It seemed to him an image of the rising of the sun of Truth on a benighted world; its light streamed through the ruins of centuries; and, down in the Valley of Time, the cross on the Christian church caught its rays, though the priests were singing in mist and darkness below.

In the warm breakfast-room he found the Baron waiting for him. He was lying upon a sofa, in, morning gown and purple-velvet slippers, both with flowers upon them. He had a guitar in his hand, and a pipe in his mouth, at the same time smoking, playing, and humming his favorite song from Goethe: –

 

The water rushed, the water swelled,

A fisher sat thereby.

 

Flemming could hardly refrain from laughing at the sight of his friend, and told him it reminded him of a street-musician he once saw in Aix-la-Chapelle, who was playing upon six instruments at once; having a helmet with bells on his head, a Pan's-reed in his cravat, a violin in his hand, a triangle on his knee, cymbals on his heels and on his back a bass-drum, which he played with his elbows. To tell the truth, the Baron of Hohenfels was rather a miscellaneous youth rather a universal genius. He pursued all things with eagerness, but for a short time only: music, poetry, painting, pleasure, even the study of the Pandects. His feelings were keenly alive to the enjoyment of life. His great defect was, that he was too much in love with human nature. But by the power of imagination, in him, the bearded goat was changed to a bright Capricornus; no longer an animal on earth, but a constellation in heaven. An easy and indolent disposition made him gentle and childlike in his manners, and, in short, the beauty of his character, like that of the precious opal, was owing to a defect in its organization. His person was tall and slightly built; his hair light; and his eyes blue, and as beautiful as those of a girl. In the tones of his voice there was something indescribably gentle and winning, and he spoke the German language with the soft, musical accent of his native province of Kurland. In his manners, if he had not ›Antinous' easy sway,‹ he had at least an easy sway of his own. Such, in few words, was the friend of Flemming.

»And what do you think of Heidelberg and the old castle?« said he, as they seated themselves at the breakfast-table.

»Last night the town seemed very long to me,« replied Flemming; »and as to the castle, I have as yet had but a glimpse of it through the mist. They tell me there is nothing finer in its way than this magnificent ruin, and I have no doubt I shall find it so. Only I wish the stone were gray, and not red. But, red or gray, I foresee that I shall waste many a long hour in its desolate halls. Pray, does anybody live there nowadays?«

»Nobody,« answered the Baron, »but the man who shows the Heidelberg Tun, and a Frenchman, who has been there sketching ever since the year eighteen hundred and ten. He has, moreover, written a super-magnificent description of the ruin, in which he says, that during the day only birds of prey disturb it with their piercing cries, and at night, screech owls, and other fallow deer. You must buy his book and his sketches.«

»Yes, the quotation and the tone of your voice will certainly persuade me so to do.«

»Take his or none, my friend, for you will find no others. And seriously, his sketches are very good. There is one on the wall there, which is beautiful, save and except that straddle-bug figure among the bushes in the corner.«

»But is there no ghost, no haunted chamber in the old castle?« asked Flemming, after casting a hasty glance at the picture.

»Oh, certainly,« replied the Baron; »there are two. There is the ghost of the Virgin Mary in Ruprecht's Tower, and the Devil in the Dungeon.«

»Ha! that is grand!« exclaimed Flemming, with evident delight. »Tell me the whole story, quickly! I am as curious as a child.«

»It is a tale of the times of Louis le Débonnaire,« said the Baron, with a smile; »a mouldy tradition of a credulous age. His brother Frederick lived here in the castle with him, and had a flirtation with Leonore von Luzelstein, a lady of the court, whom he afterwards despised, and was consequently most cordially hated by her. From political motives, he was equally hateful to certain petty German tyrants, who, in order to effect his ruin, accused him of heresy. But his brother Louis would not deliver him up to their fury, and they resolved to effect by stratagem what they could not by intrigue. Accordingly, Leonore von Luzelstein, disguised as the Virgin Mary, and the father confessor of the Elector, in the costume of Satan, made their appearance in the Elector's bedchamber at midnight, and frightened him so horribly, that he consented to deliver up his brother into the hands of two Black Knights, who pretended to be ambassadors from the Vehm-Gericht. They proceeded together to Frederick's chamber, where, luckily, old Gemmingen, a brave soldier, kept guard behind the arras. The monk went foremost in his Satanic garb, but no sooner had he set foot in the prince's bedchamber, than the brave Gemmingen drew his sword, and said quaintly, ›Die, wretch!‹ and so he died. The rest took to their heels, and were heard of no more.