strange effects may arise from an over-heated imagination. My wife had never seen Hartenstein until I brought her here as its mistress; and I know that she had never heard any precise description of its localities, as I wished her to be agreeably surprised on her arrival, the castle having been, at a remote period, in the possession of her family: strange to say, the vision presented to her mind everything precisely as she found it. She also pointed out to me a peculiarity in the building unknown to myself, and probably to many of my predecessors.”
“Doubtless,” rejoined Falk, as the baron remained silent; “doubtless, this old stronghold conceals many a wonder of feudal times; I have oft heard tell of subterranean passages where the spirits of monks keep watch over their hidden treasures. Let us hear some of them.”
The baron proceeded: “It appears that each New Year’s-night leads us to the same topic. Well, let it be so—perhaps I had better relate to you as I found it, an old legend discovered amongst some papers in the archives. It is a fact we must all acknowledge, I believe, that our feudal ancestors were distinguished more by their power and ferocity, than by the nobler feelings of human nature. Of this description was Ritter Wolff, who dwelt many centuries back at Hartenstein. He was wealthy, bold, and the terror of his neighbours—consequently overbearing—and his wrath, when his slightest wish was opposed, knew no bounds. It happened that two young men were found poaching in the Ritter’s forests, and were taken prisoners by the huntsmen. Ritter Wolff, according to the custom of the times, ordered them to be confined in the castle dungeon, and at the expiration of a few days to be put to death. The father of the youths, a respectable citizen, tendered a large ransom for them, but in vain; the Ritter was inexorable, and added insult to injury. This was more than human nature could bear, and the unfortunate old man, forgetting the power of his oppressor, gave vent to his feelings in no measured terms. Wolff’s rage was ungovernable. He commanded him to be cast into the deepest dungeon, and for days the Ritter brooded over some extravagant mode of punishment, until at last some wealthy citizens succeeded in ransoming the old man and one of his sons, on account of their handicraft, for they were bell-founders famed far and wide. But the knight gave them their liberty only with this dread restriction, namely, that the father should with his own hand cast a bell whose first sound should summon his imprisoned son to death. The shortest possible time was purposely fixed for its completion, in order that the miserable parent should use every exertion to hasten the last moments of his child. To save the life of one, the wretched father saw himself compelled to cast a death-bell for his firstborn. Even the Ritter’s dependants and vassals were moved to compassion at sight of the old man going about silently with his tools, borne down as he was with a weight of grief and years. They tried to comfort him, and would gladly have assisted him. Many collected all the bits of metal they possessed, that they might be melted down; but the allotted time was so short, that the necessary quantity could not be procured, until several crucifixes sacred to their private devotions were contributed by his poor relations in the town. Amidst tears, and groans, and many an imprecation, the hated work was completed—the fatal bell was cast.
The old man’s fellow-citizens, aided by nearly all the Ritter’s dependants, hazarded one petition more. It was generally believed that Wolff would be satisfied with the father’s sufferings in the prosecution of the work, and not exact the fulfilment of the horrid sentence. But entreaties were of no avail. The bell was suspended in the tower, and no sooner ready than the Ritter commanded it should be tolled for the death of the prisoner. Then it was that the parent’s reason forsook him. Madly raving, he ran to the tower, seized the rope, and himself sounded the knell. His wild cries were heard shrill above the booming tones. He invoked the saints whose images had mingled in that fearful cast to shower vengeance on the oppressor, and then pronounced a curse upon the bell, that henceforth its sound might bring misfortune upon
