THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM.
A TRAVELLER'S TALE.*
He that supper for is dight, He lyes full cold, I trow, this night! Yestreen to chamber I him led, This night Gray-steel has made his bed! SIR EGER, SIR GRAHAME, and SIR GRAY-STEEL.
ON the summit of one of the heights of the Odenwald, a wild and romantictract of Upper Germany that lies not far from the confluence of theMain and the Rhine, there stood many, many years since the castle of theBaron Von Landshort. It is now quite fallen to decay, and almostburied among beech trees and dark firs; above which, however, its oldwatch-tower may still be seen struggling, like the former possessor Ihave mentioned, to carry a high head and look down upon the neighboringcountry.
The baron was a dry branch of the great family of Katzenellenbogen,+and inherited the relics of the property and all the pride, of hisancestors. Though the warlike disposition of his predecessors had muchimpaired the family possessions, yet the baron still endeavored to keepup some show of former state. The times were peaceable, and the Germannobles in general had abandoned their inconvenient old castles, perchedlike eagles' nests among the mountains, and had built more convenientresidences in the valleys; still, the baron remained proudly drawn up inhis little fortress, cherishing with hereditary inveteracy all theold family feuds, so that he was on ill terms with some of his nearestneighbors, on account of disputes that had happened between theirgreat-great-grandfathers.
* The erudite reader, well versed in good-for-nothing lore, will perceive that the above Tale must have been suggested to the old Swiss by a little French anecdote, a circumstance said to have taken place in Paris.
+ I.e., CAT'S ELBOW--the name of a family of those parts, and very powerful in former times. The appellation, we are told, was given in compliment to a peerless dame of the family, celebrated for a fine arm.
The baron had but one child, a daughter, but Nature, when she grants butone child, always compensates by making it a prodigy; and so it was withthe daughter of the baron. All the nurses, gossips, and country cousinsassured her father that she had not her equal for beauty in all Germany;and who should know better than they? She had, moreover, been brought upwith great care under the superintendence of two maiden aunts, who hadspent some years of their early life at one of the little German courts,and were skilled in all branches of knowledge necessary to the educationof a fine lady. Under their instructions she became a miracle ofaccomplishments. By the time she was eighteen she could embroider toadmiration, and had worked whole histories of the saints in tapestrywith such strength of expression in their countenances that theylooked like so many souls in purgatory. She could read without greatdifficulty, and had spelled her way through several Church legends andalmost all the chivalric wonders of the Heldenbuch. She had even madeconsiderable proficiency in writing; could sign her own name withoutmissing a letter, and so legibly that her aunts could read it withoutspectacles. She excelled in making little elegant good-for-nothing,lady-like knicknacks of all kinds, was versed in the most abstrusedancing of the day, played a number of airs on the harp and guitar, andknew all the tender ballads of the Minnelieders by heart.
Her aunts, too, having been great flirts and coquettes in their youngerdays, were admirably calculated to be vigilant guardians and strictcensors of the conduct of their niece; for there is no duenna so rigidlyprudent and inexorably decorous as a superannuated coquette. She wasrarely suffered out of their sight; never went beyond the domains ofthe castle unless well attended, or rather well watched; had continuallectures read to her about strict decorum and implicit obedience; and,as to the men--pah!--she was taught to hold them at such a distance andin such absolute distrust that, unless properly authorized, she wouldnot have cast a glance upon the handsomest cavalier in the world--no,not if he were even dying at her feet.
The good effects of this system were wonderfully apparent. The younglady was a pattern of docility and correctness. While others werewasting their sweetness in the glare of the world, and liable to beplucked and thrown aside by every hand, she was coyly blooming intofresh and lovely womanhood under the protection of those immaculatespinsters, like a rosebud blushing forth among guardian thorns. Heraunts looked upon her with pride and exultation, and vaunted that,though all the other young ladies in the world might go astray, yetthank Heaven, nothing of the kind could happen to the heiress ofKatzenellenbogen.
But, however scantily the Baron Von Landshort might be provided withchildren, his household was by no means a small one; for Providencehad enriched him with abundance of poor relations. They, one and all,possessed the affectionate disposition common to humble relatives--werewonderfully attached to the baron, and took every possible occasionto come in swarms and enliven the castle. All family festivals werecommemorated by these good people at the baron's expense; and when theywere filled with good cheer they would declare that there was nothingon earth so delightful as these family meetings, these jubilees of theheart.
The baron, though a small man, had a large soul, and it swelled withsatisfaction at the consciousness of being the greatest man in thelittle world about him. He loved to tell long stories about the starkold warriors whose portraits looked grimly down from the walls around,and he found no listeners equal to those who fed at his expense. Hewas much given to the marvellous and a firm believer in all thosesupernatural tales with which every mountain and valley in Germanyabounds. The faith of his guests exceeded even his own: they listenedto every tale of wonder with open eyes and mouth, and never failed to beastonished, even though repeated for the hundredth time. Thus lived theBaron Von Landshort, the oracle of his table, the absolute monarch ofhis little territory, and happy, above all things, in the persuasionthat he was the wisest man of the age.
At the time of which my story treats there was a great family gatheringat the castle on an affair of the utmost importance: it was to receivethe destined bridegroom of the baron's daughter. A negotiation had beencarried on between the father and an old nobleman of Bavaria to unitethe dignity of their houses by the marriage of their children. Thepreliminaries had been conducted with proper punctilio. The young peoplewere betrothed without seeing each other, and the time was appointed forthe marriage ceremony. The young Count Von Altenburg had been recalledfrom the army for the purpose, and was actually on his way to thebaron's to receive his bride. Missives had even been received from himfrom Wurtzburg, where he was accidentally detained, mentioning the dayand hour when he might be expected to arrive.
The castle was in a tumult of preparation to give him a suitablewelcome. The fair bride had been decked out with uncommon care. The twoaunts had superintended her toilet, and quarrelled the whole morningabout every article of her dress. The young lady had taken advantage oftheir contest to follow the bent of her own taste; and fortunatelyit was a good one. She looked as lovely as youthful bridegroom coulddesire, and the flutter of expectation heightened the lustre of hercharms.
The suffusions that mantled her face and neck, the gentle heaving ofthe bosom, the eye now and then lost in reverie, all betrayed the softtumult that was going on in her little heart. The aunts were continuallyhovering around her, for maiden aunts are apt to take great interest inaffairs of this nature. They were giving her a world of staid counselhow to deport herself, what to say, and in what manner to receive theexpected lover.
The baron was no less busied in preparations. He had, in truth, nothingexactly to do; but he was naturally a fuming, bustling little man, andcould not remain passive when all the world was in a hurry. He worriedfrom top to bottom of the castle with an air of infinite anxiety; hecontinually called the servants from their work to exhort them to bediligent; and buzzed about every hall and chamber, as idly restless andimportunate as a blue-bottle fly on a warm summer's day.
In the mean time the fatted calf had been killed; the forests had rungwith the clamor of the huntsmen; the kitchen was crowded with goodcheer; the cellars had yielded up whole oceans of Rhein-wein andFerre-wein; and e
ven the great Heidelberg tun had been laid undercontribution. Everything was ready to receive the distinguished guestwith Saus und Braus in the true spirit of German hospitality; but theguest delayed to make his appearance. Hour rolled after hour. The sun,that had poured his downward rays upon the rich forest of the Odenwald,now just gleamed along the summits of the mountains. The baron mountedthe highest tower and strained his eyes in hopes of catching a distantsight of the count and his attendants. Once he thought he beheld them;the sound of horns came floating from the valley, prolonged by themountain-echoes. A number of horsemen were seen far below slowlyadvancing along the road; but when they had nearly reached the foot ofthe mountain they suddenly struck off in a different direction. The lastray of sunshine departed, the bats began to flit by in the twilight, theroad grew dimmer and dimmer to the view, and nothing appeared stirringin it but now and then a peasant lagging homeward from his labor.
While the old castle of Landshort was in this state of perplexity a veryinteresting scene was transacting in a different part of the Odenwald.
The young Count Von Altenburg was tranquilly pursuing his route in thatsober jog-trot way in which a man travels toward matrimony when hisfriends have taken all the trouble and uncertainty of courtship off hishands and a bride is waiting for him as certainly as a dinner at theend of his journey. He had encountered at Wurtzburg a youthfulcompanion-in-arms with whom he had seen some service on thefrontiers--Herman Von Starkenfaust, one of the stoutest hands andworthiest hearts of German chivalry--who was now returning from thearmy. His father's castle was not far distant from the old fortress ofLandshort, although an hereditary feud rendered the families hostile andstrangers to each other.
In the warm-hearted moment of recognition the young friends related alltheir past adventures and fortunes, and the count gave the whole historyof his intended nuptials with a young lady whom he had never seen, butof whose charms he had received the most enrapturing descriptions.
As the route of the friends lay in the same direction, they agreed toperform the rest of their journey together, and that they might do itthe more leisurely, set off from Wurtzburg at an early hour, the counthaving given directions for his retinue to follow and overtake him.
They beguiled their wayfaring with recollections of their militaryscenes and adventures; but the count was apt to be a little tedious nowand then about the reputed charms of his bride and the felicity thatawaited him.
In this way they had entered among the mountains of the Odenwald, andwere traversing one of its most lonely and thickly wooded passes. It iswell known that the forests of Germany have always been as much infestedby robbers as its castles by spectres; and at this time the former wereparticularly numerous, from the hordes of disbanded soldiers wanderingabout the country. It will not appear extraordinary, therefore, that thecavaliers were attacked by a gang of these stragglers, in the midstof the forest. They defended themselves with bravery, but were nearlyoverpowered when the count's retinue arrived to their assistance. Atsight of them the robbers fled, but not until the count had received amortal wound. He was slowly and carefully conveyed back to the cityof Wurtzburg, and a friar summoned from a neighboring convent who wasfamous for his skill in administering to both soul and body; but halfof his skill was superfluous; the moments of the unfortunate count werenumbered.
With his dying breath he entreated his friend to repair instantly to thecastle of Landshort and explain the fatal cause of his not keeping hisappointment with his bride. Though not the most ardent of lovers, he wasone of the most punctilious of men, and appeared earnestly solicitousthat his mission should be speedily and courteously executed. "Unlessthis is done," said he, "I shall not sleep quietly in my grave." Herepeated these last words with peculiar solemnity. A request at a momentso impressive admitted no hesitation. Starkenfaust endeavored to soothehim to calmness, promised faithfully to execute his wish, and gave himhis hand in solemn pledge. The dying man pressed it in acknowledgment,but soon lapsed into delirium--raved about his bride, his engagements,his plighted word--ordered his horse, that he might ride to the castleof Landshort, and expired in the fancied act of vaulting into thesaddle.
Starkenfaust bestowed a sigh and a soldier's tear on the untimelyfate of his comrade and then pondered on the awkward mission he hadundertaken. His heart was heavy and his head perplexed; for he was topresent himself an unbidden guest among hostile people, and to damptheir festivity with tidings fatal to their hopes. Still, there werecertain whisperings of curiosity in his bosom to see this far-famedbeauty of Katzenellenbogen, so cautiously shut up from the world; forhe was a passionate admirer of the sex, and there was a dash ofeccentricity and enterprise in his character that made him fond of allsingular adventure.
Previous to his departure he made all due arrangements with the holyfraternity of the convent for the funeral solemnities of his friend,who was to be buried in the cathedral of Wurtzburg near some of hisillustrious relatives, and the mourning retinue of the count took chargeof his remains.
It is now high time that we should return to the ancient family ofKatzenellenbogen, who were impatient for their guest, and still morefor their dinner, and to the worthy little baron, whom we left airinghimself on the watch-tower.
Night closed in, but still no guest arrived. The baron descended fromthe tower in despair. The banquet, which had been delayed from hour tohour, could no longer be postponed. The meats were already overdone, thecook in an agony, and the whole household had the look of a garrison,that had been reduced by famine. The baron was obliged reluctantly togive orders for the feast without the presence of the guest. All wereseated at table, and just on the point of commencing, when the sound ofa horn from without the gate gave notice of the approach of a stranger.Another long blast filled the old courts of the castle with its echoes,and was answered by the warder from the walls. The baron hastened toreceive his future son-in-law.
The drawbridge had been let down, and the stranger was before thegate. He was a tall gallant cavalier, mounted on a black steed. Hiscountenance was pale, but he had a beaming, romantic eye and an air ofstately melancholy. The baron was a little mortified that he shouldhave come in this simple, solitary style. His dignity for a moment wasruffled, and he felt disposed to consider it a want of proper respectfor the important occasion and the important family with which he was tobe connected. He pacified himself, however, with the conclusion that itmust have been youthful impatience which had induced him thus to spur onsooner than his attendants.
"I am sorry," said the stranger, "to break in upon you thusunseasonably----"
Here the baron interrupted him with a world of compliments andgreetings, for, to tell the truth, he prided himself upon his courtesyand eloquence. The stranger attempted once or twice to stem the torrentof words, but in vain, so he bowed his head and suffered it to flow on.By the time the baron had come to a pause they had reached the innercourt of the castle, and the stranger was again about to speak, when hewas once more interrupted by the appearance of the female part of thefamily, leading forth the shrinking and blushing bride. He gazed on herfor a moment as one entranced; it seemed as if his whole soul beamedforth in the gaze and rested upon that lovely form. One of the maidenaunts whispered something in her ear; she made an effort to speak; hermoist blue eye was timidly raised, gave a shy glance of inquiry on thestranger, and was cast again to the ground. The words died away, butthere was a sweet smile playing about her lips, and a soft dimpling ofthe cheek that showed her glance had not been unsatisfactory. It wasimpossible for a girl of the fond age of eighteen, highly predisposedfor love and matrimony, not to be pleased with so gallant a cavalier.
The late hour at which the guest had arrived left no time for parley.The baron was peremptory, and deferred all particular conversation untilthe morning, and led the way to the untasted banquet.
It was served up in the great hall of the castle. Around the wallshung the hard-favored portraits of the heroes of the house ofKatzenellenbogen, and the trophies which they had gained in the
field,and in the chase. Hacked corselets, splintered jousting-spears, andtattered banners were mingled with the spoils of sylvan warfare: thejaws of the wolf and the tusks of the boar grinned horribly amongcrossbows and battle-axes, and a huge pair of antlers branchedimmediately over the head of the youthful bridegroom.
The cavalier took but little notice of the company or the entertainment.He scarcely tasted the banquet, but seemed absorbed in admiration of hisbride. He conversed in a low tone that could not be overheard, for thelanguage of love is never loud; but where is the female ear so dull thatit cannot catch the softest whisper of the lover? There was a mingledtenderness and gravity in his manner that appeared to have a powerfuleffect upon the young lady. Her color came and went as she listened withdeep attention. Now and then she made some blushing reply, and when hiseye was turned away she would steal a sidelong glance at his romanticcountenance, and heave a gentle sigh of tender happiness. It was evidentthat the young couple were completely enamored. The aunts, who weredeeply versed in the mysteries of the heart, declared that they hadfallen in love with each other at first sight.
The feast went on merrily, or at least noisily, for the guests wereall blessed with those keen appetites that attend upon light purses andmountain air. The baron told his best and longest stories, and never hadhe told them so well or with such great effect. If there was anythingmarvellous, his auditors were lost in astonishment; and if anythingfacetious, they were sure to laugh exactly in the right place. Thebaron, it is true, like most great men, was too dignified to utter anyjoke but a dull one; it was always enforced, however, by a bumper ofexcellent Hockheimer, and even a dull joke at one's own table, servedup with jolly old wine, is irresistible. Many good things were said bypoorer and keener wits that would not bear repeating, except on similaroccasions; many sly speeches whispered in ladies' ears that almostconvulsed them with suppressed laughter; and a song or two roared outby a poor but merry and broad-faced cousin of the baron that absolutelymade the maiden aunts hold up their fans.
Amidst all this revelry the stranger guest maintained a most singularand unseasonable gravity. His countenance assumed a deeper cast ofdejection as the evening advanced, and, strange as it may appear, eventhe baron's jokes seemed only to render him the more melancholy. Attimes he was lost in thought, and at times there was a perturbed andrestless wandering of the eye that bespoke a mind but ill at ease.His conversations with the bride became more and more earnest andmysterious. Lowering clouds began to steal over the fair serenity of herbrow, and tremors to run through her tender frame.
All this could not escape the notice of the company. Their gayety waschilled by the unaccountable gloom of the bridegroom; their spirits wereinfected; whispers and glances were interchanged, accompanied by shrugsand dubious shakes of the head. The song and the laugh grew less andless frequent: there were dreary pauses in the conversation, which wereat length succeeded by wild tales and supernatural legends. Onedismal story produced another still more dismal, and the baron nearlyfrightened some of the ladies into hysterics with the history of thegoblin horseman that carried away the fair Leonora--a dreadful storywhich has since been put into excellent verse, and is read and believedby all the world.
The bridegroom listened to this tale with profound attention. He kepthis eyes steadily fixed on the baron, and, as the story drew to a close,began gradually to rise from his seat, growing taller and taller, untilin the baron's entranced eye he seemed almost to tower into a giant.The moment the tale was finished he heaved a deep sigh and took asolemn farewell of the company. They were all amazement. The baron wasperfectly thunderstruck.
"What! going to leave the castle at midnight? Why, everything wasprepared for his reception; a chamber was ready for him if he wished toretire."
The stranger shook his head mournfully and mysteriously: "I must lay myhead in a different chamber to-night."
There was something in this reply and the tone in which it was utteredthat made the baron's heart misgive him; but he rallied his forces andrepeated his hospitable entreaties.
The stranger shook his head silently, but positively, at every offer,and, waving his farewell to the company, stalked slowly out of the hall.The maiden aunts were absolutely petrified; the bride hung her head anda tear stole to her eye.
The baron followed the stranger to the great court of the castle, wherethe black charger stood pawing the earth and snorting with impatience.When they had reached the portal, whose deep archway was dimly lightedby a cresset, the stranger paused, and addressed the baron in a hollowtone of voice, which the vaulted roof rendered still more sepulchral.
"Now that we are a lone," said he, "I will impart to you the reason ofmy going. I have a solemn, an 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 away toWurtzburg 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, "my engagementis with no bride--the worms! the worms expect me! I am a dead man--Ihave been slain by robbers--my body lies at Wurtzburg--at midnight I amto be buried--the grave is waiting for me--I must keep my appointment!"
He sprang on his black charger, dashed over the drawbridge, and theclattering of his horse's hoofs was lost in the whistling of the nightblast.
The baron returned to the hall in the utmost consternation, and relatedwhat had passed. Two ladies fainted outright, others sickened at theidea of having banqueted with a spectre. It was the opinion of some thatthis might be the wild huntsman, famous in German legend. Some talked ofmountain-sprites, of wood-demons, and of other supernatural beings withwhich the good people of Germany have been so grievously harassed sincetime immemorial. One of the poor relations ventured to suggest that itmight be some sportive evasion of the young cavalier, and that thevery gloominess of the caprice seemed to accord with so melancholy apersonage. This, however, drew on him, the indignation of the wholecompany, and especially of the baron, who looked upon him as littlebetter than an infidel; so that he was fain to abjure his heresy asspeedily as possible and come into the faith of the true believers.
But, whatever may have been the doubts entertained, they were completelyput to an end by the arrival next day of regular missives confirming theintelligence of the young count's murder and his interment in Wurtzburgcathedral.
The dismay at the castle may well be imagined. The baron shut himself upin his chamber. The guests, who had come to rejoice with him, could notthink of abandoning him in his distress. They wandered about the courtsor collected in groups in the hall, shaking their heads and shruggingtheir shoulders at the troubles of so good a man, and sat longer thanever at table, and ate and drank more stoutly than ever, by way ofkeeping up their spirits. But the situation of the widowed bride wasthe most pitiable. To have lost a husband before she had even embracedhim--and such a husband! If the very spectre could be so gracious andnoble, what must have been the living man? She filled the house withlamentations.
On the night of the second day of her widowhood she had retired to herchamber, accompanied by one of her aunts, who insisted on sleeping withher. The aunt, who was one of the best tellers of ghost-stories in allGermany, had just been recounting one of her longest, and had fallenasleep in the very midst of it. The chamber was remote and overlooked asmall garden. The niece lay pensively gazing at the beams of the risingmoon as they trembled on the leaves of an aspen tree before the lattice.The castle clock had just tolled midnight when a soft strain of musicstole up from the garden. She rose hastily from her bed and steppedlightly to the window. A tall figure stood among the shadows ofthe trees. As it raised its head a beam of moonlight fell upon thecountenance. Heaven and earth! she beheld the Spectre Bridegroom! A loudshriek at that moment burst upon her ear, and her aunt, who had beenawakened by the music and had followed her silently to the window, fellinto her arm
s. When she looked again the spectre had disappeared.
Of the two females, the aunt now required the most soothing, for she wasperfectly beside herself with terror. As to the young lady, there wassomething even in the spectre of her lover that seemed endearing. Therewas still the semblance of manly beauty, and, though the shadow of a manis but little calculated to satisfy the affections of a lovesick girl,yet where the substance is not to be had even that is consoling. Theaunt declared she would never sleep in that chamber again; the niece,for once, was refractory, and declared as strongly that she would sleepin no other in the castle: the consequence was, that she had to sleep init alone; but she drew a promise from her aunt not to relate the storyof the spectre, lest she should be denied the only melancholy pleasureleft her on earth--that of inhabiting the chamber over which theguardian shade of her lover kept its nightly vigils.
How long the good old lady would have observed this promise isuncertain, for she dearly loved to talk of the marvellous, and there isa triumph in being the first to tell a frightful story; it is, however,still quoted in the neighborhood as a memorable instance of femalesecrecy that she kept it to herself for a whole week, when she wassuddenly absolved from all further restraint by intelligence brought tothe breakfast-table one morning that the young lady was not to be found.Her room was empty--the bed had not been slept in--the window was openand the bird had flown!
The astonishment and concern with which the intelligence was receivedcan only be imagined by those who have witnessed the agitation which themishaps of a great man cause among his friends. Even the poor relationspaused for a moment from the indefatigable labors of the trencher, whenthe aunt, who had at first been struck speechless, wrung her handsand shrieked out, "The goblin! the goblin! she's carried away by thegoblin!"
In a few words she related the fearful scene of the garden, andconcluded that the spectre must have carried off his bride. Two of thedomestics corroborated the opinion, for they had heard the clattering ofa horse's hoofs down the mountain about midnight, and had no doubt thatit was the spectre on his black charger bearing her away to the tomb.All present were struck with the direful probability for events ofthe kind are extremely common in Germany, as many well-authenticatedhistories bear witness.
What a lamentable situation was that of the poor baron! What aheartrending dilemma for a fond father and a member of the great familyof Katzenellenbogen! His only daughter had either been rapt away to thegrave, or he was to have some wood-demon for a son-in-law, and perchancea troop of goblin grandchildren. As usual, he was completely bewildered,and all the castle in an uproar. The men were ordered to take horse andscour every road and path and glen of the Odenwald. The baron himselfhad just drawn on his jack-boots, girded on his sword, and was aboutto mount his steed to sally forth on the doubtful quest, when he wasbrought to a pause by a new apparition. A lady was seen approaching thecastle mounted on a palfrey, attended by a cavalier on horseback. Shegalloped up to the gate, sprang from her horse, and, falling at thebaron's feet, embraced his knees. It was his lost daughter, and hercompanion--the Spectre Bridegroom! The baron was astounded. He lookedat his daughter, then at the spectre, and almost doubted the evidence ofhis senses. The latter, too, was wonderfully improved in his appearancesince his visit to the world of spirits. His dress was splendid, andset off a noble figure of manly symmetry. He was no longer pale andmelancholy. His fine countenance was flushed with the glow of youth, andjoy rioted in his large dark eye.
The mystery was soon cleared up. The cavalier (for, in truth, as youmust have known all the while, he was no goblin) announced himself asSir Herman Von Starkenfaust. He related his adventure with the youngcount. He told how he had hastened to the castle to deliver theunwelcome tidings, but that the eloquence of the baron had interruptedhim in every attempt to tell his tale. How the sight of the bride hadcompletely captivated him and that to pass a few hours near her hehad tacitly suffered the mistake to continue. How he had been sorelyperplexed in what way to make a decent retreat, until the baron'sgoblin stories had suggested his eccentric exit. How, fearing the feudalhostility of the family, he had repeated his visits by stealth--hadhaunted the garden beneath the young lady's window--had wooed--hadwon--had borne away in triumph--and, in a word, had wedded the fair.
Under any other circumstances the baron would have been inflexible, forhe was tenacious of paternal authority and devoutly obstinate in allfamily feuds; but he loved his daughter; he had lamented her as lost;he rejoiced to find her still alive; and, though her husband was ofa hostile house, yet, thank Heaven! he was not a goblin. There wassomething, it must be acknowledged, that did not exactly accord with hisnotions of strict veracity in the joke the knight had passed upon him ofhis being a dead man; but several old friends present, who had servedin the wars, assured him that every stratagem was excusable in love,and that the cavalier was entitled to especial privilege, having latelyserved as a trooper.
Matters, therefore, were happily arranged. The baron pardoned the youngcouple on the spot. The revels at the castle were resumed. Thepoor relations overwhelmed this new member of the family withloving-kindness; he was so gallant, so generous--and so rich. Theaunts, it is true, were somewhat scandalized that their system of strictseclusion and passive obedience should be so badly exemplified, butattributed it all to their negligence in not having the windows grated.One of them was particularly mortified at having her marvellous storymarred, and that the only spectre she had ever seen should turn out acounterfeit; but the niece seemed perfectly happy at having found himsubstantial flesh and blood. And so the story ends.
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