99 THE BLACK GATE OF TREVES. A FRAGMENT FROM A STUDENT'S JOUrnal. Brakenbury.---Why looks your grace so heavily to-day? SHAKSPEARE. WHEN, after five years' absence, I returned home in 179— from a northern university, I had lost little of that disposition to the romantic and adventurous, that characterised my boyhood; a disposition I attribute to the unfailing delight with which I had pored for years over the still alluring pages of the Arabian Nights and Robinson Crusoe. At one-and-twenty, my vivid and creative fancy continued to invest every unusual incident with the colouring of romance, and every individual of mysterious origin, or eccentric habits, was to me an object of ceaseless speculation and inquiry. On my way to Trieste, where my father had long been settled as a merchant, I passed several days with the family of a fellow-student, in the city of Treves. This fine old city was the Augusta Trevirorum of the Romans, who erected here many noble edifices, baths, and an amphitheatre, of which few traces are discoverable; also the palace-like structure, which yet remains, called, from its colour and its portal, the Porta Nigra, or Black Gate of Treves. This massive ruin, the largest and noblest specimen of Roman architecture remaining in Germany, was to me an object of intense interest and gratification. It was distinctly visible from my friend's abode, and I was never wearied of contemplating its bold and lofty outlines. I examined the interior daily; lingering with classical enjoyment on the rich friezes, arabesques, and other adornments of ancient days, while my fertile imagination conjured up the mailclad forms of the Roman emperors and chieftains who erst had revelled in these rich and stately halls. During my short stay in Treves, I had a strange adventure, which, although trivial in its consequences to myself, laid a strong hold of my imagination, and long after haunted my visions. I had walked out one afternoon to the village of Igel, a few miles from Treves, to view that picturesque relic of Roman art, called the Igelstein, a lofty sepulchral edifice, which covers the remains of the Secundine family.* It was dusk as I reached the suburbs, when, passing near the hospital, I saw coming out of the door leading to the lunatic ward, an old man, whose appearance powerfully excited my curiosity. In person he was tall, thin, and stooping. His hair, still long and abundant, was perfectly white; his garb was not ragged, but so mean as to denote circumstances *See the Title-page-Vignette. allied to poverty. He carried a basket in one hand, while a stick in the other was employed to assist his slow and feeble progress. Conceiving him to be the near and indigent relative of some unhappy maniac in the house of wo I was then approaching, I had predetermined to give him a florin; but when I overtook him and saw his face, I started back in amazement, and the florin dropped from my fingers, unheeded both by myself and the old man, who gave me a look I shall never forget, and passed on. Never had I beheld a countenance so appalling—so fearful a blending of insanity and melancholy-so wild-so pallid-so pitiably destitute of human semblance. When first I glanced at his features, the expression was that of deep and settled misery, but when he beheld me, his eyes shot fire, and every nerve and muscle beneath the skin of his emaciated face began to writhe and quiver, as if under intense excitement. When I recovered my self-possession, he had passed the angle of a wall and disappeared. Impelled by irresistible curiosity, I darted forward, again caught a view of him, and followed him unobserved until, to my great surprise, I saw him knock at the door of one of the hovels which were then supported against the massive walls of the Black Gate, and which have since been removed. Soon the door opened, the tall figure of the old man stooped to enter, and the door was immediately closed and bolted. The light was too imperfect to enable me to distinguish any object accurately at the distance of twenty or thirty yards, and yet I could not divest myself of a belief |