THE ORPHAN OF THE RHINE
PART 17
Chapter 3
Oh! let me still with simple Nature live.
My lowly field-flowers at her altar lay;
Enjoy the blessings that she meant to give.
And calmly waste th' inoffensive day.
When waves the grey light o'er the mountain's brow.
Then let me meet the morn's first beauteous ray;
Carelessly wander from my sylvan shed
And catch the sweet breath of the op'ning day.
--LANGHORNE
Enrico
arose early in the morning, and as no part of the family was stirring, except
the inferior domestics, endeavoured for some time to amuse himself with
strolling about the gardens. As the residence of the lovely Laurette, scenes
that might otherwise have been contemplated without any extraordinary emotions,
excited an interest in his breast, and he wandered about the castle, wrapped in
that pleasing kind of melancholy which is peculiar to refined and cultivated
minds.
Often as
he paced silently the terrace-walk that led to the inner court, he turned an
enquiring eye towards the upper apartments, in hopes of seeing Laurette at the
casement; but she was at present invisible, and he could not forbear secretly
chiding her for losing the beauty of the morning. Still anxious to beguile the
moments of separation, he walked towards the western lawn, and having reached
the centre, attempted to open the door of the pavilion; but it was fastened,
which made him for a short time irresolute in what manner to dispose of
himself.
At length
he determined to return towards the mansion, and to procure the key; this being
delivered to him by the porter, he again walked pensively along the lawn, and
before he applied the key to the door of the pavilion, stopped to examine this
magnificent structure with more attention than he had before bestowed on it.
It was of
Corinthian architecture, and ornamented with much taste and splendour. It
appeared not to have been coeval with the castle, which was originally Gothic,
though some part of the edifice was so materially modernized that, except the
embattled parapets, the chapel, which was half in ruins, and the narrow pointed
arch of the window, it retained little of its primitive appearance.
The
portico of the pavilion was composed of various coloured marbles, and the
pillars which supported it were of the finest porphyry. The interior of the
building was not inferior in magnificence, and displayed an infinite
superiority in point of taste and beauty. It consisted of three apartments
elegantly furnished; one as a banqueting room, which being lofty and extensive,
exhibited a profusion of rare and valuable ornaments; the ceiling was richly
adorned with paintings by the most celebrated masters; and the floor covered
with a carpet of purple damask, which was beautifully embroidered with silver,
in fanciful and elegant devices. The walls being in fine relief, were decorated
with gilded trophies, whilst the canopies and other ornaments harmonized with
the splendour and magnificence that pervaded the other parts of this superb
apartment.
Behind
this were two other rooms, smaller but not less beautiful than the one he had examined.
They were terminated by glass doors opening into a shrubbery, whose entrance
was guarded by two statues from the antique, which were half lost to the eye
amid the trees and flowering shrubs that surrounded them. The floors of these
apartments were covered with tapestry, representing scenes from Lucan, Tasso,
and Ovid. The walls were adorned with historical and fanciful devices, and the
upper part of them decorated with valuable pictures by the first Italian
painters. One was a descending angel, by Pietro Perugino; another a Madonna, by
Raphael.
As Enrico
gazed attentively upon the latter, which exhibited the astonishing genius and
cultivated taste of the inimitable artist, he thought he discovered a charm
that was familiar to his fancy. The lifted eye, the melancholy, yet
captivating, smile that was stealing upon the features, he imagined so
strikingly resembled the lovely object of his affections, that he was unable to
move from the spot.
Whilst he
was regarding this performance with the admiration it merited, Laurette entered
the room, and finding his attention was entirely absorbed in the contemplation
of the picture, she seated herself, without accosting him, on a small settee,
which was placed near the door, and amused herself with penciling a flower,
which she had selected for the purpose on her way thither.
When a few
minutes had elapsed, finding that he still continued to observe the Madonna
with a fixed and earnest attention, she laid aside her pencil, and advancing
towards him, demanded why he continued to examine that picture so minutely,
when there were so many paintings in the pavilion which were equally worthy of
admiration?
Enrico,
though effectually roused from his reverie, did not immediately reply; whilst
Laurette turning her beautiful eyes alternately upon him and the picture,
repeated the enquiry.
'Because
it resembles,' returned Enrico, in a voice faltering with emotion, 'my too
charming sister she whose image is ever present to my mind, and who is dearer
to me than my existence.
Laurette
blushed deeply, but was silent and Enrico proceeded:
'Did you
know what I have suffered and that I still suffer on your account, you would
not deny me a part of that angelic pity and commiseration which I have seen you
bestow upon objects less deserving of it.--I have long imposed upon myself,'
resumed he, still more agitated, yet endeavouring to stifle his emotions, 'a
severe restraint;--hitherto I have listened to, and obeyed the dictates of
prudence which instigated me to forbear verbally acknowledging an attachment
which must eventually form all the happiness or torment of my future life. But
doubts and melancholy presages recur frequently and forcibly to my thoughts
which neither reason nor reflection can subdue. I would fain find a solace for
my present inquietude by anticipating the future, with those enthusiastic hopes
which are peculiar to youth and inexperience; but that future presents only
grief and disappointment to my disordered fancy.
'Whilst
you are here, Laurette,' continued Enrico, pressing her unreluctant hand to his
breast, 'you are under the protection of the Marchese de Montferrat; a man who
has had art enough to impose himself upon the superficial part of the world, as
one of its most perfect characters. I cannot absolutely assert that I am
acquainted with any material crimes that can be alledged against him; but from
some hints, inadvertently dropped by those who have received better information
upon the subject, I am convinced that there are reasons to justify the suspicion
that he is not what he pretends to be.'
Finding
that Laurette continued to listen to him with eager attention, he requested
that she would take a seat upon the sofa, and, placing himself by her side,
proceeded:
'The
Marchese is yet passionately attached to the pleasures and luxuries of life,
and his ample possessions at once gratify, and give unlimited range to his
desires; he is unaccustomed to controul, and cannot submit to be shackled by
discretion, when it is at enmity with his inclinations.--Is such a man the
proper guardian of youth and beauty? or is it possible that he, who has
hitherto never resisted their power, can behold them with decided indifference.
Besides he has recently been released from a matrimonial connection, in which
his heart had no interest, and may possibly earnestly desire to contract
another less repugnant to his feelings and inclinations.'
'Why,
Enrico,' interrupted Laurette, 'do you thus resign yourself to unavailing
despondency? why voluntarily yield to the impulse of a quick and warm
indignation, which at once enslaves and obscures your better judgment?--Is it
likely that the Marchese de Montferrat should behold with decided preference a
poor dependant orphan, whose birth is veiled from all but himself in
impenetrable mystery, and whose youth must preclude the probability of his
thinking of her but as a child?'
Enrico was
meditating a reply, when a summons for breakfast prevented a continuation of
the subject.
As soon as
they entered the castle they were met by the Signora, who had prepared the
morning's repast, and had been some time in waiting to receive them. Having
rallied them good-naturedly on their early rising, she proposed a walk, after
breakfast, to an adjacent village, which, from its elevated situation, commanded
an extensive prospect. Laurette and Enrico readily acceding to her wishes, it
was agreed that a female servant should attend them, for the purpose of
conveying a basket of fruit, sweetmeats, and other articles of food, that the
party might not be obliged to return before the evening.
The
Signora's favourite woman was also permitted to accompany them on their
excursion, more in the capacity of a companion than a domestic. She was an
Italian, and before the arrival of Laurette, was admitted as a familiar into
those apartments which were appropriated to the use of her mistress, and was
considered as her companion and confidante. Since then she had been less
conversant with the Signora, who was more strongly attached to her new
acquaintance, but was still highly esteemed and beloved.
It was yet
early in the autumn, and the weather remarkably fine. The road leading to the
village was for a considerable way through a lone and beautiful wood, chiefly
composed of oak, flowering ash, and wild juniper; it skirted a neighbouring
mountain which rose gradually from the gloom, whose summit was crested with the
village, which was the object of their ramble. Its aspect was wild and
picturesque, whilst the profusion of trees that half screened it from
observation, being contrasted with the bare rocks and huge masses of granite,
with which they were surrounded, had a singular and beautiful appearance.
By winding
round an obscure path, encircling the foot of the mountain, they might have
avoided a steep and rugged ascent, but they preferred the unfrequented glade
they had chosen, accessible only to the foot of the enthusiast and the
goatherd. Here they lingered amid the points of the rocks, selecting mosses and
flowers from the interstices, till the sun, in its noon-tide radiance, spread
over the variegated scenery that full profusion of light and shade, which is
deemed the most favourable to landscape.
As they
advanced within a few paces of the summit, the Signora's foot unfortunately
slipped; and had not Enrico, whose solicitude was equally extended to all that
were in need of it, caught her in his arms, she must have fallen, and such a
fall would consequently have been attended with danger.
A slight
hurt was however the result of this trifling accident; her ankle was sprained,
but being unwilling to give pain to others by the expression of her own, she
concealed it; and thanking Enrico for his attention, agreed to accept of his
arm the rest of the way.
Before
they arrived at the village it was considerably worse, and she was under the
necessity of stopping at one of the huts, which were dispersed over the brow of
the mountain, to procure an embrocation. An hospitable cottager received them
with a hearty welcome, and as the Signora's ankle was much swelled, and the pain
still more acute, it was thought necessary for the party to postpone the
execution of their design; and, as it was impossible for her to return without
a conveyance, it was proposed that Enrico and Laurette should return to the
castle, and send Ambrose or Anselmo with a horse; as no carriage could be
procured at a convenient distance.
This,
however, the Signora earnestly opposed till they had taken a view of the
country from the extremity of the eminence, and had seen every thing worthy of
observation; at the same time informing them that it was her intention to
remain in the cottage till the evening, if her hospitable hostess, addressing
herself to the woman of the house, would permit her to remain there.
The
cottager acceded, with much good humour, to the request; and leaving the room
for a few minutes, presented them on her return with some newly-gathered
grapes, which her husband, she added, had just brought from the vineyard.
These, in consideration of the fruits and other provisions which they had conveyed
thither, were politely refused; and the baskets being opened, some of the most
delicious sweetmeats were offered to the cottager, of which she modestly
consented to partake; some wine was then produced by the hostess, which, more
from courtesy than inclination, was accepted.
This
simple repast being concluded, the Signora desired her young companions would
leave her to the care of her humane entertainer and the female domestics who
had accompanied them, and continue their ramble.
At first
Laurette objected to the proposal, being unwilling to leave her friend in a
state of indisposition; but her arguments were overruled by those of the
Signora and Enrico, who could not forbear joining in the request.
As they
were retiring from the cottage, the entrance of the mountaineer, who was its
possessor, prevented their design; not being prepared to expect visitors, his
looks expressed surprise and pleasure, but without making any enquiries, he
drew chairs for his young guests, and desired they would be seated. They
obeyed, and the peasant addressing himself to his wife, desired her to prepare
some refreshment. The Signora, who understood his meaning rather from his
gestures than his words, not being perfectly conversant in the German tongue,
informed him they had just been regaling themselves with some fruits, and
concluded with thanking him for his attention and hospitality.
The party
then alternately explained the occasion of their visit; expatiating, at the
same time, on the neatness and simplicity of the cottage, the fineness of its
situation, and the pure and exalted felicities of rural life.
Enrico
beheld, with an equal degree of curiosity and pleasure, the peculiar form and
countenance of the mountaineer: from some lines in his face, his long beard,
which characterizes the inhabitants of Saltzburg, and the silver hairs which
were thinly scattered among his fine chestnut locks, he might have been
supposed to have been upwards of fifty, did not his light carriage, his glowing
complexion, and his fine dark speaking eyes, seem to contradict the
supposition. An inexpressible serenity of soul was pictured upon his brow,
whilst the whole contour of his face, which was regular, exhibited a certain
dignity of mind inseparable from a virtuous character. There was indeed
something altogether in his figure and deportment not easy to describe; and our
hero regretted his want of sufficient skill in the provincial dialect, which
prevented the agreeable communication with him that this circumstance would
have afforded.
Enrico
having reminded Laurette of their intended ramble, they arose to depart; and
informing the Signora that they would call on her again before they returned to
the castle, they repeated their acknowledgments to the host and his benevolent
companion, and ascended the summit of the mountain.
The
prospect from this eminence was more extensive and picturesque than they had
ventured to imagine; and as they gazed alternately on the surrounding objects,
and on each other, they yielded to the exquisite sensations of the moment;
forgetting in the happiness of the present, the unpromising aspect of the
future, the approaching separation, and the despondency they had so lately
indulged.
The
village consisted of a number of cottages, built of stone, and straggled amid
the rocks, without the appearance of design or order; a few wooden huts,
inhabited chiefly by shepherds and vine-dressers, with the ruins of an abbey,
standing lonely and solitary nearly at the foot of the mountain, and what had
formerly been the conventual church, but was now left open for the devout
accommodations of the unlettered rustics.
The
extremity of the eminence commanded, on one side, the wide part of the valley
which ran between two beautiful hills, parts of which were cultivated to their
summits with the vine and pomegranate, and other parts covered with rich dark
woods, encircled with lakes, whose effect was not less singular than charming;
on the other side were large masses of yellow granite, rising in the most
grotesque forms, and the deep glen through which they had at first ascended,
whose rocky points were yet sparkling in the rays of the sun, whilst the depth
below was veiled in perpetual shade and obscurity. A vast chain of hills
bounded the horizon, which were scarcely to be distinguished from the clouds
which rested upon them, and which gave grandeur and sublimity to the landscape.
Being
somewhat fatigued with traversing the mountain, Enrico and Laurette seated
themselves upon a rock, and in cheerful unrestrained conversation, disregarded
the lapse of time, and even the unequalled magnificence of scenery which was
every way presented.
As Enrico
fixed his eyes tenderly upon Laurette, he thought she never before appeared so
beautiful as at that moment; her dress was more than ordinarily negligent, and
the wind, which had disordered her fine hair, had given a soft bloom to her
complexion, which no vermilion could emulate. Whilst he continued to regard her
elegant form, which for grace and proportion might have been taken as a model
for perfection, and listened to the sweet accents of her voice, his soul was
resigned to the fascinating influence of love and beauty; but when he reflected
upon the Marchese, who, he was assured, could not behold such inimitable
perfections with indifference, he fell suddenly from the most animated
discourse into fits of musing and dejection, to which a mind, less interested
in his happiness than Laurette's, could not be insensible.
She
recollected what had passed in the pavilion, and also the conversation of the
preceding evening, when he mentioned having had another conference with the
venerable Carthusian, but was prevented from acquainting her with the result by
the appearance of the Signora.
The person
from whom he had obtained information concerning the Marchese, she believed
could be no other than the Father Benedicta, who, from his looks and manners
when she presented him with the letter previous to her quitting her former abode,
and from some hints he had then dropped, was evidently concerned on her
account; and it was equally certain that he was not much prejudiced either in
favour of the epistle or the writer.
Anxious to
be acquainted with the extent of his fears, that she might administer all
possible consolation, yet fearful of increasing the uneasiness of Enrico by
reverting to the cause of it, she at last ventured to ask how long Anselmo's
indisposition had detained him at the monastery? and whether the Monk had mentioned
any thing in which they were materially interested?
Enrico did
not instantly reply; for it was difficult to command his feelings, and the eyes
of Laurette being fixed upon his with an expression of earnest and tender
solicitude, tended to heighten his distress.--Finding, at length, that suspense
was becoming painful, be assumed an appearance of composure, and then began as
follows.
Chapter 4
Love only feels the marvellous of pain.
Opens new veins of torture in the heart.
And wakes the nerve where agonies are born.
--YOUNG
'My first
visit to the father was short, for it was long past midnight when I entered his
cell. What happened at that interview I have already related. He appeared at
first much affected, but afterwards became more tranquil; and a message from
the Superior, who politely accommodated me with a bed, put an end to all
farther discourse.
'I was
then conducted to my apartment by one of the lay brothers, whose office it is
to attend upon pilgrims, and being weary and exhausted with grief and fatigue,
obtained a transient forgetfulness in repose. I had not slept long, before I
was alarmed by the tolling of a bell, whose hollow and heavy sound vibrating
through the buildings, produced a melancholy and solemn effect. Knowing that
this was not the usual summons to the early matins, I conceived it portended
some extraordinary event, and being desirous of learning the occasion of it,
arose and dressed myself in haste. These suspicions were confirmed by the
shutting and opening of doors, the murmur of distant voices, and of the number
of footsteps which were heard passing and repassing the cloisters.
'I
endeavoured, for a considerable time, to arrest the attention of some of the
Friars by calling at the door of my apartment, but without success, and was
retiring to my bed without being acquainted with the cause of this alarm, when
one of the brotherhood, whom I afterwards discovered to be the same who had
given me admittance on my arrival, entered the chamber, and informed me that
the bell I had heard announced the departure of a soul that was just fled to
its eternal home.
'I
started, and without giving myself time for reflection, demanded whether the
person he alluded to was Father Benedicta. The answer was a negative; it was
Father Marco, who had been long ill, and whose death had been some time
expected. Thanking him for his attention, he withdrew; and, glad to find my
fears respecting the worthy Monk were not realized, I endeavoured to compose
myself to rest.
'In the
morning I was introduced to the Prior, who received me with much cordiality and
friendship. We conversed for some time over the morning's repast upon different
subjects, which he discussed with much ease and fluency, though it was not
without reluctance that I entered into a conversation, which, however animated
on the part of the Superior, was in my present tone of spirits, tedious and
uninteresting.
'Having
obtained his permission to revisit Father Benedicta, who I was assured was in a
state of convalescence, though not sufficiently recovered to attend prayers in
the chapel, I availed myself of the indulgence, and repaired to his cell.
'On
opening the door, I observed this devout Monk, being newly arisen, was engaged
in the performance of his devotions. He was kneeling at a square stone table on
the eastern side of the room, that was covered with a black cloth, on which
were placed a human scull, and other mementos of mortality; a small ivory
crucifix stood in the centre, over which was suspended a painting, representing
the resurrection of Lazarus.
'Fearing I
had obtruded myself into his presence at an improper hour, I apologized for my
intrusion, and would have retired, but he prevented my design, and leading me
to a seat, "You are welcome, my son," said he, with his accustomed
mildness; "a visit from you can never be unseasonable; it is a
gratification which I have long anxiously desired, and for which I have waited
perhaps too impatiently."
'Here he
hesitated; and, on looking up, I thought I discovered something more in his
countenance than its usual expression: the fire of devotion was still in his
eyes; his face, which was marked with the lines of penitence and sorrow, was
animated with a faint glow that crossed his cheek and disappeared, leaving upon
the features it thus transiently illumined, that kind of dignified tenderness
which we generally attribute to beings of a superior order.
'"You
are doubtless acquainted with some unfortunate events that have taken place
since you last joined your regiment," resumed the Father, "but
possibly have not been able to ascertain the cause of the compulsive and
arbitrary measures employed; or to form any conception as to what part of the
Continent Madame Chamont, your excellent parent, is conveyed."
'After
assuring him that I had but recently received this unwelcome intelligence, and
was unable to form any conjecture concerning it, I demanded eagerly why the
castle was deserted; and whither you and the rest of its inhabitants were
removed?
"They
are removed, I think," returned the Monk, meekly, "to a castle in the
principality of Saltzburg."
"Think,
Father!" I replied, "gracious heaven! do you then only think? If you
are not certain they are there, or in some place of security, I shall suspect
that there remains another calamity to be unfolded, another attack upon my
peace, perhaps severer than the last."
"You
are impetuous, my son," returned the Monk, "but these are trials that
put our virtues to the proof, and frequently render ineffectual the most
vigorous efforts of reason and fortitude. Though we must endeavour to endure as
christians, we must feel as men; nor can we expect to see always the warm
affections of youth corrected and regulated by the calmness of discretion.
Laurette, the subject of your enquiry, is still under the protection of the
Marchese de Montferrat, though not under his eye; the Marchese being still
resident at the Castello St Aubin, in the neighbourhood of Turin.
"You
have at last relieved me, holy Father, I replied, from a state of perplexity
and suspense that was becoming almost insupportable; and which, I hope, will,
in some measure, excuse that extreme impetuosity of which you have justly
accused me, and which the most perfect esteem for your character would, on any
common occasion, have prevented me from discovering."
'Father
Benedicta bowed; then asked if I had been introduced to my patron, and, if not,
whether he had never intimated a desire, either by message or letter, of being
personally known to me? On my convincing him of the contrary, he was evidently
much amazed; and enquired, with some appearance of confusion, if I was
acquainted with the nature of the connection which had so long subsisted
between the Marchese and Madame Chamont?
'I
informed him that I was not; for every thing that could lead to the subject had
been as much as possible avoided, and that whenever I had ventured to introduce
any thing likely to have this tendency, my mother appeared chagrined and
unhappy; that she never on any account mentioned my father, and scrupulously
concealed every circumstance of her past life; that the name of the Marchese
seldom escaped her lips, though I was compelled to believe, from the earliest
period of my existence, that my only dependance was upon him; and that, from
the native generosity of his disposition, he had sent to the protection of my
mother a lovely little girl, who was supposed to be the orphan daughter of a
deceased friend: from which circumstance, as well as from the conversation of
his steward, I was taught to reverence him as a father, to respect him as a
friend, and to consider him as a man of stainless honour and unblemished
reputation, to whom only I could look as to the patron of my future days.
'"Would
to heaven you was not mistaken, my son!" returned the Monk, mournfully,
"perhaps I am not justified in advancing any thing which may serve to
counteract principles so heedfully instilled into your mind in early youth, but
I fear you have been miserably deceived. Is it possible that you are
unacquainted with the unfortunate story of the Conte della Croisse?"
resumed he, sighing deeply, and pausing to await my answer. You have not, I
think, been stationary at the Castle of Elfinbach since a certain strange and,
I may say, providential discovery.'
'On my
requesting to know what was the discovery he alluded to, he betrayed many
symptoms of astonishment, and then added, 'You are, I find, designedly kept
ignorant of the affair; and since, by extending your knowledge, I might
possibly injure your repose, an explanation would be unpardonable.
"Indeed,"
continued the Monk, seeming to recollect himself, "I may have been too
uncandid in my conjectures; we are apt to reflect upon our own frailties and
imperfections with partiality, and to judge too unfavourably of the conduct of
others. The Marchese may have some virtues."
'Here the
father was silent; and, being anxious to comprehend the extent of his suspicions,
I acknowledged myself much interested in what had already been recited, and
besought him to indulge me with an explanation, and inform me who was the Conte
della Croisse, and with whom his story was connected. A violent emotion seemed
to agitate his frame as I repeated this request, and, without answering me, he
arose and paced the room for some time with quick and perturbed steps; and
then, after regarding me with a look of fixed and earnest attention--
'"My
son," cried he, "this subject is too painful; neither my health nor
my spirits will allow me to continue it; and, since it will inevitably endanger
our mutual peace, we will defer it till some future period, when, should an
explanation be necessary, whatever torment it may inflict upon myself, I will
give it you."
'"Watch
over Laurette with the tender solicitude of a brother; for she is young,
artless, and beautiful, and may have need of a disinterested protector. I
wished to have had some conversation with that dear child, but she was taken suddenly
from the castle, and every precaution I had formed for her future welfare was,
by this means, rendered ineffectual."
'Having
thanked him for the zeal he had discovered in your cause with the ardour
natural to my disposition, the Monk cast upon me a look of tenderness, and
continued--
'"It
is needless to exhort you to exert your most strenuous endeavours to inform
yourself of the destiny of your unfortunate parent; but let me request, nay
command, that, should every effort prove inefficacious, you will not allow
yourself to sink into despondency; but remember the duty you owe to your God,
to yourself, and to your country. Recollect that wherever she is, she is
equally under the protection of heaven, who never abandons the virtuous; and
that your utmost exertions are necessary as well for your own preservation and
advancement, as to support the unprotected innocence of your adopted
sister."
'Here the
father remained silent; and the entrance of a Monk, who came to enquire into
the state of his health, put an end to all farther discourse upon the subject.
Having no hopes of renewing it, I took my leave; and, with a mind but ill at
ease, repaired to the cottage to fulfil my engagement with Anselmo.
'I found
him considerably better, and much more cheerful than on the preceding evening.
He told me he was in readiness to accompany me, though his looks did not agree
with the assertion, for he still appeared pale and enervated.
'Having
continued with him some hours, I availed myself of the Prior's invitation to
return to, and remain in, the monastery, till Anselmo was in a situation to
travel. During this period, my time was chiefly devoted to the society of
Father Benedicta; but nothing could prevail on him to renew the discourse. He
seemed to repent having touched upon it at all, and we parted mutually
dissatisfied; he regretting that he had said so much, and I that he had
explained so little.
'The rest
of the narrative may be concluded in a few words: I left him considerably
recovered, and received his heavenly benediction, mingled with tears and gentle
remonstrances; and, having obtained a direction to the Castle of Lunenburg, set
forwards, attended by Anselmo, for Saltzburg. No material incident happened on
my journey, and with the rest you are acquainted.
'I
introduced myself to the Signora d'Orfo; she received me with courtesy, and
instructed me where to seek you. Contrary to my expectations, you was beyond
the boundaries of the walls. At the time that you passed near the shrubbery on
your return, I was conversing with Ambrose, who, I was in hopes, might have
seen what road you had taken, but who was unable to give me any satisfactory
intelligence.
'I have
now, my Laurette,' continued Enrico, 'acquainted you with all; and, from the
circumstances I have related, you may guess all I feel, and all I fear. We must
part--a temporary separation is unavoidable. I must go in search of my
much-injured mother; and if she has not been seized by banditti, but has been
torn from her home, her family, and all who are dear to her, by the daring
machinations of designing villainy, I will not rest till I have discovered the
authors of this premeditated cruelty--till I have restored her to her tenderest
connections, and have exposed the artifice of her persecutors. There are laws,
and if they cannot be enforced, I have a sword, never yet drawn but in the
exercise of justice, but which shall be raised against the heart of the
oppressor, in the cause of defenceless innocence.
'But, Oh
Laurette! before I am compelled to quit these heavenly regions, dear to me,
because consecrated by your presence, and, in compliance with my wayward
destiny, prepare to bid you a long, and if obliged to engage in any desperate
enterprize, perhaps a last adieu; tell me, I conjure you, that I am not
indifferent to you, and that the recollection of our juvenile felicity will
endear to your remembrance him who was a sharer of it--the companion of your
earliest days; since this is the only reflection that can soften the rigours of
my fate, and dissipate the cloudy atmosphere of my future prospects?'
Laurette,
who had marked with concern every circumstance which he had related, and had
been comparing them with those that had fallen under her immediate notice, now
yielded to the softness that oppressed her mind; and, leaning tenderly upon his
arm, covered her face with her handkerchief, and wept unrestrainedly.
'By heaven
this is too much!' cried Enrico, endeavouring to command his emotions, 'forgive
me, dearest Laurette, if, in the attempt of drawing from you a mutual
confession, I have renewed that grief I ought to have mitigated.--Say but that
you love me and, from this moment, all the energies of my soul shall be exerted
in your cause, and for the security of your happiness.'
'Is it
possible, Enrico,' replied Laurette, 'that you can doubt the sincerity of my
friendship--a friendship I have so long, so tenderly indulged; or believe that
the son of my amiable benefactress, who supplied to me the place of a parent,
and deprived of whom, I now feel the wants of one, can be reflected upon
without esteem and gratitude.'
'Esteem
and gratitude!' repeated Enrico, 'and is this all I must expect or hope for--is
the cold sentiment of friendship a sufficient reward for inviolable
affection--is this all you can bestow as a recompence for the innumerable cares
and anxieties I have endured?--rather hate and abandon me at once--teach me to
think of you, and adore you no more--and let me wander over this desolated
earth, without a hope to stimulate exertion, or an object to endear
existence.--There was a time when I indulged the transient, delusive idea that
I could have insured your affection; but I have been deceived, unhappily
deceived, and you have assisted in the deception that has undone me.'
'You wrong
me, indeed you wrong me,' replied Laurette, in a voice scarcely audible, 'how
have I deserved this censure? and why, by affecting to misunderstand me, will
you thus add to my distress? Enrico, you are not calm--you do not listen to the
dictates of reason, nor resign yourself to the guidance of discretion. By
endeavouring to work upon my feelings, in thus appealing to my heart, you have
been striving to wrest from me a confession, which perhaps I ought not to make.
'I am not
insensible to your merit, nor do I affect to be so; but the peculiarity of my
situation forbids any advances but those of friendship and brotherly affection,
which I have ever tenderly cherished. To enter into any engagement without the
sanction of those under whose protection I am placed, would justly expose me to
censure, and would appear, to the unprejudiced and discerning, as the height of
indiscretion and ingratitude.
'Besides,
would not such conduct lessen you in the estimation of the person, on whom your
dependance, as well as mine, is placed? Would not the Marchese openly resent
the want of confidence we had betrayed, and consequently withdraw his
patronage, not only from me, but from you; and should I not then consider
myself as the author of your misfortunes, and feel acutely the uneasiness such
a reflection must occasion?'
'Has he
not withdrawn it already?' returned Enrico; 'has he ever expressed a wish to
see me, or exerted his interest to procure my advancement? How slender would be
my hopes if they rested entirely upon him--But are you determined, Laurette, to
resign yourself to the power of the Marchese?'
'Alas! on
whom can I depend?' replied she, sighing; 'I have no friend but him on whom I
can rely for immediate support, no relation living, at least not to my
knowledge, and am totally unacquainted with the authors of my existence. If the
Marchese proves himself unworthy of my confidence, and I find any thing in his
conduct which may eventually prove injurious to my peace, it will then be time
enough to relinquish his protection, and to secure another asylum in a less
splendid and dangerous situation.'
Finding
that she was too firm to yield to the force of a premature attachment, and was
too strictly guarded by delicacy to avow more than a sisterly affection, till
it was sanctioned by those who had a right to the disposal of her; Enrico only
ventured to request that, should her present abode be less eligible than she
expected, and he sufficiently fortunate in his military department to secure an
independence, or at least the prospect of one, that she would then allow him to
resume the subject, and in the mean time permit him to write to her; and that
she would continue to think with tenderness upon him, whose whole existence was
dedicated to her service.
To this
she cheerfully assented, and giving him her hand with the most charming
frankness, reminded him of the time they had been absent from the cottage, and
proposed their returning to it immediately.
Having
watched, for a few moments, the sun sinking slowly upon the surface of the
water, they gradually descended the extreme point of the mountain, and entered
the cottage.
The
Signora had been expecting them some time and, as her ankle was still very
painful, had sent one of the servants to the castle to order Ambrose to bring a
horse, for the purpose of conveying her home.
As no
animal, except a mule, could traverse without danger the steep ascent of the
eminence, she was compelled to go near half a league round; which obliged
Laurette and Enrico to return without her by what way they should think proper.
Ambrose
soon appeared; and the Signora being mounted behind him, our young wanderers
took leave of the kind-hearted peasantry, and agreed, as the difference in the
length of the way was inconsiderable, to return by the other side of the
mountain, and to visit the solitary ruin.
Having
descended the eminence by a lone and entangled sheep-path, frequently turning
aside to mark the purple tints of the western sky, to listen to the last
flutter of the breeze among the half leafless trees, or the distant sound of a
flute, or a vesper-bell, they arrived at the long-neglected and forsaken abbey.
The
deepening glooms of the twilight, which fell fast around them, rendered the
solitary grandeur of this lonely ruin still more impressive and sublime, whose
interesting appearance was materially increased by the correspondent melancholy
of the scenery. A clump of dark firs, on one side, cast an almost impenetrable
shade, whilst the other opening upon an extensive heath, was exposed to the
merciless beatings of the not unfrequent storm. All here wore an aspect still
more dreary and deserted, from the total want of vegetation which was every
where visible.
'The
thistle was there, on its rock, shedding its aged beard; the old tree groaned
in the blast; the murmur of night was abroad.'
The abbey
was originally built round a quadrangle, in the manner of a fortified castle,
with spires instead of turrets. The entrance into the court was rugged,
overgrown with long grass, and scattered with the fragments of the fallen
edifice. The walls which marked the circumference, wore an appearance of great
antiquity, and of such ponderous strength, that they contemplated with
astonishment the invincible attacks of time. The ivy and the elder had taken
root in the crevices of the stones, which were encrusted with moss, night-shade,
and wild gilliflower; and from the loop-windows, which were fringed with weeds,
a solitary sprig of the ash and the arbeal were occasionally seen waving
mournfully in the wind, and replying to the murmurs of the rising blast.
The spires
of the building were crumbling fast into dust, and the body of this once massy
structure was nearly sharing the same fate. Indeed the whole of the remains
were in so tottering a state, that Laurette could scarcely prevail upon Enrico
to allow her to enter what had once been a door, to examine it more minutely.
A pile stupendous, once of fair renown.
This mould'ring mass of shapeless ruin rose.
Where nodding heights of fractur'd columns frown,
And birds obscene in ivy bowers repose;
Oft the pale matron, from the threat'ning wall,
Suspicious, bids her heedless children fly;
Oft, as he views the meditated fall.
Full swiftly steps the frighted peasant by.
--LANGHORNE
On the
eastern side of the court was a small chapel, which was less ruinous than the
rest of the fabric, though the narrow Gothic windows, once filled with painted
glass, that cast a dim and fading light, were now shattered and decayed; whilst
the pavement leading to the entrance, which once resounded only to the foot of
devotion, was now rude and grass-grown.
Impressed
with the awful scene of desolation that surrounded her, Laurette felt a sublime
and tender melancholy stealing upon her mind; and as she surveyed the venerable
pile sinking slowly into oblivion, her imagination reverted to its former inhabitants,
now long since mingled with the dust.
The door
of the chapel being made of the most lasting materials, retained somewhat of
its primitive appearance; a large stone, by way of a step, was placed at the
entrance, which being broken, and covered with moss and fallen leaves,
exhibited an aspect of gloom, neglect, and silence.
The door
was not quite closed, and desiring Enrico to follow her, Laurette entered the
chapel. It was dark, and was considerably larger than she expected to have
found it. A narrow window, at the farther end, just discovered its extent; and
turning round she distinguished, in that part of it where the altar had been
formerly erected, a figure in the dress of a white friar, kneeling, and deeply
engaged in devotion.
The idea
of the mysterious Monk darted instantly across her mind, and not being
sufficiently tranquil to endure new scenes of surprise and terror, she seized
the arm of Enrico, and would have hurried him from the place, without farther
explanation.
Astonished
at the alarm she expressed, and the sudden paleness of her looks, he
endeavoured to learn the occasion of her fears, and to quiet them; informing
her, in a low voice, that she had nothing to apprehend, since it was doubtless
some Friar from a neighbouring monastery, who, walking round the ruin, had been
suddenly inspired to offer up his evening prayer at that once holy altar.
Laurette
acknowledged the apparent probability of the remark; but at the same time
repeated her resolution of retiring, in a manner which sufficiently displayed
how much of terror was mingled with amazement.
Smiling at
what he believed to be merely superstition, yet secretly touched with the earnestness
of her manner, he was leading her towards the door, when the Monk, who either
did not hear, or did not regard the murmur of their voices, arose and advanced
with quick steps towards the entrance.
They
stopped for a few seconds by the side of a pillar to let him pass; and as he
swept by them, as if before unconscious of witnesses, he turned aside his cowl
to survey them. It discovered a thin spare face, marked with age and
affliction; a ray of light that fell upon it, gave life to a large, full,
melancholy eye, that was lifted up with an expression of mingled pity and
sadness. There was indeed nothing in his figure or countenance expressive of
severity or austere devotion; and Laurette thinking she recognized the person
of her mysterious visitor, clung still closer to Enrico, and endeavoured to
conceal herself behind one of the columns.
As he
passed, Enrico bowed, and would have addressed him; but he drew his cowl close,
and heaving a deep sigh, left the chapel.
When they
crossed the court, they beheld him standing by the side of the building, as if
surveying it, and frequently turning to see whether he was observed. As they
pursued their walk, Enrico gently rallied her upon her superstition; for his
mind, being somewhat reassured by the promise she had made him of accepting his
protection, should she be obliged to relinquish that of the Marchese, he felt
more disposed to cheerfulness.
When they
had arrived near the castle, Laurette turned, and perceived the Monk, at some
distance, apparently following them. Her suspicions concerning it being the
identical Friar who had delivered the portrait, were now more strongly
confirmed; but not seeming to regard him, she hastened her steps, and, faint
and fatigued, arrived at the castle.
The
Signora was already there, waiting with the evening's refreshment; and after
relating to each other the incidents of the day, they separated and retired to
their rooms: Laurette to reflect upon the conversation during their ramble,
with the strange adventure at the abbey; and Enrico, upon the charming object
of his regard, who was never absent from his thoughts.
To be continued
