We slept in Carden, so as to have the whole day to explore the valley of Elz; and early the following morning we set off over the hills, passing out from the town under one of its little old gateways, several of which still remain.
Coming suddenly on Elz as we gained the top of the mountain above it, the view was very striking; we might have been living in the dead centuries, it looked so perfectly habitable; and yet there was such a quaint look about it, it seemed scarcely real. Soon after we met some of the Count’s people going out with dogs and guns: they were dressed after the fashion of huntsmen whose representatives appear nowadays only in theatres,—at least, so we thought until now.
On reaching the castle, we found it more ruinous than we at first had supposed. On ringing a bell we were admitted, and shown over the rooms, in which are preserved many old pieces of armour, arms, pictures, and furniture; also spoils of the chase.
The shapes of the rooms, and the staircases leading to them, are wonderful: two American artists were hard at work, sketching interiors and old furniture.
We read of a knight, George of Elz, so far back as the tenth century, figuring at a tournament at Magdebourg; and the family holding this castle were always of the highest consideration. But they appear to have been a very turbulent race, and much given to quarrelling amongst themselves, even on some occasions slaying each other; and a family agreement was signed by three of the brothers, who seem to have all resided at Elz, which concluded with the following extraordinary terms:—“He of us who shall during this peace kill either his brother or son (from which God defend us!) shall be forced to quit the house, and neither he nor his heirs shall have any rights over the castle of Elz, unless expiation for such mortal sin shall be made. He of us who shall disable one of the others, or his wife or child, shall quit the house and never return. He of us who shall wound or stab the other, shall be banished the house for a month.”
This wonderful treaty provided that they should assist each other against their common enemies, and they appear to have done so.
Of course, a castle inhabited by such a set of quarrellers is haunted by the ghosts of those murdered; thus Elz is particularly rich in such stories. But, in general, they are only commonplace ghosts,—just ladies knocked into the valley beneath for not kissing an importunate lover, or built into a wall by a jealous husband; or a mournful murderer, who howls through the long winter’s nights in expiation of his crimes here committed. In winter time the occupants must need large fires and a good cask of wine to keep out these troublesome spirits. A better one of these ghosts is a lady, who came by her death in the manner recorded in the following version of