" I do looking as amiable as if he was saying something very pleasant. not desire your acquaintance, nor does my sister; and, as the guardian of my niece, I am resolved not to allow her to marry one who values her fortune more than herself, and who, I consider, from his antecedents, is not calculated to prove a good husband, or to make her happy. In my sister's name, I forbid you this house, and have to assure you that we shall both be very glad to hear that you have quitted this neighbourhood. Good morning, Major O'Gorman. Tom, ring the bell." I gladly jumped up to do as I was bid, and probably showed in my countenance the satisfaction I felt. The major seized his hat, and, twisting his mustachios, approached the door, scarcely deigning even to bow as the servant opened it, and he left the room, giving me a glance, as he did so, expressive of anything but brotherly affection. I watched him out of the house with infinite satisfaction. The very next day Captain Hazlewood returned. I could not tell how Biatrice could have heard of the major's final dismissal from the house; but I supposed that she must have done so, judging from the very cold, repellent manner with which she received my future commander. I could not understand why she should treat him so, unless the major had abused him during his absence, which I thought possible. He looked puzzled and hurt, but laughed and joked with Uncle Brimbleby, with whom he was an especial favourite. Aunt Belinda never joked with anybody, but an occasional slight relaxation of the puckers round her mouth indicated the nearest approach to a smile in which she ever indulged. Even Biatrice after a time thawed a little, and treated him with somewhat of her old cordiality. He observed the change, and his spirits rose even higher than before. I was very nearly certain that Captain Hazlewood was very fond of my sister, but he was not a man to tell his love, unless he believed that there was a fair possibility of its being returned. He called me aside during the morning, and, telling me that he had been promised a ship to which he expected to be appointed in a day or two, asked me if I should be ready to accompany him. What! leave books and school, and tasks and impositions, and start off to see the world in company with so kind a friend? I did not require a moment's consideration to say "Yes" with all my heart, and he promised to obtain my uncle's leave. He told me that we might possibly be absent three or four years, and this-young as I was-made me think a good deal what would become of Biatrice in the mean time. I watched her narrowly, and observed that she became more and more unlike herself every day. Her evening walks were renewed, and, as she did not invite me to accompany her, I resolved to follow, that in case she might get into any danger, I might be at hand to assist her. I had an undefined notion that she was running some risk by going out by herself, without the knowledge of our uncle and aunt. When she went out I slipped after her. She did not go beyond the garden, and I soon discovered the reason why she went there, by seeing the major climb over the wall and join her. I could not get near enough to hear what he said, without the risk of being discovered; but I longed to do so, though perfectly aware that eavesdropping was not a creditable proceeding, yet, under the circumstances, I considered that I was justified in practising it if I could. I determined the next evening to hide myself away nearer the spot before she went out. The major soon disappeared over the wall, and she returned to the house. The next evening everything favoured me. Our uncle had to go out to some public meeting, and our aunt, who had had a headache all day, fell asleep after tea. On seeing this, I hurried out into the garden, and, taking a circuitous route, reached the spot I had selected for an ambuscade. I waited and waited till I began to fear that the lovers had appointed a different place for their meeting. I was greatly relieved when I heard Biatrice's light step on the path, and saw the major's hirsute countenance as it rose above the wall. I am not going to repeat all I heard. I am only surprised that a girl possessed of my dear sister's general good sense could have listened patiently to the nonsense the fellow talked, and believed his assertions. I may, however, say thus much, I heard him entreat her to fly with him the next night, that he might become her devoted, loving, faithful husband. She hesitated-she pleaded for more time for consideration-her uncle would certainly relent when he knew more of the major, and so might her aunt-she pleaded that our father would very soon be returning from India, and that he would not refuse the first request his only daughter had to make him. These, and similar arguments, instead of convincing the major, only made him press his suit more ardently, and at length he declared that Biatrice could not love him, and that if she would not consent, he must, for his own peace of mind, fly her presence for ever, and try to forget her in the excitement of battle, till some kind shot should terminate his miserable existence. I earnestly wished that she would take him at his word, but, to my sorrow, she consented; and as the major, very confident of his game, had already made all arrangements, he speedily explained them to her, and little more remained to be settled. I followed Biatrice into the house. What was I to do, with the possession of this important secret? Should I go to Biatrice, and ask her not to run away with the major? She had so much influence over me that I thought she would very likely win me over to help her. It seemed an act of black treachery to her to tell our uncle and aunt without warning her, which I could not bring myself to commit. To ask the assistance of Captain Hazlewood would be worse. He might shoot the major, to be sure, off hand, but that would not, I had an idea, gain him the affeetion of Biatrice. Was not I, however, about to become a naval officernot a very big one, I had to confess-but still big enough to defend my own sister? Perhaps I would insist on accompanying her; at all events, I would watch, and act according to circumstances. I felt almost as nervous and anxious as poor Biatrice must have done as the night drew on. I went up to bed at the usual hour. As I passed my sister's room, the door of which the maid had left slightly ajar, I looked in, and saw her on her knees at her bedside. I remember that very distinctly. I thought I would go in and kiss her, and say, "Pray on, dear sister, and then perhaps you won't run off with that man." But I did not. She afterwards came to my room and kissed me, little guessing what I knew. Again I missed the opportunity of speaking, and I could have cried my eyes out at my want of courage. As soon as the household had retired to rest I crept out of my room, and letting myself down by a window which opened easily, took my selected post. I had not long to wait, when I heard the wheels of a carriage, and soon after the major appeared, with a cloak and hat on his arm. The moment of action had arrived. What should I do? He walked up and down impatiently, and an expression of vexation escaped his lips at my sister's non-appearance. Biatrice at length came. had let herself out by a garden door, and come round to the front of the house, overlooked chiefly by the windows of the sitting-rooms. The major was about to put his arm round her waist, but she drew back. She "I have come, Major O'Gorman, because I have promised to fly with you," I heard her say; "but I feel that I am doing wrong. I have been deceiving my kind uncle, who, with all his peculiarities of manner and appearance, is good and generous. I shall cause bitter annoyance to my father when he arrives from India, and finds that I have married without the consent of my guardians, and I doubt if even you will continue to respect me if I run off with you. I entreat you, therefore, to release me from my promise. Let me acknowledge that I am engaged to you, but let us wait for my father's arrival." The major spoke low for some minutes. He was expostulating with her on her change of sentiment as he called it. At length he seemed to lose temper, his voice grew louder, a round, fierce oath escaped him. "You are in my power, young lady," I heard him exclaim; "I am not thus to be trifled with. You shall go on with this affair and marry me, or by” She broke from him as he uttered those fearful words, crying, "Am I in your power?" and darted towards the front door, on the steps of which she stood with her hand on the bell-handle, when she turned and said, slowly, "Thank Heaven that I am not in your power. You have unmasked yourself in time, Major O'Gorman, and no power on earth shall force me to marry you. You may thus understand that my resolution is taken." And before the major could advance a step she rang the bell violently. Believing that she would faint, I started up to run to her assistance, and the major, supposing that he was betrayed, and that I had some constables at my heels, took to his, and ran down the road as hard as he could pelt. Our uncle and aunt and the servants, believing that the house was on fire, were very much relieved, though greatly astonished, when they found Biatrice in a cloak and bonnet, and me without my cap or shoes, at the front door. I begged that no questions might be asked, and the next morning she confessed her delinquencies to our uncle, and I reported how she had behaved when the real trial came. The tears came into Uncle Brimbleby's eyes as he listened, and then seizing her in his arms, he exclaimed, "Thank Heaven! thank Heaven! dear girl. You've had a narrow escape. He's a great scoundrel !" Before I went to sea, Biatrice had somewhat recovered her spirits. I was absent for upwards of three years, during which time my captain did some very gallant things, in which I had the satisfaction of helping him. Biatrice heard my account of them with unfeigned interest, and when he found his way to our house, he had little difficulty in persuading her to become Mrs. Hazlewood. 518 GERMAN MYSTERY. It is, I believe, pretty generally allowed by English people residing in Germany, how very difficult it is to obtain any clear and reliable information upon events of the past, unless they are notorious as matters of history, and recognised as such in other countries. This being the case, one need not wonder that occurrences of minor importance, even concerning individuals of the highest rank, should almost always be surrounded by a haze of mystery nearly impossible to penetrate, and not only involved in marvellous superstitions, but worked up with such flowers of imagination as serve to bewilder the unfortunate listener, and to plunge him or her into a sea of difficulties even with regard to the leading features of the events in question. It has happened on several occasions to the writer of this article to be singularly mystified about the very foundation upon which the structure of various bewildering German stories has been raised, but in none more so than by the following one, which she chanced to come across within the last two years. Having located myself for a few weeks in the spring of 1863 with a foreign friend on the outskirts of Dresden, near the pretty environ called Pauensche Gründ, we set out one evening to walk farther into the country, which at this season was peculiarly attractive, and shortly reached a valley running from the river Weisseritz towards a village on the higher ground. We stopped at a picturesque-looking abode, situated about midway to the heights, to ask what it had originally been, as, although of a moderate size, its appearance was not that of the usual houses of the surrounding peasantry. An intelligent-looking labourer, to whom we addressed ourselves, said that it had been built in former times as a summer residence for the wife of Augustus the Strong; but, while listening to this rather improbable account, my companion suddenly recollected having been told, when passing through Dresden two years previously, that in some house thereabouts there lived an old lady of rank, who, when quite young, had poisoned her husband. The story, as detailed to her, stated, that although there was no doubt whatever of this lady's having committed the crime in question, yet from defect of evidence they could not condemn her to death; that she had remained long in prison, and at last had been permitted to live in a country-house of her own in this neighbourhood, but under strict surveillance of the police. We asked the man if this was really true, and if so, whereabouts this place of confinement was situated. Then, in the usual manner of German raconteurs, came a most marvellous story. He told us that this celebrated lady had only died about three weeks before (on the 16th of April, 1863), at the advanced age of eighty-six; that we must in the course of our walk have passed near her residence, which was close upon a bridge over the river Weisseritz, and that she had been long confined there for the murder of her husband, the Graf zu L.,* by means of poison. He positively asserted that for upwards of thirty years she had lived in Plauen Palais without even having the outer shutters opened to admit the light of day. But the singular part of the * Lynar. story was, "that the executioner came periodically from Dresden to see that she always wore a hempen rope round her throat, according to her sentence of condemnation, and that three men and some fierce dogs kept guard over her by night, and several women watched her constantly during the day. She had been, he said, as remarkable for her beauty and abilities as for her rank and fortune; in short, one never heard anything so incomprehensible and bewildering as the story altogether, for it was strangely mixed up with assertions about her having been a favourite of the great Napoleon's after her second marriage with Count K.,* and just before the unfortunate Russian campaign; her second marriage being in direct contradiction to the tale of her having been so long kept in confinement for the murder of her first husband. On retracing our steps to Dresden, we kept a sharp look-out for the house, but fearing to miss it in our ignorance, we applied to a woman on the road for information. A gentleman, hearing our interrogations, turned round when passing, and pointed to a ghostly-looking abode close upon the river, near the bridge which led to the village of Plauen, and told us that it was "there the lady had lived who had poisoned her husband;" adding, "that it was at present shut up, but that, owing to many strange questions being involved in her history, it was concluded that public curiosity would soon be satisfied by their being brought forward by the publication of her memoirs, now that she was no more." Of course Plauen Palais was reported to be full of ghosts and horrors, and since her death it was generally allowed that strange sights had been seen, and mysterious trampling noises heard, in and around the lonely deserted mansion, which ever since that event had continued uninhabited. It may easily be supposed that we were anxious to take a nearer view of a place where so extraordinary a criminal had recently finished her dark career, and naturally we felt extremely desirous to ascertain what was the truth of a story in which there was evidently so much exaggeration. We walked on accordingly, and when passing opposite to the house (on the other side of the river), my eyes were suddenly attracted by a light in one of the rooms shining through the bars of the outer shutters. On pointing out this to my friend, Fräulein von D., she laughingly remarked that what I mistook for a light must proceed from a beam of the sun (then about to set) gleaming in by some window at the back of the house. On going a little farther, however, we perceived that this could not be the case, as the old-fashioned mansion was built in a deep double form, which quite precluded the possibility of such an effect. Never was seen in any country a more haunted-looking dwelling, or one in a more sombre situation than this mysterious Plauen Palais. The massive building was of a certain height, and rose on the top in a conical form. The walls were of a dingy yellow, the roof was of a dusky red, and on one side the river swept down close to the wall of the house, which was covered with ivy and other creeping plants dipping into the water. But the most peculiar thing of all was the funereal appearance of everything round and about the Palais. The wall which surrounded the house and garden was painted black; the iron cross bars, with which all the lower windows were strongly secured, were of the same sinister hue, and VOL. LVIII. * Kilmansegge. 2 м |