THE ORPHAN OF THE RHINE
PART 21
Volume 4
Chapter 1
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Make deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by--
A fellow, by the hand of Nature mark'd.
Louted, and sign'd to do a deed of shame.
This murder had not come into my mind:
Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause.
When I spake darkly what I purposed.
Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face.
Or bade me tell my tale in express words.
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off;
And these, thy fears, would have wrought fears in me.
--SHAKESPEARE
The lovely
orphan was no sooner conveyed from the castle, than the Marchese appeared to
labour under such an oppression of spirits, as no change of circumstance, or of
place, promised to remove.
Though he
would willingly have spared himself this new cause of remorse, by confining
Laurette in a convent at the instigation of the inhuman steward, he had at last
determined upon her death. Offended pride and disappointed hopes taught him at
first to reflect upon it with indifference, whilst the apparent necessity of
committing this horrid deed, to conceal the perpetration of another not less
criminal, actuated him still more powerfully; yet, probably, even these
arguments would not have possessed a sufficient portion of energy and persuasion
to have effected so sudden a resolution, had he not beheld in the person of
Paoli a wretch, whose mind, as well as aspect, indicated him a villain, marked
and selected by Nature for the accomplishment of the most daring and bloody
purposes; who being entirely unrestrained by conscience, was ever ready to
espouse the cause of iniquity, for the sake of temporary advantage; and from a
long acquaintance with all the arts of intrigue, was enabled to direct the
weaknesses and vices of others to his immediate interests.
Three days
had passed since Laurette's departure from the castle, during which period a
thousand internal conflicts destroyed the repose of the Marchese, and lacerated
his guilty bosom. He awaited with a dreadful kind of impatience the return of
Paoli. The sun of the morning arose to him without exciting one sweet or
pleasurable emotion; and, as if anxious to escape from his penetrating and
reproachful beams, he frequently retired into the deep clefts of the rocks, or
the rude narrow glens of the mountains, as if alarmed lest his very thoughts
should have witnesses; but, though he dared not trust himself to visit those
scenes which were once rendered interesting by the soft form of her, who was
now the patient victim of his cruelty, her beautiful image, adorned with all
its innocent and unassuming graces, was continually presented to him, even in
the wild and lonely recesses he had chosen. Since she had now paid so dear for
her offence, remorse and tenderness rapidly succeeded each other; and sensations,
as new as they were agonizing, were excited in his breast. Conscious that to
the mind diseased, no state is so insupportable as that of suspense, he became
still more impatient for the return of his steward, though it was impossible he
could communicate any intelligence of a cordial nature, since he equally
dreaded to hear that Laurette was assassinated, or had effected an escape, as
such an event could not take place without the interference of another, which
must inevitably lead to a discovery productive of the most alarming
consequences.
Four days
had now elapsed, and still he did not return; something the Marchese imagined
must have happened to occasion this delay, and sensations still more afflictive
and terrible passed through his disordered mind. Unable any longer to endure
the pressure of his uneasiness, which was now rendered still more acute by a
thousand memorials of her whom he had thus sacrificed to ambition and unjust
resentment, he adopted the resolution of repairing to the castle of Elfinbach,
in hopes that a new succession of objects might effect a change of idea. This
plan, as soon as formed, was communicated to Ambrose, who was commanded to
attend him thither and leaving orders for Paoli to follow him immediately on
his return, the Marchese proceeded on his journey.
After a
dreary and melancholy ride over barren heaths and rugged precipices, the
travellers arrived at this desolated castle, which, from the heavy rains that
had recently fallen, and the high winds which had blown down the rampart-wall,
and shattered the easements, appeared more than usually gloomy. The Marchese
surveyed it for a moment in silence, and then alighting from his horse, asked
eagerly for the Signora, and was directed into one of the saloons.
He found
her alone, engaged in some household employment; and being surprised at his
sudden return to a place not at present rendered fit for his reception, she
looked chagrined and embarrassed. The restless agitation of mind that was so
strongly delineated on the features and manners of the Marchese, did not elude
the observation of the Signora, though the cause was inexplicable. She would
have demanded the reason of this conduct, but the reserve, with which he
repressed every inquiry she ventured to make that could lead to the subject,
occasioned her to desist.
She did
not mention Laurette till the following day, fearing lest this mysterious
sadness was the effect of her coldness, and might be increased by reverting to
the cause; but anxiety to gain some information respecting her lovely young
friend overpowering every other consideration, directed her simply to
interrogate him concerning her health. The name of Laurette, uttered by the
Signora, roused him from that state of stupor into which he had fallen. He
started, and confusion for the moment prevented him from framing a reply, till
at length recalling some portion of that studied composure, that masterly
command of feature, for which he was once so deservedly eminent, he informed
her, without recollecting that he had not answered her first question, that
Laurette had proved herself unworthy of his future protection, by having
escaped secretly from the castle, unknown to and unobserved by any one.
The
Signora now imagined that she was acquainted with the whole: every thing that
the Marchese had uttered relative to her escape, appeared probable, when she
recollected the boldness, and even aversion, with which she had uniformly
repressed the ardour of his passion. But in what part of the province could she
find an asylum that would defend her from the power of her lover, or elude the
vigilance of his researches, should he be disposed to continue his
persecutions, was unanswerable. Her unprotected situation filled the mind of
the Signora, as she reflected upon it, with new terror; but afraid of betraying
too much emotion in the presence of her Lord, she abruptly quitted the
apartment, that she might consider it more deeply in secret.
The
Marchese now believing that he had convinced his Casiera that Laurette had
deservedly forfeited all claim to his protection from having voluntarily
quitted the castle, less frequently came into her presence than before, still
endeavouring to find that repose he had lost amid the wildest scenes of Nature,
which his dark discoloured imagination rendered still more dreary.
Day after
day passed in a state of mournful solicitude, yet Paoli was not announced; 'the
attempt, and not the deed', was dreadful! If the bloody business was
transacted, what could have detained him? A thousand terrible surmises now
agitated his breast; his nights continued to be sleepless, and, before he had
been a week resident at the castle, his pallid countenance, and his emaciated
limbs, foretold alarming consequences!
A strange
account of noises heard in different parts of the mansion, and of spectres
being seen gliding through the galleries at the dead hour of the night, was now
circulated among the domestics! The Signora was informed of it, and, willing to
remove what she termed causeless superstition, endeavoured to convince them of
the absurdity of allowing themselves to be deluded by imaginary terrors; but
the arguments she made use of to quiet their apprehensions were ineffectual.
Ambrose averred, that he had met a figure clothed in white, gliding through the
corridor, who, without accosting him, vanished apparently into one of the
deserted apartments! The female servants, who were procured by the Signora from
the nearest village, to assist in cleaning the castle, each declared they had
seen the same spectre, exactly answering to his description, in different
situations, and had all formed the resolution not to stir alone in the night,
nor even in the dusk, each declaring that she had rather meet a wild beast than
a spirit!
The
Signora's woman, being the only one among them who had not caught the
contagion, proposed, if any one would accompany her, to explore every room in
the castle; but no individual in the family being courageous enough to assist
her in her researches, she was compelled to abandon the design, though not
without branding all, particularly Ambrose, with the imputation of cowardice.
The
Marchese in the meantime, though kept in total ignorance of the affair, through
the express orders of the Casiera, appeared to suffer more internal horror than
any of the servants. His meals were short, and his answers, when any one
addressed him, were far from the purpose, and usually uttered with an aspect of
displeasure. At some times he seemed lost in the gloom of silent
thoughtfulness, whilst at others his strong expressive features were distorted
by emotions; and with his arms folded upon his breast, and his eyes fixed with
a vacant stare upon some object he was unconscious of beholding, his whole
frame appeared to suffer some dreadful convulsion. He usually retired early to
his room, but seldom to his bed: he never courted the sweet influence of sleep,
for he knew that it shunned the blood-stained couch of the murderer, and
descended only on the lid of unoffending innocence.
Chapter 2
What man dare, I dare;
Approach thou, like the rugged Russian bear.
The arm'd rhinoceros, or Hyrcanian tyger;
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble.
--SHAKESPEARE
The room,
which was selected by ambrose for his Lord immediately on his arrival, was on
the northern side of the edifice, and from its remote situation, as well as
from the circumstance of that range of apartments having always remained locked
during Madame Chamont's residence in the mansion, had long fallen into disuse.
It was a large dreary looking chamber, partially hung with tapestry of no
common workmanship, representing a group of grim and ghastly figures habited as
knights, with their spears, bucklers, and other implements of war. The bed,
which was composed of crimson damask, was so much faded and discoloured with
age, and the curtains that hung loosely from the high canopied tester, had been
so long a prey to the moths and the night-flies, that the windows were no
sooner opened, after having been closed for near twenty years, than they fell
into fragments. A few faded portraits, in the costume of the thirteenth
century, and large old-fashioned mirror, whose massy gilt frame appeared to
have withstood the assaults of ages, were the only ornaments this apartment
contained, if those could be called ornaments, which, instead of relieving the
eye, tended to make the correspondent gloom of the whole more dreadfully
impressive.
This room
Ambrose endeavoured to convince the Signora was less exposed than any other to
the fury of the winds, and upon the whole a more comfortable asylum than any
other which the castle contained.
The
Marchese, in any other frame of spirits, would have been shocked at its
desolate appearance; but horrors were now become familiar to him, and taking a
lamp and book, he usually retired to it early; and if he ever closed his eyes,
this transient respose was obtained in a large antique chair, covered with
green damask, that was placed by the side of the fire.
The
Signora, believing that this increasing malady was chiefly the effect of
sleepless anxiety, ventured one night, unknown to him, to put something in his
wine of a soporific nature, whose effect being almost instantaneous, occasioned
him to retire to his chamber still earlier than before.
Scarcely
had he entered the room before he perceived a soft composure stealing upon his
spirits, and contrary to his late custom, threw himself upon the bed, and
yielded to a transient slumber. But the comfort of serene sleep was denied him;
for his guilty soul conjured up strange and dreadful images, not less appalling
than his waking terrors. He imagined that, for some crime committed against the
ecclesiastical powers, he was consigned to the dungeons of the inquisition
within the authority of Rome, where he remained in hourly expectation of being
summoned to the secret tribunal--a tribunal where mercy, and even justice, are
for ever excluded, to confess what must doom him to immediate death, or have
that confession extorted from him, by means more dreadful than the human mind
could conceive, by inflictions more excruciating than the annihilation of
existence. He awaked; it was but a dream, and sleep still overpowering him, he
closed his eyes, and again yielded to its influence. The dreadful vision still
continued; he was now conducted by two of the officers belonging to this
hopeless prison, through dark subterranean passages, to the secret tribunal.
The grand inquisitor, with the three persons that formed the tribunal, were
seated on a lofty elevation. He arose when he entered, and eyeing him with a
dreadful kind of minuteness, proceeded to judgment. The charge against him was
read; it spoke of murder and sacrilege. His accuser was called; it was a Monk,
of a meek and saint-like appearance, clad in the holy vestments of his order.
He came forwards; the trial proceeded; the facts alledged against him were
incontrovertible, and the tribunal, in a loud voice, demanded his confession.
The excessive agitation of his mind now released him from the fetters of sleep,
and starting from the couch, in an agony not to be described, he pronounced the
word 'Confess.' 'Confess,' repeated a voice apparently proceeding from a
distant part of the room, in a tone at once deep and impressive. The Marchese's
alarm increased; a sound was certainly heard that echoed his words, and
surprise and terror for the moment deprived him of utterance. But a desperate
kind of courage was at length communicated to his mind, and in an accent not
less firm, though more furious, he retorted, 'Confess what?' 'Confess what?'
returned the same voice, delivering the last word in a tone of deeper
emphasis--'Dost thou ask what?' The sensation which the Marchese now
experienced, was little short of distraction; it could not be an illusion, and
he would have sprang from his couch to have investigated this mysterious
affair, and to have discovered, if possible, from whence the tones proceeded;
but throwing his eyes wildly around, he perceived a tall, dreadful-looking figure
moving slowly from one of the angles into a remote part of the chamber. The
lamp was extinguished, and the dying embers refused to administer the smallest
portion of light; but the moon-beams that penetrated through the half-decayed
curtains, dimly discovered the figure.
With a
countenance, on which extreme agony of soul was faithfully delineated, the eyes
of the Marchese continued to follow the terrifying phantom, who, without
appearing to observe him, moved pensively along beneath the dim Gothic arch of
the casement, in a kind of white robe or cassock, which descending beneath the
feet, swept mournfully along the ground. A hood of the same colour covered its
face, and shaded the ghastliness of its features. The castle bell now tolled
one; the spectre stopped, turned, and in a few moments advanced with a
quickened movement towards the bed. The desperate courage which the Marchese
had assumed, now vanished; he threw himself back upon the pillow, his breath
shortened, the cold dews paced each other down his forehead, he veiled his
face, which exhibited a cadaverous paleness, with the coverture; and stifled
groans, and irregular respiration, were all the symptoms of remaining
existence!
In a few
minutes he heard a rustling kind of noise towards the feet of the bed; the
curtains were soon afterwards undrawn, and had not the alarm attendant on
conscious guilt, wrapped him in obscurity, he might have seen distinctly the
form of the spectre bending silently over his couch.
In this
situation he remained till the light of the morning dissipated the gloom that
had veiled his dreary apartment; when venturing to divest himself of his
temporary covering, he perceived that the phantom, which had excited such
alarm, was vanished, though the door of the chamber was still fastened.
This
remarkable incident now completely engaged his attention; and having
communicated the affair to Ambrose, who was become a kind of confident since
the departure of Paoli, he contrived, with his assistance, to remove the
tapestry with which the apartment was hung, that by these means they might be
enabled to explore every part of the wainscot, and to discover if any secret
entrance was concealed behind this grotesque covering; but no door, or any
other possible method of gaining admission, appeared, or any thing that could
act as a clue to conjecture. Still more perplexed and agonized, the mind of the
Marchese became a prey to superstitious terror. Afraid of being alone, yet
ashamed of acknowledging his weakness, he suffered a tumult of distracting
apprehension, which no effort of fortitude could subdue.
Chapter 3
Ah me! for aught that ever I could read.
Could ever hear by tale or history.
The course of true love never did run smooth;
But either it was different in blood.
Or else misgrafted in respect of years.
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends.
Or if there were a sympathy in choice.
War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it.
--SHAKESPEARE
Enrico had
been prevented from visiting Laurette to his promise by a second letter from
Italy, which acquainted him with the increasing indisposition of his Colonel,
and convinced him of the necessity of his quitting Germany immediately, if he
was desirous of preventing the danger of seeing him no more. The grateful heart
of the young Chevalier felt a severe pang of self-reproach when he perused this
epistle, and willing to repair this fault of omission with all imaginable
speed, he wrote to inform Laurette of the occasion of his absence, and
commenced his journey. As the Signora was removed from the castle at the time
this letter arrived, it unfortunately fell into the hands of the steward, who,
after intercepting and reading it himself, discovered the contents to his Lord.
Thus the two lovers mutually upbraided each other without any actual cause, and
felt, through the meanness and vices of others, the most poignant regret and
solicitude.
As soon as
Enrico had reached the borders of Italy, he made the best of his way to
Pietola, the customary residence of the Marchese de Martilina when disengaged
from the duties of his station.
Here he
arrived but just in time to receive the last sigh of his revered patron, and to
bathe the almost lifeless hand that was extended to welcome him with his tears!
Perfectly sensible, though unable to give his thoughts utterance, the Marchese
gazed with silent tenderness upon his young favourite, till the vital spark,
which had been long expiring, was extinguished, and he fell into the arms of
death as into a quiet slumber. The serenity displayed by this great and good
man at the hour of death, sufficiently evinced that his life had been
blameless: it was the cloudless evening of a tranquil day; no ruffling gales
disturbed the calm of his soul; all was comfort and repose.
The affectionate
Enrico felt as if he had lost not only a friend, but a parent; and when he
followed the adviser and protector of his youth to his last mournful
receptacle, he suffered an agony of distress, which required a more than
ordinary effort of fortitude to subdue. Endowed with that exquisite perception
of pain, or pleasure, which is annexed to extreme sensibility, he found it
difficult to tear himself from the place which contained the sacred remains of
his friend; till anxiety to gain some intelligence relative to Laurette's
silence, which was as mysterious as alarming, determined him to remove from
Pietola without further delay, and to set forwards for the castle of Lunenburg.
Having
given orders to Anselmo for the horses to be prepared, which were to convey
them into Germany, he visited, for the last time, the grave of his much-revered
Colonel; and after having indulged the sacredness of his sorrow in secret, was
walking silently from the spot, when he was accosted by the nearest relative of
his deceased friend, who, with much courtesy of address, requested an audience.
Enrico
bowed assent, and following his conductor to a place appointed for the purpose,
was informed that the Marchese di Martilina had bequeathed to him a thousand
Louis-d'ors per annum, as a pledge of his friendship and esteem. The heart of
the noble Chevalier overflowed with effusions of gratitude, which no eloquence
of language can express, as this event was recited; tears of tenderness and
regret rushed into his eyes, and having thanked the Signor for his information,
with a gracefulness of expression peculiar to himself, he retired to indulge
the luxury of his feelings in secret. Enrico had accidentally heard that his
much-lamented Colonel had accumulated a considerable share of personal
property, besides those ample estates he possessed in many parts of the
Continent, which devolved to the male heir; but he never flattered himself into
the supposition that he should be remembered in his will, though on former
occasions he had experienced many proofs of his benevolence. A mind more
sanguine and disinterested than his own might, indeed, have collected some
circumstances to favour such an opinion; as the Marchese had no near relation
living, and consequently his immense possessions descended to a distant branch
of the family, to whom he was not much attached, whilst the ever-increasing
partiality he had discovered for the amiable Chevalier wore the most promising
aspect in his favour.
This
worthy Nobleman had never formed a matrimonial connexion, owing to his having
experienced a severe disappointment in the early part of his life, which
directed him, as the most effectual way of subduing it, into the service of his
country.
New
avocations now retarded the journey of Enrico for a few days; but more than
ever anxious to behold the charming object of his affections, whose fair form
too frequently obtruded itself into his thoughts, as well as to learn the cause
of her silence, as soon as suitable arrangements were made respecting pecuniary
affairs, he proceeded on his journey.
The tender
melancholy which pervaded the heart of our hero, was not unmixed with pleasing
sensations, when he considered himself as advancing towards that mansion, which
he had reason to imagine was inhabited by her, whose presence was sufficient to
compensate for the loss of every other valuable connexion, and who, he
flattered himself, would mingle the breathings of affection with the blushes of
retiring diffidence.
He
recollected that he now possessed a competency adequate to all the comforts, if
not the luxuries, of life, which, though by no means equal to the merit of the
person beloved, was yet, he was convinced, far beyond her desires, as it would,
at least, place them, would she deign to listen to his proposals, above
mediocrity; but when his mind reverted with painful concern to his lost parent,
whose destiny was yet veiled in obscurity, a cloud of premature sadness
overshadowed his future prospects. Was she present to congratulate him on his
new accessions, and at the same time to confer upon him her orphan charge, how
pure, how unmixed, would have been his felicity; and how exquisite would have
been her sensations when empowered to bestow such happiness!
Lost in
these reflections, Enrico proceeded silently along; nor could the loquacity of
Anselmo, who endeavoured to direct his attention towards those 'cloud-capped'
temples, decayed edifices, and lofty columns, which on every side decorate the
Italian landscape, giving sublimity to beauty, withdraw him from thoughtfulness.
Having
proceeded for many leagues along the winding borders of the Po, by means of a
gondola they crossed the Adda that communicates with the Lago di Como,
celebrated by Virgil under the name of Lake Larius, which issuing out at the
extremity, loses itself in that river, the grand receptacle of all others,
except the Adige, that washes the vernal and fruitful soil of this romantic
country. Had Enrico's mind been entirely disengaged from nearer interests, with
what solemn emotions of awe and admiration would he have contemplated the scene
before him? The vast range of Alps, which serve as a barrier to divide France
and Germany from the Italian states, rose in irregular and misshapen forms,
some towering till their summits were lost in perpetual obscurity, whilst
others were broken into so many steeps and inaccessible precipices, that the
traveller, surveying them with that kind of enthusiasm which is peculiar to the
admirers of stupendous imagery, feels an affecting kind of horror stealing irresistibly
to his heart.
After
passing with much difficulty these dangerous acclivities, the soul of Enrico
became more animated. Every step he conceived brought him nearer to Laurette;
and though still far distant, he imagined the wintry landscape, as he passed
the boundaries of Germany, exhibited a less saddened appearance. Hope again
brightened his prospects, and scarcely submitting to the delay of stopping for
necessary food, he redoubled his speed. A few days brought them within three
leagues of the castle, and having proceeded thus far, the travellers were
compelled, from the darkness of the night, to put up at a small cottage on the
road, meaning to prosecute the remaining part of their journey on the ensuing
mornmg; but Enrico had of late suffered so much mental, as well as bodily
fatigue, that he was obliged to remain at the cottage some hours longer than
was his intention, and also to take something of a medicinal nature before he
was enabled to proceed; though his impatience arose almost to agony when he
recollected how inconsiderable was the distance which separated him from
Laurette, and yet that he was prevented from being with her, without having
even obtained an assurance that she was still in safety. Towards evening,
however, the symptoms, which had threatened him with severe indisposition,
abated, and, unable to endure the idea of procrastinated happiness when his
lovely enchantress was so near, he determined to proceed; and, after bestowing
upon the owners of this little asylum many testimonies of gratitude, they
continued their journey.
It was
night when the travellers arrived within sight of the mansion, and new
sensations assailed the mind of Enrico as he surveyed it. From what had passed,
he had every reason to believe that he must encounter the displeasure of its
possessor by venturing into his presence without a previous invitation, who had
never once hinted a desire of being known to him on any former occasion; but
the force of his attachment soon weakened these unpleasant surmises, and as
nearer interests succeeded in his thoughts, he wondered how they had ever
troubled him. When Enrico had reached the high wall which encompassed the
castle, his heart beat high with expectation. He attempted to open the arched
door which had before given him admission; it gave way to his touch; and
desiring Anselmo to attend to the horses till he received orders to the
contrary, he advanced rapidly through the grounds. The moon, which before gave
only a pale and uncertain light, now shrunk beneath a cloud, and it was with
much difficulty that he was enabled to proceed through the numerous shrubberies
and low coppices, which were every where scattered around. The path he had
chosen, though the most direct one leading to the portico, was winding and
irregular, frequently intercepted with small clumps of juniper, almond, and
pomgranate, or with knots of variegated evergreens, which, in a more favourable
season, perfumed the air with their fragrance. When arrived at the principal
entrance, he knocked, but the summons was unanswered; he listened, but no step
was to be heard; fear and mistrust, with a thousand melancholy accompaniments,
were now communicated to his mind. He surveyed the front of the edifice; no
lights appeared at the windows. He ascended the solarium, and looked through
the glass door that opened into the terrace-parlour, which the Signora d'Orfo
and her fair friend formerly occupied when alone; but it was deserted, and even
the lamps, which used to be hung in the balconies, were removed. Impatience now
arose to the most painful solicitude; he knocked again and again, but without
better success, and at length becoming desperate by this cruel disappointment, endeavoured
to scale the wall inclosing the court which led to the portal. After many
ineffectual attempts, he succeeded in his desires; but the enterprise was a
dangerous one, and as he alighted on the other side, something placed there for
the purpose lacerated his leg. The pain, though acute, was disregarded; but the
blood, which flowed fast from the wound, obliged him to apply his handkerchief
as a bandage to the part till assistance could be procured. This accident,
though it retarded the execution, tended not to subdue the energy of his
resolves. He bounded instantly towards the door, and knowing that a bell,
resounding through one whole wing of the building, was here the signal of
approach, he repeated the alarm, and in a few minutes had the consolation of
hearing footsteps approaching slowly along the hall. The door was now opened by
a male servant, whom Enrico never remembered to have seen during his former
residence in the castle, who, after surveying him with surprise, demanded his
business. In a voice rendered tremulous by emotion, he inquired for Laurette,
and was informed that she had eloped from the mansion without the knowledge of
the family, and was gone no one could tell whither.
To
describe the sensations of the unfortunate Chevalier at this moment, would
demand powers of expression beyond the utmost eloquence of language. He rushed
into the castle in spite of the efforts of the domestic, who endeavoured to
prevent his design, and hastening along the hall, stopped at the door of the
saloon. He attempted to open it, but it was locked. The Marchese and the
Signora were then assuredly removed, and whither must he go for information.
The servant, by whom he was admitted, having never seen him before, being
entirely ignorant of his intentions from the circumstance of his scaling the
wall, as well as the wildness of his looks, took him for a maniac, and had left
him to pursue his own inclinations only whilst he acquainted his fellows with
the adventure.
Lost in
bewildering conjecture, Enrico stood with his eyes unconsciously fixed upon the
deserted apartments in a state of total inaction; for surprise had deprived him
of the power of exertion, and made him sensible only of his own misfortunes and
disappointment. One solitary lamp, suspended from the ceiling in a central
situation, which cast a dim and partial light, scarcely dissipated the gloom
that was every where visible; but his mind was too much wounded to feel the
effect of accidental events, though all around appeared melancholy, hopeless, and
blank as his destiny.
The few
remaining domestics now crowded about the forlorn traveller, some to demand his
business at that lone and silent hour, and others to prove the truth of the
assertion, by discovering whether he was really touched with insanity. Extreme
agony of mind prevented Enrico from immediately undeceiving them; but
recollecting the necessity of recalling some portion of that resisting
fortitude, which love only could have weakened, he repeated his inquiries with
all the calmness he could command, and finally, by declaring his name,
endeavoured to make himself known. This avowal roused one of the women that
followed in the rear, who elevating her lamp as she advanced nearer, for the
purpose of examining his countenance, let it fall suddenly from her hand,
exclaiming, in evident astonishment, that it was indeed the Chevalier Chamont.
Somewhat animated by the certainty that he was remembered, at least, by one of
the domestics, Enrico made a second attempt at recomposing his spirits; and having
requested that she would indulge him with a few moments' conversation alone,
she opened the door of the terrace-parlour to give him admittance, whilst the
rest stole silently away.
Fanchette,
which was the name of the servant, possessing much natural kindness, was easily
prevailed upon to give him an audience; and when she beheld his wild, unsettled
appearance, and the many symptoms of distress which marked his dejected
features, compassion was so warmly excited in her bosom, that, had it been in
her power to have offered him consolation, she would have bestowed it with
pleasure.
The
Marchese, as well as Ambrose, had confidently affirmed that Laurette had
voluntarily escaped from the castle ever since her departure, and had taken
much pains to circulate this report among the servants; and as she had not been
seen by any one but Paoli and Ambrose after having left the pavilion, the
probability of the assertion was apparently justified; though Fanchette
observed, that the steward's quitting the castle at so early an hour in the
morning, without giving some previous intimation of his intentions, appeared
somewhat mysterious. The sudden removal of the fair orphan, in whose fate all
were interested, had been a subject of surprise and conjecture in those apartments
appropriated to the use of the servants ever since the event had taken place.
Various opinions were received and propagated, which were faithfully recited by
Fanchette; but from these nothing was to be gathered that might lead to a
future discovery. Plunged still deeper in despair, the disconsolate Enrico
could scarcely be prevailed upon to continue in the castle during the night, so
anxious was he to commence his pursuit of Laurette, however hopeless the
attempt.
Having at
length reluctantly assented to Fancliette's wishes, who kindly applied
something of an healing quality to his leg, which was found upon examination to
be very slightly injured, Anselmo's horses were ordered into the stable, and he
into the kitchen, to partake of a comfortable repast, and the warmth of a
blazing fire. Enrico's mind was too much disturbed with internal conflicts to
attend to the wants of Nature, and throwing himself upon one of those sofas, on
which in happier times he had often sat with Laurette, he yielded to all the melancholy
forebodings of his agitated breast.
To be continued
