“The castle of Trautwangen, on the Danube, stands to this day in its old security and grandeur. The lofty towers were visible across the long meadows for many a mile before I had arrived at the fortress. The people bowed respectfully when I inquired for Sir Hugh von Trautwangen, and told me that he lived there all alone, like a meditative hermit. A peasant (from whom, when about two miles distant from the castle, I purchased the last provender for my horse) had formerly been a squire or sentinel at the castle, and afforded me a long description how venerable were the looks of the old champion, and how he used to sit so grave and dignified in his arm-chair in the great hall, with a velvet cap on his head, and with a round table before him, on which always stood an embossed silver goblet filled with old Johannisberg. “It was not therefore without a feeling of mingled awe and admiration, that I drew near to the castle. As if trusting to its own strength and ancestral dignity, the fortress received me with its gates wide open, the drawbridge was down, and had long thus lain, as in token of peace, reposing on the turf by which it was partly overgrown. No one, neither squire nor sentinel, came to meet me; so that, without more ado, I tied my horse to a post in the middle of the large court, and proceeded up the wide staircase, by which I presumed that I should arrive at the great hall. I walked slowly, and rattled as much as I could with my spurs, greaves, and other accoutrements, in hopes that I might attract the attention of some one who would announce my approach to the castle’s owner. But in vain; no one was visible; nor was there a sound even of a footstep heard, except my own, through the wide desolate fortress. At last I found myself before great folding doors of carved oak; and, believing that this must be the entrance to the hall, I knocked three times loudly, and at measured intervals, with my iron-gloved hand. No sound was heard from within. I repeated my knocks, and rattled at the lock, but still all was silent. So I took counsel with myself and said, ‘Methinks I have now done enough to announce my coming here as a stranger, and if the people are all deaf, or sleep so very soundly, they cannot feel offended if I should enter without more ceremony. Besides, I am here a messenger, and as such have important duties to perform.’ I opened the door as respectfully as I could, and stepped in with the banner. I now found myself in the armoury; but, with all its weapons and trophies, it reminded me of the empty coat-of-mail of a knight long since dead. Truly, in the background I beheld, sitting in his arm-chair, tall, erect, and awful to look upon, the old Sir Hugh, with his green velvet cap on his head, and the round table with the silver goblet were before him. But, alas! the knight’s eyes were firmly closed, his cheeks were deadly pale, his brows cold, and his hands clasped together, as they had been left by the last fearful convulsion.