CHAPTER I.

In a beautiful valley in Switzerland there lived a maiden whose name was Amina, a poor village foundling, who was as fondly loved by the woman who had adopted her as her own mother might have loved. There also lived in the valley a rich farmer whose name was Elvino. Not much wealth truly had he, but enough to make him the richest person in the parish, except the absent lord. Count Rudolpho.

At the village inn (as all villages are supposed to possess that appendage) lived Liza, its mistress, but alas! scandal said many cruel things of her; in fact, there were two or three _very_ ugly tales about her, but they were all so dim that when any of her female acquaintances quarrelled with her, which thing frequently happened, the other one could only vaguely hint, but could never positively assert anything.

But whether or no, certain it is that young Elvino, who fell in love with Liza when he was young, but as he grew older, he shook that love off, and Liza herself declared with much warmth, that it was all owing to that chit of a child Amina; scandal _did_ say that it was all owing to Liza herself.

Be that however, as it may, it is very certain that having abandoned Liza, Elvino soon grew madly in love with Amina, whom all the women declared to be very plain, an evident proof of the young creature’s pretty face.

Amina worked hard and well for a living, and she laughed at Liza, as well she might, having certainly the best of the position.

The village was a very happy one throughout the day but when night came, it was quite the reverse. “The phantom” weighed the village down. It was clothed all in white, was very tall, and every villager trembled as he spoke or even thought of it.

It had been the ruin of Liza’s best bed room, into which this phantom would glide in the dead of the night through the unfastened window, which opened down to the ground, and upon the flower garden; beyond which, and across a rickety, unused bridge, stood the little cot of Amina’s adopted mother, Teresa.

Sooner than sleep in Liza’s best bed room, any peasant would have slept out upon one of the mountain tops. Yes, the village was a happy village, if you took away the phantom.

Well, at last it was understood that Amina and Elvino were to be married, and the very night came when the contract of marriage was to be signed. ’Twas summer time, so the contract was signed in the broad street itself, just opposite Liza’s house, behind which stood the old mill, the unused bridge, and Amina’s cot, or, to be honest, Teresa’s cot, though for that matter, everything that belonged to Teresa was Amina’s.

Elvino endowed Amina with all his wealth. Amina said she could only endow Elvino with her love, and that youth was perfectly satisfied. Liza signed the contract, and very spitefully she signed it too.

The good-tempered fool of the village, Alesso, was rather fond of Liza, and he offered her the pen, but she took it with such a snatch, that he regretted his politeness.

“Never mind, never mind,” said Amina, patting the disconsolate fool on the back; “‘tis a way she hath of shewing her love for thee.”

“Then I should like to know, Mam’selle Amina, how she would show her dislike for me.”

All having signed the contract, the bridegroom presented his bride with the ring--a plain little fillet of gold, but how great a treasure when given between a couple, whose only difference of opinion is which loves the other the best.

“Take now this ring, I pray thee, In assurance that I wed She who once nobly wore it Was my mother, who is dead.

“O! sacred be the gift, love, Let it aid thee in thy vow; And ever, ever bid us Love, dear wife, as we love now.”

It need not be said that the word “wife” applied by Elvino was hardly right; for the church had to bless the couple before he could fairly use the tender term, and the church would not do that till the next day.

Well, the ring had hardly been given, when, with a great smacking of a whip, a travelling carriage drove into the village, up to the inn, and, as a consequence, right into the heart of the contract-signing party.

From this carriage alighted a fine-looking gentleman.

“How weary the road is,” said the stranger to his postillion; “how many miles to the castle?”

“So please you three, monsieur, and a _dreadful_ road;--have a delightful inn, monsieur--my inn--if monsieur would do me the honor to walk in.”

“True,” said the handsome gentleman, smiling; “seeing your face, I recollect you and also the inn.”

Alesso heard this admission, and immediately began to puzzle his brains to find out who this new arrival was, and for that purpose he went peering amongst the boxes and portmanteaux.

“And pray, good people, do you ever think of this new lord, whom you have not seen since he was a boy?”

The villagers immediately began talking about this lord with great force; would he come? why had he not come before? pray did the good monsieur know him? &c., &c.

The stranger laughingly said they would ask questions till the evening was night; but this assertion Alesso doubted; for he could assure monsieur that they would not stop to question even the new lord himself when the night came.

“Indeed, why not?”

What! what! had monsieur never heard of their village spectre? Why, where had monsieur been? He, Alesso, thought it was talked of all--over--the--world!

The stranger desired to have it described.

A villager then sang--

“When day has gone--when night has come, When howls the wind--when thunders roar, Then on the hill-top, all dressed in white, Thou’lt see this shade--thou’lt see with awe!”

“Without a step it glides along, With hanging hair--with glaring eyes. On--on it glides, and then ’tis gone, And as ’tis lost, it utters cries!”

The stranger laughed, and said he would soon find out the mystery if he lived there.

It may be presumed that the stranger had been living in Paris; but certainly he was very gallant.

He flattered Liza somewhat, but turning his eyes full upon Amina, he forgot Liza altogether, and began paying the young bride a great many compliments.

She smiled at the compliments paid her by the stranger, and answered smartly; but at last grew timid as the count grew bolder; and indeed she was not sorry when Elvino came up, and accidentally stood between them. The count requiring some explanation, Elvino gave it him by plainly telling him she was his wife; whereupon the count congratulated him on his good fortune.

Well, the contract business over, the notary departed for home; the villagers also within doors; the count in the village inn, and Liza retired, rather annoyed and angry; the two young people were in the moonlight, bidding each other good night.

At last, after a long time, Amina’s mother had the opportunity of remonstrating upon late hours, and then Amina went to bed for the last time in that little cot of her adopted mother’s.