We were three friends—Ferdinand W---, a celebrated lawyer; Auerbach, the court physician, and myself.
Having no particular calling, I spent most of my time in reading the various publications that issued from the German press. I became of opinion that there was hardly one that made an effort to raise the public taste. With the intention of fulfilling, in a more effectual manner, the duties required of a journal, my friends and I established a periodical. Whether we ever realized our fond hopes, is not for me to say. Ferdinand was to contribute the learned leaves, Auerbach the elegant, and I, who could not boast of either learning or elegance, to attend to the minor departments.
We had our meetings as our more advanced contemporaries. As soon as my companions had finished their professional avocations—one in distracting the minds of his clients, while the other performed the same charitable function to their bodies— they usually met at my house; and with our tobacco pipes, and over our glass of good Rhenish wine, we made our criticisms.
One evening, when Ferdinand was more than usually late, and had wearied our patience waiting, we resolved to commence proceedings without him. The two newest publications lay on the table—"Freidenker," a favourite German periodical, and "Wochentlich Zeitung," then in its zenith. With the uncut leaves of these before us we had no time to lose. I seized "die Wochentlich Zeitung." The first few pages contained an unfavourable review of a story in the "Freidenker," called the "Gray Room." I read it with pleasure, as this very subject had been the cause of more than one dispute between me and my friend Auerbach; and I now hoped, with this ally, to shake his firm-rooted belief in the appearance of spirits. I commenced with the remark, "that of all the periodicals, I had the greatest respect for the 'Freidenker,' and could not imagine how they had given their pages to such incredible stories as the 'Gray Room.' I was curious to see how they answered the objections, to my mind, most reasonably urged against them by the 'Wochentlich Zeitung.'"
"How will they answer them?" cried Auerbach. "With contemptuous silence, as they deserve."
I can see him now, with his head resting on the back of his chair, his pipe in his hand, his hair thrown back, and his deep-loving eyes looking fixedly before him, as if he was then holding communion with the invisible. "But," said I, "who can believe the nonsense that is put forward in that paper about the appearance of Gertrude?"
"Only account, then, for all that is related," said my friend, eagerly. "Either the facts have taken place, or the author is guilty of falsehood; and I think even you would be slow to acknowledge that Gualfredo would state a thing for a fact that had not occurred. Believe me, you cannot know, and have not the opportunity of knowing what we medical men learn, coming in contact as we do with the caprices of nature. What she can or cannot do, is not for us to say."
"I never met with any one," said I, "who had himself seen a spirit; and though, as you say, I have every confidence in Gualfredo, still he does not say that Gertrude ever appeared to him. It seems, from the whole tenor of the story, to have been related to him; neither does he pledge himself for its veracity, except in the negative way of repeating the story. Now, be honest," I continued: "have you ever spoken, face to face, with any one who saw a spirit?"
He remained silent for a time; and at last, having taken a turn up and down the room, and drawn a whiff from his pipe, and a sip from his glass, he turned full upon me, and said—"I have seen a spirit. Mind, I don't pass for a Geisterseher; but I have indeed seen a spirit once—a time never to be forgotten, for it made a change in me that I have never recovered. And, strange enough, the room with which it was connected was called the 'black chamber.'"
Much as I had vaunted my disbelief of ghost stories, I must confess that as we were then sitting in the dim twilight in that still summer evening, with the shadows lengthening through the deep recesses of the window, my companion's enthusiastic nature quite carried me with him; and with rapt attention, and an undefined feeling of pleasure mingled with fear, I prepared to hear the horrors of the "black chamber," which I now relate in his own words.
I had concluded my university education, and to finish my studies in medicine, became, for some years, the indoor pupil of the famous Dr. W---, who, at that time, enjoyed
the most extensive practice in Blenheim. My progress in my profession was so great, that in a few years my old master made over a number of his remote country patients to my care, his advanced age rendering it impossible for him to take long journeys. One evening I was hastily summoned to the country residence of the Count Albrecht Von Silberstein, who had lately returned from Italy, with his second wife, a beautiful young heiress, whom he had just married; his first, it was said, had died at Milan, only a few months before this second marriage. It was, however, to attend the Count's sister that I was summoned; she was dying of nervous fever. I could render but little assistance, as I saw she was beyond earthly help; but I ordered some sedatives, and left written directions, to be followed till my return next day. I was preparing to take leave, when the Count rushed in, and begged of me, as I valued his friendship, not to leave the house that night. He was devotedly attached to his sister; and, as I had no particular engagement, I consented to remain. The Lady Von Silberstein gave orders to have a room prepared for me, and begged me to take rest while my patient slept, as she knew the Count would require my attendance the moment the Lady Theresa awoke. Saying this, she wished me good night, and left the room.
When left alone, I could not help reflecting on the aspect of that gloomy castle, with its dark heavy towers, frowning, as if in anger with its inmates. It had not even a cheerful prospect, situated, as it was, in a barren flat country, more like the stronghold of a tribe of banditti than what one would expect to see as the dwelling of a nobleman. The interior was not one whit more inviting or cheerful. The room I was in was fearfully sombre;—it was a long narrow chamber, only half lighted by the small loophole windows; the furniture and drapery old and faded.
What could have induced the Countess to marry that man, thought I,—she so young and lovely, he so dark and gloomy. I also noticed, during the short time I saw them together, a shudder pass over her, whenever her husband addressed her, indicative more of fear or dislike than love. In the midst of my reflections I was interrupted by the servant, announcing that my apartment was ready. Conducted to it, I found it even more dismal than that which I had just left. It was spacious: the old-fashioned heavy doors were of massive oak; the tables were covered with dark cloth; the hangings and curtains were black as ebony, as also all the wood-work in the room. I lighted two pair of candles to chase the gloom; but it was like the mere illumination of a vault, the narrow circles of radiance only making the darkness more visible.
I sat down at a small table near the fire and placed my candles upon it, to impart some air of comfort to my black palace—but even that failed. I had determined at once to write down the particulars of the case I was attending, and get to bed. I must mention, that one particularity of Dr. W---'s was, that each of his pupils should give him in writing, a most circumstantial account of every case they attended; to accomplish this now, and resign myself to sleep, was all my desire.
I had just finished my medical technicalities, when I was called to attend Lady Theresa; she had awakened much worse, and the Count sent to beg that I would go to her without delay. I dressed, and hastened after my attendant. We arrived, through various winding passages, at the chamber of the young lady. Never shall I forget the scene that there presented itself.
No one could doubt the Count's affection for his sister; yet now he seemed to be perfectly unconscious of her bodily sufferings, and only stood near her bed to listen with eagerness to the words she occasionally uttered. She herself, wretched creature, was sitting upright, staring as if her eyes would start from their sockets. I approached her: she turned from me, sheltering herself beside her brother, and pointing wildly at me, she whispered,
"Did he see it?"—"Did he hear it cry?"—"Did he see the ring?"
I sought to calm her, having often seen people affected by visions in similar circumstances, but there was no quieting her. She sprang from her bed, and clung to her brother, still uttering incoherent sentences, till at length she cried out—
"I feel its little arms; there—there —it is clinging to me to save it. I cannot bear the glare of its eye. I cannot—I dare not touch it. That fatal ring."
Then, exhausted, she fell senseless on the floor. I called the Count to assist me in placing her in bed; but when I looked round he was leaning against the wall, pale and motionless.
I rang the bell violently. As footsteps approached, he started. "For Heaven's sake," cried he, "let not mortal enter here."
"I must have assistance," I said.
"I can do any thing you require," replied he, making an effort that I saw cost him a great deal. But his will seemed, nevertheless, so strong, that, when he walked to the door and gave some orders, to account for the bell having been rung, I looked in astonishment. Turning to me he said, "Doctor, it is so strange and fearful to hear the ravings of delirium. How invariably they lead the poor sufferer to imagine scenes they never witnessed. A medical man of great eminence told me that this was always the case."
After a short interval, Lady Theresa revived; but no longer in her former state of excitement. She lay quiet, with her eyes closed. I tried to smooth her pillow, and bathed her hands. On a sudden she looked up, with a bright smile, and said softly, two or three times, "Rudolph." Then wandering among scenes afar off, gently fell asleep, and from that passed into the sleep from which there is no awaking.
I turned to the Count and said— "Lady Theresa is dead."
"Dead!" he cried; "Dead: she cannot, she must not die, and leave me. I had but her in the world; she would not leave me alone."
"It is no use," said I, drawing him from the body.
Sobbing like a child, he caught her beautiful golden tresses, in a vain attempt to sever a lock; but his trembling fingers refused their office, and again sinking beside her lifeless body, her fair hair covering him as a veil, he lay motionless. Much as I disliked the Count, this outburst of genuine feeling completely overcame me, and with tears I looked at the heart-broken man, all his hardness and repulsiveness quite forgotten. He seemed as if clinging to the fair angel whose bright spirit had fled.
After some little time he recovered himself, and rose to leave the room. I was only too glad to follow. I felt sick at heart. The wretched deathbed I had witnessed, and the feeling of dislike I had felt to the Count, combined to make me long for a quiet hour in my own room.
We descended to the saloon; the Count, making some apology that he had letters to write, left me. I hastened back to my own chamber, but not to sleep. I piled wood on the fire, and sat down in a large chair opposite to it, recalling minutely every word that Lady Theresa had uttered. I could think of nothing else—what could have befallen that young girl. That she was implicated in some dark deed there could be no doubt; the awful visions that haunted her were not the raving fancies of delirium. Her brother—he too shared her secret. I had a dim recollection of a tale that I had heard when a child, of some heavy curse which hung over the Count's house. One of his ancestors had treated his wife with cruelty, and she on her death-bed left their wedding ring, with a bitter curse attached to it, and that it should cling to the family till a dead bride claimed a husband with it; but what could that poor girl have to do with a child and a ring? It was all mystery, and the incoherent story furnished little solution to the problem. I thought again and again of all that I had ever heard about Lady Theresa, but that was not much. She was very young, had latterly not appeared abroad in the world. Some said her engagement to an officer had been suddenly broken off; others that she had become ascetic. Be this as it may, she certainly shunned all society, even her sister's; her only companion was her brother.
I tried to turn my thoughts into other channels, but to no purpose. I felt a great wish to see her again, and yielding to the temptation, crept back to her room and gazed once more on those features which had made so deep an impression upon me. All was hushed: everything had been arranged. Morning had just dawned, and the grey light streamed through the open casement I turned to look on the beautiful creature before me. There she lay in the stillness of death; a smile seemed to rest on her features. It may be that the recollection of some happy hour of childhood had visited her wearied spirit before it went forth on its solitary journey. I felt I was polluting a sanctuary by harbouring for a moment the thought that she could be implicated in any crime, and pressing a kiss on her cold cheek, I took away one of her bright curls.
The next day Lady Theresa was buried. The Count asked me to stay that night, which I gladly did, as I was worn out with my vigil of the night before Just as I was about to consign myself to rest, I was interrupted by the jager, who knocked at my door to inquire if I had any commands. He was a lively, pleasant fellow, and inclined to be communicative. We sat talking for awhile, When he rose to leave the room, he looked round with a shudder, and asked "if I felt lonely, or would wish him to remain all night."
I smiled at the idea, for he seemed really afraid; and although I did not think the place cheerful, yet I had no fear. I was as sceptical then as you are now. My talkative companion related many stories connected with the chamber, to which I eagerly listened, in hopes I might find a clue to Lady Theresa's ravings, but all were connected with events that had occurred years before. However inclined I might have been to have kept this young man with me, I now determined to place no obstacle to my spending a night in a haunted chamber. The very idea gave me a thrill of pleasure. I left no portion of my apartment unsearched, so that I could not by possibility be played upon. I secured the door and the windows, and having made all my arrangements with the view of practically overthrowing the theory of apparitions, I went to bed, and much sooner than I expected fell asleep.
After some time I was roused by hearing a sound like the dropping of a heavy weight, as it fell step by step. I could not account for the noise, for it seemed to proceed from the other side of the wall, which I knew was an outside wall, and there was neither room nor stairs beyond I looked around, but all was dark. Thinking I must have been mistaken, I settled to sleep again, when the sound was repeated even more distinctly than before. I began now, indeed, to feel nervous, and sat up. A slight wind, like a breath, passed over me, but still I saw nothing. I strained my eyes as though I could penetrate the darkness. The sound had greatly decreased, yet I was conscious there was something, be it mortal or spirit, in the room with me. After watching with a beating heart, I argued myself into the idea that the noise must have been at the other side of the inside wall, and that it was occasioned by some of the servants who had perhaps been up late, and so, turning on my side, tried again to compose myself. I had not been settled many minutes, however, when I perceived a faint light, coming from the same direction in which I had heard the sound. I looked up, when, to my horror, I saw a tall female figure advancing steadily towards me. She had long bright hair, falling over her shoulders, and her drapery was pure as snow. She stood still in the centre of the room, gazing about her. I was paralyzed with terror; I held my breath, dreading to make the least movement, lest I should attract her attention, but I could not for one moment withdraw my eyes from the figure. At last it perceived me, for it hastily advanced towards me, and extending its long icy arm, seized my hand.
I fell back insensible. How long I remained in this state I don't know: but I awoke before it was light. I sprang from my bed, lighted a candle, and looked everywhere to see had my supernatural visitor left any trace behind, but I could find no clue to the mystery. I thought I must have had a frightful dream, till my eye fell on a ring upon my finger that I had never seen before. What could this mean? Who could that mysterious being have been? I tried to recall the features. They seemed familiar to me. I had seen them previously, but when or where? Yes—yes—I remembered they were none other than those of the Lady Theresa. Now it was, too, that I recollected distinctly the same beautiful hair. The eyes, though wild, still had the same loving, melancholy expression. That look that none but she could have! Could her troubled spirit have come to reveal to me the secret of her dying agony I Perhaps it was to ask me to bear a message. Oh, that I had been able to question her! how I cursed my trembling timidity, that had prevented me from speaking to her.
In this excited state of mind I sat down, listening intensely in fear of hearing her footstep. I took off the ring to look at the gift of the dead, when, oh, horror more terrible than words can express—too terrible even for imagination—I saw engraved upon it the heraldic bearings of Count Von Silberstein's family.
The Legend of the Fatal Ring burst, as it were, upon my mind; the whole thing seemed only too clear. It had been the Lady Theresa, but not come for sympathy—no. She had removed the fatal curse hanging over her brother's house—that brother she loved so dearly—and I was selected out of the whole world to carry the dreadful weight with me to the grave. I clasped my hand over my eyes, for it seemed to be written in blazing characters all round the walls that I was wedded to a dead bride. I felt as if voices of thunder were shrieking the fearful secret into my ears. I flung myself on the floor, howling in the madness of despair, and calling down fearful imprecations on the head of the being whom a moment before I almost revered as an angel of light. At length nature exhausted itself, and I fell into a deep sleep, from which I did not awake till the bright beams of the sun showed me that the morning was far advanced. I looked round in surprise at finding myself stretched on the ground, though an indescribable weight pressed me down. I could not at first recollect what had occurred. By degrees the truth flashed across me. I sprang on my feet, examined the door to learn whether any one had entered the room and seen my delirious frenzy. All was as I had left it, doors and windows barred fast. My secret was my own. No mortal knew what had happened, and no one should ever know.
I dressed myself with scrupulous care, arranged the furniture, so that no trace was left of my impotent fury; and the ring—the hateful ring—should I fling it out of the window, or bury it deep in the earth 1 No, I dare not part with it; throw it where I would, send it to the most distant part of the world, it would still come back to me, and perhaps in a way that would expose me to the whole world. I knew its power; it fixed itself on its possessor. Had I not but now seen the truth of this; for years, it may be for centuries, it had clung to Count Von Silberstein's name; and now by her means, I dare not mention her name, fulfilling the prediction, it would cling, fasten, eat into my very life; and for how long? There was no second removal, no hope, no dawning of morning in that black for ever.
I seized the ring and hid it in my bosom. Why should I indulge the feeling, it was a childish fancy; I would never think of it again. I ought to marry; I had no worldly cares, and my mind was liable to be infected with strange delusions. In this way I argued to myself, knowing, ay, feeling from the bottom of my heart, bound body and soul to a spirit. I hastened to the saloon—none of the family had made their appearance. Again I was alone; the solitude I had fled from above pursued me here. I examined the pictures, which I had seen many times before; wondered who they represented; had they a secret to hide; were they pursued by a spectre, to whom they belonged without hope of release. Again, at that terrible thought, I turned from them, and reckoned the panes of glass in each window. Did she, the Countess, who left that fearful legacy, ever stand here where I was standing. Perhaps it was in this spot that thought first presented itself to her mind.
I looked at the breakfast-table, it was laid for four, the Count, his wife, and myself: who could the fourth be? the Countess' sister? ah, here was a chance, I would marry her! I walked to the mirrors, thought I was good enough looking. I was in good practice, and very highly educated; many a girl would be only too glad to have me; but I had not money enough. In the midst of these reflections a pretty young woman with a child passed the window, just opposite to me; they stopped, and she gathered flowers and played with the little boy; I watched her for some time; oh, that I knew who she was, that I could get acquainted with her. She seemed an upper servant; what matter, I would marry her; yes, she should be my wife. I would love and protect her; she was poor, I would make her rich, I would make her a lady. She would never refuse me; and once married, I should be safe, and could defy the spirit. Without a moment's hesitation I hurried along the corridor and down the terrace; a turn in the path suddenly brought me before the girl. I knelt at her feet, caught her dress, told her I adored her, would live but for her, would guard her as a tender flower, if she would but unite her fate to mine. The poor creature thought I was mad; she screamed, caught the child in her arms and ran into the castle. I saw what I had done, she would give the alarm, they would all consider me insane, I should be shunned by every one, and left alone with my dreadful secret. Fearful of meeting any one, I left the terrace and hurried down the steps into the thicket. I saw servants out looking for me, and the young woman I had been speaking to pointing out to them the direction I must have taken. I lay hid under a bush, not moving a limb lest they should see me, and when they had returned, I left my retreat and ran, almost flew home. Those I met on the way looked at me with a vague glance that might have been sympathy. My first thought was to secrete the ring; this accomplished, I lay down and longed, oh, how earnestly, for death. From that hour I was ill three months of the very same disease that lady Theresa had died of. When I left my sick bed I was another creature; I no longer strove to shut out the hateful truth from myself, but humbly submitted to my fate.
"Now, what do you say to this; for I can testify on oath all I have stated?
"I cannot but allow it is most strange," said I; "and had you not assured me you had examined every part of your room so carefully, I should have had some doubts."
"As I stated," replied Auerbach, "deception here was impossible. I was as wide awake as you are now. And, besides, the fatal ring; what else could that mean?" And be relapsed into a state of abstraction.
"Well," said I, more with the idea of rousing him, than for any real obstacle it presented to my mind; "the ring is the stumbling-block to me. If the appearance was not a deception it must have been a spirit; but I cannot understand a spirit having any thing to do with the fading things of this world. It leaves all that behind."
He interrupted me—
"You first deny the existence of spirits; then you must define the exact way they ought to appear; such inconsistency! But perhaps you will not be so sceptical if I show you the ring. I have never worn it since that fatal night, now years gone by; but something urges me to look at it to-night. Who knows but it may be a warning that I am soon to join my spirit bride."
Saying this, he took from his breast a curious looking box, and handed it to me to open.
I can hardly describe the sensation with which I raised the lid, and took out a very old-fashioned ring, with strange characters engraved on it; and, true enough, the heraldic bearings of the Count Albrecht Von Silberstein's family. I felt a nervous, creeping sensation; the perspiration hung in drops on my forehead. As to Auerbach, he seemed ready to fall.
Just then I heard a footstep; trembling I let the ring fall on the floor, and ran to assist Auerbach, who had fainted, crying out,
"I come—I come."
Immediately I heard a voice, exclaiming—
"Where in the world are you? What is the matter?"
To my infinite relief, I recognised Ferdinand's voice, and calling him to my aid, we got poor Auerbach to bed, where, after administering some remedies, we succeeded in restoring consciousness.
When I related to Ferdinand what had passed, he started convulsively.
"I have been," he broke forth, "kept at court all day, on account of that identical Black Chamber."
I urged him to relate his story, and he began:
"You both know Fritag," said he. "Count Von Silberstein lately invited him to a large ball at the Castle of Silberstein. The night proved a tempestuous one; thunder and lightning, and torrents of rain; so they pressed Fritag to remain. He said he would willingly, save that he had an appointment early the next morning in town. The Count said that he also had an early engagement, and that they could go together. Under these circumstances, Fritag was very glad to remain beneath so good a shelter. The next morning, it seems, the jager knocked at his door to tell him the Count was waiting; but receiving no answer, concluded he had left the castle. So the Count departed without him. When the party assembled at breakfast, one of the domestics announced to the Countess that Herr Fritag had not gone with the Count. She immediately sent to let him know they were waiting breakfast; but there was no answer. After a delay of a couple of hours, they broke open the door, when they found poor Fritag insensible, lying across the bed. They thought at first he was dead; but perceiving he still breathed, they used the usual remedies, and he soon showed signs of returning consciousness. They then entreated him to say what had happened, when he stated that the night before he noticed the gloomy appearance of the room to his attendant, who said it had hardly been used since the late Countess' death. It was the room that she and the Count had occupied; and since her demise it had the reputation of being haunted.
"Fritag was not afraid of spirits, and settled himself for the night without any apprehension. He had been in bed about a couple of hours, when he was awakened by a noise proceeding from the further extremity of the room; he sat up, and was terrified by seeing a tall female clad in white, with glaring eyes, and bright golden hair hanging over her shoulders. Stalking up to the bed, she silently beckoned to him, and he mechanically rose and followed her through a long narrow passage, when she turned aside into a room, quite brightened by the moonlight streaming through the window, but so covered with dust that it seemed as if no mortal had been in it for years. She raised the lid of a chest, and with a wild scream, held towards him the skeleton of a child. At this moment he descried all changing and becoming black as pitch. The next thing he was conscious of, was the buzz of voices round his bed.
"All the listeners to this mysterious story were struck with amazement. The old housekeeper said the room was frequented by a spirit, and so said all the credulous. The sceptical portions of the household tried to persuade Fritag that he must have had a bad dream.
"The Countess, a woman of strong mind, insisted on sending for the magistrate, and having a thorough inspection of the room. Accordingly a carriage was despatched for that functionary without delay. It was sometime before he arrived, as the distance from the castle to his residence, is about ten miles. The Countess resolved not to leave the room for one moment till he came.
"Herr Saltag was only too glad to undertake the commission of investigation. He had often pressed the Count to allow him to inspect the apartment, and so put a stop to the reports circulated about its being 'haunted;' but somehow the Count always contrived to put it off. His absence now prevented any further obstacle, and without delay Herr Saltag, accompanied by the Countess and Fritag searched every part of the room, but without any result. It was all in vain that they shifted the bed, took down the curtains, changed the position of the furniture—there was no trace. Fritag showed the exact place of the spirit's entrance and exit. The wall was next sounded—it was solid masonry. There was not a panel that could slide up or down. The Countess declared there was no passage connecting that room with any other in the tower. Still Fritag persisted in his story; and the magistrate said he would not leave the place till he could account satisfactorily for it.
"Accordingly he ordered a ladder, and mounting it, passed his hand carefully over the wall, if by chance he might discover a hidden spring. After about an hour spent in this way, he exclaimed suddenly, 'I have it, I have it!' and by pressing hard with his finger, he moved a heavy door sliding into the wall, so as not to be perceptible outside. This led to a flight of steps also made in the wall; then another spring door opened into a set of rooms in the tower that belonged to a superannuated nurse of the family who lived in these apartments. The room into which Fritag had been led the night before was to the left of this narrow passage, before coming to the steps. Into this the magistrate went. It was as Fritag described, covered thick with dust; but they perceived the trace of a naked foot. Following this foot-print they came to the window-sill, but no chest was visible. After examining all round, the Countess suggested that the window-sill itself might be raised; but there neither seemed hinge or lock. However, the planks were lifted, and awful to relate, the skeleton was found there.
"Herr Saltag would not allow the Countess to proceed any further; and giving the body of the child to one of his attendants, he proceeded with Fritag. They descended the steps, and going to the door which was easily opened, there they saw the identical white figure crouched in a corner, her beautiful golden hair hanging dishevelled over her; and the witch-like nurse, with her arm raised about to strike her wretched victim. Fritag caught the woman's arm before it fell, when, to his utter consternation, he beheld in the ghastly misery of madness, the Count's first wife!!
This fearful tragedy is soon elucidated. Count Von Silberstein and his wife, a beautiful, but portionless girl, whom he had married, were travelling abroad, when they met with Mademoiselle Clara Dugue, the daughter and only child of a wealthy merchant.
The Countess was near her confinement, and the Count saw, if he could only get her out of the way, he might easily obtain the hand and fortune of Mademoiselle Clara. The fiendish thought no sooner presented itself to his mind than he hastened to put it in execution. He travelled back in disguise to his Castle of Silberstein, near Blenheim, carrying his wife with him; but causing it to be reported in Rome, that they had gone to Milan. Shortly after the birth of his child, he himself strangled the new-born babe in the mother's presence: the sight of her murdered infant deprived the poor Countess of reason. He then placed her under the care of the old hag with whom she was found, thinking, perhaps, she was as safe there as in her grave; and by this means tried to quiet his conscience by not having deprived her of life. The only being to whom he confided his secret was his sister, but she was in no way partaker of the deed, not having heard of it till after his second marriage. The weight of this dreadful secret broke her heart.
Count Von Silberstein hastened back after this foul deed to Rome, and there caused it to be circulated that his wife and child were dead. A few months after he sought from Monsieur Dugue- the hand of his fair daughter; the ambitious old merchant was dazzled by a glittering coronet, and forced his reluctant child to marry the Count. The poor maniac had always occupied "the Black Chamber." The first night I have introduced her as making her appearance there, her nurse had gone to a feast in the lower stories, and thinking she had left her charge asleep, ventured down the private passage I have described, the existence of which was only known to herself. The wretched creature missing her guardian, and seeing the door open, hastened down the steps; pushing the other door back, she instantly recognised her own room; and, thinking she saw her husband in bed, in the frenzy of the moment, put the fated ring on his finger, and then returned, before she was detected, into her own apartment. The next time she was not so fortunate. The second visit was when her nurse was engaged in a similar manner as before, and she gave, as she thought, to her husband his murdered child. It was just then the woman discovered her, and bore her away.
My poor friend Auerbach's health improved only for a short time; the solution of the mystery came too late. The shock his constitution had received from that strange visitant, and the indissoluble contract by which he had supposed himself to be bound to a supernatural being, were too much for his strength, which gradually gave way, and in less than a year he died.
