264 The Durrenstein. [Sepr, 
swimmer of torrents altogether a very striking personage, speaking the 
several languages of our miscellaneous company with native ease; evidently 
familiar with Europe and with a considerable extent of Asia, and giving 
now and then a piquant anecdote of the great, which made our diplo- 
matists raise their eyebrows in wonder at discoveries which they had 
treasured in their own bosoms as the “immediate jewels of their souls.” 
The hour flew, and the stranger was the first to remark that the storm 
had subsided. But to suffer him to take his leave for the night was out 
of the question. He at length consented, though with considerable 
difficulty, to remain. The Frenchman, who probably thought himself 
bound to make atonement for the favour which he had intended him, 
insisted on surrendering his bed, his wardrobe, or his bodily existence, 
for the benefit of his “bosom friend.” While we were enjoying our 
cups, and enchanted into a round of pleasantries, which brought out 
every man, and promised to keep us from our beds till daybreak, I 
heard a heavy foot occasionally pass the door. Whatever might be our 
dialogue, there was no necessity for its being overheard ; and I at length 
went out to put an end to the investigation. I found the landlord alone, 
in his nighteap and slippers, and seldom looked the Herr Michael less 
in good humour with the world. “Twelve o’clock, Sir,” he grumbled ; 
« full time for all honest men to be in their beds.” : 
I told him that there was nothing to prevent his honesty from its full 
indulgence in slumber, and that I would be responsible for the security 
of every iron spoon and wooden trencher under his roof. f 
The Herr’s urbanity was not his most conspicuous virtue at any time. 
But I believe that he had due reliance on one who had so long resisted 
the temptations of his table equipage ; and with some rough attempt at 
a bow, he set me at my ease on the point of honour, and said, that his only 
objection to our sitting up for the next twelve hours, or years, was the 
presumptuous nature of the thing. “This is an awful night, Sir,” said 
he; “such storms seldom come for good. This is the 29th of Sep- 
tember: St. Michael’s night, my patron saint; and, heaven preserve 
us! the night of the Red Woman of Durrenstein.’” 
A burst of thunder, that tore the ear and shook the strong building 
round us, gave such authentic evidence to the Herr’s opinions, that I 
could extract nothing more from him on the sacred subject; but, shrink- 
ing and startled, he left me, as he said, to examine what new damage 
had been done by the witch’s annual visit, and implored me once more 
to get my noisy companions to bed as soon as possible. 
But the landlord’s beer-loving soul had never known the courage of 
Chateau Margot; and on my communicating his fears, my only answer 
was a general burst of laughter, and a pledge to see the adventure out, 
to defy St. Michael and his storms, and to receive the witch-queen of 
the mountain with bumpers, if she should honour us with a visit. 
I had heard of her before, and the conversation turning upon the 
extraordinary propensity of the peasantry in all countries to add to the 
natural troubles of their station by imaginary evils, I gave such details 
as occurred to me. of the “ Red Woman of Durrenstein.” The stranger 
followed, but if his knowledge on other topics was striking, here it was 
unbounded. He poured out a ready heap of curious anecdote and 
incident of the mountain superstitions; some nearly monstrous of 
course, but some picturesque, and which would have been a treasure to 
the painter ; and even some so like what we deem a power above nature, 
