 | Wolfert's roost |  |
THE KNIGHT OF MALTA.
In the course of a tour in Sicily, in the days of my juvenility,
I passed some little time at the ancient city of Catania, at the
foot of Mount Ætna. Here I became acquainted with the Chevalier
L—, an old knight of Malta. It was not many years
after the time that Napoleon had dislodged the knights from
their island, and he still wore the insignia of his order. He was
not, however, one of those reliques of that once chivalrous body,
who have been described as “a few worn-out old men, creeping
about certain parts of Europe, with the Maltese cross on their
breasts;” on the contrary, though advanced in life, his form was
still light and vigorous: he had a pale, thin, intellectual visage,
with a high forehead, and a bright, visionary eye. He seemed
to take a fancy to me, as I certainly did to him, and we soon became
intimate. I visited him occasionally, at his apartments, in
the wing of an old palace, looking toward Mount Ætna. He was
an antiquary, a virtuoso, and a connoisseur. His rooms were
decorated with mutilated statues, dug up from Grecian and Roman
ruins; old vases, lachrymals, and sepulchral lamps. He had
various languages. I found that he had dipped a little in chimerical
studies, and had a hankering after astrology and alchemy. He
affected to believe in dreams and visions, and delighted in the fanciful
Rosicrucian doctrines. I cannot persuade myself, however,
that he really believed in all these; I rather think he loved to let
his imagination carry him away into the boundless fairy land
which they unfolded.
In company with the chevalier, I made several excursions on
horseback about the environs of Catania, and the picturesque
skirts of Mount Ætna. One of these led through a village, which
had sprung up on the very track of an ancient eruption, the houses
being built of lava. At one time we passed, for some distance,
along a narrow lane, between two high dead convent walls. It
was a cut-throat looking place, in a country where assassinations
are frequent; and just about midway through it, we observed
blood upon the pavement and the walls, as if a murder had actually
been committed there.
The chevalier spurred on his horse, until he had extricated
himself completely from this suspicious neighborhood. He then
observed, that it reminded him of a similar blind alley in Malta,
infamous on account of the many assassinations that had taken
place there; concerning one of which, he related a long and tragical
story, that lasted until we reached Catania. It involved
various circumstances of a wild and supernatural character, but
which he assured me were handed down in tradition, and generally
credited by the old inhabitants of Malta.
As I like to pick up strange stories, and as I was particularly
struck with several parts of this, I made a minute of it, on my
of my travelling papers, and the story had faded from my mind,
when recently, on perusing a French memoir, I came suddenly
upon it, dressed up, it is true, in a very different manner, but
agreeing in the leading facts, and given upon the word of that
famous adventurer, the Count Cagliostro.
I have amused myself, during a snowy day in the country, by
rendering it roughly into English, for the entertainment of a
youthful circle round the Christmas fire. It was well received by
my auditors, who, however, are rather easily pleased. One proof
of its merits is, that it sent some of the youngest of them quaking
to their beds, and gave them very fearful dreams. Hoping that
it may have the same effect upon the ghost-hunting reader, I
subjoin it. I would observe, that wherever I have modified the
French version of the story, it has been in conformity to some recollection
of the narrative of my friend, the Knight of Malta.
THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA.
A VERITABLE GHOST STORY.
To melancholy minds, and the graves open!”
Fletcher.
About the middle of the last century, while the Knights of
Saint John of Jerusalem still maintained something of their ancient
state and sway in the island of Malta, a tragical event took place
there, which is the groundwork of the following narrative.
It may be as well to premise, that at the time we are treating
wealthy, had degenerated from its originally devout and warlike
character. Instead of being a hardy body of “monk-knights,”
sworn soldiers of the cross, fighting the Paynim in the Holy
Land, or scouring the Mediterranean, and scourging the Barbary
coasts with their galleys, or feeding the poor, and attending upon
the sick at their hospitals, they led a life of luxury and libertinism,
and were to be found in the most voluptuous courts of
Europe. The order, in fact, had become a mode of providing
for the needy branches of the Catholic aristocracy of Europe.
“A commandery,” we are told, was a splendid provision for a
younger brother; and men of rank, however dissolute, provided
they belonged to the highest aristocracy, became Knights of
Malta, just as they did bishops, or colonels of regiments, or court
chamberlains. After a brief residence at Malta, the knights
passed the rest of their time in their own countries, or only
made a visit now and then to the island. While there, having
but little military duty to perform, they beguiled their idleness
by paying attentions to the fair.
There was one circle of society, however, into which they
could not obtain currency. This was composed of a few families
of the old Maltese nobility, natives of the island. These families,
not being permitted to enroll any of their members in the order,
affected to hold no intercourse with its chevaliers; admitting
none into their exclusive coteries, but the Grand Master, whom
they acknowledged as their sovereign, and the members of the
chapter which composed his council.
To indemnify themselves for this exclusion, the chevaliers
carried their gallantries into the next class of society, composed
The ladies of this class were called honorate, or honorables, to
distinguish them from the inferior orders; and among them were
many of superior grace, beauty and fascination.
Even in this more hospitable class, the chevaliers were not all
equally favored. Those of Germany had the decided preference,
owing to their fair and fresh complexions, and the kindliness of
their manners: next to these, came the Spanish cavaliers, on
account of their profound and courteous devotion, and most discreet
secrecy. Singular as it may seem, the chevaliers of France
fared the worst. The Maltese ladies dreaded their volatility,
and their proneness to boast of their amours, and shunned all
entanglement with them. They were forced, therefore, to content
themselves with conquests among females of the lower orders.
They revenged themselves, after the gay French manner, by making
the “honorate” the objects of all kinds of jests and mystifications;
by prying into their tender affairs with the more favored
chevaliers and making them the theme of song and epigram.
About this time, a French vessel arrived at Malta, bringing
out a distinguished personage of the Order of Saint John of
Jerusalem, the Commander de Foulquerre, who came to solicit
the post of commander-in-chief of the galleys. He was descended
from an old and warrior line of French nobility, his ancestors
having long been seneschals of Poitou, and claiming descent from
the first Counts of Angouleme.
The arrival of the commander caused a little uneasiness
among the peaceably inclined, for he bore the character, in the
island, of being fiery, arrogant, and quarrelsome. He had
already been three times at Malta, and on each visit had signalized
thirty-five years of age, however, it was hoped that time might
have taken off the fiery edge of his spirit, and that he might
prove more quiet and sedate than formerly. The commander set
up an establishment befitting his rank and pretensions; for he
arrogated to himself an importance greater even than that of
the Grand Master. His house immediately became the rallying
place of all the young French chevaliers. They informed him of
all the slights they had experienced or imagined, and indulged
their petulant and satirical vein at the expense of the honorate
and their admirers. The chevaliers of other nations soon found
the topics and tone of conversation at the commander's irksome
and offensive, and gradually ceased to visit there. The commander
remained at the head of a national clique, who looked up
to him as their model. If he was not as boisterous and quarrelsome
as formerly, he had become haughty and overbearing. He
was fond of talking over his past affairs of punctilio and bloody
duel. When walking the streets, he was generally attended by
a ruffling train of young French chevaliers, who caught his own
air of assumption and bravado. These he would conduct to the
scenes of his deadly encounters, point out the very spot where
each fatal lunge had been given, and dwell vaingloriously on
every particular.
Under his tuition, the young French chevaliers began to add
bluster and arrogance to their former petulance and levity; they
fired up on the most trivial occasions, particularly with those who
had been most successful with the fair; and would put on the
most intolerable drawcansir airs. The other chevaliers conducted
themselves with all possible forbearance and reserve; but they
coming to an open rupture.
Among the Spanish cavaliers, was one named Don Luis de
Lima Vasconcellos. He was distantly related to the Grand
Master; and had been enrolled at an early age among his pages,
but had been rapidly promoted by him, until, at the age of twenty-six,
he had been given the richest Spanish commandery in the
order. He had, moreover, been fortunate with the fair, with one
of whom, the most beautiful honorata of Malta, he had long
maintained the most tender correspondence.
The character, rank, and connections of Don Luis put him on
a par with the imperious Commander de Foulquerre, and pointed
him out as a leader and champion to his countrymen. The Spanish
cavaliers repaired to him, therefore, in a body; represented
all the grievances they had sustained, and the evils they apprehended,
and urged him to use his influence with the commander
and his adherents to put a stop to the growing abuses.
Don Luis was gratified by this mark of confidence and esteem,
on the part of his countrymen, and promised to have an interview
with the Commander de Foulquerre on the subject. He resolved
to conduct himself with the utmost caution and delicacy on the
occasion; to represent to the commander the evil consequences
which might result from the inconsiderate conduct of the young
French chevaliers, and to entreat him to exert the great influence
he so deservedly possessed over them, to restrain their excesses.
Don Luis was aware, however, of the peril that attended any interview
of the kind with this imperious and fractious man, and
apprehended, however it might commence, that it would terminate
in a duel. Still, it was an affair of honor, in which Castilian
overbearing manners of De Foulquerre, and perhaps had been
somewhat offended by certain intrusive attentions which he had
presumed to pay to the beautiful honorata.
It was now Holy Week; a time too sacred for worldly feuds
and passions, especially in a community under the dominion of a
religious order: it was agreed, therefore, that the dangerous
interview in question should not take place until after the Easter
holydays. It is probable, from subsequent circumstances, that
the Commander de Foulquerre had some information of this arrangement
among the Spanish cavaliers, and was determined to
be beforehand, and to mortify the pride of their champion, who
was thus preparing to read him a lecture. He chose Good Friday
for his purpose. On this sacred day, it is customary in Catholic
countries to make a tour of all the churches, offering up prayers
in each. In every Catholic church, as is well known, there is a
vessel of holy water near the door. In this, every one, on entering,
dips his fingers, and makes therewith the sign of the cross on
his forehead and breast. An office of gallantry, among the young
Spaniards, is to stand near the door, dip their hands in the holy
vessel, and extend them courteously and respectfully to any lady
of their acquaintance who may enter; who thus receives the
sacred water at second hand, on the tips of her fingers, and proceeds
to cross herself, with all due decorum. The Spaniards, who
are the most jealous of lovers, are impatient when this piece of
devotional gallantry is proffered to the object of their affections by
any other hand: on Good Friday, therefore, when a lady makes a
tour of the churches, it is the usage among them for the inamorato
to follow her from church to church, so as to present her the holy
at the same time preventing the officious services of a rival.
On the day in question, Don Luis followed the beautiful
honorata, to whom, as has already been observed, he had long
been devoted. At the very first church she visited, the Commander
de Foulquerre was stationed at the portal, with several of
the young French chevaliers about him. Before Don Luis could
offer her the holy water, he was anticipated by the commander,
who thrust himself between them, and, while he performed the
gallant office to the lady, rudely turned his back upon her admirer,
and trod upon his feet. The insult was enjoyed by the
young Frenchmen who were present: it was too deep and grave
to be forgiven by Spanish pride; and at once put an end to all
Don Luis's plans of caution and forbearance. He repressed his
passion for the moment, however, and waited until all the parties
left the church: then, accosting the commander with an air of
coolness and unconcern, he inquired after his health, and asked to
what church he proposed making his second visit. “To the
Magisterial Church of Saint John.” Don Luis offered to conduct
him thither, by the shortest route. His offer was accepted, apparently
without suspicion, and they proceeded together. After
walking some distance, they entered a long, narrow lane, without
door or window opening upon it, called the “Strada Stretta,” or
narrow street. It was a street in which duels were tacitly permitted,
or connived at, in Malta, and were suffered to pass as
accidental encounters. Every where else, they were prohibited.
This restriction had been instituted to diminish the number of
duels formerly so frequent in Malta. As a farther precaution to
render these encounters less fatal, it was an offence, punishable
poniard or pistol. It was a lonely, dismal street, just wide
enough for two men to stand upon their guard, and cross their
swords; few persons ever traversed it, unless with some sinister
design; and on any preconcerted duello, the seconds posted themselves
at each end, to stop all passengers, and prevent interruption.
In the present instance, the parties had scarce entered the
street, when Don Luis drew his sword, and called upon the commander
to defend himself.
De Foulquerre was evidently taken by surprise: he drew
back, and attempted to expostulate; but Don Luis persisted in
defying him to the combat.
After a second or two, he likewise drew his sword, but immediately
lowered the point.
“Good Friday!” ejaculated he, shaking his head: “one word
with you; it is full six years since I have been in a confessional:
I am shocked at the state of my conscience; but within three
days—that is to say, on Monday next—”
Don Luis would listen to nothing. Though naturally of a
peaceable disposition he had been stung to fury, and people of
that character when once incensed, are deaf to reason. He compelled
the commander to put himself on his guard. The latter,
though a man accustomed to brawl and battle, was singularly dismayed.
Terror was visible in all his features. He placed himself
with his back to the wall, and the weapons were crossed. The
contest was brief and fatal. At the very first thrust, the sword
of Don Luis passed through the body of his antagonist. The
commander staggered to the wall, and leaned against it.
“On Good Friday!” ejaculated he again, with a failing voice,
and despairing accents. “Heaven pardon you!” added he; “take
my sword to Têtefoulques, and have a hundred masses performed
in the chapel of the castle, for the repose of my soul!” With
these words he expired.
The fury of Don Luis was at an end. He stood aghast, gazing
at the bleeding body of the commander. He called to mind
the prayer of the deceased for three days' respite, to make his
peace with heaven; he had refused it; had sent him to the grave,
with all his sins upon his head! His conscience smote him to the
core; he gathered up the sword of the commander, which he had
been enjoined to take to Têtefoulques, and hurried from the fatal
Strada Stretta.
The duel of course made a great noise in Malta, but had no
injurious effect on the worldly fortunes of Don Luis. He made a
full declaration of the whole matter, before the proper authorities;
the chapter of the order considered it one of those casual encounters
of the Strada Stretta, which were mourned over, but tolerated;
the public by whom the late commander had been generally
detested, declared that he deserved his fate. It was but
three days after the event, that Don Luis was advanced to one of
the highest dignities of the order, being invested by the Grand
Master with the Priorship of the kingdom of Minorca.
From that time forward, however, the whole character and
conduct of Don Luis underwent a change. He became a prey to
a dark melancholy, which nothing could assuage. The most austere
piety, the severest penances, had no effect in allaying the
horror which preyed upon his mind. He was absent for a long
time from Malta; having gone, it was said, on remote pilgrimages:
seemed something mysterious and inexplicable in this disorder of
his mind. The following is the revelation made by himself, of
the horrible visions or chimeras by which he was haunted:
“When I had made my declaration before the chapter,” said
he, “my provocations were publicly known, I had made my peace
with man; but it was not so with God, nor with my confessor,
nor with my own conscience. My act was doubly criminal, from
the day on which it was committed, and from my refusal to a delay
of three days, for the victim of my resentment to receive the
sacraments. His despairing ejaculation, `Good Friday! Good
Friday!' continually rang in my ears. `Why did I not grant the
respite!' cried I to myself; `was it not enough to kill the body,
but must I seek to kill the soul!'
“On the night following Friday, I started suddenly from my
sleep. An unaccountable horror was upon me. I looked wildly
around. It seemed as if I were not in my apartment, nor in my
bed, but in the fatal Strada Stretta, lying on the pavement. I
again saw the commander leaning against the wall; I again heard
his dying words: `Take my sword to Têtefoulques, and have a
hundred masses performed in the chapel of the castle, for the repose
of my soul!'
“On the following night, I caused one of my servants to sleep
in the same room with me. I saw and heard nothing, either on
that night or any of the nights following, until the next
Friday; when I had again the same vision, with this difference,
that my valet seemed to be lying some distance from me
on the pavement of the Strada Stretta. The vision continued to
be repeated on every Friday night, the commander always appearing
my sword to Têtefoulques, and have a hundred masses performed
in the chapel of the castle, for the repose of my soul!'
“On questioning my servant on the subject, he stated, that
on these occasions he dreamed that he was lying in a very narrow
street, but he neither saw nor heard any thing of the commander.
“I knew nothing of this Têtefoulques, whither the defunct
was so urgent I should carry his sword. I made inquiries, therefore,
concerning it, among the French chevaliers. They informed
me that it was an old castle, situated about four leagues from
Poitiers, in the midst of a forest. It had been built in old times,
several centuries since by Foulques Taillefer, (or Fulke Hack-iron,)
a redoubtable hard-fighting Count of Angouleme, who gave it
to an illegitimate son, afterwards created Grand Seneschal of
Poiton, which son became the progenitor of the Foulquerres of
Têtefoulques, hereditary seneschals of Poitou. They farther informed
me, that strange stories were told of this old castle, in the
surrounding country, and that it contained many curious reliques.
Among these, were the arms of Foulques Taillefer, together with
those of the warriors he had slain; and that it was an immemorial
usage with the Foulquerres to have the weapons deposited
there which they had yielded either in war or single combat.
This, then, was the reason of the dying injunction of the commander
respecting his sword. I carried this weapon with me,
wherever I went, but still I neglected to comply with his request.
“The vision still continued to harass me with undiminished
horror. I repaired to Rome, where I confessed myself to the
Grand Cardinal penitentiary, and informed him of the terrors
should have performed certain acts of penance, the principal of
which was to execute the dying request of the commander, by
carrying his sword to Têtefoulques, and having the hundred masses
performed in the chapel of the castle for the repose of his soul.
“I set out for France as speedily as possible, and made no delay
in my journey. On arriving at Poitiers, I found that the
tidings of the death of the commander had reached there, but had
caused no more affliction than among the people of Malta. Leaving
my equipage in the town, I put on the garb of a pilgrim, and
taking a guide, set out on foot for Têtefoulques. Indeed the
roads in this part of the country were impracticable for carriages.
“I found the castle of Têtefoulques a grand but gloomy and
dilapidated pile. All the gates were closed, and there reigned
over the whole place an air of almost savage loneliness and desertion.
I had understood that its only inhabitants were the
concierge, or warder, and a kind of hermit who had charge of the
chapel. After ringing for some time at the gate, I at length succeeded
in bringing forth the warder, who bowed with reverence to
my pilgrim's garb. I begged him to conduct me to the chapel,
that being the end of my pilgrimage. We found the hermit there,
chanting the funeral service; a dismal sound to one who came to
perform a penance for the death of a member of the family.
When he had ceased to chant, I informed him that I came to accomplish
an obligation of conscience, and that I wished him to
perform a hundred masses for the repose of the soul of the commander.
He replied that, not being in orders, he was not authorized
to perform mass, but that he would willingly undertake to
see that my debt of conscience was discharged. I laid my offering
there, likewise. `Hold!' said the hermit, with a melancholy
shake of the head, `this is no place for so deadly a
weapon, that has so often been bathed in Christian blood. Take
it to the armory; you will find there trophies enough of like character.
It is a place into which I never enter.'
“The warder here took up the theme abandoned by the
peaceful man of God. He assured me that I would see in the
armory the swords of all the warrior race of Foulquerres, together
with those of the enemies over whom they had triumphed. This,
he observed, had been a usage kept up since the time of Mellusine,
and of her husband, Geoffrey à la Grand-dent, or Geoffrey
with the Great-tooth.
“I followed the gossiping warder to the armory. It was a
great dusty hall, hung round with Gothic-looking portraits, of a
stark line of warriors, each with his weapon, and the weapons of
those he had slain in battle, hung beside his picture. The most
conspicuous portrait was that of Foulques Taillefer, (Fulke Hack-iron,)
Count of Angouleme, and founder of the castle. He was
represented at full length, armed cap-à-pie, and grasping a huge
buckler, on which were emblazoned three lions passant. The
figure was so striking, that it seemed ready to start from the
canvas: and I observed beneath this picture, a trophy composed
of many weapons, proofs of the numerous triumphs of this hard-fighting
old cavalier. Beside the weapons connected with the
portraits, there were swords of all shapes, sizes, and centuries,
hung round the hall; with piles of armor, placed as it were in
effigy.
“On each side of an immense chimney, were suspended the
Foulques Taillefer) and his wife Isabella de Lusignan; the progenitors
of the grim race of Foulquerres that frowned around.
They had the look of being perfect likenesses; and as I gazed on
them, I fancied I could trace in their antiquated features some
family resemblance to their unfortunate descendant, whom I had
slain! This was a dismal neighborhood, yet the armory was the only
part of the castle that had a habitable air; so I asked the warder
whether he could not make a fire, and give me something for supper
there, and prepare me a bed in one corner.
“`A fire and a supper you shall have, and that cheerfully,
most worthy pilgrim,' said he; `but as to a bed, I advise you to
come and sleep in my chamber.'
“`Why so?' inquired I; `why shall I not sleep in this
hall?'
“`I have my reasons; I will make a bed for you close to
mine.'
“I made no objections, for I recollected that it was Friday,
and I dreaded the return of my vision. He brought in billets
of wood, kindled a fire in the great overhanging chimney, and
then went forth to prepare my supper. I drew a heavy chair before
the fire, and seating myself in it, gazed musingly round upon
the portraits of the Foulquerres, and the antiquated armor and
weapons, the mementos of many a bloody deed. As the day declined,
the smoky draperies of the hall gradually became confounded
with the dark ground of the paintings, and the lurid
gleams from the chimney only enabled me to see visages staring
at me from the gathering darkness. All this was dismal in the
extreme, and somewhat appalling: perhaps it was the state of my
fearful imaginings.
“At length the warder brought in my supper. It consisted
of a dish of trout, and some crawfish taken in the fosse of the
castle. He procured also a bottle of wine, which he informed
me was wine of Poitou. I requested him to invite the hermit to
join me in my repast; but the holy man sent back word that he
allowed himself nothing but roots and herbs, cooked with water.
I took my meal, therefore, alone, but prolonged it as much as
possible, and sought to cheer my drooping spirits by the wine of
Poitou, which I found very tolerable.
“When supper was over, I prepared for my evening devotions.
I have always been very punctual in reciting my breviary; it is
the prescribed and bounden duty of all cavaliers of the religious
orders; and I can answer for it, is faithfully performed by those
of Spain. I accordingly drew forth from my pocket a small missal
and a rosary, and told the warder he need only designate to
me the way to his chamber, where I could come and rejoin him,
when I had finished my prayers.
“He accordingly pointed out a winding stair-case, opening
from the hall. `You will descend this stair-case,' said he, `until you
come to the fourth landing-place, where you enter a vaulted passage,
terminated by an arcade, with a statue of the blessed
Jeanne of France: you cannot help finding my room, the door of
which I will leave open; it is the sixth door from the landing-place.
I advise you not to remain in this hall after midnight.
Before that hour, you will hear the hermit ring the bell, in
going the rounds of the corridors. Do not linger here after that
signal.'
“The warder retired, and I commenced my devotions. I continued
at them earnestly; pausing from time to time to put wood
upon the fire. I did not dare to look much around me, for I felt
myself becoming a prey to fearful fancies. The pictures appeared
to become animated. If I regarded one attentively, for any
length of time, it seemed to move the eyes and lips. Above all,
the portraits of the Grand Seneschal and his lady, which hung on
each side of the great chimney, the progenitors of the Foulquerres of
Têtefoulques, regarded me, I thought, with angry and baleful
eyes: I even fancied they exchanged significant glances with each
other. Just then a terrible blast of wind shook all the casements,
and, rushing through the hall, made a fearful rattling and
clashing among the armor. To my startled fancy, it seemed
something supernatural.
“At length I heard the bell of the hermit, and hastened to
quit the hall. Taking a solitary light, which stood on the upper
table, I descended the winding stair-case; but before I had
reached the vaulted passage, leading to the statue of the blessed
Jeanne of France, a blast of wind extinguished my taper. I
hastily remounted the stairs, to light it again at the chimney; but
judge of my feelings, when, on arriving at the entrance to the armory,
I beheld the Seneschal and his lady, who had descended
from their frames, and seated themselves on each side of the
fire-place!
“`Madam, my love,' said the Seneschal, with great formality,
and in antiquated phrase, `what think you of the presumption
of this Castilian, who comes to harbor himself and make wassail
in this our castle, after having slain our descendant, the commander,
and that without granting him time for confession?'
“`Truly, my lord,' answered the female spectre, with no less
stateliness of manner, and with great asperity of tone—`truly,
my lord, I opine that this Castilian did a grievous wrong in this
encounter; and he should never be suffered to depart hence, without
your throwing him the gauntlet.' I paused to hear no
more, but rushed again down stairs, to seek the chamber of the
warder. It was impossible to find it in the darkness, and in the
perturbation of my mind. After an hour and a half of fruitless
search, and mortal horror and anxieties, I endeavored to persuade
myself that the day was about to break, and listened impatiently
for the crowing of the cock; for I thought if I could hear his
cheerful note, I should be reassured; catching, in the disordered
state of my nerves, at the popular notion that ghosts never appear
after the first crowing of the cock.
“At length I rallied myself, and endeavored to shake off the
vague terrors which haunted me. I tried to persuade myself that
the two figures which I had seemed to see and hear, had existed
only in my troubled imagination. I still had the end of a candle
in my hand, and determined to make another effort to re-light it,
and find my way to bed; for I was ready to sink with fatigue.
I accordingly sprang up the stair-case, three steps at a time, stopped
at the door of the armory, and peeped cautiously in. The
two Gothic figures were no longer in the chimney corners, but I
neglected to notice whether they had re-ascended to their frames.
I entered, and made desperately for the fire-place, but scarce had
I advanced three strides, when Messire Foulques Taillefer stood
before me, in the centre of the hall, armed cap-à-pie, and standing
in guard, with the point of his sword silently presented to
me. I would have retreated to the stair-case, but the door of it
flung a gauntlet in my face. Driven to fury, I snatched down a
sword from the wall: by chance, it was that of the commander
which I had placed there. I rushed upon my fantastic adversary,
and seemed to pierce him through and through; but at the same
time I felt as if something pierced my heart, burning like a red-hot
iron. My blood inundated the hall, and I fell senseless.
“When I recovered consciousness, it was broad day, and I
found myself in a small chamber, attended by the warder and the
hermit. The former told me that on the previous night, he had
awakened long after the midnight hour, and perceiving that I had
not come to his chamber, he had furnished himself with a vase of
holy water, and set out to seek me. He found me stretched
senseless on the pavement of the armory, and bore me to his
room. I spoke of my wound; and of the quantity of blood that I had
lost. He shook his head, and knew nothing about it; and to my
surprise, on examination, I found myself perfectly sound and unharmed.
The wound and blood, therefore, had been all delusion.
Neither the warder nor the hermit put any questions to me, but
advised me to leave the castle as soon as possible. I lost no
time in complying with their counsel, and felt my heart relieved
from an oppressive weight, as I left the gloomy and fate-bound
battlements of Têtefoulques behind me.
“I arrived at Bayonne, on my way to Spain, on the following
Friday. At midnight I was startled from my sleep, as I had
formerly been; but it was no longer by the vision of the dying
commander. It was old Foulques Taillefer who stood before me,
the sign of the cross, and the spectre vanished, but I received
the same red-hot thrust in the heart which I had felt in the armory,
and I seemed to be bathed in blood. I would have called
out, or have risen from my bed and gone in quest of succor, but
I could neither speak nor stir. This agony endured until the
crowing of the cock, when I fell asleep again; but the next day
I was ill, and in a most pitiable state. I have continued to be
harassed by the same vision every Friday night; no acts of penitence
and devotion have been able to relieve me from it; and it
is only a lingering hope in divine mercy that sustains me, and
enables me to support so lamentable a visitation.”
The Grand Prior of Minorca wasted gradually away under this
constant remorse of conscience, and this horrible incubus. He
died some time after having revealed the preceding particulars of
his case, evidently the victim of a diseased imagination.
The above relation has been rendered, in many parts literally,
from the French memoir, in which it is given as a true story: if
so, it is one of those instances in which truth is more romantic
than fiction.
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