CHAPTER VIII.
On the countenance of Sperver was an expression of suppressed wrath, onthat of his companion bitter irony. This worthy sportsman, whose woefulphysiognomy had struck me on my first arrival at Nideck, was as thin anddry as a lath. His hunting-jacket was girded tightly about him by hisbelt, from which hung a hunting-knife with a horn handle; long leatherngaiters came above his knees; the horn went over his shoulder fromright to left, the wide-expanded opening under his arm; on his head awide-brimmed hat, with a heron's plume in the buckle. His profile, comingto a point in a reddish tuft, looked not unlike a goat's.
"Yes," cried Sperver, "I have got strange things to tell you."
He threw himself in a chair, seizing his head between his clenched hands,while dismal Sebalt calmly drew his horn over his head and laid it on thetable.
"Now, Sebalt," cried Gideon, "speak out."
"The witch is hanging about the castle."
This piece of intelligence would have failed to interest me before seeingMarie Lagoutte, but now it struck more forcibly. There certainly was somemysterious connection between the lord of Nideck and that old woman. Iknew nothing of the nature of this connection, and I felt that, atwhatever cost, I must know it.
"Just wait a moment, friends," said I to Sperver and his comrade. "I wantto know, first of all, where does this Black Pest come from?"
Sperver stared at me with astonishment.
"Come from? Who can tell that?"
"Very well, you can't. But when does she come within sight of Nideck?"
"As I told you, ten days before Christmas, at the same time every year."
"And how long does she stay?"
"A fortnight or three weeks."
"Is she ever seen before? Not even on her way? Nor after?"
"No."
"Then we shall have to catch her, seize upon her," I cried. "This iscontrary to nature. We must find out where she comes from, what she wantshere, what she is."
"Lay hold of her!" exclaimed Sperver; "seize her! Do you mean it?" and heshook his head. "Fritz, your advice is good enough in its way, but it iseasier said than done. I could very easily send a bullet after her,almost at any time; but the count won't consent to that measure; and asfor catching in any other way than by powder and shot, why, you hadbetter go first and catch a squirrel by the tail! Listen to Sebalt'sstory, and you shall judge for yourself."
The master of the hounds, sitting on the table with his long legscrossed, fixed his eyes mournfully upon me, and began his tale.
"This morning, as I was coming down from the Altenberg, I followed thehollow road to Nideck. The snow filled it up entirely. I was going on myway, thinking of nothing particular, when I noticed a foot-track; it wasdeep down, and went across the road. The person had come down the bankand gone up on the other side. It was not a soft hare's foot, whichhardly leaves an impression, it was not forked like a wild boar's track,it was not like a cloven hoof, such as the wolf's--it was a deep hole. Istopped and stooped down, and cleared away the loose snow that fellround, and came upon the very track of the Black Pest!"
"Are you sure it was that?"
"Of course I am. I know the old woman by her foot better than by herfigure, for I always go, sir, with my eyes on the ground. I knoweverybody by their tracks; and as for this one, a child might know it."
"What, then, distinguishes this foot so particularly?"
"It is so small that you could cover it with your hand; it is finelyshaped, the heel is rather long, the outline clean, the great toe liesclose to the other toes, and they are all as fine as if they were in alady's slipper. It is a lovely foot. Twenty years ago I should havefallen in love with a foot like that. Whenever I come across it, it hassuch an effect upon me! No one would believe that such a foot couldbelong to the Black Plague."
And the poor fellow, joining his hands together, contemplated the stonefloor with doleful eyes.
"Well, Sebalt, what next?" asked Sperver impatiently.
"Ah, yes, to be sure! Well, I recognised that track and started off inpursuit. I was hoping to catch the creature in her lair, but I will tellyou the way she took me. I climbed up the bank by the roadside, only twogunshots from Nideck. I go along the hill, keeping the track on my right;it led along the side of the wood in the Rhethal. All at once it jumpsover the ditch into the wood. I stuck to it, but, happening to look alittle to my left, I saw another track which had, been following theBlack Plague. I stopped short: was it Sperver's? or Kasper Trumpfs? orwhose? I came to it, and you may fancy how astounded I was when I sawthat it was nobody from our place! I know every foot in the Schwartzwaldfrom Fribourg to Nideck. That foot was like none of ours. It must havecome from a distance. The boot--for it was a kind of well-made, softgentleman's boot, with spurs, which leave a little print behind them--theboot was not round at the toes, but square. The sole was thin, and bentwith every step, and it had no nails in it. The walk was rapid, and theshort steps were like those of a young man of twenty to five-and-twenty.I noticed the stitches in the side leather at once, and I think I neversaw finer."
"Who can this be?" Sperver exclaimed.
Sebalt raised his shoulders and extended his hands, but said nothing.
"Who can have any object in following the old woman?" I asked Sperver.
"No one on earth can tell," was the reply.
And so we sat a few minutes meditating over what we had heard.
At last he went on again with his narrative:--
"I kept following the track; it went up the next ridge through thepine-forest. When it doubled round the Koche Fendue I said to myself,'Ah, you accursed plague! If there was much game of your sort there wouldnot be much sport; it would be preferable to work like a nigger!' So weall three arrive--the two tracks and I--at the top of the Schneeberg.There the wind had been blowing hard; the snow was knee-deep--but nomatter! I must get on! I got to the edge of the torrent of the Steinbach,and there I lost the track. I halted, and I saw that, after trying up anddown in several directions, the gentleman's boots had gone down theTiefenbach. That was a bad sign. I looked along the other side of thetorrent, but there was no appearance of a track there--none at all! Theold hag had paddled up and down the stream to throw any one off the scentwho should try to follow her. Where was I to go to?--right, or left, orstraight on? Not knowing, I came back to Nideck."
"You haven't told us about her breakfast," said Sperver.
"No, I was forgetting. At the foot of Roche Fendue I saw there had been afire; there was a black place; I laid my hand upon it, thinking it mightbe warm, which would have proved that the Black Plague had not gone far;but it was as cold as ice. Close by I saw a wire trap in the bushes. Itseems the creature knows how to snare game. A hare had been caught in it;the print of its body was still plain, lying flat in the snow. The witchhad lighted the fire to cook it; she had had a good breakfast, I'll bebound."
At this Sperver cried indignantly--
"Just fancy that old witch living on meat while so many honest folks inour villages have nothing better than potatoes to eat! That's what upsetsme, Fritz! Ah! if I had but--"
But his thoughts remained untold; he turned deadly pale, and all three ofus, in a moment, stood rigid and motionless, staring with horror at eachother's ghastly countenances.
A yell--the howling cry of the wolf in the long, cold days of winter--thecry which none can imagine who has not heard the most fearful andharrowing of all bestial sounds--that fearful cry was echoing through thecastle not far from us! It rose up the spiral staircase, it filled themassive building as if the hungry, savage beast was at our door!
Travellers speak of the deep roar of the lion troubling the silence ofthe night amidst the rocky deserts of Africa; but while the tropicalregions, sultry and baked, resound with the vibrations of the mightyvoice of the savage monarch of the desert, making the air tremble withthe distant thunder of his awful cry, the vast snowy deserts of the Northtoo have their characteristic cry--a strange, lamentable yell that seemsto suit the character
of the dreary winter scene. That voice of theNorthern desert is the howl of the wolf!
The instant after this awful sound had broken upon the silence followedanother formidable body of discordant sounds--the baying and yelling ofsixty hounds--answering from the ramparts of Nideck. The whole pack gavevoice at the same moment--the deep bay of the bloodhound, the sharp cryof the pointer, the plaintive yelpings of the spaniels, and themelancholy howl of the mastiffs, all mingling in confusion with therattling of dog-chains, the shaking of the kennels under the strugglesof the hounds to get loose; and, dominating over all, the long, dismal,prolonged note of the wolf's monotonous howl; his was the leading partin this horrible canine concert!
Sperver sprang from his seat and ran out upon the platform to see if awolf had dropped into the moat. But no--the howling came from neither.Then turning to us he cried--
"Fritz! Sebalt!--come, come quickly!"
We flew down the steps four at a time and rushed into the fencing-school.Here we heard the cry of the wolf alone, prolonged beneath the echoingarches the distant barking and yelling of the pack became almostinaudible in the distance; the dogs were hoarse with rage and excitement,their chains were getting entangled together. Perhaps they werestrangling each other.
Sperver drew the keen blade of his hunting-knife. Sebalt did the same;they preceded me down the gallery.
Then the fearful sounds became our guide to the sick man's room. Sperverspoke no more; he hurried forward. Sebalt stretched his long legs. I felta shuddering horror creep through my whole frame--a horrible presentimentof something shocking and abominable came over us.
As we approached the apartments of the count we met the whole householdafoot--the gamekeepers, the huntsmen, the kennel-keepers, the scullionswere all mingled and jostling each other, asking--
"What is the matter? Where are those cries coming from?"
Without stopping we ran into the passage which led into the count'sbedroom, where we met poor Marie Lagoutte, who alone had had the courageto penetrate thither before us. She was holding in her arms the youngcountess, who had fainted, her head falling back, her hair flowing downbehind her; she was carrying her away as fast as she could.
We passed her so rapidly that we scarcely had time to witness this sadsight. But it has since returned to my memory, and the pale face of Odilelying on the ample shoulders of the good servant still makes a vividimpression upon my memory, resembling the poor lamb presenting its throatto the knife without a complaint, dying with fear before the strokefalls.
At last we had reached the count's chamber.
The howling came from behind his door.
We stole fearful glances at one another without attempting to account forthe hideous noise, or explaining the presence of such a wild guest in thehouse. Indeed, we had no time; our ideas were in dire and utterconfusion.
Sperver hastily pushed the door open, and, knife in hand, was dartinginto the room; but he stood arrested on the threshold motionless as astone.
Never have I seen such a picture of horror as he displayed standingrooted there, with his eyes starting from his head, and his mouth wideopen and gasping for breath.
I gazed over his shoulder, and the sight that met my eyes made the bloodrun chill as snow in my veins.
The lord of Nideck, crouching on all fours upon his bed, with his armsbending forward, his head carried low, his eyes glaring with fiercefires, was uttering loud, protracted howlings!
He was the wolf!
That low receding forehead, that sharp-pointed face, that foxy-lookingbeard, bristling off both cheeks; the long meagre figure, the sinewylimbs, the face, the cry. The attitude, declared the presence of the wildbeast half-hidden, half-revealed under a human mask!
At times he would stop for a second and listen attentively with headawry, and then the crimson hangings would tremble with the quivering ofhis limbs, like foliage shaken by the wind; then the melancholy wailwould open afresh.
Sperver, Sebalt, and I stood nailed to the floor; we held our breath,petrified with fear.
Suddenly the count stopped. As a wild beast scents the wind, he liftedhis head and listened again.
There, there, far away, down among the thick fir forests, whitened withdense patches of snow, a cry was heard in reply--weak at first; then thesound rose and swelled in a long protracted howl, drowning the feeblerefforts of the hounds: it was the she-wolf answering the wolf!
Sperver, turning round awe-stricken, his countenance pale as ashes,pointed to the mountain, and murmured low--
"Listen--there's the witch!"
And the count still crouching motionless, but with his head now raisedin the attitude of attention, his neck outstretched, his eyes burning,seemed to understand the meaning of that distant voice, lost amidst thepasses and peaks of the Schwartzwald, and a kind of fearful joy gleamedin his savage features.
At this moment, Sperver, unable or unwilling to restrain himself anylonger, cried in a voice broken with emotion--
"Count of Nideck--what are you doing?"
The count fell back thunderstruck. We rushed into the room to his help.It was time. The third attack had commenced, and it was terrible towitness!