THE ORPHAN OF THE RHINE
PART 16
Chapter 2
Oft at the silent shadowy close of day.
When the tir'd grove has sung its parting lay.
When pensive Twilight, in her dusky car.
Comes slowly on to meet the evening star.
Above, below, aerial murmurs swell.
From hanging wood, brown heath, and bushy dell.
A thousand nameless rills, that shun the sight.
Stealing soft music on the ear of Night;
So oft the finer movements of the soul.
That shun the sphere of Pleasure's gay controul.
In the still shades of calm Seclusion rise.
And breathe their sweet seraphic harmonies.
--ROGERS
Laurette
had not been long resident in the castle of Lunenburg, before Paoli received an
order from the Marchese to hasten his return into Italy; who having made some
necessary arrangements, and given general orders to the Signora, prepared to
depart.
His
attention was so wholly directed to the business of rendering the mansion a fit
residence for his Lord, and he so seldom obtruded himself into the presence of
the ladies, that Laurette was scarcely conscious that he was an inhabitant of
the place. When he entered the saloon to bid them adieu, being anxious to know
when Dorothée and Lisette were to be conveyed thither, she ventured to follow
him through the hall to make some enquiries concerning them, and was informed,
to her inexpressible uneasiness, that they were already discharged; the
Marchese having recently given orders for none of her former domestics to
attend her.
There was
something in this circumstance so unkind, as well as capricious, that had not
her mind been occupied by nearer interests, she would have felt severely the
having been once flattered by assurances which were probably never intended to
be realized.
Though
hope, the usual attendant on youth and inexperience, sometimes brightened the
future prospects of our heroine, she often yielded to despondency; and though
grateful for the comforts her present situation afforded, which exceeded her
most sanguine expectations, she did not cease to reflect upon the past with the
most poignant regret and anxiety.
The
picture, which was delivered by the Monk, she wore continually in her bosom,
carefully concealing it from observation, according to her promise, and
secretly cherishing it as an invaluable relic, consecrated by the solemn manner
in which it was bestowed and endeared as being the portrait of her mother.
Though the
conversation of the Signora d'Orfo, which was at once animated and interesting,
excited in the gentle mind of Laurette the most lively emotions of gratitude,
the exertion which was requisite of wearing the aspect of cheerfulness, was
often times painful, which occasioned her to seize every opportunity of
abstracting herself from the rest of the family, when it could be done without
a breach of propriety, that she might wander alone through the grounds attached
to the castle, which were not more beautiful than extensive.
One
evening, when the Signora was engaged in giving directions to the persons
employed in the repairs, concerning the ornamental parts of the workmanship,
Laurette was induced by the fineness of the weather to ramble in an adjacent
forest; and having reached a distant part of it, seated herself upon a gentle
eminence, to enjoy the prospect it commanded. The evening was serene and
cloudless--no sound, except the song of the nightingale that was warbling its
last farewell, or the soft note of a far distant oboe, broke upon the calmness
that prevailed. These tended to recall to her memory the imagery of the past,
and, absorbed in tender reflections, she paused till every sound was hushed,
till even the night bird had forsaken his accustomed haunts, and all was
silence and repose.
Her mind
was now tenderly susceptible of the finest impressions, and the melancholy
stillness that pervaded the woods, only occasionally agitated by the last sigh
of the zephyr, aided the poetic enthusiasm that was stealing upon her spirits,
and resigning herself to the luxury of sadly pleasing emotions, she composed
the following lines:
AN ELEGY
ON THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR
Where are the wreaths that Spring's young fingers wove.
Each op'ning bud, which she had gemm'd with dew;
Hypaticas that blush'd in every grove.
The heath flower, and the violet meekly blue.
No more beneath the woodbine's trembling shade.
Peeps the wan primrose from its silken cell;
No more the wild rose blooms along the glade.
Or modest cowslip hangs her golden bell;
Yet though no shrubs the Alpine steeps adorn.
Though Spring and Summer's smiling reign be past.
I love to linger in these shades forlorn.
And listen to the rude Autumnal blast.
And chief, when Evening hangs her glooms profound
On every pine-clad hill and valley fair;
When the noctule begins his nightly round.
In mazy circles, through the liquid air;
Then oft I climb some mountain's hoary side.
Whose craggy base the silent water laves.
And mark the wand'ring Naiades, as they glide
To meet the Sea Nymphs in their coral caves;
Or seek the moss-grown cavern's inmost dell.
The tangl'd wood walk, or the forest drear;
Where, as soft, dying gales at distance swell.
Methinks the Spirit of the rock I hear.
And when meek Eve, with matron step retires
With humid tresses newly bath'd in dews;
Then Fancy visionary dreams inspires.
Veiling each object in unreal hues.
Her magic wand bids fairy forms advance.
Forms that have slept in lily bells the day.
In frolic wild to celebrate the dance.
Beneath the silver moon-beam's trembling ray;
To keep their vigils far from mortal ken.
By side of fringed brook, or shadowy glade.
Or in some rushy cavern's hallow'd glen.
Till Day's bright orb the realms of Night pervade.
Then swift they fly, nor can e'en Fancy's power.
With all her magic spells, prolong their stay.
Till Cynthia's train leads on the silent hour.
And Night's sad minstrel tunes his parting lay.
Ah! so, before cold Reason's sober gaze.
Youth's fairy visions fade and disappear;
Dark Winter thus her chilling form displays.
Blasting the produce of the blooming year.
Yet Spring again shall dress her groves with flow'rs.
Perfum'd and tinted by a hand divine;
And Music's voice delight the laughing hours;
But when will happiness again be mine?
The
deepening shades of the evening at length reminded her of her distance from the
castle, and that she had a long and lonely wilderness to pass, which made it
necessary for her to return with all possible speed to the path she had
quitted, which was the direct road to the mansion, before it was too dark to be
able to distinguish the way.
When she
had reached the gate that marked the boundaries of the pleasure grounds, being
nearly exhausted with fatigue, she paused for a moment to recover herself, and
as she was now well acquainted with the road, to take a survey of the beautiful
range of hills that bounded the horizon, and the rich, though half-foliated
woods that skirted the mountains.
Lost in
the contemplation of these picturesque objects, she proceeded leisurely along
till having imperceptibly arrived at the vista, which opened upon the lawn, her
attention was recalled from the illusions of fancy, to whose captivating power
she had resigned herself, by the voices of two people, apparently in earnest
discourse, but whose persons were concealed amid the trees of the avenue.
In the
direction she had taken it was probable she must have passed very near to them;
but they were too much engaged in their own concerns to perceive her approach,
and the grass preventing her footsteps from being heard, as she moved lightly
beneath the shade of the trees, occasioned their being unconscious of any
observer.
It
naturally occurred to her, that they were some of the servants belonging to the
castle; but, lest strangers might have intruded themselves into these extensive
domains, she emerged precipitately from the gloom of the avenues, and bounded
swiftly over the lawn.
In a
moment she heard steps pursuing her, and before she had recovered from her
alarm, the sound of her own name, uttered by a well-known voice, drew her
attention upon the person who pronounced it. Turning hastily around, she
beheld, to her astonishment, a young chevalier in a military habit, who
immediately came up to her; and, before she was restored to recollection, found
herself in the arms of a stranger, in whom she afterwards recognized the person
of Enrico.
Surprise
and joy operated so powerfully upon her feelings, that she was near fainting;
which made it some time before she was conscious of her situation, or of the
extent of her happiness.
When
amazement had in some degree subsided, Laurette fixed her eyes upon Enrico with
an earnest and tender gaze, and, as the partial beams of the moon fell upon his
face, observed that he looked unusually pale, and that his once animated
features wore an expression of deep dejection, which it was not difficult to
interpret.
As soon as
she had courage to introduce the subject, which had been productive of so much
uneasiness, she ventured to ask if he had received the letter containing the
melancholy intelligence respecting Madame Chamont, and what had occasioned his
unexpected arrival.
Enrico
sighed deeply, and then proceeded to inform her, that on account of his
regiment having shifted its quarters, her letter did not arrive till some weeks
after the date; but that immediately on the receipt of it, he obtained
permission of his Colonel to absent himself; and, attended by Anselmo, his
servant, took the direct road to the Castle of Elfinbach.
'You have
been at the Castle, then,' interrupted Laurette, not instantly considering the
improbability of his being able to receive information relative to her present
place of residence by any other means; as, at the time she addressed him, she
was herself unacquainted with the intentions of the Marchese, and consequently
had mentioned nothing of her removal. Enrico answered her question with an
affirmative, and having hesitated for a moment, continued--'Though hopeless as
to receiving any satisfactory intelligence concerning my much-injured parent,
which might serve as a clue to guide me in pursuit, I resolved to hasten to the
Castle; by these means to soften, if I could not eradicate my grief, and to
convince myself whether you, my Laurette--my more than sister, was in safety.
But what was my disappointment and distress when I found the mansion silent and
deserted, and every vestige of my former happiness removed and annihilated?
'It was
night when I arrived; and the air of extreme desolation that it exhibited, had
my mind been sufficiently collected, or abstracted from more painful interests,
would have struck me forcibly; but my feelings were too much and too tenderly
wounded, to regard local circumstances.
'Having
reached the principal gate, I rapped violently, but without success; no passing
footstep answered to the summons, and surprise and impatience succeeded. I then
alighted from my horse, and desiring Anselmo to follow my example, we fastened
the animals to a tree, and then walked round the courts, in hopes of being able
to gain admittance at the western side of the structure; but here our sanguine
expectations were again deceived. I called, but no voice returned an answer but
the echo of my own, which being aided by the loud rising of the blast, that
swept in hollow gusts along the mountains, had a mournful and solemn effect.
'Impatience
now yielded to the most excruciating anguish; I began to imagine that you also
was separated from me for ever. My heart beat quick--my feeble limbs could
scarcely support my agitated frame--and throwing myself on a piece of the
fallen rampart, I yielded to the despondency that was stealing upon my mind.
'The
clouds now passing rapidly over the sky, seemed to portend an approaching
storm; which Anselmo observing, reminding me at the same time of the danger to
which our present situation would expose us, ventured to request my permission
to release the horses from their confinement; stating the necessity of our endeavouring
to accommodate ourselves for the night at one of the cottages by the side of
the river, as, by this method of proceeding, we might obtain shelter from the
storm, and be enabled to pursue our enquiries at leisure on the following day.
'This
advice, however reasonable, was suddenly rejected, as I still flattered myself
a possibility existed that the castle might be still inhabited, though nothing
appeared to justify the opinion. Anselmo objected to the probability of the
proposition, declaring that the repeated alarms he had given were sufficient to
have awakened the dead; and besought me to consider my own safety while it was
yet in my power, and, plunged in unavailing despair, not to brave the fury of
the storm which was gathering fast over our heads.
'Having
finally yielded, though reluctantly, to his entreaties, I determined to make
another attempt, and wheeling round the quadrangle again, rapped loudly at the
gate. But all was yet silent;--I called, but no answer was returned; and a
stillness, as of the grave, ensued. Still more chagrined, though the hope that
had inspired this last effort was too feeble to admit of extreme
disappointment, I walked silently towards the oak, to whose trunk the horses
were bound, and began to liberate them.
'Anselmo,
who had anticipated my second unsuccessful undertaking, proposed, that since we
had so little chance of obtaining admittance into the interior of the mansion,
for us to make the best of our way, since we had a wild and dreary forest to
pass, and a wood that appeared like the abode of robbers; observing, that if it
was really the ease, our only chance of escape depended upon the threatening
aspect of the heavens, which might induce those outlaws, by whom these
solitudes are infested, to take refuge in their caves.
'Whilst I
still continued to meditate upon the past, without forming any plan for the
future, Anselmo, after having employed many fruitless endeavours to engage me
in conversation, directed my attention towards a tall edifice, which was partially
seen as the light issued from the sky, which he imagined to be a fane;
remarking that if it was any thing that could offer us an asylum, we were
fortunate in having made the discovery, as it would prevent the necessity of
encountering the peril and danger of traversing the wood, in whose tangled
thickets we might possibly be so entirely bewildered as to lose the track.
'Though I
was too much lost in uneasy conjecture to be apprehensive of consequences, and
was too little inclined to attend to the loquacity of Anselmo, to listen to the
former part of his discourse; I turned involuntarily towards the mountain to
which he had pointed, and beheld, by a second ray of light that flashed from
the heavens, the spires of a convent, which were half lost to the eye amid
surrounding foliage. Instantly it occurred to me that it was the convent of St
Angelo, belonging to the Carthusians, which determined me to make up to it
immediately and to enquire for Father Benedicta.
'The
extreme perturbation of my mind accounted, in some measure, for my not having
recollected the propriety of this step before; as information respecting the
former inhabitants of the castle might, with more appearance of probability, be
obtained by this means, than by any other that had been offered. Somewhat
animated by this reflection, we redoubled our speed, regardless of the storm
that broke in thunder over our heads, or the almost universal darkness that
prevailed.
'When we
had arrived near the boundaries of the forest, Anselmo's horse took fright, and
threw him, with inconceivable force, against a piece of broken rock. The scream
he uttered on falling, and the deep groan that succeeded, made me apprehensive
of the worst. I called, but he was unable to answer; the groans continued, but
were fainter, and being convinced that he was materially injured by the blow he
had sustained, if not already dying, I dismounted and hurried to the spot from
whence these melancholy sounds proceeded, though I was so enveloped in darkness
that it was with difficulty I could grope my way.
'The
lightnings had ceased, but the thunder continued to roll, though distantly,
among the rocks, and the rain fell in torrents around. Having, after many
arduous endeavours, raised him from the ground, being anxious to be assured he
was still in existence, I demanded in what manner he was afflicted. He spoke
faintly, that his head only had suffered, but the blow he feared was mortal. I
put my hand upon his forehead, it streamed with blood; and, being desirous of
preventing too copious an effusion, bound my handkerchief around his head, and
assisted in placing him on my horse.
'Recollecting
that there was a hut, whose possessor I had formerly known, at no very
considerable distance from the place, I resolved to convey him thither; though
from the length of time that had elapsed since I had last seen it, I was not
assured of its exact situation.
'We were,
however, fortunate in finding the place we sought; and, though the family had
long forgotten the cares of the day in the tranquillity of repose, we roused
them to the exertion of benevolence.
'Having
procured something of a cordial nature, by means of the cottagers, to restore
the fleeting spirits of Anselmo, I ordered him to be put to bed, but not till I
had examined his wound, which my skill in surgery, though slight, was
sufficient to convince me was not likely to have a dangerous tendency. But
being unwilling to rely upon my own judgment in so important a matter, lest it
should prove to be erroneous, I dispatched a peasant to the next village, where
I was informed that a surgeon of some eminence resided, to procure assistance.
'The good
fellow, who appeared to possess many excellent qualities, readily undertook the
care of my servant; and mounting my horse (that which had caused Anselmo's
misfortune having escaped), galloped towards the village.
'It was
near midnight when the cottager returned attended by the surgeon, whose
countenance I steadfastly regarded as he examined the wound, which I had soon
the satisfaction of hearing him declare was not mortal, no contusion having
been effected; though he averred that a slight fever would probably be the
consequence of the accident, which would render an early removal impracticable
without a prospect of further danger.
'The storm
was now past; the light clouds dispersed rapidly towards the horizon, and the
moon gleaming palely from the sky, made me anxious to pursue the way leading to
the monastery; and having convinced Anselmo that he was in good hands, and
given him assurances that I would be with him at an early hour on the following
day, I committed him to the care of the peasants, and quitted the cottage.
'The rude
winds were now hushed, and the undisturbed tranquillity that succeeded the
boisterous warring of the elements, assisted the melancholy of my reflections.
Having descended into the valley, I looked anxiously towards the mountain where
the spires of the convent had appeared, but they were lost in the gloom of the
woods; and finding it was impossible to obtain even a partial view of the
edifice, I began to apprehend I had taken a wrong path, and was on the eve of
determining to bend my way towards the cottage I had left, and to wait there
for the returning light of the morning, when the midnight chaunt of the Monks
broke softly upon the stillness of the night, and directed me towards the place
from whence it issued.
'As soon
as I had struck into the glen that wound up the steep ascent of the eminence,
the meek and holy strain swelled louder, paused, then sunk into deeper cadence,
and in a few moments was heard no more.
'Fearing
lest I should not be able to reach the monastery before the Monks returned from
the chapel, I redoubled my speed, knowing that admittance could not be easily
obtained, should the fathers have returned to their cells before I could
introduce myself to their notice.
'When I
had arrived at the outer gate, I perceived they were just crossing the chapel
yard; and, hanging the bridle of my horse round the trunk of a chestnut-tree, I
waited in hopes of being able to distinguish Father Benedicta, to whom I could
instantly make my self known, and explain the occasion of this visit. But the
faces of the Monks were so shrouded in their cowls, that not a feature was
exposed to observation.
'The
Superior walked first, and the rest of the order in procession. They had nearly
reached the arched door leading into the court, before I had determined in what
manner to address them; when finding I was at present unperceived, I resolved
to let them pass quietly into the abbey. This done, I rapped loudly at the
gate, and one of the lay brothers appearing, I enquired for Father Benedicta.
'Without
returning an answer, the person whom I addressed retired, but soon afterwards
came attended by a Monk, who, I felt assured, by his gait and figure, was him
for whom I had enquired. Believing I could not be mistaken in this particular,
I was advancing forwards to meet him, and to express my satisfaction on seeing
him, when he threw back his cowl, and discovered a countenance meek, placid,
and full of devout expression, but it was not Father Benedicta's.
'The Monk
bowed courteously, and seemed to await my introduction; I informed him that I
was a benighted traveller who had met with some singular misfortunes, and had
been induced, by the known benevolence of the fraternity, to request a lodging
for the night. The Monk again bowing, I declared my name, and repeated my
enquiries for Father Benedicta.
'"Our
brother is ill," replied the Monk, mildly, "and has not been able to
attend public devotions for some days; but if you will have the goodness to
step into the Refectoire, I will visit his cell, and will inform him of your
name, and the circumstances you have mentioned." Then ordering a servant
to take care of my horse, he desired me to follow him.
'Having
entered the Refectoire, he offered me a seat by the fire, and hastened to
acquaint the Father with my arrival. I was soon ordered to attend him, and
accompanied my conductor to his cell.
'At the
farther end of this little apartment was the holy Benedicta, who had newly
arisen from a mattress, probably for the purpose of performing his midnight
devotions. He appeared pale and emaciated, but serene and cheerful. He arose on
my entrance, and instantly recollecting me, sprang forwards to receive me with
an expression of affection which words would have imperfectly conveyed.
'His looks
and manner affected me so powerfully that I was unable to speak, and sitting
down by his side, I covered my face with my handkerchief to conceal my emotions;
when these had somewhat subsided, I observed that his features were lighted up
by a smile of more than usual tranquillity, and he began to converse upon
common topics of discourse. I saw he wished to lead me from the subject of my
griefs, and I wished to flatter him with the hope that he had succeeded.'--
Laurette,
who had listened with tender anxiety to this little narrative, here interrupted
Enrico, by asking if the Father Benedicta was indeed very ill, and if his
disorder was supposed to be of a dangerous nature? On being assured that it was
generally believed to be otherwise throughout the monastery, she demanded
eagerly, whether the Monk had mentioned any thing relative to herself, or the
Marchese de Montferrat? Enrico's countenance visibly changed as she repeated
the question, and he appeared for the moment unable to reply.
'You
hesitate,' resumed Laurette, tenderly, 'and consequently have heard something
you are unwilling to disclose;--but if you feel for me as for a sister,
agreeably to your former professions, I conjure you to make me acquainted with
it?' 'If I feel for you as for a sister!' repeated Enrico, 'Oh, Laurette, is it
possible you can be ignorant of my sentiments?' But in a moment recollecting
that he had never openly avowed them, he checked himself; whilst Laurette,
confused, and anxious to change the conversation, asked whether he had been into
the castle previous to his meeting with her, and if he had been introduced to
the Signora? To this he answered that he had seen the Marchese's casiera, whom
he supposed to be the lady mentioned, and was directed by her to that part of
the grounds where, she observed, her young guest usually walked when alone. A
silence of some minutes then ensued, which Laurette at length broke, by asking
whether his servant was sufficiently recovered to be able to attend him hither.
'He is somewhere hereabouts,' returned Enrico, 'and will soon be here to answer
for himself. Anxious as I was to see you, I could not leave the poor fellow
alone in so melancholy a situation; which occasioned me to prolong my
continuance in the monastery, till the surgeon who attended him assured me that
he was in a situation to travel without endangering his health.' 'You had then
frequent conferences with the Monk?' returned Laurette. Enrico assured her that
he had; but it required little penetration to discover that there was something
connected with the subject he was desirous to avoid. The discourse then turned
upon Madame Chamont, but this was too distressing to be continued.--Enrico had
gained no intelligence respecting her, as Father Benedicta's exertions had been
at present unsuccessful. The Signora, who now crossed the court to remind them
of the lateness of the hour, a circumstance that never occurred to them before,
summoned her guests into the saloon, where a simple, but elegant, repast was
prepared.
The
conversation now became more animated, though less interesting, than before;
and the Signora joined in it with much spirit and sentiment; she related many
incidents concerning some of the most celebrated families in Italy, and
displayed much wit and vivacity.
Enrico
insensibly became pleased with her, and, had not his attention been so entirely
engrossed by the companion of his earliest days, she might have been a
candidate for admiration.
It was
late when the party retired to their beds; and Enrico and Laurette were both
too deeply interested in the occurrences of the day, and too much inclined to
reflection, to yield immediately to the impulse of nature, by seeking
forgetfulness in repose.
To be continued
