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Page 68
And this good family seemed penetrated with the truth of the sacred
story; the old man in broken accents was reading aloud the edifying
history of the settlement of the children of Israel in the Land of
Canaan--
"This is the Land of Promise--the land promised to Abraham and Isaac and
Jacob your fathers--that you may be multiplied in it as the stars of
heaven for multitude, and as the sand which is upon the seashore. And
none shall disturb you, for ye are the chosen people."
The moon, which had veiled her light for a few minutes, reappeared, and
hearing no more sounds of voices, I looked round, and her clear cold rays
fell in the great empty hall. Not a figure, not a shade, was left. The
moonlight poured its silver flood upon the floor, and in the distance the
forms of a few trees stood out against the dark purple sky.
But now suddenly the high walls appeared lined with books, the old spinet
gave way to the _secr�taire_ of some man of learning, whose full-bottomed
wig was peering above the back of a red-leather arm-chair. I could hear
the quill coursing over the paper. The learned man, buried in thought,
never moved; the silence was oppressive.
But fancy my astonishment when, slowly turning, the great scholar faced
me, and I recognised the portrait of the famous lawyer Gregorius, marked
No. 253 in the portrait-gallery at Darmstadt.
How on earth had this personage walked out of his grave?
I was asking myself this question when, in a hollow sepulchral voice, he
pronounced these words:--
"_Dominorum, ex jur� Quintio, est jus utendi et abutendi quatenus
naturalis ratio patitur_."
As this sapient precept dropped oracularly from his lips, a word at a
time, his figure faded and turned pale. With the last word he had passed
out of existence.
What more shall I tell you, my dear friends? For hours, twenty
generations came defiling past me in Hans Burckhardt's ancient
mansion--Christians and Jews, nobles and commoners, fools and wise men
of high art, and men of mere prose. Every one proclaimed his indefeasible
right to the property; every one firmly believed himself sole lord and
master of all he surveyed. Alas! Death breathed upon one after another,
and they were all carried out, each as his turn came!
I was beginning to be familiar with this strange phantasmagoria. Each
time that any of these honest folks turned round and declared to me,
"This is mine!" I laughed and said, "Wait a bit, my fine fellow!--you
will melt away just like the rest!"
At last I began to feel tired of it, when far away--very far--the cock
crowed, announcing the dawn of day. His piercing call began to rouse the
sleeper. The leaves rustled with the morning air; a slight shiver shook
my frame; I felt my limbs gradually regaining their freedom, and, resting
upon my elbow, I gazed with rapture upon the silent wide-spread land. But
what I saw presently did not tend to exalt my spirits.
Along the little winding path to the cemetery were moving, in solemn
procession, all the ghosts that had visited me in the night. Step by step
they approached the decaying moss-grown door of the sacred inclosure;
that silent, mournful march of spectres under the dim grey light of early
morning was a gaunt and fearful sight.
And as I lay, more dead than alive, with gaping mouth and my face wet
with cold perspiration, the head of the dismal line melted and
disappeared among the weeping willows.
There were not many spectres, left, and I was beginning to feel a little
more composed, when the very last, my uncle Christian himself, turned
round to me under the mossy gate and beckoned me to follow! A distant
faint ironical voice said--
"Caspar! Caspar! come! Six feet of this ground belong to you!"
Then he too disappeared.
A streak of crimson and purple stretched across the eastern sky announced
the coming day.
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