The Count of Nideck Part 4

CHAPTER III.

MY FIRST NIGHT IN HUGH'S TOWER.

We ate with the ravenous appet.i.te which a ten hours' ride through the snows of the Black Forest would be likely to impart. Sperver attacked, in turn, the kid, the pheasants, and the pike, murmuring, with his mouth full, "Thank G.o.d for the woods, the heather, and the ponds." Then, leaning over the back of his chair and seizing the first bottle that came under his hand, he added, "And for the hillsides, green in spring and purple in autumn. Your health, Gaston!"

"Yours, Gideon!"

The fire crackled, the forks jingled, the bottles gurgled, and the gla.s.ses clinked, while outside the wind of the winter night, the blast from the snow-bound mountains, sang its unearthly hymn,--the hymn that it sings when storm-driven, fantastic cloud-shapes rush across the sky and obscure from moment to moment the pale face of the moon.

We continued our grateful meal. Sperver filled the "wieder komm" with old Brumberg wine, whose sparkling froth bordered its generous edges, and, handing it to me, he cried, "Here's to the recovery of Hermann of Nideck, my n.o.ble master! Drink to the last drop, Gaston, that your prayer may be heard."

This was done; then, refilling the bowl, he drained it in his turn.

A sense of satisfaction took possession of us. We felt at peace with all the world. I sprawled out in my chair with my head thrown back and my arms hanging down, and began to study my apartment. It was a low, arched chamber cut out of the live rock, shaped like an oval, and measuring in the highest part not more than twelve feet. At the further end I perceived a sort of alcove, and in it a bed resting on the floor, and covered, as nearly as I could make out, with a bearskin robe. Still further back was another and smaller niche, with a statue of the Virgin cut out of the same piece of granite and crowned with a bunch of withered gra.s.s.

"You are studying your chamber," said Sperver; "it is not as large nor as luxurious as the rooms of the Castle. We are now in Hugh's Tower, and it is as old as the mountain itself. It dates back to the time of Charlemagne. In those days the people didn't understand the art of building lofty, s.p.a.cious dwellings; they cut right into the solid rock."

"That served the purpose as well; but it is an odd corner that you have stuck me in, Gideon."

"Don't be deceived on that point, Gaston; it is the place of honor.

Whenever the Count's particular friends come to visit him, they are put in here. Hugh's Tower is the most honorable accommodation of all."

"By the way, who was this Hugh?"

"Why, Hugh the Wolf!"

"What!" I exclaimed in astonishment.

"Certainly; the founder of the family of Nideck; a rough customer, they say. He came and settled down here with a score of hors.e.m.e.n and archers.

They scaled the highest rock on the mountain,--you will see it to-morrow,--and built this tower. 'We are the masters,' they declared, 'and woe be to those who try to pa.s.s without paying toll. We will fall on them like wolves, tear the clothes from their backs, and the hides, too, if they are obstinate. From here we can command the landscape, the pa.s.ses of the Rhethal, the Steinbach, and the Roche Plate, and the entire line of the Black Forest. Let the merchants beware.' And the bold fellows carried out their threats under the leadership of Hugh the Wolf.

Knapwurst told me all about it when we were sitting up the other night."

"Knapwurst?"

"You know; the little dwarf who opened the gate to us; a droll chap, Gaston, who is always to be found in the library bent over a book."

"So you have a scholar at Nideck."

"Yes, the rascal! Instead of staying in his lodge, where he belongs, he spends the whole blessed day shaking the dust from old family parchments. He moves about among the shelves like a cat, and he knows our history better than we do ourselves. He would like nothing better than to tell you his stories; he calls them chronicles. Ha, ha, ha!"

Hereupon, Sperver, exalted by the old wine, laughed for some moments, without knowing exactly why.

"So that is why you call this the Tower of Hugh the Wolf?" I resumed.

"Didn't I just tell you so? What are you so surprised at?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Yes, you are. I see it in your face. What are you thinking of?"

"It isn't so much the name of the tower that surprises me, as that you, an old ranger, who from a baby had never known any home but the fir-trees and crests of the Wald Horn and the gorges of the Rhethal, who would never sleep with a roof over your head in spite of all my father's urging, and who amused yourself roaming the paths of the Black Forest and revelling in the fresh air, the sunlight, and the freedom of a hunter's life, should be found here, after sixteen years, in this red-granite hole. Come, Sperver, light your pipe and tell me how it happened."

The old ranger drew a short, black pipe from his leather jacket, filled it leisurely, and s.n.a.t.c.hing up a coal from the hearth, placed it on the bowl of his pipe; then, with his head thrown back and his eyes wandering over the ceiling, he replied thoughtfully:

"After I left your father's service twenty years ago, it was long before I could bring my mind to work for any other master, for I loved the General, and you, and your pretty mother, as I could never come to love others, not even the Count and my mistress Odile. So I took to poaching for a term of years, and found a living by any means I could, until one night the Count came upon me in the moonlight.

"He did not despise Sperver, the old hawk, the true man of the woods; and he said to me, 'Comrade, you have hunted long enough by yourself; now come and hunt with me. You have a good beak and strong claws, and you might as well hunt my game with my permission as without it.'"

Sperver was silent for some minutes; then he continued:

"I was getting old,--and the old falcons and hawks, having long swept the plains, end by settling down in the cleft of a rock to die. So it was with me. I loved the open air, and I love it yet; but now, instead of lying on a high branch at night and being rocked to sleep by the wind, I prefer to come back to my cover, quietly pick a woodc.o.c.k, and dry my plumage before the fire."

Sperver was silent for some moments; then he continued:

"I still hunt as before, and afterwards I drink a quiet gla.s.s of Rudesheimer with my friends, or--" At this moment a shock made the door tremble.

"It is a gust of wind," I said.

"No; it is something else. Don't you hear a claw scratching on the panel? I think one of the dogs must have got loose. Open, Walden! open, Lieverle!"

He got up, but he had not gone two steps when a formidable Danish hound leaped into the room and raised his fore-paws on his master's shoulders, licking his cheeks and beard with his long, red tongue, and whining with joy. Sperver put his arm around the dog's neck, and turning to me:

"Gaston," he said, "what man could love me as this dog does? Look at this head, these eyes, and teeth!"

He drew back the animal's lips and showed me a set of fangs that could have torn a buffalo to pieces. Then pushing him off with difficulty, for the dog redoubled his caresses, he cried, "Down with you, Lieverle; I know you love me! Who would, if you did not?" He went and closed the door.

I never had seen a dog of such formidable proportions before; he measured nearly four feet in height, with a broad, low forehead and fine coat, a bright eye, long paws, broad across the chest and shoulders and tapering down to the haunches,--a ma.s.s of nerves and muscles interwoven,--but he had no scent. If such animals possessed the scent of the terrier, the game would soon be exterminated.

Sperver had returned to his seat and was pa.s.sing his hand proudly over Lieverle's head, while he enumerated the dog's fine points. Lieverle seemed to understand him.

"Look, Gaston, that dog would strangle a wolf with a snap of his jaws.

He is what you might well call perfection in the matter of courage and strength; not yet five, and in his prime. I need not tell you that he is trained to hunt wild boar. Every time we meet them, I fear for Lieverle; he attacks them too boldly; he flies at them like an arrow. Beware of the brutes' tusks, Lieverle, you rascal! It makes me tremble. Down on your back!" cried the huntsman; "down on your back!"

The dog obeyed, presenting to us his flesh-colored thighs.

"Do you see that long, white line, without any hair on it, which extends from his thigh clear up to his chest? A boar did that. The n.o.ble chap did not let go of the brute's ear, in spite of the wound, and we tracked them by the blood. I came up with them first. Seeing my Lieverle, I cried out, jumped to the ground, and lifting him in my arms, I wrapped him in my mantle and brought him home. I was beside myself with grief.

Luckily, the vital parts were not injured, and I sewed up the wound.

G.o.d! how he howled and suffered; but at the end of the third day he began to lick the place, and a dog who licks a wound is already saved.

Ha, Lieverle! you remember it! And now we love each other, don't we?"

I was much moved by the affection of the man for the dog, and the animal for his master. Lieverle watched him and wagged his tail, while a tear stood in Sperver's eye. Soon he began again:

"What strength! Do you see, Gaston, he has broken his cord to come to me,--a cord of six strands? He found my tracks, and that was enough.

Here, Lieverle! Catch!"

He threw him the remains of the kid's leg. The dog went over and stretched himself in front of the fire with the bone between his fore-paws, and he slowly tore it into shreds. Sperver watched him from the corner of his eye with evident satisfaction.