A TRAMP ABROAD By Mark Twain

No smoke came up. The children clapped their hands and

said:

“You see! Nothing makes so much smoke as burning straw–now

where did the smoke go to, if there is no subterranean outlet?”

So it seemed quite evident that the subterranean outlet

indeed existed. But the finest thing within the ruin’s

limits was a noble linden, which the children said was

four hundred years old, and no doubt it was. It had

a mighty trunk and a mighty spread of limb and foliage.

The limbs near the ground were nearly the thickness

of a barrel.

That tree had witnessed the assaults of men in mail–

how remote such a time seems, and how ungraspable is the

fact that real men ever did fight in real armor!–and it

had seen the time when these broken arches and crumbling

battlements were a trim and strong and stately fortress,

fluttering its gay banners in the sun, and peopled with vigorous

humanity–how impossibly long ago that seems!–and here

it stands yet, and possibly may still be standing here,

sunning itself and dreaming its historical dreams,

when today shall have been joined to the days called “ancient.”

Well, we sat down under the tree to smoke, and the captain

delivered himself of his legend:

THE LEGEND OF DILSBERG CASTLE

It was to this effect. In the old times there was once

a great company assembled at the castle, and festivity

ran high. Of course there was a haunted chamber

in the castle, and one day the talk fell upon that.

It was said that whoever slept in it would not wake again

for fifty years. Now when a young knight named Conrad

von Geisberg heard this, he said that if the castle were

his he would destroy that chamber, so that no foolish

person might have the chance to bring so dreadful

a misfortune upon himself and afflict such as loved

him with the memory of it. Straightway, the company

privately laid their heads together to contrive some

way to get this superstitious young man to sleep in that chamber.

And they succeeded–in this way. They persuaded

his betrothed, a lovely mischievous young creature,

niece of the lord of the castle, to help them in their plot.

She presently took him aside and had speech with him.

She used all her persuasions, but could not shake him;

he said his belief was firm, that if he should sleep

there he would wake no more for fifty years, and it made

him shudder to think of it. Catharina began to weep.

This was a better argument; Conrad could not out against it.

He yielded and said she should have her wish if she would only

smile and be happy again. She flung her arms about his neck,

and the kisses she gave him showed that her thankfulness

and her pleasure were very real. Then she flew to tell

the company her success, and the applause she received

made her glad and proud she had undertaken her mission,

since all alone she had accomplished what the multitude had

failed in.

At midnight, that night, after the usual feasting,

Conrad was taken to the haunted chamber and left there.

He fell asleep, by and by.

When he awoke again and looked about him, his heart

stood still with horror! The whole aspect of the chamber

was changed. The walls were moldy and hung with

ancient cobwebs; the curtains and beddings were rotten;

the furniture was rickety and ready to fall to pieces.

He sprang out of bed, but his quaking knees sunk under

him and he fell to the floor.

“This is the weakness of age,” he said.

He rose and sought his clothing. It was clothing no longer.

The colors were gone, the garments gave way in many places

while he was putting them on. He fled, shuddering,

into the corridor, and along it to the great hall. Here he

was met by a middle-aged stranger of a kind countenance,

who stopped and gazed at him with surprise. Conrad said:

“Good sir, will you send hither the lord Ulrich?”

The stranger looked puzzled a moment, then said:

“The lord Ulrich?”

“Yes–if you will be so good.”

The stranger called–“Wilhelm!” A young serving-man came,