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Page 5
"But what has all this to do with your master's illness?" I interrupted.
"Let me go on--you will soon see. At that cry the count suddenly gathered
himself together with a shuddering movement, his eyes became fixed with a
glassy stare, his cheeks were bloodless, and he bent his head forward
just like a hunter catching the sound of his approaching game. I went on
warming myself, and I thought, 'Won't he soon go to bed now?' for, to
tell you the truth, I was overcome with fatigue. All these details,
Fritz, are still present in my memory. Scarcely had the bird of ill omen
croaked its unearthly cry when the old clock struck eleven. At that
moment the count turns on his heel--he listens, his lips tremble, I can
see him staggering like a drunken man. He stretches out his hands, his
jaws are tightly clenched, his eyes staring and white. I cried, 'My lord,
what is the matter?' but he began to laugh discordantly like a madman,
stumbled, and fell upon the stone floor, face downwards. I called for
help; servants came round. S�balt took the count by the shoulders; we
removed him to a bed near the window; but just as I was loosening the
count's neckerchief--for I was afraid it was apoplexy--the countess came
and flung herself upon the body of her father, uttering such heartrending
cries that the very remembrance of them makes me shudder."
Here Gideon took his pipe from his lips, knocked the ashes out upon the
pommel of his saddle, and pursued his tale in a saddened voice.
"From that day, Fritz, none but evil days have come upon Nideck, and
better times seem to be far off. Every year at the same day and hour the
count has shuddering fits. The malady lasts from a week to a fortnight,
during which he howls and yells so frightfully that it makes a man's
blood run cold to hear him. Then he slowly recovers his usual health. He
is still pale and weak, and moves trembling from one chair to another,
starting at the least noise or movement, and fearful of his own shadow.
The young countess, the sweetest creature in the world, never leaves his
side; but he cannot endure her while the fit is upon him. He roars at
her, 'Go, leave me this moment! I have enough to endure without seeing
you hanging about me!' It is a horrible sight. I am always close at his
heels in the chase, I who sound the horn when he has killed the forest
beasts; I am at the head of all his retainers, and I would give my life
for his sake; yet when he is at his worst I can hardly keep off my hands
from his throat, I am so horrified at the way in which he treats his
beautiful daughter."
Sperver looked dangerously wroth for a moment, clapped both his spurs to
his mount, and we rode on at a hard gallop.
I had fallen into a reverie. The cure of a complaint of this description
appeared to me more than doubtful, even impossible. It was evidently a
mental disorder. To fight against it with any hope of success it would
be needful to trace it back to its origin, and this would, no doubt, be
too remote for successful investigation.
All these reflections perplexed me greatly. The old huntsman's story, far
from strengthening my hopes, only depressed me--not a very favourable
condition to insure success. At about three we came in sight of the
ancient castle of Nideck on the verge of the horizon. In spite of the
great distance we could distinguish the projecting turrets, apparently
suspended from the angles of the edifice. It was but a dim outline barely
distinguishable from the blue sky, but soon the red points of the Vosges
became visible.
At that moment Sperver drew in his bridle and said--
"Fritz, we shall have to get there before night--onward!"
But it was in vain that he spurred and lashed. The horse stood rooted
to the ground, his ears thrown back, his nostrils dilated, his sides
panting, his legs firmly planted in an attitude of resistance.
"What is the matter with the beast?" cried Gideon in astonishment. "Do
you see anything, Fritz? Surely--"
He broke off abruptly, pointing with his whip at a dark form in the snow
fifty yards off, on the slope of the hill.
"The Black Plague!" he exclaimed with a voice of distress which almost
robbed me of my self-possession.
Following the indication of his outstretched whip I discerned with
astonishment an aged woman crouching on the snowy ground, with her arms
clasped about her knees, and so tattered that her red elbows came through
her tattered sleeves. A few ragged locks of grey hung about her long,
scraggy, red, and vulture-like neck.
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