Volume Ii Part 11 (2/2)

”I should be very happy to try,” said Moritz, ”if you will just allow me to tell one gruesome tale, which has been hovering on my lips for a long time. At this moment all my being is so filled with it that I feel that I could not talk about anything else.”

”Discharge yourself, then,” said Madame von G., ”from the load of awesomeness which so weighs upon you. My husband will be home immediately, and then I should be so delighted to work through some battle or other with you and him, or to hear you talk in your absorbed manner about horses, or anything, to get me out of this overstrained condition into which all this supernatural stuff, I must admit, puts me.”

”In my last campaign,” said Moritz, ”I made the acquaintance of a Russian Lieutenant-Colonel, a Livonian by birth, scarcely thirty, who, as chance willed it that we should be serving together before the enemy for a considerable time, soon became my very intimate friend.

Bogislav--that was his Christian name--possessed every quality fitted to gain for him, everywhere, the highest consideration and the most sincere regard. He was tall and fine-looking, with an intellectual face. He possessed masculine beauty, much mental cultivation, and was kindliness itself, while brave as a lion. He could be particularly cheerful and entertaining, especially over a gla.s.s of wine; but there would often come over him, and overwhelm him, the thought of something terrible which had happened to him, leaving traces of the most intense horror and terror on his face. When this happened he would lapse into silence, leave the company, and stroll about up and down, alone. In the field, he used to ride all round the outposts at night, from one to another, restlessly, only yielding to sleep when completely exhausted; and as, in addition to this, he would often expose himself to the extremest danger, without any special necessity, and seemed to seek, in battle, death, which fled from him--for in the toughest hand-to-hand engagement never a bullet touched him; no sword-cut came near him--it seemed evident that his life had been marred by some irreparable bereavement, or perhaps some rash deed.

”We stormed, and captured, a fortified castle on the French territory, and remained quartered there for a day or two, to give the men some rest. The rooms where Bogislav was quartered were but a few steps from mine. In the night I was awakened by a gentle knocking at my door. I asked who was there. My name was called out: I recognised Bogislav's voice, and went to let him in. There he stood in his night-dress, with a branched candlestick in his hand, pale as death, with his face distorted, trembling in every limb, unable to utter a word.

”'For heaven's sake! what has happened?--what is the matter, dearest Bogislav?' I cried. I took him to the arm-chair; made him swallow a gla.s.s or two of the full-bodied wine which was on the table; held his hand fast in mine, and spoke what comforting words I could, in my ignorance of the cause of his strange condition.

”He recovered himself by degrees, heaved a deep sigh, and then began, in a hollow voice: 'No! no! I shall go mad, unless death takes me; G.o.d knows I throw myself with eager longing into his arms. To you, my faithful Moritz, I will confide my fearful secret. I told you once that I was in Naples a good many years ago. There I met the daughter of one of the most distinguished families, and fell deeply in love with her.

She returned my affection, and, as her parents gave their approval, I saw the fulfilment of my brightest hopes at hand. The wedding-day was fixed, when there appeared on the scene a Sicilian Count, who came between us with a most eager suit to my beloved and betrothed. I took him to task; he insulted me; we met, and I sent my sword through his body. I hastened to my love; I found her bathed in tears. She called me the accursed murderer of the man she had adored, and repelled me with every mark of disgust; screamed and wept in inconsolable sorrow; fell down fainting, as if stung by a scorpion, when I touched her hand. Who can describe my amazement! Her parents could not give the slightest explanation of the sudden change in her. She had never given any favourable heed to the Count's attentions.

”'Her father concealed me in his palazzo, and, with the most n.o.ble zeal, took care that I should be enabled to leave Naples undiscovered.

Driven by all the furies, I pushed on to St. Petersburg without a halt.

It is not the faithlessness of my love which plays havoc with my life.

No! it is a terrible mystery. Since that unhappy day in Naples I have been dogged and pursued by the terrors of h.e.l.l itself. Often by day, but still oftener by night, I hear--sometimes as if a long distance away, sometimes as if quite close beside me--a deep death-groan. It is the voice of the Count whom I killed! It makes my inmost soul quiver with horror. I hear that horrible sound distinctly, close to my ear, in the thick of the thunder of the heavy siege-guns, and the rattle of musketry, and all the wild despair of madness awakes within me. This very night----' Bogislav paused; and I, as well as he, was seized with the wildest horror; for there came to our hearing a long-sustained, heart-breaking wail of sorrow, as if proceeding from the stair outside.

Then it was as if some one raised himself, groaning and sighing, with difficulty from the ground, and was coming towards us with heavy, uncertain steps.

”At this Bogislav started up from his seat, and, with a wild glow in his eyes, cried out, in a voice of thunder: 'Appear to me, abominable one, if you only will! I am more than a match for you, and all the spirits of h.e.l.l that are at your disposal!'

”On this there came a tremendous crash, and----”

Just then the door of the drawing-room flew open with a startling noise.

And just as Ottmar read those words, the door of the summer-house in which the friends were sitting flew open, also with a startling noise, and they saw a dark form, wrapped in a mantle, approaching slowly, with noiseless footfalls, as of a spirit. They all gazed at this form, a little startled, holding their breaths.

”Is it right,” said Lothair at length, when the full light of the lamps, falling upon his face, displayed their friend Cyprian. ”Is it right to try to frighten good folks with foolish playing the ghost?

However, I know, Cyprian, that you don't content yourself with studying spirits and all sorts of strange, visionary matters; you would often fain be a spook or ghost yourself. But where have you appeared from so suddenly? How did you find out that we were here?”

”I came back to-day from my journey,” Cyprian said. ”I went at once to see Theodore, Lothair, and Ottmar, but found none of them at home. In the fullness of my annoyance I ran out here into the open; and chance so willed it that, as I was returning to the town, I struck into the walk which leads past this summer-house. Then I seemed to hear a well-known voice; I peeped in at the window, and saw my worthy Serapion Brethren, and heard Ottmar reading 'The Uncanny Guest.'”

”What,” interrupted Ottmar, ”you know my tale?”

”You forget,” said Cyprian, ”that it was from me that you got the ingredients of the tale. It was I who told you of the 'Devil's Voice,'

the aerial music of Ceylon, who even gave you the idea of the sudden appearing of the 'Uncanny Guest'; and I am curious to hear how you have worked out this 'Thema' of mine. You see that it was a matter of course that just when Ottmar had made the drawing-room door fly open I had necessarily to do the like, and appear to you myself.”

”Not as an uncanny guest, though,” said Theodore, ”but as a true and faithful Serapion Brother, who, although he frightened me not a little, as I must perforce admit, is a thousand times welcome to me all the same.”

”And,” said Lothair, ”if he insists on being a spirit, he must, at all events, not be an unquiet spirit, but sit down and drink tea, without making too much clattering with his cup, and listen to Ottmar, as to whose tale I am all the more curious, that this time it is a working up of a thema given to him by another.”

Theodore, who was still easily excited after his recent illness, had been affected by Cyprian's proceedings rather more than was desirable.

He was deadly pale, and it was evident that he had to put some constraint on himself to appear at his ease.

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