Chapter 8

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 Bögendorf."

"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 Fürstentein territory, and to the Fürstentein 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.