Led Astray and The Sphinx | Page 4

a sort of truce and respite in the miserable
routine of my existence, at once so agitated and so commonplace. I
relish my complete independence with the naïve joy of a
twelve-year-old Robinson Crusoe. I sketch when I feel like it; the rest
of the time, I walk here and there at random, being careful only never
to go beyond the bounds of the sacred valley. I sit down upon the
parapet of the bridge, and I watch the running water; I go on voyages of

discovery among the ruins; I dive into the underground vaults; I scale
the shattered steps of the belfry, and being unable to come down again
the same way, I remain astride a gargoyle, cutting a rather sorry figure,
until the miller brings me a ladder. I wander at night through the forest,
and I see deer running by in the moonlight. All these things have a
soothing effect on my mind, and produce the effect of child's dream in
middle age.
Your letter dated from Cologne, and which was forwarded to me here
according to my instructions, has alone disturbed my beatitude. I
console myself with some difficulty for having left Paris almost on the
eve of your return. May Heaven confound your whims and your want
of decision! All I can do now, is to hurry my work; but where shall I
find the historical documents I still need? I am seriously anxious to
save these ruins. There is here a rare landscape, a valuable picture,
which it would be sheer vandalism to allow to perish.
And then, I admire the old monks! I wish to offer up to their departed
shades this homage of my sympathy. Yes, had I lived some thousand
years ago, I would certainly have sought among them the repose of the
cloister while waiting for the peace of heaven. What existence could
have suited me better? Free from the cares of this world, and assured of
the other, free from any agitations of the heart or the mind, I would
have placidly written simple legends which I would have been
credulous enough to believe; I would have unraveled with intense
curiosity some unknown manuscripts, and discovered with tears of joy
the Iliad or the Æneid; I would have sketched imaginary cathedrals; I
would have heated alembics--and perhaps have invented gunpowder;
which is by no means the best thing I might have done.
Come! 'tis midnight; brother, we must sleep!
Postscriptum.--There are ghosts! I was closing this letter, my dear
friend, in the midst of a solemn silence, when suddenly my ears were
filled with mysterious and confused sounds that seemed to come from
the outside, and among which I thought I could distinguish the buzzing
murmur of a large crowd. I approached, quite surprised, the window of
my cell, and I could not exactly tell you the nature of the emotion I felt

on discovering the ruins of the church illuminated with a resplendent
blaze; the vast portal and the yawning ogives cast floods of light far as
the distant woods. It was not, it could not be, an accidental
conflagration. Besides, I could see, through the stone trefoils, shadows
of superhuman size flitting through the nave, apparently performing,
with a sort of rhythm, some mysterious ceremony. I threw my window
abruptly open; at the same instant, a loud blast broke forth in the ruins,
and rang again through all the echoes of the valley; after which, I saw
issuing from the church a double file of horsemen bearing torches and
blowing horns, some dressed in red, others draped in black, with
plumes waving over their heads. This strange procession followed, still
in the same order, amid the same dazzling light and the same clangor of
trumpets, the shaded path that skirts the edge of the meadows. Having
reached the little bridge, it stopped; I saw the torches rise, wave, and
cast showers of sparks; the horns sounded a weird and prolonged blast;
then suddenly every light disappeared, every noise ceased, and the
valley was again wrapped in the darkness and the deep silence of the
night. That is what I saw and heard. You who have just arrived from
Germany, did you meet the Black Huntsman? No? Hang yourself, then!
CHAPTER II.
HUNTING A WILD MAN.
16th September.
The forest which once formed part of the demesnes of the abbey, now
belongs to a wealthy landed proprietor of the district, the Marquis de
Malouet, a lineal descendant of Nimrod, whose chateau seems to be the
social center of the district. There are almost daily at this season grand
hunts in the forest; yesterday, the party ended with a supper on the
grass, and afterward a ride home by torch-light. I felt very much
disposed to strangle the honest miller,