German stories :

pjtf S 3 z

GERMAN STORIES.

GERMAN STORIES:

SELECTED FROM THE WORKS OF
HOFFMANN, DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE'., PICHLER,
KRUSE, AND OTHERS.

By R. P. GILLIES, Esq.

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH :
AND T. CADELL, STRAND, LONDON.
' MDCCCXXVI.

Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2014

https://archive.org/details/germanstories121gill

INTRODUCTION.

To the following translations a preface is, indeed,
scarcely requisite. There is little more to ob-
serve, than that they form but a small portion of
a series, long since accumulated on the Transla-
tor's shelves, from which specimens, (mostly in
verse,) appeared occasionally in Blackwood's Ma-
gazine,* and that they are now printed in con-
sequence of that increasing interest which seems
lately to have been excited in favour of German
stories.

Not only have such publications been already
received with approbation, but several others are
announced as in the press, for which change, our

VOL. I.

* Horse Germanicae.
b

vi INTRODUCTION.

extended intercourse with the Continent is one
obvious reason. Critics, who before talked glibly
of the German school, (as if there were but o?ie,)
begin to perceive, that in this neglected language,
which hitherto rarely formed a branch of what is
called liberal education, every possible variety of
composition and style may be discovered. Such
prejudices being cleared away, versions, therefore,
of minor German novels, without alteration, may
prove acceptable now, as those from Italian sour-
ces were popular and current two centuries ago.

The first narrative in this collection, " Made-
moiselle de Scuderi," is one of the few examples
afforded by Hoffmann of a plain historical style,
in opposition to the wildness and bizarrerie in
which he usually indulged. The repulsive crimes
of Brinvilliers are well known ; but probably Car-
dillac's character is altogether of his own inven-
tion ; and it is so well supported, that, as a good
story may bear to be twice told, there is the less

INTRODUCTION. vii

reason to regret an accidental collision in this
instance between the present writer, and the au-
thor of several spirited translations which came
out at Glasgow some time after the first of these
volumes had gone to press. For the rest, it is
believed that they are as yet wholly new to the
English public.

" Scharfenstein Castle," is by the Baroness de
la Motte Fouque, whose story of the " Cypress
Wreath" appeared in Blackwood's Magazine for
1819, and was not only reprinted in other perio-
dicals, but converted into a popular tract, and
circulated over England. " Rolandsitten," (ano-
ther of Hoffmann's,) though it seems to have
been very hastily written, contains an exuberance
of plot, from which, if the materials were subject-
ed to a process of remodelling, three separate dra-
mas or tales might be constructed

"George Selding," had the scene been changed

viii INTRODUCTION.

to England or Scotland, might (in good hands)
have made an excellent sketch of domestic life,
after the manner of Miss Edgeworth — or rather,
perhaps, that of the author of 44 Lights and Sha-
dows."

The 44 Siege of Antwerp," here but a rough
outline, is yet admirably conceived, and might
supply the ground-work for a historical novel in
three volumes.

4 4 Wallburga's Night" is a pretty fair specimen
of supernatural or fairy legend ; while 44 Oath and
Conscience," — and the 44 Crystal Dagger" by Pro-
fessor Kruse of Copenhagen, though but minor
productions of his pen, prove his ingenuity in
the contrivance of mysterious and intricate plot.

The 44 Spectre Bride" and the " Sisters" are
among those numberless ghost stories, of which
the late M. G. Lewis has been the only success-

INTRODUCTION. IX

f'ul adaptor j and the sketch entitled the " Warn-
ing," is from a " Ghost-book" published at Kud-
dolstadt in 1817, where the narratives are, for the
most part, founded on real events.

After these brief notices, the translator feels
aware that any remarks he should wish to add
might be interpreted, however erroneously, into
censure instead of approval — not only of these
volumes, but of other versions which have been
published, or are likely to appear from the same
language. This, of course, would be absurd and
irrevelant, — nor is it his intention to offef any
such opinions. But, that German authors, if an-
glicized, not as on the present and on other occa-
sions, by the mere process of translation, but sub-
jected to that of a remaniement or refacimento,
will prove infinitely more acceptable than they
have ever yet been to the British public, he is
thoroughly convinced. On this principle, alone

were various scenes in his dramatic specimens
b2.

\ INTRODUCTION.

rendered in the estimation of most readers effec-
tive, and it is on this principle only, (though it
has at present been laid aside) that he intends to
renew these employments with regard to foreign
literature, which have been long interrupted by
other avocations.

It is, indeed, scarcely possible to imagine two
civilized countries, between which there is found
a more striking difference in regard to language
and moods of mind, than that which exists be-
tween Germany and modern England. If we re-
turn to the period from the reign of Elizabeth
to that of Charles I., however, many points of
resemblance are discovered. Even the language of
England was then more plastic, — there were dar-
ing spirits who made trials of its power, — theatri-
cal authors, (as for the last ten years in Germany,)
especially flourished, — and to such members of
the Roxburgh or Bannatyne club as have been
in the habit of reading, not Black-Letter books

INTRODUCTION. xi

alone, but the prose and verse generally of our
early times, even literal translations from the
stores of a Leipsig circulating library might ap-
pear familiar and congenial.

Doubtless, it must be allowed that our ideas,
and to a certain extent our emotions, depend on
the language in which they are to be conceived
and embodied ; and while in Great Britain one
might almost say that intellectual energies are re-
strained by the strict conventional forms in which
they are to be expressed, — in Germany, every
nuance of thought can at once be seized and com-
municated ; in proof of which, it is only necessary
to observe, that many passages in Shakespeare,
which excite doubts even in an English commen-
tator, are rendered by Voss and Schlegel clear and
effective. Still better examples are afforded by
the versions of Homer, Sophocles, and Eschylus,
proving that the most difficult Greek may be
transfused faithfully into a modern tongue. Cal-

Xii INTRODUCTION.

deron too, and portions of Lope de Vega, whose
works might resist the best efforts of an English
artist, have been revived and brought out with
perfect similitude and facility.

Such desultory remarks may be thought irrele-
vant in a preface to three little volumes, selected
from the works of minor novelists ; nor, though
the language be rich and flexible, will it follow
that such authors should always take advantage
of the power thus afforded them. German read-
ers are, in fact, very easily excited, and in their
popular romances, while incident and character
are by no means wanting, yet these are seldom or
never brought forward in that style of alto relievo
which has become indispensable in this country.
On the contrary, the novelist may come before
the public as often as he thinks proper, in night-
gown and slippers, quite assured that he will be
greeted with as much good will (if not as much

respect) as if he were in gala attire, with brilliant

n

INTRODUCTION. xiii

stars and red ribbons. The minor arts of com-
position are often disregarded. Metaphors are
confused and broken ; long passages of tame dia-
logue are allowable, and the same word may be
used, not always in the same sense, ten times
within one page. Notwithstanding all this, the
book may have its share of ingenuity and inte-
rest ; — it should be remembered, too, that no
longer than sixty years ago, the literature of our
German neighbours was, comparatively speaking,
in its infancy ; and, even now, they are many times
satisfied with bold outline sketches in crayon.
Hence the vast extent of their productions, like
those in the portfolio of a painter, of which the
number always exceeds incalculably that of his
finished works.

A connoisseur will fix his attention on these as
willingly as on the largest gallery pictures of the
same artist, while a mere soi-disant critic will
treat them with disdain,— not recollecting, that to

xiv INTRODUCTION.

be fastidious is, in ninety-nine cases out of each
hundred, no proof of taste, but of perceptions
blunted and obtuse.

Edinburgh, October 10, 1826.

CONTENTS

OF

VOLUME FIRST.

Page

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI, 1

SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE, 169

THE SISTERS, ........... 295

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

BY THE LATE

C. T. W. HOFFMANN.

VOL. I.

A

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI

CHAPTER I.

In the Rue St Honore in Paris, during the reign
of Louis XIV. was situated a small house, inha-
bited by Magdalene de Scuderi, the celebrated
poetess, well known to the public, both through
her literary productions, and the distinctions con-
ferred on her by the King, and the gay Mar-
chioness de Maintenon.

* Very late one night, (it might be about the
autumn of the year 1680,) there was heard at
the door of this house a violent knocking, which
echoed through the whole corridor. Baptiste, a
man-servant, who, in the small establishment of
the lady, represented cook, valet, and porter, had,
by her permission gone into the country to at-

4

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERL

tend his sister's wedding, and thus it happened
that de Scuderi's waiting maid, la Martiniere,
was alone, and the only person who now kept
watch in the mansion. She heard the knocking
repeated after a short silence, and suddenly the
painful reflection came on her mind, that Baptiste
was absent, and that she and her lady were left
quite defenceless against any wicked intruder.
All the stories of house-breaking, theft, and
above all of murder, which were then so frequent
in Paris, crowded at once on her remembrance,
and she became almost convinced, that some band
of assassins, aware of their lonely situation, were
the cause of this disturbance. If rashly admitted,
they would doubtless perpetrate some horrible
outrage ; so she staid in her room, terrified and
trembling ; at the same time wishing in her heart
Baptiste (or rather his sister and her wedding
party) au diable.

Meanwhile, the knocking continued to thunder
on ; and it seemed as if she distinguished a voice
at intervals, crying out — " Open the door, pour
T amour de Dieu, — open the door ! — At last, in
great agitation, Martiniere seized the candle,
and ran out into the corridor, where she plainly

CHAPTEIl I.

5

heard the stranger's voice, repeating anxiously
and vehemently, "For God's sake open the door P?
— " In truth," thought Martiniere, " no robber
would speak in this manner ; who knows whether
it may not be some poor persecuted man, who
seeks protection from my lady, knowing that she
is ever inclined to succour the distressed ? But
let us be cautious." She now drew up a win-
dow that looked into the street, and called out,
" Who is there, at such unseasonable hours, thun-
dering at the gate, and rousing every one from
sound sleep ?" At the same time, she endeavoured
to give as much as possible of a manly tone to her
voice, which was naturally none of the weakest.

By the gleam of the moonlight, which just then
broke through the clouds, she perceived a tall
slim figure, attired in a light grey-coloured mantle,
and with a broad hat slouched over his features.
Thinking to intimidate him, she called out with-
in the house, but loudly, so that the stranger
might hear her, " Baptiste — Claude — Pierre !
rouse, and see what is the matter. Here is a
good for nothing vagabond, who has been knock-
ing as if he would bring down the house about
our ears.1'' Then from without she was answered

6 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

by the tones of a soft and plaintive voice. " Mar-
tiniere," said the stranger, I know very well that
it is you, however you may try to disguise your
accents. I know, too, that Bapiste has gone into
the country, and that you are alone in the house
with your lady. Be not afraid, but open the
door for me. You have nothing to apprehend ;
but I must absolutely speak with Mademoiselle
de Scuderi, and this without a moment's delay."
" What art thou thinking of?" answered Marti-
niere angrily ; " thou wouldst speak with my lady,
forsooth, in the middle of the night ? Shouldst
thou not recollect, that she must be long since
asleep, and that I would not for the world disturb
her rest, which, at her time of life, is so need-
ful ?"

" On the contrary," said the man from below,
" I know very well that, at this moment, your
lady has only just now laid aside the manuscript
of her new romance, on which she labours night
and day ; and that she is employed in writing
some verses, which, at to-morrow's levee, she in-
tends reading to the Marquise de Maintenon. In
short, I am certain that she is still awake, and I
implore of you, Martiniere, have compassion and

CHAPTER T.

7

open the door, for, mark you, on this interview
depends the rescue of an unfortunate man from
utter destruction. His honour, liberty and life,
are at stake, and he must be for ever lost, if he
cannot speak with your mistress directly. Reflect,
too, that the noble lady would never forgive you,
if she learned that, by your obstinacy, an unhappy
being was sent from her door, who in his distress
came to beg assistance.'"

" But for what reason," said Martiniere, " would
you appeal to my lady's compassion at this dead
hour of the night ? Come back to morrow at a
proper time, and we shall then see what may be
done." — " How?1' said the stranger, " will misfor-
tune then, which strikes us poor mortals with the
unexpected rapidity of lightning, be regulated by
hours and minutes ? Even if in one moment the
possibility of rescue may be lost, should then as-
sistance be delayed, because it happens to be mid-
night instead of mid-day ? Open the door, and fear
nothing from un pauvre miserable, who now, for-
saken by all the world, and overwhelmed by his
cruel destiny, would implore your lady's protection
from the dangers that threaten him l" Martiniere
perceived that the man's voice faultered at these

s

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

words, — that he even moaned and sobbed ; more-
over, his tones were those of a mere youth. Her
heart became at last so far softened, that without
farther reflection she ran for the keys.

No sooner had she opened the door, than the
strange figure, disguised in a long mantle, rushed
in, and stepping past Martiniere, called out with
a loud voice in the corridor, " Bring me directly
into your lady's presence !" Martiniere, much
alarmed, held up the candle, to try if she could
recognise his features, and the light fell upon the
deadly pale and agitated countenance of a very
young man ; but she had almost fallen to the
ground in her terror, when he suddenly threw
aside his mantle, and the glittering hilt of a sti-
letto was visible in his bosom. The youth's eyes
seemed to flash fire on the poor waiting-maid,,
and in a voice wilder than ever, he repeated,
" Lead me I say, to your mistress !" — Martiniere
was now fully persuaded that her lady was in
the most imminent danger, and her attachment
to the noble demoiselle, whom she looked up to
with even filial respect and veneration, was such,
that it got the better of her own fears, and gave
her a degree of firmness of which she would other-

CHAPTER I.

9

wise have been quite incapable. Suddenly she
closed the door of her apartment, took her sta-
tion before it, and in a strong steady voice, "In
truth," said she, " your mad behaviour here suits
ill with your humble complaints and entreaties,
by which I so rashly allowed myself to be per-
suaded. As to my lady, you shall certainly not
speak with her in this mood, nor have you
any right to make such a demand ; for if your
intentions are really blameless, there is no need
that you should be afraid of the daylight. There-
fore come to-morrow, and you shall be listened
to ; but for the present, not a word more ; but get
out of the house. Pack up, and begone !

The strange youth heaved a long deep sigh,
fixed a frightful look on Martiniere, and grasped
the hilt of his stilleto. The femme de chambre
thought her last hour was come ; and silently re-
commended herself to Heaven. However, she
stood firm, and boldly looked the young man in
the face, drawing herself up more closely against
the door of the apartment, through which it was
necessary to pass in order to arrive at that of de
Scuderi. " Let me go to your lady, I tell you
once more !" said the stranger, or you may have
a 2

10

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI,

reason bitterly to repent your conduct when it is
too late."

" Do what you will," said Martiniere, " 1 shall
not stir from this place. Fulfil the wicked inten-
tion for which you came; though, remember, you
and your accomplices will one day die for them
a shameful death on the scaffold." — " Ha, truly,"
cried the young man, in a frightful tone — " You
are in the right, Martiniere ! — The fate that
awaits me is, indeed, dark and disgraceful ; but,
as to my accomplice, he remains yet safe, and
unsuspected." — With these words, casting terrific
glances on the poor girl, he drew out the stiletto.
" Heaven have mercy!" cried she, expecting that
it was to be plunged into her heart ; but, at that
moment, the clang of arms was heard in the street,
and the trampling of horses. " The Mare-
chaussee — the Marechausee I — Help — help !"
screamed la Martiniere. " Cruel woman," said
the stranger, " thou art resolved on my utter de-
struction. Now, all is over, and the opportunity
lost. But, take this, and give it to your lady to-
night, if possible, or to-morrow morning, if you
will; for to me, indeed, the time is now indiffer-
ent." In speaking these words, rather in a low

CHAPTER I.

11

voice, the man had taken the candlestick from la
Martiniere, extinguished the light, and forced a
small casket into her hands. " On your hopes
of salvation," said he, " I conjure you, Marti-
niere, that you will deliver this box to your lady."1
Then he abruptly threw away the candlestick,
turned round, and sprang out at the door. Mar-
tiniere meanwhile was so terrified, not knowing
what he intended to do, that she had fallen, half
fainting, on the floor. With difficulty she raised
herself, and, in the dark, groped her way back to
the room, where, quite confused and exhausted,
she sank into her arm-chair. From this stupor
she was suddenly awoke, by the harsh creaking
noise made by turning the key, which, in her
fright, she had left in the lock of the house door.
Afterwards she heard it firmly closed, and cau-
tious steps, as of some one groping the way to her
chamber. Her consternation was now greater
than ever ; and she sat motionless, expecting some
horrible event, till the door opened, and, by the
glimmer of her night-lamp, she recognized the
honest Baptiste, who looked deadly pale, and was
in great agitation.

" For the love of all the saints," he began,—

12 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERl.

" tell me, Mamselle Martiniere, what has hap-
pened?— Oh, the terror that I have suffered! —
I know not rightly what could be the reason, but
my own apprehensions absolutely drove me away
from the wedding to-night ; so I set out earlier
than any one else, on the road homeward, and at
length arrived in our own street. Now, thinks
I to myself, Martiniere is very easily awoke; she
will hear me for certain, and let me in if I knock
softly and cautiously at the house door. But,
ere I had come so far, behold, there appears
against me the whole posse of the watch, cavalry
forsooth, and infantry, armed up to the teeth. —
They directly take me prisoner, and, notwith-
standing all my expostulations, will not let me
go ; but luckily, Desgrais is among them, who
knows me very well. As they were holding their
lanthorns up to my nose, he says, ' How, now,
Baptiste, whither are you wandering thus in the
dark ? — You should rather stay at home, like a
careful man, and keep watch over the house. In
truth, it is by no means convenient for you, or any
one else to be on the streets to-night. We are
resolved to let no individual pass whom we do not
know, and think ourselves sure of one prisoner at

CHAPTER I.

least, before day-break.' You can easily imagine,
Martiniere, how much I was alarmed by these
words, as I was thus assured that some new and
atrocious crimes must have been discovered. But
now, as I was going to tell you, I had come al-
most to the threshold of our own house, and,
there a man, disguised in a long grey mantle,
rushes out, with a drawn dagger in his hand ; —
I could mark him well, for he passed and repassed
me. On my entrance, I find the house door left
open, the key still in the lock ; — tell me, what is
the meaning of all this ?"

Martiniere being now somewhat tranquillized,
described to him all that had happened. She
and Baptiste went together to reconnoitre in the
corridor, where they only founds the candlestick
on the floor, as it had been thrown down by the
strange man, when he made his escape. " From
your account," said Baptiste, " it is but too certain
that my lady was to have been robbed, and pro-
bably murdered. The man, as you tell me, knew
that you were with her quite unprotected,- — nay,
that she was awake, and employed on her writ-
ings. No doubt, he was one of these accursed
miscreants who now force themselves into the in-

14 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

terior of houses, and make themselves acquainted
with every circumstance which may be serviceable
for the execution of their devilish plans. And, as
for the little casket, Mamselle, we should, in my
opinion, throw it into the deepest pool of the
Seine. For, who can tell whether some wicked
monster has not designs against the life of our
lady, and that, when she opens the box, she may
not drop down dead, like the old Marquis de
Tournay, when he broke the seal of a letter that
he had received from an unknown hand ?" .

After long consultation, the two faithful do-
mestics at last resolved that they would describe
to their lady all that had occurred ; and al-
so deliver into her hands the mysterious box,
which certainly might be opened, though not
without regular precautions. After maturely re-
flecting on every circumstance attending the
stranger's appearance, they agreed that the mat-
ter was of far too much consequence for them
to decide upon, and they must leave the unravel-
ling of this mystery to the wise and learned de-
moiselle.

Before proceeding any farther with our story,

CHAPTER I.

15

we must here observe, that Martiniere's dread of
assassination, and Baptiste's apprehension of poi-
son being concealed in the casket, were by no
means without foundation. Exactly at this period,
Paris was the scene of the most horrible atroci-
ties,— and, perhaps, the most diabolical inventions
that ever entered a human brain, supplied un-
principled people with the means of gratifying
their passions. One Glaser, or Glazier, a Ger-
man apothecary, who was the best operative che-
mist of his time, had long busied himself (as usual
with people of his profession,) in endeavours to
find out the transmutation of metals, and the
elixir vitce. He had taken into partnership an
Italian, named Exili, who, for some time, also
bore a good character, but, to him, at last, the art
of making gold only served as a pretext for fol-
lowing out the most abominable of all designs.
While Glazier thought merely of discovering the
philosopher's stone, the Italian was secretly em-
ployed in the constant mixing, distilling and sub-
liming of poisons, which, at last, he brought to
such perfection, that he could produce death in
many different ways, and either without any trace
of such operation left in the body, or with symp-

16 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

toms so new and unheard of, that the physicians
were completely deceived ; and, not suspecting
this kind of assassination, ascribed the patient's
death to some inscrutable decree of Providence.

Cautiously as Exili went to work, he was at
last suspected as a vender of poison, and was
thrown into the Bastile. Soon afterwards, he had
an opportunity of becoming acquainted during
his confinement with a certain Captain de St
Croix, a man of infamous character, who had long
lived with the Marchioness de Brinvilliers, under
circumstances which brought disgrace on all her
connections, till at last, as the Marquis seemed to
care nothing about his wife's conduct, her father
Dreux d'Aubray was necessitated to separate the
criminals by an arrestment, which he carried into
execution against St Croix.

Wholly unprincipled as this man was, and
(though counterfeiting piety !) inclined from his
earliest youth to every species of vice — -jealous —
revengeful even to madness, he could not have
met with any discovery more welcome and conge-
nial to his disposition, than the diabolical con-
trivances of Exili, which seemed to give him the
power of annihilating all his enemies. He became,
l

CHAPTER I.

J7

therefore, a zealous scholar of the Italian, and
was soon equally skilful with his master, whose
imprisonment continued, but St Croix being soon
after liberated, was in a condition to carry on this
infernal trade.

Of course he betook himself again, though cau-
tiously and in secret, to his former mistress, and
de Brinvilliers, who was before only a depraved
woman, became, with the help of St Croix, an
absolute monster. Gradually she was led on to
poison her own father, with whom she lived, hy-
pocritically pretending to nurse him in his old
age, and in like manner, her brothers and sisters
were sacrificed. Against her father, she was in-
stigated only by revenge, because he had inter-
posed his authority to deprive her of her para-
mour ; but as to the rest, she had other motives,
for by their deaths she succeeded to a very rich
inheritance.

From various examples of such assassins, we
may prove the horrible truth, that the inclination
towards crimes of this description, becomes at last
an absolute ruling passion, without any other ob-
ject but the unnatural pleasure they derived from
it, (as the alchemist makes experiments for his

18

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

own diversion.) Such dealers in poison have of-
ten destroyed individuals, whose life or death
must have been to them, in other respects, per-
fectly indifferent. The sudden and simultaneous
death of many poor prisoners at the Hotel Dieu,
afterwards raised the suspicion that the bread was
poisoned which de Brinvilliers used to share out
among them, in order to acquire reputation as a
model of piety and benevolence. However this
might be, it is historically certain, that she many
times poisoned the dishes at her own table, espe-
cially Perigord pies, and placed them before the
distinguished guests that were invited to her house,
so that the Chevalier de Guet, and several other
persons of eminence, fell victims to those demo-
niacal banquets. Notwithstanding all these prac-
tices, however, St Croix, de Brinvilliers, and a
female assistant named la Chaussee, were able for'
a long time to keep their crimes under an impe-
netrable veil. There was at all events no suffi-
cient proof against them, nor could the physicians
always decide that their victims had died by poi-
son ; but whatever may be the cunning and hy-
pocrisy of such wretches, Divine justice never fails,
sooner or later, to overtake the guilty.

CHAPTER I.

19

The poisons which St Croix compounded were
of a nature so fine and subtile, that if the greatest
caution were not observed in preparing the pow-
der, (since named by the Parisians poudre de suc-
cession,) a single chance inhalation might cause
the instant death of the artist. St Croix, there-
fore, when engaged in his operations, wore a mask,
principally made of glass, and with the nostrils
covered with silk ; but this happened to fall off
one day, when he was in the act of shaking a pow-
der, just prepared, into a phial, and in an instant,
(being already almost suffocated for want of
breath,) having inhaled some of the fine dust
which flew about him, he fell down, and almost
immediately expired.

As he had died without heirs, the officers of
the law hastened to his apartments to take charge
of his effects. There they found shut up in a
box, the whole arsenal of poisons, by means of
which St Croix had carried on his work of de-
struction; and besides this, there were found
many letters of de Brinvilliers, which left no
doubts as to her guilt. She fled accordingly to a
convent at Liege ; but Desgrais, the principal of-
ficer of police, was sent after her. Disguised as a

20 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

monk, he appeared in the convent, where she had
taken refuge, and (his features luckily being un-
known to her,) he succeeded in drawing this abo-
minable woman into an intrigue, and persuading
her to make an assignation with him in a retired
garden beyond the town walls. Immediately on
her arrival there, she was surrounded by the catch-
poles of Desgrais ; the amorous monk transformed
himself into a police officer, — and forced her into
a carriage that stood ready near the garden, when,
with a guard of cavalry, they drove off directly
for Paris. La Chaussee had by this time been
brought to the block ; de Brinvilliers soon suffer-
ed the same death, after which her body was burn-
ed, and her ashes strewn to the wind.

The Parisians felt themselves greatly relieved,
when these monsters were taken from the world,
who could, unpunished and unsuspected, direct
their machinations against friend and foe; but
soon afterwards it was proved, that though the
town might be rid of St Croix and his accom-
plices, yet their art had not disappeared along
with them. Like an invisible demon, the same
horrid guilt of assassination continued to make
its way even into the bosom of families, breaking

CHAPTER I.

21

through the most confidential circles that love and
friendship could frame. He who had been to-day
in the utmost bloom of health, might be found to-
morrow tottering about in the most wretched state
of decline ; and no skill of the physician could
rescue such victims from a certain death. Riches,
— a comfortable place in the legislature, — a young
and handsome wife, — any such advantages were
sufficient to direct against their possessors the re-
lentless malice of these invisible assassins. Cruel
mistrust and suspicion dissolved the most sacred
ties among relations. Husband and wife, father
and son, sister and brother, were alienated by the
terror which they felt one of another. At the so-
cial banquet, food and wine often remained un-
touched, while, instead of indulging in innocent
mirth, the party, with pale and confused looks,
were trying to find out the concealed murderer.
At length, fathers of families might be seen ti-
midly purchasing provisions in remote districts,
and dressing the food thus obtained in some neigh-
bouring boutique, fearing the treachery that might
lurk under their own roofs. Yet in many instan-
ces all these precautions were used in vain.
The king, in order as much as possible to stem

22 MADEMOISELLE JDE SCUDEUI.

this torrent of iniquity, established a peculiar court
of justice, to which he gave exclusively the com-
mission to search into, and punish these crimes.
This was the institution named the Chambre Ar-
dente, which held its sittings under the Bastile,
and of which la Regnie was the president. For
a considerable time, this man's endeavours, zea-
lously as they were carried on, proved in vain ; —
it was reserved for the cunning Desgrais to trace
out the guilty even in their most obscure hiding-
places. In the Faubourg de St Germain, there
lived an old woman named la Voisin, who em-
ployed herself in conjuration and fortune-telling,
and who, with the help of two confederates, le
Sage and la Vigoureux, had been able to excite
the fear and astonishment, even of persons who
were nof generally to be considered weak or cre-
dulous. But she did more than this, — having
had an opportunity, like St Croix, of obtaining
lessons from Exili, she also prepared, in like man-
ner, that fine undiscoverable poison, by means
of which she assisted reckless mercenary sons to
arrive, before the due time, at their inheritance,
and depraved wives to get younger husbands.
Desgrais, however, found means to pluck the veil

4

CHAPTER I.

23

from all her mysteries, and consequently she was
brought to trial, and made a full confession. The
Chambre Ardente sentenced her to be burned at
the Place de Greve, where she was executed ac-
cordingly.

There was found among her papers a list of
all the persons who had availed themselves of her
art, so that one execution was rapidly followed
by another, — and very serious suspicions were
entertained even against people of the highest
rank. Among other examples, it was alleged that
Cardinal Bonzy had obtained from her the means
of bringing to an untimely end all the persons to
whom, as Bishop of Narbonne, he was under the
necessity of paying yearly pensions. In like man-
ner, the Duchess de Bouillon, and the Countess
de Soissons, whose names were on the list, were
accused of having dealt with this infernal sorcer-
ess ; — and even Francis Henri de Montmorenci,
Duke of Luxembourg, marshal and peer of the
realm, was not spared. He gave himself up to
imprisonment in the Bastile, where, through the
hatred of Louvois and la Regnie, he was confined
in a cell only six feet square, and months past
away before means were found to prove that the

24

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

duke's misdemeanour had not been such as to de-
serve punishment. He had only been foolish enough,
on one occasion, to have his horoscope drawn and
calculated by le Sage. There can be no doubt
that it was principally the blindness of over-zeal,
by which the president la Regnie was led to such
acts of cruelty and violence : however, his tri-
bunal now assumed altogether the character of a
catholic inquisition, and the slightest suspicions
were sufficient grounds for prosecution and im-
prisonment, while it was often left to mere chance
to prove the innocence of persons accused of ca-
pital crimes. Besides, la Regnie was both hideous
in appearance, and naturally spiteful in temper,
so that he soon drew on himself the hatred of
that public whose tranquillity he had been chosen
to protect. The Duchess de Bouillon being in-
terrogated by him, whether, at her meeting with
the sorceress, she had seen the devil — answered,
" no ; — but methinks I see him now" —

CHAPTER II.

25

CHAPTER II.

During that frightful period, when the blood
of the suspected and the guilty flowed in torrents
upon the scaffold, so that at length the secret
murders by poison had become more rare of oc-
currence, a new disturbance arose, which more
than ever filled the city with terror and astonish-
ment.— Some mysterious band of miscreants seem-
ed in league together, for the purpose of bringing
into their own possession all the finest jewellery
in Paris. No sooner had a rich ornament been
purchased, than, however carefully it had been
locked up, it vanished immediately, in a manner
the most inconceivable. It was far more intoler-
able, however, that every one who ventured out
at night with jewels on his person, was attacked
on the streets, (or in dark courts and alleys,) and
robbed of his property, while, though some escap-
ed with life, scarcely a week passed away, in

VOL. I. B

26

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

which several murders were not committed. Those
who were fortunate enough to survive such an
attack, deponed that they had been knocked
down by a blow on the head, as resistlessly as if it
had been a thunderbolt, and that, on awakening
from their stupefaction, they had found them-
selves robbed, and lying in a situation quite dif-
ferent from that where they had first received the
blow. On the other hand, the persons who had
been murdered, and some of whom were found
almost every second morning upon the streets, or
in the dark entrances to houses, had all one and
the same deadly wound ; namely, a stab in the
heart, which, according to the opinion of the
surgeons, must kill so instantaneously, that the
victim so struck would, without a scream or
groan, fall instantly lifeless to the ground.

Now, at the luxurious and gay court of Louis
XIV. what young nobleman was there to be
found, who had not some amorous intrigue, and
who did not glide through the dark streets at a
late hour, bearing oftentimes rich jewels as a pre-
sent to his mistress ? — As if the murderers had
been aided by some direct intercourse with the
devil, they knew exactly where and when any

CHAPTER 11.

opportunity of this kind was to occur. — Fre-
quently the unfortunate man was not allowed to
reach the scene of his love adventures ; at other
times he was struck dead on the threshold of the
house, or at the very chamber door of his mis-
tress, who with horror discovered on the follow-
ing morning the ghastly corse.

In vain did Argenson, the police minister, or-
der every individual to be arrested, who seemed
in any degree suspicious ; in vain did the pas-
sionate la Regnie foam with rage, and endeavour
by torture to force out confession ; in vain too
were the watchmen doubled in number ; no trace
of the criminals could be discovered. Only the
precaution of going fully armed, and employing
torch-bearers, seemed to have some effect, and yet
there were instances, when the attendants, if not
sufficiently numerous, were brought into confu-
sion by large stones being thrown at them ; while
at the same time, their master, as it usually hap-
pened, was robbed and murdered. It was espe-
cially wondered at, that, notwithstanding the mi-
nutest inquiries in every place where the traffic
in jewels could be practicable, no evidence was to
be found that any of the stolen goods had been

28 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

offered for sale ; in short, all the ordinary means
of justice to bring about discovery were complete-
ly baffled.

Desgrais, the principal police officer, was furi-
ously enraged that the miscreants should have
been able to escape from his cunning and contri-
vance. Indeed, that quarter of the town (com-
monly thought the most unquiet) in which he was
stationed, was, for the most part, spared ; while, in
other districts where no one apprehended any out-
rage, the robbers and assassins failed not almost
every night to find out new victims. Under
these circumstances, Desgrais bethought himself
of a good ruse de guerre, viz. to multiply his own
personal identity ; in plainer words, to dress up
different individuals, so exactly like himself, and
who resembled him so much in gait, voice, figure,
and features, that even the catchpoles and patrol
did not know which was the true Desgrais. Mean-
while, he used to watch quite alone, at the risk
of his life, in the most retired lanes and courts,
from which he would at times emerge, and cauti-
ously follow any individual who seemed, by his
appearance, likely to bear about his person pro-
perty of value. The person so followed remain-

CHAPTER II.

29

ed always unmolested, so that, of this contrivance
too, the assassins must have been fully instructed,
and Desgrais fell into absolute despair.

At length he came one morning to the Presi-
dent la Regnie, — pale, disordered, and, indeed,
quite beside himself. " What's the matter now ?"
said the president, " what news ? — Have you
found any trace ?V Ha ! — your Excellence," be-
gan Desgrais, stammering in his agitation, —
" your Excellence, — last night, not far from the
Louvre, the Marquis de la Fare was attacked in
my presence.,, — " Heaven and earth !" shouted
la Regnie, 6 4 then we have them at last
" Oh hear only," said Desgrais with a bitter smile,
" hear only, in the first place, how it happened.
I was standing at the Louvre, and with feelings
that could scarcely be envied, even by the dam-
ned, waiting for those demons that have so long
mocked at all our endeavours. Then, with steps
rather unsteady, and always turning his head as
if to watch some one behind, there comes up a
passenger, who went by without observing me.
By the moonlight I recognized that this was the
Marquis de la Fare, — I could keep watch over
him from the place where I stood, and I knew

30

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

very well whence and whither he was going.
Scarcely had he proceeded ten or twelve paces
farther, when a man started up, as if he had
risen out of the earth, attacked the Marquis, and
knocked him down. Without reflection, and
overcome by the impulse of the moment, which
promised to give the murderer at once into my
hands, I shouted aloud, and thought that, with
one vehement bound, I could dart from my hid-
ing-place and seize upon him. But as ill luck
would have it, there I entangle myself in the skirts
of my mantle and fall down. I see the man has-
tening away swift as the wind. I scramble up —
run after him, and, in running, blow my trumpet.
In an instant, I am answered by the whistles of
the patrol ; — all is in commotion ; — from all
quarters is heard the clang of arms, or trampling
of horses. " Here — here p cried I in my loud-
est tone, " Desgrais ! — Desgrais !" — till the
streets reechoed to my voice. Still, by the clear
moonlight, I see the man moving before me, and
keep a strict watch on all the turnings that he
makes to elude me. We come at last into the
Rue de la Nicaise, where his strength in running
appeared completely to fail him. I, of course,

CHAPTER II.

31

exert myself with double energy. At that time,
he had got before me only, at the utmost, fifteen
paces."

"You overtake him — you seize him — the pa-
trol comes up ?" roared la Regnie, with glaring
eyes, and catching Desgrais by the arm, as if he
had been the flying murderer. " Fifteen steps,'"'
repeated Desgrais in a hollow voice, and so
much agitated, that he could scarcely breathe, —
" fifteen steps or thereabouts distant before me,
the man starts away out of the moonlight into the
dark shade, and vanishes through the wall — ?"

" Are you mad?" said la Regnie, indignant
and disappointed. " From this hour onwards,"
said Desgrais, rubbing his brows, S$ your excel-
lency may call me a madman, — an insane vision-
ary if you will — but the truth is neither more nor
less than I have narrated. I stood staring at the
wall, almost petrified with astonishment, when se-
veral of the patrol came up, and with them the
Marquis de la Fare, who had recovered his senses,
and now appeared sword in hand. We had our
torches lighted, and examined the place with the
greatest care ; but there was no trace to be found
of a door or window, or, in short, of any opening

32 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDEHI.

whatever. It is a strong stone wall of a court,
adjoining to a house in which people are living to
whom not the slightest suspicion is attached.
Even this very day, by sunlight, I have examin-
ed the whole premises with the most scrupulous
care, and, doubtless, it must be the very devil
himself who mocks at us in this manner.,,

Desgrais's narrative was soon made known over
all Paris. People's heads were full of the sorce-
ries, incantations, compacts with the devil, &c.
attributed to la Voisin, la Vigoureux, and other
renowned disciples of le Sage, and as the mob are
always ready to carry to an extreme their belief
in the marvellous, — that which Desgrais had said
in a fit of passion was now circulated through the
town as the mere truth. Every one alleged that
the devil himself was protecting in this world
those wicked mortals who had sold him their
souls, and, as might be expected, Desgrais's story
received many embellishments. A kind of popu-
lar romance was rapidly got up, on this foundation,
with a frontispiece representing the police-officer
staring at a hideous figure of the devil, who was
in the act of sinking before his astonished eyes
into the earth. This book alone was enough to

CHAPTER II.

33

terrify the people, and even to take all courage
from the watchmen, who now in the night season
wandered through the streets terrified and de-
sponding, hung with amulets, and drenched in
holy water.

Argenson soon perceived that the Chambre Ar-
dente would completely lose its character, and ap-
plied to the king, recommending the establish-
ment of a new court of justice, destined exclusive-
ly for the discovery and punishment of these mid-
night assassinations. But the king, conscious
that he had already given too much power to the
Chambre Ardente\ and in horror at the number-
less executions which were forced on by the blood-
thirsty la Regnie, entirely rejected this proposal.
It was requisite, therefore, to form some other
plan, by which Louis might be led into this ar-
rangement. Accordingly, at the apartments of the
Marquise de Maintenon, where he used to spend
his afternoons, and even to hold councils with his
ministers till late in the night, a poem was one
day handed to him, purporting to be the joint
production of certain perplexed lovers, and com-
plaining that where gallantry dictated that they
should carry a rich present to some favourite la*
b 2

34 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

cly, they must now-a-days always risk their lives
in the undertaking. It was, no doubt, as they al-
leged, a delight as well as a duty to encounter all
dangers for the sake of a beloved and beautiful
mi&tress, at a knightly tournament — but it was
quite a different affair as to the malicious and
cowardly attack of an assassin, against whom one
could not always be armed, nor have any fair
chance. But King Louis, forsooth, was the
" gleaming pole star of gallantry and knight-
hood,— whose rays were to break through the noc-
turnal darkness, and bring to light those myste-
rious crimes which had been so long concealed.
Moreover, this idolized hero, who had crushed
his enemies to the earth, would now, too, bran-
dish his victorious sword, and, like Hercules with
the Lernaean serpent, or Theseus with the Mi-
notaur, would oppose the horrid demon of assas-
sination which destroyed all the raptures of mu-
tual love, and changed all innocent delights into
sorrow and hopeless lamentation. "

Such, for the most part, was the overstrained
and absurd style of the poem, which, however,
was just as praiseworthy as French heroics gene-
rally are. Serious as the matter might seem,
10

CHAPTER II.

85

there was yet no want of humorous delineation,
how the lovers, gliding cautiously and in secret
to the habitations of their mistresses, were un-
avoidably subjected to the influence of fear and
apprehension, and how they came pale and tremb-
ling into her presence, before whom they should
only have appeared bold and buoyant in spirit.
There was here, also, a good spicing of double
entendre and when, over and above these merits,
the whole was rounded off with a high-flown pa-
negyric on King Louis, nothing less could be
expected, but that he would, at all events, read
it through with satisfaction. This happened ac-
cordingly; he even read it over aloud to the
Marchioness de Maintenon, and then, with a good-
humoured smile, asked her what she thought of
this petition ?

De Maintenon, who always kept up a becom-
ing gravity of demeanour, and who was not with-
out pretensions (however ill founded) to piety and
devotion, replied, that the robbers and assassins,
no doubt, should, if possible, be discovered and
brought to punishment, but as for those idle liber-
tines, who, of their own accord, exposed them-
selves to danger, — walking by stealth, and in the

36

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

dark, they did not, in her opinion, deserve any
particular protection. The king, not satisfied
with this vague answer, folded up the paper, and
was on the point of returning to the Secretary of
State, who was at work in the adjoining room,
when his eye lighted by chance on our heroine,
de Scuderi, who had taken her place not far
from the Marchioness. To the former he now
betook himself, and the smile, which had vanish-
ed on his features, was again renewed. " The
Marchioness," said he, " is determined not to
countenance the goings-on of our young gallants,
and will not meet me on ground which she con-
siders forbidden. But I appeal to you, Made-
moiselle— as a poetess, what is your opinion of
this rhyming supplication ?" A fleeting blush,
like the twilight of an evening sky, coursed over
the pale cheeks of the venerable lady. She rose
respectfully from her chair, dropped a low cour-
tesy, and, with downcast eyes, replied,

" Un amant qui craint ties volcurs,
N'est point digne d'amour."

The chivalrous spirit of these few words was
admirably suited to the disposition of Louis XIV.
and instantly effaced from his mind all the prolix

CHAPTER II.

37

tirades of the poem. His eyes sparkled, and he
exclaimed, with great vivacity, " By St Denis,
Mademoiselle, you are in the right ! No blind
ordonnance of Justice, that strikes the innocent
along with the guilty, shall afford protection to
cowardice. Let Argenson and La Regnie play
their own parts as well as they can, but we shall
not give ourselves any farther trouble P

38

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

CHAPTER III.

Now to return, (after this long digression)
to our story ; all the horrors of this eventful pe-
riod weighed on Martiniere's mind, when, on the
following morning, she related to her mistress
what had happened in the night, and, with fear
and trembling, delivered up the mysterious casket.
On this occasion, both she and Baptiste, who
stood pale as death, twirling and plaiting his cap
in a corner, became almost speechless with anxiety.
However, they begged of their Lady by no means
to open the box without the utmost possible fore-
sight and precaution. 44 You are both very child-
ish," said she, calmly weighing it in her hand ; —
44 that I am not rich, — that I have no concealed
treasures in my possession, which could be worth
the trouble of a murder, is known doubtless to
these street assassins, just as well as to you or to
me. You think that attempts are made against

CHAPTER III.

39

my life ; but to whom could the death of an old
woman of seventy-three be of importance, espe-
cially one who never expressed enmity or resent-
ment against any mortal, except the robbers and
peace-breakers in her own romances ? One, more-
over, who cannot excite envy, having no other
merit or distinction, than that of composing very
middling verses, — and who has no estate to leave
behind her except the parure of an antiquated
demoiselle, who was obliged to appear at court, —
and a few dozen books in gilt binding. In short,
Martiniere, you may describe this man in the
most frightful colours that you can invent, but,
for my part, I cannot believe that he had any
evil intentions. So, then," — - With these
words she prepared to open the box. Martiniere,
who had little doubt that the contents were poi-
soned, started back, and Baptiste, with a groan,
almost fell on his knees, when he saw his Lady
press on a steel-button that served in place of a
lock, — and the lid new open with a rattling noise.
How was de Scuderi astonished, when she saw
glittering, on a red velvet lining, a magnificent
necklace made of the rarest jewels, finely set in

40 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

gold, and a pair of bracelets of the same descrip-
tion !

She took out the necklace, admiring its fine
workmanship, while Martiniere, having gained
courage, was ogling the rich bracelets, and insist-
ing that the proud Duchess de Montespan her-
self did not possess such ornaments. " But what
means this ?" said de Scuderi, perceiving a small
nicely-folded billet among the jewels. " What
has this letter to say ?" She justly expected to
find here some explanation of the mystery ; but
no sooner had she perused the billet, than she let
it drop, clasped her hands in consternation, and
then, almost fainting, sank back into her chair.
" Oh, this insult!" cried she; " must the re-
proach be reserved for me in my old age, of
having behaved with thoughtless levity, like a
young silly girl ? — Good Heaven ! — Are words
thrown out in jest capable of such frightful inter-
pretation ? And am I, who, from childhood, up
to the present hour, have been constant in all the
exercises of devotion, to be looked upon almost as.
an accomplice in this devilish conspiracy ?

De Scuderi now held her handkerchief to her
eyes, and even sobbed so violently, that Marti-

CHAPTER III.

41

mere and Baptiste, in their anxiety and terror,
were quite confounded, and knew not what to do.
The waiting-maid at length took up the fatal bil-
let, at the commencement of which was written
these words : —

" Un am ant qui craint des voleurs,
N'est point digne d'amour."

The rest was as follows. " Have the good-
ness, Mademoiselle, to accept, from some unknown
friends, the accompanying jewels. Of late, we
had fallen into great danger from an intolerable
persecution, though our only crime is, that, exer-
cising the natural rights of the strong over the
weak, we appropriate to ourselves treasures that
would otherwise be unworthily squandered; — but,
by your wit and talents, we have been rescued
from the fate that awaited us. — As a proof of
our respect and gratitude, we have sent this neck-
lace, and the accompanying ornaments, which,
however unworthy of you, are the most valuable
that we have for a long time been able to meet
with. We trust that you will not withdraw from
us your friendship and kind remembrance.

(Signed) The Invisibles."

42 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERT.

u Is it possible," said de Scuderi, when she
had in some degree recovered, " that any human
beings can keep up such a system of shameless
j ickedness and depravity ?" The sun was now
shining bright through the window curtains, which
were of red silk, and the brilliants which lay on
the table gleamed and sparkled in the deep-colour-
ed light. De Scuderi happening to look at them,
turned away with abhorrence, and ordered Mar-
tiniere to remove these frightful objects, which
seemed to her imagination stained with the blood
of some murdered victim. The waiting-maid
having put the jewels into the box, was of opi-
nion, that it would be best to deliver them up to
the minister of police, and confide to him the
whole story of the young man's nocturnal visit,
and his having left the casket in her house. De
Scuderi rose and walked slowly to and fro through
the chamber, reflecting, for the first time, what
was best to be done. At length she ordered Bap-
tiste to call a sedan chair, and Martiniere to dress
her as soon as possible, as she would go directly
to the Marquise de Maintenon. Accordingly,
she was carried to the house of that lady, exactly
at the hour when the latter, as de Scuderi ex-

CHAPTER III. 43

pected, was alone in her apartments, and, of
course, she took with her the casket containing
the mysterious jewels.

Doubtless the Marchioness must have been
much astonished when she saw the lady ds Scu-
deri (who, at other times, notwithstanding her ad-
vanced age, had been the very beau ideal of grace
and dignity,) now enter the room, pale, confused,
awkward, and tottering. M What, for the love of
all the saints, has happened to you?" said she,
while the poor demoiselle, quite beside herself,
and ready to faint, only tried, as soon as possible,
to reach an arm chair, which the Marchioness of-
fered to her. At last, when she was again able
to speak, de Scuderi described, with great elo-
quence, the gross and indelible insult and disgrace
which had been brought on her, in consequence
of the thoughtless badinage with which, in the
king's presence, she had answered the supplica-
tion of the perplexed lovers. The Marchioness,
when she had heard the whole story, was of opi-
nion that de Scuderi took this occurrence too
deeply to heart, and that the insolence and de-
pravity of wretches like these, ought never to dis-
turb the tranquillity of a noble and elevated mind.

44 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

The jewels were then produced, and, as soon as
the Marchioness beheld them, she could not help
uttering an exclamation of delight and approval.
She took out the necklace and carried it to the
window, where she alternately held the brilliants
at a distance to mark how they glittered in the
sun, and drew them nearer, in order to examine
the fine workmanship of the gold, admiring with
what exquisite art every link of the chain was ela-
borated. Having ended her scrutiny, the Mar-
chioness turned to de Scuderi, and said, " Do you
know, Mademoiselle, that no one could have made
this necklace or the bracelets, but the celebrated
Rene Cardillac ?"

At that time, Rene Cardillac was, without one
exception, the best goldsmith in Paris, and, be-
sides, celebrated as one of the most ingenious and
singular men of the age. Rather of low stature,
but broad-shouldered, and of Herculean strength,
Cardillac, though now more than fifty years of
age, had still the full strength and activity of
youth. This uncommon energy was still farther
betokened by his thickly curled reddish hair, and
the resolute expression of his compressed glisten-
ing visage,— while, if he had not been known

CHAPTER III.

45

through all Paris as one of the most honourable
and correct of citizens, disinterested, candid, and
ready to help those who were in distress, the
strange aspect of his deep sunk small and twink-
ling eyes, might have brought on him the impu-
tation of concealed malice and cunning.

Cardillac was not only, as above mentioned, the
greatest master of his art in all Paris, but, ge-
nerally speaking, of the era in which he lived.
Intimately acquainted with the nature of precious
stones, he knew how to treat them, and set them
off to such advantage, that an ornament which
had before been looked upon as tarnished and use-
less, came out of his workshop in dazzling lustre,
and better than it had been for many years before.
Almost every commission that fell in his way, he
undertook with the utmost ardour, and was con-
tented with a price, which seemed to bear no pro-
portion to the excellence of his workmanship, and
the time that it had cost. Night and day he was
heard hammering in his workshop, and often when
a ring or necklace was nearly completed, he be-
came suddenly discontented with the pattern, or
doubtful as to the finishing of some minute orna-
ment— which was with him quite a sufficient rea-

46 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

son for throwing the whole into the crucible, and
beginning de novo.

Thus every one of his performances became a
masterpiece of art, by which the person who gave
the commission was astonished ; but it became at
last almost impossible to get any work out of his
hands. Under a thousand pretexts, he used to
put off his customers from week to week, and from
month to month. In vain did people offer him
double payment; he would not take a single louis
(Tor beyond the price for which he had bargained.
If at last obliged to yield to the urgency of his
employer, and give up the jewels, this he could
not do without betraying all symptoms of vexa-
tion, and even ungovernable rage. Especially,
for example, if he were called on to render up some
article of consequence, which, on account of the
gold and diamonds, might be worth above a thou-
sand louis (Tors, he was known frequently to run
and stamp about the streets, like a madman, curs-
ing aloud, and denouncing himself, his trade, and
all the world. At such times, however, if it hap-
pened that a new customer plucked him by the
sleeve, and, said Rene Cardillac, will you not
make up a beautiful necklace for my bride, brace-

CHAPTER III.

47

lets for my mistress ? or so forth, — then he would
turn briskly round, his small eyes twinkled, and
he would ask, What have you got then ? The
customer would perhaps pull out a little casket,
and say, " Here are jewels — they are not worth
much perhaps — mere common trumpery, but in

your hands, Mom. V Artiste'' Cardillac,

without letting him finish his speech, snatches the
box, takes out the jewels, which, in reality, per-
haps are of little or no value, holds them to the
light, and exclaims with rapture, Ho — ho ! —
common trumpery do you say ? By no means —
fine rubies — good emeralds — only let me have
them, and if you do not mind a handful of louis
(Tors, I shall add a few brilliants to the rest, that
will gleam like the very sun in Heaven !" The
other of course answers, 66 Master Rene, I leave
all to your own discretion, and will pay whatever
you are pleased to demand." Without making
any distinction whether his customer be only a
rich citizen, or a man of high rank, Cardillac then
embraces him with the utmost ardour, exclaiming
that he is again quite happy, and that the work
will be finished in eight days.
After this, he runs headlong, as if possessed,

48 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

towards his own house, goes into his private study
and sets to work, hammering away, and, accord-
ing to his promise, there is a masterpiece of art
completed in eight days. Yet, whenever the
bridegroom or lover, by whom that order had
been given, comes rejoicing, to pay the small sum
that had been agreed on, and take home the jew-
els, Cardillac becomes all at once rude, obstinate,
and is hardly on any terms to be spoken with.
" But, good Master Rene," says the customer,

" to-morrow is my wedding-day, and "

" What the devil do I care for your wedding-
day ?" says Cardillac, — " Call again in a fort-
night hence." " But the necklace is finished ;
here is the price agreed on, and I must have it I11
" And, I tell you," says the goldsmith, " that I
must yet alter many things in this necklace, and
that I shall by no means give it you to-day."
" And, I tell you," thunders the other, " that,
if you will not readily, and in good humour, give
up the necklace, which is now ready, and for which
I am willing even to pay you double, I shall, in
half an hour, bring Desgrais with a troop of gens
cParms, to force them out of your hands ! " " Well,
may the devil himself, and all his imps torment
11

CHAPTER III.

49

you with a thousand pairs of red-hot pincers, and
hang three hundred weight on your necklace, so
that your bride may be strangled !" With these,
or such like words, Cardillac crams the ornament
into the breast pocket of his customer, seizes him
by the arms, and turns him out of doors with such
violence, that he falls headlong down the stair-
case. The goldsmith then runs to the window,
and laughs like a demon, when he sees how the
poor devil of a lover limps, with a bloody nose,
and quite confounded, away from the house.

Such conduct, indeed, durst not be repeated
often ; but adventures had several times occurred
precisely such as we have here described. It was,
moreover, quite extraordinary and inexplicable,
how Cardillac, after he had undertaken a work
with enthusiasm, would, all of a sudden, change
his mind, and, in the greatest agitation, and with
moving entreaties, even sobs and tears, conjured
his employer for the love of the blessed Virgin,
and all the saints, that he might be released from
the fulfilment of his task. Notwithstanding the
readiness with which he generally took orders,
there were several persons of the highest respec-
tability, both at Court and in the city, who had in

vol. i. c

■30 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

vain offered Cardillac large sums in order to pro-
cure from him even the smallest piece of workman-
ship. As to the King, the goldsmith threw him-
self at his Majesty's feet, and implored the favour
that he might be excused from working for him.
In like manner, he refused every commission from
the Marchioness de Maintenon, nay, with an ex-
pression of aversion and horror, rejected an order
that she gave him, to make up a small ring, with
emblematic ornaments, which she wished to have
given as a present to Racine.

" I would lay any bet," said the Marchioness
to de Scuderi, " that if I should send for Car-
dillac, to learn for whom he had made these or-
naments, he would refuse to come, fearing that I
want to give him a commission, for he is firmly
determined never to make any thing for me; — and
yet it has been alleged, that his obstinacy has
rather decreased of late — it is said, he labours
more industriously than ever, and delivers his
work immediately, though not without making
hideous faces, and showing as much irritability
as before.1' De Scuderi, who was extremely anxi-
ous that the ornament should come into the hands
of the proper owner, thought it would only be re-

CHAPTER III.

51

quisite to inform the strange professor of rings and
bracelets, that no task was required of him, far-
ther than his valuation of certain jewels. To this
the Marchioness agreed ; Cardillac was sent for,
and, as if he had been already on the way, but
a short time had elapsed when he made his ap-
pearance.

As soon as he perceived de Scuderi, he seem-
ed like one struck and confounded by some sud-
den impression ; and forgetting for the moment
the rules of good breeding, he made, in the first
place, [a low obeisance to the poetess before he
took any notice of the noble lady of the mansion.
The latter then asked him, abruptly, whether the
necklace (which now lay glittering on the green
cover of the card table,) was of his workmanship ?
Cardillac scarcely deigned to cast a single glance
at the jewels, but, keeping his eyes fixed on the
marchioness, packed both necklace and bracelets
hastily into the box, — and pushed it impatiently
aside ; then, with a ghastly grin on his visage,
he said, " In truth my lady Marchioness, one must
have little experience in jewels, who believes even
for a moment that these could have come from
the hands of any other goldsmith in the world

52 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

but Rene Cardillac. In short, they are my work-
manship."— " Tell me then," saidde Maintenon,
" for whom was it that you made up these orna-
ments ?" — " For myself alone," answered Cardil-
lac ; but perceiving that his auditors listened to
him with distrust and suspicion, — " Aye," said
he, " your ladyship may think this very strange,
hut the fact is just what I have stated. Merely
for the sake of exemplifying a fine pattern in jew-
ellery, I collected my best gems together, and
worked for my own pleasure, more industriously
and carefully than I had ever done for other
people. Not long ago the jewels which I had
made up in this manner, vanished inconceivably
out of my workshop." — " Then, thank Heaven !"
said de Scuderi, " my troubles are at an end,
and, Master Rene, you will receive back from
my hands the property of which you had been
robbed by these unknown miscreants."

She then repeated the circumstances under
which the box had come into her possession, to
all which Cardillac listened with his eyes fixed
on the ground, and without making any answer,
only now and then he exhibited strange gestures,
uttering also divers interjections. — " Ho — ho !"

CHAPTER III.

53

— " aye — aye V and, " so — so P — but when de
Scuderi had ended, it seemed as if he were strug-
gling vehemently with some new fantasies, which
had risen upon him in the course of the narrative,
and which held him in a state of suspense and
irresolution. He rubbed his forehead, and sigh-
ed deeply, — drew his hand over his eyes as if he
wept, — at length took the box which de Scuderi
held out to him, — slowly and solemnly knelt be-
fore her, and said, " To you, noble lady, destiny
has assigned these jewels. Moreover, I recollect
now, for the first time, that when I was employed
on them, I thought of you — nay that I was ab-
solutely working, not for myself alone, as I said
before, but for your sake. Do not disdain then
to receive from me, and to wear this ornament, —
which is, in truth, the best that for a long time I
have been able to finish."

" Eh bien V answered de Scuderi, " what are
you thinking of Master Rene ! — Would it be-
come one at my time of life, to trickle herself out
with diamonds and emeralds like these? And
for what reason would you bestow gifts so lavish-
ly upon me? — If I were handsome and young
like the Marchioness de Fontanges, and rich to

54

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

boot, I should certainly not let such ornaments
out of my hands. But of what use would brace-
lets be to these withered arms, and why should I
wear a necklace, when my neck is never uncover-
ed ?" Cardillac, while she spoke thus, had risen
from his kneeling posture, and with wild looks,
as if half-distracted, still holding the box to Ma-
demoiselle de Scuderi, he said, " Have compas-
sion on me, lady ! Do me but this' one favour,
and accept of the jewels. You have yet no idea
how deep is the veneration which I entertain for
your virtue and talents. Take, I implore of you,
my trifling present, only as a humble token of

my sincere respect and devotion !"

As de Scuderi would on no account touch the
box, de Maintenon at last took it out of C archi-
ve's hands. " Nay, Madem Giselle," said she,
"you speak always of your advanced age ; but what
have you and I to do with years, if our shoulders
are yet unbent by their load ? Are you not now
rather acting like a young coquette, who would
willingly, if she durst, seize on the forbidden fruit,
provided it could be done without hands and fin-
gers ? Do not refuse to accept from good Master
Rene as a free gift, that which others would gladly

CHAPTER III.

55

possess, and yet cannot obtain, even by the highest
offers in money, as well as earnest prayers and en-
treaties." De Maintenon had, with these words,
forced the casket on de Scuderi, and now Cardil-
lac again fell on his knees, kissed her hands, the
hem of her garment, sighed, groaned, wept, sob-
bed,— started up, and finally overturning chairs
and tables, so that glasses and china were bro-
ken into shivers, he ran headlong out of the
house.

De Scuderi was now quite terrified. " For the
love of Heaven," said she, " what is the matter
with the man ? This is absolutely inexplicable."
The Marchioness, however, happened to be in a
very lively humour, approaching to a vein of irony,
which her character seldom exhibited. She laugh-
ed aloud, and said, " Now we have it, Mademoi-
selle ! Master Rene Cardillac has fallen despe-
rately in love with you, and, according to esta-
blished form and usage, begins his attack upon
your heart with a storm of rich presents. De Main-
tenon persisted in her raillery, till at length the
gravity of her guest was overcome. She admo-
nished de Scuderi not to be too cruel to her de-
spairing lover ; and the poetess, giving the reins

56 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI,

to her native humour, was at length led into the
same strain of badinage. She allowed, that if
the siege were really to be carried on in this vehe-
ment manner, she could not escape being at last
conquered, and affording to the world the ex-
traordinary or unique example, of a goldsmith's
bride, seventy three years old, and of untarnished
nobility. De Maintenon offered herself as brides-
maid, also to instruct her friend in the duties of
good housewifery, which it was impossible that
such iiTi petit enfant of a girl could possibly
know much about.

At last, however, when de Scuderi rose to take
leave, (notwithstanding all these jokes,) she -be-
came once more very grave, and hesitated, when
de Maintenon placed the jewel-box in her hands.
" My lady Marchioness," said she, " I shall ne-
ver be able to make any use of these ornaments.
At one time or another, in whatever way it may
have happened, they "have been in the possession
of that accursed band of outlaws, who, with the in-
solent assurance of the very devil himself, if not
actually in league with him, commit robbery and
murder in every street of the city. I cannot look
on these glittering diamonds, without seeming to

CHAPTER III.

57

behold, at the same time, the bleeding spectral
form, of the poor victim from whom they have
been taken ; for as to Cardillac's story, I place no
reliance whatever upon his words, and in his be-
haviour throughout, there appears to me some-
what frightful and mysterious. No doubt there
are insurmountable difficulties in my way, if I
should accuse good Master Rene of any share in
the crimes by which every one is now so much
alarmed ; since he has always been considered as
the very model of an honest, conscientious, though
half-crazy citizen ; yet I cannot conquer the ap-
prehension, that, behind all his eccentricity, real
or pretended, there lurks some horrid mystery.
At all events, I shall certainly never wear the
jewels." The Marchioness insisted that this was
carrying scruples too far, but when de Scude-
ri, begged of her seriously, and on her word of
honour, to say how she would act in the same si-
tuation, de Maintenon answered firmly, and reso-
lutely, that she would far rather throw the orna-
ments into the Seine than ever wear them.

Afterwards, de Scuderi, who, notwithstanding
the time that she bestowed on her long romances,
had a propensity to make rhymes on every chance
c 2

58 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

occurrence of the day, turned the whole adven-
ture with the goldsmith into very good mock he-
roics, which, on the following evening, she read
over to the king at the chambers of de Main-
tenon. As might be supposed, she contrived, at
Cardillac's expence, such a ridiculous picture of
the goldsmith and his noble bride, aged seventy -
three, that every one was highly diverted ; — suf-
fice it, that the king laughed with all his might,
and swore that Boileau himself had met with a
rival, on which account de Scuderi's poem was,
of course, set down as the wittiest that had ever
appeared in the world. So the matter seemed
at an end, and was forgotten.

10

CHAPTER IV.

59

CHAPTER IV.

Several months had passed away, when it
chanced that de Scuderi was one day driving
along the Pont Neuf, in the glass-coach of the
Duchess de Montansier. At this time, the in-
vention of coaches with glass- windows was so new,
that a crowd always collected when an equipage
of that kind passed along the streets. So it hap-
pened in the present instance, that the gaping
populace surrounded de Montansier's coach in
such manner, that the horses could hardly get
forward. Suddenly, de Scuderi heard a great
uproar on the bridge, and perceived a young man,
who, by dint of thrusts and fisty-curTs, was mak-
ing his way forcibly through the crowd. — On his
approach nearer, she was painfully struck by the
deadly pale countenance of the youth, whose fea-
tures, though naturally fine, were now distorted
by grief and anxiety. His eyes were constantly

60 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDEltl.

fixed on her during the whole tumult, while,
with continued violence, he cleared the way be-
fore him, till at length he arrived at the door
of the carriage, which, the glass being drawn up,
he impetuously forced open ; then threw a billet
into the lap of de Scuderi, and again dealing out,
and receiving curses and blows on all sides, he
vanished, fighting his way as he had come.

It should have been already noticed, however,
that as soon as the man had reached the coach-
door, Martiniere, the waiting-maid, who was now
in attendance on her mistress, fell back with a
scream of terror, and hid her face on the cushion.
In vain did the Lady de Scuderi pull the cord,
and call to the coachman to stop. As if posses-
sed by the devil, he lashed away at his horses,
who foamed and snorted, reared and were restive,
but, at last, in a brisk trot, thundered away
across the bridge. De Scuderi emptied a whole
bottle of eau de Cologne over the forehead and
temples of the fainting abigail, who at last open-
ed her eyes, though trembling in every limb, and
almost convulsively clung to her mistress. " The
saints protect us," said she at last ; — " what did
the frightful man want ? — Good Heaven ! It was

CHAPTER IV.

61

he — it was the very same youth who came to us
at midnight, terrified us out of our senses, and
left the mysterious casket ?" De Scuderi tried to
pacify the poor girl, representing to her, that ab-
solutely no mischief had been done ; and that the
only point in question, at present, was to know
what the billet contained. Accordingly, she un-
folded the paper, and read these words :

"An evil destiny which you might avert, threat-
ens to plunge me into the very abyss of destruc-
tion. I conjure you, even as a son would respect-
fully implore of a mother, that you will give back
the necklace and bracelets which you received
from me, to the goldsmith Rene de Cardillac.
Let this be done under any pretext ; but it may
be best to say to him that some alteration is re-
quired in the arrangement of the jewels. Your
own welfare, — nay your life depends upon this,
and if you do not act according to my advice
before the day after to-morrow, I shall force my
way into your house ; and, in my despair, will put
myself to death in your sight.1,1

" Now, it is certain," said de Scuderi, when
she had read the note, " that if this person really
belongs to the noted band of thieves and murder-

62

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

ers, yet his intentions towards me at least are not
evil. If he had only succeeded in speaking with
me that night, who knows what strange myste-
ries might have been brought to light, as to which
I cannot now form even the remotest guess ; but
whatever the truth may be, I shall certainly do
what is required of me in this letter ; were it for
no other reason than to get rid of these abomina-
ble jewels, which appear to me like an absolute
talisman of the devil, but which Cardillac, if we
may judge by his past conduct, will not so easily
let out of his possession, if he once gets them in-
to his hands again."

On the very next day, de Scuderi intended to go
with the necklace and bracelets to the goldsmith's
house; but it seemed that morning as if all the beaux
esprits in Paris had conspired to attack the lady
with an absolute storm of verses, plays, and ro-
mances. Scarcely had la Chapelle finished read-
ing a scene from one of his new tragedies, by which
he hoped to beat Racine completely off the field,
when the latter himself entered, and with a long
pathetic speech from " Phedra," completely
knocked his antagonist to the ground. Then
Boileau was obliged to come forward, and cast

CHAPTER IV.

GS

some of his brilliant rays of wit and humour
through the gloom of this tragic atmosphere,—
in order that he himself might not be tired to
death, by a discussion on architecture, and the
colonnades of the Louvre, into which he had been
forced by Dr Perreault. At length it was past
mid-day, and de Scuderi was forced to go to the
Duchess de Montansier. Thus her visit to Cardil-
lac was unavoidably put off till the following day ;
but meanwhile she suffered extraordinary dis-
quietude of mind. The figure of the strange young
man was constantly before her ; it seemed that she
had long ere now been acquainted with his fea-
tures, though she could not tell how nor where ;
and yet these dim recollections appeared always
ready to start forward into strength and reality.
Her sleep, too, was disturbed by frightful dreams.
She saw the unhappy man clinging to the brink
of a frightful precipice, or struggling in dark
stormy waters, whence he stretched up his hands
imploring her compassion. She thought, even,
that it might perhaps have been in her power to
prevent some enormous crime, of which the plot
would have been revealed, if she had heard his con-
fessions. Therefore, as soon as the morning broke,

64

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

she summoned Martiniere, made her toilette in
haste, and, provided with the casket of jewels, drove
away to the house of the goldsmith.

On arriving in the Rue de la Nicaise, near
Cardillac's habitation, she was astonished to find
the street crowded with people, all pressing for-
ward with one intent to the same place ; among
whom men, women, and children, shouted, scream-
ed, and raged, as if determined to force their way,
and with difficulty held back by the gens cTar-
mes, who now surrounded the house. In this
unaccountable hubbub, voices were heard call-
ing aloud — " Tear him in pieces ! — Tear him
limb from limb, the accursed treacherous murder-
er!"— At length Desgrais made his appearance
with a numerous posse, and forced a passage
through the thick of the multitude. Then, after
some interval, the house-door bursts open, the fi-
gure of a man loaded with chains is brought out,
and dragged away, followed by frightful execrations
from the raging mob.

At the same moment when de Scuderi, almost
overcome with terror and dark apprehensions,
perceived this event, a shrilling cry of distress
struck on her ears. " Drive on — drive on !" cried

CHAPTER IV.

65

she to the coachman, who, with a quick and cle-
ver turn of his horses, contrived to divide the
thick mass of people, and to stop right before the
door of Cardillac. There, on the threshold, she
finds Desgrais, and at his feet a young girl of ex-
traordinary beauty,— with her dress in disorder,
her hair dishevelled, and the wildness of despair
in her countenance. She clings to the police-of-
ficer's knees, and, in a tone of the most heart-
rending anguish, exclaims, " He is innocent — he
is innocent !" — In vain he and his attendants try
to stop her cries, and raise her from the ground.
A strong uncouth fellow at last seized hold of her
arms, violently forcing her away from Desgrais ;
— stumbled awkwardly, and let the poor girl fall,
who, without uttering another word, was precipi-
tated down the stone steps of the staircase, till she
lay as if dead on the street. De Scuderi could
no longer remain silent. " In God's name,"
cried she, " what is the matter ? — what is the
cause of all this ?" — With her own hands she
hastily opened the carriage-door, threw down the
steps, and alighted. Accordingly the people,
with great respect, made room for the venerable
lady, who, perceiving that some kind-hearted

66 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

bourgeoises had lifted up the unhappy girl, and
were rubbing her temples with eau de Cologne,
turned to Desgrais, and, with passionate eager-
ness, repeated her questions. " Madame," an-
swered the officer, " we have this morning dis-
covered the most horrible crime which has been
committed for many weeks. That worthy citi-
zen, Rene Cardillac has been found murdered,
having been stabbed to the heart with a dagger;
— we have proved that his journeyman, Olivier
Brusson, is the murderer, and he has just now
been led away to prison." — " But the young
beautiful girl?" said de Scuderi in a tone of
anxious inquiry. u The girl," answered Des-
grais, " is Madelon, the daughter of Cardillac,
and the murderer was her accepted lover. Now,
she has been weeping and howling out for an hour
past, that Olivier is innocent, — quite innocent.
Doubtless, however, she is an accomplice in this
deed, and perhaps in many others— but we shall
have her immediately carried to the Conciergerie?
In speaking these words, Desgrais cast such an
ironical and malicious glance on the poor Made-
lon, that de Scuderi involuntarily trembled at his
aspect.. Just then his unfortunate victim began

CHAPTER IV.

67

to breathe perceptibly ; but she lay with her eyes
closed, and incapable of speech or motion, — so
that the people were perplexed, and knew not
whether to carry her into the house, or keep her
where she lay, until, by farther assistance, she was
restored to her senses. Much agitated, and with
her eyes swimming in tears, de Scuderi looked at
the angelic countenance of the unfortunate girl, and
her heart recoiled in horror from Desgrais and his
associates. In a few moments after, there was heard
a sound of slow heavy steps on the staircase ; — the
police-officers were bearing away the dead body
of Cardillac, and de Scuderi, knowing that her
opportunity for interference would soon be lost.,
now came to a sudden determination. " I shall
take the young woman home to my house,1' said
she, " for she is now ill, and requires kindness and
support after the distress that she has undergone.
Her guilt remains to be proved, and I shall an-
swer for her appearance when necessary; — for the
rest, you, Desgrais, will not fail to do your duty."
These words being heard, a murmur of applause
ran through the multitude. The women who
stood nearest lifted up Madelon, and immediate-
ly hundreds of people thronged to the spot, wish-

68

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

ing to render assistance, so that, as if floating in
the air, the girl was borne along, and safely placed
in the carriage. Meanwhile blessings were poured
forth from the lips of all present on the venerable
and dignified lady, who had thus rescued inno-
cence from the fangs of the executioners.

By the kind attentions of Serons, the most ce-
lebrated physician in Paris, Madelon, who had
long remained in a state of unconsciousness, was
perfectly restored to recollection. De Scuderi her-
self completed what the physician had begun, en-
deavouring by all her arts of eloquence to kindle up
rays of hope in the dark mind of her protegee,—
till at last the poor sufferer was relieved by a vio-
lent burst of tears, and she was enabled, though
her voice was often choked by sobs, to relate in
her own way, all that had occurred.

About midnight, she had been awoke by knock-
ing at the door of her bed-room, and had heard
the voice of Olivier Brusson, conjuring her to rise
up immediately, for her father was dying. In
great agitation she had started up, and opened
the door, when she found Olivier waiting for her;
but his features were pale and disfigured ; the
perspiration was dropping from his forehead, and

CHAPTER IV.

69

his limbs tottered so that he could hardly sup-
port himself. He led the way to her father's
work-room, whither she followed him, and where
she found Cardillac lying with his eyes fixed and
staring ; for he was already in the agonies of death.
With a loud shriek, she had thrown herself down
by her father, and then, for the first time, remark-
ed that his clothes were drenched in blood. Brus-
son drew her gently away, and then began, as well
he could, to wash with astringent balsam a fright-
ful wound in Cardillac's left side, and to bind it
up. During this operation, the unfortunate man
was restored to consciousness; — he breathed more
freely, and had looked up expressively at her and
Olivier. Finally, he had taken her hand, placed
it in that of the young man, and fervently press-
ed them together. Both then fell on their knees
beside the dying man, expecting that he was to
give them his blessing ; but, with a cry of an-
guish, he raised himself up on his couch, imme-
diately fell back again, and, uttering a long deep
groan, he expired.

Now they had both given way to tears and la-
mentations. Olivier, however, found words to in-
form her, that he had been ordered by his master

70

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

to attend him about midnight, — that they had
gone out together, and, that Cardillac had, in his
presence, been attacked and stabbed by an assas-
sin. Hoping that the wound was not mortal, he
had, with excessive labour and exertion, taken
the poor man on his shoulders, and carried him
home.

As soon as the morning broke, the people of
the house, who had been disturbed by the noise
of weeping and lamentation through the night,
came up to their room, and found them still dis-
consolate, kneeling in prayer beside the dead
body. Now, the alarm was given ; the Mare-
chaussee broke into the house, and dragged off
Olivier to prison, as the murderer of his master.
To all this, Madelon now added the most moving
description, how piously and faithfully he had al-
ways conducted himself, affirming that he had
ever shown towards Cardillac the respect and obe-
dience of a son towards a father, and that the lat-
ter had fully appreciated his worth, having chosen
him, notwithstanding his poverty, for his son-in-
law, and having proved that his cleverness as
an artist, was only to be excelled by his steadi-
ness, and excellent disposition. Every word ut-

CHAPTER IV.

71

tered by Madelon seemed to bear the stamp of
truth, and to be spoken from the heart. She con-
cluded by declaring, that if she had even beheld
Olivier, in her own presence, inflict the death-
wound on her father, she would rather have held
this for a delusion of the devil, than have believ-
ed that her lover could have been guilty of such
a horrible crime.

De Scuderi, deeply moved by the sufferings of
Madelon, and, now fully disposed to look on her
lover as innocent, made farther inquiries, and
found every thing confirmed that the poor girl
had said, as to the domestic circumstances of the
master and his journeyman. The people of the
house, and in the neighbourhood, universally
praised Olivier as a model of regularity, devo-
tion and industry. No one among them knew
any evil action of which he had ever been guilty,
and yet, when conversation turned on the mur-
der, all shrugged their shoulders. — thought there
was something here quite inconceivable and mys-
terious, so that it was impossible to say what con-
clusion should be drawn. Meanwhile, Olivier,
when brought before the judges of the Chambre
Ardente, denied, as Scuderi was informed, all

72 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

participation in the deed. In this he persisted
with the utmost constancy, and without any symp-
toms of embarrassment, affirming that his master
had, in his presence, been attacked and knocked
down, after which he had brought him home,
still alive, to his own house, where, being severely
wounded, he had shortly afterwards expired.
All this accorded precisely with the narrative of
Madelon.

De Scuderi left no method untried, to obtain
the most correct information. She inquired mi-
nutely whether there had lately been any quarrel
between the master and his journeyman ; — whe-
ther Olivier, though generally good-tempered, had
not been subject to fits of passion, — that often
misleads people into crimes, from which they would
otherwise have recoiled with horror ? But there
was so much of the heartfelt inspiration of truth
in Madelon's account of the quiet domestic hap-
piness in which they all three lived together,
that at length every shadow of suspicion against
Brusson vanished wholly from her mind. Indeed,
setting aside all the circumstances which so de-
cidedly pleaded his innocence, de Scuderi was
unable to discover any motive on his part for such
11

CHAPTEll IV.

73

a deed. On the contrary, it could, in every point
of view, only tend to his own destruction, and the
overthrow of his worldly hopes. " He is poor,"
reasoned de Scuderi, " but clever as an artist ;
he succeeds in acquiring the confidence of the
most eminent jeweller in Paris ; — falls in love with
the only daughter of his master, who approves of
their attachment ; thus happiness and prosperity
seem to be secured to him for his whole life to
come. But, notwithstanding all this, supposing
that Olivier had been overpowered by sudden
passion, and excited to such madness as to make
an attack on his benefactor, yet what supernatural
hypocrisy he must possess, in order to manage the
atrocious deed in such manner, and pretend to be
so much afflicted ?" In short, with an almost per-
fect conviction of his innocence, de Scuderi form-
ed the determination, to rescue the unfortunate
young man, whatever trouble and exertion this
might cost.

VOL. I.

D

74 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDEIU.

CHAPTER V.

Before applying to the king, which was in-
deed the dernier resort, she resolved, in the first
place, to have some private conversation with the
President la Regnie, to request his attention to all
the circumstances which pleaded in favour of the
young man, and thus awaken in the president's
mind, an interest in the fate of the accused, which,
without infringing the strictness of legal and offi-
cial duty, he might benevolently impart to the
other judges. La Regnie, of course, received de
Scuderi with the high respect to which the vene-
rable lady, whom the king himself always addres-
sed with deference, was so justly entitled. He
listened quietly to all that she had to say of the
domestic circumstances of Olivier and his excel-
lent character ; but to this she did not obtain one
favourable word, or even interjection in return.
A slight and almost scornful smile, now and then

CHAPTER V.

75

threatening to change into a grin, was the only
proof afforded by la Regnie, that the assertions, —
the earnest admonitions of de Scuderi did not fall
on ears altogether deaf and inattentive. She in-
sisted that every righteous judge must beware of
being an enemy of the prisoner ; on the contrary,
he must give his attention even to the minutest
particle of evidence that could be looked upon as
exculpatory. At last, when the lady had exhaust-
ed all her arguments, and, with her handkerchief
at her eyes, remained silent, la Regnie began ; —
" Doubtless, my lady, it is an admirable proof of
your benevolence of heart, that you should have
been thus moved by the tears and protestations of
a young girl who is in love, and that you should
have even believed all that she has asserted.
Nay, it is hardly to be expected that a mind so
constituted as yours should conceive the existence
of crimes so horrible. But it is quite different
with one who, in order to fulfil his painful duties
as a judge, is obliged to tear off the mask from
the basest cunning and hypocrisy. At the same
time, you, my lady, must certainly perceive that
it is no part of my business, nor even consistent
with my duty, to develope and reveal to every one

76 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

the manner in which a criminal process is carried
through and decided. I fulfil my duty, and, being
conscious of this, I am, as to the opinion of the
world, wholly indifferent. It is absolutely requisite
that the abandoned crimin als, by whom we are now-a-
days beset and tormented, should be made to trem-
ble before the court of the ChambreArdente, whose
punishments are never mitigated, but consist only
of death by the scaffold or by fire. In your pre-
sence, however, Mademoiselle, I would not will-
ingly appear a monster of harshness and cruelty.
Therefore, allow me, in as few words as possible,
to place clearly and unequivocally before you the
guilt of this young miscreant, on whom, God be
thanked, the sword of just vengeance is about to
fall. When you have heard my account of the
evidence, your powerful understanding will then
lead you to contemn that kind-hearted credulity
which, though it may be praiseworthy in the lady
de Scuderi, would, on my part as a judge, be
wholly unbecoming, and, indeed, unpardonable.

" So then, to commence ; — Rene Cardillac is
one morning found murdered ; — as usual, in such
cases, he has been stabbed to the heart with a sti-
letto. No one is beside him but his apprentice,

CHAPTER V.

77

Olivier Brusson, and his daughter. In the bed-
chamber of Brusson, amongst other effects that
were examined, is found a dagger covered with
blood, still fresh, and which, on being tried, fits
exactly into the wound." — " Cardillac," says the
young man, " was in my presence attacked and
knocked down on the streets at midnight.'" — " The
villains then wished to rob him ?" — " That," says
he, "I cannot tell." — " But you were walking
with him, and was it not possible for you to lay
hold of the murderers and call for help ?" — " My
master," he answers, " was fifteen or twenty steps
before me, and I followed him." — " Wherefore,
in the name of wonder, were you at such a dis-
tance ?"— " My master would have it so." — " But
what, in all the world, could the goldsmith, Car-
dillac, have to do at such an hour on the street ?*
— " That again," answers he, " I cannot answer."
— " But, till now," says the Chambre Ardente,
" he was never known to leave his own house af-
ter nine o'clock in the evening." At this remark,
Olivier, instead of returning any direct answer,
falters, grows confused, bursts into tears, then
swears over again that Cardillac actually had

78

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDEItl.

gone out of his house on the night referred to,
and had, consequently, been put to death.

" But your ladyship will please to observe, with
attention, what now follows : It has been proved,
even to an absolute certainty, that Cardillac did
not, on that evening, leave his own house, and, of
course, Olivier's story of the midnight walk is an
infamous fabrication. The house-door is provid-
ed with a large and heavy lock, which, on open-
ing and shutting, makes a loud grating noise.
Then, too, the door itself creaks violently on its
hinges, so that, by the trials that have been made,
we know that, from the garret to the cellar, it dis-
turbs all the inhabitants. Besides, on the
ground floor of this building, and, therefore, quite
close to the outward door, lives an old gentleman,
Monsieur Claude Patru, now in his eightieth
year, but still in possession of all his faculties ;
and this old man is attended by a female servant.
These people heard Rene Cardillac, on the night
of the murder, come down stairs exactly at nine
o'clock ; close and bolt the outward gate with
great noise, — then return up stairs, read aloud a
portion of the evening service, — and at last retire
to his bed-room, of which also, they heard him

CHAPTER. V.

79

close the door with vehemence. This Monsieur
Claude Patru, as it often happens to old persons,
could hardly ever sleep, and, through this night
particularly, he had not been able to close his
eyes. Accordingly, the old woman who attends
him, went, as she depones, about half past ten
o'clock, into the kitchen for light, trimmed the
lamp, and replenished it with oil, then seated her-
self at a table beside Monsieur Patru, with a fa-
vourite book, which she read aloud, while the old
gentleman, following out his own reveries, now
seated himself in his arm-chair, now rose up and
walked about, all for the sake of becoming wear-
ried and obtaining sleep.

" The whole house remained tranquil, till after
midnight. Then the woman suddenly heard
heavy steps over her head, and a noise as if of
some great weight falling to the ground. Imme-
diately thereafter, she heard also hollow groans,
and her old master became like herself alarmed
and anxious. A mysterious foreboding of some
horrid event passed through their minds, and the
discovery of the morning proved that their sus-
picions were but too well grounded." " But," in-
terrupted de Scuderi, " could you, from all the

80

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

circumstances which have been stated on either
side, find out any adequate motive for Olivier
Brusson committing such an atrocious and un-
paralleled crime ?" — 44 Humph P answered la
Regnie, with another ironical smile, " Cardillac
was not poor ; he was in the possession of admir-
able diamonds p* " Yet," said de Scuderi, " was
not his daughter heiress of all that property ? You
forget that Olivier was to have been son-in-law
to the goldsmith ?" " That is no decisive proof
answered la Regnie, " we are not obliged to ad-
mit, that Brusson committed the crime solely on
his own account, though no doubt admitted to his
share." " What means this talk of sharing and
agency ?" said de Scuderi. " Your ladyship will
please to observe," answered la Regnie, " that
Brusson would, long ere now, have been led to the
scaffold, were it not that he is obviously connec-
ted with that horrid conspiracy, which has hither-
to baffled our inquiries, and kept all Paris in
suspense and agitation. It is suspected, indeed
known, that this miscreant belonged to that band
of robbers who have held in scorn and mockery
all measures taken against them by the ministers
of justice, and have continued to carry on their

CHAPTER V.

hi

enormities, securely and without punishment.
Through his confessions, however, which we shall
in due time extort, that mystery will no doubt be
rendered clear. I should have observed, that
Cardillac's wound is precisely similar to those
which have been examined on the dead bodies of
other victims, who were found murdered in the
streets and courts, or corridors of houses. But
the circumstance which we consider as of all the
most decisive, is, that, since Brusson's arrestment,
these robberies and murders which before hap-
pened almost every night, have entirely ceased,
and one may now walk on the streets just as se-
curely by night as by day. This alone affords
sufficient presumptive proof, that Olivier must
have been at the head of these assassins, and
though, to this hour, he has persisted in asserting
his innocence, yet we have means enough of for-
cing him to confess, however great his obstinacy
may be.

u But then, as to Madelon," — said de Scuderi,
" the poor innocent girl ?" " Ha — ha !" answered
la Regnie, " who can give me sufficient assurance,
that she has not been an accomplice ? What does
she care for her father's death ? It is only for
d 2

82 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

the murderer's sake that her tears flow so freely."
44 What do you say ?" cried de Scuderi, " It is
impossible. Would this poor blameless child aim
against her father's life ?" 44 Oh— oh !" said la
Regnie, shrugging his shoulders, 44 your ladyship
seems to have forgotten the conduct of la Brin-
villiers. You will be so good as to forgive me,
if I find myself ere long necessitated to drag this
favourite from your protecting arms, and to lodge
her in the Conciergerie.r'

At this horrible suggestion, a cold shuddering
pervaded the whole frame of the kind-hearted de
Scuderi. It seemed to her as if, in the presence
of this abominable man, all truth and virtue were
annihilated, — that in every heart he could find
out concealed propensities to the most diabolical
crimes. 44 At all events, do not forget that even
a judge ought to be humane !" said she, 44 and
these words were all that, with a . faltering and sup-
pressed voice, she was able to bring out. When,
just on the point of descending the staircase to
which the president, with ceremonious politeness
accompanied her, a sudden thought rose in her
mind. 44 Would it be granted me,'1 said she, 44 to
speak with the unhappy youth in prison ?" The

CHAPTER V.

83

president, hearing this abrupt question, looked at
her with an air of doubt and reflection ; then his
visage twisted itself into an ironical smile, which
was to him quite peculiar. " Certainly," answer-
ed he, " this may be allowed. I perceive, my
lady, that you are yet more inclined to trust to
your own benevolent impulses, than to any legal
proofs, — and as you wish to try Brusson after
your own manner, within two hours hence, the
gates of the Conciergerie shall be opened, and
this criminal ordered to attend you. Think, how-
ever, whether it will not be too abhorrent to your
feelings to enter these dark abodes of profligacy
and punishment, where you may encounter vice
in its varied stages of suffering and degradation."

In truth, however, de Scuderi would by no
means be convinced of the young man's guilt.
Many evidences had doubtless been brought for-
ward against him — and after such apparent proofs,
perhaps no judge in the world could have acted
otherwise than la Regnie had done. But then,
the innocent looks and grief of Madelon, with the
picture she had drawn of domestic happiness, act-
ed as a complete counterbalance to every evil sus-
picion, and de Scuderi would rather admit the

84 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

existence of some inexplicable and even superna-
tural mystery, than believe that at which her in-
most heart revolted. She now determined, there-
fore, that she would make Olivier relate over again
all that had happened on thatfatal night, — to watch
whether his account corresponded exactly to that
of Madelon, and, as far as possible, to reconcile
those difficulties with which the judges would
perhaps give themselves no farther trouble, as they
considered the prisoner's guilt so clearly esta-
blished.

On arriving at the Conciergerie, de Scuderi
was conducted into a large and well lighted cham-
ber, where the rattling of chains soon announced
Brusson's approach ; but no sooner had he cross-
ed the threshold, than, to the astonishment of the
attendants, de Scuderi trembled, grew deadly
pale, and, without uttering a word, sank fainting
into a chair. When she recovered, the prisoner
was no longer in the room, and she demanded im-
patiently that she should be led back to her car-
riage. She was determined not to remain another
moment in this abode of crime and misery, for,
alas ! she had recognized in Brusson, at the very
first glance, the young man who had thrown the

CHAPTER V, 85

billet into her carriage on the Pont Neuf, and
who, (according to Martiniere's evidence,) had
brought her the casket with the jewels. La
Regnie's horrid suggestions were therefore too
surely confirmed, and as Brusson belonged ob-
viously to that band of midnight assassins, there
could be little or no doubt that he was the mur-
derer of his master. But still, the beauty — youth,
and apparent innocence of Madelon ? — never hav-
ing been till now so bitterly deceived by her own
benevolent impulses, and forced to admit the ex-
istence of guilt, which she would before have
thought impossible, she was reduced almost to
utter despair, and it seemed to her, as if there
were no longer any real truth and virtue in the
world ! As it usually happens that a powerful
and active mind, if it once takes up an image or
impression, always seeks and finds means to colour
it more forcibly and vividly, de Scuderi, when
she reflected once more on the murder, and on
every circumstance of Madelon's narrative, found
much that tended to nourish her evil suspicions,
till even those very points of evidence, which she
had before received as proofs of the poor girl's
innocence and purity, now seemed only manifes-

86

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

tationsof the basest hypocrisy and deception. That
heart-rending grief, and those floods of tears, so
piteous to hear and look upon, might have been
extorted merely by the terror of seeing her lover
bleed on the scaffold, or, indeed, of falling herself
a victim to the same punishment. She deter-
mined at last that she would shake off at once
and for ever, the vile serpent whom she had in-
tended so rashly to cherish in her bosom, and with
this fixed resolution, she alighted from her car-
riage, on her return from la Regnie.

When she entered her own apartment, Made-
Ion was there, anxiously waiting her arrival.
She threw herself at the feet of her benefactress,
and with uplifted eyes, and clasped hands, look-
ing innocent as an angel from Heaven, she ex-
claimed, in the most heart-rending tone, " Dear-
est lady ! Oh, say that you have brought me
hope and consolation !" — De Scuderi, not with-
out great effort, regaining self-possession, and en-
deavouring to give to her voice as much gravity
and calmness as possible, answered, — " Go —
go ! — Console yourself as well as you can for the
fate of the murderer, whom a just punishment
now awaits for the deeds of which he has been

CHAPTER V.

87

convicted. God grant that the guilt of some
such assassination may not also weigh on your
conscience !"" — " Oh, Heaven have mercy;" cried
Madelon — 66 all now is lost !" and, with a pier-
cing shriek, she fell fainting on the ground. De
Scuderi gave her in charge to la Martiniere, and
retired into another room.

Almost heart-broken, and utterly discontented
with herself, and every one else,de Scuderi scarce-
ly wished to live any longer in a world haunted
by such abominable deceit and hypocrisy. She
complained bitterly of her capricious destiny,
which had granted to her so many years, during
which, her reliance on her own judgment in dis-
tinguishing between vice and virtue, had remain-
ed unshaken, and now, in her old age, had at
once annihilated, as if in scorn and mockery, all
the beautiful illusions by which her spirits had
hitherto been supported ; for, with whom had she
ever thought herself more secure than with this
unfortunate girl ? — While she was thus occupied,
it chanced that she overheard some conversation
between Madelon and la Martiniere. She could
distinguish that the former said, in a low soft
voice, — " Alas ! and she too has been deluded

88 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

at last by these cruel men ! — Oh wretched Ma-
delon ! — Poor unfortunate Olivier !'* the tone in
which these words were uttered, struck de Scuderi
to the heart, and again she felt, involuntarily, an ap-
prehension that there might be some hidden mys-
tery, which, if revealed, would completely prove
Brusson's innocence, — and, tormented by this
conflict of impressions, she could not help ex-
claiming,— " What demon has involved me in
this affair, which becomes so intolerable, that it
will actually cost me my life !"

Just then Baptiste came into the room, pale
and trembling, with the intelligence that Desgrais
was at the door, and demanded instant admit-
tance. Since the trial of the abominable la Voi-
sin, the appearance of this officer at any house
was the sure sign of some criminal accusation, and
on this account the faithful porter had been so terri-
fied. De Scuderi, however, smiled very composedly.
" What is the matter with you, Baptiste ?" said
she, " Perhaps you think that my name has been
discovered on la Voisin's catalogue ?" — ei God
forbid,1' answered Baptiste, " how can your lady-
ship speak of such a thing ? — But, still, the hor-
rible man Desgrais talks and looks so mysterious-
10

CHAPTER V.

89

ly, — and he is so urgent, that it seems as if he had
not even a single moment to wait your leisure.'" —
" Well, then," answered de Scuderi, " bring the
man to this room as soon as possible ; for, however
horrible he appears in your estimation, his visit
causes to me no anxiety whatever." Baptiste went
accordingly, and soon returned, followed by this
unwelcome guest.

" The President," said Desgrais, speaking all
the way as he came into the room, as if to save
time, " the President la Regnie has sent me to
your Ladyship with a request to which he could
scarcely hope that you would agree, were it not
that he is so well aware of your extraordinary
courage, and your zeal for justice ; moreover,
were it not that the last and only means to unra-
vel the mystery attending the assassination of
Cardillac seems to rest in your hands. Besides,
he informs me that you have already taken a
lively interest in that criminal process, by which
the whole attention of the Chambre Ardente
is now occupied. Olivier Brusson, since the time
when, as I am informed, he was permitted to see
your Ladyship at the Conciergerie, has been half
distracted. Before that interview he seemed at

90

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

times disposed to make a confession; but now
again, he swears by Heaven and all the saints,
that, as to the murder of Cardillae, he is per-
fectly innocent, though, for his other crimes, he
indeed deserves punishment. You will observe,
Mademoiselle, that this last clause points at some
concealed guilt, of which the very existence was
yet unsuspected, and which may prove far more
important than Cardillac's assassination ; but our
endeavours have been completely baffled as to ex-
torting from him even a single word more. Even
the threat of putting him on the rack seems not to
have any influence. Meanwhile he besets us with
the most earnest prayers and suppli cations that we
should grant him another meeting with you ; for
it is to the Lady de Scuderi alone that he is will-
ing to make a full confession. Our humble re-
quest then is, that you will have the condescen-
sion and goodness to hear in private the deposi-
tion of Olivier Brusson."

" How is this ?" cried de Scuderi, quite angri-
ly, " am I then to serve as an agent of your cri-
minal court ?— Am I to abuse the confidence re-
posed in me by an unhappy man, and endeavour
to bring him to the scaffold ? — No — no, Desgrais !

CHAPTER V.

91

— Brusson may be a murderer, but I shall never
act such a degrading part as you would have me
to take against him. Moreover, I have no wish
to be acquainted with any of the mysteries which
may weigh on his conscience ; and which, if they
were intrusted to me, I should look upon as sa-
cred, and never to be divulged." — " Perhaps,"
said Desgrais in a sneering tone, " your ladyship's
intentions in that respect might be changed if you
had once heard his confession. But have you not
yourself earnestly enjoined the President to be hu-
mane?— He now implicitly follows your advice,
by giving way to the foolish requests of this cri-
minal, and is willing to try the last possible means
before having recourse to the torture, to which, in
truth, Brusson should long ere this have been
doomed." At these words de Scuderi could not
help shuddering with apprehension. " Your la-
dyship will please to observe," added Desgrais,
" that we should by no means wish you again to
visit the gloomy chambers of the Conciergerie,
which may, no doubt, have inspired you with dis-
gust and aversion. In the quiet of the night,
when no notice will be taken of our proceedings,

92 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

Brusson may be brought to your own house,
where, without being overheard, (though we shall
doubtless keep a strict watch on the doors and
windows,) he may, unconstrained and voluntari-
ly, make his confession. That your ladyship
has nothing to fear from this unfortunate man, I
am thoroughly convinced, and, on that point,
could set my own life at stake. He speaks of you
with the greatest respect and veneration, insist-
ing, too, that, if his cruel destiny had not denied
him an interview with the Lady de Scuderi at the
proper time, all his present misery would have
been averted. Finally, it will remain completely
at your choice, after the meeting, to repeat what
Brusson has divulged, or to conceal it, as you
may think proper

De Scuderi remained for some time silent, and
lost in reflection. She would gladly have avoid-
ed this interview ; yet it seemed as if Providence
had chosen her as an agent to clear up this intri-
cate mystery, and that it was impossible for her
now to retreat. At length, having formed her
resolution, she answered Desgrais with great dig-
nity. " The task devolved on me is indeed pain-

CHAPTER V.

93

ful and repugnant to my feelings; but Heaven
will grant me patience and composure to undergo
that which I know to be my duty. Bring the
criminal hither this evening, and I shall speak
with him as you desire."

94 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

CHAPTER VI.

Just as formerly, when Brusson came with the
jewels, there was a knocking about midnight at
the house-door, which Baptiste, who was fore-
warned of this visit, immediately opened. A
shivering coldness pervaded every nerve in de
Scuderi's frame, when, by the measured steps, and
hollow murmuring voices, she was aware that the
gens cTannes, who had brought the prisoner, di-
vided their forces, and took their stations to keep
watch in different corners of the corridor. At
last the door of her chamber was slowly opened.
Desgrais stepped in, and behind him the criminal,
who was now freed from his fetters, and well
dressed. " Please your Ladyship," said the po-
lice-officer, " here is the prisoner and, accord-
ing to promise, he retired, without another word,
to his post in the corridor.

Brusson now fell on his knees before the vene-
4

CHAPTER VI.

95

rable lady, clasped his hands imploringly, and
burst into tears, — while de Scuderi became very
pale, and looked at him without being able to
speak. Though his features were now changed
and disfigured by the sufferings he had under-
gone, yet, on his naturally fine countenance, there
was an expression of truth and honesty, which
pleaded more than any words could have done
in his favour. Besides, the longer that de Scu-
deri observed him, the more forcibly there arose
on her mind the idea of some person whom she
had once known and loved, but whose name it
was impossible for her to recall. By degrees, all
her former feelings of aversion and terror declined
away. She forgot that it was the murderer of
Cardillac who knelt before her, and spoke to him
in that graceful tone of quiet benevolence which
was so peculiarly her own, asking him why he had
requested this meeting, and what he had to dis-
close to her? The youth still remained in his sup-
pliant posture, heaved a deep sigh, and answered,
" Oh my worthy and much honoured benefactress,
— is it then possible that all remembrance of me
has vanished from your mind ?"

De Scuderi replied, that she had certainly

96 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

found a resemblance between him, and some one
that had been well known to her ; moreover, that
he was indebted solely to this likeness, if she
could now get the better of her abhorrence, and
quietly listen to the confessions of an assassin.
At these words Brusson was evidently much
hurt ; he rose indignantly, and retired a few
paces, while his brows assumed a lowering and fix-
ed expression. " It seems then," said he, u that
your ladyship has forgotten Anne Guiot ; but,
however, that may be, it is her son Olivier, the
boy whom in his infancy you have so often held
caressingly in your arms, who now stands before
you. " Good heavens !" exclaimed de Scuderi,
and with both hands covering her face, she sank
back on the sofa. There was, indeed, reason-
able ground for the painful sensations by which
she was now overpowered. Anne Guiot, the ne-
glected daughter of a poor citizen, had been from
childhood protected in de Scuderi's house, who
had behaved to her with the utmost kindness and
affection, even like a mother. After she had
grown up to woman's estate, it happened that
there was a handsome young man, named Claude
Brusson, who paid his addresses to the girl. As

CHAPTER VI. 97

this youth was a very clever watchmaker, and as
such would scarcely fail to gain a sufficient live-
lihood in Paris, de Scuderi knowing that Anne
was much attached to him, had no hesitation in
agreeing to their marriage. The young couple
set up house for themselves, seemed to be quite
happy in their domestic circumstances, and what
added much to their felicity, was the birth of a
beautiful boy, who was the perfect image of his
mother.

De Scuderi made an absolute idol of the lit-
tle Olivier, whom she used to keep whole days
from his parents to play with, and caress ; — the
boy, of course, became accustomed to her, and
staid with her just as willingly as he^would have
done with his own father and mother. Three
years had passed away, when the envy and oppo-
sition of Brusson's professional brethren had such
influence against him, that his business every day
decreased, and he was at last reduced to the
danger of actual want. Under these circumstan-
ces he was seized with an ardent longing to visit
his native city of Geneva, and, consequently, his
family was removed thither, notwithstanding the
objections of de Scuderi, who wished that Brus-

VOL. I. E

98 MADEMOISELLE i)E SCUDERL

son should remain at Paris, and promised him all
the support in her power. From Switzerland,
Anne wrote several affectionate letters, and seem-
ed as before quite contented ; then, all at once,
without assigning any reason, she became silent,
and de Scuderi could only conclude that the life
she led at Geneva, was so happy and prosperous,
that it had effaced from her mind all recollection
of her former circumstances in Paris. Since the
date of the watchmaker's removal and establish-
ment in Switzerland, there had passed an inter-
val of twenty-three years, so that de Scuderi had
almost wholly forgotten him and his affairs — nor
had the surname of Brusson ever been familiar
to her.

" Oh horrible V cried she, forcing herself to
look up, " Thou art Olivier, the son of my be-
loved Anne Guiot, — and now fv — " Indeed,"
said Olivier, — " you could never have anticipat-
ed, that the boy whom you had so often caressed
with all a mother's fondness, would one day ap-
pear before you as a man accused of the most
horrible crimes. I am, indeed, not guiltless ; and
there are errors which the Chambre Ardente may
justly charge against me. But I swear most so-

CHAPTER VI.

99

lemnly, even by my hopes of Heaven's mercy in
my last moments, that I am guiltless of every as-
sassination. It was not by my hand, nor through
any connivance of mine, that the unhappy Cardil-
lac met his fate." Olivier's voice faltered, and de
Scuderi pointed to a chair, on which trembling,
and as if unable to support himself, he now took
his place.

" I have had time enough,"1 said he, 6 6 to pre-
pare myself for this conversation, which I look
upon as the last favour which can be granted to
me in this world, by that righteous Providence
with whom I have already made my peace. I
have at least acquired sufficient composure and
self-possession to give a distinct narrative of my
unparalleled misfortunes, to which I entreat that
you will listen with patience, however much you
may be shocked and surprised by the discovery
of a secret, such as could never have been gues-
sed at, and which may seem almost incredible.

" Would to Heaven my poor father had never
left Paris ! My earliest recollections of Geneva
present to me only the tears and lamentations of
my unfortunate parents, with whom I also wept
bitterly, without knowing wherefore. Afterwards,

J 00 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERi,

as I grew up to boyhood, I became aware, by my
own sad experience, of the poverty and privations
under which they now lived, for my father found
himself deceived and disappointed in every hope
which he had cherished on coming to his native
country, till, at length, quite overcome, and worn
out by his afflictions, he died, just as he had suc-
ceeded in placing me with a goldsmith, as a jour-
neyman apprentice. My mother often spoke of
the noble minded and benevolent Mademoiselle
de Scuderi, and wished to write to you of her dis-
tresses. Many letters were begun ; but then she
was too soon overcome by that sickly cowardice
and apathy, which so often accompany misfortune.
This feeling, and, perhaps, too, a false shame
that often preys on a wounded spirit, prevented
her from coming to any effectual resolution, and,
finally, within a few months of my father's death,
my mother followed him to the grave.'"

" Poor unfortunate Anne !" cried de Scuderi,
again overcome by her feelings. " But, T thank
Heaven, that she is removed from this wicked
world, and has not lived to see the day, when her
son, branded with ignominy, is to fall by the
hands of the executioner." — At these words, Oli-

CHAPTER VI.

101

vier uttered a groan of anguish, and raised his
eyes with a wild unnatural glare. There was a
noise, too, outside the door, of steps moving ra-
pidly backwards and forwards. " Ho ! ho !" said
Olivier, with a bitter smile, and recovering his
self-possession ; " Desgrais keeps his comrades
on the alert, 'is if, forsooth, I could here, or any
where else, escape from their clutches !

" But let me proceed. I was severely, and,
indeed, cruelly treated by my new master, al-
though I soon proved myself a good workman,
and even excelled my instructor. It happened,
one day, that there came a stranger to our ware-
room, who wished to buy some articles of jewel-
lery. Looking at a very handsome necklace,
which was of my workmanship, he clapped me
familiarly on the shoulder, and said, 4 Ha ! my
young friend, that is, indeed, admirably finished !
I know not any man who could excel you, unless
it were Rene Cardillac, who is, out of sight, the
best goldsmith in the world. You should, in
my opinion, betake yourself to him, for he would
probably be very glad to receive you into his
house as an assistant ; and, on the other hand, it

102 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

is only from him that you could yet learn to im-
prove in your handicraft.1

" The words of this stranger made a deep im-
pression on me. I could no longer be contented
in Geneva, but cherished a vehement desire of
returning to my native France. At last, I suc-
ceeded in getting rid of my engagements to my
master, and, in due time, arrived at Paris, where
I inquired for Rene Cardillac, by whom I was
received with such coldness and harshness of
manner, that an inexperienced youth might well
have been utterly discouraged. I would not give up
my purpose, however, and insisted that he should
give me some employment, however trifling and in-
significant,— so that I was, at last, ordered to make
up, and finish in my best manner, a small ring.
When I brought him my workmanship, he fixed
on me his keen penetrating eyes, as if he would
look me through and through. At last, he said,
' Brusson, thou art, in truth, an excellent clever
fellow. Thou shalt henceforth live in my house,
and assist me in the workshop. I shall allow
thee a good salary, and thou shalt have no reason
to be dissatisfied with thy place.'

CHAPTER VI.

103

u Cardillac kept his word. I was received kind-
ly at our next meeting, and had no reason to
complain of the treatment that I experienced. —
For several weeks I had been in his house with-
out ever seeing Madelon, who was, at that time,
living with a distant relation in the country. At
length she returned home, and, oh Heaven ! how
was I astonished at the innocent angelic beauty
of that girl ! Was there ever any mortal that
loved so fondly and fervently as I have done, —
and noiv, — oh Madelon !"

Olivier was here overcome by his feelings, and
for some time could not proceed. He covered his
face with both hands, and even sobbed violently ;
but with a determined effort, he resumed, as fol-
lows : —

" Madelon often looked at me with an expres-
sive glance, in which I thought that I could read
her approval of my evident admiration. She
used also to come more and more frequently into
the workshop, till, in short, I discovered with rap-
ture that she loved me, and closely as her father
might have watched us, many a stolen kiss or
pressure of the hand served for a token of the
agreement thus mutually understood between us.

104 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDEltl.

Cardillac, indeed, never seemed to observe any
of our proceedings ; but I had intended, after I
had proved myself deserving of his good opinion,
and had passed my years of trial, to pay my ad-
dresses openly to Madelon. One morning, how-
ever, when I was about to begin my work for the
day, Cardillac suddenly came to me with his eyes
flashing contempt and indignation. c I have no
longer any need of your assistance,' said he, —
'• Get out of my house within this very hour, and
never again come in my sight. The reason why
I cannot suffer your presence any longer requires
no explanation. The fruit at which you have
aimed may be tempting indeed ; but it hangs too
high for your reach : — therefore pack up and be-
gone P

" I was about to speak, but without a moment's
warning, as if struck with a sudden madness, he
seized me by the collar and forced me out of doors
with such violence, that I fell down stairs, and
was severely hurt in the head and right arm.
I left his home with my heart almost bursting
with grief and rage, and betook myself to the
farthest end of the Faubourg de St Martin, where
I had an acquaintance who received me into the

CHAPTER VI.

105

ground-floor of his humble dwelling. Here my
agitations continued, and I could never rest by
night nor day. In the night, indeed, I used to
wander about Cardillac's house, hoping that Ma-
delon perhaps might hear my complaints, which
at intervals I could not repress ; — and if she could
only succeed in speaking to me from a window, I
would have tried to persuade her into adopting
some one of many desperate plans which I had
been revolving to effect her escape.

" Now, my lady, you will please to observe,
that adjoining to Cardillac's house, in the Rue de
la Nicaise, is a high court wall, ornamented with
niches, in some of which, there are yet old moul-
dering statues cut in freestone. It happened
once that I was hiding myself near one of the sta-
tues, and gazing up to the windows of the house,
that looking into the square court of which this
high wall is the boundary. Suddenly, while I
was then on the watch, I perceived light in the
work-room of Cardillac. It was now midnight,
at which hour my master never used to be awake ;
for, as the clock struck nine, he punctually went
to rest. My heart beat violently, for I thought
it possible that some accident might have occur-
2 E

106 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

red, in consequence of which I might once more
obtain entrance into the house ; — but the light
soon after vanished. Determining to watch as
long as possible, in order to escape all risk of
observation, I forced myself into the niche behind
the statue ; but scarcely had I taken my place
when I was obliged to recoil with a feeling almost
of horror, for I felt an opposing pressure precise-
ly as if the stone image had become suddenly a
living being. I retired to a little distance, keep-
ing always in the shade, and saw that the statue
slowly turned round, and from behind it there
emerged a dark figure in a long mantle, that with
cautious light steps glided away into the street.
I ran up to the statue, and tried to move it, but
it now stood fixed as usual. Without reflection,
and forced on by some irresistible inward impulse,
I left the court and followed the mysterious figure,
till, just beside a shrine of the blest Virgin, he
chanced to turn half round, and the full glare of
the consecrated lamp fell on his visage. — It was
Cardillac !

6 6 An indescribable mood of terror, and indefin-
able apprehension now overcame me. As if spell-
driven, I must move on, after this ghostly sleep-

CHAPTER VI.

107

walker, for as such Cardillac now appeared to me,
though it was not the time of the full moon,
when that fearful malady generally seizes its vic-
tims. At last, he suddenly turned off to one side,
and vanished in the dark shadows of the night.
As I went on, however, I became perfectly aware
where he was, for, being acquainted with the
slightest sounds of his voice, I heard, by certain
habitual interjections, in a low muttering tone,
that he had stationed himself in the portal of a
neighbouring house. 4 What can be the mean-
ing of all this P1 said I to myself, 'and what can
he intend to do ?' At the same time, I remained
close within the shade of the houses, so that 1
was quite unobserved, I had not waited long,
when there came a man with a grand plume of
feathers in his hat, clattering with his military
spurs, and singing all the way, as if elated with
wine, ' Cest V amour, V amour, V amour ? and so
forth. Like a tiger on his prey, Cardillac now
started from his hiding-place, and attacked the
man, who did not utter a groan or shout, but fell
instantly, as if lifeless to the ground. I rushed
forward to prevent further violence, and met the
assassin face to face, as he stepped across the

108 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

body of the murdered man. 6 Master ' Cardil-
lac !' cried I, in my loudest voice, ' what are you
about here He made no reply, but with one
half-suppressed exclamation of rage and resent-
ment, passed by me with incredible speed and
vanished.

" I was now so much agitated, that I scarcely
knew where I was, or what I did ;^ however, with
tottering steps, I drew near to Cardillac's victim,
and knelt down beside him on the pavement. I
thought life could not be yet extinct, and that he
might possibly recover ; however, I soon found
that he was quite dead. Meanwhile the rnarechaus-
see had come up unawares, and now surrounded
me. 6 So soon another murder P cried one of
them, 6 and no doubt by the hands of the same
incarnate demons ! Hilloah, young man, what
are you about there ? You are one of the band
perhaps, — away with you to prison P Accordingly
they seized me as if I had been the criminal,
while I was scarcely able to stammer out, that I
was quite incapable of such a horrid deed, and
that they should let me depart in peace. At last
one of them held the light to my face, and laughed
aloud, ' Why,' said he, 6 This is Olivier Brus-

CHAPTER VI.

109

son, the goldsmith's apprentice, — he who now
works with that good honest citizen, Master Rene
Cardillac. Aye, forsooth ! he would murder peo-
ple in the streets ? And it looks very like an as-
sassin to stay here lamenting over a dead body,
and allow himself to be taken prisoner ! But how
did this happen, Brusson ? Tell your story boldly
and at once.''

" ' I was walking along the street," said I,
6 when I saw a man start from the wall, attack
him who is now lying there, and knock him down,
Then, as in my terror I cried aloud, the assassin
ran away with the speed of lightning, and disap-
peared. I wished now to see whether his unfor-
tunate victim were really dead, or might be reco-
vered.1 ( That was needless enough," cried one
of them, who had lifted up the dead body ;
1 these demons always make sui*e work, and the
dagger has gone, as usual, right through the
heart.' c The devil fetch them ! 1 cried another.
4 it has happened now, just as the last time. We
came only a few minutes too late.' Afterwards,
as I said (and this was, indeed, a great crime,)
that I could not give any farther information,

110

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

they let me go, and retired, bearing away the
murdered man.

" I cannot describe adequately my feelings when
I was thus left alone. It seemed to me as if I had
been under the dominion of some hideous dream,
from which I must now awake, and wonder that
I could have been so deceived ! — Cardillac, the
father of my beloved Madelon, transformed, all
at once, into an ignominious, cruel-hearted assas-
sin ! — Notwithstanding the violence with which
he had conducted himself towards me, I could
not have imagined any event more utterly impos-
sible. Overpowered by these reflections, I had
sunk down, almost fainting, on the stone steps of
a house-door, and remained there unconscious
how the time passed, till the morning broke, and
all was light around me. Then I observed an
officer's hat, richly adorned with lace and feathers,
lying on the pavement, and the idea that Cardil-
lac's abominable deed had been perpetrated on the
very spot where I now rested, rose in my mind,
with such intolerable force, that I started up in
horror, and ran as fast as I could to my own lodg-
ings.

CHAPTER VI.

Ill

" Quite confused, and unable to follow out dis-
tinctly any one train of thought, I was sitting in
my lonely apartment, when, to my great surprise,
the door opened, and Rene Cardillac stood before
me. * In God's name,' said I, 4 what can you
want here ? ' — Not attending to this, he came up,
and smiled on me with an expression of friend-
ly confidence, which only increased my inward
agitation and abhorrence. He drew in an old
broken stool, and took his place beside me, while
I was not able to lift myself from the straw couch
on which I had lain down.

" 6 Now then, Olivier,' he began, 6 how have
you lived, and how are you spending your time ?
My conduct was, indeed, shamefully rash, when
I turned you out of my house ; for, every mo-
ment since then, I have deeply regretted your ab-
sence. At present, for example, I -have some
jewellery in hand, which I cannot finish without
your assistance. What would you think of again
taking your place in my work-room ? — You are
silent ! Yes, I know that I have injured and in-
sulted you. It is needless to deny that I was
violently enraged against you, on account of your
attachment to my daughter Madelon. But, since

112 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

then, I have carefully reflected on the matter,
and decided, that, considering the cleverness,
industry, and fidelity which you have always
shown, I ought not to wish for any better son-in-
law. Come with me, then, if you are not unwil-
ling ; and you shall have my free permission to
obtain Madelon, as soon as you can, for your be-
trothed bride.1

44 Cardillac's words agitated me to the inmost
heart. I shuddered at his enormous treachery,
and could scarcely bring out a word. 4 You
hesitate," said he, in a sharp tone, fixing on me
his intense glaring eyes. 4 You hesitate ! —
And, perhaps, you could not go with me to-day?
You have other plans in view, and will probably
pay a visit to Desgrais, or get yourself introduced
to D'Argenson or la Regnie ? — But, take care,
young man, that the clutches of these execution-
ers, whom you are about to rouse for the destruc-
tion of another, do not turn against yourself, and

rend you ! 1 Here, my indignation suddenly

broke out in words.

44 ? Let those/ said I, 4 who are convicted by
their own conscience entertain fears of such exe-
cutioners. I at least can front them without ap-

CHAPTER VI.

113

prehension.' — 6 The truth is,1 said Cardillac,
still retaining perfect composure, 4 it is an ho-
nour for you to be in my employment, as I am
universally known and celebrated as the first ar-
tizan in Paris ; and, at the same time, my cha-
racter is so well established, that every evil re-
port against me would recoil heavily on the
head of the calumniator. As for Madelon, how-
ever, I must confess to you, that it is wholly to
her that you owe this visit from me. She is at-
tached to you, with a degree of constancy and ar-
dour, which, in so young a girl, I should hardly
have thought possible. As soon as she knew
that you were away, she fell at my feet, burst into
tears, and confessed that, without you, she could
not live. I thought this was a mere momentary
delusion of her own imagination, as it usually
happens with such young girls, who are ready to
die forsooth for the first smooth-faced lad who
happens to look kindly upon them. But, in
truth, my Madelon became seriously ill, and
when I wanted to persuade her out of the foolish
fancies that she had taken up, she only answered
by repeating your name in a tone of distraction,
about an hundred times over. What could I

114 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDEItl.

now do, unless I resolved to let her utterly des-
pair? This would have been too harsh, and,
yesterday morning, I said to her, that I would
grant my full and free consent, and that I would,
if possible, bring you home with me to-day. So,
in the course of one night, she is again become
blooming like a rose in J une, and now expects you
with the utmost impatience.'

" I heard no more ; — my senses were quite
confused and lost, so that, Heaven forgive me, I
know not how it happened, but ere long I found
myself once more in the house of Cardillac. I
heard Madelon's voice — 6 Olivier ! my own Oli-
vier ! — my beloved— my husband V With these
words she rushed into my arms ; and, with the
most fervent rapture, I swore by the blessed Vir-
gin and all the saints, that I would never forsake
her.' "

Agitated even to tears by the recollection of
that decisive moment, Olivier was obliged to
pause in his narrative, while de Scuderi was con-
founded at hearing such imputations against one
whom she had always looked upon as a model of
regularity and integrity. " This is frightful,"
cried she, " Rene Cardillac then belonged to

CHAPTER VI.

115

that band of invisible miscreants, who have so
long haunted our city, so that Paris might be
called a mere den of murderers. " — " Nay — nay,"
— said Olivier, " speak not of a band — for there
is not, and never was any such association. It
was Cardillac alone, who, with diabolical activity,
sought for, and found his victims through the whole
city. On his being alone, in the practice of these
enormities, depended the security with which he
carried through his plans, and the unconquerable
difficulty of tracing out the murderer. But let
me proceed. What I have yet to add, will ful-
ly explain to you the mysteries in which this
most unprincipled, and yet most unhappy of all
mortals was involved,"

116 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

CHAPTER VII.

" The situation in which I now found mysel
with Cardillac may be easily imagined. The
decisive step was taken, and I could not retreat.
Sometimes my gloomy imagination represented to
me, that I had become the assistant and accom-
plice of an assassin ; only in my love for Made-
Ion, I forgot at intervals the affliction that other-
wise preyed on my spirits, and only in her pre-
sence was I able to conceal my feelings of abhor-
rence towards her father. If I joined with the
old man in his professional labours, I could not
bear to look on him, or to answer when he spoke
to me, such was the indignation I felt against
the vile hypocrite, who seemed to fulfil all the
duties of an affectionate parent and good citizen,
while the night veiled in its darkness his unparal-
leled iniquity. Madelon, pious, confiding and
innocent as an angel, looked up to him with un-

CHAPTER VII. 117

? changing love and affection ! The thought often
struck like a dagger to my heart, that, if justice
one day overtook the now masked and concealed
assassin, this poor girl, so long deceived by his
fiend-like cunning, would fall a victim to the
most incurable despondency.

" Such apprehensions altogether prevented me
from acting as I should otherwise have done, and
; even though I had been already condemned to
the scaffold, I shouldhave remained silent. Mean-
while, I gained many hints from the conversation
of the marechaussee, yet the motive of Cardil-
j lac's crimes, and the manner in which he carried
them through, remained to me a complete riddle.
The explanation, however, followed soon after.

" One day, Cardillac, who generally excited
my abhorrence the more, because, when at work,
he was, or pretended to be, cheerful and merry,
appeared all of a sudden quite thoughtful and re-
served. With a vehement start, he threw away
an ornament on which he was then at work, so
that the diamonds and pearls rolled about the
floor, and exclaimed, ( Olivier, — it is impossible
that our intercourse can any longer be continued
on this footing. Such a connection is to me quite

118 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

intolerable. That which baffled all the cunning
of Desgrais and his associates to discover, chance
put it in your power at once to develope. You
have beheld me at my nightly task, to which I
am driven on by malignant stars — by resistless
destiny, against which I am unable to contend.
It was indeed your evil star, too, that obliged
you to follow me, with noiseless steps, and as if
invisible, so that I, who generally see objects in
the dark like a tiger, and hear the slightest noise
even to the humming of midges in the air, was
never once aware of your presence. In short, it
has become your fate in this world to be united
with me, as my accomplice and companion ; and
as you are now situated in this house, there can
be no thought on your part of treachery and be-
trayal. Therefore you may freely listen to all
that I can reveal.''

" Never — never will I be thy accomplice, thou
hypocritical old villain ! —These words were at
my tongue's end, and I even tried to utter them,
but the very horror and detestation which I felt
towards Cardillac rendered me inarticulate, so that
I was able only to bring out some unintelligible
sounds which he might interpret in his own way.

CHAPTER VII. 119

He now seated himself again on his working
stool, and wiped his forehead as if the conflict of
his feelings had been more overpowering than the
severest labour. He seemed fearfully moved by
his recollections of the past, and with difficulty to
regain any degree of self-possession ; but at last
he resumed.

" c In the writings of natural philosophers,' said
he, 4 we read many strange stories of the won-
derful impressions to which mothers are liable, and
of the deep influences which such impressions de-
rived from outward causes evince on their chil-
dren. I have not met with any story more mar-
vellous, however, than one which has been told to
me of my own mother. About two months after
her marriage she was admitted, along with other
women, to be a looker-on at a brilliant festival
given by our Court at Trianon. There her at-
tention was so powerfully attracted by a certain
cavalier, in a handsome Spanish dress, with a very
magnificent chain studded with diamonds about his
neck, that she could not turn her eyes from him
for a moment. Her whole heart was fixed on
these jewels, and she looked at them with the
most ardent longing, convinced that they were a

120 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

treasure of incalculable worth. The same cava-
lier had, some years before, when my mother was
a young girl, paid his addresses to her, but was
repulsed with indifference and disdain. My mother
recognized him ; but now, illumined as he was by
the splendour of the brilliant diamonds, he seemed
to her a being of a higher order, thevery beau ideal
of beauty and attraction. The cavalier did not fail
to remark the fixed direction of her eyes, and the
fervent admiration by which they seemed to be
animated. He thought, of course, that she was
now more favourably disposed towards him ; he
contrived to make his way to her party, entered
into conversation, and, in the course of the even-
ing, found means to entice her with him to a
lonely thicket in the garden, quite apart from her
associates. There an incident occurred, which,
to this moment, remains inexplicable, unless on
the supposition that my father was also present,
and had been on the watch ; but, during their in-
terview, while the cavalier persisted in his amo-
rous attentions, and my mother thought only of
the beautiful chain, he was stabbed to the heart by
some one who came behind him unawares, and

u

CHAPTER VII.

121

who vanished instantly, favoured by the darkness
of the night. My mother's piercing shrieks
brought people to her assistance, and the cavalier
only lived long enough to declare that she was
guiltless of his fate ; but the horror and agitation
of this adventure brought on a severe fit of ill-
ness, so that she and her unborn child were given
up for lost. However, she recovered, and her ac-
couchement afterwards was more favourable than
could have been expected, though the feelings in-
spired by that event acquired an influence over
me, which could never afterwards be resisted.
My evil star was now risen above the horizon,
and had shot down these fatal rays which kindled
in my heart one of the most extraordinary and
destructive passions by which any poor mortal
was ever misled and tormented.

6 Already, in my earliest childhood, glittering
gems and gold chains were, above all things, the
delight of my existence. This was looked on
merely as an instance of that fondness for finery,
which is common to all infants. But time prov-
ed that there was far more in the matter ; for
when arrived at boyhood, I began to steal gold
and jewels whenever I could lay my hands upon

VOL. I. F

122 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

them. Like the most experienced connoisseur,
I knew, by mere instinct, how to distinguish all
sorts of real and precious jewellery from those
which were counterfeited. And it was only by
the genuine specimens that I was attracted. All
imitations, and even gold coins, I left as unwor-
thy of my notice. It was in vain that my father
endeavoured, by the most violent chastisements,
to eradicate those propensities, which were inhe-
rent in my nature, and which, accordingly, grew
with my growth, and strengthened with my
strength.

' Merely for the sake of getting, by fair means,
such treasures into my hands, I resolved to be-
come a goldsmith. I took lessons, and laboured
with passionate enthusiasm, till at length I sur-
passed all my instructors, and became a first-rate
master in the art. T began business on my own
account, and now there commenced a period in
which my natural impulses, so long repressed,
broke forth with such vehemence, that they soon
got the better of every other consideration or pro-
pensity. No sooner had I delivered up any fine
specimen of jewellery to the person by whom it
had been ordered, than I fell into a state of dis-

CHAPTER VII.

123

quietude, almost of despair, which was quite in-
tolerable, and robbed me utterly of health and
sleep. Like a ghost, the figure of the person for
whom I had been working stood day and night
before me, adorned with my jewels, and a voice
sounded ever and anon in my ears. — 6 Take it,
— it is thine ! — What business have the dead
with these diamonds ?' At last the passion was
irresistible — I betook myself regularly to the arts
of thieving, and, having free access into the houses
of the great, I profited by every opportunity. Of
course, no lock resisted my ingenuity as a me-
chanic, and, in a short time, many of the orna-
ments that I had made were again in my own
hands. But, afterwards, this was not sufficient
to soothe the disquietude, or disperse the illusions
by which I was tormented. That mysterious
voice, of which T have already told you, was again
audible, and cried to me many times, as if in
scorn and mockery1 — ' Ho — ho ! — a dead man
now wears your fine diamonds V It remained even
to myself inexplicable, that against every one for
whom I had provided brilliant zones, necklaces,
and ear-rings, I entertained the most implacable
hatred, till at last there arose in my mind a thirst

124

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERL

after assassination, at which I myself, in the be-
ginning, trembled and recoiled with horror.

c About that time I purchased the house in
which we now live. I had concluded the bar-
gain, and the landlord was seated with me in this
very room, where we were making merry over a
bottle of wine. It was late in the night, and I
wished to retire, when my entertainer said, 4 Lis-
ten, Monsieur Rene ; before you go, T must make
you acquainted with a secret contrivance in this
house, which is now yours. Look here I1 — With
these words, my landlord threw open a press in
the wall, pushed aside the back pannels, which
left an opening, through which we stept into a
small chamber, where he stooped down, and lift-
ed up a trap-door. We then descended a steep
narrow staircase, and came to a small gateway,
which he unlocked, and we passed by it into the
open square court. Here my landlord stepped
up to the wall, pressed his fingers on a knob of
iron, that was scarcely perceptible, and imme-
diately a large stone began to move, so that one
could enter by the opening which it had left, and
pass through the wall into the street. There is,
besides, a concealed passage running through

CHAPTER VII,

125

the wall, by which one may come to the statue,
without entering the court ; and these inventions
were probably the work of the crafty Carthusian
monks, of whose convent, in ancient times, this
house formed a part. That which looks like a
large stone is only a piece of wood, covered on
the outside with rough paint, and properly colour-
ed to look like stone, into which there is fixed a
statue, which is also of wood prepared in the same
manner, and the whole turns together by means
of concealed mechanism.

' Dark forebodings, or, should I rather say,
brilliant hopes, rose on my mind when I beheld
these contrivances. It seemed as if they were ex-
actly made for the fulfilment of deeds which were
to myself yet a mystery, for I had never cherish-
ed any regular plan for street-robbery and assassi-
nation. My business was at this time rapidly in-
creasing, and as I had just then delivered up to
one of the court lords a rich ornament, which I
knew was designed for a present to an opera-
dancer, T was again assailed, but in a tenfold de-
gree, by the same intolerable delusion which I
had before experienced. The ghost was inse-
parable wherever I went, and the diabolical voice

126 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

was always whispering in my ears. At length I
took possession of the house ; and, on the first
night, after I had gone to bed, it was impossible
for me to obtain a moment's repose. I tossed
and tumbled on my restless couch, and, in my
mind's eye, beheld this man gliding through the
streets with my box of jewels in his hand, to the
opera dancer's lodgings. My rage at this sight
became so ungovernable, that, about midnight, I
started up, threw my mantle about my shoulders,
went down by the secret staircase, and away
through the wall into the Rue de la Nicaise.
From thence I proceeded to the street in which
the actress lived, where, as if sent by the devil,
the man to whom I had sold the necklace soon
afterwards fell in my way, and I directly attacked
him. At first, he uttered a loud cry, but, grasp-
ing him firmly by the throat, I struck the dagger
right into his heart, so that he fell without an-
other word, and the jewels were mine !

k Having achieved this, I experienced a quiet
and contentment of mind, such as I had before
never known. The ghost had vanished, and the
voice of the whispering devil was also mute. My
contentment, indeed, lasted but for a brief inter-

CHAPTER VII.

127

val, till I was called on again to make up and de-
liver an ornament of equal value ; but, by this
very relief and composure of spirit, under circum-
stances which would have rendered any one else
anxious and miserable, I recognized at once the
fate that awaited me. My malignant stars were
triumphant, and I must yield to them or die ! —
So, then,1 concluded Cardillac, 6 you are now
possessed of the master-key to all the mysteries of
my life and conduct. Do not suppose, because I
am thus irresistibly led on from crime to crime,
that I have absolutely renounced every feeling of
humanity and compassion. You know already
how unwilling I am to part with any jewels that
I have made up ; how I keep them on one pretext
or another from week to week ; besides, when I
am applied to by persons, whose deaths it would
be impossible for me to contemplate with indiffer-
ence, it is an absolute rule of mine, that I will
not accept of such employment. Nay, more, in
many instances, I have avoided the crime of
murder, for, with one blow of my clenched hand,
I am able to stun my victims in such manner,
that they become altogether insensible ; and I

128 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDEIU.

can, without risk, possess myself at once of the
jewels, which, alone, are my object.'

" After having thus spoken, Cardillac led me
into a vaulted apartment, (entering from the
press in his room-wall,) and allowed me to see
his private collection of jewellery, than which the
king himself could not display any thing more
magnificent, Every article had attached to it a
parchment-ticket, on which there was inscribed,
for whom the ornament had been made, and at
what time it had been regained, either by theft
within-in-doors, or street- robbery. 4 On your
wedding-day,' said Cardillac, in a deep, stern
voice, c you will swear to me on the cross, a
solemn oath, that, after my death, you will utter-
ly annihilate all these diamonds and other jewels !
They must be turned into dust, by a chemical
process, with which I shall then make you ac-
quainted. I am determined that no mortal, and
least of all, Madelon, or you, should come into
possession of treasures thus purchased by treach-
ery and murder, lest, as I fear, a curse should
attend on such an inheritance.'

" After these disclosures, I found myself lost in
a labyrinth tenfold more intricate than ever. My

CHAPTEE VII.

.situation might almost be compared to that of the
already condemned sinner, who sees from afar a
beneficent angel looking down with smiles upon
him ; but then Satan seizes him from below with
his scorching talons, and the beautiful aspect of
the seraph becomes to him the most cruel of his
torments. I thought indeed of flight, nay of self-
murder. But then, what was to become of Made-
Ion ? You may indeed justly blame my conduct
in this, that I was too weak to contend against a
passion, which obliged me to conceal crimes,
though I did not assist in their perpetration. But
enough ! The hour is near at hand, when I am
to atone for this by an ignominious and untimely
death on the scaffold.

" The rest of my story is soon told. One day it
happened, that Cardillac came home wonderfully
cheerful. He looked at me with the most friendly
aspect ; at dinner he indulged himself in a bottle
of the best wine, such as I had never known him
to use, except on high holidays ; he even began
to sing old songs, — in short, was rejoiced beyond
measure. Madelon had left us, and I would have
retired into the workroom. 6 Remain where you
are, young man said Cardillac, 6 to day we are
t 2

mademoiselle de scudert.

to have no more labour. Let us drink a glass to-
gether, to the health of the most noble, the most
witty, and most excellent lady in all Paris."
When we had joined glasses to this toast, and he
had emptied a full bumper, * Olivier,' said he,
4 how dost thou like these verses ?

" Un amant qui craint des voleurs,
N'est point digne d'amour."

After this question, he went on to relate what had
happened at the apartments of the Duchess de
Maintenon, when the king requested your opinion
of a petition that had been presented to him, for
protection against the nightly assassins ; — add-
ing, that ever since he had heard of that occur-
rence, he had cherished towards the lady de Scu-
deri the utmost respect, gratitude and veneration ;
and that you were endowed with such pre-eminent
virtue and talents, that, for the first time in his
life, he felt an influence, which could overpower
that of the malignant destiny, to which he had
been hitherto subjected. Nay, so much was he
impressed with these sentiments, that if Made-
moiselle de Scuderi, were to bear on her person,
the finest ornament he had ever made, the whis-
pering demon of murder, would never once tempt

CHAPTElt VII.

131

him to recover it, At last, ' Mark you, Olivier,"
said he, 6 what I have now firmly resolved to do.
A considerable time since, I received an order
for a necklace and a pair of bracelets, from the
Princess Henrietta of England. I was not li-
mited to any fixed price, and succeeded in the
work, even beyond my best expectations ; but my
heart was almost broken, when I thought that I
must part with these jewels, which, more than
any that I had ever made up, had rivetted my
affections. You know how that princess fell by
the hands of an assassin. Of course the jewels
remained unclaimed in my possession, and now,
as a token of my veneration and gratitude, I
shall present them as a gift from the supposed
band of invisible robbers, to the lady de Scuderi.
Besides that she will by this means receive a
flattering proof of her triumphant influence over
the King, I shall at the same time express my
contempt for Desgrais, and his troop of catch-
poles. You then, Olivier, shall be the bearer
of this present to her ladyship's house, and the
sooner that she receives it the better.'

" Even at the first mention of your name, it
seemed as if a dark veil were drawn aside, and I

132 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDEUI.

beheld again in all their brightness and effulgence
the delightful hopes and prospects of my youth.
Cardillac perhaps observed the impression which
his words had made on me, and interpreted it af-
ter his own maimer. 6 You appear,"* said he, 4 to
approve of my intention ; and I can assure you,
an inward voice, very different from that by which
I was hitherto driven on like a furious beast of
prey, from one crime to another, has now prompt-
ed me to this good action. Many times I am
liable to strange moods of mind ; — these come
over me almost like a warning from another world,
the apprehension of some horrible and yet un-
known event, which seizes me so powerfully, that
I cannot shake it off. At such times, it appears
to me as if those deeds in which I was but the
agent of a malignant and irresistible destiny,
might be reckoned against my own immortal soul,
though, in truth, that bears no share of the guilt.
In a state of mind like this, I once resolved to
prepare a beautiful diamond crown, for the blest
Virgin in the church of St Eustathius. But, in-
stead of deriving comfort from this design, I felt
always more and more that indescribable terror
and perturbation stealing over me, and though I

CHAPTER VJJ.

133

frequently began the work, I could not persevere,
but was at last obliged to give it up altogether.
Now, it appears to me, almost, as if with a hum-
ble and contrite heart, I were to bring an offering
to the shrine of virtue and piety, and that I shall
obtain the mediation of a saint in my favour, if I
send to de Scuderi the finest ornament that I
have ever elaborated.' Cardillac, who was well
acquainted with your mode of life, now informed
me at what hour, and in what manner, I was to
deliver the jewels, which I immediately received
from him inclosed in an elegant case. My feel-
ings were now quite elated, and even rapturous ;
for I thought that Providence had pointed out to
me, even through the wicked Cardillac, a means
of escaping from that horrid thraldom and abject
slavery under which I had so long suffered. Such
were my private thoughts, and quite against Car-
dillac's plans and wishes, I determined that I
would make my way to your presence. As the
son of Anne Brusson, and your former protege,
I thought of throwing myself at your feet, and
revealing to you all that had happened, well
knowing that, from your goodness of heart, you
would, on Madelon's account, have preserved, in-

134 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

violate, the secrets thus disclosed. Even with-
out the necessity of publishing his guilt to the
world, I was impressed with the belief that your
powerful mind would have devised some means
to stop his frightful career, and to liberate Ma-
delon and myself from his tyranny ; though,
what means could be taken, my mind was too con-
fused even to conjecture. Still I had the most
implicit confidence that you could assist us. It
is needless to repeat how my plans that night
were frustrated ; though I tried every means
that I thought could force Martiniere to admit
me into your presence ; but I did not give up
hopes of finding a better opportunity.

All of a sudden, however, Cardillac seemed en-
tirely to have lost the cheerfulness and good hu-
mour which he had lately assumed. He went
about from room to room, silent and gloomy, with
his eyes staring on vacancy ; threw out his arms
as if demons and spectres were actually assailing
him ; and it was obvious that his mind was beset
with some wicked temptations. One morning, in
particular, he had continued for hours together in
this disordered mood ; — at length he seated him-
self at his work-table, as if he would begin the

CHAPTER VII.

135

usual task of the day — but had no sooner taken
his place, than he started up again, and exclaimed
in a deep hollow tone, ' I wish from my heart
that Henrietta of England had lived to wear my
jewels f These words inspired me with the ut-
most horror; for I well knew that his mind was
again labouring under the same influence which
had led him into his former crimes, and that the
whispering voice of Satan was again audible in his
ears. I saw your life threatened by the reckless
assassin, but at the same time was perfectly aware,
that if he only had the jewels again in his hands,
you might be spared. Cardillac watched me so
narrowly, that I durst scarcely be a moment out
of his sight; however, I had intended, at all risks,
to go to your house, when one morning I luckily
met you on the Pont Neuf, forced my way to
your carriage, and threw into it that billet, which
I had ready written, and in which I conjured you
to give back the casket into Cardillac's hands.
You never came nor sent to his house, and my
fears increased almost to madness, when, on the
following day, Cardillac could speak of nothing
else but certain magnificent jewels, finer than any
that the world had yet beheld, and which had been

136 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

constantly present to his mind's eye during the
night. I had no doubt that he alluded to your
necklace and bracelets ; it was at all events cer-
tain that his imagination was fixed on some plan
of murder, which in all probability he would try
to execute on the very same night, — and I deter-
mined to protect you at all risks, though it should
cost the life of Cardillac. Therefore, when he
had as usual read the vesper service, and shut
himself up in his bed-room, I made my way
through a window into the court, passed through
the secret opening by the statue, and took my
station at a little distance, keeping as much as pos-
sible in the shadow. No long interval had elapsed,
when Cardillac came out, and walked with hip
usual light cautious steps along the street. Just
as on the night when I first discovered his guilt,
I now went after him, and my heart beat violent-
ly, when I found that he was taking the route to-
wards the Rue St Honor ee. We arrived there
accordingly, and all at once he disappeared. I
could not find out his station this time, and was
at a loss what to do. I thought of planting myself
at your door as a sentinel, but, precisely as on the
former occasion, there came up an officer gaily dres-

CHAPTER VII.

137

sed, whistling and singing, who went past without
observing me. Almost in the same moment, the
dark figure of the diabolical Cardillac started for-
ward, and being determined, if possible, to prevent
this murder, I rushed up just as they grappled to-
gether. Short as the distance was, I came again
too late ; but this time the result was different ;
it was not the officer, but Cardillac, who fell mo-
tionless, and without a word, to the ground ! —
The former let fall the dagger, which he was still
grasping when I came up, drew his sword, and
took his position on the defensive, believing, no
doubt, that I was an accomplice of the murderer ;
but, perceiving that I interested myself only for
his fallen victim, he turned round, and, without
speaking, hastened away. Cardillac was still liv-
ing, and, with infinite labour and exertion, I con-
trived to bear him home on my shoulders, and
convey him by the secret passage into his own
workshop.

" The rest is already known to you, and re-
quires no farther notice. You perceive that my
only guilt consisted in my not having had suffi-
cient firmness and resolution to betray Madelon's
father to the officers of justice, and thus put an

138 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

end at once to his assassinations. In other re-
spects I am wholly blameless ; but no torture
would force from me the disclosure of his guilt,
by which alone 1 could be cleared in the eye of
the law. It has hitherto been the merciful will
of Providence, that the horrid truth should be
withheld from Madelon ; therefore, I shall never,
in order to save my own life, withdraw the veil
by which her father's real character has been con-
cealed. Could I endure the thought, that she
should behold the remains of a parent, whom she
so long loved and respected, dragged from the
tomb, and branded, in the Place de Greve, by
the public executioner ? — No ! my dearest Made-
lon will weep for me, as one who died innocent ;
and time will alleviate her sorrow ; but, were she
at once to learn the whole truth, the shock would
be so un supportable, that madness, perhaps, would
ensue; at all events, she could never, in this world,
be restored to peace of mind."

Olivier here broke off abruptly, and burst into
tears. He threw himself at de Scuderi's feet,
and implored her compassion. " You are con-
vinced of my innocence," said he; "I know it must
be so ! Have pity then, on my sufferings, and tell

CHAPTER VII.

139

me how is Madelon ? " De Scuderi made no an-
swer, but rang for Martiniere, and, in the next
moment, Madelon was in her lover's arms. —
" Now, all is well again," she exclaimed, " for
you are here ! I was, indeed sure, that this noble-
minded lady would find means to set you at li-
berty ! 11 Over and over were such expressions of
joy and confidence repeated by the poor gir],
while Olivier too, appeared for the time perfectly
happy, forgetting his own real situation, and the
cruel fate that awaited him. Thereafter, both
described in the most moving terms the suffer-
ings which they had mutually endured ; again
they embraced, and shed tears of rapture, to find
themselves thus once more united. Even if de
Scuderi had not been already convinced of Brus-
son's innocence, that scene must have established
her belief beyond a doubt. 66 No V said she to
herself, whatever la Regnie may maintain to the
contrary, they are not criminal. It could only
be hearts that are wholly free from the torments
of a guilty conscience that could thus, in the de-
lights of a mutual attachment, forget the world,
with all its miseries and misfortune,"

140 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

The first rays of the morning light now broke
through the window. Desgrais knocked gently
at the door of the room, and reminded them that
it was time for Brusson's removal, as at a later
hour this could not be done without attracting at-
tention. The lovers were, therefore, obliged to
separate ; and their parting was such, that even
the sternest heart could not have contemplatec
the scene without emotion.

CHAPTER VITI.

141

CHAPTER VIII.

Satisfied as de Scuderi was of Brussorfs in-
nocence, her gloomy anticipations of his approach-
ing fate returned in all their force after his de-
parture,— and, with heart-felt grief, she beheld
the son of her beloved Anne Guiot involved in
such inexplicable toils, that, to save him, seemed
! next to impossible. She admired the heroic cou-
, rage of the youth, who would rather die loaded
with unjust imputations, than betray a secret,
which, as he thought would, more certainly than
his own fate, bring distraction and despair on the
object of his affection. Under these circumstan-
ces, she could not, within the utmost limits of
probability, find any means by which he could
escape the cruel sentence that would be past
against him ; — yet she must not hesitate to make
every exertion, or sacrifice, if it were possible that
such a horrid act of injustice might be prevented

142

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

She therefore kept her mind on the rack with a hun-
dred different schemes, some of which were suffi-
ciently romantic and extravagant, and all were at
length set aside as impracticable. The rays of
hope became always fainter and fainter, so that she
would have given up the point in despair, had it not
been that Madelon's boundless and child-like con-
fidence in her protectress, and the rapture with
which she spoke of her lover, who would now, as
she thought, be pronounced free from every
charge against him, kept her sympathy awake,
and her attention on the stretch, though, all the
while, she felt wounded to the heart by the con-
sciousness of her own inability to realize these ex-
pectations.

In order that something, at least, might be tried,
de Scuderi wrote a long letter to la Regnie, in
which she informed him, that Brusson had, in the
most convincing manner, proved to her his inno-
cence of Cardillac's murder ; and that it was only
his heroic resolution of carrying with him to the
grave, a secret, which, if revealed, might be the
cause of grief and despondency to another who
was wholly blameless — that had prevented him, at
his trial, from making a confession, such as would

CHAPTER VIII. 143

at once have freed him from all suspicion. In
writing this letter, whatever could be effected by
the most zealous eloquence, and ingenious argu-
ment, was put in force by de Scuderi, in order to
soften the heart of la Regnie ; but, after an inter-
val of only half an hour, came his implacable an-
swer, stating that he was very glad to learn that
Brusson had justified himself so completely in
the opinion of his noble and benevolent protec-
tress. But, as to the young man's heroic resolu-
tion, of carrying with him a secret to the grave,
he regretted, that, in a case of this kind, where
a criminal had been regularly committed, he could
not approve of such heroism ; on the contrary, the
Chambre Ardente would doubtless employ the
strongest means in their power to break through
that obstacle, and in a few days he hoped to be
in possession of this terrible secret, which would,
no doubt, bring wonders to light.

De Scuderi knew but too well to what means
the frightful la Regnie alluded, and by which he
trusted to break the resolution of the prisoner.
It was now certain that the unfortunate youth
would be put to the torture, which measure her
letter, however well intended, would now rather

4

144 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

tend to accelerate than retard. In the most mi-
serable agitation, de Scuderi bethought herself,
that, in order even to obtain a short delay, the
assistance of a lawyer would be requisite. At
that time, Pierre Arnaud d'Andilly was the most
renowned advocate in Paris ; and his deep know-
ledge of his professional duties was only to be ex-

9

celled by his unimpeachable honesty, and severe
virtue.

De Scuderi, therefore, went to his house imme-
diately, and explained the situation in which
Brusson was placed, as far as it was possible to
do so without openly betraying Cardillac's guilt
She had supposed that the advocate would, with
great zeal, undertake the cause of the unhappy
youth, but in such expectations found herself
bitterly disappointed. D'Andilly listened quiet-
ly to all that she could say, and then answered
in the words of Boileau, — " Le vraipeut quelque-
fois itetre pas vrai-semhlable? He then de-
monstrated to de Scuderi, that there were against
Brusson the strongest grounds of suspicion, and
that the proceedings of la Regnie were by no
means to be called rash and cruel ; but, on the
contrary, were quite according to law, and, in

CHAPTER VIII.

145

deed, he durst not act otherwise without infring-
ing his duties as a judge. For his own part, he
did not perceive how, by the cleverest defence
which any advocate could make, Brusson could
be saved from the torture. It was only the young
man himself who could bring about this, either
by a confession of his guilt ; or, if he really were
innocent, by a minute detail of the real circum-
stances which led to the death of Cardillac, and
thus perhaps afford some grounds on which he
might be defended. " Then," said de Scuderi,
in a faltering voice, and bursting into tears, " I
shall throw myself at the king's feet — and im-
plore him for mercy !" " For Heaven's sake, my
lady,11 cried d'Andilly, do not try this on the
present occasion. Reserve the dernier resort,
which, if it should fail you in one instance, is,
of course, lost to you for ever. The king will never
show favour to a criminal of this class — for, by so
doing, he would, of necessity, draw on himself
the bitterest hatred of the people, who feel them-
selves every night in danger of their lives, if they
venture abroad. It is possible that Brusson him-
self may change his mind, and, by a full or par-

VOL. I. G

146 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

tial confession, will find means of moving the
judges in his favour."

De Scuderi found herself obliged to submit to
the opinion of the learned advocate, and returned
home in very low spirits. She was unable to di-
vert her attention from the subject, and was sit-
ting alone in her chamber at a late hour of the
night, imploring, one by one, all the saints in the
Calendar, that they would assist her invention
with some device to save the unhappy youth,
when Martiniere entered, and announced a visit
from the Count de Miossen. This nobleman
was well known at court, as colonel of the king's
Garde oVHonneur, and having earnestly request-
ed an audience of the Lady de Scuderi, was, of
course, admitted.

" Forgive me, Mademoiselle," said the Count,
bowing with military grace and politeness, 44 if I
thus trouble you at an inconvenient hour. We
soldiers have not the time at our own command ;
and, besides, a few words will plead my apology.
It is on account of your protege, — Oliver Brus-
son, that I have come hither."

" Olivier Brusson !" said de Scuderi, with her
attention on the utmost stretch, " What can you

CHAPTER VIII.

147

have to say of that most unfortunate of all mor-
tals P'1 " I thought, indeed," said de Miossen with
a smile, " that the name of that youth would pro-
cure me a favourable hearing, for though all the
world has been convinced of his guilt, I am aware
that you hold a different opinion, which is said
to depend on the prisoner's own assertions. With
me, the case is altogether different, and no one
can be more perfectly certain than I am, (not
even Brusson himself,) that he is perfectly guilt-
less as to the death of Cardillac." — " Good Hea-
ven ! my lord Count," said de Scuderi, — her eyes
sparkling with joy ; " how have you obtained
such information ? Speak on, I entreat you."" —
" My answer need only be in three words," said
de Miossen, with emphasis — " It was I — I my-
self who struck the old goldsmith a mortal blow
in the Rue St Honoree, not far from your house."
— " The saints protect us !" cried de Scuderi —
" You? — you, indeed! it is impossible." — "Nay,"
said de Miossen ; " I swear to you, that, so far
from looking on that action as a crime, I believe
that I have thereby rendered an especial service
to the whole city of Paris, and that I deserve the
thanks of every one of its inhabitants. — I can as-

148

MADEMOISELLE

DE SCUDERi.

sure you, Mademoiselle, that Cardillac was tlie
most depraved and hypocritical of villains, and
that it was he alone who committed the horrid
murders and robberies, escaping, as if by miracle,
all the snares that were laid for him. I scarcely
know myself by what means my own suspicions
against this old miscreant were first awoke, but
when I heard of his eccentricities, as they were
called, I always supposed that there was some-
thing wrong in his character. However, it so
happened that he once came to me in visible dis-
quietude and perturbation, with a set of jewels
which I had ordered, and, on receiving payment,
he begged to know for whom I designed the pre-
sent? I returned him a careless and indignant
answer ; but, afterwards, in the most artful man-
ner, he contrived to elicit from my confidential
servant, at what hour I was in the habit of visit-
ing a certain lady. It had before occurred to
me, as something very remarkable, that the victims
of assassination who were daily found in the streets,
had all precisely the same sort of wound, ap-
parently inflicted by one and the same weapon.
I was quite certain that the murderer must have
been, by practice, accustomed to the blow, which

CHAPTER VIII.

149

was momentarily mortal, and must have reckoned
with certainty on its effect. If that one blow
should prove ineffectual, then there might be a
combat on an equal footing. This made me
think of a precaution, in its nature so simple, that
I am surprised it did not occur to others who
could not have gone out at night, without being
apprehensive of the dangers that awaited them.
In short, I put' on a light coat of mail under my
waistcoat, and walked along the street at that
hour which, as my servant had informed him, was
the usual time of my nightly assignations. When
I was drawing near to the lady's house, Cardillac,
just as I had expected, rushed up, and attacked
me from behind ; — he clasped me in his arms with
gigantic strength, but the blow which he aimed,
trusting, as usual, that it would prove mortal,
slid off from the coat of mail without doing *ne
any injury. At that moment I disengaged my-
self from his hold, and having my stiletto ready
in my right hand, struck it into his heart.

" And you have been silent," said de Scuderi,
" and would not announce these important truths
to the Chambre Ardente?" " I have been silent,"
answered de Miossen, " and, your ladyship will

150 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

please to remember, that such information, if it did
not bring destruction on my own head, must, at
least, have involved me in a detestable law pro-
cess. Would la Regnie, who suspects every one
who falls in his way, of guilt and Jiypocrisy, have
believed me if I accused Cardillac, (who was
looked upon as a perfect model of regularity and
devotion,) of an attempt at murder ? — Should I
not rather, by this means, have turned the sword
of justice against myself ?" " Impossible," said
de Scuderi, " your birth and rank must have pro-
tected you from all such imputations.'1 " Oh, ho ! *
replied de Miossen, " your ladyship forgets, then,
the Marshal de Luxembourg, who, because he
had once taken it into his head to have his for-
tune read by le Sage, brought on himself the sus-
picion of wishing to poison all his acquaintances,
and was therefore thrown into the Bastile. No, —
by St Denis ! I would not surrendev even a single
hour of my personal liberty into the power of la
Regnie. I doubt not, that, if the matter were at
his own disposal, he would bring all our necks to
the block, tout oVun coup, without delay or dis-
crimination."

" But, whatever is the character of la Regnie,"

CHAPTER VIII.

151

said de Scuderi, " could you have made up your
mind on such principles, to see the guiltless Brus-
son dragged to the scaffold ?" " Guiltless?" said de
Miossen ; " could you then apply that epithet to
the friend and accomplice of the diabolical Cardil-
lac ? To him, forsooth, who, no doubt, aided the
assassin in all his crimes, and who has, therefore,
deserved an hundred-fold the punishment that
now awaits him ? — No, indeed ! He will justly
suffer on the scaffold ; nor was it from any wish to
rescue him that I made these disclosures ; — yet,
at the same time, if you can turn what I have said
to the advantage of your protege^ — if, at least,
means could be devised to save him from the tor-
ture, I should rejoice, as I know that this would
be a satisfaction to your benevolent heart."

De Scuderi, overjoyed to find her own convic-
tion of Olivier's innocence thus confirmed, did not
hesitate to repeat to the Count, the whole narra-
tive with which the unfortunate youth had entrust-
ed her, and to suggest, that they ought immedi-
ately to go to the advocate D'Andilly. From
him, she proposed that a solemn promise of se-
crecy should be required, and that they should

152 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

afterwards be governed hy his counsel as to what
remained farther to be done.

The meeting took place accordingly, and the
advocate was very particular in his inquiries of
de Miossen, whether he was absolutely certain
that it was Cardillac, by whom he had been at-
tacked, and if he could swear to the personal iden-
tity of Brusson, as the individual who had come
up during their encounter. " Not only," said the
Count, " did I recognize the goldsmith's fea-
tures by the moonlight, but I have also seen, in
the hands of la Regnie, the dagger with which
Cardillac was struck. I can swear to its being
mine, and it is distinguished from all others, by
the particular workmanship of the hilt. As to
the young man's countenance, his hat had fallen
off, and I was so near to him that I could recog-
nize his appearance again, even among a thousand
people."

The advocate was silent for some minutes, and
fixed his eyes thoughtfully on the ground. At
length he said, " In an ordinary and regular way,
Brusson cannot possibly be rescued from the sen-
tence that awaits him. On account of his attach-

CHAPTER VIII.

153

ment to Madelon, he will not accuse Cardillac as
an assassin. But this course he might follow, at
all events, because, although by an exposure of the
secret passage, and the collected treasures, he
were to prove the goldsmith's guilt, he would not
the less be looked on as an accomplice. The
same difficulties, of course, remain, though the
Count de Miossen were to reveal his adventures
to the judge. Delay is, in short, the only ad-
vantage we can hope for at present, and, in order
to obtain this, we must not speculate, but use, at
once, the means, however limited, that are within
our power. With this view, Count de Miossen
may, if he pleases, go to the Coyiciergerie, may
have an interview with the prisoner, and identify
him as the person who came up to the assistance
of Cardillac. He may then go to la Regnie, and
sav, " I was walking in the Rue St Honorie,
and saw a man knocked down. I ran to give my as-
sistance, when another man started out from the
opposite side of the street, came up, and kneeled
beside him who had fallen, and, as he found life
not extinct, took him up on his shoulders and car-
ried him away. This person's features were
clearly visible to me in the moonlight, and I have
g 2

154

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

recognized them in Olivier Brusson." Should
the Count think proper to give in a deposition
of this tenor, it will, of course, bring on a new
hearing in court, and the deponent will be ex-
amined along with the prisoner. At all events,
it is satisfactory that the torture will be for the
present postponed, andfarther investigations will be
commenced. Then will be the proper time to make
an application to the king, — and this last must, of
course, be entrusted to the management of the
Lady de Scuderi, on whose good sense and admi-
rable talents our success with his majesty must
depend. In my opinion, it would be proper to
reveal to him the whole mystery. Brusson's con-
fessions to you are fully supported by the deposi-
tion of the Count, and farther proof will probably
be gained by an examination of Cardillac's house.
- All this, however, could not warrant any favour-
able sentence of the law ; but it may justify the
interference of the king, who can show mercy
even in cases where the judge is necessitated to
condemn the prisoner."

D'Andilly's advice was accurately followed, and
the consequences were such as he had expected,
the torture being delayed, and a day appointed
11

CHAPTER VII I. 155

for a new hearing. Now the proper time had ar-
rived for having recourse to the king ; a point on
which de Scuderi could not help feeling timid and
anxious ; for such was the abhorrence that Louis
had conceived against Brusson, believing him to
be one of the murderers by whom all Paris was
kept in a state of terror and agitation, that, even
on the slightest allusion to the delays that had tak-
en place at the trial, he fell into a tremendous
passion. The Marchioness de Maintenon, adher-
ing firmly to her principles of never speaking to the
monarch on any subject that was disagreeable, re-
fused to undertake the office of mediatrix, so that
Brusson's fate was left entirely in the hands of de
Scuderi. After long reflection, she came to a re-
solution which she did not lose a moment in car-
rying into effect ; she dressed herself for the occa-
sion, in a black robe of heavy massive silk, adorned
herself with Cardillac's fine jewTels, hung a lace
veil over the whole, and in this attire made her
entre into the chambers of de Maintenon, at the
time when the king was there. In such a dress,
the dignified figure, and placid countenance of
the noble poetess, failed not to inspire respect,
even among the mob of idle loungers, who, as

156 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDEEI.

usual, were collected in the anti-room. All made
way for her with the greatest deference, and on
her appearance in the audience chamber, even the
king himself was forcibly struck, and came for-
ward to meet her.

The valuable diamonds of the necklace and
bracelets then flashed so brightly, that they could
not escape his notice, and he exclaimed, " by St
Denis, that is jewellery of Cardillac's. Look on-
ly, Madame la Marquise," added he, turning to
de Maintenon, " how our beautiful bride mourns
for the loss of her betrothed husband !" — " Nay,
Sire," answered de Scuderi in the same tone of
badinage, " how could it become a mourning
bride to adorn herself with these glittering jew-
els ? — No — no ! I have quite disengaged my af-
fections from the goldsmith, and would not think
of him any more, were it not indeed that his
frightful figure, as he lay murdered, and was car-
ried close by me, so often recurs to my recollec-
tion."— 6* How is this ?" said the king; " you saw
Cardillac then on the night of the murder ?" de
Scuderi now related in few words, how chance (for
she did not venture to speak of Brusson,) had
brought her to the goldsmith's house, just after

4

CHAPTER VIII.

157

the alarm of his death had been given. She de-
scribed the wild grief of Madelon, the deep im-
pression that had been made on her own mind by
the appearance and conduct of this beautiful girl ;
in consequence of which she had rescued her from
the violent hands of Desgrais, and brought her
away, followed by the loud applause of the mul-
titude. De Scuderi's tones were clear and musical,
and her eloquence was powerful. She contrived^
always, to give additional interest to the narrative,
and perceiving- that Louis was favourably dispos-
ed, she came to the scenes with la Regnie, with
Desgrais, and at length even with Olivier Brus-
son. The king had indeed listened attentively
to de Scuderi's story, insomuch, that he seemed
to have quite forgot the irritability and anger
which he had before manifested, whenever any
allusion was made to that criminal. He never
once checked the lady's discourse, but occasion-
ally, by his interjections of surprise or approval,
betrayed how deeply he was interested. Before
Louis was in the least aware of her intentions, and
while he was under the full impression of her elo-
quence, de Scuderi had thrown herself at his feet,

158 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

and implored his royal clemency in behalf of the
unfortunate prisoner.

" What can all this mean, Mademoiselle
cried the king, raising her up by both hands, and
leading her to a chair. " You surprise me be-
yond measure. What you have now related is
indeed a very strange and affecting story, but
•who can tell whether Brusson's confessions are
really true, or mere inventions of his own brain ?i
To this de Scuderi answered, by referring to the
deposition of Count de Miossen ; the examination
of Cardillac's house ; her own inward conviction ;
the perfect innocence and goodness of heart
shown by Madelon, who could not have loved
Brusson so ardently, if he had not also been
guiltless. The king seemed much struck by the
earnest confidence of her manner, and was about
to answer, but at that moment Louvois the se-
cretary, who had been at work in an adjoining
room, looked in with an anxious countenance, and
Louis, seeming to understand the signal, imme-
diately retired. De Scuderi and de Maintenon
glanced at each other, and thought that, by this in-
terruption, all was lost ; for Louis, havinghadtime
to recover from his first surprise, would doubtless

CHAFTER VIII.

159

take good care not to be so much moved a second
time. However, after a few minutes, the grand
monarque came again into the room, took two or
three turns up and down, then placed himself,
with his arms crossed, opposite to de Scuderi,
and said, rather in a low voice, without looking
directly at her, " I should like for once to see
your protegee Madelon !" " Oh, my gracious
liege !" said de Scuderi, " what unspeakable con-
descension do you vouchsafe towards that poor
girl, and what happiness will you confer upon
her ! It only requires your majesty's approving
signal, in order to see the poor child even now at
your feet."

The king nodded in token of acquiescence, and
de Scuderi tripped away, as fast as her heavy
dress would permit her, to inform the attendants
at the door, that his majesty desired to see Ma-
delon Cardillac in the audience chamber. On
her return, she could not help bursting into tears,
and sobbing aloud, so deeply was she affected.
She had indeed fondly anticipated, that the king's
attention might be gained, and had, with this
view, brought Madelon along with her, who was
now waiting in one of the anti-rooms, with the

160 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

dame (THonneur of the Marquise, and holding
in her hand a little petition, which had been drawn
out for her by D'Andilly.

In a few moments she made her entrte, and
threw herself in silence at the king's feet. Agi-
tated at once by fear, bashfulness, grief, and love,
her heart beat so violently, that she could not
have uttered a word. Her cheeks were suffused
with the deepest blushes, and her eyes shone
through tears, that ever and anon fell through her
long silken eye-lashes, on her snow-white bosom.
It was obvious, that, from the first moment, the
king was deeply struck with the wonderful beauty
of this angelic girl. He raised her gently from
the ground, and even made a movement as if he
would kiss the hand which he still held ; he let it
go however, but looked at her with an expression of
embarrassment, that betrayed how deeply he was
affected. The Marchioness de Maintenon now
whispered to de Scuderi, " Is not her hair won-
derfully like that of la Valiere ? The king, too,
seems to think so, and luxuriates in sweet, though
melancholy remembrances, — your game is won !"
Cautiously as de Maintenon pronounced these
words, yet in the stillness of the whole party, the

CHAPTEK VIII. 161

\:

king had probably overheard them. He turned
half round to the Marquise, and a transient flush
of displeasure came over his features. He then
read the short petition which Madelon had
brought with her, and said mildly and good
humouredly, " I believe, indeed, my dear child,
that you are thoroughly convinced of your lover's
innocence, but we must yet hear what the Cham-
bre Ardente have to say on that head." A wave
of his hand, implied that the poor girl might
withdraw, and as she retired, it was remarked,
that she could not help bursting into a passionate
flood of tears.

De Scuderi perceived, to her great dismay, that
the recollection of la Valiere, beneficial as it might
have been at first, yet, as soon as de Maintenon
pronounced the name of that lady, seemed to have
quite a contrary effect. It might be that Louis
found himself by this means rather brusquement
reminded, that he was about to sacrifice justice at
the shrine of beauty, or he might feel like a dream-
er, who, when suddenly awoke, sees the beautiful
images that he had thought to grasp, fade at once
into chill reality. Now, perhaps he no longer beheld
the young and blooming la Valiere, but only the

162 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDEltl.

sister Louise de la Misericorde, (which was her
name among the Carmelite nuns,) who, with her
piety and penitence, was by no means an object
suited to the lively disposition of the monarch,
But what could henceforth be done to retrieve this
blunder ? It was a subject on which she dared not
speak, and she could only await in patience the
king's unbiassed determination.

The deposition of the Count de Miossen before
the Chambre Ardente had now been made known
in public, and as it usually happens with the mob,
who fly from one extreme to another, the very
same individual, who had before been denounced
as the most abominable of hypocrites and assas-
sins, and whom they had threatened to tear in
pieces, if he were not immediately brought to the
scaffold, was now mourned and lamented over as
the innocent victim of a barbarous and unrelent-
ing judge. Now, for the first time, the neigh-
bours began to recollect with what exemplary piety
he had always conducted himself among them, his
regular attendance at church, and the faithful in-
dustry with which he had served the old gold-
smith. Nay, great bands of people often assem-
bled in a threatening manner before the house of

CHAPTER VIII.

163

la Regnie, and shouted aloud, " We come to de-
mand freedom for Olivier Brusson, — bring him
out to us immediately, for he is innocent !" At
last they began to throw stones at the windows ;
so that la Regnie was obliged to send to the
Marechaussee for protection.

Several days passed over, and de Scuderi had
not received any intimation how the process was
going on. Quite restless and miserable, she at
last betook herself to de Maintenon, who assured
ler that the king had never said one word on the
subject, and that it would be by no means pru-
lent to remind him of it. Afterwards, when she
nquired with an ironical smile for the little la
V'aliere, de Scuderi was convinced that, in this
)roud woman's heart, there existed some feeling
)f jealousy or vexation, by which the king might
?asily be led astray from all his good intentions.
From de Maintenon, therefore, she could not for
he future entertain any hopes of assistance.

At last, with the help of d'Andilly, she was
tble to discover, that Louis had had a long con-
ference with the Count de Miossen; — farther,
hat Bontems, the monarch's confidential cham-
berlain, had been sent to the Conciergerie, and

164 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDEKI.

had spoken with Brusson ; afterwards, that pri-
vate examinations had been carried on at the house
of Cardillac, where the old gentleman Claude
Patru deponed, that, through the whole night on
which Cardillac was murdered, he had heard an
extraordinary noise over his head, and that Oli-
vier certainly must have been there, for he had
distinctly heard his voice, &c. So much at least
was certain, that the king had ordered the most
accurate inquiries to be made into the evidence
for and against Brusson ; — but it was inconceiva-
ble how the matter was so long of coming to any
termination. La Regnie would no doubt try every
method to hold fast within his own power the vic-
tim who thus threatened to escape from him ; and,
when de Scuderi reflected on this man's charac-
ter, she almost lost hope. Nearly a month had
past away, when a message was brought to the
lady, that the king wished to see her, the same
evening, at the chambers of de Maintenon. De
Scuderi's heart beat violently, for she knew that
Brusson1 s trial must by this time be decided. She
mentioned this to the poor Madelon, who prayed
zealously to the blest Virgin and all the saints,
that whatever the judge's sentence might have

CHAPTER VIII.

165

been, the king at least might be inspired with a
conviction of her lover's innocence.

For some time, however, after de Scuderi's ap-
pearance in the Marchioness's rooms, his majes-
ty seemed to have forgotten the whole affair, for,
as on former occasions, occupying himself in live-
ly discourse with the ladies, he did not allude, by
a single syllable, to the unhappy prisoner. At
last, however, Bontems appeared, went up to the
monarch, and said a few words in a voice so
low, that their import was unintelligible to the
bye-standers, though, as the name Brusson was
audible, de Scuderi trembled, but she was not
long kept in suspense. Louis arose, and came
to her with joy unaffectedly gleaming in his eyes,
" I congratulate you, Mademoiselle," said he,
" your protege, Oliver Brusson, is free !" De
Scuderi, who was too much affected to utter a
word, would have thrown herself at his feet in
her gratitude, — but Louis prevented her. <c No,
no ! my lady," said he, "I have not deserved
such homage, for it is to your exertions that this
result is owing. You should, in truth, be my
advocate in the chamber of peers, and carry on
ail my pleas, for there is no resisting your elo-

166

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

quence. Yet," added he in a more serious tone,
" whoever is under the protection of genius and
virtue, may indeed be safe, in spite of the Chani-
bre Ardente, and all the courts of justice in the
world." De Scuderi now found words, and in
the most glowing terms expressed her gratitude.
The king interrupted this, reminding her that far
more ardent thanks now awaited her in her ow
house than he had any right to look for, as b
that time Madelon was probably clasped in th
embraces of her fortunate lover. "Bontems," con
eluded the monarch, "shall disburse one thousanc
Louis (Tor, which I beg of you to give in m)
name to the poor girl, as a wedding-dowry. She
may marry this Olivier Brusson, who, whethei
innocent or guilty, is probably far from deservinj
such good fortune ; but, then, both of them must
leave Paris. That is our fixed will and resolve,
from which we shall certainly not depart."

On de Scuderi's return home, Martiniere came
in a great hurry to the door, and behind her wa
Baptiste, both of them with looks of the utmosi
delight, and exclaiming, " He is free — he is free
— oh ! the dear happy young bride and bride
groom !" The lovers now threw themselves a:

CHAPTER VIII.

167

de Scuderi's feet — 66 Oh ! I knew very well, that
you, — you alone would save my beloved hus-
band !" cried Madelon, " And my confidence in
the kind protectress of my infancy," said Olivier,
" was never for a moment abated." They kis-
sed the hands of the venerable lady, declaring
that the happiness of that moment, far more than
compensated for all their sufferings ; then they
wept in their great joy, and vowed that nothing
but death should again effect their separation.

After a few days, they were united by the holy
rites of the church, and even, though it had not
been the king's command, Brusson would not
have remained in Paris, where all the scenes re-
minded him of Cardillac's frightful crimes, and
where a trifling chance might bring to light the
horrid mysteries which were already known to
several individuals. Immediately after his wed-
ding, therefore, he went, followed by the blessings
of de Scuderi, to Geneva, where, being well es-
tablished in the world by Madelon's dowry, and
clever in his profession, he led henceforward a
contented happy life, free from care and vexa-
tion of every kind, so that, for him, all those

168 MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERI.

hopes were realized, in which his father had even
to his dying clay been disappointed.

About a year after Brusson's departure, a pub-
lic advertisement appeared at Paris, signed by
Harley de Chavelon, archbishop, and the advo-
cate Pierre Arnaud d1 Andilly, to the effect, that
a repentant sinner, under the zeal of confession,
had given over to the church a treasure of gold
and diamonds which he had gained by robbery.
Every person, therefore, who, from about the end
of 1680, had been robbed of property on the
streets, should come to the chambers of d'Andil-
ly, where, if their description of what they had
lost accorded exactly with that of any jewels in his
possession, they would immediately obtain it again.
Many, therefore, who were noted in Cardillacs
list as not murdered, but only stunned by a blow
of his powerful arm, came one after another to
the advocate, and to their no small astonishment,
received back the jewels. The rest were given
up as a present to the church of St Eustathius.

THE

CASTLE

OF

j SCHARFENSTEIN.

BY

CAROLINE, BARONESS DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE.

VOL. I H

THE

CASTLE

OF

SCHARFENSTEIN.

CHAPTER I.

LETTER FROM JULIUS TO FELIX.

%9th January 1 7- —

So then, it is your opinion that Fortune has at

last become reconciled to me, and that, for the
future, we are to continue on good terms ! On
the contrary, this capricious queen-regent has
just now determined on exposing me to one of
the severest trials of patience that I have for
a long while encountered. You will say, no
doubt, that my being stationed here is a mark of
the Grand Duke's favour, a special proof of the
confidence he reposes in me, and so forth. How-

172 SCHAR FEN STEIN CASTLE.

ever, if his Highness could find no better method
of shewing his good intentions, than that of for-
cing me away at my time of life from all the
gaieties of the capital, to reside for — Heaven
knows how long — in this desolate wilderness, on-
ly to watch over his insane brother, this is a step
in the ladder of honour, which, for my own part,
I should have been very glad to leave out al-
together.

You may laugh perhaps at my discontent, but
I can assure you, Felix, my present situation is
one, which few people, whether old or young,
would very calmly encounter. Shut up within
these horrid dark walls, I feel as if I could
scarcely breathe ; even from the first moment
that I beheld this ghastly old castle, — the prison
of a maniac, — I have been depressed in spirits
to a degree for which I cannot well account,
and such as I had never before experien-
ced.

You know that we had been quartered for
some time in the barracks at Marienthal. It
was night, therefore, when we arrived in this
neighbourhood ; — both men and horses were a
good deal fatigued, and not without grumbling

CHAPTER I.

173

in our hearts, did we plod after our guide,
through the trackless forest, while the wind
swept lamentably through the heavy branches of
the pine trees, that showered down snow and
icicles on our heads. The men became at length
so tired, that they gave over their catches and
glees, by which they had for some time beguiled
the way, and nothing was heard, except the
rushing wind, and monotonous stamping of the
horses ; nothing visible, unless when a transient
gleam of star-light caught on the burnished helmet
of a trooper. So we laboured on, always uphill,
till we arrived at a level glade, where the ground
was clear, and we could distinguish the grim
old castle, in all its melancholy and loneliness.
We were stopt at the outer portal, (for the
bridge was drawn up,) and waited, till there came
a grey-headed invalid, coughing and groaning,
out of his ruinous wooden lodge. He held a
lantern in his hand, and had a short stump of a
tobacco-pipe in his mouth ; as for his useless
weapons, they were only visible, hung on the wall
of his smoky cabin.

I produced the Prince's written order, at sight
of which, he pulled off his small skull-cap, such

174 f CHAR FENS TEIN CASTLE.

as old men wear under their hats, and in a hoarse
croaking voice, gave the word for the bridge be-
ing let down, which was accomplished with a vile
creaking of the rusty iron chains and hinges, and
we trotted across to the main portal, whose heavy
wings were laboriously opened by another old
man. I shuddered at the death-like stillness which
reigned around us when we entered the wide cas-
tle court. — No mortal appeared, not a step was
heard, and the windows were then all dark, while
the loud " hollah I11 of our own troopers was re-
verberated from the gloomy walls. At length
we perceived some spectral and shadowy-like
movements through the windows, and after a
tiresome interval, the castellan made his appear-
ance on the great staircase, attended by two ser-
vants with lights in their hands. Impatiently I
ran up the steps, commanded the astonished old
man to show me a chamber suitable to the rank
with which I was to be henceforth invested at
the castle, and read over to him, as rapidly as
possible, the Duke's orders. " How then?" cried
he, staring at me as we stood on a landing-place,
4 i and all those soldiers are to remain with us ?
The castle is at once to be so powerfully garri-

CHAPTER I,

175

soned, only for the sake of the poor sick Prince?
If any inadvertence on my part has caused this
new arrangement — — " I would have tried
to pacify him on that score, — however, he added
in a cool tone of confidence, " At all events,
through the course of twenty-one years that
I have been here, I am not conscious to my
self of having committed any very great over-
sight i"

" Twenty-one Years!" My very inmost
heart seemed to re-echo the words. Twenty-one
years of an abode like this ! The thought was
overpowering; and, more than ever discontented,
I followed the old man, who was a grey-headed,
shrivelled, and stern-looking wretch, through the
long half-dark corridor. There, when he opened
the outer door of a suite of apartments that were
to be mine, and, with a vile constrained motion
of his arm, intimated that I should enter, the
notions of an executioner, a prison, a scaffold,
and so forth, rose all at once on my mind, so
that my blood ran ice-cold in every vein, and I
made a sign that this detestable conductor should
retire.

I now found myself alone in a spacious cham-

176 SCHAItFENSTEIN CASTLE.

her, and walked up and down for a long time,
wondering at the strange fashion of the now-
faded, but once costly furniture, till a most sus-
picious-looking fellow, (who is perhaps dumb,
for I could not extract from him one syllable,)
came and lighted the fire in a large open chim-
ney, for there are here no stoves. The cas-
tle had been furnished only for a hunting resi-
dence, that would be neglected all the rest of the
year, after the season of the chace was over. —
And, yet, to have lived invariably here, like the
poor insane Prince, for twenty-one years ! —
there is somewhat like the scorn and mockery of
Fate, in this contrast between what was intended,
and what has really come to pass !

I had asked for writing implements, and have
scribbled all this to you within the last half hour.
If T speak aloud, the desolate walls seem to an-
swer to my voice in a strange hollow echo, and I
cannot bear to look on them. It is almost fright-
ful to see the red damask hangings with their
gilded borders glittering in the fire-light, for even
in this I could imagine a kind of ghostly sarcasm.
How long may it have been since even a human
step was heard, — since a voice sounded or a heart

CHAPTER T.

177

beat, whether gladly or sorrowfully, within these
apartments !

Over the doors, and elsewhere, are hung family
portraits, and that which fronts me at this mo-
ment represents a young man in a hunting-dress,
with a cheerful smiling countenance, on which it
seems as if worldly care had never imprinted a
single trace. His hair is, in the old mode, stif-
fly frizzled and powdered, and on his head, he
wears a little three-cornered hat with a white
feather. His coat, too, is cut in the most formal
fashion, with turned up yellow lappelles, yet the
expression of his countenance gives to the tout-
ensemble an air of careless freedom, as with one
arm turned back, he points over his shoulder to-
wards the woods in the back-ground, in which
probably he has just performed some notable ex-
ploit in the boar or stag-hunt. If I am not mis-
taken this was the present Duke's father.

Not far from this gay sportsman, over another
door, I see the portrait of a lady done in crayons.
The colours are of course somewhat faded, yet it
is easy to distinguish the fine features of our pre-
sent old Duchess, taken while she was yet in the
bloom of her youth and beauty. She accompanied

178 SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

her husband in all his excursions, and this castle
was perhaps the scene of her greatest happiness !
In the portrait she is represented as Diana, with
a hunting spear in her hand, and a crescent moon,
fixed on a little green hat, turned up smartly on
one side with a band of pearls, which (the hat I
mean) hangs archly enough over her left eye-
brow. This fantastic production, (doubtless of
a French artist,) this Diana with her spear and
her crescent, — reminds one of the innocent self-
delusions of children, who build fairy palaces of
chairs and tables in the nursery, make themselves
into kings and queens with spangles and peacocks1
feathers, and dwell there as in some far famed
Eldorado ! The looks too of the Duchess are
here so childlike and unconcerned ; — she loved
and was beloved ; what more was wanting to her
contentment in this world ? If it were true that
moods of mind are hereditary, how could she
have given birth to sons whose dispositions are
so dark, and so fearfully opposed to her own !

As to the unfortunate being who is now con-
fined here, there certainly must be some deep
mystery in his fate, which has not even been

guessed at. You know there was of late a ru-
11

CHAPTER I. 179

1

mour spread abroad, that, in his lucid intervals,
he had made vehement attempts to obtain his
liberty, — that he wished to resume his former
station in the capital, — and that, to his disordered
imagination, nothing less seemed satisfactory,
than bringing a legal accusation against the Duke
for having kept him in confinement. In all this,
however, I can assure you, that there was not
one word of truth. In fact, it was a dream, —
literally a mere dream, that led to my being sent
hither, and this I have learned on the authority
of the old physician Leonardo.

During the night, after a grand masqued ball
at the house of the Prussian Ambassador, (who
now inhabits the palace that belonged formerly
to the insane Prince Charles,) the Duke was
taken ill. Leonardo, of course, was summoned,
and found him under an attack of fever, — very
restless, and talking so incoherently, that the old
man pretends he could not remember a word of
what his Highness had said. Towards morn-
ing he was exhausted, and fell into a deep slum-
ber, not awaking till mid-day, when he arose,
went to the window, and looked around him with
a very strange and perturbed expression. After

180 SCHARFEN STEIN CASTLE.

seeming to reflect for some time, he made a sign
for the physician, who was in the room, to come
nearer. — " Mark you,1"' said he, in a tone of irony,
" can you resolve this question ? Is it certain
that dreams are always the result of intemper-
ance or disordered nerves, and that they may
not be supernatural warnings of some evil to
come ?" The physician hesitated, not knowing
whether the Duke alluded to himself, or only
started a subject, pour passer le terns ? " Last
night,'1 rejoined his Highness, " it is true, that,
contrary to custom, I supped heartily, not to ex-
cess, indeed, but yet without attending to my
usual rules. At the same time I drank some
glasses of strong Sicilian wine, after which I felt
the blood circulating like fire through every vein,
and it seemed, for a short interval, as if I had shak-
en the cumbrous load of years from my shoulders.
All appeared to me as in days of yore. But
for such moments of renewed youth, one, at my
advanced age, must do penance afterwards. I
have had frightful dreams through the night,
and methought, all the while, my insane brother
Charles held me in his arms firmly embraced. "
The Duke turned pale as he pronounced these

CHAPTER I.

181

words, and seemed, with difficulty, to regain self-
possession. " Now," added he, " if any credit
is to be given to these fantasms of a heated brain,
I should conclude from them, that some misfor-
tune threatened us at the Castle of Scharfenstein.
Just before I awoke, methought I was on a
shooting excursion in the forest there, and saw a
large bird wheeling in circles round its grey wea-
ther beaten towers. I raised my fowling-piece
and took aim, but the distance was too great, and
I did not fire. The bird descended, however,
and lighted on the river. There I perceived
that it was a noble white swan, — but as he coursed
gracefully along the stream, methought his track
was red with blood, and I felt, at that moment,
as if some one plunged a dagger into my heart."

Absurd as this dialogue with old Leonardo will
seem to you, take notice, Felix, that, within two
days after this, I received orders to repair to
Scharfenstein. I was chosen, forsooth, for this
service, because the Duke had before shown me
favour, and because he had confidence in my pru-
dence and fidelity. Well, no doubt he has been
kind to me ! — My parents died when I was but a
child, and his Highness paid for my education at

J 82 SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

a military college, and gave me afterwards a com-
mission in his body guard. Such, it must be al-
lowed, is the truth ; but then, my father had been
a faithful servant to this Duke's father, and, for
the most part, I have looked on the kindness
shown to me but as the payment of a just debt,
and scarcely thought that it demanded from me
any very deep sense of gratitude ; for probably I
could have acquired for myself a livelihood in the
world without his interference. Heaven knows
how it happens that I have never felt any special
attachment to our Sovereign, and least of all,
here. His conduct throughout is very strange ;
and many times there are suspicions that irresisti-
bly force themselves on my mind, of some con-
cealed guilt, of which the world has never dream-
ed.

The night is now very quiet, and the moon has
risen. I had gone to the window, from whence is
visible the river, just under the terrace, winding
its way through the rocky cliffs, and gleaming in
the silvery light. I could not help remembering
the Duke's vision, and imagining to myself the
white swan bleeding as he sailed through the wa-
ter. But who in the world can it be that here

CHAPTER I.

183

plays the flute ? For a long time already I have
been watching the protracted melancholy notes
that come from an opposite wing of the building.
How, if it were the madman ? — The windows on
that side are all firmly secured with iron-work ;
but they are dark too, as if no one were living
there. — If I have judged correctly, the tones are
not steady in one place ; they seem to advance
and recede. Methinks I see the lonely exile
moving slowly to and fro in his chamber, while
that favourite instrument supplies an echo to his
grief, and he breathes through it all those expres-
sions of suffering and painful remembrance in
which no one is allowed to share and sympathize.
Unhappy prisoner ! how the thoughts of your be-
ing «o near oppress and affect me !

30th January.
I have now seen him ; but it is impossible,
Felix, to describe to you adequately, the impres-
sion made on me by his looks. My heart still
beats quick when I think of him. It was mid-
day, and the guards fell to be relieved in the in-
ner court. I was stationed at a window looking
down upon them, when suddenly there opened on

184

SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

the opposite side of the quadrangle, a folding
door, with glass pannels, that leads into a balcony.
The Prince soon came forward, and took his station,
leaning on the front of the iron balustrade. In-
voluntarily I started and trembled at this appari-
tion. Tall, dignified in demeanour, very pale,
yet, with an aspect quite tranquil and rational,
he regarded the unusual appearance of the sol-
diers. A smile, more of surprise than bitterness,
stole over his features. He seemed comparing
his recollection of the past with what now took
place before him. It was as if he said to himself,
" So then, such is the way of the world now-a-
days !" — Gradually his features became more
animated, and he seemed to take more interest in
what was going forward. He wears still the uni-
form of his old cavalry regiment ; a head-piece
with a plume of feathers, military gloves, and field-
officer's boots; the left hand rested on his sword-
hilt, and the right was pressed on his bosom, as
if it aided to support his frame, now thin and
emaciated. On his appearance, the guard immedi-
ately grounded arms ; but, with a courteous ges-
ture, he intimated that he could dispense with
this homage, and at that moment looked, indeed,

CHAPTER r.

185

like a king. He stood for a while as if he were
considering the uniform, the discipline and du-
ty of the little troop, — then he raised his very
beautiful eyes, and, with an expression of soul,
which one must have beheld in order to appreci-
ate, his regards were directed to the steep rocks
of the fortress, and then away to the distant
country, through which he never more might
wander. — I shall never forget that gaze. Was
this, perhaps, one of his lucid intervals ? For, in
truth, there was not on his countenance the slight-
est trace of insanity.

In the course of this morning I endeavoured
to obtain a personal interview with the Prince,
though, indeed, this formed no part of my com-
mission ; however, the castellan assured me that
he never saw any one, and that, if a stranger
offered him a visit, it was always rejected with
indignation and vehemence. But he may have
his own reasons for this. By whom have such
visits been hitherto offered ? To myself, however,
it is of little consequence, for it is not impossible
that within a month my services here may be at
an end ; the Duke by that time may have for-
gotten his dream, and supplied its place with

186 SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

some new fancy, in which case, every thing here
will be restored to the old footing. How fright-
ful ! Have you ever fully considered the dark,
deep, and maddening impression which is made
on the heart of a prisoner, by the notion that his
fate is utterly unchangeable,— that he is shut
out from the pleasant walks of life for ever ? —
The very idea of this is to me so overpowering,
that I cannot dwell on the subject ; indeed, I am
very unfit for my station here. A wild lonely
country proves by no means salutary to one of my
disposition ; for many strange and wayward feel-
ings, which were repressed and kept under sub-
jection, when I mixed with the busy world, are
now roused to an undue strength, when aided by
the gloomy influences of external nature. — The
gay imagery of real life is thrown into the back
ground, and the dim dark phantoms of the mind
are too powerfully developed. Among other
thoughts, it recurs to me, that, even in my gayest
moods, I have never been perfectly content or
happy. Do not mistake me, Felix — I have not
forgotten the many hours of merriment and care-
less dissipation that we have past together, —
but then, those were but fleeting intervals. Co^

CHAPTER I. 187

sistent happiness depends on domestic felicity in
a family circle, and this I have never known.

I was only four or five years old, when it hap-
pened that my attendants dressed me out in a full
suit of black, and in a lamentable tone, I was
given to understand that my father was dead, —
that he had fallen in the field of battle. I wept
as I saw others do, though without rightly know-
ing wherefore, for as to my father, I only recol-
lected his having spoken to me once, when he was
returning from parade on horseback, and his say-
ing, " Mark you, Julius, so you will ride the
great horse one day, when you grow taller." Such
was the meaning of his words, but what he then
addressed to me was an absurd rhyme, that nur-
ses use, when they rock a boisterous child on the
knee.

Of course I thought of nothing afterwards but
riding the great horse, as gentlemen's sons should
ride ; but after my father's death, my situation
became sadly changed One evening, my mother,
who was a pale-visaged invalid, took me on her
lap, and after we had sat for some time in si-
lence, she pressed me to her heart, and in a tone
of the deepest affliction, exclaimed, " Poor un~

188 SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

fortunate child, what will now become of you ?"
These words, which I have never since forgotten,
affected me even at that time, so that I burst in-
to tears ; it seemed as if there were in my mind
dark anticipations of the hard fate that awaited
me, and I was carried, still crying, to bed. Not
long after, we journeyed from our town residence
to a remote village among the mountains, — where
the country was very beautiful, — and we took up
our abode in the clergyman's house. At such an
early age, one soon becomes accustomed to any
change of circumstances. I played with his chili
dren, and rambled about very contentedly, while
my mother had gone back to the capital, in order
to take the situation offered to her of gouvernante
to the young Princess, with whom she went into
Italy, where, after a few years, she died.

The pleasure which I had taken at first in my
childish plays, was soon embittered by the scanty
food, and other discomforts of the family with
whom I was boarded. Scarcely separated from
the servants of the household, I was doomed to
hear their rough language and noisy disputes
every hour of the day ; while their talk was of
swine, geese, sheep, and oxen, — but never, by any

CHAPTER I.

189

chance, of fine horses or young gentlemen learn-
ing to ride. In the very house itself, there was
established a large crib for poultry, and we chil-
dren were called on to assist in much menial
drudgery, in which I acquitted myself so ill, that
I was often heartily scolded. As to good clothes
and fine linen, to which I was also partial, as
well as to horses, I was never allowed to wear
them. The clergyman's wife, if I complained on
that score, used to answer tartly, that for the
trifling pension which I paid, it was not in her
power to afford those luxuries. The kind-hearted
old preacher used at such times to pat me on the
cheek, and gave me in secret some bits of the
sugar which had been allowed him for his own
morning coffee, telling me to be good and patient.
He himself bore his cross in silence. Yet I could
not help becoming every day more fretful and
discontented, not being able to understand why I
was to remain so very long in that small and ill-
appointed house.

One evening, I was sitting on the threshold,
cutting a large tube of elder tree, which I la-
boured to fashion into a post-boy's horn, endea-
vouring to make it sound like a bugle which I had

190

SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

heard just before in the forest, where some tra-
vellers were passing by. Heaven knows what
mysterious longing that signal had awoke in my
heart ! About an hour afterwards, there came a
lady in a very plain dress, like that of a citizen's
wife or daughter, — with a covered basket on
her arm, who entered by the court gateway, and
directly made up to me. Milord, the large mas-
tiff dog who was chained in the court, rushed
out in great wrath from his wooden camp, and
snapped at her dress ; however, I started forward
between them, — struck Milord heartily with mj
bugle Lorn of elder -tree, and expecting that the
lady must have something very fine in her basket,
I was eager to lead her into the house. She
looked at me for a few moments without saying a
word, and, perceiving that she trembled, I be-
lieved that she was still afraid of the mastiff — I
took her hand therefore, and brought her into tin
parlour, in which we found the old clergyman
while, in order to offer some apology for her com-
ing, she had drawn the cover from her basket
in which there was a great collection of Niirn
berg toys, men on horseback, coaches and horses
guns, swords, and beasts of all shapes and siz

CHAPTER I.

191

Of course, all the children, who had now burst
into the room, gathered round her in admiration ;
but the clergyman's wife soon put an end to their
hopes. " Nothing, — nothing, good woman, we
have no need of such things here." With these
words she spread out both her broad hands over
the basket, that we might no longer be tempted
by the sight of treasures which we were not to
possess. At this, the strange lady smiled a lit-
tle, and in a soft and genteel tone of voice, to
which I had been here but little accustomed, she
said, " Nay, nay, — but my goods are very cheap ;
i allow every one of the young people to take some-
thing from my stores. I shall not demand any
money, but only a cast-off piece of dress from the
youngest who is here present, for he is just about
the same age with my own boy. If I might beg
also a lock of his hair, it would be better still, for
he reminds me so of one whom I shall not see
for a long while again, and he has been so kind
in protecting me from your great watch-dog !" All
hands had already been plunged into the basket,
and, much against her own inclinations, the old
lady was forced to go to the wardrobe, and bring

192 SCHARFEXSTEIN CASTLK.

into the room the worst and most useless of my
worn-out dresses.

By that time, I stood triumphant with a blue
painted sabre, and a bronze-coloured fowling-
piece. The stranger looked at me for a while,
seeming to rejoice in my feelings, then she took
the clothes and ringlet of hair that were now
offered in return for her goods, examined them,
folded them up, and took them down again as if un-
willing to depart; — at last, turning to me, stroked
my forehead to part my wild straggling locks,
said, in a voice scarcely audible, " God be with
you dearest child," and abruptly retiring, she
disappeared. — I remember well that through that
whole evening, I sat retired in a corner with my
newly purchased toys, — in a very perplexed mood;
I knew not whether to laugh or weep, but felt a
contused impression, that I was now quite for-
saken and alone in the world. It was the sword
perhaps that made me think of former days, and
awoke manifold associations which I was altoge-
ther unable to arrange or interpret.

This had happened on a Saturday evening,

and next day, the family and all the servants

were at church. My playmates were roving
l

CHAPTER I.

193

about in the fields, and I was left sitting on a
stone under a lime tree, at some distance from the
village. I happened to be gazing intently in
that direction, when I saw the stranger lady that
had given us the toys come out of an inn, and
walk for some time along the high road, till at
last, on perceiving me, she turned from it, and
came up to the place where I was stationed.
" So, Julius," said she in a low timid voice, " I
have found you alone ! — Yesterday, I could not
thank you, my dearest child, for your kindness
to me, but, in token of my gratitude, I must beg
that you will accept this small remembrance."
She now gave me a beautiful book, in a red
binding, with a gold clasp fashioned into the
shape of two hands joined together, with an en-
graved motto — " Trust in God." On touching a
spring, the volume flew open, and I found that
it contained a great number of separate blank
leaves, of the finest French paper, all embossed,
and with some religious or moral maxim inscrib-
ed on each. " Look you, Julius," said she,
" these leaves are intended for a journal, and
there are just as many of them as there are days
in the year. You can supply their places, how-

VOL. I. I

194

SCHARFEN STEIN CASTLE.

ever, with others, to fit the volume, in case any
of these should be lost or written out. Above
all, do not forget the maxims ; — read one of them
as a lesson every morning, and ask yourself at
night, whether you have remembered and ful-
filled through the day the admonition contained
therein. Then, under the original inscription,
add, in your own hand, 6 yes' — or 6 no' — or any
other remark which your own consience may dic-
tate. In order to act up to our duties in the
world, it is necessary that one should use some
method of this kind — that we should have some
outward as well as inward monitor. Do not
neglect, Julius, to take such precautions now
when you are young; thus in early life, you
will render self-examination a regular habit,
instead of having to acquire it afterwards by la-
borious effort. Wilt thou do this my dear
child ?" Every word of her address was ut-
tered in tones of the most heartfelt affection.
She seated herself beside me on the grass, and
took me in her arms ; I wept, and was confound-
ed by that kindness, such as I had never ex-
perienced since my mother's departure. Sud-
denly and abruptly she let me go, and in the

CHAPTER I.

195

next moment had disappeared in the neighbour-
ing wood. I was terrified ; I started up and ran
after her ; but, notwithstanding all my endea-
vours, my cries and lamentations, she was ab-
solutely gone. I threw myself on the ground in
an agony of grief ; and, not long after, when I
heard the notes of a bugle again sounding from
the woods, till they died away into the blue
realms of distance, my agitation increased al-
most to distraction.

Time, that blunts all feelings, at length weak-
ened the impression even of this adventure. Yet,
though weakened, it could not be effaced. Amid
;he cold and heartless goings-on of the world, it
vas then only that I had felt as if there were
some one who could take a real interest in my
ate, — who looked on me with affection, and sym-
)athized in my distresses. — It was more from in-
stinctive feeling than from reflection, that I was
ifterwards induced to keep a strict silence as to
diat had passed. The book which I had re-
vived from the lady was placed every night on
ay pillow, and by day I carried it in my bosom,
t was my companion, too, at the military school

J 96 SCHARFKNSTEIX CASTLE.

to which the Duke's recollection of my fathers
services soon afterwards induced him to send me.
Oftentimes, indeed, I forgot to consult the leaves
at the hours appointed ; but frequently, too, a
single glance at them completely* roused my fa-
culties, when indolence was ready to steal upon
me ; and the natural obstinacy of my heart was
softened when I read over some of the moral
rhymes, which I could never do without remem-
bering the gentle and musical tones of the Un-
known, which inseparably blended with the words.
No doubt, I might have neglected all my studies,
and given myself up to dissipation, had it not bee"
that Providence had supplied me with this mea
of self-warning and guidance.

NoW) in this wilderness, where I find anoth
heart lonely and suffering as mine has been, and
where, as I have already said, the gloomy influ-
ences of external nature break the habits that so-
cial life had induced, ail my old feelings of per-
plexity and harassing reflections are awoke. Un-
called and unsought for emotions crowd upon my
mind ; some, indeed, welcome and pleasant, but
many that bring along with them bitterness and

CHAPTER I.

197

discontent. Indeed, one is in solitude too much
occupied with himself, and yet it is only by means
of this intermediate confusion of thought, and
these inward conflicts, that he can again obtain
tranquillity and a better mood of mind.

CHAPTER II.

JULIUS TO FELIX.

6th February 17 — .

He is not mad ; or if he is so, then I too have
lost my senses amid the gloom of these pine-tree
forests. But you must hear, in the first place,
what happened to-day.

We had one of those mild evenings that some-
times occur in the month of February, and which
irresistibly entice us abroad by the pleasant pro-
mise and anticipation of approaching spring. I
went down to walk on the terrace. The river
murmured so soothingly in its ceaseless course ! —
Great flocks of water birds were wheeling over
the forest marshes ; and the air was filled with
humming insects. Thus it seemed that Nature
was unobserved and gradually preparing for her
triumph over winter, and her approaching days
of jubilee. I would have gladly taken a ramble

CHAPTER II.

199

out among the mountains ; but, for reasons inscru-
table, I felt as if spell-bound within the castle
walls ; and I cannot bring myself to hunt or shoot,
every such enjoyment of freedom seems like a
cruel mockery of the unhappy prisoner. There-
fore I am contented for the present to walk up
and down in the allee of trees on the outer ram-
part. Here, dark-green ivy in clustering thickets
overspreads the castle walls, and forms a complete
mantling over a small chapel, whose lofty round
cupola, and shining cross, that still caught the
twilight, seemed as if floating in the air, and de-
tached from the darkness. I was quietly con-
templating this building, when behold ! the prince
all of a sudden made his appearance on the ter-
race, attended by the castellan and two valets.
He was visibly struck by my presence, and greeted
me at first with an air of coldness and hauteur.
This was but the effect of transient indignation
against the mere passive instrument of tyranny ;
in another moment his wonted courtesy and bien-
veillance returned. As if to make amends for
his first coldness, he drew near to me, and, in a
manner equally affable and polite, he said, u How
sincerely do I regret, on your account, the me-

200 SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

lancholy retirement to which you are here con-
demned ! Your time of life seems indeed ill adap-
ted to such duty, — for one who still has claims
on what is called the world, must here absolutely
despair." " Prince," answered I, " how nar-
row-minded and contemptible I must be, if, in
this place, I could for a moment think of myself
alone P

During this discourse, we had begun to walk
together on the terrace. The sky was now
bright with stars, and, by their light, the Prince
seemed to be attentively scanning my figure and
features. Was it the effect of my deep inward
emotion reflected in my countenance that inter-
ested him, or was he struck merely by the ap-
pearance of one who was at least so different
from the gaoler to whom, for twenty-one years, he
had been accustomed ? However this might be,
I could perceive, by a gleam of lingering twilight
that came on his features, as we turned a corner
of the rampart, that his lips quivered, when, ra-
ther abruptly, he put the question, " Young sol-
dier, what is your Christian name ?" I repeated
it twice before he made any answer. " A son of
the General ?" said he — " but that cannot be ;— .

CHAPTER If.

201

he had no children. How old are you ?"— -I said,
that in a few months I should be twenty-one.
" Aye, so" — answered he, " that indeed is pos-
sible, and J ulius is your name ? Julius — yes, —
I heard correctly." Here a long pause occurred,
and I was too much perplexed to speak, fearing
that I might excite some attack of his malady, —
but he resumed in a quiet mournful tone. ''It
is, perhaps, some confirmation of the soul's divine
origin, that Time, which destroys all things, has,
as it were, no power over itself — I scarcely know
what I would say — but there are moments of re-
collection so vivid, that the gulf of years, which
should lie betwixt us and our former existence,
seem annihilated, — as, for example, your presence
has carried me back so completely into the sphere
of old circumstances and connections, that every
impression of that period is renewed as fresh and
vividly, as if the events had happened but yester-
day. I was well acquainted with your family,
therefore you must forgive my questions. To
young men, however, such details and retrospects
are often very tiresome, and I must now bid you
good night." With these words he turned, and
was on the point of disappearing as suddenly as
i 2

202 SCHAItFENSTEIN CASTLE.

lie had come, when, quite overpowered by the
kind condescension of his manner, and the plain-
tive tones of his voice, I stept up to him, and said,
4 ' May it please your Highness not to think more
unfavourably of me than I deserve? My time
and attention are here wholly at your disposal.
Through the few days that I have spent here,
my only wish has been to prove to you how little
my own feelings and .inclination are in unison
with the painful task that has here devolved on
me. I begged that I might be permitted the
honour of a personal interview, but was answered
that your Highness never saw any visitors." The
Prince here smiled bitterly. " No doubt, young
man,'" said he, " they have told you more than
this. But enough for the present it is need-
less to waste time on these circumstances which
are now unchangeable. — Good night — Julius."
He wished to have pronounced my name — but his
voice faltered; he could not utter another syl-
lable, and, with hurried steps, retired into the
castle.

About an hour has past since that interview,
and I now hear him again playing the flute. —
Always the same deep, melancholy, and longing

CHAPTER IT.

203

notes ! But how gentle and harmonious are the
modulations ! — How rounded and correct are the
pauses in his composition? For these notes are
wholly his own, and, by Heaven, Felix, such
music cannot be the result of madness, though,
indeed, it may be the natural effort at lamentation
of a broken heart. What could he mean, how-
ever, by that excessive emotion, when he repeat-
ed the name of Julius ? Was he at that moment
under some delusion of his malady, which any ex-
ternal circumstance was sufficient to develope and
exasperate ? — Well, I must see him to-morrow
again — I cannot bear this uncertainty, and not
only the painful suspense under which I suffer,
but the respect and attachment which I feel to-
wards him, render it indispensable that I should
have another interview.

7th February.
That accursed castellan ! — He never left us
for a single moment ; or, if he went, his place was
supplied by one of those tall cut-throat-looking
spies, dressed out in orange livery, who pretend
to act as servants. Is this because the old fox
wishes to hold the reins of power in his own clut-

^04 SCHAJt FEN STEIN CASTLE.

dies, — or, because out of sheer malevolence, he is
resolved that the unhappy captive shall be debar-
red that slight consolation which he might derive
from my presence and sympathy ? However this
may be, I shall not endure any continuance of
double gaolership. Either he must be set aside,
or I shall contrive my own dismission from the
castle.

By this commencement, Felix, you perceive
that I have again been with the Prince. He re-
ceived me in a handsome cheerful apartment, with
windows looking out on the river. The walls are
furnished with tall cases, having glass doors,
through which are visible many books, — also
guns, swords, pistols, and all sorts of accoutre-
ments for the chace ; in one of the windows is
placed a spacious cage for singing birds ; — it is
divided into compartments, and shadowed over
with exotic plants ; — in another, I saw a large
grey parrot, swinging about on his golden ring,
who stretched his neck and turned his head ex-
pressively, as if he wondered at my presence.
The Prince was reclining on a green moreen
sofa ; — at his feet lay a roe-coloured greyhound \
before him stood a massive writing-table, on which

CHAPTEK II.

205

was a confused heap of books and papers — a star
and ribbon — some withered flowers — but one
object attracted my attention more than all the
rest. This was a black mask — a kind of half vi-
zor, such as ladies wear at a carnival assembly,
and I looked at it — I know not why, — with a
kind of horror.

The Prince rose from the sofa, and came for-
ward a few steps to meet me. " You perceive,"
said he, " that my abode here is by no means so
dull and melancholy as you might have supposed.
In this room, I have collected round me all those
objects, which are likely to revive my best asso-
ciations.— If, by the tyranny of circumstances, one
is shut out from the crowded walks of life, — yet
the kingdom of the mind remains as free to him
as ever." He took his place again at the table,
and made a sign that I should draw in a chair
near him. The fine old greyhound wakened up
at my approach from his deep winter sleep, looked
at me attentively for a while, then turned round
to lick the hand which his master held out to
him, as if he could say, " It is you alone, that I
know and confide in." He composed himself as
before for slumber, and the Prince said, almost in

206

SCHAKFEXSTEIN CASTLE.

a faultering voice, " Sultan is an old faithful
friend, and should he die before me, I should
miss him sadly !" At that moment, the par-
rot, having already uttered several inarticulate
screams, pronounced in a clear intelligible voice,
the words, " Pardon — oh pardon V — and, direct-
ly afterwards, " Farewell, — farewell !" <fi There,11
said his Highness" — " you now hear the only
language to which I am accustomed, and it may
sound strange enough in your ears. It is a real
and impressive language, however, and thus it is
that Nature, in a thousand different ways, if we
but make her our confidante, supplies the balm
of sympathy, or diversion of thought in our af-
fliction.

All this while, my heart beat with such unwont-
ed and unaccountable anxiety, that I should cer-
tainly have exposed myself to the remarks of the
castellan, had not the Prince, perceiving my dis-
quietude, and, perhaps, agitated himself by pain-
ful impressions, turned the discourse, by a deter-
mined effort, to subjects ordinary and indifferent.
He inquired if the horse which I had brought with
me was a favourite — whether I was a lover of field
sports, and why I had not taken advantage of the

CHAPTER II.

207

fine opportunity for shooting excursions which
the woods round Scharfenstein afforded ? — I fol-
lowed his lead for some minutes, and answered his
questions very calmly. — However, when he direct-
ed my attention to the book- cases, from which he
took down the rare and curious fowling-pieces
which had belonged to his father, describing the
grand hunting parties which had in former days
been held at this castle, and the notable exploits
that had been performed in the chace, the con-
trast between the diversions of which he spoke,
and his own forlorn state, was to my feelings quite
overpowering. — I forgot all regular form of par-
lance, and exclaimed, — " Good Heaven, — such
was the mode of life once led here, — and you are

now" " Hush !" said he, with a warning look

at the castellan, who just then presented his de-
testable visage at the door. — " My brother," ad-
ded he, in a continued whisper, " has, no doubt,
been much mistaken, when he made choice of you
for a confidant. You are, indeed, the most unfit
person that could have been selected for his pur-
poses.— Be therefore on your guard, for your rash
zeal might soon lead to your own destruction."
I was confused, and ashamed of my inconsider-

208

SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

ate conduct. He had now placed himself at a
window, stood for a while with his arms folded,
and then said, — " Perhaps there is no one situ-
ated in the busy world whose life has afforded
more varied sensations than I have experienced
in this deep solitude. — There is no storm and
conflict of passion that I have not encountered,
and at last I have triumphed ; for the bitterest
hatred, and deepest sense of injury have declined
into mild emotions of compassion and forgive-
ness.— Now, then, my worthy young friend, you
may be assured, that, even were it in my power,
I would not willingly leave the secluded scene,
where this existence, so monotonous in appear-
ance, but so varied in reality, has been protract-
ed for twenty long years. To me the world, with
all its inhabitants and pleasures, is now dead, —
even as if I had never shared in its delusions."

I have never, in the course of my life, felt so
much respect and attachment towards any indi-
vidual as for the Prince at that moment. — I
know not why this should be — but I could al-
most have thrown myself at his feet. Oftentimes
he, too, seemed to be contending with his own recol-
lections, and fixed his eyes on me with an expres-
4-

CHAPTER II.

209

sion of deep melancholy, so that methought they
were even filled with tears. — Is he determined
never to trust any one with the secret history of
his misfortunes, — or is it that he dare not speak ?
—Well, I shall not rest till I have tried every
possible means of dispersing this cloud of mys-
tery.— I could not return to my former station
in the capital with that weight which I now feel
on my spirits.

8th Feb.

This morning he has used some expressions to
which I listened with horror ! — Would that it
were possible for him to recall them ! — The pre-
possessions that I had cherished are now frightful-
ly deranged, and my inward conflicts are worse
than ever. — Felix, he accused himself to-day as
the greatest of criminals, adding, that he was
thankful to Heaven for the mercy shown to
him, inasmuch as he might thus be permitted
to await in solitude and peace the natural end
of his life ! — What crime, then, can possibly
weigh upon his spirit, which is now evident-
ly so pure and so blameless? — Let the truth
be what it may, even the transient allusion to

210

SCHARFEXSTEIN CASTLE.

these circumstances must have distressed him
much ; for he is at present very ill, and to-day I
could not see him.

Indeed I have also become, for the first time in
my life, an invalid, or, as you will say, un malade
imaginaire. The atmosphere of this prison stil
oppresses me ; and I shall for once take a long
ride into the woods, — and so, perhaps, my spirits
will recover their wonted tone. — Yet, after all,
how is that possible? — Who can even breathe
freely in this abode of inscrutable mysteries,
dark passions, and conflicting emotions ? — Tf he,
in truth, is a criminal, with those eyes so ful
of benign intelligence and affection,— with that
mildness of tone and demeanour, as if he were
at peace with all the world, who is then to be
trusted ?

I rode out as I intended, and have been, — Hea-
ven knows where ! — There are numberless roads
through the forest, and I followed at hap-hazard
the first that offered ; — but seems it not Felix, as
if it were fortune's especial pleasure and determi-
nation, always to throw difficulties and riddles in
my way, so that I can never get free from the

CHAPTER II.

211

nets by which I am entangled ? I had wandered
about, for some time, without consideration whither
I was going — I thought only of riding on chance
through the lonely forest, till, having passed a high
rocky eminence, I saw rising out of the fir woods a
second old castle, — another hunting-seat, of whose
existence I had never before heard, and indeed, it
seemed to be almost in ruins. I determined to ex-
amine this mansion more narrowly ; spurred my
horse, rode up, and came in due time to an iron
gateway. " Is it possible that any one lives here,"
thought I, "or is the old building neglected and de-
solate in this frightful forest I halted of course,
and, for a long time, remained gazing at the coat
of arms that was carved in stone over the portal,
when, to my surprise, the door of the inner keep
was opened ; I saw a lady descending the stair-
case ; a boy was with her, and she had her hand
on his shoulder, so that I perceived at once she
was blind ! — She stood for some time in the door-
way, as if to enjoy the mild noon-day air, and I
had time to watch her with attention. She was
evidently no longer young ; but her figure was
still fine and graceful ; I could not at first see
her features as her head was bent forward, and

212

SCHAItFENSTEIN CASTLE.

shadowed by a large English straw-hat. Proba-
bly the child had informed her of my presence ;
for at last she turned her head towards me ;
seemed at the same time to ask him questions,
and I doubted not that he was describing to her
my appearance. Her large eyes were now visible ;
but there was in them no lustre ; she could not be-
hold me, and this look of anxious search, that could
find no object, touched me to the heart. Now, Fe-
lix, was it merely that innate compassion and natu-
ral sympathy which one human being feels for
another in distress, by which I was agitated,— or
was it an absurd wandering of imagination? I know
not why my feelings that for many years have
been more allied to careless levity, than to any deep-
er impressions, should now be at every moment
so easily excited ; but I could not help believing,
that the features of this lady were well known to
me — that it was the same incognita from whom I
had received the book of moral maxims, and
whose recollected voice yet sounds like sweet
music in my ears. I strove against these ideas, be-
lieving that all was but delusion, till a faint smile
came over her countenance, — a smile that has of-
ten appeared to me in dreams, and could never

CHAPTER II.

213

be mistaken. My heart heaved, and I felt in-
spired by new and irresistible emotions. It was
fortunate, perhaps, that the lady now returned in-
to the castle, and the gate was closed after her,
for in the end all has turned out but a fiction of
my own brain.

Soon afterwards, a young chasseicr came riding
up, and I asked him if he knew who lived in that
desolate ruin ? He answered rather boorishly, as
if sneering at my question. 66 Aye, — forsooth, it
is inhabited by a blind English lady, who likes to
nestle with the bats and owls in old mouldering
walls. She has been there now for a long time,
and it is said that she was not always blind ; — and
that she thinks living among the green woods will
perhaps restore her eye sight. She is now quite
used to the place, and will probably never leave
it. What seems odd enough, is, that, during the
day, she never conies beyond the gate ; but at
night, even in all weathers, through the rain and

' snow storm, a little boy, that stays with her, must
lead her out to yon high cliff near Scharfenstein,
where she sits for hours together, and listens to

l the mad prince that plays on the flute."

An English lady ! It is very strange. The

214

SCHARFENSTE1N CASTLE.

recollection steals over me that sometimes I used
to see my mother reading letters, and weeping
bitterly ; — then, if I inquired why she was so
sad, she used to answer.—-" Your dear unhappy
aunt in England has written to us again.'" I
knew not and know not yet the real history of this
relation ; but now, as in a dream, the thoughts of
England, and the unfortunate aunt, collect like a
melancholy cloud before the mind's eye ; and out
of this cloud steps forward the tragical figure of
the lady at the castle, altogether forming a most
mysterious union of intricate associations. But,
then, Felix, is not your heart also moved, when
you reflect how the mournful notes of the midnight
flute-player touch responsive chords in her bosom,
who is thus by darkness shut out from the world ?
Can you feel how the two prisoners are attracted
to each other in sad sympathy ? — " Even in all
weathers, through the rain and snow storms," said
the unreflecting chasseur, who, of course, could
never have understood how one could take as much
trouble for the sake of listening to music, as he
would do in order to capture a stag or wild boar.
Methinks I see her, as he described, at her sta-
tion on the rocks. — Oh how anxiously she watches

CHAPTER II.

215

every cadence, and accompanies every note with
the deepest throbbings of her own heart ! — The
Prince never fails to take his flute at the same
hour. Who knows what unexplained intercourse
of soul, — what a bond of mutual aid and conso-
lation may thus have been established betwixt
her and the unfortunate Charles."

218 SCHARFEXSTEIX CASTLE,

CHAPTER III

JULIUS TO FELIX.

- .

10th Feb. 17—
The Prince has now become very ill, and I
could not bear to see him suffer thus neglected.
Of course, a physician was ordered from the neigh-
bouring town, and to this necessary measure, the
castellan dared to make a violent opposition.
What I long anticipated and wished for has come
to pass. I have quarrelled with him ; and, in vir
tue of my commission from the Duke, he is no
under arrest, and in bondage, so that I may a
as I please. No one can interfere with my audie
ces of the Prince, and T shall not desist till I ha
learned by what fearful mystery he is thus ren
dered ill and miserable, for that mental depressioi
is the cause of his malady, there can be no doubt

CHAPTER III.

217

At last, Felix, wonderful changes have occurred,
and the former mysteries are dissolved. As the
Prince lay on his sick-bed, he gave me to under-
stand, that there were important concealments in
the apartment lately occupied by the castellan, (at
least, though he did not say so directly, yet I ga-
thered so much from his conversation.) Accord-
ingly, I acted on his hint, and persevered in a strict
search, till, under a moveable sliding board of the
floor, I found a small box, which was locked, and
without a key. It was too light to contain money
or jewels ; — T poised it for a few moments reflect-
ingly in my hand, then suddenly broke open the
lock. I found many letters and packets, on
which was written, " To be given to the Prince,
when his last hour approaches.'" With these I
ran to the sick man's chamber. " Here," said I
" is a treasure, which as I trust has been discover-
ed in good time, and will restore your highness
to strength and spirits." The Prince looked
feebly at the papers ; he seemed to recognize the
hand-writing, and a deep blush came for a mo-
ment over his pale features. For a little while,
he sat up in bed, but suddenly pushed the box
from him, exclaiming " Away, away with it V —

vol. 1. K

218

SCHARFEN STEIN CASTLE,

" Nay" said I, " may I be allowed to suggest that
these manuscripts must doubtless contain informa-
tion of importance, or they would not have been so
anxiously concealed and withheld from your High-
ness ? Then I described to him how I had been
led by his hints of the morning to find the pa-
pers, and how carefully the castellan had guard-
ed the treasure that had been entrusted to him.

The prince seemed to reflect deeply. At last,
with an indescribable smile of melancholy resig-
nation, he said " Of what consequence would this
be to me now ? Were I to read these letters,
what effect would they produce, but only to re-
vive passions that had long been conquered, anc
force me to dwell on injuries that have long been
forgiven ?" — " It might be so," answered I, re-
solved not to give up my point ; " but what if the
reality were different from that which your High-
ness believes it to be, if that peace of mind, which
has been acquired in solitude should not be look-
ed on as confirmed, until you have investigated
the whole truth ? Nor could it be without a
special purpose that Providence has now brought
these papers to light.^ — " Young soldier," said
the Prince, visibly agitated, " How comes it that

CHAPTER III.

219

you are thus so earnest and persevering in your ad-
monitions to me ? From the first moment indeed
of your appearance here, that inward peace, which
I had with such difficulty gained, has been dis-
turbed and broken. What recollections and con-
flicts have you not already awoke in my mind !"
" Might it not be concluded then," said I, " that
I have been sent hither by the special ordinance
of Supreme Power, and who can tell how far my
commission extends, and to what important con-
sequences it may lead !" — " You speak with great
confidence young man," answered the prince;
" but the arrangements of Providence are inscruta-
ble, and the presumption that in every occurrence
we can read a special interposition for or against
us, and a revelation of the duties that we must
fulfil, may too often prove but a sinful delusion
of our own minds." — " Yet," said I, " the truth
at least is always to be sought after and honour-
ed. That impulse, so deeply implanted in the
human heart to break through the veil of mystery,
cannot surely be a snare laid for our destruction."
He looked at me with deepened emotion. " But
how," said he, " if my sight has now become too
weak to bear with that truth which you would have

220

SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

me to disclose ? If we should too rashly ■ "
" Nay," said I, " your Highness would scarcely
now resolve to close your eyes on that which is
already half revealed, when you are at this mo-
ment so near the light." — " Aye, indeed, he in-
terposed, " You are in the right ; — it must be
so. — But you cannot imagine with what fear one
at my advanced age perceives the approach of
novelty ; how reluctantly one sees the fabric,
which had been sedulously built up, and so long
cherished in his own mind, on the point of being
destroyed, and the hand of a stranger meddling
with his joys or his sorrows !"

With a visible inward conflict, he now drew
the papers towards him, and looked at them more
attentively. " What is here ?" cried he ; " A let-
ter from my brother !" — He broke the seal in
vehement haste, and the feebleness of his malady
seemed completely to have left him; his eyes,
gleamed, and with all the impatience of youth he
glanced over the contents. Rapidly he turned
over the first leaf, and a deep blush of anger suf-
fused his expressive countenance. Afterwards he
became all of a sudden deadly pale, let the paper
fall from his hand, and looked at me for some time

CHAPTER III.

221

in silence. At length, pointing to the letter, and
with an almost convulsive quivering of the lips,
he said, " You may learn there the mystery from
which you compelled me to draw the veil, and
judge (if youth be capable of judging) how one
must feel, who, after twenty long years of ceaseless
conflict and suffering, discovers that he has all
this time been the victim of treachery and decep-
tion !"

He gave me the letter, and at the same time
made a signal that I should retire. Here follows
a transcript ; and you may imagine, Felix, how
its contents must have agitated the unhappy
Prince.

" Brother, — in the hour when these papers will
be delivered, you will probably be free at last
from those vain passions and struggles to which
you have hitherto been subjected. This world,
with all its delusions, will then lie behind you
like a far distant country through which you
have once travelled, and whither you cannot re-
turn. You will retain, however, as I hope, the
full power of reasoning on the past; — you will
judge as a man ! though now freed from all his
perturbing desires and impulses. With these

222

SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

hopes, and because I would not, that, with the
veil still over your eyes, you should pass from
this world into the next, I shall withdraw that
obstacle, and reveal to you at once the whole
truth. — Good credulous man ! You allowed your-
self to be deceived. You mistrusted her in whom
you should have confided, in order to escape de-
struction, and placed yourself in the power of
those who made sport of your weakness. Should
love see only itself alone, and think but of its
own rights ? Revenge, you should have known,
is a passion as powerful, and as imperious. You
were, indeed, far from being able to understand
a disposition like mine ; but now you will com-
prehend me better, and all the rest, when I tell
you, in three words, that Julia forsook the court,
and her native land, faithful, pure, and spot-
less.

" Should you rightly consider what is due to a
prince's care of the public weal, you will perceive
that this disclosure could not have been made
earlier, for had this been done, such was your
want of caution, that we should have been both
exposed and obnoxious to censure, and the people
would not have been greatly edified by the quar-

CHAPTER III.

223

rels and weaknesses of their rulers. But, indeed,
the consequences would have been ruinous, and
the preservation of public tranquillity demanded
some sacrifice. Who, then, was to be the victim ?
Your fall, or mine, was inevitable. Lay your
hand on your heart, and say, Whether, in my
situation, with the reins of power in your hands,
you would have let them go, in order that the
capricious passions of another man, even of a bro-
ther, might be gratified ?

" That which had already happened betwixt
us — the discoveries I had made, and the resent-
ment I had conceived against you, were past and
irrevocable. Your vehement temperament, and
my disposition, spoiled by indulgence, the neces-
sity of attending to the public weal, and appre-
hensions of the stains that might be cast on our
family honour, — all these circumstances fell at
once into overwhelming combination, or rather
contention. At that time, indeed, no kindness
nor rational expostulations could have acquired
any influence over you. Therefore I adopted
the stratagem of changing the passion by which
you were actuated into another of a very differ-
ent character. Jealousy is a poisonous serpent

224 SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

that attacks the brain, and nestles there rather
than in the heart. You were lost as soon as you
gave way to this new impulse.

" The madness by which you were then assail-
ed brought you completely under my power. —
At a moment when you knew not what you said
or did, you had threatened my life, and thus your
own was forfeited if I had chosen to bring you to
trial. To such measures, indeed, I felt invin-
cible repugnance, but a barrier of separation was
now raised up betwixt us, which could never be
broken through. — We could not, so long as we
lived, ever meet again ; and I was contented, if
by the public ycu were looked on as insane, and
morally dead, without bringing you to trial for
high- treason. I granted you, therefore, a safe
and secluded asylum at Scharfenstein, well know-
ing that the delusion under which you then la-
boured, would hold you as securely as if you had
been bound with adamantine chains in your pri-
son. I was satisfied that you would make no at-
tempt to return to a world, in which, since you
had been thus disappointed in the object of your
affection, you no longer found any interest or at-
traction.

CHAPTER III.

225

" Now, at the close of your life, I give you
back those peaceful recollections of which I de-
prived you, and the bond of mutual accusation
should be cancelled betwixt us. The Diary of
the beautiful Julia, which her guardian wished
to send to you, along with other papers and let-
ters, on account of your madness, remained in
my hands. The perusal of them will reveal to
you the feelings of a heart that was, indeed, too
tender and sensitive for this world, and that, by
mere timidity perhaps, was led into errors. But
her life and character will have, by this time,
wholly changed ; her dreams, like yours, will have
passed away. For, what are all these impressions
to which we attach so much importance, more
than delusions arising from a certain state of the
nerves and blood, — mere physical impulses, pow-
erful in youth, but which afterwards decay, as if
they had never been? — In early years, such de-
lusions are, indeed, like pictures, exhibiting beau-
tiful and seductive forms with all the richness of
colouring that imagination can bestow. In old
age, these representations change into a hard stern
outline, from which every glowing tint has faded
away. We move, then, along the straight and

226 SC'IIAK FEN STEIN CASTLE.

joyless path of necessity, till all is dark, or till a
new morning dawns on our souls. May this last
be your lot, and may the Divine light refresh and
strengthen you. Farewell !"

Prince Charles, then, had been attached to a
lady of inferior rank, and the family pride of his
elder brother had interfered to prevent their
union. Methinks, there may have been othm
motives, — but of this more hereafter. Mean-
while, Felix, may I beg of you to reflect a little,
and tell me what would man become if reasons
only, without emotions of the heart, were to be his
ruling attribute ? My answer is, he would be a
demon — an incarnate devil, who would persist in
talking of right and wrong, fitness and unfitness,
though the hearts of all around him were break-
ing, and his own to boot. How admirably con-
nected, and dovetailed one into another are the
crimes revealed in this letter; how artfully woven,
I should rather say into a net, by which the guilty
wretch is himself caught, and never thinks of re-
sistance, but rather exults in his own iniquity,
persuading himself, all the while, that he is in the
right ! But, after all, Felix, the devil himself is.
in this world, sufficiently contemptible. He ne-

CHAPTER III.

227

ver understands any thing beyond his own limited
sphere. There are mysteries in the soul of man
for which he is wholly unprepared, and the com-
plicated machinery and ordinances of Providence,
m which consists what we call Fate, are hidden,
probably from the devil as much as from us.
These are to him like covert walks in a mine,
over which he strides, like a pompous actor in a
theatre, without reflecting that all his schemes
may be defeated, and he may fall headlong into
the hidden labyrinth. How deceitful and hollow
this reigning duke appears to me, and how strange
it is to feel that a heart yet beats in that corporeal
frame which he parades before the public ! — Poor
deluded wretch ! — Felix, to how many criminals
might these words be applied ?

\Wi February.

For the last twenty-four hours I have lived in
the most tormenting disquietude. The Prince
had locked himself up in his chamber, and would
not see any one.

In vain did I watch day and night at his room
door. I was never admitted ; till, about an hour
ago, his bell rang, and I hastened to answer the

228 SCHARFEXSTEIN CASTLE.

summons. He received me with a smile of the
utmost composure and beneficence. " Do not be
afraid," said he; "I am not more indisposed,
either in body or mind, than before ; somewhat
more excited, perhaps, but that also will soon be
over. I am, however, like a blind man restored
to sight, who must, for some time afterwards, re-
main in the dark ; for the world which now opens
on me is a scene so new and unexpected, that I
must have time for reflection, ere I can find my
way through its paths. Therefore, you must al-
low me to pass the whole of this day alone. I do
not now want medical advice nor food, but will ask
for both in due time, also for the pleasure of your
society — only I must not be disturbed at present.11
I bowed, and was retiring — when he added, " You
are not offended, then, by what I have just said ?
— I know that you are anxious on my account,
and, therefore, wished you to see that I am not
ill, and to be aware what is most requisite for me
under present circumstances — that is, solitude.11
With these words he had kindly given me his
hand, and seemed conflicting with some emotion
which he could not venture to express. Yet a
smile hovered on his lips, and at last he collected

CHAPTER III.

229

the papers which were lying strewed about on the
sofa, and gave them to me, saying — " Read these,
Julius ! — Your kind heart will be almost as much
affected as mine has been, and vibrate between
pain and pleasure. You must feel the conflict
that I undergo, before I can profit by your friend-
ly sympathy.'0

I have now read the papers, Felix, and here
following, you shall have a copy of these confes-
sions of a heart as pure and innocent as it was
sensitive and suffering. Alas ! why was a being
so childlike and angelic ever enticed to move in
the dangerous paths of this world !— As she en-
gaged in its pleasures, could no guardian spirit
warn her what an abyss of destruction was prepar-
ed under her feet ? — If I am not mistaken, I have
heard before now the name of this lady. Me-
thinks, too — but no — it is needless to set such
confused phantasms on paper. They are but sha-
dowy remembrances, which I am striving in vain
to unite with present impressions. Whatever is
deeply interesting, one would willingly bring home
to himself, and believe that it is connected with
his own personal experiences. But this is all
groundless. Read, then, what here follows.

230

SCHARVEXSTEIN CASTLE.

CHAPTER IV.

RECOLLECTIONS,

From the Diary of the Countess Julia de .

a fter her entrance into public Life.

Thursday Evening, 10#A Sept. 17 —
That I am now actually here in the great ca-
pital, and thirty leagues from home, appears to
me still like a dream. I had said to myself a
hundred times on the way, that I should of course
find a scene and mode of life the most different
possible from all to which I had been accustomed
at my aunt's castle. But of what consequence was
all that self-preparation ? The ideas that I had
formed were in reality nothing, though the good
Madame Nagelin did what she could to assist my
imagination. — She talked to me of streets, squares,
theatres, cassinos, arsenals, churches, crowds of

CHAPTER IV.

231

people, noise, and confusion ; yet, notwithstand-
ing the picture she had drawn, I was quite con-
founded when we drove across the large illuminat-
ed Place de Parade down to my guardian's house.
Already on the high road from the last post sta-
tion, I could sometimes scarcely refrain from burst-
ing into tears, all that we met with was so new,
and I felt myself so much like a stranger, — like an
intruder, in the world. We met at every turn so
many finely-dressed horsemen, so many grand
equipages, and every one — even to the foot-pas-
sengers, stared so boldly into our carriage ! — Per-
haps all the people could read in my pale and be-
wildered countenance what passed in my mind, for
I saw that many of them laughed ironically, which
doubled my confusion.

At the town-gate one of the Duke's equipages
passed by us on the way to the palace, which we
saw at some distance. Our postillion directed our
attention to this, — pointing to the carriage ; " Her
Highness the Duchess dowager,11 said he ; and I
must confess that at this moment I felt a kind of
triumph in the thought, that, in future, I, too,
should be driven about in such an equipage. I
was half-impelled to say to our talkative postii-

232 SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

lion that I was a demoiselle (Phonneur at court,
but conquered this propensity. If such thoughts
were blameable, it was not long ere I underwent
the proper penance of a terrible embarrassment.
I had leaned too far out of our carriage to look
after the Duchess, when a young man in uni-
form passed quite close to me on horseback, and
taking off his hat, bowed with great politeness. I
felt that I blushed deep as crimson, for my cheeks
even burned painfully as I drew back my head.
" That was the Grand Duke himself — God bless
him r said the postillion. Good Heaven! how I
trembled in every limb at these words ! What
must his Highness have thought of my boldness,
and even indecorum !

At this house, my timdity and confused man-
ners are treated with great indulgence, and, on
our first arrival, my guardian came down stairs
in the kindest manner to welcome us. How
tranquil and firm he looks in the midst of all the
bustle by which we are here surrounded ! — I was
glad to give him my hand for protection, and he
led me up stairs to the room that was appointed
as mine " You will rest yourself here for a lit-
tle while" said he ; " The Countess will soon be

CHAPTER IV.

233

with you. I shall go to her and announce your
■nival." When he had retired, I begged of Ma-
dame Nagelin that she would not leave me ; but
she said " it was now full time that I should learn
to take care of myself. Besides, the rules of society
in high life rendered it impossible that she could
be always with rne, as she was not entitled to move
in the same circles. She knew her duty in this
respect, and would, therefore, from the first mo-
ment, withdraw to her proper distance.'" It seem-
ed to me that she was rather irritated, because
the Count had not shown her much attention.
But how vexatious is this, — that on our very first
entrance into what is called the world, the pleasant
connections and habits of private life are disturb-
ed and broken ! Must this of necessity be so ! —
It is methinks, rather an evil omen !

As for the Countess, she seems to me in her
:lerneanour somewhat too stiff and solemn ; but,
perhaps I do her injustice. Her looks and man-
ner may be influenced by ill health ; at learjt her
complexion is very pale. Madame Nagelin thinks
his is but the effect of the white and red paint
vhich she must wear when she attends at court,
learing which, I answered, that I should never,

234 SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

as long as I lived, learn to disguise myself in
that manner. She laughed rather ironically, and
said, " I would change my mind in due time ; for
youth soon passed away, more especially with
those who moved in the gay circles.1' Alas ! this
is but a sombre prospect ! — One cannot then en-
joy life with impunity ; and this reminds me of
our good priest's favourite simile of the " thorns
that lurk under the fairest flowers." But in truth
I can believe it all ; for one's mind feels here so
restless and unquiet. To day I have particular-
ly suffered on that account. — The Countess desir-
ed me to go with her to the drawing-room, where
she introduced me to many strange ladies and
gentlemen. I trembled through every limb, and
in my terror and confusion could not utter a word.
Indeed I knew not what to say, and could only
walk, bow, and curtsey like an automaton. Be-
sides, my face had not recovered from the cold air
on our journey ; my cheeks must have been as
red as scarlet, and my hair was not properly ar-
ranged. One chance reflection that I caught in
the mirror, had completely ruined any self-pos-
session that I might have otherwise retained, and
I looked ashamed and confounded at the neatly

CHAPTER IV. 235

adjusted dress and tranquil aspect of the ladies
around me. I became quite distraite ; and in
a little while self-reproach was added to my other
distress, for I could not but confess that the
pain I now felt was but the result of mortified
vanity, or perhaps some worse failing. How un-
fortunate, if for the future I am doomed often
to discover such dark shades in my own charac-
ter !

18^ September.
No — it surely cannot be absolutely sinful to
take delight, as I have done, in the beautiful sights
and varied amusements that are found here ! —
At last I feel my spirits elated, and I am quite
happy. " All this," I have often said to myself,
" is the result of human labour, — contrivance, —
or, in a word, of genius. How powerful — al-
most unlimited — is this genius, and how great and
good that omniscient Ruler from whom all such
gifts proceed P1 And never have I felt myself
more inclined to devout reflection than now, when
my heart is thus filled with joy and gratitude.

Yesterday, I went to hear high mass sung in
the great church, where, for the first time, I saw

236 SCHARFEN STEIN CASTLE.

the Duke's family assembled together. There ap-
peared to me somewhat remarkable and affecting
in this, that under the influence of such solemn
music I should first behold those persons on whom
my future lot and fortunes in life depend. I was
particularly struck with their dignity of appear-
ance and demeanour, and still more by the unaf-
fected humility and sincerity of their devotion.
Through the whole assemblage, indeed, I was glad
to perceive the most respectful conduct ; and it
seems to me as if such meetings were more requi-
site here, than in the serenity of the country,
where one's mind need never be disturbed from
religious impressions. Yet, if among the woods
and fields my heart was moved to devotion, here
my attention is doubly fixed and concentrated.

The solemnity that awaits me to-morrow, is of
a very different kind. I am to be presented to
the Duchess, and this will cost me no little share
of anxiety and trepidation. Meanwhile, I have
learned from the Countess the circumstances that
led to my being chosen as a maid of honour, which
place she herself held for twelve years. Some
months ago, when she was married, the good old
Duchess requested the Count, her husband, to

CHAPTER IV.

237

find some ^young person of his own family to
replace the lady of whose service he had deprived
her. He suggested me, and his proposal was ap-
proved of. How one event always entwines it-
self in this world with another ! — We never know
when or how circumstances, over which we have
no control, may throw us at once into a situa-
tion wholly new, and perhaps uncongenial ; but
all this must be the work of a beneficent Provi-
dence, however strange it appears to me ! —

I wish fervently that the hour of my presenta-
tion at the palace were only past. Those old
swarthy walls, ramparts, and towers, inspire me
with a kind of horror, and I felt this particularly
to-day, when I drove past them in the Countess's
carriage. She pointed out to me some lofty win-
dows, and said, " Mark, Julia, — You will be
living there soon — These were my apartments.
May your time be spent there as contentedly as
mine was, and may you leave them as gratefully
and as happy !" I know not how it happened,
but when she pronounced these words, her tone
was very plaintive, and the tears rushed into my
eyes as I looked up again at the windows. Alas !
why did my kind-hearted guardian make choice

238

SCHAItFENSTEIN CASTLE.

of me for this duty ? Methinks he could scarcely
have found any one who was less fitted for living
at court.

\§th September 17 — .
I can scarcely help laughing now at my childish
fears of yesterday. My embarrassment, indeed,
was soon over ; for the Duchess is all kindness
and condescension. She looked at me most favou-
rably, when I made my curtsey before her, — cast
a significant glance of satisfaction at the Coun-
tess,— then embraced me, and said, " How much
I love these timid downcast eyes," — for after the
first moment, I had indeed looked awkwardly on
the ground, and felt that I blushed deeply. Af-
terwards she desired me to take my place on an
ottoman that was opposite to her, and describe
how I had lived till now, and how I had filled
up my time in the country. Perhaps my story
was not given in the proper court style, for my
hearers often looked at each other, and the Du-
chess often smiled. She listened very attentively,
however, and doubtless was not dissatisfied ; for
she herself took the trouble of leading me through
all the principal apartments, explaining to me the

CHAPTER IV.

239

paintings, portraits, and statues with which the
palace is richly adorned. She showed me also
many specimens of the most curious mechanism ;
set the musical clocks in motion ; and at last, be-
cause I expressed great wonder at a little golden
bird, that, when wound up, clapped its wings, and
sang like a bulfinch, she forced me to accept it
as a present. This has delighted me beyond mea-
sure, and at least ten times to-day I have wound
him up, and the pretty creature has entertained
me with his music. How kind was it in the
Duchess to indulge my childish fancy in this man-
ner ! Doubtless she well knows how to win the
hearts of those about her ; for there was nothing
she could have offered me by which I would have
been so perfectly enchanted.

I was much struck by her manner when she
spoke of her son the reigning Duke, to whom she
is obviously much attached. His portrait, large
as life, hangs in her own chamber ; and though
she directed my attention to it only as the like-
ness of our sovereign, yet it was easy to perceive,
that she regarded it with all a mother's pride and
fondness. I was glad to perceive this, but I can-
not say that I by any means admired his counte-

1

240 SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE,

nance. He has a cold proud expression, a look of
imperious authority, that excites in the beholder
dislike rather than willing obedience. The looks
of prince Charles pleased me far better ; I should
say that he had a liveliness of disposition, and
kindness of heart, of which the other is devoid.
In his picture, however, he is represented gazing
with rather a mournful expression on the wide sea,
and distant blue sky, which fill one side of the
canvas. Prince Charles accompanied our troops
to the East Indies, and for the last three years
has been absent on this foreign service. The
thoughts of his being thus so far remote, were per-
haps more than the Duchess could bear to dwell
upon ; she went hastily past his portrait, which I
would gladly have contemplated for a long time. I

Well, I shall soon have leisure enough to
study all the paintings, for, in a few days, I am
to begin my regular attendance. The Duchess
will not allow of any farther delay ; and, I must
confess, that my impatience is such, I can hard-
ly wait so long. How rapidly one mood of mind
is changed for another in this world ! But, a
little while ago, I feared that which I now so ar-
dently wish for ; but, I trust, it is not merely my
10

CHAPTER IV.

241

own vanity, and the dazzling pomp of the court,
that has thus changed my mind. No ! the un-
expected condescension of the Duchess, her kind-
ness, which is like that of a mother, and the se-
curity that I shall enjoy under her protection, —
these are considerations which might surely have
a natural influence over my feelings ; and Hea-
ven will protect me from the sin of irrational and
childish fickleness.

23d September.
The Lady Gabrielle, who is premiere dame
<Tho?ineur, is much older than I am. Of course,
she has not so fresh a complexion, nor such lively
spirits ; but, as to these last circumstances, she
herself seems to be of a different opinion. She
dresses precisely as I do, wears roses in her hair ;
and trips up the great staircase fast enough, in-
deed, but not without so great exertion, that,
when she comes to the last steps, she is quite ex-
hausted, and totters, panting and breathless, into
her own apartment. I behaved so incautiously,
that on one occasion, when this happened, I could
not help laughing at her. Observing how I was
amused, she gave me a very severe look, and

VOL. I. L

^42 SCHARF STEIN CASTLE.

turned away without speaking ; but, since then,
she has often scolded me, and has exposed me to
many vexations. T suffered most from her con-
dnct yesterday evening, when the Duchess had
the pleasure of a visit from the Grand Duke, —
ou which occasion, the circle happened to be
pretty numerous, and more formal than usual.
The Duchess, however, who was in a gay humour,
proposed that every one in the company should as-
sume some historical or theatrical character, and,
for the rest of the evening, keep up a conversation
suited to the part so chosen, which would, of course,
give rise to the most laughable associations, and
meetings of incongruous heroes and heroines. I
was terrified at this plan, as I knew not any part
that I could play, and, even if I had known one,
would have been unable to fancy myself any thing
else but what I really am. When I was sitting
there quite puzzled, and vainly considering what
I ought to do, Gabrielle began to laugh. " Now,
Countess," said she, " have the fairy tales of the
nursery, or the fetes champetres of your aunt's
rural abode, left no one beau ideal in your mind,
such as you could now impersonize for our amuse-
ment ?* At these words I blushed so violently

CHAPTE It IV.

243

that I durst not lift up my eyes, or attempt any
answer, while the Duke,"rather, as I thought, in a
tone of irritation, called out, " Mademoiselle Ga-
brielle, you say that a nursery tale is to afford the
character to be adopted by the Countess. Of
course, then, she will decide on Cinderella, who
started from her seclusion and solitude like a
beautiful flower from the bud, completely eclips-
ing the charms of her elder sisters, and beholding
all the princes of the earth at her feet" Hear-
ing this, Gabrielle immediately turned pale, and
retired into the back ground. The Duchess fol-
lowed her with an angry look ; but towards me,
too, her regards were by no means so kind and
encouraging as usual, though, being quite uncon-
scious of having committed any fault, I could
not comprehend for what reason she should be
offended with me.

It seemed, however, as if this little inter-
ruption had broken in upon the good spirits of
all the party, so that the intended games were,
of course, given up. The Duke continued to
speak in a tone of sharpness and irritation ; the
Duchess herself was half embarrassed, and I was,

10

244 SCHAB FENSTEIN CASTLE.

of course, quite downcast and afraid. Music at
length began, and this brought all into the usual
train. Gabrielle sang, and the applause that she
obtained from every one, by her full clear voice, in-
demnified her amply for the slight vexation that
she had met with before; while, on the contrary, I
remained, through the whole evening, retired and
in confusion, not venturing to address to her, or
to any one else, a single word.

When, on returning to my own apartments, I
related what had happened to the good Madame
Nagelin, she shook her head doubtfully, as if she
thought that this affair might lead to very serious
consequences. " I well know," said she, " what
effects arise from such petty jealousies, among
people of the world, and I heartily wish that my
Julia had never provoked any such hostility ; for,
of all enemies to which we can be exposed, af-
fronted Vanity is the most dangerous, because it
is in secret always that she plans her revenge ; we
are ruined before we have had time to suspect that
we are in danger. Besides, vanity, my child,
gives birth to vanity. It flatters us in one way,
even if we should feel pain in another, to be ex-

CHAPTER IV.

245

alted and triumph over our neighbours. J ulia, —
Julia,11 added she, in a serious tone, " be there-
fore on your guard.11

Certainly I shall act according to these hints,
and, to-day, in the first place, I shall wait on the
lady Gabrielle. Perhaps I shall yet be able to
win her confidence by respectful behaviour, and
by praising (which would, indeed, be no more
than just,) her talents in music, and her superior
knowledge of the world, to which I cannot make
any pretensions. Even if these methods should
fail, yet, in my own conscience, I can remain
tranquil, for I have never, in thought, word, or
deed, injured this irritable lady.

1 st week of the Carnival, %d October.
Formerly, when I read in romances of the fes-
tivities and splendour which I now witness, I al-
ways supposed that the author had made a free
use of his poetic privileges, and had invented
much of the pageantry which he described. How
little did I then expect, that I should one day
find a realization of all these dreams ! — Were I
to speak of the opera alone, how could I ex-
press what delight it has afforded me ? — I need

246

SCHARFKNSTEIN CASTLE.

not attempt to describe what I felt ; — the scene-
ry,— the actors, — the grouping, — the situation,
and the story so brilliantly developed, would, of
course, have been enough, alone, to rivet my at-
tention ; but, when such impressions are strength-
ened and concentrated, when the scenes as it were,
acquire tenfold life, by means of the most enchant-
ing music, this union in one place, and for one
purpose, of many noble arts, appears to me the
most exquisite of all princely enjoyments. I was
here so confounded and wrapt up in what passed
before me, that it was long before I remarked
how the Duke was constantly gazing at me through
his glass. To say the truth, this manner of his
is always very disagreeable, and I am glad to ap-
pear as if I did not take any notice of his conduct.
However, between the acts, his Highness ma-
noeuvred so as to have a place next to mine, and
whispered, " Has then the Countess Julia eyes
and ears only for this passing stage play, and can
nothing more serious engage her attention ?" — I
knew not what to answer ; it seemed as if he ex-
pected that I should understand him, though he
would not be at the trouble to explain his mean-
ing. " I thought," said I, " that we were all

CHAPTER IV.

M7

met here in order to enjoy the opera ; — I did not

know that any other object " " So, then,"

said he, interrupting me, " the mere framework of
the picture contents you ?" — He looked dark and
frowningly, and I was about to tell him, that his
words were an absolute riddle, but just then the
Duchess called to me. She kept me for a long
time fixed beside her, asking what I thought
of the opera, and a hundered other questions, so
that I escaped by this means the continuance of
a tiresome dialogue with the Duke. I must not
forget to mention, that> one evening before this,
when we had gone to a tragedy, his conduct had
given me great annoyance. The play was Othel-
lo, and Desdemona's grief moved me indescriba-
bly, so that I could not help shedding tears, which
the Duke remarked, and, as I thought, he laugh-
ed at me scornfully.

" Whom are you weeping for ?" said he ; " is
it for her who has kindled these flames of jealousy
and revenge, or for the unhappy man who feels
them burning within him, and consuming his vi-
tals? Of what consequence are a few woman's
tears, compared with the nameless torments which
he suffers ? Women only know the difference. be-

248

SCHAIiFENSTEIN CASTLE.

tween a clear and cloudy sky ; but we must have
either Paradise or Pandemonium. This Moor
utters not one-half of the rage which I could ex-
press."

I trembled at these frightful words, and was
indeed so much discomposed, that I could scarce-
ly sit out the remainder of the tragedy. Alas !
why is it so ordained, that this proud and violent
man should so often disturb my best and most in-
nocent enjoyments !

In a few days there is to be a masquerade, and
for a long time past this has been almost the on-
ly topic of conversation. Remembering what I
have heard and read of such entertainments, I
cannot deny that my curiosity is raised, and yet
I am afraid of the licentiousness and confusion to
which they are said to give rise. If the Duke
only — I scarcely know what T would say — if he
would not be so wild and overbearing ! — When he
comes near me, I am so confounded and perplex-
ed, that my usual good spirits quite desert me.
Besides, who knows what construction the world
may put on his presumption, which always gains
confidence from my timidity. This very morn-
ning, Gabrielle assailed me with a volley of ironi-

CHAPTER IV.

249

cal questions — she spoke of stolen confidential
converse, — of significant glances, — of suspicious
whispers, and so forth. Well, Heaven is my wit-
ness how gladly I would dispense with all such at-
tentions, and how thankful I should be to any one
who could show me the means of escaping from
them.

5th October. After the Ball.
What an evening was that of yesterday ! — In
the grand illuminated hall, amid the rose-colour-
ed light, and the crowd of masks, was I not alto-
gether changed, not only in dress, but even in feel-
ings and character, and are such changes allow-
able ? — I fear not ; for even now, I can scarcely
recollect myself and become again what I was or
what I ought to be. How did it happen then ?
Aye, — the Duchess had transformed me into a
kind of Indian fairy-queen, and I was to play the
part of Titania. My ornaments were fantastic
enough. I had a diamond crown in my hair, and
over this was thrown a light purple veil, so long,
that it extended from the crown of my head to
the ground. My other dress, which I thought was
cut much too short in the skirts, was of a bright
l 2

250 SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

sparkling silver stuff. I had, besides, a pearl
necklace and ear-rings, a golden sceptre twined
round with lotus flowers in my right hand, and,
in the other, a fan of palm tree leaves from the
banks of the Ganges. In this grand attire, they
placed me before a large mirror, and with shame,
I must confess, that my heart beat quickly with
a feeling of triumph, at the brilliant figure which
I made there. At last the waiting-maid brought
me the small half mask of black silk, which,
though it cannot in reality prevent our being re-
cognized, yet gives to the wearer a feeling as if
she were under a veil of mystery, and renders one's
spirits, therefore, more bold and buoyant. The
Duchess examined my dress carefully before I
left my room, and expressed satisfaction at my
appearance. Yet I know not how it was, — all at
once she seemed to hesitate, and the tones of her
voice changed as if some painful apprehension had
come over her ; till, as if determined to resist such
an untimely mood of mind, she hastened away to
her carriage.

Arrived at the rooms, how astonished and con-
founded was I at first, by the infinite variety of
figures, many graceful and attractive, but far

CHAPTER IV.

251

more that were beyond description hideous and
absurd. I was glad to cling for protection to
Gabrielle's arm, who walked proudly and confi-
dently through the saloon in an antique Spanish
dress. The Grand Duke had disdained the trou-
ble of assuming any character, appearing in a black
Venetian mantle, with a mask indeed, though
every one knew him, and his humour seemed a
strange mixture of gaiety and chagrin. From the
first moment of my appearance, his regards were
directed to me, and continued fixed in such man-
ner, as to rob me of all self-possession. " Why
then, beautiful Julia," said he, " have you as-
sumed an empire only over the fabulous spirits of
the air ? Would you thus appear to mortals on-
ly by fits and starts, in your uncertain wander-
ings ? Yet beware !— for fairies sometimes fall
under the power of more potent spirits, and there
are influences in the world of which you know not
yet."

While the Duke thus spoke, and I wished hear-
tily that I could escape from him, there arose
through the ball-room a strange murmuring of
voices and involuntarily we were obliged to move
as the crowd drove us on, till I perceived that

252

SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

all this attention had been excited by the fi-
gure of a tall graceful Bramin. He had just
then made his entree, and was looking round
on the motley groupes. At last his eyes light-
ed on me, and he immediately hastened up,
took my hand, and led me towards the Duch-
ess. " This brilliant fairy queen," said he.
" calls me from my own land of dark supersti-
tions into a new sphere of light and joy. For
her sake, then, I cast off, along with these gar-
ments, my old faith and all the prejudices of my
country, in order to bend submissively beneath
the sceptre of this gracious and beautiful em-
press.11 With these words, throwing aside his
Bramin attire, he presented to us the figure of
a young handsome knight, with the eastern in-
signia of the order of St John. " Charles —
Charles j" exclaimed the Duchess, and he threw
himself at the feet -of his enraptured mother. She
could say no more, but that single tone of her
voice, as she pronounced his name, had deeply
moved every heart in the assembly. " The Prince
— the Prince returned from India !" was now cal-
led aloud, and echoed through all the rooms. In
her great joy, the Duchess kissed and embraced

CHAPTER IV.

253

me as well as her son. " Dear little enchantress !"
said she, " thy appearance to-night with thy dia-
mond crown, and palm-tree leaves, was a kind of
foreboding what happiness would come to me from
the shores of the Ganges." The Prince also con-
tinued to address me in the most nattering terms ;
but the Duke's expression and looks, which I just
then met (for he had taken off his mask,) were hor-
rible, and I felt quite overpowered by this unex-
pected scene. It seems the Prince had contrived
to obtain leave of absence, and had come home
alone, when no one was aware of his intention.
The army will not return yet for many months.

Afterwards I had the honour of being his part-
ner in the dance, and he begged that I would
make allowances for his awkwardness, as during
his long absence, he had been quite unaccustomed
to such amusements. But how little did he re-
quire to make any such apology ! He danced so
lightly — so simply and gracefully ! Surely he is
far handsomer than his picture, though it was by
my recollection of it that I was enabled at the
first glance to recognize him. It seems now as if
I had seen and known him all the days of my
life, and as if I could share with him all the che-

254

SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

rished thoughts of my own heart ; — but how lit-
tle resemblance there is between this Prince
Charles and his brother, whose looks are always
as dark and threatening as a thunder- cloud? Since
Prince Charles returned, the Duke once said to
me, " Forget not Othello !" and his tone was
such, that my blood ran cold in every vein.

There is one part of my own conduct, with
which perhaps I ought not to be quite satisfied.
The Prince requested that I would allow him to
keep the mask which I had laid aside at the sup-
per-table ; and I gave it to him without hesita-
tion. " It would serve," he said, " as a remem-
brance of the day when he returned home, and of
the remarkable coincidence between his Asiatic
habiliments, and mine as an Indian fairy. " This
dark shrine," added he, " empty as it now is,
will not fail to remind me of the angelic beauty
that greeted me on my first entrance here, and in
these hollow circles, unmeaning as they would
seem to others, I discover still the radiance of
two bright eyes, that I shall evermore behold, in
hours when they no longer behold me." I felt
the delightful influence of these words penetrate
to my very heart, but that I had not done right

CHAPTElt IV.

255

in giving him a present, as if to encourage such
flatteries, was not long after very painfully prov-
ed, when the Duchess happened to ask what I
had done with my mask ? Alas ! instead of ven-
turing to tell her the truth, I was silent and em-
barrassed,— till at last I had recourse to decep-
tion. I stooped down as if I would search for it
under the table — and then, with a faltering tongue,
stammered out, " I have lost it." This, indeed,
has left a sad stain on my conscience, and I know
not when it will be effaced.

256

SCHAUFENSTEIN CASTLE.

CHAPTER V.

Recollections of the Countess Julia de

continued.

20th December.
Oh, Heaven ! the days of peace, joy, and de-
lightful illusions are now past ! — Aye, this is in-
deed that love, of which the mere reflection, as it
is described in romances and poems, has so often
agitated my heart, — and how fearful is this reali-
ty ! Amid the dreadful conflict of feelings by
which I am assailed, I know not whither to turn
for support and consolation. If I dared speak to
the Duchess ! But no — that is impossible — she
is far too elevated in rank to be made a confi-
dante, and the Countess is unfortunately very ill.
Either of them might assist me, but as to Ma-
dame Nagelin, though good and kind-hearted,
yet, in the affairs of this world, she is helpless as
a child.

CHAPTER V.

257

That unfortunate hunting party at Scharfen-
stein ! From the very outset, I was afraid of its
consequences ; and yet, the day was so beautiful,
our drive thither, and our amusements there so
inviting ! — Alas ! why must joy and sorrow so
often travel together ? By how many people in
the town must our brilliant appearance have been
envied ! Every window was crowded with admir-
ing spectators, all watching our grand sledges,
our fine prancing and richly caparisoned horses,
hung with bells, which sounded so delightfully
in the still morning air. And, as to myself, did
I not forget all the past, and every thing else in
the world, so totally was I engrossed by this new
pleasure ? Did not my heart heave with rapture,
when I flew, swift as an arrow, along the smooth
glittering road, and the Prince sitting behind me,
guided our course so adroitly and securely. The
town soon lay far behind us, and we came always
deeper and deeper into the dark regions of the
pine forests, where, how strange was the contrast
presented by the silent loneliness of all nature
and the lively ringing of our horses"' accoutre-
ments ! What I then heard or said, truly I
could not repeat ; the time past away like a fairy

258

SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

dream. Only, I well remember, that when we
were mounting the steep ascent to Scharfenstein,
the Duke, who was driving his mother also in a
sledge, came up with us, and shouted wildly that
we might keep out of his way. Then, for the
first time, my dream was broken, and my heart
was again awoke to fearful and gloomy appre-
hensions.

The party assembled in the castle at a sump-
tuous dejeune d la fourchette. Here, it hap-
pened that the Duchess was forcibly reminded of
the pleasant days that she had spent in early life
with her late husband at Scharfenstein. She
pointed out his portrait and her own, and then
asked the Duke whether he had no thoughts of
ever bringing home a princess to share in his pro-
sperity ? His dark brows immediately contracted,
and throwing back his head with an air of dis-
dain— " Where is there any woman,11 said he,
" by whom this heart could be understood ? As
well might you expect to use the fires of Hecla
in the narrow chamber of a cottage, as to confine
me within the trammels of domestic life !11 His
mother looked at him mournfully, and meanwhile
the young prince's eyes were anxiously searching

CHAPTER V.

259

for mine. I answered him kindly in the same man-
ner; and though I could have controlled my
words, yet my looks unavoidably betrayed that I
was glad to cling to him as a friend. The Duke's
expressions were indeed so strange and ill-timed,
that the whole party seemed perplexed, and lost
in mysterious apprehensions.

Soon after this, however, the bugle-horns were
heard from the castle court, and the hunt was
immediately to begin. Our breakfast party dis-
persed, and in a short time we reassembled at the
outward gate, where the Duchess and all the other
ladies mounted courageously on horseback. At
that time Prince Charles came to me, and said in
a low voice, " Will Julia, then, fulfil the promise
which her looks already made to her too happy
lover ?" Heaven forgive me, — I spoke sincerely,
and answered him " Yes" — but how fearful are
the consequences that this word may bring on
him and on me ! In a few minutes afterwards,
the Duke came up at a hard trot, forced himself
betwixt us, — took hold of my horse's bridle, and
forced me to ride away with him into a wild thick-
et. There he broke out into such passionate
vehemence of language, accompanied with such

260

SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

tones and gestures, that I might have fallen sense-
less at my tormentor's feet, had it not been that
the whole party came right after us, and the sport
then properly began.

I cannot tell what happened through the rest
of the day. It was not till late in the evening,
that I recollected myself, when I was seated in a
carriage with the Duchess, and knew that a wea-
risome life of suffering and conflict was before me.
Oh happy days of youth and hope, — how soon
your illusions have past away — and an inward
voice almost warns me that it is for ever !

30th Feb. 17 — , (in the following year.)
When I now read over the preceding pages,
it seems as if many years had elapsed since I wrote
them. What bitter tears have fallen to efface
their traces ! That Julia who wrote them is no
longer the same. Her once childish and smiling
countenance is become gloomy and pale ; her tear-
ful eyes look dimly on the glimmering twilight of
the past. Tormented both by her own emotions
and the passions of others, she is an unhappy be-
ing ; held constantly in suspense between the re-
spectful homage of an ardent lover, and the per-

CHAPTER V.

261

secutions of insolent tyranny. Which of these
two is indeed to prevail, and how can all this end ?
Under a mask of icy coldness, the Duke's whole
existence labours under the frenzy of passion which
threatens every moment to break out. As for
his mother's conduct, it is guided alternately by
compassionate sympathy, and the mere pompous
formality of high rank. She has sent me warn-
ing messages by the Countess, and has threatened
me with being deposed and exiled from court. In
return, so far was I from expressing any regret on
that account, that I only begged permission to go
for a few months into voluntary retirement. My
request would be taken into consideration was the
answer, for she cannot venture to provoke the
Duke by any decisive measures. Even this wo-
man, firm and exalted as she seems, trembles in
the presence of her eldest son. How, or where
then shall a poor helpless girl, such as I am, hope
to be secure against his anger ? As for thee, my
only beloved Charles, least of all must thou know
the cause of my terror ; and Heaven grant that
no apprehension of the truth may find its way to
thy mind !

262

SCHARFE NSTEIN CASTLE.

1st May 17 —
How have I had strength to carry through that
which I deemed utterly impossible ? Am I awake,
or has it not all been but a dream ? If I can be-
lieve my senses, we were privately betrothed in the
church of St Mary. The good Madame Nagelin
was a witness of the ceremony, and in few days we
are to set sail for India. In his arms, after this
long interval of doubts and fears, I shall greet a
new world. I shall behold him ever with me,
and no human power shall

2d May.

Shall part us, T would have written; but I was
interrupted by a summons to attend the Duchess.
I found her in tears, and she could hardly tran-
quillize herself so as to speak with me. — " Julia,"
said she at last, " it is you alone who can restore to
me my lost peace of mind. You hav« indeed been
the cause of discord in the family of your bene-
factress— but I well know that this is not the re-
sult of any design on your part. You have been
misled by the too great susceptibility of your own
heart, which is yet young and inexperienced; but
it is your duty to recal it from wandering. Pro-

CHAPTER V.

263

mise me to exert your utmost skill and ingenuity
in order that Prince Charles may get the better
of his present mad passion. For, believe me,
Julia, the feelings by which he is actuated are not
justifiable, — it is but a base and selfish attach-
ment that can thus contend against the dictates of
reason ; for he well knows that his rank forbids
him to marry the daughter of a subject, and if
he really loved you, he would fly from your pre-
sence. Therefore, my dear child, you must
prove that you are too pure and too proud to en-
courage in him these dishonourable and unwor-
thy purposes. I placed the utmost confidence in
your virtue, and I now beseech you, let me not
be disappointed. Say, Julia, shall the Duchess
have thrown herself on your generosity, and im-
plored you in vain ?" — I now fell at her feet, and
clung to her garments. I was on the point of
disclosing to her the whole truth, but a single
thought of the consequences that this might bring
on Charles, closed my lips and my heart. I
tvept, without making any answer, — kissed her
land, and retired from her presence like a con-
ilemned sinner. Incapable of telling a direct
'alsehood, — I have yet deceived her, for, by her

264 SCHAKFENSTEIN CASTLE.

looks I read plainly that she considered my ex-
cessive affliction as a proof that I had determined
for the future to avoid those errors which had
thus rendered both her and myself so unhappy.
Such, alas ! are the evils, — the curse, I may say
which follows duplicity and concealment; — one
act of necessity leads to another.

7th May.

What I have experienced and suffered to-da)
no language could even faintly express. Oh
merciful Heaven ! how has this fate come at once
like a thunder-cloud over us ! Prince Charles ha^
been arrested by order of the Duke, and draggec
away from the capital. Lately an obscure rumour
spread through the town that the former had, un-
der the influence of a temporary fit of madness,
drawn his sword against his brother. Alas ! poor
unsuspecting Charles ! couldst thou but have
known that the wicked Duke has, for a long time,
had no object nearer to his heart than that of ac-
complishing thy destruction ! — Those who wish
to bring about a reconciliation between the bro-
thers, say that Charles is mad, and is only to be
pitied for what he has done. All this I havt

4

CHAPTER V.

265

learned from Madame Nagelin, who is the only
one with whom I now can speak in confidence, and
who goes out from time to time to bring me in-
telligence. Madness, indeed ! alas, how deep
and acute feelings, — how the noblest attributes of
the human heart are misunderstood and calumni-
ated in this world ! — But the world adds more in
the present instance. People insist that a wild-
ness and inconsistency have for a long time been
visible in his demeanour. My beloved Charles !
they have discovered that thou art insane, because
thou art not like others, cold-hearted, insensible,
and a hypocrite! — But why should their words
disturb him or me ? Could he but regain his li-
berty, and were I but once more in his presence
all might yet be well !

Madame Nagelin has again gone to visit one
of her acquaintances, and till she returns I feel so
terrified, that I cannot for a moment compose my-
self. I sit here as if in prison, like a proscribed
and condemned criminal. No one comes to in-
quire for me ; the chambers of the Duchess are
closed against me, and my guardian has been for
iome time absent on diplomatic business. How

VOL I. M

266 SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

shall I support this unexampled suspense and
misery ?

Oh, Heaven ! that was, indeed, too much ? —
The Duke here in my apartments ? — How could
he bear to look at me, or I at him ? Before I had
time to reflect, unexpectedly, and sudden as fate,
he stood before me. — " Julia," said he, " my
visit is, no doubt, as unwelcome as it is uncere-
monious, and, perhaps, you have already cursed
me in your heart?" I was so terrified, that I
could not express my indignation ; I trembled in
every limb, and even held up my hands implor-
ingly, but could not speak. " Unhappy girl,"
said he, " your presence has at length rendered
us all miserable — our domestic peace is under-
mined and ruined ; but do not think worse of me
than I deserve. I can yet forgive, if you will
prove that you repent of what you have done."
1 turned from him with a kind of horror. " Re-
flect," added he, after a little time — " reflect,
that Charles must, from henceforth, be dead to
this world. You are unavoidably and for ever
separated from him. The court — your own fa-
mily— even people of middling rank will look on

CHAPTER V.

267

you with distrust and aversion. Whither, now,
can you turn for refuge ?" — " Banish us both
then," cried I, throwing my self at his feet — "grant
us but the favour that we may leave this country,
and never more hold any intercourse with its in-
habitants !" The Duke laughed scornfully. " So,
then," said he, " the melancholy brain-sick fool
has infected you with his own absurd fancies, and
their influence has become thus deeply rooted in
your heart ? — Go — go !" added he scornfully,
quitting my hand, which he had taken to raise
me up— " You are too childish to love, or to be
loved by any man ; — it is only good for nothing
fantastic coxcombs that you can encourage."
Wounded to the heart by such expressions in con-
tempt of my betrothed husband, I felt, at that
moment, not only the conscious rectitude of
Charles, but was even inspired with a share of
his pride. The Duke had, indeed, said every
thing that was possible, in order to degrade him-
self in my estimation. He had just now uttered
a most insulting falsehood, and it seemed to me
as if my whole frame were clad in iron armour ;—
I despised him too much to care for his menaces.
He was already at the door on his retreat, and I

268

SC HA It FEN STEIN CASTLE.

had covered my face with both hands, that I
might not see him, when, suddenly, he turned
back, and ran to me with great impetuosity. —
" Julia," cried he, " without my aid, you are ut-
terly lost. Do not deceive and betray yourself,
for if you had but the courage to be happy, and
would follow good counsel, all might yet be re-
trieved." I shuddered at these words — I was un-
willing to allow my thoughts to dwell on his
meaning, which was but too evident, and in this
contention I was quite confused, and know not
what I answered. I heard, for a while, the
Duke's vehement thundering voice, which tor-
mented me, though I did not attend to the sense
of what he uttered ; but, at length, all was silent ;
he had taken his departure, and I was left quite
alone. — Yet, no ! I should not have said this !
Heavenly Father, thou art with me still, and also
with Charles. — Oh ! may thy merciful support
and guidance never forsake us !

Madame Nkgelin is arrived, and has come
without news, for Martin, the Prince's valet, was
not to be found. In a short time, however, my
guardian is to return home. — I depend much on

CHAPTER V.

269

his counsel. — What will his decision be, and
what can I now do ?

Wth May. (Just before my departure
for England.)
Farewell, farewell, my beloved native land ! —
You cast me from you, cruelly, it is true ; — dis-
guised, and like an abandoned criminal in the
darkness of the night, I must quit the walls of
this town. No one will here regret my depart-
ure, and all will soon forget the poor guilty Ju-
lia, as if she had never been. — Guilty, indeed, I
am ; therefore, oh heart ! be steady and unshrink-
ing in thy penance ; and Heaven will prove a
just and merciful judge. That happiness which,
in my levity and presumption, I wished to pos-
sess against the will of Providence, has been
wholly taken from me. Be it so then ; — let my
resignation, if possible, prove an atonement, and
may I be guided henceforth by the pure influen-
ces of the Christian faith — by self-denial — volun-
tary suffering, and submission of spirit. But,
my dearest Charles ! I hear that they have in-
vented wicked falsehoods to delude you ! Truly,
you cannot be reproached for believing them, for

270 SCHARFEN STEIN CASTLE.

Heaven alone knows by what snares your life has
been environed. I weep only because you can-
not weep — because you cherish anger even against
your faithful Julia, instead of compassion and for-
giveness. If these words could only reach your
ears, the truth would be felt in your inmost heart.
Alas, Charles ! — we shall now look anxiously
forward to a far different journey from that which
we had planned to India. Our wanderings are
like those of the pilgrims, of whom it is said, that
they advance two steps, and lose one, on their
way to the Holy Land. But let us not be wea-
ried or despondent, though the way be long, for
at one time or another we must come to our jour-
ney's end. — Farewell, — farewell !

Here, Felix, there occur some lines half obli-
terated, on which I cannot venture ; for the tears
of heart-felt affliction have imprinted on them the
sacred seal of mystery. How could we sport as
we have so often done with this life, which, if the
curtain be drawn from its concealed truths, is so
frightfully tragical ? — I am, in truth, so disturb-
ed and agitated, that it seems as if I could ne-
ver more obtain even one hour of rest. What,

CHAPTER V.

271

then, is our whole existence in this world, but a
ceaseless conflict and alternation of crime and re-
pentance ?

Once more my feelings are completely changed ;
the balm of divine peace and consolation has been
poured out profusely on our heads ; but, to under-
stand me, you must hear all that passed last night,
though I almost dread to set it on paper, as if it
could not be real, and the spell might be broken !

It was late in the evening, when I was sum-
moned to the Prince. I found him no longer
confined to bed, but resting on the sofa, just as he
had appeared at our first interview. He seem-
ed, with anxious inquiry, to read on my features
the emotion that had been produced by the per-
usal of the manuscripts. " Julius," said he, 4 4 it is
now my duty to give you an explanation of much
which you cannot yet have even guessed at ; —
therefore, take your place, and listen quietly to what
I have to say." The Prince then roused himself
from the reclining posture in which I found him,
and, with the fire of youth in his eyes, he leant
forward, and addressed me. — " Even though we
should deny the personal existence of malignant

272

SCHAltFENSTEIN CASTLK.

demons in the world, yet we cannot doubt the in-
fluence of that one omnipotent spirit of evil, who
tempts us into crimes, — renders the ground, as it
were, hollow beneath our feet, and, depriving us
of reason and recollection, forces us into the gulf
thus prepared for our destruction. What, then,
would become of us, if it were not for the assist-
ance of Divine Providence, by which our very
enemies are sometimes turned into agents for our
rescue ? My heart was always too warm and too
susceptible ; — the restraints that I laid on myself
were feeble and easily broken through, — and,
alas ! that barrier being removed, I did not fall
myself alone, but forced along with me an ami-
able and angelic being into misery. Julia's af-
fection, indeed, was of such a character, that it
ought to have shielded me against all the poison-
ous calumny of the world. But the belief in an-
other's innocence, — such is our depraved nature,
— is an impression very easily disturbed. Could
you have supposed that Julia's devotion to me,
and the unshrinking confidence with which she
had received my addresses, formed the means by
which our infernal adversary led me on to discon-
tent and suspicion? It would have been long, in-

CHAPTER V.

273

deed, before the Duke, with all his agents, could
have brought me to this. Gabrielle had been
constantly endeavouring to fan the fires of jea-
lousy into flame, but in vain. My mother, too,
deceived and misled by every one, accused Julia
of blameable levity ; for she thought, that before
my arrival, the innocent girl, if she had not en-
couraged, yet, in consequence, perhaps, of her ti-
midity and inexperience, had submitted to receive
attentions from the Duke, even that an under-
standing and mutual confidence still subsisted be-
twixt them. At last, my brother ventured, one
day, in a strain of bitter irony, to laugh at my
romantic passion. He heaped insult upon insult,
till at last he boasted, though with an air of con-
tempt and indifference, that Julia had granted
him many private interviews. I had never, in my
life, been subject to anger, therefore was, by no
means, on my guard against an attack of this pas-
sion ; I knew not how its raging waves collect
unobserved, till at once they break over our heads,,
and now, therefore, I fell an unresisting victim.
Quite frantic with rage, forgetting all considera-
tions, so that I thought not of revenge, but only
of destruction to myself and all others, I rushed
m 2

274 SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

sword in hand against my brother. He parried
my attack with a wave of his arm ; — he stood
quietly and scornfully, and his looks of just re-
proach moved me in such manner that a complete
^ revolution took place in my mind, and I threw
myself at his feet !

" For a long while, indeed, I knew not what I
did, nor what passed around me; and, on recover-
ing my senses, I found myself in a chamber, of
which the door was locked. Even then, I scarcely
knew what had happened, nor could form any
distinct thoughts or wishes ; but, late in the night,
I heard, under the floor, the noise of a carriage
driving into the castle court. Soon afterwards, an
officer, rather advanced in years, whom I had, till
now, never seen, entered my room. He showed me
the Duke's written command, that I should go
with him to Scharfenstein, — to which I made not
the slightest objection, for, in my despair, all cir-
cumstances were to me become indifferent. On my
arrival here, I fell into a kind of melancholy stu-
pefaction, that blunted my senses almost against
every impression. The crime into which my ungo-
vernable rage had betrayed me, made me feel a
kind of contempt even for all mankind. Above

CHAPTER V.

275

all, however, I detested myself, and that Julia
whom I had so fondly loved. Even these impulses
were feeble and imperfect. At that period I could
scarcely be said to live ; — I had only faint glim-
merings of thought, and these I wished to avoid
rather than encourage. Years passed away in
this mood, to which another succeeded that was
far more insupportable. This was the conscious-
ness of reviving strength, and the decrease of my
dark melancholy, followed by intense paroxysms
of hatred and revenge. I thought of wreaking
vengeance on Julia, and escaping from the horrid
bondage in which I now suffered. At length na-
ture seemed to give way under this struggle, and
I became very ill, of which news probably were
sent to the capital, for the Duke's physician came
to visit me. I had a great distrust of his reme-
dies, and steadfastly refused to follow his pre-
scriptions. The fear of poison was then never
absent from my mind, and the love of life in-
creased, as the hope, by degrees awoke, that my
situation might yet be completely changed. In
one respect, the change indeed came. I reco-
vered, and, with returning health, came back the
energies of my mind, and I acquired a victory

C2^6 SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

over those passions by which I had been torment-
ed. With regard to my own conduct at the last
meeting with my brother, I reflected on it with
deep self-humiliation, for I was more than ever
conscious that I had been in the wrong. As to
Julia, my emotions were now more of sorrow than
of anger; yet, on this point, I was forced to ac-
knowledge myself still as a mere ordinary mortal.
When I thought of her, I could not be tranquil,
and therefore sought repose, by endeavouring,
however vainly, to avoid the recollection of her
altogether. Yet, as if even this might not be,
the parrot was then brought hither; — I knew
not from whence he came, but accepted the bird
willingly as an amusement in my solitude. No
sooner was he seated in his ring, than he scream-
ed aloud, 6 Pardon, — oh pardon ! 1 and 6 Fare-
well,— farewell ! 1 ' The'se words come from
her,1 said I ; but, alas ! at that time I was far
from giving to them a proper interpretation. I
thought they were the expressions of a guilty
faithless woman, while it was she who had been
injured, and who thus nobly forgave me ! — And
yet, strange to tell, the tones moved me almost as
much as if I had indeed heard her own voice ; for,

CHAPTER V.

277

Julius, there is a universal presence in recollec-
tion. I felt it in every whispering of the air
through the window. Now and then I thought
of my flute, on which, in better days, I had so
often played in Julia's presence. I longed for it,
and requested that it might be brought to me,
which was agreed to, and, with the flute, was sent
almost every thing that had been left in my ca-
binet in town, so that I found myself established
here as if I had been at home. At last came my
favourite dog. I could not help bursting into
tears ; when, recognizing me, he barked aloud
for joy — put up his paws on my shoulders, and
laid his head on my bosom. 4 So unconquer-
able,' said I, ' are the impressions of attach-
ment, even in irrational creatures, — it is a prin-
ciple that God has implanted in all beings, — but
for the human race alone, it is reserved to be faith-
less.1 At that moment, it seemed as if the voice
of some invisible monitor said to me, 4 Love
may be injured, but it is an amaranthine flower ;
it is immortal; preserve it, then, like a sacred re-
lic in thy soul, and it will be restored to its first
perfection in Heaven ! 1

" Henceforth, not only could I bear to think

278 SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

steadfastly of Julia, but her image constantly
hovered around me, like a glorified visitant from
the habitations of the blest. Her faults and er-
rors belonged only to this earth ; but the J ulia
whom I had loved was mine for eternity. These
thoughts, for the future, were to me like the rain-
bow's arch of forgiveness, hope and promise, suc-
ceeding a dark tempest, in the sky. I have been
better both in mind and frame ; have been little
disturbed by temporal cares, and my affections
were indeed fixed on another world.

" But then, Julius, you made your appearance.
The general whose name you mentioned as your
father, was Julia's guardian. This circumstance,
and even the sound of your name, of course broke
in greatly upon my repose, for a thousand ques-
tions occurred to me, which I would have wished
to ask, but fearful that the truth would not bear
investigation, I timidly repressed them all. It
was the will of Providence, however, that, by your
means, the veil of mystery should one day be with-
drawn ; and now I may ask of you, do you
know, or can you guess whether the unhappy Ju-
lia yet lives, — or — but I cannot help faltering

when I speak of this,— how her heart was recon-
1

CHAPTER V. 279

ciled to her sad destiny and mine ? Conceal no-
thing, my dear friend, however agonizing the
truth may be, I can bear it better than suspense."

I was on the point of making the Prince ac-
quainted with my own dim recollections, — of the
letters which my mother used to receive, from an
unfortunate sister resident in England, and all
the rest, which has been already described to you,
when our physician, who had not been here for
several days, made his appearance. There was
somewhat reserved in his looks and demeanour,
which immediately struck me ; and he in his turn
was visibly surprised, by the improved looks of
the Prince. " What miracle has wrought this
change ?" said he, " I find his Highness^ pulse
beating like that of a healthy young man, — and
there is not the slightest symptom of fever." The
Prince smiled, " It will be well," said he, " when
you have thus restored me to the strength of
youth, if you can protect me also from its mental
delusions and disquietudes." The physician, after
some other questions, finding that his advice was
no longer required here, rose to take his leave,
and seeming in great haste, refused the Prince's
invitation to remain all night, as his business

280

SCHAREENSTEIN CASTLE.

called him hence. He had been appointed by a
lady, who was now very ill, for a visit at that hour,
and he could not keep her waiting any longer.
kt You are perhaps going farther by the same
road," said the Prince, " and may return by our
castle ?" ik Your Highness will excuse me," said
the physician, " my visit thus far was to you
alone, but why should I conceal, that there is a
patient whom I am now to see on my homeward
route, whose recovery altogether depended on
that of your Highness ?r " You speak in riddles,*'
said the Prince. " In short," replied the physi-
cian, " there resides in this neighbourhood a very
beautiful, though blind lady, who lives, as she
says, altogether by the notes of your flute, which
fall cheeringly as that sunlight which she can
never more behold, into the darkness of her world,
and change her wearisome night into bright
morning." At these words the Prince turned pale,
and looked anxiously at the doctor. " In direct
terms," added the latter, " I must explain to
your Highness, — this unfortunate lady says, that
all the pleasantest remembrances of her youth,
are awoke by your music, — that these form now
the only solace that she has left to support exis-

CHAPTER V.

281

tence, — that in listening to you she beholds every
scene or image, once more in the most vivid hues,
as if all had been restored. But now, since the
flute has been for several nights neglected, she
has fallen into a state which one might well call
a living death. All this was revealed to me by
an old nurse, who attends her, and who begged
me to say, whether the beloved music would be
heard again, or were indeed silent for ever ? I
now hasten to her with the information, that since
your Highness is quite recovered, your evening
amusements will doubtless be resumed." " Who
is the lady ?" said the Prince in a faltering voice.
44 She is an English emigree" said the physi-
cian, " who came many years ago to reside in this
forest, having purchased an old ruinous castle,
of which she has since been a constant inmate.
It is said, that early affliction, and constant weep-
ing, deprived her thus untimely of her sight."

44 It is she — it is Julia I11 cried the Prince,
bursting into tears, and throwing himself into my
arms. 44 For Heaven's sake,11 said I to the phy-
sician, 44 let me go with you on your visit ! A
thousand cherished recollections crowd upon my
mind, and hopes that may yet be realized. — I

282 SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE.

must see the lady." " You can see her indeed,
without leaving this room," said the physician,
leading me to the "window, " Mark yonder, in
the moonlight, her form is distinguishable on the
wild rocky cliff, where she never fails to watch at
this hour, in hopes that the music will be heard
once more, and bring back youth and sunlight to
her imagination."

The Prince had now opened the lattice; he knelt
down with the flute in his hands, and tried to
wake its wonted notes, but could not, — sobbed
aloud, — bent down his head for some moments
in silent prayer, — then, as if supernaturally tran-
quillized, resumed the instrument, and without
once faltering, poured forth such an exquisite
stream of sorrowful modulation, that the effect
was unearthly ; it was like the voice of a bene-
ficent spirit, lamenting over the misfortunes and
errors of mankind.

I could not remain any longer within doors —
I ran down stairs and across the court; — the
draw-bridge fell at my signal, — I rushed forth,
and never halted in my breathless course, till I
had reached the summit of the rock, and stood
beside her. I cannot describe what followed;

CHAPTER V.

283

the impressions of all that passed are remembered
like those of a dream. The first words that she
uttered, proved to me that my hopes had been
well-founded; — she fell fainting into my arms,
and, scarcely aware of what I did, but acting by
mere impulse, I bore her down the cliff. I know
not how the distance was got over ; but I never
relaxed in my efforts, nor awoke to self-possession
and consciousness, till I had brought her into the
Prince's apartments. Felix, what a moment was
that when they met again, though they could not
mutually behold each other ! " It is morning,1'
said the Countess, when she first recovered from
her swoon, and breathed once more on the bosom
of her beloved.

The clear light of day has indeed broken out
around us, — and as you, Felix, may doubtless
have anticipated, it is proved that I am the off-
spring of this ill-fated and yet now happy mar-
riage. Oh dearest mother, how sincerely my heart
now feels your affection, and how grateful I am
for the counsels that you afforded me ! No longer
am I at any loss to explain the mysterious voice that
of yore spoke to me in solitude, or the unconquer-

£84 SCHARFENSTEI N CASTLE.

able yearnings of my spirit, even in childhood, aft
that rank in life, and that domestic happiness of
which it seemed that I was debarred for ever.

How deeply moving was her appearance now !
Her head from long habit declined in melancho-
ly,— her dark eyes shrouded by their impenetra-
ble veil ! The Prince looked at her with emotion
to which no words could give adequate utterance.
" Oh my beloved Julia," said he, " how much
has my attachment cost you ! — those beautiful
eloquent eyes V — and with these words he kissed
them gently. " My dearest Charles," answered
she, " Heaven has yet allowed us to retain all the
freshness of our youthful feelings, though I have
spent many years in darkness, and you have been
shut up within prison walls. The malignant in-
fluence of the world has not destroyed those emo-
tions, and I was almost happy, when I knew that
you were so near to me, and could reckon you still
mine."

You should be informed, Felix, that, at the
period when she appeared to me as a travelling
dealer in Nuremberg toys, she had just then ven-
tured back to her native country, and saw me for
the first time since the month of my birth. " So,

CHAPTER V.

285

then," said she to herself, " I have a son, and he
is a stranger among strangers. Who knows whe-
ther he will ever find his way back to his father's
capital, — and to his proper sphere in life ?" Soon
afterwards, she entrusted me to her old friend
Madame Nagelin, who had accompanied her to
England, and who brought me to my mother's
guardian, who was at that time travelling with
his wife, being sent as a diplomatist to a distant
country, where he remained for several years.
The Count received me very willingly, and after
his return, I passed, without exciting any suspi-
cion, for his own son.

So, then, Felix — such are the intricate ways of
Providence — I have been here appointed as my
father's watcher — I have been to him at last like
a peace messenger from Heaven, inspiring him
with new hope, — indeed with tranquillity and con-
fidence. Who can measure or appreciate the
deep inscrutable plans of Supreme Power ? You
will ask me, perhaps, what is to happen farther ;
but I have nothing more to relate. We are all
of us at peace, and contented with our lot. The
Prince is a state prisoner, and the Countess Julia
remains, or seems to remain, a female hermit as

286 SCHARFFNSTEIN CASTLE.

before. It is requisite to keep up appearances,
and no other course was under existing circum-
stances at our command. Yet, in those two
hearts, how deep and placid is now the feeling of
boundless unanimity and confidence ! To them,
henceforth, what is all the world, with its anxie-
ties, tumults, and intrigues ? They know not
even that it exists — Felix, it is needless to attempt
a delineation in words of that which is quite in-
describable ; — but I would wish you to feel as
much of all this, as it is possible for a looker-on
to feel by sympathy.

However, that the sky might not remain at pre-
sent altogether free from clouds, the crafty castel-
lan has contrived to make his escape from Schar-
fenstein. Whither has he directed his flight — what
new misfortune will he contrive to raise up against
us ? It cannot, however, be quite overpowering,
and, whatever may happen, I am prepared and re-
solute. At the worst, I shall betake myself as a
dernier resort to the old Duchess, in whose pre-
sence possibly the whole truth may be brought
to light. Perhaps I alone must do penance for
the short interval of cheerfulness which I was
the means of affording to these two sufferers.

CHAPTER V. 287

But I must confess, my feelings as to present and
actual experiences have been such, that, for some
time past, I have had little room left in my mind
for speculations on the future.

41

288

SCHAR FEN STEIN CASTLE.

CHAPTER VI.

LETTER FROM FELIX TO JULIUS.

I hasten to prepare you by the first possible
opportunity, for an event of which the rumours
will soon be afloat, both in town and country, and
which will, of course, cause very material chang-
es.— Julius, the reigning Duke's crimes are now
frightfully avenged on his own head. I reflect
with horror on that web of evil, which he has him-
self twined so industriously, and which, in the
end, is only to supply the means of his own de-
struction. But you must now judge for yourself.

About eight days ago, the Duke, who, since
that attack of illness after the masquerade ball,
has been always rather in bad health, was sitting
in the dusk of the evening, in a small cabinet, at
the end of a long suite of apartments. His tem-
per is so variable, that those around him never
know what he would like or dislike. Consequent-

4

( II A PTE R VI.

289

ly, no one would now venture to bring him lighted
candles, unless he had rung for that purpose, so
that, as chance would have it, the Duke having
fallen asleep, had forgotten the hour, and all his
usual arrangements.

Meanwhile there came into the palace court
an old grey-headed man, who ran hastily up the
back staircase, and gave the pass-word and signal
in such manner, that, in the dark, the guards ne-
ver discovered that he was a stranger, so that the
private door was directly opened, and he went
forward to the chamber of our drowsy sovereign.
The Duke was instantly roused by the noise his
unexpected visitor made on entering the room,
started up all in a tremor, and called aloud in
a voice of the utmost anxiety and consternation,
" Has he escaped ?— Has he come hither ?" Now
the old man being by this time as much affright-
ed as the Duke, began also to vociferate, till at
last, both standing opposite to each other, broke
out into a fit of mad laughter, which, at the same
time, being accompanied by all the symptoms of
deadly fear, inspired the listeners with horror;
and the nearest attendants, on looking in,'perceived
that their visages were abominably writh en andcon-

VOL. I. n

290 SCHARFENSTEIN CASTLE-

tracted. The groom of the chambers had indeed
watched the whole transaction from the next room,
and was so much agitated, that he ran away for
the physician, who came immediately, and tried
every means in his power to bring the unhappy
men to their senses, but it was impossible to make
them listen to any third party; the same paroxysms
of terror and utter madness were renewed, till at
last they were quite exhausted, and fell into a
sleep or stupor so still, that it was like that of
death. As for the mysterious old man, who caus-
ed all this disturbance, Leonardo the physician
recognized in him at once the castellan of Schar-
fenstein, and being well aware* of the state of
circumstances there, he concluded that some fatal
blow had been struck against the Duke from that
quarter. At the same time, he endeavoured to
guard against any more outbreakings of such
alarming madness. He therefore made the cas-
tellan be removed to another room, in hopes that
such paroxysms would not recur, unless brought
on by some outwardly exciting cause. But though
thus separated, no sooner had the Duke and the
old man awoke from their unnatural slumber, than
their eyes began to roll, and they seemed anxious-
11

CHAPTER VI.

291

ly to look for each other, — so they continued un-
der the influence of raging delirium, till they were
again brought together, after which the same mad
grimaces and laughter were renewed as before.

Since then their condition has remained equal-
ly perplexing and disastrous — notwithstanding all
that the physicians have tried against it ; so that
with deep sorrow they were at last obliged to in-
form the Duchess that her son was incurably in-
sane. She now sees the kingdom deserted, with-
out any ruler, and yet begs that the ministers
will, for some time at least, suspend their choice
of a regent.

Meanwhile the people begin to murmur, rather
formidably, that Prince Charles is neither mad
nor guilty. Even here, one may trace that in-
ward born apprehension, that anticipation of the
truth, which, though it can be suppressed for a
time, is yet a principle inherent in the human
mind. Though they dare not speak freely, yet
no one doubts in his heart, that the Duke's ma-
lady is an awful judgment against him, for the
sufferings that he inflicted on his brother ; and it
is certain that a ministerial deputation will im-
mediately be sent to Scharfenstein. It may be

292 SCHARFENSTEIX CASTLE.

well, therefore, that you prepare the Prince for
this visit, and assure him that the people have
placed all their hopes on him.

Julius, dare any one in this world ever decide
that he stands at the goal of his allotted course r
Every where, and at all times, man but gropes in
the dark ; even when, by self-denial, and the re-
nunciation of hopes which had been fondly che-
rished, he thinks that he must infallibly secure
peace, he is disappointed ; — there are duties yet
to be fulfilled betwixt him and the grave. But
I shall not detain the courier for the sake of mo-
ralizing !

There remains but little to be added to the pre-
ceding letters, but that little dissolves every
lingering cloud, and for the rest, all is sunshine.
As Felix had anticipated, the Prince found that
the voice of Providence called him to the throne;
and though the busy world, with all its goings
on, was now more than ever disagreeable to him,
he did not hesitate to obey the summons. The
scene was, indeed, moving, when the old Duchess
welcomed at court her son, who had been so long
an exile, while the Prince's dignified figure, ant1
10

CHAPTER VI. 295

quiet demeanour, announced to every feeling heart
how he had striven against his own passions, and
conquered.

As to the Countess Julia, some time elapsed
before she could be persuaded to leave her retire-
ment. The veil that Providence had drawn be-
twixt her and the outward world, was, in her esti-
mation, a token that she ought never to change
her mode of life. But wonderful and inscrutable
are the mysteries of the connection between mind
and bodily frame, acting and re-acting on each
other ! — In her excessive grief, her eyes became
dim, till, for a time, their sense was wholly lost ;
but it was found that this evil was not irremedi-
able ; once more she had regained some percep-
tion of the daylight ; an English physician, who
then passed through the capital, was employed,
and completed her recovery. It is needless to
add, that she remained the only female friend
and confidante of the reigning Duke Charles,
who, from the mere consciousness of her being
near to him, drew inspirations of courage, energy,
and perseverance in all his undertakings. Ax
for Julius, he was, in every respect, happy and
fortunate. Distinguished for his admirable con-

294

SCHAKFENSTEIN CASTLE.

duct, both in private life, and as a soldier on
the battle-field, it came to pass, in after years,
when his beloved parents were united in death,
when also the former Duke rested under a mag-
nificent monument, and the sovereign power
merged into another principality, Julius was ap-
pointed prime minister, and continued to behave
with such spirit and propriety that he was re-
spected even as much as if he had himself been
on the throne.

THE SISTERS.

THE SISTERS

Jt happened once at Manheim, in the year 175 — ,
late in the month of October, that there had been
a frightful tempest through the night. The roads
were become almost impassable from the rain, and
three young ladies, who had been for some time
inseparable companions in the public gardens,
found themselves debarred of their usual prome-
nade. Amelia and Maria, however, would by no
means be prevented from making their appearance,
at the hour appointed, in the house of their friend
Florentine, for she had through the last fortnight
been so reserved, melancholy, and nervous, that
they had no doubt the storm must have alarmed
and disturbed her exceedingly. Indeed, there had
N 2

298

THE SISTERS.

been wind, rain, hail, and thunder, enough to ba-
nish sleep from the couch of every inhabitant in
the town.

Just as they expected, Florentine came to re-
ceive them, evidently in great agitation, and em-
braced them, even with more than usual affection.
" A fine morning for our excursion !" said Ame-
lia, trying to assume a tone of pleasantry ; " How
have you got through that awful night ?" " Not
very tranquilly, as you may suppose,'1 said Flo-
rentine ; 4 8 this house, you are aware, is none of
the best ; the situation too is exposed ; and I
thought every moment it would have been blown
down about our ears." " It is well then that you
are not to remain in it long," said Maria, smiling
rather archly. " Aye, very true (" replied Flo-
rentine, " to-morrow is the day fixed for the
Count's return from Italy. His last letter was
dated from Berne. He is in hopes that our
marriage will take place immediately, and that
we shall set out directly afterwards for his grand
castle near Hanover."

fi< He is only in hopes then ?" said Maria ;
"you pronounced these words, too, in a tone so
mysterious, that I could almost think you in-

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299

tended to disappoint him. — " Not I indeed T
answered Florentine, " but how many hopes of
this life are, unawares, blighted in the bud !"
" Dearest Florentine !" said Maria, again embrac-
ing her, " for a long time already, my sister and I
have been perplexing ourselves in vain, to find out
what could have thus destroyed the wonted high
spirits of our beloved friend ? To say the truth, we
have tormented ourselves with the thought, that
perhaps some family considerations might have con-
strained you to this marriage with the Count, and
that it is quite against your own wishes." " Family
considerations !" answered Florentine ; alas ! you
forget that I am now quite alone in the world.
Our race is almost extinct, — for I am the only
branch that is not already mouldering in the an-
cestral vaults. Besides, have I not confessed to
you, that I love the Count with my whole heart !
Or, did you think that I had lost all regard
for truth, when, about a month ago, I gave you
such a brilliant description of his character ?
" Nay, how can we know what to believe ?" said
Maria. " Is it not an obvious and unaccount-
able contradiction, that a betrothed bride, as you
are, possessed too of beauty, fortune, and talents ;

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moreover, who has not to encounter the pain of
leaving a beloved domestic circle, should, in spite
of all this, look forward with visible apprehension
and melancholy to her marriage day !"

Florentine gave a hand to each of her friends,
" You are, indeed, too good, and too anxious
about me," said she ; " I ought to be ashamed of
having so long kept up that mysterious reserve
of which you complain. At this moment, indeed,
I am not well enough to enter on any explana-
tions ; — but, some time to-day I shall speak with
you more composedly, and all will be cleared up.
For the present, I beseech you, let us choose
some other subject." The violent nervous ex-
citement which Florentine betrayed made her
friends readily comply with this suggestion, —
and, as usual on such occasions, they had again re-
course to the weather. Amelia began to describe,
as humorously as she could, all the effects and
varieties of last night's tempest, till Maria inter-
posed in rather a serious tone — " In truth, I
must confess, that for my own part, I thought
frequently there was somewhat far more than
usual or natural in the disturbances of that storm.
Many times it seemed to me as if the window of

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301

our bed-room was opened and shut again. I could
have believed that some one had come in, and
was drawing nearer and nearer to my bed, I
heard the sound of measured steps on the floor, —
tramp, — tramp, — so that I shivered with terror,
and hid myself, as fast as possible, under the bed-
cloth es." < 4 Oh ! " cried Amelia " don't speak
of this, I beseech you ! I dare not tell how often
I myself have heard such noises, though I have
never in my life, seen any thing more than ordi-
nary !" " So much the better ; — God grant that
you never may!" The solemn tone, and dis-
quietude of eye, with which these words were pro-
nounced, alarmed her friends. " Have you then
ever seen an apparition ?" said Amelia. " Not
exactly, — not in the sense in which you have put

the question," replied Florentine, " and yet,

however, you must for a while suspend your cu-
riosity. In the evening, if I live, — I mean if I
should be better then, — I shall tell you all."

Maria here twitched her sister by the sleeve,
and the latter directly understood the signal.
They both concluded that Florentine would wil-
lingly be left alone, and, anxious as they felt on
account of her evident low spirits, it was not like-

302

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ly that the prolonged intrusion of their company
would now do her any service. In taking her
shawl from the table, Maria made a discovery,
that proved more than ever her friend's state of
mind. She found a large prayer book open, in
which Florentine had been reading, — and on
glancing at the rubric — she saw, " Hymns for
the dying, and prayers for the dead.1' An ice-
cold shuddering shook her frame as she read these
words, and the friends parted with tears and sobs,
even though their separation was to be for so short
a time — almost as if they were never to meet again
in this world.

At last, however, the wished-for evening inter-
view drew on, — and the two sisters were delighted
to find that Florentine was able to receive them
with perfect cheerfulness, as if every painful im-
pression of the morning had been forgotten.
" You must excuse all my folly, at your last kind
kind visit," said she, " for in truth I had been
quite worn out by want of sleep, and the constant
alarm of that terrible night. Besides, I thought
that I was on the very brink of the grave, — I
could not banish this apprehension, — therefore,
after you had gone, I wrote out my last will and

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303

testament, which is, by this time, deposited safely
in the Council Chamber with the Magistrates.
However, since dinner time, I have had two hours
of sound sleep, and feel myself so much recovered,
that I could almost laugh at all my terrors of the
morning." " But, my dearest Florentine," said
Maria, " who in all the world would be led to
fancies like these, — who would think of approach-
ing death, or the nesessity of writing one's last
will, merely on account of a sleepless night, and
a thunder storm ?" " Nay, nay,r answered Flo-
rentine, 66 this would indeed be very absurd ; and
I by no means wish you to suppose that the tem-
pest alone caused my distress of mind. My feelings
were indeed wound up already to a point which ren-
dered any farther excitement unnecessary and su-
perfluous. But it is time for me to give over
speaking in riddles, and to fulfil my promise.
You must be prepared to hear details which are
not a little extraordinary, — perhaps almost incre-
dible. In the first place, however, let us order a
blazing fire, — for if my stories alone are enough
to freeze the blood, it is better that the cold damp
air of this room should not add its influence.11
While the servants kindled the fire, and laid

304

THE SISTERS.

some billets of wood on the hearth for keeping it
up, Maria and her sister expressed their satisfac-
tion and delight at finding such an improvement
in Florentine^ state of mind and spirits ; the lat-
ter also assured them that she was relieved be-
yond measure by the resolution she had taken to
share with them that load of mysterious appre-
hension to which she had been so long subjected.
So, when the servants had retired, and they took
their places round the fire, she began as follows :
" You were both well acquainted with my
dear sister Seraphina, but yet, — there was not
one individual, but myself, who had been in
reality admitted to her confidence. Therefore,
before I come to the story of which she is the
proper heroine, it will be requisite that I should
tell you somewhat more than you could have
guessed of her true character. Even in her
earliest infancy Seraphina appeared quite differ-
ent from all other children. She was a year
younger than me ; yet when we were placed in
the nursery with all our playthings around us, and
I was quite lost to myself and all the world in the
amusement which they afforded, she would sit,
even for hours together, with her eyes fixed on

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305

the ground, and no one could guess what really
attracted her attention. In short, she took no
sort of interest either in the amusements or the
tasks of other children, — but our father and mo-
ther did not give themselves much concern about
this matter. They concluded, indeed, that Sera-
phina's abstraction was owing merely to a blunt-
ness of perception and feelings, which would al-
ways prove a formidable obstacle against her ac-
quisition of those accomplishments suited to her
rank. It was proposed, therefore, to send her
to a convent, where the sisters devoted their lei-
sure hours to the instruction of young ladies ;
when, unexpectedly, an old clergyman, who had
long been employed to give lessons in our family,
assured Seraphina's friends that he had never, in
all his life, met with any child whose mind was
more susceptible and powerful than hers. From
henceforward, then, our house was constantly
beset with masters for languages, drawing, dan-
cing, music, and so forth ; but it was soon found,
that, among so many pursuits, there was only one
in which Seraphina would make any progress.
The grammarians, painters, and dancing-masters,
shrugged their shoulders, and declared that their

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attendance was in vain ; while, on the other hand,
the musicians were nonplussed for a very differ-
ent reason, — for Seraphina soon excelled, in this
art, all her instructors. More especially, her
voice was so exquisite, that not one of our opera-
singers could compare with her.

" My father perceived, therefore, that his plans
for this extraordinary child's education were at
one time too confined, at another too excursive—
in short, that, for the future, he must allow her
to follow the bent of her own disposition. Con-
sequently, Seraphina took an opportunity of re-
questing, that she might be allowed to take in-
structions in a science, which, probably, no one
would ever have thought of recommending to her,
namely, that of astronomy. It is impossible to
conceive with what impassioned eagerness she
seized upon, and studied every work that treated
of the stars, or with what rapture she received
the telescopes of which my father made her a pre-
sent at Christmas, when she was in her thirteenth
year. But, in a short time, astronomy was not
sufficient to satisfy her imagination. She re-
vived the old and forgotten study of astrology ;
and, many times, to the great vexation of her

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307

friends, she was found absorbed over horoscopes
which she had herself drawn, after attentively
surveying the stars. My mother died not long
after Seraphina had begun these extraordinary
employments, and, on her death-bed, she wished,
with her last blessing, to warn her daughter
against them ; but weakness had increased rapid-
ly, and she was unable to speak as she intended.
It was hoped, that, in time, such absurd studies
would lose their influence on Seraphina's mind ;
but, on the contrary, as she advanced to woman-
hood, she seemed to persevere in them even more
than ever.

" You are aware, my dear friends, how much
she was admired at court — how graceful was her
figure — how glossy and luxuriant her hair — above
all, how unequalled in beauty were her large blue
eyes, which oftentimes shone, indeed, with a kind
of supernatural lustre, that the beholders felt
in their very hearts, but which no poet could ever
adequately describe. Many offers of marriage
were made to her in vain ; — and, for the most
part, you know, her time was spent either in se-
clusion, or with me alone for her companion. She
had a great dislike for fine dresses, and outward

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show of any kind, avoiding, as much as possible, all
occasions where such parade would have been re-
quired of her. It was but among those who were
quite ignorant of her real character, that such
conduct could have been ascribed to affectation.

" Seraphina was in her fifteenth year, when, by
mere accident, I made the discovery of a pheno-
menon in her existence, which filled me with such
terror, that through my whole life I have never
thoroughly recovered from the impression of that
adventure. I had been out making some visits, and
on my return, found Seraphina standing at the win-
dow of my father's study, seemingly absorbed in
deep reverie, and with her eyes fixed like those of a
marble statue. I had been so accustomed to those
moods of silent abstraction, that though I wished
her to speak, I did not like to disturb her, — but
looked from the window into the garden, where,
to my utter astonishment, I saw my father walk-
ing, and with him — the identical Seraphina, who
now stood motionless beside me. 6 Heaven have
mercy I1 cried I aloud, and ready to faint, — but
at that moment the form, that had till now stood
like a lifeless statue, began to move. I looked
again to the garden, and saw that my father was

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309

alone, and was gazing around him, as if perplexed
by the absence of his companion.

" I dared not alarm Seraphina by asking her
many questions, but she, on the other hand, was
exceedingly anxious to know the cause of my agi-
tation. I evaded the subject as well as I could, but
asked if she had been long in the study ? f Nay,
Florentine,1 said she with a smile, 6 what means
this ? You should know best how to answer that
inquiry. I came hither after you, and had been
walking in the garden. At least I think so —
but am not very sure.1

" This half-consciousness of what had just taken
place would not alone have surprised me, as she
had often be so absent as to forget all that passed
around her. But just then my father came into
the room. 6 Seraphina,1 sard he rather sternly,
' tell me how you got out of my sight all of a
sudden ? You know I was just about to answer what
you had said, — -when I found that you had dis-
appeared in the shrubbery. I sought you there
in vain — and now you are in the house before
me!1 4 It is very strange!1 answered she, 6 and,
for my own part, I know not how all this has hap-
pened V From that hour, I was forced to believe

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the assertions of people, who had insisted, that at
the very time when we knew that Seraphina was
sitting at home, and in our own presence, she had
been seen elsewhere. Besides, I recollected, that,
during her childhood, she often used to speak ot
being carried away from this earth ; whether in
dreams or supernaturally was unexplained, and
that she had been with angels in Heaven ; to
which circumstance were attributed her disregard
and indifference, when her young companions
wished her to join in their usual plays.

u My father, however, would never believe any
of these rumours, — nor would he now listen to
what I told him privately of Seraphina being vi-
sible at one and the same moment in the library
and the garden. ( Say no more, I command
you,1 he exclaimed, ' I have heard quite
enough of those wonders and miracles with which
your own imagination so amply supplies you
It is true, indeed, that Seraphina's character is
extraordinary. She is by no means like other
young people of the same age and rank ; but, as
to her appearing in different places at one mo-
ment, or her intercourse with supernatural be-
ings, and the world of spirits, I shall certainly

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311

never be persuaded into the belief of such ab-
surdity.' Alas ! my father did not reflect, that
when we poor mortals speak of our own future
conduct and feelings the word never is one which
may not be used rashly !

"About a year and a half afterwards, there took
place another adventure, which was well calculated
to overturn all his usual opinions. One Sunday,
Seraphina and I were both reminded of a visit,
for'which we had been engaged long before ; but,
though she always regretted our separation, even
for a short interval, yet she would give up my
society, when, as on the present occasion, it must
be retained at the expence of going to a crowded
party. Even the preliminary task of dressing for
such an assembly, was to her an insupportable
torment, for she recollected all the while, that
this trouble was for no other purpose but to
bring her amidst a circle of people, whose shallow
intellects, and affected politeness, were in the ut-
most degree repulsive and disgusting. Besides,
she never failed, at these large parties, to meet
with individuals, whose physiognomies were such,
that she could not speak to them without shud-

312

THE SISTERS.

dering, and even whose presence, for a short time,
made her really ill for several days afterwards.

" On this occasion, when the hour approached
she wished that I should go without her, when
my father, suspecting what would happen, came
into our room, and insisted that she should alter
her intentions. 4 One cannot renounce the world al-
together/ said he, ( and there are some invitations,
which it is our indispensable duty to accept.1
In fine, he gave an absolute command that Seraphi-
na should dress as quickly as possible, and go with
me. I had just before sent away my waiting-
maid, so that my sister herself took the light;
and went up stairs for her ball dress, which hung
in a narrow closet, or rather press, adjoining a
large room on the floor above.

u She staid a longer time than could have been
required for an errand of this kind, and when
she at last returned, her whole appearance was
so much changed, that I could not help ut-
tering a scream of terror. My father, too, ex-
claimed in a tone of anxiety and compassion —
6 Child — child ! What, in all the world, has
happened to you P1 She had not been absent
above a quarter of an hour, yet the expression of

THE SISTERS.

813

her features was completely altered ; there never
was much colour in her cheeks, but now they
were of an ashy paleness, and even her lips were
of a deathlike hue. Almost unconscious of what
I did, I ran to embrace her ; I could not speak ;
only my looks implored that she would explain
what misfortune had happened to her. For a
long time, however, she lay in my arms, silent and
motionless, and it was but the kind and affection-
ate expression of her bright blue eyes, by which
we could know that her attention was not wholly
withdrawn from this world.

44 4 It was a sudden illness that seized me,1 she
said at length — 4 one of my old nervous attacks ;
but I am much better already, and shall be quite
well soon.' Then she inquired if my father still
wished that she should go to the party, but, un-
der present circumstances, he, of course, allowed
that this would be hazardous, insisting, however,
that I should go, though I urged, as much as I
dared, that my attendance would be indispensable
for Seraphina ; yet, in the end, I was obliged to
set out, though, to part from her at such a time
grieved me to the heart. I hatl ordered the car-
riage, at an early hour, to bring me away, yet

vol. i. o

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THE SISTERS.

my disquietude was so ^reat, that I could not
wait for it, and at last determined on walking
home, attended by a friend's servant, who could
scarcely keep pace with me, for, indeed, I ran all
the way.

" Arrived at home, however, my impatience to
be with her again was not immediately gratified,
for I found her apartment deserted. ' Where
is she ?' I demanded with vehemence. ' Ma-
demoiselle Seraphina,' said the lacquey, 4 is in
his Excellency's cabinet.' — ' Alone, then ?' —
6 No — she is with his Excellency.' — I hastened
to the study, and found the door locked against
me ; however, when they heard my voice, it was
opened immediately, and they both came to meet
me. Seraphina was in tears, and my father was
agitated to a degree which I should have thought
impossible in a state minister of his talents and
experience. She at once understood my anxious
looks, and took my arm, that we might retire to-
gether, but, before going, she was obliged to tran-
quillize my father, by an assurance that she would
remember her promise, of which I knew not
then the cause or purport. For some time after
we had come into our own room, Seraphina seem-

THE SISTERS. 315

cd so much overpowered by conflicting emotions,
that I was almost afraid to speak to her, but, at
last, when I ventured to express my anxious wish
to know what had happened above stairs, she said,
6 your curiosity must so far be gratified — at least I
can explain to you part of this mystery — but not
without making one explicit condition, to which, in
the first place, you must agree solemnly. In short,
you must swear to be satisfied with that which I
disclose to you — not to misuse your influence
over my heart, in order to bring out farther dis-
coveries— nor even to express a desire of knowing
that which I am bound to conceal from you !'—
6 Well, then, — I do swear !' — 4 And now, dear-
est Florentine,' she continued, 4 forgive me, that,
for the first time in my life, I should thus have
thoughts in which you cannot share, and, for the
first time, too, have looked on your mere promise
as insufficient — but my father has compelled me
to this course, and it was to this he alluded in
that anxious tone, when we parted to-night.' —
I only begged that she would come to an explana-
tion within the prescribed limits, and at last she
began : —

316

THE SISTERS.

u 6 I cannot describe to you what an irresistible
pressure of low spirits — almost of despair, had
come over me, when I went for my ball-dress.
When I had shut the door of this room, and was
on my way up stairs, I could not help feeling as
if I were to part from you, and from this life —
yet that I had a long and dreary pilgrimage to
go through, — many dark nights of suffering and
sorrow, — before I could reach any home of rest.
Certainly, the. very air which I then inhaled was
not the same element by which we are usually
surrounded ; indeed, I could scarcely breathe,
and the pain of that conflict was such, that I felt
cold drops, as if in the struggle with death, break
out on my forehead. It is most certain, too, that
I was not then alone on the staircase, though, for
a long while, T did not venture to look round.

" You already know, Florentine, how fervent-
ly I prayed after our mother's death, — but in
vain, — that she would once more appear, and
speak with me. Now I thought her ghost was
moving behind me, and had come to punish and
reprove me for my presumption in those prayers ;
yet it was a strange and foolish fancy, that she
who was ever so good and kind, could thus have

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317

been offended by an affectionate daughter's wish
to see her again, especially, too, when many
years were elapsed since that wish had been
framed ; and I felt so conscious of my own incon-
sistency, that at last I took courage, and looked
for the ghost, — but whether my senses were too
confused to discern objects, or that no one was
there, I cannot tell. I did not perceive any
thing unusual, yet as I advanced on the stair-
case, I heard of new, and always more distinctly,
the sound of steps following close behind me. I
came to the room-door on the corridor, however,
but there my gown was held fast ; I could proceed
no farther, and sank down on the threshold in an
agony of fear.

" 4 In a few moments afterwards, I luckily dis-
covered by the light of my candle, which had not
been extinguished, that in this last accident
there was nothing supernatural ; — my dress had
caught hold of an old chest of drawers, with rough
brass handles, which had been placed in the cor-
ridor, to be removed on the following day. This
gave me new courage ; I felt indignant at my
own folly, rose and went on to the clothes' press ;
but think only, Florentine, what must have

318

THE SISTERS.

been my horror, when, just as I was about to lay
my hand on the lock, the folding-doors opened of
themselves without noise, my candle was extin-
guished, and precisely as if I had walked up to
a mirror, I saw myself advancing from the closet.
The figure was like a picture painted on a dark
ground, visible by its own light, and giving out
a kind of effulgence, by which other objects in
the room were also to be distinguished. 4 Tremble
not, — fear not I1 said a voice, 4 I am thine own
sfirit, thy second self, and am come to an-
nounce thy death, which is near at hand, and the
fate which hangs over thy whole race V There-
after, the spectre explained to me many events
that are yet to come. I listened with a degree of
calmness and reflection which is to myself wonder-
ful, and, just as I had proposed a question on your
account, feeling most anxious to receive an an-
swer, the room became utterly dark, and all traces
of the supernatural visitation were gone. 4 This,
my dearest Florentine,' concluded Seraphina, 4 is
all that I am permitted to tell you.1

44 4 Good Heaven ! ' cried I, 4 your death, then,
is near at hand P1 For that thought at the mo-
ment completely overpowered every other in my

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319

mind. Seraphina only nodded her assent, but,
at the same time, made a sign, that, even on this
point, I must not venture any farther questions.
My father, she added, had given her his promise,
that, when the proper time came, he would himself
afford me the needful explanations. — 6 When the
proper time comes!1 I repeated in a half re-
proachful tone, — for after I had been told so
much, and must undergo, in consequence, such
grief and agitation, it seemed to me already
full time that I should hear all the rest. I
begged an interview with my father that same
evening, and acquainted him with what had past,
but to my request for more information, he re-
mained inexorable. He said also that Seraphina's
adventure might, after all, have -been but the
natural effect of a highly excited and disordered
imagination. But, as on the third day afterwards,
my sister was indeed taken ill, and was confined
to bed, his disbelief seemed nearly quite overcome,
and though I had not yet learned that her dying
day had been prophesied, I perceived too well from
her deadly paleness, and the looks with which she
regarded us, that her last moments were fast ap-
proaching. In the evening we were sitting be-

320

THE SISTERS.

side her, and she had been for some time engaged
in prayer, when suddenly she inquired, ' Has
the clock not yet struck nine ?' c Not yet — but it
is near the hour, answered my father.1 6 Well
then, — you will not forget me,' said Seraphina,
grasping my hand, * Ere long we shall meet
again P Just as the clock began to strike nine,
she sank back on her pillow and expired !

" All this I have repeated from the account
given me by my father, for I was so completely over-
come by the agony of my own feelings, that dur-
ing that dreadful day of Seraphina's illness, I
knew not what passed around me. It was not till
after her death, that I awoke again to self-con-
sciousness— to resume my part in a world which
now appeared to me like a desert. Besides, I
could not help reproaching myself, that the state
into which I was brought by my anxiety and hor-
ror, must have made me appear to Seraphina, as
if I were wanting in due attention to her in her
last momen.ts. Even to this hour I never can
think of that scene, without shuddering. After
the day of her funeral, my father sat with me
here in this room at the same hour of the even-
ing. " You must be aware, Florentine,' said he.

THE SISTERS.

321

< that the time is not yet arrived to explain to
you the farther prophecies of the apparition, as
it has been called.'' I did not urge for any ex-
planations— but could not help adding, 6 And
yet, after a share of those prophecies, whatever
they were, has been so frightfully fulfilled, can
you speak of the apparition as if it were a delu-
sion ?' c Alas ! my dear child,1 answered my
father, 6 you know not what a mysterious and
dangerous companion every mortal has in his own
imagination, and Seraphina will not be the last
victim of this enemy F We were sitting, as I
have said, in this room, just as we are now placed
near the fire, which was nearly burned out, and
I was about to answer what he had said, when I
perceived that his looks were directed towards the
door, with an expression of anxious and fearful at-
tention. I could not discern any reason for this ;
— however, in the next minute, the door opened
suddenly — though we heard no steps, nor did any

one appear ? w

Here Florentine paused, as if overcome by her
recollections, and Amelia, with a loud scream,
started up from her chair. Her friends inquired
what had disturbed her, — but she seemed afraid
o 2

322

THE SISTERS.

to answer, and would by no means return to her
chair — of which the back was turned to the door.
At length, looking round the room with a pale ti-
mid expression, she confessed that, just as Floren-
tine had pronounced the last words " nor did any
one appear," — she had felt on her neck the pres-
sure of an ice-cold hand. " There indeed we
had no proof of delusive imagination ex-
claimed Maria, " as the iqe-cold hand, it was
no other than mine, for I had been leaning on
your chair, and when, as I thought, Florentine
was about to tell us of another ghost, I felt an
impulse to cling, as if for protection, to some be-
ing that I knew was living and corporeal. But
what happened then ?" " It was strange enough
continued Florentine, " I started when the door
opened, drew nearer to my father, and asked him
whether he did not perceive a kind of effulgence
coming from the door ? It was not the gleam of
the moon — nor of a candle, nor lamp— but I
thought of what Seraphina had described of the
figure seen by its own light, and believed that the
spectre was again there. My father answered
me with a calmness which I thought was affected
— for his voice faltered, * Well, Florentine, if

THE SISTERS.

3S53

I did see the light of which you speak, might
not this too be the delusion of our own disordered
senses ? We have both suffered deeply in the
loss of that beloved and gentle being, — nor can
it be wondered at, if our imaginations were even
in the same state of excitement with her own.
Besides, that a door should open, though no one
enters, can be explained very naturally, and has
happened a thousand times ere now."' 6 On such
occasions, one generally closes it again," said I,
without, however, feeling courage to carry my sug-
gestion into effect. ' That is very easily done,"
said my father, — he rose and walked a few paces
— trembled visibly, and turned back. 4 After all,
we had best leave it open,' added he, ' for the
room has for some time been much too w^arm.1 Of
the light, as I have said, I can give no exact de-
scription, nor can compare it with aught that
I have seen before, nor since — but had my sister's
ghost entered, I should have flown with open arms
to meet her. It was the mysterious and awful
uncertainty of that effulgence, that made me
look on it with horror. Soon afterwards, several
of our servants came with candles to arrange the

324

THE SISTERS,

supper-table, and nothing more occurred that was
extraordinary.

" The lapse of time could not efface or diminish
our remembrance of Seraphina, but had its usual
influence in lessening the impression of that even-
ing's adventure. Not long afterwards, I had
the pleasure of becoming acquainted with my dear
friends Amelia and Maria, in whose society I have
agreeably spent many an hour that would other-
wise have been lost in painful reflections ; and as
to the remaining prophecies, whose fulfilment yet
hung over us, I endeavoured to banish them as
much as possible from my mind. You remember
how beautiful and delightful that month of April
was, after we first met together. It happened
once, that, after walking beyond the usual hour,
you had returned home, but still the evening was
so pleasant, that I lingered alone in the gardens
adjoining to our house. The pure blue sky
above — the glowing tints of the west — and frag-
rant air, were so enchanting, that I quite for-
got how the time past, till a bat came oftentimes
whirling and chirping round my head, and serv-
ed as a monitor that I ought to have been with-

THE SISTER*.

325

in doors. At that moment, too, the thought
came painfully into my mind, — ever since my
sister's death, if I chanced to stay abroad till a
late hour, my father used to send one of the ser-
vants with a warm cloak or shawl, but now it
seemed as if I were quite forgotten. At that
idea, I felt a dullness in every limb, which the
evening, though now become cool, could not have
produced. By chance t was gazing at a walk
shaded by fruit trees, now in full blossom, which
had been a favourite haunt of Seraphina's, and
methought I beheld there gleams of the same
light which had alarmed us on the night after her
funeral. I ran thither, in hopes that she herself
might appear to me, but was disappointed, — the
light vanished, and I returned quickly homewards.

" On entering the house, I found here also
much that was unusual and perplexing. I had
supposed that supper would have been kept wait-
ing on my account, but it seemed not even to
have been thought of — on the contrary, the ser-
vants were all running to and fro, in the utmost
confusion, packing up clothes, furniture, books,
and papers. 6 What means all this — who is go-

326

THE S1STE11S.

ing to travel P said I.— 4 Good Heaven ! do
you not know ?' said my father's chasseur, 4 his
Excellency — you, Mademoiselle, and all of us.1
— 4 At what time, then, and whither ?' — 4 This
very evening, — to the country ., — 4 And for what
reason ¥ The man shrugged his shoulders with-
out speaking, and I went on to my father's study.
4 Seraphina's second prophecy,' said he, 4 has
now been fulfilled ; and this was of all the most
improbable. I have been disgraced and deposed.'
— 4 And this, too, she had anticipated ?' — 4 Pre-
cisely so ; but I concealed it from you of course.
As for the rest, I submit willingly to this change
of fortune, and leave my place as minister to one
who may use more art, and remain longer in fa-
vour. I shall go to my house in the country, —
and live only for your sake, and that of my own
faithful tenants and adherents.' Distressed to the
heart, as I should have otherwise been by this
misfortune, my father's equanimity and decision of
character tranquillized my feelings, — We set out
at midnight, for he would not remain here an hour
longer than was absolutely requisite. During the
journey, he continued perfectly cheerful, and, on

THE SISTERS.

327

arriving at the castle, found so much there to ar-
range, which had long been, of necessity, delay-
ed and neglected, that his active mind was at no
loss for a proper sphere of exertion. Notwith-
standing this, however, he was attacked, after
some time, by an illness, which, from the com-
mencement, the physicians declared to be danger-
ous. He followed the regimen which they pre*
scribed, and avoided encountering too much fa-
tigue either of mind or body, — yet without en-
tertaining, himself, any hopes of recovery. 6 Se-
raphina,' he now said, 6 was correct in two of
her prophecies — for the third time, also, there is
no doubt, that she will prove in the right P I
was dreadfully agitated when I discovered, that,
according to his own belief, death would soon
overtake him. A change, every day for the
worse, became obvious — he was confined to bed,
and one evening desired to speak with me alone.
' Experience,*' said he, in a feeble struggling
voice, 'has at length put an end to my disbe-
lief. The ninth hour of this night is, according
to Seraphina's divination, to be the hour of my
death ; and, therefore, my dear child, I have a few

THE SISTERS.

words of admonishment to address to you. Re-
main, if it be possible, even as you now are, un-
married, and with your affections disengaged. It
seems that Fate has determined on the final ex-
tinction of our family. More it is needless to say
at present. But if you should ever meet with a
lover worthy of your regard, remember, before your
marriage-clay, to examine and read the sealed pa-
per which I now give to you. It is my decided
command, however, that you shall not look into
it unless these circumstances occur, because you
would otherwise occasion to yourself needless dis-
quietude.'' At these words, to which I listened
with sobs and tears, he drew from under his pil-
low, and gave to me a small sealed packet, which
I took, and have preserved according to his in-
junctions, but I thought little then of what might
be its contents. Every other feeling was over-
powered in my affliction. He died peacefully,
while I was supporting him, precisely as the clock
struck nine. On the evening after his funeral,
the same unearthly radiance was seen in my cham-
ber.

" You know that, being unable to support a

THE SISTERS.

329

life of solitude in the country, I came in a short
time back to the capital, that I might enjoy the
society of my two beloved friends. You are
aware how long I remained inconsolable, but your
ceaseless endeavours had succeeded in restoring
me to cheerfulness, and I joined, like others of
my own age, in the diversions of the beau monde.
My father had, indeed, advised me to avoid mar-
riage, but had made this no positive condition.
Count Bruno paid his addresses, and appeared
to m£, in every respect, so amiable, that I could
not help returning his affection. I believe, how-
ever, that my father had overlooked one effect,
which, of necessity, followed his entrusting me
with that mysterious packet ; for if I never re-
solved on marriage, it was impossible that I could
ever break the seal, or know what Seraphina had
divined regarding me. As I had accepted the
Count's proposal, and our nuptials were even fix-
ed, there could be no reason for longer delay. I
examined the paper, therefore, and shall now
read to you its contents, which are as follows.

6 Seraphina, no doubt, informed you, that when
she wished to question the apparition about your

330

THE

SISTERS.

future destiny, the light and the figure had sud-
denly vanished. That supernatural being, who;
as I have reason to think, was the ghost oi<
\x unfortunate ANCESTRESS, had already
announced that you must die at the ninth howj
three days before that appointed for your wedding.
Seraphina intended to put the. question, whether,
by avoiding every such engagement, your life could
be saved ? Alas, no answer to this question can
now be obtained, yet it is my conviction, that, on
the path to the altar, you can only arrive at your
own destruction. However, I left you no posi-
tive injunctions against marriage, because I knew
not, if, by this means, your death could have
been averted. Think what you ought to do, if
it be not already too late. Should it be possible
for my spirit to return to the world, I shall hover
near you, when these lines are first read." "

Florentine folded up the letter in silence, and a
long, pause of painful reflection occurred, before
another word was uttered by any one. At length
she resumed, " From the day on which I perused
this letter, must be dated that change in my dispo-
sition, for which you, my dear friends, have some-

THE SlSTEKs.

times reproached me. The time of our intended
nuptials was fixed by the Count's letters from
Berne, before I consulted the warning— —but say,
would not any one in my situation be rendered
miserable, — even sunk in despondency by the
thought, that death inevitably awaits her with the
approach of that event to which she had looked
forward as the source of her greatest happiness ?
Now, then, I have told you all ; — for, to-morrow,
the Count will certainly arrive. In two days
afterwards we are to meet publicly at the altar of
St Mary's church. "

" So, then — this very day," — cried Amelia, turn-
ing deadly pale, and looking at a small clock on
the secretaire, which was even now on the stroke
of nine. " Yes, indeed," said Florentine, " yet
I feel myself so much recovered — so much more
cheerful than I have been for a long time, that
methinks death cannot so soon overtake me. I
have rather been impressed, through this evening,
with a belief that my so fondly cherished wish
may be fulfilled — that my beloved sister will ap-
pear to me, and announce that the fearful pro-
phecy has for once been revoked. Dearest Se-

332

THE SISTERS.

raphina — thou wert so suddenly, so untimely
taken from me, before I could prove how much
I loved thee ! — Oh might it be granted me but to
see thee once more !"

Motionless with anxiety and terror, Amelia
and Maria gazed on the clock, which now began
to strike. The last glimmering flame of the wood-
fire died away — and the room was for a moment
dark. " Welcome — Oh welcome !" cried Flo-
rentine in a tone of rapture, and rose with her
arms extended, advancing to the door which
then opened. Amidst a radiance like that of the
full moon in the midnight sky, — the apparition
of Seraphina appeared. Florentine flew into her
embrace. " Thine for ever !" These words were
heard, but no one knew who had pronounced
them, or if both sisters had spoken at -one mo-
ment.

Immediately the servants rushed into the apart-
ment, for they had been alarmed by a sound as if
all the glass and porcelain in the house had been
broken with one great crash. They found their
beloved mistress lifeless on the threshold, and all
attempts to restore her proved in vain. The

THE SISTERS.

333

physicians ascribed her death to natural causes —
but Amelia and Maria thought far differently, and
never, through their lives, forgot the horror of
that night.

f.N'D OF VOLUME FIRST.

EDINBURGH :
PRINTED BY JOHN STARK.

GERMAN STORIES:

SELECTED FROM THE WORKS OF
H0FF3IANN, DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE', PICHLER,
KRUSE, AND OTHERS.

Br R. P. GILLIES, Esq.

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH.
AND T. CADELL, STRAND, LONDON.
MDCCCXXVI.

CONTENTS

OF

VOLUME SECOND.

Page

•LANDSITTEN, OR THE DEED OF ENTAIL, . . 1

IORGE SELDING, 177

'.:E SIEGE OF ANTWERP, 279

ROLANDS1TTEN ;

OR

THE DEED OF ENTAIL.

VOL. II.

A

THE DEED OF ENTAIL.

CHAPTER I.

On the bleak shore of the Baltic sea, between
the towns of Bernburg and Rovienne, is situated
the old family mansion of the Barons von Ro-
landsitten. The immediate environs are wild and
desolate. Scarely here and there a single blade
of grass rises out of the bottomless drift-sand, and
instead of a garden, — the usual adjunct of a ba-
ronial castle, Rolandsitten has, on the landward
side, only a frightful wood of Scotch firs, that,
with their never changing gloom, seem to mock
the beautiful garniture of the spring, and from
whose dark umbrage, instead of the delightful
songs of the blackbird and nightingale, nothing
is heard but the croaking of ravens, and the
storm-boding screams of the sea-fowl.

4 ROLANDSITTEN.

Only about half a mile distant, however, all
nature suddenly changes. As if by the wand of
an enchanter, one finds himself here transported
into a blooming district of luxuriant corn fields
and meadows. Here, too, is visible the large
flourishing village of Rolandsitten, with the com-
modious house of the Baron's land steward, and
beside a pleasant thicket of older trees, are obser-
vable the foundations of a large castle, which one
of the former proprietors had intended to build.
His immediate successors, however, living on
their other property in the dukedom of Courland,
left his plans thus unfinished ; and as for the Ba-
ron Roderick von Rolandsitten, who again took
up his residence on the family estate, he never
thought of building farther, since, to his dark and
misanthropical disposition, the aspect of the lone-
ly old castle was exactly suitable. Accordingly,
he made its half ruinous apartments be repaired
as well as he could, and shut himself up in it,
with a frightful old scarecrow of a house-steward,
and a very slender establishment.

This Baron Roderick seldom appeared in the vil-
lage. However, he both walked and rode frequent-
ly on the bleak shore, and people insisted that,

CHAPTER I.

5

from a distance, they heard him talking aloud,
and saw him listening to the roaring breakers, as
if he could hear answering and intelligible voices
from the sea. On the highest pinnacle of the
watch-tower, he had fitted up a kind of study,
and supplied it with telescopes, quadrants, and
all sorts of philosophical apparatus. From thence,
in the day time, he contemplated the ships, as,
like white-winged sea birds, they floated across
the distant horizon ; and every star-light night
he used to spend there, occupied with astronomi-
cal, or, as some would have it, with astrological
labours, in which the old steward assisted him.

The report, indeed, was very general during
his lifetime, and still more after his death, that
he was devoted to the occult sciences, or Black
Art, and that, by the failure of some of his magical
operations, by which he had greatly injured, or
offended, a noble family in Courland, he had been
obliged to fly from the capital of that dukedom.
The slightest allusion to his residence there, fil-
led him with horror. But, whatever misfortunes
had befallen him, he ascribed them wholly to the
conduct of his predecessors, who, as he said, had
wickedly deserted the ancestral castle. In order

6

ROLAND SIT TEN.

that, for the future at least, the representatives of
the family might be induced to reside at Ro-
landsitten, he made the property, in the strict-
est manner, by a formal deed of entail, into a ma-
jorat. The Prince of the district was the more
willing to ratify this arrangement, as he wished
to retain, under his own government, a family that
had, in former times, produced several brave sol-
diers, but which had already spread its branches
into foreign territories.

Neither Baron Roderick's son Hubert, how-
ever, nor Baron Roderick the second, in whose
times I first knew the family, chose to live in their
ancestral mansion ; for it was to be expected, that,
being of more cheerful dispositions than the
gloomy astrologer, they were repelled by the
frightful loneliness of his residence. Baron Ro-
derick the second, of whom I am about to write
from personal recollections, had granted two old
unmarried aunts (sisters of his father) house-room,
and a competent pension on the property. They,
accordingly, took up their abode in small apart-
ments in one of the wings, and besides them and
the cook, who had a large room adjoining the kit-
chen, in the ground-floor, there was an old worn-

CHAPTER I.

7

out chasseur, who tottered about the long galle-
ries of the keep, and fulfilled also the duties of
castellan. The rest of the establishment lived in
the village with the land-steward.

It was only in the end of autumn, when the
first snow began to fall, and the wolf and boar
hunting commenced, that the desolate neglected
castle assumed a new aspect. Then the Baron
Roderick came with his young and beautiful con-
sort, all his friends and relatives, and a nume-
rous train of hunters and servants from Courland.
The neighbouring nobility and amateurs of the
chace, also flocked to Rolandsitten ; so that every
room in the large rambling building was inhabit-
ed. Fires roared in every stove and chimney ; —
the cook was at work from morning to night ; —
the vaulted roofs resounded to music and dan-
cing, jovial songs, and ringing of glasses. All
was mirth and rejoicing; so that, for five or six
weeks, the castle was more like a well-frequent-
ed inn in a crowded town, than the abode of a
private family.

Baron Roderick, meanwhile, devoted this pe-
riod as well as he could to serious business, and,
retired from the tumult of his guests, looked over

ROLAND SITTEX.

his steward's accounts. Not only did he carefully
draw his rents, but attended to every proposal for
improvements, or to the least complaint of his
tenants, endeavouring to right all their grievan-
ces to the utmost of his power. In these affairs,
the old Hofrath Winkler, my granduncle, who
had for many years been law agerit of the family,
used to assist him, and, for this purpose, the
Hofrath used to set out from his own residence
in the town of Bernburg, about eight days before
the time appointed for the Baron's arrival at the
castle.

In the year 1798, the season had come round,
when the advocate Winkler was to take his usual
journey to Rolandsitten. Though the good old
man, now in his seventieth year, still found him-
self healthy and active, yet he no doubt felt that
a helping hand would be useful to him in busi-
ness. As if half in jest, he one day said to me,
" nephew, methinks it would not be amiss if you
were to snuff the cold sea air for a while, and go
with me to Rolandsitten. Besides, that you can
assist me in the business, which is often intricate
enough, you can make a trial how you like the wild
life of a hunter, and how, after having drawn out

CHAPTER I.

9

a handsome law paper one morning, you can, on
the next, look a grim shaggy wolf in the face, or
a wild boar with his long tusks, and shoot him
dead with your firelock.1' Of course, I could
not have heard so many grand accounts of the
October meetings at Rolandsitten, or entertain
such respect as I did towards my excellent old
uncle, without being most anxious to go with
him ; and as I had been already pretty well ini-
tiated in the kind of business which he had to
transact, I promised that J would work most in-
dustriously, so as to take all the labour off his
shoulders.

On the following morning, therefore, we found
ourselves seated in his carriage, rolled up in
warm fur cloaks, and in the midst of a thick snow-
drift, announcing the arrival of an early winter,
we pursued our way to Rolandsitten. On the
road, the old gentleman told me many strange
stories of the former Baron Roderick, who had
established the majorat, and by whom my uncle,
then a very young man, had been appointed agent
and executor. He dwelt especially on the rough
wild temper which the old Baron had exhibited,
and which seemed more or less to be inherited
a 2

10

ItOLANDSITTEN.

by all the family, as even the present proprietor,
whom he had first known as a mild-tempered,
somewhat feeble youth, began more and more to
betray the same kind of disposition. On this
account he advised me, if I wished to obtain the
Baron's favour, to behave with as much boldness
and unembarrassment as I could assume. Fi-
nally, he spoke of the rooms that we were to
have at the castle, which he had chosen once for
all, because they were very warm, and so con-
veniently retired, that we could withdraw when
we pleased from the noisy society by which it was
constantly beset. In two apartments, namely,
hung with old tapestry, and adjoining to the au-
dience chamber, in the wing opposite to that in
which the old ladies resided, his lodgings were al-
ways kept well aired, and ready against his ar-
rival.

At last, after a rapid, but laborious journey, we
came late at night to Rolandsitten, and drove
through the village. It was Sunday evening,
and in the wine-houses were still to be heard the
sounds of music and dancing. The steward's
house, from the ground to the garret, was lighted
up, and in it, too, we heard music and song. On

CHAPTER 1.

11

that account, the desolation was yet more frightful
which awaited us, when we drew near to the man-
sion-house. The sea-wind howled in lamentable
cutting cadences around us, and as if they had
been awoke from preternatural sleep, the dark
old fir trees groaned and heaved responsive to
the blast. At last we could distinguish the black
ghastly walls of the castle, rising nakedly from
the snow-covered ground ; and our postillion
drew up at the gate, which was yet closed against
us. But there, for some time, all our calling,
knocking, blowing of horns, and cracking of whips
were in vain. It seemed as if all in the house
were dead, and from no window was there a light
visible.

The old gentleman became angry. " Francis !
Francis f cried he in a tremendous voice, " where
the devil art thou ? Rouse, rouse thyself, or we
shall be frozen to death at the gate. The snow
drives in one's face like pins and needles. Rouse,
I say, once more, or may the devil fetch thee P1
Then a mastiff dog began to whine and growl.
A wandering light was visible from the ground
floor ; keys rattled, and in a short time the great
gate began to groan and roll open its ponderous

12

ROLANDSITTEN.

wings. " Ha, is this indeed your honour ? Wel-
come Herr Justitiarius, though unexpected, and
in this desperate weather !" So said the old
Francis, holding up the lantern, whose light fell
strangely on his withered face, that was fearfully
contorted into a grimace, intended for a good-
humoured smile. The carriage moved into the
court, where we alighted, and now, for the first
time, I had a full view of the man's odd figure.
His chasseur livery was completely old-fashioned,
with wide breeches, and the sleeves ornamented
with knots and embroidery, in a manner such as
till now I had never beheld. Over his broad
pale forehead hung only a few scattered locks ;
the under part of his face wore the ruddy colour-
ing of health ; and though altogether his features
had the effect of a caricature mask, yet a kind of
good-natured expression which shone in his eyes
compensated for all the rest.

" Now, old Francis," began my uncle, beating
the snow from his fur mantle in the lobby, " is
every thing prepared ? Are the tapestry and car-
pets in my room well dusted ? Are the beds car-
ried in ? and have you kept on large fires both to
day and yesterday ?" " No," answered Francis,

CHAPTER I. 13

very composedly, " most worthy Sir, nothing of
all this has been done." " Good God V said my
uncle, " I wrote to you in proper time. I come
always at the precise day and date. It is abo-
minably stupid ! We shall now have to sleep in
rooms ice-cold and damp." — " Nay, most wor-
shipful Herr Justitiarius? said Francis, clipping
a thief from the candle, and then stamping it out
carefully with his foot, " you will please to observe,
that all this, and especially the fires, would not
have helped much, for the wind and snow came
in too strongly through the broken windows ; and

then " " What ?" said my uncle, spreading

out his fur cloak, and sticking his hands in his
sides, 44 the windows, forsooth, are broken, and
thou who art the castellan hast done nothing to
repair them ?" " Nay, but most excellent Sir,"
resumed the old man, with great composure and
coolness, " one cannot well get at the windows, on
account of the stones and rubbish that are lying
in the rooms'' — " What in the name of ten
thousand devils has brought stones and rubbish
into my room ?" said my uncle. 44 Wishing you
all health and happiness, young gentleman P- said
Francis, bowing politely as I happened to sneeze;

R0LANDS1TTEN.

then adding, " I mean the stones and plaster of the
partition wall, that fell in at the terrible shock.'1
" Have you had an earthquake ?" roared my uncle,
now in great wrath. 44 Not that, most worship-
ful Sir," said the old man, with a grin over his
whole visage, " but three days ago, the wainscot
ceiling of the audience hall fell in with an awful

crash." " So then, may the " My uncle

was about to utter a tremendous execration, but
checked himself, and pulling off his great fox-skin
cap, he turned round to me — " In truth, nephew,
we must hold our tongues, and ask no more ques-
tions, otherwise we shall only hear of more mis-
fortunes, or the whole castle will tumble down
about our ears. But Franz," added he, " could
you not have had the sense to get another room
cleared out and warmed for me ? Or might not
you fit up some room in the keep, for an audience
hall on the rent day ?" " That has already all
been done," replied the old man, kindly pointing
to the staircase, and beginning to ascend. " Have
you ever seen such a strange fellow ?" said my
uncle, winking to me as we followed the chasseur.

The way led through long vaulted passages
and corridors, where Francis, with his glimmer-

CHAPTER T.

15

ing candle, threw a strange doubtful light into the
darkness. As we moved along, the flickering
shadows made the pillars with their capitals, and
the variegated ceilings, seem as if moving and
floating in the air. Our own gigantic shadows,
too, were seen stalking after us, and the grotesque
paintings over which they glided seemed to tot-
ter and tremble. I could imagine, that the latter
even spoke with audible voices, and that their
whispering tones mingled with the echo of our
sounding steps. " Wake us not !" said they,
" wake us not, ghostly people of the olden time,
that here sleep beneath these mouldering battle-
ments !"

At last, when we had gone through a long range
of cold spectral rooms, Francis opened a hall of con-
siderable dimensions, in which a clear burning wood
fire gleamed pleasantly as if to welcome us. As
soon as I entered this room, I felt quite comforta-
ble, but my uncle remained standing in the mid-
dle of the floor,-— looked round him, and said in
a grave, almost solemn tone, " This then is to be
the hall of justice ?" Francis at that moment
held up his lamp, so that the gleam fell on a light-
coloured square compartment in the wall, where

16

P.OLANDSTTTEN.

it seemed to me that there had once been a door,
which was now plastered up. Then in a hollow,
half-suppressed tone, " It will not," said he, " be
for the first time that justice has been fulfilled
here?" "What art thou muttering, Frank?"
said my uncle, throwing off his fur mantle, and
going up to the fire. " Nothing — nothing," said
Francis, 4< only a few chance words." Then he
lighted the wax candles, and opened the next
room, of smaller size, which was very conveniently
fitted up for our reception.

In a short time, a table was spread for us be-
fore the fire, and the old man brought in several
well-dressed dishes ; after which, according to
northern fashion, we were served with a bowl of
punch, which to wearied travellers could not but
be very acceptable. Tired with his journey, mv
uncle went to bed as soon as his supper was finish-
ed ; but the novelty of every thing, — the strange-
ness of the old mansion, (not to speak of the strong
punch,) had excited my spirits to a degree which
prevented me from thinking of sleep. Francis,
meanwhile, cleared the table, stirred the fire, and
left me with divers polite bows and cringes.
Now, then, I was seated alone in a lofty capa-
11

CHAPTER I.

17

cious Rittersaal. The storm had ceased to moan
and howl, and the snow-drift no longer beat against
the lattice. The sky too was become clear, and
the bright full moon shone through the large bow
windows, illuminating with a magical effect many
dark corners of this mysterious mansion, into
which the dull light of my two wax candles, and
the glimmer of a wood-fire, could not penetrate.
According to the fashion still extant in old castles,
the walls and the ceiling were richly ornament-
ed, the former with fantastic paintings and gild-
ing, the latter with heavy carved oak-work. What
seemed most of all formidable, was that, from
the large pictures which many times represented
boar and wolf hunts, started forward the carved
wooden heads of men and horses, so that, amid
the combined nickering of the fire and the moon,
the whole appeared to be alive and animated with
a fearful and horrible reality. Among these hunt-
ing-pieces there were representations large as life,
of knights stalking along in their hunting-dresses,
probably portraits of ancestors who delighted in
the chace.

Every thing, both in the paintings and carved
work, wore the dark dingy hue of antiquity, so

18 ROLAND SITTEN.

that on this account the difference of colour was
the more remarkable in that spot of the same wallt
through which there were two doors that led to
neighbouring chambers. In a short time I con-
vinced myself that here also there must have been
a door, which had been lately built up, whence
this part of the wall was devoid of ornament, and
contrasted so remarkably with the rest of the apart-
ment.

Who has not felt at one time or another the
mysterious effects of unwonted scenery and " cir-
cumstance?" Even the dullest imagination is
roused to action by being placed in the wild ro-
mantic valley, or beneath the dark arches of an
old abbey at midnight. Add to this, that I was
now only in my twentieth year, and (as before
said,) had drank several glasses of strong punch,
so that it is not to be wondered at, if, in this old
Rittersaal, I felt myself in a mood of mind such
as I had never before experienced. Let one ima-
gine to himself the still pensive hour of midnight,
amid whose silence the hollow roaring of the sea,
and piping of the wind, (for the storm did not
long slumber,) sounded like the notes of some tre-
mendous organ touched by supernatural hands.

CHAPTElt I.

19

There were white clouds, too, such as I had never
seen till now, and which, borne on by the wind,
and glittering in the moonshine, seemed now and
then inclined to stop, and like gigantic spectres
to stare in at the rattling bow-windows. How-
ever, the sensations which I experienced were on-
ly such as one entertains on hearing a well told
ghost story, and which I was rather disposed to
encourage than to resist.

It occurred to me, therefore, that this was the
very best time possible for reading a book, which,
in common with every votary of the romantic and
marvellous (in 1798,) I used to carry as a pocket
companion. This was Schiller's " Ghost Seer."
I sat over the fire, and read, and read, — till my fan-
cy became always more and more excited, and at
length I had come to that admirable description of
the wedding festival at the house of the Count

von V . Just as the bloody form of J eronimo

made his appearance, the door leading from the
corridor flew violently open. In great terror, I
started up, and the book fell out of my hand.
But in the next moment all was again silent, and
I was ashamed of my childish fears. It might
be that from a gust of wind, or in some other na-

20 ROLANUSITTEN.

tural manner, the door had thus started open.
" It is nothing," said I, 66 only my imagination
is so wound up, that it represents every ordinary
occurrence as supernatural." Thus composed,
I took up my book from the ground, and threw
myself into the arm-chair.

I had scarcely begun to turn over the leaves,
when I distinctly heard soft and slow measured
steps along the floor of the hall, and at the same
time a noise of sighing and moaning, which seem-
ed like the utterance of the very deepest and most
hopeless grief. Yet I was determined not to be de-
ceived in such a manner. " It must be only
some animal," said I, " that is shut up in the un-
der-floor of the house. Such acoustic deceptions
of the night are well known ; for in the deep si-
lence even distant sounds appear as if they were
rlose to us ; — but who would be so foolish as to
allow himself to be terrified on that score ?" Thus
I again tranquillized myself ; but now there was
heard an intolerable scratching on the wall, and
deeper sighs, — even groans, as if in deadly an-
guish, were audible, and appeared to come from
that closed-up door already described. " Aye,
no doubt," said I, u there must be some poor ani-

CHAPTER I. 21

I

mal shut up there. I shall now call out as loud
as I can, and stamp on the floor. All then will
either be silent immediately, or the creature, what-
ever he may be, will express himself more plain-
ly, and in more natural tones.'"

Such were my intentions, but fear got the bet-
ter of me ; my blood ran chill in every vein ; cold
sweat stood upon my forehead, and I remained in
my chair as if petrified, not able to rise up, much
less to cry out. The abominable scratching at
length ceased, and the steps were heard again. It
seemed as if some new impulse gave me life and
motion. I started up, and went forward two or
three steps ; but then there came an ice-cold
draught of wind through the hall, and in the same
moment the moon broke in, and threw her clear
light against the portrait of a grave, austere look-
ing man. I stared at him as if fascinated. Me-
thought the eyes moved, and, as if amid the roar-
ing of the sea, and the shrill piping of the night
wind, I distinctly heard the words, " Go no far-
ther ! Go no farther ! or thou shalt encounter all
the horrors of the spiritual world !"

Now the hall door slammed to with great force.
I heard anew the steps moving along the gal-

22

EOLAXDSITTEN.

lery. They seemed to descend the staircase ; the
door that led into the court opened, croaking on
its hinges, and was again closed. Then it ap-
peared to me as if a horse were brought from the
stable, and led back again. The door was once
more opened and shut, after which all was quiet.

At that moment, however, I observed that my
uncle, in his bed-room, groaned and struggled
fearfully. This roused me quite from my ghostly
reverie, and I went to him directly with the light.
The old gentleman seemed conflicting with a
heavy and frightful dream. " Uncle ! uncle I rouse
yourself — awake !" cried I, taking him by the
arm, and letting the gleam of the lamp fall on
his face. Hereupon he started up with a fear-
ful cry, but immediately regained composure, and
looked at me good-humouredly. " You have kept
watch in good time, nephew, and it is well that
you have awoke me. I have had a very ugly
dream ; but that is wholly owing to this bed-room,
and the adjoining hall, for I was forced to think
on past times, and on many strange events which
have happened here. Now, we must go to sleep
in good earnest." With these words, the old man
rolled himself up in the coverlid, and seemed im-
10

CHAPTER I.

mediately to fall asleep. But, when I had ex-
tinguished the candles, and also gone to bed, I
perceived that he was in a low voice saying his
prayers.

On the following day, our business regularly
began. The steward came with his accounts,
and every half hour people announced them-
selves, some with disputes to complain of, others
with plans for improvement of their houses, &c.
About mid-day, my uncle went over with me, in
order that we might pay our respects in due form
to the two old Baronesses. Francis, the old chas-
seur, who was attending in the antiroom, an-
nounced to us that we must wait for a few mi-
nutes. Then a little old woman, bent with the load
of sixty years, and attired in coloured silks, who
styled herself lady in waiting, made her appear-
ance, and led us into the drawing-room of these
noble demoiselles. There, with a most grotesque
parade and ceremony, the old Baronesses received
us, exhibiting a style of dress and tout-ensemble
that seemed to belong to another world. My
uncle introduced me as a young lawyer, who had
come to assist him in business, and they seemed
by their looks to regard me with no inconsidera-

24 ROLAND SITTEN.

ble admiration, mingled with a doubtful kind of
expression, as if from my youth they had reason
to fear that the commonweal at Rolandsitten
might in such hands fall into danger.

The whole scene with the two old ladies, their
dress, conversation, and absurd politesse, were
truly ridiculous. However, the fright of the pre-
ceding night still shuddered through my nerves.
I felt myself as influenced by some unknown
mysterious power ; as if I stood on the extreme
verge of a circle, which, if I were once led on to
cross, I should immediately fall into the sphere of
spectres and hobgoblins, and at last be driven to
utter madness. Consequently it happened that the
old Baronesses, with their strange towering head-
dresses, and their indescribable garb, ornamented
with flowers, embroidery and ribbons, instead of
being merely laughable, appeared to me superna-
tural and ghostly. In their withered yellow
visages and twinkling eyes, in their broken French
gibberish, that came half through their skinny
lips, and half through their long peaked noses, I
had ocular and auricular proof, that these old
scarecrows were at least on good terms with the
ghosts that dwelt in this frightful mansion, and

CHAPTER I.

25

that if so inclined, they could also bring perplexi-
ty and mischief on every one who had the mis-
fortune to incur their displeasure.

After our visit, my uncle, who was naturally an
excellent humorist, gave his opinion of the old
ladies in such manner, and made up such a de-
scription, that at another time I should certain-
ly have given way to the most immoderate laugh-
ter. However, as I have said, the Baronesses
with their long noses, and French jargon, con-
tinued to be in my estimation frightful and ghost-
ly ; and the old advocate, who expected of course
that I would be diverted with his talk, looked at
me with astonishment. After dinner, as I still
remained in the same mood, he broke out. " Ne-
phew, will you be so good as to explain what the
devil is the matter with you ? You will not laugh,
speak, eat, nor drink ! Art thou sick, or what in
the name of wonder has happened here ?"

Of course, I did not hesitate to tell him all
the horrid experiences that I had encountered on
the foregoing night. I would not, however, con-
ceal anything that might invalidate my own ac-
curacy, especially that I had drank a good share
of punch, and that I had been reading Schiller's

VOL. II. B

26

ROLASDSITTEN.

44 Ghost Seer." " I ought to mention these cir-
cumstances in particular," said I ; " because it
may be very possible that all which I witnessed
was the mere creation of my own brain." Here-
upon I expected that my uncle would set upon
me with the whole artillery of his wit, and turn
me into extreme ridicule. Instead of this, he
was very serious, fixed his eyes staring on the
floor, — then looked up with an expression almost
of severity and anger. " I am not acquainted,"
said he, " with that idle romance book which you
have been reading, but you have not been indebt-
ed to it, nor to the punch, nor your own inven-
tion, for the impressions under which you suffer-
ed last night. I myself was visited in a dream,
by the very same disturbances by which you were
annoyed when awake. I sat just as you did, or
seemed to do so, by the fire in my arm chair ;
but the ghost which you only heard, addressed
himself to my visual organs, and this is perhaps
the only difference betwixt us. Aye, indeed — I
once more saw that depraved wretch, of whose
history you as yet know nothing. I watched
him enter the room, and glide along like a now
powerless automaton, to the blocked up door ; —

CHAPTER I.

27

then in despair, he scratched against the wall, so,
that the very blood seemed to flow out of his torn
nails. I saw how he afterwards descended the
stairs, led the horse out of the stable, and again
brought it back. Did you mark how the cock
crew in a distant farm-yard of the village ? At
that moment you awoke me, and I resisted the
hateful influence of this evil spirit, who may, per-
haps, yet have the power to intrude upon, and in-
jure the living."

The old gentleman here stopped, and I did
not like to ask him questions, being well aware
that he would explain to me all that he found
himself justified in revealing. After an interval,
during which he sat lost in thought, he resum-
ed,— " Nephew, hast thou courage enough, now
that thou knowest something of the matter, once
more to encounter the ghost, that is to say, if I
will be your companion ?" Of course, I answered,
that I had abundance of courage, and was quite
ready for the undertaking. " Then," said my
uncle, " we shall next night keep watch together.
I feel a kind of inward presentiment, which tells
me this evil spirit must, of necessity, yield to
certain exorcisms, which I alone am qualified to

28

HOLANDSITTEK".

employ, and I feel it to be my duty to banish, if
possible, from the castle, a demon who would dis-
turb its present possessors, and drive them from
their property. But, should it be the will of
God, that the spectre should get the better of
me, then you may announce it to the world, that
I fell in an honest Christian combat, and that, for
my good intentions, at least, I am not undeserv-
ing of being kindly remembered. As for your-
self, nephew, keep only in the back ground, and
no harm will befall you,"

The evening had now drawn on, and during
the interval, I had thought little more of the
ghost, on account of the variety of business which
we had to arrange. At length Francis, as on
the preceding evening, cleared the table, and
brought us a smoking bowl of punch. The full
moon shone brightly through the broken and
gleaming clouds ; the sea waves roared, and the
night-wind shook the rattling panes of the bow-
windows. For some time we forced ourselves to keep
up the conversation on different subjects, though
our minds were occupied by the most anxious ex-
pectation. The old gentleman had laid his gold
repeater on the table. He pressed it, and it struck

CHAPTER 1.

29

twelve. Then the door started open with tre-
mendous violence, and, just as on the preceding
night, cautious slow steps were heard moving
across the hall. The sighing and moaning were
also repeated. My uncle was pale, but his eyes
shone with unusual energy. He rose from his
arm chair, drew up his tall figure to its utmost
height, and with his right arm stretched for-
ward, he assumed a most commanding and heroic
attitude.

Meanwhile, the sighing and groaning became
always louder, and the scratching on the wall
even more abominable than on the preceding
night. Then the old gentleman marched for-
wards to the walled-up door, planting his steps
so firmly that the whole floor thundered beneath
him. Just opposite to the place where the noise
was most intolerable, he stood still, and, in a
strong solemn voice, " Daniel, Daniel !*" said he,
" what art thou about here at such an hour ?"
Hereupon the ghost uttered a horrible, unearthly
scream, that thrilled through every fibre of my
frame, and a hollow sound ensued, as of some
heavy weight falling to the ground. " Pray for
mercy said my uncle, " and compassion at the

30

KOLANDSITTEN.

throne of Heaven ! There is thy proper place of
refuge ; but away with thee out of this life, to
which thou never more canst belong !" It seem-
ed then as if a low feeble moaning floated through
the air, and died amid the rushing of the tem-
pest, which now began to awake. Thereafter
my uncle went to the hall door, and slammed it
to with such vehemence, that the long desolate
corridor echoed to the sound. In his whole be-
haviour there was something of grave and almost
supernatural energy, by which I was completely
awed. As, he returned to his arm chair, his
countenance brightened up, though still retain-
ing a solemn expression. He folded his hands,
and seemed to pray inwardly, in which manner
some minutes passed away. Then he inquired,
with that mild and deeply impressive tone which
he had so much at command, "Well, nephew, what
thinkest thou of all this ?" I was so much agitat-
ed and confounded at what had passed, and at
that moment felt such awe and veneration for my
uncle, that I could almost have thrown myself
on the ground and wept. The old man seemed
also much affected. He embraced me with tears,
and, in a broken voice, added,—" Now then> ne-

CHAPTER I.

31

phew, we may sleep soundly. The ghost will
come no more." My uncle was in the right, and
as on the following evening all was quiet, our usual
cheerfulness and equanimity returned, to the dis-
advantage, no doubt, of the old Baronesses, who
still continued somewhat ghostly in character, yet
their spectral attributes were now only diverting
instead of appalling, and my uncle did not fail to
make the most of them.

.'32

ROLAND SIT TEN.

CHAPTER II.

At length, after the lapse of several days, the
Baron came with his lady and a numerous train
of guests and attendants. All at once commen-
ced in the castle that wild mode of life, which
had before been described to me. The Baron,
however, seemed intent on the charge of his
worldly affairs, and came directly after his ar-
rival to our apartments, expressing much astonish-
ment at the change which had taken place in my
uncle's lodgings. In particular, he cast a gloomy
look at the walled up-door, and, turning from it,
drew his hand across his forehead, as if he would
drive away some disagreeable and painful recol-
lection. My uncle told him of the complete ruin
of the former audience-hall, and its adjoining
chambers. The Baron expressed great vexation

CHAPTER II.

33

that Francis could not provide better for us, and
kindly begged the old gentleman to give the ne-
cessary orders, in case any inconvenience of our
present rooms could be remedied.

On the whole, the behaviour of the Baron to-
wards my uncle was not merely cordial, but mark-
ed even with respect and deference ; however, this
was the only circumstance which I could interpret
in his favour, as I could already distinguish that
imperious irritable temper, of which I had been
previously informed, and which, at every meet-
ing, became more plainly developed. As for
myself, I was never honoured with much notice,
as he looked on me as a mere clerk or servant of
my uncle. Even the very first time, however,
that I had attempted to draw up a deed of some
importance, he wished to prove that I had been
guilty of great inaccuracies. Hereupon, as I
knew to the contrary, my blood boiled, and I was
about to answer in terms more cutting than were
altogether becoming in my situation, when my
uncle luckily spoke for me, insisting that I had
acted according to his directions, and that he
only was responsible for the consequences.

When we were left alone, I complained bitter-
e 2

34 ROLANDSITTEN.

ly of the Baron, to whom my aversion became
always more and more rooted. " Believe me,
nephew," said my uncle, " the Freyherr Rode-
rick, notwithstanding his unkind manner, is, in
reality, a most excellent and benevolent man.
His present character, as I have already told you,
has only been assumed or acquired since the time
that he came into possession of the majorat. Be-
fore that, he was a modest mild-tempered youth,
and, even now, he is by no means so bad in dis-
position as you would have him to be. On the
whole, nephew, I should like to know what good
reasons you can have for expressing such violent
dislike ?"

At that moment, my usual respect and defer-
ence towards my uncle were severely tried, for his
features assumed an ironical smile, and I felt my
cheeks burning with anger. It was impossible,
henceforth, that I could disguise from myself the
state of my own feelings. I was obliged to own,
that my hatred of the Baron had its origin from
a very different passion, that is to say, from my
having fallen in love with a being who appeared
to me the most exquisite and angelic of her sex.
This object of my admiration was no less a per-

CHAPTER II.

35

sonage than the young and beautiful Baroness
von Rolandsitten ! Even at the moment of her
arrival, when she stepped across the court, dres-
sed in a sable fur pelisse, which exactly fitted to
the fine symmetry of her shape, and with a rich veil
thrown over her head, her appearance struck me
at first sight like a spell of enchantment. No
doubt, the circumstance of the two aunts, with
their indescribable dresses and streaming ribbons,
coming tripping along with her, one on each side,
and snuffling out their welcome in broken French,
added wonderfully to this effect. The Baroness,
meanwhile, with the most delightful expression of
mildness and good-humour, looked round her,
nodding kindly, now to one, now to another of the
household, interposing, occasionally, a few Ger-
man words, in the truest and broadest Courland
dialect.

All this was to me unspeakably engaging ;
but the scene did not fail to revive in my mind
the supernatural experiences of our two first nights
at the castle. The hobgoblins were well and
amply represented by the Baronesses, and the
young lady, methought, was like an angel of light,
before whose presence the evil spirits must yield

36

ROLANDS ITT EN.

in dismay. Even, at this moment, that truly
beautiful girl comes in the most lively colours to
my recollection. She was then scarcely nineteen
years of age. Her countenance was as fine as
her form, and wore the most angelic expression of
good nature ; but, especially in the lustre of her
dark eyes, there was an irresistible charm. Like
a gleam of dewy moonlight, there shone in them
a melancholy kind of passion, while, in her smile,
there was concentrated a perfect elysium of de-
light and inspiration. Oftentimes, however, she
seemed absorbed and lost in thought, and, at such
moments, dark but transient shadows came over
her beautiful features. Most people would have
concluded, that she then suffered from some im-
mediate pain ; but it rather seemed to me, that
gloomy apprehensions of the future weighed on
her spirits, and here I found myself brought
back again, though I scarcely knew why, to that
affair of the abominable ghost by whom we had
been haunted.

The following morning after the Baron's arriv-
al, the company assembled to breakfast, when
the old gentleman took an opportunity of present-
ing me to the Baroness. As it usually happens to

CHAPTER II.

37

persons in my state of mind, I behaved most absurd-
ly, and, in answer to her common-place questions,
" how I liked the old castle," &c. I began to talk
the most unaccountable and confused nonsense ;
so that the old aunts ascribed my embarrassment
to my profound respect for the noble lady, and
thought that they must encourage me by particu-
lar condescension, praising me as " ungargon tres
joli" This, of course, vexed me ; and, recover-
ing my self-possession, I took occasion to come
out with some attempt at wit in French, much
better expressed, as to language at least, than the
old ladies could have pretended to ; whereupon
they stared at me with great round eyes, and ad-
ministered to their noses a more than usual sup-
ply of brown rappee. In the serious look with
which the Baroness turned from me to speak with
another lady, I observed that my intended bon-
mot had more than bordered on an absurdity.
This annoyed me to an insufferable degree, and I
wished the two j)ld ladies at the devil.

As for those paroxysms of visionary love which
last but a day or a week, my old uncle had long
since, by his ironical remarks, laughed me out of
that propensity ; but I was quite aware that the

38

ROLAND SIT TEN.

Baroness had made a far deeper impression on my
heart than any of which I had yet been suscepti-
ble. For the future I only saw and heard her
alone, being insensible almost to the existence of
any one else around me ; and yet to hope for any
such thing as a successful amour would, as I well
knew, have been utter madness. On the other
hand, I could not bear to stand at a distance,
and sigh like a love-lorn Arcadian shepherd; but
to approach more nearly to this beautiful girl,
without even allowing her to guess at my inward
feelings, — to drink up the sweet poison of her
looks and words, and then, when removed to a
far distant land, to bear her cherished image long,
and, perhaps, for ever, in my heart, — this at least
I might do, and I resolved, as far as possible, to
carry my plan into effect.

Consequently, the sort of romantic attachment
that took possession of my mind, excited my fan-
cy in sleepless nights to that degree, that I was
foolish enough to carry on the most pathetic mo-
nologues, and inmost lugubrious tones to ex-
claim, " Celestina ! Oh, Celestina !" till at last
my old uncle awoke, and called out to me, 44 Ne-
phew, nephew ! I believe thou art dreaming aloud !

CHAPTER II.

39

Do this in the day-time if it be possible, and in
the night be so good as to let me sleep !"

I was not a little afraid that the old gentleman,
who had not failed to remark my agitation at the
Baroness's arrival, had now heard me pronounce
her name, and would afterwards overpower me
with his sarcastic wit. However, on the follow-
ing morning he said nothing farther, except, on
entering the audience-hall, " God grant to every
one strength and resolution to stick firmly to his
own affairs and business in this world ! It is a
sad thing, nephew, if one allows himself to be
changed into a conceited puppy !* Hereupon
he took his place at the great table, and added,
" Now write legibly, I pray you, good Theodore,
that I may be able to read afterwards without
trouble"

The high respect, nay, almost filial veneration
which the Baron entertained towards my uncle,
was manifested on almost every occasion* Thus,
at the dinner-table, the old gentleman was almost
always promoted to the much-envied seat beside
the Baroness. As for myself, chance threw me
now here, now there, among the guests ; but, for
the most part, some young officers from the Duke

40

ROLAND SIT TEX.

of CourlancTs resident got me among them, in or-
der that they might repeat to me all the news they
brought from town, and drink stoutly, as I had
no particular objection to wine. For many days
I sat in this manner, at the under end of the table,
quite remote from the Baroness, till, at length,
chance brought me intoher neighbourhood. When
the banquet-hall was opened for the company, the
confidante, and usual companion of the Baroness,
a lady no longer very young, but still handsome
and animated, led me into a conversation, in which
she seemed to take considerable interest. Accord-
ing to custom, I must offer her my arm, and was
not a little rejoiced when she took her place not
far from the beautiful Celestina, who welcomed
her with a friendly nod. It may be readily gues-
sed, that, whatever I said afterwards, whether it
were addressed to my next neighbour or not, was
aimed at making a favourable impression on the
Baroness. It may have been, that my inward ex-
citement gave an extraordinary liveliness and ef-
fect to my discourse, for the Lady Adelaide (this
was her name), became always more attentive, till,
at last, we were both so completely occupied, that
not a word was bestowed by us on the other guests,
11

CHAPTER II.

41

though now and then I contrived to excite notice
in that quarter where I was myself most interest-
ed. I soon observed, too, that Adelaide looked
significantly at the Baroness, and that the latter
did all she could to catch the tenor of our conver-
sation. This was especially the case, when our
discourse turned on music, on which subject I en-
larged with great eloquence, finally, not conceal-
ing that, in spite of my dry professional studies of
the law, I had learned to play the harpsichord
with considerable skill ; also, that I could sing to-
lerably well, and had even composed some original
airs.

The dinner-party had now broken up, and the
guests gone into another room to take coffee and li-
queurs. Then, unawares, before I knew how it could
have happened, I found myself standing opposite to
the Baroness, and even close to h er . She was talking
with Adelaide, but, on my coming up, immediate-
ly addressed me, and, in a tone much more friendly
and confidential than at my first introduction, re-
peated her questions, " How I liked the castle,"
&c. Hereupon I answered, that, for the first few
days, the desolate loneliness of the situation, and
the strange old mansion itself, had certainly an

42

ROLAND SIT TEN.

extraordinary influence on my feelings ; but that,
even in this mood, I had been very happy, being
visited by many romantic dreams and fancies.
Only the boar and wolf-hunts, with the noise and
bustle attending them, were something to which
I had never been accustomed, and which, to say
the truth, I feared that I should never learn to
like. " I can easily suppose," said the Baroness,
smiling, " that riding about pell-mell in our wild
forests cannot be very congenial to you. You are
a musician, and if I am not much mistaken, also
a poet ? I passionately kwe both arts, and can
play the harp a little. But, when at Rolandsitten,
I must dispense with such amusement as well as
I can, for the Baron does not choose that I should
take with me an instrument, whose soft tones, in-
deed, harmonize awkwardly enough with the wild
shouts and blaring bugles of the chace, which are
the only sounds that he thinks should be audible
here. And yet, good Heaven ! how much would a
little real music rejoice my heart ataplacelike this V
I assured the Baroness, that I would exert my
utmost skill to gratify her wishes, adding, that
there must of course be some sort of musical instru-
ment at the castle, if it were only an old spinnet

CHAPTER If.

43

or untuned piano-forte. At these words, the Lady
Adelaide laughed aloud. " You do not know
then," said she, " that within the memory of
man, there has been no musical instrument at
Rolandsitten, except braying trumpets and crack-
ed hunting-horns, with now and then the scream-
ing fiddles, rumbling basses, and shrilling cla-
rionets of itinerant musicians ?" The Baroness,
however, would not give up her wish for music,
and especially to hear me play ; so that the two
ladies taxed and wore out their invention with
proposals and contrivances how a tolerable piano-
forte might be had at the castle.

At this juncture of affairs the old chasseur
Francis happened to make his appearance, totter-
ing through the hall. " There he comes," said
Celestina, " he who can give advice in every ex-
tremity, and who supplies all our wants, even
things before unheard of and unseen With
these words she called him towards us, and when
he had been made to comprehend what she wished
for, the Baroness, with an anxiety more real than
affected, clasped her hands, and leant forward as
if to catch the voice of an oracle. In this atti-
tude she would have made a fine picture. It was

44

ROLANDSITTEN.

delightful to behold her expression, like that of
an amiable and lovely child who is eager to be
put in possession of some long-wished-for toy ! —
At first Francis brought out several reasons, in his
most tedious manner, why he could not at the
moment supply an instrument so rare and costly,
till, after much circumlocution, he stroked his
chin with a facetious smirk, and added, " But
the lady stewardess, down yonder in the village,
touches the spinnet (or whatever else it is called
in the outlandish dialect) with most wonderful
skill, and she sings therewith so fine and melan-
cholious, that one never knows whether to laugh
or to cry.'1 — " And, in short, then, she possesses
a piano-forte ?" said Adelaide. — " Aye, to be
sure," said the old man, " it came hither direct-
ly out of the capital." — " Oh that is admir-
able !" said the Baroness with rapture. — " It is
a fine instrument, no doubt," said Francis, " on-
ly a little weakly ; for, not long ago, when the
organist began to play upon it a marvellous fine
piece of music, he knocked it all to pieces, so
that " — " Oh Heavens ! so we are to be dis-
appointed at last !" exclaimed the ladies. — " Af-
ter that," continued Francis, " it had to be taken

CHAPTER II.

45

with great cost and care to Rothenburg, and
there put into repair again." — a Is it returned,
then ?" said the Baroness. — " Aye, to be sure,"
answered the chasseur, " and the lady stewardess

will think herself highly honoured if "

At this moment the Baron passed by us. He
looked as if surprised and dissatisfied at our
group ; then asked the Baroness sneeringly, 66 So
Francis must again be called into council ?" —
Celestina blushed deeply, fixing her eyes on the
ground, and the chasseicr assumed the position
of a soldier, with his arms close, and his head
erect, without daring to utter another word.
Thereafter, the ghostly old aunts floated up in
their rustling old dresses, and led away their
beautiful niece. Adelaide followed, and T was
left standing stock-still as if petrified. The rap-
turous feelings which this chance interview had
excited, conflicted in my mind with vexation and
gloomy resentment against the Baron, who ap-
peared to me as a barbarous despot. If he were
not so, why should the old chasseur have assumed
a demeanour so timid and slavish ? " Theodore,
Theodore, canst thou see ? Canst thou hear ?"
said my uncle, tapping me on the shoulder, where-

46 ROLANDSITTEN.

upon, as if awoke from a dream, I started round
and accompanied him to our apartments. " Do
not force yourself thus on the attention of the Ba-
roness, nephew said he; " what good can possibly
come of such conduct? Leave these tricks to young
idle coxcombs, who think themselves entitled by
red coats and blue ribbons, to pay court to rank
and beauty, and of whom there is no dearth in
the land !" I now related to him circumstantially
how the whole affair had happened, and begged
him to say, whether I had really deserved re-
proach ? To this, however, he made no other
answer, than " Umph ! umph !" drew on his robe
de chambre, seated himself in the arm chair,
lighted his pipe, and spoke of the adventures of
yesterday's boar hunt, laughing at me because I
had so frequently missed in my attempts to hit
the game.

In the castle all had now become quiet ; for
every one was occupied in dressing for the even-
ing assembly. Those itinerants with their scream-
ing fiddles and hautboys, of whom Adelaide had
spoken, were arrived ; and this night there was to
be a regular ball. The old gentleman, who pre-
ferred a quiet sleep to such goings on, determined

CHAPTER II.

47

to remain in his chamber ; but I had just finished
dressing in my best manner, when a cautious
knock was heard at our door, and Francis entered
with a facetious grin on his visage, announcing,
that the piano-forte of the lady stewardess, was
just arrived in a sledge, and was to be taken to
the apartments of the Baroness. The lady Ade-
laide sent her compliments, and begged that I
would come over to them immediately.

It may be guessed, how readily, though with a
beating heart, I obeyed the summons. It was,
indeed, with a most unmanly tremor that I open-
ed the door, and entered the apartment, where I
found her who was the object of all my solicitude.
Adelaide came joyfully to meet me, and the Ba-
roness, already in full dress for the ball, sat, as if
lost in reflection, beside the yet silent piano-forte,
whose tones it was to be my duty to awaken. She
rose at my entrance, beaming in such luxuriance
of beauty, that I stood staring at her, without be-
ing able to utter a word. " Now, Theodore," said
she, (for, according to the pleasant custom of the
north, she addressed every one by his Christian
name,) " the piano is arrived, and may St Ce-
cilia grant, that the instrument turns out not un-

48

ROLAXDSITTEN.

worthy of the performer !" As soon as I had lift-
ed up the cover, I was saluted by the confused
rattling of about a dozen broken strings, and, when
I wished to strike a chord, as the few that remain-
ed were quite out of tune, the effect was abomin-
able : — " No doubt, the organist, in his gentle
manner, must have touched it again," said Ade-
laide. But the Baroness was seriously vexed.
" What a misfortune !" said she ; " but it is doom-
ed that I am never to have any real pleasure in
this ghastly old house I"

I searched in the drawers, and luckily found
some rolls of strings, but no tuning key. Then
there were new lamentations. I said, however,
that the wards of some other key might perhaps
answer. Both ladies ran away, and, in a few
minutes, all the moderately-sized keys in the cas-
tle were laid before me on the sounding-board.
Now, I set to work in good earnest, while the
Baroness and Adelaide assisted me, trying every
key, till at last one fitted. " It will do ! it will
do !" cried they, delighted ; but, at the first turn,
the string broke, and they started back terrified.
The Baroness, with her delicate fingers, began to
untwist the strings, and reached me each number

CHAPTER II.

as I was ready for it, holding the roll carefully,
till I had taken off a sufficient length. Suddenly
one of them shrivelled up, and flew away, follow-
ed by an impatient " Ach mem Gott P from Ce-
lestina. Adelaide laughed aloud. — I followed the
ravelled clue to the corner of the room, and we
laboured to extract from it one perfect string,
which, when tried, again broke, to our great mor-
tification. But, at last, satisfactory rolls were
found out. The strings began to keep their
places, and instead of vile dissonance, clear musi-
cal chords were struck. " Ha! it will do — it will
do ! Nothing like perseverance !" cried1 the Ba-
roness, looking at me with an expression of the
greatest kindness and gratitude.

How completely did this union of endeavours
banish all feelings of ceremonious restraint, which
the artificial manners of society impose ! The
confidential familiarity to which I was now pro-
moted, had given me ample courage, and when
the piano was quite in tune, instead of expressing
my own melancholy emotions ad libitum, as I
had intended, I fell into some of those sweet
amorous canzonets, which are imported to us from
Italy. During this or that, " senza di te" or

VOL. II. c

50

ROLAND SITTEK.

" sentimi idol mio" or 44 almen se non possiof
interspersed with numberless 44 mori me seniors"
44 addicts" and o diets, " Celestina'' s looks be-
came always brighter and more impassioned. She
had seated herself close beside me at the instru-
ment, and unconsciously laid her arm behind me
upon the chair. A white ribbon that had disen-
gaged itself from her ball-dress, nestled on my
shoulder, and touched me when moved by the
gentle sighs of its owner, as if with fluttering
wings, a confidential messenger of love ! It was
wonderful that I retained any degree of self-pos-
session.

When I was thinking of a new song, and had
struck some doubtful chords, the Lady Adelaide,
who was sitting in a corner of the room, started
up, and running to the Baroness, kneeled before
her, taking both her hands, and pressing them
to her heart, — 44 Oh dear Baroness," cried she,
44 dear Celestina, now I shall take no refusal,
you must absolutely sing P1 — 44 What are you
thinking of, Adelaide ?" answered Celestina ; 44 It
would be very proper indeed, if I were to make
an exhibition of singing such as mine, after the
performance of our virtuoso friend there !" It was

CHAPTER II,

51

now quite delightful to see how, like a modest bash-
ful child, casting down her eyes and blushing, she
contended with timidity, and the desire to exert
her musical acquirements. It is needless to say
that I used every argument, and when she spoke
of some trifling volkslieder, (popular songs of
Courland) I never desisted, till, with the left hand,
she tried a few notes as if for a prelude. I wish-
ed her to take my place at the instrument, but to
this she would not agree, assuring me that her
songs, without accompaniment, would of course be
meagre and uncertain, and that she was not mis-
tress of a single chord.

At length she began, in a tone clear and mel-
lifluous, like that of the finest church bell, a song
which had all the characteristic attributes of the
northern popular ballads. The words, indeed,
are insignificant, yet, in the melody and words to-
gether, we find there is something which irresisti-
bly appeals to the heart. When I accompanied
the second strophe of Celestina's chaunt with
full harp-like chords, and afterwards, when in
the inspiration of the moment, I caught by anti-
cipation, and as if by magical sympathy, the me-
lodies of her other songs, I appeared, no doubt,

52

EOLAXDSITTEN.

in her estimation, and in that of Adelaide, a per-
fect master of the art, and they overwhelmed me
with the most ardent commendations.

The lights of the ball-room, which was in an
opposite side of the castle, now shone into our
chamber, and an intolerable burst of discordant
noise from trumpets and bugle horns, announced
that it was time to begin the dance. " Alas !
must I go then ?" said the Baroness. I started
up from the piano-forte. " I am indebted to
you for a delightful evening !" added she. " These
were indeed the pleasantest moments that I have
ever experienced at Rolandsitten." With these
words, Celestina gave me her hand, which, in
the intoxication of the highest delight, I pressed
to my lips. I know not how I took leave and
got to my uncle's room, or from thence to the
evening party. There is a story of a certain
cowardly officer, who pleaded that he durst not
go into battle, for, being all heart, the first scratch
that he received, must prove mortal. Every youth
in my present situation may be compared to that
soldier, for the slightest touch was destructive.
The vibration of the Baroness's fingers, as I kiss-
ed her hand, inflicted a cureless wound, and it

CHAPTER II.

53

was fortunate that my uncle gave me no law pa-
pers to write that evening.

On the following day, without asking any di-
rect questions, the Hofrath soon obained from me
the whole history of the preceding night ; and I
was not a little confounded, when, all at once,
from being smiling and jocular, he became very
stern and serious. " I must beg of you, nephew,"
said he, " to resist this demon of folly, that has
so powerfully seized upon you. Know, that your
present conduct, as innocent as it seems to you,
may have deplorable consequences. You are
now, in truth, standing upon thin ice, which in a
moment may break from beneath you, and you
may be plunged into difficulties from which you
can never be extricated. May the devil take
your music, if you cannot turn it to any bet-
ter account, than to diddle sensitive young wo-
men out of their proper state of repose and con-
tentment !" " But," said I, " where is there any
proof of my having even dreamed of such a thing,
as an amour with the Baroness ?" " Puppy V
said my uncle with great contempt, " if there
were any such proof, I would instantly take thee
up by the collar, and throw thee out of the win-

54

ROLAND SIT TEN.

dow !" This disagreeable dialogue was fortunate-
ly broken by the entrance of the Baron, and for
some time I was obliged to give my whole atten-
tion to the business of the day.

CHAPTER III.

55

CHAPTER III.

Henceforth, Celestina did not honour me
in company with any particular attention, only
now and then interchanging a few friendly words.
But there was scarcely a single evening allowed
to pass, in which a message was not brought to
me from Adelaide, that I should come to her
apartments. Our music soon became diver-
sified with much confidential discourse, and
Adelaide, who, though no longer very young,
had far more gaiete du coeur than her friend,
enlivened us with all sorts of nonsensical talk,
when she perceived that we were becoming too
grave or sentimental. From many unequivocal
symptoms, I perceived that the Baroness was often
liable to depression of spirits and anxiety. I
could not help reverting again to my recollections
of that fearful spectre, by whom the house was,
or had been haunted. Some horrid event must
have happened here, or was to happen ; and

56

ROLLAXDSITTEN.

though I frequently felt impelled to narrate to
Celestina my own adventure with the invisible
enemy, and the story of my uncle^s exorcisms,
yet a timidity, to myself inexplicable, fettered my
tongue, so that I could not utter a word.

One day, the Baroness failed to appear at the
dinner-table. It was said that she was ill, and
could not leave her room. Of course, anxious in-
quiries were made, in return for which, the Baron
seemed to me to smile with an expression of bitter
irony. " Nothing,1' said he, " nothing is the
matter with her, but a slight catarrh, the effect,
forsooth, of our rough sea breezes, that wont suf-
fer any one to have a musical voice, and permit
only the hoarse view -hollows of the huntsman !"
With these words, I imagined that the Baron
threw across to me a most frightful look, and that
it was not to his inquisitive neighbour, but at me,
that he had spoken. The Lady Adelaide, who
sat next me, became red as scarlet. Looking
steadfastly at her plate, and scratching on it with
her fork, she said, " And yet to day you will
meet Celestina ! — Her drooping spirits will again
be revived by your sweet music !" At that mo-
ment, Adelaide's character appeared to me base

CHAPTER III.

57

and contemptible ; and my uncle's warning fell
heavily on my heart ; for it now seemed as if I were
involved in a regular intrigue with the Baroness,
which could only end in crime and disgrace.
But must I then resolve never to see her again ?
As long as I staid in the castle, this was im-
possible, and though I might no doubt leave it,
and return to Bernburg, yet I found that I had
not resolution to do so. I felt, but too deeply,
that I could not give up the love-dreams that
had taken possession of me, and yet, in moments of
calm reflection, I was half ashamed of my folly ;
for what had ever happened in those delightful
evening hours, that was not reconcilable to the
most perfect propriety ? I had no proof that the
Baroness entertained the remotest feelings of at-
tachment towards me, and yet remained con-
vinced that my situation was hazardous.

The dinner-table was to-day broken up sooner
than usual, for there was to be an evening hunt
after wolves, who had been seen quite near to the
castle. Such amusement was exactly suitable to
the state of mind in which I then found myself,
and I expressed to my uncle my determination
to be of the party. He gave me an approving
c 2

58

ROLANDSITTEN.

nod. fcC It is well," said he, " that you are for
one day willing to go out. I shall stay at home,
and you can take my firelock, also my hunting-
dagger, which is a very good protection in case
of need, provided one retains perfect self-posses-
sion. w

We had arrived at the appointed station, and
the covert, wherein the wolves were supposed to
be, was surrounded by the huntsmen. The air
was bitterly cold. The wind raged through the
fir trees, and drove the snow into my face, so that,
as the twilight drew on, I could scarcely see six
steps before me. Quite stiffened with the frost,
I left the place that had been assigned to me, and
went for shelter deeper into the wood. Leaning
there against a tree with my firelock under my
arm, of course I completely forgot the wolf-hunt,
and my thoughts wandered away to Celestina's
apartments. After some interval, however, I
was roused by the report of fire-arms at a distance ;
in the next moment there was a rustling in the
thickets, and I saw a tremendous wolf in the act
of running past. I took aim, fired, but missed.
The animal was wounded probably, became fero-
cious, and with glaring eyes rushed up to attack

CHAPTER III.

59

me. My life would infallibly have been lost, had
I not had sufficient recollection to draw the dag-
ger which my uncle gave me ; and as soon as the
wolf came up, raging with his mouth open, I
plunged it deep into his throat, so that the blood
sprang out over my hand and arm. One of the
Baron's huntsmen, who had been at no great dis-
tance, now made his appearance hilloahing and
hooping, so that his shouts collected the whole
party around us. The Baron ran up to me in
great agitation. " For God's sake," cried he,
" what has happened ? You bleed — you are
wounded ?" I assured him of my safety — but he
then had recourse to the chasseur who had stood
next to me, and overwhelmed him with reproaches,
because he had not shot after me on perceiving
that I had missed. Notwithstanding that the
man assured him this was impossible, because he
would have run a risk of hitting me as well as the
wolf, yet the Baron persisted in his assertions,
that he ought to have taken me, as an inexperien-
ced sportsman, under his especial protection.

Meanwhile, the men lifted up the dead animal,
which was the largest of its kind ever seen at the
castle. Every one admired my courage and re-

60

ROLANDSITTEN.

solution, although, to say the truth, my conduct
was nothing more than natural, and as for the
danger in which I had been for a moment pla-
ced, I had no time to think of the matter. The
Baron, in particular, expressed the greatest in-
terest about my adventure, and there seemed no
end to his questions and remarks. We returned
immediately to the castle, and on the way, the
Baron took me like a friend by the arm, while a
chasseur was ordered to carry my firelock. He
continued to dwell on my wonderful exploit so
long, that at last, I was almost forced to look upon
myself as a hero ; lost all embarrassment of man-
ner, and found myself established in the Baron's
good graces, as a youth of extraordinary courage
and resolution. The scholar had stood the ground
at his examination, — was no longer a school-boy, —
and all the timidity of a tyro had of course vanish-
ed from his character. I seemed even to have ac-
quired a sort of right to the favours that Celestina
was inclined to bestow on me ; for there are no
bounds to the absurdities of a young lover, who
arranges circumstances, and draws conclusions ac-
cording to his own fancy.

Returned to the castle, and seated by the fire

CHAPTER III.

61

over a smoking bowl of punch, I remained still
the hero of the day. The Baron was the only one,
besides myself, who had killed a large wolf. The
rest must content themselves with ascribing their
failure to the weather or the darkness, or with
narrating tremendous stories of their former ex-
ploits in the forest, and the dangers they had en-
countered. I expected, too, that my uncle would
have favoured me with a due share of his applause
and admiration. With this view, I related to
him my adventure at considerable length, and
did not fail to paint the wolf in the most formi-
dable and frightful colours. The old gentleman,
however, only laughed in my face, and said,
" Providence is powerful even through the weak-
est implements. A reed may be changed into a
destroying sword."

I was going through the corridor into the au-
dience-room, when I saw a figure with a light glide
into the apartment before me. It was the Lady
Adelaide. " We must thus steal about like ghosts
or sleep-walkers, in order to have an interview
with you, most heroic hunter of wolves !" — So she
whispered, at the same time taking my arm. The
words i 4 ghost and sleep-walker," pronounced in

62

ROLANDSITTEN.

this place, fell heavily on my heart. Involunta-
rily they brought to my recollection the horrid
noises of the first two nights. Now, too, the sea-
wind was heard around us in deep hollow moan-
ings. There was a fearful rattling and whistling
at the bow-windows, and the moon threw her pale
gleams right on that mysterious spot from which
the scratching had then been audible. I almost
thought that I discerned stains of blood upon the
wall !— Adelaide, of course, perceived my con-
sternation. " What is the matter with you ?"
said she, " you look ice-cold, and pale as a
ghost ! — Well, I must try whether I cannot call
up some signs of animation in these features. Do
you know that the Baroness is quite impatient to
see you, and, till then, will not be satisfied that the
terrible wolf has not inflicted on you some dead-
ly wounds. In short, I have never seen her so
much frightened and agitated. You must go
with me directly. "

I allowed myself to be led in silence. The le-
vity of Adelaide, and her significant glances, dis-
pleased me, and I looked on such conduct almost
as an insult to the Baroness. When I came into
the room, Celestina, with a slight exclamation,

CHAPTER III.

advanced to meet me. Then, as if reflecting,
she stood still in the middle of the room, and I
ventured to take her hand and press it to my
lips. She allowed it to rest in mine. 44 But,
good Heavens said she, 44 is it then any busi-
ness of yours to meddle with wolves ? Do you not
know that the times of Orpheus and Amphion are
long since passed, and that wild beasts have long
ceased to have any respect even for the most ad-
mirable musicians ?" This opportune turn of the
discourse, by which the Baroness effectually pre-
vented any misinterpretation of the interest which
she took, brought me in a moment into the right
tone and tact. I know not how it occurred, how-
ever, that I did not as usual seat myself at the
piano-forte, but took my place next the Baroness
on the sofa, where her question, 44 How, then,
did you fall into such danger ?" proved that the
interview of to-night was to be employed not in
music, but in discourse. Of course, I was oblig-
ed to narrate my whole adventure in the forest,
after which I did. not fail to describe the lively
interest which the Baron had taken in my behalf,
with a slight hint that I could not have thought
him capable of such conduct. 44 How rough and

64

ROLAND SIT TEN.

violent," said Celestina in a melancholy tone,
" must the Baron's disposition, no doubt, appear
to you ! Yet, believe me, it is only when he
resides within these gloomy mysterious walls,
—only during the season of hunting in the wild
pine tree forests, that his whole temper, at least
his outward conduct, is thus unfavourably chang-
ed. "What principally disquiets him is an idea,
by which indeed he is almost always haunted,
that something horrible will happen here ; and,
therefore, he has been, even by your adventure,
(though ino bad consequence has ensued,) deeply
agitated. He would not see even the meanest
of his servants exposed to danger, much less a
highly valued friend ; and I am very sure that
Gottlieb, the chasseur, to whom he gives the
blame of having left you in jeopardy, will undergo
the punishment, so mortifying to a sportsman, of
marching out with only a cudgel in his hand, the
next day, and no fire-arms. Even the circumstance,
that such wolf and boar hunts are always attend-
ed with risk, and yet, that he cannot bring him-
self to give up the sport, vexes him exceedingly.
He thus, as it were, provokes and rouses the de-
mon of mischief whom he fears, and his very ex-

CHAPTER III.

65

istence is a kind of conflict, of which the e^vil in-
fluence extends also to me. Many strange stories
are told of that ancestor by whom the deed of en-
tail was devised ; and I well know that some dark
family secret, shut up within these mouldering
towers, drives away their possessors, and renders it
possible, only for a short time, to bear with
a residence here, — not without aid from a tumult
of mixed company. For the rest, you may sup-
pose how lonely I find myself even in the midst
of this bustle, and how that supernatural influence
to which you have alluded, and which seems to
breathe from the very walls of every chamber, must
act upon my feelings. It is in truth to your mu-
sical talents, therefore, that I am indebted for the
first pleasant hours that I have ever enjoyed in the
country. How, then, can I sufficiently thank you
for your kind exertions V

It struck me that this was the proper time to
mention more particularly my own experiences,
during my two first days at the castle. I said,
that, for sometime after my arrival, I had been
conscious of a most extraordinary mood of mind,
more especially felt, when I sat alone at night in
our present audience-hall ; but that I could only

66

ROLANDS ITT EN.

ascribe such impressions to the strange fashion of
the building, especially its old carved ornaments,
aided, no doubt, in their effect by the whist-
ling sea-wind, the rattling casements, and moth-
eaten tapestry. It may have been, that, from
my voice and manner, the Baroness discovered
that more was meant than I had dared to express,
for all the while she fixed her eyes doubtfully and
earnestly on mine, and, as soon as I concluded,
exclaimed with great anxiety. — " No, no ! — this
is not all ! — You have seen something horrible in
that room, which I never enter without trembling,
and I insist on your telling me the truth !"

Celestina had become deadly pale, and I per-
ceived that it would be better to avoid practising
any degree of reserve, as her own imagination
might conjure up something far more fearful than
whatever I had to describe. She listened to my
story with the greatest attention, and every mo-
ment her fear and anxiety seemed to increase —
when I came to the scratchings on the wall, and
the moanings behind it, she almost screamed out.
" Horrible — horrible ! Yes — it is certain that
the direful mystery is concealed in that room 1"
When I went on explaining how my uncle, by

CHAPTER III. 67

his exorcisms, or perhaps by a sort of psy co-mag-
netic influence, had afterwards banished the ghost,
she leaned back on the sofa, heaved a deep sigh,
and covered her face. Now, for the first time, I
noticed that Adelaide had left us. A consider-
able pause ensued, and my story being ended, I
rose up, went to the piano-forte, and, in swelling
chords, tried to make a kind of invocation to the
spirits of tranquillity and peace, who might de-
liver Celestina from the gloomy painful reflec-
tions which my narrative seemed to have excited.
After having played this voluntary, I intoned, as
softly and afFectingly as I was able, one of the
Abbot Steffano's sacred Canzones. During the
melancholy sounds of the "oche,perche piangete"
Celestina awoke from her reverie, and, with a
melancholy smile, and eyes swimming in tears,
she listened attentively to my song. For the rest
of this interview, all is like a dream. I know not
how it happened, but I had thrown myself at her
feet ; in the next moment I was raised up, and was
(or methought I was !) clasped in her arms, and
felt a long ardent kiss imprinted on my lips !
With a vehement effort of duty, I disengaged my-
self from her embrace, and ran back to the piano«

68

ROLAND SI TT£N.

forte. My attempts to play, however, were in
vain ; and when I looked round, the Baroness
was standing at some distance in a recess of the
window. With a kind of proud dignity, that was
otherwise not consistent with her character, she
came to me and said : — " Your uncle is the best
old man that I have ever known. He is, indeed,
the guardian angel of our family, and I wish, sin-
cerely, that he would include me in his pious pray-
ers !" — I was not able to utter a word. The ef-
fect of that one kiss was utterly overpowering. Its
influence burned and throbbed in every pulse and
nerve. The Lady Adelaide returned to the music
room. The violence of my inward conflict at
length broke out in a passionate flood of tears,
which I could not repress, Adelaide looked at
me with a smile of irony and astonishment — I
could almost have murdered her ! The Baroness,
however, gave me her hand, and said, with inde-
scribable mildness — " Farewell, my dear friend,
do not forget, that perhaps no one ever understood
your music better than I have done ! — Those
sweet tones will long reverberate in my heart !" —
I contrived to bring out a few silly unconnected
words, and ran away to my uncle's apartments.

CHAPTER III,

69

The old gentleman had already gone to sleep.
I staid for some time in the large room. I fell
on my knees and wept aloud. I repeated, over
and over, the name of my beloved — " Celestina !
Celestina !" in short, gave myself up to all the
absurdities of imaginative passion, till, at last,
my uncle's voice, in great wrath, recalled me
from these dreams. " Nephew,*" said he, u thou
art certainly gone mad, — or art thou engaged once
more in single combat with a ravenous wolf? —
May I suggest, with all due submission to so
great a hero, that it would be better to go to bed ?
Be so good as to adopt that one rational measure,
if thou hast no particular objection."— I directly
followed my uncle's advice, but went to rest with
the firm resolution to dream only of Celestina.
It might be already past midnight, when, not
having fallen asleep, I thought I heard distant
voices, and the sound of steps running hither and
thither, with violent opening and shutting of doors.
I listened attentively, and at last was certain that
some one approached along the gallery. The door
of the great hall was opened, and there was a
knocking at that of our apartment. I demanded
who was there, and was answered by Francis,

70

ROLAND SIT TEN.

" Herr Justitiarius ! Herr Justitiarius ! awake,
— awake !" — " What in all the world is the
matter ?" said I ; "is there a fire in the castle ?"
The word " fire" caught the old gentleman's ear,
and he started up immediately. " Where is the
fire ?" cried he ; " where is the fire ? Are we
never to get rest with one devilry or another ?" —
" Alas ! I cannot help it, most worshipful Sir,"
answered Francis ; " but, I beseech you, rise up
immediately, for the Baron wishes to speak with
you."— " What can the Baron want with the
Herr J ustitiarius at such an hour ?" said my
uncle. " Does he not know that law goes to bed
with the lawyer, and sleeps along with him V —
" Nay, good Sir," said Francis anxiously, " rise
up, I beg it of you. The Lady Baroness is dy-
ing !" Hereupon I started up with a cry of hor-
ror. " Open the door for Francis," said my
uncle composedly ; but, almost senseless, I tot-
tered about the room, without being able to find
the door or the lock. The old gentleman was
obliged to help me. Then Francis came into the
room with a pale visage, and lighted the candles.

We had scarcely thrown on our clothes, when
the Baron's voice was heard from the corridor.

CHAPTER III.

71

calling out, " Can I speak with you, my dear
Winkler ?" — " Coming, coming," my Lord, cried
my uncle. " But what need had you to dress
yourself ?" said he to me. " The Baron has not
asked for you.'" — " I must see her once more,"
said I ; " and if she dies, I must die !" These
words I pronounced in a hollow tragic tone, as if
overcome by grief and despondency. " Aye, so —
there you are in the right — that would be quite
comme il faut, nephew !" — With these words,
spoken in a tone of the most contemptuous irony,
my uncle left the room, slamming the door after
him in my face, and locking it from without. In
the first moment, being indignant at this treat-
ment, I intended to burst the door from its hin-
ges ; but, reflecting that I should thus only ap-
pear like a maniac, I resolved to wait for the old
gentleman's return, and then, cost what it would,
to escape from his control. Meanwhile, I heard
him without, talking vehemently with the Baron
in the audience-room, and distinguished my own
name frequently repeated, without being able to
understand what they said. Every moment my
situation became more intolerable. At length, I
observed that Francis brought a message to the

72

ROLAND SITTEN.

Baron, who instantly ran away, and my uncle re-
turned to the bed-room. " She is dead !" cried
I, starting up and running towards him. " And
thou art a fool !" said he calmly, and forcing me
into a chair. " I must go down, and see her,11
said I, " though it should cost me my life.11 —
" Very proper, nephew," answered he, again lock-
ing the door, and putting the key in his pocket.
I now stamped with rage, and not knowing what
to do, I took a loaded carabine from the wall, and
threatened to shoot myself through the head, if
he did not instantly open the door. My uncle
was at last thoroughly provoked. " Think'st
thou, boy," said he, coming up to me, and
speaking in his deepest voice, " think'st thou
that I am to be frightened by such impertinent
threats ? — Dost thou believe that I can set any
value on thy life, if, in a paroxysm of childish
folly, thou art disposed to throw it away like a
plaything ? What hast thou to do with the wife
of the Baron ? What gives thee the right, like a
troublesome puppy, to force thyself into a place
where thy presence is useless, and where no one
desires such company ? If the Baroness is in
danger, would'st thou forsooth play the part of a
11

CHAPTEB J II.

73

mad inamorato at such a time ?" This torrent
o£ unanswerable questions quite overpowered me,
so that I laid aside the carabine, and sank into an
arm-chair. " And after all," said my uncle, " how
canst thou be assured that this illness of the
Baroness is not a mere delusion ? If her little
finger aches, the Lady Adelaide never fails to
alarm the whole house; and on this occasion,
it unluckily happens that the uproar has extend-
ed to the chambers of the old aunts, and they are
come out of their dens, screaming and weeping,
with a whole canteen of bottles full of Elixir Vi-
tae, Eau de Cologne, strengthening drops, and
God knows what. No doubt a tremendous at-
tack of hysterics and fainting-fits " The old

gentleman stopped here, as he perceived my con-
tinued agitation. Then, after taking some turns
through the room, he placed himself opposite to
me, stuck his hands in his sides, and laughed hearti-
ly. " Nephew — nephew," said he, " what con-
founded absurdities have now got possession of
thy brain ! — Well, it seems as if it could not be
otherwise ! — The devil diverts himself here in
many ways. You have run quite contentedly in-
to his clutches, and he now dances you about at

VOL. II. D

74

ROLAND SITTEK,

a fine rate." He walked again up and down —
then added, — " It is nonsense to think of sleep-
ing any more. For my part I shall smoke a pipe,
and beguile the short interval till morning as well
as I can." So saying, he took a Dutch clay pipe
from a press in the wall, filled it slowly and care-
fully from his tobacco-canister, humming a song
all the while. Then he looked over a quantity
of papers, from which at last he selected one for
a fidibus, and forthwith began to roll out tre-
mendous clouds. " Now then, nephew,'" said he,
" what was the story of the wolf."

This quiet ironical behaviour of the old man, had
a strange influence on my feelings. It seemed, al-
most, as if I was no longer at Rolandsitten, and
that the Baroness was already far from me, so
that I could only reach her with my thoughts.
My uncle's last question vexed me however., " Do
you then find my hunting adventure so very di-
verting," said I, and altogether so proper to
laugh at ?v — " By no means," answered he, " not
at all, nephew. But then you have no notion
what an absurd figure a young coxcomb like you
cuts, when Providence favours him so far that he
encounters something extraordinary and out of
n

CHAPTER III.

75

the common course of things. I remember when
I was at Gottingen, I had an academical chum,
who was a very quiet sensible youth, quite content-
ed with himself and with others, and in no respect
remarkable in his conduct. Mere chance, how-
ever, brought it about, that he received a chal-
lenge, and though he had, on account of his
moderation and regularity, been looked upon by
his fellow students as somewhat of a milk-sop, he
behaved on that occasion with such calm resolute
courage, that every one wondered at him. But, af-
ter this time he was completely changed. Instead
of being a pleasant good-humoured youth, he be-
came a boasting insupportable bully. He went
on bragging, roaring, and fighting for the merest
trifles, till at last a country man, a farmer, whom
he had shamefully insulted, ran him through the
heart in a duel. I only tell you the story, ne-
phew— you may apply it or not as you will. But

now, as for the Baroness and her illness "

At that moment, steps were heard from the au-
dience-hall, and I imagined that there was a dis-
tant sound of moaning and lamentation in the
air. " She is dead !" That thought again thril-
led and vibrated ice-cold through every nerve.

76

ROLANDSITTEN.

My uncle rose, and called out, " Frank ! Frank !"
" Aye — aye — Herr Justitiarius !" answered the
chasseur, from without. " Frank," said my
uncle, " stir up the fire a little — in the great
chimney ; and prepare for us, if possible, a few
cups of good tea. It is devilish cold," added he,
turning to me, " so we had better, in my opin-
ion, sit at the hearth in the audience-room, and
talk over some old stories.,, He then opened the
door, and I followed him mechanically, without
meditating an escape. " How goes it below
stairs, Frank ?" said he. " Oh," said the chasseur,
shrugging his shoulders, " it turned out to be
nothing of any consequence. The lady Baron-
ess is well again, and ascribes her fainting-fits to
a fearful dream." I was going to break out with
expressions of great rejoicing. However, a stern
look from my uncle, made me quiet. " Well,"
said he, " since that is the case, it might not be
amiss if we laid ourselves down for a little. Let
the tea alone Francis." — " As your worship pleas-
es to command," said the polite chasseur, bow-
ing low, and then wishing us good night, though
the cocks had begun crowing in the court. " Look

you nephew," said my uncle, " it is just as well

l

CHAPTER IH.

77

methinks, that you are still living, notwithstand-
ing your wolf hunts and your loaded carabines ?"
I now saw through my own folly, and was vexed
that I had given him good reason to treat me
like a spoiled child.

78

ROLA53DSITTEN.

CHAPTER IV.

" Be so good, nephew," said my uncle, when
we awoke pretty late in the morning, " as to step
down stairs, and inquire how the Baroness finds
herself. You had better ask for the Lady Ade-
laide, who will supply you with a proper bulletin.11
It may be supposed how eagerly I hastened away
on this errand ; but at the moment when I was
about to knock softly at the door of her antiroom,
the Baron himself came out of it. He stood still
as if surprised, and seemed to measure me with
a dark doubtful look. " What do you want here ?r
said he. My embarrassment was great ; how-
ever, I answered in a tolerably firm voice, that I
came by my uncle's orders to inquire for the health
of the Lady Baroness. " Oh,11 said he, " it was
nothing. Only one of her usual nervous attacks.
She is now asleep ; and will of course make her
appearance well and cheerful at the dinner-table.
Tell him this !" There was a degree of passion-

CHAPTER IV.

7V>

ate irritation in the Baron's tone when he spoke
thus, from whence I drew the inference that he
was more concerned about the Baroness than he was
willing to allow. I turned from him, intending to
make my escape immediately ; but hereupon with
rather a fierce look, and the words, " I have some-
thing to say to you, young man V he detained
me. At that moment, it seemed as if I be-
held before me a deeply injured husband, and
I expected a scene fraught even with terrific con-
sequences. I knew not whether he would not
poinard me on the spot as a sacrifice to his resent-
ment ; but though not otherwise armed, I remem-
bered that I had my uncle's hunting dagger, which
I had carried in my pocket ever since the adven-
ture of the wolf. With these thoughts, I follow-
ed the Baron, who led me from thence into his
own room, of which he closed the door behind
him. He then walked up and down through
the apartment, — at last stood with his arms
crossed, and repeated, " Young man, I have a
few words to say to you." I had wound myself
up to desperate resolution, and replied, " I
trust they may be words which I can hear with-
out resenting, and that I shall return a satis-
factory answer." The Baron stared at me with

80

ROLANDSITTEX.

astonishment, as if he had not rightly understood
what I said. Then he looked gloomily on the
ground, put his hands behind him, and resumed
his pastime of walking up and down through the
room, till at last he took down afirelock,and struck
the ramrod into it, as if to prove whether or not
it was loaded. I thought his design was to shoot
me, and the blood boiled in my veins with indig-
nation ; at the same time I went up so closely, that
it would have been impossible for him to take aim
at me. " A handsome firelock," said the Baron
calmly, and setting it again into the corner. I
retreated some steps backward. " Theodore,"
said he, giving me a slap on the shoulder, " no
doubt you think that I am quite confused and dis-
turbed, and truly I am so from the anxieties of my
last sleepless night. My wife's nervous attack
was not dangerous ; — of that I am fully aware ;
but then here, in this castle which is haunted and
domineered over by an evil spirit, I always fear
that some horrid misfortune may occur : — besides
it is the first time that she has been indisposed at
Rolandsitten, and you alone bear the blame of all
this !" " How this can be possible," said I, "I have
not the mostremote idea" — " Nay," said the Baron

CHAPTER IV.

81

" if that damned rattling piano-forte of the stew-
ard's wife had been broken in a thousand pieces, I

should have been happy ; — or if you But

no, no ! it was to be, and must be so ; and perhaps
I am myself to blame for all. At the time when
you began your music in my wife's apartments,
it was my duty to have made you acquainted with
her state of mind and temper." Here he paused,
and I was about to speak ; but he immediately
resumed, " Nay, nay, let me go on, for I must
prevent you from drawing any rash conclusions.
You probably look upon me as a rough severe
man, who cannot endure either music or poetry — in
short, a decided enemy of the fine arts. But an in-
ward and deeply founded conviction obliges me to
forbid the introduction of musical instruments and
concert parties in this castle ; for there are minds
which, in certain situations, cannot thrive with such
indulgences. To this remark, I myself am not an
exception ; but as for the Baroness, she is the vic-
tim of morbid sensibility, which in the end will
probably destroy all the happiness of her life.
During our residence within the gloomy walls of
Rolandsitten, she is never for a moment free from
that state of excitement and irritability, which in
X) 2

82

ROLAND SIT TEN.

Courland occurs but seldom, but which is there
generally the forerunner of serious illness. You
may then ask, and with reason, why should I bring
my wife into such a gloomy and spectral mansion,
or introduce her into the confused assemblage of
a hunting party ? Call it weakness, however, or
what you will, but, in short, I cannot bring my-
self to leave her behind me alone. I should then
be tormented by a thousand fantastic fears ; for it
is but too true that the same low spirits and horrid
presentiments by which she is affected, have too
often haunted me also, more especially when I am
in the dark forests of Rolandsitten, or in the pre-
sent audience-chamber. Yet, in some respects,
I think that to one who suffers from low spirits
and nervous agitation, the mode of life which we
lead here should operate like apowerful tonic. The
wild north wind that roars through the old fir-
trees, — the baying of the dogs, the bold crashing
notes of our trumpets and hunting-horns ought to
triumph over the childish tinkling of the piano-
forte, which, at all events, is not an instrument for
a man to play upon. But you seem determined to
persist in that plan, which is, above all, the most
likely to drive my wife to utter distraction !"
These strange words the Baron pronounced in

CHAPTER IV.

83

a changed voice, and his eyes gleamed with anger.
I was again ready to speak, and in a tone scarcely
less vehement than his own ; but he resumed, " I
know all that you would say. Though your con-
founded music is the cause of my wife's present
illness, yet I do not by any means accuse you of
bad intentions, though you must of course expect
that I shall put an end to such goings on. But
when her imagination is excited to the utmost de-
gree by your cursed songs and fantasias, then, all
at once, you crush her spirit down into the very low-
est abyss of gloomy apprehensions, by a frightful
story of hobgoblins that have been playing their
pranks with you in the audience-hall. Now, as I
am not less interested in that matter than the Ba-
roness, I must trouble you, Theodore, to relate
to me circumstantially what really happened to
you there.'"

I now recollected myself, and described my ad-
venture as minutely as possible, to which the Ba-
ron listened with great attention, interposing only
now and then a few words indicating his astonish-
ment. When I came to that point where my
uncle undertook to exorcise the ghost, and seem-
ed, by dint of a few resolute words, to have ba-

<S4

11 0 L A X JD S I T T E "X .

nished him for ever, the Baron clasped his hand*
with great emotion, and exclaimed, — " Aye,
truly, — your uncle is indeed the guardian and
protector of this family, and I respect him far
more than any relative whom I have ever known V
When T had finished, he kept walking up and
down the room, murmuring over to himself the
words — " Daniel — Daniel, what art thou about
here at such an hour ?" I thought it was time
for me to retire. " So, then, my Lord," said
I, " the Baroness is now out of danger ?" He
started as if from a dream, took me by the arm,
and said, " Nay, my young friend, she must de-
rive her perfect recovery from the same source
which was the cause of her illness. You alone
are qualified to be her physician." I felt myself
blush deeply, and had I been placed before a
mirror, should certainly have seen in it the re-
flection of a very foolish physiognomy. The
Baron seemed diverted with my anxiety, and
looked at me with a most ironical expression.
" How is it possible,*" said I, " that I can be of
any service ?" — " Well, — well," said the Baron,
" it is sufficient that I am contented to have re-
course to your medical art in the first place, and

CHAPTER IV. 85

your patient, if I mistake not, is not very for-
midable or difficult to deal with. She has already
been drawn into the enchanted circle of music and
romance, and to tear her all of a sudden out of it
again, would be both hazardous and cruel. There-
fore you may continue your performances, and in
the evening hours you will always be welcome in
my wife's apartments. But then you must com-
pletely change the tone and style of your sonatas,
or whatever else they are called. Choose only
such compositions as are at once bold, cheerful,
and energetic. Repeat also your story of the ghost
freely, as often as she recurs to the subject, but
in such manner that she may rather look on it
as as an absurd fable, such as one reads in a ro-
mance or children's book, than any horrid super-
natural occurrence. At last, perhaps, she will get
familiarized to this castle spectre, and will laugh at
what she now so much dreads. Do this, my
young friend, and by attending to these directions,
you may be assured of my good opinion andfavour."

The Baron then retired, and left me quite con-
founded, and as if annihilated by what had pas-
sed. A few minutes before, I had been appre-
hensive of his anger and resentment, for my con-

86

ROLANDSITTEN.

science was not free from self-reproach. But
that conviction of guilt was attended by a cer-
tain feeling of complacency and self-importance.
On the contrary, I now saw myself treated like
an insignificant and foolish child, who believes
the paper crown which he has stuck on his head
to be made of genuine gold. Madman that I
was, to suppose that I could be an object of jea-
lousy in the mind of the Baron ! He himself
sends me to Celestina, and treats me like a mere
automaton — like a senseless implement, which he
can use or throw away at his pleasure. Under
the influence of these mortifying reflections, I
hastened to my uncle's apartment. " Where
have you staid so long, nephew ?" said he. "What
has been the matter ?" — " I have spoken with the
Baron,11 said I, in a low voice, and without daring
to look up at him. " Tausend sapperlot f1
cried the old gentleman, feigning astonishment,
" the Baron, no doubt, has challenged you, ne-
phew ?" This irony he accompanied with a most
hearty fit of loud laughter, which proved how
completely he had all along seen through and de-
spised my folly. I bit my lips with anger, and
durst not answer a word, for I knew that if I did

CHAPTER IV.

87

go, I should only bring on myself a torrent of
ridicule.

The Baroness made her appearance at din-
ner in an elegant white morning dress, looking
tenfold more beautiful and seductive than ever.
Her voice from languor was yet more melodious,
while her eyes, and the faint blush on her cheeks,
had more than ever of amatory and voluptuous ex-
pression. But, wThat bounds can be set to the ab-
surdities of a young man, whose imagination (as
it often happens,) has outgrown his reasoning fa-
culties ? The anger which my conversation with
the Baron had excited, now transferred itself even
to Celestina. All her conduct towards me seem-
ed like a malicious trick and delusion ; and I
now imagined myself to be so wondrous wise,
that I could penetrate every veil, so that no one
could turn me into an object of ridicule again. I
therefore avoided both the Baroness and Ade-
laide, who, as usual followed me, and secured my
place at the bottom of the table, between two
young officers, with whom, in order to dissipate
my chagrin, I drank a good deal of wine. By
the time the dessert was set on the table, they,
as usual, were very noisy, but I was much more

88

ROLANDSITTEN.

merry and vociferous than either of them. At
this time, a servant brought me a plate of bon
bons, with the words " from the Lady Adelaide/1
On looking them over, I observed, that on one of
them was scratched with a pencil, " and Celes-
tina." My whole feelings underwent an instan-
taneous revolution. I looked towards Adelaide,
who took up her glass, and nodded to me, with
a significant smile. Almost involuntarily, I mur-
mured to myself, " Celestina !" and drank at the
same time a long glass of wine. On looking up
the table, I perceived that the Baroness had
drank at the same moment, and was looking at
me, so that our eyes met. Some demon delight-
ing in mischief, whispered to me at that moment,
" Too happy youth ! She still loves thee I11 Just
then, one of the party rose, and, according to
northern custom, proposed the health of the lady
Baroness. Then there was a joyous ringing of
glasses, and tremendous shouts of applause. This
toast completely overcame any remains of ration-
ality which I had left, and it was fortunate that
the party then rose and dispersed, for I had form-
ed some scheme of throwing myself at the Ba-
roness's feet, before all the company, and declar-

CHAPTER IV. 89

ing my unalterable devotion and attachment.
" What the devil is the matter with you, my
good friend ?" — This question, from one of the
young officers, brought me to my recollection ;
and I found that Celestina had vanished. I
wished to retire, but Adelaide came up to me,
and talked a great deal in her usual lively man-
ner, of which I was no longer capable of under-
standing one sentence ; so that of course I made
no answer, Pretending to think that T was deaf,
she then took me by the arm, and shouted into
one ear, but without better effect. The room
turned round with me in circles, and the last
circumstance that I remember of this interview,
was, that I mechanically took a glass of liqueur
which Adelaide offered me, after which, I found
myself standing alone at a window. Being thus
at liberty, I rushed out of the banquet-hall, ran
down stairs, and made my way from the castle
into the forest. The weather was most uninvit-
ing ; for the snow fell in thick flakes, and the
fir-trees groaned and sighed as they were waved
by the wind. I was for some time completely
mad ; danced, laughed, and roared aloud, believ-
ing that the devil had got possession of me ; and

90

ROLANDSITTEN.

there is no saying how this fit of delirium would
have ended, had I not heard my name several
times shouted out through the wood, which
brought me again to some degree of rational
reflection. The snow-storm had now ceased, and
the moon shone bright through the broken clouds.
I heard the barking of dogs, and was aware of
a dark form approaching me. It was the old
chasseur. " Nay, good master Theodore," said
he, " how have you contrived to wander out so far
in the thick snow-drift ? The Her?' Justitiarius
had been asking for you, and is waiting with
great impatience."

Without speaking, I quietly followed the old
man; for the intoxication produced by a few
glasses of Champagne, though violent, is not of
long continuance, and its effects now began to
decline. I found my uncle at work among his
papers in the audience-hall. " You have done
very well nephew," said he, 44 to go into the free
air, and cool yourself. But, in future take care
not to drink so much wine ; thou art far too
young to require such indulgence, and it will not
agree with thee !* Still, I did not venture to
speak a word, but seated myself at the writing-

CHAPTER IV. 91

table as quietly as possible. After a pause my uncle
said, " But in sober earnest, nephew, I should like
to know what the Baron said to you this morning."
I repeated to him all that had passed, adding, that
I would by no means undertake the strange me-
thod of cure which the Baron had proposed. " It
would never do at any rate, nephew," said my
uncle, " because we are to set out to-morrow
morning on our return to Bernburg." It hap-
pened, of course, as my uncle had said, and I
never beheld Celestina more !

As soon as we arrived in town, my old uncle
complained that he felt himself more than ever fa-
tigued by his laborious journey. His sulky dis-
contented silence, diversified only by violent fits
of ill humour, announced the return of his old
enemy the gout. Worse consequences ensued,
however, for one day I received a very urgent
summons to his room, where I found him labour-
ing under a shock of palsy, and holding a letter
in his hand, which he had convulsively crumpled
together. I recognized the handwriting of the
steward at Rolandsitten, but, deeply afflicted, I
did not venture to take the letter out of the old
man's hand, for I thought that he was in the

92

ROLAND SIT TEN.

agonies of death. But, even before the physician
arrived, his pulse again beat firmly and freely.
His strength and spirit, even at that advanced
period of life, conquered the disease, and on the
same day the physician declared that he was out
of danger. The winter, that year, was severer
than ever, and was followed by a rough and
gloomy spring — and, in consequence of this, he
suffered from a long and violent fit of the gout.
At this time he resolved, that, for the future, he
would withdraw himself from all cares of serious
business, so that there could be no chance of my
being again taken with him to Rolandsitten. My
uncle would have no attendance during his illness
but mine ; and depended on me during his con-
finement for conversation, reading, &c. But,
even in his cheerfullest hours, when he did not
fail to indulge in his old vein of irony, and I
expected that he would have recourse to my old
adventure of the wolf, or to my absurd fancies
about the Baroness, as the theme of his wit, he
never once alluded to Rolandsitten, and, of course,
I had my own reasons for not directly leading him
to the subject. My anxiety, indeed, on account
of the old gentleman's severe i liness, had quite

CHAPTER IV.

93

banished the image of Celestina. But, as he
got better, I thought again with more liveliness
of those delightful hours spent in her presence —
of which the influence (as an astrologer would say)
was like that of some brilliant star risen on my
existence, and which had set, never to rise
again. However, an event which now occurred
to me, though in itself trifling, revived all the
pain which I had before felt, and filled me with
as much horror as if I had been met by the most
awful visitant from the world of spirits. One
evening I happened to open the travelling porte-
feuille, which I had used when at Rolandsitten ;
and there fell out of the papers a lock of dark hair,
bound with a white ribbon, which I immediately re-
cognized for that of Celestina. Now, as I contem-
plated the ribbon more narrowly, I perceived on
it the mark of a drop of blood ! According to po-
pular superstition, this was an unequivocal proof
that the Baroness was no longer in life, but had
died some frightful and violent death. Though
the finding the lock of hair among my papers
was unexpected, yet I could easily suppose that
Adelaide, perhaps on that day of my absurd de-
lirium, had contrived to place it among my papers,

94

ROLANDSITTEN.

or in my pocket, whence I had taken it unawares,
when I packed up my letters next morning before
our departure. But for the fearful warning of
her untimely fate I could contrive no satisfactory
explanation. It was, by the bye, the identical
ribbon that had waved and played round me, on
the first night when I had sat beside the Baroness
at the piano forte, which had now brought to me
this mysterious intimation of her death.

At last the rough tempestuous weather of the
spring season drew to an end, and summer assert-
ed her rights. If the cold before was insupporta-
ble, the heat of July became almost equally disa-
greeable. However, the old gentleman's health vi-
sibly improved, and he went as usual to his garden-
house in the suburbs of Bernburg. It happened
that one beautiful quiet evening we were seated to
gether in a fragrant arbour of jasmine, vines, and
honeysuckle. My uncle was unusually cheerful ;
but at the same time not ironical and sarcastic —
on the contrary, rather mild and affectionate in
his humour. " Nephew," said he, " I know not
how it happens that I am better to-day than
I have been for a long time, and yet I believe
that this feeling is but the forerunner of my

CHAPTER IV.

95

speedy death."" I endeavoured to reason him out
of this fancy, but in vain. " Never mind it,
nephew," said he, " It is most certain that I can-
not remain long in this world, and before leaving
it, I would wish to fulfil one duty which I owe
towards you. Do you still think sometimes of
the autumn spent at Rolandsitten ? It was your
lot to encounter some strange scenes on entering
that mansion, and, without any will of your own,
to be involved in the deepest mysteries of the
family. Now the time has come, when you may
receive a full explanation of circumstances, which
you could before scarcely guess at. Nature, good
Theodore, affords, by the alteration of the four
seasons, a symbolical representation of human
life. This is a trite remark ; but I am inclined
to draw a conclusion from this parallel which is
not so common. The spring no doubt brings its
flowers and May mornings, but is too often diver-
sified with cold hail-showers and a wintry sky.
The summer has its hot burning noons, vapours,
and thunder storms ; but it is invariably from the
pure ether and golden sun-light of autumn, that
the landscape is seen to most advantage. In
like manner, methinks, the eyes of old age, before

96

ROLANDSITTEN.

our mortal life sinks into the wintry night o
death, are best able to scrutinize the otherwise con-
cealed workings of those dark powers, to whose
influence we are in this life subjected. Freed
from earthly passions, and hovering on the brink
of eternity, we are then granted by anticipation
glimpses into the spiritual world. How clear at
this moment lies before my mind's eye the des-
tiny of that house, to which from early life I
became attached by bonds firmer than those
which mere relationship can tie ! Yet I cannot
impart my own perceptions to you, because words
are not capable of expressing them. Listen, how-
ever, to what I shall now tell you, as a memora-
ble history, in which there is nothing that is im-
probable or incomprehensible ; and you will per-
ceive, by the way, that the circumstances into which
you were drawn, might very possibly have worked
your utter destruction. But that danger is now
past."

The history of * the Rolandsitten Majorat,
which the old man now related to me, made so
deep an impression, that I am able to repeat it
almost in his own words. It is to be observed,
that he spoke of himself in the third person.

CHAPTER V.

97

CHAPTER V.

In a stormy autumnal night of the year 1 770,
the servants at Rolandsitten were awoke by a most
tremendous crash, as if the whole castle had fal-
len into ruins. In a moment every one started
up ; they rushed out with lights in their hands,
and the old steward, panting with terror and rat-
tling his keys, led the way. They set to work
opening every door and traversing every gallery,
to find out where the misfortune had occurred ;
but all was now silent as the grave, and their
astonishment was beyond measure, to find that
every room, hall, and corridor, was perfectly un-
injured. No where could be found the slightest
trace of devastation. A dark apprehension, how-
ever, now seized on Daniel the old steward. He
went up once more into the great hall, which had a
small cabinet adjoining, where the Baron Roderick
used to sleep, when he had been occupied with

VOL. II. E

98

ROLAN'DSITTEX.

his astronomical observations. There were two
doors in the wall of this large apartment, leading
to bed-rooms, and between them was a kind of
iron gate, through which one entered on the nar-
row spiral staircase to the watch-tower. This gate
Daniel now tried to open, and as soon as he suc-
ceeded, a terrific blast of wind came against him,
that blew out his candle, and brought a load of loose
rubbish and stones about his head. One step far-
ther would have been his last, for the gateway now
only led to a bottomless chasm, from which he re-
coiled with horror. " God of Heaven !" cried he,
" the Baron then must be dashed to pieces !" At that
moment he heard lamentations from the other
servants who had gone into the bed-room ; and
on joining them, he found them busied about the
dead body of their master. Completely dressed
and in his best attire, he was sitting up in his arm-
chair, with a quiet gravity on his undisfigured
countenance, as if he had been reposing after the
fatigues of severe study. It was, however, the re-
pose of death ! — On the following day, they dis-
covered that the crown-like roof of the tower had
fallen in ; — the large square stones of which it was
composed, had struck through the floors beneath,

CHAPTER V. 99

carrying with them also a heavy iron balcony,
and altogether acquiring such force, that the nar-
row passage and staircase,, with a portion of the
castle wall, had been completely torn away. One
durst not advance a single step through the gate-
way from the hall, without the danger of falling
down at least eighty feet into a frightful abyss.

The old Baron, though this was unknown to the
servants, had prophecied his own death, even to
the very hour ; and had sent intelligence of this
coming event to his sons. Consequently, it hap-
pened that, on the very next day, Wolfgang, Ba-
ron von Rolandsitten, eldest son of the deceased,
and now lord of the majorat, arrived at the castle.
Not doubting in the least that the old astronomer's
predictions would be fulfilled, he had, on receiv-
ing the letter, immediately left Vienna, where he
happened to be at that time, and come as rapidly
as possible to Rolandsitten. The house-steward
had by this time hung the great hall with black,
and laid out the deceased Baron, on a magnificent
state-bed, in his clothes, just as he had found him.
Wolfgang walked silently up stairs into the hall,
and advanced close to his father's corpse, where he
remained for some time gazing at the pale visage,

100 ROLANDoITTEX.

contracting his eye-brows with a fixed gloomy ex-
pression. He stood like a statue, without the least
emotion of grief, nor a vestige of tears in his eyes.
At length, with an almost convulsive motion,
stretching out his right arm over the body, he
murmured in a hollow voice, " Didst thou hold
communication with the stars, and with super-
natural- powers, in order to bring misery on the
son whom thou shouldst have loved Then rais-
ing his hands, and looking upwards, in a depres-
sed faltering tone, he added, " Poor foolish old
man ! The farce of life, with its absurd decep-
tions, is now over, and thou art aware by this time
how vain were thy narrow-minded and avaricious
toils ! What power or volition can extend its li-
mits beyond the grave?" After a gloomy pause,
he cried out with great vehemence, "No — not a sin-
gle scruple of my earthly happiness, which thou
wouldst have utterly annihilated, shall be taken
from me by thy obstinate and perverse resolves r
With these words, he drew from his pocket a fold-
ed paper, and held it to one of the candles that
were placed round the bed. The paper, whatever
wereits contents, flamedup rapidly, and as the flick-
ering light fell upon the corpse, it seemed as if its

CHAPTER V.

101

muscles heaved and quivered, and the by-stand-
ers insisted that they heard certain inarticulate
words, so that they were seized with unutterable
horror. The Baron, however, quietly fulfilled
his purpose, and, letting the last morsel of the
manuscript fall out of his fingers, trod it vehe-
mently upon the floor. He then threw another
ghastly frowning look on his father's remains, and
hurried out of the room.

On the following day, Daniel formally made
the Baron acquainted with the late devastation of
the watch-tower, describing every circumstance
that had occurred on the mysterious night of his
father's death, concluding with an earnest request
that orders might immediately be given to have
the tower repaired, as, in case of its tottering ruins
falling a second time, the whole castle might be en-
dangered. " What?" cried the Baron in a voice of
great wrath, " thou wouldst have me repair the
watch-tower ? Never — never ! — Dost thou not
perceive, old dotard, that, unless meddled with, it
cannot fall any more than it has done, — and what
if my father had wished for its destruction, and con-
trived means of bringing it down whenever he pleas-
ed? But let that be as it may. If the whole castle

102

It OL AND SIT TEN.

were in ruins, it is nothing to me. Dost thou sup-
pose that I would be content to live in this curs-
ed old nest for bats and owls ? No — no ! That
wise ancestor who laid the foundations of a new
castle in the valley, has set a good example,
which I shall not fail to adopt." — " So, then,"
said Daniel, " your old faithful steward also
must needs take the pilgrim's staff, and depart ?"
" That I shall not be attended by helpless old
drivellers like thee," said the Baron, " is very
certain. But, at the same time, I shall not turn
any one out of doors. Thou canst not, and
needst not work ; but I shall give thee bread
out of charity." — " Indeed,"" said Daniel, " have
I then so regularly fulfilled all my duties up to
this hour in the castle, and am I become all at
once so utterly useless ?" The Baron then sud-
denly turned round with his face flushed, and
his eyes glaring with anger. Clenching his fist,
and in a frightful tone, — " Thou vile hypocriti-
cal old villain," said he, " who has so long car-
ried on thy devilish trade of spells and incanta-
tions in the tower yonder, laying thyself like a
vampyre to my father's heart, and inspiring him
perhaps with those hellish resolutions that brought

CHAPTER V.

103

me to the brink of destruction, I ought indeed to
drive thee out of my house like a mad dog !"
The old man was so terrified at these words, that
he fell on his knees before the Baron, and whe-
ther it happened intentionally, or in the insensi-
ble paroxysm of anger, is not known, but the Ba-
ron gave him a blow with his foot, which over-
turned him on the floor. With difficulty he
raised himself up, and uttering a strange moan,
more like that of some wounded beast, than a
man, he cast on the Baron a look of mingled rage
and despair. The latter threw at him a heavy
purse of money, but, leaving it untouched, he re-
tired without another word.

Meanwhile all the nearest connections and ac-
quaintances of the family assembled, and the old
magician was with much pomp interred in the fa-
mily vault, after which, when the guests had de-
parted, the new Baron seemed resolved to be both
wise and merry. He applied himself earnestly
to the management of his worldly affairs, looking
over the accounts which were rendered to him by
the family agent Winkler, (whom he confirmed
in his office,) and considering how much of the
yearly income could be laid aside for the build-

104

ROLAXDSITTEN.

ing of the new castle. Winkler told him that it
was, in his opinion, quite impossible that the last
Baron could have spent, or even nearly spent all
his income, adding, that as nothing more than a
few bank notes, and about a thousand dollars had
been discovered, there must certainly be a trea-
sure concealed somewhere about the castle. Of
course the only person who could afford informa-
tion as to this was old Daniel, and according to
his usual wayward temper, perhaps he merely wait-
ed to be questioned, before giving the required ex-
planation. Baron Wolfgang, however, was not a
little afraid that Daniel, out of revenge for the in-
sult th at h e had received, might refuse his assistance,
and described to Winkler the scene that had tak-
en place betwixt him and the steward, expres-
sing at the same time his conviction, that it was
this man alone who had excited in Baron Roder-
ick's mind, that harshness and aversion towards
his sons, which, in his estimation, was so unpar-
donable. Winkler, however, did not believe this,
and insisted that the late Baron was by no means
of a temper to be led or influenced by any one
in such matters. Finally, he undertook to learn

CHAPTER V. 105

immediately from the steward, whether money was
or was not concealed in the castle.

There was no need for doubt or deliberation
on that score, for no sooner had the Justitiarius
proposed his first question to Daniel, than the
latter answered it with the utmost readiness.
"How comes it that the Baron has left behindhim
so little ready money ?" said Winkler. " Are you
talking of the trifling handful of dollars that you
found in the secretaire P1 answered the steward.
" That would indeed be but a poor affair to reck-
on on. The rest lies in a small vaulted closet,
adjoining to the bed-room of the late Baron. But
the worst of the story is (here twisting his fea-
tures into an abominable grin,) " the worst is, that
many thousand pieces of gold are buried yonder
in the rubbish of the watch-tower !" Having ob-
tained this much of information, the Justitiarius
immediately called the Baron, and they went, ac-
companied by Daniel, to the bed-room. Here,
the latter shoved aside an oaken pannel of the
wall, and a lock became visible. The Baron in-
stantly pulled out his great bunch of keys, fell
down on his knees to prosecute his labour with
better effect, and tried them all one after another.
e 2

106

HOLAXDSITTE3?.

Daniel, meanwhile, drew himself up, proud and
stately, looking with an aspect of the most inef-
fable contempt at his master. The Baron labour-
ed in vain, for no key would fit. At last, with a
faltering voice, and deadly pale visage, the stew-
ard said, " If I am a dog, my lord Baron, I have at
least the fidelity of a dog to recommend me F
With these words, he handed a small silver key
to his master, who snatched it eagerly out of his
hands, and with it immediately opened the lock.
Through a small aperture, that could scarcely be
called a door, they then forced their way into a
low vaulted closet, where there was a large iron
box, with the lid thrown open, and displaying
a great load of money-bags, upon which there
lay a written paper, in the well-known old fashion-
ed hand of the late Baron.

" One hundred fifty thousand rix dollars, in
Fredericks d'or, — money saved from the rents of
Rolandsitten, — and this sum is destined for the
improvement of the family mansion. Besides, the
possessor of the majorat who follows me, shall, upon
the high hill eastwardfromthe watch-tower, (which
he will find in ruins,) build a stately light-house for

CHAPTER V.

107

the good of the mariners, and kindle a fire in it
every night. — Rolandsitten, Michaelmas day,

1770.

Roderick, Freyherr v. Rolandsitten."

The Baron lifted up the money-bags one by
one, and let them fall again into the chest, de-
lighting himself with the ringing sound of so
much argent comptant. He then turned to the
old steward, thanked him for his fidelity, and
assured him, that nothing but vile calumnies had
been the reason why he had before treated him
so harshly. For the future he should not only re-
main in the castle, but be confirmed in full autho-
rity as house-steward, with double income. — I
owe you much," added the Baron, 6( as compen-
sation for the insult that I have inflicted on you.
If you want money, here, — take one of these
bags." He did not look the steward in the face
as he pronounced these words, but rather kept
his eyes on the ground, at the same time pointing
to the chest, to which he soon betook himself
again, counting over the bags, as if to guess whe-
ther all was right. The pale face of the steward
xvas suddenly overspread with a burning red, and

108

ROLAND SIT TEN.

he uttered the same kind of horrid unearthly
moan, which the Baron had described to his
friend Winkler. The latter was, however, much
shocked on the present occasion ; for, along with
that strange noise, he thought he distinguished two
or three articulate words of fearful import, of which,
however, the Baron took no notice, for he was
too much engrossed by the contemplation of the
treasure before him. Daniel, meanwhile, seem-
ed conflicting with his own feelings, which he
wished to disguise, from the necessity he was un-
der of appearing, if possible, grateful and respect-
ful towards the Baron. He trembled in every
limb, as if seized by an ague fit, but forced him-
self to go through the customary ceremonies of a
favoured servant. He drew near in the humblest
manner, kissed the Baron's hand, then, in a me-
lancholy tone — " Alas, my Lord," said he, " what
should I do with money, a frail old man who has nei-
ther wife nor child to provide for ? However, as to
the offer of double wages, I thankfully receive your
gracious offer, and shall not fail to discharge, as long
as I live, the duties of my station here in the castle !"
The Baron paid not the slightest attention to this
acknowledgment of the steward, but threw down

CHAPTER V. 109

the lid of the money-chest with such force, that
the vaulted roof echoed. He then carefully lock-
ed the coffer, and said hastily, — " Well — well —
enough of that. But," added he, as they came
into the hall — " did you not speak of much trea-
sure, that lies buried in the rubbish of the tower ?"
The old man made no answer, but stepped silent-
ly to the iron-gate, which he opened with much
labour, but as soon as he had done so, the storm
brought a thick blinding snow-drift into the room.
What was worse, a large raven came forth, croak-
ing and screaming, and flew about the hall, beat-
ing with its black wings against the windows, —
till, finding out the gateway again, it disappeared
at once into the chasm. The Baron went to the
gate, and looked down, but had scarcely given
one glance, when he came back trembling. "It
is a frightful sight ! I am quite giddy !" said he,
and sank, half fainting, into the arms of his friend
the Justitiarius. He recovered himself, however,
and with a sharp look at the old man — " And in
the ruins below there,'" said he, " thou know est
that there are yet treasures ?" The old man had
now closed the gate, and strained, with all his
might, to draw out the key from the lock, but

110

ROLAND SIT TEX.

it was grown so rusty, that this was almost im-
possible. At length, having accomplished the
task, he turned slowly round to the Baron, and
said, with a hideous grin on his features, 6i Aye,
aye ! down there lie thousands and thousands of
them ! All the beautiful instruments of your ho-
noured father ! Telescopes, quadrants, mirrors,'
and whatnot ! all are mouldering in rubbish, among
the stones, and wooden beams !" — " But money —
money P said the Baron. " You spoke of gold,
old man !" " I only meant,"" said Daniel, " ra-
rities that had cost many a Frederick d'or." And
this was all that could now be gathered from him.
* The Baron seemed for some time quite con-
tented, and rejoiced at having obtained the means
of carrying his favourite plan of building a new
castle into execution. Winkler was, indeed, of opi-
nion, that the careful astrologer, in his testamenta-
ry memorandum, alluded only to repairs of the old
castle, and that it would not be an easy matter
for them to erect any building that would equal
it in size and grandeur. The Baron, however,
was inflexible, and insisted, that in the case of
such irregular and unrecorded wills, the arrange-
ments proposed by the deceased must yield, ad

4

CHAPTER V.

Ill

libitum, to the modifications of the living. He
made it known, at the same time, that it was his
especial duty to adorn Rolandsitten as far as cli-
mate, soil, and environs would permit, for he in-
tended, in a short time, to bring home a wife, so
lovely, and so beloved, that, for her sake, he
ought to make every sacrifice.

A certain air of mystery, however, attended
this annonce, which made the Justitiarius think,
that perhaps the marriage had already been so-
lemnized in secret ; but he did not venture to ask
any more questions. Meanwhile, the circum-
stance was in one respect satisfactory to him, for
he had before accused the Baron of avarice, but, on
the contrary, his craving for money seemed to origi-
nate in the wish to give pleasure to a dearly beloved
object. Still it vexed him to perceive that the
lord of the majorat, though now in possession of
so much ready money, which he did not fail to
visit every day, and look at with the greatest
pleasure, should very often grumble out — " That
old scoundrel has certainly concealed, somewhere
or another, the largest treasures, but, next year,
the ruins of the tower shall be cleared out under
my own inspection."

112

ROLANDS IT TEN.

Now there came architects, with whom the
Baron held long discussions, how it would be
best to proceed with the new building. Drawing
after drawing was tabled and rejected. No style
of architecture was for him sufficiently grand,
rich, and elegant. At last he began himself to
draw plans, and, exhilarated by this employment,
which always afforded him pleasant anticipations
for the future, he gradually brought himself into
a mirthful humour, which almost bordered on ex-
travagance, and in which, by means of his liberal
entertainments, he found no want of people to
sympathize with him. The profusion and fre-
quency of his banquets, indeed, soon cleared him
from every imputation of avaricious parsimony.
Daniel, meanwhile, appeared to have quite for-
gotten the insult which had been inflicted on
him. Towards the Baron, he behaved himself
always humbly and respectfully, though the for-
mer, on account of the treasure which he sup-
posed the steward to have concealed, either in the
ruins of the tower, or somewhere else, often fol-
lowed him with mistrustful glances. But what ap-
peared to all persons most extraordinary, was,
that the old man's looks improved from day to
l

CHAPTER V. 113

day in a wonderful degree, so that he seemed
actually ten years younger. Perhaps this might
be, because he had begun to forget his grief for
his old master's death ; partly, too, because he
was not now obliged to spend whole nights sleep-
less in the tower, and, moreover, enjoyed a better
table, and as much wine as he liked to drink.
However this may be, it is certain that, from
being a tottering withered scarecrow, he became a
portly man, with florid cheeks, who looked the
very picture of health, and could laugh long and
loudly whenever there was the least indication
of jocularity around him.

This mode of life at the castle was interrupted
by the arrival of a personage, who, from his
gay careless demeanour, might been judged to be
exactly suited for an inmate of the modern Roland-
sitten. This was Wolfgang's younger brother, the
Baron Hubert. But no sooner was he announced
to the lord of the majorat than the latter grew
deadly pale, and, to the astonishment of the
by-standers, cried out, " Unhappy wretch ! what
new madness can have brought him hither?"
Hubert, on the contrary, came into the room with
liveliness and affection in his countenance, and

114

R0LANDS1TTEN.

would have cordially embraced his brother. Wolf-
gang, however, received him with great coldness,
and led him away afterwards to his private study,
where the two were long closeted together. The
interview lasted for several hours, till at length Ba-
ron Hubert came down with a very perturbed as-
pect, and called for his horses. The advocate
Winkler met him on the staircase, and, imagining
that perhaps he might be able to clear up some
dispute between the two brothers, he begged
of the younger Baron that he would remain for
some time longer at the castle. At that moment,
too, the lord of the majorat appeared, and called
out, 44 Stay — stay Hubert ! In a little while,
you will recollect yourself, and think better of all
these matters !" Hubert's looks cleared up in
some measure. He assumed an air of composure,
threw off his rich fur cloak, and gave it to a ser-
vant,— then taking Winkler's arm, walked with
him up and down the chamber. Perceiving that
they were left alone, he at length said with a
scornful smile, 44 So, forsooth the lord of the
majorat has the condescending kindness to al-
low of my remaining here for a little while f*
Winkler was in great hopes that he would add

CHAPTER V.

115

something which might give him insight into
the cause of this unhappy quarrel, and waited
till Hubert seated himself at the fire, and be-
gan mechanically, to split with the poker a piece
of wood which lay on the hearth, and which he
threw on to make a blaze. " You observe, Herr
Justitiarius," said the Baron, " that I am a good-
humoured man, and expert at all household ser-
vices. As for Wolfgang, to say the least, he is
full of the most absurd narrow-minded prejudices,
and, moreover, has become a downright miser."
This remark accorded too nearly with Winkler's
own ideas of the majorats herr, to allow him any
hopes of a speedy reconciliation, and as Wolf-
gang then re-entered the room, and looked vio-
lently incensed, he could not venture to interfere.

In the evening., having to receive some directions
from the Baron, as to the management of the
property, he went up to his apartment, and found
him walking to and fro in much disquietude.
He stood still when he saw the Justitiarius, and
looked him gloomily and steadfastly in the face.
" So then," said he, in a deep broken voice. " My
brother is still here ? I am aware by your looks
what you would say. But you know nothing of

116

ROLAND SITTEN.

this matter. You know not that this miserable
man, for I must call him miserable, like an evil
spirit, comes every where in my way, and utterly
ruins my peace of mind. If I have not also be-
come incurably wretched, it is not his fault. He
has done what he could for this purpose ; but
Heaven willed that it should fall out otherwise.
Since the time that the estate was made into a
majorat, he persecutes me with the most dead-
ly hatred, and envies me my possessions, which,
were they in his hands, would vanish away like
chaff before the wind. Of all men that I have
ever heard of, he is the most wasteful and ex-
travagant. His load of debts amount to more
than half the value of the property which he pos-
sesses in Courland, and now driven to distraction
by his creditors , who do not fail to torment him,
he hastens hither, and urges me to give him mo-
ney.1' " And this," said Winkler, " you refuse to
an only brother ?" " Assuredly," said the Ba-
ron, with vehemence, " I do refuse. From the
income of the, majorat, I shall not give away a
single dollar. But, now, observe the proposal
which I made a few hours ago to this madman,
and then judge the feelings of duty by which I
am actuated. Our unentailed possessions in

CHAPTEll V.

117

Courland, are, as you know, considerable, and I
was willing to give up, on his account, that part
of them, that falls to my share, but then, this
was to be for the benefit of his family. Hu-
bert married in Courland a young and beau-
tiful woman without fortune, by whom he has
children, and they are already reduced to the
horrors of poverty. His property, therefore,
should be put under trust ; enough of the pro-
ceeds given him to live upon, and the rest gra-
dually employed to pay off his creditors by in-
stalments. But what cares he for the quiet hon-
ourable life that I recommend to him, or for the
fate of his wife and children ? Large sums of
ready money are what he demands, in order that he
may spend it as fast as it comes, in shameless ex-
travagance. Some demon has betrayed to him
the secret of the hundred and fifty thousand
dollars, and he now claims the half of it, as being
moveable property, and not influenced by the
deed of entail. I must of course refuse him
this mad request ; but, in my opinion, he is, out
of revenge, brooding plans for my destruction."

Winkler tried, as well as he could, on principles
of morality and virtue, to persuade the Baron out

118 ROLAXDSITTEK

of this dislike to bis brother ; but without success.
He was commissioned, however, to hold a private
conference with Hubert, and endeavour to bring
him to moderate terms, at all events to induce
him to submit to the Baron's plan with regard to
the property in Courland. This the advocate set
about with as much precaution as possible ; and
was much pleased when Hubert answered, " what
you say may be very right. I accept then the
proposal made by my brother, but on the condi-
tion that he saves me at present from the proceed-
ings of my creditors, who are all on the watch; that
he gives me in advance one thousand Fredericks
(Tor, and, for the future, allows me to take up my re-
sidence in the castle ofRolandsitten." — "Never —
never .'"cried the Baron, when Winkler laid before
him this proposal of his brother. " It is in vain
to hope for my consent, that Hubert should re-
main, even for a minute in my house, after I have
brought my wife hither. Go then, my dear friend,
and say to this disturber of our peace, that he shall
have two thousand Frederick's d'or, not as an ad-
vance, but asa gift. Now, away — away !" Winkler,
after this conversation, concluded for the first time,
thatthe Baron musthave married without the know-

CHAPTER V.

119

ledge of his father, and that, in this marriage, also
consisted the ground of dispute between the two
brothers. However, he hastened to deliver his
message, to which Hubert listened quietly, then
said, in a hollow grumbling tone — "Well, — well ;
I shall take the matter into consideration, but,
meanwhile, I must remain here for a few days."
Winkler endeavoured, as well as he could, to
persuade the discontented youth, that the Baron
had only his welfare at heart, which he endea-
voured to promote, by making over to him that
part of the fortune which was moveable, on con-
dition that he would sign a trust deed for the benefit
of his creditors ; that, on the whole, he had no just
right to complain, though it must be allowed that
every deed of entail, by which the whole power
is vested in the eldest son was a very hateful trans-
action. At these words, Hubert, like one who
struggles for breath, tore his waistcoat violently
open, from collar to skirt, then with one hand
thrust into his bosom, he turned round with a
pirouette like that of an opera dancer, " Poll !
poh !" cried he, in a voice that made the room
echo, " That which is hateful, has also its origin
in hatred !" Thereafter he broke out into an un-

120

ROLANDS IT TEN.

natural and horrid fit of laughter, adding, " How
condescendingly the majorats herr thinks of
throwing his gold coins at the head of the poor
beggar V So Winkler perceived that, as to a full
reconciliation of the two brothers, it was an idea
quite out of the question, and gave up troubling
himself on the matter.

Hubert now established himself in the cham-
bers which had been appointed for him, in a re-
tired wing of the castle, and, to the great annoy-
ance of the Baron, it seemed as if he had deter-
mined on remaining there for a considerable space
of time. Meanwhile it was observed, that he had
frequent and long conversations with Daniel, the
old steward, and that the latter went with him
now and then to the wolf-hunting ; in other re-
spects Hubert remained in perfect quietness and
seclusion, especially avoiding any interview with
his brother, — which conduct was, no doubt, quite
according to the Baron's wishes. Winkler felt,
however, that this state of affairs was one which
could not possibly continue long, — and often said
to himself, that the strange and mysterious man-
ner which accompanied all the younger Baron's
words and actions quite destroyed the spirit of

CHAPTER V. 121

unanimity and social happiness at the castle, so
that Wolfgang's terror when he saw his brother
arrive, might now be explained on principles per-
fectly natural.

VOL. II.

F

122

K0LAXDS1TTEN.

CHAPTER VI.

It happened that Winkler was one day sitting
alone in the audience-room, quite absorbed over
his accounts and law-papers, when Hubert enter-
ed. With an expression on his countenance more
grave, and at the same time more steadfast than
usual, he said, " I have now made up my mind,
as there seems to be no alternative. I shall ac-
cept my brother's last proposal. Therefore do
you forthwith make such arrangements, that I
may this very day receive the two thousand Frie-
dricks d'or, and in the evening I shall depart
from hence on horseback, and alone.,, — " What,
— with the money ?" inquired Winkler. " You
are in the right, replied Hubert. " I know
what you would say ; — the weight is too great.
But let it be given in bills of exchange on Isaac
Lazarus, the banker in Konigsberg. Even this
very night I am determined to set out thither ; this

4

CHAPTER VI.

123

residence has become intolerable to my feelings ;
and I believe the old man's ghost has risen from
the grave, and fills the castle anew with his devils
and hobgoblins." — " Do you speak thus of your
own father, my lord Baron ?" said Winkler very
gravely. Hubert made no answer, — his lips trem-
bled, and he held by a chair as if about to fall ; —
but suddenly recovering himself, " So then, Herr
J li sUdanis," added he, 4 6 to-day, if you will
please to remember, the money or bills must be
provided." He then retired abruptly, and Wink-
ler went at once to report the result of this inter-
view to Baron Wolfgang. " No doubt," said
the latter, as he was writing out the bills of ex-
change on Isaac Lazarus, " he perceives plainly
enough that all subterfuges and deceptions are
with me quite in vain ; — he can do nothing
against my firm and unalterable determination."
These words were pronounced with a grim smile
of confidence and satisfaction, for, by the propos-
ed departure of his brother, it seemed as if an in-
supportable weight were at once lifted from his
spirits, and for a long time he had not been so
merry as he appeared that evening at supper.
Hubert had apologized for being absent, and in-

ROLAND SIT TEN.

deed no one regretted that he was not of the par-
ty.

Now, the Justitiarius inhabited a retired cham-
ber, of which the windows looked out to the cas-
tle court. In the night he was startled suddenly
from his sleep, and it seemed as if the tones of a
distant melancholy voice had awakened him. Care-
fully as he now listened, all remained still as the
grave, so that he was obliged to reckon the sound
which had disturbed him as the delusion of a
dream. A feeling of inexplicable terror and anx-
iety, however,.got the better of him in such man-
ner that he could not remain in bed, but rose and
went to the window. Stationed there, he perceiv-
ed, after a short interval, that the castle door was
opened, — a figure, carrying alighted candle, came
forth, and stepped across the court. Winkler re-
cognized immediately, in this apparition, the fea-
tures of old Daniel, and determined to watch him
in his progress. First, the old man opened the door
of the stable, wherein he disappeared ; but, in a
few minutes, came out again, leading a horse ready
saddled and bridled. Now, then, there stept for-
ward a second figure, wrapt in a travelling man-
tle, with a fox-skin cap on his head ; and Winkler
11

CHAPTER VI.

125

perceived at once that this last was the Baron
Hubert, who spoke with Daniel, gesticulating
vehemently for some time, after which he retired
abruptly. Thereupon Daniel led the horse back
into the stable, closed the door, then returned to
the castle, entered, and shut the main portal. It
was quite obvious that Hubert, according to his
proposal of the morning, had intended to ride
away, but had suddenly adopted some other reso-
lution. So far, certainly, there was not any thing
alarming ; but, at the same time, he could not but
perceive that there was somewhat of a different
character in that private understanding which
still subsisted between the old steward and Hu-
bert, in consequence of which they held such long
conversations together. It was with great impa-
tience, therefore, that Winkler waited for the
morning, when he resolved to inform the Baron
of all that he had observed, and take counsel as
to the measures that ought to be adopted against
the attacks of the malicious younger brother, who
was doubtless meditating revenge.

When eight o'clock struck, at which hour the
Baron used to make his appearance, Winkler

126

ROLATSfDSITTEN.

heard an extraordinary uproar sounding along the
galleries, — doors violently slammed or opened^
steps of people running to and fro, and voices
shouting aloud. On leaving his apartment, he met
many of the servants, who, with visages deadly
pale, ran past him, without even answering his
questions, and rushed in great agitation from one
room to another. At length he ascertained that
the Baron was amissing, and that every one had
for some time been on the alert to discover him,
but in vain ! He had retired to bed the preced-
ing night as usual, attended by his confidential
chasseur, but afterwards must have risen, and
gone out in his night-gown and slippers, with the
candlestick in his hand ; for these articles were
found wanting, while his wearing apparel lay as-
usual on a sofa. With his mind full of horrid an-
ticipations, Winkler ran into the fatal audience-
hall, — for Wolfgang, like his father, had chosen
a cabinet adjoining to this for his bed-room. The
moment that the Justitiarius entered the long
apartment, he turned his eyes instinctively towards
the gate that once led up to the astronomical tower,
and, behold, it stood wide open ! Shuddering in

CHAPTER VJ. 127

every limb, he now exclaimed — " Aye, aye ! It
must be so. In that horrible abyss he lies dashed
to pieces !"

His words were soon found to be correct.
Snow had fallen, which, by its reflection, aided
the day-light, so that those who looked down in-
to the chasm, thought they could clearly distin-
guish the form, now stiffened in death, of the un-
fortunate man, who lay with his hands clenched,
and eyes starting from their sockets, amid the
stones and rubbish. After some unavoidable de-
lay, workmen were sent down, at the risk of
their lives, by means of several ladders tied to-
gether, and succeeded in drawing up the dead
body. In the convulsive strife of his last agony,
the Baron had firmly seized on the silver candle-
stick ; the hand in which it was thus grasped,
was the only uninjured part of his whole frame,
which, by striking against the stones in its de-
scent, had been hideously shattered, so that it
presented a most appalling spectacle.

Just as the body had been laid out in the
same place where the remains of the old Baron
Roderick had been deposited so short a time be-
fore, Hubert, with the frenzy of despair inhiscoun-

ROLANDSITTEN.

tenance, rushed into the room. Quite over-
powered by the scene that here awaited him, he
almost howled out — " Brother — oh my poor bro-
ther ! — no — this much I surely never implored
from the demons of revenge that had taken pos-
session of my heart V — Winkler trembled at
these words, feeling as if irresistibly impelled to
rush forward and accuse Hubert openly of fratri-
cide. For this, however, the present was no fit-
ting time, for the Baron had fallen senseless on
the floor, whence the servants carried him to bed,
and he did not recover from his swoon till after
a long interval. Then pale as a ghost, with his
eyes clouded in grief, he came into Winkler's
room, where, throwing himself into a chair, he
exclaimed — " In truth, I could almost have
wished for my brother's death, because he was
cold hearted and avaricious, and my father had,
by a foolish will, made over to him all the best of
the property. But now he has brought on him-
self his own death, after a manner the most un-
foreseen and horrible ; of course, I am master of
Rolandsitten ; but my heart is quite crushed and
broken. I could not stand the shock of this
morning, and shall never more be happy. Mean-

CHAPTER VI.

129

while you shall be confirmed in your office, and
shall receive from me an unlimited power as to
the management of the estate, on which I cannot
bear to live any longer." Hubert then abruptly
started up, making a sign that he would not en-
ter into any farther conversation, left the room,
and, within a few hours afterwards, had quitted
the castle, and was on the road to Konigsberg.

The conclusion generally drawn as to the cause
of this fatal event, was, that the unfortunate Wolf-
gang had, when he rose in the night, intended
going into another small room in which there was
a library. In the confusion of the moment, be-
ing perhaps half asleep, he had, instead of the
library door, opened the gateway of the tower,
stepped across the threshold unawares, and, of
course, fallen accidentally into the abyss : — To
Winkler, however, this explanation seemed far
from being satisfactory or naturally intelligible.
If the Baron could not sleep, and wished to fetch
a volume from the book closet to read, this ex-
cluded all belief of his being in a state of half
slumber; and yet, it could only be when half
asleep, or under an attack of somnambulism, that
he could mistake the door of his own study, and,
f 2

130

ROLAND SIT TEN.

instead of it, open the gate of the astronomical
tower. But farther, — this last was always kept
firmly locked, and it was not possible that it
could have been opened without much trouble.
Accordingly, Winkler took occasion, when all the
domestics were assembled together, to state these
improbabilities, and dissent from the conclusion
they had drawn. is Aye, aye !" said the late Ba-
ron's confidential chasseur, " the herr Justi-
tiarius is in the right. The misfortune could not
have happened in that manner." This was all
that he would venture to say in the presence of
so many observers ; but he agreed to be more ex-
plicit if admitted to a private interview, at which
he declared, that his wish to avoid betraying cir-
cumstances that might detract from the fair cha-
racter of his late master, had prevented him from
speaking before ; — that the Baron had more than
a hundred times talked with him of the vast trea-
sures that were concealed in the rubbish of the
tower, and frequently, as if driven on by an evil
spirit, he went at midnight to the gate, of which
Daniel had been obliged to give him the key ; —
then he opened it, and, with a vague fantastic
expression of hope and curiosity on his features,

CHAPTER VI.

131

looked down to the golden mines which, accord-
ing to his calculation, were certainly to be found
beneath. Winkler doubted no longer, therefore,
that the Baron, on that fatal night after the chas-
seur left him, had taken one of his usual walks to
the tower gate, where a sudden apoplexy or gid-
diness had seized him, and he had fallen down
unawares into the abyss. Daniel, the old stew-
ard, was also of this opinion ; he seemed much
shocked at the Baron's death, and suggested that
it would be proper to wall up the entrance to the
ruined tower with bricks and mortar, which ac-
cordingly was done.

As for Baron Hubert, who had thus succeeded
to the property, he did not interfere any farther,
having delegated his power to the Justitiarius,
and gone back directly through Konigsberg to
Courland. Under Winkler's management, the
building of the new castle was, of course, postpon-
ed, though, at the same time, a good deal of ex-
pence was incurred in repairing the old mansion.

Several years had thus past away, when in the
autumn of 18 — , Hubert took it into his head to
come for the first time as proprietor and Majo-
rats-herr to Rolandsitten, and after being several

132

ROLAND SIT TEN.

days shut up in the business room with Wink-
ler, he seemed to care nothing for the field sports,
but returned immediately to Courland. On his
way through Kbnigsberg, he had deposited there
and registered his last will, for during his short
abode at Rolandsitten he seemed completely al-
tered in temper and disposition, and spoke much
of his own anticipations of approaching death.
These apprehensions were very soon fulfilled, for
he died early in the following year. His only
son, who, after his father, was named Hubert,
came over immediately from Courland, in order
to take possession of Rolandsitten, and was fol-
lowed by his mother and sister. This young
man seemed to unite in his own person all the
bad qualities of his predecessors, and indeed, from
the first moment of his arrival, he proved him-
self to be supercilious, overbearing, and intract-
table in his humour. All at once he insisted
that a thousand different arrangements and in-
dulgences, which, by use and wont, had been
looked upon as fixed in the castle, should be
changed, because they did not suit his notions
of what was right and proper. For example, he
turned the cook out of doors, insisting that he

CHAPTER VI.

133

could not dress a dinner fit even for a respect-
able farmer, not to speak of a nobleman ; then as
to the coachman (who acted as head groom or
stall-yneister,) the young Freyherr was so in-
censed, that he tried to beat him, in which, how-
ever, success was out of the question, for the fel-
low, being as strong as oak and iron, did not choose
to permit that liberty. In short, this Hubert
the second was in full march to assume the posi-
tion of a severe arid imperious master, when
Winkler came, gravely and resolutely assuring
him, that he should not change so much as the
station of a chair or a table, far less drive any
living creature, or even a cat out of the house,
who wished to remain in it, until the last will
and testament of the former proprietor had been
opened. At these words, the youth absolutely
trembled and foamed with rage. " Here," said
he, " you have nothing to do ! you must submit,
even without a whisper of opposition, to the sove-
reign power of the Majorats-herr" Winkler,
however, was not to be intimidated in this man-
ner. With a quiet stern look he answered,
" Don't be in too great a hurry, my lord Baron !
At all events, you can have no authority here,

134

ROLA^DSITTEN.

till after the opening of your father's will. I am
now sole master at Rolandsitten, and, of course,
know how to meet violence with violence. You
will please to remember, that in virtue of my
powers as executor, I have even the right, if I
were so disposed, to prevent you from taking up
your abode in this castle/1 The steadfast compo-
sure of the Justitarius did not fail to give the pro-
per effect to his words, and the young Baron,
who had been about to break out again with great
violence, felt the weakness of his weapons against
such a determined adversary, and was obliged to
cover his defeat as well as he could, under a fit of
scornful laughter.

Three months had passed away, and the day
was come on which, according to the verbal in-
structions of the deceased Baron, the testament was
to be examined in the town of Konigsberg, where
it had been deposited. Besides the law-officers,
with the Baron and Winkler, there was a young
man of fine appearance in the hall, who accom-
panied the Justitiarius, and of whom, as he had
a large bundle of papers in his bosom, the au-
dience at first thought that he attended as a clerk.
The Baron eyed him scornfully, according to his

CHAPTER VI.

135

usual custom towards all the world, and demanded
that the tiresome ceremonies of the day might be
got through as quickly as possible, without needless
words and circumlocution. He did not compre-
hend how, in this instance of an entailed estate,
there could be so much importance attached to
a testamentary deed, and as to the contents of
the paper, he would allow them to be observed
or not, just as it suited his own good pleasure.
Meanwhile he had recognized the hand and seal
of his late father, having cast on them an ill-na-
tured momentary look. Then, as the clerk be-
gan to read aloud, he looked away with an air of
indifference to the window, — with his right arm
thrown carelessly on the back of his chair, his
left on the writing-table, and drumming with his
finger on its green cover. After a short pream-
ble, Baron Hubert the testator declared that he
had never possessed the estate as real master, —
but had only been an agent to take charge of it
for the absent son of the late Wolfgang von Ro-
landsitten, which son was named after his grand-
father Roderick, and must, of course, be acknow-
ledged as the individual to whom, according to
the laws of succession, the property must now be-

136

ROLAXDSITTEN.

long. Among his papers would be found the
most accurate account of expences and receipts
during the time that he had managed the estate.
Farther, according to the explanations given by
Hubert in this testament, his brother Wolfgang
had, during his travels, made the acquaintance
of Mademoiselle Julia de St Val, at Geneva, —
and fallen so vehemently in love with her, that
he resolved at all risks to bring about a mar-
riage. She had no dowry, and her family, though
respectable in rank, were by no means in opulent
circumstances, for which reason, he dared not
expect that the old Baron Roderick would ap-
prove of the match, — for his whole existence was
a continued struggle to save money, and to in-
crease the revenues of the majorat. However,
he ventured to dispatch a letter to his father from
Paris, explaining his situation, and an answer was
received precisely in that angry style which had
been anticipated. The old man declared that he
had already fixed on a bride for his successor, and
on no account would he hear of any other.
Wolfgang, instead of taking refuge in England, as
it was said he had done, went back to Geneva, and
remained there under the assumed name of Born,

CHAPTER VI.

137

having solemnized his marriage with Julia de St
Val, who, after the lapse of one year, bore him a
son, who, consequently, was now lord of the
majorat. Of course the question why Hubert,
being perfectly aware of all this, had been so
long silent, and had conducted himself as if he
were proprietor of the estate, was not forgotten.
For this, several reasons were assigned, that in
truth did not appear very satisfactory ; and refer-
ences were made to remote conversations with
Wolfgang on the subject, as to which it was im-
possible now to prove whether they had or had
not taken place.

During the reading of the will, the Baron was
of course roused from his mood of nonchalance,
and sat staring in the utmost astonishment at the
clerk, who had thus announced to him his mis-
fortune. When the deed had been gone through,
Winkler stood up, took the young man whom he
had brought with him by the hand, and said,
making a bow to the law-officers, u Here, gentle-
men, I have the honour of presenting to you, the
Baron Roderic von Rolandsitten, rightful owner of
that large estate." At these words, Baron Hubert,
biting his lips, with an aspect of repressed rage,

138

KOLANDS1TTEN.

looked at the youth, who seemed fallen from the
moon to deprive him of the rich majorat, and
half the unentailed property in Courland ; then
raising his clenched hand, shook it in an attitude of
furious defiance, and ran headlong out of the
court-house. Meanwhile, at the command of the
judges, Baron Roderick produced the documents
by which he was to be legitimized, and render-
ed up an attested extract, from the register of the
church where his father was married, certifying
with day and date, that the merchant Wolfgang
Bom, from the town of Konigsberg, was regular-
ly betrothed to the lady Julia de St Val. Add-
ed to this were his own baptismal certificate, also
several letters of the Baron to his mother, long
since deceased, which, however, had no other sig-
nature than W. Winkler who now saw these
papers for the first time, looked them over with a
dark lowering expression, as if all were not right,
then said, rather mournfully, as he folded them
up, " well — God will yet help us !"

On the very next day, Baron Hubert, by means
of an advocate whom he had engaged in his ser-
vice, gave in a representation to the government

CHAPTER VI.

139

at Konigsberg, in which he demanded no less
than the instant delivery of Rolandsitten, with
all the rights and privileges thereto belonging,
into his possession. It was quite obvious, main-
tained the advocate, that neither by testament,
nor in any other wayr could the late Baron Hubert
exercise power in the disposition of an entailed
estate. According to the line of succession, the
son must of course succeed to the father, and the
rights of inheritance must not be disturbed by
mere pretensions, which the soi-disant young Ba-
ron might substantiate if he could, but hitherto
nothing effectual had been done for this purpose."

Much as probability weighed in favour of what
had been stated in the testament, yet Hubert's de-
mand must, in all probability, have been acceded
to, had it not been for Winkler's restless endea-
vours, and his assurances that Baron Roderick's
proofs would soon be fully established. By this
means he was enabled to obtain a short interreg-
num ; — the delivery of the majorat, whether to
one or other party, was deferred, and his own ad-
ministration prolonged till farther documents could
be brought forward.

In a short time, however, Winkler saw but

140

ROLAXDSITTEN.

too well how difficult it would be for him to keep
his promise. He had turned over every letter of
the old astrologer, without finding the slightest
trace of any proof to substantiate that alleged
marriage of Wolfgang with Mademoiselle de St
Val. Lost in perplexing thoughts, he was sitting
one night in old Roderick's bed-room, which he
had searched through and through, and had be-
gun to fix his attention on a letter that he had
commenced to a notary in Geneva, who was repre-
sented to him as a sharp intelligent man, and from
whom he expected to receive some notices which
would yet place him on firm ground, before the sti-
pulated time of his administration was over. It was
now midnight, and the full moon shone brightly
into the adjoining hall, to which the door leading
from the bed-room stood open. All had been for
some time hushed and silent as the grave, when
Winkler suddenly heard a noise, as of some one
coming slowly and heavily up stairs, also the ring-
ing and rattling of keys. Instantly he was on the
alert — rose up, went into the hall, and plainly as-
certained that some one was advancing along the
corridor towards the main door, which opened ac-
cordingly, and a man in a night-dress entered,

CHAPTER VI.

141

with a pale anxious visage — in one hand a can-
dlestick, with a thick wax light — and in the other
a great bunch of keys.

Winkler immediately recognized the house
steward, and was on the point of asking him what
in all the world he wanted there so late at night,
when- the whole appearance of the man struck him
as being so mysterious and ghostly, that he could
not help shuddering. " No doubt," said he, " this
person must be a sleep-walker;" and he deter-
mined to watch his proceedings for some time in
silence. With slow measured steps, the old man
went straight towards the walled-up door, which
had formerly led to the astronomical tower. Di-
rectly before it he remained stationary, and, as if
from the very bottom of his heart, uttered a long
howling cry, which echoed so horribly through
the hall, that the Justitiarius actually trembled
with affright. Then, having set the candlestick
on the ground, and stuck the keys into his girdle,
Daniel began with both hands to scratch against
the wall, so that it was unaccountable how the
pain that he must have caused to himself did not
awake him, groaning all the while, as if under the
influence of some nameless and deadly torment.

142

ROT. AXDSITTEN.

Now, he laid his ear to the wall, as if watching
for some voice within — then turned round and
waved his hand, as if to quiet the anxiety of some
one that he supposed to be near him. At last, he
stooped down, lifted up the candlestick carefully,
and went hack with the same solemn demeanour
through the door. Winkler was resolved to see
the end of all this — ran for his own candle, and
followed the old man, who went sedately down
stairs, opened the great gate of the castle, (when
the Justitiarius, unobserved, contrived to slip out
along with him,) thereafter betook himself to the
stable, where he stationed the candle with great
caution, in a place where it could not come in con-
tact with the hay or wood-work — took down bridle
and saddle, and got ready one of the horses, ar-
ranging accurately the girths and stirrup buckles
— -smoothing the animal's hair on the forehead,
and clapping his neck, led him out to the court.
There he stood for some moments, nodding his
head, bowing, and muttering as if he received or-
ders ; after which, he led the horse back to the
stall, took off the saddle and bridle, and bound
it to the manger. Finally, he took up the candle-
stick, locked the stable, returned to the castle, and

CHAPTER VI.

143

retreated to his own chamber, carefully bolting the
door.

By this whole exhibition, Winkler was dread-
fully agitated ; and not a doubt remained on his
-mind that some horrid crime, yet unsuspected and
unheard of, was the lurking cause of the steward's
nocturnal wanderings. It occurred to him also,
that he might possibly turn to account his obser-
vations of to-night in favour of his protegi, the
young Baron Roderick ; therefore, on the follow-
ing evening, when the steward came to receive
some directions as to his department in the house-
hold, Winkler seized him by both arms, and, for-
cing him into a chair — " Hark you, old friend,
Daniel," said he, " I have long wished to hear
your opinion of that state of confusion into which
the strange testament of the Baron Hubert has
unavoidably brought us. Is it your opinion, then,
that the young man is absolutely the son of Wolf-
gang, and the offspring of a lawful marriage ?" The
old man leaned sideways in his arm-chair, and
tried to avoid meeting Winkler's eye. " Umph,"
said he, 66 it may be so, or it may be not ; what
business is that of mine ? Let who will be mas-
ter here — it is all one to Daniel.'" " Nay, nay,"

144

ROLAND SIT TEN.

resumed Winkler ; " but what I intended to say
was this: You had the old Baron's complete confi-
dence; therefore, he certainly would not conceal
from you the real state of affairs as to his sons, and
the line of family succession. No doubt he spoke
to you of tne marriage which Wolfgang had made
against his will ?" " As to these matters, to tell
the truth, I cannot recollect," said the old man,
yawning with an aspect of perfect indifference.
" But thou art half asleep, Daniel," said Wink-
ler ; " Hadst thou an unquiet night ?" " As if
I did not know that !" answered the steward, cold-
ly. " However, I must now go and order supper."
With these words he rose from his chair, walking
almost two-fold, and yawning more drowsily
than before. " Nay, don't be in such a hurry, old
friend," replied Winkler, taking him by the arm,
and trying to force him back into his seat ; but in
vain. The old man took his place at the table, in-
deed, leaning on it with his hands, and bending
forward towards the Justitiarius. " What, then,
should I stay for ?" said he. " What in all the
world have I to do with the Baron's will, and the
contest about the property of Rolandsitten ?"
" Oh, don't be afraid," answered Winkler. " On

CHAPTER VI.

145

that head, my good friend, we shall not say one
word more ; but rather speak of something else.
You are evidently quite out of humour ; you have
been yawning sadly ; both which circumstances
are signs of extraordinary fatigue, — so that I be-
gin to think it must have been Daniel himself

who came at midnight, when * " / indeed ?

How or where did T come to you in the night
said the steward, persisting in the same gesture.
" Only about eighteen hours ago," answered
Winkler, " when I was sitting in the bed-room
of the old Baron, with my door open, you came
into the great hall, with your visage pale and
grim, like that of any ghost. You went straight
up to the place where there was once a gateway
into the tower, and stood a long time scratching
against the wall, and groaning terribly. What
was the meaning of all this ? Are you a sleep-
walker, Daniel?" At these words, the steward
trembled so, that he seemed just about to fall on
the floor. The Justitiarius hastily placed a chair
for him, into which he dropped, his teeth chatter-
ing as if in an ague fit, and without being able to
answer one syllable. <c Aye," resumed Winkler,
after a short pause, " there is one symptom, among

VOL. IT. g

146

ItOLANDSITTEN.

others, very strange in the case of those sleep-walk-
ers. On the day following their nightly rambles,
they cannot muster up the slightest recollection of
the situation in which they were, or of aught that
had been said and done under the influence of their
malady." These words seemed likely to rouse the
steward ; but he remained silent. " I myself,"
continued Winkler, " have before now witnessed
somewhat resembling that which happened yester-
day to you. I had once an intimate and highly
valued friend who always began his wanderings
whenever it drew near the time of the full moon ;
but he did not merely stalk about, but would even
take his place at a table, and set to work writing
letters. The circumstance most remarkable, how-
ever, was, that if I began to whisper him softly
in the ear, I could soon succeed in leading him
into conversation. He used to answer quite cor-
rectly to all questions ; and even that which, when
awake, he would have carefully reserved, now
flowed involuntarily from his lips, as if he were
wholly under the dominion of some influence which
he could not control. On my word, Daniel, I be-
lieve, that if a sleep-walker had concealed some

horrid crime, and it had weighed on his conscience

1

CHAPTER VI.

147

ever so long, yet at such times one might be able
to extract from him a full confession ! It is well,
then, for such people as you and I, my good old
friend ; we might walk in our sleep, whenever a
full moon came round, and no one that questioned
us would ever be the wiser as to any secret rob-
beries or murders. But hark you, Daniel ; surely,
when you scratch in that vile way with your nails
against the plaster wall, you have some plan of car-
rying on old Baron Roderick's astronomical obser-
vations ? Well, the next time that you happen to
wander, if I am awake, I shall not fail to question
you on that head." As Winkler spoke thus, the old
man's agitation had always increased, till his whole
frame seemed convulsed; and, attempting to speak,
he broke out into a confused babbling noise, of
which not one sentence was intelligible. So Wink-
ler rung for the servants, who brought lights ; but,
without seeming to perceive their presence, Daniel
persisted in his convulsions and unmeaning at-
tempts at speech, till they were obliged to take
him up as if he had been a mere automaton, and
carry him away to bed. After he had spent about
an hour in this horrid state, he fell into a sleep so
deep, that it almost resembled a swoon. On awak-

148

ROLANDSITTEX.

ing, he demanded wine, and when he had drank
some glasses, instead of permitting the servants to
stay and watch him as they intended to do, he
drove them all out of the room, and locked him-
self up as usual.

Winkler had spoken quite in earnest as to the
questions which he designed to put to the steward,
if he should appear once more like a ghost in the
audience-hall ; at the same time, he did not for-
get that Daniel, being thus made aware of his
own sleep-walking propensities, would try every
method to evade him, — moreover, that confessions,
extorted from one in that extraordinary situation,
though they might afford hints to act on in pri-
vate, could by no means be brought forward as
proofs. Notwithstanding all this, he was on the
watch at midnight, hoping that the old man, as
it often happens to victims of this malady, would
be forced to act involuntarily, and could not help
wandering till the moon began to wane. As fhe
hour drew near, however, his attention was ar-
rested by a great noise in the court, and he distin-
guished, among other sounds, that a window had
been driven in, so that the glass and frame work
broke to shivers. Instantly, he hastened down

/

CHAPTER VI. H9

stairs, and, on passing through the corridor, he
was assailed by an oppressive smell of fire, and a
dense smoke, as if from burning cloth, which, as
he soon found, proceeded from the room of the
house-steward. On coming to the door, he was
met by several servants, who were bearing out the
body of the old man, to all appearance dead ! On
inquiry, Winkler understood that, towards mid-
night, one of the under grooms had been alarmed
by a strange hollow knocking from Daniel's apart-
ment. Fearing that his illness had returned, he was
getting up in order to learn what was the matter,
when the porter in the court, who, by some lucky
chance, had been awake, called out, " Fire — fire
— in the room of the herr intendant — burning
fiercely !" At this outcry, several servants were
assembled in a moment ; but all endeavours to
break in the door, proved in vain ! Meanwhile,
the porter, more resolute than any of them, had
knocked the window in pieces, and, luckily, it was
so situated that he could reach it without a ladder.
On entering the room, he found that only the bed
and window curtains were burning; and a few
buckets of water were sufficient to extinguish them.
As to the steward, he was lying in the middle of
the floor in a state of insensibility, but still grasp-

150

ROLANDSITTEX.

ing convulsively the candle, with which he had
set fire to the curtains, and caused all this uproar.
The burning rags which flew about had already
scorched his hair and dress, so that, if timely aid
had not been rendered, his death would have been
inevitable. On examining the door, they were
much surprised to find that it was secured inside
by two massive bolts, which had not been there
the day preceding.

The Justitiarius perceived plainly, that the old
man had wished to render his leaving the room
quite impossible, — but, from the fatigues of the
former night, sleep had overtaken him, and he
could not resist the impulse that forced him to
rise and walk about. Meeting with unusual ob-
stacles when he wished to leave his apartment, he
had tried to find some other outlet, and, being
suddenly awoke by the fire, had fallen down in a
death-like swoon of affright. Afterwards, he was
attacked by a fit of severe illness — would not speak
but in monosyllables — took but little nourishment,
and lay with his eyes fixed and staring, as if tor-
mented by the reproaches of an evil conscience, of
which he dared not speak to any one. Indeed,
Winkler believed that his last moments were cer-
tainly near at hand.

■ ■ 1 ■ - ■ i

151

CHAPTER VII.

Meanwhile all possible exertions (limited as
they were) had been made in favour of the young
Baron Roderick ; and the Justitiarius finding no-
thing farther that could reasonably detain him at
Rolandsitten, wished, therefore, to return to K6-
nigsberg. His departure was appointed for the fol-
lowing morning, — and, very late at night, he set
to work packing up his papers, among which, there
was a little billet addressed to him from the Ba-
ron Hubert, sealed, and with a note at the cor-
ner, " To be read after the opening of my will."
This had hitherto, in a most unaccountable man-
ner, escaped his attention. He was on the point
of breaking up this packet, when the door open-
ed, and, with slow ghostly steps, Daniel came in-
to the room ! — Under his arm he carried a large
black portfolio, which he laid silently on the
writing-table, — then falling on his knees, and

152

BOLANDSITTEN.

uttering a deep groan, he faltered out — " No f
I would rather not die on the scaffold ! God
above is our judge, and will amply punish the
guilty r Having pronounced these words, he rose
again with great effort — made a sign that he
would not enter into any dialogue, and solemnly
retreated as he had come. Winkler of course for-
got all the arrangements for his journey, and
spent the whole night in reading the contents of
this black portfeuille, and Baron Hubert's private
packet.

The documents thus afforded, were all quite in
harmony one with another ; and the J ustitia-
rius found himself at once placed on firm ground,
so that he knew the course to be pursued. Ac-
cordingly, when he arrived at Konigsberg, he be-
took himself to the Baron Hubert, who received
him rudely enough, though with a sort of affect-
ed ceremony, as if he were amply convinced of
his own rights and importance, in which no one
could disturb him. Their interview, which be-
gan at mid-day, was not broken off' till near mid-
night ; and the consequences were, that Baron
Hubert made his appearance next morning in the
council-room, where he declared publicly, that

CHAPTER VII.

153

the new claimant of the Rolandsitten estate was
(according to his father's testament) the eldest
born son in lawful wedlock of the late Baron
Wolfgang, and consequently the sole and right-
ful heir. On his retreat from the town-hall,
his carriage, with post horses, stood ready at the
door ; he stepped in and was driven off in a great
hurry, leaving behind him his mother and sister,
who, perhaps, would never see him again. So at
least he had expressed himself in a farewell letter,
written within the last twelve hours, and deliver-
ed after his departure.

Baron Roderick's astonishment at the changes
which had thus taken place was very great,
and he begged that Winkler would explain to
him more particularly how such consequences
had been brought about. The Justitiarius, how-
ever, begged him not to waste time on these in-
quiries, the point under immediate consideration
being to place him, as soon as possible, in posses-
sion of the majorat, which the judges would not
agree to till his claim of legitimacy was fully
established. Meanwhile Winkler proposed to
the Baron that he should live at Rolandsitten,
adding thereto that Hubert's mother and sister,
g 2

154

R0LAND3ITTEN-

who, by his sudden departure, were brought into
embarrassment, would prefer a quiet retirement
at the family mansion to their present residence
in the noisy and expensive capital. The delight
with which Roderick evidently dwelt on the pro-
spect of being for some time under the same roof
with the Baroness and her daughter, betrayed
obviously what an impression Celestina, who was
indeed a very beautiful and fascinating girl, had
made on his heart. The plan of living at Ro-
landsitten was adopted accordingly, and, in the
course of a few weeks, he had gained the young
lady's affections, and her mother's cordial appro-
bation of their marriage, — though in Winkler's
opinion this was somewhat rash and premature ;
for, up to the present hour, the legal proofs of
Roderick's legitimacy remained unadjusted. His
interference, however, would have been unavail-
ing ; but letters from Courland at last interrupt-
ed this life of Arcadian happiness at the castle.
Hubert, it seemed, had not even visited the Cour-
land estate, after leaving Konigsberg, but had
gone straight to Petersburg, had there entered
into the Emperor's service, and was now on the
field marching against the Persians, with whom

CHAPTER VII.

155

the Russians were at war. This intelligence
obliged the Baroness and her daughter to leave
Rolandsitten for Courland, in order that the pro-
perty there might not remain wholly neglected,
and Roderick, who looked upon his marriage as
certain, insisted that he should be allowed to at-
tend them. Winkler, too, returned at this time
to Konigsberg, so that the castle was left to its
old loneliness and desolation. The house-stew-
ard's malady became always worse and worse, —
and there seemed little chance of his recovery ;
consequently the duties of his station were given
in charge to that old chasseur named Franz, who
had been the faithful attendant of the late Baron
Wolfgang.

At length, after a long tiresome interval of
suspense, Winkler received from Switzerland
the most favourable information. The priest
who had married Wolfgang, was indeed long
since dead, — but, however, there was found in his
handwriting, in one of the church record-books, a
memorandum, setting forth that the stranger
calling himself Wolfgang Born, betwixt whom
and the Lady Julia de St Val, he had solem-
nized a marriage, — had privately imparted to him

156

HOLANDSITTEN.

documents, by which it appeared amply proved,
that his name was not Born, but the Baron Wolf-
gang von Rolandsitten, eldest son of the proprie-
tor of that estate. Besides, there were two wit-
nesses,— a merchant in Geneva, and an old French
captain, who had since gone to Lyons, who were
equally in Wolfgang's confidence, and their evi-
dence most satisfactorily confirmed the notice of
the priest in the church record. These proofs
having been gone through, Winkler lost no time
in drawing up the required papers, in order that
Roderick might be duly established as majorafs
herr, and the time of his accession was appoint-
ed for the ^following autumn. As for Baron Hu-
bert, he had been struck dead by a cannon shot,
in the very first engagement, thus meeting the
same fate with his youngest brother, who was,
in like manner, killed on the field of battle,
about a year before the late Hubert died. So
the Courland estates fell to the Baroness Celesti-
na of Rolandsitten, and supplied her with a rich
dowry on her marriage with the fortunate Rode-
rick.

Their wedding was fixed accordingly ; and, late
in the month of November, the young Baron, with

CHAPTER VII.

157

his bride and mother-in-law, arrived in great pomp
at Rolandsitten. Hereupon ensued the formal
surrender of the majorat, and the marriage of
Celestina and Roderick. Of course, the castle
was thronged with guests, and many weeks were
past over in luxury and pleasure, till at length
the party began to tire of banquetings and hunt-
ing excursions, so that one by one gradually dropt
off the list, to the great satisfaction of Winkler,
who had resolved not to leave the young Baron,
without finding leisure beforehand to instruct him
in many points as to the management of the pro-
perty, of which he must be yet ignorant. The
Baron's uncle, Hubert, had kept the most accu-
rate accounts as to receipts and disbursements ;
so that, as the former had only received a limited
sum for his yearly board and education, a great
addition had now been made to that sum of ready
money, which had been left by the old astrologer.
Only for the first three years had Hubert employed
the receipts of the Rolandsitten estate for his own
purposes; and even for the sum thus appropriated,
he had granted a bond in relief, with security on
that part of the Courland property which was ex-
clusively his own.

158

ROLANDSITTEN.

Since the time when old Daniel, the steward,
appeared to Winkler as a sleep-walker, the Justi-
tiarius had always chosen the astrologer's bed-
room to pass the night in, so that he might be on
the watch, in case an opportunity was afforded for
making any farther discoveries. In a short time,
however, all doubt was at an end. The Baron
used to meet Winkler either in this room or in the
adjoining hall, when they had accounts or other
law papers to look over together. So it happened
that they were sitting one night, much later than
usual, over a blazing fire — Winkler with his pen
in his hand, and the Baron with a large folio vo-
lume open before him — calculating the present
amount of their wealth, and the probable increase
of income. Both were so much occupied that they
never once noticed the roaring of the breakers along
the desolate shore — the fearful cries of the sea-
fowl, that even flapped against the windows in their
flight, which was always a sign of an extraordi-
nary storm — nor even the storm itself, which thun-
dered through the chimney, and howled through
the long corridors of the castle. At last, after a
terrific blast, which almost shook the building to
its foundation, the full moon broke out, and her

CHAPTER VII.

159

light was visible through one half of the apart-
ment, though they had candles in another. Just
then, Winkler happened to exclaim, " Very rough
weather !" The Baron, quite absorbed in his own
plans, what he should now do with the riches which
had thus fallen into his hands, turned over another
leaf with a self-satisfied smile — " Rather stormy,
no doubt," said he. His tranquillity, however,
was effectually broken ; for, at that moment, the
door of the hall burst open, and there appeared
at it a figure, such as might have well inspired
terror in the stoutest heart. It was Daniel the
steward, who had long been confined to bed by se-
vere sickness, and who, as every one believed, was
unable even to walk across his own room. Now,
however, he could not resist the influence of the
full moon ; but had once more left his bed at mid-
night, though tottering in his weakness, and, with
a visage so much more like that of a corpse than
a living being, that the Baron looked at him with
the utmost horror, which always increased, when
the steward went to the fatal compartment on the
wall, and began with low howls and groans to
scratch on it as before. At last, Roderick started
up — his face ghastly pale, and his hair standing

160

ROLANDSITTEX.

on end — in a threatening attitude he stepped up
to the old man, and called out, in a voice so deep
and stern, that the hall rung and echoed, " Dan-
iel— Daniel — what art thou about here at such an
hour ?" At these words, the miserable somnambu-
list uttered again that unearthly cry , more like that
of a wounded wild beast than a man, — -just as he
had done at the time when Wolfgang insulted him,
and threw him the purse of gold, vainly hoping to
compensate for the injury he had inflicted. In the
same instant, too, he fell to the ground powerless
and insensible. Winkler rang and shouted for as-
sistance ; but when the servants came and lifted
him up, all attempts to restore animation were in
vain. He was already dead. " Good Heavens,11
cried the Baron, in great agitation, " have I not
heard that a sleep-walker may die on the spot, if
he hears his own name called aloud ? Unfortunate
man that I am ! This old man's fate is owing to
my rashness ; and henceforth I shall never cease
to reproach myself.,,

When the servants had removed the dead body,
and Winkler found that the Baron still continued
to distress himself on account of that event, of
which he had been unintentionally the cause, the
II

CHAPTER VII.

161

J ustitiarius found it was the proper time to make
him acquainted with a mystery, of which he could
not otherwise have had the slightest suspicion.
" Baron Roderick," said he, " the wretch who
just now fell dead at your feet, deserves not your
compassion, for you have now to learn that he —
even this Daniel — was the remorseless assassin of
your father ! It was the conscious guilt of this
horrid deed that weighed on his after life, so that
he had no rest by night nor by day ; but Provi-
dence had decreed that the son should prove an
instrument of vengeance on his fathers murderer ;
and those very words which you thundered in his
ears, were the last which were uttered by the unfor-
tunate Baron Wolfgang!" Trembling, and unable
to answer a word, Roderick had gone back towards
the fire and drawn his chair near it. — Winkler
resumed his station at the table, and, in the next
place, read over that short document which had
been addressed to him by the Baron Hubert, and
which, according to his direction, was not to be
opened till after the publication of the will. The
writer lamented, with expressions of the strongest
remorse, the hatred which he had conceived against
his elder brother, from the moment that he heard

162

ROLANDSITTEN.

how the estate was to be disposed of. It was im-
possible for him, however, to venture on any open
attack ; and he had recourse, therefore, to mali-
cious stratagem, in order to bring about a misun-
derstanding between his father and Wolfgang.
However, this could serve no purpose of any im-
portance, as the deed of entail having been once
implemented, Baron Roderick himself could not
have taken away from the elder brother the pre-
rogatives that had been thus conferred ; nor even,
had his affections been wholly alienated, would he
have wished to make any change in his arrange-
ments as to the property. However, when Wolf-
gang formed that connection with Mademoiselle
de St Val, at Geneva, Hubert believed that the
time had arrived when he could effectually ruin
his brother ; and now he began to lay plans along
with Daniel, the house-steward, in hopes that Ba-
ronRoderickmight be provoked into measures that
would drive his elder son into absolute despair.

He was perfectly aware that, according to the
cunning astrologer's intentions, the marriage of
his successor, with a German lady of high birth
and fortune, was absolutely indispensable, for the
old man had read this ordonnance already in the

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163

stars, and well knew, that if the good fortune they
announced were neglected, absolute ruin would
ensue to the family and estates of Rolandsitten.
Wolfgang's marriage with Julia seemed to him
of all actions that to which he could least extend
any degree of indulgence ; it was like a direct in-
terposition of some hostile power against the in-
fluence of those constellations which had hitherto
favoured him in his worldly undertakings ; under
whose auspices, at least, he had been able to amass
great wealth. As for Julia de St Val, he looked
on her as a kind of disguised evil spirit, so dan-
gerous, that every means, however violent, would
be justifiable in order to bring about her destruc-
tion. Hubert was well aware that, from the na-
ture of his brother's attachment to this young la-
dy, separation from her would not only render
him miserable, but probably cause his death ;—
as to the slightest feeling of remorse at this crime,
Hubert was hardened against it by an additional
ground of envy and hatred, — for he himself had
admired the extraordinary beauty of Julia, and
would have paid his addresses, had he not found
that her affections were already engaged. It was
the will of Providence, however, that Wolfgang's

164

ROLANDSITTEN.

precaution and unshaken resolution should tri-
umph over the vile stratagems that were laid
against him ; — his marriage with Julia, and the
consequent birth cf a son, were kept so private,
that Hubert did not find out the truth. It was
only when the old Baron began to feel that his
own life was drawing to a close, that the reflection
came over him, " What if my successor should
yet, after my death, consummate that detestable
marriage with the daughter of a Swiss beggar ?"
Therefore, in the same letter in which he had pre-
dicted his own fate, and commanded Wolfgang to
be at Rolandsitten on a certain day, to enter on
his hereditary rights, he pronounced against his
son a most horrible malediction, which should rest
on him for ever, if he did not dissolve all connec-
tion with Julia de St Val. It was this letter which
Baron Wolfgang burned on the day of his arrival,
as he stood over the dead body of his father.

At the same time the old man wrote to Hubert,
that his brother had certainly entered into engage-
ments with the Swiss lady, but that, according to
the fearful threat pronounced in his letter, the con-
nection would doubtless be broken off. Hubert
thought this was but a phantom of his father's

CHAPTER VII.

165

disordered imagination; however, he was soon un-
deceived, when the new Majorats-herr, not only
confirmed the suppositions of the astrologer ; but
added, that he had a son, whom, with his beloved
wife, he would soon bring from their humble
estate in Switzerland, to share in his present rich-
es and prosperity. Death overtook him be-
fore he could set out on his intended route back
v to Geneva ; and Hubert, carefully concealing what
his brother had told him on their first meeting,
took possession of Rolandsitten, as there was yet
no one to oppose him. After a few years, how-
ever, he became the victim of bitter repentance ;
of which the impression was deepened, by the ha-
tred which began to show itself between his own
two sons. " Thou art but a poor beggarly fel-
low,1' said the elder boy one day, when some ac-
cidental dispute had happened between them ;
" but I shall, at some time or another, be lord of
all Rolandsitten ; then thou wilt come to me hum-
bly, and bow to the ground, if I give thee money
to buy a new coat." The younger child had at
this moment a knife in his hand, and threw it at
his brother with such violence, that a dangerous
wound in the head was the consequence, from

166

ROLAXDSITTEN.

which he with difficulty recovered. Hubert fear-
ing that some direful misfortune would ensue,
sent the younger boy to Petersburg, where he
was entered at a military school, and afterwards
died an officer on the battle-field, when engaged
with Suwarrow against the French. To reveal,
in his own lifetime, the deceit of which he had
been guilty, was more than Hubert had resolu-
tion to fulfil, but he determined that he would
not, for the future, deprive the real heir of a
single dollar, to which he had a rightful claim.
Accordingly, he made inquiries in Geneva, and
learned that Julia, inconsolable for the loss of her
husband, with whose rank she was to this hour
unacquainted, and believing firmly, that if still
alive, he would have long since returned to her,
had fallen into a rapid decline and died ; but as
for her son, he had been placed under the care
of a respectable guardian at Geneva, who showed
him every possible attention. Baron Hubert then
announced himself by a confidential messenger,
as a near relation of the late merchant Wolfgang
Born, who had been lost at sea ; and sent from
time to time sums of money, which supplied ample
means of obtaining, for the young man, a respect-

CHAPTER VII.

167

able and genteel education. As to Wolfgang's
death, Baron Hubert often spoke of it in a man-
ner so mysterious, that suspicions might well have
been excited of his having been an accomplice in
some horrid treachery, but the contents of the
black portfolio, which Winkler received from
Daniel, removed every doubt.

It was by the latter's interference that Hubert
became acquainted with the discovery of one hun-
dred and fifty thousand dollars, — and consequent-
ly made his appearance at the castle. It has
been told already in what manner he was received
by his brother, so that, being disappointed in all
his expectations, he wished to return to Courland,
when Winkler prevented him, in hopes of bring-
ing about a reconciliation. Meanwhile, Daniel
was tormented by an unconquerable thirst of re-
venge, which he was determined to gratify against
the young man who had proposed to turn him,
like a dog, out of the castle where he had been so
long a faithful servant, — and he found that the
best means of fulfilling his own purposes, would
be to foster as much as possible the passions that
raged in the heart of Hubert, — labouring, as he
now did, under a load of debts which he could not

168

ROLANDSITTEN.

liquidate, and keenly feeling the coldness of the
reception which he had met with at Rolandsitten.
So it happened that when they went out together
amid the gloomy forests, to hunt wild boars or other
game, their whole conversation turned on Wolf-
gang's destruction. On one of those excursions
(according to the steward's long written confes-
sions,) Hubert looked askance and took aim with
his firelock. <c Make away with him ?" said he
in a voice half articulate, " that was your advice,
old friend ?" " Aye truly, " answered the stew-
ard, with a grin like that of a demon, " make
away with him doubtless — but mark you — mein
heft Baron! not so! There is a better way.1'
Daniel then affirmed that he would murder Wolf-
gang, and perpetrate the deed in such manner,
that it would be impossible for any mortal to form
a conjecture as to the real cause of his death. As
to Hubert, however, after he had received a large
sum of ready money, he began to entertain an ab-
horrence at the mere idea of such horrid schemes,
and determined to quit the castle, that hemight not
be exposed to farther temptation. According to
agreement, his horse was saddled for him at a late
hour, and he was about to mount and ride away,

CHAPTER VII.

169

when Daniel, with a fiendish grin on his visage,
and in a shrill unnatural tone, addressed him.
" I should have thought, Baron Hubert, that
you had better have remained some time longer
on your estate, which has just now fallen into
your own hands, — for the proud Baron Wolfgang-
lies yonder dashed to pieces in that abyss of the
ruined watch-tower V The steward had, indeed,
remarked, that the majorafs herr, tormented by
his restless and insatiable thirst of accumulation,
often went during the silent lonely hours of the
night, and gazed wistfully through the dangerous
gateway to the ruins of his father's observatory,
in which, as he believed, vast treasures had been
lost. Prepared for this, Daniel took his station
behind the main-door of the audience-hall, and
watched for the Baron, who, towards midnight,
came accordingly. The steward advanced with
noiseless steps, and was close up to him just as
he stood on the verge of the dreadful chasm.
Wolfgang turned suddenly round, and at once
reading a murderous intention in the visage of
this accursed menial, he cried out, " Daniel —
Daniel — what- art thou about here at sueh an
hour ?? The steward, however, made him no an-

\OL. II. H

170

ROLANDS1TTEN.

swer, but, with the fury of a tiger, rushed forward,
and struck his unfortunate victim with such vio-
lence, that he fell instantly over the broken wall
into the fathomless abyss !

So dreadfully agitated was Baron Hubert by
this event, that he could not enjoy, afterwards,
one moment's tranquillity at the castle, but went
to his property in Courland, and came only once
a-year, in the autumn, to Rolandsitten. Old
Francis, the faithful chasseur, alone seemed to
suspect the steward's enormous guilt, and, in after
years, when the murderer was dead, used to main-
tain that his ghost walked in the great hall at the
time of every full-moon, describing its appearance
and conduct, of all which Winkler himself be-
came at last an eye-witness, but Providence vouch-
safed him the power of overcoming and banishing
this detestable remnant.

Thus my uncle drew to an end of his story,
and at this point, taking my hand, with tears
in his eyes, "Nephew — nephew," said he in a
faltering voice, " She, too, — your beautiful friend
Celestina, has fallen a victim to that mysterious
destiny — to those dark and irresistible powers

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171

who have established their throne and empire in
the castle of Rolandsitten ! Two days after we
set out from hence, on our journey thither, the
Baron, by way of a finale to the sports of that
year, proposed an excursion on sledges. Of
course he himself drove the Baroness, and it
seemed scarcely credible that any accident could
happen. However, when they were moving with
great rapidity down hill, the horses took fright,
and ran away with such fury, that it was impos-
sible either to stop them of get out of the car-
riage. " The ghost — the ghost — the horrible
old man is behind us !" screamed the Baroness ;
and just as she uttered these words the sledge
was overturned, she was thrown to some distance,
and though the party who followed thought it
was improbable that she had received much in-
jury, yet their attempts to restore her were in vain;
— she never spoke nor opened her eyes, but ex-
pired in a few moments. As for the Baron, he still
lives, but has renounced all intercourse with this
world, and will not even complain. His compo-
sure and silence are like the mood of a dying man,
to whom no aid can be rendered. Nephew, we shall
never more ride together to Rolandsitten !"

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ROLAXDSITTEN.

Here my uncle paused ; and I left him with
a heavy heart, insomuch that time only, whose
power no traces, however deep, can wholly with-
stand, enabled me to look with calmness on the
circumstances that he had now laid before me.
For several days, indeed, I was in a state more
than bordering on distraction, and had almost
determined on putting an end to my own life, if
grief alone did not bring about the same result ;
but my uncle^s relapse into his former illness,
gave me duties to fulfil, and not long afterwards
he died.

Many years had passed away, and I was an
exile from my own country ; for in the confu-
sion of the war by which Germany was devastat-
ed, I was hunted from one place to another, al-
ways moving northwards, till I found myself at
Petersburg. At length when the times permitted
me to visit my native land, and I was driving
along the sea shore, not far from Kbnigsberg, in
a gloomy evening, though the season was now
summer, I was surprised by seeing on the hori-
zon, what appeared to me a star of extraordinary
magnitude. After some time, I perceived that

CHAPTER VIJ.

173

it was no star, but rather a large fire burning
fiercely, though Courland being so flat a country,
I was much puzzled to account for its elevated
situation. " Hark you, comrade," said I to the
postillion, " what great fire is that which we see
yonder." " Euer Gnaden" — answered the lad,
4 4 it is the reflecting lamp in the light-tower at
Rolandsitten." No sooner had he pronounced
this name, than every incident of that mysteri-
ous autumn, on which I had long ceased to re-
flect, revived in my mind, as if all had happened
but yesterday. Once more I beheld Celestina, —
the Baron, — the mysterious aunts in their antedi-
luvian dresses ; — I saw myself, too, as I had then
appeared in the dusky old mirror, — with my child-
ish vacant physiognomy, — my sky blue coat, and
my hair so frizzed and powdered, white as a mil-
ler's hat ! Sombre as my reflections were, yet
such is the motley texture of one's thoughts — I
could scarcely help laughing when I remembered
the part of a sighing lover which I had then
assumed, and the jokes which my uncle used to
play off against me.

Under these mixed feelings, I arrived early in
the morning at Rolandsitten, and, in the house at

174

ROLANDSITTEN*

which my carriage stopped, recognized that of the
land steward, for whom I directly inquired, in the
same terms which I should have used near twenty
years ago. " With submission," said the clerk
of the post-house, taking his pipe from his mouth,
and touching his cap ; " there is here no land
steward — this is a public office, belonging to our
gracious sovereign. As to the herr amstrath, he
is at home, to be sure ; but is still fast asleep."
On farther inquiry, I learned that sixteen years
had elapsed since Baron Roderick von Rolandsit-
ten, the last proprietor, had died, without leaving
any representatives; so that, in terms of his grand-
father's deed- of entail, the property had now fallen
to the crown. I walked up to see the castle, but
found only a heap of ruins ; and, as an old bauer
whom I met in the woods informed me, great
part of the stones had been used for building the
light-house. This man was also quite prepared
on the subject of the ghost, of which he had often
been told when the castle yet stood ; and he as-
sured me that no one could pass there at midnight,
if the moon were at full, without hearing, even at
this date, most hideous and unearthly lamentations.
Poor short-sighted Baron Roderick! with all thy

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175

laborious drawing up of horoscopes, and thy con-
sultations, forsooth, with the stars in Heaven, where
was thy worldly wisdom ? Instead of securing thy
descendants more firmly than ever in their large
possessions, the result of thy boasted schemes was
but to provoke a hostile and resistless destiny, by
which all their short-lived pleasures were embit-
tered, and they were destroyed one after another,
till the race was utterly extinct.