Page:The Royal Lady's Magazine (Volume 2, 1831).djvu/29

 happen to disturb you, you have only to call for help from one of the windows; there are always some persons or other up in my house during the whole night.”

Francis ascended the steps, entered the castle, walked through a long suite of rooms, and at length chose one the window of which was nearest the inn. He lighted his candles, unpacked his supper, and ate, and drank with a keen relish. He then shut and securely bolted the door, walked to the window, opened one-half of the casement, and looked down upon the inn, where he heard plenty of noise and revelry going on. After ten o’clock, however, every thing became more and more quiet—the lights disappeared one by one—and only a small night-lamp remained, which was burning in the bedchamber of the landlord. Francis now began to feel a little frightened in spite of himself; but fear was overpowered by fatigue; so, without taking off his clothes, he threw himself upon a couch and soon fell asleep.

About midnight, just as the clock struck twelve, he awoke, and fancied he heard, at a distance, the rattling of keys, and a creaking like that of doors turning upon rusty hinges. He listened. To his horror he found he was not deceived. The noise came nearer. In an agony of terror he drew the clothes over his head. Then he heard, most distinctly, some one trying different keys to unlock the door of the room in which he was. At length the right one was found and the lock gave way. But the bolts still held the door fast on the inside. A tremendous crash followed, as if a thunder-bolt had descended—the door flew open—and a tall haggard figure, with a black beard, entered. His dress was quite ancient in its fashion; a small pointed hat was on his head, and a scarlet mantle hung from his shoulders. He paced silently up and down the room several times, then stood before the table, snuffed the candles, took off his mantle, produced a shaving-case which was concealed under it, and drew forth all the necessary apparatus for shaving. He next sharpened a polished razor upon a strop which was suspended from his girdle.

Francis, peeping from under the clothes, saw all this preparation, and the sweat burst from him in agony, for he could not tell whether his neck or his beard was to be operated upon. He breathed a little more freely, however, when the spectre poured some water out of a silver pot into a silver basin, and with his withered bony hand began to beat up a lather. He then placed a chair, and, by his gestures, signified to Francis that he should leave his hiding-place and come to him. What could poor Francis do? He plucked up courage—sprang out of bed at the first summons, and seated himself in the chair. The spectre fastened a napkin under his chin, took a comb and a pair of scissors—cut off his hair and beard—then soaped him all over, even to his eyebrows, and shaved him so clean that he was as bald as a death’s head. Afterwards, he washed him with cold water, dried him nicely, made a bow, packed up his shaving tackle, put on his mantle, and prepared to retire.

Francis was right glad to think that nothing worse had befallen him. The spectre, however, still remained standing at the door, looked towards him, sighed, and with his hand stroked his face and beard several times. Francis believed he comprehended these signs. He started up, and invited the ghost to sit in his place. He was right: he had hit it. The ghost came back in a very friendly manner, replaced his shaving utensils on the table, and seated himself. Francis soon served the ghost as the ghost had served him, only he was not quite so expert at the business as might be wished, and the ghost frequently winced under his unpractised hand. However, he managed to get through; for in about a quarter of an hour there was not a hair left on the head, beard, and eyebrows of the ghost.

Hitherto not a word had been uttered by either, but now the spectre spoke:—

“Thanks, stranger, for the service you have done me! Through thee I am released from a ban which has confined me to this castle for the last three hundred years. Here once lived Count Hartmann, a cruel monster, who delighted in decoying unsuspecting strangers and wanderers into his power, by pretended acts of friendship, and then, after maltreating and otherwise insulting them, drove them away. I was his castle-barber, and sought to obtain his favour by