f the fall resounding through the house had occasioned the
mysterious rumours, which, but for the investigation of the proprietor,
would, in all probability, have acquired so bad a name for the dwelling
that no servants would have inhabited it. The circumstance was told to Sir
Walter Scott by the gentleman to whom it happened.

[Illustration: SAINT LOUIS.]

But, in general, houses that have acquired this character have been more
indebted for it to the roguery of living men than to accidents like these.
Six monks played off a clever trick of the kind upon that worthy king,
Louis, whose piety has procured him in the annals of his own country the
designation of "the Saint." Having heard his confessor speak in terms of
warm eulogy of the goodness and learning of the monks of the order of St.
Bruno, he expressed his wish to establish a community of them near Paris.
Bernard de la Tour, the superior, sent six of the brethren, and the king
gave them a handsome house to live in in the village of Chantilly. It so
happened that from their windows they had a very fine view of the ancient
palace of Vauvert, which had been built for a royal residence by King
Robert, but deserted for many years. The worthy monks thought the palace
would just suit them; but their modesty was so excessive that they were
ashamed to ask the king for a grant of it in due form. This difficulty was
not to be overcome, and the monks set their ingenuity to work to discover
another plan. The palace of Vauvert had never laboured under any
imputation upon its character until they became its neighbours; but,
somehow or other, it almost immediately afterwards began to acquire a bad
name. Frightful shrieks were heard to proceed from it at night; blue, red,
and green lights were suddenly seen to glimmer from the windows, and as
suddenly to disappear; the clanking of chains was heard, and the howling
as of persons in great pain. These disturbances continued for several
months, to the great terror of all the country round, and even of the
pious King Louis, to whom, at Paris, all the rumours were regularly
carried with whole heaps of additions that accumulated on the way. At last
a great spectre, clothed all in pea-green, with a long white beard and a
serpent's tail, took his station regularly at midnight in the principal
window of the palace, and howled fearfully, and shook his fists at the
passengers. The six monks at Chantilly, to whom all these things were duly
narr