And amidst these
characteristic surroundings sat an ugly dwarf on the top of his ladder,
with a red-edged volume upon his bony knees, his head half-buried in a
rough fur cap, small grey eyes, wide misshapen mouth, humps on back and
shoulders, a most uninviting object, the familiar spirit--the rat,
as Sperver would have it--of this last refuge of all the learning
belonging to the princely race of Nideck.
But a truly historical importance belonged to this chamber in the long
series of family portraits, filling almost entirely one side of the
ancient library. All were there, men and women; from Hugh the Wolf to
Yeri-Hans, the present owner; from the first rough daub of barbarous
times to the perfect work of the best modern painters.
My attention was naturally drawn in that direction.
Hugh I., a bald-headed figure, seemed to glare upon you like a wolf
stealing upon you round the corner of a wood. His grey bloodshot eyes,
his red beard, and his large hairy ears gave him a fearful and ferocious
aspect.
Next to him, like the lamb next to the wolf, was the portrait of a lady
of youthful years, with gentle blue eyes, hands crossed on the breast
over a book of devotions, and tresses of fair long silky hair encircling
her sweet countenance with a glorious golden aureola.
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