The Ghost-Seer; or the Apparitionist | Page 2

prince observed a mask which followed us
everywhere. This mask was an Armenian, and walked alone. We
quickened our steps, and endeavored to baffle him by repeatedly

altering our course. It was in vain, the mask was always close behind us.
"You have had no intrigue here, I hope," said the prince at last, "the
husbands of Venice are dangerous." "I do not know a single lady in the
place," was my answer. "Let us sit down here, and speak German," said
he; "I fancy we are mistaken for some other persons." We sat down
upon a stone bench, and expected the mask would have passed by. He
came directly up to us, and took his seat by the side of the prince. The
latter took out his watch, and, rising at the same time, addressed me
thus in a loud voice in French, "It is past nine. Come, we forget that we
are waited for at the Louvre." This speech he only invented in order to
deceive the mask as to our route. "Nine!" repeated the latter in the same
language, in a slow and expressive voice, "Congratulate yourself, my
prince" (calling him by his real name); "he died at nine." In saying this,
he rose and went away.
We looked at each other in amazement. "Who is dead?" said the prince
at length, after a long silence. "Let us follow him," replied I, "and
demand an explanation." We searched every corner of the place; the
mask was nowhere to be found. We returned to our hotel disappointed.
The prince spoke not a word to me the whole way; he walked apart by
himself, and appeared to be greatly agitated, which he afterwards
confessed to me was the case. Having reached home, he began at length
to speak: "Is it not laughable," said he, "that a madman should have the
power thus to disturb a man's tranquillity by two or three words?" We
wished each other a goodnight; and, as soon as I was in my own
apartment, I noted down in my pocket-book the day and the hour when
this adventure happened. It was on a Thursday.
The next evening the prince said to me, "Suppose we go to the square
of St. Mark, and seek for our mysterious Armenian. I long to see this
comedy unravelled." I consented. We walked in the square till eleven.
The Armenian was nowhere to be seen. We repeated our walk the four
following evenings, and each time with the same bad success.
On the sixth evening, as we went out of the hotel, it occurred to me,
whether designedly or otherwise I cannot recollect, to tell the servants
where we might be found in case we should be inquired for. The prince

remarked my precaution, and approved of it with a smile. We found the
square of St. Mark very much crowded. Scarcely had we advanced
thirty steps when I perceived the Armenian, who was pressing rapidly
through the crowd, and seemed to be in search of some one. We were
just approaching him, when Baron F-----, one of the prince's retinue,
came up to us quite breathless, and delivered to the prince a letter. "It is
sealed with black," said he, "and we supposed from this that it might
contain matters of importance." I was struck as with a thunderbolt. The
prince went near a torch, and began to read. "My cousin is dead!"
exclaimed he. "When?" inquired I anxiously, interrupting him. He
looked again into the letter. "Last Thursday night at nine."
We had not recovered from our surprise when the Armenian stood
before us. "You are known here, my prince!" said he. "Hasten to your
hotel. You will find there the deputies from the Senate. Do not hesitate
to accept the honor they intend to offer you. Baron I--forgot to tell you
that your remittances are arrived." He disappeared among the crowd.
We hastened to our hotel, and found everything as the Armenian had
told us. Three noblemen of the republic were waiting to pay their
respects to the prince, and to escort him in state to the Assembly, where
the first nobility of the city were ready to receive him. He had hardly
time enough to give me a hint to sit up for him till his return.
About eleven o'clock at night he returned. On entering the room he
appeared grave and thoughtful. Having dismissed the servants, he took
me by the hand, and said, in the words of Hamlet, "Count -----
"'There are more things in heav'n and earth, Than are dreamt of in your
philosophy.'"
"Gracious prince!" replied I, "you seem to forget that you are retiring to
your pillow greatly enriched in prospect." The deceased was the
hereditary prince.
"Do not remind me of it,"