The unaffected interest evinced by the old man pleased Francis. “Well,” replied he, “since you attach so much importance to the knowledge of the reason I have for remaining the whole day here plaguing myself, I will inform you that I came here in search of a friend who appointed to meet me on this bridge, but whom I have expected in vain.”
“With your permission I should say your friend was a rogue, to play the fool with you in this manner. If he had so served me, I should make him feel the weight of my crutch whenever I met him; for if he has been prevented from keeping his word by any unseen obstacle, he ought at least to have sent to you, and not have kept you here on your feet a whole day.”
“And yet I have no reason to complain of his not coming, for he promised me nothing. In fact it was only a dream that I was told I should meet a friend here.”
Francis spoke of it as a dream, because the history of the ghost was too long to relate.
“That alters the case,” replied the old man. “Since you rest your hopes on dreams, I am not astonished at your being deceived. I have also had many dreams in my life; but I was never fool enough to pay attention to them. If I had all the treasures that have been promised me in dreams, I could purchase the whole city of Bremen; but I have never put faith in dreams, and have not taken a single step to prove whether they were true or false; for I know full well, it would be useless trouble; and I am astonished that you should have lost so fine a day, which you might have employed so much more usefully, merely on the strength of a dream, which appears to me so wholly devoid of sense or meaning.”
“The event proves the justness of your remark, old father; and that dreams generally are deceitful. But it is rather more than three months since I had a very circumstantial dream relative to my meeting a friend on this particular day, here on this bridge; and it was so clearly indicated that he should communicate things of the utmost importance, that I thought it worth while to ascertain whether this dream had any foundation in truth.”
“Ah, sir, no one has had clearer dreams than myself; and one of them I shall never forget. I dreamt, several years since, that my good angel stood at the foot of my bed, in the form of a young man, and addressed me as follows:—‘Berthold, listen attentively to my words, and do not lose any part of what I am about to say. A treasure is allotted to you; go and secure it, that you may be enabled to live happily the rest of your days. To-morrow evening, when the sun is setting, take a pick-axe and spade over your shoulder, and go out of the city by the gate leading to Hamburgh; when you arrive facing the convent of St. Nicholas, you will see a garden, the entrance to which is ornamented by two pillars; conceal yourself behind one of these until the moon rises; then push the door hard, and it will yield to your efforts; go without fear into the garden, follow a walk covered by a treillage of vines, and to the left you will see a great apple-tree; place yourself at the foot of the tree, with your face turned towards the moon, and you will perceive at fifteen feet distance, two bushy rose-trees; search between these two shrubs, and at the depth of about six feet you will discover a great flag-stone, which covers the treasure enclosed within an iron chest; and although it is heavy and difficult to handle, do not regret the labour it will occasion you to remove it from the hole where it now is. You will be well rewarded for your pains and trouble, if you look for the key which is under the box.’”
Francis remained like one stupified at this recital; and certainly would have been unable to conceal his astonishment, if the darkness of the night had not favoured him. The various particulars pointed out by the beggar brought to his recollection a little garden which he had inherited from his father, and which garden was the favourite spot of that good man; but possibly for that very reason it was not held in estimation by the son. Melchior had caused it to be laid out according to his own taste, and his son in the height of his extravagance had sold it at a very low price.
The beggar with his wooden leg was become a very interesting personage to Francis, who perceived that he was the friend alluded to by the ghost in the castle of Rummelsbourg. The first impulse of joy would have led him to embrace the mendicant; but he restrained his feelings, thinking it best not to communicate the result of his intelligence to him.
“Well, my good man,” said he, “what did you when you awoke? did you not attend to the advice given by your good angel!”