The Nameless Castle

by Maurus Jokai

  One evening, after the waning moon had risen, Ludwig’s canoe, as usual, followed Marie, who was swimming a considerable distance ahead. Among the peculiarities of Neusiedl Lake are its numerous islets, the shores of which are thickly grown with rushes, and covered with broom and tall trees. Such an island lay not far from the shore in front of the Nameless Castle; it had frequently aroused Marie’s curiosity.

  The little maid was now permitted to swim as far out into the open world of waves as she desired, only now and again signaling her whereabouts through a clear-toned “Ho, ho!”

  During this time Ludwig reclined in his boat, and while the waves gently rocked him, he gazed dreamily into the depths of the starry sky, and listened to the mysterious voices of the night—the moaning, murmuring, echoing voices floating across the surface of the water.

  Suddenly a piercing scream mingled with the mysterious voices of the night. It was Marie’s voice.

  Frantic with terror, Ludwig seized his oars, and the canoe shot through the water in the direction of the scream.

  The trail of light left behind her by the swimmer was visible on the calm surface of the lake. Suddenly it made an abrupt turn, and began to form a gigantic V. Evidently the little maid was impelled by desperate terror to reach the protecting canoe. When she came abreast of it she uttered a second cry, convulsively grasped the edge of the boat, and cast a terrified glance backward.

  “Marie!” cried the count, greatly alarmed, seizing the girdle about her waist and lifting her into the canoe. “What has happened? Who is following you?”

  The child trembled violently; her teeth chattered, and she gasped for breath, unable to speak; only her large eyes were still fixed with an expression of horror on the water.

  Ludwig looked searchingly around, but could see nothing. And yet, after a few seconds, something rose before him.

  What was it? Man or beast?

  The head, the face, were head and face of a human being—a man, perhaps. The cheeks and head were covered with short reddish hair like the fur of an otter. The long, pointed ears stood upright. The mouth was closed so tightly that the lips were invisible. The nose was flat. The eyes, like those of a fish, were round and staring. There was no expression whatever in the features.

  The mysterious monster had risen quite close to the boat.

  Ludwig seized an oar with both hands to crush the monster’s head; but the heavy blow fell on the water. The creature had vanished underneath the boat, and only the motion of the water on the other side indicated the direction it had taken. Terror and rage had benumbed Ludwig’s nerves.

  What was it? Who had sent this nameless monster after his carefully guarded treasure? Even the bottom of the lake concealed her enemies! He could think of nothing but intrigues and malignant persecutions. Rage boiled in his veins.

  He enveloped the maid in her bath-mantle, and took up his oars.

  “I will come back here tomorrow,” he muttered to himself, “hunt up this creature, and shoot it—be it man or beast.”

  Marie murmured something which sounded like a remonstrance.

  “I will shoot the creature!” repeated Ludwig, savagely.

  The young girl withdrew trembling to the stern of the boat, and said nothing further; she even strove to suppress her nervous terror, like a child that has behaved naughtily.

  When the boat reached the shore, Ludwig bade Marie in a stern voice to make haste and change her bathing-dress, and became very impatient when she lingered longer than usual in the bath-house. Then he took her arm and walked rapidly with her to the castle.

  “Are you really going to shoot that creature?” asked Marie, still trembling.

  “Yes.”

  “But suppose it is a human being?”

  “Then I shall certainly shoot him.”

  “I will never, never again venture into the lake.”

  “I am certain of that! If you once become frightened in the water, you will always have a dread of it.”

  “My dear, beautiful lake!” sighed Marie, casting backward a sorrowful glance at the glittering expanse of water, at the paradise of her dreams, which the rising wind was curling into wavelets.

  “Go at once to bed,” said Ludwig, when he had conducted his charge to the door of her room. “Cover yourself up well, and if you feel chilly I will make you a cup of camomile tea.”

  All children have such a distaste for this herb tea that it was not to be wondered at if Marie declared she did not feel in the least chilly, and that she would go at once to bed.

  But she did not sleep well. She dreamed all night long of the water-monster. She saw it pursuing her. The staring fish-eyes rose before her in the darkness. Then she saw Ludwig with his gun searching for the monster—saw him shoot at it, but without effect. The hideous creature leaped merrily away.

  More than once she awoke from her restless slumber and called softly:

  “Ludwig, are you there?”

  But no one answered the question. Since her last birthday Ludwig had not occupied the lounge in her room. Marie had discovered this. She had placed a rose-leaf on the silken coverlet every evening, and found it still there in the morning. If any one had slept on the lounge, the rose-leaf would have fallen to the floor.

  The following day Ludwig was more silent than usual. He did not speak once during their drive, and ate hardly anything at meals.

  One could easily see how impatiently he waited for evening, when he might go down to the lake and search for the monster—a sorry object for a fury such as his! An otter, most likely, or a beaver—mayhap an abortion of the Dead Sea, which had survived the ages since the days of Sodom! All the same, it was a living creature, and must become food for fishes. Marie, however, prayed so fervently that nothing might come of Ludwig’s fury that Heaven heard the prayer. The weather changed suddenly in the afternoon. A cold west wind succeeded to the warm August sunshine; clouds of dust arose; then came a heavy downpour of rain. Ludwig was obliged to forego his intention to row about on the lake in the evening. He spent the entire evening in his room, leaving Marie to complain to her cats; but they were sleepy, and paid no attention to what she said.

  The little maid had no desire to go to bed; she was afraid she might dream again of horrible things. The heavy rain beat against the windows; thunder rumbled in the distance.

  “I should not like to venture out of the house in such weather,” said Marie to her favorite cat, who was dozing on her knee. “Ugh-h! just think of crossing the lonely court, or going through the dark woods! Ugh-h! how horrible it must be there now! And then, to pass the graveyard at the end of the village! When the lightning flashes, the crosses lift their heads from the darkness—ugh-h!”

  The clock struck eleven; directly afterward there came a hesitating knock at her door.

  “Come in! You may come in!” she called joyfully. She thought it was Ludwig.

  The door opened slowly, only half-way, and the voice which began to speak was not Ludwig’s; it was the groom.

  “Beg pardon, madame!” (thus he addressed the little maid).

  “Is it you, Henry? What do you want? You may come in. I am still up.”

  The groom entered, and closed the door behind him. He was a tall, gray-haired man, with an honest face and enormously large hands.

  “What is it, Henry? Did the count send you?”

  “No, madame; I only wish he were able.”

  “Why? What is the matter with him?”

  “I don’t know, indeed! I believe he is dying.”

  “Who? Ludwig?”

  “Yes, madame; my master.”

  “For God’s sake, tell me what you mean!”

  “He is lying on his bed, quite out of his mind. His face is flushed, his eyes gleam like hot coals, and he is talking wildly. I have never seen him in such a condition.”

  “Oh, heaven! what shall we do?”

  “I don’t know, madame. When any of us gets sick the count knows what to do; but he doesn’t seem able to cure himself no
w; the contents of the medicine-chest are scattered all over the floor.”

  “Is there no doctor in the village?”

  “Yes, madame; the county physician.”

  “Then he must be sent for.”

  “I thought of that, but I did not like to venture to do so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the count has declared that he will shoot me if I attempt to bring a stranger into his room, or into madame’s. He told me I must never admit within the castle gate a doctor, a preacher, or a woman; and I should not think of disobeying him.”

  “But now that he is so ill? and you say he may die? Merciful God! Ludwig die! It cannot—must not—happen!”

  “But how will madame hinder it?”

  “If you will not venture to fetch the doctor, then I will go myself.”

  “Oh, madame! you must not even think of doing this!”

  “I think of nothing else but that he is ill unto death. I am going, and you are coming with me.”

  “Holy Father! The count will kill me if I do that.”

  “And if you don’t do it you will kill the count.”

  “That is true, too, madame.”

  “Then don’t you do anything. I shall do what is necessary. I will put on my veil, and let no one see my face.”

  “But in this storm? Just listen, madame, how it thunders.”

  “I am not afraid of thunder, you stupid Henry. Light a lantern, and arm yourself with a stout cudgel, while I am putting on my pattens. If Ludwig should get angry, I shall be on hand to pacify him. If only the dear Lord will spare his life! Oh, hasten, hasten, my good Henry!”

  “He will shoot me dead; I know it. But let him, in God’s name! I do it at your command, madame. If madame is really determined to go herself for the doctor, then we will take the carriage.”

  “No, indeed! Ludwig would hear the sound of wheels, and know what we were doing. Then he would jump out of bed, run into the court, and take a cold that would certainly be his death. No; we must go on foot, as noiselessly as possible. It is not so very far to the village. Go now, and fetch the lantern.”

  Several minutes afterward, the gates of the Nameless Castle opened, and there came forth a veiled lady, who clung with one hand to the arm of a tall man, and carried a lantern in the other. Her companion held over her, to protect her from the pouring rain, a large red umbrella, and steadied his steps in the slippery mud with a stout walking-stick. The lady walked so rapidly that her companion with difficulty kept pace with her.

  CHAPTER IV

  Dr. Tromfszky had just returned from a visum repertum in a criminal case, and had concluded that he would go to bed so soon as he had finished his supper. The rain fell in torrents on the roof, and rushed through the gutters with a roaring noise.

  “Now just let any one send again for me this night!” he exclaimed, when his housekeeper came to remove the remnants of cheese from the supper-table. “I wouldn’t go—not if the primate himself got a fish-bone fast in his throat; no, not for a hundred ducats. I swear it!”

  At that moment there came a knock at the street door, and a very peremptory one, too.

  “There! didn’t I know some one would take it into his head to let the devil fetch him to-night? Go to the door, Zsuzsa, and tell them that I have a pain in my foot—that I have just applied a poultice, and can’t walk.”

  Frau Zsuzsa, with the kitchen lamp in her hand, waddled into the corridor. After inquiring the second time through the door, “Who is it?” and the one outside had answered: “It is I,” she became convinced, from the musical feminine tone, that it was not the notorious robber, Satan Laczi, who was seeking admittance.

  Then she opened the door a few inches, and said:

  “The Herr Doctor can’t go out any more to-night; he has gone to bed, and is poulticing his foot.”

  The door was open wide enough to admit a delicate feminine hand, which pressed into the housekeeper’s palm a little heap of money. By the light of the lamp Frau Zsuzsa recognized the shining silver coins, and the door was opened its full width.

  When she saw before her the veiled lady she became quite complaisant. Curiosity is a powerful lever.

  “I humbly beg your ladyship to enter.”

  “Please tell the doctor the lady from the Nameless Castle wishes to see him.”

  Frau Zsuzsa placed the lamp on the kitchen table, and left the visitors standing in the middle of the floor.

  “Well, what were you talking about so long out yonder?” demanded the doctor, when she burst into his study.

  “Make haste and put on your coat again; the veiled lady from the Nameless Castle is here.”

  “What? Well, that is an event!” exclaimed the doctor, hurriedly thrusting his arms into the sleeves of his coat. “Is the count with her?”

  “No; the groom accompanied her.”

  These magic words, “the veiled lady,” had more influence on the doctor than any imaginable number of ducats.

  At last he was to behold the mythological appearance—yes, and even hear her voice!

  “Show her ladyship into the guest-chamber, and take a lamp in there,” he ordered, following quickly, after he had adjusted his cravat in front of the looking-glass.

  Then she stood before him—the mysterious woman. Her face was veiled as usual. Behind her stood the groom, with whose appearance every child in the village was familiar.

  “Herr Doctor,” stammered the young girl, so faintly that it was difficult to tell whether it was the voice of a child, a young or an old woman, “I beg that you will come with me at once to the castle; the gentleman is very seriously ill.”

  “Certainly; I am delighted!—that is, I am not delighted to hear of the worshipful gentleman’s illness, but glad that I am fortunate enough to be of service to him. I shall be ready in a few moments.”

  “Oh, pray make haste.”

  “The carriage will take us to the castle in five minutes, your ladyship.”

  “But we did not come in a carriage; we walked.”

  Only now the doctor noticed that the lady’s gown was thickly spattered with mud.

  “What? Came on foot in such weather—all the way from the Nameless Castle? and your ladyship has a carriage and horses?”

  “Cannot you come with us on foot, Herr Doctor?”

  “I should like very much to accompany your ladyship; but really, I have rheumatismus acutus in my foot, and were I to get wet I should certainly have an ischias.”

  Marie lifted her clasped hands in despair to her lips, but the beseeching expression on her face was hidden by the heavy veil. Could the doctor have seen the tearful eyes, the trembling lips!

  Seeing that her voiceless petition was in vain, Marie drew from her bosom a silken purse, and emptied the contents, gold, silver, and copper coins, on the table.

  “Here,” she exclaimed proudly. “I have much more money like this, and will reward you richly if you will come with me.”

  The doctor was amazed. There on the table lay more gold than the whole county could have mustered in these days of paper notes. Truly these people were not to be despised.

  “If only it did not rain so heavily—”

  “I will let you take my umbrella.”

  “Thanks, your ladyship; I have one of my own.”

  “Then let us start at once.”

  “But my foot—it pains dreadfully.”

  “We can easily arrange that. Henry, here, is a very strong man; he will take you on his shoulders, and bring you back from the castle in the carriage.”

  There were no further objections to be offered when Henry, with great willingness, placed his broad shoulders at the doctor’s service.

  The doctor hastily thrust what was necessary into a bag, locked the money Marie had given him in a drawer, bade Frau Zsuzsa remain awake until he returned, and clambered on Henry’s back. In one hand he held his umbrella, in the other the lantern; and thus the little company took their way to the castle—the “double man” in adv
ance, the little maid following with her umbrella.

  The doctor had sufficient cause to be excited. What usurious gossip-interest might be collected from such a capitol! Dr. Tromfszky already had an enviable reputation in the county, but what would it become when it became known that he was physician in ordinary to the Nameless Castle?

  The rain was not falling so heavily when they arrived at the castle.

  Marie and Henry at once conducted the doctor to Ludwig’s chamber. Henry first thrust his head cautiously through the partly open door, then whispered that his master was still tossing deliriously about on the bed; whereupon the doctor summoned courage to enter the room. His first act was to snuff the candle, the wick having become so charred it scarcely gave any light. He could now examine the invalid’s face, which was covered with a burning flush. His eyes rolled wildly. He had not removed his clothes, but had torn them away from his breast.

  “H’m! h’m!” muttered the doctor, searching in his bag for his bloodletting instruments. Then he approached the bed, and laid his fingers on the invalid’s pulse.

  At the touch of his cold hand the patient suddenly sat upright and uttered a cry of terror:

  “Who are you?”

  “I am the doctor—the county physician—Dr. Tromfszky. Pray, Herr Count, let me see your tongue.”

  Instead of his tongue, the count exhibited a powerful fist.

  “What do you want here? Who brought you here?” he demanded.

  “Pray, pray be calm, Herr Count,” soothingly responded the doctor, who was inclined to look upon this aggressive exhibition as a result of the fever. “Allow me to examine your pulse. We have here a slight paroxysm that requires medical aid. Come, let me feel your pulse; one, two—”