The castle of the prince of Doppelkinn rested in the very heart of the
celebrated vineyards. Like all German castles I ever saw or heard of,
it was a relic of the Middle Ages, with many a crumbling, useless tower
and battlement. It stood on the south side of a rugged hill which was
gashed by a narrow but turbulent stream, in which lurked the rainbow
trout that lured the lazy man from his labors afield. (And who among
us shall cast a stone at the lazy man? Not I!) If you are fortunate
enough to run about Europe next year, as like as not you will be
mailing home the "Doppelkinn" post-card.
More than once I have wandered about the castle's interior, cavernous
and musty, strolled through its galleries of ancient armor, searched
its dungeon-keeps, or loitered to soliloquize in the gloomy judgment
chamber. How time wars upon custom! In olden times they created pain;
now they strive to subdue it.
I might go into a detailed history of the Doppelkinns, only it would be
absurd and unnecessary, since it would be inappreciable under the name
of Doppelkinn, which happens to be, as doubtless you have already
surmised, a name of mine own invention. I could likewise tell you how
the ancient dukes of Barscheit fought off the insidious flattery of
Napoleon, only it is a far interest, and Barscheit is simply a
characteristic, not a name. Some day I may again seek a diplomatic
mission, and what government would have for its representative a teller
of tales out of school?
It was, then, to continue the fortunes and misfortunes of Max
Scharfenstein, close to midnight when the cavalcade crossed the old
moat-bridge, which hadn't moved on its hinges within a hundred years.
They were not entering by the formal way, which was a flower-bedded,
terraced road. It was the rear entrance. The iron doors swung outward
with a plaintive moaning, like that of a man roused out of his sleep,
and Max found himself in an ancient guard-room, now used as a kind of
secondary stable. The men dismounted.
"This way, Herr Ellis," said the colonel, with a mocking bow. He
pointed toward a broad stone staircase.
"All I ask," said Max, "is a fair chance to explain my presence here."
"All in due time. Forward! The prince is waiting, and his temper may
not be as smooth as usual."
With two troopers in front of him and two behind, Max climbed the steps
readily enough. They wouldn't dare kill him, whatever they did. He
tried to imagine himself the hero of some Scott or Dumas tale, with a
grim cardinal somewhere above, and oubliettes and torture chambers
besetting his path. But the absurdity of his imagination, so
thoroughly Americanized, evoked a ringing laughter. The troopers eyed
him curiously. He might laugh later, but it was scarcely probable. A
tramp through a dark corridor and they came to the west wing of the
castle. It was here that the old prince lived, comfortably and
luxuriously enough, you may take my word for it.