The Knight of Malta

by Washington Irving

　　TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER

　　SIR,In the course of a tour which I made in Sicily, in the days of myjuvenility, I passed some little time at the ancient city of Catania,at the foot of Mount tna. Here I became acquainted with the ChevalierL----, an old Knight of Malta. It was not many years after the time thatNapoleon had dislodged the knights from their island, and he still worethe insignia of his order. He was not, however, one of those reliques ofthat once chivalrous body, who had been described was "a few worn-outold men, creeping about certain parts of Europe, with the Maltese crosson their breasts;" on the contrary, though advanced in life, his formwas still light and vigorous; he had a pale, thin, intellectual visage,with a high forehead, and a bright, visionary eye. He seemed to take afancy to me, as I certainly did to him, and we soon became intimate,I visited him occasionally, at his apartments, in the wing of an oldpalace, looking toward Mount tna. He was an antiquary, a virtuoso, anda connoisseur. His rooms were decorated with mutilated statues, dug upfrom Grecian and Roman ruins; old vases, lachrymals, and sepulchrallamps. He had astronomical and chemical instruments, and black-letterbooks, in various languages. I found that he had dipped a little inchimerical studies and had a hankering after astrology and alchymy. Heaffected to believe in dreams and visions, and delighted in the fancifulRosicrucian doctrines. I cannot persuade myself, however, that he reallybelieved in all these: I rather think he loved to let his imaginationcarry him away into the boundless fairy land which they unfolded.In company with the chevalier, I took several excursions on horsebackabout the environs of Catania, and the picturesque skirts of Mount Etna.One of these led through a village, which had sprung up on the verytract of an ancient eruption, the houses being built of lava. At onetime we passed, for some distance, along a narrow lane, between two highdead convent walls. It was a cut-throat-looking place, in a countrywhere assassinations are frequent; and just about midway through it,we observed blood upon the pavement and the walls, as if a murder hadactually been committed there.The chevalier spurred on his horse, until he had extricated himselfcompletely from this suspicious neighborhood. He then observed, that itreminded him of a similar blind alley in Malta, infamous on account ofthe many assassinations that had taken place there; concerning oneof which, he related a long and tragical story, that lasted untilwe reached Catania. It involved various circumstances of a wild andsupernatural character, but which he assured me were handed down intradition, and generally credited by the old inhabitants of Malta.As I like to pick up strange stories, and as I was particularly struckwith several parts of this, I made a minute of it, on my return to mylodgings. The memorandum was lost, with several others of my travellingpapers, and the story had faded from my mind, when recently, in perusinga French memoir, I came suddenly upon it, dressed up, it is true, in avery different manner, but agreeing in the leading facts, and given uponthe word of that famous adventurer, the Count Cagliostro.I have amused myself, during a snowy day in the country, by rendering itroughly into English, for the entertainment of a youthful circle roundthe Christmas fire. It was well received by my auditors, who, however,are rather easily pleased. One proof of its merits is that it sentsome of the youngest of them quaking to their beds, and gave them veryfearful dreams. Hoping that it may have the same effect upon yourghost-hunting readers, I offer it, Mr. Editor, for insertion in yourMagazine. I would observe, that wherever I have modified the Frenchversion of the Story, it has been in conformity to some recollection ofthe narrative of my friend, the Knight of Malta.Your obt. servt.,GEOFFREY CRAYON.

　　THE END.* * * * * * * * * * * *

　　THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCAA VERITABLE GHOST STORY.

　　"Keep my wits, heaven! They say spirits appearTo melancholy minds, and the graves open!"~ FLETCHER.

　　About the middle of the last century, while the Knights of Saint John ofJerusalem still maintained something of their ancient state and sway inthe Island of Malta, a tragical event took place there, which is thegroundwork of the following narrative.It may be as well to premise, that at the time we are treating of,the order of Saint John of Jerusalem, grown excessively wealthy, haddegenerated from its originally devout and warlike character. Insteadof being a hardy body of "monk-knights," sworn soldiers of the cross,fighting the Paynim in the Holy Land, or scouring the Mediterranean, andscourging the Barbary coasts with their galleys, or feeding the poor,and attending upon the sick at their hospitals, they led a life ofluxury and libertinism, and were to be found in the most voluptuouscourts of Europe. The order, in fact, had become a mode of providingfor the needy branches of the Catholic aristocracy of Europe. "Acommandery," we are told, was a splendid provision for a youngerbrother; and men of rank, however dissolute, provided they belongedto the highest aristocracy, became Knights of Malta, just as they didbishops, or colonels of regiments, or court chamberlains. After a briefResidence at Malta, the knights passed the rest of their time in theirown countries, or only made a visit now and then to the island. Whilethere, having but little military duty to perform, they beguiled theiridleness by paying attentions to the fair.There was one circle of society, however, into which they could notobtain currency. This was composed of a few families of the old Maltesenobility, natives of the island. These families, not being permittedto enroll any of their members in the order, affected to hold nointercourse with its chevaliers; admitting none into their exclusivecoteries but the Grand Master, whom they acknowledged as theirsovereign, and the members of the chapter which composed his council.To indemnify themselves for this exclusion, the chevaliers carried theirgallantries into the next class of society, composed of those who heldcivil, administrative, and judicial situations. The ladies of this classwere called honorate, or honorables, to distinguish them from theinferior orders; and among them were many of superior grace, beauty, andfascination.Even in this more hospitable class, the chevaliers were not all equallyfavored. Those of Germany had the decided preference, owing to theirfair and fresh complexions, and the kindliness of their manners: nextto these came the Spanish cavaliers, on account of their profound andcourteous devotion, and most discreet secrecy. Singular as it may seem,the chevaliers of France fared the worst. The Maltese ladies dreadedtheir volatility, and their proneness to boast of their amours, andshunned all entanglement with them. They were forced, therefore, tocontent themselves with conquests among females of the lower orders.They revenged themselves, after the gay French manner, by making the"honorate" the objects of all kinds of jests and mystifications; byprying into their tender affairs with the more favored chevaliers, andmaking them the theme of song and epigram.About this time, a French vessel arrived at Malta, bringing out adistinguished personage of the order of Saint John of Jerusalem,the Commander de Foulquerre, who came to solicit the post ofcommander-in-chief of the galleys. He was descended from an old andwarrior line of French nobility, his ancestors having long beenseneschals of Poitou, and claiming descent from the first counts ofAngouleme.The arrival of the commander caused a little uneasiness among thepeaceably inclined, for he bore the character, in the island, of beingfiery, arrogant, and quarrelsome. He had already been three times atMalta, and on each visit had signalized himself by some rash and deadlyaffray.As he was now thirty-five years of age, however, it was hoped that timemight have taken off the fiery edge of his spirit, and that he mightprove more quiet and sedate than formerly. The commander set up anestablishment befitting his rank and pretensions; for he arrogated tohimself an importance greater even than that of the Grand Master. Hishouse immediately became the rallying place of all the young Frenchchevaliers. They informed him of all the slights they had experienced orimagined, and indulged their petulant and satirical vein at the expenseof the honorate and their admirers. The chevaliers of other nations soonfound the topics and tone of conversation at the commander's irksome andoffensive, and gradually ceased to visit there. The commander remainedthe head of a national clique, who looked up to him as their model.If he was not as boisterous and quarrelsome as formerly, he had becomehaughty and overbearing. He was fond of talking over his past affairs ofpunctilio and bloody duel. When walking the streets, he was generallyattended by a ruffling train of young French cavaliers, who caught hisown air of assumption and bravado. These he would conduct to the scenesof his deadly encounters, point out the very spot where each fatal lungehad been given, and dwell vaingloriously on every particular.Under his tuition, the young French chevaliers began to add bluster andarrogance to their former petulance and levity; they fired up on themost trivial occasions, particularly with those who had been mostsuccessful with the fair; and would put on the most intolerabledrawcansir airs. The other chevaliers conducted themselves with allpossible forbearance and reserve; but they saw it would be impossible tokeep on long, in this manner, without coming to an open rupture.Among the Spanish cavaliers was one named Don Luis de Lima Vasconcellos.He was distantly related to the Grand Master; and had been enrolled atan early age among his pages, but had been rapidly promoted by him,until, at the age of twenty-six, he had been given the richest Spanishcommandery in the order. He had, moreover, been fortunate with the fair,with one of whom, the most beautiful honorata of Malta, he had longmaintained the most tender correspondence.The character, rank, and connexions of Don Luis put him on a par withthe imperious Commander de Foulquerre, and pointed him out as a leaderand champion to his countrymen. The Spanish chevaliers repaired to him,therefore, in a body; represented all the grievances they had sustained,and the evils they apprehended, and urged him to use his influence withthe commander and his adherents to put a stop to the growing abuses.Don Luis was gratified by this mark of confidence and esteem on the partof his countrymen, and promised to have an interview with the Commanderde Foulquerre on the subject. He resolved to conduct himself withthe utmost caution and delicacy on the occasion; to represent tothe commander the evil consequences which might result from theinconsiderate conduct of the young French chevaliers, and to entreat himto exert the great influence he so deservedly possessed over them, torestrain their excesses. Don Luis was aware, however, of the peril thatattended any interview of the kind with this imperious and fractiousman, and apprehended, however it might commence, that it would terminatein a duel. Still, it was an affair of honor, in which Castilian dignitywas concerned; beside, he had a lurking disgust at the overbearingmanners of De Foulquerre, and perhaps had been somewhat offended bycertain intrusive attentions which he had presumed to pay to thebeautiful honorata.It was now Holy Week; a time too sacred for worldly feuds and passions,especially in a community under the dominion of a religious order; itwas agreed, therefore, that the dangerous interview in question shouldnot take place until after the Easter holidays. It is probable, fromsubsequent circumstances, that the Commander de Foulquerre had someinformation of this arrangement among the Spanish chevaliers, and wasdetermined to be beforehand, and to mortify the pride of their champion,who was thus preparing to read him a lecture. He chose Good Friday forhis purpose. On this sacred day, it is customary in Catholic countriesto make a tour of all the churches, offering up prayers in each. Inevery Catholic church, as is well known, there is a vessel of holy waternear the door. In this, every one, on entering, dips his fingers, andmakes therewith the sign of the cross on his forehead and breast. Anoffice of gallantry, among the young Spaniards, is to stand near thedoor, dip their hands in the holy vessel, and extend them courteouslyand respectfully to any lady of their acquaintance who may enter; whothus receives the sacred water at second hand, on the tips of herfingers, and proceeds to cross herself, with all due decorum. TheSpaniards, who are the most jealous of lovers, are impatient when thispiece of devotional gallantry is proffered to the object of theiraffections by any other hand: on Good Friday, therefore, when a ladymakes a tour of the churches, it is the usage among them for theinamorato to follow her from church to church, so as to present her theholy water at the door of each; thus testifying his own devotion, and atthe same time preventing the officious services of a rival.On the day in question, Don Luis followed the beautiful honorata, towhom, as has already been observed, he had long been devoted. At thevery first church she visited, the Commander de Foulquerre was stationedat the portal, with several of the young French chevaliers about him.Before Don Luis could offer her the holy water, he was anticipated bythe commander, who thrust himself between them, and, while he performedthe gallant office to the lady, rudely turned his back upon her admirer,and trod upon his feet. The insult was enjoyed by the young Frenchmenwho were present: it was too deep and grave to be forgiven by Spanishpride; and at once put an end to all Don Luis' plans of caution andforbearance. He repressed his passion for the moment, however, andwaited until all the parties left the church; then, accosting thecommander with an air of coolness and unconcern, he inquired after hishealth, and asked to what church he proposed making his second visit."To the Magisterial Church of Saint John." Don Luis offered to conducthim thither, by the shortest route. His offer was accepted, apparentlywithout suspicion, and they proceeded together. After walking somedistance, they entered a long, narrow lane, without door or windowopening upon it, called the "Strada Stretta," or narrow street. It was astreet in which duels were tacitly permitted, or connived at, in Malta,and were suffered to pass as accidental encounters. Every where elsethey were prohibited. This restriction had been instituted to diminishthe number of duels, formerly so frequent in Malta. As a fartherprecaution to render these encounters less fatal, it was an offence,punishable with death, for any one to enter this street armed witheither poniard or pistol. It was a lonely, dismal street, just wideenough for two men to stand upon their guard, and cross their swords;few persons ever traversed it, unless with some sinister design; and onany preconcerted duello, the seconds posted themselves at each end, tostop all passengers, and prevent interruption.In the present instance, the parties had scarce entered the street,when Don Luis drew his sword, and called upon the commander to defendhimself.De Foulquerre was evidently taken by surprise: he drew back, andattempted to expostulate; but Don Luis persisted in defying him to thecombat.After a second or two, he likewise drew his sword, but immediatelylowered the point."Good Friday!" ejaculated he, shaking his head: "one word with you; itis full six years since I have been in a confessional: I am shocked atthe state of my conscience; but within three days--that is to say, onMonday next--"Don Luis would listen to nothing. Though naturally of a peaceabledisposition, he had been stung to fury, and people of that character,when once incensed, are deaf to reason. He compelled the commander toput himself on his guard. The latter, though a man accustomed to brawlin battle, was singularly dismayed. Terror was visible in all hisfeatures. He placed himself with his back to the wall, and the weaponswere crossed. The contest was brief and fatal. At the very first thrust,the sword of Don Luis passed through the body of his antagonist. Thecommander staggered to the wall, and leaned against it."On Good Friday!" ejaculated he again, with a failing voice, anddespairing accents. "Heaven pardon you!" added he; "take my sword toTtefoulques, and have a hundred masses performed in the chapel of thecastle, for the repose of my soul!" With these words he expired.The fury of Don Luis was at an end. He stood aghast, gazing at thebleeding body of the commander. He called to mind the prayer of thedeceased for three days' respite, to make his peace with heaven; he hadrefused it; had sent him to the grave, with all his sins upon his head!His conscience smote him to the core; he gathered up the sword of thecommander, which he had been enjoined to take to Ttefoulques, andhurried from the fatal Strada Stretta.The duel of course made a great noise in Malta, but had no injuriouseffect upon the worldly fortunes of Don Luis. He made a full declarationof the whole matter, before the proper authorities; the Chapter ofthe Order considered it one of those casual encounters of the StradaStretta, which were mourned over, but tolerated; the public, by whomthe late commander had been generally detested, declared that he haddeserved his fate. It was but three days after the event, that DonLuis was advanced to one of the highest dignities of the Order, beinginvested by the Grand Master with the priorship of the kingdom ofMinorca.From that time forward, however, the whole character and conduct of DonLuis underwent a change. He became a prey to a dark melancholy, whichnothing could assuage. The most austere piety, the severest penances,had no effect in allaying the horror which preyed upon his mind. He wasabsent for a long time from Malta; having gone, it was said, on remotepilgrimages: when he returned, he was more haggard than ever. Thereseemed something mysterious and inexplicable in this disorder of hismind. The following is the revelation made by himself, of the horriblevisions, or chimeras, by which he was haunted:"When I had made my declaration before the Chapter," said he, "and myprovocations were publicly known, I had made my peace with man; but itwas not so with God, nor with my confessor, nor with my own conscience.My act was doubly criminal, from the day on which it was committed,and from my refusal to a delay of three days, for the victim of myresentment to receive the sacraments. His despairing ejaculation, 'GoodFriday! Good Friday!' continually rang in my ears. 'Why did I not grantthe respite!' cried I to myself; 'was it not enough to kill the body,but must I seek to kill the soul!'"On the night of the following Friday, I started suddenly from my sleep.An unaccountable horror was upon me. I looked wildly around. It seemedas if I were not in my apartment, nor in my bed, but in the fatal StradaStretta, lying on the pavement. I again saw the commander leaningagainst the wall; I again heard his dying words: 'Take my sword toTtefoulques, and have a hundred masses performed in the chapel of thecastle, for the repose of my soul!'"On the following night, I caused one of my servants to sleep in thesame room with me. I saw and heard nothing, either on that night, or anyof the nights following, until the next Friday; when I had again thesame vision, with this difference, that my valet seemed to be lying atsome distance from me on the pavement of the Strada Stretta. The visioncontinued to be repeated on every Friday night, the commander alwaysappearing in the same manner, and uttering the same words: 'Take mysword to Ttefoulques, and have a hundred masses performed in the chapelof the castle for the repose of my soul!' On questioning my servant onthe subject, he stated, that on these occasions he dreamed that he waslying in a very narrow street, but he neither saw nor heard any thing ofthe commander."I knew nothing of this Ttefoulques, whither the defunct was so urgentI should carry his sword. I made inquiries, therefore, concerning itamong the French chevaliers. They informed me that it was an old castle,situated about four leagues from Poitiers, in the midst of a forest.It had been built in old times, several centuries since, by FoulquesTaillefer, (or Fulke Hackiron,) a redoubtable, hard-fighting Count ofAngouleme, who gave it to an illegitimate son, afterward created GrandSeneschal of Poitou, which son became the pro genitor of the Foulquerresof Ttefoulques, hereditary Seneschals of Poitou. They fartherinformed me, that strange stories were told of this old castle, in thesurrounding country, and that it contained many curious reliques. Amongthese, were the arms of Foulques Taillefer, together with all those ofthe warriors he had slain; and that it was an immemorial usage with theFoulquerres to have the weapons deposited there which they had wieldedeither in war or in single combat. This, then, was the reason of thedying injunction of the commander respecting his sword. I carried thisweapon with me, wherever I went, but still I neglected to comply withhis request."The visions still continued to harass me with undiminished horror.I repaired to Rome, where I confessed myself to the Grand Cardinalpenitentiary, and informed him of the terrors with which I was haunted.He promised me absolution, after I should have performed certain acts ofpenance, the principal of which was, to execute the dying request of thecommander, by carrying the sword to Ttefoulques, and having the hundredmasses performed in the chapel of the castle for the repose of his soul."I set out for France as speedily as possible, and made no delay in myjourney. On arriving at Poitiers, I found that the tidings of the deathof the commander had reached there, but had caused no more afflictionthan among the people of Malta. Leaving my equipage in the town, Iput on the garb of a pilgrim, and taking a guide, set out on footfor Ttefoulques, Indeed the roads in this part of the country wereimpracticable for carriages."I found the castle of Ttefoulques a grand but gloomy and dilapidatedpile. All the gates were closed, and there reigned over the whole placean air of almost savage loneliness and desertion. I had understood thatits only inhabitant were the concierge, or warder, and a kind of hermitwho had charge of the chapel. After ringing for some time at the gate,I at length succeeded in bringing forth the warder, who bowed withreverence to my pilgrim's garb. I begged him to conduct me to thechapel, that being the end of my pilgrimage. We found the hermit there,chanting the funeral service; a dismal sound to one who came to performa penance for the death of a member of the family. When he had ceasedto chant, I informed him that I came to accomplish an obligation ofconscience, and that I wished him to perform a hundred masses for therepose of the soul of the commander. He replied that, not being inorders, he was not authorized to perform mass, but that he wouldwillingly undertake to see that my debt of conscience was discharged. Ilaid my offering on the altar, and would have placed the sword of thecommander there, likewise. 'Hold!' said the hermit, with a melancholyshake of the head,'this is no place for so deadly a weapon, that has sooften been bathed in Christian blood. Take it to the armory; you willfind there trophies enough of like character. It is a place into which Inever enter.'"The warder here took up the theme abandoned by the peaceful man ofGod. He assured me that I would see in the armory the swords of all thewarrior race of Foulquerres, together with those of the enemies overwhom they had triumphed. This, he observed, had been a usage keptup since the time of Mellusine, and of her husband, Geoffrey a laGrand-dent, or Geoffrey with the Great-tooth."I followed the gossiping warder to the armory. It was a great dustyhall, hung round with Gothic-looking portraits, of a stark line ofwarriors, each with his weapon, and the weapons of those he had slain inbattle, hung beside his picture. The most conspicuous portrait was thatof Foulques Taillefer, (Fulke Hackiron,) Count of Angouleme, and founderof the castle. He was represented at full-length, armed cap-a-pie, andgrasping a huge buckler, on which were emblazoned three lions passant.The figure was so striking, that it seemed ready to start from thecanvas: and I observed beneath this picture, a trophy composed of manyweapons, proofs of the numerous triumphs of this hard-fighting oldcavalier. Beside the weapons connected with the portraits, there wereswords of all shapes, sizes, and centuries, hung round the hall; withpiles of armor, placed as it were in effigy."On each side of an immense chimney, were suspended the portraits of thefirst seneschal of Poitou (the illegitimate son of Foulques Taillefer)and his wife Isabella de Lusignan; the progenitors of the grim race ofFoulquerres that frowned around. They had the look of being perfectlikenesses; and as I gazed on them, I fancied I could trace in theirantiquated features some family resemblance to their unfortunatedescendant, whom I had slain! This was a dismal neighborhood, yet thearmory was the only part of the castle that had a habitable air; so Iasked the warder whether he could not make a fire, and give me somethingfor supper there, and prepare me a bed in one corner."'A fire and a supper you shall have, and that cheerfully, most worthypilgrim,' said he; 'but as to a bed, I advise you to come and sleep inmy chamber.'"'Why so?' inquired I; 'why shall I not sleep in this hall?'"'I have my reasons; I will make a bed for you close to mine.'"I made no objections, for I recollected that it was Friday, and Idreaded the return of my vision. He brought in billets of wood, kindleda fire in the great overhanging chimney, and then went forth to preparemy supper. I drew a heavy chair before the fire, and seating myself init, gazed muzingly round upon the portraits of the Foulquerres, and theantiquated armor and weapons, the mementos of many a bloody deed. Asthe day declined, the smoky draperies of the hall gradually becameconfounded with the dark ground of the paintings, and the lurid gleamsfrom the chimney only enabled me to see visages staring at me from thegathering darkness. All this was dismal in the extreme, and somewhatappalling; perhaps it was the state of my conscience that rendered mepeculiarly sensitive, and prone to fearful imaginings."At length the warder brought in my supper. It consisted of a dish oftrout, and some crawfish taken in the fosse of the castle. He procuredalso a bottle of wine, which he informed me was wine of Poitou. Irequested him to invite the hermit to join me in my repast; but the holyman sent back word that he allowed himself nothing but roots and herbs,cooked with water. I took my meal, therefore, alone, but prolonged it asmuch as possible, and sought to cheer my drooping spirits by the wine ofPoitou, which I found very tolerable."When supper was over, I prepared for my evening devotions. I havealways been very punctual in reciting my breviary; it is the prescribedand bounden duty of all chevaliers of the religious orders; and I cananswer for it, is faithfully performed by those of Spain. I accordinglydrew forth from my pocket a small missal and a rosary, and told thewarder he need only designate to me the way to his chamber, where Icould come and rejoin him, when I had finished my prayers."He accordingly pointed out a winding stair-case, opening from the hall.'You will descend this stair-case,' said he, 'until you come to thefourth landing-place, where you enter a vaulted passage, terminated byan arcade, with a statue of the blessed Jeanne of France; you cannothelp finding my room, the door of which I will leave open; it is thesixth door from the landing-place. I advise you not to remain in thishall after midnight. Before that hour, you will hear the hermit ring thebell, in going the rounds of the corridors. Do not linger here afterthat signal.'"The warder retired, and I commenced my devotions. I continued at themearnestly; pausing from time to time to put wood upon the fire. I didnot dare to look much around me, for I felt myself becoming a prey tofearful fancies. The pictures appeared to become animated. If I regardedone attentively, for any length of time, it seemed to move the eyes andlips. Above all, the portraits of the Grand Seneschal and his lady,which hung on each side of the great chimney, the progenitors of theFoulquerres of Ttefoulque, regarded me, I thought, with angry andbaleful eyes: I even fancied they exchanged significant glances witheach other. Just then a terrible blast of wind shook all the casements,and, rushing through the hall, made a fearful rattling and clashingamong the armor. To my startled fancy, it seemed something supernatural."At length I heard the bell of the hermit, and hastened to quit thehall. Taking a solitary light, which stood on the supper-table, Idescended the winding stair-case; but before I had reached the vaultedpassage leading to the statue of the blessed Jeanne of France, a blastof wind extinguished my taper. I hastily remounted the stairs, to lightit again at the chimney; but judge of my feelings, when, on arriving atthe entrance to the armory, I beheld the Seneschal and his lady, who haddescended from their frames, and seated themselves on each side of thefire-place! "'Madam, my love,' said the Seneschal, with great formality,and in antiquated phrase, 'what think you of the presumption of thisCastilian, who comes to harbor himself and make wassail in this ourcastle, after having slain our descendant, the commander, and thatwithout granting him time for confession?'"'Truly, my lord,' answered the female spectre, with no less statelinessof manner, and with great asperity of tone; 'truly, my lord, I opinethat this Castilian did a grievous wrong in this encounter; and heshould never be suffered to depart hence, without your throwing him thegauntlet.' I paused to hear no more, but rushed again down-stairs, toseek the chamber of the warder. It was impossible to find it in thedarkness, and in the perturbation of my mind. After an hour and a halfof fruitless search, and mortal horror and anxieties, I endeavoredto persuade myself that the day was about to break, and listenedimpatiently for the crowing of the cock; for I thought if I could hearhis cheerful note, I should be reassured; catching, in the disorderedstate of my nerves, at the popular notion that ghosts never appear afterthe first crowing of the cock."At length I rallied myself, and endeavored to shake off the vagueterrors which haunted me. I tried to persuade myself that the twofigures which I had seemed to see and hear, had existed only in mytroubled imagination. I still had the end of the candle in my hand, anddetermined to make another effort to re-light it, and find my way tobed; for I was ready to sink with fatigue. I accordingly sprang up thestair-case, three steps at a time, stopped at the door of the armory,and peeped cautiously in. The two Gothic figures were no longer in thechimney corners, but I neglected to notice whether they had reascendedto their frames. I entered, and made desperately for the fire-place, butscarce had I advanced three strides, when Messire Foolques Tailleferstood before me, in the centre of the hall, armed cap--pie, andstanding in guard, with the point of his sword silently presented tome. I would have retreated to the stair-case, but the door of it wasoccupied by the phantom figure of an esquire, who rudely flung agauntlet in my face. Driven to fury, I snatched down a sword from thewall: by chance, it was that of the commander which I had placed there.I rushed upon my fantastic adversary, and seemed to pierce him throughand through; but at the same time I felt as if something pierced myheart, burning like a red-hot iron. My blood inundated the hall, and Ifell senseless."When I recovered consciousness, it was broad day, and I found myself ina small chamber, attended by the warder and the hermit. The former toldme that on the previous night, he had awakened long after the midnighthour, and perceiving that I had not come to his chamber, he hadfurnished himself with a vase of holy water, and set out to seek me. Hefound me stretched senseless on the pavement of the armory, and bore meto this room. I spoke of my wound, and of the quantity of blood that Ihad lost. He shook his head, and knew nothing about it; and to mysurprise, on examination, I found myself perfectly sound and unharmed.The wound and blood, therefore, had been all delusion. Neither thewarder nor the hermit put any questions to me, but advised me to leavethe castle as soon as possible. I lost no time in complying with theircounsel, and felt my heart relieved from an oppressive weight, as I leftthe gloomy and fate-bound battlements of Ttefoulques behind me."I arrived at Bayonne, on my way to Spain, on the following Friday. Atmidnight I was startled from my sleep, as I had formerly been; but itwas no longer by the vision of the dying commander. It was old FoulquesTaillefer who stood before me, armed cap--pie, and presenting the pointof his sword. I made the sign of the cross, and the spectre vanished,but I received the same red-hot thrust in the heart which I had felt inthe armory, and I seemed to be bathed in blood. I would have called out,or have arisen from my bed and gone in quest of succor, but I couldneither speak nor stir. This agony endured until the crowing of thecock, when I fell asleep again; but the next day I was ill, and in amost pitiable state. I have continued to be harassed by the same visionevery Friday night; no acts of penitence and devotion have been able torelieve me from it; and it is only a lingering hope in divine mercy,that sustains me, and enables me to support so lamentable a visitation."

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　　The Grand Prior of Minorca wasted gradually away under this constantremorse of conscience, and this horrible incubus. He died some timeafter having revealed the preceding particulars of his case, evidentlythe victim of a diseased imagination.The above relation has been rendered, in many parts literally, from theFrench memoir, in which it is given as a true story: if so, it is one ofthose instances in which truth is more romantic than fiction.

　　THE END.* * * * * * * * * * * *