A Wedding in the Black Forest.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXIII, Issue XV, 7 October 1899, Page 645

A Wedding in the Black Forest.

(By

Michael Raymond.)

The village of Peterzell, in the Black Forest, was looking its gayest as we French soldiers of the army of Napoleon the Great inarched up to the inn where George Staub, the innkeeper, was strutting about with smiles on his face and a most triumphant air, which, along with his fine new clothes, gave token of some extraordinary event. It was, in fact, the morning of his wedding day, and, en route, we hail picked up a cousin of his, a peddler, whose identity our sergeant was anxious to establish beyond a doubt; for spies under all manner of disguises were thick, and Napoh i n's brave followers were more feared than liked by the peasantry of the Black Forest. Surrounded by flowers, ribbons, and fiddlers, the bridegroom saluted us and declared that, although Andrew Mayer was verily his cousin, he was a mere poltroon and an imbecile, and that the entire village would corroborate his statement if we doubted his word. We did not insist, and were at liberty to observe what a commotion the merry occasion caused at the inn. Kitchenboys and housemaids ran hither and thither; white awnings were being stretched from tree to- tree along the walk to tone down the glare of the direct sun-rays; firwood planks, in number past counting, were being laid u|jon stakes well driven into the ground, and music-stands were being erected for the evening's festivities. Dressed in gala costume the village damsels gathered around, looking extremely trim and jaunty in their scarlet ribbons and petticoats of the same colour, and embroidered and b( frilled white aprons. The sight was one to make a soldier lad's feet tingle for a genuine dance; but Sergeant Ricard would permit no nonsense and compelled us to maintain a dignified carriage among the village beauties. Presently we were resting in the shade and clinking tin mugs in healths to Andrew Mayer, who generously treated us—and himself a little too generously -to the wine of the country. “By the cross of St. Andrew, my patron saint!" he exclaimed, “let them call me a poltroon and an imbecile as long and as much as they like; 1 know how to requite a good turn when my own turn comes! Just when you met me 1 was mightily desirous of company there in the forest, although I often traverse it without trembling, even if 1 meet not so much as one hare. But when it comes to encountering ghosts and the arch fiend himself, a pious and honest Catholic should be allowed to show some reluctance to a solitary tramp through the woods.” “Oh! Andrew wants t<: tell one of his cock-and-bull stories,” remarked the innkeeper, rapping- on the table. Kart hen ware pitchers were brought, from which the wine flowed foaming into our tin mugs. “Folks are aware,” joined Andrew, “of your want of religion. Cousin George; I care very little whether you credit me or not, and I should not (‘Xpert to find a listener in you; but since these gentlemen and myself have drunken together, it is nriqier that they should hear me to the end and confess that some things do puzzle the clearest thought.” “Andrew's clearest thought!” laughingly added the inn-keeper. “Well. I'll stake my chances of Paradise to declare that I would not cheerfully pass with the bravest of you all in the neighbourhood of the Rottherwald ravine since the sth of June of this present year, when I witnessed a sight to make you shudder, were I to describe it to you.” “The sth of June!” ejaculated George Staub, with a start. “Yes, the sth of .June east such a spell upon me that, despite my nine days' prayers at the Convent of St. Alpirsbach. I cannot get free of it.” “How does one go about to cast a spell?” gravely inquired Sergeant Ricard. “I can't say,” no less gravely replied the peddler. “On that day the Bavarian army was marching over our hills to the Rhino, and, meeting some friends among the troops. 1 went, as is the custom with us peddlers, Along with them, but I unreflectingly visited

the vivandiere's canteen so often that I finally was at a loss to discover my way. In fact, I had such trouble in guiding my own legs that my companions deemed it best to lay me down on the grass under the beech and fir trees, in a grove near Rottherwald peak. There they left me to come to my sens *s far on in the night, chilled to the bone and shattered with fatigue. My poor, heavy, aching head could seek for no guidance in points of tin* compass. The sky was ink black; not one star gleamed above the trees; not a ray glided through the foliage. 1 was holding as cool and collected a consultation with myself as circumstances would admit, all the while anathematizing my drunken comrades for manifesting so little Christian spirit toward a brother in sin. when suddenly a lusty voice began afar off to troll flu* ballad of the toiling miners who. by the sweat of their brows, built the failtown of Friburg. on the plan of that of Cologne. Then I heard the stour planks of the bridge joining the two sides of the ravine creak and groan beneath the weight of a most deliberate and sturdy tread. I ra’sed myself up to hail the singer, when a shadow, rushing forth from the dark mass of the Rottherwald touched me on its passage, and darted toward the bridge, where immediately the words of the ballad gave place to smothered cries and the convulsions of a pitiless struggle.” “Parbleu!” I exc’aimvd, “It was surely an assassination!” “You are very obliging, indeed, to find so plausible an explanation of a drunkard’s tomfol 1 e'ry! ” remarked George Staub. commiseratingly. “You don't know whom you are dealing with!” “Patience!' replied Andrew Mayer. The circle of listeners drew closer. “From such heaviness of head to pass without transition to a full conn prehension of such a scuttle could scarcely be possible. could it? Like my cousin here, who is perpetually shrugging his shoulders at me. I believed myself the dupe of a dream or of wine. 'To clear up the doubt I ran toward the bridge, but all to no purpose; excepting the t’esp rat-? evolution’s of a howling dog that kept jumping round me. as if demanding- its master. I found not the slightest trace of the gruesome apparition.” There was a pause of s’lence. Andrew raised his wine cup to place it to his lips; then casting a frightened glance at his audience. In* made the sign of the cross in the air, and said, lowering his voice: “ v ou have heard tell of Christopher Wagner. Faust's dog;” “Everybody knows tha responded Sergeant Ricard, imp;l tnrbably. “Christopher Wagner was by turn dog end valet, solely to gr.i ifv his master, one of the cleverest magicians in all Germany at a time when Germany was the land of the wizards. One could not have read so much as a couple of almanacs and be ignorant of that. I burst into a roar of laughter. “Michael,” quoth he, “you shall mount guard for four hours because ( 1 this disrespectful behaviour toward me.” I bowed and laughed no more; while Andrew continued in a yet lower tone: “I am sure Christopher Wagner owes me some grudge. Just fancy that for nearly six weeks that dog has dogged me, appearing- no less than six times, not in one locality, but in every village of the neighbourhood where mv customers and my business have cal’ed me, and the strange part °t it all is that at each of the apparitions, in spite of lookers-on. shouts, and blows, the accursed animal. which seems to eat only to grow thin and whose diabolical kennel is in the thickets of the Black Forest, leaped upon the table just as I was being helped to a choice slice of l>eef or bacon, and at once made tracks for the woods, darting off with the directness ot a shaft from a cross-bow. Peter Schenck is here to tell you fur--1 her about it.” “I am here to say.” returned an aged peasant, raising his head, “that

one never finds Peddler Andrew indisposed to till his stomach.” “Or to relate some adventure that never existed outside his brain,” added the innkeeper. “Never mind,” returned Andrew, with an air of triumph, “the French sergeant Iwlieves as I do; and none ran say that the soldiers of the Republic will ever smother from too mm h religion!” “'I hat is the most sensible thing you’ve said yet.” remarked Srrgeani Ricard, as he dismissed the crowd. At the sight of a group of women advancing toward us the s’rgcant laid a ride his pipe and made the military salute, which was speedily repeated by each soldier who embraced this opportunity of a closer look at th » bride. She had one of those listless faces not seldom encountered on the right bank of the Rhine. and which requires two or three weeks of wedlock to grow endurablv animated. \lbeit George Staub showed her marked attention, she hardly noticed him. Still, she w;>4 a nice little woman, white skinned, well formed, dainty, and dimpled. She asked us. polite’v, hi t merely politely, whether we would be at the wedding. Our sergeant, whose failing wa.ssurely not backwardness, muddled matters sadly in bis efforts to reply in as fine terms, while the bride was making us a pretty courtesy . One might have mistaken her for a Parisienne, St pale she was. She walked- I can r .‘in -mi her it as though it happened l»ut yesterday with the tips of her fingers in the hand of the groom's best man, and tested her weight on the arms of her kind faced mother, whose eves, moist with mingled satisfaction and apprehension, did not for one instant lose sight of their Catherine. The wedding procession proceeded toward the church, whose cracked bell every minute kept treating- us to a devilish charivari. No one lingered at table, where, by command of the host, 1 he waiters stinted not in the matter of p-itellers of wine and refreshments, except some ancient papas, weather beaten as hard as leather, and vastly more anxious to raise a wine glass to their lips than to cross themselves with holy water. We could not resist the temptation to drink again, for marching through the forest had been dry work. “The little one doesn't look merry.’’ observed the sergeant. “Pshaw!” exclaimed Peter S- ncnek. “her heart isn't in it. It is elsewhere: but there was a reason for her acting thus. Are you acquainted with many love affairs that could withstand the assaults of bitter poverty?” “Or the effect of stupid management?” subjoined Andrew Mayor. “Go tc, my friends! it is all Daniel llimmerick's fault if George Staub weds Catherine; for it made no difference that Daniel was simply the son of a miserable shepherd in the vicinity of Friburg. and could count only upon his vigorous fists to procure a patrimony for his future offspring; I assert that with his handsome, merry countenance, his twenty-four years his courageous application to hard work, and his inexhaustible stock of songs during- night watches, he had bewitched in a trice unde, mother, maid, myself, and the whole country side; and to have the friendship of (’verybody is an excellent beginning for a fortune.” “He did not have George St mb's friendship.” interrupted Peter Schenck. shaking his head. “Well, who can boast of possessing Grorg-ci's friendship? Can you, peradventure? And then, again, no one can feel kindly toward the fellow that cuts the grass from under one's feet: it is natural enough; and. I'll agree, it's hard to learn at one's own expense that, although the first preferii I for a wedding-, one must, after all. bowone's self out before* another who. dropped from the clouds, as it were, has been spared the troubl* of catching the early worm. When I first gat word of the rupture between George

and his cousin Catherine, I was more put out than hi’ himself, and showered c’urses ii|M»n the girl and Daniel Him mrrirk. Frau Bertha, likewise, with her weak yielding to her daughter deserved a good share of blame. The cousin likes to make a show; he is a man of generous ways; nobody can say he scrimps in any king, for his hand is always ready to hand out the silver! And if that meant iwerythhig. there could be but one voice f or him: but George does not ke*‘p faith, he •> ini|H*rious and wrathful, and I'm rv .dv enough to believe wh.il was mist'd about all Peterzell concerning his brutality to his deceased wif». Anoinettc. especially since he took his faeiy to doff his widower’s gaib two whole months before the expiration of the prescribed period of mourning. It bodes no good: and if it weren’t ‘or Daniel's impertinence. I woiildn t ad vise Catherine to go l> i.«k to George. Now. just tell me; is it nm • • than four davs since the year of mourning end ed?" “Is this the way v oa. :• good kinsman. speak of your family I asked, j Hiking Andrew Maver hi tic* shoulder. “Kinsman! family!” ejaculate I tin reddler. “Treat me wi h respect, and I'll treat vou the same! George isn’* so particular, not he!” “Andrew smarts under the morning's reception.” rem u ked Peter Schenck. “None the less is it true that George calcul-i.fed well when he calculated on time in his affair with Catherine, for our Bavarian maids' caprices sea i vanish in smoke, and our women reft ei t more than vours do *n Frarer. Tin* nnnlcaps in Peterzell. imagining a Mow with the fist settles i leal of things, wanted George to i:ive ’t n”i with Daniel. It would only have added fuel to the flames, and events are more clever than arguments. ** Does that explain whv poor Catheiine looks s> pah’ and miser able?” inquired Mayer, tirtl.v. “Never m'nd about the girl's looks!” interposed the sergeant. “ Tell us how the devil was Daniel brought to surrender the fort after he had once planted his colours there ?” “ This was the way of it,” replied the old man. “ Daniel, you see. belonged in Friburg. and. according to master judges, was one of the thriftiest (if coopers. He happened to stop at George's tavern on his return from a journey along the Rhine, and, as men are so apt to do when at table drinking, he and his host f(‘ll to relating gay and spicy tales. Finally. George adverted to his ex pcrience with C-i t lierinr, but used no nair s. His evident I v eager desiri to be lid of h : s widower's garb made Daniel laugh and aroused his ciiri- ( sity to know vvlr.it pretty lass George intended Io make his deliverer from so woeful a state. George was too forfeited to withhold the information desired, and revealed the name of his sweetheart. But surely Catherine's promise to him must have been rather of the lips than of the heart ; for village gcsHp s um Mid of the frequ mt meetings of George's betiothed an I the young stranger under the trees :it the rectory. Dani. I e:imc. also, not seldom, to see Frau Bert ha without the consent < f the innkeepc'i-, ami ( atherinc learned his songs and grew sad if he was not by. while she bore herself haughtily toward every one (’lse. Finally. Frau Bertha consulted her brother, the cure, and the twain mustered sufficient courage to mike George swallow the pill in all its hit terness. He shut himself up during the whole of Daniel's stay in Peter zell : for the young- man had soon to go for his papers, and to get his father's blessing, as tin* old shepherd was dying- in Friburg. Besides. hi< journe v ina n's da vs being over, he had to join the cooper's guild. Only once did vv ( rd come from him to the effect that he had tea; lied home ami was preparing- to return to Pider/cll : vet. in spile of his promise, he has not come bark, nor has any one seen him

or heard precisely of his whereabouts since his father's death.” •• lias George Staub been away from home lately ?” inquired the sergeant. “ No. not one mile from Peterzell. Moreover. he*s none of your huirbrained fellows seeking quarrels that only get them into scrapes with their sweethearts. As it stands, the game depends on one throw of the dice, for or against. And folks claim that Daniel lliminerick, as far as his rival is concerned, has rej>aired with one hand what he spoiled with the other by returning to a former love. But I know nothing very positive about it.” “Oh !'* exclaimed Mayer. “ I see what you're driving at ! To hash up that ridiculous story of the Mayence \ivandiere. Madam Guillemard. which Staub invented ; for I don't believe she really ever existed.” •• Not s’O fast, my friend.” interrupted the sergeant. “ There was such a person, whom more than one sergeant had to thank for getting him into trouble at the head of his whole company. You know something about her. don't you. Michael ?” and Sergeant Ricard looked squarely at me. •• Yrs. sergeant.” I replied, meekly. “Couldn't she give a ‘abre l '(.\v like a fencing-master ?” “ Yes.” “ And didn't she have the grit to swallow four hotties of .lohannisburg ?" “ Yes. sergeant, and she left not enough to wet a sparro.v's throttle!” “ Well, have it your way then !” cried Mayer. “aind, of course, one can't tell what lliminerick has been about of ’ate : hut when the subject was mentioned here, he stoutly and solemnly denied ha.ving any knowledge of such a person to Frau Bertha.” “ You're n Jonah of the rankest type, friend Andrew !” “Quite likely. Mister Sergea.nt. Everybody can't have as much wit as you !” and tin* peddler, grumbling, proceeded to the kitchen. “ Indeed.” resinned Peter Schenck. “ now', while I think of it. :• young Frankfort cooper did give out that Daniel had abruptly taken his departure on receiving a letter of whose cocitents not even his most intimate friends knew a single word. On Catherine's birthday anniversary the pretty lass certainly expected some token of remembrance : vet nothing

came, ami in this way a whole mouth went by. Thein, little by little, a thousand trifles were recalled to the prejudice of young lliminerick. For instance, the kisses he was wont to give the barmaids with his arm about ilnir waists, or his climbing over Johann Paid Treiichinann’a widow's gulden wall at sunset, or again, the ogling he bestowed upon tall Louise who, so folks said, had fretted herself to death for love of him. Then did not George Staub Irani, likewise, from the Frankfort co of Daniel's behaviour with Madam Guillemard. In this fashion things went from bad to worse in Ihr matter of gossip until Catherine asserted her selfhood and her intention of taking a husband without awaiting Monsieur Daniel's convenience N( w. though George is thirty-six. he's a handsome fellow’, with no incumbrances. a thriving inn. and money deposited in Genoa. Why blame him for showing craft and keenness in seizing the proper momen't. seeing that he has cherished anger against no <»ne ? He simply steals in. hears this aid that one talk, and at last, as the le. leant cooper does not reappear, gets the grief-stricken yet resentful Catheiine to reinstate him as her beIrothid. deeding to her all his possessions. together with what her own mother had promised him by way of dowry. If that isn't being generous, then I'm sure there's nothing more ” Nor to drink,” interrupted the sergeant. turning the jug over upon the tumblers. Meanwhile the wheezy clang of the cracked bell had ceased to disturb us. apparently indicating that the bridal party was returning from church. The country bumpkins ranged themselves along the roadside, holding rusty old guns. Sergeant Ricard made us shoulder arms and inspected us with as much precision as if on parade in Paris. George Staub, his eyes blazing like live coals, clasping his little newly-made wife about the waist, and walking a very short distance in advance of the bride's mother, the witnesses and the cure, came town,rd us amid the curious crowd clad in its Sunday best. The children worried Ihe dogs, three or four squeaking fiddles made an infernal racket, and guns were discharged at random.

Then came the wedding dinner, a repast wherein liquids played a conspicuous part ; so that our sergeant finally shut his eyes and left us to our cheerful devices until evening, when Lieutenant Terry's detachment arrived to add to the merriment as well as to the number of dancers ; for the Black Forest, being as quiet and peaceful as one could wish, we had only to take our ease and have a gay time at the wedding ball. However, as the sergeant had previously condemned me Io four hours of sentinel duty, and as a superior always remembers a bad premise better than a good one. he planted me in front of the kitchen door, with orders to have neither hunger nor thirst, since I had already, so lie said, had enough to drink.

Three hours afterward I was l.iting my tongue in the moonlight, and in sight of the pleasure of others. Indeed, the way in which the gay couples passed to anil fro making fun of me. pleased me not at all. The sergeant offered me a pinch of snuff, and. watch in hand, endeavoured to demonstrate that, according to him, time had birds' wings, while, according to me. it had caterpillars' feet. Though I would have died for Sergeant Kicard. just then I could have cracked his skull for him. For it was very witty, wasn't it ? to come every quarter of an hour to see whether 1 kept at my post ! Matters were getting mightily tiresome when Andrew Mayer, as vexed as myself, though in a different way. by his cousin’s bantering, came to cast an amateurist eye over the kitchin where a midnight supper, in which, thank heaven, I might join, was in ptogress of preparation. Vexation is like fear ; a coward is reassured by a gtialcr coward than himself. and on? victim becomes philosophical by looking on another one. I have served my apprenticeship under both these heads. Andrew wished to chat, which was. of course, out of the question with a sentinel on duty. So he stood, disconsolate. on the threshold of the kitchen, when, without giving th- least sign or taking notice of anybody or thing.

a shepherd's dog, knee high, and as flat as a plank in the flanks, rushed in and pushed by the peddler who. heels in the air. tumbled over so seared that he veiled as if bitten to the bone by

the poor lean brute. My first move was to shut the door, while the scullions gave chase to the beast, and Andrew, chattering with fright, explained to Staub, the cure, and the lieutenant, who had hastened forward on hearing his cries, that the dog was < hristopher Wagner, Faust’s metamor- | !ios«d valet, by which, as he had previously declared, he was tormented, this explanation, that explained nothit g. was s.ill in progress when a crash of shattered glass made its rush to the kitchen window, only to lr hold the <1: g darting off with a leg of mutton ill his mouth. Without thinking. I low, red my gun and fired. The animal fell, but before I could reach it it had regained its feet and was intrepidly continuing its course on three legs, with the piece of meat still between its jaws. Then, with the rapidity of lightning, it struck a narrow path leading into the forest and vanished.

Pretty Catherine was no doubt frightened by the firing, for she sent for George Staub, as he stood surrounded by his startled ami curious guests. The cure begged Lieutenant Tercy to pay some attention to Andrew's protestations which, he deemed. however wild ami siq>ei.stitioiis they might seem, yet possessed a certain significance; he likewise advised that officer to make the peddler our guide in a search for the mysterious animal. To this Andrew demurred most decidedly: but, grasping him by the coat collar, I compelled him to head the little band of chasseurs whom we hastily Summoned. Passing beyond Peterzell we were joined by a number of daring- women, and our troop was quite compact as we entered the forest now flooded by the full moon's bluish radiance. Noiselessly we crossed the sand and the cold moss. Now and then a plaintive howl set us aright as to the direction to take, and where the moonlight fell very bright we could discern the bloody tracks of the wounded brute. Once well under the arching boughs, we could hear more distinctly the intermittent howls, and assure ourselves of the right path. For a good half hour we continued

our inarch, Andrew sweating like a hogshead, clutching at my soldier coat, and eyeing the women who. at tlie start very brave, now began to falter somewhat. At length we reach-

til a little bridge that, with its frail supports, stood out in clear illumination above the darkness of a chasm. And, Io! there was the dog hanging over the precipice, and though nearly dead from exhaustion, still holding fast to his prize. His howls were heartrending and made the scared women cross themselves and exclaim. "Mein Gott!” Then the. cure tried to approach him witli gentle speech, but the animal tied from him. only to vanish almost instantly over the steep slope as it fell headlong. “Our tramp shall not be all for nothing,” cried the lieutenant. "There must be some woodcutters' or charcoal burners’ huts close by. Let us procure ropes.”

Andrew Mayer appeared more dead than alive, and uttered not a word. To my question whether this was not the locality of his dream he replied by a shake of the head, and then hid his face in his hands. A woman pointed ent a hut to us. and. breaking open the door, we discovered torches, levers, spades, and ropes. The ropes were tied together with good stout knots in less than no time, for everybody lent a hand. Burning the priming of my gun, I procured a flame with which I lighted several torches formed of resin and fir boughs. Then planting the levers in the ground and firmly tying thereto one end of the coil of rope, we bound a torch to the lieutenant's arm with a handkerchief and let thatworthy officer down the chasm, wherein he and his torch presently disappeared. A full quarter of an hour had elapsed when I jerked the rope to find that it offered no resistance. Then we began to shout to the lieutenant who. however, returned no answer. Getting in a rage. Sergeant Ricard swore and declared his intention of descending in search of his superior; but. too quick for him, the cure slid down the rope in his place, taking no torch and calling back that he would shout with all his might shoidd he need assistance. The same result followed as in the lieutenant's case; for albeit we yelled ourselves hoarse, no sounds save the forest echoes replied. It was too much for the sergeant who. snatching another torch, and despite the women's and Andrew Meyer's entreaties, launched himself over the ravine, telling us that if he met the foul fiend himself he would fetch up one of his cars. The rest of us could only stand and wait. 1 must confess, it was a sinister scene, that of these soldiers and women, with the chill, pallid moon smiling down, like an evil fairy, upon them. Now and then a passing cloud obscured the lunar light and a'so the mountain-peaks and weeded promontories. When it had glided by. we seemed to see ten times more clearly, yet from the chasm’s depths no sound of voice nor gleam of torch ascended. I was cold all over, and had I not been so anxious to set a good example, I believe 1 shoidd have been scared. In front of us rose a huge rock crowned with fir-trees so tall that they seemed to uphold the stars. At another time I would have admired the weird effect of it all. but now I was too anxious about our companions, and wished we were, every soul of us, back at the wedding dance. For the twentieth time had I tried the rope when, finally, it seemed to stiffen and quiver. Quick as a flash we began tugging away. and. O joy! up came the lieutenant, ragged as a robber, coatless, and with shirtsleeves rolled up to the shoulders. "Michael." said he, “I make you a corporal. Here is one of Ricard's straps, pin it to you sleeve, and then let me whisper something in your ear.” I did as he hade me. and received from him a pass-word that 1 thought very odd. "A ery good.” 1 observed, "but I don't understand." ■'Never mind," replied he. "move "Vet if you would please ” "I please to have you hold your tongue and obey me." So, leaving the greater number of our men on the spot. I set forth with the remainder, who followed me in amazement; while the women and Andrew Mayer, seeing us return to I’eterzell, gradually recovered strength, courage, lively limbs, and a curiosity that I could not gratify, since I knew absolutely nothing save my orders. We moved rapidly toward I’eterzell, letting guesses take the place of something more reliable. And

now we reached the outskirts of the forest, and behold the village, there, right liefore us. At the sentinel's challenge I halt, and the patrol collies round. Exchanging the countersign with the corporal on duty, I say: “Put all these jabberers in the guard house for me, ami oblige the lieutenant,” and with my few chasseurs 1 proceed, leaving the women and Andrew Mayer under lock and key. Briefly conferring with the sub-lieutenant. 1 follow my orders and obtain from him ten sentinels to place at every exit from the lower floor of the inn where, while we. without arousing the least suspicion, have been away on our errand, the eating ami singing and dancing have made joyous progress. Imperturbably 1 enter and sit clown to supper, heartily satisfying a fierce appetite, but feeling mightily perplexed all the same.

At last back comes the cure. whose countenance I narrowly observe; he seems ill at ease and avoids my glances. and when George Staub begins to troll a merry song he touches Frau Bertha gently on the shoulder, pointing to Catherine and the door. It being very late. Staub naturally interprets the gesture as an admonition for the bridegroom and bride to retire to their chamber, and grows still more jolly with his guests. Catherine slips away. It is well. Almost immediately the women of the party one after another follow her example. Now the brimming goblets are upraised amid louder songs and coarser jests. Letting nothing escape me of what is occurring. I see my fine fellow of a George set the two most talkative of the company at loggerheads, so as

in the confusion and heat of discussion to steal out also. But I keep good guard! Ah! So hq would cross the threshold, would he?" •‘Halt!’' cries the sentinel, “no one is allowed to pass out!" “It is an ugly joke, chasseur!" “I must obey orders, innkeeper!" “But ”

“Neiver mind the ‘but.’ Don’t bother me; speak to my superior." replied the sentinel, pointing to me. Purple with rage. George advances toward me; for an instant In* controls himself, as the guests. <1 ist orbed in their merry-making, rise io their feet. “Was it you who gave this order. Herr Michael!" “It was. Havei you anything to say against it?" Nothing. But if you art* a brave man. you and I shall have it out on each other's faces!" “To-morrow. whenever it suits you." I replied. “To-night, if one of you stir, away he goes!" and brutally placing a pair of pocket pistols on the table. I pour out some sehnick and bow to the company. Rushing to one of the windows George smashes four panes of glass at one blow of his fist in a futile attempt to escape. “Halt, there!" shouts a second sentinel. “No one is allowed to pass!" “It is just the same everywhere." said I; “for I have looked to everything. Break as much glass as you please, old boy!" George fairly froths with rage, while I begin to hum a song. The peasants composing the wedding party look at one another with startled and astonished glances. and crowd about me, all hushed at first, then all talking together in a perfect babel of sounds. But bidding them

stand off. I advise them to quiet them selves.

“Is this what tin* French generals proclaimed when the\ came among us" demands George. “The French came pretending to lie our friends. We have done wrong to trust them, and arc now reaping the reward of our folly. We must give die alarm to the mountain folk. Liars! cowards! sneaks! thieves! Onh see what a trap they have set for us! Let them learn that tin* German has blood in his veins still! Let knives and stones give us justice! Let us imitate the brave Tyiulcse! The libertx these republicans fetch us is but contempt for plighted faith and solemn oaths. These soldiers* of a nation that slays its kings think they are kings themselves. Masters against masters. let us rather keep to those of our own household. Masters that were, at any rate, the friends of our fathers."

Meanwhile, during the progress of this tine harangue. Sergeant Rican! (‘liters, with a look of wonderment on his* fact* and a pipe in his mouth, lit* inquires the reason of such a rumpus; on learning what is wrong, he gives me a cold stare, and pronounces me tipsy. I attempt to expostulate. but he commands silence. For a moment I feel sorely enough perplexed. If in earnest, the sergeant is crazy; if joking. tin* joke is certainly very tough, lit* would even have me apologist* to the innkeeper, our host. Just as if I would not sooner be hacked in pieces. Fortunately. George Staub does not insist on this point; his first art on regaining his freedom is to reassure his household, which such proceedings have naturally very greatly upset. He makes haste to open out* of the doors.

It is that of the bridal chamlier. There, in an armchair I Between her mother ami the curt*, whose kind words she most gratefully accepts, ami near the canopied bed. the embroidered curtain*. of which are drawn together, sits Catherine. In her white gown and with blossoms in her hair, she looks even paler than in the morning. George rushes toward her; but she. as if in terror, recoils from him. and. clinging to her mother’s neck, gives him so withering a glance that he stops ami stands as though rooted to the spot. The sergeant makes a sign to me to proceed no fill t her. “Get out of here!” yells George in thunderous tones. •’Stay, stay!” cries Catherine, rising to her feet ami saying to her newlywedded husband: “There can not be too many witnesses of what I am about to reveal.” Thereupon, with a trembling hand, she holds out a paper, in the presence of the gaping crowd of guests who press close about the door. “Do you.” she asks, “recognise this writing. George?” 'l’he innkeeper looks at tin* paper, and attempts to take it: but it slips from his grasp, while a shudder creeps over him from head to feet, and he would drop over, limp as a wisp of straw, were not the sergeant and I l here to support him. “Do you know, my good friends, what this wretch has done?” asks Catherine, in a loud voice, addressing the entire company. “Odiously counterfeited my handwriting, he has used the forgery to accuse of tyranny the most reputable of uncles and the best of mothers. lie declares that I wished to escape from Peterzell during the night, clandestinely: ami for what purpose? To meet Daniel lliinmerick.” “I I did not write the letter.” stammers George. “It is a slanderous invention to ruin me.” "Ami do you know, besides.” continues Catherine, “what he did to I>a niel 11 i mmerick ?” There is a stir in the crowd. "Well, listen. After stabbing him twenty times, he threw him into the Rottherwald gorge.” “How dreadful!” murmurs everybody. “Yes and Andrew Mayer can bear witness to the truth of my daughter’s wi rd.” adds Frau Hertha. "Andrew Mayer is a scoundrel!” interrupts the accused. “How comes it. George?” interposes the cure, “that you have burnt up your mourning clothes?” "He was afraid of the blood stains; they would have betrayed him!” 1 exclaim, clutching him by the throat. “It is false, false.” gasps the infuriated innkeeper, struggling to escape from the sergeant and from me. “How dare he assert that it is false! cries Catherine, indignantly; and she turns toward tin* bed. whose curtains, moved by invisible hands, on the instant slide from right to left upon their rods. As he recoils, George drags the sergeant and me along with him. lie is a ghastly sight to look upon, with his fixed and staring eyes, his white, parted lips, and extended arms and stiffened fingers. 'Then. there behind the curtain. sitting up in bed. I and everv-

Immlv else behold a handsome young man with a heavy Inward, his right arm bandaged, his left hand clasped in the hands of our lieutenant, who stands at the foot of the bed; while the poor dog. whose paw I wounded, rests its head against its master’s breast and gazes at us with feverish ryes. I know at once that it is Daniel llimmerick and his shepherd dog. Suddenly George Staub slips from our grasp, and falls heavily to the floor. We raise him up; his fare is blackpurple: he has had a fatal stroke of apoplexy the most merciful thing, that could happen to him. When the first terrible excitement had becalmed, we learned of the faithful dog’s rescue of its foully wounded master, who told how the good animal had kept him from starving when he lay helpless in the ravine where Lieutenant Terry and Sergeant Ricard and the cure discovered him. We nerd not. therefore, add that the dog became an honoured member of the new household that Daniel Hiinmrrirk and his wife. Catherine, not long after deemed it wise to establish.