THE ORPHAN OF THE RHINE
PART 8
Chapter 10
Down many a winding step, mid dungeons dank.
Where anguish wails aloud, and fetters clank
To caves bestrew'd with many a mouldering bone.
And cells, whose echos only learn to groan.
Where no kind bars a whispering friend disclose.
No sun-beam enters, and no zephyr blows.
He treads.
--DARWIN
A
considerable time had elapsed since the departure of Enrîco, and no recent
account of him having arrived at the castle, a thousand mournful conjectures
destroyed the repose of Madame Chamont and Laurette, who began to believe that
he was either taken captive, or was slain by his more fortunate foes, while
bravely fighting the cause of the great Maximilian. These dreadful
apprehensions drew tears incessantly from the eyes of his affectionate mother,
whilst her beautiful pupil, who endeavoured to appear cheerful in the presence
of her protectress, often retired to her apartment, or into the secret recesses
of the woods, to weep and suffer in silence.
The
imagined fate of the young warrior was yet undecided, when Paoli once more
arrived at the mansion. From him they indulged a hope of gaining some
information respecting the Bavarian armies; but this proving delusive, the
family again sunk into sorrow and deep dejection.
Madame
Chamont's mind was so extremely agitated with these distressing surmises, that,
unable to sleep, she frequently forsook her bed before the sun had risen upon
the mountains, and wandered for some hours unattended in the solitudes of the
forest; hoping, in the contemplation of external objects, that she might be
able to divert her thoughts from a subject that was attended with the severest
anguish.
One
morning, having extended her walk much longer than usual, she found herself in
a part of the domain which she had never visited before. It was more wild and
picturesque than any thing she had ever seen; an appearance of uncultivated
grandeur was delineated in the prospect it commanded, an air of desolation that
was in unison with her feelings, and to the frame of mind she was then in, was infinitely
more grateful than the more soft and glowing landscape.
As she
continued her ramble through the most woody part of the grounds, one object
above all others engaged her attention, and excited her surprise.
This was a
small square tower that once belonged to the fortification wall of the castle,
which had formerly spread along a vast extent of ground, including the
principal part of the forest; the design of which was evidently that, in case
of a siege, a sufficient quantity of cattle might be pastured to supply the
inhabitants during the attack. This solitary turret, which, with the aid of a
buttress, had strengthened one of the angles of the exterior polygon, was all
that remained of the out work, and even this was falling to decay. It was overtopped
with long grass, briery, and the enchanter's nightshade; and being almost
immersed in the deep gloom of the woods, seemed to have become the residence of
birds of prey.
Curiosity
impelling her to examine the inside of the fabric, she entered what had once
been a door, and was proceeding through the arch on the opposite side, when the
sound of voices issuing from below struck her with terror and dismay. The first
idea that presented itself, which the extreme solitude of the situation seemed
to favour, was, that it was the resort of a party of banditti, which made her
irresolute whether to stop for a few minutes to be convinced if she was right
in her conjecture, or to hasten from a place which threatened her with danger,
and return towards the mansion. Whilst she was thus hesitating, she perceived,
at the most remote part of the structure, a small iron door, and on one side of
it, nearly at the bottom, a narrow grated aperture. An irresistible impulse
impelled her to kneel down, that she might be able to observe to what part of
the building this entrance led; but the light this window admitted was so
feeble, that she could but just distinguish a small extent of passage, which
apparently terminated in a flight of stone steps.
In a state
of inconceivable dread she listened for some moments to be assured from whence
the voices proceeded; but the deep sighing of the wind among the trees
prevented her from discriminating any other sound. Anxious to be assured who
were the people thus strangely secluded in the subterranean recesses of this
gloomy abode, and to be acquainted with the purpose of their concealment, she
advanced fearfully towards the door, and examining it attentively, endeavoured
to discover some way of opening it; but no visible means appearing, she pressed
forcibly against it, and to her utter astonishment it unclosed. Thus enabled to
gratify a curiosity which was augmented by the small prospect of gratification
the first view of it had presented, she walked slowly through the passage, and
was within a few paces of the stairs when a deep groan, which was instantly
succeeded by the clinking of a chain, overcame her with horror and amazement.
Fear having suspended her faculties, she stood for a few seconds motionless as
a statue, totally unable either to proceed or to return, till a loud voice,
elevated as in anger, recovered her from her stupor, which being answered in
the low, mournful accents of entreaty, convinced her that some unhappy being
was suffering in that unfrequented and dreary solitude; but, as the turret
belonged immediately to the castle, who could be the tyrant, and who the
prisoner, was strange beyond conjecture.
As soon as
she was enabled to conquer the terror this incident had occasioned, she again
advanced towards the stairs, and in the pauses of the wind heard these words
distinctly pronounced, in a voice which she immediately knew to be Paoli's:--
'You have
had a sufficient time allowed you, and as death is inevitable, and nothing can
procure even a temporary respite, you have only to chuse the means. I leave
this place to-day. The moments are precious, therefore be hasty in your
determination.'
These
incoherent expressions were enough to assure her that some person was confined
in that place for the purpose of being murdered. Almost fainting with
apprehension, she receded as far as the entrance, and holding the iron door
with her hand, was irresolute whether to return again towards the steps, or to
hurry from the spot. As she stood for a few moments endeavouring to overcome the
agony that this strange adventure had excited, as well as to consider if it was
not possible, by timely interference, to avert the fate that awaited this
victim of perhaps unjust resentment, she heard a noise like the undrawing of
rusty bolts, which was followed by the sound of footsteps, apparently
proceeding towards her.
Knowing
this could be no other than Paoli, she closed the door that led into the
passage, and rapidly retreating, concealed herself in the thick foliage of the
trees that surrounded the lonely turret; but in such a situation, that she must
unavoidably see him pass.
In a few
minutes he quitted the tower; and having turned into the glade, was hastily
putting something into his pocket, when the rustling of the trees, under which
Madame Chamont had secreted herself to elude being noticed by him, made him
start involuntarily, and what he was attempting to secure fell upon the ground.
The grass preventing any noise, he was unconscious of his loss, and, seemingly
satisfied with being undiscovered, walked speedily away.
Paoli
having reached a considerable distance, Madame Chamont emerged from her
obscurity, and on gaining the spot the steward had recently left, beheld, to
her unutterable joy, a small rusty key, which she had no doubt belonged to the
dungeon where the sufferer was confined.
For some
time she was undetermined whether immediately to release the unfortunate
captive from his state of misery and perplexity, or to return to the castle,
and to perform that office of humanity as soon as Paoli had quitted it, who had
just intimated an intention of commencing his journey without further delay. On
mature deliberation the latter plan was adopted; as, should the careful steward
be aware of his loss before his arrival at the mansion, he would probably
return in hopes of being able to recover it, in which case her generous designs
would not only be frustrated, but instant death, or new and unheard-of torture
might be inflicted upon the ill-fated object of her compassion.
This being
resolved upon, she returned towards the castle elated at the thoughts of being
able to release a fellow-creature from the grasp of inflexible tyranny, and
secretly determining not to acquaint Laurette with the adventure, as it was
impossible that an affair of that kind could be executed without the knowledge
and consent of the Marchese; consequently, was she to be informed of this
singular circumstance, she would reflect upon him, whom she had every reason to
believe was the author of her being, with horror and aversion.
As soon as
she had reached the outer court, she beheld her beautiful charge, with the airy
lightness of a sylph, advancing to meet her; an emotion of joy played upon her
features, and the usual salutations being over, she presented her with a letter
from Enrîco.
Madame
Chamont's feelings on this occasion can better be imagined than described. The
intelligence the epistle conveyed was of the most pleasing kind; he spoke
highly of his Colonel, the Marchese de Martilini, and rapturously of the way of
life in which he had engaged. He also informed them that, as his regiment, at
the close of the year, was likely to be stationed in a less remote province, he
entertained some hopes of being permitted to pay his respects to his beloved
mother and his dear Laurette, at the expiration of a few months.
Thus
effectually relieved from a painful inquietude, Madame Chamont, though she
could not forbear slightly censuring the negligence that had given rise to it,
felt a degree of tranquillity and animation which she had been long unused to.
As soon as
she arrived at the castle, she found Paoli was already returned; and being
assured, from his manner, that he had not seen her in the forest, scrupulously
avoided mentioning any thing in his presence relative to her excursion.
Immediately
on his departure she resolved, though enervated with the terror this occurrence
had excited, to visit the solitary tower, and to liberate the unfortunate
captive. The more she considered this singular incident, the more mysterious it
appeared. If the Marchese had received any material injury from the prisoner,
why not resign him to the laws of his country? Or, if the offence was of too
venial a nature for justice to punish with death, or sufferance, why confine
him at so vast a distance from his own residence, when assassination, or
torture, might have been inflicted with equal secrecy and success in the
dungeons of the Castello St Aubin? What Paoli had uttered before he quitted his
victim was expressive of the most arbitrary conduct; for though it allowed him
the choice of means, this affected clemency was counteracted by a repetition of
threats, which could not fail to appal the most resolute mind. He mentioned,
during this conference, his intention of leaving the castle immediately, and the
necessity of a hasty determination respecting the method of accomplishing the
design; yet the matter seemed not to have been decided; no violent measures had
at present been adopted, no screams of terror, or of agonizing torture, had
pierced the deep solitude of the woods. The unfortunate being was then
assuredly alive, though probably left to perish by poison, or the pining
miseries of famine. More than once it occurred to her thoughts that it might
possibly be La Roque; yet the length of time that had elapsed since her meeting
with him at the post house, did not justify the opinion, as, had he so long
escaped falling into the hands of his enemy, he would surely, before this time,
have placed himself beyond the reach of his malice. The clinking of a chain, so
distinctly heard from the place, convinced her of the difficulty of her
enterprize; but recollecting that amongst a quantity of old lumber, in one of
the chambers in the northern buildings, she had observed several files, and
other instruments, which might be useful in the undertaking, she hastened to
find them.
Having
obtained the means of admission, she entered this range of apartments, which,
from superstition, or some more rational motive, were kept constantly fastened,
and in one of the most desolate-looking rooms, discovered the objects of her
search. They were thrown into a remote corner, with a considerable number of
broken helmets, shields, corselets, and other military accoutrements, with some
fragments of different kinds of tapestry, and a large heap of rusty keys, which
seemed to have remained in a state of inactivity for many years. After availing
herself of these treasures, whilst Laurette was employed in her morning
amusements and exercises, with a hurried step and palpitating heart she bent
her way towards the tower.
When she
arrived at the entrance, she looked fearfully round, lest any one should
observe her; but no one approaching, and no sound, not even the flutter of the
breeze, disturbing the awful stillness of the place, she ventured to proceed.
The iron door, as on a former occasion, gave way to a forcible pressure, and
having reached the passage, that only admitted the light of a small grated
aperture, she distinguished the flight of steps which she had perceived before.
Beyond
this all was dark; but having with much difficulty groped her way till she had
obtained the bottom of the stairs, she proceeded through a vast extent of
passage, and was then enabled to observe, by the feeble ray of a lamp that
glimmered through a crevice in the wall, a door which, from the appearance of
the light, seemed to be that leading into the dungeon. As she paused for a
moment, to find the key, a deep sigh, that might be said to breathe the
language of despair, broke the sepulchral kind of stillness that had hitherto
prevailed.
Having,
with much difficulty, applied the key to the door, she withdrew the bolts,
which the wretched inhabitant of this dark abyss supposing to be a prelude to
death, or some new calamity, answered with a scream. 'Whoever you are,' cried
Madame Chamont, in a low disordered voice, 'whom guilt or misfortune have
brought to this miserable abode, I beseech you to be comforted.' Having uttered
these words, she listened for a moment, but all was again silent; no sound was
returned, which made it probable that her words were unheard, or disregarded.
Much strength was requisite in the accomplishment of her purpose, for the lock
was so rusted by time and neglect, that it was impossible for so feeble and
delicate a hand to make it (without painful exertion) perform its
long-forgotten office. By repeated efforts she was, however, enabled to put her
designs in execution, and opening the door, which turned sullenly on its
grating hinges, she beheld, in one corner of the dungeon, a pale, emaciated
figure seated upon straw. An emotion of terror seemed to have deprived him of
reason, which prevented him from attending to the compassionate exclamation of
his deliverer; and having covered his face with his hands, he did not perceive
her approach till she was within a few steps of the place where he was sitting.
A second address, however, uttered in the plaintive accents of pity, roused him
from his stupor, and discovered to Madame Chamont the features of La Roque,
who, instead of the messenger of death which his affrighted imagination had
portrayed, beheld the still beautiful form of his former benefactress.
After
quieting his apprehensions, by convincing him of the possibility of effecting
an escape, she raised the lamp from the ground and having used many ineffectual
efforts to release him from his fetters, finally succeeded in her design.
The effusions
of his gratitude for some time deprived the astonished La Roque of utterance;
but his feelings being now too violent to be restrained, he burst into a flood
of tears. Joy and compassion operated as powerfully in the mind of Madame
Chamont, who having, after many arduous endeavours, entirely accomplished his
deliverance, assisted in raising him from the ground, and led him from the
dungeon.
Those who
have been long secluded from the beauties of Nature in a miserable subterranean
abode, can only form an adequate conception of the raptures experienced by La
Roque on his sudden emancipation from captivity. A few minutes before, he was
in continual expectation of a miserable death, hopeless, and, as he believed,
beyond the reach of compassion; now he was restored to a world from which he
imagined himself separated for ever, was permitted to behold the beautiful face
of Nature, to hear again the melody of the birds, and to feel the enlivening
breath of the zephyr; yet so much was he enervated by confinement, and his
ancles were so weakened by manacles, that he was unable to walk without
support.
Madame
Chamont, who at first thought only of the means of deliverance, now foresaw
difficulties which her mind had not been collected enough to have contemplated
before. She had now conducted La Roque from his dreadful abode, but in what
manner he was to be disposed of was an idea that never occurred to her before.
After having suffered much from the dark vapours of a dungeon, from the
miserable confinement of chains and fetters, with the addition of spare and
meagre diet, he wanted assistance and support. This rendered it impossible for
him to prosecute his journey without needful rest and refreshment; yet how was
this to be procured, since it could not be accomplished without assistance, and
this would be attended not only with difficulty, but with danger? She was
resolved, however, to procure him some food without further delay, and having
seated him upon a projection of stone in the turret, gave him a promise that she
would speedily return, and hurried towards the castle.
As she
went, she began to reflect upon the necessity of coming to a speedy resolution
in this important affair, as to the manner of proceeding in it; for should the
loss of the key be discovered, it might occasion the return of Paoli, which
would render abortive every scheme she had devised for the preservation of the
prisoner.
After much
consideration, she found it would be impossible to convey La Roque to his place
of destination without some one to assist her in the enterprise; and knowing
the prudence and secrecy of the faithful Dorothée, resolved to make her a
confidante in the undertaking. This matter being settled, she proceeded towards
the mansion with redoubled alacrity; and having acquainted her servant with the
adventure, desired that she would take some food and wine to La Roque in the
turret of the forest. The good woman, whose tenderness and compassion were
equally awakened, cheerfully obeyed the summons, whilst Madame Chamont retired
to her apartment to consider the most effectual way of rendering herself
serviceable to the much-injured La Roque, that he might be immediately placed
in security, and herself avoid detection. She saw the policy of a hasty
removal, yet was anxious that he should first recover from that state of
weakness and indisposition, to which grief and imprisonment had reduced him.
Whilst she
still continued to muse upon this affecting incident, without being able to
adopt any plan for her future conduct, the arrival of Father Benedicta, her
confessor, broke in upon her reflections.
As she
surveyed the placid countenance of this holy Father, lighted up by the smile of
benevolence, and glowing with universal philanthropy, the idea of soliciting
his protection instantly occurred to her. With his assistance La Roque might
take refuge in the monastery till he was in a condition to travel, and in the
habit of a Friar, which could easily be procured, might be secure from the
possibility of discovery.
This plan
appeared so much more eligible than any she had before conceived, that she was
resolved to put it into execution. As soon as the Monk was seated, having first
expatiated upon the duties of charity, she informed him that an unfortunate
stranger, whom she had lately met with under peculiar circumstances, which were
at present somewhat veiled in mystery, had much interested her compassion. That
there were reasons, with which she was herself partly unacquainted, why he must
be secluded from observation till he could prosecute the remaining part of his
journey without farther injury to his health; and from the exemplary piety and
general benevolence of her revered Father, she had flattered herself that he
would, if possible, offer him an asylum till that period arrived. She forbore
mentioning any thing of the Marchese, and even of Paoli, and entirely avoided
the subject of his imprisonment.
Father
Benedicta, who regarded her, during this discourse, with a look of tenderness
and admiration that encouraged her to proceed, easily discovered, from the
timid hesitation of her manner, that she was not only much concerned in the
fate of the stranger, but that there was something connected with the affair
which prudence forbade her to reveal.
Having
desisted from any inquiry that might tend to heighten her anxiety, he readily
assented to her desire of affording him a place of security, appointing an hour
in which he would meet them at the end of the eastern rampart, for the purpose
of conducting him to the cloister.
As soon as
the Friar was departed, Madame Chamont formed an excuse to Laurette for her
absence, and then returned towards the tower, where she found La Roque
considerably revived by the salutary relief which the castle had afforded, and
anxious to assure her of the extent of his gratitude.
Having
seated herself by his side, she informed him of her newly concerted scheme of
placing him in the monastery under the patronage and protection of Father
Benedicta, whose benevolent acquiescence had delivered her, she added, from
much apprehension and perplexity on his account, from which place he might
escape in the dress of the order; and should his flight be discovered by the
return of the steward, he might be easily defended from the vigilance of his
pursuers in so holy a disguise.
This
proposal, that promised at once secrecy and security, was accepted with
transport; and La Roque being evidently much recovered by the attentions
bestowed upon him since his confinement, Madame Chamont made some inquiries
concerning his daughter, who she learned was consigned to the care of a
generous protector; and then reminded him of the promise made to her at the
post-house of relating his story, at the same time desiring him to desist if he
found himself unequal to the task.
Having
acknowledged the justice of the claim, and given his assent to the proposition,
he hesitated for a few moments, as if to acquire additional fortitude; and then
checking a tear, the obtrusion of which seemed to have been occasioned by the
recollection of some recent calamity, he thus began his narration.
To be continued
