of the Grand Master, was now extinguished, and all the Knights, Preceptors, and Companions, prostrating themselves in the figure of a cross, prayed silently. Meanwhile the Novices gently and slowly lowered the coffin into the grave, and the Grand Master, again raising the iron hammer, struck the iron cross three times, and said, with deep and solemn unction—
“‘I bless thee in the name of the tri-une God—in the name of the ancient and venerable order of Knights Templars—in the name of the Preceptors, Companions, and Novices here assembled’”
Here I was again interrupted by the sound of three knocks near my door, ringing like the blows of iron upon iron, and so loudly audible, that I could no longer doubt the evidence of my senses, nor reason down my apprehensions that either earthly mischief, or, possibly, unearthly agency, was busy near me. The knocks were again succeeded by low sounds of lamentation and groans, followed, as before, by a quick and sobbing respiration, which I could compare with nothing but the death-rattle. I struggled hard with a growing suspicion that some supernatural intelligence was at work here, and yet my reason equally rejected the possible contingencies of robbers, or midnight frolics. Thieves would not thus announce their presence, and it was utterly improbable that my afflicted relatives, or their attached and sympathising domestics, would amuse themselves by trying midnight experiments upon my courage. I had clearly distinguished that these mysterious sounds proceeded not from the sepulchre beneath me, but from the hall or corridor. “Can it be,” whispered my excited imagination, “the unquiet spirit of the murdered Bruno, or of his suicide daughter, the unhappy Leah? Or, can it be the shade of my ancestor, the long-departed Templar? Or, it suddenly occurred to me, is it not rather some benighted traveller, attracted by the light in my window, knocking at the gate for admittance? It is, it must be some helpless wayfarer,” I exclaimed, clinging to this preferable solution of the sounds which had alarmed me. Transferring one of my candles to a lantern which I found in the book-closet, I seized my sabre, and was hastening to the door, when suddenly the sound of solemn music floated through the apartment. The tones were harp-like, and gradually rose with a sublime swell, which, at such an hour and place, seemed to me more than earthly. The soaring swell was succeeded by a gradual and dying cadence, which melted away in the distant night-breeze; I paused and listened in still astonishment—but all was silent. I endeavoured to persuade myself that it was another delusion of my fevered brain, and that the ill-cured sabre-wound on my head had contributed to the successive hallucinations of the night; but the melody had been so distinct and peculiar that I could repeat every note. At this moment I heard the clock of the neighbouring convent of St. Clara sound the midnight hour from the vale below; it was accompanied by a long-drawn wailing gust of wind through the corridor, and the deep-toned bell struck on my saddened ear like the knell of some one I had loved and lost. Soon the music rose again as if from the vault beneath, and I distinctly heard the sound of harmonious voices, singing with impressive and perfect modulation, the following words from the fine opening of Mozart’s Requiem:—
Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine!
Et lux perpetua luceat eis.
A rich and powerful soprano then sang in thrilling tones the solo—
Te decet hymnus Deus in Sion,
Et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem.
After which, all the voices and the harp, in fine accord, and in a louder strain, resumed—
Exaudi orationem meam,
Ad te omnis caro veniet.
I heard every word as distinctly as if the singers had been at my elbow; and, convinced that they were no spirits, but human choristers chanting in the sepulchre beneath me, I opened the window, and saw a blaze of light streaming through the bronze latticed gate of the vault, over a small flower-garden, which embellished the approach to Cecilia’s tomb. After a brief pause, the solemn strains proceeded, when, unable to repress my curiosity, I called aloud, “Who is there?” But no answer was returned, save from the echoing rocks, which responded—“Who is there?—there?”
