Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume II

Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume II Page 2

by M. Y. Halidom

  CHAPTER II.

  DER SCHARFRICHTER.[1]--THE ARTIST'S SECOND STORY.

  A respectable ancestor of mine, far back in the middle ages, went tostudy at a German university. I cannot call to mind the name of it, butthat is of no consequence. I think he studied medicine, but I will notbe sure even of that. I know that he belonged to a "chor," or company ofstudents who pride themselves on their liberty, who have their own lawsand customs, who fight duels with rival chors, and who settle disputesamong themselves by outvying each other in the drinking of beer, whorevel in street brawls and other such respectable amusements, playingpractical jokes upon the peaceful citizens; in fact, making nighthideous.

  I know not whether my ancestor was any better or any worse than hisfellow students, but he seems to have entered with pleasure into alltheir amusements, and never to have held himself aloof when any mischiefwas going on. He was consequently looked up to rather than otherwise byhis companions.

  It was the custom then, and still is among Germans, especially amongGerman students, to travel long distances on foot, going together oftenin large numbers and putting up at night, if they could, at some inn; ifnot, in some cottage, stables, or loft, with nothing but straw to sleepupon.

  But German students are not pampered mortals, and can put up with veryhomely accommodation. If after a fatiguing day's march a student canfind at his quarters sufficient beer, black bread, sausage, raw ham, ora little strong cheese, he is perfectly satisfied. Should he be sofortunate as to light upon a dish of "sauer kraut," he would fancyhimself in the seventh heaven.

  The German is hardy, yet studious, highly sensitive, and keenlysusceptible to the beauties of nature. Though somewhat penurious, he isfond of good fellowship, and is a staunch friend.

  The foot tour in Germany is a thing common to all classes, from thenobility down to the "handwerksbursch," or journeying mechanic, whichlatter class is often unmercifully persecuted by the university student.From time immemorial there seems to have been a feeling of animositybetween the two classes, as nearer home we find existing between the"town and gown."

  The German student of the middle ages, as in our times, was fond ofswagger, delighted in wearing high boots, enormous spurs, an exaggeratedsword, a preposterous hat, was provoked to a duel on the slightestoccasion, boasted of the number of "schoppen" or "seidel" of beer thathe could stow away beneath his doublet, and ran up long bills without athought of how they were to be paid.

  In those days every student had his guitar or other musical instrumentwherewith to serenade his "Liebchen" or lady-love, for that latterarticle was indispensable to the life of a student, and though muchgrossness and barbarity has been attributed to him, he is, nevertheless,at times capable of being elevated by a pure and refined passion, for hehas much poetry in his nature, and is both sentimental and romantic inthe extreme.

  In all ages students have meddled much in politics, and princes havebeen known to tremble before their audacity and resolution.

  But enough of this digression, gentlemen. My present tale demands onlythat you should call up in your minds the German student on his foottour in the long vacation, with his keen relish of the beautiful, hislusty and well-trained frame that laughs at fatigue, his love ofgood-fellowship, his tender thoughts of home with the image of hislady-love.

  "Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen, Entering with every step it took through many a scene."

  --BYRON.[2]

  I must now return to my ancestor, who at the time this story commenceswas on one of these pedestrian rambles, accompanied by some twenty ofhis fellow students, all stout, hearty youths who could eat, drink, andfight with any in the university, and flirt, too, I've no doubt, whenoccasion tempted them.

  These attributes, you will say, are not strictly necessary to thestudent preparing for honours, yet, nevertheless, somehow Germanstudents manage to find time for other amusements besides dry study.They _can_ play, but when they _do_ study, they study hard.

  My ancestor at the time I speak of was a young man of about twenty, andhad already been two years at the university. We may presume, therefore,that he spoke German tolerably well, if not well.

  I believe it was in the Harz mountains, the Thueringer Wald, and aboutthose parts that he was travelling on foot with his friends.

  They rose at daybreak and walked hard, with their knapsacks on theirbacks, singing or conversing as they went, reposing at noon in someshady spot to avoid the heat of the day. When the sun began to abate alittle they would resume their journey till night overshadowed them,when they would encamp, as hungry as hunters, in some rude quarters,where they would make merry together over a simple but plentiful supper,and talk over the fatigues of the day.

  They had been following this sort of life for some time, when oneevening as they were hastening towards their quarters in groups of twos,threes, and fours, my ancestor asked of his friend, "What is the nameof the township where we are to sleep to-night, Hans?"

  "----dorf," answered his friend; "but we shall have to hasten in orderto reach it before nightfall. Look, how the mist is rising!"

  "Ah! so it is," replied my relative, whose name was Frederick, but whowas never called otherwise than "Fritz" by his companions.

  Our Fritz had remained behind to enjoy the last dying glow of a gorgeoussunset, and was wrapt in meditation, while his friend Hans hurried on.

  "Now then, Fritz!" cried one, Max, "don't lag behind so; or are yourEnglish legs not strong enough for our German mountains?"

  Our Englishman was stung at this taunt, implying, as it did adisparagement of himself and countrymen, however undeserved it was, forthe Germans knew that he could outwalk the best of them when he chose.Yet it had the effect of making him hasten his steps a little.

  The dusky hue of night fast overshadowed our students, and the mist nowrose at their feet in thick clouds, so that it was with the utmostdifficulty that they could find their way.

  My ancestor was still a long distance behind the rest, but he wasgaining fast on them, when in the darkness, he stumbled over a clump ofrock and sprained his ankle. All hope of catching up his companions wasnow gone. The most he could do was to hobble on slowly with the help ofhis staff, now losing his way, now finding it, whenever the moon peepedout to light up his path, then losing it again when the moon hid itselfbehind a cloud, till he began to despair of ever finding anything in theshape of a roof to shelter him from the night air during sleep, and hemore than half made up his mind to encamp on the spot, but just then hefelt a large drop of rain on his face, then another, and another.

  It had been a broiling hot day, and the air was still sultry. Presentlya flash of vivid forked lightning danced before his eyes, followed by aclap of thunder so terrific that it bid fair to burst the drum of hisear.

  The storm was now overhead; the flashes grew more frequent and morevivid, and the thunder growled more fiercely than ever. In a few minutesthe rain poured down in torrents, and the English student was drenchedto the skin.

  "Here is a nice situation for a man on a pleasure trip!" muttered myancestor to himself. "Lost, in the dead of night, in the midst of athunderstorm, in an open plain without shelter, drenched like a drownedrat, as hungry as a wolf, and hardly able to crawl, from a sprainedankle!"

  His reflections were anything but of a pleasing sort, as you mayimagine, yet he hobbled on as best he could, endeavouring to comforthimself with the vague hope of finding some sort of shelter for thenight as soon as the storm should pass off.

  After dragging on his limbs with exemplary patience for anotherhalf-mile, it being then about midnight, he perceived a light from acottage window not very far distant. His courage began to revive, andwith halting gait he made for the door of the cottage.

  He knocked loudly, but no one answered. Thinking that he had not beenheard for the rumbling of the thunder, he knocked again and again. Stillno one came to the door.

  "I mean to lodge here for the nig
ht," said the Englishman to himself,"if I have to break the door open to effect an entrance." And he kept upa furious knocking for about three-quarters-of-an-hour. At length heheard a harsh, grating voice within break out in a string of choiceTeutonic oaths, and the word "schweinhund" (pig-dog) pronounced once ortwice.

  Footsteps were then heard descending the stairs, and the next moment aquaint-looking personage appeared at the door in dressing-gown andslippers, with night-cap on head and candle in hand, and demanded in asurly tone what the "teufel" he wanted at that hour of night.

  My ancestor apologised with much courtesy for having roused up so worthyan individual at such an unearthly hour, but pleaded that he was a poorbenighted traveller, hungry and soaked to the skin.

  "Then you should have moved further on," was the curt reply.

  "But whither?" asked my relative.

  "To the township. This house is not a 'wirtshaus.'"

  "How far distant is it?"

  "A mile."

  By this he meant a German mile--equal to four English miles.

  "A mile!" exclaimed the Englishman. "I could not walk a mile to save mylife. I've sprained my ankle and can't move a step further. I'm sorry toput you to such inconvenience, my good fellow, but I really must put uphere."

  "But there is no accommodation," growled the inmate.

  "No matter. I dare say you have a little straw; if not, the bare groundwill do."

  The inmate sulkily suffered the traveller to enter, and showing him intoa parlour on the ground-floor, was about to leave him to himself.

  "Stop a bit, my good host," said the student. "I must beg to remind youthat I am as hungry as a wolf, and as cold as an icicle. If you couldfind me something in your larder to keep soul and body together, andlight me a nice little fire to dry my clothes, you will make me yourfriend for life."

  "Food! Fire! at this time of night!" exclaimed the host, with a lookthat seemed to say, "Is the man mad?"

  "My dear friend," said the Englishman, putting his hand in his pocketand passing a Reichsgulden into the hand of his host, "I do not wantyou to do anything for me gratis. Make me as comfortable as you can forthat--on my departure I'll give you more."

  "Oh, mein Herr!" said our host, softening at the touch of the brightmetal, "that alters the case entirely. You shall have everything youwant. I am sorry I haven't another bed, but you can have some straw, anda fire to dry your clothes. I'll go and see directly what there is inthe house by way of refreshment, for you must be hungry indeed!"

  Our host left the apartment, and returned shortly with some firewood anda heap of straw.

  To light a fire and arrange the straw for the traveller in a corner ofthe room was the work of a moment. He then hurried off to get supperready, and returned soon afterwards with a dish of sausage, some blackbread, some strong cheese and a bottle of "schnaps."

  "Our fare is homely, you see, sir," said the host, apologetically; "butit is all we have in the house. We are poor people, and not accustomedto entertain travellers."

  "Never mind that, mine host," said the student, "as long as there isplenty of it, we'll excuse the quality."

  So saying, he began to strip himself and to hang his clothes before thefire. Then taking from his knapsack a clean shirt and another pair ofhose, he donned his slippers and drew his chair close to the table.

  The host, after trimming a lamp and lighting it, placed it in the centreof the table, and was just about to return to his bed, when the studentcalled out with his mouth full of sausage, "What! mine host, will younot honour me with your company whilst I discuss my supper? Companyhelps digestion, you know, and I'm sure you wouldn't like to have myundigested supper on your conscience."

  The host returned with a grunt, saying that he couldn't stop long, as hehad to rise early on the morrow.

  "Oh, so have I, good mine host," said my ancestor, "so we are equal.Come, sit down here, and let me see you toss off a glass or two of thismost excellent schnaps. It will keep out the cold and give you pleasantdreams, besides adding a still richer tint to that glorious nose ofyours."

  "Humph!" replied the host, little pleased at this personal allusion; buthe drew a chair to the table and made an effort at being sociable.

  My ancestor until now had hardly had time to give more than a cursoryglance at the features of his host, but finding himself now at tableopposite him, he took a minute survey of his countenance in all itsdetails.

  The exterior of our host was striking, to say the least. He was a man ofabout five-and-forty, of middle height, broad rather than tall. His neckand chest might have served as a model for the Farnese Hercules. Hishair and beard, which were matted and unkempt, were of a flaming red,and he was just beginning to turn bald. His brow was low, knotted, andstreaked with red. His eyebrows, which were of the same tint as hishair, were enormous, and overhung a pair of small, deep-set brown eyesthat moved furtively from right to left with the rapidity of lightning,giving to his countenance a remarkably sinister expression.

  His complexion was florid, and the nose, which was large andbottle-shaped, was of so bright a red that it made the eyes water tolook upon it, and spoke little for its owner's temperance. His ears,large and red, stood out at the sides of his head like those of ananimal, and their orifices were carefully protected by fierce tufts ofred hair. The back part of his head was excessively developed, and thejaw was large and massive. His arms were very muscular, and hairy as anape's, with strongly-defined purple veins, and his hands, the fingers ofwhich were short and stunted, were the colour of raw meat. The legs weresomewhat short for the body, and slightly bowed.

  My ancestor, as he scanned the grim features of his host, could not helpimagining himself a prince in a fairy-tale who had been lured by theevil genius of the storm into the castle of some ogre, who would sooneror later devour him unless rescued by the good fairies. The ogre was nota communicative person. He had not opened his mouth once since he hadtaken his seat at the table, save to toss down a glass of schnaps.

  At length the Englishman, curious to know something of the life andhabits of this mysterious individual, was the first to break silence.

  "You live in a very isolated spot, mine host," said he.

  "Ja," was the laconic reply.

  "Have you no nearer neighbours than those of the township?" demanded hisguest.

  "Nein," grunted the ogre.

  "And do you enjoy this solitary existence?" pursued the traveller.

  "Ja!" was the inevitable monosyllabic response.

  "I shall not get much out of him," said my ancestor to himself, andagain there was silence for the space of five minutes.

  As if searching for some topic wherewith to renew the conversation, thestudent cast his eyes round the apartment, taking in at a glance theminutest article of furniture or other commodity that the roomcontained.

  It was a homely, undecorated apartment, built after the fashion of theperiod, and differed little from most other apartments of the sort. Ifit was remarkable for anything, it was for its extreme simplicity, notto say nakedness, but there was one object hanging on the wall that atonce attracted the traveller's eye. It was a two-handed sword ofpeculiar shape, and appeared bright and sharp as if ready for use.

  "Aha!" exclaimed the Englishman, fixing his eye on the object, "you havebeen a soldier, I see."

  "Not I," said the host.

  "No? Ah! I see that your sword is not of the same form as those used inbattle. It is probably antique--an heirloom, perhaps."

  The man answered with a nod of the head.

  "I thought so," said the stranger; "and yet it seems bright and wellcared for. It has evidently been sharpened lately. Do you always keep itwell sharpened?"

  "On great occasions, yes," was the reply, and our host gave a peculiarwink, accompanying it with a significant gesture with both hands, inimitation of wielding the two-handed instrument over his head, thenslapping his own neck he uttered a low whistle and a sort of chucklethus: "Wh--ew!--click!" being his mode of expressing the actio
n ofcutting off a head.

  "Ho! ho!" exclaimed the Englishman, "is that in your line?"

  The ogre answered by a savage laugh.

  At this moment the crying of a child was heard overhead, together withthe harsher tones of its mother scolding it.

  "Then you do not live perfectly solitary, as I thought," said thestudent; "you have also wife and children?"

  "One boy only," replied the man.

  "Ah! An only son--a great pet, I'll warrant," said his guest, finishinghis last morsel of supper. "What age may he be?"

  "Ten years old--fine boy--just like me--bringing him up like hisfather," said the strange individual.

  "If he turns out like his father, he'll be a beauty," thought myancestor. Then he asked aloud of his host:

  "And what profession may that be that you wish to apprentice him to?"

  "Like his father," was the curt reply; but it was followed by the samesort of expressive gesture that I have just described.

  "What!" exclaimed the student, "to cut off people's heads?"

  "Yes," replied the ruffian; "I am a Scharfrichter."

  "A what?" inquired my ancestor, who though he could make himselfgenerally understood in German, had never yet come across the word"Scharfrichter" in his vocabulary.

  "A Scharfrichter," repeated the man, raising his voice. "Don't you knowwhat that means? Why, one who cuts off heads."

  "An executioner!" muttered the foreigner, half-aloud. "Have I beenconstrained to crave the hospitality of an executioner?"

  These words were inaudible to his host, but the ruffian evidentlyobserved a change in his guest's countenance when he informed him of thenature of his profession, for he hastened to reply.

  "One sees at once that you are a foreigner, and unused to the customs ofthis country. You shudder at meeting an executioner, and sicken at thethought of cutting off a head. No matter, it is always so at first. Infact, the pleasure derived from seeing executions is an acquired taste;but I'll show you some sport to-morrow. There is to be some rare fundown at the township at daybreak," and the wretch gave another wink anda chuckle. "I'll show you how to cut off a head. One blow--click!--cutslike cheese."

  "Horrible being!" muttered my ancestor to himself in his native tongue."Is it possible that anything human can actually revel in suchbrutality?" and he shuddered in spite of himself. Then he said aloud tohis host--

  "What was it that first gave you a taste for so horrible a profession?"

  "Hm! I hardly know. I had a natural genius for it, I suppose. My fatherwas a butcher, and I was brought up from infancy to see cattleslaughtered. At a very early age I took to slaughtering the animalsmyself. I seemed to take a liking to it from the very beginning. Ihappened to have an uncle at that time who was a Scharfrichter, and mygreatest delight was to see him cut off the heads of the criminals. Ibegan to long to do the same.

  "I was a very young man when this uncle died, and as he had no maleissue to take his place, and no one else seemed to come forward, Ithought I would offer my services, and they were accepted. I have beenheadsman of the town these thirty years, and when I die my son will stepinto my shoes."

  "But if he doesn't take to it?"

  "He _must_ take to it--he'll _have_ to take to it."

  "Why, are there not many other noble professions just as inviting asthat of chopping off the heads of one's fellow-mortals?"

  "Not for the son of a headsman. I see you are ignorant of the laws ofthis country. Here in Germany the son of a headsman is bound by law toadopt the profession of his father, and should the executioner have adaughter instead of a son, in that case, the man who marries hisdaughter is bound to be headsman. Then the Scharfrichter is obliged tobuild his house a mile away from other men, for he is a being hated andshunned by everyone."

  "This then is the reason of your solitude?"

  "It is; and so far is this superstitious fear of contamination carriedin this country, that your citizen considers himself defiled if bychance he has eaten out of the same plate that a headsman has once used.Accordingly all vendors of crockery have orders to knock a chip out ofevery earthen vessel that they sell to the headsman."

  "Dear me!" exclaimed my ancestor, "what a peculiar custom! I never heardthat before. I certainly did remark that your crockery was in a mostdilapidated state, but I didn't consider the remark worth making,although more than once in the course of the evening I felt inclined toask you how on earth you contrived to knock out chips of such a peculiarshape by mere accident."

  "Ah!" sighed the headsman, "what between the crockery-seller and----"

  Here he put his finger to his lip and looked round the roomsuspiciously.

  "What is the matter?" asked the student.

  "Hush!" said the headsman, "it isn't always safe to talk of mischievouspeople--they are apt to appear. You know the saying, 'Talk of thedevil.'"

  "Well," said my ancestor, "but what has that to do with your brokencrockery?"

  "Hush!" answered his host, looking round him half-timidly; thenwhispered, "I have a certain mischievous lodger that does my crockerymore harm than either the crockery-seller or my boy upstairs when he'sfractious."

  "Ah!" exclaimed the traveller in surprise, "you have a lodger in yourhouse?"

  "Ay!--a lodger who never pays his rent, and who drives me to my wit'send by shying my crockery at my head. Look here, what a cut he gave mywrist once in one of his pranks. I shall bear this mark to my grave." Sosaying, he bared his wrist and displayed a deep, livid wound, long sincehealed, but which left behind a scar which nothing could efface.

  "An ugly cut, to be sure," remarked the Englishman. "But why on earth doyou not get rid of so playful a lodger?"

  "Get rid of him! I only wish the devil I could. He comes here uninvitedand---- But let us not talk of him, or he may pay us another of hispleasant visits, when you will be able to make his acquaintance. Henever stands upon ceremony, but comes just whenever he likes. He may bein the room now, for what I know. I shall be off to bed."

  My ancestor gazed round the room, vainly endeavouring to discover insome hidden nook the object of his host's terror, when, marvellous torelate! a dish on the top shelf was pitched, as if by some invisiblehand, from its post, and shattered into pieces against the oppositewall, nearly hitting him on the head as it passed.

  The traveller stared first at the shelf, then at his host, and turnedpale.

  "Good Heavens!" he cried. "What was that?"

  "What was it? Ay! You may well ask what it is," answered his host,peevishly. "What in the devil's name should it be but that pest of a'Poltergeist' again. I told you you would make his acquaintance erelong."

  "A what?--a '_Poltergeist_'?"

  "Ay, Poltergeist--a malignant spirit, whose chief delight seems to be tostrike terror into the house of a poor honest headsman, and smash allhis crockery that he has to pay for out of his hard-earned wages."

  "Holy Virgin!" ejaculated my ancestor, crossing himself (for he was agood Catholic). "A malignant spirit! Saints protect us!"

  But the words were hardly out of his mouth when crash! went anotherplate upon the floor, just grazing his host's auburn head as it passed.

  "Oh! come now, my fine fellow," said our host, in a tone of mildremonstrance; "a little of that goes a long way."

  Then turning to his guest, he remarked:

  "I wonder why he honours me especially with his visits, and not otherpeople. I shouldn't wonder if he is someone that I have had the honourof decapitating, and he comes to pay me an occasional visit in order toimpress upon me that he hasn't forgotten the little service I did him."

  A large pointed knife that lay peacefully on the table was then suddenlyand powerfully thrown from the traveller's side, and remained with thepoint sticking in the panel of the door opposite.

  "Ho! ho!" cried the headsman; "this is getting warm work. Now, mygood friend, do let me entreat you to be more moderate in yourmanifestations, and if you are quiet, to-morrow I will send you acompanion."

  This promise,
so far from quieting our spiritual guest, seemed toinfuriate him more than ever, for the bottle of schnaps, more than halffull, was now raised in the air and dashed to pieces on the table, thecandle being overturned at the same time, and falling flame downwards onto the spirit spilt on the table, it ignited, and in a moment everythingwas in a blaze.

  "Fire! Fire!" cried the headsman, in a voice that roused up his wife andchild, who came tumbling downstairs in no time, to learn what was thematter.

  There is no knowing what mischief might not have taken place had not myancestor, with great presence of mind, snatched up his damp clothes frombefore the fire, and succeeded in extinguishing the flame.

  "What _is_ the matter, Franz?" exclaimed our host's better half,appearing at the door just as matters were being set to rights again.

  "Oh, nothing," said her fond spouse, "only that d----d Poltergeistagain, who seems bent upon burning us all in our beds before he has donewith us."

  "Hush!" said his wife, "don't swear, or he may do as you say in realearnest. Come to bed now, or to-morrow you won't be able to get up intime. Remember----"

  "Ah, true; I must have my night's rest, as it would not do for my handto tremble to-morrow when I mount the scaffold. _Gute nacht, meinHerr._"

  And our worthy host followed his partner out of the room, leaving myancestor to his reflections.

  "Well," soliloquised my relative, "of all the strange adventures thatever occurred to me, this beats all. Oh! there is not the slightestdoubt that what I have just witnessed is the work of the infernalpowers--some diabolical agency.

  "When I see a knife jump up from the table by itself without anyone nearand deliberately fix itself in the panel of the door before my veryeyes; when I see a bottle of spirit overturned and broken in pieces, andthen a candle after that knocked over as if on purpose to ignite thespirit, and withal no way of accounting for such a phenomenon; moreover,when I see plates and dishes hurled from one end of the room to theother, and apparently aimed at people's heads, and yet the perpetratorof such pranks has the power of making himself invisible to the nakedeye, then, I say, this is not through human agency, but somethingsuperhuman, and as it is not exactly an angelic mode of proceeding, itmust be the reverse."

  My ancestor shuddered, and crossed himself. The manifestations, however,had ceased for the night, and in five minutes our weary traveller wasfast asleep.

  His dreams that night were not of the pleasantest. He imagined that hemounted the scaffold with a crowd of eager eyes gazing at him, amongstwhom were his friends and travelling companions. His host, theScharfrichter, stood brandishing his terrible two-handed sword, and inanother moment his head would have been off, but at the critical timethe dream changed, and he was being pelted with crockery in the midst ofa cemetery at night by innumerable sheeted "poltergeister."

  These and such-like visions were flitting before his brain, when a loudthump at the door brought him back to earth again. There was theScharfrichter before him, not in dressing gown and slippers, as on theprevious evening, but attired in doublet and hose of a blood red, ablack _barello_ with scarlet cock's feather.

  "Now then, mein Herr," said the headsman, taking down his fearfulinstrument from the wall, "time's up."

  My ancestor, only just awake, rubbed his eyes and imagined that he wasreally and truly called away to execution, and that his last hour hadcome.

  The executioner, seeing that he hesitated, added: "If you want towitness the cunning of my hand, now's your time."

  My relation gave a sigh of relief when he began to recollect that hisown head was quite safe, and that he was only called to witness theexecution of another man.

  "But I can't go; I have sprained my ankle," pleaded the Englishman.

  "Oh, I don't intend to walk myself," replied the executioner. "I have myhorse and cart ready, and can give you a lift."

  "Oh, if that's the case," said the student, "I shall be glad to go, as Iwish to meet my friends in the township."

  "Come on, then," and the headsman assisted the Englishman into the cart.

  As they were about starting, a little red-haired ruffian of about ten,stout and well-built, and bearing a striking likeness to our host,appeared on the threshold.

  "Papa, you'll bring me home a football, won't you?" said the youth.

  "Ay, my boy, that will I, a good sized one," answered his father.

  "That's your son?" asked the student of his host. "Ah, a fine littlefellow. Here, my little man," said he to the child, and slipping a smallcoin into his little fat fist, he patted him on the cheek and steppedinto the cart.

  "Ah, he's a fine boy," said our host with a paternal pride, as hewhipped on his horse. "There is nothing of the milksop about him. _He's_not afraid of the devil himself."

  "You do well to be proud of him. I'll warrant you buy him many a prettytoy," observed the Englishman.

  "Buy him toys!" exclaimed the headsman, laughing. "As long as I bringhim home a football now and then, he is quite content." And he laughedagain.

  "Well, that is a toy, isn't it?" said the student, not as yetcomprehending the headsman's meaning.

  "Yes, a toy that costs me nothing, and gives him no end of amusement.You should see how he kicks the heads about that I bring him home. It'squite a pleasure to see the youngster enjoy himself in his innocentway."

  "You do not mean to say," said the Englishman, in horror, "that thefootball you promised him is to be _a human head_!"

  "Aye, to be sure," replied the Scharfrichter. "What else should it be?What kicks he'll give it to be sure! Ha! ha! ha! that's the way to bringup boys; makes them hardy. _He's_ not afraid of a little blood. Talk ofhis not taking a liking to my business! Why he's always saying to me,'Papa, when I am big enough to wield your sword, you'll let me cut offheads, won't you?'

  "'Yes, my boy, that you shall,' say I, for I like to give himencouragement. That's what I call bringing up boys well. I wouldn'tgive a fig for one of your milksops that scream or faint at the sight ofblood, not I."

  "Humph," muttered my ancestor, and he remained silent for some minutes,absorbed in meditation.

  The headsman whipped on his horse in silence; at length he said to hisguest: "Here we are at last. Look at yon crowd waiting to receive us."

  My relative lifted his head, and sure enough there was the mound ofearth erected for the criminal already surrounded by soldiers, close towhich thronged the crowd. All the inhabitants of ----dorf were astir,and in the crowd our Englishman now recognised his fellow students. Acry of "_Der Henker! der Henker!_"[3] arose on all sides. Room was atonce made for the headsman and his companion, and Fritz's fellowstudents, seeing their friend arrive in a Henker's cart, pushed theirway through the crowd to ask him all sorts of questions.

  Fritz descended with difficulty after paying his host for his board andlodging, and joined his companions. In a few minutes more the criminal'scart arrived with the "_armer Suender_," or poor sinner, accompanied bytwo priests. Loud execrations broke from the mob, amidst which thewretched being descended from the cart and mounted the scaffold. A deadsilence reigned around. One of the priests whispered somethingearnestly in the ear of the condemned, who was as pale as death, and hetook his seat on the chair prepared for him, while an expression ofsavage delight appeared on the countenance of the headsman.

  He felt all eyes were upon him. The terrible two-handed weapon wasraised aloft, and brandished over the Henker's head. One blow and thehead of the unhappy wretch was severed from his body. Loud cheering rentthe air as the Scharfrichter, holding the head of the criminal by thehair, presented it to the public gaze. But at this moment a mostunexpected and revolting scene ensued.

  Several persons from among the crowd rushed forward toward the scaffoldwith mugs, which they filled at the fresh fountain of blood spurting upfrom the severed neck of the criminal and drank off at a draught.

  My ancestor sickened at so disgusting a spectacle, and demanded thereason of some bystander. He was informed that those persons believedhuman blood fresh from
the neck of a beheaded criminal to be aninfallible remedy for epileptic fits. The superstition exists to thisday. Violent exercise after the draught, he was informed, was considerednecessary, in order to effect a cure.

  The crowd began to disperse, and my ancestor, leaning on the arm of afriend, also retired from the scene, disgusted with himself at havingbeen present at such a spectacle. Before leaving the spot he had time tonotice his host of the previous night start off in his cart towards homewith the promised football.

  Our English student was laid up for some little time with his sprainedankle, and some of his companions remained behind to keep him company,while others moved onward.

  The ankle being cured, my relative continued his foot tour with hisfriends, and afterwards returned to the university, where he studiedhard till the time came round for an examination, which he passed, andshortly afterwards returned to England.

  We hear nothing more of my ancestor until ten or twelve yearsafterwards, when we again find him in Germany, whither he had beensuddenly called to visit some relative, then in a dying state.

  He arrived just in time to close his relative's eyes, after which he sawhim quietly interred in his last home.

  This sad office over, he was thinking of returning to England, when, inturning over the articles of his travelling trunk, he suddenly cameacross a German book belonging to a college friend of his, one LudwigEngstein, that had been lent him when at the university, and which hehad forgotten to return before leaving college. His friend used to live,he remembered, in Weimar, and not being far distant, he resolved tovisit that town and to find out his friend's house.

  Many changes take place in twelve years, and my ancestor only halfexpected to meet his fellow-student again. He might have changed hisresidence--he might be dead. Who could tell what might not have happenedto him after so long a lapse of time?

  Nevertheless, the Englishman, finding himself on German soil once more,resolved to enquire after the friend of his youth, and should he succeedin discovering him, to put him in possession of his book again, and chatwith him over their student days.

  Accordingly, he set off for the town of Weimar, and having arrivedthere, proceeded with the said book under his arm to the house of hisfriend. He had been once on a visit of a fortnight at his friend's housewhen a student, and had known his mother and sisters intimately,therefore he had no difficulty in finding the house again.

  The town of Weimar had changed but little during these ten or twelveyears, and once more he found himself on the old familiar doorstep.

  "_Ist der Herr Advocat Engstein zu Hause?_" he demanded of an old womanwho answered the door.

  "_Ja, mein Herr_," replied the crone. "What name shall I give?"

  "Oh, never mind announcing me," said the Englishman; "I'll announcemyself."

  So saying, he pushed past the old woman, and knocked at his friend'sstudy.

  "_Herein!_" called out a voice from within, which my ancestor had nodifficulty in recognising as his friend's, and the Englishman entered.

  Ludwig Engstein was seated at a table strewed with papers and documents,and was busily writing. He was still young looking, but his friend Fritznoticed that his face had assumed a more thoughtful expression thanwhen at the university. He was now a lawyer in good practice, and themoment his friend entered he was so busy that he did not even raise hishead.

  "I am sorry to disturb you, Herr Advocat," said Fritz, suddenly, "butI've come to return a book you lent me some time back."

  And placing the book on the table, he marched straight out of the room,shutting the door after him. He then peeped through the key-hole andlistened awhile to note the effect of his abrupt departure on hisfriend.

  The young lawyer's ear caught his friend's English accent, and at oncelifted his head, though not in time to catch a glimpse of his retreatingfigure.

  I have said that Engstein recognised Fritz's accent as English, butlittle did he suspect that it was his old college friend who had calledupon him and left so suddenly.

  He looked surprised, took up the book upon the table to look at thetitle, and muttered to himself, "Who can it have been? I do notrecollect now who it was I lent it to, but it must have been a longwhile ago."

  He was about to ring the bell, and rose for that purpose when he noticeda face peeping at him through the opening of the door, which was nowajar.

  "Who's that? Come in!" cried the lawyer.

  "You are busy, Herr Advocat--another time. _Ich empfaehle mich Ihnen_,"said my relative, closing the door slowly after him.

  But this time Ludwig had a better view of the Englishman's face.

  "_Potztausend!_" exclaimed the lawyer; "I shall know that face. _Ach!lieber freund Fritz._ Can it be really you? _Nein was fuer ein angenehmeUeberaschung!_" he cried, rushing forward and throwing the door wideopen while he kissed his friend forcibly on both cheeks.

  "Sit down here and tell me to what for a fortuitous andnever-to-be-expected train of circumstances I am indebted for thisfriendly and to me most agreeable and blissful-past-days-recallingvisit."

  Fritz then went on to relate the circumstances of his relative's death,and how he had been called from home to attend him in his last moments.

  "I am sorry for the death of your relation," said Ludwig, "but I cannotsufficiently express my extreme joy at seeing my old friend Fritz againafter so many years! Ha! ha! ha!" he laughed, partly from delight atmeeting his friend, and partly at his friend's mode of introducinghimself.

  "What for an eccentric and of you and your strangecountryman-characteristic way of saluting your old friend after solong!"

  And the German again laughed again heartily.

  "And what for a busy and for-ever-with-documents-and-papers-occupiedGerman business man, not even to notice his swiftly entering, andthough long departed from German soil, speedily-vanishing andalmost-forgotten English friend!" retorted Fritz, mimicking thehigh-flown, wordy phraseology of the German.

  "No, on my honour, Fritz," replied his friend; "not forgotten, I assureyou. Do you know that I had a dream of you only last night. It neverstruck me till now. It is strange that I should have dreamed of you justthe night before your unexpected and to me most grateful arrival. Howstrange it is that our dreams often prognosticate coming events! It isas if the mind, partly freed from its material covering during sleep,received the power of peering with greater accuracy into thatto-us-in-our-waking-state-obscure and unfathomable future which----"

  "Precisely; I understand you," answered my relative, cutting short hisfriend's philosophic remark; "but let us talk a little over old times;that is if you are at leisure."

  "Yes, to be sure," answered the lawyer; "what I am doing now has no needof hurry. Oh, by the way, Fritz, talking of old times, do you rememberthe night you spent at the house of old Franz Wenzel the Scharfrichter?"

  "If I remember? Shall I ever forget it? ask, rather," answered myancestor. "It seems to me only yesterday that I witnessed thatexecution; and then that Poltergeist--it seems as if I had witnessed hispranks only last night. I can remember the minutest incident thathappened on that unhallowed evening."

  "Well," resumed the lawyer, "poor old Franz is no more."

  "What--dead, eh?"

  "Ay, murdered. Horrible to relate, his body was discovered minus thehead, which has been carried off or hidden somewhere, for it hasn't beenfound yet, but his son recognised the body by the clothes, besides Franzhas never returned home since, so it must be he. There appears to be amystery about it, however. The murderer has not as yet been discovered,neither can people guess at what prompted the murderer to take the lifeof a man who was never over-burdened with money. Then the head being cutoff without care being taken to bury the body, and all, too, within afew steps of the Henker's own house. What could have been the murderer'sobject in carrying off the head?"

  "A mere act of spite, I suppose," replied the Englishman.

  "Well, it may be so," replied his friend, "for it seems that his lifehad been often threatened by the fri
ends or relations of those he hadbeheaded. It may be as you say, out of spite. The murderer may, by wayof wreaking his vengeance have cut off the head of the man who had putsome friend or relation to death as a trophy, but why just at thismoment? Why not before, as there has been no execution in the townlately? I believe there has been none since that execution we twowitnessed together. If the avenger had made up his mind to avenge hisfriend, why did he not do so at once, instead of waiting these twelveyears?"

  "It may be some other private quarrel," replied Fritz. "Are you mixed upin it?"

  "Yes, I shall be at the trial."

  "It happened recently it would seem."

  "Only two days ago."

  "Then the body is still fresh--of course it has been exposed andexamined?"

  "Yes, but it was recognised at once by the family. I dare say it isburied by this time. I am going there to-morrow. If you have time, myfriend, I should be most glad of your company."

  "Well, I don't mind giving you a day or so, as I am taking a holiday."

  "Agreed, then; we start to-morrow."

  The two friends then discoursed until dinner-time, when Ludwig invitedFritz to share his meal.

  The Englishman accepted the offer, and they chatted and laughed the timeaway till the evening.

  Ludwig lived quite alone. His sisters had married, his mother was dead.Ludwig was still a bachelor, and so was my ancestor at this time.

  "You have not yet put your neck under the yoke it appears," said myrelative to his friend, in allusion to the conjugal tie.

  "Not I," replied his friend. "At least, not yet."

  "I understand," said Fritz; "not married, but '_verlobt_'."

  "No, nor that either."

  "No? _Verliebt_, then, perhaps."

  "No, neither '_verlobt_' nor '_verliebt_'."

  "What!" exclaimed the Englishman, "not even that! Nevertheless, if Iremember rightly, the student Ludwig Engstein was not once averse to thefair sex."

  "Oh, recall not the follies of the past, my friend, or I may retaliate,"answered the German.

  "True, true," said the Englishman. "We all have our weaknesses, andyouth is the season in which they mostly flourish, but now we have bothgrown into sober-minded _Philister_,[4] and are more wary."

  "Yes, yes," rejoined his friend; "we are not to be caught now by a pairof blue eyes, flaxen tresses, and a jimp waist, however well thesecharms may be set off with the allurements of dress. When men get to ouradvanced age, they want 'geist,' and look out for a good housewife whocan cook them a dish of 'sauer kraut' or a 'pfankuchen' when '_dasmoos_'[5] is wanting, which is another very useful accessory we desireto have thrown in."

  Here he made a significant gesture with his finger and thumb, intendedto express the counting of money.

  "I hope, my friend, you have not become so worldly as to look uponmarriage in the light of bettering yourself," said my relative.

  "_Ach! lieber freund_," replied Ludwig. "It is all very well for yourich milords who have '_loewen_'[6] to talk in that style, but we '_armerteufeln_' are bound to take even that into consideration."

  "This is what the world makes of noble fellows when it has once got themin its grasp!" sighed my ancestor to himself, and he hastened to changethe conversation.

  They then discoursed on various other topics, sitting up to a late hourof night, until wearied with incessant talking, each retired to rest.

  Early the next morning both were dressed and ready to start on theirjourney. They reached ----dorf towards evening, and having fixed theirquarters at the very same inn they had put up at on their memorabletour, they beguiled the time until the morrow by discoursing with thetownspeople about the mysterious murder.

  The body, it seems, was not yet underground, but was to be buried thenext day. They accordingly both resolved to examine it.

  "The head has not been found yet?" asked Ludwig after supper of thelandlord of the inn, who had come in for a gossip.

  "No, sir, not yet," replied their host. "Ah, there are some strangerumours in the town about that same murder."

  "Indeed!" cried Fritz; "what do the people say?"

  "Some say one thing, and some another, but all seem to agree that thereis something supernatural about the murder of the Henker."

  "Something supernatural! Why--what reason have they to jump at thatconclusion?"

  "Well, sir, I don't know if you have ever heard of the Henker'sPoltergeist, but it is a fact well known to all in the township."

  "Yes, yes--even we know it. In fact----but never mind, proceed."

  "Well, gentlemen, this Poltergeist--this evil spirit--that no doubt waspermitted to haunt the headsman for his sins--for a headsman must ofnecessity be a cruel, hard-hearted, unnatural villain to choose such aprofession."

  "Well, well--this evil spirit."

  "Well then the Scharfrichter, at least, so people say, had sold his soulto this demon, and when the time came round for him to give up his soulaccording to the bargain, he refused, and the demon wrested it from himby force by cutting off his head and carrying it away with him."

  "Oh, but why this strange supposition? Why put down a thing tosupernatural agency before sufficient time has elapsed to investigatethe matter properly? A person is murdered, and the body discoveredwithout the head, and because the head cannot be found at once, you saythat the devil has run off with it. My dear sir, the thing's absurd."

  "Well, we must wait and see what evidence will turn up," said the host.

  "Yes, but if everybody merely _waits_ for evidence to turn up instead ofactively searching for it, the matter will come to a standstill," saidthe Englishman. "I myself am interested in the murder, as I knew theScharfrichter twelve years ago, when I was a student."

  "Ah, in that case, sir--of course you would. By-the-by, there is anothermurder now talked about besides the Henker's. They seem to be getting infashion."

  "What! another body?"

  "Well, sir, the body isn't exactly found yet, but there is a certainCount, well-known to be rich, who was taking a foot tour through thecountry alone. His family expected him home on a certain day, and as hehasn't turned up yet, they suspect that he has been robbed andmurdered."

  "That may be merely a suspicion. How long has he been missing?"

  "Three days, they say."

  "Three days! Why, a man doesn't bind himself to a day or two when out ona foot tour. He may remain another three days, or a week longer, andthen return unhurt."

  "Well, sir, it may be as you say, but as the Count was known by hisrelations to be a very punctual man, and never to fail in hisappointments, you see, it is natural they should feel uneasy."

  "True, especially as three days ago was about the time of the othermurder, and they may get it into their heads that the two murdersoccurred in the same night. Was he a married man?"

  "No, sir; quite young, they say."

  "Humph! When did you say the body of the Henker would beburied--to-morrow?"

  "About ten, I think, sir."

  "Ah! then I must be there early, as I want to examine the corpsemyself."

  "Oh, decidedly, sir. I will bring you to the place to-morrow in goodtime."

  Our friends now felt inclined for their night's rest, so their hostshowed them into a room with two beds, and wishing them a good night,left them to undress, and before many minutes had passed both were soundasleep.

  The following morning early our two friends, in the company of theirhost, started from the inn to visit the corpse of the murderedexecutioner. As they entered the hall where the body lay exposed, Fritzinstantly recognised the clothes; if not the identical vestments worn bythe defunct twelve years ago, at least, of the same colour and material,being, as I have said before, a doublet and hose of crimson, a colourthat he seems to have been partial to.

  "Yes," said Fritz; "these are the Henker's clothes, I've no doubt."

  Then, after examining the form laid out before him, he was observed tostart slightly, and he added in a whisper to his friend: "Ludwig, thi
sis not the body of Franz Wenzel--I'll take my oath of that."

  "How! Not Franz Wenzel! Who else should it be, then?"

  "That I am not prepared to say, but it is not the body of the Henker;that is certain. Remember that I passed a night at Wenzel's house;during that time I took note of the features and figure of theScharfrichter, and though twelve years have passed since I saw him, Ican swear----"

  "But how! His own family have recognised him. What further proof wouldyou have?"

  Then addressing the landlord, Ludwig said: "Is it true, landlord, thathis own family have recognised the body?"

  "Yes, sir; at least, the son did. I don't know whether his wife did ornot, as she has been laid up for ever so long with paralysis, poor soul.It may be she has never been informed of the murder. One does not liketo frighten invalids, you know."

  "Well, well--enough if the corpse has been recognised by the son."

  "Yes, sir, he recognised it. It is true, he was a little the worse forliquor when they brought him before the corpse of his father; but whenis he otherwise, for the matter of that? As sad a young dog as everlived that same--inherits all the vices of his father. Nevertheless, whois there in the township that does not recognise the Henker's red legs?"

  "You see, therefore, my friend," said Ludwig, turning to his companion,"that you are mistaken. Everybody recognises him."

  "I see nothing of the sort," replied the Englishman, doggedly; "and I amstill prepared to swear that the corpse before us is not that of FranzWenzel."

  "My dear Fritz," said Engstein, "you are obstinate. What reason can youpossibly have for saying so?"

  "Observe the hands of the corpse," said Fritz, in a low tone. "Do theylook like the hands of an executioner? They are long and delicate. Thoseof Franz Wenzel were hard, rough, and hairy, with square stuntedfingers; besides, the headsman wore no ring. This hand, though no ringis visible, has a depression on the forefinger, as if the owner were inthe constant habit of wearing one."

  "Ha! say you so?" exclaimed his friend, and a strange expression cameover his face.

  "Then," pursued Fritz, "observe the clothes. Do they look as if theywere made for the body? Franz Wenzel had enormously developed calves,and his hose fitted tightly. Do these hose fit tightly? Look at theselimbs, that, compared with the Henker's, are but those of a boy."

  "Humph! I believe you are right, Fritz, after all," said Engstein; "butit never would have struck me if you had not pointed it out, as it is solong ago since I set eyes upon him, and then only for a moment. You tooka more complete survey of him, and your evidence may prove useful. Wewill look into the matter together. It is strange, however, that no oneshould have been struck in the same manner as yourself."

  "Well, I don't know," responded Fritz. "The people in these smallvillages are not always of the brightest. Then the headsman's housebeing so far away from the town, few people have the opportunity oftaking a minute survey of him. The people here content themselves withrecognising the clothes. Franz's wife is laid up with paralysis, and hasnot seen the body, while his son only recognised it when in a drunkenstate. Do you call that sufficient evidence to prove that the corpsebefore us is that of the executioner? Would you like another proof thatthis is no more Franz Wenzel than I am?"

  "Well," said Ludwig.

  "I remember a scar upon the right wrist that he showed me the night Iput up at his house," said the Englishman; "and which he told me hadbeen inflicted on him by a piece of broken plate hurled at him by hisPoltergeist. I remember that he said he should carry that mark with himto the grave. If this is the corpse of Franz Wenzel we shall not fail todiscover the mark."

  So saying, he bared the right arm of the corpse and examined itcarefully. No such mark was to be found. The arm was free from scar orbrand, and was delicate in form, almost like that of a maiden's.Moreover, there was a scanty covering of dark hair upon it, while thehair on the arms of the executioner, if you remember rightly, was redand profuse. Even Engstein remarked this, and was now convinced beyond adoubt that the murdered man was not Franz Wenzel.

  "Is any search being made now for the head of the corpse?" demandedEngstein of his host, who had withdrawn some paces from the two friends,and consequently had not heard the doubt that had been suddenly castupon the public opinion.

  "No active search, I believe, sir," was the reply.

  "We will make the search ourselves, my friend," whispered Engstein toFritz; then added to his host, "My friend and I will take a strolltogether. It is uncertain when we shall return to the inn, but getsomething savoury for us against we come back," and he waved his handtowards his host, who doffed his cap and walked towards his inn, whileour two friends set off together in the direction of the Henker's house,which they reached in about an hour.

  "Yes," said Fritz, "this is the place. I remember it well. What did ourhost tell us? That the murder took place only a few paces from theheadsman's door. Let us look well round the spot. How solitary it is!Just the place where a murder would be committed. What do you say to yonhollow flanked with brushwood, Ludwig? Is it not a likely place for amurderer to await his victim?"

  "You are right, Fritz, let us make a strict search, but if the head hasbeen carried far distant----"

  "Let us, nevertheless, search well here first," said my ancestor, andthe two friends set to work at once, lifting up every bush and bramble,following every track, until finally they came upon some blood stains.

  An old dried well they discovered not far from this spot. Common sensewould have suggested this as a likely place for the concealment of themissing head, and there is no doubt that the same idea struck theinhabitants of ----dorf, for there was evident traces of a great numberof feet in the sand round about it; besides which there was a chiprecently made in the brickwork, which appeared caused by the lettingdown of a rope or chain.

  This seemed evidence enough for our two friends that the well hadalready been searched, and without effect. Further search in thatdirection appeared to them to be useless, especially as no bloodstainswere to be found near.

  They then proceeded to examine more closely than ever the bushes around,stamping on the ground to ascertain if a hole had recently been made,but the ground was firm, and there was nothing to attract suspicion savea few bloodstains, which, instead of leading up to the well as one wouldhave imagined, led up to the foot of an old chestnut-tree, and thereseemed to end.

  On examining the bark of the tree attentively they observed blood alsoon the trunk, but this might have been occasioned by the splashing ofthe blood from the neck after the decapitation of the head. There was nohollow visible in the tree where suspicion would lead one to supposethat the head could be concealed; nevertheless, when men make up theirminds to make a rigid search, they often pry into the most unlikely andimpossible places, so our friends determined to ascend the tree toascertain if by any chance the head could have lodged between its leafybranches.

  Previous to mounting, Ludwig, who, together with his friend, hadprovided himself with a long branch wherewith to beat down the bushes,struck the chestnut-tree a blow on the trunk with the branch he carried,when a hollow sound proceeded from the tree, and instantly a large owlfluttered out from the foliage before their faces with its beak andplumage stained with blood. Blinded with the sunlight, it hovereddistractedly hither and thither for a time, and then vanished with ascreech.

  "Did you notice the beak and feathers of the bird, Ludwig?" asked Fritz.

  "I did," said Ludwig, "and what is more, I am convinced that the wholeof this seemingly robust chestnut-tree is hollow, and I have not a doubtthat the murderer, aware of the fact, has hidden the head of his victimat the bottom, and that this fell bird has been gorging itself and itsyoung upon it ever since."

  "That is just my opinion," said Fritz. "Let us climb the tree and lookwithin."

  My ancestor was the first to mount, and having arrived at the pointwhere the trunk divides itself into branches, he discovered a large holethickly covered over with leaves. Sitting upon the edge,
with his legsdangling within the hollow trunk, he proceeded to strike a light, andhaving ignited a taper, he commenced carefully to descend into thehollow of the tree. In his descent, however, his foot slipped, his taperextinguished itself, and he came down rather suddenly upon his feet. Hesoon became aware from a feeble smothered shriek that he was treadingupon a nest of young owlets.

  He began to dread lest he might encounter some venemous reptile in thisunexplored region, but taking courage he struck another light andsearched about. He had not looked long when he discovered what appearedto be a human scalp. He grasped it firmly by the hair, and by the lightof his taper soon knew it to be in reality the head of a man, one halfof which had been already eaten away to the bone.

  "Eureka!" exclaimed Fritz, "I have it."

  His friend uttered an exclamation of delight, while my relativeclambered up again, and the two friends examined the disgusting treasureunder the fair light of day.

  "You see the hair is black," said Fritz. "I hope you are satisfied nowthat this is not the head of the Scharfrichter."

  "There is no doubt about that now, I think," said Ludwig. "And do youknow, Fritz, now that I scan these features, they seem familiar to me asmy own in the looking-glass. Himmel! Can it be possible!"

  "What?" demanded my ancestor, anxiously.

  "Why, I'll swear that this is no other than my old friend andfellow-student, the Count of Waffenburg!" exclaimed Engstein.

  "What! Graf von Waffenburg! Is it really so? I knew him well. Let meexamine the features," said Fritz.

  "Yes, it is he beyond a doubt," said Ludwig. "We had a quarrel once, andI wounded him in the cheek. Here is the wound I myself inflicted; butafterwards we became staunch friends."

  "True," said Fritz. "I remember the duel well, being present myself onthe occasion. What a curious coincidence! It is certainly he, and noother. The more I look at the features the more satisfied I am. Let ushasten with this proof of the identity of the murdered man to thetownship and spread abroad the news of the murder of the count. Hisrelations will then come to claim his body."

  The two friends then made a covering of chestnut leaves for the head,and tying it up in a handkerchief, retraced their steps towards thetownship, discoursing on the cunning of the murderer, who appeared tothem to be no other than the Scharfrichter himself.

  "For when a body is found minus the head," argued Ludwig, "and dressedin the clothes of another man, and that other man is nowhere to befound, it follows as a matter of course that the man missing must be themurderer."

  "Yes," said the Englishman, "unless the murdered man had previouslystolen the clothes of another, and then afterwards been murdered by someunknown assassin."

  "But when the deceased has been proved beyond a doubt to be the Graf vonWaffenburg, a man whose name is above so ridiculous a suspicion," saidEngstein.

  "Oh, of course the blackest suspicion attaches itself to Wenzel," saidFritz; "yet, in the case of a mysterious murder, evidence, occasionallyof so startling and unexpected a nature, turns up as to completely alterthe state of the case.

  "The headsman is missing, and a corpse has been found dressed in hisclothes. We presume, therefore, that _he_ is the murderer, but if aftera time the Henker's corpse should also be found----"

  "Oh, in that case," said Ludwig, "the aspect of the whole affair wouldbe changed. Well, we must wait for further evidence. To-morrow the casewill begin in court, and my services will be required. I doubt notbefore long that sufficient light will be thrown on the subject toenable us to discover the true murderer."

  Thus our two friends chatted by the way, till in due time they arrivedat the township, and having deposited the head of the murdered man atthe town hall, where the body had been exposed, they spread abroad theresult of their expedition, and clearly proved to the somewhat obtuseinhabitants their error.

  On the following morning, then, the trial began. The court was crowdedto suffocation. Evidence of a very extraordinary nature had turned up,so it was said, and Ludwig Engstein, attired in his professional robes,was preparing to conduct the case.

  My ancestor was amongst the crowd, and had placed himself as near as hepossibly could to his friend.

  "Call in Gottlieb Kraeger," cried the examiner.

  A hoary peasant entered the witness-box, and the examination proceededin this wise:

  "You are a farmer from the village of ----, are you not?"

  "I am."

  "Just inform us, if you please, what you were doing on the night of themurder."

  "I was returning home after selling some cattle at the ----dorf market,and it was about midnight when I passed close to the Henker's cottage. Iheard cries and groans as of someone being murdered not far off. Istopped and listened for a moment, then set off on tip-toe to the spotwhence the sounds proceeded. It was very dark, and the groans at lengthceased.

  "I placed myself behind some brushwood to watch who should issue fromthe copse, when a friar passed me."

  "Stay, are you quite sure the friar came from the very spot from whenceyou heard the groans?"

  "Well, as to swearing to it, I don't know, but I heard the sound as ofbrushwood being trampled under foot, and the next instant the friarpassed close to me. He did not appear to observe me, but moved onward inthe direction of the village of Ahlden."

  "Did you follow him or take any further notice of him?"

  "To say the truth, I was too frightened to move, but I kept my eye onhim as far as I could see him."

  "But you tell me it was very dark."

  "Just at that moment the moon had burst from behind the clouds, andenabled me to see distinctly."

  "Well, did you observe anything peculiar in the manner or gait of thefriar?"

  "Yes; after he had passed me some ten paces he halted, as if he werecounting money, after which he threw away something that glittered inthe moonlight and then walked on. I followed stealthily behind todiscover what it was that he had thrown away, when I picked up this."

  The witness held up a long silk purse knitted with silver beads.

  "Give it to me--so--can you recollect anything else about this friar?Could you manage to catch a glimpse of his face?"

  "No, I could not exactly distinguish the features, but----"

  "But what?"

  "I observed a peculiar patch in his amice over the left shoulder."

  "Should you be able to swear to the amice?"

  "Aye, that I should, among a thousand."

  "Is this the amice of the friar you saw issue from the copse?" askedLudwig, holding up a patched amice such as is worn by the Capuchinfriars.

  "The very same, I'll swear to it."

  "Take care, you are on your oath."

  "Well, if it is not the same, it is one made after the same fashion,patch and all complete. I'll swear to the shape of the patch, for Iobserved the garment well."

  "Enough; you may retire. Call in Hans Schultz."

  A dapper little man with oiled hair and closely-shaven face entered thecourt, and having taken his post at the witness-box, gave his evidenceas follows:--

  "I am by profession a barber. The morning after the murder I was shavingan elderly gentleman in my shop. I suggested that a little hair dyewould improve his personal appearance, and offered him a bottle. Herefused to buy it, so I placed it on a table behind me, and continued toshave him. Whilst I was recommending the hair dye to my customer Inoticed a Capuchin friar pass several times in front of my shop. Heappeared to be listening to our conversation.

  "Shortly afterwards he entered the shop and begged for alms for theconvent. I gave him a kreuzer, and after he had chatted a little he leftthe shop. I could not see his face well, as he kept it covered with hishood, but I remember that he had a red beard. He had hardly left my shopwhen on looking on the table behind me I found the bottle of hair dyegone. No one else but the friar and my customer had entered the shopsince I laid the bottle down upon the table, yet I could not suspect mycustomer of having stolen the bottle, and I was much at a loss toconceiv
e what a Capuchin friar should want with hair dye.

  "I concluded, therefore, that I must have been mistaken, and must havelaid the bottle down somewhere else without thinking, so I thought nomore of it.

  "On the same day I was called to cut the hair of a gentleman at theother end of the village, when I passed a friar who appeared to be thesame as he who not long ago had entered my shop. I looked at him in theface, but he had a black beard. I could have sworn it was the same, forhis amice was patched in a peculiar manner on the shoulder, as was thatof the first friar."

  "Is this the amice that the friar wore?" asked Engstein, holding up thepatched garment.

  "It is like it. I could all but swear to it."

  "Did you address him when you met him, as you thought, a second time?"

  "I was about to do so, but he pulled out his beads, and began countingthem. Not liking to disturb him in his devotions, I passed on, thinkingthat after all I might have been deceived."

  "That is sufficient, you may go."

  The little barber left the court, and another witness was called for.

  "Your name?"

  "Max Offenbrunnen."

  "Profession?"

  "I am host of the Bear Inn in the village of M----."

  "Can you tell us anything that happened at your inn within this lastweek?"

  "Yes; three days after the murder a Capuchin friar stopped at my inn andcalled for a tankard of beer. He kept his hood down all the time, sothat I could not see his face, but I remember that he had a black beard,and I also noticed that he had a patch in his amice over one shoulder ofrather an unusual form."

  The patched garment was held up again in court, and recognised also bythe third witness, after which he proceeded as follows:--

  "He called for more beer, and I began to enter into conversation withhim and asked him where he came from. He told me from a Capuchin conventat W----, about a mile off. Just at that moment another friar, an oldfriend of mine, passed my inn, who belonged to the aforementionedconvent.

  "'Then you know each other,' said I to my friend the second friar, and Isought to bring them together, but my friend, after eyeing the formerfrom head to foot, denied all knowledge of him. The first friar thensomewhat confusedly stammered an excuse, saying that he had spokenwithout thinking, but that he had intended to say St. Mary's, anotherCapuchin convent, six miles further off. Then my friend the second friarsaid that he knew all the friars at St. Mary's, but still denied that heknew this one.

  "The former began to mumble that he had only lately arrived, and beganto turn the conversation. My friend whispered to me that he didn'tbelieve he was a friar at all, but someone in disguise. After my friendhad left, the former friar called for more beer (I never saw a friardrink so much beer as this one), and being curious to discover who theman was I tried to draw him out. At first he answered cautiously, butafter drinking deeper he became less cautious and more confidential, buthis utterance was now thick and unintelligible. He drew his chair closerto mine, and seemed about to let me into some secret, when some othercustomers of mine at the next table began to talk about the murder.

  "I noticed that the would-be friar started, and instead of continuinghis conversation with me, got up suddenly and muttered some excuse fortaking his departure. He paid me hurriedly by lying down a Reichsgulden,saying that whatever change there might be I might keep for myself. Hehad hardly left my house when certain of the guard who had been on thetrack of the murderer stopped to question him, and finding he could giveno satisfactory account of himself, took him into custody."

  Other witnesses were then examined in their turn, among which werecertain members of the family of the murdered count, and a certainFraulein von Berlichingen, his affianced bride, all of whom recognisedthe body to be that of the missing Graf von Waffenburg. The silken pursewith silver beads picked up by the first witness was also recognised byFraulein von Berlichingen as having been knitted by herself andpresented by her to her lover.

  The remains of the murdered count were decently interred. The melancholyevent caused no small commotion in the neighbourhood. The funeral wasfollowed by a large crowd of relatives and intimate friends, among whichwere our two heroes Fritz and Ludwig. The grief of Fraulein vonBerlichingen was too great to allow her to appear at the funeral. Shewas inconsolable, and shortly afterwards entered a convent.

  But to return to the trial.

  The prisoner was now conducted into court. He was a man somewhat passedmiddle-age, though his frame was square built and powerful, and hishair, beard, and eyebrows were of a deep black, yet an observer mighthave noticed that whenever a ray of sunlight entered the court and shonefull in the face of the prisoner that his hair and beard turned to aglowing purple, demonstrating beyond a doubt the presence of dye. Thosewho chanced to be stationed near the prisoner declared afterwards thatthe hairs of his head towards the roots were of a bright red, and manywere they who recognised, in spite of this disguise, the person ofFranz Wenzel, the executioner.

  The prisoner, however, when examined, gave his name as Adolf Schmidt,and denied stoutly that he was Franz Wenzel, or to having ever haddealings with such a person.

  He denied having stolen a bottle of hair dye for the purpose ofdisguising himself, and maintained that he was an honest citizen who haddonned a holy garb for penitence, which had been imposed upon him by hisfather confessor.

  The prisoner was then asked if such were the case, why he had tried todeceive the host of the Bear Inn and the Capuchin friar when they askedhim whence he came. To this the prisoner replied that he loved not togratify the idle curiosity of others respecting his private affairs.Ludwig Engstein then asked the prisoner how he came in possession of thefriar's amice, for which he responded that it had been lent him sometime ago by his father confessor, who had obtained it from some Capuchinfriar of his acquaintance.

  When asked for particulars concerning his father confessor, he repliedvaguely and confusedly, and when begged to be more explicit, he refused,saying he had private reasons for not divulging the affairs of hisfriends.

  Other witnesses were then called for, who stated that they had beenrobbed of money and various sorts of ware more than once within thelast three years, about half a (German) mile from the house of theScharfrichter by a man who wore a mask, and who corresponded in heightand width of person to the prisoner. Among these latter was a Jewpedlar, who three years ago had been robbed of a large sum and variousarticles of clothing, among which he declared was the identical friar'samice held up in court, and which he perfectly remembered to havepatched himself.

  This and such like evidence naturally went very much against theprisoner; neither will it be wondered at that his disguise was easilyseen through, and his person recognised as that of Franz Wenzel, theexecutioner. He was consequently found guilty of wilful murder andfinally condemned to be beheaded. The day of the execution was fixed,and the prisoner conducted to the condemned cell.

  We have mentioned before in an early part of this story that theprofession of the headsman was hereditary, that the law forced the sonof an executioner to follow in the steps of his father.

  The unhappy wretch then, according to this law, was doomed to lose hislife at the hands of his own son. Much speculation, however, among theinhabitants of ----dorf had arisen as to whether the law would actuallyenforce so rigorous a decree, and whether the son of the Scharfrichterwould rebel against it if it did, or bow submissively to so harsh andunfeeling an order.

  Some there were who thought that an exception ought to be made in thiscase, and a new Henker selected, as it was hard for the son to sufferfor the crimes of the father; but even if the law were disposed to belenient, who was the new aspirant to be? Who would like to come forwardto offer his services?

  The office of the Scharfrichter was in such bad odour that it would bedifficult to find a man in the whole village who could be persuaded toundertake the task, even by the offer of a large reward.

  However, after much speculation and gossip, the inhabitan
ts came to theconclusion that everything might be done with money, and that someonewould be certainly found to accept the bribe.

  Others began to spread throughout the village that the man had alreadybeen found, and ventured to point out such or such a citizen as the newpractitioner. Meanwhile the law had remained passive and had nottroubled itself to make an exception in the case, and the burgomasterwho had the superintendence of such affairs was far too phlegmatic andindifferent even to give the matter a thought.

  He knew that an execution had to take place, that someone would be paidfor amputating the head of the criminal, but whether it was to be oneman's duty or another's was all the same to him.

  The headsman's trade was hereditary, and he (the burgomaster) had neverheard of any such innovation as that of selecting a new headsman duringthe lifetime of the rightful heir; therefore, as a matter of course,the young Scharfrichter was to decapitate his own father, and there wasan end of the matter.

  What to him were the feelings of the son at being forced to obey sounnatural a dictate? He was paid for it like anyone else, and very goodpay he got, too.

  What to him was the additional anguish of the criminal at being executedby his own son? He knew well enough that his son would step into hisshoes when he himself should be deprived of office, and if he didn'tlike to lose his head at the hands of his own son, he ought to havereflected before he committed the murder.

  Now, the burgomaster had a confidential servant, one Heinrich Goebel, aman of heartless and revengeful nature, who cherished an ill-willagainst the prisoner's son for having dared to supplant him in theaffections of a certain blue-eyed damsel, the daughter of atavern-keeper in the village.

  The father of the lady in question was not over pleased with theattentions of either of these individuals towards his Lieschen, one ofthe aspirants for his daughter's hand being a drunkard, the son of anexecutioner, who besides the stigma inevitably attached to his characterfor life, would be obliged to maintain his daughter by the scantyproceeds of his loathsome profession.

  The other, a man of notoriously bad character, and dependent upon thewages he received from his master for a living. Of the two, the maidherself decidedly favoured Leo Wenzel, the young headsman, and seeingthis, Heinrich Goebel inwardly resolved to take vengeance on his rivalupon the first opportunity.

  Whilst plotting vengeance thus in his heart, Goebel sought his master andshaped his conversation in this wise:

  "Herr Buergermeister, this will be a somewhat difficult business, thisexecution."

  "How so?" inquired his master.

  "Why, according to law," answered his servant, "young Leo will have totake the life of his own father."

  "Well, what of that?" said the burgomaster.

  "They say he is a young man of spirit, and he might refuse to take hisfather's life."

  "Refuse! would he? The law will force him."

  "But if he is obstinate and persists? He is a young man of spirit."

  "Ugh! I hate these young men of spirit, they are always making troubleand subverting order. Well, if he makes a disturbance, he will beimprisoned, that's all."

  "Yes, yes, of course; but for all that, if he positively refuses to lifthis arm against his father, the law cannot force him to do it."

  "Well, not exactly, but--but what has put it into your head that he_will_ refuse? He will be rewarded for his services."

  "But if he could not be tempted by a reward, if by chance he shouldrefuse at the last moment to act the part of executioner towards hisown father, and no one should be found to accept the post--why, in thatcase, if _my_ services should be accepted, I should be most glad toofficiate."

  "What, _you_, Heinrich! _you_ turn Scharfrichter! Ha! ha!--this issomething quite new. I was not aware that that was anything in yourline."

  "Well, sir, knowing your dislike to a disturbance among the populace (athing very likely to occur if the headsman should not be found at hispost)--rather than such an old vagabond as Franz Wenzel should get offin the confusion, why, I'll undertake the job myself."

  "You would? Ha! ha!--but stay, if there _should_ be a disturbance (whichHeaven forfend, as any excitement sadly upsets my digestion), I am notso sure that I should like my servant to take upon himself the office ofScharfrichter, for the odium of the populace that he would naturallyincur would reflect likewise upon his master, and----"

  "Well, sir, if you fear that, I should then advise another line ofconduct."

  "Indeed! What may that be?"

  "To keep young Leo in ignorance that it is his father that he is calledupon to execute. Listen to me! The Scharfrichter's house is a miledistant; our villagers have a superstitious dread of the spot, and arenot likely yet to have communicated with the young man, and I know thathe hasn't been in the township since he was last called to swear to theidentity of the murdered man, then commonly believed to be his father.You will recollect that he identified the corpse as that of his father.In his lonely dwelling, he can have heard nothing of the trial, and isconsequently still under the impression that it is his father that hasbeen murdered.

  "Now, if you will leave the matter to me I will contrive that he shallnot be undeceived until too late."

  "Yes; but how?"

  "First of all I will go there myself with the news that the murderer ofhis father has been arrested, that the day has been fixed for hisexecution, and that he will have the pleasure of trying his hand for thefirst time in his life on his father's murderer. Everything will gostraight, provided he has as yet heard nothing from other tongues."

  "But if he has?"

  "Then our plan is frustrated; but I go to ascertain that, and if he hasnot, the greatest care must be taken that no one communicates with himfrom this town, to which end you should give orders for the gates of thetown to be closed for some days, under the excuse that you have beenrobbed of certain valuables, and have taken this precaution to catch thethief. It would be as well, perhaps, to hurry on the execution asquickly as possible."

  "Well, but there is one point I don't understand. Supposing all to go onsmoothly, as you seem so confident that it will, won't the young manrecognise his father when led up to the scaffold in the 'poor sinner's'cart, and afterwards takes his seat on the chair placed for him?"

  "There is our great difficulty, but let us hope for the best. Theprisoner, as you know, took the precaution to dye his red head black inorder to escape recognition. This will aid our project. The 'poorsinner's' garb that he will don the morning of the execution will alsohelp the disguise. Young Leo is but a superficial observer, and beforehe has well taken note of the criminal his head will be off."

  "You are very hopeful as to the success of your scheme, but if thefather, in his last moments, makes himself known to his son--should rushinto his arms to embrace him and say: 'My son, do you not know me? I amyour father--you will not have the heart to execute your own father, theauthor of your existence.'"

  "We must prevent this. Let a handkerchief be tied round his jaw that hecannot open his mouth to speak. This, after all, will be nothing morethan is usually done to catch hold of the head in order to exhibit it tothe public after decapitation, the only difference being that it isgenerally tied on after the criminal has taken his seat on the scaffold,while in this case it will be done before. Another bandage should bebound round his eyes at the same time, which is also customary; thus agreat portion of the prisoner's face will be hidden. His arms will bepinioned firmly to his sides, so as to render all attempt at the removalof the bandage impossible, and everything will pass off quietly."

  "Well, well, you're a queer dog. See that it _does_ pass off quietly,that's all, and don't bother me any more about it. Mind, I leave thematter entirely in your hands."

  "Never fear, sir, I am off at once to the house of the Scharfrichter;trust everything to me. Stay, you had better issue an order for thegates of the town to be closed at once. You can give me a pass before Istart, or they will shut me out with the rest."

  "True; just wait one moment.
Here--the pen and ink--so now be off asfast as you can."

  Off started the servant of the burgomaster with the order to thegatekeeper to close the gates, and the pass which was to admit none buthimself, and after the gatekeeper had received the necessaryinstructions, Heinrich passed rapidly through the gates and directed hissteps towards the house of the Scharfrichter. He chuckled to himself ashe contemplated the success of his scheme.

  "What would the death of his father at my hands be to him to thediscovery of having taken his father's life himself! That will berevenge indeed! Now to the fulfilment of my scheme there is noobstacle."

  He had proceeded about an English mile on his way when, suddenly liftinghis eyes, he descried in the distance the figure of an aged man, whoappeared to be going the same road as himself. He hastened his steps,and soon overtook the veteran, whom he now recognised as one of hisfellow citizens, a certain Gustav Meyer, and known to be one of thegreatest gossips in the neighbourhood.

  "Good-day, Gustav," said Goebel, with forced good humour. "Where are youoff to on those venerable pins of yours?"

  "Ach! lieber, freund Goebel!" exclaimed the loquacious old man; "how areyou? I have not seen you for an age. You have grown proud since you havebeen in the burgomaster's service, and forget that it was I who got youthe situation, for you never come to see me now, though we used to besuch cronies, you know. But you young folks never think it worth whileto give us old fogies a call to see how we are. Why, I might be dead andburied for all you would know about it, and even if you did hear of it,I suppose it would be all the same to you, eh?

  "Well, well, 'ingratitude is the reward of the world,' as the proverbsays, and we old fogies with one foot in the grave and the other aboutto follow must make up our minds to be put on the shelf. We all have ourturn; I have had mine, you are having yours, but old age comes at last,and then there is an end of us all, even to the best of us. Even I havebeen young, friend Goebel. Ha! ha! You'd hardly think so to look at menow with these silvery locks and tottering limbs. I say you'd hardlythink so now, would you, eh? Now, how many years should you think Icould count, friend Goebel, tell me?"

  "I haven't the slightest idea," said Goebel, impatiently.

  "I am hard upon ninety years old, and all tell me that I carry my yearswell. I may say I haven't had a day's illness in all my life. I havenearly all my teeth yet, and----"

  "I have no doubt all you say is very true, my friend," interruptedGoebel; "but you have hardly answered my question satisfactorily yet. Iasked you where you were going?"

  "Friend Goebel," said the old man, "now I'll just tell you what I proposedoing this morning, just by way of stretching my old limbs, seeing thatI have not had a walk for an age. It does old folks good to go out for astroll every now and then in the country. Too much staying at home overthe fire isn't good, even for the likes of me."

  "Well, well," broke in Goebel, beginning to lose all patience. "I askedyou where you were going."

  "Did you? Ah yes, I had nearly forgot. We old folks are apt to lose ourmemories at times, you know, my friend, so you young folks ought to havecompassion on us, and recollect that we were once like you, and that youwill one day become like us, therefore----"

  "This is insufferable," burst out Goebel, whose forbearance was quite atan end. "I ask you a plain question, and I expect a plain answer. Irepeat the question--Where are you going?"

  "Hoity, toity! friend Goebel," cried the old man, in great surprise."What! so impatient with your old friend Gustav! Don't you remember howoften I have taken you upon my knee and danced you? We used to be greatfriends then. Don't you recollect? But I suppose you have forgotten allthat now, eh?--since you have become a man. Let me see, how long agomust that be? Full thirty years ago, if it's a day, I'll warrant."

  "Will you, or will you not, give me a plain answer to a plain question.Tell me where you are going?" cried Goebel, now quite furious, andshaking the old man violently by both shoulders.

  "Softly, softly! friend Goebel," cried the veteran, much alarmed. "Savemy life. Prithee, save my life, and I will tell you where I am going, ifyou will have patience."

  "Well, tell me at once, and let us have no more chattering," said Goebel,leaving go his hold.

  "Well, in the first place, then," began old Gustav, recoveringhimself--"in the first place----but stay, upon second thoughts, I'lljust leave you to guess where I am going. Now, where do you think?"

  "Dotard, have a care!" cried Goebel, threateningly, "and trifle with meno longer. Tell me where you are going, or----"

  "Well, well, friend Goebel, I'll tell you; don't be afraid, don't let twosuch old friends as we are quarrel for a trifle--I'll tell you where Iam going, although I must say that I think you seem to take an uncommoninterest in the doings of an old man like me, who, though he be an oldfriend----"

  "Take care now!"

  "Well, well, my friend, wait one moment; I'll tell you. I told youbefore that I would tell you, and I will be as good as my word, if youwill have one moment's patience--for patience, friend Goebel, patience, Isay, is a virtue that we ought all to cultivate, and which we all of usmore or less are sadly wanting in. But to proceed; though, after all, myfriend, what hurry can you possibly have to learn so simple a fact? Itappears to me that the world has grown wondrously impatient since mytime; that is, if everybody is like you, but as I said before----"

  "Tell me! tell me!" screamed Goebel, seizing his venerable friend asecond time by the shoulders.

  "Well, then, my friend," said Gustav, drawing out his words at a mostprovoking length, "if I _must_ tell you, and you are quite sure that youhave sufficient patience to listen to me, learn that I am going to pay avisit at the house of the Scharfrichter, to have a quiet little gossip.You know I am fond of a nice little gossip. Well, I am just going tohave a little chat with that poor young man Leo Wenzel. What do youthink? He doesn't know yet that his father is the real murderer, for helives so far off and no one ever goes near the house to tell him thenews, and he is still under the delusion that his father has beenmurdered and that the assassin has not yet been caught. Poor young man,I shall have to break the news very gently to him, for he will feel itdeeply. He must know the truth sooner or later, so I have taken uponmyself to be the first to communicate the unwelcome news.

  "According to the law he will be obliged to take the life of his ownfather. It will be a dreadful blow to him, poor boy, and I am sure Idon't know how he will be induced to act executioner in the presentinstance. I know not if the law in this case will make an exception andchoose someone else in his place; it will be very hard upon him if thelaw really should insist on being carried out to the very letter. Let ushope that mercy will be shown to the son, but in any case it is a verydreadful affair, so I thought I would just go to comfort him a little,to see how he takes the matter, and give him courage, in case----"

  "I thought as much!" muttered Goebel to himself; then aloud to hisfriend, "So that is where you are going is it? Ah, then I will save youthe trouble. Being a matter of no importance, you need not be in ahurry. Listen to me; my master has lost certain valuables, and has givenorders for the gates of the town to be closed until he has discoveredthe thief, and has strictly commanded me to arrest any person I mightfind leaving the town, until his valuables shall have been recovered. Ishould be sorry to suspect you, but as the law respects the person of noman, it is my painful duty to take you back to the town. Let us have nomore cackling or resistance, but come at once."

  "But, my dear friend Goebel!" pleaded the veteran, "you surely can'tsuspect--you will not for one moment imagine--nay, if you have any doubtof my honesty search me. I can assure it will be useless, I aminnocent."

  "If you are innocent, you will be proved so in due time, meanwhile Ihave orders----"

  "But, friend Goebel, I assure you again and again upon my oath that Ihave taken nothing. There--look--search me all over, if you will, andlet me go in peace. Is not my character enough? Am I not well known in----dorf? Have I ever been known to touch my neighbour'
s goods? Praysatisfy yourself that I have taken nothing, and let me go. Why troubleyourself to bring back a man to the town to be searched whom you know tobe innocent. Besides, it will upset my plan. I wouldn't miss my littlegossip with young Leo for all the world just at this moment. Justconsider, my friend----"

  "Cease your cackling and come along with me!" shouted Goebel, seizing himby the collar and dragging him forcibly back towards the town.

  "But--but----" stammered the astonished and terrified old man.

  "But me no buts, but do my bidding instantly, Sir Driveller, or it willbe the worse for you."

  So saying, he dragged his old friend home again at a hurried pace,regardless of his tottering limbs and of his prayers and entreaties.

  It was just mid day, and the sun shone hot, when Goebel returned to thetownship, perspiring at every pore, and deposited his charge, more deadthan alive, within the walls of ----dorf. He then retraced his stepsunder the broiling sun, cursing and swearing as he went at his planhaving been so nearly frustrated by the cackling gossip of an olddotard.

  "_Potz--Himmel, Donnerwetter, Schock, Schwerer, Noth, noch mal!_" hemuttered to himself. "A pretty obstacle in my path! _Tausend Teufel!_ Ihad a mind to dash his brains out on the spot, the old idiot, for hisdrivelling."

  With these and such like elaborately strung together oaths the servantof the burgomaster beguiled the time, until at length he arrived at thedoor of the Scharfrichter's house, where he discovered young Leo at workin his garden. The young executioner looked up at the sound of strangerfootsteps, and though he would rather the visitor had been anyone elsethan his rival, yet upon the whole he was not displeased to see a humanface after so long. His manner even warmed towards his visitor when hesaw him advance with a smile on his face and an extended hand.

  "Leo," began Heinrich Goebel with feigned friendship, "we have long beenenemies, but everything has an end. I have now come to offer you my handin friendship, for henceforth we are no longer rivals, but friends.Lieschen, think of her no more. Her father positively refuses to giveher to either of us, so she has at length plighted her troth to anotherman."

  "What! Lieschen? Impossible!" cried Leo, mopping his forehead.

  "Ay, my friend, it is too true; nay, pray calm yourself. I, too, lovedher as you did, but since the matter has turned out thus, I have madeup my mind to console myself by paying my addresses to another as soonas possible."

  "You never _could_ have loved her as I loved her," gasped out Leo, as hestaggered for support against the garden wall.

  "Well, well, my friend, I knew you would feel the blow, but calmyourself and dismiss these gloomy thoughts. I have better news than thatin store for you."

  "What care I for news now that _she_ has deserted me?" groaned Leodistractedly.

  "Come, come now, let me comfort you a little," said Goebel. "What do youthink? _The murderer of your father has been discovered!_"

  "What do I hear? Caught? Safe?"

  "Ay, the murder has been proved, and the murderer condemned to die bythe sword. The execution has been fixed for the day after to-morrow. Itwill take place at daybreak as usual, and you will have the satisfactionof taking vengeance on your father's murderer with your own hands. Youwill wield your father's sword for the first time in your life before anadmiring crowd. Think of that."

  "Vengeance at last!" cried the young headsman, with flushed face anddistorted features. "Vengeance at last! Thank God! thank God!"

  "Bravo, old friend!" cried Goebel, slapping his heartily detested rivalon the shoulder in the friendliest manner possible. "I knew you wouldtake heart at this piece of news. Come, let us sit down together andconsole ourselves."

  Leo, then entering the house, took from a cupboard a large bottle ofschnaps and two glasses. The two companions, seating themselves, beganto drink deeply and to chat incessantly, the subject of the discoursebeing the particulars of the murder according to the version of Goebel.We need hardly say that the whole was a fabrication of Heinrich's ownbrain. At length the servant of the burgomaster rose to take hisdeparture, and having enjoined his rival to be of good cheer, bent hissteps again towards the township, chuckling by the way at his owndevices. Arrived at the gates of the town, he showed his pass, and waspermitted to enter without let or hindrance. Hurrying through thestreets until he reached the burgomaster's house, he presented himselfbefore that worthy, whom he found seated at a table before a plate ofsausage, and in the act of draining to the dregs an enormous tankard ofbeer.

  "Well, what news?" asked his master.

  "Oh! the very best; he took the bait greedily. It was quite a pleasureto see how he enjoyed the news. No one had been before me, so I had himall to myself. The matter will now go off as smoothly as could bedesired; but, by the saints! I had a narrow escape of failure."

  "Indeed! How was that?"

  "When I was nearly half way to the Scharfrichter's house, who should Isee just ahead of me but that cursed old gossip, Gustav Meyer. I stoppedhim and asked him where he was going. _Potztausend!_ what a chatterbox!I thought I should not get an answer out of him before nightfall, andwhen I did, where do you think he _was_ going? Why, straight to thehouse of the Henker to have a quiet chat with young Leo upon the subjectof the murder, and reveal to him all that I had taken such pains to keepsecret. He seemed delighted at the idea of being the first to deliverthe news."

  The burgomaster laughed heartily.

  "Well, what did you do?" said he, at length.

  "What did I do! I told him his presence was particularly wanted at thetownship, and seizing him by the collar, dragged him all the way backagain, regardless of his cackling. I informed him that you had lost somevaluables, and had given me orders to arrest anyone leaving the town onsuspicion. He was indignant at the charge. Protested, declared hisinnocence, and spoke of the high character he had always borne in thetown, etc., etc. He seemed in despair at being deprived of his littlegossip with the Henker's son, and begged and entreated me to let himhave it out quietly; but, deaf to all his chattering, I dragged him homeagain in spite of himself, and lodged him safely within the gates of thetown. _Donner und Blitzen!_ but it was enough to raise the bile of asaint to listen to the wanderings of that antique driveller, to saynothing of having one's plan so nearly frustrated; by such a worm asthat too!"

  Here and again the burgomaster burst into a loud laugh, in which Goebel,in spite of himself, joined.

  "Ah," said he, at length recovering himself, "there is one thing yet tobe done. I must go to the jailor of the prison with private orders fromyou to prevent the prisoner having an interview with his son, should heask for one. This accomplished, there will be no more difficulty."

  "Ah, yes," said the burgomaster, "it would be as well. But what aninterest you seem to take in this case, Heinrich! One would imagine thatyou had a private grudge against the prisoner."

  "I like to see things well done," was the reply, and the servant shortlyafter left the presence of his master.

  A great sensation was caused in ----dorf when it was given out that theexecution had been hurried on a week, and much speculation arose as towhat could have been the burgomaster's motive. Half the town alreadyknew by the tongue of old Gustav of his having been arrested by theservant of the burgomaster on suspicion of having robbed his master ofcertain valuables just at the very time when he (Gustav) wascontemplating the pleasure he would have in being the first tocommunicate the melancholy tidings of the murder to the young headsman.They therefore concluded that Leo must still be in ignorance of the realstate of the case. The other half of ----dorf, however, never gave athought as to whether he knew it or not; enough for them that someonewas going to be beheaded and that they should have a spectacle to varythe monotony of their humdrum lives.

  At length the fatal day arrived. The gates of the town were thrown open(for the servant of the burgomaster gave out that the thief had beendiscovered and the valuables regained), and now all ----dorf was in anuproar, while crowds of peasants from all the surrounding villagesflocked to witn
ess the bloody spectacle.

  The scaffold, or the mound of earth which was to serve as such, had beenerected half way between the township and the house of the executioner,and was already surrounded by a file of soldiers, around which throngedthe mob so closely that they were every now and then repulsed by themilitary. From the sea of human heads that inundated the place ofexecution resounded a hum of voices, in which salutations, sallies, badlanguage, coarse jokes, and coarser laughter, together with murmurs andimprecations, and an occasional scream from the women when the crowdpressed too closely, were confusedly mingled, and resembled at a littledistance the bleating of an immense flock of sheep. Classes of all sortswere jostled together, from the lowest grade of handwerksbursch to theuniversity student. There were pretty peasant girls in their holidaycostumes, and sturdy peasants from all parts of the country. There wereJew hawkers, sharpers, pickpockets, ruffianly bullies, cripples, andmendicants. There were mothers with young children in their arms, whichlatter contributed their feeble cries to the general buzz.

  All had turned out to feast their eyes upon the death of a fellowmortal. Nor was this an ordinary execution like that described in anearlier part of this story. No; this was an exceptional case--somethingout of the common way, a sublimer spectacle.

  In this case the condemned was no obscure handwerksbursch, of whosecareer the multitude knew nothing, and cared as little about. Thecriminal was no less a man than Franz Wenzel, the far-famedScharfrichter, who had amputated the heads of "poor sinners" for thelast thirty or forty years, and was now doomed to lose his own.

  The interest in the case was considerably heightened when it was knownthat the veteran executioner was to be operated upon by the hands of hisown son. Then the facts of the murder were so strange, so unnatural.Fancy the cunning of that hardened old sinner, the ex-headsman, who,according to his own confession, made in prison the day before theexecution, had waylaid, robbed, and murdered the innocent Count ofWaffenburg, a scion of one of the most wealthy and respected noblefamilies for miles round, disguised as a Capuchin friar, and in order toconceal the identity of the murdered man, had dissevered the head of thecorpse, which he had endeavoured to hide for ever from the eye of man bythrowing it into the trunk of a hollow chestnut tree. Then havingstripped the corpse of its clothes, and afterwards having strippedhimself of his outer garments, he dressed up the corpse of his victim inhis own well known crimson-coloured doublet and hose, thereby conveyingthe idea to the public mind that the corpse found was his own, afterwhich, returning to his house close by, having again donned the friar'shabit, he deposited the sword usually set apart for the beheading ofcriminals, and in this case used for amputating the head of the murderedcount, and wiping it well, he lighted a fire on his hearth where heburned one by one the habiliments of his victim. He then left his housea second time, still disguised as a friar and laden with his ill-gottentreasure, passed once more the scene of the murder and wandered allnight in the direction of ----. How strange the evidence, too, thatconvicted him, the theft of the bottle of hair dye, the remarkable patchon his amice. Every particular of the murder had an indescribableinterest in the minds of the populace of ----dorf and its surroundingvillages. No wonder the adjacent townships vomited forth their scum ofthe curious, idle, and depraved! This was a sight not to be missed onany account, and would furnish them with gossip for the next six monthsat least. At length, when the long streaky rose-tipped clouds announcedthe approach of the fatal hour, the crowd burst out simultaneously intoa cry of "He comes! he comes! the Henker comes!"

  The crowd made room for a young man in a cart, who, having thrown thereins on the horse's neck, passed through the file of soldiers andmounted the hillock of earth, armed with the two-handed weapon that hewas about to use for the first time in his life.

  "Look!" said one of the crowd; "it _is_ young Leo, after all. I thoughtthey had found a substitute."

  "What a hard-hearted young ruffian to consent to take the life of hisfather with his own hands!" said another.

  "And he doesn't seem to feel it a bit," said a third; "why, he isactually smiling."

  "Some folks say that he does not know who it is that he is going tobehead," said a fourth.

  "Not know that the criminal is his father?" exclaimed the formerspeaker. "Nonsense, I don't believe it."

  The young headsman was attired in a buff leather jerkin slashed with redand hose of a dark green. He appeared about two-and-twenty, and was asyet beardless. He was considerably taller than his father, but hisframe, though powerfully built, was devoid of that excessive and almostpreternatural muscular development that characterised that of the oldexecutioner. His hair was of a reddish brown, his complexion florid, hiseyes light blue, and his features, though somewhat coarse, had somethingin them not altogether disagreeable. He leaned firmly on his sword andgazed around calmly on the crowd, when suddenly the human sea becameviolently agitated and began to groan and hiss in its fury.

  The cause of this tumult became speedily known. It was the arrival ofthe "poor sinner," who was drawn in a cart between two priests andhabited according to the custom of the condemned on such occasions. Loudhooting and execrations burst forth on all sides from the crowd as itmade way for the condemned cart.

  "But that is not Franz Wenzel," said one to his neighbour. "The oldHenker had red hair; this man's hair is black."

  "Fool, don't you know how that is?" said his neighbour. "Haven't youheard yet how he dyed his hair black in order not to be recognised?"

  "No, did he though?" said the former. "But look! why is his head tied upso with two handkerchiefs? I can't see anything of his face."

  "H'm, I don't know; some innovation I suppose. The handkerchief alwaysused to be tied on when on the scaffold in my time," answered hisfriend. The criminal had now alighted from the cart, and, followed bythe two priests, ascended the place of execution, where he took his seaton the chair placed for him. The assistant executioner, whose face wasmost successfully disguised with a black mask, pushed his way throughthe crowd and mounted the platform.

  "Who is _he_?" was a question asked by everyone of everybody; "and whyis he masked while Leo, who bears the sword, is unmasked?"

  "Who knows? Perhaps he is the new headsman that they all talked about,and young Leo will not really behead his own father; but we shall see."

  The crowd had grown more curious than ever. Every one stood on thetip-toe of expectation with his eyes and mouth wide open. An intensesilence reigned around, during which the man in the mask bound thecriminal firmly to his seat with a strong cord, then seizing thehandkerchief that was tied round the head of the condemned, he gave thesignal for the blow. The two priests who had hitherto been whisperingconsolation in the ear of the criminal now retreated a few paces to therear, while young Leo advanced, flushed and triumphant, his wholecountenance distorted with an expression of malice and revenge. Beforebrandishing his sword to give the final blow he lowered his head closeto the ear of the victim and hissed out in accents sufficiently audibleto be overheard by that part of the crowd that had assembled nearest tothe scaffold: "Wretch! thine hour has come at last. Learn now thevengeance of a wronged son. Thou shalt see if I am the son of my fatheror no, and whether it is for nothing that I have been bred aScharfrichter. Prepare now, for thou art soon to learn how I haveprofited by my lessons--whether I am an apt pupil. My sword is sharpenedwell on purpose for thee, and when thou feelest the cold steel close tothy neck, then, then, to h----l with thee, and bear throughout eternitythe curses of a ruined son!"

  During this speech of the young headsman the criminal was observed totremble convulsively, as if struggling to speak, but the assistantexecutioner grasped the handkerchief still tighter round his head andrepeated the signals impatiently.

  "Did you hear?" said one of the foremost in the crowd. "Did you hear howhe cursed his father? He actually reproached him in his last moments forhaving brought him up a Scharfrichter! Oh! the unfeeling young villain!What a heart he must have."

  "Ah! neighbour," answe
red another, "these executioners are not likeother mortals; they do not know what it is to feel. They are brought upto kill their fellow creatures as butchers are to kill cattle, and theythink nothing of it. Bless you, there is nothing these men would not dofor money."

  "'Tis strange, too," said another close by. "I always thought young Leoloved his father. I never thought so bad of him as to think that hewould curse him in his dying moments, wretch though he may have been."

  "Take my word for it, neighbour," said a sturdy inhabitant of ----dorf,"that young Leo does not know yet that it is his father."

  At this moment everyone suddenly broke short his discourse, and thecrowd again was silent for a moment. The two-handed weapon was raisedhigh in the air, glittered for a moment in the rays of the rising sun,then descended with the rapidity of lightning, while the head of themurderer having slipped out of the handkerchief with the force of theblow, fell with a crash on the platform.

  A loud cheer is raised by the crowd, and young Leo having thrown awayhis sword and pushed aside the assistant executioner, has seized thehead of the criminal and torn off the bandage from his eyes. He holds ithigh in the air by its purple locks and gloats with fiendishsatisfaction on its writhing features. The muscles of the face arefearfully convulsed, as if the spirit had not as yet quite departed, butstill lingered about the corpse, being loth to leave its tenement. Theeyes roll hideously and appear to gaze reproachfully upon the face ofthe young executioner. Suddenly a change comes over the features of theyoung man. His countenance, the moment before so flushed with triumphand revenge, now assumes a ghastly pallor; a cold sweat breaks out onhis forehead, his matted locks stand on end. His eyes start from hishead, his jaw drops low. Then, with a preternatural shriek, he drops thehead, which rolls down the hillock of earth among the crowd, staggersand falls heavily upon the platform, gasping out "_Oh, Gott! meinVater!_"

  No words can describe the sensation created among the crowd at thishorrible scene. Questions and explanations ensued, and a rush was madetowards the scaffold. Assistance was at length procured, and the son ofthe late executioner was lifted from the ground and driven toward hisown house in the cart that he had set out in that morning to execute hisfearful mission. A doctor was sent for, who declared that he was in anapoplectic fit. In time, however, he recovered, and the doctor leftsomeone with him to attend to him and keep him quiet. Nevertheless, whenhe came to reflect upon what had happened that morning, in spite of allrestraint, he rushed wildly into the chamber where his poor paralyticmother lay on her death-bed, and losing all caution and reflection inhis emotion, he related in a wild and excited manner the dreadful eventsof the day. The result may be anticipated. The poor woman, long given upby the doctors, sank under the startling news, and expired almostinstantaneously.

  Young Leo, who, with the exception of his drunkenness had really nothingvery bad in him, now gave way to the most excessive grief, for he lovedhis mother tenderly. He felt himself now guilty of the murder of bothhis parents, and refused all consolation. What had he now to live for,thought he. His father he had murdered with his own hands and sent withcurses to the tomb; his mother, so dear to him he had hurried to thegrave through his insane want of self-restraint. His lady-love, false(as he thought), for secretly they had plighted their troth together.What was life to him now but a burden? He loathed it. These gloomythoughts clouded his mind with a profound melancholy, a deep incurabledespair. On the following morning Leo Wenzel, the young executioner,fell upon his own sword, yet moist with the blood of his father, by himso unconsciously shed on the day before.

  With the death of Leo Wenzel the family became extinct, and theprofession of the Scharfrichter went begging. But who was the assistantexecutioner? Nobody could find out. He had disappeared as mysteriouslyas he had made his appearance. Some said it was one, and some another,while the most settled belief was that it could be none other than thearch-fiend himself who had come to carry off the Henker's soul. In theconfusion that followed the swoon of young Leo he had vanished, and noone had seen whither. No human being could have passed through a crowdwithout being seen by someone, therefore it must have been thearch-enemy of mankind. Thus reasoned the people of ----dorf.

  And Lieschen, what became of her? Poor girl! the news of her lover'ssuicide, for she had truly loved the youthful headsman, had completelyoverwhelmed her. She fell into a decline and outlived her lover but oneyear.

  The servant of the burgomaster was mistaken in believing that afterLeo's death the course would be now clear for him. His heartless schemehad come to light (for it was difficult to keep anything long a secretin ----dorf), and he found the door of Lieschen's house closed upon himfor ever.

  He soon knew himself hated by all the town, and tradition goes on torelate that some years afterwards, when he was in the service of anothermaster, his employer having missed certain articles of plate and calledin the police to search his coffers, they found not only the missingarticles, but also a black mask and a suit of sad coloured clothes,recognised as having been worn by the assistant on the day of Wenzel'sexecution.

  Finding his reputation lost in ----dorf, he deemed it advisable toretire to another village, where he afterwards married. The last we hearof him is that he ultimately accepted the office of Scharfrichter, andtook up his abode in the house of Franz Wenzel, where he reared up along line of executioners, which was only broken many years later by theprofession of the Henker ceasing to be obligatory.

  But what of our two friends Fritz and Ludwig? We had nigh forgottenthem. That they were both of them present at the execution is undoubtedfrom certain passages in their correspondence after my ancestor had leftGermany for ever. The day after Wenzel's execution was the last timethey met on earth. They each of them passed the remainder of their daysin their own respective countries though they corresponded frequently.The most recently dated letter from Ludwig Engstein bears with it thenews of his marriage, and in a postscript he mentions having been justinformed that since the execution of Franz Wenzel the tricks of thePoltergeist had ceased for ever.

  * * * * *

  Murmurs of applause were upon every lip as our artist finished hisnarrative, when Mr. Oldstone, rising, thus addressed the club."Gentlemen; I think you will all agree with me that my friend Mr.McGuilp has fully earned his sitting from the fair Helen?"

  "Yes, yes," cried several voices; "he has paid us beforehand. Let himhave his rights."

  At this moment the door opened ajar and the head of Dame Hearty appearedat the aperture to inform the club that her daughter was now at theirdisposal.

  "Let her be brought in!" shouted a chorus of voices. "It is but fairthat we should have one more look at Helen before Mr. McGuilp walks offwith her."

  Helen then appeared in the doorway and was greeted enthusiastically bythe whole club, in the midst of which the painter, after looking at hiswatch and ascertaining that it was yet early enough for a good sitting,left the room and made for his studio, where, having set his palette, hewas joined shortly afterwards by his fair model. Having arranged hiscolours and placed his canvas on the easel, he sat contemplating theportrait he had commenced so recently. Alas! how flat and insipid hispoor work looked after having gazed on the bright original! It was butthe first painting, it is true, and we know that nothing really good canbe done at once; but, then, what drawing he found to correct now that helooked at his work with a fresh eye! The awfulness of the difficultiesin art now rose up in his mind to appal him, and he uttered a sigh.

  "Can all the glazing and scumbling in the world," muttered he tohimself, "ever advance this portrait one step towards the divineoriginal?"

  Thus musing, the painter seized the canvas in both hands and breathedover its surface. Immediately afterwards, mixing up some coloursparingly, he scumbled over the entire surface of the portrait. Helen,whose eye dwelt upon the artist's every movement, whether fromcuriosity, or from some mysterious sympathy she felt for the youngpainter, demanded of him why he breathed on the face of her pictur
e.

  "To breathe into it the breath of life, Helen," replied McGuilp,smilingly.

  Helen opened her large blue eyes with an expression of half wonderment,half doubt, not knowing whether the painter spoke in jest, or whether anartist really had some occult power in his very breath that could vivifythe canvas. How was she to know, poor innocent child! Village bred andborn in an age, as our readers will recollect, before photography hadrendered too familiar the representation of the human face even for theveriest peasant any longer to wonder at the art by which it is produced?

  In the days we speak of the painter's art was the only mode oftransfixing the lineaments of a dear friend or parent and rendering themimmortal. Painters, too, were much less common then than now-a-days, forart was still in its infancy in plain matter-of-fact old England. Thepainter, or limner as he was then called, was a being of far greaterinterest than at the present day. He was patronised by royalty andnobility, and though the prices that he received for his works wereconsiderably less than in our times, and he was nearly always a poor andneedy individual, yet he met with a certain amount of respect from hispatrons, as they knew that by his hand alone could they hope to becomeimmortal. Everyone liked to see his own features represented uponcanvas, or those of his wife and family. Oft times his favourite horseor dog. In order to secure the services of the limner therefore, it wasnecessary to court him, nor was this respect or appearance of such everdenied him, save perhaps by the pampered menial of some nobleman orwealthy squire, who looked superciliously down upon the itinerantpainter as a being far inferior to himself. We will hope, however, forthe honour of humanity that the number was comparatively small thatmeasured the painter's respectability by the length of his purse.

  Indeed, the titled and the wealthy seem to have prided themselves indoing everything in their power to set the example of respect towards adisciple of the fine arts. Among this class the painter had seldomanything to complain of; in fact, provided he were affable in manner,decent in appearance, could paint the ladies' hands and ears smallenough to please them, their eyes sufficiently large and languishing,and, lastly--but which was of no small importance--could representfaithfully the texture of their silks and satins, their lace, velvet,fur, or swansdown, oh, then he was caressed, petted, and acknowledged byall as a most agreeable member of society and sure of making hisfortune. But woe to him if he were above his business and attempted highart--we mean subject pictures that were not portraits. However much hemight be gifted in that line, his friends would instantly desert him,and he might starve in a garret. His patrons knew nothing of high artand cared as little. All they wanted was to see their own effigiesadorning the walls of their mansions, and as long as the limner wascontent to be of service to them they were willing to support him, butno longer. It was set down as an axiom that the human _face_ divine--bywhich they meant their own faces--was the highest aim that a paintercould aspire to. This was the sort of high art they wanted, and noother.

  A painter must be content with the work his patrons set him to do andnot indulge his own caprices. Well, well, admitting the range of thepainter's art to have been cramped and limited, has any age or countrythe power to cramp the genius of an artist? Is high art only to be foundin imaginative pictures? Does not a portrait become high art under amaster hand? Can that be called a mechanical art that gives intellect orsentiment to the eye, firmness or softness to the lip, the natural bloomto the cheek, truth and beauty to the whole? Few, let us hope, even inthis matter of fact age, but would rank the real artist before thephotographic artisan who usurps his name. If, in the present age, nowthat we are accustomed to a much more rapid process of reproducing thehuman face, there are to be found those who honour the true artist,imagine how his art must have been held in honour when it was the onlyway of immortalising men! It need not be wondered at that among thoseclasses where the appearance of a painter was less common, that therespect he inspired almost amounted to awe in certain instances. Thiswas the case with our Helen, who never having set eyes before on a realartist, looked with awe and wonder on our painter as a species ofmagician who possessed an art not merely unknown in her humble sphere,but which she was sure that the worthy members of the club were alikeignorant of, however learned they might be in other respects. Thepainter's youth and good looks, together with his possessing thismysterious art at such an early age, elevated him at once into a hero inher eyes. Then there was the strange fact of his having seen and spokento a ghost in the same house where she herself had been born and bred,the very ghost she had been frightened so often with in her childhood,but which was, nevertheless, so chary of its appearance that it hadfound no one for upwards of half a century worthy of revealing itself tountil now, and had chosen for that purpose the young artist before her,and that, too, the very first night that he arrived at the Inn. What wasthere peculiar in the organisation of our painter, that he should havebeen selected before all others to gaze on the august presence of onerisen from the dead? The haunted chamber had been repeatedly slept in byall the members of the club in turn, and by many strangers beside, foryears back, and yet never before within the experience of our host hadthe headless lady vouchsafed a parley with any one of them. Thepreference, therefore, shewn towards our friend McGuilp by the tenant ofthe haunted chamber had raised him at once in the esteem of the wholeclub, and the marked respect with which he was treated by the otherguests, all of them older men than himself, did not fail to escape thequick eye of Helen, who felt inwardly flattered that the man for whomshe had conceived so warm a sympathy, should be so honoured among hisbetter fellows.

  Our artist and his model had been left together for upwards ofthree-quarters of an hour, during which time McGuilp had not opened hismouth to exchange a single word with his sitter, a habit of his whenunusually engrossed in his work. He had glazed and scumbled, chopped andchanged about his drawing, laid on impasto, worked upon the background,and so absorbed was he with his picture, the time had passed as if ithad been five minutes. A considerable change, however, had taken placein the portrait. There was more life and vigour, the tints were morenatural and the head now stood more out in relief. Helen never onceattempted to break the silence, but remained modest and immovable in herposition as a statue. Had she been a vain and foolish girl or acoquette, she might have been irritated by the painter's silence,misconstruing it into a sign of insensibility to her charms, but no suchthought for a moment entered the head of our Helen. On the contrary, shelooked with the deepest awe and reverence on the painter whose artrequired so much silence and concentration, and instead of calling awayhis attention from his work by some frivolous remark, she mentallyresolved to aid him to the utmost by posing as patiently as it lay inher power.

  Nevertheless, after a long sitting, a change is apt to come over theface of the sitter. The muscles become flaccid, the colour vanishes, theeye grows vacant, and an expression of languor and weariness takes theplace of the bright healthy look that the sitter bore at thecommencement. This is especially the case with young people, and so itwas with Helen, who, spite of her laudable endeavours to do justice toher portrait painter, had unconsciously grown several shades paler, andhad so altered in expression that our artist, finding it impossible tocontinue his work, deemed it advisable to give his model a littlerepose.

  "That will do, Helen, for the present," said he; "take a little rest,until you can call back the roses to your cheek and the life to youreye. There, then, you may look if you like, but there is much to be doneyet, I can tell you."

  "Oh, I think you have done wonders this sitting," said Helen, as shestood contemplating her own portrait from behind the artist's chair,with her head resting on her hand.

  "It appears to me as like as it can possibly be already. I do not seewhat more there is to do to it."

  "Do you not, Helen?" said McGuilp. "Then you are very easily satisfied,but it is not so with us. We artists are the most discontented peopleunder the sun. We know that however well a portrait may be painted, itcan never come up to the original
, and yet we are never contented, evenwith our utmost endeavours to approach it."

  "Then, we who know nothing about your art are happier in our ignorancethan the artists themselves who have studied art all their lives,"remarked Helen.

  "Very often," replied McGuilp with a sigh; "nevertheless, there is apleasure in the mere pursuit of art, however far removed the work of theartist may be from his ideal, that he would not exchange for the calmsatisfaction of the uninitiated who perceive no fault."

  At this moment a sound of cheering and clapping of hands proceeding fromthe club-room interrupted the dialogue between the painter and hismodel.

  "What can all that noise mean?" ejaculated Helen. "Ah, I can guess.Mother has just finished telling her story to the gentlemen of the club,and they are applauding her."

  "Is it so, Helen?" said McGuilp.

  "Well, as they have been enjoying a story from which we have beenexcluded, I see no reason why we should not have a story all toourselves. What do you say?"

  "Oh, by all means," said Helen; "but I am a poor storyteller. Pray donot ask _me_ for one, but if you know of a story, why of course I am allattention."

  "Let me see, then," said McGuilp. "What sort of story would you like tohear?"

  "Oh, tell me something about Italy. _I should_ like to hear so,"answered Helen.

  "Would you? Then I think I can remember a little circumstance thatoccurred in Italy within my experience, which I will relate to you ifyou will resume your seat, for I have but little time to lose. We canwork and talk at the same time. Your colour has now returned, and mystory may possibly help to preserve it until the end of the sitting."

  Helen then resumed her seat, and McGuilp having seized once more hispalette and brushes and placed himself in front of his easel, continuedhis portrait whilst he related the following story.

  FOOTNOTES:

  [1] Scharfrichter or executioner; literally, "the sharp judge."

  [2] The reader is begged to excuse the anachronism. Byron did not writethese lines until several years later.

  [3] Another name for headsman or hangman.

  [4] Philister or Philistine.

  [5] The moss. Slang word among German students for money.

  [6] Loewen--also money.

 

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