CHAPTER IX.
An hour after the attack in the court-yard Lydia found herself in a small room with barred windows lying on a bundle of straw alive with vermin. She felt a hard bony hand applying a wet cloth to her forehead. She wished in her gratitude to see who her nurse might be, but the face which met her look was so repulsive, that terrified she once more closed her wearied eyelids. "How did I get here?" she asked herself. Indistinctly she seemed to remember having been jolted in a cart. Once as she opened her eyes, she had seen groups of horrified citizens staring up from the street at her. It still appeared to her as in some dreadful dream that before her stood the terrible tower within the walls of the Zwinger and that she had been dragged along a dark passage.
"You seem to think I have nothing else to do than to wait on you," she heard a coarse gruff voice saying. "You may go at once to the Devil as far as I am concerned, that would be best for us and you." Therewith the poor fainting creature was shaken so roughly, that Lydia came back to her senses and started up terrified. The dirty woman before her resembled a wicked old dog, having a still more wicked master. One of her eyes had been knocked out, and the red face bore traces of continued ill-treatment. "What must I do, what must I do?" sobbed Lydia vainly endeavoring to break away from the iron gripe of the old woman. "You must acknowledge, at once acknowledge that you are a witch, for if once persons of your kind are allowed time to think over things, the affair drags on twice as long."
"But I am no witch," sighed the wearied child.
"That is what they all say, but did you not go to the Holtermann at night?"
"Yes," sobbed Lydia.
"You see, you see."
"I wished only ..."
"Only what. We know well what people do who go at night to the Holtermann. Did you not on the day that the storm which uncovered the roof, broke loose, draw water from the well at sunrise?"
"Draw water, yes, I did that."
"You see, you see."
"I only wished ..."
"We already know what you wished," croaked the old woman. "Did you not tell carroty Frances that you practised magic?"
"Never, never," assured Lydia weeping.
"What never, and she says, that you showed her a real rose, which you plucked from the stone wreath over the gate."
"Ah, that was only a joke."
"A joke ... we will teach you to make such jokes. How often have you ridden out to the White Stone on a broom?"
"Never, certainly never."
"And to the Auerkopf?"
"Never."
"And never to the hollow Chestnut-tree, Dachsbau, or the Nistler?"
"I swear to you I know nothing about all this."
"I am sorry for you little one," said the old woman, and at that moment she resembled a snake, taking pity on the terrified rabbit. "You are such a nice-looking girl. Confess before it is too late. Think only, of being hung up by a rope and heavy and heavier weights being fastened to your small feet. Oh! dear, oh! dear, how that hurts. None as yet have been able to hold out. Think of the suffering and disgrace inflicted upon you!"
Lydia raised her apron which she bit in mute despair. Her eyes turned pale with horror. She sat there an image of grief, of madness. She heard no longer what the old woman kept repeating. A cold shiver shook her body backwards and forwards. The executioner now himself stepped up and made indecent remarks to her, which however she did not understand. At last the old woman got angry and seizing hold of her by the hair, hauled her up and down: "Confess, you obstinate creature! When did you attend the black mass?" But Lydia felt it not. "Don't make such a to-do," said the executioner. "When she is hanging from the rope, it will all come back to her." Lydia gazed vacantly at him. "Were you not already known as the bewitched maiden at the Stift?" cried he furiously.
"Yes I was, I was!" sobbed the poor child overpowered by grief and fright. "See, she has confessed," said the executioner. "Get out, I have enough of this whimpering." And he aimed a blow with his keys at his wife, who obediently quitted the room. Lydia was once more alone, faintness and weakness deadened her pain, and as the intense heat in the small cell diminished owing to the torrents of rain which poured down outside, she fell asleep. When she awoke with a start out of her lethargy, she heard the bells of the Holy Ghost chime the midnight hour. Her head felt dazed. The examination made by those two horrible creatures entirely confused her mind. The confidence with which she had been told that she was guilty, had bewildered her. She could herself scarcely think, but that through her own guilt she had fallen into such profound wretchedness. Her going to the Holtermann now appeared to her in the light of a terrible crime. Had she not in fact sat near the witch, and perhaps the Wicked One had obtained power over her. Had she not once dreamt, that she was travelling through the air from the Holtermann to the Castle, and had plainly seen the illuminated windows of the town before her? What, if she in her sleep without being aware of it had through the power of the Evil One, been in reality obliged to ride to the witches' meeting, as many walk about in their sleep during the full moon and on the following morning know nothing about it? Had she been the means of producing the storm, through the Devil putting it into her head to draw water out of the brook at a momentous hour of the morning? Who could know what the relation of this deep well was to the clouds? And had she not in reality spoken in a very heedless manner, when she told red-headed Frances that she had plucked Felix's rose out of the stone wreath? And what a terrible crime it was that amidst the thunder and lightening, as God's wrath was plainly addressed to her, she lay in the arms of the artist and allowed his embraces! A terrible fear came over her. Dreadful thoughts confused her more and more. As the clock struck one Lydia was convinced, that she was a witch and determined to confess everything, in that way she might escape the rack. She knew that she was lost, but she would not suffer herself to be tortured. "If they will only not ask me who taught me magic, and commanded me to go to the Holtermann," sighed the poor child. And she depicted to herself, how finally they would get out of her that it was Paul. Her terror became boundless. And now it struck two. Then she felt, that these dreadful thoughts would kill her, if they lasted much longer. In her distress she began to repeat all the prayers, hymns and texts, that she knew, and although convulsive fear weighed down her heart, she nevertheless became more tranquil by this means. At last day broke, but no one came to her. She heard how life began in the town. She could explain every sound. The streets re-sounded as ever with merriment. She heard the boys calling, whistling, singing; she heard the barking of dogs, the rattling of carriages, the creaking of wheels, the sound of horses' hoofs, everything went on as usual and no one thought of her grief. A feeling of great bitterness took possession of her young heart. Thus little was the friendship of men worth, in the which her childish mind had so happily believed. How many poor had her father helped! "What would we do, without the Counsellor?" how often had she heard these words from Counsellors, beggars, the healthy, the sick--and now their deliverer sat in the Great Tower, and the people, could laugh and chat, and the boys whistle that insupportable song about the all beauteous Gabrielle. About her also they seemed not to care, and yet they had ever smiled kindly on her as they called her the pretty Lydia. Felix, he indeed would think of her, but then she had seen him lying pale with a bleeding head on the stairs, as they tore her away. Perhaps was he dead, perhaps he also lay in some prison. And the Kurfürst and his Princess, who always used to address her so graciously, when she stood on one side to curtsey to them, could they give her up under their very eyes to these men! She gazed sadly up through her barred windows at the deep blue September sky, in which the long silver summer threads waved about finally to be caught in the bars. Till yet she had childishly imagined her father and herself to be important items in the minds of their fellow citizens. Now it dawned upon her, that not only she herself with her youthful beauty and her cheerful smile, but that even her serious father with all his ability and wisdom could be taken away from this bustle, and the people would live on just the same as ever. With one blow were all the lights extinguished, in which the world had to her unexperienced youth formerly shone. The childish expression was gone from her face, one single hour had stamped in its place the earnest look of experienced womanhood. But there was nothing dark in this seriousness. Her gentle, modest feelings had now obtained the victory over the bitterness of her heart. "Hast thou not also," said she to herself, "made fun and noise, sung and laughed in the Castle gardens without giving one single thought to the poor prisoners languishing behind their iron bars? Could any man rejoice in life for a single instant, if he were always thinking of those to whom at that instant some wrong were happening ...? But for the future I will think about it. I will strive daily, that as much happiness may be around me, as I can obtain by opposing sorrow, I will take the part of all who may be innocent and defend them, even if appearances be against them, and will tell them what happened to me. But art thou indeed innocent?" Again she returned to the question of the previous night, as to whether she were really guilty? But the dark thoughts of night time disappeared before the clear light of the September sun, which poured like gold within the prison window. She had acted foolishly, carried away by passion, but had done nothing which deserved such a punishment. And then the hope returned to her, that God who had freed her from the dark vault of the Michael's church, when no one knew about her, would not surrender her up now to the Wicked One, in whose power she had fallen through that wicked nightly expedition. Perhaps old Father Werner would find the right way to her again, he, or Frau Belier, or the Lady Abbess, or the Kurfürst himself. With a fixed determination to strengthen herself for the struggle she was about to undergo, she ate some of the bread which lay near the window, and drank some water out of the pitcher near by. Then with full confidence in God she looked out through the bars, and felt convinced that the Miller from the Kreuzweg would come again this time with his redheaded boy, or some other faithful friend. Nevertheless a shudder crept over her when she at last heard at mid-day a heavy tread, and the key turned creaking in the door. The dirtily dressed one-eyed old woman entered. This time however she asked cringingly and submissively how it fared with the poor young lady. However little inclined Lydia might feel to heed the ugly creature, she was certain that something must have come to pass which the old woman kept back. Finally it came out, the Kurfürst had ordered Lydia to be taken to the Great Tower and therefore she must bid farewell to the poor prisoner, for whom she felt so hearty a sympathy. The young lady would, she hoped, mention how kind and gentle she and Master Ulrich had been towards her. Her trial was not yet at an end, and if she blackened Master Ulrich's character, he would repay her for it should she ever be brought to the rack. Lydia let the horrible woman talk on without herself answering. But when however her faithful Barbara appeared, she sank into the arms of her old nurse and comforting tears dispelled half her sorrows. The old nurse was herself half dead through fear, for Master Ulrich had likewise explained and impressed on her, that she also might likewise be accused of being a witch, for not preventing her young mistress from practising witchcraft. Still trembling with fright the faithful soul had great trouble in arranging her young mistress' dress and hair. Finally Lydia was ready and after that Barbara had thrown a scarf around her, she prepared to follow the police-officer to the Castle. At the door stood Master Ulrich with his bundle of keys: "In three days, young lady," he said with a wicked look, "we shall meet again. The commission on witchcraft always holds its sessions here, for the gentlemen can never do long without me, so beware of your tongue. And even if you escape this time, remember, that the next person that I string up to force out the names of her accomplices, may name you; sooner or later will you be here again. I say nothing more, you will yourself know what is best for you."
Klytia passed on in silence. Outside the officer looked at her in a kindly manner. "Be of good cheer, young lady," he said. "His Gracious Highness has ordered that you should be taken to your father in the tower, and I think the good Counsellor will himself not remain long there. Our Lord God can permit the ravings of the Italians for a while, but in the end he will not abandon his own." Lydia sobbed. "Only to be with my father, that is all that I wished yesterday." If no other way of coming to him existed than through the Witches' Tower, then her terrible night was none too high a price. She dried her eyes with the determination to be truly grateful and content, and not to mention her terrible experiences, in order not to add to the sorrows of the already overwhelmed man.
At the same moment that Lydia wearied and ill, tottered up the Schlossberg, mostly leaning on the arm of her still weeping servant, Erastus sat in a well-secured room in the Great Tower and gazed out through his barred window at the ruins of the old Castle, now gleaming in the golden rays of the evening sun. There the Count Palatines had been wont to hurl down the eastern or western slopes of the Jettenbühl their spiritual or mundane enemies. They had ever boasted that they feared neither the curses of the Bishops nor the excommunications of the Popes. Now they lived in the proud Castle lower down, but the enemy had crept within the fort itself, secret Jesuits and calvinistic notables sowed the seed of Church dissension and formed the strange combinations which finally must ruin the country. "One side has never recognized religious peace, the other does its best to hinder its blessings within the Palatinate, the end can only be blood and misery? Thou beauteous Palatinate! what Guises and Albas await thee. It seems to me as if I heard the roarings of the cataract which hurries our little bark to its destruction, whilst the crew quarrel among themselves." Such were the thoughts thronging through the imprisoned statesman's head, as he looked out over the tops of the chestnut trees at the old Waldburg, the former cradle of the Counts Palatine. His hand played in the meantime with a bundle of papers, whose official character was marked out by the blue and white tape of the Chancellory of the Palatinate. Eventually he opened and read them. An ironical smile played over his lips. "General of the Arians and Commander-in-chief of the Devil's hosts, I am advancing in my career of Antichrist;" and he seized a pen as if to write an answer to this bill of indictment; but rage suddenly overmastered him, he flung pen and papers aside. What was the use of answering people who were determined to destroy him, and made use of forged letters to that end? The former friendship of the Kurfürst would protect him from the rack and ill-treatment, of that he might be certain. His enemies would be well satisfied by getting rid of him. Banishment would be his fate, he thought. To create attention by heavy punishments and severe laws was against the interests of the Church council owing to the weak condition of Calvinism in Germany, and the physician to whom the whole world was open felt reconciled at beginning his travels anew. With a feeling of mingled contempt and disgust he threw down the papers after throwing a cursory glance over them. He, the faithful Zwingliite, to be accused of having founded a conspiracy to make the Pfalz unitarian, or as the Gentlemen of the Church Council chose to express it, mahommedan. "Because all the heads of the Unitarians, Servetus, Blandrata, Socinus, were physicians, naturally the physician Erastus must be one also," he laughed mockingly to himself. "Parsons' logic of the Hogstraten School! Be contented with my head, but the satisfaction of praying for mercy, will I never grant to either Olevianus or Ursinus.... They wished to extract on the rack from the weakminded fugitives, an account of my opinions," he added shaking his head, "thus are they all these lowly men of God."
As far as he himself was concerned the matter was at an end, but anxiety for Lydia weighed heavily upon him. How could his child, the darling of his heart, have been drawn into all these horrors? Through what devilish arts could the Jesuit have succeeded in enticing the modest child to the cross-roads at a late hour of the evening? This childishly heedless action might have the most severe consequences for his child should the witches name her as one of their number, and what a satisfaction it would be for the members of the Church Council to apply Church discipline on Erastus' daughter and place her before the entire congregation on the penitent sinner's stool. Perhaps that might not be enough. What if the old Sibylla, whom he had often harshly rebuked for dabbling in medicine, revenged herself on him, by likewise accusing Lydia of sorcery. He did not dare carry on such a train of thought. Such an accusation was a double danger to such a beauteous girl as Lydia. This was the cause why sleep fled from the prisoner, why he restlessly paced up and down his room from morning till evening, why he had petitioned the Kurfürst through the jailer of the prison to suffer him to have an interview with his daughter. As sadly watching the sun setting behind the empurpled mountains near Worms, he was aroused out of his sad reveries by a noise in the corridor. A key turned, the door was opened, and the jailer appeared with his servant, to make ready another bed in the room. "What means this," said Erastus astonished.
"Another prisoner is to be brought here," replied the attendant surlily.
"I am to be spied upon by night and by day," thought Erastus. "Herr Hartmann may remain tranquil on that score, I am not in the habit of talking in my sleep. But Heaven only knows what witnesses they may be instructing in this wise against me. Forged letters do not seem satisfactory. It would be more comfortable for these gentlemen, if I confessed mahommedanism by word of mouth. Let it be--even in the account of the Passion it is said 'and they brought false witnesses against Him, but not even so did their witness agree together.'"
Again steps approached. His fellow prisoner was being brought in. Erastus turned to the window. His intention was not to exchange a word with the man who was placed as a spy upon him; thereby it would be all the harder for the members of the Council to twist his opinions, if he had not wasted a single word on their spy.
"Here," said the jailer to the new-comer, and the door was shut to heavily. Immediately Erastus felt himself embraced by delicate female arms. "Father, dear father," he heard as if an angel's voice murmured in his ear. He turned around and Lydia nestled to his heart. In his joy he raised his arms as if to enfold her to himself; but stepped backwards.
"What took thee to the Holtermann?" he asked in a stern voice. She looked up into his face with an honest gaze.
"Father I did not wish any evil, or do any evil. I let myself be enticed thither by the message of the Italian clergyman, which thou hast already heard about, but found nobody there but the herb picking woman, and because I disturbed her in her witch's work, she turned three wretches loose on me, who hunted me down, so that I fell into the Heidenloch. Father Werner found me there, he brought me in spite of a broken foot home again, the good true man!"
Never before in his whole lifetime had the pure clear eyes of his daughter been such a comfort to him as at that present moment. Words were not necessary, it was plainly legible in this childish look that Lydia had no conception of the wickedness which she was otherwise said to have committed. Consoled he drew her to his heart.
"The Kurfürst has then permitted thee to keep me company, my poor scared bird," said Erastus tenderly stroking the maiden's fair hair. "How pale and ill thou dost look after all thy fright."
Lydia did not contradict her father. If he only would believe that she was there to keep him company. But Erastus was horrified, as he noticed after a closer look at his only treasure, the feverishly red cheeks of his child and counted her rapidly beating and tremulous pulse. "Lie down Lydia, thou requirest rest," he said gravely, "an illness seems to be coming on." The poor child obeyed. But however carefully the physician avoided disturbing her, sleep would not come to her. Finally she determined, as her father must in course of time learn what took place, to relieve her heart. Mute and cold did the bowed down father listen to the account given by his weeping maiden.
"They are learned in the old dispensation," he said to himself, "they root out their enemies with their entire seed." Then he stooped over Lydia and kissed her pure forehead. "That thou art here my child," he said gently to her, "proves the Kurfürst's favour. Should wickedness however obtain the mastery, we shall die united."
Lydia tenderly wound her arms round his neck and after having heartily kissed her father she fell into a deep sound sleep, whilst the physician moved to his heart's core lay still on his couch, thinking to whom he might apply, to remove his child out of the reach of that dreadful man. "If however there is no escape, she must from the outset at the first examination declare herself guilty," Erastus concluded in silence, "thus she will escape at least the disgrace and torture of the rack. God of Justice, forgive us this negation of the truth. We are too weak, to withstand this temptation ... I acknowledge thy handiwork," he added in deep grief "Thou wouldest free me from my error by bitter means." Thus spake the prisoner full of repentance, for he had himself in a firm belief in allegiance to the devil, and witchcraft, written a book on the Influences of Demons, and sanctioned the violence of the authorities, alas that he could not recall it. "Let it be to thee, as thou hast said." And the strong man pressed his face to his pillow and wept bitterly.
After a while he fancied he heard hammering and the sound of a chisel on the outside wall. For a time all was still and then it began anew. He rose quietly so as not to wake Lydia and stepped up to the window. He was right, it was no deception, the knocking began again and this time seemed much closer. But the wall was too thick, he could only have looked out by creeping over to the ledge of the window. His heart beat with expectation. He had friends after all who worked to set him free. After a time it seemed to him as if he heard whispering near his window. But the whispering ceased on his opening the casement. Still he heard the breaking away of small stones from the wall, and could plainly distinguish two voices below; then all was again quiet and his attentive ear only heard the nightwind howling round the thick Tower, and the knotty branches of the old chestnuts as they creaked and groaned. Shivering the disappointed prisoner returned to his bed, utterly uncertain whether he would dare venture on an attempt at flight, if on the morrow an occasion presented itself. On his own account he would never have done so, but on account of the danger to which his child was exposed, he would have willingly exposed himself to the calumny of his enemies, in case Lydia could only escape the widely extended jaws of the horrible monster who had already seized her with his claws. He listened for a long time on his couch, as sleep had forsaken him, to hear whether the knocking were renewed, but he heard nothing but the sighing of the wind as it died away. At every blast the valley re-echoed the deep and melancholy moan, with which the old trees answered the wind, and then the howling of the storm sank into a low wail, as the human heart consorts its own grief with outer nature, so did these sounds resemble to the prisoner in the Tower the agonized screams of some poor wretch undergoing the torture, from whom the first torments call forth wild shrieks, but who in the end is only able to moan in a low tone. The night had already given way to the pale light of the approaching day, as finally a heavy sleep took pity on the sorely tried father.
CHAPTER X.
Erastus had heard right. The knocking, boring and hammering betokened an attempt at a rescue. In spite of all Frau Belier's remonstrances Felix had insisted that he must at least provide Erastus with the chance of escaping. Even if the Counsellor declined his proposition, he would have shown Klytia that he was a true friend even in the hour of need, and the consolation which the poor girl might derive from that was worthy of any danger or exertion on his part. This last argument had forced from the brave little Frenchwoman a certain amount of approval, though she refused to aid in any undertaking which might as easily damage as advantage Erastus. But in order to get rid of him, she declared to Felix that if he should bring the fugitives to their house, her chivalrous husband would never refuse to shelter them. The father and daughter could then avail themselves of the transport of merchandise forwarded by the rich merchant and easily reach the Rhine, and from thence proceed to either Bâle or Holland as might seem fit to Erastus. The next thing for Felix to do was to find out in which of the dungeons of the Tower Erastus was imprisoned. With an air of simulated indifference although this was not his usual custom at that time of the evening he ascended the scaffolding, which already reached half the height, and leaning against one of the windows of the young Countess' apartments, he examined closely the Tower opposite. The windows with curtains might be those of Erastus, in case the physician had been treated according to his deserts. But above those he saw a man's figure leaning close to the cross-bars; could that be the Counsellor? Besides who could vouch for the fact of his having been placed on that side? Moreover it was too dark to distinguish any one plainly. Nothing was left for him but to boldly ask which was Erastus' cell, though he could not do so, without exciting suspicion against himself. As Felix was preparing to descend, a gentleman stepped forward from the back part of the room to the window, and said as if he had been watching him for some time: "Yes, my dear friend, I also mourn the fate of the man, who has ever been so faithful a friend to the Italians, and quite conceive your anxiety about the innocent Lydia."
"Oh! in that case the Madonna sends you to my aid," answered the artist, "Pray, noble Sir, which is Erastus' room?"
Pigavetta's pale face appeared at the window and as his sharp teeth approached the artist's ear, he resembled more than ever a beast of prey. "You wish to rescue her?" he whispered.
"I only wish to know in which room the father of my affianced bride is confined?"
"Quite right, I forgot that Lydia was yours, the poor child." He naturally wishes to free them both, he thought, which accounts for his stealing round the Witches' Tower the whole afternoon. The artist passionately assured him of his utter conviction of Lydia's innocence. "Who indeed could believe her to be guilty?" said Pigavetta in an absent manner. "It would be well for me to make use of this favorable opportunity," thought the old Jesuit to himself. "No particular importance is set on the punishment of the old scoundrel, and he must always be an unpleasant witness. Should the old sinner escape then everything is just as it should be. Listen to me, my young friend," he said in a cordial tone, "we are countrymen, let us not beat about the bush. Erastus' life is for me a matter in which I am at heart interested, for I owe him much, and I have wept this very day bitter tears over his child's fate. Confide in me, I will save them, do you also wish this?"
"Sanguinaccio di Dio, whether I wish it?" answered Felix excitedly.
"Good, my friend. Erastus' cell is yonder where you see a light. It is the same in which Sylvanus sat before being transported to Mannheim, where the intermittent fever is killing the poor man. How you are to reach that window is your own affair. It will be my business to see that the sentries sleep well to-morrow night. You must hurry about it, as sentence will be pronounced on Erastus in a few days."
Felix wished to thank Pigavetta, but he had already hurried off to an adjoining room, and the sound of loud voices approaching likewise caused Felix to retire. Now that he knew whereabouts Erastus was confined, the rest did not trouble him much. All the plans of the castle were in his hands, and he had but to fashion for himself an easy path through garret and loft to the high gables which immediately adjoined the window pointed out by Pigavetta. Since his wild excitement had been allayed, the Italian was again the cool determined architect who calculated every impediment. It was of immediate importance to obtain possession of the keys to the secret passage, which led from the western wall down into the town. Well acquainted with the porter's habits, he took the keys away, whilst the good man was devouring his supper, from the board on which they hung, and placed the man's heavy cloth cap on the vacant space. Part of that night and of the following morning he employed in rendering his rope ladder more manageable, and stronger, so that Lydia should not in the end become the victim of his attempted rescue. When the midday hour had summoned the inhabitants of the castle from their work, he furnished himself with a strong wire and a few instruments. Then he quietly ascended the steps of the Ruprechtsbau, till he came to a garret-door. He shaped the wire into a hook, and thus opened the door. Nobody was to be found up here under the garret roof which glowed through the heat of the noon sun. A dim bluish light prevailed in the spacious room and the atoms danced in the beams, which forced their way straight through the cracks, like a host of stars. The artist crossed the dark garret till he came to a staircase, which led through an opening in the roof to a larger loft. He knew that he was now above that part of the Burg whose gable adjoined the Tower, and led through the narrow staircase to the secret passage. A plain door showed where this staircase began. It was tightly shut, but the architect took a chisel out of his pocket and quietly loosened all the screws. In the course of half an hour the work was completed, and after taking the door off its hinges, he ascended a small wooden staircase which led him to a room with thick walls and small barred windows. The iron rings in the walls showed him that he was now in one of the secret prisons. A niche with an iron chain which passed over a wheel told him of private executions in this still room, from whence no sound could penetrate into the Courtyard beneath. "Thou mightest also be placed on this bench," thought Felix, "and the chain adjusted to thy neck, and then the wheel twirled and the iron noose tightened and the victim strangled." He shuddered. How many state prisoners like Erastus may have perhaps breathed in the dread silence their last sigh? Another staircase led him past similar cells. The artist only cast a hurried look into them, and saw to his comfort how none but large rats tumbled about to their satisfaction in the uninhabited rooms. He next came to a heavy iron door whose lock he was unable to pick. Even the rusty screws resisted his attempts. Nothing was left for him to do but to retrace the whole way to his room and provide himself with oil and stronger instruments. Then only was he able to unhinge the door. It led to a strong stone winding staircase, at the head of which was a lantern with a tallow candle. The artist lighted this and descended about three hundred steps. He had with him the key of the heavy lock of the lowest door. He opened it and found himself in a long dark passage, which finally led to a small court near to the wall of the Zwinger. He gently opened this small secret door which separated the court from the street, and then remeasured his steps, leaving the whole of the doors behind him almost closed. Once arrived in the upper gable rooms, he considered, how he could make an easy passage from Erastus' window to the opposite gable end? The safest means to preserve Lydia from any danger appeared to the artist to be, to make a ladder, and then to break a sufficiently large hole in the gable of the roof. His rope ladder must aid in getting from the window of the tower to this opening. After concealing his instruments among the rafters, he turned back to the various garrets thinking to himself how it might be possible to bring thither a tall ladder in the day time? He had now reached the upper floor of the Ruprechtsbau, assigned as rooms to the servants, when he was startled by a voice. An old housekeeper stood before him, on whose angry features he could plainly read the question, what did the Italian gentleman require up here. Felix smiled on her as pleasantly as he could, made her a sign to keep silent and then quietly descended the stairs. The woman looked viciously after him: "He also has learnt that red-headed Frances receives visits. But this very week shall this too amorous wench quit my service," and she went into her room, banging the door after her. After this adventure Felix thought it advisable not to let himself be seen again before the night time. Only when all slept did he repair to the gable rooms, and after having scientifically removed four rows of tiles and smoothed the rafters with his planes, he placed with great trouble but in a thoroughly secure position a ladder, by means of which the poor child could ascend and descend through the opened windows. After he had made for himself a safe position on the roof by removing more tiles, he noiselessly bored holes in the round wall of the tower and inserted hooks to enable him to reach the window which lay some twelve feet above his head. The insertion of the upper iron, which he was obliged to accomplish standing on his rope ladder was not without danger. The wind came howling and whistling round the tower and hindered his work though at the same time it drowned the noise of the hammering. He managed to insert the last hook and the rest was easy work, for he could now fasten the end of his rope to the bars of the window and did not require to entrust Lydia's precious life to the insecure iron, up which he himself had climbed. After he had knotted the rope, he passed his arms around the bars and trembling with excitement tapped at Erastus' window with his wearied hand. He was about to tap a second time when the window was opened from within. "Is it you, Erastus?" asked Felix in a low tone. "Yes," was the answer spoken equally low. "Is Lydia with you?"
"She sleeps."
"Take these steel saws and this bottle of corrosive acid, and cut through the bars on this side. But not here, as here hangs my ladder. The opening thus made will be large enough to let you and Lydia pass through."
Saws and bottle quickly disappeared within the room. "In the mean time I shall go down, in order to loosen the end of the ladder, so that you can draw it up higher and fasten it tighter. But by the eyes of the Madonna be careful, one false step precipitates you into the yard below. Only awake Lydia when you are ready, it is not necessary to protract the exciting moments for her."
Even whilst descending Felix heard a strong hand beginning to cut through the iron. He therefore hurried back to the garret, measured carefully the whole of the way over which he must lead father and daughter; and moreover lit some lights which he had brought with him to show the path more distinctly. Then he returned to the gable from whence he could hear Erastus working away untiringly, whilst the iron splinters rattled around his own head. The work was now at an end, the bar sawn through wrenched up with a powerful effort and placed within the room. The ladder was now drawn up. Felix saw two strong hands fastening it tightly. "He is surely certain to send Lydia down first," thought the excited artist, "so as to be able to help her from above." A dark figure appeared on the ladder. "Lydia first," called out the excited artist, but the heavy man came down the wall without stopping for a moment, he now stood on the gable and hurried over the steps to the window, Felix helped him in. The lucky fugitive now turned and Felix saw before him the Reverend Neuser's fat, red face. His first inclination was to seize the hated Parson and with one blow to hurl him into the depths beneath.
"Corpo di Baccho!" he called out in a rage, "why did you lie to me and tell me you were Erastus?"
"Ah! Signer Italiano," said Neuser puffing, "it is to you I am indebted for my delivery!" and without losing a minute he sprang on to the floor of the garret.
"Birbante!" hissed Felix, "coglione!"
"My dear Sir," said the Parson calmly, wiping away the perspiration from his brow, "did not your brother at the Hirsch teach me that deception was a virtue, as is everything, which gives man power over his fellow-men? Tell this pious man, that Parson Neuser thanks him much for this useful truism."
Felix gnashed his teeth with rage, but Neuser continued good-naturedly: "How could you suppose, my dear Sir, that I would let myself be beheaded, whilst a little imprisonment does not mean the life of the worthy Counsellor."
"You have acted like a German," said Felix in his rage. "You surrender an innocent maiden to be tried for witchcraft so long as you can save your greasy hide."
"Gently, Signer Italiano," said Neuser calmly, "this small plot would be much too round for my square schwabian skull. Your countryman Pigavetta taught me that."
"Pigavetta!" cried the astonished Felix, "he pointed out your window to me."
"You see, my dear Sir. I had returned at an inconvenient moment for your countryman, as he had found a quantity of letters among the papers of the fugitive clergyman, which the latter knew nothing of. He therefore offered to pay my expenses and a free pass, if I only would disappear." The Parson jingled a few loose thalers in his pockets. "The cunning man wanted a quantity of documentary evidence from me which would fit in with his indictment, but I did not trust him and told him I should send it to him when free. Can you now tell me, I ought to have acted otherwise? But do not look so dejected. Climb through my window. If you can undo the bolt you will find Erastus in the third room to the left. I saw him yesterday through the key-hole. Then you can bring him out by the same way that I came. Now how must I go?"
"To yonder light, then to the right, where you see other lights," said Felix thoroughly discouraged.
"My best thanks," replied Neuser heartily. "Greet that beloved man of God Olevianus and tell him, that if he lusts after my head, he must write to Constantinople for it. I have had almost too much of Church Councillors and Magistrates, I shall go in for Muphtis and Kadis." Felix next heard him groping along the rafters, and after a time stealing through the secret passage beneath.
"I must follow the Parson's advice," said Felix in a wearied tone. He had to restrain himself otherwise he would have wept through disappointment and grief. "I will endeavor to reach Erastus through Neuser's cell, and break the bolt if necessary." Undaunted the wearied man climbed the walls once again, and pushed himself through the opening made by the sawn bars. "If the prison fare had not made the reverend gentleman much thinner, he never could have come through this way," he involuntarily thought. He felt about in the dark for the door. Finally he found it and examined the locks. But he soon saw that none of his tools were suitable for breaking these strong bolts asunder. A streak of light behind the Königstuhl announced the approach of day. He rolled up his ladder and descended the wall by means of the hooks he had inserted. Wearied to death, he had nevertheless to retrace his steps through the entire secret passage. He stuck the key on the outside of the lock of the door giving on to the street, so as to make it appear as if aid had been given from outside, the lights he took away, he replaced the doors on their hinges, and after having effaced any suspicious traces he returned to his room utterly wearied. He first carefully concealed the objects he had made use of, in a secret place, and then already more than half asleep hastened to his bed. When he awoke, Bachmann the court servant stood over him anxious to inquire about his wound. Felix willingly let him apply a fresh bandage and remained in bed to enjoy another sleep. Whilst occupied the old man related with ill-concealed joy, that Parson Neuser had in the most wonderful manner escaped from prison. The small door of the secret passage had been found open, and the Keeper had been arrested for having lost the key. Neuser had many friends in the town and it was not astonishing that aid had been given him. But the Kurfürst saw in this a proof, that the Arian conspiracy still existed, and it was reported that in his anger he had ordered the Amtmann for this cause to execute the sentence of death on Sylvanus and his colleagues Vehe and Suter. "May their bones bleach on the gallows," said Felix coldly, as he turned his face to the wall, and calmly continued his slumbers.
CHAPTER XI.
The day following the adventure which took place in front of the Baptist's house in the Kreuzgrund, Magister Paul strode through the woods as if in a dream, and lost himself among the trees. It was no longer a gloomy conception but the pure naked truth; a just but coarse hand had torn aside the veil from the well guarded secret of his inmost self, and before the very people who looked on him as a saint, he had stood a convicted criminal, a perverter of the young, a juggler who mis-used the Holiest of Holies to indulge his passions. The fettered witch, for whom the stake now waited, appeared to him worthy of envy in comparison to the rôle which he had played, and the outcast woman had herself felt this, so joyously did her eyes sparkle, as she shrieked out his secret to the world at large. The heretical Baptist had treated him as a miserable sinner and he could give him no reply. Moreover Erastus his benefactor had sunk down before him as if pierced to the heart by the treacherous bullet which he had fired in ambush at the man, who had ever done him kindness. "O my God!" stammered Paul as he stumbled among the bushes and underwood, "that did I not will. Thou art my witness; I wished to injure no one, it was some baneful spell, which hurried her and me to destruction." As if to escape his own thoughts he rushed breathless up the mountain. "A spell," whispered the spirit of self extenuation to him. "Was it a spell?" Might not the witch have kindled in his breast this sinful flame, in which all his good resolutions were ever consumed. As if he had eaten mad-wort had he hastened in blind rage to his own downfall. Or perhaps indeed this beautiful child was herself a creation of Satan, who had staked his honor, to seduce the primus omnium of the college at Venice from the right path? Who but Satan had prompted him to make an appointment with Lydia on the most disreputable of the cross-roads, when hundreds of less suspicious places might have been chosen.
But how, by all the Saints, did Lydia manage to comply with his bidding? Was she in reality as well acquainted with the Holtermann, as the witch asserted? "Whence moreover does she get this supernatural beauty?" Oh, now was it clear to him why his heart burnt with those flames. But suddenly he laughed ironically to himself: "And the fool's daughter at the Hirsch was she also a witch? and how about the young girls in the Chapel?" Buried in such thoughts he reached a solitary footpath, and sank down wearily on the stump of a tree. With his head in his hands in a profound melancholy he gazed about him. "I was bewitched," he sighed aloud.
"Every man is tempted, when excited and allured by his own wicked passions," said a grave voice near him. The timid fugitive jumped up terrified; he feared for his own safety. But near him stood the Baptist. The Priest thoroughly cowed gazed at the weather-beaten face of the dread heretic. The latter continued calmly: "Nevertheless when passion has conceived, it begets sin, and the wages of sin, is death."
The young man covered his pale face with his hands and sank down again on his seat, bowing his head before the strange old man.
"I grieve for you, Magister Laurenzano," continued the Baptist. "I have always looked on you as a brave man, who might do much good in the service of our Lord God with the talents bestowed on him, if he would only throw aside the cowl, which has encircled him, and if he only had the courage to abjure the vows in which he has been ensnared. Bid valet to the papists, take a wife, as you have not the strength to live as monk, and live well or ill from the labor of your hands, or the productions of your brain."
Laurenzano shook his head sorrowfully, and a choked sob was his only answer.
"I cannot tarry here longer," said the old man, "and wisdom does not proceed from weeping men. The officers of justice, whom you have brought on me, are now already perhaps at my heels, and my son is waiting for me. But this I will say to you: In case that danger should arise for Erastus' daughter, owing to the charge made by Sibylla, you must surrender yourself and tell the judges, that the poor child was not then seeking Satan, but you, her teacher, her priest, her pastor. If you have not the courage to do this, the Lord will require this soul of you on the day of Judgement. And secondly, we are all flesh and blood and should therefore not judge one another, but if you remain in that dress, recollect your duties better than you did in the Stift, and when you again appear before the little ones, remember the words: 'Whosoever shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.' And now farewell."
When Paul raised his head he found himself sitting alone in the woods. Had his guardian angel appeared to him in the garb of the heretic, or had power been given to this child of the devil to read his heart and to decipher his innermost thoughts? The evasions in which he had concealed himself, the veil, with which he had wished to cover his shame, the pretexts, with which he would clothe the abomination, had all fallen before the heavy blow of this coarse peasant, he stood there disclosed to himself the miserable sinner, that he was. Nothing more remained to be said or to be excused. He was convicted. He rose up with a sigh, wiped his eyes, so that none should see that he had wept, and hastened in silent sorrow by the side of the lofty oaks and beeches of the high-road which he now reached. What should he do? Should he again appear among the people who now all knew his shame and would point their fingers at him? Should he escape once more to Speyer and continue in the crypt of the cathedral the exercitia which had restored to him his peace of mind for a couple of weeks? Then he found himself near the deep pond at the entry of the place, out of which more than one young creature had been drawn out, who preferred this humid death to sitting on the stool of penitent sinners or to church discipline. "It were better for him that he were drowned," the man had told him in the wood. With fixed look he gazed at the deep dark surface. "It were better for him," he murmured, "better, very much better." He would first let the small girl approaching that way pass by, then he would follow the advice of the Baptist, "New scandals must succeed this one, therefore better is better."
The child whom he had noticed sprang joyfully towards him. "Ah! Reverend Sir," it cried, "how well it is that I find you, mother has a worse attack of fever and has wept and again begged that we should send for the clergyman to pray with her." And the small child seized his hand and dragged him towards the village. He followed her unwillingly till she led him to a small low house. "Oh Herr Pfarrer," a voice said from a narrow room, "things will now be better." And the tall pale man knelt by the side of the sick woman and began a prayer. "The Lord wills not the death of a sinner but rather that he should turn from his wickedness and live." His own sorrow did he lay before the Lord. He whispered into the ear of the sick woman as if telling himself, that God's Grace was boundless like the waters of the sea, and that he sustaineth our feet even in the day of trouble when we think we are sinking. When he had finished he felt more inwardly calm and he remained for a while sitting in silence near the afflicted woman. Then he shook himself together in order to fetch the necessary medicine from the monastery, and to visit the other sick, and after that he had spent many hours in heavy self sacrificing labor, the beauteous message of peace was borne to him in the cool breezes of the evening wind whilst the moon rose calm and tranquil above the pine forests, that we do not atone for our sins by a few hours of repentance full of anguish and sleepless nights, but in the real practice of works of charity and care for the well-being of others, so that the wounds we have healed, are greater in number than those we have caused.
Paul had spent several days in this earnest restless fulfilment of duty, joyless but still more peaceful, when a message from the town awoke once more all the terrors of his conscience. He received a summons through the bailiffs of the place marked down for the first day of the following week, in the which he was requested to testify before the Amtmann in the Chancellory of the Palatinate, as a former friend of Erastus' family, all he knew as regarded the relations of the former Counsellor with Parson Neuser and the other Arians, moreover that he should testify as to the belief and general habits of Lydia daughter of Erastus, who was about to be placed on her trial in crimine malefacii. The peace so laboriously acquired left him at once. The brand of Cain burnt once more on his forehead, but he cared little for any insult or disgrace which might accrue to him during these public trials, in comparison with the horrible fear, that he might have been the means of bringing to the most fearful of ends the pure young creature, towards whom he had raised his sinful glance. He knew but too exactly the procedure of the trial with which Lydia was threatened, it haunted his mind at every instant. No sacrifice and self-negation, no earnest prayer in the house of God, nor even in his own closet was able to allay this spectre, and the altered appearance of the parson attracted even the remarks of the plain country people, who up till then had believed stedfastly in him. The report of the affair on the Kreuzgrund spread, and when on the last Sunday of the time allotted for his duties, he addressed as warm a farewell to his congregation as he could in his frame of mind, the feeling of mistrust among his audience was stronger than the recollection of the good which he had done them, and on visiting at mid-day for the last time one or the other, he reaped in many a house chilly thanks and a cold farewell, for the women whispered among themselves, that he had performed his miracles in pact with the Evil One, and that he was going about looking so miserable, because the Devil had appeared to him on the previous night, to demand his soul as the reward stipulated. A feeling of unspeakable bitterness seized him. Had he not watched over these people as their guardian angel, his wisdom had saved them when raging against one another, his love had kept guard whilst they slept, his self-sacrifice had raised them up when they wearied. And their gratitude consisted in whispering: he is in league with the Evil One. But who indeed had bidden him perform miracles? The means had been efficacious, but with the effectiveness of the first impression he had had his reward. Such were the thoughts that passed through his restless and aching heart, as he tossed that last night sleepless on his bed, and even before break of day he arose, and without any companion began his wearied way towards Heidelberg. He found himself deceived in thinking that he would be able to get over the distance in silent solitude. Groups of country people passed him in the wood; they were all pressing towards the town. Some sight was evidently to be seen there, for the peasants were hurrying as if to pass one another, and from their conversation Laurenzano made out that they were disputing among themselves, from what place one could best look on at the proceedings so well worth seeing. An uncertain fear overwhelmed him, they might be alluding to Lydia's execution. Tortured by evil presentiments he likewise hastened his pace, and yet he dared not ask any of the numerous excursionists, what was taking place in Heidelberg, for he feared that they would laugh in his face and answer: "Who should know that better than thou, devilish Priest?" Then he became aware that a tall figure dressed in black was dogging his footsteps and remained close to him. Did he walk fast so did the stranger likewise, did he slow his pace his pursuer broke into a slower step. Paul looked back several times at the stranger who followed him and beheld a man of military bearing dressed in black velvet, wearing a black biretta and a full black beard. Was this an emissary of Pigavetta, or had the magistrate sent this soldier after him to watch that he did not escape? The thought aroused his pride, he raised his head on high and proceeded with measured tread towards Heidelberg whose towers already loomed before him from the bend of the road. On arriving at the road by the river, Laurenzano noticed that the crowd of country people increased, and as his pursuer did not let him out of his sight, his annoyance over-mastered him, and stopping he asked the stranger in as indifferent a voice as he could assume: "Is the witch to be burnt in the town to-day, that the people thus flock thither?" A look from under the bushy black brows of the soldier, familiar and yet not recognized by him, met his own, as the latter answered with scorn: "You must have a good conscience, young man, that you carry your head higher than most people dare do. I am glad of it. As regards the witch, she is to-day to be racked and to-morrow burnt; to-day only a heretic is to be executed, the Inspector Sylvanus, who has blasphemed against God and Christ.... but you turn pale, young man, is anything the matter?"
"Nothing, nothing," stammered Paul, "it will pass over."
"Well, there are some sorrows which do not pass over, a worm which dieth not, and a fire which is not quenched. The clergyman at Ladenburg was a bold sinner and a weak man, but nevertheless I would rather exchange with him than with the man who delivered him up to the scaffold and forestalled the Judge, before giving the man an opportunity for repentance or conversion. What think you?"
Paul walked as in a dream; the ground seemed to roll and undulate under his feet, as if he were treading on clouds, he saw the Stift on the left and the Schloss on his right dancing before him, there was a murmuring, buzzing and singing in his ears, as if he were in the depths of the sea. "I know not," he whispered, as an eagle glance from his companion imperiously seemed to demand an answer.
"You know not, in that case I can aid you," replied the stranger. "The man who is to be executed to-day, laid bare his thoughts to some boon companions in a tavern and in their intoxication they said things which they did not mean. Near them however sat a disguised Jesuit, who had listened to them, and reported to the Kurfürst, so as to find favor in the eyes of the Sovereign. The Counsellor Erastus, who had had nothing to do with these offences, they managed to involve by means of a forged letter introduced among Neuser's papers, which he had never written. Thus half a dozen men with their wives and children have been hurried to destruction. What think you of the spy?"
"He will repent," stammered Paul.
"Repent," answered the other. "To make amends is the only repentance. But the traitor seems far from doing this for he carries his head high, and yet has another burden to bear, compared to which his betrayal of the clergy is but child's play. Did anything of this sort ever happen to your knowledge, young man?" and again a withering glance was cast at the young Priest who tottered at his side as if in a dream. "The Jesuit whom you know not, played the part of a protestant clergyman; he stole away the heart of a young inexperienced child, and enticed her to meet him at night on a cross-road. She was seized in this disreputable place, set down for a witch, and now awaits torture and death. He, the wretch, however instead of obtaining an audience from the Prince and saying, 'the child is innocent, I am the traitor, I enticed her thither, not the devil, I only am Satan, torture me, burn me'--instead of doing what conscience and honor required, goes about with uplifted head, and merely asks the first-comer, with an indifferent look: is the witch to be burnt to-day?"
Paul reeled like one drunk. "I will indeed, I was on my way" ... he stuttered.
"You will, you are on your way," rejoined the other, "then is the case altered. No one would think so who heard your inquiry; but I forgot, that from your earliest youth you have been taught, how one should go about dissembling. I thought you might be on the road to Speyer as formerly." Paul looked up terrified at the stranger.
"Who are you, who know everything?" he asked as a shudder of superstition passed over him.
"I will prove to you, that I believe in your resolutions to lead a better life. Perhaps your determination will be steeled by the confidence I repose in you." The biretta was removed, the black beard was held in the hand, the Baptist Werner stood before Laurenzano, in whose eyes stood tears.
"Do not weep, young friend," said the old man in a milder tone. "To do what is demanded of you, requires you to become hard as iron. And to prove to you that I only encourage you to do what I am ready myself to perform, call on me, should my testimony be of any use to the poor girl. You have only to send the watch word to old Else on the haymarket: 'He who testifies in water requires him,' she will send for me and I will come, even should my head be endangered." Paul reached out his hand to this singular man. "Pardon me that I attacked you so harshly. Sir, but your question cut me to the quick. Now I know, that you will not sacrifice Lydia."
"You also have I driven from house and home," stammered Laurenzano.
"Do not let that distress you. Whosoever is homeless finds a home everywhere, and the harder it rains the sooner it leaves off. For the present I am going to the brethren across the Rhine, but think that by the time the grapes are ripe, I shall be once more within my own walls." Paul warmly pressed the horny hand of the old man, who pointed to the bridge, whilst he himself continued the road along the side of the river.
Paul had scarcely crossed the bridge-gate, when a bell began to toll from the tower of the Heiligengeist. It had a curious dull sound as if cracked, and yet could be heard at a great distance; it did not announce God's greeting of peace in mild accents, but rather cut through to the heart like a knife, and the young Priest covered his ears with his hands, so as not to hear it, for he recognized the knell of criminals, announcing Sylvanus' last pilgrimage on this earth. Then he composed himself and deadly pale strode on towards the marketplace, which he had to pass to reach the Castle, before the proceedings against Lydia began. But once at the marketplace it was no use thinking of further progress. Endeavouring to force his way Paul found himself in the midst of the throng, and was pushed on forward nearer and nearer to the block between the Church and the town-hall; there the peasantry of the surrounding villages had been massed under the guidance of their clergymen, and a company of infantry kept the ground; he could no longer retrace his steps, there was no escape. He must look on at the horrible spectacle, of which he himself was the prime mover. The deafening noise of drums and the shrill notes of the fife, announced the arrival of the criminal. "Is that long haggard figure in penitent's dress who stands next to the stout Parson, the handsome man, the jovial inspector of Ladenburg, and by all the saints, why is that child, that nine-year old boy there?" The persons between whom Paul stood wedged looked in astonishment at the rapidly speaking Priest who raised his arms in despair towards the scaffold, as if he would render aid.
"Well Sir," answered one of the townspeople. "Nothing will be done to the boy, but as he was permitted to keep company with his heretic father to the last, the members of the Council have ordered, that he shall attend the execution so as to see, to where false doctrine leads, in case he should be secretly inoculated with it." Paul would have returned an answer, but the band played a sacred tune and the congregations led by their clergy began the hymn: "Now pray we to the Holy Ghost to grant us true belief." Then the loud tones of the clergyman were heard, beseeching God, to maintain his congregations in the veritable doctrine. "Your veritable doctrine," hissed the Italian. Moreover the spiritual gentleman testified to the fact that Sylvanus repented his blasphemies and died as a good Christian, to avenge with his blood the honor of God, which he, tempted by Satan, had trodden under foot. It was to be hoped that God would forgive him his sins, and as he had already here below atoned in the flesh, that his soul would be saved on the Day of Judgement.
"Judge not, judge not," murmured Laurenzano talking to himself like one possessed.
He next saw Sylvanus led forward to acknowledge before all the people his repentance, but the once so powerful speaker spoke to-day in a weak intelligible voice; then he kissed his boy who clung despairingly to him. The clergyman now pulled the child towards him, the executioner forced Sylvanus down on the block--Paul shut his eyes. He could no longer witness the horrible spectacle. "I have robbed this child of its father," he cried aloud, "I have slain this child." A cry from the crowd, a murmur among the thousands announced that the blow had fallen. When Laurenzano looked up, he saw only the fainting child being carried from the scaffold. At the same moment the band burst out anew. "Thou blessed light shine down," sang the peasants lustily. Laurenzano remained in sheer despair. "Thou, thou alone art guilty of this," resounded in his ears. "Cain, Cain," reechoed the tiles on the roofs. He scarcely noticed, how the ranks around him broke up. Without knowing it, he stood alone before the block which was being cleansed of the blood, in the midst of a group of the most villainous, and blood-thirsty ruffians. A feeling of dumb despondency deprived his limbs of their use. Crime had heaped itself mountain high over his head, whilst he had only thought to serve God. Who had spilt this blood, which the executioner was washing away? Who had driven Erastus to jail? Who had hurried Klytia to the witches' tower? He and he alone. Wherever he might turn, this Medusa grinned at him. To whatever he listened, he heard only of the misery which he had caused. The whole town spake of nothing but of himself and of his dues. Alas, why had he not had the courage that day to drown himself at Schönau.--He again heard the knell of the bell of the penitent sinners tolling in his ear, the words of the Baptist came thronging uppermost to his mind ... now, in the Hirsch yonder they are playing the beauteous Gabrielle. "Down, down to the Neckar, there is peace," he cried to himself But the shout of a drunken lout that reached his ear roused him like a clap of thunder out of his gloomy brooding.
"Come, Maier, let us go and hear the witch sing out."
"What next," replied the other, a red-haired repulsive looking ruffian, "that's not worth the trouble."
"Yes indeed it's fine when they laugh and squeal through agony."
The young Priest shook himself together, he cast a wild despairing look towards heaven, then he followed the hard-hearted youth, who quickly chose the shortest path leading to the witches' tower. A small alley led up to the old town wall, the so-called Zwinger, in which behind the Augustine monastery rose high the Witches' Tower. In front of this Paul saw various groups of people assembled who were gazing up at a window in the Tower. A shriek like that of some wild beast was heard followed by a piteous whimpering. "O, can the angelic child have come to this, to this," Paul's conscience spake in despairing tones.
"Hear how she sings," Maier said coarsely joking, and his companions laughed; the rough blackguards felt themselves suddenly pushed and jostled aside by a furious thrust, a tall man dressed in black rushes up the steps of the Tower, and shoves past the guards placed at the door with the strength of a madman. He presses forwards guided by the dolorous cry which pealed down from above. He has reached the door. All is now deadly still. He knocks--no answer,--he shakes the lock with violence. "Immediately, immediately," says a coarse voice from within. Finally the door is opened. Paul made out in the semi-dark room the half-naked figure of the executioner and his assistants. "She is innocent, I will testify in her favor, where are the judges?" stammered the breathless young man.
"Then you come too late, the Devil has just taken the witch to himself," answered Master Ulrich with a coarse laugh, and pushing the shutters open Paul was enabled to see stretched on the bench of torture a shrivelled brown corpse. The executioner roughly seized the head and turned the face towards him, Paul recognized the pale contracted features of the herb picker on the crossroads.
"Where is Lydia?" he stammered.
"She sits in the Castle near her father," said the executioner grinning. "She was too fine a tit-bit for us. The members of the commission on witchcraft are now at lunch. It is paid for out of the witches' money. If you think of testifying in favor of that bread and butter miss, wait an hour or two and then lay your deposition before them."
At that moment the door opened and Pigavetta walked in. He looked in astonishment at Laurenzano. "You here, Magister," he said with quick composure. "I waited for you in the Castle. So much the better," and then he whispered approaching close to him: "I will tell you in a few words what you have to say, and if necessary swear to."
"Get thee behind me, Satan," cried Paul aiming a violent blow at the traitor's breast. But the active Italian moved to one side, and Paul himself tumbled up against the wall.
"Are matters thus!" muttered Pigavetta. "Master Ulrich, place this man at once in the press and take care, that no one gains admittance to him."
"What, traitor!" cried out Paul, madly rushing at Pigavetta. But at that instant he felt himself seized from behind, Pigavetta himself closing his mouth with his hand. He was pulled across a beam, his feet thrust into two slits and imprisoned by another beam, which fell across. Then his arms were pressed down in a similar beam, which likewise closed of itself. "Good, now gaze at the witch there," said Pigavetta with a cold intonation, "and the various agreeable instruments round about here and consider what the consequences of your witchcraft and jugglery at Schönau will be, if you do not become more reasonable." Then he coldly turned his back on him. The executioner closed the blinds of the witches' prison and left Paul alone with the body of the old woman.