought water to quench his thirst, made a bed of leave! 
 and moss on which he might strive to repose, and gathered 
 
 utrlvTs berri6S t0 a " ay the CraVin ^ S «f nature" For/ 
 utterly despairing as were both parent aud child thev still 
 
 £u°g to life, though had death been offered by o\h er hand 
 
 than their own they would each have joyfully embraced it. 
 
 tbJw-M ^ th . eythU8 exkted ^ havi "S discovered in 
 
 the wilderness a cave that sheltered them from the wind and 
 ram, and secured them from all danger of discovery. I„ this 
 state of living burial, they continued, Sir Balther being wholly 
 blind and Liba exhausting every means of subsistence afforded 
 by the wild vicinage of their sanctuary. 
 
 Forced to extend her wanderings in search of these scanty 
 supplies, she one day descried the figure of a man pensively 
 
 ST^ST "> T * n " kel " her m0ti °» Iess «» a mo- 
 ment, and fixed her gaze upon him. It was Sibert, who 
 
 pursued in almost utter hopelessness his daily task of seeking 
 
 toe fugitives, whom he alone persisted in believing not to have 
 
 tLZ tT ye n'~ t T\ t0that inStinCt ( S ° ^en\„ infatua- 
 tion) that will not let lovers loose their hold of hope 
 
 L.bas first impulse was to call on Sibert's name and fling 
 herself into hts arms. But an instant's thought repelled the 
 natural suggestion of her heart. « No, " thought she, « he at 
 leas shall not be involved in our ruin-he shall not be sacri- 
 ficed by the contagion of our touch !" And retiring unper- 
 ceived, she retraced her steps to the dreary cavern which was 
 now her only home. 
 
 Thus had she three times voluntarily renounced the beloved 
 object of her pure passion, on grounds of as pure principle ; 
 first m the belief of his infidelity to her father's cause : se^ 
 con, ly, rather than abandon that parent to secure her own 
 satety ; and lastly, to avoid compromising this adored lover in 
 the destructmn to which they were doomed. Such generous 
 devotion surely merited reward. Let us hope that it received 
 an amp'e share, — but it was not on this earth ' 
 
 Wound up by this stretch of forbearance to that state of 
 overstrained buoyancy which the martyrs of virtue fancy to he 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF THE TRUENPELS. 
 
 307 
 
 happiness, Liba returned to her father, with a light step, a 
 beaming countenance, and a beating heart. Her fancied 
 triumph over the natural impulses of her heart was soon how- 
 ever sinking into despondency. But any token of despair was 
 for the instant averted by her father's proposing, for the first 
 time, to quit his retreat and breathe the open air. Taking 
 Liba's hand in his, he said, " I know not how it is with me 
 to-day, my child, but I feel a something I cannot describe 
 which calls me into the sight of heaven. It is as though a 
 feeling from the skies (which, alas ! I must never see) urged 
 me forth. I am irresistibly impelled to obey this call. It is 
 like a noiseless summons from on high. Come then, Liba, 
 lead me into the sunshine, though 1 may not know its bright- 
 ness ! The day is clear and serene, is it not ? " 
 
 "'Tis sultry, my father, rather than serene. But the blue 
 sky is only disfigured by one dark cloud, which will no doubt 
 pass quickly away." 
 
 « Lead me then to the blessed beams of light, that I may 
 feel them warm my chilled heart once more." 
 
 "This way then, my father — this way to the lone grey 
 rock which stands singly in the forest, and whence one may 
 see the blue waters of the Rhine — oh ! forgive me, my father 
 
 — I forgot thy misfortune V 
 
 " Nay, nay, Liba, I see them too — as I see thee, my girl, 
 in the deep clear stream of memory, bright and clear and pure 
 
 — come on, come on to the sunshine I" 
 
 When they emerged from the gloomy thicket, Sir Balther 
 felt the sun's rays, and turned up his sightless balls as if longing 
 to see the day-god which thus revived him. "Art thou safe 
 here, Liba?" asked he, after a moment's pause. "Is there 
 no chance of some straggler of our persecutors wandering this 
 way? Hast thou seen no one on thy walks in search of food?" 
 
 " No enemy, father, has met my view since the fatal night 
 of the assault. " 
 
 " Then hast thou seen no one, my child, for to a proscribed 
 and ruined man like me all become enemies even if they were 
 friends before !" 
 
 Liba had now reached the rock, and her father sat down on 
 a projecting fragment, basking in the genial rays which fell 
 so warmly there. In a moment the sky was overcast — the 
 dark and solitary cloud remarked by Liba had reached the 
 x 2 
 
308 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OP THE TRUENFELS. 
 
 place where she and Sir Balther sat, and threw its deep shadow 
 down upon them. At the same time a few large drops fell 
 heavily from it. These were instantly followed by a flash of 
 lightning and a simultaneous crash that told how terribly close 
 was the thunderbolt. Both father and daughter fell dead to 
 trie 63,rtn. 
 
 Sibert of Ulenthal was close to the spot. He had caught a 
 view of Liba when she thought she escaped unobserved / had 
 tracked her to the cavern ; had thence followed her and her 
 father through the thicket, overheard their short conversation 
 and was on the point of springing forward to throw himself 
 before them and announce the emperor's pardon, of which he 
 was the bearer. Stunned for a few seconds by the fatal flash 
 but rushing forward as soon as he recovered his presence of 
 mind, he saw too corpses where he a minute before had marked 
 the two living beings in whose fate his whole happiness was 
 centered. Sir Balther was blackened and burned. Liba 
 showed no visible mark of Heaven's wrath. For a moment 
 her lover believed her still to live. She lived in immortality, 
 but lay m death. " 
 
 The tomb and the chapel were erected by the orders of 
 Sibert on the site of this deep tragedy. The body of Liba 
 was deposited in the tomb. Sibert took possession of the little 
 chapel and an adjoining building, where he passed the rest of 
 his desolate career, in mourning for her death and preparing 
 tor his own. ° 
 
309 
 
 THE 
 
 PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 
 
 One of the most striking, if not the most picturesque, objects 
 of the voyage of the Rhine is the fort-like building called the 
 Pfalzgrafenstein, or, more commonly and briefly, the Pfalz. 
 It is situated on an island nearly central in the river, between 
 the towns of Canb and Bacharach ; and the stream present- 
 ing at this point one of those frequent illusions which so 
 diversify its beauties, this tower has been sometimes designated 
 the Castle in the Lake. Such indeed is the appearance of the 
 river in this place ; and the stillness of land and water, the 
 encircling hills, and impenetrable woods, give an air of solemn 
 security, well suited to the purposes for which the building was 
 employed during many an age ; namely, as a prison at times 
 for state criminals, but more usually as a place for another 
 species of confinement — that of the successive countesses pa- 
 latines, whose accouchements, in order to give the heir a legal 
 title to his inheritance, were to be there effected. This regu- 
 lation, which now appears but an absurd ordinance, was no 
 doubt connected with some reasons of state, if we may so 
 dignify the coarse and capricious motives which influenced 
 the chieftains of feudality. 
 
 High above the river, and looking down from a rugged 
 battlement of rocks behind the town of Canb, are the ruins 
 of Gutenfels, an old castle, which some centuries ago bore the 
 title of Cube, but it was new named to its present appellation,^ 
 in compliment to the Countess Guda, of the ancient line of 
 Nuringen, an heiress of surpassing beauty, who had not only 
 the honour of softening for awhile the hard heart, and be- 
 coming the wife, of Hermann, Count Palatine, but of making a 
 conquest of a still more elevated lover, if at least the romantic 
 x 3 
 
310 
 
 THE PRISONER OP THE PFALZ. 
 
 traditions of the Rhine speak truly. But the honour of an 
 alliance with princedom was dearly purchased hy the draw- 
 hack on happiness sequent on a union with a haughty, violent 
 and despotic man, double her own age, without sympathy for 
 her virtues, or soul for her charms; and whose only aim in 
 his choice was the pride of possessing the most lovely woman 
 ot her day, or some passing desire that rather degraded than 
 ennobled its object. 
 
 For three years after her marriage the countess bore her 
 late without a murmur, for conscience told her she had alone 
 herself to blame. But she hushed her self-reproaches even 
 by recollecting the motives which had urged her to consent to 
 the match. In the innocence and inexperience of youth, she 
 had believed that the happiness of her suitor had depended 
 on it ; and she had herself formed no attachment at the time 
 which would have taught her feelings the difference between 
 the spurious passion of the palatine, and that real one, to 
 compare it with which is blasphemy against the heart's divinity. 
 .But never had a woman in her station, or a wife so irreproach- 
 able to bear such indignities of suspicion and jealousy as fell 
 to the lot of the Countess Guda. Privations of all kinds 
 were forced on her. None of the enjoyments of high rank 
 were allowed her, and the delights of humble life were in- 
 compatible with it. Rarely seen by even her husband's cour- 
 titrs or dependants, the fame of her beauty and her goodness 
 spread nevertheless far and wide. She became the theme of 
 many a lay of romantic eulogy, and several enthusiasts fancied 
 themselves, in the fashion of the day, enamoured of one only 
 known to them through the haze of an over-heated fancy. It 
 was even reported that the emperor, whose romantic turn of 
 mind caught readily at any new subject of excitement, had 
 contrived to gain a stolen view of the all but imprisoned 
 countess, and had become in consequence one of her most 
 ardent admirers. 
 
 It was at least certain that about the time of this report a 
 pressing invitation reached the castle of Stahleck, not far from 
 Gutenfels, on the opposite bank of the Rhine, where the pala- 
 tine resided, praying Count Hermann and his fair but unfor- 
 tunate partner to repair to the imperial court on a visit, for 
 which grand preparations were made, and every inducement 
 to ns acceptance held out. But in vain. The morose and 
 
THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 311 
 
 jealous palatine, who had never himself sought honours or 
 pleasures, was determined that his wife should not risk the 
 consequences which they too often bring in their train. With- 
 out confidence in himself, he could not have any in his wife, 
 for the one is the offspring of the other ; and doubt of her 
 fidelity was (as it always is in like cases) a sure proof of con- 
 sciousness in his own demerit. The imperial invitation, which 
 an inferior prince could not directly refuse, was eluded under 
 various frivolous pretexts ; and the close guardianship of the 
 countess was more rigorously than ever attended to by the 
 special care of Ludwig, the palatine's younger brother, and 
 the heir presumptive to his honours, for the ill assorted union 
 had not been followed by the birth of any child. But in 
 proportion as the seclusion of the hapless Guda became more 
 and more severe, the sympathy she excited beyond the pale of 
 her palace -prison increased, and numerous instances, which 
 never came to her knowledge, proved how individual gallantry 
 and still higher feelings were interested in her cause, while 
 each new display of the kind on the part of strangers carried 
 a fresh reproach to him who knew her best, and ought to have 
 honoured and cherished her the most. 
 
 But all the retainers of the court of the palatine, who had 
 opportunities of seeing the princess at all, were struck with 
 and astonished by the sudden change which at this period took 
 place in her manners and feelings. Instead of the placid but 
 pensive endurance of ill which had hitherto characterised her, 
 she became suddenly animated and cheerful, and her spirits 
 seemed to rise in a ratio with the increase of the means pur- 
 sued by her tyrants — for she had two — to keep them down. 
 The conjectures of courtiers were not likely in those days, any 
 more than they might be in our own, to give any interpreta- 
 tion favourable to morality or virtue. Some secret passion 
 was imagined to be the only possible cause of such a magical 
 change, and a circumstance ere long discovered turned sus- 
 picion into certainty, even in the minds of those most disposed 
 to think well of the countess, or who had had courage enough 
 to uphold her character before. 
 
 One evening when the sun had just sunk below the hills 
 which rose high behind the palace of Stahleck, and the moun- 
 tain woods began to throw down their mysterious shadows on 
 the river, Guda chose, as was her wont, to wander in the 
 x 4 
 
° l * THE PRISONER OP THE PPALZ. 
 
 pleasure-grounds and gardens, as if to contrast her own gay 
 and joyous bearing wi.h the sadness of the melancholy hou7 
 Whether solitude was her object we cannot now stop to in 
 quire ; but be that as it may, she was „ ot left long to the" 
 lone indulgence of her fancy. She was now, as on most oc! 
 casions narrowly watched and closely followed. Ludwig 
 her unkmd brother-in-law, and Hugo von Roth, his devS 
 creature, were both soon on her track; and ere lonTthev 
 reached the close neighbourhood of a bower, where Zl 
 
 Kffi3SS£ ta presen - but in a ^ ^ 
 
 amaze at hearing her impassioned conversation with a ^an 
 whose voice they knew not. Recovering themselves quickly' 
 hey approach d still closer; and cautiolsly peeping 5h ou/h 
 the fohage they saw the intrusive interloper on the wedded 
 Guda T, 1 ^ C0 " nt , Palatine °" °» e *»- before Coun S s 
 S h s'lh wbn 6 r , ln hiS ^ nd H with fervour 
 
 to nis Hps while she, m extreme agitation, strove to raise 
 him up, and urged him to fly the dangerous p'lace 
 
 Oh, begone ! begone !" cried she, in accents almost suf- 
 focated, with what kind of emotion the listeners cou d not 
 distinguish but they imagined it. "Utter ruin to us both 
 must result from your being discovered." 
 
 " I ask no happier fate than ruin at thy feet >." replied the 
 unknown, whose face was buried in the folds of the 2£2S 
 
 "And mine ? Oh, you know not how my fate, my hap- 
 piness is at stake," said she, reproachfully, but not severdy^ 
 A h it is thy danger that alone terrifies me— but he thy 
 tyrant, I will not call him thy husband, is absent from the 
 
 " Yes, but his odious brother, Count Ludwig- and hi* hat* 
 ful minion, Von Roth, are close at hand." S ' 
 
 " A iT' ay ! d0Ser than y° u dreamt of, to vindicate 
 
 your husband s honour and slay your seducer in your very 
 arms! exclaimed the furious Ludwig, attempting 7 to buS 
 through tl le branches in which he was entangled; while Von 
 Roth less pass.onate and more calculating, took another course 
 
 he did -th the natural activity of one to whom discovery was 
 
THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 313 
 
 likely to bring the most frightful punishment to a man of 
 feeling — the dishonour of her he loved. 
 
 "Now, false one!" continued Ludwig, when he had suc- 
 ceeded in forcing a passage into the bower, and forgetting for 
 a moment the fugitive, in the triumph of having detected the 
 intrigue which was to fix his expectations into surety— 
 « Now, thy doom is sealed, and my inheritance secure ! I nou 
 art caught in the fact— thy joyous air, thy secret wanderings 
 are all explained— and < the odious ' Ludwig is master of thy 
 destiny. Now, instantly confess the name of thy paramour 
 
 tell me, who was he that fled ?" 
 
 « That thou shalt never know !" said Guda, in a firm tone. 
 " Indeed ! my injured brother will soon find means to force 
 the guilty secret from thee." . . 
 
 "Never ! nor is the secret one of guilt, nor is he injured, 
 continued Guda. t . , . 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! profligacy and sophistry— crime and denial 
 It is all very natural," said Ludwig, with a hoarse laugh ol 
 mockery ; at the same time laying hold of the countess, as it 
 to drag her to the palace. 
 
 "Off, unmannered and foul-spoken Ludwig!' exclaimed 
 she, indignantly repelling him, and with a tone of more than 
 usual spirit and command. "To my husband alone am 1 
 answerable, nor shall any hand but his dare to hold me 
 captive." , 
 
 " His hand, I hope, will deal thee prompt and exemplary 
 punishment," said the ferocious Ludwig. 
 
 " Ah, Ludwig ! 'tis a fiend-like inspiration that tells tnee 
 to long for my destruction, now more than ever." 
 
 « I know not what you mean, Countess Guda," retorted 
 Ludwig, a keen air of curiosity tempering his former violence. 
 
 " Thou shalt know it!" said Guda with an increasing 
 animation of tone. . 
 
 At this moment Hugo von Roth entered the bower, with a 
 confused and hurried look. "Well, hast thou seized on 
 him ? " asked Ludwig. 
 
 st He has escaped/' replied the minion. 
 " Sacred thunder !" (a very good popular oath in Germany 
 and France to the present day) exclaimed Count Ludwig 
 M But you saw his face ?" 
 
 « How could I, count, while his back was to me as he 
 ran?" 
 
^ 14 THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 
 
 I] T T m ,! ' but did you not succee d in stopping him ? " 
 "No/' said Hugo, without hesitation; yet he nevertheless 
 told a huge he m one little word. For he had succeeded in 
 stopping the fugitive, and he knew him well. Why then did 
 he not seize on him ? Or did he seize him ? might be here 
 demanded, by any reader as curious as Count Ludwi* The 
 answer is, he did seize him ; but on discovering who it was 
 he had seized, he let go his hold, as quickly as though he had 
 caught hot iron — yet his hand was not seared, for it was not 
 the devil he caught so firmly and released so soon. 
 
 The Count Palatine was exceeding wroth when he heard of 
 the events relative to his wife's detection, and listened to his 
 brotner Ludwig's details of what they both called the proofs 
 of her infidelity — the one from self-interest, the other from 
 jealousy, two motives which more than any other blind men 
 to the truth, and, even when they see it, induce them to 
 smother it. While the brothers devised together the fitting 
 and safest punishment to inflict on the hapless, and as she 
 maintained herself, the innocent Guda, every means were set 
 on foot to discover her paramour. It was not long before a 
 young knight was seized in an attempt to gain admission to 
 tne part of the palace where she was confined. He was in- 
 stantly recognised as having been seen prowling about the 
 precincts of the pleasure grounds on the evening of the fatal 
 discovery ; and was moreover notoriously heard to boast of his 
 passion for the countess, in whose praise many verses, bad or 
 indifferent, were found on his person. Nothing more was re- 
 quired. The young knight was hanged on a tree adjoining 
 the garden. With almost his last words he proclaimed the 
 innocence of the countess. 
 
 "That will be satisfactory to the count," observed the 
 officer who presided at the execution. 
 
 " Will it?" said the young knight. "Then to complete 
 lus comfort, tell him that had she been guilty I should have 
 sworn just the same" 
 
 The words of a man of honour ! " exclaimed the officer. 
 "And the sentiment of a pious Christian!" observed the 
 priest. In the mean time the poor young knight hung by the 
 neck till he was dead. His body was then cut down and 
 thrown into the Rhine, amidst loud acclamations in honour of 
 the Count Palatine's keen sense of justice. Hugo Von Roth 
 never opened his mouth on the subject. 
 
THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 315 
 
 Count Ludwig, to make assurance surer than ever, and 
 hurried on by his hatred of the countess, strenuously urged his 
 brother, the palatine, to chop off his wife's head, as the best 
 way he thought of cutting off all obstacles to his own inherit- 
 ance. But the wily Von Roth soon made him understand 
 that this would he the worst possible blow that could be struck 
 against his interests; that another marriage might produce an 
 heir to the palatine; and that the surest measure for Count 
 Ludwigs succession was to have Guda safely incarcerated in 
 some stronghold, until the course of nature removed the 
 present incumbent from the possession of the place for which 
 Count Ludwig panted. He acted quickly on these sugges- 
 tions, revoking all his former arguments for Guda s death by 
 representing to the palatine the odium it might bring to him, 
 and at the same time suggesting that perpetual imprisonment 
 would be a severer punishment to one, whose whole value lor 
 life was gone when that of her lover was ended. 
 
 Count Hermann willingly gave in to these last reasonings, 
 for there was something within him which whispered strong 
 objections to putting to death the wife of his bosom. He 
 was not one of those monsters of history, so dead to every 
 touch of feeling as to doom to the block the head which had 
 lain upon his shoulder, in the early charms of virgin confidence. 
 He was, indeed, on recollections of such by-gone scenes, 
 greatly tempted to believe her innocent and spare her altogether. 
 But the equivocal speech of the dying knight threw him back 
 upon his doubts and his jealousy, and a false sense of his 
 honour, artfully acted on by Ludwig, made him fancy that 
 his wife should have been, like Caesar's, exempt from even 
 suspicion — the haughty notion of imperious vanity, which 
 thus looked for what is unattainable in a world of envy and 
 malice. It was therefore decreed that Guda should be im- 
 prisoned for life, and the prison fixed on was the Pfalz. 
 
 When the countess was duly made acquainted with this 
 decision she displayed, to the astonishment alike of those who 
 hated and those who loved her, an almost unbounded joy. 
 Her faithful women, who wept their separation from her, 
 gazed in silent wonder. Count Ludwig vainly strove to solve 
 so strange a mystery ; and if Hugo Von Roth possessed, or 
 fancied he possessed, a clew to it, he kept his secret close. 
 Guda was finally committed to the Pfalz in the custody of 
 
316 
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 
 
 Von Roth, who, on Ludwig's special recommendation, was 
 named governor of the important place. As the prisoner 
 embarked m the boat that was to convey her from Stahleck 
 she returned the tearful farewell of her former attendants 
 with smiles ; and when she landed on the little margin of 
 rocky earth which surrounded the prison, she threw herself 
 on her knees, and exclaimed, with looks and accents of un- 
 common fervour, — "Praise be to Heaven, and to holy St. 
 Simon, the patron of the palatinate, for their special guardian- 
 ship of the rights of its noble house !" 
 
 "A very disinterested thanksgiving in truth," remarked 
 Count Ludwig, who had accompanied the countess to see her 
 safely lodged in jail, — "very disinterested ! — For it implies 
 her own condemnation, as having borne attaint to the honour 
 of my noble brother." 
 
 " Oh ! continue/ added the countess, not hearing this com- 
 mentary, " continue to watch over the due succession of its 
 princely line, even though I be the sacrifice through which it 
 is accomplished ! " ♦ 
 
 "A generous prayer, by the rood ! that I may reap its full 
 benefit!" observed Ludwig, laughing, as the countess rose up 
 and stepped across the narrow drawbridge, at the other side of 
 which she was received by Von Roth's wife. Von Roth him- 
 self seemed completely puzzled for the gist of Gudas invoca- 
 tion. But whatever the meaning, he had no doubt of being 
 quickly able to discover it ; and he had a lively hope in also 
 finding the means of turning it to his own advantage. 
 
 The actual privations of imprisonment produced no more 
 depressing effect on the good spirits of Guda than their anti- 
 cipations had done. Loss of exercise, of honourable attend- 
 ance, of rich living, of society, of influence, seemed unfelt or 
 disregarded. Some internal source of consolation was evi- 
 dently supporting her under every trial. But she was not of 
 those reserved beings who long bury their thoughts in their 
 mind's recesses. Unhappiness, indeed, could have been con- 
 cealed by her, because she had none of the selfishness that 
 calls for relief while bearing the burthens of the heart ; but 
 joy seemed naturally to overflow her bosom, as though she 
 felt the want of sharing it with others. The kindliness 
 and cordiality of Frau Von Roth would have pointed her 
 out as the very subject for confidence, in a situation where 
 
THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 
 
 317 
 
 there was room for selection. In the dreary solitude of the 
 Pfalz there could be no choice; but the countess felt no 
 necessity for such, her heart being completely won from the 
 first day by this her only female fellow-prisoner, (beyond the 
 mere menials,) for all who once entered the lone place, with 
 the exception of the governor, were doomed to inhabit its 
 narrow precincts for life. 
 
 "You wonder, my good dame," said Guda, one evening, as 
 she stood with her prison friend on the little terrace that hung 
 out over the river, and they gazed together at the reflection of 
 the rich landscape in its bosom, — "you wonder at the cheer- 
 fulness, the happiness let me more correctly call it, which 
 animates me, under circumstances so apparently adverse?" 
 
 " Indeed, madam, it does move my special wonder." 
 
 " Is not innocence, good dame, sufficient to bear one up, 
 under all accumulated woes ? " 
 
 " Alas ! no, fair countess ; at least not enough to give your 
 air of triumph, although it may be, for the passive endurance 
 of wrong." 
 
 « Well, then, kind and friendly matron, know my secret 
 cause of rejoicing — it is that I know myself possessed of the 
 infallible means of giving at once conviction of my innocence, 
 and at the same time rapture on his own account, to my too 
 severe and too much deluded husband, — rapture which I 
 shall share, which I do now anticipate in truth, for the very 
 thought of the moment in which I shall become a mother 
 makes me almost wild with joy !" 
 
 u A mother ! " 
 
 t€ Ay, dame, a delighted mother ! The mother, please the 
 holy saints ! of an heir to the princely house of the Pala- 
 tinate, of a bright boy, fit to carry on the honours of his 
 illustrious line, to be at once the justification of his mother 
 and his father's boast and glory ! Ah, worthy Frau, dost thou 
 now wonder at my secret enjoyment ? Dost thou not rather 
 marvel at the self-restraint with which I have withheld news 
 that would have at once relaxed my husbands rigid severity, 
 and established me in all my right of place and reputation ? 
 But I resolved to let Providence work out the destiny of my 
 child; and by willingly holding back my own vindication, 
 prove how I despised all personal suffering, for the joy of sur- 
 prising my noble lord and princely master with the consum- 
 mation of his three years' anxious hopes." 
 
318 
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 
 
 During this rapidly uttered speech Frau Von Roth stood 
 motionless, her hands clasped as they were at the utterance of 
 her own last recorded exclamation, her eyes fixed on the 
 countess, and gradually filling with tears. At length, when a 
 pause in Guda's rhapsody allowed her to speak, she exclaimed, 
 at the same instant a flood of sympathy bathing her cheeks : 
 — w Oh ! wonderful power of artless innocence, how you can 
 delude the mortal bosoms which are at once blest and tortured 
 by your presence ! Oh, hapless countess ! Oh, unfortunate 
 princess ! Oh, miserable mother ! that seest not the seal of 
 ruin thus stamped upon thine own fate and that of thy un- 
 born babe ! Oh, Countess Guda, recall thy fatal words — 
 say not, believe not, hope not that thou art to give birth to a 
 new victim of misery, — Heaven surely is satisfied with one !" 
 
 During the utterance of these words the countess could not 
 comprehend their meaning ; and when the speaker concluded 
 this unbidden burst of sympathy, she seemed overwhelmed 
 by the tone, rather than afflicted by the tenor, of the sounds 
 which still rung in her ears. 
 
 "Ah, virtuous and innocent countess !" resumed the dame, 
 " you understand me not, neither do you see the extent of 
 your own misery — for what misery is equal to the sudden 
 ruin of long cherished hope !" 
 
 " My misery ! Nay, mock me not, good dame. I am 
 sure, quite sure, that the virgin queen of heaven has listened 
 to my prayers, and that I shall become the mother of a male 
 heir to my princely husband's titles and succession !" 
 
 u The fulfilment of your prayer, noble lady, will be the 
 completion of your woe and the destruction of your hopes." 
 
 Guda, confounded by the seeming inconsistency of these 
 words, implored the kind-hearted woman to explain them. 
 The latter did so in terms too explicit for misconception. She 
 plainly showed the deluded countess that the promised birth 
 of a child, which a few months before would have been hailed 
 by Count Hermann with delight, and have proved a link of 
 recovered affection and confidence between them, would he 
 now but a certain source of increased hatred, from the pala- 
 tine's already received impression of her infidelity. The 
 countess long combatted this opinion, with a sort of buoyant 
 gaiety, arising from an irresistible feeling of its absurdity, and 
 from that self-deceiving obstinacy in which consciousness of 
 
THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 
 
 319 
 
 right is of all feelings that most likely to confirm its possessor. 
 At last the truth of dame Von Roth's reasoning hurst sud- 
 denly on her like a flash of light. Not from any peculiar 
 brightness in her arguments at any one given stage, but rather 
 from the sudden and self-impelled dispersion of those inward 
 mists of wilfulness in error, which a straightforward honesty 
 of character more than any other engenders. Such is the 
 common process in all cases of unwilling conviction. Such is 
 the true source of obstinacy, an evil consequence, arising from an 
 amiable cause. But when the certainty of such long-cherished 
 errors does break on the mind — when the inveterate belief in 
 friendship is proved to be unfounded, or the reliance on affec- 
 tion, which has clung to us like a part of our nature, is 
 wrenched away, how may the shock be depicted ? How in- 
 deed is it possible that it may be endured, when the props 
 and stays of the heart seem suddenly to forsake it, and it 
 falls prostrate, debased and half-broken at the very feet of 
 what had been so long its support and sustenance ? Yet it 
 recovers its elasticity, at least most commonly, for few are 
 totally shattered. A self righting principle is almost always 
 found to exist in the virtuous mind ; an inward spring which 
 bends but snaps not — and the bosom, lightened of the load 
 of its mistaken confidence, breathes more steadily and freely 
 than if it had never been so overcharged. A fund of solid 
 wisdom has replaced the freight of flimsy sentiment. Vapour 
 has been dispersed by light. 
 
 These reflections arise from the analogy rather than the 
 identity between such cases and that of the prisoner of the 
 Pfalz. Countess Guda had not to mourn the treachery of a 
 lover or friend. She had only to endure the anguish of false 
 hopes. It was only herself by whom she had been deceived. 
 Yet the suffering was not less poignant ; nor the re-action 
 less sure. She at first nearly sunk under the shock, and she 
 subsequently recovered by the spontaneous outspring of the 
 recompensing instinct. She mourned her ruined reputation, her 
 husband estranged, her station lost ; but all seemed worthless, 
 or a thousand fold repaid in the possession of her child, a 
 treasure beyond all price. 
 
 But before this best reward for all she had endured and 
 lost, was clasped in living evidence to her breast, several weary 
 and anxious months were of necessity passed. It would be a 
 painful task to trace the long course of agitation run by the 
 
THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 
 
 expectant mother's thoughts during this interval. Little stretch 
 of fancy is required to picture the varied conflicts of fear 
 with hope— for bright particles of hope still sparkled through 
 her mind, like fragments of a broken mirror in which she felt 
 it had been once reflected. The main points to be attended 
 to, during these months of expectancy and risk, were perfect 
 secrecy as to the situation cf the prisoner, and the securing if 
 possible, the co-operation, if not the sympathy, of her gaoler 
 in the various plans imagined between her and his compas- 
 sionate wife, who had now become her intimate and confi- 
 dential friend. 
 
 Frau Von Roth timidly, but anxiously, undertook this de- 
 licate task. She had but little hope of success, from Ion* 
 experience of the harsh and selfish disposition of the man 
 with whom she was mated, but not matched ; for never were 
 beings so dissimilar by nature, and never had long habits of 
 life or a common interest, which often bring opinions and 
 feelings to a level, so totally failed in producing such an effect 
 1 he task was however undertaken ; and great indeed was the 
 *rau s surprise and joy, when, instead of a coarse repulse 
 she found her timid hints as to Guda's situation, seized on by 
 her husband with the prompt avidity of a crafty mind, and. 
 with evidences of delight, which coldness prevented him from 
 frequently feeling, and cunning sti n more rarely allowed him 
 to betray. His wife was convinced there was now no pre- 
 tence in the appearances which so surprised her. Pier as- 
 tonishment was redoubled, when on her proceeding to express 
 her hope that means might be found to convince the palatine 
 that the forthcoming child was really his, Von Roth burst 
 into a fit of incredulous laughter. Losing all patience, she 
 exclaimed, in a tone of bitter reproach : — " Husband, hus- 
 band ! thou art too bad ; the king of hell could not doubt the 
 innocence of this ill-treated countess." 
 
 " But the Emperor of Germany might, good wife." 
 " I know not the meaning of thy sinister words and ironical 
 looks — I only hope, Hugo, and I trust in Heaven and St. 
 Simon that a fine boy may be born in this place, in due form 
 of legal custom, to inherit the rights and honours of the 
 princely race of Stahleck." 
 
 " His best chance of that, good wife, is that he may never 
 know his father/' was the mysterious reply, which left the 
 worthy woman more bewildered than before. 
 
THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 
 
 321 
 
 Hugo Von Roth was a man of few words, but he was as 
 prompt in action as quick of apprehension. Fully compre- 
 hending, therefore, the importance of the intelligence he had 
 just received, he lost not a moment in hastening to communi- 
 cate it in the quarter where he calculated it would excite most 
 interest. 
 
 f< Oh, husband, as you value your salvation, do not betray 
 this noble lady — do not drag down perdition on your soul by 
 laying her at the mercy of Count Ludwig ! " exclaimed Frau 
 Von Roth, with wild energy, and in dreadful alarm, as Hugo 
 told her he was obliged to leave the Pfalz for a few days, in 
 the care of his underlings and the military guard. 
 
 " It would not require days to go to Stahleck, wife, if my 
 course was bent thitherwards," replied he, with his usual smile 
 of mockery. 
 
 " Whither go you, then ? and why this haste ? " 
 
 " Should an expectant father be left without the glad tidings 
 of the promised blessing ? " 
 
 For the mercy of Heaven, Hugo, do not tell him yet! 
 Wait till the child is born — it may not after all be a boy — 
 but at any rate it would be premature to inform the Count 
 Palatine " 
 
 "The Count Palatine ! " re-echoed Hugo, with another of 
 his devilish smiles, and the provoking chuckle, his habitual 
 expression of satirical disbelief. He said no more, but soon 
 crossed the drawbridge and left the castle. 
 
 In due course of suffering the unfortunate Countess Guda 
 paid her share of those millions of painful instalments by 
 which woman liquidates the penalty inflicted for the impru- 
 dence of our first mother. A child was born to her — and 
 that child a son! At sight of this longed-for blessing, all 
 was forgotten that might have qualified the mother's joy. 
 That was without bounds, and Dame Von Roth thought it 
 was without reason. For let the best come of the affair, let 
 even her husband keep the secret, what was to be looked for, 
 thought she, but a hazardous concealment of the birth for 
 awhile, and a final abandonment of the infant ? To keep it 
 long undiscovered in the Pfalz was impossible. Of this 
 latter point the Countess herself was convinced. But she 
 strove to drive away the thought that sooner or later her child 
 must be lost to her. She even at times indulged in the belief 
 
 Y 
 
322 THE PRISONER OP THE PFALZ. 
 
 that the hard heart of her gaoler would relent before the 
 spectacle of her grief at such a separation, and that he would 
 permit her to elude the vigilance of her guard and escape a f 
 together to seek shelter in the chances o/the wide 3% 
 babe for her protection, her innocence for her passport Rut 
 a not™ like this had never entered the head of Z Roth 
 
 born W T»! ° f 7 hlter Whe " Countess Guda * *™ was 
 
 born. The severity of the season made it impossible for 
 either mother or child to enjoy any of the advance of the 
 open alr , for even th humid and m 8 the 
 
 ^ prison^Tr 6 " 1 * C ° nfined * the close cha «^ of 
 a prison. Tne consequence was that poor Guda and her babv 
 
 both began to languish. In the mother it was want f fer 
 
 usual exercise; m the child it was the natural instinct which 
 
 urges all nature's products out into the breath of heaven an 
 
 m its default bids them pine and die. The sensitive paren 
 
 quickly saw the danger of her boy. She had already dis- 
 
 Von r R 0 th ' f im T ible t0 m ° Ve the stern -InTness of 
 
 alternative . 7 ° f ^ 6SCa P e - Therc but one 
 
 alternative— a separation from her child ; and she, who a few 
 weeks before had shrunk in agony from the very thought now 
 urgently implored the cruel man to complete Vded T 
 
 tTi' entrUSting her heart ' s ^sure to h 
 keeping. But could she see it pine and expire before her from 
 the pure selfishness of fear? The decision was made - Z 
 resolution was promptly fulfilled -Von Roth acted on her 
 
 SaclTS ; and , he removed the babe from * "*£ 
 
 it mo tW I < ? raSP With Which h was clas Ped to 
 ts mothe, s breast, ,n spite of all the force of reason, and of 
 affection even, striving to loosen the hold 
 
 lhe only request urged by Guda — she was in no situation 
 to make conditions - was that her boy might be conveyed to 
 her own native place of Gutenfels, close byfand there brought 
 up in the family of some one of the faithful serfs, until die 
 •lay should come when his birth might be avowed and his 
 
 with all the enthusiasm of a mother's love founded on con- 
 scious right. In the hope of Von Roth accompli in" this 
 project she was at length consoled. She pictur d o herse f 
 he daily pleasure of looking up to her former happy residenc 
 the rock-based inheritance of her ancestors, of knowing l a 
 
THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 
 
 323 
 
 her infant was close to the shelter of its recollections, for in 
 the fanaticism of feudality she imagined protection and safety 
 in the very name of her fathers and the memory of their 
 power. And soon, thought she, the now helpless infant will 
 grow into boyhood, robust, healthy, vigorous, and I shall see 
 him at morning dawn, in burning noon, or by the dim shades 
 of evening, following the wild career of mountain sports, 
 springing with agile steps from crag to crag, or at times look- 
 ing down with instinctive sympathy on this lonely tower, but 
 unconscious that his mother gazes on him the while, through 
 tears which fall in silent tribute on the river's bosom ! 
 
 The soothing and consolatory train of thought ran on to 
 wild and wayward lengths ; and the morning dawned on a 
 night of mingled wretchedness and comfort, to be compre- 
 hended only by those grown children of nature who have lain 
 in misery's cradle, rocked by fancy, and hushed by the false 
 lullaby of hope. As soon as the sun rose upon the hills, and 
 even before the mists rose up in homage from their vine-clad 
 sides, Guda insisted on Frau Von Roth's leading her out on the 
 little platform, that she might look up towards Gutenfels, and 
 feast her eyes in the imagined view of her babe. This gentle 
 illusion served to make her suspense less intolerable, until the 
 promised hour for Hugo's return, with tidings that the child 
 was safe and well. The promised hour came, but not the 
 messenger. It passed over, and no tidings were learned of 
 him. Days, weeks, months, years, long and dreary, dragged 
 on their slow course; but Hugo Von Roth, or the boy he 
 carried from the Pfalz on that dark winter night, were unseen 
 within its lonely walls. 
 
 One only intimation reached Countess Guda, to assuage the 
 grief that at times almost turned to madness. A few morn- 
 ings after Von Roth's disappearance, she discovered on the 
 platform, where at earliest dawn she mechanically wandered 
 out to gaze towards the hill, not quite hopeless of intelligence, 
 a scroll of parchment, on which were inscribed the following 
 words : iC The mother's treasure is in safe keeping — and 
 when the white and yellow banner waves again on Gutenfels, 
 her heart may throb with joy — for then will right be done to 
 her who suffers, and to him who is unknown." 
 
 These were mysterious and vague words — but they were 
 enough for despair to cling to and charge its character. They 
 y 2 
 
324 
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 
 
 were the food which nourished Countess Guda for seventeen 
 long years of imprisonment — the light that fed her lamp of 
 life — the spring that kept the frail machine of reason from 
 stopping altogether or turning into the riot of insanity. White 
 and yellow were the colours of her own old paternal house. 
 Such was the banner that for ages had floated on the towers 
 and battlements ; till on her marriage with Count Hermann, 
 it was superseded by that of the palatinate, which now waved 
 over Gutenfels in emblazoned pride, adding a new pang ol 
 mortification to her whose aching eyes had no point of comfort 
 to repose on. And daily did she watch for seventeen succes- 
 sive years, in the vain hope of seeing the long-loved colours 
 floating once more in the breeze, and shining in the bright ray. 
 Much less time than this would have sufficed to have carried 
 death to a heart predisposed by nature for despair. But 
 Guda's was cast in a different mould. Elastic and buoyant, 
 it floated on the dark waters of worldly woe, and though at 
 times it seemed to be engulfed and lost, it was sure to rise 
 again with each successive wave under which it had appeared 
 to sink. She had a moral energy that would not die. And 
 while that lasts, physical extinction, except from accidental 
 causes, may be looked for in a remote perspective. 
 
 During this long period the Countess's great comforter was 
 Frau Von Roth. She could not be said to have mourned her 
 widowhood. The loss of such a husband as hers was not a 
 matter of much affliction, for she had no child to form a tie 
 which even the most ill-assorted find it hard to sever. The 
 strict laws of the palatinate made her a prisoner for life ; and 
 ar, she had voluntarily submitted to the conditions (when her 
 husband was appointed governor), in the sole hope of serving 
 the noble prisoner committed to her peculiar charge, she ful- 
 filled her destiny without a murmur, cheered by the duties of 
 her sacred mission. These amiable women were mutual 
 supports ; and the impatient anxieties of the one found un- 
 ceasing relief from the quiet endurance of the other. 
 
 On the disappearance of Von Roth a new governor had 
 been appointed, also a creature of Count Ludwig, who rigidly 
 fulfilled his duty of guarding his prisoners well, but added no 
 unnecessary infliction to the all-sufficient loss of liberty. He 
 had again been replaced, and various others had successively 
 filled the important post. Of all those none had offered an 
 
THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 
 
 325 
 
 exception to the ordinary rules of life. Some survived, some 
 died ; but Von Roth alone had disappeared, leaving no trace to 
 be followed by suspicion. Every one thought, but few ven- 
 tured to say, that Count Ludwig must be at the bottom of the 
 mystery. The wife of the missing man, conscious of the 
 cause which had existed to make the suspected count smother 
 the secret, even with the death-groans of her husband and the 
 child he bore away, had at times no doubt that the prevalent 
 opinion was the just one. But then she would start at recol- 
 lecting the anomalous fact that her own life had never been 
 attempted, nor that of the countess. Had Count Ludwig 
 known her husband to be acquainted with the concealed birth, 
 he must also have been aware of her complicity. Would he 
 then have destroyed the one and spared the other ? Reason 
 seemed to answer, no, to this question ; and then conjecture 
 became only the more bewildered, in proportion to the fre- 
 quency of its unaccomplished efforts at decision. Countess 
 Guda partook but in a small degree, if at all, of her com- 
 panion's intense curiosity. She never puzzled herself for a 
 solution of the doubtful question. A happy credulity on the 
 object of her anxiety convinced her that her boy was safe. 
 She never wasted a feeling, nor afforded a thought on the 
 subject of Von Roth's personal fate, or the probability of 
 Count Ludwig's treachery. She breathed an atmosphere of 
 highly rarefied conviction, in which doubt or misgiving could 
 not live. 
 
 At length the crisis came which sooner or later is sure to 
 terminate alike the mental or bodily ills to which humanity is 
 a prey. Count Hermann died in advanced age, and without 
 ever having given token of remorse, or offered reparation for 
 the harsh sentence passed on his wife, on grounds so insuffi- 
 cient, and on suspicions so unfounded. He had for years 
 tacitly resigned himself and his dominions into the complete 
 governance of his brother, who thus enjoyed, long before the 
 looked for order of succession, all the sweets of sovereignty 
 except that one, which from its immaterial nature is perhaps 
 that which man's inconsistency values the most. We mean 
 the name, the unsubstantial title by which power is designated. 
 When the ambitious Ludwig obtained that, having himself 
 proclaimed Count Palatine with all the solemnity of supposed 
 right, and the pomp of confident security, he seemed to have 
 y 3 
 
326 
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 
 
 reached the height of his mortal longings ; and it was from 
 this height, with nothing of individual philosophy or external 
 sympathy to soften his fall, that he was all at once plunged 
 down. 
 
 Scarcely had the ceremony of his installation taken place 
 when proclamations and addresses were profusely circulated, 
 signed " Hermann of Stahleck, Count Palatine," in which the 
 claimant announced himself as son of the late count and of his 
 wife Guda, heiress of Cube, duly born in the castle of the 
 Pfalzgrafenstein ; prepared with witnesses to attest his rights, 
 and backed by an imperial army to enforce them. Some 
 laughed at these pretensions ; others wondered at them ; 
 Count Ludwig's heart sank within him. 
 
 " Hugo Von Roth has betrayed me ! 99 exclaimed he, on 
 hearing the news. " He lives, and is the chief mover of this 
 affair ! The foul fiend seize him, and the young impostor 
 he puts forth ! Off, off, quickly a chosen band, — I myself 
 will lead it, — to the Pfalz, to seize on the adulterous Guda 
 and her confidant, Ursula Von Roth, and force from them a 
 refutation of these audacious claims !" 
 
 When Ludwig and his myrmidons arrived at the Pfalz he 
 found the building unharmed and unoccupied. The fisher- 
 men at the river's banks informed him that a few hours before 
 the little garrison was surprised, and the prisoner countess 
 carried off with the other women, by a well-armed band of 
 imperialists, headed by a man of a bold aspect, who seemed to 
 know the prison and all its localities well — " Tell me not his 
 name ! 99 vociferated the baffled usurper. " It was the villain, 
 Von Roth himself!" 
 
 ce That I doubt, your highness," replied the old spokes- 
 man of the amphibious band, " for had it been he, his wife 
 would have never gone with him so cordially, — besides it is 
 well known to your highness 99 
 
 (< Silence, old babbler ! — Toss that hoary villain into the 
 waves ! " cried the tyrant. His orders were instantly obeyed ; 
 and while the drowning man struggled and sank before his 
 eyes, he continued in a transport of rage, — " I know that all 
 the devils in hell are leagued against me in this world ! " 
 
 ft And will lay fast hold of you in the next," murmured 
 one of the listeners, who now all stole away lest some new 
 victim might be seized on to appease the monster's fury. He 
 
THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 327 
 
 and his followers quickly flew to arms. Courage was not 
 wanting, as it rarely is, in defence of a bad cause. There is 
 a desperate attraction in the daring of a bold usurper which 
 never fails to draw congenial spirits towards his standard. 
 If we see in our own days a brother and uncle, base as he is 
 bigoted, find support in his infamy against innocence and 
 right, we need not wonder at his prototype some centuries ago 
 being backed by a servile herd, while priestcraft laboured to 
 uphold his spurious claims. But in vain. The arm of the 
 emperor was stretched forth to protect the just cause which 
 the hand of the false palatine would have crushed. Ludwig 
 made a desperate effort to retain his power ; but he and it tell 
 both together, under the double influence of truth and force. 
 
 Countess Guda had been informed of the main event of 
 these transactions in the way so mysteriously promised to her 
 so many years before. One day while she and her faithful 
 friend gazed as usual from their prison balcony on the river, 
 and moralized on the unchanging flow eternally and regularly 
 running on, like Time itself, a sudden movement, an in- 
 stinctive sympathy, as Guda thought, caused her eyes to 
 glance upwards towards Gutenfels, at the very moment that 
 the crimson banner of the palatine was struck down by some 
 invisible hand, and that of its ancient lords, the white and 
 yellow combination so eagerly looked for by their persecuted 
 descendant, elevated proudly in its place. 
 
 "Oh, Ursula! my friend, my beloved friend !" cried she, 
 almost frantic with the sudden sight, « look there ! look there ! 
 He lives ! my dear boy lives, and has reached the promised 
 term of honour and fame at last !— Now let me die— I have 
 seen enough I" . 
 
 " Oh, no ! no — till you have clasped your child m your 
 arms, and enjoyed with him long years of happiness and 
 liberty ! — Yes, I catch at length the enthusiasm which has 
 so long lighted you on, a beacon to the blissful hour that now 
 approaches. — Yes, beloved lady, you were indeed a prophet, 
 and now, in the completion of your foretelling, I feel the 
 inspiration to which I was so long insensible." 
 
 tf See, Ursula, see ! a black scutcheon is raised on the 
 battlements ! I am at once a widow and a mother — My hus- 
 band, God assoil him ! is dead — and my son, as it were, new- 
 born to me Y $ 
 
 y 4 
 
328 
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 
 
 The agitation arising from this surprise could not have 
 been long endured by such a temperament as Gudas, had she 
 been left to its busy workings in the close confinement of her 
 prison. But a liberating hand was near. The fort was 
 surprised as before related, and she and her confidant carried 
 off by friendly force, with the captive garrison, to grace their 
 triumphal route. All they could learn from the commander 
 of the military party which effected their deliverance was, 
 that it was his duty to conduct them direct to the chief seat 
 of the imperial power, a camp not far distant, whence an 
 overwhelming force was about to pour down on the palatine 
 for the usurper's overthrow. 
 
 " And my son ?" exclaimed the anxious countess, maternal 
 love uppermost in her mind. 
 
 " Patience, madam ! Wait awhile, and he will be in your 
 arms," replied the officer. 
 
 " And the emperor?" cried she, gratitude next rising on 
 the surges of feeling which were heaving within her breast. 
 
 "In good time, madam, both son and deliverer will be 
 revealed to you/' said a youthful warrior who stood close to 
 the commander, gazing with full eyes upon the countess. 
 
 " Let the will of Heaven be done ! But it is harder to 
 wait one day for the consummation of a certain blessing than 
 years after years for the coming of an unaccomplished hope ! 
 Lead on ! lead on ! " 
 
 The imperial camp was soon reached ; and when the little 
 party arrived no pomp of martial or princely pride was 
 spared to do them honour. Trumpets flourished, banners 
 waved, and lance and sword were brandished in all the ce- 
 remonious forms of salutation which rank could merit or 
 loyalty devise. In the midst of all the glare and brillancy 
 of the scene, which dazzled more than delighted Guda's long 
 unaccustomed eyes, she only sought one object. 
 
 " My son, my son ?" asked she once more, in wild search- 
 ing impatience. 
 
 " He is in your arms/' answered the senior of her constant 
 guides — and at the instant the fine young man who had with 
 the other so closely attended on her steps, flung himself into 
 the embrace which opened instinctively to receive him. 
 
 " And now, oh, now, where is our benefactor — the god- 
 like, the glorious monarch who has wrought this blessing — 
 this miracle ? " 
 
THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 
 
 829 
 
 * At your feet, madam/' replied the former speaker, kneel- 
 ing before her, with all the submissive gallantry of chivalry's 
 heroes, — " at your feet, too proud in thus paying homage 
 to her whom his indiscretion doomed to years of suffering, 
 but for whom Heaven has reserved the atonement of this 
 hour." 
 
 Guda looked bewildered round — she saw that of all the 
 gallant assembly of chiefs and fighting-men, no head was 
 covered save that of the princely-looking man who prostrated 
 himself before her. 
 
 " Long live the emperor ! " was shouted all around. He, 
 the despotic master of the assembled throng, now rose up, 
 taking off his plumed helm, for the first time since he had 
 completed his vow (which his protege, the young Count 
 Herman, shared,) to effect in person the deliverance of the 
 captive countess ; she started back, astonished and half alarmed, 
 while a rush of crimson covered her cheeks, her brow and 
 bosom, telling that the life-blood still moved stirringly in the 
 woman's as well as in the mothers heart. 
 
 " Do you then recognize me?" asked the emperor, "and 
 can you pardon, after such a tedious term of woe, the im- 
 prudent, the too daring cause of all ? " 
 
 Guda's only answer was an eloquent burst of tears, while 
 she attempted to sink on her knee before her imperial deli- 
 verer - her former suitor — the origin and the termination of 
 her sufferings!" He caught her gently in his arms, and 
 again spoke : — " Yes, madam, you now behold the daring 
 man who broke on your wedded privacy, poured forth his 
 audacious passion, and hurried on the crisis of that cruel fate, 
 which a harsh husband and a base brother were too prompt 
 and too unpitying not to seize on. It was I, indeed, who 
 entered your bower at Stahleck — it was for my boldness that 
 an innocent knight was hanged, and an angel of virtue, such 
 as you are and were, degraded, imprisoned, and branded with 
 the imputation of the guilt you shuddered at and shrunk 
 from. And oh ! how deeply did I pay the penalty of my 
 presumptuous attempt in the remorse which for seventeen 
 years gnawed at my heart ! How often was I on the point 
 of rescuing you by force, and proclaiming your innocence to 
 the world! But the certainty of slander's overpowering 
 force, even when opposed to an emperor's will — the dread of 
 
330 
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE PFALZ. 
 
 fixing the imputation which I so ardently longed to remove, 
 held me back from day to day, from year to year. I had 
 also ever a high confidence in heaven, that right would be 
 one day justified and innocence avenged. And I felt that 
 to a mind like yours, imprisonment, with all its privations, 
 were as nought compared to the glare of worldly calumny 
 which had been certain to assail you, had I openly interfered 
 in your behalf ere the real hour of justification came round. 
 But I did all that man or monarch might safely do. I se- 
 cured by sure means possession of your son. I knew that in 
 getting him into my own hands I snatched him from the 
 chance, the certainty almost, of destruction — and I have 
 reared him here, in my own court, by my own person, and 
 in my own principles, to become what you see him — and 
 what he will be ere long acknowledged by the world, Her- 
 mann Count Palatine !" 
 
 The surrounding throng, who had intently listened as the 
 emperor spoke, now caught the echo of his closing words, 
 and loud shouts were sent up from thousands of voices, of 
 u Long live Hermann of Stahleck ! Long live the Count 
 Palatine ! " 
 
 When Countess Guda in some measure recovered from the 
 confused swell of excitement on which her mind yet seemed 
 tossed, like some vessel on the rolling waves that succeed the 
 tempest's fury, she inquired of her imperial protector " how 
 he had acquired the knowledge of her son's birth ? how se- 
 cured him from the custody of Von Roth ? " 
 
 " Let Von Roth himself answer those questions," replied 
 the emperor, pointing to a man grown grey and furrowed 
 with time, yet whose cunning expression of countenance 
 proved its identity with the still remembered features and 
 sinister look of her former jailor. He bent on one knee be- 
 fore the countess, while his wife seemed to shrink and half 
 turned aside, as though this apparition was not as pleasant as 
 it was unlooked for ; and he briefly explained those points 
 which still required elucidation, He told how he had in- 
 stantly recognized the emperor, on that memorable evening, 
 in the garden of Stahleck ; how he had sworn at the moment 
 of his discovery not to reveal the secret ; how he had never- 
 theless firmly believed in the success of the emperor in his 
 6uit with Guda, and attributed to its indulgence all those 
 
THE PRISONER OF THE PFAI.Z. 33 * 
 
 symptoms of happiness which caused the courtiers to marvel, 
 and confirmed them in their belief of the dishonouring charges 
 made against her, whose virtuous delight at the prospect ot 
 becoming a mother was attributed to wanton enjoyments. 
 Von Roth then went on to declare that when his wife con- 
 fided to him the true situation of the countess, he instantly 
 repaired to convey the news to the emperor, having no doubt 
 that he was the father of the child. To him therefore he 
 finally brought the infant, of whose existence he had never 
 hinted to Count Ludwig, certain that he served a more 
 powerful and more generous master than that fierce tyrant. 
 But if he appreciated the emperor's character, the estimate 
 was reciprocally correct ; for the latter resolved to keep his 
 trusty informant in close custody, out of the possibility of 
 betraying the important secret, until the day might come 
 when his testimony would be essential for estabhshing the 
 
 tn That day was now come; and, with proofs so undoubted 
 of the birth and identity of the noble youth, his recovery ot 
 his rights was a promptly-obtained measure of justice, lire 
 usurper Ludwig fought out his quarrel to the last nor yielded 
 his hold of his unjustly grasped possessions till death in a 
 decisive battle terminated his career. No sooner was the 
 young count installed in all the honours of the palatinate, than 
 the emperor formally proposed himself as a husband to the 
 once beautiful and still most interesting woman, whose early 
 charms had captivated his young and romantic mind. Hut 
 Buda firmly resisted this dazzling temptation to enter on all 
 the enjoyments and the inquietudes of greatness. 
 
 "No," said she, with firm composure, but with a heart 
 overflowing with gratitude, « no, I am not fit to grace the 
 dignity which you so magnanimously offer to share with me. 
 Long unused to the world's ways, and never suited to the 
 intricate paths of elevated state, I must now only request 
 permission to retire for ever from the broad scene of lite. 
 Happy, exquisitely happy, in the recovered bliss of my 
 child's existence and in the sight of his glory, I ask no more. 
 No passion with which the name of love is associated has 
 ever entered my heart, but that maternal affection which was 
 my support under all privations, and is my absorbing senti- 
 ment even at a moment, and under the impression of an otter 
 
332 THE PRISONER OF THE PPALZ. 
 
 like this. Let me then retire, — and to my own old retreat 
 of the Pfalz, now made dear to me, as the narrow circle 
 where I passed my long noviciate, for plenary indulgence of 
 joy. I only ask that the odious name of prison be removed 
 from what shall henceforward be my river palace; and 
 that the absurd regulation be from this day annulled, that 
 calls for even the temporary inhabiting in dreary solitude, by 
 the wives of the counts palatine, of a place which can to me 
 alone wear a charm, or bring a thought of enjoyment." 
 
 It is needless to say that these wishes were fulfilled. Guda 
 and her faithful Ursula retired together to their now free 
 residence : and it was in a long course of time, that their 
 bones were laid side by side in the vaults of the little chapel 
 where they so often and so fervently prayed together. 
 
COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 333 
 
 COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 Countess Kl t nigund of the Kynast, so was her rock-built 
 castle called, was at twenty years of age one of the wealthiest 
 heiresses and most miserable maidens of the Rhine country. 
 It was not hopeless love that caused her wretchedness, nor 
 that made her devote herself to perpetual seclusion, and vow 
 that she never would change her mourning suit for a bridal 
 dress. Filial piety, wailing over the untimely fate of a be- 
 loved parent, had forced the ardent mind of the countess into 
 an unnatural war with those feelings which rise spontaneously 
 in the youthful heart, and bring it consolation for the suffer- 
 ings caused by accidents, which are independent of its own 
 movement. That which reduced Countess Kunigund to her 
 present misery was a frightful one, and enough to produce 
 some violent burst of sentiment, though it could not excuse 
 the obstinate perseverance, which produced in the sequel con- 
 sequences more terrible than itself. It is less therefore as an 
 object of pity than as an example of pride that we are about 
 to hold her up. 
 
 Wandering one evening on the edge of the tremendous pre- 
 cipice on which the castle was built, with her father, an old 
 and infirm man, to whom she was dotingly attached, some 
 momentary forgetfulness of his insecurity caused her to leave 
 him for a while unsupported. He tottered on the outmost 
 
 verge fell over — and was dashed to pieces at the bottom 
 
 of the gloomy glen, from which the rocky battlement uprose. 
 The first shock and succeeding agony of the daughter were hor- 
 rible. A thousand frantic reproaches broke from her, — she 
 called herself murderess, parricide, monster, — and she swore in 
 the crisis of her despair that a life of penance, mourning, and 
 celibacy, should be the expiation of what her over-excited feel- 
 ings forced her to consider a crime. She, in consequence of 
 this rash vow, shut herself up in her castle, excluding all 
 
334 
 
 COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 visitors from its late hospitable halls ; and it soon acquired a 
 reputation for gloom as great as that it formerly enjoyed for 
 festivity and pleasure. The maiden mourner of the Kynast be- 
 came the subject of compassionate curiosity through the land ; 
 and the romantic feelings of the age were all up and over- 
 flowing regarding her. 
 
 Many knights formed chivalric designs, and made vows in 
 accordance with them, all bearing on the interesting heiress, 
 her desolate state, and her rich inheritance. Enthusiasm, like 
 all ardent passions, is propagated by example. A moral epi- 
 demic affects masses of mind as atmospheric causes act on 
 matter. Groups of men become simultaneously brave or 
 generous, cowardly or sordid, without being able to distin- 
 guish the commencement of the symptoms, which seem com- 
 mon to all, but which nevertheless are first developed in some 
 single individual, and then fly electrically through the rest. 
 It was thus that the solemn vow of the young Ritter Flamen- 
 berg, to obtain the hand of Kunigund, or perish in the at- 
 tempt, inspired many others with similar sentiments to those 
 which actuated him ; and a wide- spread display of champion- 
 ship in the cause of the orphaned, and, as it was quickly dis- 
 covered, the injured countess. For it happened, that in 
 proportion as this wild sympathy was excited towards her in 
 those from whom she was remote and unknown, a base design 
 was conceived by two of her nearest neighbours, one of them 
 her close kinsman, to take advantage of her desolate and un- 
 protected state, to despoil her of her possessions, and add ruin 
 to wretchedness. 
 
 These disgraces to chivalry soon began to act on their design, 
 by violating her territory, harassing her serfs, and preparing 
 more decisive outrages against her castle and her very person. 
 In this emergency, the vassals, who had been so long happy 
 and prosperous in the protection of the old lord, the influence 
 of whose good character was equivalent to bodily vigour or 
 strength of mind, now loudly and openly proclaimed their 
 discontent. In every feasible way they assailed their sove- 
 reign lady with remonstrance and petition ; but it was long in 
 vain that they endeavoured to obtain an audience, or to arouse 
 her from her apathy, to listen to their wise suggestions. The 
 few attendants allowed to approach her secret place of mourn- 
 ing urged the general complaints, and implored her to grant 
 
COUNTESS KUN1GUND. 
 
 335 
 
 the prayers of her dependent people, who begged her with 
 one voice to choose a mate and a protector, for her own sake 
 as well as theirs. Irritated and harassed by this clamour, her 
 proud mind was vexed rather than soothed by such proofs of 
 her own importance ; and, nothing moved from her resolution, 
 she at length, in an impulse of haughty grief, consented to 
 admit the vassals to her presence, together with the knights 
 who, avowing themselves her champions, had come to offer 
 their services to her. 
 
 The preparation for this audience was made with much so- 
 lemnity, and its announcement caused general rejoicing among 
 the many whose various objects were interested in its results. 
 The serfs looked to the accession of some brave and stalwart 
 young knight to the rights and privileges of their ancient 
 lords, able to repress the inroads of the bold marauders, to lay 
 their grievances at the foot of the imperial throne, and perhaps 
 to turn the tables of wrong upon the powerful chiefs who now 
 daily visited them with all the evils of civil spoliation. The 
 several young knights who were the objects of these anticipa- 
 tions, and who avowed themselves aspirants for the manifold 
 honours they implied, were anxiously busied with the hopes 
 of success, a few perhaps with the fears of failure, but all with 
 proud and high resolve to prove themselves worthy of the 
 prize they were about to contend for, either in amicable 
 mulation or bloody rivalry, as circumstances might decide. 
 
 When the doors of the great hall were thrown open for the 
 admission of these anxious expectants, all were startled at 
 perceiving the gloomy solemnity of the scene. The windows 
 were all closed, so as that the light of day was quite excluded, 
 but sombre and partial beams from crystal lamps, covered with 
 gauze, fell upon the walls, floor, and ceiling, which were all 
 closely covered with black velvet. On an elevated seat at the 
 upper end of this gloomy apartment, Countess Kunigund was 
 placed, her pale and somewhat stern, though handsome, fea- 
 tures, contrasting with her mourning dress, and her air of 
 cold indifference ill suiting with the ardour of the throng 
 which pressed forward to pay their homage. " And what 
 would ye now, faithful but importunate vassals ? " said she, 
 in tones of solemn reproach — iC what would ye from a lone 
 and desolate maiden, unfit for worldly cares or bland solicit- 
 ings ? Why may I not be permitted to fulfil my sad destiny 
 
336 
 
 COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 in peace, and accomplish my irrevocable vows, unmolested 
 and unknown, in the silence of sorrow and the secresy of 
 remorse." 
 
 " Gracious lady," replied an old man, who was deputed by 
 his fellow vassals to be their spokesman, — " noble Countess, 
 there are many reasons to justify our intrusion on this scene 
 of painful and too long enduring penance. Grief for the dead 
 weighs not against duty to the living, nor should forced and 
 hasty vows nullify the sacred obligations between liege lady 
 and vassal. You owe us protection, — and we are ruined for 
 want of it. You owe to your own dignity and your own in- 
 terest a strong effort to repel the false neighbours who ravage 
 your possessions and trample on your rights. Every thing 
 calls on you to rouse from this lethargy of overwhelming woe, 
 to vindicate your outraged honour, and redress your people's 
 wrongs." 
 
 " What would ye have me do ? " asked Kunigund, not 
 displeased at the tone of bold but affecting sincerity of the 
 old man. 
 
 " We would humbly urge you, fair and noble maiden," 
 resumed he, " to choose from among the gallant knights who 
 throng this hall, with us your faithful vassals, one able to de- 
 fend us and avenge you, against false Hans of Valshsteden and 
 the perjured Hitter Staikeisen." 
 
 Countess Kunigund, at these words, threw a long and curi- 
 ous glance on the ten or a dozen young scions of chivalry, 
 who all stood forward, bent their knees, and confirmed the 
 words of the old man, by offering themselves with one voice 
 for her acceptance. No beam of joy played across her fea- 
 tures or broke from her eyes, such as lights the face of beauty 
 when it catches the electric flash, from looks that speak to a 
 maiden's heart in tones which it acknowledges. Some of those 
 youths she had known before, others were now seen for the first 
 time. They were among the flowers of German nobility, but 
 not one of them seemed formed for her. The one mysterious 
 and indescribable token of sympathy which joins heart to 
 heart existed not between Kunigund and any living man. 
 
 "Well, then!" exclaimed she, at length, with a painful 
 effort and an air of chilling haughtiness, which it required all 
 the fervour and extravagance of chivalric devotion to submit 
 to, " well, then, since claims like these are forced upon me, 
 
COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 337 
 
 since the interest of others is at stake, and my inclination and 
 my happiness are set at nought — listen to me! Vassals 
 mine, and ye noble knights who would do me honour in my 
 own despite, I consent " 
 
 Loud shouts from the impetuous serfs broke the sentence 
 of the countess, and gave expression to their delight. But 
 when she waved her hand for silence, and on obtaining a pause 
 again addressed them, their animation was somewhat damped 
 by her rigid look and unbending tone. 
 
 " I consent — but only on one condition ; and as I am 
 ready to yield up my liberty and sacrifice my happiness for 
 your good, my vassals, it is fair, is it not, that I should do so 
 only on my own terms ? " 
 
 Words of reluctant assent were murmured from the throng, 
 in answer to a proposition which could scarcely be disputed, 
 but which nevertheless seemed coupled with some reservation 
 that threatened disappointment to their hopes. 
 
 "And with what condition, may it please your gracious 
 countess,' ' said the old leader of the vassals, ec does it seem 
 meet to your highness to clog, what we hoped was the free 
 consent of youth and nature, springing forth to meet the 
 wishes and relieve the wants of your faithful and suffering 
 people ? " 
 
 " Ye shall hear ! " answered the countess, while a look of 
 fearful resolve and fixed indignation made the timid thrill 
 with awe, and prepared the whole assembly for some despe- 
 rate announcement or some act of despair. Yet there were 
 some bold and ardent spirits among the knights, who felt a 
 still stronger and wilder attraction towards the being they had 
 wrought themselves into love of, though every successive word 
 and look of hers was revolting to the true sympathy that is 
 awakened by female heroism when it is allied with womanly 
 grace. 
 
 " Ye shall hear ! *' repeated Kunigund, rising from her 
 seat ; but her eyes were so fixed, her complexion so pallid, 
 her features and expression so rigid, that she looked less like 
 a living being than some sculptured type of mourning, moved 
 by mechanism from a cenotaph. She walked with stately 
 strides towards the door of the apartment, followed by her 
 domestic attendants and the few maidens who waited on her 
 person ; while the knights aspirant bowed low as she passed, 
 
 z 
 
338 
 
 COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 and the serfs fell back all with a profound obeisance, and 
 some not without a thrill which was less of reverence than of 
 terror. 
 
 To the surprise of all the beholders, for not even her chosen 
 confidents were able to solve the problem of her movements, 
 she walked forth out of the hall, through the corridors and 
 vaulted passages, to the great portal, thence across the court- 
 yard, out from the ramparts, over the drawbridge, and stopped 
 not till she reached the verge of that naturally battlemented 
 precipice which was the utmost external bulwark of the place, 
 and from which her father had fallen. Oftentimes during 
 this progress the most hardy of the spectators shuddered from 
 a dread they did not venture to speak, and all seemed to 
 follow the main actress in the scene, as though destiny hur- 
 ried her on, and withheld them from preventing a terrible 
 catastrophe. But when she reached the term of this strange 
 promenade, she stopped short, paused, looked down steadily 
 for a few minutes on the fearful chasm below, then turned 
 round towards the awe-stricken throng, and spoke, " Now 
 shall ye hear my conditions of consent," said she ; " ye, cruel 
 vassals, who force me to forego my only consolation for the 
 past — my solitude and my devotion ; ye, enterprising youths, 
 whose championship for her who needs not and wishes not its 
 display, may perhaps be based on some less purely chivalric 
 principle than abstract love of one who loves ye not — ^no 
 matter ! ye shall have your selfish wishes gratified, if one be 
 but as brave as ye are all importunate. See here ! — here 
 from this narrow ledge of wall, this loose and broken edge of 
 rock did my venerable father fall before my eyes, which closed 
 not in insensibility till they saw him rebound and dash from 
 crag to crag a mangled corpse. His body lies unburied still in 
 the deep mysteries of that chasm which no mortal yet has 
 fathomed. Well ! ye all see that I bear to look down on that 
 frightful depth without my brain being turned — my mind 
 maddened ! Can he who aspires to my hand be said to merit 
 it unless he can do as much ? But none among those gay 
 knights have let an aged parent slip from their hold — none 
 of those have the memory of that foul crime to curdle their 
 blood and dizzy their eyes as they look down. What then 
 must they do to place themselves at least on a level with me 
 in point of danger, and prove they have nerves as strong 
 
COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 339 
 
 and heads as clear as the weak woman they seek to mate 
 with ? They must do this ! They must each and all, who 
 seek for the lordship of the Kynast and the hand of the 
 wretched Kunigund, mount their good steeds in full caparison, 
 and each armed cap-a-pie, — and then, with unflinching heart 
 and steady hand, ride the whole length of this narrow ledge, 
 where scarcely footing is seen for the closest stepping courser, 
 and where many a crumbling fragment makes even that foot- 
 ing insecure. He who can do this with unblanched cheek and 
 unshaken hand, he alone may call himself my equal, and such 
 only will I accompany to the altar, as a vanquished — but 
 not even then a willing bride ! If any choose to obtain me 
 by an ordeal like this, let him declare his intention, and fulfil 
 it — till then I am a vestal — the lone priestess of despair ! " 
 
 She moved again into the castle — but this time alone. No 
 one followed her. No one spoke. Her words seemed to 
 have struck all the listeners motionless and dumb. A creep- 
 ing horror, at the dreadful terms of the conditions, and at the 
 fierce decision with which her speech was uttered, ran through 
 the crowd. S6 This can be no woman — 'tis a fiend in female 
 form ! " was the muttered thought of the great majority of 
 those she addressed. All notion of love towards Countess 
 Kunigund — all wish of obtaining her died away at once in 
 several of the breasts which glowed so intensely but a few 
 minutes before. It was not however so with all. There 
 were four exceptions. He who first recovered from his won- 
 der, and with still more inflamed desire burned for the pos- 
 session of the marvellous being he almost deified, was the 
 bold Ritter Flamenberg. Scarcely had this impetuous young 
 knight, the first in vowing himself to her cause, the most en- 
 thusiastic in sacrificing himself to her harshness, lost sight of 
 her as she re-entered the castle, than he seized his horse's 
 bridle from the hand of an attendant groom, and vaulting into 
 the saddle, spurred on towards the battlement. The as- 
 tonished crowd did not attempt to stop him till he got close 
 to the very edge, and till his horse in obedience to his efforts 
 actually raised his fore feet to place them on the perilous path. 
 Then several of the bystanders ran towards him and loudly 
 remonstrated against his making an attempt which must be 
 followed, they thought, by certain destruction. But the 
 knight would not be restrained. 
 
 z 2 
 
COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 u No/* said he in a loud voice, " no ! nothing shall keep 
 me back — my passion for the divine Kunigund will over- 
 come all obstacles. — have no fears, my friends, I shall ride the 
 course in safety ! But were it possible that devotion like mine 
 should fail, and that I might be dashed down this frightful 
 steep, are not a thousand deaths well earned, in the honour of 
 dying for her ? On, my good steed ! on ! To glorious death 
 or blissful triumph ! " 
 
 The words were scarcely uttered, and the first steps of the 
 courser taken on the narrow and broken edge, when his footing 
 gave way, and man and horse in an instant fell ! They were 
 dashed to atoms on the rocks below. A cry of terror burst 
 from the throng. It reached the recesses of Countess Kuni- 
 gund's retreat. She started at the shock. She watched im- 
 patiently the returning of the attendant who rushed out to 
 ascertain the cause. He soon came back, pale and agitated. 
 
 " Well ? " asked the countess. 
 
 e< Gracious lady, Ritter Flamenberg, attempting the ride, 
 has been dashed to the bottom of the glen/' 
 
 Kunigund started — with horror let it be hoped — but the 
 first expression visible to the shocked attendants on her here- 
 tofore marbly countenance, was a smile and a look of satisfied 
 pride. 
 
 The homely proverb says that iC one fool makes many." The 
 prompt and wide-spreading contagion of human weakness, 
 developed how it may be, is certainly a humiliating fact. The 
 days of chivalry present perhaps the most abounding instances 
 of fanatic frenzy, from the wholesale display offered by the 
 crusades down to the individual examples of Countess Kuni- 
 gund's lovers. No sooner were Ritter Flamenberg and his 
 steed decidedly ascertained to have been destroyed, than 
 Walter of Zinstauf, who had also entered the lists of perilous 
 courtship for the fair hand and cold heart of Countess Kuni- 
 gund, mounted his war horse and pressed on towards the fatal 
 battlement, confronting almost certain death, sooner than let 
 hesitation to risk the desperate ordeal be attributed to fear. 
 No opposition was offered. The spectators were stupificd by 
 the recent horrid spectacle, and they stood in mute apathy 
 awaiting the next. Von Zinstauf rode on, but spoke not a 
 word. Just as his horse, after some reluctance, rose on the 
 narrow ledge and began his forward march, the knight waved 
 
COUNTESS KUN1GUND. 
 
 341 
 
 back his hand towards the castle towers, as if in reproachful 
 farewell to the cruel mistress for whom he felt that he was 
 immolating himself. Scarcely ten yards from the starting 
 place the war steed stumbled, tripped, and fell forward — re- 
 covering itself quickly in the instinct of danger it rose up, 
 reared high, and becoming unmanageable to all the efforts of 
 the intrepid rider it finally fell over, first throwing him from 
 his seat. His presence of mind saved him, for he flung him- 
 self at the right side of the parapet. He fell heavily on the 
 pavement of the broad platform, but the horse went down to 
 certain destruction. The anxious crowd rushed towards the 
 prostrate knight, whom they found with a fractured limb and 
 a bruised body, to mourn his failure and rejoice over his 
 escape. 
 
 Murmurs rose among the crowd. They swore this suicidal 
 butchery should not go on. Curses were even heard to min- 
 gle with their indignant expressions against her who had in- 
 vented so frightful a method of torture and death. C( Better," 
 cried the boldest of the serfs, ic better the spoliation and the 
 outrage of Valshsteden and Stalkeisen than service to a woman 
 like this !" 
 
 These words and the result of Walter of ZinstauPs attempt 
 were duly and quickly imparted to Kunigund. She felt or 
 affected great concern at this mad perseverance on the part of 
 those who sought her hand, Urged then by a faithful follower 
 to retract the terrible condition and choose a husband from 
 among the suitors, she resolutely refused ; but she gave strict 
 orders to prevent by force the renewed attempt of any one to 
 ride the fatal battlement, at least for that day. 
 
 We must not attempt to paint her feelings and reflections 
 during the night. Yet the mingled triumphs of her vanity 
 over the two rash men, one maimed, another killed in so 
 worthless a cause, must have found a deadly contrast in the 
 pangs of her remorse for the wanton sacrifice of life and limb 
 to her criminal exertion of influence over the heated minds of 
 men. But during this night many of even the most heated 
 of those had cooled. The fatal results of the two attempts 
 already made, changed several staunch supporters of the 
 orphan into deadly enemies of the tyrant ; and the hatred of 
 cruelty neutralized all their pity for misfortune. Two knights 
 only were found on the morrow to persevere in the resolution 
 z 3 
 
COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 of the preceding day. They were brothers ; by name Ferdi- 
 nand and Rupert von Ladenburg, remarkable for personal 
 beauty, high spirit, and mutual affection. They declared 
 their resolution to attempt the terrific trial of skill — or rather 
 to brave the risk of destruction, for expertness of hand or 
 steadiness of head had little influence in the task. When 
 morning broke they presented themselves at the castle gates 
 anew, and demanded due witnesses to the exploit, if indeed 
 the countess would not relent and choose an unexceptionable 
 husband, rather than persist in dooming to almost certain 
 death one or both. The names of the new candidates for 
 almost inevitable martyrdom were duly announced to her. 
 Her eyes sparkled with joy, which however she strove to 
 repress. 
 
 u Two of the Ladenburgs," said she, — ""but there is a 
 third, Albert, the eldest, and they say, for I have heard of 
 these brothers, the handsomest, the bravest, the most accom- 
 plished of any — Is he not of the suitors now? " 
 
 " Madam, Ritter Albert of Ladenburg was married yester- 
 night, in the church of Roerbach, to Anna Von Issenvelt, 
 whose love he had wooed and won." 
 
 "And these, his adventurous brothers, would now enter the 
 lists to add me and my domains as fair branches to their 
 paternal tree ? Never ! never shall Kunigund of Kynast be 
 the reward of mercenary man — at least unless he can work a 
 miracle in his form, and he pass the ordeal I have named. 
 Let those young knights think well on it, but if they will 
 persist, why 'tis their own doing and not mine*" 
 
 " Gracious lady," said the old chamberlain, to whom these 
 words were addressed, "might it be not better still to com- 
 mand instead of warning those rash but noble youths ? To 
 prohibit altogether their mad attempts: — to retract your 
 conditions ? " 
 
 "And choose a mate for this lone and desolate heart? " 
 said Kunigund, interrupting the timid counsellor. " That I 
 will never do. Let these young men ponder well, tell them 
 from me that I am grateful for the homage they avow, but 
 pray them not to run this risk. One madman has already 
 perished — another victim is sorely hurt — His too much for 
 my peace of mind, enough for the honour of chivalry. Say 
 all this, good chamberlain, but say it gently, do not wound 
 
COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 343 
 
 the boiling honour of knighthood, which brooks no slur on 
 its courage, no hindrance to its high resolves." 
 
 The chamberlain who went out on this equivocal embassy, 
 and the other attendants who heard the words, were convinced 
 that obedience to the imperfect dissuasion was far from the 
 countess's wishes. The vain-glorious pride of her nature was 
 raised to the utmost, and she made light of the lives of men, 
 self-sacrificed at so dishonourable a shrine. 
 
 Ferdinand, the elder of the brothers, first tried the desperate 
 race; for they both rejected the persuasion of the chamberlain, 
 and persisted in their resolution, believing that had the countess 
 relented, or was she displeased with their design, she would 
 have taken more effectual means to have prevented it. The 
 gallant youth met no better fate than Ritter Flamenberg — 
 he and his horse fell from the appalling height to the very 
 bottom of the precipice, and never breathed from the moment 
 he touched the bottom. 
 
 Half maddened by his brother's fate, yet urged on by the 
 greater frenzy of his own insane passion, or what he fancied 
 to be such, Rupert prepared to brave the trial and attempt 
 the task, which was now looked on as utterly impossible to be 
 accomplished. The various members of the household and 
 the scattered groups of serfs attracted by the rashness of these 
 new adventurers, now began to grow callous to trials which at 
 the first exhibition of the preceding day had so shocked them ; 
 while even those who did not share the danger or aspire to the 
 reward, became by degrees inspired with the same kind of 
 feelings as those which so wildly burned in the breast of the 
 young knight. 
 
 He mounted his horse — he bade farewell to his squire and 
 the other witnesses — he privately crossed himself — cast one 
 look of horror and grief below on his brother's mangled corpse 
 — another up to heaven — and with a speed that was frightful 
 to the beholders, but which he believed to be his best chance 
 for accomplishing the feat, he galloped his courser along the 
 parapet wall. More than half of the distance was passed, the 
 horse's feet, as if by miracle, dashed securely through the 
 rugged impediments, the deed seemed done — when all at 
 once down stumbled the frightened animal, in a moment more 
 it disappeared, the knight was unseated, but to the joy of the 
 breathless beholders he caught the parapet with both hands, 
 z 4 
 
344 
 
 COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 and while he struggled to reach the top, several rushed forward 
 to seize him and lift him from the horrid situation in which 
 he hung. They were too late — the crumbling stone he grasped 
 gave way and he fell. The shocked spectators looked shudder- 
 ing down, and saw the lifeless body stretched not far from that 
 of the brother who had led the way. 
 
 These repeated tragedies were too much for endurance. 
 Public opinion was no more restrained. A universal indigna- 
 tion broke out ; and Countess Kunigund was forced to pro- 
 claim publicly a prohibition against any new attempt, to which 
 she added a declaration of her resolution, happen what might, 
 never to quit her now-loathed and guilt-stained castle for 
 another home. For it was said that at length her callous feel- 
 ings had been touched, and that the deaths of so many martyrs 
 had, after the burst of her unfeminine pride subsided, haunted 
 her, as well they might, like so many murders committed by 
 her own hand. Wild stories went abroad of her secret suffer- 
 ings, of noises heard, of sights seen ; the castle was, one by 
 one, abandoned by all who could find a refuge elsewhere, the 
 domains were ravaged by lawless plunderers, the serfs ruined ; 
 and she, the obstinate and mysterious author of the general 
 misery, left alone and unpitied in the desolation she had created. 
 Few friends sought — no lover assailed her — pity and affec- 
 tion passed by without deigning to seek her dreary abode. Six 
 months thus passed away. The grass was growing high in 
 the once populous court-yards, the gates creaked gloomily on 
 their rusty hinges, seldom set in motion for the admission of 
 visitor or guest, and the few domestics who remained, in close 
 attendance on their shunned and solitary mistress, rarely left 
 the internal parts of the castle, or ventured out, into the light 
 of inquiry which strove to penetrate its secrets. 
 
 One night — it was in winter — when the rain was patter- 
 ing on the roofs, and beating against the casements, a high 
 wind whistling through the angular intricacies of tower and 
 bastion, and every dreary accessory giving additional gloom to 
 the sombre aspect of the Kynast, the warder was roused by the 
 unusual sound of the bugle at the gate. On answering the 
 summons to lower the drawbridge and give free admittance to 
 the castle, he descended ; and perceived a cavalier armed at all 
 points, mounted on a tall, yet light-built courser, which like 
 the armour, mantle, and plume of the rider, was jet black. 
 
COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 345 
 
 The warder regularly summoned the stranger to announce his 
 name,, quality, and business. 
 
 u Good warder/' replied he, throwing open his cloak and 
 exposing the red cross on his breast, e< my name must rest in 
 my own keeping to-night. My business is love — I come as 
 a suitor to the fair lady of the Kynast." 
 
 u Welcome, welcome, Sir Knight ! much does it glad my 
 eyes to see at length a suitor of your martial mien and prowess 
 at our gates — for no doubt that red cross was borne in bloody 
 field 'gainst Paynim foes, and that its wearer is a warrior of 
 fame ! Come in, Sir Knight ! you bear your passport, and 
 your right to secresy, in that revered and honoured badge." 
 
 With these words the overjoyed warder lowered the draw- 
 bridge, raised the portcullis, and admitted the stranger knight. 
 But as the red light of the torch gleamed upwards on the 
 stranger's face, the warder felt a sudden thrill of awe ; for in 
 the stern beauty of the countenance he thought he recognised 
 that of one of the unfortunate young knights who had last 
 fallen victims to Countess Kunigund's harsh ordeal — but which 
 of them his feeble memory, rendered still weaker by alarm 
 and superstition,' could not decide. Ct Jesu Maria, guard me !" 
 exclaimed he, as the horseman moved slowly onward towards 
 the court-yard ; " that may scarcely be a living man — for 
 methinks the body and bones of the spirit that rides away so 
 stately there, lie mouldering and blanched at the bottom of 
 the devil's glen ! " for so was the dismal place familiarly, and 
 not unaptly, named. 
 
 A solitary varlet now came out to lead the knight to the 
 body of the building, and one groom appeared to take charge 
 of his beautiful Arabian steed. " What ! " said the knight, in 
 a tone of surprise and displeasure, but the servants could 
 scarcely distinguish whether it was real or in mockery ; 
 " what ! is this the scurvy attendance prepared by the lady of 
 the Kynast for her guests ? It was not so — if report speak 
 truly — that she was wont to receive her suitors. Is the 
 proud spirit of Countess Kunigund grown so humble ? " And 
 with the concluding words the varlets thought they observed 
 an expression of bitter anger on the strange knight's dark and 
 determined countenance. Altogether his air and manner made 
 them shudder with fear ; and the whispered suspicions of the 
 warder found a ready reception in their belief that they were 
 
3i6 
 
 COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 doing service on no mortal beings but on the spectral effigy of 
 one of the immolated aspirants who had last made the fatal 
 effort for the performance of the impracticable feat. No doubt 
 was entertained among the terrified menials of its being the 
 ghost of one of the brothers of Ladenburg — which of them 
 they could not determine, they had both been so much alike, 
 and their fatal appearance was of such short duration. 
 
 Great had been the delight of these few remaining servitors 
 at the rare appearance of what they at first believed to be a 
 solid suitor for their mistress's hand, and infinite their readi- 
 ness to give him attendance and do him honour ; but nothing 
 in comparison with their terror on discovering it to be a ghost, 
 and with their alacrity to obey its orders and anticipate its 
 wishes. In those days of easy faith, flesh and blood were held 
 in much less respect than spirit. Prompt then as thought 
 itself was the speed with which the mysterious visitant was 
 ushered into the grand reception hall, and an announcement of 
 the new arrival made to Countess Kunigund. She, forlorn, 
 desolate, harassed with importunities from without, and 
 haunted by remorse from within, had long felt disposed to 
 receive graciously any new comer who might present himself. 
 The pride of her heart had been humbled, her obstinacy bent, 
 if not quite broken ; and she had daily and nightly longed for 
 the announcement which now broke so unexpectedly on her. 
 The frightened domestics did not dare to tell her it was a 
 ghost who claimed the honour of an immediate interview with 
 her ; but they respectfully urged her instant presence in the 
 great hall, to judge with her own eyes of the right of her im- 
 patient visitor to have his claims admitted, and hear from his 
 own lips (they shuddered while they gave his message) the 
 terms on which his suit was to be pleaded. 
 
 Countess Kunigund was superior to the fears of her fol- 
 lowers, and, for the reasons just told, she was still more anxious 
 than they to give a prompt audience and a favourable ear to 
 the expectant stranger. Night, too, was now her natural hour 
 of action. She had grown used to darkness. Day-light was 
 a pain and a reproach. She was therefore as ready as she 
 was willing to descend from her secret sanctuary to the great 
 hall of reception, where the stranger awaited a reply to his 
 solicitation for an immediate audience. 
 
 When Kunigund entered he was standing in a deep reverie, 
 
COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 347 
 
 and when his eye caught her dark-robed form and pallid face 
 he started, but stirred not, as though the thrill that shook his 
 frame had rooted it more firmly to its place. When her looks 
 rested on his manly figure and fine countenance, she too felt a 
 throb of no common kind. It was not superstitious dread, 
 for her casual view of the knights who paid their homage on 
 the memorable day of audience had left no impressions of their 
 likeness on her mind. She did not therefore share her do- 
 mestics' belief that one of the victims' shades had now re- 
 turned on earth, in mortal guise, to do her harm and revenge 
 his own sacrifice. Her emotions arose from combined and 
 incongruous feelings, all tending however to one point. The 
 noble mien, the manly beauty, the dignified severity of his 
 piercing glance, at once subdued the soul of the now sensitive 
 countess. She was his captive ere he spoke ; but when he 
 did give utterance to the honied words of flattery, when his 
 brow unbent and his eyes lighted up, and his cheek grew 
 flushed, and eloquence urged his soft-toned voice into strains 
 of passionate love, the conquest was complete. 
 
 Morning dawned ere Countess Kunigund separated from 
 her fascinating guest. We may not tell what various devices 
 on his part so charmed away the night — how many moving 
 tales he told of battles fought in Holy Land, of maidens 
 rescued from danger, of tyrants punished for crime — nor the 
 soothing flatteries which stole from his beguiling tongue, 
 tipped with the bland hypocrisy of seeming passion. Three 
 days and nights he played his game of conquest, and won it 
 well. Never was maiden more enamoured — never was proud 
 beauty so enchained. This may seem rapid work to the cold 
 casuists who argue on the theory of love, and calculate what 
 mocks all measure and spurns all rules. It may seem in- 
 decorous to the prudish reasoners who settle down the time in 
 which the heart may be lost and won. But love in the warm 
 days — and nights — of chivalry was not what it is now — . 
 though even now, thank Heaven ! there are youths and maids 
 whose bosoms bound at the first looks and tones, which instinct 
 tells them are the true ones. But Countess Kunigund was out 
 of the pale of all common-place causes and effects. Prepared 
 for the prompt reception of the passion which, like him who 
 inspired it, knocked at her heart's gate for entrance in the 
 cold-dark night of misery, she gave herself up at once to the 
 longed-for delight — to the frightful delusion. 
 
348 
 
 COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 And be it remembered that the domestics, male and female, 
 one and all, (and none other saw the stranger-knight,) were 
 agreed that it was an embodied fiend in human shape that, 
 with such fierce fondness, pressed his suit and gained the 
 affections of their hapless lady. 
 
 On the third night of this short but ardent courtship, 
 Countess Kunigund consented to become the bride of the 
 stranger, having so far taken his honour and his truth on trust 
 as to agree to the concealment of his name and quality until 
 the moment of the celebration of the nuptials. She had given 
 herself thus away with her whole soul. There w T as no reserve 
 in the abandonment with which she threw her heart into the 
 flood of passion by which it was carried along. Her delight 
 was unconcealed as it was boundless. She seemed to have 
 only then discovered her real character ; and, instead of 
 haughty harshness, her every word and look seemed inspired 
 by the pure essence of feminine softness. 
 
 The next morning after the formal consent was given, the 
 loud ringing of bells, hoisting of flags, and other symbols of 
 rejoicing announced the approaching celebration of the solong- 
 wished-for event. The serfs came pouring in, having been 
 for a day or to previous prepared for the good news. The 
 Kynast and its vassal dependants were once more the centre 
 of joy and hope. Gloom and sadness seemed, by some magic 
 power, banished from the place again, and all looked brighter 
 than ever — for no light shines so brilliantly as the unreal 
 gleams of hope. 
 
 The domestics, believing their mistress to be hurried on by 
 a fatal destiny, partook not in the general joy — but they kept 
 their secret opinion close, and none of the crowding vassals, 
 who now filled the courts and halls, doubted but that the pro- 
 mised husband of their lady liege was a substantial being of 
 living flesh and blood. 
 
 The hour of noon arrived, and the bridal party came forth 
 from their attiring rooms in all the pride and brilliancy of 
 ornament and elation. The countess outshone all the atten- 
 dant maidens, who, summoned from the neighbourhood round, 
 had hurried to grace the pageant, forgetting all previous 
 qualms on the score of Kunigund's unpopular perversity, in 
 the delights of a wedding, a rare, and, in the present instance, 
 an unhoped-for, occurrence. The chosen partner into whose 
 
COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 349 
 
 arms she was so readily prepared to throw herself, came forth 
 from his chamber to join the gay-dressed groups, among 
 which his mistress shone so splendidly in robes of virgin- 
 white begemmed with costly ornaments, and starting into 
 glorious beauty from her many months of mourning and de- 
 spair, like the morning sun bursting from the gloom and hea- 
 viness of night. Many a longing eye was turned on the door 
 through which the stranger bridegroom was to enter ; many 
 a conjecture hazarded as to the appearance he would make. It 
 was known that he travelled in no state, and that his undig- 
 nified saddle-bag could hold no glittering store of attire. But 
 none doubted that his good taste and gallant feeling had pro- 
 vided one suit of gay apparel, befitting the happy issue of his 
 courtship, besides that plain black suit in which alone he had 
 as yet appeared. The door at length opened, and he entered 
 the thronged hall. A gloomy thunder cloud, descending in a 
 bright summer's day upon some sun-lit vale, could not strike 
 more dismay into the frightened flocks and herds, than did the 
 stranger's presence, as he now stalked in, habited in his com- 
 plete harness of black armour, with helm on head crowned 
 with funeral plumes, no smile of nuptial happiness lighting 
 his pale face, nor any movement of enamoured ardour anima- 
 ting his slow and solemn step. 
 
 But if the general effect of this painful surprise was disap- 
 pointment and alarm, what was the prophetic agony that struck 
 cold to the heart of Countess Kunigund ? Who may tell, or 
 even fancy, the pang that pierced through her triumphant 
 exultation ! 
 
 The dead silence which reigned through the almost stupefied 
 assembly was broken by the stranger. (i Fair countess, and 
 ladies all who come to grace this spectacle/' said he, in a tone 
 of gallantry which rather reassured those he addressed, " ye 
 deem, no doubt, that this is a suit unfit for a nuptial morning, 
 savouring more of war than love. Be not alarmed ! Full 
 many a valorous knight has wedded the lady of his heart in 
 harness — but I have yet a task to fulfil, a deed to do, ere I 
 may doff my mailed coat and deck myself in bridal bravery." 
 
 " What task, what deed ?" murmured Countess Kunigund, 
 a fearful misgiving stealing on her mind. " Thou hast nought 
 to accomplish now but to complete the ceremony which will 
 make me thine, in form as I am in feeling, in legal right as 
 in the heart's allegiance." 
 
350 
 
 COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 " What then, countess, do you forget the feat, without the 
 performance of which you vowed so solemnly no living man 
 should gain your hand ? — In attempting which, so many noble 
 knights have been already lost?" 
 
 The look and emphasis with which these words were uttered 
 struck terror into all who heard them, but to none so much as 
 Countess Kunigund. It seemed to her as though the embo- 
 died ghosts of her victims all frowned on her together from 
 the dark commanding brow, and flashed angry lightning from 
 the full eyes which were fixed on her with piercing lustre. 
 
 iC My horse to the gate, oh !" exclaimed the stranger, in 
 an imperious tone, turning round to the assembled men, and 
 apparently careless as to the various qualities of those he ad- 
 dressed. The trembling domestics rushed out in a body to 
 obey the order which none dared to dispute, and the stranger 
 prepared to move away when Kunigund, losing even the me- 
 mory of her former pride, sunk into the very abasement of love, 
 and forgetting alike self-respect and self-will in the overflow 
 of fear for the safety of him who had so vanquished and en- 
 thralled her, sprang forward from the place of honour where 
 she had sat, caught the stranger in her arms, and sobbing aloud, 
 implored him (like to an appealing criminal) to forego the 
 risk he threatened, and join her in the instant performance of 
 the rites which would make them one. 
 
 The smile which played on the stranger's lips at this display 
 of humiliating affection, seemed to the beholders far more ter- 
 rible than the frown which had preceded it. It fell on Kuni- 
 gund' s heart like the mockery of brightness or of joy — like a 
 moonbeam on a glacier. She felt petrified with a sense of cold 
 horror which she could not dare to define. One only convic- 
 tion of its nature was evident in every new pang she endured 
 — the intolerable dread of losing him to whom she had given 
 herself, body and soul. " And does he reject the gift ? or will 
 he risk its loss ?" Such were the appalling questions self-rising 
 in her mind, but which she had no time, even if she had the 
 courage to answer. She still clung to the stranger with arms 
 folded round his neck, and floods of tears streaming down on 
 the chill iron which seemed to enclose a form and feeling as 
 callous as it. 
 
 At length, worn out by nervous excitement, she began to 
 feel thefaintness which in woman so usually follows it. Her 
 
COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 351 
 
 hands gradually relaxed their hold, her arras sunk by her 
 sides, a sickness stole across her heart, and had not one or two 
 of her anxious and pitying friends caught her, she had fallen 
 insensible to the floor. The stranger's voice revived her. 
 
 " Countess/' said he, " these marks of your regard are too 
 flattering, and above ray poor deserts. But I must not yield 
 to their blandishments — stern duty must be obeyed. It would 
 be shameless cowardice to shrink from the ordeal in which 
 several brave men have fallen a sacrifice. Could I hold up 
 my head to claim your hand, covered with the ignominy of 
 taking it without having earned it ? Could you offer to your 
 vassals as their lord, or oppose to your enemies as your aven- 
 ger, one who shrunk, under the excuse of your womanly 
 weakness, from the peril which suitors as worthy at least as 
 he had braved and been destroyed by ? No, no ! Neither 
 your honour nor mine admits a moment's hesitation. I must 
 ride the perilous course in safety, ere I can hold myself fit to 
 play my solemn part in this proud pageant. Hark ! my good 
 steed waits for me, and calls me to the place of honour, — 
 Farewell !" 
 
 " Oh, cruel and mysterious man ! what means this des- 
 perate resolution ? I absolve you from the ordeal — I com- 
 mand, I implore you not to risk it — you drive me to 
 frenzy ! " were the incoherent exclamations of the now hum - 
 bled Kunigund ; but her relentless lover — if so he may still 
 be called — broke from her grasp, rushed to the door, and 
 bounded on the back of his impatient steed. The agitated 
 throng followed him to the court yard, and the half distracted 
 countess mechanically hurried on with the rest. 
 
 In a few moments the knight was in his saddle, and in as 
 many more the horse was on the platform's narrow edge. The 
 throng who had irresistibly followed, stood gazing with fixed 
 looks on the adventurous man — if man indeed they con- 
 sidered him, who now so wantonly braved a fate which the 
 others were forced to. But, however some of those less initi- 
 ated in the former horrors of the place might look on the pre- 
 sent as a mere mortal adventurer, well were the domestics 
 convinced, as they now marked him, that it was indeed no- 
 thing more than the wicked freak of some vindictive ghost, 
 for they would one and all have sworn that the figure they 
 saw before them was one of the young men who, six months 
 
352 
 
 COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 previously, had rode along and fallen from the same fatal 
 spot. 
 
 The mysterious cavalier commenced his course ; and all 
 but the countess marked the air of dignified confidence with 
 which he rode, and the perfect steadiness of the steed, who 
 stepped over every impediment, with an unfaltering tread, as 
 though human knowledge rather than brute instinct had been 
 its guide. These were points for curiosity or common-place 
 anxiety to admire. But the intense agitation of Kunigund 
 saw all through a different medium. Her eyes, riveted on 
 the form of him she loved, could descry nothing but the 
 frightful danger of his position, unmixed with the least symp- 
 tom of safety for him or for herself. More dead than alive, 
 she waited the result of his undertaking ; and she almost 
 longed for the insensibility, even were it to be of the tomb, 
 that would shut out the agonizing scene, which she could not 
 however avoid staring on as long as it lasted. The suffering 
 of the few minutes employed in the performance of the feat — 
 for it was performed — was worse than an age of common pain. 
 The legend does not tell whether Kunigund's hair turned grey 
 during the trial ; but it is certain that the very sources of life's 
 fountain were fast drying up, and that only one finishing 
 stroke was wanting to break the heart which was thus already 
 parched and withered. 
 
 The feat was done. The rider had accomplished his task. 
 Those of the spectators who believed him a mortal man, 
 looked at him in wondering admiration. Those who thought 
 they could see but the impalpable form of a fiend, gazed in 
 terrified amaze. But shouts of congratulation burst from the 
 crowd, and awoke Countess Kunigund from the trance of 
 over-excitement which had assumed a shape so like the listless 
 air of apathy. A new revulsion of feeling shook the principle 
 of life within her to its very foundation, to its most intricate 
 mysteries. She bounded forward with extravagant delight to 
 catch in her arms him who seemed to have conquered her and 
 destiny together. She rushed towards him as he rode proudly 
 forward, his own calm and stern deportment not more con- 
 trasted with her wild abandonment of mien than it was with 
 the foaming agitation of the war-horse, which seemed to feel 
 (whether from instinct or reason, let metaphysicians decide) 
 the whole force of the terrific triumph it had accomplished. 
 
COUNTESS KUNIGUND. S53 
 
 When the knight met the rapid advance of Kunigund, and as 
 her outstretched arms were ready to clasp him, in the very 
 moment of the bounding descent from his steed for which 
 she awaited in throbbing anxiety, he drew himself up in his seat, 
 and with the look and tone of an avenging angel, at once beau- 
 tiful and brilliant, to fulfil his awful mission, he exclaimed 
 
 " Countess Kunigund, I have performed the frightful feat 
 dictated to your former suitors by your pride, persevered in to 
 their destruction by your cruelty, and at length abandoned 
 from selfishness and base passion — not in my favour, but 
 your own. Forgetting woman's first charm, modesty, as you 
 had before abandoned her fairest attribute, mercy, you have 
 laid yourself at my feet, a stranger, and, for aught you know, 
 an adventurer. You have disgraced yourself without honour- 
 ing me. You offer yourself to me — I reject you ! I have 
 proved my right to you and your possessions — I renounce 
 the latter since they should come coupled with the former. 
 Were you the world's queen I would not wed you ! I swore 
 to humble your pride and punish your cruelty, or die. Are 
 you humbled ? Are you punished ? I think you are, and I 
 am satisfied. For your sex's sake I grieve — for your own I 
 rejoice. Human nature is avenged ? And now, lest you 
 should not quite understand me and my motives — lest those 
 who hear me might still doubt either — know that I am al- 
 ready the possessor of a young and beautiful bride, a virtuous 
 and amiable woman. Know more I am Albert of Ladenberg, 
 the third brother of the two youths you so barbarously mur- 
 dered, when one word of dissuasion for mercy's sake, out of the 
 many you have lavished on me from spurious and dishonour- 
 ing passion, had saved them to their country, to the world 
 and to me ! I do not curse you ; but even now in your 
 humiliation I hate as I have all along despised you ! " 
 
 With these words the knight dashed spurs into his steed 
 and both seemed to fly like some winged animal forth of the 
 place. Before the amazement caused by the scene had sub 
 sided, they were out of sight ; but ere the clatter of the 
 courser's hoofs died away, Countess Kunigund was a corpse 
 Her proud heart broke as the last words of the avenger fell 
 on her ear. 
 
 To those who inquired, it was soon known that Sir Albert 
 
354 
 
 COUNTESS KUNIGUND. 
 
 had for months practised his favourite steed to accomplish by 
 degrees every difficult passage of horsemanship, until he at 
 length found him quite fit to undertake the most difficult of 
 all. But the great mass of those who saw the feat, and heard 
 the denunciations which brought death to the Countess Kuni- 
 gund, persisted to the last in saying and believing the whole 
 to have been a delusion and he a fiend. 
 
 Such is the common tradition to this day ; and every blast 
 of wind that whispers through the ruins of the Kynast, or 
 blows in the glen below, is converted by the shuddering peasants 
 into the groans of the heart-broken lady, and the undying 
 curses of those who died in her unworthy cause. 
 
355 
 
 HEIDELBERG CASTLE, 
 
 AND ITS LEGENDS. 
 
 The chances of travelling — for there was but little,, if any, 
 premeditated design — brought me one day to Heidelberg. I 
 had heard of the place, as who has not ? The beauty of its 
 situation, its castle, its university, have been babbled of and 
 buzzed about by all who, either singly or in swarms, have 
 fluttered over the surface of German scenery and its institu- 
 tions. But all that I had read or heard of this place had left 
 very imperfect notions in my mind. Germany altogether, as 
 well as in its details, had ever brought with it associations of 
 confusion until I visited the country. Its many subdivisions, 
 its perpetual changes of territorial limits, and the ever-shifting 
 shades of its religious and literary opinions, seemed to defy all 
 effort at classification. I never could come to any positive 
 idea about any given place. The whole country appeared to 
 me a huge tangled mass of contradictions, which it was abso- 
 lutely necessary to see, before one could unravel it. 
 
 I dropt, then, upon Heidelberg as it were from the clouds. 
 It was the first station that fixed my notions as to the country ; 
 and many agreeable facts have since connected it in my 
 memory, by a chain of gilded links. I am not now about to 
 separate all of those, or to give in detail the various recollec- 
 tions they unite. I leave to other writers to describe those 
 rare combinations, composing scenery that needs fear no rivalry 
 in its kind. Ridges of lofty hills, rich in forest clothing, look- 
 ing down at either side on a fine stream ; distant mountains, 
 bathed as it would seem by the majestic Rhine ; and all the 
 varying objects of immediate interest which a painter could 
 desire to unite, form a mass of beauty which might be easily 
 frittered out into minute descriptions, that would after all 
 leave the reality untold. The scene is one which requires a 
 
 A A 2 
 
356 
 
 HEIDELBERG CASTLE, 
 
 wholesale admiration ; and having given that to it, to an ex- 
 tent far beyond the common, I, at least, cannot undertake a 
 bit-by-bit enumeration of units in such a total. But one 
 object I have selected, because it is in itself a whole blending 
 sublimely with the general aspect of the scene it dignifies, but 
 in its appearance and its history a most unusual mixture of 
 material with moral interest. 
 
 The Castle of Heidelberg, in its present aspect a stupendous 
 ruin, was long a mansion of great magnificence. It was not 
 the work of one sovereign nor of one age. Begun in the 
 fourteenth century and finished in the seventeenth, it possesses 
 an extraordinary variety of architectural character, and con- 
 nects the widely contrasted styles of rugged feudality with 
 those of civilized despotism. Nor is it merely in the variety 
 of tastes which preside over its construction that it is peculiar. 
 The capricious forms in which fate has visited it with destruc- 
 tion have not been less remarkable. Built in parts as the 
 stronghold of mere mountain chiefs, in others as the decorated 
 residences of royal princes, ruin has fallen upon all in most 
 incongruous shapes. Here gapes a tower, with walls that 
 seem to have been moulded by giant hands, riven by a fierce 
 explosion, and wrenched from its rooted hold of centuries in 
 the deep earth. There is a range of castellated walls and rich 
 facades, seared and scorched by lightning and the flames that 
 burst from its ignition. In other places are imperfect turrets 
 mouldering in the rottenness of time, and again are seen deep 
 marks of the desolation caused by battery and bombardment, 
 with the dilapidations of modern Vandalism and mere mischief. 
 There are plenty of « Itineraries " to give dates and authorities 
 for every one of those details. 
 
 The ruins, viewed from the river's banks, or in any aspect 
 below their site, give no idea of their effect when closely visited, 
 or gazed on from the mountains above. The mixture of stern 
 Gothic, with modern florid architecture, in which the latter 
 predominates, is injurious to the whole as a monument of the 
 picturesque. The flat front wall of what would seem to have 
 been the main building, studded with windows and sur- 
 mounted by pointed gables, rising above the roof, offends the 
 savage dignity of the round towers by which it is flanked, and 
 the rugged buttresses and irregular battlements, which support 
 the whole mass of building, and seem hewn out of the granite 
 
ANI1 ITS LEGENDS. 
 
 357 
 
 acclivity on which it stretches its broad length. Whenever 
 this connecting screen of front wall crumbles from its present 
 too perfect attitude, like a curtain falling from before the in- 
 terior mass of ruin which it hides, the view will be infinitely 
 improved in romantic effect. As it is, the first feeling it gives 
 while looking up at it from the river's level, is one of com- 
 parison, all to its disadvantage, with many a less vast but more 
 venerable ruin. 
 
 But when, from the mountain heights above it, the asto- 
 nished eye takes in at once the whole and all its parts, grasps 
 its prodigious extent, and separates its most minute details, 
 then it appears in its true majesty. Then its vast quadrangle_, 
 massive walls, broad battlements, and profound fosses, are 
 viewed in awe and admiration. Then the moral uses of decay 
 come home to us. The expanding mind embraces broad in- 
 tervals of time, and plunges deep in the secrets which seem 
 buried in the mouldering mass beneath. Every turret and 
 terrace seems alive with the mysteries of tradition. The courts 
 and halls are peopled with beings of bygone days. Generation 
 on generation sweep rapidly along. Refined magnificence, 
 rude power, and savage strength furnish their rapid illustra- 
 tions to each change which fancy pictures, in conjuring up 
 past periods of splendour, chivalry, and barbarism. The dark 
 ages and the bright are at once before us. The thirsty imagi- 
 nation drinks in the broad stream of history ; or pierces for 
 some hidden spring of romance, that bubbles on its flower- 
 fringed banks. 
 
 But thus seen, all is a maze of admiration and ardour. We 
 gaze and wonder, create and analyse, as if we worked on chaos. 
 Masses of mental formation are before us ; but no forms spring 
 out in individual relief, no actual group is traced in the dis- 
 tinct lineaments of its time. No story woven into a compact 
 similitude of any given epoch. Costume and character, events 
 and scenes, are all commingled. Fact blends with fancy ; 
 and a vapoury haze enwraps and shadows the whole. 
 
 To reach any positive and connected train of thought, we 
 must descend into the arena. We are by degrees convinced 
 of this. We feel above the fitting level for inquiry. We 
 look at the rugged path, and pick our steps by anticipation, 
 down the tangled brushwood and shattered granite of the road. 
 But we move not — the limbs acknowledge the lassitude of 
 
 A A 3 
 
358 
 
 HEIDELBERG CASTLE, 
 
 the mind — overstrained imagination has unstrung the sinews 
 — and we struggle long with the listless languor which chains 
 us to the spot ; as we strive at times to break from the unde- 
 finable thraldom of sleep. 
 
 I had the good fortune to make my way, for the first time, 
 into the ruins, by the most difficult and least agreeable of their 
 approaches. It is the old and narrow street, on which one 
 drops as it were from the steep hill behind ; the only carriage 
 way, and that almost impracticable, leading from the buildings 
 of the university. The houses which form this street, seen as 
 you approach the town, or from the lower parts of it, are 
 peculiarly picturesque ; their white walls, slated roofs, and 
 smoking chimneys growing, it might be fancied, amidst the 
 thick foliage of the hill side — a village in a wilderness. But 
 the illusion vanishes, in no very pleasant shape and accom- 
 panied by no very fragrant odours, — unlike the pageants which 
 we read of and believe, when childhood gives warrant for fairy 
 land, — as we toil up the broken pavement, washed by a 
 mountain stream, that cannot however cleanse the hovels at 
 either side. Had 1 burthened myself with a guide, I had 
 assuredly mounted by a smoother path, descended perhaps by 
 some trim -cut way, into the beautiful pleasure grounds at the 
 rear of the castle ; and so have missed the surprised delight 
 with which I was almost overpowered, on abruptly entering the 
 avant cour, passing under the portal, and standing on the bridge 
 that connects this approach with the main quadrangle of the 
 structure. 
 
 Overpowered may sound exaggerated. But it is in reality 
 the word most applicable to my sensations. I never was so 
 struck with any view of mere mortal power, or of the joint 
 devastations of time and man, as when I cast my eyes to the 
 right and left of that bridge and gazed on the stupendous 
 evidences of strength and ruin. 
 
 On either hand is a deep valley or glen, formed of the old 
 fosses of the place, with irregular mounds of earth and grass- 
 covered rubbish, hurled down from the battlements which 
 cannon and decay have shattered. Trees of full grown height 
 have sprung from the prolific soil, which is watered by the 
 mountain streams that gush through the outer walls, and trickle 
 through their verdant tapestry of ivy and other creeping shrubs. 
 Except some poplars, which outshoot the rest, the trees, 
 
AND ITS LEGENDS. 
 
 359 
 
 though apparently of a century's growth, do not reach near to 
 the bridge from which they are viewed, and the effect of depth 
 is thereby prodigiously increased. The height and bulk of the 
 battlements is quite proportionate ; and the massive extent of 
 irregular buildings, seen all around, harmonizes with the rest. 
 But when the eye is caught and riveted by one particular 
 object near at hand, every accessory point of view is for the 
 moment forgotten. I allude to the ruined round tower, called 
 " the Blown-up Tower," which was split asunder and torn 
 open from top to bottom, by an explosion of gunpowder during 
 the attempted destruction of the castle in I676. I could not 
 measure the thickness of the walls nor the height of this tower 
 — and if I have heard its dimensions, I forget them; but 
 nothing I had ever seen had given me such a notion of material 
 bulk. The architect who planned the erection was only sur- 
 passed by the engineer who presided at its ruin. Time never 
 could have destroyed it single-handed. The half that remains 
 in its original place is as solid and secure to day as on that of 
 its completion, and the moiety that was torn from it and cast 
 down, reposes half erect in the earth into which it sunk, un- 
 impaired and entire, as if it only waited the application of 
 some giant lever to raise it to its original position, and recon- 
 struct the huge building, which was dislocated, but could not 
 be destroyed. 
 
 Many other individual objects deserve mention, — and have 
 amply met with it, in profuse descriptions of this memorable 
 place, most particularly in the work of M. de Graimberg, 
 a French painter, who has for twenty-two years been a fixture 
 in the only habitable apartment of the ruins, devoting a whole 
 life of talent to the delineations of the abounding chefs d'ceuvre 
 of architecture and sculpture which he is thus snatching from 
 oblivion. This fact speaks volumes as to the manifold trea- 
 sures of the place for antiquary and artist. On those topics 
 I do not mean to enlarge. My purposes take a different path. 
 The first burst of admiration over — and many an after visit 
 having tempered its intensity — I cast about, as usual, for 
 some traits of moral action, illustrative of the place, and of 
 those human feelings which touch our sympathies nearer than 
 all the accumulated wonders of cement and stone. 1 found the 
 place rich in traditions, romance, and history. 
 
 The three epochs to which this desultory preface has made 
 
 A A 4 
 
360 
 
 HEIDELBERG CASTLE, AND ITS LEGENDS. 
 
 allusion all invited me. In the first, there was the thrilling 
 legend of Welleda, or Jetta, the virgin magician of the valley 
 of the Neckar, from whom the name of Jettenbuhl has been 
 given to the hill on which the castle stands ; and whose wild 
 prophecies and mysterious career were closed by a tragic death, 
 in the glen called, from the circumstance of her fate, the 
 Wolfs Brun. 
 
 Then there was the painful story of our English princess 
 Elizabeth, daughter of James I., and wife of the Elector 
 Frederick V., the unfortunate King of Bohemia. 
 
 The first of these subjects is almost too remote and apo- 
 cryphal to stand alone, as a type of the place. The second 
 too real, too much within the province of domestic history, 
 and already, as I understand, transplanted into romance* 
 ^ But a third subject started up, among the prolific associa- 
 tions of chivalry which could not fail to have become natural- 
 ised in such a site. This last I chose for my illustration, 
 although it was impossible to reject the fairy legend of the 
 Wolf's Brun, and I forthwith proceed to tell both tales; satis- 
 fied if I in some measure excite the interest of my readers for 
 the scene on which they were acted. 
 
 * In "Count Frederick of Lunenberg," by khs Porter, mentioned, with great 
 praise, by the late Miss Benger hi her life of Elizabeth. 
 
361 
 
 THE 
 
 LEGEND OF THE WOLF'S BRUN. 
 
 Who will walk with me to the ruins of Heidelberg Castle, and 
 hear a tale of the olden time ? Who can find a charm in the 
 story of a beautiful girl, who preferred love to power, and 
 sacrificed herself to her feelings ? Let such a one listen to 
 the story of Welleda, and in all the extravagance of its fiction 
 believe it true, while he lingers on the enchanted spot to which 
 it has lent a fairy spell. 
 
 In the high north, where giant Nature smiles not, like a 
 nursing mother, on her wild and wayward offspring; where 
 the ocean lashes the bases of granite crags ; and where forests 
 of dusky fir trees bend and creek in the storm ; there dwelt 
 Ingald Ilroda, one of the most formidable of the Scandinavian 
 kings. In his youth he had visited the south, and captivated 
 the maiden fancy of the timid Alanda, who preferred this 
 adventurous son of Odin to any stranger knight in her father's 
 halls. His youthful and severe beauty awed and delighted 
 her ; and she consented to become the pride of the northern 
 king, and to return with him to his frozen country. Alas ! 
 she knew not that it was peopled with a race of men torpid as 
 the eternal winter against which they struggle — rude as the 
 rock in the foaming surge — and furious as the billow that 
 breaks over it. The transient and burning summer of such a 
 clime scorches the senses without warming them; and the iron 
 winter closes upon the year, as cold and cutting as hatred on 
 unbridled passion. No genial spring is there, to dew the 
 blossoms with tepid tears ; no autumn to mature the ripening 
 fruit. 
 
 And here the delicate Alanda was doomed to pine away the 
 remainder of her days : but she was the mother of Welleda, 
 and was not that joy enough ? The fair child united in her- 
 self the sensibility of one parent and the energy of the other, 
 
862 
 
 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 blended and tempered into the mild lustre of female excellence. 
 Often have her light blue eyes, shaded by their glossy lashes, 
 gazed upon the pale beautiful mother, as in consciousness of 
 her sufferings; yet the tears of that mother appeared happiness 
 to Welleda, in comparison with the coarse and boisterous plea- 
 sures of the women of the north. 
 
 Her father seldom noticed her. He was almost constantly 
 engaged in warlike pursuits or long hunting excursions ; and 
 when at home, surrounded by boon companions in the banquet 
 hall, quaffing from his golden drinking horns, until the natural 
 sternness of his disposition grew into violence and fierceness. 
 Then the innocent child fled away from the sound of riot and 
 debauchery, to hide herself in the apartment of her trembling 
 and sorrow-stricken mother. 
 
 On one of these occasions, the king, already inflamed with 
 wine, sent his page to demand the presence of the queen in 
 the banquet hall, that she might sing to him and his com- 
 panions. The page bore away Alanda's harp, but the poor 
 minstrel at first refused to follow, until the young Welleda, 
 taking her hand in both hers, said fondly, " Come, dearest 
 mother, I will go with you, and Ingald Ilroda will not be 
 angry/' 
 
 Alanda kissed her child's forehead ; and excited by the hope 
 of interesting her lord's feelings in favour of the sweet daughter 
 of their early love, she gracefully entered the hall; and striking 
 from her harp some wild and touching symphonies, she sang 
 with chastened pride the following stanzas : — 
 
 What form is that which fades so fast ? 
 "Whose sighs are those that pierce the blast? 
 Some mourner weeps within yon towers, 
 And chides the slowly-passing hours, 
 
 Unpitied and alone. 
 Can this be she, erst seen to bloom — 
 Her valley's rose — now sunk in gloom. 
 And with'ring with each stroke of fate ? 
 Ah ! ye will mourn, when 'tis too late, 
 
 And she you weep is gone. 
 
 The royal oak once stoop'd to clasp 
 The simple wild flower; but the grasp 
 Of gnarled branch and rugged stem 
 Hath marr'd the Rose's diadem, 
 
 Its leaves are fa ling fast ! 
 One tender blossom still remains, — 
 Ah, save it from its mother's pains ! 
 And plant it gem-like in some shrine, 
 "Where rose with rose may intertwine, 
 
 Safe shelter'd from the blast ! 
 
 As the last words died away upon the music-breathing lips 
 
THE WOLF'S BRUN. 
 
 363 
 
 of Alanda, the harp fell from her hands, and she sank into the 
 outstretched arms of her husband, whose iron bosom had been 
 subdued by the melody of her sweet voice. Little Welleda 
 sobbed as if her heart would break, and clung round her 
 father's knees, approaching him for the first time in her life 
 without fear. Meanwhile, the rough chieftains rose from the 
 table, in evident emotion, and formed a group around the royal 
 pair. When Ingald Ilroda could speak, he exclaimed with 
 tender vehemence, " Live, live, Alanda ; and if any wish of 
 yours respecting our child can be gratified, I swear by Odin 
 it shall not be denied to you ! " 
 
 Alanda, half fainting with the sudden joy of success, roused 
 herself to exertion on hearing these words of encouragement. 
 She pressed the hand of her husband to her heart, and im- 
 plored him in moving accents to enable her to die in peace, 
 and bless him in her last moments, by promising that when 
 she was no more, Welleda should be conveyed to the family of 
 her mother by faithful servants, and receive her marriage 
 dowry as an inheritance. 
 
 "It shall be done/' replied Ingald, looking at his child with 
 a degree of affection altogether unusual with him ; nay, he 
 even drew Welleda towards him, and stroked her auburn locks 
 as gently as he could. " It shall be done," repeated he, " I 
 have sworn it. This child would ill endure the climate and 
 country that have wasted her mother. Come hither, Wred- 
 mar," said he, to the most aged, and at the same time the 
 most remarkable of his guests, — " Henceforward I confide 
 Welleda to your care : you have heard what I have vowed to 
 her mother, and you are not ignorant of my approaching enter- 
 prise. To-morrow I set out for the plains of Upsala : you 
 shall remain here with Alanda and Welleda ; and if any evil 
 chance befall me, convey them immediately to the south." 
 The grey-headed old man bowed assent to the commands of 
 his king ; who pressed his wife and child to his valiant bosom, 
 and returned to table with his companions, leaving Wredmar 
 to lead the queen and Welleda to their apartments. 
 
 Alanda was still sleeping, when the trampling of horses 
 under the castle gate echoed through her apartment. The 
 ominous sound awoke her, and she flew to the window to catch 
 a last glimpse of her once-adored Ingald. She felt that she 
 should never again behold his dreadfully beautiful countenance 
 
364. 
 
 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 — that they were for ever separated ; and she called on him 
 to return, in piercing accents of misery, whilst burning tears 
 coursed one another down her pallid cheeks. Ingald Ilroda 
 could not hear her ; the cold and bitter morning blast carried 
 away the parting words of Alanda. She clasped her hands, 
 and returned to her bed, to throw herself upon it, and weep 
 bitterly. Welleda had crept from an adjoining cabinet ; and 
 seeing her mother lying apparently senseless, began to cry 
 piteously and call upon her by name. The welcome and be- 
 loved voice of her child restored Alanda to herself; and taking 
 her in her arms, she ceased weeping, but sobbed, and was for 
 some time silent. 
 
 The society of Wredmar was an unspeakable relief to 
 Alanda, who had been so long without a friend. She treated 
 him with unlimited confidence, and looked upon him as the 
 faithful and accomplished guardian of Welleda. She knew 
 that she was dying, for her constitution had long since given 
 way to the pressure of stifled sorrow, and now the beautiful 
 ruin was daily sinking into decay. Wredmar was skilled in 
 the healing art, and did all he could to prolong Alanda's life ; 
 but the consolation he imparted to her maternal heart, by pro- 
 mising to superintend the education of Welleda, and never to 
 desert her, was the most effectual of all his remedies. With 
 her child Alanda was cheerful. She described to her the 
 varied beauties of nature in the land to which she was going, 
 with all the enthusiasm of an exile. Then she would press 
 Welleda to her bosom, and tell her of another world, and of 
 another God besides Odin. But Wredmar always interrupted 
 the conversation, in his turn, when Alanda ventured to touch 
 on these topics. 
 
 Thus passed several weeks, when Wredmar received an exult- 
 ing dispatch from Ingald, relating to him the accomplishment 
 of a deed of horror, till then unequalled in the savage north. 
 He had invited six noble kings to a feast of reconciliation, and 
 in the security of hospitality and friendship, had treacherously 
 murdered them all, and made himself master of their terri- 
 tories. The stern Wallkyries carried them in flaming arms to 
 Vallhalla, to assuage the burning pain of death in groves of 
 everlasting coolness. But the fire of vengeance continued 
 burning on earth, and first of all fell upon Alanda's guiltless 
 head, devouring her, as its purest victim. She became mad, — 
 
THE WOLF'S BRUN. 
 
 365 
 
 she knew not her own child; — "Wolfs brat, wolf's brat/' 
 she exclaimed, shuddering, " thou wilt be devoured by one of 
 thy race ! " and then, softening into semi-recollection, she 
 would exclaim — " Poor child ! thou too must perish by mis- 
 guided love !" These prophetic words were uttered too often 
 not to make a deep impression on the young mind of the un- 
 fortunate Welleda. She had heard, too, the story of her 
 father's having been once conquered in angry combat by a 
 playfellow of his youth, which inferiority caused him to weep 
 bitterly ; when his foster-father, Swipdag the blind, caused 
 the heart of a living wolf to be torn out and dressed for the 
 youth, who devoured it, under the impression that he would 
 in future overcome all his enemies. 
 
 Poor Welleda! her broken-hearted mother died, and she 
 lost her only friend ; for let it not be supposed that the wily 
 magician Wredmar had any pretensions to that title. Great 
 misfortunes mature a strong mind; and Welleda's ripened 
 into reflection and power. But joy had fled away from her 
 youthful heart — for her beloved mother was dead, and had 
 not even blessed her ! Moreover, her prophetic and maniac 
 words haunted her like a spell. She considered herself as 
 destined to be unhappy, and began life with the morbid sen- 
 sibility so unfavourable to youth. 
 
 Immediately after the burial of her lamented parent, she 
 was hurried away by Wredmar to another of her father's 
 castles, situated at the source of the Maelar, in Sudermania ; 
 for it appeared that Prince Iwar, son of one of the murdered 
 kings, was mustering forces to surprise Ingald Ilroda. [Ingald 
 arrived unexpectedly one evening at the castle, and abruptly 
 entered the room where Wredmar and Welleda were sitting. 
 Welleda was busy at her loom ; and her father, disregarding 
 her presence, required from Wredmar the exertion of those 
 supernatural powers, of which Welleda had begun to enter- 
 tain some suspicion. Wredmar replied to Ingald in a bold 
 and somewhat scornful manner, which gave Welleda a painful 
 impression of Wredmar *s superiority over the king, — " Yes, it 
 will be easy for me to command my spirits to roll up the huge 
 rocks that lie scattered in the plain below, and form with them 
 an impregnable rampart. But then you have offended Thor, 
 by the violation of hospitality ; and the Nornes are taking the 
 part of the assassinated kings, and I cannot reach them. How- 
 
366 
 
 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 ever, if you wish me to protect you against I war's vengeance, 
 you must give up Welleda to me, and I shall separate her 
 destiny from yours, and rule it exclusively." Ingald Ilroda 
 did not hesitate ; he resigned his child ; and when Welleda 
 heard the conclusion of the unnatural compact, she felt that 
 she was lost. She was carried to her couch, swooning and 
 insensible. She wished to sleep — to forget the miserable fu- 
 ture that was opening upon her. But her mother's form, 
 uttering the dreadful prophecy, haunted her all night, and 
 chased away the recollection of each sweet endearment. She 
 saw, too, her father's colossal figure standing as it had done 
 the previous night before the dying embers, leaning on his 
 spear, and brooding fearful deeds ; and last of all, the malig- 
 nant triumph of Wredmar's haggard countenance, as it glanced 
 towards her, completed her despair. From these sad visions 
 she was roused by a heavy rolling sound, like distant thunder. 
 She approached the narrow casement of her chamber, and saw 
 with horror that Wredmar was fulfilling his part of the com- 
 pact ; for monstrous and misshapen crags, entire masses of 
 granite, were bounding across the plain with immense velocity, 
 and ascending the steep hill on which the castle stood, with 
 equal ease. They had already formed part of a gigantic wall, 
 upon which two war-chariots might drive abreast, and defy 
 the enemy beneath. Yet there was no living thing to direct 
 their motions ! Welleda shrunk back, and saw, with increased 
 dismay, the angry form of Wredmar standing near her. " Per- 
 verse child," exclaimed he, " has power no charms for you ? 
 Is your father's safety nothing, that you presume to condemn 
 and hate his benefactor ?" Welleda could not reply, her 
 tongue refused to move: she blushed and remained silent. 
 Wredmar then drew from his bosom and presented to her a 
 beauteous purple flower, saying, u Here, child, I have brought 
 you the flower you have long wished for, take it as a pledge of 
 my forgiveness." Welleda was glad of any opportunity of 
 pleasing her tutor, and gratefully received his gift. The fra- 
 grance of the flower was so delicious that she seemed willing to 
 inhale all its perfume, when she suddenly fainted, and was 
 immediately carried by the skilful Wredmar to the sea-shore. 
 When she awoke from her trance, she beheld a purple tent 
 stretched over her, in the inverted form of her favourite and 
 mystic flower, the golden cords of which seemed to represent 
 
THE WOLF'S BR UN. 
 
 36? 
 
 its stamina. She cautiously raised the rich curtain, and for 
 the first time in her life she saw the sea, bearing on its proud 
 waves a magnificent vessel, on the prow of which was Wred- 
 mar. A boat was in readiness to bring him ashore ; and he 
 approached his lovely pupil with courtesy and even kindness, 
 willing to let her feel that if he had power, she also had in- 
 fluence. On entering the boat, he perceived the purple flower 
 which he had given Welleda the preceding day lying by her 
 side. "Unthinking child!" exclaimed he, "how little you 
 value my gifts. Be more careful of that precious flower; you 
 know not how much depends upon it, — we may want it again." 
 Welleda, abashed by the reproof, and unable to reply, took 
 the flower and placed it in her bosom. At the same moment 
 she felt herself lifted into the vessel, and in the next, saw her- 
 self receding from the land of her birth. She knew that she 
 
 was entirely in the power of the mysterious Wredmar, she 
 
 was on the broad bosom of the immeasurable ocean without 
 attendants — the green land became grey and indistinct — it 
 was soon enveloped in mists. She stretched her delicate arms 
 round the mast, as if she would arrest the flying speed of the 
 vessel; she called upon Wredmar to give her back to her 
 royal father — to restore her to the confidential servants of 
 "he household —to convey her to the castle on the banks of the 
 Maelar. « Behold what you would desire," replied the mali- 
 cious fiend, showing her a magic mirror, in which she saw the 
 ?astle, with its dreadful rampart of rocks, surrounded by armed 
 nen, who were exulting in the terrific flames that rose from 
 :he centre of the pile. Welleda thought she heard the shrieks 
 )f torture and despair rushing upwards with the fierce element. 
 Wredmar spoke, — "Thus perishes Ingald Ilroda : he is 
 ;acrificing himself and his followers to the goddesses of ven- 
 geance ! " 
 
 Welleda's tears were instantly dried ; but indignation burst 
 rom her coral lips, unchecked by the consciousness of her 
 >wn helplessness. " Then you have deceived my royal father, 
 >erfidious sorcerer ! and deprived him of his child, without 
 nsuring his safety. Had you told him how limited was your 
 >ower, he had bravely sallied forth to the battle field, and sold 
 us life as dearly as he could !" Wredmar did not interrupt 
 he torrent of Welleda's reproaches. When she had exhausted 
 lerself, he assumed increased dignity, and desired her to take 
 
THE LEGEND OF 
 
 warning by her father's fate. He reminded her of that father', 
 gudt; and finally almost persnaded her that £ .SHE 
 Punishment was the noblest atonement he conld make for ^ 
 Welleda remembered, too, the time when she had loved the 
 old man with all the playful fondness of childhood. She had 
 heard her mother speak of him with respect and regard and 
 from that moment she was awed into implicit obediefce 
 
 tries L?° f i PaSS f and Welleda saw many coun- 
 
 tries but found no place where she could wish to dwell She 
 shuddered at the recollection of the countries of the north 
 and the mtox.cating pleasures of the south sickened her SI e 
 learned wnh rapture from her tutor all the mysteries of nature 
 and acquired powers of which she was herself unconscious 
 until accident and necessity made her acquainted witETem 
 Wredmar, after various efforts, became enraged at her firm' 
 but calm resistance to his inducements to learn the darlS 
 portions of hl> ic arts> He ^ meang J***£ 
 
 into his snares but in vain. The innate purity of the maiden- 
 mind protected her effectually against his blandishment a d 
 hav.ng no onger the power tQ >e , and 
 
 secured by her possession of the enchanted flower, he paned 
 from her reminding her of her mother's words. ? 
 
 Wei eda was now in the virgin bloom of youth. Her 
 graceful figure was swelling into perfection. He - airy move- 
 ments ; were like the dance of the floating zephyr. L7J yes 
 were the faithful beacons of the glorious J J within ; and 
 the rest was as lovely as the blossom of early spring. When 
 she traversed the blooming valleys of the south the summe 
 birds sang to her, the flowers sent up their fragrance and 
 offered her the honey from their cells, the mists rolled awTy, 
 and the divine rainbow itself seemed to encircle and pro J 
 her. *airy land seemed to grow beneath her feet. She was 
 at once the creature and the creator of enchantment. In one 
 of her wanderings she chanced to reach the valley of the 
 Neckar She stood upon the heather-covered hills and sur 
 veyed the lovely landscape glowing all around. She Tit h t 
 this was the place destined for her -that she had made the 
 discovery of a home -that her mother's spirit might even 
 dwell in it, and contemplate her power and her happines 
 Perhaps t00 , he ; lu discoyer . f a rM of WPP ess- 
 
 mony with such a display of nature's superiority ; for, despite her 
 
THE WOLF'S BRUN. gQg 
 
 mother's prophecy and Wredmar's curse, she longed to find 
 some one to whom her soul might unite its inmost sympathies. 
 
 In the highest state of enthusiasm, she called into exist 
 ence, by her magic flower, a splendid little castle, crowned 
 with costly turrets and spires, and surrounded by enchanting 
 gardens ; where marble basins, curious exotics, and graceful 
 trees combined to form the luxury of retirement, and the de- 
 light of Welleda. Yes, reader, upon the very spot where the 
 present noble ruin of Heidelberg Castle stands, there was 
 Welleda s magic dwelling, which struck a pious awe into its 
 village neighbourhood. The pious fisherman crossed himself 
 as his little boat stood opposite the enchanted castle, and the 
 rash huntsman who found himself unexpectedly near it started 
 back, as if pursued by his own hounds, and fled far away not 
 in terror, but from reverence. Welleda saw the influence of 
 superiority over the ignorant ; and perceived that she must 
 assume some familiar form, to be able to approach the timid 
 peasants, and administer relief to their necessities. She there 
 fore amused her fancy and gratified her feelings by wandering 
 about the mountains in the form of an old woman The 
 shepherds and old huntsmen called her Jetta, by which name 
 she was generally known in the surrounding villages Tl'ev 
 accepted her gifts, which were often herbs and ointments for 
 the cure of various diseases ; and many had the boldness to 
 profit by her skill, though the villagers shook their heads and 
 hoped they held no traffic with the powers of darkness 
 
 A year had passed away, and Welleda sat by a marble 
 fountain, surveying her own image in its limpid waters. 
 
 And nast thou found none to know and love thee Welleda ? " 
 said she to herself "Does not that open brow invite con- 
 fidence ? Does it impart none ? Is there any malignancy in 
 my tearful eyes? And oh, my heart! has that no human 
 
 whK i f UUe f d th6Se com P lainin gs, * beautiful 
 
 hn H T fl 6 glft ° f Wr ^~ Perched upon her 
 shoulder, and fluttering his silver wings, touched her lovely 
 hps with his bill. Welleda returned his caresses, saying, - 
 Dost thou know my thoughts? — Assist me, then (» The 
 bird immediately ■flew away; and Welleda retreated to a la- 
 boratory within her fairy halls, where it was her custom to 
 pass many of her leisure hours. 
 
 It was a lovely summer's morning. Each little blade of 
 
 B B 
 
370 
 
 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 grass was trembling with its delicate dewy nourishment ; each 
 flower seemed to sleep, unconscious of the rising sun ; the air 
 was one delicious perfume ; the feathery beech-trees climbed 
 the mountain height, and the crystal Neckar beneath reflected 
 all this beauty on its surface. The youthful wanderer might 
 lie down on the mossy bed of the woods, and dream a thou- 
 sand dreams of love and ambition without being interrupted, 
 or knowing how many tranquil hours had glided by. The 
 young and handsome sportsman Ferrand was musing in the 
 forest depths, reclining beneath a rock, from which a spring 
 was bubbling forth its music. He had been pursuing a deer 
 all the early part of the morning, and had chosen this seques- 
 tered spot in which to snatch a few hours of sleep. But Fer- 
 rand could not sleep. Ambition lifted him above his lowly 
 birth. The roof of his father's cottage was too low for his 
 aspirings ; and in this state of mind the wings of fancy car- 
 ried him over the world and beyond it. As Ferrand's mind 
 grew conscious of its superiority he often fell into vague 
 musings like the present — the feverish pulse of undeveloped 
 talent was beating — he panted for a wider sphere ; he felt 
 himself confined within the limits of his native hills. As he 
 lay beneath the rock and saw them rising in every direction, 
 he thought they even weighed upon his brain ; and then — 
 amongst all who dwelt upon the banks of the beautiful river 
 — there was not one fellow-being to ease his swelling bosom 
 of its undefined longings ! 
 
 The grown-up playmates of his childhood had begun to 
 complain of his unsocial disposition. They said he was proud, 
 and at length went so far as to insinuate some dangerous cause 
 of estrangement from their village sports. The jealous maidens 
 whispered that he had often been seen in the immediate neigh- 
 bourhood of the magic castle ; and one simple girl, who really 
 loved him, confessed that she had had an interview with its 
 mysterious inhabitant, on his account. She declared that, at 
 the last full moon, she had approached the garden pavilion 
 without venturing to raise her eyes from the ground, until the 
 sound of silver bells and a soft fluttering in the air induced 
 her to look up. She then saw above her head a beautiful white 
 bird, which, gently touching her cheek with his wings, flew 
 towards the pavilion window, which opened to receive him. 
 In the next moment a lady stood there, dressed in glittering 
 
THE WOLF'S BRUN. g^l 
 
 white, and covered with a long silvery veil. The lady held the 
 white bird on her taper ringer, and spoke in sweet and encou- 
 raging accents ; but the poor maiden could not understand the 
 words, her senses became instantly confused and she fainted. 
 
 The next morning she awoke and found herself in her own 
 little cottage bed, and no one had remarked her absence. As 
 soon as this marvellous story had travelled up and down the 
 village, and was duly magnified by each wonder-loving gossip, 
 a new interest was excited. The young men insisted upon 
 the impossibility of a beautiful woman concealing herself from 
 the admiring gaze of mortals. The maidens declared that no 
 woman possessed of supernatural powers would deprive herself 
 of personal charms ; whilst Heinricks, and other old huntsmen 
 of the hills, assured their younger friends that they had fre- 
 quently met the sorceress gathering herbs, and that she was 
 nothing more than an old wrinkled infirm woman, whom no 
 one need care to meet in the day time, or wish to see again. 
 
 The moody Ferrand was the last to hear of the maiden's 
 adventure ; for no one wished to make him angry or increase 
 his coldness. And then, though almost every other person 
 knew it, it was always a secret. At length, however, Fer- 
 rand's favourite sister related it to him, as she sat spinning at 
 her wheel. It was delightful ! Now he had something to 
 suit his daring spirit — to exalt his imagination — to excite 
 his feelings, and perhaps reward them. He resolved to pene- 
 trate as far as the interior of the enchantress's castle, be the 
 consequences what they might. Nay, he wondered that he 
 had not thought of this enterprise before. What a world it 
 might open to him ! a world of mystery and power. He 
 passed the night in fanciful dreams, and left his father's cot 
 before daybreak. He continued his wanderings until he 
 sank, overcome by sudden languor, beneath the rock. Sud- 
 denly his dog started up, and Ferrand's quick eye caught the 
 mystic bird as it stooped within his reach. He seized his 
 bow, the arrow sped from his rarely erring hand, the bird 
 soared aloft with a piercing cry, and a few drops of blood fell 
 upon Ferrand's arm. He had not forgotten the white bird in 
 the peasant girl's story ; and he resolved to possess himself of 
 his wounded prey. With his usual impetuosity he rushed 
 forward, catching every now and then a glimpse of the bird, 
 until he found himself upon the very verge of the enchanted 
 
 B B 2 
 
372 
 
 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 castle. He paused — he stopped to recover breath — per- 
 haps resolution ! The carved gates new open to receive him, 
 and with all the madness of unripened enthusiasm he darted 
 across the fairy threshold. Within was a glowing paradise 
 of sweets. Balmy shrubs and exquisite flowers breathed forth 
 their greetings, and the sparkling fountains laughed in the 
 sunbeams. Ferrand gazing around him with a beating heart, 
 acknowledged the taste and power of the wonderful creature 
 who had brought all this luxury to embellish one little spot of 
 earth ; but amidst the blooming thickets he sought for her in 
 vain. At length, through a delicate vista of birch trees, he 
 beheld this embodied spirit of excellence ! By a marble basin, 
 that held her image trembling on its surface, sat Welleda ; 
 the purple flower of W redmar decked her bosom ; her waist 
 was pressed by a silver zone ; and through clusters of ringlets 
 shone a brilliant star on her alabaster forehead. The wounded 
 bird was on her hand, and drops of gore trickled from its 
 breast. Her feet were clad in purple sandals, and rested on 
 the patient neck of a tamed leopard. Her white garments 
 floated round her, like the mist of the valley when it seeks to 
 hide the blushing earth from the fervent sun. Oh, Welleda ! 
 — Avert thou not beautiful ? Yes ! — more beautiful than 
 the awakening blush of spring, the glow of summer, or the 
 refulgence of autumn. 
 
 Ferrand lowered his eyes, to gaze upon the watery image ; 
 for to meet the look of the original was too much. Love ! 
 delightful love, requires but one moment in which to loose 
 his unerring shaft. Welleda sat motionless — Ferrand stood 
 entranced. Both saw for the first time, the one — the only 
 one whom each could love. 
 
 Welleda uttered the faint but irresistible cry of helplessness, 
 sinking back upon her pillow of flowers ; and Ferrand, in- 
 spired by this movement, rushed towards the basin, to throw 
 himself at her feet, in a state very similar to her own. No ma- 
 licious genius was there to note the advancing steps of Time, 
 nothing was there to rouse recollection from its delicious in- 
 toxication. W elleda and Ferrand — knowing each other, as 
 if known for years — yet fearing to dissolve the spell of si- 
 lence and mutual admiration, gazed on in rapture and pride. 
 Yes, pride; they were proud of finding their imagination of 
 perfection realised in each other. Let it be so, pride is no 
 
THE WOLF'S BRUN. 
 
 373 
 
 bad instrument ; let it go by what name it may. It will at 
 least add strength and independence to any feeling, if it dare 
 not present itself in its naked identity. 
 
 A sigh burst from the heart of Welleda, an ominous sigh 
 — the breath of love — the acknowledgment of passion — the 
 relief of sorrow — Welleda felt her danger, and dared it. It 
 was in vain that the purple flower of Wredmar closed its 
 leaves and drooped. Love's glorious ecstasy could hear no 
 prophetic warning. Welleda had lived a century in one 
 short minute, and knew all that had hitherto been concealed 
 from her — all in fact that was worth knowing. She felt the 
 glow of sympathy, and would have died rather than have lost 
 that one bright hour of existence. Perhaps it was the hap- 
 piest she ever knew. The rainbow is more beautiful than 
 sunshine. 
 
 With the peculiar instinct of delicacy, Welleda diverted 
 Ferrand's attention from herself — or rather seemed to do so, 
 for it was almost necessary to speak. " You have wounded 
 my bird, Ferrand," said Welleda, in a soft subdued tone. 
 Ferrand started at the human and yet ethereal sound. With 
 a sudden sob, an almost convulsive spasm, he answered — 
 u Forgive me, beautiful Welleda — I knew not that it was 
 yours." 
 
 Oh, how easy to forgive ! or rather, how inadmissible is 
 the word, where love sanctions and equalizes every thing ! 
 Welleda held out her lily hand, and Ferrand bathed it with 
 tears and kisses. It was enough. How lovely are the wild- 
 flowers of the spring — how simple yet fantastic their forms 
 and combinations — and ah ! how poetical their language ! 
 Just so the infant dawn of happy love ! 
 
 When Ferrand entered his father's cottage that evening, he 
 found its inhabitants in gloom and discontent. He scarcely 
 knew how to account for this, as he involuntarily stooped at 
 its entrance — until he recollected that he had been absent 
 since day-break, and now returned, not only without game — 
 but even without his bow and quiver. These last had been 
 left on the edge of the marble basin. 
 
 " Do you stoop to enter your father's dwelling, Ferrand ? " 
 exclaimed one of his elder sisters, impatiently. " Your pride 
 will certainly be your ruin ; pray Heaven we may not share 
 it ! " added she with fervent selfishness. 
 
 B B 3 
 
374 
 
 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 Ferrand was annoyed, but would vouchsafe no answer. 
 Amalia, his youngest and favourite sister, silently took his 
 hand, and looked timidly yet inquiringly into his face, as if 
 she felt herself responsible for some awful deed of rashness. 
 This was more intelligible than the ill-natured scorn of Bertha. 
 (( Fear nothing, dear Amalia," whispered he, u but let me 
 love you better than ever — for you have made me the hap- 
 piest of mortals." Amalia sighed, shuddered, and hid her 
 face in her hands. 
 
 At this moment the petulant old Heinrick entered the 
 cottage. He had been searching the neighbouring forest for 
 the beloved Ferrand, his only and, as he thought, erring son. 
 "Well, Ferrand — here you are — God be praised! and your 
 old father has been looking for you high and low, at the close 
 of a weary day ; and neither you nor I have any thing to 
 give the good wife for supper ! How's this, my boy ? where 
 have you been all day ? " 
 
 These were startling questions. The subterfuge of inven- 
 tion was too mean for Ferrand ; it would even have injured 
 the lady of his love — for it would have lowered him. Love's 
 votary feels himself identified with the object he adores. He 
 maintains his idol in colossal dignity ; for to give it the pro- 
 portions of common-place, is but to degrade himself. Ferrand 
 therefore could neither utter an untruth, nor mention to vul- 
 gar ears the superior being whom he now worshipped. He 
 preferred risking his father's displeasure and his sister's sus- 
 picions. He was silent. 
 
 Ferrand's confusion was great. His senses were bewildered. 
 The meanness of the cottage, when compared with the refine- 
 ments he had just left, was altogether stupifying and revolting. 
 Was he the same man ? Was he Ferrand, the only son of old 
 Heinrick the hunter? He scarcely recognised himself — no 
 wonder then that no one else should know him. One bold 
 flight had carried him over the surface of common-place things, 
 and he unconsciously looked down upon them. Who will 
 blame him ? What a surface it is to toil — to spin — to eat 
 — to drink — to sleep — in endless repetition ! But for such 
 as Ferrand there is more than this. To feel — to hope — to 
 dare — to love ! What an emphasis was now laid upon his 
 being — he lived for another ! What an antidote to all the 
 unworthy stirrings of human nature ! Happy Ferrand ! 
 
THE WOLF'S BRUN. 
 
 375 
 
 Did Ferrand wait for sunrise ? or who was it that sprang 
 from rock to rock, and ran along the velvet turf that bordered 
 the magic castle in the grey dawn of morning ? It was indeed 
 Ferrand. He had forced himself to pass the night in his 
 father's cottage, by way of resolutely doing something that 
 was odious to himself, and thus satisfying his conscience for 
 what was to come. The first streak of light therefore eman- 
 cipated him — the task was over. Welleda had reclined upon 
 her couch, in half-forgetfulness, but her mind was far from 
 tranquil. And when she roused herself to salute the first 
 beams of the sun, she found the purple flower of Wredmar — 
 her precious talisman — transformed into a snake ! and curl- 
 ing hatefully within the folds of her vest. She seized it, and 
 endeavoured for some time in vain to shake it from her hand. 
 At length the white bird perceived it. and as it fell to the 
 ground caught it up in his beak and devoured it. Welleda 
 watched in breathless expectation — the bird fell dead at her 
 feet ! 
 
 u I am lost — forsaken — alone!" she almost groaned. 
 " Wred mar's revenge is all but complete — let it be so ! " she 
 added, after a pause of intense feeling ; (i I have gained more 
 than I can lose." So saying, she fled from the grotto, and 
 hurried through the garden to the place of meeting, and there 
 was Ferrand ready to receive her. 
 
 It would indeed be dreadful if there were not something to 
 reward the self-sacrificing spirit of woman ! Welleda forgot 
 the cloud that overshadowed her, in the bliss of loving and 
 being loved. Each little word thrilled through her every 
 nerve ; each observation secured to itself an importance in her 
 bosom ; and thus the noiseless hours glided by, until the sun 
 had risen to his meridian height. She then led her devoted 
 Ferrand to a marble hall, in the centre of which was a table 
 loaded with fruits, vases, and flowers, fit and only food for 
 aerialized lovers — who shun the grosser nutriment of other 
 mortals. If Welleda presented the delicious pine-apple to Fer- 
 rand — he ate it devoutly ; and if he, in his turn, chose from 
 the profusion one bunch of grapes more tempting than the rest 
 — she received it as a token of affection. This exquisite repast 
 finished, Welleda proposed to initiate Ferrand into the mys- 
 teries of her magic chemistry, and led him to her laboratory, a 
 small apartment that looked towards the plains of the Rhine. 
 
 B B 4 
 
THE LEGEND OF 
 
 " It is here/' said she, « that I used to pass the greater pro- 
 portion of my leisure hours ; but now — knowledge itself will 
 lose its charm unless you share it with me." 
 
 Ferrand, in whose untutored soul every 'thing that was good, 
 or great or beautiful, meant Welleda, readily consented to the 
 study of all that had interested her. When, therefore the 
 sun-beams shed their golden light upon the Neckar, she' con- 
 ducted him to a cave in the heather mountain, which opened 
 to a subterraneous passage leading to the river's banks, and 
 even beneath the rocks of granite, over which it rushes so im- 
 petuously. As they entered the dark cavern, hand in hand, a 
 projecting branch caught Ferrand's hunting-cap, but he did 
 not think it worth while to return for it. The star on Wel- 
 leda s forehead now shone forth in all the mild luxury of 
 moonlight. It threw all surrounding objects into strong light 
 and shade, softening all that was abrupt, and deepening all 
 that was dark. 
 
 Ferrand felt her superiority for nearly the first time. Un- 
 happy Welleda, you should not have exposed him to this' 
 Something pressed heavily upon his heart— he was silent — 
 and apparently uninterested. Welleda had lost the power of 
 penetrating into the minds of others by any superhuman quick 
 sightedness. Her beauteous bird was dead. But the love 
 of a tender and anxious woman is almost sufficient for itself. 
 VVelleda felt that her mysterious powers were irksome and dis- 
 pleasing to Ferrand; and the generous being would at that 
 moment have willingly sacrificed them at the^ heaven-lit altar 
 of pure affection ; but her time was not yet come ! 
 
 Soon an ocean of splendour burst upon the astonished Fer- 
 rand, and he gloried in the very attributes that he had envied 
 or disapproved the moment before. His own enthusiasm was 
 awakened — and enthusiasm is too wide-spreading to admit 
 the existence of one narrow-minded idea. 
 
 The choice spirits of the various elements came forth to 
 greet the lovely creature whom they seemed to acknowledge 
 as their mistress, and torrents of light rushed down to over- 
 whelm the dazzled senses of Ferrand. 
 
 But Welleda's presence and her gentle dignity supported 
 him. She explained to him the properties and uses of all he 
 saw. She gathered rays from the diamond, and dissolved the 
 thin veils that hid one mystery from another. He listened 
 
THE WOLFFS BRUN. 
 
 377 
 
 in rapture, and proved that an instinct of comprehension is 
 natural to a lover's mind. One effort made — and all follows 
 as a matter of course. Be content to know that you have heen 
 ignorant — and you will soon become wise. The sun will 
 pierce the smallest crevice that opens to his light. 
 
 It was thus with Ferrand ; and by the time that he had 
 wandered through all the rocky halls that lie buried beneath 
 the Neckar, and smiled at the security which divided him 
 from its impatient waters, his spirit soared above his hum- 
 ble birth, and drank in full draughts of the exhilarating spring 
 of knowledge. He found increased force in his adoration of 
 the lovely guide to it, and pitied the contraction of the mind 
 that could not appreciate hers. 
 
 Was this all ? Did admiring love confine itself to the con- 
 templation of talent ? Was it content to idolise ? Must it 
 not appropriate ? Too fatal certainty — it must ! 
 
 Poor little Amalia ! how bitterly did she repent having told 
 Ferrand the peasant-girl's story. Few things are less excep- 
 tionable than sisterly love ; few things more amiable than 
 brotherly sympathy. Amalia could not rest; something told 
 her the real meaning of Ferrand's words ; surely he had fallen 
 into the snares of some powerful and malevolent being — and 
 she — she was the cause of all this ! Unhappy girl ! She 
 asked her mother's permission to gather sticks in the forest : 
 the old woman freely gave it, for the stock was getting low. 
 Amalia breathed more freely, and stepped forth on her errand 
 in all the simple and delightful truth of sisterly attachment. 
 What would she not dare for her beloved brother's sake ? 
 
 I cannot tell what induced her to walk in the direction of 
 the Wizard's Cave, as it was called from time immemorial. 
 Perhaps a presentiment. At any rate she could not have put 
 her courage to more sterling proof; for if the precincts of the 
 enchanted castle were to be dreaded, those of the wizard's 
 murky cave were to be shunned. 
 
 Amalia went on, checking her natural fears by some thought 
 of her brother's possible danger, and an occasional hope of 
 her influence over him. In a tumult of agitation she reached 
 the awful spot. Was there a spell on its very entrance, or did 
 Amalia's own exaggerated state of mind prepare her for the 
 shock which followed, without the influence of any magical 
 power ? She entered. In the deep hollow of the cave hung 
 
THE LEGEND OP 
 
 the well-known hunting cap of Ferrand, supported -by the 
 
 firt obS, f t °u diSengaged ft This was the 
 
 nrst object that caught her eye. She wanted no more to con- 
 summate the rum of her gentle mind. This was proof enough, 
 if the fears of poor, affectionate Amalia had needed any • 
 Ferrand then had entered the fatal cave ! He was then utterly 
 ost . Hope died on the very threshold of the place. It was 
 
 ZT *u Amaha tUrned awa ^ and rush ed from the fatal 
 scene. She never stopped until she reached her cottage door; 
 but ere she reached it, reason had abandoned her on her flight 
 Amaha was mad. 6 
 
 Let it be imagined, but not described ! — Ferrand — guilty 
 enamoured Ferrand, returned also to his father's cottage His 
 tevered lips — his haggard countenance - his scarcely steady 
 gait all spoke the effects of some too exquisite, or too terrible 
 excitement. But how was he assailed ? Whose heart-piercing 
 shrieks were those, calling upon him by name, and uttering 
 he imprecations of madness against another name _ too dear 
 to him now ? 
 
 If we glance at the intoxicating pleasures that had so re- 
 cently assailed Ferrand, and contrast them with the home 
 reality that now struck him dumb, cold, and motionless, we 
 may fairly allow on the first shock the superior influence of 
 the present to the past, and forgive him if he were for a mo- 
 ment unjust to Welleda. Welleda was his — but his beloved 
 sister was irretrievably mad ; and his own selfish happiness 
 had driven her to this. Had he been betrayed ? Was he 
 indeed the sport of the fiend that poor Amalia raved about ?- 
 Ungrateful Ferrand ! 
 
 His father mother, and two elder sisters now assailed him. 
 I hey accused him of being seduced by the lady of the castle 
 —of having yielded himself a slave to the powers of darkness. 
 Fearful words and fearful curses were uttered ; but they were 
 absolutely nothing to the appalling cries of the dear sister 
 whom he had ruined. 
 
 " See there," exclaimed old Heinrick, "see what the hell- 
 doomed boy wears upon his finger! see the pledge of his union 
 with a fiend — a witch — a damned spirit ! Oh, boy, boy ! 
 Ferrand, I errand ! is it for this that I have cherished you? 
 Is it for this that I.have been so proud of you ? God punishes 
 my pride, and my grey hairs will go to the grave before their 
 
THE WOLF'S BRUN. 
 
 379 
 
 "Father, father, stop/' gasped the wretched Ferrand, "hear 
 me — do not condemn me — I will prove to you that I am 
 not guilty, unless, indeed,, the love of what is good, benevolent, 
 
 and beautiful, be guilt " 
 
 " Say no more, say no more I" ejaculated the enraged Hein- 
 rick, " don't talk to me of the blandishments of a sorceress, 
 who has outwitted a vain boy — look there ! — look at those 
 blue eyes bursting from their sockets — look at those lovely 
 lips, torn and bleeding : where is the mind that made them 
 dear to us all, and the comfort and delight of my old age ; and 
 who — who has done this ? " 
 
 Oh ! faith — love — confidence! Are ye proof against every 
 thing? Will ye be lacerated, torn, scoffed at, condemned — 
 nay, even cursed, and yet remain true to the love-lorn Wel- 
 leda ? Will the ignorance and narrow-mindedness so lately 
 removed, return, and shut up the portals of the mind to every 
 just and generous emotion ? 
 
 Ay, — yawn wide, ye gaping wounds of the unseen heart ! 
 Ay, so it was with Ferrand ! — " Here ! " cried he, with wild 
 fury, " take the ring — I will redeem it, if she be true — and 
 die if she be indeed what you say — a fiend ! " 
 
 So saying, he pulled the ring, a beauteous sapphire, from 
 the finger on which Welleda had placed it, as a talisman of 
 proof, cautioning him never to remove it. It was to be the 
 spiritual emblem of his undoubting faith. Alas ! see it now 
 
 — given up in fear, incredulity, dread, and despair. A livid 
 flame arose from the brilliant gem, and scorched it to a cinder ! 
 
 — " Look — look ! hell-born ! accursed ! " screamed old Hein- 
 rick, " see the very smoke of hell arising to confound you ! " 
 
 The poor maniac saw it, and laughed long and loudly ; but 
 Ferrand rushed from the cottage, pursued by that hideous 
 sound, to Welleda's castle. 
 
 And how had Welleda passed those very dreadful hours 
 which were the sequel of a too dangerous happiness ? She 
 wandered impatiently from one apartment to another; and at 
 length, desperate and perplexed, hastened to the Chamber of 
 Futurity, where magic mirrors had always revealed to her 
 whatever she wished to know respecting herself or others. 
 What was her horror, when on entering she observed the 
 purple curtains slowly rolling down, and concealing the mirrors 
 for ever from her view ! u It is just," exclaimed she, clasping 
 
THE LEGEND OF 
 
 her cold hands together ; -she who has sacrificed all to th. 
 
 lTd 2 r ' 7 thi ^ { <™ *• SIS So cS 
 
 had she uttered these ominous words when her own » arceIy 
 
 S0U Al e - d wet „ those r ble hai,s ^^^z::. 
 
 first bio S , W J" StrUggIi "S nature feeI * -hen the 
 
 hrst blow of despair strikes on the chilled heart? Who tell 
 
 s ns wl a ;T y ° f ^ d r Ph,g and ^ PISS 
 
 seme What voice is so dreadful as the voice of the M nv „A 
 
 meekto'h T ^ **" mdody ? A " d wHttS^K 
 hears'i °> "T, S r ^ timid ' trembli "S ~ "h" 
 
 had it ,'L \ ? V6S d ' eam Was indeed transi ent, scarcely 
 had its transparent beam touched the threshold of enjoyment 
 when dismay and darkness closed upon it. J°y™™> 
 
 angel of sin?" J °"' where are y ou? S P^> 
 
 ■mAmE?'. Ferrand ' 1 . deareSt Femnd > is * to ™ you 
 sin me f T 7' th °, U haII ° Wed Shade of m y ado ^ mother ! 
 SeVX ^ UCh Crudt y a ' ld de S-dation ! Oh, have I not 
 
 o i/.V N0t . enou 8 h » not eno "gh, Welleda ! Divest yourself of 
 a 1 those hated mysteries _ p r0 ve yourself human Tyou can 
 or witness my eternal death » " y 9 
 
 Weiledf "Th!?; a11 - F ™ d ! " eXclaimed *e injured 
 vveueua. 1 live for you only, of what value are these o-lit 
 
 &ra S : 0 ret e or hed ? " ^^t^ 
 
 fZhZ 1 i l 0nent Pear1 ' She snatched from her lovely 
 forehead and her taper waist the star and zone, and her beau- 
 fully formed feet were divested of their purple clo" - 
 Are you satisfied, cruel Ferrand > " 
 
 thing more ' Wel kda, and I am 
 What is that ? " 
 
 m vSatrs ^ the Forest F r tain ' before the 
 
 accurse,l h», w ' , J f y ° U are ' w,thout one of these 
 human?'" UWeS ' and *" be mhle b > a11 ties ui "»e and 
 
 refused " eCeSSary l ° " 7 Welleda P romised ? ~ «>uld she 
 
 Ferrand left her _ yes , he left her - to herself to her 
 sorrow, to her remorse ! "erseii, to tier 
 
 But no — the noble-minded Welleda had no remorse. She 
 
THE WOLF'S BRUN. 
 
 381 
 
 had indeed sacrificed all to love — but the very sacrifice im- 
 plied a virtue, and she was not likely to disfigure her generosity 
 by regret. She remembered indeed her mother's prophecy, 
 yet she was even content to " perish by misguided love " rather 
 than live without it. Right, Welleda, right ! it is better to 
 die than live unloved, uncared for, alone, barren, and desolate ! 
 
 On entering the cottage Ferrand found all quiet. Amalia 
 slept. Some delicious oblivion had miraculously fallen upon 
 her. The exasperated feelings of the family had subsided into 
 the fitful ebbings of restlessness and dreams. Ferrand crept 
 unobserved to his bed. " To-morrow," thought he, " to- 
 morrow will decide my future fate." 
 
 He slept — as we hear some criminals have done the night 
 before their execution. Despair is exhausting — and man's 
 body is infirm. 
 
 Sleep on, Ferrand ! it is the last time that you will sleep 
 soundly. 
 
 Welleda ! unfortunate, self-devoted Welleda ! was there no 
 sleep for thy woes ? Did the burning thought within shine 
 through thy ruined peace ? Welleda trembled in her own 
 
 magic castle — she feared the creations of her own genius 
 
 all was distorted — life was a heavy burthen — yet annihila- 
 tion was beyond it ! She resolved to pass the night in her 
 favourite grotto, and accordingly hurried through the secret 
 garden to it. But oh ! who met her on the very threshold ? 
 
 Grinning triumph — diabolical triumph — satiated revenge 
 
 Wredmar ! the detestable Wredmar ! 
 
 Poor Welleda had lost the noble courage of innocence, that 
 sacred barrier between the devilish power of Wredmar and her 
 own more spiritual superiority. 
 
 He had indeed been her early instructor, and when he gave 
 her the purple flower in the plains of Upsala, he gave all of 
 himself that was worthy her acceptance. In that mystic flower 
 was concentrated the better genius of Wredmar, and having 
 once placed it in so secure a deposit, he could never resume it. 
 But when the purity of his lovely pupil rose superior to all 
 temptations, then he was obliged to resign the palm of su- 
 premacy, and the white bird was Welleda's guardian spirit. 
 
 We know already that when poor Welleda gave herself up 
 to Ferrand, the flower proved a very exact emblem of Wred- 
 mar's malice. We know too that the death of the white bird 
 was but the type of Wredmar's approaching doom. 
 
THE LEGEND OP 
 
 The sudden appearance of Wredmar was frightful to Wei- 
 leda; but after the first moment of surprise was over, she 
 
 ~ P «T !? ft ° f W ° manl y di ^ k y and n ^ural 
 courage. Yon are here to witness and accelerate my fate 
 Wredmar! she exclaimed ;" not to arrest it > " ' 
 "Not exactly/' answered Wredmar; « You may even now 
 avow the destiny that the angry Nornes are preparing for you. 
 But I do not expect thus much of wisdom and gratitude from 
 
 "I understand you," replied Welleda, raising her youthful 
 head with graceful pride;" "I understand you, and resist 
 you. Let the awful Nornes be satisfied, I am ready to appease 
 them, and to seek my mother's shade in the world of spirits 
 to which I feel that I am hasting." P ' 
 
 She turned to walk away from the presence of the gloating 
 fiend, who now sought to win her to a hateful association with 
 his arts by the operation of fear. He sprang after her, laid 
 his withered hand upon her arm, and muttered close to her 
 ear _« Look— look, mad girl I perverse Welleda, look at 
 your fairy castle ! 
 
 Welleda did indeed turn towards it involuntarily, she half 
 hoped to have seen Ferrand at its entrance gate. But no the 
 tasteful and costly edifice was sinking f Mt into the earth, 'and 
 Welleda saw its last pinnacle entombed ! She broke from the 
 cruel grasp of Wredmar, and rushed into the forest. 
 
 The next morning it seemed as if the sun had scarcely 
 power enough to lift the heavy mist from the bosom of the 
 valley ; but when at length his beams had broken through all 
 impediments, you might see numerous groups of villagers in 
 their best attire, talking mysteriously together, as if some great 
 event was about to happen. 
 
 Presently old Heinrick, his wife, and Bertha, made their 
 appearance. « Well, neighbour, how goes it with Amalia > " 
 asked one of the crowd. 
 
 "Oh, don't ask — don't ask!" groaned Heinrick. 
 Just at the conclusion of this desponding sentence, the crowd 
 of peasants opened to admit the young man, whose unbridled 
 haste seemed as if it would bear down every obstacle before it 
 " Here is Ferrand," whispered the shuddering villagers. 
 
 And it was indeed Ferrand, striding on to the Forest Foun- 
 tain ; but his bitter feelings could not be restrained as he 
 
THE WOLF'S BRUN. 
 
 S8S 
 
 passed through the throng of sneering or terrified villagers. 
 " Come, come on, cowards!" exclaimed he; u come and see 
 your accursed folly, and ask pardon for it from her, the inno- 
 cent and injured one." 
 
 He strode on, careless of the insults which such an address 
 was likely to bring upon him. He could hear, he could feel 
 nothing of external outrage. But something from within 
 screamed ei death ! " into his ear, and something echoed 
 " Welleda ! " in his heart. 
 
 The younger peasants, offended by his rude words, were 
 nevertheless half afraid and completely awed by his daring- 
 mariner, and they tacitly agreed to think him deranged. "Why 
 should we quarrel with a madman ? " said they to each other. 
 So they followed, as rapidly as they could, the difficult path 
 which Ferrand had chosen. Just then a shriek from a female 
 voice, and a yell from Ferrand, came down upon them all with 
 terrific strength. They hurried on, old Heinrick and his 
 family at their head. 
 
 At the Forest Fountain, bathed in a stream of blood that 
 gushed from her loving heart, lay the beautiful, the exquisite 
 Welleda. The wretched Ferrand was vainly endeavouring to 
 quench that flood of life. At his feet was a she- wolf — dead, 
 strangled by his despairing grasp. This ferocious monster, 
 prowling near the spot, had realised the dreadful prophecy 
 which overhung the fate of Welleda. "Wolfs brat — wolfs 
 brat — thou shalt be devoured by one of thine own brood !" 
 
 Who shall survive the loved one ? He who lived but in 
 her life? No, let death grasp both in his iron arms — let the 
 same grave close over them — and the same eternity await 
 them. 
 
 When Ferrand had long clasped the corpse of Welleda to 
 his heart in speechless agony, he looked down upon her com- 
 posed features — calm, cold, and fixed. "Dead!" exclaimed 
 he at length ; u W elleda is dead, and I have killed her ! " 
 
 His heart broke in that fierce pang. He was laid at her 
 side beneath the lime-tree that shaded the fountain ; and from 
 that day, for centuries down, the scene of this tragedy has 
 been, and is still, called " the Wolfs Brun." 
 
384 
 
 THE LEGEXD 
 
 RUPRECHT'S BUILDING. 
 
 It seems almost inconsistent with modern habits to identify 
 the good and intelligent father of a family with the successful 
 ruler of a kingdom ; but it may be refreshing to look back a 
 few centuries for a more natural state of things; to see, in 
 thought, the palaces of princes cheered by the happy sunshine 
 of domestic endearment, and then to contemplate with added 
 interest the picturesque ruins that bring such scenes to our 
 imagination. 
 
 I have wandered often through the splendid court of Hei- 
 delberg Castle, and gazed on each separate fragment with 
 painful admiration ; but I do not think that any point sends 
 its influence so at once to the heart as the little Gothic Glo- 
 riette of Louis the Third. I call it his, because he hallowed 
 it by finding leisure to fulfil, beneath its small arched roof, the 
 sacred duties of a father. He educated his two children him- 
 self, procuring for them, at the same time, all the advantages 
 of skilful masters; and the fifteenth century was rich in 
 these. 
 
 I will not, however, rob this portion of the ruin I mean 
 
 the large square building of which this window is the solitary 
 ornament— of its claim to be valued, exclusively, as the most 
 ancient part of the whole castle. It was commenced by the 
 Count Palatine Rodolphus I., towards the year 1300, and 
 completed by his son and successor, Adolphus, in 1325. 
 Think of its grey hairs— I mean its grey stones!— not that 
 the stones of Heidelberg Castle are grey, except where the in- 
 fluence of the weather has produced the fascinating neutral 
 tints, for the deep red granite gives warmth and richness to 
 its mouldering walls. The mountains which brace in the 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 385 
 
 Neckar from Heidelberg to Neckarsteinach, with the exception 
 of a few rocks opposite the abbey of St. Eubourg, produce 
 nothing else ; and some exhausted quarries in the immediate 
 neighbourhood of the castle itself are specific criteria of its 
 enduring materials ; whether glowing in the blushing sunset, 
 or melting into phantom outlines in the morning mist, they 
 are almost equally beautiful. 
 
 Count Ruprecht was the next princely architect ; and added 
 his long and now most gloomy palace to that of Rodolphus and 
 his son. Probably his visit to Rome on the occasion of his 
 being crowned by the pope " Emperor of the holy Roman 
 kingdom of the German nation," inspired him with the useful 
 ambition of embellishing the proud residence of his ancestors 
 — the noble burthen of the Jettenbuhl. At all events he was 
 enabled to borrow much from Italy, and to nurse the rising 
 talents of his son and successor, Louis the Third, our good 
 father of the Gloriette. The liberality of Ruprecht induced 
 many artists to give up their classic ground for pecuniary and 
 personal advantages, and the young Louis knew how to value 
 their instruction. 
 
 He, in his turn, encouraged and protected all who had 
 taken a share in his own education, and retained them by 
 munificence and friendship in his castle, as the future tutors 
 of his children. Amongst these, he was more particularly 
 attached to the two most youthful ; the German Kemnat, and 
 the Italian Geronimo Benini. Both of them had married into 
 his household, and seemed to have become fixtures in the esta- 
 blishment ; both, too, were fathers ; and the good and generous 
 Louis saw no objection to including the young Raffaello and 
 Eugenia as pupils of the Gloriette, wishing to excite emulation 
 in his juvenile academy, and perhaps to illustrate his own 
 estimate of real merit in this simple and pleasing manner. Let 
 us think we see the interesting group, while the many- 
 coloured beams of the morning sun peer in through the antique 
 stained glass of the window, and brightly etch it. How 
 touching the variety of beauty and expression, from the 
 paternal dignity of Louis, the shrewd sagacity of Kemnat, 
 and the melancholy pathos of Geronimo, to the boyish, yet 
 graceful, gaiety of the elder prince, the fine and thoughtful 
 features of his brother, the classic contour of the young Italian, 
 and the fairy loveliness of the little girl. But this is only a 
 c c 
 
386 
 
 THE LEGEND OP 
 
 glimpse ; we must gallop with time, and find all these young 
 people advancing rapidly on the beaten track of man's existence. 
 
 Louis saw his children's progress with the satisfaction of a 
 virtuous parent, who has felt his responsibility and acted up 
 to his sense of duty. There was a vast difference between the 
 two young princes. Louis was amiable and agreeable, but not 
 talented ; whilst his brother Frederick, silent, thoughtful, 
 vigorous, soared high above him : but this disparity never in- 
 jured their sweet fraternity of affection. 
 
 Louis invariably consulted Frederick in all his youthful 
 enterprises ; and Frederick never failed to uphold his brother, 
 and even joined in sports that he scarcely liked, for the sake of 
 pleasing him. Louis was accomplished ; he loved music, and 
 danced well, for nature had endowed him with every pliant 
 facility. 
 
 Frederick hated dancing, and at length obtained his father's 
 permission to abandon it ; but he fenced gracefully, rode well, 
 and showed much taste in architectural design. He was 
 always planning some improvement for the dear old castle. 
 His happy father listened to all his proposed changes or addi- 
 tions with affectionate pride ; and often told him, that had not 
 the public funds been so reduced by his own father's expenses 
 in building, and supporting the troublesome dignity with 
 which the electors had invested him, he would gladly listen to 
 Frederick's schemes. 
 
 The talents of Raffaello were running parallel lines with 
 those of his noble associate, with this difference, — Raffaello 
 preferred sculpture to architecture ; he excelled also in music 
 and singing ; and danced as well as Prince Louis himself. 
 Still there was a pensiveness and a daring that united him 
 more closely to the younger prince. Frederick was always 
 with Raffaello when Louis did not want him. And dear little 
 Eugenia, the fair child with hazel eyes and golden hair, how 
 old was she? She was just fifteen; beauty was ) in the 
 blossom, and the flower grew lovelier with every added day. 
 
 Old Kemnat — for he really was growing old — gazed on 
 his innocent child, and wished that he had married earlier in 
 life. His wife had long been dead ; but, after the first years 
 of loneliness, his daughter filled up the void in his heart ; and 
 he only seemed to live for her and his adored pupil Frederick. 
 The favourite prince often passed whole evenings in the apart- 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 387 
 
 ments of Kemnat ; and thus time hastened over the flowery 
 paths of youthful and unalloyed pleasure, and no one noticed 
 its quickened footsteps. 
 
 Oh, spring of life ! oh, morning of the mind, 
 Bursting with youthful vigour, glorious, bright ! 
 Pause ye of wintry mood, and thought conhn'd, 
 And bless, for once, this image of delight ; 
 Cherish the young with kind encouragement, 
 So shall ye, yet, redeem the time misspent ! 
 
 It will scarcely he supposed that the young princes were 
 allowed to possess all their superiorities without exciting in 
 certain noble families, whose views of education had been 
 more limited, envy, hatred, and malice. The old Count de 
 Luzelstein, the proudest and most powerful vassal of the elec- 
 torate, contented himself with muttering some ill-omened pro- 
 phecy, that all would not end well. His two sons, Wilhelm 
 and Franz, were nearly of the same age as the princes ; and 
 his only daughter, Leonora, though only sixteen, was the ad- 
 miration of all who had seen her in her dawn of beauty. She 
 was an exquisite model of personal perfection ; but, like all 
 the females of the age, she was condemned to a very limited 
 education, and her infant pride and passions were pampered, 
 until they became totally insubordinate, and defied all re- 
 straint. She had no mother. Her father doted on her 
 beauty, and he had no mind to sympathise with or cherish 
 mental charms. He was glad that the elector had no daugh- 
 ter, and he pleased himself with dreams of ambition, that 
 placed his child on the throne of the palatinate. Young Louis 
 had long been betrothed to Margaret of Savoy ; he therefore 
 was beyond reach : but Frederick might still be his son-in- 
 law. In short, he only waited for a favourable opportunity of 
 making the proposal to the elector. But death interfered be- 
 tween his ambition and its object. 
 
 In the year 1450, on the last day of the month of August, 
 the castle bell was heard to toll. The centre tower echoed the 
 mournful repetition of the funeral knell, and the church of St. 
 Peter, and the recently completed one of the Holy Ghost, in 
 the adjacent town of Heidelberg, mingled their melancholy 
 music. The troops were drawn up on the Place d'Armes ; 
 groups of the inhabitants were seen here and there, conversing 
 apparently in a low tone, and universally dressed in black ; 
 c c 2 
 
388 
 
 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 some dignitaries of the university were winding their way up 
 to the castle by the northern entrance ; and a procession of 
 Carmelite monks were following them at some distance, bear- 
 ing torches and various religious symbols. It was the funeral 
 of the good elector that called forth this display of pious pomp. 
 Louis, on his death-bed, had commanded that his funeral 
 should be as simple as might be consistent with the dignity of 
 the country of which he had been so long the chief ; but he 
 desired that his people might follow him to the grave. Best 
 homage to a good and patriarchal sovereign. He was fol- 
 lowed by one large family. The old and the infirm, who 
 could not walk, were carried in litters by their children or 
 friends ; and every house was empty, for no one would be left 
 behind. 
 
 Many tears were shed, and many heart-felt and fervent 
 prayers were carried along the immense concourse. All was 
 finished. Money was distributed to the poor classes by the 
 almoner and mayor ; and the dark columns of people moved 
 away with heavy steps from the scene of interment. 
 
 But how describe the grief of two affectionate sons, and 
 numerous devoted followers ? Grief was new to Louis and 
 Frederick. Louis sank beneath its pressure during the first 
 few days ; but he soon rallied. It was too heavy, too dread- 
 fully irksome to his weak yet lively temperament ; and he 
 thought he was making a great effort to shake it off when, as 
 a matter of course, he turned his thoughts to the reception of 
 his bride, and his own coronation as Elector Palatine. It was 
 a seasonable relief for him : and he fled away from grief as 
 from something too serious to encounter. But Frederick 
 hugged his affliction, and brought it near to him. He knew 
 the depth of his sorrow, yet did not fear to plunge into it ; 
 and, though no one knew how much he suffered, because he 
 shrunk from every public demonstration, yet no one suffered 
 so much or so long. 
 
 The death of his beloved father had a decided influence 
 upon the ripening of his energetic character. He wandered 
 about the forests of the surrounding mountains, and gave him- 
 self up to reflection. After many hours' wandering, on one 
 of these rambling excursions, he sank, exhausted by fatigue 
 and despondency, on the Giant's Stone, an enormous mass of 
 granite, detached from its original bed by some violent shock, 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 389 
 
 and which still hangs ahove the town of Heidelberg on the 
 mountain side. For the first time, yes, the first time since 
 the death of his invaluable parent, Frederick wept. Who can 
 tell the luxury of tears, to those who seldom weep ? Frede- 
 rick sat upon the Riesenstein, threw his arms upon it, and 
 buried his face within the close circle that they made. It was 
 within a few days of Louis's coronation and marriage ; for 
 both ceremonies were to take place on the same occasion. The 
 fair Margaret was installed with some of her relations in Ro- 
 dolphus's building ; and the first ball since the death of the 
 elector, was to take place in the Rittersaal, or Knight's Hall, 
 of Ruprecht's palace. 
 
 Louis was excited; he loved his affianced bride passionately; 
 but the fever of conscious deficiency haunted him by night 
 and by day, and made him feel the coming dignity of elector 
 to be insupportable. He would have been glad, in the ro- 
 mance of early and mutual affection, to have occupied a cot- 
 tage on the banks of the smiling Neckar, so that his idolised 
 Margaret had been content to share his fate, rather than 
 ascend the throne of his father, and feel that he was not made 
 for it. He was, indeed, in the greatest distress of mind ; 
 when suddenly an idea of happy promise flashed across him. 
 Might he not associate his brother with him in the sovereignty? 
 
 Blessed be that singleness of heart which does not envy the 
 superiority of a brother ! Blessed be the pure affection that 
 rejoices in it ! Thrice happy Louis and Frederick ! Louis 
 clings proudly to his brother for support; and Frederick's 
 noble nature yields it with humility ! 
 
 Louis had employed several hours in seeking his brother. 
 His heart was full to overflowing : he longed to pour his whole 
 soul into the fraternal bosom that ever flew wide open to his 
 embrace. At length, at a distance, he thought he recognised 
 the manly figure of Frederick, as it lay stretched upon the 
 Riesenstein. He still wore his black dress ; and the graceful 
 abandonment of grief was so new to Frederick, that Louis 
 started in admiration of it. 
 
 Just at this moment a tall and elegant figure, on the accli- 
 vity of the mountain, withdrew. It was Raffaello, who fol- 
 lowed Frederick unseen ; but who retired on perceiving that 
 Louis was approaching the prostrate prince. The timid and 
 truly affectionate Louis feared to interrupt a sorrow so violent 
 c c 3 
 
390 
 
 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 and so private ; but his last footstep had aroused his brother,, 
 who suddenly started, in the dread of having been observed 
 by a stranger. But when he recognised his dear Louis, he 
 opened his arms, and both brothers rushed to the embrace. 
 They stood, locked in each other's arms, for some minutes, a 
 united pillar of strength. At length the tears of Louis having 
 produced upon himself all the soft refreshment of a summer's 
 shower, he ventured to interrupt the deep sobbings of his bro- 
 ther, in broken sentences: — " Oh, Frederick, dear, dear 
 Fritz, you are unhappy, while I am thoughtlessly hurrying on 
 to seize new pleasures ! Why did you not check me ? I feel 
 now that I have not long enough lamented our dear father, 
 and that the consummation of my marriage so soon after his 
 death will be indecent. Tell me, Frederick, my own true 
 friend, do you not think I had better defer it ? M 
 
 " No, no, dear Louis/' replied Frederick, recovering with a 
 powerful effort from the effects of his recent passionate burst 
 of feeling ; " Not at all, my brother. Nothing can be more 
 consistent with the wishes of our deceased father, than your 
 hastening to assume the dignity which he has left you; and 
 as to the fair Margaret, you cannot choose a better momeut 
 for sharing it with her. May it be a halo of glory round 
 you both ! I am sorry that I should have distressed you so 
 much, but the recollection of my father had overpowered me. 
 Come, let us retrace our steps to the castle, and see how the 
 Rittersaal will look with RafFaello's new piece of sculpture. 
 He told me something of the design, and I confess I thought 
 it particularly happy ; but he begged us to refrain from seeing 
 him working at it ; so I suppose there is some little mystery 
 about it intended to surprise us agreeably." 
 
 Frederick had thus skilfully diverted his brother's thoughts 
 into the right channel ; and the bridegroom elect was full of 
 the decorations and festivities that were to grace his nuptials. 
 I believe he forgot, in those gay moments, the throne and 
 every thing else ; and his kind brother kept up the excitement 
 till they approached the western gate of entrance, arm in arm. 
 The guard turned out, on either side of the gate, and the 
 youthful and handsome brothers acknowledged their saluta- 
 tions in their usual condescending and graceful manner. Rut 
 no soldier at that time was so thoroughly stiffened into eti- 
 quette as to forbear exhibiting on his countenance the radiant 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 smile of devoted attachment; and their idolized Frederick 
 always took occasion to say a few words to some one or other 
 of them, which as surely were the boast of the supper-table 
 for that evening. Louis's easy temper, and proverbial kind- 
 ness of heart, had already procured him the name of the De- 
 bonnaire; but no one proposed, as yet, an epithet for the 
 future hero, who was destined to win by repeated victories 
 that which now follows his own. 
 
 Just as the brothers were traversing the old parade-ground 
 of the castle, the loud challenge of the warder of the northern 
 tower proclaimed the arrival of some important guest. 
 
 " That must be old Luzelstein," exclaimed Louis, " and 
 his fair daughter, my Margaret's bridesmaid. Let us hasten 
 to receive them/' 
 
 " Do you go, my dear Louis," answered Frederick, " and 
 leave me to make my appearance in Rodolf 's Hall. I confess 
 I am not just now inclined to present myself to the Lady 
 Leonora; and therefore I shall just go and look at RafFaello's 
 new production. I see he is expecting me ; there he stands 
 in the window : " so saying Frederick withdrew his arm from 
 that of Louis, and disappeared. 
 
 Louis hastened forward, through the northern gate to the 
 rampart terrace, from which he could observe the party that 
 were approaching the castle. 
 
 He had judged rightly. The old Count de Luzelstein was 
 conducting Leonora on her white palfrey. The old man him- 
 self, in travelling costume, rode by her side on a superb black 
 charger, that strained its curved neck with pride, and snorted 
 loudly, as if it intended some hostile attack upon the castle 
 walls. Two knights in brilliant armour, attended by their 
 squires, followed ; and the rear of the little party was closed 
 by retainers and serving-men of all descriptions. At some 
 distance from the Luzelstein train appeared new guests, 
 emerging from the valley formed by the Jettenbuhl and 
 Friesenberg. These were the Bishop of Mentz, accompanied 
 by the superior of the Carmelite monastery at the foot of that 
 ravine. A numerous procession of monks and episcopal 
 soldiers and retainers were following the bishop and the bare- 
 headed Carmelite at a very respectful distance ; for they 
 seemed to be engaged in some very interesting conversation. 
 
 We will leave Louis to receive his noble guests ; and ima- 
 c c 4 
 
392 
 
 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 gine that he appeared to the best advantage, as he welcomed 
 the old count, and gallantly assisted Leonora to alight. No 
 doubt the haughty beauty condescended to appreciate the 
 attentions of the young elector ; and perhaps she thought that 
 had she only been seen before Margaret, her victory over the 
 soft heart of Louis had been matter of certainty. Never 
 mind ; many a proud enchantress deceives herself more grossly 
 than her admirers. We will hope that Louis could look upon 
 a beauty that surpassed all that he had yet seen, without 
 either being dazzled by it, or contrasting it for one moment 
 with the natural graces of his unaffected bride. The heart, 
 and not the eye, must decide such points as these. 
 
 When Frederick had mounted the spiral staircase of Ru- 
 precht's tower, and gained the second story, he entered the 
 beautiful Rittersaal ; and was instantly greeted by the enthu- 
 siastic Raffaello, who sprang forward to meet him. " Noble 
 and dear prince/' exclaimed he, " now my courage fails me, 
 and hope seems to die within me. Should you not like my 
 work, I shall be seized with utter despair." 
 
 u Never fear, never fear, my good Raffaello, when did you 
 ever fail to excite my warmest admiration ? Let me see this 
 chiselled perfection." Raffaello hid his face in his hands 
 from nervous sensibility the moment his prince advanced to- 
 wards the rich mantel-piece, over which was placed his chef 
 d'eeuvre. It was such, indeed, but the most exquisite part of 
 it was not ideal ! 
 
 cc Beautiful, beautiful ! Why, Raffaello, how is this ? 
 Whose face and form have you borrowed for your Angel of 
 the Resurrection ? " Raffaello had darted towards Frederick 
 the instant that the welcome word of praise escaped from the 
 lips of the prince: but when this last question was put, he 
 blushed, and tried to stop the sigh that answered it. 
 
 " Poor Raffaello ! he loves her ; I thought so," said Frede- 
 rick, seeming to talk to himself ; and then, turning abruptly 
 to his trembling and interesting companion, he added, " I'll 
 tell you what, Raffaello, nothing would give me more pleasure 
 than to see the sweet daughter of my faithful old Kemnat 
 united to the friend of my early youth." With these kind 
 words, he caught the young artist to his breast, in a mo- 
 mentary embrace. Raffaello, overcome with a variety of emo- 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 393 
 
 tions, fell upon his knee, and grasped the hand of his bene- 
 factor, with gratitude too lively and too deep for expression. 
 
 Just at this critical moment, when it was difficult to say 
 which of the two individuals was most affected, the superb 
 doors that connected the hall of Ruprecht with that of Rodolf, 
 flew wide open ; several court pages and servants lined them 
 on either side ; and then Louis came forward, with his usual 
 thoughtlessness, leading the transcendant Leonora, beaming 
 with pride and anticipated triumph, to introduce her to the 
 beloved brother, who, the world said, was destined to call this 
 rich gem of beauty his. 
 
 Nothing could be more unfortunate than this well-intended 
 surprise. Frederick felt shocked by it; not offended — for 
 he could never blame his affectionate brother. But the too 
 evident emotion, in which he had been detected, and Louis's 
 first exclamation, placed him in rather a perplexing situation ; 
 and the violet eyes of the Lady Leonora flashed at once their 
 glance of haughty indignation on the mystery. 
 
 u Bless me/' cried Louis, incautiously leaving the young 
 lady by herself, " bless me, what an exquisite likeness of our 
 dear little Eugenia ! " 
 
 One of the knights, in the glittering armour, now came for- 
 ward, to the support of his sister, and offering his arm, said 
 with marked emphasis : " We surely are intruding upon Prince 
 Frederick's admiration of this piece of sculpture ; let us with- 
 draw : Margaret of Savoy has just sent forward her page to 
 request your presence in her private apartment/' 
 
 " Certainly, I attend her," quickly breathed, rather than 
 spoke, the mortified Leonora. But had she known that the 
 seemingly cold and offended being, who folded his arms across 
 his breast and leaned for support against the centre pillar that 
 held up the groined ceiling of the hall, was feeling, for the 
 first time in his life, the electric thrill, the homage to that 
 beauty which the enraptured heart afterwards longs to appro- 
 priate, she would have felt that moment the proudest of her 
 existence. She had seen and even possessed a portrait of 
 Frederick, drawn by Raffaello, which the superior of the Car- 
 melite monastery had contrived to purloin during the exercise 
 of his duties as confessor to the late elector. He had con- 
 veyed it to Count de Luzelstein, who wished to inflame the 
 
394 
 
 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 impetaouK 86 h0WeaSUy tWs WaS accom P^hed; and how 
 
 as members of Vhf f ' and ha ™g lately enrolled themselves 
 
 not'reaS Thet g ir fi ° f 7" Wh '' Ch ^ had 
 
 afraid of thJ lnfirm old father w as positively 
 
 suwl° hem 'But T neVer t0 d ° thin ^ -'houteon! 
 
 to have! enrol wTTh'T"^ ^ 
 
 the s'TwIfhont^H 6 -' andhe S3W Leo "0" vanish from 
 
 srMt ent= varjs, « - . 
 
 h 'anS q r o„T ePared t0 fi " d him8elf ' his b-th e : ami 
 " HoTy Marv « h" " T^", Ieft ? the s ' ,acio " s cha ™ber. 
 escortedS?" 6 eXCklmed ' Where is the fai ' *at I 
 
 anltd ftffi* 1 ' ^ ^ ° f h - " 
 
 rejZd^Sr "* t0 >rese„ce," 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 395 
 
 " Indeed ! then I bid you both farewell ; but Frederick, 
 will you come to my closet to-night, I have something of the 
 greatest importance to tell you?" 
 
 C( Certainly," replied Frederick, slightly wondering at the 
 sudden earnestness of his brother's manner, but too much pre- 
 occupied to attach any very definite idea to it. 
 
 " It would not be amiss, I think, to dress, for the afternoon 
 wears away, and this ball is to begin early," continued he, 
 and as the Italian mirror hung before him, he involuntarily 
 glanced at his own image. Nay, he went further, he even 
 desired Raffaello to accompany him to his private chamber, 
 and choose his dress for the evening. We may be sure that 
 the artist heard this proposition with delight ; and determined 
 to make the noble model wear its best looks. 
 
 This was a gay day for the town of Heidelberg. All its 
 hotels were filled with the guests, who had been bidden to the 
 balls and tournament; and many a fair girl hoped to obtain 
 a due share of the admiration and gallantry of the noble 
 cavaliers. But she who was calculated to win the secret 
 homage of all hearts, was the least conscious of her power. 
 We have observed that degree of silence towards Eugenia 
 which her ingenuous modesty seemed to claim ; nevertheless 
 we have thought of her, as she sat in her aged father's small 
 but very neat apartment, drawing something that Raffaello 
 had left her to copy, or reading some Italian poem that he 
 had lent her. Her sylph-like form, too, was sometimes seen 
 wandering in the direction of the Wolf's Brun ; but not even 
 Raffaello presumed to follow her, when she was alone. With 
 every advantage that nature and education could bestow, Eu- 
 genia was the most diffident and sensitive of her sex. 
 
 When, therefore, the amiable Margaret of Savoy received 
 her as her future attendant, she could not fail to love her with 
 the protecting fondness of an elder sister. All this conde- 
 scension did not overwhelm the gentle Eugenia ; for had she 
 not been from her childhood the companion of princes ? But 
 she felt grateful and devoted, and loved her benevolent mis- 
 tress with enthusiasm. 
 
 We may then judge the surprise of Leonora, when, on en- 
 tering the apartment of the bride-elect, she saw the living re- 
 presentative of the beautiful statue, sitting at Margaret's feet; 
 whilst that lady herself was wreathing a coronet of white roses, 
 
THE LEGEND OP 
 
 in the flowing ringlets of her favourite. Leonora started at 
 the identity of the one, and at the occupation of the other 
 Margaret rose to receive her guest, with easy grace, delighted 
 a her beauty ; for no one could see her, and not feel the in- 
 
 the ut, 0 / US ini P~>- «d --ous to dispense Vith 
 the useless ceremon.es of recent acquaintance, she be-an a 
 sprigntly conversation on the approaching ball This was a 
 
 la U dt C l° n Whkh Le °r ra alS ° C ° Uld be ^ and the wo 
 ladies were soon mvolved in a discussion of the merits of 
 
 ZXZ ' ° CadeS ' SilV6r ti3SUeS ' andother deli cate and 
 costly accessories. 
 
 In the mean time, Eugenia had risen from her lowly pos- 
 ture ; the white rose coronet falling on her neck with the 
 abundance of silken hair that had been thrown into such 
 
 foldTA 00 ", US '° n hY , P ' inCeSS > and she ^ill held in t e 
 fold of her loose and simple drapery, numerous spoils from 
 theJW garden, not knowing exactly what to do with 
 
 The keen and almost harsh look that the lady Leonora sent 
 from time to time towards her, seemed to destroy her pre 
 ZZVl T 1 °T E ? Se ™ Saw her Wtter enemy 
 
 mtd Zl and , perha P S th r is s °™ in^inct in the human 
 mind, that teaches us to shudder when an unfriendly being 
 approaches us If „ 0 t, _ the mere animals are better off, in 
 this respect, than man, the master-piece 
 
 M^'n 8 th " matt f' ? hild? " said *e light-hearted Mar 
 h™ T ■ 3 a ' d ° f a PP eari "S t0 any disadvantage 
 
 becau e I have let those imprisoned locks fall down upon your 
 
 tot™U a f U , r 7 0u ' itis ™7 ^coming, is it not, Lady 
 Leonora ? added she, turning to look for the acquiescence of 
 ner new acquaintance. 
 
 " Oh ! certainly, yes, undoubtedly, your highness's taste 
 must be good ; but may I ask the name of the fair damsel f 
 1 suppose she is not always called the An<*el ? " 
 rea^v f ^. ™ rd * Eu S e '» a turned deadly pale, and seemed 
 ready to faint. I he warm-hearted princess ran and caught 
 her, as she was sinking on the floor. " Good Saint Margaret, 
 be my speed! the child is ill; and the ball-room may lose 
 one of its best ornaments." 
 
 " Indeed !" rejoined Leonora, slightly turning away from 
 an excess of condescension that appeared to disgust her. 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 397 
 
 Eugenia rallied, and pressed the princess's hand to her lips, 
 asking her permission to retire for a short time to her own 
 apartment. This was of course instantly granted. Eugenia 
 curtsied as she passed hy Leonora, who disdained to notice 
 her salutation. She hurried through the numerous corridors, 
 and reached her own tasteful little apartment, ready again to 
 sink with the apprehension of some concealed ill. She threw 
 
 \ herself upon her couch, and wept bitterly. 
 
 The slight refreshment that went by the name of Vespers 
 had been served to the different apartments of the castle; and 
 now every one was seriously engaged in the important busi- 
 ness of the toilette. Frederick and Raffaello were seen walk- 
 ing in the garden, near the fanciful arcade and water-works, 
 that were looking beautiful in the sunset. They then struck 
 into a new path, and mounted to that commanding terrace 
 which overlooks the whole plain of the Rhine, girt with its 
 sapphire mountains. " This is indeed glorious ! " ejaculated 
 the prince ; " and I am quite in the mood to enjoy it this 
 evening. You know, Raffaello, that there are times when 
 every thing pleases us ; and I believe the prospect of my be- 
 
 | loved brother's happiness, together with that which I intend 
 
 I for you and a certain very angelic person, has had its full in*. 
 
 ; fluence upon my feelings. There is some spell at work, surely, 
 to reconcile me so soon to this gay clothing of mine ; I thought 
 I had vowed to wear black all my life long ! " And before 
 Raffaello could recover from his pleased surprise, his friend 
 had dashed down a shady path, waving his hand in such a 
 manner as to forbid his following. 
 
 Frederick reached the castle by one of the semi-subterranean 
 passages which led to it from the grotto ; and he went direct 
 to old Kemnat's apartment. The old tutor was dressed in 
 
 ; the court costume of the times, a strange mixture of Italian 
 and Spanish taste and extravagance with German homeliness 
 and solidity. He was in the act of giving a finishing polish 
 to the hilt of the long and heavy sword that was destined to 
 
 i hang by his side, and as his back was turned towards the door, 
 he did not see the prince enter. Like most old people, he 
 was fond of hearing himself talk ; and when he had no one 
 
 ; to listen to him, he usually talked to himself. Frederick was 
 in so happy a frame of mind, from rejoicing over the welfare 
 of those he cared most about, that the fastidious nicety of 
 
398 
 
 THE LEGEND OP 
 
 Kemnat's operations was vastly amusing to him • and he in- 
 voluntarily placed his finger on his lip, and leaned against the 
 wall, to gaze upon the silver hairs of his venerable favourite, 
 and listen to his soliloquy. 
 
 " Never tell me," muttered the old man, "those Luzelsteins 
 are a proud race, and no good will come of their being here. 
 I'll warrant me, Count Wilhelm does not forget my darling's 
 thrust, at the tilt-yard yonder ; and, what's more, he does not 
 mean to let it go unrevenged. And then, they have not en- 
 rolled themselves in the list of underground demons for nothing, 
 I'll warrant it ! No, no, the Secret Tribunal tells no tales. 
 Well, well, that will do now : this old sword of mine has 
 seen its best days, but I would not part with it for all that ; 
 did it not kill the monster that turned upon my young 
 prince ? " 
 
 c< Ay, that it did ! " said Frederick, coming forward, and 
 clapping old Kemnat on the shoulder affectionately, " that it 
 did, my good Kemnat ; and I shall be glad if I can ever do 
 you as great a service." 
 
 Kemnat, who loved his former pupil as a son, was full of 
 duties and observances, and more precise in his ceremonies 
 towards the princes than any court calendar. He withdrew, 
 with many bows, several paces in a direct line facing the 
 good-natured Frederick ; who, laughing heartily at the ludi- 
 crous effect of his sudden appearance upon the old tutor, fol- 
 lowed him close up, stretching out his hand, and saying — 
 (C Come, come, Kemnat, no more ceremony, for the love of 
 the palatinate lion itself ! You must sit down in that chair 
 and have some conversation with me, for I have something to 
 say to you before I enter the ball-room, that is blazing there 
 with so many lights." 
 
 6( Your highness, I am ready to hear your pleasure," re- 
 plied Kemnat, full of those half-indulged, half-restrained 
 smiles so becoming to old age ; and his grey eyes twinkled 
 with real pleasure, on perceiving that his darling, as he always 
 called him, to himself, had regained his cheerful manner. 
 
 " Well then, sit down," said Frederick, throwing himself 
 into the opposite chair. Kemnat obeyed mechanically ; but 
 took care to withdraw his chair far from the familiarity of 
 parallel lines with that of his guest, and sat bolt upright, 
 in all the rigidity of courtly respect. 
 
ruprecht's building. sgg 
 
 " You are growing old, Kemnat." 
 " Yes, may it please your highness." 
 
 " Why, as to that, I cannot say that it does exactly, though 
 the older you grow the hetter you are, like the wine of a good 
 vintage/' Kemnat made one of those incurvations, and 
 
 | uttered one of those slight ejaculations, that speak pleasure 
 better than words. " But, as I was saying, you are growing 
 old, and you must, I think, be anxious to see your only child 
 married and happy, before you can think of leaving her." 
 
 " Ah ! very true, prince/' said the father, touched at the 
 mention of his dear Eugenia, «- that is indeed my anxious 
 hope ; and I am sure if your highness will condescend to 
 point out to me the man who will make my child a good 
 husband, I shall die contented when my time comes. ,, 
 
 " Then, Kemnat, though I claim no influence in a matter 
 in which your daughter's feelings must be left to themselves, 
 still I must say that I know the man who loves her dearly, 
 
 | and who will not, I think, deceive me in my high-raised ex- 
 
 i pectations of him. After the exhibition of the new piece of 
 sculpture, that was seen by all in the castle this afternoon, I 
 need scarcely tell you that I mean Raffaello." 
 
 " Raffaello ! " exclaimed the old man, in astonishment, 
 M why it never struck me. To be sure, it is very likely that 
 the young man is attached to Eugenia, for they are almost 
 always together ; but then I never thought of that, because it 
 was so natural to see those who have been brought up to- 
 gether fond of each other's society." 
 
 " Yes, we seem all to have been marvellously blind to the 
 
 | probable influence of Eugenia's beauty and amiable character. 
 It would seem as if we all intended to place her among the 
 tutelary saints of the chapel, and worship her as something 
 
 : too good to belong to this world. However, the urchin god is 
 not so careless of good materials ; and he has wounded the 
 heart of poor Raffaello past redemption." 
 
 This tribute to the goodness of his beloved child was too 
 much for the proud father ; and he tried in vain to dash 
 away the tears that started from the fountain of paternal 
 pride. " Psha, psha, my prince must forgive this weakness, 
 
 ' in an old man who has long leaned for support and consola- 
 tion on the dear prop of age, an affectionate and dutiful child." 
 « Forgive it, Kemnat ! I honour it. But now that I 
 
400 
 
 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 have had this opportunity of doing justice to my friend 
 Raffaello, let us drop the subject, and leave the young people 
 to themselves. Come, Kemnat, come with me to the ball- 
 room ; you are dressed for a squire of dames to-night, and I 
 shall expect to see you flirting with some of the professor's 
 ladies from the world beneath." The old man chuckled, mo- 
 destly denied the imputation, and followed the prince to the 
 magnificent saloon. 
 
 When Prince Frederick entered the ball-room, his eyes 
 were riveted on its principal living ornament, Leonora. She 
 was standing by the mantel-piece, engaged in animated con^ 
 versation with the Bishop of Mentz, and apparently discussing 
 the piece of sculpture above ; the design of which was evi- 
 dently intended as a feeling tribute of respect to the patriarch 
 who was now no more. I shall venture to describe it on this 
 account ; and I hope the delicate squeamishness of modern 
 taste will not condemn it, as the production of a young and 
 Germanised Italian, who did not remember ever to have seen 
 the country of his birth, the classic land of his inspiration. 
 
 A death's head, surmounted by an hour-glass, formed the 
 base of the piece. On either side of this emblem of mor- 
 tality were poppy plants ; two of which came out from be- 
 tween the teeth, as if to signify the eternal sleep of all- 
 devouring death; for these two delicate tendrils mounted 
 towards the hour-glass above, and there two serpents curled 
 round them and cropped their flowers ; thus completing the 
 allegory. But above all this, was the winged angel of the 
 resurrection, the conqueror of death. 
 
 In the dawn of the fifteenth century, and in an ancient 
 castle of Germany, the association of ideas which such a de- 
 sign produced was pleasing and in keeping with the spirit and 
 taste of the age. Too great a refinement of execution would 
 have been less striking, that is, less intelligible; therefore 
 Kaffaelle s youthful genius was the admiration of all present : 
 and Leonora, as a matter of course, gave her approbation with 
 the rest, envying, however, each separate tribute of particular 
 praise that was addressed to the personal loveliness of the 
 angel statue. Neither Raffaello nor Eugenia was in the room. 
 Raffaello was an artist and a lover ; and he nervously forbore 
 to witness the criticism of his work or his mistress: few, 
 however, knew that the angel was on earth. 
 
ruprecht's building. 401 
 
 Frederick now walked towards the bishop, and requested to 
 be formaliy presented to his fair antagonist in argument, and 
 be allowed to espouse her side of the question, be it what it 
 might. 
 
 This easy flow of gallantry was somewhat new in the grave 
 prince ; but we must trace it back to old Kemnat's apartment 
 and rejoice in the relief it afforded to the individual himself 
 Leonora was enchanted by the ardent gaze of her intended 
 victim, and allowed one of nature's most felicitous expressions 
 to light up her features. We may be sure that neither study 
 nor apparel was spared on so important an occasion ; and if 
 we could only look at some of Titian's costumes of 'the fif- 
 teenth century, we might fancy some slight approach to one or 
 other of them in the tasteful dress of Leonora. 
 
 I shall venture to describe it, without being as minute as it 
 deserves. The exterior robe was of rich purple velvet edged 
 with a brocade of gold and rosettes of pearl ; beneath it was 
 a white quilted satin petticoat, with the same brocade pattern 
 the pearl rosettes being exchanged for large purple flowers be- 
 longing to the unearthly gardens of imagination ; long loose 
 sleeves left the moulded arm all possible freedom, and enor- 
 mous bracelets of many-coloured stones, weighed on the taper 
 wrists; the rich brown hair was plaited in numerous bands 
 and strings of pearls bound it round the beauteous head 
 l he rounded, form and warm complexion of the fair brides- 
 maid were seen to the greatest possible advantage in this cos 
 tume, of which incontestable verity no one was more thorouehlv 
 convinced than herself. And let us allow full scope to Fre 
 dencks rapturous contemplation; for how could he guess that 
 so perfect a temple had been sullied by an impure thought > 
 Yes ! let beauty enslave the eyes, but immaculate gooclnes's 
 alone can fix the heart. The triumph of fair looks, without 
 the enduring stamp of innate worth, is the ignis fatuus that 
 leads us on through the night of early passion, but fades 
 before the daylight of conviction. We must not therefore 
 blame the ingenious Frederick for falling desperately in love 
 with the object before him. He had scarcely a thought or a 
 look to bestow on any one else. His sister-in-law elect, with 
 ;all the quick-sightedness of woman, saw how much he was 
 struck with the new beauty of the court, and began to rally 
 him playfully on his various inattentions to the rest of the 
 
 D D 
 
402 
 
 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 party. She invited him to dance with her, and then made 
 him over to Leonora, enjoying the expedient which had made 
 it impossible for Frederick longer to refuse. The prince 
 smiled at the trick, and sacrificed his consistency to the 
 witcheries of a splendid ball-room, and the contagion of 
 beauty's smiles and music's sounds. 
 
 When the dance was in full career, Raffaello ventured to 
 steal into the room, certain of being unnoticed, and anxious 
 to watch the graceful movements of her, whom he thought of 
 seeing there, the partner of some one for the time more for- 
 tunate than himself. But the concentrating power of a lover's 
 eye will turn with instant disappointment from the most 
 thronged crowd of loveliness, seeing with a single glance that 
 the only one it wished to find is absent. 
 
 Raffaello thus immediately discovered that Eugenia was not 
 in the Rittersaal ; and he quickly moved towards old Kemnat 
 to inquire the reason of so unusual an absence. " To say 
 the truth," replied old Kemnat, " it is the very thing I cannot 
 account for myself ; and I have been ogling one of her high- 
 ness's pages for the last hour, to make him come over to me 
 that I might ask him ; but the careless young caperer is 
 pleased to disobey me." 
 
 Need we say that a lover's fears are as prompt as his glance 
 is rapid, and that they do a world of imaginary mischiefs in 
 their lightning course ? 
 
 Raffaello suffered all the tortures of suspense, and was on 
 the point of gliding from the room, when Margaret of Savoy 
 espied him, and beckoned him to her. Alarmed at being dis- 
 covered, the young Italian hesitatingly approached the august 
 group. t( This is our artist," said Margaret to the bishop, 
 " and I am anxious to know if he can account for the pro- 
 longed absence of the fair lady of his inspiration." 
 
 Raffaello was surprised and confounded at this palpable in- 
 ference ; and for the first moment since the completion of his 
 favourite work, he feared he might have offended the lovely 
 being whom he had thought to honour. A vivid flush 
 told the quick passage of this harrowing thought across the 
 chamber of the mind. He said, in an under tone, " I fear, 
 your highness, that my too presumptuous likeness keeps the 
 more angelic image from the room." 
 
 " Very probable," exclaimed the princess, good-naturedly 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 403 
 
 amused at the lovers high-flown-style. " Hugo, 0 said she to 
 the careless little page who would not pay any attention to the 
 nods, winks, and contortions of old Kemnat, "go to the 
 Gloriette chamber, inquire for the young lady Eugenia, and 
 say that I desire her immediate presence/' 
 
 Can my reader consent to the violent charm of contrast ? 
 Exchange the glare of hundreds of wax-tapers, for the moon- 
 light ray that stole through the beautiful window of the old 
 Gloriette, and give up the glowing Leonora for the pale beau- 
 tiful girl that was leaning on her hand, over the marble table, 
 which she could remember as far back as when she was not 
 able to reach its margin ? 
 
 It is after all a great relief to follow the conceited little 
 page, however sorry we may be that his message should dis- 
 turb Eugenia's reverie. 
 
 "Oh, how dreadful!" exclaimed Eugenia when the page 
 had closed the door ; tc how dreadful to be gazed at by every 
 one, and called, in mockery, c the angel ! ' Raffaello, Raffaello, 
 what made you think of giving me so painful a distinction ?*" 
 
 It must be owned that Eugenia's present trial was formi- 
 dable to a pure-minded.and modest girl ; but let us admit, nor 
 do dishonour to even her modest mind, that after a few mo- 
 ments' reflection, the natural dignity of an elevated spirit con- 
 trolled the weaker fears of her nature, and that she walked 
 towards the spacious door- way with a composed yet unassum- 
 ing step. We may imagine the calmed serenity of her fea- 
 tures ; the delicacy of her complexion, unbreathed upon by 
 the heated air of the ball-room ; her simple dress too, white 
 as the coronet of roses which lay as gracefully on her head as 
 if Nature's hand had dropped it there ; and to please the fancy 
 of Margaret, many of the long natural ringlets were suffered 
 | to fall down upon her beautiful shoulders; in short, she looked 
 very much like a bright visitant from the world above. 
 
 She gently opened the half of the massive door ; and Kem- 
 i nat, who had coaxed himself round to that part of the roorr 
 as soon as he saw Hugo sent on his mission, stood ready 
 to conduct his daughter to the foot of the temporary throne 
 that had been erected for the princess. Eugenia might scarcely 
 have contrived to reach it alone, but the glad face of her 
 father restored her confidence, and she approached her august 
 d d 2 
 
404 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 mistress like one of those fairy clouds that seem to wait upon 
 the moon. r 
 
 Margaret received her in her usual gracious manner and 
 pointed to a small stool that was near the recess occupied by 
 the throne. Eugenia was glad to find herself seated in so 
 quiet a nook, and began to survey the scene before her with 
 evident pleasure. The dancing now ceased; and Prince 
 Frederick led Leonora to her seat, by the side of the princess 
 on a lower platform of the dais. Leonora involuntarily 
 started when she saw Kemnat's daughter so near her • and 
 Frederick recognising the playful associate of his childhood 
 looking more ethereal than I have described her, suddenly 
 thought that he could not pay a more welcome or appropriate 
 compliment to his young protege Raffaello, or gratify the feel- 
 ings of his old tutor so effectually, as by continuing his sudden 
 dancing propensity in favour of Eugenia. He therefore, to 
 the indignation of Leonora and her brothers, absolutely vouch- 
 safed to solicit the young lady's hand as his partner in the 
 dance. Nothing can be more distressing than a mark of 
 attention to which we think we are not entitled ; and the 
 trembling girl looked hesitation and amazement at the prince 
 and Margaret. But Margaret, very much pleased at what she 
 thought a well-timed compliment to herself, in the selection 
 of her favourite for the highest honour of the festival, imme- 
 diately said aloud, « Right, right, prince; we will allow you 
 to break your resolution a second time; I want to see Eugenia 
 dance to-night." 
 
 We know that there was another person in the room who 
 had long wished for the same gratification ; and when he saw 
 the sweet flower of his fancy led forth by his gracious prince, 
 his heart beat all its pulsations twice over, and he felt that he 
 had never been so happy before. 
 
 Oh ! love, thou exquisite mischief— what disguised poisons 
 dost thou mix with the cup of life ! What steals the maiden 
 blushes from Eugenia's cheeks, and leaves them like trans- 
 parent alabaster ? And then again the eloquent blood comes 
 back, in buoyant and agitated movement, to tell the tale of 
 every new and thrilling emotion concealed within her heart. 
 Her cold and tremulous hand rested in the friendly pressure 
 of the prince's; and Eugenia seeming to herself to dream* 
 swam through the graceful dance with all the touching ele< 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 405 
 
 gance and facility of motion, which one truly exquisite feel- 
 ing will infallibly give to every look and minor impulse. 
 
 She seemed born for that one hour; then only to have 
 lived, and to have wished for death when its last moment flew 
 away ! And poor RaiTaello ! Was he destined to awaken 
 this unbidden allegiance of the heart's most sacred feelings ? 
 Had Eugenia ever heard him declare the passion that he 
 cherished more than life ? He never told her that he loved 
 her ; and she never thought of him in any other light than in 
 that of an affectionate brother. 
 
 But she loved! — fondly, timidly, intensely, and — hope- 
 lessly ! The blameless boundings of her virgin heart were 
 known however only to herself, and she hushed them into 
 silent adoration. It was happiness enough to the disinterested 
 Eugenia, to see the noble object of all these feelings the pride 
 and glory of the palatinate; to listen to the warm incense of 
 praise which the people sent up from their grateful hearts ; 
 and hear or conjecture the benevolent sentiments of the youth- 
 ful sovereign. 
 
 We will not disturb her self-devotion, but we must feel for 
 RafFaello, when the following morning brought to his inex- 
 perienced heart the cruel certainty, that Eugenia did not love 
 him. 
 
 But we may not pause upon his sorrows, they may be in- 
 fectious ; and at any rate we must hasten on to their termina- 
 tion. I shall leave the glittering tournament undescribed ; 
 and merely say that haughty words passed between Count 
 Wilhelm and Prince Frederick, which must have ended in an 
 immediate combat, had not his brother's marriage, on the 
 very same morning, restrained the prince's burning indigna- 
 tion. Louis had revealed his ardent wish that Frederick 
 should help him to support the weight of the administration, 
 and he had consented to do so. The brothers therefore 
 might be called joint-electors ; and no one will doubt the fact 
 of one of them being merely nominal. It was Frederick who 
 reigned, and Louis who gladly withdrew from affairs so un- 
 congenial with his disposition. Many important improve- 
 ments were begun in the castle, and the foundation of the 
 grand eastern tower laid ; that beautiful and stupendous ruin, 
 which says a thousand inarticulate things to us as we gaze 
 upon it in mournful admiration. 
 
 D D 3 
 
406 
 
 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 And now let us suppose many months to have been shrouded 
 in the past. Let us see the happy Louis wrapt up in the 
 new charms of married life, anticipating the proud joys of a 
 parent, and delighted with the success of his brother in all 
 his negotiations and improvements. Let us turn from a tale 
 of guilt that was whispered about the court, respecting the 
 sudden illness and very necessary absence of Leonora of Lu- 
 zelstein, and see her return to the castle, hoping to conceal the 
 temporary cause of both from all mortal observation. 
 
 But there was no secret that Kemnat could not work out 
 of its place, and the unerring aim of hatred fixed a just stain 
 upon the character of Leonora. It was not however judged 
 necessary to make it public ; and Frederick, the former cap- 
 tive of her beauty, and the avowed suitor for her hand, con- 
 tented himself with renouncing all claim to so high a honour 
 — for private reasons. 
 
 We are not to suppose that he could do this with impunity. 
 The brothers of Leonora were now her sole protectors, for the 
 old count was dead. Still, as Frederick had duly given in his 
 resignation to the hand of the lady herself, and scandal was 
 already stalking on, the affair was too delicate to render a 
 public challenge expedient. Moreover the two young counts 
 had made preparations for throwing off the authority of the 
 electors altogether. It would have been folly, therefore, to 
 have precipitated matters. Private assassination seemed to 
 minds like theirs not only the safest but the best medium of 
 revenge ; and the enraged and degraded Leonora heard the 
 proposition without one pang of regret. 
 
 One lovely moonlight evening, when the first fall of snow 
 had covered the earth with dazzling white, Frederick and 
 Raffaello were watched by a hooded villain, as they walked 
 together along the mountain road that leads to the Wolf's 
 Brun. The prince was talking of various plans for the forti- 
 fication of the castle, and trying at intervals to sound the 
 depths of his friend's melancholy. A favourite mastiff was 
 the companion of their walk, and it was fortunate for the 
 prince that the faithful animal was more alive to treachery 
 than himself or even his companion. 
 
 A low growl from the dog made Raffaello suddenly turn 
 round; and the next instant he sprang forward to receive in 
 his arm the bullet intended for his prince's heart. The dog 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 407 
 
 had also made a movement as instantaneous, by leaping upon 
 the breast of the assassin, and thus slightly changing his aim 
 and bringing him to the ground as soon as the short gun was 
 discharged. There was no time for wonderment. Raffaello 
 fell into the prince's arms,, apparently lifeless, the instant he 
 turned round; and the murderer's choking curses and the 
 fierce triumph of the dog that held him down, explained the 
 whole transaction in a moment. Fortunately Frederick had 
 his hunting horn at his breast; and trusting to the immense 
 strength of the mastiff, he still held with one arm the bleed- 
 ing body of his friend, and blew a loud shrill blast that echoed 
 in a thousand mountain voices. Fortunately there were some 
 straggling soldiers near. Hearing the shot, and then the horn, 
 they rushed to the spot, in the expectation of finding some 
 one of the bristly savages of the wood struggling with the 
 huntsman. 
 
 As soon as Frederick heard footsteps, he called aloud, to 
 hasten the approach of the soldiers, whose shouts he recog- 
 nized. The foremost of them was a young lieutenant to 
 whom he was much attached. " Here is treachery," exclaimed 
 the prince, " my friend Raffaello is I fear mortally wounded ; 
 do you support him, Otho, and let me see whom we have 
 here." 
 
 " God forbid ! " screamed Otho, in utter disobedience ; and 
 darting on the prostrate villain, he instantly dispatched him. 
 At the same moment, the faithful dog dropt dead on the 
 ground : the assassin, whose throat he had seized, had buried 
 his poniard in the side of the poor animal, who still held him 
 in the grasp of death to the last moment of his own existence. 
 
 u It is Huberto, the squire of Count Wilhelm Von Luzel- 
 stein," cried Otho, looking into the dead man's face. 
 
 " I thought as much, replied the prince, making immediate 
 arrangements for the conveyance of Raffaello to the castle, and 
 giving an order to one of the soldiers to summon the most 
 celebrated surgeon of the town to the assistance of his friend. 
 
 A few heavy sighs and a slight shuddering assured Frede- 
 rick that Raffaello still lived ; but the distance to the castle 
 appeared interminable, until they fairly laid down the precious 
 burthen in the apartment of old Kemnat. We must not 
 dwell on the mingled consternation, rage, and sorrow, of its 
 ancient and respectable inhabitant, nor say how often he 
 
 D J> 4 
 
THE LEGEND OP 
 
 quoted his own foresight of the base designs of the Lusel- 
 
 sr o/ F r d ed this rr feeIing ^ s - £ " 
 
 and S \„We ! S T W3S not da "W and toe 
 He was carSv ^ , ri 10 Wm a S ain t0 healdi. 
 
 that of Z ^L m0 ; n e al 0 r ^ T apatM > -hich joined 
 leisure to theS be/of 'hEfif ^ UP ^ *™ Ws * 
 
 fail™' 2 V t heLTf Chery ° f ^ ° f LuZelstei "> a * d *e 
 some of the officers towards the prince their commander Care- 
 
 drtSuSSS he was ' sometlling esca p ed s " 
 
 yonnl Otho of r 3 natUre ' 88 t0 akrm the ] °y aI bosom of 
 
 aTm^ hlritf Wt ' re S ° ' ^ « "^hta 
 voun" offif P the constant personal attendance of the two 
 
 CTn tt z: n questionu r thu i,rince ' ™ n *> 
 
 '"g in the same room with him. Fredericks rcsoln.c mind 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 409 
 
 rejected all these precautions; but the entreaties of Louis and 
 Margaret made him yield. 
 
 The morrow broke in delicate and roseate streaks upon the 
 mountain valleys. A white frost covered the trees, that seemed 
 to tremble with their icy foliage ; long crystals hung from the 
 rocks in a thousand fantastic shapes, varying the dark shades 
 of their many-coloured patches of moss and herbage ; and the 
 whole scene presented an aspect of winter loveliness scarcely 
 inferior to the verdant richness of its summer dress. 
 
 The gallant prince, attended by his chivalrous suite, rode 
 upon a Moorish steed of exquisite shape and fine action ; but 
 the noble bearing of the rider was alone observed or thought of 
 by those he left behind in the castle, as long as they might dis- 
 tinguish his suit of black armour and the dark plume waving 
 on his helm. The brilliant pageant moved away, gazed on by 
 poor Raffaello, who now regretted his wound and subsequent 
 illness for the first time. But the approaching confinement of 
 the electress created a divided interest ; and an infant prince 
 was born before the maiden victory of his uncle Frederick. 
 
 The unfortunate infant, who brings the greatest of calamities 
 with it as the first anecdote of its existence, is an object of 
 most painful sympathy. One hardly knows whether most to 
 regret its birth, or compassionate its motherless condition. It 
 is placed in its father's arms as the immediate cause of death to 
 its other parent. He cannot all at once love it ; he must from 
 the earliest moment pity it ; and then, Time's soothing unction 
 opens his heart, and he may, in the end, doat upon the in- 
 nocent and helpless being. 
 
 It was at least thus with our wretched Louis. It has been 
 already shown how unequal he was to bear the weight of grief ; 
 and so dreadful a shock as the death of the electress was over- 
 whelming. He was seized with a violent fever, and thus 
 spared the consciousness of all the sad ceremonies that were 
 taking place. 
 
 The most distressing form and idea of death must be replete 
 with minute and harrowing details ; and the mourner would 
 do well to avoid all such aggravations. Death is mysterious ; 
 and its shadowy form is its best relief; it is a sleep — a trans- 
 lation ; the beloved one is taken away from you ; she exists 
 elsewhere ; she is no more on earth, she is in heaven ; she 
 lives there ! She is not dead ; you may talk to her, think of 
 her, pray to her ; and feel that she hears and answers ! But 
 
THE LEGEND OF 
 
 the narrow prison of the coffin and the grave seems to limit, 
 stifle, and destroy all that is ideal in death. 
 
 Frederick heard of his brother's affliction and illness at the 
 same moment ; but he could not fly to console him. He had 
 already defeated his enemies, but he was determined to make 
 the haughty counts his prisoners ; and to humble every vassal 
 who had joined in their rebellion. He wrote to Raffaello, 
 begging him to be constantly with the elector. 
 
 Louis had passed through all the distressing stages of fever, 
 and now sank into a state of weakness, bordering on inanition j 
 he had, as a matter of course, the best medical advice that 
 could be procured ; but it was necessary that one watchful eye 
 should always be upon him, and the faithful Italian seldom 
 closed his. 
 
 Four weeks after the death of the electress, the physicians 
 declared that life was at its lowest ebb, and that the succeeding 
 night must determine the fate of the sovereign. During the 
 night he was to take the most powerful stimulants and opfates, 
 alternately ; but the greatest judgment and decision were ne- 
 cessary in the person who should administer them. Not one 
 of the physicians would undertake the heavy responsibility 
 alone ; and it was evident that together they would never come 
 to the same conclusion, at the same moment ; and a moment, 
 even, might be of consequence in such a case. Raffaello, the ] 
 delegate, as it were, of Prince Frederick, and the constant at- 
 tendant on the sick Louis, did not hesitate to incur this further 
 trial of his strength ; he clearly understood the situation of 
 the patient ; and like all persons of strong minds, in similar 
 situations, he had more confidence in himself than in any 
 one else. 
 
 The castle was silent as the sleeping infant in its nurses J 
 arms. None but the selfish could sleep on such a night ; j 
 and with the exception of the Lady Leonora and her attend- 1 
 ants, every eye was waking. 
 
 Raffaello was, of course, alone in the sick chamber ; and let 
 it not seem incredible, if I say, that he could not feel anxiety. 
 The immense exertion, the utmost tension of nerve and thought 
 permitted no emotion to ruffle his equanimity ; therefore, when 
 he saw the light of life just trembling in its socket, he me- 
 chanically [poured the stimulants down the patient's throat; 
 and when the livid flame of fever began to Hash upon the 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 411 
 
 cheek and scorch the lip, he calmly and instantly gave the 
 opiate. 
 
 In this manner the young man passed the eventful night. 
 It was five o'clock in the morning ; the elector was peacefully 
 sleeping ! he had done so for the last two hours. Oh ! luxury 
 of success ! Raffaello could not support it ; he felt the dan- 
 gerous trial which he had sustained, when its excitement had 
 passed away ; and he fainted in his chair hy the bed-side. But 
 the exquisite sense of hearing retained some of its vibrations ; 
 and a heavy sigh from Louis was the restorative for his 
 attendant. Just at that moment a bright gleam of sunshine 
 rushed into the room through the door that some rash hand 
 had ventured to open. It was poor old Kemnat, whose fears 
 had become insupportable after listening at the key hole for 
 upwards of an hour, without hearing even a breath. Eugenia, 
 too, had stolen from her watch beside the baby's cradle, and 
 left the door of the chamber ajar. In taking one precaution 
 she omitted another, for when the little thing awoke, and 
 uttered its piercing cry, it was impossible that the sound 
 should not enter at the half open door of the sick room. 
 
 Oh, happy sound — the father's heart hears it! Louis 
 opened his eyes ; Raffaello's almost started from his head ; 
 Kemnat shut his close, as if he would not witness the mis- 
 chief he had done ; the agony of the moment was fearful ! 
 Eugenia grasped her father's arm, and stood trembling by his 
 side. Again the infant sent its wailing appeal to the elector ; 
 he was awake — he heard it — a few moments and then — "My 
 child, my child ! give it to me, give it to me/' exclaimed poor 
 Louis. 
 
 Holy Nature, this was thy remedy ! The babe was brought, 
 and laid in its father's arms ; he feebly pressed it to him, and 
 burst into tears. Every one else wept, but tried to smother 
 their sobbings. " RafFaello," at length said the elector, 
 faintly, " place it by my side, and let me sleep again." 
 
 The elector recovered rapidly ; and the triumphant return 
 of his brother Frederick, surnamed, on this occasion, " The 
 Victorious/' tended not a little to accelerate the languid beatings 
 of a care-worn heart. 
 
 The Counts Von Luzelstein were compelled to do public 
 homage at the castle, together with other revolted vassals; 
 Frederick, too, had strengthened the electoral throne by new 
 and important alliances and friendships. The future Charles 
 
THE LEGEND OF 
 
 the Fifth was on terms of the greatest intimacy with our hero • 
 and time had much in store for him. He might then safely 
 defy every thing hut treachery; that loathsome thing which 
 stalks abroad unseen, and darkens with its shadow a whole 
 vista of glory. 
 
 After the submission of the counts, they returned to their 
 castle, to plot against the life of their generous conqueror. 
 
 Let us have no more to do with private assassination, Wil- 
 helm, said Heinrick, the younger, to his brother. « Huberto 
 to wit gloomily replied the elder; « no, - I will employ no 
 more bungling cowards; I have a surer way for bringing down 
 my game, I natter myself." b 8 
 
 " The Secret Tribunal?" 
 
 " Ay, to be sure ; we were dunces in presuming to act in- 
 dependently of it i and we have been severely punished for it, 
 
 » i ? Ut 1 am n0t Count Wilhelm Von Luzelstein if I 
 suffer the disgrace of yesterday to go unrevenged ; and here I 
 pledge myself, in the name of the Holy Tribunal itself, not to 
 
 ru7n P " eat ' drink ' Until 1 haVe d6Vised my pIan of 
 adde^Heinrick ** * belieVe >" mali ciously 
 
 " Don't speak of her, Heinrick," replied Wilhelm, with deep 
 emphasis. r 
 
 Early the next morning the two brothers left the castle on 
 horseback, and unattended. We shall not accompany them 
 though we are bound to tell the particulars of their mysterious 
 journey. ' 
 
 " I accuse Frederick, Count Palatine, of detestable heresy, 
 and of a secret compact with the Evil Spirit, to whom he has 
 sold his immortal soul, for the assurance of continued success 
 and victory ; and to the truth of this I pledge myself, as a 
 member of the Holy Tribunal, and hold myself in readiness to 
 avenge the same upon the body of the delinquent, in such 
 manner as shall be judged fit and expedient by the present as- 
 sembly. So saying, Count Wilhelm placed his iron gauntlet 
 on the table that stood in the midst of the gloomy cave where 
 the Secret Tribunal held its sittings. As soon as he bad 
 retired to his seat, Count Heinrick came forward, and rspetted 
 the same ceremony. 
 
 The decision of the tribunal was consistent with its awful 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 413 
 
 and clever system of entrapping its victims, and we shall see 
 how nearly successful it proved. 
 
 The baptism of the young prince was to be celebrated by a 
 tournament ; and this was made known by proclamation, in- 
 viting all valiant knights to feats of chivalry. 
 
 The splendid residence of the electors was not likely to be 
 empty when the friendly voice of invitation was abroad. 
 
 The feasting, hunting, and tilting went gaily forward ; 
 many illustrious strangers were present, and some amongst 
 them, in the mysterious spirit of the times, claimed the privi- 
 lege of incognito. This was readily granted, and religiously 
 observed ; it even gave a flavour to the entertainment, and 
 joy flowed on in an unchecked channel. Louis was once more 
 himself; the variety of the scene had raised his spirits, and 
 the young heir to the palatinate had his full share of credit in 
 restoring his father to health and enjoyment. 
 
 Two valiant knights were particularly distinguished by the 
 elector on this occasion. They displayed each day some new 
 ; munificence, and paid the most marked attention to Louis. 
 I Many conjectures were started by the inquisitive household, 
 as to who they might be, but their largess silenced each ser- 
 vile tongue ; and the credulous retainers whispered that they 
 were foreign princes at the least. Louis himself inclined to 
 the same opinion ; and under its influence exerted himself to 
 add to the honourable reception and attendance of his dis- 
 guised guests. 
 
 The week was nearly over, but the last day of it was to be 
 celebrated by the most splendid tournament that had yet taken 
 place. The palm of knighthood and chivalry was to be con- 
 tested, and the fortunate winner who should maintain himself 
 against all the five opponents who were to challenge him was 
 to choose the queen of beauty from the glowing galaxy before 
 him. 
 
 Each manly bosom beat high, each woman's heart swelled 
 in anxiety and pride, when the auspicious morning stole into 
 brightness and smiled on the glittering scene. 
 
 The Place d'Armes was the arena ; numerous galleries were 
 ifitted up on the western and southern sides for the ladies ; and 
 a superb pavilion was to contain the elector and his court. 
 
 There was great bustle in the court-yard ; horses and 
 armour were undergoing all kinds of examination and correc- 
 tion by the careful squires ; but the six knights were all to 
 
the legend op 
 
 depend upon their own caprices for armorial bearings and de- 
 
 ously, as each challenged leftTe ZlZ^^ 
 
 The castle bell struck ten. Immediately after a loud and 
 
 cheerful flourish announced the approach of the first kn it 
 Now he who first entered the lists was to be on id e ed the 
 
 i^u&tTZ 07 fortune with 
 
 separately, if he fell, his conqueror must challenge the re- 
 maining four; and so on, until but one remained. § 
 
 1 he successful champion of knighthood and beauty was tn 
 receive a golden-hilted sword from the hand of h Tekc or 
 fS ol ° n ^ POln . f " T net ° f SilV6r r0Ses the brow of he 
 SCTiti eventf ~* * * ^ ^ °' £ 
 
 io add to the imposing effect of this concluding dav a 
 fairy bridge had been thrown across the moat, from the We 
 Gothic windows of the Kaisersaal, the beautiful haU in RodoTf J 
 ancient bu.ld.ng The ladies were to reach their gll leHes L 
 this device; and, as the herald's trumpet gave the s^nal the 
 
 Eugenia's modesty made her almost the last in the train 
 Leonora de Luzelstein headed it. Louis now entered he av * 
 
 The six heralds were now seen making the circuit of the 
 
 ssr^js^rt ^ performed 
 
 feS f - ngt ' \ 6 Wh ° had been forem ost all along 
 
 and bowed gallantly to the elector. y 
 
 « fSKfV'' SaiJ L ° UiS ' retUrnin S the Mutation. 
 
 wreath tedefWo IT" ? ° f "—hite-rose 
 
 wreath, to defy to mortal combat, in the cause of chivalry and 
 beauty, any five knights who shall accept the chaUengT" 7 
 
 A herald beneath the pavilion now blew his trumpet on I 
 Signal given by the elector. He then spoke : ' ' 
 
 wmatt'-fiSft 'r ri n S ,lK ' dCTioe " r ^te-rosa 
 wreath, hath defied to deadly combat any five knights who 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 415 
 
 shall separately accept his challenge ; there are many brave 
 nobles present, let their heralds appear." 
 
 Upon this the other five heralds, all abreast, leaped over 
 the barrier, and blew the scornful note of acceptance. 
 
 C( Your titles, gentlemen," said the elector's herald. 
 
 " I am the messenger of him who carries the lion's mane 
 for his device." 
 
 " And I of him who bears the golden sword.'' 
 
 " My master defies death, and takes its emblem." 
 
 " And mine," said the fourth, " is of the bleeding heart." 
 
 There was a pause ; the herald of the court looked at the 
 fifth herald, expecting him to speak, but he remained silent. 
 
 " And you, sir, whom may you represent ? " 
 
 " My master wears the plain shield, and is the nameless 
 knight." 
 
 The herald looked up towards Louis, as if doubtful of his 
 allowing this title. 
 
 <( It will do, it will do," quickly ejaculated Louis. (< My 
 friends and guests are at liberty to assume or disavow what- 
 ever they please ; and the nameless knight may win a name 
 this very morning. Sound the trumpet, and let the knight of 
 the white-rose wreath appear." 
 
 As the last note rushed through the air, a noble figure, well 
 mounted, stood at the entrance of the tilt-yard ; the barrier 
 was instantly withdrawn, and the champion walked his superb 
 and restless charger to the appointed stand, taking care to 
 salute the elector as he turned and backed into it. 
 
 Numerous armed knights now entered, and filed off to the 
 eastern side of the yard, and drew up their horses abreast ; 
 each was attended by his squire, and the whole was a goodly 
 array. 
 
 The herald of him of the white-rose wreath now blew a 
 t triumphant peal, which made the castle rocks ring. 
 
 The knight of the death's head galloped into the tilt-yard — 
 and his herald answered the challenger's defiance. 
 
 " Forward !" exclaimed Louis, animated by the approach- 
 ing hostilities. 
 
 How many female bosoms were beating ! How much cu- 
 riosity was excited ! But the disguise^of the two knights was 
 complete ; their armour was new, and no one could say who 
 either was. 
 
 Eugenia's heart told her that her hero would be there ; the 
 
THE LEGEND OF 
 
 could 1 Z f P 7 *f She dM DOt Venture to thin k she 
 could love him she only knew that she could love no other. 
 The image of the princely Frederick was shrined within her 
 inmost thonghts. It was her essence and her life, and notog 
 but a broken heart might tell her secret. It is true that me 
 lancholy had touched each sweet expression of he face bu 
 heavenly beauty still seemed to plead against its own desp'air 
 
 kni^t v kn TT the intended distinction of the victor 
 knight, Eugenia had innocently crowned herself with a wreath 
 
 cLZ 6S ; f l B d r membered *at her last mistress had 
 chosen it for her, as the ornament best adapted to her unspoiled 
 graces; but it was a most unfortunate decoration on the present 
 occasion. r ■ 
 
 T„Iw m r ent Lad ? Leonora ( now Co^tess von 
 
 Luzelstein) saw the sword and silver wreath lying on the vcl- 
 
 To the victor kmght," embroidered upon it, she turned 
 quickly round to the ladies of the court who were standing 
 
 tenT \ ' rl eXdaimed ' " There is one here who in! 
 2 ,.° P eSPe f k Wreath for herself > 1 thi "k; and pro- 
 babjy the Fraulem Eugenia knows who her champion yonder 
 
 At this moment the elector gave the final signal, and the j 
 wo knights rushed to the attack. He of the wreafh performed 
 the various preparatory manoeuvres with grace and steadiness 
 and seemed rather to be amusing himself with the finesse of j 
 his art than hazarding his life and reputation 
 
 The death's head knight showed some impatience His 
 movements were sudden, though he displayed nearly equal ! 
 sk.ll. Still a certain restlessness and eagerness to take advan- j 
 looked 011 the 1>- of his opponent, 
 
 At length the horse of the first stumbled, and the latter 1 
 charged furiously and wounded the other in the side This 
 
 Z -Z g u r Se , th , e , Spirit and prowess of the cham- 
 STfl if ft Z Wheeled round > and ca ™ at once upon I 
 the flank of h.s adversary's horse, who reared, and fell back 
 upon Ins wounded rider. The shock was tremendous. Every 
 one thought that the knight of the death's head must be 
 crushed to p.eces but the spirit of evil could not so readily 
 part with one of his agents. ' 
 The gallant champion, considering this an unfair chance in 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 417 
 
 the knightly game, dismounted, and ran to help the prostrate 
 chevalier from the ground ; but the fallen ruffian seized the 
 offered hand with a strong grasp, and simultaneously attempted 
 to thrust his dagger to the heart of his brave conqueror. The 
 knight of the wreath did not suspect treachery, but his activity 
 saved him from it; he sprang back several paces, and snatch- 
 ing the light battle-axe that hung at his side, he darted for- 
 ward and aimed a steady blow at the loathsome image on the 
 assassin's casque. The spectators were breathless. The stroke 
 loosened the joints of the visor, and levelled the offender to 
 the ground. 
 
 " Enough, enough !" loudly exclaimed the elector. u Re- 
 move the vanquished knight, and let the gallant champion be 
 more worthily matched." 
 
 Two attendant squires now approached the knight, who had 
 been stunned, but not seriously injured. They lifted him 
 from the ground ; and they, and only they, saw, through the 
 loosened visor, the sallow features of Count Wilhelm von Lu- 
 zelstein. A tent was at hand, and surgical attendance ; and 
 the herald of the death's head dismissed the squires, and closed 
 the hangings on his crest-fallen lord. We will leave them. 
 
 The cheerful herald now approached his noble master, doing 
 the double duty of squire; he examined the trappings of the 
 horse, buckled on such parts as had been thrown into disorder, 
 examined the edge of the battle-axe, and replaced it in the 
 knight's belt. A messenger soon entered the pavilion, to tell 
 the elector that the vanquished knight was unhurt. 
 
 " So much the better/' replied he, with heat : " it would 
 have been a pity that the blood of such a caitiff should have 
 stained the honour of a brave knight." 
 
 The champion bowed gracefully ; the Lady Leonora was 
 observed to turn deadly pale, but a flush of anger soon re- 
 placed the livid hue. Eugenia's bosom throbbed, — " Could 
 it — oh ! could it be ? was it indeed he ? " No one heard 
 these aspirations of the maiden's heart. 
 
 The court herald gave the signal for renewed combat ; the 
 champion again entered the lists. But we must not minutely 
 detail how he of the lion's mane, the golden sword, and the 
 bleeding heart, each and all were discomfited. This was not 
 done, however, without much exertion and some risk ; and the 
 blood was seen trickling through the various crevices of the 
 
 E E 
 
418 
 
 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 brave knight's armour, while he withdrew for assistance and 
 refreshment to a tent close by. In the interval, however, old 
 Kemnat came within earshot of the elector, and said, in a low 
 tone, — 
 
 " Your highness's pardon ! But surely the champion 
 knight can be no other than " 
 
 " Hush ! " said the elector, « wound not his fame by 
 breathing the name he is pleased to honour in obscurity." 
 
 Kemnat bowed and retired ; but the idea of the nameless 
 knight gave him great uneasiness, he knew not why. 
 
 The champion returned ; the ladies hastened to the front of 
 the galleries ; the by-standing knights leaped on their horses ; 
 the court herald and the champion's blew the note of defiance, 
 and the herald of the nameless knight answered it. The knight 
 followed. He was dressed in plain black armour, and without 
 plumes, but his elegant figure and graceful bearing were only 
 the more conspicuous. 
 
 The combat was begun : the champion rode a new horse, 
 and the last of his opponents was as well mounted as himself. 
 The spirited animals seemed identified with the skilful riders 
 who directed their movements ; the white foam dashed from 
 their mouths, their eyes were fire, and their necks a rampart. 
 The elector was enchanted with the gallant bearing of both 
 knights, and seemed to forget the possibility of danger to 
 either party, in the contemplation of this masterly display of 
 art, in an exercise which he appreciated in theory, but of 
 which he did not envy the practice. 
 
 It was beautiful ! it seemed as if the very clash of sword or 
 spear had a distinct and regulated music. The ladies waved 
 their scarfs and handkerchiefs. Eugenia involuntarily clasped 
 her cold hands together, and felt a dizziness creeping over her 
 brain ; Leonora looked on contemptuously ; and old Kemnat 
 opened his mouth wide, until the dry air parched his tongue 
 and throat. 
 
 At length the champion's spear wounded the nameless 
 knight's horse in the neck ; the animal was thrown back upon 
 its haunches, and its rider sprang to the ground before it fell. 
 The noble conqueror leaped from his, to meet the knight on 
 equal terms. A murmur of approbation ran through the 
 stately row of armed nobles, and the gallant combatants vied 
 with each other in activity and skill. 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 419 
 
 At length a smothered groan from the deep chest of the 
 champion told how much he was suffering from various slight 
 wounds and over exertion. This sound seemed to electrify the 
 nameless knight : he sprang hack several paces and gracefully 
 dropt upon his knee, laying down his sword before him. The 
 champion, astonished at this sudden relinquishment of combat, 
 drew back in his turn, and looked towards the pavilion for an 
 explanation, pointing with his sword to the immovable knight, 
 who seemed a bended statue cased in steel. 
 
 " How is this ? what may this mean, sir knight ? " eagerly 
 asked the elector. Upon this the nameless knight started on his 
 feet, threw up his visor, and rushed into the arms of his late 
 opponent. 
 
 All was now confusion. The nobles, squires, heralds, all 
 came forward ; the elector himself, preceded by the page Hugo, 
 carrying the velvet cushion and its glittering ornaments, and 
 followed by his impatient train, left the pavilion and entered 
 the tilt-yard. But old Kemnat was there before him. " The 
 prince, the prince ! I knew it, I knew it ! " shouted the over- 
 joyed old man, with a hundred extravagant gesticulations. 
 
 « Which, who, which is the prince ? What prince ? " asked 
 Louis and twenty others, in a breath. 
 
 iC What prince ! Where then is the second ? Where is he 
 who could do as Prince Frederick has done to-day? " replied 
 the stout-hearted Kemnat. 
 
 « My dear, dear brother ! " exclaimed the elector, approach- 
 ing the champion, whom the faithful and anxious herald, young 
 Otho Von Gemmingen, was already unharnessing. 
 
 " This, then, is yours," said Louis, taking the sword and 
 wreath from the cushion. 
 
 %i Will your highness permit me to do an act of justice with 
 this ? " asked Prince Frederick, receiving the sword from his 
 brother's hand, and taking the silver wreath from its point. 
 
 « Permit thee, Frederick ! " replied the elector, embracing 
 his brother, who bowing his thanks, and approaching him who 
 had entered into the lists on a day when they were open to 
 every gentleman as well as noble, and who had modestly for- 
 bore to wear those appendages of knighthood which were cus- 
 tomary on such occasions, the prince said in a firm tone, 
 " Kneel, RafFaello ! " 
 
 The young man obeyed ; and Frederick, striking him on the 
 
 E E 2 
 
420 
 
 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 shoulder, exclaimed, « Rise, rise, sir knight, and from this day 
 Baron of Durkenheim ! " 
 
 RafFaello folded his arms across his breast and arose. " And 
 now, no longer nameless, accept the sword which you might 
 have won had not your diffidence restrained you." 
 
 u Noble, noble Frederick ! " exclaimed the delighted bro- 
 ther ; " let us follow the ladies to the Kaisersaal : they are es- 
 caping from us." 
 
 The Lady Leonora had in truth led the way to the fairy 
 bridge, and all the tremulous ladies followed her, enchanted 
 with the denouement they had just witnessed, and marvelling 
 much who would — each thought she knew full well who 
 ought — be chosen as the queen of the night. 
 
 Yet there was one who had no courage to follow the giddy 
 group, one who never dreamt of her own supremacy ; and she 
 was left alone, and sank down upon a couch in fear and weak- 
 ness. 
 
 The elector and Prince Frederick led the way, and the 
 whole court followed them over the bridge into the Kaiser- 
 saal. 
 
 After congratulations, flatteries, simperings, and sighs were 
 profusely exchanged between the prodigal courtiers, the elector 
 turned to his brother, and saw with alarm how pale he looked. 
 The prince was indeed exhausted ; the pleasurable excitement 
 of recognising his beloved RafFaello in the valiant stranger 
 who had so skilfully opposed him, had checked for awhile the 
 faintness that was overpowering him when the groan escaped 
 him which enabled his faithful follower to make his fortunate 
 discovery in time. Frederick in short fainted, and was carried 
 to his private apartment ; the ladies being spared for the time 
 all perturbation on their own account. 
 
 The sumptuous banquet was served, but the exhausted 
 prince did not attend it. The queen of beauty had not yet 
 stepped forth in her loveliness; and there was much conjecture 
 wasted on the occasion. 
 
 We left Eugenia on the couch of the curtained gallery. In 
 the hustle and excitement of the recent scenes, Prince Frede- 
 rick's illness, and the banquet, she had not been missed. 
 Kemnat and RafFaello were in the apartment of their adored 
 hero ; and when at length they left it with him to breathe the 
 open air, they concluded that she was occupied with her toilet le, 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 421 
 
 or with some minor arrangements for the grand ball of the 
 evening. Poor Eugenia! she was forgotten, and she was 
 lost ! 
 
 Kemnat, though unsuspicious of any sinister accident, was 
 nevertheless uneasy ; he was full of fancies, and an instinct of 
 restless impatience led him to wander back to the busy scene 
 of the morning. As the surrounding part of the tilt-yard was 
 thickly covered with sand, his footsteps were not very audible, 
 and as he was deep in thought, he forbore his usual proceed- 
 ing of talking to himself. 
 
 Just as he entered beneath the scaffolding of the pavilion, he 
 thought he distinguished voices: he paused and listened. 
 There were certainly some persons whispering near him. 
 Kemnat did not like whisperings ; he thought tbem ominous of 
 guilt ; and now he was silent in earnest, for his misgivings 
 brought proof of a conspiracy as firmly and readily as real 
 evidence would have convinced a less suspicious man. 
 
 Presently the whispering ceased, and four figures glided 
 from the curtained gallery. Kemnat strained his eyes to dis- 
 tinguish them, but they were all within the deep shade of the 
 projecting gallery. The moon, however, shone brightly be- 
 yond it ; and as the figures turned round the corner towards 
 the castle, Kemnat saw the objects of his unceasing and it now 
 appeared his just suspicion, namely, the two stranger knights, 
 the Lady Leonora, and the banished superior of the Carmelite 
 monastery ! This was an awful conjunction of evil stars. The 
 Lady Leonora was not absent from her toilette to study astro- 
 nomy the two strange knights were her brothers — and the 
 
 crafty old villain was helping them to some diabolical plot. 
 Such were Kemnat' s prompt conclusions. He waited until the 
 group had had time to reach the castle, and then he stole away, 
 big with the important secret. He went immediately to 
 Frederick's apartment: the prince was not there; the page 
 said he had gone with the Baron Von Durkenheim to the 
 Kaisersaal. Kemnat hastened thither. He found the prince 
 and RafFaello gazing at an oil painting, which he soon knew to 
 be the portrait of his daughter. Above it was suspended the 
 silver wreath. 
 
 " Here is Kemnat," said the prince, " coming to witness the 
 installation of my queen. I can find nothing more beautiful 
 or more virtuous than that," pointing to the painting, " so my 
 £ E 3 
 
THE LEGEND OF 
 
 fair friends must excuse my partiality, if it be such. Raffaello 
 thinks my selection unexceptionable, and I suppose you will 
 agree with him." 
 
 The glad father poured forth his thanks in all the fulness of 
 affection and gratitude ; but when their first ebullition was 
 over, he added somewhat mournfully, " Do you know, prince, 
 I cannot tell where my daughter is all this time ; I have not 
 seen her since the glorious tournament.' , 
 
 "Never fear, Kemnat," answered Frederick; " she cannot 
 fail to know her merit, and she is shrinking from my acknow- 
 ledgment of it." 
 
 This was not very probable. However the proud father 
 thought it so ; and he now proceeded to tell the story of the 
 gallery. The prince and the young baron were struck by the 
 curious circumstance, and promised to be on their guard. It 
 was not, however, thought necessary to interrupt the pleasures 
 of the evening by any abrupt disclosure ; and thus they sepa- 
 rated for the completion of their toilettes. 
 
 Prince Frederick observed a look of peculiar malignancy on 
 the countenance of Leonora, when she entered the ball-room, 
 and saw her lovely rival's portrait, decorated with the envied 
 wreath. He thought it was womanly jealousy and scorn, but 
 that withering look appalled Raffaello, and he felt that it had 
 a victim. 
 
 He left the ball-room, sick at heart, and went directly to 
 Kemnat's apartments, certain of finding him equally ill at ease. 
 He was not mistaken : there sat the poor old man in his arm- 
 chair, in tears. Kemnat started on hearing a footstep. 
 
 " Is that you, Eugenia ? " he asked in hurried accents. 
 
 "It is I, Kemnat; you are anxious? God! what is it 
 that hangs over us both ? what can have happened to Eugenia; 
 my beloved, my own worshipped Eugenia?" 
 
 " God only knows ! but I am sure — my heart tells me — 
 that she is not in this castle ; nay, I do not know whether she 
 even exists ; that fiend Leonora von Luzelstein " 
 
 u Hush, hush, for God's holy sake ! " shrieked the lover, 
 " you will make me mad ; what can we do ? the prince must 
 be in danger. Eugenia too — I saw the triumph of that hated 
 woman, as she gazed on the picture. Eugenia, Eugenia! 
 where is she, Kemnat? Let us fly to seek her ; but oh ! God ! 
 whisper not the possibility that she has fallen a victim to 
 Leonora's jealousy and our neglect ! M 
 
ruprecht's building. 423 
 
 Raffaello rushed from the apartment. He seized a torch, 
 and ran through all the dismal vaults and passages of the 
 castle. He saw nothing, he heard nothing, but half-frantic 
 terror urged him on. . 
 
 Now there was a particular passage that communicated with 
 the Carmelite monastery beneath ; desperation seemed to tell 
 him that it had something to do with the fate of Eugenia. He 
 hurried on, until the low-arched door of entrance to another 
 passage intercepted him. He raised a stone, that was near 
 and knocked furiously against the door. It suddenly opened 
 from within, and enclosed him ; but it was shut as instantly. 
 Poor Raffaello ! he had indeed followed Eugenia. 
 The castle bell tolled the hour of midnight. The ball was 
 over; and without the castle all was, or seemed to be, at rest. 
 The watchers in the towers occasionally told the hour and 
 said that all was well ; but no other sound, unless, indeed, the 
 ominous night-bird ventured to break the sacred spell of silence, 
 intruded on the listening ear. 
 
 Kemnat, exhausted by his exertions, his terrors, and his 
 anxieties, had sunk almost insensible. Prince Frederick, en- 
 tirely overcome, slept heavily on his couch. His brother, the 
 elector, slumbered soundly in the old chamber of Count 
 Ruprecht. The two Gemmingens sat waking and watchful by 
 the side of Frederick. . 
 
 At one o'clock the conspirators had agreed to meet, tor the 
 consummation of their base and impious plot. The Countess 
 von Luzelstein taking the lead in the conspiracy, and defying 
 Heaven as she courted crime, appeared disguised as the Virgin 
 Mary herself, and entered the chamber of the sleeping Louis. 
 » Louis, Louis, Louis ! " said she, in sonorous tones. 
 Poor Louis, in his dream, thought he heard the voice of his 
 deceased wife, and he tremblingly raised his head from the 
 
 Pl1 " Margaret, my own Margaret ! " exclaimed he, still im- 
 perfectly awake. 
 
 " Wake, Louis, and look at me/' continued the same deep- 
 toned voice. 
 
 The elector turned his eyes towards the centre of the room ; 
 a lamp was burning on a pedestal near the couch : as soon as 
 he perceived the phantom, he exclaimed,^ — 
 
 « Great God! who or what art thou? " 
 
 E E 4> 
 
THE LEGEND OP 
 
 « Fear nothing, my son ! The mother of the Saviour brings 
 a blessing for thee and thine, and the assurance of thy soul's 
 salvation. ' 
 
 . .The elector shuddered as he listened to this answer ; he 
 joined his hands together; but what was his horror, when the 
 impious blasphemer proceeded to denounce his beloved brother 
 as a heretic, separated from the church, doomed to everlasting 
 destruction, and hourly occupied in conspiracies against his 
 
 Notwithstanding the phosphoric glory that surrounded the 
 head of the Virgin, and the appalling conviction that she was 
 indeed present to him, Louis's affection for his brother 
 triumphed over every thing; and he proceeded to defend him 
 against the accusations he had just heard. 
 
 "Incredulous and obstinate!" said the spirit. "Do you 
 then refuse to believe my words ? Learn then, that descend- 
 ing just now with my divine escort of holy angels, I found the 
 innce of Darkness with thy abhorred brother. My sudden 
 appearance, and the sight of the celestial spirits, took from him 
 the possibility of flight. There he is chained by my command, 
 and gnawing his fetters. Approach thou King of Hell, thou 
 thirsty hon, thou dragon, drunk with the blood of souls, thou 
 who art nourished by the poison of sin, eternally damned — 
 appear ! ' 
 
 Immediately on this a horrible noise of chains came from 
 the anti-chamber, the door swung upon its hinges, as if a 
 tempest had worked it, and a dreadful roaring, like that of a 
 lion, announced the arrival of the monster. 
 
 As soon as the Carmelite superior had entered under the 
 disguise of Satan, of whose worst imagined attributes he might 
 be considered an exaggeration, he precipitated himself before 
 the Virgin, groaning and crawling ; and she placed her foot 
 upon the bead of the demon. 
 
 At this fearful sight, the deluded elector began to tremble in 
 all his hmbs, his hair stood an end, be clasped his hands 
 together, sprang from his bed, and fell prostrate on the floor 
 1 he well-acted apparition now redoubled her terrifying denun- 
 ciations, and in depriving him of the little reason that was left 
 him, obtained his consent to the sacrifice of his brother. 
 
 The unfortunate and overwhelmed elector sank into' insen- 
 sibility. The perfidious couple took advantage of the moment, 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 425 
 
 to quit the chamber ; and two knights, armed cap-a-pie, re- 
 placed them immediately. 
 
 Their armour was black and brilliant with stars of fire, and 
 poignards were in their hands. After recovering the elector 
 from his swoon, they declared themselves ambassadors of the 
 Holy Secret Tribunal, which had despatched them to the court 
 of the palatinate, with orders to him to yield his brother to 
 them ; taking care in all this, to make their discourse agree 
 with that of the pretended Virgin ; and as soon as the prince 
 was sufficiently recovered, they obliged him to lead them 
 towards Frederick. 
 
 In his impatience, the monk had most unnecessarily gone 
 before them; and he listened anxiously at the door of the 
 prince's apartment. Emboldened by the silence of the place, 
 he softly opened it, by the aid of false keys. He then looked 
 round the room with uneasiness, but the sight of Frederick 
 asleep tranquillized him, and his heart already began to bound 
 with joy, on perceiving that success was as easy as it was cer- 
 tain. But this premature self- congratulation was somewhat 
 checked, on perceiving a slight movement in one of the corners 
 of the room. It was that in which young Otho sat. But he 
 did not happen to be asleep when the devil was pleased to 
 enter the chamber ; and the satanic pageant at first strangely 
 surprised him. He thought, however, that he observed a great 
 degree of hesitation in the manner of entering, and that after- 
 wards the demon seemed to acquire more assurance. This 
 looked more like a trick of this world than of the lower one ; 
 and urged on, either by reasoning or the impulse of natural 
 courage, young Otho darted from his concealment, sword in 
 hand. 
 
 The father confessor, who immediately recognised the young 
 guardian of the prince, thought it expedient to make all pos- 
 sible use of his disguise, in order to intimidate Gemmingen, 
 while he at the same time brandished a poniard. 
 
 The instant that Otho saw the weapon, the masquerade 
 ceased to terrify him. He leaped upon the assassin with the 
 whole weight of his body. The monk, inconvenienced by his 
 infernal accoutrements, was thrown down by the shock. He 
 then had recourse to all such bellowings, hissings, and contor- 
 tions, as he conceived appropriate and becoming in a devil, 
 but a blow from the sword of Gemmingen cleft his head in 
 twain. 
 
426' 
 
 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 " Die, villain ! " exclaimed the intrepid Otho. At this mo- 
 ment, the prince, and Albert von Gemmingen, awakened from 
 their profound sleep, and springing forward, gave the alarm, 
 with loud and simultaneous cries for help. 
 
 At this very moment the elector advanced, escorted by the two 
 chevaliers. The two latter, hearing the tumult, conceived that 
 they had been betrayed, and fled precipitately down the spiral 
 staircase into the vestibule, and away, by the secret passage to 
 the monastery. 
 
 Louis remained alone ; but frozen statue-like with horror, 
 he still stood at the open door, pale, disfigured, his lamp in his 
 hand, and altogether the most fearful spectre that had yet pre- 
 sented itself. - 
 
 Frederick and his friends were transfixed at this sad and 
 still inexplicable sight ; they could not speak, but they stared 
 inquiringly at each other. 
 
 During this pause, the physical strength of the elector, ex- 
 hausted by so many trials, left him once more, and he fell 
 senseless at the feet of his brother. All thought him dead ; 
 the castle was in instant confusion. But the elector's dreadful 
 situation was the thing to be first cared for. They recovered 
 him once more ; but the shock seemed to have done its worst. 
 He was in the most frightful agitation ; and it was not till the 
 morning was far advanced, that they succeeded in calming 
 him. He then only remembered the horrible visions of the 
 night. Daylight gave conviction to the terrified and credulous 
 household ; and all who could be spared from the sick chamber, 
 were anxious to join in the search for the Virgin Mary and 
 the two ambassadors ! 
 
 The Countess von Luzelstein had left the town of Heidel- 
 berg in a close carriage before day -break, and the two stranger 
 knights were no where to be seen. The dead body of the 
 would-be devil explained the untoward personality, connected 
 with the discarded father confessor ; and poor Louis shuddered 
 and wept, as he saw how narrowly his beloved brother had 
 escaped becoming the victim of a detestable plot. He loved 
 him, if possible, the more ; but the shock on Louis's health 
 was fatal. His fever returned in full force. 
 
 Kemnat had been soon roused, and was forward all night 
 amongst the most zealous of the searchers ; and when Prinofl 
 Frederick heard from the sobbing old man the mysterious dis- 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 427 
 
 ippearance of Eugenia, and then again the prolonged ahsence 
 )f Raffaello, who had sworn to find her or expire in the 
 ittempt, the whole vigour of his manly nature returned, and 
 le rushed on to take the lead in the general search. 
 
 One of the first proceedings was to procure a legal document, 
 :o authorise the search of the Carmelite monastery. Several 
 remarkable keys were found concealed in different parts of the 
 confessor's attire ; and each appeared of importance, as every 
 key had a separate place assigned it ; so that hurry or trepida- 
 tion might not create confusion. " The devil," quaintly re- 
 marks the legend, " had been very discreet and consistent in 
 every precautionary detail ; but he should not have peeped 
 into Prince Frederick's sleeping-room, where he was not 
 wanted." 
 
 As the prince and his formidable cortege made their appear- 
 ance at the door of the monastery, surrounded by the indignant 
 populace, and presented the order to the monk who received 
 them, to give up all keys, and with them the possession of the 
 chart and architectural plans of the monastery, with all its 
 secret vaults and passages, the brother looked very much per- 
 plexed ; he declared that the articles which the prince de- 
 manded were not in the power of any monk to procure for 
 him, for that they were locked up in the private sanctuary of 
 the superior. 
 
 " That is enough," replied the prince, « we merely wished 
 to know where to find them. Officers, do your duty ; for- 
 ward, Kemnat, with the keys ! " 
 
 To the astonishment of the monks, who had crowded to the 
 vestibule, a band of soldiers entered the monastery, defiling 
 the mock sanctity -of its unholy walls, filing off in all direc- 
 tions, and one detachment, stronger than the rest, following 
 old Kemnat directly to the apartments of the superior. Prince 
 i Frederick now beckoned to some servants who were carrying a 
 sort of litter. " Bring in the body, and let it be placed in 
 the chapel. The holy brotherhood must learn why we pro- 
 nounce them from this hour removed from our dominions." 
 
 A shout of wild approbation burst from the multitude, to 
 whom the Carmelite brethren were extremely odious. The 
 dead body of the superior, in the costume he had adopted as 
 his last, was now uncovered in the sight of the enraged people, 
 and delivered over to the scandalized brethren, who carried it 
 into the monastery. 
 
428 
 
 THE LEGEND OP 
 
 "Down with the old black walls; — away with them/' 
 shouted the people. 
 
 u Not so fast, my good friends," said the prince, in his 
 most commanding tone and manner. " We do not bear the 
 sword in vain ; justice will be done on the offenders, but no 
 violence." 
 
 At this moment old Kemnat re-appeared, handing to his 
 prince the important chart, numerous other keys, and various 
 papers. 
 
 Thus provided, Frederick rushed once more forward. The 
 monks scowled on him as he passed ; and Kemnat momen- 
 tarily expected to see a dagger glide from beneath some cowl. 
 So he moved on immediately behind the prince, and the Von 
 Gemmingens were on either side of him. 
 
 Frederick studied the chart, as he proceeded along the prin- 
 cipal aisle of the building ; he knew enough of architectural 
 intricacies to be a good guide on the present occasion. He 
 went over the whole of the monastery for mere form's sake; 
 for he never expected to find the objects of his search above 
 ground. As a precaution, however, he left two soldiers in 
 every apartment or corridor that he visited. And now he pre* 
 pared to descend into the vaults and windings beneath. 
 
 He was much astonished to find that one of the secret pas- 
 sages beneath the Jettenbuhl, had a branch communication with 
 the monastery. This explained, as with a beam of light, nu- 
 merous mysterious proceedings of elder date, which could never 
 be accounted for. It seemed also the ready clue to the fate of 
 Eugenia, and perhaps Raffaello ; young Hugo had declared that 
 the Fraulein Eugenia had been left in the gallery the preced- 
 ing day ; and Kemnat's discovery of the evening's visitation to 
 it, told the fate of the lovely girl too plainly. Still the fever of 
 hope lighted up its false beacon in the mind of the wretched 
 father. The prince was not so sanguine ; the sneer of one 
 monk, who seemed more strongly stamped with villany than 
 the rest, made him tremble for the sweet girl, and her rash 
 lover; and as he examined every darkened cell, he expected to 
 encounter some shocking confirmation of his fears. " Lead on 
 to the right ! 91 suddenly exclaimed the prince to the torch 
 bearers. They turned in upon a dark and narrow passage; 
 and after a few paces paused. 
 
 " We cannot proceed further, your highness," 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 429 
 
 The prince hurried forward, and perceived a newly built 
 arch across the passage, half formed, and hastily stopped with 
 stones and rubbish. — " Forward there, with the axes !" 
 
 Kemnatf groaned — the prince placed his hand upon his 
 breast, and leaned against the damp wall. 
 
 The obstruction was soon removed ; and the party hastened p 
 on to the end of the passage, where they were met — by a 
 strong door ! 
 
 " The keys ! " Young Gemmingen took them from the 
 hands of the trembling father, whose eyes wildly glared upon 
 the door, the opening of which was to wither his old heart. 
 
 After many fruitless attempts to fix upon the right key, 
 the door at length slowly receded ; every one caught the panic 
 
 « Shall we enter ? " asked the torch bearers. 
 
 Frederick, certain of meeting with the worst evidence of 
 unfair treatment to one or other of his friends, seized the 
 nearest torch himself, and stepped hastily into the small 
 chamber ; the torch flickered, and he stood an instant within 
 the door, before he could discern any object. At length, 
 however, his eyes rested on something like a projecting altar, 
 with a figure lying upon it. It might be a tomb, an effigy ; 
 he hushed his apprehensions with this rapid conjecture, and 
 cautiously approached the pale corpse that was resting there 
 in Death's own sleep ! " It was too much like the lovely 
 creature it had been, in its serene and perfectly exquisite ex- 
 pression, not to be instantly recognized. 
 
 ! " Oh God ! Eugenia I" ejaculated the prince, and throwing 
 down the torch, he burst into passionate tears and clasped the 
 cold burthen to his breast. A shriek of horror and despair 
 announced the fearful certainty : — but an old man laughed 
 hysterically, and rushed through the group that was crowding 
 into the apartment. — 
 
 « Ha, ha, ha ! she is mine, give her to me ; it is my child ; 
 I will have her, you shall not hold me ; devil and fiends of 
 hell, don't mock an aged man ! " — And with these hideous 
 words, and more hideous laughing and shouting, old Kemnat 
 attempted to seize the corpse, and fell in strong convulsions 
 at the prince's feet. 
 
 Frederick recovered his presence of mind instantly ; and 
 ordering the parent to be carried quickly into the open air, 
 he himself took up in his arms all that was mortal of a thing 
 divine. 
 
430 
 
 THE LEGEND OP 
 
 We must imagine the rage of the citizens when the melan- 
 choly truth came into open day. The people and the soldiers 
 could scarcely be restrained from tearing the edifice down, 
 and maltreating the monks. These, however, were ordered 
 to secure their doors, and to remain within them until the 
 pleasure of the elector should be made known to them. 
 
 On ascending by the northern entrance, they were met by 
 a group of soldiers, running at full speed : — " They have 
 escaped, they have escaped ; the Counts of Luzelstein have 
 escaped by the mountain." 
 
 " Good God, what is this ? " exclaimed the prince. 
 
 (i We were on duty near the terrace on the east ; and sud- 
 denly two figures, dreadful to look at, rose from the ground, 
 like evil spirits ; we were all terrified ; but as soon as they per- 
 ceived us, they sprang towards us, and striking to the right 
 and left with battle-axes, they forced their way through the 
 guard, and we then saw that they were the two knights of the 
 Secret Tribunal that his highness saw last night." 
 
 " Cowards ! " impatiently exclaimed Frederick, — " forward 
 to the pursuit, my brave fellows," said he, addressing his 
 immediate followers; and leaving the sad servants to carry 
 the two litters, the soldiers, and the prince at their head, 
 rushed with lightning speed up to the northern gate. 
 
 It is useless to tell that the two counts had found them- 
 selves detained in the monastery passage, for want of the 
 keys; and that they chose a favourable moment for their 
 escape ; moreover, they effected it, for the prince returned 
 from a vain pursuit. His anxiety respecting the still unde- 
 cided fate of Raffaello perhaps reconciled him to deferring 
 the punishment he meant to inflict. 
 
 The secret passage was, of course, searched ; and the door, 
 at which poor Raffaello had knocked so furiously, and which 
 had seemed to open its jaws and swallow him alive, now gave 
 up the dead ; for the first thing that the guide stumbled 
 against, was the murdered Italian ! 
 
 He and the beautiful Eugenia were united in death, if they 
 could not be so in life; one tomb contained them, ami was 
 ever afterwards called the ' Lover's Grave.' Old Kemnat 
 never completely recovered his senses ; but he wandered about 
 harmlessly, and would sit whole days by the side of his child's 
 monument, declaring that he was waiting to see it change 
 
ruprecht's building. 
 
 431 
 
 into the angel of the resurrection. The good elector breathed 
 his last shortly after the interment of the lovers ; and the 
 castle was long a scene of woe. The Carmelites were driven 
 out, and the castle of Luzelstein levelled with the ground,, 
 the two counts having perished in the bursting of a mine be- 
 neath the tower which they defended. 
 
 Victory, however, called upon her favourite son ; and Fre- 
 derick hastened to forget his sorrows, in taking the command 
 of the confederate German troops, to oppose an invasion of 
 the Turks. 
 
 THE END. 
 
London : 
 Spottiswoooes and Shaw, 
 New-street- Square.