in Prague a young man by name George Schmid, a rumbustious wildling youth, but brave and alert beside; he possessed a great liking for the chase, and joined our party as often as he was able. He would have made himself an expert hunter, had he not been too hasty, and shot too often at random. Once when we went out together, he loudly asserted that he would soon prove a better hunter than any of us, and that no game should escape him either in the field, or the air. He gave utter- ance then to an evil word. A few days afterwards a strange huntsman rapped betimes at our door, telling us that George lay in the street with- out, helpless and half dead. We lads made for the spot forthwith: there lay George all bleeding and mangled, as though he had been torn by wild cats, nor could he speak, being senseless and scarcely alive. We bore him gently into the house, and one of us took the news into Prague, whence he was immediately sent for. There, previous to his death, he related how that he would have cast free-bullets which never fail, with an old mountaineer; and that whiles about it, the Devil had so roughly handled him, he must pay the penalty with his life.”
“What happened to him?”—enquired Wilhelm trembling—“has then the Devil aught with such arts to do?”
“Who else?”-—replied the Forester—“I know that many prate a jargon about ‘natural science’ and ‘propitious stars’; but I stick to mine opinion thereupon, such things are devilry.” ‘Wilhelm began to breathe more freely. “Did George never relate what had misused him so?” asked he of the Forester.
“Freely”—replied the other—“and to the ears of Justice. He had gone with the mountaineer to a cross-road at midnight; there they made a circle with a bloody sword, and laid skulls and cross-bones around it. Then had the mountaineer instructed Schmid, what he was to do. He was to begin directly the clock struck eleven, to cast the bullets, no more and no less than three and sixty, one over or under this number ere the clock chimed midnight, and he was lost; also, it were fatal to him to utter one word during his work, or to step out of the circle. Sixty of these bullets would be then infallible, and three only would fail. Schmid had now applied himself vigorously to cast, but, as he said, such terrific and monstrous apparitions appeared, that at last he shrieked aloud, and sprang out of the circle; whereupon he fell senseless to the earth, and knew no more till he found himself in Prague under the Doctor’s hands, and speaking to living persons; all had appeared as ‘twere a dream.”
“God defend every Christian from such snares of Satan”—said the Forester’s wife, and crossed herstlf.
“Had George entered in a compact with the Fiend as well?”—en- quired Rudolf further.
“I will not attest that for certain”—‘answered the Forester—“though so ‘tis said, / cannot certify it. ‘Tis evil crime enough when a man can so far sin as to invoke the aid of One whose presence must be destruction to both body and soul. The Evil One conies oft enough uncalled, nor needeth any compact. An honest hunter wants no more (as ye have proven, Wilhelm) than a good barrel and good skill to boot—they give the hunter free-bullets, and help him hit whate’er he will. For no price would I use such ball, the Devil is a crafty knave, and could turn to his own bad aim, as well as mine.”
CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.
The Forester retired to his rest, and left Wilhelm in the most painful disquietude of mind. He tossed restlessly abo^t his bed, and sleep had fled from his eyelids. The.soldier with the wooden-leg, George, Kate, the royal Coinmissionary who should preside at the Trial- shot, flitted before his vision, and his feverish fancy grouped their images into fearful tableaux. Here, the bleeding image of the miserable invoker of spirits warned him, this phantom soon resolved itself into an appearance of Kate pale and lifeless; then the Wooden-leg stood before him with a mocking hellish laughter. Now he found himself at the Trial-shot before the
royal Commissary; he aimed, fired, and failed! Kate sank fainting
to the earth, her father repulsed him, then came he of the wooden- leg and offering fresh bullets—too late; no second shot was permitted him.
So passed the night. With the early morning he entered the forest, and sought the place where he had encountered the old soldier. The fresh bright morning-air had cleared from his spirit the dark shadows of the preceding evening. “Fool”—said he to himself—“whiles thou provest not not this wondrous secret, a secret must it still remain. And is the what I seek unnatural, that Spirit’s help is needful thereunto? Man lays a rein upon his beast, and so constrains him to his master’s will; wherefore by natural art should he not rule the dead metal in the barrel, that through him hath received its substance and its shape? Nature is so rich in miracles, the which have ne’er been sifted j should I then trifle with my happiness, succumbing to prejudice. I will not invoke Spirits, but use me Nature and her inborn strength; and wherefore am I not qualified to learn her secrets? I seek the Wooden-leg and find him not,—I have a holier courage than this George; Presumption urged him on; Love and Honor bid me.”
However he of the wooden -leg was not to be found, though Wilhelm sought him with such earnestness. None, of all that he at costed, had seen any one answering to his description.
The following day was passed in as fruitless a search.
“So be it then”—concluded Wilhelm—“my days are numbered. This very night I hie me to the cross-road in the Forest; ‘tis lonely there, no one will see my labour by the night, nor will I quit the circle till my work’s completed quite.”
CHAPTER THE NINTH.
Twilight darkened, and Wilhelm had prepared himself lead, a bullet - mould, coals, and other necessaries, so that he could steal at even, unno- ticed from the house. He wished to be off, and bade the old Forester a “good night” as he clasped his hand.
“Wilhelm”—spake he—“I know not why, but a fear I never before experienced has come over me this night. If you would do me a service, pass it with me you yourself must not give way to sorrow thus, in case mishap result therefrom.”
Kate profferred her request that she might watch by her father, and would give up the charge to no other hands, not even into those of her beloved Wilhelm; but Bertram waved her to desist. “Another time, and you can watch”—said he—“now, shall I be more tranquil having Wilhelm with me.”
Wilhelm would gladly have made an excuse, but Kate urged on him the guardianship of her father so pressingly, and with such entreaties not to be withstood, that he willingly remained and postponed his pro- ject for another night.
After midnight, Father Bertram became tranquil and slept sound; so that in the morning he laughed at his fears. He wished to accompany Wilhelm to the forest, but the latter hoped to meet with the stranger, and warned the Forester to pay greater attention to his health. The soldier appeared not, Wilhelm therefore determined a second time to betake himself to the cross-road.
When he returned that evening from the chase, Kate ran smiling towards him. “Only guess, Wilhelm”—she cried—“whom you will find here. Visitors are come for you, right dear friends; but I will not tell you who, you must guess.”
Wilhelm was not disposed either for guessing, or seeing visitors; his sweetheart at this moment was a trouble to him. He checked Kate’s joy by his dejection, and was seeking for an excuse to return^ when the door of the house opened and the moon shewed him a venerable old man in a hunter’s dress, advancing towards him with outstretched arms.
“Wilhelm!” cried a well-known, friendly voice, and the lad found himself in the embraces of his uncle.
The bright remembrances of childhood’s love, joy, and gratitude, broke forth in the heart of Wilhelm, the deed of darkness was forgotten ‘till in the midst of their pleasant chat the midnight-hour struck, and Wilhelm remembered with a shudder his neglect.
“But one more night remains”—thought he to himself—“to-morrow or never!”—his agitation did not escape the old man, who good-naturedly saw good ground for Wilhelm’s being a little distraught, and he blamed the having continued a conversation so late into the night, which could as well have come off next morning. “Do not repent the lateness of the
