Chapter IV: Part 4

The morrow of the 27th of July was come. In Barthel Wallach's great room on the ground floor, just before the entrance, sat Christopher Friend with his guests at the epicurean banquet, while the upper seat was graced by the betrothed pair. The first course was removed; the strong dark Hungary went unremittingly about the table in the great cups; and while the females, according to the good old custom, seemed only to kiss the goblet, the men drained it frequently till their faces glowed, and many a broad jest cast the reflection of this red upon the delicate cheeks of the ladies. Tausdorf only sat still and wrapt up in himself, and with his fork scratched letters on the pewter-dish before him.

"What ails you?" said the mild Althea sportively, and passed her white hand across his eyes. "You are not yourself, and cannot plead in excuse that your thoughts are absent with the object of your passion, for she sits by you in her honoured person, and you trouble yourself but little about her."

"My good Althea!" sighed Tausdorf, and with a mournful smile kissed the hand that caressed him.

"And what are you graving so earnestly upon the plate? I must see it, and woe betide you if it should be the name of a fortunate rival."

She bent down more closely to read what he had written.

"_Memento mori!_ For God's sake, how is it that you are seized on a sudden with these death-thoughts at a pleasure-banquet?"

"It is a way of mine to think on death in the midst of enjoyment. I deem it pardonable at least, as in return one can blend with death the thought of the eternal joy that waits us in the world beyond."

"My worthy Herr von Tausdorf," interrupted Christopher with a disagreeable laugh, "I do not doubt your oratorical powers, or your piety, and am convinced that you could, if you pleased, make an excellent funeral sermon extempore; but that would be too dull an entertainment with the full goblet: therefore take up the glass before you, and pledge me as fairly as I pledge you to the health of your noble bride."

Tausdorf seized the goblet, but again lost himself in a sea of thought, and forgot to pledge.

"Well, dreamer," said the intended bride with good-humoured reproach, "do you hesitate to drink the health of your Althea?"

He raised the cup mechanically, drank, and set it down again. Schindel, who sat near him, was surprised.

"What is the matter with you, Tausdorf? I never saw you thus before?"

"I do not comprehend myself. An anxiety has possessed me, as if I were to commit a murder. It must have been so that the poor king, Saul, felt when the evil spirit was upon him. I am ashamed of this childish feeling, and yet I can so little master it, that I shudder every time the door opens, thinking that some great misfortune must enter under a dreadful form."

"All this comes only of thick blood," replied Schindel; "you must be bled."

As he spoke the word, the door was flung open, and Francis Friend burst into the room with his usual impetuosity.

"Ah, woe!" cried Althea.

Schindel clasped his hands in terror, while Christopher asked piteously, "Why, whence do you come, brother? I thought you were long ago at Freiburg, and enjoying yourself?"

"He is a fool," replied Francis, "who hunts after pleasure miles off, when he knows where to find it at once. I heard yesterday of your present feasting, upon which I thought directly of surprising you, and put off mine."

"Well, all that's true," said Christopher; "you have surprised us all, and most agreeably: so let us draw together. Set yourself here at my right hand, and enjoy with us the meat and drink that God has sent us."

"Spare all this idle talk," cried Francis, "I'll find out a good place for myself;" and he carried his chair to the upper part of the room, seating himself between Tausdorf and Schindel, and saying to the former, "I see by your place near my cousin that you are the knight Tausdorf. I'm glad to have an opportunity of knowing you, for though I do not in general care much about the nobles, you please me well. There is a command and intelligence about you such as one does not usually see in your knights. For the rest, I am the wild Frank Friend, of whom no doubt you have heard all manner of stories, and more bad than good. In troth, I am a mad companion, but I mean it fairly with him who means it fairly with me, and I now heartily wish you joy of your marriage with my handsome cousin Althea here."

Tausdorf returned a fitting compliment, while Schindel, who had got behind Althea's chair, whispered to her, "The bear does not seem in one of his worst bear-moods to-day. Heaven help us farther."

In the mean time the second course was served up. Francis ate little, but stuck so much the more diligently to the wine, and kept up a constant talk with Tausdorf, in a tone of frank importunity, which did not sit amiss upon him. Soon the conversation turned upon the Turkish war; and he was ready to leap out of his skin for joy on finding that Tausdorf had served against the infidels in Transylvania, at the very time he had been fighting with them in Hungary.

"Heaven confound me!" he cried, while his face glowed with drinking; and holding up the goblet--"Why, you please me better and better, comrade, and therefore we'll now pledge each other in a brave draught, and swear eternal friendship and brotherhood."

Tausdorf hesitated at this unexpected proposal, and was about to decline it courteously, when Althea pressed his hand under the table, and in low brief words requested him to accede for her sake; upon which he took up the crystal goblet, and Francis did the same to pledge him; but in the moment that the glasses touched, both rang hollowly, and burst with a sharp jarring sound, which echoed lamentably through the wide hall, while the noble wine poured down in streams upon the floor, to the indignation of the avaricious Christopher, who called out, "You are, and always will be, Frank the clumsy, and do nothing like rational people; all with noise and fury. You have broken now my beautiful crystal cups with your rough pledging."

"Yes, every thing is to be laid to me," growled Francis: "I pledged my goblet as neatly as possible; it was not till afterwards that both broke, and how that chanced, the devil only knows."

"It is not your brother's fault," said Tausdorf, drying the wine from his doublet. "I do not myself understand how it happened."

"We have examples," observed Schindel thoughtfully, "that empty glasses have broken upon people calling out loudly in the same key to which they were tuned; but these goblets were full, and all was still in the room. God grant that this accident may not prognosticate the rupture of your new-formed friendship as early as the glasses!"

"No fear of rupture," cried Francis, shaking Tausdorf's hand cordially. "We must both agree to that first, but our hearts have been amalgamated and hardened together in the same war-fire, and will hold together for life and death."

"Gentlemen," said the butler, entering with a respectful bow, "there are some well-dressed personages--masks,--standing without, before the door, who would ask of the honourable company through me whether they may come in to amuse you with song and dance, and other allowable pleasantries."

"They are welcome," cried the restless Francis, starting up. "This tedious sitting at table has long been abominable to me."

He ran to the door and opened it. Three gipsies danced in, playing with pipe, triangle, and tambourine: these were followed by three females in black clothes, slashed with red, and wearing black masks.

"Trim wenches, brother," said Francis, with eager look, to Tausdorf, upon whose chair he was leaning. "So slim, and at the same time so full! By heavens! it makes one wish to become a gipsy for the pleasure of possessing them."

"This masking is not to my taste," replied Tausdorf. "The burning eyes that sparkle from the fixed black faces have to me something almost supernatural. The open brow, and an open heart whether in joy or grief, are what I love."

"I understand you, my poor knight," said Francis mockingly. "You are already in the cage, and dare no longer take any pleasure in a handsome face, at least not _show_ it, lest your lady wife should be angry, and hold a criminal court upon her faithless shepherd."

"Do you know any of the party?" asked Althea, to interrupt this conversation.

"Not I," answered Francis. "The devil knows where stupid Kit has picked up the handsome wenches; but my acquaintance with them shall soon be made, and then I'll let you know more about them."

With this he would have forced himself upon the masks, but the gipsy with the triangle, an old gray-beard, waved him back, and gave the women a sign to begin their revels. The music immediately struck up, and the three gipsies commenced a wild fantastic dance, in which the twines of their round well-formed arms, the turnings and bendings of their slim, delicate figures, the springing and agility of their feet, were shown off in full perfection. One of them, whose auburn hair was adorned with coloured ribbons and Bohemian stones, particularly distinguished herself by the gracefulness of her movements; and Francis, after having looked on for some time, tore open his doublet, exclaiming, "Zounds! what a figure! It warms an honest fellow who has got a few bottles of Tokay in him."

"This mad springing may please you," said Althea contemptuously; "it is just calculated for the taste of a drunkard; but to me it seems like the wild dance of fiends about a lost soul. It grates me to see that a woman can so far forget the female dignity as to expose herself thus."

"Heaven deliver me from a tribunal where you preside," said Francis laughing; "why, it must be worse than that of the emperor at Prague. Your virtue is of so fierce a nature, there's no reasoning with it. That which is to please must be a little free: your decorum and modesty are the most tedious things on the face of the earth."

The trio was at an end. The gipsies fanned themselves with their motley-coloured handkerchiefs, but they would not move their masks, and on that account rejected the wine which was proffered to them by the master of the feast.

"These girls seem to be buttoned up to their chins," said Francis, "but for all that I'll have a peep behind their black masks, or die for it. Above all, I must try the fair-haired witch." And in the delirium of the moment, he dashed his goblet through the window, and leaped upon a chair, shouting "Huzza! huzza! away with the tables; we have had enough of eating, and will dance you one till the floor shakes, and the rafters crack again."

"Man! are you alone here?" exclaimed Tausdorf indignantly; but in his frenzy, Francis heard him not, and, springing from the chair over the table with a neck-breaking leap, alighted again just before the mask with the auburn hair.

"Take away," said Christopher with vexation. "When once he breaks out, there is no managing with him."

The tables were removed, the seats placed close to the walls, and the guests made room for the dancers. Passing over the usual forms of courtesy, Francis seized his chosen one with a rude grasp, and shouted to the musicians, "A waltz! a waltz! but quick! quick!"

The music began, and the feet of the dancers kept pace with its rapidity. The space about them grew wider and wider, for the spectators could hardly get their feet out of the way in time from the stamping of the intoxicated Francis, who kept clapping his hands, and shouting, "Faster! faster! I can stand it, and so can she." At last the piper stopped from want of breath; in a little time too the triangle was unable to follow; and now only the tambourine gave a fit measure to this bacchanalian revel.

"And this is called pleasure?" said Althea to Tausdorf, who had retreated to a bow-window.

"Where the soul is incapable of enjoyment," he replied, "pleasure must be sensual, or the vulgar mind would have no joy on earth whatever."

At last the sprightly bacchanal was exhausted, and danced off with his female into the next room. There he threw himself into a chair, forced his companion into the seat beside him, and panted out, "You dance as gracefully as lightly, and only so much the more stimulate my desire to see your face. It certainly won't have to be ashamed of the feet. Come, take off the damnable Moor's visor."

"It is not yet time," replied the gipsy in a low tone, that sounded still more hollowly from the mask.

"Not yet?" said Francis, with a rough grasp of her hand; "but soon? to-day?"

"If all goes as it should, perhaps," was the answer.

"Then I must have patience, however little I am used to it; so let us, in the mean time, have a friendly chat together. You are so sparing of words. I only wish your tongue had half the nimbleness of your feet."

"I am not fond of talking," replied the gipsy with cutting coldness; "there is little pleasure in it."

"And yet you are a woman," cried Francis, merrily. "For Heaven's sake, how could you have so degenerated? Only think, if every one were to be as you are, what a poor sort of entertainment we should have in the world."

"The world would gain by it," retorted the mask. "How much foolish, how much evil, talk would be spared! How much falsehood and deceit! How much perjury!"

"Oh, this is dull gossip," exclaimed Francis, struck by her words. "Rather tell me my fortune; you have visited us as a gipsy, and should keep up the character."

"Do not ask it," she replied, in a warning tone: "you might hear something that would not please you."

"Yes, if I were fool enough to believe such nonsense. Prophesy away, and be it at my peril. Here is my hand."

The gipsy hastily seized it. Her bosom heaved violently, and her eyes darted piercing looks from out the mask.--At length she said, "These lines do not please me; you are like to use your sword this very day."

"That would be the devil," cried Francis; and looked about with an air of defiance, as if seeking for his adversary.--"But I have no objection: to my mind the best of a feast is wanting if there is not something of a row to wind it up."

"So much for the future," said the gipsy, releasing his hand. "The past you will be contented to leave alone."

"By no means," exclaimed Francis. "Of the future you can lie as much as you please, because no one can peep behind the curtain; but in the past your art is put to the proof of fire, and if it does not come well out of it, I shall mock you soundly."

Again the gipsy took his hand, examined it; but shuddered and retreated, saying, "For the last time I warn you."

"That, by my troth, sounds like earnest," cried Francis, mockingly.--"But go on, at my peril."

"You have murder on your soul!" said a voice hollowly from beneath the mask.

Francis drew back, shuddering, but in the next moment he collected himself, as he replied, "In the Turkish war I helped more than one infidel to hell; but I pride myself upon it, and do not reckon it for a murder."

"I speak of that which happened four years since, and of which you were acquitted at the royal tribune of Prague."

Francis uttered a cry of terror, and would have started up, but the gipsy grasped his hand firmly, and he sank back upon his seat as if paralysed.

"Properly speaking," continued the gipsy, "you have two souls to answer for above. An honest old man was sacrificed for your safety. You deceived him by an oath to marry his daughter, whom you had seduced: justice gave way before the son of the all-powerful patrician, and, to save vice, innocence went out to die."

Francis sate pale and motionless. The fumes of the wine were for a short time dissipated by strong horror; and, though he saw that nothing would do here save bold denial either in wrath or ridicule, yet he was not sufficiently master of his tongue; and the moment in which impudence would have been in place passed by unemployed. The music from the next room sounded merrily, as if in mockery of his anguish. At length he stammered out with difficulty, "Avenging Nemesis, who are you?"

"You may, perhaps, learn to-day," replied the gipsy, "as I have already given you to hope. But that you may not send me to the stake for a witch," she added, passing over to a tone of jest, "I must confess that I had my information from a sure hand. The stately knight yonder, who is conversing so familiarly at the window with that handsome lady, told the strange tale a little time ago to a noble Hungarian. I listened to him unseen, and heard him calling you a pitiful boy, who did not know when death became a man more than life."

With the passion thus excited, returned intoxication also in the wild brain of Francis. His face became a dark red. He started from his seat, and snatching up his sword from the corner, girded it on with trembling hands, as he exclaimed, "For the first time I have trusted a noble, but never again.--And the scoundrel caught me so with his knightly bearing and open manners, was so frank and friendly with me, and yet attacked my honour behind my back like a hired murderer!--Perhaps at the very moment he drank to our brotherhood, he was plotting to rake up old forgotten stories from their oblivion, that he might capitally denounce me to the furious emperor, with whom he has so much weight. Now it is clear why the goblets broke in pledging. But, by the infernal hosts, I will do myself right upon this hypocrite!"

"You will do well," said the gipsy, still firmly grasping his hand; "but if it imports you to accomplish your revenge, don't begin the feud here. All would take part against you, and he would be warned. Entice him out, and then let your swords decide in the battle-ordeal."

"That is hard," exclaimed Francis; "hard that I am to speak the scoundrel fair, when I should like to fall upon him at once, tooth and nail. But you are right. I am called the wild Frank, and, as I should not dare to tell the real cause, I should be thought by every one in the wrong. I'll look out, therefore, for a quiet spot where I may right myself without any interruption or disturbance. But where shall I find you afterwards to thank you for your information?"

"When all is done, you will see me again, unmasked," replied the gipsy with peculiar emphasis. "My word upon it! I shall keep that word better than many a man his oath!"

"You are a strange being," cried Francis, struck by the word as if by a secret blow from a dagger. For several moments he stared at her fixedly and thoughtfully with large and drunken eyes, and then stammered, "I don't altogether know what to make of you. Sometimes you appear so familiar to me that my hair stands on end; at others, you sit by me like my evil conscience, and torture me at your own good-will. Again, you seem to be a sort of fiend, who would tempt me to some sin, and then laugh me to scorn when I had done your pleasure. If I had not so much Tokay in my brain, I should be able to unravel all this, and find out upon what footing we were. But that won't do now, and so let my first resolution abide, in the devil's name! Chalk your soles well, Tausdorf; I fetch you to a merry dance of death."

He hurried back into the ball-room.

"I am almost sorry that I must hound on this beast against the noble Tausdorf; but no choice was left me. He may defend himself. On one side blind wrath and drunkenness; on the other, sober courage. It cannot fail. Good night, Francis!"

In the meanwhile Althea and Tausdorf were gliding round in the graceful[2] German dance, and about them stood the guests, looking with delight on the pair that seemed to be made for each other. Christopher, indeed, eyed them maliciously, and at times cast a troubled glance at the side-chamber. At last Francis came out, death in his looks: his worthy brother immediately beckoned to him, and proffered a full goblet, which he seized and hastily swallowed.

"I have drunk this glass to the devil's brotherhood!" he whispered to Christopher, and then mixed amongst the spectators.

Schindel, who had overheard him, exclaimed to Christopher, "What means the libertine by those impious words?"

"The heathen god, Bacchus, can best tell that," replied Christopher, while with a quiet laugh he filled the goblet again. "To explain what a drunkard means one must be drunk one's self, and I, thank God, have kept myself sober, to be able to see that all goes on right."

"That last glass was one too much," said Schindel reproachfully. "You should not have given him any thing more to drink. If now he should do any mischief in his drunkenness?"

"I know my brother better. When he is half drunk, he is always ready to quarrel; but with a full lading he soon grows sleepy, and one gets a respite from him. I gave him the glass purposely as a sleeping draught."

"I have no faith in your expedient," said Schindel, looking for his cap; "and, as the sun is setting, you must allow me to take my leave."

"Not yet, not yet, cousin," entreated Christopher, trying to persuade the old knight to sit down again. "I'll not let you go till we have emptied this flask of Tokay to the bottom."

"I must put it off till another time: your brother's face does not please me again to-day, and _better prevented than lamented_. Do you see and get him to bed."

During this, the betrothed pair had finished their dance, and, observing Schindel's farewell, took it for a signal to follow, and bade adieu to their host accordingly. Francis came up to them: "What means this breaking-up, old man? It is bad enough that you leave us so early, but it would be a downright wrong to rob us of such sprightly dancers."

"We must, indeed, go," anxiously insisted Althea, perceiving the state of Francis. "I have a messenger to send to-day to our steward at Bogendorf, and it is on business that admits of no delay."

"Well, if you go, the best of the pleasure goes," said Francis gallantly. "I had rather not stay either, and will pay an hour's visit to the bowling-green: they bowl there to-day for a bacon-hog. Come with me, brother Tausdorf; it is still far from evening, and _you_ have not got a messenger to send to Boegendorf."

"I am no player," said the knight, excusing himself.

"Nor I, brother," replied Francis, and took Tausdorf's arm familiarly in his; "at least I don't love this push-pin work. It is another thing when one can stake life and limb upon the hazard; then, indeed, I am for you. But we'll not bowl, only look on and see how the poor devils fag themselves for a paltry stake. Come along."

"Do as he wishes, to avoid strife," whispered Althea; "but get away from him as soon as you can."

"So be it then," said Tausdorf to Francis, and shook hands with Althea. In the mean time, Schindel had taken his leave of the other guests, and now first perceived what was going on. Alarmed, he drew Tausdorf to the window:--"You are not going to walk with Francis?"

"Why not?" replied the knight calmly: "He has asked me in a friendly manner, and Althea, too, wishes it."

"For God's sake don't get too familiar with the drunkard; above all, go not with him alone. He has no good intentions to-day."

"You carry your foresight too far, dear uncle," returned Tausdorf, girding on his sword; "Francis is an honest soldier, and, I can plainly see, well inclined to me. It is impossible he should have any design against me. Besides, I have already promised him my company, and therefore it must be so at all events."

"I have spoken and discharged my conscience," cried Schindel. "God avert all accidents!"

"Come then, brother, come," urged Francis, pulling the knight's arm.

"Adieu, dear Althea," said Tausdorf, and again shook the hand of his intended bride, who looked at him with a loving farewell. On a sudden the tears burst from her eyes, and, forgetful of those about them, she fell upon his neck.

"Farewell!" she cried, with stifled voice:--"God grant that I may see you again!"

"Without doubt before evening," said Francis laughing, and hurried out his companion.

"I don't like his going," observed Schindel, as he took his niece's arm and led her away.

"They are gone then!" said Christopher to himself: "As for the rest, that will come in time too."

Tausdorf and Francis went out together towards the Peter's-thor, the city gate, followed at a distance by Martin Heubert, Tausdorf's boy, and his page, Schmidt, who had waited for their master at the door of the banqueting-house. In the heart of Francis fermented the poison which the gipsy had poured into it, but he still restrained his wrath, and walked in silence by the side of Tausdorf. In this way they came to the Park, between the two gates--the Peter's-thor and Nieder-thor,--in the way to the bowling-green, when Tausdorf, tired of the silent walk, and with the view of showing a friendly sympathy with Francis, said to him, "You are a soldier like myself, Frank; you too, therefore, must have found that the pains and dangers of a campaign are often less than the evils with which life threatens us in the profoundest peace. As I hear, you have gone through much misfortune, and at last come off triumphantly!"

These well intended, but unlucky, words made the crater overflow. The drunken Francis, prepared as he was by an evil hand, could see nothing in them but the bitterest scorn, and became mad with wrath. For a while he was silent, because he did not know with what language to hurl his contempt and rage in the face of his adversary. At last he thundered out, "Yes, indeed! And, as they tell me, you have so acted that an honest man cannot drink out of the same cup with you."

Surprised by this insult, which came upon him like a lightning flash from a clear sky, Tausdorf started back. With an awful sternness he asked, "How could you drink to our eternal friendship but a few hours since, if you knew this of me? In truth, you must be worse than I am in your opinion. But now you will say who it is that has spread this slander against me?"

"I had it from a good friend," retorted Francis defyingly.

"You will name him to me this very hour, and on this very spot!" cried Tausdorf, with flashing eyes.

The drunkard gazed on the knight, who stood before him like an angry Mars; and it seemed to him for a moment in his intoxication as if he had gone too far.

"I will tell you at a fitter time," he stammered out: "I have it from a woman."

The contradiction between this and the earlier statement enraged Tausdorf still more.

"Do not stir!" he called out to his people, and led Francis impetuously a few steps farther.

"Now, name the slanderer!"

Instead of reply Francis grasped at him, but with gigantic strength the latter caught his opponent by the breast and flung him to the ground, where he held him fast.

"If you are an honourable nobleman," groaned Francis under him, "let me betake myself to my sword."

Tausdorf hastily let him loose, and went back a few paces. The latter sprang up, frantic with rage, and tore his sword from the scabbard; and, looking after the knight's people furiously, cried out, "Don't let your servants help!"

Tausdorf called to them in Bohemian, "Whichever of you moves a hand, my sword strikes him!"

"Draw!" roared Francis, with foaming mouth.

"Only in self-defence," said Tausdorf, and held out his blade.

Francis pressed upon him with furious blows. He merely defended himself. During this the auburn-haired gipsy looked over the wall of the garden; she was now without a mask, and her face betrayed agony and repentance.

"Why don't you part them?" she cried to Tausdorf's people, wringing her hands.

"It is forbidden to us," replied the faithful Martin sadly.

Tausdorf cast a glance from the combat to the place whence the well-known voice came; and, taking advantage of this, Francis lunged fiercely at his heart, but the thrust did not succeed.

"My life, then, is intended?" cried Tausdorf indignantly, and he cut his adversary over the right hand. As the arm sank, his sword went into the breast of Francis, who fell to earth.

"Gracious Heavens! such was not my purpose," exclaimed Tausdorf, when he saw the blood flowing; and, sheathing his sword, he gazed for a while with looks of compassion on his fallen adversary. Then turning to his servant, he bade him hasten for his carriage:--"I feel myself too weak for long and speedy riding, and this brooks no delay."

Heubert and Schmidt hurried back to the town.

"By God's holy word it was not my purpose!" repeated Tausdorf; and sighing "Poor Althea!" he followed his people.

While this was passing, the gipsy had quitted the wall, opened a little gate in it, and approached Francis, who lay in death-throes on the ground. Having come up to him, she shook the auburn locks from her head, and the long brown hair fell about her face as she put on a withered coronet of roses.

"Do you know me, Francis? Do you know this bridal ornament?" she asked, with a mixture of grief and anger.

"Agatha!" sighed Francis; and with difficulty turned away his head, that he might not see the fearful apparition.

"I have revenged your crime," she exclaimed, "and by a greater crime. But there is no joy in vengeance; the grave knows no hatred, and I forgive you. Your guilt is atoned; and you may appear confidently before the throne of Heaven. Pray for me yonder, that I too may be forgiven when I have ended here in penitence and agony!"

She rushed away. Again he sighed!--Again!--and his soul fleeted with the last beams of the setting sun, and darkness and the silence of eve were upon the blood-besprinkled earth.

* * * * *

Althea was reclining in the window and impatiently expecting the knight's return, when at length she saw Martin and Schmidt come running breathlessly through the Peter's-gate. An evil foreboding thrilled through her bosom. She called out to them,--"What now? Has any accident happened?"

"We are to fetch our master's carriage immediately," replied Heubert; "you will learn the rest by and by."

"Gracious Heavens! What is the meaning of this?" she exclaimed, and leaning out of the window to look after Tausdorf, she saw him coming, pale and in disorder.

"Something dreadful has occurred--I have never seen him thus before."

She hurried down, but Tausdorf was already at the street door, and, seizing his hand with increasing anxiety, she said,--"Dear friend, what has happened to you?"

"My poor Althea! You were right with your foreboding when we parted. Such as I left you I never shall see you again, for then no murder was upon my soul!"

"Good Heavens! Francis Friend!" cried Althea, whose terror divined the truth at once.

"He lies in the Park, killed by my sword!"

"You are lost, then, if you do not instantly fly from Schweidnitz. You should not have returned, for moments here are of more worth than gold."

"My people are putting to the horses," replied Tausdorf, and went with Althea into the court, where Schmidt was just drawing out the carriage from the coach-house, and Martin was cursing in the stable because he could not find the harness.

"This is too long about," said Althea; "besides you will go more slowly in your carriage, and not be able to use the footpaths. Let them saddle my palfrey for you."

"The creature is good, but too slight. He'll not stand out a hard ride."

"Let him, then, drop under you, so as you but reach your goal. Only hasten, for Heaven's sake, before the deed is spread abroad!"

"Then saddle the palfrey," said Tausdorf to his servant; "and lead him on before to the Striegauer gate. I will come straight after you."

The servant obeyed.

"But how was it possible," said Althea, "that with all your coolness and moderation, you could suffer yourself to be provoked by the wretched drunkard to this rash act, the consequences of which are so evident?"

"Woman," replied Tausdorf, with gloomy looks, "were an angel from heaven to come down in a corporeal form, he could not remain in peace if the evil-minded seriously set about involving him in quarrels! Believe me on my knightly word, I was forced to draw the sword. My life and honour were both at stake; and if I am no longer to defend these with my knightly hand, I may bid adieu to the world, and creep into a cloister. The thrust did, indeed, go deeper than it should, but who, in the heat of battle, can command his steel? God be my judge!"

The palfrey was saddled and brought out. Tausdorf again bade Althea farewell, pressed her to his heart with the convulsive energy of grief, and rushed away. With slow steps she reascended the stairs, and placed herself again in the stone seat in the window. The tears flowed hotly down her cheeks, while her anxious heart swelled her bosom with strong and frequent heavings.

She had sate thus for some time, when with anxious speed her uncle entered the apartment.

"Have you heard it, niece? Francis Friend has been found dead in the Park, not far from the bowling-green, and report names our Tausdorf for his murderer."

"Alas! alas!" sobbed Althea; "this misfortune will cost me too my life."

"Gracious Heavens! It is true, then? But the unlucky man has fled?--for, if they catch him here, he is lost. He might rather hope to find mercy from the Spanish inquisition, or from the prince of darkness himself, than from the old Erasmus."

"He has fled upon my palfrey, and if he only gets a good start of them I deem him saved."

"God grant it! but as I hurried hither the prefects of the quarter were running about like mad. To a certainty they will raise a hue and cry after him. Has he been long gone?"

Althea remained without answering, for the hurried trot of many horses had caused her to look out of the window. A party of the city police were riding by, well armed and with speed, over the market-place to the Striegauer gate.

"Gracious Heavens! Too soon!" sighed the poor Althea, and sank in a swoon to the ground.

* * * * *

The night had come on, and the moon threw her first beams over the silent country. Tausdorf just then rode his panting horse into Salzbrunn, with many a glance behind to see if he could yet discover any of his pursuers. Unfortunately he heard from the town the snorting and the tramp of many horses.

"Hold out but this once, poor beast!" he exclaimed to his horse, and again plunged the spurs into his bleeding flanks. But the weary animal made only a few weak efforts, and fell back again into his short trot, interrupted by frequent stumbles, while the sound of horses' feet kept constantly nearing.

"It is then a struggle for life or death!" cried Tausdorf; drew his sword, and his left hand grasped his holster-pistols.

"Stop, murderer, stop!" cried the first horseman, springing forward. "You are our prisoner. Follow us to Schweidnitz."

"Keep yourselves out of harm's way, good people," cried Tausdorf, turning round his horse: "I am well armed, and have nothing to do with you."

"You have slain the son of our burgomaster, and are therefore forfeited to our criminal law," retorted two of the marshalmen, waving their swords, while the others came up and surrounded the knight.

"Surrender!" exclaimed the chief of them, "that we may not have to use force, by which you are sure to come off worst."

"Not alive!" cried Tausdorf. "I am here in the Fuerstentein territory, and to the Fuerstentein tribunal will I surrender myself, that the _Oberlandeshauptmann_ may try me for my deed. To the sentence of the court of Schweidnitz I never will submit."

"By no means," replied the marshal. "Where you have committed the crime, there must you be judged. Therefore, yield yourself immediately, or I'll have you rode down, and the damage is your own."

In the meantime the tumult, the cry of murder, and the loud parley, had brought the peasants of Saltzbrunn thither. They came with poles and spears, and stared at the parties, whom they surrounded.

"Help us to seize the murderer!" cried the marshalman, who had but little inclination to venture on the single man with his whole troop.

"Not at all," replied the village magistrate. "You are here, gentlemen, upon the imperial fief of Saltzbrunn; and, as I understand, the knight is willing to give himself up to our tribunal. That is law, and so it must be. In the meantime I answer for the prisoner till I have informed our gracious mistress, the Lady of Hochberg, and afterwards right will be done to all parties."

"That I should have to dispute thus with a village magistrate about obeying the commands of the council at Schweidnitz!" exclaimed the marshal indignantly. "Peasants, I again warn you to help us seize the murderer, as good and true neighbours. You expose yourselves to a heavy responsibility if he escapes us through your fault; while, on the contrary, I promise you a rich reward for your services from the noble council."

"Here's an opportunity of gaining something," whispered one peasant to the other; and soon the whole party cried out in chorus, with lifted poles, "Surrender yourself, Sir knight."

"For God's sake, do not compel me to murder!" said Tausdorf earnestly, and waved his sword.

"Forwards!" commanded the marshal, and rushed with his horsemen upon Tausdorf; who instantly fired his pistol, but the ball only struck one of the horses. The knight now used his sword gallantly, but his enemies were too powerful, and his steed was too much exhausted for him to wheel about amongst them with the skill and tricks of horsemanship. During this, too, the peasants had come on with courage, and struck at him from a distance with their long poles. The opposition of the honest magistrate was lost, amidst this murderous uproar. At last a pole struck Tausdorf's head: he fell senseless from his horse, and the crowd rushed upon him with rude shouts of scorn and laughter. Bound with disgraceful bonds, they set him upon a horse, and the police returned in triumph with him to Schweidnitz.

* * * * *

In the hour of midnight the council was collected in the senate-house at Schweidnitz. The two tall candles which stood on the table lighted the high and gloomy Sessions'-room but sparingly. The council had collected in single groups, and conversed in low and troubled whispers. Alone, and with his hands behind his back, as was his custom, paced Erasmus, up and down, slow and silent; but on his old and venerable face the storm of the most violent passions was throwing up its waves.

"Tausdorf is just brought in and placed in the Hildebrand," announced the Marshal Clement Kernichen.

"God be praised!" said Erasmus, with a dreadful look towards heaven, and went to his seat.

"_Ad loca_, gentlemen!" he exclaimed to the counsellors; and when they had taken their places, he said with proud dignity, "The murderer is in our power; it is time, then, for us to do our duty. Let double watches be placed at the door. These will remain closed against every one till justice is satisfied. At the break of day the judges shall hold a criminal court; and as the murdered person was my son, Doctor Jacob Grenwitz will preside in my place. I do not conceal from you, colleagues, that the criminal has a strong party here, and that all the nobles will be on his side. Therefore, that justice may have its course, unchecked of human fears, I herewith declare the town in danger, and the council permanent. The horse-police shall be collectively summoned, and mount guard before the Sessions'-house completely armed; the gens d'armes shall be at their alarm-posts; the various guilds be warned to hold themselves in readiness with their weapons, that they may come forward at the first sound of the alarm-bell. Put all this into execution immediately, Mr. Marshalman, and then return to our sessions to report progress and receive our farther orders."

"God deliver us! how will all this end?" sighed Kernichen, and left the room; in which a deadly silence prevailed, as each of the council was sufficiently occupied with his own thoughts, and yet hesitated to impart them to another. In the midst of this the city-serjeant, Rudolph, announced Doctor Heidenreich, who wished to speak in private with the burgomaster.

"In the little room by the judges' chamber," said Erasmus, whither he went himself. The doctor was already waiting for him, and by his dress it might be seen that he had just jumped out of bed, and flung them on in a hurry.

"Let my hurry excuse the carelessness of my attire, Mr. Burgomaster; necessity knows no law. A report runs through the town, that Tausdorf has been seized at Saltzbrunn by your servants, and now lies a prisoner in the Hildebrand."

"Such is the truth," replied Erasmus calmly.

"That is a great misfortune for the town," sighed Heidenreich.

"Are you out of your senses? If you have nothing more rational to bring forward, you had better have remained in bed and slept off your wonderful dreams."

"Mr. Burgomaster!" cried Heidenreich firmly, and seized the old man's hand; "you know me for an honest citizen of this town, and a true friend to your family. The last, in particular, I should think I proved to you not very long ago. I, therefore, of all others, may well speak out to you boldly and plainly; and now entreat you, by the ancient honour of your office, do not this time give way to your love of vengeance, however alluring may seem the opportunity."

"What are you dreaming of?" cried Erasmus, tearing away his hand from him. "Do I intend sitting in judgment myself on the murderer of my own son? Doctor Grenwitz will preside, in my place, over the criminal tribunal."

"--Through whose mouth he will only echo your sentence! I must pray you to take off the mask before so old and faithful an acquaintance. You wish to destroy Tausdorf. That you have more than one reason for wishing it is plain to me; that in so doing you will preserve the forms of law is no more than I expect from your prudence; but you are wrong in the main point. The criminal jurisdiction over this man does not belong to the town."

"How! Does not the emperor Wenceslaus' charter of 1384 give us full authority and power to seek, take, judge and execute, with imperial privilege, all offenders, when and in whatever place they may be found, and for whatever offences?"

"The charter applies to thieves and robbers that may be apprehended within your jurisdiction. You cannot apply it to a nobleman and officer of his imperial majesty, whom you have arrested, contrary to all right, in the Fuerstentein territory, and against the decree of king Wladislaus and the Convention of forty-five."

"Tausdorf is a vagabond Bohemian and adventurer, with whom there is no occasion for using much ceremony."

"By no means, Mr. Burgomaster; I have inquired narrowly into the matter. He is a native Silesian vassal. The father was possessed and settled in the hereditary principality, and the son is about to purchase an estate in Boegendorf. This affair comes under the jurisdiction of the prince palatine."

"--That he may again do us such excellent justice as in the case of Bieler's murder?--or as in those violent assaults which the nobles, since that time, have indulged in against the citizens? No; once I have given way to the arrogance of the priest, but never again so long as I am burgomaster in Schweidnitz."

"If, then, you could hope to obtain strict justice from the lord bishop, you would leave the farther proceedings to him?"

Erasmus was about to answer at once, but again bethought himself, and said wrathfully, "You are an old fox, with whom one must not use too many words, lest you should turn them into snares. It does not become a counsellor to talk of what he would do if things stood otherwise. Enough if we know what we have to do '_rebus sic stantibus_.' We owe an account of our proceedings only to the emperor, next under God; and we will account for them when it is demanded of us, either on earth, or before the Eternal judgment-seat."

"You have spoken a word of deep import, Mr. Burgomaster: God grant that you may be able one day to stand by it. I would only once again impress this upon you; Tausdorf is universally beloved; all will take part with him and against you; and if you were as right in your proceeding, as, by Heavens! you are wrong, you would still plunge this town into unutterable grief and ruin."

"_Fiat justitia et pereat mundus!_" cried the burgomaster, and left him.

* * * * *

The first gray of morning contended strangely with the yellow light of the candles in the room wherein the judges had assembled to hold a criminal court. The city serjeant was just leading out Martin Heubert, Tausdorf's boy, whom they had been interrogating, and the town-advocate, Kernicher, entered with Melchior Lange and Paul Reimann, who had been viewing the wounds of the body. The advocate laid before the chief-judge, in silence, the book in which was entered the result of his inquiry. Behind him came Tausdorf in chains, surrounded by gens-d'armes; his face was pale, and his clothes soiled and torn by the violence at Saltzbrunn, but still he bore himself with knightly dignity. The procurator arose and lifted up the accusation of blood against him; and he was summoned once--and again twice--after the ancient custom. Upon this the examination began, and Tausdorf related the unfortunate affair frankly and honestly as it had really happened.

"Francis Friend," he said in conclusion, "enticed me to the place where the misfortune occurred, reviled me, and at last fell upon me with his naked sword. Hereupon I defended myself as a soldier, to save my honour, my body, my life,--and that which then happened I was forced to do. I understand not the law, and therefore be not precipitate, but allow me an advocate to conduct my cause: I will reward him richly."

The chief judge rang his bell. "The procurator, Hans Reimann!" he exclaimed to the serjeant who answered the summons. The latter went out, and the procurator appeared.

"We have given you to the accused as his defender," said the judge. "Consult with him."

"Your pardon, gentlemen," replied the procurator; "I have no inclination for the task. Francis Friend was always on a good footing with me: and besides, I should not like to plead for a manifest assassin."

"The council will be hardly satisfied with this. Such defence belongs to your office, and you cannot refuse it without giving up the office itself. But come with me to the gentlemen of the council; you may have their answer from themselves."

He went away with the procurator. The silence of expectation prevailed through the room. Tausdorf went to the window, leaned upon the breast-work, and, gazing upon the dark gray clouds, which had already received golden edges from the rising sun, he sighed "Althea!"

At last the two returned.

"You submit, then?" said the judge to the procurator, as they retired.

"What one must, one must!" replied the procurator.

Tausdorf went up to him, and said with friendly dignity, "I pray you, sir, conduct my defence truly; I do not understand this matter, and will reward your labour. If the business were the ordering of a battle, I should know better what I was about."

"Say on, then," replied the procurator, gaping: "how am I to defend you?"

"In God's name!" cried Tausdorf angrily, "how should I, who have been devoted to arms from my youth, teach you what you are to say for me before the tribunal? The little Latin which I learnt at Gitschin is of no use here. But you are a studied man, well informed in the law, and must best know what will conduce to my advantage."

"It will all be of no use," muttered the procurator; "but relate the tale to me circumstantially, that I may thoroughly comprehend it."

Again poor Tausdorf undertook the sad labour of narrating the tale of blood. The procurator listened to him, gaping, and then briefly repeated what he had heard to the tribunal, concluding with, "You have now heard Tausdorf's statement of the affair, gentlemen, and I submit it to your decision."

"Is that your whole defence?" cried the knight indignantly, while this statement was being protocolled. "May our Saviour one day speak for your sins before the judgment-seat of God, as you have spoken for me in this hour before the tribunal of man!"

"Have you any thing else to advance?" said the judge to the accused and his defender; and as they were silent, he rang the bell, saying, "The audit is closed.--Let the knight be conveyed back again to the Hildebrand," he added to the serjeant, who then entered.

"Gentlemen," said Tausdorf, with manly firmness, "I do not believe that you have a right to pronounce judgment on me; but if you do hold yourselves so empowered, I warn you honestly, when you give your votes, to keep your conscience and your dying hour before your eyes. It is an easy thing for you to slay me, for I am in your power; but innocent blood cries with a thousand voices to Heaven, and God is just."

He went away with his guard, followed by his model of a defender, and the judges laid their heads together in anxious whisperings.

* * * * *

In the meantime the day had fully broken, and a bright July sun shone upon the overwatched faces of the council, who were still collected in the Sessions'-chamber, and had reclined themselves against the windows to prevent their going to sleep. The iron old Erasmus alone sat at the green table with bright wakeful eyes, and played with the golden medal appended to his chain of honour. By his side stood the vice-consul, Christopher Drescher, behind a chair, which he rocked to and fro impatiently.

"The judges must have come to a decision by this time," said Erasmus, as if to himself.

"If they only come to a right one," replied Drescher emphatically.

"No fear of that; although parties may at times run high amongst ourselves, yet against the outward enemy we all stand as one man; and if----Then we are at the goal, brother."

"I only wish you had not forced poor Reimann to defend him. If he should happen to bring forward things which we can't answer?"

"Some defender Tausdorf could not but have; the forms of the law demanded so much, and to forms we must strictly adhere on this occasion. Between ourselves, too, could you in all Schweidnitz have hunted out a worse advocate than this Reimann?"

"You have seen farther than I have," cried the vice-consul, after a pause: "_Concedo_."

A servant now brought in a letter to the burgomaster, which he opened and read--

"An _Intercessionale_ in favour of the prisoner by the Herr von Schindel, resident of this place, and now laid up with the gout," said Erasmus to the council. "The petitioner presumes to defend the accused, uncalled for, and to impugn the competency of our tribunal. _Ad acta!_"

"The Frau von Netz, too, waits below in great trouble," added the servitor, "and implores, in Heaven's name, a secret audience of your excellency."

"The proud nobles can now stoop themselves to entreaties," exclaimed the burgomaster triumphantly; "but it's all of no use."