Kitobni o'qish: «The Ghost-Seer; or the Apparitionist; and Sport of Destiny»

BOOK I.
FROM THE PAPERS OF COUNT O —

I am about to relate an adventure which to many will appear incredible, but of which I was in great part an eye-witness. The few who are acquainted with a certain political event will, if indeed these pages should happen to find them alive, receive a welcome solution thereof. And, even to the rest of my readers, it will be, perhaps, important as a contribution to the history of the deception and aberrations of the human intellect. The boldness of the schemes which malice is able to contemplate and to carry out must excite astonishment, as must also the means of which it can avail itself to accomplish its aims. Clear, unvarnished truth shall guide my pen; for, when these pages come before the public, I shall be no more, and shall therefore never learn their fate.

On my return to Courland in the year 17 – , about the time of the Carnival, I visited the Prince of – at Venice. We had been acquainted in the – service, and we here renewed an intimacy which, by the restoration of peace, had been interrupted. As I wished to see the curiosities of this city, and as the prince was waiting only for the arrival of remittances to return to his native country, he easily prevailed on me to tarry till his departure. We agreed not to separate during the time of our residence at Venice, and the prince was kind enough to accommodate me at his lodgings at the Moor Hotel.

As the prince wished to enjoy himself, and his small revenues did not permit him to maintain the dignity of his rank, he lived at Venice in the strictest incognito. Two noblemen, in whom he had entire confidence, and a few faithful servants, composed all his retinue. He shunned expenditure, more however from inclination than economy. He avoided all kinds of dissipation, and up to the age of thirty-five years had resisted the numerous allurements of this voluptuous city. To the charms of the fair sex he was wholly indifferent. A settled gravity and an enthusiastic melancholy were the prominent features of his character. His affections were tranquil, but obstinate to excess. He formed his attachments with caution and timidity, but when once formed they were cordial and permanent. In the midst of a tumultuous crowd he walked in solitude. Wrapped in his own visionary ideas, he was often a stranger to the world about him; and, sensible of his own deficiency in the knowledge of mankind, he scarcely ever ventured an opinion of his own, and was apt to pay an unwarrantable deference to the judgment of others. Though far from being weak, no man was more liable to be governed; but, when conviction had once entered his mind, he became firm and decisive; equally courageous to combat an acknowledged prejudice or to die for a new one.

As he was the third prince of his house, he had no likely prospect of succeeding to the sovereignty. His ambition had never been awakened; his passions had taken another direction. Contented to find himself independent of the will of others, he never enforced his own as a law; his utmost wishes did not soar beyond the peaceful quietude of a private life, free from care. He read much, but without discrimination. As his education had been neglected, and, as he had early entered the career of arms, his understanding had never been fully matured. Hence the knowledge he afterwards acquired served but to increase the chaos of his ideas, because it was built on an unstable foundation.

He was a Protestant, as all his family had been, by birth, but not by investigation, which he had never attempted, although at one period of his life he had been an enthusiast in its cause. He had never, so far as came to my knowledge, been a freemason.

One evening we were, as usual, walking by ourselves, well masked in the square of St. Mark. It was growing late, and the crowd was dispersing, when the prince observed a mask which followed us everywhere. This mask was an Armenian, and walked alone. We quickened our steps, and endeavored to baffle him by repeatedly altering our course. It was in vain, the mask was always close behind us. “You have had no intrigue here, I hope,” said the prince at last, “the husbands of Venice are dangerous.” “I do not know a single lady in the place,” was my answer. “Let us sit down here, and speak German,” said he; “I fancy we are mistaken for some other persons.” We sat down upon a stone bench, and expected the mask would have passed by. He came directly up to us, and took his seat by the side of the prince. The latter took out his watch, and, rising at the same time, addressed me thus in a loud voice in French, “It is past nine. Come, we forget that we are waited for at the Louvre.” This speech he only invented in order to deceive the mask as to our route. “Nine!” repeated the latter in the same language, in a slow and expressive voice, “Congratulate yourself, my prince” (calling him by his real name); “he died at nine.” In saying this, he rose and went away.

We looked at each other in amazement. “Who is dead?” said the prince at length, after a long silence. “Let us follow him,” replied I, “and demand an explanation.” We searched every corner of the place; the mask was nowhere to be found. We returned to our hotel disappointed. The prince spoke not a word to me the whole way; he walked apart by himself, and appeared to be greatly agitated, which he afterwards confessed to me was the case. Having reached home, he began at length to speak: “Is it not laughable,” said he, “that a madman should have the power thus to disturb a man’s tranquillity by two or three words?” We wished each other a goodnight; and, as soon as I was in my own apartment, I noted down in my pocket-book the day and the hour when this adventure happened. It was on a Thursday.

The next evening the prince said to me, “Suppose we go to the square of St. Mark, and seek for our mysterious Armenian. I long to see this comedy unravelled.” I consented. We walked in the square till eleven. The Armenian was nowhere to be seen. We repeated our walk the four following evenings, and each time with the same bad success.

On the sixth evening, as we went out of the hotel, it occurred to me, whether designedly or otherwise I cannot recollect, to tell the servants where we might be found in case we should be inquired for. The prince remarked my precaution, and approved of it with a smile. We found the square of St. Mark very much crowded. Scarcely had we advanced thirty steps when I perceived the Armenian, who was pressing rapidly through the crowd, and seemed to be in search of some one. We were just approaching him, when Baron F – , one of the prince’s retinue, came up to us quite breathless, and delivered to the prince a letter. “It is sealed with black,” said he, “and we supposed from this that it might contain matters of importance.” I was struck as with a thunderbolt. The prince went near a torch, and began to read. “My cousin is dead!” exclaimed he. “When?” inquired I anxiously, interrupting him. He looked again into the letter. “Last Thursday night at nine.”

We had not recovered from our surprise when the Armenian stood before us. “You are known here, my prince!” said he. “Hasten to your hotel. You will find there the deputies from the Senate. Do not hesitate to accept the honor they intend to offer you. Baron I – forgot to tell you that your remittances are arrived.” He disappeared among the crowd.

We hastened to our hotel, and found everything as the Armenian had told us. Three noblemen of the republic were waiting to pay their respects to the prince, and to escort him in state to the Assembly, where the first nobility of the city were ready to receive him. He had hardly time enough to give me a hint to sit up for him till his return.

About eleven o’clock at night he returned. On entering the room he appeared grave and thoughtful. Having dismissed the servants, he took me by the hand, and said, in the words of Hamlet, “Count —

“‘There are more things in heav’n and earth, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”

“Gracious prince!” replied I, “you seem to forget that you are retiring to your pillow greatly enriched in prospect.” The deceased was the hereditary prince.

“Do not remind me of it,” said the prince; “for should I even have acquired a crown I am now too much engaged to occupy myself with such a trifle. If that Armenian has not merely guessed by chance”

“How can that be, my prince?” interrupted I.

“Then will I resign to you all my hopes of royalty in exchange for a monk’s cowl.”

I have mentioned this purposely to show how far every ambitious idea was then distant from his thoughts.

The following evening we went earlier than usual to the square of St. Mark. A sudden shower of rain obliged us to take shelter in a coffee-house, where we found a party engaged at cards. The prince took his place behind the chair of a Spaniard to observe the game. I went into an adjacent chamber to read the newspapers. A short time afterwards I heard a noise in the card-room. Previously to the entrance of the prince the Spaniard had been constantly losing, but since then he had won upon every card. The fortune of the game was reversed in a striking manner, and the bank was in danger of being challenged by the pointeur, whom this lucky change of fortune had rendered more adventurous. A Venetian, who kept the bank, told the prince in a very rude manner that his presence interrupted the fortune of the game, and desired him to quit the table. The latter looked coldly at him, remained in his place, and preserved the same countenance, when the Venetian repeated his insulting demand in French. He thought the prince understood neither French nor Italian; and, addressing himself with a contemptuous laugh to the company, said “Pray, gentlemen, tell me how I must make myself understood to this fool.” At the same time he rose and prepared to seize the prince by the arm. His patience forsook the latter; he grasped the Venetian with a strong hand, and threw him violently on the ground. The company rose up in confusion. Hearing the noise, I hastily entered the room, and unguardedly called the prince by his name. “Take care,” said I, imprudently; “we are in Venice.” The name of the prince caused a general silence, which ended in a whispering which appeared to me to have a dangerous tendency. All the Italians present divided into parties, and kept aloof. One after the other left the room, so that we soon found ourselves alone with the Spaniard and a few Frenchmen. “You are lost, prince,” said they, “if you do not leave the city immediately. The Venetian whom you have handled so roughly is rich enough to hire a bravo. It costs him but fifty zechins to be revenged by your death.” The Spaniard offered, for the security of the prince, to go for the guards, and even to accompany us home himself. The Frenchmen proposed to do the same. We were still deliberating what to do when the doors suddenly opened, and some officers of the Inquisition entered the room. They produced an order of government, which charged us both to follow them immediately. They conducted us under a strong escort to the canal, where a gondola was waiting for us, in which we were ordered to embark. We were blindfolded before we landed. They led us up a large stone staircase, and through a long, winding passage, over vaults, as I judged from the echoes that resounded under our feet. At length we came to another staircase, and, having descended a flight of steps, we entered a hall, where the bandage was removed from our eyes. We found ourselves in a circle of venerable old men, all dressed in black; the hall was hung round with black and dimly lighted. A dead silence reigned in the assembly, which inspired us with a feeling of awe. One of the old men, who appeared to be the principal Inquisitor, approached the prince with a solemn countenance, and said, pointing to the Venetian, who was led forward:

“Do you recognize this man as the same who offended you at the coffee-house?”

“I do,” answered the prince.

Then addressing the prisoner: “Is this the same person whom you meant to have assassinated to-night?”

The prisoner replied, “Yes.”

In the same instant the circle opened, and we saw with horror the head of the Venetian severed from his body.

“Are you content with this satisfaction?” said the Inquisitor. The prince had fainted in the arms of his attendants. “Go,” added the Inquisitor, turning to me, with a terrible voice, “Go; and in future judge less hastily of the administration of justice in Venice.”

Who the unknown friend was who had thus saved us from inevitable death, by interposing in our behalf the active arm of justice, we could not conjecture. Filled with terror we reached our hotel. It was past midnight. The chamberlain, Z – , was waiting anxiously for us at the door.

“How fortunate it was that you sent us a message,” said he to the prince, as he lighted us up the staircase. “The news which Baron F – soon after brought us respecting you from the square of St. Mark would otherwise have given us the greatest uneasiness.”

“I sent you a message!” said the prince. “When? I know nothing of it.”

“This evening, after eight, you sent us word that we must not be alarmed if you should come home later to-night than usual.”

The prince looked at me. “Perhaps you have taken this precaution without mentioning it to me.”

I knew nothing of it.

“It must be so, however,” replied the chamberlain, “since here is your repeating-watch, which you sent me as a mark of authenticity.”

The prince put his hand to his watch-pocket. It was empty, and he recognized the watch which the chamberlain held as his own.

“Who brought it?” said he, in amazement.

“An unknown mask, in an Armenian dress, who disappeared immediately.”

We stood looking at each other. “What do you think of this?” said the prince at last, after a long silence. “I have a secret guardian here in Venice.”

The frightful transaction of this night threw the prince into a fever, which confined him to his room for a week. During this time our hotel was crowded with Venetians and strangers, who visited the prince from a deference to his newly-discovered rank. They vied with each other in offers of service, and it was not a little entertaining to observe that the last visitor seldom failed to hint some suspicion derogatory to the character of the preceding one. Billets-doux and nostrums poured in upon us from all quarters. Every one endeavored to recommend himself in his own way. Our adventure with the Inquisition was no more mentioned. The court of – , wishing the prince to delay his departure from Venice for some time, orders were sent to several bankers to pay him considerable sums of money. He was thus, against his will, compelled to protract his residence in Italy; and at his request I also resolved to postpone my departure for some time longer.

As soon as the prince had recovered strength enough to quit his chamber he was advised by his physician to take an airing in a gondola upon the Brenta, for the benefit of the air, to which, as the weather was serene, he readily consented. Just as the prince was about to step into the boat he missed the key of a little chest in which some very valuable papers were enclosed.. We immediately turned back to search for it. He very distinctly remembered that he had locked the chest the day before, and he had never left the room in the interval. As our endeavors to find it proved ineffectual, we were obliged to relinquish the search in order to avoid being too late. The prince, whose soul was above suspicion, gave up the key as lost, and desired that it might not be mentioned any more.

Our little voyage was exceedingly delightful. A picturesque country, which at every winding of the river seemed to increase in richness and beauty; the serenity of the sky, which formed a May day in the middle of February; the charming gardens and elegant countryseats which adorned the banks of the Brenta; the maestic city of Venice behind us, with its lofty spires, and a forest of masts, rising as it were out of the waves; all this afforded us one of the most splendid prospects in the world. We wholly abandoned ourselves to the enchantment of Nature’s luxuriant scenery; our minds shared the hilarity of the day; even the prince himself lost his wonted gravity, and vied with us in merry jests and diversions. On landing about two Italian miles from the city we heard the sound of sprightly music; it came from a small village at a little distance from the Brenta, where there was at that time a fair. The place was crowded with company of every description. A troop of young girls and boys, dressed in theatrical habits, welcomed us in a pantomimical dance. The invention was novel; animation and grace attended their every movement. Before the dance was quite concluded the principal actress, who represented a queen, stopped suddenly, as if arrested by an invisible arm. Herself and those around her were motionless. The music ceased. The assembly was silent. Not a breath was to be heard, and the queen stood with her eyes fixed on the ground in deep abstraction. On a sudden she started from her reverie with the fury of one inspired, and looked wildly around her. “A king is among us,” she exclaimed, taking her crown from her head, and laying it at the feet of the prince. Every one present cast their eyes upon him, and doubted for some time whether there was any meaning in this farce; so much were they deceived by the impressive seriousness of the actress. This silence was at length broken by a general clapping of hands, as a mark of approbation. I looked at the prince. I noticed that he appeared not a little disconcerted, and endeavored to escape the inquisitive glances of the spectators. He threw money to the players, and hastened to extricate himself from the crowd.

We had advanced but a few steps when a venerable barefooted friar, pressing through the crowd, placed himself in the prince’s path. “My lord,” said he, “give the holy Virgin part of your gold. You will want her prayers.” He uttered these words in a tone of voice which startled us extremely, and then disappeared in the throng.

In the meantime our company had increased. An English lord, whom the prince had seen before at Nice, some merchants of Leghorn, a German prebendary, a French abbe with some ladies, and a Russian officer, attached themselves to our party. The physiognomy of the latter had something so uncommon as to attract our particular attention. Never in my life did I see such various features and so little expression; so much attractive benevolence and such forbidding coldness in the same face. Each passion seemed by turns to have exercised its ravages on it, and to have successively abandoned it. Nothing remained but the calm, piercing look of a person deeply skilled in the knowledge of mankind; but it was a look that abashed every one on whom it was directed. This extraordinary man followed us at a distance, and seemed apparently to take but little interest in what was passing.

We came to a booth where there was a lottery. The ladies bought shares. We followed their example, and the prince himself purchased a ticket. He won a snuffbox. As he opened it I saw him turn pale and start back. It contained his lost key.

“How is this?” said he to me, as we were left for a moment alone. “A superior power attends me, omniscience surrounds me. An invisible being, whom I cannot escape, watches over my steps. I must seek for the Armenian, and obtain an explanation from him.”

The sun was setting when we arrived at the pleasurehouse, where a supper had been prepared for us. The prince’s name had augmented our company to sixteen. Besides the above-mentioned persons there was a virtuoso from Rome, several Swiss gentlemen, and an adventurer from Palermo in regimentals, who gave himself out for a captain. We resolved to spend the evening where we were, and to return home by torchlight. The conversation at table was lively. The prince could not forbear relating his adventure of the key, which excited general astonishment. A warm dispute on the subject presently took place. Most of the company positively maintained that the pretended occult sciences were nothing better than juggling tricks. The French abbe, who had drank rather too much wine, challenged the whole tribe of ghosts, the English lord uttered blasphemies, and the musician made a cross to exorcise the devil. Some few of the company, amongst whom was the prince, contended that opinions respecting such matters ought to be kept to oneself. In the meantime the Russian officer discoursed with the ladies, and did not seem to pay attention to any part of conversation. In the heat of the dispute no one observed that the Sicilian had left the room. In less than half an hour he returned wrapped in a cloak, and placed himself behind the chair of the Frenchman. “A few moments ago,” said he, “you had the temerity to challenge the whole tribe of ghosts. Would you wish to make a trial with one of them?”

“I will,” answered the abbe, “if you will take upon yourself to introduce one.”

“That I am ready to do,” replied the Sicilian, turning to us, “as soon as these ladies and gentlemen have left us.”

“Why only then?” exclaimed the Englishman. “A courageous ghost will surely not be afraid of a cheerful company.”

“I would not answer for the consequences,” said the Sicilian.

“For heaven’s sake, no!” cried the ladies, starting affrighted from their chairs.

“Call your ghost,” said the abbe, in a tone of defiance, “but warn him beforehand that there are sharp-pointed weapons here.” At the same time he asked one of the company for a sword.

“If you preserve the same intention in his presence,” answered the Sicilian, coolly, “you may then act as you please.” He then turned towards the prince: “Your highness,” said he, “asserts that your key has been in the hands of a stranger; can you conjecture in whose?”

“No”

“Have you no suspicion?”

“It certainly occurred to me that” —

“Should you know the person if you saw him?”

“Undoubtedly.”

The Sicilian, throwing back his cloak, took out a looking-glass and held it before the prince. “Is this the man?”

The prince drew back with affright.

“Whom have you seen?” I inquired.

“The Armenian.”

The Sicilian concealed his looking-glass under his cloak.

“Is it the person whom you thought of?” demanded the whole company.

“The same.”

A sudden change manifested itself on every face; no more laughter was to be heard. All eyes were fixed with curiosity on the Sicilian.

“Monsieur l’Abbe! The matter grows serious,” said the Englishman. “I advise you to think of beating a retreat.”

“The fellow is in league with the devil,” exclaimed the Frenchman, and rushed out of the house. The ladies ran shrieking from the room. The virtuoso followed them. The German prebendary was snoring in a chair. The Russian officer continued sitting in his place as before, perfectly indifferent to what was passing.

“Perhaps your attention was only to raise a laugh at the expense of that boaster,” said the prince, after they were gone, “or would you indeed fulfil your promise to us?”

“It is true,” replied the Sicilian; “I was but jesting with the abbe. I took him at his word, because I knew very well that the coward would not suffer me to proceed to extremities. The matter itself is, however, too serious to serve merely as a jest.”

“You grant, then, that it is in your power?”

The sorcerer maintained a long silence, and kept his look fixed steadily on the prince, as if to examine him.

“It is!” answered he at last.

The prince’s curiosity was now raised to the highest pitch. A fondness for the marvellous had ever been his prevailing weakness. His improved understanding and a proper course of reading had for some time dissipated every idea of this kind; but the appearance of the Armenian had revived them. He stepped aside with the Sicilian, and I heard them in very earnest conversation.

“You see in me,” said the prince, “a man who burns with impatience to be convinced on this momentous subject. I would embrace as a benefactor, I would cherish as my best friend him who could dissipate my doubts and remove the veil from my eyes. Would you render me this important service?”

“What is your request!” inquired the Sicilian, hesitating.

“For the present I only beg some proof of your art. Let me see an apparition.”

“To what will this lead?”

“After a more intimate acquaintance with me you may be able to judge whether I deserve further instruction.”

“I have the greatest esteem for your highness, gracious prince. A secret power in your countenance, of which you yourself are as yet ignorant, drew me at first sight irresistibly towards you. You are more powerful than you are yourself aware. You may command me to the utmost extent of my power, but – ”

“Then let me see an apparition.”

“But I must first be certain that you do not require it from mere curiosity. Though the invisible powers are in some degree at my command, it is on the sacred condition that I do not abuse my authority.”

“My intentions are most pure. I want truth.”

They left their places, and removed to a distant window, where I could no longer hear them. The English lord, who had likewise overheard this conversation, took me aside. “Your prince has a noble mind. I am sorry for him. I will pledge my salvation that he has to do with a rascal.”

“Everything depends on the manner in which the sorcerer will extricate himself from this business.”

“Listen to me. The poor devil is now pretending to be scrupulous. He will not show his tricks unless he hears the sound of gold. There are nine of us. Let us make a collection. That will spoil his scheme, and perhaps open the eyes of the prince.”

“I am content.” The Englishman threw six guineas upon a plate, and went round gathering subscriptions. Each of us contributed some louis-d’ors. The Russian officer was particularly pleased with our proposal; he laid a bank-note of one hundred zechins on the plate, a piece of extravagance which startled the Englishman. We brought the collection to the prince. “Be so kind,” said the English lord, “as to entreat this gentleman in our names to let us see a specimen of his art, and to accept of this small token of our gratitude.” The prince added a ring of value, and offered the whole to the Sicilian. He hesitated a few moments. “Gentlemen,” answered he, “I am humbled by this generosity, but I yield to your request. Your wishes shall be gratified.” At the same time he rang the bell. “As for this money,” continued he, “to which I have no right myself, permit me to send it to the next monastery to be applied to pious uses. I shall only keep this ring as a precious memorial of the worthiest of princes.”

Here the landlord entered; and the Sicilian handed him over the money. “He is a rascal notwithstanding,” whispered the Englishman to me. “He refuses the money because at present his designs are chiefly on the prince.”

“Whom do you wish to see?” asked the sorcerer.

The prince considered for a moment. “We may as well have a great man at once,” said the Englishman. “Ask for Pope Ganganelli. It can make no difference to this gentleman.”

The Sicilian bit his lips. “I dare not call one of the Lord’s anointed.”

“That is a pity!” replied the English lord; “perhaps we might have heard from him what disorder he died of.”

“The Marquis de Lanoy,” began the prince, “was a French brigadier in the late war, and my most intimate friend. Having received a mortal wound in the battle of Hastinbeck, he was carried to my tent, where he soon after died in my arms. In his last agony he made a sign for me to approach. ‘Prince,’ said he to me, ‘I shall never again behold my native land. I must, therefore, acquaint you with a secret known to none but myself. In a convent on the frontiers of Flanders lives a – ’ He expired. Death cut short the thread of his discourse. I wish to see my friend to hear the remainder.”

“You ask much,” exclaimed the Englishman, with an oath. “I proclaim you the greatest sorcerer on earth if you can solve this problem,” continued he, turning to the Sicilian. We admired the wise choice of the prince, and unanimously gave our approval to the proposition. In the meantime the sorcerer paced up and down the room with hasty steps, apparently struggling with himself.

“This was all that the dying marquis communicated to you?”

“It is all.”

“Did you make no further inquiries about the matter in his native country?”

“I did, but they all proved fruitless.”

“Had the Marquis de Lanoy led an irreproachable life? I dare not call up every shade indiscriminately.”

“He died, repenting the excesses of his youth.”

“Do you carry with you any token of his!”

“I do.” (The prince had really a snuff-box with the marquis’ portrait enamelled in miniature on the lid, which he had placed upon the table near his plate during the time of supper.)

“I do not want to know what it is. If you will leave me you shall see the deceased.”

He requested us to wait in the other pavilion until he should call us. At the same time he caused all the furniture to be removed from the room, the windows to be taken out, and the shutters to be bolted. He ordered the innkeeper, with whom he appeared to be intimately connected, to bring a vessel with burning coals, and carefully to extinguish every fire in the house. Previous to our leaving the room he obliged us separately to pledge our honor that we would maintain an everlasting silence respecting everything we should see and hear. All the doors of the pavilion we were in were bolted behind us when we left it.

It was past eleven, and a dead silence reigned throughout the whole house. As we were retiring from the saloon the Russian officer asked me whether we had loaded pistols. “For what purpose?” asked I. “They may possibly be of some use,” replied he. “Wait a moment. I will provide some.” He went away. The Baron F – and I opened a window opposite the pavilion we had left. We fancied we heard two persons whispering to each other, and a noise like that of a ladder applied to one of the windows. This was, however, a mere conjecture, and I did not dare affirm it as a fact. The Russian officer came back with a brace of pistols, after having been absent about half an hour. We saw him load them with powder and ball. It was almost two o’clock in the morning when the sorcerer came and announced that all was prepared. Before we entered the room he desired us to take off our shoes, and to appear in our shirts, stockings, and under-garments. He bolted the doors after us as before.