首页
Otto Of the Silver Hand
书架
书页 | 目录
加书签

第1章
21942字

CONTENTS

I。TheDragon’sHouse,II。HowtheBaronWentForthtoShear,III。HowtheBaronCameHomeShorn,IV。TheWhiteCrossontheHill,V。HowOttoDweltatSt。Michaelsburg,VI。HowOttoLivedintheDragon’sHouse,VII。TheRedCockCrowsonDrachenhausen,VIII。IntheHouseoftheDragonScorner,IX。HowOne—eyedHansCametoTrutz—Drachen,X。HowHansBroughtTerrortotheKitchen,XI。HowOttowasSaved,XII。ARideforLife,XIII。HowBaronConradHeldtheBridge,XIV。HowOttoSawtheGreatEmperor,FOREWORD。

Betweenthefarawaypasthistoryoftheworld,andthatwhichliesneartous;inthetimewhenthewisdomoftheancienttimeswasdeadandhadpassedaway,andourowndaysoflighthadnotyetcome,therelayagreatblackgulfinhumanhistory,agulfofignorance,ofsuperstition,ofcruelty,andofwickedness。

Thattimewecallthedarkormiddleages。

Fewrecordsremaintousofthatdreadfulperiodinourworld’shistory,andweonlyknowofitthroughbrokenanddisjointedfragmentsthathavebeenhandeddowntousthroughthegenerations。

Yet,thoughtheworld’slifethenwassowickedandblack,thereyetremainedafewgoodmenandwomenhereandthere(mostlyinpeacefulandquietmonasteries,farfromthethunderandtheglareoftheworldsbloodybattle),whoknewtherightandthetruthandlivedaccordingtowhattheyknew;whopreservedandtenderlycaredforthetruthsthatthedearChristtaught,andlivedanddiedforinPalestinesolongago。

ThistalethatIamabouttotellisofalittleboywholivedandsufferedinthosedarkmiddleages;ofhowhesawboththegoodandthebadofmen,andofhow,bygentlenessandloveandnotbystrifeandhatred,hecameatlasttostandaboveothermenandtobelookeduptobyall。Andshouldyoufollowthestorytotheend,Ihopeyoumayfinditapleasure,asIhavedone,toramblethroughthosedarkancientcastles,toliewithlittleOttoandBrotherJohninthehighbelfry—tower,ortositwiththeminthepeacefulquietofthesunnyoldmonasterygarden,for,ofallthestory,IlovebestthoseearlypeacefulyearsthatlittleOttospentinthedearoldWhiteCrossontheHill。

PoorlittleOtto’slifewasastonyandathornypathway,anditiswellforallofusnowadaysthatwewalkitinfancyandnotintruth。

I。

TheDragon’sHouse。

Upfromthegrayrocks,risingsheerandboldandbare,stoodthewallsandtowersofCastleDrachenhausen。Agreatgate—way,withaheavyiron—pointedportcullishangingsuspendedinthedimarchabove,yawnedblacklyuponthebasculeorfallingdrawbridgethatspannedachasmbetweentheblankstonewallsandtheroadwaythatwindingdownthesteeprockyslopetothelittlevalleyjustbeneath。Thereinthelapofthehillsaroundstoodthewretchedstraw—thatchedhutsofthepeasantsbelongingtothecastle—miserableserfswho,halftimid,halffierce,tilledtheirpoorpatchesofground,wrenchingfromthehardsoilbarelyenoughtokeepbodyandsoultogether。Amongthosevilehovelsplayedthelittlechildrenlikefoxesabouttheirdens,theirwild,fierceeyespeeringoutfromunderamatoftangledyellowhair。

Beyondthesesqualidhutslaytherushing,foamingriver,spannedbyahigh,rude,stonebridgewheretheroadfromthecastlecrossedit,andbeyondtheriverstretchedthegreat,blackforest,withinwhosegloomydepthsthesavagewildbeastsmadetheirlair,andwhereinwintertimethehowlingwolvescoursedtheirflyingpreyacrossthemoonlitsnowandunderthenet—workoftheblackshadowsfromthenakedboughsabove。

Thewatchmaninthecold,windybartizanorwatch—towerthatclungtothegraywallsabovethecastlegateway,lookedfromhisnarrowwindow,wherethewindpipedandhummed,acrossthetree—topsthatrolledinendlessbillowsofgreen,overhillandovervalleytotheblueanddistantslopeoftheKeiserberg,where,onthemountainside,glimmeredfarawaythewallsofCastleTrutz—Drachen。

Withinthemassivestonewallsthroughwhichthegapinggatewayled,threegreatcheerlessbrickbuildings,soforbiddingthateventheyellowsunlightcouldnotlightthemintobrightness,lookeddown,withrowuponrowofwindows,uponthreesidesofthebleak,stonecourtyard。Backofandabovethemclusteredajumbleofotherbuildings,towerandturret,onehigh—peakedroofovertoppinganother。

ThegreathouseinthecentrewastheBaron’sHall,theparttotheleftwascalledtheRoderhausen;betweenthetwostoodahugesquarepile,risingdizzilyupintotheclearairhighabovetherest—thegreatMelchiorTower。

Atthetopclusteredajumbleofbuildingshanginghighaloftinthewindyspaceacrookedwoodenbelfry,atall,narrowwatch—

tower,andarudewoodenhousethatclungpartlytotheroofofthegreattowerandpartlytothewalls。

>Fromthechimneyofthiscrazyhutathinthreadofsmokewouldnowandthenriseintotheair,fortherewerefolklivingfarupinthatempty,airydesert,andoftentimeswild,uncouthlittlechildrenwereseenplayingontheedgeofthedizzyheight,orsittingwiththeirbarelegshangingdownoverthesheerdepths,astheygazedbelowatwhatwasgoingoninthecourt—yard。Theretheysat,justaslittlechildreninthetownmightsitupontheirfather’sdoor—step;andasthesparrowsmightflyaroundthefeetofthelittletownchildren,sothecirclingflocksofrooksanddawsflewaroundthefeetoftheseair—borncreatures。

ItwasSchwartzCarlandhiswifeandlittleoneswholivedfarupthereintheMelchiorTower,foritoverlookedthetopofthehillbehindthecastleandsodownintothevalleyuponthefurtherside。There,dayafterday,SchwartzCarlkeptwatchuponthegrayroadthatranlikearibbonthroughthevalley,fromtherichtownofGruenstaldttotherichtownofStaffenburgen,wherepassedmerchantcaravansfromtheonetotheother—forthelordofDrachenhausenwasarobberbaron。

Dong!Dong!ThegreatalarmbellwouldsuddenlyringoutfromthebelfryhighupupontheMelchiorTower。Dong!Dong!Tilltherooksanddawswhirledclamoringandscreaming。Dong!Dong!Tillthefiercewolf—houndsintherockykennelsbehindthecastlestableshowleddismallyinanswer。Dong!Dong!—Dong!Dong!

Thenwouldfollowagreatnoiseanduproarandhurryinthecastlecourt—yardbelow;menshoutingandcallingtooneanother,theringingofarmor,andtheclatterofhorses’hoofsuponthehardstone。Withthecreakingandgroaningofthewindlasstheiron—pointedportculliswouldbeslowlyraised,andwithaclankandrattleandclashofironchainsthedrawbridgewouldfallcrashing。Thenoveritwouldthunderhorseandman,clatteringawaydownthewinding,stonypathway,untilthegreatforestwouldswallowthem,andtheywouldbegone。

Thenforawhilepeacewouldfalluponthecastlecourtyard,thecockwouldcrow,thecookwouldscoldalazymaid,andGretchen,leaningoutofawindow,wouldsingasnatchofasong,justasthoughitwereapeacefulfarm—house,insteadofadenofrobbers。

Maybeitwouldbeeveningbeforethemenwouldreturnoncemore。

Perhapsonewouldhaveabloodyclothboundabouthishead,perhapsonewouldcarryhisarminasling;perhapsone—maybemorethanone—wouldbeleftbehind,nevertoreturnagain,andsoonforgottenbyallexceptingsomepoorwomanwhowouldweepsilentlyinthelonelinessofherdailywork。

Nearlyalwaystheadventurerswouldbringbackwiththempack—

horsesladenwithbalesofgoods。Sometimes,besidesthese,theywouldreturnwithapoorsoul,hishandstiedbehindhisbackandhisfeetbeneaththehorse’sbody,hisfurcloakandhisflatcapwofullyawry。Awhilehewoulddisappearinsomegloomycellofthedungeon—keep,untilanenvoywouldcomefromthetownwithafatpurse,whenhisransomwouldbepaid,thedungeonwoulddisgorgehim,andhewouldbeallowedtogouponhiswayagain。

OnemanalwaysrodebesideBaronConradinhisexpeditionsandadventuresashort,deep—chested,broad—shoulderedman,withsinewyarmssolongthatwhenhestoodhishandshungnearlytohisknees。

Hiscoarse,close—clippedhaircamesolowuponhisbrowthatonlyastripofforeheadshowedbetweenitandhisbushy,blackeyebrows。Oneeyewasblind;theothertwinkledandgleamedlikeasparkunderthepenthouseofhisbrows。Manyfolksaidthattheone—eyedHanshaddrunkbeerwiththeHill—man,whohadgivenhimthestrengthoften,forhecouldbendanironspitlikeahazeltwig,andcouldliftabarrelofwinefromthefloortohisheadaseasilyasthoughitwereabasketofeggs。

Asfortheone—eyedHansheneversaidthathehadnotdrunkbeerwiththeHill—man,forhelikedthecreditthatsuchreportsgavehimwiththeotherfolk。Andso,likeahalfsavagemastiff,faithfultodeathtohismaster,buttohimalone,hewenthissullenwayandlivedhissullenlifewithinthecastlewalls,halfrespected,halffearedbytheotherinmates,foritwasdangeroustriflingwiththeone—eyedHans。

II。

HowtheBaronwentForthtoShear。

BaronConradandBaronessMatildasattogetherattheirmorningmealbelowtheirraisedseatsstretchedthelong,heavywoodentable,loadedwithcoarsefood—blackbread,boiledcabbage,bacon,eggs,agreatchinefromawildboar,sausages,suchasweeatnowadays,andflagonsandjarsofbeerandwine,Alongtheboardsatrangedintheorderofthehouseholdthefollowersandretainers。Fourorfiveslatternlywomenandgirlsservedtheothersastheyfednoisilyatthetable,movinghereandtherebehindthemenwithwoodenorpewterdishesoffood,nowandthenlaughingatthejeststhatpassedorjoininginthetalk。Ahugefireblazedandcrackledandroaredinthegreatopenfireplace,beforewhichwerestretchedtwofierce,shaggy,wolfish—lookinghounds。Outside,therainbeatupontherooforrantricklingfromtheeaves,andeverynowandthenachilldraughtofwindwouldbreathethroughtheopenwindowsofthegreatblackdining—hallandsetthefireroaring。

Alongthedull—graywallofstonehungpiecesofarmor,andswordsandlances,andgreatbranchingantlersofthestag。

Overheadarchedtherude,heavy,oakenbeams,blackenedwithageandsmoke,andunderfootwasachillpavementofstone。

UponBaronConrad’sshoulderleanedthepale,slender,yellow—

hairedBaroness,theonlyoneinalltheworldwithwhomthefiercelordofDrachenhausensoftenedtogentleness,theonlyoneuponwhomhissavagebrowslookedkindly,andtowhomhisharshvoicesoftenedwithlove。

TheBaronesswastalkingtoherhusbandinalowvoice,ashelookeddownintoherpaleface,withitsgentleblueeyes。

"Andwiltthounot,then,"saidshe,"dothatonethingforme?"

"Nay,"hegrowled,inhisdeepvoice,"Icannotpromisetheenevermoretoattackthetowns—peopleinthevalleyoveryonder。

HowelsecouldIlivean’Ididnottakefromthefattownhogstofillourownlarder?"

"Nay,"saidtheBaroness,"thoucouldstliveassomeothersdo,foralldonotrobtheburgherfolkasthoudost。Alas!mishapwillcomeupontheesomeday,andifthoushouldstbeslain,whatthenwouldcomeofme?"

"Prut,"saidtheBaron,"thyfoolishfears"Buthelaidhisrough,hairyhandsoftlyupontheBaroness’headandstrokedheryellowhair。

"Formysake,Conrad,"whisperedtheBaroness。

Apausefollowed。TheBaronsatlookingthoughtfullydownintotheBaroness’face。Amomentmore,andhemighthavepromisedwhatshebesought;amomentmore,andhemighthavebeensavedallthebittertroublethatwastofollow。Butitwasnottobe。

Suddenlyaharshsoundbrokethequietnessofallintoaconfusionofnoises。Dong!Dong!—itwasthegreatalarm—bellfromMelchior’sTower。

TheBaronstartedatthesound。Hesatforamomentortwowithhishandclincheduponthearmofhisseatasthoughabouttorise,thenhesunkbackintohischairagain。

Alltheothershadrisentumultuouslyfromthetable,andnowstoodlookingathim,awaitinghisorders。

"Formysake,Conrad,"saidtheBaronessagain。

Dong!Dong!rangthealarm—bell。TheBaronsatwithhiseyesbentuponthefloor,scowlingblackly。

TheBaronesstookhishandinbothofhers。"Formysake,"shepleaded,andthetearsfilledherblueeyesasshelookedupathim,"donotgothistime。"

>Fromthecourtyardwithoutcamethesoundofhorses’hoofsclashingagainstthestonepavement,andthoseinthehallstoodwatchingandwonderingatthisstrangedelayoftheLordBaron。

Justthenthedooropenedandonecamepushingpasttherest;itwastheone—eyedHans。HecamestraighttowheretheBaronsat,and,leaningover,whisperedsomethingintohismaster’sear。

"Formysake,"imploredtheBaronessagain;butthescalewasturned。TheBaronpushedbackhischairheavilyandrosetohisfeet。"Forward!"heroared,inavoiceofthunder,andagreatshoutwentupinanswerashestrodeclankingdownthehallandoutoftheopendoor。

TheBaronesscoveredherfacewithherhandsandwept。

"Nevermind,littlebird,"saidoldUrsela,thenurse,soothingly;"hewillcomebacktotheeagainashehascomebacktotheebefore。"

ButthepooryoungBaronesscontinuedweepingwithherfaceburiedinherhands,becausehehadnotdonethatthingshehadasked。

Awhiteyoungfaceframedinyellowhairlookedoutintothecourtyardfromawindowabove;butifBaronConradofDrachenhausensawitfrombeneaththebarsofhisshininghelmet,hemadenosign。

"Forward"hecriedagain。

Downthunderedthedrawbridge,andawaytheyrodewithclashinghoofsandringingarmorthroughthegrayshroudofdrillingrain。

Thedayhadpassedandtheeveninghadcome,andtheBaronessandherwomensatbesidearoaringfire。Allwerechatteringandtalkingandlaughingbuttwo—thefairyoungBaronessandoldUrsela;theonesatlistening,listening,listening,theothersatwithherchinrestinginthepalmofherhand,silentlywatchingheryoungmistress。Thenightwasfallinggrayandchill,whensuddenlytheclearnotesofabuglerangfromwithoutthecastlewalls。TheyoungBaronessstarted,andtherosylightflashedupintoherpalecheeks。

"Yes,good,"saidoldUrsela;"theredfoxhascomebacktohisdenagain,andIwarranthebringsafattowngooseinhismouth;nowwe’llhavefineclothestowear,andthouanothergoldchaintohangaboutthyprettyneck。"

TheyoungBaronesslaughedmerrilyattheoldwoman’sspeech。

"Thistime,"saidshe,"Iwillchooseastringofpearlslikethatonemyauntusedtowear,andwhichIhadaboutmyneckwhenConradfirstsawme。"

Minuteafterminutepassed;theBaronesssatnervouslyplayingwithabraceletofgoldenbeadsaboutherwrist。"Howlonghestays,"saidshe。

"Yes,"saidUrsela;"butitisnotcousinwishthatholdshimbythecoat。"

Asshespoke,adoorbangedinthepassagewaywithout,andtheringofironfootstepssoundeduponthestonefloor。Clank!

Clank!Clank!

TheBaronessrosetoherfeet,herfaceallalight。Thedooropened;thentheflushofjoyfadedawayandthefacegrewwhite,white,white。Onehandclutchedthebackofthebenchwhereonshehadbeensitting,theotherhandpressedtightlyagainstherside。

ItwasHanstheone—eyedwhostoodinthedoorway,andblacktroublesatonhisbrow;allwerelookingathimwaiting。

"Conrad,"whisperedtheBaroness,atlast。"WhereisConrad?

Whereisyourmaster?"andevenherlipswerewhiteasshespoke。

Theone—eyedHanssaidnothing。

Justthencamethenoiseofmensvoicesinthecorridorandtheshuffleandscuffleoffeetcarryingaheavyload。Nearerandnearertheycame,andone—eyedHansstoodaside。Sixmencamestrugglingthroughthedoorway,carryingalitter,andonthelitterlaythegreatBaronConrad。Theflamingtorchthrustintotheironbracketagainstthewallflashedupwiththedraughtofairfromtheopendoor,andthelightfelluponthewhitefaceandtheclosedeyes,andshoweduponhisbodyarmoragreatredstainthatwasnotthestainofrust。

SuddenlyUrselacriedoutinasharp,shrillvoice,"Catchher,shefalls!"

ItwastheBaroness。

Thentheoldcroneturnedfiercelyupontheone—eyedHans。"Thoufool!"shecried,"whydidstthoubringhimhere?Thouhastkilledthylady!"

"Ididnotknow,"saidtheone—eyedHans,stupidly。

III。

HowtheBaroncameHomeShorn。

ButBaronConradwasnotdead。Fordayshelayuponhishardbed,nowmutteringincoherentwordsbeneathhisredbeard,nowravingfiercelywiththefeverofhiswound。Butonedayhewokeagaintothethingsabouthim。

Heturnedhisheadfirsttotheonesideandthentotheother;

theresatSchwartzCarlandtheone—eyedHans。Twoorthreeotherretainersstoodbyagreatwindowthatlookedoutintothecourtyardbeneath,jestingandlaughingtogetherinlowtones,andonelayupontheheavyoakenbenchthatstoodalongbythewallsnoringinhissleep。

"Whereisyourlady?"saidtheBaron,presently;"andwhyisshenotwithmeatthistime?"

Themanthatlayuponthebenchstartedupatthesoundofhisvoice,andthoseatthewindowcamehurryingtohisbedside。ButSchwartzCarlandtheone—eyedHanslookedatoneanother,andneitherofthemspoke。TheBaronsawthelookandinitreadacertainmeaningthatbroughthimtohiselbow,thoughonlytosinkbackuponhispillowagainwithagroan。

"Whydoyounotanswerme?"saidheatlast,inahollowvoice;

thentotheone—eyedHans,"Hastnotongue,fool,thatthoustandestgapingtherelikeafish?Answerme,whereisthymistress?"

"I—Idonotknow,"stammeredpoorHans。

ForawhiletheBaronlaysilentlylookingfromonefacetotheother,thenhespokeagain。"HowlonghaveIbeenlyinghere?"

saidhe。

"Asennight,mylord,"saidMasterRudolph,thesteward,whohadcomeintotheroomandwhonowstoodamongtheothersatthebedside。

"Asennight,"repeatedtheBaron,inalowvoice,andthentoMasterRudolph,"AndhastheBaronessbeenoftenbesidemeinthattime?"MasterRudolphhesitated。"Answerme,"saidtheBaron,harshly。

"Not—notoften,"saidMasterRudolph,hesitatingly。

TheBaronlaysilentforalongtime。Atlasthepassedhishandsoverhisfaceandheldthemthereforaminute,thenofasudden,beforeanyoneknewwhathewasabouttodo,heroseuponhiselbowandthensatuprightuponthebed。Thegreenwoundbrokeoutafreshandadarkredspotgrewandspreaduponthelinenwrappings;hisfacewasdrawnandhaggardwiththepainofhismoving,andhiseyeswildandbloodshot。Greatdropsofsweatgatheredandstooduponhisforeheadashesatthereswayingslightlyfromsidetoside。

"Myshoes,"saidhe,hoarsely。

MasterRudolphsteppedforward。"But,myLordBaron,"hebeganandthenstoppedshort,fortheBaronshothimsuchalookthathistonguestoodstillinhishead。

Hanssawthatlookoutofhisoneeye。Downhedroppeduponhiskneesand,fumblingunderthebed,broughtforthapairofsoftleathernshoes,whichheslippedupontheBaron’sfeetandthenlacedthethongsabovetheinstep。

"Yourshoulder,"saidtheBaron。Heroseslowlytohisfeet,grippingHansinthestressofhisagonyuntilthefellowwincedagain。Foramomenthestoodasthoughgatheringstrength,thendoggedlystartedforthuponthatquestwhichhehadsetuponhimself。

Atthedoorhestoppedforamomentasthoughovercomebyhisweakness,andthereMasterNicholas,hiscousin,methim;forthestewardhadsentoneoftheretainerstotelltheoldmanwhattheBaronwasabouttodo。

"Thoumustgobackagain,Conrad,"saidMasterNicholas;"thouartnotfittobeabroad。"

TheBaronansweredhimneveraword,butheglaredathimfromoutofhisbloodshoteyesandgroundhisteethtogether。Thenhestartedforthagainuponhisway。

Downthelonghallhewent,slowlyandlaboriously,theothersfollowingsilentlybehindhim,thenupthesteepwindingstairs,stepbystep,nowandthenstoppingtoleanagainstthewall。Sohereachedalongandgloomypassagewaylitonlybythelightofalittlewindowatthefurtherend。

Hestoppedatthedoorofoneoftheroomsthatopenedintothispassage—way,stoodforamoment,thenhepusheditopen。

NoonewaswithinbutoldUrsela,whosatcrooningoverafirewithabundleuponherknees。ShedidnotseetheBaronorknowthathewasthere。

"Whereisyourlady?"saidhe,inahollowvoice。

Thentheoldnurselookedupwithastart。"Jesublessus,"

criedshe,andcrossedherself。

"Whereisyourlady?"saidtheBaronagain,inthesamehoarsevoice;andthen,notwaitingforananswer,"Isshedead?"

Theoldwomanlookedathimforaminuteblinkingherwateryeyes,andthensuddenlybrokeintoashrill,long—drawnwail。

TheBaronneededtohearnomore。

Asthoughinanswertotheoldwoman’scry,athinpipingcomplaintcamefromthebundleinherlap。

AtthesoundtheredbloodflashedupintotheBaron’sface。

"Whatisthatyouhavethere?"saidhe,pointingtothebundleupontheoldwoman’sknees。

Shedrewbackthecoveringsandtherelayapoor,weak,littlebaby,thatonceagainraiseditsfaintreedypipe。

"Itisyourson,"saidUrsela,"thatthedearBaronessleftbehindherwhentheholyangelstookhertoParadise。SheblessedhimandcalledhimOttobeforesheleftus。"

IV。

TheWhiteCrossontheHill。

HeretheglassywatersoftheRiverRhine,holdinguponitsbosomamimicpictureoftheblueskyandwhitecloudsfloatingabove,runssmoothlyaroundajuttingpointofland,St。

Michaelsburg,risingfromthereedybanksofthestream,sweepsupwithasmoothswelluntilitcutssharpandclearagainstthesky。Stubbyvineyardscovereditsearthybreast,andfieldandgardenandorchardcrowneditsbrow,wherelaytheMonasteryofSt。Michaelsburg—"TheWhiteCrossontheHill。"Therewithinthewhitewalls,wherethewarmyellowsunlightslept,allwaspeacefulquietness,brokenonlynowandthenbythecrowingofthecockortheclamorouscackleofahen,thelowingofkineorthebleatingofgoats,asolitaryvoiceinprayer,thefaintaccordofdistantsinging,ortheresonanttollofthemonasterybellfromthehigh—peakedbelfrythatoverlookedthehillandvalleyandthesmooth,far—windingstream。Noothersoundsbrokethestillness,forinthispeacefulhavenwasneverheardtheclashofarmor,theringofiron—shodhoofs,orthehoarsecalltoarms。

Allmenwerenotwickedandcruelandfierceinthatdark,far—

awayage;allwerenotrobbersandterror—spreadingtyrants,eveninthattimewhenmen’shandswereagainsttheirneighbors,andwarandrapinedweltinplaceofpeaceandjustice。

AbbotOtto,ofSt。Michaelsburg,wasagentle,patient,pale。

facedoldman;hiswhitehandsweresoftandsmooth,andnoonewouldhavethoughtthattheycouldhaveknowntheharshtouchofsword—hiltandlance。Andyet,inthedaysoftheEmperorFrederick—thegrandsonofthegreatRed—beard—noonestoodhigherintheprowessofarmsthanhe。Butallatonce—forwhy,nomancouldtell—achangecameoverhim,andintheflowerofhisyouthandfameandgrowingpowerhegaveupeverythinginlifeandenteredthequietsanctuaryofthatwhitemonasteryonthehill—side,sofarawayfromthetumultandtheconflictoftheworldinwhichhehadlived。

Somesaidthatitwasbecausetheladyhehadlovedhadlovedhisbrother,andthatwhentheyweremarriedOttoofWolbergenhadleftthechurchwithabrokenheart。

Butsuchstoriesareoldsongsthathavebeensungbefore。

Clatter!clatter!Jingle!jingle!Itwasafull—armedknightthatcameridingupthesteephillroadthatwoundfromlefttorightandrighttoleftamidthevineyardsontheslopesofSt。

Michaelsburg。Polishedhelmandcorseletblazedinthenoonsunlight,fornoknightinthosedaysdaredtoridetheroadsexceptinfullarmor。Infrontofhimthesolitaryknightcarriedabundlewrappedinthefoldsofhiscoarsegraycloak。

ItwasasorelysickmanthatrodeuptheheightsofSt。

Michaelsburg。Hisheadhunguponhisbreastthroughthefaintnessofwearinessandpain;foritwastheBaronConrad。

Hehadlefthisbedofsicknessthatmorning,hadsaddledhishorseinthegraydawnwithhisownhands,andhadriddenawayintothemistytwilightoftheforestwithouttheknowledgeofanyoneexceptingtheporter,who,winkingandblinkinginthebewildermentofhisbrokenslumber,hadopenedthegatestothesickman,hardlyknowingwhathewasdoing,untilhebeheldhismasterfaraway,clatteringdownthesteepbridle—path。

Eightleagueshadheriddenthatdaywithneitherastopnorastay;butnowatlasttheendofhisjourneyhadcome,andhedrewreinundertheshadeofthegreatwoodengatewayofSt。

Michaelsburg。

Hereacheduptotheknottedropeandgaveitapull,andfromwithinsoundedtheansweringringoftheporter’sbell。Byandbyalittlewicketopenedinthegreatwoodenportals,andthegentle,wrinkledfaceofoldBrotherBenedict,theporter,peepedoutatthestrangeiron—cladvisitorandthegreatblackwar—horse,streakedandwetwiththesweatofthejourney,fleckedanddappledwithflakesoffoam。Afewwordspassedbetweenthem,andthenthelittlewindowwasclosedagain;andwithin,theshufflingpatofthesandalledfeetsoundedfainterandfainter,asBrotherBenedictborethemessagefromBaronConradtoAbbotOtto,andthemail—cladfigurewasleftalone,sittingthereassilentasastatue。

Byandbythefootstepssoundedagain;therecameanoiseofclatteringchainsandtherattleofthekeyinthelock,andtheraspingoftheboltsdraggedback。Thenthegateswungslowlyopen,andBaronConradrodeintotheshelteroftheWhiteCross,andasthehoofsofhiswar—horseclasheduponthestonesofthecourtyardwithin,thewoodengateswungslowlytobehindhim。

AbbotOttostoodbythetablewhenBaronConradenteredthehigh—vaultedroomfromthefartherend。Thelightfromtheorielwindowbehindtheoldmanshedbrokenraysoflightuponhim,andseemedtoframehisthingrayhairswithagoldenglory。Hiswhite,delicatehandresteduponthetablebesidehim,anduponsomesheetsofparchmentcoveredwithrowsofancientGreekwritingwhichhehadbeenengagedindeciphering。

Clank!clank!clank!BaronConradstrodeacrossthestonefloor,andthenstoppedshortinfrontofthegoodoldman。

"Whatdostthouseekhere,myson?"saidtheAbbot。

"Iseeksanctuaryformysonandthybrother’sgrandson,"saidtheBaronConrad,andheflungbackthefoldsofhiscloakandshowedthefaceofthesleepingbabe。

ForawhiletheAbbotsaidnothing,butstoodgazingdreamilyatthebaby。Afterawhilehelookedup。"Andthechild’smother,"

saidhe—"whathathshetosayatthis?"

"Shehathnaughttosay,"saidBaronConrad,hoarsely,andthenstoppedshortinhisspeech。"Sheisdead,"saidhe,atlast,inahuskyvoice,"andiswithGod’sangelsinparadise。"

TheAbbotlookedintentlyintheBaron’sface。"So!"saidhe,underhisbreath,andthenforthefirsttimenoticedhowwhiteanddrawnwastheBaron’sface。"Artsickthyself?"heasked。

"Ay,"saidtheBaron,"Ihavecomefromdeath’sdoor。Butthatisnomatter。Wiltthoutakethislittlebabeintosanctuary?Myhouseisavile,roughplace,andnotfitforsuchashe,andhismotherwiththeblessedsaintsinheaven。"AndoncemoreConradofDrachenhausen’sfacebegantwitchingwiththepainofhisthoughts。

"Yes,"saidtheoldman,gently,"heshalllivehere,"andhestretchedouthishandsandtookthebabe。"Would,"saidhe,"thatallthelittlechildreninthesedarktimesmightbethusbroughttothehouseofGod,andtherelearnmercyandpeace,insteadofrapineandwar。"

Forawhilehestoodlookingdowninsilenceatthebabyinhisarms,butwithhismindfarawayuponotherthings。Atlastherousedhimselfwithastart。"Andthou,"saidhetotheBaronConrad—"hathnotthyheartbeenchastenedandsoftenedbythis?Surelythouwiltnotgobacktothyoldlifeofrapineandextortion?"

"Nay,"saidBaronConrad,gruffly,"Iwillrobthecityswinenolonger,forthatwasthelastthingthatmydearoneaskedofme。"

TheoldAbbot’sfacelitupwithasmile。"Iamrightgladthatthyheartwassoftened,andthatthouartwillingatlasttoceasefromwarandviolence。"

"Nay,"criedtheBaron,roughly,"Isaidnothingofceasingfromwar。Byheaven,no!Iwillhaverevenge!"Andheclashedhisironfootuponthefloorandclinchedhisfistsandgroundhisteethtogether。"Listen,"saidhe,"andIwilltelltheehowmytroubleshappened。AfortnightagoIrodeoutuponanexpeditionagainstacaravanoffatburghersinthevalleyofGruenhoffen。

Theyoutnumberedusmanytoone,butcityswinesuchastheyarenotofthestufftostandagainstourkindforalongtime。

Nevertheless,whilethemen—at—armswhoguardedthecaravanwerestayinguswithpikeandcross—bowfrombehindatreewhichtheyhadfelledinfrontofahighbridgetheothershaddriventhepack—horsesoff,sothatbythetimewehadforcedthebridgetheywerealeagueormoreaway。Wepushedafterthemashardaswewereable,butwhenwecameupwiththemwefoundthattheyhadbeenjoinedbyBaronFrederickofTrutz—Drachen,towhomforthreeyearsandmoretheburghersofGruenstadthavebeenpayingatributeforhisprotectionagainstothers。Thenagaintheymadeastand,andthistimetheBaronFrederickhimselfwaswiththem。

Butthoughthedogsfoughtwell,wewereforcingthemback,andmighthavegotthebetterofthem,hadnotmyhorsestumbleduponaslopingstone,andsofellandrolledoveruponme。WhileIlaytherewithmyhorseuponme,BaronFrederickranmedownwithhislance,andgavemethatfoulwoundthatcamesoneartoslayingme—anddidslaymydearwife。Nevertheless,mymenwereabletobringmeoutfromthatpressandaway,andwehadbittentheTrutz—Drachendogssodeepthattheyweretoosoretofollowus,andsoletusgoourwayinpeace。Butwhenthosefoolsofminebroughtmetomycastletheyboremelyinguponalittertomywife’schamber。Thereshebeheldme,and,thinkingmedead,swoonedadeath—swoon,sothatsheonlylivedlongenoughtoblesshernew—bornbabeandnameitOtto,foryou,herfather’sbrother。But,byheavens!Iwillhaverevenge,rootandbranch,uponthatviletribe,theRoderburgsofTrutz—

Drachen。Theirgreat—grandsirebuiltthatcastleinscornofBaronCasperintheolddays;theirgrandsireslewmyfather’sgrandsire;BaronNicholasslewtwoofourkindred;andnowthisBaronFrederickgivesmethatfoulwoundandkillsmydearwifethroughmybody。"HeretheBaronstoppedshort;thenofasudden,shakinghisfistabovehishead,hecriedoutinhishoarsevoice:"Iswearbyallthesaintsinheaven,eithertheredcockshallcrowovertheroofofTrutz—Drachenorelseitshallcrowovermyhouse!TheblackdogshallsitonBaronFrederick’sshouldersorelseheshallsitonmine!"Againhestopped,andfixinghisblazingeyesupontheoldman,"Hearestthouthat,priest?"saidhe,andbrokeintoagreatboisterouslaugh。

AbbotOttosighedheavily,buthetriednofurthertopersuadetheotherintodifferentthoughts。

"Thouartwounded,"saidhe,atlast,inagentlevoice;"atleaststayherewithusuntilthouarthealed。"

"Nay,"saidtheBaron,roughly,"Iwilltarrynolongerthantoheartheepromisetocareformychild。"

"Ipromise,"saidtheAbbot;"butlayasidethyarmor,andrest。"

"Nay,"saidtheBaron,"Igobackagainto—day。"

AtthistheAbbotcriedoutinamazement:"Surethou,woundedman,wouldnottakethatlongjourneywithoutaduestayforresting!Think!Nightwillbeupontheebeforethoucanstreachhomeagain,andtheforestsarebesetwithwolves。"

TheBaronlaughed。"ThosearenotthewolvesIfear,"saidhe。

"Urgemenofurther,Imustreturnto—night;yetifthouhastamindtodomeakindnessthoucanstgivemesomefoodtoeatandaflaskofyourgoldenMichaelsburg;beyondthese,Iasknofurtherfavorofanyman,behepriestorlayman。"

"WhatcomfortIcangivetheethoushalthave,"saidtheAbbot,inhispatientvoice,andsolefttheroomtogivetheneedfulorders,bearingthebabewithhim。

V。

HowOttoDweltatSt。Michaelsburg。

Sothepoor,little,motherlesswaiflivedamongtheoldmonksattheWhiteCrossonthehill,thrivingandgrowingapaceuntilhehadreachedelevenortwelveyearsofage;aslender,fair—

hairedlittlefellow,withastrange,quietseriousmanner。

"Poorlittlechild!"OldBrotherBenedictwouldsometimessaytotheothers,"poorlittlechild!Thetroublesinwhichhewasbornmusthavebrokenhiswitslikeaglasscup。Whatthinkyehesaidtometo—day?’DearBrotherBenedict,’saidhe,’dostthoushavethehairoffofthetopofthyheadsothatthedearGodmayseethythoughtsthebetter?’Thinkofthatnow!"andthegoodoldmanshookwithsilentlaughter。

WhensuchtalkcametothegoodFatherAbbot’sears,hesmiledquietlytohimself。"Itmaybe,"saidhe,"thatthewisdomoflittlechildrenflieshigherthanourheavywitscanfollow。"

AtleastOttowasnotslowwithhisstudies,andBrotherEmmanuel,whotaughthimhislessons,saidmorethanoncethat,ifhiswitswerecrackedinotherways,theyweresoundenoughinLatin。

Otto,inaquaint,simplewaywhichbelongedtohim,wasgentleandobedienttoall。ButtherewasoneamongtheBrethrenofSt。

Michaelsburgwhomhelovedfarabovealltherest—BrotherJohn,apoorhalf—wittedfellow,ofsometwenty—fiveorthirtyyearsofage。Whenaverylittlechild,hehadfallenfromhisnurse’sarmsandhurthishead,andashegrewupintoboyhood,andshowedthathiswitshadbeenaddledbyhisfall,hisfamilyknewnotwhatelsetodowithhim,andsosenthimofftotheMonasteryofSt。Michaelsburg,wherehelivedhissimple,witlesslifeuponasortofsufferance,asthoughhewereatame,harmlessanimal。

WhileOttowasstillalittlebaby,hehadbeengivenintoBrotherJohn’scare。Thereafter,anduntilOttohadgrownoldenoughtocareforhimself,poorBrotherJohnneverlefthislittlecharge,nightorday。OftentimesthegoodFatherAbbot,comingintothegarden,wherehelovedtowalkaloneinhismeditations,wouldfindthepoor,simpleBrothersittingundertheshadeofthepear—tree,closetothebee—hives,rockingthelittlebabyinhisarms,singingstrange,crazysongstoit,andgazingfarawayintotheblue,emptyskywithhiscurious,paleeyes。

Although,asOttogrewupintoboyhood,hislessonsandhistasksseparatedhimfromBrotherJohn,thebondbetweenthemseemedtogrowstrongerratherthanweaker。DuringthehoursthatOttohadforhisowntheywerescarcelyeverapart。Downinthevineyard,wherethemonksweregatheringthegrapesforthevintage,inthegarden,orinthefields,thetwowerealwaysseentogether,eitherwanderinghandinhand,orseatedinsomeshadynookorcorner。

Butmostofalltheylovedtolieupintheairywoodenbelfry;

thegreatgapingbellhangingdarklyabovethem,themoulderingcross—beamsglimmeringfarupunderthedimshadowsoftheroof,wheredweltagreatbrownowlthat,unfrightenedattheirfamiliarpresence,stareddownatthemwithhisround,solemneyes。Belowthemstretchedthewhitewallsofthegarden,beyondthemthevineyard,andbeyondthatagainthefarshiningriver,thatseemedtoOtto’smindtoleadintowonder—land。Therethetwowouldlieuponthebelfryfloorbythehour,talkingtogetherofthestrangestthings。

"IsawthedearAngelGabrielagainyestermorn,"saidBrotherJohn。

"So!"saysOtto,seriously;"andwherewasthat?"

"Itwasoutinthegarden,intheoldapple—tree,"saidBrotherJohn。"Iwaswalkingthere,andmywitswererunningaroundinthegrasslikeamouse。WhatheardIbutawonderfulsoundofsinging,anditwaslikethehumofagreatbee,onlysweeterthanhoney。SoIlookedupintothetree,andthereIsawtwosparks。Ithoughtatfirstthattheyweretwostarsthathadfallenoutofheaven;butwhatthinkyoutheywere,littlechild?"

"Idonotknow,"saidOtto,breathlessly。

"Theywereangel’seyes,"saidBrotherJohn;andhesmiledinthestrangestway,ashegazedupintothebluesky。"SoI

lookedatthetwosparksandfelthappy,asonedoesinspringtimewhenthecoldweatherisgone,andthewarmsunshines,andthecuckoosingsagain。Then,by—and—by,Isawthefacetowhichtheeyesbelonged。First,itshonewhiteandthinlikethemooninthedaylight;butitgrewbrighterandbrighter,untilithurtone’seyestolookatit,asthoughithadbeentheblessedsunitself。AngelGabriel’shandwasaswhiteassilver,andinitheheldagreenboughwithblossoms,likethosethatgrowonthethornbush。Asforhisrobe,itwasallofonepiece,andfinerthantheFatherAbbot’slinen,andshonebesidelikethesunlightonpuresnow。SoIknewfromallthesethingsthatitwastheblessedAngelGabriel。"

"Whatdotheysayaboutthistree,BrotherJohn?"saidhetome。

"Theysayitisdying,myLordAngel,"saidI,"andthatthegardenerwillbringasharpaxeandcutitdown。"

"’Andwhatdostthousayaboutit,BrotherJohn?’saidhe。"

"’Ialsosayyes,andthatitisdying,’saidI。"

"AtthathesmileduntilhisfaceshonesobrightthatIhadtoshutmyeyes。"

"’NowIbegintobelieve,BrotherJohn,thatthouartasfoolishasmensay,’saidhe。’Look,tillIshowthee。’AndthereatI

openedmineeyesagain。"

"ThenAngelGabrieltouchedthedeadbrancheswiththeflowerytwigthatheheldinhishand,andtherewasthedeadwoodallcoveredwithgreenleaves,andfairblossomsandbeautifulapplesasyellowasgold。Eachsmellingmoresweetlythanagardenofflowers,andbettertothetastethanwhitebreadandhoney。

"’Theyaresoulsoftheapples,’saidthegoodAngel,’andtheycanneverwitheranddie。’

"’ThenI’lltellthegardenerthatheshallnotcutthetreedown,’saidI。"

"’No,no,’saidthedearGabriel,’thatwillneverdo,forifthetreeisnotcutdownhereontheearth,itcanneverbeplantedinparadise。’

HereBrotherJohnstoppedshortinhisstory,andbegansingingoneofhiscrazysongs,ashegazedwithhispaleeyesfarawayintonothingatall。

"Buttellme,BrotherJohn,"saidlittleOtto,inahushedvoice,"whatelsedidthegoodAngelsaytothee?"

BrotherJohnstoppedshortinhissongandbeganlookingfromrighttoleft,andupanddown,asthoughtogatherhiswits。

"So!"saidhe,"therewassomethingelsethathetoldme。Tschk!

IfIcouldbutthinknow。Yes,good!Thisisit—’Nothingthathaslived,’saidhe,’shalleverdie,andnothingthathasdiedshalleverlive。’

Ottodrewadeepbreath。"IwouldthatImightseethebeautifulAngelGabrielsometime,"saidhe;butBrotherJohnwassingingagainanddidnotseemtohearwhathesaid。

NexttoBrotherJohn,thenearestonetothelittlechildwasthegoodAbbotOtto,forthoughhehadneverseenwonderfulthingswiththeeyesofhissoul,suchasBrotherJohn’shadbeheld,andsocouldnottellofthem,hewasyetabletogivelittleOttoanotherpleasurethatnooneelsecouldgive。

Hewasagreatloverofbooks,theoldAbbot,andhadunderlockandkeywonderfulandbeautifulvolumes,boundinhog—skinandmetal,andwithcoversinlaidwithcarvedivory,orstuddedwithpreciousstones。Butwithinthesecovers,beautifulastheywere,laytherealwonderofthebooks,likethesoulinthebody;forthere,besidetheblacklettersandinitials,gaywithredandblueandgold,werebeautifulpicturespainteduponthecreamyparchment。SaintsandAngels,theBlessedVirginwiththegoldenorioleaboutherhead,goodSt。Joseph,thethreeKings;

thesimpleShepherdskneelinginthefields,whileAngelswithgloriesabouttheirbrowcalledtothepoorPeasantsfromtheblueskyabove。But,mostbeautifulofallwasthepictureoftheChristChildlyinginthemanger,withthemild—eyedKinegazingathim。

SometimestheoldAbbotwouldunlocktheiron—boundchestwherethesetreasureslayhidden,andcarefullyandlovinglybrushingthefewgrainsofdustfromthem,wouldlaythemuponthetablebesidetheorielwindowinfrontofhislittlenamesake,allowingthelittleboyfreedomtoturntheleavesashechose。

AlwaysitwasonepicturethatlittleOttosought;theChristChildinthemanger,withtheVirgin,St。Joseph,theShepherds,andtheKine。Andashewouldhangbreathlesslygazingandgazinguponit,theoldAbbotwouldsitwatchinghimwithafaint,half—sadsmileflickeringaroundhisthinlipsandhispale,narrowface。

Itwasapleasant,peacefullife,butby—and—bytheendcame。

Ottowasnownearlytwelveyearsold。

Onebright,clearday,nearthehourofnoon,littleOttoheardtheporter’sbellsoundingbelowinthecourt—yard—dong!dong!

BrotherEmmanuelhadbeenappointedastheboy’sinstructor,andjustthenOttowasconninghislessonsinthegoodmonk’scell。

Nevertheless,atthesoundofthebellheprickeduphisearsandlistened,foravisitorwasastrangematterinthatout—of—

the—wayplace,andhewonderedwhoitcouldbe。So,whilehiswitswanderedhislessonslagged。

"PosteraPhoebalustrabatlampadeterras,"continuedBrotherEmmanuel,inexorablyrunninghishornyfinger—nailbeneaththeline,"humentemqueAurorapolodimoveratumbram—"thelessondraggedalong。

Justthenasandaledfootstepsoundedwithout,inthestonecorridor,andalighttapfelluponBrotherEmmanuel’sdoor。ItwasBrotherIgnatius,andtheAbbotwishedlittleOttotocometotherefectory。

Astheycrossedthecourt—yardOttostaredtoseeagroupofmail—cladmen—at—arms,somesittingupontheirhorses,somestandingbythesaddle—bow。"Yonderistheyoungbaron,"heheardoneofthemsayinagruffvoice,andthereuponallturnedandstaredathim。

Astrangerwasintherefectory,standingbesidethegoodoldAbbot,whilefoodandwinewerebeingbroughtandsetuponthetableforhisrefreshment;agreat,tall,broad—shoulderedman,besidewhomtheAbbotlookedthinnerandslighterthanever。

Thestrangerwascladallinpolishedandgleamingarmor,ofplateandchain,overwhichwasdrawnalooserobeofgraywoollenstuff,reachingtothekneesandboundaboutthewaistbyabroadleathernsword—belt。Uponhisarmhecarriedagreathelmetwhichhehadjustremovedfromhishead。Hisfacewasweather—beatenandrugged,andonlipandchinwasawiry,bristlingbeard;oncered,nowfrostedwithwhite。

BrotherIgnatiushadbiddenOttotoenter,andhadthenclosedthedoorbehindhim;andnow,astheladwalkedslowlyupthelongroom,hegazedwithround,wonderingblueeyesatthestranger。

"DostknowwhoIam,Otto?saidthemail—cladknight,inadeep,growlingvoice。

"Methinksyouaremyfather,sir,"saidOtto。

"Aye,thouartright,"saidBaronConrad,"andIamgladtoseethatthesemilk—churningmonkshavenotallowedtheetoforgetme,andwhothouartthyself。"

"An’itpleaseyou,"saidOtto,"noonechurnethmilkherebutBrotherFritz;webemakersofwineandnotmakersofbutter,atSt。Michaelsburg。"

BaronConradbrokeintoagreat,loudlaugh,butAbbotOtto’ssadandthoughtfulfacelitupwithnoshadowofanansweringsmile。

"Conrad,"saidhe,turningtotheother,"againletmeurgethee;donottakethechildhence,hislifecanneverbeyourlife,forheisnotfittedforit。Ihadthought,"saidhe,afteramoment’spause,"Ihadthoughtthatthouhadstmeanttoconsecratehim—thismotherlessone—tothecareoftheUniversalMotherChurch。"

"So!"saidtheBaron,"thouhadstthoughtthat,hadstthou?ThouhadstthoughtthatIhadintendedtodeliveroverthisboy,thelastoftheVuelphs,tothearmsoftheChurch?Whatthenwastobecomeofournameandthegloryofourraceifitwastoendwithhiminamonastery?No,DrachenhausenisthehomeoftheVuelphs,andtherethelastoftheraceshallliveashissireshavelivedbeforehim,holdingtohisrightsbythepowerandthemightofhisrighthand。"

TheAbbotturnedandlookedattheboy,whowasgapinginsimplewide—eyedwondermentfromonetotheotherastheyspoke。

"Anddostthouthink,Conrad,"saidtheoldman,inhisgentle,patientvoice,"thatthatpoorchildcanmaintainhisrightsbythestrengthofhisrighthand?"

TheBaron’slookfollowedtheAbbot’s,andhesaidnothing。

Inthefewsecondsofsilencethatfollowed,littleOtto,inhissimplemind,waswonderingwhatallthistalkportended。WhyhadhisfathercomehithertoSt。Michaelsburg,lightingupthedimsilenceofthemonasterywiththeflashandringofhispolishedarmor?Whyhadhetalkedaboutchurningbutterbutnow,whenalltheworldknewthatthemonksofSt。Michaelsburgmadewine。

ItwasBaronConrad’sdeepvoicethatbrokethelittlepauseofsilence。

"Ifyouhavemadeamilkmaidoftheboy,"heburstoutatlast,"Ithankthedearheaventhatthereisyettimetoundoyourworkandtomakeamanofhim。"

TheAbbotsighed。"Thechildisyours,Conrad,"saidhe,"thewilloftheblessedsaintsbedone。MayhapifhegoestodwellatDrachenhausenhemaymakeyouthebetterinsteadofyoumakinghimtheworse。"

ThenlightcametothedarknessoflittleOtto’swonderment;hesawwhatallthistalkmeantandwhyhisfatherhadcomehither。

Hewastoleavethehappy,sunnysilenceofthedearWhiteCross,andtogooutintothatgreatworldthathehadsooftenlookeddownuponfromthehighwindybelfryonthesteephillside。

VI。

HowOttoLivedintheDragon’sHouse。

ThegatesoftheMonasterystoodwideopen,theworldlaybeyond,andallwasreadyfordeparture。BaronConradandhismen—at—armssatfootinstirrup,themilk—whitehorsethathadbeenbroughtforOttostoodwaitingforhimbesidehisfather’sgreatcharger。

"Farewell,Otto,"saidthegoodoldAbbot,ashestoopedandkissedtheboy’scheek。

"Farewell,"answeredOtto,inhissimple,quietway,anditbroughtapangtotheoldman’sheartthatthechildshouldseemtogrievesolittleattheleave—taking。

"Farewell,Otto,"saidthebrethrenthatstoodabout,"farewell,farewell。"

ThenpoorbrotherJohncameforwardandtooktheboy’shand,andlookedupintohisfaceashesatuponhishorse。"Wewillmeetagain,"saidhe,withhisstrange,vacantsmile,"butmaybeitwillbeinParadise,andthereperhapstheywillletuslieinthefather’sbelfry,andlookdownupontheangelsinthecourt—

yardbelow。"

"Aye,"answeredOtto,withanansweringsmile。

"Forward,"criedtheBaron,inadeepvoice,andwithaclashofhoofsandjingleofarmortheyweregone,andthegreatwoodengateswereshuttobehindthem。

Downthesteepwindingpathwaytheyrode,andoutintothegreatwideworldbeyond,uponwhichOttoandbrotherJohnhadgazedsooftenfromthewoodenbelfryoftheWhiteCrossonthehill。

"HastbeentaughttorideahorsebythepriestsupyonderonMichaelsburg?"askedtheBaron,whentheyhadreachedthelevelroad。

"Nay,"saidOtto;"wehadnohorsetoride,butonlytobringintheharvestorthegrapesfromthefurthervineyardstothevintage。"

"Prut,"saidtheBaron,"methoughttheabbotwouldhavehadenoughofthebloodofolddaysinhisveinstohavetaughttheewhatisfittingforaknighttoknow;artnotafeared?"

"Nay,"saidOtto,withasmile,"Iamnotafeared。"

"ThereatleastthoushowestthyselfaVuelph,"saidthegrimBaron。ButperhapsOtto’sthoughtoffearandBaronConrad’sthoughtoffearweretwoverydifferentmatters。

Theafternoonhadpassedbythetimetheyhadreachedtheendoftheirjourney。Upthesteep,stonypaththeyrodetothedrawbridgeandthegreatgapinggatewayofDrachenhausen,wherewallandtowerandbattlementlookeddarkerandmoreforbiddingthaneverinthegraytwilightofthecomingnight。LittleOttolookedupwithgreat,wondering,awe—struckeyesatthisgrimnewhomeofhis。

Thenextmomenttheyclatteredoverthedrawbridgethatspannedthenarrowblackgulphbetweentheroadwayandthewall,andthenextwerepasttheechoingarchofthegreatgatewayandinthegraygloamingofthepavedcourt—yardwithin。

Ottolookedarounduponthemanyfacesgatheredtheretocatchthefirstsightofthelittlebaron;hard,ruggedfaces,seamedandweather—beaten;verydifferentfromthoseofthegentlebrethrenamongwhomhehadlived,anditseemedstrangetohimthattherewasnonetherewhomheshouldknow。

Asheclimbedthesteep,stonystepstothedooroftheBaron’shouse,oldUrselacamerunningdowntomeethim。Sheflungherwitheredarmsaroundhimandhuggedhimclosetoher。"Mylittlechild,"shecried,andthenfelltosobbingasthoughherheartwouldbreak。

"Hereissomeoneknowethme,"thoughtthelittleboy。

HisnewhomewasallverystrangeandwonderfultoOtto;thearmors,thetrophies,theflags,thelonggallerieswiththeirrangesofrooms,thegreathallbelowwithitsvaultedroofanditsgreatfireplaceofgrotesquelycarvedstone,andallthestrangepeoplewiththeirlivesandthoughtssodifferentfromwhathehadbeenusedtoknow。

Anditwasawonderfulthingtoexploreallthestrangeplacesinthedarkoldcastle;placeswhereitseemedtoOttonoonecouldhaveeverbeenbefore。

Oncehewandereddownalong,darkpassagewaybelowthehall,pushedopenanarrow,iron—boundoakendoor,andfoundhimselfallatonceinastrangenewland;thegraylight,cominginthrougharangeoftall,narrowwindows,felluponarowofsilent,motionlessfigurescarveninstone,knightsandladiesinstrangearmoranddress;eachlyinguponhisorherstonycouchwithclaspedhands,andgazingwithfixed,motionless,stonyeyeballsupintothegloomy,vaultedarchabovethem。

Therelay,inacold,silentrow,alloftheVuelphswhohaddiedsincetheancientcastlehadbeenbuilt。

ItwasthechapelintowhichOttohadmadehisway,nowlongsincefallenoutofuseexceptingasaburialplaceoftherace。

Atanothertimeheclamberedupintotheloftunderthehighpeakedroof,wherelaynumberlessforgottenthingscoveredwiththedimdustofyears。Thereaflockofpigeonshadmadetheirroost,andflappednoisilyoutintothesunlightwhenhepushedopenthedoorfrombelow。Herehehuntedamongthemoulderingthingsofthepastuntil,oh,joyofjoys!inanancientoakenchesthefoundagreatlotofworm—eatenbooks,thathadbelongedtosomeoldchaplainofthecastleindaysgoneby。

Theywerenotpreciousandbeautifulvolumes,suchastheFatherAbbothadshowedhim,butallthesametheyhadtheirquaintpaintedpicturesoftheblessedsaintsandangels。

Again,atanothertime,goingintothecourt—yard,OttohadfoundthedoorofMelchior’stowerstandinginvitinglyopen,foroldHilda,SchwartzCarl’swife,hadcomedownbelowuponsomebusinessorother。

ThenupontheshakywoodenstepsOttoranwithoutwaitingforasecondthought,forhehadoftengazedatthosecuriousbuildingshangingsofarupintheair,andhadwonderedwhattheywerelike。RoundandroundandupandupOttoclimbed,untilhisheadspun。Atlasthereachedalanding—stage,andgazingovertheedgeanddown,beheldthestonepavementfar,farbelow,litbyafaintglimmeroflightthatenteredthroughthearcheddoorway。Ottoclutchedtightholdofthewoodenrail,hehadnothoughtthathehadclimbedsofar。

Upontheothersideofthelandingwasawindowthatpiercedthethickstonewallsofthetower;outofthewindowhelooked,andthendrewsuddenlybackagainwithagasp,foritwasthroughtheouterwallhepeered,anddown,downbelowinthedizzydepthshesawthehardgrayrocks,wheretheblackswine,lookingnolargerthanantsinthedistance,fedupontherefusethrownoutoverthewallsofthecastle。Therelaythemovingtree—topslikeabillowygreensea,andthecoarsethatchedroofsofthepeasantcottages,roundwhichcrawledthelittlechildrenliketinyhumanspecks。

ThenOttoturnedandcreptdownthestairs,frightenedattheheighttowhichhehadclimbed。

【推荐阅读】幽幽深宫,醒来一梦似千年,重生于下堂妃身躯中的她,将如何手刃仇人? 点击阅读

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