Part 7
“The best, the oldest and the best,” muttered he, staggering around among the casks and bottles. “I won’t live such a dog’s life for nought,--I will have my pleasure too, when I get a chance.” Talking in this way to himself, the butler suddenly came upon a dim old cask standing under an arch in the western wing of the castle, and so concealed that he had not noticed it before.
“Aha! what have we here?” muttered he, stooping, and putting his auger into the wood near the bottom of the cask. “Some rare old vintage, I’ll be bound, that’s been hid away here ever since the castle was a convent,--we’re not much like a convent now, I think. Saint Jude! what stuff have we here?--droll wine this,” added he, as a stream of something black and shining followed the auger when he drew it out. Full of curiosity, he stooped to examine it. Just then a terrific peal of thunder rocked the cliff to its foundation; at the same instant a blinding bolt shot from roof-tree to cellar,--and, in another moment, butler, castle, and revellers were blown altogether hundreds of feet into the air.
The terrible noise of the explosion wakened both Hans and Fritzchen; but, too much terrified to rise or look out, they only clung the closer to each other, and said over and over all the prayers that they knew.
At last, an hour after every thing was still, they timidly rose, and, holding fast by each other’s hand, crept to the door and looked out. All about the little hut lay great stones, beams, and fragments; but not the smallest pebble had touched the humble roof, on which now perched, surrounded by its pure, soft light, the silver-white dove.
“The castle, father! the dove has left the castle!” cried Fritzchen. “Come and see what has befallen it.”
Still hand in hand they hastened up the cliff. On its summit stood nothing but cold, gray walls, roofless and desolate, through whose empty window places the setting moon cast long, mournful beams, while overhead the gloomy thunderclouds were breaking and rolling away in great masses.
Hans and Fritzchen stood long looking at the ruin, but neither spoke; and presently they silently turned, and, reëntering the little hut, over which still clung the bright cloud--although the dove had flown--they trimmed the little candles which yet burned with a clear, steady light, and, having once more murmured a prayer, lay down and again slept sweetly and calmly.
Transcriber’s Notes
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.
Perceived typographical errors have been silently corrected.
Chapter headings as listed in the Table of Contents have been added to the text.