‘Oh, he was dead enough in Flanders,’ observed Robert, ‘but he seems to have as many lives as the Witch of Endor’s tabby cat. My mind forbodes horrid things. – No harm, however, in getting home quick.’
But they were involved in the intricacies of the forest, and it required both patience and perseverance to find the right track; at length they succeeded, and walked on with rapid strides, for the evening wore away. At this juncture some horsemen overtook them. – It was quite dusk and objects scarce discernible.
‘Hoy, holla, my good foresters! can you put us in the way for Baron Ronald’s castle; the Lord of the Isles we mean,’ said the foremost of the cavaliers.
‘What want you there?’ replied the baron (himself), ‘let us know ere we guide you, for we are going thither.’
‘I am Hildebrand, Lord Gowen’s sister’s son, sent by my mother to pay my respects and duty to him as becomes a nephew and a godson, nor has he seen me since my infancy.’
‘Welcome! Welcome!’ exclaimed the baron, ‘son of my beloved Ellen, I am thy uncle, but by some strange accidents, here on foot with one single follower.’
‘’Tis lucky,’ replied the youth, springing from his steed and embracing the baron, ‘that we have some led horses in our train.’ Lord Ronald and Robert were glad to hear of this seasonable supply, and mounting the noble beasts, set off at full speed.
Hildebrand, as they rode along, was made acquainted with recent events by his worthy uncle – he was struck with terror, and felt much interested for the Lady Margaret; for young Gowen had imbibed from the countess (his mother) a strong belief of the existence of vampires, and he intimated, though respectfully, to his venerable uncle, that he had done wrong by throwing the ring into the well, as by that means it was most probable the wicked sprite had acquired reanimation.
Again the storm arose and served to retard their progress, for the steeds affrighted at the vivid and incessant lightning, could with difficulty be got forward. At length they arrived at the copse, and Robert with two of Earl Gowen’s serving men dismounted to seek for the body, but it was not there. ‘Just as I thought to find it,’ said the former. ‘Beshrew me it is an industrious sprite; but the moon will soon set,’ and as the benign Ariel sang—
‘Let’s haste and save the destin’d fair
From the treacherous vampire’s snare.’
They spurred their horses, and the storm having made a temporary stop they were soon across the park. Music was sounding – they could distinguish the harper’s strain – the great hall was lighted up most brilliantly – a sumptuous altar had been erected at one end – and for the third time, the marriage ceremony was about to begin, when the baron, Lord Gowen and Robert rushed in and secured the intended bride, who fainted immediately, for in the person of her noble cousin she beheld the form shown her by Una and Ariel in the cave of Fingal, and the vampire’s charm vanished away like snow before the meridian sun.
The vampire seemed armed with supernatural strength – he resisted all their efforts to subdue him – and their swords made no impression – he struggled hard to bear away the Lady Margaret from the midst of her protectors, and the amazing efforts of the vampire spread horror and alarm, for that he was an evil sprite no one now doubted. He had returned to the castle that evening, and said he came with the baron’s consent (who had undertaken a sudden journey) to wed the Lady Margaret, and had brought her father’s ring as a token. All was now bustle, preparation and joy, till the unexpected entrance of the Lord of the Isles and his companions, and had it not been for the providence of Gowen seeking the castle that night, the fiend would have triumphed, for they could not have got home on foot in time enough to save her.
But the fiend was not to be overpowered – he jumped on the temporary altar, sword in hand (after having wounded and bit with his teeth several of the domestics), insisting he would yet have his bride. In an instant the scene changed – the moon set – the thunder rolled over the castle, and the bolt fell on the vampire – he rolled lifeless upon the floor, and after a terrific yell, melted into thin air, incorporeal and invisible to every eye. Thus ended the wicked sprite.
Some months after this event Margaret was happily united to Earl Gowen, with whom she led a happy life till they both sunk into the grave, venerable with age, making good the prediction of the spirits of the cave of Fingal—
‘Ne’er but once was she to wed,
Or have a second bridal bed.’
Charles Pigault-Lebrun
Charles Pigault-Lebrun (1753–1835) was a Calais-born French novelist and playwright whose real name was Charles-Antoine-Guillaume Pigault de l’Epinoy. His most celebrated novels are L’Enfant du Carnaval (1792) and Angelique et Jeanneton de la Place Maubert (1799). Not so well-known is his short story ‘The Unholy Compact Abjured,’ which, according to Peter Haining, received its first English translation in 1825 for its appearance in a British weekly magazine titled The French Novelist.
IN the churchyard of the town of Salins, department of Jura, may still be seen the remains of a tomb, on which is sculptured in figures as rude as the age in which they were carved, a representation of a soldier, firmly clasped in the arms of a maiden; near them stands the devil in a menacing attitude. Though the inhabitants of the town are all ready to swear to the truth of the story, they are not agreed as to the time when it happened; so that we can only say, that some centuries have rolled away, since a young soldier named St Amand, a native of Salins, was returning after a long absence to the bosom of his family. He walked with quick and cheerful steps, carrying with ease, in a small knapsack, the whole of his worldly goods. Never since he quitted the paternal roof, had he felt so happy; for he hoped ere night, to see his pretty cousin, Ninette, whom he loved with all his heart, and whom he intended to make his wife.
He walked on, gaily carolling, till he saw a crossroad before him, and uncertain of his way, he called to an old woman, with her back towards him, to direct him. She was silent: and, as he approached, he repeated the call, and she raised her head to answer it. The stout heart of the young soldier quailed, as he cast his eyes upon a countenance, such as never before had met his gaze. He had, indeed, reason to tremble; for he had just disturbed in the middle of an incantation, one of the most powerful witches in the country. She regarded him with a demoniac smile, and said in a tone which froze his blood, ‘Turn where thou wilt, thy road is sure, – it leads to death!’
For some moments, he stood as if rooted to the spot; but, soon, fear of the sorceress, who remained gazing upon him, gave him strength to flee. He ran forward, nor stopped till he had completely lost sight of the fearful being, whose dreadful prediction had struck him with such horror. Suddenly a frightful storm arose; the thunder growled, and the lightning flashed round the weary traveller, who, drenched with rain, and overcome with fatigue, had hardly strength to proceed. How great was his joy, when he saw at a distance, a magnificent chateau, the gate of which stood open. He exerted all his remaining strength to reach it, and precipitately entered a large hall. There he stopped, expecting every moment to see some domestics, but no one appeared. He remained some time, watching the progress of the storm: at length it began to abate, and he determined to pursue his way; but as he approached the door, it closed with a loud noise, and all his efforts to open it were in vain.
Struck with astonishment and dismay, the young soldier now believed that the prediction of the witch was about to be accomplished, and that he was doomed to fall a sacrifice to magic art. Exhausted by his vain efforts to open the ponderous door, he sank for a moment in helpless despondency, on the marble pavement; put his trust in providence, and soon revived. He said his prayers, and rising, waited with firmness the issue of this extraordinary