Orphan of the Rhine 6

THE ORPHAN OF THE RHINE

PART 6

Chapter 7

 

Such fate to suffering worth is given.

Who long with wants and woes has striven.

By human pride or cunning driven.

To misery's brink.

--BURNS

The severity which Julie experienced from Madame Laronne, and the unceasing visits of Vescolini, who seemed determined to persevere in his addresses, had a visible effect upon her health; yet believing that he was not thoroughly acquainted with her resolution, she anxiously awaited an opportunity of convincing him that she meant positively to reject the alliance, hoping that, when he was able to ascertain the primary cause of this conduct, he would be less disposed to continue his persecutions. But she knew not sufficiently the character of her lover when she cherished this delusive idea. Young, sanguine, and enterprising, every new obstacle increased his ardour, and, regardless of the consequences of such a proceeding, he was secretly persuaded that nothing but death should prevent the accomplishment of his design.

Finding that all hopes, founded on his generosity of sentiment, were likely to prove abortive, since no honourable motive could instigate him to abandon the pursuit, she began to lose all esteem for his character, and to reflect upon this authoritative mode of procedure with mingled disgust and aversion.

The Marchese, whose attentions to Madame Laronne were less marked than on the commencement of their acquaintance, was still a constant visitor at the chateau; and Julie observed that he was now become unusually thoughtful without in the least suspecting the cause, though in conversation he was visibly abstracted from the subject in which he had engaged, and he frequently gazed upon her with a degree of silent and tender earnestness that heightened her distress. This change, though it might have been easily penetrated by an uninterested spectator, was unmarked by Madame Laronne, who was too much blinded by an excess of unprecedented vanity to imagine that the Marchese could behold any other than herself with an eye of approbation.

As Julie's indisposition now daily increased, she spent many hours in her apartment, which was one of the most substantial comforts allowed her under her augmenting afflictions. She was sometimes fortunately excused from attending upon her aunt's parties, which were frequent and uninteresting, and declined, as much as possible, all visits of ceremony.

One evening, Madame Laronne being engaged at a route, to which the Marchese was also invited, Julie was left alone in her absence to meditate upon her own misfortunes, as well as to endeavour to arm her mind as much as she was able against the accumulating adversities of her fate.

As soon as her haughty protectress had left the chateau, she took a long and solitary walk along the margin of the lake. It was a still and beautiful evening; every object seemed to repose in uninterrupted silence and tranquillity. The sun, retiring from the horizon, was setting beyond the distant hills. Not a bird broke the stillness of the night; not a breeze disturbed the universal calm of nature; not a sound was borne upon the air, save a bell from an adjacent convent, which was solemnly tolling for vespers, 'that the day, which had been ushered in with blessings, might be closed with the effusions of gratitude'.

As she gazed upon that venerable pile, which was tinged with the last ray of the retiring orb, she lamented she had not been consigned to a similar abode, and reverted with tender regret to that in which she had found so hospitable an asylum. Having yielded to a flood of tears, she endeavoured to recall her mind from these painful contemplations; but the attempt was inefficacious; the cruelty of her aunt, the perseverance of Vescolini, and her own defenceless situation, were invincible bars to returning peace.

The moon, now sailing majestically through the concave, was shedding her mildest light upon the surface of the water, which warned her of the approach of night, and precipitated her steps towards the mansion; but not without an intention of extending her walk along the gardens in this serene hour of moon-light.

Having reached the chateau, she took her lute, which had lain neglected in one corner of her apartment, and repairing to a grotto that terminated one of the principal avenues, played her service to the virgin.

As the last notes, which were warbled with a peculiar taste and sweetness, died into cadence, she fancied she distinguished the sound of advancing footsteps, and willing to discover the intruder, hastily arose from the place; but not being able to discern any one, and finding all was again silent, she believed it to be only an illusion, and again resumed her seat. The moon, now shining with redoubled lustre, deepened the contrasting gloom of the walks, which were so effectually shaded from its benign influence by the protuberant branches of the chestnut, that her beams could only play on the tops of the boughs. Again she thought she heard the approach of footsteps, and a faint rustling among the leaves, and starting from her seat, hurried to the door of the grotto, where she beheld, in the same instant, the shadow of plumes waving upon the grass. Believing it could be no other than Vescolini, an emotion of terror took possession of her frame, and, without waiting to be assured whether she was right or not in the conjecture, she quitted the recess.

It was the Marchese de Montferrat, who, having learned from Madame Laronne that Julie was prevented by indisposition from joining the party, to which he had repaired in the hope of meeting with her, had suddenly retreated from this scene of splendour and gaiety soon after its commencement, and had wandered about in pursuit of her. Finding she was not at the chateau, he had rambled for a considerable time along the grounds; and being still unsuccessful in his undertaking, was alarmed lest any thing had happened, till he was at once relieved from the anguish of fear and suspense by the wild harmony of her song, to which he had listened attentively with the most pleasurable emotions till the sound died away upon the air, and was succeeded by a mournful silence.

Julie, being assured that the Marchese was of Madame Laronne's party, was not less surprised than agitated at this intrusion; and supposing that some material occurrence had occasioned it, eagerly demanded if any thing had happened to her aunt.

Having dissipated her apprehensions, and made an inquiry concerning her health, he began, in a stile at once the most seductive and impressive, to assure her, that he had long sedulously sought for an opportunity of soliciting her attention on a subject the most serious and important.

After this preparatory address, he proceeded to inform her that Vescolini, contrary to the nice dictates of honour, intended to have recourse to the most infamous mode of conduct, if she refused to yield to his entreaties; and that Madame Laronne was so earnestly engaged in his interest, that every thing was to be dreaded without timely interference. This, he added, had influenced him to quit rather precipitately the society into which he had entered, as the probability of her being sacrificed to a man who had proved himself not only destitute of religion, but of honour, was insupportable and dreadful.

He then endeavoured, with all the eloquence he could command, to prevail upon her to accept his protection, since the means of preventing the machinations of her enemies could only be accomplished by instant flight; which arguments he attempted to enforce by an avowal of his regard, and a declaration that his life would be joyfully hazarded in her defence.

Julie, who had listened to this discourse with mingled confusion and astonishment, replied with more warmth than was natural to her disposition, but with the firmness inseparable from rectitude, and the delicacy peculiar to her sex; which tended to convince the Marchese that nothing could induce her to rush voluntarily into an act of imprudence, which might hereafter be attended with the severest remorse; and, though she acknowledged the high sense she entertained of the honour he was anxious to confer, desired, if he valued her esteem, he would desist from farther solicitation. She was then hastening towards the chateau, when the Marchese, throwing himself at her feet, again besought her attention.

'Say but that you pity me,' continued he, respectfully taking her hand, which she instantly withdrew, 'that you forgive this premature declaration, and promise that no arguments shall persuade you to bestow yourself upon a man who has proved himself unworthy of your favour.'

Julie, having given him an answer sufficiently satisfactory concerning Vescolini, whom she now began to reflect upon with increasing indignation, quickened her steps towards the mansion, and had just reached the edge of the lawn, pursued by the Marchese, when Madame Laronne's carriage appeared at the gate.

Alarmed at her unexpected arrival, she ran to the side of the carriage, and inquired if she was indisposed, or what had occasioned her return, with that affectionate tenderness of deportment natural to her character, whilst the Marchese endeavoured to escape unobserved through the vista, which opened on the lawn, till perceiving he was already discovered by the person whose notice he was visibly anxious to elude, he was compelled to emerge from his obscurity.

Madame Laronne, having observed an alteration in the looks of her imaginary lover, when she had mentioned the indisposition of Mademoiselle de Rubine, and having also remarked that soon afterwards he had suddenly disappeared, began to feel herself neglected by the only individual in the company whose attention she was anxious to secure, and by comparing the present with the past, and reverting to some little occurrences which her vanity had prevented her from considering before, suspected her niece as the cause. She had a presentiment that he was with her during her continuance at the route, and being determined to ascertain the truth of the surmise, had pleaded a sudden indisposition as an excuse to return to her chateau.

Confused and chagrined at this discovery, the Marchese, though not often off his guard, was unable to acquit himself with his accustomed address; and after inquiring into the state of her health as he led her from the carriage, which was answered with an air of unusual formality, an awkward silence ensued. Conscious of the integrity and purity of her conduct, Julie met the angry glances of her aunt with patient firmness, who exerted herself to conceal her mortification whilst in the presence of the Marchese.

As soon as he had retired, Julie perceiving from the countenance of Madame Laronne, that she had but little to expect from the candour and clemency of her offended relative, sat for some moments in silent dread. 'Your taste for solitude is at last well accounted for,' cried the irritated lady, darting a look of severity at her innocent niece; 'I little thought when I consented to take you under my protection, that my kindness would have been repaid with such flagrant ingratitude; but since the liberty I have allowed you in the disposal of your time has induced you to form assignations which may lead to the most dangerous consequences, I am resolved to prevent the bad effects of a conduct which prudence would blush to reflect upon, to hasten your marriage with the Signor; granting you a month only to conquer your ridiculous scruples, during which interval I shall insist upon you confining yourself to your chamber, excepting the evenings when you will be permitted to have a private conference with your lover.'

Finding that no powers of persuasion were likely to soften the invincible cruelty of Madame Laronne, Julie retired from her presence, and, after some time spent in devotion with more than usual earnestness, she endeavoured to find comfort in repose. But the subject of her dreams had a reference to the past; her sleep was transient and disturbed, for fearful and uneasy visions fleeted before her fancy.

In the morning she arose long before her accustomed hour, and cast her eyes over her ancient and gloomy apartment, which was now become her prison, with a painful sensation, though even this was felicity when compared with the prospects of the future.

Several days were passed by Mademoiselle de Rubine in this dreary confinement, in which time she received no message or visit from Madame Laronne, who avoided giving her any opportunity of repeating her entreaties. Dorothée, one of the inferior domestics, who had received orders to convey her food into the chamber, glanced upon her a look of tender concern as she was performing her office, which Julie, long unused to the language of sympathy, did not fail to return.

'This is a poor forlorn looking place, Mademoiselle,' cried the simple-hearted girl, looking fearfully around as she spread the cloth upon the table for supper; 'I little thought Madame would have fixed upon this for your apartment, that looks for all the world as if it was haunted by spirits, when there are so many handsome ones in the chateau!'

Julie, being awakened from her reverie by these words, which were uttered in an accent of condolence, was going to reply, when a message from her aunt summoned her into the saloon.

Weak and trembling she descended the stairs, and a glow of resentment crimsoned her cheek, when on entering the room she beheld, instead of Madame Laronne, the Signor Vescolini. Amazed and disconcerted, she was hastily retreating, when he caught her hand to prevent her retiring, and closing the door, led her to a chair. As soon as she was seated, he repeated his former professions, lamenting at the same time that measures, seemingly so arbitrary, could not be dispensed with; assuring her, that when he had attained the completion of his happiness, he would endeavour to insure her's by the most unremitting attention to her desires; and, though he could not so far divest himself of every thing repugnant to her inclinations as to embrace the tenets of the Romish Church, he would allow her the free exercise of her religion, and would engage a confessor to attend her.

Julie, who rejected his proposals with dignity and energy, informed him, that if he desired to make any alteration in her sentiments respecting himself, that this could only be accomplished by his desisting from further persecution, which, as her resolution was irrevocably fixed, would be at once conducive to his honour and her peace.

Pacing the room for some minutes with a perturbed air, and then gazing wildly upon her face, he declared that nothing on earth should alter his determination; and, though he had much rather use persuasion than force, if one would not prove effectual, the other must.

'In a fortnight from this time,' resumed he, emphatically, 'you become my wife; and as business of a peculiar nature will detain me from this place during the interval, I must request you will employ it in attempting to reconcile yourself to a destiny that is unavoidable. Madame Laronne will see you no more till the ceremony is performed.'

The truth of the Marchese's assertion being now proved, Julie was unable for the moment to utter a reply. She endeavoured to arise, but could not; her limbs trembled her voice failed an ashy paleness overspread her face and she sunk into a state of insensibility!

Vescolini, having caught her in his arms, rang the bell for some water, which soon acted as a restorative; and wiping a tear from his eye, uttered some incoherent expressions as he pressed her hand to his breast, and suffered her to be conveyed from the room.

The next morning, her agitation being in some measure subsided, she began to reflect seriously upon her situation, and to consider if by any means she could prevent the success of the Signor's designs. Her first resolve was, to send a note to Madame Laronne, to desire she would indulge her with an interview, which intention was speedily executed. To this an answer was returned, which was perfectly consistent with her former conduct; it contained an assurance of the request being granted, on her promise of acceding to the proposals of Signor Vescolini, but on no other conditions, and a conviction that, if she still continued to decline the alliance, she had nothing to expect from her compassion.

Several days had elapsed after this event, in which time Julie was not permitted to see any of the family except Dorothée. During this period of suspense, the extreme agitation of her mind so seriously affected her health, that the rose had forsaken her cheek, though without considerably impairing her beauty, having left in its stead a bewitching softness of complexion, a kind of interesting dejection, which was infinitely more charming and attractive than the most striking animation of colour.

One week of that fortnight which was to seal her inevitable doom, was now past, and still no probable means of preventing the success of these authoritative measures appeared. To escape unassisted from the chateau was impracticable, and to stay (in the present situation of affairs) would be attended with unavoidable misery; yet, possessing much sanguineness of disposition, she did not yield, without reflection, to the despondency of the moment. Some unexpected assistance she still hoped might be administered, though no object was presented to her imagination to justify and confirm the supposition.

This comfort, however delusive in its consequences, was cherished as a divine emanation, and with spirits more tranquillized than before, she partook of the evening's repast, whilst Dorothée, availing herself of her permission, kindled a fire in the apartment, as the night was unusually chill; and the hollow gusts of wind, penetrating through the crevices of the walls, which were but partially covered with the faded and decayed tapestry, made her shrink with cold.

Having drawn close to the fire, whose cheerful blaze enlivened the gloominess of her extensive apartment, she thought in the pauses of the wind she perceived the whispering of voices on the stairs. The sound was indistinct; but on advancing towards the door, she easily distinguished that of the Marchese, who, before she had time for resistance, entered the room.

Alarmed at this intrusion, she uttered an involuntary scream, and attempted to retire; but this he so resolutely opposed, that she was compelled to desist. When he had in some degree quieted her apprehensions, he acquainted her with the purport of his visit, which was to convey some important and necessary intelligence respecting the intentions of Signor Vescolini, who had determined, with the assistance of Madame Laronne, to remove her either by force or stratagem from the chateau at the expiration of three days, and to oblige her to assent to the nuptials. How he had obtained this information he seemed unwilling to disclose; but from what had already occurred, the intimation was too probable to admit of a doubt as to the truth of it; and the shortness of the intervening time appeared to preclude all possibility of escape.

The Marchese, who beheld every movement of her soul in the expression of her countenance, so tenderly interested himself in her concerns, and applauded so warmly that uniform piety and rectitude of mind which had hitherto withstood the attacks of severity and artifice, that, though Julie continually besought him to resign her to her destiny, she was not insensitive to the sympathy he discovered, which she assured him would be ever gratefully retained in her memory.

He then ventured to repeat his former proposals, urging the necessity of the measure with all the arts of persuasion he could summon to his aid, which, he added, would insure his happiness, and, he presumed to flatter himself, her own. That, if she would consent to accept of his protection, a carriage should be stationed at a convenient distance from the chateau, which would convey her with all imaginable speed to the Castello St Aubin, where the ceremony, which was to complete his felicity, might be instantly performed.

Though Julie at first strenuously opposed a proceeding which, on a cursory survey, appeared rash and imprudent, she was finally influenced by a mode of behaviour, which, but for the circumstance of his having forced himself into her room, was at once amiable and respectful; and ventured to promise, if he would immediately quit the apartment, she would reconsider his proposals, and acquaint him with the result of her reflections on the ensuing day.

As soon as the Marchese had retired, Mademoiselle de Rubine being again alone, began to ruminate in silence upon this singular adventure. The person who was solicitous to obtain her regard, had hitherto conducted himself in her presence with the strictest propriety and decorum. In respect to religion he was decidedly of that persuasion in which she had been educated, and early taught to believe was essential both to her temporal and eternal interests. His figure was rather agreeable to her than otherwise; in manners he was peculiarly elegant and alluring, whilst in point of rank, which was only a secondary consideration, it was a match which she imagined as far transcended her merit as expectations. To escape unassisted from the power of Vescolini was impossible, and even could it be effected, without a protector to act in her defence, she was still liable to insult and persecution.

These arguments determined her to accept the offers of the Marchese, could she be so fortunate as to prevail upon her favourite domestic to attend her. This being easily accomplished, she awaited the evening, when she was to deliver her final answer to him agreeable to her promise, with a kind of fearful impatience.

Madame Laronne had so carefully concealed from Mademoiselle de Rubine her extraordinary prepossession in favour of the Marchese, that the most distant suspicion of this partiality never occurred to her thoughts, or she might have concluded, from the present as well as the past, that jealousy was the foundation of this arbitrary conduct.

When the time, in which her final decision was to be conveyed to the Marchese, arrived, being anxious to spare herself the confusion of another interview, Julie wrote a note to acquaint him with the whole of her determination, which was carefully delivered by Dorothée. Another was instantly returned, informing her that a carriage would be in readiness to receive them beyond the walls of the mansion, at an appointed hour, on the succeeding evening.

The intervening time was passed by Mademoiselle de Rubine in extreme agitation of mind; she, however, endeavoured to combat her fears, and when the hour of their departure approached, had reasoned herself into some degree of composure.

Having with much difficulty escaped from the chateau, she ran, attended by Dorothée, to the appointed spot; and the Marchese, after placing them in the carriage, seated himself by their side, and commanded the postillion to proceed.

In a few hours they reached the Castello St Aubin, the residence of the Marchese, and a priest being in readiness, the nuptials were solemnized.

As soon as this ceremony was performed, he acquainted Julie, that, owing to his not having at present informed his friends of the connexion, it was necessary for them to remove to another of his seats till the affair should be unfolded. To this proposition Julie readily assented, and was soon afterwards conveyed to a hunting villa, in a very remote situation, half concealed in a wood.

Here the augmenting tenderness of the Marchese, aided by his amiable and polished manners, soon ripened what was only esteem into the most lasting affection; but the happiness of Mademoiselle de Rubine was always of a transient nature. After the few first months had elapsed, his attentions visibly declined; he was continually forming excuses to absent himself, and at last nearly forsook the retreat. He was forever engaged in parties of pleasure, in gaming, and expensive diversions; and when he visited the villa, conducted himself towards Julie with a chilling indifference of demeanour, which was perceived with inexpressive uneasiness.

Yet still she retained some hopes that when the tender interest of a father was united with that of a husband, his former affection might be awakened, and his home endeared; but in this she was also deceived; he still pleaded engagements; nor could the infantine innocence of Enrîco withdraw him from folly and dissipation.

Unable to endure the pressure of this severe and unexpected calamity, she at last ventured to inquire of the Marchese in what way she had been so unfortunate as to forfeit his regard, and if there was no possible means of regaining it? But what was her grief and astonishment when he informed her that their nuptials were not solemnized by a priest, and that the marriage was consequently illegal!

For a considerable time after she had received this intelligence Julie was too ill to bear a removal; but as soon as her health was sufficiently re-established, she took an eternal adieu of the Marchese, and with the child and Dorothée, after much fatigue and many difficulties, repaired to the cottage on the borders of the Lake of Geneva.

Chapter 8

 

I care not, Fortune, what you from me take.

You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace;

You cannot shut the windows of the sky.

Thro' which Aurora shews her brightening face;

You cannot bar my constant feet to trace

The woods and lawns by living streams at eve;

Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace.

Of Fancy, Reason, Virtue, nought can me bereave.

--THOMSON

Several years passed in an uninterrupted tranquillity at the castle of Elfinbach, and its peaceful inhabitants, being perfectly reconciled to their situation, had not a wish ungratified. No visitor, except Paoli, broke in upon their solitude, and his visits being those of business and necessity, were hastily terminated.

The amiable manners of Julie, whose real name will hereafter be disguised under that of Chamont, and the uniform sweetness of her disposition, so endeared her to her dependants, that the domestics were cheerful and assiduous to oblige; and as she contemplated the happy countenances around her, she felt that delightful sensation arising from the performance of duty, which is frequently the only temporal reward of virtue; but is, notwithstanding, a reward so considerable, that the mind, which has once experienced its effects, would not exchange it for every other advantage independent of it.

Ambrose, who had been long tutored in the family of the Marchese, did not possess that openness of character which distinguished the rest of the household. A mixture of selfishness and cunning was evident in his disposition, which could not elude the penetration of an accurate observer, though upon the whole he appeared quiet and inoffensive; and, if he did not secure the esteem of his associates, he managed so as to escape their censure.

Nothing could be more simple, more innocent, than the life of Madame Chamont, which was occupied in the education of her children, in family arrangements, and every other worthy employment which her station required.

Both Enrîco and Laurette displayed early in life quickness of parts and gracefulness of demeanour, which were united with the most amiable inclinations of which the human mind is susceptible. It was impossible for any thing to exceed their mutual affection; one was never to be seen without the other; in play, or in study, they were equally inseparable; nor could one taste of any enjoyment, of which the other might not partake.

Enrîco possessed spirit, and energy of soul, sufficient to encounter the greatest difficulties. He was sometimes impatient of controul, and impetuous in his replies; but a fault was scarcely committed before it was followed by repentance, and an earnest desire of removing the consequent uneasiness of his mother by the most endearing caresses.

Laurette was blessed with an equal share of sensibility, but was gentle and timid. Her manners were so invariably amiable, that she never excited anger; when she did fall into an error, which was seldom the case, a look of disapprobation was sufficient to recall her to a sense of her duty, and an acknowledgment of her fault. Her charming instructress had never imposed herself upon her as her mother, neither had she intimated anything relative to the mysterious manner in which she had been conveyed to her; but had taught her to believe that she was an orphan, protected by the Marchese de Montferrat, to whom she was under infinite obligations, and whose kindness she must repay with the obedience of a child.

Nor was Enrîco informed of the circumstances of his birth, his affectionate parent having concealed from him, with equal discretion, what she did not cease to reflect upon with unutterable anguish; though sometimes in infantine simplicity he would touch upon the subject, and ask some questions respecting his father, his innocent interrogatories being only answered by tears and blushes, he had soon penetration enough to discover they had awakened mournful recollections, and a sufficient degree of prudence to discontinue the inquiry.

Father Benedicta, a friar, who belonged to a monastery of Carthusians, not far from the castle of Elfinbach, and who was Madame Chamont's confessor, assisted her in the education of the children. He was a man that had spent the early part of his life in the bustle and gaiety of the world, in which he was supposed to have suffered much from disappointment; but what were the misfortunes that had occasioned this almost total seclusion from society, and from which he had taken refuge in the gloom of a cloister, were unknown even to the fraternity; but they were thought to be of a peculiar and mournful nature. Yet, though removed from the pleasures, he was sensible to the charities of life. To the unfortunate, the afflicted, or the dying, he was a never failing source of support and assistance; he never heard of a calamity in which he did not take an interest, or a request, if virtuous, that he did not immediately grant. But the uniform austerities of his own life were beyond the strictest rules of his order, and it was only from the tender concern that he discovered for the welfare of others, that he was supposed to feel any 'touch of humanity'.

He overlooked the conduct of Enrîco and Laurette with the mild benignity of a saint; instructed them in the principles of religion, as well as in the classics, and watched the unfolding of each infant virtue with parental tenderness.

From the instructive conversation of this holy Father, Madame Chamont reaped many advantages; he was her friend and adviser, as well as her confessor, acquitting himself always to her satisfaction in every undertaking; though his increasing affection for his pupils, exclusively considered, was of itself sufficient to secure her esteem.

Of this Monk she made an inquiry concerning La Roque; but no Friar of the name of Francisco had arrived at his monastery. At her request he wrote to the Superiors of several others, but every attempt of gaining intelligence upon the subject proved ineffectual, which made her apprehend that either his illness had proved fatal, or that he had fallen into the hands of his persecutors. His mournful, his interesting expressions, the stingings of remorse that attended the recollection of his sufferings, excited her Compassion whenever she reflected upon them, and awakened new curiosity to be acquainted with the sequel.

The undisturbed felicity which was experienced by Madame Chamont in the bosom of her family, and in the exercise of religion and virtue, was of a more pure and animated nature than any she had enjoyed since the death of her parents. No society was to her like that of her children, no hours passed so pleasantly as those dedicated to their improvement and amusement; whilst on their part affection was so entirely divested of fear, that they were never so happy as when in her presence.

The mornings were chiefly devoted to study, and the evenings to beautiful rambles in the woods, or along the margin of the river, and sometimes to the adjacent villages, where they were enabled to feel that tranquil delight arising from the practice of benevolence the luxury of succouring the unfortunate, and of giving an expression of joy to the face long accustomed to sadness.

The study of botany was one of Madame Chamont's favourite employments, in which she had made some proficiency, which occasioned her to spend many hours in the fields, improving herself in this useful and elegant science. On these expeditions her young pupils were ever ready to attend her, and taking an osier basket on her arm, she would frequently wander with them in the stillness of the evening amid scenes the most romantic and picturesque, where, seated upon a hillock, or under the broad shade of a chestnut, she would weave a garland for Enrîco, or a chaplet to adorn the beautiful hair of Laurette; and frequently they would exchange the fertile and cultivated charms of Nature for her unadorned and more majestic works; sometimes they would ascend the steep crags of the mountains, where all was wild, waste, and rude, yet in its naked simplicity grand, stupendous, and sublime. Here they would contemplate the awful beauty of the scene, the retiring hills half lost in the distant horizon, and the spires of some neighbouring abbeys just appearing amid the deep gloom of the woods, and hearken to the faint sound of the vesper bell, borne at intervals upon the wing of the breeze; and sometimes, when not a breath of air disturbed the universal calm, or shook the light foliage of the leaves, the distant chaunt of the Nuns would be heard, now swelling into holy rapture, and now sinking into sweet and mournful cadence, till softened by distance, or lost in the rising flutter of the gale, it died away upon the ear.

To the admirer of Nature every object she presents becomes interesting; the variety of her charms relieves the mind from satiety, and, in the enjoyment of her beauties, the soul of the enthusiast becomes elevated above the narrow boundaries of the world: he sees the Creator in his works, and adores in silence the perfection of the whole. At times a disposition of this cast will be inclined to melancholy; but it is a sublime and tender melancholy, which he would not resign for all the pleasures which gaiety could bestow, or wealth procure. To such impressions as these the mind of Madame Chamont was peculiarly susceptible, and she perceived this pensive sensation steal upon her spirits, at that season above all others, when the rich bloom of the landscape begins to fade, when the glow of vegetation and the flush of maturity are past, and the whole scenery exhibits a more saddened, but a more interesting appearance.

To these simple and innocent delights Enrîco and Laurette discovered an early attachment, which their amiable protectress beheld with satisfaction. She knew the necessity of employment, being well aware of the danger attending inactivity and indolence. She taught them to value every moment of their existence, not allowing them to pass without due improvement. Reading was a favourite occupation, and Madame Chamont did not neglect the selecting such books for their perusal as were capable of conveying both instruction and amusement, the reading of which might be considered not so much a task as a recreation. Enrîco was partial to historical writings, and having been permitted to examine, at an early age, the most eminent authors in that species of composition, was soon well acquainted with the works of the most celebrated Grecian and Latin historians. He was also an ardent lover of ancient poetry, particularly of the epic kind. Homer, Lucan, and Virgil, were perused with juvenile transport; nor was the much admired Gerusalemme of Tasso disregarded: his soul was fired with the illustrious atchievements of Rinaldo, and he burned with an irresistible desire of attaining military honours. Madame Chamont, who discovered his inclinations before he was conscious of having betrayed them, endeavoured at first to check a propensity which she had not a sufficient portion of fortitude to reflect upon with calmness: but finding that his happiness depended upon the success of his hopes, opposition appeared like cruelty; and having heard from Paoli that the Marchese wished to provide for him in the army, where his interest could not fail of being successful, she began to reason herself into compliance. She considered that if his disposition had a strong bias to a military life, he would not have an equal chance of rising to eminence in any other profession; and that this disposition, aided by the powerful interest of the Marchese, would doubtless raise him to high preferment. Thus the fondness overcame the fears of the mother, and she acquiesced in the proposition.

When this affair was determined upon, the Marchese being apprized of Enrîco's wishes, procured him a commission in the army of Maximilian, Duke of Bavaria, and Paoli attending to conduct him from the castle, he took an affectionate adieu of his mother and Laurette, and proceeded on his journey.

For some time after the departure of Enrîco every countenance expressed concern and inquietude. Dorothée, who had been his nurse from his infancy, was inconsolable for his loss, and continued to weep incessantly; but being gradually reconciled to what was unavoidable, the family regained their serenity.

In a short time Madame Chamont received a letter from him, which contained the most pleasing intelligence, that he was well and happy. He spoke tenderly of his dear companion, his little Laurette, and desired she might be told that he would never forget her. This account of the health and welfare of Enrîco was received by his excellent parent with the most lively rapture; and though sometimes this temporary absence would cast a shade of sorrow upon her countenance, which all her firmness could not enable her to subdue, she would anticipate the future glory of her son; her sanguine imagination would follow him through all the intricacies of his destiny, and represent him covered with honours, and glowing in the pride of martial glory.

With redoubled attention Madame Chamont now devoted herself to the education of her lovely charge. She instructed her without any assistance in the French and Italian languages, as well as in drawing and music. She also cultivated her taste for poetry, of which she was passionately fond.

The songs of Laurette were generally of the plaintive kind, which she accompanied with her lute with exquisite taste and judgment; though she sometimes exerted herself in a lively air to dissipate the tender dejection which was perceptible in the demeanour of Madame Chamont, when her thoughts reverted too anxiously to her son, who felt she was amply repaid for all the attention she had bestowed upon her orphan charge, by her undeviating assiduity to please, and the sweetness of disposition she displayed.

The absence of Enrîco had for some time affected the spirits of Laurette. She could ill support the loss of him who had been the companion of her infancy, the sharer in her amusements and her studies, and for whom she felt more than a sisterly affection.

Laurette in person was at the age of fourteen, in which time she had nearly completed her growth, rather above the middle size. Her form was of the most perfect symmetry, her complexion rather delicate than blooming; her eyes were dark, sparkling, and tender, and when directed upwards had an expression of sweetness, and sometimes of melancholy, that was at once charming and interesting. When silent, there was a certain softness in her countenance that was infinitely fascinating; and when animated by the expression that her conversation diffused, it was equally captivating and alluring. Though her cheek did not always display the full and glowing tint of the rose, yet exercise, or an emotion of surprise, awakened the most delicate bloom, and gave a dazzling lustre to her beauty.

Whene'er with soft serenity she smil'd.

Or caught the orient blush of quick surprise.

How sweetly mutable, how brightly wild.

The liquid lustre darted from her eyes!

--MASON

One of the rooms in the eastern part of the building, which was entirely appropriated to herself, contained her music, books, drawing implements, and embroidery. The windows of this room opened upon a lawn, that was terminated by groves of laurel, fir, and flowering ash. Here she spent many hours in the morning, improving herself, with the assistance of Madame Chamont, in useful and elegant employments. She usually arose early, and rambled for some time unattended through wild and unfrequented walks, where too frequently the image of Enrîco would recur to her imagination, and melt her into tears. These rambles were inexpressibly grateful to her at that charming season when all Nature is rising as from her grave into perfect vegetation and verdure, when the embryo leaves are just unfolding their beauties to the sun, and all breathe harmony, delight, and rapture! It was after one of these little romantic excursions that she penned the following lines, which was the first effort of her muse: blended with the harsher lines of calamity, each uniting to soften what could not be eradicated.

SONNET TO SPRING

Come, lovely nymph, with all thy flow'ry train.

And let thy herald gem these mountains hoar;

With fragrant violets deck this lonely plain.

And bid rude Winter's whirlwind howl no more.

Thy soft approach the hawthorn buds declare.

That scent, with odours sweet, the passing gale.

And, clad in snowy vest, the lily fair.

Hides her meek beauties in the humid vale.

Oh! come, thou nymph divine, delightful Spring!

With all thy graces, all thy melting lays.

And mild Content, thy sweet companion, bring.

She that in sylvan shades and woodlands strays:

Whose angel form, health's blushing sweets disclose.

And on whose beauteous lip the eastern ruby glows.

Laurette's time was not so entirely devoted to music, reading, or the study of languages, as to preclude the duties of society, nor the tender and benevolent offices of charity. She frequently visited the sick, the infirm, and the aged, and to work for the peasantry that inhabited the border of the river, was a favourite occupation.

In one of these cottages was a poor widow, who was left with a numerous family, without any other means of support than what was afforded by her own industry. Here Madame Chamont and Laurette oftentimes resorted to soften the acuteness of distress, and to relieve the hardships of poverty. By their hands the younger part of the family were entirely clothed, who no sooner beheld their benefactresses, than they flocked around them with the most endearing tenderness; their presence diffused universal pleasure, and never was the sentiment of gratitude more eloquently expressed than in the countenance of the widow. Those who have experienced the luxurious sensation of contributing to the happiness of their fellow-creatures will form some estimate of that heartfelt satisfaction, which animated the amiable visiters as they contemplated the objects of their benevolence; and will allow, that it is a luxury too pure, and too refined, to exist in the midst of folly and dissipation, and, like other virtues, usually retires from the bustle of the world to the silent walks of domestic life.

To be continued

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