The Count of Nideck

ety and emotion began to tell upon my mind; I moved aimlessly along, asking myself with dread if madness were not p

itting a gesture, a circumstance, not even the smallest detail, then escaping and committing to the abyss the secret of the murder, harassed

I rang the bell with all my might. It was then about four o'clock in the morning. Knapwurst kept me waiting a terribly long time. His little lodge, built against the ro

tesque figure emerged abruptly from

's t

he Do

ter! I'll see whether yo

crossed the outer court with the snow up to hi

-stairs in Hugh's Tower. It was you ringing! Now I see why Sperver came to me at

pwurst, open the door! You

for a moment

drew back the bolts, while I stood with my te

r, I don't know why; he doesn't ordinarily; the grating is enough. Come into the lodge and warm yourself. You won't find my room

sible, burning with impatience to learn what things were passing

gnome did not take the trouble to make up very often, and two small dusty windows with hexagonal panes which the moon turned to mother-of-pearl with its pale rays. A large, square table occupied the middle of the room. How this massive oak table had ever been brought through the narrow doorway, it would have been difficult to explain. Upon a few shelves were arranged some old volumes and ro

e little, low, iron stove in one corner of the room, with its door standing open, red hot, and sending a shower of spark

er light which rests the eye, and of which the

st said to me when we were comfortably seated, he before h

Black Forest needed my services; he ha

y the dwarf; he lighted his black p

t smoke,

eed

said, stretching his long, yellow hand over the pag

he had kept me standi

nish your chapter

e admitted; and we

s you, I should have put it of

th, those little squinting eyes, the broad, unshapely nose rounded at the end, and especially his swelling, double-storied forehead. I noticed in his f

y window panes, reanimating, warming or chilling the breast of Nature outside. While others are living, blessed with the hope and magic of love, striving to gratify ambition or avarice, plotting, coveting, and longing, he hopes for nothing, covets nothing, wishes nothing. He sits and smokes his pipe, and with his eyes fixed on the old parchment before him, he dreams and revels in things that no longer exist, perhaps never had any existence-what matters it to him-'Hertzog says this,' 'such a one has it differently,'-and he is happy. His parchment skin gets more and more w

red my spirits. I felt reanimated in this atmosphere of tobacco smoke and resinous pine

from the bottom of his conscience, or if you prefer, from the dept

ou mean,

would be the glory of the Hohenstauferns, the Liningens, the Nidecks, and so many other noble families, were it not for these? Where would be the fame of their title-rights, their deeds of arms, their heroic actions, their distant expeditio

rve as vague reminders. Of all this a single memorial remains,-the chronicles, t

followed, then K

ten they jeered him, crying, 'That fellow is an atom, a flea; he is good for nothing; he cannot even collect our taxes or manage our estates, while we fine chaps go out on our mounts with lance in hand, ready for anything that comes in our way!' Thus they talked when they saw the poor devil dragging along behind them, shivering in winter, sweating in summ

s filled with the tears of affectionate remembrance. The dwarf loved those who had tolerated and protected his

d Latin, Knapwur

of the Count's thrown into the ash-barrel; they fell into my hands and I devoured them. Some t

u Latin, Knapwu

myself, m

uestions, which I a

wurst knows more than I do!

irty years since then, I have read every page. Sometimes the

re you doing up

he family record

you en

uch, mon

you, Knapwurst, who would know of the glory of the Nid

good mast

kindness!" exclaimed the dwarf, clas

hat is

no amb

w s

inister or a field-marshal. But no! In his youth he retired from political life. With the exception of a campaign that he conducted in France, at the head of a regiment wh

versation was taking, of its own accord, the direction tha

any great passions in h

he member of a noble race to be devoid of ambition. He allows his family to degenerate. I could cite many examples in

ons regarding the Count's past

has met with many re

hat n

lost h

e. They travelled together in Italy, but she returned worse than she went, and succumbed some three weeks after their return. The Count came near dying himself of a broken heart. For two years he shut himself up and would see nobody. His dogs and horses were neglected. Time at length calmed his grief, but there has ever been something he

age was always

s a blessing

eight of evidence; but then that nocturnal scene, these strange relations with the Black Plague, that horrible pantomim

ction which follows the fatigue caused by unusual exertions, when, sprawled out in a big armchair in the chimney-corner and enveloped in a cloud of smoke, you abandon yoursel

I ventured to remark. Knapwurst started, and fixin

ow, I

e, thinking that I might learn some

e high, and slander flie

t is a fact, nevert

flowers, or some like trifle. He would not entrust this commission to any one, not even to his faithful Sperver. The Countess does not even dare to express a wish in his presence, lest he should commit some new extravagance. In a word, monsieur, I assure you that the Count of Nideck is the worthiest of men, the tenderest of fathers, and the best of masters. As for the

asleep, had resumed his reading. The gray dawn appeared through the tiny panes; the lamplight paled, and vague murmurs arose within the Ca