In the dead of night she would go up into an old tower adjoining the merchant's house, and there she would say portions of the Black Mass, offer sacrifice, and thereafter practice witchcraft against the duke. In fact, she had sworn allegiance to Satanas. He never dreamed what she might be about when he was not with her. He rejoiced in his handsome and aristocratic wife. The merchant, a dealer in silks, was respected, a good fellow but not wise. Royal and proud she was, and seething with bitter spite and a hunger for vengeance, and bloody as the duke, had he known it, in her own way.įor her safety and disguise, she had long ago wed a wealthy merchant in the city, and presently bore the man a daughter. Nevertheless, I will tell you at once, there was such a descendant he had missed in his bloody work. Like the prophecy of the clock, it was a subject for the dark. Of course, such matters were not spoken of openly. For though he had meant to rid himself of all that rival house, a single descendant remained, so obscure he had not traced her-for it was a woman. But rumor also declared that the duke had not been sufficiently thorough. He had accomplished the tad slyly, hiring assassins talented with poisons and daggers. Rumor declared that he had systematically destroyed those who had stood in line before him, the members of the princely house that formerly ruled here. It was rumored that the duke had obtained both his title and the city treacherously. Besides, in the duke's court there was much intrigue, while enemies might be supposed to plot beyond the city walls, as happens even in our present age. The Great Plague had come but twenty years before and was not yet forgotten. Now life has always been a chancy business, and it was more so then. It began to be murmured, jokingly by some, by others in earnest, that one night when the clock struck the twelfth hour, Death would truly strike with it. It was thought unlucky, foolhardy, to have such a clock. But the clock, on which the twelfth hour was Death, caused something of a stir. Much was made in the city that was ornamental and unusual. In those years, this city was prosperous, a stronghold-not as you see it today. I will start with what is said of the clock. However, as you have some while to wait for your carriage, I will recount the tale, if you wish. Possibly you have heard the story? No? Oh, but I am certain that you have heard it, in another form, perhaps. But it has not struck for two hundred years. The twelfth figure: do you recognize him? It is Death. And here, notice, the figures grow older as the day declines: a queen and king for the seventh and eighth hours, and after these, and abbess and magician and next to last, a hag. Beginning at the first hour, they are, in this order, a girl-child, a dwarf, a maiden, a youth, a lady and a knight. And as the appropriate hours came level with this golden bell, they would strike it the correct number of times. Each figure represents, you understand, an hour. And the figures, which are of silver, would pass slowly about the circlet of the face. The pedestal is ebony and the face fine porcelain. It was considered exceptional in its day. I thought you might care to examine the clock. Two hundred years since the wonderful clock struck for the very last time. Two hundred years, now, since anyone danced in this place on the sea-green floor in the candle gleam. And the velvet curtains-touch them, they will crumble. The vivid frescoes, on the faces of the painted goddesses look gray. The slender columns of white marble and the slender columns of rose-red marble are woven together by cobwebs. Yes, the great ballroom is filled only with dust now.
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