CHAPTER X.
I wandered around the castle of Nideck unable to find the exit fromwhich I had commenced my melancholy journey.
So much anxiety and uneasiness were beginning to tell upon my mind; Istaggered on, wondering if I was not mad, unable to believe in what I hadseen, and yet alarmed at the clearness of my own perceptions.
My mind in confusion passed in review that strange man waving his torchoverhead in the darkness, howling like a wolf, coldly and accuratelygoing through all the details of an imaginary murder without the omissionof one ghastly detail or circumstance, then escaping and committing tothe furious torrent the secret of his crime; these things all harassed mymind, hurried confusedly past my eyes, and made me feel as if I werelabouring under a nightmare.
Lost in the snow, I ran to and fro panting and alarmed, and unable tojudge which way to direct my steps.
As day drew near the cold became sharper; I shivered, I execrated Sperverfor having brought me from Fribourg to bear a part in this hideousadventure.
At last, exhausted, my beard a mass of ice, my ears nearly frostbitten, Idiscovered the gate and rang the bell with all my might.
It was then about four in the morning. Knapwurst made me wait a terriblylong time. His little lodge, cut in the rock, remained silent; I thoughtthe little humpbacked wretch would never have done dressing; for ofcourse I supposed he would be in bed and asleep.
I rang again.
This time his grotesque figure appeared abruptly, and he cried to me fromthe door in a fury--
"Who are you?"
"I?--Doctor Fritz."
"Oh, that alters the case," and he went back into his lodge for alantern, crossed the outer court where the snow came up to his middle,and staring at me through the grating, he exclaimed--
"I beg your pardon, Doctor Fritz; I thought you would be asleep up therein Hugh Lupus's tower. Were _you_ ringing? Now that explains why Spervercame to me about midnight to ask if anybody had gone out. I said no,which was quite true, for I never saw you going out."
"But pray, Monsieur Knapwurst, do for pity's sake let me in, and I willtell you all about that by-and-by."
"Come, come, sir, a little patience."
And the hunchback, with the slowest deliberation, undid the padlock andslipped the bars, whilst my teeth were chattering, and I stood shiveringfrom head to foot.
"You are very cold, doctor," said the diminutive man, "and you cannot getinto the castle. Sperver has fastened the inside door, I don't know why;he does not usually do so; the outer gate is enough. Come in here and getwarm. You won't find my little hole very inviting, though. It is nothingbut a sty, but when a man is as cold as you are he is not apt to beparticular."
Without replying to his chatter I followed him in as quickly as I could.
We went into the hut, and in spite of my complete state of numbness, Icould not help admiring the state of picturesque disorder in which Ifound the place. The slate roof leaning against the rock, and resting byits other side on a wall not more than six feet high, showed the smoky,blackened rafters from end to end.
The whole edifice consisted of but one apartment, furnished with a veryuninviting bed, which the dwarf did not often take the trouble to make,and two small windows with hexagonal panes, weather-stained with therainbow tints of mother-of-pearl. A large square table filled up themiddle, and it would be difficult to account for that massive oak slabbeing got in unless by supposing it to have been there before the hut wasbuilt.
On shelves against the wall were rolls of parchment, and old books greatand small. Wide open on the table lay a fine black-letter volume, withilluminations, bound in vellum, clasped and cornered with silver,apparently a collection of old chronicles. Besides there was nothing buttwo leathern arm-chairs, bearing on them the unmistakable impression ofthe misshapen figure of this learned gentleman.
I need not stay to do more than mention the pens, the jar of tobacco,five or six pipes lying here and there, and in a corner a small cast-ironstove, with its low, open door wide open, and throwing out now and then avolley of bright sparks; and to complete the picture, the cat arching herback, and spitting threateningly at me with her armed paw uplifted.
All this scene was tinted with that deep rich amber light in which theold Flemish painters delighted, and of which they alone possessed thesecret, and never left it to the generations after them.
"So you went out last night, doctor?" inquired my host, after we had bothinstalled ourselves, and while I had my hands in a warm place upon thestove.
"Yes, pretty early," I answered. "I had to look after a patient."
This brief explanation seemed to satisfy the little hunchback, and helighted his blackened boxwood pipe, which was hanging over his chin.
"You don't smoke, doctor?"
"I beg your pardon, I do."
"Well, fill any one of these pipes. I was here," he said, spreading hisyellow hand over the open volume. "I was reading the chronicles ofHertzog when you came."
"Ah, that accounts for the time I had to wait! Of course you stayed tofinish the chapter?" I said, smiling.
He owned it, grinning, and we both laughed together.
"But if I had known it was you," he said, "I should have finished thechapter another time."
There was a short silence, during which I was observing the very peculiarphysiognomy of this misshapen being--those long deep wrinkles that moatedin his wide mouth, his small eyes with the crow's feet at the outercorners, that contorted nose, bulbous at its end, and especially thathuge double-storied forehead of his. The whole figure reminded me not alittle of the received pictures of Socrates, and while warming myself andlistening to the crackling of the fire, I went off into contemplations onthe very diversified fortunes of mankind.
"Here is this dwarf," I thought, "an ill-shaped, stunted caricature,banished into a corner of Nideck, and living just like the cricket thatchirps beneath the hearthstone. Here is this little Knapwurst, who in themidst of excitement, grand hunts, gallant trains of horsemen coming andgoing, the barking of the hounds, the trampling of the horses, and theshouts of the hunters, is living quietly all alone, buried in his books,and thinking of nothing but the times long gone by, whilst joy or sorrow,songs or tears, fill the world around him, while spring and summer,autumn and winter, come and look in through his dim windows, by turnsbrightening, warming, and benumbing the face of nature outside. Whilstmen in the outer world are subject to the gentle influences of love, orthe sterner impulses of ambition or avarice, hoping, coveting, longing,and desiring, he neither hopes, nor desires, nor covets anything. As longas he is smoking his pipe, with his eyes feasting on a musty parchment,he lives in the enjoyment of dreams, and he goes into raptures overthings long, long ago gone by, or which have never existed at all; it isall one to him. 'Hertzog says so and so, somebody else tells the tale adifferent way,' and he is perfectly happy! His leathery face gets moreand more deeply wrinkled, his broken angular back bends into sharperangles and corners, his pointed elbows dig beds for themselves in the oaktable, his skinny fingers bury themselves in his cheeks, his piggish greyeyes get redder over manuscripts, Latin, Greek, or mediaeval. He fallsinto raptures, he smacks his lips, he licks his chops like a cat over adainty dish, and then he throws himself upon that dirty litter, with hisknees up to his chin, and he thinks he has had a delightful day! Oh,Providence of God, is a man's duty best done, are his responsibilitiesbest discharged, at the top or at the bottom of the scale of human life?"
But the snow was melting away from my legs, the balmy warmth of the stovewas shedding a pleasant influence over my feelings, and I felt myselfreviving in this mixed atmosphere of tobacco-smoke and burning pine-wood.
Knapwurst gravely laid his pipe on the table, and reverently spreadinghis hand upon the folio, said in a voice that seemed to issue from thebottom of his consciousness; or, if you like it better, from the bottomof a twenty-gallon cask--
"Doctor Fritz, here is the law and the prophets!"
"How so? what do
you mean?"
"Parchment--old parchment--that is what I love! These old yellow, rusty,worm-eaten leaves are all that is left to us of the past, from the daysof Charlemagne until this day. The oldest families disappear, the oldparchments remain. Where would be the glory of the Hohenstauffens, theLeiningens, the Nidecks, and of so many other families of renown? Wherewould be the fame of their titles, their deeds of arms, their magnificentarmour, their expeditions to the Holy Land, their alliances, their claimsto remote antiquity, their conquests once complete, now long agoannulled? Where would be all those grand claims to historic fame withoutthese parchments? Nowhere at all. Those high and mighty barons, thosegreat dukes and princes, would be as if they had never been--they andeverything that related to them far and near. Their strong castles,their palaces, their fortresses fall and moulder away into masses ofruin, vague remembrancers! Of all that greatness one monument aloneremains--the chronicles, the songs of bards and minnesingers. Parchmentalone remains!"
He sat silent for a moment, and then pursued his reflections.
"And in those distant times, while knights and squires rode out to war,and fought and conquered or fought and fell over the possession of a nookin a forest, or a title, or a smaller matter still, with what scorn andcontempt did they not look down upon the wretched little scribbler, theman of mere letters and jargon, half-clothed in untanned hides, his onlyweapon an inkhorn at his belt, his pennon the feather of a goosequill!How they laughed at him, calling him an atom or a flea, good for nothing!'He does nothing, he cannot even collect our taxes, or look after ourestates, whilst we bold riders, armed to the teeth, sword in hand andlance on thigh, we fight, and we are the finest fellows in the land!' Sothey said when they saw the poor devil dragging himself on foot aftertheir horses' heels, shivering in winter and sweating in summer, rustingand decaying in old age. Well, what has happened? That flea, that vermin,has kept them in the memory of men longer than their castles stood, longafter their arms and their armour had rusted in the ground. I love thoseold parchments. I respect and revere them. Like ivy, they clothe theruins and keep the ancient walls from crumbling into dust and perishingin oblivion!"
Having thus delivered himself, a solemn expression stole over hisfeatures, and his own eloquence made the tears of moved affection tosteal down his furrowed cheeks.
The poor hunchback evidently loved those who had borne with and protectedhis unwarlike but clever ancestors. And after all he spoke truly, andthere was profound good sense in his words.
I was surprised, and said, "Monsieur Knapwurst, do you know Latin?"
"Yes, sir," he answered, but without conceit, "both Latin and Greek. Itaught myself. Old grammars were quite enough; there were some old booksof the count's, thrown by as rubbish; they fell into my hands, and Idevoured them. A little while after the count, hearing me drop a Latinquotation, was quite astonished, and said, 'When did you learn Latin,Knapwurst?' 'I taught myself, monseigneur.' He asked me a few questions,to which I gave pretty good answers. '_Parbleu!_' he cried, 'Knapwurstknows more than I do; he shall keep my records.' So he gave me the keysof the archives; that was thirty years ago. Since that time I have readevery word. Sometimes, when the count sees me mounted upon my ladder, hesays, 'What are you doing now, Knapwurst?' 'I am reading the familyarchives, monseigneur.' 'Aha! is that what you enjoy?' 'Yes, very much.''Come, come, I am glad to hear it, Knapwurst; but for you, who wouldknow anything about the glory of the house of Nideck?' And off he goeslaughing. I do just as I please."
"So he is a very good master, is he?"
"Oh, Doctor Fritz, he is the kindest-hearted master! he is so frank andso pleasant!" cried the dwarf, with hands clasped. "He has but onefault."
"And what may that be?"
"He has no ambition."
"How do you prove that?"
"Why, he might have been anything he pleased. Think of a Nideck, one ofthe very noblest families in Germany! He had but to ask to be made aminister or a field-marshal. Well! he desired nothing of the sort. Whenhe was no longer a young man he retired from political life. Except thathe was in the campaign in France at the head of a regiment he raised athis own expense, he has always lived far away from noise and battle;plain and simple, and almost unknown, he seemed to think of nothing buthis hunting."
These details were deeply interesting to me. The conversation was of itsown accord taking just the turn I wished it to take, and I resolved toget my advantage out of it.
"So the count has never had any exciting deeds in hand?"
"None, Doctor Fritz, none whatever; and that is the pity. A nobleexcitement is the glory of great families. It is a misfortune for a noblerace when a member of it is devoid of ambition; he allows his family tosink below its level. I could give you many examples. That which would bevery fortunate in a trader's family is the greatest misfortune in anobleman's."
I was astonished; for all my theories upon the count's past life werefalling to the earth.
"Still, Monsieur Knapwurst, the lord of Nideck has had great sorrows, hadhe not?"
"Such as what?"
"The loss of his wife."
"Yes, you are right there; his wife was an angel; he married her forlove. She was a Zaan, one of the oldest and best nobility of Alsace, buta family ruined by the Revolution. The Countess Odile was the delight ofher husband. She died of a decline which carried her off after fiveyears' illness. Every plan was tried to save her life. They travelled inItaly together but she returned worse than she went, and died a few weeksafter their return. The count was almost broken-hearted, and for twoyears he shut himself up and would see no one. He neglected his houndsand his horses. Time at last calmed his grief, but there is always aremainder of grief," said the hunchback, pointing with his finger to hisheart; "you understand very well, there is still a bleeding wound. Oldwounds you know, make themselves felt in change of weather--and oldsorrows too--in spring when the flowers bloom again, and in autumn whenthe dead leaves cover the soil. But the count would not marry again; allhis love is given to his daughter."
"So the marriage was a happy one throughout?"
"Happy! why it was a blessing for everybody."
I said no more. It was plain that the count had not committed, and couldnot have committed, a crime. I was obliged to yield to evidence. But,then, what was the meaning of that scene at night, that strangeconnection with the Black Pest, that fearful acting, that remorse ina dream, which impelled the guilty to betray their past atrocities?
I lost myself in vain conjectures.
Knapwurst relighted his pipe, and handed me one, which I accepted.
By that time the icy numbness which had laid hold of me had nearly passedaway, and I was enjoying that pleasant sense of relief which followsgreat fatigue when by the chimney-corner in a comfortable easy-chair,veiled in wreaths of tobacco-smoke, you yield to the luxury of repose,and listen idly to the duet between the chirping of a cricket on thehearth and the hissing of the burning log.
So we sat for a quarter of an hour.
At last I ventured to remark--
"But sometimes the count gets angry with his daughter?"
Knapwurst started, and fixing a sinister, almost a fierce and hostile eyeupon me, answered--
"I know, I know!"
I watched him narrowly, thinking I might learn something now in supportof my theory, but he simply added ironically--
"The towers of Nideck are high, and slander flies too low to reach theirelevation!"
"No doubt; but still it is a fact, is it not?"
"Oh yes, so it is; but after all it is only a craze, an effect of hiscomplaint. As soon as the crisis is past all his love for mademoisellecomes back. I assure you, sir, that a lover of twenty could not be moredevoted, more affectionate, than he is. That young girl is his pride andhis joy. A dozen times have I seen him riding away to get a dress, orflowers, or what not, for her. He went off alone, and brought back thearticles in triumph, blowing his horn. He would have entrusted sodelicate a commission to no one, not even to Sperv
er, whom he is so fondof. Mademoiselle never dares express a wish in his hearing lest he shouldstart off and fulfil it at once. The lord of Nideck is the worthiestmaster, the tenderest father, and the kindest and most upright of men.Those poachers who are for ever infesting our woods, the old Count Ludwigwould have strung them up without mercy; our count winks at them; he eventurns them into gamekeepers. Look at Sperver! why, if Count Ludwig wasalive, Sperver's bones would long ago have been rattling in chains;instead of which he is head huntsman at the castle."
All my theories were now in a state of disorganisation. I laid my headbetween my hands and thought a long while.
Knapwurst, supposing that I was asleep, had turned to his folio again.
The grey dawn was now peeping in, and the lamp turning pale. Indistinctvoices were audible in the castle.
Suddenly there was a noise of hurried steps outside. I saw some one passbefore the window, the door opened abruptly, and Gideon appeared at thethreshold.