Part 21

“I do really feel quite unwell. I have felt so two or three times to-day. What a poor machine is man! Anything that his reason cannot explain either frightens him or annoys him. Pour me out a good glass of port, Christian. Your health! I am glad, on the whole, that I declined the invitation to dine over yonder; I like better to be here with you in this gloomy room, that I can laugh at, after all--Well, as you are eating without being hungry to please me, and are listening to me in spite of your own business matters, I will tell you about my hallucination; it is at least as singular as yours:

“It was no longer ago than last evening, and in this very place where we now are. I was in the other room, quite absorbed in investigating a very interesting legal matter, while my little valet, after making me a good deal of trouble, at last condescended to go to sleep. I had intended to stay with him, by a great effort of patience, for a quarter of an hour or so; not more, for I was hungry, though I did not know that food had been brought. However, the demon of study, who has the art of making every pursuit interesting, even that of the law, took possession of me so completely, that I forgot everything, until my poor stomach was obliged fairly to shout into my ears that it was eleven o’clock at night.

“Well, I looked at my watch, and sure enough it was eleven o’clock. The truth is, that my housekeeper is in the habit of looking after me, and calling me to my meals, and I had quite forgotten that in this den of a place, left to the care of that lunatic of an Ulphilas, I should not be notified of anything whatever. Nils, as I told you, is a servant whom Gertrude selected for me, so as to teach me the duties of the valet-de-chambre. Well, as I had fasted for full seven long hours, I got up at once, took the light and came into this room, where I found the dishes that you had brought on the table; I gave Ulphilas the credit of this rather late hospitality, and set about satisfying my appetite probably rather voraciously.

“You know already, my dear Christian, that this old ruin has the reputation of being haunted by the devil. At least, this is the opinion of the orthodox portion of the community, who account for the circumstance by affirming that it was used, not long ago, as a chapel by a Catholic lady, the Baroness Hilda, widow of Adelstan, the elder brother--”

“Of Baron Olaus de Waldemora,” said Christian, “but have the Dalecarlians such a horror of Catholicism as that?”

“They abominate it,” said M. Goefle, “as much as they did the reformed religion before the time of Gustavus Vasa. They are a race who neither love nor hate by halves. As to this demon who haunts Stollborg, old Stenson does not believe in it, but he does thoroughly believe in the _Gray Lady_; who, he says, is nothing else than the spirit of the late baroness, who died in this room more than twenty years ago.

“An hour before, I had been laughing at apparitions, to reassure my little serving-lad; but you know how it is with dreams. Very often some careless word heard or spoken in the course of the day, and forgotten the next moment, proves to be the seed from which they blossom mysteriously, and without our own consciousness; and so we bear them in our minds until night, when, as soon as our eyes are shut and our reason is asleep, they rise up before our deluded vision in fantastic forms, endowed now with tenfold their real significance, and, perhaps, horror.

“It must be, it seems to me, that hallucinations--that is, waking dreams--obey exactly the same law. I had ended my supper, and was about lighting my pipe, when suddenly there swept through the room a shrill, melancholy sound, like that of the wind when it rushes through a door suddenly opened; the air was at the same time stirred and chilled, and the flames of the candles that stood upon the table flickered. At the moment, I happened to be looking towards the door of the vestibule, and seeing that this was firmly fastened and motionless, I supposed that Nils had awaked, and had opened the opposite door, that of the guard-room.

“‘Ah!’ I cried, as I got up, ‘there you are again! Do go to sleep, will you, you cursed little coward!’

“I stepped to the door, thinking that the little rascal had not ventured to open it wide, but had only set it ajar, to be sure I had not gone away. But this door was shut as tight as the other.

“Had the child closed it again when he saw that I was there, and had the slight sound he must have made escaped me, while I was looking for my pipe and refilling the stove? It was possible. I went into the guard-room, but Nils was fast asleep, with his little fists clenched. Evidently he had not stirred. I covered up the fire in the chimney, for fear of some accident, and came back into this room, where everything was still. The melancholy whistling was not repeated. I concluded that a gust of wind had come in through some open joint somewhere in the wood-work, and resumed my pipe, and the papers which I was examining for the baron.

“This business was a rather intricate and subtle law question, and was quite interesting to me, but I need not trouble you with it. All I need say is, that it involved a certain contract for the sale of property executed some time ago by Baron Adelstan; and that his name, as well as that of his wife Hilda de Blixen, were repeated in almost every sentence of the instrument. The names of this married couple, both of whom died in the flower of their age, one in a tragical and mysterious manner, and the other in this very room, and probably in that same unfurnished and dilapidated old bed in the opposite corner, may have made some impression upon my mind, of which I was not conscious. I was quite absorbed in my examination, and the fire in the stove was roaring well, when I thought I heard a creaking on the staircase, several times repeated. I was quite startled, and at the same time was so ashamed of my own emotion, that I would not even turn my head round to see what it was. It was not surprising that the damp old wood-work was beginning to feel the effects of the hot fire in the stove, and that it should occasionally emit these unaccustomed sounds.

“I went on with my reading again; but now, the creaking of the steps and the balustrade was followed by a different sound, not unlike the rasping of an iron tool on the wall, guided by a hand so feeble and uncertain, that it might easily have been mistaken, at moments, for the scratching of a rat among those old maps. I looked up, but seeing nothing, kept on with my work, for I would not permit myself to be disturbed by these unaccountable noises, peculiar to all such old rooms, and which are always occasioned in the simplest manner. It is silly to be searching for the causes of such things, when one has more important business to attend to.

“However, a third and still a different sound compelled me to turn round again, and look once more at the staircase. I could hear the large parchment map, that covers the built-up door, shaking and crackling in a singular manner. I saw it rise up repeatedly; it shook upon the rings by which it hangs, and stood out, as if some body, not unlike a human form, was moving behind it. For the moment, I was startled in good earnest. It was possible that some thief had managed to secrete himself there, and was waiting for an opportunity to spring out upon me. I jumped up hastily to take my sword from the chair, where I had laid it when I came in, but it was not there.”

“For a sufficient reason, I regret to say,” observed Christian. “It was at my side.”

“I do not know,” resumed M. Goefle, “whether I concluded that Ulphilas, with unusual neatness and solicitude, had put away the weapon. The truth is that I had not looked in my portmanteau, and had not been at all uneasy at not finding my clothes, which I had hung upon the back of the arm-chair. I am not in the habit of attending to such matters myself, and most probably had entirely forgotten having placed them there. Not seeing the sword, I had time to collect myself a little, and to make up my mind that I was unnecessarily alarmed. Nobody could want to kill me, and if a robber had taken a fancy to my purse, the wisest course would be to let him have the small amount it contained without resistance.

“So I returned, and advanced towards the stairs, quite coolly and resolutely, I give you my word. And exactly at this moment it was that the hallucination took place. There, stay a moment, Christian! Look at that portrait; to the right of the window.”

“I have already tried to see it,” said Christian, “but the light is so bad where it hangs, and the flies or the damp have defaced it so much, that I could hardly make it out at all.”

“Well, then, take a light and look at it. It is getting dark, at any rate, and will soon be time to light up.”

Christian lit the three-branched candlestick that had been left on the table, stood up on a chair, and with the help of his album, which he held between his eyes and the flickering lights, proceeded to examine the picture carefully.

“I see it very indistinctly still,” he said. “It is a portrait of a rather tall woman, elegantly formed; she is seated, and wears a black veil, as is the custom with Swedish ladies in winter, to protect their eyes from the glare of the snow. I can see her hands, which are very well painted, and very beautiful. Ah! ah! the dress is pearl-gray satin, with bows of black velvet. Is it the portrait of the Gray Lady?”

“Exactly. It is the Baroness Hilda.”

“Let me see the face, then. There, I catch it now; it is handsome--an agreeable and sweet countenance. Stay, wait a moment, M. Goefle! That face inspires me with a feeling of sympathy; it moves me.”

“So you don’t care to listen to my story any longer?”

“That’s all;--yes, indeed I do. I am pressed for time, and yet your adventure interests me so much that I must hear the end of it. I’m ready.”

“Well, then,” continued the lawyer, “as my eyes again fell upon that great map of Sweden which is now so still, a human figure came out from under it, lifting it aside as one does a tapestry curtain. It was the figure of a tall and thin woman, not slender and beautiful, as the original of the portrait must have been, but livid and wasted, as if she had just risen from the tomb; and the gray dress, too, soiled, worn, and with the black ribbons unfastened and hanging loose, seemed to be trailing with it the very earth of the grave. My dear friend, so horrible, so frightful was this painful vision, that I closed my eyes to avoid seeing it. When I opened them again--but whether in a moment or in a second, I cannot say, for I took no account of time--the figure was standing upon the floor directly before me. She had descended the stairs--I had heard them creaking again--and was staring at me with haggard eyes, and with a fixity that I can only call cadaverous; so totally was it devoid of thought, interest, or even life. It was really a corpse standing upright there within two steps of me! As for me, I remained motionless, like one fascinated--a very ugly-looking object myself, probably--and with my hair standing up on my head, for what I know--”

“Upon my word,” said Christian, “a disagreeable apparition enough! I believe if I had been in your place, I should certainly have sworn, or broken something! Did this last long?”

“I don’t know; it seemed to me that it would never end. I shut my eyes again to lose sight of it; and when I reopened them, the spectre was moving towards the side of the bed. I can scarcely describe its further movements. It seemed as if it were opening the curtains, and bending down to speak to some being whom it saw there--invisible save to those ghastly eyes. Then it turned as if to open the window; though it did not really open it. And finally, it returned towards me. By this time I had somewhat recovered myself, and tried to make a deliberate examination of the face; but this was more than I could do. I could see nothing but those great dead eyes--it seemed as if I were powerless to remove my own from them. Besides, the phantom now passed me quickly. If it noticed me at all, it did not seem irritated or disturbed by my presence. It flitted uncertainly along the room; tried to return to the stairs, and appeared unable to find them. Then the fleshless hands began to feel along the walls, and suddenly it disappeared. Again a rush of wind ran whistling through the room, and rang in my ears; it ceased, and as, during the whole of this experience, I had been perfectly conscious of being in my right mind, I perceived at once the cessation of the unaccustomed sounds, together with the disappearance of the fantastic image.

“I felt of myself--there was no doubt as to my identity. I pinched my hand, and felt it perfectly. I looked at the bottle of rum, but I had hardly made a beginning upon it. Evidently I was neither in a trance nor intoxicated. Indeed, I no longer felt even an emotion of terror, and very coolly said to myself that I must have been asleep standing. I finished my pipe while reflecting upon the affair, and even indulged my imagination so far as to half wish to undergo another such hallucination, so that I might try to overcome it; but the phenomenon was not repeated, and I went very quietly to bed. It was some time before I fell asleep, but I experienced no other inconvenience.”

“But then,” said Christian, “what should have made you so uncomfortable just now, when you were only thinking the matter over?”

“Why, because the mind is so constituted, I suppose. There are emotional reactions. By hearing of delusions, you may become a little deluded yourself. Twice already, to-day, I have recalled stories of this kind, that are certainly either fables or dreams, and yet which embody great and mysterious moral truths.”

“How is that, M. Goefle?”

“Good heavens! it happened to my own father, who, like myself, was an advocate and professor of law, to see the ghost of a man who had been unjustly condemned to death more than ten years before, and who called upon him for justice to his despoiled children, and for the rehabilitation of his own memory. He saw this spectre at the foot of a gibbet which he was passing. He looked into the affair, found that the phantom had told the truth, instituted proceedings, and gained his cause. Doubtless the ghost was an illusion, but it was an appeal to my father’s conscience. Now, whence came that appeal? From the grave? Certainly not. From heaven? Who knows?”

“Well, M. Goefle, what do you conclude as to the apparition of last night?”

“Nothing at all, my dear friend, but I am none the less troubled, every little while, with the idea that the Baroness Hilda may perhaps have been the victim of a calumny, and that God has given permission, not that her soul should visit me, but that my own mind should be so strongly impressed with the recollection of her, as to bring her image before my eyes, and thus influence me to make researches into the truth of the matter.”

“But what was the charge brought against this famous baroness, then?”

“That she fabricated an audacious falsehood, with the design of depriving Baron Olaus of his rightful inheritance.”

“Will you please tell me that story, too, M. Goefle? I feel extremely curious about it, since you have seen this spectre.”

“Certainly, I intended to do so; and, fortunately, it is not long.

“Baron Magnus de Waldemora, who was commonly called ‘the great iarl’ (though ‘iarl’ means properly ‘count,’ the term is very commonly applied to all nobles of a certain rank and importance), had two sons. The elder, Adelstan, was quick, impetuous, and ardent in disposition, while the younger, Olaus, at present surnamed the Snow Man, was mild, affectionate, and studious. They were both tall, handsome, and strong, and together were their father’s pride. His fortune was considerable--an unusual advantage in our country, where the wealth of the nobility was immensely diminished by the reduction of 1680. The right of primogeniture does not prevail with us, but all the sons inherit equally. Still, even half of this inheritance was, it might seem, enough to satisfy either of the brothers, and if there was ever a young man who appeared incapable of jealousy it was Olaus--a youth of calm exterior, inclined to quiet raillery, for whom the father seemed to feel a sort of preference, and who was generally more liked than his elder brother.

“The latter was of a noble character, but his frankness was so great as sometimes to verge upon rudeness. He had early shown an active disposition, and had a passion for travelling and novelty. At thirty he had already been all over Europe, and, during his stay in France, had acquired certain philosophical views, which caused great apprehensions to the elder members of his family, and even to his father. His friends wished him to marry, and he agreed to do so, requiring only that his bride should be the choice of his heart. Accordingly he married a beautiful young lady whom he had known in France, the Countess Hilda de Blixen, an orphan of a noble Danish family, who had no other dowry than her mental attractions, her beauty, and her virtue. This was a great deal, you would say, and I am entirely of your opinion. It was also that of the old Baron Magnus, who, although at first disposed to disapprove of the connection as a mere love-match, soon learned to love and cherish his daughter-in-law.

“Some assert that Olaus was disappointed at this reconciliation, and that he had tried to make a quarrel between his father and Adelstan. It has been hinted, moreover, that Baron Magnus, who was a strong and healthy man, died in a very sudden manner. Both these charges are of old date, and absolutely without any proof.

“What is certain, however, is, that from the time of sharing the inheritance there existed a serious misunderstanding between the two brothers. My father himself was present during a certain discussion about the property, when Baron Adelstan spoke in the bitterest manner to Olaus, who had reproached him mildly for having lived so much at a distance from his family, neglecting his home duties and responsibilities, in order to gratify his taste for travelling.

“‘My father,’ he said, ‘never knew the value of your hypocritical affection. Perhaps he understands it only too well, now that he is in his grave!’

“The bitterness of this sarcasm, and the moderation with which Olaus received it, caused my father to express great disapproval of the frightful suspicion which the elder brother hinted. Adelstan said no more, but he never intimated that he had changed his opinion. Many utterances of his to the same effect are remembered, whose implications have remained without proof, but--at least as far as some persons about him are concerned--not without weight.

“Baron Magnus had not laid aside any such sums of money as would admit of the purchase by one brother from the other of either portion of the real estate, and the question of selling the lands and the chateau therefore came up. Olaus refused the income which his brother offered to settle upon him, notwithstanding that the amount was larger than he himself offered to Adelstan in case the lands should be adjudged to him. The plan of selling had, however, to be given up, for no purchasers came forward. This immense chateau, situated in a remote region on the confines of a wilderness, was no longer adapted to the requirements of modern society, whose tendency is to draw people to the capital, or southern provinces. My father, however, succeeded in making a clear statement of the whole revenues and expenses of the estate, and on this basis he fixed upon a proper figure for the annuity to be paid to the one brother, by whichever should continue in possession of the domain, and it was agreed to cast lots for the choice. The result was in favor of the elder brother.

“Olaus showed no vexation, but it is asserted that he was, in fact, extremely chagrined, and that he lamented to those in his confidence the unjust fate which drove away from the heritage of his fathers a person like himself, accustomed to a country life, and fond of quiet, in order to bestow this beautiful residence upon an inconstant and restless being like Adelstan. By such complaints, by the friendly familiarity of his manners, and by liberal gifts bestowed upon the numerous retainers of the house, he formed for himself a party of adherents who soon threatened to impede the elder brother in managing his affairs, and even in maintaining his domestic authority.

“My father, who was obliged to remain here some weeks, while concluding the settlement of the estate, perceived all this, but he had grown weary of these constant family dissensions, and probably he did less than justice to the frank and loyal character of the elder brother. He seems to have been very much influenced by the plausible manners and apparent goodness of heart of Olaus, and, except where questions of equity were concerned, in which case my father was rigorously impartial, the younger brother was his favorite. My father went away after having endeavored to arrange for the residence of both brothers at the chateau. Olaus was anxious to retain at least a foothold at Stollborg, but Adelstan refused to allow him this privilege, with a firmness that seemed somewhat harsh.

“As soon as Olaus left for Stockholm, where he proposed to establish himself, Adelstan sent for his wife, who, during these discussions about the property, had been residing with a friend at Falun, together with her young son, then only a few months old, and the young couple went to housekeeping at Waldemora. And now it was, after many suspicions and much gossiping talk, that a secret was discovered--or so it was stated--which the young people had hitherto concealed from the public. Baroness Hilda was said to be a Catholic. She had been brought up in France, and there--according to the stories in circulation--in compliance with the wishes of an aunt and the circle of her friends, had imprudently devoted herself to theological studies, and had been led away by the pride of knowledge to abjure the religion of her fathers, which she was taught to believe was of too recent date. It was even said that false miracles had been employed, so as to extort from her imprudent vows. On these points I can give you no information of any kind. I might have been acquainted with the baroness, but no opportunity occurred of bringing us together, and we never met. She is said to have been very intelligent, and thoroughly educated. It is quite possible that she may have changed her religion from conscientious motives and intellectual conviction; and, for my part, I acquit her on this charge with a great deal of philosophy. Unfortunately, the public could not be brought to do this. In Sweden, there is a very strong attachment to the established religion, and the dissenters are so few that they are at once marked out from the rest of the community. They are frequently rebuked, and even persecuted; not so cruelly as in less enlightened times, but with sufficient harshness to render their lives painful and miserable. The law even admits of their being exiled.

“A terrific scandal therefore arose, when it was discovered, or was supposed to be so, that the baroness, who had always been rather lax in her attendance at the parish church, had secretly erected a chapel to the Virgin Mary in this very old donjon; where, unable to command the services of a priest of her religion, she was in the habit of offering up special and private prayers of her own. This secret worship the peasants regarded as little better than sorcery. However, as the baroness did not attempt to make proselytes, and never spoke of her religion, the matter was gradually hushed up. She did a great deal of good, and her lovely character overcame many prejudices.