Agnes Castle and Egerton Castle

“ Do you hear the birds—that is your last night's thrush at the top of the larch-tree; he is singing under his breath now, watching the horizon; he will shout when the sun leaps up. Do you hear the humming of the bees?—there is thyme in mother Friedel's garden—and that is the sharp tinkle of the brook over the stones—eh, my soul, what a symphony! ... The breath of the forest, do you feel it, cool and living? ”

“ Between the edge of the road and the forest margin ran a noisy stream. A thrush sang on the topmost branch of a fir-tree. But he on the milestone was blind to the gold of the valley, deaf to the gold of the song. "Now here's a pretty kettle of fish!" was all his thought.
To have been stuck a whole hour upon a stone, with a postilion ranging the country on horseback in one direction, and a valet a-foot in the other, and no help as yet forthcoming, not to have had himself within hail, all those weary minutes, one single human being ...! ”

“ But if he had an eye to a pretty girl, the Inspector seemed to have also an ear for a poacher. The distant crack of some shots, reverberating from the forest, now made him start and listen acutely. But as Friedel, with a frowning countenance, made a lurch for his gun in the corner, Mr. Meyer smiled and restrained him. Then he himself went to the door, set it ajar and hearkened. His smile widened as he closed it again and returned to the table.
"Doubtless he has plans of his own for trapping the poor wretches," thought Steven. ”

“ He drew back haughtily.
"Diavolo!" cried Fiddle-Hans, "how my fingers itch for the strings! But, never mind—you shall lose nothing by waiting. Gemini! mother, as I live, venison stew! What feasts you make in your forest-house!
"My son is hungry when he comes home of nights—and so are his lads. My little love, will you sit and entertain the gentlemen?"
Sidonia, pouting, drew her chair with great clatter round by that of Geigel-Onkel, and turned a shoulder on the Count, who thus remained isolated—as became his rank. The fiddler drank to her; she filled his glass again. ”

“ Emerging from the folds of her cloak, she displayed a clinging robe of pale blue, fastened under the bust by a belt of amethysts set in gold. She had an exquisite roundness of form, an open, smiling mouth. Her eyes were innocent and dark and deep. She was (Steven felt) a revelation. And withal, what a great lady! What an air of breeding! what elegance! An Austrian gentleman knows the value of jewels—Heavens, what rings on her fingers! what pearls in her ears!
"Ah Dio mio!" she cried, "but I am hungry!"
Italian, then. 'Twas a strange meeting of nationalities in the German forest-corner. ”

“ And now watch, behold how the forest is lit up as with inner green fire! Dark and colourless stand the trees nearest to us. Look within, how the flame grows, how it spreads, live gold, live emerald! And see there—O, the scarlet on those fir trunks! The sun has risen! ..."
The fiddler stopped speaking. Looking back upon it, Steven afterwards wondered if he had spoken at all, or had only made his thoughts felt. ”

“ Take up your florin and begone—or, stay, earn another by telling me if you can where I am, and how far lies the nearest village?"
"Sir," replied the other urbanely, "fellow-travellers should assist each other without any sordid consideration. (Ah, had you offered me of your youth, now!) We are, an it please you, just between the border of that old, steady-going principality of Schwarzburg and the new-fangled, patchwork kingdom which appertaineth to His Majesty King Jerome—himself the crowning product of the Great Revolution!"
"Faugh!" said the gentleman.
The fiddler's restless eye lighted. ”

“ Steven wrenched himself free. Yet a man has not sober English blood for nothing. Humiliating as was the position, a moment's reflection convinced him that resistance would but render him more ridiculous still, and that in the light of those dark eyes.
"Lead, then, fellow," said he to Friedel, and, after bowing low to the lady, followed his escort with what dignity he could muster towards the door opening on the forest. ”

“ The fiddler's smile grew broader. "Youth," whispered he to his violin, "may abjure itself, but it will out. The stripling has spirit, though it be but the spirit of scorn.. ... But the ceremony is not complete," pursued he. "I have now to return your compliment. Above all, let us be polite. Here, then, comrade, you see before you an individual known all over the country as the Crazy Musician, sometimes more tersely as Geigel-Hans—in your English, Fiddle-John. Some call me the Scholar Vagabond, and some—the children, bless them!—Onkel. Like your own, my nationality is a matter of indecision. ”

“ And then, if you push behind, this forgiving beast will do his best to draw your goods into safety."
But it was the musician who mended the wheel, while the traveller watched in wonder the work of the brown hands. And then, in the falling dusk, they set upon their slow way: Steven Lee, Count zu Waldorf-Kilmansegg, pushing at the wheel even as bid, the fiddler marching ahead with the reins slung over his arm and humming a chacone under his breath.
From the stones and dust of the high-road he led the way along a wide path that seemed to cut the forest in two and run downhill into the horizon. ”

“ A song of the nodding grass and the bird in the hedge, of the dancing leaf, the circling lark, the wide, kind skies. O, the road is full of gay things and tender things, of sweetness and refreshment, of wholesome fatigue and glorious sleep, for those that know its secrets! ”

“ A cock crew in the forest farmyard. A thrush was singing somewhere amid a babel of chirping birds. The breeze, balsam-scented, flew straight in from the pines and fanned Steven's head and throat. He lifted his hand to his open shirt and looked inquiringly at the musician. ”

“ The girl started to the old woman's side and stood, flushed and downcast, while the forest-mother beat her omelet with a grave countenance. Neither of them looked at the fiddler. Steven, who had stared, suddenly dropped his glance, too, ashamed and uncomfortable.
Fiddle-Hans got up from his seat: "I can eat no more to-night," he said in a broken voice. He walked over to the bench where ho had left his fiddle and, hugging it, went out into the forest.
"Have you ever seen him like that before?" whispered Sidonia of Mistress Friedel. ”

“ The fiddler lifted a sweet, worn voice, while his bow danced lightly on the strings and chanted to the absurd lilt—
"Nous allons chercher un royaume cbrrehcr im mvaimic
Pour not' p'tit frère Jérome. ...
"'Twas the song of the soldiers before Jena," he explained. "Sapristi! a taking ragamuffin tune! When our friends last night heard it, comrade, they took to their heels."
And as Steven stared with ever-increased wonder, Fiddle-Hans proceeded in his mocking voice:
"The wicked flee when none pursueth. If there is one person the little King is frightened of, 'tis the great Emperor. ”