A loose black linen gown drapes the
figure from the neck to the heels, and a black cowl, with two holes
cut for the eyes, covers and effectually conceals the head and face.
For more than five hundred years, up to the present day, the dress
remains the same, and no human being, either of those to whom their
services are rendered, or of the thousands who see them going about
in the performance of their self-imposed duty, can know whether the
mysterious weird-looking figure he sees be prince or peasant. He knows
that he may be either, for the members of the brotherhood are drawn
from all classes of society.
It used to be whispered, and I have good reasons for believing the
whisper to have been true, that the late Grand Duke was a member, and
took his turn of duty with his brethren. Some indiscreet personal
attendant blabbed the secret, for assuredly the Duke himself was never
untrue to the oath which binds the members to secrecy.
The whole society is divided into a number of companies, one of which
is by turns on duty. There is a large, most melancholy and ominously
sounding bell in the chapel of the brotherhood (not that already
mentioned by which anybody can call the attention of the brother in
permanent attendance, but a much larger one), which is heard all over
the city. This summons the immediate attendance of every member of the
company on duty, and the mysterious black figures may any day be seen
hurrying to the rendezvous.
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