第85章 THE SKETCH BOOK(5)
"Now that we are alone," said he, "I will impart to you the reasonof my going. I have a solemn, and indispensable engagement-""Why," said the baron, "cannot you send some one in your place?""It admits of no substitute- I must attend it in person- I must awayto Wurtzburg cathedral-""Ay," said the baron, plucking up spirit, "but not untilto-morrow- to-morrow you shall take your bride there.""No! no!" replied the stranger, with tenfold solemnity, "myengagement is with no bride- the worms! the worms expect me! I am adead man- I have been slain by robbers- my body lies at Wurtzburg-at midnight I am to be buried- the grave is waiting for me- I mustkeep my appointment!"He sprang on his black charger, dashed over the drawbridge, andthe clattering of his horse's hoofs was lost in the whistling of thenight blast.
The baron returned to the hall in the utmost consternation, andrelated what had passed. Two ladies fainted outright, otherssickened at the idea of having banqueted with a spectre. It was theopinion of some, that this might be the wild huntsman, famous inGerman legend. Some talked of mountain sprites, of wood-demons, and ofother supernatural beings, with which the good people of Germanyhave been so grievously harassed since time immemorial. One of thepoor relations ventured to suggest that it might be some sportiveevasion of the young cavalier, and that the very gloominess of thecaprice seemed to accord with so melancholy a personage. This,however, drew on him the indignation of the whole company, andespecially of the baron, who looked upon him as little better thanan infidel; so that he was fain to abjure his heresy as speedily aspossible, and come into the faith of the true believers.
But whatever may have been the doubts entertained, they werecompletely put to an end by the arrival, next day, of regularmissives, confirming the intelligence of the young count's murder, andhis interment in Wurtzburg cathedral.
The dismay at the castle may well be imagined. The baron shuthimself up in his chamber. The guests, who had come to rejoice withhim, could not think of abandoning him in his distress. Theywandered about the courts, or collected in groups in the hall, shakingtheir heads and shrugging their shoulders, at the troubles of sogood a man; and sat longer than ever at table, and ate and drankmore stoutly than ever, by way of keeping up their spirits. But thesituation of the widowed bride was the most pitiable. To have lost ahusband before she had even embraced him- and such a husband! if thevery spectre could be so gracious and noble, what must have been theliving man. She filled the house with lamentations.
On the night of the second day of her widowhood, she had retiredto her chamber, accompanied by one of her aunts, who insisted onsleeping with her. The aunt, who was one of the best tellers ofghost stories in all Germany, had just been recounting one of herlongest, and had fallen asleep in the very midst of it. The chamberwas remote, and overlooked a small garden. The niece lay pensivelygazing at the beams of the rising moon, as they trembled on the leavesof an aspen-tree before the lattice. The castle clock had justtolled midnight, when a soft strain of music stole up from the garden.
She rose hastily from her bed, and stepped lightly to the window. Atall figure stood among the shadows of the trees. As it raised itshead, a beam of moonlight fell upon the countenance. Heaven and earth!
she beheld the Spectre Bridegroom! A loud shriek at that momentburst upon her ear, and her aunt, who had been awakened by themusic, and had followed her silently to the window, fell into herarms. When she looked again, the spectre had disappeared.
Of the two females, the aunt now required the most soothing, for shewas perfectly beside herself with terror. As to the young lady,there was something, even in the spectre of her lover, that seemedendearing. There was still the semblance of manly beauty; and thoughthe shadow of a man is but little calculated to satisfy the affectionsof a love-sick girl, yet, where the substance is not to be had, eventhat is consoling. The aunt declared she would never sleep in thatchamber again; the niece, for once, was refractory, and declared asstrongly that she would sleep in no other in the castle: theconsequence was, that she had to sleep in it alone: but she drew apromise from her aunt not to relate the story of the spectre, lest sheshould be denied the only melancholy pleasure left her on earth-that of inhabiting the chamber over which the guardian shade of herlover kept its nightly vigils.