The Second Macabre Megapack

by Various Writers

  “Very excellent huntsman!” he said scornfully, “to lose thus your weapon, and that weapon your dear, though never seen, father’s favorite rifle. Truly I must again have it; without it I cannot in honour leave these wonderful woods.”

  With the sharp look of a soldier as well as a huntsman, he searched through the woods and over the ground, and found at last the trace of a small light footstep.

  “Dear God!” he cried, shuddering, “a lady has been here and robbed me of my rifle.”

  He followed the scarcely marked path through the bushes, and soon stood before the walls of a grey old castle, which, if he was not much deceived, was the same he had passed on his journey here, with his fearful guide. Whilst he was standing, looking, he felt his hunting cap dashed from his head, a bullet passed through it and struck the nearest fir tree; he himself fell back, not rightly knowing whether or not he was wounded. A woman’s voice sang frightfully out—

  And askest thou who the murderer is?

  The murderer, that am I!

  Julius found the shot had only passed through his cap; he put it on again and raised his hunting knife threateningly.

  Then a lady stood opposite to him; in her hand his own just-discharged rifle. Her clothes were snow white; her raven hair floated wildly over her shoulders, her dark eyes boldly rolling.

  Oh, heaven! there could no longer be a doubt; it was Rosaura. Angrily she again threatened him, threw his rifle at him and sung—

  “The murderer, that am I.”

  Some women rushed quickly from the nearest thicket, and covering Rosaura with cloaks and veils, carried her away. Julius heard his mistress weeping bitterly.

  “For God’s sake,” he cried, “can no one help her in her sorrows?”

  “Be comforted, Count Wildech,” said Rosaura’s aunt, whom he now recognized amongst the other ladies, “and if you wish to do her a very great service, you will leave this place as soon as possible, and never let what you have seen in these mountains pass your lips.”

  She left him with a kind, but grave greeting. Julius took up his rifle, and much disturbed, sought to retrace his lost way to Castle Musterhorn.

  The evening had grown dark when the bold huntsman wearily climbed a tall cliff yet lighted by the sunbeams, to see if he could from thence descry the castle turrets. As he went up he saw some one seated above him, with his back towards him, and his legs dangling over a frightful precipice. Fearing the stranger, in this perilous position, might be frightened by hearing a quick step behind him, Julius stopped. The man turned his face: it was the scarred huntsman.

  Quick as lightning he stood on his feet, greeted him respectfully and came slowly to meet him.

  Julius scarcely knew what to do alone with this fearful being, on such a dangerous high cliff.

  Perhaps the man saw this, and said, smiling,

  “Do not be afraid, Count, I am not mad; but my lord, who is called Halderbach, surnamed Merdbrand, he is mad. I see you think I am the madman, but I will tell you all just as it happened. Be pleased to sit down near me for I am deadly tired,” and then he took his dizzy seat again; “sit down, gracious lord, or if you are afraid, remain standing and let my age apologise, for my rudeness in sitting.”

  Julius, to whom the thought that he could fear any thing was more insupportable than all the dangers in the world, immediately sat down near the old man, who then began the following narrative:

  “For five hundred years the noble Counts Von Wildech, had held in their paternal castle a joyful autumnal feast and drank together wine and metheglin. They were now collected with their wives and children, and wanted only to complete their joy their confederate knight, Count Von Halderbach. Count Halderbach had been long in the castle. though they knew it not. He had entered by a concealed passage and lurked among the vaulted cellars; his love had been slighted by a daughter of that house, and he determined never to be satisfied until he saw the whole house destroyed by fire. He had fired all the doors and steps to the castle, and the unsuspecting Wildechs were burned with their wives and children. There was only one small boy saved, whom the nurse, in order to give a fine complexion to, had sprinkled with dew and laid in the moonbeams. That little boy was thy ancestor, young hero! Amongst the betrayed Wildechs there was an old prophet. He stood amidst the fire on the last falling turret and sung his prophecies through the night. Then he cursed the race of Halderbach with his curse, ‘That every half year, for the space of three weeks, its successors should go mad at midnight.’ God knows by what mysterious means this curse prevails, but it must last as long as a single Wildech remains. More might have been said, but if so, the words were lost in smoke and flame, or the traitorous Halderbach, who looked on from a near rocky height, in the deadly anguish of his accusing conscience, heard them not. Nothing more is known; but ever since, twice a year for three weeks, at midnight, and often in the evening hour, have the Halderbachs gone mad. Ah, God! even the Countess Rosaura is subjected to the curse; for this I rode with you so quietly by her castle: it is very sad to see this angel suffering such devilish anguish.”

  “But if the last Wildech were dead,” whispered Julius, and bent over the precipice.

  “Count, are you a Christian?” said the old man with a solemn voice.

  Julius raised himself from the dizzy place.

  “But where learnt you all this,” said Julius, after a pause. “Where learnt you all this, old man?”

  “Col. Halderbach, in a fit of madness, once threw me over this cliff, and this caused my scarred and ruined face. Then he told his confessor and me also how a dark prophecy had given to his race the name of Merdbrand, though it was unknown to the Wildechs, who knew not the wicked deed of former times. But since the colonel has thought fit to say I am mad, and even, prompted by a deadly instinct, dressed in my clothes, for my own sake I find it necessary to warn Count Wildech and save my honour.”

  “Still I must go back to Castle Musterhorn this evening,” said Julius: “will you guide me thither?”

  “As you please,” answered the old man.

  They met servants on horseback and on foot, seeking the colonel. He had returned at the commencement evening, but suddenly vanished no one knew whither, and they feared, in his wild madness, he had run into the woods. Julius was too weary to help to seek him. He followed the old man on the way back, and they were soon in the almost entirely empty castle.

  As he stood in his dimly-lighted chamber, he saw reflected by the mirror, his servant, who was standing behind him, looking frightened and very pale.

  “Christolph what is the matter? Why are you so pale?”

  The faithful boy, without speaking, pointed to a dark corner of the chamber where the tapestry appeared to shake. Julius took his dagger and approached the place.

  “For God’s sake do not, dear Count,” cried Christolph, and held his arm. “I believe the huntsman is hid there.”

  An angry laugh and hoarse whisper in the dreaded corner confirmed the boy’s suspicion, and Julius heard the words distinctly:

  “Yes! yes! here stands the old mad Merdbrand, and spies at the last Wildech; only go to sleep, my youngster.”

  Frightened and wholly overcome with horror, Julius rushed after his servant through the castle door and had his horses brought out. The old huntsman stood in the court and commended his resolution. Julius told him where to find his fearful lord and sprung forth on his horse as if he had wings. As he passed Rosaura’s castle, he heard her mournful, despairing song.

  Scarcely had he reached the woods, when he met a courier, who was hastening to call him back. An unexpected war had broken out in the neighboring States, and his regiment was ordered to be ready for service. This was better than he had dared to hope. As he passed through the city gates, he saw the wagons loading with arms and ammunition, the soldiers in their uniform, pouring forth cheerful songs, interrupted by joyful shouts, that the long wished for hour of battle had come. He hastened to put his troops in order, and the hours passed as minutes; but y
et not so quick but that Rosaura’s sadness hung over him as a dark cloud and saddened his soul.

  A great court was held that the officers might take leave of the princesses of the royal house. The Princess Alwine looked pale and sad. The first division was to march the next day. The princess went to Julius:

  “Count Wildech come to my room tomorrow at eleven without fail, I have something very important to say to you.”

  At the appointed hour Julius was there. He found the princess half weeping. She commanded him to place himself opposite to her, and began the following speech—

  “From the evening at the Hermitage, when I led you into a very dangerous—yes, frightful—mockery, I have thought much of you; you already know I perceive from your visit to Castle Musterhorn why the Halderbachs bear the surname of Merdbrand. Now has no new bloody crime been committed?”

  At the Count’s quieting answer, she drew a deep breath and said,

  “God be praised! I was dreadfully sad. The strangeness of Rosaura’s conduct caused me to relate it to my father; he scolded my brother and myself very much for the untimely jest, and showed us in the secret archives of the house, the history of what had happened: we read with shuddering horror. Count Wildech, I doubt if you yet know the whole history of this matter.”’

  “Your highness,” answered Julius, “I think I am fully acquainted with the whole hopeless, comfortless matter.”

  “Comfortless!” answered the princess. “Alas, yes! and there is but one possible condition of salvation.”

  “I know, your highness. and perhaps the coming war may fulfil it, and very happy shall I be to shed my blood for king and fatherland, and also to free from so terrible a curse the ever dear race of Halderbach.”

  “Now I plainly see, Count Wildech, you do not know all—read: I will come again and ask your determination.” Laying before him an old parchment she left him alone.

  “I, Conrad Von Thiessbach, knight, and I, Albertus Von Lardhoff, young nobleman, hereby testify that we received the following confession from the mouth of the knight Wolfgran Von Halderbach, wrung by remorse from him on his death bed. God be gracious to his poor soul!

  “Count Wolfgran, in hunting, by careless riding, received his death by falling over a cliff: he called us, his hunting companions, and in much agony recounted to us what he had done to the noble house of Wildech, and told it in such a manner that the hair on our heads stood erect with horror.”

  Then followed the relation of that fearful deed, up to the time when the dying old man spoke the curse on the Halderbachs, from the flame of the tower, and then it went on thus:

  “The old dying prophet added this: If the stem of Wildech is lost without one of them being united in marriage to a young lady of the stem of Halderbach, then shall this curse last until the day of judgment, whether there remains or not a Wildech upon earth.

  “It is probable that the prophet now, feeling himself near his Judge and final sentence, remembered how it is written ‘Judge not that ye may not be judged,’ wished to add something comforting to the curse he had laid on the whole race of Halderbach; but his whole mantle was wrapped in flames, and so horrible to look upon, that Count Wolfgran in his remorse could not remain, and rushed into the woods. When he returned the tower had long sunk in flames, and he never knew what the consoling words were. This was told us, by the worthy Father Lambertus, abbot of the monastery called ‘Saint Egidi,’ in hope that hereafter some of the Counts of Wildech and Ladies of Halderbach might obtain peace.

  “In testimony of this I, Conrad Von Thiessbach, and I, Albertus Von Lardhoff, do here set our seals in this Castle Thiessbach, in the year of our Lord, 1293.”

  With deep satisfaction, Julius read this important writing. At another time its strange characters would have made its perusal difficult; now it seemed to him as if a voice spoke to him from the old prophet’s grave.

  Proud, still and resolved, his hands folded in prayer, he stood before the parchment. The princess entered.

  “Your highness will know best,” he said, “whether with propriety I can ask the consent of my commander to give me time, to pray the Countess Rosaura to unite herself to me and take the name of Wildech before I march.”

  “You are all I thought,” said the princess, and a bright beam of pleasure fell on the knight from the young lady’s eyes.

  “The prince knows all, and has left the decision with you. I have written to Rosaura’s aunt. The dreadful time has passed. Be ready to travel at nine o’clock tomorrow; my chamberlain will accompany you, and I myself will witness the betrothal.”

  She left him with a kind farewell. Happy in his pure thoughts, Julius prepared for the solemn ceremony. The next day in the soft twilight of a summer evening Julius arrived at Rosaura’s mountain castle. The chamberlain had gone in to announce the bridegroom: Julius slowly descended from the carriage: he saw at a distance the princess’ six iron grays coming up the valley: he thought Rosaura would not be spoken with before her arrival. The chamberlain beckoned to him from the door and pointed to a neighboring mountain chapel shaded by lindens. The bride’s aunt was there entirely alone. The honorable lady took the young man’s hand, gravely saying,

  “You bring a noble offering, Count Wildech, if you persevere in your resolution: you no doubt feel that by this marriage, you but give your wife the name of Wildech and become the guardian of her honor and peace.”

  “And is not that immeasurably great?” whispered Julius, blushing. “Here I vow to you whatever conditions you lay on me, to keep pure and true to my dying day, and to have before my eyes, next to God, my Rosaura.”

  He knelt low, in sweet sadness. The pious widow imprinted a holy kiss on his brow and vanished.

  Rosaura soon appeared; lovely and pale as an alabaster image, a myrtle crown on her head, supported on one side by the princess, on the other by her foster-mother.

  The priest blessed this strange marriage simply with the words of betrothal, and the sadness pictured in his face showed he knew what was here done. Scarcely could the silver sound of the “Yes” be heard, as it passed Rosaura’s lips. Julius, respectfully greeting her, hastened to the door, when she called him back.

  “You are an angel, Julius,” she whispered, and fell weeping in his arms; then she hid her weeping face on the bosom of the princess; and Julius, filled with mingled feelings of pain and pleasure, travelled back through the mists of an autumn night.

  Very soon came the stirring call to the field. Julius fought as if he united to his love and desire of death a wish not to leave behind him unequalled the deeds of his forefathers. His heart was so filled with heavenly joy by his love for Rosaura, that he won all his soldiers’ hearts and inspired them with confidence and ardour in battle. God wonderfully protected his young, honourable life, and bore him conqueror through many heavy perils. Step by step, Count Wildech rose in the army, and at the beginning of winter he was already colonel of a regiment of light dragoons.

  During the worst storms and most severe winter weather, the young hero and his brave soldiers made sallies to surprise the enemy, and intercept their couriers and provisions. Sometimes they fell on their cantonments when they believed all quiet, and sometimes even broke through their advanced guards and penetrated into their towns and even to headquarters—always returning victorious and laden with booty. “The dragoons of Wildech are coming,” was a fearful cry to the enemy. Yet friends and enemies alike named with kind feelings Count Wildech for to all he appeared as a brave and noble conqueror. The brave soldier had for his conqueror no hostile, but ever a kind look. Once on returning with prisoners and booty from one of his excursions, Julius found a letter from Rosaura, the first he had ever received from her fair hand.

  “My hero, my beloved, my protector—thy name is on the lips of orators, poets, and all men; all this I felt in my soul, long before I acknowledged my love to you: at that time I sighed for war, that your talents and bravery might be known. Ah! but now, Julius, Count Julius Wildech, thou seekest
death to save a sick maiden. Do so no more. I could then never, though not with less love or pride, sign myself

  ROSAURA, Countess Von Wildech,

  born Von Halderbach.

  How can I describe Julius’ emotion? How write his answer? To those who cannot write it for themselves, it must always remain a sealed letter. Alas! with the renewal of the war, the spring brought him far less pleasing news. The Princess Alwine wrote him with her own hand honourable and kind letters; but the heavy news, that the time of Rosaura’s sufferings had come could not be concealed from him. The countess must mention it, for this time it had surprised her at the princess’ castle, and it was reported that she was ill with a dangerous fever. Had this report reached Julius, he would have been too much shocked and frightened

  Now it was all passed; Rosaura herself, with weak fingers, added a few comforting words to the princess’ last letter.

  Until now, Julius’ heart had never been entirely without hope that the curse might have already passed away through the priestly blessing and that comfort have followed, which the dying prophet had breathed to the air alone.

  Ah! now nothing but the death of her husband could relieve Rosaura; he earnestly prayed God for a quick and honourable death and rode determinedly into the hottest battle.

  It was a victory and two other victories equally great, followed in the course of the spring and summer. Julius remained unhurt; though many who much preferred life to death, fell on his right and on his left hand. Sometimes he rushed as a sacrifice on the enemy’s bayonets, but even then the kind letters he wore on his breast, protected him and turned them aside.

  The kindness and goodness of God always supported him, and he believed and hoped where the boldest men saw nothing but storms and whirlpools.