Originally published in Terrific Register (Sherwood, Jones, and Co.; 1825) vol.2.
On a steep mountain, on the Rhine surrounded by extensive woods, is situated an ancient castle, long the residence of the counts of Dachau. There lived, with an aged and venerable mother, the last descendant of that illustrious family.
The counts of Walfarhausen were their near relations; and the vicinity of their mansion facilitating their mutual intercourse, paved the way for a still more strict alliance. young countess, their sister, was promised in marriage to the count of Dachau, with a very rich dowry.
The most magnificent preparations were made to celebrate the nuptials in the festival of Christmas. All the noble chevaliers and ladies of the adjacent country were invited to the ceremony. To the esquires and pages were given new liveries, upon which were embroidered the arms of the two families.
The preparations being completed the count of Dachau, in his nuptial dress, accompanied by his attendants, descended into the valley at the foot of the mountain, to meet his future consort; but the slow progress of his train ill-suiting hie youthful ardour and impatience, the chevalier set spurs to his noble courses, and was soon so far advanced into the wood, that it was not possible for his attendants to hear his voice.
On a sudden, he is attacked by a troop of robbers, and, after some useless efforts, is disarmed, and wounded. In vain he offers whatever he had to save his life. Deaf to all his prayers, the cruel robbers complete their crime, strip him of his rich dress and costly jewels, and divide the spoil among them. An emerald ring, the first pledge which he had received from his mistress, when she promised to be his bride, not being easy to be taken from hhs finger, the barbarians cut off his hand: then covering the corpse with some earth, they fly with precipitation, taking with them the horse of the unfortunate chevalier.
In the mean time, the intended bride, accompanied by her two brothers, and followed by a splendid cavalcade, arrives at the castle, where a numerous company are assembled. Mutual congratulations pass on the auspicious occasion of their meeting. The mother alone, melancholy and uneasy at not seeing her son, expects him with impatience, She sends the esquires and pages to seek for him. A little dog of the cavalier's runs after them, scenting every bush, as if in anxious search for his master.
The supper is served up in the great ball. The chevaliers and ladies take their places at the table. But nor gaiety nor cheerfulness is there: a melancholy silence and melancholy looks bespeak the sad presentiments that pervade every bosom.
The bride cannot retain her sighs: her bosom heaves with unutterable anguish: her necklace bursts: the pearls roll upon the table. At these ominous signs, the terrified guests rise from their seats—the covers are all removed--they wait, in dreadful suspense, the arrival of the chevalier. A boisterous wind shakes the lofty firs that crown the mountain, and roar through all the courts of the castle. Whirlwinds of snow rush from the rock into the valley. At length, the storm ceases; the clouds disperse; arid the pale moon appears. They hear—they hear the funeral scream of the nocturnal birds.
The young countess conceals her beautiful face. Adieu for ever now to joy and peace! The sound of a horn is heard: the drawbridge is lowered, and admits the esquires and pages, who precipitately enter, as if pursued by the phantoms of night. All the company anxiously approach the lady dowager and her intended daughter-in-law, who internally addressing their vows to heaven, await in silent consternation the dreadful news, when a mournful and plaintive cry attracts their attention to the door. They behold the little dog who, running to the mother of his master, drops at her feet something bloody, which be licks with a piteous moan. Alas! it was the hand the assassins had cut off, and dropped in their flight. The mother—the bride—perceive the emerald ring, and sink senseless on the floor.
At this sight, the chevaliers all take to arms, and, followed by the domestics of the castle, enter the wood, and traverse it on every side. The faithful dog runs before them, incessantly moaning. He traces the footsteps of his master. They wander thus about an hour, when be stops at a heap of earth, which he endeavours to scratch up, still piteously moaning. They dig the earth, which appears recently laid; and they discover the naked and mangled body of count de Dachau. The chevaliers take off their mantles, and wrap it decently in them. They place it on one of their horses: then taking the plumes from their hats; and the esquires and pages too tearing from their clothes the ribbands and other ornaments of the day, they sorrowfully resume their road to the castle. Not a voice is heard—net a sound to interrupt the silence of the melancholy procession.
The company that had seen the nuptial train of the late happy bride, now behold from the lofty towers of the castle the funeral cavalcade approach. The priests descend to the foot of the mountain, to receive with due solemnity, the body of their lord. He is interred in the vaults of the church in which his ancestors repose; and with him is extinct the ancient family of Dachau.
So vanished all the honours of ancestry! So fled the brightest terrestrial prospects! To the childless mother, and the widowed bride, all an earth is now desolate and dreary. Grief long holds her melancholy sway. Piety at length prevails; and Faith points to those celestial scenes, where suffering goodness will at length be happy. Wrapped in mourning, and prostrate at the foot of the altar, they made a solemn vow to renounce the world for ever; and to devote their whole estate to the founding of an monastery of the order of St. Benedict, in which prayers might be offered up, night and day, for the repose of his soul, who was so beloved in life, and lamented in death.
Pursued by divine vengeance, the robbers did not long escape the hands of justice: they were all taken, and conducted to the prisons of Dachau, where they soon met the punishment that was due to the enormity of their guilt.
The counts palatine of Bavaria, to whom the fief reverted, erected a chapel on the spot where the murder was committed. It is still existing; and may be seen from the road which leads to the castle of Dachau.