Tales of terror
I leave others to solve the mystery.
It was not a matter for surprise that Mrs. Dirckman should have been
deeply affected by the terrible discovery, and she declared to her
husband that if she were to remain at the castle she would either go
mad or die. And so poor Dick, who was devoted to his charming little
wife, got out as soon as he could, and once more Bleak Hill Castle
fell into neglect and ultimate ruin, until at last it was razed to the
ground and modern buildings reared on its site. As for myself, that
night of horror I endured under Dick’s roof affected me to such an
extent that my hair became prematurely grey, and even now, when I think
of the agony I endured, I shudder with an indefinable sense of fear.
XII
THE ASTROLOGER
The Black Forest is rich in story and tradition of a weird and
thrilling kind, but nothing can excel in ghastly horror that which is
told of the sole heir of the once illustrious family of Di Venoni. For
generations this family had held tyrannical sway over the district.
Their power was tremendous; their word was law; they ruled with a hand
of iron, and the peasants were their slaves. They were exceedingly
wealthy. Their men were said to be brave, their women beautiful. But,
as seems to be the fate of all powerful families sooner or later,
they began to decay. The fatuous habit of intermarrying produced the
usual result, and the curse of insanity fell upon them. Many were the
tragedies that this led to; and the time came at last when there was
but one sole remaining male representative. This was a youth, handsome
and well proportioned, but of eccentric habits, and occasionally
displaying those fatal signs which were only too well known.
Nevertheless, it was believed that Reginald Di Venoni might escape the
curse. The best medical advice was sought, and the opinion was that the
chances were strongly in his favour, and he would escape.
Reginald was brought up under the care of his mother, who had been
left a widow for some years. She was a haughty, austere, proud, and
disdainful lady, who guarded her son with peculiar jealousy; for on
him, as she knew, depended the existence of her house. If he failed,
then indeed the power of the Di Venonis would be gone, and the family
would crumble to decay.
The lady and her son lived in a large castle, which for generations had
been the Di Venonis’ stronghold, and had withstood and repelled many a
determined attack. It was a gloomy pile, distinguished for its strength
rather than its beauty, although internally much had been done for
the comfort of the occupants. The castle was situated in Suabia, just
on the borders of the forest. It stood on elevated ground, and anyone
standing on the turrets commanded an immense panorama of great beauty.
At some little distance rose the ruins of the once powerful castle of
Rudstein. This had originally been the home of the Di Venonis; but an
evil genius seemed to enter into it, and for two or three generations
such ill-luck attended the family that they decided to desert their
ancestral home. It was unroofed, and left to wind and weather and the
evil things that haunt the great forest. One tower was left standing
only, as a sort of landmark. In the meantime the new castle had risen,
and here the family installed themselves. Here many of them paid the
debt of nature, and here the last male representative was born. Here in
lonely grandeur the widowed mother lived, surrounded by a retinue of
servants and retainers, and having for companion her one sister--a much
younger woman, of great beauty and lively disposition. She was known
as the Lady Hilda, and it was said that she and her sister were by no
means always in accord. She protested against the gloomy surroundings
in which the scion of the noble house was being brought up, and she
urged Madame Di Venoni to keep more company, and relieve the castle, if
possible, of the air of brooding melancholy which seemed to envelope
it. But madame had her own notions. She wanted to mould her son after
her own fashion. She was afraid of exposing him to evil influences. She
would not depart from the traditions of her race.
One day, when Reginald was about six years of age, a traveller came
to the castle and begged for hospitality. It had been a terrible
day--wild, stormy, and wet. The traveller was a mysterious looking
man, who seemed to have travelled far on foot, and was weary, wet, and
hungry. He was a foreigner, and spoke but little German. He was invited
into the servants’ great hall, where food and drink were set before
him, and as night approached he was conducted to a chamber situated on
the top of a tower. That night a very violent storm, which had been
threatening all day, burst over the country and did enormous damage.
The thunder was terrific; the lightning incessant; the rain descended
in a deluge. During the time that the storm was at its height a female
servant, happening to glance from her window, which commanded a full
view of the tower where the traveller was lodged, averred that she saw
him walking about on the flat roof of the tower, and exposed to the
full fury of the storm. She declared that he had more the appearance
of a fiend than a man; that occasionally he broke into wild eldritch
laughter, and ever and anon raised his hands aloft, as if daring the
heavens and defying the lightning.
Frightened almost into a fit, and yet fascinated, the woman watched him
for some time, and at last saw him conversing with the arch enemy of
man himself. The following morning the servant hurried to her mistress,
and told her this silly story, the outcome of ignorance, superstition,
and fear; and she insisted that the traveller who had been entertained
and lodged in the castle was an evil being, who held converse with the
devil, and that unless he were put to death some terrible calamity
would result from his visit.
The lady, who was only a degree or two less superstitious than
the menial, was much impressed, for she lived in a district where
superstition was very rife. People travelled very little in those days,
and credence was given to the wildest and most outrageous stories;
while a belief in the power of certain persons to hold communication
with Satan was very common, especially in the Black Forest district.
Indeed, even at the present day, when railways and telegraphs encircle
the globe, natives of some of the remote districts in the forest
still cling to this belief, and have all sorts of charms to protect
themselves against the malignant influences of witches, warlocks, and
forest demons.
Madame Di Venoni, having listened to the wild and weird story of the
servant, summoned her major domo, and bade him bring the stranger to
her. This was done, and when the stranger was ushered into her presence
he bowed low and reverentially to the mistress of the castle, who,
however, regarded him with something like awe, for truly enough he was
a striking and remarkable man, and calculated to unfavourably impress
anyone who was superstitious. He had a dark, swarthy face. His eyes
were intensely black and piercing, his hair like jet.
‘Whence come you?’ demanded the lady, imperiously.
‘From Rhenish Prussia,’ answered the man proudly, and drawing himself
up as if by gesture he would resent the manner in which she addressed
him.
‘And whither go you?’
‘To Russia.’
‘With what object?’
‘In search of knowledge.’
Madame was incensed by his proud air, and eyeing him suspiciously, said:
‘Unless I am mistaken, you are a man of evil nature, and in
communication with the enemies of the human race.’
The man laughed.
‘No, madame,’ he answered, ‘unless the stars that shine so gloriously
in the heavens above are enemies of the human race, for it is from the
stars I derive my knowledge.’
This apparently mysterious answer appalled the lady, for she felt no
doubt now that the man was a fiend, and she was about to summon her
attendants and have him expelled when her little son burst into the
room, followed by his aunt. The child was laughing merrily, and had
come to show his mother some grotesque heads he had been drawing on a
sheet of paper. But, catching sight of the stranger, he was instantly
silenced and clung to his aunt’s skirts, while the Lady Hilda regarded
the man with intense interest.
‘Is that your son?’ he asked.
‘No,’ answered Lady Hilda, ‘I am a single woman. He is the son of my
sister there, the Lady Di Venoni.’
The man turned to madame, and speaking in a strange, far-away voice,
and as if inspired by some strange prophetic instinct, he said:
‘That boy is the hope and prop of your race. But have a care, have a
care, for a curse is upon him. Take him from this gloomy dwelling.
Show him the bright and fair scenes of the earth. Teach him charity
and tolerance. Strengthen his body and broaden his mind, and watch his
footsteps lest he stray. His life hangs by a thread only.’
Madame was horrified. She no longer doubted that this audacious
stranger was an evil thing whose death would be a benefit to all
men. As she caught her son up in her arms she screamed, and when her
attendants rushed in she ordered them to beat the stranger and set the
dogs upon him. Folding his arms he stood like a rock, and gazed at her
with scorn and defiance. But he was dragged from the apartment and
roughly hurried down the great stairs to the courtyard, where a call
was made to let the dogs loose, but at that instant the Lady Hilda
appeared upon the scene, and interposed to save the stranger from the
fury and violence of the menials. She peremptorily ordered them to
release him, and when that was done she bade him depart at once, saying:
‘Your safety, your life, depends upon the speed with which you leave
this castle behind you. You have spoken well and truly, and your advice
is the advice of a wise man; but ignorance and tradition are powerful
factors; they are difficult to counteract.’
The man bent his knee, and taking Lady Hilda’s hand, kissed it
gracefully, saying:
‘I thank you, lady, and do not doubt that this generous act of yours
will go unrewarded; but, I pray you let me have a word with you out of
earshot of these human wolves, who seem panting to rend me to pieces.’
Unmindful of the angry looks darted at her, and the menacing attitude
of the menials, she retired for a moment or two to a corner of the
courtyard with the stranger, who, availing himself of the opportunity,
said:
‘Have you the courage to meet me alone in the forest, in order that I
may give you some information?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Meet me, then, to-night at the tower of the ruins of Rudstein,
as the moon rises. No harm shall befall you, but good will come out of
it.’
She pledged herself to meet him. Then she ordered the gates to be
thrown open, and the man departed, followed by the jeers and taunts
of the people. Lady Hilda turned furiously upon them and upbraided
them for their cowardice in attacking a defenceless man. She was not a
favourite with them, but she had power, and they were silenced.
That night, as the moon was rising, Lady Hilda slipped out of the
castle by a secret door, and hastily made her way to the ruins of
Rudstein, where the stranger was waiting for her. For two hours they
talked together, and, loving her nephew as she did, she anxiously
inquired about his future.
‘His hope lies in separating him from his mother,’ said the stranger.
‘It may seem unnatural and cruel, but she is too strongly influenced
in the traditions of her race to see that the boy’s welfare depends on
every means being taken to save him from the curse of his ancestors.’
‘But how know you all this?’ she answered, somewhat awed, and yet
recognising the soundness of his advice.
‘I read it in the stars,’ he answered mysteriously. ‘They are wondrous