diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/53707-0.txt | 17729 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/53707-0.zip | bin | 409045 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/53707-h.zip | bin | 548116 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/53707-h/53707-h.htm | 21256 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/53707-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 37130 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/53707-h/images/i_001.jpg | bin | 63815 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/53707-h/images/i_002.jpg | bin | 23392 -> 0 bytes |
10 files changed, 17 insertions, 38985 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3452ecc --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53707 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53707) diff --git a/old/53707-0.txt b/old/53707-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1b61a85..0000000 --- a/old/53707-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17729 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of St. Leon, by William Godwin - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: St. Leon - A Tale of the Sixteenth Century - -Author: William Godwin - -Release Date: December 10, 2016 [EBook #53707] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ST. LEON *** - - - - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -[Illustration: _Boxall del^t._ _C. Marr sculp^t._ - -ST. LEON, - -“_I took her hand and by my caresses endeavoured to soothe and compose -her._” _Page 65._ - -_London, Published by Henry Colburn & Richard Bentley, 1831._] - - - - - ST. LEON, - - BY - WILLIAM GODWIN. - - [Illustration: _He put his hand to the wound; - the Animal stirred not._ _Page 273._] - - LONDON. - COLBURN AND BENTLEY, - NEW BURLINGTON STREET. - 1831. - - - - - ST. LEON: - - A - TALE OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. - - BY - WILLIAM GODWIN. - - Ferdinand Mendez Pinto was but a type of thee, thou - liar of the first magnitude. CONGREVE. - - LONDON: - HENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY, - NEW BURLINGTON STREET; - BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH - AND CUMMING, DUBLIN. - 1831. - - LONDON: - Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode, - New-Street-Square. - - - - -ADVERTISEMENT. - - -The Publishers of the Collection of “STANDARD NOVELS” are extremely -desirous that I should furnish them with a few lines, by way of -introduction to the appearance of ST. LEON in its present form. I am -however at a loss how to oblige them. In the original Preface I frankly -stated the sources upon which I had drawn for the idea and conduct -of the work. I have therefore no remarks to offer, but these which -follow:-- - -In 1794 I produced the novel of Caleb Williams. I believed myself -fortunate in the selection I had made of the ground-plot of that work. -An atrocious crime committed by a man previously of the most exemplary -habits, the annoyance he suffers from the immeasurable and ever-wakeful -curiosity of a raw youth who is placed about his person, the state of -doubt in which the reader might for a time be as to the truth of the -charges, and the consequences growing out of these causes, seemed to -me to afford scope for a narrative of no common interest. I was not -disappointed. Caleb Williams was honoured with the public favour. - -The consequence was that I was solicited to try my hand again in a work -of fiction. I hesitated long. I despaired of finding again a topic -so rich of interest and passion. In those days it was deemed a most -daring thought to attempt to write a novel, with the hope that it might -hereafter rank among the classics of a language. The most successful -English writers in that province of literature had scarcely gone -beyond three. It had not then been conceived that the same author might -produce twenty or thirty, at the rate of two or three _per annum_, -and might still at least retain his hold upon the partiality of his -contemporaries. To Sir Walter Scott we are indebted for this discovery. - -At length, after having passed some years in a state of diffidence and -irresolution, I ventured on the task. It struck me that if I could “mix -human feelings and passions with incredible situations,” I might thus -attain a sort of novelty that would conciliate the patience, at least, -even of some of the severest judges. To this way of thinking ST. LEON -was indebted for a “local habitation, and a name.” - -One of my most valued friends [Mr. Northcote] has often told me, that -the public may sometimes be interested in the perusal of a book, but -that they never give themselves any trouble about the author. He -therefore kindly advised me on no occasion to say any thing in print -about myself. The present race of readers seem scarcely disposed -to verify this maxim. They are understood to be desirous to learn -something of the peculiarities, the “life, character, and behaviour,” -of an author, before they consign him to the gulph of oblivion, and are -willing to learn from his own testimony what train of thoughts induced -him to adopt the particular subject and plan of the work, upon the -perusal of which they are engaged. - -_June, 1831._ - - - - -PREFACE. - - -The following passage from a work, said to be written by the late Dr. -John Campbel, and entitled _Hermippus Redivivus_, suggested the first -hint of the present performance:-- - -“There happened in the year 1687, an odd accident at Venice, that -made a very great stir then, and which I think deserves to be rescued -from oblivion. The great freedom and ease with which all persons, who -make a good appearance, live in that city, is known sufficiently to -all who are acquainted with it; such will not therefore be surprised, -that a stranger, who went by the name of signor Gualdi, and who made a -considerable figure there, was admitted into the best company, though -nobody knew who or what he was. He remained at Venice for some months; -and three things were remarked in his conduct. The first was, that he -had a small collection of fine pictures, which he readily showed to any -body that desired it; the next, that he was perfectly versed in all -arts and sciences, and spoke on every subject with such readiness and -sagacity, as astonished all who heard him; and it was, in the third -place, observed, that he never wrote or received any letter, never -desired any credit, or made use of bills of exchange, but paid for -every thing in ready money and lived decently, though not in splendour. - -“This gentleman met one day at the coffee-house with a Venetian -nobleman, who was an extraordinary good judge of pictures: he had heard -of signor Gualdi’s collection, and in a very polite manner desired to -see them, to which the other very readily consented. After the Venetian -had viewed signor Gualdi’s collection, and expressed his satisfaction, -by telling him that he had never seen a finer, considering the number -of pieces of which it consisted; he cast his eye by chance over the -chamber-door, where hung a picture of this stranger. The Venetian -looked upon it, and then upon him. ‘This picture was drawn for you, -sir,’ says he to signor Gualdi, to which the other made no answer, -but by a low bow. ‘You look,’ continued the Venetian, ‘like a man of -fifty, and yet I know this picture to be of the hand of Titian, who has -been dead one hundred and thirty years, how is this possible?’--‘It is -not easy,’ said signor Gualdi, gravely, ‘to know all things that are -possible; but there is certainly no crime in my being like a picture -drawn by Titian.’ The Venetian easily perceived, by his manner of -speaking, that he had given the stranger offence, and therefore took -his leave. - -“He could not forbear speaking of this in the evening to some of his -friends, who resolved to satisfy themselves by looking upon the picture -the next day. In order to have an opportunity of doing so, they went -to the coffee-house about the time that signor Gualdi was wont to come -thither; and not meeting with him, one of them, who had often conversed -with him, went to his lodgings to enquire after him, where he heard, -that he had set out an hour before for Vienna. This affair made a great -noise, and found a place in all the newspapers of that time.”[1] - -It is well known that the philosopher’s stone, the art of transmuting -metals into gold, and the _elixir vitæ_, which was to restore youth, -and make him that possessed it immortal; formed a principal object of -the studies of the curious for centuries. Many stories, beside this of -signor Gualdi, have been told, of persons who were supposed to be in -possession of those wonderful secrets, in search of which hundreds of -unfortunate adventurers wasted their fortunes and their lives. - -It has been said of Shakespear, that he - - Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new[2]: - -but the burthen sustained by Shakespear was too heavy for the shoulders -of any other individual. I leave the first part of the task above -mentioned to be divided among those celebrated novelists, living and -dead, who have attempted to delineate the scenes of real life. In -this little work I have endeavoured to gain footing in one neglected -track of the latter province. The hearts and the curiosity of readers -have been assailed in so many ways, that we, writers who bring up the -rear of our illustrious predecessors, must be contented to arrive at -novelty in whatever mode we are able. The foundation of the following -tale is such as, it is not to be supposed, ever existed. But, if I have -mixed human feelings and passions with incredible situations, and thus -rendered them impressive and interesting, I shall entertain some hope -to be pardoned the boldness and irregularity of my design. - -Some readers of my graver productions will perhaps, in perusing -these little volumes, accuse me of inconsistency; the affections and -charities of private life being every where in this publication a topic -of the warmest eulogium, while in the Enquiry concerning Political -Justice they seemed to be treated with no great degree of indulgence -and favour. In answer to this objection, all I think it necessary -to say on the present occasion is, that, for more than four years, -I have been anxious for opportunity and leisure to modify some of -the earlier chapters of that work in conformity to the sentiments -inculcated in this. Not that I see cause to make any change respecting -the principle of justice, or any thing else fundamental to the system -there delivered; but that I apprehend domestic and private affections -inseparable from the nature of man, and from what may be styled -the culture of the heart, and am fully persuaded that they are not -incompatible with a profound and active sense of justice in the mind of -him that cherishes them. True wisdom will recommend to us individual -attachments; for with them our minds are more thoroughly maintained in -activity and life than they can be under the privation of them; and it -is better that man should be a living being, than a stock or a stone. -True virtue will sanction this recommendation; since it is the object -of virtue to produce happiness, and since the man who lives in the -midst of domestic relations will have many opportunities of conferring -pleasure, minute in the detail, yet not trivial in the amount, without -interfering with the purposes of general benevolence. Nay, by kindling -his sensibility, and harmonising his soul, they may be expected, if he -is endowed with a liberal and manly spirit, to render him more prompt -in the service of strangers and the public. - -Nov. 26, 1799. - - - - -TRAVELS OF ST. LEON. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -There is nothing that human imagination can figure brilliant and -enviable, that human genius and skill do not aspire to realize. In the -early ages of antiquity, one of the favourite topics of speculation was -a perfect system of civil policy; and no sooner had Plato delineated -his imaginary republic, than he sought for a spot of earth upon which -to execute his plan. In my own times, and for upwards of a century -before them, the subject which has chiefly occupied men of intrepid -and persevering study, has been the great secret of nature, the -_opus magnum_, in its two grand and inseparable branches, the art of -multiplying gold, and of defying the inroads of infirmity and death. - -It is notorious that uncommon talents and unparalleled industry have -been engaged in this mighty task. It has, I know, been disputed by the -audacious adversaries of all sober and reasonable evidence, whether -these talents and industry have in any case attained the object they -sought. It is not to my purpose to ascertain the number of those whose -victory over the powers and inertness of matter has been complete. It -is enough that I am a living instance of the existence of such men. To -these two secrets, if they are to be considered as two, I have been -for years in the habit of resorting for my gratification. I have in my -possession the choice of being as wealthy as I please, and the gift of -immortal life. Every thing that I see almost, I can without difficulty -make my own; for what palaces, pictures, parks or gardens, rarities of -art or nature, have not a price at which their owner will consent to -yield them? The luxuries of every quarter of the world are emptied at -my feet. I can command, to an extent almost inconceivable, the passions -of men. What heart can withstand the assault of princely magnificence? -What man is inaccessible to a bribe? Add to these advantages, that I am -invulnerable to disease. Every sun that rises, finds the circulations -of my frame in the most perfect order. Decrepitude can never approach -me. A thousand winters want the power to furrow my countenance with -wrinkles, or turn my hairs to silver. Exhaustless wealth and eternal -youth are the attributes by which I am distinguished from the rest of -mankind. - -I do not sit down now to write a treatise of natural philosophy. The -condition by which I hold my privileges is, that they must never be -imparted. I sit down purely to relate a few of those extraordinary -events that have been produced, in the period of my life which is -already elapsed, by the circumstances and the peculiarity to which I -have just alluded. - -It is so obvious, as to make it almost improper to specify it, that -the pursuit in which so many of my contemporaries are engaged, and -the end of which I have so singularly achieved, is in its appearance -infinitely more grand and interesting than that which occupied the -thoughts of Plato and the most eminent writers of antiquity. What is -political liberty compared with unbounded riches and immortal vigour? -The immediate application of political liberty is, to render a man’s -patrimony or the fruits of his industry completely his own, and to -preserve them from the invasion of others. But the petty detail of -preservation or gradual acquisition can never enter into competition -with the _great secret_, which endows a man in a moment with every -thing that the human heart can wish. Considered in this light, how mean -and contemptible does the ambition of the boasted ancients appear, -compared with ours? What adept or probationer of the present day would -be content to resign the study of God and the profounder secrets -of nature, and to bound his ardour to the investigation of his own -miserable existence? - -It may seem perhaps to many, that the history of a person possessed -of advantages so unparalleled as mine, must be, like the history -of paradise, or of the future happiness of the blessed, too calm -and motionless, too much of one invariable texture and exempt from -vicissitude, to excite the attention or interest the passions of the -reader. If he will have patience, and apply to the perusal of my -narrative, he will in no long time perceive how far his conjecture is -founded in sagacity and reason. - -Some persons may be curious to know what motives can have induced a -man of such enormous wealth, and so every way qualified to revel in -delights, to take the trouble of penning his memoirs. The immortality -with which I am endowed seems to put out of the question the common -motives that relate to posthumous fame. - -The curiosity here mentioned, if it really exists, I cannot consent to -gratify. I will anticipate nothing. In the progress of my story, my -motive for recording it will probably become evident. - -I am descended from one of the most ancient and honourable families -of the kingdom of France. I was the only child of my father, who died -while I was an infant. My mother was a woman of rather a masculine -understanding, and full of the prejudices of nobility and magnificence. -Her whole soul was in a manner concentrated in the ambition to render -me the worthy successor of the counts de St. Leon, who had figured -with distinguished reputation in the wars of the Holy Land. My father -had died fighting gallantly in the plains of Italy under the standard -of Louis the Twelfth; a prince whose name was never repeated to me -unaccompanied with the praises due to his military prowess, and to -the singular humanity of disposition by which he acquired the title -of _The father of his people_. My mother’s mind was inflamed with the -greatness of my ancestors, and she indefatigably sought to kindle in my -bosom a similar flame. It has been a long-established custom for the -barons and feudal vassals of the kings of France to enter with great -personal expense into the brilliant and dazzling expeditions of their -sovereigns; and my father greatly impaired his fortune in preparations -for that very campaign in which he terminated his life. My mother -industriously applied herself to the restoration of my patrimony; and -the long period of my minority afforded her scope for that purpose. - -It was impossible for any boy to be treated with more kindness and -considerate indulgence than I was during the period of my adolescence. -My mother loved me to the very utmost limits perhaps of human -affection. I was her darling and her pride, her waking study, and her -nightly dream. Yet I was not pampered into corporeal imbecility, or -suffered to rust in inactivity of mind. I was provided with the best -masters. I was excited, and successfully excited, zealously to apply -myself to the lessons they taught. I became intimately acquainted with -the Italian writers of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. I was -initiated in the study of the classics, to the cultivation of which -the revival of letters at this time gave particular ardour. I was -instructed in the principles of the fine arts. There was no species of -accomplishment at that time in vogue, that my mother was not anxious I -should make my own. The only science I neglected was the very science -which has since given rise to the most extraordinary events of my life. -But the object to which my attention was principally called, was the -pursuit of military exercises, and the cultivation of every thing that -could add to the strength, agility, or grace of my body, and to the -adventurousness and enterprise of my mind. My mother loved my honour -and my fame more than she loved my person. - -A circumstance that tended perhaps more than any other to fix the yet -fluctuating character of my youthful mind, was my being present as a -spectator at the celebrated meeting between Francis the First and Henry -the Eighth, king of England, in a field between Ardres and Guines. My -mother refused to accompany me, being already arrived at an age in -which curiosity and the love of festive scenes are usually diminished, -and the expenses incurred by all the nobility who attended upon this -scene being incompatible with the economy to which she rigidly adhered. -I was therefore placed under the protection of the Marquis de Villeroy, -her brother, and, with two servants who attended me, formed a part of -his suite. - -I was at this time fifteen years of age. My contemplations had been -familiar with ideas of magnificence and grandeur, but my life had -been spent in the most sequestered retirement. This contrast had a -particular effect upon my disposition; it irritated to a very high -degree my passion for splendour and distinction; I lived in the fairy -fields of visionary greatness, and was more than indifferent to the -major part of the objects around me. I pined for every thing the -reverse of my present condition; I cultivated the exercises in which -I was engaged, only as they were calculated to prepare me for future -achievements. - -By the incident I have mentioned, I was transported at once from a -scene of modest obscurity, to a scene of the most lavish splendour that -the world perhaps ever contemplated. I never remembered to have seen -even Paris itself. The prevailing taste of Europe has for some time led -very much to costliness in dress. This taste, in its present profusion, -I believe took its rise in the field of the Vale of Ardres. The two -kings were both in the vigour of their youth, and were said to be the -handsomest men of the age in which they lived. The beauty of Henry was -sturdy and muscular; that of Francis more refined and elegant, without -subtracting in any considerable degree from the firmness of his make. -Henry was four years older than his brother monarch. The first of them -might have been taken as a model to represent a youthful Hercules, and -the last an Apollo. - -The splendour of dress that was worn upon this occasion exceeds almost -all credibility. Every person of distinction might be said in a -manner to carry an estate upon his shoulders; nor was the variety of -garments inferior to the richness. Wolsey, a man whose magnificence of -disposition was only surpassed by the pride of his soul, was for the -most part the director of the whole. He possessed the most absolute -ascendancy over the mind of his master, at the same time that Francis -artfully indulged his caprice, that he might claim from him in return a -similar indulgence in weightier matters. - -The pomp of processions, and the ceremony of opening this memorable -festival, went first; a sort of solemn and half-moving pageant, which -the eye took in at leisure, and took in till it was filled. This was -succeeded by every thing that was rapid, animated, and interesting: -masques and exhibitions of all kinds; and, which was still more to me, -and which my soul devoured with indescribable ardour, joustings, tilts, -and tournaments without end. The beauty of the armour, the caparisons -of the steeds, the mettle of the animals themselves, and the ardour and -grace of the combatants, surpassed every thing that my fancy had ever -painted. These scenes were acted in the midst of a vast amphitheatre of -spectators, where all that was noble and eminent of either country was -assembled--the manliness of aspiring youth, and the boundless varieties -of female attraction. All were in their gayest attire; every eye was -lighted up with complacency and joy. If Heraclitus, or any other morose -philosopher who has expatiated on the universal misery of mankind, had -entered the field of Ardres, he must have retracted his assertions, or -fled from the scene with confusion. The kings were placed at either -end of the lists, surrounded with their courtiers. Every eye through -this vast assembly was fixed upon the combatants; the body of every one -present was inclined this way or that, in unconscious sympathy with the -redoubted knights. From time to time, as the favourites of either party -prevailed, the air was rent with shouts and acclamations. - -What added to the fascination of all that I have yet mentioned, was -that now, for the first time in an equal degree perhaps for centuries, -the stiffness of unwieldy form was laid aside, and the heart of man -expanded itself with generosity and confidence. It burst the fetters -of ages; and, having burst them, it seemed to revel in its new-found -liberty. It is well known that, after a few days of idle precaution -and specious imprisonment on both sides, Francis one morning mounted -his horse, and appeared, without guards or any previous notice, before -the tent of Henry. The example was contagious, and from this time all -ceremony was laid aside. The kings themselves entered personally into -the combats of their subjects. It was a delightful and a ravishing -spectacle, to witness the freedom of the old Roman manners, almost -of the old Roman Saturnalia, polished and refined with all that was -graceful and humane in the age of chivalry. - -It may easily be imagined what an effect a scene like this was -calculated to produce upon a youth of my age and my education. I -recollected with anguish that the immaturity of my years precluded me -from taking any active part in the spectacle. My appearance however was -sufficiently advantageous. I was presented to Francis the First. He -did me the honour to question me respecting my studies; and, finding -in me some knowledge of those arts and that literature, of which he -was himself so zealous a favourer, he expressed to my uncle a great -satisfaction with my figure and acquisitions. I might from this time -have been taken to court, and made one of the pages to this illustrious -monarch. But the plan of my mother was different. She did not wish for -the present that my eye should be satiated with public scenes, or that -the public should grow too familiarly acquainted with my person. She -rightly judged that my passion for the theatre of glory would grow more -impetuous, by being withheld for some time from the gratifications for -which it panted. She wished that I should present myself for the first -time among the nobility of France an accomplished cavalier, and not -suffer the disadvantage of having exposed in the eye of the world those -false steps and frailties, from which the inexperience of youth is -never entirely free. These motives being explained to the king, he was -graciously pleased to sanction them with his approbation. I accordingly -returned to finish the course of my education at my paternal château -upon the banks of the Garonne. - -The state of my mind during the three succeeding years amply justified -the sagacity of my mother. I was more eager for improvement than I had -ever yet been. I had before formed some conceptions of the career of -honour from the books I had read, and from the conversation of this -excellent matron. But my reveries were impotent and little, compared -with what I had now seen. Like the author of our holy religion, I had -spent my forty days without food in the wilderness, when suddenly my -eyes were opened, and I was presented with all the kingdoms of the -world, and all the glory of them. The fairy scene continued for a -moment, and then vanished; leaving nothing behind it on all sides, but -the same barrenness and gloom by which it had been preceded. I never -shut my eyes without viewing in imagination the combats of knights -and the train of ladies. I had been regarded with distinction by my -sovereign; and Francis the First stood before my mind the abstract and -model of perfection and greatness. I congratulated myself upon being -born in an age and country so favourable to the acquisition of all that -my soul desired. - -I was already eighteen years of age, when I experienced the first -misfortune that ever befel me. It was the death of my mother. She felt -the approach of her dissolution several weeks before it arrived, and -held repeated conversations with me, respecting the feelings I ought -to entertain, and the conduct it would become me to pursue, when she -should be no more. - -“My son,” said she, “your character, and the promise of your early -years, have constituted my only consolation since the death of your -excellent father. Our marriage was the result of a most sincere and -exclusive attachment; and never did man more deserve to be loved than -Reginald de St. Leon. When he died, the whole world would have been -nothing to me but one vast blank, if he had not left behind him the -representative of his person, and the heir to his virtues. While I was -busied in your education, I seemed to be discharging the last duty to -the memory of my husband. The occupation was sacred to the honour of -the dead, even before it became so peculiarly pleasing to me upon its -own account, as I afterwards found it. I hope I have in some measure -discharged the task, in the manner in which my lord your father would -have wished it to have been discharged, if he had lived. I am thankful -to Heaven, that I have been spared so long for so dear and honourable a -purpose. - -“You must now, my son, stand by yourself, and be the arbitrator of -your own actions. I could have wished that this necessity might have -been a little further deferred; but I trust your education has not -been of that sort which is calculated to render a young man helpless -and contemptible. You have been taught to know your rank in society, -and to respect yourself. You have been instructed in every thing that -might most effectually forward you in the career of glory. There is not -a young cavalier among all the nobility of France more accomplished, -or that promises to do greater honour to his name and his country. I -shall not live to witness the performance of this promise, but the -anticipation even now, pours a long stream of sunshine on my departing -hour. - -“Farewell, my son! You no longer stand in need of my maternal care. -When I am gone, you will be compelled more vividly to feel that -singleness and self-dependence which are the source of all virtue. -Be careful of yourself. Be careful that your career may be both -spotless and illustrious. Hold your life as a thing of no account, -when it enters into competition with your fame. A true knight thinks -no sacrifice and suffering hard, that honour demands. Be humane, -gentle, generous, and intrepid. Be prompt to follow wherever your -duty calls you. Remember your ancestors, knights of the Holy Cross. -Remember your father. Follow your king, who is the mirror of valour: -and be ever ready for the service of the distressed. May Providence be -your guardian. May Heaven shower down a thousand blessings, upon your -innocence, and the gallantry of your soul!” - -The death of my mother was a severe blow to my heart. For some time all -the visions of greatness and renown which had hitherto been my chosen -delight appeared distasteful to me. I hung over her insensible corpse. -When it had been committed to the earth, I repaired every day to the -spot where it was deposited, at the hour of dusk, when all visible -objects faded from the eye, when nature assumed her saddest tints, -and the whole world seemed about to be wrapped in the darkness of the -tomb. The dew of night drizzled unheeded on my head; and I did not turn -again towards the turrets of the château, till the hour of midnight had -already sounded through the stillness of the scene. - -Time is the healer of almost every grief, particularly in the sprightly -season of early youth. In no long period I changed the oppression -of inactive sorrow, for the affectionate and pious recollection of -my mother’s last instructions. I had been too deeply imbued with -sentiments of glory, for it to be possible, when the first excess -of grief was over, that I should remain in indolence. The tender -remembrance of my mother itself, in no long time, furnished a new -stimulus to my ambition. I forgot the melancholy spectacle of the last -struggles of her expiring life; I even became accustomed no longer to -hear her voice, no longer to expect her presence, when I returned to -the château from a short excursion. Her last advice was now all that -survived of the author of my existence. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -I was in this state of mind, when early one morning in the beginning -of summer, soon after I rose, I was startled by the sound of trumpets -in the plain near the château. The bugle at the gate was presently -sounded; the drawbridge was let down; and the Marquis de Villeroy -entered the court-yard, accompanied by about thirty knights in complete -armour. I saluted him with respect, and the tenderness excited by -recent grief. He took me by the hand, after a short repast in the hall, -and led me to my closet. - -“My son,” said he, “it is time to throw off the effeminacy of sorrow, -and to prove yourself a true soldier of the standard of France.” - -“I trust, my lord,” replied I, with modest earnestness, “that you well -know, there is nothing after which my heart so ardently aspires. There -is nothing that I know worth living for but honour. Show me the path -that leads to it, or rather show me the occasion that affords scope for -the love of honour to display itself, and you shall then see whether -I am backward to embrace it. I have a passion pent up within me, that -feeds upon my vitals: it disdains speech; it burns for something more -unambiguous and substantial.” - -“It is well,” rejoined my uncle. “I expected to find you thus. Your -reply to my admonition is worthy of the blood of your ancestors, and of -the maternal instructions of my sister. And, were you as dull as the -very stones you tread on, what I have to tell you might even then rouse -you into animation and ardour.” - -After this short preface my uncle proceeded to relate a tale, every -word of which inflamed my spirits, and raised all my passions in arms. -I had heard something imperfectly of the state of my country; but my -mother carefully kept me in ignorance, that my ambition might not be -excited too soon, and that, when excited, it might be with the fullest -effect. While I impatiently longed for an occasion of glory, I was far -from apprehending, what I now found to be true, that the occasion which -at this period presented itself, was such, that all the licence of -fiction could scarcely have improved it. - -The Marquis de Villeroy described to me the league now subsisting -against France. He revived in my memory, by terms of the most fervent -loyalty, the accomplishments and talents of my royal master. He spoke -with aversion of the phlegmatic and crafty disposition of his imperial -rival[3]; and, with the language of glowing indignation, inveighed -against the fickleness of the capricious Henry.[4] He described the -train of disasters, which had at length induced the king to take -the field in person. He contrasted, with great effect, the story of -the gallant Chevalier Bayard, _the knight without fear and without -reproach_, whose blood was still fresh in the plains of the Milanese, -with that of the Constable of Bourbon, the stain of chivalry, whom -inglorious resentment and ungoverned ambition had urged to join the -enemies of his country, in neglect of his loyalty and his oath. He -stimulated me by the example of the one, and the infamy of the other; -and assured me that there never was an opportunity more favourable for -acquiring immortal renown. - -I wanted no prompter in a passion of this sort; and immediately set -about collecting the whole force of my clients and retainers. I shook -off the inglorious softness of my melancholy, and was all activity and -animation. The lessons of my youth were now called into play. I judged -it necessary to invite the assistance of some person of experience to -assist me in marshalling my men; but I did much of what was to be done -myself, and I did it well. It was my first employment in the morning: -and the last that was witnessed by the setting sun. My excellent mother -had left my revenues in the best order, and I spared no expense in the -gratification of my favourite passion. - -However eager I felt myself to take the field, the desire to appear -in a manner worthy of a Count de St. Leon restrained me; and I did -not join the royal army till the Imperialists, having broken up the -siege of Marseilles, and retreated with precipitation into Italy, the -king had already crossed the Alps, entered the Milanese, and gained -uncontested possession of the capital. - -From Milan Francis proceeded to Pavia. Glory was the idol of his heart; -and he was the more powerfully excited to the attack of that place, -because it was the strongest and best fortified post in the whole -duchy. The more he displayed of military prowess, the more firmly he -believed he should fix himself in his newly acquired dominions; the -inhabitants would submit to him the more willingly, and the enemy -be less encouraged to enter into a fresh contention for what he had -acquired. Such at least were the motives that he assigned for his -proceedings: in reality perhaps he was principally induced by the -brilliancy which he conceived would attend on the undertaking. - -It was a few weeks after the opening of the siege, that I presented -myself to my royal master. He received me with those winning and -impressive manners by which he was so eminently distinguished. He -recollected immediately all that had passed at our interview in the -Vale of Ardres, and warmly expressed the obligations which France had -at various times owed to my ancestors. He spoke with earnest respect -of the virtues and wisdom of my mother, and commended the resolution -by which she had in former instances held me back from the public -theatre. “Young gentleman,” said the king, “I doubt not the gallantry -of your spirit; I see the impatience of a martial temper written in -your face: I expect you to act in a manner worthy of your illustrious -race, and of the instructions of a woman who deserved to be herself -a pattern to all the matrons of France. Fear not that I shall suffer -your accomplishments to rust in obscurity. I shall employ you. I shall -assign you the post of danger and of renown. Fill it nobly; and from -that hour I shall rank you in the catalogue of my chosen friends.” - -The siege of Pavia proved indeed to be a transaction, in the course -of which military honour might well be acquired. It was defended by a -small, but veteran garrison, and by one of the ablest captains that -Europe at that time possessed.[5] He interrupted the approaches of -the besiegers by frequent and furious sallies. In vain, by the aid of -our excellent artillery, did we make wide and repeated breaches in -the fortifications. No sooner did we attempt to enter by the passage -we had opened, than we found ourselves encountered by a body composed -of the choicest and bravest soldiers of the garrison. The governor of -the city, who, though grey-headed and advanced in years, was profuse -of every youthful exertion, was ordinarily at the head of this body. -If we deferred our attack, or, not having succeeded in it, proposed -to commence it anew with the dawn of the following day, we were sure -to find a new wall sprung up in the room of the other, as if by -enchantment. Frequently the governor anticipated the success of our -batteries; and the old fortification was no sooner demolished, than we -beheld, to our astonishment and mortification, a new wall, which his -prudence and skill had erected at a small interval within the line of -the former. - -One of these attacks took place on the second day after my arrival at -the camp of our sovereign. Every thing that I saw was new to me, and -inflamed me with ardour. The noise of the cannon, which had preceded -the attack, and which was now hushed; the inspiring sounds of martial -music which succeeded that noise; the standards floating in the air; -the firm and equal tread of the battalion that advanced; the armour of -the knights; the rugged, resolute, and intrepid countenances of the -infantry;--all swelled my soul with transport hitherto unexperienced. -I had beheld the smoke of the artillery, in the midst of which every -thing was lost and confounded; I had waited in awful suspense till -the obscurity should be dissipated; I saw with pleasure and surprise -the ruin of the wall, and the wideness of the breach. All that had -been recorded of the military feats of Christian valour seemed then to -stand crowded in my busy brain; the generosity, the condescension, the -kindness, with which the king had addressed me the day before, urged -me to treble exertion. I was in the foremost rank. We surmounted the -ditch. We were resisted by a chosen body of Spaniards. The contention -was obstinate; brave men, generous and enterprising spirits, fell on -the one side and the other. I seized the cloth of a standard, as, in -the playing of the wind, it was brought near to my hand. Between me -and the Spaniard that held it there ensued an obstinate struggle. I -watched my opportunity, and with my sword severed the flag from its -staff. At this moment the trumpets of the king sounded a retreat. I had -received two severe wounds, one in the shoulder and the other in the -thigh, in the contest. I felt myself faint with the loss of blood. A -French officer, of a rude appearance and gigantic stature, accosting -me with the appellation of boy; commanded me to surrender the standard -to him. I refused; and, to convince him I was in earnest, proceeded -to wrap it round my body, and fastened it under my arm. Soon after I -became insensible, and in this situation was accidentally found by my -uncle and his companions, who immediately took me and my prize under -their care. As soon as I was a little recovered of my wounds, the king -seized an opportunity, after having bestowed loud commendations upon my -gallantry, of conferring the honours of knighthood upon me in the face -of the whole army. - -While our tents were pitched under the walls of Pavia, I was -continually extending the circle of my acquaintance among the young -gentry of France, who, like myself, had attended their sovereign -in this memorable expedition. I had some enemies, made such by the -distinctions I obtained during the siege. But they were few; the -greater part courted me the more, the more I showed myself worthy -of their attachment. Envy is not a passion that finds easy root in a -Frenchman’s bosom. I was one of the youngest of those who attended -on the siege; but my brothers in arms were generous rivals, who in -the field obstinately strove with me for superior glory, but over the -convivial board forgot their mutual competitions, and opened their -hearts to benevolence and friendship. “Let us not,” was a sentiment I -heard often repeated, “forget the object that led us from our pleasant -homes to pour from the heights of the Alps upon the fields of Italy. It -is to humble the imperious Spaniard--to punish the disloyal Bourbon--to -vindicate the honour of our beloved and illustrious monarch. Those -walls cover the enemy; yonder mountains serve to hide them from our -assault; let no Frenchman mistake him who marches under the same -standard for an adversary.” - -The trenches had not been opened before Pavia till about the beginning -of November. The winter overtook us, and the siege was yet in progress; -with some apparent advantage indeed to our side of the question, but -by no means promising an instant conclusion. The season set in with -unusual severity; and both officer and soldier were glad, as much as -possible, to fence out its rigour by the indulgences of the genial -board. My finances, as I have said, were at the commencement of the -expedition in excellent order: I had brought with me a considerable -sum; and it was not spared upon the present occasion. - -There were however other things to be attended to, beside the demands -of conviviality. The king became impatient of the delays of the siege. -The garrison and the inhabitants were reduced to great extremities; -but the governor discovered no symptoms of a purpose to surrender. -In the mean time intelligence was brought, that Bourbon was making -the most extraordinary exertions in Germany, and promised to lead to -the enemy a reinforcement of twelve thousand men from that country; -while the imperial generals, by mortgaging their revenues, and pawning -their jewels, and still more by their eloquence and influence with -those under their command, were able to keep together the remains of a -disheartened and defeated army in expectation of his arrival. There -was some danger therefore, if the siege were not speedily terminated, -that the king might ultimately be obliged to raise it with ignominy, or -to fight the enemy under every disadvantage. Francis however was not to -be deterred from his undertaking. He swore a solemn oath, that Pavia -should be his, or he would perish in the attempt. - -Thus circumstanced, he conceived a very extraordinary project. Pavia is -defended on one side by the Tesino, the scene of the first of the four -famous battles by which Hannibal signalised his invasion of Italy. The -king believed that if this river could by the labour of his army be -diverted from its course, the town must instantly fall into his hands. -He was encouraged to the undertaking, by recollecting a stratagem of -a similar nature by which Cyrus formerly made himself master of the -city of Babylon. It was a thought highly flattering to the grandeur of -his soul, to imagine that posterity would in this instance institute a -parallel between him and Cyrus the Great. - -The plan for diverting the course of the Tesino produced a new and -extraordinary scene. It was, as may well be believed, a work of -uncommon labour. A new channel was to be scooped out and deepened; and, -while the stream was turned into this channel, piles were to be sunk, -and an immense mound of earth created, as an effectual impediment to -the waters resuming their former course. This was a heavy burthen to -the soldier, in addition to the disadvantage of being encamped during -the course of a winter remarkably severe for the climate in which we -fought. By any other army the task would have been performed with -cloudiness and discontent, if not complained of with repining and -murmurs. But here the gaiety of the French character displayed itself. -The nobility of France, who attended their sovereign in great numbers, -accompanied the infantry in their labour. We laid aside the indulgence -of the marquée, of tapestry and carpets; we threw off our upper -garments; and each seized a spade, a barrow of earth, or a mattock. -We put our hands to the engines, and refused no effort under pretence -that it was sordid or severe. While the trees were leafless, and nature -appeared bound up in frost, sweat ran down our faces and bedewed our -limbs. The army were encouraged by our example. An employment which, -under other circumstances, would have been regarded as rigid, was thus -made a source of new hilarity and amusement. It was a memorable sight -to behold the venerable and grey-headed leaders of the French army -endeavouring to exert the strength and activity of their early years. -To me, who had but lately arrived at the stature of manhood, and who -was accustomed to all the exercises which give strength and vigour to -the frame, this new employment was in no degree burdensome. I felt -in it the satisfaction that a swift man experiences when he enters -the lists of the race; I congratulated myself upon the nature of my -education; if it be a sin to covet honour, that guilt was mine; and, -so great was my appetite for it, that I was inexpressibly rejoiced to -observe the various ways in which it might be gratified. - -Strange as it may seem, this scene of a winter-camp, in the midst -of blood and sweat, surrounded with dangers, and called on for -unparalleled exertions, appears to me, through the vista of years -that is now interposed between, to have been one of the happiest of -my life. The gay labours and surprises of the day were succeeded by -a convivial evening, in which we did not the less open our hearts, -though frequently liable to be interrupted in our midnight revels by -the inexhaustible activity and stratagems of the enemy. In this various -and ever-shifting scene, I forgot the disasters that occurred, and -the blood that flowed around me. All sense of a large and impartial -morality was, for the time at least, deadened in my breast. I was ever -upon the alert. The diversity of events neither suffered my spirits -to flag, nor reflection to awake. It is only upon such occasions, or -occasions like these, that a man is able fully to feel what life is, -and to revel in its exuberance. Above all, I was delighted with the -society and friendship of my brother-officers. They honoured me; they -loved me. I seemed to feel what sympathy was; and to have conscious -pleasure in making one in a race of beings like myself. Such were my -sensations. - -It must not, however, be imagined, that all about me felt in these -respects as I did. I was deeply indebted in this particular to my youth -and my fortune. The old endeavoured to brace themselves in vain; they -sunk under the continual pressure. The poor soldier from the ranks -laboured incessantly, and I laboured as much as he; but he had little -opportunity to recruit his vigour and renovate his strength. There -was yet another class of persons in the camp, whose gaiety was much -less interrupted than mine. These were, the king, and the generals who -commanded under him. They could not be entirely devoid of thought and -consideration. They suffered much anxiety from the length of the siege; -and felt that every period of delay increased the doubtfulness of the -event. - -Antonio de Leyva, governor of the city, necessarily felt himself -alarmed at the extraordinary project in which we were engaged, and -made every exertion to prevent it. One evening the king sent for me to -his tent, and told me in confidence that the enemy intended that very -night to make three several attacks upon our mound, one on each side of -the stream, and one by means of boats in the centre. Two of these, he -said, were merely intended as feints; the west bank of the Tesino was -the point against which their principal exertions would be directed. -On that side he was resolved to command in person; the boats with -which he proposed to resist their flota he confided to one of the most -famous and valuable officers of his army; the detachment on the east -bank he purposed to intrust to my uncle and myself. He observed, that -the detachment he could spare for that purpose, after having formed -the other two bodies, and reserved a sufficient number for the defence -of the camp and the works, would be small; and he warned me to the -exertion of a particular vigilance. It would be doubly unfortunate, if -a body, the attack upon which was to be merely a feigned one, should -nevertheless be routed. “Go,” added he, “fulfil my expectations; -deport yourself answerably to the merit of your first achievement; and -depend upon it that you will prove hereafter one of the most eminent -supporters of the martial glory of France.” - -The Marquis de Villeroy divided our little force into two bodies: with -the larger he lay in wait for the enemy near the scene of the expected -attack: the smaller he confided to my direction, and placed so that -we might be able to fall upon the rear of the garrison-troops as soon -as they should be fully engaged with our comrades. In the situation -assigned me I took advantage of the skirts of a wood, which enabled -me to approach very near to the expected route of our assailants, -without being perceived by them. The night was extremely dark, yet -the vicinity of my position was such, that I could count the numbers -of the adversary as they passed along before my hiding-place. I was -alarmed to find that they amounted to at least the triple of what we -had been taught to expect. They were no sooner past, than I despatched -to the king a young knight, my particular friend, who happened to be -with me, to urge the necessity of a reinforcement. At the same time I -sent a messenger to my uncle, by a circuitous route, to inform him of -what I had observed, and the step I had taken, and to entreat him to -defer the attack as long as consistently with propriety it should be -possible. The enemy, however, had no sooner arrived at the place of -his destination, than the troops of the marquis, no longer capable of -restraint, rushed to engage. The Spaniards were at first surprised, -but a short time led them to suspect the weakness of their assailants; -nor was the assistance I brought to my uncle sufficient to turn the -fortune of the fight. We lost many of our men; the rest apparently gave -ground; and it was a vain attempt, amidst the darkness of the night, -to endeavour to restore order and rally them to the assault. We were -already almost completely overpowered, when the succours we expected -reached us. They were, however, unable to distinguish friend from -enemy. A storm of mingled rain and snow had come on, which benumbed our -limbs, drove fiercely in our faces, and rendered every object alike -viewless. The carnage which in this situation took place was terrible. -Our blows were struck at random. A Frenchman was not less dreadful than -a Spaniard. When the battle ceased, scarcely one of the enemy was left -alive; but we observed with astonishment and horror the number of the -besiegers who had probably, in the midst of the confusion, been cut to -pieces by their own countrymen. - -I am now arrived at the period which put an end to the festivity and -jocundness of the campaign. All after this was one continued series -of disaster. About the close of January, our work, though not wholly -interrupted, was considerably retarded by a succession of heavy rains. -This was injurious to us in many ways; our project, which was executed -in the midst of waters, rendered additional damp a matter of serious -consideration. We were also seized with an apprehension of still -greater magnitude, which was speedily realised. The snows being at -length completely dissolved, and the quantity of water continually -increasing, we perceived one afternoon strong symptoms that our -mound, the principal subject of our labour and source of our hope, -was giving way in various places. The next morning at daybreak, it -rushed down every where at once with wonderful violence and noise. It -is difficult to describe the sensation of anguish which was instantly -and universally diffused. The labour of many weeks was overthrown in -a moment. As we had proceeded in our work, we every day saw ourselves -nearer the object to which we aspired. At this time our project was -almost completed, and Pavia was in imagination already in our hands, -to gain possession of which had cost us such unremitted exertions, the -display of so much gallantry, and the loss of so many soldiers. We were -confounded at the catastrophe we saw. We gazed at each other, each in -want of encouragement, and every one unable to afford it. - -Still, however, we were not destitute of advantages. The garrison began -to be in want both of ammunition and provisions. They were in a general -state of discontent, almost of mutiny, which scarcely all the address -and authority of the governor were able to suppress. If the town -continued longer unrelieved, it was sure to fall into our hands. But -even this our last hope was considerably diminished by the intelligence -we received the very day after the destruction of our mound, that -the imperial army, after having received large reinforcements, was -approaching in considerable force. The king had some time before, in -the height of his confidence, and elation of his heart, sent off a -detachment of six thousand men to invade the kingdom of Naples; for -upon that, as well as the Milanese, he had inherited pretensions from -his immediate predecessors. - -But, though the enemy was superior in numbers, and a part perhaps of -their forces better disciplined than ours, they laboured under several -disadvantages to which we were not exposed. The Emperor, though his -dominions were more extensive, did not derive from them a revenue -equal to that of Francis. As he did not take the field in person, the -war appeared to his subjects only a common war, proceeding upon the -ordinary motives of war. But my countrymen were led by their sovereign, -were fresh from the recent insolence of an invasion of their own -territory, and fought at once for personal glory and their country’s -honour. The king, who commanded them, seemed expressly formed to obtain -their attachment and affection. His nobles became enthusiastic by the -example of his enthusiasm, and willingly disbursed their revenues to -give prosperity and éclat to the campaign. - -The first question that arose upon the approach of the enemy was, -whether we should break up the siege, and attend in some strong post -the slow, but sure, effect of their want of money, and the consequent -dispersion of their troops, or wait their attack in our present -posture. The former advice was safe; but to the gallant spirit of -Francis it appeared ignominious. He was upon all occasions the partisan -of rapid measures and decisive proceedings; and his temper, with the -exception of a few wary and deliberate counsellors, accorded with -that of our whole army. For some days we congratulated ourselves upon -the wisdom of our choice; we presented to the enemy so formidable an -appearance, that, notwithstanding the cogent motives he had to proceed, -he hesitated long before he ventured to attack us. At length, however, -the day came that was pregnant with so momentous expectation. - -If through the whole limits of our camp there was not a man that did -not feel himself roused upon this glorious occasion, to me it was -especially interesting. The scene accorded with the whole purpose of -my education, and novelty made it impressive. I lived only in the -present moment. I had not a thought, a wish, a straggling imagination, -that wandered beyond the circuit of the day. My soul was filled; at one -minute wild with expectation, and at another awed into solemnity. There -is something indescribably delicious in this concentration of the mind. -It raises a man above himself; and makes him feel a certain nobleness -and elevation of character, of the possession of which he was to that -hour unconscious. Fear and pain were ideas that could find no harbour -in my bosom: I regarded this as the most memorable of days, and myself -as the most fortunate of mortals. Far indeed was I from anticipating -the disgraceful event, in which this elation of heart speedily -terminated. - -The sun rose bright in a cloudless sky. The cold of the season was -such, as only to give new lightness and elasticity to the muscles and -animal spirits. I saw few of those objects of nature, which in this -delightful climate gave so sacred a pleasure to the human soul. But -in my present temper there was no object of sight so ravishing, as -the firm and equal steps of the martial bands, the impatience of the -war-horse, and the display of military standards; nor any music so -enchanting, as the shrillness of the pipe, the clangor of the trumpet, -the neighing of steeds, and the roaring of cannon. It is thus that man -disguises to himself the real nature of his occupation; and clothes -that which is of all things the most nefarious or most to be lamented, -with the semblance of jubilee and festival. - -The Imperialists were at first unable to withstand the efforts of -French valour. They gave way on every side; we pursued our advantage -with impetuosity. To the slaughter of whole ranks mowed down with -tremendous celerity, to the agonies of the dying, I was blind; their -groans had no effect on my organ, for my soul was occupied in another -direction. My horse’s heels spurned their mangled limbs, and were red -with their blood. I fought not merely with valour, but with fury; I -animated those around me by my example and my acclamations. It may seem -contrary to delicacy to speak with this freedom of my own praises; -but I am at my present writing totally changed and removed from what -I was, and I write with the freedom of a general historian. It is -this simplicity and ingenuousness that shall pervade the whole of my -narrative. - -The fortune of the day speedily changed. The cowardice and desertion -of our Swiss allies gave the first signal of adversity. The gallant -commander of the garrison of Pavia sallied out in the midst of the -fight, and suddenly attacked us in the rear. A stratagem of the -Imperial general effected the rout of our cavalry. The whole face of -the field was utterly reversed. - -It would be in vain for me to attempt to describe even the small part -that I beheld of the calamity and slaughter of the French army. At -this distance of time, the recollection of it opens afresh the almost -obliterated wounds of my heart. I saw my friends cut down, and perish -on every side. Those who, together with myself, had marched out in the -morning, swelled with exultation and hope, now lay weltering in their -blood. Their desires, their thoughts, their existence, were brought to -a fatal termination. The common soldiers were hewed and cut to pieces -by hundreds, without note and observation. Many of the first nobility -of France, made desperate by the change of the battle, rushed into the -thickest of the foe, and became so many voluntary sacrifices; choosing -rather to perish, than to turn their backs with dishonour. - -In the battle I had two horses killed under me. The first of them -suffered a sort of gradual destruction. He had already received one -wound in the nostrils, and another in the neck, when a third shot -carried away two of his feet, and laid him prostrate on the earth. -Bernardin, my faithful attendant, observed what was passing, and -immediately brought me a fresh charger; but I had not long mounted him, -when he received a wound which killed him on the spot. I was myself -hurt in several places, and at length the stroke of a sabre brought -me to the ground. Here I remained for a long time insensible. When I -recovered, and looked around me, I found myself in entire solitude, -and could at present perceive no trace either of the enemy or of my -own people. Soon, however, I recollected what had passed, and was but -too well assured of the defeat my countrymen had sustained. Weak -and battered as I was, I attempted to retire to a place of greater -security. I had scarcely changed my ground, before I saw a trooper -of the enemy rushing towards me, with the intention to take away my -life. Fortunately I observed a tree at hand, to the shelter of which I -hastened; and, partly by moving the branches to and fro, and partly by -shifting my position, I baffled my adversary, till he became weary of -the attempt. A moment after, I saw one of my most intimate and familiar -companions killed before my eyes. It was not long, however, before a -party of fugitive French came up to the spot where I stood, and I, like -the rest, was hurried from the field. My uncle perished in the battle. - -It is wonderful how men can harden their hearts against such scenes as -I then witnessed. It is wonderful how they can be brought to co-operate -in such demoniac fury, and more than demoniac mischief, barbarity, and -murder. But they are brought to it; and enter, not from a deplorable -necessity, but as to a festival, in which each man is eager to occupy -his place, and share the amusements. It seemed to me at that time, as -it seems to me now, that it should be enough for a man to contemplate -such a field as I saw at Pavia, to induce him to abjure the trade of -violence for ever, and to commit his sword once more to the bowels of -the earth, from which it was torn for so nefarious a purpose. - -These sensations, though now finally established in my mind, were, at -the time of which I am writing, but of fleeting duration. The force of -education, and the first bent of my mind, were too strong. The horror -which overwhelmed me in the first moments of this great national defeat -subsided; and the military passion returned upon me in its original -ardour. My convictions, and the moral integrity of my soul, were -temporary; and I became myself a monument of that inconstancy and that -wonder, to which I have just alluded. - -Various circumstances, however, prevented this passion from its direct -operation. The character of France was altered by the battle of Pavia, -though mine remained the same. It was in the fullest degree decisive -of the fortune of the war. Milan, and every other place in the -duchy, opened their gates to the conqueror; and, in a fortnight, not -a Frenchman was left in the fields of Italy. Of the whole army only a -small body effected an orderly retreat, under the command of the Duke -of Alençon. Many persons of the highest distinction perished in the -battle: many were made prisoners by the enemy. France by this event -found the list of her noblesse considerably reduced in numbers; add to -which, those whose loss she sustained, were almost all of them taken -from among the most distinguished and meritorious in the catalogue. - -But what constituted the principal feature in this memorable event -was, that the king himself was found in the number of the prisoners; -nor was he released by his ungenerous competitor till after more -than a twelvemonth’s confinement. During this period Francis tasted -of the dregs of adversity. Inclined in the first instance to judge -of his rival by himself, he expected a liberal treatment. In this -he was deeply disappointed. After a detention of many months in the -Milanese, the scene of his former successes, he was transferred to -Madrid. He was personally neglected by the emperor, while his disloyal -subject[6] was treated with singular distinction. The most rigorous -terms were proposed to him. All this had the effect, in one instance, -of sinking him into a disease of languor and dejection which he was not -expected to survive; and, in another, of inducing him to execute an -instrument by which he abdicated the crown, and declared his resolution -of remaining a prisoner for life. His confinement was at length -terminated by his solemnly engaging to compulsory articles, which he -was determined to break as soon as he found himself at liberty; an -alternative peculiarly grating to the liberality of his spirit. This -reverse of fortune materially changed his character. The fine spirit -of his ambition was from this time evaporated; and, while he still -retained the indefeasible qualities of his soul, and was gallant, -kind-hearted, and generous, he bartered, as far as was compatible -with his disposition, the enterprising and audacious temper he had -previously manifested, for the wary and phlegmatic system of his -more fortunate competitor. His genius cowered before that of Charles; -and the defeat of Pavia may, perhaps, be considered as having given a -deadly wound to the reign of chivalry, and a secure foundation to that -of craft, dissimulation, corruption, and commerce. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -The lists of military ambition then being closed, if not permanently, -at least for a time, my mind took a new bias; and, without dismissing -its most cherished and darling passion, pursued a path in the present -emergency, to which the accidents of my youth had also guided me. If my -mother had survived, she would probably either not have consented to -my serving at the siege of Pavia, or at least would have recalled me -to the obscurity of my paternal château as soon as the campaign was at -an end. I had not fully completed the twentieth year of my age, at the -period of the memorable battle in which my sovereign was made prisoner. -I was left without adviser or guide; even the Marquis de Villeroy, my -mother’s brother, of whatever consequence his admonitions to me might -have proved, was taken from me in this fatal engagement. The king -himself, perhaps, had it not been for the dreadful calamities in which -he was now involved, might have condescended to interest himself in -some degree in my welfare. By the course of events, I was left, yet a -minor, and with an ample revenue at my disposition, to be wholly guided -by the suggestions of my own mind. - -In the portion of his reign already elapsed, the splendid and -interesting qualities of Francis had given a new spring to the -sentiments of the nation. He was the most accomplished and amiable -prince of the time in which he lived. There was but one of all the -sovereigns of Christendom that could cope with him in power,--the -Emperor Charles; and as Charles’s peculiarities were of a sort that -Frenchmen were accustomed to regard with aversion and contempt, so -there had not been a doubt among my compatriots, of the side upon which -the superiority would ultimately rest. By the events of the day of -Pavia they were confounded and overwhelmed. They did not despair of -their country; they soon felt, and felt to its utmost extent, the rank -which France held among the European states. But the chain of their -ideas was interrupted; they could not but be conscious that the fortune -of the kingdom had received a grievous check. The illustrious career -which they had in fancy already traversed, was postponed to a distant -period. - -The consequences which flow from a suppressed ambition may easily be -imagined. The nobility of France exchanged the activity of the field -for the indulgences of the table: that concentrated spirit which had -sought to expand itself upon the widest stage, now found vent in the -exhibition of individual expense: and, above all, the sordid and -inglorious passion for gaming, a vice eminently characteristic of the -age, now especially gained strength, and drew multitudes into its -destructive vortex. It was, perhaps, impossible for a young man to have -entered the theatre of the world under less favourable auspices. - -In what I have already written, I felt myself prompted to enlarge with -complacency upon the sentiments and scenes of my youth; and I have -yielded to the suggestion. The same internal admonition makes me shrink -from entering with minuteness into the detail of my ruin. I recollect -my infatuation with abhorrence; I fly from the memory with sensations -inexpressibly painful; I regard it as a cloud that overshadowed and -blackened for ever the fair prospects of my earlier years. - -I shall not enumerate all my youthful companions, or all my youthful -follies. I committed a mistake obvious enough, at this immature -period of my existence, when I mistook profusion and extravagance -for splendour and dignity; and the prudent economy which my mother -had practised, served, in the present instance, as the pander to my -vices. The whole tendency of my education had been to inspire me with -a proud and restless desire of distinction; and I was not content to -play a second part in the career of my vices, as I should not have been -content to play a second part in the genuine theatre of honour and -fame. In all that was thoughtlessly spirited and gaily profligate, I -led the way to my compeers, and was constantly held up by them as an -example. By this conduct I incurred the censure of the rigorous and the -old; but the voice of censure reached me much seldomer than that of -adulation. My person and demeanour were the topics of general applause. -I was tall and well-proportioned; my frame was slender and agile, but -with an appearance of the fullest health; my countenance was open, -commanding, and animated: my rank and situation in the world gave me -confidence; the fire and impetuosity of my temper rendered my gestures -easy, rapid, expressive, and graceful. The consequence of all this was, -to confirm me in a plan of life which I early laid down to myself, and -from which I never in any instance deviated. I put aside those rules, -as splenetic and hypercritical, which confessors preach, and with which -the preceptors of young men are accustomed to weary and alienate the -minds of their pupils. The charge of being disorderly and unthinking -I despised; that of imprudence, even when meant for blame, sounded in -my ear like the voice of encomium. But, accustomed from education to -sentiments of honour, and from habit to the language of eulogy, it is -difficult for any man to be more firmly bent than I was to incur no -breath of dishonour, or to draw the line more peremptorily between the -follies of youth and the aberrations of a gross and unprincipled spirit. - -It may be alleged, indeed, and with considerable justice, that the -habit of gaming is an exception to this statement. It was with -hesitation and reluctance that I entered into this habit. I saw it as -it was, and as every ingenuous and undebauched mind must see it, base -and sordid. The possession of some degree of wealth I regarded, indeed, -as indispensable to a man who would fill a lofty and respectable -character in the world; a character that, by uniting the advantages -of exterior appearance with the actions of a hero, should extort the -homage of his species. But, in the picture I drew of this man in my -mind, I considered wealth as an accident, the attendant on his birth, -to be dispensed with dignity, not to be adverted to with minuteness -of attention. Deep play is certainly sufficiently inconsistent with -this character. The direct purpose of the gamester is to transfer -money from the pocket of his neighbour into his own. He rouses his -sleepy and wearied attention by the most sordid of all motives. The -fear of losing pierces his heart with anguish; and to gain--to obtain -an advantage for himself which can scarcely exceed, and which seldom -equals, the injury his competitor suffers,--is the circumstance which -most transports his heart with delight. For this he watches; for this -he calculates. An honourable gamester does not seize with premeditation -the moment when his adversary is deprived, by wine or any other cause, -of his usual self-possession. He does not seek with sober malice to -play upon his passions. He does not enter with avidity into the contest -with an unpractised but presuming rival: but he cannot avoid rejoicing, -when he finds that accident has given him an unusual advantage. I have -often thought that I could better understand how a man of honour could -reconcile himself to the accursed and murderous trade of war, than to -the system of the gaming table. In war, he fights with a stranger, -a man with whom he has no habits of kindness, and who is fairly -apprised that he comes against him with ruinous intent. But in play, -he robs, perhaps, his brother, his friend, the partner of his bosom; -or, in every event, a man seduced into the snare with all the arts of -courtesy, and whom he smiles upon, even while he stabs. - -I am talking here the mere reason and common sense of the question -as it relates to mankind in general. But it is with other feelings -that I reflect upon the concern I have myself individually in the -subject. Years roll on in vain; ages themselves are useless here; -looking forward, as I do, to an existence that shall endure till time -shall be no more; no time can wipe away the remembrance of the bitter -anguish that I have endured, the consequence of gaming. It is torture! -It is madness! Poverty, I have drained thy cup to the dregs! I have -seen my wife and my children looking to me in vain for bread! Which -is the most intolerable distress?--that of the period, in which all -the comforts of life gradually left me; in which I caught at every -fragment of promise, and every fragment failed; in which I rose every -morning to pamper myself with empty delusions; in which I ate the -apples of purgatory, fair without, but within bitterness and ashes; in -which I tossed, through endless, sightless nights, upon the couch of -disappointment and despair?--or the period, when at length all my hopes -were at an end; when I fled with horror to a foreign climate; when my -family, that should have been my comfort, gave me my most poignant -agony; when I looked upon them, naked, destitute, and exiles, with the -tremendous thought, what and who it was that had caused their ruin? -Adversity, without consolation,--adversity, when its sting is remorse, -self-abhorrence and self-contempt,--hell has no misery by which it can -be thrown into shade or exceeded! - -Why do I dwell upon, or at least why do I anticipate, this detested -circumstance of my story? Let me add one remark in this place, and -pass on to the other particulars of this epoch of my prodigality. It -is true, I must take this shameful appellation to myself--I was a -gamester. But, in the beginning, I took no concern in that species of -science which is often implied in the appellation. My games were games -of hazard, not of skill. It appeared to my distempered apprehension -to be only a mode in which for a man to display his fortitude and -philosophy; I was flattered with the practice of gaming, because I saw -in it, when gracefully pursued, the magnanimity of the stoic, combined -with the manners of a man of the world; a magnanimity that no success -is able to intoxicate, and no vicissitude to subvert. I committed my -property to the hazard of the die; and I placed my ambition in laughing -alike at the favours of fortune and her frowns. In the sequel, however, -I found myself deceived. The fickle goddess sufficiently proved that -she had the power of making me serious. But in her most tremendous -reverses, I was never influenced to do any thing that the most -scrupulous gamester regards as dishonourable. I say not this for the -purpose of giving colour and speciousness to my tale. I say it, because -I have laid it down to myself in this narrative as a sacred principle, -to relate the simple, unaltered truth. - -Another characteristic of the reign of Francis the First, is its -gallantries. It is well known how much the king was himself occupied -with attachments of this sort; his government was rather the government -of women than of politicians; and the manners of the sovereign strongly -tended to fix the habits of his subjects. A very young man rather -takes the tone of his passions from those about him, than forms one -that is properly his own; and this was my case in the present instance -as well as in the preceding. Originally of an amorous constitution, I -should perhaps have quieted the restlessness of my appetites without -ostentation and éclat, had not the conduct of my youthful associates in -general led me to regard gallantry as an accomplishment indispensably -necessary in a young man of rank. It must be confessed, indeed, that -this offence against the rigour of discipline has a thousand advantages -over that of gaming. Few women of regular and reputable lives have that -ease of manners, that flow of fancy, and that graceful intrepidity -of thinking and expressing themselves, that is sometimes to be found -among those who have discharged themselves from the tyranny of custom. -There is something irresistibly captivating in that voluptuousness -which, while it assumes a certain air of freedom, uniformly and -with preference conforms itself to the dictates of unsophisticated -delicacy. A judicious and limited voluptuousness is necessary to the -cultivation of the mind, to the polishing of the manners, to the -refining of sentiment and the developement of the understanding; and -a woman deficient in this respect may be of use for the government -of our families, but can neither add to the enjoyments, nor fix the -partiality, of a man of animation and taste. - -But whatever there may be in these considerations, certain it is that -the conduct I pursued in matters of gallantry led me into great and -serious expenses. The mistresses with whom I chanced to associate had -neither the inexpressible captivation of madame de Chateaubriant, -nor the aspiring and impressive manners of the duchess d’Etampes[7]. -They had, however, beauty and vivacity, frolic without rudeness, -and softness without timidity. They had paid some regard to points -of knowledge and taste, considering these as additional means for -fixing the partiality of their paramours, and knowing that they had -no security for the permanence of their prosperity but in the variety -of their attractions. In their society I was led into new trains of -reflection, a nicer consideration of human passion and the varieties of -human character, and, above all, into a greater quickness and delicacy -in matters of intellectual taste. My hours, for the most part, rolled -swiftly and easily away, sometimes in the society of the young, the gay -and the ambitious of my own sex, and sometimes in the softer and more -delicious intercourse of the fair. I lived in the midst of all that -Paris could at that time furnish of splendid and luxurious. This system -of living was calculated to lull me in pleasing dreams, and to waste -away existence in delirious softness. It sufficiently accorded with -the sad period of our sovereign’s captivity, when my young compatriots -sought to drown the sense of public and patriotic considerations in -copious draughts of pleasure; nor did the monarch’s return immediately -restore to France her former haughtiness and pride. - -The course of sensuality in which I was now engaged, though it did not -absolutely sink into grossness, may well be supposed to have trodden -upon the very edge of licence. I and my companions were young; we -were made fearless and presuming by fortune and by rank; we had laid -aside those more rigorous restraints which render the soberer part of -mankind plausible and decent, by making them timid and trite. I will -not contaminate the minds of my innocent and inexperienced readers by -entering into the detail of the follies in which I engaged. - -One thing it is necessary to remark, as essential to the main -thread of my story. My expenses of all kinds, during this period of -self-desertion, drained my resources, but did not tarnish my good -name. My excesses were regarded by some as ornamental and becoming, -but by all were admitted as venial. The laurels I had won in the field -of military honour were not obscured by my subsequent conduct. I was -universally ranked among the most promising and honourable of the -young noblemen of France. I had some rivals; I did not pass through -this turbulent and diversified scene without disputes; but no one -cast a reflection upon my name, no one ventured to speak of me with -superciliousness and opprobrium. Nor was my temper more injured than -my reputation. From every dispute I extricated myself with grace -and propriety; I studied the pleasure and ease of all with whom I -associated; and no man enjoyed more extensively than I did the sweets -of friendship, as far as the sweets of friendship can be extensively -enjoyed. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -I had been now two years in habits of life and a mode of expense -extremely injurious to my patrimony, when a circumstance occurred, -which promised completely to deliver me from the ruinous consequences -of my own folly. This was no other than my encounter with that -incomparable woman, who afterwards became the partner of my life, and -the mother of my children. I cannot even now recollect her without -tears: the sentiment which her very name excites in my mind is a -mingled feeling, on the one hand, of the most exquisite and unspeakable -delight, a feeling that elevates and expands and electrifies my -throbbing heart; and, on the other, of the bitterest anguish and -regret. I must develope the source of this feeling. - -Marguerite Louise Isabeau de Damville was, at the period of our first -meeting, in the nineteenth year of her age. Her complexion was of -the most perfect transparency, her eyes black and sparkling, and her -eyebrows dark and long. Such were the perfect smoothness and clearness -of her skin, that at nineteen she appeared five years younger than -she was, and she long retained this extreme juvenility of form. Her -step was airy and light as that of a young fawn, yet at the same -time firm, and indicative of strength of body and vigour of mind. -Her voice, like the whole of her external appearance, was expressive -of undesigning, I had almost said childish, simplicity. Yet, with -all this playfulness of appearance, her understanding was bold and -correct. Her mind was well furnished with every thing that could add -to her accomplishments as a wife or a mother. Her indulgent parents -had procured her every advantage of education, and circumstances had -been uncommonly favourable to her improvement. She was encouraged -and assisted in the art of drawing, for which she discovered a very -early talent, by Leonardo da Vinci; and she formed her poetical taste -from the conversation and instructions of Clement Marot. But, amidst -the singular assemblage of her intellectual accomplishments, there -was nothing by which she was so much distinguished, as the uncommon -prudence of her judgments, and the unalterable amiableness of her -manners. This was the woman destined to crown my happiness, and -consummate my misery. If I had never known her, I should never have -tasted true pleasure; if I had been guided by her counsels, I should -not have drained to the very dregs the cup of anguish. - -The house of her father, the Marquis de Damville, was the resort of -all the most eminent wits and scholars of that period, particularly of -Marot, Rabelais, Erasmus and Scaliger. This was my first inducement to -frequent it. My education had inspired me with an inextinguishable love -of literature; and the dissipation in which I was at this time involved -could not entirely interrupt the propensity. The most thoughtless and -extravagant period of my life had occasional intervals of study and -reflection; and the gay, animated, and ingenious conversation of the -men I have mentioned, had always peculiar charms for me. - -I had continued for some time to visit at the Marquis’s hotel, before -I encountered the beautiful Marguerite. The first time I saw her, she -made a deep impression upon me. The Marquis, who was one of the most -benevolent and enlightened of mankind, had been led by my character and -manners to conceive a warm friendship for me. He saw the ruin in which -I was heedlessly involving myself, and believed that it was not yet -too late to save me. As he thought that there was no method so likely -to effect my reformation as the interposition of domestic affections, -he was not unwilling to encourage the attachment I began to feel for -his daughter. On my part I wanted but little encouragement. I no sooner -observed her manners, and became acquainted with her merits, than my -heart was unalterably fixed. I became as it were a new man. I was like -one, who, after his eyes had grown imperceptibly dim till at length -every object appeared indistinct and of a gloomy general hue, has his -sight instantaneously restored, and beholds the fabric of the universe -in its genuine clearness, brilliancy, and truth. I was astonished at my -own folly, that I could so long have found gratification in pleasures -mean and sensual. I was ashamed of my own degradation. I could not -endure the comparison between the showy, unsubstantial attractions of -the women I had hitherto frequented, and the charms of the adorable -Marguerite. The purity of her mind seemed to give a celestial -brilliancy and softness to the beauties of her person. The gross and -brutal pursuits of the debauchee are often indeed described by the same -epithets as the virtuous and refined passion with which I was now for -the first time inspired; but experience convinced me that they differed -in their most essential features. - -The Marquis saw the state of my mind, and addressed me thus. “Count,” -said he, “I feel the most ardent friendship for you. I am inexpressibly -concerned for your welfare. You will be convinced of this, when I have -furnished you with a clue to my late conduct towards you. I regard you, -if not as a ruined man, at least as a man in the high road to ruin. -Your present habits are of the most dangerous sort; they appear to -you perfectly conformable to principles of the strictest honour; nay, -they come recommended to you by a certain éclat and dignity with which -they seem to be surrounded. I could say to you, Recollect yourself. -Be not misled by delusive appearances. Consider the present state of -your fortune, and the state in which your mother left it. You cannot be -ignorant how greatly it is impaired. How has this circumstance arisen? -Have your revenues been expended in the service of your country? -Have you purchased any thing by them that will confer on you lasting -renown? Put together the sum of actions, which, piece by piece, you -have been willing to regard as indifferent and innocent, if not as -graceful and becoming. You cannot but be struck with their monstrous -deformity. Is it possible that you can be ignorant of the nature of -poverty? There is such a thing as honourable poverty. The poverty of -Cincinnatus was honourable, who impoverished himself by paying the fine -which was factiously imposed on his son, and then was contented to -pass his time alternately between the highest situations and the most -rigid simplicity. The poverty of a man of genius, such as Rabelais, -if not honourable, is interesting, when we compare his merits and -worth with that of many of those persons upon whom fortune has blindly -lavished her favours. It is honourable, if he have declined the means -of enriching himself by the sacrifice of his independence and his -principles. But of all earthly things the most contemptible is the -man who, having wasted his goods in riotous living, yet hungers after -the luxuries that have proved his bane, and feasts himself upon the -steam of dainties of which he has lost the substance. Poverty, always -sufficiently disadvantageous in a degenerate age, where attention and -courtship are doled forth with scales of gold, is tremendous to him. -He is the scorn of all mankind. Wherever he is a guest, he is invited -only to be trampled upon and insulted. He is capable of nothing, and is -a burden to society and mankind. The helplessness of age advances upon -him with stealing steps, and he is destined to gather all its miseries -and none of its consolations. - -“I might have talked to you thus, but I refused it. I apprehend -something of the nature of advice. I know that it can seldom be -attended with its genuine effect, and will never be received -with deference and pleasure, where its motives are capable of -misconstruction. If I had talked to you thus, I might have appeared -to be indulging the tyranny of age; I might have seemed to assume an -unbecoming air of superiority and command: it could not have been clear -that I was honestly interested in that, about which I affected so much -concern. I doubt not the ingenuousness of your nature. I doubt not that -you would have been struck with the picture. But I must be permitted to -doubt the adequate and lasting effect of my expostulation. I was not -willing by my forwardness and loquacity to wear out one of the great -springs of human improvement. - -“I have determined on your reform. For that purpose I think it -necessary to combine my remonstrances and advice, with a change of your -habits and situation. You have tasted largely of what are commonly -called the pleasures of life, but there are pleasures that you have not -tasted. At this moment you anticipate them; and anticipate them with -the ardour of a lover. But you know not yet all the gratifications that -attend upon domestic affections. - -“I am willing to bestow upon you my daughter. I consent to prove the -purity of my advice, and the sincerity of my regard, by committing her -happiness to the risk. She is a treasure, the equal of which perhaps -the world does not hold. I speak not of her personal attractions. -But in understanding, accomplishments, and virtue, I firmly believe -no woman living can compare with her. In possessing her, you will -be blessed beyond the lot of princes. But, at the same time that I -shall thus put happiness within your grasp, remember that I commit -to your disposal the happiness of Marguerite. You are a worthy and -an honourable man; your talents and your virtues will constitute her -felicity. Her portion will redeem the injury which your patrimony has -suffered from your excesses, and you will have enough for yourselves, -and for your mutual offspring. I cannot believe that, with such a -deposit intrusted to you, you will consent to bring her to misery and -ruin. - -“I have one condition, however, to stipulate with you. I require of -you, as the pledge of her happiness, that you break off your present -modes of life; that you separate yourself from your connections, and -retire into the country upon your paternal estate. You are yet too -young to be in danger from that tyranny of custom, which often renders -men more advanced in life incapable of relishing the simple and -genuine pleasures. You will find contentment and joy in the society -of my daughter, and in the bosom of your rising family. You will be -happy in the circle of your own hearth, and have little to ask of the -rest of mankind. If, in any ill-omened and inauspicious moment, the -allurements of your present vices (forgive the plainness of my speech) -should resume their power over you, I hope at least that I shall never -live to see it; that I shall not be taught by bitter experience, that I -have sacrificed to the disinterestedness of my friendship the happiness -of my daughter and of my posterity!” - -My heart weeps blood, while I record the admonitions of this noble -and generous man. A nobler France did not contain through all her -boundaries. Refined by literature, polished by the best society his -age could afford, grown grey in the field of honour, and particularly -distinguished by the personal attachment and confidence of his -sovereign. What was all this advice to me? What return did I make to -this unparalleled kindness and friendship? I ruined this admirable -woman! I involved her in poverty and shame! With the most savage -barbarity I prepared for her an immature grave! Can I forget this? Of -what avail to me are immortal life and immortal youth? Oh, Marguerite, -Marguerite! For ever thy image haunts me! For ever thy ghost upbraids -me! How little have I proved myself worthy of such a partner! Rather -what punishment, what plagues, what shame and detestation have I not -deserved! Praised be Heaven, the last prayer of the Marquis of Damville -at least was granted! He did not live to witness my relapse, my -profligacy, and insanity. - -I resume the thread of my story.--I listened to the address of the -Marquis with reverence and admiration. I accepted his conditions with -joy. I married his adorable daughter, and conducted her to my paternal -estate in the Bourdelois. Now only it was that I tasted of perfect -happiness. To judge from my own experience in this situation, I should -say, that nature has atoned for all the disasters and miseries she so -copiously and incessantly pours upon her sons, by this one gift, the -transcendent enjoyment and nameless delights which, wherever the heart -is pure and the soul is refined, wait on the attachment of two persons -of opposite sexes. My beloved Marguerite guided and directed me, at the -same time that she was ever studying my gratification. I instructed -her by my experience, while she enlightened me by the rectitude and -decision of her taste. Ours was a sober and dignified happiness, and -its very sobriety served to give it additional voluptuousness. We -had each our separate pursuits, whether for the cultivation of our -minds, or the promotion of our mutual interests. Separation gave us -respectability in each other’s eyes, while it prepared us to enter -with fresh ardour into society and conversation. In company with each -other, hours passed over us, and appeared but minutes. It has been said -to be a peculiar felicity for any one to be praised by a man who is -himself eminently a subject of praise: how much happier to be prized -and loved by a person worthy of love? A man may be prized and valued by -his friend; but in how different a style of sentiment from the regard -and attachment that may reign in the bosom of his mistress or his wife? -Self-complacency and self-satisfaction may perhaps be numbered among -the principal sources of contentment. It is necessary for him who would -endure existence with patience, that he should conceive himself to -be something,--that he should be persuaded he is not a cipher in the -muster-roll of man. How bitter is the anguish we are sometimes doomed -to sustain in this respect from the marks we receive of other men’s -indifference and contempt? To feel that we are loved by one whose -love we have deserved, to be employed in the mutual interchange of -the marks of this love, habitually to study the happiness of one by -whom our happiness is studied in return, this is the most desirable, -as it is the genuine and unadulterated condition of human nature. I -must have some one to sympathise with; I cannot bear to be cut off -from all relations: I desire to experience a confidence, a concord, -an attachment, that cannot rise between common acquaintance. In every -state we long for some fond bosom on which to rest our weary head; some -speaking eye with which to exchange the glances of intelligence and -affection. Then the soul warms and expands itself; then it shuns the -observation of every other beholder; then it melts with feelings that -are inexpressible, but that the heart understands without the aid of -words; then the eyes swim with rapture; then the frame languishes with -enjoyment; then the soul burns with fire; then the two persons thus -blest are no longer two; distance vanishes, one thought animates, one -mind informs them. Thus love acts; thus it is ripened to perfection; -never does man feel himself so much alive, so truly etherial, as when, -bursting the bonds of diffidence, uncertainty and reserve, he pours -himself entire into the bosom of the woman he adores. - -Marguerite de Damville was particularly distinguished from every other -woman I ever knew by the justness of her taste and the vividness of -her feelings. This circumstance was a fund of inexhaustible delight -and improvement to me. We were both of us well acquainted with the -most eminent poets and fine writers of modern times. But when we came -to read them together, they presented themselves in a point of view -in which they had never been seen by us before. It is, perhaps, more -important that poetry, and every thing that excites the imagination -or appeals to the heart, should be read in solitude, than in society. -But the true way to understand our author in these cases, is to employ -each of these modes in succession. The terrible, the majestic, the -voluptuous and the melting, are all of them, in a considerable degree, -affairs of sympathy; and we never judge of them so infallibly, or with -so much satisfaction, as when, in the presence of each other, the -emotion is kindled in either bosom at the same instant, the eye-beams, -pregnant with sentiment and meaning, involuntarily meet and mingle; the -voice of the reader becomes modulated by the ideas of his author, and -that of the hearer, by an accidental interjection of momentary comment -or applause, confesses its accord. It was in this manner that we read -together the admirable sonnets of Petrarch, and passed in review the -sublime effusions of Dante. The letters of Eloisa to Abelard afforded -us singular delight. We searched into the effusions of the Troubadours, -and, among all their absurdities and inequality, we found a wildness, a -daring pouring forth of the soul, an unpruned richness of imagination, -and, from time to time, a grandeur of conception and audacious -eccentricity of thought, that filled us with unlooked for transport. -At other times, when not regularly engaged in this species of reading, -we would repeat passages to each other, communicate the discoveries of -this sort that either had made in solitude, and point out unobserved -beauties, that perhaps neither of us would have remarked, but for -the suggestions of the other. It is impossible for two persons to be -constituted so much alike, but that one of them should have a more -genuine and instantaneous relish for one sort of excellence, and -another for another. Thus we added to each other’s stores, and acquired -a largeness of conception and liberality of judgment that neither of -us would have arrived at if separate. It is difficult to imagine how -prolific this kind of amusement proved of true happiness. We were -mutually delighted to remark the accord of our feelings, and still -more so, as we perceived that accord to be hourly increasing, and what -struck either as a blemish in the other, wearing out and disappearing. -We were also led by the same means to advert to the powers of mind -existing in each, the rectitude of judgment and delicacy of feeling. As -our attachment hourly increased, we rejoiced in this reciprocation of -benefits, while each gave or received something that added to value of -mind and worth of character. Mutual esteem was incessantly kept alive, -and mutual esteem is the only substantial basis of love. Each of us -hourly blessed our common lot, while each believed it impracticable -elsewhere to have found so much worth blended with so much sweetness. - -But we did not confine ourselves to the library and fireside. We -walked, we rode, we travelled together; we observed together the -beauties of nature, and the system of the universe; we traversed many -provinces of France, and some parts of Italy and Spain; we examined -the characters of mankind, as they are modified by the varieties of -natural descent, or the diversities of political government. In all -this we found peculiar gratification. There is something in the scent -and impression of a balmy atmosphere, in the lustre of sunshine, in -the azure heaven and the purple clouds, in the opening of prospects on -this side and on that, in the contemplation of verdure and fertility, -and industry and simplicity and cheerfulness, in all their variations, -in the very act and exercise of travelling, peculiarly congenial to -the human frame. It expands the heart, it makes the spirit dance, -and exquisitely disposes us for social enjoyment. The mind becomes -more elevated and refined, it assumes a microscopical and unwonted -sensibility; it feels things which, in ordinary moments, are unheeded -and unknown; it enjoys things too evanescent for a name, and too minute -to be arrested; it trembles with pleasure through every fibre and every -articulation. - -One thing is necessary to be mentioned in this place, though, while it -adds to the fidelity of delineation, I am aware it breaks the tone of -feeling, and the harmony of the picture. But it is not my intention -in this history to pass myself for better than I am. I have laid down -to myself the sacred maxim of absolute truth and impartiality. I must -confess, therefore, with whatever anguish, my extreme inferiority to -my incomparable partner. She had all the simplicity of genuine taste. -The more she delivered herself up to nature, the greater was her -content. All superfluous appendages and show appeared to her as so -many obstacles to enjoyment. She derived her happiness from the tone -of her own mind, and stood in no need of the gaping admiration and -stupid wonder of others to make her feel herself happy. But I retained -the original vice of my mind. The gestures of worship and the voice -of applause were necessary to me. I did not suffice to myself. I was -not satisfied with the tranquil and inglorious fruition of genuine -pleasures, forgetting the vain and anxious tumult of the world, -and forgotten by those who figured on its theatre. It may be, that -Marguerite could, and ought, by insensible degrees, to have rooted out -this disease of my mind. But I am concerned only with the statement of -facts; and I know that no such thing was the effect of our intercourse. - -This absurd passion did not, however, at this time, lead me to any -fatal extremities. It contented itself with the frivolous gratification -resulting from a certain portion of ostentation and expense. I -maintained a considerable train of servants: my apartments were -magnificent, and my furniture splendid. When we travelled, it was -with an attendance little short of princely. Idiot that I was, to -regard this as an addition to the genuine pleasures which I have above -enumerated! When we were at home, every accidental guest was received -and entertained with extraordinary pomp, a pomp not directed to add to -his accommodation, but that was designed to leave him impressed with -astonishment and admiration at the spirit of his host. Often, indeed, -did I feel this ostentation an encumbrance: often did I languish for -the ease and freedom which result from a mediocrity of circumstances. -But this I called, doing honour to my ancestors and my country, and -vindicating the consideration due to the house of St. Leon. - -To quit this painful recollection.--A circumstance which tended at this -time to fill the measure of my happiness, consisted in the dear pledges -which Marguerite bore me of our mutual affection. It is impossible for -him who has not experienced it, to conceive the accumulation which -a genuine tenderness derives from this source. The difficulties are -many that attend upon pregnancy; trifles are at that period sources -of fatigue and injury; it is necessary that the person should be -protected, and the mind tranquil. We love to watch over a delicate -plant, that appears to call for all our anxiety and attention. There -is in this case the sentiment, without the repulsive circumstances -that attends upon our sympathy with a dangerous and alarming disease. -Marguerite, by her sensibility and growing attachment, abundantly -rewarded my cares. At length the critical period arrives, when an event -so extraordinary occurs, as cannot fail to put the human frame in -considerable jeopardy. Never shall I forget the interview between us -immediately subsequent to her first parturition, the effusion of soul -with which we met each other after all danger seemed to have subsided, -the kindness which animated us, increased as it was by ideas of peril -and suffering, the sacred sensation with which the mother presented her -infant to her husband, or the complacency with which we read in each -other’s eyes a common sentiment of melting tenderness and inviolable -attachment! - -This, she seemed to say, is the joint result of our common affection. -It partakes equally of both, and is the shrine in which our sympathies -and our life have been poured together, never to be separated. Let -other lovers testify their engagements by presents and tokens; we -record and stamp our attachment in this precious creature, a creature -of that species which is more admirable than any thing else the world -has to boast, a creature susceptible of pleasure and pain, of affection -and love, of sentiment and fancy, of wisdom and virtue. This creature -will daily stand in need of an aid we shall delight to afford; will -require our meditations and exertions to forward its improvement, and -confirm its merits and its worth. We shall each blend our exertions, -for that purpose, and our union, confirmed by this common object -of our labour and affection, will every day become more sacred and -indissoluble.--All this the present weakness of my beloved Marguerite -would not allow her to say. But all this occurred to my reflections; -and, when we had time tranquilly to compare our recollection of the -event, it plainly appeared that in all this our hearts and conceptions -had most truly sympathised. - -The possessing a third object, a common centre of anxiety to both, is -far from weakening the regard of such a couple for each other. It does -not separate or divert them; it is a new link of connection. Each is -attached to it the more for the sake of either; each regards it as a -sort of branch or scion, representing the parent; each rejoices in its -health, its good humour, its smiles, its increase in size, in strength, -and in faculties, principally from the idea of the gratification -they will communicate to the other. Were it not for this idea, were -it possible the pleasure should not be mutual, the sentiment would -be stripped of its principal elevation and refinement; it would be -comparatively cold, selfish, solitary, and inane. - -In the first ten years of our marriage my wife brought me five -children, two sons and three daughters. The second son only died in -his infancy. My predominant passion at this time was that of domestic -pleasures and employments, and I devoted myself, jointly with the -mother, to the cultivation of the minds of my children. They all -in a considerable degree rewarded our care; they were all amiable. -Taught by the example of their parents, they lived in uncommon -harmony and affection. Charles, the eldest, was a lad of a bold and -active disposition; but the sentiments of virtue and honour that were -infused into him, both by Marguerite and myself, found a favourable -reception, and promised to render those qualities, which, if left to -themselves, might have been turbulent and dangerous, productive of -the happiest consequences. Julia, his eldest sister, was uncommonly -mild and affectionate, alive to the slightest variations of treatment, -profoundly depressed by every mark of unkindness, but exquisitely -sensible to demonstrations of sympathy and attachment. She appeared -little formed to struggle with the difficulties of life and the frowns -of the world; but, in periods of quietness and tranquillity nothing -could exceed the sweetness of her character and the fascination of -her manners. Her chief attachment was to her mother, though she was -by no means capable of her mother’s active beneficence and heroic -fortitude. Louisa, the second daughter, resembled her mother in person, -and promised to resemble her in character. Marguerite, the youngest, -differed from the whole family, in the playfulness and frolic of her -disposition. Her vivacity was inexhaustible, and was continually -displaying itself in innocent tricks, and smart, unexpected sallies. -Nothing could possibly be more ingenuous than this admirable infant; -nothing more kind, considerate, and enthusiastic in her tenderness and -grief, when an occasion occurred to call forth these sentiments. But -the moment the sorrowful occasion was over, she would resume all her -vivacity; and even sometimes, in the midst of her tears, some trait of -her native humour would escape. I know not whether all the family were -not more attached to the little Marguerite than to any other individual -member, as she certainly oftenest contributed to their amusement and -pleasure.--Such was the amiable circle, one and all of whom have been -involved by me in the most tremendous ruin and disgrace. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -Charles was now nine years of age. His mother and myself had delighted -ourselves with observing and forwarding the opening of his infant mind, -and had hitherto been contented with the assistance of a neighbouring -priest by way of preceptor. But, as he was our only son, we were -desirous that he should obtain every advantage of education. We were -neither of us illiterate; but, in the course of twenty-three years, -which had elapsed since I was myself of Charles’s age, the progress of -literature and the literary passion in Europe had been astonishingly -great, and I was anxious that he should realise in his own person every -benefit which the fortunate and illustrious period of human affairs in -which he began to exist seemed to hold out to him. Beside, there was -an impetuosity and forwardness in his character, that seemed ill to -brook the profound solitude and retirement in which his mother and I -were contented to live. His case demanded companions of his own age, a -little world of fellow-beings, with whom he might engage in their petty -business and cares, with whose passions his own might jostle or might -sympathise, who might kindle his emulation, and open to him the field -of fraternal associations and amity. - -There was, however, a considerable difficulty attendant on this -question. The schools of real literature in France, where languages -were properly taught, and science might be acquired, were at this time -exceedingly few. The nearest university was that of Toulouse, at the -distance of twenty-six leagues. This was, practically speaking, as far -from us as Paris itself. Was then our darling child to be torn from -his parents, from all he was accustomed to see, and all by whom he -was loved, to be planted in the midst of strangers, to have his mind -excited to observation, and the spirit of generous contention roused, -at the risk of suppressing the tender affections of his soul, and the -sentiments of duty, reliance, and love? There seemed, however, to be -no alternative. It was necessary that a temporary separation should -take place. Intellectual improvement was a point by all means to be -pursued; and we must direct our efforts to keep alive along with -it those winning qualities, and that softness of heart, which had -hitherto rendered Charles so eminently our delight. Such were our fond -speculations and projects for the future. - -It was at length determined that I should proceed along with him to -Paris. I could there observe upon the spot the state of the university, -and the means of learning that existed in the metropolis; and could -consult with some of those eminent luminaries with whom I had become -acquainted at the house of the Marquis de Damville. Marguerite declined -accompanying me upon this occasion. Her father was dead: she could -not think of quitting her daughters for any considerable time; and -our nuptial engagement of residing always in the country gave her a -repugnance to the removing with her whole family to Paris. It was left -probable that she might come to me when the business was settled, if at -that time it was determined to leave her son at the capital; and that -she might then reconduct me to the place, which had been the scene of -all my happiness, but which I was destined never to revisit in peace. - -Preliminaries being at length fully adjusted in the manner that -appeared suitable to the importance of the occasion, I set off for -the metropolis of my country, which I had seen only once, and that -for a very short period, in the course of ten years. That visit had -been produced by a very melancholy circumstance, the death of the -Marquis de Damville. Marguerite and myself had then been summoned, -and arrived at his hotel but a few days before he expired. Though -extremely weakened by the mortal disease under which he laboured, he -retained all the faculties of his mind, and conversed with us in the -most affectionate and endearing terms. He congratulated us upon our -mutual felicity; nor could the situation in which we found him, upon -the brink of an everlasting oblivion of all earthly things, abate the -sincerity and fervour of his delight. He thanked me for my carriage -and conduct as a husband, which, he said, might with propriety be -held up as a model to the human species. He applauded himself for -that mingled discernment and determination, which, as he affirmed, -had so opportunely secured my virtue and his daughter’s happiness. He -trusted that I was now sufficiently weaned from those habits which had -formerly given him so much alarm. At the same time he conjured me, by -every motive that an overflowing enthusiasm could suggest, to persist -in my good resolutions, and never to change that residence, where I -had found every degree of delight of which the human mind is in its -present condition susceptible. “Do not,” said he, “be drawn aside by -ambition; do not be dazzled by the glitter of idle pomp and decoration; -do not enter the remotest circle of the vortex of dissipation! Live in -the midst of your family; cultivate domestic affection; be the solace -and joy of your wife; watch for the present and future welfare of your -children; and be assured that you will then be found no contemptible or -unbeneficial member of the community at large!” - -Such were the last advices of the Marquis de Damville. Excellent -man! how ill were your lessons remembered! how ill your kindness -remunerated! He died in the sixth year of our marriage. The serious -impression which this event produced in my mind gave me small -inclination to enter into any species of society, and disposed me to -quit Paris as soon as every respect had been paid to the obsequies of -the deceased. - -Upon my arrival in the metropolis on the present occasion, I -immediately sought to renew my acquaintance with those amiable and -eminent persons, who had for the most part constituted the circle -of the Marquis de Damville. They received me with that interest and -attention that I have usually found attendant on a cultivated mind. The -pleasure was considerable, that resulted from meeting them thus again, -after ten years’ cessation of intercourse. A few of them, indeed, were -dead, and others dispersed by various accidents in different parts -of France or of Europe. The greater part, however, I still found in -that celebrated city, which might well be considered as the metropolis -of the civilised world. The king had early been distinguished by his -love of letters and the arts; and added years, while they abated in -his mind the eagerness of ambition and glory, gave new strength to -his more cultivated propensities. The liberality of his conduct, and -the polished ease that characterised his manners, produced a general -predilection in favour of the capital in which he resided. - -I found all my former friends matured and improved by the silent -influence of time. Their knowledge was increased; their views rendered -wider; their conversation was more amusing and instructive, their -manners more bland and unaffected. But, if their characters had -experienced revolution, mine was more materially changed. I had before -encountered them with all the heat and presumption of youth, with no -views so much present to my mind as those of chivalry and a factitious -honour, with no experience but that of a camp. I was impetuous, -volatile, and dissipated. I had not rested long enough upon any one of -the flowers of intellect to extract its honey; and my mind was kept in -a state of preternatural agitation by the passions of a gamester. It -was now become cool, moderate, and tranquil. The society of Marguerite -had contributed much to the improvement of my character; I had lived -in no idle and brutish solitude, but in the midst of contemplation -and letters; and I had the passions of a husband and a father, in the -extremest degree attached to his family. These passions will be found, -perhaps, to be the true school of humanity: the man, whose situation -continually exercises in him the softest and most amiable charities of -our nature, will almost infallibly surpass his brethren in kindness to -sympathise with, and promptness to relieve, the distresses of others. - -Will it be accounted strange that, in Paris, surrounded by persons of -various knowledge and liberal benevolence, I found myself under the -influence of other feelings, than any I had lately experienced? I was -like a man who had suffered long calamity in a famished vessel or a -town besieged, and is immediately after introduced into the midst of -luxury, to a table loaded with the most costly dainties. Every viand -has to his apprehension an exquisite relish, and every wine a delicious -flavour, that he never perceived in them before. Let no one infer that -my love for Marguerite was diminished; it has already sufficiently -appeared in the course of my narrative, that no happiness could be more -consummate than mine was with this admirable woman. Had I been called -upon to choose for the seat of my future life, between my paternal -château in the Bordelois, with Marguerite to grace my abode, on the -one hand; and all the gratifications that Paris could afford, on the -other, I should not have hesitated even for an instant. But the mind -of man is made capacious of various pleasures; and a person of sound -and uncorrupted judgment will perhaps always enjoy with emotion the -delights which for a long time before he had not encountered, however -enviable his content may have been under their absence. I delighted -to converse with the men of genius and refinement with whom Paris -at this time abounded. It was a feast of soul of which I had rarely -partaken in my rural retreat. I delighted to combine excellence with -number, and, to a considerable degree at least, variety of intercourse -with sentiments of regard and friendship. In these select societies I -found no cold suppressions and reserve. Their members were brethren -in disposition, similar in their pursuits, and congenial in their -sentiments. When any one spoke, it was that the person to whom he -addressed himself might apprehend what was passing in his thoughts. -They participated with sincerity and a liberal mind in each other’s -feelings, whether of gay delight or melancholy disappointment. - -Thus situated, I forgot for a time my engagements with Marguerite. The -scenes of St. Leon, its fields, its walks, its woods and its streams, -faded from my mind. I forgot the pleasure with which I had viewed my -children sporting on the green, and the delicious, rural suppers which -I had so often partaken with my wife beneath my vines and my fig-trees -at the period of the setting sun. When I set out for Paris, these -images had dwelt upon my mind, and saddened my fancy. At every stage -I felt myself removed still further from the scene where my treasures -and my affections were deposited. But, shortly after, new scenes and -new employments engaged my thoughts. The pleasures which I sought but -weakly at first, every time they were tasted increased my partiality -for them. I seemed for a time to be under the influence of an oblivion -of my former life. Thus circumstanced, the folly which had so deep a -root in my character, took hold of me. I hired a magnificent hotel, -and entertained at my own expense those persons in whose society I -principally delighted. My circles became more numerous than those of -the Marquis de Damville, and were conducted in a very different style -of splendour and profusion. I corresponded with Marguerite; but I -continually found some new pretext for lengthening my stay; and she -on her part, though the kindest and most indulgent of women, became -seriously alarmed and unhappy. - -As my parties were more numerous than those of the Marquis de Damville -had been, they were more mixed. Among others, I occasionally associated -with some of those noblemen who had been the companions of my former -dissipation and gaming. An obvious consequence resulted from this. -Parties of play were occasionally proposed to me. I resisted--I -yielded. My first compliances were timid, hesitating, and painful. I -recollected the lessons and exhortations of my excellent father-in-law. -At length, however, my alarms abated. I reproached myself with the want -of an honourable confidence in my own firmness, and the cowardice of -supposing that I was not to be trusted with the direction of my conduct. - -One evening I ventured beyond the cautious limits I had at first -prescribed myself, and won a considerable sum. This incident produced -a strong impression upon me, and filled my mind with tumult and -agitation. There was a secret that I had concealed almost from myself, -but which now recurred to me with tenfold violence. I was living beyond -the means I had to discharge my expenses. My propensity of this sort -seemed to be fatal and irresistible. My marriage with Marguerite had -occurred opportunely, to heal the breaches I had at that time made in -my fortune, and to take from me the consciousness of embarrassments -which I should otherwise have deeply felt. The death of the Marquis, -however deplorable in other respects, happened at a period when the -spirit of profusion and magnificence which characterised me had again -involved my affairs in considerable difficulty. It might be supposed -that these two cases of experience would have sufficed to extirpate -my folly; but they had rather the contrary effect. In each of them -the event was such as to prevent extravagance and thoughtlessness -from producing their genuine results; and, of consequence, they -appeared less criminal and mischievous in my eyes than otherwise they -probably would have appeared. I rather increased than diminished my -establishment upon the death of my father-in-law. I had no reasonable -prospect of any property hereafter to descend to me, that should -exonerate me from the consequences of further prodigality. But I did -not advert to this. I saw myself surrounded by my children; they were -the delight and solace of my life; and yet I was needless of their -interests. Sometimes I resolved upon a more rigid economy: but economy -is a principle that does not easily lay hold of any but a heart framed -to receive it. It is a business of attentive and vigilant detail. It -easily escapes the mind, amidst the impetuosity of the passions, the -obstinacy of rooted propensities, and the seduction of long established -habits. Marguerite, indeed, did not share with me in these follies; the -simplicity and ingenuousness of her mind were such, that she would have -been as happy in a cottage as a palace; but, though she did not partake -my vices, an ill-judged forbearance and tenderness for my feelings did -not permit her effectually to counteract them. This is, perhaps, the -only defect of character I am able to impute to her. - -After I had won the sum to which I have alluded, I retired to my -hotel full of anxious thoughts. It produced upon me, in some degree, -the same effect as ordinarily belongs to a great calamity. I lay all -night sleepless and disturbed. Ruin and despair presented themselves -to my mind in a thousand forms. Heedless prodigality and dilapidated -revenues passed in review before me. I counted the years of my life. -I had completed the thirty-second year of my age: this was scarcely -half the probable duration of human existence. How was I to support -the remaining period, a period little assorted to difficulties and -expedients; and which, in the close of it, seems imperiously to call -for every indulgence? Hitherto, an interval of four or five years had -repeatedly sufficed to involve me in serious embarrassment. My children -were growing up around me; my family was likely to become still larger; -as my offspring increased in years, their demands upon my revenues -would be more considerable. Were these demands to be slighted? Were my -daughters, nay, was the heir of my rank and my name, to be committed to -the compassion of the world, unprovided and forlorn? What a cheerless -prospect! What a gloomy and disconsolate hue did these ideas spread -upon that future, which the health of the human mind requires to have -gilded with the beams of hope and expectation? I had already tried the -expedient of economy; and I had uniformly found this inestimable and -only sheet-anchor of prudence gliding from my deluded grasp. Could I -promise myself better success in future? There seemed to be something -in my habits, whether of inattention, ostentation, or inconsistency, -that baffled the strongest motives by which parsimony and frugality can -be enforced. - -Why did these thoughts importunately recur to me in the present -moment? They were the suggestions of a malignant genius,--thoughts, -the destination of which was to lead me into a gulf of misery and -guilt! While I was going on in a regular train of expense, while I was -scooping the mine that was to swallow me and my hopes together, I had -the art to keep these reflections at bay. Now that I had met with an -unexpected piece of good fortune, they rushed upon me with irresistible -violence. Unfortunate coincidence! Miserable,--rather let me say, -guilty, abandoned miscreant! - -As soon as I rose in the morning, I went to the closet where, the -evening before, I had deposited my recent acquisitions. I spread out -the gold before me. I gazed upon it with intentness. My eyes, a moment -after, rolled in vacancy. I traversed the apartment with impatient -steps. All the demon seemed to make his descent upon my soul. This was -the first time that I had ever felt the struggle of conscious guilt and -dishonour. I was far indeed from anticipating that species of guilt, -and that species of ruin, which soon after overwhelmed me. My mind did -not once recur to the possibility of any serious mischief. I dwelt -only, as gamesters perhaps usually do, upon the alternative between -acquisition and no acquisition. I did not take into the account the -ungovernableness of my own passions. I assumed it as unquestionable, -that I could stop when I pleased. The thoughts that tortured me were, -in the first place, those of a sanguine and unexperienced adventurer -in a lottery, whose mind rests not for a moment upon the sum he has -risked, but who, having in fancy the principal prize already in his -possession, and having distributed it to various objects and purposes, -sometimes fearfully recurs to the possibility of his disappointment, -and anticipates with terror what will be his situation, if deprived of -this imaginary wealth. I had now, for the first time, opened my eyes to -the real state of my affairs, and I clung with proportionable vehemence -to this plank which was to bear me from the storm. In the second place, -I felt, though darkly and unwillingly, the immorality of my conception. -To game may, in some instances, not be in diametrical opposition -to liberality of mind; but he who games for the express purpose of -improving his circumstances must be an idiot, if he does not sometimes -recollect that the money lost may be as serious a mischief to his -neighbour, as the money gained can possibly be a benefit to himself. -It is past a question, that he who thus turns his amusement into his -business loses the dignity of a man of honour, and puts himself upon a -level with the most avaricious and usurious merchant. - -Though I was far from having digested a specific plan of enriching -myself by these discreditable means, yet the very tumult of my thoughts -operated strongly to lead me once more to the gaming-table. I was in no -humour to busy myself with my own thoughts; the calmness of literary -discussion, and the polished interchange of wit, which had lately so -much delighted me, had now no attraction for my heart; the turbulence -of a scene of high play alone had power to distract my attention -from the storm within. I won a second time. I felt the rapidity and -intenseness of my contemplations still further accelerated. I will not -over again detail what they were. Suffice it to say, that my hopes -became more ardent, my conception of the necessity of this resource -more impressive, and my alarm lest this last expedient should fail me -more tormenting. - -The next time I lost half as much as the sum of my winnings. I then -proceeded for several days in a nearly regular alternation of gain -and loss. This, as soon as the fact unavoidably forced itself upon my -mind, only served to render my thoughts more desperate. No, exclaimed -I, it was not for this that I entered upon so tormenting a pursuit. -It is not for this that I have deserted the learned societies which -were lately my delight, and committed myself to a sea of disquiet and -anxiety. I came not here, like a boy, for amusement; or, like one who -has been bred in the lap of ignorance and wealth, to seek a relief from -the burden of existence, and to find a stimulus to animate my torpid -spirits. Am I then to be for ever baffled? Am I to cultivate a tract of -land, which is to present me nothing in return but unvaried barenness? -Am I continually to wind up my passions, and new-string my attention -in vain? Am I a mere instrument to be played upon by endless hopes and -fears and tormenting wishes? Am I to be the sport of events, the fool -of promise, always agitated with near approaching good, yet always -deluded? - -This frame of mind led me on insensibly to the most extravagant -adventures. It threw me in the first place into the hands of notorious -gamblers. Men of real property shrunk from the stakes I proposed; as, -though they were in some degree infected with the venom of gaming, -their infection was not so deep as mine, nor with my desperation of -thought. The players with whom I engaged were for the most part well -known to every one but myself, not to be able to pay the sums they -played for, if they lost; nay, this fact might be said in some sense -to be known to me as well as the rest, though I obstinately steeled -myself against the recollection of it. One evening I won of one of -these persons a very large sum, for which I suffered him to play with -me upon honour. The consequence was simple. The next morning he took -his departure from Paris, and I heard of him no more. - -Before this, however, the tide of success had set strongly against me. -I had sustained some serious vicissitudes; and, while I was playing -with the wretch I have just mentioned, my eagerness increased as my -good luck began, and I flattered myself that I should now avenge myself -of fortune for some of her late unkindnesses. My anguish--why should -I call the thing by a disproportionate and trivial appellation?--my -agony--was by so much the greater, when I found that this person, the -very individual who had already stripped me of considerable sums, had -disappeared, and left me without the smallest benefit from my imaginary -winnings. - -No man who has not felt, can possibly image to himself the tortures of -a gamester, of a gamester like me, who played for the improvement of -his fortune, who played with the recollection of a wife and children -dearer to him than the blood that bubbled through the arteries of his -heart, who might be said, like the savages of ancient Germany, to -make these relations the stake for which he threw, who saw all my own -happiness and all theirs through the long vista of life, depending -on the turn of a card! Hell is but the chimera of priests, to bubble -idiots and cowards. What have they invented, to come into competition -with what I felt! Their alternate interchange of flames and ice is but -a feeble image of the eternal varieties of hope and fear. All bodily -racks and torments are nothing compared with certain states of the -human mind. The gamester would be the most pitiable, if he were not the -most despicable creature that exists. Arrange ten bits of painted paper -in a certain order, and he is ready to go wild with the extravagance of -his joy. He is only restrained by some remains of shame, from dancing -about the room, and displaying the vileness of his spirit by every -sort of freak and absurdity. At another time, when his hopes have been -gradually worked up into a paroxysm, an unexpected turn arrives, and -he is made the most miserable of men. Never shall I cease to recollect -the sensation I have repeatedly felt, in the instantaneous sinking of -the spirits, the conscious fire that spread over my visage, the anger -in my eye, the burning dryness of my throat, the sentiment that in a -moment was ready to overwhelm with curses the cards, the stake, my -own existence, and all mankind. How every malignant and insufferable -passion seemed to rush upon my soul! What nights of dreadful solitude -and despair did I repeatedly pass during the progress of my ruin! -It was the night of the soul! My mind was wrapped in a gloom that -could not be pierced! My heart was oppressed with a weight that no -power human or divine was equal to remove! My eyelids seemed to press -downward with an invincible burden! My eyeballs were ready to start and -crack their sockets! I lay motionless, the victim of ineffable horror! -The whole endless night seemed to be filled with one vast, appalling, -immovable idea! It was a stupor, more insupportable and tremendous than -the utmost whirl of pain, or the fiercest agony of exquisite perception! - -One day that my mind was in a state of excessive anguish and remorse -(I had already contrived by this infernal means to dispossess myself -of the half of my property), my son came unexpectedly into my chamber. -For some time I had scarcely ever seen him: such is a gamester! All the -night, while he slept, I was engaged in these haunts of demons. All -the day, while he was awake, and studying with his masters, or amusing -himself, I was in my bed-chamber, endeavouring to court a few broken -hours of sleep. When, notwithstanding the opposition of our habits, I -had the opportunity of seeing him, I rather shunned to use, than sought -to embrace it. The sight of him had a savour of bitterness in it, that -more than balanced all the solace of natural affection. It brought -before me the image of his mother and his sisters; it presented to -my soul a frightful tale of deserted duties; it was more galling and -envenomed than the sting of scorpions. - -Starting at the sound of the opening door, I called out abruptly, and -with some harshness, “Who is there? What do you want?” - -“It is I, sir,” replied the boy; “it is Charles, come to pay his duty -to you!” - -“I do not want you now; you should not come, but when you know I am at -leisure,” answered I somewhat disturbed. - -“Very well, sir; very well: I am going.” As he spoke his voice seemed -suffocated with tears. He was on the point of shutting the door, and -leaving me to myself. - -“Charles!” said I, not well knowing what it was I intended to do. - -He returned. - -“Come here, my dear boy!” - -I took his hand, I drew him between my knees, I hid my face in his -neck, I shook with the violence of my emotion. - -“Go, go, boy: you perceive I cannot talk to you.” - -I pushed him gently from me. - -“Papa!” cried he, “I do not like to leave you. I know I am but a boy, -and can be but of little use to you. If mamma were with you, I would -not be troublesome. I should cry when I saw you were grieved, but I -would ask no questions, and would leave you, because you desired it. I -hope you have not had any bad news?” - -“No, my boy, no. Come to me to-morrow, and I will be at leisure, and -will talk a great deal to you.” - -“Ah, papa, to-morrow! Every day that I did not see you, I thought it -would be to-morrow! And there was one to-morrow, and another to-morrow, -and so many, that it seemed as if you had forgotten to speak to me at -all.” - -“Why, Charles, you do not doubt my word? I tell you that to-morrow you -shall see me as long as you please.” - -“Well, well, I will wait! But do then let it be all day! I will not go -to college, and it shall be a holiday. Papa, I do not like my lessons -half so well as I did, since I have neither you nor mamma that I can -tell what they are about.” - -“Good-bye, Charles! Be a good boy! remember to-morrow! Good-bye!” - -“Papa! now I am sure you look a good deal better than you did at first. -Let me tell you something about the lesson I read this morning. It was -a story of Zaleucus the Locrian, who put out one of his own eyes, that -he might preserve eye-sight to his son.” - -This artless story, thus innocently introduced, cut me to the soul. I -started in my chair, and hid my face upon the table. - -“Papa, what is the matter? Indeed you frighten me!” - -“Zaleucus was a father! What then am I?” - -“Yes, Zaleucus was very good indeed! But, do you know, his son was very -naughty. It was his disobedience and wickedness that made him liable to -such a punishment. I would not for the world be like Zaleucus’s son. I -hope, papa, you will never suffer from my wilfulness. You shall not, -papa, indeed, indeed!” - -I caught the boy in my arms. “No, you are very good! you are too good! -I cannot bear it!” - -“Well, papa, I wish I were able to show you that I love you as well as -ever Zaleucus loved his son!” - -I was melted with the ingenuousness of the boy’s expression. I quitted -him. I paced up and down the room. Suddenly, as if by paroxysm of -insanity, I seized my child by the arm, I seated myself, I drew him -towards me, I put my eye upon him. - -“Boy, how dare you talk to me of Zaleucus? Do you mean to insinuate -a reproach? Do I not discharge a father’s duty? If I do not, know, -urchin, I will not be insulted by my child!” - -The boy was astonished. He burst into tears, and was silent. - -I was moved by his evident distress. “No, child, you have no father. I -am afraid you have not. You do not know my baseness. You do not know -that I am the deadliest foe you have in the world.” - -“Dear papa, do not talk thus! Do not I know that you are the best -of men? Do not I love you and mamma better than every body else put -together?” - -“Well, Charles,” cried I, endeavouring to compose myself, “we will talk -no more now. Did not I tell you, you should not come to me but when you -knew it was a proper time? I hope you will never have reason to hate -me.” - -“I never will hate you, papa, do to me what you will!” - -He saw I wished to be alone, and left me. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -In the evening of the same day, my beloved Marguerite arrived -unexpectedly at Paris. In the beginning of our separation, I had -been to the last degree punctual in my letters. I had no pleasure -so great, as retiring to my closet, and pouring out my soul to the -most adorable of women. By degrees I relaxed in punctuality. Ordinary -occupations, however closely pursued, have a method in them, that -easily combines with regularity in points of an incidental nature. But -gaming, when pursued with avidity, subverts all order, and forces -every avocation from the place assigned it. When my insane project of -supplying the inadequateness of my fortune by this expedient began -to produce an effect exactly opposite, I could not, but with the -extremest difficulty, string my mind to write to the mistress of my -soul. I endeavoured not to think, with distinctness and attention, of -the persons whose happiness was most nearly involved with mine. I said -to myself, Yet another venture must be tried; fortune shall change -the animosity with which she has lately pursued me; I will repair the -breaches that have been sustained; and I shall then return with tenfold -avidity to subjects that at present I dare not fix my mind upon. My -letters were accordingly short, unfrequent, and unsatisfactory; and -those of Marguerite discovered increasing anguish, perturbation, and -anxiety. What a change in the minds of both had the lapse of a few -months produced! Not that my attachment had suffered the diminution -of a single particle; but that attachment, which had lately been the -source of our mutual felicity, was now fraught only with distress. -My mind was filled with horrors; and Marguerite expected from me an -encouragement and consolation in absence, which, alas, I had it not in -my power to give! - -I had now continued in Paris for a time vastly greater than I had -originally proposed. After having remained more than ten days without -receiving one word of intelligence, a letter of mine was delivered to -Marguerite, more short, mysterious, and distressing to her feelings, -than any that had preceded. The ten days’ silence, from me who at -first had never missed an opportunity of pouring out my soul to her, -and contributing to her pleasure, was exquisitely painful. There -is scarcely any thing that produces such a sickness of the heart -as the repeated prorogation of hope. But, when the letter arrived -that had been so anxiously looked for, when the hand-writing of the -superscription was recognised, when the letter was treasured up for the -impatiently desired moment of solitude, that the sacred emotions of -the heart might suffer no interruption, and when it at last appeared -so cold, so ominous, so withering to the buds of affection, the -determination of Marguerite was speedily formed. The relations that -bound us together were of too mighty a value to be dispensed or to be -trifled with. She felt them as the very cords of existence. For ten -years she had known no solace that was disconnected from my idea, no -care but of our own happiness and that of our offspring. Benevolent -she was almost beyond human example, and interested for the welfare of -all she knew; but these were brief and mutable concerns; they were not -incorporated with the stamina of her existence. I was the whole world -to her; she had no idea of satisfaction without me. Her firmness had -been sufficiently tried by the interposal of separation and absence. -How was she to interpret the obscurity that had now arisen? Had I -forgotten my family and my wife? Had I been corrupted and debauched by -that Paris, the effects of which upon my character her father had so -deeply apprehended? Had I, in contempt of every thing sacred, entered -into some new attachment? Had the attractions of some new beauty in the -metropolis made me indifferent to the virtue of my children, and the -life of their mother? Perhaps the length of our attachment had infected -me with satiety, and the inconstancy of my temper had been roused by -the charms of novelty. Perhaps the certainty of her kindness and regard -had no longer allurements for me; and I might be excited to the pursuit -of another by the pleasures of hope combined with uncertainty, and of -a coyness, that seemed to promise compliance hereafter, even while it -pronounced a present denial. These were the images that haunted her -mind; they engendered all the wildness, and all the torments, of a -delirious paroxysm; she resolved that no time should be sacrificed to -needless uncertainty, and that no effort of hers should be unexerted to -prevent the mischief she feared. - -It was evening when she arrived. I was upon the point of repairing to -that scene of nightly resort, the source of all my guilt and all my -miseries. I enquired of my son’s valet where he was, and how he had -been in the course of the day. He was gone to bed: he had appeared -unusually sad, sometimes in tears; and, while he was undressing, had -sighed deeply two or three times. While I was collecting this account -in my own apartment, the gates of the hotel opened, and a number of -horsemen entered the court-yard. I was somewhat surprised; because, -though I was accustomed to see much company, few of my acquaintance -visited me at so late an hour, except on the evenings appropriated to -receive them. I crossed the saloon to enquire. One of the servants -exclaimed, “It is Bernardin’s voice: it must be my mistress that is -come!” - -Nothing could be further from my mind than the thought of her arrival. -I flew through the passage; I was on the spot the moment that the -servant prepared to conduct his mistress from the litter; I received -Marguerite in my arms, and led her into the house. If I had expected -her arrival, I should infallibly have met her at this moment with -anxiety and confusion; I should have gone round the circle of my -thoughts, and should not have had confidence to encounter the beam of -her eye. But the event was so unexpected as to drive all other ideas -from my mind; and, in consequence, I enjoyed several minutes,--ages, -rather let me say,--of the sincerest transport. I kissed the mistress -of my soul with ecstasy; I gazed upon her well known lineaments and -features; I listened to the pleasing melody of her voice; I was -intoxicated with delight. Upon occasions like this, it seems as if -every former joy that had marked the various periods of intercourse -distilled its very spirit and essence, to compose a draught, ten times -more delicious and refined than had ever before been tasted. Our -meeting was like awaking from the dead; it was the emancipation of the -weary captive, who exchanges the dungeon’s gloom for the lustre of the -morning, and who feels a celestial exhilaration of heart, the very -memory of which had been insensibly wearing away from his treacherous -brain. All my senses partook of the rapture. Marguerite seemed to shed -ambrosial odours round her; her touch was thrilling; her lips were -nectar; her figure was that of a descended deity! - -Her pleasure was not less than mine. It is indeed absurd, it may -be termed profanation, to talk of solitary pleasure. No sensation -ordinarily distinguished by that epithet can endure the test of a -moment’s inspection, when compared with a social enjoyment. It is then -only that a man is truly pleased, when pulse replies to pulse, when -the eyes discourse eloquently to each other, when in responsive tones -and words the soul is communicated. Altogether, we are conscious of a -sober, a chaste, and dignified intoxication, an elevation of spirit, -that does not bereave the mind of itself, and that endures long enough -for us to analyse and savour the causes of our joy. - -For some time we rested on a sofa, each filled and occupied with the -observation of the other. My eyes assured Marguerite of the constancy -of my affection; my kisses were those of chaste, undivided, entire -attachment. - -Our words were insignificant and idle, the broken and incoherent -phrases of a happiness that could not be silent. At length Marguerite -exclaimed, “It is enough; my fears are vanished; I have no questions -to ask, no doubts to remove. Yet why, my Reginald, did you suffer -those doubts to gather, those fears to accumulate? Surely you knew the -singleness of my affection! How many painful days and hours might you -have saved me, almost by a word!” - -“Forgive me, my love,” replied I. “Waste not the golden hour of meeting -in recrimination! Feeling, as your angelic goodness now makes me feel, -I wonder at myself, that I could for one moment have consented to -separation; that I could have thought any thing but this existence; or -that, having experienced the joys that you have bestowed, I could lose -all image of the past, and, dwelling in a desert, imagine it paradise!” - -“Recrimination!” rejoined Marguerite. “No, my love; you make me too -happy to leave room for any thing but gratitude and affection! Forgive -me, Reginald, if I pretend that, in meeting you thus, I find myself -your superior in happiness and love. You only awake from lethargy, -forgetfulness of yourself and--of me; but I awake from anguish, a -separation, that I desired not at first, and of which I hourly wished -to see an end, from doubts that would intrude, and refused to be -expelled, from the incessant contemplation and regret of a felicity, -once possessed, but possessed no longer! Melancholy ideas, gloomy -prognostics overspread my sleepless nights, and bedewed my pillow -with tears! This it is, that, at last, has driven me from my family -and daughters, resolved to obtain the certainty of despair, or the -dispersion of my fears! Have I known all this, and think you that I do -not enjoy with rapture this blissful moment?” - -While we were thus conversing, Charles entered the room. He was not -yet asleep when his mother arrived: he heard her voice; and hastened -to put on his clothes, that he might rush into her arms. The pleasure -Marguerite had conceived from our meeting, and the affectionate -serenity that had taken possession of her soul, infused double ardour -into the embraces she bestowed on her son. He gazed earnestly in her -face; he kissed her with fervency; but was silent. - -“Why, Charles!” said she, “what is the matter with you? Are not you -glad to see me?” - -“That I am, mamma! So glad, that I do not know what to do with myself! -I was afraid I never should have been glad again!” - -“Pooh, boy! what do you mean? You were not mother-sick, were you?” - -“Yes, indeed, I was sick, sick at heart! Not that I am a coward! I -think that I could have been satisfied to have been without either my -father or you for a little while. But papa is so altered, you cannot -think! He never smiles and looks happy; and, when I see him, instead of -making me joyful, as it used to do, it makes me sad!” - -“Dear Reginald!” replied the mother, looking at me, “is it possible -that, while my heart was haunted with fear and suspicions, separation -alone should have had such an effect on you?” - -“I dare say it was that,” interposed the boy. “I could not make papa -smile, all I could do: but, now you are come, he will soon be well! How -much he must love you, mamma!” - -The artless prattle of my son struck anguish to my soul; and awakened a -whole train of tormenting thoughts. Alas! thought I, can it indeed be -love, that thus contrives against the peace of its object? Would to -God, my child! that my thoughts were as simple and pure as thy innocent -bosom! - -“And yet,” added the boy, as if recollecting himself, “if he could not -see you, sure that was no reason for him to avoid me? He seemed as -much afraid of me, as I have seen some of my play-fellows of a snake! -Indeed, mamma, it was a sad thing that, when I wanted him to kiss me -and press me to his bosom, he shrunk away from me! There now! it was -just so, as he looks now, that papa used to frown upon me, I cannot -tell how often! Now is not that ugly, mamma?” - -I could no longer govern the tumult of my thoughts. “Peace, urchin!” -cried I. “Why did you come to mar the transport of our meeting? Just -now, Marguerite, I forgot myself, and was happy! Now all the villain -rises in my soul!” - -My wife was so astonished at the perturbation of my manner, and at the -words I uttered, that she was scarcely able to articulate. “Reginald!” -in broken accents she exclaimed--“my love!--my husband!” - -“No matter,” said I. “It shall yet be well! My heart assures me it -shall!--Be not disturbed, my love! I will never cause you a moment’s -anguish! I would sooner die a thousand deaths!--Forget the odious -thoughts that poor Charles has excited in me so unseasonably! They were -mere idle words! Depend upon it they were!” - -While I was speaking, Marguerite hid her face upon the sofa. I took -her hand, and by my caresses endeavoured to soothe and compose her. At -length, turning to me,--“Reginald!” said she, in a voice of anguish, -“do you then endeavour to hide from me the real state of your thoughts? -Was the joy that attended our meeting perishable and deceitful? After -ten years of unbounded affection and confidence, am I denied to be the -partner of your bosom?” - -“No, Marguerite, no! this was but the thought of a moment! By -to-morrow’s dawn it shall have no existence in my bosom. Why should -I torment you with what so soon shall have no existence to myself? -Meanwhile, be assured, my love (instead of suffering diminution) is -more full, more fervent and entire, than it ever was!” - -At this instant my mind experienced an extraordinary impression. -Instead of being weaned, by the presence of this admirable woman, from -my passion for gaming, it became stronger than ever. If Charles had -not entered at the critical moment he did, I should have remained with -Marguerite, and, amidst the so long untasted solace of love, have, -at least for this night, forgotten my cares. But that occurrence had -overturned every thing, had uncovered the wounds of my bosom, and -awakened conceptions that refused to be laid to sleep again. The arms -of my wife, that were about to embrace me, suddenly became to me a -nest of scorpions. I could as soon have rested and enjoyed myself upon -the top of Vesuvius, when it flamed. New as I was to this species of -anguish, tranquilly and full of virtuous contentment as I had hitherto -passed the years of my married state, the pangs of a guilty conscience -I was wholly unable to bear. I rose from my seat, and was upon the -point of quitting the room. - -Marguerite perceived by my manner that there was something -extraordinary passing in my mind. “Where are you going, Reginald?” said -she. - -I answered with a slight nod. “Not far,” I replied, attempting an air -of apathy and unconcern. - -She was not satisfied. “You are not going out?” she enquired. - -I returned to where I had been sitting. “My love, I was going out at -the moment of your arrival. It is necessary, I assure you. I hope I -shall soon be back. I am sorry I am obliged to leave you. Compose -yourself. You are in want of rest, and had better go to bed.” - -“Stop, Reginald! Afford me a minute’s leisure before you depart! Leave -us, Charles! Good night, my dear boy! Kiss me; remember that your -mother is now in the same house with you; and sleep in peace.” - -The boy quitted the room. - -“Reginald!” said the mother, “I have no wish to control your desires, -or be a spy upon your actions; but your conduct seems so extraordinary -in this instance, as to dispense me from the observation of common -rules. I have always been a complying wife; I have never set myself -in contradiction to your will; I appeal to yourself for the truth -of this. I despise, however, those delicacies, an adherence to which -would entail upon us the sacrifice of all that is most valuable in -human life. Can I shut my ears upon the mysterious expressions which -Charles’s complaints have extorted from you? Can I be insensible to the -extraordinary purpose you declare of leaving me, when I have yet been -scarcely half an hour under the roof with you? Before Charles came in, -you seem to have entertained no such design.” - -“My love,” replied I, “how seriously you comment upon the most -insignificant incident! Is it extraordinary that your unexpected -arrival should at first have made me forget an engagement that I now -recollect?” - -“St. Leon,” answered my wife, “before you indulge in surprise at my -earnestness, recollect the circumstances that immediately preceded -it. Through successive weeks I have waited for some satisfactory and -agreeable intelligence from you. I had a right before this to have -expected your return. Uncertainty and a thousand fearful apprehensions -have at length driven me from my home, and brought me to Paris. I -am come here for satisfaction to my doubts, and peace to my anxious -heart. Wonder not, therefore, if you find something more earnest and -determined in my proceedings now, than upon ordinary occasions. Give -me, I conjure you, give me ease and relief, if you are able! If not, at -least allow me this consolation, to know the worst!” - -“Be pacified, Marguerite!” I rejoined. “I am grieved, Heaven knows how -deeply grieved, to have occasioned you a moment’s pain. But, since -you lay so much stress upon this circumstance, depend upon it, I will -postpone the business I was going about, and stay with you.” - -This concession, voluntary and sincere, produced an effect that I had -not foreseen. Marguerite gazed for a moment in my face, and then threw -herself upon my neck. - -“Forgive me, my beloved husband!” she cried. “You indeed make me -ashamed of myself. I feel myself inexcusable. I feel that I have been -brooding over imaginary evils, and creating the misery that corroded my -heart. How inexpressibly you rise my superior! But I will conquer my -weakness. I insist upon your going to the engagement you have made, and -will henceforth place the most entire confidence in your prudence and -honour.” - -Every word of this speech was a dagger to my heart. What were my -feelings, while this admirable woman was taking shame to herself -for her suspicions, and pouring out her soul in commendation of my -integrity! I looked inward, and found every thing there the reverse -of her apprehension, a scene of desolation and remorse. I embraced -her in silence. My heart panted upon her bosom, and seemed bursting -with a secret that it was death to reveal. I ought, in return for her -generosity, to have given up my feigned engagement, and devoted this -night at least to console and pacify her. But I could not, and I dared -not. The wound of my bosom was opened, and would not be closed. The -more I loved her for her confidence, the less I could endure myself in -her presence. To play the hypocrite for so many hours, to assume a face -of tranquillity and joy while all within was tumult and horror, was a -task too mighty for human powers to execute. I accepted of Marguerite’s -permission, and left her. Even in the short interval before I quitted -the house, my carriage was near to betraying me. I could perceive her -watchful of my countenance, as if again suspicious that some fatal -secret lurked in my mind. She said nothing further upon the subject -however, and I presently escaped the inquisition of her eye. - -It is scarcely necessary to describe the state of my mind as I passed -along the streets. It is sufficient to say that every thing I had felt -before from the passion of gaming was trivial to the sensations that -now occupied me. Now first it stood confessed before me, a demon that -poisoned all my joys, that changed the transport of a meeting with -the adored of my soul into anguish, that drove me forth from her yet -untasted charms a solitary wanderer on the face of the earth. My busy -soul drew forth at length the picture of what this encounter would have -been, if it had been sanctified with the stamp of conscious innocence. -At one moment I felt myself the most accursed of mankind; I believed -that he who could find, as I did, barrenness and blasting in the -choicest of Heaven’s blessings, must be miserable beyond precedent -or hope. Shortly after, however, I reviewed again the image of my -poison, and found in it the promise of a cure. The more desperate my -case appeared to me, with the greater insanity of expectation did I -assure myself that this one night should retrieve all my misfortunes. -In giving to it this destination indeed, I should afflict the gentle -bosom of my wife but too probably with some hours of uneasiness. But -the event would richly repay her for so transitory a suffering; I would -then open my whole mind to her. I would practise no more reserves; I -should no longer be driven to the refuge of a vile hypocrisy. I would -bid farewell to the frowns and the caresses of fortune. I would require -of her no further kindnesses. If I were incapable myself of a rigid -economy, I would commit implicitly to Marguerite the disposal of my -income, whom I knew to be every way qualified for the office. With -these reflections I nerved my mind to the most decisive adventures. - -Why should I enter into a long detail of the incidents of this crisis? -Soon, though not immediately, I began to lose considerable sums. I -brought with me in the first instance a penetrating eye, a collected -mind, an intellect prepared for unintermitted exertion. Misfortune -subverted all this. My eye grew wild, my soul tempestuous, my thoughts -incoherent and distracted. I was incapable of any thing judicious; -but I was determined to persevere. I played till morning, nor could -the light of morning induce me to desist. The setting sun of that day -beheld me a beggar! - -There is a degree of misery, which, as it admits of no description, -so does it leave no distinct traces in the memory. It seems as if -the weakness of the human mind alike incapacitated it to support the -delirium of joy, and the extremity of sorrow. Of what immediately -succeeded the period to which I have conducted my narrative I have -no recollection, but a horror beyond all names of horror, wild, -inexplicable, unintelligible. Let no one, however, imagine, that the -temporary desertion of the soul is any alleviation of its misery. The -mind that sinks under its suffering does not by that conduct shake -off its burden. Rather, ten thousand times rather, would I endure all -the calamities that have ever yet received a name, the sensations and -history of which are capable of being delineated, than sustain that -which has no words by which to express itself, and the conception of -which must be trusted solely to the faculties and sympathy of the -reader. Where is the cold and inapprehensive spirit that talks of -madness as a refuge from sorrow? Oh, dull and unconceiving beyond all -belief! I cannot speak of every species of madness; but I also have -been mad! This I know, that there is a vacancy of soul, where all -appears buried in stupidity, and scarcely deserves the name of thought, -that is more intolerable than the bitterest reflections. This I know, -that there is an incoherence, in which the mind seems to wander without -rudder and pilot, that laughs to scorn the superstitious fictions -of designing priests. Oh, how many sleepless days and weeks did I -endure! the thoughts frantic, the tongue raving! While we can still -adhere, if I may so express myself, to the method of misery, there -is a sort of nameless complacency that lurks under all that we can -endure. We are still conscious that we are men; we wonder at and admire -our powers of being miserable; but, when the masts and tackle of the -intellectual vessel are all swept away, then is the true sadness. We -have no consciousness to sustain us, no sentiment of dignity, no secret -admiration of what we are, still clinging to our hearts. - -All this I venture to affirm, with the full recollection of what I -suffered, when restored to my senses, present to my mind. - -When the account was closed, and the loss of my last stake had -finished the scene, I rose, and, quitting the fatal spot where these -transactions had passed, entered the street, with a heart oppressed, -and a bursting head. My eyes glared, but I saw nothing, and could think -of nothing. It was already nearly dark; and the day which had been -tempestuous, was succeeded by a heavy and settled rain. I wandered for -some time, not knowing whither I went. My pace, which had at first -been slow, gradually increased, and I traversed the whole city with -a hurried and impatient step. The streets which had contained few -persons at first, gradually lost those few. I was almost alone. I saw -occasionally ragged and houseless misery shrinking under the cover of a -miserable shed; I saw the midnight robber, watching for his prey, and -ready to start upon the unwary passenger. From me he fled; there was -something in my air that impelled even desperate violation to shrink -from the encounter. I continued this incessant, unmeaning exertion for -hours. At length, by an accidental glance of the eye, I found myself at -the gate of my own hotel. Heedless of what I did, I entered; and, as -nature was now completely exhausted within me, sunk down in a sort of -insensibility at the foot of the grand staircase. - -This stupor, after a considerable interval, gradually subsided. I -opened my eyes, and saw various figures flitting about me; but I seemed -to myself equally incapable of collecting my thoughts, and of speech. -My understanding indeed shortly became clearer, but an insuperable -reluctance to voluntary exertion hung upon me. I explained myself only -in monosyllables; a sort of instinctive terror of disclosing what had -passed to the admirable woman I had sacrificed maintained in me this -perpetual reserve. For several days together I sat from morning till -night in one immovable posture, nor was any thing of force enough to -awaken me to exertion. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -It was not long before the unhappy partner of my fortunes was informed -of what had passed. The wretches who had stripped me of my all soon -made their appearance to claim what was no longer mine. What would -have been their reception, if I had sufficiently possessed myself to -parley with them on the subject, I am unable to determine. I could -not have preserved the wreck of my property from their grasp, but at -the expense of an indelible stain upon my honour; yet my desperation -would probably have led me to a conduct equally extravagant and -useless. In the condition in which I was, the whole direction of the -business devolved upon Marguerite; and never did human creature demean -herself with greater magnanimity and propriety. She saw at once that -she could not resist their claims but at the expense of my reputation; -for herself she valued not riches, and had no dread of poverty; and, -thus circumstanced, she had the courage herself to bring to me the -papers they offered, the object of which I scarcely understood, and -to cause me to annex that signature which was to strip her and her -children of all earthly fortune. Her purpose was, as soon as this -business was over, to cause us to quit France, and retire into some -scene of virtuous obscurity. But she would not leave behind her for -the last descendants of the counts de St. Leon any avoidable disgrace. -Her mode of reasoning upon the subject was extremely simple. Obscurity -she regarded as no misfortune; and eminent situation, where it fairly -presented itself, as a responsibility it would be base to shrink from: -ignominy alone she considered as the proper theme of abhorrence. For -the fickleness and inconstancy of fortune it is impossible to answer; -by one of those reverses in which she appears to delight, she might yet -restore us to the lustre of our former condition; but, if the name of -St. Leon was henceforth to disappear from the annals of France, she was -desirous at least, as far as depended on her, that it should expire, -like the far famed bird of Arabia, in the midst of perfumes. - -When the whole situation of Marguerite is taken into consideration, -the reader, like myself, will stand astonished at the fortitude of -her conduct. She had come to Paris, unable any longer to tranquillise -the agitation of her mind, and exhausted with fears, suspicions, -and alarms. When she arrived, she experienced indeed one delusive -moment of transport and joy. But that was soon over. It was succeeded -by reflections and conjectures respecting the mysteriousness of my -behaviour; it was succeeded by my unexpected departure, and the -hourly expectation of my return. After the lapse of a night and a -day, I returned indeed, but in what a condition! Drenched with rain, -trembling with inanition, speechless and alone. Scarcely had she -received notice of my arrival, and come forward to meet me, than she -saw me fall, motionless and insensible, at her feet. She watched my -recovery, and hung with indescribable expectation over my couch. -She was only called away by the wretches, who came to advance their -accursed claims, and to visit her with the intelligence of our ruin, as -with a thunderbolt. Already enfeebled and alarmed by all the preceding -circumstances, they spoke with no consideration to her weakness, they -stooped to no qualifications and palliatives, but disclosed the whole -in the most abrupt and shocking manner. Any other woman would have sunk -under this accumulation of ill. Marguerite only borrowed vigour from -her situation, and rose in proportion to the pressure of the calamity. -She took her resolution at once, and answered them in the most firm and -decisive language. - -The period of inactivity and stupor that at first seized me was -succeeded by a period of frenzy. It was in this condition that -Marguerite conducted me and my children to an obscure retreat in -the canton of Soleure, in the republic of Switzerland. Cheapness -was the first object; for the most miserable pittance was all she -had saved from the wreck of our fortune. She had not chosen for -beauty of situation, or magnificence of prospects. The shock her -mind had sustained was not so great as to destroy her activity and -fortitude, but it left her little leisure for the wantonness of studied -indulgence. The scene was remote and somewhat sterile. She conceived -that, when I recovered my senses, an event which she did not cease to -promise herself, solitude would be most grateful, at least to the first -stage of my returning reason. - -Hither then it was that she led me, our son, and three daughters. -Immediately upon our arrival she purchased a small and obscure, but -neat, cottage, and attired herself and her children in habits similar -to those of the neighbouring peasants. My paternal estates, as well as -those which had fallen to me by marriage, had all been swallowed up in -the gulf, which my accursed conduct had prepared. Marguerite made a -general sale of our moveables, our ornaments, and even our clothes. -A few books, guided by the attachment to literature which had always -attended me, were all that she saved from the wreck. A considerable -part of the sum thus produced was appropriated by my creditors. -Marguerite had the prudence and skill to satisfy them all, and was -contented to retain that only which remained when their demands were -discharged. This was the last dictate of her pride and the high-born -integrity of her nature, at the time that she thus departed a voluntary -exile from her native country. Two servants accompanied us in our -flight, whose attachment was so great, that even if their attendance -had not been necessary, it would have been found somewhat difficult -to shake them off. Marguerite, however, was governed by the strictest -principles of economy; and, whatever the struggle might have been with -the importunity of humble affection in dismissing these last remains -of our profuse and luxurious household, she would have thought herself -obliged to proceed even to this extreme, if judicious parsimony had -demanded it from her. But it did not. Our youngest daughter was at this -time only twelve months old, and it would have been scarcely possible -for the mother, however resolute in her exertions, to have discharged -the cares due to such a family, at a time when the father of it was -suffering under so heavy an affliction. One female servant she retained -to assist her in these offices. She could not dispense herself from a -very assiduous attention to me. She could never otherwise have been -satisfied, that every thing was done that ought to be done, that every -tenderness was exercised that might be demanded by my humiliating -situation, or that sufficient sagacity and skill were employed in -watching and encouraging the gleams of returning reason. The violence -of my paroxysms, however, was frequently such as to render a manual -force greater than hers necessary to prevent me from effecting some -desperate mischief. Bernardin, a trusty servant, nearly of my own age, -and who had attended upon my person almost from infancy, was retained -by Marguerite for this purpose. I was greatly indebted for the recovery -which speedily followed to the affectionate anxiety and enlightened -care of this incomparable woman. It is inconceivable to those who have -never been led to a practical examination of the subject, how much may -be effected in this respect by an attachment ever on the watch, and -an understanding judicious to combine, where hired attendance would -sleep, and the coarseness of a blunt insensibility would irritate, nay, -perhaps, mortally injure. - -It is scarcely possible to imagine a wife more interesting and -admirable than Marguerite appeared upon the present occasion. Fallen -from the highest rank to the lowest poverty, she did not allow -herself a mean and pitiful regret. No reverse could be more complete -and abrupt, but she did not sink under it. She proved, in the most -convincing manner, that her elevation was not the offspring of wealth -or rank, but was properly her own. She gave a grace, even a lustre, to -poverty, which it can only receive from the emanations of a cultivated -mind. Her children were reconciled and encouraged by her example, and -soon forgot those indulgences which had not yet had time to emasculate -their spirits. The deplorable situation to which the father of the -family was reduced was far from inducing her to cease from her efforts -in the bitterness of despair. She determined for the present to be -both a father and a mother to her children. She looked forward with -confidence to my speedy recovery. Though I was the author of her -calamities, she did not permit this consideration to subtract from -the purity of her affection, or the tenderness of her anxiety. She -resolved that no word or look of hers should ever reproach me with my -misconduct. She had been accustomed to desire rank, and affluence, and -indulgence for her children; that her son might run the career of glory -which his forefathers ran, and that her daughters might unite their -fates with what was most illustrious and honourable in their native -country. But, if she were disappointed in this, she determined, as far -as it should be in her power, to give them virtue and cheerfulness and -content, a mind that should find resources within itself, and call -forth regard and esteem from the rest of mankind. - -My recovery was fitful and precarious, sometimes appearing to be -rapidly on the advance, and at others to threaten a total relapse. -Among the expedients that Marguerite employed to re-excite the -slumbering spark of reason was that of paternal affection. Ever on -the watch for a favourable opportunity, she sometimes brought to me -her own little namesake, who, though only twelve months old, did not -fail to discover unequivocal marks of that playfulness and gaiety -which made so considerable a part of her constitutional character. -Her innocent smiles, her frolic and careless laughter, produced a -responsive vibration that reached to my inmost heart. They were, not -unfrequently, powerful enough to check the career of my fury, or to -raise me from the lowest pitch of despondence. Julia wept for me, and -Louisa endeavoured to copy the offices of kindness she was accustomed -to see her mother perform: Charles, who conceived more fully than the -rest the nature of my indisposition, was upon all occasions solicitous -to be admitted into my presence, and attended me for the most part -with speechless anxiety, while his watchful, glistening eye uttered -volumes, without the assistance of words. His mother at length yielded -to his importunity, and he became established the regular assistant of -Bernardin in the care of my person. The restlessness and impetuosity he -had hitherto manifested seemed upon this occasion entirely to subside: -hour after hour he willingly continued shut up in my chamber, eager for -every opportunity of usefulness, and gratified with that complaisance -with which the human mind never fails to be impressed, when it regards -its actions as beneficent, or approves its temper as compassionate. - -The restoration of my health was greatly retarded by the melancholy -impressions which necessarily offered themselves to my mind when -recollection resumed her seat. It was fortunate for me that this sort -of retrospection appears not to be the first thing that occurs after -a paroxysm of insanity. When the tide of incoherent ideas subsides, -the soul is left in a state of exhaustion; and seems, by a sort of -instinct, to shun the influx of tumultuous emotions, and to dwell upon -such feelings as are mild, tranquil, and restorative. Once, however, -when I was nearly recovered, the thought of what I had been, and the -recollection of what I was, violently suggesting themselves to my mind, -brought on a relapse, attended with more alarming and discouraging -symptoms than my original alienation. At that moment Marguerite was, -for the first time, irresistibly struck with the conception that mine -was an incurable lunacy; and, as she afterwards assured me, at no -period down to that instant had she felt herself so truly inconsolable. -But even a sentiment of the last despair was incapable of superseding -the active beneficence of Marguerite. Her assiduities, so far as -related to this fatal calamity, were at length crowned with success. -Her gloomy prognostics were not realised, and the distemper of my -understanding quitted me for ever. - -Wretched, however, as I have already remarked, beyond all common -notions of wretchedness, were my thoughts, when my soul returned to its -proper bias, and I fully surveyed the nature of my present situation. -Marguerite, who, by her sagacity and patience, had recovered me from -a state of the most dreadful disease, now exerted herself to effect -the more arduous task of reconciling me to myself. She assured me -that she forgave me from her inmost heart; nay, that she was thankful -to Providence, which, in the midst of what the world calls great -calamities, had preserved to her what she most valued, my affection, -entire. She contrasted what had been the subject of her apprehensions -before she came to Paris, with what had proved to be the state of the -case afterwards. She averred, that the worst that had happened was -trivial and tolerable, compared with the image that her fears had -delineated. She had feared to find my heart alienated from her, and -herself a widowed mother to orphan children. She dreaded lest I should -have proved myself worthless in her eyes, lest I should have been -found to have committed to oblivion the most sacred of all duties; -and, for the gratification of a low and contemptible caprice, to have -sacrificed all pretensions to honour and character. For that, indeed, -her heart would have bled; against that, all the pride she derived from -her ancestry and my own would have revolted; that would have produced -a revulsion of her frame, snapping the chain of all her habits, and -putting a violent close upon all the sentiments she had most fondly -nourished. She dreaded, indeed, that she should not have survived -it. But the mistake I had committed was of a very different nature. -I had neither forgotten that I was a husband nor a father; I had only -made an injudicious and unfortunate choice of the way of discharging -what was due to these characters. What had passed was incapable of -impeaching either the constancy of my affections or the integrity of -my principles. She forgave me, and it was incumbent upon me to forgive -myself. - -She assured me that poverty, in her apprehension, was a very slight -evil; and she appealed to my own understanding for the soundness -of her judgment. She bid me look round upon the peasantry of the -neighbourhood, upon a footing with whom we were now placed, and ask my -own heart whether they were not happy. One disadvantage, indeed, they -were subjected to,--the absence of cultivation and learning. She could -never bring herself to believe that ignorance was a benefit; she saw -the contrary of this practically illustrated in her own case, in mine, -and in that of all the persons to whom, through life, she had been -most ardently attached. She wished her children to attain intellectual -refinement, possess fully the attributes of a rational nature, and to -be as far removed as possible from the condition of stocks and stones, -by accumulating a magazine of thoughts, and by a rich and cultivated -sensibility. But the want of fortune did not in our case, as in the -case of so many others, shut them out from this advantage: it was in -our own power to bestow it upon them. - -It was the part of a reasonable man, she told me, not to waste his -strength in useless regrets for what was past, and had already eluded -his grasp; but to advert to the blessings he had still in possession. -If we did this in our present situation, we should find every reason -for contentment and joy. Our pleasure in each other, and the constancy -of our attachment, was unassailed and unimpaired. Where were there -two married persons, she would venture to ask, who had more reason to -applaud their connection, or to whom their connection was pregnant -with so various gratifications? From ourselves we had only to turn our -thoughts to our children; and we were surely as singularly fortunate -in this respect as in each other. Charles, who had always been the -subject of our pride, had lately exhibited such an example of patient -sympathy and filial affection, as perhaps had never been equalled in a -child so young. The sensibility of Julia, the understanding of Louisa, -and the vivacity of Marguerite, were all of them so many growing -sources of inexhaustible delight. Our children were intelligent, -affectionate, and virtuous. Thus circumstanced, she entreated me not -to indulge that jaundice of the imagination, which should create to -itself a sentiment of melancholy and discontent in the midst of this -terrestrial paradise. - -Most virtuous of women, now perhaps the purest and the brightest -among the saints in heaven! why was I deaf to the soundness of your -exhortations, and the generosity of your sentiments? Deaf, indeed, I -was! A prey to the deepest dejection, they appeared to me the offspring -of misapprehension and paradox! Supposing, in the mean time, that they -were reasonable and just in the mouth of her who uttered them, I felt -them as totally foreign to my own situation. The language, as they -were, of innocence; it was not wonderful that to an innocent heart -they spoke tranquillity and peace. Marguerite looked round upon the -present rusticity and plainness of our condition, and every thing that -she saw talked to her of her merit and her worth. If we were reduced, -she was in no way accountable for that reduction; it had been the -test of her magnanimity, her patience, and the immutableness of her -virtue. She smiled at the assaults of adversity, and felt a merit in -her smiles. How different was my situation! Every thing that I saw -reminded me of my guilt, and upbraided me with crimes that it was -hell to recollect. My own garb, and that of my wife and children, the -desertion in which we lived, the simple benches, the unhewn rafters, -the naked walls, all told me what it was I had done, and were so many -echoes to my conscience, repeating, without intermission and without -end, its heart-breaking reproaches. Sleep was almost a stranger to me; -these incessant monitors confounded my senses in a degree scarcely -short of madness itself. It is the property of vice to convert every -thing that should be consolation into an additional source of anguish. -The beauty, the capacity, and the virtue of my children, the affection -with which they regarded me, the patience and attentiveness and -forbearance of their excellent mother, were all so many aggravations -of the mischief I had perpetrated. I could almost have wished to have -been the object of their taunts and execration. I could have wished to -have been disengaged from the dearest charities of our nature, and to -have borne the weight of my crimes alone. It would have been a relief -to me if my children had been covered with the most loathsome diseases, -deformed and monstrous. It would have been a relief to me, if they had -been abortive in understanding, and odious in propensities, if their -hearts had teemed with every vice, and every day had marked them the -predestined victims of infamy. The guilt of having stripped them of -every external advantage would then have sat light upon me. But thus -to have ruined the most lovely family perhaps that existed on the -face of the earth, the most exemplary of women, and children in whom -I distinctly marked the bud of every excellence and every virtue, was -a conduct that I could never forgive even to myself. Oh, Damville, -Damville! best of men! truest of friends! why didst thou put thy trust -in such a wretch as I am! Hadst thou no presentiment of the fatal -consequences? Wert thou empowered to commit thy only child and all her -possible offspring to so dreadful a risk? Indeed, it was not well done! -It was meant in kindness; but it was the cruellest mischief that could -have been inflicted on me. I was not a creature qualified for such dear -and tender connections. I was destined by nature to wander a solitary -outcast on the face of the earth. For that only, that fearful misery, -was I fitted. Why, misguided, misjudging man! didst thou not leave me -to my fate? Even that would have been less dreadful than what I have -experienced!--Wretch that I am! Why do I reproach my best benefactor? -No, let me turn the whole current of my invective upon myself! Damville -was actuated by the noblest and most generous sentiment that ever -entered the human mind. What a return then have I made, and to what a -benefit! - -All the previous habits of my mind had taught me to feel my present -circumstances with the utmost acuteness. Marguerite, the generous -Marguerite, stood, with a soul almost indifferent, between the opposite -ideas of riches and poverty. Not so her husband. I had been formed, -by every accident of my life, to the love of splendour. High heroic -feats, and not the tranquillity of rural retirement, or the pursuits of -a character professedly literary, had been the food of my imagination, -ever since the faculty of imagination was unfolded in my mind. The -field of the cloth of gold, the siege and the battle of Pavia, were -for ever present to my recollection. Francis the First, Bayard, and -Bourbon, eternally formed the subject of my visions and reveries. -These propensities had indeed degenerated into an infantine taste for -magnificence and expense; but the roots did not embrace their soil the -less forcibly, because the branches were pressed down and diverted from -their genuine perpendicular. That from a lord, descended from some of -the most illustrious houses in France, and myself amply imbued with -the high and disdainful spirit incident to my rank, I should become a -peasant, was itself a sufficient degradation. But I call the heavens to -witness that I could have endured this with patience, if I had endured -it alone. I should have regarded it as the just retribution of my -follies, and submitted with the most exemplary resignation. But I could -not, with an equal mind, behold my wife and children involved in my -punishment. I turned my eyes upon the partner of my life, and recalled -with genuine anguish the magnificence to which she was accustomed, -and the hopes to which she was born. I looked upon my children, the -fruit of my loins, and once the pride of my heart, and recollected -that they were paupers, rustics, exiles. I could foresee no return -to rank, but for them and their posterity an interminable succession -of obscurity and meanness. A real parent can support the calamity of -personal degradation, but he cannot bear to witness and anticipate this -corruption of his blood. At some times I honoured Marguerite for her -equanimity. At others I almost despised her for this integrity of her -virtues. I accused her in my heart of being destitute of the spark of -true nobility. Her patience I considered as little less than meanness -and vulgarity of spirit. It would have become her better, I thought, -like me, to have cursed her fate, and the author of that fate; like me, -to have spurned indignant at the slavery to which we were condemned; -to have refused to be pacified; and to have wasted the last dregs of -existence in impatience and regret. I could act that which had involved -us in this dire reverse; but I could not encounter the consequences of -my act. - -The state of my mind was in the utmost degree dejected and forlorn. -I carried an arrow in my heart, which the kindness of my wife and -children proved inadequate to extract, and the ranklings of which -time itself had not the power to assuage. The wound was not mortal; -but, like the wound of Philoctetes, poisoned with the blood of the -Lernean hydra, I dragged it about with me from year to year, and it -rendered my existence a galling burden hardly to be supported. A great -portion of my time was passed in a deep and mournful silence, which -all the soothings that were addressed to me could not prevail on me to -break. Not that in this silence there was the least particle of ill -humour or sullenness. It was a mild and passive situation of the mind; -affectionate, as far as it was any thing, to the persons around me; but -it was a species of disability; my soul had not force enough to give -motion to the organs of speech, or scarcely to raise a finger. My eye -only, and that only for a moment at a time, pleaded for forbearance and -pardon. I seemed like a man in that species of distemper, in which the -patient suffers a wasting of the bones, and at length presents to us -the shadow, without the powers, of a human body. - -This was at some times my condition. But my stupor would at others -suddenly subside. Mechanically, and in a moment, as it were, I shook -off my supineness, and sought the mountains. The wildness of an -untamed and savage scene best accorded with the temper of my mind. I -sprung from cliff to cliff among the points of the rock. I rushed down -precipices that to my sobered sense appeared in a manner perpendicular, -and only preserved my life, with a sort of inborn and unelective care, -by catching at the roots and shrubs which occasionally broke the -steepness of the descent. I hung over the tops of rocks still more -fearful in their declivities, and courted the giddiness and whirl of -spirit which such spectacles are accustomed to produce. I could not -resolve to die: death had too many charms to suit the self-condemnation -that pursued me. I found a horrible satisfaction in determining to -live, and to avenge upon myself the guilt I had incurred. I was far -from imagining that the evils I had yet suffered were a mere sport and -ostentation of misery, compared with those that were in reserve for me. - -The state of mind I am here describing was not madness, nor such as -could be mistaken for madness. I never forgot myself, and what I -was. I was never in that delirium of thought, in which the patient -is restless and active without knowing what it is that he does, and -from which, when roused, he suddenly starts, shakes off the dream -that engaged him, and stands astonished at himself. Mine was a rage, -guided and methodised by the discipline of despair. I burst into no -fits of raving; I attempted no injury to any one. Marguerite therefore -could not reconcile herself to the placing me under any restraint. -I frequently returned home, with my clothes smeared with the soil, -and torn by the briars. But my family soon became accustomed to -my returning in personal safety; and therefore, whatever was the -uneasiness my wife felt from my excursions, she preferred the enduring -it, to the idea of imposing on me any species of violence. - -The state of my family presented a singular contrast with that of its -head. Marguerite was certainly not insensible to the opposition between -her former and her present mode of life; but she submitted to the -change with such an unaffected cheerfulness and composure, as might -have extorted admiration from malignity itself. She would perhaps have -dismissed from her thoughts all retrospect to our former grandeur, had -not the dejection and despair that seemed to have taken possession of -my mind forcibly and continually recalled it to her memory. For my -sufferings I am well assured she felt the truest sympathy; but there -was one consideration attending them that imperiously compelled her -to task her fortitude. They deprived me of the ability of in any -degree providing for and superintending my family; it became therefore -incumbent upon her to exert herself for the welfare of all. Had we -never fallen under this astonishing reverse, I might have spent my -whole life in daily intercourse with this admirable woman, without -becoming acquainted with half the treasures of her mind. She was my -steward; and from the result of her own reflections made the most -judicious disposition of my property. She was my physician; not by -administering medicines to my body, but by carefully studying and -exerting herself to remove the distemper of mind. Unfortunately no -distempers are so obstinate as mental ones; yet, had my distemper had -any lighter source than an upbraiding conscience, I am persuaded the -wisdom of Marguerite would have banished it. She was the instructor of -my children; her daughters felt no want of a governess; and I am even -ready to doubt whether the lessons of his mother did not amply supply -to Charles his loss of an education in the university of Paris. The -love of order, the activity, the industry, the cheerfulness of, let me -say, this illustrious matron, became contagious to all the inhabitants -of my roof. Once and again have I stolen a glance at them, or viewed -them from a distance busied, sometimes gravely, sometimes gaily, in -the plain, and have whispered to my bursting heart, “How miserable -am I! how happy they! So insurmountable is the barrier that divides -innocence from guilt. They may breathe the same air; they may dwell -under the same roof; they may be of one family and one blood; they may -associate with each other every day and every hour; but they can never -assimilate, never have any genuine contact. Is there a happier family -than mine in all the valley of this far-famed republic? Is there a -family more virtuous, or more cultivated with all the refinements that -conduce to the true dignity of man? I, I only am its burden and its -stain! The pleasure with which I am surrounded on every side finds a -repellent quality in my heart that will not suffer its approach. To -whatever is connected with me I communicate misfortune. Whenever I -make my appearance, those countenances that at all other times spoke -contentment and hilarity fall into sadness. Like a pestilential wind, -I appear to breathe blast to the fruits of nature, and sickliness to -its aspect.” - -Marguerite expostulated with me in the most soothing manner upon the -obstinacy of my malady. “My Reginald! my love!” said she, “cease to be -unhappy, or to reproach yourself! You were rash in the experiment you -made upon the resources of your family. But have you done us mischief, -or have you conferred a benefit? I more than half incline to the latter -opinion. Let us at length dismiss artificial tastes, and idle and -visionary pursuits, that do not flow in a direct line from any of the -genuine principles of our nature! Here we are surrounded with sources -of happiness. Here we may live in true patriarchal simplicity. What is -chivalry, what are military prowess and glory? Believe me, they are the -passions of a mind depraved, that with ambitious refinement seeks to be -wise beyond the dictates of sentiment or reason! There is no happiness -so solid, or so perfect, as that which disdains these refinements. You, -like me, are fond of the luxuriant and romantic scenes of nature. Here -we are placed in the midst of them. How idle it would be, to wish to -change our arbours, our verdant lanes and thickets, for vaulted roofs, -and gloomy halls, and massy plate! Alas, Reginald! it is, I fear, too -true, that the splendour in which we lately lived has its basis in -oppression; and that the superfluities of the rich are a boon extorted -from the hunger and misery of the poor! Here we see a peasantry more -peaceful and less oppressed than perhaps any other tract of the earth -can exhibit. They are erect and independent, at once friendly and -fearless. Is not this a refreshing spectacle? I now begin practically -to perceive that the cultivators of the fields and the vineyards are -my brethren and my sisters; and my heart bounds with joy, as I feel -my relations to society multiply. How cumbrous is magnificence! The -moderate man is the only free. He who reduces all beneath him to a -state of servitude becomes himself the slave of his establishment, and -of all his domestics. To diminish the cases in which the assistance -of others is felt absolutely necessary is the only genuine road to -independence. We can now move wherever we please without waiting the -leisure of others. Our simple repasts require no tedious preparation, -and do not imprison us in saloons and eating rooms. Yet we partake -of them with a more genuine appetite, and rise from them more truly -refreshed, than from the most sumptuous feast. I prepare for my meal -by industry and exercise; and when it is over, amuse myself with my -children in the fields and the shade.--Though I love the sight of the -peasants, I would not be a peasant. I would have a larger stock of -ideas, and a wider field of activity. I love the sight of peasants -only for their accessories, or by comparison. They are comparatively -more secure than any other large masses of men, and the scenes in the -midst of which they are placed are delightful to sense. But I would -not sacrifice in prone oblivion the best characteristics of my nature. -I put in my claim for refinements and luxuries; but they are the -refinements and purifying of intellect, and the luxuries of uncostly, -simple taste. I would incite the whole world, if I knew how to do it, -to put in a similar claim. I would improve my mind; I would enlarge my -understanding; I would contribute to the instruction of all connected -with me, and to the mass of human knowledge. The pleasures I would -pursue and disseminate, though not dependent on a large property, are -such as could not be understood by the rustic and the savage.--Our -son, bred in these fields, indeed, will probably never become a -_preux chevalier_, or figure in the roll of military heroes; but he -may become something happier and better. He may improve his mind, and -cultivate his taste. He may be the counsellor and protector of his -sisters. He may be the ornament of the district in which he resides. -He may institute in his adoptive country new defences for liberty, new -systems of public benefit, and new improvements of life. There is no -character more admirable than the patriot-yeoman, who unites with the -utmost simplicity of garb and manners an understanding fraught with -information and sentiment and a heart burning with the love of mankind. -Such were Fabricius and Regulus among the ancients, and such was Tell, -the founder of the Helvetic liberty. For my part, I am inclined to be -thankful, that this unexpected reverse in our circumstances has made -me acquainted with new pleasures, and opened to my mind an invaluable -lesson. If you could but be prevailed on to enter into our pleasures, -to dismiss idle reproaches and pernicious propensities, our happiness -would then be complete.” - -The expostulations of Marguerite often excited my attention, often my -respect, and sometimes produced a sort of imperfect conviction. But the -conviction was transient, and the feelings I have already described -as properly my own returned, when the fresh and vivid impression of -what I had heard was gone. It was in vain that I heard the praises of -simplicity and innocence. I was well pleased to see those who were -nearest to me not affecting contentment, but really contented with -these things. But I could not be contented for them. The lessons of -my education had left too deep an impression. I could myself have -surrendered my claim to admiration and homage, as a penance for my -misdeeds; but I could not figure to myself a genuine satisfaction -unaccompanied by these accessories: and this satisfaction I obstinately -and impatiently coveted for those I loved. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -While I murmured in bitterness of soul at the lowness to which my -family was reduced, a still heavier calamity impended, as if in -vengeance against the fantastic refinements of distress over which I -brooded. - -I was wandering, as I had often done, with a gloomy and rebellious -spirit, among the rocks, a few miles distant from the place of -our habitation. It was the middle of summer. The weather had been -remarkably fine; but I disdained to allow the gratifications which -arise from a pure atmosphere and a serene sky to find entrance in -my soul. My excursions had for some days been incessant; and the -sun, which matured the corn and blackened the grapes around, had -imbrowned my visage, and boiled in my blood. I drank in fierceness and -desperation from the fervour of his beams. One night, as in sullen -mood I watched his setting from a point of the rock, I perceived the -clearness of the day subsiding in a threatening evening. The clouds -gathered in the west; and, as night approached, were overspread with a -deep dye of the fiercest crimson. The wind rose; and, during the hours -of darkness, its roarings were hollow and tempestuous. - -In the morning the clouds were hurried rapidly along, and the air was -changed from a long series of sultriness to a nipping cold. This change -of the atmosphere I disregarded, and pursued my rambles. A little -before noon, however, the air suddenly grew so dark, as to produce a -sensation perfectly tremendous. I felt as if the darkest night had -never exceeded it. The impetuous motion to which I had been impelled, -partly by the fever in my blood, and partly by the turbulence of the -season, was suspended. Mechanically I looked round me for shelter. -But I could ill distinguish the objects that were near me, when a -flash of lightning, blue and sulphureous, came directly in my face, -with a brightness that threatened to extinguish the organ of vision. -The thunder that followed was of a length and loudness to admit of -no comparison from any object with which I am acquainted. The bursts -were so frequent as almost to confound themselves with each other. At -present I thought only of myself; and the recent habits of my mind -were not calculated to make me peculiarly accessible to fear. I stood -awe-struck; but rather with the awe that inheres to a cultivated -imagination, than that which consists in apprehension. I seemed ready -to mount amidst the clouds, and penetrate the veil with which nature -conceals her operations. I would have plunged into the recesses in -which the storm was engendered, and bared my bosom to the streaming -fire. Meanwhile my thoughts were solemnised and fixed by observing -the diversified dance of the lightnings upon the points of the rocks, -contrasting as they did in the strongest manner with the darkness in -which the rest of the scene was enveloped. This added contention of the -elements did not, however, suspend the raging of the wind. Presently a -storm of mingled hail and rain poured from the clouds, and was driven -with inconceivable impetuosity. The hailstones were of so astonishing -a magnitude, that, before I was aware, I was beaten by them to the -ground. Not daring to attempt to rise again, I simply endeavoured to -place myself in such a manner as might best protect me from their -violence. I therefore remained prostrate, listening to the force with -which they struck upon the earth, and feeling the rebound of their -blows from different parts of my body. - -In about twenty minutes the shower abated, and in half an hour was -entirely over. When I began to move, I was surprised at the sensation -of soreness which I felt in every part of me. I raised myself upon -my elbow, and saw the hailstones, in some places lying in heaps like -hillocks of ice, while in others they had ploughed up the surface, -and buried themselves in the earth. As I looked further, I perceived -immense trees torn from their roots, and thrown to a great distance -upon the declivity. To the noise that they made in their descent, which -must have been astonishingly great, I had been at the time insensible. -Such were the marks which the tempest had left upon the mountains. In -the plain it was still worse. I could perceive the soil for long spaces -together converted into a morass, the standing corn beaten down and -buried in the mud, the vines torn into a thousand pieces, the fruit -trees demolished, and even in some places the animals themselves, -lambs, sheep, and cows, strewing the fields with their mangled -carcasses. The whole hopes of the year over which my eyes had glanced -a few minutes before, for it was near the period of harvest, were -converted into the most barren and dreary scene that any quarter of the -globe ever witnessed. I was mounted upon a considerable eminence, and -had an extensive prospect of this horrible devastation. - -As I stood gazing in mute astonishment, suddenly a fear came over me -that struck dampness to my very heart. What was the situation of my -own family and their little remaining property, amidst this dreadful -ruin? I was in a position where, though I nearly faced our habitation, -a point of the rock intercepted it from my sight. The obstacle was but -a small one, yet it would require a considerable circuit to overcome. I -flew along the path with a speed that scarcely permitted me to breathe. -When I had passed the upper rock, the whole extensive scene opened upon -me in an instant. What were my sensations, when I perceived that the -devastation had been even more complete here than on the side where I -first viewed it! My own cottage in particular, which that very morning -had contained, and I hoped continued to contain, all that was most dear -to my heart, seemed to stand an entire solitude in the midst of an -immense swamp. - -Marguerite, whose idea, upon our retreat into Switzerland, had been -that of conforming without reserve to the new situation that was -allotted us, had immediately expended the whole of what remained -from the shipwreck of our fortune, in the purchase of the cottage in -which we dwelt, and a small portion of land around it, sufficient -with economy for the support of our family. Under her direction the -hills had been covered with vines, and the fields with corn. She -had purchased cows to furnish us with milk, and sheep with their -fleeces, and had formed her establishment upon the model of the Swiss -peasantry in our neighbourhood. Reverting to the simplicity of nature, -appeared to her like building upon an immovable basis, which the clash -of nations could not destroy, and which was too humble to fear the -treachery of courts, or the caprice of artificial refinement. - -It was all swept away in a moment. Our little property looked as if it -had been particularly a mark for the vengeance of Heaven, and was more -utterly destroyed than any of the surrounding scenes. There was not -a tree left standing; there was not a hedge or a limit that remained -within or around it; chaos had here resumed his empire, and avenged -himself of the extraordinary order and beauty it had lately displayed. - -I was not overwhelmed with this astonishing spectacle. At that moment -nature found her way to my heart, and made a man of me. I made light -of these petty accessories of our existence; and the thought of my -wife and my children, simply as they were in themselves, filled every -avenue of my heart. For them, and them alone, I was interested: it was -a question for their lives. To conceive what they might personally -have sustained was a horror that seemed to freeze up all the arteries -of my heart. I descended from the mountain. It was with the greatest -difficulty, and not without many circuitous deviations, that I -proceeded; so much was the surface changed, and so deep and miry the -swamps. My terror increased, as I passed near to the carcasses of the -animals who had fallen victims to this convulsion of the elements. I -observed, with inconceivable alarm, that the dead or wounded bodies -of some human beings were intermingled with the brute destruction. -I stayed not to enquire whether they were yet in a state to require -assistance; the idea that had taken possession of me left no room for -the sentiment of general humanity. - -A little further on I distinctly remarked the body of a woman at some -distance from any habitation, who appeared to be dead, destroyed by -the storm. Near her lay a female infant, apparently about six years of -age. My attention was involuntarily arrested; I thought of Louisa, that -sweet and amiable child, so like her admirable mother. The figure was -hers; the colour of the robe corresponded to that in which I last saw -her. The child was lying on her face. With all the impatient emotions -of a father, I stooped down. I turned over the body, that I might -identify my child. It was still warm; life had scarcely deserted it. I -gazed upon the visage; it was distorted with the agonies of death: but -enough to convince me still remained discernible; it was not Louisa! - -I can scarcely recollect a period through all the strange vicissitudes -of my existence to be compared with this. If I had not felt what I then -felt, I could never have conceived it. Human nature is so constituted, -that the highest degree of anguish, an anguish in which the heart -stretches itself to take in the mightiness of its woe, can be felt but -for a few instants. When the calamity we feared is already arrived, or -when the expectation of it is so certain as to shut out hope, there -seems to be a principle within us by which we look with misanthropic -composure on the state to which we are reduced, and the heart sullenly -contracts and accommodates itself to what it most abhorred. Our hopes -wither; and our pride, our self-complacence, all that taught us to -rejoice in existence, wither along with them. But, when hope yet -struggles with despair, or when the calamity abruptly announces itself, -then is the true contention, the tempest and uproar of the soul too -vast to be endured. - -This sentiment of ineffable wretchedness I experienced, when I stooped -down over the body of the imaginary Louisa, and when I hastened to -obtain the certainty which was of all things most terrible to me. The -termination of such a moment of horror is scarcely less memorable than -its intrinsic greatness. In an instant the soul recovers its balance, -and the thought is as if it has never been. I clapped my hands in an -ecstasy at once of joy and astonishment, so sure did I seem to have -made myself of my misfortune; I quitted the body with an unburdened -heart; I flew towards my home, that I might ascertain whether I was -prematurely speaking comfort to my spirit. - -At length I reached it. I saw the happy group assembled at the door. -Marguerite had entertained the same terrors for me, with which I had -myself so lately been impressed. We flew into each other’s arms. She -hid her face in my neck, and sobbed audibly. I embraced each of the -children in turn, but Louisa with the most heartfelt delight. “Are you -safe, papa?”--“Are you safe, my child?” were echoed on every side. A -spectator, unacquainted with what was passing in our hearts, would -certainly have stood astonished to see the transport with which we -exulted, surrounded as we were with desolation and ruin. - -After an interval, however, we opened our eyes, and began to ruminate -upon the new condition in which we were placed. Marguerite and myself -watched each other’s countenances with anxiety, to discover what were -likely to be the feelings of either in this terrible crisis. “Be of -good heart, my love,” said Marguerite; “do not suffer the accident -which has happened entirely to overcome you.” There was a mixed -compassion, tenderness, and anxiety in the tone of voice with which she -uttered these words, that was inexpressibly delightful. - -“No, Marguerite,” replied I, with enthusiastic impetuosity, “I am not -cast down; I never shall be cast down again. Ruin is nothing to me, -so long as I am surrounded with you and our dear children. I have for -some time been a fool. In the midst of every real blessing, I have -fashioned for myself imaginary evils. But my eyes are now opened. How -easily is the human mind induced to forget those benefits with which -we are constantly surrounded, and our possession of which we regard as -secure! The feelings of this morning have awakened me. I am now cured -of my folly. I have learned to value my domestic blessings as I ought. -Having preserved them, I esteem myself to have lost nothing. What are -gold and jewels and precious utensils? Mere dross and dirt. The human -face and the human heart, reciprocations of kindness and love, and all -the nameless sympathies of our nature,--these are the only objects -worth being attached to. What are rank and station?--the homage of the -multitude and the applause of fools. Let me judge for myself! The value -of a man is in his intrinsic qualities; in that of which power cannot -strip him, and which adverse fortune cannot take away. That for which -he is indebted to circumstances, is mere trapping and tinsel. I should -love these precious and ingenuous creatures before me better, though -in rags, than the children of kings in all the pomp of ornament. I am -proud to be their father. Whatever may be my personal faults, the world -is my debtor for having been the occasion of their existence. But they -are endeared to me by a better principle than pride. I love them for -their qualities. He that loves, and is loved by, a race of pure and -virtuous creatures, and that lives continually in the midst of them, is -an idiot, if he does not think himself happy. Surrounded as I am now -surrounded, I feel as irremovable as the pillars of creation. Nothing -that does not strike at their existence can affect me with terror.” - -Marguerite viewed me with surprise and joy. “Now indeed,” said she, -“you are the man I took you for, and the man I shall henceforth be -prouder than ever to call my husband. The sorrow in which you lately -indulged was a luxury; and we must have done with luxuries. You will be -our protector and our support.” - -Thus saying, she took me by the hand, and motioned me to view with -her the devastation that had been committed. There was one path I had -discovered, in which we might proceed some way with tolerable ease. -The scene was terrible. We were indeed beggars. A whole province had -been destroyed: all the corn and the fruits of the earth; most of the -trees; in many places cattle; in some places men. Persons who had been -rich in the morning saw all the produce of their fields annihilated, -and were unable even to guess by what process fertility was to be -re-established. The comparatively wealthy scarcely knew how they were -to obtain immediate subsistence; the humbler class, who always live by -the expedients of the day, saw nothing before them but the prospect -of perishing with hunger. We witnessed, in one or two instances, the -anguish of their despair. - -Our prospect was scarcely in any respect better than theirs; yet we -felt differently. We were more impressed with the joy of our personal -escape. As my error respecting the value of externals had been -uncommonly great, the sudden revolution of opinion I experienced was -equally memorable. The survey, indeed, that we took of the general -distress somewhat saddened our hearts; but the sadness it gave was that -of sobriety, not of dejection. - -It was incumbent upon us to make a strict examination into the amount -of our property, and our immediate resources; and in this office I -united myself with Marguerite, not only with a degree of cheerfulness -and application, the perfect contrast of my whole conduct ever since -our arrival in Switzerland, but which greatly exceeded any thing I -had ever before exhibited in a business of this nature. We found -that, though all our hopes of a harvest were annihilated, yet we were -not destitute of the instant means of subsistence. The resources we -possessed, whether in money or provisions, that were our dependence -till the period when the new produce should supply their place, were -uninjured. Our implements of husbandry remained as before. The land was -not impoverished, but had rather derived additional fertility from the -effects of the storm. What we had lost was chiefly the produce of our -capital for one year, together with a part of that capital itself in -the live stock that had been destroyed. This was a loss which a certain -degree of care and scope in our external circumstances might easily -have enabled us to supply. But the principle of supply was denied us. -It was with considerable difficulty that all the economy of Marguerite -had enabled her to support our family establishment, while every thing -of this kind had gone on prosperously. Such a shock as the present we -were totally disqualified to surmount. It compelled us to a complete -revolution of our affairs. - -Many indeed of our neighbours had scarcely any greater advantage -in their private affairs than ourselves. But they possessed one -superiority that proved of the greatest importance in this conjuncture; -they were natives of the state in which they resided. In the cantons -of Switzerland, the destruction of the fruits of the earth, occasioned -by inclement seasons and tempests, is by no means unfrequent; and it -is therefore customary, in plentiful years, to lay up corn in public -magazines, that the people may not perish in periods of scarcity. -These magazines are placed under the inspection and disposal of the -magistracy; and the inhabitants looked to them with confidence for the -supply of their need. No storm, however, had occurred in the memory of -man so terrible and ruinous as the present; and it became evident that -the magazines would prove a resource too feeble for the extent of the -emergency. - -The storm had spread itself over a space of many leagues in -circumference, not only in the canton of Soleure, but in the -neighbouring cantons, particularly that of Berne. The sufferers, in our -own canton only, amounted to scarcely less than ten thousand. While the -women and children, for the most part, remained at home, the houses -having in general suffered little other damage than the destruction -of their windows, the fathers of families repaired to the seat of -government to put in their claims for national relief; and these alone -formed an immense troop, that threatened little less than to besiege -the public magazines and the magistrates. An accurate investigation was -entered into of the losses of each, it being the purpose of government, -as far as its power extended, not only to supply the people with the -means of immediate subsistence, but also, by disbursements from the -public treasury, to recruit the stock of cattle, and to assist every -one to return, with revived hopes and expectation, to the sphere of his -industry. The purpose was no doubt benevolent; but, in the mean time, -the unhappy victims found in uncertainty and expectation a real and -corroding anguish. - -I advanced my claim with the rest, but met with a peremptory refusal. -The harsh and rigorous answer I received was, that they had not enough -for their own people, and could spare nothing to strangers. Upon this -occasion I was compelled to feel what it was to be an alien, and how -different the condition in which I was now placed from that I had -filled in my native country. There I had lived in the midst of a -people, to whom the veneration of my ancestry and name seemed a part -of their nature. They had witnessed for several years the respectable -manner in which I lived; the virtues of Marguerite were familiar to -them; and they took an interest in every thing that concerned us, a -sentiment that confessed us at once for kindred and patrons. It was -the turn of mind only which is generated by rank, that had compelled -us to quit their vicinity; we might have continued in it, if not -in affluence, at least enjoying the gratifications that arise from -general affection and respect. But here we were beheld with an eye -of jealousy and distaste. We had no prejudice of birth and habit -in our favour; indeed, in the reverse of fortune which had brought -us hither, Marguerite had been less desirous of obtruding, than of -withdrawing from the public eye, the circumstance of our rank. We -were too recent inmates to have secured, by any thing of a personal -nature, an advantageous opinion among our neighbours. They saw only -a miserable and distracted father of a family, and a mother who, in -spite of the simplicity she cultivated, sufficiently evinced that she -had been accustomed to a more elevated situation. The prepossessions -of mankind are clearly unfavourable to a new-comer, an emigrant who -has quitted his former connections and the scenes of his youth. They -are unavoidably impelled to believe, that his taking up his abode in -another country must be owing to a weak and discreditable caprice, -if it be not owing to something still more disadvantageous to his -character. - -The calamity therefore which we had suffered in common with most of the -inhabitants of the province, finally reduced us to the necessity of -a second emigration. The jealousy with which we were regarded, daily -became more visible and threatening. Though, in consequence of the -distribution made by order of the state, the price of commodities was -not so much increased as might have been expected, we were considered -as interlopers upon the portion of the natives; the sellers could -with difficulty be persuaded to accommodate us, and the bystanders -treated us with murmurs and reviling. While we were deliberating what -course to pursue in this emergency, certain officers of government one -morning entered our habitation, producing an order of the senate for -our immediate removal out of the territory. It is of the essence of -coercive regulations, to expel, to imprison, and turn out of prison, -the individuals it is thought proper to control, without any care as -to the mischiefs they may suffer, and whether they perish under or -survive the evil inflicted on them. We were accordingly allowed only -from six in the morning till noon, to prepare for our departure. Our -guards indeed offered to permit me to remain three days to wind up -my affairs, upon condition that my wife and children were instantly -removed into another country, as a sort of hostages for my own -departure. This indulgence however would have been useless. In the -present state of the country no purchaser could be found for the little -estate I possessed; and if there could, it must doubtless have been -disposed of to great disadvantage at such an emergency. I know not -how we should have extricated ourselves out of these difficulties, -if a member of the senate, who, being one of my nearest neighbours, -had been struck with admiration of the virtues of Marguerite, and -with compassion for my family, had not paid me a visit shortly after -the arrival of the officers, and generously offered to take upon -himself the care of my property, and to advance me what money might -be necessary for my emigration. This offer, which at any other time -might have been regarded as purely a matter of course, under the -present circumstances, when capital was so necessary for the revival -of agriculture in the desolated country, implied a liberal and -disinterested spirit. I accepted the kindness of my neighbour in both -its parts, but for the reimbursement of his loan referred him to the -French minister to the United Cantons, who, under all the circumstances -of the case, and taking my estate as security for the money advanced, I -thought it reasonable to believe would attend to my application. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -My affairs being thus far adjusted, I took leave of my late habitation, -and set off with my wife and children the same afternoon. In the -evening we arrived at Basle, where we were permitted to remain that -night; and the next morning were conducted in form out at the north -gate of the city, where our attendants quitted us, with a fresh -prohibition under the severest penalties, if we were found within -the ensuing twelve months in any of the territories of the Helvetic -republic. - -Marguerite and myself had already formed our plan. We began with -dismissing both our servants. An attendant was no longer necessary -to me, nor a nurse for the infant. The suggestion of this measure -originated in myself. My temper at this time, as I have already said, -underwent a striking change. I was resolved to be happy; I was resolved -to be active. It was hard to part with persons so long familiar to -us, and who appeared rather in the character of humble friends than -domestics; but an imperious necessity demanded it. “Let us,” said I -to Marguerite, “increase and secure our happiness by diminishing our -wants. I will be your husbandman and your labourer; you may depend -upon my perseverance. My education has fitted me to endure hardship -and fatigue, though the hardships then thought of were of a different -nature. You have ever delighted in active usefulness; and will not, I -know, repine at this accumulation of employment. Let us accommodate -ourselves to our circumstances. Our children, I perceive, are fated to -be peasants, and will therefore be eminently benefited by the example -of patience and independence we shall set before them.” - -The next object of our plan related to the choice of our future place -of residence. This originated with Marguerite. She had heard much -of the beauty and richness of the country bordering on the lake of -Constance, and she thought that, while we denied ourselves expensive -pleasures, or rather while they were placed out of our reach, there -would be a propriety in our procuring for ourselves a stock of those -pleasures which would cost us nothing. This was a refinement beyond -me, and serves to evince the superiority which Marguerite’s virtue and -force of mind still retained over mine. The virtue I had so recently -adopted was a strenuous effort. I rather resolved to be happy, than -could strictly be said to be happy. I loved my children indeed with an -unfeigned affection. It was with sincerity that I professed to prefer -them to all earthly possessions. But vanity and ostentation were habits -wrought into my soul, and might be said to form part of its essence. -I could not, but by the force of constant recollection, keep them out -of my wishes and hopes for the future. I could not, like Marguerite, -suffer my thoughts, as it were, to riot and wanton in the pleasures of -poverty. I could only reconcile myself to my fate by a sort of gloomy -firmness. The tranquillity I seemed to have attained, was an unnatural -state of my soul, to which it was necessary that I should resolutely -hold myself down, and from which my thoughts appeared ever upon the -alert to escape. Bitter experience had at length taught me a hard -lesson; and that lesson I was determined to practise, whatever pangs my -resignation might cost me. - -We proceeded without hesitation in the direction we had resolved to -pursue. Our whole journey exceeded the space of forty leagues in -extent, and the expense necessarily attendant upon it (our family, -even after its reduction, consisting of no less than six persons), -drained our purse of a great part of the money which had been supplied -to us by the benevolent senator. But he had agreed to undertake the -disposing of the property we were obliged to leave behind us, and in -the mean time, if any considerable interval occurred before that was -accomplished, to furnish us with the sums that should be necessary for -our subsistence. We placed the utmost reliance upon his fidelity, and -dismissed from our minds all anxiety respecting the interval which our -banishment had interposed between us and the resources necessary for -our future settlement. - -Upon our arrival at Constance, we found a letter from our friend; and -though he transmitted to us no fresh supply, the complexion of his -communication was upon the whole so encouraging, as to determine us, -with no other delay than that of four days’ rest from our journey, -to pass to the other side of the lake, and explore for ourselves a -situation suitable to our design. The western bank of the lake, with -the exception only of the city of Constance, was part of the _pays -conquis_ of the United Cantons; the eastern bank was a territory -dependent on the government of that city. It was in this territory that -we purposed fixing our residence; and we trusted, that our affairs -would shortly be put in a train to enable us to take possession of the -spot we should select. - -Thus driven once more into flight by the pressure of misfortune, and -compelled to exchange for a land unknown the scenes which familiarity -might have endeared, or tender recollections have made interesting, we -did not sink under the weight of our adversity. This removal was not -like our last. Switzerland was to none of us endeared like the vales of -St. Leon. I was not now goaded and tormented by conscious guilt in the -degree I had then been; Marguerite was not afflicted by the spectacle -of my misery. Our present change, though it might be denominated a -fall, was light in comparison with the former. The composure I had -gained was new to me, and had to my own mind all the gloss of novelty. -To my companions it proved contagious; they were astonished at my -serenity, and drew from it an unwonted lightness of heart. - -Thus circumstanced, our tour had its charms for us all; and there -are few passages of my life that I have felt more agreeably. The -lake itself is uncommonly beautiful, and its environs are fertile and -interesting. It is surrounded with an abundance of towns, villages, -country seats, and monasteries, sufficient to adorn and diversify the -view, but not to exclude the sweetness of a rural scenery, or the -grand features of nature. We coasted a considerable part of the lake, -that we might judge in some degree, previously to our landing, which -part of the shore promised best to yield us the object we sought. The -autumn was now commencing; the air was liquid and sweet; the foliage -was rich and varied; and the vine-covered hills exhibited a warmth and -luxuriance of colouring, that no other object of nature or art is able -to cope with. Surrounded with these objects, I sat in my boat in the -midst of my children; and, as I was but just awakened to an observation -of their worth and my own happiness, I viewed them with a transport -that would be ill illustrated by being compared with the transport of a -miser over his new-recovered treasure from the bowels of the deep. - -O poverty! exclaimed I, with elevated and unconquerable emotion, if -these are the delights that attend thee, willingly will I resign the -pomp of palaces and the splendour of rank to whoever shall deem them -worth his acceptance! Henceforth I desire only to dedicate myself to -the simplicity of nature and the genuine sentiments of the heart. I -will enjoy the beauty of scenes cultivated by other hands than mine, -or that are spread out before me by the Author of the universe. I will -sit in the midst of my children, and revel in the luxury of domestic -affections; pleasures these, that may be incumbered, but cannot be -heightened, by all that wealth has in its power to bestow! Wealth -serves no other purpose than to deprave the soul, and adulterate the -fountains of genuine delight. - -Such was the spirit of exultation with which my mind was at this time -filled. I am sensible that it was only calculated to be transitory. -I might learn to be contented; I was not formed to be satisfied in -obscurity and a low estate. - -Thus happy, and thus amused, we spent two days in coasting the lake, -landing frequently for the purposes either of variety or enquiry, and -regularly passing the night on shore. On the evening of the second day -we were struck with the neat appearance and pleasing situation of a -cottage, which we discovered in our rambles, about a mile and a half -from the lake. We found that it was to be sold, and it seemed precisely -to correspond with the wishes we had formed. It was at a considerable -distance from any populous neighbourhood, the nearest town being that -of Merspurg, the usual residence of the bishops of Constance, which was -distant from this spot not less than three leagues. - -The cottage was situated in a valley; the hills being for the most -part crowned with rich and verdant foliage, their sides covered with -vineyards and corn, and a clear transparent rivulet murmuring along -from east to west. In the distance a few similar cottages discovered -themselves, and in front there was an opening between the hills, just -wide enough to show us a few sails as they floated along the now even -surface of the lake. We approached the cottage, and found in it only -one person, an interesting girl of nineteen, who had resided there from -her birth, and had been employed for the last four years in attendance -upon the closing scene of her mother. Her mother had been dead only a -few weeks, and she was upon the point of removing, as she told us, to -the house of a brother, the best creature in the world, who was already -married, and had a family of children. While we were talking with her, -we perceived a fine boy of about eleven years of age skipping along the -meadow. He proved to be her nephew, and hastened to say that his father -and Mr. Henry were just behind, and would be with her in a few minutes. -We waited their arrival; and it was easy to see that Mr. Henry was by -no means an indifferent object in the eyes of the beautiful orphan: she -had probably conditioned that he should permit her to remain single as -long as she could be of any use to her mother. The lovers were well -satisfied that the girl’s brother should be taken aside, that I might -talk over with him the affair of the cottage. We made a tour of the -fields that were part of the property of the deceased, and the terms of -our intended purchase were easily adjusted. - -Though we had now accomplished the immediate purpose of our -expedition, yet, as we had found unusual exhilaration and sweetness in -the objects it presented to us, we came to a resolution of continuing -it still further, and completing the circuit of the lake. We were aware -that it would be vain as yet to expect to receive the money requisite -for completing our purchase; and as no pleasure, merely in the way of -relaxation, could be more delightful than that we were now enjoying, -so was it impossible that we could fill up our time in a more frugal -manner than in this little voyage. Our gratification was not less, but -more perfect, because it consisted of simple, inartificial, unbought -amusements. The scenes around us were refreshing and invigorating; they -were calculated, temporarily at least, to inspire gaiety and youth into -decrepitude itself. Amidst these scenes we forgot our sorrows; they -were a kind of stream, in which weariness and dejection plunged their -limbs, and came forth untired and alert. They awakened in the mind all -its most pleasing associations. Having already, as we believed, chosen -the place of our future residence, we busied ourselves in imagining -all the accompaniments that would grow out of it. We determined that -poverty with health would not fail to be attended with its portion of -pleasures. The scenes of nature were all our own; nor could wealth -give them a more perfect, or a firmer, appropriation. The affections -and charities of habitude and consanguinity we trusted we should feel -uninterrupted; unincumbered with the ceremonies and trappings of life, -and in that rural plainness which is their genial soil. - -After a leisurely and delightful voyage of six days, we returned -to Constance. We expected to have found on our return some further -intelligence from the beneficent senator, but in this we were -disappointed. The imagination however easily suggested to us a -variety of circumstances that might have delayed the business he had -undertaken; and it was no forced inference to suppose that he deferred -writing, because he had nothing important to communicate. At first -therefore we suffered little uneasiness from the delay; but as time -proceeded, and the silence of our protector continued, the affair began -to assume a more serious aspect. The little stock we had brought -with us in our exile was in a rapid progress of decay. We had managed -it with frugality; though not at first with that anxious solicitude, -the necessity of which we now began to apprehend. We had procured for -ourselves two small and inconvenient apartments in an obscure alley -of the city of Constance. We were in the act of meditating what steps -it would be necessary to take in this unfortunate emergency, when -intelligence was brought us of the sudden decease of the person upon -whose kindness and exertions we depended. - -He was succeeded in his estate by his nephew, a man of whom we had -heard something during our residence in the neighbourhood, and -whose habits we understood to be diametrically the reverse of his -predecessor’s. In short, he had been represented to us as illiberal, -morose, selfish, and litigious; a man who, having suffered in one part -of his life the hardships of poverty, scrupled no means, honourable or -otherwise, of removing it to the greatest practicable distance. He had -already reaped the succession some weeks, when we heard of the event -that put him in possession of it; and the letters which I had more than -once addressed to our protector had probably fallen into his hands. -These circumstances afforded no favourable augury of the treatment -we might expect from him. The first thing which seemed proper was to -write to him, which I accordingly did. I acquainted him with the nature -of the transaction between myself and his uncle, and signified how -necessary it was that we should come to a conclusion as speedily as -possible. I represented to him pathetically the condition to which I -was born, and the opulence in which I had passed many years of my life, -together with the contrast afforded by the present reduced and urgent -circumstances of my family. I entreated him to exert his generosity and -justice in behalf of an unfortunate exile, whom untoward events had -deprived of the power of doing justice to himself. - -To this letter I received no answer. Uncertain as to the cause of my -correspondent’s silence, or even whether my letter had been received, -I wrote again. My heart was wrung with this new adversity. I was -forbidden, under pain of perpetual imprisonment, to return to the -territories of the republic, and I had no friend to solicit in my -behalf. In Constance I was utterly a stranger. In Switzerland, my -unfortunate habits of life, the depression and solitude in which I had -been merged, deprived me of the opportunity of forming connections. The -deceased was the only person who had been disposed to interfere for me. -It was too probable that the silence of his successor was an indication -of the hostility of his views. I saw nothing before me but the prospect -of my family perishing with want, deprived of their last resource, -exiles and pennyless. Thus destitute and forlorn, what could we do? to -what plan could we have recourse? We had not so much as the means of -providing ourselves with the implements of the humblest labour. If we -had, could I, under my circumstances, resolve upon this? Could I give -up the last slender pittance of my children while there was a chance of -recovering it; and, by surrendering them to the slavery of perpetual -labour, devote them to the lowest degree of ignorance and degradation? -No; I still clung to this final hope, and was resolved to undertake -any thing, however desperate, rather than part with it. Such were my -feelings; and, in the new letter which I now despatched, I poured out -all the anguish of my soul. - -A reply to this letter was at length vouchsafed. The heir of my -protector informed me, that he knew nothing of the business to which -I alluded; that he had come into possession of the lands I described, -together with the other property of his late uncle, and regarded -himself as holding them by the same tenure; that he found in the -accounts of the estate a sum of money advanced to me, which he might -with the strictest justice regard as a debt, and pursue me for it -accordingly. He should be liberal enough however so far to give credit -to my story, and to consider the sum in question as advanced upon a -pledge of land: in that case, I might regard myself as sufficiently -fortunate in having obtained even that amount at a time when, but for -the humanity or weakness of his uncle, my estate would not have sold -for a farthing. Meanwhile, the forbearance which he proffered would, -he observed, depend upon my conduct, and be retracted if I afforded -him cause for resentment. He added, that he despised my menaces and -commands, and that, if I took a single step against him, I should find -it terminate in my utter ruin. - -Nothing could be more profligate than the style of his letter. But -its impotence was equal to its wickedness. It was absurd to threaten -to inflict ruin on a man whom ruin had already overtaken. Before the -letter arrived, I had disbursed the whole sum I brought with me from -Switzerland. This entire annihilation of my resources seemed to steal -on me unperceived. Finding that all reply to my importunity was either -refused, or deferred to an uncertain period, I would willingly at -all risks have sought the villain who thus obdurately devoted me and -my family to destruction, and have endeavoured to obtain justice in -person. But it was now too late. Before I felt the case thus desperate, -my finances were so far reduced as to make it impracticable for me to -leave my wife and children enough to support them in my absence, even -if I had determined myself to set out upon this perilous expedition -pennyless. I resolved that, if we did perish, we would perish together. - -Penury was now advancing upon us with such rapid strides, that the -lowest and most scanty resources no longer admitted of neglect. Had -a case thus desperate been encountered with timely attention, it is -not improbable that some of the various talents I had acquired in -the course of my education would have furnished me with a means of -subsistence not altogether plebeian or incompetent. But, with the -uncertainty of my situation, and totally unaccustomed as I was to -regard my person or mind as a machine fitted for productive labour, I -had not looked to this question, till the urgency of the case deprived -me of every advantage I might otherwise have seized. I was glad -therefore to have recourse to menial occupation, and sought employment -under the gardener of the episcopal palace, for whose service I was -sufficiently qualified by my ten years’ retreat in the Bordelois. That -I might better adapt myself to the painful necessity of my situation, I -previously exchanged some of my own clothes for garments more suitable -to the business I now solicited. It was not till I had arrived within -a very few days to the end of my resources; that even this expedient, -by a sort of accident, recurred to my mind. Marguerite, though fully -aware of the urgency of the case, had, as she afterwards told me, -imposed on herself a compulsory silence, fearing for the inflamed and -irritated frame of my mind, and aware that the course of events would -ultimately lead me to a point with which she dreaded to intermeddle. -This was for her a trying moment; my lately recovered insanity obliging -her to contemplate in silence our growing distress, and to wait the -attack of hunger and want that threatened to destroy us, with an -apparent tranquillity and cheerfulness. - -For me, so entire a revolution had taken place in my sentiments, that -I spurned with contempt, so far as related to myself, that pride of -rank and romantic gallantry of honour, which had formerly been my -idols. I submitted with a sort of gloomy contentment to the situation -upon which my destiny drove me. I regarded it as the natural result of -my former misconduct; and derived a sentiment of ease and relief from -thus expiating, as it were, with the sweat of my brow, the temptations -to which I had yielded. Had I been myself only reduced thus low, or -had the produce of my labour been sufficient to purchase competence -for my wife and the means of instruction for my family, I can safely -affirm that I should have found no consequence so direct from my own -degradation as the means of silencing the reproaches of conscience and -reconciling me to myself. But when I returned in the evening with the -earnings of my day’s labour, and found it incompetent to the procuring -for those who depended on me the simplest means of subsistence, then -indeed my sensations were different. My heart died within me. I did -not return after the fatigues of the day, which, to me who had not -been accustomed to unremitted labour, and who now began to feel that I -was not so young as I had been at the siege of Pavia, were extremely -trying,--I did not return, I say, to a night of repose. I became -a very woman when I looked forward, and endeavoured to picture to -myself the future situation of my family. I watered my pillow with -my tears. Often, when I imagined that my whole family were asleep, I -gave vent to my perturbated and distracted mind in groans: Marguerite -would sometimes overhear me; and with the gentlest suggestions of her -admirable mind would endeavour to soothe my thoughts to peace. For the -present, as I have said, my earnings were incompetent, and we found it -necessary to supply the deficiency by the sale of the few garments, -not in immediate use, that we still possessed. What then would be the -case when these were gone, and when, in addition to this, it would be -necessary to purchase not only food to eat, and a roof to shelter, but -also clothes to cover us? - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -These deficiencies I anxiously anticipated; but there was another -evil, upon which I had not calculated, that was still nearer and more -overwhelming. The mode of life in which I was now engaged, so different -from any thing to which I had been accustomed, excessive fatigue, -together with the occasional heat of the weather, the uneasiness of my -mind, and the sleeplessness of my nights, all combined to throw me into -a fever, which, though it did not last long, had raged so furiously -during the period of its continuance, as to leave me in a state of the -most complete debility. While the disorder was upon me, I was sensible -of my danger; and, as the brilliant and consolatory prospects of life -seemed for ever closed upon me, I at first regarded my approaching -dissolution with complacency, and longed to be released from a series -of woes, in which I had been originally involved by my own folly. -This frame of mind however was of no great duration; the more nearly -I contemplated the idea of separation from those I loved, the smaller -was my resignation. I was unwilling to quit those dear objects by -which I still held to this mortal scene; I shrunk with aversion from -that barrier which separates us from all that is new, mysterious, and -strange. Another train of ideas succeeded this, and I began to despise -myself for my impatience and cowardice. It was by my vices that my -family was involved in a long train of misfortunes; could I shrink -from partaking what I had not feared to create? The greater were the -adversities for which they were reserved, the more ought I to desire to -suffer with them. I had already committed the evil; in what remained, -it was reasonable to suppose I should prove their benefactor and not -their foe. It was incumbent on me to soothe and to animate them, to -enrich their minds with cheerfulness and courage, and to set before -them an example of philosophy and patience. By my faculties of industry -I was their principal hope; and, whatever we might suffer combined, it -was probable their sufferings would be infinitely greater, if deprived -of my assistance. These reflections gave me energy; and it seemed as if -the resolute predilection I had conceived for life contributed much to -my recovery. - -One thing which strongly confirmed the change my mind underwent in -this respect, was a conversation that I overheard at a time when I was -supposed to be completely in a state of insensibility, but when, though -I was too much reduced to give almost any tokens of life, my faculties -of hearing and understanding what passed around me were entire. Charles -came up to my bedside, laid his hand upon mine as if to feel the state -of the skin, and, with a handkerchief that was near, wiped away the -moisture that bedewed my face. He had been fitted for many nurse-like -offices by the unwearied attention he had exerted towards me in the -paroxysm of my insanity. Having finished his task, he withdrew from the -bed, and burst into tears. His mother came up to him, drew him to the -furthest part of the room, and in a low voice began the conversation. - -“Do, my dear boy, go down stairs, and get yourself something to eat. -You see, your papa is quiet now.” - -“I am afraid that will not last long; and then he will be so restless, -and toss about so, it is dreadful to see him.” - -“I will watch, Charles, and let you know.” - -“Indeed, mamma, I cannot eat now. I will by and by.” - -“You must try to eat, Charles, or else you will make yourself quite -ill. If you were ill too, it would be more than I could support.” - -“I will not be ill, mamma. I assure you I will not. But, besides that I -have no stomach, I cannot bear to eat when there is hardly enough for -my sisters.” - -“Eat, boy. Do not trouble yourself about that. We shall get more when -that is gone. God is good, and will take care of us.” - -“I know that God is good; but for all that, one must not expect to -have every thing one wishes. Though God is good, there are dreadful -misfortunes in the world, and I suppose we shall have our share of -them.” - -“Come, Charles, though you are but a boy, you are the best boy in the -world. You are now almost my only comfort; but you will not be able to -comfort me if you do not take care of yourself.” - -“Dear mamma!--Do you know, mamma, I heard that naughty man below stairs -count up last night how much rent you owed him for, and swear you -should not stay any longer if you did not pay him. If I were a little -bigger, I would talk to him so that he should not dare to insult us -in our distress. But, not being big enough, I opened the door, and -went into the room, and begged him for God’s sake not to add to your -distress. And, though he is so ugly, I took hold of his hand, and -kissed it. But it felt like iron, which put me in mind of his iron -heart, and I cried ready to burst with mortification. He did not say -hardly a word.” - -“He must be paid, Charles: he shall be paid.” - -“Do you know, mamma, as soon as I left him I went to the bishop’s -gardens, and spoke to the gardener? I asked him, if he had heard that -my papa was ill, and he said he had. He said, too, he was very sorry, -and wanted to know what hand we made of it for want of the wages. I -told him, we were sadly off, and the man of the house had just been -affronting me about his rent. But, said I, cannot you give me something -to do, to weed or to rake? I can dig a little too, and scatter seed. He -asked, if I knew weeds from flowers. Oh, that I do! said I. Well then, -said he, there is not much you can do; but you are a good boy, and I -will put you on the bishop’s list. But now, mamma, I have not the heart -to work, till I see whether papa will get well again.” - -While poor Charles told his artless tale, Marguerite wept over him, and -kissed him again and again. She called him the best child in the world, -and said that, if I were but so fortunate as to recover, with such a -husband and such a son, she should yet be the happiest of women. - -“Oh, my poor father!” exclaimed Charles. “Ever since the great -hail-storm, I have every hour loved him better than before. I thought -that was impossible, but he is so gentle, so kind, so good-humoured, -and so patient! I loved him when he was harsh, and when he was out of -his mind; but nothing so well then as I have done since. People that -are kind and smile always do one good; but nobody’s smiles are like my -father’s. It makes me cry with joy sometimes, when I do but think of -them. Pray, papa,” added he, coming up to the bedside, and whispering, -yet with a hurried and passionate accent, “get well! Do but get well, -and we will be so happy! Never was there a family so happy or so loving -as we will be!” - -While he spoke thus, I endeavoured to put out my hand, but I could -not; I endeavoured to smile, but I was unable: my heart was in a -feeble, yet soothing, tranquillity. The accents of love I had heard, -dwelt upon my memory. They had talked of distress, but the sentiment -of love was uppermost in my recollection. I was too weak of frame to -suffer intellectual distress; no accents but those which carried balm -to my spirit, seemed capable of resting upon my ear. From this hour -I regularly grew better, and, as I recovered, seemed to feel more -and more vividly how enviable it was to be the head of a loving and -harmonious family. - -My recovery however was exceedingly slow, and it was several weeks -before I had so far recruited my strength as to be capable of my -ordinary occupations. In the mean time the pecuniary difficulties -to which we were exposed hourly increased, and the cheerful but -insignificant labours of Charles could contribute little to the support -of a family. The melancholy nature of our situation might perhaps -have been expected to prevent the restoration of my health. At first -however it had not that effect. The debilitated state of my animal -functions led me, by a sort of irresistible instinct, to reject ideas -and reflections which I should then have been unable to endure. I saw -the anxiety and affection of my family, and I was comforted. I saw -the smiles of Marguerite, and I seemed insensible to the languor, the -saddened cheerfulness, they expressed. I did not perceive that, while I -was provided with every thing necessary in my condition, my family were -in want of the very bread that should sustain existence. - -My health in the mean time improved, and my perceptions became -proportionably clearer. Symptoms of desolation and famine, though as -much as possible covered from my sight, obtruded themselves, and were -remarked. One day in particular I observed various tokens of this -nature in silence, and with that sort of bewildered understanding which -at once labours for comprehension and resists belief. The day closed; -and what I had perceived pressed upon my mind, and excluded sleep. Now -for the first time I exerted myself to recollect in a methodical way -the state of my affairs; for the severity of my illness had at length -succeeded to banish from me all ideas and feelings but what related to -the sensations it produced, and to the objects around me; and it was -not without effort that I could once more fully call to mind the scenes -in which I had been engaged. The truth then by regular degrees rose -completely to view; and I began to be astonished, that my poor wife -and children had been able in any manner to get through the horrible -evils to which they must have been exposed. This thought I revolved in -my mind for near two hours; and the longer I dwelt upon it, the more -perturbed and restless I grew. At length it became impossible for me to -hold my contemplations pent up in my own bosom. I turned to Marguerite, -and asked her, whether she were asleep. - -She answered in the negative: she had been remarking my restlessness, -and tenderly enquired respecting its cause. - -“How long,” said I, “is it since I was taken with the fever?” - -“A month to-morrow,” replied she. “It was of the most malignant and -distressing kind while it lasted, and I did not expect you to live. -But it has left you a fortnight; and I hope, Reginald, you find -yourself getting strong again.” - -“And so we are here in Constance, and we have left Switzerland----?” - -“Three months, my love!” - -“I remember very well the letter we received from monsieur Grimseld; -has any further intelligence reached us from that quarter?” - -“None.” - -“None! No supply of any kind has reached you?” - -“My dear Reginald, talk of something else! You will soon, I hope, -be well: our children are all alive; and the calamity, that has not -succeeded to separate us, or to diminish our circle of love even by a -single member, we will learn to bear. Let us fix our attention on the -better prospects that open before us!” - -“Stay, Marguerite! I have other questions to ask. Before you require -me to bear the calamities that have overtaken us, let me understand -what these calamities are. While we waited for intelligence from -Switzerland, we expended the whole sum that we brought with us, and I -was obliged to hire myself to the episcopal gardener for bread; was it -not so?” - -“Indeed, Reginald, you are to blame! Pray question me no further!” - -“This was our condition some time ago; and now, for a month past, I -have been incapable of labour. Marguerite, what have you done?” - -“Indeed, my love, I have been too anxious for you, to think much of -any thing else. We had still some things, you know, that we could -contrive to do without; and those I have sold. Charles too, our -excellent-hearted son, has lately hired himself to the gardener, and -has every night brought us home a little, though it was but little.” - -“Dear boy! What children, what a wife, have I brought to destruction! -Our rent too, surely you have not been able to pay that?” - -“Not entirely. In part I have been obliged to pay it.” - -“Ah! I well remember how flinty-hearted a wretch has got the power over -us in that respect!” - -“He has not turned us out of doors. He threatened hard several times. -At last I saw it was necessary to make an effort, and the day before -yesterday I paid him half his demand. If I could have avoided that, we -might have had a supply of food a little longer. I intreated earnestly -for a little further indulgence, but it was in vain. It went against -the pride and independence of my soul to sue to this man; but it was -for you and for my children!” - -“Remorseless wretch! Then every petty resource we had is gone?” - -“Indeed I do not know that we have any thing more to sell. I searched -narrowly yesterday; but I will examine again to-day. The poor children -must have something to support them, and their fare has of late been -dreadfully scanty.” - -“Their fare! What have they eaten?” - -“Bread; nothing else for the last fortnight!” - -“And yourself?” - -“Oh, Reginald! it was necessary, you know, that I should keep myself -alive. But, I assure you, I have robbed them as little as I could.” - -“Horror, horror! Marguerite, what is it you dream of? I see my wife and -children dying of hunger, and you talk to me of hope and of prospects! -Why has this detail of miseries been concealed from me? Why have I been -suffered, with accursed and unnatural appetite, to feed on the vitals -of all I love?” - -“Reginald! even selfishness itself would have taught us that! It is to -your recovery that we look for our future support!” - -“Mock me not, I adjure you, with senseless words! You talk idly of -the future, while the tremendous present bars all prospect to that -future. We are perishing by inches. We have no provision for the coming -day! No, no; something desperate, something yet unthought of, must be -attempted! I will not sit inactive, and see my offspring around me die -in succession. No, by Heaven! Though I am starving like Ugolino, I am -not, like Ugolino, shut up in a dungeon! The world is open; its scenes -are wide; the resources it offers are, to the bold and despairing, -innumerable! I am a father, and will show myself worthy of the name!” - -“Reginald! torture me not by language like this! Think what it is to -be indeed a father, and make yourself that! Be careful of yourself; -complete your recovery,--and leave the rest to me! I have conducted it -thus far, nor am I yet without hope. Eight days ago I applied to the -secretary of the palace, representing your case as a retainer of the -bishop, disabled by sickness, and with a family unprovided for. Till -yesterday I got no answer to my memorial; and then he informed me, that -you had been so short a time in employ, that nothing could be done for -you. But to-day I will throw myself at the feet of the bishop himself, -who arrived last night only from the other side of the lake.” - -Every word that Marguerite uttered went to my heart. It was not long -before the dawn of the day, and the truths I had heard were further -confirmed to me by the organ of sight. The sentiments of this night -produced a total revolution in me, and I was no longer the feeble -convalescent that the setting sun of the preceding day had left me. The -film was removed from my eyes, and I surveyed not the objects around -me with a glassy eye and unapprehensive observation. All the powers -I possessed were alert and in motion. To my suspicious and hurried -gaze the apartment appeared stripped of its moveables, and left naked, -a mansion in which for despair to take up his abode. My children -approached me; I seemed to read the wan and emaciated traces of death -in their countenances. This perhaps was in some degree the painting -of my too conscious thoughts. But there needed no exaggeration to -awaken torture in my bosom, when, thus stimulated, I observed for the -first time the dreadful change that had taken place in Marguerite. Her -colour was gone; her cheeks were sunk; her eye had the quickness and -discomposure expressive of debility. I took hold of her hand, and found -it cold, emaciated, and white. I pressed it to my lips with agony; a -tear unbidden fell from my eye, and rested upon it. Having finished -my examination, I took my hat, and was hastening to escape into the -street. Marguerite noted my motions, and anxiously interposed to -prevent my design. She laid her hand on my arm gently, yet in a manner -full of irresistible expostulation. - -“Where would you go? What have you purposed? Do not,--Oh, do not, -destroy a family, to whom your life, your sobriety, and prudence, are -indispensable!” - -I took her hand within both mine. “Compose yourself, my love! I have -been your enemy too much already, to be capable now, so much as in -thought, of adding to my guilt! I need an interval for musing and -determination. I will return in a very short time, and you shall be the -confidant of my thoughts!” - -With wild and impatient spirit I repassed in idea the whole history -of my life. But principally I dwelt in recollection upon the marquis -de Damville, that generous friend, that munificent benefactor, whose -confidence I had so ill repaid. “Damville!” exclaimed I, “you trusted -to me your daughter, the dearest thing you knew on earth; you believed -that the wretch did not live who could be unjust to so rich a pledge. -Look down, look down, O best of men! from the heaven to which your -virtues have raised you, and see of how much baseness man--yes, the -man you disdained not to call your friend--is capable! But, no! a -sight like this might well convert the heaven you dwell in to hell! -You trusted her to me; I have robbed her! You enriched her mind with -the noblest endowments; I have buried them in the mire of the vilest -condition! All her generous, her unwearied exertions are fruitless; by -my evil genius they are blasted! I have made her a mother, only that -she might behold her children perishing with hunger! They stretch out -their hands to me for the smallest portion of that inheritance, which -I have squandered in more than demoniac vice! This, this is the fruit -of my misdeeds! I am now draining the last dregs of that mischief, of -which I have so wickedly, so basely, been the author!” - -As I returned I met Marguerite, who was come from her attempt upon the -bishop. He had received her paper, and delivered it to his secretary, -that very secretary who had already disappointed all her expectations -from that quarter. She had attempted to speak, to adjure the bishop, -whatever he did, not to deliver her over to a man by whom her hopes -had been so cruelly frustrated; but the tumult of the scene drowned -her voice, and the hurry and confusion overpowered her efforts. -They, however, drew such a degree of attention on her, that, in the -dissentions which religious broils at that time spread in Constance, -she was suspected of pressing thus earnestly towards the person of the -bishop with no good design, and in fine was rudely thrust out of the -palace. She had not recovered from the agitation into which she had -been thrown, when I met her. I eagerly enquired into the cause of her -apparent distress; but she shook her head mournfully, and was silent. I -easily understood where she had been, and the failure of her experiment. - -“All then,” said I, “is at an end. Now, Marguerite, you must give up -your experiments, and leave to me the cure of evils of which I only am -the author. I will return this instant to the garden of the palace, and -resume the situation I formerly occupied.” - -“For God’s sake, Reginald, what is it you mean? You have just acquired -strength to seek the benefit of air. The least exertion fatigues you. -At this moment, the little walk you have taken has covered you with -perspiration. You could not dig or stoop for a quarter of an hour -without being utterly exhausted.” - -“Marguerite, I will not sit down tamely, and see my family expire. -In many cases it is reasonable to bid a valetudinarian take care -of himself. But our situation is beyond that. I must do something. -Extraordinary circumstances often bring along with them extraordinary -strength. No man knows, till the experiment, what he is capable of -effecting. I feel at this moment no debility; and I doubt not that the -despair of my mind will give redoubled energy to my efforts.” - -While I spoke thus, I was conscious that I had little more than the -strength of a new-born child. But I could not endure at such a time -to remain in inactivity. I felt as much ashamed of the debilitated -state in which my fever had left me, as I could have done of the most -inglorious effeminacy and cowardice of soul. I determined to relieve -my family, or perish in the attempt. If all my efforts were vain, I -could not better finish my career, than exhausted, sinking, expiring -under a last exertion, to discharge the duties of my station. - -We returned into the house. Marguerite took from a closet the last -remnant of provisions we had, the purchase of poor Charles’s labour of -the preceding day. There was a general contest who should escape from -receiving any part in the distribution. Charles had withdrawn himself, -and was not to be found. Julia endeavoured to abscond, but was stopped -by Louisa and her mother. She had wept so much, that inanition seemed -more dangerous for her, than perhaps for any other of the circle. No -one can conceive, who has not felt it, how affecting a contest of this -kind must appear to me, sensible as I was to the danger that their -virtue and generous affection were the prelude only to their common -destruction. I said, there was a general contest who should avoid all -share in the distribution; but I recollect that the little Marguerite, -two years and a half old, exclaimed at first, “I am so hungry, mamma!” -But watching, as she carefully did, every thing that passed, she -presently laid down her bread upon the table in silence, and almost -untouched; and being asked, Why she did so? she replied, in a tone of -speaking sensibility, “Thank you, I am not hungry now!” - -This scene made an impression on my mind never to be forgotten. It -blasted and corrupted all the pulses of my soul. A little before, I had -reconciled myself to poverty; I had even brought myself to regard it -with cheerfulness. But the sentiment was now reversed. I could endure -it, I could steel myself against its attacks; but never from this hour, -in the wildest paroxysms of enthusiasm, has it been the topic of my -exultation or my panegyric. No change of circumstances, no inundation -of wealth, has had the power to obliterate from my recollection what I -then saw. A family perishing with hunger; all that is dearest to you -in the world sinking under the most dreadful of all the scourges with -which this sublunary scene is ever afflicted; no help near; no prospect -but of still accumulating distress; a death, the slowest, yet the most -certain and the most agonising, that can befall us: no, there is -nothing that has power to rend all the strings of the heart like this! -From this moment, the whole set of my feelings was changed. Avarice -descended, and took possession of my soul. Haunted, as I perpetually -was, by images of the plague of famine, nothing appeared to me so -valuable as wealth; nothing so desirable as to be placed at the utmost -possible distance from want. An appetite of this kind is insatiable; no -distance seems sufficiently great; no obstacles, mountains on mountains -of gold, appear an inadequate security to bar from us the approach of -the monster we dread. - -While I speak of the sentiments which in the sequel were generated in -my mind by what I now saw, I am suspending my narrative in a crisis at -which a family, interesting, amiable and virtuous, is reduced to the -lowest state of humiliation and distress. - -They are moments like these, that harden the human heart, and fill -us with inextinguishable hatred and contempt for our species. They -tear off the trappings and decoration of polished society, and show -it in all its hideousness. The wanton eye of pampered pride pleases -itself with the spectacle of cities and palaces, the stately column -and the swelling arch. It observes at hand the busy scene, where all -are occupied in the various pursuits of pleasure or industry; and -admires the concert, the wide-spreading confederacy, by means of which -each after his mode is unconsciously promoting the objects of others. -Cheated by the outside of things, we denominate this a vast combination -for general benefit. The poor and the famished man contemplates the -scene with other thoughts. Unbribed to admire and applaud, he sees in -it a confederacy of hostility and general oppression. He sees every -man pursuing his selfish ends, regardless of the wants of others. He -sees himself contemptuously driven from the circle where the rest of -his fellow-citizens are busily and profitably engaged. He lives in -the midst of a crowd, without one friend to feel an interest in his -welfare. He lives in the midst of plenty, from the participation of -which he is driven by brutal menaces and violence. No man who has not -been placed in his situation can imagine the sensations, with which, -overwhelmed as he is with domestic ruin and despair, he beholds the -riot, the prodigality, the idiot ostentation, the senseless expense, -with which he is surrounded on every side. What were we to do? Were we -to beg along the streets? Were we to in treat for wretched offals at -rich men’s doors? Alas! this, it was to be feared, even if we stooped -to the miserable attempt, instead of satisfying wants for ever new, -would only prolong in the bitterness of anguish the fate for which we -were reserved!---- - -An unexpected relief at this time presented itself. While the scanty -meal I have mentioned was yet unfinished, a letter was presented me -inclosing under its cover a bill of one hundred crowns. The letter -was from Bernardin, the faithful servant whom we found it necessary -to dismiss three months before, when we quitted our residence in -Switzerland. It informed us that, as soon as he had parted from us, -he had set out on his return to his native town, next adjacent to my -paternal residence; that he found his father had died a short time -before, and that, from the sale of his effects, he had reaped an -inheritance to triple the amount of the sum he had now forwarded to us. -He had heard by accident of the death of our friend in Switzerland, and -the character of his successor, and dreaded that the consequences might -prove highly injurious to us. He had still some business to settle -with the surviving branches of his family, but that would be over in -a few weeks; and then, if we would allow him, he would return to his -dear master, and afford us every assistance in his power. The little -property that had now fallen to him would prevent him from being a -burthen; and he would hire a spot of land, and remain near us, if we -refused him the consolation of returning to his former employment. - -What a reproach was it to me, that, descended from one of the most -illustrious families in Europe, the heir of an ample patrimony, and -receiving a still larger fortune in marriage, I should, by the total -neglect and profligate defiance of the duties incumbent on me, have -reduced myself so low as to be indebted to a peasant and a menial for -the means of saving my family from instant destruction! This was a -deep and fatal wound to the pride of my soul. There was however no -alternative, no possibility of rejecting the supply afforded us at so -eventful a moment. We determined to use it for the present, and to -repay it with the earliest opportunity; and in the following week, in -spite of the remonstrances of Marguerite, the yet feeble state of my -health, and the penalties annexed to the proceeding, I set off for the -canton of Soleure, determined, if possible, to wrest the little staff -of my family from the hand that so basely detained it. - -I passed through Zurich and a part of the canton of Basle without -obstacle; these parts of Switzerland had not suffered from the calamity -which had occasioned our exile. In proceeding further, I found it -necessary to assume a disguise, and to avoid large towns and frequented -roads. I reached at length the well known scene in which I had so -lately consumed twelve months of my life; in which I first began to -breathe (to breathe, not to be refreshed) from ruin, beggary, and -exile. There was no pleasing recollection annexed to this spot; it was -a remembrancer of shame, sorrow, and remorse. Yet, such is the power of -objects once familiar, revisited after absence, that my eye ran over -them with delight, I felt lightened from the weariness of the journey, -and found that the recollection of pains past over and subdued was -capable of being made a source of gratification. The mountains among -which I had wandered, and consumed, as it were, the last dregs of my -insanity, surrounded me; the path in which I was travelling led along -one of their ridges. I had performed this part of my journey by night; -and the first gleams of day now began to streak the horizon. I looked -towards the cottage, the distant view of which had so often, in moments -of the deepest despair, awakened in my heart the soothings of sympathy -and affection. I saw that as yet it remained in its forlorn condition, -and had undergone no repair; while the lands around, which had lately -experienced the superintendence of Marguerite, had met with more -attention, and began to resume the marks of culture. I sighed for the -return of those days and that situation, which, while present to me, -had passed unheeded and unenjoyed. - -I repaired to the house of my late protector, now the residence of -monsieur Grimseld. He was a meagre shrivelled figure; and, though -scarcely arrived at the middle of human life, exhibited all the marks -of a premature old age. I disclosed myself to him, and began warmly to -expostulate with him upon the profligacy of his conduct. He changed -colour, and betrayed symptoms of confusion, the moment I announced -myself. While I pressed him with the barbarity of his conduct, the -dreadful effects it had already produced, and the incontestible justice -of my claim, he stammered, and began to propose terms of accommodation. -During this conversation we were alone. After some time, however, a -servant entered the room, and the countenance of the master assumed an -expression of satisfaction and confidence. He eagerly seized on the -occasion which presented itself, and, instantly changing his tone, -called on his servant to assist him in securing a criminal against -the state. I at first resisted, but Grimseld perceiving this, applied -to his bell with great vehemence, and three other servants made -their appearance, whose employment was in the field, but who had now -accidentally come into the house for refreshment. I had arms; but I -found it impracticable to effect my escape; and I soon felt that, by -yielding to the impulse of indignation, and punishing Grimseld on the -spot for his perfidy, I might ruin but could not forward the affair in -which I was engaged. - -I was conducted to prison; and the thoughts produced in me by this -sudden reverse were extremely melancholy and discouraging. Grimseld -was a man of opulence and power; I was without friends, or the means -of procuring friends. The law expressly condemned my return; and what -had I not to fear from law, when abetted and inforced by the hand of -power? I might be imprisoned for ten years; I might be imprisoned for -life. I began earnestly to wish that I had remained with my family, and -given up at least all present hopes of redress. It would be a dreadful -accumulation of all my calamities, if now at last I and my children -were destined to suffer, perhaps to perish, in a state of separation; -and the last consolations of the wretched, those of suffering, -sympathising, and condoling with each other, were denied us. - -Full of these tragical forebodings, I threw myself at first on -the floor of my cell in a state little short of the most absolute -despair. I exclaimed upon my adverse fortune, which was never weary of -persecuting me. I apostrophised, with tender and distracted accents, -my wife and children, from whom I now seemed to be cut off by an -everlasting divorce. I called upon death to put an end to these tumults -and emotions of the soul, which were no longer to be borne. - -In a short time however I recovered myself, procured the implements -of writing, and drew up, in the strong and impressive language of -truth, a memorial to the council of the state. I was next to consider -how this was to reach its destination; for there was some danger -that it might be intercepted by the vigilance and malignity of my -adversary. I desired to speak with the keeper of the prison. He had -some recollection of me, and a still more distinct one of my family. -He concurred with the general sentiment, in a strong aversion to the -character of Grimseld. As I pressed upon him the hardship of my case, -and the fatal consequences with which it might be attended, I could -perceive that he fully entered into the feeling with which I wished him -to be impressed. He blamed my rashness in returning to Switzerland in -defiance of the positive prohibition that had been issued; but promised -at all events that my paper should be delivered to the president -to-morrow morning. - -I remained three days without an answer, and these days were to me an -eternity. I anticipated every kind of misfortune; I believed that law -and malice had succeeded to the subversion of equity. At length however -I was delivered from my apprehensions and perplexity, and summoned to -appear before the council. It was well for me perhaps that I had to -do with a government so simple and moderate as that of Switzerland. I -obtained redress. It was referred to an arbitration of neighbours to -set a fair price on my property, and then decreed, that if monsieur -Grimseld refused the purchase, the sum should be paid me out of the -coffers of the state. He was also condemned in a certain fine for the -fraud he had attempted to commit. The affair, thus put in train, was -soon completed; and I returned with joy, having effected the object -of my journey, to my anxious and expecting family. Soon after, we -removed to the spot we had chosen on the eastern bank of the lake, -where we remained for the six following years in a state of peace and -tranquillity. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -It was in the evening of a summer’s day in the latter end of the -year fifteen hundred and forty-four, that a stranger arrived at my -habitation. He was feeble, emaciated, and pale, his forehead full of -wrinkles, and his hair and beard as white as snow. Care was written -in his face; it was easy to perceive that he had suffered much from -distress of mind; yet his eye was still quick and lively, with a strong -expression of suspiciousness and anxiety. His garb, which externally -consisted of nothing more than a robe of russet brown, with a girdle -of the same, was coarse, threadbare, and ragged. He supported his -tottering steps with a staff; and, having lost his foreteeth, his -speech was indistinct and difficult to be comprehended. His wretched -appearance excited my compassion, at the same time that I could easily -discern, beneath all its disadvantages, that he was no common beggar or -rustic. Ruined and squalid as he appeared, I thought I could perceive -traces in his countenance of what had formerly been daring enterprise, -profound meditation, and generous humanity. - -I saw that he was much fatigued, and I invited him to rest himself upon -the bench before the door. I set before him bread and wine, and he -partook of both. I asked him his name and his country. He told me that -he was a Venetian, and that his name, as nearly as I could collect, was -signor Francesco Zampieri. He seemed however averse to speaking, and he -requested me to suffer him to pass the night in my habitation. There -was nothing singular in the request, a hospitality of this sort being -the practice of the neighbourhood; and humanity would have prompted -my compliance, if I had not been still more strongly urged by an -undefinable curiosity that began to spring up in my bosom. I prepared -for him a camp-bed in a summer-house at the end of my garden. As soon -as it was ready, he desired to be left alone, that he might seek in -rest some relief from the fatigue he had undergone. - -He retired early; and therefore, soon after daybreak the next morning, -I waited on him to enquire how he had rested. He led me out into the -fields; the morning was genial and exhilarating. We proceeded, till -we came to a retired spot which had frequently been the scene of my -solitary meditations, and there seated ourselves upon a bank. We had -been mutually silent during the walk. As soon as we were seated, the -stranger began: “You are, I understand, a Frenchman, and your name the -count de St. Leon?” I bowed assent. - -“St. Leon,” said he, “there is something in your countenance and manner -that prepossesses me in your favour. The only thing I have left to do -in the world is to die; and what I seek at present, is a friend who -will take care that I shall be suffered to die in peace. Shall I trust -you? Will you be that friend to me?” - -I was astonished at this way of commencing his confidence in me; but I -did not hesitate to promise that he should not find me deficient in any -thing that became a man of humanity and honour. - -“You do not, I think, live alone? You have a wife and children.” - -“I have.” - -“Yet none of them were at home when I arrived last night. You brought -yourself to the summer-house every thing that was necessary for my -accommodation.” - -“I did so. But I have a wife to whom I have been married seventeen -years, and with whom I have no reserves. I told her of your arrival; I -spoke of your appearance; I mentioned your name.” - -“It is no matter. She has not seen me. My name is not Zampieri; I am no -Venetian.” - -“Who are you then?” - -“That you shall never know. It makes no part of the confidence I design -to repose in you. My name shall be buried with me in the grave; nor -shall any one who has hitherto known me, know how, at what time, or -on what spot of earth, I shall terminate my existence. The cloud of -oblivion shall shelter me from all human curiosity. What I require of -you is that you pledge your honour, and the faith of a man, that you -will never reveal to your wife, your children, or any human being, what -you may hereafter know of me, and that no particular that relates to my -history shall be disclosed, till at least one hundred years after my -decease.” - -“Upon these conditions I am sorry that I must decline your confidence. -My wife is a part of myself; for the last six years at least I have had -no thought in which she has not participated; and these have been the -most tranquil and happy years of my life. My heart was formed by nature -for social ties; habit has confirmed their propensity; and I will not -now consent to any thing that shall infringe on the happiness of my -soul.” - -While I spoke, I could perceive that my companion grew disturbed and -angry. At length, turning towards me a look of ineffable contempt, he -replied-- - -“Feeble and effeminate mortal! You are neither a knight nor a -Frenchman! Or rather, having been both, you have forgotten in -inglorious obscurity every thing worthy of either! Was ever gallant -action achieved by him who was incapable of separating himself from a -woman? Was ever a great discovery prosecuted, or an important benefit -conferred upon the human race, by him who was incapable of standing, -and thinking, and feeling, alone? Under the usurping and dishonoured -name of virtue, you have sunk into a slavery baser than that of the -enchantress Alcina. In vain might honour, worth, and immortal renown -proffer their favours to him who has made himself the basest of all -sublunary things--the puppet of a woman, the plaything of her pleasure, -wasting an inglorious life in the gratification of her wishes and the -performance of her commands!” - -I felt that I was not wholly unmoved at this expostulation. The -stranger touched upon the first and foremost passions of my soul; -passions the operation of which had long been suspended, but which -were by no means extinguished in my bosom. He proceeded:-- - -“But it is well! Years have passed over my head in vain, and I have -not learnt to distinguish a man of honour from a slave. This is only -one additional sorrow to those in which my life has been spent. I -have wandered through every region of the earth, and have found -only disappointment. I have entered the courts of princes; I have -accompanied the march of armies; I have pined in the putridity of -dungeons. I have tasted every vicissitude of splendour and meanness; -five times have I been led to the scaffold, and with difficulty -escaped a public execution. Hated by mankind, hunted from the face -of the earth, pursued by every atrocious calumny, without a country, -without a roof, without a friend; the addition that can be made to such -misfortunes scarcely deserves a thought.” - -While he spoke, curiosity, resistless curiosity, presented itself as a -new motive, in aid of the sense of shame which the stranger had just -before kindled in my bosom. His manner was inconceivably impressive; -his voice, though inarticulate from age, had an irresistible melody -and volume of sound, which awed, while it won, the heart. His front -appeared open, large, and commanding; and, though he complained, his -complaints seemed to be those of conscious dignity and innocence. He -went on:-- - -“Farewell, St. Leon! I go, and you shall see me and hear of me no -more. You will repent, when it is too late, the folly of this day’s -determination. I appear mean and insignificant in your eyes. You think -my secrets beneath your curiosity, and my benefits not worth your -acceptance. Know that my benefits are such as kings would barter their -thrones to purchase, and that my wealth exceeds the wealth of empires. -You are degraded from the rank you once held among mankind; your -children are destined to live in the inglorious condition of peasants. -This day you might have redeemed all your misfortunes, and raised -yourself to a station more illustrious than that to which you were -born. Farewell! Destiny has marked out you and yours for obscurity and -oblivion, and you do well to reject magnificence and distinction when -they proffer themselves for your acceptance.” - -“Stop,” cried I, “mysterious stranger! Grant me a moment’s leisure to -reflect and determine.” - -He had risen to depart, with a gesture of resolution and contempt. At -my exclamation he paused, and again turned himself towards me. My soul -was in tumults. - -“Answer me, most ambiguous and impenetrable of mortals! What is thy -story? and what the secrets, the disclosure of which is pregnant with -consequences so extraordinary?” - -“Do you recollect the conditions upon which only the disclosure can be -made?” - -“What can I say? Shall I determine to part with that which for years -has constituted the only consolation of my life? Shall I suppress the -curiosity which now torments me, and reject the boon you pretend to -have the power to confer?” - -“I grant you the interval for reflection you demand. I refuse to place -further confidence in you, till you have maturely examined yourself, -and roused all the energies of your spirit to encounter the task you -undertake.” - -“One word more. You know not, indeed you know not, what a woman you -exclude from your confidence. She is more worthy of it than I am. -Referring to my own experience and knowledge of the world, I can safely -pronounce her the first of her sex, perhaps the first of human beings. -Indulge me in this; include her in your confidence; and I am content.” - -“Be silent! I have made my determination; do you make yours! Know I -would not if I could, and cannot if I would, repose the secrets that -press upon me in more than a single bosom. It was upon this condition -I received the communication; upon this condition only can I impart -it. I am resolved; to die is the election of my soul--a consummation -for which I impatiently wait. Having determined therefore to withdraw -myself from the powers committed to me, I am at liberty to impart them; -upon the same condition, and no other, you may one day, if you desire -it, seek the relief of confidence.” - -Having thus spoken, the stranger rose from his seat. It was yet early -morning, nor was it likely we should meet any one in our walk. He -however employed the precaution of causing me to explore the path, -and to see that we should return uninterrupted. We came back to the -summer-house. The window-shutters were still closed; the stranger -determined they should remain so. When I had come to him as soon as -I rose, I had found the door secured; nor had he admitted me, till -he recognised my voice, and had ascertained that I was alone. These -precautions scarcely excited my attention at the time; but, after the -conversation that had just passed, they returned distinctly to my -memory. - -The remainder of the day which had been opened by this extraordinary -scene was passed by me in great anxiety. I ruminated with unceasing -wonder and perturbation upon the words of the stranger. Shall I shut -upon myself the gate of knowledge and information? Is it not the part -of a feeble and effeminate mind to refuse instruction, because he is -not at liberty to communicate that instruction to another--to a wife? -The stranger professes to be able to raise me to the utmost height of -wealth and distinction. Shall I refuse the gift, which in a former -instance I forfeited, but for which, though contemplated as at an -impracticable distance, my whole soul longs? If there is any thing -dishonourable connected with the participation of this wealth, I shall -still be at liberty to refuse it. There can be no crime in hearing -what this man has to communicate. I shall still, and always, be master -of myself; nor can I have any thing personally to fear from a man so -feeble, so decrepit, so emaciated. Yet what can be the gifts worthy of -acceptance of a man who, while he possesses them, is tired of life, and -desires to die? or what the wealth of him who bears about him every -external symptom of poverty and desolation? - -The conversation I had just held revived in my mind the true feeling -of my present situation. The wounds of my soul had been lulled into -temporary insensibility; but they were in a state in which the -slightest accident was capable of making them bleed afresh, and -with all their former violence. I had rather steeled my mind to -endure what seemed unavoidable, than reconciled myself to my fate. -The youthful passions of my soul, which my early years had written -there in characters so deep, were by no means effaced. I could not -contemplate the splendour of rank with an impartial eye. I could not -think of the alternative of distinction or obscurity for my children -with indifference. But, most of all, the moment I had experienced for -them of hunger, and impending destruction by famine, had produced an -indelible impression. It had destroyed all romance, I had almost said -all dignity, in my mind for ever. It had snapped, as by the touch of a -red-hot iron, all the finer and more etherialised sinews of my frame. -It had planted the sordid love of gold in my heart, there, by its -baneful vegetation, to poison every nobler and more salubrious feeling. - -When I returned to the house, Marguerite enquired of me respecting -the stranger, but my answers were short and embarrassed. She seemed -to wonder that he did not come into the house, and partake of some -refreshment in the midst of my family. She asked, whether he were -indisposed? and whether he did not stand in need of some assistance -that she might afford him? Perceiving however that I was desirous of -saying as little as possible respecting him, she presently became -silent. I could see that she was hurt at my incommunicativeness, yet -I could not prevail upon myself to enter into an explanation of the -causes of my taciturnity. Ours was a family of love; and I could -observe that the children sympathised with their mother, and secretly -were surprised at and lamented my reserve. There would have been little -in this, in perhaps any other family than ours. But the last six years -had been spent by us in such primeval simplicity, that scarcely one of -us had a thought but what was known to the rest. Marguerite cherished -my frankness and unreserve with peculiar zeal; she remembered with -bitterness of soul the periods in which I fostered conceptions only -proper to myself--periods of dreadful calamity, or of rooted melancholy -and sadness. She could not help regarding the silence into which for -the present occasion I relapsed, as a portent of evil augury. Charles, -who was now sixteen years of age, recollected the period of our ruined -fortunes when he had been alone with me at Paris, and partook of his -mother’s feelings. - -A trifling circumstance, at this time occasioned by the little -Marguerite, now eight years of age, rendered the restraint under which -I laboured more memorable and striking. She had left a little book -of fairy tales, in which she had been reading the day before, in the -summer-house. At first she did not recollect what was become of it, and -employed herself in searching for it with great assiduity. Of a sudden -however she remembered where she had read in it last; and, exclaiming -with exultation, “It is in the summer-house!” sprang forward to fetch -it. I detained her, and told her there was a sick gentleman there that -she would disturb! “Then, dear Julia!” rejoined she, “be so good as -to get it for me; you are so quiet and careful, you never disturb any -body.” - -“My love,” answered I, “nobody must get it for you. The gentleman -chooses to be alone, and will not let any body come to him. You shall -have it after dinner.” - -“Ah, but, papa, I want it now. I put it away, just where the naughty -giant had shut up the gentleman in the dungeon, who came to take away -the lady. I was obliged to put it away then, because mamma called me to -go to bed; but I want so to know what will become of them, you cannot -think.” - -“Well, dear Marguerite, I am sorry you must wait; but you must learn to -have patience.” - -“Do you know, papa, I walked in the garden before breakfast: and so, -not thinking of any thing, I came to the summer-house; and I tried to -open the door, but I could not. I found it was locked. So I thought -Julia was there; and I knocked, and called Julia, but nobody answered. -So then I knew Julia was not there, for I was sure she would have -opened the door. So I climbed upon the stump of the pear-tree, and -tried to look in at the window; but the shutters were shut, and I -could not get to see over the top of them. And I walked all round the -summer-house, and all the shutters were shut. Papa, I wish you would -not let a man get into the summer-house, who shuts all the shutters, -and locks the door. You always used to let me go into every room I -liked; and, do you know, I think none but bad people lock and bolt -themselves up so. It puts mind of the giants with their drawbridges and -their pitfalls; I shall be quite afraid of this frightful old man.” - -This prattle of the child was nothing; yet it increased the -embarrassment of my situation, and made the peculiarity of the case -more conspicuous. Finding her pertinacious in insisting upon a topic -that was disagreeable to me, her mother called her from me, and put -her upon some occupation that served to divert her attention. I felt -like a person that was guilty of some crime; and this consideration and -kindness of my wife, when I seemed to myself to deserve her reproach, -had not the power to calm my uneasiness. - -These little occurrences appeared like the beginning of a separation -of interests, and estrangement of hearts. I tasked myself severely. I -summoned the whole force of my mind, that I might strictly consider -what it was in which I was about to engage. If this slight and casual -hint of a secret is felt by both Marguerite and myself with so much -uneasiness and embarrassment, what will be our situation, if I go on -to accept the stranger’s confidence, and become the depository of an -arcanum so important as he represents his to be? He declares himself -able to bestow upon me the highest opulence; what will be the feelings -of my wife and children when they see my condition suddenly changed -from its present humble appearance to splendour and wealth, without -being able to assign the source of this extraordinary accession? - -It is difficult to conceive a family picture more enviable that than -to which I was now continually present, and of which I formed a part. -We had been happy on the banks of the Garonne, and we had pictured -to ourselves a plan of happiness immediately on our arrival in the -city of Constance. But these were little and imperfect, compared with -what I now enjoyed. In the first situation my children were infants, -and in the second the eldest was but ten years of age. The mother -was now thirty-five; and she had lost, in my eyes at least, none -of her personal attractions. Her intellectual accomplishments were -much greater than ever. Her understanding was matured, her judgment -decided, her experience more comprehensive. As she had a greater -compass of materials to work upon, her fancy was more playful, her -conversation richer, and her reflections more amusing and profound. -The matron character she had acquired, had had no other effect on her -feelings, than to render them more deep, more true and magnetical. -Her disposition was more entirely affectionate than it had been even -in the first year of our cohabitation. Her attachment to her children -was exemplary, and her vigilance uninterrupted; and, for myself, she -was accustomed, in all that related to our mutual love, to enter into -my sentiments and inclinations with so just a tone of equality and -kindness, that we seemed to be two bodies animated by a single soul. -If the mother were improved, the children were still more improved. -In their early years we are attached to our offspring, merely because -they are ours, and in a way that has led superficial speculators -to consider the attachment, less as the necessary operation of a -sensible and conscious mind, than as a wise provision of nature for -the perpetuation of the species. But as they grow up, the case is -different. Our partiality is then confirmed or diminished by qualities -visible to an impartial bystander as really as to ourselves. They -then cease to be merely the objects of our solicitude, and become our -companions, the partners of our sentiments, and the counsellors of our -undertakings. Such at least was my case at the present period. Charles, -who was now sixteen, was manly beyond his years; while the native fire -of his disposition was tempered by adversity, by an humble situation, -and by the ardour of filial and fraternal affection. Julia, who was -two years younger, became daily more interesting by the mildness of -her disposition and the tenderness of her sensibility. Louisa was only -twelve; but, as she was extremely notable, and had an uncommonly quick -and accurate spirit of imitation, she rendered herself exceedingly -useful to her mother. Marguerite, the plaything and amusement of the -family, had, as I have said, just completed the eighth year of her age. - -One exquisite source of gratification, when it is not a source of -uneasiness, to speak from my own experience, which a parent finds in -the society of his children, is their individuality. They are not -puppets, moved with wires, and to be played on at will. Almost from the -hour of their birth they have a will of their own, to be consulted and -negotiated with. We may say to them, as Adam to the general mother of -mankind, “But now, thou wert flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bone; -and, even now, thou standest before me vested in the prerogatives of -sentiment and reason; a living being, to be regarded with attention and -deference; to be courted, not compelled; susceptible of the various -catalogue of human passions; capable of resentment and gratitude, of -indignation and love, of perverseness and submission. It is because -thou art thus formed that I love thee. I cannot be interested about -objects inanimate or brute. I require a somewhat that shall exercise -my judgment, and awaken my moral feelings. It is necessary to me to -approve myself, and be approved by another. I rejoice to stand before -you, at once the defendant and the judge. I rejoice in the restraint to -which your independent character subjects me, and it will be my pride -to cultivate that independence in your mind. I would negotiate for your -affections and confidence, and not be loved by you, but in proportion -as I shall have done something to deserve it. I could not congratulate -myself upon your correspondence to my wishes, if it had not been in -your power to withhold it.” - -While I indulge this vein of reflection, I seem again to see my family, -as they surrounded me in the year fifteen hundred and forty-four; -Marguerite the partner of my life, Charles the brother of my cares, the -blooming Julia, the sage Louisa, and the playful cadette of the family. -How richly furnished, how cheerful, how heart-reviving, appeared to -me the apartment in which they were assembled! I dwell upon the image -with fond affection and lingering delight. Where are they now? How -has all this happiness been maliciously undermined, and irrevocably -destroyed! To look back on it, it seems like the idle fabric of a -dream. I awake, and find myself alone! Were there really such persons? -Where are they dispersed? Whither are they gone? Oh, miserable solitude -and desertion, to which I have so long been condemned! I see nothing -around me but speechless walls, or human faces that say as little to my -heart as the walls themselves! How palsied is my soul! How withered my -affections!--But I will not anticipate. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -I carried food to the stranger as occasion required in the course of -the day. He seemed indisposed to speak, and we exchanged scarcely more -than two or three words. The next morning was the implied time to which -the question of his confidence was deferred, and I went to him with the -full resolution of refusing it. Whether it were that he discerned this -resolution in my countenance, or that, in the interval that elapsed, -he had formed a meaner opinion of my character, and thought me unfit -for the purposes he intended I should answer, certain it is that he -anticipated me. At the same time he magnified the importance of the -gifts he had to communicate. He expressed himself astonished at the -precipitateness of his yesterday’s conduct. It was not till after much -trial and long probation that he could choose himself a confidant. -I was not at present fit for the character, nor perhaps ever should -be. The talent he possessed was one upon which the fate of nations -and of the human species might be made to depend. God had given it -for the best and highest purposes; and the vessel in which it was -deposited must be purified from the alloy of human frailty. It might be -abused and applied to the most atrocious designs. It might blind the -understanding of the wisest, and corrupt the integrity of the noblest. -It might overturn kingdoms, and change the whole order of human society -into anarchy and barbarism. It might render its possessor the universal -plague or the universal tyrant of mankind. - -“Go, St. Leon!” added the stranger, “you are not qualified for so -important a trust. You are not yet purged of imbecility and weakness. -Though you have passed through much, and had considerable experience, -you are yet a child. I had heard your history, and expected to find -you a different man. Go; and learn to know yourself for what you are, -frivolous and insignificant, worthy to have been born a peasant, and -not fitted to adorn the rolls of chivalry, or the rank to which you -were destined!” - -There was something so impressive in the rebuke and contempt of this -venerable sage, that made it impossible to contend with them. Never was -there a man more singular, and in whom were united greater apparent -contradictions. Observe him in a quiet and unanimated moment, you might -almost take him for a common beggar; a poor, miserable wretch, in whom -life lingered, and insensate stupidity reigned. But when his soul was -touched in any of those points on which it was most alive, he rose at -once, and appeared a giant. His voice was the voice of thunder; and, -rolling in a rich and sublime swell, it arrested and stilled, while -it withered all the nerves of the soul. His eye-beam sat upon your -countenance, and seemed to look through you. You wished to escape from -its penetrating power, but you had not the strength to move. I began to -feel as if it were some mysterious and superior being in human form, -and not a mortal, with whom I was concerned. - -What a strange and contradictory being is man! I had gone to the -summer-house this morning, with a firm resolution to refuse the gifts -and the communication of the stranger. I felt as if lightened from -a burthen which the whole preceding day had oppressed me, while I -formed this resolution: I was cheerful, and conscious of rectitude and -strength of mind. How cheaply we prize a gift which we imagine to be -already in our power! With what philosophical indifference do we turn -it on every side, depreciate its worth, magnify its disadvantages, and -then pique ourselves upon the sobriety and justice of the estimate -we have made! Thus it was with me in the present transaction; but -when I had received the check of the stranger, and saw the proposed -benefit removed to a vast and uncertain distance, then it resumed all -its charms; then the contrast of wealth and poverty flashed full -upon my soul. Before, I had questioned the reality of the stranger’s -pretensions, and considered whether he might not be an artful impostor; -but now all was clearness and certainty: the advantages of wealth -passed in full review before my roused imagination. I saw horses, -palaces, and their furniture; I saw the splendour of exhibition and -the trains of attendants,--objects which had been for ever dear to my -puerile imagination; I contemplated the honour, love, obedience, troops -of friends, which are so apt to attend upon wealth, when disbursed with -a moderate degree of dignity and munificence. When I compared this with -my present poverty and desertion, the meanness of our appearance, our -daily labours, the danger that an untoward accident might sink us in -the deepest distress, and the hopelessness that my son or his posterity -should ever rise to that honour and distinction to which they had once -been destined, the effect was too powerful. - -Another feeling came still further in aid of this: it was the -humiliating impression which the stranger had left upon my mind: this -seemed to be his great art, if in reality his conduct is to be imputed -to art. There is no enemy to virtue so fatal as a sense of degradation. -Self-applause is our principal support in every liberal and elevated -act of virtue. If this ally can be turned against us; if we can be -made to ascribe baseness, effeminacy, want of spirit and adventure, to -our virtuous resolutions; we shall then indeed feel ourselves shaken. -This was precisely my situation: the figure I made in my own eyes was -mean; I was impatient of my degradation; I believed that I had shown -myself uxorious and effeminate, at a time that must have roused in me -the spirit of a man, if there had been a spark of manly spirit latent -in my breast. This impatience co-operated with the temptations of -the stranger, and made me anxious to possess what he offered to my -acceptance. - -I reasoned thus with myself: what excites my scruples is simply the -idea of having one single secret from my wife and family. This scruple -is created by the singular and unprecedented confidence in which we -have been accustomed to live. Other men have their secrets: nor do they -find their domestic tranquillity broken by that circumstance. The -merchant does not call his wife into consultation upon his ventures; -the statesman does not unfold to her his policy and his projects; the -warrior does not take her advice upon the plan of his campaign; the -poet does not concert with her his flights and his episodes. To other -men the domestic scene is the relaxation of their cares; when they -enter it, they dismiss the business of the day, and call another cause. -I only have concentrated in it the whole of my existence. By this means -I have extinguished in myself the true energy of the human character. -A man can never be respectable in the eyes of the world or in his own, -except so far as he stands by himself and is truly independent. He may -have friends; he may have domestic connections; but he must not in -these connections lose his individuality. Nothing truly great was ever -achieved, that was not executed or planned in solitary seclusion. - -But if these reasons are sufficient to prove that the plan I have -lately pursued is fundamentally wrong, how much more will the -importance of what is proposed by the stranger plead my excuse for -deviating from it? How bitterly have I lamented the degradation of -my family! Shall I not seize this opportunity of re-installing them -in their hereditary honours? I deemed the ruin I had brought upon -them irreparable; shall I not embrace the occasion of atoning for my -fault? No man despises wealth, who fully understands the advantages -it confers. Does it not confer the means of cultivating our powers? -Does it not open to us the career of honour, which is shut against -the unknown and obscure? Does it not conciliate the prepossessions of -mankind, and gain for us an indulgent and liberal construction? Does -it not inspire us with graceful confidence, and animate us to generous -adventure? The poor man is denied every advantage of education, and -wears out his life in labour and ignorance. From offices of trust, -from opportunities of distinction, he is ignominiously thrust aside; -and though he should sacrifice his life for the public cause, he dies -unhonoured and unknown. If by any accident he comes into possession -of those qualities which, when discerned and acknowledged, command -the applause of mankind, who will listen to him? His appearance is -mean; and the fastidious auditor turns from him ere half his words are -uttered. He has no equipage and attendants, no one to blow the trumpet -before him and proclaim his rank; how can he propose any thing that -shall be worthy of attention? Aware of the prepossession of mankind in -this respect, he is alarmed and overwhelmed with confusion before he -opens his lips. Filled with the conscience of his worth, he anticipates -the unmerited contempt that is prepared to oppress him, and his very -heart dies within him. Add to these circumstances, the constitution of -our nature, the various pleasures of which it is adapted to partake, -and how many of these pleasures it is in the power of wealth to -procure. Yes; an object like this will sufficiently apologise for me to -those for whose sake alone it was estimable in my sight. It is, indeed, -nothing but our poverty and the lowness of our station that have thus -produced in us an habitual and unreserved communication of sentiments. -Wealth would, to a certain degree, destroy our contact, and take off -the wonder that we had each our thoughts that were not put into the -common stock. - -These considerations decided my choice. I was not indeed without some -variations of mind, and some compunction of heart for the resolution -I had espoused. The longer the stranger remained with me, the more -evident it was that there was something mysterious between us; and -the unreserved affection and union that had lately reigned under my -roof suffered materially the effects of it. The stranger had been led -to my cottage, in the first instance, by the entire solitude in which -it was placed. There was nothing about which he was so solicitous as -concealment; the most atrocious criminal could not be more alarmed at -the idea of being discovered. I was unable to account for this; but -I was now too anxious for his stay and the promised reward, not to -be alert in gratifying all his wishes. The most inviolable secrecy, -therefore, was enjoined to the whole family; and the younger branches -of it, particularly the little Marguerite, it was necessary to keep -almost immured, to prevent the danger of their reporting any thing out -of the house, that might be displeasing to the stranger and fatal to my -expectations. Upon the whole my situation was eminently an uneasy one. -No experiment can be more precarious than that of a half-confidence; -and nothing but the sincere affection that was entertained for me could -have rendered it successful in this instance. My family felt that they -were trusted by me only in points where it was impossible to avoid it, -and that I was not therefore properly entitled to their co-operation; -I was conscious of ingratitude in making them no return for their -fidelity. They kept my secret because they were solicitous to oblige -me, not from any conviction that they were conferring on me a benefit; -but, on the contrary, suspecting that the object as to which they -were blindly assisting me would prove injurious to me as well as to -themselves. - -The health of the stranger visibly declined; but this was a -circumstance which he evidently regarded with complacency. It was -the only source of consolation of which he appeared susceptible; his -mind was torn with painful remembrances, and agitated with terrible -forebodings. He abhorred solitude, and yet found no consolation in -society. I could not be much with him; my duty to my family, who were -principally supported by my labour, was a call too imperious to be -neglected. Even when I was with him, he commonly testified no desire -for conversation. “Stay with me,” he was accustomed to say; “give -me as much of your time as you can; but do not talk.” Upon these -occasions he would sit sometimes with his arms folded, and with the -most melancholy expression imaginable. He would then knit his brows, -wring his hands with a sadness that might have excited pity in the -hardest breast, or, with both hands closed, the one clasping the other, -strike himself impatiently on the forehead. At other times he would -rise from his seat, pace the room with hurried and unquiet steps, and -then again throw himself on his couch in the greatest agitation. His -features were often convulsed with agony. Often have I wiped away the -sweat, which would suddenly burst out in large drops on his forehead. -At those seasons he would continually mutter words to himself, the -sense of which it was impossible for me to collect. I could perceive -however that he often repeated the names of Clara!--Henry!--a wife!--a -friend! a friend!----and then he would groan as if his heart were -bursting. Sometimes, in the midst of these recollections, he would pass -the back of his hand over his eyes; and then, looking at it, shaking -his head, and biting his under lip, exclaim with a piteous accent, -“Dry!--dry!--all the moisture of my frame is perished!” Then, as if -recovering himself, he would cry with a startled and terrified voice, -“Who is there? St. Leon? Come to me! Let me feel that there is a human -being near me! I often call for you; but I find myself alone, deserted, -friendless!--friendless!” - -At times when his recollection was more complete, he would say, “I know -I tire you! Why should I tire you? What gratification can it be to me -to occasion emotions of disgust?” Upon these occasions I endeavoured to -soothe him, and assured him I found pleasure in administering to his -relief. But he replied, “No, no: do not flatter me! It is long since -I have heard the voice of flattery! I never loved it! No; I know I am -precluded from ever exciting friendship or sympathy! Why am I not dead? -Why do I live, a burthen to myself, useful to none? My secret I could -almost resolve should die with me; but you have earned, and you shall -receive it.” - -The stranger was not always in this state of extreme anguish, nor -always indisposed to converse. He had lucid intervals; and could -beguile the sorrow of his heart with social communication. We sometimes -talked of various sciences and branches of learning; he appeared to -be well informed in them all. His observations were ingenious; his -language copious; his illustrations fanciful and picturesque; his -manner bold and penetrating. It was easy to observe in him the marks -of a vigorous and masculine genius. Sometimes we discussed the events -at that time going on in the world. When we discoursed of events that -had passed, and persons that had died, more than a century before, -the stranger often spoke of them in a manner as if he had been an -eye-witness, and directly acquainted with the objects of our discourse. -This I ascribed to the vividness of his conceptions, and the animation -of his language. He however often checked himself in this peculiarity, -and always carefully avoided what could lead to any thing personal -to himself. I described to him the scenes of my youth, and related -my subsequent history; he on his part was invincibly silent on every -circumstance of his country, his family, and his adventures. - -The longer I was acquainted with him, the more my curiosity grew. I -was restless and impatient to learn something respecting a man who -thus wrapped himself up in mystery and reserve. Often I threw out, as -it were, a line by which to fathom his secret. I talked of various -countries, I mentioned different kinds of calamities and even of -crimes, that by some incidental allusion I might discover at unawares -his country, his connections, or the nature of his story. When any -thing that offered seemed to lead to the desired point, I doubled my -questions, and endeavoured to construct them with the skill of a crafty -litigant in a court of justice. There were some subjects, the very -mention of which gave him uneasiness, and upon which he immediately -silenced me; but these were not of themselves enough to afford me a -clue, or to furnish materials out of which for me to construct the -history of the stranger. He did not always perceive the drift of my -questions and snares; but, when he did, he generally became loud, -resentful, and furious. There was nothing else that so completely -roused his indignation. - -“St. Leon!” said he to me one day, “silence this inquisitive temper -of yours; check your rash and rude curiosity. The only secret I have -that can be of any importance to you, you shall one day know. But my -country, my family, my adventures, I have once told you, and I tell -you again, you shall never know. That knowledge can be of moment to no -one, and it shall never be disclosed. When this heart ceases to beat, -that tale shall cease to have a place on the face of the earth. Why -should my distresses and disgraces be published to any one? Is it not -enough that they have lacerated my bosom, that they have deprived me -of friends, that they have visited me with every adversity and every -anguish, that they have bowed me down to the earth, that they have made -thought, and remembrance, and life itself, a burthen too heavy to be -borne? Your present injudicious conduct, if persisted in, will have the -effect of driving me from your roof, of turning me once more upon the -world, upon that world that I hate, upon that world whose bruises and -ill treatment I feel in every fibre of my frame; of exposing me again -to fresh persecutions, and causing me to perish miserably in a dungeon, -or die upon a scaffold. Spare me, my generous host; I know you are -capable of generosity. Indeed I have endured enough to satiate the rage -of malice itself. You see what I suffer from the rage and tempest of -my own thoughts, even without the assistance of any external foe. Let -me die in that degree of tranquillity I am able to attain. I will not -trouble you long.” - -At another time he addressed me in a different style. “You see, St. -Leon, that the anguish of mind I endure is such as is ordinarily -attributed to the recollection of great crimes; and you have very -probably conjectured that in my case it arises from the same source. If -you have, I forgive you; but I assure you that you are mistaken. Take -from yourself that uneasiness, if it has ever visited you; you are not -giving sanctuary to a villain! I am innocent. I can take no crime to -my charge. I have suffered more almost than man ever suffered; but I -have sinned little. The cause of my uneasiness and prime source of all -my misfortunes, I dare not disclose to you. Be contented with the plan -of my conduct. I have digested my purpose: I have determined where to -speak and where to be silent.” - -The more I saw of this man, the more strange and unaccountable appeared -to me every thing that related to him. Why was he so poor, possessing, -as he pretended, inexhaustible wealth? Why was he unhappy, with so -great talents and genius, and such various information? Why was he -friendless, being, as he solemnly assured me, so perfectly innocent, -and of consequence so respectable? That he was an impostor, every -thing that I saw of him forbade me to believe. His sorrows were too -profound and excruciating, for it to be possible for me to rank them -among the actions that a man may play. The greatness of his powers, the -dignity of his carriage, the irresistible appearance of sincerity that -sparkled in his eye and modulated his voice, fully convinced me that he -really was what he pretended to be. I had heard of men who, under the -pretence of alchemy, fastened themselves upon persons possessing sums -of money; and, beguiling them with a delusive expectation of wealth, -reduced them to beggary and ruin. One such person I had had a brief -connection with during my residence in the Bordelois, though, finding -the incident by no means essential to the progress of my history, I -have passed it over, together with many others, in silence. But nothing -could be more unlike than that man and the person respecting whom I was -now concerned. In reality I possessed at that time, if I may be allowed -to say so, a more than common insight into the characters of mankind, -so as to be little likely, except under the tyranny of passion, as -in the instance of gaming, to be made the prey of imposition. I had -studied my species as it exhibits itself in history, and had mixed with -it in various scenes and under dissimilar aspects. I had accordingly, -in the transaction I have just alluded to, soon detected the plans of -the villain who expected to delude me. But what could be the purpose -of the stranger in this respect? The pretended alchemist in France had -obtained a certain sum of money of me, and demanded more. The stranger -never made such a demand of me; and perfectly knew that, even if I had -been inclined, I was not able to supply him. The alchemist had amused -me with descriptions of various processes for the transmutation of -metals, had exhibited his crucibles and retorts, and employed a sort -of dramatic _coup d’œil_ for the purpose of awakening my curiosity -and stimulating my passions. The stranger had simply stated, in the -plainest and most direct manner, that it was in his power to enrich -me; but had been silent as to the manner of producing the wealth he -promised, and had abstained from every effort to intoxicate my mind. I -felt therefore in this instance the effect, that, without being able -to solve the difficulties and contrarieties that hung about him, I yet -believed his assertions; nor was the inscrutability of his history and -his motives capable of shaking my confidence. - -One day, during the period of his concealment, certain officers of -the bishop of Constance, accompanied by a foreigner in a Neapolitan -habit, came to my house, and, as it proved, with the express purpose -of searching for the man who had put himself under my protection. -Charles and myself were at work in the fields within sight of the -lake. Their appearance first caught the attention of Charles as they -approached the shore, and he enquired of me respecting the habit of -the foreigner, which was different from any he had been accustomed to -see. While we were yet speaking, I observed in them an intention to -land within sight of my cottage. This was an uncommon circumstance; -our privacy was rarely invaded, and we lived almost as much out of the -world as we should have done in the remotest island of the Atlantic -ocean. I reasoned in my own mind upon their appearance: they had -little resemblance to a party of pleasure; the habit of the officers -of justice I was perfectly acquainted with; and the suspicion of the -real nature of their errand immediately darted on my thoughts. Without -saying a word to Charles on the subject, I hastened with all the speed -I could exert to the apartment of the stranger, and acquainted him with -what I had seen. He concurred with me in the ideas I had formed, and -appeared much shocked at the intelligence. There was however no time to -be lost; and, after having for a moment given vent to an anguish which -was too powerful to be suppressed, he withdrew as hastily as he could -from the summer-house, and betook himself to the woods. He recommended -to me to leave him, telling me that he could conceal himself most -effectually alone, and observing that it would be necessary for me to -meet the officers, and endeavour as much as possible to remove their -suspicions. - -Accordingly, as soon as he was gone, I threw open the windows of the -summer-house, removed the shutters, and took from it as effectually -as I could all appearance of having served as a place of concealment. -This was a precaution which the stranger had on a former occasion -recommended to me. It fortunately happened that Julia and the little -Marguerite were gone out together in the fields on the eastern side of -my cottage; otherwise infallibly the child by her innocent prattle, -and perhaps Julia by the apprehensive sensibility of her temper, would -have betrayed our secret, or at least have suggested to the officers -a feeling as if, by a longer stay and a more diligent search, they -might possibly succeed in the object of their expedition. As it was, I -received them at the door, and learned from their own mouths the nature -of their errand. Of Charles, whom they had crossed in the fields, -they had simply asked whether they were right as to the name of the -person who was proprietor of the cottage before them. They described -to me with great accuracy the appearance of the stranger, and insisted -that he had been an inhabitant of my cottage. They told me, they were -well informed that the summer-house in my garden had carefully been -shut up for more than a month past, and that some person had been -concealed there. I was interested in the distress of the stranger; I -was impressed with the dignity of his character; I implicitly confided -in his assertions of innocence, and the unjust persecution that he -suffered; I was not insensible to the proposed reward, the realising of -which probably depended on his safety. But, most of all, I considered -my honour as pledged for the protection of the man who had thus cast -himself upon my fidelity, and believed that I should be everlastingly -disgraced if he suffered any evil through treachery or neglect on my -part. I therefore answered confidently to the officers that they were -misinformed, and offered to conduct them over every part of my house -and demesnes, that they might satisfy themselves by inspection that -there was no person concealed any where within my possessions. I should -have been better pleased, openly to have defied their interrogatories, -and to have asked them whether, allowing their suspicions to be just, -they were entitled to believe that I was such a villain as to betray a -man who had thrown himself upon my generosity? But though this conduct -would have had a greater appearance of gallantry, I believed it would -have less of the reality, as it would have strengthened their idea of -my participation, and increased the danger of the person I was bound to -protect. - -They accepted my offer of submitting to their search, and made a strict -examination of every place about my habitation in which the stranger -could be concealed. Disappointed here, they endeavoured by threats to -discover whether I was able to give them any information. To these I -calmly answered, that they had mistaken my character; that, though I -was a poor man, I had not forgotten that I was noble; that they were -already in possession of my spontaneous answer to their enquiries; -and that, in no case, and upon no supposition, should tyranny and -ill treatment extort from me what I was not in the first instance -disposed to give. My wife was present during this conversation, and, I -could perceive, felt an alarm for my danger that she would have been -incapable of feeling for a danger to herself. - -Though I was extremely anxious that these men should be disappointed in -the object of their expedition, yet I did not neglect this opportunity -of endeavouring to obtain satisfaction for my own curiosity. I remarked -at first that the Neapolitan was an inquisitor, and this circumstance -had given additional poignancy to the uneasiness of Marguerite. But -the accusations of which the inquisition at this time took cognisance -were so numerous--the ecclesiastical power continually usurping upon -the civil--that I was little assisted in the judgment I was desirous -to frame by any inference to be deduced from this circumstance. I -questioned directly, with an air as if it were merely in the way of -conversation, what was the crime of the man of whom they were in -pursuit? and what was the cause forcible enough to induce a Neapolitan -inquisitor to follow so decrepit and forlorn an individual as he -described, beyond the Alps, and almost to the banks of the Danube? To -this he answered roughly, that though he was not able to discover the -object of his search, he was by no means convinced that I was not his -abettor and accomplice; and that as to his crime, that was not to be -named; the welfare of Christendom demanding that the criminal, and the -memory of his offences, should be buried together. At the same time he -warned me to consider well what I did, before I exposed myself to be -overwhelmed by the vengeance of the court of which he was a member. To -this I answered haughtily, that I had already condescended to repel -his suspicion, and that no other man than an inquisitor would have had -the stupidity or the audaciousness to question my veracity. I added, -that I was perfectly acquainted with the nature of his court, which was -an object of abhorrence to the whole Christian world; but that he was -mistaken if he supposed that the detestable nature of its proceedings -would enable him to practise every sort of outrage with impunity. The -officers withdrew into the little inclosure in front of my cottage, and -I overheard them consulting whether, having failed in their principal -object, they should carry me a prisoner along with them. The firmness -of my manner however had awed them, and the fearlessness I expressed -seemed to them to arise from a consciousness of innocence. They at -length departed as they came. - -I watched them from my cottage as they descended to the shore, and -it was with no little pleasure that I perceived them re-embark, and -stand off for the opposite side of the lake. This spectacle for a time -entirely engaged me, and when I turned from the door I observed that -my beloved Marguerite had been in tears. She endeavoured to hide this -circumstance from my sight. I took her affectionately by the hand, and, -pressing her to my bosom, entreated her not to make herself uneasy. - -“Ah, Reginald!” said she, “how can I avoid being uneasy, when I see -you exposed to this imminent danger? I thought that, in forfeiting our -fortune and our rank, and retiring to this obscure and sequestered -situation, we might at least promise ourselves the blessing of the -poor--oblivion and security; and that should have consoled me for all -I have lost. Who is this man that is thus mysteriously hidden among -us? What is the guilt from the punishment of which he thus anxiously -withdraws himself? What can be the nature of your connection with such -a man? And what will be the issue of so perilous an adventure?” - -I hesitated. I knew not what to answer to so earnest an anxiety. I was -melted at the distress and the affection of Marguerite. She saw my -embarrassment, and proceeded:-- - -“Mistake me not, my beloved!” said she. “I have no desire to pry -into what you are willing to conceal. Forgive the perturbation which -has poured itself out in these involuntary questions. I repose an -entire confidence in you. I would sooner die than interfere with any -object you have at heart. Go on according to the dictates of your -own judgment, undisturbed by me. I will not doubt that you have -sufficient reasons for what you communicate, and what you suppress. I -am grieved indeed at the interruption of our obscure and unambitious -tranquillity; but I had resolved not to trouble you with my uneasiness -and apprehensions. The incident of this morning has extorted them from -me; but I will behave better in future.” - -This scene was extremely distressing to me. My wife was oppressed with -fears, and I had nothing to answer her. The consolations that rose up -in my own mind I was prevented from communicating. The more generously -she confided in me, the more I felt the ungracious and disagreeable -nature of the concealment I practised. I endeavoured however to -encourage myself with the idea, that the labour would not be long, and -the harvest would prove abundant. I said in my own mind, The worst is -now over; the business has been commenced; the shock to my own family -has actually occurred; I must go on resolutely, and shut my eyes to the -temporarily displeasing circumstances that may be connected with the -completing my object. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -Another source of uneasiness was added to the distraction my mind -already endured. The stranger did not appear. It was in the morning -that the officers of justice arrived; they departed about noon; and -in two hours afterwards I entered the wood in search of my guest. -The wood was of some leagues in extent; it was intersected by paths -in various directions; it was interspersed with caverns; its growth -was of all kinds,--in some places lofty trees that seemed to form a -support for the clouds, in others an underwood impenetrable alike to -the feet and to the eye. As I entered the wood, I however conceived -that the discovery of the stranger, to me who was acquainted with its -lurking-places, would be an affair of little toil; his feebleness and -decrepitude would not suffer him to proceed to any great distance. In -this I was mistaken. I looked carefully on all sides; I examined every -recess and corner with which I was acquainted: but I found no trace of -the stranger. The scene was so complicated and involved, that even this -was a labour of considerable duration. At length I became satisfied -that he was not in the nearer division of the wood. - -I paused. I felt at once that it was little less than a Herculean -task to hunt through the whole of its dimensions. It would probably -be of little use to call, and endeavour by that means to discover his -retreat. I knew of no name by which he was to be recognised; and, -if my own voice was but a slight resource to penetrate this immense -labyrinth of foliage, the voice of the stranger, weakened by age, and -now probably still more enfeebled by hunger and fatigue, could not be -expected to make itself heard. Beside which, as I knew not what the -source of information had been to the officers who had just left me, I -was unwilling to expose my guest to the danger that might arise from -this mode of seeking him. I could not even be sure, though I had seen -their boat stand off from the shore, that they might not afterwards -land one or more of their party, and be at this very moment within -ear-shot of me. I therefore proceeded in anxiety and silence. - -My search was no more successful in the part of the wood with which I -was little acquainted, than in the part with which I was most familiar. -I had already been engaged four hours in the task, and night began -to come on. It shut in with heavy clouds, that on all sides appeared -deeply loaded with rain. I now began to consider my own situation; and, -by comparing circumstances, found that I was at a great distance from -my own habitation. There was no direct path by which for me to return. -I had proceeded to the right and the left, backward and forward, -sometimes by more open paths, and sometimes forcing my way through -briars and brushwood, as caprice, or the hope of effecting the object -of my search, happened to guide me. It was therefore no easy matter -to guess how I was to return, or even, now that the lowering clouds -had covered the horizon with one uniform tint, in which direction lay -the cottage or the lake. While I stood contemplating what was to -be done, I heard the howling of the wolves at a distance; and their -howl had that particular melancholy and discomfiting sound which is -well known to precede a coming storm. There was no time to be lost, -and accordingly I set out. I was less anxious to be at home on my own -account, than for the sake of quieting the alarms of my family, to whom -I had already occasioned too great a portion of uneasiness. - -I had not proceeded far before the rain descended in torrents, -intermingled with peals of thunder and sheets of lightning. The -thunder, interrupted, as it were, from time to time, with the noise -of the wild beasts that inhabited the wood, deafened me, while the -excessive and instantaneous brilliancy of the lightning occasioned me -an intolerable aching in the organ of sight. It rained incessantly -for two hours, and I found myself drenched and fatigued with the -wet. During this time my progress was small; and I was ever and -anon intercepted by the underwood, and could not without repeated -experiments discover the means of proceeding. At length the rain -subsided, and seemed to give place to a gloomy and motionless calm. -Soon after, I discovered a light at a distance, and advanced towards -it. As I approached, I perceived that it proceeded from a set of -banditti, to the amount of fourteen or fifteen persons, sitting round -a fire in the mouth of a cavern. I was glad to turn my steps another -way, and was for some time afraid that the noise I made in occasionally -forcing my way through the bushes would alarm them, and cost me my -life. I however fortunately escaped their notice. This was in a part of -the wood remote from the path I ought to have taken, and near the road -to Lindau. - -The day began to dawn before I reached my own habitation. The -conjecture I had made, when I was unawares upon the point of falling -into the hands of the banditti, that the road of Lindau was on -the other side of their retreat, was of some service to me as an -indication where to find the cottage and the lake. This road skirted -the wood on the side nearly opposite to that by which I entered it. -The difficulties however I had to encounter were inconceivably great, -in endeavouring to preserve my line of direction. After having been -compelled four or five times to deviate from the line, it is seldom -that a traveller will find himself right in his conjecture as to the -direction he is pursuing, unless he has some sensible object as a sort -of pole-star by which to govern his route. It happened in this instance -that I was more fortunate than I was entitled to expect. I laboured -indeed till daybreak without getting out of the labyrinth that inclosed -me. But the sun no sooner began to lend an imperfect light, than I -recognised certain objects which upon some former occasions I had -observed, and perceived that my journey was nearly at an end. I entered -my cottage, and found Marguerite alone awake and expecting me. - -She had been somewhat uneasy on account of my absence, both from the -extreme tempestuousness of the night, and in consequence of the painful -sensations the events of the preceding morning had introduced,--events -with which it was almost unavoidable for her to imagine that my absence -was in some way connected. The period of my insanity in Switzerland -might indeed have accustomed her to the irregularity of my motions, -but a term of more than six years which had intervened, had produced -in her expectations and habits of a different sort. I related to this -admirable woman the adventures of the night and the fruitlessness -of the search in which I had been engaged; and this openness of -communication, unresembling the nature of the intercourse which had -lately existed between us, relieved in some degree my burthened heart, -and cheered the drooping spirits of Marguerite. She dropped some -consolatory and sadly pleasing tears; and her manner seemed to say, -though she would not suffer her tongue to give the idea words, How -sweet are cordiality and confidence! Oh! do not let our situation, -which has deprived us of many other comforts, ever again be robbed of -this comfort, which is alone worth all the rest! Though she necessarily -felt the presence of the stranger as an evil, the bane of our domestic -peace, yet it was impossible for her not to compassionate his fate, and -suffer some distress from his strange and abrupt disappearance. - -After the conversation which had so eminently served as a relief to -our minds, Marguerite left me to repose myself from the extraordinary -fatigue I had undergone. But my mind was too much disturbed to suffer -me to sink into the arms of forgetfulness. I felt something tragical in -the sad destiny of my unfortunate guest. It was but too probable that, -in his peculiarly weak state of body, and with his declining health, -the being thus exposed for a day and a night to the effects of hunger, -of the inclemency of the air, and the tempestuousness of the elements, -would put a close to his existence. I was determined soon to recommence -my search. But how could I be sure that I should be more fortunate -to-day, than the day before? If I found him, it was most likely I -should find him either dead or dying. The degree of intercourse that -had taken place between us had made him occupy a considerable space -in my thoughts. The prospects he had opened to me, the conduct he had -induced me to adopt, the painful effects and dissatisfaction of mind -which had been produced by that conduct as it respected my family, all -combined to give me an interest in his fate. I had seen his talents; I -had felt his ascendancy; I had experienced that sort of conflict, which -appearances of guilt on the one hand, and asseverations of innocence -on the other, are calculated to produce in the thoughts and emotions -of a bystander. He was no common man; the expectations and conjectures -he excited were of no ordinary sort; and I felt that an army might be -destroyed, and a spacious plain covered with the wounded and the dying, -without producing greater commotion in my soul. - -In the anxious and disturbed state of mind in which I was, the thoughts -flow with extraordinary rapidity. It will be found attended with a -strange, and, previously to the experiment, incredible mixture of -reasoning and passion, of philosophising and fury. I was accordingly -conscious at this moment of the truth of the stranger’s assertion, -that in me he had a protector, not a friend. Friendship is an object -of a peculiar sort; the smallest reserve is deadly to it. I may indeed -feel the emotions of a friend towards a man who in part conceals from -me the thoughts of his heart; but then I must be unconscious of this -concealment. The instant I perceive this limitation of confidence, he -drops into the class of ordinary men: a divorce is effected between us: -our hearts, which grew together, suffer amputation; the arteries are -closed; the blood is no longer mutually transfused and confounded. I -shall be conscious of all his qualities, for I stand in the place of -an impartial umpire. I consider him as a machine capable of so much -utility to myself, and so much utility to other men. But I do not -regard him as the brother of my soul: I do not feel that my life is -bound up in his: I do not feel as if, were he to die, the whole world -would be at an end to me, and that my happiness would be buried with -him for ever in the darkness of the grave. I am not conscious of those -emotions which are the most exquisite and indescribable the human mind -can experience; and which, being communicated by a sort of electrical -stroke to him who is their object, constitute the solace of all his -cares, the alleviator of all his calamities, the only nectar and truest -balm of human life. For me, he stands alone in the world, having -companions and associates, the connections, as it were, of mercantile -selfishness, or casual jollity and good humour, but no friend. It was -thus that I thought of the stranger. He obtained from me the compassion -due to a human being, and the respect extorted by his qualities, but -nothing calculated radically to disturb the equilibrium of the mind. I -looked forward to his death with unruffled thoughts and an unmoistened -eye. There was one thing indeed that shook me more deeply; the thought -of losing the promised reward, and of having exposed myself to the evil -of an unquiet and dissatisfied mind in vain. - -I rested but a few hours before I set out again upon the search, -to which the interposition of the darkness of the preceding night -had put an abrupt close. I had the precaution to take with me a -slight provision of food and cordials, believing that, if I found -the stranger, he would at least be in the greatest need of something -reviving and restorative. Charles earnestly intreated to assist me in -the search, but upon this I put a peremptory prohibition. It would have -been in direct contradiction to what the stranger had most solemnly -required of me. - -I had already spent several hours in anxiously tracing the wood in -every direction; and the period of noon was past, when, approaching -an obscure and almost impenetrable thicket, my ear was caught by a -low and melancholy sound, which at first I knew not to what I was to -ascribe. It however arrested my attention, and caused me to assume an -attitude of listening. After the lapse of little more than a minute, -the same sound was repeated. I now distinctly perceived that it was -the groan of some creature in a very feeble and exhausted state, and -immediately suspected that it was the stranger. I went almost round the -thicket before I could discern an entrance, and, though I looked with -the utmost care, could perceive nothing that the thicket inclosed. The -groan was repeated a third time. The long intervals between the groans -gave a peculiar melancholy to the effect, and each seemed so much lower -than the groan before, that nothing but the ear of anxious attention -would have caught it; at the same time that the tone conveyed an idea -of stupified, yet vital, anguish. At length I perceived the legs and -something of the garb of a man. It was the stranger! He appeared to -have crept into the thicket upon his hands and knees. When I forced -my way to him, he seemed in the very act of expiring. He was lying on -his face, and I raised him a little. His eyes were fixed; his mouth -was open; his lips and tongue were parched and dry. I infused a few -drops of a cordial into his mouth. For a moment it appeared to produce -no sensation, but presently my patient uttered a deep and long-drawn -sigh. I repeated my application. As a principal cause of the condition -in which I found him was inanition, the stimulant I administered -produced a powerful effect. He moved his hands, shuddered, turned his -eyes languidly upon me, and, having appeared to recognise me, shut -them hastily again. I moved him slowly and softly into a freer air, -and bathed his temples with one of the liquids I had about me. By this -time he looked up, and then suddenly round him with a wild and hurried -air. He spoke not however; he was speechless. In about a quarter of -an hour he relapsed into convulsions, in which it seemed probable he -would expire. They lasted a considerable time, and he then sunk into -a state of insensibility. I thought he was dead. Thus circumstanced, -it was some relief to my humanity to have found him yet alive, and to -have received his parting breath. But in a moment his secret and his -promises recurred to me with inexpressible anguish, and I inwardly -reproached him for having deferred his communication so long, as now -to preclude its ever being made. I cannot describe the keenness, the -burning and intolerable bitterness, of my sensation. Keen it may well -be supposed to have been, from its having so instantaneously and -forcibly recurred at a time when other objects seemed to press upon my -senses. No one who has not felt what it is to fall in a moment from -hope, or, as I should rather say, from assured possession of what his -soul most loved and desired, into black and interminable despair, can -imagine what was then the state of my mind. The body of my patient -slided from my nerveless arms; I lifted up the eyes of rage and -phrensy, as if to curse the Author of my being; and then fell helpless -and immoveable by the side of the stranger. - -I felt him move; I heard him sigh. I lifted up my head, and perceived -stronger marks of life and sense about him than had yet displayed -themselves. I threw my arms about him; I pressed him to my heart. The -emphatical gesture I used seemed to have a sort of magnetical force -to rouse his dying powers. With a little assistance from me he sat -upright. My assiduity produced wonders: it fortunately happened that -this thicket was but a half a mile from my habitation, and indeed was -one of the spots which I had searched without success the day before. -About the hour of sunset, partly by leading, and partly by supporting -him, I restored my guest to his former apartment. - -He remained speechless, or nearly so. He vented his sensations in -sighs, in inward and inarticulate sounds; and even when he arrived -at the power of making himself understood by words, it was only by -monosyllables and half sentences that he conveyed to me his meaning. -I now gave up my time almost entirely to an assiduous attendance on -the stranger. Every day I expected to be his last; every day was more -or less interspersed with symptoms that seemed to menace his instant -dissolution. During all this time I remained in the anxious suspense -of contending hope and fear. Was it probable that he would ever -recover strength enough to confer on me the legacy he had announced? -The particulars of his secret I knew not; but, judging from what I -had heard of the pretences and pursuits of alchemy, it was natural to -suppose that he had a process to communicate, which would require on -his part considerable accuracy of recollection, as well as the power of -delivering himself in a methodical and orderly discourse. - -I was fortunate enough however to perceive, after a tormenting and -tedious crisis, that he appeared to be in a progress of convalescence, -and that his strength both of body and mind were recruited daily. After -the lapse of a fortnight from the adventure of the wood, he one evening -addressed me in the following manner:-- - -“St. Leon, I have been to blame. I have put you to a sufficient -trial; I have received from you every assistance and kindness that my -situation demanded; I have imposed on you much trouble and anxiety; I -have excited your expectations by announcing to you in part what it -was in my power to bestow; and I have finally risked the defrauding -your hopes and your humanity of their just reward. Do me the justice -however to remember, that I had no presentiment of the event which has -so inauspiciously come between you and your hopes. Fool that I was, I -imagined I had suffered enough, and that, as I had obtained a longer -respite from external persecution than I almost ever experienced, -I should be permitted to spend the short remainder of my days -uninterrupted! I now however look back upon this last assault with -complacency. It has cut off something from the last remnant of a life -to the close of which I look forward with inexpressible longing; at -the same time that I am still in prospect of obtaining the final wish -of my heart--the stealing out of the world unperceived, and thus in -some measure eluding the last malice of my enemies. After my death I -have but one injunction to leave with you--the injunction of Hercules -to Philoctetes--that no inducement may move you to betray to mortal -man the place in which you shall have deposited my ashes. Bury them -in a spot which I will describe to you: it is not far, and is only -recommended to me by its almost inaccessible situation: and that once -done, speak of me and, if possible, think of me no more. Never on any -account mention me or allude to me; never describe me, or relate the -manner of our meeting, or the adventure which has at length brought on -the desired close of my existence. - -“Believe me, in the feeble and helpless condition in which I have spent -the last fortnight, your wishes and expectations have been uppermost -in my mind, and there is nothing I have felt with so much compunction -as the danger of leaving them unsatisfied. To you perhaps I at present -appear to be rapidly recovering, I feel the dart of death in my vitals; -I know I shall not live four days. It is necessary therefore that I -should finish without delay all that remains for me to finish. I will -devote this night to the arranging my thoughts and putting in order -what I have to communicate, that no mistake or omission may have part -in a transaction so important. Come to me to-morrow morning; I will be -prepared for you.” - -As soon as I heard this discourse, and provided the stranger with every -thing he could want during the night, I withdrew. My heart was big -with expectation; my thoughts all night were wild and tumultuous. When -the hour of assignation arrived, I hastened along the garden to the -summer-house, conscious that upon that hour depended all the colour of -my future life. Since the stranger had been in his present dangerous -condition, the door was not bolted; it was only locked: the key was -in my possession, and remained night and day attached to my person. I -opened the door; I panted and was breathless. - -I immediately saw that the stranger had undergone some great alteration -for the worse. He had suffered a sort of paralytic affection. He lifted -up his face as I entered; it was paler than I had ever seen it. He -shook his head mournfully, and intimated by signs the disappointment -which this morning must witness. He was speechless. “Fate! fate!” -exclaimed I in an agony of despair, “am I to be for ever baffled? Is -the prize so much longed for and so ardently expected at last to escape -me?”--It is not to be imagined how much these successive, endless -disappointments increased my impatience, and magnified in my eyes the -donation I sought. - -The whole of this and the following day the stranger remained -speechless. The third day, in the morning, he murmured many sounds, -but in a manner so excessively inarticulate, that I was not able to -understand one word in six that he said. I recollected his prediction -that he should die on the fourth day. The fever of my soul was at its -height. Mortal sinews and fibres could sustain no more. If the stranger -had died thus, it is most probable that I should have thrown myself in -anguish and rage upon his corpse, and have expired in the same hour. - -In the evening of the third day I visited him again. He had thrown his -robe around him, and was sitting on the side of his couch. The evening -sun shot his last beams over the window-shutters. There were about -eight inches between the shutter and the top of the window; and some -branches of vines, with their grapes already ripe, broke the uniformity -of the light. The side of the couch faced the west, and the beams -played upon the old man’s countenance. I had never seen it so serene. -The light, already softened by the decline of day, gave it a peculiar -animation: and a smile that seemed to betoken renovation and the youth -of angels sat upon it. He beckoned me to approach. I placed myself -beside him on the couch; he took my hand in his, and leaned his face -towards me. - -“I shall never witness the light of the setting sun again!” were the -first words he uttered. I immediately perceived that he spoke more -collectedly, and with better articulation than at any time since the -paralytic stroke. Still however it was no easy matter to develop his -words. But I wound up every faculty of my frame to catch them; and, -assisted as I was by the habit of listening to his speech for many -weeks, which during the whole of that time had never been distinct, I -was successful enough to make out his entire discourse. - -It continued, though with various interruptions, for more than half an -hour. He explained with wonderful accuracy the whole of his secrets, -and the process with which they were connected. My soul was roused to -the utmost stretch of attention and astonishment. His secrets, as I -have already announced in the commencement of this history, consisted -of two principal particulars; the art of multiplying gold, and the -power of living for ever. The detail of these secrets I omit; into -that I am forbidden to enter. My design in writing this narrative, I -have said, is not to teach the art of which I am in possession, but to -describe the adventures it produced to me. - -The more I listened, the more my astonishment grew. I looked at the -old man before me; I observed the wretchedness of his appearance, the -meanness of his attire, his apparent old age, his extreme feebleness, -the characters of approaching death that were written on his -countenance. After what I had just heard, I surveyed these things with -a sensation of novelty, as if I had never remarked them in him before. -I said to myself, Is this the man that possesses mines of wealth -inexhaustible, and the capacity of living for ever? - -Observing that he had finished his discourse, I addressed to him these -words, by a sort of uncontrollable impulse, and with all the vehemence -of unsated and insuppressible curiosity. - -“Tell me, I adjure you by the living God, what use have you made of -these extraordinary gifts? and with what events has that use been -attended?” - -As I spoke thus, the countenance of the old man underwent a surprising -change. Its serenity vanished; his eyes rolled with an expression of -agony; and he answered me thus:-- - -“Be silent, St. Leon! How often must I tell you that no single -incident of my story shall ever be repeated! Have I no claim upon your -forbearance? Can you be barbarous and inhuman enough to disturb my last -scene with these bitter recollections?”--I was silent. - -This is all that is material that passed at our interview. - -The stranger died the next day, and was buried according to his -instructions. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -From the moment of my last interview with the stranger I was another -creature. My thoughts incessantly rolled upon his communications. They -filled me with astonishment and joy, almost to bursting. I was unable -to contain myself; I was unable to remain in any posture or any place. -I could scarcely command myself sufficiently to perform the last duties -to his body in the manner he had directed. I paced with eager step the -sands of the lake; I climbed the neighbouring hills, and then descended -with inconceivable rapidity to the vales below; I traced with fierce -impatience the endless mazes of the wood in which I so hardly recovered -my bewildered guest. The uninterruptedness and celerity of bodily -motion seemed to communicate some ease to my swelling heart. - -Yet there was one thing I wanted. I wanted some friendly bosom into -which to pour out my feelings, and thus by participation to render my -transports balsamic and tolerable. But this was for ever denied me. No -human ear must ever be astonished with the story of my endowments and -my privileges. I may whisper it to the woods and the waters, but not -in the face of man. Not only am I bound to suppress the knowledge of -the important secret I possess, but even the feelings, the ruminations, -the visions, that are for ever floating in my soul. It is but a vain -and frivolous distinction upon which I act, when I commit to this -paper my history, and not the science which is its corner-stone. The -reason why the science may not be divulged is obvious. Exhaustless -wealth, if communicated to all men, would be but an exhaustless heap -of pebbles and dust; and nature will not admit her everlasting laws -to be so abrogated, as they would be by rendering the whole race of -sublunary man immortal. But I am bound, as far as possible, not only -to hide my secrets, but to conceal that I have any to hide. Senseless -paper! be thou at least my confidant! To thee I may impart what my soul -spurns the task to suppress. The human mind insatiably thirsts for a -confidant and a friend. It is no matter that these pages shall never he -surveyed by other eyes than mine. They afford at least the semblance of -communication and the unburthening of the mind; and I will press the -illusion fondly and for ever to my heart. - -To return to the explanation of my feelings immediately after receiving -possession of my grand acquisition; for, without that explanation, -the spirit and meaning of my subsequent narrative will scarcely be -sufficiently apprehended. - -“Happy, happy, happy man!” exclaimed I, in the midst of my wanderings -and reveries. “Wealth! thy power Is unbounded and inconceivable. All -men bow down to thee; the most stubborn will is by thee rendered pliant -as wax; all obstacles are melted down and dissolved by the ardour of -thy beams! The man that possesses thee, finds every path level before -him, and every creature burning to anticipate his wishes: but if these -are the advantages that wealth imparts to such as possess only those -scanty portions which states and nations allow to the richest, how -enviable must his condition be, whose wealth is literally exhaustless -and infinite! He possesses really the blessing, which priestcraft and -superstition have lyingly pronounced upon the charitable: he may give -away the revenues of princes, and not be the poorer. He possesses the -attribute which we are accustomed to ascribe to the Creator of the -universe: he may say to a man, ‘Be rich,’ and he is rich. He can bestow -with equal facility the smallest gifts and the greatest. Palaces, as -if they were the native exhalations of the soil, rise out of the earth -at his bidding. He holds the fate of nations and of the world in his -hand. He can remove forests, and level mountains, drain marshes, extend -canals, turn the course of rivers, and shut up the sea with doors. He -can assign to every individual in a nation the task he pleases, can -improve agriculture, and establish manufactures, can found schools, -and hospitals, and infirmaries, and universities. He can study the -genius of every man, and enable every man to pursue the bent of his -mind. Poets and philosophers will be fostered, the sublimest flights of -genius be produced, and the most admirable discoveries effected, under -his auspicious patronage. The whole world are his servants, and he, -if his temper be noble and upright, will be the servant of the whole -world. Nay, it cannot happen otherwise. He has as few temptations to -obliquity as omnipotence itself. Weakness and want are the parents of -vice. But he possesses every thing; he cannot better his situation; no -man can come into rivalship or competition with him. I thank God, I -have known the extremes of poverty, and therefore am properly qualified -to enjoy my present happiness. I have felt a reverse of fortune, -driving me in one instance to insanity, in another instance threatening -to destroy me, my wife, and children together, with the plague of -hunger. My heart has been racked with never-dying remorse; because, by -my guilt and folly, my children have been deprived of the distinction -and rank to which they were born, and plunged in remediless obscurity. -Heaven has seen my sufferings, and at length has graciously said, ‘It -is enough.’ Because I have endured more than man ever endured from -the privation of fortune, God in his justice has reserved for me this -secret of the transmutation of metals. I can never again fall into that -wretchedness, by which my understanding was subverted, and my heart was -broken.” - -From this part of the legacy of the stranger, my mind reverted to the -other. I surveyed my limbs, all the joints and articulations of my -frame, with curiosity and astonishment. “What!” exclaimed I, “these -limbs, this complicated but brittle frame, shall last for ever! No -disease shall attack it; no pain shall seize it; death shall withhold -from it for ever his abhorred grasp! Perpetual vigour, perpetual -activity, perpetual youth, shall take up their abode with me! Time -shall generate in me no decay, shall not add a wrinkle to my brow, -or convert a hair of my head to grey! This body was formed to die; -this edifice to crumble into dust; the principles of corruption and -mortality are mixed up in every atom of my frame. But for me the laws -of nature are suspended; the eternal wheels of the universe roll -backward; I am destined to be triumphant over fate and time! - -“Months, years, cycles, centuries! To me all these are but as -indivisible moments. I shall never become old; I shall always be, -as it were, in the porch and infancy of existence; no lapse of years -shall subtract any thing from my future duration. I was born under -Louis the Twelfth; the life of Francis the First now threatens a speedy -termination; he will be gathered to his fathers, and Henry his son will -succeed him. But what are princes and kings and generations of men to -me? I shall become familiar with the rise and fall of empires; in a -little while the very name of France, my country, will perish from the -face of the earth, and men will dispute about the situation of Paris, -as they dispute about the site of ancient Nineveh and Babylon and Troy. -Yet I shall still be young. I shall take my most distant posterity -by the hand; I shall accompany them in their career; and, when they -are worn out and exhausted, shall shut up the tomb over them, and set -forward.” - -There was something however in this part of my speculation that -did not entirely please me. Methought the race of mankind looked -too insignificant in my eyes. I felt a degree of uneasiness at the -immeasurable distance that was put between me and the rest of my -species. I found myself alone in the world. Must I for ever live -without a companion, a friend, any one with whom I can associate upon -equal terms, with whom I can have a community of sensations, and -feelings, and hopes, and desires, and fears? I experienced something, -less than a wish, yet a something very capable of damping my joy, that -I also were subject to mortality. I could have been well content to be -partaker with a race of immortals, but I was not satisfied to be single -in this respect. I was not pleased to recollect how trivial would -appear to me those concerns of a few years, about which the passions of -men are so eagerly occupied. I did not like the deadness of heart that -seemed to threaten me. I began to be afraid of vacancy and torpor, and -that my life would become too uniformly quiet. Nor did it sufficiently -console me to recollect that, as one set of friends died off the stage, -another race would arise to be substituted in their stead. I felt that -human affections and passions are not made of this transferable stuff, -and that we can love nothing truly, unless, we devote ourselves to it -heart and soul, and our life is, as it, were, bound up in the object of -our attachment. - -It was worse when I recollected my wife and my children. When I -considered for the first time that they were now in a manner nothing to -me, I felt a sensation that might be said to mount to anguish. How can -a man attach himself to any thing, when he comes to consider it as the -mere plaything and amusement of the moment! In this statement however I -am not accurate. Habit is more potent than any theoretical speculation. -Past times had attached me deeply, irrevocably, to all the members of -my family. But I felt that I should survive them all. They would die -one by one, and leave me alone. I should drop into their graves the -still renewing tear of anguish. In that tomb would my heart be buried. -Never, never, through the countless ages of eternity, should I form -another attachment. In the happy age of delusion, happy and auspicious -at least to the cultivation of the passions, when I felt that I also -was a mortal, I was capable of a community of sentiments and a going -forth of the heart. But how could I, an immortal, hope ever hereafter -to feel a serious, an elevating and expansive passion for the ephemeron -of an hour! - -As the first tumult of my thoughts subsided, I began, as is usual -with persons whose minds are turned loose in the search of visionary -happiness, to picture to myself, more steadily and with greater -minuteness, the objects I would resolve early to accomplish. I would in -the first place return to France, my adored country, the residence of -my ancestors, whose annals they had adorned, whose plains had witnessed -their heroic feats, and whose earth enclosed their ashes. To France I -was endeared by every tie that binds the human heart; her language had -been the prattle of my infancy; her national manners and temper were -twined with the fibres of my constitution, and could not be rooted -out; I felt that every Frenchman that lived was my brother. Banishment -had only caused these prejudices to strike their tendrils deeper in my -heart. I knew not that I should finally limit my abode to France. A -man who, like Melchisedec, is “without end of life,” may well consider -himself as being also, like him, “without father, without mother, and -without descent.” But at all events I would first fix my children, who -did not participate in my privileges, in their native soil. I would -reside there myself, at least till they were fully disposed of, and -till the admirable partner of the last seventeen years of my life had -resigned her breath. I would immediately repurchase the property of my -ancestors, which had been so distressfully resigned. The exile should -return from his seven years’ banishment in triumph and splendour. I -would return to the court of my old patron and friend, the gallant -Francis, and present to him my boy, the future representative of my -family, now one year older than I had been at the field of the Cloth of -Gold. Though an exile from my country, I had not been an inattentive -witness of her fortunes. The year fifteen hundred and forty-four -was a remarkable and interesting year in the history of France. The -endless animosities of Francis and the emperor had broken out with -new fury about two years before. In the spring of the present year, -the count d’Anguien had won a battle in Piedmont[8], in which ten -thousand imperialists were left dead upon the field, and which might -be considered as having at length effaced the defeat of Pavia, in the -same part of the world nineteen years before. The moment it had been -announced that a battle was resolved on, the young nobility of France, -with their characteristic ardour, had hurried to the scene, and the -court of Paris was, in an instant as it were, turned into a desert. -On the other hand, the emperor and the king of England had concerted -for the same season a formidable plan of attack against our northern -frontier. With an army of twenty-five thousand men respectively, the -one on the side of Champagne, and the other of Picardy, they agreed -to advance directly into the heart of the kingdom, and to unite their -forces in the neighbourhood of Paris. The last intelligence that had -reached me was, that Château Thierry, about twenty leagues from the -metropolis, was in the hands of the emperor, and that the inhabitants -of the capital, filled with consternation, were seeking their safety -by flight in every direction. These circumstances had passed idly by -me, and left little impression, so long as I considered myself as an -obscure peasant cut off for ever from the bosom of my country. But, -vested with the extraordinary powers now intrusted to me, the case was -altered. I felt even a greater interest in my sovereign, now pressed -down with disease and calamity, yet retaining the original alacrity -and confidence of his soul, than I had done, when I saw him in all the -pride of youth, and all the splendour of prosperity. I was anxious that -Charles should now enter into his service; and I determined once again -to assume the cuirass and the falchion, that I might be the instructor -of his youth, and his pattern in feats of war. I resolved that my -shepherd-boy, bred in obscurity among woods and mountains, should burst -with sudden splendour upon his countrymen, and prove in the field -his noble blood and generous strain. I also proposed to myself, both -out of sympathy for my king, and to give greater éclat to my son’s -entrance into life, to replenish with my treasures the empty coffers of -France, and thus to furnish what at this period seemed to be the main -spring upon which the fortune of war depended. With the advantages I -could afford him, the career of Charles could not fail to be rapid and -illustrious, and he would undoubtedly obtain the staff of constable -of France, the possessor of which, Montmorency, was now in disgrace. -I would marry my daughters to such of the young nobility as I should -find most distinguished in talents and spotless in character. When, by -the death of her I most loved, my affections should be weaned from my -country, and the scenes to which I had been accustomed were rendered -painful and distressing, I would then set out upon my travels. I would -travel with such splendour and profusion of expense (for this, though -mortified in me by a reverse of many years’ duration, continued to be -the foible of my heart) as should supersede the necessity of letters -of recommendation, and secure me a favourable reception wherever I -appeared. I might spend a life, in a manner, in every country that was -fortunate enough to allure my stay, spreading improvements, dispensing -blessings, and causing all distress and calamity to vanish from before -me. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -My mind was occupied in these and similar reveries for several weeks -after the death of the stranger. My wife and children had hoped, -after that event, that I should have returned to the habits which had -pervaded the last six years of my existence, and which they had felt so -eminently productive of gratification and delight. In this hope they -found themselves deceived. My domestic character was, for the present -at least, wholly destroyed. I had a subject of contemplation that did -not admit of a partaker, and from this subject I could not withdraw -my thoughts, so much as for an instant. I had no pleasure but in that -retirement, where I could be unseen and unheard by any human eye or -ear. If at any time I was compelled to join the domestic circle, I -despatched the occasion that brought me there as speedily as possible; -and even while I remained in it, was silent and absent, engrossed with -my own contemplations, and heedless and unobservant of every thing -around me. - -My abstraction was not however so entire as to prevent me from -sometimes stealing, in a sort of momentary interregnum of thought, in -that pause where the mind rests upon the chain already passed over, -and seems passively to wait for the sequel, a glance at my family. I -looked at them without knowing what it was that I did, and without -the intention to notice what I saw. Yet, even in this state of mental -abstraction, visible objects will sometimes succeed in making their -impression. I perceived that my wife and children suffered from my -behaviour. I remarked a general air of disconsolateness, and a mild -unexpostulating submission, to what nevertheless the heart deeply -deplored. They did not presume to interrupt me; they did not by prying -and inquisitive speeches attempt to extort from me the secret of the -alteration they saw; but it was manifest they conceived some great and -radical calamity had poisoned the heart of our domestic joy. - -It was these symptoms thus remarked by me, that first roused me from -the inebriation of my new condition. I was compelled to suspect that, -while I revelled in visions of future enjoyment, I was inflicting -severe and unmerited pains on those I loved. It was necessary, if -I valued their happiness, that I should descend from the clouds of -speculation and fancy, and enter upon the world of realities. - -But here I first found a difficulty to which, during the reign of my -intoxication, I had been utterly insensible. I was rich; I could raise -my family, as far as the power of money extended,--money, which may -in some sense be styled the empress of the world,--to what heights I -pleased. I had hitherto committed the fault, so common to projectors, -of looking only to ultimate objects and great resting places, and -neglecting to consider the steps between. This was an omission of high -importance. Every thing in the world is conducted by gradual process. -This seems to be the great principle of harmony in the universe. -Nothing is abrupt; one thing is so blended and softened into another, -that it is impossible to say where the former ends and the latter -begins. - -This remark is fully applicable to the situation which was now -before me. Yesterday I was poor; to-day I was possessor of treasures -inexhaustible. How was this alteration to be announced? To dissipate -the revenues of princes, to purchase immense estates, to launch into -costly establishments, are tasks to which the most vulgar mind is -equal. But no man stands alone in the world, without all trace of -what he has been, and with no one near, that thinks himself entitled -to scrutinise his proceedings and his condition. Least of all was -this my case. I was bound to certain other persons by the most sacred -obligations; I could not separate myself from them; I could not render -myself a mere enigma in their eyes; though, in the language of the -world, the head of my family, they were my natural censors and judges. -I was accountable to them for my conduct; it was my duty, paramount to -all other duties, to stand as a fair, upright, and honourable character -in their estimation. - -If these remarks be true taken in a general view, they are much more so -when applied to my particular case. There are men who live in the midst -of their families like an eastern despot surrounded with his subjects. -They are something too sacred to be approached; their conduct is not -to be reasoned upon; the amount of their receipts and disbursements is -not to be inspected; their resources are unknown; no one must say to -them, What dost thou? or, why hast thou thus conducted thyself? Even -these persons will not escape the tax to which all men are liable. -They cannot kill the general spirit of enquiry; the mystery in which -they wrap themselves will often serve as an additional stimulus; they -will finally encounter the judgment and verdict of all. For myself, -I had lived in the midst of my family upon a system of paternal and -amicable commerce. I had suffered too deeply from a momentary season -of separation and mystery, not to have been induced to renounce it -decisively and for ever. - -Firm, however, as I had imagined my renunciation to have been, I was -now thrown back upon what I had most avoided. I had a secret source -of advantage, the effects of which were to be participated by those I -loved, while the spring was to remain for ever unknown. What I most -sought upon this occasion, was, that my family should share my good -fortune, and at the same time be prevented from so much as suspecting -that there was any thing mysterious connected with it. To effect -this, I presently conceived that it would be necessary to sacrifice -the sudden and instantaneous prosperity I had proposed to myself, -and introduce the reverse of our condition by slow, and, as far as -possible, insensible degrees. - -One thing on which I determined, preparatory to the other measures -I had in view, was to remove from my present habitation, and take -up my residence for a time in the city of Constance. In the cottage -of the mountains it was impossible to make any material alteration -in my establishment. My property was of the narrowest extent; nor -would it be easily practicable in a country, the inhabitants of -which were accustomed to a humble allotment, considerably to enlarge -it. My house was frugal, if not mean; and, unless it were first -pulled down and built over again, the idea of introducing servants, -equipage, or splendour into it, would be absurd. My design was not -to make a long abode where I now was; but, as soon as my family -should be sufficiently prepared for the transition, to return to my -native country. I believed in the mean time, that, in the capital -of the bishopric, where my name was scarcely remembered by a single -individual, I should be more at liberty to proceed as circumstances -suggested, than in my present rural situation, where every neighbour -regarded himself as vested with a sort of inquisitorial power over all -around him. - -To account for this measure to my family, I felt it incumbent on me -to confess to them a certain pecuniary acquisition. The story that -most readily suggested itself, was that of the stranger having left -behind him a certain sum of which he made a donation to me. This, -though in the plain and direct sense of the terms it were false, yet -in its spirit bore a certain resemblance to the truth; and, with that -resemblance, in spite of the rigid adherence to veracity, that first -ornament of a gentleman, that most essential prerequisite to the -regard and affection of others, which I had hitherto maintained, I was -induced to content myself. What could I do? I was compelled to account -for appearances; I was forbidden by the most solemn injunctions to -unfold the truth. I should indeed have felt little complacence in the -disclosure; I should have been reluctant to announce a circumstance -which, as I began to feel, introduced a permanent difference and -separation between me and my family. - -The sum at which I fixed the legacy of the stranger was three thousand -crowns. I was not inattentive to the future; I should have been glad, -by my present account, to have furnished a more ample solution for -circumstances which might occur hereafter. But some regard was due -to probability. An unknown, a solitary man, broken with age, who -arrived on foot, and who declined all aid and attendance, must not be -represented as possessing mines of treasure. - -It was some time before I could prevail on myself to break my story to -the inhabitants of my cottage. As the time approached when I was to -bid an everlasting farewell to rural obscurity and a humble station, -they seemed to adorn themselves in new charms. I was like the son of a -king, who had hitherto been told by his attendants that he was a mere -villager, and who, while his youthful imagination is dazzled by the -splendour that awaits him, yet looks back with a wistful eye upon his -mirthful sports, his former companions, and the simple charms of her -who first obtained his guileless love. I announced my acquisition and -my purpose with a faltering tongue and a beating heart. - -I could perceive that my tale produced few emotions of pleasure in -those who heard it. Julia and her mother, especially, were warmly -attached to their retirement; and the scenes which had witnessed -so many pleasurable incidents and emotions. Chagrin, in spite of -themselves, made a transient abode upon their countenances; but the -unresisting mildness of the one, and the considerate attachment of the -other, prevented, for the present, their sensations from breaking out -into words. The feelings, however, that they consigned to silence, did -not entirely escape the notice of the lively little Marguerite. She -sympathised with them, probably without being aware that they were -sad. She came towards me, and, with much anxiety in her enquiring -face, asked why we must go away from the cottage? If I had got some -money I might go to the town, and buy sweetmeats, and ribands, and new -clothes, and a hundred more pretty things, and bring them home. For -her part, she should be better pleased to put on her finery, and make -her feast in the pretty old summer-house, now she was again permitted -to go and play in it, than in a palace all stuck over with emeralds -and rubies. Her mother wiped away a tear at the innocent speech of her -darling, kissed her, and bid her go and feed the hen and her chickens. -Charles was the only one in whom I could observe any pleasure at -my intelligence. He was not as yet skilful enough to calculate the -advantages that three thousand crowns could purchase. But I could see -joy sparkle in his eyes, as I announced my intention of bidding adieu -to retirement, and taking up my rest in the capital of the district. -His veins swelled with the blood of his ancestors; his mind was inured -to the contemplation of their prowess. Already sixteen years of age, -he had secretly burned to go forth into the world, to behold the -manners of his species, and to establish for himself a claim to some -rank in their estimation. He had pined in thought at the mediocrity -of our circumstances, and the apparent impossibility of emerging; for -he regarded the duty of contributing his labour to the subsistence of -the family, as the first of all obligations; and the more the bent of -his spirit struggled against it, the more resolutely he set himself to -comply. - -The rest of the family were no sooner retired, than Marguerite, finding -in what I had just announced to all, an occasion from the use of which -she could not excuse herself, took this opportunity of unburthening the -grief which had long been accumulating in her mind. - -“St. Leon,” said she, “listen kindly to what I am going to say to -you, and assure yourself that I am actuated by no spleen, resentment, -or ill-humour, but by the truest affection. I perceive I have lost, -in your apprehension, the right of advising you. I am no longer -the partner of your counsels; I am no longer the confident of your -thoughts. You communicate nothing but what you cannot suppress; and -that you communicate to your whole family assembled. Heaven knows how -dear to me is every individual of that family! but my love for them -does not hide from me what is due to myself. I know that a husband, who -felt as a husband ought, and, give me leave to say, as I have deserved -you should feel towards me, could not act as you have acted to-night. - -“You must excuse my reminding you of some things which you seem to have -forgotten. I would not mention them, if they had not been forgotten -when they ought to have been remembered. I have lived seventeen years -with you; my whole study had been your advantage and pleasure. Have -you any thing to reproach me with? Point out to me, if in any thing I -could have added to your pleasure, and have neglected it! What I have -done, has not been the ceremonious discharge of a duty; it has been -the pure emanation of an attachment that knew no bounds. I have passed -with you through good fortune and ill fortune. When we were rich, I -entered with my whole heart into your pleasures, because they were -yours. When we were poor, I endured every hardship without a murmur; I -watched by you, I consoled you, I reconciled you to yourself. I do not -mean to make a merit of all this: no! Reginald! I could not have acted -otherwise if I would. - -“Do me the justice to recollect, that I have not been a complaining or -irritable companion. In all our adversities, in the loss of fortune, -and the bitter consequences of that loss, I never uttered a reproachful -word. What poverty, sorrow, hunger and famine never extorted from me, -you have at length wrung from my bleeding heart. St. Leon! I have known -your bosom-thoughts. In no former instance has your affection or your -confidence been alienated from me; and that consoled me for all the -rest. But now, for three months, the case has been entirely altered. -You have during all that time been busy, pensive, and agitated; but I -have been as much a stranger to your meditations as if I had never been -accustomed to be their depository. You have not scrupled to inflict a -wound upon me that no subsequent change will ever be able to cicatrise. -Nor indeed do I see any likelihood of a change. You announce our -removal to Constance; what we are to do next, with what views, or for -what purpose, I am ignorant. - -“I have made my election. My heart is formed for affection, and must -always feel an uneasy void and desolation without it. If you had thus -robbed me of your attachment in an early period of our intercourse, I -know not upon what extremity my disappointment and anguish might have -driven me. They are harder to bear now; but I submit. It is too late -either for relief or remedy. What remains of my powers and my strength -I owe to my children. I will not seduce them from their father. They -may be benefited by his purse or his understanding, though, like me, -they should be deprived of his affection. You may be their friend when -I am no more. I feel that this will not last long. I feel that the main -link that bound me to existence cannot be snapped, and thus snapped by -unkindness worse than death, without promising soon to put a period to -my miseries. I shall be your victim in death, after having devoted my -life to you, in a way in which few women were ever devoted to their -husbands. - -“But this is not what I purposed chiefly to say. This is what my -situation and my feelings have unwillingly wrung from me. Though you -have injured me in the tenderest point, I still recollect what you -were to me. I still feel deeply interested in your welfare, and the -fair fame you are to transmit to your children. I entreat you then to -reflect deeply, before you proceed further. You seem to me to stand -upon a precipice; nor do the alteration that has taken place in your -manners, and the revolution of your heart, lead me to augur favourably -of the plans you have formed. What is this stranger? Whence came he? -Why did he hide himself, and why was he pursued by the officers of -justice? Had he no relations? Was his bequest of the sum he had about -him his own act, and who is the witness to its deliberateness or its -freedom? You must not think that the world is inattentive to the -actions of men or their circumstances; if it were, the fame we prize -would be an empty bauble. No, sir, a fair fame can only be secured by -unequivocal proceedings. What will, what can, be thought of your giving -shelter to an unknown, a man accused of crimes, a man never beheld even -by an individual of your own family, and upon the strength of whose -alleged bequest you are about to change the whole mode of your life? - -“Nor, Reginald, must you think me credulous enough to imagine that -you have now disclosed the whole or the precise truth. Three thousand -crowns is not a sum sufficient to account for what you propose, for -the long agitation of your thoughts, or for the change of character -you have sustained. You must either be totally deprived of rational -judgment, or there must be something behind, that you have not -communicated. What do you purpose in going to reside in the midst of a -city foreign to the manners of a Frenchman, distracted with internal -broils, and embittered to us by the recollection of the extremities -we personally suffered in it? Is your ambition sunk so low, that it -can be gratified by such a transition? No; you mean more than you -have announced; you mean something you are unwilling to declare. -Consider that meaning well! Put me out of the question! I am nothing, -and no longer desire to be any thing. But do not involve yourself in -indelible disgrace, or entail upon your memory the curses of your -children!” - -What a distress was mine, who, in return to so generous and noble an -expostulation, could impart no confidence, and indulge no sincerity! -I felt a misery, of which, till this hour, I had been unable to form -a conception. Fool that I was, I had imagined that, when endowed with -the bequests of the stranger, no further evil could approach me! I had, -in my visionary mood, created castles and palaces, and expatiated in -the most distant futurity! and here I was, stopped and disappointed at -the threshold, in the very first step of my proceedings. What I could -however I did; I poured forth to Marguerite, not the secrets of my -understanding, but the overpowering emotions of my soul. - -“Best, most adorable of women!” cried I, “how you rend my heart with -the nobleness of your remonstrances! Never was man blessed with a -partner so accomplished and exemplary as I have been! Do you think -your merits can ever be obliterated from my memory? Do you think the -feelings of gratitude and admiration can ever be weakened in my bosom, -or that the strength and singleness of my attachment can suffer decay? -Bear me witness, Heaven! I know no creature on the face of the earth -that can enter into competition with you; there is not the thing -in nature that I prize in comparison. I love you a thousand times -better than myself, and would die with joy to purchase your ease and -satisfaction. I can never repay the benefits you have conferred on me; -I can never rise to an equality with you. - -“What anguish then do you inflict upon me, when you talk of becoming -the victim of my unkindness? Believe you I can endure, after having -dissipated your patrimony and drawn you with me into exile, after -having experienced from you a tenderness such as man never in any other -instance obtained from woman, to entertain the idea of embittering the -remainder of your life, and shortening your existence? I should regard -myself as the most execrable of monsters. I could not live under the -recollection of so unheard-of a guilt. If you would not have me abhor -myself and curse existence, live, confide in me, and be happy! - -“Oh, Marguerite! how wretched and pitiable is my situation! Make some -allowance for me! I have a secret that I would give worlds to utter, -but dare not. Do not imagine that there is, or can be, any decay in my -affection! Confide in me! Allow to necessity, what never, never could -be the result of choice! In all things else, you shall know my inmost -heart, as you possess the boundless and unalterable affections of my -soul.” - -Marguerite was somewhat, but not wholly, soothed by the earnestness of -my protestations. She saw, for the prescience of the heart is never -deceived, that a blow was given to the entireness of our affection, -from which it would never recover. She felt, for in truth and delicacy -of sentiment she was much my superior, that the reserve, in which I -persisted, and for which I deprecated excuse, might be sufficiently -consistent with a vulgar attachment, but would totally change the -nature of ours. She was aware that it related to no ordinary point, -that it formed the pole-star of my conduct, that it must present itself -afresh from day to day, and that in its operation it amounted to a -divorce of the heart. She submitted however, and endeavoured to appear -cheerful. Though she felt the worm of sorrow gnawing her vitals, she -was unwilling to occasion me an uneasiness it was in her power to -withhold. She was struck with the consistency and determination of my -resistance, and expostulated no more. - -We went to Constance. We bade adieu to the scene of a six years’ -happiness, such as the earth has seldom witnessed. I alone had -occasioned some imperfection in that happiness. There were times indeed -when, sitting in affectionate communion with my wife, and surrounded by -my children, my sensations had been as delicious as the state of human -existence ever had to boast. I felt my heart expand; I was conscious to -the unreserved union that subsisted among us; I felt myself identified -with all that I loved, and all for whom my heart was anxious. But the -curse entailed upon me from the earliest period to which my memory can -reach, operated even in the cottage of the lake. I was not formed to -enjoy a scene of pastoral simplicity. Ambition still haunted me; an -uneasiness, scarcely defined in its object, from time to time recurred -to my mind. If I thought I wanted nothing for myself, I deemed a career -of honour due to my children. Again, when I regarded honour as an -empty phantom, and persuaded myself that all conditions of life were -intrinsically equal, I recollected the fearful scene where hunger and -destruction had hung over us in Constance, and in imagination often -pictured to myself that scene as on the point of being renewed. The -sword of the demon, famine, seemed to my disturbed apprehension to be -suspended over us by a hair. Such had been the draught of bitterness -that occasionally detracted from this most enviable, as in retrospect I -am willing to denominate it, period of my existence. - -We quitted our rural retreat, and took up our abode in a prosperous -mercantile city. I hired commodious apartments in one of the grand -squares, not far from the spot where the fairs are usually held. -Undoubtedly there was nothing in this residence very congenial to the -bent of my disposition, or the projects that fermented in my mind. I -had merely chosen it by way of interval, and to soften the transition -from what I had been, to what I purposed to be. In the multitude of -irresolute thoughts with which I laboured, the small distance of -Constance from the cottage of the lake, made me feel as if the removal -thither was one of the gentlest and most moderate measures to which I -could have recourse. - -I had never been less happy and at peace with myself than I was now. -From general society and the ordinary intercourse of acquaintance -I had long been estranged, and it was in vain that I endeavoured -to return to habits of that sort. The society which the city of -Constance afforded had few charms for me. It had no pretensions to the -politeness, the elegance, the learning or the genius, an intercourse -with which had once been familiar to me. It scarcely contained within -its walls any but such as were occupied in merchandise or manufacture. -The attention of its inhabitants were divided between these objects, -and the encroachments which were making upon the ancient religion by -the Confession of Augsburg and the dogmas of Calvin. The majority of -the inhabitants were protestants; and, a few years before, they had -expelled their bishop and the canons of their cathedral. Having however -miscarried in a religious war into which they had entered, these -dignitaries had been reinstalled in their functions and emoluments. The -situation thus produced was an unnatural one; and a storm was evidently -brewing more violent than any which the city had yet sustained. The -gloomy temper and melancholy austerity of the reformers were as little -congenial to my temper, as the sordid ignorance and selfishness of the -trading spirit of the community. - -I therefore lived in a state of seclusion. I endeavoured to seek -amusement in such novelties and occupations as might present -themselves to a person disengaged from the general vortex. But, if -the distinguished sphere in which I had once moved disqualified me -for taking an interest in these puerilities, the anticipations in -which I indulged of the future disqualified me still more. My domestic -scene too no longer afforded me the consolation and relief I had been -accustomed to derive from it. Marguerite exerted herself to appear -cheerful and contented; but it was an exertion. I began to fear that -the arrow of disappointment had indeed struck her to the heart. I was -anxiously occupied in considering what I was to do next. I hoped that -our next step might operate to revive her gaiety, and by additional -splendour amuse her solicitude. I began to fear that I had taken a -wrong method, and entered the career of a better fortune with too much -caution and timidity. At all events I felt that we no longer lived -together as we had done. There was no more opening of the heart between -us, no more infantine guilelessness and sincerity, no more of that -unapprehensive exposure of every thought of the soul, that adds the -purest zest to the pleasures of domestic life. We stood in awe of each -other; each was to the other in some degree an intrusive and unwelcome -spy upon what was secretly passing in the mind. There may be persons -who regard this as an evil very capable of being endured; but they must -be such as never knew the domestic joys I once experienced. The fall -from one of these conditions of life to the other was too bitter. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -Anxious to divert my thoughts from what I hoped was only a temporary -evil, I determined, accompanied by Charles, to make a tour of some of -the cities of Germany. Dresden was the capital to which I was most -desirous of conducting him. Maurice, duke of Saxony, who held his court -there, and who was now only twenty-three years of age, was incomparably -the most accomplished prince of the empire. Desirous as I was that my -only son should fill a distinguished career, I thought I could not -better prepare him for the theatre of his native country, than by thus -initiating him beforehand in scenes of distinction and greatness. - -He was delighted with his tour. We had not proceeded many leagues from -Constance, before, indulging in the bent of my mind, I laid aside -the humbleness of our appearance, and the obscure style in which we -travelled; and having procured a numerous cavalcade of horses and -servants, I set forward with considerable magnificence. We passed -through Munich, Ratisbon, and Prague. At Munich we found the court of -the elector palatine; the diet of the empire was sitting at Ratisbon, -when we arrived at that city. Charles had been almost entirely a -stranger to every thing princely and magnificent from the time he was -nine years of age; and he was now exactly at that period of human life -when external appearances are apt to make the strongest impression. -To him every thing that occurred seemed like transportation into a -new world. The figure we made procured us, as strangers, unquestioned -admission into every circle. We mixed with princes, ourselves in garb -and figure confounded with those we saw. I had lived too much and too -long in the most splendid society, to find difficulty in resuming the -unembarrassed and courtly manners which I had for years laid aside; -and Charles might be said to see his father in a new character. -Novelty prompted his admiration; he was intoxicated with wonder. His -disposition had always led him to bold and adventurous conceptions; -nothing less than an imperious sense of duty could have restrained -him from quitting our cottage, and casting himself upon the world in -search of honour and distinction. His generous heart had beat to burst -away from the obscurity of his station; and it was with impatience -and discontent that he looked forward to the life of a swain. Yet he -knew not how to break through the obstacles that confined him. It was -therefore with transports of pleasure that he saw them vanishing as of -themselves, and the career of glory opening, as if by enchantment, to -his eager steps. - -The court of Dresden was infinitely more delightful to him than the -court of Munich, or the imperial display at Ratisbon. Here Charles -saw a young prince in the flower of his age, whose talents and spirit -rendered him the universal object of attention and adoration. He -remarked, in the fire of his eyes, the vivacity of his gestures, and -the grandeur of his port, something inexpressibly different from those -princes, of whom it is necessary that their rank should be announced -to you by some extrinsic circumstance, that you may not mistake them -for a merchant’s clerk or a city magistrate. The sentiment that he -breathed, as it were instinctively, as we returned from the first time -of our seeing duke Maurice, was, “At twenty-three years of age may I, -in appearance, accomplishments, and spirit, resemble this man!” - -Here I was desirous of making a longer stay than at the cities through -which we had previously passed, and of procuring for my son some -personal intercourse with this great ornament of the age. I judged -this to be the more easy, as, in our first visit to the palace, I had -perceived some French noblemen of the Protestant persuasion, who had -resorted to the duke’s court in search of employment. They appeared not -to know me; but that was little to be wondered at, considering that I -had been seven years absent from my country, and that the calamities by -which I had been overtaken more than once during that period, might be -supposed to have produced a greater effect upon me than the mere lapse -of years would have done. Among the rest I remarked Gaspar de Coligny, -who was only twenty-one years of age at the time I quitted France, -and had then been remarked as one of the most promising young men his -country had to boast. His stay here was expected to be short; his -hopes in his own country, from the greatness of his connections, were -of the highest class; and he had only come to Dresden at the earnest -invitation of duke Maurice, who entertained an ardent affection for -him. My heart led me towards him; policy concurred in dictating the -application, as, if I were fortunate enough to gain his favour, my son -could not have a friend better qualified either to form his character -or forward his advancement. - -I wrote to Coligny to announce my request to him, and in a few hours -after the delivery of my letter that young nobleman came in person -to wait on me. He informed me that he had done so, because he had -something of delicacy to mention, which he did not choose to trust to -the intermission of a third person, and upon which, as he hoped I could -remove his scruple, he did not like even to bestow the formality of -putting it on paper. - -“I am a gentleman of France,” said Coligny; “you will excuse my -frankness. I am a gentleman of France; you will not wonder at the -niceness of my honour. Mixing in society, I do not pretend minutely to -investigate the character of every person with whom I converse; but -what you ask of me obliges me to consult my understanding, and enquire -into facts. I cannot consent to vouch for any man’s character to -another, till I have paid some attention to the ground upon which that -character rests. - -“I remember the count de St. Leon with pleasure and advantage at the -court of my own sovereign. Every one admired his accomplishments, his -gallantry, and his learning; every one spoke of him with respect. -Unfortunate circumstances, as we all understood, deprived you of your -patrimony; that is nothing to me; I respect a nobleman in misfortune, -as much as when he is surrounded with wealth and splendour. You retired -into voluntary exile; I heard, with great grief, of some subsequent -calamities that have overtaken you. But, here in Saxony, I see you -resuming all your former splendour, and coming forward with the -magnificence of a prince. Other of your countrymen have remarked it, -as well as myself, and feel themselves at a loss to account for what -they see. - -“Excuse me, count! by your application to me, you oblige me to speak -freely. I dare say you can clear up the difficulty, and account for -this second revolution in your fortune, upon which I shall then be -the first to congratulate you. I cannot suspect a man, with your high -descent and the illustrious character you formerly maintained, of any -thing dishonourable. But you have not sufficiently considered the -account we all owe to one another, and the clearness of proceeding we -are obliged to maintain, not only to our own hearts, but in the face -of the world. The present occasion is, I trust, fortunate for you; -and, when you have assisted me in complying with the rules by which -every honourable man governs himself, I shall be eager to publish your -justification, and render you all the service in my power.” - -I was ready to burst with astonishment and vexation during this -representation of Coligny. I could feel my colour change from pale to -red, and from red to pale. I could only answer with suffocation and -inward rage, that I was much obliged to him; I would consider what he -said; I would acquaint him with my justification; and, whenever it was -made, he might be assured it should be an ample one.--I was cautious -as to what I uttered; I could not immediately foresee what it was -eligible, or what it was possible, to do; and I was resolved that I -would not, by an idle or hasty expression, preclude myself, in a matter -of so much moment, from the benefits of future deliberation. If what -I had just heard had come from any other person, I should probably -have despised it; but I felt at once that Gaspar de Coligny might be -considered, in a case of this sort, as the representative of all that -was most honourable and illustrious in my native country.--Finding that -I was indisposed to any further communication on the subject, he took a -polite leave, and departed. - -I was no sooner alone than I felt myself overwhelmed with mortification -and shame. I had rejoiced in the bequests of the stranger, because I -regarded them as the means of restoring me to splendour, and replacing -my children in the situation to which they were entitled by their -birth. Was that which I had regarded as the instrument of their glory, -to become the medium of their ignominy and disgrace? I had suffered all -other misfortunes, but the whisper of dishonour had never been breathed -against me. I was a son of honour, descended of a race of heroes, and -cradled in the lap of glory and fame. When we quitted Paris in the -year 1537, my incomparable wife had set to sale our entire property, -resolved that, though driven into exile, we would not leave it in the -power of the meanest individual to controvert the sacred attention we -yielded to every just obligation. Since that time I had declined from -the splendour of rank to the humble situation of a rustic, cultivating -my little property with my own hands; nay, I had even, for a short -time, hired myself as a labourer in the garden of the bishop of -Constance. But the same disdain of every thing disgraceful had followed -me to my cottage and my truckle bed, which I had originally learned in -the halls of chivalry and the castle of my ancestors. Accordingly I had -uniformly retained the same honourable character and spotless fame. -St. Leon, the virtuous cottager, had in nothing blemished the name of -St. Leon, surrounded with glory in the siege of Pavia. Often, and with -pride, had I pointed out this circumstance to my son, adding, Wherever -fortune calls you, for whatever scenes you may be reserved, remember -that your father was unfortunate, but that through life he never acted -a deed nor conceived a thought, that should stain your manly cheeks -with the blush of shame! I stand before you a culprit, as having -robbed you of your patrimony, but I have preserved for you entire the -inheritance of our honour! - -This had been the first lesson imprinted upon my infant mind. All other -possessions I had ever held cheap and worthless in comparison with that -of an illustrious name. My indignation at the attack it now sustained -was boundless. The more I thought, the more intolerable it appeared. I -was impatient and furious, like a lion struggling in the toils. I could -with joy have trampled under my feet whoever aspersed me. I could have -wantoned in blood, and defied my adversaries to mortal combat. Alas, -all my fury was useless here! It was no tale whispered in the dark -that I had to contend with; it was the commentary of the world upon -incontestable facts. Though a hecatomb of souls should be sacrificed -at the shrine of my blasted name, the facts would still remain, the -mystery still require to be solved. Coligny, the virtuous Coligny, -had made no observations on the circumstances he mentioned; he merely -proposed a difficulty, and waited my answer. - -I was called upon to exercise the whole of my deliberative powers as -to the reply which was to be returned, or the conduct to be held, upon -the question of Coligny. Every thing I most valued was now at issue; -and a false step taken under the present circumstances could never -be retrieved. I had another sort of party to deal with here, than -when I had told Marguerite the tale of the stranger and his legacy. -Nothing would pass now, but what bore an open, fair, and unequivocal -appearance. I must vent no assertion that could not bear to be sifted -to the bottom, and that did not fully accord with all the vouchers with -which it could be collated. I had written to Marguerite, immediately -after launching into the expense with which our tour had been attended, -that I had received an unexpected acquisition from the death of a -relation of my own family in France. I knew that the story of the three -thousand crowns would no longer account for the style in which I was -proceeding, and this fabrication suggested itself upon the spur of the -moment. I hated to think of the difficulties in the way of explanation -in which I was involved; I abhorred the system of falsehood I was -driven to practise. It did not occur to me at the time, infatuated as -I was! that I should have occasion to account for this accession of -wealth to any one out of my own family. Marguerite, I well knew, had no -correspondence in France, nor therefore any obvious means of verifying -or refuting this second deception. But such a story could not be told -to noblemen of France, without being instantly liable to be compared -with known facts, and eventually investigated upon the spot where the -scene was laid. Marguerite herself, I well knew, had listened with -incredulity to the explanation I had made, and the alleged legacy of -the stranger; what could I expect from indifferent hearers? They -might not all possess her good sense and sagacity in judging; but they -were destitute of that personal kindness and partiality which were -calculated to induce her to credit whatever I affirmed. Most men have a -malignant pleasure in the detection of specious pretences, in humbling -the importunate superiority that obscures their claims, and removing -the rival who might otherwise acquire the prize of which they are in -pursuit. - -My mind was still torn and distracted with these contemplations, when -in the afternoon of the same day on which I had received the visit of -Coligny, my attention was suddenly roused by the abrupt entrance of -my son into the chamber where I was sitting. He opened the door with -a hurried action as he entered, and, having closed it impetuously -after him, advanced directly towards me. He then stopped himself; and, -turning from me, I could perceive a rush of crimson in his face like -that of a man suffocated. A passion of tears succeeded that shook his -frame, and sufficiently proved that his feelings had sustained some -extraordinary shock. My whole soul was alarmed at what I saw; and, -following him as he retired to the other side of the room, in the -gentlest accents I endeavoured to soothe him, while I enquired with -earnestness and trepidation into the cause of his grief. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -He repelled me. “Sit down, sir, sit down! Do not follow me, I beg of -you; but sit down!” - -His manner was earnest and emphatical. Mechanically and without knowing -what I did, I obeyed his direction. He came towards me. - -“I have no time,” added he, “for qualifying and form. Tell me! am I the -son of a man of honour or a villain?” - -He saw I was shocked at the unexpected rudeness of his question. - -“Forgive me, my father! I have always been affectionate and dutiful; -I have ever looked up to you as my model and my oracle. But I have -been insulted! It never was one of your lessons to teach me to bear an -insult!” - -“Is it,” replied I, with the sternness that the character of a father -will seldom fail to inspire under such circumstances, “because you have -been insulted, that you think yourself authorised to come home and -insult him to whom you owe nothing but respect and reverence?” - -“Stop, sir! Before you claim my reverence, you must show your title to -it, and wipe off the aspersions under which you at present labour.” - -“Insolent, presumptuous boy! Know that I am not by you to be instructed -in my duty, and will not answer so rude a questioner! The down as yet -scarcely shades your school-boy’s cheek; and have you so forgotten the -decencies of life as to scoff your father?”--His eye brightened as I -spoke. - -“You are right, sir. It gives me pleasure to see your blood rise in -return to my passion. Your accent is the accent of innocence. But, -indeed! the more innocent and noble you shall prove yourself, the more -readily will you forgive my indignation.” - -“I cannot tell. My temper does not fit me to bear the rudeness of a -son. Nor do I think that such behaviour as this can be any credit to -you, whatever may have been the provocation. Tell me however what is -the insult that has thus deeply shaken you?” - -“I went this afternoon to the tennis-court near the river, and played -several games with the young count Luitmann. While we were playing, -came in the chevalier Dupont, my countryman. The insolence of his -nature is a subject of general remark; and he has, though I know not -for what reason, conceived a particular animosity to me. A trifling -dispute arose between us. We gradually warmed. He threatened to turn me -out of the court; I resented the insult; and he passionately answered, -that the son of an adventurer and a sharper had no business there, -and he would take care I should never be admitted again. I attempted -to strike him, but was prevented; and presently learned that the -sudden and unexplained way in which we have emerged from poverty was -the ground of his aspersion. As I gained time, and reflected more -distinctly upon what was alleged, I felt that personal violence could -never remove an accusation of this sort. I saw too, though, intoxicated -as I had idly been with the unwonted splendour to which I was -introduced, I had not adverted to it at the time, that the case was of -a nature that required explanation. I had been accustomed to reverence -and an implicit faith in the wisdom and rectitude of my parents, and -therefore encountered in silent submission the revolution of our -fortune. But this neutrality will suffice no longer. - -“To you, sir, I resort for explanation. Send me back to the insolent -youth and his companions, with a plain and unanswerable tale, that may -put to silence for ever these brutal scoffs and reproaches. Let it be -seen this night which of the two has most fully merited to be thrust -out of honourable society. I trust I have not so demeaned myself but -that our mutual companions will join to compel this unmannered boor to -retract his aspersions.” - -“Charles, you are too warm and impetuous!”-- - -“Too warm, sir! when I hear my father loaded with the foulest -appellations?” - -“You are young and ill qualified to terminate in the proper way a -business of this serious aspect: leave it to me!” - -“Excuse me, my father! Though the names I have repeated were bestowed -upon you, it was against me that the insult was employed. I must return -immediately, and obtain justice. This is a moment that must in some -degree fix my character for fortitude and determination, and I cannot -withdraw from the duty it imposes. Only tell me what I have to say. -Furnish me with a direct and unambiguous explanation of what Dupont has -objected to us, and I undertake for the rest.” - -“I see, my son, that you are moved, and I will trust you!” - -He seized my hand, he gazed earnestly in my face, he seemed prepared to -devour every word I should utter. - -“Gaspar de Coligny, the flower of the French nobility, has been with me -this morning. He has stated to me in an ingenuous and friendly way the -same difficulty with which Dupont has so brutally taunted you. I was -meditating and arranging my answer but now, when you entered the room.” - -As I uttered these words, Charles let go my hand, and withdrew his -eyes, with evident tokens of disappointment and chagrin. He paused for -a few moments, and then resumed:-- - -“Why do you tell me of meditation and arrangement! Why did you send -away Coligny unanswered, or why baffle and evade the earnestness of my -enquiries? I know not all the sources of wealth; but I cannot doubt -that the medium through which wealth has honourably flowed may, without -effort and premeditation, easily be explained. A just and a brave man -acts fearlessly and with explicitness; he does not shun, but court, the -scrutiny of mankind; he lives in the face of day, and the whole world -confesses the clearness of his spirit and the rectitude of his conduct. - -“Sir, I have just set my foot on the threshold of life. There is one -lesson you have taught me, which I swear never to forget,--to hold life -and all its pleasures cheap, in comparison with an honourable fame. -My soul burns with the love of distinction. I am impatient to burst -away from the goal, and commence the illustrious career. I feel that I -have a hand and a heart capable of executing the purposes that my soul -conceives. Uninured to dishonour, or to any thing that should control -the passion of my bosom, think, sir, what are my emotions at what has -just occurred! - -“I was bred in obscurity and a humble station. I owed this -disadvantage, you tell me, to your error. I forgave you; I was content; -I felt that it was incumbent on me by my sword and my own exertions -to hew my way to distinction. You have since exchanged the lowness of -our situation for riches and splendour. At this revolution I felt no -displeasure; I was well satisfied to start upon more advantageous terms -in the race I determined to run. But, sir, whence came these riches? -Riches and poverty are comparatively indifferent to me; but I was not -born to be a mark for shame to point her finger at. A little while ago -you were poor; you were the author of your own poverty; you dissipated -your paternal estate. Did I reproach you? No; you were poor, but not -dishonoured! I attended your couch in sickness; I exerted my manual -labour to support you in affliction. I honoured you for your affection -to my mother; I listened with transport to the history of your youth; -I was convinced I should never blush to call Reginald de St. Leon my -father. I believed that lessons of honour, so impressive as those you -instilled into my infant mind, could never flow but from an honourable -spirit. Oh, if there is any thing equivocal or ignoble in the riches we -have displayed, restore me, instantly restore me, to unblemished and -virtuous poverty!” - -I was astonished at the firmness and manliness of spirit that Charles -upon this occasion discovered. I could scarcely believe that these -were the thoughts and words of a youth under seventeen years of age. -I felt that every thing illustrious and excellent might be augured of -one who, at these immature years, manifested so lofty and generous a -soul. I could have pressed him in my arms, have indulged my emotions in -sobs and tears of transport, and congratulated myself that I was father -to so worthy a son. But his temper and manners awed, and held me at a -distance. This was one consequence of the legacies of the stranger! - -“Charles!” said I, “your virtues extort my confidence. For the world -a tale must be prepared that shall serve to elude its curiosity and -its malice. But to you I confess, there is a mystery annexed to the -acquisition of this wealth that can never be explained.” - -He stood aghast at my words. “Am I to believe my ears? A tale prepared? -A mystery never to be explained? I adjure you by all that you love, and -all that you hold sacred----!” - -His voice was drowned in a sudden gush of tears. With an action of -earnestness and deprecation, he took hold of my hand. - -“No, sir, no artful tale, no disguise, no hypocrisy!----” As he -spoke, his voice suddenly changed, his accent became clear and -determined.--“Will you consent this very hour to quit the court of -Dresden, and to resign fully and without reserve this accursed wealth, -for the acquisition of which you refuse to account?” - -“Whence,” replied I, “have you the insolence to make such a -proposal?----No, I will not!” - -“Then I swear by the omnipresent and eternal God, you shall never see -or hear of me more!” - -I perceived that this was no time for the assertion of paternal -authority. I saw that the poor boy was strangely and deeply moved, -and I endeavoured to soothe him. I felt that the whole course of his -education had inspired him with an uncontrollable and independent -spirit, and that it was too late to endeavour to repress it. - -“My dear Charles,” said I, “what is come to you? When I listen to a -language like this from your lips, I scarcely know you for my son. This -impertinent Dupont has put you quite beside yourself. Another time we -will talk over the matter calmly; and depend upon it, every thing shall -be made out to your satisfaction.” - -“Do not imagine, sir, that my self-possession is not perfect and -complete. I know what I do, and my resolution is unalterable. If you -have any explanation to give, give it now. If you will yield to my -proposal, declare your assent, and I am again your son. But to bear the -insults of my fellows unanswered, or to live beneath the consciousness -of an artful and fictitious tale, no consideration on earth shall -induce me. I love you, sir; I cannot forget your lessons or your -virtues. I love my mother and my sisters; no words can tell how dearly -and how much. But my resolution is taken; I separate myself from you -all and for ever. Nothing in my mind can come in competition with a -life of unblemished honour.” - -“And are you such a novice, as to need the being told that honour is a -prize altogether out of the reach of an unknown and desolate wanderer, -such as you propose to become? My wealth, boy, is unlimited, and can -buy silence from the malicious, and shouts and applause from all the -world. A golden key unlocks the career of glory, which the mean and the -pennyless are never allowed to enter.” - -“I am not such a novice, as not to have heard the language of vice, -though I never expected to hear it from a father. Poverty with -integrity shall content me. The restless eagerness of my spirit is so -great, that I will trust to its suggestions, and hope to surmount the -obstacles of external appearance. If I am disappointed in this, and -destined to perish unheard of and unremembered, at least I will escape -reproach. I will neither be charged with the deeds, nor give utterance -to the maxims, of dishonour.” - -“Charles,” replied I, “be not the calumniator of your father! I swear -to you by every thing that is sacred; and you know my integrity; never -did the breath of falsehood pollute these lips;----” - -He passionately interrupted me. “Did the stranger bequeath you three -thousand crowns? Have you lately received an unexpected acquisition by -the death of a near relation in France?” - -I was silent. This was not a moment for trifling and equivocation. - -“Oh, my father, how is your character changed and subverted? You say -true. For sixteen years I never heard a breath of falsehood from your -lips; I trusted you as I would the oracles of eternal truth. But it -is past! A few short months have polluted and defaced a whole life -of integrity! In how many obscurities and fabulous inconsistencies -have you entangled yourself? Nor is it the least of the calamities -under which my heart sickens at this moment, that I am reduced to hold -language like this to a father!” - -What misery was mine, to hear myself thus arraigned by my own son, -and to be unable to utter one word in reply to his accusations! To -be thus triumphed over by a stripling; and to feel the most cruel -degradation, in the manifestation of an excellence that ought to have -swelled my heart with gratulation and transport! I had recollected my -habitual feelings for near forty years of existence; I had dropped from -my memory my recent disgrace, and dared to appeal to my acknowledged -veracity; when this retort from my son came to plunge me tenfold deeper -in a sea of shame. He proceeded:-- - -“I am no longer your son! I am compelled to disclaim all affinity -with you! But this is not all. By your dishonour you have cut me off -from the whole line of my ancestors. I cannot claim affinity with -them, without acknowledging my relation to you. You have extinguished -abruptly an illustrious house. The sun of St. Leon is set for ever! -Standing as I do a candidate for honourable fame, I must henceforth -stand by myself, as if a man could be author of his own existence, -and must expect no aid, no favour, no prepossession, from any earthly -consideration, save what I am, and what I shall perform.” - -“My son,” replied I, “you cut me to the heart. Such is the virtue you -display, that I must confess myself never to have been worthy of you, -and I begin to fear I am now less worthy of you than ever. Yet you must -suffer me to finish what I was about to say when you so passionately -interrupted me. I swear then, by every thing that is sacred, that I -am innocent. Whatever interpretation the world may put upon my sudden -wealth, there is no shadow of dishonesty or guilt connected with its -acquisition. The circumstances of the story are such that they must -never be disclosed; I am bound to secrecy by the most inviolable -obligations, and this has led me to utter a forged and inconsistent -tale. But my conscience has nothing with which to reproach me. If then, -Charles, my son, once my friend, my best and dearest consolation!”--I -pressed his hand, and my voice faltered as I spoke,--“if you are -resolute to separate yourself from me, at least take this recollection -with you wherever you go,--Whatever may be my external estimation, I am -not the slave of vice, your father is not a villain!” - -“Alas, my father!” rejoined Charles, mournfully, “what am I to believe? -What secret can be involved in so strange a reverse of fortune, that is -not dishonourable? You have given utterance to different fictions on -the subject, fictions that you now confess to be such; how am I to be -convinced that what you say at this moment is not dictated more by a -regard for my tranquillity, than by the simplicity of conscious truth? -If I believe you, I am afraid my credit will be the offspring rather -of inclination, than of probability. And indeed, if I believe you, -what avails it? The world will not believe. Your character is blasted; -your honour is destroyed; and, unless I separate myself from you, and -disown your name, I shall be involved in the same disgrace.” - -Saying thus, he left me, and in about half an hour returned. His return -I had not foreseen; I had made no use of his absence. My mind was -overcome, my understanding was stupified, by a situation and events -I had so little expected. I had stood, unmoved, leaning against the -wall, from the instant of his departure. I seemed rooted to the spot, -incapable of calling up my fortitude, or arranging my ideas. My eyes -had rolled,--my brow was knit,--I had bit my lips and my tongue with -agony. From time to time I had muttered a few words,--“My son! my -son!--wealth! wealth!--my wife!--my son!” but they were incoherent and -without meaning. - -Charles re-entered the apartment where the preceding conversation had -passed, and the noise he made in entering roused me. He had his hat -in his hand, which he threw from him, and exclaimed with an accent of -dejection and anguish, “My father!--farewell!” - -“Cruel, cruel boy! can you persist in your harsh and calamitous -resolution? If you have no affection for me, yet think of your mother -and your sisters!” - -Seek not, sir, to turn me from my purpose! The struggle against -it in my own bosom has been sufficiently severe; but it must be -executed.“--His voice, as he spoke, was inward, stifled, and broken -with the weight of his feelings. - -“Then--farewell!” I replied. “Yet take with you some provision for -your long and perilous adventure. Name the sum you will accept, and, -whatever is its amount, it shall instantly be yours.” - -“I will have nothing. It is this wealth, with whose splendour I was at -first child enough to be dazzled, that has destroyed us. My fingers -shall not be contaminated with an atom of it. What is to be my fate, -as yet, I know not. But I am young, and strong, and enterprising, and -courageous. The lessons of honour and nobility live in my bosom. Though -my instructor is lost, his instructions shall not be vain! - -“Once more farewell! From my heart I thank you for your protestations -of innocence. Never will I part with this last consolation, to believe -them. I have recollected the manner in which they were uttered; it was -the manner of truth. If there be any evidence of a contrary tendency, -that I will forget. Though to the world I shall be without father and -without relatives, I will still retain this sacred consolation for my -hours of retirement and solitude, that my ancestors were honourable, -and my father, in spite of all presumptions to the contrary,--was -innocent. - -“How hard it is to quit for ever a family of love and affection, as -ours has been! Bear witness for me, how deeply, I sympathised with you -at Paris, in Switzerland, in Constance! Though now you dissolve the tie -between us, yet, till now, never had a son greater reason for gratitude -to a father. You and my mother have made me what I am; and that I may -preserve what you have made me, I now cast myself upon an untried -world. The recollection of what I found you in the past period of my -life, shall be for ever cherished in my memory! - -“I quit my mother and my sisters without leave-taking or adieu. It will -be a fruitless and painful addition to what each party must learn to -bear. Dear, excellent, peerless protector and companions of my early -years! my wishes are yours, my prayers shall for ever be poured out for -you! You, sir, who rob them of a son and a brother, be careful to make -up to them a loss, which I doubt not they will account grievous! I can -do nothing for them. I can throw myself into the arms of poverty; it is -my duty. But, in doing so, I must separate myself from them, assuredly -innocent, and worthy of more and greater benefits than I could ever -confer on them!--Farewell!” - -Saying this, he threw himself into my arms, and I felt the agonies of a -parting embrace. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - -For some time I could not believe him departed. When I retired to rest, -I felt the want of Charles to press my hand, and wish me refreshing -slumbers; and I passed on, sad and solitary, to my chamber. When I -came next morning into the breakfasting room, Charles was not there, -to greet me with looks of affection and duty; and the gilding and -ornaments of the apartment were to me no less disconsolate than the -damps and sootiness of a dungeon. - -I hoped he would return. I knew how tenderly he was attached to his -mother and his sisters; I was fully convinced that the affection for me -which had been the perpetual habit of his mind, could not be entirely -eradicated from his heart. I mentioned him not in my letters to -Constance; the pen lingered, my hand trembled, when I thought of him; I -could neither pretend that he was with me, nor announce the catastrophe -of his absence. But I opened the letters of Marguerite with still -increasing impatience. Finding that he did not return to me, I hoped -that some alteration of the extraordinary resolution he had formed, -would lead him to Constance. In vain I hoped! There reached me, by no -conveyance, from no quarter, tidings of my son! - -How surprising an event! A youth, not seventeen years of age, forming -and executing in the same instant the purpose of flying from his -parents and his family! Deserting all his hopes, all his attachments, -all his fortune! Refusing the smallest particle of assistance or -provision in his entrance upon the wide scene of the world! Oh, -Charles! exclaimed I, you are indeed an extraordinary and admirable -youth! But are you fortified against all the temptations of the world -and all its hardships? Do your tender years qualify you to struggle -with its unkindness, its indifference, and its insults? In how few -quarters is merit ever treated with the attention and benevolence it -deserves! How often is it reduced to tremble with indignation, at -the scoffs and brutality to which it is exposed, and at the sight of -folly and vice exalted in its stead, and appointed its despot and its -master! My son, my son! what will be your fate? Is your unseasoned -frame reserved to perish by hunger, in barren deserts and beneath -inclement skies? Will you not in some hour of bitter disappointment and -unpitied loneliness, lay yourself down in despair and die? Will you -not be made the slave of some capricious tyrant for bread? Generous -as is your nature, will it be eternally proof against reiterated -temptation? Upon what a world are you turned adrift! a world of -which you know as little, as the poor affrighted soul of a dying -man knows, when launching into the mysterious, impenetrable abyss -of eternity! Unnatural father, to have reduced my only son to this -cruel alternative! I should with a less aching and agonising heart -have accompanied his senseless remains to the grave. Dreadful as -that parting is, there at least the anxious mind of the survivor has -rest. There are no thoughts and devices in the silence of the tomb. -There all our prospects end, and we are no longer sensible to pain, -to persecution, to insult, and to agony. But Charles, thus departed, -wandering on the face of the globe, without protector, adviser or -resource, no lapse of years can put a close upon my anxiety for him! -If I am in ease and prosperity, I cannot relish them, for my exposed -and living son may be at that moment in the depth of misery! If I am -myself oppressed and suffering, the thought of what may be his fate -will form a dreadful addition to all my other calamities! What am I -to say of him upon my return to Constance? If he had died, this was a -natural casualty; and, whatever grief it might occasion, time no doubt -would mollify and abate it. But what account can now be rendered of him -to his disconsolate mother and terrified sisters? How can I lift up my -head in their presence, or meet the glance of their reproachful eyes! - -The idea had occurred to me, in the instant of Charles’s departure, and -immediately after his exit, of detaining or bringing him back by force. -He was by his extreme youth, according to the maxims of the world, -still in a state of guardianship, and unqualified to be the chooser -of his own actions. But to this mode of proceeding, however deeply I -felt the catastrophe which had taken place, I could never consent. It -was in utter hostility to the lessons of chivalry and honour, with -which I had been familiarised from my earliest infancy. There might -be cases, in which this restraint laid by a father upon his child -would be salutary. But the idea which had occasioned the secession of -Charles, was decisive in this instance. What right had I to chain him -to dishonour? The whole bent of his education had been, to impress him -with the feelings by which he was now actuated. If I detained him -for a short time, was there any vigilance on earth that could finally -prevent him from executing a purpose upon which his whole soul was -resolved? Or, suppose there were, must not the consequence be to break -his spirit, to deprive him of all manliness and energy, and to render -him the mere drooping and soulless shadow of that conspicuous hero I -had been anxious to make him? It might be said indeed, that this was -the determination of a boy, formed in an hour, and that, if I detained -him only long enough for deliberation and revisal, he would of his -own accord retract so desperate a project. But I felt that it was a -resolution formed to endure, and was built upon principles that could -not change so long as an atom of his mind remained. No; I was rather -disposed to say, however grievous was the wound he inflicted on me, Go, -my son! Act upon the dictates of your choice, as I have acted on mine! -I admire your resolution, though I cannot imitate it. Your purpose is -lofty and godlike; and he that harbours it, was not born to be a slave. -Be free; and may every power propitious to generosity and virtue smooth -your path through life, and smile upon your desires! - -The anguish I felt for having lost my son, and in this painful and -reproachful manner, was not diminished to me either by society or -amusement. I dared not go out of my house. I saw no one but my own -attendants. I had not the courage to meet the aspect of a human -creature. I knew not how far persons in Dresden might have heard the -injurious reports which occasioned the flight of my son, or even have -been acquainted with the nature of that flight. I had promised to see -Coligny again; but, alas! the affair which had at first led me to -wish to see him, was now at an end. I had no heart to seek him; nor -indeed did I know what story I was to tell him, or how I was to remove -the suspicions he had urged against me. The machine of human life, -though constituted of a thousand parts, is in all its parts regularly -and systematically connected; nor is it easy to insert an additional -member, the spuriousness of which an accurate observation will not -readily detect. How was I to assign a source of my wealth different -from the true, which would not be liable to investigation, and, when -investigated, would not be seen to be counterfeit? This indeed is the -prime source of individual security in human affairs, that whatever any -man does, may be subjected to examination, and whatever does not admit -of being satisfactorily accounted for, exposes him whom it concerns to -the most injurious suspicions. This law of our nature, so salutary in -its general operation, was the first source of all my misfortunes. - -I began now seriously to consider what judgment I was to pass upon -the bequests of the stranger. Were they to be regarded as a benefit -or a misfortune? Ought they to be classed with the poisoned robe of -Nessus, which, being sent as a token of affection, was found, in the -experiment, to eat into the flesh and burn up the vitals of him that -wore it? Should I from this instant reject their use, and, returning to -the modes of life established among my fellow men, content myself with -the affection of those with whom I had intercourse, though poverty and -hardships mingled with the balm? - -The experiment I had made of these extraordinary gifts was a short one; -but how contrary were all the results I had arrived at, from those -I looked for? When the stranger had appeared six months before at -the cottage of the lake, he had found me a poor man indeed, but rich -in the confidence, and happy in the security and content, of every -member of my family. I lived in the bosom of nature, surrounded with -the luxuriance of its gifts and the sublimity of its features, which -the romantic elevation of my soul particularly fitted me to relish. -In my domestic scene I beheld the golden age renewed, the simplicity -of pastoral life without its grossness, a situation remote from -cities and courts, from traffic and hypocrisy, yet not unadorned with -taste, imagination, and knowledge. Never was a family more united in -sentiments and affection. Now all this beauteous scene was defaced! -All was silence, suspicion, and reserve. The one party dared not be -ingenuous, and the other felt that all the paradise of attachment was -dwindled to an empty name. No questions were asked; for no honest -answer was given or expected. Though corporeally we might sit in the -same apartment, in mind a gulf, wide, impassable, and tremendous, -gaped between us. My wife pined in speechless grief, and, it was to -be feared, had sustained a mortal blow. My son, my only son, a youth -of such promise that I would not have exchanged him for empires, had -disappeared, and, as he had solemnly protested, for ever. My heart -was childless: my bosom was bereaved of its dearest hope. It was for -him principally that I had accepted, that I had rejoiced in the gifts -of the stranger. My darling vision was to see him clothed in the -harness, surrounded with the insignia, of a hero. There was nothing -I so earnestly desired as that his merits, graced with the favours -of fortune, might cause him to stand confessed the first subject of -France; a situation more enviable than that of its monarch, since he -who holds it is raised by deeds, and the other only by birth; and if -less respected by interested courtiers, is certain to be more honoured -by the impartial voice of history. But, if I felt thus desolate and -heartbroken for the loss of my son, what would be the sentiments of -his mother, more susceptible to feel, and, in her present weakness of -spirits, less vigorous to bear, than myself, when the dreadful tidings -should be communicated to her? - -Yet I could not resolve to renounce donations which I had so dearly -appropriated. I held it to be a base and cowardly to surrender gifts so -invaluable, upon so insufficient an experiment. He, I thought, must be -a man of ignoble and grovelling spirit, who could easily be prevailed -on to part with unbounded wealth and immortal life. I had but just -entered the vast field that was opened to me. It was of the nature of -all great undertakings to be attended with difficulties and obstacles -in the commencement, to present a face calculated to discourage the man -that is infirm of purpose. But it became my descent, my character and -pretensions, to show myself serene in the midst of storms. Perseverance -and constancy are the virtues of a man. Affairs of this extensive -compass often prove in the issue the reverse of what they seemed in -the outset. The tempest might be expected to disperse, difficulties -to unravel themselves, and unlooked-for concurrences to arise. All -opposition and hostile appearance give way before him who goes calmly -onward, and scorns to be dismayed. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -It was thus that I spurred myself to persist in the path upon which I -had entered. Having remained some time at Dresden, flattering myself -with the hope that Charles might yet join me before I quitted that -city, I began to think of once more turning my steps towards the -residence of my family. This was no cheerful thought; but upon what -was I to determine? I had a wife whom I ardently loved, and three -daughters the darlings of my heart. Because I had lost a beloved son -was I to estrange myself from these? I already felt most painfully -the detachment and widowhood to which I was reduced, and I clung with -imperious affection to what remained of my race. The meeting I purposed -must be a melancholy one; but, in the sorrows of the heart there is a -purer and nobler gratification than in the most tumultuous pleasures -where affection is silent. I looked forward indeed to scenes of endless -variety and attraction, but in the mean time what seemed first to -demand my attention was the beloved circle I had left behind in the -city of Constance. - -I retraced, upon the present occasion, the route I had lately pursued -with my son. How different were now my sensations! My heart was then -indeed painfully impressed with the variance and dissolution of -confidence that had arisen between me and his mother. It was perhaps -principally for the sake of banishing this impression that I had had -recourse to the splendour of equipage and attendance which was first -assumed upon the journey from Constance to Dresden. Nor, frivolous as -this expedient may appear in the unattractive dispassionateness of -narrative, had it been by any means weak of effect at the time it was -employed. When Charles was once mounted on his proud and impatient -steed, and decorated in rich and costly attire, I felt, as it were, the -sluggishness of my imagination roused; I surveyed his shape and his -countenance with inexpressible complacence; and already anticipated -the period when he was to become the favourite of his sovereign and -his country’s pride. Now I returned with the same retinue; but the -place that had been occupied by my son was empty. I sought him with -frantic and restless gaze; I figured him to my disturbed and furious -imagination, till the sensations and phantoms of my brain became -intolerable; I raved and imprecated curses on myself. I endeavoured to -divert my thoughts by observing the scenes that passed before me. They -talked to me of Charles; they had been pointed out by each to each, and -had been the subject of our mutual comment. Though Charles was endowed -with a high relish for the beauties of nature, and, in our little -retreat on the borders of the lake, had lived in the midst of them, -he had seen little of the variety of her features; and the journey we -made through the heart of Germany had furnished him with continual food -for admiration and delight. Nor did the scenes I beheld merely remind -me of the sensations they produced in Charles; they led me through a -wider field. I recollected long conversations and digressive excursions -which had been started by the impression they made. I recollected many -passages and occurrences to which they had not the slightest reference, -but which, having arisen while they constituted the visible scene, were -forcibly revived by its re-appearance. Thus, from various causes, my -lost and lamented son was not a moment out of my thoughts during the -journey. While I continued at Dresden, I seemed daily to expect his -return; but no sooner did I quit that city than despair took possession -of my heart. - -Thus, anxious and distressed, I arrived at Prague, and soon after -at Ratisbon. I travelled slowly, because, though I was desirous of -returning to Constance, I anticipated my arrival there with little -complacence. As I drew nearer to my family, I felt more distinctly -the impossibility of presenting myself before them, without first -endeavouring to take off the shock they would sustain at seeing me -return without my son. I therefore resolved to send forward a servant -from Ratisbon, whom I directed to make all practicable speed, as I -designed to wait for an answer he should bring me at the city of -Munich. To attempt to write to Marguerite on this subject was a severe -trial to me. The whole however that I proposed to myself was, to -remove the surprise which would be occasioned by seeing me alone, and -to anticipate questions that it would be impossible for me to hear -without anguish of mind and perturbation of countenance. I therefore -took care to express myself in such terms as should lead Marguerite -to believe that I had voluntarily left her son in Saxony, and that in -no very long time he would rejoin his family. I trusted to subsequent -events to unfold the painful catastrophe, and could not prevail on -myself to shock her maternal feelings so much as I must necessarily do, -if I informed her of the whole at once. Charles had not been mentioned -but in ordinary terms and the accustomed language of affection, in the -letters I had recently received from Constance; and I was therefore -convinced that he had neither gone to that place, nor had conveyed -thither any account of his proceedings. - -The answer I received from Marguerite by my messenger was as follows:-- - -“Your absence has been long and critical, and the welfare of your -daughters seems to require that we should rejoin each other as speedily -as may be. Whether we should meet here or at any other place you must -determine. It is, however, right I should inform you that, during your -absence, rumour has been busy with your reputation. What the extent or -importance of the ill reports circulated of you may be, I am scarcely -competent to judge. We have lived in uniform privacy, and it is natural -to suppose that the portion of censure that has reached us is but a -small part of what really exists. The mode in which you have proceeded, -and the extraordinary figure you have made in a progress through -Germany, have given weight to these insinuations. But it is not my -intention to comment on what you have done. - -“You appear to design that I should understand you have left my son -behind you in Saxony. Poor Charles! I had a letter from him three weeks -ago, in which he informs me of what has happened, and apologises in -the most pathetic terms for any seeming want of regard to me in his -conduct, at the very moment that his heart bleeds for my fate. I did -not think it necessary to communicate this circumstance to you. I have -done with complaining. Now that I have fallen into the worst and most -unlooked-for misfortunes, I have a gratification that I do not choose -to part with, in shutting up my sorrows in my own breast. - -“Oh, Charles! my son, my idol! What is become of you? For what -calamities are you reserved? He tells me it is necessary that I should -never see or hear of him again. Never--I--his mother!--Reginald, there -are some wounds that we may endeavour to forgive; but they leave a -sentiment in the heart, the demonstrations of which may perhaps be -restrained, but which it is not in nature wholly to subdue. If I did -but know where to find or to write to my poor boy, I would take my -girls with me, and partake his honest and honourable poverty, and never -again join the shadow of him who was my husband. Forgive me, Reginald! -I did not intend to say this. If I should prove unable to control the -impatience of my grief, do not inflict the punishment of my offence on -your innocent daughters! - -“As to your fiction of voluntarily leaving him behind for further -improvement, it corresponds with every thing you have lately attempted -to make me believe. I no longer expect truth from you. For seventeen -years I had a husband. Well, well! I ought not perhaps to repine. I -have had my share of the happiness which the present life is calculated -to afford. - -“Reginald! I have not long to live. When I tell you this, I am not -giving way to melancholy presentiment. I will exert myself for the -benefit of my girls. They will have a grievous loss in me; and for -their sake I will live as long as I can. But I feel that you have -struck me to the heart. My nights are sleepless; my flesh is wasted; my -appetite is entirely gone. You will presently be able to judge whether -I am deceiving myself. The prospect for these poor creatures, who are -at present all my care, is a dismal one. I know not for what they are -reserved; but I can hope for nothing good. When I am dead, remember, -and be a father to them. I ask nothing for myself; I have no longer any -concern with life; but, if my dying request can have weight with you, -make up to them the duty you have broken to me. By all out past loves, -by the cordiality and confidence in which we have so long lived, by -the singleness and sincerity of our affection, by the pure delights, -so seldom experienced in married life, that have attended our union, I -conjure you listen to me and obey me in this.” - -If I were deeply distressed for the loss of my son, if I looked forward -with a mingled sensation of eagerness and alarm to the approaching -interview with my family, it may easily be imagined that this letter -formed a heavy addition to my mental anguish. I confess I thought -it a cruel one. Marguerite might well suppose, that the departure -of Charles was a circumstance I must strongly feel; and she should -not have thus aggravated the recent wounds of paternal grief. Some -allowance, however, was to be made for a mother. When we are ourselves -racked with intolerable pain, that certainly is not the time at which -we can rationally be expected to exert the nicest and most vigilant -consideration for another. Add to which, she was innocent of the -calamities she suffered, and could not but know that I was their sole -author. But, whatever may be decided as to the propriety of the letter, -its effect upon my mind was eminently salutary. I instantly determined -on the conduct it became me to pursue. - -I lost not a moment. From Dresden to Munich I had advanced with slow -and unwilling steps; from Munich to Constance I proceeded as rapidly -as the modes of travelling and the nature of the roads would permit. -I left my retinue at the gates of the town, and flew instantly to the -apartments of my family. I hastened up stairs, and, as I entered the -sitting-room, I saw the first and most exemplary of matrons surrounded -by her blooming daughters. I instantly perceived a great alteration -in her appearance. Her look was dejected; her form emaciated; her -countenance sickly and pale. She lifted up her eyes as I entered, but -immediately dropped them again, without any discernible expression, -either of congratulation or resentment. I embraced my children with -undescribable emotion; I said within myself, the love and affection -I had reserved for Charles shall be divided among you, and added to -the share you each possess of my heart! Having saluted them in turn, -I addressed myself to Marguerite, telling her that I must have some -conversation with her instantly. My manner was earnest: she led the way -into another apartment. - -I felt my heart overflowing at my tongue. - -“I am come to you,” cried I, “a repenting prodigal. Take me and mould -me at your pleasure!” - -She looked up. She was struck with the honest fervour of my expression. -She answered in almost forgotten terms, and with a peculiar fulness of -meaning, “My husband!”--It seemed as if the best years and the best -emotions of our life were suddenly renewed. - -“Most adorable of women!” I continued: “do you think I can bear that -you should die, and I your murderer? No man in any age or climate of -the world ever owed so much to a human creature as I owe to you; no -woman was ever so ardently loved! no woman ever so much deserved to -be loved! If you were to die, I should never know peace again. If you -were to die the victim of any miscalculation of mine, I should be the -blackest of criminals!” - -“Reginald!” replied she, “I am afraid I have been wrong. I am afraid I -have written harshly to you. You have a feeling heart, and I have been -too severe. Forgive me! it was the effect of love. Affection cannot -view with a tranquil eye the faults of the object beloved.” - -“Let them be forgotten! Let the last six months be blotted from our -memory, be as though they had never existed!” - -She looked at me. Her look seemed to say, though she would not give the -sentiment words, that can never be; the loss of Charles, and certain -other calamities of that period, are irretrievable! - -“I resign myself into your hands! I have been guilty; I have had -secrets; meditations engendered and shut up in my own bosom; but it -shall be so no more! The tide of affection kept back from its natural -channel, now flows with double impetuousness. Never did I love you, -not when you first came a virgin to my arms, not on the banks of the -Garonne, not in the cottage of the lake, so fervently, so entirely, as -I love you now! Be my director; do with me as you please! I have never -been either wise or virtuous but when I have been implicitly guided by -you! - -“I have wealth; I am forbidden by the most solemn obligations to -discover the source of that wealth. This only I may not communicate; in -all things else govern me despotically! Shall I resign it all? Shall I -return to the cottage of the lake? Shall I go, a houseless and helpless -wanderer, to the farthest quarter of the globe? Speak the word only, -and it shall be done! I prefer your affection, your cordial regard, in -the most obscure and meanest retreat, to all that wealth can purchase -or kings can give!” - -“Reginald, I thank you! I acknowledge in your present language and -earnestness the object of my first and only love. This return to your -true character gives me all the pleasure I am now capable of receiving. -But it is too late My son is lost; that cannot be retrieved. Your -reputation is blasted; I am sorry you are returned hither; Constance -is in arms against you, and I will not answer for the consequence. For -myself; I grieve to tell you so; I am ashamed of my weakness; but--my -heart is broken! I loved you so entirely, that I was not able to -bear any suspension of our confidence. I had passed with you through -all other misfortunes, and the firmness of my temper was not shaken. -For this one misfortune, that seemed the entire dissolution of our -attachment, I was not prepared. I feel, every morning as I rise, the -warnings of my decease. My nights are sleepless; my appetite is gone -from me.” - -“Oh, Marguerite, talk not thus; distract me not with the most fatal -of images! Our confidence shall return; all the causes of your malady -shall be removed! With the causes, the symptoms, depend on it, will -disappear. Your youth, your tranquillity, your happiness, shall be -renewed! Oh, no, you shall not die! We will yet live to love and peace!” - -“Flatter not yourself with vain hopes, my love! I feel something wrong -within me, which is rapidly wearing my body to decay. Reconcile your -mind to what very soon must happen! Prepare yourself for being the -only parent to your remaining offspring! I have composed my spirit, -and calmly wait my fate. You have now administered to me the only -consolation I aspired to, by this return to your true character, which -affords me a sanguine hope that you will faithfully discharge the duty -to your offspring, which, when I am gone, will be doubly urgent on you.” - -I was grieved to see that the mind of Marguerite was so deeply -impressed with the notion that she had but a short time to live. I -could not bear to imagine for a moment that her prognostic was just. -The thought seemed capable of driving me to distraction. I however -conceived that the best thing that could be done for the present, was -to turn the conversation to some other topic. - -“Well, well, my love!” I answered. “There are some things that are -immediately pressing. Direct me, direct a husband so amply convinced -of your discretion, what I am to do at present! Shall I instantly -annihilate all that has made this unfortunate breach between us; shall -I resign my wealth, from whatever source derived? Whither shall we go? -Shall we return to the cottage of the lake? Shall we retreat into some -distant part of the world?” - -“How can you expect me,” said Marguerite, faintly smiling, “to advise -you respecting the disposal of a wealth, of the amount of which I am -uninformed, and the source of which is invisible? But I guess your -secret. The stranger who died your guest was in possession of the -philosopher’s stone, and he has bequeathed to you his discovery. I have -heard of this art, though I confess I was not much inclined to credit -it. I do not ask you to confirm my conjecture: I do not wish that you -should violate my engagements into which you have entered. But, upon -putting circumstances together, which I have been inevitably compelled -to do, I apprehend it can be nothing else. I am astonished that a -conjecture so obvious should have offered itself to my mind so late. - -“If your wealth is of any other nature, ample as it apparently is, -it is a natural question to ask, to whom is it to be resigned? The -ordinary wealth of the world is something real and substantial, and can -neither be created nor dissipated with a breath. But if your wealth -be of the kind I have named, let me ask, is it possible to resign it? -A secret is a thing with which we may choose whether we will become -acquainted; but, once known, we cannot become unacquainted with it at -pleasure. Your wealth, upon my supposition, will always be at your -beck; and it is perhaps beyond the strength of human nature to refuse, -under some circumstances, at least in some emergencies, to use the -wealth which is within our reach. - -“It has been our mutual misfortune that such an engine has been put -into your hands. It has been your fault to make an indiscreet use of -it. Gladly would I return to the tranquil and unsuspected poverty of -the cottage of the lake. But that is impossible. You have lost your -son; you have lost your honest fame; the life of your Marguerite is -undermined and perishing. If it were possible for us to return to our -former situation and our former peace, still, my Reginald! forgive me -if I say, I doubt the inflexibleness of your resolution. The gift of -unbounded wealth, if you possess it, and, with wealth, apparently at -least, distinction and greatness, is too powerful a temptation. Nor, -though I should trust your resistance, could I be pleased in a husband -with the possession of these extraordinary powers. It sets too great -a distance between the parties. It destroys that communion of spirit -which is the soul of the marriage-tie. A consort should be a human -being and an equal. But to this equality and simple humanity it is no -longer in your power to return. - -“Circumstanced then as we now are, the marriage union, you must allow -me to say, irreparably dissolved, your son lost, your fair fame -destroyed, your orphan daughters to be provided for, I know not if I -should advise you to forget the prerogative that has been bought for -you at so dreadful a price. Beside, if I am not mistaken, there are -great trials in reserve for you. I am afraid your present situation -is extremely critical. I am afraid the suspicions you have excited -will cost you dear. At all events I believe it to be but a necessary -precaution that we should fly from Constance. I have nothing therefore -to recommend to you on the subject of wealth, but discretion. I shall -not long live to be your adviser. I shall always regard the donation -you have received, you cannot wonder that I should so regard it, as one -of the most fearful calamities to which a human being can be exposed. -If you had used your prerogative with discretion, you might perhaps, -though I confess I do not see how, have escaped the obloquy of the -world. Into your domestic scene, where the interest is more lively, and -the watch upon you more unremitted, it must have introduced alienation -and distrust. As it is, I see you surrounded with dangers of a thousand -denominations. Police has its eyes upon you; superstition will regard -you as the familiar of demons; avarice will turn upon you a regard of -jealousy and insatiable appetite. If I could recover from the weakness -that at present besets me, and continue to live, I foresee more and -severer trials, both at home and abroad, than any I have yet sustained; -and I am almost thankful to that Providence which has decreed to take -me away from the evil to come. - -“One thing further let me add. I will speak it, not in the character -of a censor, but a friend. It must ever be right and useful, that a -man should be undeceived in any erroneous estimate he may make of -himself. I have loved you much; I found in you many good qualities; -my imagination decorated you in the virtues that you had not; but you -have removed the veil. An adept and an alchemist is a low character. -When I married you, I supposed myself united to a nobleman, a knight, -and a soldier, a man who would have revolted with disdain from every -thing that was poor-spirited and base. I lived with you long and -happily. I saw faults; I saw imbecilities. I did not see them with -indifference; but I endeavoured, and with a degree of success, to -forget and to forgive them; they did not contaminate and corrupt -the vitals of honour. At length you have completely reversed the -scene. For a soldier you present me with a projector and a chemist, a -cold-blooded mortal, raking in the ashes of a crucible for a selfish -and solitary advantage. Here is an end of all genuine dignity, and -the truest generosity of soul. You cannot be ingenuous; for all your -dealings are secrecy and darkness. You cannot have a friend; for the -mortal lives not that can sympathise with your thoughts and emotions. -A generous spirit, Reginald, delights to live upon equal terms with -his associates and fellows. He would disdain, when offered to him, -excessive and clandestine advantages. Equality is the soul of real and -cordial society. A man of rank indeed does not live upon equal terms -with the whole of his species; but his heart also can exult, for he -has his equals. How unhappy the wretch, the monster rather let me say, -who is without an equal; who looks through the world, and in the world -cannot find a brother; who is endowed with attributes which no living -being participates with him; and who is therefore cut off for ever from -all cordiality and confidence, can never unbend himself, but lives -the solitary, joyless tenant of a prison, the materials of which are -emeralds and rubies! How unhappy this wretch! How weak and ignoble the -man that voluntarily accepts these laws of existence!” - -In the advice of Marguerite I saw that sound wisdom and discernment, by -which in all the periods of our connection she had been so eminently -characterised. With her views of the future I was not disposed to -accord. I regarded them as obscured and discoloured by the unfortunate -state of her health. I could not indeed refuse to believe that the -prerogative I had received had been the parent of much domestic -unhappiness. Willingly would I have resigned all that I had derived -from the stranger, to be replaced in the situation in which his -pernicious legacies had found me. He had robbed me of my son; he had -destroyed my domestic peace; he had undermined the tranquillity and -health of the partner of my life. These calamities pressed with a heavy -and intolerable weight at my heart. But, if, as Marguerite affirmed, -they were irretrievable, or if they could once be removed, and the -domestic advantages I had heretofore enjoyed be restored, I was not -disposed to fear those external mischiefs which Marguerite so feelingly -predicted. I could not believe that I should have such a league of -foreign enemies to encounter, nor could I easily image to myself any -external evils which it was not in the power of gold to remedy. These -considerations I urged to my beloved partner, and by enforcing them -endeavoured to remove those gloomy apprehensions, from the prevalence -of which I feared much injury to her health. There was another -circumstance I was led particularly to insist on; I mean the nature of -the secret intrusted to me. - -“I admire your discernment and ingenuity, Marguerite,” said I, “in your -conjecture respecting the source of my wealth. I admire your delicacy -in not pressing me to decide upon the truth of your conjecture. This -only I must be permitted to say on that subject. It is a secret; and -you will perceive that the same reasons, whatever they are, which make -that secret obligatory on me, require that it should be respected by -you. The same evils that my own indiscretion may draw on me, I shall -be equally exposed to by any error or miscalculation of yours. I -have therefore most earnestly and solemnly to conjure you, whatever -misfortunes may hereafter befall me, in whatever perilous situation I -may be involved, that you will never utter a syllable on this subject; -and that, as I am the selected depository of this secret, and alone -know with certainty what is its nature, you will trust our prosperity -in this point to me.”--Marguerite engaged to conduct herself as I -desired. - -The night which succeeded this explanation, was particularly soothing -and grateful to me. I was relieved from a great and oppressive burthen. -I was conscious of that particular species of pleasure which arises -from the resolute discharge of an heroic duty. The peace I felt -within shed its gay and reviving beams upon all around me. Reconciled -to myself, I was filled with sanguine and agreeable visions of the -future. My mind obstinately rejected all dark and hateful presages. -I had intrusted myself and the direction of my conduct, as far as it -was possible, to that better pilot, under whose guidance, if I had -not avoided the rocks and quicksands of life, I had at least escaped -with little comparative injury. I felt therefore as if my domestic -enjoyments were restored, and the pleasures of my better years were -about to run over again their auspicious career. Not so Marguerite. She -was mild, gentle, and soothing. Displeasure and resentment towards me -were banished from her mind. She endeavoured to conquer her melancholy, -and to forget the wounds that had been so fatal to her hopes. But her -endeavours were fruitless. A fixed dejection clung to her heart: nor -could the generous sweetness that pervaded her manners hide from me -entirely what was passing in her bosom. - -During this interval we had talked over the plan of our future -operations. Marguerite was exceedingly urgent with me to quit -Constance; nor did I, though not impressed with her presentiments, -feel any reluctance to that change of scene, which, I believed, would -materially contribute to the serenity of her mind and the restoration -of her health. We determined on some of the cities of Italy as the next -place of our residence, and, fixed, if possible, to set out some time -in the next day or the day after. The plan of proceeding to France, -which had lately been a favourite with me, was a favourite no longer. -That had been the project of cheerful and wanton prosperity. It had -had for its object the re-establishment of my family honours, and the -elevation of my son. Now my son was lost, my wife was oppressed with -languor and disease, my house was overwhelmed with sorrow. This was no -time for wantonness and triumph. If I could ever hope to resume the -plans my frolic fancy had sketched, an interval at least of soberer hue -must first be suffered to elapse. - -My mind at this time sustained a revolution sufficiently remarkable, -but of which the urgency of events that immediately succeeded prevented -me from ever ascertaining whether it would have proved temporary or -permanent. When I first received the donation of the stranger, my -thoughts, as I have already said, were in a state of enthusiastic -transport; and, amidst the golden visions in which my fancy revelled, -I became in a considerable degree alienated from domestic sentiments -and pleasures. If I still loved my wife and children, it was the love -of habit rather than sympathy; more an anxiety for their prosperous -success in the world, than an earnest craving for their presence and -intercourse. This state of intoxication and rapture had now subsided. -The events of the few last weeks had sobered my thoughts. Having lost -my son, and being threatened with the loss of his mother, I was roused -to a sense of their value. The influx of wealth and supernatural gifts -had grown familiar to my mind, and now only occupied the back-ground -of the picture. I was once more a man, and I hoped to partake of the -privileges and advantages of a man. The fate reserved for these hopes -will speedily be seen. - -Some readers will perhaps ask me why, anxious as I was for the life of -Marguerite, and visible as was the decline of her health, I did not -administer to her of the elixir of immortality which was one of my -peculiar endowments. Such readers I have only to remind, that the pivot -upon which the history I am composing turns, is a mystery. If they will -not accept of my communication upon my own terms, they must lay aside -my book. I am engaged in relating the incidents of my life; I have no -intention to furnish the remotest hint respecting the science of which -I am the depository. That science affords abundant reasons why the -elixir in question might not, or rather could not, be imbibed by any -other than an adept. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - -The morning after my return to my family, as I sat surrounded with my -girls, and endeavouring to make myself their playmate and companion, -certain officers of justice belonging to the supreme tribunal of the -city entered my apartment. They were sent, as they informed me, to -conduct me to prison. My blood at this intelligence mounted into my -face. - -“To prison?” cried I--“wherefore?--what have I done?--I am no citizen -of your state. What is the charge against me? Lead me not to prison: -lead me to your chief magistrate!” - -“You will be called up for examination, when his honour is at leisure -to hear you: in the mean time you must go to prison.” - -“Do those who sent you know that I am a native and a gentleman of -France? They will be made to repent this insolence. Upon what pretence -do they dare to act thus?” - -“You will please not to talk of insolence to us. If you do not demean -yourself quietly----” - -“Silence, fellow!” answered I fiercely. “Lead the way!” - -By this time the children, astonished at a scene so alarming and -unintelligible to them, began to express their terror in various ways. -Julia, who was ready to faint, occupied the attention of her mother. -The little Marguerite clung round my knees, and expressed her emotions -by shrieks and cries. To see her father about to be torn from her by -four strangers, the peculiarity of whose garb of office aggravated -the rudeness of their countenances and the peremptoriness of their -behaviour, was a spectacle which the affectionateness of her nature was -unable to endure. - -“I will go with you presently,” said I to the officers. “See, how you -have terrified the children!” - -“Nay, sir, if you will behave civilly, and make it worth our while, we -do not desire to hurry you.” - -I was stung with the brutal assurance with which they thus set the -liberty of a few moments at a price to me. But I checked my impatience. -I felt that it would be both foolish and degrading to enter into -contention with such wretches. I turned from them proudly, and took my -child in my arms. - -“I will not be long gone, my love!” said I. “These people have made a -mistake, and I shall soon be able to rectify it.” - -“I fancy not,” muttered one of them surlily. - -“They shall not take you away, papa; that they shall not! I will hold -you, and will not let you go!” - -“You are a good girl, Marguerite! But I know best what is proper, and -you must not think to control me. The men will not do me any harm, -child; they dare not. Perhaps I shall be back to dinner, and mamma will -then tell me how good you have been.” - -As I spoke, she looked steadfastly in my face; and then, flinging her -arms round my neck, cried, “Good-by, papa!” and burst into a flood of -tears. - -I embraced the other children and their mother; and, saying to the -latter significantly, “Fear nothing; you know I have nothing to -fear!”--departed with my conductors. - -The way to the citadel lay through the market-place. The scene was -already crowded; and I had the mortification to be led along as a -criminal, in the midst of a thousand gazing eyes and enquiring tongues. -New as every thing connected with my present situation was to me, I had -not anticipated this vexation. I was stung with shame and impatience. -“To my dungeon!” said I to my conductors sternly. “If you had shown -yourself better humoured,” cried the most brutal of them, “we would -have led you round by the back way.” - -The master of the prison was somewhat less a savage than his officers. -He knew my person, and had heard of my wealth. “Does monsieur choose -the best apartment?” said he. “Any where that I can be alone!” answered -I hastily. He hesitated a moment. I looked in his face: “Oh, yes, you -will be paid!” He bowed, and showed me to a room. - -I shut the door as he retired. What had happened to me was of little -importance in itself. The impertinence of bailiffs and thief-takers -is of no more real moment than the stinging of a gnat. But I was so -utterly unacquainted with scenes of this nature! The pride of rank -that swelled within me made every appearance of restraint galling to -my sense. From the instant I was able to write, man, no one, except -in the voluntary compact of military service, had ever said to me, Go -there! or, Do this! And now, was I to be directed by the very refuse -of the species? Was I to learn the prudence of not replying to their -insults? Was I to purchase, at a stipulated price, their patience and -forbearance?--I request the reader to pardon me for troubling him with -my noviciate feelings: I soon learned to understand the world--the -world of a prison--better! - -But, what was of more importance, I was apprehended as a criminal: -I had been dragged a prisoner of justice through the streets of -Constance; I was, by and by, to be subjected to the interrogatories -of the municipal tribunal. I could scarcely credit my senses, that -such an indignity had happened to the blood of St. Leon. It is true, -I was innocent. I was conscious, whatever might be my imprudences -and offences towards my own family, that I had done nothing to merit -the animadversion of public justice. But this was of no consequence. -Nothing, in my opinion, could wipe away the disgrace of being -interrogated, examined! of having for an instant imputed to me the -possibility of being a criminal! I writhed under this dishonour, and -felt it as a severer attack than the question, which was comparatively -of ceremony and etiquette, that had oppressed me in my residence at -Dresden. - -The next day, when I was brought up for examination, I had expected -to be the complainant, in demanding redress for the injury I had -sustained. But I was mistaken. - -I entered the room haughtily, and with the air of a man that felt -himself aggrieved. Of this however the magistrate took no notice. “Do -you know, sir,” said I, “that I am a citizen and a gentleman of France? -Are you acquainted with the treatment I have experienced? Have you lent -your authority to that treatment?” - -“Wait a few minutes,” replied he with an imperious tone, “and I shall -be at leisure to attend to you.” - -I was silent. After the interval of nearly a quarter of an hour, he -resumed-- - -“You call yourself the count de St. Leon!” - -“I do.” - -“Perhaps, sir, you are uninformed of the purity with which justice is -administered in the city within whose jurisdiction you now stand. Our -state is a small one, and its magistrates are therefore enabled to -discharge the office of a parent, not only to its proper citizens, but -to all strangers that place themselves under its protection.” - -“I remember, sir, that seven years ago, I and my wife and four -children, sick and unfriended, were upon the point of perishing with -hunger within the walls of this city!”--The fact I mentioned was wholly -foreign to the point with which I was at present concerned; but the -parading arrogance of the man brought it forcibly to my memory, and -wrung it from my lips. - -“_Monsieur le comte_,” replied he, “you are petulant. It is not the -office of a state to feed the souls it contains; it could not do that -without making them slaves. Its proper concern is to maintain them in -that security and freedom of action, which may best enable them to -support themselves.” - -I suppressed the emotions which the tone of this speech excited. I -was unwilling to enter into contention with a man whom I regarded as -inexpressibly my inferior. - -“Is it,” cried I sternly, “a part of the justice you boast of, to drag -a man of rank and a stranger from his home, without any intimation of -the cause of his being so treated, and then, instead of investigating -immediately the charge against him, to send him to prison unheard? -I disdain to mention the behaviour of your officers: those things -naturally grow out of the abuses practised by their superiors.” - -“The mode of our proceeding,” replied he, “depends upon the seriousness -of the crime imputed. If a man of distinction labours under a slight -accusation only, we then treat him with all proper forbearance and -respect. But, when he is suspected of a crime of more than ordinary -magnitude, that alters the case. The man who has ceased to respect -himself, must look for no respect from others.” - -I was for a moment thunderstruck and speechless. At length fiercely I -cried, “Produce my accusers!” - -“That is not the mode of proceeding in Constance. I have certain -questions to propound to you. When you have answered them, we shall see -what is to be done next.” - -“Carry me before the prince-bishop of your city! If I am to be examined -further, let it be by your sovereign!” - -“The prince-bishop, moved by the state of our affairs in matters of -religion, has been prevailed on to delegate his juridical authority. -I am the person to whom the cognisance of your business belongs; and -at certain times, aided by my assessors, have the power of life and -death within this city. You have had every indulgence to which you are -entitled, and it will be your wisdom to be no further refractory.” - -“Propose your questions!” - -“A person, apparently greatly advanced in years, arrived in the -autumn of last year at a miserable farm you at that time cultivated, -called the Cottage of the Lake. It is to him that my questions will -principally relate.” - -I stood aghast. The words of the magistrate were most unwelcome sounds. -I remembered that the stranger had said to me, “When I am once buried, -speak of me, and, if possible, think of me no more.” I replied with -eagerness and alarm-- - -“Of that person I have nothing to say. Spare your questions: I have no -answer to return you!” - -“What was his name?” - -“I know not.” - -“His country?” - -“I cannot inform you.” - -“It is understood that he died, or in some manner disappeared, while -under your protection. Yet in the registers of the church there is no -notice of that event. If he died, no application was made for the rites -of religion to him dying, or to his body when his spirit had deserted -it. You are required to answer, what became of him or his remains?” - -“I have already told you, that from me you will obtain no information.” - -“One question more, sir. Seven years ago, you tell me, you and your -family were perishing with hunger. Soon after, you removed from obscure -lodgings in this city to the cottage of the lake, and seemed to be -laudably employed in earning for yourself a scanty livelihood with -the labour of your hands. But within the last six months the scene is -wholly changed. You appear to have suddenly grown rich, and here, and -in other parts of Germany, have actually disbursed considerable sums. -Whence comes this change?” - -The train of questions thus proposed to me, impelled me to a serious -reply. - -“_Monsieur le juge_,” said I, “I am a stranger, a native of France, and -a man of rank in my own country. I have paid your state the compliment -of choosing it for my residence. I have expended my industry, I expend -my wealth among you. I have comported myself as a peaceable inhabitant. -No action of my life has brought scandal upon your state, or disturbed -the peace and tranquillity of your affairs. I cannot collect from -any thing you have said, that I have any accuser, or that any charge -has been alleged against me. Till that happens, I cannot fall under -your animadversion. I am a man of generous birth and honourable -sentiments. To myself and my own conscience only am I accountable for -my expenditure and my income. I disdain to answer to any tribunal on -earth an enquiry of this sort. And now, sir, in conclusion, what I -demand of you is, first, my liberty; and secondly, an ample reparation -for the interruption I have sustained, and the insults to which I have -causelessly been exposed.” - -“You are mistaken, sir,” said the magistrate. “What you mention may -be the rule of administering justice in some states. They may decide, -if they think proper, that some open act, apparently of a criminal -description, must be alleged against a man, before he can become an -object of animadversion to the state. But in Constance, as I have -already told you, the government assumes to act the part of a parent -to its subjects. I sit here, not merely to investigate and examine -definite acts, but as a censor morum; and I should violate the oath -of my office, if I did not lend a vigilant attention to the behaviour -and conduct of every one within my jurisdiction. The city of Constance -requires that nothing immoral, licentious, or of suspicious character, -shall be transacted within its walls. Your proceedings have escaped -notice too long; much longer than they would have done but for your -late absence. In cases where what is committed is merely immoral or -licentious, we content ourselves with sending the offender out of our -walls. But your case is of a complicated nature. It has scandalised -all the inhabitants of our virtuous and religious city. Unless you -answer my enquiries, and give a clear and satisfactory account of your -wealth, I am bound to believe that there is something in the business -that will not bear the light. The coincidence of times obliges me to -connect the disappearance of your guest, and the sudden growth of your -fortune. This connection gives rise to the most alarming suspicions. -I have therefore to inform you that, unless you honourably clear up -these suspicions by the most ample communication, my duty directs me to -remand you to prison, and to assure you that you will not be liberated -thence till you have satisfied the whole of my interrogatories.” - -“Think deliberately,” answered I, “of your decision before you form -it. Your prisons I despise; but I will not suffer my reputation and my -honour to be trifled with. I came before you willingly, though I could -easily have avoided doing so; because I was eager to clear my fame. I -expected accusers, and I knew I could confound accusation. But what is -this that you call justice? You put together circumstances in your own -mind: you form conjectures; and then, without information, accuser, or -oath, without the semblance of guilt, you condemn me to prison, and -expect to extort from me confession. In defect of articles of charge I -disdain to answer: the only return a man of honour should make to loose -conjectures and random calumnies is silence. I am descended from a race -of heroes, knights of the cross, and champions of France; and their -blood has not degenerated in my veins. I feel myself animated by the -soul of honour, and incapable of crime. I know my innocence, and I rest -upon it with confidence. Your vulgar citizens, habituated to none but -the groveling notions of traffic and barter, are not the peers of St. -Leon, nor able to comprehend the views and sentiments by which he is -guided.” - -“You are mighty well-spoken, monsieur St. Leon,” replied the -magistrate, “and your words are big and sounding; but we know that the -devil can assume the form of an angel, and that the most infamous and -profligate character can pronounce with emphasis sentiments of the -purest virtue. You are pleased to decide that the presumptions against -you are nothing but calumnies. Is it nothing that, having received -a stranger and retained him with you for months, you endeavoured -to conceal this fact, and never suffered him to be seen by a human -creature? Is his final disappearance nothing? Is it nothing that, -supposing him to be dead, as he probably is, you denied to his remains -the rites of funeral, and refuse to tell what is become of the body? -Is it nothing that, upon the death of this stranger, you, who were -before in a state almost of penury, suddenly appear to be possessed of -unbounded riches? Where is the will of this stranger? In what archives -have you deposited the declaration of his wealth? Let me tell you, -sir, that these presumptions, which you call nothing, form a body of -circumstantial evidence that, in many countries, would have led you -to the scaffold as a murderer. But the laws of Constance, which you -audaciously revile, are the mildest in the universe. Here we never put -a man to death but on his own confession. We simply condemn him to -perpetual imprisonment, or until he makes a declaration of his guilt. -You refuse to declare the name or country of the man whom you are -suspected of murdering, and then have the assurance to boast that no -private accuser rises against you. No, sir, we know there can be no -private accuser, where the connections of the party can be successfully -concealed. But shall this concealment, which is an aggravation of the -murder, prove its security? In conclusion, you boast of your blood -and heroic sentiments, and rail at our citizens as shopkeepers and -merchants. Let me tell you, sir, shopkeepers and merchants though we -are, we should scorn to conduct ourselves in the obscure and suspicious -manner that you have done. And, now I have taken the trouble to refute -your flimsy pretences, which it was wholly unnecessary for me to do, I -have done with you. You know your destination, unless you are prepared -immediately to give a satisfactory account of yourself and your -proceedings.” - -Finding it impossible to make on this man the impression I desired, -I declined entering into further parley; and, telling him that I -should convey a representation of my case to my native sovereign, and -did not doubt soon to make him feel the rashness of his proceeding, -I withdrew, in the custody of the officers who had conducted me to -the scene of audience. I was, I confess, struck with the coincidence -of circumstances, which the magistrate had placed in a fight equally -unexpected and forcible, and which I now saw calculated to subject me -to the most injurious suspicions. I was not disposed in the smallest -degree to yield to the attack, but I felt a desire to act deliberately -and with caution. The whole of what I had heard was utterly unforeseen, -and it was with peculiar anguish that I became aware of this new -consequence of the stranger’s pernicious donation. This was a -consequence that no resignation, no abjuration of his bequests could -cure; and that must be stood up to with manly courage, if any hope were -entertained of averting it. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - -The appearance of wealth that accompanied me had by this time made -its impression upon my keepers; and one of them now informed me, that -monsieur Monluc, an agent of the court of France, who was making -a tour of several of the German states by order of his sovereign, -had arrived the night before at the city of Constance. There was no -representative of my country regularly resident here, and I immediately -felt the presence of Monluc to be the most fortunate event that could -have occurred for effecting my honourable deliverance. Selfishness and -avarice, it may be thought, would rather have impelled the persons -who had me in custody to conceal from me a circumstance calculated to -deprive them of an advantageous prey. But in those groveling souls -from whom riches never fail to extort homage, however strange it may -seem, the homage often appears disinterested. They pay it by a sort -of irresistible instinct; and, admiring what they covet, at an awful -distance, with difficulty assume the courage to pollute their worship -with ideas of calculation and gain. - -I immediately addressed a memorial to this gallant soldier, with -whose person indeed I was unacquainted, but the fame of whose spirit -and enterprise had not failed to have reached me. I represented to -him that I was a Frenchman of family and distinction; that I had -been seized upon and was retained in prison by the magistrates here, -without accuser or the hope of a trial; that I had not been guilty of -the shadow of a crime; and that I knew the benignity and courage of -my sovereign would never permit a subject of France to languish under -calumny and oppression in a foreign country. I added, that he would -do an acceptable service to king Francis, to whom I had the honour to -be known, by interfering in my favour; and therefore entreated him to -obtain for me immediate justice and deliverance. Monluc returned me an -answer by the bearer of my memorial, assuring me that he would lose no -time in enquiring into the merits of my case, and that I might depend -upon receiving every assistance from him that a man of honour could -desire. - -The warmth and frankness of this answer filled me with hope, for there -was no deliverance from my present situation that I could contemplate -with satisfaction, but such a one as should be accompanied with -reparation and _éclat_. Three days however elapsed before I heard -again from the French envoy. On the morning of the fourth he announced -his intention of visiting me; and, about an hour after, arrived at -the prison. His appearance was striking. He was tall, slender, and -well made, with a freedom of carriage, not derived from the polish -of courts, but which appeared to flow from the manliness and active -energies of his mind. His hair and complexion were dark; the former, -though he was still young, rather scantily shaded a high and ample -forehead. His features were expressive of the sanguine and adust temper -of his mind; and, though his eye was animated, his countenance, as he -entered, struck me as particularly solemn. - -“You are the count de St. Leon?” said he. - -“I am.” - -“You sent me a memorial a few days ago complaining of the tribunal of -this city: I am afraid, sir, I can do nothing for you.” - -My countenance fell as he spoke; I gasped for breath. I had conceived a -most favourable anticipation as he entered, and my disappointment was -particularly cruel. I had said in my heart, This is the very man to -rescue my injured fame. - -“I see, sir, you are disappointed,” resumed he. “I have not given -up the affair: if I had, this visit, which I design as a mark of -attention, would be an insult. The moment I received your memorial, I -paid the utmost regard to it. If the affair had been as you represented -it, I know I could not do any thing more acceptable to my sovereign -than interfere in your behalf. I have spent the whole interval in -investigating the case. I have seen the magistrate who committed you; -I have visited the spot where your crime is alleged to have been -perpetrated; I have had an interview with your wife.” - -“Well, sir,” cried I, alarmed and impatient--“well, sir, and the -result?” - -“Appearances are uncommonly strong against you: they can scarcely he -stronger. But you have a right to be heard; it is for the sake of -discharging that last act of justice that you see me this morning.” - -“Great God!” exclaimed I, overwhelmed with chagrin, “is if possible -that my countryman, the man to whom I was proud and happy to appeal, -the gallant Monluc, should believe me a murderer? I swear by every -thing that is sacred, by the blood of him that died for me on the -cross, and by my eternal salvation, that I am as innocent as the child -unborn!” - -“I am glad to hear you express yourself with this emphasis and fervour. -I cannot but say that to my own feelings it has great weight. But I -must not suffer myself as a man, and still less in the public capacity -in which I stand, to be overcome and confounded by your asseverations. -There is a connected and most unfavourable story against you: this it -is incumbent on you to clear up.” - -“And you say, you have seen my wife?” I was distracted and overwhelmed -by Monluc’s way of putting the question. I was divided between my -anxiety to be justified, and the solemn mystery of the affair to which -his enquiries led; and I probably spoke thus from an unconscious desire -to gain time. - -“Yes, that is another presumption in your favour. Madame de St. Leon -is perhaps the most striking and extraordinary woman I ever saw. Of -the husband of such a woman, especially when he appears to be the -object of her attachment, I should be always inclined to think well. -Madame de St. Leon pleaded for you with earnestness and affection. -But, amidst all her ardour, I could perceive that she felt there was -something mysterious and unpleasant in the affair, that she was unable -to develope.” - -As Monluc spoke, I saw that I had failed in one of the main anchors -of my hope. I thought that no one could have talked with my beloved -Marguerite, and have left her with the opinion that I was a murderer. -How did this happen? Was she lukewarm and unfaithful in my vindication? - -“What she,” continued my countryman, “I could see, was not only unable -to explain, but did not fully understand, it is you alone can clear; -the concealment of the stranger, his disappearance, what became of the -body, and your own sudden transition from poverty to wealth.” - -I was by this time fully sensible of the nature of my situation. I -summoned my fortitude; I felt that I had no longer any hope but in the -dignity of innocence. - -“You call on me for explanation,” replied I. “Can you not conceive, -gallant Monluc, that I may be able to resolve your doubts, and yet -that I will not? Explanation is not the business of a man of honour. -He cannot stoop to it. He will win the applause and approbation of -mankind, if won, in silence. He will hold on the even course of a -generous spirit, and turn neither to the right nor to the left, to -court the suffrage, or deprecate the condemnation of a giddy multitude. -Such, my brave countryman, have been the maxims of my past life; such -will be the maxims of my future.” - -“I admire,” answered Monluc, “at least the gallantry of these -sentiments, though I may be inclined to doubt their prudence. But, if -such is your determination, permit me to say, you have no concern with -me. He who resolutely withholds explanation, must arm himself with -patience, and either wait the operation of time, or rest satisfied with -the consciousness of his innocence.” - -“And is that all? Will there not be some noble spirits, who, separating -themselves from the herd, will judge of him by what they feel in their -own breasts, and be drawn to him with an irresistible impulse? Was it -not natural that I should expect Monluc to be one of these? It would be -hard indeed, if he who disdains to temporise with popularity, and to -vindicate himself from the ungenerous constructions of sordid minds, -should not by that very proceeding secure the friendship and sympathy -of those, whose friendship it will be most grateful to him to possess.” - -“The friends of an innocent man, whom a combination of circumstances -has exposed to the most painful suspicions, must always be few. He can -scarcely expect the acquittal and sympathy of a stranger. I must know, -I must have felt and observed in a man a thousand virtues, before -I can be entitled to treat accumulated presumptions against him as -nothing.” - -“And thus then are to end my hopes in Monluc? He does not feel that I -am innocent? He does not recognise in me the countenance, the voice, -the turn of thought, of a brother, a man no less incapable than himself -of every thing disgraceful and ignominious? Be it so! I will, as you -advise me, rest upon the consciousness of my innocence. A Frenchman, -the descendant of illustrious ancestors, long an exile, long the victim -of adversity, but at all times conscious of the purity of my sentiments -and the integrity of my conduct, I will not suffer myself to be -overwhelmed with this last desertion, this ultimate refusal of justice!” - -“Count de St. Leon! your appeal is full of energy. In whatever way -I decide, it will leave an unpleasant sensation in my breast. Let -us suppose that, as a private man, I could take you to my arms, and -dismiss every unfavourable appearance from my mind. You must remember -that I am here in a public character, and that only in a public -character am I capable of affording you assistance. Thus situated, I am -bound to resist the impulses of a romantic and irregular confidence, -and to do nothing of which I shall not be able to render a clear and -intelligible account. - -“Let us not part thus! It is not the vindication of your character to -the world, with which we are at present concerned. It is only necessary -that you should furnish a sufficient ground to justify me to myself for -interfering in your behalf. Explain to me the particulars of your case, -in confidence if you will, but fully and without reserve. I will not -abuse your confidence. I will make no use of your communication, but -such as you shall yourself approve. Only enable me to have a reason for -acting, that is not merely capable of being felt, but that I may know -is in its own nature capable of being stated to another. It is upon me -that you call to take certain measures; you must enable me to judge of -their propriety. - -“You are mistaken when you suppose the appearances against you to -be slight. It is not a slight circumstance, that you profess to -be ignorant of, or have refused to disclose, the country, the -connections, and even the name of the stranger whom you so anxiously -concealed. The disappearance of his body is still more extraordinary. -What intelligible motive, except a guilty one, can I assign for -that? But your sudden wealth immediately after this disappearance, -is especially material. It is a broad and glaring fact, that men -cannot shut their eyes on, if they would. The chain and combination -of events, that proceeds systematically from link to link, is the -criterion of guilt and the protector of reputation. Your case, as it -now stands, is scarcely to be termed equivocal: upon the supposition -of your criminality all is plain and easy to be accounted for; upon -any other supposition it appears an inscrutable mystery. Place but the -balance even; present to me an exposition of these facts, that shall -make your innocence not less probable than your guilt; and, as I feel -myself interested for you and your family, and as the presumption, when -matters are doubtful, ought always to be on the favourable side, I -consent to be your friend!” - -“How unfortunate,” I exclaimed, “am I doomed to be! Your proposal is -liberal and generous; but I must refuse it! My story is an unhappy one: -particulars have been reposed in my fidelity, which I am not at liberty -to communicate, but which, if communicated, you would not regard as -dishonourable. I may be made the martyr of infamy, and the abhorrence -of my species; I can endure adversity and anguish; I can die; but that -which you demand from me never can be confided to any mortal ear!” - -“As you please,” rejoined Monluc. “The secrets of a dead man, to be -preserved after his death, and that to the ruin of him who is their -depository, must, I believe, be villanous secrets; and the secret of a -villain no one is bound to observe. You must further give me leave to -tell you, that, whatever a high-strained sense of honour might dictate -in that point, the fortune you possess is your own affair, and to -dissipate or not the mystery which hangs upon that is wholly at your -discretion. But I have already advanced as far, perhaps further, than -circumstances or propriety could justify, and there can now be no more -parley between us.” - -“Monluc,” cried I, “I submit! However harsh your decision is as towards -me, however painful and unfortunate its consequences, I will admit it -to be that which duty prescribes to you. I struggle, I contend, no -further. One thing only I would willingly obtain of you, that you would -interpose your influence to obtain for me the society and intercourse -of my family. The transaction of this day will then be remembered by -me with respect towards you, and a melancholy regret that I could not -entitle myself to your esteem. I shall recollect with pleasure that I -owe something to the generosity of Monluc.” - -“Incredible pertinacity!” exclaimed my visitor, with a voice of -perplexity and astonishment. “What am I to conceive of you? Under what -appearance shall I consider you in the records of my memory? Your -silence is the indication of guilt, and in that indication I ought to -acquiesce. Yet the fortitude of your manner, and something, I know not -what, of emotion, that your manner produces in my own bosom, would -fain persuade me you are innocent. Why will you leave me a prey to -this contention of thought? If all men, constituted as I am, were to -feel in you, as it were, the magnetism of innocence, shame, the simple -inference of understanding, and the general sense of mankind, would -oblige them to treat you as guilty. What I can however, be assured I -will cheerfully do for you. I cannot deliver you from prison, but I -will not fail to obtain the mitigation you ask. Farewell!” - -Such was the issue of my interview with Monluc. It was clear that my -reputation was wounded beyond the power of remedy. While the question -had only been of a magistrate, haughty, supercilious, insolent and -unfeeling, I flattered myself that the harshness of the conclusions -that were drawn, might be ascribed to the depravity of his character. -But Monluc was the reverse of this man. He was not less generous and -heroic than the magistrate was gross and illiberal. His desire to -relieve me was not less apparent than the magistrate’s eagerness to -oppress. Yet his conclusion was the same, and was felt by me so much -the more bitterly, in proportion to the humanity, the kindness, the -intrepidity, and the virtue, of the man from whom it flowed. Virtue -and vice, barbarism and refinement, were equally engaged in the concert -against me, and there was no chance I should triumph in a contention -with so many enemies. - -I might now be said to have reached the end of my adventure: I had -closed one grand experiment upon the donation of the stranger. What -had it produced to me? Not one atom of the benefits I anticipated; not -a particle of those advantages which a little while ago had made the -intoxications of my waking dreams. Its fruits had been distasteful and -loathsome. Whether I looked to my person, my family, or my fame, I had -felt in all the miserable effects of this treacherous and delusive -gift. My person was shut up in prison; and I was now to make an -experiment whether, by clandestine and secret proceedings, wealth could -restore to me the liberty of which wealth had deprived me. My family -was blasted; my wife was struck to the heart, and no mortal skill -could restore the wound she had suffered; my son was gone unaided into -voluntary exile, that he might shun the contagion of my follies; what -was I to do with the poor remains of my house, forlorn, dejected, and -wretched? The wound my good name had received, was of the most decisive -species. When I first encountered contumely at Dresden, and was called -on for explanation by Coligny, the difficulties of my condition struck -anguish to my soul. But what were they, compared with what had now -overtaken me? I was charged with robbery and murder, with every thing -that combines the whole species against the perpetrator, and determines -them, without sense of compunction, to extirpate him from the face of -the earth. Perhaps it was only by the courtesy of the laws of this -state, that I was permitted my choice between an ignominious death -and perpetual imprisonment. I might possibly indeed escape from my -confinement; I might pass into a distant country; I might be fortunate -enough to cut off all connection between my past and my future life, -and thus enter upon a new career. But this to a man of honourable -mind is a miserable expedient. With what feelings does he recollect, -that there is a spot where his name is abhorred, where a story is -told against him to excite the wonder of the ignorant, and the torpid -feelings of the sluggish soul, a story to darken with new infamy the -records of guilt, and to infect the imagination of the solitary man -with nameless horrors? To be the theme of such a tale, is no common -evil. No matter how far the man to whom it relates, shall remove from -the detested spot; the spot itself with all its chain of circumstances, -will often recur; the voices that repulsed and humbled him will ring -in his ear; the degraded figure he made will rise for ever fresh to -his imagination. He cannot ascend to any free and lofty sentiment; he -cannot attain the healthful tone of unblemished virtue; wherever he -goes, he carries the arrow of disgrace in his bosom, and, when he would -erect his head on high, it reminds him of the past, and stings him to -the heart. - -If the consciousness of all this would have been painful to any other -man, what was it to me, who had been brought up from my infancy in -the opinion that fame was the first of all human possessions, and to -whom honour and an unimpeached integrity had ever been more necessary -than my daily food, or than the life which that food supported? What -would I not have given could I have returned to the situation in -which the inauspicious arrival of the stranger had found me? But that -was impossible. If all that I had recently passed through could but -have proved a dream, if I could have awakened and freed myself from -the phantoms of this horrible vision, how happy beyond all names of -happiness should I by such an event have been made! What a lesson would -it have taught me of the emptiness and futility of human wishes! What a -sovereign contempt would it have impressed upon me for wealth and all -its train of ostentation! How profound a feeling of contentment with -humble circumstances and a narrow station would it have produced in my -mind! Alas, the conception of those advantages and that peace was the -illusion, and not the evils I had sustained, and from which I could not -escape! - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - -Meanwhile it was necessary that I should make the best of the present -circumstances. My heart was wounded; my spirit was in a manner broken; -but not so utterly withered and destroyed as to make me rest supine in -perpetual imprisonment. I felt with equal conviction and pungency that -my character and my happiness had sustained the deepest injuries; but -I felt it incumbent on me to collect and improve the fragments that -remained. For some days indeed after the conference with Monluc, I -was sunk in the deepest dejection. But, as that dejection subsided, I -began to turn a steady attention upon the future. I recollected that -an eternal and inexhaustible gift deserved to be made the subject -of more than one experiment, before a decision was formed upon its -merits. I shall become wiser, said I, as I go forward. Experience, -however bitter, will teach me sagacity and discrimination. My next -experiment shall be made with more prudence and a soberer gradation. -I will remove to some distant country, where the disadvantages of my -past adventures shall not follow me. I will take a new name. I shall -then enjoy the benefit of a tyro just entering a scene, to all the -personages of which he is wholly unknown. I shall be like a serpent -that has stripped its tarnished and wrinkled skin, and comes forth in -all the gloss and sleekness of youth. Surely, in an unknown land, with -the prejudice of wealth in my favour, and no prejudices against me, I -shall know how to conduct myself so as to obtain honour and respect. -It is impossible that inexhaustible wealth and immortal youth, gifts -so earnestly coveted by every creature that lives, gifts which if I -were known to possess, my whole species from the mere impulses of envy -would probably combine to murder me, as not able to endure the sight of -one so elevated above his brethren,--it is impossible that such gifts -should not be pregnant with variety of joy. - -Marguerite greatly contributed to raise me from the dejection, into -which my imprisonment and the conference of Monluc had sunk me. She -was my better genius. I had been so accustomed to receive consolation -from her lips in the most trying circumstances, that now the very -sound of her voice was able to smooth my wrinkled brow, and calm my -agitated spirit. I listened as to the sound of an angelic lyre; I -was all ear; I drank in the accents of her tongue; and, in the dear -delight, my cares were hushed, and my sorrows at an end. She talked to -me of her daughters, whom she represented as about to have no protector -but their father; she urged me to watch over them, and to take such -steps as should most conduce to their future virtue and happiness; -she pointed out the practicability of escape, and recommended to me -to fly to some distant country: the dreams of future prosperity from -the gifts of the stranger were not hers; they were all my own. It was -inexpressibly affecting at this time to receive consolation from her, -who had no consolation in her own breast, who had bid farewell to all -the gay attractions of the world, and talked familiarly of her death as -a thing certain to happen in no very long time. She had lost the purest -gratifications of the domestic scene; she had lost her son; her heart -was broken; yet with her dying accents she sought to dispel retrospect, -and inspire cheerfulness, in the breast of her husband. - -The reader may perhaps imagine that I was something too sanguine, -when, surrounded with jailors and all the precautions of a prison, I -planned the nature and scene of my next residence exactly as if I had -been a person at large. But I took it for granted that the power of -money I possessed would easily unlock to me the gates of my captivity. -I believed that, upon the lowest calculation, personal liberty was -clearly included among the gifts of the stranger. Impressed with this -opinion, I fixed upon a negro, a servant of the prison, and who had the -keys of my apartment, as the subject of my pecuniary experiment. The -idea of applying to him had perhaps first occurred to me, from the mere -circumstance of my seeing him more frequently than any other attendant -of the prison. When I thought further of the matter, I judged, from -the meanness of his rank and his apparent poverty, that I could not -have chosen better. So far as related to the sum to be paid as the -price of my liberty, it was indeed indifferent to me, whether it were -large or small. I had however suffered so much from the inconsiderate -lavishing of wealth, that I had no inclination on the present occasion -to make ostentation of more than was necessary. But, what was of most -importance to me, I was desirous that my first experiment should be a -successful one. Though not unaware of the power of gold, I conceived -that, among persons of middling rank and easier circumstances, there -might be varieties of disposition, and I might be mistaken in my -choice. Some might have the whim of integrity, or might place a sturdy -sort of pride in showing that they were content with what they had, -and were too high for a bribe. There might be persons who, though of -plebeian rank, might value reputation as much as ever I had done, and -be of opinion that no advance of station could compensate for the name -or the consciousness of dishonour. These distinctions may seem an idle -and superfluous refinement, when it is considered that I had the power -of raising my bribe to the level of any man’s honesty or pride, be it -as great as it might; and it may be thought that my offer might be so -increased as to be too dazzling for mortal firmness to resist. Be that -as it will, I am merely stating the reflections that passed through my -mind, not entering into their vindication. - -Taking the first opportunity then of accosting this man when he was -alone with me, I addressed him thus:-- - -“My good friend, are not you poor?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Would not you readily do me a kindness?” - -“If my master give me leave, I will.” - -“You mistake me. Would you be my friend?” - -“I do not know what you mean, sir. I have been used to call the man I -love my friend. If you mean that, you know I cannot choose whether I -will be a man’s friend; it comes of itself.” - -“Can I not make you my friend?” - -“That is, make me love you?” - -I was surprised at the propriety of his answers. I am unable at this -distance of time to recall the defects of his language: and I disdain -the mimic toil of inventing a jargon for him suitable to the lowness -of his condition: the sense of what he said I faithfully report. I had -before been struck with a certain correctness of thinking in him; but -I now examined his countenance more attentively than I had ever before -done, and thought I could distinctly trace in it the indications of a -sound understanding and an excellent heart. - -“I do not know, sir,” continued he. “If I see that you are a good man, -I believe I shall love you. But if it happened that you were good and -generous to me, I am sure I should love you very much.” - -“You are very poor?” - -“So they tell me. I never had more than a shilling or two at a time in -my life.” - -“It is a very sad thing to be poor?” - -“Why, yes, so I have heard, sir. But, for my own part, I am always -merry and gay.” - -“My good fellow, I will make you rich.” - -“Thank you, sir! But what good will that do me?” - -“You are a servant: I will make you a master of servants.” - -“Now, that I should not like at all. I am merry, because I am -light-hearted. If I had money, and property to take care of, and -servants to direct, I am afraid they would make me grave and -suspicious, and in every respect unlike what you see me.” - -“Is it possible you should be pleased with your present situation, -under the orders of one man in a house, and obliged to play the tyrant -to the rest?” - -“Why, as you say, sir, there may be more agreeable situations than the -life of a jail. But, as to being under orders, I have no objection to -that. I never knew any other condition, and therefore I am contented. -It is not pleasant indeed to have a master who is always scolding and -dissatisfied; but the gentleman I serve at present is reasonable; I -know how to content him, and, when I have done that, he leaves me to -please myself. You offer me money: now, sir, that is not what I call -being generous; I count nothing for much, except when a man shows me -has bowels, and convinces me that he thinks justice due even to a -negro. I dare say however you designed it for generosity, and expected -something from me in return. Tell me what it is you want, and whatever -I can do with propriety, you may depend on it I will.” - -“Do you approve of a man’s being deprived of his liberty?” - -“Will you please to tell me what you mean by liberty? You offered me -just now what you called liberty and independence; and I am content to -be a servant.” - -“Would you be pleased, instead of being a turnkey, to have the key -turned on yourself?” - -“That I should not. I understand the disagreeableness of that well -enough, for when I first entered this place, it was as a prisoner.” - -“If then, my good fellow, you were convinced that I was a man disposed -to be generous to you in your own way, and to deserve your attachment -and love, surely you would not refuse to deliver me from a situation -which you have yourself felt to be so disagreeable and calamitous.” - -“I understand you now, sir. I have already a master with whom I am -satisfied, and I do not wish to change my service. When I was a -prisoner, he found out that I was innocent; he got me cleared, and -gave me employment. I am put here for the express purpose of seeing -the prisoners in safe custody. That is the contract between me and my -master. When I took the keys, by that action I pledged myself to be -faithful to my trust; and the nobleness of my master’s behaviour to me -in removing me from being a prisoner to be a free servant, is a double -bond upon my fidelity. I would sooner consent to be torn limb from -limb, than fail in what is expected from me. You may be generous to a -harmless stranger; you have most reason to be generous to a man you -love; but, if you would heap benefits upon me merely because I proved -myself a villain, I can only say it would be disgraceful to be the -object of your favour.” - -Thus saying, he quitted me, and withdrew from further parley. The -conversation in which we had engaged, though I had had considerable -experience in the world, was altogether new to me, and overwhelmed -me with astonishment. I found in this trial, that the power of -money was subject to limitations, of which previously I had not been -in the slightest degree aware. I thought that nothing but the most -extraordinary degree of resolution and self-denial could enable a man -to resist its enticements; and I had even been told, though I did -not believe, that every man had his price, and a bribe capable of -indefinite augmentation must be in all cases victorious. Yet here was -a poor creature utterly exempt from its operation. He had no sense of -those attractions, which so often degrade the best, and convert virtue -into the most shameless profligacy. It cost him no effort to be honest, -and he uttered sentiments that would have given lustre to the most -heroic character, without any consciousness of their greatness. What -I had seen, led me also to reflect on another singularity I discerned -in him. In the midst of the admirable, I had almost said the sublime, -integrity he discovered, (for is it not a criterion of the sublime -to be great without an effort?) he was destitute of knowledge, of -intellectual cultivation, and all those exquisite sensations that most -distinguish the man from the brute. He passed on quietly in the road -of ordinary life, and thought not of the ambition to be wise or great, -to be honoured by thousands, or a benefactor to ages yet unborn. Kings -might have confessed their inferiority to this man. But is he to be -regarded as the model of what a human creature should be wished to be? -Oh, no! - -But the most memorable feeling impressed upon me by this conversation, -was a conviction of what I had been backward to confess, that knaves -were the persons to whose assistance and concert I must look, and that -I must be upon my guard against an honest man. No one was qualified to -be my coadjutor, till he had proved himself unworthy of all just and -honourable society. The friend I must seek, was a man whose very soul -melted at a bribe, whom money would seduce to perpetrate whatever his -judgment most abhorred. Honour and integrity in the most refined and -the rudest state, Monluc and the negro, both refused. It is impossible -to conceive a sensation more painful and humiliating, than was this -conviction to my mind. - -I was not long at leisure for these reflections. In a few minutes the -master of the prison entered my apartment, and with him the negro whom -I had endeavoured to prevail on to assist in restoring me to liberty. -The master began to reproach me in very harsh terms for attempting to -seduce his servant from his duty, and asked me what sort of enjoyment -or satisfaction a man could have in life, if he could not depend -upon the people he put into his employment? To this I answered with -sternness, “that I should hold no debate about right and wrong with a -jailor; that he might depend upon it I would leave no stone unturned to -set myself free, and, what was more, that I would be free; and that, -for his part, it was his business to keep me if he could, but not to -insult me.” I therefore insisted upon his quitting the room. - -“What use,” replied the fellow, “do you think now there is in putting -yourself in a passion? If I have not a right to speak to you, I know -what I have a right to do, put you in the strong room, and load you -with irons.” - -I turned my back upon him. “And how came you,” said I to the negro, “to -go and betray me? I should have expected better things of you. If you -refused to serve me, at least you needed not have endeavoured to hurt -me.” - -“I did nothing but my duty, sir. I have no wish to hurt you: but it is -my business, not merely to take care of my master’s interests myself, -but to see that they are not injured by any body else. If he was not -put on his guard, you might have been more successful with the next -turnkey you endeavoured to bribe.” - -“You will find it more to your interest, monsieur,” interposed the -jailor, “to talk to me than to my servant. You are determined to be -free, you say. If that is the case, and it is to happen, who has so -good a right to benefit by your resolution as I have?” - -My eyes were opened in a moment. I saw that the knave whose rigour and -sternness could not hold out against the warmth of a bribe, the friend -of whose assistance I was in want, stood before me. - -“I do not wonder,” proceeded he, “that you preferred applying to one -of my servants. Their honesty must be expected to be had at a cheaper -market. But, for my part, I am determined that no man shall ever pass -these walls, without my being the richer. If then your escape is a -thing that must happen, let us see what you can afford to give me for -it.” - -“Dear master,” interposed the negro, “you surely will not listen to the -gentleman’s offer. When I refused to betray my trust, it is impossible -you should consent to betray yours!” - -“Hold your tongue, blockhead!” said the other. “Do not you see that -monsieur is determined to escape? I know he is rich. Though you have -refused a bribe, I am sure that all your fellows will not. The thing -will happen sooner or later in spite of every thing I can do; and there -can be no harm in my helping to bring about, what it is impossible I -should prevent.” - -A morality like this seems exactly in its place in the breast of a -jailor. We had already made some progress in adjusting the terms of our -contract, when the keeper of the prison interposed:-- - -“But, monsieur, you will please to remark, that this is an affair which -will be attended with difficulty. Whatever passes between you and me -must be a secret. Your escape will be a thing open and notorious, and -you must have a confederate, that I may not bear the blame of it. You -must therefore take my black here along with you, that his flight may -cause all the blame to fall upon him.” - -“O, pray, master,” said the negro, “do not part with me! I love you, -and will do any thing in the world, if you will let me stay. You saved -my life for aught I know, and made a man of me again; you cannot think -what good it does me to serve a master that has been so kind to me!” - -“Get you gone!” replied his owner. “You are of no use to me; you are -not fit for a jail; you are so simple, I cannot tell what to do with -you!” - -“Indeed I do not like to go with this gentleman; it will break my -heart. He said he would be generous and kind to me, if I turned a -villain; I shall never be able, and shall never desire to earn his -kindness: but you rewarded me because I was innocent. He said he would -make a master of me; and I am better as I am; I had much rather be a -servant.” - -The difficulties of this poor fellow were soon silenced by the -peremptoriness of his master. The jailor told him that he would -do him a great service, by thus giving his master an opportunity -of representing him as the traitor; and, with this consideration, -the negro dried his tears, and with a reluctant heart consented to -accompany me. Thus were his exemplary fidelity and affection rewarded! -So little do some men seem capable of feeling the value of attachment! -The character of the master was a singular one. The meanness and -mercenariness of his spirit were unredeemed by a single virtue. He was -avarice personified. But he had found or imagined an interest in taking -this negro, who had been want only thrown into prison by a former -tyrant, for his servant; and this the poor fellow, in the simplicity of -his heart, had mistaken for an act of exalted generosity. His avarice -had swallowed up all his other passions; and his servants had neither -impatience nor insolence to encounter from him: weighed therefore -in the balance of the negro’s experience, he appeared a miracle of -mildness and benevolence. - -Our bargain was at length concluded; and, the next time Marguerite -came to visit me, I announced to her the success of my negotiation. -Before we parted, we sent for the jailor, and discussed with him the -road I should take. My purpose was to pass into Italy; and Marguerite -undertook by midnight to have every thing prepared to convey us to -the foot of the mountains. This point being adjusted, the keeper of -the prison left us; and, tenderly embracing Marguerite, I besought -her to congratulate me upon the recovery of my liberty. She had heard -however of the infamous nature of the charge against me, and, though -she yielded it no credit, I could easily perceive that it rendered -yet heavier the depression under which she laboured. She returned -my embrace; the tears stole down her cheeks; but she was silent. -I endeavoured to divert her thoughts and re-animate her spirits, -by hinting at the new scenes before us, and the distant country to -which we were about to remove; but in vain. “I will not reproach you, -Reginald!” said she; “I will not desert my duty while I have power to -perform it; you may depend upon my doing every thing I am able both -for the children and yourself!” - -She left me in a very melancholy frame of mind. I had not expected -to see her thus languid and disconsolate; and upon the eve of my -liberation, I felt it like caprice. Incomparable woman! She was -incapable of giving intentional pain: but, with her exquisitely -susceptible mind, she was unable to support the dreadful reverse in -which I had involved her, or even at times to assume the gestures of -cheerfulness and tranquillity; gestures that, at the best, but ill -disguised the grief within! - -I was busily reflecting on what had just occurred, when the keeper of -the prison re-entered my apartment. “I am come, monsieur,” said he, “to -take my leave of you. As I do not at all intend to lose my place, it is -not proper that I should see you any more. You understand me?” - -Two days had already elapsed since the conclusion of our contract, and -I had provided myself for this and such other demands as seemed likely -to be immediately impending. I should have preferred indeed to have -delayed this payment till the moment of my departure: but what the -jailor suggested appeared reasonable; and I could not assign, even to -my own mind, any cause why I should be reluctant to comply with it. I -paid to this wretch the price of his villany. - -I now began to count the hours, and eagerly to anticipate the arrival -of midnight. Though the moment of my liberty was so near, I yet -contemplated with unspeakable loathing the scene of my confinement, -which was associated with the deepest disgrace and the blackest charges -that are incident to a human creature. I felt as if, in proportion as I -removed from the hated spot, I should at least shake off a part of the -burthen that oppressed me, and grow comparatively young again. - -Time was far from moving indeed with the rapidity my impatience -required; but the hour of appointment at last was near, and I expected -every moment the faithful negro to appear, and announce to me my -freedom. The cathedral bell now sounded twelve; I heard the noise of -steps along the gallery; and presently a key was applied to the door -of my apartment. It opened; and three persons, whom I knew for servants -of the prison, entered. - -“Come, sir,” said one of them; “you must follow me.” - -“Where is my friend the negro?” said I. - -“Ask no questions; speak never a word; but come.” - -It was strange that the master of the prison, whose temper was so full -of anxiety and caution, should unnecessarily trust three of his people, -who might easily have been kept ignorant of this hazardous secret! -This circumstance however did not strike me at first so strongly as it -ought to have done. I had perfect confidence in his fidelity to his -profligate bargain, and expected every moment to meet the negro who was -to be my guide. My conductors led me by a way which I soon perceived -did not lead to the ordinary entrance of the prison. - -“Where are we going?” said I. - -“Hold your tongue, or you will spoil all;” replied one of them roughly. - -I bethought me that there might be an objection to the dismissing me by -the public gate; I recollected to have heard that there were several -subterranean outlets to the citadel; I judged from the words I had -just heard that my conductors were acquainted with the plan that had -been formed; and for all these reasons I proceeded with tolerable ease -and security. I was not much longer however permitted to doubt. I was -conducted to one of the dungeons of the prison, and told that there I -was to remain. At first I remonstrated loudly, and told them “that I -had been promised my liberty, and not a treatment like this.” - -“We know that, sir,” replied they, “and that is the reason you are -brought here. It is our business to teach you that the greatest offence -that can be committed by a man in prison is to attempt to escape.” - -The shock and surprise that so unexpected an issue to my adventure -produced, rendered me outrageous. I was no longer able to control my -fury; and, without knowing what I proposed, I knocked down two of my -attendants before they had an opportunity to secure me, and rushed -up the flight of steps by which we had descended. The third however -contrived to intercept me; and, while we struggled, the other two came -to his assistance. They loaded me with fetters and chained me to the -wall. I was then left in utter darkness. - -I felt myself sore with the bruises I had received in the contest; -but what was infinitely worse, I found the expectations of freedom I -had so confidently entertained, baffled and disappointed. Marguerite -and my children were at this moment waiting for me to join them. They -would probably wait hour after hour in vain. To what cause would they -attribute my failing of my appointment? To what cause was I myself to -attribute my miscarriage? My hopes in this instance had been in the -utmost degree sanguine; what was I to count upon for the future? Was -money useless in every instance in which mankind agreed to think its -power unquestionable? What was the source of the present catastrophe -and the harsh treatment I endured? Was the keeper of the prison -discovered, and dismissed from his office? Had the negro gone and given -information against him? I formed a thousand conjectures as to what -might have happened; but I was unable to rest in any. - -I had remained about twelve hours in this situation, full of angry -and disconsolate thoughts, when the principal jailor entered my -dungeon. I looked at him with astonishment; the cloud vanished from my -understanding, and I began to comprehend the solution of the enigma. - -“Are you at large?” cried I, with indignation: “why then am I here?” - -“You are here by my orders.” - -“Execrable villain!” said I. “Did you not promise me my freedom? -Have you not received the price of it? How dare you show yourself in -my presence?” As I spoke, I shook my chains, I clenched my fists, I -trembled with resentment and rage. - -“If you are not perfectly quiet and reasonable,” said he, “I shall -leave you to your fate and return no more.” - -Nothing is more singular in a state of great mental effervescence, than -the rapidity with which our ideas succeed each other. At such times we -seem to think more in minutes than at other times in hours. I felt -how miserable a slave a man is, the moment he falls completely into -the power of another. The wretch who stood before me was more vacant -of human affections than any one I ever saw. Yet I was his creature, -to be moulded as he pleased. A thousand injuries he could inflict upon -me, for which neither the institutions of society nor the extraordinary -endowments I derived from the stranger could afford a remedy. He might -so torture my mind and baffle my wishes, as to kill in me every spark -of lofty adventure and generous pride. My liberty might, for aught I -knew, be for years at his disposal. I felt however that my best course -was to regard him with contempt, and use him as I would a spade or -a file, to execute my purposes, without suffering him to awaken my -passions. I immediately grew more calm, and he perceived the revolution -of my sentiments. - -“You seem to wonder,” continued he, “that I did not keep my engagement -with you? I pride myself upon being superior to the prejudices, by -which other men are frightened, like children with a bugbear. I have -therefore no rule but my interest: and I did not see how my interest -bound me to keep my engagement with you.” - -“And what became of the countess?” - -“I neither know nor care. I suppose she stayed all night under the -walls; I knew she durst not disturb the prison.” - -I felt I had still emotions to suppress. I curbed my tongue, but they -showed themselves in my eyes. - -“How do you intend to dispose of me?” - -“Keep you in close custody. I have got your thousand pounds; the next -thing for me to take care of is, that I do not lose my place.” - -“And for what purpose do you come to me now?” - -“Why to tell you a secret, I have not quite determined what conduct -to pursue, and therefore I came here that I might have a better -opportunity of judging.” - -“Are you not afraid that I should inform the government how you have -cheated me?” - -“You inform! Have not I got you under lock and key? I warrant you, I -will take care what goes out of these walls to the government.” - -“The countess has a licence to visit me.” - -“What care I for that? I can keep her at bay as long as I will. She -will not easily go to the government; and she is not such a fool as -not to know, that to lodge a complaint against me, is not the way to -procure the liberty of a man condemned to perpetual imprisonment. I -can at any time trump up a story of your attempting to corrupt the -turnkeys, and be sure, when I do, I will not want for proofs. That will -cover any thing I can do to annoy you, and answer any accusation you -can make against me. Do you think that the word of a jailor will not be -taken, before that of the murderer he has in custody?” - -“I can bring your own servants as witnesses, three of whom assaulted me -last night.” - -“Dunce, do you think I trusted them with my secret? They have nothing -to tell, and apprehend nothing but a plot between you and my black, -who has been put into the penitentiary for his offence. He is my only -confident; and I trust him, because his stupidity answers to me for his -faith.” - -“Suppose I were to double the bribe for which you sold me my liberty, -what security should I have that you would abide by your bargain?” - -“Oh, if you were to do that, it would alter the case.” - -“Might you not then detain the money, and defy me, as you have done -now?” - -“Suppose that a thing which might happen: can you help yourself? can -you do better?” - -I saw there was no remedy, and I was constrained to allow the success -of this twofold perfidy. It was with an ill grace, and an attempt at -sullenness and indifference, that the jailor accepted my proposal. -The second thousand however had irresistible charms; and, in spite of -himself, the sensation that made his heart dance, relaxed his muscles, -and played about his mouth. He was puzzled what to think of me. The -facility with which I produced the sums he demanded, with less apparent -effort than they might have come from a duke or a sovereign prince, -startled and staggered him. He had still his qualms, and evidently -doubted whether he should not raise his price a third time. I saw no -safety but in pertinacity and firmness, and had the good fortune -ultimately to check his doubtful, half-formed experiments. - -I was led by the accidents which have just been related, into further -and deeper reflections on the power of money, as well as on the nature -of the situation in which I found myself placed by the legacy of the -stranger. My present experiment had been made upon a subject apparently -the most favourable that could have been devised, upon a man whose -breast the love of gold occupied without a rival: yet with this man -I very hardly succeeded. I was not indeed so blinded by the present -dejection of my spirit and sickness of my heart, as to imagine that I -had not a secure game with this base-minded wretch, if I consented to -play it. I had only to enlarge my bribe, to change it from the limited -sum of two thousand pounds to the more brilliant offer of two thousand -per annum, and no doubt I might have led him with me to the extremity -of the globe. However he might have demurred, however he might have -doubted, however curiosity, whetted even to agony by the goadings -of avarice, might have prompted him to an incessant enquiry within -himself as to the solution of my character and my powers, his grasping -spirit would infallibly have chained his tongue, and been surety for -his fidelity. But I could not yet prevail upon myself to endow such -groveling and noxious propensities with so rich a reward. I considered, -in the language of the stranger, that the talent I possessed was of the -most momentous nature, and bestowed by the governor of the universe for -the highest purposes; and I should have held myself unjustifiable in -enriching by its means, however urgent the necessity might appear, the -most worthless of mankind. - -The sentiments of my tyrant varied every hour; he was fickle, anxious, -and undetermined; harassed with the double fear of losing the sum -already obtained, and of not securing the whole of what was capable -of being acquired. He parted with me at last with all the pangs of a -lover, who witnesses the ceremony of his mistress’s taking the monastic -veil, and being sundered from him for ever. I was his Fortunatus’s -purse, and this was the last day he was to enjoy the use of it; I was -to him as the buried treasure of some long-forgotten hoarder, and -he feared he should quit his digging before he had carried off every -thing that the field concealed. At length however he began to apprehend -that he had urged the refinement of an unprincipled avarice as far -as it would go; and therefore in a few days, the negro being already -discharged from his penance, he suffered us to escape together. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - -Having rejoined the remainder of my family, we set out together for -the plains of Italy. My first interview with Marguerite after my -return from Dresden had been melancholy. But our situation was now -such as to give additional anguish to her serious thoughts. She had -then regarded me as ambiguous, mysterious, and impenetrable, qualities -from which the frankness of her nature spontaneously revolted; she saw -in me the destroyer of her son, the idol of her heart; she believed -me an alchymist, a character which she viewed as base, degrading, and -insensible; she had heard that rumour had been busy with my fame. But -now she saw in me a man of blasted reputation, arraigned and imprisoned -for robbery and murder. She did not credit these imputations. But did -the ingenuous and noble-minded Marguerite de Damville ever think to -find herself allied to a being thus loaded with the world’s abhorrence; -that she should be compelled to honour with the sacred name of husband -a fugitive, a prison-breaker, and an outlaw? If I had suffered these -things in the defence of my children, my religion, or my country, -the case would have been widely different. If, while encountering -the contempt of men, I had carried within me the glorious feeling, -that what they regarded as my disgrace was indeed my immortal honour, -Marguerite de Damville, beyond all women, was prepared to despise their -senseless blame, and proudly to demand her share in such a dishonour. - -I know there are men who will listen with fretful impatience to a -detail of such sorrows as hers, and who will cry out, “If we must be -distressed, give us more substantial and genuine sources of distress!” -They will regard the dejection of Marguerite as an idle wilfulness of -grief, better entitled to aversion than to sympathy; and will tell me -that nothing but the most deplorable blindness could have prevented her -from discerning the happiness of her condition; that she had the world -before her, a rich, a brave, and an enterprising husband, with a lovely -family of children; that they could move from country to country, -and from climate to climate, carrying with them the means of luxury, -indulgence, homage, and usefulness. To such moralisers I write not. For -those who are incapable of sympathising with the delicate sensations of -Marguerite, I am as little qualified to enter into their feelings as -they into mine. In the sequel of the story however it is not impossible -they may meet with their gratification. I am hastening to events -corporeal and palpable. I and my family did wander from country to -country, and from climate to climate. With what resulting success will -speedily be seen. - -Our destination at the present moment led us through the territory -of the Grisons, and over a limb of the Rhetian Alps, to Como, Milan, -Piacenza, Parma, and Pisa, in the neighbourhood of which latter city -we resolved to take up our immediate residence. In this passage we -met with few adventures that merit to be recorded in my history. One -however seems entitled to a place, both as it tends to display the -singular worth of a dumb and unpretending brute, and as it is in some -sort connected with the fortunes I encountered in the Pisan territory. -It occurred in our journey over the Alps. - -One evening, in the wildest and most desolate part of the mountain, -after having lodged my family in an inn, I wandered forth to take a -survey of the neighbouring scenery. It was moonlight; our travel of the -day had been short, and had left on me no impression of fatigue; while -the romantic appearance of every thing around, tempted me to extend my -excursion further than I had originally purposed. Stories of robberies -and murders in the vicinity had been repeated to us, and Marguerite had -employed the precaution of desiring Hector, such was the name which -the caprice of his former masters had bestowed on my faithful negro, -to follow my steps and hold me in sight. No anticipations of danger -however disturbed my contemplations. I resigned myself, as all my life -I had been accustomed to do, to the impressions of the moment, and -sought to shut out memory and the world from all my thoughts. The scene -was inexpressibly beautiful; the silence was uninterrupted and awful. -The splendour of the moon gave a sober and silvery tint to every thing -by which its light was caught; soft white clouds were scattered in the -deep azure of the sky; the shades were of a blackness and profundity -that could not be surpassed. Every thing was calculated to soothe -and subdue the mind, to inspire a grand and expansive tranquillity. -The enthusiasm it spoke occupied every channel of my heart. I stood -still. It seemed as if motion would have jarred and broken the spell -that seized me; I yielded with eager transport to the sentiment that -shrowded and enveloped me in its ample embrace. - -I had remained motionless for above half an hour, when a sudden and -eager sound burst upon my ear. It seemed to be the shriek of some -human creature in distress. It was repeated several times. My first -impulse was to fly to the spot from which the sound appeared to -proceed. Meanwhile Hector came up to me, and endeavoured to detain me -by violence. His first principle was obedience to every just and lawful -command; and the errand upon which he was commissioned, was to preserve -me from the approach of danger. He represented to me the stories of -banditti we had recently heard. He told me that we should too probably -fall in with a numerous party of these desperadoes, against whom all -our efforts, either for ourselves or for those I was desirous to -succour, would be nugatory. What would become of my children? what -would become of his mistress, if my rashness were succeeded by a fatal -event? While he was thus speaking, and exerting himself to detain me, -the cries ceased. I believed they were those of a person assassinated. -I conceived that I should be the vilest of poltroons if I suffered -any consideration to prevent me from endeavouring to afford to this -unfortunate the relief in my power. - -I had not advanced far, before I perceived coming towards us, in the -same direction from which the sound had reached my ear, a dog, entirely -black, and of uncommon stature and strength. He was alone. Having -caught sight of us, he increased his pace, and had no sooner reached -the spot on which we stood, than he seized the flap of my coat, and -pulled it with considerable violence. I was somewhat alarmed at his -size and action, the latter of which I apprehended to have a hostile -design; and, having shaken him off, I put myself in a posture of -defence with a cane that I carried in my hand. Undeterred however by my -gesture, he returned to the attack, only pulling with something less -exertion of strength than he had done before. More accurate attention -convinced me that he had no intention to injure me, and I withheld -the action of Hector, who had raised his hand to strike in defence -of his master. I suffered him to guide me; and, after a considerable -circuit which the nature of the road obliged us to take, he led me to -a spot where I found a man lying on the ground, and weltering in his -blood, but with no person near, to whom to impute the violence he had -sustained. - -His blood flowed copiously from two or three different wounds, one of -them in particular near his left breast; and my first care was to stop -the effusion. For this purpose we stripped him of his clothes, and tore -his linen into bandages. When we found him, he was insensible; but the -anguish of binding his wounds revived him a little, though only enough -to extort from him sighs and groans. This accomplished, I dismissed -Hector to the inn to procure something in the nature of a litter, -by which he might more easily be conveyed within reach of effectual -assistance. - -I was now left for six hours with no other companions than the wounded -gentleman and his dog, upon the very spot upon which he had just -before sustained so ferocious a treatment, probably from the hands of -banditti. They might every moment be expected to return. This was no -agreeable notion to a person circumstanced as I was. I was compelled -to feel that a man possessed of boundless and illimitable wealth, -and of the power of repelling old age and disease, did not in these -advantages possess every thing. Notwithstanding the disappointments -and mortifications I had sustained, I was yet attached to life: and -though the bequests of the stranger had hitherto produced to me nothing -but evil, I still looked, with almost puerile eagerness and beating -of heart, for the time when I might spread out the whole extent of -my treasures without parsimony or the dread of reverse. During the -interval which I employed in these reflections, the wounded man was for -the most part in a state of insensibility, and constantly speechless. -I expected his death every moment, and I perceived, as I thought -with certainty, that there was no hope of his recovery. While we had -dressed his wounds, the dog had watched our motions with the most -restless attention, and, now that it was over, he came and licked my -hands, and laid himself down at my feet. The least motion however, so -much as a rustling among the leaves, startled him: he rose, looked -round, and seemed to enquire into the cause of the disturbance; but he -abstained from barking and every kind of noise; whether it were that -he was conscious of the advantage of quiet to a person in his master’s -condition, or that he had the sense to know, in the situation in which -we were placed, that whatever produced alarm, might eventually expose -us to undiscovered danger. - -It was broad daylight before Hector re-appeared, and several other -persons in his company. Hector was not of a temper to have receded -from any thing he undertook, and the authority of Marguerite had in -this instance seconded his remonstrances with the surly and inactive -peasants of the place. I had at this time only one other male servant; -but, when Hector returned, he brought with him a crazy kind of litter, -and a recruit of four mountaineers. The wounded man still lived, and -was conveyed alive to the place at which I had taken up my lodging. -He survived three days; and, during the whole of that period, the dog -could neither be moved by force, nor prevailed on by entreaties, to -quit the apartment of his master. Before his death my unfortunate guest -recovered the power of speech. He told me that his name was Andrea -Filosanto, and, which struck me as somewhat extraordinary, that he -was of Pisa, the very place at which I purposed to take up my abode. -He had a brother resident in that city, and had himself been about to -marry a very beautiful and accomplished young lady, an heiress, of the -house of Carracciuoli in Pisa. Previously to his marriage, he resolved -to make a visit to his mother, who had espoused to her second husband a -French nobleman of Languedoc. He had travelled accompanied only by one -servant, contrary to the persuasions both of his brother and the family -of his intended bride; but that servant, though he had been a very -short time in his employment, was active, ingenious, and obliging, and -had established himself strongly in the favour of his master. Signor -Filosanto had taken with him a sum of money, the produce of one year’s -income of the dower of his mother; and it was but too probable that -the richness of the charge he bore, had been fatal to the life of the -bearer. His servant had disappeared from his side not a quarter of an -hour before his being attacked by the banditti; and various concurring -circumstances seemed to fix on this servant the accusation of being -an accomplice with the murderers. Having heard from the unfortunate -sufferer the tale of treachery of his human attendant, I related to -him the extraordinary example of fidelity and attachment shown by his -dog. The master was struck with the story I told, and called the dog -to him upon his bed. The poor animal first leaped up upon the foot of -the bed, and then warily and with great caution crawled to his master’s -face. Filosanto embraced the dog, who by his manner showed himself -fully sensible of the purport of the action. That very evening, having -requested me to convey his remains to the tomb of his ancestors at -Pisa, the master expired. The dog in dumb and constant grief watched -by the corpse, and followed the vehicle in which it was conveyed to -Pisa. After the funeral, he made the choice, from which he could not -be diverted, of living with me, and not with the brother and relations -of his master, to whom he was almost wholly a stranger, but who would -gladly have received him. One of the advantages I derived from this -adventure, was the friendship and protection of the Filosanti and -Carracciuoli, two of the most powerful families in Pisa. - -I have not yet finished the history of my dog. A few months after our -establishment in the Pisan territory, the valet of the deceased had the -audacity to appear in that city. He believed himself to be entirely -unknown there, his master having taken him into his service during his -residence as a student in the university of Bologna; and having ordered -him, previously to his projected tour into France, to stay behind and -settle his debts and other affairs at that place. He found however an -adversary in Pisa that in all his anticipations had never occurred to -his thoughts. The dog saw him at a distance in the street, ran towards -him with incredible swiftness, and fell upon him with savage violence -and ferocity. The man was not extricated from his grip, till he had -been severely and dangerously wounded. Thus assailed, all the terrors -of superstition and an accusing conscience seized on this devoted -villain; he owned who he was, and confessed that he had made one among -the assassins and plunderers of his master, visible probably to the -dog, though unseen by the unfortunate Filosanto. He declared, that he -knew not what motive had brought him to Pisa, that he seemed to himself -under the guidance of an impulse which he had not power to resist, -and that he rejoiced that Providence had thus conducted him to the -expiation of his guilt. He was brought to his trial, and suffered death -for his crime. - -Charon, such was the name by which my dog was distinguished, showed -himself in all his actions worthy of the character for attachment and -sagacity which he had in these instances acquired. He was therefore -the favourite of my whole family, and particularly of Hector. But his -own partiality was with the nicest discrimination reserved for me. -The ruling passion of his preceding master had been the sports of -the field, and his leading singularity an uncommon familiarity and -friendship towards his brute attendants. By this conduct he had won -the affections, and perhaps awakened the understanding and virtues, -of the faithful Charon. I own my weakness. I could not resist the -assiduities and regard of this generous brute; and, though I had never -before conceived any extraordinary partiality for creatures of his -species, his sagacity and nobleness of nature took a strong hold of my -affection. I admired his form and agility as he bounded and gamboled -before me upon the plain. In the midst of his gayest frolics he was all -attention, and the least sign I made him would instantly divert his -exertions to a different pursuit. He was accustomed to salute me with -honest, undesigning homage every morning as I came from my chamber, and -I should have missed his presence with heaviness of heart upon this -plain and homely occasion. He was the associate of my solitary walks, -and my companion when pensive meditations induced me to withdraw from -all human society. I became accustomed at such periods to observe him -by my side, and should have felt that all was not right if he were -not there. I was interested in his health, his well-being and his -enjoyments; and, if any calamity befell him, was prepared to feel it -more severely than a wise man is sometimes willing to confess.--It -would scarcely be necessary to add to this simple history of my -faithful Charon, the circumstance of his having saved the life of a -beautiful little boy of ten years old, who had unluckily slipped into -the Arno, and whom he seized by his garments and drew to the shore, -had it not some connection with what I shall speedily have occasion to -relate. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - -To return to the thread of my narrative, which in stating these -particulars I have in some points anticipated.--I sat down, as I have -already said, in the environs of the city of Pisa. Marguerite, as -well as myself, had a powerful attachment to the retirement of rural -life, and I judged it equally eligible for the health and intellectual -improvement of my daughters. I accordingly purchased a small domain, -delightfully situated, but of simple appearance, on the banks of -the Arno. Here I proposed to remain during the indisposition of my -wife, which I flattered myself retirement, tranquillity, attention -and kindness, would in no long time be able to cure. To this object -I resolved to devote my exertions. Well did she merit this return -from me, who had restored me in the guilty ruin of my fortunes, and -raised me from the abyss of insanity. Odious and detestable in the -utmost degree should I have appeared in my own eyes, if I could have -neglected any means I was able to devise, to heal a mischief of which -my own precipitation, selfishness, and folly were the only causes. -Every little, continual, nameless care I exerted, was as a drop of -healing balm to the burning fever and remorse of my conscience. -Nothing indeed could eradicate my distemper; I felt the ever-living -worm of perpetrated guilt gnawing at my heart. But my solicitudes for -Marguerite, at least during the moments they were in action, mitigated -my anguish; and this transitory relief, however insignificant it may -appear in the eyes of others, I cherished beyond the wealth of kingdoms. - -Marguerite and myself appeared at this time to have changed characters. -She was languid, indisposed in body and mind, her thoughts gloomy, her -hopes blasted, her wishes bankrupt. Still however she maintained her -superiority to what I had been in a similar condition. She endeavoured -to make the best of what yet remained to her, though she declined -the vain attempt of forgetting what she had lost. She hung over her -daughters with inexpressible endearment. She consoled them; she -reasoned with them; she endeavoured to steel their minds for whatever -ill might be yet in store. She cultivated their understandings; she -breathed into them mingled sentiments of resignation and energy. There -was in her conversation with them a striking tone of celestial and -divine. Her eloquence was copious; her manner rich, unaffected, and -flowing; her speech simple, free from exaggeration and turbulence, -but mild, affectionate, and winning. It sank deep into the hearts -of her hearers, and seemed to give a new turn to their tempers -and disposition. It rendered the character of Julia at once more -distinctive, and yet more chastised; it inspired an unwonted mildness -and sensibility to that of Louisa; and rendered the cadette of the -family unusually grave, thoughtful, and sedate. - -But upon me were devolved the more active occupations of our -establishment. Marguerite had formerly been, I was now, the steward. -Every kind of superintendence, from which the distinction of sex did -not unavoidably exclude me, was resigned to me by the lovely victim of -my indiscretions. Marguerite had been my nurse, I was now ambitious -to be hers. I made myself the schoolmaster of my children; Marguerite -confined her communications to general topics and the culture of the -heart. I initiated them in music, drawing, geography, several different -languages of Europe, and in every accomplishment that I believed would -be really ornamental or improving to them. I might, it is true, have -hired different masters to instruct them in each of these branches, -and it is not impossible that they might then have been better taught, -though I was myself no incompetent preceptor. But I had an honest -artifice for my guide in the plan I adopted: I was desirous of removing -out of the sight of my wife every thing that might remind her of the -fatal legacy, the effects of which she was induced so bitterly to -deplore. In some particulars I may affirm of myself that I was now -a better and a kinder husband, than I had been in the days of our -gayest prosperity, or the scene of our infant loves. I studied with -assiduity the temper of Marguerite; I watched her looks; I endeavoured -to anticipate her every wish. I meditated with care the plan of life, -which her simple and feeling heart, if solely consulted, would have -led her originally to have chosen; and I copied out in the whole -arrangement of our household the idea painted in my mind. Far from us -were now the ostentation and pomp of the family-château on the banks -of the Garonne. We lived now, not to awaken admiration and envy in the -bosom of guests and spectators: we lived for ourselves. Every thing was -elegant; every thing was tasteful; but not an article found its place -in our residence, that did not rest its claim to be there upon a plea -of usefulness. Though, by the nature of my situation, I was superior to -all restraint from a consideration of expense, yet our competent board -and orderly habitation approached nearer in their appearance to the -honest plainness of a rustic, than to the sumptuousness of hereditary -nobility. A table set out with striking propriety and neatness was -preferred to the richness of plate and the splendour of porcelain and -lustres. I was anxious that Marguerite should forget the change of our -situation and the extent of my resources. The objects of my present -pursuit were obscurity and content. That Marguerite might forget my -acquisition, I was studious to appear to have forgotten it myself. If a -stranger had entered our habitation, and surveyed our economy, he would -have judged that our revenues amounted to a decent competence, and that -we disbursed them with a judicious discretion. Nothing was to be seen -that would have betrayed the possessor of the powder of projection. - -We had no guests. We cultivated no acquaintance. We were formed to -suffice to each other within our little circle; and, but for the -importunate recurrence of disquieting reflections, we should have -done so. To look at the exterior of our household, it might have been -thought that we had arrived at that sweet forgetfulness of anxious -care, that delicious leisure and unbroken retreat, which have in all -ages been the theme of panegyric to poets and philosophers. But it -was not so. Our reciprocal relations were changed; and the hope of -the house of St. Leon was no longer in the midst of us, to cheer, to -enlighten, and to warm our bosoms. - -A life of leisure is often an active and a busy life. The grand, I -might almost say the single, object of present attention to me, was -the restoration of the health and tranquillity of Marguerite. For that -I watched with unwearied assiduity. Subordinate to this occupation -were the different arts and accomplishments in which I instructed my -daughters. Yet neither the former nor the latter of these engagements -filled up all the time of a mind so restless and rapid as mine was. -Intervals occurred, in which my attentions to Marguerite would have -been, not soothing, but troublesome, and in which I could no longer -impart a lesson to my daughters, without relaxing and weakening the -spring of progression in their minds. These intervals I sometimes -dedicated to chemistry and the operations of natural magic. The more -effectually to hide these pursuits from the eye of Marguerite, I -occupied, unknown to her, a sort of grotto, buried almost from human -observation in a hollow on the banks of the river, and which was -connected, by a winding path and a concealed subterranean passage, -with the garden of my own habitation. The secrets of the stranger had -given me a particular relish for this kind of pursuit. There are habits -of the mind and modes of occupying the attention, in which, when once -we have engaged, there seems a sort of physical impossibility of ever -withdrawing ourselves. This was my case in the present instance. My -habit was of no long standing. But no reading of my story, no mere -power of language and words, can enable a bystander to imagine how -deep it was sunk into my heart, how inextricably it was twisted with -all the fibres of my bosom. That he may in some degree enter into my -situation, I entreat the reader to consider what are the most imperious -passions of the human mind. They have rudely been described to be -wealth, power, and pleasurable sensation. How alluring to every one -of us are the visionary conceptions of the mind respecting these most -potent excitements! But mine were no visions. I had grasped them in -my hand, and known their reality. I had felt that the wealth of the -whole world was at my disposal, and that I held my life by a tenure -independent and imperial. These are not of the class of conceptions -that fade and perish from the mind. We cannot wake from them as from -a dream, and forget that ever such things were. They had changed the -whole constitution of my nature. It would have required a miracle, -greater than all the consecrated legends of our church record, to have -restored me to what I formerly was. If then I could have resolved never -henceforth to use the gifts I had received, I yet firmly believe that -I never could have refrained from the composition and decomposition of -simples, and from experiments on the nature of substances, chemical -and metallic. I was however far from having formed any such resolution -as that I have named. My present forbearance to bring forth the secret -treasure of my powers was purely an accommodation to the unhappy -condition of my wife; and I felt it as a meritorious exertion thus to -postpone the use of the faculties I possessed. In the mean time the -amusement I sought, that I regarded as properly and entirely my own, -consisted in these experiments. While I was busied with my crucible, I -was able more vividly to present to myself my seeming superiority to -the rest of my species. I used the employments of my grotto, as a sort -of starting-post from which to set forth in a series of intoxicating -reveries; not to mention that to improve in the facility of my secret -operations might become a valuable subsidiary to the pursuits of my -future life. - -I took occasionally as my companion at these periods the negro of the -prison of Constance. I found him sufficiently adapted for my purpose; -his innocence and implicit obedience to whomever he served, rendering -me secure that he would anticipate nothing, that he would conjecture -nothing, that he would rest in what he saw, that I might almost -exhibit my whole process under his eye, without once awakening the -busy fiend of curiosity in a mind to which science had never unveiled -her charms. He was formed to be a pure, passive machine in the hands -of his employer, only with this singular difference from the lifeless -machine of the engineer or mechanical inventor, that he was susceptible -of attachment and affection, as well as of a certain species of -contentment and a certain species of goodness and virtue. - -A feature of my individual character which has already frequently -presented itself to the attention of the reader is the love of -admiration and spontaneous deference. I am at this moment ashamed of -my vices and my follies; but it must be recollected, in the first -place, that they are human, and in the second that I am writing, not -their vindication, but their history. In the midst of my experiments -and chemical lucubrations, I could not help sometimes ostentatiously -exhibiting to Hector the wonders of my art, and those extraordinary -effects which have in all ages drawn upon the more eminent operators of -natural magic the reproach of being necromancers and conjurers. This I -did, partly perhaps that my attendant might learn to look up to me with -a kind of nameless respect and awe, but partly also that I might divert -myself with the simplicity of his nature, and the gaping and motionless -astonishment with which he viewed my performances. If I had not done -this, or digressed into idle and ostentatious experiments, he would -otherwise have seen enough, in the operations in which his assistance, -if not absolutely necessary, was extremely convenient, to have induced -a person, so void of the meanest European information, to regard me as -assisted by and in league with invisible powers. - -The prejudice against me, with which this poor fellow had been -impressed at the commencement of our intercourse did not long hold out, -in his ingenuous mind, against the more favourable sentiments which my -present situation and mode of living were calculated to inspire. The -specimens he had hitherto seen of European society were of the most -unfavourable kind. His first master was a wretch of brutal disposition, -ferocious and insolent; disdaining to reason himself, and impatient of -remonstrance in others. This man had exercised the temper of his humble -and honest attendant with every variety of savage caprice; and, having -tired the restlessness of his own gloomy tyranny, without being able to -exhaust the modest and unexampled patience of his servant, had finished -by throwing him into gaol, upon a wanton and groundless charge of -dishonesty. This, which was intended as a further exercise of tyranny, -deserved to be hailed by the poor sufferer as a period of jubilee and -deliverance. His innocence, as I have already related, was speedily -recognised by his new task-master, who accordingly exerted himself to -obtain justice for the friendless victim; and from a reputed thief -proposed to elevate him to the rank of a turnkey. Hector had neither -kindred nor patron to assist him; the outcast of a gaol, he must again -have entered the world with a blasted character. Thus circumstanced, -and influenced beside by gratitude to the unlooked-for liberality of -his deliverer, he willingly accepted the situation proposed to him. -With his new master, who, not less unprincipled, was less tyrannical -than his predecessor, the humbleness of his hopes taught him to be -contented. Yet in the bosom of the gaoler all his fidelity and regard -could not enable him to detect one positive virtue; and, within the -walls of the prison, there had existed nothing that could by any -possibility cherish and refresh the human heart. - -The scene presented to Hector’s observation in our little retreat, on -the banks of the Arno, was of a very different nature. To his frank -and affectionate spirit, it appeared a perfect paradise. He had yet -scarcely been acquainted with any but the refuse of mankind, from the -infection of whose vices his unapprehensive and invincible simplicity -had been his only safeguard; and he was now suddenly introduced to -the presence and intercourse of the most perfect of her sex. He loved -her as a benefactor, and he worshipped her as a god. There is no -receipt for begetting affection in others, so infallible as a warm -and susceptible heart. Hector accordingly soon became in a remarkable -degree the favourite of my daughters. His temper was naturally cheerful -and gay; and, warmed by their encouragement, it became a thousand -times more so. When he had completed the occupations of the day, the -lightness of his spirit would prompt him to sing and dance for ever. He -exhibited the whole circle of his sportive games for their amusement. -The infantine innocence of his understanding remarkably adapted him to -be the butt of their little waggeries and mischiefs. Whatever tricks -were played upon him, were however tempered by the forbearance and -regard his worth demanded; while the obstreperous cheerfulness with -which he would second their mirth, when most ignorant of its occasion, -gave uncommon zest to the amusement, and furnished eternal provocation -to the prolonging and varying its features. - -Let not the fastidious reader complain of the inconsistency of this -part of my picture, or censure the levity of my daughters. I am not -writing a tragedy, but a history. Sad grief and melancholy cannot, and -ought not, for ever to reign in the human face or the human heart. -No daughters ever loved a mother more entirely, more fervently, than -Marguerite was loved by her children. They were unwearied in their -attention to her: often was their pillow watered with tears, occasioned -by the sad presentiment of the loss they were destined to sustain. -But the human mind, particularly in the season of youth, has an -unconquerable principle of elasticity in its frame. The bow cannot be -kept for ever on the stretch; and, when the whole soul appears to be -bent down by calamity to the grave, it will often surprisingly recover -its vigour and renew its strength. The ingenuous nature of these poor -girls led them indeed occasionally to reproach themselves with these -moments of cheerfulness as with a crime. But it was no crime. None -but the uncharitably rigorous and morose will charge it upon them as -a crime. It interfered with no duty; it diminished no affection; it -had no tendency to harden their hearts. It was a tax they paid to the -imperfectness of our nature; it was a tribute of gratitude to that God -who, while he deals out to us the most terrible calamities, fails not -to mix with the copious draught some solitary drops of beneficence. -Julia alone, whose temper was constitutionally serious and soft, -entered little into these sports, of which her youngest sister was -the eternal leader and untired partaker. Yet even upon the grave -countenance of Julia they would sometimes provoke an unwilling smile, -which upon her countenance sat with uncommon lustre. - -The hilarity and loveliness which Hector found in the midst of my -family instigated and increased the attachment he began to feel for -myself. He could not believe that the father of such daughters, and -the chosen husband of such a consort, could be destitute of a title to -be loved. He reasoned in his own way upon the attempt I had made to -corrupt his fidelity, an attack which he never thoroughly digested. I -have reason to believe that his attendance upon my chemical processes, -and the wonders I occasionally showed to excite his astonishment, did -not tend to elevate me in his good opinion. But he could not avoid -witnessing in me many of the virtues of a good husband and a good -father, and these, so new to his observation, strongly impressed him in -my favour. The regularity of my habits and the mildness of my carriage -were also calculated to win his affection and esteem. Never had the -poor fellow’s affections been so forcibly called out as they were in -his new situation; and he would cheerfully have stretched out his neck -to the assassin’s knife, to have warded off impending evil from the -meanest of us. - -Prosperity and ease have often been found the parents of wishes and -inclinations unfelt before. Adversity is the season of sober thought, -calls home the erratic mind, and teaches us to be cheaply satisfied. -But the man who has many gratifications is apt to wander in imagination -from daily and familiar joys, and confidently to reach after things -yet untried. Such was the situation of Hector: Hector was in love. Our -sweet and simple mansion was distant scarcely more than two hundred -yards from a characteristic Italian village. The maid of a little -_albergo_ in this place had caught his inexperienced heart. He had -been invited by some peasants to a moonlight festivity on the lawn -of the _albergo_; and, though I should have been better pleased that -my servants should decline this sort of amusement, I could not have -the heart to deny him. It was, so far as I knew, the first and the -last time that Hector had ever resorted to it. But I was deceived. -Hector had proved the gayest and most amusing of the whole circle. His -cheerfulness was inexhaustible, and his mirth in the utmost degree -harmless and good humoured. He had played a thousand antics, and danced -with an agility that knew no end. In a word, the accomplishments of -Hector, in spite of the jetty hue that stained his face, had won the -heart, or roused the coquetry, of the plump and rosy bar-maid. The -overtures she made and the lures she threw out were too glaring to -escape the notice even of the modest Hector. He felt himself flattered, -such is human nature, at suddenly becoming an object of admiration and -preference to a woman, whom his imagination, stimulated by her visible -partiality, attired in a hundred charms. He owned himself hers, in all -fair and honest fealty, to the world’s end. - -Love taught Hector a lesson which he had never learned before. In -nature he was frank, and, as far as fidelity to his master permitted -it, wore his heart as naked as his face. Love taught him dissimulation. -A vulgar footman or clown is as forward as the most empty beau, in -boasting of the triumphs he has gained over the female heart, and in -sacrificing the reputation of those who have loved him at the shrine -of his vanity. Not such was Hector. He shut Up his new sensations -and reveries as a sacred deposit in his bosom. Nature worked within -him, and he would have been ashamed to speak, and distressed to hear, -of emotions, now felt, till now never experienced. His artless and -ingenuous temper in this one particular assumed the guise of cunning. -Never did he tell his love in the ear of any indifferent auditor; -assiduously did he avoid pronouncing even the name of her to whom he -was attached. In any other case he would have announced to me his -inclinations, and previously demanded my leave of absence for his -excursions. But love seemed to him imperiously to command privacy, and -he employed every imaginable precaution to prevent me and all human -beings from knowing whither he went, or that he was absent at all. - -In one of his visits to his fair _donzella_, he happened incautiously -to drop some very remote hint of the scenes in which he had just -been engaged with me in my secret grotto. The curiosity of the girl -was strongly roused; she questioned him further. He started, and was -terrified to recollect what he had said. I had strictly enjoined him -secrecy towards every member of my family: my precaution had extended -no further; for, as I have said, I scarcely knew that he had the most -casual intercourse with any person beyond my own roof. But Hector -naturally dreaded that what I was so earnest to conceal from every one -in my house he would be highly to blame to communicate to a stranger. -He therefore peremptorily refused, and with many signs of distress, to -say another word on the subject. - -The _donzella_, piqued at his resistance, had recourse to female arts. -She was cruel; she uttered words of sharp displeasure and disdain; -she knew that a person who refused her such a trifle could not have -an atom of regard for her; she commanded him never to see her more. -Unsuccessful in these expedients, she had recourse to expedients of -a different sort. She wept; she called him base, false-hearted and -unkind; she saw he was determined to be the death of her; she was -seized with strong fits of sobbing and hysterical affection. In the -midst of all this he was as unmoved as a rock of marble. He interpreted -every thing that passed in its most literal form; he felt more severely -her unkindness, and sympathised more truly in her distress, than -perhaps any human creature would have done. But no further could she -gain upon him. The confidence of his master was in question, and he -would sooner have died upon the rack, than run the slightest risk of -betraying it. - -From these arts she descended to arts more congenial to the habits -of her life. She summoned all her skill to perplex him with cunning -and insidious questions. From her questions he ought to have fled; -but of this Hector was incapable. He was distressed by her severity, -he grieved for the unintentional pain he had caused her. All these -circumstances melted his heart; and he could not resolve upon any thing -that was not considerate and respectful towards her. As the framing -of artful questions was the strong-hold of the _donzella_, and she -might have challenged in this article the most hoary practitioner of -the quibbling bar, so it was exactly the weakest side upon which poor -Hector could be attacked. His simplicity yielded him up a defenceless -prey to the assailant; least of all human undertakings was he capable -of detecting the various faces of a doubtful question, and of guarding -himself against the traps of an insidious foe. It was not till the -fourth interview from Hector’s original hint, that the _donzella_ -had recourse to this species of attack; and she did not withdraw her -forces, till she had extorted from him all he knew. - -When Hector found that all his guards were baffled and put to flight, -he had then recourse to the only expedient that remained, conjuring -her by every thing sacred and every thing tremendous, not to betray a -trust she had so ungenerously obtained from him. She readily promised -every thing he desired. Soothed by her compliance, he determined not to -mention to me the lapse of which he had been guilty. It would in his -opinion have been little less than treason, to suspect his Dulcinea -of indiscretion or frailty. In the breast of this miracle of nature -was not his loyalty as secure as it could be even in his own? Why then -should he betray the secret of his love, which had never yet been -confided even to the senseless air? Why should he subject himself to -the inconceivable anguish and confusion, of owning, where my interests, -or where my wishes were concerned, that he had been found tripping and -imperfect? Why should he inflict a pain, or cause in me a fear, which -he knew, and he only could know, was groundless? Thus it happened that -I had one more confident of what I purposed should be secret, than I -was myself in the smallest degree advertised of. - -The consequences of this indiscretion of my servant were not slow -in rendering themselves visible. The _donzella_ was by no means so -scrupulous or delicate in her sentiments, as my humble, but faithful, -attendant. As she had given her company to Hector, she had had an -opportunity of observing in him such integrity and goodness of heart, -as could not fail to extort the esteem of any human being. She really -honoured him; she was unwilling to give him any cause of uneasiness. -But she had another lover; perhaps she had more. The laws of chastity -she regarded as prejudices, and believed they were never formed for -persons in her situation in society. She was of opinion that the more -lovers she had, provided she satisfied them all, the more completely -did she improve the talents with which Heaven had endowed her. Few -women have any secrets for the man they admit to their embraces. In an -hour of amorous dalliance she communicated to Agostino, the ostler, all -that she knew of the conjurations and spells of Monsieur Boismorand, -such was the name I had assumed upon my entrance into Italy. Her -communication was probably attended with cautions, imitated from those -with which Hector had so industriously loaded the _donzella_ in the -preceding example. Perhaps the _illustrissimo Agostino_ had another -mistress, with whom he thought it would be unjust to practise greater -reserves than the _donzella_ had done with him. Be that as it will, the -rumours which were whispered to my prejudice speedily got air; and, -it may be, were repeated with the greater avidity, on account of the -mystery that attended them, and the injunctions of secrecy with which -they were accompanied. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - - -Italy may be considered as the very focus and parent of superstitious -credulity. The materials which Hector had furnished, after all -the interrogations of the donzella, were slight compared with the -superstructure which was presently erected on them. My grotto was -said to be the appropriated haunt where a thousand devils held their -infernal sabbath. The terrified imagination of the rustics, listening -with a temper horribly distracted between curiosity and alarm, created -to itself fictitious howlings and shrieks, and saw pale and sulphureous -flames dancing upon the surface of the stream. Poor Hector was early -the victim of their cruel and untamed ignorance; they believed that -the peculiarity of his complexion rendered him a singularly agreeable -intercessor between me and my infernal familiars. The colour of Charon -was similar to that of my confidential attendant; and he, like Hector, -fell under the calumnious misconstructions of the affrighted villagers. -Conspicuously noble, affectionate and useful as he was, the jaundiced -eye of superstition metamorphosed him into a devil. The storms of -thunder and lightning to which the climate in which I resided is -particularly subject acquired new terror from the ill fame which now -pursued the name of Monsieur Boismorand. At those times the shapeless -form of monsters vomiting smoke and flames were visible to the -neighbourhood, sometimes scudding along the blue tops of the distant -hills, and at others, with audaciousness incredible, brushing even -at the elbow of the almost lifeless clowns and dairy-maids, and then -suddenly dissolving into air, their place no longer marked but by the -noisome and deadly stench they left behind. All the misfortunes of the -district were imputed to me, the mortality of cattle, the convulsions -and death of children, and the pale and lingering decay of persons -recently advanced to an age of puberty. Innocent and blameless was my -conduct to all around us; often was I forward and eager for the relief -of the poor and afflicted; never was I the author of the slightest -inconvenience or prejudice to any. Yet nothing merely human could be -hated in the degree in which I was hated; few were daring and intrepid -enough to repeat the very name I bore; and, when it was inadvertently -pronounced, it produced through the whole extent of the astonished -circle an involuntary and supernatural shudder. - -Agostino, the first lover who had made an impression on the heart of -Hector’s donzella, was, as I afterwards found, a fellow of a gloomy -and ferocious disposition, a true Italian _spadaccino_, determined -that none should perpetrate an affront against him with impunity, but -should expiate, in some refined and cruel vengeance, the levity by -which they had been so unfortunate as to give birth to his hatred. -He by no means relished or approved the liberal and good-humoured -sentiments of the donzella; often had they inflicted on him the -darkest torments of jealousy; nor had he failed, at least in one -preceding instance, to make his rival the victim of his resentment. -The donzella however went on in her career; she was light of heart, -gay in temper, and careless of consequences. She had always hitherto -succeeded, by playful blandishments, or more serious demonstrations of -contrition, in mollifying the temper of her brute; and every pardon she -received operated with her as a new permission to offend. She did not -sufficiently consider that she was thus continually raising to a higher -pitch the frenzy of his malice. Hector in the mean time was utterly -unconscious and ignorant of the perilous situation in which he stood; -while, to the apprehension of Agostino, the giving him a negro for a -rival, whom his pride regarded as belonging to an inferior species of -beings, and his devout ignorance likened to the leader of the infernal -squadrons, was the last and most intolerable insult. - -His malice was ingenious and subtle. He disdained the vulgar revenge -of stabbing his antagonist in the dark, and supposing that his -enmity could be gorged by a blow. When the venom of his nature was -thoroughly put in motion, nothing could restore it to quietness and -tranquillity but some mighty stroke, to excite the wonder of every -bystander, and that should leave behind it a track of desolation, -never to be filled up again and erased. He heard therefore with unsated -appetite and eager joy the tale of necromancy and infernal machination -repeated to him from Hector by the donzella. The impression which the -narrative produced upon him was a mixed sentiment of transport at the -apprehension of such an instrument of vengeance and of palpitating -hatred; superstition teaching him to believe and to view with -abhorrence that which he desired to render tenfold more an object of -faith and aversion to his neighbours. He struck an auspicious and -august alliance between his revenge and his religion; his religion -exciting him to exterminate that, the destruction of which would -produce inexpressible gratification to his revenge. The darkness of -his spirit led him to proceed with double caution and vigilance in his -correspondence with the donzella. He discovered nothing to her of the -dark project which was engendering in his mind; and only betrayed so -much of his superstitious feelings and fears as, by giving new emotion, -might stimulate her to gratify his curiosity and her own by a detection -of further particulars. He was assiduous in the underhand and sinister -propagation of the tale, to which he did not fail to give his own -colouring and affix his own feelings. He was desirous that the train -should be laid in silence, and that the explosion he designed should -be free from all pre-signification of the event. Thus an individual, -of whose animosity I had no apprehension, and the meanness of whose -appearance would probably have made me neglect all precaution against -him, gave method and direction to an evil, of which however, upon a -review, I am not inclined to doubt I should have been the victim, if -the enmity and industry of this individual had been wholly withdrawn. - -The mischief was long in preparation, before I received in any way the -slightest intimation of the predicament in which I stood. The first -circumstance at all calculated to excite alarm in my mind, was the -singular manner in which I found myself regarded, if I entered any of -the neighbouring villages, or met the rustics and their dames, as I -strayed along the roads or the fields. They fled my approach, deserted -the streets, and carefully shut themselves up in their houses, till I -had passed. Where it was impossible to avoid me, they bowed themselves -to the earth in the most submissive guise before me, while the most -lively terror was painted in their countenances, dreading lest they -should excite the resentment of a tremendous and inexorable foe. These -tokens however were far from inspiring me with a conception of the -truth. They perplexed, they astonished, they distressed me. Sore as I -was with my recent afflictions, my mind was but too fully prepared for -anticipations of evil. I had suffered from suspicions, I had suffered -from calumnious imputations, I had suffered from the malignant effects -of popular rumour. Had I yielded my confidence to any person but such a -one as Hector, it is probable my suspicions would have turned on that -side. But my reliance on him was not less than that which Alexander -the Great yielded to Philip the physician: I knew his rectitude, his -simplicity, his fidelity, and the singleness of his heart; and I could -not harbour the shadow of a doubt respecting him. My reliance was -of that entire and perfect sort, which did not express itself by a -recollection of the physical possibility and an acquittal founded in -deliberation, but by a total vacancy of doubt, or of retrospect that -way directed, just such as the state of my mind would have appeared, if -the thing had been naturally impossible. - -I was not however ignorant and raw enough to be deceived by the -exterior of homage I have described; I sufficiently knew that what I -beheld was the offspring of hatred. To feel one’s self hated is in all -instances a painful and humiliating state of the human mind. To me -it was especially so. I was not formed to retaliate this species of -injury; I could not hate in my turn. I was formed to love. I could not -look upon my species with dark and gloomy contemplations; I was prompt -to admire their virtues, and perhaps even too prompt to extenuate -their errors. It may, I believe, be laid down as a rule, that they who -cannot hate can least endure to be made objects of hatred. Fettered -however as I now was, by the tenderest consideration for the health and -tranquillity of Marguerite, I thought it best to temporise and submit -in silence. My principal anxiety was to hide these symptoms from the -notice of my family. This I could not completely effect; some of them -were too glaring and obtrusive, entirely to escape the observation -of my daughters in their walks. But the filial forbearance they felt -towards their mother led them implicitly and without any concerted plan -to concur with me in my exertions for her quiet. - -The animosity of Agostino was restless and inextinguishable. His -plans did not terminate in exciting against me a secret and covered -abhorrence; they aimed at nothing less than my utter destruction. The -next exertion of the conspiracy which was engendering against me was of -a tragical nature. - -It happened one night, after all my family was retired to rest, and -I was myself sunk into a slumber, that I was suddenly alarmed at the -report of a musket, which seemed to be fired almost under the window -of my chamber. This was a very singular circumstance, and calculated -to convey an impression of danger. I leaped from my bed, and ran to -the window. The night was extremely dark, and every thing seemed -perfectly quiet. Presently I discerned a glimmering light, like that -of a lantern, which however appeared to be gradually retiring to a -greater distance. I was not thus satisfied, but determined to hasten -down stairs, and investigate the cause of the disturbance. Marguerite, -who had heard the firing of the musket as well as myself, now called me -to her, and entreated me not to expose myself to unnecessary danger. -In compliance with her remonstrances I promised, though unwillingly, -not to go out into the court or upon the lawn, but to content myself -with examining the state of every part of the house. When I came to -the staircase and the hall, I found that the alarm had communicated to -almost every person in the family, who presently assembled round me. -We patroled the house, but found every thing in the situation in which -it had been left, and nowhere any appearance of violence. I opened -several of the windows, but all was darkness and silence. Having thus -far satisfied myself, I listened with a degree of amusement to the -conjectures and sage remarks of several of the servants, a rank of -society who may usually be found to derive a degree of enjoyment from -incidents of this sort, which, for the moment, strikingly tend to -level all artificial distinctions, and confer on every one the liberty -of uttering his reflections without apprehension or constraint. I did -not however feel myself entirely easy; the circumstance which had just -occurred, combined with the forebodings which had lately impressed me, -had filled me with undefinable terror and alarm. Hector would willingly -have gone over the grounds contiguous to the house, to see if he could -discover any thing that related to or could explain the incident; but I -had promised Marguerite that I would search no further, and the temper -of my mind would not suffer me to expose another to a danger, which I -abstained from encountering in my own person. It was more than an hour -before the conclave in which we were assembled broke up, and every -one retired, fatigued with attention, and prepared to fall into the -soundest sleep. My dreams were uneasy and disturbed; my mind was in a -tumult of imaginary calamities; and I passed the greater part of the -night in a state of singular anxiety. - -In the morning I was scarcely sunk into a refreshing slumber, before -I was suddenly roused from sleep by a repetition of shrieks of -astonishment and distress. I put on my clothes as quickly as I could, -and hastened towards the spot from which the sounds appeared to -proceed. The first object I beheld was the little boy of ten years’ -old, whom Charon had a short time before dragged out of the river, -stretched along upon the lifeless body of this faithful and generous -animal. The musket, the report of which had alarmed us the night -before, had no doubt been aimed against Charon, and the greater part -of its contents appeared to be lodged in his body. As no further sound -had succeeded the firing, he had probably been killed on the spot. -He was at a small distance from the house, near a private footpath, -where he had been found in the morning by the lad whose life he had -recently preserved. The poor boy had not at first understood what -had happened to his benefactor, but only thought him asleep, and, -prompted by affection for the generous creature, had quietly sat down -by him till he should awake. He had not sat long however, before he -discerned about him the marks of blood. He put his hand to the wound; -the animal stirred not. He passed to his head; he saw his eyes fiery -and starting, and his lips distorted. He endeavoured to awake him, as -one would awake a human being to whom some mischief had happened of -which he was not aware. All his efforts were fruitless. He found his -body motionless, and his joints stiff in death. The apprehension of -what had occurred then suddenly flashed on his mind. He burst out into -shrieks of astonishment and anguish. Hector was the first person who -caught the sound, and hastened to the spot; I immediately followed. The -poor negro, who, in the innocence of his heart was uninitiated in the -proud distinctions by which civilised man is taught to place so vast a -barrier between the human nature and the brute, was struck speechless -with sorrow and amazement. He recognised the dead being before him for -his fellow-creature. He recollected in him his friend, his companion, -his intimate acquaintance, between whom and himself there had for some -time passed an uninterrupted reciprocation of acts of kindness and -assistance. - -A morose and fastidious reader perhaps will ask me why I lay so great -a stress upon so petty and insignificant an incident as the death of -a dog. It might have been little to other persons; it was not little -to us. Let the reader recollect his ingenuity in procuring aid for -his dying master, his gratitude to the person by whom that aid was -afforded, and his unconquerable antipathy to his master’s murderer. -These are not common traits. There are many men whose premature fate -has been the most unrelentingly avenged, that in moral and useful -qualities could not have stood the comparison with my generous Charon. -It surely was no common cause for regret, that a creature who had -distinguished himself by a conduct so peculiarly admirable, should -have encountered so premature and unmerited a fate. His conduct the -reader may in some degree comprehend and appreciate; but I should in -vain attempt to delineate those admirable qualities in this faithful -domestic, which do not fall within the province of narrative, and which -to have justly appreciated you must have been personally and familiarly -acquainted with him. Beside, ours was a family of love. As we were -affectionately attached to each other, so we never admitted a servant -under our roof, who did not prove himself by his conduct utterly -unworthy, to whom we did not extend a share of that friendship and -affection, which seemed to be the right of every one that dwelt in our -family. Feeling does not stay to calculate with weights and a balance -the importance and magnitude of every object that excites it; it flows -impetuously from the heart, without consulting the cooler responses of -the understanding. - -There was another circumstance which rendered the catastrophe of this -generous animal of great moment to us. It was a clear proof that -there was somewhere a strong animosity at work against his master. It -was impossible he could himself have provoked his fate. Never was a -creature more gentle and inoffensive. Though his bulk was great, and -his strength uncommon, the energies he possessed were always employed -in acts of justice and beneficence, never in acts of aggression. But if -a hatred were at work so busy and fierce as to prompt an action like -this, how were we to estimate it? What was its source, and whither did -it tend? These were very interesting and serious considerations. We -however dwelt for some time longer in the centre of general antipathy -and abhorrence, without being able in the smallest degree to explain -to ourselves what we saw. As we knew not in what we had offended, we -were unable to atone for our fault, or even to guard ourselves against -the repetition of it; nor were we by any means prepared to comprehend -the extent of our danger. Happily Marguerite, whose health was now -in a rapid decline, was least exposed to the observation of this new -mischief; though she felt enough of it to confirm her in the sentiment, -that she had nothing fortunate and happy to look forward to in the -small remainder of her existence. There was indeed one idea perpetually -present to her, which rendered the impression of ordinary occurrences -extremely feeble upon her mind:--Charles, Charles, wandering alone -in the world, unknowing and unknown, without a friend, a relative, a -counsellor, or a protector, without money and without a name! This -melancholy image followed her wherever she went, haunted her nightly -in her dreams, attended her in all her occupations, filled all her -intervals of leisure; and, though she laid it down as a law to herself -never to repeat his beloved name in my presence, she could think of -nothing else. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - - -It was no long time after the death of Charon, that Hector came home -one evening in a state of the most violent anxiety and trepidation. He -burst upon me in my study, where I was sitting alone, buried in one of -those deep reveries which, especially since the legacy of the stranger, -had been among the most frequent habits of my mind. His perturbation -was such as to render it impossible for him to impose on himself the -smallest degree of caution and restraint. The noise he made in entering -the apartment startled me. I looked up, and perceived his features -swelled, his face bruised, and his garments disfigured with blood. - -“For heaven’s sake, Hector,” exclaimed I, “what is the matter?” - -He answered not. He advanced towards the upper end of the room, he took -down a pistol, one of those which I always kept loaded in my apartment, -he came towards me, he fell upon his knees, he tendered the pistol to -my acceptance. - -“Hector!” cried I, “what am I to understand? what is the meaning of -this?” - -“Kill me, dear master! For Christ’s sake I entreat you to kill me!” - -I took the pistol from his hand; it pointed towards the floor. - -“And will you not kill me?” in a mournful accent exclaimed he. - -“What have you done, that deserves that I should kill you?” - -“Kill me! only kill me! pray kill me!” He spread out his hands towards -me with a gesture of intreaty. - -“Hector, what means this agitation? what has happened? You terrify me -beyond expression.” - -“Must I speak?” replied he. “Must I be the accuser of my guilty self?” -He burst into an agony of tears. - -“Would I were dead! Would I had been torn into a thousand pieces, -before this had happened! Indeed, sir, I am innocent! I thought no -harm! Indeed it is not my fault!” - -“What have you done? Whence come these bruises and this wound?” - -“It is all my fault! It is all my doing,--nobody else! Why will you not -kill me?” - -“Hector, I cannot bear this uncertainty. Recollect yourself! Be -pacified! and tell your story!” - -“Will you forgive me?” - -“Forgive you what? What have you done to deserve my anger?” - -“No, no, I do not wish to be forgiven! I only wish you to abhor, to -detest, to curse and to kill me!” - -“This is beyond all patience.” - -“I never loved any body but you, and my mistress, and my dear young -ladies. I never did any body else the least atom of mischief; and now -my folly will be the ruin of you all! - -“Pardon me, sir! I will torment you no longer. I will get the better of -myself, and tell you all that has happened.” - -He then informed me, though with many breaks and passionate -interruptions, of what he had just discovered, my evil repute as a -necromancer, the many strange and terrible stories that were circulated -of me, the antipathy universally entertained against me, the active -ferociousness with which this antipathy was accompanied, and the -consequences that he feared would result. He ascribed the whole to -his own imprudence, and to the particulars which the superior cunning -of the donzella, in spite of his invincible refusal to acquaint her -with a single circumstance, had wrung from him. Hector had collected -several of these particulars accidentally from a neighbouring rustic, -and had been vehement in my defence. While they were eager in debate, -others had joined them, but Hector had found them all opponents, not -one a supporter. Irritated with the contest, and the opprobrious -language heaped upon himself and his master, Hector had been provoked -to strike the most insolent of the disputants. Immediately several had -fallen upon him at once, and it was owing to the uncommon strength and -dexterity he possessed, that he had escaped alive out of their hands. -Beside innumerable blows with fist, foot, and stick, he had received -two or three stabs in different parts of the body, from the knives -with which the Italian is too much accustomed to assail his adversary. -It was easy to see that the gallant and generous defence of Hector -had considerably augmented the danger of my situation. They dismissed -him with a thousand execrations against both him and myself, and -vows that they would signalise their vengeance by setting fire to my -house. Having related his story, Hector concluded with again earnestly -conjuring me to kill him, that so he might expiate the imprudence and -folly by which he had made himself the author of my calamity. - -The excessiveness of the poor fellow’s distress excited me to employ -every effort to pacify his mind. “Hector,” said I, “you have been -very imprudent, but I foresee no such consequences as your terrified -imagination has led you to forebode. The idle threats of clowns in -the midst of their brawls are entitled to little regard. I am not so -weak and infirm of soul as to be moved from my tranquillity by their -senseless prate. I entertain no doubt of your fidelity and affection. -I am not angry with you. The fault you have been guilty of, arose -from no defect of vigilance or attachment. You did what you could, -and where you failed, it was only in that to which your powers were -not commensurate. You have done well and wisely now, in acquainting -me with particulars and the whole extent of the danger: doubt not but -I will employ such precautions and be so awake to my situation, as to -forestall the possibility of mischief.” - -Thus I endeavoured to assuage honest Hector’s perturbation, but with -no adequate effect. He hung his head in sorrow, and refused to be -comforted. Shame and terror assailed him together, and he knew not how -to support their united pressure. He intreated me not to lull myself in -fancied security, and fall blindfold on my ruin. He entreated me not -to forgive him. My clemency and forbearance served only to make him -regard with greater horror the crime of which he had been guilty. If -however I refused to punish him, and by penance or death to lighten the -remorse that hung upon his heart, he would at least devote himself in -opposition to the evil he had created, and die rather than it should -touch a hair of our heads. This idea he seemed to view with some -complacency; but the pleasure it gave was a glimmering and momentary -light; he could not remain in any place for an instant; he wrung his -hands with anguish, and exhibited every feature of the deepest despair. -I examined his bruises and wounds, the latter of which, though attended -with a copious effusion of blood, did not appear to be dangerous. I -warned him to be guilty of no further indiscretion, to betray nothing -of what had happened to any one of my family, and to engage in no -further controversies and broils in my vindication. - -Though I endeavoured to make light of what I heard in compassion to -the distress of my servant, yet, when I came to reconsider the subject -in solitude, it by no means appeared to me in a light and trivial -point of view. One part of Hector’s story had related to the death -of Charon, who, I now found, had owed his fate to the superstition -of my uncultivated neighbours. I had always entertained a formidable -idea of the character of an Italian populace, whom I regarded as -more suspicious, sanguinary, and violent than any other race of men -in the world. I deplored my fate that exposed me to their rage. I -deplored my folly that had admitted any confidant into my individual -pursuits, though my confidence had been so limited, and its receiver -so trustworthy, that I could not have imagined any evil would have -resulted. I determined that I would not expose myself to the risk of -such sinister consequences, as in my opinion might in my present -situation easily overtake me. I grieved for the tender health and the -doubtful state of mind of my beloved Marguerite, which alone opposed -themselves to the adoption of an immediate change of scene. In the -state of her health I had been grievously disappointed. I had looked -for amendment; I found decay. The decay however was gradual, almost -imperceptible; from time to time I had even flattered myself that -the progress was in an opposite direction; but the delusion was soon -banished. Another difficulty arose in addition to the rest; Marguerite -appeared pregnant; a circumstance that now first presented itself after -a cessation of ten years. - -The morning after the accident and disclosure of Hector I went to Pisa, -determined to consult with the marchese Filosanto, elder brother of -the unfortunate Andrea, who was probably more accurately acquainted -with the Italian character than myself, and understood the shades of -that character, as they were modified in the particular territory -in which I resided. The marchese was a man universally admired for -subtlety of reasoning, vigorousness of comprehension, and refinement -of taste. In the structure of his mind he was scarcely an Italian. -He had resided several years in England, and was the intimate friend -of Henry Howard earl of Surrey, who some time after fell a victim to -the jealous tyranny of his native sovereign, king Henry the Eighth. -The marchese was frank, generous and disinterested, and possessed -more fully the affections of every one within the circle of his -friendship than any other man I ever knew. He was of a sanguine temper, -always contemplating the world on its brightest side; and, from the -generosity of his own heart, incapable of crediting a distant danger, -or of discerning the storm in the embryo cloud where it was silently -engendering. - -In the conference we held, I was influenced too implicitly by my -consciousness of his integrity and the gigantic powers of his mind, and -did not sufficiently advert to those peculiarities in his temper which -I have now described. The external facts with which the narrative of -Hector had furnished me I fully detailed to him; as to my particular -pursuits, I contented myself with stating that I indulged freely in -the study of chemistry, and was of those persons, ordinarily accounted -visionaries, who amused themselves with the expectation of finding the -philosopher’s stone. Having heard my story to an end, the marchese -ridiculed my apprehensions. He saw nothing in the facts that alarmed -me, but a cowardly superstition whose utmost flight reached no higher -than the shooting a dog, and a squabble between a boisterous rustic, -and a servant too acutely sensitive for the reputation of his master. -He assured me that the days of such superstition as I contemplated were -long since past, and that his countrymen less deserved the imputation -than any others, as, living at the very centre and source of catholic -imposition, they saw deeper into the mystery, and were not exposed to -the advantage which distance possesses for augmenting our reverence. -He expatiated with great eloquence on the vice of a suspicious temper. -A spirit of alarm and continual apprehension, like the jealousy of -lovers, he said, made the meat it fed on. It brooded over plots that -had no existence but in the wanderings of a disturbed imagination. -It was continually interrupting the quiet of its owner, and the -tranquillity of society; and, for the sake of avoiding imaginary -evils, often plunged into such as were real. He advised me to go home -and be contented. He recommended to me to clear up the clouds of my -mind, and cultivate a light heart, a cheerful temper, and a generous -confidence in the honest sympathies of mankind. In fine, he bade me -continue my pursuits, avoid éclat, and trust in his sagacity that no -ill consequences would ensue. - -The remonstrances of the marchese Filosanto led me to suspect that I -had been idly credulous. I had too easily participated the feelings -and apprehensions of a poor uninstructed negro, and had suffered the -secret griefs that brooded in my heart, to discolour my perceptions, -and aggravate the features of circumstances in themselves trifling -or indifferent. I began to be half ashamed of the gloominess of my -conceptions. I could not, alas! follow the advice of the marchese as -to the cheerfulness of my heart; but I could exert myself to prevent -my present melancholy from disfiguring to me every thing I saw. The -influence exercised over my conceptions by persons of eminent intellect -has always been great. Not that the judgment I formed of the powers of -my own mind was peculiarly humble; but I reasoned thus. Perhaps the -person I consult is as well informed in the subject under consideration -as I am, in that case his decision is as fully entitled to attention -as my own; and thus, without cowardly self-contempt on my part, the -general balance of the argument was materially altered. Perhaps, -without being on the whole my superior, he may be more competent to -this particular question. In either case my idea of its merits became -perceptibly modified. I never listened to the sentiments of a man of -talents when they differed from my own, unless where he was evidently -visionary and irrational, without being shaken as to the credit due to -my own view of the subject. - -Such then was the effect produced on me by the marchese’s -expostulation. I shook off my apprehensions, and laughed at my fears. -I was ashamed of the want of gallantry that had possessed me, when I -meditated flight from so trivial a menace. I concluded that dangers, -particularly such as arise from the irrational passions of a capricious -multitude, were increased when symptoms of apprehension discovered -themselves, and abated, when received with neglect or repelled with a -magnanimous serenity. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - - -Meanwhile the unrelenting Agostino was fixed in his purpose and -incessant in his machinations. He believed that the destructive mine -was now sufficiently prepared, and that he might proceed in all surety -to the ultimate explosion. He apprehended that he had advanced too far -to retract, that the death of Charon and the assault upon Hector were -calculated sufficiently to announce what was to follow, and that it -would be injudicious and idle to grant me much respite for reflection. -The passions of his associates were wrought up to a frenzy of horror, -and needed only a bold and artful director to urge them to any point -of fury and destruction. - -Implicitly as I had confided in the decision of the marchese, I had -speedily reason to know that it was the dictate of too sanguine and -presumptuous a spirit. On my return from his palace, and, on several -subsequent occasions, I found the manners of the populace altered -respecting me. They no longer viewed me with a sort of reverential awe, -or fled my approach. They insulted me with their eyes, they muttered -curses upon me in a voice sufficiently audible to be understood, they -broke forth in gestures of abhorrence and derision. They regarded me -with looks of ferocious hatred; and when I had passed them, their -murmurs gradually swelled into shouts of triumphant contumely. These -symptoms however were progressive; each day became more odious and -intolerable than the last. They who have never been placed in a -situation like mine, will never be able to do justice to my grievance. -They will perhaps say, that the calamity I now endured was a trifling -one, and that a weak mind only can be elevated by the acclamations and -huzzas of the multitude, or depressed by their hisses and scorn. I did -not, and I could not, feel it so. There is no pleasure more congenial -to the human heart, than the approbation and affection of our fellows. -I call heaven to witness that I could mount the scaffold, surrounded -with an innumerable multitude to applaud my fortitude, and to feel -as it were on their own neck the blow that ended me, and count it a -festival. But I cannot bear to be surrounded with tokens of abhorrence -and scorn. I cannot bear to look round me through an extended circle, -and see the impatience of despite in every face. Man was not born to -live alone. He is linked to his brethren by a thousand ties; and, when -those ties are broken, he ceases from all genuine existence. Their -complacence is a food more invigorating than ambrosia; their aversion -is a torment worse than that of the damned. While I write, I seem -again to hear resounding in my ears the hootings and clamours of these -infatuated peasants. When heard indeed, they went to my heart, and -sat there colder than the aspic’s venom: they rose to my throat with -a sensation bitterer than wormwood. They unstrung all my muscles and -nerves. I could not stay; I could not fly. I wished myself buried deep -in the centre of the earth. I felt something worse, more revolting, -more opposite to all the prejudices and propensities of the soul, -than annihilation. I have known in various situations and conditions -of human life, what it was to be distressed, to be dejected, to be -miserable; but never in any other situation have I felt a misery so -concentrated, so gnawing and insufferable. - -I began however, like the critics I am figuring to myself, to despise -the pusillanimity of my submission, and to believe that, if I would -only make a stand and turn round upon my enemy, I should subdue him. -This resolution I could with difficulty have taken in the moment of -attack; it was formed in an interval of retrospect and reflection. -Having formed it, the contempt I should have felt for myself would have -been too exquisite, if I had failed to put it in execution. I was not -long at a loss for an opportunity. In one of my walks I found myself -pursued by a numerous populace with a peculiar degree of inveteracy. I -yielded for some time, till I came to a place that appeared convenient -for the purpose of haranguing them. It was a bench, placed upon a -rising ground and sheltered behind by a thicket, which had been erected -for the purpose of commanding a neighbouring prospect. I stopped; I -stepped upon the bench; I waved my hand towards the multitude. They -perceived my purpose with some degree of confusion and surprise; they -drew nearer. “Do not listen to him! Do not hear a word he has to say!” -cried some of them. “Oh, hear him! hear him!” exclaimed others. I -obtained an audience. - -“What is the cause,” said I, “of all this hatred and persecution?” - -“Because you are a wizard, a necromancer, a dealer in the black art; -because you are in league with hell, and have sold yourself to the -devil!” answered twenty voices at once. - -“Hear me,” replied I, “and I will convince you of my innocence: but -hear me in silence, and do not interrupt me.” - -“For myself, I have no belief in the existence of such an art.” - -This remark produced a general groan. - -“Why should I have sold myself to the foe of mankind? What could he -give me, that should compensate me for consigning myself over to him -for ever hereafter? The power of exhibiting strange and extraordinary -tricks. What a pitiful recompence? But, if I had bought this power at -so dear a price, should I hide it? Should I not take every opportunity -of exciting your reverence and astonishment? Who has seen me perform -any wonderful feat? I live quietly among you, and give no cause of -offence to any. I live retired in the midst of my family. I form no -party or connections. I do not intrude into any of your affairs, -political or private. I do not even enter into conferences with any of -you, unless induced by the apparent occasion of doing some good and -benevolent action. - -“Quit then this ungenerous persecution! Do not turn the fury of your -resentment upon a harmless stranger! You are Italians, the most -polished and ingenious people on the face of the earth: the most -glorious monuments of art, in building, in statuary, and in painting, -are to be found in the midst of you: ancient Italy governed the world -by her arms; modern Italy governs the world through the medium of that -pure and sublime religion of which Providence has graciously made -her the repository. Do not stain the glory of this character! Show -yourselves worthy of the honour with which your name is heard in every -corner of the habitable world!” - -While I was yet speaking, a large clot of mud reached me, and struck me -on the face and the upper part of my breast. I calmly endeavoured to -free myself from its effects with my handkerchief; and, looking round -me, demanded, in the sacred spirit of conscious innocence, “How have I -deserved this treatment?” - -Thus far I had been heard with a doubtful sentiment of murmur and -approbation, and I began to feel that I was rather gaining ground upon -my audience. But this new insult seemed to turn the tide of popular -impression in an instant. - -“Villain, renegado, accursed of God!” I heard from every side; “did not -you bewitch my cow? did not you enchant my child? have not you killed -my daughter? Down with him! exterminate him! do not suffer him to live!” - -I continued my efforts to be heard. It was a critical moment, a last -experiment upon the power of firmness and innocence to control the -madness of infuriated superstition. It was in vain. I was deafened -with the noise that assailed me. It was no longer shouts and clamours -of disapprobation. It was the roaring of tigers, and the shriek of -cannibals. Sticks, stones, and every kind of missile weapon that -offered itself, fell in showers around me. It seemed a sort of miracle -that I escaped instant destruction. I eluded their pursuit: after -some time I ventured to return to my own house. I had in the interval -terrified myself with the idea that, having missed my person, they -might have hurried thither, and executed some terrible vengeance on my -helpless family. I found them however in safety: the mob had for this -time contented itself to disperse without further mischief. - -As soon as it was dark, I hastened to Pisa, and related what had just -occurred to my friend the marchese. He was surprised; but he still -adhered to his opinion. He had never supposed, he told me, that a noisy -and clamorous mob was a proper subject upon which to make experiment of -the energy of truth; and he laughed at my attempt to reason them out -of their superstition. But they meant nothing by all that had passed. -It was the mere foam and fury of a moment, poured out with vehemence, -and then dissipated in air. A certain set of politicians had for -their particular ends represented a mob as a terrific and formidable -engine: alas! they were rather to be pitied than condemned. There -was no malice in their hearts. They were in reality a mere material -machine, led on without reflection, and, when they had committed a -momentary ravage, astonished themselves the most at the injury they had -perpetrated. They were as light and variable as a feather, driven with -every breath; and nothing could argue greater obliquity of intellect -than to suppose, because they were in a certain temper and sentiment -to-day, that they would be found in a similar temper and sentiment -to-morrow. The marchese however wished, he said, to relieve me from -the apprehension of this imaginary danger, and therefore offered me -the whole suite of his servants for the defence of my house. He added -that, among his friends and retainers in the city of Pisa, he did not -doubt in an hour’s time to be able to raise a troop of four hundred -men; and, whatever power of that sort he possessed, he assured me was -wholly at my service. I was not convinced by the marchese’s arguments, -but I declined his offer. I could not bear to think that blood should -be spilled, and the lives of these poor ignorant wretches sacrificed, -for the preservation of a thing so worthless in my eyes as the local -property I possessed. I therefore told the marchese, that I might -perhaps wait yet a day or two longer before I formed my resolution; -but that, the instant I saw one fresh symptom of the hostility of the -villagers, I was determined to take my family with me, and remove far -beyond the reach both of their terrors and their hatred. - -I staid two hours with the marchese, and then set out to my own house. -The way I took was by a private road, open only to the neighbouring -gentry, but of which my servant carried the key. It led along the -higher ground, and commanded a view of the common highway. Considerably -before I reached my own habitation, I was struck with the appearance -of persons passing, in considerable numbers, and in a tumultuous -manner, along the public road. Some of them were armed with clubs, and -others with torches. Their march however led, not towards my house, -but in an opposite direction. I mended my pace, terrified with a sort -of vague apprehension of what might have happened, though I did not -disguise to myself that what I saw was not precisely that which I might -have expected to see, if they had been returned from demolishing my -property, and burning my house. - -When I arrived, I found indeed that no mischief had been actually -committed, but that I was indebted for the preservation of my house, -and perhaps for the lives of my wife and children, to the sagacity -and presence of mind of Bernardin, the servant of my early years. My -residence had been the object against which the march of the populace -had been directed. Bernardin, perceiving their intentions, had with -great difficulty prevailed upon Hector to keep out of sight. Nothing -could be more adverse to the feelings and inclination of my faithful -negro; but, Bernardin having convinced him that his appearance would -only exasperate the rage of the assailants, and that perhaps every -thing of importance to his master’s service and happiness depended at -present upon his concealment, Hector yielded to his representations. -This accomplished, Bernardin next assembled the gardener and one or two -labourers in my employment, who happened to be at hand; and, having -furnished them with fire-arms, stationed them at different windows, in -the front of the house. With these preparations, when the mob arrived -he resolutely told them that he would fire on the first person that -attempted to break in. They were staggered: furious as they appeared -the moment before, this threat held them in awe. They paraded two or -three times round the house, clattering their arms, and pouring out -vehement execrations; and then withdrew, solemnly promising that they -would return the following night, and level the house with the ground. - -I no longer yielded the smallest degree of credit to the unsuspicious -and confiding philosophy of the marchese Filosanto. I sent off my wife -and children before daybreak for Lucca, determined to take shipping -at the first convenient port, and pass over into Spain. I was little -solicitous, for reasons with which the reader is already acquainted, -about my property and moveables: I had no motive to induce me to fetter -and clog my retreat, at this hour of peril and terror, with a single -article of rarity and price. My furniture indeed was not splendid, -but it was handsome and valuable; and the indifference with which -I resigned the whole to the mercy of chance, was a matter of some -surprise to the persons around me. My servants offered to defend my -possessions, at the peril of their lives; but I peremptorily forbade -it. I would not even consent to their taking away certain articles, by -way of appropriating them to their personal use. I believed that if I -admitted a single act of that sort, I should find it no easy matter -to set limits to their avidity; and, as I had determined to take none -of my present servants with me, the negro and Bernardin excepted, I -feared that the apparent possession of a single article that had been -mine might hereafter mark its proprietor a victim to the senseless -rage of blindfold superstition. I could easily make up to these honest -and faithful dependants the injury they might sustain from the seeming -severity of this order. I determined to shut up my house, with all -its present contents, as Joshua, the captain of the Jews, drew a line -of separation round the profane possessions of Achan; and to leave -the villagers, if so it seemed good to them, to make of the whole a -burnt-offering, to propitiate the wrath of their avenging divinity. - -The directions I issued being unhesitating and peremptory, met with a -ready submission from all my other domestics: Hector only, the mild and -complying Hector, of whom obedience had hitherto appeared to constitute -the very soul, met my commands with a resolute refusal. The present -distressed appearance of my fortunes seemed to have worked the poor -fellow’s mind to a paroxysm of insanity. He considered himself as the -sole author of my calamity. He reviled himself in the bitterest terms -of compunction and abhorrence. The language which the agony of his -soul forced from his lips, was such as could not fail to impress upon -my other servants a conviction of the justice of the imputations that -were now brought against us. This however was of little importance. -I must at all events have been contented to leave behind me, in my -present neighbourhood, a name loaded with the execrations of religious -fanaticism. Hector imprecated upon himself a thousand curses, if, so -long as he continued to live, the populace should lay hands upon a -straw of my property. He would not move so much as an inch from the -defence of my house. He would either, by preserving it, expiate in some -degree the mischief in which he had involved me, or fall and be crushed -to death in the midst of its ruins. Arguments and expostulations -were useless here: his mind was worked up to too high a tone, to be -susceptible of the patience necessary for hearing or understanding -any reasoning that was addressed to him. Authority itself was of no -avail: for the first and the last time he threw off the character of a -servant, and appeared obstinate, self-willed, and ungovernable. It was -only by direct violence that he could be forced from the spot. I gave -him in charge, with the most strict orders not to suffer him to escape -from their custody, to two of his fellows. - -This business being despatched, I went, at the invitation of the -marchese, to a small cottage he possessed at no great distance from my -own house. Its situation was so private and retired, that few persons -knew or could perceive that there was any building on the spot. Here -therefore I could remain in the most perfect safety. I felt myself -unaccountably impelled to stay and witness the catastrophe of the -tragedy. I should not have been satisfied to continue in uncertainty as -to what it would prove. After all that had passed, like the marchese, I -should have been apt to accuse myself of cowardice, and a mind soured -and degenerate, if the mob had not put their threats in execution. -The marchese himself was well pleased with my determination in this -respect. He was not yet convinced that I had not painted to myself a -danger, which had no adequate counterpart in the world of realities. - -I had not long to wait. The night had no sooner spread an even-coloured -and almost impervious veil over the world, than the marchese, as if -moved by a secret impulse to witness what he yet refused to believe, -came to me at the cottage. He had scarcely arrived, when he heard the -confused murmurs and turbulence of the populace; for we were near -enough to distinguish almost every thing. As they did not meet with -the defence of the preceding evening, the work they had undertaken -was presently despatched. We saw the flames ascend. We recognised the -shouts of infernal joy with which they witnessed the catastrophe. -When the marchese beheld what, till seen, he would never admit to be -possible, he burst out into a sort of transport of misanthropy. He -exclaimed that no innocence, and no merit, could defend a man from the -unrelenting antipathy of his fellows. He saw that there was a principle -in the human mind destined to be eternally at war with improvement -and science. No sooner did a man devote himself to the pursuit of -discoveries which, if ascertained, would prove the highest benefit -to his species, than his whole species became armed against him. The -midnight oil was held to be the signal of infernal machinations. The -paleness of study and the furrows of thought were adjudged to be the -tokens of diabolical alliance. He saw, in the transactions of that -night, a pledge of the eternal triumph of ignorance over wisdom. Above -all, he regretted that his countrymen, his dear Italians, should for -ever blot their honour and their character by such savage outrages. -Though myself the principal sufferer, I was obliged to perform the part -of the comforter and consoler, and endeavour to calm the transport of -agony that seized upon the susceptible Filosanto. He was astonished, -shocked, and beside himself: I viewed the whole with the gloomy -firmness of a desperate resolution. - -The worst event of this detested evening remains yet unrecorded. Even -now I tremble, while I attempt to commit the story to my harmless -paper. So far as related to the mere destruction of my property, I -looked on with a philosophical indifference. I had no reason, and I -disdained to regret the loss of that which I had it in my power to -repair in a moment. I thought I had taken care that no human life -should be risqued upon this critical occasion. But I was mistaken. -I learned the next morning with anguish inexpressible that Hector, -the negro of the prison of Constance, was no more. He had eluded -the vigilance of his keepers. No sooner was he at liberty, then he -hastened, unknown to every one, to die, as he had declared he would, in -the defence of my house. The mob had burst into the house; they seized -him alive. They dragged him out in the midst of them; they insulted -over him, as the special favourite of the infernal king. They inflicted -on him every species of mockery and of torture; they killed him joint -by joint, and limb by limb.----The pen drops from my lifeless hand. - -What right had I to make this man the victim of my idle and unhallowed -pursuits? What has the art and multiplication of gold in it, that -should compensate the destruction of so ingenuous, so simple-hearted, -so noble a creature? If I had myself fallen into the hands of the -populace, it had been well: I was a criminal, worthy of every -retribution they could inflict upon me! Some men perhaps will ask, -why I lamented so bitterly over so uncultivated and uninformed an -individual as this negro. There was however something so truly tragical -in the fate to which this creature in his generosity and remorse -devoted himself, that I believe for the moment I felt a sharper pang -in it, than in the strange and extraordinary loss of my only son, or -perhaps in the premature death of my beloved Marguerite. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - - -Before the dawn of the succeeding morning I turned my face towards -Lucca. I beheld the last cloud of mingling smoke and flame ascend -from the ashes of my villa. The blaze sunk, its materials were nearly -consumed, and it yielded an uncertain and fitful light only, when -I withdrew from being any longer the melancholy and heart-wounded -spectator of the ruin. I took an everlasting leave of the marchese. I -had been introduced to him under a friendly aspect, as the man who had -had courage to perform the last offices of humanity to his unfortunate -brother; and he had conceived a warm affection for me. The painful -nature of the catastrophe he had witnessed melted his heart, and he -earnestly pressed me to draw upon him for any supplies I wanted, -or rather to receive from him a sum equivalent to the damage the -superstition of his countrymen had inflicted on me. This I positively -refused; but I found it impossible to silence his importunity, till I -submitted to the duplicity of promising that, if I found myself reduced -to any necessity, I would not fail to apply to him. It was in the very -moment of our separation that intelligence was brought me of the fate -of Hector. The reader may imagine with how heavy a heart I set out on -my journey. - -Lucca is about seventeen miles from the city of Pisa; from the -place where I had spent the greater part of this memorable night it -was twenty. The marchese made me promise to take a serpentine and -circuitous route, the more completely to elude the possibility of -future danger. An adventure occurred to me in this passage, with the -relation of which I will not interrupt my narrative, which prevented me -from arriving at Lucca till the noon of the following day. Suffice it -to say, that it was of such a nature, that, impatient as I was under my -present extraordinary circumstances to rejoin my family, I should have -held myself destitute of every atom of humanity, if I had not submitted -to this short delay. - -Short as it was, I found, when I reached Lucca, that my evil genius -had been busy to accumulate for me new misfortunes. Marguerite and her -daughters were wholly unknown in this place; and the intelligence of -the Pisan riot having reached Lucca in the course of the day, it was -related to my wife, as to a hearer unconcerned, with all its horrid -circumstances and the calamitous fate of our generous Hector, by the -hostess of the inn. The rapidity of events, during the last part of -our residence in the Pisan territory, was such as to have obliged me -to say little of the effect they produced upon Marguerite. But the -reader can scarcely be so inadvertent and unreflecting, as not easily -to imagine to himself that she felt them in the highest degree painful -and overwhelming. This last blow was too much. Marguerite had been some -months pregnant. She was immediately seized with the pains of labour, -and delivered of a dead child. The first intelligence communicated to -me upon my arrival was that my wife was dying. - -Lucca however did not witness the period of her existence. After having -continued for several days upon the very extremity, as it were, between -life and death, she grew perceptibly better; and in a week more, though -in a very feeble state, it became apparent that her case was not a -rapid one. We agreed to proceed upon our Spanish voyage. It appeared -not improbable that the sea-air might be found beneficial, and the -experiment was warmly recommended by her physicians. They were not -however aware of the whole extent of her disorder. During the voyage -her crisis returned with such malignant symptoms, as scarcely to permit -us the hope she would reach the land alive. We debarked at Barcelona on -the 14th of April 1546. - -We had no sooner taken up our abode in this city than, fully aware -of the state of her disease, she assembled her daughters, and poured -forth to them without restraint that flood of affection, that ardent -spirit of love, by which she was distinguished and elevated above -every creature that lived. Her mind was clear, her intellectual powers -were complete and entire. The enthusiasm with which she now expressed -herself was not of that inconsiderate nature which should tend to make -them feel with greater acuteness the loss they were about to sustain. -It was bright, unclouded and serene. It was the eloquence as of a -disembodied spirit, freed from the perturbation and alloy of human -passions. She reminded them that they were sisters, and exhorted each -to fulfil the duties of a sister and a mother to the other two. If -wise and good, they would be happy in each other, and their little -association would be a school, preparing them for the more genuine and -venerable duties for which nature had destined them. Her views of all -human things were altered by her present situation on the brink of the -grave. Our reserves and misunderstandings had wrung her heart; but she -forgave me. Things which had lately appeared of the highest magnitude -and moment, faded in the distance, and mingled with the vulgar crowd -of human concerns which was now retiring from her view: she must again -return, she said, to life, before she could again feel the passions -and the interests of this petty scene. For the sake of her daughters -she had lately desired to live. She was now reconciled and content to -die. She had formed the chain and link of connection between me and -my girls; perhaps it was better that we should burst our fetters and -be free. On the fourth day after our arrival at Barcelona Marguerite -expired. - -There is nothing in the vast variety of objects which this wretched -world presents to our view so dreadful and distressing as the sight of -one we have loved, but who is now no more. I saw, these eyes beheld, -the lifeless corse of Marguerite. Great God of heaven! what is man? -and of what are we made? Within that petty frame resided for years all -that we worship, for there resided all that we know and can conceive of -excellence. That heart is now still. Within the whole extent of that -frame there exists no thought, no feeling, no virtue. It remains no -longer, but to mock my sense and scoff at my sorrow, to rend my bosom -with a woe, complicated, matchless and inexpressible. The cheek is pale -and livid; the eyes are sunk and circled with blackness. Corruption -and ruin have already seized their prey and turned it into horror. -Draw, for heaven’s sake, draw the pall over those lifeless features! -Bury, bury them deep in the bowels of the earth! Let not my imagination -follow them into the chambers of the grave, and dwell amidst -pestilential damps and all the series of destruction! Let me recollect -all that Marguerite was as she lived, her numerous accomplishments, -her unparalleled virtues,--ay, in all the magnitude and wealth of -their detail,--for that is a divine and celestial madness: but let me -not recollect her as I saw her on the bier, lest I become raving and -blaspheme! - -I have no power to talk of the situation in which I was now placed, and -the reader must therefore explain it for himself,--if he can. I never -loved but once; I never loved but Marguerite. All other affection is -stillness and ice compared with this. This is the great crisis of my -history, the gap between life and death, the gulf that cut me off for -ever from every thing that deserves the name of human. Such was the -legacy of the stranger! my son an exile, myself publicly arraigned as -a murderer, the unmerited and tragical death of Hector, the premature -and self-deriving loss of the better half of my soul! Who would have -believed that this envenomed gift would, in less than two years, have -thus dreadfully changed the face of my affairs, and destroyed every -thing that composed the happiness of my life? - -After some delay in this wretched and ill-omened town of Barcelona -(such it has ever since appeared to my thoughts), we proceeded to -Madrid. The reader will give me credit, when I tell him that, however -eager I had lately felt to exhibit my magnificence and my wealth, -I had no such eagerness now. I speak no more of the character of -Marguerite; I attempt not to compose her panegyric. The story of her -life is the best record of her virtues. Her defects, if defects she -had, drew their pedigree from rectitude of sentiment and perception, -from the most generous sensibility, from a heart pervaded and leavened -with tenderness. A simple stone in the western aisle of the great -church at Barcelona records her personal and her family name, with this -single addition, THE PRESERVER OF HER FAMILY IN POVERTY AND RUIN, THE -VICTIM OF HER DISCONSOLATE AND REPENTANT HUSBAND’S UNHALLOWED WEALTH. - -But, dismissing for ever, and henceforth consigning to unviolated -silence her excellencies, could I avoid feeling that I could never -again form a similar, or indeed any real union, so long as I existed? -Being now indeed more than forty years of age, having spent near twenty -of that forty in a most enviable wedlock, and being blessed with a -sufficiently numerous offspring, it may be thought perhaps I might be -contented. But, without discussing the propriety of such a maxim as it -relates to the species in general, it must be recollected in my case -that my youth was to be recommenced by a perpetual series of renewals. -I never gave credit to that axiom of a sickly sensibility, that it is a -sacrilege, in him who has been engaged in one cordial and happy union, -ever to turn his thoughts to another. Much more reasonable than this is -the Indian doctrine, that the survivor ought to leap into the flames, -and perish upon the funeral pyre of the deceased. While we live, it -is one of our most imperious duties to seek our happiness. He that -dedicates his days to an endless sorrow is the worst and most degraded -of suicides. It is an important question in the economy of human life, -up to what age we should allow ourselves to contract engagements to a -wife and a probable offspring: but, separately from this consideration, -I should hold that in many cases he who entered into a second marriage, -by that action yielded a pure and honourable homage to the manes of the -first. But from genuine marriage I was henceforth for ever debarred. -An immortal can form no true and real attachment to the insect of an -hour. - -Mourning, a depressing and speechless regret, was yet the inmate of our -house. Grief does not commonly lay a strong and invincible hold of us -in the morning of our days; and, though the temper of Julia was perhaps -at her age the most tender and susceptible I ever knew, even she, who -was now in her seventeenth year, reaped the benefit of that elasticity -which in early life is the portion of humanity. Nothing material -occurred to us in the first three months of our residence in Madrid. -It was impossible for any one to be surrounded with a more lovely and -blooming family than I was. - -Yet from happiness I was immeasurably distant. Exclusively of my recent -and in every sense irreparable loss, my mind was full of dark and -gloomy forebodings. I feared not for myself, but I had an unconquerable -alarm and apprehension for my children. My youngest was but ten years -of age; the eldest was not seventeen. Sweet, tender blossoms, that -the cruelty and hardness of mankind might so easily blight, and that -required a concurrence of favourable circumstances to ripen into all -they were capable of becoming! When I recollected what had happened in -the course of the last two years, I could not flatter myself that our -misfortunes were at an end, or that I had not, to speak moderately, -many fierce trials yet to encounter. I seemed, like the far-famed -tree of Java, to be destined to shelter only to destroy, and to prove -a deadly poison to whatever sought its refuge under my protecting -branches. In this melancholy frame of mind the last words of my -adored Marguerite passed and repassed ten thousand times through my -recollection. “She had formed the chain and link of connection between -me and my girls; perhaps it was better that we should burst our fetters -and be free.” - -Whatever she had said was sacred to the present temper of my -imagination: her last behest I would have died to execute. The idea -contained in the sentence I have just repeated was ambiguous and -obscure, rather hinted, than expressed. But was it worthy of the -less attention, because its author, with her usual gentleness and -sweetness, had modestly suggested an advice, instead, which she was -well entitled to have done, of prescribing a will? I determined to -part with my children, that I might no longer be to them a source of -corroding misery and affliction. I believed that the cloud that now -oppressed me was transitory. I seemed pursued for the present by a -malignant genius; but a man, endowed as I was with unbounded wealth and -immortal vigour, cannot easily be reduced to despair. When the tide of -my prosperity should unfold its rich and ample current, I might easily -communicate of its bounty to my daughters. If I parted with them now, I -did not lose them as I had perhaps lost their brother for ever. I could -turn to a particular point, and say, “There lies my soul!” I could cast -my eye upon a projection of the globe, and put my finger upon their -residence. Wherever I wandered, whether I were plunged in a dungeon or -mounted a throne, my heart, like the mariner’s needle, would tremble -towards that point as its cynosure. I had still something to love, -something to pant for, something to dream about, and be happy. - -Having ruminated insatiably upon the last expressions of Marguerite, -having formed my commentary, and fixed my predilection, I recollected -a person, then a young woman upon my paternal estate, for whom my -wife had conceived a remarkable friendship. She was the daughter -of a peasant, her birth had been low, and her education confined. -But she had taste, she had discretion, she had integrity, I think I -may add, she had genius. As Marguerite had discovered her merits, -and distinguished her from her equals, she had been of great use to -this extraordinary rustic in unfolding her mind, and guiding her -propensities. This was not so much a matter of deliberate and meditated -purpose in _la dame du seigneur_; it rose out of the circumstances of -their situation. They were almost of an age; and Marguerite frequently -invited her to be the associate of her studies and amusements. Mariana, -that was her name, did not perhaps resemble my wife considerably in her -features, but her stature was the same, her complexion and the colour -of her hair. The similarity in carriage and gesture, Mariana having -never had an opportunity of contemplating the accomplishments she -admired in any one but madame de St. Leon, was still more striking. -There were points indeed in which no human creature could compare with -Marguerite, the expressive and flexible tone of her voice, and those -cadences, which sprung from, and communicated to every susceptible -hearer, the divinest sensibility. One of the unhappy consequences -of our exile from the Bordelois was the misfortunes of Mariana. Her -father had fallen to decay. To relieve his distress she had contracted -a marriage, not of sentiment and predilection, but with a man who had -promised her that her father should never come to want. This marriage -had been unhappy. The husband was a prodigal and a profligate. A period -of seven years however delivered her from her Egyptian bondage. She -had but lately become a widow; and the prudence and integrity of her -conduct had rendered this alliance, which to many women would have -proved a rock of destruction, an additional source of honour and -respect. Mariana, at the death of her husband, had no children; she had -buried her father; she was consequently entirely alone. - -It was this woman I fixed upon as the protector of my daughters. I was -better pleased with the meanness of her extraction, than I should have -been with one of the high-born descendants of the houses of St. Leon -or Damville, had it been my fortune to have had in the female line any -near relations on either side. My daughters were no longer children; -they were singularly prudent, considerate, and unimpeachable in their -conduct and propensities. They wanted a protector in the eye of the -world; it was desirable for them that they should have an adviser; but -I should have been grieved and mortified to give them a dictator. - -I wrote to Mariana Chabot, communicating my project, and requesting her -to give us the meeting at St. Lizier on the frontiers of France. She -was delighted with the office I tendered to her acceptance, and readily -consented to every thing I required. I conducted my daughters to the -place of rendezvous without imparting to them the design by which I -was actuated; I believed that they would of their own motion conceive -a partiality for the friend of their mother. I was not deceived in my -prognostic; the meeting was an interesting one. The eyes of Mariana -overflowed at meeting, after so long an interval, the husband and -progeny of the dearest and most revered friend she had ever known; the -mourning we wore reminded her how lately her incomparable patroness had -been committed to the grave. My girls were struck with the resemblance -of Mariana to their mother. Accident had prevented us from cultivating -almost any intimate connections out of our own family from the period -of our exile; my girls had therefore never met with a person who -approached in any degree so near their mother in accomplishments, in -skill, in turn of thinking and opinion. Mariana came up to my warmest -hopes as a protector and companion for my children; her unhappy -marriage, by concentrating her thoughts and expectations in herself, -had perhaps rendered her more exemplary in carriage, and more elevated -in sentiment, than she would ever have been without it. - -At St. Lizier I passed myself for monsieur Valmier, the guardian of -the orphan heiresses of St. Leon. It fortunately happened that my -paternal estate was at this time upon sale. I determined to become the -purchaser, and to settle my girls in the scene of their nativity. I -procured an agent, and despatched him with an ample commission for that -purpose. Having adjusted this point, I resolved to make a tour with my -daughters, through Languedoc, Dauphiné, and the provinces usually known -by the denomination of the south of France. I wished to familiarise -them to the society of madame Chabot, and to assist them in discerning -her merits under a variety of points of view. I asked them whether they -would not be delighted to obtain her as a companion, who might assist -and conduct them in such points as only a woman of understanding and -experience is competent to. They, every one of them, listened to the -idea with pleasure. - -At length I received the information that the purchase of St. Leon was -completed, and I proceeded to the critical disclosure that my daughters -were on the point of being separated from their father. They listened -to the communication with astonishment and terror. They had entered -successively into the feelings of their deceased mother, and I am well -persuaded felt a less ardent attachment to my person than they had done -at the cottage of the lake of Constance. But, culpable and criminal as -I had been, I was not destitute of every virtue, and they could not -extinguish in themselves the respect they had so long entertained for -me. Habit has a resistless empire over the human mind; and, when we -reflect with how much reluctance we consent to the removal of a tree -or a hedge, to the sight of which we have been accustomed, it will not -be wondered at that my daughters could not calmly think of so complete -a separation from their father. The impression of their mother’s death -was yet green, and to lose me, was to become orphans a second time. -But I had fully meditated my plan, and was peremptory. That I might -withhold from them no advantage it was in my power to confer, I gave -them Bernardin for their superintending bailiff and steward of their -property. Our parting was not less painful and melancholy, than its -occasion was extraordinary and its mode uncommon. It took place at the -town of Montauban. - -I saw my dear children set forward on their journey, and I knew not -that I should ever behold them more. I was determined never again -to see them to their injury; and I could not take to myself the -consolation,--on such a day, in such a month, or even after such -a lapse of years, I will again have the joy to embrace them. In a -little while they were out of sight, and I was alone. The reader will -perhaps agree with me, that no man had more exquisitely enjoyed the -dearest ties of society than I had, and that perhaps few men were ever -better formed to enjoy them. This complete and dreadful separation, -this stroke that seemed to cut me off abruptly from every thing most -valuable that the earth contains, was not the result of any of the -ordinary necessities of human life. Still less was it the dictate of -alienation or indifference. No; it was the pure effect of love, of a -love so strong, complete, and uncontrollable, as inflexibly to refuse -every thing that could be injurious to its objects. I own I could not -thus have parted with Marguerite. Her idea was mingled with the vital -springs of my existence; and scarcely any power less resistless than -death could have made me consent to pass an entire day without her -society. But then it is to be considered, that my daughters were in -the morning of life; their hopes were untarnished, their prospects not -obscured by a single cloud; and that the crime would probably have been -greater, obstinately to have made them the partners of my misfortunes -and disgrace. There are persons who will regard this passage in my -history as culpable, and the testimony of a cold and unsusceptible -heart. I contemplate it, even at this distance of time, as the noblest -and most virtuous effort of my life; and a thousand circumstances have -occurred since, to induce me to congratulate myself that I had the -courage to achieve my purpose. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - - -Nineteen years had now elapsed from the day that had witnessed my union -with Marguerite de Damville. In all that time I had never been alone. -Alone in a certain sense indeed I had stood at Paris in the period -that had led to my exile, and at Soleure in that which immediately -succeeded it. In each case I was solitary, and my solitude was unhappy. -But my unhappiness was then in a certain sense spontaneous; my solitude -was a luxury in which I felt myself impelled to indulge. He that has -experienced both, will readily acknowledge the extreme difference -between the misery we embrace and the misery from which we shrink -with abhorrence and loathing. I relinquished in the former instances -my dearest connections, my proper post and situation; but I felt that -I could return to the one and resume the other at pleasure. I repeat -it therefore, Then I had not been alone, and now I was alone. The -same motive, which in this instance made me cut myself off from my -daughters that I might not be the cause of their misery, forbad me to -be the parent of a future offspring upon whom I might entail similar -misfortune. Tell me then, was I not alone? I recollected the words -of the stranger, wrung from him by the excess of his misery at the -summer-house of the lake, “Alone--alone!--friendless--friendless!” I -began to penetrate the enigma of his history. - -I fixed my daughters with an ample revenue in the château of St. -Leon; I re-purchased for them all my paternal property. I waited some -time at Montauban to hear of the event of my project, and their final -settlement. I learned with pleasure that they found their situation -peaceful, easy, and reputable; I enjoined them that they should speak -and think of me as dead. I led them to suppose, when I left Montauban, -that I should set out upon an extensive tour, that I should traverse -the Indus and the Ganges, and penetrate into the furthest extremities -of the East. How uncommon, how pitiable a fate! I became prematurely -dead to my country and my race, because I was destined never to die! -The first sensation I derived from their prosperity, as I have already -said, was pleasure: my second was that which the devil might have felt, -when he entered paradise for the seduction of our first parents. I -contemplated with some degree of malignant envy a happiness of which -it was little probable I should ever partake. Let me not be censured -for this: let any man put himself in my situation, and say, whether the -pleasure he feels at contemplating the separated happiness of those he -loves be not a mingled sensation? With heavy heart I sought again the -road of Madrid. - -Though my spirits underwent an extreme depression, I determined not -to desert myself or the advantages I had purchased at so inestimable -a price. I exerted myself to shake off my lethargy, and rouse the -faculties of my soul. I refused to give way to omens of evil portent, -and resolved to see what might yet be made of my endowments. There -is no misfortune that has not in it some slight mixture of good. My -being now alone, and detached from every relative tie, left me at -liberty to pursue my projects with a bolder enterprise. The mistake -of which I accused myself in the former instance, was the entering -too precipitately into the exercise of the gifts of the stranger, -before I had properly measured my strength, and investigated the -use and application of my tools. I had suffered sufficiently from -the past uncertainty and irresoluteness of my march. I determined, -as far as human precaution could secure its ends, to encounter no -more misfortunes, to subject myself to no further miscarriages, but -to take care that henceforth the tide of my pursuits should move -smoothly onward. I dedicated the six months immediately succeeding my -separation from my daughters, to the joint contemplation of morals and -natural philosophy. I was resolved to ascertain the simplest mode of -manufacturing wealth, the wisest methods for lulling the suspicions and -controlling the passions of mankind, and the true science of the use -of riches. Alas! I had in the sequel frequent occasions to confess, -that, though I had fortuitously entered into possession of the leading -secrets of natural magic, I was a mere tyro in the science of man, at -least in the degree in which the exercise of these secrets required the -possession of it. - -Nothing material occurred to interrupt the occupations of the winter. -My apathy--intellectual activity, palsy of the heart,--went evenly -forward. I made no acquaintance; I was a mere spectator of the busy -scenes that passed around me. I was resolved not to entangle myself -with rashly formed connections; and it will commonly be found, that -he, whose contemplations are principally employed upon some secret and -guarded hoard of reflection, has little propensity to communicate upon -idle and indifferent matters. - -A slight incident indeed disturbed me for a few days during this -interval; but it passed away, and for the present I thought of it no -more. During the festival of Christmas it happened that I felt an -inclination to be the spectator of a celebrated bull-fight, that was -exhibited before the emperor and his court. For the most part I was -studious of privacy; I therefore felt the less scruple in indulging -this unusual caprice. At the commencement of the spectacle, I was -attentive only to the exhibition. I was delighted with the form and -beauty of the animals, with the freedom and grandeur of their motion, -with the terrible energy of their assault and repulse. It was not -long, however, before my eye was transiently caught by an individual, -who sat in a gallery at no great distance, and who seemed to view me -attentively. His figure bespoke some degree of refinement; but his eye -was fiery, malicious, and savage. Presently however I turned again -towards the area, and thought of him no more. Some time after by mere -accident I looked towards the same gallery, and observed this man still -in an attitude to examine me. It seemed as if he had not removed his -eyes from me during the whole interval. This was repeated three or -four times. Without knowing why, I became anxious and uneasy. I had a -confused feeling that I had seen the man before, but whether in France, -Switzerland, or Italy, I could not tell. I experienced that sort of -disagreeable sensation from looking at his face, which arises in the -mind from an association of the object present, with some mischief or -suffering that was contemporary with its being perceived in a preceding -instance. I am now persuaded that this man was one of the multitude to -whom I had addressed myself from the bench on the hill a short time -before my flight from Pisa, and that he was among the most eager to -interrupt and molest me. But he was apparently a Spaniard by birth, -and I could not at this time develope the mystery that hung about his -features. Finding that I could neither rid myself of his curious and -watchful observation, nor of the disturbance it gave me, I withdrew -from the gallery where I had hitherto been sitting, and removed to -another gallery on the opposite side of the area. About half an hour -after, looking accidentally round, I saw this very man at my elbow. I -then accosted him with the enquiry, “Do you know me, sir?” to which he -immediately returned, with a pure Castilian accent, “_No, señor!_” He -then began to be more reserved in his attention to me, without however -entirely withdrawing it. - -As soon as the entertainment was over, I went away, and saw no more -of my Spaniard. I began to tax myself with pusillanimity in suffering -so insignificant an incident to disturb me. A few days after however -I suddenly lighted upon him in the street. He was talking to three or -four of his countrymen, and in the progress of his discourse frequently -pointed to me. I could now perceive something particularly hostile -and ferocious in his countenance. The first impulse I felt was, -that I would no longer suffer the unquietness and anxiety the sight -of him produced in me, but would go up to him, and force him to an -explanation. I believed however that, in the temper he indicated, this -could not be done without involving myself in a quarrel; and I thought -it wiser to endeavour to conquer in silence an unreasonable sensation. -I therefore passed on; he immediately broke from his company, and -attempted to follow me. This I determined not to endure. I laid my -hand on my sword with a peremptory look, and waved to him to desist. -His countenance then assumed an air of diabolical malignity, he shook -his head furiously, and turned down another street. A strange sort of -animosity this, between two persons utter strangers to each other, -and which had as yet not deigned to express itself by a word! But -such is the world! We hate we know not why. We are ready to cut each -other’s throats, because we do not like the turn of a feature, or the -adjustment of a sword-knot. Prejudice, party, difference of countries, -difference of religions, and a thousand wild chimeras of fanaticism or -superstition, are continually arming us against a man, of whose virtues -and qualities we are ignorant, and into whose benevolent or evil -intentions we disdain to enquire. - -I saw this Spaniard but once more. It was as I was on the point of -entering the house, a part of which I occupied. I was particularly -mortified at this circumstance. It was plain the man entertained, for -whatever reason, a determined animosity against me; and I was grieved -to furnish him with that advantage for injuring me, which consisted in -being acquainted with the place of my residence. I would have turned -away and gone down the street; but I had too fully marked my design of -entering the house, before I reconnoitered my enemy. The displeasure I -felt was so unaccountably great, that it was with difficulty my courage -got the better of it; and I determined not to change the place of my -abode. In a short time however, as I have already said, I thought of -this incident no more. That it should have disturbed and unhinged -me, in the degree that it had done, even for a moment, was a thing I -could not account for. Had the calamities in which the legacy of the -stranger involved me, converted me in so short a time, from a knight -and a soldier, into a character of that morbid timidity, as to tremble -at every shadow? Or, is there in some human countenances a fascination, -a sort of mysterious sympathy and presentiment, that makes us cower and -quail whenever we meet their eye-beams? - -Several weeks now passed away, and I had nearly forgotten all the -circumstances of this seemingly foolish story, when, in a little -excursion I chanced to make from Madrid to a place about twelve miles -distant, I was overtaken upon the road by a cavalier of respectable -appearance, who presently took occasion to enter into conversation -with me. He explained to me several of the objects that presented -themselves on either side, told the names of the different nobility and -grandees who occupied the villas we saw, and sometimes entered into the -particulars of their history. I at first gave little encouragement to -this communicative traveller; but there was something so polite in his -manner, and intelligent in his discourse, that I could not prevail upon -myself to treat him with rudeness or disrespect. After having talked -for some time upon indifferent topics, he led to the general state of -literature in Europe. Few subjects could appear less dangerous than -this, as there were few upon which I felt myself better qualified to -converse. By degrees I threw off some of my original reserve, and I -found my companion well informed and ingenious, lively in his manner, -and pertinent in his remarks. - -By this time the unknown, having discovered that I had only come from -Madrid for a day’s relaxation, invited himself to dine with me at my -inn. I departed from my established system of conduct on this occasion, -and admitted his overture. After dinner he gave me some account -of himself and his family, and seemed to expect from me a similar -explicitness. I was less pleased with him in this particular, than -I had been with his frank and undesigning conversation on the road. -Strictly speaking however the expectation implied was only a breach -of politeness; I had no reason to suppose that he foresaw it to be -particularly offensive to me. Observing my backwardness, he immediately -changed the subject. Presently he remarked, that by my physiognomy -and accent he perceived I was a Frenchman, and asked me if I had known -Cornelius Agrippa, who died about twelve years before at Grenoble. I -answered in the negative. The unknown then entered into a warm eulogium -of the talents of Agrippa, inveighed against the illiberal treatment -he had experienced in consequence of his supposed proficiency in -magic, and spoke with great asperity of the priests and inquisitors -who had been his persecutors. I became attentive, watchful, and -suspicious. He went on to expatiate upon the praises of the art magic, -which nothing, he said, but the jealousy of churchmen had brought -into disrepute; affirmed that it had been treated with respect, and -counted illustrious, by the ancients, in the instance of Pythagoras, -Apollonius Tyaneus, and others; and expressed a great desire to become -a student of the art himself. This kind of discourse made me repent -that I had been drawn in so far as to sit down with this unknown, and -admit him as my companion of the day. During the whole time he was -the principal speaker. Sometimes he paused, with a seeming desire to -hear my sentiments. But I had now formed my resolution, and gave him -no encouragement. Presently after I called for my horse. I should have -observed, that his servant who followed him engaged in conversation -with mine, at the same time that the dialogue began between their -masters. Seeing me about to depart, the unknown motioned as if to -accompany me. Upon this I became serious. - -“_Señor caballero_,” said I, “I have now had the pleasure of your -company to dinner: I am going home, and have the honour to bid you -farewell. It is neither my disposition, nor the habit of the grave and -dignified nation among whom I at present reside, to form permanent -acquaintances upon casual rencounters: you will not therefore think I -violate the hospitality for which I am indebted to them, if I intimate -to you my desire to return alone.” - -All this I said with the grave and formal tone becoming a Spaniard, -and the unknown had nothing to reply. It was evident however that -my dryness chagrined him; and he even muttered words of resentment -between his teeth. I could observe now a degree of hostility and fury -in his countenance, which remarkably contrasted with the pliancy and -obligingness of his preceding demeanour. I took no notice however -of these circumstances, and rode away. I have since had sufficient -reasons to convince me that these two persons, whose story, but for -that explanation, may appear to the reader exceedingly frivolous, were -the one an informer, and the other a spy of the holy inquisition. -The man who had seen me at Pisa had his imagination terrified and -his superstition set in arms by all that he had heard of me in that -place; and thought he could not perform a more meritorious work, than -by giving intelligence to the fathers what sort of person had taken -refuge in the metropolis of this most Catholic kingdom. It was with -this view he had watched me, and at length, by an accident he deemed -peculiarly fortunate, lodged me in my proper habitation. Having given -in his denunciation, my travelling companion was next fastened on me by -the contrivance and zeal of the fathers inquisitors. He was a familiar -of the holy office; and it is well known that persons of the fairest -prospects and most polite education in Spain are led by their religious -impressions to place a pride in performing menial and even perfidious -offices in the service of the inquisition. The kind of dishonour I put -upon him in parting, though of a nature he could not openly resent, -I fear conspired with his zeal for God’s and the church’s honour, -to induce him to relate a story concerning me, more modelled by the -bitterness of his personal feelings, than distinguished by a regard to -truth. - -Such was the snare, woven and drawing close round me on all sides for -my destruction. I was made uneasy by the rencounter of the traveller, -but by no means aware of the whole extent of the mischief that impended -over me. When I came to retrace, point by point, the discourse he had -held, I could not conceive that the turn it had taken originated in -accident. I perceived, with no little grief of heart and concern, that -I was known. It was however necessary that I should reflect maturely -upon the conduct to be pursued by me. I ought not gratuitously to -expose myself to danger. But then, on the other hand, it is a point of -general wisdom, and was particularly incumbent in my extraordinary -circumstances, not to suffer vigilance to degenerate into restless -anxiety. It would be easy for me, if I were not strictly on my guard, -continually to find food for suspicion, and to surround myself with -imaginary plots and dangers. This was a vice that I was willing enough -to pity in others; but there was no character that I more cordially -disdained for myself. There was none more pointedly in opposition to -that gallant, generous, confiding spirit, which had distinguished -those military heroes of my native soil, who had been the exclusive -object of my earliest admiration, and whom, in my present dejected -and deserted situation, I still desired to resemble. When I came to -reflect, I easily perceived that this vice was particularly allied to a -life of solitude; and that he who is cut off from the genuine and happy -connections of husband, father, and friend, is of all men most liable, -in their absence, to conjure up for himself the unnatural intercourses -and reciprocations of hostility. It was thus that I artificially -reconciled myself to my situation, and obstinately closed my eyes upon -those equivocal demonstrations of danger which from time to time were -presented to my view. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - - -Such was the state of my mind, when it happened, one gloomy evening in -the latter end of March, that my valet announced to me three gentlemen -who were come to visit me. It was strange: I had no visitors; I -indulged no relaxation but that of the street, and of public places. -Do you know who they are? said I. I accidentally looked up, and saw -paleness and terror written in his countenance. He had not however time -to reply, before they burst into the room. They were alguazils of the -inquisition. They told me their errand was to conduct me to the holy -office. - -I submitted, and accompanied them. It was already dark. They put me -into a litter with the curtains drawn, and then arranged themselves -in silence, one on each side, while one brought up the rear. I was -taken by surprise: nothing could be further from my expectation than -such an event. As we passed along, I ruminated with myself on the line -of conduct it was incumbent on me to pursue. To make an immediate -experiment of the fidelity of my guides was a doubtful attempt. If, for -want of time and the opportunity of a tranquil hearing, I miscarried -with them, the trial would be converted into evidence against me. If I -succeeded, I had then to escape out of Spain, in the centre of which I -now was, from the hostility of a tribunal, which was said to surpass -all the tribunals on the face of the earth in activity and vigilance. I -knew of nothing that the fathers of the inquisition could have against -me. I had lived in the most entire seclusion; and I could defy any one -to report a single action of mine, since I had entered Spain, to my -prejudice. I had been wholly occupied with melancholy reflections on -the past, and solitary inventions and devices which I purposed to bring -forward for the future. I determined not to live for ever the slave of -fear. I believed that the best method for defeating a danger, in many -cases, was undauntedly to encounter it; and I did not imagine that I -could have a more favourable opportunity for that purpose than the -present. I had heard much indeed of the terrors of the inquisition; but -a generous and liberal spirit lends no very attentive ear to horrors, -the trite and vulgar rumour of which only has reached him. I disdained -to be blown down with a breath. I believed that the inquisition itself -would not venture to proceed criminally against a man against whom -nothing criminal had been alleged. In every event, I believed it would -never be too late to have recourse to my peculiar prerogatives. - -Upon entering the prison of the inquisition I was first conducted to -a solitary cell. It is not my intention to treat of those particulars -of the holy office which are already to be found in innumerable -publications. I have no pleasure in reviving the images of this sojourn -of horrors. I know it is unreasonable to despise a man for the miseries -and wretchedness he has endured; but I know that such is the human -heart, and I will not expose myself to be scoffed at and trampled upon -for my misfortunes. I found myself under the necessity, while in the -inquisition, of submitting to that most profligate of all impositions, -an oath of secrecy as to what I had seen, and what I had suffered; and, -whatever may be the strict morality of such an obligation, I will not -ambitiously thrust myself forward in violation of it. I will restrict -the story I have to relate to the peculiarities that characterised my -case, and enter as little as possible into the general policy of this -frontier intrenchment of the Christian faith. - -When I was brought up to be interrogated, I was assailed with -innumerable questions, the obvious purport of which was, as much as -possible, to extort from me evidence of every kind that might be -injurious to my cause. The object of the inquisition is to defend -our holy mother, the church, from whatever might defile her sanctity -and whiteness. Every thing that calls into question the truth of -her doctrines, that pollutes and turns from their original purpose -any of her ordinances, or that implies commerce and league with the -invisible enemy of saints, it is its peculiar province to investigate. -The fathers are therefore particularly cautious that they may not, -by confining their questions too much to a single object, preclude -themselves from the chance of discovering danger under all the forms -it may assume. It is presumed that he who is a corrupt member of the -church of Christ in one point is unsound and unfaithful in others. - -The inquisitor who examined me, first demanded, whether I were informed -for what cause I was brought before that tribunal? Whether I did not -find myself able to conjecture the nature of my offence? Whether I did -not know the sort of crimes for which men were detained in that prison? -He then desired me to recollect myself, and consider, whether I were -not conscious of offence against the holy Catholic church? Whether I -had never asserted or maintained any doctrines contrary to what mother -church asserts and maintains? Whether I had never, to my knowledge, -defiled any of the ordinances of God, or applied things sacred to -unholy and profane purposes? Whether I had never invocated the devil? -Whether I had never held any commerce, or entered into any league, -with the enemy of saints? Whether I had never performed, or sought to -perform, preternatural and miraculous acts by unholy means? Whether I -had never vexed, or sought to vex, those against whom I had enmity, by -secret and forbidden arts? Whether I had never resided in countries the -inhabitants of which were heretics, and whether I had never listened -to their discourses and arguments? Whether, when I inhabited such -countries, I had never assisted at the celebration of divine ordinances -performed by heretics, or in a form which holy church disapproves or -condemns? - -Finding that he could gain nothing upon me by these general -interrogatories, the inquisitor next descended to particulars. He -enquired concerning the incidents of my Pisan story, which, having -first assured myself from the train of his questions that some -representation of that unfortunate affair had reached his ear, I -willingly related, to the same extent that I had previously done to the -marchese Filosanto. - -He then proceeded to a great number of questions, the source of which -is to be traced to the commonly received notions respecting sorcerers -and necromancers. They were so artfully contrived, and so large in -their scope, that it was not easy to guess whether they related to -any particular accusation alleged against me, or were formed entirely -on general principles. Yet some of them were so minute, so connected, -and arranged so perfectly in series, that I could not but believe they -were an echo of the calumnies invented against me at Pisa, of which, -however, as I had never collected any regular and detailed account, I -could not accurately trace the influence on the present occasion. - -The inquisitor demanded of me, Whether I had never seen or held -conversation with any supernatural being, or the spirit of a man -departed? Whether I had never practised diabolical arts to raise the -dead? Whether I had never had a familiar in the form of some insect, -domestic animal, or reptile? He was particularly subtle and copious -in his questions respecting the history of my unfortunate dog, -endeavouring to surprise me in some slip or contradiction in what I -affirmed on the subject. He asked, Whether I had never assumed a form -different from my real one, either a different age and appearance, or -a different species of animal? Whether I had never, by the agency of -my demon, inflicted sickness, convulsion-fits, or death? Whether I -had never caused the mortality of cattle? Whether I had not the power -of being in two places at once? Whether I had never been seen riding -through the air? Whether I had never been wounded in my absence, by -a blow aimed at my astral spirit or apparition? Whether I had never -possessed books of conjuration or the art magic? Whether it had never -happened to me that an indifferent person, indiscreetly perusing a -spell or incantation in my possession, had been maimed or killed by the -spirits he had undesignedly evoked? - -A further object particularly pursued in my interrogatory, was the -detection of my property; and the questions constructed for this -purpose were uncommonly artful and multiplied. The inquisitor told -me that the holy office was, by the nature of its institution, the -guardian and administrator of every person that fell under its -animadversion. Shut up, he said, as I must be, during the pendency -of my cause, and separated from the rest of mankind, I was wholly -incapable of superintending my worldly affairs, which, unless they -were properly looked into, might in the interval be materially -injured. I ought therefore implicitly and without reserve to refer -myself in this point to the care of the fathers. If my innocence were -established, as he hoped, and earnestly prayed to the mother of God, -and the saints of Jesus, might ultimately happen, I should find the -holy office a faithful and qualified steward. If, on the contrary, -I should be proved a heretic and an alien to the Most High, I ought -then to rejoice in the beneficent interference of the fathers, who, by -dedicating my wealth to consecrated purposes, would mitigate in the eye -of the just Judge of heaven and earth the duration or fierceness of -my punishments in a future world. The inquisitor had apparently heard -various reports of my riches, and was inexpressibly chagrined that he -should be found so unskilful a member of his profession, as not to be -able to extort from me a full confession on that head. After having -employed every artifice of menace and terror, after having endeavoured -to soothe and cajole me by blandishments and persuasion, and finding -all his expedients fruitless, he poured upon me the full storm of his -indignation. He said, it was apparent that I was dealing disingenuously -and fraudulently with the delegated guardians of religion; it was -impossible that the expenditure I was well known more or less to have -incurred could be supported without considerable funds; and my evident -duplicity and concealment in this point must be regarded as a full -confirmation of every crime my accusers had alleged against me. - -In the course of my examinations, the inquisitor who questioned me -gave himself the trouble of entering into a full vindication of the -tribunal of which he was a member. He said, that every thing that -was valuable to mankind, not only in a future state, but also in the -present, depended upon preserving in full vigour and strength the -sacred institutions of the Christian faith; and that those who were -endowed with powers sufficient for that purpose would be in the highest -degree inexcusable in the sight of God, if they did not vigilantly and -inflexibly maintain the exertion of those powers. It was an egregious -mistake of self-willed and opinionated men, to suppose that the -maintenance of our holy religion was sufficiently provided for by the -clearness of its evidence. It was no less dangerous, to pretend that -the stability and duration of the church of Christ might be confided -to the providence of God. Providence acts by human means; and it was -presumptuous for those who neglected the means to trust that they -should nevertheless see the end adequately secured. Why had Providence -thought proper to generate an alliance between church and state, and -to place the powers and authority of human society in the hands of the -adherents of the Christian faith? Magistrates and governments were -thus made the vicars of Heaven, and great would be their condemnation -if they neglected the trust reposed in them. The great adversary of -mankind was incessantly watchful for the destruction of souls; and, -while he spread abroad his delusions, it was folly to imagine that -evidence alone was powerful enough to counteract them. What judges were -the great mass of mankind of the integrity and validity of evidence? -The jest of the scorner was ever at hand to turn into ridicule the most -sacred mysteries. The opposers of our holy faith were indefatigable -in their industry, and as anxious in their exertions to deprive their -fellow-men of every comfort and hope, as if infidelity, which was the -curse of the human species, were the greatest blessing that could -be conferred on them. The devil was a hard task-master, and granted -no vacation, night or day, to those who enlisted themselves in the -support of his cause. It might answer well enough the purpose of the -vain-glorious theorist, to suppose that man was a rational animal; -but they who had regarded human society with an observing eye knew -that it was otherwise. Delusion would ever be too hard for evidence, -and the grossest falsehoods prove victorious over the most sacred -truths, if what was illiberally and maliciously styled persecution -were not brought in aid of the cause of religion. The passions of -mankind were on the side of falsehood; man, unrestrained by law, was a -wild, ferocious, and most pernicious beast, and, were it not for the -wholesome curb of authority, would speedily throw off all ties and -limitations, human and divine. Nothing could more clearly prove, that -the heretical followers of Luther and Calvin, who had lately sprung up -for the plague of mankind, whatever they might pretend, were in reality -the determined enemies of all revelation, than their continual demand, -that the cause should be tried by discussion, and that every man should -be defended in the exercise of his private judgment. They could not but -know,--every man not totally robbed of all power of discernment must -know,--that, if this demand were once granted, it would prove a blow -at the root of every sentiment of religion. The inquisition therefore -was the most salutary institution that had ever been devised; and the -future welfare of mankind wholly depended upon the maintenance of -its powers and its maxims. By a moderate and judicious exhibition of -terror, it superseded the necessity of innumerable punishments. The -inquisition was not capricious and uncertain in its policy; it acted -under the direction of immutable laws; it held a tender, but a firm -rein upon the extravagances and madness of mankind. Nothing was more -notorious, than that a regular and systematical proceeding was both -more effectual and more generous than one that was fickle. He defied -the whole history of the world to produce an example of so merciful a -tribunal. The great end of its policy was the reclaiming of sinners -and the multiplication of penitents, who, after a gentle and salutary -discipline, were again by holy church received into her bosom; and -even when they delivered the finally impenitent to the flames, it -was to the flames of a purifying fire, which by destroying the flesh -redeemed or diminished the punishments of a future world. He knew that -an outcry had been artfully raised against the proceedings of the holy -office. But it was easy to see that its enemies, under the pretence -of compassion for its victims, concealed an inveterate animosity -against property, religion, and civil society. The anabaptists had -thrown off the mask, and discovered their true designs; and the rest -were only more plausible and specious, in proportion as they were -more timid. The present was the most important crisis that ever -occurred in the history of the world. There was a spirit at work, that -aimed at dissolving all the bonds of civil society, and converting -mankind into beasts and savages. Who had not heard of the levellers, -millenarians, and fifth-monarchy-men, who, under the specious guise of -disinterestedness and an universal love of mankind, had nothing in view -but the most sacrilegious and unprincipled depredations? It was true -that the preachers of these doctrines were utterly contemptible both -for numbers and talent: but it would be found a short-sighted policy, -to overlook these desperate assailants on account of the poorness and -meanness of their qualifications. For his own part he did not hesitate -to say, that human society would owe its preservation, if it were -preserved, to the merciful yet vigorous proceedings of the court of -inquisition. The misrepresentations that were invidiously made of the -present firm and vigilant system of policy would be heard for a day, -and then universally abandoned. Posterity, he was well assured, would -do full justice to the sagacity and soundness of the conduct of this -calumniated and much injured institution. - -The reader will forgive me if the panegyric thus elaborately pronounced -by the inquisitor who examined me, upon the court of which he was a -member, had not all the weight with my mind at the moment I heard it -which he will probably ascribe to it in the calmness of the closet. -It is so difficult to be impartial in our own cause! The candid mind -will no doubt make a large allowance for the unhappy situation in which -I now stood, and the bitter and galling thoughts that preyed upon -my memory. But, if I am chargeable with temporary injustice in the -judgment I then passed on the arguments of the inquisitor, I flatter -myself that I have been able, after the interval that has elapsed, to -give a true and adequate statement of them. - -Beside these reasonings on the necessity of a wholesome restraint on -the privileges of speaking and writing, the father in another of my -examinations condescended to delineate to me the mysteries of the world -of spirits. He reminded me that in the first grand rebellion upon -record, that of the fallen angels, of which he considered the present -defection under Luther and Calvin as in some measure a counterpart, -a third of the host of heaven had been thrust out of the celestial -mansions. These accursed spirits had since been permitted to pursue -their machinations on the face of our earth. “The devil, like a roaring -lion, goeth about, seeking whom he may devour.” The oracles of the -heathens, the temptations of Job and of our Saviour, and the demoniacs -of sacred writ, were examples of the extensive power which Heaven had -thought fit to allow him. Men of a sceptical and feeble understanding -had been tempted to doubt whether this was consistent with the wisdom -and goodness of God. But, though it was in vain for us to pretend to -fathom the depth of the divine mysteries, there were certain reasons -that were sufficiently obvious to every ingenuous mind. There were -persons in all ages of the world, who, like the Sadducees in the -time of our blessed Saviour, were inclined to affirm “that there was -no resurrection, neither angel, nor spirit;” and God permitted the -lying wonders of infernal agents the more completely to confound the -unbelief of his enemies. He who witnessed the wonderful operations of -witchcraft, or saw the ghost of a man departed, could not doubt of -the interference of invisible agents in the concerns of our nether -world; and, if there were devils and apparitions, it would be to the -last degree unreasonable to deny the existence of God, or the miracles -of Christ. These were to be received as the grounds of the divine -permission of sorcerers, necromancers, and witches. But the rules of -the divine conduct were not to constitute the rules of ours. He might -permit the agency of invisible malice, because he saw things upon an -unlimited scale, his judgments were infallible, and he could say to -Beelzebub himself, “Thus far shalt thou go, and no further.” Those -to whose care was intrusted the welfare of mankind here or hereafter -were bound as far as possible to oppose themselves to the empire of -Satan. His power was given him only for a time, and, if not strictly -restrained of God and the powers ordained of God, it would over-run -every thing, and replunge all this beautiful scene of creation in its -original chaos. There was an endless and eternal war between God and -the devil, and the governors of the church were Heaven’s field-officers -and pioneers for carrying it on. Of all the crimes, he added, to which -the depravity of human nature had given birth, the most astonishing -and the most horrible was that of diabolical commerce. That human -creatures should be so far infatuated, as to enter into league with -the declared enemy of souls, and for the possession of a short-lived -and precarious power to sign away their spirits to eternal damnation, -was so extraordinary as to have been wholly unworthy of credit, were -it not supported by evidence as strong and irresistible as that of the -miracles of Jesus Christ himself. The persons who thus voluntarily made -themselves accursed before God deserved to be regarded with alienation -and horror by the whole human race. Every man that saw them was bound -by his baptismal engagements to destroy them; and whoever administered -to them the smallest portion of food, drink, or comfort, thereby -rendered himself a party to their guilt. The inquisition especially had -declared against this race of men eternal war, and considered their -crime as more complicated, audacious, and pestilential, than any other -branch of heresy. Having, for his own part, no doubt that I was one -of these noxious and enormous reprobates, he exhorted me to make a -voluntary confession of my evil deeds, and, by submitting readily to -the tortures and punishments of this world, endeavour to free myself, -if it were yet possible, from those of the world to come. - -These discourses of the inquisitor were variously interspersed through -the three examinations to which I was subjected a short time after I -became an inhabitant of the holy house. On my part I endeavoured to the -best of my power to repel the imputations cast upon me, to establish my -innocence, and to confound the severity of my oppressors. I told the -inquisitor, whatever might be the force of his arguments respecting -heresy and dealings with the devil, they were nothing to me. I was no -Lutheran, no anabaptist, no necromancer, no underminer of the faith -of others, or ally of the prince of the infernal regions. I proudly -and earnestly demanded to be confronted with my accusers. I asked my -examiner in his turn, What sort of justice that was, which pretended -to proceed capitally against its prisoners upon secret and unavowed -accusations? He endeavoured to stop me. He told me that I was not -brought there to arraign the methods and practices of their court; -that it did not become a prisoner put upon his defence to insult his -judges; that this contumacy could not be regarded but as an aggravation -of my guilt; and that I was bound strictly and simply to answer the -interrogatories that were proposed to me. The rebuke of the inquisitor -was unavailing. My spirit was wrought to too high a pitch to be thus -restrained; I was too firmly resolved to give the utmost force of mind -and truth to the topics of my just defence. It is the practice of the -inquisition for the prisoner to sit during his examination. I started -upon my feet. - -“The mode of your proceeding,” cried I, “is the mockery of a trial. -From your fatal bar no man can go forth acquitted. How is a story to be -refuted, when hardly and with difficulty you suffer your prisoner to -collect the slightest fragments of it? If I would detect a calumny, is -it not requisite that I should be acquainted with its history, and know -its authors and propagators? Then I may perhaps be able to confound -their forgeries, to show the groundlessness of their allegations, to -expose the baseness of their purposes and the profligacy of their -characters. I am informed of nothing; yet I am bid, first to be my -own accuser, and then to answer the accusations of others. It is only -by following a falsehood through all its doublings that it can be -effectually destroyed. You bid me unravel a web, and will not suffer me -to touch it with one of my fingers. The defence of the purest innocence -is often difficult, sometimes impossible, against the artfulness -of a malicious tale, or the fortuitous concurrence of unfavourable -appearances. But you strip innocence of those consecrated weapons by -which only it can be defended. Give to an accusation the particulars -with which what really happens must always be attended, give to it -the circumstances of place and of time, lay aside the ambiguity and -generalities in which you shelter yourselves, and then, perhaps then -only, it can be victoriously repelled. You ask me a thousand various -and artfully constructed questions. What sort of a man do you imagine -me to be? I am not a fool, that I should be inveigled; I am not a -boy, that I should be menaced into confessions. Cease your base -and unprincipled arts! I will furnish no materials against myself. -If you know anything against me, avow it! Propose it, and I will -answer. Think not to patch up a miserable accusation out of the words -which inadvertence or weariness may cause me to utter. Shame on your -institution! May infamy overtake the system of your proceedings! That -religion which is supported by such means is viler than atheism. That -civilisation which has its basis in despotism, is more worthless and -hateful than the state of savages running wild in their woods. - -“Do you not perceive that the language I am now holding to you is the -exclusive privilege of conscious innocence? The indignation I express -is no artificial rage, studiously contrived to overbear accusation. -You have it, as it flows spontaneously to my tongue, warm from the -promptings of an honest heart. If I could have consulted a friend, it -is probable he would have dissuaded me from my present demeanour as -impolitic. If I were governed by the dictates of an ordinary prudence, -I should have displayed less ardour, less resentment. But I am willing -to try whether shame cannot yet be lighted up even in the cheek of an -inquisitor.” - -The father who examined me, having in vain endeavoured to check the -current of my invective, changed his manner, and assumed a tone -diametrically the reverse of mine. He professed that he felt much -compassion and interest for my misfortune, and should deem himself -happy if he could be the instrument of my deliverance. The language -I had uttered was highly indecorous, and such as seemed in itself to -call for a rigorous penance. But he should not think himself worthy the -name of a man, if he did not make suitable allowance for the bitter and -extravagant sentiments, that would occasionally find their way into -the mind of one in my unfortunate situation. So circumstanced, men -would often mistake their friends for their enemies. I regarded the -inquisition as my enemy: it was in reality my firm and disinterested -friend; zealously watchful for my body, my soul, and my estate. Other -courts had other maxims of proceeding, because their motives of action -were different; and it was but just that they should furnish their -prisoners with a defence against their frailty. But the breast of an -inquisitor was accessible to no sentiment but that of love; a burning -love of God; love of the church; love of the prisoner, who might be -wrongfully accused; love of the penitent, whom he reconciled to our -common mother, the church; love even of the incorrigible heretic -whose body he burned for the good of his soul. The inquisitor did -not discover to the prisoner the evidence adduced against him; that -was between God and the inquisitor’s conscience. But the suppression -which was thus practised rendered him doubly scrupulous and sceptical -as to the evidence he received; he sifted it with a severity that the -prisoner would in vain endeavour to imitate; and the rules of evidence -in that court were so guarded, punctilious, and minute, as to render -any mistake in its proceedings altogether impossible. For a man to be -once a prisoner of the court of inquisition, by a salutary prejudice -which prevailed through the catholic world, rendered him for ever -infamous. This was another cause of the extreme wariness and caution, -with which that court was accustomed to proceed. They first listened -to the accuser, who was obliged to give in his information on oath. -They then instituted a secret enquiry against the party accused; and, -till they had collected abundant ground for their proceeding, they did -not venture to touch a hair of his head. They elaborately classed all -the different degrees of evidence into half proof, full proof, proof -less than half, and proof less than full. When these things were duly -considered, it would appear certain that no court that had at any time -existed on earth, had ever been so tender in its proceedings, so pure -in its incitements, and so every way superior to the attacks of calumny -and malice, as the court of inquisition. - -With respect to myself in particular, he said, they had not apprehended -me and put me upon my defence, without previously assembling a large -body of miscellaneous and circumstantial evidence. The evidence -they had drawn from myself was negative only, but it was strong: -the obscurity that hung about my person, who I was, and whence I -came; and the obscurity that hung about my fortune, a great visible -expenditure in Spain or in Italy, and no visible means. These were -not the signatures and tokens of innocence. They tended strongly to -confirm the accusation under which I laboured. Yet so tender was the -inquisition in its proceeding, and so chary of its reputation, that -upon these accumulated proofs and presumptions, they were not prepared -to pronounce against me. They would hear me again and again. They would -give me time to recollect myself, and for this purpose they would order -for me a coarse and scanty fare, and a solitary cell. I might depend -upon it my contumacy should be overcome. The fundamental principle of -their proceedings was borrowed from that humane and compassionate maxim -of the old Roman law, _De vita hominis nulla cunctatio est longa_; -and I should accordingly find them free from all precipitation and -impatience, and ready to indulge me with a residence, however long, in -their prisons, till my case had been sifted to the bottom. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - - -The indulgence thus ostentatiously proclaimed by the father-inquisitor -was not exactly to my taste. Finding that all the energy of mind I -could apply to my defence was vain, I determined to have recourse to -a different mode of proceeding. I received three admonitions, as they -call them, the substance of which I have already recited, in the course -of the first ten days of my confinement, and I then for some time -heard of the inquisitor no more. I understood that it was frequently -the practice, after three admonitions, not to bring up the prisoner -for further hearing during a whole year; and it appeared sufficiently -probable from the last words addressed to me by my judge, that this -policy was intended to be employed in my case. Without further delay -therefore I resolved to recur to the expedient in the use of which my -power was unbounded, and by a brilliant offer at once to subdue the -scruples, and secure the fidelity, of the person or persons upon whom -my safe custody might be found to depend. All that was necessary was to -convince the party to whom I should propose the assisting me, of the -reality of my powers; and then to put _carte blanche_ into his hands, -or rather to ascertain at once the extent of his hopes and demands, and -by a spirited and peremptory conduct to yield them all. In the period -which, immediately previous to my present imprisonment, I had devoted -to the meditation of my future plans and the review of my past, I had -severely accused myself of half measures, and had determined to abjure -all hesitation and irresoluteness for the time to come. It is not -indeed to be wondered at, that, possessing a power so utterly remote -from common ideas and conceptions, and which, speaking from experience, -I do not hesitate to affirm no mere effort of imagination is adequate -to represent, I should have acted below the prerogatives and demands -of my situation. This mistake I would make no more. I would overwhelm -opposition by the splendour of my proceedings, and confound scruples by -the dignity and princely magnificence of my appearance. Unshackled as -I was with connections, and risking no one’s happiness but my own, I -proposed to compel the human species to view me from an awful distance, -and to oblige every one that approached me to feel his inferiority. It -would be to the last degree disgraceful and contemptible in me, being -raised so far above my peers in my privileges, if I were to fall below -the ordinary standard of a gallant man in the decision and firmness of -my system of conduct. Decision and firmness were the principles to be -exercised by me now; dignity and magnificence must await their turn -hereafter. - -It was not long before I embraced an opportunity of speaking to the -man who waited on me with my daily allotment of provisions, and I -designed as shortly as possible to proceed to that species of argument, -in which I principally confided to engage him in my cause. But he -did not suffer me to utter a sentence before with a very expressive -gesture he interrupted me. I had remarked already the silence which -seemed for ever to pervade this dismal abode; but I had not ascribed -importance enough to this circumstance, to suppose that it could -materially interfere with the project I had formed. I now perceived the -countenance of my attendant to be overspread with terror and alarm. He -put his hand upon my mouth, and by his attitude seemed earnestly to -insist upon my conforming to the rules of the prison. I was not however -to be thus diverted from my purpose. I seized his hands, and began -again to pursue the discourse I had meditated. This proceeding on my -part induced him to break the silence he had hitherto preserved. He -told me that if I did not instantly set him at liberty, he would alarm -the prison. I loosed his hands. I then by every gesture I could devise -endeavoured to prevail on him to approach me, to suffer me to confer -with him in the lowest whisper, and assured him that he should have no -reason to repent his compliance. I might as well have addressed myself -to the walls that inclosed me. He would not stay an instant; he would -yield in nothing. He burst from me abruptly, and, closing the door of -my cell, left me in solitude and darkness. - -In the evening of the day of this attempt the keeper of the prison -entered my apartment. When he appeared, I began to flatter myself that -in this man I should find a better subject for my purpose than in -the poor turnkey who had given me so unfavourable a prognostic of my -success. I lost no time in saying to him that I had something important -to communicate; but he peremptorily commanded me to be silent, and -listen to what he was about to say to me. He told me that I had already -been complained against for speech, and I was now repeating my offence. -He advised me to ponder well the consequences of what I was doing. The -orders of the inquisition were rigorous and inflexible. The cells were -not so substantially separated but that a voice might be heard from one -to the other; yet it had happened more than once, that a husband and -wife, a father and child, had for years been lodged next to each other, -without the smallest suspicion on either part of the proximity of -their situation. He was astonished at the pertinacity of my behaviour. -There was no government on the face of the earth, he would venture to -say, that had subjects more obedient, more dutiful and exemplary than -the holy inquisition. Not a murmur was ever heard; not a discontent -ever expressed. All was humbleness, thankfulness, and gratitude. He -recommended to me to conform myself to my situation, and let him hear -no further complaints of me. He had no sooner finished his harangue, -than he left me as abruptly as his servant had done. It is not possible -to impart any adequate image of the inflexibility of his features, or -the stern composure of his demeanour. - -I now saw my situation in a different point of view. Bribery was of no -use, where all intercourse was denied. Great God! into what position -was I got? In the midst of a great and populous city, at this time -perhaps the metropolis of the world, I heard occasionally from beyond -the limits of my prison the hum of busy throngs, or the shouts of a -tumultuous populace. Yet I was myself in the deepest solitude. Like -the wretched mariners I have somewhere read of, shipwrecked upon a -desert shore, I might remain encaged, till I lost all recollection -of European language, and all acquaintance with the sound of my -own voice. A jailor from time to time entered my apartment; but to -me he was simply a moving and breathing statue, his features never -moulded into the expression of a meaning, nor his mouth opened for -the utterance of a sound. From the first I had been struck with the -extreme and death-like silence that characterised the place of my -confinement; but my mind was occupied with other thoughts, and I had -not adverted to the cause of the phenomenon. I had then felt little -inclination to the converse of a jailor; my natural disposition was -somewhat singular for a Frenchman, and inclined to taciturnity: I had -resolved to make a fair and ample trial of the power of a just defence, -where my innocence was so complete and I was entirely disengaged from -those unfavourable appearances which had constituted my misfortune at -Constance; and I even rejoiced, that a silence, which I regarded as -casual and individual, delivered me from all fear of impertinence in my -attendant. With how different a temper do we contemplate an incident -which, we persuade ourselves, continues to operate only because we -want inclination to remove it; and an incident which is violently -imposed, and to which, with the utmost exertion of our strength, we -cannot succeed to impart the slightest shock! The external object -is the same; its picture in the intellectual sensorium how unlike! -What a profound and inconceivable refinement in the art of tyranny is -this silence! The jailor might well tell me, that beneath his roofs -there was neither complaint nor murmur, that the very soul of its -inhabitants was subdued, and that they suffered the most unheard of -oppressions without astonishment or indignation. This is the peculiar -prerogative of despotism: it produces many symptoms of the same general -appearance as those which are derived from liberty and justice. There -are no remonstrances; there is no impatience or violence; there is a -calm, a fatal and accursed tranquillity that pervades the whole. The -spectator enters, and for a time misinterprets every object he sees; -he perceives human bodies standing or moving around him; and it is -with the utmost surprise, if he has leisure and opportunity to observe -a little further, that he finds at last the things he sees to be the -mere shades of men, cold, inert, glaring bodies, which the heaven-born -soul has long since deserted. Wonderful, I hesitate not to affirm, is -the genuine and direct power of such a situation as that in which I -was now placed, upon the human imagination. What was it then to me, to -whom speech was not merely one of those things, misnamed indulgences, -misnamed luxuries, upon which the desirableness and the health of human -existence depend; but who had looked to it as the only and the assured -means of my rescue from this scene of horrors! I intreat the reader to -pardon me, when I confess, that the operation of the discovery I made -was so overwhelming and apparently desperate, that it was some weeks, I -might say months, before my mind recovered its wonted bias and activity. - -It was towards the close of the period I have named, that a new -incident, concurring with that familiarity which serves in some measure -to disarm every mischief of its sting, restored and re-awakened my -mind. I had vegetated now for some time, if the metaphor can with -propriety be applied to existence in a noxious and empoisoned air, -by which all vegetation would have been undermined, and which the -vital principle in man is scarcely competent to surmount; and in -all this period had encountered nothing from without, nor received -any intimation, that could in the slightest degree interrupt the -progressive destruction and waste of the soul. One day, at the -customary hour of my being attended by my warder, I was surprised to -see him bring with him a visiter to my cell. The unknown was a man -with grey hairs and a silver beard: though once tall, he now stooped -considerably, and supported himself with a staff: his dress was simple -and neat, and his whole appearance prepossessing. A sweet serenity was -diffused over his countenance; yet there were occasionally a fire, -and a contemplative grasp of thought, expressed in his eyes, which -sufficiently proved to me that his serenity was not the result of -vacancy. All this I discerned by the faint and uncertain light of a -small lamp which the warder had brought with him, and placed upon my -table. The introduction was performed in silence, and the warder left -us alone. The unknown beckoned me to be seated, for the first emotion -of surprise at the entrance of a stranger had caused me to start on my -feet; and, opening a folding stool he had received from my attendant, -he placed himself beside me. - -He then addressed me in a low voice, and told me, that the humanity -of the fathers of the inquisition had given him permission to visit -me, and that, if I would be so obliging, in conformity to the -regulations of the prison, as to lower my voice to the standard of -his, we were at liberty to confer together. He hoped the conference -would be some relief to my solitude, if not lead to my complete -liberation. He then unfolded to me his story. He told me that he, like -myself, had been committed to the prisons of the inquisition upon an -accusation of sorcery. Having advanced thus far, he stopped. He talked -miscellaneously and digressively of wizards and their familiars, of -possessions and demons, of charms, spells, talismans and incantations, -even of the _elixir vitæ_ and the philosopher’s stone. Sometimes in -the progress of this discourse I could perceive him observing me -with the utmost narrowness, as if he would dive into my soul; and -again, particularly when he caught a glance of suspicion in my eye, -with infinite address changing his attitude and tone, and assuming -a surprising air of ingenuousness and gaiety. In a word he was a -consummate actor. It was evident, whether his designs were hostile or -friendly, that his purpose was to make himself master of my secret. I -asked him whether the accusation of sorcery which had been preferred -against him, were well founded or a calumny. He evaded that question, -and was only influenced by it to talk more copiously and fluently on -other topics, with the apparent design of making me forget the enquiry -I had made. He avoided anticipation, lest he should miscalculate and -take wrong ground in my affair; and, though superficially he seemed -communicative, I found that he scarcely told me respecting himself any -one thing definite and clear. He celebrated the clemency of the fathers -of the inquisition. He said, they seemed to regard themselves as the -adoptive parents of those they held in their custody, and were anxious -solely for the restoration of souls. In their exterior they were -austere, and had unfortunately contracted a forbidding manner; but he -had soon found, upon a closer inspection of their character, that the -only way to deal successfully with them was to repose in them a perfect -confidence. This panegyric was not resorted to till he had exhausted -the various topics by which he had hoped himself to extort my secret -from me. I asked him, whether the effect of his reposing confidence -had been an abjuration of sorcery, and reconciliation to the church? -But this question experienced the fate of every other that I addressed -to him. He only told me generally, that he had every reason to be -satisfied with, and to speak well of, the treatment he had experienced -in the house of the inquisition. He possessed, or rather, as I -believed, affected, a character of thoughtless garrulity and loquacity, -well adapted to cover the strange deviations and abrupt transitions -that marked his discourse. It was certainly singularly contrasted with -that close and penetrating air which from time to time I remarked in -him. - -The reader may deem it surprising and unaccountable; but certain it is -I took uncommon delight in this man’s company. I pressed him earnestly -to repeat his visits, and would scarcely suffer him to depart, till he -had promised to come to me again the next day or the day after. Yet I -looked on him as my mortal enemy, and had no doubt that he was one of -the infamous wretches, employed by the policy of the inquisition, and -well known beneath those hated roofs by the appellation of _moscas_. -Various reasons may be assigned for my conduct in this particular. -Let it first be remembered that I was alone, and for months had not -heard the sound of my own voice. No incident marked my days; no object -arrested my attention. A dull, heavy, pestilential, soul-depressing -monotony formed the history of my life. If in this situation I had -been visited by a mouse or a rat, I should indefatigably have sought -to get within reach of it, I should have put it to my bosom, and have -felt with exultation the beat of an animal pulse, the warmth of animal -life pressing responsively on my heart. With what eager appetite I -should have mixed in scenes of calamity and cruelty, intolerable to any -other eye, glad for myself that even upon such terms I could escape -the frostbound winter of the soul! How I should have rejoiced, like -king Richard of England, to see four grim and death-dealing assassins -enter my cell, like him to struggle and wrestle and contend with my -murderers, though, as in his case, wounds and a fatal end should be the -result! Thus feeling then, it is little wonderful that I should have -hailed with pleasure the visit of the _mosca_. - -But this was not all. While I conferred with, or rather listened to my -visiter, that pride and self complacency, which I suspect to be the -main, or at least the indispensable, ingredient of all our pleasures, -revived in my heart. I believed that he was set upon me by these -insatiable bloodsuckers of the inquisition, that he might ensnare -me with his questions, and treacherously inveigle me to the faggot -and the stake. I felt a last, lambent intimation of pride within me, -when my heart whispered me, “This man shall not attain his ends.” I -secretly defied his arts, and amused myself with baffling his most -cunning devices. I had now some one with whom to measure myself. The -comparison, I own, for a descendant of the counts of St. Leon, was a -humble one; but it is not permitted a prisoner in the jails of the -inquisition to be fastidious in his pleasures. This man I played with -at my ease, and laughed at his stratagems. I therefore felt that I -was his superior, and, which was a sensation I had not lately been -accustomed to, that I was somebody. These feelings recommended to me -his visits. - -But what was much more material, I looked further, and proposed an -ultimate end to this occurrence. Let it be recollected what was my -unhappiness, when I found myself, if I may be allowed the expression, -suddenly deprived of speech, and then it will easily be understood -how sincerely I rejoiced to have this faculty restored to me. Speech, -as I have already said, I had regarded as the only and assured means -of my deliverance from this scene of horrors. I therefore doubted -not that from this miserable tool of my oppressors I would obtain my -enlargement. I stood firmly on my guard. I permitted him to run out the -whole length of his own project without interruption. By this delay I -should better understand his character, and finally seize it with a -more decisive grasp. Thus purposing, I allowed three or four visits -to pass before I opened to the _mosca_ my own proposal. I designed -unexpectedly to turn the tables upon him, to surprise and finish with -him at once. I knew not that all this precaution was necessary, but I -played for too deep a stake, not to be anxious to omit nothing, which -hereafter in retrospect I might reproach myself that I had omitted. - -The time was at length come, at which I judged it convenient to execute -what I had planned in my mind. I began with an attempt to mortify and -humble my guest in his own eyes, that he might lose the pride to make -the smallest resistance to my proposal. - -“Do you think, my good sir,” cried I, “that I have not perfectly -understood your intentions all this while? You have pretended to be -my friend, and to come to me for my good. I know that every secret I -reposed in your fidelity, every word that I might unguardedly have -dropped, every look and gesture that could have been interpreted to my -disadvantage, would have been instantly reported to the fathers of the -inquisition. Why, what a poor and miserable fool must you have imagined -me to be! How came you into my cell? Had you a secret key by which -you found your way hither unknown? Could you ever have come into my -apartment, if you had not been employed? You fawn upon me, and are the -tame and passive agent of my merciless destroyers! Shame on such base -and perfidious proceedings! Is this religion, that you should flatter -and cajole and lie to a man, purely that you may have the gratification -at last of burning him alive? If you or your masters can make out any -thing to my disadvantage, let them make it out in the way of fair and -open trial, by the production of direct evidence, and calling on me -for my defence. They style themselves the champions of Christendom and -ornaments of our holy faith; they pretend to an extraordinary degree -of sanctity, and would have all men bow down in mute reverence and -astonishment at their godliness; and yet they have recourse to means -so base, that the most profligate and abandoned tyrant upon record -would have disdained to employ them. But, base as are the judges and -assessors of the court in whose prison I stand, even they scorn the -meanness of the perfidious task in which you have engaged.” - -The vehemence I put into the suppressed and under-tone with which I -delivered these reproaches, seemed to produce no emotion in my guest. -He dropped his staff upon his shoulder; he meekly folded his arms -upon his bosom, and answered, that he had long since learned to bear -every contumely for the cause of God and the Redeemer: they were -heaven-directed chastisements, which his manifold sins and iniquities -had amply deserved. - -“Hypocrite!” replied I, “would you make me believe that a conscientious -motive can prompt such conduct as yours, can mould your features into a -treacherous expression of kindness, and fill your mouth with lies and -deceptions innumerable?” - -“No proceedings,” rejoined he, with an unaltered air, “are base, that -God and his church prescribe. I take up the cross with cheerfulness, -and glory in my shame. The more ignominious in the eyes of an -unregenerate world is my conduct, the more entire and implicit does it -prove my obedience to be.” - -My heart swelled within me as he talked. I could lend no attention -to such despicable cant, and was ashamed to see the most profligate -conduct assuming to itself the pretensions to an extraordinary degree -of sanctity and disinterestedness. - -“Come, come,” said I, “dissembler; I know that nothing could buy a man -to so loathsome an office but money. You are some galley-slave, some -wretch, who by your complicated crimes have forfeited your life to the -community, and are now permitted to earn a miserable existence by lying -in wait for the unfortunate, and engaging in arts at which humanity -shudders. I take you upon your own terms; you are the man I want. -Assist me to escape; go with me to some safer and less cruel country; -I will reward you to the extent of your wishes. Give me your hand; an -estate of six thousand pistoles per annum, without further condition, -waits your acceptance. I invoke all the powers, sacred to truth and -punishers of deceit, to witness, that I have ability to make good the -whole of what I promise.” - -While I spoke, I could perceive an extraordinary revolution taking -place in my guest. The meekness and tranquillity of his countenance -subsided; his eye became animated and alive. I hailed the auspicious -omen; I urged my proposal with all the impetuosity I could exert and -all the arguments I could devise. At length I paused. I looked again -at the countenance of the _mosca_; I was less pleased than before. The -expression did not seem to be that of assent and congratulation; it was -rather of horror and alarm. - -“St. Jago, and all the saints and angels of heaven, protect me!” -exclaimed he. “What do I hear? A full confession of guilt! And art -thou then the confederate of the prince of the powers of darkness? If -we were not here, in the holy house of inquisition, I should die at -this moment with fear that the roof would fall and crush us together. -I should expect hell to swallow me alive, for being found in thy -unhallowed society.” He trembled with every expression of the sincerest -terror and aversion. - -“‘Thy money perish with thee,’ thou second Elymas, like him ‘full -of all subtlety and mischief, child of the devil, enemy of all -righteousness!’ Blasted be thy offers! Have I for this devoted myself -to the service of God, assiduously sought out the basest and vilest -offices of that service, and loaded myself with ignominy here, that I -might obtain a crown of glory hereafter? and am I now to be assaulted -with the worst of Satan’s temptations? Even so, Lord, if such be thy -will! Oh, poor, miserable, deluded victim of the arch-deceiver of -mankind, what has the devil done for thee? He has persuaded thee that -thou art rich; and thou wantest every joy and every necessary of life. -He has promised to be thy friend; and he brings thee to the faggot and -flames in this world, as an earnest of thy eternal damnation hereafter.” - -My visiter had no sooner thus poured out the tumult and agitation of -his soul, than he left me abruptly, and I saw him no more. - -Such was the event of my attempt to bribe the officers of the -inquisition. In my first experiment I could not even obtain a hearing; -in what followed, my proposals were rejected with all the transports -of religious abhorrence. What I offered indeed, however dazzling in -the statement, had not in fact the nature of a temptation. He to whom -I addressed it gave no credit to my assertions; he thought that I was -the mere drivelling dupe of him he called the arch-deceiver of mankind, -or that my money, when possessed, would soon change its figure, and -from seeming pieces of solid coin be converted into pieces of horn or -of shells. Even if he had not apprehended such a metamorphosis, he -would yet have regarded every doubloon he received as the price of his -continual adversity here, and damnation hereafter. I gained nothing -favourable for my situation by the trial I had made, but I added a -new chapter to my knowledge of human nature. I found, that to be a -knave, it was not necessary to be an infidel: I corrected the too hasty -conclusion which I had adopted with the rest of my contemporaries, -that he whose conduct was infamous, must inevitably be destitute of -religious impressions and belief; and I became satisfied that a man, -while he practised every vice that can disgrace human nature, might -imagine he was doing God service. - -Enough of the interior of the prison of the inquisition. I remained a -tenant of this wretched mansion twelve years. Though the wretch who had -been placed upon me as a spy, was, from my proposal to him, satisfied -of my guilt, his superiors were not so. They found nothing in what he -reported definitive as to the nature of my unlawful practices, and they -could extort from me no further confession. They therefore adhered -to their favourite maxim, to avoid the precipitate mistakes of other -tribunals, and to allow their prisoner full time to develop his guilt, -or, as they pretended, to establish his innocence. Perhaps too the -temper of the prince who now filled the Spanish throne, contributed to -my safety. They could not content themselves with a less punishment for -so obstinate and incorrigible a heretic, than that of the flames; but, -during the reign of the emperor Charles, this species of punishment -for heresy was rarely inflicted, and only one or two contumacious, -at intervals, were delivered over to the executioner at a time. The -institution whose victim I had become, looked for a richer and more -abundant harvest from the well-known piety and zeal of his successor. - -I pass over the rest of the years of my tedious imprisonment They had -in them a sad and death-like uniformity. What surprising or agreeable -adventures can be expected from a man closed up within the four walls -of a dungeon? Yet it is not altogether the uniformity of this period -that determines me not to dwell upon and expand it. Twelve years -cannot pass in the life of man without many memorable incidents and -occurrences. He that should be buried alive in the deepest cavern -of the earth, if he were not an idiot, or incapable of the task of -narration, and could subsist twelve years in that situation, could -tell of things that occurred to him, that might fill the busy man of -the world with thoughts and speculation almost to bursting. I might -unfold the secrets of my prison-house, but that I will not. I refuse -the consequences of that story both to my readers and myself. I have no -inclination to drive the most delicate or susceptible of my readers mad -with horrors. I could convince such, if such there are, who suppose my -faculties were altogether benumbed or dead, that it was not so. I did -indeed pass days, perhaps weeks, in a condition of that sort. But at -other times my mind was roused, and became busy, restless, impatient, -and inventive. There was no mode of escape that I did not ruminate -upon or attempt; not to mention that, though my body was restrained, -my mind occasionally soared to the furthest regions of the empyrean, -or plunged into the deepest of the recesses in which nature conceals -her operations. All systems of philosophising became familiar to me. I -revolved every different fable that has been constructed respecting the -invisible powers that superintend the events of the boundless universe; -and I fearlessly traced out and developed the boldest conjectures and -assertions of demonism or atheism. As the humour of the moment led me, -I derived misery or consolation from each of these systems in their -turn.--But memory, bitter memory, unperceived by its lord, is seizing -my pen, and running away with my narrative. Enough, enough of the -interior of the prison of the inquisition! - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - - -Philip the Second, king of Spain, succeeded to the throne of that -monarchy about the close of the year 1555; but his affairs in England -and the Netherlands long withheld him from visiting his beloved -country, and he did not reach its shores, after a seven years’ absence, -till the twenty-ninth of August, 1559. It may be thought that a public -event of this sort could be little interesting to me, a forgotten -prisoner, immured in the dungeons of the inquisition. The fact was -otherwise. The king was desirous of distinguishing his arrival on -his native soil by some splendid exhibition or memorable event, that -should at once express his piety to God, and conduce to the felicity -of his people: and he could think of nothing that so signally united -these characters as an _Auto de Fé_. The Lutheran heresy, which in the -course of forty years had spread its poison so widely in the different -countries of Europe, had not failed to scatter a few of its noxious -seeds even in this, the purest and most Catholic of all its divisions. -But Philip had early proclaimed his hostility against this innovation; -and, prostrating himself before the image of his Saviour, had earnestly -besought the divine majesty, “that he might never suffer himself to -be, or to be called, the lord of those in any corner of the globe, -who should deny Him the Lord.” Previously to his arrival in Spain, -directions had been given, and arrangements made, respecting the pious -and solemn exhibition he demanded. Formerly those who by the fathers of -the inquisition had been delivered over to the secular arm, had been -executed in the different places where their crimes had been committed, -or their trials been held: but now it was proposed that all those -throughout the kingdom, who were found properly qualified to satisfy by -their deaths the sublime taste of the royal saint, should be divided -into two troops, and sent, the one to Seville, long the capital of an -illustrious monarchy, and the other to Valladolid, which had the honour -to be the birthplace of the present sovereign. The troop destined to -feed the flames at Seville was composed of fifty persons, many of them -distinguished for their rank, their talents, or their virtues. The -troop to be escorted to Valladolid, of which I was a member, amounted -only to thirty: but to compensate this deficiency, Philip himself had -signified his gracious intention to be present, together with the heir -apparent and his whole court, at that exhibition. The Spanish nation, -rejoicing in the approach of a monarch who was born among them, whose -manners and temper happily accorded with theirs, and whom they believed -about to fix his perpetual residence in their land, expected him with -all the longings of the most ardent attachment. We, the unhappy victims -of pious and inquisitorial tyranny, also expected him. Our hearts did -not pant with a less beating quickness; though our anxiety arose from -emotions of a different nature. - -Valladolid is distant from the metropolis eighty-four miles. We had -already been some weeks prepared for this journey, and piously directed -to hold ourselves in readiness to take our part in the solemn national -sacrifice. We waited however to receive a previous notice of the day -on which the monarch would enter the place of his birth, since so -great was his royal zeal for the cause of religion and civil society, -that he would not consent to be absent from any part of the spectacle; -and accordingly it was not allowed us to enter the scene of our final -destination, till the king of Spain and the Indies should be already -on the spot, and prepared to receive us. The _auto da fé_ performed at -Seville had the precedence of ours: it took place on the twenty-fourth -of September; and we were indulged with an accurate account of it, -and were present at a public reading of the record of the act, in the -chapel of our prison, previously to our removal from the metropolis. - -I will not enter into a minute detail of the scene of this reading, -though the recollection will never be effaced from my memory. Of the -persons present who were destined to suffer capital punishment, eight -were women. Four of them were taken from a single family, being a -grandmother, a mother, and two daughters of the noble house of Alcala. -They had all been beautiful of person, and of a graceful figure; the -youngest of the daughters was in the nineteenth year of her age. Their -crime, together with that of the majority of their fellow-sufferers, -was obstinate and impenitent Lutheranism. The seats of the women were -separated from the rest, and fronted with a close lattice. The men -were twenty-two in number, and their appearance was truly impressive. -Their persons were neglected, and their figures emaciated; their eyes -were sunk and ghastly, and their complexions of a sallow and death-like -white. Most of them were crippled by their long confinement and the -severities they had endured, and were supported to their seats, upon -an elevated scaffolding with benches raised one above another, by two -apparators, one on each side of the condemned heretic. God of mercy -and benevolence! is it possible that this scene should be regarded -as thy triumph, and the execution destined to follow, as a sacrifice -acceptable in thy sight? If these papers of mine are ever produced to -light, may it not happen that they shall first be read by a distant -posterity, who will refuse to believe that their fathers were ever -mad enough to subject each other to so horrible a treatment, merely -because they were unable to adopt each other’s opinions? Oh, no! human -affairs, like the waves of the ocean, are merely in a state of ebb and -flow: “there is nothing new under the sun:” two centuries perhaps after -Philip the Second shall be gathered to his ancestors [he died in 1598], -men shall learn over again to persecute each other for conscience -sake; other anabaptists or levellers shall furnish pretexts for new -persecutions; other inquisitors shall arise in the most enlightened -tracts of Europe; and professors from their chair, sheltering their -intolerance under the great names of Aristotle and Cicero, shall -instruct their scholars, that a heterodox doctrine is the worst of -crimes, and that the philanthropy and purity of heart in which it is -maintained, only render its defenders the more worthy to be extirpated. - -What were the ideas and reflections of my fellows, seated on the -benches above, below, and on either side of me, I am unable to affirm; -my own could not fail to be pungent and distressing. I understood -continually more and more of the mysterious and unuttered history, of -the stranger who died in the summer-house of the lake of Constance: I -found that I was only acting over again what he had experienced before -me. His legacies had served to involve me in the bitterest and most -unheard of miseries, but were wholly destitute of ability to rescue -from the evils themselves created. Unbounded wealth I found to have -no power to bribe the dastard slaves of religious bigotry; and the -elixir of immortality, though it could cure disease, and put to flight -the approaches of age, was impotent to repel the fervour of devouring -flames. I might have been happy----I was happy when the stranger found -me. I might have lived to a virtuous and venerable old age, and have -died in the arms of my posterity. The stranger had given me wealth, and -I was now poorer than the peasant who wanders amidst polar snows. The -stranger had given me immortality, and in a few days I was to expire in -excruciating tortures. He found me tranquil, contented, in the midst -of simple, yet inestimable pleasures; he breathed into me the restless -sentiment of ambition; and it was that sentiment which at length -had placed me on high in the chapel of the prison of the Catholic -Inquisition. - -Our progress to Valladolid was slow and solemn, and occupied a space of -no less than four days. On the evening of the fourth day we approached -that city. The king and his court came out to meet us. He saluted -the inquisitor general with all the demonstrations of the deepest -submission and humility; and then, having yielded him the place of -honour, turned round his horse, and accompanied us to Valladolid. The -cavalcade that attended the king broke into two files, and received us -in the midst of them. The whole city seemed to empty itself on this -memorable occasion; and the multitudes that crowded along the road, -and were scattered in the neighbouring fields, were innumerable. The -day was now closed; and the procession went forward amidst the light -of a thousand torches. We, the condemned of the inquisition, had been -conducted from the metropolis upon tumbrils; but, as we arrived at the -gates of Valladolid, we were commanded, for the greater humiliation, to -alight and proceed on foot to the place of our confinement, as many as -could not walk without assistance being supported by the attendants. We -were neither chained nor bound; the practice of the inquisition being -to deliver the condemned upon such occasions into the hands of two -sureties each, who placed their charge in the middle between them; and -men of the most respectable characters were accustomed from religious -motives to sue for this melancholy office. - -Dejected and despairing I entered the streets of the city, no object -present to the eyes of my mind but that of my approaching execution. -The crowd was vast; the confusion inexpressible. As we passed by the -end of a narrow lane, the horse of one of the guards who rode exactly -in a line with me, plunged and reared in a violent manner, and at -length threw his rider upon the pavement. Others of the horse-guards -attempted to catch the bridle of the enraged animal. They rushed -against each other. Several of the crowd were thrown down, and trampled -under the horses’ feet. The shrieks of these, and the loud cries and -exclamations of the bystanders, mingled in confused and discordant -chorus. No sound, no object could be distinguished. From the excess -of the tumult a sudden thought darted into my mind, where all, an -instant before, had been relaxation and despair. Two or three of the -horses pushed forward in a particular direction. A moment after they -resiled with equal violence, and left a wide, but transitory gap. My -project was no sooner conceived than executed. Weak as I had just now -felt myself, a supernatural tide of strength seemed to come over me. I -sprung away with all imaginable impetuosity, and rushed down the lane -I have just mentioned. Every one amidst the confusion was attentive to -his personal safety, and several minutes elapsed before I was missed. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - - -In the lane every thing was silent, and the darkness was extreme. Man, -woman, and child were gone out to view the procession. For some time I -could scarcely distinguish a single object; the doors and windows were -all closed. I now chanced to come to an open door; within I saw no one -but an old man, who was busy over some metallic work at a chafing-dish -of fire. I had no room for choice; I expected every moment to hear the -myrmidons of the inquisition at my heels. I rushed in; I impetuously -closed the door, and bolted it; I then seized the old man by the collar -of his shirt with a determined grasp, and swore vehemently that I -would annihilate him that instant, if he did not consent to afford me -assistance. Though for some time I had perhaps been feebler than he, -the terror that now drove me on, rendered me comparatively a giant. He -intreated me to permit him to breathe, and promised to do whatever I -should desire. I looked round the apartment, and saw a rapier hanging -against the wall, of which I instantly proceeded to make myself -master. While I was doing this, my involuntary host, who was extremely -terrified at my procedure, nimbly attempted to slip by me and rush into -the street. With difficulty I caught hold of his arm, and, pulling him -back, put the point of my rapier to his breast, solemnly assuring him -that no consideration on earth should save him from my fury, if he -attempted to escape a second time. He immediately dropped on his knees, -and with the most piteous accents intreated me to spare his life. I -told him that I was no robber, that I did not intend him the slightest -harm, and that, if he would implicitly yield to my direction, he might -assure himself he never should have reason to repent his compliance. -By this declaration the terrors of the old man were somewhat appeased. -I took the opportunity of this calm to go to the street door, which I -instantly locked, and put the key in my bosom. - -Nothing but the most fortunate concurrence of circumstances could -have thus forwarded my escape. The rearing of the horse of the -life-guardsman was purely accidental. The concourse and press of the -crowd from all sides could alone have rendered this circumstance of any -magnitude. The gap which was made by the pushing forwards and resiling -of the horses continued barely long enough for me to spring through, -and closed again in an instant. It is astonishing that the thought -of escape should have thus suddenly darted into my mind, which, but -a moment before, was in a state of dejection, equally incompatible -with activity and with hope. That in the lane down which I rushed I -should have met no human creature, and that the first open door I -saw should lead to the residence of a decrepid old man, who appeared -to be its single inhabitant, were occurrences equally extraordinary, -yet seem to have been both indispensable to my safety. One point -more concurred with this fortunate train, and assisted to still the -palpitations of my beating heart: I perceived, by certain indications -in the countenance of my host, that he was by parentage a Jew. I -presently concluded, that he was what in Spain they denominate a new -christian; for that otherwise he would not have been allowed to reside -at large in a Spanish city. But, upon that supposition, I did not -believe that christianity was very deeply mingled up in him with the -vital principle: the converts of the inquisition are not conspicuous -for their sincerity. Now, then, for the first time I thought, in the -course of twelve years, I had opportunity to communicate with a man, -whose soul was not enslaved to the blood-thirsty superstition of this -devoted country. All I had seen during the period of my confinement -were hyenas, tigers, and crocodiles--they were not men. - -I had no sooner soothed my host into a temper to listen to my story, -than I told him with all imaginable frankness whence I came, and -to what I had been destined. The mention of sorcery however, and -preternatural practices, I suppressed; for I suspected that persons of -all religions entertained an equal horror against these. I suffered -him to imagine that the allegation against me had been the crime of -heresy: all sects of the christian superstition might be supposed -equally obnoxious or acceptable to a Jew. I emphatically appealed to -the persecutions which had been so long directed against the religion -of his ancestors, and observed how disgraceful it would be in him -to assist the operation of a principle, the effects of which his -fathers had so deeply deplored, and so perfectly abhorred. I assured -him that I would bring him into no danger, and that all I asked was -the protection of a few hours: I would leave him in the course of -the following day, and he should hear of me no more. I reminded him, -that the danger he had to fear was in betraying, not in protecting -me. The inquisition looked upon every new christian with an eye of -the severest jealousy; and the mere fact, if known, that I had taken -refuge in his house, would infallibly subject him to the purgation of a -temporary imprisonment in their dungeons. It would be in vain for him -to affirm that he had no choice in what had occurred; he was without a -witness to confirm his relation, and the assertions of a man born of -Jewish parents never obtained credit in the court of the inquisition. -I added, with solemn asseverations, that the moment I set foot beyond -the territory of Spain, I would remit to him the sum of six hundred -pistoles as an acknowledgment for his kindness. - -During the whole of my discourse, I watched his countenance with the -utmost minuteness. It gradually relaxed from the terror which had at -first appeared in it, to expressions of compassion and complacence. -I saw nothing that ought to alarm me. When it was his turn to speak, -he earnestly assured me that he took a warm interest in my story, -and would cheerfully perform every thing I required. He was happy -that my favourable stars had led me to his habitation, and would -rejoice, to the latest hour of his existence, if they rendered him -instrumental in preserving the life of a human being from so deplorable -a catastrophe. While I talked to him, I easily perceived that the -arguments I used, which produced the most sensible effect upon his -features, were those of the dangers arising to him from betraying -me, and the reward of six hundred pistoles which I promised him in -the event of my success. His motives however were blended together -in his mind; and he had no sooner formed a determination, grounded -perhaps upon the meanest considerations, than he became eloquent in -a panegyric of his own benevolence, by which he was not, I believe, -more anxious to impose upon me, than to put the change upon himself. I -considered all that he said, his gestures, and the very tones of his -voice, with eager anxiety; the terror of the inquisition penetrated to -the marrow in my bones; and the fate awarded against me by that court -became inexpressibly more horrible to my thoughts, now that I saw the -probability of escaping it. Every thing that I observed in the Jew was -apparently fair, plausible, and encouraging; but nothing had power to -quell the agitations of my apprehensive soul. - -We were still engaged in discussing the topics I have mentioned, when -I was suddenly alarmed by the noise of some one stirring in the inner -apartment. I had looked into this room, and had perceived nothing -but the bed upon which the old man nightly reposed himself. I sprung -up however at the sound, and, perceiving that the door had a bolt on -the outside, I eagerly fastened it. I then turned to Mordecai, such -previously to his conversion had been the name of my host: “Wretch,” -said I, “did not you assure me that there was no one but yourself in -the house?” “Oh,” cried Mordecai, “it is my child! it is my child! -she went into the inner apartment, and has fallen asleep on the bed.” -“Beware!” I answered; “the slightest falsehood more shall instantly be -expiated in your blood.” “I call Abraham to witness,” rejoined the once -more terrified Jew, “it is my child! only my child!” “Tell me,” cried -I, with severity of accent, “how old is this child?” “Only five years,” -said Mordecai: “my dear Leah died when her babe was no more than a year -old; and, though we had several children, this single one has survived -her.” “Speak to your child; let me hear her voice!” He spoke to her, -and she answered, “Father, I want to come out.” I was satisfied it was -the voice of a little girl. I turned to the Jew: “Take care,” said I, -“how you deceive me now; is there no other person in that room?” He -imprecated a curse on himself if there were: I opened the door with -caution, and the little girl came forward. As soon as I saw her, I -seized her with a rapid motion, and retired back to a chair. “Man,” -said I, “you have trifled with me too rashly; you have not considered -what I am escaped from, and what I have to fear; from this moment this -child shall be the pledge of my safety; I will not part with her an -instant as long as I remain in your house; and with this rapier in my -hand I will pierce her to the heart, the moment I am led to imagine -that I am no longer in safety.” The Jew trembled at my resolution; -the emotions of a father worked in his features, and glistened in his -eye. “At least let me kiss her!” said he. “Be it so!” replied I: “one -embrace, and then, till the dawn of the coming day, she remains with -me.” I released my hold; the child rushed to her father, and he caught -her in his arms. “My dear Leah,” cried Mordecai, “now a sainted spirit -in the bosom of our father Abraham! I call God to witness between us, -that, if all my caution and vigilance can prevent it, not a hair of -this child shall be injured! Stranger, you little know by how strong -a motive you have now engaged me to your cause. We poor Jews, hunted -on the face of the earth, the abhorrence and execration of mankind, -have nothing but family affections to support us under our multiplied -disgraces; and family affections are entwined with our existence, the -fondest and best-loved part of ourselves. The God of Abraham bless you, -my child! Now, sir, speak! what is it you require of me?” - -I told the Jew that I must have a suit of clothes conformable to the -appearance of a Spanish cavalier, and certain medical ingredients that -I named to him, together with his chafing-dish of coals to prepare -them; and, that done, I would then impose on him no further trouble. -Having received his instructions, he immediately set out to procure -what I demanded. He took with him the key of the house; and, as soon -as he was gone, I retired with the child into the inner apartment, and -fastened the door. At first I applied myself to tranquillise the child, -who had been somewhat alarmed at what she had heard and seen: this -was no very difficult task. She presently left me, to amuse herself -with some playthings that lay scattered in a corner of the apartment. -My heart was now comparatively at ease; I saw the powerful hold I had -on the fidelity of the Jew, and firmly persuaded myself that I had no -treachery to fear on his part. Thus circumstanced, the exertion and -activity with which I had lately been imbued left me; and I insensibly -sunk into a sort of slumber. - -The night was now far advanced, and I was still reclined insensible -upon Mordecai’s bed, when suddenly a jargon of various sounds seemed -from all sides to assail me. My mind was confused; I heard something, -but seemed wholly unconscious what I was, and where. I wanted to -escape from the disturbance; but it continued, and even increased. -At length I was forced to command my attention; and the first thing I -perceived was a beating at the door of the chamber. The little girl -was come to the bedside, and endeavouring to shake me. “Sir, sir,” she -cried in an eager accent, “my father wants to come in, and I cannot -slip the bolt of the door.” By slow degrees I began to comprehend my -situation, and to recollect what had happened immediately before. -I felt greatly alarmed; I feared by the disturbance that Mordecai -had not returned alone. I essayed to speak; my organs refused their -office. I endeavoured to move; my limbs felt palsied, and absolutely -lifeless. I experienced a sinking and sickness of heart that seemed to -be the immediate precursor of death. By listening occasionally to the -discourse which the father and the daughter began to hold with each -other, I became satisfied that Mordecai was without a companion. I -endeavoured to make the little girl understand that I was incapable of -rising from the bed; and, having at length succeeded, she communicated -the information to her father. With considerable trouble he loosened -the door at its hinges, and entered the room. I found myself in the -extremest degree feeble and languid; the Jew however assiduously -administered to me of cordials he had in his possession, and by degrees -I felt myself considerably restored. - -Now, for the first time, I was at leisure to attend to the state of -my strength and my health. My confinement in the inquisition, and the -treatment I had experienced, had before rendered me feeble, and almost -helpless; but these appeared to be circumstances scarcely worthy of -attention, in the situation in which I was then placed. The impulse I -felt, in the midst of the confusion in the grand street of Valladolid, -produced in me an energy and power of exertion which nothing but the -actual experience of the fact could have persuaded me was possible. -This energy, once begun, appeared to have the faculty of prolonging -itself; and I did not relapse into imbecility, till the occasion -seemed to be exhausted which called for my exertion. I examined myself -by a mirror with which Mordecai furnished me: I found my hair as -white as snow, and my face ploughed with a thousand furrows. I was -now fifty-four, an age which, with moderate exercise and a vigorous -constitution, often appears like the prime of human existence; but -whoever had looked upon me in my present condition, would not have -hesitated to affirm that I had reached the eightieth year of my age. -I examined with dispassionate remark the state of my intellect: I was -persuaded that it had subsided into childishness. My mind had been as -much cribbed and immured as my body. I was the mere shadow of a man, -of no more power and worth than that which a magic lantern produces -upon a wall. These are thy works, Superstition!--this the genuine and -proper operation of what is called Christianity! Let the reader judge -of what I had passed through and known within those cursed walls by the -effects; I have already refused, I continue to refuse, to tell what I -suffered, and how those effects were produced. Enough of compassion, -enough of complaint: I will confine myself, as far as I am able, to -simple history. - -Being recovered, as far as the cordials and attention of Mordecai were -capable of recovering me, I desired for the remainder of the night -to be alone, except that I was still resolved to retain the little -Jewess as the pledge of my safety. I was greatly obliged to my host for -the punctuality he had already displayed: he had found considerable -difficulty in procuring the articles of which I stood in need, owing -partly to the lateness of the hour, and partly to the presence of the -king, and the general hurry and confusion which had been produced by -the solemn entry of the inquisition. His efforts too to recover me -from the languor and lethargy into which I had sunk, had a character -of generosity; and perhaps I ought now to have trusted him without a -hostage. But my heart was too earnestly bent upon accomplishing its -present object, to afford harbour to the punctilios of delicacy. The -same earnestness caused me to insist upon Mordecai’s repairing the -injury which the hinges of the door had sustained; and I was careful -to satisfy myself that every thing was restored to a state of perfect -security. - -I was now once again alone. The little girl, who had been unusually -disturbed, and roused at an unseasonable hour, sunk into a profound -sleep. I heard the noise which Mordecai made in undressing himself, -and composing his limbs upon a mattrass, which he had dragged for the -present occasion into the front room, and spread before the hearth. I -soon found by the hardness of his breathing that he also was asleep. -I unfolded the papers he had brought me; they consisted of various -medical ingredients I had directed him to procure; there were also two -or three vials, containing syrups and essences. I had near me a pair -of scales with which to weigh my ingredients; a vessel of water; the -chafing-dish of my host, in which the fire was nearly extinguished; -and a small taper, with some charcoal to relight the fire, in case -of necessity. While I was occupied in surveying these articles and -arranging my materials, a sort of torpor came suddenly over me, so as -to allow me no time for resistance. I sunk upon the bed. I remained -thus for about half an hour, seemingly without the power of collecting -my thoughts. At length I started, felt alarmed, and applied my utmost -force of mind to rouse my exertions. While I drove, or attempted to -drive, my animal spirits from limb to limb, and from part to part, -as if to enquire into the general condition of my frame, I became -convinced that I was dying. Let not the reader be surprised at this: -twelve years’ imprisonment, in a narrow and unwholesome cell, may -well account for so sudden a catastrophe. Strange and paradoxical as -it may seem, I believe it will be found in the experiment that the -calm and security which succeed to great internal injuries are more -dangerous than the pangs and hardships that went before. I was now -thoroughly alarmed: I applied myself, with all vigilance and expedition -to the compounding my materials. The fire was gone out; the taper was -glimmering in the socket: to swallow the julep when I had prepared -it, seemed to be the last effort of which my organs and muscles were -capable. It was the elixir of immortality, exactly made up according to -the prescription of the stranger. - -Whether from the potency of the medicine, or the effect of imagination, -I felt revived the moment I had swallowed it. I placed myself -deliberately in Mordecai’s bed, and drew over me the bed-clothes. I -fell asleep almost instantly. I believe my first sleep was perfectly -sound and insensible; but in no long time I was visited with the -pleasantest dreams imaginable. Nothing was distinct; nothing was -attended with the consciousness of my former identity; but every thing -was gay, cheerful, invigorating, and delicious. I wandered amidst -verdant lawns, and flower-enamelled gardens. I was saluted with the -singing of a thousand birds, and the murmuring of a thousand fountains. -Kids, fawns, and lambs frisked and gamboled before me. At a distance, -through an opening in the trees, I discerned nymphs and their swains -dancing a variety of antic measures. I advanced towards them; they -approached towards me. Fifes, oboes, recorders, and instruments of a -hundred names, commenced a cheerful and melodious concert. Myself and -the dancers now were met; they placed me in the midst of them. They -began a choral song; the motion of their limbs conformed to their -numbers. I was the theme of the general chaunt; they ascribed to me the -beauty of Apollo, the strength of Hercules, the invention of Mercury, -and the youth of Bacchus. - -My sleep was not long; in a few hours I awakened. With difficulty I -recognised the objects about me, and recollected where I had been. It -seemed to me that my heart had never beat so vigorously, nor my spirits -flowed so gay. I was all elasticity and life; I could scarcely hold -myself quiet; I felt impelled to bound and leap like a kid upon the -mountains. I perceived that my little Jewess was still asleep; she had -been unusually fatigued the night before. I know not whether Mordecai’s -hour of rising were come; if it were, he was careful not to disturb his -guest. I put on the garments he had prepared; I gazed upon the mirror -he had left in my apartment. I can recollect no sensation in the course -of my life, so unexpected and surprising as what I felt at that moment. -The evening before, I had seen my hair white, and my face ploughed with -furrows; I looked fourscore. What I beheld now was totally different, -yet altogether familiar; it was myself, myself as I had appeared on the -day of my marriage with Marguerite de Damville; the eyes, the mouth, -the hair, the complexion, every circumstance, point by point, the same. -I leaped a gulf of thirty-two years. I waked from a dream, troublesome -and distressful beyond all description; but it vanished, like the -shades of night upon the burst of a glorious morning in July, and left -not a trace behind. I knew not how to take away my eyes from the mirror -before me. - -I soon began to consider that, if it were astonishing to me that, -through all the regions of my countenance, I could discover no trace of -what I had been the night before, it would be still more astonishing -to my host. This sort of sensation I had not the smallest ambition to -produce: one of the advantages of the metamorphosis I had sustained, -consisted in its tendency, in the eyes of all that saw me, to cut off -every species of connection between my present and my former self. It -fortunately happened that the room in which I slept, being constructed -upon the model of many others in Spain, had a stair at the further -end, with a trap-door in the ceiling, for the purpose of enabling the -inhabitant to ascend on the roof in the cool of the day. The roofs -were flat, and so constructed, that there was little difficulty in -passing along them from house to house, from one end of the street to -the other. I availed myself of the opportunity, and took leave of the -residence of my land host in a way perfectly unceremonious, determined -however speedily to transmit to him the reward I had promised. It may -easily be believed that Mordecai was not less rejoiced at the absence -of a guest whom the vigilance of the inquisition rendered an uncommonly -dangerous one, than I was to quit his habitation. I closed the trap -after me, and clambered from roof to roof to a considerable distance. -At length I encountered the occasion of an open window, and fortunately -descended, unseen by any human being, into the street. Having with -difficulty succeeded, on this occasion of public solemnity, in engaging -an apartment in one of the hotels of Valladolid, I sent into it, as -soon as I was able, a chest, containing every necessary of apparel, and -particularly a suit of clothes. I then changed my dress, and threw the -clothes which Mordecai had provided into the chest I had purchased. As -long as they continued safely locked up, and the key in my possession, -no faculty possessed by any human creature could detect my identity, -and expose me afresh to my former jailors. The only peril under which -I had before laboured, was from Mordecai, who, if he had seen me in the -garments he had procured, might have recognised them; and, though a -peril from this source came barely within the limits of possibility, it -was easily avoided, and I therefore chose to avoid it. - -I passed the whole of this day in a species of enjoyment, which, as it -has no parallel in the ordinary transactions of mankind, so are there -no terms in the received languages of the world that are adequate -to the description of it. It has often been a subject of melancholy -and complaint among mortals, that, while the whole vegetable system -contains in it a principle of perpetual renewal, man alone,--the -ornament and lord of the universe, man,--knows no return to youth. -When the sun declines in the west, the flowers droop, and fold up -their frail and delicate leaves; but soon the eyelids of the morn -are again opened, and again they rejoice in his invigorating beams. -Upon the approach of winter, the beech, the ash, and the monarch-oak, -scatter their withered foliage over the plains; but spring reappears, -and nakedness is no longer their reproach, and they clothe themselves -anew in their leafy honours. With what a melancholy sensation does -the old man survey his decaying limbs! To me, he cries, there is no -second morning, and no returning spring. My head, pressed down with -years, shall never again erect itself in conscious manhood. These hoary -locks shall no more be adorned with the auburn of glossy youth. My -weather-beaten trunk shall at no time clothe itself with a smoother -rind. A recruited marrow shall never fill these bones, nor a more -vigorous sap circulate through my unstrung limbs. I recollect what I -was in the prime of manhood, with vain regrets; the memory answers no -other end than to torment and upbraid me. - -The useless wish of the old man, the object of his hopeless sigh, was -mine. Common and every-day blessings have little value in the eye of -their possessor. The young man squanders the endowments of youth, and -knows not to prize them. If the young man had once been old, if the -old man could again be young, then, and then only, they would justly -estimate their wealth. The springy limb, the bounding frame, the vigour -that sets fatigue at defiance, and revels in pleasures unexhausted, -would then by the near and conscious comparison, of feebleness and -lassitude, the drooping limb, the aching head, and the frame decayed in -all its senses, be well understood. Such was my situation. Yesterday -I was fourscore; to-day I was twenty. Yesterday I was a prisoner, -crippled in every articulation; to-day I was a citizen of the world, -capable of all its delights. To-morrow I was destined to have been -dragged to the stake with ignominy, and to suffer intolerable anguish -amidst the shouts and huzzas of an unfeeling populace; to-morrow I was -at liberty to employ as I pleased, to choose the theatre upon which it -should be spent, and the gratifications that should be crowded into -it. What was most material, my mind was grown young with my body. -Weary of eternal struggle, I had lately resigned the contest, and sunk -under the ill-fortune that relentlessly pursued me. Now I felt within -me a superfluity of vigour; I panted for something to contend with, -and something to conquer. My senses unfolded themselves to all the -curiosity of remark; my thoughts seemed capable of industry unwearied, -and investigation the most constant and invincible. Ambition revived -in my bosom; I longed for new engagements and new relations; I desired -to perform something, that I might myself regard with complacence, and -that I might see the world start at and applaud. - -I determined, for reasons that I shall presently have occasion to -unfold, that my first visit should be to my daughters at my paternal -estate of St. Leon. I proposed to spend two or three days in -preparations for this journey. By mere accident, by a most censurable -heedlessness, I became in some degree a spectator of the _auto da fé_ -in which I was destined to have been a victim. Unawares I had become -entangled in the crowd, and could with difficulty escape, or even -prevent my being carried nearer the centre of the scene. I saw the -galleries and accommodations that had been erected for the spectators: -I saw the windows and roofs of the houses crowded with beholders. The -shrieks of the sufferers I could not hear; they were drowned in the -infernal exultations of the multitude. But what was worst of all, -I discerned some of the condemned, fixed as they were upon small -boards, near the top of stakes about four yards high, and therefore -greatly above the heads of the assembly, while the flames, abundantly -fed with faggots and dry fuel, climbed aloft, and seemed eager to -embrace their victims. As I have already said, there were thirty of -these death-devoted frames; and, if my eye did not count them all, my -fancy well supplied what sense was unable to discover. The impression -I felt at that moment was horrible beyond all conception. I exerted -my new-found strength, and pushed out of the press with irresistible -vigour. If at that instant I could have felt exultation, even in the -consciousness of my own safety, I should regard myself as the most -execrable of monsters. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - - -The first employment in which I purposed to engage my new-found liberty -and youth, was a visit to my daughters. I now carried a disguise -perpetually about with me, that would render my journey incapable of -proving injurious to them. My daughters were all that remained, if -indeed they still remained, of my once idolised family. For twelve -years I had continued totally ignorant of their fortune, and even of -their existence. Part of the plan I had adopted for their advantage -necessarily precluded me from all correspondence or communication -with them or any one near them, that might satisfy and tranquillise -the anxieties of a father. If it had been otherwise, deprived, as -I had been, of the common benefits of light and air, and cast out -from the society of mankind, I could have obtained no intelligence -of their welfare. In visiting, I determined not to make myself known -to them; yet, notwithstanding the greatness of this disadvantage, I -felt that one of the most exquisite gratifications the earth could -afford me was to behold my children. What a multitude of adventures -and incidents might they not have encountered in the space of twelve -years! Imagination and affection dwell impatiently on the interval; -nor can any thing quiet the conjectures of him that loves, short of -the most complete information. What a difference must twelve years -have produced in the very persons and figures of creatures so young? -With what mingled and exquisite emotions does the father contemplate -his daughter, whom he left a child, grown up into a woman? He sees her -with astonishment and rapture, displaying maturer beauties, discovering -in her countenance new traces of knowledge and sentiment, and in her -gesture and manners a character finished, matronly, and sedate. The -very circumstance that I should visit them unknown, and converse -intimately with them without being discovered, while it cut me off -from many pure and ingenuous pleasures, added in some respects a new -relish to the indulgence; for it gave it a character, singular, and -perhaps unprecedented, in the history of mankind. I anticipated with -eager transport the hour at which I should revisit the place of my -birth, wander amidst the shades where my careless infancy had strayed, -recognise objects made sacred to my heart by associations with my -venerable mother and my adorable wife, now illumined with the presence -of my children, and steal a joy, unsuspected and unknown, to which the -very secrecy with which it was ravished would give a tenfold gust. - -I embraced the nearest route, by Pampeluna and the Pyrenees, to the -banks of the Garonne. One particular pleasure that I reaped during -this tour, which the climate and scenery might alone have rendered -delightful, consisted in the youthful sensation with which every thing -I saw was enjoyed. Every one who can call to mind the amusements of -his childhood will be conscious that during that period all his senses -were in a tone adapted to convey the most exquisite gratification. -This is not merely, as is vulgarly supposed, the result of the -novelty and freshness with which at that time every thing strikes us. -The extremities of the nerves are in a state of the most delicate -susceptibility, upon which no touch, however slight and evanescent, is -lost, and which makes us, upon every occasion favourable to enjoyment, -gasp and tremble with the pleasure we imbibe. We feel it thrilling -through every pulse, and communicating its tone to every part. Our -attention is engrossed by a single object; or, if we are sensible to -accompanying incidents, it spreads over them an animating sunshine, -and totally varies their appearance and hue. Age, on the contrary, -imperceptibly brings along with it callosity and sluggishness of -sensation, our gratifications are coldly relished, and our desires -feebly awakened. Such is the difference in our perception, of delicious -fruits, of fragrant smells, of smooth and glossy surfaces, of the -vividness of colour, and the heavenly sweetness of sound. If this be a -just account, I leave the reader to imagine how I enjoyed my tour from -Valladolid to the beautiful and romantic retirement of St. Leon. - -There was however one sentiment with which I was at this time -impressed, that I shall find it difficult to make the reader understand -in the extent in which I felt it, and that formed a powerful drawback -upon the pleasures I have just described. A short time ago I had been -old; now I was young: I had quaffed of the elixir of immortality. The -revolution this had produced in my sentiments was not less memorable -than that which it had effected in my corporeal lineaments and my -mental elasticity. It is so different a thing to conceive a proposition -theoretically, and to experience it in practice! The case is parallel -to that of the expectation which an ordinary Christian entertains of -eternal bliss. It is an article in his creed; he repeats it every -night when he lies down, and every morning when he rises. He would -be both offended and surprised if you told him he was not persuaded -of it; and yet how faint and indistinct a picture it produces in -his intellectual retina! The affairs of the world strike him with -all the force of vision; to them he cannot make himself a stranger -and a pilgrim; he cannot transfer all his affections to the mere -creature of his imagination, engendered in solitude, and nurtured by -enthusiasm,--heaven. How different must have been the feelings of the -celebrated apostle, who had been taken up into the third heaven, and -had beheld the new Jerusalem with all its jaspers, its chrysolites, its -emeralds, and its sapphires! - -My situation was similar to this. I had long known, as far as -reflection could assure me of it, that I possessed the elixir of -immortality. But never till now had I felt the julep tingling in my -veins, and known the effects of it in every joint and articulation -of my frame. I before believed, I now felt, that I was immortal. The -consequence of this intimate persuasion was not without its portion of -melancholy. I still bore the figure and lineaments of a human creature; -but I knew that I was not what I seemed. There was a greater distance -between me and the best constructed and most consummate of the human -species, than there is between him and an ant or a muskito, crushed -by the first accidental tread, or consumed by the first spark wafted -by the wind. I can no longer cheat my fancy; I know that I am alone. -The creature does not exist with whom I have any common language, or -any genuine sympathies. Society is a bitter and galling mockery to my -heart; it only shows in more glaring colours my desolate condition. -The nearer I attempt to draw any of the nominal ties of our nature, -the more they start and shrink from my grasp. From this moment I could -not shake off the terrible impression of my loneliness; no, not for an -hour. Often does this impression induce me to regard my immortality -with loathing indescribable; often do I wish to shelter myself from it -in the sweet oblivion of the grave. From this hour I had no passions, -no interests, no affections; my heart has never expanded with one -natural emotion; I have never delivered myself up to the repose of one -genuine amusement. If at any time I have had a glimpse of pleasure, it -has irritated, only to deceive; it has increased the appetite, while -it displayed in stronger colours my impotence to gratify it. What is -worse, every added year has still subtracted something from the little -poignancy and relish which the bowl of human life continued to retain. -I have the power of assuming a youthful and glossy appearance whenever -I think proper; but this is only a bitter mockery of the furrows -ploughed in my heart. In so much of my adventures as remains for me -to describe, I feel that I shall be obliged to employ the established -terms of human description. I cannot interrupt the history of my -sensations, by a recital of those pangs by which they have been every -moment interrupted. The terms I must use may delude the reader into an -imagination that I still participate of enjoyment and of hope. Be it -so; they may cheat the reader; they cannot cheat myself! - -Previously to my arrival in the vicinity of the Garonne, I equipped -myself in the habit of an Armenian, and assumed the character of -a merchant travelling from country to country for the sale of his -commodities. - -It was in the close of a wintry day in the bleak and cheerless -month of December, that I first viewed from a distance the turrets -of St. Leon. I procured myself accommodations for the night in the -adjoining village. Being now, after so long an absence, within reach -of the residence of these lovely treasures, I sought, without any -direct consciousness of the sentiment, to delay our interview. When I -entered the little _auberge_, sheltered under a small plantation of -olives, I dreaded to hear the repetition of my family name. I longed -most fervently to be informed of the welfare of my daughters, yet I -could have died sooner than utter a single question on the subject. -I found that that ardent love which had urged me with rapid steps -from Valladolid to St. Leon, gradually, as the distance grew little, -changed from an impetuous vehemence to hear of, and to see them, to -fearful, awe-struck, motionless anxiety. Their light and airy figures, -as I last saw them at Montauban in 1547, danced before the eyes of my -imagination: what casualties, what calamities might not have overtaken -them since! I was afraid almost to breathe, lest I should dissolve -the unreal scene that played around me. How did I know that I did not -indulge this cheerful imagination for the last time? Again and again -in the course of the evening, I felt as if I could have wasted ages in -this _auberge_ and the neighbouring fields, still believing that my -daughters inhabited yonder towers, still hovering round their fancied -residence, but never daring to utter their name, lest it should be -found the prelude to some fatal intelligence. How rich and refined a -repast in some cases is uncertainty! It had the power to impart to -these precious pledges a share of that immortality of which I was the -destined monopolist. - -Why had I not the courage never to overpass the limit at which I was -now arrived, and, wherever I afterwards wandered on the various -surface of the globe, still to be able to repeat to myself the -complacent whisper, “I have visited my daughters in their separated -abode, and my visit was productive of none but agreeable sensations?” -My passions were too much afloat to suffer me really to rest in this -patient, contemplative gratification. Before the morning’s dawn, I -walked forth, and turned my eyes towards the castle. I loitered from -bank to bank, and from point to point. Daylight slowly broke in upon -me, but all was silent and quiet in my paternal château. “The family -is not yet stirring,” said I to myself. I turned my steps to the spot -where the ashes of my mother were mingled with their parent earth. -The time that had intervened since her decease, the various fortunes -and impressions I had experienced, had somewhat obliterated the -vividness of her picture in my memory, and deadened the tremblingness -of sensation with which I once thought of her. Yet enough was left, -to make it an interesting moment to me, when I kneeled at her tomb. -Why, oh why, as it had been with my great forefathers, was it not a -moment of exultation to me, when I thus feelingly saluted the shade -of a parent! He that exults in such an hour, must feel that he has -illustrated his birth, and honoured his progenitors. I had done nothing -of this: I was an exile on the face of the earth, had acquired no -trophies, and accumulated no fame. I had none to honour, none even to -know me; I had no family, I had no friend! These bitter recollections -started up in array before me, and cut me to the heart. The spirit of -my mother frowned upon her son; and I returned along the path by which -I came, disgraced and disconsolate. - -“I am now,” said I, “in a fit temper to learn intelligence of my -daughters: if they have been unhappy, to hear it will not make me more -forlorn; if they have been fortunate, that knowledge, and that alone, -may revive my courage.” I hastened towards the avenue. I looked into -the thickets and winding paths, as I passed. They communicated to me -mingled pictures of my own boyish days, and of the amusements of the -present inhabitants. - -I told the nature of my pretended traffic to the servants of the house, -and proposed an exhibition of my commodities; I was admitted, as I -desired, to the apartment of their mistresses. I saw two young ladies, -who appeared to be respectively about twenty-eight and twenty-four -years of age, and whom without much difficulty I recognised for my -daughters Louisa and Marguerite. Their situation and their ages -identified them; and when afterwards I came to peruse their features -attentively, I could easily discover traits of the amiable young woman -and the playful child they had been when last we parted. I found them -employed upon a piece of embroidery; a comely and respectable looking -young woman, a servant, was sewing in another part of the room. Every -thing about the ladies bespoke the ease of their circumstances, and the -propriety of their sentiments. Both had on an elegant morning-habit; -both had an air of sedateness and sobriety, that to my apprehension -told that they had not lived unchastened by misfortune. - -They each slightly looked up, as I was ushered into the apartment; they -saluted me with a graceful and condescending bend of the head, such as -we are accustomed to use to an inferior whom we are willing to put at -his ease. What were my sensations, a father, disguised and unknown, -in the presence of his children! I attempted to stand, as is usual -for a tradesman, when he waits on his customers at their own house. I -attempted to speak. My tongue refused its office; my legs tottered as -if sustaining an unusual weight. Louisa observed me, and desired me to -be seated. I had no power of choice; I accepted her civility. No sooner -was I seated, than in spite of myself a flood of tears gushed from my -eyes. She was astonished; she begged to know if I were indisposed; -she requested me to make use of every assistance the house could -afford. I now found my speech. I apologised for my behaviour; said I -had felt suddenly ill, but that the tears I shed would prove the most -effectual relief to me. My appearance, it may be proper to mention, -was not that of a vulgar pedlar; it was tall, graceful, and ingenuous, -with a certain air of refinement and politeness; my Armenian dress, -though formed of uncostly materials, was such as to display my person -to considerable advantage. Both the young ladies showed themselves -interested in the symptoms of my distress. After a few minutes internal -struggle, I rose, made an excuse for the abruptness of my departure, -and requested permission to repeat my visit in the afternoon, when I -should have something not unimportant to communicate to them. - -I had seen two of my daughters; I had been satisfied that they still -existed; I had witnessed their exterior health and beauty. As I -withdrew, I laid my hand upon my heart, and congratulated myself: “Thus -far,” said I, “it is well!” I felt relieved from part of the weight -that lay there. With my right hand I struck upon my forehead: “but, oh, -where,” cried I, “is my other daughter?” The thought came over me with -the force of a demonstration: she is dead! A servant was attending me -to the door; I requested to speak to the housekeeper; I was introduced -to Mariana Chabot. She was struck with my appearance, as I believe my -daughters had been, as if my features were those of some person with -whom she was intimately acquainted. She would probably have mistaken me -for my own son, but that I looked considerably too young. I intreated -her to pardon my curiosity; but, I assured her, I had a particular -reason to interest myself in the family of Monsieur St. Leon, and I -therefore requested that she would have the goodness to inform me of -their affairs, as far as she could with propriety communicate them -to a person who was not so happy as to be in the catalogue of their -acquaintance. I told her that I had just seen two of her ladies, but -that I had understood there had been three, and I particularly desired -some information as to the young lady who had not made her appearance -in the parlour. My presentiment was true; the impression that smote -me when I left the parlour, was her funeral knell; my beloved Julia -was dead; she had been dead four years! If it had not been for the -agitation of my mind when I visited the tomb of my venerable parent, -I should have discovered her monument near that of her grandmother. -That would have been too overwhelming a mode of learning the painful -intelligence; I was glad at least to have escaped that! - -In this and some subsequent conversations I held with this respectable -matron, I learned a variety of particulars respecting my daughters. -Madame Chabot expressed herself sorry that she had nothing pleasing -to communicate. Her young ladies had been pursued by a train of -misfortunes, though, heaven knew, they had merited every happiness. -A few years after they had been settled at St. Leon, Julia had been -addressed by a lover in every sense worthy of her. He was rich, noble, -of a gallant spirit, of a cultivated understanding, and a truly kind -and affectionate heart. Their attachment had been long and tried; -habit and experience of each other’s virtues had caused it to take -a deep root. The father of the young man had destined him to marry -the daughter of a duke and peer of the kingdom; but, finding his -affections unalterably fixed, he had at length yielded, and sanctioned -their mutual passion with his consent. Every thing was now prepared -for the nuptials; a day was fixed, and the appointed time was fast -approaching. Just at this juncture, the father changed his mind, and -became more obstinate and inexorable than ever. A report had begun to -be circulated that monsieur St. Leon, the father of the young ladies, -was still alive. Madame Chabot expressed her fear that this report had -originated in some indiscretion of Bernardin, who, however, had always -proved himself a most zealous and faithful servant, and who had since -paid the debt of nature. Be that as it might, the father of the lover -of Julia was found no longer accessible to expostulation or entreaty. -He was of an avaricious disposition, and he regarded the fortune of the -young lady, which would otherwise have been considerable, as entirely -alienated and annihilated by this flaw in the title. But what was -more material, it by no means accorded with his ideas of nobility and -honour, that the father-in-law of his only son should be a fugitive -and a wanderer, with whose residence no one was acquainted, and of -whom no one could tell whether he were living or dead. The manner in -which the ladies had entered into the repossession of their paternal -estate, when minutely investigated, was thought to have something -in it of an ambiguous and unpleasant nature. It was well known that -monsieur St. Leon had left the country in consequence of his having -ruined himself by the vice of gaming. “Surely,” said some, “it is a -little mysterious, how his children came, after an interval of nine -years, to be able to repurchase all he ever possessed.” In short, the -more the old vicomte was reasoned with, the more furious he grew. At -length he made use of the power which the government of France vests -in the father of a family, and shut up his son in one of the royal -prisons. This was a fatal blow both to the chevalier and his mistress. -Disappointed in the object of his warmest affections, maltreated and -disgraced by the severity of a father, his health sensibly declined. -Nothing however could shake the inflexibility of the vicomte; he would -release his son upon no other terms than a renunciation of his love, -terms which the sense of dignity and honour in the young gentleman, -equally with his passion, forbade him to accept. To all representations -of the necessity of granting liberty to his son, if he would not make -himself answerable for his death, the vicomte sternly replied, “that -he preferred his dying to the idea of his connecting himself with a -family of dishonour.” It was not till a few weeks before he expired, -that the father had consented to his release from prison, and had -removed him to one of his castles in a remote province. But the malady -of the chevalier was found incurable; the vital principles of the -system were fatally deranged. The lover died; and the consequences of -this unhappy affair had put a premature close to the existence of the -unfortunate Julia. Madame Chabot added that, the circumstance of this -story having become a subject of public animadversion, it had had a -most unfavourable effect on the prospects of the surviving sisters. -They bore their situation with dignity; but they could not but feel the -unhappy coincidence, which cut them off from the happiest condition of -human life, an honourable and well assorted settlement in marriage. - -While madame Chabot related to me the tragical history of Julia, I -felt convulsed with passion, and more than once burst into an agony -of tears. Fatal legacy! atrocious secrets of medicine and chemistry! -every day opened to my astonished and terrified sight a wider prospect -of their wasteful effects! A common degree of penetration might have -shown me, that secrets of this character cut off their possessor from -the dearest ties of human existence, and render him a solitary, cold, -self-centered individual; his heart no longer able to pour itself into -the bosom of a mistress or a friend; his bosom no longer qualified to -receive upon equal terms the overflowing of a kindred heart. But no -mere exercise of imagination, nothing short of the actual experience -through which I had passed, could have adequately represented the -mischiefs of a thousand various names, that issued from this Pandora’s -box, this extract of a universal panacea. I regarded myself as the -murderer of these two lovers, than whom I concluded, from my personal -observation of the one, and all that I heard of the other, two purer -and more affectionate beings, more singularly qualified to form each -other’s happiness, had never existed. I felt as truly haunted with the -ghosts of those I had murdered, as Nero or Caligula might have been; -my wife, my son, my faithful negro; and now, in addition to these, -the tender Julia and her unalterable admirer. I possessed the gift of -immortal life; but I looked on myself as a monster that did not deserve -to exist. - -It is with difficulty that I shall be able to make the reader -understand how much more severe the impression of this last catastrophe -was made to me, by the place and time in which I received the -intelligence. We are creatures of sensation: our worst calamities -derive as much of their pungency from the accessories by which they -are accompanied, as they do from their intrinsic evil. If I had heard -this story at any other period, I am persuaded its effects would not -have been half so painful. The idea of my daughters was faded in my -sensorium, and whatever related to them, though really felt, and felt -like a father, would have been felt with a less overpowering interest. - -But now I had journeyed from Valladolid to the Garonne to behold them; -I had surveyed the castle they inhabited; I had viewed the garden -which they arranged with their hands; I had entered the parlour which -they adorned with their presence. All this controlled the operation -of absence and of distance; I felt at this moment as if I had been -accustomed to see them every day, and to regard them as inseparable -from my existence. I experienced, as it were, the united effect of -familiarity and novelty; I felt the melancholy fate of Julia, with -all the keenness of an inmate, and all the surprise of a long absent -traveller. The very metamorphosis I had undergone gave new poignancy -to my distress. Madame Chabot tortured me deliberately and at leisure, -without the slightest consciousness of what she was doing; she believed -she was pouring a tale of persons unknown into the ears of a native of -the other hemisphere, at the moment that she was calling up in arms the -strongest and most excruciating feelings of a father for his child. I -on the other hand had the most violent struggle with myself, while I -endeavoured to suppress the appearances of an emotion, which to the -person who witnessed them must have been for ever unaccountable. As it -was, and in spite of all my efforts, madame Chabot betrayed no little -amazement at the agitation with which I listened to a story, in which, -as she apprehended, I could have no personal interest. - -What I heard from madame Chabot suggested to me a conduct, which I -resolved to adopt under the present circumstances. In my next interview -I told Louisa that I would now account to her for emotions which, at -the time they occurred, must have appeared somewhat extraordinary. I -owned that I had been acquainted with her father; I said that I had -first met with him in a journey, in which I was then engaged through -the province of Mesopotamia; that I had received from him, though a -stranger, a singular obligation; that a sincere friendship between -us had been the result of this event; that he died about two years -since; that I had attended him in his last moments; that he had charged -me with his dying recommendations and requests; and that my present -journey into France had principally been instigated by a desire to -visit his children. I then delivered into her hands various letters -and papers, which I had counterfeited chiefly with the intention of -supplying my daughters with legal evidence of the decease of their -father. - -Louisa listened to what I related with those marks of affection and -sorrow, which are inseparable from the habits of a well constituted -mind. The emotion she discovered led me farther than I first intended. -I was urged by an irresistible impulse to practise, beyond what the -occasion demanded, upon the feelings of her virtuous mind. I know not -whether this is to be considered as a vain refinement and a criminal -curiosity; but--I think--every generous spirit will excuse me, when -it is recollected that this covert and imperfect proceeding was all -that was left me to soothe the impatient cravings of a father’s heart. -From time to time I reminded her of particulars that it was scarcely -possible any one but her father should know; I conjured up past scenes; -I made all the revolutions of her youth pass successively in review -before her; I touched all the pulses of her soul. Sometimes she was -fixed in mute astonishment at the exactness of my information, and -was ready to do me homage as some aerial genius, who condescended to -clothe himself in this earthly figure; at other times astonishment was -swallowed up in feeling, her soul dissolved in tenderness, and she -appeared ready to faint into my arms. It is scarcely possible to depict -the pleasurable sensations I drew from these intercourses; I know not -whether they were entirely innocent; but this I know, that in me they -produced a sentiment of innocence, and a sentiment of paradise. I felt -sometimes as if I could have wasted ages in this sort of gratification. - -As the executor of their father, my daughters received me with every -mark of respect; but, after having already protracted my visit to -them for the space of many days, I felt that I should be guilty of -something alike hostile to their decorum and reputation, if I did -not speedily bring it to a termination. I was a person unknown and -almost without a name; nor could it be proper for a young woman to -continue to receive the visits of a person of her own age and a -different sex, upon the intimate and confidential footing upon which -my visits were paid, except in the case of him whom she intends to -make her husband. To considerations of this sort I was obliged to -sacrifice the gratifications in which I had lately been indulging. My -principal concern at St. Leon, from the time in which madame Chabot -had communicated to me the real nature of my daughter’s situation, -was to remove those disadvantages in which my destiny and my errors -had involved them: it would therefore have been the extreme of -inconsistency in me, while I was healing one mischief, to prepare for -them another. It is not indeed probable that I should long have been -contented for myself with this anomalous and neutral situation, in -which I more resembled a piece of furniture endowed with the faculty of -noting the sensations of those around me, than the member of any human -society. It was high time, as I thought, even in this point of view, -that I should put an end to the inglorious scene, should appear in some -real character, and engage in some real undertaking. - -Influenced by these considerations, I now quitted the residence of my -daughters. I had satisfied the longing curiosity of a father, had seen -their situation, had witnessed their beauty, their accomplishments, and -their virtues. If I had been afflicted at hearing of the premature fate -of my eldest daughter, if I had been agonised by the reflection that I -might justly regard myself as her murderer, who was so fitted to suffer -this anguish as myself? The outcast of my species, what right had I -to expect to be happy in my own person, or prosperous in any of my -relations? The guilty cause of all this mischief, it was but suitable -that it should be brought home to my own bosom, that it should tear -and distract my own brain! Add to this, I was not without a hope that -my journey would not be found useless to the survivors. By furnishing -to them the proper documents to certify the death of their father, I -flattered myself that I had cut them off more effectually than before -from all connection with my unpropitious destiny, and had placed them -nearly upon a footing with the other noble and unmarried heiresses of -their native country. I have nothing further to relate in regard to -these two amiable and excellent sisters. From the time that I quitted -St. Leon upon this occasion, to the time in which I am now writing, -the opportunity of making further enquiries respecting them has not -occurred to me. If ever it does occur, I have only this one wish to -entertain, which, if granted, will, I am sure, satisfy my fondest -hopes,--May I find they have been as happy, as they so well deserve to -be! - -The parting between me and my daughters was not an unaffecting one. -On my part, whose bosom was fraught with a thousand tender feelings, -to which I could give no language, and of which those whom they -principally concerned had not the slightest suspicion, it could not -be unaffecting. Nor did Louisa and her younger sister look with an -indifferent eye upon the bearer of the last sentiments of their father, -the witness of his death, the executor of his will. There was something -in the features of my countenance, a peculiar sort of conformation, a -family resemblance to themselves, which it is probable they did not -advert to, but which I am persuaded wrought within them to the full -extent of the mysterious sympathies of our nature. I pretended to have -been the familiar confident of their father; I told them of things at -which they started and almost blushed to think that any one beyond -the circuit of their dearest relations should have been privy. In the -hour of our separation, they shed many tears, and embraced me with a -warmth that might have well become sisters to a brother. Yet, shall I -confess my weakness, a weakness in which I do not apprehend myself to -be singular? It happens to few men to witness the manner in which the -story of their own deaths is received. If it did, I believe we all of -us have enough of vanity and personal feeling, however sincere a grief -might show itself in the demeanour of survivors, to find it falling -short of our appetites and demand. This I know, I was myself a party -to this unreasonableness. My daughters received the intelligence of -my death with a decorum and sensibility, which in the eyes of every -impartial spectator would have reflected honour on their characters, a -sensibility beyond what could have been imagined in daughters who now -had not seen their father for twelve years. Yet it was an unpleasing -reflection to me, thus to have occasion to gauge their love, and to -say, This is the exact measure of their affection. I remained in this -part of the world long enough to see my children consoled, and myself -forgotten. Self-importance of man, upon how slight a basis do thy -gigantic erections repose! - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - - -From St. Leon I proceeded to the kingdom of Hungary. To complete this -journey I must pass through near twenty degrees of longitude. But that -was a trivial consideration: what I most desired was to gain a new -situation, and enter upon an untried scene. I had determined in my next -experiment upon the endowments of the stranger, to make no half-formed -efforts, and to suffer no mischiefs that drew their source from my own -irresolution. I determined, as I have said, to forestall all opposition -by my firmness, and to silence all objectors by the display of a more -than princely magnificence. I thought it therefore eligible to remove -to a scene, where no encounter with any one I had ever known might -abash me, and no relation of any adventure I had ever met should follow -me. The change of my figure, it is true, would render an encounter of -this sort of little moment to my liberty or my reputation; but I was a -new man, and I was desirous to engross and to feel the benefits that -attend upon novelty. - -There was another motive however secretly working at my heart, of a -grander and more exalted cast, that made me prefer Hungary to all the -countries of the earth. Hungary had been now, for upwards of a century, -the great frontier of the Christian world,--the theatre upon which -the followers of Mahomet contended against the followers of Jesus for -destruction and for empire. My mind had from time to time brooded -over this picture in the solitude and forlornness of my dungeon. I -ruminated on all the calamities of Hungary, from the battle of Warna in -1444, to the battle of Mohacz in 1526; in both of which this generous -nation had unsuccessfully achieved prodigies of valour, and, even by -their defeats, had protracted the date of their own independence, -and co-operated for the defence of the population and arts of Europe -against a barbarous and blood-delighting foe. My thoughts dwelt with -rapturous admiration upon the exploits of the heroic Huniades and -his greater son. In the course of my many-coloured experience I had -seen something of war, and was not totally unacquainted with its -never-failing consequences. Meditating as I had done in the dungeons -of the inquisition, if ever I recovered my personal liberty and my -freedom of action, a journey into Hungary, my imagination had grown -familiar with captured towns and smoking villages; with the gallant -soldier stretched lifeless on the plain, and the defenceless mother and -her offspring brutally insulted and massacred; with fields laid waste, -and a people lifting up their hands for bread. Determined as I was to -open at once all the stores of my wealth, I thought I could not find -a nobler scene for its display. I resolved to pour the entire stream -of my riches, like a mighty river, to fertilise these wasted plains, -and revive their fainting inhabitants. Thus proceeding, should I not -have a right to expect to find myself guarded by the faithful love -of a people who would be indebted to my beneficence for every breath -they drew? This was the proper scene in which for the possessor of -the philosopher’s stone to take up his abode. He who could feel his -ambition satisfied in a more straitened field would, by so doing, prove -himself unworthy of the mighty blessing. - -Nothing occurred to me in my journey of importance enough to obtain a -place in this history. When I arrived, I found the condition of the -inhabitants even more wretched than the lawlessness of my imagination -had represented it. In the battle of Mohacz the last of the line of -their native sovereigns, together with the flower of his nobility, -had fallen a victim to the merciless plague of war. What survived of -eminent persons in the state assembled soon after in national diet, and -elected, as they had been accustomed to do, one of the most illustrious -among themselves to preside over the councils and to conduct the -battles of their country. But the princes of the house of Austria, -ever on the watch for the aggrandisement of their family, seized the -opportunity of their disastrous situation to enslave the Hungarians -to their sceptre. Charles the Fifth caused his brother Ferdinand, -whose consort was only sister to the deceased monarch, to advance his -claim to the vacant throne, and to enter the country with an imperial -army. The native and elected sovereign found himself, in the weakened -condition of his realm, unable to resist the Austrian arms, and was -finally driven to the desperate expedient of calling in the Turk to -his assistance. From this time, for now upwards of thirty years, the -kingdom had been a prey to two foreign invaders, alternately taking -and retaking her most considerable towns, and distributing with the -strictest impartiality the miseries of war to her devoted inhabitants. -Solyman the Magnificent, the present Ottoman emperor, in no long time -threw off the mask; and, like his rival Ferdinand, professed to fight -only for the enlargement of his own dominions; while the claims, the -liberties, the constitution, and the prosperity of Hungary, were alike -trodden under foot in the protracted and sanguinary struggle. - -At the period at which I entered this unfortunate realm, the Turk -was in possession of Buda, Gran, Temeswar, and many of the most -considerable cities; and Ferdinand, who had now succeeded Charles -in the imperial dignity, had been obliged to withdraw the seat of -the national government from the first of these towns, the ancient -metropolis, to the comparatively insignificant city of Presburg. The -war between the two parties had more than once been interrupted; not -indeed by the more stable accommodations of a treaty of peace, but by a -truce variously concluded for the terms of six or of eight years. Short -as was the period assigned to the suspension of arms, it was never -suffered to reach its natural termination; but, after the interval of -one or two summers, hostilities did not fail to break out again, with -aggravated symptoms of resentment and animosity. The warfare that was -now carried on had more in it of passion than vigour: it was of little -moment to the interest of either of the princes under whose banners -it was conducted; but it was not on that account the less, but rather -the more, vexatious and distressing to the Hungarian people. It obeyed -no rule; it operated in every direction; no place, no province, no -town,--neither the church nor the palace, neither the cottage nor the -castle,--could assure safety to those who sought its protection. A -flying party, which was to-day in the west, would almost the next day -make its appearance in the eastern extremity of the kingdom. Arts -were neglected; civilisation was destroyed; the stern and haughty -baron, free from restraint, would sally from his castle, sometimes in -pursuit of plunder, sometimes of private resentment and revenge; the -starving peasantry gladly enlisted in the band of a ferocious partisan -for bread; the gangs of robbers, which the vigilant policy of better -times had almost annihilated, rose again in importance, and swelled -into regiments; and, while they assumed at pleasure the denomination -of adherents to Ferdinand or to Solyman, perpetrated every species of -excess with impunity. When a reflecting spectator surveys a country in -a condition like this, he is tempted to wonder that the inhabitants -still retain the courage to bestow on their fields any sort of -cultivation, and that the licensed or the unlicensed robber still finds -something over which to extend the fangs of his rapacity. - -I had not long passed the gates of Vienna, before I began to observe -the symptoms of that, which I had come from the Pyrenees and the -Garonne to visit. The farther I advanced, the more melancholy was the -scene I beheld. The country in some places entirely deserted; villages -laid in ashes; cities reduced to the dimensions and insignificance -of villages; fields fertilised or made rank with the manure of human -blood; the roads broken up; the erections of human ingenuity almost -obliterated; mills thrown down; rivers choked up and rendered stagnant; -a few solitary plots of cultivation scattered amidst the mighty waste. -The inhabitants I saw, appeared terrified, sickly, dejected, and -despairing; there was scarcely one who earlier or later had not lost a -father or a brother, whose wife had not been made the victim of brutal -lust, or who had not seen his children butchered before his face. -Persons of the more opulent classes could not travel the country in -safety, without being armed and associated in companies and caravans. -I was myself obliged to obtain the protection of parties of soldiers, -who from time to time happened to be marching in the route I pursued. -The savage neglect into which every thing was declining, produced in -repeated instances a contagious air and pestilential diseases; while -dearth and famine unrelentingly haunted the steps of those whom the -sword and the pestilence had spared. Such is war: such are the evils -nations willingly plunge into, or are compelled to endure, to pamper -the senseless luxury or pride of a Ferdinand and a Solyman! - -I proceeded, as I had originally determined to do, to Buda, the -metropolis of the kingdom. It was in the hands of the Turk. It was -of little importance to me whether the monarch of the soil were a -Mahometan or a Christian; my mind was engrossed by considerations of a -very different magnitude. I came to relieve and assist, to the utmost -of my power, the inhabitants of the country in the extremity of their -distress. - -I had not proceeded thus far, without bestowing a certain strictness -of reflection on the subject. I easily saw that, if I would confer a -substantial benefit on this unfortunate nation, I had scarcely any -other means for the purpose, than that of reviving among them a spirit -of industry. I was aware that, in the strictness of the term, money was -not wealth; that it could be neither eaten nor drunk; that it would not -of itself either clothe the naked or shelter the houseless; and that it -was unable, but by a circuitous operation, to increase the quantity of -provisions or commodities that the country afforded. It was my business -therefore not to proceed idly in the distribution of gold, but to -meditate seriously my plan of operations. - -I fixed myself in a spacious and beautiful mansion in the capital. This -in the present distressed and depopulated condition of Hungary, it was -not difficult to procure. The house I selected had for centuries been -the principal residence of the illustrious family of Ragotski; but the -present representative of that family, after having seen his sons, one -after another, killed in the battles of his country, and his estates -ruined by military depredation, had found himself compelled to fly in -his old age, and had taken refuge with a distant branch of the same -house in the great duchy of Lithuania. It was not necessary for me to -proceed to any great extent in the first instance in the manufacture -of my wealth; I had every facility for adding to my store from time to -time as circumstances should demand. - -I determined to open my operations with the article of building. There -was sufficient need of it. One half of the houses, through most of -the districts of Lower, or Western Hungary in particular, were ruined -and untenantable. I did not begin with erecting palaces; I felt that -the first claimants in the present emergency were the peasant and the -cultivator. I was more desirous that the rustic than the prince should -be well lodged and accommodated, provided with the means of rest after -fatigue, and secured against the invasion of ungenial seasons. - -My reasons for beginning with building were these:--It was my purpose -to stimulate and revive the industry of the nation: I was desirous of -doing this with the least practicable violence upon the inclinations -and freedom of the inhabitants. Had I required of those to whom I -addressed myself, that they should fertilise the earth, the seeds with -which it should be impregnated might be wanting: I should have a nice -balance to adjust between what was necessary for immediate subsistence, -and what might be applied as the basis of future; a point better left -to its spontaneous level: I might be impeded and controlled by a -thousand circumstances and at every step. But the materials of building -are to be found in every country; no seasons can impair, no malignity -of man can annihilate them. Wherever there are quarries, there is -stone; wherever there is clay, there are the means of manufacturing -bricks. I was anxious to leave the rest of the great process of human -accommodation to its course. While I employed labourers, and paid -them their wages, there would be, in the mildest and most salutary -mode, a continual influx of money into the market. The increase of the -precious metals would give new alacrity to the operations of traffic; -the buyers would come forward with double confidence; the venders -would be eager to meet the activity and spirit of the demand. Ardour -and hope would revisit the human mind; and the industry I created, -and the accommodations of one kind at least to which I gave birth, -would inoculate the other departments of the community with a similar -industry. I came into Hungary in the spring of 1560; the season -was favourable to seeding and cultivation; I seemed to enter on my -undertaking with the happiest auspices. - -Some time however must necessarily elapse between the period of -impregnating the soil, and that of the future harvest. Though I laid -it down therefore as a law to myself, to commit the least practicable -violence upon the genuine action of human society in pursuit of -the means of subsistence, I thought proper in a certain degree to -engage in the importation of corn from Poland, Silesia, and other -neighbouring countries. This seemed an eligible measure, if it were -only that I might show others the way, and excite them by my example. -I procured agents; I extended my concerns in various directions -over the navigable rivers; I formed magazines. It would have been -contrary to the genius of my undertaking, either to make a gratuitous -distribution of what I purchased, or to sell it at such low prices as -to drive other speculators, whose spirit of enterprise might happily -co-operate with mine, out of the market. However indifferent I might -feel to the receipt of pecuniary compensation, it was necessary that, -in the concerns of barter and trade, I should assume the exterior of a -merchant. - -Nor did I wholly confine my exertions within the occupations of an -architect and a corn-dealer. These, or rather the former of the two, -I regarded as my true and genuine province; but I did not so far -enslave myself to my own maxims, as to negative in all instances the -direct demands of want. I was not anxious to convert a nation or an -army of men into my personal adherents and retainers: I was rather -desirous to avoid this as a dangerous source of obloquy. I did not -therefore always decline, by pretended loans to assist other men to -employ labourers as well as myself, to act upon their own designs, and -prosecute their own fortune. The cries of the poor man, the widow, and -the orphan, were sometimes too importunate, and too well justified by -their unquestionable necessities, to allow me to withhold from them my -alms. In a few instances I conveyed my supplies anonymously to persons, -whose dignity of birth or whose proud independence would have been too -grievously wounded if they had known their benefactor. I was cautious -and apprehensive as to the direct dispensing of money, but not entirely -bent against it; I regarded it as a precarious, but in some cases a -necessary interference. - -The impulse which, by these various measures, I was fortunate enough -to generate, seemed to have the effect, so far at least as the -sphere of my activity extended, to revive the almost expiring life -of the country. Dejection and hopeless indolence, when I commenced -my operations, were written in every face; the miserable inhabitants -crawled along the roads or the street, their hands idly relaxed by -their side, and their slow and painful steps scarcely supporting their -lifeless trunk. When my plan became known, and I had already in a few -instances reduced my maxims into practice, it was as if the mellow -and spirit-stirring blast of a trumpet had wakened their sleeping -souls. Their eyes lightened with intelligence; the tear of anguish was -wiped from their faded cheeks; the smile of hope slowly expelled, and -faintly succeeded to, the bitter expression of despair. Busy and active -thoughts gave new motion to their limbs and quickness to their steps; -the labourer was seen hastening from place to place; the sound of the -hammer, the saw, and the various tools of the workman, was to be heard -from every side. - -The conduct I pursued necessarily fixed upon me a considerable portion -of public attention. I was a foreigner, destitute of connections, and -having no previous acquaintance with any individual in the country. I -was in appearance a mere boy, a young man in all the flower and bloom -of adolescence, and who must be supposed to have just entered into -possession of his patrimony. These things tended to increase the public -wonder, and to render the mystery of my proceedings more perplexing -and obscure. In the age of genial warmth and melting softness, I did -not appear accessible to those passions which haunt the days, and -too often undermine the virtues, of youth. Youth is the season of -benevolence; but benevolence is rarely, as seemed to be my case, the -only fruit that youth is found to produce. There was a maturity and a -justness of adaptation in my plans, not less foreign from what those -who surrounded me would have expected me to display. The apparent -disinterestedness and modesty of my proceedings were not lost upon -the spectators. The consequence of all this was, that the sieur de -Chatillon, such was the name I at this time assumed, was regarded as a -phenomenon which could not be too much admired, or too loudly extolled. -Wherever I appeared, the people followed me with their gratitude and -blessings; ballads were written in my praise; the very children were -taught with their infant tongues to lisp the virtues of the saviour of -Hungary. My doors were besieged; my steps were watched; I could move -no where without public observation. I was importuned with petitions -without end; yet, if any petitioner showed himself presumptuous and -intrusive, the whole multitude of bystanders was ready to repress his -indiscretion, and teach him the respect that was due to their generous -benefactor, who never refused any thing, but what it would be improper -and injurious to grant. - -Such was the treatment I experienced in Buda and the neighbouring -districts. Whether I looked within or without, I was equally -presented with incitements to self-approbation. I sent forth labour, -accompanied with her best and loveliest companions, plenty and health, -congratulation and contentment, to scatter blessings through the land. -I felt that I was prompted to this conduct by none of the motives of -vulgar ambition. I desired neither lordships nor estates, neither -elevation of rank, nor extension of prerogative. Sufficient to myself, -if I effected the happiness of the people, and they confessed me their -benefactor, my every passion would then be gratified. The utmost -boundary of my personal wishes proceeded no farther than this, that I -might be honoured and loved. What I desired, I obtained; the youth I -had procured to myself through the medium of the _opus magnum_, was -like what we are told of the youth of Job:--“When I went out through -the gate of the city, the young men saw me and hid themselves, and the -aged arose and stood up; the nobles refrained from talking, and the -princes laid their hands upon their mouths. When the ear heard me, then -it blessed me; and when the eye saw me, it gave witness to my actions.” - -Here it may be thought I had ascended to that sphere which it was fit -the possessor of the philosopher’s stone should fill, and reaped the -rewards to which a man thus endowed ought to be forward to entitle -himself. Nor will I affirm that I was insensible to the gratifications -of my present situation. Though I sought to escape from the applause -that pursued me, yet there is something in the nature of the human -mind, that makes it impossible for us to hear it without complacence. -It was not however a boisterous and obtrusive acclamation that -satisfied me. A certain inwrought modesty of nature made me listen to -noisy commendations with a sentiment of shame. They seemed to be more -than any thing I had done could deserve; or they seemed to be in a tone -from which the delicacy of a virtuous mind shrinks back displeased. -They were so obstreperous, as to take from me the power of hearing the -sweeter verdict of my own conscience. No; it was the unbidden tear that -glistened in the eye of my beneficiaries; the tongue that faltered -beneath the essays of gratitude; the overwhelmed heart that had no -power to express itself; the hand of the parent that was stretched out -to his children, and dumbly said, These, these shall thank you!--it -was these things, that I felt within as the balsam of my life, and the -ambrosia of heaven. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - - -Yet, thus surrounded, and regaled with this animated praise, I was -not content; I wanted a friend. I was alone amidst the innumerable -multitudes of those I had blessed. I knew no cordiality; I could repose -no confidence; I could find no equal. I was like a God, who dispenses -his bounties profusely through twenty climates, but who at the same -time sits, separate, elevated, and alone, in the highest heaven. The -reader may, if he pleases, despise me for the confession; but I felt -that I was not formed for the happiness of a God. - -I was not however long sufficiently at leisure, thus to refine upon -the deficiencies of my situation. I had engaged in a task of extreme -delicacy, in which the smallest failure would draw along with it the -most serious consequences. Mine was not an undertaking that had for -its object, to supply those around me with luxuries, or to augment the -stock of their cheerful relaxations and amusements; the very existence -of my beneficiaries depended on its success. I had put myself in a -considerable degree, with whatever diffidence and caution, in the room -of the course of nature, and had taken the administration of the common -benefits of human society into my hands. The populace are ever ready to -construe this delegation in the strictest sense: unqualified to trace -the wheels and combinations of the great machine, if prosperity is -their lot, they willingly ascribe it to their protectors and governors; -and if they are unfortunate, it is against them that the storm of their -resentment is directed. The moment they are thus irritated, their -impatience is too great to admit of correctives and remedies; in the -fury of their disappointment, they disturb every thing, and render that -irreparable and fatal, which was at first only doubtful and unpromising. - -My proceedings, as I have already said, bore in the commencement the -most benignant face, and seemed a revival of this despairing and -unfortunate nation little less than miraculous. The regular labours -in which the inhabitants became engaged, restored a healthful tone -to their minds; the payments they duly received seemed to discharge -them from all anxious solicitude; and, as by my own efforts and the -enterprises of others, the market was supplied with provisions, they -had no difficulty in exchanging these payments for the necessaries -of life. The supply of the market at first was easy; the universal -dejection that preceded, though it had not prevented all exertions for -that purpose, had rendered those exertions too feeble for extensive -success. The strenuous efforts that were now made were productive of -a copious supply; but they rendered each importation more difficult -than the importation before. The demand continued the same; the relief -was every day more diminutive and precarious. The harvest was however -advancing with the happiest auspices: and, though some time must yet -be consumed in expectation, it was probable frugality and fortitude -might enable the inhabitants to hold out till the season of plenty -should arrive. - -But fortitude is not the virtue of a populace. The higher had been -their hopes, and the more unexpected their deliverance, with so much -the more blank and melancholy a countenance they beheld this unexpected -delay and retrogression. Not understanding the powers by which I acted, -they blindly ascribed to me the faculty of doing whatever I pleased. -As long as every thing went on prosperously, they were grateful; the -moment a reverse occurred, they were inclined to murmur. They made no -allowance for the limited capacities of a human creature: they imputed -whatever was unpleasing to indifference or ill will. The price of -commodities, after having for a while become moderate, now rapidly -rose again: this was partly the consequence of the increased quantity -of the precious metals, by means of which any assignable sum bore -a less proportion to the provisions of the market than it had done -before. Bread was at a very high price; and it occasionally happened -to buyers who did not come early enough, that there was no bread to be -purchased. The doors of the houses where it was sold, were besieged; -the industrious poor appeared before them with the first faint dawn of -the morning’s light. Here they consumed hours of painful expectation, -in grievous addition to the hours of their customary fatigue. The -whole was a scene of anguish and calamity; the passions of those who -composed it, mingled with the distress, and rendered it too heavy to -be borne. Anticipating famine, they felt the mischiefs of it before it -arrived. Never was the demand so urgent; it seemed as if the capacity -of men’s appetites was enlarged, and the cravings of hunger became more -insatiable, in proportion to the smallness of the supply. To people -thus circumstanced, it would have been vain to recommend frugality and -moderation. They devoured the food with their eyes, while it was yet -beyond the reach of their hands; and the lesson you read them, would -have sounded in their ears as if you had bid them die to-day, to escape -the danger of dying to-morrow. - -The crowds which the necessity of purchasing bread brought together at -certain hours, when assembled, naturally entered into the discussion -of their present discontents. They were not satisfied with the -discourse and jostling of the morning; the habits produced by these -noisy assemblies had a secret charm with them, and drew them together -at seasons of less urgent demand. They patroled the streets: they -were loud in the expressions of their dissatisfaction. With the -inconsequence incident to the lower orders of mankind, they threatened -to destroy the mills, the markets, the places of sale, the means and -materials by which their wants were to be supplied. - -In the midst of these scenes of tumult and confusion, it is not to be -imagined that I escaped uncensured. Far otherwise: in proportion to the -gratitude and adoration with which they had lately regarded me, were -their detestation and abhorrence now. My interference was spoken of -with contempt and execration. For what purpose had I, a foreigner, come -into their country, and intruded myself into their affairs? Why had I -impiously taken them out of the hands of their heavenly Father, whose -care was so constant, and whose relief so certain? It was on my part -a despicable vanity and presumption, which the justice of Providence -could not fail to avenge; and they must now suffer the punishment -of my blasphemy. But they did not stop here. There was no horrible -calumny which they did not invent, or give credit to, against me. They -imputed to me the basest personal motives for what I had done. Under -the hypocritical pretence, they cried, of being their benefactor and -saviour, I was using them only for my private ends. I had become a -purchaser and vender of corn, for the single purpose of increasing my -fortune. The present scarcity, they were well assured, was artificial, -and of my own contriving. I had magazines in different stations on -the borders, which, when the price was risen to the standard of my -avarice, and when half the people had fallen victims to my inhumanity, -I purposed to dispose of to an immense profit. - -Such were the aspersions to which my character became generally -exposed. By the populace, who now experienced the unsatisfied cravings -of hunger, and in whom my proceedings had excited hope, only to be -followed by a more cruel disappointment, they were greedily credited. -Many who knew their falsehood, were yet zealous to propagate them. -Short as had been my residence in Hungary, I had made many enemies. It -is to be feared that no man can be assiduous and indefatigable in the -service of others, without incurring that consequence. I employed a -great number of workmen; every one whom for whatever reason I refused -to employ, every one who, being unqualified for the service I required, -looked with an envious eye on the better fortune of his neighbour, -was well disposed to be my enemy. Persons of no contemptible account -in the community had been excited by expectations of profit to engage -in the importation of corn: these persons viewed my efforts in the -same department with a suspicious eye, and regarded a man who, however -cautious in his proceedings, was not regulated by the same motive, as -a most pernicious rival. My sudden elevation and importance in the -country were viewed with not more astonishment than aversion by those -whose importance I obscured. They could not hear with patience of an -upstart, a boy, a stranger, one universally unknown, elbowing out -the influence of all that was most illustrious and venerable in the -community, and robbing them daily of their adherents and retainers. All -these persons left no effort untried to defame my character. - -The impulse once given, the turbulent disposition of the populace -became every day more formidable. It is much easier to disseminate -a temper of this sort than to quell it: my opulent foes might take -alarm at its excesses, and desire to undo what they had done; but it -was beyond their power. Every day I feared lest, from threats and -invectives, the populace should proceed to violence: every night I -thought I had reason to congratulate myself, that the day had passed -without waste and spoil committed by them on the means of their -subsistence, or was not marked with the destruction of their champion -and benefactor. In some places a sort of petty sedition broke out -among the labourers I employed: in the morning they refused to work: -why should a man work, they muttered, when after all he may starve -with the wages of his labour in his possession? At night they became -impatient and furious, and demanded from my superintendents and -storehouse-men the food, which in the morning they had refused to earn, -and were therefore now unable to purchase. I had already had some -experience in the nature of popular tumults; I had now no marchese -Filosanto at hand to persuade me of their inefficacy; and, if I had, -I should no longer have lent an ear to his serene and unsuspicious -generosity. I felt the reality of the danger; I saw the storm as it -blackened in my horizon, and was deeply convinced what it would be if -it burst upon my head. - -It may be imagined with what feelings I viewed my whole design on the -point to be subverted, by the unruliness of those for whose benefit -it had been planned. It is true I had now no darling relations to be -involved in my fate, no incomparable wife, no daughters illustrious in -innocence and beauty; yet my feelings were scarcely less pungent than -they had been at the period of my catastrophe at Pisa. I had blamed -myself in review, that, in my experiments at Constance, at Dresden, -at Pisa, and at Madrid, I had not commenced upon a sufficiently ample -scale, but had suffered myself to be frustrated by the ingloriousness -of my precautions. That had not been my error in the present instance; -yet my success now promised to be scarcely more flattering than upon -former occasions. I had looked for happiness as the result of the -benevolence and philanthropy I was exerting; I found only anxiety and a -well grounded fear even for my personal safety. Let no man build on the -expected gratitude of those he spends his strength to serve! Let him be -beneficent if he will; but let him not depend for his happiness on the -conviction of his rectitude and virtue that is to be impressed on the -minds of others! There is a principle in the human breast, that easily -induces them to regard every thing that can be done for them, as no -more than their due, and speedily discharges them from the oppressive -consciousness of obligation. There is a levity in the generality of -men, that entails on them a continual oblivion of past benefits, and -makes one recent disappointment of more importance in their eyes than -an eternity of kindnesses and condescension. I shall have other -instances of ingratitude to display in what yet remains to be related -of my story. - -My nights were restless; my thoughts were in arms. What was it that it -became me to do in the present emergency? Sometimes, in the bitterness -of my heart, hating myself, hating the endowments of the stranger, -hating a race of beings who denied all credit to the most unheard-of -exertions for their advantage, I determined to withdraw unobserved -from my attendants and clients, and bid adieu to Hungary for ever. But -whither was I to fly? What was I to do next? What experiment could I -make of the purposes to which to apply the philosopher’s stone, that I -had not already made? These questions, to none of which I could give a -satisfactory answer, checked the career of my passion, and gave pause -to my thoughts. - -Whatever I did, I was determined to do nothing rashly, nor to quit -a great experiment without its having been fully tried. It was no -light concern, no trivial child’s-play, in which I had embarked. I -had taken the welfare, perhaps the existence, of a great and heroic -nation under my protection. In this glorious vocation it did not -become me to be lightly discouraged. What if those I served and saved -did not show themselves sufficiently sensible to the exertions I made -for them? I ought to purify my bosom, on an occasion like this, from -base and ignoble motives, and to deem myself sufficiently recompensed -by my conscious virtue. What if the service in which I had engaged -now appeared to be a service of hazard and peril? Is there any great -undertaking that can be separated from this condition? If hastily, -from cowardice, from pique, or from any other motive, I deserted the -business on which I had entered, what was to become of my mistaken -indeed, but in that case most unfortunate clients? The greater was the -crisis to which they were exposed, the more were unremitted vigilance -and uncommon powers necessary to guide them amidst its rocks and its -quicksands. I saw thousands of men who for several weeks had fed, as it -were, from the stores of my bounty. By a propensity inseparable from -the human heart, I became attached to the work of my meditations, and -the labour of my thoughts. All their fickleness, their injustice, even -the atrocious calumnies they admitted and propagated against me, could -not wean my attachment from beings, a great portion of whom, but for my -interference, would, I believed, long ere this have expired of hunger. - -In the peculiar and urgent circumstances in which I found myself, no -expedient was so obvious as that of calling in the interference of the -government under which I lived. It was necessary that the resources -of national subsistence should be defended from the wanton spoil of -those who, when they were annihilated, must inevitably perish. It was -necessary that the benefactor of Hungary, who, I flattered myself, was -still able to watch effectively for her advantage, should be protected -from her misguided resentment. The alternative was singularly painful -to my feelings. The pride with which my unparalleled endowments -inspired me, was deeply wounded, when I was compelled to confess that -I was not alone equal to the task I had undertaken, and that I must -submit to call in a foreign auxiliary. I augured little favourable from -the interference of government, which, if I implored, I could scarcely -expect to guide, which was not likely to submit to my principle of -rendering its interference the mildest and smallest that the nature of -the case would admit; but, puffed up with presumption, and intoxicated -with authority, would probably leave no concern of the public welfare -uninvaded. Least of all, could I anticipate much of good from a Turkish -government. But what could I do? I could discover no other expedient. -Influenced by the views I have recited, I had hitherto kept myself as -far from the observation of the political directors of the state as -I could. But my cautiousness and reserve were now at an end. With my -eyes open I exposed myself to all the evils that might attend on my -proceeding. - -I determined to apply to the bashaw of the province. Previously to my -taking this step, I had the precaution to enquire his character. He -was the genuine offspring of the Turkish system of government. His -name was Muzaffer Bey. He was originally a Circassian slave; then a -Janissary; and, rising by insensible gradation, had at length been -appointed bashaw of Buda, which, as being the immediate frontier -between Austria and the Porte, was at this time the most arduous -situation in the gift of the sultan. He was esteemed a good soldier; he -had been early distinguished by his dexterity in military exercises; -he had since seen much service; and, in every situation in which he -was placed, had earned commendation and honour. He was abstemious and -hardy; for himself, he neither pampered his appetites nor shrunk from -severity; and he had as little indulgence for those under his command -as for his own person. Yet he was indebted for his present eminence -more to the arts of the courtier, than to his merits in the field. -His chief care had ever been to recommend himself to those above him, -and to obtain the good will of his equals; for the opinion of his -inferiors he gave himself little concern. With considerable ability, he -laboured under no check from either principle or ingenuous pride; and -therefore was extremely successful in his attacks on the inclination -of those he sought. The habits of his mind had modified the lines of -his countenance and the tones of his voice. Except to his dependants -and the poor he almost always spoke with a smile upon his face, and -his enunciation was silver-tongued, oily, copious, and insinuating. -If he ever adopted a different manner, the variation was only in the -means not the end; and, when he seemed to travel by an opposite road, -the goal at which he aimed was the same. He never consulted any oracle -but that of his apparent interest; if he had any insolence in his -nature, he regarded his slaves and those under his military command as -affording a sufficient sphere for its exercise; he had no affections to -disturb him from his bent; he had no passions but the self-complacency -of superior cunning, and the sordid love of pelf. - -This account of the man with whom I had to deal was far from -encouraging; but I had no alternative. I sent to signify my desire to -confer with him; or, to speak more accurately, to ask, in the Eastern -manner when it would be agreeable to him to receive a present of which -I requested his acceptance. He appointed the morning of the following -day. I prepared a gift, such as might tend to conciliate his favour, -without marking in the donor the possession of immoderate wealth. -It consisted of silks and muslins, with a small piece of plate of -exquisite workmanship. My present was borne by two of my servants. -We were ushered to the bashaw in his private apartment; there were -two or three persons in attendance upon him. They examined my present -together; and, without condescending to express much approbation, I -could nevertheless discern that the bashaw was pleased with it. This -ceremony concluded; Muzaffer ordered what I had brought to be taken -into a different apartment; and, every other person withdrawing, we -were left alone. - -While the bashaw was examining my gift, I took the opportunity of -considering his person. He appeared to be about sixty years of age; -his complexion dark and muddy; his features coarse and distorted; his -mustachoes remarkably large; his person, though bony and muscular, -considerably below the middle size; and his figure ungainly and -ungraceful. I felt surprised that such a man should ever have been an -excellent soldier, or have risen from a low rank to one of the first -situations of the empire. To look at him, he seemed better formed for -the vice of a comedy, than the ruler of a nation. He raised his eyes -towards me askance, as he sat leaning on his elbow, and said, - -“You call yourself--?” - -“The sieur de Chatillon.” - -“And your age--?” - -“Is two and twenty.” - -“I am glad you are come to me. I intended to have sent for you, and you -have saved me the trouble.” - -I made many apologies for my intrusion, but added that I had a petition -to prefer, and I hoped he would favour me with a hearing. - -“Not at all, not at all; do not call it an intrusion: it is necessary I -should be acquainted with you.” He proceeded:-- - -“You have undertaken to confer great benefits on the subjects of -the grand signior, my master; to rescue them from famine. Young, -rich, a stranger, unknown to my master, unknown to his subjects, I -understand that you have spared no labour or expense to bring about -their welfare. This is really a very extraordinary case; your merit is -unprecedented; I do not feel myself competent to reward it.” - -I answered that I laid no claim to uncommon merit; that every temper -had its particular gratifications; and that I found as real a luxury in -the proceedings he had remarked, as other men did in the excesses of -the table, or the promiscuous enjoyments of the harem. - -“It is out of my power,” continued he, “to remunerate you as you -deserve; I must send you to Constantinople.” - -I perceived that this was the first essay of his artifice. I informed -him which I have no doubt he knew well enough before, that I had no -desire to go to Constantinople. I wished to remain where I was, and to -finish what I had begun. - -“What, you have not done then?” suddenly and with an abrupt voice -exclaimed the bashaw. “By Mahomet, a man of a reasonable appetite in -your place might be satisfied. Have not you filled the streets with -riots, and the country with rebellion? Do not the populace assemble in -crowds, insulting every one they meet, and talking of nothing but fire -and devastation, the bowstring and the cimeter? Be so good, my dear -sir; as to inform me what further you may have in view?” - -“Reverend bashaw,” cried I with submission, yet with firmness, “I have -none of these things in view. But a moment ago you did justice to my -intentions. They are those of beneficence, and beneficence only.” - -“I know nothing about that. I have nothing to do with honest men’s -blunders; I look to the effects they produce.” - -“These effects, most mighty sir, are temporary; they are the clouds -that will often obscure for an instant the brightest sunshine. -Condescend to lend me your generous assistance, and all will be well.” - -“Do not tell me of clouds and sunshine. This is, to my thinking, not an -April shower, but an earthquake and a hurricane. If we are all to be -swallowed up or whirled into the air, it is no consolation to me, that -the day after we are gone, every thing shall be as fair and serene as -paradise itself.” - -“Remember, sir, that when I came into Hungary, I found its inhabitants -in the most desperate condition, miserable, wasted and starving. Have I -not already suspended this evil for months?” - -“Yes, I do remember. You are one of those busy-bodies, who never see an -evil without imagining they are the persons to correct it, intruding -into every thing, and subverting every thing. The superintendence -of the public welfare is a mystery to which none are competent, but -those whom Mahomet has raised to the situation of statesmen. Your -interference is blasphemy against the spirit of our religion, and -deserves to be encountered with the most exemplary punishment.” - -“Good God! then, is it in this country a crime to feed the hungry, to -clothe the naked, and shelter the houseless?” - -“Sieur de Chatillon,” retorted the bashaw, “you appear to be -unacquainted with the maxims of Turkish policy, the wisest and most -beneficent in the world. If none of the disturbances had happened at -which I have so much reason to be alarmed, still, in relieving the -people in the manner you have done, you have incurred the guilt of -high treason against the sultan. Know, sir, that, through the whole -extent of his dominions, there is but one proprietor, and that is our -illustrious monarch. You say, that you wish to be the benefactor of -his subjects, and the judge of your own proceedings: such sentiments -are direct rebellion against the glorious constitution of Ottoman. The -sovereign of Constantinople will have no benefactor in the countries he -presides over, but himself. Like the invisible ruler of the universe, -he acts by second causes; he allows his ministers to be the instruments -of his beneficence; but all must be ascribed to him, must flow from -his will, and be placed under his control. You, who have formed a -plan of public benefit without consulting him, and have presumed, -like a luminary of the world, to move in an orbit of your own, have -in strictness of construction forfeited your life to his justice; and -I consult rather the clemency of his nature than the maxims of his -policy, if I suffer you to go from this palace with your head upon your -shoulders.” - -Without permitting myself to be too much moved by the imperious -language addressed to me, I complained to the bashaw of the rigorous -and arbitrary character of what he stated to be the maxims of the -Turkish government. I solemnly protested that I had no private or -personal object in view. The effect of my operations would be to -give new strength and energy to his master’s dominions. By diffusing -happiness among his subjects, by reviving industry, and scattering -plenty, prosperity, and ease, all disaffection would be rooted out; -and the people, who are never minute in scanning the cause of their -enjoyments, would bless the sceptre under which they were made to -participate such manifold benefits. If the policy of the divan led them -in any degree to interfere, they ought rather to crown my measures with -their applause, than wantonly to throw obstacles in the way of what I -purposed. I asked however no reward, I demanded no favour for myself; -all I desired was that the sultan would assist me in securing to his -people those benefits, the dissemination of which I had so auspiciously -begun. - -The bashaw, without taking any direct notice of this expostulation, -answered, that I was not aware of the maxims of his government, to -which, in consideration of my seeming generosity and rectitude, he -was willing to give the mildest interpretation. “It is however,” -continued he, “to the last degree idle in you to imagine, that you -can be permitted to go on unobserved, and that the sultan and his -representatives are to take no account of your proceeding. The great -instrument for ruling mankind is by their passions and their opinions. -The man from whom they believe they have the most to fear and the most -to hope, will always be their master. Whatever be your secret or your -professed designs, you go on from day to day making yourself partisans, -and enlisting the subjects of the sultan among your personal retainers. -What security has he for your submission and loyalty? How shall he know -that, when you have acquired the advantages of a powerful leader, you -will not go over to the enemy, or, in the present distracted condition -of the province, even have the audacity to set up for yourself? If -therefore, by an unexampled clemency of construction, I decline to -reduce you into the passive machine of my master’s will, it is at least -incumbent on me, that I should take account of your powers, and possess -myself of the schedule of your property. By this means only can I -watch your progress, and take care that you do not suddenly become too -powerful for a subject. Are you prepared to satisfy me on this head?” - -On this question I hesitated for a moment; I had not exactly -anticipated the enquiry; at length I requested the delay of a few days, -and then I promised that all his demands should be satisfied. The -bashaw resumed:-- - -“Sieur de Chatillon, I remark your hesitation, and I draw from it -no favourable augury. These indirect and involuntary indications -are more worthy of my attention than all the studied and elaborate -information you shall think proper to give me. Sir, you are a man of -darkness, and every thing that relates to you is enveloped in mystery. -You come hither with no apparent motive; you have no connections of -blood in Hungary; you have no acquaintance with any eminent person -of the Hungarian nation. I have had my spies on you, though I have -not hitherto thought proper to summon you to my presence. You have -purchased no property in the province; I cannot learn that you have -any correspondences or resources from abroad. I have been at the pains -to procure an account of your expenditure during the three months you -have resided among us; much of that expenditure has been obscure, -clandestine, and indirect; but I believe you will find my estimate, -which you are at liberty to inspect and remark upon, tolerably correct. -Your disbursements for three months, exceed the amount of two years’ -income of the richest subject that even the credulous monarchs of -Christendom suffer within their dominions. What am I to think of this? -How can I be sufficiently vigilant respecting a man, whose expenditure -is immense, and whose wealth can neither be traced to its source, nor -ascertained in its amount?” - -I was not slow in conjecturing the result which the bashaw proposed to -himself from our present conference. I was confirmed in my conjecture -by the circumstance of his choosing that the discussion between us -should be apart from all witnesses. He regarded me as a boy, and had -therefore practised upon me all those arts which might most effectually -excite in me fear and alarm. He found however that, under the external -indications of youth and inexperience, I possessed the wariness that -added years most powerfully inculcate, and the self-possession of a -mind thoroughly awake to its situation and its resources. This must -have been to the minister before whom I stood a memorable phenomenon. -But curiosity is not a Turkish passion; and the single object of the -bashaw in the present instance, was to make the mysteriousness of -my circumstances a pretext for extorting money. I submitted with as -little seeming reluctance as possible to the necessity of the case; -I requested the good offices of Muzaffer to protect my benefactions; -and begged permission to make him the compliment of a handsome sum of -money, by way of convincing him that I was worthy of his friendship. - -This business was easily adjusted between us. I found him perfectly -skilled in the duties of a public office, and by no means under the -dominion of visionary scruples. He told me he was now convinced that I -was a well meaning man, and a good subject; he said, that nothing could -tend more effectually to demonstrate my innocence, than my showing -that I understood the duties and concerns of a minister of state; and -that for his own part he was never so happy, as when he was thus able -to reconcile his private interests with the good and faithful service -of his master. There was nothing that demanded a more unremitted -vigilance, or a more skilful management, than such a situation as -his; and it would be most unreasonable, either in the sovereign that -appointed him, or the subjects over whom he was placed, to expect him -to be indifferent to the emoluments and perquisites of his function. -He complimented me warmly upon the disinterestedness and liberality of -my exertions. He thought himself particularly fortunate in having so -public-spirited an individual within the circuit of his jurisdiction. -In fine, he hoped he should be honoured with my personal acquaintance, -and assured me that nothing could make him more happy than the -frequent repetition of my visits. - -We now perfectly understood one another; and it was apparent that I had -to do with a man, who, for what he deemed an adequate consideration, -would willingly lend me the authority and countenance of his office, -and suffer me to guide him in any of the functions I might conceive -necessary for the execution of my projects. Guards were agreed to be -placed upon the magazines where corn was still contained, and from -place to place on the banks of the rivers, where the depredations -of a misguided populace were most to be apprehended. Finding the -bashaw so perfectly willing to comply with my requisitions, I further -obtained from him the direction of several squadrons of cavalry -for the protection of the crops, which from the consequences of my -interference now began on all sides to variegate the scene. This was -a most important service. When the corn was first committed to the -earth, it was out of the reach of military devastation. But, as time -glided silently on, the case became materially altered; the enemy might -from forecast desire to reap the harvest of what he had not sown, or -from malice to destroy that without which the Turk would perhaps be -unable to retain his newly acquired territory. This had in reality -been the principal cause, before my arrival in Hungary, of the very -general neglect into which agriculture had fallen. Muzaffer, than whom -no person could now be more polite and condescending, allowed me to -determine the number and nature of the troops I required; and added -that, though he could not openly put them under my direction, the -slightest intimation I might think proper to convey to him, should at -any time decide their march, and regulate their quarters. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - - -In my conference with the bashaw I may seem to have secured more than -one point of material importance; yet it was difficult for any man to -be in a state less consolatory or more full of danger and menace, than -I was at this moment. By my vigilance and the power which thus I had -acquired, I prevented indeed the inhabitants from wantonly destroying -the means of their own subsistence; but, the more I was their -benefactor, the more I appeared to become odious to their thoughts. -My negotiation with the bashaw, whatever other benefit might accrue -from it, did not tend to increase the resources of the country; I was -obliged to witness many scenes of wretchedness. He that would assist -mankind in their adversity, must harden his heart to be the spectator -of the distress that he can, and that he cannot, relieve. But whatever -I beheld of this sort, the majority of the bystanders obstinately -persisted to ascribe to my deliberate malignity. The military aid I -found myself necessitated to introduce by no means tended to disarm -the prejudices of my clients. In one or two instances, but no more, -slight tumults arose, and a few of the rioters fell a prey to their own -wickedness and folly. These misfortunes were cast as reproach upon me; -and I was pursued with clamours and curses. I found it requisite to -obtain a guard for my person. I was abhorred by those for whom all my -vigilance was exerted, and insulted by the mouths that I supplied with -the necessaries of existence. - -Nor was this my only source of alarm and uneasiness in my present -situation. I was by no means a dupe to the ostentatious civility of -the bashaw. I perfectly understood his insinuation when he invited -the frequent repetition of my visits. I knew that, however dearly I -purchased his friendship and patronage, I should still have to purchase -them again and again. His extortions upon me admitted of no limits, -except from his own modesty, or the estimate he might form of my -invisible resources. Bribery itself afforded me no complete security; -and, now that I had become an object of curiosity and remark, he had -sufficiently shown me I was at the mercy of his caprice, or that of his -master, for my liberty, and even for my life. - -Yet, could I have resolved to quit Hungary, and seek the protection -of some more regular government, what benefit should I derive from a -removal? Mystery was the great and unconquerable bane of my situation, -and from the poisonous influence of mystery, the most regular system of -government was not competent to protect me. It would be idle to imagine -that, in any country on earth, a stranger would be permitted to launch -into such expenses as those in which I was engaged, without becoming an -object of suspicion, and being made liable to continual interruption -in his measures. Yet, unless allowed to use the resources I possessed, -of what advantage was it to be the depository of wealth without a -bound? Was it to be wished for a man under my circumstances, to have a -family, or to be without a family? When I had one, I found the legacy -of the stranger robbing me of every comfort of that sort, with the most -calamitous aggravations. When I was stripped of wife and children, -though no man could prize those benefits more dearly than I prized -them, I took to myself the consolation, that at least now I should -risk no one’s happiness but my own; and that, for a person exercising -my endowments, it was perhaps requisite to be free from every shackle -and incumbrance. I found however the topic from which I had consoled -myself, in reality the source of a new misfortune. I had the wealth of -a nobleman; but I was deprived of his adventitious attributes. I had -no illustrious ancestry to boast; I had neither lineage nor parent; -I had neither wife nor children, in whom mutually to reflect and see -reflected the elevatedness and generosity of my station. I had not even -the ordinary advantage, which is within the reach of almost every man, -of connections and acquaintance, friends handed down to me as a branch -of my patrimonial inheritance, friends whose value experience enabled -me to ascertain, and friends with whom long habits of familiarity had -given birth to reciprocal endearment. The bashaw had imputed to me the -design of forming a party. Alas! these, which are the great materials -for cementing party attachments, were totally denied me. I had no bonds -of alliance but those which money afforded, the coarsest, the meanest, -the least flattering, and the most brittle of those ligatures, that -afford the semblance of uniting man with man. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. - - -Aware of the difficulties which unavoidably sprung out of the nature of -my situation, I resolved immediately to endeavour to supply them to the -best of my power. I conceived that there was no consideration so urgent -upon me at the present moment, as that I should without loss of time -create to myself connections that might balance and keep at bay the -sallies of arbitrary rule, and that I should weave with my own hand the -cords of friendship. - -I had no sooner formed this project, than an individual suggested -himself to my reflections, whom I judged to be, by a singular -concurrence of circumstances, happily fitted to be the subject of my -experiment, and admirably qualified to afford me protection in the -most unfavourable events. The name of this man was Bethlem Gabor. He -had been some time before brought to me by one of his friends, and he -was a man whom for a thousand reasons it was impossible to see and -converse with, without receiving the most indelible impression. He -was the lineal representative of one of the most illustrious houses -in Hungary. His vocation, like that of the majority of the Hungarian -nobility, had been arms; but, in the midst of a fraternity all of whom -were warlike, he stood conspicuous and alone. His courage, though cool -and deliberate, almost mounted to a degree of desperate rashness; and -the fertility of his invention, and the variety of his stratagems -did not fall short of his courage. The celerity of his measures was -equally distinguished; distance was no bar to him; and he had no -sooner conceived a project, however arduous, than it was executed. He -had formed under his own eye a band of men like himself, impetuous -yet deliberate, swift in execution, silent in march, invincible to -hardship, contemners of fatigue, of difficulties, of hunger, and of -thirst. When introduced to me, he was upwards of fifty years of age. He -was more than six feet in stature; and yet he was built as if it had -been a colossus, destined to sustain the weight of the starry heavens. -His voice was like thunder; and he never uttered a word, but it seemed -to shake his manly chest. His head and chin were clothed with a thick -and shaggy hair, in colour a dead black. He had suffered considerable -mutilation in the services through which he had passed; of one of -his hands three fingers were gone; the sight of his right eye was -extinguished, and the cheek half shot away, while the same explosion -had burned his complexion into a colour that was universally dun or -black. His nose was scarred, and his lips were thick and large. Bethlem -Gabor, though universally respected for the honour and magnanimity of a -soldier, was not less remarkable for habits of reserve and taciturnity. -But these habits misfortune had caused to become more deeply ingrafted -in his nature. During one of his military excursions, a party of -marauders had in his absence surprised his castle, burned it to the -ground, and savagely murdered his wife and children, and every living -creature within the walls. The same stroke that rendered him childless -made him also a beggar. He had been regarded for his proceedings as -an adherent to the Turkish standard, but he had always tenaciously -maintained the most complete independence. The adversity that had now -fallen upon him was too great. He would not become a pensioner of the -sultan; despair had taken fast possession of his heart. He disbanded -the body of men he had formed, and wandered a solitary outcast upon -the face of his country. For some time he seemed to have a savage -complacence in conceiving that the evil he had suffered was past all -remedy, and in spurning at those palliations and disguises with which -vulgar souls are accustomed to assuage their woe. Yet the energy of his -nature would not suffer him to rest: he wandered an outcast; but every -day engendered some new thought or passion: and it appeared probable -that he would not yet quit the stage of existence till he had left -behind him the remembrances of a terrible and desolating revenge. - -It may seem strange that such a man as I have described should be the -individual I selected out of the whole Hungarian nation to make my -friend. It may seem that his qualities were better adapted to repel -than attract. My choice would not appear strange, if the reader could -have conversed with him, as I did. He was hideous to the sight; and -he never addressed himself to speak, that I did not feel my very heart -shudder within me. Seldom did he allow himself to open his thoughts; -but, when he did, great God! what supernatural eloquence seemed to -inspire and enshroud him! Not that upon such occasions he was copious -and Ciceronian, but that every muscle and every limb seemed to live, -and to quiver with the thoughts he expressed. The hearer could not -refuse to venerate, as well as fear him. I never pitied him; Bethlem -Gabor’s was a soul that soared to a sightless distance above the -sphere of pity; I can scarcely say I sympathised with him; but, when -I listened to his complaints, rather let me say his invectives, I was -astonished, overwhelmed, and motionless. The secret of the effects -he thus produced, lay in his own way of feeling the incidents he -described. Look at him, when he sat alone, wrapped in meditation, you -would say, “That is a man of iron; though adversity pour her fiercest -darts upon him, he is invulnerable; he is of too colossal a structure -to be accessible to human feelings and human affections.” Listen to -his narrative, or rather to the bursts of passion, which with him -supplied the place and performed the functions of narrative, you would -soon confess your mistake. While he spoke, he ceased to be a man, and -became something more amazing. When he alluded to what he had endured, -you did not compassionate him, for you felt that he was a creature -of another nature; but you confessed, that never man seemed to have -suffered so much, or to savour with such bitterness the cup of woe. -He did not love his wife or his children as any other man would do; -he probably never dandled or fondled them; his love was speechless; -and disdaining the common modes of exhibition, it might sometimes be -mistaken for indifference. But it brooded over and clung round his -heart; and, when it was disturbed, when the strong ties of domestic -charity were by the merciless hand of war snapped asunder, you then -saw its voluminous folds spread and convulsed before you, gigantic and -immeasurable. He cursed their murderers; he cursed mankind; he rose up -in fierce defiance of eternal providence; and your blood curdled within -you as he spoke. Such was Bethlem Gabor: I could not help admiring -him: his greatness excited my wonder and my reverence; and, while his -manners awed and overwhelmed me, I felt an inexplicable attachment to -his person still increasing in my bosom. - -On his part, my kindness and partiality appeared scarcely less pleasing -to Bethlem Gabor, than his character and discourse were fascinating to -me. He had found himself without a confidant or a friend. His wife and -his children in a certain degree understood him; and, though he had an -atmosphere of repulsion beyond which no mortal ever penetrated, they -came to the edge of that, and rested there; they trembled involuntarily -at his aspect, but at the same time they adored and they loved him. The -rest of the world viewed him from a more fearful distance; respected -him, but dared not even in fancy be familiar with him. When therefore -he lost his family, he lost his all. He roamed the earth in solitude, -and all men made room for him as he passed. I was the first who, since -the fatal event that had made him childless and a beggar, had courted -his society, and invited his communications. I had dared to take the -lion by the paw, and seat myself next him in his den. There was a -similarity in our fortunes that secretly endeared him to me. We had -each by the malice of a hostile destiny, though in a very different -manner, been deprived of our families; we were each of us alone. -Fated each to be hereafter for ever alone; we blended ourselves the -one with the other as perfectly as we could. Often over our gloomy -bowl we mingled groans, and sweetened our draught as we drank it with -maledictions. In the school of Bethlem Gabor I became acquainted with -the delights of melancholy--- of a melancholy, not that contracted, but -that swelled the soul--of a melancholy that looked down upon the world -with indignation, and that relieved its secret load with curses and -execrations. We frequently continued whole nights in the participation -of these bitter joys; and were surprised, still at our serious board, -by the light of the morrow’s sun. - -I have now, I believe, fully accounted for our intimacy, and displayed -the ligatures that secretly bound us to each other. It is scarcely -necessary to add, that my understanding confirmed what my heart -impelled. Bethlem Gabor appeared to me the fittest man in the world -upon whom to fix for my friend. We were qualified mutually to benefit -each other. My kindness, my unremitted attentions, the earnestness with -which I listened to and soothed his griefs, mitigated their agony. I -proposed, when I could once more reconcile and incite him to activity, -to repair his castle, and restore his fortune. On the other hand, -he was, of all the persons I could have pitched upon, the ablest to -protect me. By his birth he ranked among the first men of his country; -by his ability, at least as a partisan soldier, a character at that -time highly esteemed, he rose above them all. - -For some time I regarded Bethlem Gabor as entirely my friend, and I -consulted him in every thing, in which, compatibly with the legacy of -the stranger of the summer-house, I could consult him. I told him of -the suspicions of the bashaw, and the precariousness of my safety. I -demanded his advice as to the best method of securing it. Ought I to -regard it as a more effectual or as a cheaper expedient, to attempt -to purchase the countenance of the sultan, instead of condescending -to bribe his minister? Ought I to set up for myself, and by rendering -myself the independent prince of one of the Hungarian provinces, defy -the Turk, or at least endeavour to negotiate with him from a more -respectable and commanding situation? I said more than enough under -these heads, as it afterwards appeared, to awaken strange imaginations -in a mind of so much penetration as that of Bethlem Gabor. In fine, -I demanded of him whether, in case of any great and formidable -danger falling on me, he would to the utmost of his power afford me -protection? When the question was first started, he swore to me with -his customary impressiveness and energy that he would. - -While I was thus employed in consulting him, and opening to him as -far as was practicable my prospects and fears, I did not less succeed -in dissipating or suspending the despair of his melancholy. It was of -benefit to him in this respect, that, by opening to him my affairs, -I from time to time called off his attention from his personal -misfortunes. I proposed to him the rebuilding his castle, and I at -length obtained his permission to send off a corps of workmen for -that purpose. Beside the castle in which his wife and children had -been murdered, and which the marauders had nearly destroyed, he had -one considerably stronger, though void of all recommendation from -cheerfulness or beauty, in the more northerly part of the kingdom. -This we visited together. I restored the condition of his fields; with -considerable difficulty I replaced the cattle he had lost, by purchases -in Poland; and I revived his dilapidated revenues. At first he felt an -invincible repugnance to the receiving any advantage from the bounty -of another; but by continual remonstrances I was able to persuade him, -that he owed me nothing, and that what I did was no more than was -required from me by a regard for my own safety. - -If ever on the face of the earth there lived a misanthrope, Bethlem -Gabor was the man. Never for a moment did he forget or forgive the -sanguinary catastrophe of his family; and for his own misfortunes he -seemed to have vowed vengeance against the whole human race. He almost -hated the very face of man; and, when expressions of cheerfulness, -peace, and contentment discovered themselves in his presence, I -could see, by the hideous working of his features, that his spirit -experienced intolerable agonies. To him such expressions were tones -horribly discordant; all was uproar and havoc within his own bosom, -and the gaiety of other men inspired him with sentiments of invincible -antipathy. He never saw a festive board without an inclination to -overturn it; or a father encircled with a smiling family, without -feeling his soul thrill with suggestions of murder. Something, I -know not what, withheld his hand: it might be some remaining atom of -humanity: it might be--for his whole character was contemplative and -close--it might be that he regarded that as a pitiful and impotent -revenge, which should cause him the next hour to be locked up as a -madman, or put to death as criminal. Horrible as was his personal -aspect, and wild and savage as was his mind, yet, as I have already -said, I felt myself attached to him. I knew that all the unsocial -propensities that animated him, were the offspring of love, were -the sentiments of a lioness bereaved of her young; and I found an -undescribable and exhaustless pleasure in examining the sublime -desolation of a mighty soul. - -Bethlem Gabor had at first regarded me with some degree of partiality. -Kindness in almost all cases begets kindness; he could not see how -much I interested myself about and how much I courted him, without -feeling for me a sentiment different from that he confessed for other -men. I saw however after some time, with inexpressible grief, that his -regard for me, instead of increasing, suffered perceptible diminution. -Our propensities were opposed to each other. He rejoiced in disorder -and desolation as in his congenial element; my present pursuit -was the restoration of public order and prosperity. He repeatedly -expostulated with me on this. I had sometimes in our conversations, in -the bitterness of my recollections, exclaimed on myself as the most -unfortunate and most persecuted of men, though without entering into an -explanation of my sufferings. He reminded me of these exclamations. He -reproached me as a contemptible and pusillanimous wretch, that I did -not, like him, resolve amply and memorably to revenge my own sufferings -upon my species at large. In his estimate, the poorest and most servile -of all maxims was, that of the author of the christian religion, to -repay injury with favour, and curses with benediction. - -I perceived with grief that the kindness towards me that had been -excited in Bethlem Gabor’s mind, rather declined than augmented; -but I was very far from being aware of the degree in which, as I -afterwards found, this sentiment had relapsed into its opposite. It -seems, I inflicted on him a daily torture by my daily efforts for -the dissemination of happiness. Of these he had not been at first -completely aware. His mind had been too much absorbed in its own -feelings to attend very distinctly to any thing I did, unless it were -done in his presence. But, in proportion as I soothed his sorrows, and -made him my confidant, the film was removed; and all that he saw had -the peculiar misfortune to excite at once his contempt and his rage. -The finishing stroke that I gave to the animosity which, unknown -to me, was now brooding and engendering in his breast, consisted -in my bestowing an important benefit upon one, against whom he had -entertained a long and eternal feud. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. - - -While Bethlem Gabor became every day more confirmed in his antipathy -against me, I reposed in him an unsuspecting confidence--a confidence -more extensive than I had, since the singular and fatal acquisition I -had made, reposed in any other man. Frequently for a considerable time -together he resided under my roof; frequently we went forth together -in those excursions which either my projects or his views rendered -it necessary for us to make. In his character of a nobleman of great -consideration in his native country, he was now rising like a phœnix -from its ashes. His castles were repairing; his property was restored; -the list of his retainers daily became more numerous; he revived and -carefully recruited the martial band, which, in the first exacerbations -of his despair, he had dismissed from his service. My purse and all -that I had were his; he never made a demand upon me that I did not -instantly supply; I reaped a particular pleasure from the largeness and -frequency of his requisitions; there was nothing for which I was more -anxious, than to bind him to me in indissoluble ties of gratitude and -affection. - -Little, alas! did I understand the compound of tenderness and ferocity, -of decisiveness and inscrutability, with which I was now concerned. -My friend, such I esteemed him, had been absent some time; I expected -his return to my residence at Buda; and anxious to pay him every mark -of attention and respect, I set out to meet him. It was scarcely safe, -during the existing hostilities between the Austrians and the Turks, to -travel any where without a guard; I had the precaution in the present -instance to take with me an attendance of twenty men. - -It was after having partaken of a slight and early dinner that I set -out on my excursion. The season was remarkably fine, and the air genial -and balsamic. I scarcely ever commenced any tour with more agreeable -sensations. The harvest was already ripe; and, as I passed along, I -saw reapers from time to time entering upon the first essay of their -interesting occupation. I felt that I had at length surmounted one of -those difficulties, with which I had been so strongly assailed, and to -which I had refused to yield. If I were not free from apprehensions -from the arbitrary nature of the government under which I lived, -I believed however that I had nothing further to dread from the -misconstruction and animosity of the nation I preserved. My anxiety as -to whether I should be able to substantiate the benefit I had sought to -confer, was at an end; and I had little doubt that, with the plenteous -crops which were on the point of being gathered, my popularity would -return, and the gratitude of my clients become more ardent than ever. -It was a delicious enjoyment that I now experienced; the pleasures that -the eye unavoidably takes in from the spectacle of a luxuriant autumn, -became blended in my mind with the ideas of famine put to flight, my -own rectitude vindicated, and the benevolent purposes realised, the -prosecution of which had cost me so profound a heartache. - -We at length passed the lines of the soldiers planted for the defence -of the soil against the depredations of the enemy. I had calculated -that I should meet my guest a few leagues from Buda; I was deceived -in my estimate. The day however of his arrival was fixed; I could not -be mistaken in his route; I resolved not to turn back without meeting -him. The road I took led upon the borders of that part of Hungary which -owned the Austrian yoke; the shades of night were fast gathering round -us, and we heard at a distance the alarm-guns and the drums of the -enemy. I was not however a novice in the appearances of a country, the -seat of military excursions and war; and, if my mind were not wholly -free from perturbation and uncertainty, I at least resolved not to be -turned aside from my purpose. We travelled two hours longer; still -no notice of the approach of Bethlem Gabor. At length a question was -started whether we were still in the right road, and I thought it -advisable to hold a sort of council of war to deliberate respecting our -further proceedings. Having assembled my attendants for that purpose, -I was now first struck with the apprehensions and timidity which they -unanimously betrayed. They had been drawn out rather for show, and to -keep accidental stragglers in awe, than with the expectation of actual -service. I became sensible that nothing was to be hoped from their -resistance in the event of an action; and the utmost I could aim at was -in the mean time to hold them together by the sentiment of a common -danger. - -It was resolved to return; I began to be apprehensive that Bethlem -Gabor had been prevented by some unexpected occurrence from observing -his appointment. Scarcely had we faced about, before we heard a body of -cavalry approaching us. I called to my party to halt. I soon discerned, -from symptoms not difficult to be remarked by a careful observer, that -the party at hand was composed of Austro-Hungarians. We had every thing -to fear from them. I held myself bound under these circumstances first -to make experiment of the fleetness of our horses. I however charged my -people to keep together, and not to suffer the enemy, by means of our -inadvertence and folly, to make an easy prize of us one after another. -In a short time I found that our pursuers sensibly gained ground upon -us. I was mounted upon an excellent beast, and could easily have rode -away from my troop, while they would have been placed as a sort of -intercepting object between me and the enemy. But I had too much of a -military spirit not instantly to reject so inglorious an expedient. I -called a second time to my attendants to halt. I judged that the party -of our antagonists was less numerous than ours. I was convinced that -our common safety depended upon our concerted resistance. Filled with -the gallantry that my situation inspired, I did not perceive, till it -was too late, that my present call to halt was attended to by few; even -those few rather hung back, divided between apprehension and shame. I -was the foremost, and, before I was aware, I found myself, through -the means of the darkness, enveloped by the enemy. From my appearance -they judged that I was the master, and the rest my attendants; they -contented themselves therefore with the prize they had made, and did -not give themselves the trouble to pursue the fugitives. They eagerly -enquired of me who I was; and, comparing my answers with various -circumstances which rumour had brought to their ear, they easily -concluded that I was the rich stranger of Buda. The character they had -heard of me did not produce in these freebooters any sentiments of -forbearance, or demonstrations of respect; the only point about which -persons of their habits were concerned, was how they should make the -greatest advantage of what the fortune of war had thrown in their way. - -While they were consulting, and various expedients were started by -one and another for this purpose, a second alarm was given, and one -of the party being despatched to reconnoitre, presently returned with -intelligence, that the persons approaching were horsemen of the enemy, -and that they amounted, as he guessed, to forty in number. Upon this -information the party whose prisoner I was, agreed to return with -all expedition by the way they had come, and commanded me upon pain -of death to proceed in their company. This menace had not the effect -to deprive me of courage or presence of mind; and I easily conceived -that the readiest way to deliver myself from my embarrassment would be -to join at the first opportunity the band of Turco-Hungarians, whose -approach had occasioned our sudden retreat. The darkness of the night -was favourable to my purpose; and, taking advantage of a sudden winding -in the road, I slackened all at once the pace of my horse without being -observed by my companions, who, as the enemy approached, had now their -thoughts almost wholly intent upon the safety of their retreat. They -passed me; and I no sooner perceived that to be the case, than, covered -from their observation by the intervening inclosure, I turned my horse, -and gradually, as my distance from my keepers increased, urged him to a -fuller speed. It was not long before I came up with the band which had -produced our alarm; and hailing them with the acclamation, “Long live -the mighty sultan!” was without difficulty admitted into their troop. I -instantly understood to my great joy that this was the party of Bethlem -Gabor that I had come out to meet. - -He received me with much cordiality, and seemed greatly rejoiced that -fortune had made him the instrument of my rescue. He proposed however -that, having met on the road, I should now, instead of proceeding to -Buda, return with him to his northern castle, from which our distance -was scarcely greater than from the metropolis. The proposal was such -as I had not expected, nor could I well comprehend the purpose with -which it was made. But the habitual demeanour of Bethlem Gabor neither -accorded with his minutely assigning a reason for what he did, nor -was calculated to encourage enquiry in another. I saw no material -objection, and therefore felt little scruple in yielding to his -desires. Our brief consultation on this point passed at some little -distance from the rest of the troop. - -When the morning broke, the first thing that excited my attention was -the appearance of his followers. They were full forty in number, well -mounted, of a large and athletic figure, with sun-burnt faces, immense -whiskers and a ferocious countenance. I thought I had never seen so -tremendous a band. To me they were every one of them strangers; of -all the persons that surrounded me, the only one of whom I had the -slightest knowledge was Bethlem Gabor himself. I know not why it was, -but I no sooner beheld my situation than I was struck with alarm. I -saw myself completely in the power of a man who three months before -was ignorant even of my existence. I had not a single attendant of -my own, not an individual with me over whom I had personal authority -or command. I had no reason to distrust my host; towards me his -demeanour had ever been frank, confidential, and manly; I had every -imaginable claim upon his generosity and his gratitude. But our senses -are often the masters of our mind, and reason vainly opposes itself -to the liveliness of their impressions. Every time that I lifted my -eyes, and saw myself hemmed in by these barbarians, my heart seemed -involuntarily to fail me. Bethlem Gabor too appeared to neglect me; -he had never shown himself so little obliging and attentive as at this -moment; and, aided by the rest of the scene, I thought I had never -beheld him so deformed or so tremendous. I was more than half inclined -to wish myself again a prisoner with the Austrians. - -When we arrived at the castle, we were all of us fatigued and hungry; -we had roamed during the whole night. A repast was prepared; we sat -down to partake of it. “Excuse me,” said Bethlem Gabor, in a low voice -as he passed me, “that I this night offer you the fare of a soldier; -to-morrow you shall be accommodated in a different manner.” The words -were innocent; the proceeding natural; but there was a mysterious -gloom, at least as I thought, in the tone in which he spoke, that -electrified me. The hall in which we supped was spacious and lofty; the -naked walls and rafters were imbrowned with age. Though it was daybreak -as we entered, the windows were still darkened, and the apartment was -illuminated only by the partial glare of lamps depending from the roof. -As I sat at table with the troop of my host, I appeared to myself as if -inclosed in a cavern of banditti. Though excellent partisans, skilful -in execution, and perfect in their discipline, they were unpolished -in their manners and brutal in their conversation. I had been inured -from infancy to all the refinement that the age in which I lived had -any where to boast; and, amidst the various evils I had suffered, that -of being associated with the vulgar and the base had never presented -itself. While they uttered, now a loathsome jest, and now a sanguinary -ejaculation, I became ashamed of my species, and the pride of manhood -perished within me. They however paid little attention either to my -feelings or my person; and, accustomed as I had been, whether with -friends or enemies, to be regarded as of some importance, I found -myself unaccountably and suddenly dwindled into a cipher. I felt it -like a release from the state of a galley-slave, when Bethlem Gabor -proposed that we should break up our meeting and retire to rest. - - - - -CHAPTER XL. - - -A succession of gloomy thoughts revolved in my mind for some time after -I was left to myself. I was however overcome with fatigue, and, after -an interval of harassing meditations, insensibly fell asleep. I was -awakened after some hours’ repose, by the presence of Bethlem Gabor -standing by the side of my couch. He invited me to rise, and, when -I had attired myself, started the plan of our visiting together the -various apartments of the castle, a small part of which only had been -seen by me when I was last at this place. Among other things, he told -me, there was a subterranean of most wonderful extent, interspersed -with a variety of cells and lurking places, of which no man had to his -knowledge ever ascertained the number. - -The same dreary complexion of thought followed me to-day, which had -been first produced in me upon my reception into the troop of Bethlem -Gabor the preceding night. My sensations were of the most depressing -and discomfiting nature; I felt as if I were the slave of some dark, -mysterious tyrant, and dragged along supinely wherever he motioned me -to go. I tasked myself seriously; I reasoned with myself. I felt that -it was no idle and every-day part that I was called to sustain; and I -resolved that I would not be ruined by my own inactivity and cowardice. -Yet, when I examined the question dispassionately, I could not find -that I had any occasion for courage, and I confessed that it was not -less censurable, to discover a useless spirit of mistrust and defiance, -than to desert one’s preservation where resistance was demanded. -What reason had I to suspect a man between whom and myself there had -prevailed so much mutual confidence? None, none, I replied, but the -causeless and superstitious misgivings of my own mind! Even if I had -ground to distrust him, what remedy had I against his ill faith, placed -as I was in the midst of his own domains, and surrounded by men devoted -to his service? To discover apprehension under such circumstances, was -to excite animosity.--These reasonings particularly occurred to my -mind, as I stood waiting for the torch, which he had himself gone to -procure that he might attend me to the subterranean caverns.--I had -as yet seen no one, since we broke up from our nightly repast, but my -host. “We will breakfast,” said he, “when we return from viewing these -curiosities.” - -We crept along a succession of dark and gloomy vaults, almost in -silence. Bethlem Gabor, though he led me on, and discharged the -office of a guide, seemed to have small inclination to assume that -of an interpreter. This was sufficiently in unison with his ordinary -character, to have little claim to excite surprise. Yet the reader -will not on reflection greatly wonder that my present situation was -far from agreeable. I was alone in passages which, to judge from any -discoverable token, you would scarcely imagine had for ages been trod -by a human creature. The voice was lost amidst the damps of these -immense caverns; nor was it possible by any exertion to call the hand -of man to your aid. My guide was an individual whom calamity had -prompted to quarrel with the world; of strong feelings indeed, of -capacious thought; but rugged, ferocious, brutal, and inaccessible -to prayer. I had chosen him for my protector and ally; I had never -intended to put myself in his power. There was a mystery in his -carriage, a something not to be explained, a shell that no human forces -could penetrate, that was mortal to confidence, and might quail the -stoutest. - -I thought there would be no end to our pilgrimage. At length we came to -a strong door, cross-barred and secured with a frame of iron. Bethlem -Gabor unlocked it. We had no sooner entered, that it impetuously -closed behind us. “What is that?” said I, startled at the loudness of -the report. “Come on,” cried my host; “it is only the wind whistling -through the caverns: the spring-bolt is shot, but I have the key in my -hand!” At the opposite end of the apartment was another door with an -ascent of five steps leading to it. Bethlem Gabor unlocked that also, -and then faced about with the torch in his hand: I was close behind -him. “Stay where you are!” said he with a furious accent, and thrust me -violently from him. The violence was unexpected: I staggered from the -top of the steps to the bottom. This door closed with as loud a report -as the other; Bethlem Gabor disappeared; I was left in darkness. - -For an instant I doubted whether the situation in which I thus found -myself were the result of design or of accident. The shutting of the -door might be ascribed to the latter: the action however, and the words -of my host did not admit of that interpretation. I stood motionless, -astonished, and almost incapable of reflection. What an incredible -reverse was thus the creature of a moment! Yesterday I possessed -unbounded treasures, and the hearts of the whole Turco-Hungarian -nation. Yesterday, as I rode forth on this fatal excursion, I beheld -the food of a mighty people, mature for consumption, the growth of my -exertions; and it will not be thought surprising that my heart leaped -within me at the sight. Who would not have envied the unparalleled -eminence at which I had arrived? My triumphs were attended with no -melancholy exceptions to damp their joy. They were the children of no -intrigue; they were manly, frank, ingenuous, and honourable. My laurels -were stained with no drop of blood, were tarnished with no tears of the -widow and the orphan. How much more noble to rescue mankind from famine -and death, than to violate the honest pride of their nature with the -exhibition of victories and trophies! - -Yet, truly considered, there was nothing abrupt in the reverse under -which I was now suffering. The whole was a chain, every link of which -was indissolubly connected from one end to the other. My attempt to -rescue a people from the horrors of famine necessarily exposed me -to unfavourable accidents and misconstruction. It inevitably led to -my application to the government for its aid. It could not fail to -excite the alarms and jealousies of government as to the tendency of -my proceedings. By exhibiting me as the possessor of immense wealth, -with very limited means for the protection of that wealth, it marked -me a prey to a rapacious viceroy or his more despotic master. When I -became sensible of the precarious situation in which I stood towards -the powers of the state, could I have fallen upon a more natural -expedient, than the endeavour to cover myself with the shield of -friendship and gratitude in the person of one of its nobles? But this -expedient would almost infallibly lead to the placing myself sooner or -later in the power of the man whose friendship I sought. I had done so, -and this was the termination of my views and my projects! - -I now well understood the purpose of that inattention and neglect -with which Bethlem Gabor had treated me the preceding evening, the -uneasiness resulting from which I had blamed in myself at the time, -as the dictate of weakness and unworthy suspicion. Yesterday I had -been placed under the safeguard of a nation; every man in Buda and -its environs was familiar with my person; every man would have been -ready almost to sacrifice his life to procure my safety. Now I was far -from the scene of my philanthropical exertions; no one in the troop of -Bethlem Gabor knew who I was; he had appeared to treat me the preceding -evening with indifference and contempt; if they saw me no more, no -curiosity would by that circumstance be excited in their minds. My -clients on the other hand in the vicinity of the metropolis, however -great an interest they might take in my fortune, had no clue that could -lead them to the knowledge of it. They must suppose me a prisoner with -the Austrians, or that I had been killed, in resisting to become their -prisoner. I was cut off from all assistance and discovery, and left as -much in the power of my treacherous ally, as if I had been alone with -him, oppressed with the utmost disparity of personal force, in the -remotest island of the Pacific Ocean. - -Such were the reflections that early suggested themselves to my mind in -the solitude and darkness in which I was thus unexpectedly involved. -Meanwhile one tedious hour succeeded to another, and I remained -unintruded on and unnoticed. I could form no conjecture as to the -object of Bethlem Gabor in the atrocious perfidy he had committed. -Could he have any resentment against me, and did he meditate revenge? -He had received from me nothing but benefits. Did he employ restraint -on my person as the means of extortion? I could not conceive that he -could have any clue leading him to the discovery of my grand secret; -and, short of this, my bounties had been so exuberant, as, I imagined, -left him nothing to wish. In this wilderness of conjecture I however -fixed upon extortion as a motive less incredible than revenge. I -impatiently waited, till the appearance of my tyrant should free me -from some part of my present uncertainty. - -He did not appear. In the mean time I was in a condition feeble and -exhausted. The exercise of yesterday, the hourly-baffled expectation -of meeting him whom I had called my friend, the alternation of being -first taken prisoner and afterwards rescued, had extremely fatigued -me. We had travelled during the whole night. Yet the unaccountable -dejection of mind under which I laboured on our arrival at Bethlem -Gabor’s castle had prevented me from taking almost any share in the -coarse repast that had then been set before us. The entrance of my host -in the morning had rendered my slumbers short. As I followed him to my -dungeon, unconscious whither I went, my limbs ached, and my heart ached -still more. I was ill prepared for a fast of thirty-six hours which the -brutality of my jailor inflicted upon me. After having long expected -him in vain, I gave myself up to despair. What a termination of life -for him who possessed the philosopher’s stone! - -I cannot do justice to the sensations that now took possession of my -mind. It was not the deadly calm of despair, for I still expected every -moment when Bethlem Gabor would appear. I believed than he would, and I -believed that he would not, leave me to perish. I listened with eager -attention to every sound, and my soul floated on the howling winds. -In vain! nothing came of it; there was no alteration in the sound, or -only those vicissitudes to which the howling of the wind is unavoidably -subject. I then turned away in anguish; I cursed; I stamped with my -feet; I smote my forehead with my closed hand; I tore my hair. Anon -another sound arrested my attention; it was a different howling; it -seemed to be like a human voice; my fancy created to me the tread of a -human foot. I listened with more intentness of soul than ever. It was -again in vain! - -No, no; he will not come! he will never come. Why should I agitate -myself to no purpose? Let me lie down and die!--I reasoned with myself. -Why should I wish to live? I am nothing to any human being: I am alone -in the boundless universe; I have no tie to existence. St. Leon has no -wife; St. Leon has no child; he has neither connection nor friend in -the world. Even in this wretched vision of the philosopher’s stone, -have I not tried it enough? have I any hopes from it? is it not time -that I should throw away that and existence together?--My meditations -were ineffectual. I suppose it is the case with all men thus violently -thrust out of life in the full possession of their faculties--I know it -was the case with me,--the more peremptory was my summoner, the more -obstinately I clung to the worthless toy. - -At length I laid myself down on the floor; and, if I occasionally -listened, I no longer ran to the walls and the doors to catch the -uncertain sounds. The gnawings I now felt within were intolerable. -They were at one period so severe, that I can compare them to nothing, -but the sensation of having swallowed a glowing ember. Afterwards, the -weakness of nature would no longer feed this excruciating pain, and it -subsided into a starting and convulsive throb; the pain was diversified -with intervals of a death-like and insupportable sickness.--But, no; -I will not attempt to describe the horrors of hunger sublimed by -despair, where the torture of the mind gives new pungency and uproar -to the corporeal anguish. The image, as it now presents itself to my -recollection, is too dreadful. - -At last I sunk into a state of insensibility; and the agony I had -suffered seemed drawn to its final close. The busy turmoil, the -feverish dream of human existence was at an end. I shut my eyes, and I -believed I should open them no more. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI. - - -How long I endured this suspension of the vital faculties I cannot -tell. The next impression on my sensorium, subsequent to those I have -described, was a sort of external twitching and violence that seemed -to persecute me. It was an importunity from which I felt desirous to -escape; I longed to be undisturbed and at rest. The intruder on my -quiet would not leave me; and I at length roused myself, as if to put -away my cause of molestation. My thoughts were all confounded and -obscure; I knew not where, I could scarcely be said to know who, I was. -A little more effort brought with it a further capacity of perception; -I saw before me, what was now the chief object of my mortal aversion, -the figure of Bethlem Gabor. It was some time longer, before I became -aware that he had been employed in taking up my apparently lifeless -corpse, placing it on a stone-bench in the side of the cave, and -chaining it to the wall. He observed the motions that indicated in me -returning life: he remarked the stare of my glassy and rayless eyes; he -now spoke with a stern and unpitying voice--“There is food; there is a -light; eat!” Having thus said, he left me. - -What a cruel and remorseless treatment! He cared not for my life; he -disdained to make the slightest exertion to restore me; he left it to -chance whether I should revive or perish. The figure of a dying man -that I presented, did not make one fibre of his bosom bend or quiver. - -I revived; I ate. By degrees I recovered from the deadly languor which -had invaded my senses. In about twelve hours longer Bethlem Gabor -returned with a new supply of sustenance. I was now strong enough to -be able to converse with him. I heard the heavy sound of opening locks -and removing bolts before he entered, and I summoned my faculties to -expostulate with him. - -“Why am I here? What is the meaning of the unworthy way in which you -treat me?” - -“It is,”--he regarded me with a truculent aspect, as if he would pierce -through my heart,--“because I hate you!” - -“You hate me? Good God! is it possible? What evil have I done to you? -What good have I not done you? What supplies have I refused you? What -occasions have I neglected of studying your advantage, your interest, -and your honour? If thus your hatred is purchased, how shall that man -demean himself who is to purchase your love?” - -“Oh, think not my hatred idle or capricious! Heaven knows, I would have -refrained from hating you if I had been able; I struggled against it -with all the energies of my soul. But you have committed towards me -the most mortal offences that man ever endured. There is an antipathy -between your nature and mine, that all the menstruums in the world -could never bring to coalesce.” - -“Eternal Providence! and what is the source of this antipathy?” - -“And do you profess ignorance? Have you not gone on day after day with -the full consciousness and will to torment me? Have I not warned you, -and expostulated with you times without number?” - -“Of what have you warned me?” - -“I hate mankind. I was not born to hate them. I have no native -obliquity of character. I have no diabolical maliciousness of -constitution. But they have forced me to hate them, and the debt of -abhorrence shall be amply paid. - -“I loved as never mortal loved. No human heart was ever so devoted, and -centred, and enveloped in the kindly affections of family and parentage -as mine has been. Was not my wife, were not my children, murdered? -When I came home to feast my eyes and tranquillise my soul with the -sight of them, did I not find all waste and desolation? Did I not find -their bodies naked, pale, disfigured with wounds, plunged in blood, and -already putrid? This was the welcome I looked for! This was the object -I so speeded to see! No, never was a moment like that! My whole nature -was changed in an instant. My eyes were blasted and dried to horn. My -blood froze in my well stored veins. I have no longer delight but in -human misery. - -“My revenge is not causeless; this was not the act of individuals. All -men, in the place of these murderers, would have done as they did. -They are in a league together. Human pity and forbearance never had a -harbour but in my breast; and I have now abjured them. With something -more of inwrought vigour and energy, I will become like to my brethren. -All men are excited by the same motives, urged by the same temptations, -influenced by the same inducements. Why should I attempt a futile -distinction, when nature had made none? All men bear the same figure; I -cannot view the human figure without a torture the most dreadful.” - -“I always knew,” answered I, “your general hatred of mankind; but your -manners and your behaviour persuaded me that you exempted me from the -general censure.” - -“I wished to do so; you made the attempt impossible. You told me, that -you had suffered the same misfortunes which I had; that you, by the -injustice and persecutions of men, had also lost your wife and your -children. I hailed you as a brother; in my heart I swore to you eternal -friendship; I said, we will carry on this holy warfare together. We -communicated to each other our mutual sorrows; with you, and you only, -I found moments of consolation. - -“Soon I discovered my mistake. Instead of, like me, seeking occasions -of glorious mischief and vengeance, you took upon yourself to be the -benefactor and parent of mankind. What vocation had you to the task? -With the spirit of a slave who, the more he is beaten, becomes the -more servile and submissive, you remunerated injuries with benefits. -I found that there was not within you one atom of generous sentiment, -one honest glow of fervent indignation. Chicken-hearted wretch! poor, -soulless poltroon! to say the best of you, to your insensate heart it -was the same whether you were treated with reverence or scorn. I saw -you hunted, hooted at, and pursued by the people you fed; you held on -your course, and fed them still. I was compelled to witness or to hear -of your senseless liberalities every day I lived. Could I submit to -this torment, and not endeavour to remove it? I hate the man in whom -kindness produces no responsive affection, and injustice no swell, no -glow of resentment. I hated you the more, because, having suffered what -I had suffered, your feelings and conduct on the occasion have been the -reverse of mine. Your character, I thank God! is of all beings the most -opposite to that of Bethlem Gabor. - -“At length you filled up the measure of the various thwartings with -which you daily insulted me. There was one native of Hungary between -whom and me there subsisted an open and eternal war. I relate in no -human ear the cause of my animosity to that man. Suffice it, that it -was deep, immeasurable, inexpiable. With a refinement of cruelty and -insult difficult to conceive, you chose that man for one of the objects -of your beneficence. Would I consent to see my name joined in pension -list with my mortal enemy? The injury you inflicted on me would have -been less if you had stabbed me to the heart. Less? That would have -been a blessing. I impose on myself the task of living for my revenge: -but never shall I deem that man my foe, who should rid me of all this -tumult of passions, and this insupportable load of existence together. - -“You have heard my motives. You may wonder at, you may censure them: -but they are human. I have nothing further to say to you now: you have -no need to recur to expostulation; expostulation never moved the heart -of Bethlem Gabor. Hereafter you shall hear more!” - -Thus speaking, he left me; and I must confess, with whatever disgrace -to my sagacity, he opened upon me a new world. I conceived not, till -now, the faintest suspicion of what had been labouring in his bosom. -Amidst all my experience of the varieties of human character, this was -a species that had never fallen under my observation before. What a -painful and mortifying occurrence is it in human life, when we have -lived with a man from day to day, when we have conversed with him -familiarly, and seen him in all the changes of circumstance, and when -we flatter ourselves we have penetrated all the recesses of his heart, -suddenly to start upon something portentous that brooded there, of -which to that moment we had not the lightest suspicion! I am not the -only individual to whom this event has occurred. - -In a subsequent visit of Bethlem Gabor to my cell (for he only attended -me with provisions, he would intrust the secret of my confinement to -no other mortal), I intreated him to inform me with what intention -he retained me a prisoner, and to fix a price on my ransom. To this -overture he appeared to yield some degree of attention. He made no -explicit answer, but asked with an inquisitive and severe tone, in -what manner I imagined I could procure money in my dungeon? - -“Let us agree upon the terms, and set me at large. You have never found -me deceitful, and you shall not find me deceitful now.” - -“Do not hope I will consent to that. I ask you again, in what manner do -you imagine you can procure money in your dungeon?” - -I reflected for a moment. Liberty is ineffably sweet; and whatever -followed, upon the present overture, I was determined not to neglect -the faintest prospect that led to a termination of my confinement. - -“There is,” answered I, “in my mansion at Buda, a chest which, if it -can be brought to me hither, will enable me to supply your demands. -I have the key in my custody, and no key but my own will unlock the -treasure.” - -“Give me the key!” replied Bethlem Gabor. - -“No,” rejoined I, “it is in my custody; it is not upon my person: I -have taken care of that. No human hand shall touch it but my own.” - -“And how can I cause this chest to be brought to you without risking -a discovery of your situation, or that I had a concern in your -disappearance?” - -“Of that,” said I, “judge for yourself. I have made a proposition to -you, and I have done enough. I will have no share in the detail of its -execution.” - -“Well,” said Bethlem Gabor, after having ruminated a moment, “the chest -you shall have; I undertake that. Describe it.” - -I described the chest, and its situation in my house, with a minuteness -that made mistake impossible. - -After a considerable time it was brought to me. It was too bulky and -ponderous to be introduced into my cell by a single arm. But Bethlem -Gabor, having first caused me unconsciously to swallow a powerful -opiate, found no difficulty, either to conceal my person in the dark -shadows of this ragged subterranean, or to cause some of his followers -to place the chest within my reach, believing that they placed it in -a vacant apartment. I awoke, and found it at hand. I was secure that -the lock was such a one as could not be forced; but I examined the -different surfaces, to see whether violence of any other sort had been -exercised on it. There were marks of damage, but not sufficiently -unequivocal to enable me to form a certain judgment on this point. -The chest contained, not gold, but the implements for making and -fashioning gold. Allowing for the distance from which it was brought, -they appeared to be pretty exactly in the state in which I left them. -I had never placed much confidence in this expedient for softening the -heart of Bethlem Gabor; but I perceived that it would serve at worst to -divert my thoughts, and, by exciting in me some share of expectation, -might call off my attention from the miseries of my present condition. -Embracing the occasions when I was most secure against the intrusion -of my jailor, I provided myself with the sum that had been previously -agreed on between us. My task being finished, I carefully displayed -the produce of my labour, against the next time Bethlem Gabor should -visit my cell. He viewed it with an air of sullen and gloomy triumph; -he removed it from the cave which was my habitation, to an apartment -of this subterraneous abode, little distant from my own. When he had -concluded this employment, it seemed to be a just inference, that he -was to give me my liberty. He did no such thing. Without uttering a -word, he closed the door of my cavern, locked it, and departed. - -When Bethlem Gabor next entered my cell, I reproached him with this, -as with the breach of a solemn engagement. His first answer was an -infernal laugh, expressive of derision, hard-heartedness, and contempt. -By and by, however, he condescended to explain himself more fully. - -“I made no engagement,” cried he. “You talked of a ransom, and -I suffered you to talk. I made you no answer; I gave you no -encouragement. Boy, I deceived you not! No; though my heart pants for -vengeance and for misery, I will never be guilty of treachery; I will -break no engagements; I am a knight and a soldier. You have given me -ten thousand ducats; what are ten thousand ducats to me? Do you think -I am uninformed of your secret? I opened your chest; I found no gold; -its contents were crucibles, minerals, chemical preparations, and -the tools of an artist. You are possessed of the grand arcanum, the -philosophers stone. If I had a doubt of it before, the transaction of -yesterday converted conjecture into certainty. And did you suppose, -idiot, driveller that you are, that I would take ten thousand ducats in -commutation for wealth inexhaustible? No; you are my prisoner, and may -choose, in this infallible dilemma, whether you will remain my slave, -to supply me daily resources as I shall daily think proper to demand, -or at once make over to me your whole mystery, and place me in this -respect on a level with yourself.” - -It was now my part to be peremptory and firm. - -“I refuse,” said I, “every part of your dilemma, and all that you can -propose to me. Do you talk of my remaining your slave, to supply you -with daily resources? Do you imagine that, shut up in this dungeon, I -will nevertheless labour for your gratification? Do you believe that -that gift, which I received as the instrument of my own happiness -and the benefit of mankind, shall be made the pledge of my perpetual -imprisonment? - -“With regard to imparting to you the secret you suppose me to possess, -I answer without hesitation, that, dearly as I prize liberty, and -numerous as are the motives you may think I have to prize it, I will -not purchase my liberty at that rate. I would rather spend the days of -eternity in this cavern, than comply with your proposal. The gift of -the philosopher’s stone, the moment a man possesses it, purifies his -mind from sordid and ignoble inducements. The endowment which raises -him so much above his species, makes him glory in his superiority, -and cherish his innocence. He cannot, if he would, mingle in the low -passions and pursuits of the generality of mankind. For myself, I -value too much the verdict of my own heart, ever to allow myself to -be influenced in the main concerns of my existence by menaces and -compulsion. Beside, this gift I received for holy and beneficent -purposes; to such it is consecrated; and if I ever impart it, I must -select its depository with all the assiduity and penetration it is -practicable for me to exert. You I will henceforth benefit no more. You -hate me; my disapprobation of you is fixed and irrevocable. I weep -to think how much I have been deceived in you; I weep to think how -many high and heroic qualities in your breast are now converted into -malignity and venom.--You the possessor of the philosopher’s stone! -You tell me, the sole pursuit of the rest of your life is revenge -and human misery. What an image do you raise in my mind, if, with -such dispositions, you possessed the means which the acquisition of -riches inexhaustible would confer on you? And do you believe that any -consideration on earth could induce me to realise such an image?” - -“As you please,” replied Bethlem Gabor indignantly. “I have nothing to -propose to you. Think you that, either as my enemy or my slave, and I -hold you for both, I would descend to negotiate with you? I simply told -you your situation. Yours be the consequences of your wilfulness and -folly! - -“One mistake however that I see you make respecting my purposes, I will -remove. You seem to suppose that, if you were to communicate to me your -secret, I would then set you at liberty. No, by heavens! This cavern is -your abode for ever. You shall never go forth from it alive; and, when -you are dead, here your flesh shall moulder, and your skeleton shall -rest, as long as the world remains. Look round your walls! Enter fully -into possession of your final home! I know that to keep you here and -alive my prisoner, I must in a certain sense imprison myself. But at -that I do not murmur. I shall have the gratification of beholding my -foe, and seeing him daily wither in disappointment. You wish to be a -father to the human race; and I shall deem the scope of my misanthropy -almost satisfied, while, in your restraint, I image myself as making -the human race an orphan. Never shall Bethlem Gabor set at large a man -of your unnatural and gall-less disposition, and your powers for the -indulgence of that disposition. - -“Sieur de Chatillon, I do not want your secret: it suffices that I know -you possess it. Have I not yourself in my keeping? It will be more joy -to me rudely to issue my commands, and to see you complying with them -in spite of the most heartfelt reluctance, than to possess the richest -gift on earth in the fullest independence. Think you Bethlem Gabor -incompetent to tame the tenant of this wretched cavern? Boy, you _are_ -my prisoner; you _shall be_ my creature. I will humble you at my feet, -and teach you to implore my bounty for the most miserable pittance. -Look to it! You know your destiny! Do not provoke my fury, without a -foresight of the consequences!” - -I will enter into little further detail of this my wretched -imprisonment in the wilds of Hungary. It was not destitute of its -varieties; and I could, if I pleased, fill a volume with the artifices -and the violence of my gloomy superintendent. I could fill volumes -with the detail of the multiplied expedients, the furious menaces, the -gigantic starts and rhapsodies of passion, by which he alternately -urged me to compliance and concession. But I will not. I will bring -to an end the history of Bethlem Gabor; and then, having detailed the -surprising events that immediately followed it, will close the page -of St. Leon’s history for ever. I stood like a rock. Shut out from -all other gratifications, I at least resolved to accumulate in my own -person all the energies of resistance. If I were to unfold the story, I -could command the reader’s astonishment, his admiration; but the object -of these papers is to record, not my merits, but my fate. - -How different was my imprisonment in the cavern of the man-abhorring -palatine, from that which I had experienced in the dungeons of the -inquisition! There an inexorable apathy prevailed: my tyrants were -indifferent whether I died or lived; filled with the sense of their -religious elevation, they held on the even gravity of their course, -and counted my groans and my tears neither for remorse nor pleasure. -The variety I experienced in their dungeons was the growth of my own -thoughts: from without I encountered no interruption; it was not to -be ascribed to those who held me in durance, if my faculties were -not lethargied into death. Bethlem Gabor possessed no share of their -apathy; his malice was ever alive, his hatred ever ingenious and new -in its devices. He had a purpose to answer,--to extort from me the -supply of his necessities and projects. It was not so much perhaps that -he stood in need of this, as that he placed a pride in it, and had -fiercely resolved to show me that I was unreservedly his slave. His -animosity against me was so fixed and insatiable, that nothing that was -pain to me was indifferent to him. If at any time he saw me subsiding -into insensibility, he failed not to exert himself to sting me into -life again. - -The consequence of this was somewhat different from what Bethlem Gabor -expected. Desponding as I was, weary of life, and almost finally -alienated from the all-coveted gift of the philosopher’s stone, if -he had left me to myself, I should very probably have sought in -insensibility relief from the torment of my own thoughts. But he -taught me a better lesson. Refusing me the indulgence of torpor, he -obliged me to string myself to resistance. He gave me a passion; he -gave me an object; he gave me comparative happiness. I was roused -to opposition; I was resolved that, placed, as I seemed to be, at -his mercy, I would yield him no atom of his desires. Thus employed, -I found in my employment pride. Perpetual occasion presented itself -for fortitude; and I gradually ascended to the sweets of consistency, -perseverance, and self-gratulation. I had for years been inured to -satisfy myself with a sparing stock of pleasures; and I was less at -a loss to expand and ramify those which I now possessed, than almost -any other man would have been in my situation. If my attendant train -of sensations was scanty, Bethlem Gabor took care to afford them a -perpetual supply of food and employment, and I was comparatively little -exposed to the pain of vacuity. When he saw that I was inflexible, and -that he could no longer gain from me the smallest compliance with his -will, he raged against me with terrifying fury. Was it a crime in me, -that this fury in my tyrant produced the operation of a sedative and -a cordial? There was no malignity in the joy it gave me. I had much -aversion for Bethlem Gabor, but no hatred. I took no pleasure in his -agonies, because they were agonies. My sympathies towards him now, I -confess, were small; but the joy I felt was because his fury told me, -was the unwilling evidence of my own value. I left him to assail the -mound I opposed to his desires as he pleased; it remained strong and -unaffected as the sea-beaten promontory.--From the inefficacy of his -efforts, I sometimes took occasion to remonstrate with my jailor, and -demand the restoration of my liberty; but Bethlem Gabor was not a man -whom arguments and expostulations like these could move. In spite of -himself however I commanded his wonder, if not his esteem. He regarded -the contrast as almost incredible, between the boy-aspect under which -he saw me, and the inflexibility and resources of my time-instructed -mind. - -The contentment that I have here described in myself, was however a -creature of the imagination, the forced progeny of uncommon effort. -It was no natural state of the soul. My mind would sometimes wander -beyond the limits of my cavern, and remember that there were other -persons beside Bethlem Gabor and myself in the world. I recollected the -situation in which I had left my great project for the reviviscence -of Hungary, and rejoiced to remember that it was already in such -forwardness, as, I hoped, no longer to stand in absolute need of my -assistance. Yet what I had done was but a small portion, a dismembered -branch, of what I had meditated to do, and what every person of a -generous and enterprising mind, who had been in possession of the -philosopher’s stone, would have designed. Why was I thus stopped in the -commencement of a career so auspiciously begun, and to which an ardent -fancy, would prescribe no limits? Why was every power of the social -constitution, every caprice of the multitude, every insidious project -of the noble, thus instantly in arms against so liberal and grand an -undertaking? Nor could I help repining at the perverseness of my fate, -which had decreed that I should savour all the bitterness incidentally -resulting from my plan, and not be permitted so much as to taste the -applause and reward that ought to grow out of its completion. Thousands -of men were at this instant indebted to my generosity and exertions for -every blessing they enjoyed; and I was cast forth as the refuse of the -earth, pining under the alternate succession of solitude, negligence, -and malice, my very existence and the manner of it unknown, except -to one individual, who had, from the strangest and most unexpected -motives, sworn eternal hostility to me. - -Bethlem Gabor had resolved that, so long as he lived, I should remain -a prisoner: when he died, if he continued my only jailor, the single -individual acquainted with the place of my confinement, the probable -issue was that I should perish with hunger. Twelve years before, I -should have contemplated this attitude and condition of existence with -indescribable horror. But within that time I had been better taught. -I had received an education, I thank them, in the dungeons of the -Spanish inquisition; and, if that be properly considered, it will not -be wondered at that I was superior to ordinary terrors. Early in my -present situation the presentiment had suggested itself to me that, by -some striking event, I should be rescued from my present confinement; -and, improbable as the suggestion was, it made an indelible impression -on my mind. I had originated in, or it had produced, a dream, the -scenes of which had appeared particularly luminous and vivid. I -imagined I saw a knight, cased complete in proof, enter my prison. A -smile of angelic kindness beamed on his countenance. He embraced me -with ardour; he made a sign to me to follow him. I felt that I had seen -him somewhere, that he had been my intimate friend. Yet all the efforts -I made in sleep, or afterwards when I was awake, were unavailing to -remove the mystery that hung upon his features. I rose to obey him; -the ground trembled under my feet like an earthquake. Presently, with -the incoherency usually attendant on a dream, the figure changed to -that of a female of unblemished grace and beauty; it unfolded a pair of -radiant wings; we ascended together in the air; I looked down, and saw -the castle of Bethlem Gabor a prey to devouring flames.--Here ended my -dream. I soon felt that I could reason myself out of all confidence in -the presages of this wild and incongruous vision. But I refused to do -it; my consolations were not so plenteous in this frightful solitude -as that I should willingly part with one so delicious. Reason, thus -applied, I contemplated as an abhorred intruder. It was, for a long -time, part of my occupation in every day to ruminate on this vision, -not with the sternness of a syllogist, but with the colouring of a -painter, and the rapture of a bard. From thus obstinately dwelling on -it in the day, it happened that it became again and again and again -my vision of the night. Slumbers like these were truly refreshing, -and armed and nerved me for the contentions of my tyrant. Sacred and -adorable power of fancy, that can thus purify and irradiate the damps -of a dungeon, and extract from midnight glooms and impervious darkness -perceptions more lovely and inspiriting than noontide splendour! - - - - -CHAPTER XLII. - - -I had now continued here for several months, and in all that time -had received no external impressions but such as related to the cell -I inhabited, and the misanthropical savage by whom it was visited. -One evening that Bethlem Gabor entered my dungeon, I observed in him -an air of unusual disturbance. Where apathy reigns, the intercourse -between those over whom it presides will be marked with a death-like -uniformity; but wherever the furious passions take their turn, -they will occasionally subside into a semblance of familiarity and -benevolence. There was something in the countenance of my tyrant that -made me for a moment forget the complicated injuries I had received -from him. “What is it that has disturbed you?” cried I. There was -no answer. There was a knitting in his brow, and a contraction in -his features, that showed me his silence was an effort. He departed -however, and had already passed the threshold of my dungeon. The door -was in his hand. He returned. “Chatillon,” said he, “perhaps you will -never see me more!” - -“My castle is besieged. I have passed through dangers of a thousand -names, and I ought not to be made serious by that which now assails me. -But a gloomy presentiment hangs upon my mind. The busy phantom of life -has lasted too long, and I am sick at heart. In the worst event I will -not be made a prisoner; I will die fighting. - -“I feel as if this were the last day of my existence; and, upon the -brink of the grave, animosity and ferociousness die away in my soul. -In this solemn moment, my original character returns here (striking his -heart) to take possession of its native home; a character, stern and -serious, if you will; but not sanguinary, not cruel, not treacherous or -unjust. Between you and me there is a deadly antipathy; but you did not -make yourself; you intended me friendship and advantage; the sufferings -you have experienced from me in return have been sufficiently severe. -If I die defending my walls, and you remain thus, you will perish with -hunger. I had intended it should be so; but I am now willing to remit -this part of your fate. I will enter into a compromise with you; I will -trust to your fidelity, and your honour. I will take off your chains; I -will bring you a timepiece and torches; I will leave with you the key -of the spring lock of your cavern,--provided you will engage your word -to me that you will not attempt to make use of your advantages till the -expiration of twenty-four hours.” - -To these terms I assented without hesitation. The chains fell from my -wrists and my ancles; I stood up once more unshackled, and in respect -of my limbs a free man. When Bethlem Gabor was on the point to depart, -my soul melted within me. I took hold of his hand; my fingers trembled; -I grasped and pressed the fingers of my tyrant. I cannot describe what -then passed in my bosom. No man can understand my sensations, who had -not been in my situation, who had not passed through a treatment, -arbitrary, ferocious, and inhuman, and had not then seen the being -who had wounded him so unpardonably, suddenly changing his character, -commiserating his fate, and rescuing him from destruction. - -From this time I saw Bethlem Gabor no more; he died, as he had sworn to -do, in the last dike of his fortress. His self-balanced and mighty soul -could not submit to the condition of a prisoner; he was nothing, if he -were not free as the air, and wild as the winds. I may be mistaken; -but this appears to me to have been a great and admirable man. He had -within him all the ingredients of sublimity; and surely the ingredients -of sublimity are the materials of heroic virtue. I have much cause of -complaint against him; he conceived towards me an animosity the most -barbarous and unprovoked; but, in writing this narrative, I have placed -my pride in controlling the suggestions of resentment, and I have -endeavoured to do him justice. - -I had engaged to wait twenty-four hours; I waited only six. I know not -how the reader will decide upon the morality of my conduct; but I own I -had not the force, I believe I may call it the insensibility, to remain -in my dungeon any longer. There was no doubt that, if Bethlem Gabor -returned a conqueror, the term of my imprisonment would be renewed, -and all his former menaces continued in force. What should I deserve -to have thought of me, if I could sit down idly, and tamely wait the -return of my jailor? No! liberty is one of the rights that I put on -when I put on the form of a man, and no event is of power to dissolve -or abdicate that right. Of what validity was the promise that Bethlem -Gabor extorted from me by compulsion, and as the condition of that -which he had no title to withhold? What gratitude did I owe to this -man, who treated me with every contumely, and shrunk from nothing but -the thought of causing me to perish with hunger? Whatever became of -my attempt to escape, I could at least in this vast subterranean hide -myself from the face of him who had injured me. I had a provision of -phosphorus in my chest; and could therefore extinguish my torch upon -the slightest alarm, and relume it at pleasure. What was the value -of life, situated as I was situated? It was better to perish in the -attempt to escape, than linger on for ever in perpetual imprisonment. -As a further resource I left a billet in my dungeon (for for this -also I had implements) intreating Bethlem Gabor by every motive of -compassion and humanity to provide for me the means of sustenance as -usual. Having taken these precautions, I lighted a fresh torch; and, -unlocking the door, and thrusting the key into my girdle, set out upon -my expedition. Though Bethlem Gabor had stipulated for twenty-four -hours, the siege might even now be over, and I trembled every instant -lest my jailor should return. - -I wandered for a considerable time among the alleys and windings of -this immeasurable cavern. I had the precaution to mark the sides of -the vault with characters and tokens as I passed, that, if necessary, -I might be able to find the way back to my dungeon: this might prove -an indispensable resource, to prevent me from perishing with hunger. -Once or twice I changed my route, inferring from a comparison of -circumstances, the best I could make, that I was not in the direction -of the castle from which Bethlem Gabor had led me to my imprisonment. -In all this wandering I had seen nothing, I had heard nothing, which -could demonstrate to me that I was approaching the habitation of man. I -had groped my way for near two hours, when on a sudden I heard a loud -and tremendous shout that almost stunned me, and that from its uncommon -shock could be at no great distance from the place where I stood. -This was succeeded by a terrifying glare of light. I extinguished my -torch, both that I might be better qualified to observe, and that I -might be less in danger of discovery by any one who should approach me -unawares. The shouts were several times repeated. The light I found to -proceed from that end of the vault towards which I had been advancing, -and, by the best conjectures I could form, I concluded the outlet -into the castle to be at no great distance. I heard the crackling of -the flames, and the fall of rafters and beams. Presently I discerned -a volume of smoke approaching me, and found that, if I remained long -in my present station, I should incur the risk of being suffocated. -I formed my resolution. I concluded that Bethlem Gabor’s castle was -taken, and set on fire by the Austrians. I believed that my persecutor -was already no more: to this faith I was undoubtedly prompted by the -presentiment which he had communicated to me. I saw that it would be -impossible for me to emerge into light, till the flames should abate. I -once more therefore lighted my torch, and returned by the straightest -road I could find to my dungeon. Arrived there, I proposed to pass the -interval quietly, in the cavern where I had so long felt the weight of -the Hungarian’s chains. Suddenly however the suggestion occurred to -me, may not my conjectures be false? may not Bethlem Gabor yet repel -the enemy, and return to me from amidst the ruins of his falling -castle? The thought was sickness and extinction to my heart. Hope! -beautiful as are thy visions, in how much anguish and agony do they -clothe the terrors of disappointment! Never had Bethlem Gabor been half -so dreadful to me as now. I shrunk away; I took with me the fragments -of provision that yet remained; I hid myself; I deemed no cell remote -enough to conceal me from the inhuman persecution of my tyrant. - -I continued in the subterranean all that day and all the succeeding -night. Once in this period I attempted to reconnoitre the avenue of my -escape, but I found the situation still so heated and suffocating that -I did not venture to proceed. At length I came forth from this den of -horrors, and again beheld the light of the sun. The path had already -been sufficiently explored by me, and I no longer found any material -obstacles. I now saw that my conjectures were true: the castle of my -ferocious adversary was a pile of ruins. The walls indeed for the -most part remained, but choked with fragments of the falling edifice, -blackened with the flames, and penetrated in every direction by the -light of day. With difficulty I climbed over the ruins, which opposed -my egress from the subterranean, and rendered my passage to the outside -of the castle an affair of peril and caution. Here the first object -that struck me was some tents, probably of the soldiers who had been -employed in this work of destruction. I was hailed by a sentinel, and -I demanded that he would conduct me to his commander. He led me to -the centre of the little encampment, and I stood in the presence of -his chief. I lifted my eye to behold him, and was petrified with such -astonishment as till that hour I had never felt. It was Charles, my -son, my only son, the darling of his mother, the idol of my soul! - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII. - - -It may seem extraordinary that I should instantly have known him. He -was sitting at a table, covered with papers, and with one or two -aides-de-camp waiting to receive his orders. He was clothed in complete -armour, and his casque was resting on the ground by his side. When -I entered, his eye was fixed on a despatch that day received from -the great palatine of Hungary; but, in little more than a minute, he -raised his head, and his countenance was completely presented to my -view. It was fifteen years since I had beheld it; he was then scarcely -above half his present age, a mere stripling, in whom the first blush -of manhood had awakened the sentiment of independence and an honour -impatient of a shade; he was now a leader of warlike bands, his -complexion olived over with service, and his eye rendered steady with -observation and thought. But I knew him; I knew him in a moment. My -soul, with the rapidity of lightning, told me who he was. Not all the -arts in the world could have hid him from me; not all the tales that -delusion ever framed could have baffled me; I could have challenged him -against the earth! - -I have already had occasion to explain the complexity of my feelings, -when, after a long absence, I visited the heiresses of the house of St. -Leon. The sweets of recognition, that transporting effervescence of the -mind, where the heart bounds to meet a kindred heart, where emotions -and tears mingle in speechless encounter, where all is gazing love and -strict embrace,--these pleasures were denied me. I stood stiff and -motionless in the presence of my child. My heart might burst; but it -must not, and it could not communicate its feelings. - -After an instant’s pause of overwhelming sensation, I sunk back on -myself, and considered my own figure. It happened that, exactly -opposite to me, in the tent of my son, hung his armour, and over -the rest his polished shield, in which I saw my own person clearly -reflected. The youth of my figure indeed was still visible; but the -hardships of my dungeon had imprinted themselves in glaring characters -on my face. My beard was neglected, my hair was matted and shaggy, -my complexion was of a strong and deadly yellow. My appearance to a -considerable degree told my story without the need of words. Charles -enquired of those who brought me, where they had found this wretched -and unhappy figure; and was told that I had been seen a few minutes -before coming out from the ruins of Bethlem Gabor’s castle. He humanely -and naturally concluded, that I was a victim on whom the tyrant had -exercised his ferocity, and that I had been shut up in some dungeon of -the fortress: it was impossible that any person above ground in the -castle should have come out alive from the operation of the flames. He -commanded that I should be led to a neighbouring tent and taken care -of. After having been refreshed with food and rest, and attired with -other apparel, he directed that I should be brought to him again, that -he might hear my story. - -Under these circumstances there was nothing for which I was more -anxious, than that I might recruit myself, and shake off as quickly as -possible the effects of my confinement. Cordials were brought me, and -I tasted of them: I bathed in a neighbouring stream: one of my son’s -attendants removed my beard, and arranged my hair. I now desired to be -left alone, that I might take some needful repose. I could not sleep; -but I reclined my limbs upon a couch, and began to collect my thoughts. - -I saw myself in one hour the sport of the most complete reverse of -fortune that could happen to a mortal. I had been the prisoner of a -cavern so wild and pathless, as almost to defy the utmost extent of -human sagacity to explore its recesses. From this cavern, but for the -sudden and extraordinary event which had just occurred, I could never -have come forth alive. All sober calculation would have taught me to -expect that I should have remained there, chained up like a savage -tiger in his cage, as long as Bethlem Gabor existed; and that, when -he died, I should perish, unheard, unknown; no creature that lived -suspecting my situation, no lapse of ages ever bringing to light my -dismal catastrophe. The remorse and relenting of Bethlem Gabor towards -me seemed so little to accord with any thing that I had personally -witnessed of his habits and his mind, that even now I feel myself -totally unable to account for it. As it was however, I was once again -free. From the state of an outlaw imprisoned for life, I suddenly saw -myself at large, inspirited by the light of the sun, and refreshed -by his genial rays, in the full possession of youth and all its -faculties, enabled to return amidst my clients of Buda, or to seek -some new adventure, in any corner of the earth to which my inclination -led me. There is no man, however overwhelmed with calamities, however -persecuted with endless disappointment, however disgusted with life and -all its specious allurements, to whom so sudden and admirable a change -would not convey some portion of elasticity and joy. - -But there was one thought that entirely occupied me. I cannot describe -how my soul yearned towards this my only son: the sentiment, even now -as I write, is an oppression I am scarcely able to sustain. Willingly, -most willingly, would I have traversed every region of the globe, if -so I might have discovered his unknown retreat: and now suddenly, -without the smallest effort on my part, he was placed before me. His -last solemn parting, his abjuration of my society and intercourse for -ever, rose to my memory, and gave a zest inexpressible to our present -encounter. At the thought that my son was in the neighbouring tent, all -earthly objects beside faded from my mind, and appeared uninteresting -and contemptible. I instantly resolved to devote myself to his service, -and to place all my enjoyment in the contemplation of his happiness, -and the secret consciousness of promoting it. He had, if I may so -express myself, in my own person forbidden me his presence: in my -now altered figure I might disobey his injunction without fearing -his rebuke. Let not the reader condemn me, that, endowed as I was -with unlimited powers of action, I preferred a single individual, my -own son, to all the world beside. Philanthropy is a godlike virtue, -and can never be too loudly commended, or too ardently enjoined; but -natural affection winds itself in so many folds about the heart, and -is the parent of so complicated, so various and exquisite emotions, -that he who should attempt to divest himself of it, will find that he -is divesting himself of all that is most to be coveted in existence. -It is not a selfish propensity; on the contrary, I will venture to -affirm that the generosity it breathes is its greatest charm. Beside, -in my case I considered my own existence as blasted; and I could -therefore find nothing better than to forget myself in my son. I had -made a sufficient experiment of the philosopher’s stone, and all my -experiments had miscarried. My latest trials in attempting to be -the benefactor of nations and mankind, not only had been themselves -abortive, but contained in them shrewd indications that no similar plan -could ever succeed. I therefore discarded, for the present at least, -all ambitious and comprehensive views, and believed that I ought to be -well content, if I could prove the unknown benefactor of the son of -Marguerite de Damville. I entered into a solemn engagement with myself -that I would forget and trample upon every personal concern, and be -the victim and the sacrifice, if need were, of the happiness of my -child. Dismissing my project of becoming a factor for the Hungarian -people, I determined to lay aside the name of Chatillon, and cut off -every indication that might connect my present existence with that of -the rich stranger of Buda. One of the advantages I possessed for that -purpose was, that no creature in Hungary had the slightest suspicion -that the sieur de Chatillon had ever been the prisoner of Bethlem Gabor. - -Having thus arranged my thoughts, I now called for the garments that -had been assigned me. They were supplied me from the stock of my son; -and, when I had put them on, I overheard the attendants whispering to -each other their astonishment, at the striking resemblance between -their master and myself. When I came once more into the tent of their -captain, and stood as in the former instance before his shield, I did -not wonder at their remark. The coincidence of our features was so -great, that, had we passed through a strange place in each other’s -company, I should infallibly have been regarded as his younger brother. -Yet there was something of Marguerite in the countenance of Charles -that I wanted. When I recovered, as in a short time afterwards I did, -my vigour and health, I was more blooming than he; but there was -something graceful, ingenuous and prepossessing in his aspect, which -I could by no means boast in an equal degree, and which might have -carried him unhurt and honoured through the world. We shall see some -of the effects of this in what I shall presently have occasion to -relate. - -When my son required of me to declare who I was, I told him, as I had -already determined to do, that I was a cadet of the house of Aubigny -in France; that, after having passed through several other countries, -I had come into Poland with the floating and half formed purpose of -entering as a volunteer against the Turk; but that, before my plan -was completely arranged, having been led, by my juvenile ardour in -a hunting party, far within the frontier of Hungary, I had been so -unfortunate as to become a prisoner to the troopers of Bethlem Gabor. -I added that, when introduced to their chief, I had given him so much -offence, by the firmness of my manner, and my refusing to comply with -certain propositions he made me, that he had thrust me into a dungeon, -from which, but for the gallant exertions of the present detachment, I -should never have come out alive. - -Charles heard my story with attention and interest. He called on me to -resume my courage and my hopes, and to be confident that my sufferings -were now at an end. He told me, that he was a Frenchman as well as -myself, and like myself, had been a soldier of fortune. He felt, -he said, a powerful sympathy in my tale; there was something in my -countenance that irresistibly won his kindness; and, if I would put -myself under his protection, he did not doubt to be the means of my -future success. He spoke with great asperity of Bethlem Gabor, who, -as an intrepid, indefatigable and sanguinary partisan, had been the -author of greater mischiefs to the Christian cause, than any of the -immediate servants of the sultan of Constantinople. He congratulated -himself that the same action that had delivered the world from so -murderous a renegado, had rendered him the preserver of a youth of so -much enterprise and worth, as he doubted not I should prove. He said, -there was but one other man in Hungary, who had been so effectual an -enemy to the cause of truth and Christianity as Bethlem Gabor. The name -of this man he understood was Chatillon, and he grieved to say that -he bore the appellation of a Frenchman. To the eternal disgrace of the -nation that gave him birth, he had joined the Turkish standard, and, by -exertions difficult to be comprehended, had rescued the infidels from -famine at a time when, but for his inauspicious interference, Buda, -and perhaps every strong town in Hungary, were on the point of falling -into the hands of the Christians. It was this same man who had revived -the resources of Bethlem Gabor, after they had once before, by his -own fortunate exertions, been routed out; and whom I might therefore -in some sense consider as the author of my calamities, as well as the -inveterate foe of Christendom. Such a wretch as this was scarcely -entitled to the common benefit of the laws of war: and he would not -answer for himself if Chatillon had fallen into his power, to what -extremity his holy resentment against this degenerate fellow-countryman -might have hurried him. Providence however had overtaken him in his -impious career; and he had fallen obscurely, as he had lived basely, in -a night skirmish with a party of marauders from the Austrian camp.--The -reader may believe that I did not a little rejoice that, in announcing -myself a few moments before, I had taken the name, not of Chatillon, -but D’Aubigny. What I heard however occasioned in me a profound -reflection on the capriciousness of honour and fame, and the strange -contrarieties with which opposite prejudices cause the same action to -be viewed. I could not repress the vehemence of my emotions, while -I was thus calumniated and vilified for actions, which I had firmly -believed no malice could misrepresent, and fondly supposed that all -sects and ages, as far as their record extended, would agree to admire. - -In another point of view, the invective which my son thus unconsciously -poured in my ears, had the effect of making me regard with a more -complacent satisfaction the plan I had formed of devoting myself to -his service. Here I pursued no delusive meteor of fame; the very -essence of my project lay in its obscurity. Kings and prelates, -armies and churches, would no longer find an interest in disputing -about my measures; I should indulge the secret promptings of my soul, -undisturbed alike by the censure of the world, and its applause. It -was thus that, under every change of fortune, I continued to soothe my -soul with delusive dreams. - -Meanwhile my project went on with the happiest auspices. The friendship -between me and Charles continued hourly to increase. As a Frenchman, -whom chance had introduced to his acquaintance in a distant country, -it was natural that he should feel a strong bias of affection towards -me. But that sort of fraternal resemblance which the most inattentive -spectator remarked in us, operated forcibly to the increase of -Charles’s attachment. He would often, in the ingenuous opening of his -soul towards me, call me his brother, and swear that I should for -ever experience from him a brother’s love. Charles had by this time -completed the thirty-second year of his age; I was, in appearance, at -least ten years younger than he. There is something in this degree of -disparity, that greatly contributes to the cultivation of kindness, -and is adapted to the engendering a thousand interesting sentiments. -Frequently would he exclaim, “Our fortunes, my dear Henry,” that was -the name I assumed, “have been in a considerable degree similar: we -were both of us early cast on the world; I indeed at the immature age -of seventeen. I entered the world without an adviser or a friend; -but my destiny was favourable, and I escaped its quicksands and its -rocks. I have now by a concurrence of happy circumstances obtained a -place among honourable men and soldiers, and for what is to come may -reasonably regard myself with some degree of confidence. You are yet -in one of the most dangerous periods of human life; your work is all -to do; your battles are yet to fight. Suffer me, my dear friend, to -represent your better genius, and act an elder brother’s part. You -shall find me no ignorant Mentor, and no ungentle one.” - -Nothing could be more gratifying to me than to see the shoots of -affection thus springing up spontaneously in Charles’s bosom. I -willingly humoured the generous deception that he was putting on -himself, and heard with transports inconceivable his assurances of -kindness and protection. We rode, and we walked together; we were in -a manner inseparable. When he went out to reconnoitre, I was his -chosen companion; when he inspected the discipline and condition of his -soldiers, he applied that opportunity to initiate me in the science of -war; when he expected to encounter the enemy, he placed me immediately -by his side. - -Sometimes he would open his heart to me, and dwell with a melancholy -delight upon his secret sorrows. “It is no wonder, my Henry,” he would -say, “that I feel this uncommon attachment to you. I am alone in the -world. I have no father, no mother, and no brethren. I am an exile -from my country, and cut off for ever from those of my own lineage and -blood. It is with inexpressible delight that I thus cheat the malice -of my fate, and hold you to my bosom as if you were indeed my brother. -I would not part with the fiction for the mines of Peru; and I know -not whether I do not cultivate it more assiduously, and regard it -with a sentiment of more anxiety and zeal, because it is a fiction, -than I should do if it were a reality. I had indeed,” added Charles, -“a mother!”--And, when he had started this theme, he would dwell for -ever on her praises. I easily saw that never son loved a mother more -cordially, than Charles loved the all-accomplished Marguerite. With -what sentiments did I hear her eulogium? I could not join in her -praises; I could not be supposed to know her. I stood there, as the -statue of Prometheus might have done, if, after being informed with a -living soul, the Gods had seen fit to chain its limbs in everlasting -marble. The passion within me panted and laboured for a vent; but I -was invincibly silent. With what sentiments did I hear her eulogium? -Every word of it was a dagger to my heart; every word said, “And thou, -villain, wert not thou her murderer?” more painfully, than the fiercest -reproaches could have done. - -When Charles had celebrated with an eloquence truly divine this -incomparable mother, a sudden pang of memory would make him start into -rage.----“And this mother I left! Of this mother I cannot tell whether -she is alive or dead! What shall I say? the crime, or the not less -fatal error of my father, separated me from this mother! I loved my -father: I loved him because he was my father; I had great obligations -to him; he once had virtues. But my mother,--if I could have found her -in the wildest desert of Africa, and have known her virtues, a stranger -to my blood, descended from the remotest tribe of the human race, I -should have chosen her for my friend, my preceptress and my guide, -beyond all that youth and beauty, with their most radiant charms, could -tender to my acceptance!” - -Thus unconsciously, yet ingeniously, did my dear son from time to -time torture his father’s heart. I could not even deliver him from -the gloomy and wretched uncertainty, whether this mother were alive -or dead. With one word I could have composed his soul into a sober -grief; I could have said, Your adorable mother at length rests from her -sorrows; she is no longer the victim of a misguided and a cruel father; -you have no longer occasion to brood over that most disconsolate of -reflections, “I know not what anguish may be at this moment suffered by -her who is entitled to all my duty and all my affection.” With one word -I might have told this; and that word I dared not utter. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV. - - -My son related to me his history, and made me the depository of his -feelings and reflections. The name of St. Leon indeed never passed -his lips; I felt that he had consigned that to inviolable oblivion. -The appellation he bore in the army was the chevalier de Damville. -Soon after he abandoned me at Dresden, he had entered as a volunteer -in the imperial army. Charles the Fifth was at that time assembling -forces to encounter the confederates of the league of Smalcalde. In -this situation my son was eminently fortunate. He was distinguished for -uncommon enterprise and courage in some of the first actions of the -war, and early attracted the notice of Gian-Battista Castaldo, count -of Piadena, who held an eminent command under the emperor. In this -army my son was a party to the decisive battle of Muhlberg, in April, -1547. Four years afterwards, Castaldo was appointed commander in chief -against the Turks in Hungary, and the French chevalier accompanied -his patron to this new scene of military enterprise. Charles had felt -dissatisfied with the grounds and motives of war between the Catholics -and Protestants of Germany, men worshipping the same Saviour, and -appealing to the same authorities, but many of them at least, from the -most upright and ingenuous scruples, differing in their interpretation -of those authorities. But, in their contentions between the crescent -and the cross, he entered with unbounded enthusiasm into all the -feelings that constitute a champion or a martyr. He conceived that -whatever was dear to the human race in this world or the next hung -on the issue; he regarded the grandeur of the cause as purifying his -efforts and consecrating his name; and, when he lifted his sword in -vindication of an expiring God, he felt himself steeled with more than -mortal energy. - -My son dwelt on the merits of his patron with a degree of veneration -and love that knew no bounds. Castaldo was ranked by the consenting -voice of mankind with the most accomplished generals of the age in -which he lived. “I knew him,” said Charles, “in his most private -hours, and stood next to and observed him in the greatest and most -critical occasions of his life. It was the least of his merits that -he distinguished me, that he took me up friendless and an orphan, -that under every circumstance he was more than a father to me; that -he corrected my faults, that he guided me with his advice, that he -instructed me with his wisdom, and supported me by his countenance. -Castaldo was the most persevering and indefatigable of mankind; no -difficulties could undermine his apparent serenity; no accumulation -of dangers could appal or perplex him. Victory never robbed him of -his caution; misfortune and defeat never destroyed the grandeur and -elasticity of his soul. I firmly believe that no general had ever a -more discouraging variety of counteractions to struggle with. The -enemy was barbarous and sanguinary, yet firm and undismayed, in the -full vigour of their political health, under the rule of the ablest of -their sovereigns. The nobles of the country Castaldo had to defend had -almost all of them been alienated, one after another, by the tricking -and ill-judged politics of the house of Austria. The nation was ruined, -houseless and starving. Many of the officers who served under my -general were the basest of poltroons; but they were imposed upon him -by his court; he was compelled to place them in important trusts; and, -even when in the most dastardly way they betrayed those trusts, they -were by some pitiful intrigue sheltered from his discipline and his -justice. The forces of Castaldo were mutinous and ungovernable; and he -was almost constantly denied the funds requisite for their pay. - -“For two years the count of Piadena struggled with these complicated -difficulties. When he had obtained a hard-earned advantage at -one extremity of the kingdom, he found it rendered useless by -some treachery or incapacity in the other extremity, which it was -instantly necessary he should hasten to repair. He quelled four -alarming mutinies by his firmness, his resources, and the prudent -combination of his calmness and severity. In the midst of one of his -most arduous situations he suddenly received intelligence that the -states of Hungary, which were at that time assembled, were debating -whether they should enter into a treaty with Solyman for the purpose -of placing their country under the Turkish sceptre. He immediately -flew to the place of council; the decision in favour of Solyman was -drawn up and ready to be adopted; but Castaldo, by his presence, his -authority, and his eloquence, recalled the states to their duty, and -prevented them from eternally staining the Christian name. Surrounded -with these difficulties, opposed to an enemy many times more numerous -than the forces he could bring against them, and whose wants were all -plentifully supplied, Castaldo by his single abilities kept the balance -even, or rather caused it to incline in favour of the Christian scale. -But what,” added Charles, “avails the most consummate merit! How may -the most incessant and undaunted exertions be shadowed by the veil of -obscurity! The world judges by events; success is necessary to procure -the palm of fame. After two years of such labours as I witnessed and -glory to describe, a mutiny broke out among the mercenary troops, -more formidable than any that preceded; it was no longer even in the -abilities of Castaldo to quell. ‘We honour and respect you,’ said the -mutineers, ‘but we will no more serve without pay: we have been baffled -two years; we will march to the gates of Vienna, and demand from -Ferdinand, our sovereign, why we are thus denied the arrears that are -due to us.’ They chose leaders for this expedition among themselves. -The great Castaldo, whose peculiar talent it is to accommodate himself -to events, and never by any misfortune to be deprived of his invention -and resources, saw what it was that became him. Having in vain tried -every method for retaining his troops in Hungary, he offered himself to -lead them to Vienna. Then was seen the true ascendancy of a noble mind. -Goaded with want and distress, they had been deaf to the remonstrances -of their general when he sought to direct them against the enemy. But, -when they saw him submitting himself to their rage and impatience, and -fearlessly intrusting his safety to those who had before refused even -to listen to him, and who had reason to fear his retribution as their -accuser and judge, they were awed and speechless. They almost repented -of their frenzy, and were half determined to return to their duty. -Their remorse indeed was imperfect and ineffectual; but Castaldo led -this band of mutineers through the heart of the kingdom, with as many -symptoms of regularity, modesty, and order, as if they had been the -best paid, the promptest and most loyal army in the world.” - -My son spoke in terms of the warmest enthusiasm of the defence of -Erlau, in the period of Castaldo’s last and most arduous campaign -against the Turks. In respect of fortifications the town was scarcely -competent to resist the feeblest enemy; but its deficiency in this -point was supplied by the constancy and valour of its garrison and -inhabitants. The very women displayed an enterprise, that the more -vigorous sex have seldom exhibited. In one instance, a heroine of this -sort was seen fighting in the presence of her mother and her husband. -Her husband fell dead by her side. “Let us, my daughter,” said the -mother, “remove the body, and devote the rest of our care to its -honourable funeral.”--“May God,” returned the impassioned widow, “never -suffer the earth to cover my husband’s corse, till his death has been -amply revenged; this is the hour of battle, not a time for funeral -and for tears!” So speaking, and seizing the sword and shield of the -breathless champion, she rushed upon the enemy; nor did she quit the -breach till, by the slaughter of three Turks who were ascending the -scaling ladders, she had appeased the fury in her breast, and the ghost -of her departed husband. Then raising the corpse, and pressing it to -her bosom, she drew it to the great church of the city, and paid to it -the last honours with all possible magnificence.[9] Many other examples -of a heroism not inferior to this were displayed on the same occasion. -“And shall I,” added Charles, in a sally of glorious enthusiasm, “ever -desert a cause which has been thus honoured? Shall I betray a soil -which has been immortalised by such illustrious actions? Shall I join -myself to the renegado Bethlem Gabor, and the execrable Chatillon? No: -such virtue as I have described never could have been conceived, but in -the bosom of truth! Great as is the pious devotion I feel for that God -who died on the cross for the salvation of mankind, I own my weakness, -if it be a weakness, his cause is scarcely less endeared to me by the -sublime exertions of his heroic followers, than by his own adorable -condescension and mercy. - -“When the glorious Castaldo departed with his rebellious army for the -metropolis of Germany, there was nothing I more earnestly desired than -to accompany his march. For seven years he had conferred on me the -benefits, and shown towards me the affection, of a father; and I could -not think of being separated from him without the extremest anguish. -Beside, I regarded it as little less than sacrilege, to quit his side -at a time that he was exposed to the furious suggestions of a host of -robbers and banditti. But he would not allow me to abandon my post. -‘Some time,’ said he, ‘we must separate, and you must stand alone. -I have been long enough your instructor; and, if my lessons or my -example can produce improvement in you, they must have performed that -office already.’ He treated with disdain the thought of the danger to -which he might be exposed, and his need of a faithful guard; a thought -which he had detected in the midst of my anxieties, but which I had -not the courage to mention. ‘This,’ said he, ‘is your genuine sphere. -You are a young man, burning with the zeal of truth and religion. You -are inspired with the enthusiasm of a champion and a martyr. Heaven -knows how willingly I would have spent my blood for the overthrow of -Mahomet and his blasphemous impieties. To me this is not permitted; to -you it is. I shall be engaged in the painful scenes of civil contention -between Christian and Christian, misguided and inflamed by the human -inventions of Luther and of Calvin. You have before you a clearer and a -brighter field; and, I confidently persuade myself, you will be found -worthy of your happier destiny.’--The count of Piadena bestowed me, so -he was pleased to express himself, upon Nadasti, the great palatine of -the realm, as the most precious pledge of his friendship that it was in -his power to confer. - -“Since the retreat of Castaldo, the Christian standard has obtained -little more either of attention or aid from our lawful sovereign, now -the possessor of the imperial throne. Ferdinand for a great part of -this time has had his negotiators at Constantinople, whom the insulting -Turk has condescended neither sincerely to treat with, nor to dismiss. -The Christian army in Hungary has been left to its own resources; but -zeal has supplied the place of magazines, and religious ardour has -taught us to omit no occasion of annoying and distressing the enemy. -The most considerable occurrence of this period, has been the siege -of Ziget about four years ago. Solyman, taking advantage of certain -factious broils among our hereditary nobility, appointed at that time -one of his eunuchs bashaw of Buda; and, having placed a numerous army -under his command, dismissed him from the foot of his throne with -this arrogant injunction, not to enter the capital of his province, -till he had first sent the keys of Ziget as an offering to his royal -master. Horvati, the Christian governor of this fortification, is one -of the most accomplished and the bravest of our native commanders; -and, Nadasti having sent him a reinforcement the better to enable him -to support the threatened siege, I was in the number of the soldiers -appointed on this service. The trenches were opened early in June, -and the siege continued for the space of seven weeks. The bashaw, -though an eunuch, in person stunted, and of monstrous deformity, was -distinguished for an uncommon degree of audacity and perseverance. -Four times he filled the dikes of the fortification with wood and -earth; and as often, by means of a furious sally of the besieged, the -materials, which had thus with vast expense of industry and labour -been accumulated, were set fire to and consumed. On the twelfth day -of the siege he gained possession of the town, and drove us back into -the citadel; but on the day following we recovered the ground we had -lost, and from that time the town was his no more. The actions of these -days were the severest of the whole siege; we fought the enemy street -by street, and inch by inch; the great fountain in the market-place -ran with blood; we ascended hills of the dead, which the infidels -opposed as a barrier to our further progress; I seized two Turkish -standards; and, though wounded, pursued the enemy through the eastern -gate, and returned in triumph. Nadasti in the sixth week of the siege -marched to our relief; but he was met and worsted by the bashaw, who -returned victorious to the foot of the walls. During the whole of the -siege mutual animosity was cherished by every species of contrivance, -and the heads of the distinguished dead were exhibited on both sides -as spectacles of abhorrence and terror. The inflamed passions of the -combatants several times found a vent in listed duels: Horvati, the -governor, killed in one of these encounters a gigantic Turk, who had -sent a proud defiance to our host. I procured myself honour upon a -similar occasion; and the scarf which I now wear, composed the turban -of the infidel I slew. At length the disappointed bashaw was obliged -to raise the siege; and he soon after died of grief and mortification -in his palace at Buda. I confess I recollect the Christian exploits -in the defence of Ziget, in which I also had a share, with rapture and -delight; they will serve to awaken in me new animation, when hereafter -the coldness of ordinary life might strike palsy to my soul. I shall -never think I have lived in vain, after having contributed, in however -humble a place, to arrest the career of insolence and impiety which, -under the standard of the crescent, threatened to over-run the whole -Christian world.” - -Such were the adventures and such the sentiments of the gallant -chevalier de Damville. I had been a warrior in my youth, and -the discourse he held was sufficiently congenial to my earliest -propensities. I saw indeed that he had gained, in the zeal of a soldier -of the cross, a source of martial heroism, to which my military history -had been a stranger. But, though I could not entirely enter into -this sentiment of his, and indeed regarded it as an infatuation and -delusion, I did not the less admire the grandeur of soul with which -this heroic fable inspired him. There was no present propensity in my -heart that led me to delight in deeds of blood and war; I saw them -in their genuine colours without varnish or disguise; I hated and -loathed them from my very inmost soul; but, notwithstanding this, I was -sensible to the lustre which military zeal cast round the character of -my son. Nor is this incredible or absurd; the qualities of a generous -and enterprising champion are truly admirable, though the direction -they have received should be worthy of eternal regret. - -Charles de Damville was my friend; and, when I say this, I cannot help -stopping a moment for the indulgence of reflecting on the contrast -between my present intercourse with my son, and my late connection -with Bethlem Gabor. I had sought the friendship of the Hungarian -partisan, partly because I wanted a protector and an ally, but partly -also because in my soul I looked up to and admired the man. I called -Bethlem Gabor my friend; I persuaded myself that I had cogent reasons -for calling him so. But there was little sympathy between us; he was -wrapped up in his own contemplations; he was withered by his own -calamities; our souls scarcely touched in a single point. No, no; this -is not friendship. - -Friendship is a necessity of our nature, the stimulating and restless -want of every susceptible heart. How wretched an imposture in this -point of view does human life for the most part appear! With boyish -eyes, full of sanguine spirits and hope, we look round us for a friend; -we sink into the grave, broken down with years and infirmities, and -still have not found the object of our search. We talk to one man, and -he does not understand us; we address ourselves to another, and we find -him the unreal similitude only of what we believed him to be. We ally -ourselves to a man of intellect and of worth; upon further experience -we cannot deny him either of these qualities; but the more we know -each other, the less we find of resemblance; he is cold, where we are -warm; he is harsh, where we are melted into the tenderest sympathy; -what fills us with rapture, is regarded by him with indifference; we -finish with a distant respect, where we looked for a commingling soul: -this is not friendship. We know of other men, we have viewed their -countenances, we have occasionally sat in their society: we believe -it is impossible we should not find in them the object we sought. -But disparity of situation and dissimilitude of connections prove as -effectual a barrier to intimacy, as if we were inhabitants of different -planets. - -It is one of the most striking characteristics of the nature of man, -that we are eternally apt to grow dead and insensible to the thing -we have not. Half our faculties become palsied, before we are in the -slightest degree aware that we are not what we were, and what we might -be. There are philosophers who regard this as the peculiar privilege -of man, a wise provision of Providence to render us contented and easy -with our lot in existence. For my part, I do not envy, and I have never -aspired to, the happiness of ignorance and stupidity. But, be it a -blessing or a curse, the phenomenon is undoubted. Present me with some -inestimable benefit, that my nature fitted me to enjoy, but that my -fortune has long denied me to partake, and I instantly rise as from an -oppressive lethargy. Before, it may be, I felt myself uneasy; but I -knew of no remedy, I dreamed it was my nature, I did not put forth a -finger for relief. But now, that I have drawn the unexpected prize, I -grow astonished at my former blindness; I become suddenly sensible of -my powers and my worth; the blood that slept in my heart, circulates, -and distends every vein; I tread on air; I feel a calm, yet ravishing -delight; I know what kind of an endowment life is, to a being in whom -sentiment and affection are awakened to their genuine action. - -This was the effect of the mutual attachment produced between me and -Charles. I looked into him, and saw a man; I saw expansive powers of -intellect and true sensibility of heart. To be esteemed and loved -and protected by such a man; to have him to take one by the hand, to -enquire into one’s sorrows, to interest himself in one’s anxieties, to -exult in one’s good fortune and one’s joys; this and this only deserves -the name of existence. - -I had however a painful drawback upon my satisfaction. It was my fate -since the visit of the stranger of the lake of Constance, to rejoice -for moments and to lament for years. I could not at first ascend to -that purity and eminence of friendship to forget myself; I could not -but painfully feel the contrast between me and my son. How happy -was Charles, how respectable, how self-approving, how cheerful of -heart: I shall presently have occasion to speak of a still further -addition to his happiness! I looked indeed young, fair, blooming, a -stranger to care: but I had a secret worm gnawing at my vitals. This -very deceitfulness of my countenance was a bitter aggravation to my -remorse. I never saw my features reflected in the polished shield -without feeling myself struck to the core. Charles had walked right -onward in the paths of honour; he feared no detection; he had no secret -consciousness that gave the lie to the voice of applause, partiality, -and friendship. But I was all a lie; I was no youth; I was no man; I -was no member of the great community of my species. The past and the -future were equally a burthen to my thoughts. To the eye that saw me I -was a youth flushed with hope, and panting for existence. In my soul -I knew, and I only knew, that I was a worn out veteran, battered with -the storms of life, having tried every thing and rejected every thing, -and discarded for ever by hope and joy. When I walked forth leaning on -the arm of him who delighted to call me his younger brother, this was -the consciousness that hunted my steps and blasted me with its aspect -whichever way we turned. - - - - -CHAPTER XLV. - - -Among the various confidences reposed in me by my son, one was his -love. The object of his attachment was a young lady of quality, named -Pandora, niece to Nadasti, great palatine of Hungary. In consequence of -the earnest recommendation of Castaldo in 1553, Nadasti had taken my -son under his particular protection, and Charles’s principal home at -the periods when the army was dispersed in winter-quarters was at the -palatine’s house in the city of Presburg. Here his manners had become -more polished, and his taste more refined. Till then, bred in tents, -and living amidst the clangour of arms, he had been a mere soldier, -rough, generous, manly, and brave. But Nadasti was an elegant scholar, -smitten with that ardent love of classical and ancient lore which -has so eminently distinguished the sixteenth century. He assembled -round him men of letters from various parts of Europe; and, under -his auspices, the days of Matthias Corvinus, king of Hungary, seemed -to be revived, whose love of literature was such, that he kept three -hundred transcribers in his house, constantly employed in multiplying -copies of the precious relics of Roman and Athenian learning. The -consort of Nadasti was one of the most accomplished matrons of the age -in which she lived, and her three daughters were patterns of every -polite and amiable accomplishment. Such was the school into which the -chevalier de Damville entered at the age of twenty-five, immediately -after the retreat of Castaldo. This may seem an age somewhat late -for new-modelling the character, but Charles had an enterprising and -aspiring temper; and he soon became a distinguished ornament of courts -and the society of ladies. Castaldo had taught him all he knew, the -temper, the manners, and the science of a military chieftain: the -palace of Nadasti finished and completed the education of my son. - -Pandora was only fourteen years of age when Charles de Damville first -became a sort of inmate of the house of her uncle. She at that time -lived with her father; but he being afterwards killed in the battle -which Nadasti fought for the relief of Ziget, Pandora occupied an -apartment in the palatine palace. From the first hour he saw her, a -mere child as it were, accompanied by her governess, Charles confessed -to me that he had beheld her with eyes of distinction. He had said -to himself, This little girl will hereafter be a jewel worthy of the -crown of an emperor. He had found something inexpressibly attractive -in the starry brightness of her complexion; her air he regarded as -both lighter and more graceful than any thing he had ever before -seen; and her speaking and humid eye seemed to him the very emblem of -sensibility and sweetness. If, at the girlish and immature season of -fourteen, he had ascribed to her all these perfections, it will easily -be supposed that, as she increased in stature as the beauties of form -unfolded themselves in her, and she advanced in sentiment and a lovely -consciousness of her worth, the partiality of Charles became more deep -and unalterable. But the orphan niece of Nadasti was altogether without -a portion; and the great palatine would have seen with more complacency -the chevalier de Damville addressing his pretensions to one of his -daughters. - -Charles confessed to me that the passion he nourished had been fruitful -of pleasures and griefs, of hope and perplexity. It was now almost a -year since Pandora and himself had confessed a mutual affection. The -confession had not been the result of design on either side: both had -wished to suppress it; Pandora from virgin dignity and reserve; and -Charles, because he saw not how their affection could be crowned with -success, and he dreaded, more than any misery to himself, to be the -author of degradation and misery to her he loved. But what is ever -uppermost in the heart will at some time or other betray itself. Their -sympathetic and accordant feelings upon a point so deeply interesting -to both, rendered them eagle-eyed to discern the smallest indications. -They had had a thousand opportunities, and a thousand opportunities -had been resisted. They became more than usually silent and reserved -towards each other; they shunned to meet, and, when they met, avoided -each other’s eyes. One day a casual encounter in a solitary retreat, -which each had sought principally with intention to escape the presence -of the other, had taken them off their guard. They were mutually -hesitating and perplexed; each discerned more unequivocal indications -than had ever occurred before of the state of the other’s sentiments; -the entire accord snapped as it were at once the chains of reserve; and -each, after a short interval of hesitation, spoke with an eloquence, -hitherto untried, the language of love. The difference of years between -them gave a zest to the communication. Pandora seemed to be throwing -herself upon the protection of an elder brother, of a guardian, one -in whose prudence she confided as the antidote of her inexperience; -Charles felt his maturer years as imposing on him more severely that -sacred integrity, the obligation of which, at least as society is at -present constituted, seems in the majority of cases to grow out of the -relative situation of the sexes, of the protectorship of the one, and -the dependence of the other. - -“And now,” exclaimed Charles, “what am I to do? what am I to desire? -It would be affectation in me to conceal from myself on an occasion -like this, that the reputation I have acquired both in the arts of -peace and war is such, as to have caused Nadasti to set his heart -upon my becoming his son-in-law. The great palatine, though in many -respects generous and liberal, has that inflexibleness of opinion, -which is perhaps more apt to grow up in the hearts of scholars, than -in other departments of society. He is grave and solemn; all his -habits are of a majestic and lordly nature; and I have small reason -to hope that I shall find him accessible to my representations. He is -little subject to sallies of passion; his own propensities are wholly -under the control of his judgment; and it is not likely that he will -make allowance for the ardent affections of other minds. Pandora is -entirely dependent on him; in any case the portion she would receive -from him would be very inadequate to her worth; but, discarded and -discountenanced by him who has the absolute rule of Christian Hungary, -what can she expect? I am myself destitute of fortune; my provision -as a soldier will be very inadequate to the wants of the first and -softest of her sex. But even of that provision Nadasti will deprive -me, if I marry in opposition to his pleasure. Shall I make Pandora -the inhabitant of tents and encampments; shall I expose her to all -the changes and hazards of a military life; shall I drag her as the -attendant of a soldier of fortune through every climate of Europe? No, -by heavens! I should regard myself as the most selfish and the basest -of mankind, if I could deliberate on such a question. Never shall the -charmer of my soul owe a single privation to her Charles. I love her -with so pure and entire a passion, that I prefer her prosperity to -every earthly good. Nor is it merely necessary to my attachment that -she should live in plenty and ease; I require that my Pandora should -be seen in her native lustre, that she should be surrounded with every -appendage due to her merit, that she should command applause from the -mercenary, and homage from the superficial. Her praise is the only -music I enjoy. I could not bear to hear her name coupled with levity -and scorn. I could not bear that, where she appeared, every eye should -not be turned to her with reverence and honour. My passion, I confess -it, is that of a disciple of liberal arts and a nobleman, not that of -an Arcadian.” - -The period of the campaign now drew to an end, and Charles, having -requested me to accompany him, set out for his usual winter retreat in -the city of Presburg. I saw Pandora. Never in my life had I beheld any -thing so sweetly simple. I had always been an admirer of the sex; but -the perfections of Pandora were of a nature that I had not observed in -any other woman. Her symmetry was so perfect, the pearly lustre of her -skin so admirable, and her form and carriage so light and ethereal, -that at first view it was difficult to persuade one’s self that she -was framed of the same gross materials as the rest of the species. -She seemed not constructed to endure the shocks of the world, and the -rude assaults of ill humour or neglect, of censure or adversity. Her -voice was of the sweetest, the clearest and softest tone I ever heard. -There was a peculiar _naïveté_ in her accents, that riveted your soul -in irresistible fetters. Her conversation, for in the sequel I enjoyed -much of her conversation, had a very uncommon zest. She seemed to -have no art, and what she uttered appeared as if wholly unchecked by -consideration or reserve. You were persuaded that she always delivered -without restraint the first thing that occurred to her mind; yet in -what she said there was so much good sense, so much true feeling, and, -as the occasion allowed, so much whim and imagination, that you could -not discover how any of her words could be changed but for a worse. -This circumstance strikingly contrasted with the childish simplicity, -or rather the feminine softness and sylph-like delicacy, of her manner -and her tone. The opposition of appearance between her and my son -made a strong impression upon me. He was a perfect soldier, with an -ample chest, broad shoulders, and a figure, though graceful and well -proportioned, yet so strong, that it seemed framed to contend with and -to conquer the wrestlers in the Grecian games. His complexion, shaded -with luxuriant curls of manly hair, was itself made brown with the -rigours of climate. Pandora was so heavenly fair, so sweetly delicate -and slender, that you would have thought she would be withered and -destroyed in his embrace, like the frailest ornament of the garden -before the northern breeze. But courage to choose what is rugged and -manlike is often characteristic of the softest of her sex. - -I speedily contracted an intimate commerce with the beautiful Pandora. -I was naturally desirous to be as consummate a judge as possible of -those perfections, which I believed fated to determine the future -happiness of my son. When sufficiently satisfied in that respect, -I still continued the indulgence, and found a pure and exquisite -pleasure in the daily contemplation of accomplishments that were -to prove the materials of his gratification and delight, whose -gratification I preferred to my own. I had a still further view in this -commerce. I was anxious to be perfectly informed of the connections -and family of Pandora, that upon them I might build a project I had -deeply at heart, of bestowing on her, in the least questionable and -exceptionable manner, a dowry, that should place her upon an equality -with her cousins, the daughters of Nadasti, and deliver my son from -all apprehension of the unpleasing consequences to result from the -resentment of the great palatine. Nadasti was opulent, and the portions -of his daughters very considerable; and, however inclined, I could -not exceed this limit without risking the entire miscarriage of my -project. Charles thought nothing too rich either in situation or income -to do honour to the mistress of his soul; but, separately from this -enthusiastic sentiment, both he and Pandora had too just a taste, not -to prefer the simple majesty of ancient nobility, to the expensive -ostentations of modern refinement. - -Having digested my plan I was obliged to travel as far as Venice for -the execution of it. The mother of Pandora had been a Venetian, and -the uncle of her mother was one of the adventurers who had sailed with -Pizarro for the conquest of Peru. He had died before the completion -of that business, and had left behind him no relative so near to him -in blood as the lovely Pandora. By a singular piece of good fortune, -I encountered at Venice an individual who had sailed in the same ship -with the young lady’s uncle. The uncle having died prematurely, the -share he might otherwise have obtained of the spoils of Peru was sunk -in the shares of the rest, and nothing was allowed to remain that -might have descended to his heirs. His friend and countryman I found, -though once rich with the booty he made, had by a series of calamities, -before he reached his native home, been reduced to a state of poverty. -The vicissitudes he experienced, had produced in him the effect of -a very uncommon eagerness for acquisition. This man I fixed on for -my instrument; I opened to him my plan, and offered him a very ample -gratification, provided he acted successfully the part I assigned him. -In concert with each other we digested and forged the various documents -that were best calculated to give credibility to the tale. Having -completed our arrangement, I set out for Presburg without a moment’s -delay, and directed my Venetian not to follow till after a stipulated -interval. He was not to enter into full possession of his reward till -he had completed the task he had undertaken. It was fixed that no -person in Hungary should be acquainted with my visit to Venice, but -only be allowed to understand generally, that I had been engaged for a -certain time in an excursion of amusement. So hard is the fate of the -possessor of the philosopher’s stone, and so limited his power, as to -have rendered all these precautions on my part indispensably necessary. -Had not the various circumstances concurred, the detail of which is -here stated, the birth of Pandora’s mother in a maritime state, the -expedition of Pizarro to Peru, her uncle’s engaging in this expedition -and dying before it was completed, and my own casual rencounter with -his _compagnon du voyage_, my project would too probably have been -baffled. A direct gift of the fortune I designed would never have been -admitted of; and, had not the coincidence been eminently favourable, -even though I should have succeeded in misleading every other party, I -could not hope to have eluded the perspicacity and jealous honour of my -son. - -When I returned to Presburg, I again renewed my intercourse with -Pandora. The passion entertained by Damville for the beautiful orphan -was a secret to every person at court; they had managed so discreetly -as to have avoided every hint of suspicion; and, as it was universally -known that the great palatine had an eye on this gallant soldier for -one of his daughters, few persons entertained a doubt that my son would -speedily declare his election among the co-heiresses of Nadasti. On -the other hand, in the friendly intercourse between me and Pandora, -neither she nor myself felt that there was any thing to conceal, and -it was therefore a matter of complete notoriety. My blooming youth of -appearance was remarked; by the majority of bystanders we were judged -formed for each other; and, before I was aware, the beautiful Hungarian -was awarded to me by the general voice as my destined bride. When -however I became acquainted with the rumour, I was contented to smile -at it; the consciousness in my own breast how far the public sagacity -had wandered in its guess, gave to that guess, in my apprehension, a -certain air of whimsical and amusing. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI. - - -Such was the situation of the affair of Pandora, and I daily looked -for the arrival of my Venetian confederate, when suddenly I remarked -an alteration in the carriage of my beautiful ally. She had hitherto, -on all occasions, sought my conversation; she now appeared sedulously -to avoid me. Her manner had been characterised by the gaiety, the -sprightliness and general good humour, incident to her age, and -congenial to her disposition. She was now melancholy. Her melancholy -assumed a tone correspondent to the habits of her mind, and was -peculiar and individual. It had an ingenuous and defenceless air, -inexpressibly calculated to excite interest. It seemed to ask, what -have I done to deserve to be melancholy? You felt for her, as for a -spotless lily depressed by the unpitying storm. You saw, that those -enchanting features were never made for a face of sorrow, and that that -bewitching voice ought never to have been modulated into an expression -of heaviness. - -I was in the highest degree anxious to learn the cause of this -revolution, and was the farthest in the world from suspecting its real -foundation. I pursued Pandora with so much importunity, and demanded -an interview with such irresistible earnestness, that she at length -consented to grant it. We met in a remote part of the garden. “Why, -Henry,” said she, “do you thus persecute me? You are my evil genius, -the cause of the greatest calamity that could ever have overtaken me.” - -I started. “For heaven’s sake, beautiful Pandora, what do you mean?” - -“I love the chevalier de Damville. I have loved him long; he is dearer -to me than life; and he has cast me off for ever!” - -“And am I the cause?” - -“Yes, you, and you alone. I had for some time observed a change in -his behaviour, that he was uncommonly grave, serious, and reserved. I -endeavoured to soothe him; I redoubled my blandishments in our next -season of unreserved discourse; I tenderly enquired into the source of -his grief. - -“For a long time he resisted my importunity. At length, ‘Faithless -girl,’ said he, ‘have you the cruelty to ask the meaning of my -depression? This is the extremity of insult. Is it not enough that -I know your inconstancy? Is it not enough that I have found you, -like the rest of your frivolous sex, the mere slave of your sense of -sight, regardless of vows, regardless of an affection which despised -all interests but that of tenderness and love, caught by the first -appearance of something younger, softer, and more courtly, than I -pretend or desire to be? Will nothing satisfy you but the confession -of my unhappiness from my own mouth? Do you require expostulation, -intreaty, and despair, from your discarded lover, to fill up the -measure of your triumph?’ - -“For a long time I was totally at a loss to apprehend my dear -chevalier’s meaning. - -“‘No,’ continued he, ‘I am not jealous. There is no temper I hold in -such sovereign contempt as jealousy. I am not of a disposition easily -to conceive umbrage, or lightly to doubt the protestations of the woman -I adore. I have been blind too long. But I see that you are eternally -together. I see that you take advantage of the distance at which the -despotic temper of Nadasti keeps us from each other, to give all your -time to my favoured rival. You seem never to be happy out of his -society. I was first led to throw off the dulness of my unsuspecting -security, by the general voice of the public. The whole court gives you -to each other. Not a creature it holds, but has discerned that passion, -which you have the insolence to expect to conceal from me. Since I have -been awakened from my security, I have seen it a thousand times. I have -seen your eyes seek and encounter each other. I have seen them suddenly -lighted up by your interchanging glances. I have seen the signs of your -mutual intelligence. I have seen with what impatience, the moment you -could escape from the crowded circle, you have joined each other, and -retired together. Ungenerous Pandora! - -“‘But do not imagine I will enter the lists with the gaudy butterfly -who has now attracted your favour. I have told you already that I am -not formed for jealousy. I am not the sort of man you have supposed -me to be. I have loved you much; I have loved you long. But I would -tear out my heart from my manly breast, if I believed it yet retained -an atom of passion for you. I know what it was I loved; I loved a -character of frankness, of ingenuousness, of simplicity, which I fondly -imagined was yours, but which I now find was the creature of my own -fancy. The Pandora that stands before me; the child of art; the base -wretch that could take advantage of my forbearance in regard to her -uncle, which was adopted purely out of love to her; the unfeeling -coquette that would wish to retain me in her chains when she had -discarded me from her affections; this creature I never did love, and -I never will. I know how deeply rooted the habit has been in my bosom -of regarding you as the thing you are not; I know how bitter it is to -a temper like mine to detect so unlooked-for a delusion; I know what -it will cost me to cast you off for ever. But I never yet proposed to -myself a conquest over my own weakness that I did not gain, nor will I -now. If you were to discard this wretched D’Aubigny to-morrow, if you -were convinced of and contrite for your error, I must ingenuously tell -you, no time, no penitence could restore you to my admiration. I had -set up an imaginary idol in my bosom; but you have convinced me of its -brittleness, and dashed it to pieces.’ - -“I endeavoured,” continued Pandora, “by every imaginable protestation -to convince my late faithful lover of his mistake. But it was to no -purpose; all I could say only tended to swell the tide of his fearful -resentment.” - -“‘Be silent,’ cried he: ‘add no further to the catalogue of your wanton -and causeless delusions. Do not make me hate too much what I once so -blindly and ardently adored. I feel that I have an enemy within me, -that would fain co-operate with your deceptions and hypocrisy. I find -that man, treacherous to himself, is formed by nature to be the fool -of your artful sex. But I will subdue this propensity in me, though -I die for it. I may be wretched; but I will not despise myself. Have -I not seen your falsehood? Have not all my senses been witnesses of -your guilt? The miracle is that I could have been duped so long. I have -heard this stripling lover of yours inexhaustible in your praises, and -dwelling upon them with an ardour that nothing but passion could have -inspired. I have seen, as I have already told you, the intelligence -of your eyes. I have seen those melting glances, I have heard those -tender and familiar tones between you, that bespoke the most perfect -confidence and the most entire mingling of heart. If I did not believe -this, I should believe worse of you. I should think your heart not -merely capricious, but an absolute prostitute; prepared to bestow -upon hundreds those sweet, those nameless tendernesses of accent and -countenance, which I fondly imagined were reserved for me alone. I -should regard you as the worst and most pernicious acquisition that -could fall to the lot of a man. ‘Go, Pandora,’ added he: ‘my heart is -chaste; my soul is firm. I can no longer be deceived by you; I will not -dispute your charms with the idle boy you have now thought proper to -favour.’ And, saying thus, he burst from me in an agony of impatience. - -“Alas!” continued the sweet and ingenuous Pandora, “my dear Henry, -what shall I do? How shall I remove the unreasonable imaginations -of this noble mind? Bear me witness, Heaven! nothing could be more -innocent than the correspondence I allowed myself to hold with you. My -adorable Charles was continually calling you brother; I scarcely ever -heard him speak of you by any other appellation. I regarded Charles -as my husband; I already viewed you in anticipation as the brother of -my lord. Excluded as I was from frequent conversation with him whom I -most loved, I endeavoured to supply the deficiency by an unreserved -communication with you. The extreme resemblance of your persons -increased my gratification. You were his picture, his speaking image. -While I looked at you, I said, ‘Such once was my Charles, before he -was the great man, the gallant soldier, the accomplished cavalier, -the adored object, that now engrosses my affections.’ Beside, I knew -that Charles loved you as much as he did any man on earth, and that -knowledge made you dear to me. You were constantly eager to dwell -upon and describe his excellences; could I fail to be pleased with -your conversation? I own that the pleasure I took in it was unbounded, -and the emotions it awakened in my affectionate heart delicious. But -all this, candidly explained, was only an additional proof of the -tenderness and constancy of my earliest attachment. - -“And now, ever since the fatal day in which this conversation passed -with my Charles, he is absent from court, and I know not whither he is -gone. He has disdained to seek any further explanation, nor do I know -how to appeal to his calmer feelings and more deliberate mind. One -thing however I had determined on, and that was, Henry, strictly to -avoid your society. - -“I trust, wherever my Charles is, he will hear of this. I owe this -expiation to his agonised feelings, and to the appearances that in -some degree justify his misconstruction. I will wait patiently, till -the simplicity and singleness of my conduct have cleared my faith. If -I should otherwise have found pleasure and relief in your society, I -will make a merit with myself of sacrificing this to the apprehensive -delicacy of my Charles’s mind. In this single instance your importunity -has prevailed with me to dispense with my rule: you were not to -blame, and I thought upon more mature reflection that I owed you an -explanation. But henceforth, if you have any kindness for me, or -value for him who has acted and felt towards you like a brother, I -must entreat you to co-operate with me in this, and that, whether in -public or private, we may bestow no notice on each other, and avoid all -opportunities of communication. To persuade you to this, was indeed a -principal inducement with me so far to deviate from the rule I had laid -down to myself, as to admit this conversation.” - -I was extremely affected with the unhappiness of Pandora. I exerted -myself to console her. I promised that nothing on my part should be -wanting to remove every shadow of doubt that hung upon her fidelity, -and I exhorted her to believe that every thing would infallibly -terminate in the way most honourable and gratifying to herself. Pandora -listened to me, and dried her tears. The conversation was interesting -and soothing to us both; we regarded it as the last unreserved and -sympathetic communication we should ever have with each other; it -insensibly grew longer and longer, and we knew not how to put an end -to it. We were still in this state of irresolution when, looking up, I -perceived Charles de Damville approaching from the further end of the -walk that led to the alcove. - -I would have withdrawn. I was anxious to remove the unjust suspicion -that hung upon his mind; but the instant that presented to him so -strong an apparent confirmation of them, the instant that by so doing -must have worked up his soul into tumult, did not appear a favourable -one for explanation. To withdraw was impossible. Pandora had discerned -her lover at the same moment with myself. She was seized with a -faintness. She would have sunk to the ground; but I caught her in my -arms. I rested with one knee on the earth; her head was reclined on my -bosom. Charles approached with a quicker pace. - -“Rise,” said he. “This is beyond my hopes. I left Presburg with the -purpose of not revisiting it for years; but, as I proceeded further and -further from a place which had lately been the centre of my affections, -I began to doubt whether I had not acted with precipitation, and to -believe that there was yet some uncertainty hanging on my fate. The -seemingly earnest protestations of this delusive syren rung in my ears; -mechanically, without any formed resolution, I changed my course, and -returned on my steps. My doubts are now at an end. I find you taking -instant advantage of my absence to throw yourselves into each other’s -arms. The feelings I so lately uttered in your presence, Pandora, would -have kept you apart, if my feelings had been in the least sacred in -your eyes, if all my surmises had not been too true.”--He took by the -hand the weeping Pandora, and led her to the seat which a little before -she had quitted. - -“Why all this artifice? Why all this deceit? It is said that we are -not masters of our own hearts, and that no human passion is formed to -endure for ever. Influenced by these maxims, I could have pardoned your -inconstancy, too fair, too fickle Pandora! but why strain every nerve, -to make me believe you still retained a passion you had discarded, to -subject me to the lingering torture of deceit, instead of communicating -to me a truth, agonising indeed to human frailty, but calculated to -inspire fortitude and decision? This I cannot excuse: this racks me -with the bitterest of disappointments, disappointment in the virtues I -had ascribed to you; and convinces me, that you are neither worthy of -me, nor worthy of happiness. - -“And you too, D’Aubigny, you have acted a part in this unworthy plot, -I rescued you from prison, from a dungeon from which, a few hours -before, you had no hope of coming forth alive. I took you under my -protection, when you had no friend; I placed you next myself; I -conceived for you the affection of a brother; I loved you, next in -degree to the mistress of my soul. In return for all that I have done, -and all that I felt for you, you have with insidious heart and every -base disguise, seduced from me the woman of my choice. Why not frankly -and ingenuously have demanded her at my hands? The heart is free; your -reciprocal passion, though I might have regretted it, I should have -been unable to blame; it is the cloak that you have drawn over it, that -proves the baseness of its origin. Do you think I had not the courage -cheerfully and without a murmur to resign to you this illustrious fair -one? I feel that I was worthy to be openly treated. Had I seen in you -a mutual and ingenuous passion, I would not have been the bar to its -just consummation. I would not have sought the person of a woman, -whose heart, in spite perhaps of her better resolutions, was given to -another. I should loathe myself for ever, were I capable of such a -part. It was the sympathetic sentiment towards me, beating in accord -to the sentiment of my own bosom, that I once saw in Pandora, and not -either her peerless beauties, or the excellences I imputed to her mind, -that formed the master-charm which fascinated my soul. I feel that -I had the force, in the negation of my own happiness, to have drawn -comfort and compensation from the happiness of two creatures I so -dearly loved, as D’Aubigny and Pandora. - -“But this alleviation in the midst of what you have condemned me to -suffer, you have ungenerously denied me.”---- - -I sought to interrupt my son. I could no longer bear to see him -involved in so painful an error, and not exert every nerve to rescue -him from it. But his passions were wrought higher than mine: he would -not suffer me to speak. - -“Be silent, D’Aubigny! I cannot brook to be interrupted now. My heart -is full; and I must have leave to utter the sentiments that agitate and -distend it.” - -He advanced towards Pandora. He took hold of her hand. - -“Rise, madam. I shall not long trouble you with the boisterous -impetuousness of my passions. Do not resist me now!” - -She rose, and followed him; her face still covered with her -handkerchief, and drowned in tears. He led her to the front of the -alcove: he motioned me to approach; with his other hand he took hold of -mine. He seemed to lift Pandora’s hand to his lips, as if to kiss it; -with a sudden start he put it down again; he held it below the level of -his breast. - -During this scene, Pandora and myself were speechless. Most women, -in the situation of Pandora, would, I suppose, have spoken, and have -been eager to vindicate themselves from so groundless an imputation. -But what she did was peculiar to the delicacy and defencelessness of -her personal character. She was overwhelmed, and incapable of effort. -For my own part, my feelings were uncommonly complicated. My apparent -situation was a plain one, the situation of a youth mistaken by his -friend for the seducer of the mistress of that friend; and had my -feelings been merely relative to this situation, I could undoubtedly -have spoken without embarrassment. But with this were involved the -sentiments originating in my secret character, the sentiments of a man -anxious to benefit, and who had devoted himself to the interests of -another; of a father tremblingly alive to the happiness of his son, and -eager to dive into his soul, that he might the more sensibly admire his -virtues, and with a more enlightened skill secure his fortune. I was -silent: Charles de Damville proceeded:-- - -“Thus,” said he, “I join your hands; thus I withdraw all my claims -upon Pandora; thus I remove every impediment to your wishes. This, -Pandora,--this, D’Aubigny, I was capable of, if you had treated me -honourably, and avowed an honest passion. You do not know Charles de -Damville. You have treated me, as none but the most groveling soul -could deserve to be treated. Had you been ingenuous, I should have a -consolation in what I am doing, that now I cannot have. I can no longer -persuade myself that I am joining two worthy hearts to each other. I -can no longer relieve the bitterness of my own disappointment, by the -image of your future felicity. May I be mistaken! May you be truly -happy in each other! You cannot be happy beyond the wishes formed -in your favour, by him who will remember, to the latest hour of his -existence, how much his heart was devoted to you both.” - -Saying this, he burst away from us abruptly, and disappeared. At first, -as I listened to the heroic language of my son, I asked myself whether -it were the expression of a warm heart or a cold one. It costs nothing -to a cold heart to ape the language of heroism, and to pretend to -make the greatest sacrifices, when its constitution has rendered all -effort unnecessary to the feat. But I looked in the face of Charles, -and forgot my doubts. His voice he had indeed wound up to the tone of -his speech; it was a little tremulous, but in the main firm, serious, -deliberate, and elevated. But his countenance was the picture of -distress. There sat enthroned, defying all banishment and disguise, the -anguish of his soul. His eye was haggard; his complexion was colourless -and wan. He had been absent several days from Presburg; his appearance -told me that he could scarcely either have eaten or slept during the -period of his absence. He might talk of the generosity with which he -could resign Pandora; I read in his face what that resignation had -cost, and would go on to cost him. Ingenuous, noble-hearted Charles! -I doubted whether, but for a reverse of the events he apprehended, he -would be able to survive it. - -He had no sooner left us, than I applied myself to comfort Pandora. -I swore to her that, in spite of every temporary cloud, I would yet -witness the union of her and her adored chevalier. I assured her that -I would not rest, till I had forced Damville to hear me, and compelled -him to credit the sincerity of my tale. - -How many things were there, that, in the scene which had just passed, -I might have urged in answer to Damville, but respecting which my -situation imposed upon me the most rigorous silence! I might have said, -“You call yourself my protector, my benefactor, my patron; the real -relation between us is the reverse of the picture you have drawn. I -want not your protection; I am qualified, if I please, to be a patron -to all the world. I am meditating the most generous things in your -behalf: this perfidious friend, as you deem him, has devoted all his -thoughts, and postponed all his gratifications, that he might prove -himself substantially and in the most important particulars your -friend.” - -More than this I might have said. I might have said, “I am your father. -I have no inclinations, no passions contravening your gratification. -I love you with more than a father’s love; I transfer to you all the -affection I entertained for your peerless, murdered mother! All my -study is your happiness. You are to me the whole world, and more than -the whole world. Extensive and singular as are my prerogatives, I fold -them up; I forget them all; and think of you alone.” - -I cannot give a stronger proof than is contained in what I have here -stated, of the misery of my condition. I was cheated, as I have once -before remarked, with the form of a man, but had nothing of the -substance. I was endowed with the faculty of speech, but was cut off -from its proper and genuine use. I was utterly alone in the world, -separated by an insurmountable barrier from every being of my species. -No man could understand me; no man could sympathise with me; no man -could form the remotest guess at what was passing in my breast. I had -the use of words; I could address my fellow-beings; I could enter -into dialogue with them. I could discourse of every indifferent -thing that the universe contained; I could talk of every thing but -my own feelings. This, and not the dungeon of Bethlem Gabor, is the -true solitude. Let no man, after me, pant for the acquisition of the -philosopher’s stone! - -Charles de Damville had again left Presburg, the very instant he -quitted the alcove. When I inquired for him in the palace, I received -this afflicting intelligence. I did not hesitate a moment in resolving -that I would pursue his steps. It was of the utmost consequence that I -should overtake him; all that was most interesting to me hung upon our -interview. The preparations however of my journey, though followed with -ardour, inevitably reduced me to the being some hours in the rear of my -son. I was continually in his track, but could not come up with him: -to judge from events, you would have supposed that he had as strong a -motive to fly, as I had to pursue. He led me along the course of the -Danube, to the source of that far-famed and munificent river. - -I reached the passage of the Rhine, and was on the point of crossing -into Alsace. But here I lost all notice of Charles; no enquiry I could -make was effectual to procure me the slightest intelligence. He had not -crossed the river; he had proceeded neither to the right nor the left -along its banks. I was disappointed, mortified, and distressed. What -was I to do next? Could I return to Pandora? What tale must I relate to -this adorable creature, whom I had urged to depend upon my exertions? -Could I leave her however to the anguish and uncertainty that must -follow upon her hearing no more either from her lover or myself? - -I think I never felt more truly depressed than in this conjuncture. -Most amply, most critically did the curse of the _opus magnum_ attend -upon my projects, and render all my exertions abortive. It was the -same, whether my plans were formed upon a larger or a smaller scale. -When I endeavoured to live in total obscurity in Madrid, when I -undertook to be the steward and the father of the people of Hungary, -and now that, with a chastised ambition I sought, what is permitted to -all other human creatures, to provide for the honourable settlement of -my only son, still, still my evil genius pursued me, and blasted every -concern in which I presumed to interfere. I had intruded between two -faithful lovers: unfortunate they had been indeed, and considerable -obstacles were interposed to their felicity; but obstacles are -commonly found to yield to firmness and constancy; and, without my -fatal interference, Charles and Pandora would one day have been -happy. If by adverse fates they had hitherto been kept asunder, still -they understood each other, and rejoiced in their mutual confidence -and attachment. This, the consolation of all their sorrows and -disappointments, it was mine to have destroyed. The globe, for aught I -knew, would speedily be interposed between them, and here I stood in -the middle point, like one of those invincible repulsive powers hid in -the storehouse of nature, forbidding to them all future retrogression -to each other. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII. - - -The picture which my distracted fancy thus set before the eye of my -mind, was not altogether verified in the event. After a thousand -fruitless inquiries and perquisitions, I found, to my utter -astonishment, that Charles, arresting his career at the town of -Fribourg, had returned upon his steps, and sought a second time the -metropolis of Austrian Hungary. This was of the class of those events -which we sometimes meet with in the world, that baffle all calculation, -and strike us like magic, or like madness, in their authors. - -I had nothing to do, as I conceived, on this occasion, but to follow -the example of my son, and like him to resume the route of Presburg. -I yet hoped to witness, if not to co-operate in, the reconciliation -of Charles and Pandora. My spirits in this respect were revived, and -my prospects made brighter, by the thoughts that these virtuous and -meritorious lovers were at last likely to be once again inclosed within -the cincture of the same city. Add to which, my Venetian confederate -had not yet made his appearance at Presburg; and not only was I under -engagements to give him the meeting there, but it was also clear -that his errand could not be brought to its proper close without my -assistance. - -I once more entered the city to which Pandora owed her birth. Charles -de Damville had preceded my arrival several days. I should without -delay have repaired to his apartments, but that I found at my own -lodgings a letter from Benedetto Cabriera of Venice, informing me that -he was now in Presburg, and to avoid all cause for suspicion, had taken -up his residence in a remote quarter of the town. From the enquiries -I made, I became satisfied that my son had in some degree resumed -his usual occupations, and that there was no appearance of his again -immediately quitting the metropolis. I therefore felt my transaction -with Cabriera more urgent than an immediate conference with Charles. -Though I had sought that conference with earnest expedition, yet I -dreaded it. It might require the maturest consideration and the nicest -management, to render it effectual for the purposes I sought. I found -from certain intelligence that Damville and Pandora had yet had no -explanation with each other. I therefore regarded my exertions for that -purpose as a final effort; and I was willing that every thing should be -in train, and the portion of Pandora fully adjusted, before I entered -upon that interesting scene. With Cabriera I had little difficulty. The -documents and evidences of his tale we had concerted at Venice; and I -presently found that he told his story so plausibly, and supported it -so consistently, that it was admitted by every one without the smallest -suspicion. - -No sooner had Cabriera opened his business to the parties to whom the -cognisance of it most properly belonged, than I once more presented -myself to the beautiful and engaging niece of Nadasti. The instant I -entered her apartment, I was shocked with the extreme change of her -personal appearance. All the airiness, alertness and vivacity, that -had once so exquisitely adorned her, were gone. The roses in her cheek -were faded, and had given place to a delicate, but sickly paleness. -Her arms, though always what is called white, had before been round, -and had been distinguished by the purest hue of health. They were -now emaciated, skinny, and colourless. Her eyes were hollow, and -her eyelids inflamed with weeping. All these changes had taken place -in about five weeks that had elapsed since I saw her last. I was so -struck with the sight, that I involuntarily started, and could scarcely -command myself enough to refrain from tears. It was plain that she -carried an arrow in her bosom, which one hand only in the universe -could extract with safety. As I approached, she raised her lovely head -that had been depressed with grief, and lifted her white arms with an -expression of despair. - -“Come nearer, my sweet Henry,” said she, “I rejoice to see you; though -you have proved my worst enemy, the destroyer of my peace. But your -intentions, my kind boy, my brother, for such I will still call you, -have always been good and innocent. But, ah, Henry, you have deluded -me; you urged me to banish despair; and every day I see more reason to -despair.” - -I asked if she had not seen the chevalier since his return to Presburg. - -“It were better for me,” replied Pandora, “if I had not seen him. What -has really happened, is worse than if I had been denied to see him. I -have met him every day in the apartments of my aunt. To an indifferent -eye it would have appeared as if he neither sought nor avoided me. He -carries himself towards me with a cold and constrained civility. But he -neither demands an interview, nor allows me the opportunity to utter a -word to him in private. Oh, D’Aubigny, I see too well that I have lost -him for ever. When he fled my presence, when he resolved to seek some -distant region, cruel as that conduct was, it convinced me that I was -of some importance to him. But now he passes by me in stern neglect; -he has utterly driven me from his heart. Indeed, my brother, this last -blow is too much; I feel that I shall never recover it.” - -“And does the chevalier,” cried I, “appear at his ease? Does he exhibit -the wonted symptoms of his health and triumphant spirit?” - -“Away; too pleasing deluder!” replied Pandora. “Cheat me not with false -hopes! flatter me not with unreal expectations! Damville does not -appear to be well or happy. But you have deceived me too much; the -disappointments that you prepared for me are too excruciating. I feel -now at no time so high a degree of gloomy satisfaction and composure, -as when I press despair firmly to my breast. - -“But you, Henry,” continued she, “are probably uninformed of my -last and severest misfortune. I had a great uncle in the list of -the adventurers that achieved the conquest of Peru; he has died, -and unexpectedly bequeathed me a fortune, that sets the portionless -Pandora upon a level with the wealthy heiresses of the great palatine -himself. For a long time want of fortune was the only obstacle that -stood between me and all my hopes of happiness. Now that poverty is no -longer an evil to me, and wealth no longer desirable, I have obtained -this unwelcome acquisition. You can have no conception how painful a -sensation is produced by this mockery, the gift of ample possessions to -the votary of despair.” - -I endeavoured somewhat to encourage Pandora; but she obstinately -rejected my soothings. I was the less importunate on this subject, -as, since the return of my son, I persisted to persuade myself that I -should soon have something more substantial to offer her on his part, -than mere guesses and conjectures. The day after this conversation, I -boldly sought the presence of the chevalier. Till then, I had, since -our return to Presburg, avoided to meet him. I now resolved to force -from him a hearing; to assure him, with the most solemn asseverations, -of my own innocence, and the constancy of his mistress; to represent to -him in how eminent a degree the newly acquired estate of Pandora was -calculated to facilitate their mutual wishes; and finally, to offer him -any pledge he should desire of the sincerity of my declarations, even -to the banishing myself from the presence and intercourse of him and -the lovely Pandora for ever. - -When I saw my son, his appearance and air advanced a forcible claim -on my compassion. I will not now describe them. Suffice it, that they -completely proved, how true was the sympathy, even to the minutest -particulars, between him and his mistress. The difference was only -in kind, and not in degree: hers a defenceless, a delicate and truly -feminine grief; while his, amidst all its aggravations, had something -in it of the champion and the hero. When he felt most severely, he -seemed to disdain himself for what he felt; and, though his struggles -were excruciating, he resolutely smoothed his manly front, and the -loftiness of his spirit produced on his cheek a generous and a settled -blush. - -I have just said that I had resolved to force from him a hearing. I was -mistaken in my calculations on this point. Dejected as his habits had -lately been, he no sooner saw me, than he advanced towards me with a -fierce and imperative demeanour, that absolutely startled me. - -“How is it, man!” cried he, “that you are at this hour out of custody?” - -“Custody!” interdicted and astonished, repeated I. - -“Yes, custody! If such a wretch as thou art, be permitted to go at -large, what human institution, what human possessions, shall ever be -secure?” - -“Good God,” said I, “what am I to understand by your present rage? -I know that you have considered me as your personal enemy and the -underminer of your happiness. But, when first you accused me of this -crime, you treated me in a manner less violent and disdainful than that -which you now employ.” - -“I brook not to explain. Read that letter. I received it at Fribourg. -That letter brought me back from the confines of France to the spot -where now we meet.” - -I took up the letter. Its contents were nearly as follow:-- - - LETTER. - - “My dear Friend,--You will permit me to call you so, since to - me, and me only, you have recently thought proper to confide - your projects, and your unfortunate passion for the charming - Pandora. What you related to me on the subject convinced me - how much she was unworthy of your love, and how basely she has - conducted herself towards you. Yet you will yourself feel some - compassion for her, when you learn who it is upon whom she - has bestowed this unmerited preference. Know then that this - wretched D’Aubigny is no other than the notorious Chatillon, - the infamous impostor, who, by his machinations about a - year ago preserved the Turkish provinces of Hungary from - being conquered by the christian arms. The man is moreover a - magician, the pretended or real possessor of the philosopher’s - stone. He is therefore doubly worthy of death, first as a - traitor, the abettor and comforter of the common enemy of the - christian faith, and, secondly, as a dealer in the black art, - and a man notoriously sold and delivered over to the devil. - - “I have received this information from the most unquestionable - authority. A soldier in my old corps, who has lately escaped - from a Turkish prison, no sooner saw him than he identified - his person. I happened to be near the fellow at the moment, - when, by an unexpected exclamation, he betrayed his discovery. - It immediately struck me that the circumstance might be of - importance to your interests; and, therefore, taking the - soldier aside, I charged him not to mention to any one what - he had observed. To render his secrecy the more secure, I - have since removed him to a garrison at some distance from - Presburg; and I have myself mentioned the circumstance to no - living creature, that I might first receive your instructions - on the subject, and act in all respects concerning it as you - shall judge proper. The blackness of the character of the - man sets all exaggeration at defiance. This very individual, - whom you liberated from the bowels of the earth, who by the - most treacherous arts won your confidence, and upon whom you - lavishly heaped every imaginable distinction, was all the while - conscious to himself, that he was the character that of all - that live you hated most; in one word, the renegado Chatillon. - He acted consistently with his preceding conduct and his recent - disingenuousness, when he seduced from you the affections of - the woman of your choice. - - “I am concerned to add, that, on the very day that I made - this discovery, this Chatillon D’Aubigny disappeared from - Presburg, nor can I by any effort learn whither he is gone. It - is impossible he should have been informed by any human means - of the detection that had happened. But indeed it is vain - to attempt to form any reasonable conjecture, respecting a - character so mysterious and inexplicable. - - “Your devoted friend, - - “ANDREW, count of BATHORI.” - -“Well, sir,” seeing I had finished the perusal, “and what have you now -to allege? When I saw you simply as the favoured lover of Pandora, -however treacherous and dishonourable I might deem your conduct towards -me, I quitted the field. I did not trust myself to be a judge in my -own cause. I did not confide in my estimate of your unworthiness, -when I was myself wholly concerned. I had some time before received -an invitation from the duke d’Aumale, who was collecting a number of -generous and high-spirited nobles to accompany Mary queen of Scots to -the barbarous fields of her native realm. I at first declined, I now -accepted, the invitation; I set out for Paris to join him. I found -that letter waiting my arrival at Fribourg, and I returned. Deeply as -Pandora has sunk in my esteem, I determined I would never allow her to -be thrown away upon the infamous Chatillon. - -“You haunt my steps. I heard of you again and again on my route as -I returned from Fribourg. I arrive at Presburg, and presently after -you again make your appearance. What further villanies have you to -act? What new treacheries have you devised against me? This morning I -consented to the representations of count Bathori, and agreed that you -should be delivered up to justice. Why then are you not in custody? - -“When I consider the mystery and inscrutableness of your character, -I am lost in conjecture. You are said to be a magician, a dealer in -the unhallowed secrets of alchymy and the _elixir vitæ_. In cases -like this, all the ordinary rules of human sagacity and prudence are -superseded, the wisest man is a fool, and the noblest spirit feels the -very ground he stood on struck from under his feet. How can I know -that the seduction of Pandora’s affections is not owing to magical -incantations, who in that case is rather an object for compassion than -for censure? How can I tell that the fraternal resemblance borne by -your features to my own, and the sudden and ardent partiality that -rose in my breast when first I saw you, have not been produced by the -most detested arts? Magic dissolves the whole principle and arrangement -of human action, subverts all generous enthusiasm and dignity, and -renders life itself loathsome and intolerable. - -“This is to me the most painful of all subjects. I had a father whom -I affectionately loved: he became the dupe of these infernal secrets. -I had a mother, the paragon of the creation: that father murdered -her. All the anguish I ever felt, has derived its source from alchymy -and magic. While the infamous Chatillon thus stands before me, I feel -all the long-forgotten wounds of my heart new opened, and the blood -bursting afresh from every vein. I have rested, and been at peace; and -now the red and venomed plague, that tarnished the years of my opening -youth, returns to blast me. Begone, infamous, thrice-damned villain! -and let me never see thee more! - -“Wretch that you are!” continued Charles; for he saw me motioning to -withdraw,--I felt that all further expostulation and discussion on -my part was useless,--“wretch that you are! what is it that you are -about to do? Think no to escape my vengeance! In the midst of all the -tumultuous passions you waken in my breast, I still feel in myself the -soldier and the man of honour. I am not a thief-taker or a bailiff. -You are within my power, and that is your present protection. I will -not now deliver you up to the justice of the state, but will hurl -against you my personal defiance. I am willing to meet you man to man: -I thirst to encounter you as my worst and most mortal foe, who has -perpetrated against me the basest injuries, and excited in my bosom the -most hateful sensations. Though you were fenced with all the legions of -hell, I fear you not; and seeing that, after all that is past, you have -once again intruded into my presence, I here bind myself by all that is -sacred to pursue you to the death.” - -What could I answer to such an attack? I saw at once that the case, -as to all future harmony between me and my son was desperate and -irremediable. What hope could I entertain further? What had hitherto -been the result of our ill-fated intercourse? Every offence and -prejudice that can gall the human mind had been brought forward in it -in turn. I had wounded Damville in the most sensible point of private -life, and had blasted his hopes there where he stored them all. I had -offended his most rooted political prepossessions, by aiding the Turk, -and feeding a nation that perished with hunger. I was an equivocal -character, assuming different names, and wandering over the world with -different pretences. Last of all, I had revived in his mind the images -of his father and his mother,--all that had once been most dear, and -now was most painful, to his recollection; and had tortured his fancy -with nameless horrors. These sentiments could never be removed. All the -explanations in the world could never reconcile me to his mind; and I -felt that I had that within, which, in what was to come, as it had in -what was past, must for ever annihilate all confidence between us. At -once therefore I accepted his challenge, arranged with him the terms of -a hostile encounter on the following morning, and immediately after bid -adieu to Presburg, and to the sight of every soul contained within its -walls, for ever. - -This is, I powerfully feel, the last adventure that I shall ever have -the courage to commit to writing. A few minutes more, and I will lay -down my pen, and resolve in the most solemn and sacred manner never to -compose another line. Indeed, all other adventures must necessarily -be frigid and uninteresting, compared with that which I have now -described. Great God, what a fate was mine! Anxious as I had been to -prove myself in the most momentous respects the benefactor of my son, -dismissing all other thoughts and cares from my mind, journeying with -this sole object in view, from Presburg to Venice, and from Venice to -Presburg, from Hungary to the banks of the Rhine, and from the banks of -the Rhine back again to Hungary,--the whole scene was now terminated -by a declaration on his part, that nothing could appease the animosity -he cherished against me, short of rioting in the blood of his father’s -heart. I was reduced to the necessity either of lifting my sword -against my son, of running myself upon the point of his weapon, or of -forfeiting the engagement between us, and suffering him to brand me as -a coward in the face of Christendom. I mention not this, because the -variety of objects of choice produced in me the slightest hesitation. -Weary as I was of life, I could cheerfully have consented to die, but -not to stain the sword of Charles de Damville with my vital blood. I -prevented him from being the assassin of his father’s life; I could -not prevent him from being the assassin of his father’s character. He -was assiduous and indefatigable in spreading against me the blackest -invectives, which he regarded as the most unerring truths. All Hungary -has resounded for thirty years with the atrocities of the sieur de -Chatillon; what is here recorded contains the whole and unvarnished -truth on the subject. This narrative however shall never see the light, -till the melancholy hour when Charles de Damville shall be no more. - -Yet in the midst of the anguish, the disappointment of every cherished -hope, which rends my soul, I have one consolation, and that an -invaluable one, in the virtues, the glory, and the happiness of my -son. I said I would forget every gratification and sentiment of my own -in him; I am now more than ever instigated to do so. When I quitted -Presburg, I left Cabriera behind me in that city, and I took care to -obtain a parting interview with him. He afterwards gave me the meeting, -as we then concerted, at Trieste in the duchy of Carniola. It happened, -as I had flattered myself the event would prove, that, the visible -source of umbrage being removed, Charles and Pandora in no long time -came to a mutual understanding, and were finally made happy in each -other. I had been the fortunate means of supplying to this excellent -and incomparable creature the only defect under which she laboured, -a want of fortune; her uncle, having no longer a pretence to oppose -their mutual passion, united their hands; and, at the time of which I -am speaking, they were regarded as the most graceful and accomplished -couple in the whole Hungarian dominions. The chevalier de Damville -is considered in that country as the great bulwark of the Christian -frontier, and the most generous and illustrious pupil in the school of -the Bayards and the Scanderbegs. Cabriera, worn out with years and -fatigues, but still grasping and avaricious to his latest hour, expired -in my arms in the city of Trieste; and by his death yielded me this -contentment, that henceforth the only obvious means for detecting my -beneficent fraud in securing the dower of Pandora was for ever removed. - -That the reader may enter the more fully into my sentiment of -congratulation upon the happiness of my son, and rise from the perusal -of my narrative with a more soothing and pleasurable sensation, I will -here shortly recapitulate the good qualities that had been unfolded -in this truly extraordinary young man from his earliest infancy. -He was a child, only nine years of age, at the period of the truly -affecting and exemplary behaviour the reader may remember him to have -displayed, while I was at Paris squandering the property of my family -at the gaming-table. In the alienation of mind produced in me by -that dreadful catastrophe, he was my constant attendant, my careful -nurse, and my affectionate friend. When, twelve months after, we were -driven by our calamities out of Switzerland, and I lay extended to -all human appearance on the bed of death, Charles was the comforter -of his mother, the friend of his sisters, and even, young as he was, -contributed to the maintenance of my starving family by the labour -of his infant hands. At Dresden, as yet no more than seventeen years -of age, he was assailed by one of the severest trials with which the -mind of man can in any case be beset. But he hesitated not a moment. -Obliged to choose between poverty and innocence, with the sacrifice -of all his habitudes, and the loss of every friend, on the one side, -and wealth, new to his enjoyment, with ignominy or an equivocal -character, on the other, his determination was instant and unalterable. -Cast, at so immature an age, alone and portionless, upon the world, -he almost immediately, by his gallantry, his winning qualities, -and his virtues, gained to himself a friend in one of the greatest -captains of the age. Unaided by the brilliancy of family or fortune, -he acquired the character of the bravest soldier in Hungary, where -all were brave. This last trial, to which I had been the undesigning -means of subjecting him, was none of the least arduous. Love often -entails imbecility on the noblest of mankind: but Charles surmounted -the most perilous attacks of this all-conquering passion. When he -thought Pandora unworthy, he tore himself from her, and would not -admit a struggle. When he believed she loved another, he disdained to -claim a heart that seemed alienated from him, and himself joined the -hands of his mistress and his rival. He might have died; he could not -disgrace himself. I was the hero’s father!--but no! I am not blinded -by paternal partiality;--but no! he was indeed what I thought him, as -near the climax of dignity and virtue as the frailty of our nature will -admit. His virtue was at length crowned with the most enviable reward -the earth has to boast,--the faithful attachment of a noble-minded -and accomplished woman. I am happy to close my eventful and somewhat -melancholy story with so pleasing a termination. Whatever may have -been the result of my personal experience of human life, I can never -recollect the fate of Charles and Pandora without confessing with -exultation, that this busy and anxious world of ours yet contains -something in its stores that is worth living for. - -THE END. - - - - -FOOTNOTES - - -[1] To this story, in the book from which I have quoted it, is -subjoined the following reference:--“_Mémoires Historiques_, 1687, -tom. i. p. 365.” Being desirous of giving my extract from the oldest -authority, I caused the British Museum, and the libraries of Oxford and -Cambridge, to be searched for this publication, but in vain. The story -and the reference are, not improbably, both of them the fictions of the -English writer. - -[2] Johnson’s Occasional Prologue on Garrick’s assuming the management -of Drury-lane Theatre. - -[3] Charles V. - -[4] Henry VIII. - -[5] Antonio de Leyva. - -[6] The constable of Bourbon. - -[7] Mistresses of Francis I. - -[8] The battle of Cerisolles. - -[9] This incident is told, nearly in the words of St. Leon, by Thuanus, -_Historiæ Sui Temporis_, _lib._ 2. _cap._ 14. - - LONDON: - Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode, - New-Street-Square. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of St. Leon, by William Godwin - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ST. LEON *** - -***** This file should be named 53707-0.txt or 53707-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/7/0/53707/ - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/53707-0.zip b/old/53707-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 289c527..0000000 --- a/old/53707-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/53707-h.zip b/old/53707-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 6fdf400..0000000 --- a/old/53707-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/53707-h/53707-h.htm b/old/53707-h/53707-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 3778ddc..0000000 --- a/old/53707-h/53707-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,21256 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of St. Leon: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century, by William Godwin. - </title> - - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - -<style type="text/css"> - -a { - text-decoration: none; -} - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -h1,h2 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; - page-break-before: always; -} - -hr { - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - clear: both; - width: 65%; - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; -} - -p { - margin-top: 0.5em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0.5em; - text-indent: 1em; -} - -.blockquote { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -.caption { - text-align: center; - font-size: 90%; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.captionr { - font-size: 80%; - text-align: right; - margin-top: -2em; -} - -.captionl { - font-size: 80%; - text-align: left; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.center { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.figcenter { - margin: 3em auto 1em auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.footnotes { - margin-top: 1em; - border: dashed 1px; -} - -.footnote { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; - font-size: 0.9em; -} - -.footnote .label { - position: absolute; - right: 84%; - text-align: right; -} - -.fnanchor { - vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: none; -} - -.front-matter { - margin: auto; - max-width: 35em; -} - -.hanging { - padding-left: 2em; - text-indent: -2em; -} - -.noindent { - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.larger { - font-size: 150%; -} - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - right: 4%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; -} - -.poetry-container { - text-align: center; - margin: 1em; -} - -.poetry { - display: inline-block; - text-align: left; -} - -.poetry .verse { - text-indent: -3em; - padding-left: 3em; -} - -.right { - text-align: right; -} - -.smaller { - font-size: 80%; -} - -.smcap { - font-variant: small-caps; - font-style: normal; -} - -.smcapuc { - font-variant: small-caps; - font-style: normal; - text-transform: lowercase; -} - -.titlepage { - text-align: center; - margin-top: 3em; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -@media handheld { - -img { - max-width: 100%; - width: auto; - height: auto; -} - -.poetry { - display: block; - margin-left: 1.5em; -} - -.blockquote { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 5%; -} -} - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of St. Leon, by William Godwin - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: St. Leon - A Tale of the Sixteenth Century - -Author: William Godwin - -Release Date: December 10, 2016 [EBook #53707] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ST. LEON *** - - - - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 465px;"> - -<img src="images/i_001.jpg" width="465" height="600" alt="" /> - -<p class="captionl"><i>Boxall del<sup>t</sup>.</i></p> - -<p class="captionr"><i>C. Marr sculp<sup>t</sup>.</i></p> - -<p class="caption">ST. LEON,</p> - -<p class="caption">“<cite>I took her hand and by my caresses -endeavoured to soothe and compose her.</cite>”</p> - -<p class="captionr"><i>Page 65.</i></p> - -<p class="caption"><i>London, Published by Henry Colburn & Richard Bentley, 1831.</i></p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="center larger">ST. LEON,<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">BY</span><br /> -WILLIAM GODWIN.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> -<img src="images/i_002.jpg" width="350" height="275" alt="" /> -<p class="caption"><cite>He put his hand to the wound; -the Animal stirred not.</cite></p> -<p class="captionr"><i>Page 273.</i></p> -</div> - -<p class="titlepage">LONDON.<br /> -COLBURN AND BENTLEY,<br /> -NEW BURLINGTON STREET.<br /> -1831.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> - -<div class="front-matter"> - -<p class="center larger">ST. LEON:<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">A</span><br /> -TALE OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.</p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br /> -WILLIAM GODWIN.</p> - -<div class="blockquote titlepage"> - -<p class="smaller hanging">Ferdinand Mendez Pinto was but a type of thee, thou liar of -the first magnitude.</p> - -<p class="smaller right"><span class="smcap">Congreve.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class="titlepage">LONDON:<br /> -HENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY,<br /> -<span class="smaller">NEW BURLINGTON STREET;<br /> -BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH<br /> -AND CUMMING, DUBLIN.</span><br /> -1831.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller"><span class="smcap">London</span>:<br /> -Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode,<br /> -New-Street-Square.</p> - -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> - -<h2>ADVERTISEMENT.</h2> - -<p>The Publishers of the Collection of “<span class="smcap">Standard -Novels</span>” are extremely desirous that I should furnish -them with a few lines, by way of introduction to the -appearance of <span class="smcap">St. Leon</span> in its present form. I am -however at a loss how to oblige them. In the original -Preface I frankly stated the sources upon which I had -drawn for the idea and conduct of the work. I have -therefore no remarks to offer, but these which follow:—</p> - -<p>In 1794 I produced the novel of Caleb Williams. I -believed myself fortunate in the selection I had made -of the ground-plot of that work. An atrocious -crime committed by a man previously of the most -exemplary habits, the annoyance he suffers from the -immeasurable and ever-wakeful curiosity of a raw youth -who is placed about his person, the state of doubt in -which the reader might for a time be as to the truth -of the charges, and the consequences growing out of -these causes, seemed to me to afford scope for a narrative -of no common interest. I was not disappointed. -Caleb Williams was honoured with the public favour.</p> - -<p>The consequence was that I was solicited to try my -hand again in a work of fiction. I hesitated long. I -despaired of finding again a topic so rich of interest -and passion. In those days it was deemed a most -daring thought to attempt to write a novel, with the -hope that it might hereafter rank among the classics -of a language. The most successful English writers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span> -in that province of literature had scarcely gone -beyond three. It had not then been conceived that the -same author might produce twenty or thirty, at the -rate of two or three <i lang="la">per annum</i>, and might still at least -retain his hold upon the partiality of his contemporaries. -To Sir Walter Scott we are indebted for this -discovery.</p> - -<p>At length, after having passed some years in a -state of diffidence and irresolution, I ventured on the -task. It struck me that if I could “mix human feelings -and passions with incredible situations,” I might -thus attain a sort of novelty that would conciliate the -patience, at least, even of some of the severest judges. -To this way of thinking <span class="smcap">St. Leon</span> was indebted for a -“local habitation, and a name.”</p> - -<p>One of my most valued friends [Mr. Northcote] -has often told me, that the public may sometimes be -interested in the perusal of a book, but that they never -give themselves any trouble about the author. He -therefore kindly advised me on no occasion to say any -thing in print about myself. The present race of -readers seem scarcely disposed to verify this maxim. -They are understood to be desirous to learn something -of the peculiarities, the “life, character, and behaviour,” -of an author, before they consign him to the -gulph of oblivion, and are willing to learn from his own -testimony what train of thoughts induced him to adopt -the particular subject and plan of the work, upon the -perusal of which they are engaged.</p> - -<p class="right"><i>June, 1831.</i></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> - -<h2>PREFACE.</h2> - -<p>The following passage from a work, said to be written by -the late Dr. John Campbel, and entitled <i lang="la">Hermippus Redivivus</i>, -suggested the first hint of the present performance:—</p> - -<p>“There happened in the year 1687, an odd accident at -Venice, that made a very great stir then, and which I -think deserves to be rescued from oblivion. The great -freedom and ease with which all persons, who make a good -appearance, live in that city, is known sufficiently to all -who are acquainted with it; such will not therefore be surprised, -that a stranger, who went by the name of signor -Gualdi, and who made a considerable figure there, was -admitted into the best company, though nobody knew who -or what he was. He remained at Venice for some months; -and three things were remarked in his conduct. The first -was, that he had a small collection of fine pictures, which -he readily showed to any body that desired it; the next, -that he was perfectly versed in all arts and sciences, and -spoke on every subject with such readiness and sagacity, as -astonished all who heard him; and it was, in the third place, -observed, that he never wrote or received any letter, never -desired any credit, or made use of bills of exchange, but -paid for every thing in ready money and lived decently, -though not in splendour.</p> - -<p>“This gentleman met one day at the coffee-house with -a Venetian nobleman, who was an extraordinary good judge -of pictures: he had heard of signor Gualdi’s collection, and -in a very polite manner desired to see them, to which the -other very readily consented. After the Venetian had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span> -viewed signor Gualdi’s collection, and expressed his satisfaction, -by telling him that he had never seen a finer, considering -the number of pieces of which it consisted; he cast -his eye by chance over the chamber-door, where hung a -picture of this stranger. The Venetian looked upon it, and -then upon him. ‘This picture was drawn for you, sir,’ -says he to signor Gualdi, to which the other made no answer, -but by a low bow. ‘You look,’ continued the Venetian, -‘like a man of fifty, and yet I know this picture to -be of the hand of Titian, who has been dead one hundred -and thirty years, how is this possible?’—‘It is not easy,’ -said signor Gualdi, gravely, ‘to know all things that are -possible; but there is certainly no crime in my being like -a picture drawn by Titian.’ The Venetian easily perceived, -by his manner of speaking, that he had given the stranger -offence, and therefore took his leave.</p> - -<p>“He could not forbear speaking of this in the evening -to some of his friends, who resolved to satisfy themselves -by looking upon the picture the next day. In order to -have an opportunity of doing so, they went to the coffee-house -about the time that signor Gualdi was wont to come -thither; and not meeting with him, one of them, who had -often conversed with him, went to his lodgings to enquire -after him, where he heard, that he had set out an hour before -for Vienna. This affair made a great noise, and found -a place in all the newspapers of that time.”<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>It is well known that the philosopher’s stone, the art of -transmuting metals into gold, and the <i lang="la">elixir vitæ</i>, which -was to restore youth, and make him that possessed it immortal; -formed a principal object of the studies of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span> -curious for centuries. Many stories, beside this of signor -Gualdi, have been told, of persons who were supposed to be -in possession of those wonderful secrets, in search of which -hundreds of unfortunate adventurers wasted their fortunes -and their lives.</p> - -<p>It has been said of Shakespear, that he</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>:</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">but the burthen sustained by Shakespear was too heavy for -the shoulders of any other individual. I leave the first part -of the task above mentioned to be divided among those celebrated -novelists, living and dead, who have attempted to -delineate the scenes of real life. In this little work I have -endeavoured to gain footing in one neglected track of the -latter province. The hearts and the curiosity of readers -have been assailed in so many ways, that we, writers who -bring up the rear of our illustrious predecessors, must be -contented to arrive at novelty in whatever mode we are able. -The foundation of the following tale is such as, it is not to -be supposed, ever existed. But, if I have mixed human -feelings and passions with incredible situations, and thus -rendered them impressive and interesting, I shall entertain -some hope to be pardoned the boldness and irregularity of -my design.</p> - -<p>Some readers of my graver productions will perhaps, in -perusing these little volumes, accuse me of inconsistency; -the affections and charities of private life being every where -in this publication a topic of the warmest eulogium, while -in the Enquiry concerning Political Justice they seemed -to be treated with no great degree of indulgence and favour. -In answer to this objection, all I think it necessary to say -on the present occasion is, that, for more than four years, -I have been anxious for opportunity and leisure to modify<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span> -some of the earlier chapters of that work in conformity to -the sentiments inculcated in this. Not that I see cause to -make any change respecting the principle of justice, or any -thing else fundamental to the system there delivered; but -that I apprehend domestic and private affections inseparable -from the nature of man, and from what may be styled the -culture of the heart, and am fully persuaded that they are -not incompatible with a profound and active sense of justice -in the mind of him that cherishes them. True wisdom -will recommend to us individual attachments; for with -them our minds are more thoroughly maintained in activity -and life than they can be under the privation of them; and -it is better that man should be a living being, than a stock -or a stone. True virtue will sanction this recommendation; -since it is the object of virtue to produce happiness, and -since the man who lives in the midst of domestic relations -will have many opportunities of conferring pleasure, minute -in the detail, yet not trivial in the amount, without interfering -with the purposes of general benevolence. Nay, by -kindling his sensibility, and harmonising his soul, they may -be expected, if he is endowed with a liberal and manly -spirit, to render him more prompt in the service of strangers -and the public.</p> - -<p class="right">Nov. 26, 1799.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - -<h1>TRAVELS OF ST. LEON.</h1> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p>There is nothing that human imagination can figure -brilliant and enviable, that human genius and skill do not -aspire to realize. In the early ages of antiquity, one of -the favourite topics of speculation was a perfect system of -civil policy; and no sooner had Plato delineated his imaginary -republic, than he sought for a spot of earth upon -which to execute his plan. In my own times, and for -upwards of a century before them, the subject which has -chiefly occupied men of intrepid and persevering study, -has been the great secret of nature, the <i lang="la">opus magnum</i>, in -its two grand and inseparable branches, the art of multiplying -gold, and of defying the inroads of infirmity and -death.</p> - -<p>It is notorious that uncommon talents and unparalleled -industry have been engaged in this mighty task. It has, -I know, been disputed by the audacious adversaries of -all sober and reasonable evidence, whether these talents -and industry have in any case attained the object they -sought. It is not to my purpose to ascertain the number -of those whose victory over the powers and inertness of -matter has been complete. It is enough that I am a living -instance of the existence of such men. To these two secrets, -if they are to be considered as two, I have been for -years in the habit of resorting for my gratification. I have -in my possession the choice of being as wealthy as I please, -and the gift of immortal life. Every thing that I see -almost, I can without difficulty make my own; for what -palaces, pictures, parks or gardens, rarities of art or nature, -have not a price at which their owner will consent to yield<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> -them? The luxuries of every quarter of the world are -emptied at my feet. I can command, to an extent almost -inconceivable, the passions of men. What heart can withstand -the assault of princely magnificence? What man is -inaccessible to a bribe? Add to these advantages, that I am -invulnerable to disease. Every sun that rises, finds the -circulations of my frame in the most perfect order. Decrepitude -can never approach me. A thousand winters want -the power to furrow my countenance with wrinkles, or -turn my hairs to silver. Exhaustless wealth and eternal -youth are the attributes by which I am distinguished from -the rest of mankind.</p> - -<p>I do not sit down now to write a treatise of natural philosophy. -The condition by which I hold my privileges is, -that they must never be imparted. I sit down purely to -relate a few of those extraordinary events that have been -produced, in the period of my life which is already elapsed, -by the circumstances and the peculiarity to which I have -just alluded.</p> - -<p>It is so obvious, as to make it almost improper to specify -it, that the pursuit in which so many of my contemporaries -are engaged, and the end of which I have so singularly -achieved, is in its appearance infinitely more grand and -interesting than that which occupied the thoughts of Plato -and the most eminent writers of antiquity. What is political -liberty compared with unbounded riches and immortal -vigour? The immediate application of political liberty is, -to render a man’s patrimony or the fruits of his industry -completely his own, and to preserve them from the invasion -of others. But the petty detail of preservation or gradual -acquisition can never enter into competition with the <em>great -secret</em>, which endows a man in a moment with every -thing that the human heart can wish. Considered in this -light, how mean and contemptible does the ambition of the -boasted ancients appear, compared with ours? What adept -or probationer of the present day would be content to -resign the study of God and the profounder secrets of -nature, and to bound his ardour to the investigation of his -own miserable existence?</p> - -<p>It may seem perhaps to many, that the history of a person<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> -possessed of advantages so unparalleled as mine, must -be, like the history of paradise, or of the future happiness -of the blessed, too calm and motionless, too much of one -invariable texture and exempt from vicissitude, to excite -the attention or interest the passions of the reader. If he -will have patience, and apply to the perusal of my narrative, -he will in no long time perceive how far his conjecture -is founded in sagacity and reason.</p> - -<p>Some persons may be curious to know what motives can -have induced a man of such enormous wealth, and so every -way qualified to revel in delights, to take the trouble of -penning his memoirs. The immortality with which I am -endowed seems to put out of the question the common motives -that relate to posthumous fame.</p> - -<p>The curiosity here mentioned, if it really exists, I cannot -consent to gratify. I will anticipate nothing. In the -progress of my story, my motive for recording it will probably -become evident.</p> - -<p>I am descended from one of the most ancient and honourable -families of the kingdom of France. I was the only -child of my father, who died while I was an infant. My -mother was a woman of rather a masculine understanding, -and full of the prejudices of nobility and magnificence. -Her whole soul was in a manner concentrated in the ambition -to render me the worthy successor of the counts de -St. Leon, who had figured with distinguished reputation in -the wars of the Holy Land. My father had died fighting -gallantly in the plains of Italy under the standard of Louis -the Twelfth; a prince whose name was never repeated to -me unaccompanied with the praises due to his military -prowess, and to the singular humanity of disposition by -which he acquired the title of <em>The father of his people</em>. My -mother’s mind was inflamed with the greatness of my ancestors, -and she indefatigably sought to kindle in my bosom -a similar flame. It has been a long-established custom for -the barons and feudal vassals of the kings of France to -enter with great personal expense into the brilliant and -dazzling expeditions of their sovereigns; and my father -greatly impaired his fortune in preparations for that very -campaign in which he terminated his life. My mother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> -industriously applied herself to the restoration of my patrimony; -and the long period of my minority afforded her -scope for that purpose.</p> - -<p>It was impossible for any boy to be treated with more -kindness and considerate indulgence than I was during the -period of my adolescence. My mother loved me to the -very utmost limits perhaps of human affection. I was -her darling and her pride, her waking study, and her nightly -dream. Yet I was not pampered into corporeal imbecility, -or suffered to rust in inactivity of mind. I was provided -with the best masters. I was excited, and successfully excited, -zealously to apply myself to the lessons they taught. -I became intimately acquainted with the Italian writers of -the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. I was initiated in the -study of the classics, to the cultivation of which the revival -of letters at this time gave particular ardour. I was instructed -in the principles of the fine arts. There was no -species of accomplishment at that time in vogue, that my -mother was not anxious I should make my own. The only -science I neglected was the very science which has since -given rise to the most extraordinary events of my life. But -the object to which my attention was principally called, -was the pursuit of military exercises, and the cultivation of -every thing that could add to the strength, agility, or grace -of my body, and to the adventurousness and enterprise of -my mind. My mother loved my honour and my fame -more than she loved my person.</p> - -<p>A circumstance that tended perhaps more than any other -to fix the yet fluctuating character of my youthful mind, -was my being present as a spectator at the celebrated meeting -between Francis the First and Henry the Eighth, king -of England, in a field between Ardres and Guines. My -mother refused to accompany me, being already arrived at -an age in which curiosity and the love of festive scenes are -usually diminished, and the expenses incurred by all the -nobility who attended upon this scene being incompatible -with the economy to which she rigidly adhered. I was -therefore placed under the protection of the Marquis de -Villeroy, her brother, and, with two servants who attended -me, formed a part of his suite.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> - -<p>I was at this time fifteen years of age. My contemplations -had been familiar with ideas of magnificence and -grandeur, but my life had been spent in the most sequestered -retirement. This contrast had a particular effect -upon my disposition; it irritated to a very high degree my -passion for splendour and distinction; I lived in the fairy -fields of visionary greatness, and was more than indifferent -to the major part of the objects around me. I pined for -every thing the reverse of my present condition; I cultivated -the exercises in which I was engaged, only as they -were calculated to prepare me for future achievements.</p> - -<p>By the incident I have mentioned, I was transported at -once from a scene of modest obscurity, to a scene of the -most lavish splendour that the world perhaps ever contemplated. -I never remembered to have seen even Paris itself. -The prevailing taste of Europe has for some time led very -much to costliness in dress. This taste, in its present profusion, -I believe took its rise in the field of the Vale of -Ardres. The two kings were both in the vigour of their -youth, and were said to be the handsomest men of the age -in which they lived. The beauty of Henry was sturdy and -muscular; that of Francis more refined and elegant, without -subtracting in any considerable degree from the firmness -of his make. Henry was four years older than his -brother monarch. The first of them might have been taken -as a model to represent a youthful Hercules, and the last an -Apollo.</p> - -<p>The splendour of dress that was worn upon this occasion -exceeds almost all credibility. Every person of distinction -might be said in a manner to carry an estate upon his -shoulders; nor was the variety of garments inferior to the -richness. Wolsey, a man whose magnificence of disposition -was only surpassed by the pride of his soul, was for the -most part the director of the whole. He possessed the most -absolute ascendancy over the mind of his master, at the -same time that Francis artfully indulged his caprice, that -he might claim from him in return a similar indulgence in -weightier matters.</p> - -<p>The pomp of processions, and the ceremony of opening -this memorable festival, went first; a sort of solemn and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -half-moving pageant, which the eye took in at leisure, and -took in till it was filled. This was succeeded by every -thing that was rapid, animated, and interesting: masques -and exhibitions of all kinds; and, which was still more to -me, and which my soul devoured with indescribable ardour, -joustings, tilts, and tournaments without end. The beauty -of the armour, the caparisons of the steeds, the mettle of -the animals themselves, and the ardour and grace of the -combatants, surpassed every thing that my fancy had ever -painted. These scenes were acted in the midst of a vast -amphitheatre of spectators, where all that was noble and -eminent of either country was assembled—the manliness of -aspiring youth, and the boundless varieties of female attraction. -All were in their gayest attire; every eye was -lighted up with complacency and joy. If Heraclitus, or -any other morose philosopher who has expatiated on the -universal misery of mankind, had entered the field of Ardres, -he must have retracted his assertions, or fled from the -scene with confusion. The kings were placed at either end -of the lists, surrounded with their courtiers. Every eye -through this vast assembly was fixed upon the combatants; -the body of every one present was inclined this way or that, -in unconscious sympathy with the redoubted knights. From -time to time, as the favourites of either party prevailed, the -air was rent with shouts and acclamations.</p> - -<p>What added to the fascination of all that I have yet -mentioned, was that now, for the first time in an equal -degree perhaps for centuries, the stiffness of unwieldy form -was laid aside, and the heart of man expanded itself with -generosity and confidence. It burst the fetters of ages; -and, having burst them, it seemed to revel in its new-found -liberty. It is well known that, after a few days of idle -precaution and specious imprisonment on both sides, Francis -one morning mounted his horse, and appeared, without -guards or any previous notice, before the tent of Henry. -The example was contagious, and from this time all ceremony -was laid aside. The kings themselves entered personally -into the combats of their subjects. It was a -delightful and a ravishing spectacle, to witness the freedom -of the old Roman manners, almost of the old Roman Saturnalia,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -polished and refined with all that was graceful and -humane in the age of chivalry.</p> - -<p>It may easily be imagined what an effect a scene like -this was calculated to produce upon a youth of my age and -my education. I recollected with anguish that the immaturity -of my years precluded me from taking any active -part in the spectacle. My appearance however was sufficiently -advantageous. I was presented to Francis the -First. He did me the honour to question me respecting -my studies; and, finding in me some knowledge of those -arts and that literature, of which he was himself so zealous -a favourer, he expressed to my uncle a great satisfaction -with my figure and acquisitions. I might from this time -have been taken to court, and made one of the pages to -this illustrious monarch. But the plan of my mother was -different. She did not wish for the present that my eye -should be satiated with public scenes, or that the public -should grow too familiarly acquainted with my person. She -rightly judged that my passion for the theatre of glory -would grow more impetuous, by being withheld for some -time from the gratifications for which it panted. She wished -that I should present myself for the first time among -the nobility of France an accomplished cavalier, and not -suffer the disadvantage of having exposed in the eye of the -world those false steps and frailties, from which the inexperience -of youth is never entirely free. These motives being -explained to the king, he was graciously pleased to -sanction them with his approbation. I accordingly returned -to finish the course of my education at my paternal château -upon the banks of the Garonne.</p> - -<p>The state of my mind during the three succeeding years -amply justified the sagacity of my mother. I was more -eager for improvement than I had ever yet been. I -had before formed some conceptions of the career of honour -from the books I had read, and from the conversation of -this excellent matron. But my reveries were impotent and -little, compared with what I had now seen. Like the author -of our holy religion, I had spent my forty days without -food in the wilderness, when suddenly my eyes were -opened, and I was presented with all the kingdoms of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -world, and all the glory of them. The fairy scene continued -for a moment, and then vanished; leaving nothing -behind it on all sides, but the same barrenness and gloom -by which it had been preceded. I never shut my eyes -without viewing in imagination the combats of knights and -the train of ladies. I had been regarded with distinction -by my sovereign; and Francis the First stood before my -mind the abstract and model of perfection and greatness. -I congratulated myself upon being born in an age and -country so favourable to the acquisition of all that my soul -desired.</p> - -<p>I was already eighteen years of age, when I experienced -the first misfortune that ever befel me. It was the death -of my mother. She felt the approach of her dissolution -several weeks before it arrived, and held repeated conversations -with me, respecting the feelings I ought to entertain, -and the conduct it would become me to pursue, when she -should be no more.</p> - -<p>“My son,” said she, “your character, and the promise -of your early years, have constituted my only consolation -since the death of your excellent father. Our marriage -was the result of a most sincere and exclusive attachment; -and never did man more deserve to be loved than Reginald -de St. Leon. When he died, the whole world would have -been nothing to me but one vast blank, if he had not left -behind him the representative of his person, and the heir -to his virtues. While I was busied in your education, I -seemed to be discharging the last duty to the memory of -my husband. The occupation was sacred to the honour of -the dead, even before it became so peculiarly pleasing to -me upon its own account, as I afterwards found it. I hope -I have in some measure discharged the task, in the manner -in which my lord your father would have wished it to have -been discharged, if he had lived. I am thankful to Heaven, -that I have been spared so long for so dear and honourable -a purpose.</p> - -<p>“You must now, my son, stand by yourself, and be the -arbitrator of your own actions. I could have wished that -this necessity might have been a little further deferred; -but I trust your education has not been of that sort which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -is calculated to render a young man helpless and contemptible. -You have been taught to know your rank in society, -and to respect yourself. You have been instructed in every -thing that might most effectually forward you in the career -of glory. There is not a young cavalier among all the nobility -of France more accomplished, or that promises to do -greater honour to his name and his country. I shall not -live to witness the performance of this promise, but the -anticipation even now, pours a long stream of sunshine on -my departing hour.</p> - -<p>“Farewell, my son! You no longer stand in need of -my maternal care. When I am gone, you will be compelled -more vividly to feel that singleness and self-dependence -which are the source of all virtue. Be careful of yourself. -Be careful that your career may be both spotless and -illustrious. Hold your life as a thing of no account, when -it enters into competition with your fame. A true knight -thinks no sacrifice and suffering hard, that honour demands. -Be humane, gentle, generous, and intrepid. Be prompt -to follow wherever your duty calls you. Remember your -ancestors, knights of the Holy Cross. Remember your -father. Follow your king, who is the mirror of valour: -and be ever ready for the service of the distressed. May -Providence be your guardian. May Heaven shower down -a thousand blessings, upon your innocence, and the gallantry -of your soul!”</p> - -<p>The death of my mother was a severe blow to my heart. -For some time all the visions of greatness and renown which -had hitherto been my chosen delight appeared distasteful -to me. I hung over her insensible corpse. When it had -been committed to the earth, I repaired every day to the -spot where it was deposited, at the hour of dusk, when all -visible objects faded from the eye, when nature assumed -her saddest tints, and the whole world seemed about to be -wrapped in the darkness of the tomb. The dew of night -drizzled unheeded on my head; and I did not turn again -towards the turrets of the château, till the hour of midnight -had already sounded through the stillness of the scene.</p> - -<p>Time is the healer of almost every grief, particularly in -the sprightly season of early youth. In no long period<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -I changed the oppression of inactive sorrow, for the affectionate -and pious recollection of my mother’s last instructions. -I had been too deeply imbued with sentiments of -glory, for it to be possible, when the first excess of grief -was over, that I should remain in indolence. The tender -remembrance of my mother itself, in no long time, furnished -a new stimulus to my ambition. I forgot the melancholy -spectacle of the last struggles of her expiring life; -I even became accustomed no longer to hear her voice, no -longer to expect her presence, when I returned to the château -from a short excursion. Her last advice was now all that -survived of the author of my existence.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p>I was in this state of mind, when early one morning in the -beginning of summer, soon after I rose, I was startled by -the sound of trumpets in the plain near the château. The -bugle at the gate was presently sounded; the drawbridge -was let down; and the Marquis de Villeroy entered the -court-yard, accompanied by about thirty knights in complete -armour. I saluted him with respect, and the tenderness -excited by recent grief. He took me by the hand, -after a short repast in the hall, and led me to my closet.</p> - -<p>“My son,” said he, “it is time to throw off the effeminacy -of sorrow, and to prove yourself a true soldier of -the standard of France.”</p> - -<p>“I trust, my lord,” replied I, with modest earnestness, -“that you well know, there is nothing after which my heart -so ardently aspires. There is nothing that I know worth -living for but honour. Show me the path that leads to it, -or rather show me the occasion that affords scope for the -love of honour to display itself, and you shall then see -whether I am backward to embrace it. I have a passion -pent up within me, that feeds upon my vitals: it disdains -speech; it burns for something more unambiguous and substantial.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It is well,” rejoined my uncle. “I expected to find -you thus. Your reply to my admonition is worthy of the -blood of your ancestors, and of the maternal instructions -of my sister. And, were you as dull as the very stones -you tread on, what I have to tell you might even then rouse -you into animation and ardour.”</p> - -<p>After this short preface my uncle proceeded to relate a -tale, every word of which inflamed my spirits, and raised -all my passions in arms. I had heard something imperfectly -of the state of my country; but my mother carefully -kept me in ignorance, that my ambition might not be excited -too soon, and that, when excited, it might be with the -fullest effect. While I impatiently longed for an occasion -of glory, I was far from apprehending, what I now found -to be true, that the occasion which at this period presented -itself, was such, that all the licence of fiction could scarcely -have improved it.</p> - -<p>The Marquis de Villeroy described to me the league now -subsisting against France. He revived in my memory, by -terms of the most fervent loyalty, the accomplishments and -talents of my royal master. He spoke with aversion of the -phlegmatic and crafty disposition of his imperial rival<a name="FNanchor_3" id="FNanchor_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>; -and, with the language of glowing indignation, inveighed -against the fickleness of the capricious Henry.<a name="FNanchor_4" id="FNanchor_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> He described -the train of disasters, which had at length induced -the king to take the field in person. He contrasted, with -great effect, the story of the gallant Chevalier Bayard, <em>the -knight without fear and without reproach</em>, whose blood was -still fresh in the plains of the Milanese, with that of the -Constable of Bourbon, the stain of chivalry, whom inglorious -resentment and ungoverned ambition had urged to join the -enemies of his country, in neglect of his loyalty and his -oath. He stimulated me by the example of the one, and -the infamy of the other; and assured me that there never -was an opportunity more favourable for acquiring immortal -renown.</p> - -<p>I wanted no prompter in a passion of this sort; and immediately -set about collecting the whole force of my clients -and retainers. I shook off the inglorious softness of my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -melancholy, and was all activity and animation. The lessons -of my youth were now called into play. I judged it -necessary to invite the assistance of some person of experience -to assist me in marshalling my men; but I did much -of what was to be done myself, and I did it well. It was -my first employment in the morning: and the last that was -witnessed by the setting sun. My excellent mother had -left my revenues in the best order, and I spared no expense -in the gratification of my favourite passion.</p> - -<p>However eager I felt myself to take the field, the desire -to appear in a manner worthy of a Count de St. Leon restrained -me; and I did not join the royal army till the -Imperialists, having broken up the siege of Marseilles, and -retreated with precipitation into Italy, the king had already -crossed the Alps, entered the Milanese, and gained uncontested -possession of the capital.</p> - -<p>From Milan Francis proceeded to Pavia. Glory was the -idol of his heart; and he was the more powerfully excited -to the attack of that place, because it was the strongest and -best fortified post in the whole duchy. The more he displayed -of military prowess, the more firmly he believed he -should fix himself in his newly acquired dominions; the -inhabitants would submit to him the more willingly, and -the enemy be less encouraged to enter into a fresh contention -for what he had acquired. Such at least were the -motives that he assigned for his proceedings: in reality -perhaps he was principally induced by the brilliancy which -he conceived would attend on the undertaking.</p> - -<p>It was a few weeks after the opening of the siege, that -I presented myself to my royal master. He received me -with those winning and impressive manners by which he -was so eminently distinguished. He recollected immediately -all that had passed at our interview in the Vale of -Ardres, and warmly expressed the obligations which France -had at various times owed to my ancestors. He spoke with -earnest respect of the virtues and wisdom of my mother, -and commended the resolution by which she had in former -instances held me back from the public theatre. “Young -gentleman,” said the king, “I doubt not the gallantry of -your spirit; I see the impatience of a martial temper written<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -in your face: I expect you to act in a manner worthy -of your illustrious race, and of the instructions of a woman -who deserved to be herself a pattern to all the matrons of -France. Fear not that I shall suffer your accomplishments -to rust in obscurity. I shall employ you. I shall assign -you the post of danger and of renown. Fill it nobly; and -from that hour I shall rank you in the catalogue of my -chosen friends.”</p> - -<p>The siege of Pavia proved indeed to be a transaction, in -the course of which military honour might well be acquired. -It was defended by a small, but veteran garrison, and by -one of the ablest captains that Europe at that time possessed.<a name="FNanchor_5" id="FNanchor_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> -He interrupted the approaches of the besiegers -by frequent and furious sallies. In vain, by the aid of our -excellent artillery, did we make wide and repeated breaches -in the fortifications. No sooner did we attempt to enter by -the passage we had opened, than we found ourselves encountered -by a body composed of the choicest and bravest -soldiers of the garrison. The governor of the city, who, -though grey-headed and advanced in years, was profuse of -every youthful exertion, was ordinarily at the head of this -body. If we deferred our attack, or, not having succeeded -in it, proposed to commence it anew with the dawn of the -following day, we were sure to find a new wall sprung up -in the room of the other, as if by enchantment. Frequently -the governor anticipated the success of our batteries; -and the old fortification was no sooner demolished, than we -beheld, to our astonishment and mortification, a new wall, -which his prudence and skill had erected at a small interval -within the line of the former.</p> - -<p>One of these attacks took place on the second day after -my arrival at the camp of our sovereign. Every thing that -I saw was new to me, and inflamed me with ardour. The -noise of the cannon, which had preceded the attack, and -which was now hushed; the inspiring sounds of martial -music which succeeded that noise; the standards floating -in the air; the firm and equal tread of the battalion that -advanced; the armour of the knights; the rugged, resolute, -and intrepid countenances of the infantry;—all swelled my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -soul with transport hitherto unexperienced. I had beheld -the smoke of the artillery, in the midst of which every -thing was lost and confounded; I had waited in awful -suspense till the obscurity should be dissipated; I saw with -pleasure and surprise the ruin of the wall, and the wideness -of the breach. All that had been recorded of the military -feats of Christian valour seemed then to stand crowded in -my busy brain; the generosity, the condescension, the kindness, -with which the king had addressed me the day before, -urged me to treble exertion. I was in the foremost rank. -We surmounted the ditch. We were resisted by a chosen -body of Spaniards. The contention was obstinate; brave -men, generous and enterprising spirits, fell on the one side -and the other. I seized the cloth of a standard, as, in the -playing of the wind, it was brought near to my hand. Between -me and the Spaniard that held it there ensued an obstinate -struggle. I watched my opportunity, and with my -sword severed the flag from its staff. At this moment the -trumpets of the king sounded a retreat. I had received -two severe wounds, one in the shoulder and the other in -the thigh, in the contest. I felt myself faint with the loss -of blood. A French officer, of a rude appearance and gigantic -stature, accosting me with the appellation of boy; -commanded me to surrender the standard to him. I refused; -and, to convince him I was in earnest, proceeded -to wrap it round my body, and fastened it under my arm. -Soon after I became insensible, and in this situation was -accidentally found by my uncle and his companions, who -immediately took me and my prize under their care. As -soon as I was a little recovered of my wounds, the king -seized an opportunity, after having bestowed loud commendations -upon my gallantry, of conferring the honours -of knighthood upon me in the face of the whole army.</p> - -<p>While our tents were pitched under the walls of Pavia, -I was continually extending the circle of my acquaintance -among the young gentry of France, who, like myself, had -attended their sovereign in this memorable expedition. I -had some enemies, made such by the distinctions I obtained -during the siege. But they were few; the greater -part courted me the more, the more I showed myself worthy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -of their attachment. Envy is not a passion that finds easy -root in a Frenchman’s bosom. I was one of the youngest -of those who attended on the siege; but my brothers in -arms were generous rivals, who in the field obstinately -strove with me for superior glory, but over the convivial -board forgot their mutual competitions, and opened their -hearts to benevolence and friendship. “Let us not,” was -a sentiment I heard often repeated, “forget the object that -led us from our pleasant homes to pour from the heights -of the Alps upon the fields of Italy. It is to humble the -imperious Spaniard—to punish the disloyal Bourbon—to -vindicate the honour of our beloved and illustrious monarch. -Those walls cover the enemy; yonder mountains serve to -hide them from our assault; let no Frenchman mistake -him who marches under the same standard for an adversary.”</p> - -<p>The trenches had not been opened before Pavia till about -the beginning of November. The winter overtook us, and -the siege was yet in progress; with some apparent advantage -indeed to our side of the question, but by no means -promising an instant conclusion. The season set in with -unusual severity; and both officer and soldier were glad, -as much as possible, to fence out its rigour by the indulgences -of the genial board. My finances, as I have said, -were at the commencement of the expedition in excellent -order: I had brought with me a considerable sum; and it -was not spared upon the present occasion.</p> - -<p>There were however other things to be attended to, beside -the demands of conviviality. The king became impatient -of the delays of the siege. The garrison and the -inhabitants were reduced to great extremities; but the governor -discovered no symptoms of a purpose to surrender. -In the mean time intelligence was brought, that Bourbon -was making the most extraordinary exertions in Germany, -and promised to lead to the enemy a reinforcement of -twelve thousand men from that country; while the imperial -generals, by mortgaging their revenues, and pawning their -jewels, and still more by their eloquence and influence with -those under their command, were able to keep together the -remains of a disheartened and defeated army in expectation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -of his arrival. There was some danger therefore, if the -siege were not speedily terminated, that the king might -ultimately be obliged to raise it with ignominy, or to fight -the enemy under every disadvantage. Francis however -was not to be deterred from his undertaking. He swore a -solemn oath, that Pavia should be his, or he would perish -in the attempt.</p> - -<p>Thus circumstanced, he conceived a very extraordinary -project. Pavia is defended on one side by the Tesino, the -scene of the first of the four famous battles by which Hannibal -signalised his invasion of Italy. The king believed -that if this river could by the labour of his army be diverted -from its course, the town must instantly fall into his hands. -He was encouraged to the undertaking, by recollecting a -stratagem of a similar nature by which Cyrus formerly -made himself master of the city of Babylon. It was a -thought highly flattering to the grandeur of his soul, to -imagine that posterity would in this instance institute a -parallel between him and Cyrus the Great.</p> - -<p>The plan for diverting the course of the Tesino produced -a new and extraordinary scene. It was, as may well -be believed, a work of uncommon labour. A new channel -was to be scooped out and deepened; and, while the stream -was turned into this channel, piles were to be sunk, and an -immense mound of earth created, as an effectual impediment -to the waters resuming their former course. This -was a heavy burthen to the soldier, in addition to the disadvantage -of being encamped during the course of a winter -remarkably severe for the climate in which we fought. By -any other army the task would have been performed with -cloudiness and discontent, if not complained of with repining -and murmurs. But here the gaiety of the French -character displayed itself. The nobility of France, who -attended their sovereign in great numbers, accompanied the -infantry in their labour. We laid aside the indulgence of -the marquée, of tapestry and carpets; we threw off our -upper garments; and each seized a spade, a barrow of earth, -or a mattock. We put our hands to the engines, and refused -no effort under pretence that it was sordid or severe. -While the trees were leafless, and nature appeared bound<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -up in frost, sweat ran down our faces and bedewed our -limbs. The army were encouraged by our example. An -employment which, under other circumstances, would have -been regarded as rigid, was thus made a source of new -hilarity and amusement. It was a memorable sight to behold -the venerable and grey-headed leaders of the French -army endeavouring to exert the strength and activity of -their early years. To me, who had but lately arrived at -the stature of manhood, and who was accustomed to all the -exercises which give strength and vigour to the frame, this -new employment was in no degree burdensome. I felt in -it the satisfaction that a swift man experiences when he -enters the lists of the race; I congratulated myself upon -the nature of my education; if it be a sin to covet honour, -that guilt was mine; and, so great was my appetite for it, -that I was inexpressibly rejoiced to observe the various -ways in which it might be gratified.</p> - -<p>Strange as it may seem, this scene of a winter-camp, in the -midst of blood and sweat, surrounded with dangers, and called -on for unparalleled exertions, appears to me, through the vista -of years that is now interposed between, to have been one of -the happiest of my life. The gay labours and surprises of -the day were succeeded by a convivial evening, in which -we did not the less open our hearts, though frequently -liable to be interrupted in our midnight revels by the inexhaustible -activity and stratagems of the enemy. In this -various and ever-shifting scene, I forgot the disasters that -occurred, and the blood that flowed around me. All sense -of a large and impartial morality was, for the time at least, -deadened in my breast. I was ever upon the alert. The -diversity of events neither suffered my spirits to flag, nor -reflection to awake. It is only upon such occasions, or -occasions like these, that a man is able fully to feel what life -is, and to revel in its exuberance. Above all, I was delighted -with the society and friendship of my brother-officers. -They honoured me; they loved me. I seemed to feel what -sympathy was; and to have conscious pleasure in making -one in a race of beings like myself. Such were my sensations.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> - -<p>It must not, however, be imagined, that all about me -felt in these respects as I did. I was deeply indebted in -this particular to my youth and my fortune. The old endeavoured -to brace themselves in vain; they sunk under -the continual pressure. The poor soldier from the ranks -laboured incessantly, and I laboured as much as he; but -he had little opportunity to recruit his vigour and renovate -his strength. There was yet another class of persons in the -camp, whose gaiety was much less interrupted than mine. -These were, the king, and the generals who commanded -under him. They could not be entirely devoid of thought -and consideration. They suffered much anxiety from the -length of the siege; and felt that every period of delay -increased the doubtfulness of the event.</p> - -<p>Antonio de Leyva, governor of the city, necessarily felt -himself alarmed at the extraordinary project in which we -were engaged, and made every exertion to prevent it. One -evening the king sent for me to his tent, and told me in -confidence that the enemy intended that very night to make -three several attacks upon our mound, one on each side of -the stream, and one by means of boats in the centre. Two -of these, he said, were merely intended as feints; the west -bank of the Tesino was the point against which their principal -exertions would be directed. On that side he was -resolved to command in person; the boats with which he -proposed to resist their flota he confided to one of the most -famous and valuable officers of his army; the detachment -on the east bank he purposed to intrust to my uncle and -myself. He observed, that the detachment he could spare -for that purpose, after having formed the other two bodies, -and reserved a sufficient number for the defence of the -camp and the works, would be small; and he warned me -to the exertion of a particular vigilance. It would be -doubly unfortunate, if a body, the attack upon which was -to be merely a feigned one, should nevertheless be routed. -“Go,” added he, “fulfil my expectations; deport yourself -answerably to the merit of your first achievement; and -depend upon it that you will prove hereafter one of the most -eminent supporters of the martial glory of France.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> - -<p>The Marquis de Villeroy divided our little force into -two bodies: with the larger he lay in wait for the enemy -near the scene of the expected attack: the smaller he confided -to my direction, and placed so that we might be able -to fall upon the rear of the garrison-troops as soon as they -should be fully engaged with our comrades. In the situation -assigned me I took advantage of the skirts of a -wood, which enabled me to approach very near to the expected -route of our assailants, without being perceived by -them. The night was extremely dark, yet the vicinity of -my position was such, that I could count the numbers of -the adversary as they passed along before my hiding-place. -I was alarmed to find that they amounted to at least the -triple of what we had been taught to expect. They were -no sooner past, than I despatched to the king a young -knight, my particular friend, who happened to be with me, -to urge the necessity of a reinforcement. At the same time -I sent a messenger to my uncle, by a circuitous route, to -inform him of what I had observed, and the step I had -taken, and to entreat him to defer the attack as long as consistently -with propriety it should be possible. The enemy, -however, had no sooner arrived at the place of his destination, -than the troops of the marquis, no longer capable of -restraint, rushed to engage. The Spaniards were at first surprised, -but a short time led them to suspect the weakness -of their assailants; nor was the assistance I brought to my -uncle sufficient to turn the fortune of the fight. We lost -many of our men; the rest apparently gave ground; and -it was a vain attempt, amidst the darkness of the night, to -endeavour to restore order and rally them to the assault. -We were already almost completely overpowered, when -the succours we expected reached us. They were, however, -unable to distinguish friend from enemy. A storm of -mingled rain and snow had come on, which benumbed our -limbs, drove fiercely in our faces, and rendered every object -alike viewless. The carnage which in this situation took -place was terrible. Our blows were struck at random. A -Frenchman was not less dreadful than a Spaniard. When -the battle ceased, scarcely one of the enemy was left alive; -but we observed with astonishment and horror the number<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -of the besiegers who had probably, in the midst of the confusion, -been cut to pieces by their own countrymen.</p> - -<p>I am now arrived at the period which put an end to the -festivity and jocundness of the campaign. All after this -was one continued series of disaster. About the close of -January, our work, though not wholly interrupted, was considerably -retarded by a succession of heavy rains. This -was injurious to us in many ways; our project, which was -executed in the midst of waters, rendered additional damp -a matter of serious consideration. We were also seized -with an apprehension of still greater magnitude, which was -speedily realised. The snows being at length completely -dissolved, and the quantity of water continually increasing, -we perceived one afternoon strong symptoms that our -mound, the principal subject of our labour and source of -our hope, was giving way in various places. The next -morning at daybreak, it rushed down every where at once -with wonderful violence and noise. It is difficult to describe -the sensation of anguish which was instantly and -universally diffused. The labour of many weeks was overthrown -in a moment. As we had proceeded in our work, -we every day saw ourselves nearer the object to which we -aspired. At this time our project was almost completed, and -Pavia was in imagination already in our hands, to gain -possession of which had cost us such unremitted exertions, -the display of so much gallantry, and the loss of so many -soldiers. We were confounded at the catastrophe we saw. -We gazed at each other, each in want of encouragement, -and every one unable to afford it.</p> - -<p>Still, however, we were not destitute of advantages. The -garrison began to be in want both of ammunition and provisions. -They were in a general state of discontent, almost -of mutiny, which scarcely all the address and authority of -the governor were able to suppress. If the town continued -longer unrelieved, it was sure to fall into our hands. But -even this our last hope was considerably diminished by the -intelligence we received the very day after the destruction -of our mound, that the imperial army, after having received -large reinforcements, was approaching in considerable force. -The king had some time before, in the height of his confidence,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -and elation of his heart, sent off a detachment of -six thousand men to invade the kingdom of Naples; for -upon that, as well as the Milanese, he had inherited pretensions -from his immediate predecessors.</p> - -<p>But, though the enemy was superior in numbers, and a -part perhaps of their forces better disciplined than ours, -they laboured under several disadvantages to which we were -not exposed. The Emperor, though his dominions were -more extensive, did not derive from them a revenue equal -to that of Francis. As he did not take the field in person, -the war appeared to his subjects only a common war, proceeding -upon the ordinary motives of war. But my countrymen -were led by their sovereign, were fresh from the -recent insolence of an invasion of their own territory, and -fought at once for personal glory and their country’s honour. -The king, who commanded them, seemed expressly formed -to obtain their attachment and affection. His nobles became -enthusiastic by the example of his enthusiasm, and willingly -disbursed their revenues to give prosperity and éclat to the -campaign.</p> - -<p>The first question that arose upon the approach of the -enemy was, whether we should break up the siege, and -attend in some strong post the slow, but sure, effect of their -want of money, and the consequent dispersion of their -troops, or wait their attack in our present posture. The -former advice was safe; but to the gallant spirit of Francis -it appeared ignominious. He was upon all occasions the -partisan of rapid measures and decisive proceedings; and -his temper, with the exception of a few wary and deliberate -counsellors, accorded with that of our whole army. For -some days we congratulated ourselves upon the wisdom of -our choice; we presented to the enemy so formidable an -appearance, that, notwithstanding the cogent motives he -had to proceed, he hesitated long before he ventured to -attack us. At length, however, the day came that was -pregnant with so momentous expectation.</p> - -<p>If through the whole limits of our camp there was not -a man that did not feel himself roused upon this glorious -occasion, to me it was especially interesting. The scene -accorded with the whole purpose of my education, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -novelty made it impressive. I lived only in the present -moment. I had not a thought, a wish, a straggling imagination, -that wandered beyond the circuit of the day. My -soul was filled; at one minute wild with expectation, and -at another awed into solemnity. There is something indescribably -delicious in this concentration of the mind. It -raises a man above himself; and makes him feel a certain -nobleness and elevation of character, of the possession of -which he was to that hour unconscious. Fear and pain -were ideas that could find no harbour in my bosom: I regarded -this as the most memorable of days, and myself as -the most fortunate of mortals. Far indeed was I from anticipating -the disgraceful event, in which this elation of -heart speedily terminated.</p> - -<p>The sun rose bright in a cloudless sky. The cold of the -season was such, as only to give new lightness and elasticity -to the muscles and animal spirits. I saw few of those -objects of nature, which in this delightful climate gave so -sacred a pleasure to the human soul. But in my present -temper there was no object of sight so ravishing, as the firm -and equal steps of the martial bands, the impatience of the -war-horse, and the display of military standards; nor any -music so enchanting, as the shrillness of the pipe, the -clangor of the trumpet, the neighing of steeds, and the -roaring of cannon. It is thus that man disguises to himself -the real nature of his occupation; and clothes that which -is of all things the most nefarious or most to be lamented, -with the semblance of jubilee and festival.</p> - -<p>The Imperialists were at first unable to withstand the -efforts of French valour. They gave way on every side; -we pursued our advantage with impetuosity. To the -slaughter of whole ranks mowed down with tremendous -celerity, to the agonies of the dying, I was blind; their -groans had no effect on my organ, for my soul was occupied -in another direction. My horse’s heels spurned their -mangled limbs, and were red with their blood. I fought -not merely with valour, but with fury; I animated those -around me by my example and my acclamations. It may -seem contrary to delicacy to speak with this freedom of my -own praises; but I am at my present writing totally changed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -and removed from what I was, and I write with the freedom -of a general historian. It is this simplicity and ingenuousness -that shall pervade the whole of my narrative.</p> - -<p>The fortune of the day speedily changed. The cowardice -and desertion of our Swiss allies gave the first signal -of adversity. The gallant commander of the garrison of -Pavia sallied out in the midst of the fight, and suddenly -attacked us in the rear. A stratagem of the Imperial general -effected the rout of our cavalry. The whole face of the -field was utterly reversed.</p> - -<p>It would be in vain for me to attempt to describe even -the small part that I beheld of the calamity and slaughter -of the French army. At this distance of time, the recollection -of it opens afresh the almost obliterated wounds of -my heart. I saw my friends cut down, and perish on -every side. Those who, together with myself, had marched -out in the morning, swelled with exultation and hope, now -lay weltering in their blood. Their desires, their thoughts, -their existence, were brought to a fatal termination. The -common soldiers were hewed and cut to pieces by hundreds, -without note and observation. Many of the first nobility -of France, made desperate by the change of the battle, -rushed into the thickest of the foe, and became so many -voluntary sacrifices; choosing rather to perish, than to turn -their backs with dishonour.</p> - -<p>In the battle I had two horses killed under me. The -first of them suffered a sort of gradual destruction. He had -already received one wound in the nostrils, and another in -the neck, when a third shot carried away two of his feet, -and laid him prostrate on the earth. Bernardin, my -faithful attendant, observed what was passing, and immediately -brought me a fresh charger; but I had not long -mounted him, when he received a wound which killed him -on the spot. I was myself hurt in several places, and at -length the stroke of a sabre brought me to the ground. -Here I remained for a long time insensible. When I recovered, -and looked around me, I found myself in entire -solitude, and could at present perceive no trace either of the -enemy or of my own people. Soon, however, I recollected -what had passed, and was but too well assured of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -defeat my countrymen had sustained. Weak and battered -as I was, I attempted to retire to a place of greater security. -I had scarcely changed my ground, before I saw a -trooper of the enemy rushing towards me, with the intention -to take away my life. Fortunately I observed a tree -at hand, to the shelter of which I hastened; and, partly by -moving the branches to and fro, and partly by shifting my -position, I baffled my adversary, till he became weary of -the attempt. A moment after, I saw one of my most intimate -and familiar companions killed before my eyes. It -was not long, however, before a party of fugitive French -came up to the spot where I stood, and I, like the rest, was -hurried from the field. My uncle perished in the battle.</p> - -<p>It is wonderful how men can harden their hearts against -such scenes as I then witnessed. It is wonderful how -they can be brought to co-operate in such demoniac fury, -and more than demoniac mischief, barbarity, and murder. -But they are brought to it; and enter, not from a deplorable -necessity, but as to a festival, in which each man is eager -to occupy his place, and share the amusements. It seemed -to me at that time, as it seems to me now, that it should -be enough for a man to contemplate such a field as I saw -at Pavia, to induce him to abjure the trade of violence for -ever, and to commit his sword once more to the bowels -of the earth, from which it was torn for so nefarious a -purpose.</p> - -<p>These sensations, though now finally established in my -mind, were, at the time of which I am writing, but of fleeting -duration. The force of education, and the first bent -of my mind, were too strong. The horror which overwhelmed -me in the first moments of this great national -defeat subsided; and the military passion returned upon me -in its original ardour. My convictions, and the moral integrity -of my soul, were temporary; and I became myself -a monument of that inconstancy and that wonder, to which -I have just alluded.</p> - -<p>Various circumstances, however, prevented this passion -from its direct operation. The character of France was -altered by the battle of Pavia, though mine remained the -same. It was in the fullest degree decisive of the fortune<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -of the war. Milan, and every other place in the duchy, -opened their gates to the conqueror; and, in a fortnight, -not a Frenchman was left in the fields of Italy. Of the -whole army only a small body effected an orderly retreat, -under the command of the Duke of Alençon. Many persons -of the highest distinction perished in the battle: many -were made prisoners by the enemy. France by this event -found the list of her noblesse considerably reduced in numbers; -add to which, those whose loss she sustained, were -almost all of them taken from among the most distinguished -and meritorious in the catalogue.</p> - -<p>But what constituted the principal feature in this memorable -event was, that the king himself was found in the -number of the prisoners; nor was he released by his ungenerous -competitor till after more than a twelvemonth’s -confinement. During this period Francis tasted of the -dregs of adversity. Inclined in the first instance to judge -of his rival by himself, he expected a liberal treatment. In -this he was deeply disappointed. After a detention of -many months in the Milanese, the scene of his former successes, -he was transferred to Madrid. He was personally -neglected by the emperor, while his disloyal subject<a name="FNanchor_6" id="FNanchor_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> was -treated with singular distinction. The most rigorous terms -were proposed to him. All this had the effect, in one instance, -of sinking him into a disease of languor and dejection -which he was not expected to survive; and, in another, -of inducing him to execute an instrument by which he abdicated -the crown, and declared his resolution of remaining -a prisoner for life. His confinement was at length terminated -by his solemnly engaging to compulsory articles, which -he was determined to break as soon as he found himself at -liberty; an alternative peculiarly grating to the liberality -of his spirit. This reverse of fortune materially changed his -character. The fine spirit of his ambition was from this -time evaporated; and, while he still retained the indefeasible -qualities of his soul, and was gallant, kind-hearted, and -generous, he bartered, as far as was compatible with his -disposition, the enterprising and audacious temper he had -previously manifested, for the wary and phlegmatic system<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -of his more fortunate competitor. His genius cowered before -that of Charles; and the defeat of Pavia may, perhaps, -be considered as having given a deadly wound to the reign -of chivalry, and a secure foundation to that of craft, dissimulation, -corruption, and commerce.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<p>The lists of military ambition then being closed, if not -permanently, at least for a time, my mind took a new bias; -and, without dismissing its most cherished and darling passion, -pursued a path in the present emergency, to which -the accidents of my youth had also guided me. If my -mother had survived, she would probably either not have consented -to my serving at the siege of Pavia, or at least would -have recalled me to the obscurity of my paternal château -as soon as the campaign was at an end. I had not fully -completed the twentieth year of my age, at the period of the -memorable battle in which my sovereign was made prisoner. -I was left without adviser or guide; even the Marquis de -Villeroy, my mother’s brother, of whatever consequence his -admonitions to me might have proved, was taken from me -in this fatal engagement. The king himself, perhaps, had -it not been for the dreadful calamities in which he was now -involved, might have condescended to interest himself in -some degree in my welfare. By the course of events, I -was left, yet a minor, and with an ample revenue at my -disposition, to be wholly guided by the suggestions of my -own mind.</p> - -<p>In the portion of his reign already elapsed, the splendid -and interesting qualities of Francis had given a new spring -to the sentiments of the nation. He was the most accomplished -and amiable prince of the time in which he lived. -There was but one of all the sovereigns of Christendom that -could cope with him in power,—the Emperor Charles; and -as Charles’s peculiarities were of a sort that Frenchmen -were accustomed to regard with aversion and contempt, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -there had not been a doubt among my compatriots, of the -side upon which the superiority would ultimately rest. By -the events of the day of Pavia they were confounded and -overwhelmed. They did not despair of their country; they -soon felt, and felt to its utmost extent, the rank which -France held among the European states. But the chain of -their ideas was interrupted; they could not but be conscious -that the fortune of the kingdom had received a grievous -check. The illustrious career which they had in fancy -already traversed, was postponed to a distant period.</p> - -<p>The consequences which flow from a suppressed ambition -may easily be imagined. The nobility of France exchanged -the activity of the field for the indulgences of the table: -that concentrated spirit which had sought to expand itself -upon the widest stage, now found vent in the exhibition of -individual expense: and, above all, the sordid and inglorious -passion for gaming, a vice eminently characteristic of the -age, now especially gained strength, and drew multitudes -into its destructive vortex. It was, perhaps, impossible for -a young man to have entered the theatre of the world under -less favourable auspices.</p> - -<p>In what I have already written, I felt myself prompted -to enlarge with complacency upon the sentiments and scenes -of my youth; and I have yielded to the suggestion. The -same internal admonition makes me shrink from entering -with minuteness into the detail of my ruin. I recollect my -infatuation with abhorrence; I fly from the memory with -sensations inexpressibly painful; I regard it as a cloud that -overshadowed and blackened for ever the fair prospects of -my earlier years.</p> - -<p>I shall not enumerate all my youthful companions, or all -my youthful follies. I committed a mistake obvious enough, -at this immature period of my existence, when I mistook -profusion and extravagance for splendour and dignity; and -the prudent economy which my mother had practised, served, -in the present instance, as the pander to my vices. The -whole tendency of my education had been to inspire me -with a proud and restless desire of distinction; and I was -not content to play a second part in the career of my vices, -as I should not have been content to play a second part in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -the genuine theatre of honour and fame. In all that was -thoughtlessly spirited and gaily profligate, I led the way to -my compeers, and was constantly held up by them as an -example. By this conduct I incurred the censure of the -rigorous and the old; but the voice of censure reached me -much seldomer than that of adulation. My person and -demeanour were the topics of general applause. I was tall -and well-proportioned; my frame was slender and agile, -but with an appearance of the fullest health; my countenance -was open, commanding, and animated: my rank and -situation in the world gave me confidence; the fire and -impetuosity of my temper rendered my gestures easy, rapid, -expressive, and graceful. The consequence of all this was, -to confirm me in a plan of life which I early laid down to -myself, and from which I never in any instance deviated. -I put aside those rules, as splenetic and hypercritical, which -confessors preach, and with which the preceptors of young -men are accustomed to weary and alienate the minds of -their pupils. The charge of being disorderly and unthinking -I despised; that of imprudence, even when meant for -blame, sounded in my ear like the voice of encomium. But, -accustomed from education to sentiments of honour, and -from habit to the language of eulogy, it is difficult for any -man to be more firmly bent than I was to incur no breath -of dishonour, or to draw the line more peremptorily between -the follies of youth and the aberrations of a gross -and unprincipled spirit.</p> - -<p>It may be alleged, indeed, and with considerable justice, -that the habit of gaming is an exception to this statement. -It was with hesitation and reluctance that I entered into -this habit. I saw it as it was, and as every ingenuous and -undebauched mind must see it, base and sordid. The possession -of some degree of wealth I regarded, indeed, as indispensable -to a man who would fill a lofty and respectable -character in the world; a character that, by uniting the -advantages of exterior appearance with the actions of a hero, -should extort the homage of his species. But, in the picture -I drew of this man in my mind, I considered wealth -as an accident, the attendant on his birth, to be dispensed -with dignity, not to be adverted to with minuteness of attention.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -Deep play is certainly sufficiently inconsistent with -this character. The direct purpose of the gamester is to -transfer money from the pocket of his neighbour into his -own. He rouses his sleepy and wearied attention by the -most sordid of all motives. The fear of losing pierces his -heart with anguish; and to gain—to obtain an advantage -for himself which can scarcely exceed, and which seldom -equals, the injury his competitor suffers,—is the circumstance -which most transports his heart with delight. For this he -watches; for this he calculates. An honourable gamester -does not seize with premeditation the moment when his -adversary is deprived, by wine or any other cause, of his -usual self-possession. He does not seek with sober malice -to play upon his passions. He does not enter with avidity -into the contest with an unpractised but presuming rival: -but he cannot avoid rejoicing, when he finds that accident -has given him an unusual advantage. I have often thought -that I could better understand how a man of honour could -reconcile himself to the accursed and murderous trade of -war, than to the system of the gaming table. In war, he -fights with a stranger, a man with whom he has no habits -of kindness, and who is fairly apprised that he comes against -him with ruinous intent. But in play, he robs, perhaps, -his brother, his friend, the partner of his bosom; or, in -every event, a man seduced into the snare with all the -arts of courtesy, and whom he smiles upon, even while he -stabs.</p> - -<p>I am talking here the mere reason and common sense of -the question as it relates to mankind in general. But it is -with other feelings that I reflect upon the concern I have -myself individually in the subject. Years roll on in vain; -ages themselves are useless here; looking forward, as I do, -to an existence that shall endure till time shall be no more; -no time can wipe away the remembrance of the bitter -anguish that I have endured, the consequence of gaming. -It is torture! It is madness! Poverty, I have drained thy -cup to the dregs! I have seen my wife and my children -looking to me in vain for bread! Which is the most intolerable -distress?—that of the period, in which all the comforts -of life gradually left me; in which I caught at every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -fragment of promise, and every fragment failed; in which -I rose every morning to pamper myself with empty delusions; -in which I ate the apples of purgatory, fair without, -but within bitterness and ashes; in which I tossed, through -endless, sightless nights, upon the couch of disappointment -and despair?—or the period, when at length all my hopes -were at an end; when I fled with horror to a foreign -climate; when my family, that should have been my comfort, -gave me my most poignant agony; when I looked -upon them, naked, destitute, and exiles, with the tremendous -thought, what and who it was that had caused their -ruin? Adversity, without consolation,—adversity, when its -sting is remorse, self-abhorrence and self-contempt,—hell -has no misery by which it can be thrown into shade or -exceeded!</p> - -<p>Why do I dwell upon, or at least why do I anticipate, -this detested circumstance of my story? Let me add one -remark in this place, and pass on to the other particulars -of this epoch of my prodigality. It is true, I must take -this shameful appellation to myself—I was a gamester. -But, in the beginning, I took no concern in that species of -science which is often implied in the appellation. My -games were games of hazard, not of skill. It appeared to -my distempered apprehension to be only a mode in which -for a man to display his fortitude and philosophy; I was -flattered with the practice of gaming, because I saw in it, -when gracefully pursued, the magnanimity of the stoic, -combined with the manners of a man of the world; a magnanimity -that no success is able to intoxicate, and no vicissitude -to subvert. I committed my property to the hazard -of the die; and I placed my ambition in laughing alike at -the favours of fortune and her frowns. In the sequel, -however, I found myself deceived. The fickle goddess -sufficiently proved that she had the power of making me -serious. But in her most tremendous reverses, I was never -influenced to do any thing that the most scrupulous gamester -regards as dishonourable. I say not this for the purpose -of giving colour and speciousness to my tale. I say -it, because I have laid it down to myself in this narrative -as a sacred principle, to relate the simple, unaltered truth.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> - -<p>Another characteristic of the reign of Francis the First, -is its gallantries. It is well known how much the king was -himself occupied with attachments of this sort; his government -was rather the government of women than of politicians; -and the manners of the sovereign strongly tended to -fix the habits of his subjects. A very young man rather -takes the tone of his passions from those about him, than -forms one that is properly his own; and this was my case -in the present instance as well as in the preceding. Originally -of an amorous constitution, I should perhaps have -quieted the restlessness of my appetites without ostentation -and éclat, had not the conduct of my youthful associates in -general led me to regard gallantry as an accomplishment -indispensably necessary in a young man of rank. It must -be confessed, indeed, that this offence against the rigour of -discipline has a thousand advantages over that of gaming. -Few women of regular and reputable lives have that ease of -manners, that flow of fancy, and that graceful intrepidity -of thinking and expressing themselves, that is sometimes to -be found among those who have discharged themselves from -the tyranny of custom. There is something irresistibly -captivating in that voluptuousness which, while it assumes -a certain air of freedom, uniformly and with preference -conforms itself to the dictates of unsophisticated delicacy. -A judicious and limited voluptuousness is necessary to the -cultivation of the mind, to the polishing of the manners, to -the refining of sentiment and the developement of the understanding; -and a woman deficient in this respect may be -of use for the government of our families, but can neither -add to the enjoyments, nor fix the partiality, of a man of -animation and taste.</p> - -<p>But whatever there may be in these considerations, certain -it is that the conduct I pursued in matters of gallantry -led me into great and serious expenses. The mistresses -with whom I chanced to associate had neither the inexpressible -captivation of madame de Chateaubriant, nor the -aspiring and impressive manners of the duchess d’Etampes<a name="FNanchor_7" id="FNanchor_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a>. -They had, however, beauty and vivacity, frolic without -rudeness, and softness without timidity. They had paid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -some regard to points of knowledge and taste, considering -these as additional means for fixing the partiality of their -paramours, and knowing that they had no security for the -permanence of their prosperity but in the variety of their -attractions. In their society I was led into new trains -of reflection, a nicer consideration of human passion and -the varieties of human character, and, above all, into a -greater quickness and delicacy in matters of intellectual taste. -My hours, for the most part, rolled swiftly and easily away, -sometimes in the society of the young, the gay and the ambitious -of my own sex, and sometimes in the softer and -more delicious intercourse of the fair. I lived in the midst -of all that Paris could at that time furnish of splendid and -luxurious. This system of living was calculated to lull -me in pleasing dreams, and to waste away existence in delirious -softness. It sufficiently accorded with the sad -period of our sovereign’s captivity, when my young compatriots -sought to drown the sense of public and patriotic -considerations in copious draughts of pleasure; nor did the -monarch’s return immediately restore to France her former -haughtiness and pride.</p> - -<p>The course of sensuality in which I was now engaged, -though it did not absolutely sink into grossness, may -well be supposed to have trodden upon the very edge of -licence. I and my companions were young; we were made -fearless and presuming by fortune and by rank; we had -laid aside those more rigorous restraints which render the -soberer part of mankind plausible and decent, by making -them timid and trite. I will not contaminate the minds of -my innocent and inexperienced readers by entering into the -detail of the follies in which I engaged.</p> - -<p>One thing it is necessary to remark, as essential to the -main thread of my story. My expenses of all kinds, during -this period of self-desertion, drained my resources, but did -not tarnish my good name. My excesses were regarded by -some as ornamental and becoming, but by all were admitted -as venial. The laurels I had won in the field of military -honour were not obscured by my subsequent conduct. I -was universally ranked among the most promising and -honourable of the young noblemen of France. I had some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -rivals; I did not pass through this turbulent and diversified -scene without disputes; but no one cast a reflection -upon my name, no one ventured to speak of me with superciliousness -and opprobrium. Nor was my temper more injured -than my reputation. From every dispute I extricated -myself with grace and propriety; I studied the pleasure and -ease of all with whom I associated; and no man enjoyed -more extensively than I did the sweets of friendship, as far -as the sweets of friendship can be extensively enjoyed.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</h2> - -<p>I had been now two years in habits of life and a mode of -expense extremely injurious to my patrimony, when a circumstance -occurred, which promised completely to deliver -me from the ruinous consequences of my own folly. This -was no other than my encounter with that incomparable -woman, who afterwards became the partner of my life, and -the mother of my children. I cannot even now recollect -her without tears: the sentiment which her very name excites -in my mind is a mingled feeling, on the one hand, of -the most exquisite and unspeakable delight, a feeling that -elevates and expands and electrifies my throbbing heart; -and, on the other, of the bitterest anguish and regret. I -must develope the source of this feeling.</p> - -<p>Marguerite Louise Isabeau de Damville was, at the period -of our first meeting, in the nineteenth year of her age. -Her complexion was of the most perfect transparency, her -eyes black and sparkling, and her eyebrows dark and long. -Such were the perfect smoothness and clearness of her skin, -that at nineteen she appeared five years younger than she was, -and she long retained this extreme juvenility of form. Her step -was airy and light as that of a young fawn, yet at the same -time firm, and indicative of strength of body and vigour of -mind. Her voice, like the whole of her external appearance, -was expressive of undesigning, I had almost said -childish, simplicity. Yet, with all this playfulness of appearance,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -her understanding was bold and correct. Her -mind was well furnished with every thing that could add -to her accomplishments as a wife or a mother. Her indulgent -parents had procured her every advantage of education, -and circumstances had been uncommonly favourable -to her improvement. She was encouraged and assisted in -the art of drawing, for which she discovered a very early -talent, by Leonardo da Vinci; and she formed her poetical -taste from the conversation and instructions of Clement -Marot. But, amidst the singular assemblage of her intellectual -accomplishments, there was nothing by which she -was so much distinguished, as the uncommon prudence of -her judgments, and the unalterable amiableness of her -manners. This was the woman destined to crown my happiness, -and consummate my misery. If I had never -known her, I should never have tasted true pleasure; if I -had been guided by her counsels, I should not have drained -to the very dregs the cup of anguish.</p> - -<p>The house of her father, the Marquis de Damville, was -the resort of all the most eminent wits and scholars of that -period, particularly of Marot, Rabelais, Erasmus and Scaliger. -This was my first inducement to frequent it. My -education had inspired me with an inextinguishable love of -literature; and the dissipation in which I was at this time -involved could not entirely interrupt the propensity. The -most thoughtless and extravagant period of my life had occasional -intervals of study and reflection; and the gay, -animated, and ingenious conversation of the men I have -mentioned, had always peculiar charms for me.</p> - -<p>I had continued for some time to visit at the Marquis’s -hotel, before I encountered the beautiful Marguerite. The -first time I saw her, she made a deep impression upon me. -The Marquis, who was one of the most benevolent and -enlightened of mankind, had been led by my character and -manners to conceive a warm friendship for me. He saw -the ruin in which I was heedlessly involving myself, and -believed that it was not yet too late to save me. As he -thought that there was no method so likely to effect my -reformation as the interposition of domestic affections, he -was not unwilling to encourage the attachment I began to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> -feel for his daughter. On my part I wanted but little -encouragement. I no sooner observed her manners, and -became acquainted with her merits, than my heart was unalterably -fixed. I became as it were a new man. I was -like one, who, after his eyes had grown imperceptibly dim -till at length every object appeared indistinct and of a -gloomy general hue, has his sight instantaneously restored, -and beholds the fabric of the universe in its genuine clearness, -brilliancy, and truth. I was astonished at my own -folly, that I could so long have found gratification in pleasures -mean and sensual. I was ashamed of my own degradation. -I could not endure the comparison between the -showy, unsubstantial attractions of the women I had hitherto -frequented, and the charms of the adorable Marguerite. The -purity of her mind seemed to give a celestial brilliancy and -softness to the beauties of her person. The gross and brutal -pursuits of the debauchee are often indeed described by the -same epithets as the virtuous and refined passion with which -I was now for the first time inspired; but experience convinced -me that they differed in their most essential features.</p> - -<p>The Marquis saw the state of my mind, and addressed -me thus. “Count,” said he, “I feel the most ardent -friendship for you. I am inexpressibly concerned for your -welfare. You will be convinced of this, when I have furnished -you with a clue to my late conduct towards you. I -regard you, if not as a ruined man, at least as a man in the -high road to ruin. Your present habits are of the most -dangerous sort; they appear to you perfectly conformable -to principles of the strictest honour; nay, they come recommended -to you by a certain éclat and dignity with -which they seem to be surrounded. I could say to you, -Recollect yourself. Be not misled by delusive appearances. -Consider the present state of your fortune, and the state in -which your mother left it. You cannot be ignorant how -greatly it is impaired. How has this circumstance arisen? -Have your revenues been expended in the service of your -country? Have you purchased any thing by them that will -confer on you lasting renown? Put together the sum of -actions, which, piece by piece, you have been willing to -regard as indifferent and innocent, if not as graceful and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -becoming. You cannot but be struck with their monstrous -deformity. Is it possible that you can be ignorant of the -nature of poverty? There is such a thing as honourable -poverty. The poverty of Cincinnatus was honourable, who -impoverished himself by paying the fine which was factiously -imposed on his son, and then was contented to pass -his time alternately between the highest situations and the -most rigid simplicity. The poverty of a man of genius, -such as Rabelais, if not honourable, is interesting, when we -compare his merits and worth with that of many of those -persons upon whom fortune has blindly lavished her favours. -It is honourable, if he have declined the means of -enriching himself by the sacrifice of his independence and -his principles. But of all earthly things the most contemptible -is the man who, having wasted his goods in -riotous living, yet hungers after the luxuries that have -proved his bane, and feasts himself upon the steam of -dainties of which he has lost the substance. Poverty, -always sufficiently disadvantageous in a degenerate age, -where attention and courtship are doled forth with scales -of gold, is tremendous to him. He is the scorn of all mankind. -Wherever he is a guest, he is invited only to be -trampled upon and insulted. He is capable of nothing, -and is a burden to society and mankind. The helplessness -of age advances upon him with stealing steps, and he -is destined to gather all its miseries and none of its consolations.</p> - -<p>“I might have talked to you thus, but I refused it. I -apprehend something of the nature of advice. I know that -it can seldom be attended with its genuine effect, and will -never be received with deference and pleasure, where its -motives are capable of misconstruction. If I had talked to -you thus, I might have appeared to be indulging the tyranny -of age; I might have seemed to assume an unbecoming -air of superiority and command: it could not have -been clear that I was honestly interested in that, about -which I affected so much concern. I doubt not the ingenuousness -of your nature. I doubt not that you would -have been struck with the picture. But I must be permitted -to doubt the adequate and lasting effect of my expostulation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -I was not willing by my forwardness and -loquacity to wear out one of the great springs of human -improvement.</p> - -<p>“I have determined on your reform. For that purpose I -think it necessary to combine my remonstrances and advice, -with a change of your habits and situation. You have -tasted largely of what are commonly called the pleasures of -life, but there are pleasures that you have not tasted. At -this moment you anticipate them; and anticipate them -with the ardour of a lover. But you know not yet all the -gratifications that attend upon domestic affections.</p> - -<p>“I am willing to bestow upon you my daughter. I consent -to prove the purity of my advice, and the sincerity of -my regard, by committing her happiness to the risk. She -is a treasure, the equal of which perhaps the world does not -hold. I speak not of her personal attractions. But in understanding, -accomplishments, and virtue, I firmly believe -no woman living can compare with her. In possessing her, -you will be blessed beyond the lot of princes. But, at the -same time that I shall thus put happiness within your grasp, -remember that I commit to your disposal the happiness of -Marguerite. You are a worthy and an honourable man; -your talents and your virtues will constitute her felicity. -Her portion will redeem the injury which your patrimony -has suffered from your excesses, and you will have enough -for yourselves, and for your mutual offspring. I cannot -believe that, with such a deposit intrusted to you, you will -consent to bring her to misery and ruin.</p> - -<p>“I have one condition, however, to stipulate with you. -I require of you, as the pledge of her happiness, that you -break off your present modes of life; that you separate -yourself from your connections, and retire into the country -upon your paternal estate. You are yet too young to be in -danger from that tyranny of custom, which often renders -men more advanced in life incapable of relishing the simple -and genuine pleasures. You will find contentment and -joy in the society of my daughter, and in the bosom of -your rising family. You will be happy in the circle of -your own hearth, and have little to ask of the rest of mankind. -If, in any ill-omened and inauspicious moment, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -allurements of your present vices (forgive the plainness of -my speech) should resume their power over you, I hope at -least that I shall never live to see it; that I shall not be -taught by bitter experience, that I have sacrificed to the -disinterestedness of my friendship the happiness of my -daughter and of my posterity!”</p> - -<p>My heart weeps blood, while I record the admonitions of -this noble and generous man. A nobler France did not -contain through all her boundaries. Refined by literature, -polished by the best society his age could afford, grown -grey in the field of honour, and particularly distinguished -by the personal attachment and confidence of his sovereign. -What was all this advice to me? What return did I make -to this unparalleled kindness and friendship? I ruined this -admirable woman! I involved her in poverty and shame! -With the most savage barbarity I prepared for her an immature -grave! Can I forget this? Of what avail to me are -immortal life and immortal youth? Oh, Marguerite, Marguerite! -For ever thy image haunts me! For ever thy -ghost upbraids me! How little have I proved myself worthy -of such a partner! Rather what punishment, what plagues, -what shame and detestation have I not deserved! Praised -be Heaven, the last prayer of the Marquis of Damville at -least was granted! He did not live to witness my relapse, -my profligacy, and insanity.</p> - -<p>I resume the thread of my story.—I listened to the address -of the Marquis with reverence and admiration. I -accepted his conditions with joy. I married his adorable -daughter, and conducted her to my paternal estate in the -Bourdelois. Now only it was that I tasted of perfect happiness. -To judge from my own experience in this situation, -I should say, that nature has atoned for all the disasters -and miseries she so copiously and incessantly pours upon -her sons, by this one gift, the transcendent enjoyment and -nameless delights which, wherever the heart is pure and -the soul is refined, wait on the attachment of two persons -of opposite sexes. My beloved Marguerite guided and -directed me, at the same time that she was ever studying -my gratification. I instructed her by my experience, while -she enlightened me by the rectitude and decision of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -taste. Ours was a sober and dignified happiness, and its -very sobriety served to give it additional voluptuousness. -We had each our separate pursuits, whether for the cultivation -of our minds, or the promotion of our mutual interests. -Separation gave us respectability in each other’s -eyes, while it prepared us to enter with fresh ardour into -society and conversation. In company with each other, -hours passed over us, and appeared but minutes. It has -been said to be a peculiar felicity for any one to be praised -by a man who is himself eminently a subject of praise: -how much happier to be prized and loved by a person -worthy of love? A man may be prized and valued by his -friend; but in how different a style of sentiment from the -regard and attachment that may reign in the bosom of his -mistress or his wife? Self-complacency and self-satisfaction -may perhaps be numbered among the principal sources of -contentment. It is necessary for him who would endure -existence with patience, that he should conceive himself to -be something,—that he should be persuaded he is not a -cipher in the muster-roll of man. How bitter is the anguish -we are sometimes doomed to sustain in this respect -from the marks we receive of other men’s indifference and -contempt? To feel that we are loved by one whose love we -have deserved, to be employed in the mutual interchange of -the marks of this love, habitually to study the happiness -of one by whom our happiness is studied in return, this is -the most desirable, as it is the genuine and unadulterated -condition of human nature. I must have some one to -sympathise with; I cannot bear to be cut off from all relations: -I desire to experience a confidence, a concord, an -attachment, that cannot rise between common acquaintance. -In every state we long for some fond bosom on which to -rest our weary head; some speaking eye with which to exchange -the glances of intelligence and affection. Then the -soul warms and expands itself; then it shuns the observation -of every other beholder; then it melts with feelings -that are inexpressible, but that the heart understands without -the aid of words; then the eyes swim with rapture; -then the frame languishes with enjoyment; then the soul -burns with fire; then the two persons thus blest are no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> -longer two; distance vanishes, one thought animates, one -mind informs them. Thus love acts; thus it is ripened -to perfection; never does man feel himself so much alive, -so truly etherial, as when, bursting the bonds of diffidence, -uncertainty and reserve, he pours himself entire into the -bosom of the woman he adores.</p> - -<p>Marguerite de Damville was particularly distinguished -from every other woman I ever knew by the justness of her -taste and the vividness of her feelings. This circumstance -was a fund of inexhaustible delight and improvement to -me. We were both of us well acquainted with the most -eminent poets and fine writers of modern times. But when -we came to read them together, they presented themselves -in a point of view in which they had never been seen by us -before. It is, perhaps, more important that poetry, and -every thing that excites the imagination or appeals to the -heart, should be read in solitude, than in society. But the -true way to understand our author in these cases, is to employ -each of these modes in succession. The terrible, the -majestic, the voluptuous and the melting, are all of them, -in a considerable degree, affairs of sympathy; and we never -judge of them so infallibly, or with so much satisfaction, -as when, in the presence of each other, the emotion is -kindled in either bosom at the same instant, the eye-beams, -pregnant with sentiment and meaning, involuntarily meet -and mingle; the voice of the reader becomes modulated by -the ideas of his author, and that of the hearer, by an accidental -interjection of momentary comment or applause, -confesses its accord. It was in this manner that we read -together the admirable sonnets of Petrarch, and passed in -review the sublime effusions of Dante. The letters of -Eloisa to Abelard afforded us singular delight. We searched -into the effusions of the Troubadours, and, among all their -absurdities and inequality, we found a wildness, a daring -pouring forth of the soul, an unpruned richness of imagination, -and, from time to time, a grandeur of conception and -audacious eccentricity of thought, that filled us with unlooked -for transport. At other times, when not regularly -engaged in this species of reading, we would repeat passages -to each other, communicate the discoveries of this sort that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -either had made in solitude, and point out unobserved beauties, -that perhaps neither of us would have remarked, but -for the suggestions of the other. It is impossible for two -persons to be constituted so much alike, but that one of -them should have a more genuine and instantaneous relish -for one sort of excellence, and another for another. Thus -we added to each other’s stores, and acquired a largeness of -conception and liberality of judgment that neither of us -would have arrived at if separate. It is difficult to imagine -how prolific this kind of amusement proved of true happiness. -We were mutually delighted to remark the accord -of our feelings, and still more so, as we perceived that -accord to be hourly increasing, and what struck either as a -blemish in the other, wearing out and disappearing. We -were also led by the same means to advert to the powers of -mind existing in each, the rectitude of judgment and delicacy -of feeling. As our attachment hourly increased, we -rejoiced in this reciprocation of benefits, while each gave or -received something that added to value of mind and worth -of character. Mutual esteem was incessantly kept alive, -and mutual esteem is the only substantial basis of love. -Each of us hourly blessed our common lot, while each believed -it impracticable elsewhere to have found so much -worth blended with so much sweetness.</p> - -<p>But we did not confine ourselves to the library and fireside. -We walked, we rode, we travelled together; we observed -together the beauties of nature, and the system of -the universe; we traversed many provinces of France, and -some parts of Italy and Spain; we examined the characters of -mankind, as they are modified by the varieties of natural -descent, or the diversities of political government. In all -this we found peculiar gratification. There is something -in the scent and impression of a balmy atmosphere, in the -lustre of sunshine, in the azure heaven and the purple -clouds, in the opening of prospects on this side and on that, -in the contemplation of verdure and fertility, and industry -and simplicity and cheerfulness, in all their variations, in -the very act and exercise of travelling, peculiarly congenial -to the human frame. It expands the heart, it makes the -spirit dance, and exquisitely disposes us for social enjoyment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -The mind becomes more elevated and refined, it -assumes a microscopical and unwonted sensibility; it feels -things which, in ordinary moments, are unheeded and unknown; -it enjoys things too evanescent for a name, and too -minute to be arrested; it trembles with pleasure through -every fibre and every articulation.</p> - -<p>One thing is necessary to be mentioned in this place, -though, while it adds to the fidelity of delineation, I am -aware it breaks the tone of feeling, and the harmony of -the picture. But it is not my intention in this history to -pass myself for better than I am. I have laid down to myself -the sacred maxim of absolute truth and impartiality. I -must confess, therefore, with whatever anguish, my extreme -inferiority to my incomparable partner. She had all the -simplicity of genuine taste. The more she delivered herself -up to nature, the greater was her content. All superfluous -appendages and show appeared to her as so many -obstacles to enjoyment. She derived her happiness from -the tone of her own mind, and stood in no need of the gaping -admiration and stupid wonder of others to make her -feel herself happy. But I retained the original vice of my -mind. The gestures of worship and the voice of applause -were necessary to me. I did not suffice to myself. I was not -satisfied with the tranquil and inglorious fruition of genuine -pleasures, forgetting the vain and anxious tumult of the -world, and forgotten by those who figured on its theatre. -It may be, that Marguerite could, and ought, by insensible -degrees, to have rooted out this disease of my mind. But -I am concerned only with the statement of facts; and I -know that no such thing was the effect of our intercourse.</p> - -<p>This absurd passion did not, however, at this time, lead -me to any fatal extremities. It contented itself with the -frivolous gratification resulting from a certain portion of -ostentation and expense. I maintained a considerable train -of servants: my apartments were magnificent, and my furniture -splendid. When we travelled, it was with an attendance -little short of princely. Idiot that I was, to -regard this as an addition to the genuine pleasures which I -have above enumerated! When we were at home, every -accidental guest was received and entertained with extraordinary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -pomp, a pomp not directed to add to his accommodation, -but that was designed to leave him impressed -with astonishment and admiration at the spirit of his host. -Often, indeed, did I feel this ostentation an encumbrance: -often did I languish for the ease and freedom which result -from a mediocrity of circumstances. But this I called, -doing honour to my ancestors and my country, and vindicating -the consideration due to the house of St. Leon.</p> - -<p>To quit this painful recollection.—A circumstance which -tended at this time to fill the measure of my happiness, -consisted in the dear pledges which Marguerite bore me of -our mutual affection. It is impossible for him who has not -experienced it, to conceive the accumulation which a genuine -tenderness derives from this source. The difficulties -are many that attend upon pregnancy; trifles are at that -period sources of fatigue and injury; it is necessary that -the person should be protected, and the mind tranquil. We -love to watch over a delicate plant, that appears to call for -all our anxiety and attention. There is in this case the -sentiment, without the repulsive circumstances that attends -upon our sympathy with a dangerous and alarming disease. -Marguerite, by her sensibility and growing attachment, -abundantly rewarded my cares. At length the critical period -arrives, when an event so extraordinary occurs, as cannot -fail to put the human frame in considerable jeopardy. -Never shall I forget the interview between us immediately -subsequent to her first parturition, the effusion of soul with -which we met each other after all danger seemed to have -subsided, the kindness which animated us, increased as it -was by ideas of peril and suffering, the sacred sensation -with which the mother presented her infant to her husband, -or the complacency with which we read in each other’s eyes -a common sentiment of melting tenderness and inviolable -attachment!</p> - -<p>This, she seemed to say, is the joint result of our common -affection. It partakes equally of both, and is the -shrine in which our sympathies and our life have been -poured together, never to be separated. Let other lovers -testify their engagements by presents and tokens; we record -and stamp our attachment in this precious creature, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -creature of that species which is more admirable than any -thing else the world has to boast, a creature susceptible of -pleasure and pain, of affection and love, of sentiment and -fancy, of wisdom and virtue. This creature will daily -stand in need of an aid we shall delight to afford; will require -our meditations and exertions to forward its improvement, -and confirm its merits and its worth. We shall -each blend our exertions, for that purpose, and our union, -confirmed by this common object of our labour and affection, -will every day become more sacred and indissoluble.—All -this the present weakness of my beloved Marguerite would -not allow her to say. But all this occurred to my reflections; -and, when we had time tranquilly to compare -our recollection of the event, it plainly appeared that in all -this our hearts and conceptions had most truly sympathised.</p> - -<p>The possessing a third object, a common centre of anxiety -to both, is far from weakening the regard of such a couple -for each other. It does not separate or divert them; it is -a new link of connection. Each is attached to it the more -for the sake of either; each regards it as a sort of branch -or scion, representing the parent; each rejoices in its -health, its good humour, its smiles, its increase in size, in -strength, and in faculties, principally from the idea of the -gratification they will communicate to the other. Were it -not for this idea, were it possible the pleasure should not -be mutual, the sentiment would be stripped of its principal -elevation and refinement; it would be comparatively cold, -selfish, solitary, and inane.</p> - -<p>In the first ten years of our marriage my wife brought -me five children, two sons and three daughters. The second -son only died in his infancy. My predominant passion at -this time was that of domestic pleasures and employments, -and I devoted myself, jointly with the mother, to the cultivation -of the minds of my children. They all in a considerable -degree rewarded our care; they were all amiable. -Taught by the example of their parents, they lived in uncommon -harmony and affection. Charles, the eldest, was -a lad of a bold and active disposition; but the sentiments -of virtue and honour that were infused into him, both by -Marguerite and myself, found a favourable reception, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -promised to render those qualities, which, if left to themselves, -might have been turbulent and dangerous, productive -of the happiest consequences. Julia, his eldest sister, was -uncommonly mild and affectionate, alive to the slightest -variations of treatment, profoundly depressed by every -mark of unkindness, but exquisitely sensible to demonstrations -of sympathy and attachment. She appeared little -formed to struggle with the difficulties of life and the frowns -of the world; but, in periods of quietness and tranquillity -nothing could exceed the sweetness of her character and -the fascination of her manners. Her chief attachment was -to her mother, though she was by no means capable of her -mother’s active beneficence and heroic fortitude. Louisa, -the second daughter, resembled her mother in person, and -promised to resemble her in character. Marguerite, the -youngest, differed from the whole family, in the playfulness -and frolic of her disposition. Her vivacity was inexhaustible, -and was continually displaying itself in innocent -tricks, and smart, unexpected sallies. Nothing could possibly -be more ingenuous than this admirable infant; nothing -more kind, considerate, and enthusiastic in her tenderness -and grief, when an occasion occurred to call forth -these sentiments. But the moment the sorrowful occasion -was over, she would resume all her vivacity; and even -sometimes, in the midst of her tears, some trait of her -native humour would escape. I know not whether all the -family were not more attached to the little Marguerite than -to any other individual member, as she certainly oftenest -contributed to their amusement and pleasure.—Such was -the amiable circle, one and all of whom have been involved -by me in the most tremendous ruin and disgrace.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</h2> - -<p>Charles was now nine years of age. His mother and -myself had delighted ourselves with observing and forwarding -the opening of his infant mind, and had hitherto been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> -contented with the assistance of a neighbouring priest by -way of preceptor. But, as he was our only son, we were -desirous that he should obtain every advantage of education. -We were neither of us illiterate; but, in the course of -twenty-three years, which had elapsed since I was myself of -Charles’s age, the progress of literature and the literary -passion in Europe had been astonishingly great, and I was -anxious that he should realise in his own person every -benefit which the fortunate and illustrious period of human -affairs in which he began to exist seemed to hold out to -him. Beside, there was an impetuosity and forwardness in -his character, that seemed ill to brook the profound solitude -and retirement in which his mother and I were contented -to live. His case demanded companions of his own -age, a little world of fellow-beings, with whom he might -engage in their petty business and cares, with whose passions -his own might jostle or might sympathise, who might -kindle his emulation, and open to him the field of fraternal -associations and amity.</p> - -<p>There was, however, a considerable difficulty attendant -on this question. The schools of real literature in France, -where languages were properly taught, and science might -be acquired, were at this time exceedingly few. The -nearest university was that of Toulouse, at the distance of -twenty-six leagues. This was, practically speaking, as far -from us as Paris itself. Was then our darling child to be -torn from his parents, from all he was accustomed to see, -and all by whom he was loved, to be planted in the midst -of strangers, to have his mind excited to observation, and -the spirit of generous contention roused, at the risk of -suppressing the tender affections of his soul, and the sentiments -of duty, reliance, and love? There seemed, however, -to be no alternative. It was necessary that a temporary -separation should take place. Intellectual improvement was -a point by all means to be pursued; and we must direct -our efforts to keep alive along with it those winning qualities, -and that softness of heart, which had hitherto rendered -Charles so eminently our delight. Such were our -fond speculations and projects for the future.</p> - -<p>It was at length determined that I should proceed along<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -with him to Paris. I could there observe upon the spot -the state of the university, and the means of learning that -existed in the metropolis; and could consult with some of -those eminent luminaries with whom I had become acquainted -at the house of the Marquis de Damville. Marguerite -declined accompanying me upon this occasion. Her -father was dead: she could not think of quitting her daughters -for any considerable time; and our nuptial engagement -of residing always in the country gave her a repugnance to -the removing with her whole family to Paris. It was left -probable that she might come to me when the business was -settled, if at that time it was determined to leave her son at -the capital; and that she might then reconduct me to the -place, which had been the scene of all my happiness, but -which I was destined never to revisit in peace.</p> - -<p>Preliminaries being at length fully adjusted in the manner -that appeared suitable to the importance of the occasion, -I set off for the metropolis of my country, which I had seen -only once, and that for a very short period, in the course -of ten years. That visit had been produced by a very melancholy -circumstance, the death of the Marquis de Damville. -Marguerite and myself had then been summoned, -and arrived at his hotel but a few days before he expired. -Though extremely weakened by the mortal disease under -which he laboured, he retained all the faculties of his mind, -and conversed with us in the most affectionate and endearing -terms. He congratulated us upon our mutual felicity; -nor could the situation in which we found him, upon the -brink of an everlasting oblivion of all earthly things, abate -the sincerity and fervour of his delight. He thanked me -for my carriage and conduct as a husband, which, he said, -might with propriety be held up as a model to the human -species. He applauded himself for that mingled discernment -and determination, which, as he affirmed, had so -opportunely secured my virtue and his daughter’s happiness. -He trusted that I was now sufficiently weaned from those -habits which had formerly given him so much alarm. At -the same time he conjured me, by every motive that an -overflowing enthusiasm could suggest, to persist in my good -resolutions, and never to change that residence, where I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -had found every degree of delight of which the human -mind is in its present condition susceptible. “Do not,” said -he, “be drawn aside by ambition; do not be dazzled by the -glitter of idle pomp and decoration; do not enter the remotest -circle of the vortex of dissipation! Live in the -midst of your family; cultivate domestic affection; be the -solace and joy of your wife; watch for the present and -future welfare of your children; and be assured that you -will then be found no contemptible or unbeneficial member -of the community at large!”</p> - -<p>Such were the last advices of the Marquis de Damville. -Excellent man! how ill were your lessons remembered! -how ill your kindness remunerated! He died in the sixth -year of our marriage. The serious impression which this -event produced in my mind gave me small inclination to -enter into any species of society, and disposed me to quit -Paris as soon as every respect had been paid to the obsequies -of the deceased.</p> - -<p>Upon my arrival in the metropolis on the present occasion, -I immediately sought to renew my acquaintance with -those amiable and eminent persons, who had for the most -part constituted the circle of the Marquis de Damville. -They received me with that interest and attention that I -have usually found attendant on a cultivated mind. The -pleasure was considerable, that resulted from meeting them -thus again, after ten years’ cessation of intercourse. A few -of them, indeed, were dead, and others dispersed by various -accidents in different parts of France or of Europe. The -greater part, however, I still found in that celebrated city, -which might well be considered as the metropolis of the -civilised world. The king had early been distinguished by -his love of letters and the arts; and added years, while -they abated in his mind the eagerness of ambition and glory, -gave new strength to his more cultivated propensities. The -liberality of his conduct, and the polished ease that characterised -his manners, produced a general predilection in -favour of the capital in which he resided.</p> - -<p>I found all my former friends matured and improved by -the silent influence of time. Their knowledge was increased; -their views rendered wider; their conversation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -was more amusing and instructive, their manners more -bland and unaffected. But, if their characters had experienced -revolution, mine was more materially changed. I -had before encountered them with all the heat and presumption -of youth, with no views so much present to my -mind as those of chivalry and a factitious honour, with no -experience but that of a camp. I was impetuous, volatile, -and dissipated. I had not rested long enough upon any one -of the flowers of intellect to extract its honey; and my -mind was kept in a state of preternatural agitation by the -passions of a gamester. It was now become cool, moderate, -and tranquil. The society of Marguerite had contributed -much to the improvement of my character; I had lived in -no idle and brutish solitude, but in the midst of contemplation -and letters; and I had the passions of a husband -and a father, in the extremest degree attached to his family. -These passions will be found, perhaps, to be the true school -of humanity: the man, whose situation continually exercises -in him the softest and most amiable charities of our nature, -will almost infallibly surpass his brethren in kindness to -sympathise with, and promptness to relieve, the distresses -of others.</p> - -<p>Will it be accounted strange that, in Paris, surrounded -by persons of various knowledge and liberal benevolence, I -found myself under the influence of other feelings, than any -I had lately experienced? I was like a man who had suffered -long calamity in a famished vessel or a town besieged, -and is immediately after introduced into the midst of luxury, -to a table loaded with the most costly dainties. Every viand -has to his apprehension an exquisite relish, and every wine -a delicious flavour, that he never perceived in them before. -Let no one infer that my love for Marguerite was diminished; -it has already sufficiently appeared in the course of -my narrative, that no happiness could be more consummate -than mine was with this admirable woman. Had I been -called upon to choose for the seat of my future life, between -my paternal château in the Bordelois, with Marguerite to -grace my abode, on the one hand; and all the gratifications -that Paris could afford, on the other, I should not have -hesitated even for an instant. But the mind of man is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -made capacious of various pleasures; and a person of sound -and uncorrupted judgment will perhaps always enjoy with -emotion the delights which for a long time before he had -not encountered, however enviable his content may have -been under their absence. I delighted to converse with -the men of genius and refinement with whom Paris at this -time abounded. It was a feast of soul of which I had -rarely partaken in my rural retreat. I delighted to combine -excellence with number, and, to a considerable degree at -least, variety of intercourse with sentiments of regard and -friendship. In these select societies I found no cold suppressions -and reserve. Their members were brethren in -disposition, similar in their pursuits, and congenial in their -sentiments. When any one spoke, it was that the person -to whom he addressed himself might apprehend what was -passing in his thoughts. They participated with sincerity -and a liberal mind in each other’s feelings, whether of gay -delight or melancholy disappointment.</p> - -<p>Thus situated, I forgot for a time my engagements with -Marguerite. The scenes of St. Leon, its fields, its walks, -its woods and its streams, faded from my mind. I forgot -the pleasure with which I had viewed my children sporting -on the green, and the delicious, rural suppers which I had -so often partaken with my wife beneath my vines and my -fig-trees at the period of the setting sun. When I set out -for Paris, these images had dwelt upon my mind, and saddened -my fancy. At every stage I felt myself removed -still further from the scene where my treasures and my -affections were deposited. But, shortly after, new scenes -and new employments engaged my thoughts. The pleasures -which I sought but weakly at first, every time they -were tasted increased my partiality for them. I seemed for -a time to be under the influence of an oblivion of my former -life. Thus circumstanced, the folly which had so deep a -root in my character, took hold of me. I hired a magnificent -hotel, and entertained at my own expense those persons -in whose society I principally delighted. My circles -became more numerous than those of the Marquis de Damville, -and were conducted in a very different style of splendour -and profusion. I corresponded with Marguerite; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -I continually found some new pretext for lengthening my -stay; and she on her part, though the kindest and most -indulgent of women, became seriously alarmed and unhappy.</p> - -<p>As my parties were more numerous than those of the -Marquis de Damville had been, they were more mixed. -Among others, I occasionally associated with some of those -noblemen who had been the companions of my former dissipation -and gaming. An obvious consequence resulted -from this. Parties of play were occasionally proposed to -me. I resisted—I yielded. My first compliances were -timid, hesitating, and painful. I recollected the lessons -and exhortations of my excellent father-in-law. At length, -however, my alarms abated. I reproached myself with the -want of an honourable confidence in my own firmness, and -the cowardice of supposing that I was not to be trusted with -the direction of my conduct.</p> - -<p>One evening I ventured beyond the cautious limits I had -at first prescribed myself, and won a considerable sum. -This incident produced a strong impression upon me, and -filled my mind with tumult and agitation. There was a -secret that I had concealed almost from myself, but which -now recurred to me with tenfold violence. I was living -beyond the means I had to discharge my expenses. My -propensity of this sort seemed to be fatal and irresistible. -My marriage with Marguerite had occurred opportunely, to -heal the breaches I had at that time made in my fortune, -and to take from me the consciousness of embarrassments -which I should otherwise have deeply felt. The death of -the Marquis, however deplorable in other respects, happened -at a period when the spirit of profusion and magnificence -which characterised me had again involved my affairs in -considerable difficulty. It might be supposed that these two -cases of experience would have sufficed to extirpate my -folly; but they had rather the contrary effect. In each of -them the event was such as to prevent extravagance and -thoughtlessness from producing their genuine results; and, -of consequence, they appeared less criminal and mischievous -in my eyes than otherwise they probably would have appeared. -I rather increased than diminished my establishment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -upon the death of my father-in-law. I had no reasonable -prospect of any property hereafter to descend to me, -that should exonerate me from the consequences of further -prodigality. But I did not advert to this. I saw myself -surrounded by my children; they were the delight and solace -of my life; and yet I was needless of their interests. -Sometimes I resolved upon a more rigid economy: but -economy is a principle that does not easily lay hold of any -but a heart framed to receive it. It is a business of attentive -and vigilant detail. It easily escapes the mind, amidst -the impetuosity of the passions, the obstinacy of rooted -propensities, and the seduction of long established habits. -Marguerite, indeed, did not share with me in these follies; -the simplicity and ingenuousness of her mind were such, -that she would have been as happy in a cottage as a palace; -but, though she did not partake my vices, an ill-judged -forbearance and tenderness for my feelings did not permit -her effectually to counteract them. This is, perhaps, the -only defect of character I am able to impute to her.</p> - -<p>After I had won the sum to which I have alluded, I -retired to my hotel full of anxious thoughts. It produced -upon me, in some degree, the same effect as ordinarily belongs -to a great calamity. I lay all night sleepless and -disturbed. Ruin and despair presented themselves to my -mind in a thousand forms. Heedless prodigality and dilapidated -revenues passed in review before me. I counted -the years of my life. I had completed the thirty-second -year of my age: this was scarcely half the probable duration -of human existence. How was I to support the remaining -period, a period little assorted to difficulties and expedients; -and which, in the close of it, seems imperiously to call for -every indulgence? Hitherto, an interval of four or five -years had repeatedly sufficed to involve me in serious embarrassment. -My children were growing up around me; -my family was likely to become still larger; as my offspring -increased in years, their demands upon my revenues would -be more considerable. Were these demands to be slighted? -Were my daughters, nay, was the heir of my rank and my -name, to be committed to the compassion of the world, -unprovided and forlorn? What a cheerless prospect! What<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -a gloomy and disconsolate hue did these ideas spread upon -that future, which the health of the human mind requires -to have gilded with the beams of hope and expectation? I -had already tried the expedient of economy; and I had -uniformly found this inestimable and only sheet-anchor of -prudence gliding from my deluded grasp. Could I promise -myself better success in future? There seemed to be something -in my habits, whether of inattention, ostentation, or -inconsistency, that baffled the strongest motives by which -parsimony and frugality can be enforced.</p> - -<p>Why did these thoughts importunately recur to me in -the present moment? They were the suggestions of a malignant -genius,—thoughts, the destination of which was -to lead me into a gulf of misery and guilt! While I was -going on in a regular train of expense, while I was scooping -the mine that was to swallow me and my hopes together, -I had the art to keep these reflections at bay. Now -that I had met with an unexpected piece of good fortune, -they rushed upon me with irresistible violence. Unfortunate -coincidence! Miserable,—rather let me say, guilty, abandoned -miscreant!</p> - -<p>As soon as I rose in the morning, I went to the closet -where, the evening before, I had deposited my recent acquisitions. -I spread out the gold before me. I gazed -upon it with intentness. My eyes, a moment after, rolled -in vacancy. I traversed the apartment with impatient steps. -All the demon seemed to make his descent upon my soul. -This was the first time that I had ever felt the struggle of -conscious guilt and dishonour. I was far indeed from anticipating -that species of guilt, and that species of ruin, -which soon after overwhelmed me. My mind did not once -recur to the possibility of any serious mischief. I dwelt -only, as gamesters perhaps usually do, upon the alternative -between acquisition and no acquisition. I did not take into -the account the ungovernableness of my own passions. I -assumed it as unquestionable, that I could stop when I -pleased. The thoughts that tortured me were, in the first -place, those of a sanguine and unexperienced adventurer in -a lottery, whose mind rests not for a moment upon the sum -he has risked, but who, having in fancy the principal prize<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -already in his possession, and having distributed it to various -objects and purposes, sometimes fearfully recurs to the possibility -of his disappointment, and anticipates with terror -what will be his situation, if deprived of this imaginary -wealth. I had now, for the first time, opened my eyes to -the real state of my affairs, and I clung with proportionable -vehemence to this plank which was to bear me from the -storm. In the second place, I felt, though darkly and unwillingly, -the immorality of my conception. To game may, -in some instances, not be in diametrical opposition to liberality -of mind; but he who games for the express purpose -of improving his circumstances must be an idiot, if he does -not sometimes recollect that the money lost may be as serious -a mischief to his neighbour, as the money gained can -possibly be a benefit to himself. It is past a question, that -he who thus turns his amusement into his business loses -the dignity of a man of honour, and puts himself upon a -level with the most avaricious and usurious merchant.</p> - -<p>Though I was far from having digested a specific plan -of enriching myself by these discreditable means, yet the -very tumult of my thoughts operated strongly to lead me -once more to the gaming-table. I was in no humour to -busy myself with my own thoughts; the calmness of literary -discussion, and the polished interchange of wit, which had -lately so much delighted me, had now no attraction for my -heart; the turbulence of a scene of high play alone had -power to distract my attention from the storm within. I -won a second time. I felt the rapidity and intenseness of -my contemplations still further accelerated. I will not over -again detail what they were. Suffice it to say, that my -hopes became more ardent, my conception of the necessity -of this resource more impressive, and my alarm lest this -last expedient should fail me more tormenting.</p> - -<p>The next time I lost half as much as the sum of my -winnings. I then proceeded for several days in a nearly -regular alternation of gain and loss. This, as soon as the -fact unavoidably forced itself upon my mind, only served -to render my thoughts more desperate. No, exclaimed I, -it was not for this that I entered upon so tormenting a -pursuit. It is not for this that I have deserted the learned -societies which were lately my delight, and committed myself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -to a sea of disquiet and anxiety. I came not here, like -a boy, for amusement; or, like one who has been bred in -the lap of ignorance and wealth, to seek a relief from the -burden of existence, and to find a stimulus to animate my -torpid spirits. Am I then to be for ever baffled? Am I to -cultivate a tract of land, which is to present me nothing in -return but unvaried barenness? Am I continually to wind up -my passions, and new-string my attention in vain? Am I -a mere instrument to be played upon by endless hopes and -fears and tormenting wishes? Am I to be the sport of -events, the fool of promise, always agitated with near approaching -good, yet always deluded?</p> - -<p>This frame of mind led me on insensibly to the most -extravagant adventures. It threw me in the first place into -the hands of notorious gamblers. Men of real property -shrunk from the stakes I proposed; as, though they were -in some degree infected with the venom of gaming, their -infection was not so deep as mine, nor with my desperation -of thought. The players with whom I engaged were for -the most part well known to every one but myself, not to -be able to pay the sums they played for, if they lost; nay, -this fact might be said in some sense to be known to me as -well as the rest, though I obstinately steeled myself against -the recollection of it. One evening I won of one of these -persons a very large sum, for which I suffered him to play -with me upon honour. The consequence was simple. The -next morning he took his departure from Paris, and I heard -of him no more.</p> - -<p>Before this, however, the tide of success had set strongly -against me. I had sustained some serious vicissitudes; -and, while I was playing with the wretch I have just mentioned, -my eagerness increased as my good luck began, and -I flattered myself that I should now avenge myself of fortune -for some of her late unkindnesses. My anguish—why -should I call the thing by a disproportionate and -trivial appellation?—my agony—was by so much the -greater, when I found that this person, the very individual -who had already stripped me of considerable sums, had -disappeared, and left me without the smallest benefit from -my imaginary winnings.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> - -<p>No man who has not felt, can possibly image to himself -the tortures of a gamester, of a gamester like me, who -played for the improvement of his fortune, who played with -the recollection of a wife and children dearer to him than -the blood that bubbled through the arteries of his heart, -who might be said, like the savages of ancient Germany, to -make these relations the stake for which he threw, who -saw all my own happiness and all theirs through the long -vista of life, depending on the turn of a card! Hell is but -the chimera of priests, to bubble idiots and cowards. What -have they invented, to come into competition with what -I felt! Their alternate interchange of flames and ice -is but a feeble image of the eternal varieties of hope and -fear. All bodily racks and torments are nothing compared -with certain states of the human mind. The gamester -would be the most pitiable, if he were not the most despicable -creature that exists. Arrange ten bits of painted -paper in a certain order, and he is ready to go wild with -the extravagance of his joy. He is only restrained by -some remains of shame, from dancing about the room, and -displaying the vileness of his spirit by every sort of freak -and absurdity. At another time, when his hopes have -been gradually worked up into a paroxysm, an unexpected -turn arrives, and he is made the most miserable of men. -Never shall I cease to recollect the sensation I have repeatedly -felt, in the instantaneous sinking of the spirits, the -conscious fire that spread over my visage, the anger in my -eye, the burning dryness of my throat, the sentiment that -in a moment was ready to overwhelm with curses the cards, -the stake, my own existence, and all mankind. How every -malignant and insufferable passion seemed to rush upon my -soul! What nights of dreadful solitude and despair did I -repeatedly pass during the progress of my ruin! It was the -night of the soul! My mind was wrapped in a gloom that -could not be pierced! My heart was oppressed with a -weight that no power human or divine was equal to -remove! My eyelids seemed to press downward with an -invincible burden! My eyeballs were ready to start and -crack their sockets! I lay motionless, the victim of ineffable -horror! The whole endless night seemed to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -filled with one vast, appalling, immovable idea! It was a -stupor, more insupportable and tremendous than the -utmost whirl of pain, or the fiercest agony of exquisite perception!</p> - -<p>One day that my mind was in a state of excessive anguish -and remorse (I had already contrived by this infernal -means to dispossess myself of the half of my property), -my son came unexpectedly into my chamber. For some -time I had scarcely ever seen him: such is a gamester! -All the night, while he slept, I was engaged in these haunts -of demons. All the day, while he was awake, and studying -with his masters, or amusing himself, I was in my bed-chamber, -endeavouring to court a few broken hours of sleep. -When, notwithstanding the opposition of our habits, I had -the opportunity of seeing him, I rather shunned to use, -than sought to embrace it. The sight of him had a savour -of bitterness in it, that more than balanced all the solace of -natural affection. It brought before me the image of his -mother and his sisters; it presented to my soul a frightful -tale of deserted duties; it was more galling and envenomed -than the sting of scorpions.</p> - -<p>Starting at the sound of the opening door, I called out -abruptly, and with some harshness, “Who is there? What -do you want?”</p> - -<p>“It is I, sir,” replied the boy; “it is Charles, come to -pay his duty to you!”</p> - -<p>“I do not want you now; you should not come, but -when you know I am at leisure,” answered I somewhat -disturbed.</p> - -<p>“Very well, sir; very well: I am going.” As he spoke -his voice seemed suffocated with tears. He was on the -point of shutting the door, and leaving me to myself.</p> - -<p>“Charles!” said I, not well knowing what it was I intended -to do.</p> - -<p>He returned.</p> - -<p>“Come here, my dear boy!”</p> - -<p>I took his hand, I drew him between my knees, I hid -my face in his neck, I shook with the violence of my emotion.</p> - -<p>“Go, go, boy: you perceive I cannot talk to you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> - -<p>I pushed him gently from me.</p> - -<p>“Papa!” cried he, “I do not like to leave you. I -know I am but a boy, and can be but of little use to you. -If mamma were with you, I would not be troublesome. I -should cry when I saw you were grieved, but I would ask -no questions, and would leave you, because you desired it. -I hope you have not had any bad news?”</p> - -<p>“No, my boy, no. Come to me to-morrow, and I will -be at leisure, and will talk a great deal to you.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, papa, to-morrow! Every day that I did not see -you, I thought it would be to-morrow! And there was one -to-morrow, and another to-morrow, and so many, that it -seemed as if you had forgotten to speak to me at all.”</p> - -<p>“Why, Charles, you do not doubt my word? I tell -you that to-morrow you shall see me as long as you please.”</p> - -<p>“Well, well, I will wait! But do then let it be all day! -I will not go to college, and it shall be a holiday. Papa, I -do not like my lessons half so well as I did, since I have -neither you nor mamma that I can tell what they are -about.”</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, Charles! Be a good boy! remember to-morrow! -Good-bye!”</p> - -<p>“Papa! now I am sure you look a good deal better than -you did at first. Let me tell you something about the -lesson I read this morning. It was a story of Zaleucus -the Locrian, who put out one of his own eyes, that he -might preserve eye-sight to his son.”</p> - -<p>This artless story, thus innocently introduced, cut me to -the soul. I started in my chair, and hid my face upon the -table.</p> - -<p>“Papa, what is the matter? Indeed you frighten me!”</p> - -<p>“Zaleucus was a father! What then am I?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Zaleucus was very good indeed! But, do you -know, his son was very naughty. It was his disobedience -and wickedness that made him liable to such a punishment. -I would not for the world be like Zaleucus’s son. I hope, -papa, you will never suffer from my wilfulness. You shall -not, papa, indeed, indeed!”</p> - -<p>I caught the boy in my arms. “No, you are very good! -you are too good! I cannot bear it!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, papa, I wish I were able to show you that I -love you as well as ever Zaleucus loved his son!”</p> - -<p>I was melted with the ingenuousness of the boy’s expression. -I quitted him. I paced up and down the -room. Suddenly, as if by paroxysm of insanity, I seized -my child by the arm, I seated myself, I drew him towards -me, I put my eye upon him.</p> - -<p>“Boy, how dare you talk to me of Zaleucus? Do you -mean to insinuate a reproach? Do I not discharge a father’s -duty? If I do not, know, urchin, I will not be insulted -by my child!”</p> - -<p>The boy was astonished. He burst into tears, and was -silent.</p> - -<p>I was moved by his evident distress. “No, child, you -have no father. I am afraid you have not. You do not -know my baseness. You do not know that I am the deadliest -foe you have in the world.”</p> - -<p>“Dear papa, do not talk thus! Do not I know that you -are the best of men? Do not I love you and mamma -better than every body else put together?”</p> - -<p>“Well, Charles,” cried I, endeavouring to compose myself, -“we will talk no more now. Did not I tell you, you -should not come to me but when you knew it was a proper -time? I hope you will never have reason to hate me.”</p> - -<p>“I never will hate you, papa, do to me what you will!”</p> - -<p>He saw I wished to be alone, and left me.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</h2> - -<p>In the evening of the same day, my beloved Marguerite -arrived unexpectedly at Paris. In the beginning of our -separation, I had been to the last degree punctual in my -letters. I had no pleasure so great, as retiring to my -closet, and pouring out my soul to the most adorable of -women. By degrees I relaxed in punctuality. Ordinary -occupations, however closely pursued, have a method in -them, that easily combines with regularity in points of an -incidental nature. But gaming, when pursued with avidity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -subverts all order, and forces every avocation from the -place assigned it. When my insane project of supplying -the inadequateness of my fortune by this expedient began -to produce an effect exactly opposite, I could not, but with -the extremest difficulty, string my mind to write to the -mistress of my soul. I endeavoured not to think, with -distinctness and attention, of the persons whose happiness -was most nearly involved with mine. I said to myself, -Yet another venture must be tried; fortune shall change -the animosity with which she has lately pursued me; I -will repair the breaches that have been sustained; and I -shall then return with tenfold avidity to subjects that at -present I dare not fix my mind upon. My letters were -accordingly short, unfrequent, and unsatisfactory; and -those of Marguerite discovered increasing anguish, perturbation, -and anxiety. What a change in the minds of -both had the lapse of a few months produced! Not that -my attachment had suffered the diminution of a single -particle; but that attachment, which had lately been the -source of our mutual felicity, was now fraught only with -distress. My mind was filled with horrors; and Marguerite -expected from me an encouragement and consolation in -absence, which, alas, I had it not in my power to give!</p> - -<p>I had now continued in Paris for a time vastly greater -than I had originally proposed. After having remained -more than ten days without receiving one word of intelligence, -a letter of mine was delivered to Marguerite, more -short, mysterious, and distressing to her feelings, than any -that had preceded. The ten days’ silence, from me who -at first had never missed an opportunity of pouring out -my soul to her, and contributing to her pleasure, was exquisitely -painful. There is scarcely any thing that produces -such a sickness of the heart as the repeated prorogation -of hope. But, when the letter arrived that had -been so anxiously looked for, when the hand-writing of -the superscription was recognised, when the letter was -treasured up for the impatiently desired moment of solitude, -that the sacred emotions of the heart might suffer no -interruption, and when it at last appeared so cold, so -ominous, so withering to the buds of affection, the determination<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -of Marguerite was speedily formed. The relations -that bound us together were of too mighty a value -to be dispensed or to be trifled with. She felt them as -the very cords of existence. For ten years she had known -no solace that was disconnected from my idea, no care but -of our own happiness and that of our offspring. Benevolent -she was almost beyond human example, and interested -for the welfare of all she knew; but these were -brief and mutable concerns; they were not incorporated -with the stamina of her existence. I was the whole world -to her; she had no idea of satisfaction without me. Her -firmness had been sufficiently tried by the interposal of -separation and absence. How was she to interpret the -obscurity that had now arisen? Had I forgotten my -family and my wife? Had I been corrupted and debauched -by that Paris, the effects of which upon my -character her father had so deeply apprehended? Had I, -in contempt of every thing sacred, entered into some new -attachment? Had the attractions of some new beauty in -the metropolis made me indifferent to the virtue of my -children, and the life of their mother? Perhaps the length -of our attachment had infected me with satiety, and the -inconstancy of my temper had been roused by the charms -of novelty. Perhaps the certainty of her kindness and -regard had no longer allurements for me; and I might be -excited to the pursuit of another by the pleasures of hope -combined with uncertainty, and of a coyness, that seemed -to promise compliance hereafter, even while it pronounced -a present denial. These were the images that haunted her -mind; they engendered all the wildness, and all the torments, -of a delirious paroxysm; she resolved that no time -should be sacrificed to needless uncertainty, and that no -effort of hers should be unexerted to prevent the mischief -she feared.</p> - -<p>It was evening when she arrived. I was upon the -point of repairing to that scene of nightly resort, the source -of all my guilt and all my miseries. I enquired of my -son’s valet where he was, and how he had been in the -course of the day. He was gone to bed: he had appeared -unusually sad, sometimes in tears; and, while he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -undressing, had sighed deeply two or three times. While -I was collecting this account in my own apartment, the -gates of the hotel opened, and a number of horsemen -entered the court-yard. I was somewhat surprised; because, -though I was accustomed to see much company, -few of my acquaintance visited me at so late an hour, -except on the evenings appropriated to receive them. I -crossed the saloon to enquire. One of the servants exclaimed, -“It is Bernardin’s voice: it must be my mistress -that is come!”</p> - -<p>Nothing could be further from my mind than the -thought of her arrival. I flew through the passage; I -was on the spot the moment that the servant prepared to -conduct his mistress from the litter; I received Marguerite -in my arms, and led her into the house. If I had expected -her arrival, I should infallibly have met her at this -moment with anxiety and confusion; I should have gone -round the circle of my thoughts, and should not have had -confidence to encounter the beam of her eye. But the -event was so unexpected as to drive all other ideas from -my mind; and, in consequence, I enjoyed several minutes,—ages, -rather let me say,—of the sincerest transport. -I kissed the mistress of my soul with ecstasy; I gazed -upon her well known lineaments and features; I listened -to the pleasing melody of her voice; I was intoxicated -with delight. Upon occasions like this, it seems as if -every former joy that had marked the various periods of -intercourse distilled its very spirit and essence, to compose -a draught, ten times more delicious and refined than -had ever before been tasted. Our meeting was like awaking -from the dead; it was the emancipation of the weary -captive, who exchanges the dungeon’s gloom for the lustre -of the morning, and who feels a celestial exhilaration of -heart, the very memory of which had been insensibly wearing -away from his treacherous brain. All my senses partook -of the rapture. Marguerite seemed to shed ambrosial -odours round her; her touch was thrilling; her lips were -nectar; her figure was that of a descended deity!</p> - -<p>Her pleasure was not less than mine. It is indeed absurd, -it may be termed profanation, to talk of solitary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -pleasure. No sensation ordinarily distinguished by that -epithet can endure the test of a moment’s inspection, when -compared with a social enjoyment. It is then only that a -man is truly pleased, when pulse replies to pulse, when the -eyes discourse eloquently to each other, when in responsive -tones and words the soul is communicated. Altogether, we -are conscious of a sober, a chaste, and dignified intoxication, -an elevation of spirit, that does not bereave the mind of itself, -and that endures long enough for us to analyse and savour -the causes of our joy.</p> - -<p>For some time we rested on a sofa, each filled and -occupied with the observation of the other. My eyes assured -Marguerite of the constancy of my affection; my -kisses were those of chaste, undivided, entire attachment.</p> - -<p>Our words were insignificant and idle, the broken and -incoherent phrases of a happiness that could not be silent. -At length Marguerite exclaimed, “It is enough; my fears -are vanished; I have no questions to ask, no doubts to remove. -Yet why, my Reginald, did you suffer those doubts -to gather, those fears to accumulate? Surely you knew -the singleness of my affection! How many painful days -and hours might you have saved me, almost by a word!”</p> - -<p>“Forgive me, my love,” replied I. “Waste not the golden -hour of meeting in recrimination! Feeling, as your angelic -goodness now makes me feel, I wonder at myself, that I -could for one moment have consented to separation; that I -could have thought any thing but this existence; or that, -having experienced the joys that you have bestowed, I -could lose all image of the past, and, dwelling in a desert, -imagine it paradise!”</p> - -<p>“Recrimination!” rejoined Marguerite. “No, my love; -you make me too happy to leave room for any thing but -gratitude and affection! Forgive me, Reginald, if I pretend -that, in meeting you thus, I find myself your superior -in happiness and love. You only awake from lethargy, -forgetfulness of yourself and—of me; but I awake from -anguish, a separation, that I desired not at first, and of -which I hourly wished to see an end, from doubts that -would intrude, and refused to be expelled, from the incessant -contemplation and regret of a felicity, once possessed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -but possessed no longer! Melancholy ideas, gloomy prognostics -overspread my sleepless nights, and bedewed my -pillow with tears! This it is, that, at last, has driven me -from my family and daughters, resolved to obtain the certainty -of despair, or the dispersion of my fears! Have I -known all this, and think you that I do not enjoy with rapture -this blissful moment?”</p> - -<p>While we were thus conversing, Charles entered the -room. He was not yet asleep when his mother arrived: -he heard her voice; and hastened to put on his clothes, -that he might rush into her arms. The pleasure Marguerite -had conceived from our meeting, and the affectionate -serenity that had taken possession of her soul, infused -double ardour into the embraces she bestowed on her son. -He gazed earnestly in her face; he kissed her with fervency; -but was silent.</p> - -<p>“Why, Charles!” said she, “what is the matter with you? -Are not you glad to see me?”</p> - -<p>“That I am, mamma! So glad, that I do not know what -to do with myself! I was afraid I never should have been -glad again!”</p> - -<p>“Pooh, boy! what do you mean? You were not mother-sick, -were you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed, I was sick, sick at heart! Not that I am -a coward! I think that I could have been satisfied to have -been without either my father or you for a little while. -But papa is so altered, you cannot think! He never smiles -and looks happy; and, when I see him, instead of making -me joyful, as it used to do, it makes me sad!”</p> - -<p>“Dear Reginald!” replied the mother, looking at me, “is -it possible that, while my heart was haunted with fear and -suspicions, separation alone should have had such an effect -on you?”</p> - -<p>“I dare say it was that,” interposed the boy. “I could -not make papa smile, all I could do: but, now you are come, -he will soon be well! How much he must love you, -mamma!”</p> - -<p>The artless prattle of my son struck anguish to my soul; -and awakened a whole train of tormenting thoughts. Alas! -thought I, can it indeed be love, that thus contrives against<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -the peace of its object? Would to God, my child! that -my thoughts were as simple and pure as thy innocent -bosom!</p> - -<p>“And yet,” added the boy, as if recollecting himself, “if -he could not see you, sure that was no reason for him to avoid -me? He seemed as much afraid of me, as I have seen -some of my play-fellows of a snake! Indeed, mamma, it -was a sad thing that, when I wanted him to kiss me and -press me to his bosom, he shrunk away from me! There -now! it was just so, as he looks now, that papa used to -frown upon me, I cannot tell how often! Now is not that -ugly, mamma?”</p> - -<p>I could no longer govern the tumult of my thoughts. -“Peace, urchin!” cried I. “Why did you come to mar -the transport of our meeting? Just now, Marguerite, I -forgot myself, and was happy! Now all the villain rises -in my soul!”</p> - -<p>My wife was so astonished at the perturbation of my -manner, and at the words I uttered, that she was scarcely -able to articulate. “Reginald!” in broken accents she exclaimed—“my -love!—my husband!”</p> - -<p>“No matter,” said I. “It shall yet be well! My heart -assures me it shall!—Be not disturbed, my love! I will -never cause you a moment’s anguish! I would sooner die a -thousand deaths!—Forget the odious thoughts that poor -Charles has excited in me so unseasonably! They were -mere idle words! Depend upon it they were!”</p> - -<p>While I was speaking, Marguerite hid her face upon the -sofa. I took her hand, and by my caresses endeavoured to -soothe and compose her. At length, turning to me,—“Reginald!” -said she, in a voice of anguish, “do you then -endeavour to hide from me the real state of your thoughts? -Was the joy that attended our meeting perishable and deceitful? -After ten years of unbounded affection and confidence, -am I denied to be the partner of your bosom?”</p> - -<p>“No, Marguerite, no! this was but the thought of a moment! -By to-morrow’s dawn it shall have no existence in -my bosom. Why should I torment you with what so soon -shall have no existence to myself? Meanwhile, be assured, -my love (instead of suffering diminution) is more full, more -fervent and entire, than it ever was!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> - -<p>At this instant my mind experienced an extraordinary impression. -Instead of being weaned, by the presence of this -admirable woman, from my passion for gaming, it became -stronger than ever. If Charles had not entered at the critical -moment he did, I should have remained with Marguerite, -and, amidst the so long untasted solace of love, have, -at least for this night, forgotten my cares. But that occurrence -had overturned every thing, had uncovered the wounds -of my bosom, and awakened conceptions that refused to be -laid to sleep again. The arms of my wife, that were about -to embrace me, suddenly became to me a nest of scorpions. -I could as soon have rested and enjoyed myself upon the -top of Vesuvius, when it flamed. New as I was to this -species of anguish, tranquilly and full of virtuous contentment -as I had hitherto passed the years of my married state, -the pangs of a guilty conscience I was wholly unable to bear. -I rose from my seat, and was upon the point of quitting -the room.</p> - -<p>Marguerite perceived by my manner that there was something -extraordinary passing in my mind. “Where are you -going, Reginald?” said she.</p> - -<p>I answered with a slight nod. “Not far,” I replied, -attempting an air of apathy and unconcern.</p> - -<p>She was not satisfied. “You are not going out?” she -enquired.</p> - -<p>I returned to where I had been sitting. “My love, I -was going out at the moment of your arrival. It is necessary, -I assure you. I hope I shall soon be back. I am -sorry I am obliged to leave you. Compose yourself. You -are in want of rest, and had better go to bed.”</p> - -<p>“Stop, Reginald! Afford me a minute’s leisure before -you depart! Leave us, Charles! Good night, my dear -boy! Kiss me; remember that your mother is now in the -same house with you; and sleep in peace.”</p> - -<p>The boy quitted the room.</p> - -<p>“Reginald!” said the mother, “I have no wish to control -your desires, or be a spy upon your actions; but your -conduct seems so extraordinary in this instance, as to dispense -me from the observation of common rules. I have -always been a complying wife; I have never set myself in -contradiction to your will; I appeal to yourself for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> -truth of this. I despise, however, those delicacies, an adherence -to which would entail upon us the sacrifice of all -that is most valuable in human life. Can I shut my ears -upon the mysterious expressions which Charles’s complaints -have extorted from you? Can I be insensible to the extraordinary -purpose you declare of leaving me, when I have -yet been scarcely half an hour under the roof with you? -Before Charles came in, you seem to have entertained no -such design.”</p> - -<p>“My love,” replied I, “how seriously you comment upon -the most insignificant incident! Is it extraordinary that your -unexpected arrival should at first have made me forget an -engagement that I now recollect?”</p> - -<p>“St. Leon,” answered my wife, “before you indulge in -surprise at my earnestness, recollect the circumstances that -immediately preceded it. Through successive weeks I have -waited for some satisfactory and agreeable intelligence from -you. I had a right before this to have expected your return. -Uncertainty and a thousand fearful apprehensions have at -length driven me from my home, and brought me to Paris. -I am come here for satisfaction to my doubts, and peace to -my anxious heart. Wonder not, therefore, if you find -something more earnest and determined in my proceedings -now, than upon ordinary occasions. Give me, I conjure -you, give me ease and relief, if you are able! If not, at least -allow me this consolation, to know the worst!”</p> - -<p>“Be pacified, Marguerite!” I rejoined. “I am grieved, -Heaven knows how deeply grieved, to have occasioned you -a moment’s pain. But, since you lay so much stress upon -this circumstance, depend upon it, I will postpone the -business I was going about, and stay with you.”</p> - -<p>This concession, voluntary and sincere, produced an -effect that I had not foreseen. Marguerite gazed for a -moment in my face, and then threw herself upon my -neck.</p> - -<p>“Forgive me, my beloved husband!” she cried. “You -indeed make me ashamed of myself. I feel myself inexcusable. -I feel that I have been brooding over imaginary -evils, and creating the misery that corroded my heart. -How inexpressibly you rise my superior! But I will conquer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -my weakness. I insist upon your going to the engagement -you have made, and will henceforth place the -most entire confidence in your prudence and honour.”</p> - -<p>Every word of this speech was a dagger to my heart. -What were my feelings, while this admirable woman was -taking shame to herself for her suspicions, and pouring out -her soul in commendation of my integrity! I looked inward, -and found every thing there the reverse of her -apprehension, a scene of desolation and remorse. I embraced -her in silence. My heart panted upon her bosom, -and seemed bursting with a secret that it was death to reveal. -I ought, in return for her generosity, to have given -up my feigned engagement, and devoted this night at least -to console and pacify her. But I could not, and I dared -not. The wound of my bosom was opened, and would -not be closed. The more I loved her for her confidence, -the less I could endure myself in her presence. To play -the hypocrite for so many hours, to assume a face of tranquillity -and joy while all within was tumult and horror, -was a task too mighty for human powers to execute. I -accepted of Marguerite’s permission, and left her. Even -in the short interval before I quitted the house, my carriage -was near to betraying me. I could perceive her watchful -of my countenance, as if again suspicious that some fatal -secret lurked in my mind. She said nothing further upon -the subject however, and I presently escaped the inquisition -of her eye.</p> - -<p>It is scarcely necessary to describe the state of my mind -as I passed along the streets. It is sufficient to say that -every thing I had felt before from the passion of gaming -was trivial to the sensations that now occupied me. Now -first it stood confessed before me, a demon that poisoned all -my joys, that changed the transport of a meeting with the -adored of my soul into anguish, that drove me forth from -her yet untasted charms a solitary wanderer on the face of -the earth. My busy soul drew forth at length the picture -of what this encounter would have been, if it had been -sanctified with the stamp of conscious innocence. At one -moment I felt myself the most accursed of mankind; I -believed that he who could find, as I did, barrenness and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -blasting in the choicest of Heaven’s blessings, must be -miserable beyond precedent or hope. Shortly after, however, -I reviewed again the image of my poison, and found -in it the promise of a cure. The more desperate my case -appeared to me, with the greater insanity of expectation -did I assure myself that this one night should retrieve all -my misfortunes. In giving to it this destination indeed, I -should afflict the gentle bosom of my wife but too probably -with some hours of uneasiness. But the event would -richly repay her for so transitory a suffering; I would -then open my whole mind to her. I would practise no -more reserves; I should no longer be driven to the refuge -of a vile hypocrisy. I would bid farewell to the frowns -and the caresses of fortune. I would require of her no -further kindnesses. If I were incapable myself of a rigid -economy, I would commit implicitly to Marguerite the -disposal of my income, whom I knew to be every way -qualified for the office. With these reflections I nerved -my mind to the most decisive adventures.</p> - -<p>Why should I enter into a long detail of the incidents -of this crisis? Soon, though not immediately, I began to -lose considerable sums. I brought with me in the first instance -a penetrating eye, a collected mind, an intellect -prepared for unintermitted exertion. Misfortune subverted -all this. My eye grew wild, my soul tempestuous, -my thoughts incoherent and distracted. I was incapable of -any thing judicious; but I was determined to persevere. -I played till morning, nor could the light of morning induce -me to desist. The setting sun of that day beheld me -a beggar!</p> - -<p>There is a degree of misery, which, as it admits of no -description, so does it leave no distinct traces in the memory. -It seems as if the weakness of the human mind -alike incapacitated it to support the delirium of joy, and -the extremity of sorrow. Of what immediately succeeded -the period to which I have conducted my narrative I have -no recollection, but a horror beyond all names of horror, -wild, inexplicable, unintelligible. Let no one, however, -imagine, that the temporary desertion of the soul is any -alleviation of its misery. The mind that sinks under its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -suffering does not by that conduct shake off its burden. -Rather, ten thousand times rather, would I endure all the -calamities that have ever yet received a name, the sensations -and history of which are capable of being delineated, than -sustain that which has no words by which to express itself, -and the conception of which must be trusted solely to the -faculties and sympathy of the reader. Where is the cold -and inapprehensive spirit that talks of madness as a refuge -from sorrow? Oh, dull and unconceiving beyond all -belief! I cannot speak of every species of madness; but -I also have been mad! This I know, that there is a -vacancy of soul, where all appears buried in stupidity, and -scarcely deserves the name of thought, that is more intolerable -than the bitterest reflections. This I know, that -there is an incoherence, in which the mind seems to wander -without rudder and pilot, that laughs to scorn the superstitious -fictions of designing priests. Oh, how many -sleepless days and weeks did I endure! the thoughts frantic, -the tongue raving! While we can still adhere, if I -may so express myself, to the method of misery, there is a -sort of nameless complacency that lurks under all that we -can endure. We are still conscious that we are men; we -wonder at and admire our powers of being miserable; but, -when the masts and tackle of the intellectual vessel are all -swept away, then is the true sadness. We have no consciousness -to sustain us, no sentiment of dignity, no secret -admiration of what we are, still clinging to our hearts.</p> - -<p>All this I venture to affirm, with the full recollection -of what I suffered, when restored to my senses, present to -my mind.</p> - -<p>When the account was closed, and the loss of my last -stake had finished the scene, I rose, and, quitting the fatal -spot where these transactions had passed, entered the street, -with a heart oppressed, and a bursting head. My eyes -glared, but I saw nothing, and could think of nothing. It -was already nearly dark; and the day which had been -tempestuous, was succeeded by a heavy and settled rain. I -wandered for some time, not knowing whither I went. My -pace, which had at first been slow, gradually increased, and -I traversed the whole city with a hurried and impatient<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -step. The streets which had contained few persons at -first, gradually lost those few. I was almost alone. I saw -occasionally ragged and houseless misery shrinking under -the cover of a miserable shed; I saw the midnight robber, -watching for his prey, and ready to start upon the unwary -passenger. From me he fled; there was something in my -air that impelled even desperate violation to shrink from -the encounter. I continued this incessant, unmeaning exertion -for hours. At length, by an accidental glance of the -eye, I found myself at the gate of my own hotel. Heedless -of what I did, I entered; and, as nature was now completely -exhausted within me, sunk down in a sort of insensibility -at the foot of the grand staircase.</p> - -<p>This stupor, after a considerable interval, gradually subsided. -I opened my eyes, and saw various figures flitting -about me; but I seemed to myself equally incapable of -collecting my thoughts, and of speech. My understanding -indeed shortly became clearer, but an insuperable reluctance -to voluntary exertion hung upon me. I explained myself -only in monosyllables; a sort of instinctive terror of disclosing -what had passed to the admirable woman I had -sacrificed maintained in me this perpetual reserve. For -several days together I sat from morning till night in one -immovable posture, nor was any thing of force enough to -awaken me to exertion.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</h2> - -<p>It was not long before the unhappy partner of my fortunes -was informed of what had passed. The wretches who had -stripped me of my all soon made their appearance to claim -what was no longer mine. What would have been their -reception, if I had sufficiently possessed myself to parley -with them on the subject, I am unable to determine. I -could not have preserved the wreck of my property from -their grasp, but at the expense of an indelible stain upon -my honour; yet my desperation would probably have led<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> -me to a conduct equally extravagant and useless. In the -condition in which I was, the whole direction of the business -devolved upon Marguerite; and never did human -creature demean herself with greater magnanimity and propriety. -She saw at once that she could not resist their -claims but at the expense of my reputation; for herself -she valued not riches, and had no dread of poverty; and, -thus circumstanced, she had the courage herself to bring to -me the papers they offered, the object of which I scarcely -understood, and to cause me to annex that signature which -was to strip her and her children of all earthly fortune. -Her purpose was, as soon as this business was over, to -cause us to quit France, and retire into some scene of virtuous -obscurity. But she would not leave behind her for the -last descendants of the counts de St. Leon any avoidable -disgrace. Her mode of reasoning upon the subject was extremely -simple. Obscurity she regarded as no misfortune; -and eminent situation, where it fairly presented itself, as a -responsibility it would be base to shrink from: ignominy -alone she considered as the proper theme of abhorrence. -For the fickleness and inconstancy of fortune it is impossible -to answer; by one of those reverses in which she -appears to delight, she might yet restore us to the lustre of -our former condition; but, if the name of St. Leon was -henceforth to disappear from the annals of France, she was -desirous at least, as far as depended on her, that it should -expire, like the far famed bird of Arabia, in the midst of -perfumes.</p> - -<p>When the whole situation of Marguerite is taken into -consideration, the reader, like myself, will stand astonished -at the fortitude of her conduct. She had come to Paris, -unable any longer to tranquillise the agitation of her mind, -and exhausted with fears, suspicions, and alarms. When -she arrived, she experienced indeed one delusive moment -of transport and joy. But that was soon over. It was -succeeded by reflections and conjectures respecting the -mysteriousness of my behaviour; it was succeeded by my -unexpected departure, and the hourly expectation of my -return. After the lapse of a night and a day, I returned -indeed, but in what a condition! Drenched with rain,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -trembling with inanition, speechless and alone. Scarcely -had she received notice of my arrival, and come forward to -meet me, than she saw me fall, motionless and insensible, -at her feet. She watched my recovery, and hung with indescribable -expectation over my couch. She was only -called away by the wretches, who came to advance their -accursed claims, and to visit her with the intelligence of -our ruin, as with a thunderbolt. Already enfeebled and -alarmed by all the preceding circumstances, they spoke -with no consideration to her weakness, they stooped to no -qualifications and palliatives, but disclosed the whole in the -most abrupt and shocking manner. Any other woman -would have sunk under this accumulation of ill. Marguerite -only borrowed vigour from her situation, and rose in proportion -to the pressure of the calamity. She took her resolution -at once, and answered them in the most firm and -decisive language.</p> - -<p>The period of inactivity and stupor that at first seized -me was succeeded by a period of frenzy. It was in this -condition that Marguerite conducted me and my children to -an obscure retreat in the canton of Soleure, in the republic -of Switzerland. Cheapness was the first object; for the -most miserable pittance was all she had saved from the -wreck of our fortune. She had not chosen for beauty of -situation, or magnificence of prospects. The shock her -mind had sustained was not so great as to destroy her activity -and fortitude, but it left her little leisure for the wantonness -of studied indulgence. The scene was remote and -somewhat sterile. She conceived that, when I recovered -my senses, an event which she did not cease to promise -herself, solitude would be most grateful, at least to the first -stage of my returning reason.</p> - -<p>Hither then it was that she led me, our son, and three -daughters. Immediately upon our arrival she purchased -a small and obscure, but neat, cottage, and attired herself -and her children in habits similar to those of the -neighbouring peasants. My paternal estates, as well as -those which had fallen to me by marriage, had all been -swallowed up in the gulf, which my accursed conduct had -prepared. Marguerite made a general sale of our moveables,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -our ornaments, and even our clothes. A few books, guided -by the attachment to literature which had always attended -me, were all that she saved from the wreck. A considerable -part of the sum thus produced was appropriated by my -creditors. Marguerite had the prudence and skill to satisfy -them all, and was contented to retain that only which remained -when their demands were discharged. This was -the last dictate of her pride and the high-born integrity of -her nature, at the time that she thus departed a voluntary -exile from her native country. Two servants accompanied -us in our flight, whose attachment was so great, that even -if their attendance had not been necessary, it would have -been found somewhat difficult to shake them off. Marguerite, -however, was governed by the strictest principles of -economy; and, whatever the struggle might have been with -the importunity of humble affection in dismissing these last -remains of our profuse and luxurious household, she would -have thought herself obliged to proceed even to this extreme, -if judicious parsimony had demanded it from her. But it -did not. Our youngest daughter was at this time only -twelve months old, and it would have been scarcely possible -for the mother, however resolute in her exertions, to have -discharged the cares due to such a family, at a time when -the father of it was suffering under so heavy an affliction. -One female servant she retained to assist her in these offices. -She could not dispense herself from a very assiduous attention -to me. She could never otherwise have been satisfied, -that every thing was done that ought to be done, that every -tenderness was exercised that might be demanded by my -humiliating situation, or that sufficient sagacity and skill were -employed in watching and encouraging the gleams of returning -reason. The violence of my paroxysms, however, -was frequently such as to render a manual force greater than -hers necessary to prevent me from effecting some desperate -mischief. Bernardin, a trusty servant, nearly of my own -age, and who had attended upon my person almost from -infancy, was retained by Marguerite for this purpose. I -was greatly indebted for the recovery which speedily followed -to the affectionate anxiety and enlightened care of -this incomparable woman. It is inconceivable to those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -who have never been led to a practical examination of the -subject, how much may be effected in this respect by an -attachment ever on the watch, and an understanding judicious -to combine, where hired attendance would sleep, and -the coarseness of a blunt insensibility would irritate, nay, -perhaps, mortally injure.</p> - -<p>It is scarcely possible to imagine a wife more interesting -and admirable than Marguerite appeared upon the present -occasion. Fallen from the highest rank to the lowest -poverty, she did not allow herself a mean and pitiful regret. -No reverse could be more complete and abrupt, but she did -not sink under it. She proved, in the most convincing -manner, that her elevation was not the offspring of wealth -or rank, but was properly her own. She gave a grace, even -a lustre, to poverty, which it can only receive from the -emanations of a cultivated mind. Her children were reconciled -and encouraged by her example, and soon forgot those -indulgences which had not yet had time to emasculate their -spirits. The deplorable situation to which the father of -the family was reduced was far from inducing her to cease -from her efforts in the bitterness of despair. She determined -for the present to be both a father and a mother to her -children. She looked forward with confidence to my speedy -recovery. Though I was the author of her calamities, she -did not permit this consideration to subtract from the purity -of her affection, or the tenderness of her anxiety. She resolved -that no word or look of hers should ever reproach -me with my misconduct. She had been accustomed to desire -rank, and affluence, and indulgence for her children; -that her son might run the career of glory which his forefathers -ran, and that her daughters might unite their fates -with what was most illustrious and honourable in their -native country. But, if she were disappointed in this, she -determined, as far as it should be in her power, to give -them virtue and cheerfulness and content, a mind that should -find resources within itself, and call forth regard and esteem -from the rest of mankind.</p> - -<p>My recovery was fitful and precarious, sometimes appearing -to be rapidly on the advance, and at others to threaten -a total relapse. Among the expedients that Marguerite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -employed to re-excite the slumbering spark of reason was -that of paternal affection. Ever on the watch for a favourable -opportunity, she sometimes brought to me her own -little namesake, who, though only twelve months old, did -not fail to discover unequivocal marks of that playfulness -and gaiety which made so considerable a part of her constitutional -character. Her innocent smiles, her frolic and -careless laughter, produced a responsive vibration that -reached to my inmost heart. They were, not unfrequently, -powerful enough to check the career of my fury, or to raise -me from the lowest pitch of despondence. Julia wept for -me, and Louisa endeavoured to copy the offices of kindness -she was accustomed to see her mother perform: Charles, -who conceived more fully than the rest the nature of my -indisposition, was upon all occasions solicitous to be admitted -into my presence, and attended me for the most part -with speechless anxiety, while his watchful, glistening eye -uttered volumes, without the assistance of words. His -mother at length yielded to his importunity, and he became -established the regular assistant of Bernardin in the care of -my person. The restlessness and impetuosity he had hitherto -manifested seemed upon this occasion entirely to subside: -hour after hour he willingly continued shut up in my chamber, -eager for every opportunity of usefulness, and gratified -with that complaisance with which the human mind never -fails to be impressed, when it regards its actions as beneficent, -or approves its temper as compassionate.</p> - -<p>The restoration of my health was greatly retarded by -the melancholy impressions which necessarily offered themselves -to my mind when recollection resumed her seat. -It was fortunate for me that this sort of retrospection appears -not to be the first thing that occurs after a paroxysm -of insanity. When the tide of incoherent ideas subsides, -the soul is left in a state of exhaustion; and seems, by a -sort of instinct, to shun the influx of tumultuous emotions, -and to dwell upon such feelings as are mild, tranquil, and -restorative. Once, however, when I was nearly recovered, -the thought of what I had been, and the recollection of what -I was, violently suggesting themselves to my mind, brought -on a relapse, attended with more alarming and discouraging<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> -symptoms than my original alienation. At that moment -Marguerite was, for the first time, irresistibly struck -with the conception that mine was an incurable lunacy; -and, as she afterwards assured me, at no period down to -that instant had she felt herself so truly inconsolable. But -even a sentiment of the last despair was incapable of superseding -the active beneficence of Marguerite. Her assiduities, -so far as related to this fatal calamity, were at -length crowned with success. Her gloomy prognostics -were not realised, and the distemper of my understanding -quitted me for ever.</p> - -<p>Wretched, however, as I have already remarked, beyond -all common notions of wretchedness, were my thoughts, -when my soul returned to its proper bias, and I fully surveyed -the nature of my present situation. Marguerite, -who, by her sagacity and patience, had recovered me from -a state of the most dreadful disease, now exerted herself to -effect the more arduous task of reconciling me to myself. -She assured me that she forgave me from her inmost heart; -nay, that she was thankful to Providence, which, in the -midst of what the world calls great calamities, had preserved -to her what she most valued, my affection, entire. -She contrasted what had been the subject of her apprehensions -before she came to Paris, with what had proved -to be the state of the case afterwards. She averred, that -the worst that had happened was trivial and tolerable, -compared with the image that her fears had delineated. -She had feared to find my heart alienated from her, and -herself a widowed mother to orphan children. She dreaded -lest I should have proved myself worthless in her eyes, lest -I should have been found to have committed to oblivion -the most sacred of all duties; and, for the gratification of -a low and contemptible caprice, to have sacrificed all pretensions -to honour and character. For that, indeed, her -heart would have bled; against that, all the pride she derived -from her ancestry and my own would have revolted; -that would have produced a revulsion of her frame, snapping -the chain of all her habits, and putting a violent close -upon all the sentiments she had most fondly nourished. -She dreaded, indeed, that she should not have survived it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -But the mistake I had committed was of a very different -nature. I had neither forgotten that I was a husband nor -a father; I had only made an injudicious and unfortunate -choice of the way of discharging what was due to these -characters. What had passed was incapable of impeaching -either the constancy of my affections or the integrity of -my principles. She forgave me, and it was incumbent -upon me to forgive myself.</p> - -<p>She assured me that poverty, in her apprehension, was -a very slight evil; and she appealed to my own understanding -for the soundness of her judgment. She bid me -look round upon the peasantry of the neighbourhood, upon -a footing with whom we were now placed, and ask my -own heart whether they were not happy. One disadvantage, -indeed, they were subjected to,—the absence of cultivation -and learning. She could never bring herself to -believe that ignorance was a benefit; she saw the contrary -of this practically illustrated in her own case, in mine, and -in that of all the persons to whom, through life, she had -been most ardently attached. She wished her children to -attain intellectual refinement, possess fully the attributes of -a rational nature, and to be as far removed as possible from -the condition of stocks and stones, by accumulating a magazine -of thoughts, and by a rich and cultivated sensibility. -But the want of fortune did not in our case, as in the case -of so many others, shut them out from this advantage: it -was in our own power to bestow it upon them.</p> - -<p>It was the part of a reasonable man, she told me, not to -waste his strength in useless regrets for what was past, and -had already eluded his grasp; but to advert to the blessings -he had still in possession. If we did this in our present -situation, we should find every reason for contentment and -joy. Our pleasure in each other, and the constancy of our -attachment, was unassailed and unimpaired. Where were -there two married persons, she would venture to ask, who -had more reason to applaud their connection, or to whom -their connection was pregnant with so various gratifications? -From ourselves we had only to turn our thoughts to our -children; and we were surely as singularly fortunate in -this respect as in each other. Charles, who had always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -been the subject of our pride, had lately exhibited such an -example of patient sympathy and filial affection, as perhaps -had never been equalled in a child so young. The sensibility -of Julia, the understanding of Louisa, and the vivacity -of Marguerite, were all of them so many growing -sources of inexhaustible delight. Our children were intelligent, -affectionate, and virtuous. Thus circumstanced, -she entreated me not to indulge that jaundice of the imagination, -which should create to itself a sentiment of melancholy -and discontent in the midst of this terrestrial -paradise.</p> - -<p>Most virtuous of women, now perhaps the purest and -the brightest among the saints in heaven! why was I deaf -to the soundness of your exhortations, and the generosity -of your sentiments? Deaf, indeed, I was! A prey to the -deepest dejection, they appeared to me the offspring of -misapprehension and paradox! Supposing, in the mean -time, that they were reasonable and just in the mouth of -her who uttered them, I felt them as totally foreign to my -own situation. The language, as they were, of innocence; -it was not wonderful that to an innocent heart they spoke -tranquillity and peace. Marguerite looked round upon the -present rusticity and plainness of our condition, and every -thing that she saw talked to her of her merit and her worth. -If we were reduced, she was in no way accountable for -that reduction; it had been the test of her magnanimity, -her patience, and the immutableness of her virtue. She -smiled at the assaults of adversity, and felt a merit in -her smiles. How different was my situation! Every -thing that I saw reminded me of my guilt, and upbraided -me with crimes that it was hell to recollect. My own -garb, and that of my wife and children, the desertion in -which we lived, the simple benches, the unhewn rafters, the -naked walls, all told me what it was I had done, and were -so many echoes to my conscience, repeating, without intermission -and without end, its heart-breaking reproaches. -Sleep was almost a stranger to me; these incessant monitors -confounded my senses in a degree scarcely short of madness -itself. It is the property of vice to convert every thing -that should be consolation into an additional source of anguish.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> -The beauty, the capacity, and the virtue of my -children, the affection with which they regarded me, the -patience and attentiveness and forbearance of their excellent -mother, were all so many aggravations of the mischief I had -perpetrated. I could almost have wished to have been the -object of their taunts and execration. I could have wished -to have been disengaged from the dearest charities of our -nature, and to have borne the weight of my crimes alone. -It would have been a relief to me if my children had been -covered with the most loathsome diseases, deformed and -monstrous. It would have been a relief to me, if they had -been abortive in understanding, and odious in propensities, -if their hearts had teemed with every vice, and every day -had marked them the predestined victims of infamy. The -guilt of having stripped them of every external advantage -would then have sat light upon me. But thus to have -ruined the most lovely family perhaps that existed on the -face of the earth, the most exemplary of women, and -children in whom I distinctly marked the bud of every excellence -and every virtue, was a conduct that I could never -forgive even to myself. Oh, Damville, Damville! best of -men! truest of friends! why didst thou put thy trust in -such a wretch as I am! Hadst thou no presentiment of the -fatal consequences? Wert thou empowered to commit -thy only child and all her possible offspring to so dreadful -a risk? Indeed, it was not well done! It was meant in -kindness; but it was the cruellest mischief that could have -been inflicted on me. I was not a creature qualified for -such dear and tender connections. I was destined by -nature to wander a solitary outcast on the face of the earth. -For that only, that fearful misery, was I fitted. Why, -misguided, misjudging man! didst thou not leave me to -my fate? Even that would have been less dreadful than -what I have experienced!—Wretch that I am! Why -do I reproach my best benefactor? No, let me turn the -whole current of my invective upon myself! Damville was -actuated by the noblest and most generous sentiment that -ever entered the human mind. What a return then have -I made, and to what a benefit!</p> - -<p>All the previous habits of my mind had taught me to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> -feel my present circumstances with the utmost acuteness. -Marguerite, the generous Marguerite, stood, with a soul -almost indifferent, between the opposite ideas of riches and -poverty. Not so her husband. I had been formed, by -every accident of my life, to the love of splendour. High -heroic feats, and not the tranquillity of rural retirement, or -the pursuits of a character professedly literary, had been the -food of my imagination, ever since the faculty of imagination -was unfolded in my mind. The field of the cloth of -gold, the siege and the battle of Pavia, were for ever present -to my recollection. Francis the First, Bayard, and Bourbon, -eternally formed the subject of my visions and reveries. -These propensities had indeed degenerated into an infantine -taste for magnificence and expense; but the roots did not -embrace their soil the less forcibly, because the branches -were pressed down and diverted from their genuine perpendicular. -That from a lord, descended from some of the -most illustrious houses in France, and myself amply imbued -with the high and disdainful spirit incident to my -rank, I should become a peasant, was itself a sufficient degradation. -But I call the heavens to witness that I could -have endured this with patience, if I had endured it alone. -I should have regarded it as the just retribution of my -follies, and submitted with the most exemplary resignation. -But I could not, with an equal mind, behold my wife and -children involved in my punishment. I turned my eyes upon -the partner of my life, and recalled with genuine anguish -the magnificence to which she was accustomed, and the -hopes to which she was born. I looked upon my children, -the fruit of my loins, and once the pride of my heart, and -recollected that they were paupers, rustics, exiles. I could -foresee no return to rank, but for them and their posterity -an interminable succession of obscurity and meanness. A -real parent can support the calamity of personal degradation, -but he cannot bear to witness and anticipate this corruption -of his blood. At some times I honoured Marguerite for -her equanimity. At others I almost despised her for this -integrity of her virtues. I accused her in my heart of being -destitute of the spark of true nobility. Her patience I considered -as little less than meanness and vulgarity of spirit.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -It would have become her better, I thought, like me, to -have cursed her fate, and the author of that fate; like me, -to have spurned indignant at the slavery to which we were -condemned; to have refused to be pacified; and to have -wasted the last dregs of existence in impatience and regret. -I could act that which had involved us in this dire reverse; -but I could not encounter the consequences of my act.</p> - -<p>The state of my mind was in the utmost degree dejected -and forlorn. I carried an arrow in my heart, which the -kindness of my wife and children proved inadequate to extract, -and the ranklings of which time itself had not the -power to assuage. The wound was not mortal; but, like the -wound of Philoctetes, poisoned with the blood of the Lernean -hydra, I dragged it about with me from year to year, and -it rendered my existence a galling burden hardly to be -supported. A great portion of my time was passed in a -deep and mournful silence, which all the soothings that -were addressed to me could not prevail on me to break. -Not that in this silence there was the least particle of ill -humour or sullenness. It was a mild and passive situation -of the mind; affectionate, as far as it was any thing, -to the persons around me; but it was a species of disability; -my soul had not force enough to give motion to the -organs of speech, or scarcely to raise a finger. My eye -only, and that only for a moment at a time, pleaded for forbearance -and pardon. I seemed like a man in that species -of distemper, in which the patient suffers a wasting of the -bones, and at length presents to us the shadow, without the -powers, of a human body.</p> - -<p>This was at some times my condition. But my stupor -would at others suddenly subside. Mechanically, and in a -moment, as it were, I shook off my supineness, and sought -the mountains. The wildness of an untamed and savage -scene best accorded with the temper of my mind. I sprung -from cliff to cliff among the points of the rock. I rushed -down precipices that to my sobered sense appeared in a -manner perpendicular, and only preserved my life, with a -sort of inborn and unelective care, by catching at the roots -and shrubs which occasionally broke the steepness of the -descent. I hung over the tops of rocks still more fearful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -in their declivities, and courted the giddiness and whirl of -spirit which such spectacles are accustomed to produce. I -could not resolve to die: death had too many charms to suit -the self-condemnation that pursued me. I found a horrible -satisfaction in determining to live, and to avenge upon -myself the guilt I had incurred. I was far from imagining -that the evils I had yet suffered were a mere sport and -ostentation of misery, compared with those that were in reserve -for me.</p> - -<p>The state of mind I am here describing was not madness, -nor such as could be mistaken for madness. I never -forgot myself, and what I was. I was never in that delirium -of thought, in which the patient is restless and active -without knowing what it is that he does, and from which, -when roused, he suddenly starts, shakes off the dream that -engaged him, and stands astonished at himself. Mine was -a rage, guided and methodised by the discipline of despair. -I burst into no fits of raving; I attempted no injury to any -one. Marguerite therefore could not reconcile herself to -the placing me under any restraint. I frequently returned -home, with my clothes smeared with the soil, and torn by -the briars. But my family soon became accustomed to my -returning in personal safety; and therefore, whatever was -the uneasiness my wife felt from my excursions, she preferred -the enduring it, to the idea of imposing on me any -species of violence.</p> - -<p>The state of my family presented a singular contrast -with that of its head. Marguerite was certainly not insensible -to the opposition between her former and her present -mode of life; but she submitted to the change with such an -unaffected cheerfulness and composure, as might have extorted -admiration from malignity itself. She would perhaps -have dismissed from her thoughts all retrospect to our former -grandeur, had not the dejection and despair that -seemed to have taken possession of my mind forcibly and -continually recalled it to her memory. For my sufferings -I am well assured she felt the truest sympathy; but there -was one consideration attending them that imperiously compelled -her to task her fortitude. They deprived me of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -ability of in any degree providing for and superintending -my family; it became therefore incumbent upon her to -exert herself for the welfare of all. Had we never fallen -under this astonishing reverse, I might have spent my whole -life in daily intercourse with this admirable woman, without -becoming acquainted with half the treasures of her -mind. She was my steward; and from the result of her -own reflections made the most judicious disposition of my -property. She was my physician; not by administering -medicines to my body, but by carefully studying and exerting -herself to remove the distemper of mind. Unfortunately -no distempers are so obstinate as mental ones; yet, -had my distemper had any lighter source than an upbraiding -conscience, I am persuaded the wisdom of Marguerite -would have banished it. She was the instructor of my -children; her daughters felt no want of a governess; and -I am even ready to doubt whether the lessons of his mother -did not amply supply to Charles his loss of an education in -the university of Paris. The love of order, the activity, -the industry, the cheerfulness of, let me say, this illustrious -matron, became contagious to all the inhabitants of my -roof. Once and again have I stolen a glance at them, or -viewed them from a distance busied, sometimes gravely, -sometimes gaily, in the plain, and have whispered to my -bursting heart, “How miserable am I! how happy they! -So insurmountable is the barrier that divides innocence -from guilt. They may breathe the same air; they may -dwell under the same roof; they may be of one family and -one blood; they may associate with each other every day -and every hour; but they can never assimilate, never have -any genuine contact. Is there a happier family than mine -in all the valley of this far-famed republic? Is there a -family more virtuous, or more cultivated with all the refinements -that conduce to the true dignity of man? I, I -only am its burden and its stain! The pleasure with -which I am surrounded on every side finds a repellent -quality in my heart that will not suffer its approach. To -whatever is connected with me I communicate misfortune. -Whenever I make my appearance, those countenances that -at all other times spoke contentment and hilarity fall into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -sadness. Like a pestilential wind, I appear to breathe -blast to the fruits of nature, and sickliness to its aspect.”</p> - -<p>Marguerite expostulated with me in the most soothing -manner upon the obstinacy of my malady. “My Reginald! -my love!” said she, “cease to be unhappy, or to -reproach yourself! You were rash in the experiment you -made upon the resources of your family. But have you -done us mischief, or have you conferred a benefit? I more -than half incline to the latter opinion. Let us at length -dismiss artificial tastes, and idle and visionary pursuits, -that do not flow in a direct line from any of the genuine -principles of our nature! Here we are surrounded with -sources of happiness. Here we may live in true patriarchal -simplicity. What is chivalry, what are military prowess and -glory? Believe me, they are the passions of a mind depraved, -that with ambitious refinement seeks to be wise beyond -the dictates of sentiment or reason! There is no happiness -so solid, or so perfect, as that which disdains these -refinements. You, like me, are fond of the luxuriant and -romantic scenes of nature. Here we are placed in the midst -of them. How idle it would be, to wish to change our -arbours, our verdant lanes and thickets, for vaulted roofs, -and gloomy halls, and massy plate! Alas, Reginald! it is, -I fear, too true, that the splendour in which we lately lived -has its basis in oppression; and that the superfluities of -the rich are a boon extorted from the hunger and misery -of the poor! Here we see a peasantry more peaceful and -less oppressed than perhaps any other tract of the earth -can exhibit. They are erect and independent, at once -friendly and fearless. Is not this a refreshing spectacle? -I now begin practically to perceive that the cultivators of -the fields and the vineyards are my brethren and my -sisters; and my heart bounds with joy, as I feel my relations -to society multiply. How cumbrous is magnificence! -The moderate man is the only free. He who reduces all -beneath him to a state of servitude becomes himself the -slave of his establishment, and of all his domestics. To -diminish the cases in which the assistance of others is felt -absolutely necessary is the only genuine road to independence. -We can now move wherever we please without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -waiting the leisure of others. Our simple repasts require -no tedious preparation, and do not imprison us in saloons -and eating rooms. Yet we partake of them with a more -genuine appetite, and rise from them more truly refreshed, -than from the most sumptuous feast. I prepare for my -meal by industry and exercise; and when it is over, amuse -myself with my children in the fields and the shade.—Though -I love the sight of the peasants, I would not be a -peasant. I would have a larger stock of ideas, and a -wider field of activity. I love the sight of peasants only -for their accessories, or by comparison. They are comparatively -more secure than any other large masses of men, -and the scenes in the midst of which they are placed are -delightful to sense. But I would not sacrifice in prone -oblivion the best characteristics of my nature. I put in my -claim for refinements and luxuries; but they are the refinements -and purifying of intellect, and the luxuries of -uncostly, simple taste. I would incite the whole world, if -I knew how to do it, to put in a similar claim. I would -improve my mind; I would enlarge my understanding; I -would contribute to the instruction of all connected with -me, and to the mass of human knowledge. The pleasures -I would pursue and disseminate, though not dependent on -a large property, are such as could not be understood by -the rustic and the savage.—Our son, bred in these fields, -indeed, will probably never become a <i lang="fr">preux chevalier</i>, or -figure in the roll of military heroes; but he may become -something happier and better. He may improve his mind, -and cultivate his taste. He may be the counsellor and protector -of his sisters. He may be the ornament of the district -in which he resides. He may institute in his adoptive -country new defences for liberty, new systems of public -benefit, and new improvements of life. There is no character -more admirable than the patriot-yeoman, who unites -with the utmost simplicity of garb and manners an understanding -fraught with information and sentiment and a -heart burning with the love of mankind. Such were Fabricius -and Regulus among the ancients, and such was -Tell, the founder of the Helvetic liberty. For my part, -I am inclined to be thankful, that this unexpected reverse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -in our circumstances has made me acquainted with new -pleasures, and opened to my mind an invaluable lesson. -If you could but be prevailed on to enter into our pleasures, -to dismiss idle reproaches and pernicious propensities, our -happiness would then be complete.”</p> - -<p>The expostulations of Marguerite often excited my attention, -often my respect, and sometimes produced a sort -of imperfect conviction. But the conviction was transient, -and the feelings I have already described as properly my -own returned, when the fresh and vivid impression of what -I had heard was gone. It was in vain that I heard the -praises of simplicity and innocence. I was well pleased to -see those who were nearest to me not affecting contentment, -but really contented with these things. But I could -not be contented for them. The lessons of my education -had left too deep an impression. I could myself have surrendered -my claim to admiration and homage, as a penance -for my misdeeds; but I could not figure to myself a genuine -satisfaction unaccompanied by these accessories: -and this satisfaction I obstinately and impatiently coveted -for those I loved.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</h2> - -<p>While I murmured in bitterness of soul at the lowness to -which my family was reduced, a still heavier calamity impended, -as if in vengeance against the fantastic refinements -of distress over which I brooded.</p> - -<p>I was wandering, as I had often done, with a gloomy -and rebellious spirit, among the rocks, a few miles distant -from the place of our habitation. It was the middle of -summer. The weather had been remarkably fine; but I -disdained to allow the gratifications which arise from a pure -atmosphere and a serene sky to find entrance in my soul. -My excursions had for some days been incessant; and the -sun, which matured the corn and blackened the grapes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> -around, had imbrowned my visage, and boiled in my blood. -I drank in fierceness and desperation from the fervour of -his beams. One night, as in sullen mood I watched his -setting from a point of the rock, I perceived the clearness -of the day subsiding in a threatening evening. The -clouds gathered in the west; and, as night approached, were -overspread with a deep dye of the fiercest crimson. The -wind rose; and, during the hours of darkness, its roarings -were hollow and tempestuous.</p> - -<p>In the morning the clouds were hurried rapidly along, -and the air was changed from a long series of sultriness to -a nipping cold. This change of the atmosphere I disregarded, -and pursued my rambles. A little before noon, -however, the air suddenly grew so dark, as to produce a -sensation perfectly tremendous. I felt as if the darkest -night had never exceeded it. The impetuous motion to -which I had been impelled, partly by the fever in my blood, -and partly by the turbulence of the season, was suspended. -Mechanically I looked round me for shelter. But I could -ill distinguish the objects that were near me, when a flash -of lightning, blue and sulphureous, came directly in my -face, with a brightness that threatened to extinguish the -organ of vision. The thunder that followed was of a -length and loudness to admit of no comparison from any -object with which I am acquainted. The bursts were so -frequent as almost to confound themselves with each other. -At present I thought only of myself; and the recent habits -of my mind were not calculated to make me peculiarly accessible -to fear. I stood awe-struck; but rather with the awe -that inheres to a cultivated imagination, than that which -consists in apprehension. I seemed ready to mount amidst -the clouds, and penetrate the veil with which nature conceals -her operations. I would have plunged into the recesses -in which the storm was engendered, and bared my bosom -to the streaming fire. Meanwhile my thoughts were solemnised -and fixed by observing the diversified dance of the -lightnings upon the points of the rocks, contrasting as they -did in the strongest manner with the darkness in which -the rest of the scene was enveloped. This added contention -of the elements did not, however, suspend the raging<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -of the wind. Presently a storm of mingled hail and rain -poured from the clouds, and was driven with inconceivable -impetuosity. The hailstones were of so astonishing a magnitude, -that, before I was aware, I was beaten by them to -the ground. Not daring to attempt to rise again, I simply -endeavoured to place myself in such a manner as might best -protect me from their violence. I therefore remained prostrate, -listening to the force with which they struck upon the -earth, and feeling the rebound of their blows from different -parts of my body.</p> - -<p>In about twenty minutes the shower abated, and in half -an hour was entirely over. When I began to move, I was -surprised at the sensation of soreness which I felt in every -part of me. I raised myself upon my elbow, and saw the -hailstones, in some places lying in heaps like hillocks of -ice, while in others they had ploughed up the surface, and -buried themselves in the earth. As I looked further, I perceived -immense trees torn from their roots, and thrown to -a great distance upon the declivity. To the noise that they -made in their descent, which must have been astonishingly -great, I had been at the time insensible. Such were the -marks which the tempest had left upon the mountains. -In the plain it was still worse. I could perceive the soil -for long spaces together converted into a morass, the standing -corn beaten down and buried in the mud, the vines -torn into a thousand pieces, the fruit trees demolished, and -even in some places the animals themselves, lambs, sheep, and -cows, strewing the fields with their mangled carcasses. The -whole hopes of the year over which my eyes had glanced a -few minutes before, for it was near the period of harvest, -were converted into the most barren and dreary scene that -any quarter of the globe ever witnessed. I was mounted -upon a considerable eminence, and had an extensive prospect -of this horrible devastation.</p> - -<p>As I stood gazing in mute astonishment, suddenly a fear -came over me that struck dampness to my very heart. -What was the situation of my own family and their little -remaining property, amidst this dreadful ruin? I was in -a position where, though I nearly faced our habitation, a -point of the rock intercepted it from my sight. The obstacle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -was but a small one, yet it would require a considerable -circuit to overcome. I flew along the path with a -speed that scarcely permitted me to breathe. When I had -passed the upper rock, the whole extensive scene opened -upon me in an instant. What were my sensations, when -I perceived that the devastation had been even more complete -here than on the side where I first viewed it! My -own cottage in particular, which that very morning had -contained, and I hoped continued to contain, all that was -most dear to my heart, seemed to stand an entire solitude -in the midst of an immense swamp.</p> - -<p>Marguerite, whose idea, upon our retreat into Switzerland, -had been that of conforming without reserve to the new -situation that was allotted us, had immediately expended -the whole of what remained from the shipwreck of our fortune, -in the purchase of the cottage in which we dwelt, and -a small portion of land around it, sufficient with economy -for the support of our family. Under her direction the -hills had been covered with vines, and the fields with corn. -She had purchased cows to furnish us with milk, and sheep -with their fleeces, and had formed her establishment upon -the model of the Swiss peasantry in our neighbourhood. -Reverting to the simplicity of nature, appeared to her like -building upon an immovable basis, which the clash of nations -could not destroy, and which was too humble to -fear the treachery of courts, or the caprice of artificial refinement.</p> - -<p>It was all swept away in a moment. Our little property -looked as if it had been particularly a mark for the vengeance -of Heaven, and was more utterly destroyed than any -of the surrounding scenes. There was not a tree left -standing; there was not a hedge or a limit that remained -within or around it; chaos had here resumed his empire, -and avenged himself of the extraordinary order and beauty -it had lately displayed.</p> - -<p>I was not overwhelmed with this astonishing spectacle. -At that moment nature found her way to my heart, and -made a man of me. I made light of these petty accessories -of our existence; and the thought of my wife and my -children, simply as they were in themselves, filled every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> -avenue of my heart. For them, and them alone, I was -interested: it was a question for their lives. To conceive -what they might personally have sustained was a horror -that seemed to freeze up all the arteries of my heart. I -descended from the mountain. It was with the greatest -difficulty, and not without many circuitous deviations, that -I proceeded; so much was the surface changed, and so -deep and miry the swamps. My terror increased, as I -passed near to the carcasses of the animals who had fallen -victims to this convulsion of the elements. I observed, -with inconceivable alarm, that the dead or wounded bodies -of some human beings were intermingled with the brute -destruction. I stayed not to enquire whether they were yet -in a state to require assistance; the idea that had taken -possession of me left no room for the sentiment of general -humanity.</p> - -<p>A little further on I distinctly remarked the body of a -woman at some distance from any habitation, who appeared -to be dead, destroyed by the storm. Near her lay a female -infant, apparently about six years of age. My attention -was involuntarily arrested; I thought of Louisa, that sweet -and amiable child, so like her admirable mother. The -figure was hers; the colour of the robe corresponded to -that in which I last saw her. The child was lying on her -face. With all the impatient emotions of a father, I stooped -down. I turned over the body, that I might identify my -child. It was still warm; life had scarcely deserted it. I -gazed upon the visage; it was distorted with the agonies of -death: but enough to convince me still remained discernible; -it was not Louisa!</p> - -<p>I can scarcely recollect a period through all the strange -vicissitudes of my existence to be compared with this. If -I had not felt what I then felt, I could never have conceived -it. Human nature is so constituted, that the highest -degree of anguish, an anguish in which the heart stretches -itself to take in the mightiness of its woe, can be felt but -for a few instants. When the calamity we feared is already -arrived, or when the expectation of it is so certain as to -shut out hope, there seems to be a principle within us by -which we look with misanthropic composure on the state<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> -to which we are reduced, and the heart sullenly contracts -and accommodates itself to what it most abhorred. Our -hopes wither; and our pride, our self-complacence, all that -taught us to rejoice in existence, wither along with them. -But, when hope yet struggles with despair, or when the calamity -abruptly announces itself, then is the true contention, -the tempest and uproar of the soul too vast to be endured.</p> - -<p>This sentiment of ineffable wretchedness I experienced, -when I stooped down over the body of the imaginary -Louisa, and when I hastened to obtain the certainty which -was of all things most terrible to me. The termination of -such a moment of horror is scarcely less memorable than its -intrinsic greatness. In an instant the soul recovers its -balance, and the thought is as if it has never been. I -clapped my hands in an ecstasy at once of joy and astonishment, -so sure did I seem to have made myself of my misfortune; -I quitted the body with an unburdened heart; I -flew towards my home, that I might ascertain whether I -was prematurely speaking comfort to my spirit.</p> - -<p>At length I reached it. I saw the happy group assembled -at the door. Marguerite had entertained the same -terrors for me, with which I had myself so lately been impressed. -We flew into each other’s arms. She hid her -face in my neck, and sobbed audibly. I embraced each of -the children in turn, but Louisa with the most heartfelt delight. -“Are you safe, papa?”—“Are you safe, my child?” -were echoed on every side. A spectator, unacquainted with -what was passing in our hearts, would certainly have stood -astonished to see the transport with which we exulted, surrounded -as we were with desolation and ruin.</p> - -<p>After an interval, however, we opened our eyes, and began -to ruminate upon the new condition in which we were -placed. Marguerite and myself watched each other’s countenances -with anxiety, to discover what were likely to be -the feelings of either in this terrible crisis. “Be of good -heart, my love,” said Marguerite; “do not suffer the accident -which has happened entirely to overcome you.” There -was a mixed compassion, tenderness, and anxiety in the -tone of voice with which she uttered these words, that was -inexpressibly delightful.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No, Marguerite,” replied I, with enthusiastic impetuosity, -“I am not cast down; I never shall be cast down -again. Ruin is nothing to me, so long as I am surrounded -with you and our dear children. I have for some time -been a fool. In the midst of every real blessing, I have -fashioned for myself imaginary evils. But my eyes are -now opened. How easily is the human mind induced to -forget those benefits with which we are constantly surrounded, -and our possession of which we regard as secure! -The feelings of this morning have awakened me. I am -now cured of my folly. I have learned to value my domestic -blessings as I ought. Having preserved them, I -esteem myself to have lost nothing. What are gold and -jewels and precious utensils? Mere dross and dirt. The -human face and the human heart, reciprocations of kindness -and love, and all the nameless sympathies of our nature,—these -are the only objects worth being attached to. What -are rank and station?—the homage of the multitude and -the applause of fools. Let me judge for myself! The value -of a man is in his intrinsic qualities; in that of which -power cannot strip him, and which adverse fortune cannot -take away. That for which he is indebted to circumstances, -is mere trapping and tinsel. I should love these precious -and ingenuous creatures before me better, though in rags, -than the children of kings in all the pomp of ornament. I -am proud to be their father. Whatever may be my personal -faults, the world is my debtor for having been the -occasion of their existence. But they are endeared to me -by a better principle than pride. I love them for their qualities. -He that loves, and is loved by, a race of pure and -virtuous creatures, and that lives continually in the midst of -them, is an idiot, if he does not think himself happy. Surrounded -as I am now surrounded, I feel as irremovable as -the pillars of creation. Nothing that does not strike at their -existence can affect me with terror.”</p> - -<p>Marguerite viewed me with surprise and joy. “Now indeed,” -said she, “you are the man I took you for, and the -man I shall henceforth be prouder than ever to call my -husband. The sorrow in which you lately indulged was -a luxury; and we must have done with luxuries. You will -be our protector and our support.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> - -<p>Thus saying, she took me by the hand, and motioned -me to view with her the devastation that had been committed. -There was one path I had discovered, in which -we might proceed some way with tolerable ease. The -scene was terrible. We were indeed beggars. A whole -province had been destroyed: all the corn and the fruits -of the earth; most of the trees; in many places cattle; -in some places men. Persons who had been rich in the -morning saw all the produce of their fields annihilated, -and were unable even to guess by what process fertility -was to be re-established. The comparatively wealthy -scarcely knew how they were to obtain immediate subsistence; -the humbler class, who always live by the expedients -of the day, saw nothing before them but the prospect of -perishing with hunger. We witnessed, in one or two instances, -the anguish of their despair.</p> - -<p>Our prospect was scarcely in any respect better than -theirs; yet we felt differently. We were more impressed -with the joy of our personal escape. As my error respecting -the value of externals had been uncommonly great, the -sudden revolution of opinion I experienced was equally memorable. -The survey, indeed, that we took of the general -distress somewhat saddened our hearts; but the sadness it -gave was that of sobriety, not of dejection.</p> - -<p>It was incumbent upon us to make a strict examination -into the amount of our property, and our immediate resources; -and in this office I united myself with Marguerite, -not only with a degree of cheerfulness and application, the -perfect contrast of my whole conduct ever since our arrival -in Switzerland, but which greatly exceeded any thing I had -ever before exhibited in a business of this nature. We -found that, though all our hopes of a harvest were annihilated, -yet we were not destitute of the instant means of -subsistence. The resources we possessed, whether in money -or provisions, that were our dependence till the period when -the new produce should supply their place, were uninjured. -Our implements of husbandry remained as before. The -land was not impoverished, but had rather derived additional -fertility from the effects of the storm. What we -had lost was chiefly the produce of our capital for one year,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -together with a part of that capital itself in the live stock -that had been destroyed. This was a loss which a certain -degree of care and scope in our external circumstances -might easily have enabled us to supply. But the principle -of supply was denied us. It was with considerable difficulty -that all the economy of Marguerite had enabled her -to support our family establishment, while every thing of -this kind had gone on prosperously. Such a shock as the -present we were totally disqualified to surmount. It compelled -us to a complete revolution of our affairs.</p> - -<p>Many indeed of our neighbours had scarcely any greater -advantage in their private affairs than ourselves. But they -possessed one superiority that proved of the greatest importance -in this conjuncture; they were natives of the state -in which they resided. In the cantons of Switzerland, the -destruction of the fruits of the earth, occasioned by inclement -seasons and tempests, is by no means unfrequent; and -it is therefore customary, in plentiful years, to lay up corn -in public magazines, that the people may not perish in periods -of scarcity. These magazines are placed under the -inspection and disposal of the magistracy; and the inhabitants -looked to them with confidence for the supply of their -need. No storm, however, had occurred in the memory of -man so terrible and ruinous as the present; and it became -evident that the magazines would prove a resource too -feeble for the extent of the emergency.</p> - -<p>The storm had spread itself over a space of many leagues -in circumference, not only in the canton of Soleure, but in -the neighbouring cantons, particularly that of Berne. The -sufferers, in our own canton only, amounted to scarcely less -than ten thousand. While the women and children, for -the most part, remained at home, the houses having in -general suffered little other damage than the destruction of -their windows, the fathers of families repaired to the seat -of government to put in their claims for national relief; -and these alone formed an immense troop, that threatened -little less than to besiege the public magazines and the magistrates. -An accurate investigation was entered into of the -losses of each, it being the purpose of government, as far as -its power extended, not only to supply the people with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> -means of immediate subsistence, but also, by disbursements -from the public treasury, to recruit the stock of cattle, and -to assist every one to return, with revived hopes and expectation, -to the sphere of his industry. The purpose was no -doubt benevolent; but, in the mean time, the unhappy -victims found in uncertainty and expectation a real and -corroding anguish.</p> - -<p>I advanced my claim with the rest, but met with a -peremptory refusal. The harsh and rigorous answer I -received was, that they had not enough for their own -people, and could spare nothing to strangers. Upon this -occasion I was compelled to feel what it was to be an alien, -and how different the condition in which I was now placed -from that I had filled in my native country. There I had -lived in the midst of a people, to whom the veneration of -my ancestry and name seemed a part of their nature. They -had witnessed for several years the respectable manner in -which I lived; the virtues of Marguerite were familiar to -them; and they took an interest in every thing that concerned -us, a sentiment that confessed us at once for kindred -and patrons. It was the turn of mind only which is -generated by rank, that had compelled us to quit their -vicinity; we might have continued in it, if not in affluence, -at least enjoying the gratifications that arise from general -affection and respect. But here we were beheld with an -eye of jealousy and distaste. We had no prejudice of birth -and habit in our favour; indeed, in the reverse of fortune -which had brought us hither, Marguerite had been less desirous -of obtruding, than of withdrawing from the public -eye, the circumstance of our rank. We were too recent -inmates to have secured, by any thing of a personal nature, -an advantageous opinion among our neighbours. They saw -only a miserable and distracted father of a family, and a -mother who, in spite of the simplicity she cultivated, sufficiently -evinced that she had been accustomed to a more -elevated situation. The prepossessions of mankind are -clearly unfavourable to a new-comer, an emigrant who has -quitted his former connections and the scenes of his youth. -They are unavoidably impelled to believe, that his taking -up his abode in another country must be owing to a weak<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -and discreditable caprice, if it be not owing to something -still more disadvantageous to his character.</p> - -<p>The calamity therefore which we had suffered in common -with most of the inhabitants of the province, finally -reduced us to the necessity of a second emigration. The -jealousy with which we were regarded, daily became more -visible and threatening. Though, in consequence of the -distribution made by order of the state, the price of commodities -was not so much increased as might have been expected, -we were considered as interlopers upon the portion -of the natives; the sellers could with difficulty be persuaded -to accommodate us, and the bystanders treated us -with murmurs and reviling. While we were deliberating -what course to pursue in this emergency, certain officers of -government one morning entered our habitation, producing -an order of the senate for our immediate removal out of the -territory. It is of the essence of coercive regulations, to -expel, to imprison, and turn out of prison, the individuals -it is thought proper to control, without any care as to the -mischiefs they may suffer, and whether they perish under -or survive the evil inflicted on them. We were accordingly -allowed only from six in the morning till noon, to prepare -for our departure. Our guards indeed offered to permit -me to remain three days to wind up my affairs, upon condition -that my wife and children were instantly removed into -another country, as a sort of hostages for my own departure. -This indulgence however would have been useless. In the -present state of the country no purchaser could be found -for the little estate I possessed; and if there could, it must -doubtless have been disposed of to great disadvantage at -such an emergency. I know not how we should have extricated -ourselves out of these difficulties, if a member of -the senate, who, being one of my nearest neighbours, had -been struck with admiration of the virtues of Marguerite, -and with compassion for my family, had not paid me a visit -shortly after the arrival of the officers, and generously offered -to take upon himself the care of my property, and to -advance me what money might be necessary for my emigration. -This offer, which at any other time might have -been regarded as purely a matter of course, under the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> -present circumstances, when capital was so necessary for -the revival of agriculture in the desolated country, implied -a liberal and disinterested spirit. I accepted the kindness -of my neighbour in both its parts, but for the reimbursement -of his loan referred him to the French minister to -the United Cantons, who, under all the circumstances of -the case, and taking my estate as security for the money -advanced, I thought it reasonable to believe would attend -to my application.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</h2> - -<p>My affairs being thus far adjusted, I took leave of my late -habitation, and set off with my wife and children the same -afternoon. In the evening we arrived at Basle, where we -were permitted to remain that night; and the next morning -were conducted in form out at the north gate of the city, -where our attendants quitted us, with a fresh prohibition -under the severest penalties, if we were found within the -ensuing twelve months in any of the territories of the -Helvetic republic.</p> - -<p>Marguerite and myself had already formed our plan. -We began with dismissing both our servants. An attendant -was no longer necessary to me, nor a nurse for the infant. -The suggestion of this measure originated in myself. My -temper at this time, as I have already said, underwent a -striking change. I was resolved to be happy; I was resolved -to be active. It was hard to part with persons so -long familiar to us, and who appeared rather in the character -of humble friends than domestics; but an imperious -necessity demanded it. “Let us,” said I to Marguerite, -“increase and secure our happiness by diminishing our -wants. I will be your husbandman and your labourer; -you may depend upon my perseverance. My education has -fitted me to endure hardship and fatigue, though the hardships -then thought of were of a different nature. You have -ever delighted in active usefulness; and will not, I know,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> -repine at this accumulation of employment. Let us accommodate -ourselves to our circumstances. Our children, I -perceive, are fated to be peasants, and will therefore be -eminently benefited by the example of patience and independence -we shall set before them.”</p> - -<p>The next object of our plan related to the choice of our -future place of residence. This originated with Marguerite. -She had heard much of the beauty and richness of the -country bordering on the lake of Constance, and she -thought that, while we denied ourselves expensive pleasures, -or rather while they were placed out of our reach, -there would be a propriety in our procuring for ourselves a -stock of those pleasures which would cost us nothing. This -was a refinement beyond me, and serves to evince the superiority -which Marguerite’s virtue and force of mind still -retained over mine. The virtue I had so recently adopted -was a strenuous effort. I rather resolved to be happy, than -could strictly be said to be happy. I loved my children -indeed with an unfeigned affection. It was with sincerity -that I professed to prefer them to all earthly possessions. -But vanity and ostentation were habits wrought into my -soul, and might be said to form part of its essence. I could -not, but by the force of constant recollection, keep them out -of my wishes and hopes for the future. I could not, like -Marguerite, suffer my thoughts, as it were, to riot and -wanton in the pleasures of poverty. I could only reconcile -myself to my fate by a sort of gloomy firmness. The tranquillity -I seemed to have attained, was an unnatural state -of my soul, to which it was necessary that I should resolutely -hold myself down, and from which my thoughts -appeared ever upon the alert to escape. Bitter experience -had at length taught me a hard lesson; and that lesson I was -determined to practise, whatever pangs my resignation -might cost me.</p> - -<p>We proceeded without hesitation in the direction we had -resolved to pursue. Our whole journey exceeded the space -of forty leagues in extent, and the expense necessarily -attendant upon it (our family, even after its reduction, -consisting of no less than six persons), drained our purse -of a great part of the money which had been supplied to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -us by the benevolent senator. But he had agreed to undertake -the disposing of the property we were obliged to leave -behind us, and in the mean time, if any considerable interval -occurred before that was accomplished, to furnish us -with the sums that should be necessary for our subsistence. -We placed the utmost reliance upon his fidelity, and dismissed -from our minds all anxiety respecting the interval -which our banishment had interposed between us and the -resources necessary for our future settlement.</p> - -<p>Upon our arrival at Constance, we found a letter from -our friend; and though he transmitted to us no fresh supply, -the complexion of his communication was upon the -whole so encouraging, as to determine us, with no other delay -than that of four days’ rest from our journey, to pass -to the other side of the lake, and explore for ourselves a -situation suitable to our design. The western bank of the -lake, with the exception only of the city of Constance, was -part of the <i lang="fr">pays conquis</i> of the United Cantons; the eastern -bank was a territory dependent on the government of that -city. It was in this territory that we purposed fixing our -residence; and we trusted, that our affairs would shortly be -put in a train to enable us to take possession of the spot we -should select.</p> - -<p>Thus driven once more into flight by the pressure of -misfortune, and compelled to exchange for a land unknown -the scenes which familiarity might have endeared, or tender -recollections have made interesting, we did not sink under -the weight of our adversity. This removal was not like -our last. Switzerland was to none of us endeared like the -vales of St. Leon. I was not now goaded and tormented -by conscious guilt in the degree I had then been; Marguerite -was not afflicted by the spectacle of my misery. -Our present change, though it might be denominated a fall, -was light in comparison with the former. The composure -I had gained was new to me, and had to my own mind all the -gloss of novelty. To my companions it proved contagious; -they were astonished at my serenity, and drew from it an -unwonted lightness of heart.</p> - -<p>Thus circumstanced, our tour had its charms for us all; -and there are few passages of my life that I have felt more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -agreeably. The lake itself is uncommonly beautiful, and its -environs are fertile and interesting. It is surrounded with -an abundance of towns, villages, country seats, and monasteries, -sufficient to adorn and diversify the view, but not to -exclude the sweetness of a rural scenery, or the grand features -of nature. We coasted a considerable part of the lake, -that we might judge in some degree, previously to our landing, -which part of the shore promised best to yield us the -object we sought. The autumn was now commencing; the -air was liquid and sweet; the foliage was rich and varied; -and the vine-covered hills exhibited a warmth and luxuriance -of colouring, that no other object of nature or art is -able to cope with. Surrounded with these objects, I sat in -my boat in the midst of my children; and, as I was but -just awakened to an observation of their worth and my own -happiness, I viewed them with a transport that would be ill -illustrated by being compared with the transport of a miser -over his new-recovered treasure from the bowels of the -deep.</p> - -<p>O poverty! exclaimed I, with elevated and unconquerable -emotion, if these are the delights that attend thee, willingly -will I resign the pomp of palaces and the splendour -of rank to whoever shall deem them worth his acceptance! -Henceforth I desire only to dedicate myself to the simplicity -of nature and the genuine sentiments of the heart. I -will enjoy the beauty of scenes cultivated by other hands -than mine, or that are spread out before me by the Author -of the universe. I will sit in the midst of my children, and -revel in the luxury of domestic affections; pleasures these, -that may be incumbered, but cannot be heightened, by all -that wealth has in its power to bestow! Wealth serves no -other purpose than to deprave the soul, and adulterate the -fountains of genuine delight.</p> - -<p>Such was the spirit of exultation with which my mind -was at this time filled. I am sensible that it was only -calculated to be transitory. I might learn to be contented; -I was not formed to be satisfied in obscurity and a low -estate.</p> - -<p>Thus happy, and thus amused, we spent two days in -coasting the lake, landing frequently for the purposes either<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -of variety or enquiry, and regularly passing the night on -shore. On the evening of the second day we were struck -with the neat appearance and pleasing situation of a cottage, -which we discovered in our rambles, about a mile and a -half from the lake. We found that it was to be sold, and -it seemed precisely to correspond with the wishes we had -formed. It was at a considerable distance from any populous -neighbourhood, the nearest town being that of Merspurg, -the usual residence of the bishops of Constance, -which was distant from this spot not less than three leagues.</p> - -<p>The cottage was situated in a valley; the hills being for -the most part crowned with rich and verdant foliage, their -sides covered with vineyards and corn, and a clear transparent -rivulet murmuring along from east to west. In the -distance a few similar cottages discovered themselves, and -in front there was an opening between the hills, just wide -enough to show us a few sails as they floated along the now -even surface of the lake. We approached the cottage, and -found in it only one person, an interesting girl of nineteen, -who had resided there from her birth, and had been employed -for the last four years in attendance upon the closing -scene of her mother. Her mother had been dead only -a few weeks, and she was upon the point of removing, as -she told us, to the house of a brother, the best creature in -the world, who was already married, and had a family of -children. While we were talking with her, we perceived a -fine boy of about eleven years of age skipping along the -meadow. He proved to be her nephew, and hastened to -say that his father and Mr. Henry were just behind, and -would be with her in a few minutes. We waited their -arrival; and it was easy to see that Mr. Henry was by no -means an indifferent object in the eyes of the beautiful orphan: -she had probably conditioned that he should permit -her to remain single as long as she could be of any use to -her mother. The lovers were well satisfied that the girl’s -brother should be taken aside, that I might talk over with -him the affair of the cottage. We made a tour of the fields -that were part of the property of the deceased, and the -terms of our intended purchase were easily adjusted.</p> - -<p>Though we had now accomplished the immediate purpose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> -of our expedition, yet, as we had found unusual exhilaration -and sweetness in the objects it presented to us, we -came to a resolution of continuing it still further, and completing -the circuit of the lake. We were aware that it -would be vain as yet to expect to receive the money requisite -for completing our purchase; and as no pleasure, -merely in the way of relaxation, could be more delightful -than that we were now enjoying, so was it impossible -that we could fill up our time in a more frugal manner than -in this little voyage. Our gratification was not less, but -more perfect, because it consisted of simple, inartificial, -unbought amusements. The scenes around us were refreshing -and invigorating; they were calculated, temporarily at -least, to inspire gaiety and youth into decrepitude itself. -Amidst these scenes we forgot our sorrows; they were a -kind of stream, in which weariness and dejection plunged -their limbs, and came forth untired and alert. They -awakened in the mind all its most pleasing associations. -Having already, as we believed, chosen the place of our -future residence, we busied ourselves in imagining all the -accompaniments that would grow out of it. We determined -that poverty with health would not fail to be attended -with its portion of pleasures. The scenes of nature were -all our own; nor could wealth give them a more perfect, -or a firmer, appropriation. The affections and charities of -habitude and consanguinity we trusted we should feel uninterrupted; -unincumbered with the ceremonies and trappings -of life, and in that rural plainness which is their -genial soil.</p> - -<p>After a leisurely and delightful voyage of six days, we -returned to Constance. We expected to have found on our -return some further intelligence from the beneficent senator, -but in this we were disappointed. The imagination however -easily suggested to us a variety of circumstances that -might have delayed the business he had undertaken; and -it was no forced inference to suppose that he deferred writing, -because he had nothing important to communicate. -At first therefore we suffered little uneasiness from the -delay; but as time proceeded, and the silence of our protector -continued, the affair began to assume a more serious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -aspect. The little stock we had brought with us in our -exile was in a rapid progress of decay. We had managed -it with frugality; though not at first with that anxious solicitude, -the necessity of which we now began to apprehend. -We had procured for ourselves two small and inconvenient -apartments in an obscure alley of the city of Constance. -We were in the act of meditating what steps it would be -necessary to take in this unfortunate emergency, when intelligence -was brought us of the sudden decease of the -person upon whose kindness and exertions we depended.</p> - -<p>He was succeeded in his estate by his nephew, a man of -whom we had heard something during our residence in the -neighbourhood, and whose habits we understood to be diametrically -the reverse of his predecessor’s. In short, he -had been represented to us as illiberal, morose, selfish, and -litigious; a man who, having suffered in one part of his -life the hardships of poverty, scrupled no means, honourable -or otherwise, of removing it to the greatest practicable -distance. He had already reaped the succession some weeks, -when we heard of the event that put him in possession of -it; and the letters which I had more than once addressed -to our protector had probably fallen into his hands. These -circumstances afforded no favourable augury of the treatment -we might expect from him. The first thing which -seemed proper was to write to him, which I accordingly -did. I acquainted him with the nature of the transaction -between myself and his uncle, and signified how necessary -it was that we should come to a conclusion as speedily as -possible. I represented to him pathetically the condition -to which I was born, and the opulence in which I had -passed many years of my life, together with the contrast -afforded by the present reduced and urgent circumstances -of my family. I entreated him to exert his generosity and -justice in behalf of an unfortunate exile, whom untoward -events had deprived of the power of doing justice to himself.</p> - -<p>To this letter I received no answer. Uncertain as to the -cause of my correspondent’s silence, or even whether my -letter had been received, I wrote again. My heart was -wrung with this new adversity. I was forbidden, under<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> -pain of perpetual imprisonment, to return to the territories -of the republic, and I had no friend to solicit in my behalf. -In Constance I was utterly a stranger. In Switzerland, my -unfortunate habits of life, the depression and solitude in -which I had been merged, deprived me of the opportunity -of forming connections. The deceased was the only person -who had been disposed to interfere for me. It was too -probable that the silence of his successor was an indication -of the hostility of his views. I saw nothing before me but -the prospect of my family perishing with want, deprived -of their last resource, exiles and pennyless. Thus destitute -and forlorn, what could we do? to what plan could we have -recourse? We had not so much as the means of providing -ourselves with the implements of the humblest labour. If -we had, could I, under my circumstances, resolve upon -this? Could I give up the last slender pittance of my -children while there was a chance of recovering it; and, by -surrendering them to the slavery of perpetual labour, devote -them to the lowest degree of ignorance and degradation? -No; I still clung to this final hope, and was resolved to -undertake any thing, however desperate, rather than part -with it. Such were my feelings; and, in the new letter -which I now despatched, I poured out all the anguish of -my soul.</p> - -<p>A reply to this letter was at length vouchsafed. The -heir of my protector informed me, that he knew nothing of -the business to which I alluded; that he had come into -possession of the lands I described, together with the other -property of his late uncle, and regarded himself as holding -them by the same tenure; that he found in the accounts of -the estate a sum of money advanced to me, which he might -with the strictest justice regard as a debt, and pursue me -for it accordingly. He should be liberal enough however -so far to give credit to my story, and to consider the sum -in question as advanced upon a pledge of land: in that case, -I might regard myself as sufficiently fortunate in having -obtained even that amount at a time when, but for the humanity -or weakness of his uncle, my estate would not have -sold for a farthing. Meanwhile, the forbearance which he -proffered would, he observed, depend upon my conduct, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -be retracted if I afforded him cause for resentment. He -added, that he despised my menaces and commands, and -that, if I took a single step against him, I should find it -terminate in my utter ruin.</p> - -<p>Nothing could be more profligate than the style of his -letter. But its impotence was equal to its wickedness. It -was absurd to threaten to inflict ruin on a man whom ruin -had already overtaken. Before the letter arrived, I had -disbursed the whole sum I brought with me from Switzerland. -This entire annihilation of my resources seemed to -steal on me unperceived. Finding that all reply to my -importunity was either refused, or deferred to an uncertain -period, I would willingly at all risks have sought the villain -who thus obdurately devoted me and my family to destruction, -and have endeavoured to obtain justice in person. But -it was now too late. Before I felt the case thus desperate, -my finances were so far reduced as to make it impracticable -for me to leave my wife and children enough to support -them in my absence, even if I had determined myself to -set out upon this perilous expedition pennyless. I resolved -that, if we did perish, we would perish together.</p> - -<p>Penury was now advancing upon us with such rapid -strides, that the lowest and most scanty resources no longer -admitted of neglect. Had a case thus desperate been encountered -with timely attention, it is not improbable that -some of the various talents I had acquired in the course of -my education would have furnished me with a means of -subsistence not altogether plebeian or incompetent. But, -with the uncertainty of my situation, and totally unaccustomed -as I was to regard my person or mind as a machine -fitted for productive labour, I had not looked to this question, -till the urgency of the case deprived me of every advantage -I might otherwise have seized. I was glad therefore -to have recourse to menial occupation, and sought -employment under the gardener of the episcopal palace, for -whose service I was sufficiently qualified by my ten years’ -retreat in the Bordelois. That I might better adapt myself -to the painful necessity of my situation, I previously exchanged -some of my own clothes for garments more suitable -to the business I now solicited. It was not till I had arrived<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -within a very few days to the end of my resources; -that even this expedient, by a sort of accident, recurred to -my mind. Marguerite, though fully aware of the urgency -of the case, had, as she afterwards told me, imposed on -herself a compulsory silence, fearing for the inflamed and -irritated frame of my mind, and aware that the course of -events would ultimately lead me to a point with which she -dreaded to intermeddle. This was for her a trying moment; -my lately recovered insanity obliging her to contemplate -in silence our growing distress, and to wait the attack -of hunger and want that threatened to destroy us, with an -apparent tranquillity and cheerfulness.</p> - -<p>For me, so entire a revolution had taken place in my -sentiments, that I spurned with contempt, so far as related -to myself, that pride of rank and romantic gallantry of -honour, which had formerly been my idols. I submitted -with a sort of gloomy contentment to the situation upon -which my destiny drove me. I regarded it as the natural -result of my former misconduct; and derived a sentiment of -ease and relief from thus expiating, as it were, with the -sweat of my brow, the temptations to which I had yielded. -Had I been myself only reduced thus low, or had the produce -of my labour been sufficient to purchase competence -for my wife and the means of instruction for my family, I -can safely affirm that I should have found no consequence -so direct from my own degradation as the means of silencing -the reproaches of conscience and reconciling me to myself. -But when I returned in the evening with the earnings of -my day’s labour, and found it incompetent to the procuring -for those who depended on me the simplest means of subsistence, -then indeed my sensations were different. My -heart died within me. I did not return after the fatigues -of the day, which, to me who had not been accustomed to -unremitted labour, and who now began to feel that I was -not so young as I had been at the siege of Pavia, were extremely -trying,—I did not return, I say, to a night of -repose. I became a very woman when I looked forward, -and endeavoured to picture to myself the future situation of -my family. I watered my pillow with my tears. Often, -when I imagined that my whole family were asleep, I gave<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -vent to my perturbated and distracted mind in groans: -Marguerite would sometimes overhear me; and with the -gentlest suggestions of her admirable mind would endeavour -to soothe my thoughts to peace. For the present, as -I have said, my earnings were incompetent, and we found -it necessary to supply the deficiency by the sale of the few -garments, not in immediate use, that we still possessed. -What then would be the case when these were gone, and -when, in addition to this, it would be necessary to purchase -not only food to eat, and a roof to shelter, but also -clothes to cover us?</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</h2> - -<p>These deficiencies I anxiously anticipated; but there was -another evil, upon which I had not calculated, that was still -nearer and more overwhelming. The mode of life in which -I was now engaged, so different from any thing to which I -had been accustomed, excessive fatigue, together with the -occasional heat of the weather, the uneasiness of my mind, -and the sleeplessness of my nights, all combined to throw -me into a fever, which, though it did not last long, had -raged so furiously during the period of its continuance, as -to leave me in a state of the most complete debility. While -the disorder was upon me, I was sensible of my danger; -and, as the brilliant and consolatory prospects of life seemed -for ever closed upon me, I at first regarded my approaching -dissolution with complacency, and longed to be released -from a series of woes, in which I had been originally involved -by my own folly. This frame of mind however -was of no great duration; the more nearly I contemplated -the idea of separation from those I loved, the smaller was -my resignation. I was unwilling to quit those dear objects -by which I still held to this mortal scene; I shrunk with -aversion from that barrier which separates us from all that -is new, mysterious, and strange. Another train of ideas -succeeded this, and I began to despise myself for my impatience<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -and cowardice. It was by my vices that my family -was involved in a long train of misfortunes; could I shrink -from partaking what I had not feared to create? The -greater were the adversities for which they were reserved, -the more ought I to desire to suffer with them. I had -already committed the evil; in what remained, it was reasonable -to suppose I should prove their benefactor and -not their foe. It was incumbent on me to soothe and to -animate them, to enrich their minds with cheerfulness and -courage, and to set before them an example of philosophy -and patience. By my faculties of industry I was their -principal hope; and, whatever we might suffer combined, -it was probable their sufferings would be infinitely greater, -if deprived of my assistance. These reflections gave me -energy; and it seemed as if the resolute predilection I had -conceived for life contributed much to my recovery.</p> - -<p>One thing which strongly confirmed the change my -mind underwent in this respect, was a conversation that -I overheard at a time when I was supposed to be completely -in a state of insensibility, but when, though I was too -much reduced to give almost any tokens of life, my faculties -of hearing and understanding what passed around me were -entire. Charles came up to my bedside, laid his hand -upon mine as if to feel the state of the skin, and, with a -handkerchief that was near, wiped away the moisture that -bedewed my face. He had been fitted for many nurse-like -offices by the unwearied attention he had exerted towards -me in the paroxysm of my insanity. Having finished his -task, he withdrew from the bed, and burst into tears. His -mother came up to him, drew him to the furthest part of -the room, and in a low voice began the conversation.</p> - -<p>“Do, my dear boy, go down stairs, and get yourself -something to eat. You see, your papa is quiet now.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid that will not last long; and then he will be -so restless, and toss about so, it is dreadful to see him.”</p> - -<p>“I will watch, Charles, and let you know.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, mamma, I cannot eat now. I will by and -by.”</p> - -<p>“You must try to eat, Charles, or else you will make -yourself quite ill. If you were ill too, it would be more -than I could support.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I will not be ill, mamma. I assure you I will not. -But, besides that I have no stomach, I cannot bear to eat -when there is hardly enough for my sisters.”</p> - -<p>“Eat, boy. Do not trouble yourself about that. We -shall get more when that is gone. God is good, and will -take care of us.”</p> - -<p>“I know that God is good; but for all that, one must -not expect to have every thing one wishes. Though God -is good, there are dreadful misfortunes in the world, and I -suppose we shall have our share of them.”</p> - -<p>“Come, Charles, though you are but a boy, you are the -best boy in the world. You are now almost my only -comfort; but you will not be able to comfort me if you do -not take care of yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Dear mamma!—Do you know, mamma, I heard that -naughty man below stairs count up last night how much -rent you owed him for, and swear you should not stay any -longer if you did not pay him. If I were a little bigger, I -would talk to him so that he should not dare to insult us in -our distress. But, not being big enough, I opened the -door, and went into the room, and begged him for God’s -sake not to add to your distress. And, though he is so -ugly, I took hold of his hand, and kissed it. But it felt -like iron, which put me in mind of his iron heart, and -I cried ready to burst with mortification. He did not say -hardly a word.”</p> - -<p>“He must be paid, Charles: he shall be paid.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know, mamma, as soon as I left him I went -to the bishop’s gardens, and spoke to the gardener? I -asked him, if he had heard that my papa was ill, and he -said he had. He said, too, he was very sorry, and wanted -to know what hand we made of it for want of the wages. I -told him, we were sadly off, and the man of the house had -just been affronting me about his rent. But, said I, cannot -you give me something to do, to weed or to rake? I -can dig a little too, and scatter seed. He asked, if I knew -weeds from flowers. Oh, that I do! said I. Well then, -said he, there is not much you can do; but you are a good -boy, and I will put you on the bishop’s list. But now, -mamma, I have not the heart to work, till I see whether -papa will get well again.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> - -<p>While poor Charles told his artless tale, Marguerite wept -over him, and kissed him again and again. She called him -the best child in the world, and said that, if I were but so -fortunate as to recover, with such a husband and such a son, -she should yet be the happiest of women.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my poor father!” exclaimed Charles. “Ever -since the great hail-storm, I have every hour loved him -better than before. I thought that was impossible, but he is -so gentle, so kind, so good-humoured, and so patient! I -loved him when he was harsh, and when he was out of his -mind; but nothing so well then as I have done since. -People that are kind and smile always do one good; but -nobody’s smiles are like my father’s. It makes me cry -with joy sometimes, when I do but think of them. Pray, -papa,” added he, coming up to the bedside, and whispering, -yet with a hurried and passionate accent, “get well! -Do but get well, and we will be so happy! Never was -there a family so happy or so loving as we will be!”</p> - -<p>While he spoke thus, I endeavoured to put out my hand, -but I could not; I endeavoured to smile, but I was unable: -my heart was in a feeble, yet soothing, tranquillity. The -accents of love I had heard, dwelt upon my memory. They -had talked of distress, but the sentiment of love was uppermost -in my recollection. I was too weak of frame to suffer -intellectual distress; no accents but those which carried -balm to my spirit, seemed capable of resting upon my ear. -From this hour I regularly grew better, and, as I recovered, -seemed to feel more and more vividly how enviable -it was to be the head of a loving and harmonious -family.</p> - -<p>My recovery however was exceedingly slow, and it was -several weeks before I had so far recruited my strength as -to be capable of my ordinary occupations. In the mean -time the pecuniary difficulties to which we were exposed -hourly increased, and the cheerful but insignificant labours -of Charles could contribute little to the support of a family. -The melancholy nature of our situation might perhaps -have been expected to prevent the restoration of my health. -At first however it had not that effect. The debilitated -state of my animal functions led me, by a sort of irresistible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -instinct, to reject ideas and reflections which I should -then have been unable to endure. I saw the anxiety and -affection of my family, and I was comforted. I saw the -smiles of Marguerite, and I seemed insensible to the languor, -the saddened cheerfulness, they expressed. I did not -perceive that, while I was provided with every thing necessary -in my condition, my family were in want of the very -bread that should sustain existence.</p> - -<p>My health in the mean time improved, and my perceptions -became proportionably clearer. Symptoms of desolation -and famine, though as much as possible covered from -my sight, obtruded themselves, and were remarked. One -day in particular I observed various tokens of this nature in -silence, and with that sort of bewildered understanding -which at once labours for comprehension and resists belief. -The day closed; and what I had perceived pressed upon my -mind, and excluded sleep. Now for the first time I exerted -myself to recollect in a methodical way the state of -my affairs; for the severity of my illness had at length -succeeded to banish from me all ideas and feelings but what -related to the sensations it produced, and to the objects -around me; and it was not without effort that I could once -more fully call to mind the scenes in which I had been -engaged. The truth then by regular degrees rose completely -to view; and I began to be astonished, that my poor -wife and children had been able in any manner to get -through the horrible evils to which they must have been -exposed. This thought I revolved in my mind for near -two hours; and the longer I dwelt upon it, the more perturbed -and restless I grew. At length it became impossible -for me to hold my contemplations pent up in my own bosom. -I turned to Marguerite, and asked her, whether she -were asleep.</p> - -<p>She answered in the negative: she had been remarking -my restlessness, and tenderly enquired respecting its -cause.</p> - -<p>“How long,” said I, “is it since I was taken with the -fever?”</p> - -<p>“A month to-morrow,” replied she. “It was of the -most malignant and distressing kind while it lasted, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> -I did not expect you to live. But it has left you a fortnight; -and I hope, Reginald, you find yourself getting -strong again.”</p> - -<p>“And so we are here in Constance, and we have left -Switzerland——?”</p> - -<p>“Three months, my love!”</p> - -<p>“I remember very well the letter we received from monsieur -Grimseld; has any further intelligence reached us from -that quarter?”</p> - -<p>“None.”</p> - -<p>“None! No supply of any kind has reached you?”</p> - -<p>“My dear Reginald, talk of something else! You will -soon, I hope, be well: our children are all alive; and the -calamity, that has not succeeded to separate us, or to diminish -our circle of love even by a single member, we will -learn to bear. Let us fix our attention on the better prospects -that open before us!”</p> - -<p>“Stay, Marguerite! I have other questions to ask. Before -you require me to bear the calamities that have overtaken -us, let me understand what these calamities are. -While we waited for intelligence from Switzerland, we expended -the whole sum that we brought with us, and I was -obliged to hire myself to the episcopal gardener for bread; -was it not so?”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, Reginald, you are to blame! Pray question -me no further!”</p> - -<p>“This was our condition some time ago; and now, for -a month past, I have been incapable of labour. Marguerite, -what have you done?”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, my love, I have been too anxious for you, to -think much of any thing else. We had still some things, -you know, that we could contrive to do without; and those -I have sold. Charles too, our excellent-hearted son, has -lately hired himself to the gardener, and has every night -brought us home a little, though it was but little.”</p> - -<p>“Dear boy! What children, what a wife, have I brought -to destruction! Our rent too, surely you have not been able -to pay that?”</p> - -<p>“Not entirely. In part I have been obliged to pay it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ah! I well remember how flinty-hearted a wretch has -got the power over us in that respect!”</p> - -<p>“He has not turned us out of doors. He threatened -hard several times. At last I saw it was necessary to make -an effort, and the day before yesterday I paid him half his -demand. If I could have avoided that, we might have had -a supply of food a little longer. I intreated earnestly for -a little further indulgence, but it was in vain. It went -against the pride and independence of my soul to sue to this -man; but it was for you and for my children!”</p> - -<p>“Remorseless wretch! Then every petty resource we -had is gone?”</p> - -<p>“Indeed I do not know that we have any thing more -to sell. I searched narrowly yesterday; but I will examine -again to-day. The poor children must have something -to support them, and their fare has of late been dreadfully -scanty.”</p> - -<p>“Their fare! What have they eaten?”</p> - -<p>“Bread; nothing else for the last fortnight!”</p> - -<p>“And yourself?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Reginald! it was necessary, you know, that I -should keep myself alive. But, I assure you, I have robbed -them as little as I could.”</p> - -<p>“Horror, horror! Marguerite, what is it you dream of? -I see my wife and children dying of hunger, and you talk -to me of hope and of prospects! Why has this detail of -miseries been concealed from me? Why have I been suffered, -with accursed and unnatural appetite, to feed on the -vitals of all I love?”</p> - -<p>“Reginald! even selfishness itself would have taught us -that! It is to your recovery that we look for our future -support!”</p> - -<p>“Mock me not, I adjure you, with senseless words! You -talk idly of the future, while the tremendous present bars -all prospect to that future. We are perishing by inches. -We have no provision for the coming day! No, no; something -desperate, something yet unthought of, must be attempted! -I will not sit inactive, and see my offspring around -me die in succession. No, by Heaven! Though I am -starving like Ugolino, I am not, like Ugolino, shut up in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -dungeon! The world is open; its scenes are wide; the resources -it offers are, to the bold and despairing, innumerable! -I am a father, and will show myself worthy of the name!”</p> - -<p>“Reginald! torture me not by language like this! Think -what it is to be indeed a father, and make yourself that! -Be careful of yourself; complete your recovery,—and leave -the rest to me! I have conducted it thus far, nor am I yet -without hope. Eight days ago I applied to the secretary of -the palace, representing your case as a retainer of the bishop, -disabled by sickness, and with a family unprovided for. Till -yesterday I got no answer to my memorial; and then he -informed me, that you had been so short a time in employ, -that nothing could be done for you. But to-day I will -throw myself at the feet of the bishop himself, who arrived -last night only from the other side of the lake.”</p> - -<p>Every word that Marguerite uttered went to my heart. -It was not long before the dawn of the day, and the truths -I had heard were further confirmed to me by the organ of -sight. The sentiments of this night produced a total revolution -in me, and I was no longer the feeble convalescent -that the setting sun of the preceding day had left me. The -film was removed from my eyes, and I surveyed not the -objects around me with a glassy eye and unapprehensive -observation. All the powers I possessed were alert and in -motion. To my suspicious and hurried gaze the apartment -appeared stripped of its moveables, and left naked, a mansion -in which for despair to take up his abode. My children -approached me; I seemed to read the wan and emaciated -traces of death in their countenances. This perhaps was -in some degree the painting of my too conscious thoughts. -But there needed no exaggeration to awaken torture in my -bosom, when, thus stimulated, I observed for the first time -the dreadful change that had taken place in Marguerite. -Her colour was gone; her cheeks were sunk; her eye had -the quickness and discomposure expressive of debility. I -took hold of her hand, and found it cold, emaciated, and -white. I pressed it to my lips with agony; a tear unbidden -fell from my eye, and rested upon it. Having finished my -examination, I took my hat, and was hastening to escape -into the street. Marguerite noted my motions, and anxiously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> -interposed to prevent my design. She laid her hand -on my arm gently, yet in a manner full of irresistible -expostulation.</p> - -<p>“Where would you go? What have you purposed? -Do not,—Oh, do not, destroy a family, to whom your -life, your sobriety, and prudence, are indispensable!”</p> - -<p>I took her hand within both mine. “Compose yourself, -my love! I have been your enemy too much already, to be -capable now, so much as in thought, of adding to my guilt! -I need an interval for musing and determination. I will -return in a very short time, and you shall be the confidant -of my thoughts!”</p> - -<p>With wild and impatient spirit I repassed in idea the -whole history of my life. But principally I dwelt in recollection -upon the marquis de Damville, that generous friend, -that munificent benefactor, whose confidence I had so ill -repaid. “Damville!” exclaimed I, “you trusted to me -your daughter, the dearest thing you knew on earth; you -believed that the wretch did not live who could be unjust -to so rich a pledge. Look down, look down, O best of -men! from the heaven to which your virtues have raised -you, and see of how much baseness man—yes, the man you -disdained not to call your friend—is capable! But, no! a -sight like this might well convert the heaven you dwell in -to hell! You trusted her to me; I have robbed her! You -enriched her mind with the noblest endowments; I have -buried them in the mire of the vilest condition! All her -generous, her unwearied exertions are fruitless; by my evil -genius they are blasted! I have made her a mother, only -that she might behold her children perishing with hunger! -They stretch out their hands to me for the smallest portion -of that inheritance, which I have squandered in more than -demoniac vice! This, this is the fruit of my misdeeds! I -am now draining the last dregs of that mischief, of which I -have so wickedly, so basely, been the author!”</p> - -<p>As I returned I met Marguerite, who was come from her -attempt upon the bishop. He had received her paper, and -delivered it to his secretary, that very secretary who had -already disappointed all her expectations from that quarter. -She had attempted to speak, to adjure the bishop, whatever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> -he did, not to deliver her over to a man by whom her hopes -had been so cruelly frustrated; but the tumult of the scene -drowned her voice, and the hurry and confusion overpowered -her efforts. They, however, drew such a degree -of attention on her, that, in the dissentions which religious -broils at that time spread in Constance, she was suspected -of pressing thus earnestly towards the person of the bishop -with no good design, and in fine was rudely thrust out of -the palace. She had not recovered from the agitation into -which she had been thrown, when I met her. I eagerly -enquired into the cause of her apparent distress; but she -shook her head mournfully, and was silent. I easily understood -where she had been, and the failure of her experiment.</p> - -<p>“All then,” said I, “is at an end. Now, Marguerite, you -must give up your experiments, and leave to me the cure -of evils of which I only am the author. I will return this -instant to the garden of the palace, and resume the situation -I formerly occupied.”</p> - -<p>“For God’s sake, Reginald, what is it you mean? You -have just acquired strength to seek the benefit of air. The -least exertion fatigues you. At this moment, the little walk -you have taken has covered you with perspiration. You -could not dig or stoop for a quarter of an hour without -being utterly exhausted.”</p> - -<p>“Marguerite, I will not sit down tamely, and see my -family expire. In many cases it is reasonable to bid a -valetudinarian take care of himself. But our situation is -beyond that. I must do something. Extraordinary circumstances -often bring along with them extraordinary -strength. No man knows, till the experiment, what he is -capable of effecting. I feel at this moment no debility; -and I doubt not that the despair of my mind will give redoubled -energy to my efforts.”</p> - -<p>While I spoke thus, I was conscious that I had little -more than the strength of a new-born child. But I could -not endure at such a time to remain in inactivity. I felt -as much ashamed of the debilitated state in which my fever -had left me, as I could have done of the most inglorious -effeminacy and cowardice of soul. I determined to relieve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -my family, or perish in the attempt. If all my efforts were -vain, I could not better finish my career, than exhausted, -sinking, expiring under a last exertion, to discharge the -duties of my station.</p> - -<p>We returned into the house. Marguerite took from a -closet the last remnant of provisions we had, the purchase -of poor Charles’s labour of the preceding day. There was -a general contest who should escape from receiving any -part in the distribution. Charles had withdrawn himself, -and was not to be found. Julia endeavoured to abscond, -but was stopped by Louisa and her mother. She -had wept so much, that inanition seemed more dangerous -for her, than perhaps for any other of the circle. No one -can conceive, who has not felt it, how affecting a contest of -this kind must appear to me, sensible as I was to the danger -that their virtue and generous affection were the prelude -only to their common destruction. I said, there was a -general contest who should avoid all share in the distribution; -but I recollect that the little Marguerite, two years -and a half old, exclaimed at first, “I am so hungry, mamma!” -But watching, as she carefully did, every thing -that passed, she presently laid down her bread upon the -table in silence, and almost untouched; and being asked, -Why she did so? she replied, in a tone of speaking sensibility, -“Thank you, I am not hungry now!”</p> - -<p>This scene made an impression on my mind never to be -forgotten. It blasted and corrupted all the pulses of my -soul. A little before, I had reconciled myself to poverty; -I had even brought myself to regard it with cheerfulness. -But the sentiment was now reversed. I could endure it, I -could steel myself against its attacks; but never from this -hour, in the wildest paroxysms of enthusiasm, has it been -the topic of my exultation or my panegyric. No change -of circumstances, no inundation of wealth, has had the -power to obliterate from my recollection what I then saw. -A family perishing with hunger; all that is dearest to you -in the world sinking under the most dreadful of all the -scourges with which this sublunary scene is ever afflicted; -no help near; no prospect but of still accumulating distress; -a death, the slowest, yet the most certain and the most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> -agonising, that can befall us: no, there is nothing that has -power to rend all the strings of the heart like this! From -this moment, the whole set of my feelings was changed. -Avarice descended, and took possession of my soul. Haunted, -as I perpetually was, by images of the plague of famine, -nothing appeared to me so valuable as wealth; nothing so -desirable as to be placed at the utmost possible distance -from want. An appetite of this kind is insatiable; no distance -seems sufficiently great; no obstacles, mountains on -mountains of gold, appear an inadequate security to bar -from us the approach of the monster we dread.</p> - -<p>While I speak of the sentiments which in the sequel -were generated in my mind by what I now saw, I am suspending -my narrative in a crisis at which a family, interesting, -amiable and virtuous, is reduced to the lowest state -of humiliation and distress.</p> - -<p>They are moments like these, that harden the human -heart, and fill us with inextinguishable hatred and contempt -for our species. They tear off the trappings and decoration -of polished society, and show it in all its hideousness. The -wanton eye of pampered pride pleases itself with the spectacle -of cities and palaces, the stately column and the swelling -arch. It observes at hand the busy scene, where all are -occupied in the various pursuits of pleasure or industry; -and admires the concert, the wide-spreading confederacy, -by means of which each after his mode is unconsciously -promoting the objects of others. Cheated by the outside of -things, we denominate this a vast combination for general -benefit. The poor and the famished man contemplates the -scene with other thoughts. Unbribed to admire and applaud, -he sees in it a confederacy of hostility and general -oppression. He sees every man pursuing his selfish ends, -regardless of the wants of others. He sees himself contemptuously -driven from the circle where the rest of his -fellow-citizens are busily and profitably engaged. He lives -in the midst of a crowd, without one friend to feel an interest -in his welfare. He lives in the midst of plenty, -from the participation of which he is driven by brutal menaces -and violence. No man who has not been placed in -his situation can imagine the sensations, with which, overwhelmed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -as he is with domestic ruin and despair, he beholds -the riot, the prodigality, the idiot ostentation, the senseless -expense, with which he is surrounded on every side. What -were we to do? Were we to beg along the streets? Were -we to in treat for wretched offals at rich men’s doors? Alas! -this, it was to be feared, even if we stooped to the miserable -attempt, instead of satisfying wants for ever new, would -only prolong in the bitterness of anguish the fate for which -we were reserved!——</p> - -<p>An unexpected relief at this time presented itself. While -the scanty meal I have mentioned was yet unfinished, a letter -was presented me inclosing under its cover a bill of one -hundred crowns. The letter was from Bernardin, the faithful -servant whom we found it necessary to dismiss three -months before, when we quitted our residence in Switzerland. -It informed us that, as soon as he had parted from -us, he had set out on his return to his native town, next -adjacent to my paternal residence; that he found his father -had died a short time before, and that, from the sale of his -effects, he had reaped an inheritance to triple the amount -of the sum he had now forwarded to us. He had heard by -accident of the death of our friend in Switzerland, and the -character of his successor, and dreaded that the consequences -might prove highly injurious to us. He had still -some business to settle with the surviving branches of his -family, but that would be over in a few weeks; and then, -if we would allow him, he would return to his dear master, -and afford us every assistance in his power. The little -property that had now fallen to him would prevent him -from being a burthen; and he would hire a spot of land, and -remain near us, if we refused him the consolation of returning -to his former employment.</p> - -<p>What a reproach was it to me, that, descended from one -of the most illustrious families in Europe, the heir of an -ample patrimony, and receiving a still larger fortune in -marriage, I should, by the total neglect and profligate defiance -of the duties incumbent on me, have reduced myself -so low as to be indebted to a peasant and a menial for the -means of saving my family from instant destruction! This -was a deep and fatal wound to the pride of my soul. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> -was however no alternative, no possibility of rejecting the -supply afforded us at so eventful a moment. We determined -to use it for the present, and to repay it with the -earliest opportunity; and in the following week, in spite of -the remonstrances of Marguerite, the yet feeble state of my -health, and the penalties annexed to the proceeding, I set -off for the canton of Soleure, determined, if possible, to -wrest the little staff of my family from the hand that so -basely detained it.</p> - -<p>I passed through Zurich and a part of the canton of -Basle without obstacle; these parts of Switzerland had not -suffered from the calamity which had occasioned our exile. -In proceeding further, I found it necessary to assume a -disguise, and to avoid large towns and frequented roads. I -reached at length the well known scene in which I had so -lately consumed twelve months of my life; in which I -first began to breathe (to breathe, not to be refreshed) from -ruin, beggary, and exile. There was no pleasing recollection -annexed to this spot; it was a remembrancer of -shame, sorrow, and remorse. Yet, such is the power of -objects once familiar, revisited after absence, that my eye -ran over them with delight, I felt lightened from the weariness -of the journey, and found that the recollection of pains -past over and subdued was capable of being made a source -of gratification. The mountains among which I had wandered, -and consumed, as it were, the last dregs of my insanity, -surrounded me; the path in which I was travelling -led along one of their ridges. I had performed this part of -my journey by night; and the first gleams of day now -began to streak the horizon. I looked towards the cottage, -the distant view of which had so often, in moments of the -deepest despair, awakened in my heart the soothings of -sympathy and affection. I saw that as yet it remained in -its forlorn condition, and had undergone no repair; while -the lands around, which had lately experienced the superintendence -of Marguerite, had met with more attention, -and began to resume the marks of culture. I sighed for -the return of those days and that situation, which, while -present to me, had passed unheeded and unenjoyed.</p> - -<p>I repaired to the house of my late protector, now the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -residence of monsieur Grimseld. He was a meagre shrivelled -figure; and, though scarcely arrived at the middle of -human life, exhibited all the marks of a premature old age. -I disclosed myself to him, and began warmly to expostulate -with him upon the profligacy of his conduct. He -changed colour, and betrayed symptoms of confusion, the -moment I announced myself. While I pressed him with -the barbarity of his conduct, the dreadful effects it had -already produced, and the incontestible justice of my claim, -he stammered, and began to propose terms of accommodation. -During this conversation we were alone. After some -time, however, a servant entered the room, and the countenance -of the master assumed an expression of satisfaction -and confidence. He eagerly seized on the occasion which -presented itself, and, instantly changing his tone, called on -his servant to assist him in securing a criminal against the -state. I at first resisted, but Grimseld perceiving this, applied -to his bell with great vehemence, and three other -servants made their appearance, whose employment was in -the field, but who had now accidentally come into the house -for refreshment. I had arms; but I found it impracticable -to effect my escape; and I soon felt that, by yielding to -the impulse of indignation, and punishing Grimseld on the -spot for his perfidy, I might ruin but could not forward -the affair in which I was engaged.</p> - -<p>I was conducted to prison; and the thoughts produced -in me by this sudden reverse were extremely melancholy -and discouraging. Grimseld was a man of opulence and -power; I was without friends, or the means of procuring -friends. The law expressly condemned my return; and -what had I not to fear from law, when abetted and inforced -by the hand of power? I might be imprisoned for ten -years; I might be imprisoned for life. I began earnestly -to wish that I had remained with my family, and given up -at least all present hopes of redress. It would be a dreadful -accumulation of all my calamities, if now at last I and -my children were destined to suffer, perhaps to perish, in a -state of separation; and the last consolations of the wretched, -those of suffering, sympathising, and condoling with each -other, were denied us.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> - -<p>Full of these tragical forebodings, I threw myself at first -on the floor of my cell in a state little short of the most -absolute despair. I exclaimed upon my adverse fortune, -which was never weary of persecuting me. I apostrophised, -with tender and distracted accents, my wife and children, -from whom I now seemed to be cut off by an everlasting -divorce. I called upon death to put an end to these tumults -and emotions of the soul, which were no longer to be borne.</p> - -<p>In a short time however I recovered myself, procured -the implements of writing, and drew up, in the strong and -impressive language of truth, a memorial to the council of -the state. I was next to consider how this was to reach -its destination; for there was some danger that it might be -intercepted by the vigilance and malignity of my adversary. -I desired to speak with the keeper of the prison. He had -some recollection of me, and a still more distinct one of my -family. He concurred with the general sentiment, in a -strong aversion to the character of Grimseld. As I pressed -upon him the hardship of my case, and the fatal consequences -with which it might be attended, I could perceive -that he fully entered into the feeling with which I wished -him to be impressed. He blamed my rashness in returning -to Switzerland in defiance of the positive prohibition that -had been issued; but promised at all events that my paper -should be delivered to the president to-morrow morning.</p> - -<p>I remained three days without an answer, and these days -were to me an eternity. I anticipated every kind of misfortune; -I believed that law and malice had succeeded to -the subversion of equity. At length however I was delivered -from my apprehensions and perplexity, and summoned -to appear before the council. It was well for me perhaps -that I had to do with a government so simple and moderate -as that of Switzerland. I obtained redress. It was referred -to an arbitration of neighbours to set a fair price on -my property, and then decreed, that if monsieur Grimseld -refused the purchase, the sum should be paid me out of the -coffers of the state. He was also condemned in a certain -fine for the fraud he had attempted to commit. The affair, -thus put in train, was soon completed; and I returned with -joy, having effected the object of my journey, to my anxious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> -and expecting family. Soon after, we removed to the spot -we had chosen on the eastern bank of the lake, where we -remained for the six following years in a state of peace and -tranquillity.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</h2> - -<p>It was in the evening of a summer’s day in the latter end -of the year fifteen hundred and forty-four, that a stranger -arrived at my habitation. He was feeble, emaciated, and -pale, his forehead full of wrinkles, and his hair and beard -as white as snow. Care was written in his face; it was -easy to perceive that he had suffered much from distress of -mind; yet his eye was still quick and lively, with a -strong expression of suspiciousness and anxiety. His garb, -which externally consisted of nothing more than a robe of -russet brown, with a girdle of the same, was coarse, threadbare, -and ragged. He supported his tottering steps with a -staff; and, having lost his foreteeth, his speech was indistinct -and difficult to be comprehended. His wretched appearance -excited my compassion, at the same time that I could easily -discern, beneath all its disadvantages, that he was no common -beggar or rustic. Ruined and squalid as he appeared, -I thought I could perceive traces in his countenance of what -had formerly been daring enterprise, profound meditation, -and generous humanity.</p> - -<p>I saw that he was much fatigued, and I invited him to -rest himself upon the bench before the door. I set before -him bread and wine, and he partook of both. I asked him -his name and his country. He told me that he was a -Venetian, and that his name, as nearly as I could collect, -was signor Francesco Zampieri. He seemed however -averse to speaking, and he requested me to suffer him to -pass the night in my habitation. There was nothing singular -in the request, a hospitality of this sort being the practice -of the neighbourhood; and humanity would have prompted -my compliance, if I had not been still more strongly urged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -by an undefinable curiosity that began to spring up in my -bosom. I prepared for him a camp-bed in a summer-house -at the end of my garden. As soon as it was ready, -he desired to be left alone, that he might seek in rest some -relief from the fatigue he had undergone.</p> - -<p>He retired early; and therefore, soon after daybreak the -next morning, I waited on him to enquire how he had -rested. He led me out into the fields; the morning was -genial and exhilarating. We proceeded, till we came to a -retired spot which had frequently been the scene of my -solitary meditations, and there seated ourselves upon a bank. -We had been mutually silent during the walk. As soon as -we were seated, the stranger began: “You are, I understand, -a Frenchman, and your name the count de St. Leon?” -I bowed assent.</p> - -<p>“St. Leon,” said he, “there is something in your countenance -and manner that prepossesses me in your favour. -The only thing I have left to do in the world is to die; -and what I seek at present, is a friend who will take care -that I shall be suffered to die in peace. Shall I trust you? -Will you be that friend to me?”</p> - -<p>I was astonished at this way of commencing his confidence -in me; but I did not hesitate to promise that he -should not find me deficient in any thing that became a man -of humanity and honour.</p> - -<p>“You do not, I think, live alone? You have a wife and -children.”</p> - -<p>“I have.”</p> - -<p>“Yet none of them were at home when I arrived last -night. You brought yourself to the summer-house every -thing that was necessary for my accommodation.”</p> - -<p>“I did so. But I have a wife to whom I have been -married seventeen years, and with whom I have no reserves. -I told her of your arrival; I spoke of your appearance; I -mentioned your name.”</p> - -<p>“It is no matter. She has not seen me. My name is -not Zampieri; I am no Venetian.”</p> - -<p>“Who are you then?”</p> - -<p>“That you shall never know. It makes no part of the -confidence I design to repose in you. My name shall be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -buried with me in the grave; nor shall any one who has -hitherto known me, know how, at what time, or on what -spot of earth, I shall terminate my existence. The cloud of -oblivion shall shelter me from all human curiosity. What -I require of you is that you pledge your honour, and the faith -of a man, that you will never reveal to your wife, your -children, or any human being, what you may hereafter -know of me, and that no particular that relates to my history -shall be disclosed, till at least one hundred years after -my decease.”</p> - -<p>“Upon these conditions I am sorry that I must decline -your confidence. My wife is a part of myself; for the last -six years at least I have had no thought in which she has -not participated; and these have been the most tranquil -and happy years of my life. My heart was formed by -nature for social ties; habit has confirmed their propensity; -and I will not now consent to any thing that shall infringe -on the happiness of my soul.”</p> - -<p>While I spoke, I could perceive that my companion -grew disturbed and angry. At length, turning towards me -a look of ineffable contempt, he replied—</p> - -<p>“Feeble and effeminate mortal! You are neither a -knight nor a Frenchman! Or rather, having been both, -you have forgotten in inglorious obscurity every thing -worthy of either! Was ever gallant action achieved -by him who was incapable of separating himself from a -woman? Was ever a great discovery prosecuted, or an -important benefit conferred upon the human race, by him -who was incapable of standing, and thinking, and feeling, -alone? Under the usurping and dishonoured name of -virtue, you have sunk into a slavery baser than that of the -enchantress Alcina. In vain might honour, worth, and -immortal renown proffer their favours to him who has -made himself the basest of all sublunary things—the puppet -of a woman, the plaything of her pleasure, wasting an -inglorious life in the gratification of her wishes and the -performance of her commands!”</p> - -<p>I felt that I was not wholly unmoved at this expostulation. -The stranger touched upon the first and foremost -passions of my soul; passions the operation of which had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -long been suspended, but which were by no means extinguished -in my bosom. He proceeded:—</p> - -<p>“But it is well! Years have passed over my head in -vain, and I have not learnt to distinguish a man of honour -from a slave. This is only one additional sorrow to those -in which my life has been spent. I have wandered through -every region of the earth, and have found only disappointment. -I have entered the courts of princes; I have accompanied -the march of armies; I have pined in the -putridity of dungeons. I have tasted every vicissitude of -splendour and meanness; five times have I been led to the -scaffold, and with difficulty escaped a public execution. -Hated by mankind, hunted from the face of the earth, -pursued by every atrocious calumny, without a country, -without a roof, without a friend; the addition that can be -made to such misfortunes scarcely deserves a thought.”</p> - -<p>While he spoke, curiosity, resistless curiosity, presented -itself as a new motive, in aid of the sense of shame which -the stranger had just before kindled in my bosom. His -manner was inconceivably impressive; his voice, though -inarticulate from age, had an irresistible melody and -volume of sound, which awed, while it won, the heart. -His front appeared open, large, and commanding; and, -though he complained, his complaints seemed to be those -of conscious dignity and innocence. He went on:—</p> - -<p>“Farewell, St. Leon! I go, and you shall see me and -hear of me no more. You will repent, when it is too late, -the folly of this day’s determination. I appear mean and -insignificant in your eyes. You think my secrets beneath -your curiosity, and my benefits not worth your acceptance. -Know that my benefits are such as kings would barter -their thrones to purchase, and that my wealth exceeds the -wealth of empires. You are degraded from the rank you -once held among mankind; your children are destined to -live in the inglorious condition of peasants. This day -you might have redeemed all your misfortunes, and raised -yourself to a station more illustrious than that to which -you were born. Farewell! Destiny has marked out you -and yours for obscurity and oblivion, and you do well to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> -reject magnificence and distinction when they proffer themselves -for your acceptance.”</p> - -<p>“Stop,” cried I, “mysterious stranger! Grant me a -moment’s leisure to reflect and determine.”</p> - -<p>He had risen to depart, with a gesture of resolution and -contempt. At my exclamation he paused, and again turned -himself towards me. My soul was in tumults.</p> - -<p>“Answer me, most ambiguous and impenetrable of -mortals! What is thy story? and what the secrets, the -disclosure of which is pregnant with consequences so extraordinary?”</p> - -<p>“Do you recollect the conditions upon which only the -disclosure can be made?”</p> - -<p>“What can I say? Shall I determine to part with that -which for years has constituted the only consolation of my -life? Shall I suppress the curiosity which now torments -me, and reject the boon you pretend to have the power to -confer?”</p> - -<p>“I grant you the interval for reflection you demand. I -refuse to place further confidence in you, till you have maturely -examined yourself, and roused all the energies of -your spirit to encounter the task you undertake.”</p> - -<p>“One word more. You know not, indeed you know -not, what a woman you exclude from your confidence. She -is more worthy of it than I am. Referring to my own experience -and knowledge of the world, I can safely pronounce -her the first of her sex, perhaps the first of human -beings. Indulge me in this; include her in your confidence; -and I am content.”</p> - -<p>“Be silent! I have made my determination; do you -make yours! Know I would not if I could, and cannot -if I would, repose the secrets that press upon me in more -than a single bosom. It was upon this condition I received -the communication; upon this condition only can I impart -it. I am resolved; to die is the election of my soul—a -consummation for which I impatiently wait. Having determined -therefore to withdraw myself from the powers -committed to me, I am at liberty to impart them; upon -the same condition, and no other, you may one day, if you -desire it, seek the relief of confidence.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> - -<p>Having thus spoken, the stranger rose from his seat. It -was yet early morning, nor was it likely we should meet -any one in our walk. He however employed the precaution -of causing me to explore the path, and to see that -we should return uninterrupted. We came back to the -summer-house. The window-shutters were still closed; -the stranger determined they should remain so. When I -had come to him as soon as I rose, I had found the door -secured; nor had he admitted me, till he recognised my -voice, and had ascertained that I was alone. These precautions -scarcely excited my attention at the time; but, -after the conversation that had just passed, they returned -distinctly to my memory.</p> - -<p>The remainder of the day which had been opened by -this extraordinary scene was passed by me in great anxiety. -I ruminated with unceasing wonder and perturbation upon -the words of the stranger. Shall I shut upon myself the -gate of knowledge and information? Is it not the part of -a feeble and effeminate mind to refuse instruction, because -he is not at liberty to communicate that instruction to another—to -a wife? The stranger professes to be able to raise -me to the utmost height of wealth and distinction. Shall -I refuse the gift, which in a former instance I forfeited, -but for which, though contemplated as at an impracticable -distance, my whole soul longs? If there is any thing dishonourable -connected with the participation of this wealth, -I shall still be at liberty to refuse it. There can be no -crime in hearing what this man has to communicate. I -shall still, and always, be master of myself; nor can I have -any thing personally to fear from a man so feeble, so decrepit, -so emaciated. Yet what can be the gifts worthy of -acceptance of a man who, while he possesses them, is tired -of life, and desires to die? or what the wealth of him who -bears about him every external symptom of poverty and -desolation?</p> - -<p>The conversation I had just held revived in my mind -the true feeling of my present situation. The wounds of -my soul had been lulled into temporary insensibility; but -they were in a state in which the slightest accident was -capable of making them bleed afresh, and with all their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -former violence. I had rather steeled my mind to endure -what seemed unavoidable, than reconciled myself to my -fate. The youthful passions of my soul, which my early -years had written there in characters so deep, were by no -means effaced. I could not contemplate the splendour of -rank with an impartial eye. I could not think of the -alternative of distinction or obscurity for my children with -indifference. But, most of all, the moment I had experienced -for them of hunger, and impending destruction -by famine, had produced an indelible impression. It had -destroyed all romance, I had almost said all dignity, in my -mind for ever. It had snapped, as by the touch of a red-hot -iron, all the finer and more etherialised sinews of my -frame. It had planted the sordid love of gold in my heart, -there, by its baneful vegetation, to poison every nobler and -more salubrious feeling.</p> - -<p>When I returned to the house, Marguerite enquired of -me respecting the stranger, but my answers were short and -embarrassed. She seemed to wonder that he did not come -into the house, and partake of some refreshment in the -midst of my family. She asked, whether he were indisposed? -and whether he did not stand in need of some assistance -that she might afford him? Perceiving however that -I was desirous of saying as little as possible respecting him, -she presently became silent. I could see that she was hurt -at my incommunicativeness, yet I could not prevail upon -myself to enter into an explanation of the causes of my taciturnity. -Ours was a family of love; and I could observe -that the children sympathised with their mother, and -secretly were surprised at and lamented my reserve. There -would have been little in this, in perhaps any other family -than ours. But the last six years had been spent by us in -such primeval simplicity, that scarcely one of us had a -thought but what was known to the rest. Marguerite cherished -my frankness and unreserve with peculiar zeal; she -remembered with bitterness of soul the periods in which I -fostered conceptions only proper to myself—periods of -dreadful calamity, or of rooted melancholy and sadness. -She could not help regarding the silence into which for the -present occasion I relapsed, as a portent of evil augury.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> -Charles, who was now sixteen years of age, recollected the -period of our ruined fortunes when he had been alone with -me at Paris, and partook of his mother’s feelings.</p> - -<p>A trifling circumstance, at this time occasioned by the -little Marguerite, now eight years of age, rendered the -restraint under which I laboured more memorable and -striking. She had left a little book of fairy tales, in which -she had been reading the day before, in the summer-house. -At first she did not recollect what was become of it, and -employed herself in searching for it with great assiduity. -Of a sudden however she remembered where she had read -in it last; and, exclaiming with exultation, “It is in the -summer-house!” sprang forward to fetch it. I detained -her, and told her there was a sick gentleman there that she -would disturb! “Then, dear Julia!” rejoined she, “be so -good as to get it for me; you are so quiet and careful, you -never disturb any body.”</p> - -<p>“My love,” answered I, “nobody must get it for you. -The gentleman chooses to be alone, and will not let any -body come to him. You shall have it after dinner.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, but, papa, I want it now. I put it away, just -where the naughty giant had shut up the gentleman in the -dungeon, who came to take away the lady. I was obliged -to put it away then, because mamma called me to go to -bed; but I want so to know what will become of them, -you cannot think.”</p> - -<p>“Well, dear Marguerite, I am sorry you must wait; but -you must learn to have patience.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know, papa, I walked in the garden before -breakfast: and so, not thinking of any thing, I came to -the summer-house; and I tried to open the door, but I -could not. I found it was locked. So I thought Julia -was there; and I knocked, and called Julia, but nobody -answered. So then I knew Julia was not there, for I was -sure she would have opened the door. So I climbed upon -the stump of the pear-tree, and tried to look in at the window; -but the shutters were shut, and I could not get to see -over the top of them. And I walked all round the summer-house, -and all the shutters were shut. Papa, I wish -you would not let a man get into the summer-house, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -shuts all the shutters, and locks the door. You always -used to let me go into every room I liked; and, do you -know, I think none but bad people lock and bolt themselves -up so. It puts mind of the giants with their drawbridges -and their pitfalls; I shall be quite afraid of this frightful old -man.”</p> - -<p>This prattle of the child was nothing; yet it increased -the embarrassment of my situation, and made the peculiarity -of the case more conspicuous. Finding her pertinacious -in insisting upon a topic that was disagreeable to -me, her mother called her from me, and put her upon some -occupation that served to divert her attention. I felt like -a person that was guilty of some crime; and this consideration -and kindness of my wife, when I seemed to myself to -deserve her reproach, had not the power to calm my -uneasiness.</p> - -<p>These little occurrences appeared like the beginning of -a separation of interests, and estrangement of hearts. I -tasked myself severely. I summoned the whole force of -my mind, that I might strictly consider what it was in -which I was about to engage. If this slight and casual -hint of a secret is felt by both Marguerite and myself with -so much uneasiness and embarrassment, what will be our -situation, if I go on to accept the stranger’s confidence, and -become the depository of an arcanum so important as he -represents his to be? He declares himself able to bestow -upon me the highest opulence; what will be the feelings of -my wife and children when they see my condition suddenly -changed from its present humble appearance to splendour -and wealth, without being able to assign the source of this -extraordinary accession?</p> - -<p>It is difficult to conceive a family picture more enviable -that than to which I was now continually present, and of -which I formed a part. We had been happy on the banks -of the Garonne, and we had pictured to ourselves a plan of -happiness immediately on our arrival in the city of Constance. -But these were little and imperfect, compared with -what I now enjoyed. In the first situation my children -were infants, and in the second the eldest was but ten years -of age. The mother was now thirty-five; and she had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -lost, in my eyes at least, none of her personal attractions. -Her intellectual accomplishments were much greater than -ever. Her understanding was matured, her judgment decided, -her experience more comprehensive. As she had a -greater compass of materials to work upon, her fancy was -more playful, her conversation richer, and her reflections -more amusing and profound. The matron character she -had acquired, had had no other effect on her feelings, than -to render them more deep, more true and magnetical. Her -disposition was more entirely affectionate than it had been -even in the first year of our cohabitation. Her attachment -to her children was exemplary, and her vigilance uninterrupted; -and, for myself, she was accustomed, in all that -related to our mutual love, to enter into my sentiments and -inclinations with so just a tone of equality and kindness, -that we seemed to be two bodies animated by a single soul. -If the mother were improved, the children were still more -improved. In their early years we are attached to our offspring, -merely because they are ours, and in a way that has -led superficial speculators to consider the attachment, less as -the necessary operation of a sensible and conscious mind, -than as a wise provision of nature for the perpetuation of -the species. But as they grow up, the case is different. -Our partiality is then confirmed or diminished by qualities -visible to an impartial bystander as really as to ourselves. -They then cease to be merely the objects of our solicitude, -and become our companions, the partners of our sentiments, -and the counsellors of our undertakings. Such at least was -my case at the present period. Charles, who was now -sixteen, was manly beyond his years; while the native fire -of his disposition was tempered by adversity, by an humble -situation, and by the ardour of filial and fraternal affection. -Julia, who was two years younger, became daily more interesting -by the mildness of her disposition and the tenderness -of her sensibility. Louisa was only twelve; but, as -she was extremely notable, and had an uncommonly quick -and accurate spirit of imitation, she rendered herself exceedingly -useful to her mother. Marguerite, the plaything -and amusement of the family, had, as I have said, just -completed the eighth year of her age.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> - -<p>One exquisite source of gratification, when it is not a -source of uneasiness, to speak from my own experience, -which a parent finds in the society of his children, is their -individuality. They are not puppets, moved with wires, -and to be played on at will. Almost from the hour of their -birth they have a will of their own, to be consulted and -negotiated with. We may say to them, as Adam to the -general mother of mankind, “But now, thou wert flesh of -my flesh, and bone of my bone; and, even now, thou -standest before me vested in the prerogatives of sentiment -and reason; a living being, to be regarded with attention -and deference; to be courted, not compelled; susceptible of -the various catalogue of human passions; capable of resentment -and gratitude, of indignation and love, of perverseness -and submission. It is because thou art thus -formed that I love thee. I cannot be interested about objects -inanimate or brute. I require a somewhat that shall -exercise my judgment, and awaken my moral feelings. It -is necessary to me to approve myself, and be approved by -another. I rejoice to stand before you, at once the defendant -and the judge. I rejoice in the restraint to which your -independent character subjects me, and it will be my pride -to cultivate that independence in your mind. I would negotiate -for your affections and confidence, and not be loved -by you, but in proportion as I shall have done something -to deserve it. I could not congratulate myself upon your -correspondence to my wishes, if it had not been in your -power to withhold it.”</p> - -<p>While I indulge this vein of reflection, I seem again to -see my family, as they surrounded me in the year fifteen -hundred and forty-four; Marguerite the partner of my life, -Charles the brother of my cares, the blooming Julia, the -sage Louisa, and the playful cadette of the family. How -richly furnished, how cheerful, how heart-reviving, appeared -to me the apartment in which they were assembled! I -dwell upon the image with fond affection and lingering delight. -Where are they now? How has all this happiness -been maliciously undermined, and irrevocably destroyed! -To look back on it, it seems like the idle fabric of a dream. -I awake, and find myself alone! Were there really such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -persons? Where are they dispersed? Whither are they -gone? Oh, miserable solitude and desertion, to which I -have so long been condemned! I see nothing around me -but speechless walls, or human faces that say as little to my -heart as the walls themselves! How palsied is my soul! -How withered my affections!—But I will not anticipate.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</h2> - -<p>I carried food to the stranger as occasion required in the -course of the day. He seemed indisposed to speak, and we -exchanged scarcely more than two or three words. The -next morning was the implied time to which the question -of his confidence was deferred, and I went to him with the -full resolution of refusing it. Whether it were that he -discerned this resolution in my countenance, or that, in the -interval that elapsed, he had formed a meaner opinion of -my character, and thought me unfit for the purposes he intended -I should answer, certain it is that he anticipated me. -At the same time he magnified the importance of the gifts -he had to communicate. He expressed himself astonished -at the precipitateness of his yesterday’s conduct. It was -not till after much trial and long probation that he could -choose himself a confidant. I was not at present fit for the -character, nor perhaps ever should be. The talent he possessed -was one upon which the fate of nations and of the -human species might be made to depend. God had given -it for the best and highest purposes; and the vessel in -which it was deposited must be purified from the alloy of -human frailty. It might be abused and applied to the -most atrocious designs. It might blind the understanding -of the wisest, and corrupt the integrity of the noblest. It -might overturn kingdoms, and change the whole order of -human society into anarchy and barbarism. It might -render its possessor the universal plague or the universal -tyrant of mankind.</p> - -<p>“Go, St. Leon!” added the stranger, “you are not qualified<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -for so important a trust. You are not yet purged of -imbecility and weakness. Though you have passed through -much, and had considerable experience, you are yet a child. -I had heard your history, and expected to find you a different -man. Go; and learn to know yourself for what you are, -frivolous and insignificant, worthy to have been born a -peasant, and not fitted to adorn the rolls of chivalry, or the -rank to which you were destined!”</p> - -<p>There was something so impressive in the rebuke and -contempt of this venerable sage, that made it impossible to -contend with them. Never was there a man more singular, -and in whom were united greater apparent contradictions. -Observe him in a quiet and unanimated moment, you might -almost take him for a common beggar; a poor, miserable -wretch, in whom life lingered, and insensate stupidity -reigned. But when his soul was touched in any of those -points on which it was most alive, he rose at once, and appeared -a giant. His voice was the voice of thunder; and, -rolling in a rich and sublime swell, it arrested and stilled, -while it withered all the nerves of the soul. His eye-beam -sat upon your countenance, and seemed to look through you. -You wished to escape from its penetrating power, but you -had not the strength to move. I began to feel as if it were -some mysterious and superior being in human form, and -not a mortal, with whom I was concerned.</p> - -<p>What a strange and contradictory being is man! I had -gone to the summer-house this morning, with a firm resolution -to refuse the gifts and the communication of the -stranger. I felt as if lightened from a burthen which the -whole preceding day had oppressed me, while I formed this -resolution: I was cheerful, and conscious of rectitude and -strength of mind. How cheaply we prize a gift which we -imagine to be already in our power! With what philosophical -indifference do we turn it on every side, depreciate -its worth, magnify its disadvantages, and then pique ourselves -upon the sobriety and justice of the estimate we have -made! Thus it was with me in the present transaction; -but when I had received the check of the stranger, and -saw the proposed benefit removed to a vast and uncertain -distance, then it resumed all its charms; then the contrast<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -of wealth and poverty flashed full upon my soul. Before, -I had questioned the reality of the stranger’s pretensions, -and considered whether he might not be an artful impostor; -but now all was clearness and certainty: the advantages of -wealth passed in full review before my roused imagination. -I saw horses, palaces, and their furniture; I saw the splendour -of exhibition and the trains of attendants,—objects -which had been for ever dear to my puerile imagination; I -contemplated the honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, -which are so apt to attend upon wealth, when disbursed -with a moderate degree of dignity and munificence. When -I compared this with my present poverty and desertion, the -meanness of our appearance, our daily labours, the danger -that an untoward accident might sink us in the deepest distress, -and the hopelessness that my son or his posterity -should ever rise to that honour and distinction to which they -had once been destined, the effect was too powerful.</p> - -<p>Another feeling came still further in aid of this: it was -the humiliating impression which the stranger had left upon -my mind: this seemed to be his great art, if in reality his -conduct is to be imputed to art. There is no enemy to -virtue so fatal as a sense of degradation. Self-applause is -our principal support in every liberal and elevated act of -virtue. If this ally can be turned against us; if we can be -made to ascribe baseness, effeminacy, want of spirit and -adventure, to our virtuous resolutions; we shall then indeed -feel ourselves shaken. This was precisely my situation: -the figure I made in my own eyes was mean; I was impatient -of my degradation; I believed that I had shown -myself uxorious and effeminate, at a time that must have -roused in me the spirit of a man, if there had been a spark -of manly spirit latent in my breast. This impatience co-operated -with the temptations of the stranger, and made me -anxious to possess what he offered to my acceptance.</p> - -<p>I reasoned thus with myself: what excites my scruples is -simply the idea of having one single secret from my wife -and family. This scruple is created by the singular and -unprecedented confidence in which we have been accustomed -to live. Other men have their secrets: nor do they -find their domestic tranquillity broken by that circumstance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -The merchant does not call his wife into consultation upon -his ventures; the statesman does not unfold to her his policy -and his projects; the warrior does not take her advice upon -the plan of his campaign; the poet does not concert with -her his flights and his episodes. To other men the domestic -scene is the relaxation of their cares; when they enter it, -they dismiss the business of the day, and call another cause. -I only have concentrated in it the whole of my existence. -By this means I have extinguished in myself the true energy -of the human character. A man can never be respectable -in the eyes of the world or in his own, except so far as he -stands by himself and is truly independent. He may have -friends; he may have domestic connections; but he must -not in these connections lose his individuality. Nothing -truly great was ever achieved, that was not executed or -planned in solitary seclusion.</p> - -<p>But if these reasons are sufficient to prove that the plan -I have lately pursued is fundamentally wrong, how much -more will the importance of what is proposed by the stranger -plead my excuse for deviating from it? How bitterly have -I lamented the degradation of my family! Shall I not -seize this opportunity of re-installing them in their hereditary -honours? I deemed the ruin I had brought upon -them irreparable; shall I not embrace the occasion of -atoning for my fault? No man despises wealth, who fully -understands the advantages it confers. Does it not confer the -means of cultivating our powers? Does it not open to us -the career of honour, which is shut against the unknown -and obscure? Does it not conciliate the prepossessions of -mankind, and gain for us an indulgent and liberal construction? -Does it not inspire us with graceful confidence, -and animate us to generous adventure? The poor man is -denied every advantage of education, and wears out his life -in labour and ignorance. From offices of trust, from opportunities -of distinction, he is ignominiously thrust aside; -and though he should sacrifice his life for the public cause, -he dies unhonoured and unknown. If by any accident he -comes into possession of those qualities which, when discerned -and acknowledged, command the applause of mankind, -who will listen to him? His appearance is mean;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -and the fastidious auditor turns from him ere half his words -are uttered. He has no equipage and attendants, no one -to blow the trumpet before him and proclaim his rank; -how can he propose any thing that shall be worthy of attention? -Aware of the prepossession of mankind in this -respect, he is alarmed and overwhelmed with confusion -before he opens his lips. Filled with the conscience of his -worth, he anticipates the unmerited contempt that is prepared -to oppress him, and his very heart dies within him. -Add to these circumstances, the constitution of our nature, -the various pleasures of which it is adapted to partake, and -how many of these pleasures it is in the power of wealth to -procure. Yes; an object like this will sufficiently apologise for -me to those for whose sake alone it was estimable in my sight. -It is, indeed, nothing but our poverty and the lowness of -our station that have thus produced in us an habitual and -unreserved communication of sentiments. Wealth would, -to a certain degree, destroy our contact, and take off the -wonder that we had each our thoughts that were not put -into the common stock.</p> - -<p>These considerations decided my choice. I was not indeed -without some variations of mind, and some compunction -of heart for the resolution I had espoused. The longer -the stranger remained with me, the more evident it was -that there was something mysterious between us; and the -unreserved affection and union that had lately reigned under -my roof suffered materially the effects of it. The stranger -had been led to my cottage, in the first instance, by the entire -solitude in which it was placed. There was nothing -about which he was so solicitous as concealment; the most -atrocious criminal could not be more alarmed at the idea of -being discovered. I was unable to account for this; but I was -now too anxious for his stay and the promised reward, not -to be alert in gratifying all his wishes. The most inviolable -secrecy, therefore, was enjoined to the whole family; and -the younger branches of it, particularly the little Marguerite, -it was necessary to keep almost immured, to prevent the -danger of their reporting any thing out of the house, that -might be displeasing to the stranger and fatal to my expectations. -Upon the whole my situation was eminently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -an uneasy one. No experiment can be more precarious than -that of a half-confidence; and nothing but the sincere affection -that was entertained for me could have rendered it -successful in this instance. My family felt that they were -trusted by me only in points where it was impossible to -avoid it, and that I was not therefore properly entitled to -their co-operation; I was conscious of ingratitude in -making them no return for their fidelity. They kept my -secret because they were solicitous to oblige me, not from -any conviction that they were conferring on me a benefit; -but, on the contrary, suspecting that the object as to which -they were blindly assisting me would prove injurious to -me as well as to themselves.</p> - -<p>The health of the stranger visibly declined; but this was -a circumstance which he evidently regarded with complacency. -It was the only source of consolation of which he -appeared susceptible; his mind was torn with painful remembrances, -and agitated with terrible forebodings. He -abhorred solitude, and yet found no consolation in society. -I could not be much with him; my duty to my family, -who were principally supported by my labour, was a call -too imperious to be neglected. Even when I was with him, -he commonly testified no desire for conversation. “Stay -with me,” he was accustomed to say; “give me as much of -your time as you can; but do not talk.” Upon these occasions -he would sit sometimes with his arms folded, and -with the most melancholy expression imaginable. He would -then knit his brows, wring his hands with a sadness that -might have excited pity in the hardest breast, or, with both -hands closed, the one clasping the other, strike himself impatiently -on the forehead. At other times he would rise -from his seat, pace the room with hurried and unquiet -steps, and then again throw himself on his couch in the -greatest agitation. His features were often convulsed with -agony. Often have I wiped away the sweat, which would -suddenly burst out in large drops on his forehead. At -those seasons he would continually mutter words to himself, -the sense of which it was impossible for me to collect. I -could perceive however that he often repeated the names -of Clara!—Henry!—a wife!—a friend! a friend!——and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -then he would groan as if his heart were bursting. -Sometimes, in the midst of these recollections, he would -pass the back of his hand over his eyes; and then, looking -at it, shaking his head, and biting his under lip, exclaim -with a piteous accent, “Dry!—dry!—all the moisture of -my frame is perished!” Then, as if recovering himself, he -would cry with a startled and terrified voice, “Who is there? -St. Leon? Come to me! Let me feel that there is a -human being near me! I often call for you; but I find -myself alone, deserted, friendless!—friendless!”</p> - -<p>At times when his recollection was more complete, he -would say, “I know I tire you! Why should I tire you? -What gratification can it be to me to occasion emotions of -disgust?” Upon these occasions I endeavoured to soothe -him, and assured him I found pleasure in administering to -his relief. But he replied, “No, no: do not flatter me! -It is long since I have heard the voice of flattery! I never -loved it! No; I know I am precluded from ever exciting -friendship or sympathy! Why am I not dead? Why do I -live, a burthen to myself, useful to none? My secret I -could almost resolve should die with me; but you have -earned, and you shall receive it.”</p> - -<p>The stranger was not always in this state of extreme anguish, -nor always indisposed to converse. He had lucid -intervals; and could beguile the sorrow of his heart with -social communication. We sometimes talked of various -sciences and branches of learning; he appeared to be well -informed in them all. His observations were ingenious; -his language copious; his illustrations fanciful and picturesque; -his manner bold and penetrating. It was easy -to observe in him the marks of a vigorous and masculine -genius. Sometimes we discussed the events at that time -going on in the world. When we discoursed of events that -had passed, and persons that had died, more than a century -before, the stranger often spoke of them in a manner as if -he had been an eye-witness, and directly acquainted with -the objects of our discourse. This I ascribed to the vividness -of his conceptions, and the animation of his language. -He however often checked himself in this peculiarity, and -always carefully avoided what could lead to any thing personal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -to himself. I described to him the scenes of my youth, -and related my subsequent history; he on his part was -invincibly silent on every circumstance of his country, his -family, and his adventures.</p> - -<p>The longer I was acquainted with him, the more my curiosity -grew. I was restless and impatient to learn something -respecting a man who thus wrapped himself up in -mystery and reserve. Often I threw out, as it were, a line -by which to fathom his secret. I talked of various countries, -I mentioned different kinds of calamities and even of crimes, -that by some incidental allusion I might discover at unawares -his country, his connections, or the nature of his -story. When any thing that offered seemed to lead to the -desired point, I doubled my questions, and endeavoured to -construct them with the skill of a crafty litigant in a court -of justice. There were some subjects, the very mention of -which gave him uneasiness, and upon which he immediately -silenced me; but these were not of themselves enough to -afford me a clue, or to furnish materials out of which for -me to construct the history of the stranger. He did not -always perceive the drift of my questions and snares; but, -when he did, he generally became loud, resentful, and -furious. There was nothing else that so completely roused -his indignation.</p> - -<p>“St. Leon!” said he to me one day, “silence this inquisitive -temper of yours; check your rash and rude curiosity. -The only secret I have that can be of any importance -to you, you shall one day know. But my country, my -family, my adventures, I have once told you, and I tell -you again, you shall never know. That knowledge can be -of moment to no one, and it shall never be disclosed. When -this heart ceases to beat, that tale shall cease to have a place -on the face of the earth. Why should my distresses and -disgraces be published to any one? Is it not enough that -they have lacerated my bosom, that they have deprived me -of friends, that they have visited me with every adversity -and every anguish, that they have bowed me down to the -earth, that they have made thought, and remembrance, and -life itself, a burthen too heavy to be borne? Your present -injudicious conduct, if persisted in, will have the effect of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -driving me from your roof, of turning me once more upon -the world, upon that world that I hate, upon that world -whose bruises and ill treatment I feel in every fibre of my -frame; of exposing me again to fresh persecutions, and -causing me to perish miserably in a dungeon, or die upon -a scaffold. Spare me, my generous host; I know you are -capable of generosity. Indeed I have endured enough to -satiate the rage of malice itself. You see what I suffer from -the rage and tempest of my own thoughts, even without the -assistance of any external foe. Let me die in that degree of -tranquillity I am able to attain. I will not trouble you long.”</p> - -<p>At another time he addressed me in a different style. -“You see, St. Leon, that the anguish of mind I endure is -such as is ordinarily attributed to the recollection of great -crimes; and you have very probably conjectured that in my -case it arises from the same source. If you have, I forgive -you; but I assure you that you are mistaken. Take from -yourself that uneasiness, if it has ever visited you; you -are not giving sanctuary to a villain! I am innocent. I -can take no crime to my charge. I have suffered more -almost than man ever suffered; but I have sinned little. -The cause of my uneasiness and prime source of all my -misfortunes, I dare not disclose to you. Be contented with -the plan of my conduct. I have digested my purpose: I -have determined where to speak and where to be silent.”</p> - -<p>The more I saw of this man, the more strange and unaccountable -appeared to me every thing that related to him. -Why was he so poor, possessing, as he pretended, inexhaustible -wealth? Why was he unhappy, with so great -talents and genius, and such various information? Why -was he friendless, being, as he solemnly assured me, so perfectly -innocent, and of consequence so respectable? That -he was an impostor, every thing that I saw of him forbade -me to believe. His sorrows were too profound and excruciating, -for it to be possible for me to rank them among -the actions that a man may play. The greatness of his -powers, the dignity of his carriage, the irresistible appearance -of sincerity that sparkled in his eye and modulated -his voice, fully convinced me that he really was what he -pretended to be. I had heard of men who, under the pretence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> -of alchemy, fastened themselves upon persons possessing -sums of money; and, beguiling them with a delusive -expectation of wealth, reduced them to beggary and ruin. -One such person I had had a brief connection with during -my residence in the Bordelois, though, finding the incident -by no means essential to the progress of my history, I have -passed it over, together with many others, in silence. But -nothing could be more unlike than that man and the person -respecting whom I was now concerned. In reality I possessed -at that time, if I may be allowed to say so, a more -than common insight into the characters of mankind, so as -to be little likely, except under the tyranny of passion, as -in the instance of gaming, to be made the prey of imposition. -I had studied my species as it exhibits itself in history, -and had mixed with it in various scenes and under -dissimilar aspects. I had accordingly, in the transaction I -have just alluded to, soon detected the plans of the villain -who expected to delude me. But what could be the purpose -of the stranger in this respect? The pretended alchemist -in France had obtained a certain sum of money of me, -and demanded more. The stranger never made such a demand -of me; and perfectly knew that, even if I had been -inclined, I was not able to supply him. The alchemist -had amused me with descriptions of various processes for -the transmutation of metals, had exhibited his crucibles and -retorts, and employed a sort of dramatic <i lang="fr">coup d’œil</i> for the -purpose of awakening my curiosity and stimulating my -passions. The stranger had simply stated, in the plainest -and most direct manner, that it was in his power to enrich -me; but had been silent as to the manner of producing the -wealth he promised, and had abstained from every effort to -intoxicate my mind. I felt therefore in this instance the -effect, that, without being able to solve the difficulties and -contrarieties that hung about him, I yet believed his assertions; -nor was the inscrutability of his history and his motives -capable of shaking my confidence.</p> - -<p>One day, during the period of his concealment, certain -officers of the bishop of Constance, accompanied by a foreigner -in a Neapolitan habit, came to my house, and, as -it proved, with the express purpose of searching for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -man who had put himself under my protection. Charles -and myself were at work in the fields within sight of the -lake. Their appearance first caught the attention of Charles -as they approached the shore, and he enquired of me respecting -the habit of the foreigner, which was different from -any he had been accustomed to see. While we were yet -speaking, I observed in them an intention to land within -sight of my cottage. This was an uncommon circumstance; -our privacy was rarely invaded, and we lived almost as -much out of the world as we should have done in the remotest -island of the Atlantic ocean. I reasoned in my own -mind upon their appearance: they had little resemblance to -a party of pleasure; the habit of the officers of justice I -was perfectly acquainted with; and the suspicion of the real -nature of their errand immediately darted on my thoughts. -Without saying a word to Charles on the subject, I hastened -with all the speed I could exert to the apartment of the -stranger, and acquainted him with what I had seen. He -concurred with me in the ideas I had formed, and appeared -much shocked at the intelligence. There was however -no time to be lost; and, after having for a moment given -vent to an anguish which was too powerful to be suppressed, -he withdrew as hastily as he could from the summer-house, -and betook himself to the woods. He recommended to me -to leave him, telling me that he could conceal himself most -effectually alone, and observing that it would be necessary -for me to meet the officers, and endeavour as much as possible -to remove their suspicions.</p> - -<p>Accordingly, as soon as he was gone, I threw open the -windows of the summer-house, removed the shutters, and -took from it as effectually as I could all appearance of -having served as a place of concealment. This was a precaution -which the stranger had on a former occasion recommended -to me. It fortunately happened that Julia and -the little Marguerite were gone out together in the fields on -the eastern side of my cottage; otherwise infallibly the child -by her innocent prattle, and perhaps Julia by the apprehensive -sensibility of her temper, would have betrayed our -secret, or at least have suggested to the officers a feeling as -if, by a longer stay and a more diligent search, they might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -possibly succeed in the object of their expedition. As it -was, I received them at the door, and learned from their -own mouths the nature of their errand. Of Charles, whom -they had crossed in the fields, they had simply asked whether -they were right as to the name of the person who was proprietor -of the cottage before them. They described to me -with great accuracy the appearance of the stranger, and insisted -that he had been an inhabitant of my cottage. They -told me, they were well informed that the summer-house -in my garden had carefully been shut up for more than a -month past, and that some person had been concealed there. -I was interested in the distress of the stranger; I was impressed -with the dignity of his character; I implicitly confided -in his assertions of innocence, and the unjust persecution -that he suffered; I was not insensible to the proposed -reward, the realising of which probably depended on his -safety. But, most of all, I considered my honour as pledged -for the protection of the man who had thus cast himself -upon my fidelity, and believed that I should be everlastingly -disgraced if he suffered any evil through treachery or neglect -on my part. I therefore answered confidently to -the officers that they were misinformed, and offered to conduct -them over every part of my house and demesnes, that -they might satisfy themselves by inspection that there was -no person concealed any where within my possessions. I -should have been better pleased, openly to have defied their -interrogatories, and to have asked them whether, allowing -their suspicions to be just, they were entitled to believe that -I was such a villain as to betray a man who had thrown -himself upon my generosity? But though this conduct -would have had a greater appearance of gallantry, I believed -it would have less of the reality, as it would have strengthened -their idea of my participation, and increased the danger -of the person I was bound to protect.</p> - -<p>They accepted my offer of submitting to their search, -and made a strict examination of every place about my habitation -in which the stranger could be concealed. Disappointed -here, they endeavoured by threats to discover -whether I was able to give them any information. To these -I calmly answered, that they had mistaken my character;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -that, though I was a poor man, I had not forgotten that I -was noble; that they were already in possession of my spontaneous -answer to their enquiries; and that, in no case, and -upon no supposition, should tyranny and ill treatment extort -from me what I was not in the first instance disposed -to give. My wife was present during this conversation, and, -I could perceive, felt an alarm for my danger that she would -have been incapable of feeling for a danger to herself.</p> - -<p>Though I was extremely anxious that these men should -be disappointed in the object of their expedition, yet I did -not neglect this opportunity of endeavouring to obtain satisfaction -for my own curiosity. I remarked at first that the -Neapolitan was an inquisitor, and this circumstance had -given additional poignancy to the uneasiness of Marguerite. -But the accusations of which the inquisition at this time -took cognisance were so numerous—the ecclesiastical power -continually usurping upon the civil—that I was little assisted -in the judgment I was desirous to frame by any inference to -be deduced from this circumstance. I questioned directly, -with an air as if it were merely in the way of conversation, -what was the crime of the man of whom they were in pursuit? -and what was the cause forcible enough to induce a -Neapolitan inquisitor to follow so decrepit and forlorn an -individual as he described, beyond the Alps, and almost to -the banks of the Danube? To this he answered roughly, -that though he was not able to discover the object of his -search, he was by no means convinced that I was not his -abettor and accomplice; and that as to his crime, that was -not to be named; the welfare of Christendom demanding -that the criminal, and the memory of his offences, should -be buried together. At the same time he warned me to -consider well what I did, before I exposed myself to be -overwhelmed by the vengeance of the court of which he -was a member. To this I answered haughtily, that I had -already condescended to repel his suspicion, and that no -other man than an inquisitor would have had the stupidity -or the audaciousness to question my veracity. I added, -that I was perfectly acquainted with the nature of his court, -which was an object of abhorrence to the whole Christian -world; but that he was mistaken if he supposed that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> -detestable nature of its proceedings would enable him to -practise every sort of outrage with impunity. The officers -withdrew into the little inclosure in front of my cottage, -and I overheard them consulting whether, having failed in -their principal object, they should carry me a prisoner -along with them. The firmness of my manner however -had awed them, and the fearlessness I expressed seemed to -them to arise from a consciousness of innocence. They at -length departed as they came.</p> - -<p>I watched them from my cottage as they descended to -the shore, and it was with no little pleasure that I perceived -them re-embark, and stand off for the opposite side of the -lake. This spectacle for a time entirely engaged me, and -when I turned from the door I observed that my beloved -Marguerite had been in tears. She endeavoured to hide -this circumstance from my sight. I took her affectionately -by the hand, and, pressing her to my bosom, entreated her -not to make herself uneasy.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Reginald!” said she, “how can I avoid being uneasy, -when I see you exposed to this imminent danger? I -thought that, in forfeiting our fortune and our rank, and -retiring to this obscure and sequestered situation, we might -at least promise ourselves the blessing of the poor—oblivion -and security; and that should have consoled me for all I -have lost. Who is this man that is thus mysteriously hidden -among us? What is the guilt from the punishment of -which he thus anxiously withdraws himself? What can -be the nature of your connection with such a man? And -what will be the issue of so perilous an adventure?”</p> - -<p>I hesitated. I knew not what to answer to so earnest -an anxiety. I was melted at the distress and the affection -of Marguerite. She saw my embarrassment, and proceeded:—</p> - -<p>“Mistake me not, my beloved!” said she. “I have no -desire to pry into what you are willing to conceal. Forgive -the perturbation which has poured itself out in these involuntary -questions. I repose an entire confidence in you. -I would sooner die than interfere with any object you have -at heart. Go on according to the dictates of your own -judgment, undisturbed by me. I will not doubt that you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -have sufficient reasons for what you communicate, and what -you suppress. I am grieved indeed at the interruption of -our obscure and unambitious tranquillity; but I had resolved -not to trouble you with my uneasiness and apprehensions. -The incident of this morning has extorted them from me; -but I will behave better in future.”</p> - -<p>This scene was extremely distressing to me. My wife -was oppressed with fears, and I had nothing to answer her. -The consolations that rose up in my own mind I was prevented -from communicating. The more generously she -confided in me, the more I felt the ungracious and disagreeable -nature of the concealment I practised. I endeavoured -however to encourage myself with the idea, that the labour -would not be long, and the harvest would prove abundant. -I said in my own mind, The worst is now over; the business -has been commenced; the shock to my own family -has actually occurred; I must go on resolutely, and shut -my eyes to the temporarily displeasing circumstances that -may be connected with the completing my object.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</h2> - -<p>Another source of uneasiness was added to the distraction -my mind already endured. The stranger did not appear. -It was in the morning that the officers of justice arrived; -they departed about noon; and in two hours afterwards I -entered the wood in search of my guest. The wood was -of some leagues in extent; it was intersected by paths in -various directions; it was interspersed with caverns; its -growth was of all kinds,—in some places lofty trees that -seemed to form a support for the clouds, in others an underwood -impenetrable alike to the feet and to the eye. As -I entered the wood, I however conceived that the discovery -of the stranger, to me who was acquainted with its lurking-places, -would be an affair of little toil; his feebleness and -decrepitude would not suffer him to proceed to any great -distance. In this I was mistaken. I looked carefully on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -all sides; I examined every recess and corner with which -I was acquainted: but I found no trace of the stranger. -The scene was so complicated and involved, that even this -was a labour of considerable duration. At length I became -satisfied that he was not in the nearer division of the -wood.</p> - -<p>I paused. I felt at once that it was little less than a -Herculean task to hunt through the whole of its dimensions. -It would probably be of little use to call, and endeavour -by that means to discover his retreat. I knew of -no name by which he was to be recognised; and, if my own -voice was but a slight resource to penetrate this immense -labyrinth of foliage, the voice of the stranger, weakened by -age, and now probably still more enfeebled by hunger and -fatigue, could not be expected to make itself heard. Beside -which, as I knew not what the source of information had -been to the officers who had just left me, I was unwilling -to expose my guest to the danger that might arise from this -mode of seeking him. I could not even be sure, though I -had seen their boat stand off from the shore, that they might -not afterwards land one or more of their party, and be at -this very moment within ear-shot of me. I therefore proceeded -in anxiety and silence.</p> - -<p>My search was no more successful in the part of the -wood with which I was little acquainted, than in the part -with which I was most familiar. I had already been engaged -four hours in the task, and night began to come on. -It shut in with heavy clouds, that on all sides appeared -deeply loaded with rain. I now began to consider my own -situation; and, by comparing circumstances, found that I -was at a great distance from my own habitation. There -was no direct path by which for me to return. I had proceeded -to the right and the left, backward and forward, -sometimes by more open paths, and sometimes forcing my -way through briars and brushwood, as caprice, or the hope -of effecting the object of my search, happened to guide me. -It was therefore no easy matter to guess how I was to -return, or even, now that the lowering clouds had covered -the horizon with one uniform tint, in which direction lay -the cottage or the lake. While I stood contemplating what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -was to be done, I heard the howling of the wolves at a distance; -and their howl had that particular melancholy and -discomfiting sound which is well known to precede a coming -storm. There was no time to be lost, and accordingly -I set out. I was less anxious to be at home on my own -account, than for the sake of quieting the alarms of my -family, to whom I had already occasioned too great a portion -of uneasiness.</p> - -<p>I had not proceeded far before the rain descended in -torrents, intermingled with peals of thunder and sheets of -lightning. The thunder, interrupted, as it were, from time -to time, with the noise of the wild beasts that inhabited the -wood, deafened me, while the excessive and instantaneous -brilliancy of the lightning occasioned me an intolerable -aching in the organ of sight. It rained incessantly for two -hours, and I found myself drenched and fatigued with the -wet. During this time my progress was small; and I was -ever and anon intercepted by the underwood, and could not -without repeated experiments discover the means of proceeding. -At length the rain subsided, and seemed to give -place to a gloomy and motionless calm. Soon after, I discovered -a light at a distance, and advanced towards it. As -I approached, I perceived that it proceeded from a set of -banditti, to the amount of fourteen or fifteen persons, sitting -round a fire in the mouth of a cavern. I was glad to turn -my steps another way, and was for some time afraid that -the noise I made in occasionally forcing my way through -the bushes would alarm them, and cost me my life. I -however fortunately escaped their notice. This was in a -part of the wood remote from the path I ought to have -taken, and near the road to Lindau.</p> - -<p>The day began to dawn before I reached my own habitation. -The conjecture I had made, when I was unawares -upon the point of falling into the hands of the banditti, -that the road of Lindau was on the other side of their retreat, -was of some service to me as an indication where to -find the cottage and the lake. This road skirted the wood -on the side nearly opposite to that by which I entered it. -The difficulties however I had to encounter were inconceivably -great, in endeavouring to preserve my line of direction.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -After having been compelled four or five times to deviate -from the line, it is seldom that a traveller will find himself -right in his conjecture as to the direction he is pursuing, -unless he has some sensible object as a sort of pole-star by -which to govern his route. It happened in this instance -that I was more fortunate than I was entitled to expect. I -laboured indeed till daybreak without getting out of the -labyrinth that inclosed me. But the sun no sooner began -to lend an imperfect light, than I recognised certain objects -which upon some former occasions I had observed, and -perceived that my journey was nearly at an end. I entered -my cottage, and found Marguerite alone awake and expecting -me.</p> - -<p>She had been somewhat uneasy on account of my absence, -both from the extreme tempestuousness of the night, -and in consequence of the painful sensations the events of -the preceding morning had introduced,—events with which -it was almost unavoidable for her to imagine that my absence -was in some way connected. The period of my insanity -in Switzerland might indeed have accustomed her -to the irregularity of my motions, but a term of more than -six years which had intervened, had produced in her expectations -and habits of a different sort. I related to this -admirable woman the adventures of the night and the fruitlessness -of the search in which I had been engaged; and -this openness of communication, unresembling the nature -of the intercourse which had lately existed between us, relieved -in some degree my burthened heart, and cheered the -drooping spirits of Marguerite. She dropped some consolatory -and sadly pleasing tears; and her manner seemed to -say, though she would not suffer her tongue to give the idea -words, How sweet are cordiality and confidence! Oh! do -not let our situation, which has deprived us of many other -comforts, ever again be robbed of this comfort, which is -alone worth all the rest! Though she necessarily felt the -presence of the stranger as an evil, the bane of our domestic -peace, yet it was impossible for her not to compassionate -his fate, and suffer some distress from his strange and -abrupt disappearance.</p> - -<p>After the conversation which had so eminently served as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -a relief to our minds, Marguerite left me to repose myself -from the extraordinary fatigue I had undergone. But my -mind was too much disturbed to suffer me to sink into the -arms of forgetfulness. I felt something tragical in the sad -destiny of my unfortunate guest. It was but too probable -that, in his peculiarly weak state of body, and with his declining -health, the being thus exposed for a day and a night -to the effects of hunger, of the inclemency of the air, and -the tempestuousness of the elements, would put a close to -his existence. I was determined soon to recommence my -search. But how could I be sure that I should be more -fortunate to-day, than the day before? If I found him, it -was most likely I should find him either dead or dying. -The degree of intercourse that had taken place between us -had made him occupy a considerable space in my thoughts. -The prospects he had opened to me, the conduct he had -induced me to adopt, the painful effects and dissatisfaction -of mind which had been produced by that conduct as it -respected my family, all combined to give me an interest -in his fate. I had seen his talents; I had felt his ascendancy; -I had experienced that sort of conflict, which appearances -of guilt on the one hand, and asseverations of -innocence on the other, are calculated to produce in the -thoughts and emotions of a bystander. He was no common -man; the expectations and conjectures he excited were -of no ordinary sort; and I felt that an army might be -destroyed, and a spacious plain covered with the wounded -and the dying, without producing greater commotion in my -soul.</p> - -<p>In the anxious and disturbed state of mind in which I -was, the thoughts flow with extraordinary rapidity. It will -be found attended with a strange, and, previously to the -experiment, incredible mixture of reasoning and passion, of -philosophising and fury. I was accordingly conscious at -this moment of the truth of the stranger’s assertion, that in -me he had a protector, not a friend. Friendship is an object -of a peculiar sort; the smallest reserve is deadly to it. -I may indeed feel the emotions of a friend towards a man -who in part conceals from me the thoughts of his heart; -but then I must be unconscious of this concealment. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -instant I perceive this limitation of confidence, he drops -into the class of ordinary men: a divorce is effected between -us: our hearts, which grew together, suffer amputation; -the arteries are closed; the blood is no longer -mutually transfused and confounded. I shall be conscious -of all his qualities, for I stand in the place of an impartial -umpire. I consider him as a machine capable of so much -utility to myself, and so much utility to other men. But -I do not regard him as the brother of my soul: I do not -feel that my life is bound up in his: I do not feel as if, -were he to die, the whole world would be at an end to me, -and that my happiness would be buried with him for ever -in the darkness of the grave. I am not conscious of those -emotions which are the most exquisite and indescribable -the human mind can experience; and which, being communicated -by a sort of electrical stroke to him who is their -object, constitute the solace of all his cares, the alleviator -of all his calamities, the only nectar and truest balm of -human life. For me, he stands alone in the world, having -companions and associates, the connections, as it were, of -mercantile selfishness, or casual jollity and good humour, -but no friend. It was thus that I thought of the stranger. -He obtained from me the compassion due to a human being, -and the respect extorted by his qualities, but nothing calculated -radically to disturb the equilibrium of the mind. I -looked forward to his death with unruffled thoughts and an -unmoistened eye. There was one thing indeed that shook -me more deeply; the thought of losing the promised reward, -and of having exposed myself to the evil of an unquiet and -dissatisfied mind in vain.</p> - -<p>I rested but a few hours before I set out again upon the -search, to which the interposition of the darkness of the -preceding night had put an abrupt close. I had the precaution -to take with me a slight provision of food and cordials, -believing that, if I found the stranger, he would at -least be in the greatest need of something reviving and restorative. -Charles earnestly intreated to assist me in the -search, but upon this I put a peremptory prohibition. It -would have been in direct contradiction to what the stranger -had most solemnly required of me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> - -<p>I had already spent several hours in anxiously tracing -the wood in every direction; and the period of noon was -past, when, approaching an obscure and almost impenetrable -thicket, my ear was caught by a low and melancholy sound, -which at first I knew not to what I was to ascribe. It -however arrested my attention, and caused me to assume -an attitude of listening. After the lapse of little more than -a minute, the same sound was repeated. I now distinctly -perceived that it was the groan of some creature in a very -feeble and exhausted state, and immediately suspected that -it was the stranger. I went almost round the thicket before -I could discern an entrance, and, though I looked with the -utmost care, could perceive nothing that the thicket inclosed. -The groan was repeated a third time. The long intervals -between the groans gave a peculiar melancholy to the effect, -and each seemed so much lower than the groan before, that -nothing but the ear of anxious attention would have caught -it; at the same time that the tone conveyed an idea of stupified, -yet vital, anguish. At length I perceived the legs -and something of the garb of a man. It was the stranger! -He appeared to have crept into the thicket upon his hands -and knees. When I forced my way to him, he seemed in -the very act of expiring. He was lying on his face, and I -raised him a little. His eyes were fixed; his mouth was -open; his lips and tongue were parched and dry. I infused -a few drops of a cordial into his mouth. For a moment -it appeared to produce no sensation, but presently my -patient uttered a deep and long-drawn sigh. I repeated my -application. As a principal cause of the condition in which -I found him was inanition, the stimulant I administered -produced a powerful effect. He moved his hands, shuddered, -turned his eyes languidly upon me, and, having appeared -to recognise me, shut them hastily again. I moved -him slowly and softly into a freer air, and bathed his temples -with one of the liquids I had about me. By this time he -looked up, and then suddenly round him with a wild and -hurried air. He spoke not however; he was speechless. -In about a quarter of an hour he relapsed into convulsions, -in which it seemed probable he would expire. They lasted -a considerable time, and he then sunk into a state of insensibility.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> -I thought he was dead. Thus circumstanced, it -was some relief to my humanity to have found him yet -alive, and to have received his parting breath. But in a -moment his secret and his promises recurred to me with -inexpressible anguish, and I inwardly reproached him for -having deferred his communication so long, as now to preclude -its ever being made. I cannot describe the keenness, -the burning and intolerable bitterness, of my sensation. -Keen it may well be supposed to have been, from its having -so instantaneously and forcibly recurred at a time when -other objects seemed to press upon my senses. No one -who has not felt what it is to fall in a moment from hope, -or, as I should rather say, from assured possession of what -his soul most loved and desired, into black and interminable -despair, can imagine what was then the state of my mind. -The body of my patient slided from my nerveless arms; I -lifted up the eyes of rage and phrensy, as if to curse the Author -of my being; and then fell helpless and immoveable -by the side of the stranger.</p> - -<p>I felt him move; I heard him sigh. I lifted up my -head, and perceived stronger marks of life and sense about -him than had yet displayed themselves. I threw my arms -about him; I pressed him to my heart. The emphatical -gesture I used seemed to have a sort of magnetical force to -rouse his dying powers. With a little assistance from me -he sat upright. My assiduity produced wonders: it fortunately -happened that this thicket was but a half a mile -from my habitation, and indeed was one of the spots -which I had searched without success the day before. -About the hour of sunset, partly by leading, and partly -by supporting him, I restored my guest to his former apartment.</p> - -<p>He remained speechless, or nearly so. He vented his -sensations in sighs, in inward and inarticulate sounds; and -even when he arrived at the power of making himself understood -by words, it was only by monosyllables and half -sentences that he conveyed to me his meaning. I now gave -up my time almost entirely to an assiduous attendance on -the stranger. Every day I expected to be his last; every -day was more or less interspersed with symptoms that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> -seemed to menace his instant dissolution. During all this -time I remained in the anxious suspense of contending hope -and fear. Was it probable that he would ever recover -strength enough to confer on me the legacy he had announced? -The particulars of his secret I knew not; but, -judging from what I had heard of the pretences and pursuits -of alchemy, it was natural to suppose that he had a -process to communicate, which would require on his part -considerable accuracy of recollection, as well as the power -of delivering himself in a methodical and orderly discourse.</p> - -<p>I was fortunate enough however to perceive, after a tormenting -and tedious crisis, that he appeared to be in a progress -of convalescence, and that his strength both of body -and mind were recruited daily. After the lapse of a fortnight -from the adventure of the wood, he one evening -addressed me in the following manner:—</p> - -<p>“St. Leon, I have been to blame. I have put you to a -sufficient trial; I have received from you every assistance -and kindness that my situation demanded; I have imposed -on you much trouble and anxiety; I have excited your -expectations by announcing to you in part what it was in -my power to bestow; and I have finally risked the defrauding -your hopes and your humanity of their just reward. -Do me the justice however to remember, that I had no -presentiment of the event which has so inauspiciously come -between you and your hopes. Fool that I was, I imagined -I had suffered enough, and that, as I had obtained a longer -respite from external persecution than I almost ever experienced, -I should be permitted to spend the short remainder -of my days uninterrupted! I now however look back upon -this last assault with complacency. It has cut off something -from the last remnant of a life to the close of which -I look forward with inexpressible longing; at the same -time that I am still in prospect of obtaining the final wish -of my heart—the stealing out of the world unperceived, and -thus in some measure eluding the last malice of my enemies. -After my death I have but one injunction to leave -with you—the injunction of Hercules to Philoctetes—that -no inducement may move you to betray to mortal man the -place in which you shall have deposited my ashes. Bury<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -them in a spot which I will describe to you: it is not far, -and is only recommended to me by its almost inaccessible -situation: and that once done, speak of me and, if possible, -think of me no more. Never on any account mention me -or allude to me; never describe me, or relate the manner of -our meeting, or the adventure which has at length brought -on the desired close of my existence.</p> - -<p>“Believe me, in the feeble and helpless condition in which -I have spent the last fortnight, your wishes and expectations -have been uppermost in my mind, and there is -nothing I have felt with so much compunction as the danger -of leaving them unsatisfied. To you perhaps I at present -appear to be rapidly recovering, I feel the dart of -death in my vitals; I know I shall not live four days. It -is necessary therefore that I should finish without delay all -that remains for me to finish. I will devote this night to -the arranging my thoughts and putting in order what I have -to communicate, that no mistake or omission may have part -in a transaction so important. Come to me to-morrow -morning; I will be prepared for you.”</p> - -<p>As soon as I heard this discourse, and provided the stranger -with every thing he could want during the night, I withdrew. -My heart was big with expectation; my thoughts -all night were wild and tumultuous. When the hour of -assignation arrived, I hastened along the garden to the -summer-house, conscious that upon that hour depended all -the colour of my future life. Since the stranger had been -in his present dangerous condition, the door was not bolted; -it was only locked: the key was in my possession, and -remained night and day attached to my person. I opened -the door; I panted and was breathless.</p> - -<p>I immediately saw that the stranger had undergone some -great alteration for the worse. He had suffered a sort of -paralytic affection. He lifted up his face as I entered; it -was paler than I had ever seen it. He shook his head -mournfully, and intimated by signs the disappointment -which this morning must witness. He was speechless. -“Fate! fate!” exclaimed I in an agony of despair, “am I to -be for ever baffled? Is the prize so much longed for and so -ardently expected at last to escape me?”—It is not to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -imagined how much these successive, endless disappointments -increased my impatience, and magnified in my eyes -the donation I sought.</p> - -<p>The whole of this and the following day the stranger -remained speechless. The third day, in the morning, he -murmured many sounds, but in a manner so excessively -inarticulate, that I was not able to understand one word in -six that he said. I recollected his prediction that he should -die on the fourth day. The fever of my soul was at its -height. Mortal sinews and fibres could sustain no more. -If the stranger had died thus, it is most probable that I -should have thrown myself in anguish and rage upon his -corpse, and have expired in the same hour.</p> - -<p>In the evening of the third day I visited him again. He -had thrown his robe around him, and was sitting on the side -of his couch. The evening sun shot his last beams over -the window-shutters. There were about eight inches between -the shutter and the top of the window; and some -branches of vines, with their grapes already ripe, broke the -uniformity of the light. The side of the couch faced the -west, and the beams played upon the old man’s countenance. -I had never seen it so serene. The light, already softened -by the decline of day, gave it a peculiar animation: and a -smile that seemed to betoken renovation and the youth of -angels sat upon it. He beckoned me to approach. I -placed myself beside him on the couch; he took my hand -in his, and leaned his face towards me.</p> - -<p>“I shall never witness the light of the setting sun -again!” were the first words he uttered. I immediately -perceived that he spoke more collectedly, and with better -articulation than at any time since the paralytic stroke. -Still however it was no easy matter to develop his words. -But I wound up every faculty of my frame to catch them; -and, assisted as I was by the habit of listening to his -speech for many weeks, which during the whole of that -time had never been distinct, I was successful enough to -make out his entire discourse.</p> - -<p>It continued, though with various interruptions, for more -than half an hour. He explained with wonderful accuracy -the whole of his secrets, and the process with which they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> -were connected. My soul was roused to the utmost stretch -of attention and astonishment. His secrets, as I have -already announced in the commencement of this history, -consisted of two principal particulars; the art of multiplying -gold, and the power of living for ever. The detail of these -secrets I omit; into that I am forbidden to enter. My -design in writing this narrative, I have said, is not to teach -the art of which I am in possession, but to describe the -adventures it produced to me.</p> - -<p>The more I listened, the more my astonishment grew. -I looked at the old man before me; I observed the wretchedness -of his appearance, the meanness of his attire, his -apparent old age, his extreme feebleness, the characters -of approaching death that were written on his countenance. -After what I had just heard, I surveyed these things with -a sensation of novelty, as if I had never remarked them in -him before. I said to myself, Is this the man that possesses -mines of wealth inexhaustible, and the capacity of living for -ever?</p> - -<p>Observing that he had finished his discourse, I addressed -to him these words, by a sort of uncontrollable impulse, -and with all the vehemence of unsated and insuppressible -curiosity.</p> - -<p>“Tell me, I adjure you by the living God, what use -have you made of these extraordinary gifts? and with what -events has that use been attended?”</p> - -<p>As I spoke thus, the countenance of the old man underwent -a surprising change. Its serenity vanished; his -eyes rolled with an expression of agony; and he answered -me thus:—</p> - -<p>“Be silent, St. Leon! How often must I tell you that -no single incident of my story shall ever be repeated! Have -I no claim upon your forbearance? Can you be barbarous -and inhuman enough to disturb my last scene with these -bitter recollections?”—I was silent.</p> - -<p>This is all that is material that passed at our interview.</p> - -<p>The stranger died the next day, and was buried according -to his instructions.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</h2> - -<p>From the moment of my last interview with the stranger -I was another creature. My thoughts incessantly rolled upon -his communications. They filled me with astonishment and -joy, almost to bursting. I was unable to contain myself; -I was unable to remain in any posture or any place. I -could scarcely command myself sufficiently to perform the -last duties to his body in the manner he had directed. I -paced with eager step the sands of the lake; I climbed the -neighbouring hills, and then descended with inconceivable -rapidity to the vales below; I traced with fierce impatience -the endless mazes of the wood in which I so hardly -recovered my bewildered guest. The uninterruptedness -and celerity of bodily motion seemed to communicate some -ease to my swelling heart.</p> - -<p>Yet there was one thing I wanted. I wanted some -friendly bosom into which to pour out my feelings, and -thus by participation to render my transports balsamic and -tolerable. But this was for ever denied me. No human -ear must ever be astonished with the story of my endowments -and my privileges. I may whisper it to the woods -and the waters, but not in the face of man. Not only am -I bound to suppress the knowledge of the important secret -I possess, but even the feelings, the ruminations, the visions, -that are for ever floating in my soul. It is but a vain and -frivolous distinction upon which I act, when I commit to -this paper my history, and not the science which is its corner-stone. -The reason why the science may not be divulged -is obvious. Exhaustless wealth, if communicated to all -men, would be but an exhaustless heap of pebbles and dust; -and nature will not admit her everlasting laws to be so -abrogated, as they would be by rendering the whole race of -sublunary man immortal. But I am bound, as far as possible, -not only to hide my secrets, but to conceal that I have -any to hide. Senseless paper! be thou at least my confidant! -To thee I may impart what my soul spurns the -task to suppress. The human mind insatiably thirsts for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -confidant and a friend. It is no matter that these pages -shall never he surveyed by other eyes than mine. They -afford at least the semblance of communication and the unburthening -of the mind; and I will press the illusion fondly -and for ever to my heart.</p> - -<p>To return to the explanation of my feelings immediately -after receiving possession of my grand acquisition; for, without -that explanation, the spirit and meaning of my subsequent -narrative will scarcely be sufficiently apprehended.</p> - -<p>“Happy, happy, happy man!” exclaimed I, in the -midst of my wanderings and reveries. “Wealth! thy power -Is unbounded and inconceivable. All men bow down to -thee; the most stubborn will is by thee rendered pliant as -wax; all obstacles are melted down and dissolved by the -ardour of thy beams! The man that possesses thee, finds -every path level before him, and every creature burning -to anticipate his wishes: but if these are the advantages -that wealth imparts to such as possess only those scanty -portions which states and nations allow to the richest, how -enviable must his condition be, whose wealth is literally -exhaustless and infinite! He possesses really the blessing, -which priestcraft and superstition have lyingly pronounced -upon the charitable: he may give away the revenues of -princes, and not be the poorer. He possesses the attribute -which we are accustomed to ascribe to the Creator of the -universe: he may say to a man, ‘Be rich,’ and he is rich. -He can bestow with equal facility the smallest gifts and the -greatest. Palaces, as if they were the native exhalations of -the soil, rise out of the earth at his bidding. He holds the -fate of nations and of the world in his hand. He can remove -forests, and level mountains, drain marshes, extend -canals, turn the course of rivers, and shut up the sea with -doors. He can assign to every individual in a nation the -task he pleases, can improve agriculture, and establish manufactures, -can found schools, and hospitals, and infirmaries, -and universities. He can study the genius of every man, -and enable every man to pursue the bent of his mind. -Poets and philosophers will be fostered, the sublimest flights -of genius be produced, and the most admirable discoveries -effected, under his auspicious patronage. The whole world<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -are his servants, and he, if his temper be noble and upright, -will be the servant of the whole world. Nay, it cannot -happen otherwise. He has as few temptations to obliquity -as omnipotence itself. Weakness and want are the parents -of vice. But he possesses every thing; he cannot better -his situation; no man can come into rivalship or competition -with him. I thank God, I have known the extremes -of poverty, and therefore am properly qualified to enjoy my -present happiness. I have felt a reverse of fortune, driving -me in one instance to insanity, in another instance threatening -to destroy me, my wife, and children together, with -the plague of hunger. My heart has been racked with -never-dying remorse; because, by my guilt and folly, my -children have been deprived of the distinction and rank to -which they were born, and plunged in remediless obscurity. -Heaven has seen my sufferings, and at length has graciously -said, ‘It is enough.’ Because I have endured more than -man ever endured from the privation of fortune, God in his -justice has reserved for me this secret of the transmutation -of metals. I can never again fall into that wretchedness, -by which my understanding was subverted, and my heart -was broken.”</p> - -<p>From this part of the legacy of the stranger, my mind -reverted to the other. I surveyed my limbs, all the joints -and articulations of my frame, with curiosity and astonishment. -“What!” exclaimed I, “these limbs, this complicated -but brittle frame, shall last for ever! No disease -shall attack it; no pain shall seize it; death shall withhold -from it for ever his abhorred grasp! Perpetual vigour, -perpetual activity, perpetual youth, shall take up their abode -with me! Time shall generate in me no decay, shall not -add a wrinkle to my brow, or convert a hair of my head to -grey! This body was formed to die; this edifice to crumble -into dust; the principles of corruption and mortality are -mixed up in every atom of my frame. But for me the -laws of nature are suspended; the eternal wheels of the -universe roll backward; I am destined to be triumphant -over fate and time!</p> - -<p>“Months, years, cycles, centuries! To me all these are -but as indivisible moments. I shall never become old; I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -shall always be, as it were, in the porch and infancy of -existence; no lapse of years shall subtract any thing from -my future duration. I was born under Louis the Twelfth; -the life of Francis the First now threatens a speedy termination; -he will be gathered to his fathers, and Henry his -son will succeed him. But what are princes and kings and -generations of men to me? I shall become familiar with -the rise and fall of empires; in a little while the very name -of France, my country, will perish from the face of the -earth, and men will dispute about the situation of Paris, as -they dispute about the site of ancient Nineveh and Babylon -and Troy. Yet I shall still be young. I shall take my most -distant posterity by the hand; I shall accompany them in -their career; and, when they are worn out and exhausted, -shall shut up the tomb over them, and set forward.”</p> - -<p>There was something however in this part of my speculation -that did not entirely please me. Methought the -race of mankind looked too insignificant in my eyes. I -felt a degree of uneasiness at the immeasurable distance -that was put between me and the rest of my species. I -found myself alone in the world. Must I for ever live -without a companion, a friend, any one with whom I can -associate upon equal terms, with whom I can have a -community of sensations, and feelings, and hopes, and -desires, and fears? I experienced something, less than a -wish, yet a something very capable of damping my joy, -that I also were subject to mortality. I could have been -well content to be partaker with a race of immortals, but I -was not satisfied to be single in this respect. I was not -pleased to recollect how trivial would appear to me those -concerns of a few years, about which the passions of men -are so eagerly occupied. I did not like the deadness of -heart that seemed to threaten me. I began to be afraid of -vacancy and torpor, and that my life would become too uniformly -quiet. Nor did it sufficiently console me to recollect -that, as one set of friends died off the stage, another -race would arise to be substituted in their stead. I felt that -human affections and passions are not made of this transferable -stuff, and that we can love nothing truly, unless, we -devote ourselves to it heart and soul, and our life is, as it, -were, bound up in the object of our attachment.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> - -<p>It was worse when I recollected my wife and my children. -When I considered for the first time that they were now in -a manner nothing to me, I felt a sensation that might be -said to mount to anguish. How can a man attach himself -to any thing, when he comes to consider it as the mere -plaything and amusement of the moment! In this statement -however I am not accurate. Habit is more potent than any -theoretical speculation. Past times had attached me deeply, -irrevocably, to all the members of my family. But I felt -that I should survive them all. They would die one by one, -and leave me alone. I should drop into their graves the -still renewing tear of anguish. In that tomb would my -heart be buried. Never, never, through the countless ages -of eternity, should I form another attachment. In the -happy age of delusion, happy and auspicious at least to the -cultivation of the passions, when I felt that I also was a -mortal, I was capable of a community of sentiments and a -going forth of the heart. But how could I, an immortal, -hope ever hereafter to feel a serious, an elevating and expansive -passion for the ephemeron of an hour!</p> - -<p>As the first tumult of my thoughts subsided, I began, as -is usual with persons whose minds are turned loose in the -search of visionary happiness, to picture to myself, more -steadily and with greater minuteness, the objects I would -resolve early to accomplish. I would in the first place -return to France, my adored country, the residence of my -ancestors, whose annals they had adorned, whose plains had -witnessed their heroic feats, and whose earth enclosed their -ashes. To France I was endeared by every tie that binds -the human heart; her language had been the prattle of my -infancy; her national manners and temper were twined -with the fibres of my constitution, and could not be rooted -out; I felt that every Frenchman that lived was my brother. -Banishment had only caused these prejudices to strike their -tendrils deeper in my heart. I knew not that I should -finally limit my abode to France. A man who, like Melchisedec, -is “without end of life,” may well consider himself -as being also, like him, “without father, without mother, -and without descent.” But at all events I would first fix -my children, who did not participate in my privileges, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> -their native soil. I would reside there myself, at least till -they were fully disposed of, and till the admirable partner of -the last seventeen years of my life had resigned her breath. I -would immediately repurchase the property of my ancestors, -which had been so distressfully resigned. The exile should -return from his seven years’ banishment in triumph and -splendour. I would return to the court of my old patron -and friend, the gallant Francis, and present to him my boy, -the future representative of my family, now one year older -than I had been at the field of the Cloth of Gold. Though -an exile from my country, I had not been an inattentive -witness of her fortunes. The year fifteen hundred and -forty-four was a remarkable and interesting year in the -history of France. The endless animosities of Francis and -the emperor had broken out with new fury about two years -before. In the spring of the present year, the count d’Anguien -had won a battle in Piedmont<a name="FNanchor_8" id="FNanchor_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a>, in which ten thousand -imperialists were left dead upon the field, and which -might be considered as having at length effaced the defeat -of Pavia, in the same part of the world nineteen years before. -The moment it had been announced that a battle was resolved -on, the young nobility of France, with their characteristic -ardour, had hurried to the scene, and the court of -Paris was, in an instant as it were, turned into a desert. -On the other hand, the emperor and the king of England -had concerted for the same season a formidable plan of -attack against our northern frontier. With an army of -twenty-five thousand men respectively, the one on the side -of Champagne, and the other of Picardy, they agreed to -advance directly into the heart of the kingdom, and to unite -their forces in the neighbourhood of Paris. The last intelligence -that had reached me was, that Château Thierry, -about twenty leagues from the metropolis, was in the hands -of the emperor, and that the inhabitants of the capital, -filled with consternation, were seeking their safety by flight -in every direction. These circumstances had passed idly -by me, and left little impression, so long as I considered -myself as an obscure peasant cut off for ever from the bosom -of my country. But, vested with the extraordinary powers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -now intrusted to me, the case was altered. I felt even a -greater interest in my sovereign, now pressed down with -disease and calamity, yet retaining the original alacrity and -confidence of his soul, than I had done, when I saw him in -all the pride of youth, and all the splendour of prosperity. -I was anxious that Charles should now enter into his service; -and I determined once again to assume the cuirass -and the falchion, that I might be the instructor of his -youth, and his pattern in feats of war. I resolved that my -shepherd-boy, bred in obscurity among woods and mountains, -should burst with sudden splendour upon his countrymen, -and prove in the field his noble blood and generous -strain. I also proposed to myself, both out of sympathy -for my king, and to give greater éclat to my son’s entrance -into life, to replenish with my treasures the empty coffers of -France, and thus to furnish what at this period seemed to -be the main spring upon which the fortune of war depended. -With the advantages I could afford him, the career of -Charles could not fail to be rapid and illustrious, and he -would undoubtedly obtain the staff of constable of France, -the possessor of which, Montmorency, was now in disgrace. -I would marry my daughters to such of the young nobility -as I should find most distinguished in talents and spotless -in character. When, by the death of her I most loved, my -affections should be weaned from my country, and the scenes -to which I had been accustomed were rendered painful and -distressing, I would then set out upon my travels. I would -travel with such splendour and profusion of expense (for -this, though mortified in me by a reverse of many years’ -duration, continued to be the foible of my heart) as should -supersede the necessity of letters of recommendation, and -secure me a favourable reception wherever I appeared. I -might spend a life, in a manner, in every country that was -fortunate enough to allure my stay, spreading improvements, -dispensing blessings, and causing all distress and calamity -to vanish from before me.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</h2> - -<p>My mind was occupied in these and similar reveries for -several weeks after the death of the stranger. My wife and -children had hoped, after that event, that I should have -returned to the habits which had pervaded the last six years -of my existence, and which they had felt so eminently productive -of gratification and delight. In this hope they -found themselves deceived. My domestic character was, -for the present at least, wholly destroyed. I had a subject -of contemplation that did not admit of a partaker, and from -this subject I could not withdraw my thoughts, so much as -for an instant. I had no pleasure but in that retirement, -where I could be unseen and unheard by any human eye or -ear. If at any time I was compelled to join the domestic -circle, I despatched the occasion that brought me there as -speedily as possible; and even while I remained in it, was -silent and absent, engrossed with my own contemplations, -and heedless and unobservant of every thing around me.</p> - -<p>My abstraction was not however so entire as to prevent -me from sometimes stealing, in a sort of momentary interregnum -of thought, in that pause where the mind rests -upon the chain already passed over, and seems passively to -wait for the sequel, a glance at my family. I looked at -them without knowing what it was that I did, and without -the intention to notice what I saw. Yet, even in this state -of mental abstraction, visible objects will sometimes succeed -in making their impression. I perceived that my wife -and children suffered from my behaviour. I remarked a -general air of disconsolateness, and a mild unexpostulating -submission, to what nevertheless the heart deeply deplored. -They did not presume to interrupt me; they did not by -prying and inquisitive speeches attempt to extort from me -the secret of the alteration they saw; but it was manifest -they conceived some great and radical calamity had poisoned -the heart of our domestic joy.</p> - -<p>It was these symptoms thus remarked by me, that first -roused me from the inebriation of my new condition. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> -was compelled to suspect that, while I revelled in visions of -future enjoyment, I was inflicting severe and unmerited -pains on those I loved. It was necessary, if I valued their -happiness, that I should descend from the clouds of speculation -and fancy, and enter upon the world of realities.</p> - -<p>But here I first found a difficulty to which, during the -reign of my intoxication, I had been utterly insensible. I -was rich; I could raise my family, as far as the power of -money extended,—money, which may in some sense be styled -the empress of the world,—to what heights I pleased. I -had hitherto committed the fault, so common to projectors, -of looking only to ultimate objects and great resting places, -and neglecting to consider the steps between. This was an -omission of high importance. Every thing in the world -is conducted by gradual process. This seems to be the -great principle of harmony in the universe. Nothing is -abrupt; one thing is so blended and softened into another, -that it is impossible to say where the former ends and the -latter begins.</p> - -<p>This remark is fully applicable to the situation which was -now before me. Yesterday I was poor; to-day I was possessor -of treasures inexhaustible. How was this alteration -to be announced? To dissipate the revenues of princes, -to purchase immense estates, to launch into costly establishments, -are tasks to which the most vulgar mind is equal. -But no man stands alone in the world, without all trace of -what he has been, and with no one near, that thinks himself -entitled to scrutinise his proceedings and his condition. -Least of all was this my case. I was bound to certain -other persons by the most sacred obligations; I could not -separate myself from them; I could not render myself a -mere enigma in their eyes; though, in the language of the -world, the head of my family, they were my natural censors -and judges. I was accountable to them for my conduct; it -was my duty, paramount to all other duties, to stand as a -fair, upright, and honourable character in their estimation.</p> - -<p>If these remarks be true taken in a general view, they -are much more so when applied to my particular case. -There are men who live in the midst of their families like -an eastern despot surrounded with his subjects. They are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> -something too sacred to be approached; their conduct is not -to be reasoned upon; the amount of their receipts and disbursements -is not to be inspected; their resources are unknown; -no one must say to them, What dost thou? or, -why hast thou thus conducted thyself? Even these persons -will not escape the tax to which all men are liable. They -cannot kill the general spirit of enquiry; the mystery in -which they wrap themselves will often serve as an additional -stimulus; they will finally encounter the judgment and -verdict of all. For myself, I had lived in the midst of my -family upon a system of paternal and amicable commerce. -I had suffered too deeply from a momentary season of -separation and mystery, not to have been induced to renounce -it decisively and for ever.</p> - -<p>Firm, however, as I had imagined my renunciation to -have been, I was now thrown back upon what I had most -avoided. I had a secret source of advantage, the effects of -which were to be participated by those I loved, while the -spring was to remain for ever unknown. What I most -sought upon this occasion, was, that my family should -share my good fortune, and at the same time be prevented -from so much as suspecting that there was any thing mysterious -connected with it. To effect this, I presently conceived -that it would be necessary to sacrifice the sudden -and instantaneous prosperity I had proposed to myself, and -introduce the reverse of our condition by slow, and, as far -as possible, insensible degrees.</p> - -<p>One thing on which I determined, preparatory to the -other measures I had in view, was to remove from my present -habitation, and take up my residence for a time in the -city of Constance. In the cottage of the mountains it was -impossible to make any material alteration in my establishment. -My property was of the narrowest extent; nor -would it be easily practicable in a country, the inhabitants -of which were accustomed to a humble allotment, considerably -to enlarge it. My house was frugal, if not mean; -and, unless it were first pulled down and built over again, -the idea of introducing servants, equipage, or splendour into -it, would be absurd. My design was not to make a long -abode where I now was; but, as soon as my family should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -be sufficiently prepared for the transition, to return to my -native country. I believed in the mean time, that, in the -capital of the bishopric, where my name was scarcely remembered -by a single individual, I should be more at -liberty to proceed as circumstances suggested, than in my -present rural situation, where every neighbour regarded -himself as vested with a sort of inquisitorial power over all -around him.</p> - -<p>To account for this measure to my family, I felt it incumbent -on me to confess to them a certain pecuniary acquisition. -The story that most readily suggested itself, was -that of the stranger having left behind him a certain sum -of which he made a donation to me. This, though in the -plain and direct sense of the terms it were false, yet in its -spirit bore a certain resemblance to the truth; and, with -that resemblance, in spite of the rigid adherence to veracity, -that first ornament of a gentleman, that most essential prerequisite -to the regard and affection of others, which I had -hitherto maintained, I was induced to content myself. -What could I do? I was compelled to account for appearances; -I was forbidden by the most solemn injunctions to -unfold the truth. I should indeed have felt little complacence -in the disclosure; I should have been reluctant to -announce a circumstance which, as I began to feel, introduced -a permanent difference and separation between me -and my family.</p> - -<p>The sum at which I fixed the legacy of the stranger was -three thousand crowns. I was not inattentive to the future; -I should have been glad, by my present account, to have -furnished a more ample solution for circumstances which -might occur hereafter. But some regard was due to probability. -An unknown, a solitary man, broken with age, -who arrived on foot, and who declined all aid and attendance, -must not be represented as possessing mines of treasure.</p> - -<p>It was some time before I could prevail on myself to -break my story to the inhabitants of my cottage. As the -time approached when I was to bid an everlasting farewell -to rural obscurity and a humble station, they seemed to -adorn themselves in new charms. I was like the son of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -king, who had hitherto been told by his attendants that he -was a mere villager, and who, while his youthful imagination -is dazzled by the splendour that awaits him, yet looks -back with a wistful eye upon his mirthful sports, his former -companions, and the simple charms of her who first -obtained his guileless love. I announced my acquisition -and my purpose with a faltering tongue and a beating -heart.</p> - -<p>I could perceive that my tale produced few emotions of -pleasure in those who heard it. Julia and her mother, -especially, were warmly attached to their retirement; and -the scenes which had witnessed so many pleasurable incidents -and emotions. Chagrin, in spite of themselves, made -a transient abode upon their countenances; but the unresisting -mildness of the one, and the considerate attachment -of the other, prevented, for the present, their sensations -from breaking out into words. The feelings, however, -that they consigned to silence, did not entirely escape the -notice of the lively little Marguerite. She sympathised -with them, probably without being aware that they were -sad. She came towards me, and, with much anxiety in -her enquiring face, asked why we must go away from the -cottage? If I had got some money I might go to the -town, and buy sweetmeats, and ribands, and new clothes, -and a hundred more pretty things, and bring them home. -For her part, she should be better pleased to put on her -finery, and make her feast in the pretty old summer-house, -now she was again permitted to go and play in it, than in -a palace all stuck over with emeralds and rubies. Her -mother wiped away a tear at the innocent speech of her -darling, kissed her, and bid her go and feed the hen and -her chickens. Charles was the only one in whom I could -observe any pleasure at my intelligence. He was not as -yet skilful enough to calculate the advantages that three -thousand crowns could purchase. But I could see joy -sparkle in his eyes, as I announced my intention of bidding -adieu to retirement, and taking up my rest in the capital of -the district. His veins swelled with the blood of his ancestors; -his mind was inured to the contemplation of their -prowess. Already sixteen years of age, he had secretly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> -burned to go forth into the world, to behold the manners -of his species, and to establish for himself a claim to some -rank in their estimation. He had pined in thought at the -mediocrity of our circumstances, and the apparent impossibility -of emerging; for he regarded the duty of contributing -his labour to the subsistence of the family, as the first of -all obligations; and the more the bent of his spirit struggled -against it, the more resolutely he set himself to comply.</p> - -<p>The rest of the family were no sooner retired, than Marguerite, -finding in what I had just announced to all, an -occasion from the use of which she could not excuse herself, -took this opportunity of unburthening the grief which -had long been accumulating in her mind.</p> - -<p>“St. Leon,” said she, “listen kindly to what I am going -to say to you, and assure yourself that I am actuated by -no spleen, resentment, or ill-humour, but by the truest -affection. I perceive I have lost, in your apprehension, -the right of advising you. I am no longer the partner -of your counsels; I am no longer the confident of your -thoughts. You communicate nothing but what you cannot -suppress; and that you communicate to your whole -family assembled. Heaven knows how dear to me is every -individual of that family! but my love for them does not -hide from me what is due to myself. I know that a husband, -who felt as a husband ought, and, give me leave to -say, as I have deserved you should feel towards me, could -not act as you have acted to-night.</p> - -<p>“You must excuse my reminding you of some things -which you seem to have forgotten. I would not mention -them, if they had not been forgotten when they ought to -have been remembered. I have lived seventeen years with -you; my whole study had been your advantage and pleasure. -Have you any thing to reproach me with? Point -out to me, if in any thing I could have added to your -pleasure, and have neglected it! What I have done, has not -been the ceremonious discharge of a duty; it has been the -pure emanation of an attachment that knew no bounds. I -have passed with you through good fortune and ill fortune. -When we were rich, I entered with my whole heart into your -pleasures, because they were yours. When we were poor, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -endured every hardship without a murmur; I watched by -you, I consoled you, I reconciled you to yourself. I do -not mean to make a merit of all this: no! Reginald! I -could not have acted otherwise if I would.</p> - -<p>“Do me the justice to recollect, that I have not been a -complaining or irritable companion. In all our adversities, -in the loss of fortune, and the bitter consequences of that -loss, I never uttered a reproachful word. What poverty, -sorrow, hunger and famine never extorted from me, you -have at length wrung from my bleeding heart. St. Leon! -I have known your bosom-thoughts. In no former instance -has your affection or your confidence been alienated from -me; and that consoled me for all the rest. But now, for -three months, the case has been entirely altered. You have -during all that time been busy, pensive, and agitated; but -I have been as much a stranger to your meditations as if -I had never been accustomed to be their depository. You -have not scrupled to inflict a wound upon me that no -subsequent change will ever be able to cicatrise. Nor indeed -do I see any likelihood of a change. You announce -our removal to Constance; what we are to do next, with -what views, or for what purpose, I am ignorant.</p> - -<p>“I have made my election. My heart is formed for -affection, and must always feel an uneasy void and desolation -without it. If you had thus robbed me of your -attachment in an early period of our intercourse, I know -not upon what extremity my disappointment and anguish -might have driven me. They are harder to bear now; -but I submit. It is too late either for relief or remedy. -What remains of my powers and my strength I owe to my -children. I will not seduce them from their father. They -may be benefited by his purse or his understanding, though, -like me, they should be deprived of his affection. You -may be their friend when I am no more. I feel that this -will not last long. I feel that the main link that bound -me to existence cannot be snapped, and thus snapped by -unkindness worse than death, without promising soon to -put a period to my miseries. I shall be your victim in -death, after having devoted my life to you, in a way in -which few women were ever devoted to their husbands.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But this is not what I purposed chiefly to say. This is -what my situation and my feelings have unwillingly wrung -from me. Though you have injured me in the tenderest -point, I still recollect what you were to me. I still feel -deeply interested in your welfare, and the fair fame you are -to transmit to your children. I entreat you then to reflect -deeply, before you proceed further. You seem to me to -stand upon a precipice; nor do the alteration that has taken -place in your manners, and the revolution of your heart, -lead me to augur favourably of the plans you have formed. -What is this stranger? Whence came he? Why did he -hide himself, and why was he pursued by the officers of -justice? Had he no relations? Was his bequest of the -sum he had about him his own act, and who is the witness -to its deliberateness or its freedom? You must not think -that the world is inattentive to the actions of men or their -circumstances; if it were, the fame we prize would be an -empty bauble. No, sir, a fair fame can only be secured by -unequivocal proceedings. What will, what can, be thought -of your giving shelter to an unknown, a man accused of -crimes, a man never beheld even by an individual of your own -family, and upon the strength of whose alleged bequest -you are about to change the whole mode of your life?</p> - -<p>“Nor, Reginald, must you think me credulous enough to -imagine that you have now disclosed the whole or the precise -truth. Three thousand crowns is not a sum sufficient -to account for what you propose, for the long agitation of -your thoughts, or for the change of character you have sustained. -You must either be totally deprived of rational -judgment, or there must be something behind, that you -have not communicated. What do you purpose in going -to reside in the midst of a city foreign to the manners of -a Frenchman, distracted with internal broils, and embittered -to us by the recollection of the extremities we personally -suffered in it? Is your ambition sunk so low, that it -can be gratified by such a transition? No; you mean more -than you have announced; you mean something you are -unwilling to declare. Consider that meaning well! Put -me out of the question! I am nothing, and no longer desire -to be any thing. But do not involve yourself in indelible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -disgrace, or entail upon your memory the curses of -your children!”</p> - -<p>What a distress was mine, who, in return to so generous -and noble an expostulation, could impart no confidence, and -indulge no sincerity! I felt a misery, of which, till this -hour, I had been unable to form a conception. Fool that -I was, I had imagined that, when endowed with the bequests -of the stranger, no further evil could approach me! -I had, in my visionary mood, created castles and palaces, -and expatiated in the most distant futurity! and here I -was, stopped and disappointed at the threshold, in the very -first step of my proceedings. What I could however I -did; I poured forth to Marguerite, not the secrets of my -understanding, but the overpowering emotions of my soul.</p> - -<p>“Best, most adorable of women!” cried I, “how you -rend my heart with the nobleness of your remonstrances! -Never was man blessed with a partner so accomplished and -exemplary as I have been! Do you think your merits can -ever be obliterated from my memory? Do you think the -feelings of gratitude and admiration can ever be weakened -in my bosom, or that the strength and singleness of my attachment -can suffer decay? Bear me witness, Heaven! I -know no creature on the face of the earth that can enter -into competition with you; there is not the thing in nature -that I prize in comparison. I love you a thousand times -better than myself, and would die with joy to purchase -your ease and satisfaction. I can never repay the benefits -you have conferred on me; I can never rise to an equality -with you.</p> - -<p>“What anguish then do you inflict upon me, when you -talk of becoming the victim of my unkindness? Believe -you I can endure, after having dissipated your patrimony -and drawn you with me into exile, after having experienced -from you a tenderness such as man never in any other instance -obtained from woman, to entertain the idea of embittering -the remainder of your life, and shortening your -existence? I should regard myself as the most execrable of -monsters. I could not live under the recollection of so -unheard-of a guilt. If you would not have me abhor myself -and curse existence, live, confide in me, and be happy!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, Marguerite! how wretched and pitiable is my -situation! Make some allowance for me! I have a secret -that I would give worlds to utter, but dare not. Do not -imagine that there is, or can be, any decay in my affection! -Confide in me! Allow to necessity, what never, never -could be the result of choice! In all things else, you shall -know my inmost heart, as you possess the boundless and -unalterable affections of my soul.”</p> - -<p>Marguerite was somewhat, but not wholly, soothed by -the earnestness of my protestations. She saw, for the prescience -of the heart is never deceived, that a blow was -given to the entireness of our affection, from which it would -never recover. She felt, for in truth and delicacy of sentiment -she was much my superior, that the reserve, in which -I persisted, and for which I deprecated excuse, might be -sufficiently consistent with a vulgar attachment, but would -totally change the nature of ours. She was aware that it -related to no ordinary point, that it formed the pole-star of -my conduct, that it must present itself afresh from day to -day, and that in its operation it amounted to a divorce of -the heart. She submitted however, and endeavoured to -appear cheerful. Though she felt the worm of sorrow -gnawing her vitals, she was unwilling to occasion me an -uneasiness it was in her power to withhold. She was struck -with the consistency and determination of my resistance, -and expostulated no more.</p> - -<p>We went to Constance. We bade adieu to the scene of -a six years’ happiness, such as the earth has seldom witnessed. -I alone had occasioned some imperfection in that -happiness. There were times indeed when, sitting in -affectionate communion with my wife, and surrounded by -my children, my sensations had been as delicious as the -state of human existence ever had to boast. I felt my -heart expand; I was conscious to the unreserved union -that subsisted among us; I felt myself identified with all -that I loved, and all for whom my heart was anxious. But -the curse entailed upon me from the earliest period to -which my memory can reach, operated even in the cottage -of the lake. I was not formed to enjoy a scene of pastoral -simplicity. Ambition still haunted me; an uneasiness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -scarcely defined in its object, from time to time recurred to -my mind. If I thought I wanted nothing for myself, I -deemed a career of honour due to my children. Again, -when I regarded honour as an empty phantom, and persuaded -myself that all conditions of life were intrinsically -equal, I recollected the fearful scene where hunger and destruction -had hung over us in Constance, and in imagination -often pictured to myself that scene as on the point of -being renewed. The sword of the demon, famine, seemed -to my disturbed apprehension to be suspended over us by a -hair. Such had been the draught of bitterness that occasionally -detracted from this most enviable, as in retrospect -I am willing to denominate it, period of my existence.</p> - -<p>We quitted our rural retreat, and took up our abode in -a prosperous mercantile city. I hired commodious apartments -in one of the grand squares, not far from the spot -where the fairs are usually held. Undoubtedly there was -nothing in this residence very congenial to the bent of my -disposition, or the projects that fermented in my mind. I -had merely chosen it by way of interval, and to soften the -transition from what I had been, to what I purposed to be. -In the multitude of irresolute thoughts with which I laboured, -the small distance of Constance from the cottage of -the lake, made me feel as if the removal thither was one of -the gentlest and most moderate measures to which I could -have recourse.</p> - -<p>I had never been less happy and at peace with myself than -I was now. From general society and the ordinary intercourse -of acquaintance I had long been estranged, and it -was in vain that I endeavoured to return to habits of that -sort. The society which the city of Constance afforded had -few charms for me. It had no pretensions to the politeness, -the elegance, the learning or the genius, an intercourse -with which had once been familiar to me. It scarcely -contained within its walls any but such as were occupied in -merchandise or manufacture. The attention of its inhabitants -were divided between these objects, and the encroachments -which were making upon the ancient religion by the -Confession of Augsburg and the dogmas of Calvin. The -majority of the inhabitants were protestants; and, a few<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -years before, they had expelled their bishop and the canons -of their cathedral. Having however miscarried in a religious -war into which they had entered, these dignitaries -had been reinstalled in their functions and emoluments. -The situation thus produced was an unnatural one; and a -storm was evidently brewing more violent than any which -the city had yet sustained. The gloomy temper and melancholy -austerity of the reformers were as little congenial to -my temper, as the sordid ignorance and selfishness of the -trading spirit of the community.</p> - -<p>I therefore lived in a state of seclusion. I endeavoured -to seek amusement in such novelties and occupations as -might present themselves to a person disengaged from the -general vortex. But, if the distinguished sphere in which -I had once moved disqualified me for taking an interest in -these puerilities, the anticipations in which I indulged of -the future disqualified me still more. My domestic scene -too no longer afforded me the consolation and relief I had -been accustomed to derive from it. Marguerite exerted -herself to appear cheerful and contented; but it was an -exertion. I began to fear that the arrow of disappointment -had indeed struck her to the heart. I was anxiously occupied -in considering what I was to do next. I hoped that -our next step might operate to revive her gaiety, and by -additional splendour amuse her solicitude. I began to fear -that I had taken a wrong method, and entered the career of -a better fortune with too much caution and timidity. At -all events I felt that we no longer lived together as we had -done. There was no more opening of the heart between us, -no more infantine guilelessness and sincerity, no more of -that unapprehensive exposure of every thought of the soul, -that adds the purest zest to the pleasures of domestic life. -We stood in awe of each other; each was to the other in -some degree an intrusive and unwelcome spy upon what -was secretly passing in the mind. There may be persons -who regard this as an evil very capable of being endured; -but they must be such as never knew the domestic joys I -once experienced. The fall from one of these conditions of -life to the other was too bitter.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</h2> - -<p>Anxious to divert my thoughts from what I hoped was only -a temporary evil, I determined, accompanied by Charles, to -make a tour of some of the cities of Germany. Dresden -was the capital to which I was most desirous of conducting -him. Maurice, duke of Saxony, who held his court there, -and who was now only twenty-three years of age, was incomparably -the most accomplished prince of the empire. -Desirous as I was that my only son should fill a distinguished -career, I thought I could not better prepare him for the -theatre of his native country, than by thus initiating him -beforehand in scenes of distinction and greatness.</p> - -<p>He was delighted with his tour. We had not proceeded -many leagues from Constance, before, indulging in the bent -of my mind, I laid aside the humbleness of our appearance, -and the obscure style in which we travelled; and having -procured a numerous cavalcade of horses and servants, I set -forward with considerable magnificence. We passed through -Munich, Ratisbon, and Prague. At Munich we found the -court of the elector palatine; the diet of the empire was -sitting at Ratisbon, when we arrived at that city. Charles -had been almost entirely a stranger to every thing princely -and magnificent from the time he was nine years of age; -and he was now exactly at that period of human life when -external appearances are apt to make the strongest impression. -To him every thing that occurred seemed like transportation -into a new world. The figure we made procured us, as -strangers, unquestioned admission into every circle. We -mixed with princes, ourselves in garb and figure confounded -with those we saw. I had lived too much and too -long in the most splendid society, to find difficulty in resuming -the unembarrassed and courtly manners which I had -for years laid aside; and Charles might be said to see his -father in a new character. Novelty prompted his admiration; -he was intoxicated with wonder. His disposition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -had always led him to bold and adventurous conceptions; -nothing less than an imperious sense of duty could have restrained -him from quitting our cottage, and casting himself -upon the world in search of honour and distinction. His -generous heart had beat to burst away from the obscurity -of his station; and it was with impatience and discontent -that he looked forward to the life of a swain. Yet he knew -not how to break through the obstacles that confined him. -It was therefore with transports of pleasure that he saw -them vanishing as of themselves, and the career of glory -opening, as if by enchantment, to his eager steps.</p> - -<p>The court of Dresden was infinitely more delightful to -him than the court of Munich, or the imperial display at -Ratisbon. Here Charles saw a young prince in the flower -of his age, whose talents and spirit rendered him the universal -object of attention and adoration. He remarked, in -the fire of his eyes, the vivacity of his gestures, and the -grandeur of his port, something inexpressibly different from -those princes, of whom it is necessary that their rank should -be announced to you by some extrinsic circumstance, that -you may not mistake them for a merchant’s clerk or a city -magistrate. The sentiment that he breathed, as it were instinctively, -as we returned from the first time of our seeing -duke Maurice, was, “At twenty-three years of age may I, -in appearance, accomplishments, and spirit, resemble this -man!”</p> - -<p>Here I was desirous of making a longer stay than at the -cities through which we had previously passed, and of procuring -for my son some personal intercourse with this great -ornament of the age. I judged this to be the more easy, -as, in our first visit to the palace, I had perceived some -French noblemen of the Protestant persuasion, who had resorted -to the duke’s court in search of employment. They -appeared not to know me; but that was little to be wondered -at, considering that I had been seven years absent from my -country, and that the calamities by which I had been overtaken -more than once during that period, might be supposed -to have produced a greater effect upon me than the -mere lapse of years would have done. Among the rest I -remarked Gaspar de Coligny, who was only twenty-one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> -years of age at the time I quitted France, and had then -been remarked as one of the most promising young men his -country had to boast. His stay here was expected to be -short; his hopes in his own country, from the greatness of -his connections, were of the highest class; and he had only -come to Dresden at the earnest invitation of duke Maurice, -who entertained an ardent affection for him. My heart led -me towards him; policy concurred in dictating the application, -as, if I were fortunate enough to gain his favour, my -son could not have a friend better qualified either to form -his character or forward his advancement.</p> - -<p>I wrote to Coligny to announce my request to him, and -in a few hours after the delivery of my letter that young -nobleman came in person to wait on me. He informed -me that he had done so, because he had something of delicacy -to mention, which he did not choose to trust to the -intermission of a third person, and upon which, as he -hoped I could remove his scruple, he did not like even to -bestow the formality of putting it on paper.</p> - -<p>“I am a gentleman of France,” said Coligny; “you -will excuse my frankness. I am a gentleman of France; -you will not wonder at the niceness of my honour. Mixing -in society, I do not pretend minutely to investigate the -character of every person with whom I converse; but what -you ask of me obliges me to consult my understanding, and -enquire into facts. I cannot consent to vouch for any -man’s character to another, till I have paid some attention -to the ground upon which that character rests.</p> - -<p>“I remember the count de St. Leon with pleasure and -advantage at the court of my own sovereign. Every one -admired his accomplishments, his gallantry, and his learning; -every one spoke of him with respect. Unfortunate -circumstances, as we all understood, deprived you of your -patrimony; that is nothing to me; I respect a nobleman in -misfortune, as much as when he is surrounded with wealth -and splendour. You retired into voluntary exile; I heard, -with great grief, of some subsequent calamities that have -overtaken you. But, here in Saxony, I see you resuming -all your former splendour, and coming forward with the -magnificence of a prince. Other of your countrymen have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -remarked it, as well as myself, and feel themselves at a loss -to account for what they see.</p> - -<p>“Excuse me, count! by your application to me, you -oblige me to speak freely. I dare say you can clear up the -difficulty, and account for this second revolution in your -fortune, upon which I shall then be the first to congratulate -you. I cannot suspect a man, with your high descent -and the illustrious character you formerly maintained, -of any thing dishonourable. But you have not sufficiently -considered the account we all owe to one another, -and the clearness of proceeding we are obliged to maintain, -not only to our own hearts, but in the face of the world. -The present occasion is, I trust, fortunate for you; and, -when you have assisted me in complying with the rules by -which every honourable man governs himself, I shall be -eager to publish your justification, and render you all the -service in my power.”</p> - -<p>I was ready to burst with astonishment and vexation -during this representation of Coligny. I could feel my -colour change from pale to red, and from red to pale. I -could only answer with suffocation and inward rage, that I -was much obliged to him; I would consider what he said; -I would acquaint him with my justification; and, whenever -it was made, he might be assured it should be an -ample one.—I was cautious as to what I uttered; I could -not immediately foresee what it was eligible, or what it was -possible, to do; and I was resolved that I would not, by -an idle or hasty expression, preclude myself, in a matter of -so much moment, from the benefits of future deliberation. -If what I had just heard had come from any other person, -I should probably have despised it; but I felt at once that -Gaspar de Coligny might be considered, in a case of this -sort, as the representative of all that was most honourable -and illustrious in my native country.—Finding that I was -indisposed to any further communication on the subject, he -took a polite leave, and departed.</p> - -<p>I was no sooner alone than I felt myself overwhelmed -with mortification and shame. I had rejoiced in the bequests -of the stranger, because I regarded them as the -means of restoring me to splendour, and replacing my children<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> -in the situation to which they were entitled by their -birth. Was that which I had regarded as the instrument -of their glory, to become the medium of their ignominy -and disgrace? I had suffered all other misfortunes, but -the whisper of dishonour had never been breathed against -me. I was a son of honour, descended of a race of heroes, -and cradled in the lap of glory and fame. When we -quitted Paris in the year 1537, my incomparable wife had -set to sale our entire property, resolved that, though driven -into exile, we would not leave it in the power of the meanest -individual to controvert the sacred attention we yielded -to every just obligation. Since that time I had declined -from the splendour of rank to the humble situation of a -rustic, cultivating my little property with my own hands; -nay, I had even, for a short time, hired myself as a labourer -in the garden of the bishop of Constance. But the same -disdain of every thing disgraceful had followed me to my -cottage and my truckle bed, which I had originally learned -in the halls of chivalry and the castle of my ancestors. -Accordingly I had uniformly retained the same honourable -character and spotless fame. St. Leon, the virtuous cottager, -had in nothing blemished the name of St. Leon, surrounded -with glory in the siege of Pavia. Often, and with -pride, had I pointed out this circumstance to my son, adding, -Wherever fortune calls you, for whatever scenes you -may be reserved, remember that your father was unfortunate, -but that through life he never acted a deed nor conceived -a thought, that should stain your manly cheeks with -the blush of shame! I stand before you a culprit, as having -robbed you of your patrimony, but I have preserved -for you entire the inheritance of our honour!</p> - -<p>This had been the first lesson imprinted upon my infant -mind. All other possessions I had ever held cheap and -worthless in comparison with that of an illustrious name. -My indignation at the attack it now sustained was boundless. -The more I thought, the more intolerable it appeared. -I was impatient and furious, like a lion struggling -in the toils. I could with joy have trampled under my -feet whoever aspersed me. I could have wantoned in blood, -and defied my adversaries to mortal combat. Alas, all my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -fury was useless here! It was no tale whispered in the -dark that I had to contend with; it was the commentary -of the world upon incontestable facts. Though a hecatomb -of souls should be sacrificed at the shrine of my blasted -name, the facts would still remain, the mystery still require -to be solved. Coligny, the virtuous Coligny, had made no -observations on the circumstances he mentioned; he merely -proposed a difficulty, and waited my answer.</p> - -<p>I was called upon to exercise the whole of my deliberative -powers as to the reply which was to be returned, or -the conduct to be held, upon the question of Coligny. -Every thing I most valued was now at issue; and a false -step taken under the present circumstances could never be -retrieved. I had another sort of party to deal with here, -than when I had told Marguerite the tale of the stranger -and his legacy. Nothing would pass now, but what bore -an open, fair, and unequivocal appearance. I must vent -no assertion that could not bear to be sifted to the bottom, -and that did not fully accord with all the vouchers with -which it could be collated. I had written to Marguerite, -immediately after launching into the expense with which -our tour had been attended, that I had received an unexpected -acquisition from the death of a relation of my -own family in France. I knew that the story of the three -thousand crowns would no longer account for the style in -which I was proceeding, and this fabrication suggested -itself upon the spur of the moment. I hated to think of -the difficulties in the way of explanation in which I was -involved; I abhorred the system of falsehood I was driven -to practise. It did not occur to me at the time, infatuated -as I was! that I should have occasion to account for this -accession of wealth to any one out of my own family. -Marguerite, I well knew, had no correspondence in France, -nor therefore any obvious means of verifying or refuting -this second deception. But such a story could not be told -to noblemen of France, without being instantly liable to be -compared with known facts, and eventually investigated -upon the spot where the scene was laid. Marguerite herself, -I well knew, had listened with incredulity to the explanation -I had made, and the alleged legacy of the stranger;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> -what could I expect from indifferent hearers? They might -not all possess her good sense and sagacity in judging; but -they were destitute of that personal kindness and partiality -which were calculated to induce her to credit whatever I -affirmed. Most men have a malignant pleasure in the detection -of specious pretences, in humbling the importunate -superiority that obscures their claims, and removing the -rival who might otherwise acquire the prize of which they -are in pursuit.</p> - -<p>My mind was still torn and distracted with these contemplations, -when in the afternoon of the same day on -which I had received the visit of Coligny, my attention -was suddenly roused by the abrupt entrance of my son into -the chamber where I was sitting. He opened the door -with a hurried action as he entered, and, having closed it -impetuously after him, advanced directly towards me. He -then stopped himself; and, turning from me, I could perceive -a rush of crimson in his face like that of a man suffocated. -A passion of tears succeeded that shook his frame, -and sufficiently proved that his feelings had sustained some -extraordinary shock. My whole soul was alarmed at what -I saw; and, following him as he retired to the other side -of the room, in the gentlest accents I endeavoured to soothe -him, while I enquired with earnestness and trepidation into -the cause of his grief.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</h2> - -<p>He repelled me. “Sit down, sir, sit down! Do not follow -me, I beg of you; but sit down!”</p> - -<p>His manner was earnest and emphatical. Mechanically -and without knowing what I did, I obeyed his direction. -He came towards me.</p> - -<p>“I have no time,” added he, “for qualifying and form. -Tell me! am I the son of a man of honour or a villain?”</p> - -<p>He saw I was shocked at the unexpected rudeness of -his question.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Forgive me, my father! I have always been affectionate -and dutiful; I have ever looked up to you as my -model and my oracle. But I have been insulted! It never -was one of your lessons to teach me to bear an insult!”</p> - -<p>“Is it,” replied I, with the sternness that the character -of a father will seldom fail to inspire under such circumstances, -“because you have been insulted, that you think -yourself authorised to come home and insult him to whom -you owe nothing but respect and reverence?”</p> - -<p>“Stop, sir! Before you claim my reverence, you must -show your title to it, and wipe off the aspersions under -which you at present labour.”</p> - -<p>“Insolent, presumptuous boy! Know that I am not by -you to be instructed in my duty, and will not answer so rude -a questioner! The down as yet scarcely shades your school-boy’s -cheek; and have you so forgotten the decencies of -life as to scoff your father?”—His eye brightened as I -spoke.</p> - -<p>“You are right, sir. It gives me pleasure to see your -blood rise in return to my passion. Your accent is the -accent of innocence. But, indeed! the more innocent and -noble you shall prove yourself, the more readily will you -forgive my indignation.”</p> - -<p>“I cannot tell. My temper does not fit me to bear the -rudeness of a son. Nor do I think that such behaviour as -this can be any credit to you, whatever may have been the -provocation. Tell me however what is the insult that has -thus deeply shaken you?”</p> - -<p>“I went this afternoon to the tennis-court near the river, -and played several games with the young count Luitmann. -While we were playing, came in the chevalier Dupont, my -countryman. The insolence of his nature is a subject of -general remark; and he has, though I know not for what -reason, conceived a particular animosity to me. A trifling -dispute arose between us. We gradually warmed. He -threatened to turn me out of the court; I resented the -insult; and he passionately answered, that the son of an -adventurer and a sharper had no business there, and he -would take care I should never be admitted again. I attempted -to strike him, but was prevented; and presently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -learned that the sudden and unexplained way in which we -have emerged from poverty was the ground of his aspersion. -As I gained time, and reflected more distinctly upon -what was alleged, I felt that personal violence could never -remove an accusation of this sort. I saw too, though, intoxicated -as I had idly been with the unwonted splendour -to which I was introduced, I had not adverted to it at the -time, that the case was of a nature that required explanation. -I had been accustomed to reverence and an implicit faith -in the wisdom and rectitude of my parents, and therefore -encountered in silent submission the revolution of our fortune. -But this neutrality will suffice no longer.</p> - -<p>“To you, sir, I resort for explanation. Send me back -to the insolent youth and his companions, with a plain and -unanswerable tale, that may put to silence for ever these -brutal scoffs and reproaches. Let it be seen this night -which of the two has most fully merited to be thrust out of -honourable society. I trust I have not so demeaned myself -but that our mutual companions will join to compel -this unmannered boor to retract his aspersions.”</p> - -<p>“Charles, you are too warm and impetuous!”—</p> - -<p>“Too warm, sir! when I hear my father loaded with -the foulest appellations?”</p> - -<p>“You are young and ill qualified to terminate in the -proper way a business of this serious aspect: leave it to me!”</p> - -<p>“Excuse me, my father! Though the names I have -repeated were bestowed upon you, it was against me that -the insult was employed. I must return immediately, and -obtain justice. This is a moment that must in some degree -fix my character for fortitude and determination, and I -cannot withdraw from the duty it imposes. Only tell me -what I have to say. Furnish me with a direct and unambiguous -explanation of what Dupont has objected to us, -and I undertake for the rest.”</p> - -<p>“I see, my son, that you are moved, and I will trust you!”</p> - -<p>He seized my hand, he gazed earnestly in my face, he -seemed prepared to devour every word I should utter.</p> - -<p>“Gaspar de Coligny, the flower of the French nobility, -has been with me this morning. He has stated to me in -an ingenuous and friendly way the same difficulty with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -which Dupont has so brutally taunted you. I was meditating -and arranging my answer but now, when you entered -the room.”</p> - -<p>As I uttered these words, Charles let go my hand, and -withdrew his eyes, with evident tokens of disappointment -and chagrin. He paused for a few moments, and then resumed:—</p> - -<p>“Why do you tell me of meditation and arrangement! -Why did you send away Coligny unanswered, or why -baffle and evade the earnestness of my enquiries? I know -not all the sources of wealth; but I cannot doubt that the -medium through which wealth has honourably flowed may, -without effort and premeditation, easily be explained. A -just and a brave man acts fearlessly and with explicitness; -he does not shun, but court, the scrutiny of mankind; he -lives in the face of day, and the whole world confesses the -clearness of his spirit and the rectitude of his conduct.</p> - -<p>“Sir, I have just set my foot on the threshold of life. -There is one lesson you have taught me, which I swear -never to forget,—to hold life and all its pleasures cheap, in -comparison with an honourable fame. My soul burns with -the love of distinction. I am impatient to burst away from -the goal, and commence the illustrious career. I feel that -I have a hand and a heart capable of executing the purposes -that my soul conceives. Uninured to dishonour, or -to any thing that should control the passion of my bosom, -think, sir, what are my emotions at what has just occurred!</p> - -<p>“I was bred in obscurity and a humble station. I owed -this disadvantage, you tell me, to your error. I forgave you; -I was content; I felt that it was incumbent on me by my -sword and my own exertions to hew my way to distinction. -You have since exchanged the lowness of our situation for -riches and splendour. At this revolution I felt no displeasure; -I was well satisfied to start upon more advantageous -terms in the race I determined to run. But, sir, -whence came these riches? Riches and poverty are comparatively -indifferent to me; but I was not born to be a -mark for shame to point her finger at. A little while ago -you were poor; you were the author of your own poverty; -you dissipated your paternal estate. Did I reproach you?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -No; you were poor, but not dishonoured! I attended your -couch in sickness; I exerted my manual labour to support -you in affliction. I honoured you for your affection to my -mother; I listened with transport to the history of your -youth; I was convinced I should never blush to call Reginald -de St. Leon my father. I believed that lessons of -honour, so impressive as those you instilled into my infant -mind, could never flow but from an honourable spirit. Oh, -if there is any thing equivocal or ignoble in the riches we -have displayed, restore me, instantly restore me, to unblemished -and virtuous poverty!”</p> - -<p>I was astonished at the firmness and manliness of spirit -that Charles upon this occasion discovered. I could scarcely -believe that these were the thoughts and words of a youth -under seventeen years of age. I felt that every thing illustrious -and excellent might be augured of one who, at these -immature years, manifested so lofty and generous a soul. -I could have pressed him in my arms, have indulged my -emotions in sobs and tears of transport, and congratulated -myself that I was father to so worthy a son. But his -temper and manners awed, and held me at a distance. -This was one consequence of the legacies of the stranger!</p> - -<p>“Charles!” said I, “your virtues extort my confidence. -For the world a tale must be prepared that shall serve to -elude its curiosity and its malice. But to you I confess, -there is a mystery annexed to the acquisition of this wealth -that can never be explained.”</p> - -<p>He stood aghast at my words. “Am I to believe my -ears? A tale prepared? A mystery never to be explained? -I adjure you by all that you love, and all that you hold -sacred——!”</p> - -<p>His voice was drowned in a sudden gush of tears. With -an action of earnestness and deprecation, he took hold of -my hand.</p> - -<p>“No, sir, no artful tale, no disguise, no hypocrisy!——” -As he spoke, his voice suddenly changed, his accent became -clear and determined.—“Will you consent this very hour -to quit the court of Dresden, and to resign fully and without -reserve this accursed wealth, for the acquisition of which you -refuse to account?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Whence,” replied I, “have you the insolence to make -such a proposal?——No, I will not!”</p> - -<p>“Then I swear by the omnipresent and eternal God, you -shall never see or hear of me more!”</p> - -<p>I perceived that this was no time for the assertion of -paternal authority. I saw that the poor boy was strangely -and deeply moved, and I endeavoured to soothe him. I -felt that the whole course of his education had inspired him -with an uncontrollable and independent spirit, and that it -was too late to endeavour to repress it.</p> - -<p>“My dear Charles,” said I, “what is come to you? -When I listen to a language like this from your lips, I -scarcely know you for my son. This impertinent Dupont -has put you quite beside yourself. Another time we will -talk over the matter calmly; and depend upon it, every thing -shall be made out to your satisfaction.”</p> - -<p>“Do not imagine, sir, that my self-possession is not -perfect and complete. I know what I do, and my resolution -is unalterable. If you have any explanation to give, -give it now. If you will yield to my proposal, declare your -assent, and I am again your son. But to bear the insults -of my fellows unanswered, or to live beneath the consciousness -of an artful and fictitious tale, no consideration on earth -shall induce me. I love you, sir; I cannot forget your -lessons or your virtues. I love my mother and my sisters; -no words can tell how dearly and how much. But my -resolution is taken; I separate myself from you all and for -ever. Nothing in my mind can come in competition with -a life of unblemished honour.”</p> - -<p>“And are you such a novice, as to need the being told -that honour is a prize altogether out of the reach of an unknown -and desolate wanderer, such as you propose to become? -My wealth, boy, is unlimited, and can buy silence from the -malicious, and shouts and applause from all the world. A -golden key unlocks the career of glory, which the mean and -the pennyless are never allowed to enter.”</p> - -<p>“I am not such a novice, as not to have heard the language -of vice, though I never expected to hear it from a -father. Poverty with integrity shall content me. The restless -eagerness of my spirit is so great, that I will trust to its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -suggestions, and hope to surmount the obstacles of external -appearance. If I am disappointed in this, and destined to -perish unheard of and unremembered, at least I will escape -reproach. I will neither be charged with the deeds, nor -give utterance to the maxims, of dishonour.”</p> - -<p>“Charles,” replied I, “be not the calumniator of your -father! I swear to you by every thing that is sacred; and -you know my integrity; never did the breath of falsehood -pollute these lips;——”</p> - -<p>He passionately interrupted me. “Did the stranger -bequeath you three thousand crowns? Have you lately -received an unexpected acquisition by the death of a near -relation in France?”</p> - -<p>I was silent. This was not a moment for trifling and -equivocation.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my father, how is your character changed and -subverted? You say true. For sixteen years I never heard -a breath of falsehood from your lips; I trusted you as I -would the oracles of eternal truth. But it is past! A few -short months have polluted and defaced a whole life of -integrity! In how many obscurities and fabulous inconsistencies -have you entangled yourself? Nor is it the least -of the calamities under which my heart sickens at this moment, -that I am reduced to hold language like this to a -father!”</p> - -<p>What misery was mine, to hear myself thus arraigned -by my own son, and to be unable to utter one word in reply -to his accusations! To be thus triumphed over by a stripling; -and to feel the most cruel degradation, in the manifestation -of an excellence that ought to have swelled my -heart with gratulation and transport! I had recollected -my habitual feelings for near forty years of existence; I -had dropped from my memory my recent disgrace, and -dared to appeal to my acknowledged veracity; when this -retort from my son came to plunge me tenfold deeper in a -sea of shame. He proceeded:—</p> - -<p>“I am no longer your son! I am compelled to disclaim -all affinity with you! But this is not all. By your -dishonour you have cut me off from the whole line of my -ancestors. I cannot claim affinity with them, without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> -acknowledging my relation to you. You have extinguished -abruptly an illustrious house. The sun of St. Leon is set -for ever! Standing as I do a candidate for honourable fame, -I must henceforth stand by myself, as if a man could -be author of his own existence, and must expect no aid, no -favour, no prepossession, from any earthly consideration, -save what I am, and what I shall perform.”</p> - -<p>“My son,” replied I, “you cut me to the heart. Such -is the virtue you display, that I must confess myself never -to have been worthy of you, and I begin to fear I am now -less worthy of you than ever. Yet you must suffer me to -finish what I was about to say when you so passionately -interrupted me. I swear then, by every thing that is sacred, -that I am innocent. Whatever interpretation the world -may put upon my sudden wealth, there is no shadow of dishonesty -or guilt connected with its acquisition. The circumstances -of the story are such that they must never be -disclosed; I am bound to secrecy by the most inviolable -obligations, and this has led me to utter a forged and inconsistent -tale. But my conscience has nothing with which to -reproach me. If then, Charles, my son, once my friend, -my best and dearest consolation!”—I pressed his hand, -and my voice faltered as I spoke,—“if you are resolute to -separate yourself from me, at least take this recollection -with you wherever you go,—Whatever may be my external -estimation, I am not the slave of vice, your father is -not a villain!”</p> - -<p>“Alas, my father!” rejoined Charles, mournfully, -“what am I to believe? What secret can be involved in so -strange a reverse of fortune, that is not dishonourable? -You have given utterance to different fictions on the subject, -fictions that you now confess to be such; how am I -to be convinced that what you say at this moment is not -dictated more by a regard for my tranquillity, than by the -simplicity of conscious truth? If I believe you, I am afraid -my credit will be the offspring rather of inclination, than of -probability. And indeed, if I believe you, what avails it? -The world will not believe. Your character is blasted; -your honour is destroyed; and, unless I separate myself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -from you, and disown your name, I shall be involved in the -same disgrace.”</p> - -<p>Saying thus, he left me, and in about half an hour returned. -His return I had not foreseen; I had made no use of his -absence. My mind was overcome, my understanding was -stupified, by a situation and events I had so little expected. -I had stood, unmoved, leaning against the wall, from the -instant of his departure. I seemed rooted to the spot, incapable -of calling up my fortitude, or arranging my ideas. -My eyes had rolled,—my brow was knit,—I had bit my lips -and my tongue with agony. From time to time I had muttered -a few words,—“My son! my son!—wealth! -wealth!—my wife!—my son!” but they were incoherent -and without meaning.</p> - -<p>Charles re-entered the apartment where the preceding -conversation had passed, and the noise he made in entering -roused me. He had his hat in his hand, which he threw -from him, and exclaimed with an accent of dejection and -anguish, “My father!—farewell!”</p> - -<p>“Cruel, cruel boy! can you persist in your harsh and -calamitous resolution? If you have no affection for me, yet -think of your mother and your sisters!”</p> - -<p>Seek not, sir, to turn me from my purpose! The struggle -against it in my own bosom has been sufficiently severe; -but it must be executed.“—His voice, as he spoke, was inward, -stifled, and broken with the weight of his feelings.</p> - -<p>“Then—farewell!” I replied. “Yet take with you -some provision for your long and perilous adventure. Name -the sum you will accept, and, whatever is its amount, it -shall instantly be yours.”</p> - -<p>“I will have nothing. It is this wealth, with whose -splendour I was at first child enough to be dazzled, that has -destroyed us. My fingers shall not be contaminated with -an atom of it. What is to be my fate, as yet, I know not. -But I am young, and strong, and enterprising, and courageous. -The lessons of honour and nobility live in my -bosom. Though my instructor is lost, his instructions shall -not be vain!</p> - -<p>“Once more farewell! From my heart I thank you for -your protestations of innocence. Never will I part with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -this last consolation, to believe them. I have recollected -the manner in which they were uttered; it was the manner -of truth. If there be any evidence of a contrary tendency, -that I will forget. Though to the world I shall be -without father and without relatives, I will still retain this -sacred consolation for my hours of retirement and solitude, -that my ancestors were honourable, and my father, in spite -of all presumptions to the contrary,—was innocent.</p> - -<p>“How hard it is to quit for ever a family of love and -affection, as ours has been! Bear witness for me, how -deeply, I sympathised with you at Paris, in Switzerland, in -Constance! Though now you dissolve the tie between us, -yet, till now, never had a son greater reason for gratitude -to a father. You and my mother have made me what I -am; and that I may preserve what you have made me, I -now cast myself upon an untried world. The recollection -of what I found you in the past period of my life, shall be -for ever cherished in my memory!</p> - -<p>“I quit my mother and my sisters without leave-taking -or adieu. It will be a fruitless and painful addition to -what each party must learn to bear. Dear, excellent, peerless -protector and companions of my early years! my -wishes are yours, my prayers shall for ever be poured out -for you! You, sir, who rob them of a son and a brother, -be careful to make up to them a loss, which I doubt not -they will account grievous! I can do nothing for them. I can -throw myself into the arms of poverty; it is my duty. -But, in doing so, I must separate myself from them, assuredly -innocent, and worthy of more and greater benefits -than I could ever confer on them!—Farewell!”</p> - -<p>Saying this, he threw himself into my arms, and I felt -the agonies of a parting embrace.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> - -<p>For some time I could not believe him departed. When I -retired to rest, I felt the want of Charles to press my hand, -and wish me refreshing slumbers; and I passed on, sad -and solitary, to my chamber. When I came next morning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> -into the breakfasting room, Charles was not there, to -greet me with looks of affection and duty; and the gilding -and ornaments of the apartment were to me no less disconsolate -than the damps and sootiness of a dungeon.</p> - -<p>I hoped he would return. I knew how tenderly he was -attached to his mother and his sisters; I was fully convinced -that the affection for me which had been the perpetual -habit of his mind, could not be entirely eradicated -from his heart. I mentioned him not in my letters to -Constance; the pen lingered, my hand trembled, when I -thought of him; I could neither pretend that he was with -me, nor announce the catastrophe of his absence. But I -opened the letters of Marguerite with still increasing impatience. -Finding that he did not return to me, I hoped -that some alteration of the extraordinary resolution he had -formed, would lead him to Constance. In vain I hoped! -There reached me, by no conveyance, from no quarter, -tidings of my son!</p> - -<p>How surprising an event! A youth, not seventeen years -of age, forming and executing in the same instant the purpose -of flying from his parents and his family! Deserting -all his hopes, all his attachments, all his fortune! Refusing -the smallest particle of assistance or provision in his entrance -upon the wide scene of the world! Oh, Charles! exclaimed -I, you are indeed an extraordinary and admirable youth! -But are you fortified against all the temptations of the world -and all its hardships? Do your tender years qualify you to -struggle with its unkindness, its indifference, and its insults? -In how few quarters is merit ever treated with the attention -and benevolence it deserves! How often is it reduced to -tremble with indignation, at the scoffs and brutality to which -it is exposed, and at the sight of folly and vice exalted in -its stead, and appointed its despot and its master! My son, -my son! what will be your fate? Is your unseasoned -frame reserved to perish by hunger, in barren deserts and -beneath inclement skies? Will you not in some hour of -bitter disappointment and unpitied loneliness, lay yourself -down in despair and die? Will you not be made the slave -of some capricious tyrant for bread? Generous as is your -nature, will it be eternally proof against reiterated temptation?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> -Upon what a world are you turned adrift! a world -of which you know as little, as the poor affrighted soul of a -dying man knows, when launching into the mysterious, -impenetrable abyss of eternity! Unnatural father, to have -reduced my only son to this cruel alternative! I should -with a less aching and agonising heart have accompanied -his senseless remains to the grave. Dreadful as that parting -is, there at least the anxious mind of the survivor has -rest. There are no thoughts and devices in the silence of -the tomb. There all our prospects end, and we are no -longer sensible to pain, to persecution, to insult, and to -agony. But Charles, thus departed, wandering on the face -of the globe, without protector, adviser or resource, no lapse -of years can put a close upon my anxiety for him! If I -am in ease and prosperity, I cannot relish them, for my -exposed and living son may be at that moment in the depth -of misery! If I am myself oppressed and suffering, the -thought of what may be his fate will form a dreadful addition -to all my other calamities! What am I to say of -him upon my return to Constance? If he had died, this -was a natural casualty; and, whatever grief it might occasion, -time no doubt would mollify and abate it. But what -account can now be rendered of him to his disconsolate -mother and terrified sisters? How can I lift up my head in -their presence, or meet the glance of their reproachful eyes!</p> - -<p>The idea had occurred to me, in the instant of Charles’s -departure, and immediately after his exit, of detaining or -bringing him back by force. He was by his extreme youth, -according to the maxims of the world, still in a state of -guardianship, and unqualified to be the chooser of his own -actions. But to this mode of proceeding, however deeply -I felt the catastrophe which had taken place, I could never -consent. It was in utter hostility to the lessons of chivalry -and honour, with which I had been familiarised from my -earliest infancy. There might be cases, in which this restraint -laid by a father upon his child would be salutary. -But the idea which had occasioned the secession of Charles, -was decisive in this instance. What right had I to chain -him to dishonour? The whole bent of his education had -been, to impress him with the feelings by which he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> -now actuated. If I detained him for a short time, was -there any vigilance on earth that could finally prevent him -from executing a purpose upon which his whole soul was -resolved? Or, suppose there were, must not the consequence -be to break his spirit, to deprive him of all manliness and -energy, and to render him the mere drooping and soulless -shadow of that conspicuous hero I had been anxious to -make him? It might be said indeed, that this was the determination -of a boy, formed in an hour, and that, if I -detained him only long enough for deliberation and revisal, -he would of his own accord retract so desperate a project. -But I felt that it was a resolution formed to endure, and -was built upon principles that could not change so long as -an atom of his mind remained. No; I was rather disposed -to say, however grievous was the wound he inflicted on me, -Go, my son! Act upon the dictates of your choice, as I -have acted on mine! I admire your resolution, though I -cannot imitate it. Your purpose is lofty and godlike; and -he that harbours it, was not born to be a slave. Be free; -and may every power propitious to generosity and virtue -smooth your path through life, and smile upon your desires!</p> - -<p>The anguish I felt for having lost my son, and in this -painful and reproachful manner, was not diminished to me -either by society or amusement. I dared not go out of my -house. I saw no one but my own attendants. I had not -the courage to meet the aspect of a human creature. I -knew not how far persons in Dresden might have heard the -injurious reports which occasioned the flight of my son, or -even have been acquainted with the nature of that flight. -I had promised to see Coligny again; but, alas! the affair -which had at first led me to wish to see him, was now at -an end. I had no heart to seek him; nor indeed did I -know what story I was to tell him, or how I was to remove -the suspicions he had urged against me. The machine of -human life, though constituted of a thousand parts, is in -all its parts regularly and systematically connected; nor is -it easy to insert an additional member, the spuriousness of -which an accurate observation will not readily detect. How -was I to assign a source of my wealth different from the -true, which would not be liable to investigation, and, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> -investigated, would not be seen to be counterfeit? This -indeed is the prime source of individual security in human -affairs, that whatever any man does, may be subjected to -examination, and whatever does not admit of being satisfactorily -accounted for, exposes him whom it concerns to -the most injurious suspicions. This law of our nature, so -salutary in its general operation, was the first source of all -my misfortunes.</p> - -<p>I began now seriously to consider what judgment I was -to pass upon the bequests of the stranger. Were they to -be regarded as a benefit or a misfortune? Ought they to -be classed with the poisoned robe of Nessus, which, being -sent as a token of affection, was found, in the experiment, -to eat into the flesh and burn up the vitals of him that -wore it? Should I from this instant reject their use, and, -returning to the modes of life established among my fellow -men, content myself with the affection of those with whom -I had intercourse, though poverty and hardships mingled -with the balm?</p> - -<p>The experiment I had made of these extraordinary gifts -was a short one; but how contrary were all the results I had -arrived at, from those I looked for? When the stranger had -appeared six months before at the cottage of the lake, he -had found me a poor man indeed, but rich in the confidence, -and happy in the security and content, of every -member of my family. I lived in the bosom of nature, -surrounded with the luxuriance of its gifts and the sublimity -of its features, which the romantic elevation of my -soul particularly fitted me to relish. In my domestic scene -I beheld the golden age renewed, the simplicity of pastoral -life without its grossness, a situation remote from cities and -courts, from traffic and hypocrisy, yet not unadorned with -taste, imagination, and knowledge. Never was a family -more united in sentiments and affection. Now all this -beauteous scene was defaced! All was silence, suspicion, -and reserve. The one party dared not be ingenuous, and -the other felt that all the paradise of attachment was dwindled -to an empty name. No questions were asked; for no -honest answer was given or expected. Though corporeally -we might sit in the same apartment, in mind a gulf, wide,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -impassable, and tremendous, gaped between us. My wife -pined in speechless grief, and, it was to be feared, had sustained -a mortal blow. My son, my only son, a youth of -such promise that I would not have exchanged him for empires, -had disappeared, and, as he had solemnly protested, -for ever. My heart was childless: my bosom was bereaved -of its dearest hope. It was for him principally that I had -accepted, that I had rejoiced in the gifts of the stranger. -My darling vision was to see him clothed in the harness, -surrounded with the insignia, of a hero. There was nothing -I so earnestly desired as that his merits, graced with the -favours of fortune, might cause him to stand confessed the -first subject of France; a situation more enviable than that -of its monarch, since he who holds it is raised by deeds, and -the other only by birth; and if less respected by interested -courtiers, is certain to be more honoured by the impartial -voice of history. But, if I felt thus desolate and heartbroken -for the loss of my son, what would be the sentiments -of his mother, more susceptible to feel, and, in her present -weakness of spirits, less vigorous to bear, than myself, when -the dreadful tidings should be communicated to her?</p> - -<p>Yet I could not resolve to renounce donations which I -had so dearly appropriated. I held it to be a base and cowardly -to surrender gifts so invaluable, upon so insufficient -an experiment. He, I thought, must be a man of ignoble -and grovelling spirit, who could easily be prevailed on to part -with unbounded wealth and immortal life. I had but just -entered the vast field that was opened to me. It was of the -nature of all great undertakings to be attended with difficulties -and obstacles in the commencement, to present a -face calculated to discourage the man that is infirm of purpose. -But it became my descent, my character and pretensions, -to show myself serene in the midst of storms. -Perseverance and constancy are the virtues of a man. -Affairs of this extensive compass often prove in the issue -the reverse of what they seemed in the outset. The tempest -might be expected to disperse, difficulties to unravel -themselves, and unlooked-for concurrences to arise. All -opposition and hostile appearance give way before him who -goes calmly onward, and scorns to be dismayed.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</h2> - -<p>It was thus that I spurred myself to persist in the path -upon which I had entered. Having remained some time -at Dresden, flattering myself with the hope that Charles -might yet join me before I quitted that city, I began to -think of once more turning my steps towards the residence -of my family. This was no cheerful thought; but upon -what was I to determine? I had a wife whom I ardently -loved, and three daughters the darlings of my heart. Because -I had lost a beloved son was I to estrange myself -from these? I already felt most painfully the detachment -and widowhood to which I was reduced, and I clung with -imperious affection to what remained of my race. The -meeting I purposed must be a melancholy one; but, in the -sorrows of the heart there is a purer and nobler gratification -than in the most tumultuous pleasures where affection -is silent. I looked forward indeed to scenes of endless -variety and attraction, but in the mean time what seemed -first to demand my attention was the beloved circle I had -left behind in the city of Constance.</p> - -<p>I retraced, upon the present occasion, the route I had -lately pursued with my son. How different were now my -sensations! My heart was then indeed painfully impressed -with the variance and dissolution of confidence that had -arisen between me and his mother. It was perhaps principally -for the sake of banishing this impression that I had -had recourse to the splendour of equipage and attendance -which was first assumed upon the journey from Constance -to Dresden. Nor, frivolous as this expedient may appear -in the unattractive dispassionateness of narrative, had it -been by any means weak of effect at the time it was employed. -When Charles was once mounted on his proud -and impatient steed, and decorated in rich and costly attire, -I felt, as it were, the sluggishness of my imagination roused; -I surveyed his shape and his countenance with inexpressible -complacence; and already anticipated the period when he -was to become the favourite of his sovereign and his country’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -pride. Now I returned with the same retinue; but -the place that had been occupied by my son was empty. I -sought him with frantic and restless gaze; I figured him -to my disturbed and furious imagination, till the sensations -and phantoms of my brain became intolerable; I raved -and imprecated curses on myself. I endeavoured to divert -my thoughts by observing the scenes that passed before me. -They talked to me of Charles; they had been pointed out -by each to each, and had been the subject of our mutual -comment. Though Charles was endowed with a high relish -for the beauties of nature, and, in our little retreat on the -borders of the lake, had lived in the midst of them, he had -seen little of the variety of her features; and the journey -we made through the heart of Germany had furnished him -with continual food for admiration and delight. Nor did -the scenes I beheld merely remind me of the sensations -they produced in Charles; they led me through a wider -field. I recollected long conversations and digressive excursions -which had been started by the impression they -made. I recollected many passages and occurrences to -which they had not the slightest reference, but which, -having arisen while they constituted the visible scene, were -forcibly revived by its re-appearance. Thus, from various -causes, my lost and lamented son was not a moment out of -my thoughts during the journey. While I continued at -Dresden, I seemed daily to expect his return; but no -sooner did I quit that city than despair took possession of -my heart.</p> - -<p>Thus, anxious and distressed, I arrived at Prague, and -soon after at Ratisbon. I travelled slowly, because, though -I was desirous of returning to Constance, I anticipated my -arrival there with little complacence. As I drew nearer to -my family, I felt more distinctly the impossibility of presenting -myself before them, without first endeavouring to -take off the shock they would sustain at seeing me return -without my son. I therefore resolved to send forward a -servant from Ratisbon, whom I directed to make all practicable -speed, as I designed to wait for an answer he should -bring me at the city of Munich. To attempt to write to -Marguerite on this subject was a severe trial to me. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> -whole however that I proposed to myself was, to remove -the surprise which would be occasioned by seeing me alone, -and to anticipate questions that it would be impossible for -me to hear without anguish of mind and perturbation of -countenance. I therefore took care to express myself in -such terms as should lead Marguerite to believe that I had -voluntarily left her son in Saxony, and that in no very long -time he would rejoin his family. I trusted to subsequent -events to unfold the painful catastrophe, and could not prevail -on myself to shock her maternal feelings so much as I -must necessarily do, if I informed her of the whole at once. -Charles had not been mentioned but in ordinary terms and -the accustomed language of affection, in the letters I had -recently received from Constance; and I was therefore convinced -that he had neither gone to that place, nor had -conveyed thither any account of his proceedings.</p> - -<p>The answer I received from Marguerite by my messenger -was as follows:—</p> - -<p>“Your absence has been long and critical, and the welfare -of your daughters seems to require that we should rejoin -each other as speedily as may be. Whether we should -meet here or at any other place you must determine. It -is, however, right I should inform you that, during your -absence, rumour has been busy with your reputation. What -the extent or importance of the ill reports circulated of you -may be, I am scarcely competent to judge. We have lived -in uniform privacy, and it is natural to suppose that the -portion of censure that has reached us is but a small part -of what really exists. The mode in which you have proceeded, -and the extraordinary figure you have made in a -progress through Germany, have given weight to these insinuations. -But it is not my intention to comment on -what you have done.</p> - -<p>“You appear to design that I should understand you -have left my son behind you in Saxony. Poor Charles! I -had a letter from him three weeks ago, in which he informs -me of what has happened, and apologises in the most pathetic -terms for any seeming want of regard to me in his -conduct, at the very moment that his heart bleeds for my -fate. I did not think it necessary to communicate this circumstance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -to you. I have done with complaining. Now -that I have fallen into the worst and most unlooked-for -misfortunes, I have a gratification that I do not choose to -part with, in shutting up my sorrows in my own breast.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Charles! my son, my idol! What is become of -you? For what calamities are you reserved? He tells me -it is necessary that I should never see or hear of him again. -Never—I—his mother!—Reginald, there are some wounds -that we may endeavour to forgive; but they leave a sentiment -in the heart, the demonstrations of which may perhaps -be restrained, but which it is not in nature wholly to -subdue. If I did but know where to find or to write to -my poor boy, I would take my girls with me, and partake -his honest and honourable poverty, and never again join -the shadow of him who was my husband. Forgive me, -Reginald! I did not intend to say this. If I should prove -unable to control the impatience of my grief, do not inflict -the punishment of my offence on your innocent daughters!</p> - -<p>“As to your fiction of voluntarily leaving him behind -for further improvement, it corresponds with every thing -you have lately attempted to make me believe. I no longer -expect truth from you. For seventeen years I had a husband. -Well, well! I ought not perhaps to repine. I have -had my share of the happiness which the present life is -calculated to afford.</p> - -<p>“Reginald! I have not long to live. When I tell you -this, I am not giving way to melancholy presentiment. I -will exert myself for the benefit of my girls. They will -have a grievous loss in me; and for their sake I will live -as long as I can. But I feel that you have struck me to -the heart. My nights are sleepless; my flesh is wasted; -my appetite is entirely gone. You will presently be able -to judge whether I am deceiving myself. The prospect -for these poor creatures, who are at present all my care, is -a dismal one. I know not for what they are reserved; but -I can hope for nothing good. When I am dead, remember, -and be a father to them. I ask nothing for myself; I have -no longer any concern with life; but, if my dying request -can have weight with you, make up to them the duty you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -have broken to me. By all out past loves, by the cordiality -and confidence in which we have so long lived, by the -singleness and sincerity of our affection, by the pure delights, -so seldom experienced in married life, that have -attended our union, I conjure you listen to me and obey -me in this.”</p> - -<p>If I were deeply distressed for the loss of my son, if I -looked forward with a mingled sensation of eagerness and -alarm to the approaching interview with my family, it may -easily be imagined that this letter formed a heavy addition -to my mental anguish. I confess I thought it a cruel one. -Marguerite might well suppose, that the departure of Charles -was a circumstance I must strongly feel; and she should -not have thus aggravated the recent wounds of paternal -grief. Some allowance, however, was to be made for a -mother. When we are ourselves racked with intolerable -pain, that certainly is not the time at which we can rationally -be expected to exert the nicest and most vigilant consideration -for another. Add to which, she was innocent -of the calamities she suffered, and could not but know that -I was their sole author. But, whatever may be decided as -to the propriety of the letter, its effect upon my mind was -eminently salutary. I instantly determined on the conduct -it became me to pursue.</p> - -<p>I lost not a moment. From Dresden to Munich I had -advanced with slow and unwilling steps; from Munich to -Constance I proceeded as rapidly as the modes of travelling -and the nature of the roads would permit. I left my retinue -at the gates of the town, and flew instantly to the -apartments of my family. I hastened up stairs, and, as I -entered the sitting-room, I saw the first and most exemplary -of matrons surrounded by her blooming daughters. I instantly -perceived a great alteration in her appearance. Her -look was dejected; her form emaciated; her countenance -sickly and pale. She lifted up her eyes as I entered, but -immediately dropped them again, without any discernible -expression, either of congratulation or resentment. I embraced -my children with undescribable emotion; I said -within myself, the love and affection I had reserved for -Charles shall be divided among you, and added to the share<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> -you each possess of my heart! Having saluted them in -turn, I addressed myself to Marguerite, telling her that I -must have some conversation with her instantly. My manner -was earnest: she led the way into another apartment.</p> - -<p>I felt my heart overflowing at my tongue.</p> - -<p>“I am come to you,” cried I, “a repenting prodigal. -Take me and mould me at your pleasure!”</p> - -<p>She looked up. She was struck with the honest fervour -of my expression. She answered in almost forgotten terms, -and with a peculiar fulness of meaning, “My husband!”—It -seemed as if the best years and the best emotions of -our life were suddenly renewed.</p> - -<p>“Most adorable of women!” I continued: “do you -think I can bear that you should die, and I your murderer? -No man in any age or climate of the world ever owed so -much to a human creature as I owe to you; no woman was -ever so ardently loved! no woman ever so much deserved -to be loved! If you were to die, I should never know -peace again. If you were to die the victim of any miscalculation -of mine, I should be the blackest of criminals!”</p> - -<p>“Reginald!” replied she, “I am afraid I have been -wrong. I am afraid I have written harshly to you. You -have a feeling heart, and I have been too severe. Forgive -me! it was the effect of love. Affection cannot view with -a tranquil eye the faults of the object beloved.”</p> - -<p>“Let them be forgotten! Let the last six months be -blotted from our memory, be as though they had never -existed!”</p> - -<p>She looked at me. Her look seemed to say, though she -would not give the sentiment words, that can never be; the -loss of Charles, and certain other calamities of that period, -are irretrievable!</p> - -<p>“I resign myself into your hands! I have been guilty; -I have had secrets; meditations engendered and shut up in -my own bosom; but it shall be so no more! The tide of -affection kept back from its natural channel, now flows with -double impetuousness. Never did I love you, not when -you first came a virgin to my arms, not on the banks of -the Garonne, not in the cottage of the lake, so fervently, -so entirely, as I love you now! Be my director; do with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> -me as you please! I have never been either wise or virtuous -but when I have been implicitly guided by you!</p> - -<p>“I have wealth; I am forbidden by the most solemn obligations -to discover the source of that wealth. This only -I may not communicate; in all things else govern me despotically! -Shall I resign it all? Shall I return to the -cottage of the lake? Shall I go, a houseless and helpless -wanderer, to the farthest quarter of the globe? Speak the -word only, and it shall be done! I prefer your affection, -your cordial regard, in the most obscure and meanest retreat, -to all that wealth can purchase or kings can give!”</p> - -<p>“Reginald, I thank you! I acknowledge in your present -language and earnestness the object of my first and -only love. This return to your true character gives me all -the pleasure I am now capable of receiving. But it is too -late My son is lost; that cannot be retrieved. Your reputation -is blasted; I am sorry you are returned hither; -Constance is in arms against you, and I will not answer for -the consequence. For myself; I grieve to tell you so; I -am ashamed of my weakness; but—my heart is broken! -I loved you so entirely, that I was not able to bear any -suspension of our confidence. I had passed with you through -all other misfortunes, and the firmness of my temper was -not shaken. For this one misfortune, that seemed the entire -dissolution of our attachment, I was not prepared. I -feel, every morning as I rise, the warnings of my decease. -My nights are sleepless; my appetite is gone from me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Marguerite, talk not thus; distract me not with -the most fatal of images! Our confidence shall return; -all the causes of your malady shall be removed! With the -causes, the symptoms, depend on it, will disappear. Your -youth, your tranquillity, your happiness, shall be renewed! -Oh, no, you shall not die! We will yet live to love and -peace!”</p> - -<p>“Flatter not yourself with vain hopes, my love! I feel -something wrong within me, which is rapidly wearing my -body to decay. Reconcile your mind to what very soon -must happen! Prepare yourself for being the only parent -to your remaining offspring! I have composed my spirit, -and calmly wait my fate. You have now administered to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -me the only consolation I aspired to, by this return to your -true character, which affords me a sanguine hope that you -will faithfully discharge the duty to your offspring, which, -when I am gone, will be doubly urgent on you.”</p> - -<p>I was grieved to see that the mind of Marguerite was so -deeply impressed with the notion that she had but a short -time to live. I could not bear to imagine for a moment -that her prognostic was just. The thought seemed capable -of driving me to distraction. I however conceived that -the best thing that could be done for the present, was to -turn the conversation to some other topic.</p> - -<p>“Well, well, my love!” I answered. “There are some -things that are immediately pressing. Direct me, direct a -husband so amply convinced of your discretion, what I am -to do at present! Shall I instantly annihilate all that has -made this unfortunate breach between us; shall I resign -my wealth, from whatever source derived? Whither shall -we go? Shall we return to the cottage of the lake? Shall -we retreat into some distant part of the world?”</p> - -<p>“How can you expect me,” said Marguerite, faintly -smiling, “to advise you respecting the disposal of a wealth, -of the amount of which I am uninformed, and the source -of which is invisible? But I guess your secret. The -stranger who died your guest was in possession of the philosopher’s -stone, and he has bequeathed to you his discovery. -I have heard of this art, though I confess I was not -much inclined to credit it. I do not ask you to confirm my -conjecture: I do not wish that you should violate my engagements -into which you have entered. But, upon putting -circumstances together, which I have been inevitably -compelled to do, I apprehend it can be nothing else. I am -astonished that a conjecture so obvious should have offered -itself to my mind so late.</p> - -<p>“If your wealth is of any other nature, ample as it apparently -is, it is a natural question to ask, to whom is it to -be resigned? The ordinary wealth of the world is something -real and substantial, and can neither be created nor -dissipated with a breath. But if your wealth be of the -kind I have named, let me ask, is it possible to resign it? -A secret is a thing with which we may choose whether we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -will become acquainted; but, once known, we cannot become -unacquainted with it at pleasure. Your wealth, upon -my supposition, will always be at your beck; and it is -perhaps beyond the strength of human nature to refuse, -under some circumstances, at least in some emergencies, to -use the wealth which is within our reach.</p> - -<p>“It has been our mutual misfortune that such an engine -has been put into your hands. It has been your fault to -make an indiscreet use of it. Gladly would I return to the -tranquil and unsuspected poverty of the cottage of the lake. -But that is impossible. You have lost your son; you have -lost your honest fame; the life of your Marguerite is undermined -and perishing. If it were possible for us to -return to our former situation and our former peace, still, -my Reginald! forgive me if I say, I doubt the inflexibleness -of your resolution. The gift of unbounded wealth, if -you possess it, and, with wealth, apparently at least, distinction -and greatness, is too powerful a temptation. Nor, -though I should trust your resistance, could I be pleased in -a husband with the possession of these extraordinary powers. -It sets too great a distance between the parties. It destroys -that communion of spirit which is the soul of the marriage-tie. -A consort should be a human being and an equal. But -to this equality and simple humanity it is no longer in your -power to return.</p> - -<p>“Circumstanced then as we now are, the marriage union, -you must allow me to say, irreparably dissolved, your son -lost, your fair fame destroyed, your orphan daughters to be -provided for, I know not if I should advise you to forget -the prerogative that has been bought for you at so dreadful -a price. Beside, if I am not mistaken, there are great trials -in reserve for you. I am afraid your present situation is -extremely critical. I am afraid the suspicions you have -excited will cost you dear. At all events I believe it to -be but a necessary precaution that we should fly from -Constance. I have nothing therefore to recommend to -you on the subject of wealth, but discretion. I shall not -long live to be your adviser. I shall always regard the -donation you have received, you cannot wonder that I -should so regard it, as one of the most fearful calamities to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -which a human being can be exposed. If you had used -your prerogative with discretion, you might perhaps, -though I confess I do not see how, have escaped the obloquy -of the world. Into your domestic scene, where the interest -is more lively, and the watch upon you more unremitted, it -must have introduced alienation and distrust. As it is, -I see you surrounded with dangers of a thousand denominations. -Police has its eyes upon you; superstition will -regard you as the familiar of demons; avarice will turn -upon you a regard of jealousy and insatiable appetite. If I -could recover from the weakness that at present besets me, -and continue to live, I foresee more and severer trials, both -at home and abroad, than any I have yet sustained; and I -am almost thankful to that Providence which has decreed -to take me away from the evil to come.</p> - -<p>“One thing further let me add. I will speak it, not in -the character of a censor, but a friend. It must ever be -right and useful, that a man should be undeceived in any -erroneous estimate he may make of himself. I have loved -you much; I found in you many good qualities; my imagination -decorated you in the virtues that you had not; but -you have removed the veil. An adept and an alchemist is -a low character. When I married you, I supposed myself -united to a nobleman, a knight, and a soldier, a man who -would have revolted with disdain from every thing that was -poor-spirited and base. I lived with you long and happily. -I saw faults; I saw imbecilities. I did not see them with -indifference; but I endeavoured, and with a degree of success, -to forget and to forgive them; they did not contaminate -and corrupt the vitals of honour. At length you have -completely reversed the scene. For a soldier you present -me with a projector and a chemist, a cold-blooded mortal, -raking in the ashes of a crucible for a selfish and solitary -advantage. Here is an end of all genuine dignity, and the -truest generosity of soul. You cannot be ingenuous; for -all your dealings are secrecy and darkness. You cannot -have a friend; for the mortal lives not that can sympathise -with your thoughts and emotions. A generous spirit, -Reginald, delights to live upon equal terms with his associates -and fellows. He would disdain, when offered to him, -excessive and clandestine advantages. Equality is the soul<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> -of real and cordial society. A man of rank indeed does -not live upon equal terms with the whole of his species; -but his heart also can exult, for he has his equals. How -unhappy the wretch, the monster rather let me say, who -is without an equal; who looks through the world, and -in the world cannot find a brother; who is endowed -with attributes which no living being participates with -him; and who is therefore cut off for ever from all cordiality -and confidence, can never unbend himself, but -lives the solitary, joyless tenant of a prison, the materials of -which are emeralds and rubies! How unhappy this wretch! -How weak and ignoble the man that voluntarily accepts -these laws of existence!”</p> - -<p>In the advice of Marguerite I saw that sound wisdom -and discernment, by which in all the periods of our connection -she had been so eminently characterised. With her -views of the future I was not disposed to accord. I regarded -them as obscured and discoloured by the unfortunate state -of her health. I could not indeed refuse to believe that -the prerogative I had received had been the parent of much -domestic unhappiness. Willingly would I have resigned -all that I had derived from the stranger, to be replaced in -the situation in which his pernicious legacies had found me. -He had robbed me of my son; he had destroyed my domestic -peace; he had undermined the tranquillity and -health of the partner of my life. These calamities pressed -with a heavy and intolerable weight at my heart. But, if, -as Marguerite affirmed, they were irretrievable, or if they -could once be removed, and the domestic advantages I had -heretofore enjoyed be restored, I was not disposed to fear -those external mischiefs which Marguerite so feelingly predicted. -I could not believe that I should have such a -league of foreign enemies to encounter, nor could I easily -image to myself any external evils which it was not in the -power of gold to remedy. These considerations I urged to -my beloved partner, and by enforcing them endeavoured to -remove those gloomy apprehensions, from the prevalence of -which I feared much injury to her health. There was -another circumstance I was led particularly to insist on; I -mean the nature of the secret intrusted to me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I admire your discernment and ingenuity, Marguerite,” -said I, “in your conjecture respecting the source of my -wealth. I admire your delicacy in not pressing me to decide -upon the truth of your conjecture. This only I must -be permitted to say on that subject. It is a secret; and you -will perceive that the same reasons, whatever they are, -which make that secret obligatory on me, require that it -should be respected by you. The same evils that my own -indiscretion may draw on me, I shall be equally exposed to -by any error or miscalculation of yours. I have therefore -most earnestly and solemnly to conjure you, whatever misfortunes -may hereafter befall me, in whatever perilous situation -I may be involved, that you will never utter a syllable -on this subject; and that, as I am the selected depository of -this secret, and alone know with certainty what is its nature, -you will trust our prosperity in this point to me.”—Marguerite -engaged to conduct herself as I desired.</p> - -<p>The night which succeeded this explanation, was particularly -soothing and grateful to me. I was relieved from -a great and oppressive burthen. I was conscious of that -particular species of pleasure which arises from the resolute -discharge of an heroic duty. The peace I felt within shed -its gay and reviving beams upon all around me. Reconciled -to myself, I was filled with sanguine and agreeable -visions of the future. My mind obstinately rejected all -dark and hateful presages. I had intrusted myself and the -direction of my conduct, as far as it was possible, to that -better pilot, under whose guidance, if I had not avoided the -rocks and quicksands of life, I had at least escaped with -little comparative injury. I felt therefore as if my domestic -enjoyments were restored, and the pleasures of my better -years were about to run over again their auspicious career. -Not so Marguerite. She was mild, gentle, and soothing. -Displeasure and resentment towards me were banished from -her mind. She endeavoured to conquer her melancholy, -and to forget the wounds that had been so fatal to her -hopes. But her endeavours were fruitless. A fixed dejection -clung to her heart: nor could the generous sweetness -that pervaded her manners hide from me entirely what was -passing in her bosom.</p> - -<p>During this interval we had talked over the plan of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -future operations. Marguerite was exceedingly urgent with -me to quit Constance; nor did I, though not impressed -with her presentiments, feel any reluctance to that change -of scene, which, I believed, would materially contribute to -the serenity of her mind and the restoration of her health. -We determined on some of the cities of Italy as the next -place of our residence, and, fixed, if possible, to set out -some time in the next day or the day after. The plan of -proceeding to France, which had lately been a favourite -with me, was a favourite no longer. That had been the -project of cheerful and wanton prosperity. It had had for its -object the re-establishment of my family honours, and the -elevation of my son. Now my son was lost, my wife was -oppressed with languor and disease, my house was overwhelmed -with sorrow. This was no time for wantonness -and triumph. If I could ever hope to resume the plans -my frolic fancy had sketched, an interval at least of soberer -hue must first be suffered to elapse.</p> - -<p>My mind at this time sustained a revolution sufficiently -remarkable, but of which the urgency of events that immediately -succeeded prevented me from ever ascertaining -whether it would have proved temporary or permanent. -When I first received the donation of the stranger, my -thoughts, as I have already said, were in a state of enthusiastic -transport; and, amidst the golden visions in which -my fancy revelled, I became in a considerable degree alienated -from domestic sentiments and pleasures. If I still -loved my wife and children, it was the love of habit rather -than sympathy; more an anxiety for their prosperous success -in the world, than an earnest craving for their presence -and intercourse. This state of intoxication and rapture had -now subsided. The events of the few last weeks had sobered -my thoughts. Having lost my son, and being threatened -with the loss of his mother, I was roused to a sense -of their value. The influx of wealth and supernatural gifts -had grown familiar to my mind, and now only occupied -the back-ground of the picture. I was once more a man, -and I hoped to partake of the privileges and advantages of -a man. The fate reserved for these hopes will speedily be -seen.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> - -<p>Some readers will perhaps ask me why, anxious as I was -for the life of Marguerite, and visible as was the decline of -her health, I did not administer to her of the elixir of immortality -which was one of my peculiar endowments. Such -readers I have only to remind, that the pivot upon which -the history I am composing turns, is a mystery. If they -will not accept of my communication upon my own terms, -they must lay aside my book. I am engaged in relating -the incidents of my life; I have no intention to furnish the -remotest hint respecting the science of which I am the -depository. That science affords abundant reasons why the -elixir in question might not, or rather could not, be imbibed -by any other than an adept.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</h2> - -<p>The morning after my return to my family, as I sat surrounded -with my girls, and endeavouring to make myself -their playmate and companion, certain officers of justice -belonging to the supreme tribunal of the city entered my -apartment. They were sent, as they informed me, to conduct -me to prison. My blood at this intelligence mounted -into my face.</p> - -<p>“To prison?” cried I—“wherefore?—what have I -done?—I am no citizen of your state. What is the charge -against me? Lead me not to prison: lead me to your -chief magistrate!”</p> - -<p>“You will be called up for examination, when his honour -is at leisure to hear you: in the mean time you must -go to prison.”</p> - -<p>“Do those who sent you know that I am a native and -a gentleman of France? They will be made to repent this -insolence. Upon what pretence do they dare to act thus?”</p> - -<p>“You will please not to talk of insolence to us. If you -do not demean yourself quietly——”</p> - -<p>“Silence, fellow!” answered I fiercely. “Lead the -way!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p> - -<p>By this time the children, astonished at a scene so alarming -and unintelligible to them, began to express their terror -in various ways. Julia, who was ready to faint, occupied -the attention of her mother. The little Marguerite clung -round my knees, and expressed her emotions by shrieks and -cries. To see her father about to be torn from her by four -strangers, the peculiarity of whose garb of office aggravated -the rudeness of their countenances and the peremptoriness -of their behaviour, was a spectacle which the affectionateness -of her nature was unable to endure.</p> - -<p>“I will go with you presently,” said I to the officers. -“See, how you have terrified the children!”</p> - -<p>“Nay, sir, if you will behave civilly, and make it worth -our while, we do not desire to hurry you.”</p> - -<p>I was stung with the brutal assurance with which they -thus set the liberty of a few moments at a price to me. But -I checked my impatience. I felt that it would be both -foolish and degrading to enter into contention with such -wretches. I turned from them proudly, and took my child -in my arms.</p> - -<p>“I will not be long gone, my love!” said I. “These -people have made a mistake, and I shall soon be able to -rectify it.”</p> - -<p>“I fancy not,” muttered one of them surlily.</p> - -<p>“They shall not take you away, papa; that they shall -not! I will hold you, and will not let you go!”</p> - -<p>“You are a good girl, Marguerite! But I know best -what is proper, and you must not think to control me. -The men will not do me any harm, child; they dare not. -Perhaps I shall be back to dinner, and mamma will then -tell me how good you have been.”</p> - -<p>As I spoke, she looked steadfastly in my face; and then, -flinging her arms round my neck, cried, “Good-by, papa!” -and burst into a flood of tears.</p> - -<p>I embraced the other children and their mother; and, -saying to the latter significantly, “Fear nothing; you -know I have nothing to fear!”—departed with my conductors.</p> - -<p>The way to the citadel lay through the market-place. -The scene was already crowded; and I had the mortification<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -to be led along as a criminal, in the midst of a thousand -gazing eyes and enquiring tongues. New as every -thing connected with my present situation was to me, I had -not anticipated this vexation. I was stung with shame and -impatience. “To my dungeon!” said I to my conductors -sternly. “If you had shown yourself better humoured,” -cried the most brutal of them, “we would have led you -round by the back way.”</p> - -<p>The master of the prison was somewhat less a savage -than his officers. He knew my person, and had heard of -my wealth. “Does monsieur choose the best apartment?” -said he. “Any where that I can be alone!” answered -I hastily. He hesitated a moment. I looked in his face: -“Oh, yes, you will be paid!” He bowed, and showed -me to a room.</p> - -<p>I shut the door as he retired. What had happened to -me was of little importance in itself. The impertinence of -bailiffs and thief-takers is of no more real moment than the -stinging of a gnat. But I was so utterly unacquainted with -scenes of this nature! The pride of rank that swelled -within me made every appearance of restraint galling to -my sense. From the instant I was able to write, man, no -one, except in the voluntary compact of military service, -had ever said to me, Go there! or, Do this! And now, -was I to be directed by the very refuse of the species? Was -I to learn the prudence of not replying to their insults? -Was I to purchase, at a stipulated price, their patience and -forbearance?—I request the reader to pardon me for troubling -him with my noviciate feelings: I soon learned to -understand the world—the world of a prison—better!</p> - -<p>But, what was of more importance, I was apprehended -as a criminal: I had been dragged a prisoner of justice -through the streets of Constance; I was, by and by, to be -subjected to the interrogatories of the municipal tribunal. -I could scarcely credit my senses, that such an indignity -had happened to the blood of St. Leon. It is true, I was -innocent. I was conscious, whatever might be my imprudences -and offences towards my own family, that I had -done nothing to merit the animadversion of public justice. -But this was of no consequence. Nothing, in my opinion,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> -could wipe away the disgrace of being interrogated, examined! -of having for an instant imputed to me the possibility -of being a criminal! I writhed under this dishonour, -and felt it as a severer attack than the question, which was -comparatively of ceremony and etiquette, that had oppressed -me in my residence at Dresden.</p> - -<p>The next day, when I was brought up for examination, -I had expected to be the complainant, in demanding redress -for the injury I had sustained. But I was mistaken.</p> - -<p>I entered the room haughtily, and with the air of a man -that felt himself aggrieved. Of this however the magistrate -took no notice. “Do you know, sir,” said I, “that I am -a citizen and a gentleman of France? Are you acquainted -with the treatment I have experienced? Have you lent -your authority to that treatment?”</p> - -<p>“Wait a few minutes,” replied he with an imperious -tone, “and I shall be at leisure to attend to you.”</p> - -<p>I was silent. After the interval of nearly a quarter of -an hour, he resumed—</p> - -<p>“You call yourself the count de St. Leon!”</p> - -<p>“I do.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps, sir, you are uninformed of the purity with -which justice is administered in the city within whose jurisdiction -you now stand. Our state is a small one, and its -magistrates are therefore enabled to discharge the office of -a parent, not only to its proper citizens, but to all strangers -that place themselves under its protection.”</p> - -<p>“I remember, sir, that seven years ago, I and my wife -and four children, sick and unfriended, were upon the -point of perishing with hunger within the walls of this -city!”—The fact I mentioned was wholly foreign to the -point with which I was at present concerned; but the -parading arrogance of the man brought it forcibly to my -memory, and wrung it from my lips.</p> - -<p>“<i lang="fr">Monsieur le comte</i>,” replied he, “you are petulant. -It is not the office of a state to feed the souls it contains; -it could not do that without making them slaves. Its -proper concern is to maintain them in that security and -freedom of action, which may best enable them to support -themselves.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> - -<p>I suppressed the emotions which the tone of this speech -excited. I was unwilling to enter into contention with a man -whom I regarded as inexpressibly my inferior.</p> - -<p>“Is it,” cried I sternly, “a part of the justice you boast -of, to drag a man of rank and a stranger from his home, -without any intimation of the cause of his being so treated, -and then, instead of investigating immediately the charge -against him, to send him to prison unheard? I disdain to -mention the behaviour of your officers: those things naturally -grow out of the abuses practised by their superiors.”</p> - -<p>“The mode of our proceeding,” replied he, “depends -upon the seriousness of the crime imputed. If a man of -distinction labours under a slight accusation only, we then -treat him with all proper forbearance and respect. But, -when he is suspected of a crime of more than ordinary -magnitude, that alters the case. The man who has ceased -to respect himself, must look for no respect from others.”</p> - -<p>I was for a moment thunderstruck and speechless. At -length fiercely I cried, “Produce my accusers!”</p> - -<p>“That is not the mode of proceeding in Constance. I -have certain questions to propound to you. When you have -answered them, we shall see what is to be done next.”</p> - -<p>“Carry me before the prince-bishop of your city! If I -am to be examined further, let it be by your sovereign!”</p> - -<p>“The prince-bishop, moved by the state of our affairs in -matters of religion, has been prevailed on to delegate his -juridical authority. I am the person to whom the cognisance -of your business belongs; and at certain times, aided -by my assessors, have the power of life and death within -this city. You have had every indulgence to which you -are entitled, and it will be your wisdom to be no further -refractory.”</p> - -<p>“Propose your questions!”</p> - -<p>“A person, apparently greatly advanced in years, arrived -in the autumn of last year at a miserable farm you at that -time cultivated, called the Cottage of the Lake. It is to -him that my questions will principally relate.”</p> - -<p>I stood aghast. The words of the magistrate were most -unwelcome sounds. I remembered that the stranger had -said to me, “When I am once buried, speak of me, and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -if possible, think of me no more.” I replied with eagerness -and alarm—</p> - -<p>“Of that person I have nothing to say. Spare your -questions: I have no answer to return you!”</p> - -<p>“What was his name?”</p> - -<p>“I know not.”</p> - -<p>“His country?”</p> - -<p>“I cannot inform you.”</p> - -<p>“It is understood that he died, or in some manner disappeared, -while under your protection. Yet in the registers -of the church there is no notice of that event. If he -died, no application was made for the rites of religion to -him dying, or to his body when his spirit had deserted it. -You are required to answer, what became of him or his -remains?”</p> - -<p>“I have already told you, that from me you will obtain -no information.”</p> - -<p>“One question more, sir. Seven years ago, you tell me, -you and your family were perishing with hunger. Soon -after, you removed from obscure lodgings in this city to -the cottage of the lake, and seemed to be laudably employed -in earning for yourself a scanty livelihood with the labour -of your hands. But within the last six months the scene -is wholly changed. You appear to have suddenly grown -rich, and here, and in other parts of Germany, have actually -disbursed considerable sums. Whence comes this -change?”</p> - -<p>The train of questions thus proposed to me, impelled me -to a serious reply.</p> - -<p>“<i lang="fr">Monsieur le juge</i>,” said I, “I am a stranger, a native -of France, and a man of rank in my own country. I have -paid your state the compliment of choosing it for my residence. -I have expended my industry, I expend my wealth -among you. I have comported myself as a peaceable inhabitant. -No action of my life has brought scandal upon -your state, or disturbed the peace and tranquillity of your -affairs. I cannot collect from any thing you have said, -that I have any accuser, or that any charge has been alleged -against me. Till that happens, I cannot fall under -your animadversion. I am a man of generous birth and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> -honourable sentiments. To myself and my own conscience -only am I accountable for my expenditure and my income. -I disdain to answer to any tribunal on earth an enquiry of -this sort. And now, sir, in conclusion, what I demand of -you is, first, my liberty; and secondly, an ample reparation -for the interruption I have sustained, and the insults to -which I have causelessly been exposed.”</p> - -<p>“You are mistaken, sir,” said the magistrate. “What -you mention may be the rule of administering justice in -some states. They may decide, if they think proper, that -some open act, apparently of a criminal description, must -be alleged against a man, before he can become an object of -animadversion to the state. But in Constance, as I have -already told you, the government assumes to act the part of -a parent to its subjects. I sit here, not merely to investigate -and examine definite acts, but as a censor morum; and -I should violate the oath of my office, if I did not lend a -vigilant attention to the behaviour and conduct of every one -within my jurisdiction. The city of Constance requires -that nothing immoral, licentious, or of suspicious character, -shall be transacted within its walls. Your proceedings -have escaped notice too long; much longer than they would -have done but for your late absence. In cases where what -is committed is merely immoral or licentious, we content -ourselves with sending the offender out of our walls. But -your case is of a complicated nature. It has scandalised -all the inhabitants of our virtuous and religious city. Unless -you answer my enquiries, and give a clear and satisfactory -account of your wealth, I am bound to believe that -there is something in the business that will not bear the -light. The coincidence of times obliges me to connect the -disappearance of your guest, and the sudden growth of your -fortune. This connection gives rise to the most alarming -suspicions. I have therefore to inform you that, unless -you honourably clear up these suspicions by the most ample -communication, my duty directs me to remand you to -prison, and to assure you that you will not be liberated -thence till you have satisfied the whole of my interrogatories.”</p> - -<p>“Think deliberately,” answered I, “of your decision<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -before you form it. Your prisons I despise; but I will -not suffer my reputation and my honour to be trifled with. -I came before you willingly, though I could easily have -avoided doing so; because I was eager to clear my fame. -I expected accusers, and I knew I could confound accusation. -But what is this that you call justice? You put -together circumstances in your own mind: you form conjectures; -and then, without information, accuser, or oath, -without the semblance of guilt, you condemn me to prison, -and expect to extort from me confession. In defect of -articles of charge I disdain to answer: the only return a -man of honour should make to loose conjectures and random -calumnies is silence. I am descended from a race of -heroes, knights of the cross, and champions of France; and -their blood has not degenerated in my veins. I feel myself -animated by the soul of honour, and incapable of crime. -I know my innocence, and I rest upon it with confidence. -Your vulgar citizens, habituated to none but the groveling -notions of traffic and barter, are not the peers of St. Leon, -nor able to comprehend the views and sentiments by which -he is guided.”</p> - -<p>“You are mighty well-spoken, monsieur St. Leon,” replied -the magistrate, “and your words are big and sounding; -but we know that the devil can assume the form of an angel, -and that the most infamous and profligate character can -pronounce with emphasis sentiments of the purest virtue. -You are pleased to decide that the presumptions against you -are nothing but calumnies. Is it nothing that, having received -a stranger and retained him with you for months, -you endeavoured to conceal this fact, and never suffered -him to be seen by a human creature? Is his final disappearance -nothing? Is it nothing that, supposing him to be -dead, as he probably is, you denied to his remains the rites -of funeral, and refuse to tell what is become of the body? -Is it nothing that, upon the death of this stranger, you, -who were before in a state almost of penury, suddenly appear -to be possessed of unbounded riches? Where is the -will of this stranger? In what archives have you deposited -the declaration of his wealth? Let me tell you, sir, that -these presumptions, which you call nothing, form a body of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> -circumstantial evidence that, in many countries, would have -led you to the scaffold as a murderer. But the laws of -Constance, which you audaciously revile, are the mildest in -the universe. Here we never put a man to death but on -his own confession. We simply condemn him to perpetual -imprisonment, or until he makes a declaration of his guilt. -You refuse to declare the name or country of the man -whom you are suspected of murdering, and then have the -assurance to boast that no private accuser rises against you. -No, sir, we know there can be no private accuser, where the -connections of the party can be successfully concealed. But -shall this concealment, which is an aggravation of the murder, -prove its security? In conclusion, you boast of your -blood and heroic sentiments, and rail at our citizens as -shopkeepers and merchants. Let me tell you, sir, shopkeepers -and merchants though we are, we should scorn to -conduct ourselves in the obscure and suspicious manner -that you have done. And, now I have taken the trouble -to refute your flimsy pretences, which it was wholly unnecessary -for me to do, I have done with you. You know -your destination, unless you are prepared immediately to give -a satisfactory account of yourself and your proceedings.”</p> - -<p>Finding it impossible to make on this man the impression -I desired, I declined entering into further parley; and, -telling him that I should convey a representation of my -case to my native sovereign, and did not doubt soon to -make him feel the rashness of his proceeding, I withdrew, -in the custody of the officers who had conducted me to the -scene of audience. I was, I confess, struck with the coincidence -of circumstances, which the magistrate had placed -in a fight equally unexpected and forcible, and which I -now saw calculated to subject me to the most injurious -suspicions. I was not disposed in the smallest degree to -yield to the attack, but I felt a desire to act deliberately -and with caution. The whole of what I had heard was -utterly unforeseen, and it was with peculiar anguish that I -became aware of this new consequence of the stranger’s pernicious -donation. This was a consequence that no resignation, -no abjuration of his bequests could cure; and that -must be stood up to with manly courage, if any hope were -entertained of averting it.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</h2> - -<p>The appearance of wealth that accompanied me had by -this time made its impression upon my keepers; and one -of them now informed me, that monsieur Monluc, an agent -of the court of France, who was making a tour of several -of the German states by order of his sovereign, had arrived -the night before at the city of Constance. There was no -representative of my country regularly resident here, and -I immediately felt the presence of Monluc to be the most -fortunate event that could have occurred for effecting my -honourable deliverance. Selfishness and avarice, it may be -thought, would rather have impelled the persons who had -me in custody to conceal from me a circumstance calculated -to deprive them of an advantageous prey. But in -those groveling souls from whom riches never fail to extort -homage, however strange it may seem, the homage often -appears disinterested. They pay it by a sort of irresistible -instinct; and, admiring what they covet, at an awful distance, -with difficulty assume the courage to pollute their -worship with ideas of calculation and gain.</p> - -<p>I immediately addressed a memorial to this gallant soldier, -with whose person indeed I was unacquainted, but -the fame of whose spirit and enterprise had not failed to -have reached me. I represented to him that I was a -Frenchman of family and distinction; that I had been -seized upon and was retained in prison by the magistrates -here, without accuser or the hope of a trial; that I had not -been guilty of the shadow of a crime; and that I knew the -benignity and courage of my sovereign would never permit -a subject of France to languish under calumny and oppression -in a foreign country. I added, that he would do an -acceptable service to king Francis, to whom I had the honour -to be known, by interfering in my favour; and therefore -entreated him to obtain for me immediate justice and -deliverance. Monluc returned me an answer by the bearer -of my memorial, assuring me that he would lose no time -in enquiring into the merits of my case, and that I might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> -depend upon receiving every assistance from him that a -man of honour could desire.</p> - -<p>The warmth and frankness of this answer filled me with -hope, for there was no deliverance from my present situation -that I could contemplate with satisfaction, but such -a one as should be accompanied with reparation and <i lang="fr">éclat</i>. -Three days however elapsed before I heard again from the -French envoy. On the morning of the fourth he announced -his intention of visiting me; and, about an hour after, -arrived at the prison. His appearance was striking. He -was tall, slender, and well made, with a freedom of carriage, -not derived from the polish of courts, but which appeared -to flow from the manliness and active energies of -his mind. His hair and complexion were dark; the former, -though he was still young, rather scantily shaded a high -and ample forehead. His features were expressive of the -sanguine and adust temper of his mind; and, though his -eye was animated, his countenance, as he entered, struck -me as particularly solemn.</p> - -<p>“You are the count de St. Leon?” said he.</p> - -<p>“I am.”</p> - -<p>“You sent me a memorial a few days ago complaining -of the tribunal of this city: I am afraid, sir, I can do nothing -for you.”</p> - -<p>My countenance fell as he spoke; I gasped for breath. -I had conceived a most favourable anticipation as he entered, -and my disappointment was particularly cruel. I -had said in my heart, This is the very man to rescue my -injured fame.</p> - -<p>“I see, sir, you are disappointed,” resumed he. “I -have not given up the affair: if I had, this visit, which I -design as a mark of attention, would be an insult. The -moment I received your memorial, I paid the utmost regard -to it. If the affair had been as you represented it, I -know I could not do any thing more acceptable to my sovereign -than interfere in your behalf. I have spent the -whole interval in investigating the case. I have seen the -magistrate who committed you; I have visited the spot -where your crime is alleged to have been perpetrated; I -have had an interview with your wife.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, sir,” cried I, alarmed and impatient—“well, -sir, and the result?”</p> - -<p>“Appearances are uncommonly strong against you: they -can scarcely he stronger. But you have a right to be heard; -it is for the sake of discharging that last act of justice that -you see me this morning.”</p> - -<p>“Great God!” exclaimed I, overwhelmed with chagrin, -“is if possible that my countryman, the man to whom I -was proud and happy to appeal, the gallant Monluc, should -believe me a murderer? I swear by every thing that is -sacred, by the blood of him that died for me on the cross, -and by my eternal salvation, that I am as innocent as the -child unborn!”</p> - -<p>“I am glad to hear you express yourself with this emphasis -and fervour. I cannot but say that to my own -feelings it has great weight. But I must not suffer myself -as a man, and still less in the public capacity in which I -stand, to be overcome and confounded by your asseverations. -There is a connected and most unfavourable story against -you: this it is incumbent on you to clear up.”</p> - -<p>“And you say, you have seen my wife?” I was distracted -and overwhelmed by Monluc’s way of putting the -question. I was divided between my anxiety to be justified, -and the solemn mystery of the affair to which his enquiries -led; and I probably spoke thus from an unconscious desire -to gain time.</p> - -<p>“Yes, that is another presumption in your favour. Madame -de St. Leon is perhaps the most striking and extraordinary -woman I ever saw. Of the husband of such a woman, -especially when he appears to be the object of her attachment, -I should be always inclined to think well. Madame -de St. Leon pleaded for you with earnestness and affection. -But, amidst all her ardour, I could perceive that she felt -there was something mysterious and unpleasant in the affair, -that she was unable to develope.”</p> - -<p>As Monluc spoke, I saw that I had failed in one of the -main anchors of my hope. I thought that no one could -have talked with my beloved Marguerite, and have left her -with the opinion that I was a murderer. How did this happen? -Was she lukewarm and unfaithful in my vindication?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What she,” continued my countryman, “I could see, -was not only unable to explain, but did not fully understand, -it is you alone can clear; the concealment of the -stranger, his disappearance, what became of the body, and -your own sudden transition from poverty to wealth.”</p> - -<p>I was by this time fully sensible of the nature of my -situation. I summoned my fortitude; I felt that I had no -longer any hope but in the dignity of innocence.</p> - -<p>“You call on me for explanation,” replied I. “Can -you not conceive, gallant Monluc, that I may be able to -resolve your doubts, and yet that I will not? Explanation -is not the business of a man of honour. He cannot stoop -to it. He will win the applause and approbation of mankind, -if won, in silence. He will hold on the even course -of a generous spirit, and turn neither to the right nor to the -left, to court the suffrage, or deprecate the condemnation of -a giddy multitude. Such, my brave countryman, have been -the maxims of my past life; such will be the maxims of -my future.”</p> - -<p>“I admire,” answered Monluc, “at least the gallantry -of these sentiments, though I may be inclined to doubt their -prudence. But, if such is your determination, permit me -to say, you have no concern with me. He who resolutely -withholds explanation, must arm himself with patience, and -either wait the operation of time, or rest satisfied with the -consciousness of his innocence.”</p> - -<p>“And is that all? Will there not be some noble spirits, -who, separating themselves from the herd, will judge of -him by what they feel in their own breasts, and be drawn -to him with an irresistible impulse? Was it not natural -that I should expect Monluc to be one of these? It would -be hard indeed, if he who disdains to temporise with -popularity, and to vindicate himself from the ungenerous -constructions of sordid minds, should not by that very proceeding -secure the friendship and sympathy of those, whose -friendship it will be most grateful to him to possess.”</p> - -<p>“The friends of an innocent man, whom a combination -of circumstances has exposed to the most painful suspicions, -must always be few. He can scarcely expect the acquittal -and sympathy of a stranger. I must know, I must have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> -felt and observed in a man a thousand virtues, before I can -be entitled to treat accumulated presumptions against him -as nothing.”</p> - -<p>“And thus then are to end my hopes in Monluc? He -does not feel that I am innocent? He does not recognise -in me the countenance, the voice, the turn of thought, of a -brother, a man no less incapable than himself of every thing -disgraceful and ignominious? Be it so! I will, as you advise -me, rest upon the consciousness of my innocence. A -Frenchman, the descendant of illustrious ancestors, long an -exile, long the victim of adversity, but at all times conscious -of the purity of my sentiments and the integrity of my -conduct, I will not suffer myself to be overwhelmed with -this last desertion, this ultimate refusal of justice!”</p> - -<p>“Count de St. Leon! your appeal is full of energy. In -whatever way I decide, it will leave an unpleasant sensation -in my breast. Let us suppose that, as a private man, -I could take you to my arms, and dismiss every unfavourable -appearance from my mind. You must remember that -I am here in a public character, and that only in a public -character am I capable of affording you assistance. Thus -situated, I am bound to resist the impulses of a romantic -and irregular confidence, and to do nothing of which I shall -not be able to render a clear and intelligible account.</p> - -<p>“Let us not part thus! It is not the vindication of -your character to the world, with which we are at present -concerned. It is only necessary that you should furnish a -sufficient ground to justify me to myself for interfering in -your behalf. Explain to me the particulars of your case, -in confidence if you will, but fully and without reserve. I -will not abuse your confidence. I will make no use of your -communication, but such as you shall yourself approve. -Only enable me to have a reason for acting, that is not -merely capable of being felt, but that I may know is in its -own nature capable of being stated to another. It is upon -me that you call to take certain measures; you must enable -me to judge of their propriety.</p> - -<p>“You are mistaken when you suppose the appearances -against you to be slight. It is not a slight circumstance, -that you profess to be ignorant of, or have refused to disclose,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -the country, the connections, and even the name of -the stranger whom you so anxiously concealed. The disappearance -of his body is still more extraordinary. What -intelligible motive, except a guilty one, can I assign for -that? But your sudden wealth immediately after this disappearance, -is especially material. It is a broad and glaring -fact, that men cannot shut their eyes on, if they would. -The chain and combination of events, that proceeds systematically -from link to link, is the criterion of guilt and -the protector of reputation. Your case, as it now stands, -is scarcely to be termed equivocal: upon the supposition of -your criminality all is plain and easy to be accounted for; -upon any other supposition it appears an inscrutable mystery. -Place but the balance even; present to me an exposition -of these facts, that shall make your innocence not less -probable than your guilt; and, as I feel myself interested -for you and your family, and as the presumption, when -matters are doubtful, ought always to be on the favourable -side, I consent to be your friend!”</p> - -<p>“How unfortunate,” I exclaimed, “am I doomed to be! -Your proposal is liberal and generous; but I must refuse -it! My story is an unhappy one: particulars have been -reposed in my fidelity, which I am not at liberty to communicate, -but which, if communicated, you would not regard -as dishonourable. I may be made the martyr of infamy, -and the abhorrence of my species; I can endure -adversity and anguish; I can die; but that which you -demand from me never can be confided to any mortal ear!”</p> - -<p>“As you please,” rejoined Monluc. “The secrets of a -dead man, to be preserved after his death, and that to the -ruin of him who is their depository, must, I believe, be -villanous secrets; and the secret of a villain no one is bound -to observe. You must further give me leave to tell you, -that, whatever a high-strained sense of honour might dictate -in that point, the fortune you possess is your own affair, -and to dissipate or not the mystery which hangs upon that -is wholly at your discretion. But I have already advanced -as far, perhaps further, than circumstances or propriety -could justify, and there can now be no more parley between -us.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Monluc,” cried I, “I submit! However harsh your -decision is as towards me, however painful and unfortunate -its consequences, I will admit it to be that which duty prescribes -to you. I struggle, I contend, no further. One -thing only I would willingly obtain of you, that you would -interpose your influence to obtain for me the society and -intercourse of my family. The transaction of this day will -then be remembered by me with respect towards you, and -a melancholy regret that I could not entitle myself to your -esteem. I shall recollect with pleasure that I owe something -to the generosity of Monluc.”</p> - -<p>“Incredible pertinacity!” exclaimed my visitor, with a -voice of perplexity and astonishment. “What am I to -conceive of you? Under what appearance shall I consider -you in the records of my memory? Your silence is the indication -of guilt, and in that indication I ought to acquiesce. -Yet the fortitude of your manner, and something, I -know not what, of emotion, that your manner produces in -my own bosom, would fain persuade me you are innocent. -Why will you leave me a prey to this contention of thought? -If all men, constituted as I am, were to feel in you, as it -were, the magnetism of innocence, shame, the simple inference -of understanding, and the general sense of mankind, -would oblige them to treat you as guilty. What I can -however, be assured I will cheerfully do for you. I cannot -deliver you from prison, but I will not fail to obtain the -mitigation you ask. Farewell!”</p> - -<p>Such was the issue of my interview with Monluc. It -was clear that my reputation was wounded beyond the power -of remedy. While the question had only been of a magistrate, -haughty, supercilious, insolent and unfeeling, I flattered -myself that the harshness of the conclusions that were -drawn, might be ascribed to the depravity of his character. -But Monluc was the reverse of this man. He was not less -generous and heroic than the magistrate was gross and illiberal. -His desire to relieve me was not less apparent than -the magistrate’s eagerness to oppress. Yet his conclusion -was the same, and was felt by me so much the more bitterly, -in proportion to the humanity, the kindness, the intrepidity, -and the virtue, of the man from whom it flowed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -Virtue and vice, barbarism and refinement, were equally -engaged in the concert against me, and there was no chance -I should triumph in a contention with so many enemies.</p> - -<p>I might now be said to have reached the end of my adventure: -I had closed one grand experiment upon the -donation of the stranger. What had it produced to me? -Not one atom of the benefits I anticipated; not a particle of -those advantages which a little while ago had made the intoxications -of my waking dreams. Its fruits had been distasteful -and loathsome. Whether I looked to my person, -my family, or my fame, I had felt in all the miserable -effects of this treacherous and delusive gift. My person -was shut up in prison; and I was now to make an experiment -whether, by clandestine and secret proceedings, wealth -could restore to me the liberty of which wealth had deprived -me. My family was blasted; my wife was struck to the -heart, and no mortal skill could restore the wound she had -suffered; my son was gone unaided into voluntary exile, -that he might shun the contagion of my follies; what was -I to do with the poor remains of my house, forlorn, dejected, -and wretched? The wound my good name had -received, was of the most decisive species. When I first -encountered contumely at Dresden, and was called on for -explanation by Coligny, the difficulties of my condition -struck anguish to my soul. But what were they, compared -with what had now overtaken me? I was charged with -robbery and murder, with every thing that combines the -whole species against the perpetrator, and determines them, -without sense of compunction, to extirpate him from the -face of the earth. Perhaps it was only by the courtesy of -the laws of this state, that I was permitted my choice between -an ignominious death and perpetual imprisonment. -I might possibly indeed escape from my confinement; I -might pass into a distant country; I might be fortunate -enough to cut off all connection between my past and my -future life, and thus enter upon a new career. But this to -a man of honourable mind is a miserable expedient. With -what feelings does he recollect, that there is a spot where -his name is abhorred, where a story is told against him to -excite the wonder of the ignorant, and the torpid feelings of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -the sluggish soul, a story to darken with new infamy the -records of guilt, and to infect the imagination of the solitary -man with nameless horrors? To be the theme of such a -tale, is no common evil. No matter how far the man to -whom it relates, shall remove from the detested spot; the -spot itself with all its chain of circumstances, will often -recur; the voices that repulsed and humbled him will ring -in his ear; the degraded figure he made will rise for ever -fresh to his imagination. He cannot ascend to any free and -lofty sentiment; he cannot attain the healthful tone of unblemished -virtue; wherever he goes, he carries the arrow -of disgrace in his bosom, and, when he would erect his head -on high, it reminds him of the past, and stings him to the -heart.</p> - -<p>If the consciousness of all this would have been painful -to any other man, what was it to me, who had been -brought up from my infancy in the opinion that fame was -the first of all human possessions, and to whom honour -and an unimpeached integrity had ever been more necessary -than my daily food, or than the life which that food supported? -What would I not have given could I have returned -to the situation in which the inauspicious arrival of the -stranger had found me? But that was impossible. If all -that I had recently passed through could but have proved a -dream, if I could have awakened and freed myself from the -phantoms of this horrible vision, how happy beyond all -names of happiness should I by such an event have been -made! What a lesson would it have taught me of the -emptiness and futility of human wishes! What a sovereign -contempt would it have impressed upon me for wealth and -all its train of ostentation! How profound a feeling of contentment -with humble circumstances and a narrow station -would it have produced in my mind! Alas, the conception -of those advantages and that peace was the illusion, and not -the evils I had sustained, and from which I could not -escape!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</h2> - -<p>Meanwhile it was necessary that I should make the best -of the present circumstances. My heart was wounded; my -spirit was in a manner broken; but not so utterly withered -and destroyed as to make me rest supine in perpetual imprisonment. -I felt with equal conviction and pungency -that my character and my happiness had sustained the -deepest injuries; but I felt it incumbent on me to collect -and improve the fragments that remained. For some days -indeed after the conference with Monluc, I was sunk in the -deepest dejection. But, as that dejection subsided, I began -to turn a steady attention upon the future. I recollected -that an eternal and inexhaustible gift deserved to be made -the subject of more than one experiment, before a decision -was formed upon its merits. I shall become wiser, said I, -as I go forward. Experience, however bitter, will teach -me sagacity and discrimination. My next experiment shall -be made with more prudence and a soberer gradation. I -will remove to some distant country, where the disadvantages -of my past adventures shall not follow me. I will -take a new name. I shall then enjoy the benefit of a tyro -just entering a scene, to all the personages of which he is -wholly unknown. I shall be like a serpent that has stripped -its tarnished and wrinkled skin, and comes forth in all the -gloss and sleekness of youth. Surely, in an unknown land, -with the prejudice of wealth in my favour, and no prejudices -against me, I shall know how to conduct myself so as -to obtain honour and respect. It is impossible that inexhaustible -wealth and immortal youth, gifts so earnestly -coveted by every creature that lives, gifts which if I were -known to possess, my whole species from the mere impulses -of envy would probably combine to murder me, as not able -to endure the sight of one so elevated above his brethren,—it -is impossible that such gifts should not be pregnant with -variety of joy.</p> - -<p>Marguerite greatly contributed to raise me from the -dejection, into which my imprisonment and the conference<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> -of Monluc had sunk me. She was my better genius. I -had been so accustomed to receive consolation from her lips -in the most trying circumstances, that now the very sound -of her voice was able to smooth my wrinkled brow, and -calm my agitated spirit. I listened as to the sound of an -angelic lyre; I was all ear; I drank in the accents of her -tongue; and, in the dear delight, my cares were hushed, -and my sorrows at an end. She talked to me of her daughters, -whom she represented as about to have no protector -but their father; she urged me to watch over them, and to -take such steps as should most conduce to their future virtue -and happiness; she pointed out the practicability of -escape, and recommended to me to fly to some distant -country: the dreams of future prosperity from the gifts of -the stranger were not hers; they were all my own. It was -inexpressibly affecting at this time to receive consolation -from her, who had no consolation in her own breast, who -had bid farewell to all the gay attractions of the world, and -talked familiarly of her death as a thing certain to happen -in no very long time. She had lost the purest gratifications -of the domestic scene; she had lost her son; her heart -was broken; yet with her dying accents she sought to dispel -retrospect, and inspire cheerfulness, in the breast of her -husband.</p> - -<p>The reader may perhaps imagine that I was something -too sanguine, when, surrounded with jailors and all the -precautions of a prison, I planned the nature and scene of -my next residence exactly as if I had been a person at -large. But I took it for granted that the power of money -I possessed would easily unlock to me the gates of my captivity. -I believed that, upon the lowest calculation, personal -liberty was clearly included among the gifts of the -stranger. Impressed with this opinion, I fixed upon a -negro, a servant of the prison, and who had the keys of my -apartment, as the subject of my pecuniary experiment. The -idea of applying to him had perhaps first occurred to me, -from the mere circumstance of my seeing him more frequently -than any other attendant of the prison. When I -thought further of the matter, I judged, from the meanness -of his rank and his apparent poverty, that I could not have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -chosen better. So far as related to the sum to be paid as -the price of my liberty, it was indeed indifferent to me, -whether it were large or small. I had however suffered so -much from the inconsiderate lavishing of wealth, that I had -no inclination on the present occasion to make ostentation -of more than was necessary. But, what was of most importance -to me, I was desirous that my first experiment -should be a successful one. Though not unaware of the -power of gold, I conceived that, among persons of middling -rank and easier circumstances, there might be varieties -of disposition, and I might be mistaken in my choice. -Some might have the whim of integrity, or might place a -sturdy sort of pride in showing that they were content with -what they had, and were too high for a bribe. There -might be persons who, though of plebeian rank, might value -reputation as much as ever I had done, and be of opinion -that no advance of station could compensate for the name -or the consciousness of dishonour. These distinctions may -seem an idle and superfluous refinement, when it is considered -that I had the power of raising my bribe to the level -of any man’s honesty or pride, be it as great as it might; -and it may be thought that my offer might be so increased -as to be too dazzling for mortal firmness to resist. Be that -as it will, I am merely stating the reflections that passed -through my mind, not entering into their vindication.</p> - -<p>Taking the first opportunity then of accosting this man -when he was alone with me, I addressed him thus:—</p> - -<p>“My good friend, are not you poor?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Would not you readily do me a kindness?”</p> - -<p>“If my master give me leave, I will.”</p> - -<p>“You mistake me. Would you be my friend?”</p> - -<p>“I do not know what you mean, sir. I have been used -to call the man I love my friend. If you mean that, you -know I cannot choose whether I will be a man’s friend; it -comes of itself.”</p> - -<p>“Can I not make you my friend?”</p> - -<p>“That is, make me love you?”</p> - -<p>I was surprised at the propriety of his answers. I am -unable at this distance of time to recall the defects of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -language: and I disdain the mimic toil of inventing a -jargon for him suitable to the lowness of his condition: the -sense of what he said I faithfully report. I had before been -struck with a certain correctness of thinking in him; -but I now examined his countenance more attentively than -I had ever before done, and thought I could distinctly -trace in it the indications of a sound understanding and an -excellent heart.</p> - -<p>“I do not know, sir,” continued he. “If I see that -you are a good man, I believe I shall love you. But if it -happened that you were good and generous to me, I am sure -I should love you very much.”</p> - -<p>“You are very poor?”</p> - -<p>“So they tell me. I never had more than a shilling or -two at a time in my life.”</p> - -<p>“It is a very sad thing to be poor?”</p> - -<p>“Why, yes, so I have heard, sir. But, for my own -part, I am always merry and gay.”</p> - -<p>“My good fellow, I will make you rich.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, sir! But what good will that do me?”</p> - -<p>“You are a servant: I will make you a master of -servants.”</p> - -<p>“Now, that I should not like at all. I am merry, because -I am light-hearted. If I had money, and property -to take care of, and servants to direct, I am afraid they -would make me grave and suspicious, and in every respect -unlike what you see me.”</p> - -<p>“Is it possible you should be pleased with your present -situation, under the orders of one man in a house, and -obliged to play the tyrant to the rest?”</p> - -<p>“Why, as you say, sir, there may be more agreeable -situations than the life of a jail. But, as to being under -orders, I have no objection to that. I never knew any other -condition, and therefore I am contented. It is not pleasant -indeed to have a master who is always scolding and dissatisfied; -but the gentleman I serve at present is reasonable; -I know how to content him, and, when I have done -that, he leaves me to please myself. You offer me money: -now, sir, that is not what I call being generous; I count -nothing for much, except when a man shows me has bowels,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -and convinces me that he thinks justice due even to a -negro. I dare say however you designed it for generosity, -and expected something from me in return. Tell me what -it is you want, and whatever I can do with propriety, you -may depend on it I will.”</p> - -<p>“Do you approve of a man’s being deprived of his -liberty?”</p> - -<p>“Will you please to tell me what you mean by liberty? -You offered me just now what you called liberty and independence; -and I am content to be a servant.”</p> - -<p>“Would you be pleased, instead of being a turnkey, to -have the key turned on yourself?”</p> - -<p>“That I should not. I understand the disagreeableness -of that well enough, for when I first entered this place, it -was as a prisoner.”</p> - -<p>“If then, my good fellow, you were convinced that I -was a man disposed to be generous to you in your own -way, and to deserve your attachment and love, surely you -would not refuse to deliver me from a situation which you -have yourself felt to be so disagreeable and calamitous.”</p> - -<p>“I understand you now, sir. I have already a master -with whom I am satisfied, and I do not wish to change my -service. When I was a prisoner, he found out that I was -innocent; he got me cleared, and gave me employment. I -am put here for the express purpose of seeing the prisoners -in safe custody. That is the contract between me and my -master. When I took the keys, by that action I pledged -myself to be faithful to my trust; and the nobleness of my -master’s behaviour to me in removing me from being a prisoner -to be a free servant, is a double bond upon my fidelity. -I would sooner consent to be torn limb from limb, than fail -in what is expected from me. You may be generous to a -harmless stranger; you have most reason to be generous to -a man you love; but, if you would heap benefits upon me -merely because I proved myself a villain, I can only say it -would be disgraceful to be the object of your favour.”</p> - -<p>Thus saying, he quitted me, and withdrew from further -parley. The conversation in which we had engaged, though -I had had considerable experience in the world, was altogether -new to me, and overwhelmed me with astonishment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -I found in this trial, that the power of money was subject -to limitations, of which previously I had not been in the -slightest degree aware. I thought that nothing but the -most extraordinary degree of resolution and self-denial could -enable a man to resist its enticements; and I had even been -told, though I did not believe, that every man had his -price, and a bribe capable of indefinite augmentation must -be in all cases victorious. Yet here was a poor creature -utterly exempt from its operation. He had no sense of -those attractions, which so often degrade the best, and convert -virtue into the most shameless profligacy. It cost him -no effort to be honest, and he uttered sentiments that would -have given lustre to the most heroic character, without any -consciousness of their greatness. What I had seen, led -me also to reflect on another singularity I discerned in him. -In the midst of the admirable, I had almost said the sublime, -integrity he discovered, (for is it not a criterion of -the sublime to be great without an effort?) he was destitute -of knowledge, of intellectual cultivation, and all those exquisite -sensations that most distinguish the man from the -brute. He passed on quietly in the road of ordinary life, -and thought not of the ambition to be wise or great, to be -honoured by thousands, or a benefactor to ages yet unborn. -Kings might have confessed their inferiority to this man. -But is he to be regarded as the model of what a human -creature should be wished to be? Oh, no!</p> - -<p>But the most memorable feeling impressed upon me by -this conversation, was a conviction of what I had been -backward to confess, that knaves were the persons to whose -assistance and concert I must look, and that I must be upon -my guard against an honest man. No one was qualified -to be my coadjutor, till he had proved himself unworthy of -all just and honourable society. The friend I must seek, -was a man whose very soul melted at a bribe, whom money -would seduce to perpetrate whatever his judgment most -abhorred. Honour and integrity in the most refined and -the rudest state, Monluc and the negro, both refused. It -is impossible to conceive a sensation more painful and humiliating, -than was this conviction to my mind.</p> - -<p>I was not long at leisure for these reflections. In a few<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> -minutes the master of the prison entered my apartment, -and with him the negro whom I had endeavoured to prevail -on to assist in restoring me to liberty. The master -began to reproach me in very harsh terms for attempting to -seduce his servant from his duty, and asked me what sort -of enjoyment or satisfaction a man could have in life, if he -could not depend upon the people he put into his employment? -To this I answered with sternness, “that I should -hold no debate about right and wrong with a jailor; that -he might depend upon it I would leave no stone unturned -to set myself free, and, what was more, that I would be -free; and that, for his part, it was his business to keep me -if he could, but not to insult me.” I therefore insisted -upon his quitting the room.</p> - -<p>“What use,” replied the fellow, “do you think now -there is in putting yourself in a passion? If I have not a -right to speak to you, I know what I have a right to do, -put you in the strong room, and load you with irons.”</p> - -<p>I turned my back upon him. “And how came you,” -said I to the negro, “to go and betray me? I should have -expected better things of you. If you refused to serve me, -at least you needed not have endeavoured to hurt me.”</p> - -<p>“I did nothing but my duty, sir. I have no wish to -hurt you: but it is my business, not merely to take care of -my master’s interests myself, but to see that they are not -injured by any body else. If he was not put on his guard, -you might have been more successful with the next turnkey -you endeavoured to bribe.”</p> - -<p>“You will find it more to your interest, monsieur,” interposed -the jailor, “to talk to me than to my servant. -You are determined to be free, you say. If that is the case, -and it is to happen, who has so good a right to benefit by -your resolution as I have?”</p> - -<p>My eyes were opened in a moment. I saw that the -knave whose rigour and sternness could not hold out against -the warmth of a bribe, the friend of whose assistance I was -in want, stood before me.</p> - -<p>“I do not wonder,” proceeded he, “that you preferred -applying to one of my servants. Their honesty must be -expected to be had at a cheaper market. But, for my part,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> -I am determined that no man shall ever pass these walls, -without my being the richer. If then your escape is a -thing that must happen, let us see what you can afford to -give me for it.”</p> - -<p>“Dear master,” interposed the negro, “you surely will -not listen to the gentleman’s offer. When I refused to -betray my trust, it is impossible you should consent to betray -yours!”</p> - -<p>“Hold your tongue, blockhead!” said the other. “Do -not you see that monsieur is determined to escape? I know -he is rich. Though you have refused a bribe, I am sure -that all your fellows will not. The thing will happen sooner -or later in spite of every thing I can do; and there can -be no harm in my helping to bring about, what it is impossible -I should prevent.”</p> - -<p>A morality like this seems exactly in its place in the -breast of a jailor. We had already made some progress in -adjusting the terms of our contract, when the keeper of the -prison interposed:—</p> - -<p>“But, monsieur, you will please to remark, that this is -an affair which will be attended with difficulty. Whatever -passes between you and me must be a secret. Your escape -will be a thing open and notorious, and you must have a -confederate, that I may not bear the blame of it. You -must therefore take my black here along with you, that his -flight may cause all the blame to fall upon him.”</p> - -<p>“O, pray, master,” said the negro, “do not part with -me! I love you, and will do any thing in the world, if you -will let me stay. You saved my life for aught I know, -and made a man of me again; you cannot think what good -it does me to serve a master that has been so kind to me!”</p> - -<p>“Get you gone!” replied his owner. “You are of no -use to me; you are not fit for a jail; you are so simple, -I cannot tell what to do with you!”</p> - -<p>“Indeed I do not like to go with this gentleman; it will -break my heart. He said he would be generous and kind to me, -if I turned a villain; I shall never be able, and shall never -desire to earn his kindness: but you rewarded me because I -was innocent. He said he would make a master of me; and -I am better as I am; I had much rather be a servant.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> - -<p>The difficulties of this poor fellow were soon silenced by -the peremptoriness of his master. The jailor told him that -he would do him a great service, by thus giving his master -an opportunity of representing him as the traitor; and, -with this consideration, the negro dried his tears, and with -a reluctant heart consented to accompany me. Thus were -his exemplary fidelity and affection rewarded! So little do -some men seem capable of feeling the value of attachment! -The character of the master was a singular one. The -meanness and mercenariness of his spirit were unredeemed -by a single virtue. He was avarice personified. But he -had found or imagined an interest in taking this negro, who -had been want only thrown into prison by a former tyrant, -for his servant; and this the poor fellow, in the simplicity -of his heart, had mistaken for an act of exalted generosity. -His avarice had swallowed up all his other passions; and -his servants had neither impatience nor insolence to encounter -from him: weighed therefore in the balance of -the negro’s experience, he appeared a miracle of mildness -and benevolence.</p> - -<p>Our bargain was at length concluded; and, the next -time Marguerite came to visit me, I announced to her the -success of my negotiation. Before we parted, we sent for -the jailor, and discussed with him the road I should take. -My purpose was to pass into Italy; and Marguerite undertook -by midnight to have every thing prepared to convey -us to the foot of the mountains. This point being adjusted, -the keeper of the prison left us; and, tenderly embracing -Marguerite, I besought her to congratulate me upon the -recovery of my liberty. She had heard however of the -infamous nature of the charge against me, and, though she -yielded it no credit, I could easily perceive that it rendered -yet heavier the depression under which she laboured. -She returned my embrace; the tears stole down -her cheeks; but she was silent. I endeavoured to divert -her thoughts and re-animate her spirits, by hinting -at the new scenes before us, and the distant country to -which we were about to remove; but in vain. “I will -not reproach you, Reginald!” said she; “I will not desert -my duty while I have power to perform it; you may depend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> -upon my doing every thing I am able both for the -children and yourself!”</p> - -<p>She left me in a very melancholy frame of mind. I had -not expected to see her thus languid and disconsolate; and -upon the eve of my liberation, I felt it like caprice. Incomparable -woman! She was incapable of giving intentional -pain: but, with her exquisitely susceptible mind, she -was unable to support the dreadful reverse in which I had -involved her, or even at times to assume the gestures of -cheerfulness and tranquillity; gestures that, at the best, -but ill disguised the grief within!</p> - -<p>I was busily reflecting on what had just occurred, when -the keeper of the prison re-entered my apartment. “I am -come, monsieur,” said he, “to take my leave of you. As -I do not at all intend to lose my place, it is not proper that -I should see you any more. You understand me?”</p> - -<p>Two days had already elapsed since the conclusion of our -contract, and I had provided myself for this and such other -demands as seemed likely to be immediately impending. I -should have preferred indeed to have delayed this payment -till the moment of my departure: but what the jailor suggested -appeared reasonable; and I could not assign, even -to my own mind, any cause why I should be reluctant to -comply with it. I paid to this wretch the price of his villany.</p> - -<p>I now began to count the hours, and eagerly to anticipate -the arrival of midnight. Though the moment of my -liberty was so near, I yet contemplated with unspeakable -loathing the scene of my confinement, which was associated -with the deepest disgrace and the blackest charges that are -incident to a human creature. I felt as if, in proportion -as I removed from the hated spot, I should at least shake -off a part of the burthen that oppressed me, and grow comparatively -young again.</p> - -<p>Time was far from moving indeed with the rapidity my -impatience required; but the hour of appointment at last -was near, and I expected every moment the faithful negro -to appear, and announce to me my freedom. The cathedral -bell now sounded twelve; I heard the noise of steps -along the gallery; and presently a key was applied to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> -door of my apartment. It opened; and three persons, -whom I knew for servants of the prison, entered.</p> - -<p>“Come, sir,” said one of them; “you must follow -me.”</p> - -<p>“Where is my friend the negro?” said I.</p> - -<p>“Ask no questions; speak never a word; but come.”</p> - -<p>It was strange that the master of the prison, whose temper -was so full of anxiety and caution, should unnecessarily -trust three of his people, who might easily have been kept -ignorant of this hazardous secret! This circumstance however -did not strike me at first so strongly as it ought to -have done. I had perfect confidence in his fidelity to his -profligate bargain, and expected every moment to meet the -negro who was to be my guide. My conductors led me by -a way which I soon perceived did not lead to the ordinary -entrance of the prison.</p> - -<p>“Where are we going?” said I.</p> - -<p>“Hold your tongue, or you will spoil all;” replied one -of them roughly.</p> - -<p>I bethought me that there might be an objection to the -dismissing me by the public gate; I recollected to have -heard that there were several subterranean outlets to the -citadel; I judged from the words I had just heard that -my conductors were acquainted with the plan that had -been formed; and for all these reasons I proceeded with -tolerable ease and security. I was not much longer however -permitted to doubt. I was conducted to one of the -dungeons of the prison, and told that there I was to remain. -At first I remonstrated loudly, and told them “that I had -been promised my liberty, and not a treatment like this.”</p> - -<p>“We know that, sir,” replied they, “and that is the -reason you are brought here. It is our business to teach -you that the greatest offence that can be committed by a -man in prison is to attempt to escape.”</p> - -<p>The shock and surprise that so unexpected an issue to -my adventure produced, rendered me outrageous. I was -no longer able to control my fury; and, without knowing -what I proposed, I knocked down two of my attendants -before they had an opportunity to secure me, and rushed -up the flight of steps by which we had descended. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> -third however contrived to intercept me; and, while we -struggled, the other two came to his assistance. They -loaded me with fetters and chained me to the wall. I was -then left in utter darkness.</p> - -<p>I felt myself sore with the bruises I had received in the -contest; but what was infinitely worse, I found the expectations -of freedom I had so confidently entertained, -baffled and disappointed. Marguerite and my children were -at this moment waiting for me to join them. They would -probably wait hour after hour in vain. To what cause -would they attribute my failing of my appointment? To -what cause was I myself to attribute my miscarriage? My -hopes in this instance had been in the utmost degree sanguine; -what was I to count upon for the future? Was -money useless in every instance in which mankind agreed -to think its power unquestionable? What was the source -of the present catastrophe and the harsh treatment I endured? -Was the keeper of the prison discovered, and dismissed -from his office? Had the negro gone and given -information against him? I formed a thousand conjectures -as to what might have happened; but I was unable -to rest in any.</p> - -<p>I had remained about twelve hours in this situation, full -of angry and disconsolate thoughts, when the principal -jailor entered my dungeon. I looked at him with astonishment; -the cloud vanished from my understanding, and I -began to comprehend the solution of the enigma.</p> - -<p>“Are you at large?” cried I, with indignation: “why -then am I here?”</p> - -<p>“You are here by my orders.”</p> - -<p>“Execrable villain!” said I. “Did you not promise -me my freedom? Have you not received the price of it? -How dare you show yourself in my presence?” As I spoke, -I shook my chains, I clenched my fists, I trembled with -resentment and rage.</p> - -<p>“If you are not perfectly quiet and reasonable,” said he, -“I shall leave you to your fate and return no more.”</p> - -<p>Nothing is more singular in a state of great mental effervescence, -than the rapidity with which our ideas succeed -each other. At such times we seem to think more in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> -minutes than at other times in hours. I felt how miserable -a slave a man is, the moment he falls completely into the -power of another. The wretch who stood before me was -more vacant of human affections than any one I ever saw. -Yet I was his creature, to be moulded as he pleased. A -thousand injuries he could inflict upon me, for which -neither the institutions of society nor the extraordinary -endowments I derived from the stranger could afford a -remedy. He might so torture my mind and baffle my -wishes, as to kill in me every spark of lofty adventure and -generous pride. My liberty might, for aught I knew, be for -years at his disposal. I felt however that my best course -was to regard him with contempt, and use him as I would -a spade or a file, to execute my purposes, without suffering -him to awaken my passions. I immediately grew more calm, -and he perceived the revolution of my sentiments.</p> - -<p>“You seem to wonder,” continued he, “that I did not -keep my engagement with you? I pride myself upon being -superior to the prejudices, by which other men are frightened, -like children with a bugbear. I have therefore no -rule but my interest: and I did not see how my interest -bound me to keep my engagement with you.”</p> - -<p>“And what became of the countess?”</p> - -<p>“I neither know nor care. I suppose she stayed all night -under the walls; I knew she durst not disturb the prison.”</p> - -<p>I felt I had still emotions to suppress. I curbed my -tongue, but they showed themselves in my eyes.</p> - -<p>“How do you intend to dispose of me?”</p> - -<p>“Keep you in close custody. I have got your thousand -pounds; the next thing for me to take care of is, that I do -not lose my place.”</p> - -<p>“And for what purpose do you come to me now?”</p> - -<p>“Why to tell you a secret, I have not quite determined -what conduct to pursue, and therefore I came here -that I might have a better opportunity of judging.”</p> - -<p>“Are you not afraid that I should inform the government -how you have cheated me?”</p> - -<p>“You inform! Have not I got you under lock and key? -I warrant you, I will take care what goes out of these walls -to the government.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The countess has a licence to visit me.”</p> - -<p>“What care I for that? I can keep her at bay as long as -I will. She will not easily go to the government; and she -is not such a fool as not to know, that to lodge a complaint -against me, is not the way to procure the liberty of a man -condemned to perpetual imprisonment. I can at any time -trump up a story of your attempting to corrupt the turnkeys, -and be sure, when I do, I will not want for proofs. That -will cover any thing I can do to annoy you, and answer any -accusation you can make against me. Do you think that -the word of a jailor will not be taken, before that of the -murderer he has in custody?”</p> - -<p>“I can bring your own servants as witnesses, three of -whom assaulted me last night.”</p> - -<p>“Dunce, do you think I trusted them with my secret? -They have nothing to tell, and apprehend nothing but a plot -between you and my black, who has been put into the penitentiary -for his offence. He is my only confident; and I -trust him, because his stupidity answers to me for his faith.”</p> - -<p>“Suppose I were to double the bribe for which you sold -me my liberty, what security should I have that you would -abide by your bargain?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, if you were to do that, it would alter the case.”</p> - -<p>“Might you not then detain the money, and defy me, as -you have done now?”</p> - -<p>“Suppose that a thing which might happen: can you -help yourself? can you do better?”</p> - -<p>I saw there was no remedy, and I was constrained to -allow the success of this twofold perfidy. It was with an -ill grace, and an attempt at sullenness and indifference, that -the jailor accepted my proposal. The second thousand -however had irresistible charms; and, in spite of himself, -the sensation that made his heart dance, relaxed his muscles, -and played about his mouth. He was puzzled what to -think of me. The facility with which I produced the sums -he demanded, with less apparent effort than they might have -come from a duke or a sovereign prince, startled and staggered -him. He had still his qualms, and evidently doubted -whether he should not raise his price a third time. I saw -no safety but in pertinacity and firmness, and had the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> -good fortune ultimately to check his doubtful, half-formed -experiments.</p> - -<p>I was led by the accidents which have just been related, -into further and deeper reflections on the power of money, -as well as on the nature of the situation in which I found -myself placed by the legacy of the stranger. My present -experiment had been made upon a subject apparently the -most favourable that could have been devised, upon a man -whose breast the love of gold occupied without a rival: yet -with this man I very hardly succeeded. I was not indeed -so blinded by the present dejection of my spirit and sickness -of my heart, as to imagine that I had not a secure game -with this base-minded wretch, if I consented to play it. I -had only to enlarge my bribe, to change it from the limited -sum of two thousand pounds to the more brilliant offer of -two thousand per annum, and no doubt I might have led -him with me to the extremity of the globe. However he -might have demurred, however he might have doubted, -however curiosity, whetted even to agony by the goadings -of avarice, might have prompted him to an incessant enquiry -within himself as to the solution of my character and my -powers, his grasping spirit would infallibly have chained his -tongue, and been surety for his fidelity. But I could not -yet prevail upon myself to endow such groveling and noxious -propensities with so rich a reward. I considered, in the -language of the stranger, that the talent I possessed was of -the most momentous nature, and bestowed by the governor -of the universe for the highest purposes; and I should have -held myself unjustifiable in enriching by its means, however -urgent the necessity might appear, the most worthless of -mankind.</p> - -<p>The sentiments of my tyrant varied every hour; he was -fickle, anxious, and undetermined; harassed with the double -fear of losing the sum already obtained, and of not securing -the whole of what was capable of being acquired. He parted -with me at last with all the pangs of a lover, who witnesses -the ceremony of his mistress’s taking the monastic veil, and -being sundered from him for ever. I was his Fortunatus’s -purse, and this was the last day he was to enjoy the use of it; -I was to him as the buried treasure of some long-forgotten<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> -hoarder, and he feared he should quit his digging before he -had carried off every thing that the field concealed. At -length however he began to apprehend that he had urged -the refinement of an unprincipled avarice as far as it would -go; and therefore in a few days, the negro being already -discharged from his penance, he suffered us to escape together.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> - -<p>Having rejoined the remainder of my family, we set out -together for the plains of Italy. My first interview with -Marguerite after my return from Dresden had been melancholy. -But our situation was now such as to give additional -anguish to her serious thoughts. She had then regarded -me as ambiguous, mysterious, and impenetrable, -qualities from which the frankness of her nature spontaneously -revolted; she saw in me the destroyer of her son, the -idol of her heart; she believed me an alchymist, a character -which she viewed as base, degrading, and insensible; -she had heard that rumour had been busy with my fame. -But now she saw in me a man of blasted reputation, arraigned -and imprisoned for robbery and murder. She did -not credit these imputations. But did the ingenuous and -noble-minded Marguerite de Damville ever think to find -herself allied to a being thus loaded with the world’s abhorrence; -that she should be compelled to honour with the -sacred name of husband a fugitive, a prison-breaker, and -an outlaw? If I had suffered these things in the defence -of my children, my religion, or my country, the case would -have been widely different. If, while encountering the -contempt of men, I had carried within me the glorious -feeling, that what they regarded as my disgrace was indeed -my immortal honour, Marguerite de Damville, beyond all -women, was prepared to despise their senseless blame, and -proudly to demand her share in such a dishonour.</p> - -<p>I know there are men who will listen with fretful impatience -to a detail of such sorrows as hers, and who will cry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> -out, “If we must be distressed, give us more substantial -and genuine sources of distress!” They will regard the -dejection of Marguerite as an idle wilfulness of grief, better -entitled to aversion than to sympathy; and will tell me -that nothing but the most deplorable blindness could have -prevented her from discerning the happiness of her condition; -that she had the world before her, a rich, a brave, -and an enterprising husband, with a lovely family of children; -that they could move from country to country, and -from climate to climate, carrying with them the means of -luxury, indulgence, homage, and usefulness. To such -moralisers I write not. For those who are incapable of -sympathising with the delicate sensations of Marguerite, I -am as little qualified to enter into their feelings as they into -mine. In the sequel of the story however it is not impossible -they may meet with their gratification. I am hastening -to events corporeal and palpable. I and my family did -wander from country to country, and from climate to climate. -With what resulting success will speedily be seen.</p> - -<p>Our destination at the present moment led us through -the territory of the Grisons, and over a limb of the Rhetian -Alps, to Como, Milan, Piacenza, Parma, and Pisa, in the -neighbourhood of which latter city we resolved to take up -our immediate residence. In this passage we met with few -adventures that merit to be recorded in my history. One -however seems entitled to a place, both as it tends to display -the singular worth of a dumb and unpretending brute, -and as it is in some sort connected with the fortunes I encountered -in the Pisan territory. It occurred in our journey -over the Alps.</p> - -<p>One evening, in the wildest and most desolate part of -the mountain, after having lodged my family in an inn, I -wandered forth to take a survey of the neighbouring -scenery. It was moonlight; our travel of the day had -been short, and had left on me no impression of fatigue; -while the romantic appearance of every thing around, -tempted me to extend my excursion further than I had -originally purposed. Stories of robberies and murders in -the vicinity had been repeated to us, and Marguerite had -employed the precaution of desiring Hector, such was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> -name which the caprice of his former masters had bestowed -on my faithful negro, to follow my steps and hold me in -sight. No anticipations of danger however disturbed my -contemplations. I resigned myself, as all my life I had -been accustomed to do, to the impressions of the moment, -and sought to shut out memory and the world from all my -thoughts. The scene was inexpressibly beautiful; the silence -was uninterrupted and awful. The splendour of the -moon gave a sober and silvery tint to every thing by which -its light was caught; soft white clouds were scattered in -the deep azure of the sky; the shades were of a blackness -and profundity that could not be surpassed. Every thing -was calculated to soothe and subdue the mind, to inspire a -grand and expansive tranquillity. The enthusiasm it spoke -occupied every channel of my heart. I stood still. It seemed -as if motion would have jarred and broken the spell that -seized me; I yielded with eager transport to the sentiment -that shrowded and enveloped me in its ample embrace.</p> - -<p>I had remained motionless for above half an hour, when -a sudden and eager sound burst upon my ear. It seemed -to be the shriek of some human creature in distress. It -was repeated several times. My first impulse was to fly to -the spot from which the sound appeared to proceed. Meanwhile -Hector came up to me, and endeavoured to detain me -by violence. His first principle was obedience to every just -and lawful command; and the errand upon which he was -commissioned, was to preserve me from the approach of -danger. He represented to me the stories of banditti we -had recently heard. He told me that we should too probably -fall in with a numerous party of these desperadoes, -against whom all our efforts, either for ourselves or for -those I was desirous to succour, would be nugatory. What -would become of my children? what would become of his -mistress, if my rashness were succeeded by a fatal event? -While he was thus speaking, and exerting himself to detain -me, the cries ceased. I believed they were those of a -person assassinated. I conceived that I should be the vilest -of poltroons if I suffered any consideration to prevent me -from endeavouring to afford to this unfortunate the relief in -my power.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p> - -<p>I had not advanced far, before I perceived coming towards -us, in the same direction from which the sound had -reached my ear, a dog, entirely black, and of uncommon -stature and strength. He was alone. Having caught sight -of us, he increased his pace, and had no sooner reached the -spot on which we stood, than he seized the flap of my coat, -and pulled it with considerable violence. I was somewhat -alarmed at his size and action, the latter of which I apprehended -to have a hostile design; and, having shaken him -off, I put myself in a posture of defence with a cane that -I carried in my hand. Undeterred however by my gesture, -he returned to the attack, only pulling with something less -exertion of strength than he had done before. More accurate -attention convinced me that he had no intention to -injure me, and I withheld the action of Hector, who had -raised his hand to strike in defence of his master. I suffered -him to guide me; and, after a considerable circuit -which the nature of the road obliged us to take, he led me -to a spot where I found a man lying on the ground, and -weltering in his blood, but with no person near, to whom to -impute the violence he had sustained.</p> - -<p>His blood flowed copiously from two or three different -wounds, one of them in particular near his left breast; and -my first care was to stop the effusion. For this purpose we -stripped him of his clothes, and tore his linen into bandages. -When we found him, he was insensible; but the anguish -of binding his wounds revived him a little, though only -enough to extort from him sighs and groans. This accomplished, -I dismissed Hector to the inn to procure something -in the nature of a litter, by which he might more easily be -conveyed within reach of effectual assistance.</p> - -<p>I was now left for six hours with no other companions -than the wounded gentleman and his dog, upon the very -spot upon which he had just before sustained so ferocious a -treatment, probably from the hands of banditti. They -might every moment be expected to return. This was no -agreeable notion to a person circumstanced as I was. I was -compelled to feel that a man possessed of boundless and -illimitable wealth, and of the power of repelling old age -and disease, did not in these advantages possess every thing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> -Notwithstanding the disappointments and mortifications I -had sustained, I was yet attached to life: and though the -bequests of the stranger had hitherto produced to me -nothing but evil, I still looked, with almost puerile eagerness -and beating of heart, for the time when I might spread -out the whole extent of my treasures without parsimony or -the dread of reverse. During the interval which I employed -in these reflections, the wounded man was for the -most part in a state of insensibility, and constantly speechless. -I expected his death every moment, and I perceived, -as I thought with certainty, that there was no hope of his -recovery. While we had dressed his wounds, the dog had -watched our motions with the most restless attention, and, -now that it was over, he came and licked my hands, and -laid himself down at my feet. The least motion however, -so much as a rustling among the leaves, startled him: he -rose, looked round, and seemed to enquire into the cause of -the disturbance; but he abstained from barking and every -kind of noise; whether it were that he was conscious of -the advantage of quiet to a person in his master’s condition, -or that he had the sense to know, in the situation in which -we were placed, that whatever produced alarm, might eventually -expose us to undiscovered danger.</p> - -<p>It was broad daylight before Hector re-appeared, and several -other persons in his company. Hector was not of a temper -to have receded from any thing he undertook, and the authority -of Marguerite had in this instance seconded his -remonstrances with the surly and inactive peasants of the -place. I had at this time only one other male servant; -but, when Hector returned, he brought with him a crazy -kind of litter, and a recruit of four mountaineers. The -wounded man still lived, and was conveyed alive to the -place at which I had taken up my lodging. He survived -three days; and, during the whole of that period, the dog -could neither be moved by force, nor prevailed on by entreaties, -to quit the apartment of his master. Before his -death my unfortunate guest recovered the power of speech. -He told me that his name was Andrea Filosanto, and, -which struck me as somewhat extraordinary, that he was of -Pisa, the very place at which I purposed to take up my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> -abode. He had a brother resident in that city, and had -himself been about to marry a very beautiful and accomplished -young lady, an heiress, of the house of Carracciuoli -in Pisa. Previously to his marriage, he resolved to -make a visit to his mother, who had espoused to her second -husband a French nobleman of Languedoc. He had travelled -accompanied only by one servant, contrary to the -persuasions both of his brother and the family of his intended -bride; but that servant, though he had been a very -short time in his employment, was active, ingenious, and -obliging, and had established himself strongly in the favour -of his master. Signor Filosanto had taken with him a sum -of money, the produce of one year’s income of the dower -of his mother; and it was but too probable that the richness -of the charge he bore, had been fatal to the life of the -bearer. His servant had disappeared from his side not a -quarter of an hour before his being attacked by the banditti; -and various concurring circumstances seemed to fix -on this servant the accusation of being an accomplice with -the murderers. Having heard from the unfortunate sufferer -the tale of treachery of his human attendant, I related -to him the extraordinary example of fidelity and attachment -shown by his dog. The master was struck with the story -I told, and called the dog to him upon his bed. The poor -animal first leaped up upon the foot of the bed, and then -warily and with great caution crawled to his master’s face. -Filosanto embraced the dog, who by his manner showed -himself fully sensible of the purport of the action. That -very evening, having requested me to convey his remains to -the tomb of his ancestors at Pisa, the master expired. The -dog in dumb and constant grief watched by the corpse, and -followed the vehicle in which it was conveyed to Pisa. -After the funeral, he made the choice, from which he could -not be diverted, of living with me, and not with the brother -and relations of his master, to whom he was almost wholly -a stranger, but who would gladly have received him. One -of the advantages I derived from this adventure, was the -friendship and protection of the Filosanti and Carracciuoli, -two of the most powerful families in Pisa.</p> - -<p>I have not yet finished the history of my dog. A few<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> -months after our establishment in the Pisan territory, the -valet of the deceased had the audacity to appear in that city. -He believed himself to be entirely unknown there, his -master having taken him into his service during his residence -as a student in the university of Bologna; and having -ordered him, previously to his projected tour into France, -to stay behind and settle his debts and other affairs at that -place. He found however an adversary in Pisa that in all -his anticipations had never occurred to his thoughts. The -dog saw him at a distance in the street, ran towards him -with incredible swiftness, and fell upon him with savage -violence and ferocity. The man was not extricated from -his grip, till he had been severely and dangerously wounded. -Thus assailed, all the terrors of superstition and an accusing -conscience seized on this devoted villain; he owned who he -was, and confessed that he had made one among the assassins -and plunderers of his master, visible probably to the -dog, though unseen by the unfortunate Filosanto. He declared, -that he knew not what motive had brought him to -Pisa, that he seemed to himself under the guidance of an -impulse which he had not power to resist, and that he rejoiced -that Providence had thus conducted him to the expiation -of his guilt. He was brought to his trial, and suffered -death for his crime.</p> - -<p>Charon, such was the name by which my dog was -distinguished, showed himself in all his actions worthy of -the character for attachment and sagacity which he had in -these instances acquired. He was therefore the favourite of -my whole family, and particularly of Hector. But his own -partiality was with the nicest discrimination reserved for -me. The ruling passion of his preceding master had been -the sports of the field, and his leading singularity an uncommon -familiarity and friendship towards his brute attendants. -By this conduct he had won the affections, and perhaps -awakened the understanding and virtues, of the faithful -Charon. I own my weakness. I could not resist the assiduities -and regard of this generous brute; and, though I -had never before conceived any extraordinary partiality for -creatures of his species, his sagacity and nobleness of nature -took a strong hold of my affection. I admired his form<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> -and agility as he bounded and gamboled before me upon -the plain. In the midst of his gayest frolics he was all -attention, and the least sign I made him would instantly -divert his exertions to a different pursuit. He was accustomed -to salute me with honest, undesigning homage every -morning as I came from my chamber, and I should have -missed his presence with heaviness of heart upon this plain -and homely occasion. He was the associate of my solitary -walks, and my companion when pensive meditations induced -me to withdraw from all human society. I became -accustomed at such periods to observe him by my side, and -should have felt that all was not right if he were not there. -I was interested in his health, his well-being and his enjoyments; -and, if any calamity befell him, was prepared to -feel it more severely than a wise man is sometimes willing -to confess.—It would scarcely be necessary to add to this -simple history of my faithful Charon, the circumstance of -his having saved the life of a beautiful little boy of ten -years old, who had unluckily slipped into the Arno, and -whom he seized by his garments and drew to the shore, had -it not some connection with what I shall speedily have -occasion to relate.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> - -<p>To return to the thread of my narrative, which in stating -these particulars I have in some points anticipated.—I sat -down, as I have already said, in the environs of the city of -Pisa. Marguerite, as well as myself, had a powerful attachment -to the retirement of rural life, and I judged it equally -eligible for the health and intellectual improvement of my -daughters. I accordingly purchased a small domain, delightfully -situated, but of simple appearance, on the banks -of the Arno. Here I proposed to remain during the indisposition -of my wife, which I flattered myself retirement, -tranquillity, attention and kindness, would in no long time -be able to cure. To this object I resolved to devote my -exertions. Well did she merit this return from me, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -had restored me in the guilty ruin of my fortunes, and raised -me from the abyss of insanity. Odious and detestable in -the utmost degree should I have appeared in my own eyes, -if I could have neglected any means I was able to devise, to -heal a mischief of which my own precipitation, selfishness, -and folly were the only causes. Every little, continual, -nameless care I exerted, was as a drop of healing balm to -the burning fever and remorse of my conscience. Nothing -indeed could eradicate my distemper; I felt the ever-living -worm of perpetrated guilt gnawing at my heart. But my -solicitudes for Marguerite, at least during the moments they -were in action, mitigated my anguish; and this transitory -relief, however insignificant it may appear in the eyes of -others, I cherished beyond the wealth of kingdoms.</p> - -<p>Marguerite and myself appeared at this time to have -changed characters. She was languid, indisposed in body -and mind, her thoughts gloomy, her hopes blasted, her -wishes bankrupt. Still however she maintained her superiority -to what I had been in a similar condition. She endeavoured -to make the best of what yet remained to her, -though she declined the vain attempt of forgetting what she -had lost. She hung over her daughters with inexpressible -endearment. She consoled them; she reasoned with them; -she endeavoured to steel their minds for whatever ill might -be yet in store. She cultivated their understandings; she -breathed into them mingled sentiments of resignation and -energy. There was in her conversation with them a striking -tone of celestial and divine. Her eloquence was copious; -her manner rich, unaffected, and flowing; her speech simple, -free from exaggeration and turbulence, but mild, affectionate, -and winning. It sank deep into the hearts of her hearers, -and seemed to give a new turn to their tempers and disposition. -It rendered the character of Julia at once more -distinctive, and yet more chastised; it inspired an unwonted -mildness and sensibility to that of Louisa; and rendered -the cadette of the family unusually grave, thoughtful, and -sedate.</p> - -<p>But upon me were devolved the more active occupations -of our establishment. Marguerite had formerly been, I was -now, the steward. Every kind of superintendence, from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> -which the distinction of sex did not unavoidably exclude -me, was resigned to me by the lovely victim of my indiscretions. -Marguerite had been my nurse, I was now ambitious -to be hers. I made myself the schoolmaster of my -children; Marguerite confined her communications to general -topics and the culture of the heart. I initiated them -in music, drawing, geography, several different languages of -Europe, and in every accomplishment that I believed would -be really ornamental or improving to them. I might, it is -true, have hired different masters to instruct them in each -of these branches, and it is not impossible that they might -then have been better taught, though I was myself no incompetent -preceptor. But I had an honest artifice for my -guide in the plan I adopted: I was desirous of removing -out of the sight of my wife every thing that might remind -her of the fatal legacy, the effects of which she was induced -so bitterly to deplore. In some particulars I may affirm of -myself that I was now a better and a kinder husband, than -I had been in the days of our gayest prosperity, or the scene -of our infant loves. I studied with assiduity the temper of -Marguerite; I watched her looks; I endeavoured to anticipate -her every wish. I meditated with care the plan of -life, which her simple and feeling heart, if solely consulted, -would have led her originally to have chosen; and I copied -out in the whole arrangement of our household the idea -painted in my mind. Far from us were now the ostentation -and pomp of the family-château on the banks of the Garonne. -We lived now, not to awaken admiration and envy -in the bosom of guests and spectators: we lived for ourselves. -Every thing was elegant; every thing was tasteful; -but not an article found its place in our residence, that did -not rest its claim to be there upon a plea of usefulness. -Though, by the nature of my situation, I was superior to -all restraint from a consideration of expense, yet our competent -board and orderly habitation approached nearer in -their appearance to the honest plainness of a rustic, than to -the sumptuousness of hereditary nobility. A table set out -with striking propriety and neatness was preferred to the -richness of plate and the splendour of porcelain and lustres. -I was anxious that Marguerite should forget the change of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -our situation and the extent of my resources. The objects -of my present pursuit were obscurity and content. That -Marguerite might forget my acquisition, I was studious to -appear to have forgotten it myself. If a stranger had entered -our habitation, and surveyed our economy, he would -have judged that our revenues amounted to a decent competence, -and that we disbursed them with a judicious -discretion. Nothing was to be seen that would have betrayed -the possessor of the powder of projection.</p> - -<p>We had no guests. We cultivated no acquaintance. -We were formed to suffice to each other within our little -circle; and, but for the importunate recurrence of disquieting -reflections, we should have done so. To look at -the exterior of our household, it might have been thought -that we had arrived at that sweet forgetfulness of anxious -care, that delicious leisure and unbroken retreat, which -have in all ages been the theme of panegyric to poets and -philosophers. But it was not so. Our reciprocal relations -were changed; and the hope of the house of St. Leon was -no longer in the midst of us, to cheer, to enlighten, and -to warm our bosoms.</p> - -<p>A life of leisure is often an active and a busy life. The -grand, I might almost say the single, object of present -attention to me, was the restoration of the health and tranquillity -of Marguerite. For that I watched with unwearied -assiduity. Subordinate to this occupation were the different -arts and accomplishments in which I instructed my -daughters. Yet neither the former nor the latter of these -engagements filled up all the time of a mind so restless -and rapid as mine was. Intervals occurred, in which my -attentions to Marguerite would have been, not soothing, -but troublesome, and in which I could no longer impart a -lesson to my daughters, without relaxing and weakening -the spring of progression in their minds. These intervals -I sometimes dedicated to chemistry and the operations of -natural magic. The more effectually to hide these pursuits -from the eye of Marguerite, I occupied, unknown to her, -a sort of grotto, buried almost from human observation in -a hollow on the banks of the river, and which was connected, -by a winding path and a concealed subterranean<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> -passage, with the garden of my own habitation. The secrets -of the stranger had given me a particular relish for this -kind of pursuit. There are habits of the mind and modes -of occupying the attention, in which, when once we have -engaged, there seems a sort of physical impossibility of -ever withdrawing ourselves. This was my case in the -present instance. My habit was of no long standing. But -no reading of my story, no mere power of language and -words, can enable a bystander to imagine how deep it was -sunk into my heart, how inextricably it was twisted with -all the fibres of my bosom. That he may in some degree -enter into my situation, I entreat the reader to consider -what are the most imperious passions of the human mind. -They have rudely been described to be wealth, power, and -pleasurable sensation. How alluring to every one of us -are the visionary conceptions of the mind respecting these -most potent excitements! But mine were no visions. -I had grasped them in my hand, and known their reality. -I had felt that the wealth of the whole world was at my -disposal, and that I held my life by a tenure independent -and imperial. These are not of the class of conceptions -that fade and perish from the mind. We cannot wake -from them as from a dream, and forget that ever such -things were. They had changed the whole constitution of -my nature. It would have required a miracle, greater -than all the consecrated legends of our church record, to -have restored me to what I formerly was. If then I could -have resolved never henceforth to use the gifts I had -received, I yet firmly believe that I never could have refrained -from the composition and decomposition of simples, -and from experiments on the nature of substances, chemical -and metallic. I was however far from having formed any -such resolution as that I have named. My present forbearance -to bring forth the secret treasure of my powers -was purely an accommodation to the unhappy condition -of my wife; and I felt it as a meritorious exertion thus to -postpone the use of the faculties I possessed. In the mean -time the amusement I sought, that I regarded as properly -and entirely my own, consisted in these experiments. -While I was busied with my crucible, I was able more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> -vividly to present to myself my seeming superiority to the -rest of my species. I used the employments of my grotto, -as a sort of starting-post from which to set forth in a -series of intoxicating reveries; not to mention that to improve -in the facility of my secret operations might become -a valuable subsidiary to the pursuits of my future life.</p> - -<p>I took occasionally as my companion at these periods -the negro of the prison of Constance. I found him sufficiently -adapted for my purpose; his innocence and implicit -obedience to whomever he served, rendering me -secure that he would anticipate nothing, that he would -conjecture nothing, that he would rest in what he saw, -that I might almost exhibit my whole process under his -eye, without once awakening the busy fiend of curiosity in -a mind to which science had never unveiled her charms. -He was formed to be a pure, passive machine in the hands -of his employer, only with this singular difference from -the lifeless machine of the engineer or mechanical inventor, -that he was susceptible of attachment and affection, as well -as of a certain species of contentment and a certain species -of goodness and virtue.</p> - -<p>A feature of my individual character which has already -frequently presented itself to the attention of the reader -is the love of admiration and spontaneous deference. I am -at this moment ashamed of my vices and my follies; but -it must be recollected, in the first place, that they are -human, and in the second that I am writing, not their -vindication, but their history. In the midst of my experiments -and chemical lucubrations, I could not help -sometimes ostentatiously exhibiting to Hector the wonders -of my art, and those extraordinary effects which have in -all ages drawn upon the more eminent operators of natural -magic the reproach of being necromancers and conjurers. -This I did, partly perhaps that my attendant might learn -to look up to me with a kind of nameless respect and awe, -but partly also that I might divert myself with the simplicity -of his nature, and the gaping and motionless -astonishment with which he viewed my performances. -If I had not done this, or digressed into idle and ostentatious -experiments, he would otherwise have seen enough,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -in the operations in which his assistance, if not absolutely -necessary, was extremely convenient, to have induced a -person, so void of the meanest European information, to -regard me as assisted by and in league with invisible -powers.</p> - -<p>The prejudice against me, with which this poor fellow -had been impressed at the commencement of our intercourse -did not long hold out, in his ingenuous mind, against -the more favourable sentiments which my present situation -and mode of living were calculated to inspire. The specimens -he had hitherto seen of European society were of the -most unfavourable kind. His first master was a wretch of -brutal disposition, ferocious and insolent; disdaining to -reason himself, and impatient of remonstrance in others. -This man had exercised the temper of his humble and -honest attendant with every variety of savage caprice; and, -having tired the restlessness of his own gloomy tyranny, -without being able to exhaust the modest and unexampled -patience of his servant, had finished by throwing him into -gaol, upon a wanton and groundless charge of dishonesty. -This, which was intended as a further exercise of tyranny, -deserved to be hailed by the poor sufferer as a period of -jubilee and deliverance. His innocence, as I have already -related, was speedily recognised by his new task-master, -who accordingly exerted himself to obtain justice for the -friendless victim; and from a reputed thief proposed to -elevate him to the rank of a turnkey. Hector had neither -kindred nor patron to assist him; the outcast of a gaol, he -must again have entered the world with a blasted character. -Thus circumstanced, and influenced beside by gratitude to -the unlooked-for liberality of his deliverer, he willingly accepted -the situation proposed to him. With his new master, -who, not less unprincipled, was less tyrannical than his -predecessor, the humbleness of his hopes taught him to be -contented. Yet in the bosom of the gaoler all his fidelity -and regard could not enable him to detect one positive -virtue; and, within the walls of the prison, there had -existed nothing that could by any possibility cherish and -refresh the human heart.</p> - -<p>The scene presented to Hector’s observation in our little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> -retreat, on the banks of the Arno, was of a very different -nature. To his frank and affectionate spirit, it appeared a -perfect paradise. He had yet scarcely been acquainted with -any but the refuse of mankind, from the infection of whose -vices his unapprehensive and invincible simplicity had been -his only safeguard; and he was now suddenly introduced -to the presence and intercourse of the most perfect of her -sex. He loved her as a benefactor, and he worshipped her -as a god. There is no receipt for begetting affection in -others, so infallible as a warm and susceptible heart. Hector -accordingly soon became in a remarkable degree the -favourite of my daughters. His temper was naturally -cheerful and gay; and, warmed by their encouragement, it -became a thousand times more so. When he had completed -the occupations of the day, the lightness of his spirit would -prompt him to sing and dance for ever. He exhibited the -whole circle of his sportive games for their amusement. -The infantine innocence of his understanding remarkably -adapted him to be the butt of their little waggeries and -mischiefs. Whatever tricks were played upon him, were -however tempered by the forbearance and regard his worth -demanded; while the obstreperous cheerfulness with which -he would second their mirth, when most ignorant of its -occasion, gave uncommon zest to the amusement, and furnished -eternal provocation to the prolonging and varying its -features.</p> - -<p>Let not the fastidious reader complain of the inconsistency -of this part of my picture, or censure the levity of my -daughters. I am not writing a tragedy, but a history. -Sad grief and melancholy cannot, and ought not, for ever -to reign in the human face or the human heart. No daughters -ever loved a mother more entirely, more fervently, than -Marguerite was loved by her children. They were unwearied -in their attention to her: often was their pillow watered -with tears, occasioned by the sad presentiment of the -loss they were destined to sustain. But the human mind, -particularly in the season of youth, has an unconquerable -principle of elasticity in its frame. The bow cannot be kept -for ever on the stretch; and, when the whole soul appears -to be bent down by calamity to the grave, it will often surprisingly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> -recover its vigour and renew its strength. The -ingenuous nature of these poor girls led them indeed occasionally -to reproach themselves with these moments of -cheerfulness as with a crime. But it was no crime. None -but the uncharitably rigorous and morose will charge it -upon them as a crime. It interfered with no duty; it -diminished no affection; it had no tendency to harden their -hearts. It was a tax they paid to the imperfectness of our -nature; it was a tribute of gratitude to that God who, -while he deals out to us the most terrible calamities, fails -not to mix with the copious draught some solitary drops of -beneficence. Julia alone, whose temper was constitutionally -serious and soft, entered little into these sports, of -which her youngest sister was the eternal leader and untired -partaker. Yet even upon the grave countenance of Julia -they would sometimes provoke an unwilling smile, which -upon her countenance sat with uncommon lustre.</p> - -<p>The hilarity and loveliness which Hector found in the -midst of my family instigated and increased the attachment -he began to feel for myself. He could not believe -that the father of such daughters, and the chosen husband -of such a consort, could be destitute of a title to be loved. -He reasoned in his own way upon the attempt I had made -to corrupt his fidelity, an attack which he never thoroughly -digested. I have reason to believe that his attendance upon -my chemical processes, and the wonders I occasionally -showed to excite his astonishment, did not tend to elevate -me in his good opinion. But he could not avoid witnessing -in me many of the virtues of a good husband and -a good father, and these, so new to his observation, strongly -impressed him in my favour. The regularity of my habits -and the mildness of my carriage were also calculated to win -his affection and esteem. Never had the poor fellow’s affections -been so forcibly called out as they were in his new -situation; and he would cheerfully have stretched out his -neck to the assassin’s knife, to have warded off impending -evil from the meanest of us.</p> - -<p>Prosperity and ease have often been found the parents of -wishes and inclinations unfelt before. Adversity is the -season of sober thought, calls home the erratic mind, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> -teaches us to be cheaply satisfied. But the man who has -many gratifications is apt to wander in imagination from -daily and familiar joys, and confidently to reach after things -yet untried. Such was the situation of Hector: Hector -was in love. Our sweet and simple mansion was distant -scarcely more than two hundred yards from a characteristic -Italian village. The maid of a little <i lang="it">albergo</i> in this place -had caught his inexperienced heart. He had been invited -by some peasants to a moonlight festivity on the lawn of -the <i lang="it">albergo</i>; and, though I should have been better pleased -that my servants should decline this sort of amusement, I -could not have the heart to deny him. It was, so far as I -knew, the first and the last time that Hector had ever resorted -to it. But I was deceived. Hector had proved the -gayest and most amusing of the whole circle. His cheerfulness -was inexhaustible, and his mirth in the utmost degree -harmless and good humoured. He had played a -thousand antics, and danced with an agility that knew no -end. In a word, the accomplishments of Hector, in spite -of the jetty hue that stained his face, had won the heart, -or roused the coquetry, of the plump and rosy bar-maid. -The overtures she made and the lures she threw out were -too glaring to escape the notice even of the modest Hector. -He felt himself flattered, such is human nature, at suddenly -becoming an object of admiration and preference to -a woman, whom his imagination, stimulated by her visible -partiality, attired in a hundred charms. He owned himself -hers, in all fair and honest fealty, to the world’s end.</p> - -<p>Love taught Hector a lesson which he had never learned -before. In nature he was frank, and, as far as fidelity to -his master permitted it, wore his heart as naked as his face. -Love taught him dissimulation. A vulgar footman or -clown is as forward as the most empty beau, in boasting of -the triumphs he has gained over the female heart, and in -sacrificing the reputation of those who have loved him at -the shrine of his vanity. Not such was Hector. He shut -Up his new sensations and reveries as a sacred deposit in his -bosom. Nature worked within him, and he would have -been ashamed to speak, and distressed to hear, of emotions, -now felt, till now never experienced. His artless and ingenuous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> -temper in this one particular assumed the guise of -cunning. Never did he tell his love in the ear of any indifferent -auditor; assiduously did he avoid pronouncing -even the name of her to whom he was attached. In any -other case he would have announced to me his inclinations, -and previously demanded my leave of absence for his excursions. -But love seemed to him imperiously to command -privacy, and he employed every imaginable precaution to -prevent me and all human beings from knowing whither he -went, or that he was absent at all.</p> - -<p>In one of his visits to his fair <i lang="it">donzella</i>, he happened incautiously -to drop some very remote hint of the scenes in -which he had just been engaged with me in my secret -grotto. The curiosity of the girl was strongly roused; she -questioned him further. He started, and was terrified to -recollect what he had said. I had strictly enjoined him -secrecy towards every member of my family: my precaution -had extended no further; for, as I have said, I -scarcely knew that he had the most casual intercourse with -any person beyond my own roof. But Hector naturally -dreaded that what I was so earnest to conceal from every -one in my house he would be highly to blame to communicate -to a stranger. He therefore peremptorily refused, -and with many signs of distress, to say another word on the -subject.</p> - -<p>The <i lang="it">donzella</i>, piqued at his resistance, had recourse to -female arts. She was cruel; she uttered words of sharp -displeasure and disdain; she knew that a person who refused -her such a trifle could not have an atom of regard for -her; she commanded him never to see her more. Unsuccessful -in these expedients, she had recourse to expedients -of a different sort. She wept; she called him base, false-hearted -and unkind; she saw he was determined to be the -death of her; she was seized with strong fits of sobbing -and hysterical affection. In the midst of all this he was -as unmoved as a rock of marble. He interpreted every -thing that passed in its most literal form; he felt more -severely her unkindness, and sympathised more truly in her -distress, than perhaps any human creature would have done. -But no further could she gain upon him. The confidence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> -of his master was in question, and he would sooner have -died upon the rack, than run the slightest risk of betraying -it.</p> - -<p>From these arts she descended to arts more congenial to -the habits of her life. She summoned all her skill to perplex -him with cunning and insidious questions. From her -questions he ought to have fled; but of this Hector was incapable. -He was distressed by her severity, he grieved for -the unintentional pain he had caused her. All these circumstances -melted his heart; and he could not resolve upon -any thing that was not considerate and respectful towards her. -As the framing of artful questions was the strong-hold of -the <i lang="it">donzella</i>, and she might have challenged in this article -the most hoary practitioner of the quibbling bar, so it was -exactly the weakest side upon which poor Hector could be -attacked. His simplicity yielded him up a defenceless prey -to the assailant; least of all human undertakings was he capable -of detecting the various faces of a doubtful question, -and of guarding himself against the traps of an insidious -foe. It was not till the fourth interview from Hector’s original -hint, that the <i lang="it">donzella</i> had recourse to this species of -attack; and she did not withdraw her forces, till she had -extorted from him all he knew.</p> - -<p>When Hector found that all his guards were baffled and -put to flight, he had then recourse to the only expedient -that remained, conjuring her by every thing sacred and -every thing tremendous, not to betray a trust she had so -ungenerously obtained from him. She readily promised -every thing he desired. Soothed by her compliance, he -determined not to mention to me the lapse of which he had -been guilty. It would in his opinion have been little less -than treason, to suspect his Dulcinea of indiscretion or -frailty. In the breast of this miracle of nature was not his -loyalty as secure as it could be even in his own? Why -then should he betray the secret of his love, which had -never yet been confided even to the senseless air? Why -should he subject himself to the inconceivable anguish and -confusion, of owning, where my interests, or where my -wishes were concerned, that he had been found tripping -and imperfect? Why should he inflict a pain, or cause<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> -in me a fear, which he knew, and he only could know, -was groundless? Thus it happened that I had one more -confident of what I purposed should be secret, than I was -myself in the smallest degree advertised of.</p> - -<p>The consequences of this indiscretion of my servant were -not slow in rendering themselves visible. The <i lang="it">donzella</i> -was by no means so scrupulous or delicate in her sentiments, -as my humble, but faithful, attendant. As she had -given her company to Hector, she had had an opportunity -of observing in him such integrity and goodness of heart, -as could not fail to extort the esteem of any human being. -She really honoured him; she was unwilling to give him -any cause of uneasiness. But she had another lover; perhaps -she had more. The laws of chastity she regarded as -prejudices, and believed they were never formed for persons -in her situation in society. She was of opinion that the -more lovers she had, provided she satisfied them all, the -more completely did she improve the talents with which -Heaven had endowed her. Few women have any secrets -for the man they admit to their embraces. In an hour of -amorous dalliance she communicated to Agostino, the ostler, -all that she knew of the conjurations and spells of Monsieur -Boismorand, such was the name I had assumed upon my -entrance into Italy. Her communication was probably attended -with cautions, imitated from those with which Hector -had so industriously loaded the <i lang="it">donzella</i> in the preceding -example. Perhaps the <i lang="it">illustrissimo Agostino</i> had another -mistress, with whom he thought it would be unjust to -practise greater reserves than the <i lang="it">donzella</i> had done with -him. Be that as it will, the rumours which were whispered -to my prejudice speedily got air; and, it may be, were repeated -with the greater avidity, on account of the mystery -that attended them, and the injunctions of secrecy with -which they were accompanied.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</h2> - -<p>Italy may be considered as the very focus and parent of -superstitious credulity. The materials which Hector had -furnished, after all the interrogations of the donzella, were -slight compared with the superstructure which was presently -erected on them. My grotto was said to be the appropriated -haunt where a thousand devils held their infernal -sabbath. The terrified imagination of the rustics, listening -with a temper horribly distracted between curiosity and -alarm, created to itself fictitious howlings and shrieks, and -saw pale and sulphureous flames dancing upon the surface -of the stream. Poor Hector was early the victim of their -cruel and untamed ignorance; they believed that the peculiarity -of his complexion rendered him a singularly agreeable -intercessor between me and my infernal familiars. -The colour of Charon was similar to that of my confidential -attendant; and he, like Hector, fell under the calumnious -misconstructions of the affrighted villagers. Conspicuously -noble, affectionate and useful as he was, the -jaundiced eye of superstition metamorphosed him into a -devil. The storms of thunder and lightning to which the -climate in which I resided is particularly subject acquired -new terror from the ill fame which now pursued the name -of Monsieur Boismorand. At those times the shapeless -form of monsters vomiting smoke and flames were visible -to the neighbourhood, sometimes scudding along the blue -tops of the distant hills, and at others, with audaciousness -incredible, brushing even at the elbow of the almost lifeless -clowns and dairy-maids, and then suddenly dissolving into -air, their place no longer marked but by the noisome and -deadly stench they left behind. All the misfortunes of the -district were imputed to me, the mortality of cattle, the -convulsions and death of children, and the pale and lingering -decay of persons recently advanced to an age of puberty. -Innocent and blameless was my conduct to all -around us; often was I forward and eager for the relief of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> -the poor and afflicted; never was I the author of the -slightest inconvenience or prejudice to any. Yet nothing -merely human could be hated in the degree in which I was -hated; few were daring and intrepid enough to repeat the -very name I bore; and, when it was inadvertently pronounced, -it produced through the whole extent of the -astonished circle an involuntary and supernatural shudder.</p> - -<p>Agostino, the first lover who had made an impression on -the heart of Hector’s donzella, was, as I afterwards found, -a fellow of a gloomy and ferocious disposition, a true Italian -<i lang="it">spadaccino</i>, determined that none should perpetrate an affront -against him with impunity, but should expiate, in -some refined and cruel vengeance, the levity by which they -had been so unfortunate as to give birth to his hatred. He -by no means relished or approved the liberal and good-humoured -sentiments of the donzella; often had they inflicted -on him the darkest torments of jealousy; nor had he failed, -at least in one preceding instance, to make his rival the -victim of his resentment. The donzella however went on -in her career; she was light of heart, gay in temper, and -careless of consequences. She had always hitherto succeeded, -by playful blandishments, or more serious demonstrations -of contrition, in mollifying the temper of her -brute; and every pardon she received operated with her as -a new permission to offend. She did not sufficiently consider -that she was thus continually raising to a higher pitch -the frenzy of his malice. Hector in the mean time was -utterly unconscious and ignorant of the perilous situation -in which he stood; while, to the apprehension of Agostino, -the giving him a negro for a rival, whom his pride regarded -as belonging to an inferior species of beings, and his devout -ignorance likened to the leader of the infernal squadrons, -was the last and most intolerable insult.</p> - -<p>His malice was ingenious and subtle. He disdained the -vulgar revenge of stabbing his antagonist in the dark, and -supposing that his enmity could be gorged by a blow. -When the venom of his nature was thoroughly put in motion, -nothing could restore it to quietness and tranquillity but -some mighty stroke, to excite the wonder of every bystander, -and that should leave behind it a track of desolation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> -never to be filled up again and erased. He heard -therefore with unsated appetite and eager joy the tale of necromancy -and infernal machination repeated to him from -Hector by the donzella. The impression which the narrative -produced upon him was a mixed sentiment of -transport at the apprehension of such an instrument of -vengeance and of palpitating hatred; superstition teaching -him to believe and to view with abhorrence that which he -desired to render tenfold more an object of faith and aversion -to his neighbours. He struck an auspicious and august -alliance between his revenge and his religion; his religion -exciting him to exterminate that, the destruction of which -would produce inexpressible gratification to his revenge. -The darkness of his spirit led him to proceed with double -caution and vigilance in his correspondence with the donzella. -He discovered nothing to her of the dark project -which was engendering in his mind; and only betrayed so -much of his superstitious feelings and fears as, by giving -new emotion, might stimulate her to gratify his curiosity -and her own by a detection of further particulars. He was -assiduous in the underhand and sinister propagation of the -tale, to which he did not fail to give his own colouring and -affix his own feelings. He was desirous that the train -should be laid in silence, and that the explosion he designed -should be free from all pre-signification of the event. Thus -an individual, of whose animosity I had no apprehension, -and the meanness of whose appearance would probably have -made me neglect all precaution against him, gave method -and direction to an evil, of which however, upon a review, -I am not inclined to doubt I should have been the victim, -if the enmity and industry of this individual had been -wholly withdrawn.</p> - -<p>The mischief was long in preparation, before I received -in any way the slightest intimation of the predicament in -which I stood. The first circumstance at all calculated to -excite alarm in my mind, was the singular manner in which I -found myself regarded, if I entered any of the neighbouring -villages, or met the rustics and their dames, as I strayed -along the roads or the fields. They fled my approach, deserted -the streets, and carefully shut themselves up in their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> -houses, till I had passed. Where it was impossible to -avoid me, they bowed themselves to the earth in the most -submissive guise before me, while the most lively terror -was painted in their countenances, dreading lest they should -excite the resentment of a tremendous and inexorable foe. -These tokens however were far from inspiring me with a -conception of the truth. They perplexed, they astonished, -they distressed me. Sore as I was with my recent afflictions, -my mind was but too fully prepared for anticipations of -evil. I had suffered from suspicions, I had suffered from -calumnious imputations, I had suffered from the malignant -effects of popular rumour. Had I yielded my confidence -to any person but such a one as Hector, it is probable my -suspicions would have turned on that side. But my reliance -on him was not less than that which Alexander the Great -yielded to Philip the physician: I knew his rectitude, his -simplicity, his fidelity, and the singleness of his heart; and -I could not harbour the shadow of a doubt respecting him. -My reliance was of that entire and perfect sort, which did -not express itself by a recollection of the physical possibility -and an acquittal founded in deliberation, but by a total -vacancy of doubt, or of retrospect that way directed, just -such as the state of my mind would have appeared, if the -thing had been naturally impossible.</p> - -<p>I was not however ignorant and raw enough to be deceived -by the exterior of homage I have described; I sufficiently -knew that what I beheld was the offspring of -hatred. To feel one’s self hated is in all instances a painful -and humiliating state of the human mind. To me it was -especially so. I was not formed to retaliate this species of -injury; I could not hate in my turn. I was formed to -love. I could not look upon my species with dark and -gloomy contemplations; I was prompt to admire their -virtues, and perhaps even too prompt to extenuate their -errors. It may, I believe, be laid down as a rule, that -they who cannot hate can least endure to be made objects -of hatred. Fettered however as I now was, by the tenderest -consideration for the health and tranquillity of Marguerite, -I thought it best to temporise and submit in silence. -My principal anxiety was to hide these symptoms from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> -notice of my family. This I could not completely effect; -some of them were too glaring and obtrusive, entirely to -escape the observation of my daughters in their walks. But -the filial forbearance they felt towards their mother led them -implicitly and without any concerted plan to concur with -me in my exertions for her quiet.</p> - -<p>The animosity of Agostino was restless and inextinguishable. -His plans did not terminate in exciting against -me a secret and covered abhorrence; they aimed at nothing -less than my utter destruction. The next exertion of the -conspiracy which was engendering against me was of a tragical -nature.</p> - -<p>It happened one night, after all my family was retired -to rest, and I was myself sunk into a slumber, that I was -suddenly alarmed at the report of a musket, which seemed -to be fired almost under the window of my chamber. This -was a very singular circumstance, and calculated to convey -an impression of danger. I leaped from my bed, and ran -to the window. The night was extremely dark, and every -thing seemed perfectly quiet. Presently I discerned a -glimmering light, like that of a lantern, which however appeared -to be gradually retiring to a greater distance. I was -not thus satisfied, but determined to hasten down stairs, and -investigate the cause of the disturbance. Marguerite, who -had heard the firing of the musket as well as myself, now -called me to her, and entreated me not to expose myself to -unnecessary danger. In compliance with her remonstrances -I promised, though unwillingly, not to go out into the -court or upon the lawn, but to content myself with examining -the state of every part of the house. When I came -to the staircase and the hall, I found that the alarm had communicated -to almost every person in the family, who presently -assembled round me. We patroled the house, but -found every thing in the situation in which it had been -left, and nowhere any appearance of violence. I opened -several of the windows, but all was darkness and silence. -Having thus far satisfied myself, I listened with a degree -of amusement to the conjectures and sage remarks of several -of the servants, a rank of society who may usually be found -to derive a degree of enjoyment from incidents of this sort,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> -which, for the moment, strikingly tend to level all artificial -distinctions, and confer on every one the liberty of uttering -his reflections without apprehension or constraint. I did not -however feel myself entirely easy; the circumstance which -had just occurred, combined with the forebodings which -had lately impressed me, had filled me with undefinable -terror and alarm. Hector would willingly have gone over -the grounds contiguous to the house, to see if he could discover -any thing that related to or could explain the incident; -but I had promised Marguerite that I would search no -further, and the temper of my mind would not suffer me -to expose another to a danger, which I abstained from encountering -in my own person. It was more than an hour -before the conclave in which we were assembled broke up, -and every one retired, fatigued with attention, and prepared -to fall into the soundest sleep. My dreams were uneasy -and disturbed; my mind was in a tumult of imaginary -calamities; and I passed the greater part of the night in a -state of singular anxiety.</p> - -<p>In the morning I was scarcely sunk into a refreshing -slumber, before I was suddenly roused from sleep by a -repetition of shrieks of astonishment and distress. I put -on my clothes as quickly as I could, and hastened towards -the spot from which the sounds appeared to proceed. The -first object I beheld was the little boy of ten years’ old, -whom Charon had a short time before dragged out of the -river, stretched along upon the lifeless body of this faithful -and generous animal. The musket, the report of which -had alarmed us the night before, had no doubt been aimed -against Charon, and the greater part of its contents appeared -to be lodged in his body. As no further sound had succeeded -the firing, he had probably been killed on the spot. -He was at a small distance from the house, near a private -footpath, where he had been found in the morning by the -lad whose life he had recently preserved. The poor boy -had not at first understood what had happened to his benefactor, -but only thought him asleep, and, prompted by -affection for the generous creature, had quietly sat down by -him till he should awake. He had not sat long however, -before he discerned about him the marks of blood. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> -put his hand to the wound; the animal stirred not. He -passed to his head; he saw his eyes fiery and starting, and -his lips distorted. He endeavoured to awake him, as one -would awake a human being to whom some mischief had -happened of which he was not aware. All his efforts were -fruitless. He found his body motionless, and his joints -stiff in death. The apprehension of what had occurred -then suddenly flashed on his mind. He burst out into -shrieks of astonishment and anguish. Hector was the first -person who caught the sound, and hastened to the spot; I -immediately followed. The poor negro, who, in the innocence -of his heart was uninitiated in the proud distinctions -by which civilised man is taught to place so vast a barrier -between the human nature and the brute, was struck speechless -with sorrow and amazement. He recognised the dead -being before him for his fellow-creature. He recollected -in him his friend, his companion, his intimate acquaintance, -between whom and himself there had for some time passed -an uninterrupted reciprocation of acts of kindness and -assistance.</p> - -<p>A morose and fastidious reader perhaps will ask me why -I lay so great a stress upon so petty and insignificant an -incident as the death of a dog. It might have been little -to other persons; it was not little to us. Let the reader -recollect his ingenuity in procuring aid for his dying master, -his gratitude to the person by whom that aid was afforded, -and his unconquerable antipathy to his master’s murderer. -These are not common traits. There are many men whose -premature fate has been the most unrelentingly avenged, -that in moral and useful qualities could not have stood the -comparison with my generous Charon. It surely was no -common cause for regret, that a creature who had distinguished -himself by a conduct so peculiarly admirable, should -have encountered so premature and unmerited a fate. His -conduct the reader may in some degree comprehend and -appreciate; but I should in vain attempt to delineate those -admirable qualities in this faithful domestic, which do not -fall within the province of narrative, and which to have -justly appreciated you must have been personally and familiarly -acquainted with him. Beside, ours was a family<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> -of love. As we were affectionately attached to each other, -so we never admitted a servant under our roof, who did not -prove himself by his conduct utterly unworthy, to whom -we did not extend a share of that friendship and affection, -which seemed to be the right of every one that dwelt in our -family. Feeling does not stay to calculate with weights -and a balance the importance and magnitude of every -object that excites it; it flows impetuously from the heart, -without consulting the cooler responses of the understanding.</p> - -<p>There was another circumstance which rendered the -catastrophe of this generous animal of great moment to us. -It was a clear proof that there was somewhere a strong -animosity at work against his master. It was impossible -he could himself have provoked his fate. Never was a -creature more gentle and inoffensive. Though his bulk -was great, and his strength uncommon, the energies he -possessed were always employed in acts of justice and beneficence, -never in acts of aggression. But if a hatred were -at work so busy and fierce as to prompt an action like this, -how were we to estimate it? What was its source, and -whither did it tend? These were very interesting and -serious considerations. We however dwelt for some time -longer in the centre of general antipathy and abhorrence, -without being able in the smallest degree to explain to ourselves -what we saw. As we knew not in what we had -offended, we were unable to atone for our fault, or even to -guard ourselves against the repetition of it; nor were we -by any means prepared to comprehend the extent of our -danger. Happily Marguerite, whose health was now in a -rapid decline, was least exposed to the observation of this -new mischief; though she felt enough of it to confirm her -in the sentiment, that she had nothing fortunate and happy -to look forward to in the small remainder of her existence. -There was indeed one idea perpetually present to her, -which rendered the impression of ordinary occurrences -extremely feeble upon her mind:—Charles, Charles, wandering -alone in the world, unknowing and unknown, without -a friend, a relative, a counsellor, or a protector, without -money and without a name! This melancholy image followed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> -her wherever she went, haunted her nightly in her -dreams, attended her in all her occupations, filled all her -intervals of leisure; and, though she laid it down as a law -to herself never to repeat his beloved name in my presence, -she could think of nothing else.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> - -<p>It was no long time after the death of Charon, that Hector -came home one evening in a state of the most violent -anxiety and trepidation. He burst upon me in my study, -where I was sitting alone, buried in one of those deep -reveries which, especially since the legacy of the stranger, -had been among the most frequent habits of my mind. -His perturbation was such as to render it impossible for -him to impose on himself the smallest degree of caution -and restraint. The noise he made in entering the apartment -startled me. I looked up, and perceived his features -swelled, his face bruised, and his garments disfigured with -blood.</p> - -<p>“For heaven’s sake, Hector,” exclaimed I, “what is -the matter?”</p> - -<p>He answered not. He advanced towards the upper end -of the room, he took down a pistol, one of those which I -always kept loaded in my apartment, he came towards me, -he fell upon his knees, he tendered the pistol to my acceptance.</p> - -<p>“Hector!” cried I, “what am I to understand? what -is the meaning of this?”</p> - -<p>“Kill me, dear master! For Christ’s sake I entreat -you to kill me!”</p> - -<p>I took the pistol from his hand; it pointed towards -the floor.</p> - -<p>“And will you not kill me?” in a mournful accent -exclaimed he.</p> - -<p>“What have you done, that deserves that I should kill -you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Kill me! only kill me! pray kill me!” He spread -out his hands towards me with a gesture of intreaty.</p> - -<p>“Hector, what means this agitation? what has happened? -You terrify me beyond expression.”</p> - -<p>“Must I speak?” replied he. “Must I be the accuser -of my guilty self?” He burst into an agony of tears.</p> - -<p>“Would I were dead! Would I had been torn into a -thousand pieces, before this had happened! Indeed, sir, -I am innocent! I thought no harm! Indeed it is not -my fault!”</p> - -<p>“What have you done? Whence come these bruises -and this wound?”</p> - -<p>“It is all my fault! It is all my doing,—nobody -else! Why will you not kill me?”</p> - -<p>“Hector, I cannot bear this uncertainty. Recollect -yourself! Be pacified! and tell your story!”</p> - -<p>“Will you forgive me?”</p> - -<p>“Forgive you what? What have you done to deserve -my anger?”</p> - -<p>“No, no, I do not wish to be forgiven! I only wish -you to abhor, to detest, to curse and to kill me!”</p> - -<p>“This is beyond all patience.”</p> - -<p>“I never loved any body but you, and my mistress, and -my dear young ladies. I never did any body else the -least atom of mischief; and now my folly will be the ruin -of you all!</p> - -<p>“Pardon me, sir! I will torment you no longer. I -will get the better of myself, and tell you all that has happened.”</p> - -<p>He then informed me, though with many breaks and -passionate interruptions, of what he had just discovered, -my evil repute as a necromancer, the many strange and -terrible stories that were circulated of me, the antipathy -universally entertained against me, the active ferociousness -with which this antipathy was accompanied, and the -consequences that he feared would result. He ascribed -the whole to his own imprudence, and to the particulars -which the superior cunning of the donzella, in spite of his -invincible refusal to acquaint her with a single circumstance, -had wrung from him. Hector had collected several<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> -of these particulars accidentally from a neighbouring rustic, -and had been vehement in my defence. While they were -eager in debate, others had joined them, but Hector had -found them all opponents, not one a supporter. Irritated -with the contest, and the opprobrious language heaped -upon himself and his master, Hector had been provoked to -strike the most insolent of the disputants. Immediately -several had fallen upon him at once, and it was owing to -the uncommon strength and dexterity he possessed, that -he had escaped alive out of their hands. Beside innumerable -blows with fist, foot, and stick, he had received -two or three stabs in different parts of the body, from the -knives with which the Italian is too much accustomed to -assail his adversary. It was easy to see that the gallant -and generous defence of Hector had considerably augmented -the danger of my situation. They dismissed him with a -thousand execrations against both him and myself, and -vows that they would signalise their vengeance by setting -fire to my house. Having related his story, Hector concluded -with again earnestly conjuring me to kill him, that -so he might expiate the imprudence and folly by which he -had made himself the author of my calamity.</p> - -<p>The excessiveness of the poor fellow’s distress excited -me to employ every effort to pacify his mind. “Hector,” -said I, “you have been very imprudent, but I foresee no -such consequences as your terrified imagination has led -you to forebode. The idle threats of clowns in the midst -of their brawls are entitled to little regard. I am not so -weak and infirm of soul as to be moved from my tranquillity -by their senseless prate. I entertain no doubt of -your fidelity and affection. I am not angry with you. -The fault you have been guilty of, arose from no defect of -vigilance or attachment. You did what you could, and -where you failed, it was only in that to which your powers -were not commensurate. You have done well and wisely -now, in acquainting me with particulars and the whole -extent of the danger: doubt not but I will employ such -precautions and be so awake to my situation, as to forestall -the possibility of mischief.”</p> - -<p>Thus I endeavoured to assuage honest Hector’s perturbation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> -but with no adequate effect. He hung his head -in sorrow, and refused to be comforted. Shame and terror -assailed him together, and he knew not how to support -their united pressure. He intreated me not to lull myself -in fancied security, and fall blindfold on my ruin. He entreated -me not to forgive him. My clemency and forbearance -served only to make him regard with greater -horror the crime of which he had been guilty. If however -I refused to punish him, and by penance or death to lighten -the remorse that hung upon his heart, he would at least -devote himself in opposition to the evil he had created, -and die rather than it should touch a hair of our heads. -This idea he seemed to view with some complacency; but -the pleasure it gave was a glimmering and momentary -light; he could not remain in any place for an instant; -he wrung his hands with anguish, and exhibited every -feature of the deepest despair. I examined his bruises and -wounds, the latter of which, though attended with a copious -effusion of blood, did not appear to be dangerous. I warned -him to be guilty of no further indiscretion, to betray nothing -of what had happened to any one of my family, and -to engage in no further controversies and broils in my -vindication.</p> - -<p>Though I endeavoured to make light of what I heard -in compassion to the distress of my servant, yet, when I -came to reconsider the subject in solitude, it by no means -appeared to me in a light and trivial point of view. One -part of Hector’s story had related to the death of Charon, -who, I now found, had owed his fate to the superstition -of my uncultivated neighbours. I had always entertained -a formidable idea of the character of an Italian populace, -whom I regarded as more suspicious, sanguinary, and -violent than any other race of men in the world. I deplored -my fate that exposed me to their rage. I deplored -my folly that had admitted any confidant into my -individual pursuits, though my confidence had been so -limited, and its receiver so trustworthy, that I could not -have imagined any evil would have resulted. I determined -that I would not expose myself to the risk of such -sinister consequences, as in my opinion might in my present<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> -situation easily overtake me. I grieved for the tender -health and the doubtful state of mind of my beloved -Marguerite, which alone opposed themselves to the adoption -of an immediate change of scene. In the state of her -health I had been grievously disappointed. I had looked -for amendment; I found decay. The decay however was -gradual, almost imperceptible; from time to time I had -even flattered myself that the progress was in an opposite -direction; but the delusion was soon banished. Another -difficulty arose in addition to the rest; Marguerite appeared -pregnant; a circumstance that now first presented -itself after a cessation of ten years.</p> - -<p>The morning after the accident and disclosure of Hector -I went to Pisa, determined to consult with the marchese -Filosanto, elder brother of the unfortunate Andrea, who -was probably more accurately acquainted with the Italian -character than myself, and understood the shades of that -character, as they were modified in the particular territory -in which I resided. The marchese was a man universally -admired for subtlety of reasoning, vigorousness of comprehension, -and refinement of taste. In the structure of his -mind he was scarcely an Italian. He had resided several -years in England, and was the intimate friend of Henry -Howard earl of Surrey, who some time after fell a victim -to the jealous tyranny of his native sovereign, king Henry -the Eighth. The marchese was frank, generous and disinterested, -and possessed more fully the affections of every one -within the circle of his friendship than any other man I ever -knew. He was of a sanguine temper, always contemplating -the world on its brightest side; and, from the generosity -of his own heart, incapable of crediting a distant danger, -or of discerning the storm in the embryo cloud where it -was silently engendering.</p> - -<p>In the conference we held, I was influenced too implicitly -by my consciousness of his integrity and the gigantic -powers of his mind, and did not sufficiently advert to -those peculiarities in his temper which I have now described. -The external facts with which the narrative of Hector had -furnished me I fully detailed to him; as to my particular -pursuits, I contented myself with stating that I indulged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> -freely in the study of chemistry, and was of those persons, -ordinarily accounted visionaries, who amused themselves -with the expectation of finding the philosopher’s stone. -Having heard my story to an end, the marchese ridiculed -my apprehensions. He saw nothing in the facts that -alarmed me, but a cowardly superstition whose utmost flight -reached no higher than the shooting a dog, and a squabble -between a boisterous rustic, and a servant too acutely sensitive -for the reputation of his master. He assured me -that the days of such superstition as I contemplated were -long since past, and that his countrymen less deserved the -imputation than any others, as, living at the very centre -and source of catholic imposition, they saw deeper into the -mystery, and were not exposed to the advantage which distance -possesses for augmenting our reverence. He expatiated -with great eloquence on the vice of a suspicious -temper. A spirit of alarm and continual apprehension, -like the jealousy of lovers, he said, made the meat it fed -on. It brooded over plots that had no existence but in the -wanderings of a disturbed imagination. It was continually -interrupting the quiet of its owner, and the tranquillity of -society; and, for the sake of avoiding imaginary evils, -often plunged into such as were real. He advised me to -go home and be contented. He recommended to me to -clear up the clouds of my mind, and cultivate a light -heart, a cheerful temper, and a generous confidence in the -honest sympathies of mankind. In fine, he bade me continue -my pursuits, avoid éclat, and trust in his sagacity -that no ill consequences would ensue.</p> - -<p>The remonstrances of the marchese Filosanto led me to -suspect that I had been idly credulous. I had too easily -participated the feelings and apprehensions of a poor uninstructed -negro, and had suffered the secret griefs that -brooded in my heart, to discolour my perceptions, and -aggravate the features of circumstances in themselves trifling -or indifferent. I began to be half ashamed of the -gloominess of my conceptions. I could not, alas! follow -the advice of the marchese as to the cheerfulness of my -heart; but I could exert myself to prevent my present -melancholy from disfiguring to me every thing I saw. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> -influence exercised over my conceptions by persons of eminent -intellect has always been great. Not that the judgment -I formed of the powers of my own mind was peculiarly -humble; but I reasoned thus. Perhaps the person I -consult is as well informed in the subject under consideration -as I am, in that case his decision is as fully entitled -to attention as my own; and thus, without cowardly self-contempt -on my part, the general balance of the argument -was materially altered. Perhaps, without being on the -whole my superior, he may be more competent to this particular -question. In either case my idea of its merits became -perceptibly modified. I never listened to the sentiments -of a man of talents when they differed from my own, -unless where he was evidently visionary and irrational, -without being shaken as to the credit due to my own view -of the subject.</p> - -<p>Such then was the effect produced on me by the marchese’s -expostulation. I shook off my apprehensions, and -laughed at my fears. I was ashamed of the want of gallantry -that had possessed me, when I meditated flight -from so trivial a menace. I concluded that dangers, particularly -such as arise from the irrational passions of a capricious -multitude, were increased when symptoms of apprehension -discovered themselves, and abated, when received -with neglect or repelled with a magnanimous serenity.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> - -<p>Meanwhile the unrelenting Agostino was fixed in his -purpose and incessant in his machinations. He believed -that the destructive mine was now sufficiently prepared, -and that he might proceed in all surety to the ultimate -explosion. He apprehended that he had advanced too far -to retract, that the death of Charon and the assault upon -Hector were calculated sufficiently to announce what was -to follow, and that it would be injudicious and idle to grant -me much respite for reflection. The passions of his associates -were wrought up to a frenzy of horror, and needed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> -only a bold and artful director to urge them to any point of -fury and destruction.</p> - -<p>Implicitly as I had confided in the decision of the -marchese, I had speedily reason to know that it was the -dictate of too sanguine and presumptuous a spirit. On -my return from his palace, and, on several subsequent -occasions, I found the manners of the populace altered -respecting me. They no longer viewed me with a sort of -reverential awe, or fled my approach. They insulted me -with their eyes, they muttered curses upon me in a voice -sufficiently audible to be understood, they broke forth in -gestures of abhorrence and derision. They regarded me -with looks of ferocious hatred; and when I had passed them, -their murmurs gradually swelled into shouts of triumphant -contumely. These symptoms however were progressive; -each day became more odious and intolerable than the last. -They who have never been placed in a situation like mine, -will never be able to do justice to my grievance. They -will perhaps say, that the calamity I now endured was a -trifling one, and that a weak mind only can be elevated by -the acclamations and huzzas of the multitude, or depressed -by their hisses and scorn. I did not, and I could not, feel -it so. There is no pleasure more congenial to the human -heart, than the approbation and affection of our fellows. I -call heaven to witness that I could mount the scaffold, surrounded -with an innumerable multitude to applaud my fortitude, -and to feel as it were on their own neck the blow that -ended me, and count it a festival. But I cannot bear to be -surrounded with tokens of abhorrence and scorn. I cannot -bear to look round me through an extended circle, and see the -impatience of despite in every face. Man was not born to -live alone. He is linked to his brethren by a thousand ties; -and, when those ties are broken, he ceases from all genuine -existence. Their complacence is a food more invigorating -than ambrosia; their aversion is a torment worse than that -of the damned. While I write, I seem again to hear resounding -in my ears the hootings and clamours of these -infatuated peasants. When heard indeed, they went to -my heart, and sat there colder than the aspic’s venom: they -rose to my throat with a sensation bitterer than wormwood.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> -They unstrung all my muscles and nerves. I could not stay; -I could not fly. I wished myself buried deep in the centre -of the earth. I felt something worse, more revolting, more -opposite to all the prejudices and propensities of the soul, -than annihilation. I have known in various situations and -conditions of human life, what it was to be distressed, to be -dejected, to be miserable; but never in any other situation -have I felt a misery so concentrated, so gnawing and insufferable.</p> - -<p>I began however, like the critics I am figuring to myself, -to despise the pusillanimity of my submission, and to believe -that, if I would only make a stand and turn round -upon my enemy, I should subdue him. This resolution I -could with difficulty have taken in the moment of attack; -it was formed in an interval of retrospect and reflection. -Having formed it, the contempt I should have felt for myself -would have been too exquisite, if I had failed to put it -in execution. I was not long at a loss for an opportunity. -In one of my walks I found myself pursued by a numerous -populace with a peculiar degree of inveteracy. I yielded -for some time, till I came to a place that appeared convenient -for the purpose of haranguing them. It was a -bench, placed upon a rising ground and sheltered behind -by a thicket, which had been erected for the purpose of -commanding a neighbouring prospect. I stopped; I -stepped upon the bench; I waved my hand towards the -multitude. They perceived my purpose with some degree -of confusion and surprise; they drew nearer. “Do not -listen to him! Do not hear a word he has to say!” cried -some of them. “Oh, hear him! hear him!” exclaimed -others. I obtained an audience.</p> - -<p>“What is the cause,” said I, “of all this hatred and -persecution?”</p> - -<p>“Because you are a wizard, a necromancer, a dealer in -the black art; because you are in league with hell, and -have sold yourself to the devil!” answered twenty voices -at once.</p> - -<p>“Hear me,” replied I, “and I will convince you of my -innocence: but hear me in silence, and do not interrupt -me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p> - -<p>“For myself, I have no belief in the existence of such -an art.”</p> - -<p>This remark produced a general groan.</p> - -<p>“Why should I have sold myself to the foe of mankind? -What could he give me, that should compensate me for -consigning myself over to him for ever hereafter? The -power of exhibiting strange and extraordinary tricks. -What a pitiful recompence? But, if I had bought this -power at so dear a price, should I hide it? Should I not -take every opportunity of exciting your reverence and astonishment? -Who has seen me perform any wonderful -feat? I live quietly among you, and give no cause of offence -to any. I live retired in the midst of my family. I -form no party or connections. I do not intrude into any -of your affairs, political or private. I do not even enter -into conferences with any of you, unless induced by the -apparent occasion of doing some good and benevolent -action.</p> - -<p>“Quit then this ungenerous persecution! Do not turn -the fury of your resentment upon a harmless stranger! -You are Italians, the most polished and ingenious people -on the face of the earth: the most glorious monuments of -art, in building, in statuary, and in painting, are to be -found in the midst of you: ancient Italy governed the -world by her arms; modern Italy governs the world through -the medium of that pure and sublime religion of which -Providence has graciously made her the repository. Do -not stain the glory of this character! Show yourselves -worthy of the honour with which your name is heard in -every corner of the habitable world!”</p> - -<p>While I was yet speaking, a large clot of mud reached -me, and struck me on the face and the upper part of my -breast. I calmly endeavoured to free myself from its effects -with my handkerchief; and, looking round me, demanded, -in the sacred spirit of conscious innocence, “How -have I deserved this treatment?”</p> - -<p>Thus far I had been heard with a doubtful sentiment -of murmur and approbation, and I began to feel that I was -rather gaining ground upon my audience. But this new -insult seemed to turn the tide of popular impression in an -instant.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Villain, renegado, accursed of God!” I heard from -every side; “did not you bewitch my cow? did not you -enchant my child? have not you killed my daughter? -Down with him! exterminate him! do not suffer him to -live!”</p> - -<p>I continued my efforts to be heard. It was a critical -moment, a last experiment upon the power of firmness and -innocence to control the madness of infuriated superstition. -It was in vain. I was deafened with the noise that assailed -me. It was no longer shouts and clamours of disapprobation. -It was the roaring of tigers, and the shriek of -cannibals. Sticks, stones, and every kind of missile weapon -that offered itself, fell in showers around me. It seemed a -sort of miracle that I escaped instant destruction. I eluded -their pursuit: after some time I ventured to return to -my own house. I had in the interval terrified myself with -the idea that, having missed my person, they might have -hurried thither, and executed some terrible vengeance on -my helpless family. I found them however in safety: the -mob had for this time contented itself to disperse without -further mischief.</p> - -<p>As soon as it was dark, I hastened to Pisa, and related -what had just occurred to my friend the marchese. He -was surprised; but he still adhered to his opinion. He -had never supposed, he told me, that a noisy and clamorous -mob was a proper subject upon which to make experiment -of the energy of truth; and he laughed at my attempt to -reason them out of their superstition. But they meant -nothing by all that had passed. It was the mere foam and -fury of a moment, poured out with vehemence, and then -dissipated in air. A certain set of politicians had for their -particular ends represented a mob as a terrific and formidable -engine: alas! they were rather to be pitied than condemned. -There was no malice in their hearts. They -were in reality a mere material machine, led on without -reflection, and, when they had committed a momentary -ravage, astonished themselves the most at the injury they -had perpetrated. They were as light and variable as a -feather, driven with every breath; and nothing could argue -greater obliquity of intellect than to suppose, because they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> -were in a certain temper and sentiment to-day, that they -would be found in a similar temper and sentiment to-morrow. -The marchese however wished, he said, to relieve me from -the apprehension of this imaginary danger, and therefore offered -me the whole suite of his servants for the defence of my -house. He added that, among his friends and retainers in -the city of Pisa, he did not doubt in an hour’s time to be able -to raise a troop of four hundred men; and, whatever power -of that sort he possessed, he assured me was wholly at my -service. I was not convinced by the marchese’s arguments, -but I declined his offer. I could not bear to think that -blood should be spilled, and the lives of these poor ignorant -wretches sacrificed, for the preservation of a thing so worthless -in my eyes as the local property I possessed. I therefore -told the marchese, that I might perhaps wait yet a day -or two longer before I formed my resolution; but that, the -instant I saw one fresh symptom of the hostility of the villagers, -I was determined to take my family with me, and -remove far beyond the reach both of their terrors and their -hatred.</p> - -<p>I staid two hours with the marchese, and then set out to -my own house. The way I took was by a private road, -open only to the neighbouring gentry, but of which my -servant carried the key. It led along the higher ground, -and commanded a view of the common highway. Considerably -before I reached my own habitation, I was struck -with the appearance of persons passing, in considerable -numbers, and in a tumultuous manner, along the public -road. Some of them were armed with clubs, and others -with torches. Their march however led, not towards my -house, but in an opposite direction. I mended my pace, -terrified with a sort of vague apprehension of what might -have happened, though I did not disguise to myself that -what I saw was not precisely that which I might have expected -to see, if they had been returned from demolishing -my property, and burning my house.</p> - -<p>When I arrived, I found indeed that no mischief had -been actually committed, but that I was indebted for the -preservation of my house, and perhaps for the lives of my -wife and children, to the sagacity and presence of mind of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> -Bernardin, the servant of my early years. My residence -had been the object against which the march of the populace -had been directed. Bernardin, perceiving their intentions, -had with great difficulty prevailed upon Hector to -keep out of sight. Nothing could be more adverse to the -feelings and inclination of my faithful negro; but, Bernardin -having convinced him that his appearance would -only exasperate the rage of the assailants, and that perhaps -every thing of importance to his master’s service and happiness -depended at present upon his concealment, Hector -yielded to his representations. This accomplished, Bernardin -next assembled the gardener and one or two labourers -in my employment, who happened to be at hand; and, -having furnished them with fire-arms, stationed them at -different windows, in the front of the house. With these -preparations, when the mob arrived he resolutely told them -that he would fire on the first person that attempted to break -in. They were staggered: furious as they appeared the -moment before, this threat held them in awe. They paraded -two or three times round the house, clattering their -arms, and pouring out vehement execrations; and then -withdrew, solemnly promising that they would return the -following night, and level the house with the ground.</p> - -<p>I no longer yielded the smallest degree of credit to the -unsuspicious and confiding philosophy of the marchese -Filosanto. I sent off my wife and children before daybreak -for Lucca, determined to take shipping at the first -convenient port, and pass over into Spain. I was little -solicitous, for reasons with which the reader is already acquainted, -about my property and moveables: I had no motive -to induce me to fetter and clog my retreat, at this hour -of peril and terror, with a single article of rarity and price. -My furniture indeed was not splendid, but it was handsome -and valuable; and the indifference with which I resigned -the whole to the mercy of chance, was a matter of some -surprise to the persons around me. My servants offered -to defend my possessions, at the peril of their lives; but I -peremptorily forbade it. I would not even consent to -their taking away certain articles, by way of appropriating -them to their personal use. I believed that if I admitted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> -a single act of that sort, I should find it no easy matter to -set limits to their avidity; and, as I had determined to -take none of my present servants with me, the negro and -Bernardin excepted, I feared that the apparent possession of -a single article that had been mine might hereafter mark -its proprietor a victim to the senseless rage of blindfold -superstition. I could easily make up to these honest and -faithful dependants the injury they might sustain from the -seeming severity of this order. I determined to shut up -my house, with all its present contents, as Joshua, the -captain of the Jews, drew a line of separation round the -profane possessions of Achan; and to leave the villagers, if -so it seemed good to them, to make of the whole a burnt-offering, -to propitiate the wrath of their avenging divinity.</p> - -<p>The directions I issued being unhesitating and peremptory, -met with a ready submission from all my other domestics: -Hector only, the mild and complying Hector, of -whom obedience had hitherto appeared to constitute the -very soul, met my commands with a resolute refusal. The -present distressed appearance of my fortunes seemed to -have worked the poor fellow’s mind to a paroxysm of insanity. -He considered himself as the sole author of my -calamity. He reviled himself in the bitterest terms of -compunction and abhorrence. The language which the -agony of his soul forced from his lips, was such as could -not fail to impress upon my other servants a conviction of -the justice of the imputations that were now brought against -us. This however was of little importance. I must at all -events have been contented to leave behind me, in my present -neighbourhood, a name loaded with the execrations of -religious fanaticism. Hector imprecated upon himself a -thousand curses, if, so long as he continued to live, the populace -should lay hands upon a straw of my property. He -would not move so much as an inch from the defence of my -house. He would either, by preserving it, expiate in some -degree the mischief in which he had involved me, or fall and -be crushed to death in the midst of its ruins. Arguments -and expostulations were useless here: his mind was worked -up to too high a tone, to be susceptible of the patience necessary -for hearing or understanding any reasoning that was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> -addressed to him. Authority itself was of no avail: for -the first and the last time he threw off the character of a -servant, and appeared obstinate, self-willed, and ungovernable. -It was only by direct violence that he could be forced -from the spot. I gave him in charge, with the most strict -orders not to suffer him to escape from their custody, to two -of his fellows.</p> - -<p>This business being despatched, I went, at the invitation -of the marchese, to a small cottage he possessed at no great -distance from my own house. Its situation was so private -and retired, that few persons knew or could perceive that -there was any building on the spot. Here therefore I could -remain in the most perfect safety. I felt myself unaccountably -impelled to stay and witness the catastrophe of the -tragedy. I should not have been satisfied to continue in -uncertainty as to what it would prove. After all that had -passed, like the marchese, I should have been apt to accuse -myself of cowardice, and a mind soured and degenerate, if -the mob had not put their threats in execution. The marchese -himself was well pleased with my determination in -this respect. He was not yet convinced that I had not -painted to myself a danger, which had no adequate counterpart -in the world of realities.</p> - -<p>I had not long to wait. The night had no sooner spread -an even-coloured and almost impervious veil over the -world, than the marchese, as if moved by a secret impulse -to witness what he yet refused to believe, came to me at the -cottage. He had scarcely arrived, when he heard the confused -murmurs and turbulence of the populace; for we -were near enough to distinguish almost every thing. As -they did not meet with the defence of the preceding evening, -the work they had undertaken was presently despatched. -We saw the flames ascend. We recognised the -shouts of infernal joy with which they witnessed the catastrophe. -When the marchese beheld what, till seen, he -would never admit to be possible, he burst out into a sort of -transport of misanthropy. He exclaimed that no innocence, -and no merit, could defend a man from the unrelenting antipathy -of his fellows. He saw that there was a principle -in the human mind destined to be eternally at war with improvement<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> -and science. No sooner did a man devote himself -to the pursuit of discoveries which, if ascertained, -would prove the highest benefit to his species, than his -whole species became armed against him. The midnight -oil was held to be the signal of infernal machinations. The -paleness of study and the furrows of thought were adjudged -to be the tokens of diabolical alliance. He saw, in the -transactions of that night, a pledge of the eternal triumph -of ignorance over wisdom. Above all, he regretted that -his countrymen, his dear Italians, should for ever blot their -honour and their character by such savage outrages. -Though myself the principal sufferer, I was obliged to perform -the part of the comforter and consoler, and endeavour -to calm the transport of agony that seized upon the susceptible -Filosanto. He was astonished, shocked, and beside -himself: I viewed the whole with the gloomy firmness of -a desperate resolution.</p> - -<p>The worst event of this detested evening remains yet -unrecorded. Even now I tremble, while I attempt to -commit the story to my harmless paper. So far as related -to the mere destruction of my property, I looked on with a -philosophical indifference. I had no reason, and I disdained -to regret the loss of that which I had it in my -power to repair in a moment. I thought I had taken care -that no human life should be risqued upon this critical -occasion. But I was mistaken. I learned the next morning -with anguish inexpressible that Hector, the negro of -the prison of Constance, was no more. He had eluded -the vigilance of his keepers. No sooner was he at liberty, -then he hastened, unknown to every one, to die, as he had -declared he would, in the defence of my house. The mob -had burst into the house; they seized him alive. They -dragged him out in the midst of them; they insulted over -him, as the special favourite of the infernal king. They -inflicted on him every species of mockery and of torture; -they killed him joint by joint, and limb by limb.——The -pen drops from my lifeless hand.</p> - -<p>What right had I to make this man the victim of my -idle and unhallowed pursuits? What has the art and -multiplication of gold in it, that should compensate the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> -destruction of so ingenuous, so simple-hearted, so noble a -creature? If I had myself fallen into the hands of the -populace, it had been well: I was a criminal, worthy of -every retribution they could inflict upon me! Some men -perhaps will ask, why I lamented so bitterly over so uncultivated -and uninformed an individual as this negro. -There was however something so truly tragical in the fate -to which this creature in his generosity and remorse devoted -himself, that I believe for the moment I felt a -sharper pang in it, than in the strange and extraordinary -loss of my only son, or perhaps in the premature death of -my beloved Marguerite.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> - -<p>Before the dawn of the succeeding morning I turned my -face towards Lucca. I beheld the last cloud of mingling -smoke and flame ascend from the ashes of my villa. The -blaze sunk, its materials were nearly consumed, and it -yielded an uncertain and fitful light only, when I withdrew -from being any longer the melancholy and heart-wounded -spectator of the ruin. I took an everlasting leave of the -marchese. I had been introduced to him under a friendly -aspect, as the man who had had courage to perform the -last offices of humanity to his unfortunate brother; and -he had conceived a warm affection for me. The painful -nature of the catastrophe he had witnessed melted his heart, -and he earnestly pressed me to draw upon him for any -supplies I wanted, or rather to receive from him a sum -equivalent to the damage the superstition of his countrymen -had inflicted on me. This I positively refused; but -I found it impossible to silence his importunity, till I -submitted to the duplicity of promising that, if I found -myself reduced to any necessity, I would not fail to apply -to him. It was in the very moment of our separation -that intelligence was brought me of the fate of Hector. -The reader may imagine with how heavy a heart I set out -on my journey.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p> - -<p>Lucca is about seventeen miles from the city of Pisa; -from the place where I had spent the greater part of this -memorable night it was twenty. The marchese made me -promise to take a serpentine and circuitous route, the more -completely to elude the possibility of future danger. An -adventure occurred to me in this passage, with the relation -of which I will not interrupt my narrative, which prevented -me from arriving at Lucca till the noon of the -following day. Suffice it to say, that it was of such a -nature, that, impatient as I was under my present extraordinary -circumstances to rejoin my family, I should have -held myself destitute of every atom of humanity, if I had -not submitted to this short delay.</p> - -<p>Short as it was, I found, when I reached Lucca, that -my evil genius had been busy to accumulate for me new -misfortunes. Marguerite and her daughters were wholly -unknown in this place; and the intelligence of the Pisan -riot having reached Lucca in the course of the day, it was -related to my wife, as to a hearer unconcerned, with all its -horrid circumstances and the calamitous fate of our generous -Hector, by the hostess of the inn. The rapidity of events, -during the last part of our residence in the Pisan territory, -was such as to have obliged me to say little of the effect -they produced upon Marguerite. But the reader can -scarcely be so inadvertent and unreflecting, as not easily to -imagine to himself that she felt them in the highest degree -painful and overwhelming. This last blow was too much. -Marguerite had been some months pregnant. She was -immediately seized with the pains of labour, and delivered -of a dead child. The first intelligence communicated to -me upon my arrival was that my wife was dying.</p> - -<p>Lucca however did not witness the period of her existence. -After having continued for several days upon the -very extremity, as it were, between life and death, she -grew perceptibly better; and in a week more, though in a -very feeble state, it became apparent that her case was not -a rapid one. We agreed to proceed upon our Spanish -voyage. It appeared not improbable that the sea-air might -be found beneficial, and the experiment was warmly recommended -by her physicians. They were not however<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> -aware of the whole extent of her disorder. During the -voyage her crisis returned with such malignant symptoms, -as scarcely to permit us the hope she would reach the land -alive. We debarked at Barcelona on the 14th of April 1546.</p> - -<p>We had no sooner taken up our abode in this city than, -fully aware of the state of her disease, she assembled her -daughters, and poured forth to them without restraint that -flood of affection, that ardent spirit of love, by which she -was distinguished and elevated above every creature that -lived. Her mind was clear, her intellectual powers were -complete and entire. The enthusiasm with which she -now expressed herself was not of that inconsiderate nature -which should tend to make them feel with greater acuteness -the loss they were about to sustain. It was bright, -unclouded and serene. It was the eloquence as of a disembodied -spirit, freed from the perturbation and alloy of -human passions. She reminded them that they were sisters, -and exhorted each to fulfil the duties of a sister and -a mother to the other two. If wise and good, they would -be happy in each other, and their little association would be -a school, preparing them for the more genuine and venerable -duties for which nature had destined them. Her views -of all human things were altered by her present situation on -the brink of the grave. Our reserves and misunderstandings -had wrung her heart; but she forgave me. Things -which had lately appeared of the highest magnitude and -moment, faded in the distance, and mingled with the vulgar -crowd of human concerns which was now retiring from -her view: she must again return, she said, to life, before she -could again feel the passions and the interests of this petty -scene. For the sake of her daughters she had lately desired -to live. She was now reconciled and content to die. -She had formed the chain and link of connection between -me and my girls; perhaps it was better that we should -burst our fetters and be free. On the fourth day after -our arrival at Barcelona Marguerite expired.</p> - -<p>There is nothing in the vast variety of objects which -this wretched world presents to our view so dreadful and -distressing as the sight of one we have loved, but who is -now no more. I saw, these eyes beheld, the lifeless corse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> -of Marguerite. Great God of heaven! what is man? -and of what are we made? Within that petty frame resided -for years all that we worship, for there resided all -that we know and can conceive of excellence. That heart -is now still. Within the whole extent of that frame there -exists no thought, no feeling, no virtue. It remains no -longer, but to mock my sense and scoff at my sorrow, to -rend my bosom with a woe, complicated, matchless and -inexpressible. The cheek is pale and livid; the eyes are -sunk and circled with blackness. Corruption and ruin -have already seized their prey and turned it into horror. -Draw, for heaven’s sake, draw the pall over those lifeless -features! Bury, bury them deep in the bowels of the -earth! Let not my imagination follow them into the -chambers of the grave, and dwell amidst pestilential damps -and all the series of destruction! Let me recollect all that -Marguerite was as she lived, her numerous accomplishments, -her unparalleled virtues,—ay, in all the magnitude -and wealth of their detail,—for that is a divine and -celestial madness: but let me not recollect her as I saw her -on the bier, lest I become raving and blaspheme!</p> - -<p>I have no power to talk of the situation in which I was -now placed, and the reader must therefore explain it for -himself,—if he can. I never loved but once; I never -loved but Marguerite. All other affection is stillness and -ice compared with this. This is the great crisis of my -history, the gap between life and death, the gulf that cut -me off for ever from every thing that deserves the name of -human. Such was the legacy of the stranger! my son an -exile, myself publicly arraigned as a murderer, the unmerited -and tragical death of Hector, the premature and -self-deriving loss of the better half of my soul! Who -would have believed that this envenomed gift would, in less -than two years, have thus dreadfully changed the face of -my affairs, and destroyed every thing that composed the -happiness of my life?</p> - -<p>After some delay in this wretched and ill-omened town of -Barcelona (such it has ever since appeared to my thoughts), -we proceeded to Madrid. The reader will give me credit, -when I tell him that, however eager I had lately felt to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> -exhibit my magnificence and my wealth, I had no such -eagerness now. I speak no more of the character of Marguerite; -I attempt not to compose her panegyric. The -story of her life is the best record of her virtues. Her defects, -if defects she had, drew their pedigree from rectitude -of sentiment and perception, from the most generous sensibility, -from a heart pervaded and leavened with tenderness. -A simple stone in the western aisle of the great -church at Barcelona records her personal and her family -name, with this single addition, <span class="smcapuc">THE PRESERVER OF HER -FAMILY IN POVERTY AND RUIN, THE VICTIM OF HER DISCONSOLATE -AND REPENTANT HUSBAND’S UNHALLOWED -WEALTH</span>.</p> - -<p>But, dismissing for ever, and henceforth consigning to -unviolated silence her excellencies, could I avoid feeling -that I could never again form a similar, or indeed any -real union, so long as I existed? Being now indeed more -than forty years of age, having spent near twenty of that -forty in a most enviable wedlock, and being blessed with a -sufficiently numerous offspring, it may be thought perhaps -I might be contented. But, without discussing the propriety -of such a maxim as it relates to the species in -general, it must be recollected in my case that my youth -was to be recommenced by a perpetual series of renewals. -I never gave credit to that axiom of a sickly sensibility, -that it is a sacrilege, in him who has been engaged in one -cordial and happy union, ever to turn his thoughts to -another. Much more reasonable than this is the Indian -doctrine, that the survivor ought to leap into the flames, -and perish upon the funeral pyre of the deceased. While -we live, it is one of our most imperious duties to seek -our happiness. He that dedicates his days to an endless -sorrow is the worst and most degraded of suicides. It is -an important question in the economy of human life, up to -what age we should allow ourselves to contract engagements -to a wife and a probable offspring: but, separately -from this consideration, I should hold that in many cases -he who entered into a second marriage, by that action -yielded a pure and honourable homage to the manes of the -first. But from genuine marriage I was henceforth for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> -ever debarred. An immortal can form no true and real -attachment to the insect of an hour.</p> - -<p>Mourning, a depressing and speechless regret, was yet -the inmate of our house. Grief does not commonly lay a -strong and invincible hold of us in the morning of our -days; and, though the temper of Julia was perhaps at her -age the most tender and susceptible I ever knew, even she, -who was now in her seventeenth year, reaped the benefit -of that elasticity which in early life is the portion of -humanity. Nothing material occurred to us in the first -three months of our residence in Madrid. It was impossible -for any one to be surrounded with a more lovely -and blooming family than I was.</p> - -<p>Yet from happiness I was immeasurably distant. Exclusively -of my recent and in every sense irreparable loss, -my mind was full of dark and gloomy forebodings. I -feared not for myself, but I had an unconquerable alarm -and apprehension for my children. My youngest was but -ten years of age; the eldest was not seventeen. Sweet, -tender blossoms, that the cruelty and hardness of mankind -might so easily blight, and that required a concurrence of -favourable circumstances to ripen into all they were capable -of becoming! When I recollected what had happened in -the course of the last two years, I could not flatter myself -that our misfortunes were at an end, or that I had not, to -speak moderately, many fierce trials yet to encounter. I -seemed, like the far-famed tree of Java, to be destined to -shelter only to destroy, and to prove a deadly poison to -whatever sought its refuge under my protecting branches. -In this melancholy frame of mind the last words of my -adored Marguerite passed and repassed ten thousand times -through my recollection. “She had formed the chain and -link of connection between me and my girls; perhaps it -was better that we should burst our fetters and be free.”</p> - -<p>Whatever she had said was sacred to the present temper -of my imagination: her last behest I would have died to -execute. The idea contained in the sentence I have just -repeated was ambiguous and obscure, rather hinted, than -expressed. But was it worthy of the less attention, because -its author, with her usual gentleness and sweetness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> -had modestly suggested an advice, instead, which she was -well entitled to have done, of prescribing a will? I determined -to part with my children, that I might no longer -be to them a source of corroding misery and affliction. I -believed that the cloud that now oppressed me was transitory. -I seemed pursued for the present by a malignant -genius; but a man, endowed as I was with unbounded -wealth and immortal vigour, cannot easily be reduced to -despair. When the tide of my prosperity should unfold -its rich and ample current, I might easily communicate of -its bounty to my daughters. If I parted with them now, -I did not lose them as I had perhaps lost their brother for -ever. I could turn to a particular point, and say, “There -lies my soul!” I could cast my eye upon a projection -of the globe, and put my finger upon their residence. -Wherever I wandered, whether I were plunged in a dungeon -or mounted a throne, my heart, like the mariner’s -needle, would tremble towards that point as its cynosure. -I had still something to love, something to pant for, something -to dream about, and be happy.</p> - -<p>Having ruminated insatiably upon the last expressions -of Marguerite, having formed my commentary, and fixed -my predilection, I recollected a person, then a young -woman upon my paternal estate, for whom my wife had -conceived a remarkable friendship. She was the daughter -of a peasant, her birth had been low, and her education -confined. But she had taste, she had discretion, she had -integrity, I think I may add, she had genius. As Marguerite -had discovered her merits, and distinguished her -from her equals, she had been of great use to this extraordinary -rustic in unfolding her mind, and guiding her -propensities. This was not so much a matter of deliberate -and meditated purpose in <i lang="fr">la dame du seigneur</i>; it rose -out of the circumstances of their situation. They were -almost of an age; and Marguerite frequently invited her -to be the associate of her studies and amusements. Mariana, -that was her name, did not perhaps resemble my wife -considerably in her features, but her stature was the same, -her complexion and the colour of her hair. The similarity -in carriage and gesture, Mariana having never had an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> -opportunity of contemplating the accomplishments she -admired in any one but madame de St. Leon, was still -more striking. There were points indeed in which no -human creature could compare with Marguerite, the expressive -and flexible tone of her voice, and those cadences, -which sprung from, and communicated to every susceptible -hearer, the divinest sensibility. One of the unhappy consequences -of our exile from the Bordelois was the misfortunes -of Mariana. Her father had fallen to decay. To -relieve his distress she had contracted a marriage, not of -sentiment and predilection, but with a man who had promised -her that her father should never come to want. This -marriage had been unhappy. The husband was a prodigal -and a profligate. A period of seven years however delivered -her from her Egyptian bondage. She had but -lately become a widow; and the prudence and integrity of -her conduct had rendered this alliance, which to many -women would have proved a rock of destruction, an additional -source of honour and respect. Mariana, at the -death of her husband, had no children; she had buried her -father; she was consequently entirely alone.</p> - -<p>It was this woman I fixed upon as the protector of my -daughters. I was better pleased with the meanness of her -extraction, than I should have been with one of the high-born -descendants of the houses of St. Leon or Damville, -had it been my fortune to have had in the female line any -near relations on either side. My daughters were no longer -children; they were singularly prudent, considerate, and -unimpeachable in their conduct and propensities. They -wanted a protector in the eye of the world; it was desirable -for them that they should have an adviser; but I should -have been grieved and mortified to give them a dictator.</p> - -<p>I wrote to Mariana Chabot, communicating my project, -and requesting her to give us the meeting at St. Lizier on -the frontiers of France. She was delighted with the office -I tendered to her acceptance, and readily consented to every -thing I required. I conducted my daughters to the place -of rendezvous without imparting to them the design by -which I was actuated; I believed that they would of their -own motion conceive a partiality for the friend of their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> -mother. I was not deceived in my prognostic; the meeting -was an interesting one. The eyes of Mariana overflowed -at meeting, after so long an interval, the husband and progeny -of the dearest and most revered friend she had ever -known; the mourning we wore reminded her how lately -her incomparable patroness had been committed to the -grave. My girls were struck with the resemblance of -Mariana to their mother. Accident had prevented us from -cultivating almost any intimate connections out of our own -family from the period of our exile; my girls had therefore -never met with a person who approached in any degree so -near their mother in accomplishments, in skill, in turn of -thinking and opinion. Mariana came up to my warmest -hopes as a protector and companion for my children; her -unhappy marriage, by concentrating her thoughts and expectations -in herself, had perhaps rendered her more exemplary -in carriage, and more elevated in sentiment, than she -would ever have been without it.</p> - -<p>At St. Lizier I passed myself for monsieur Valmier, the -guardian of the orphan heiresses of St. Leon. It fortunately -happened that my paternal estate was at this time -upon sale. I determined to become the purchaser, and to -settle my girls in the scene of their nativity. I procured -an agent, and despatched him with an ample commission -for that purpose. Having adjusted this point, I resolved to -make a tour with my daughters, through Languedoc, Dauphiné, -and the provinces usually known by the denomination -of the south of France. I wished to familiarise them to -the society of madame Chabot, and to assist them in discerning -her merits under a variety of points of view. I -asked them whether they would not be delighted to obtain -her as a companion, who might assist and conduct them in -such points as only a woman of understanding and experience -is competent to. They, every one of them, listened -to the idea with pleasure.</p> - -<p>At length I received the information that the purchase of -St. Leon was completed, and I proceeded to the critical disclosure -that my daughters were on the point of being -separated from their father. They listened to the communication -with astonishment and terror. They had entered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> -successively into the feelings of their deceased mother, and -I am well persuaded felt a less ardent attachment to my -person than they had done at the cottage of the lake of -Constance. But, culpable and criminal as I had been, I -was not destitute of every virtue, and they could not extinguish -in themselves the respect they had so long entertained -for me. Habit has a resistless empire over the -human mind; and, when we reflect with how much reluctance -we consent to the removal of a tree or a hedge, to -the sight of which we have been accustomed, it will not be -wondered at that my daughters could not calmly think of so -complete a separation from their father. The impression -of their mother’s death was yet green, and to lose me, was -to become orphans a second time. But I had fully meditated -my plan, and was peremptory. That I might -withhold from them no advantage it was in my power to -confer, I gave them Bernardin for their superintending -bailiff and steward of their property. Our parting was not -less painful and melancholy, than its occasion was extraordinary -and its mode uncommon. It took place at the -town of Montauban.</p> - -<p>I saw my dear children set forward on their journey, and -I knew not that I should ever behold them more. I was -determined never again to see them to their injury; and I -could not take to myself the consolation,—on such a day, -in such a month, or even after such a lapse of years, I will -again have the joy to embrace them. In a little while -they were out of sight, and I was alone. The reader will -perhaps agree with me, that no man had more exquisitely -enjoyed the dearest ties of society than I had, and that -perhaps few men were ever better formed to enjoy them. -This complete and dreadful separation, this stroke that -seemed to cut me off abruptly from every thing most -valuable that the earth contains, was not the result of any -of the ordinary necessities of human life. Still less was it -the dictate of alienation or indifference. No; it was the -pure effect of love, of a love so strong, complete, and uncontrollable, -as inflexibly to refuse every thing that could be -injurious to its objects. I own I could not thus have -parted with Marguerite. Her idea was mingled with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> -vital springs of my existence; and scarcely any power less -resistless than death could have made me consent to pass -an entire day without her society. But then it is to be -considered, that my daughters were in the morning of life; -their hopes were untarnished, their prospects not obscured -by a single cloud; and that the crime would probably have -been greater, obstinately to have made them the partners of -my misfortunes and disgrace. There are persons who will -regard this passage in my history as culpable, and the testimony -of a cold and unsusceptible heart. I contemplate -it, even at this distance of time, as the noblest and most -virtuous effort of my life; and a thousand circumstances -have occurred since, to induce me to congratulate myself -that I had the courage to achieve my purpose.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> - -<p>Nineteen years had now elapsed from the day that had -witnessed my union with Marguerite de Damville. In all -that time I had never been alone. Alone in a certain sense -indeed I had stood at Paris in the period that had led to -my exile, and at Soleure in that which immediately succeeded -it. In each case I was solitary, and my solitude -was unhappy. But my unhappiness was then in a certain -sense spontaneous; my solitude was a luxury in which I -felt myself impelled to indulge. He that has experienced -both, will readily acknowledge the extreme difference between -the misery we embrace and the misery from which -we shrink with abhorrence and loathing. I relinquished -in the former instances my dearest connections, my proper -post and situation; but I felt that I could return to the -one and resume the other at pleasure. I repeat it therefore, -Then I had not been alone, and now I was alone. The -same motive, which in this instance made me cut myself off -from my daughters that I might not be the cause of their -misery, forbad me to be the parent of a future offspring -upon whom I might entail similar misfortune. Tell me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> -then, was I not alone? I recollected the words of the -stranger, wrung from him by the excess of his misery at the -summer-house of the lake, “Alone—alone!—friendless—friendless!” -I began to penetrate the enigma of his -history.</p> - -<p>I fixed my daughters with an ample revenue in the -château of St. Leon; I re-purchased for them all my -paternal property. I waited some time at Montauban to -hear of the event of my project, and their final settlement. -I learned with pleasure that they found their situation -peaceful, easy, and reputable; I enjoined them that they -should speak and think of me as dead. I led them to suppose, -when I left Montauban, that I should set out upon -an extensive tour, that I should traverse the Indus and the -Ganges, and penetrate into the furthest extremities of the -East. How uncommon, how pitiable a fate! I became -prematurely dead to my country and my race, because I -was destined never to die! The first sensation I derived -from their prosperity, as I have already said, was pleasure: -my second was that which the devil might have felt, when -he entered paradise for the seduction of our first parents. -I contemplated with some degree of malignant envy a happiness -of which it was little probable I should ever partake. -Let me not be censured for this: let any man put himself -in my situation, and say, whether the pleasure he feels at -contemplating the separated happiness of those he loves be -not a mingled sensation? With heavy heart I sought again -the road of Madrid.</p> - -<p>Though my spirits underwent an extreme depression, I -determined not to desert myself or the advantages I had -purchased at so inestimable a price. I exerted myself to -shake off my lethargy, and rouse the faculties of my soul. -I refused to give way to omens of evil portent, and resolved -to see what might yet be made of my endowments. There -is no misfortune that has not in it some slight mixture of -good. My being now alone, and detached from every relative -tie, left me at liberty to pursue my projects with a -bolder enterprise. The mistake of which I accused myself -in the former instance, was the entering too precipitately -into the exercise of the gifts of the stranger, before I had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> -properly measured my strength, and investigated the use -and application of my tools. I had suffered sufficiently -from the past uncertainty and irresoluteness of my march. -I determined, as far as human precaution could secure its -ends, to encounter no more misfortunes, to subject myself to -no further miscarriages, but to take care that henceforth the -tide of my pursuits should move smoothly onward. I dedicated -the six months immediately succeeding my separation -from my daughters, to the joint contemplation of morals -and natural philosophy. I was resolved to ascertain the -simplest mode of manufacturing wealth, the wisest methods -for lulling the suspicions and controlling the passions of -mankind, and the true science of the use of riches. Alas! -I had in the sequel frequent occasions to confess, that, -though I had fortuitously entered into possession of the -leading secrets of natural magic, I was a mere tyro in the -science of man, at least in the degree in which the exercise -of these secrets required the possession of it.</p> - -<p>Nothing material occurred to interrupt the occupations of -the winter. My apathy—intellectual activity, palsy of -the heart,—went evenly forward. I made no acquaintance; -I was a mere spectator of the busy scenes that passed -around me. I was resolved not to entangle myself with -rashly formed connections; and it will commonly be found, -that he, whose contemplations are principally employed upon -some secret and guarded hoard of reflection, has little propensity -to communicate upon idle and indifferent matters.</p> - -<p>A slight incident indeed disturbed me for a few days -during this interval; but it passed away, and for the present -I thought of it no more. During the festival of Christmas -it happened that I felt an inclination to be the spectator -of a celebrated bull-fight, that was exhibited before the emperor -and his court. For the most part I was studious of -privacy; I therefore felt the less scruple in indulging this -unusual caprice. At the commencement of the spectacle, -I was attentive only to the exhibition. I was delighted -with the form and beauty of the animals, with the freedom -and grandeur of their motion, with the terrible energy of -their assault and repulse. It was not long, however, before -my eye was transiently caught by an individual, who sat in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> -a gallery at no great distance, and who seemed to view me -attentively. His figure bespoke some degree of refinement; -but his eye was fiery, malicious, and savage. Presently -however I turned again towards the area, and thought of -him no more. Some time after by mere accident I looked -towards the same gallery, and observed this man still in an -attitude to examine me. It seemed as if he had not removed -his eyes from me during the whole interval. This -was repeated three or four times. Without knowing why, -I became anxious and uneasy. I had a confused feeling -that I had seen the man before, but whether in France, -Switzerland, or Italy, I could not tell. I experienced that -sort of disagreeable sensation from looking at his face, which -arises in the mind from an association of the object present, -with some mischief or suffering that was contemporary -with its being perceived in a preceding instance. I am now -persuaded that this man was one of the multitude to whom -I had addressed myself from the bench on the hill a short -time before my flight from Pisa, and that he was among -the most eager to interrupt and molest me. But he was -apparently a Spaniard by birth, and I could not at this -time develope the mystery that hung about his features. -Finding that I could neither rid myself of his curious and -watchful observation, nor of the disturbance it gave me, I -withdrew from the gallery where I had hitherto been sitting, -and removed to another gallery on the opposite side of the -area. About half an hour after, looking accidentally round, -I saw this very man at my elbow. I then accosted him -with the enquiry, “Do you know me, sir?” to which he -immediately returned, with a pure Castilian accent, “<i lang="es">No, -señor!</i>” He then began to be more reserved in his attention -to me, without however entirely withdrawing it.</p> - -<p>As soon as the entertainment was over, I went away, and -saw no more of my Spaniard. I began to tax myself with -pusillanimity in suffering so insignificant an incident to -disturb me. A few days after however I suddenly lighted -upon him in the street. He was talking to three or four -of his countrymen, and in the progress of his discourse -frequently pointed to me. I could now perceive something -particularly hostile and ferocious in his countenance. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> -first impulse I felt was, that I would no longer suffer the -unquietness and anxiety the sight of him produced in me, -but would go up to him, and force him to an explanation. -I believed however that, in the temper he indicated, this -could not be done without involving myself in a quarrel; -and I thought it wiser to endeavour to conquer in silence -an unreasonable sensation. I therefore passed on; he immediately -broke from his company, and attempted to follow -me. This I determined not to endure. I laid my hand -on my sword with a peremptory look, and waved to him to -desist. His countenance then assumed an air of diabolical -malignity, he shook his head furiously, and turned down -another street. A strange sort of animosity this, between -two persons utter strangers to each other, and which had -as yet not deigned to express itself by a word! But such -is the world! We hate we know not why. We are ready -to cut each other’s throats, because we do not like the turn -of a feature, or the adjustment of a sword-knot. Prejudice, -party, difference of countries, difference of religions, and a -thousand wild chimeras of fanaticism or superstition, are -continually arming us against a man, of whose virtues and -qualities we are ignorant, and into whose benevolent or evil -intentions we disdain to enquire.</p> - -<p>I saw this Spaniard but once more. It was as I was on -the point of entering the house, a part of which I occupied. -I was particularly mortified at this circumstance. It was -plain the man entertained, for whatever reason, a determined -animosity against me; and I was grieved to furnish -him with that advantage for injuring me, which consisted -in being acquainted with the place of my residence. I -would have turned away and gone down the street; but I -had too fully marked my design of entering the house, -before I reconnoitered my enemy. The displeasure I felt -was so unaccountably great, that it was with difficulty my -courage got the better of it; and I determined not to change -the place of my abode. In a short time however, as I have -already said, I thought of this incident no more. That it -should have disturbed and unhinged me, in the degree that -it had done, even for a moment, was a thing I could not -account for. Had the calamities in which the legacy of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> -the stranger involved me, converted me in so short a time, -from a knight and a soldier, into a character of that morbid -timidity, as to tremble at every shadow? Or, is there in -some human countenances a fascination, a sort of mysterious -sympathy and presentiment, that makes us cower and quail -whenever we meet their eye-beams?</p> - -<p>Several weeks now passed away, and I had nearly forgotten -all the circumstances of this seemingly foolish story, -when, in a little excursion I chanced to make from Madrid -to a place about twelve miles distant, I was overtaken upon -the road by a cavalier of respectable appearance, who presently -took occasion to enter into conversation with me. He -explained to me several of the objects that presented themselves -on either side, told the names of the different nobility -and grandees who occupied the villas we saw, and sometimes -entered into the particulars of their history. I at first gave -little encouragement to this communicative traveller; but -there was something so polite in his manner, and intelligent -in his discourse, that I could not prevail upon myself to -treat him with rudeness or disrespect. After having talked -for some time upon indifferent topics, he led to the general -state of literature in Europe. Few subjects could appear -less dangerous than this, as there were few upon which I -felt myself better qualified to converse. By degrees I threw -off some of my original reserve, and I found my companion -well informed and ingenious, lively in his manner, and -pertinent in his remarks.</p> - -<p>By this time the unknown, having discovered that I had -only come from Madrid for a day’s relaxation, invited himself -to dine with me at my inn. I departed from my -established system of conduct on this occasion, and admitted -his overture. After dinner he gave me some account of -himself and his family, and seemed to expect from me a -similar explicitness. I was less pleased with him in this -particular, than I had been with his frank and undesigning -conversation on the road. Strictly speaking however the -expectation implied was only a breach of politeness; I had -no reason to suppose that he foresaw it to be particularly -offensive to me. Observing my backwardness, he immediately -changed the subject. Presently he remarked, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> -by my physiognomy and accent he perceived I was a -Frenchman, and asked me if I had known Cornelius -Agrippa, who died about twelve years before at Grenoble. I -answered in the negative. The unknown then entered -into a warm eulogium of the talents of Agrippa, inveighed -against the illiberal treatment he had experienced in consequence -of his supposed proficiency in magic, and spoke -with great asperity of the priests and inquisitors who had -been his persecutors. I became attentive, watchful, and -suspicious. He went on to expatiate upon the praises of -the art magic, which nothing, he said, but the jealousy of -churchmen had brought into disrepute; affirmed that it -had been treated with respect, and counted illustrious, by -the ancients, in the instance of Pythagoras, Apollonius -Tyaneus, and others; and expressed a great desire to become -a student of the art himself. This kind of discourse made -me repent that I had been drawn in so far as to sit down -with this unknown, and admit him as my companion of -the day. During the whole time he was the principal -speaker. Sometimes he paused, with a seeming desire to -hear my sentiments. But I had now formed my resolution, -and gave him no encouragement. Presently after I called -for my horse. I should have observed, that his servant -who followed him engaged in conversation with mine, at -the same time that the dialogue began between their masters. -Seeing me about to depart, the unknown motioned as if to -accompany me. Upon this I became serious.</p> - -<p>“<i lang="es">Señor caballero</i>,” said I, “I have now had the pleasure -of your company to dinner: I am going home, and -have the honour to bid you farewell. It is neither my disposition, -nor the habit of the grave and dignified nation -among whom I at present reside, to form permanent acquaintances -upon casual rencounters: you will not therefore -think I violate the hospitality for which I am indebted -to them, if I intimate to you my desire to return alone.”</p> - -<p>All this I said with the grave and formal tone becoming -a Spaniard, and the unknown had nothing to reply. It was -evident however that my dryness chagrined him; and he -even muttered words of resentment between his teeth. I -could observe now a degree of hostility and fury in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> -countenance, which remarkably contrasted with the pliancy -and obligingness of his preceding demeanour. I took no -notice however of these circumstances, and rode away. I -have since had sufficient reasons to convince me that these -two persons, whose story, but for that explanation, may appear -to the reader exceedingly frivolous, were the one an -informer, and the other a spy of the holy inquisition. The -man who had seen me at Pisa had his imagination terrified -and his superstition set in arms by all that he had heard of -me in that place; and thought he could not perform a more -meritorious work, than by giving intelligence to the fathers -what sort of person had taken refuge in the metropolis -of this most Catholic kingdom. It was with this view he -had watched me, and at length, by an accident he deemed -peculiarly fortunate, lodged me in my proper habitation. -Having given in his denunciation, my travelling companion -was next fastened on me by the contrivance and zeal of the -fathers inquisitors. He was a familiar of the holy office; -and it is well known that persons of the fairest prospects -and most polite education in Spain are led by their religious -impressions to place a pride in performing menial and even -perfidious offices in the service of the inquisition. The -kind of dishonour I put upon him in parting, though of a -nature he could not openly resent, I fear conspired with his -zeal for God’s and the church’s honour, to induce him to -relate a story concerning me, more modelled by the bitterness -of his personal feelings, than distinguished by a regard -to truth.</p> - -<p>Such was the snare, woven and drawing close round me -on all sides for my destruction. I was made uneasy by -the rencounter of the traveller, but by no means aware of -the whole extent of the mischief that impended over me. -When I came to retrace, point by point, the discourse he -had held, I could not conceive that the turn it had taken -originated in accident. I perceived, with no little grief of -heart and concern, that I was known. It was however -necessary that I should reflect maturely upon the conduct -to be pursued by me. I ought not gratuitously to expose -myself to danger. But then, on the other hand, it is a -point of general wisdom, and was particularly incumbent in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> -my extraordinary circumstances, not to suffer vigilance to -degenerate into restless anxiety. It would be easy for me, -if I were not strictly on my guard, continually to find food -for suspicion, and to surround myself with imaginary plots -and dangers. This was a vice that I was willing enough -to pity in others; but there was no character that I more -cordially disdained for myself. There was none more -pointedly in opposition to that gallant, generous, confiding -spirit, which had distinguished those military heroes of my -native soil, who had been the exclusive object of my earliest -admiration, and whom, in my present dejected and deserted -situation, I still desired to resemble. When I came -to reflect, I easily perceived that this vice was particularly -allied to a life of solitude; and that he who is cut off from -the genuine and happy connections of husband, father, and -friend, is of all men most liable, in their absence, to conjure -up for himself the unnatural intercourses and reciprocations -of hostility. It was thus that I artificially reconciled myself -to my situation, and obstinately closed my eyes upon -those equivocal demonstrations of danger which from time -to time were presented to my view.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.</h2> - -<p>Such was the state of my mind, when it happened, one -gloomy evening in the latter end of March, that my valet -announced to me three gentlemen who were come to visit -me. It was strange: I had no visitors; I indulged no -relaxation but that of the street, and of public places. Do -you know who they are? said I. I accidentally looked -up, and saw paleness and terror written in his countenance. -He had not however time to reply, before they burst into -the room. They were alguazils of the inquisition. They -told me their errand was to conduct me to the holy office.</p> - -<p>I submitted, and accompanied them. It was already -dark. They put me into a litter with the curtains drawn, -and then arranged themselves in silence, one on each side,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> -while one brought up the rear. I was taken by surprise: -nothing could be further from my expectation than such an -event. As we passed along, I ruminated with myself on -the line of conduct it was incumbent on me to pursue. To -make an immediate experiment of the fidelity of my guides -was a doubtful attempt. If, for want of time and the opportunity -of a tranquil hearing, I miscarried with them, the -trial would be converted into evidence against me. If I -succeeded, I had then to escape out of Spain, in the centre -of which I now was, from the hostility of a tribunal, which -was said to surpass all the tribunals on the face of the earth -in activity and vigilance. I knew of nothing that the -fathers of the inquisition could have against me. I had -lived in the most entire seclusion; and I could defy -any one to report a single action of mine, since I had entered -Spain, to my prejudice. I had been wholly occupied -with melancholy reflections on the past, and solitary inventions -and devices which I purposed to bring forward for the -future. I determined not to live for ever the slave of fear. -I believed that the best method for defeating a danger, in -many cases, was undauntedly to encounter it; and I did -not imagine that I could have a more favourable opportunity -for that purpose than the present. I had heard much -indeed of the terrors of the inquisition; but a generous and -liberal spirit lends no very attentive ear to horrors, the trite -and vulgar rumour of which only has reached him. I disdained -to be blown down with a breath. I believed that -the inquisition itself would not venture to proceed criminally -against a man against whom nothing criminal had -been alleged. In every event, I believed it would never be -too late to have recourse to my peculiar prerogatives.</p> - -<p>Upon entering the prison of the inquisition I was first -conducted to a solitary cell. It is not my intention to treat -of those particulars of the holy office which are already -to be found in innumerable publications. I have no pleasure -in reviving the images of this sojourn of horrors. I -know it is unreasonable to despise a man for the miseries -and wretchedness he has endured; but I know that such is -the human heart, and I will not expose myself to be scoffed -at and trampled upon for my misfortunes. I found myself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> -under the necessity, while in the inquisition, of submitting -to that most profligate of all impositions, an oath of secrecy -as to what I had seen, and what I had suffered; and, whatever -may be the strict morality of such an obligation, I will -not ambitiously thrust myself forward in violation of it. I -will restrict the story I have to relate to the peculiarities -that characterised my case, and enter as little as possible -into the general policy of this frontier intrenchment of -the Christian faith.</p> - -<p>When I was brought up to be interrogated, I was assailed -with innumerable questions, the obvious purport of -which was, as much as possible, to extort from me evidence -of every kind that might be injurious to my cause. The -object of the inquisition is to defend our holy mother, the -church, from whatever might defile her sanctity and whiteness. -Every thing that calls into question the truth of her -doctrines, that pollutes and turns from their original purpose -any of her ordinances, or that implies commerce and league -with the invisible enemy of saints, it is its peculiar province -to investigate. The fathers are therefore particularly cautious -that they may not, by confining their questions too -much to a single object, preclude themselves from the chance -of discovering danger under all the forms it may assume. -It is presumed that he who is a corrupt member of the -church of Christ in one point is unsound and unfaithful in -others.</p> - -<p>The inquisitor who examined me, first demanded, -whether I were informed for what cause I was brought -before that tribunal? Whether I did not find myself able -to conjecture the nature of my offence? Whether I did not -know the sort of crimes for which men were detained in -that prison? He then desired me to recollect myself, and -consider, whether I were not conscious of offence against -the holy Catholic church? Whether I had never asserted -or maintained any doctrines contrary to what mother -church asserts and maintains? Whether I had never, to -my knowledge, defiled any of the ordinances of God, or -applied things sacred to unholy and profane purposes? -Whether I had never invocated the devil? Whether I -had never held any commerce, or entered into any league,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> -with the enemy of saints? Whether I had never performed, -or sought to perform, preternatural and miraculous acts by -unholy means? Whether I had never vexed, or sought to -vex, those against whom I had enmity, by secret and forbidden -arts? Whether I had never resided in countries the -inhabitants of which were heretics, and whether I had never -listened to their discourses and arguments? Whether, when -I inhabited such countries, I had never assisted at the celebration -of divine ordinances performed by heretics, or in a -form which holy church disapproves or condemns?</p> - -<p>Finding that he could gain nothing upon me by these -general interrogatories, the inquisitor next descended to -particulars. He enquired concerning the incidents of my -Pisan story, which, having first assured myself from the -train of his questions that some representation of that unfortunate -affair had reached his ear, I willingly related, to -the same extent that I had previously done to the marchese -Filosanto.</p> - -<p>He then proceeded to a great number of questions, the -source of which is to be traced to the commonly received -notions respecting sorcerers and necromancers. They were -so artfully contrived, and so large in their scope, that it was -not easy to guess whether they related to any particular accusation -alleged against me, or were formed entirely on -general principles. Yet some of them were so minute, so -connected, and arranged so perfectly in series, that I could -not but believe they were an echo of the calumnies invented -against me at Pisa, of which, however, as I had never collected -any regular and detailed account, I could not accurately -trace the influence on the present occasion.</p> - -<p>The inquisitor demanded of me, Whether I had never -seen or held conversation with any supernatural being, or -the spirit of a man departed? Whether I had never practised -diabolical arts to raise the dead? Whether I had -never had a familiar in the form of some insect, domestic -animal, or reptile? He was particularly subtle and copious -in his questions respecting the history of my unfortunate -dog, endeavouring to surprise me in some slip or contradiction -in what I affirmed on the subject. He asked, Whether -I had never assumed a form different from my real one, -either a different age and appearance, or a different species<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> -of animal? Whether I had never, by the agency of -my demon, inflicted sickness, convulsion-fits, or death? -Whether I had never caused the mortality of cattle? -Whether I had not the power of being in two places at -once? Whether I had never been seen riding through the -air? Whether I had never been wounded in my absence, -by a blow aimed at my astral spirit or apparition? Whether -I had never possessed books of conjuration or the art magic? -Whether it had never happened to me that an indifferent -person, indiscreetly perusing a spell or incantation in my -possession, had been maimed or killed by the spirits he had -undesignedly evoked?</p> - -<p>A further object particularly pursued in my interrogatory, -was the detection of my property; and the questions constructed -for this purpose were uncommonly artful and -multiplied. The inquisitor told me that the holy office -was, by the nature of its institution, the guardian and administrator -of every person that fell under its animadversion. -Shut up, he said, as I must be, during the pendency -of my cause, and separated from the rest of mankind, I -was wholly incapable of superintending my worldly affairs, -which, unless they were properly looked into, might in the -interval be materially injured. I ought therefore implicitly -and without reserve to refer myself in this point to the -care of the fathers. If my innocence were established, as -he hoped, and earnestly prayed to the mother of God, and -the saints of Jesus, might ultimately happen, I should find -the holy office a faithful and qualified steward. If, on the -contrary, I should be proved a heretic and an alien to the -Most High, I ought then to rejoice in the beneficent interference -of the fathers, who, by dedicating my wealth to -consecrated purposes, would mitigate in the eye of the just -Judge of heaven and earth the duration or fierceness of my -punishments in a future world. The inquisitor had apparently -heard various reports of my riches, and was inexpressibly -chagrined that he should be found so unskilful -a member of his profession, as not to be able to extort from -me a full confession on that head. After having employed -every artifice of menace and terror, after having endeavoured -to soothe and cajole me by blandishments and persuasion, -and finding all his expedients fruitless, he poured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> -upon me the full storm of his indignation. He said, it -was apparent that I was dealing disingenuously and fraudulently -with the delegated guardians of religion; it was -impossible that the expenditure I was well known more or -less to have incurred could be supported without considerable -funds; and my evident duplicity and concealment in -this point must be regarded as a full confirmation of every -crime my accusers had alleged against me.</p> - -<p>In the course of my examinations, the inquisitor who -questioned me gave himself the trouble of entering into a -full vindication of the tribunal of which he was a member. -He said, that every thing that was valuable to mankind, -not only in a future state, but also in the present, depended -upon preserving in full vigour and strength the sacred institutions -of the Christian faith; and that those who were -endowed with powers sufficient for that purpose would be -in the highest degree inexcusable in the sight of God, if -they did not vigilantly and inflexibly maintain the exertion -of those powers. It was an egregious mistake of self-willed -and opinionated men, to suppose that the maintenance of -our holy religion was sufficiently provided for by the clearness -of its evidence. It was no less dangerous, to pretend -that the stability and duration of the church of Christ -might be confided to the providence of God. Providence -acts by human means; and it was presumptuous for those -who neglected the means to trust that they should nevertheless -see the end adequately secured. Why had Providence -thought proper to generate an alliance between church -and state, and to place the powers and authority of human -society in the hands of the adherents of the Christian faith? -Magistrates and governments were thus made the vicars of -Heaven, and great would be their condemnation if they -neglected the trust reposed in them. The great adversary -of mankind was incessantly watchful for the destruction of -souls; and, while he spread abroad his delusions, it was -folly to imagine that evidence alone was powerful enough -to counteract them. What judges were the great mass of -mankind of the integrity and validity of evidence? The jest -of the scorner was ever at hand to turn into ridicule the most -sacred mysteries. The opposers of our holy faith were indefatigable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> -in their industry, and as anxious in their exertions -to deprive their fellow-men of every comfort and hope, -as if infidelity, which was the curse of the human species, -were the greatest blessing that could be conferred on -them. The devil was a hard task-master, and granted no -vacation, night or day, to those who enlisted themselves in -the support of his cause. It might answer well enough -the purpose of the vain-glorious theorist, to suppose that -man was a rational animal; but they who had regarded -human society with an observing eye knew that it was -otherwise. Delusion would ever be too hard for evidence, -and the grossest falsehoods prove victorious over the most -sacred truths, if what was illiberally and maliciously styled -persecution were not brought in aid of the cause of religion. -The passions of mankind were on the side of falsehood; -man, unrestrained by law, was a wild, ferocious, and most -pernicious beast, and, were it not for the wholesome curb -of authority, would speedily throw off all ties and limitations, -human and divine. Nothing could more clearly -prove, that the heretical followers of Luther and Calvin, -who had lately sprung up for the plague of mankind, -whatever they might pretend, were in reality the determined -enemies of all revelation, than their continual demand, -that the cause should be tried by discussion, and -that every man should be defended in the exercise of his -private judgment. They could not but know,—every -man not totally robbed of all power of discernment must -know,—that, if this demand were once granted, it would -prove a blow at the root of every sentiment of religion. -The inquisition therefore was the most salutary institution -that had ever been devised; and the future welfare of -mankind wholly depended upon the maintenance of its -powers and its maxims. By a moderate and judicious -exhibition of terror, it superseded the necessity of innumerable -punishments. The inquisition was not capricious -and uncertain in its policy; it acted under the direction of -immutable laws; it held a tender, but a firm rein upon the -extravagances and madness of mankind. Nothing was -more notorious, than that a regular and systematical proceeding -was both more effectual and more generous than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> -one that was fickle. He defied the whole history of the -world to produce an example of so merciful a tribunal. -The great end of its policy was the reclaiming of sinners -and the multiplication of penitents, who, after a gentle -and salutary discipline, were again by holy church received -into her bosom; and even when they delivered the finally -impenitent to the flames, it was to the flames of a purifying -fire, which by destroying the flesh redeemed or diminished -the punishments of a future world. He knew that an outcry -had been artfully raised against the proceedings of the -holy office. But it was easy to see that its enemies, under -the pretence of compassion for its victims, concealed an -inveterate animosity against property, religion, and civil -society. The anabaptists had thrown off the mask, and -discovered their true designs; and the rest were only more -plausible and specious, in proportion as they were more -timid. The present was the most important crisis that -ever occurred in the history of the world. There was a -spirit at work, that aimed at dissolving all the bonds of -civil society, and converting mankind into beasts and -savages. Who had not heard of the levellers, millenarians, -and fifth-monarchy-men, who, under the specious guise of -disinterestedness and an universal love of mankind, had -nothing in view but the most sacrilegious and unprincipled -depredations? It was true that the preachers of these -doctrines were utterly contemptible both for numbers and -talent: but it would be found a short-sighted policy, to -overlook these desperate assailants on account of the poorness -and meanness of their qualifications. For his own -part he did not hesitate to say, that human society would -owe its preservation, if it were preserved, to the merciful -yet vigorous proceedings of the court of inquisition. The -misrepresentations that were invidiously made of the present -firm and vigilant system of policy would be heard for -a day, and then universally abandoned. Posterity, he was -well assured, would do full justice to the sagacity and -soundness of the conduct of this calumniated and much -injured institution.</p> - -<p>The reader will forgive me if the panegyric thus elaborately -pronounced by the inquisitor who examined me,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> -upon the court of which he was a member, had not all the -weight with my mind at the moment I heard it which he -will probably ascribe to it in the calmness of the closet. -It is so difficult to be impartial in our own cause! The -candid mind will no doubt make a large allowance for the -unhappy situation in which I now stood, and the bitter and -galling thoughts that preyed upon my memory. But, if I -am chargeable with temporary injustice in the judgment I -then passed on the arguments of the inquisitor, I flatter -myself that I have been able, after the interval that has -elapsed, to give a true and adequate statement of them.</p> - -<p>Beside these reasonings on the necessity of a wholesome -restraint on the privileges of speaking and writing, the -father in another of my examinations condescended to -delineate to me the mysteries of the world of spirits. He -reminded me that in the first grand rebellion upon record, -that of the fallen angels, of which he considered the present -defection under Luther and Calvin as in some measure a -counterpart, a third of the host of heaven had been thrust -out of the celestial mansions. These accursed spirits had -since been permitted to pursue their machinations on -the face of our earth. “The devil, like a roaring lion, -goeth about, seeking whom he may devour.” The oracles -of the heathens, the temptations of Job and of our Saviour, -and the demoniacs of sacred writ, were examples of the -extensive power which Heaven had thought fit to allow -him. Men of a sceptical and feeble understanding had -been tempted to doubt whether this was consistent with -the wisdom and goodness of God. But, though it was in -vain for us to pretend to fathom the depth of the divine -mysteries, there were certain reasons that were sufficiently -obvious to every ingenuous mind. There were persons in -all ages of the world, who, like the Sadducees in the time -of our blessed Saviour, were inclined to affirm “that there -was no resurrection, neither angel, nor spirit;” and God -permitted the lying wonders of infernal agents the more -completely to confound the unbelief of his enemies. He -who witnessed the wonderful operations of witchcraft, or -saw the ghost of a man departed, could not doubt of the -interference of invisible agents in the concerns of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> -nether world; and, if there were devils and apparitions, it -would be to the last degree unreasonable to deny the existence -of God, or the miracles of Christ. These were to -be received as the grounds of the divine permission of -sorcerers, necromancers, and witches. But the rules of -the divine conduct were not to constitute the rules of ours. -He might permit the agency of invisible malice, because -he saw things upon an unlimited scale, his judgments were -infallible, and he could say to Beelzebub himself, “Thus -far shalt thou go, and no further.” Those to whose care -was intrusted the welfare of mankind here or hereafter -were bound as far as possible to oppose themselves to the -empire of Satan. His power was given him only for a -time, and, if not strictly restrained of God and the powers -ordained of God, it would over-run every thing, and replunge -all this beautiful scene of creation in its original chaos. -There was an endless and eternal war between God and -the devil, and the governors of the church were Heaven’s -field-officers and pioneers for carrying it on. Of all the -crimes, he added, to which the depravity of human nature -had given birth, the most astonishing and the most horrible -was that of diabolical commerce. That human -creatures should be so far infatuated, as to enter into -league with the declared enemy of souls, and for the possession -of a short-lived and precarious power to sign away -their spirits to eternal damnation, was so extraordinary as -to have been wholly unworthy of credit, were it not supported -by evidence as strong and irresistible as that of the -miracles of Jesus Christ himself. The persons who thus -voluntarily made themselves accursed before God deserved -to be regarded with alienation and horror by the whole -human race. Every man that saw them was bound by -his baptismal engagements to destroy them; and whoever -administered to them the smallest portion of food, drink, -or comfort, thereby rendered himself a party to their guilt. -The inquisition especially had declared against this race of -men eternal war, and considered their crime as more complicated, -audacious, and pestilential, than any other branch -of heresy. Having, for his own part, no doubt that I was -one of these noxious and enormous reprobates, he exhorted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> -me to make a voluntary confession of my evil deeds, and, -by submitting readily to the tortures and punishments of -this world, endeavour to free myself, if it were yet possible, -from those of the world to come.</p> - -<p>These discourses of the inquisitor were variously interspersed -through the three examinations to which I was -subjected a short time after I became an inhabitant of the -holy house. On my part I endeavoured to the best of my -power to repel the imputations cast upon me, to establish -my innocence, and to confound the severity of my oppressors. -I told the inquisitor, whatever might be the force of -his arguments respecting heresy and dealings with the devil, -they were nothing to me. I was no Lutheran, no anabaptist, -no necromancer, no underminer of the faith of others, or -ally of the prince of the infernal regions. I proudly and -earnestly demanded to be confronted with my accusers. I -asked my examiner in his turn, What sort of justice that -was, which pretended to proceed capitally against its prisoners -upon secret and unavowed accusations? He endeavoured -to stop me. He told me that I was not brought -there to arraign the methods and practices of their court; -that it did not become a prisoner put upon his defence to -insult his judges; that this contumacy could not be regarded -but as an aggravation of my guilt; and that I was bound -strictly and simply to answer the interrogatories that were -proposed to me. The rebuke of the inquisitor was unavailing. -My spirit was wrought to too high a pitch to be thus -restrained; I was too firmly resolved to give the utmost -force of mind and truth to the topics of my just defence. -It is the practice of the inquisition for the prisoner to sit -during his examination. I started upon my feet.</p> - -<p>“The mode of your proceeding,” cried I, “is the mockery -of a trial. From your fatal bar no man can go forth acquitted. -How is a story to be refuted, when hardly and -with difficulty you suffer your prisoner to collect the slightest -fragments of it? If I would detect a calumny, is it not requisite -that I should be acquainted with its history, and -know its authors and propagators? Then I may perhaps be -able to confound their forgeries, to show the groundlessness -of their allegations, to expose the baseness of their purposes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> -and the profligacy of their characters. I am informed of -nothing; yet I am bid, first to be my own accuser, and then -to answer the accusations of others. It is only by following -a falsehood through all its doublings that it can be effectually -destroyed. You bid me unravel a web, and will not -suffer me to touch it with one of my fingers. The defence -of the purest innocence is often difficult, sometimes impossible, -against the artfulness of a malicious tale, or the -fortuitous concurrence of unfavourable appearances. But -you strip innocence of those consecrated weapons by which -only it can be defended. Give to an accusation the particulars -with which what really happens must always be -attended, give to it the circumstances of place and of time, -lay aside the ambiguity and generalities in which you shelter -yourselves, and then, perhaps then only, it can be victoriously -repelled. You ask me a thousand various and artfully -constructed questions. What sort of a man do you imagine -me to be? I am not a fool, that I should be inveigled; I -am not a boy, that I should be menaced into confessions. -Cease your base and unprincipled arts! I will furnish no -materials against myself. If you know anything against me, -avow it! Propose it, and I will answer. Think not to patch -up a miserable accusation out of the words which inadvertence -or weariness may cause me to utter. Shame on -your institution! May infamy overtake the system of your -proceedings! That religion which is supported by such -means is viler than atheism. That civilisation which has -its basis in despotism, is more worthless and hateful than -the state of savages running wild in their woods.</p> - -<p>“Do you not perceive that the language I am now holding -to you is the exclusive privilege of conscious innocence? -The indignation I express is no artificial rage, studiously -contrived to overbear accusation. You have it, as it flows -spontaneously to my tongue, warm from the promptings of -an honest heart. If I could have consulted a friend, it is -probable he would have dissuaded me from my present -demeanour as impolitic. If I were governed by the dictates -of an ordinary prudence, I should have displayed less -ardour, less resentment. But I am willing to try whether -shame cannot yet be lighted up even in the cheek of an -inquisitor.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span></p> - -<p>The father who examined me, having in vain endeavoured -to check the current of my invective, changed his manner, -and assumed a tone diametrically the reverse of mine. He -professed that he felt much compassion and interest for my -misfortune, and should deem himself happy if he could be -the instrument of my deliverance. The language I had -uttered was highly indecorous, and such as seemed in itself -to call for a rigorous penance. But he should not think -himself worthy the name of a man, if he did not make suitable -allowance for the bitter and extravagant sentiments, -that would occasionally find their way into the mind of one -in my unfortunate situation. So circumstanced, men would -often mistake their friends for their enemies. I regarded -the inquisition as my enemy: it was in reality my firm and -disinterested friend; zealously watchful for my body, my -soul, and my estate. Other courts had other maxims -of proceeding, because their motives of action were different; -and it was but just that they should furnish their prisoners -with a defence against their frailty. But the breast of an -inquisitor was accessible to no sentiment but that of love; -a burning love of God; love of the church; love of the -prisoner, who might be wrongfully accused; love of the -penitent, whom he reconciled to our common mother, the -church; love even of the incorrigible heretic whose body he -burned for the good of his soul. The inquisitor did not -discover to the prisoner the evidence adduced against him; -that was between God and the inquisitor’s conscience. But -the suppression which was thus practised rendered him -doubly scrupulous and sceptical as to the evidence he received; -he sifted it with a severity that the prisoner would -in vain endeavour to imitate; and the rules of evidence in -that court were so guarded, punctilious, and minute, as to -render any mistake in its proceedings altogether impossible. -For a man to be once a prisoner of the court of inquisition, -by a salutary prejudice which prevailed through the catholic -world, rendered him for ever infamous. This was another -cause of the extreme wariness and caution, with which that -court was accustomed to proceed. They first listened to -the accuser, who was obliged to give in his information on -oath. They then instituted a secret enquiry against the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> -party accused; and, till they had collected abundant ground -for their proceeding, they did not venture to touch a hair of -his head. They elaborately classed all the different degrees -of evidence into half proof, full proof, proof less than half, -and proof less than full. When these things were duly considered, -it would appear certain that no court that had at any -time existed on earth, had ever been so tender in its proceedings, -so pure in its incitements, and so every way superior -to the attacks of calumny and malice, as the court of -inquisition.</p> - -<p>With respect to myself in particular, he said, they had -not apprehended me and put me upon my defence, without -previously assembling a large body of miscellaneous and -circumstantial evidence. The evidence they had drawn -from myself was negative only, but it was strong: the obscurity -that hung about my person, who I was, and whence -I came; and the obscurity that hung about my fortune, a -great visible expenditure in Spain or in Italy, and no visible -means. These were not the signatures and tokens of innocence. -They tended strongly to confirm the accusation -under which I laboured. Yet so tender was the inquisition -in its proceeding, and so chary of its reputation, that upon -these accumulated proofs and presumptions, they were not -prepared to pronounce against me. They would hear me -again and again. They would give me time to recollect -myself, and for this purpose they would order for me a -coarse and scanty fare, and a solitary cell. I might depend -upon it my contumacy should be overcome. The fundamental -principle of their proceedings was borrowed from -that humane and compassionate maxim of the old Roman -law, <i lang="la">De vita hominis nulla cunctatio est longa</i>; and I -should accordingly find them free from all precipitation and -impatience, and ready to indulge me with a residence, however -long, in their prisons, till my case had been sifted to -the bottom.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> - -<p>The indulgence thus ostentatiously proclaimed by the father-inquisitor -was not exactly to my taste. Finding that all -the energy of mind I could apply to my defence was vain, -I determined to have recourse to a different mode of proceeding. -I received three admonitions, as they call them, -the substance of which I have already recited, in the course -of the first ten days of my confinement, and I then for -some time heard of the inquisitor no more. I understood -that it was frequently the practice, after three admonitions, -not to bring up the prisoner for further hearing -during a whole year; and it appeared sufficiently probable -from the last words addressed to me by my judge, -that this policy was intended to be employed in my -case. Without further delay therefore I resolved to recur -to the expedient in the use of which my power was -unbounded, and by a brilliant offer at once to subdue the -scruples, and secure the fidelity, of the person or persons -upon whom my safe custody might be found to depend. -All that was necessary was to convince the party to whom -I should propose the assisting me, of the reality of my -powers; and then to put <i lang="fr">carte blanche</i> into his hands, or -rather to ascertain at once the extent of his hopes and demands, -and by a spirited and peremptory conduct to yield -them all. In the period which, immediately previous to -my present imprisonment, I had devoted to the meditation -of my future plans and the review of my past, I had severely -accused myself of half measures, and had determined to -abjure all hesitation and irresoluteness for the time to come. -It is not indeed to be wondered at, that, possessing a power -so utterly remote from common ideas and conceptions, and -which, speaking from experience, I do not hesitate to affirm -no mere effort of imagination is adequate to represent, I -should have acted below the prerogatives and demands of -my situation. This mistake I would make no more. I -would overwhelm opposition by the splendour of my proceedings, -and confound scruples by the dignity and princely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> -magnificence of my appearance. Unshackled as I was with -connections, and risking no one’s happiness but my own, I -proposed to compel the human species to view me from an -awful distance, and to oblige every one that approached me -to feel his inferiority. It would be to the last degree disgraceful -and contemptible in me, being raised so far above -my peers in my privileges, if I were to fall below the ordinary -standard of a gallant man in the decision and firmness -of my system of conduct. Decision and firmness were the -principles to be exercised by me now; dignity and magnificence -must await their turn hereafter.</p> - -<p>It was not long before I embraced an opportunity of -speaking to the man who waited on me with my daily -allotment of provisions, and I designed as shortly as possible -to proceed to that species of argument, in which I -principally confided to engage him in my cause. But he -did not suffer me to utter a sentence before with a very -expressive gesture he interrupted me. I had remarked -already the silence which seemed for ever to pervade this -dismal abode; but I had not ascribed importance enough to -this circumstance, to suppose that it could materially interfere -with the project I had formed. I now perceived the -countenance of my attendant to be overspread with terror -and alarm. He put his hand upon my mouth, and by his -attitude seemed earnestly to insist upon my conforming to -the rules of the prison. I was not however to be thus -diverted from my purpose. I seized his hands, and began -again to pursue the discourse I had meditated. This proceeding -on my part induced him to break the silence he -had hitherto preserved. He told me that if I did not instantly -set him at liberty, he would alarm the prison. I -loosed his hands. I then by every gesture I could devise -endeavoured to prevail on him to approach me, to suffer me -to confer with him in the lowest whisper, and assured -him that he should have no reason to repent his compliance. -I might as well have addressed myself to the walls that -inclosed me. He would not stay an instant; he would -yield in nothing. He burst from me abruptly, and, closing -the door of my cell, left me in solitude and darkness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span></p> - -<p>In the evening of the day of this attempt the keeper of -the prison entered my apartment. When he appeared, I -began to flatter myself that in this man I should find a -better subject for my purpose than in the poor turnkey who -had given me so unfavourable a prognostic of my success. -I lost no time in saying to him that I had something important -to communicate; but he peremptorily commanded -me to be silent, and listen to what he was about to say to -me. He told me that I had already been complained -against for speech, and I was now repeating my offence. -He advised me to ponder well the consequences of what I -was doing. The orders of the inquisition were rigorous -and inflexible. The cells were not so substantially separated -but that a voice might be heard from one to the other; -yet it had happened more than once, that a husband and -wife, a father and child, had for years been lodged next to -each other, without the smallest suspicion on either part of -the proximity of their situation. He was astonished at the -pertinacity of my behaviour. There was no government on -the face of the earth, he would venture to say, that had subjects -more obedient, more dutiful and exemplary than the -holy inquisition. Not a murmur was ever heard; not a -discontent ever expressed. All was humbleness, thankfulness, -and gratitude. He recommended to me to conform -myself to my situation, and let him hear no further complaints -of me. He had no sooner finished his harangue, -than he left me as abruptly as his servant had done. It is -not possible to impart any adequate image of the inflexibility -of his features, or the stern composure of his demeanour.</p> - -<p>I now saw my situation in a different point of view. -Bribery was of no use, where all intercourse was denied. -Great God! into what position was I got? In the midst -of a great and populous city, at this time perhaps the metropolis -of the world, I heard occasionally from beyond the -limits of my prison the hum of busy throngs, or the shouts -of a tumultuous populace. Yet I was myself in the deepest -solitude. Like the wretched mariners I have somewhere -read of, shipwrecked upon a desert shore, I might remain -encaged, till I lost all recollection of European language,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span> -and all acquaintance with the sound of my own voice. A -jailor from time to time entered my apartment; but to me -he was simply a moving and breathing statue, his features -never moulded into the expression of a meaning, nor his -mouth opened for the utterance of a sound. From the first -I had been struck with the extreme and death-like silence -that characterised the place of my confinement; but my -mind was occupied with other thoughts, and I had not -adverted to the cause of the phenomenon. I had then felt -little inclination to the converse of a jailor; my natural disposition -was somewhat singular for a Frenchman, and inclined -to taciturnity: I had resolved to make a fair and -ample trial of the power of a just defence, where my innocence -was so complete and I was entirely disengaged -from those unfavourable appearances which had constituted -my misfortune at Constance; and I even rejoiced, that a -silence, which I regarded as casual and individual, delivered -me from all fear of impertinence in my attendant. With -how different a temper do we contemplate an incident -which, we persuade ourselves, continues to operate only -because we want inclination to remove it; and an incident -which is violently imposed, and to which, with the utmost -exertion of our strength, we cannot succeed to impart the -slightest shock! The external object is the same; its picture -in the intellectual sensorium how unlike! What a profound -and inconceivable refinement in the art of tyranny is this -silence! The jailor might well tell me, that beneath his -roofs there was neither complaint nor murmur, that the -very soul of its inhabitants was subdued, and that they -suffered the most unheard of oppressions without astonishment -or indignation. This is the peculiar prerogative of -despotism: it produces many symptoms of the same general -appearance as those which are derived from liberty and -justice. There are no remonstrances; there is no impatience -or violence; there is a calm, a fatal and accursed -tranquillity that pervades the whole. The spectator enters, -and for a time misinterprets every object he sees; he perceives -human bodies standing or moving around him; and -it is with the utmost surprise, if he has leisure and opportunity -to observe a little further, that he finds at last the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span> -things he sees to be the mere shades of men, cold, inert, -glaring bodies, which the heaven-born soul has long since -deserted. Wonderful, I hesitate not to affirm, is the genuine -and direct power of such a situation as that in which -I was now placed, upon the human imagination. What -was it then to me, to whom speech was not merely one of -those things, misnamed indulgences, misnamed luxuries, -upon which the desirableness and the health of human existence -depend; but who had looked to it as the only and -the assured means of my rescue from this scene of horrors! -I intreat the reader to pardon me, when I confess, that the -operation of the discovery I made was so overwhelming -and apparently desperate, that it was some weeks, I might -say months, before my mind recovered its wonted bias and -activity.</p> - -<p>It was towards the close of the period I have named, -that a new incident, concurring with that familiarity which -serves in some measure to disarm every mischief of its -sting, restored and re-awakened my mind. I had vegetated -now for some time, if the metaphor can with propriety be -applied to existence in a noxious and empoisoned air, by -which all vegetation would have been undermined, and -which the vital principle in man is scarcely competent to -surmount; and in all this period had encountered nothing -from without, nor received any intimation, that could in the -slightest degree interrupt the progressive destruction and -waste of the soul. One day, at the customary hour of my -being attended by my warder, I was surprised to see him -bring with him a visiter to my cell. The unknown was a -man with grey hairs and a silver beard: though once tall, -he now stooped considerably, and supported himself with a -staff: his dress was simple and neat, and his whole appearance -prepossessing. A sweet serenity was diffused over his -countenance; yet there were occasionally a fire, and a contemplative -grasp of thought, expressed in his eyes, which -sufficiently proved to me that his serenity was not the result -of vacancy. All this I discerned by the faint and uncertain -light of a small lamp which the warder had brought with -him, and placed upon my table. The introduction was -performed in silence, and the warder left us alone. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> -unknown beckoned me to be seated, for the first emotion -of surprise at the entrance of a stranger had caused me to -start on my feet; and, opening a folding stool he had received -from my attendant, he placed himself beside me.</p> - -<p>He then addressed me in a low voice, and told me, that -the humanity of the fathers of the inquisition had given -him permission to visit me, and that, if I would be so -obliging, in conformity to the regulations of the prison, as -to lower my voice to the standard of his, we were at liberty -to confer together. He hoped the conference would be some -relief to my solitude, if not lead to my complete liberation. -He then unfolded to me his story. He told me that he, -like myself, had been committed to the prisons of the inquisition -upon an accusation of sorcery. Having advanced -thus far, he stopped. He talked miscellaneously and digressively -of wizards and their familiars, of possessions and demons, -of charms, spells, talismans and incantations, even of -the <i lang="la">elixir vitæ</i> and the philosopher’s stone. Sometimes in -the progress of this discourse I could perceive him observing -me with the utmost narrowness, as if he would dive into -my soul; and again, particularly when he caught a glance -of suspicion in my eye, with infinite address changing his -attitude and tone, and assuming a surprising air of ingenuousness -and gaiety. In a word he was a consummate -actor. It was evident, whether his designs were hostile or -friendly, that his purpose was to make himself master of -my secret. I asked him whether the accusation of sorcery -which had been preferred against him, were well founded -or a calumny. He evaded that question, and was only -influenced by it to talk more copiously and fluently on other -topics, with the apparent design of making me forget the -enquiry I had made. He avoided anticipation, lest he should -miscalculate and take wrong ground in my affair; and, -though superficially he seemed communicative, I found that -he scarcely told me respecting himself any one thing definite -and clear. He celebrated the clemency of the fathers of the -inquisition. He said, they seemed to regard themselves as -the adoptive parents of those they held in their custody, -and were anxious solely for the restoration of souls. In -their exterior they were austere, and had unfortunately contracted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> -a forbidding manner; but he had soon found, upon -a closer inspection of their character, that the only way to -deal successfully with them was to repose in them a perfect -confidence. This panegyric was not resorted to till he had -exhausted the various topics by which he had hoped himself -to extort my secret from me. I asked him, whether -the effect of his reposing confidence had been an abjuration -of sorcery, and reconciliation to the church? But this question -experienced the fate of every other that I addressed to -him. He only told me generally, that he had every reason -to be satisfied with, and to speak well of, the treatment he -had experienced in the house of the inquisition. He possessed, -or rather, as I believed, affected, a character of -thoughtless garrulity and loquacity, well adapted to cover -the strange deviations and abrupt transitions that marked -his discourse. It was certainly singularly contrasted with -that close and penetrating air which from time to time I -remarked in him.</p> - -<p>The reader may deem it surprising and unaccountable; -but certain it is I took uncommon delight in this man’s -company. I pressed him earnestly to repeat his visits, and -would scarcely suffer him to depart, till he had promised -to come to me again the next day or the day after. Yet I -looked on him as my mortal enemy, and had no doubt that -he was one of the infamous wretches, employed by the -policy of the inquisition, and well known beneath those -hated roofs by the appellation of <i lang="es">moscas</i>. Various reasons -may be assigned for my conduct in this particular. Let it -first be remembered that I was alone, and for months had -not heard the sound of my own voice. No incident marked -my days; no object arrested my attention. A dull, heavy, -pestilential, soul-depressing monotony formed the history -of my life. If in this situation I had been visited by a -mouse or a rat, I should indefatigably have sought to get -within reach of it, I should have put it to my bosom, and have -felt with exultation the beat of an animal pulse, the warmth -of animal life pressing responsively on my heart. With -what eager appetite I should have mixed in scenes of calamity -and cruelty, intolerable to any other eye, glad for -myself that even upon such terms I could escape the frostbound<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span> -winter of the soul! How I should have rejoiced, -like king Richard of England, to see four grim and death-dealing -assassins enter my cell, like him to struggle and -wrestle and contend with my murderers, though, as in his -case, wounds and a fatal end should be the result! Thus -feeling then, it is little wonderful that I should have hailed -with pleasure the visit of the <i lang="es">mosca</i>.</p> - -<p>But this was not all. While I conferred with, or rather -listened to my visiter, that pride and self complacency, -which I suspect to be the main, or at least the indispensable, -ingredient of all our pleasures, revived in my heart. I believed -that he was set upon me by these insatiable bloodsuckers -of the inquisition, that he might ensnare me with -his questions, and treacherously inveigle me to the faggot -and the stake. I felt a last, lambent intimation of pride -within me, when my heart whispered me, “This man shall -not attain his ends.” I secretly defied his arts, and amused -myself with baffling his most cunning devices. I had now -some one with whom to measure myself. The comparison, -I own, for a descendant of the counts of St. Leon, was a -humble one; but it is not permitted a prisoner in the jails -of the inquisition to be fastidious in his pleasures. This -man I played with at my ease, and laughed at his stratagems. -I therefore felt that I was his superior, and, which -was a sensation I had not lately been accustomed to, that I -was somebody. These feelings recommended to me his -visits.</p> - -<p>But what was much more material, I looked further, -and proposed an ultimate end to this occurrence. Let it -be recollected what was my unhappiness, when I found -myself, if I may be allowed the expression, suddenly deprived -of speech, and then it will easily be understood how -sincerely I rejoiced to have this faculty restored to me. -Speech, as I have already said, I had regarded as the only -and assured means of my deliverance from this scene of -horrors. I therefore doubted not that from this miserable -tool of my oppressors I would obtain my enlargement. I -stood firmly on my guard. I permitted him to run out -the whole length of his own project without interruption. -By this delay I should better understand his character, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> -finally seize it with a more decisive grasp. Thus purposing, -I allowed three or four visits to pass before I opened to the -<i lang="es">mosca</i> my own proposal. I designed unexpectedly to turn -the tables upon him, to surprise and finish with him at -once. I knew not that all this precaution was necessary, -but I played for too deep a stake, not to be anxious to omit -nothing, which hereafter in retrospect I might reproach -myself that I had omitted.</p> - -<p>The time was at length come, at which I judged it convenient -to execute what I had planned in my mind. I -began with an attempt to mortify and humble my guest in -his own eyes, that he might lose the pride to make the -smallest resistance to my proposal.</p> - -<p>“Do you think, my good sir,” cried I, “that I have not -perfectly understood your intentions all this while? You have -pretended to be my friend, and to come to me for my good. -I know that every secret I reposed in your fidelity, every -word that I might unguardedly have dropped, every look -and gesture that could have been interpreted to my disadvantage, -would have been instantly reported to the fathers -of the inquisition. Why, what a poor and miserable fool -must you have imagined me to be! How came you into -my cell? Had you a secret key by which you found your -way hither unknown? Could you ever have come into my -apartment, if you had not been employed? You fawn -upon me, and are the tame and passive agent of my merciless -destroyers! Shame on such base and perfidious proceedings! -Is this religion, that you should flatter and -cajole and lie to a man, purely that you may have the gratification -at last of burning him alive? If you or your -masters can make out any thing to my disadvantage, let -them make it out in the way of fair and open trial, by the -production of direct evidence, and calling on me for my -defence. They style themselves the champions of Christendom -and ornaments of our holy faith; they pretend to -an extraordinary degree of sanctity, and would have all men -bow down in mute reverence and astonishment at their -godliness; and yet they have recourse to means so base, -that the most profligate and abandoned tyrant upon -record would have disdained to employ them. But, base<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> -as are the judges and assessors of the court in whose prison -I stand, even they scorn the meanness of the perfidious task -in which you have engaged.”</p> - -<p>The vehemence I put into the suppressed and under-tone -with which I delivered these reproaches, seemed to produce -no emotion in my guest. He dropped his staff upon his -shoulder; he meekly folded his arms upon his bosom, and -answered, that he had long since learned to bear every -contumely for the cause of God and the Redeemer: they -were heaven-directed chastisements, which his manifold sins -and iniquities had amply deserved.</p> - -<p>“Hypocrite!” replied I, “would you make me believe -that a conscientious motive can prompt such conduct as -yours, can mould your features into a treacherous expression -of kindness, and fill your mouth with lies and deceptions -innumerable?”</p> - -<p>“No proceedings,” rejoined he, with an unaltered air, -“are base, that God and his church prescribe. I take up -the cross with cheerfulness, and glory in my shame. The -more ignominious in the eyes of an unregenerate world is -my conduct, the more entire and implicit does it prove my -obedience to be.”</p> - -<p>My heart swelled within me as he talked. I could lend -no attention to such despicable cant, and was ashamed to -see the most profligate conduct assuming to itself the pretensions -to an extraordinary degree of sanctity and disinterestedness.</p> - -<p>“Come, come,” said I, “dissembler; I know that nothing -could buy a man to so loathsome an office but money. -You are some galley-slave, some wretch, who by your complicated -crimes have forfeited your life to the community, -and are now permitted to earn a miserable existence by -lying in wait for the unfortunate, and engaging in arts at -which humanity shudders. I take you upon your own -terms; you are the man I want. Assist me to escape; go -with me to some safer and less cruel country; I will reward -you to the extent of your wishes. Give me your -hand; an estate of six thousand pistoles per annum, without -further condition, waits your acceptance. I invoke all -the powers, sacred to truth and punishers of deceit, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span> -witness, that I have ability to make good the whole of what -I promise.”</p> - -<p>While I spoke, I could perceive an extraordinary revolution -taking place in my guest. The meekness and tranquillity -of his countenance subsided; his eye became -animated and alive. I hailed the auspicious omen; I urged -my proposal with all the impetuosity I could exert and all -the arguments I could devise. At length I paused. I -looked again at the countenance of the <i lang="es">mosca</i>; I was less -pleased than before. The expression did not seem to be -that of assent and congratulation; it was rather of horror -and alarm.</p> - -<p>“St. Jago, and all the saints and angels of heaven, protect -me!” exclaimed he. “What do I hear? A full -confession of guilt! And art thou then the confederate of -the prince of the powers of darkness? If we were not here, -in the holy house of inquisition, I should die at this moment -with fear that the roof would fall and crush us together. -I should expect hell to swallow me alive, for being found in -thy unhallowed society.” He trembled with every expression -of the sincerest terror and aversion.</p> - -<p>“‘Thy money perish with thee,’ thou second Elymas, -like him ‘full of all subtlety and mischief, child of the -devil, enemy of all righteousness!’ Blasted be thy offers! -Have I for this devoted myself to the service of God, assiduously -sought out the basest and vilest offices of that -service, and loaded myself with ignominy here, that I might -obtain a crown of glory hereafter? and am I now to be assaulted -with the worst of Satan’s temptations? Even so, -Lord, if such be thy will! Oh, poor, miserable, deluded -victim of the arch-deceiver of mankind, what has the devil -done for thee? He has persuaded thee that thou art rich; -and thou wantest every joy and every necessary of life. -He has promised to be thy friend; and he brings thee to -the faggot and flames in this world, as an earnest of thy -eternal damnation hereafter.”</p> - -<p>My visiter had no sooner thus poured out the tumult and -agitation of his soul, than he left me abruptly, and I saw -him no more.</p> - -<p>Such was the event of my attempt to bribe the officers of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span> -the inquisition. In my first experiment I could not even obtain -a hearing; in what followed, my proposals were rejected -with all the transports of religious abhorrence. What I -offered indeed, however dazzling in the statement, had not -in fact the nature of a temptation. He to whom I addressed -it gave no credit to my assertions; he thought that I was -the mere drivelling dupe of him he called the arch-deceiver -of mankind, or that my money, when possessed, would soon -change its figure, and from seeming pieces of solid coin be -converted into pieces of horn or of shells. Even if he had -not apprehended such a metamorphosis, he would yet have -regarded every doubloon he received as the price of his -continual adversity here, and damnation hereafter. I gained -nothing favourable for my situation by the trial I had made, -but I added a new chapter to my knowledge of human -nature. I found, that to be a knave, it was not necessary -to be an infidel: I corrected the too hasty conclusion which -I had adopted with the rest of my contemporaries, that he -whose conduct was infamous, must inevitably be destitute -of religious impressions and belief; and I became satisfied -that a man, while he practised every vice that can disgrace -human nature, might imagine he was doing God service.</p> - -<p>Enough of the interior of the prison of the inquisition. -I remained a tenant of this wretched mansion twelve years. -Though the wretch who had been placed upon me as a spy, -was, from my proposal to him, satisfied of my guilt, his -superiors were not so. They found nothing in what he -reported definitive as to the nature of my unlawful practices, -and they could extort from me no further confession. -They therefore adhered to their favourite maxim, to avoid -the precipitate mistakes of other tribunals, and to allow -their prisoner full time to develop his guilt, or, as they pretended, -to establish his innocence. Perhaps too the temper -of the prince who now filled the Spanish throne, contributed -to my safety. They could not content themselves -with a less punishment for so obstinate and incorrigible a -heretic, than that of the flames; but, during the reign of -the emperor Charles, this species of punishment for heresy -was rarely inflicted, and only one or two contumacious, at -intervals, were delivered over to the executioner at a time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span> -The institution whose victim I had become, looked for a -richer and more abundant harvest from the well-known -piety and zeal of his successor.</p> - -<p>I pass over the rest of the years of my tedious imprisonment -They had in them a sad and death-like uniformity. -What surprising or agreeable adventures can be -expected from a man closed up within the four walls of a -dungeon? Yet it is not altogether the uniformity of this -period that determines me not to dwell upon and expand it. -Twelve years cannot pass in the life of man without many -memorable incidents and occurrences. He that should be -buried alive in the deepest cavern of the earth, if he were -not an idiot, or incapable of the task of narration, and could -subsist twelve years in that situation, could tell of things -that occurred to him, that might fill the busy man of the -world with thoughts and speculation almost to bursting. I -might unfold the secrets of my prison-house, but that I -will not. I refuse the consequences of that story both to -my readers and myself. I have no inclination to drive the -most delicate or susceptible of my readers mad with horrors. -I could convince such, if such there are, who suppose my -faculties were altogether benumbed or dead, that it was not -so. I did indeed pass days, perhaps weeks, in a condition -of that sort. But at other times my mind was roused, and -became busy, restless, impatient, and inventive. There was -no mode of escape that I did not ruminate upon or attempt; -not to mention that, though my body was restrained, my -mind occasionally soared to the furthest regions of the empyrean, -or plunged into the deepest of the recesses in which -nature conceals her operations. All systems of philosophising -became familiar to me. I revolved every different -fable that has been constructed respecting the invisible -powers that superintend the events of the boundless universe; -and I fearlessly traced out and developed the boldest conjectures -and assertions of demonism or atheism. As the -humour of the moment led me, I derived misery or consolation -from each of these systems in their turn.—But memory, -bitter memory, unperceived by its lord, is seizing my -pen, and running away with my narrative. Enough, enough -of the interior of the prison of the inquisition!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> - -<p>Philip the Second, king of Spain, succeeded to the throne -of that monarchy about the close of the year 1555; but -his affairs in England and the Netherlands long withheld -him from visiting his beloved country, and he did not reach -its shores, after a seven years’ absence, till the twenty-ninth -of August, 1559. It may be thought that a public event -of this sort could be little interesting to me, a forgotten -prisoner, immured in the dungeons of the inquisition. -The fact was otherwise. The king was desirous of distinguishing -his arrival on his native soil by some splendid -exhibition or memorable event, that should at once express -his piety to God, and conduce to the felicity of his people: -and he could think of nothing that so signally united -these characters as an <i lang="es">Auto de Fé</i>. The Lutheran heresy, -which in the course of forty years had spread its poison so -widely in the different countries of Europe, had not failed -to scatter a few of its noxious seeds even in this, the -purest and most Catholic of all its divisions. But Philip -had early proclaimed his hostility against this innovation; -and, prostrating himself before the image of his Saviour, -had earnestly besought the divine majesty, “that he might -never suffer himself to be, or to be called, the lord of those -in any corner of the globe, who should deny Him the -Lord.” Previously to his arrival in Spain, directions had -been given, and arrangements made, respecting the pious -and solemn exhibition he demanded. Formerly those who -by the fathers of the inquisition had been delivered over to -the secular arm, had been executed in the different places -where their crimes had been committed, or their trials been -held: but now it was proposed that all those throughout -the kingdom, who were found properly qualified to satisfy -by their deaths the sublime taste of the royal saint, should -be divided into two troops, and sent, the one to Seville, -long the capital of an illustrious monarchy, and the other -to Valladolid, which had the honour to be the birthplace -of the present sovereign. The troop destined to feed the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span> -flames at Seville was composed of fifty persons, many of -them distinguished for their rank, their talents, or their -virtues. The troop to be escorted to Valladolid, of which -I was a member, amounted only to thirty: but to compensate -this deficiency, Philip himself had signified his gracious -intention to be present, together with the heir apparent and -his whole court, at that exhibition. The Spanish nation, -rejoicing in the approach of a monarch who was born -among them, whose manners and temper happily accorded -with theirs, and whom they believed about to fix his perpetual -residence in their land, expected him with all the -longings of the most ardent attachment. We, the unhappy -victims of pious and inquisitorial tyranny, also expected him. -Our hearts did not pant with a less beating quickness; -though our anxiety arose from emotions of a different nature.</p> - -<p>Valladolid is distant from the metropolis eighty-four -miles. We had already been some weeks prepared for this -journey, and piously directed to hold ourselves in readiness -to take our part in the solemn national sacrifice. We -waited however to receive a previous notice of the day on -which the monarch would enter the place of his birth, -since so great was his royal zeal for the cause of religion -and civil society, that he would not consent to be absent -from any part of the spectacle; and accordingly it was not -allowed us to enter the scene of our final destination, till -the king of Spain and the Indies should be already on the -spot, and prepared to receive us. The <i lang="es">auto da fé</i> performed -at Seville had the precedence of ours: it took place -on the twenty-fourth of September; and we were indulged -with an accurate account of it, and were present at a public -reading of the record of the act, in the chapel of our prison, -previously to our removal from the metropolis.</p> - -<p>I will not enter into a minute detail of the scene of this -reading, though the recollection will never be effaced from -my memory. Of the persons present who were destined to -suffer capital punishment, eight were women. Four of -them were taken from a single family, being a grandmother, -a mother, and two daughters of the noble house of Alcala. -They had all been beautiful of person, and of a graceful -figure; the youngest of the daughters was in the nineteenth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span> -year of her age. Their crime, together with that of the -majority of their fellow-sufferers, was obstinate and impenitent -Lutheranism. The seats of the women were separated -from the rest, and fronted with a close lattice. The -men were twenty-two in number, and their appearance was -truly impressive. Their persons were neglected, and their -figures emaciated; their eyes were sunk and ghastly, and -their complexions of a sallow and death-like white. Most -of them were crippled by their long confinement and the -severities they had endured, and were supported to their -seats, upon an elevated scaffolding with benches raised one -above another, by two apparators, one on each side of the -condemned heretic. God of mercy and benevolence! is it -possible that this scene should be regarded as thy triumph, -and the execution destined to follow, as a sacrifice acceptable -in thy sight? If these papers of mine are ever produced -to light, may it not happen that they shall first be -read by a distant posterity, who will refuse to believe that -their fathers were ever mad enough to subject each other to -so horrible a treatment, merely because they were unable -to adopt each other’s opinions? Oh, no! human affairs, -like the waves of the ocean, are merely in a state of ebb -and flow: “there is nothing new under the sun:” two -centuries perhaps after Philip the Second shall be gathered -to his ancestors [he died in 1598], men shall learn over -again to persecute each other for conscience sake; other -anabaptists or levellers shall furnish pretexts for new persecutions; -other inquisitors shall arise in the most enlightened -tracts of Europe; and professors from their chair, -sheltering their intolerance under the great names of Aristotle -and Cicero, shall instruct their scholars, that a heterodox -doctrine is the worst of crimes, and that the philanthropy -and purity of heart in which it is maintained, only -render its defenders the more worthy to be extirpated.</p> - -<p>What were the ideas and reflections of my fellows, seated -on the benches above, below, and on either side of me, I -am unable to affirm; my own could not fail to be pungent -and distressing. I understood continually more and more -of the mysterious and unuttered history, of the stranger -who died in the summer-house of the lake of Constance:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span> -I found that I was only acting over again what he had -experienced before me. His legacies had served to involve -me in the bitterest and most unheard of miseries, but were -wholly destitute of ability to rescue from the evils themselves -created. Unbounded wealth I found to have no -power to bribe the dastard slaves of religious bigotry; and -the elixir of immortality, though it could cure disease, and -put to flight the approaches of age, was impotent to repel -the fervour of devouring flames. I might have been happy——I -was happy when the stranger found me. I might -have lived to a virtuous and venerable old age, and have -died in the arms of my posterity. The stranger had given -me wealth, and I was now poorer than the peasant who -wanders amidst polar snows. The stranger had given me -immortality, and in a few days I was to expire in excruciating -tortures. He found me tranquil, contented, in the -midst of simple, yet inestimable pleasures; he breathed into -me the restless sentiment of ambition; and it was that sentiment -which at length had placed me on high in the chapel -of the prison of the Catholic Inquisition.</p> - -<p>Our progress to Valladolid was slow and solemn, and -occupied a space of no less than four days. On the evening -of the fourth day we approached that city. The king -and his court came out to meet us. He saluted the inquisitor -general with all the demonstrations of the deepest -submission and humility; and then, having yielded him -the place of honour, turned round his horse, and accompanied -us to Valladolid. The cavalcade that attended the -king broke into two files, and received us in the midst of -them. The whole city seemed to empty itself on this memorable -occasion; and the multitudes that crowded along -the road, and were scattered in the neighbouring fields, -were innumerable. The day was now closed; and the procession -went forward amidst the light of a thousand torches. -We, the condemned of the inquisition, had been conducted -from the metropolis upon tumbrils; but, as we arrived at -the gates of Valladolid, we were commanded, for the greater -humiliation, to alight and proceed on foot to the place of -our confinement, as many as could not walk without assistance -being supported by the attendants. We were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> -neither chained nor bound; the practice of the inquisition -being to deliver the condemned upon such occasions into -the hands of two sureties each, who placed their charge in -the middle between them; and men of the most respectable -characters were accustomed from religious motives to sue -for this melancholy office.</p> - -<p>Dejected and despairing I entered the streets of the city, -no object present to the eyes of my mind but that of my -approaching execution. The crowd was vast; the confusion -inexpressible. As we passed by the end of a narrow -lane, the horse of one of the guards who rode exactly in a -line with me, plunged and reared in a violent manner, and -at length threw his rider upon the pavement. Others of -the horse-guards attempted to catch the bridle of the enraged -animal. They rushed against each other. Several -of the crowd were thrown down, and trampled under the -horses’ feet. The shrieks of these, and the loud cries and -exclamations of the bystanders, mingled in confused and -discordant chorus. No sound, no object could be distinguished. -From the excess of the tumult a sudden thought -darted into my mind, where all, an instant before, had been -relaxation and despair. Two or three of the horses pushed -forward in a particular direction. A moment after they -resiled with equal violence, and left a wide, but transitory -gap. My project was no sooner conceived than executed. -Weak as I had just now felt myself, a supernatural tide of -strength seemed to come over me. I sprung away with all -imaginable impetuosity, and rushed down the lane I have -just mentioned. Every one amidst the confusion was attentive -to his personal safety, and several minutes elapsed -before I was missed.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> - -<p>In the lane every thing was silent, and the darkness was -extreme. Man, woman, and child were gone out to view -the procession. For some time I could scarcely distinguish -a single object; the doors and windows were all closed. I -now chanced to come to an open door; within I saw no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span> -one but an old man, who was busy over some metallic work -at a chafing-dish of fire. I had no room for choice; I -expected every moment to hear the myrmidons of the inquisition -at my heels. I rushed in; I impetuously closed -the door, and bolted it; I then seized the old man by the -collar of his shirt with a determined grasp, and swore vehemently -that I would annihilate him that instant, if he -did not consent to afford me assistance. Though for some -time I had perhaps been feebler than he, the terror that -now drove me on, rendered me comparatively a giant. He -intreated me to permit him to breathe, and promised to do -whatever I should desire. I looked round the apartment, -and saw a rapier hanging against the wall, of which I instantly -proceeded to make myself master. While I was -doing this, my involuntary host, who was extremely terrified -at my procedure, nimbly attempted to slip by me and -rush into the street. With difficulty I caught hold of his -arm, and, pulling him back, put the point of my rapier to -his breast, solemnly assuring him that no consideration on -earth should save him from my fury, if he attempted to -escape a second time. He immediately dropped on his -knees, and with the most piteous accents intreated me to -spare his life. I told him that I was no robber, that I did -not intend him the slightest harm, and that, if he would -implicitly yield to my direction, he might assure himself -he never should have reason to repent his compliance. By -this declaration the terrors of the old man were somewhat -appeased. I took the opportunity of this calm to go to the -street door, which I instantly locked, and put the key in -my bosom.</p> - -<p>Nothing but the most fortunate concurrence of circumstances -could have thus forwarded my escape. The rearing -of the horse of the life-guardsman was purely accidental. -The concourse and press of the crowd from all sides could -alone have rendered this circumstance of any magnitude. -The gap which was made by the pushing forwards and resiling -of the horses continued barely long enough for me to -spring through, and closed again in an instant. It is astonishing -that the thought of escape should have thus suddenly -darted into my mind, which, but a moment before,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span> -was in a state of dejection, equally incompatible with activity -and with hope. That in the lane down which I rushed -I should have met no human creature, and that the first -open door I saw should lead to the residence of a decrepid -old man, who appeared to be its single inhabitant, were -occurrences equally extraordinary, yet seem to have been -both indispensable to my safety. One point more concurred -with this fortunate train, and assisted to still the -palpitations of my beating heart: I perceived, by certain -indications in the countenance of my host, that he was by -parentage a Jew. I presently concluded, that he was what -in Spain they denominate a new christian; for that otherwise -he would not have been allowed to reside at large in a -Spanish city. But, upon that supposition, I did not believe -that christianity was very deeply mingled up in him with -the vital principle: the converts of the inquisition are not -conspicuous for their sincerity. Now, then, for the first -time I thought, in the course of twelve years, I had opportunity -to communicate with a man, whose soul was not -enslaved to the blood-thirsty superstition of this devoted -country. All I had seen during the period of my confinement -were hyenas, tigers, and crocodiles—they were not men.</p> - -<p>I had no sooner soothed my host into a temper to listen -to my story, than I told him with all imaginable frankness -whence I came, and to what I had been destined. The -mention of sorcery however, and preternatural practices, I -suppressed; for I suspected that persons of all religions -entertained an equal horror against these. I suffered him -to imagine that the allegation against me had been the crime -of heresy: all sects of the christian superstition might be supposed -equally obnoxious or acceptable to a Jew. I emphatically -appealed to the persecutions which had been so long -directed against the religion of his ancestors, and observed -how disgraceful it would be in him to assist the operation -of a principle, the effects of which his fathers had so deeply -deplored, and so perfectly abhorred. I assured him that I -would bring him into no danger, and that all I asked was -the protection of a few hours: I would leave him in the -course of the following day, and he should hear of me no -more. I reminded him, that the danger he had to fear -was in betraying, not in protecting me. The inquisition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> -looked upon every new christian with an eye of the severest -jealousy; and the mere fact, if known, that I had taken -refuge in his house, would infallibly subject him to the -purgation of a temporary imprisonment in their dungeons. -It would be in vain for him to affirm that he had no choice -in what had occurred; he was without a witness to confirm -his relation, and the assertions of a man born of Jewish -parents never obtained credit in the court of the inquisition. -I added, with solemn asseverations, that the moment I set -foot beyond the territory of Spain, I would remit to him -the sum of six hundred pistoles as an acknowledgment for -his kindness.</p> - -<p>During the whole of my discourse, I watched his countenance -with the utmost minuteness. It gradually relaxed -from the terror which had at first appeared in it, to expressions -of compassion and complacence. I saw nothing -that ought to alarm me. When it was his turn to speak, -he earnestly assured me that he took a warm interest in -my story, and would cheerfully perform every thing I required. -He was happy that my favourable stars had led -me to his habitation, and would rejoice, to the latest hour -of his existence, if they rendered him instrumental in preserving -the life of a human being from so deplorable a -catastrophe. While I talked to him, I easily perceived that -the arguments I used, which produced the most sensible -effect upon his features, were those of the dangers arising -to him from betraying me, and the reward of six hundred -pistoles which I promised him in the event of my success. -His motives however were blended together in his mind; and -he had no sooner formed a determination, grounded perhaps -upon the meanest considerations, than he became eloquent -in a panegyric of his own benevolence, by which he was -not, I believe, more anxious to impose upon me, than to -put the change upon himself. I considered all that he said, -his gestures, and the very tones of his voice, with eager -anxiety; the terror of the inquisition penetrated to the -marrow in my bones; and the fate awarded against me by -that court became inexpressibly more horrible to my thoughts, -now that I saw the probability of escaping it. Every thing -that I observed in the Jew was apparently fair, plausible,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span> -and encouraging; but nothing had power to quell the agitations -of my apprehensive soul.</p> - -<p>We were still engaged in discussing the topics I have -mentioned, when I was suddenly alarmed by the noise of -some one stirring in the inner apartment. I had looked -into this room, and had perceived nothing but the bed upon -which the old man nightly reposed himself. I sprung up -however at the sound, and, perceiving that the door had a -bolt on the outside, I eagerly fastened it. I then turned -to Mordecai, such previously to his conversion had been -the name of my host: “Wretch,” said I, “did not you -assure me that there was no one but yourself in the house?” -“Oh,” cried Mordecai, “it is my child! it is my child! -she went into the inner apartment, and has fallen asleep on -the bed.” “Beware!” I answered; “the slightest falsehood -more shall instantly be expiated in your blood.” “I -call Abraham to witness,” rejoined the once more terrified -Jew, “it is my child! only my child!” “Tell me,” -cried I, with severity of accent, “how old is this child?” -“Only five years,” said Mordecai: “my dear Leah died -when her babe was no more than a year old; and, though -we had several children, this single one has survived her.” -“Speak to your child; let me hear her voice!” He spoke -to her, and she answered, “Father, I want to come out.” -I was satisfied it was the voice of a little girl. I turned to -the Jew: “Take care,” said I, “how you deceive me -now; is there no other person in that room?” He imprecated -a curse on himself if there were: I opened the -door with caution, and the little girl came forward. As -soon as I saw her, I seized her with a rapid motion, and -retired back to a chair. “Man,” said I, “you have trifled -with me too rashly; you have not considered what I am -escaped from, and what I have to fear; from this moment -this child shall be the pledge of my safety; I will not part -with her an instant as long as I remain in your house; and -with this rapier in my hand I will pierce her to the heart, -the moment I am led to imagine that I am no longer in -safety.” The Jew trembled at my resolution; the emotions -of a father worked in his features, and glistened in his eye. -“At least let me kiss her!” said he. “Be it so!” replied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> -I: “one embrace, and then, till the dawn of the -coming day, she remains with me.” I released my hold; -the child rushed to her father, and he caught her in his -arms. “My dear Leah,” cried Mordecai, “now a sainted -spirit in the bosom of our father Abraham! I call God to -witness between us, that, if all my caution and vigilance -can prevent it, not a hair of this child shall be injured! -Stranger, you little know by how strong a motive you have -now engaged me to your cause. We poor Jews, hunted -on the face of the earth, the abhorrence and execration of -mankind, have nothing but family affections to support us -under our multiplied disgraces; and family affections are -entwined with our existence, the fondest and best-loved -part of ourselves. The God of Abraham bless you, my -child! Now, sir, speak! what is it you require of me?”</p> - -<p>I told the Jew that I must have a suit of clothes conformable -to the appearance of a Spanish cavalier, and certain -medical ingredients that I named to him, together with -his chafing-dish of coals to prepare them; and, that done, -I would then impose on him no further trouble. Having -received his instructions, he immediately set out to procure -what I demanded. He took with him the key of the -house; and, as soon as he was gone, I retired with the -child into the inner apartment, and fastened the door. At -first I applied myself to tranquillise the child, who had -been somewhat alarmed at what she had heard and seen: -this was no very difficult task. She presently left me, to -amuse herself with some playthings that lay scattered in a -corner of the apartment. My heart was now comparatively -at ease; I saw the powerful hold I had on the fidelity of -the Jew, and firmly persuaded myself that I had no treachery -to fear on his part. Thus circumstanced, the exertion -and activity with which I had lately been imbued left -me; and I insensibly sunk into a sort of slumber.</p> - -<p>The night was now far advanced, and I was still reclined -insensible upon Mordecai’s bed, when suddenly a jargon of -various sounds seemed from all sides to assail me. My -mind was confused; I heard something, but seemed wholly -unconscious what I was, and where. I wanted to escape -from the disturbance; but it continued, and even increased.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span> -At length I was forced to command my attention; and the -first thing I perceived was a beating at the door of the -chamber. The little girl was come to the bedside, and endeavouring -to shake me. “Sir, sir,” she cried in an eager -accent, “my father wants to come in, and I cannot slip the -bolt of the door.” By slow degrees I began to comprehend -my situation, and to recollect what had happened immediately -before. I felt greatly alarmed; I feared by the disturbance -that Mordecai had not returned alone. I essayed -to speak; my organs refused their office. I endeavoured -to move; my limbs felt palsied, and absolutely lifeless. I -experienced a sinking and sickness of heart that seemed to -be the immediate precursor of death. By listening occasionally -to the discourse which the father and the daughter -began to hold with each other, I became satisfied that Mordecai -was without a companion. I endeavoured to make -the little girl understand that I was incapable of rising from -the bed; and, having at length succeeded, she communicated -the information to her father. With considerable -trouble he loosened the door at its hinges, and entered the -room. I found myself in the extremest degree feeble and -languid; the Jew however assiduously administered to me -of cordials he had in his possession, and by degrees I felt -myself considerably restored.</p> - -<p>Now, for the first time, I was at leisure to attend to the -state of my strength and my health. My confinement in the -inquisition, and the treatment I had experienced, had -before rendered me feeble, and almost helpless; but these -appeared to be circumstances scarcely worthy of attention, -in the situation in which I was then placed. The impulse -I felt, in the midst of the confusion in the grand street of -Valladolid, produced in me an energy and power of exertion -which nothing but the actual experience of the fact could -have persuaded me was possible. This energy, once begun, -appeared to have the faculty of prolonging itself; and I did -not relapse into imbecility, till the occasion seemed to be -exhausted which called for my exertion. I examined myself -by a mirror with which Mordecai furnished me: I -found my hair as white as snow, and my face ploughed with -a thousand furrows. I was now fifty-four, an age which,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span> -with moderate exercise and a vigorous constitution, often -appears like the prime of human existence; but whoever -had looked upon me in my present condition, would not -have hesitated to affirm that I had reached the eightieth -year of my age. I examined with dispassionate remark the -state of my intellect: I was persuaded that it had subsided -into childishness. My mind had been as much cribbed and -immured as my body. I was the mere shadow of a man, -of no more power and worth than that which a magic lantern -produces upon a wall. These are thy works, Superstition!—this -the genuine and proper operation of what is -called Christianity! Let the reader judge of what I had -passed through and known within those cursed walls by the -effects; I have already refused, I continue to refuse, to tell -what I suffered, and how those effects were produced. -Enough of compassion, enough of complaint: I will confine -myself, as far as I am able, to simple history.</p> - -<p>Being recovered, as far as the cordials and attention of -Mordecai were capable of recovering me, I desired for the -remainder of the night to be alone, except that I was still -resolved to retain the little Jewess as the pledge of my -safety. I was greatly obliged to my host for the punctuality -he had already displayed: he had found considerable difficulty -in procuring the articles of which I stood in need, -owing partly to the lateness of the hour, and partly to the -presence of the king, and the general hurry and confusion -which had been produced by the solemn entry of the inquisition. -His efforts too to recover me from the languor and -lethargy into which I had sunk, had a character of generosity; -and perhaps I ought now to have trusted him without -a hostage. But my heart was too earnestly bent upon -accomplishing its present object, to afford harbour to the -punctilios of delicacy. The same earnestness caused me to -insist upon Mordecai’s repairing the injury which the -hinges of the door had sustained; and I was careful to -satisfy myself that every thing was restored to a state of -perfect security.</p> - -<p>I was now once again alone. The little girl, who had -been unusually disturbed, and roused at an unseasonable -hour, sunk into a profound sleep. I heard the noise which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span> -Mordecai made in undressing himself, and composing his -limbs upon a mattrass, which he had dragged for the present -occasion into the front room, and spread before the -hearth. I soon found by the hardness of his breathing that -he also was asleep. I unfolded the papers he had brought -me; they consisted of various medical ingredients I had -directed him to procure; there were also two or three vials, -containing syrups and essences. I had near me a pair of -scales with which to weigh my ingredients; a vessel of -water; the chafing-dish of my host, in which the fire was -nearly extinguished; and a small taper, with some charcoal -to relight the fire, in case of necessity. While I was occupied -in surveying these articles and arranging my materials, -a sort of torpor came suddenly over me, so as to allow me -no time for resistance. I sunk upon the bed. I remained -thus for about half an hour, seemingly without the power of -collecting my thoughts. At length I started, felt alarmed, -and applied my utmost force of mind to rouse my exertions. -While I drove, or attempted to drive, my animal spirits -from limb to limb, and from part to part, as if to enquire -into the general condition of my frame, I became convinced -that I was dying. Let not the reader be surprised at this: -twelve years’ imprisonment, in a narrow and unwholesome -cell, may well account for so sudden a catastrophe. Strange -and paradoxical as it may seem, I believe it will be found in -the experiment that the calm and security which succeed to -great internal injuries are more dangerous than the pangs -and hardships that went before. I was now thoroughly -alarmed: I applied myself, with all vigilance and expedition -to the compounding my materials. The fire was gone -out; the taper was glimmering in the socket: to swallow -the julep when I had prepared it, seemed to be the last -effort of which my organs and muscles were capable. It -was the elixir of immortality, exactly made up according to -the prescription of the stranger.</p> - -<p>Whether from the potency of the medicine, or the -effect of imagination, I felt revived the moment I had -swallowed it. I placed myself deliberately in Mordecai’s -bed, and drew over me the bed-clothes. I fell -asleep almost instantly. I believe my first sleep was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span> -perfectly sound and insensible; but in no long time I was -visited with the pleasantest dreams imaginable. Nothing -was distinct; nothing was attended with the consciousness -of my former identity; but every thing was gay, cheerful, -invigorating, and delicious. I wandered amidst verdant -lawns, and flower-enamelled gardens. I was saluted with -the singing of a thousand birds, and the murmuring of a -thousand fountains. Kids, fawns, and lambs frisked and -gamboled before me. At a distance, through an opening -in the trees, I discerned nymphs and their swains dancing -a variety of antic measures. I advanced towards them; -they approached towards me. Fifes, oboes, recorders, and -instruments of a hundred names, commenced a cheerful -and melodious concert. Myself and the dancers now were -met; they placed me in the midst of them. They began a -choral song; the motion of their limbs conformed to their -numbers. I was the theme of the general chaunt; they -ascribed to me the beauty of Apollo, the strength of -Hercules, the invention of Mercury, and the youth of -Bacchus.</p> - -<p>My sleep was not long; in a few hours I awakened. -With difficulty I recognised the objects about me, and -recollected where I had been. It seemed to me that my -heart had never beat so vigorously, nor my spirits flowed -so gay. I was all elasticity and life; I could scarcely hold -myself quiet; I felt impelled to bound and leap like a kid -upon the mountains. I perceived that my little Jewess -was still asleep; she had been unusually fatigued the night -before. I know not whether Mordecai’s hour of rising -were come; if it were, he was careful not to disturb -his guest. I put on the garments he had prepared; -I gazed upon the mirror he had left in my apartment. -I can recollect no sensation in the course of my life, so -unexpected and surprising as what I felt at that moment. -The evening before, I had seen my hair white, and -my face ploughed with furrows; I looked fourscore. What -I beheld now was totally different, yet altogether familiar; -it was myself, myself as I had appeared on the day of my -marriage with Marguerite de Damville; the eyes, the -mouth, the hair, the complexion, every circumstance, point -by point, the same. I leaped a gulf of thirty-two years. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span> -waked from a dream, troublesome and distressful beyond -all description; but it vanished, like the shades of night -upon the burst of a glorious morning in July, and left not -a trace behind. I knew not how to take away my eyes -from the mirror before me.</p> - -<p>I soon began to consider that, if it were astonishing to -me that, through all the regions of my countenance, I -could discover no trace of what I had been the night before, -it would be still more astonishing to my host. This sort -of sensation I had not the smallest ambition to produce: one -of the advantages of the metamorphosis I had sustained, -consisted in its tendency, in the eyes of all that saw me, to -cut off every species of connection between my present and -my former self. It fortunately happened that the room in -which I slept, being constructed upon the model of many -others in Spain, had a stair at the further end, with a trap-door -in the ceiling, for the purpose of enabling the inhabitant -to ascend on the roof in the cool of the day. The -roofs were flat, and so constructed, that there was little difficulty -in passing along them from house to house, from one -end of the street to the other. I availed myself of the -opportunity, and took leave of the residence of my land -host in a way perfectly unceremonious, determined however -speedily to transmit to him the reward I had promised. It -may easily be believed that Mordecai was not less rejoiced -at the absence of a guest whom the vigilance of the inquisition -rendered an uncommonly dangerous one, than I was -to quit his habitation. I closed the trap after me, and -clambered from roof to roof to a considerable distance. At -length I encountered the occasion of an open window, and -fortunately descended, unseen by any human being, into -the street. Having with difficulty succeeded, on this occasion -of public solemnity, in engaging an apartment in one -of the hotels of Valladolid, I sent into it, as soon as I was -able, a chest, containing every necessary of apparel, and -particularly a suit of clothes. I then changed my dress, -and threw the clothes which Mordecai had provided into -the chest I had purchased. As long as they continued -safely locked up, and the key in my possession, no faculty -possessed by any human creature could detect my identity, -and expose me afresh to my former jailors. The only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span> -peril under which I had before laboured, was from Mordecai, -who, if he had seen me in the garments he had procured, -might have recognised them; and, though a peril -from this source came barely within the limits of possibility, -it was easily avoided, and I therefore chose to avoid it.</p> - -<p>I passed the whole of this day in a species of enjoyment, -which, as it has no parallel in the ordinary transactions of -mankind, so are there no terms in the received languages of -the world that are adequate to the description of it. It has -often been a subject of melancholy and complaint among -mortals, that, while the whole vegetable system contains in -it a principle of perpetual renewal, man alone,—the ornament -and lord of the universe, man,—knows no return to -youth. When the sun declines in the west, the flowers -droop, and fold up their frail and delicate leaves; but soon -the eyelids of the morn are again opened, and again they -rejoice in his invigorating beams. Upon the approach of -winter, the beech, the ash, and the monarch-oak, scatter -their withered foliage over the plains; but spring reappears, -and nakedness is no longer their reproach, and they clothe -themselves anew in their leafy honours. With what a -melancholy sensation does the old man survey his decaying -limbs! To me, he cries, there is no second morning, and -no returning spring. My head, pressed down with years, -shall never again erect itself in conscious manhood. These -hoary locks shall no more be adorned with the auburn of -glossy youth. My weather-beaten trunk shall at no time -clothe itself with a smoother rind. A recruited marrow -shall never fill these bones, nor a more vigorous sap circulate -through my unstrung limbs. I recollect what I was -in the prime of manhood, with vain regrets; the memory -answers no other end than to torment and upbraid me.</p> - -<p>The useless wish of the old man, the object of his hopeless -sigh, was mine. Common and every-day blessings have -little value in the eye of their possessor. The young man -squanders the endowments of youth, and knows not to prize -them. If the young man had once been old, if the old man -could again be young, then, and then only, they would -justly estimate their wealth. The springy limb, the bounding -frame, the vigour that sets fatigue at defiance, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span> -revels in pleasures unexhausted, would then by the near -and conscious comparison, of feebleness and lassitude, the -drooping limb, the aching head, and the frame decayed in -all its senses, be well understood. Such was my situation. -Yesterday I was fourscore; to-day I was twenty. Yesterday -I was a prisoner, crippled in every articulation; to-day -I was a citizen of the world, capable of all its delights. -To-morrow I was destined to have been dragged to the -stake with ignominy, and to suffer intolerable anguish amidst -the shouts and huzzas of an unfeeling populace; to-morrow -I was at liberty to employ as I pleased, to choose the theatre -upon which it should be spent, and the gratifications that -should be crowded into it. What was most material, my -mind was grown young with my body. Weary of eternal -struggle, I had lately resigned the contest, and sunk under -the ill-fortune that relentlessly pursued me. Now I felt -within me a superfluity of vigour; I panted for something -to contend with, and something to conquer. My senses unfolded -themselves to all the curiosity of remark; my thoughts -seemed capable of industry unwearied, and investigation the -most constant and invincible. Ambition revived in my -bosom; I longed for new engagements and new relations; -I desired to perform something, that I might myself regard -with complacence, and that I might see the world start at -and applaud.</p> - -<p>I determined, for reasons that I shall presently have occasion -to unfold, that my first visit should be to my daughters -at my paternal estate of St. Leon. I proposed to spend -two or three days in preparations for this journey. By -mere accident, by a most censurable heedlessness, I became -in some degree a spectator of the <i lang="es">auto da fé</i> in which I -was destined to have been a victim. Unawares I had become -entangled in the crowd, and could with difficulty -escape, or even prevent my being carried nearer the centre -of the scene. I saw the galleries and accommodations that -had been erected for the spectators: I saw the windows and -roofs of the houses crowded with beholders. The shrieks -of the sufferers I could not hear; they were drowned in the -infernal exultations of the multitude. But what was worst -of all, I discerned some of the condemned, fixed as they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span> -were upon small boards, near the top of stakes about four -yards high, and therefore greatly above the heads of the -assembly, while the flames, abundantly fed with faggots and -dry fuel, climbed aloft, and seemed eager to embrace their -victims. As I have already said, there were thirty of these -death-devoted frames; and, if my eye did not count them -all, my fancy well supplied what sense was unable to discover. -The impression I felt at that moment was horrible -beyond all conception. I exerted my new-found strength, -and pushed out of the press with irresistible vigour. If at -that instant I could have felt exultation, even in the consciousness -of my own safety, I should regard myself as the -most execrable of monsters.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> - -<p>The first employment in which I purposed to engage my -new-found liberty and youth, was a visit to my daughters. -I now carried a disguise perpetually about with me, that -would render my journey incapable of proving injurious to -them. My daughters were all that remained, if indeed they -still remained, of my once idolised family. For twelve -years I had continued totally ignorant of their fortune, and -even of their existence. Part of the plan I had adopted -for their advantage necessarily precluded me from all correspondence -or communication with them or any one near -them, that might satisfy and tranquillise the anxieties of a -father. If it had been otherwise, deprived, as I had been, -of the common benefits of light and air, and cast out from -the society of mankind, I could have obtained no intelligence -of their welfare. In visiting, I determined not to -make myself known to them; yet, notwithstanding the -greatness of this disadvantage, I felt that one of the most -exquisite gratifications the earth could afford me was to -behold my children. What a multitude of adventures and -incidents might they not have encountered in the space of -twelve years! Imagination and affection dwell impatiently -on the interval; nor can any thing quiet the conjectures of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span> -him that loves, short of the most complete information. -What a difference must twelve years have produced in the -very persons and figures of creatures so young? With what -mingled and exquisite emotions does the father contemplate -his daughter, whom he left a child, grown up into a woman? -He sees her with astonishment and rapture, displaying -maturer beauties, discovering in her countenance new traces -of knowledge and sentiment, and in her gesture and manners -a character finished, matronly, and sedate. The very -circumstance that I should visit them unknown, and converse -intimately with them without being discovered, while -it cut me off from many pure and ingenuous pleasures, -added in some respects a new relish to the indulgence; for -it gave it a character, singular, and perhaps unprecedented, -in the history of mankind. I anticipated with eager transport -the hour at which I should revisit the place of my -birth, wander amidst the shades where my careless infancy -had strayed, recognise objects made sacred to my heart by -associations with my venerable mother and my adorable -wife, now illumined with the presence of my children, -and steal a joy, unsuspected and unknown, to which the -very secrecy with which it was ravished would give a -tenfold gust.</p> - -<p>I embraced the nearest route, by Pampeluna and the -Pyrenees, to the banks of the Garonne. One particular -pleasure that I reaped during this tour, which the climate -and scenery might alone have rendered delightful, consisted -in the youthful sensation with which every thing I saw -was enjoyed. Every one who can call to mind the amusements -of his childhood will be conscious that during that -period all his senses were in a tone adapted to convey the -most exquisite gratification. This is not merely, as is -vulgarly supposed, the result of the novelty and freshness -with which at that time every thing strikes us. The extremities -of the nerves are in a state of the most delicate -susceptibility, upon which no touch, however slight and -evanescent, is lost, and which makes us, upon every occasion -favourable to enjoyment, gasp and tremble with the -pleasure we imbibe. We feel it thrilling through every -pulse, and communicating its tone to every part. Our attention<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span> -is engrossed by a single object; or, if we are -sensible to accompanying incidents, it spreads over them -an animating sunshine, and totally varies their appearance -and hue. Age, on the contrary, imperceptibly brings -along with it callosity and sluggishness of sensation, our -gratifications are coldly relished, and our desires feebly -awakened. Such is the difference in our perception, of -delicious fruits, of fragrant smells, of smooth and glossy -surfaces, of the vividness of colour, and the heavenly -sweetness of sound. If this be a just account, I leave the -reader to imagine how I enjoyed my tour from Valladolid -to the beautiful and romantic retirement of St. Leon.</p> - -<p>There was however one sentiment with which I was at -this time impressed, that I shall find it difficult to make -the reader understand in the extent in which I felt it, and -that formed a powerful drawback upon the pleasures I have -just described. A short time ago I had been old; now I -was young: I had quaffed of the elixir of immortality. -The revolution this had produced in my sentiments was -not less memorable than that which it had effected in my -corporeal lineaments and my mental elasticity. It is so -different a thing to conceive a proposition theoretically, -and to experience it in practice! The case is parallel to -that of the expectation which an ordinary Christian entertains -of eternal bliss. It is an article in his creed; he -repeats it every night when he lies down, and every morning -when he rises. He would be both offended and surprised -if you told him he was not persuaded of it; and -yet how faint and indistinct a picture it produces in his -intellectual retina! The affairs of the world strike him -with all the force of vision; to them he cannot make himself -a stranger and a pilgrim; he cannot transfer all his -affections to the mere creature of his imagination, engendered -in solitude, and nurtured by enthusiasm,—heaven. -How different must have been the feelings of the celebrated -apostle, who had been taken up into the third heaven, and -had beheld the new Jerusalem with all its jaspers, its chrysolites, -its emeralds, and its sapphires!</p> - -<p>My situation was similar to this. I had long known, as -far as reflection could assure me of it, that I possessed the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span> -elixir of immortality. But never till now had I felt the -julep tingling in my veins, and known the effects of it in -every joint and articulation of my frame. I before believed, -I now felt, that I was immortal. The consequence of this -intimate persuasion was not without its portion of melancholy. -I still bore the figure and lineaments of a human -creature; but I knew that I was not what I seemed. There -was a greater distance between me and the best constructed -and most consummate of the human species, than there is -between him and an ant or a muskito, crushed by the first -accidental tread, or consumed by the first spark wafted by -the wind. I can no longer cheat my fancy; I know that -I am alone. The creature does not exist with whom I have -any common language, or any genuine sympathies. Society -is a bitter and galling mockery to my heart; it only shows -in more glaring colours my desolate condition. The nearer -I attempt to draw any of the nominal ties of our nature, -the more they start and shrink from my grasp. From this -moment I could not shake off the terrible impression of my -loneliness; no, not for an hour. Often does this impression -induce me to regard my immortality with loathing indescribable; -often do I wish to shelter myself from it in the -sweet oblivion of the grave. From this hour I had no -passions, no interests, no affections; my heart has never -expanded with one natural emotion; I have never delivered -myself up to the repose of one genuine amusement. If at -any time I have had a glimpse of pleasure, it has irritated, -only to deceive; it has increased the appetite, while it displayed -in stronger colours my impotence to gratify it. -What is worse, every added year has still subtracted something -from the little poignancy and relish which the bowl -of human life continued to retain. I have the power of -assuming a youthful and glossy appearance whenever I think -proper; but this is only a bitter mockery of the furrows -ploughed in my heart. In so much of my adventures as -remains for me to describe, I feel that I shall be obliged to -employ the established terms of human description. I cannot -interrupt the history of my sensations, by a recital of -those pangs by which they have been every moment interrupted. -The terms I must use may delude the reader into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span> -an imagination that I still participate of enjoyment and of -hope. Be it so; they may cheat the reader; they cannot -cheat myself!</p> - -<p>Previously to my arrival in the vicinity of the Garonne, -I equipped myself in the habit of an Armenian, and assumed -the character of a merchant travelling from country -to country for the sale of his commodities.</p> - -<p>It was in the close of a wintry day in the bleak and -cheerless month of December, that I first viewed from a -distance the turrets of St. Leon. I procured myself accommodations -for the night in the adjoining village. Being -now, after so long an absence, within reach of the residence -of these lovely treasures, I sought, without any direct consciousness -of the sentiment, to delay our interview. When -I entered the little <i lang="fr">auberge</i>, sheltered under a small plantation -of olives, I dreaded to hear the repetition of my family -name. I longed most fervently to be informed of the welfare -of my daughters, yet I could have died sooner than -utter a single question on the subject. I found that that -ardent love which had urged me with rapid steps from Valladolid -to St. Leon, gradually, as the distance grew little, -changed from an impetuous vehemence to hear of, and to -see them, to fearful, awe-struck, motionless anxiety. Their -light and airy figures, as I last saw them at Montauban in -1547, danced before the eyes of my imagination: what -casualties, what calamities might not have overtaken them -since! I was afraid almost to breathe, lest I should dissolve -the unreal scene that played around me. How did I know -that I did not indulge this cheerful imagination for the last -time? Again and again in the course of the evening, I felt -as if I could have wasted ages in this <i lang="fr">auberge</i> and the -neighbouring fields, still believing that my daughters inhabited -yonder towers, still hovering round their fancied -residence, but never daring to utter their name, lest it should -be found the prelude to some fatal intelligence. How rich -and refined a repast in some cases is uncertainty! It had the -power to impart to these precious pledges a share of that immortality -of which I was the destined monopolist.</p> - -<p>Why had I not the courage never to overpass the limit -at which I was now arrived, and, wherever I afterwards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span> -wandered on the various surface of the globe, still to be -able to repeat to myself the complacent whisper, “I have -visited my daughters in their separated abode, and my visit -was productive of none but agreeable sensations?” My -passions were too much afloat to suffer me really to rest in -this patient, contemplative gratification. Before the morning’s -dawn, I walked forth, and turned my eyes towards -the castle. I loitered from bank to bank, and from point -to point. Daylight slowly broke in upon me, but all was -silent and quiet in my paternal château. “The family is -not yet stirring,” said I to myself. I turned my steps to -the spot where the ashes of my mother were mingled with -their parent earth. The time that had intervened since -her decease, the various fortunes and impressions I had -experienced, had somewhat obliterated the vividness of her -picture in my memory, and deadened the tremblingness of -sensation with which I once thought of her. Yet enough -was left, to make it an interesting moment to me, when I -kneeled at her tomb. Why, oh why, as it had been with -my great forefathers, was it not a moment of exultation to -me, when I thus feelingly saluted the shade of a parent! -He that exults in such an hour, must feel that he has -illustrated his birth, and honoured his progenitors. I had -done nothing of this: I was an exile on the face of the -earth, had acquired no trophies, and accumulated no fame. -I had none to honour, none even to know me; I had no -family, I had no friend! These bitter recollections started -up in array before me, and cut me to the heart. The spirit -of my mother frowned upon her son; and I returned along -the path by which I came, disgraced and disconsolate.</p> - -<p>“I am now,” said I, “in a fit temper to learn intelligence -of my daughters: if they have been unhappy, to -hear it will not make me more forlorn; if they have been -fortunate, that knowledge, and that alone, may revive my -courage.” I hastened towards the avenue. I looked into -the thickets and winding paths, as I passed. They communicated -to me mingled pictures of my own boyish days, -and of the amusements of the present inhabitants.</p> - -<p>I told the nature of my pretended traffic to the servants -of the house, and proposed an exhibition of my commodities;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span> -I was admitted, as I desired, to the apartment of -their mistresses. I saw two young ladies, who appeared -to be respectively about twenty-eight and twenty-four years -of age, and whom without much difficulty I recognised for -my daughters Louisa and Marguerite. Their situation and -their ages identified them; and when afterwards I came to -peruse their features attentively, I could easily discover -traits of the amiable young woman and the playful child -they had been when last we parted. I found them employed -upon a piece of embroidery; a comely and respectable -looking young woman, a servant, was sewing in another -part of the room. Every thing about the ladies -bespoke the ease of their circumstances, and the propriety -of their sentiments. Both had on an elegant morning-habit; -both had an air of sedateness and sobriety, that to -my apprehension told that they had not lived unchastened -by misfortune.</p> - -<p>They each slightly looked up, as I was ushered into the -apartment; they saluted me with a graceful and condescending -bend of the head, such as we are accustomed to -use to an inferior whom we are willing to put at his ease. -What were my sensations, a father, disguised and unknown, -in the presence of his children! I attempted to stand, as -is usual for a tradesman, when he waits on his customers -at their own house. I attempted to speak. My tongue -refused its office; my legs tottered as if sustaining an unusual -weight. Louisa observed me, and desired me to be -seated. I had no power of choice; I accepted her civility. -No sooner was I seated, than in spite of myself a flood of -tears gushed from my eyes. She was astonished; she -begged to know if I were indisposed; she requested me to -make use of every assistance the house could afford. I now -found my speech. I apologised for my behaviour; said I -had felt suddenly ill, but that the tears I shed would prove -the most effectual relief to me. My appearance, it may be -proper to mention, was not that of a vulgar pedlar; it was -tall, graceful, and ingenuous, with a certain air of refinement -and politeness; my Armenian dress, though formed -of uncostly materials, was such as to display my person to -considerable advantage. Both the young ladies showed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span> -themselves interested in the symptoms of my distress. -After a few minutes internal struggle, I rose, made an excuse -for the abruptness of my departure, and requested -permission to repeat my visit in the afternoon, when I -should have something not unimportant to communicate to -them.</p> - -<p>I had seen two of my daughters; I had been satisfied -that they still existed; I had witnessed their exterior health -and beauty. As I withdrew, I laid my hand upon my heart, -and congratulated myself: “Thus far,” said I, “it is well!” -I felt relieved from part of the weight that lay there. With -my right hand I struck upon my forehead: “but, oh, where,” -cried I, “is my other daughter?” The thought came over -me with the force of a demonstration: she is dead! A -servant was attending me to the door; I requested to speak -to the housekeeper; I was introduced to Mariana Chabot. -She was struck with my appearance, as I believe my daughters -had been, as if my features were those of some person -with whom she was intimately acquainted. She would -probably have mistaken me for my own son, but that I -looked considerably too young. I intreated her to pardon -my curiosity; but, I assured her, I had a particular reason to -interest myself in the family of Monsieur St. Leon, and I -therefore requested that she would have the goodness to -inform me of their affairs, as far as she could with propriety -communicate them to a person who was not so -happy as to be in the catalogue of their acquaintance. I -told her that I had just seen two of her ladies, but that I -had understood there had been three, and I particularly desired -some information as to the young lady who had not -made her appearance in the parlour. My presentiment was -true; the impression that smote me when I left the parlour, -was her funeral knell; my beloved Julia was dead; -she had been dead four years! If it had not been for the -agitation of my mind when I visited the tomb of my -venerable parent, I should have discovered her monument -near that of her grandmother. That would have been too -overwhelming a mode of learning the painful intelligence; -I was glad at least to have escaped that!</p> - -<p>In this and some subsequent conversations I held with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span> -this respectable matron, I learned a variety of particulars -respecting my daughters. Madame Chabot expressed herself -sorry that she had nothing pleasing to communicate. -Her young ladies had been pursued by a train of misfortunes, -though, heaven knew, they had merited every happiness. -A few years after they had been settled at St. Leon, -Julia had been addressed by a lover in every sense worthy -of her. He was rich, noble, of a gallant spirit, of a cultivated -understanding, and a truly kind and affectionate -heart. Their attachment had been long and tried; habit -and experience of each other’s virtues had caused it to take -a deep root. The father of the young man had destined -him to marry the daughter of a duke and peer of the -kingdom; but, finding his affections unalterably fixed, he -had at length yielded, and sanctioned their mutual passion -with his consent. Every thing was now prepared for the -nuptials; a day was fixed, and the appointed time was fast -approaching. Just at this juncture, the father changed his -mind, and became more obstinate and inexorable than ever. -A report had begun to be circulated that monsieur St. Leon, -the father of the young ladies, was still alive. Madame -Chabot expressed her fear that this report had originated in -some indiscretion of Bernardin, who, however, had always -proved himself a most zealous and faithful servant, and who -had since paid the debt of nature. Be that as it might, -the father of the lover of Julia was found no longer accessible -to expostulation or entreaty. He was of an avaricious -disposition, and he regarded the fortune of the young lady, -which would otherwise have been considerable, as entirely -alienated and annihilated by this flaw in the title. But -what was more material, it by no means accorded with his -ideas of nobility and honour, that the father-in-law of his -only son should be a fugitive and a wanderer, with whose -residence no one was acquainted, and of whom no one -could tell whether he were living or dead. The manner -in which the ladies had entered into the repossession of -their paternal estate, when minutely investigated, was -thought to have something in it of an ambiguous and unpleasant -nature. It was well known that monsieur St. Leon -had left the country in consequence of his having ruined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span> -himself by the vice of gaming. “Surely,” said some, “it is -a little mysterious, how his children came, after an interval -of nine years, to be able to repurchase all he ever possessed.” -In short, the more the old vicomte was reasoned with, the -more furious he grew. At length he made use of the -power which the government of France vests in the father -of a family, and shut up his son in one of the royal prisons. -This was a fatal blow both to the chevalier and his -mistress. Disappointed in the object of his warmest affections, -maltreated and disgraced by the severity of a father, -his health sensibly declined. Nothing however could shake -the inflexibility of the vicomte; he would release his son -upon no other terms than a renunciation of his love, terms -which the sense of dignity and honour in the young gentleman, -equally with his passion, forbade him to accept. To -all representations of the necessity of granting liberty to -his son, if he would not make himself answerable for his -death, the vicomte sternly replied, “that he preferred his -dying to the idea of his connecting himself with a family -of dishonour.” It was not till a few weeks before he expired, -that the father had consented to his release from -prison, and had removed him to one of his castles in a -remote province. But the malady of the chevalier was -found incurable; the vital principles of the system were -fatally deranged. The lover died; and the consequences -of this unhappy affair had put a premature close to the -existence of the unfortunate Julia. Madame Chabot added -that, the circumstance of this story having become a subject -of public animadversion, it had had a most unfavourable -effect on the prospects of the surviving sisters. They bore -their situation with dignity; but they could not but feel -the unhappy coincidence, which cut them off from the -happiest condition of human life, an honourable and well -assorted settlement in marriage.</p> - -<p>While madame Chabot related to me the tragical history -of Julia, I felt convulsed with passion, and more than once -burst into an agony of tears. Fatal legacy! atrocious secrets -of medicine and chemistry! every day opened to my astonished -and terrified sight a wider prospect of their wasteful -effects! A common degree of penetration might have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span> -shown me, that secrets of this character cut off their possessor -from the dearest ties of human existence, and render -him a solitary, cold, self-centered individual; his heart no -longer able to pour itself into the bosom of a mistress or a -friend; his bosom no longer qualified to receive upon equal -terms the overflowing of a kindred heart. But no mere -exercise of imagination, nothing short of the actual experience -through which I had passed, could have adequately -represented the mischiefs of a thousand various -names, that issued from this Pandora’s box, this extract of -a universal panacea. I regarded myself as the murderer of -these two lovers, than whom I concluded, from my personal -observation of the one, and all that I heard of the -other, two purer and more affectionate beings, more singularly -qualified to form each other’s happiness, had never -existed. I felt as truly haunted with the ghosts of those I -had murdered, as Nero or Caligula might have been; my -wife, my son, my faithful negro; and now, in addition to -these, the tender Julia and her unalterable admirer. I possessed -the gift of immortal life; but I looked on myself as -a monster that did not deserve to exist.</p> - -<p>It is with difficulty that I shall be able to make the -reader understand how much more severe the impression -of this last catastrophe was made to me, by the place and -time in which I received the intelligence. We are creatures -of sensation: our worst calamities derive as much of their -pungency from the accessories by which they are accompanied, -as they do from their intrinsic evil. If I had heard -this story at any other period, I am persuaded its effects -would not have been half so painful. The idea of my -daughters was faded in my sensorium, and whatever related -to them, though really felt, and felt like a father, -would have been felt with a less overpowering interest.</p> - -<p>But now I had journeyed from Valladolid to the Garonne -to behold them; I had surveyed the castle they inhabited; -I had viewed the garden which they arranged -with their hands; I had entered the parlour which they -adorned with their presence. All this controlled the operation -of absence and of distance; I felt at this moment -as if I had been accustomed to see them every day, and to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span> -regard them as inseparable from my existence. I experienced, -as it were, the united effect of familiarity and -novelty; I felt the melancholy fate of Julia, with all the -keenness of an inmate, and all the surprise of a long absent -traveller. The very metamorphosis I had undergone gave -new poignancy to my distress. Madame Chabot tortured -me deliberately and at leisure, without the slightest consciousness -of what she was doing; she believed she was -pouring a tale of persons unknown into the ears of a native -of the other hemisphere, at the moment that she was calling -up in arms the strongest and most excruciating feelings of -a father for his child. I on the other hand had the most -violent struggle with myself, while I endeavoured to suppress -the appearances of an emotion, which to the person -who witnessed them must have been for ever unaccountable. -As it was, and in spite of all my efforts, madame Chabot -betrayed no little amazement at the agitation with which I -listened to a story, in which, as she apprehended, I could -have no personal interest.</p> - -<p>What I heard from madame Chabot suggested to me a -conduct, which I resolved to adopt under the present circumstances. -In my next interview I told Louisa that I -would now account to her for emotions which, at the time -they occurred, must have appeared somewhat extraordinary. -I owned that I had been acquainted with her father; I said -that I had first met with him in a journey, in which I was -then engaged through the province of Mesopotamia; that -I had received from him, though a stranger, a singular -obligation; that a sincere friendship between us had been -the result of this event; that he died about two years since; -that I had attended him in his last moments; that he had -charged me with his dying recommendations and requests; -and that my present journey into France had principally -been instigated by a desire to visit his children. I then -delivered into her hands various letters and papers, which I -had counterfeited chiefly with the intention of supplying my -daughters with legal evidence of the decease of their father.</p> - -<p>Louisa listened to what I related with those marks of affection -and sorrow, which are inseparable from the habits -of a well constituted mind. The emotion she discovered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span> -led me farther than I first intended. I was urged by an -irresistible impulse to practise, beyond what the occasion -demanded, upon the feelings of her virtuous mind. I know -not whether this is to be considered as a vain refinement -and a criminal curiosity; but—I think—every generous -spirit will excuse me, when it is recollected that this covert -and imperfect proceeding was all that was left me to soothe -the impatient cravings of a father’s heart. From time to -time I reminded her of particulars that it was scarcely possible -any one but her father should know; I conjured up -past scenes; I made all the revolutions of her youth pass -successively in review before her; I touched all the pulses -of her soul. Sometimes she was fixed in mute astonishment -at the exactness of my information, and was ready to -do me homage as some aerial genius, who condescended to -clothe himself in this earthly figure; at other times astonishment -was swallowed up in feeling, her soul dissolved in tenderness, -and she appeared ready to faint into my arms. It is -scarcely possible to depict the pleasurable sensations I drew -from these intercourses; I know not whether they were -entirely innocent; but this I know, that in me they produced -a sentiment of innocence, and a sentiment of paradise. -I felt sometimes as if I could have wasted ages in this sort -of gratification.</p> - -<p>As the executor of their father, my daughters received -me with every mark of respect; but, after having already -protracted my visit to them for the space of many days, I -felt that I should be guilty of something alike hostile to -their decorum and reputation, if I did not speedily bring it -to a termination. I was a person unknown and almost -without a name; nor could it be proper for a young woman -to continue to receive the visits of a person of her own age -and a different sex, upon the intimate and confidential -footing upon which my visits were paid, except in the case -of him whom she intends to make her husband. To considerations -of this sort I was obliged to sacrifice the gratifications -in which I had lately been indulging. My principal -concern at St. Leon, from the time in which madame -Chabot had communicated to me the real nature of my -daughter’s situation, was to remove those disadvantages in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span> -which my destiny and my errors had involved them: it -would therefore have been the extreme of inconsistency in -me, while I was healing one mischief, to prepare for them -another. It is not indeed probable that I should long have -been contented for myself with this anomalous and neutral -situation, in which I more resembled a piece of furniture -endowed with the faculty of noting the sensations of those -around me, than the member of any human society. It -was high time, as I thought, even in this point of view, -that I should put an end to the inglorious scene, should appear -in some real character, and engage in some real undertaking.</p> - -<p>Influenced by these considerations, I now quitted the residence -of my daughters. I had satisfied the longing curiosity -of a father, had seen their situation, had witnessed -their beauty, their accomplishments, and their virtues. If -I had been afflicted at hearing of the premature fate of my -eldest daughter, if I had been agonised by the reflection -that I might justly regard myself as her murderer, who was -so fitted to suffer this anguish as myself? The outcast of my -species, what right had I to expect to be happy in my own -person, or prosperous in any of my relations? The guilty -cause of all this mischief, it was but suitable that it should -be brought home to my own bosom, that it should tear and -distract my own brain! Add to this, I was not without a -hope that my journey would not be found useless to the -survivors. By furnishing to them the proper documents to -certify the death of their father, I flattered myself that I -had cut them off more effectually than before from all connection -with my unpropitious destiny, and had placed them -nearly upon a footing with the other noble and unmarried -heiresses of their native country. I have nothing further -to relate in regard to these two amiable and excellent sisters. -From the time that I quitted St. Leon upon this occasion, -to the time in which I am now writing, the opportunity of -making further enquiries respecting them has not occurred -to me. If ever it does occur, I have only this one wish to -entertain, which, if granted, will, I am sure, satisfy my -fondest hopes,—May I find they have been as happy, as -they so well deserve to be!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span></p> - -<p>The parting between me and my daughters was not an -unaffecting one. On my part, whose bosom was fraught -with a thousand tender feelings, to which I could give no -language, and of which those whom they principally concerned -had not the slightest suspicion, it could not be unaffecting. -Nor did Louisa and her younger sister look with -an indifferent eye upon the bearer of the last sentiments of -their father, the witness of his death, the executor of his -will. There was something in the features of my countenance, -a peculiar sort of conformation, a family resemblance -to themselves, which it is probable they did not advert to, -but which I am persuaded wrought within them to the full -extent of the mysterious sympathies of our nature. I pretended -to have been the familiar confident of their father; I -told them of things at which they started and almost blushed -to think that any one beyond the circuit of their dearest -relations should have been privy. In the hour of our separation, -they shed many tears, and embraced me with a -warmth that might have well become sisters to a brother. -Yet, shall I confess my weakness, a weakness in which I -do not apprehend myself to be singular? It happens to -few men to witness the manner in which the story of their -own deaths is received. If it did, I believe we all of us -have enough of vanity and personal feeling, however sincere -a grief might show itself in the demeanour of survivors, to -find it falling short of our appetites and demand. This I -know, I was myself a party to this unreasonableness. My -daughters received the intelligence of my death with a decorum -and sensibility, which in the eyes of every impartial -spectator would have reflected honour on their characters, -a sensibility beyond what could have been imagined in -daughters who now had not seen their father for twelve -years. Yet it was an unpleasing reflection to me, thus to -have occasion to gauge their love, and to say, This is the -exact measure of their affection. I remained in this part of -the world long enough to see my children consoled, and -myself forgotten. Self-importance of man, upon how slight -a basis do thy gigantic erections repose!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> - -<p>From St. Leon I proceeded to the kingdom of Hungary. -To complete this journey I must pass through near twenty -degrees of longitude. But that was a trivial consideration: -what I most desired was to gain a new situation, and enter -upon an untried scene. I had determined in my next experiment -upon the endowments of the stranger, to make no -half-formed efforts, and to suffer no mischiefs that drew -their source from my own irresolution. I determined, as -I have said, to forestall all opposition by my firmness, and -to silence all objectors by the display of a more than princely -magnificence. I thought it therefore eligible to remove to -a scene, where no encounter with any one I had ever known -might abash me, and no relation of any adventure I had ever -met should follow me. The change of my figure, it is true, -would render an encounter of this sort of little moment to -my liberty or my reputation; but I was a new man, and -I was desirous to engross and to feel the benefits that attend -upon novelty.</p> - -<p>There was another motive however secretly working at -my heart, of a grander and more exalted cast, that made -me prefer Hungary to all the countries of the earth. Hungary -had been now, for upwards of a century, the great -frontier of the Christian world,—the theatre upon which -the followers of Mahomet contended against the followers of -Jesus for destruction and for empire. My mind had from -time to time brooded over this picture in the solitude and -forlornness of my dungeon. I ruminated on all the calamities -of Hungary, from the battle of Warna in 1444, to the -battle of Mohacz in 1526; in both of which this generous -nation had unsuccessfully achieved prodigies of valour, and, -even by their defeats, had protracted the date of their own -independence, and co-operated for the defence of the population -and arts of Europe against a barbarous and blood-delighting -foe. My thoughts dwelt with rapturous admiration -upon the exploits of the heroic Huniades and his -greater son. In the course of my many-coloured experience<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span> -I had seen something of war, and was not totally unacquainted -with its never-failing consequences. Meditating as -I had done in the dungeons of the inquisition, if ever I recovered -my personal liberty and my freedom of action, a -journey into Hungary, my imagination had grown familiar -with captured towns and smoking villages; with the gallant -soldier stretched lifeless on the plain, and the defenceless -mother and her offspring brutally insulted and massacred; -with fields laid waste, and a people lifting up their hands -for bread. Determined as I was to open at once all the -stores of my wealth, I thought I could not find a nobler -scene for its display. I resolved to pour the entire stream -of my riches, like a mighty river, to fertilise these wasted -plains, and revive their fainting inhabitants. Thus proceeding, -should I not have a right to expect to find myself -guarded by the faithful love of a people who would be indebted -to my beneficence for every breath they drew? -This was the proper scene in which for the possessor of the -philosopher’s stone to take up his abode. He who could -feel his ambition satisfied in a more straitened field would, -by so doing, prove himself unworthy of the mighty blessing.</p> - -<p>Nothing occurred to me in my journey of importance -enough to obtain a place in this history. When I arrived, -I found the condition of the inhabitants even more wretched -than the lawlessness of my imagination had represented it. -In the battle of Mohacz the last of the line of their native -sovereigns, together with the flower of his nobility, had -fallen a victim to the merciless plague of war. What survived -of eminent persons in the state assembled soon after in -national diet, and elected, as they had been accustomed to -do, one of the most illustrious among themselves to preside -over the councils and to conduct the battles of their country. -But the princes of the house of Austria, ever on the -watch for the aggrandisement of their family, seized the -opportunity of their disastrous situation to enslave the -Hungarians to their sceptre. Charles the Fifth caused his -brother Ferdinand, whose consort was only sister to the -deceased monarch, to advance his claim to the vacant throne, -and to enter the country with an imperial army. The native<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span> -and elected sovereign found himself, in the weakened -condition of his realm, unable to resist the Austrian arms, -and was finally driven to the desperate expedient of calling -in the Turk to his assistance. From this time, for now -upwards of thirty years, the kingdom had been a prey to -two foreign invaders, alternately taking and retaking her -most considerable towns, and distributing with the strictest -impartiality the miseries of war to her devoted inhabitants. -Solyman the Magnificent, the present Ottoman emperor, in -no long time threw off the mask; and, like his rival Ferdinand, -professed to fight only for the enlargement of his -own dominions; while the claims, the liberties, the constitution, -and the prosperity of Hungary, were alike trodden -under foot in the protracted and sanguinary struggle.</p> - -<p>At the period at which I entered this unfortunate realm, -the Turk was in possession of Buda, Gran, Temeswar, and -many of the most considerable cities; and Ferdinand, who -had now succeeded Charles in the imperial dignity, had -been obliged to withdraw the seat of the national government -from the first of these towns, the ancient metropolis, -to the comparatively insignificant city of Presburg. The -war between the two parties had more than once been interrupted; -not indeed by the more stable accommodations of a -treaty of peace, but by a truce variously concluded for the -terms of six or of eight years. Short as was the period -assigned to the suspension of arms, it was never suffered to -reach its natural termination; but, after the interval of one -or two summers, hostilities did not fail to break out again, -with aggravated symptoms of resentment and animosity. -The warfare that was now carried on had more in it of passion -than vigour: it was of little moment to the interest of -either of the princes under whose banners it was conducted; -but it was not on that account the less, but rather the more, -vexatious and distressing to the Hungarian people. It -obeyed no rule; it operated in every direction; no place, -no province, no town,—neither the church nor the palace, -neither the cottage nor the castle,—could assure safety to -those who sought its protection. A flying party, which was -to-day in the west, would almost the next day make its -appearance in the eastern extremity of the kingdom. Arts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span> -were neglected; civilisation was destroyed; the stern and -haughty baron, free from restraint, would sally from his -castle, sometimes in pursuit of plunder, sometimes of private -resentment and revenge; the starving peasantry gladly -enlisted in the band of a ferocious partisan for bread; the -gangs of robbers, which the vigilant policy of better times -had almost annihilated, rose again in importance, and -swelled into regiments; and, while they assumed at pleasure -the denomination of adherents to Ferdinand or to Solyman, -perpetrated every species of excess with impunity. -When a reflecting spectator surveys a country in a condition -like this, he is tempted to wonder that the inhabitants still -retain the courage to bestow on their fields any sort of cultivation, -and that the licensed or the unlicensed robber still -finds something over which to extend the fangs of his -rapacity.</p> - -<p>I had not long passed the gates of Vienna, before I began -to observe the symptoms of that, which I had come -from the Pyrenees and the Garonne to visit. The farther -I advanced, the more melancholy was the scene I beheld. -The country in some places entirely deserted; villages laid -in ashes; cities reduced to the dimensions and insignificance -of villages; fields fertilised or made rank with the -manure of human blood; the roads broken up; the erections -of human ingenuity almost obliterated; mills thrown -down; rivers choked up and rendered stagnant; a few -solitary plots of cultivation scattered amidst the mighty -waste. The inhabitants I saw, appeared terrified, sickly, -dejected, and despairing; there was scarcely one who earlier -or later had not lost a father or a brother, whose wife had -not been made the victim of brutal lust, or who had not -seen his children butchered before his face. Persons of -the more opulent classes could not travel the country in -safety, without being armed and associated in companies -and caravans. I was myself obliged to obtain the protection -of parties of soldiers, who from time to time happened -to be marching in the route I pursued. The savage neglect -into which every thing was declining, produced in -repeated instances a contagious air and pestilential diseases; -while dearth and famine unrelentingly haunted the steps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span> -of those whom the sword and the pestilence had spared. -Such is war: such are the evils nations willingly plunge -into, or are compelled to endure, to pamper the senseless -luxury or pride of a Ferdinand and a Solyman!</p> - -<p>I proceeded, as I had originally determined to do, to -Buda, the metropolis of the kingdom. It was in the hands -of the Turk. It was of little importance to me whether -the monarch of the soil were a Mahometan or a Christian; -my mind was engrossed by considerations of a very different -magnitude. I came to relieve and assist, to the utmost -of my power, the inhabitants of the country in the extremity -of their distress.</p> - -<p>I had not proceeded thus far, without bestowing a certain -strictness of reflection on the subject. I easily saw that, -if I would confer a substantial benefit on this unfortunate -nation, I had scarcely any other means for the purpose, -than that of reviving among them a spirit of industry. I -was aware that, in the strictness of the term, money was -not wealth; that it could be neither eaten nor drunk; that -it would not of itself either clothe the naked or shelter the -houseless; and that it was unable, but by a circuitous -operation, to increase the quantity of provisions or commodities -that the country afforded. It was my business -therefore not to proceed idly in the distribution of gold, -but to meditate seriously my plan of operations.</p> - -<p>I fixed myself in a spacious and beautiful mansion in -the capital. This in the present distressed and depopulated -condition of Hungary, it was not difficult to procure. -The house I selected had for centuries been the principal -residence of the illustrious family of Ragotski; but the -present representative of that family, after having seen his -sons, one after another, killed in the battles of his country, -and his estates ruined by military depredation, had found -himself compelled to fly in his old age, and had taken refuge -with a distant branch of the same house in the great -duchy of Lithuania. It was not necessary for me to -proceed to any great extent in the first instance in the manufacture -of my wealth; I had every facility for adding -to my store from time to time as circumstances should -demand.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span></p> - -<p>I determined to open my operations with the article of -building. There was sufficient need of it. One half of -the houses, through most of the districts of Lower, or -Western Hungary in particular, were ruined and untenantable. -I did not begin with erecting palaces; I felt that -the first claimants in the present emergency were the peasant -and the cultivator. I was more desirous that the -rustic than the prince should be well lodged and accommodated, -provided with the means of rest after fatigue, -and secured against the invasion of ungenial seasons.</p> - -<p>My reasons for beginning with building were these:—It -was my purpose to stimulate and revive the industry of the -nation: I was desirous of doing this with the least practicable -violence upon the inclinations and freedom of the inhabitants. -Had I required of those to whom I addressed -myself, that they should fertilise the earth, the seeds with -which it should be impregnated might be wanting: I should -have a nice balance to adjust between what was necessary -for immediate subsistence, and what might be applied as -the basis of future; a point better left to its spontaneous -level: I might be impeded and controlled by a thousand -circumstances and at every step. But the materials of -building are to be found in every country; no seasons can -impair, no malignity of man can annihilate them. Wherever -there are quarries, there is stone; wherever there is -clay, there are the means of manufacturing bricks. I was -anxious to leave the rest of the great process of human -accommodation to its course. While I employed labourers, -and paid them their wages, there would be, in the mildest -and most salutary mode, a continual influx of money into -the market. The increase of the precious metals would -give new alacrity to the operations of traffic; the buyers -would come forward with double confidence; the venders -would be eager to meet the activity and spirit of the demand. -Ardour and hope would revisit the human mind; -and the industry I created, and the accommodations of one -kind at least to which I gave birth, would inoculate the -other departments of the community with a similar industry. -I came into Hungary in the spring of 1560; the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span> -season was favourable to seeding and cultivation; I seemed -to enter on my undertaking with the happiest auspices.</p> - -<p>Some time however must necessarily elapse between the -period of impregnating the soil, and that of the future harvest. -Though I laid it down therefore as a law to myself, -to commit the least practicable violence upon the genuine -action of human society in pursuit of the means of subsistence, -I thought proper in a certain degree to engage in -the importation of corn from Poland, Silesia, and other -neighbouring countries. This seemed an eligible measure, -if it were only that I might show others the way, and excite -them by my example. I procured agents; I extended -my concerns in various directions over the navigable rivers; -I formed magazines. It would have been contrary to the -genius of my undertaking, either to make a gratuitous distribution -of what I purchased, or to sell it at such low -prices as to drive other speculators, whose spirit of enterprise -might happily co-operate with mine, out of the market. -However indifferent I might feel to the receipt of -pecuniary compensation, it was necessary that, in the concerns -of barter and trade, I should assume the exterior of -a merchant.</p> - -<p>Nor did I wholly confine my exertions within the occupations -of an architect and a corn-dealer. These, or -rather the former of the two, I regarded as my true and -genuine province; but I did not so far enslave myself to -my own maxims, as to negative in all instances the direct -demands of want. I was not anxious to convert a nation -or an army of men into my personal adherents and retainers: -I was rather desirous to avoid this as a dangerous -source of obloquy. I did not therefore always decline, by -pretended loans to assist other men to employ labourers as -well as myself, to act upon their own designs, and prosecute -their own fortune. The cries of the poor man, the widow, -and the orphan, were sometimes too importunate, and too -well justified by their unquestionable necessities, to allow -me to withhold from them my alms. In a few instances -I conveyed my supplies anonymously to persons, whose -dignity of birth or whose proud independence would have -been too grievously wounded if they had known their benefactor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span> -I was cautious and apprehensive as to the direct -dispensing of money, but not entirely bent against it; I -regarded it as a precarious, but in some cases a necessary -interference.</p> - -<p>The impulse which, by these various measures, I was -fortunate enough to generate, seemed to have the effect, so -far at least as the sphere of my activity extended, to revive -the almost expiring life of the country. Dejection and -hopeless indolence, when I commenced my operations, were -written in every face; the miserable inhabitants crawled -along the roads or the street, their hands idly relaxed by -their side, and their slow and painful steps scarcely supporting -their lifeless trunk. When my plan became known, -and I had already in a few instances reduced my maxims -into practice, it was as if the mellow and spirit-stirring -blast of a trumpet had wakened their sleeping souls. Their -eyes lightened with intelligence; the tear of anguish was -wiped from their faded cheeks; the smile of hope slowly -expelled, and faintly succeeded to, the bitter expression of -despair. Busy and active thoughts gave new motion to -their limbs and quickness to their steps; the labourer was -seen hastening from place to place; the sound of the hammer, -the saw, and the various tools of the workman, was -to be heard from every side.</p> - -<p>The conduct I pursued necessarily fixed upon me a considerable -portion of public attention. I was a foreigner, -destitute of connections, and having no previous acquaintance -with any individual in the country. I was in appearance -a mere boy, a young man in all the flower and -bloom of adolescence, and who must be supposed to have -just entered into possession of his patrimony. These things -tended to increase the public wonder, and to render the -mystery of my proceedings more perplexing and obscure. -In the age of genial warmth and melting softness, I did -not appear accessible to those passions which haunt the -days, and too often undermine the virtues, of youth. Youth -is the season of benevolence; but benevolence is rarely, as -seemed to be my case, the only fruit that youth is found -to produce. There was a maturity and a justness of adaptation -in my plans, not less foreign from what those who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span> -surrounded me would have expected me to display. The -apparent disinterestedness and modesty of my proceedings -were not lost upon the spectators. The consequence of all -this was, that the sieur de Chatillon, such was the name I -at this time assumed, was regarded as a phenomenon which -could not be too much admired, or too loudly extolled. -Wherever I appeared, the people followed me with their -gratitude and blessings; ballads were written in my praise; -the very children were taught with their infant tongues to -lisp the virtues of the saviour of Hungary. My doors -were besieged; my steps were watched; I could move no -where without public observation. I was importuned with -petitions without end; yet, if any petitioner showed himself -presumptuous and intrusive, the whole multitude of -bystanders was ready to repress his indiscretion, and teach -him the respect that was due to their generous benefactor, -who never refused any thing, but what it would be improper -and injurious to grant.</p> - -<p>Such was the treatment I experienced in Buda and the -neighbouring districts. Whether I looked within or without, -I was equally presented with incitements to self-approbation. -I sent forth labour, accompanied with her best -and loveliest companions, plenty and health, congratulation -and contentment, to scatter blessings through the land. I -felt that I was prompted to this conduct by none of the -motives of vulgar ambition. I desired neither lordships -nor estates, neither elevation of rank, nor extension of prerogative. -Sufficient to myself, if I effected the happiness -of the people, and they confessed me their benefactor, my -every passion would then be gratified. The utmost boundary -of my personal wishes proceeded no farther than this, -that I might be honoured and loved. What I desired, I -obtained; the youth I had procured to myself through the -medium of the <i lang="la">opus magnum</i>, was like what we are told -of the youth of Job:—“When I went out through the -gate of the city, the young men saw me and hid themselves, -and the aged arose and stood up; the nobles refrained from -talking, and the princes laid their hands upon their mouths. -When the ear heard me, then it blessed me; and when -the eye saw me, it gave witness to my actions.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span></p> - -<p>Here it may be thought I had ascended to that sphere -which it was fit the possessor of the philosopher’s stone -should fill, and reaped the rewards to which a man thus -endowed ought to be forward to entitle himself. Nor will -I affirm that I was insensible to the gratifications of my -present situation. Though I sought to escape from the -applause that pursued me, yet there is something in the -nature of the human mind, that makes it impossible for us -to hear it without complacence. It was not however a -boisterous and obtrusive acclamation that satisfied me. A -certain inwrought modesty of nature made me listen to -noisy commendations with a sentiment of shame. They -seemed to be more than any thing I had done could deserve; -or they seemed to be in a tone from which the -delicacy of a virtuous mind shrinks back displeased. They -were so obstreperous, as to take from me the power of -hearing the sweeter verdict of my own conscience. No; -it was the unbidden tear that glistened in the eye of my -beneficiaries; the tongue that faltered beneath the essays -of gratitude; the overwhelmed heart that had no power to -express itself; the hand of the parent that was stretched -out to his children, and dumbly said, These, these shall -thank you!—it was these things, that I felt within as the -balsam of my life, and the ambrosia of heaven.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> - -<p>Yet, thus surrounded, and regaled with this animated -praise, I was not content; I wanted a friend. I was alone -amidst the innumerable multitudes of those I had blessed. -I knew no cordiality; I could repose no confidence; I -could find no equal. I was like a God, who dispenses his -bounties profusely through twenty climates, but who at the -same time sits, separate, elevated, and alone, in the highest -heaven. The reader may, if he pleases, despise me for the -confession; but I felt that I was not formed for the happiness -of a God.</p> - -<p>I was not however long sufficiently at leisure, thus to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span> -refine upon the deficiencies of my situation. I had engaged -in a task of extreme delicacy, in which the smallest failure -would draw along with it the most serious consequences. -Mine was not an undertaking that had for its object, to -supply those around me with luxuries, or to augment the -stock of their cheerful relaxations and amusements; the -very existence of my beneficiaries depended on its success. -I had put myself in a considerable degree, with whatever -diffidence and caution, in the room of the course of nature, -and had taken the administration of the common benefits -of human society into my hands. The populace are ever -ready to construe this delegation in the strictest sense: -unqualified to trace the wheels and combinations of the -great machine, if prosperity is their lot, they willingly ascribe -it to their protectors and governors; and if they -are unfortunate, it is against them that the storm of their -resentment is directed. The moment they are thus irritated, -their impatience is too great to admit of correctives -and remedies; in the fury of their disappointment, they -disturb every thing, and render that irreparable and fatal, -which was at first only doubtful and unpromising.</p> - -<p>My proceedings, as I have already said, bore in the commencement -the most benignant face, and seemed a revival -of this despairing and unfortunate nation little less than -miraculous. The regular labours in which the inhabitants -became engaged, restored a healthful tone to their minds; -the payments they duly received seemed to discharge them -from all anxious solicitude; and, as by my own efforts and -the enterprises of others, the market was supplied with provisions, -they had no difficulty in exchanging these payments -for the necessaries of life. The supply of the market at -first was easy; the universal dejection that preceded, though -it had not prevented all exertions for that purpose, had -rendered those exertions too feeble for extensive success. -The strenuous efforts that were now made were productive -of a copious supply; but they rendered each importation -more difficult than the importation before. The demand -continued the same; the relief was every day more diminutive -and precarious. The harvest was however advancing -with the happiest auspices: and, though some time must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span> -yet be consumed in expectation, it was probable frugality -and fortitude might enable the inhabitants to hold out till -the season of plenty should arrive.</p> - -<p>But fortitude is not the virtue of a populace. The -higher had been their hopes, and the more unexpected their -deliverance, with so much the more blank and melancholy -a countenance they beheld this unexpected delay and retrogression. -Not understanding the powers by which I acted, -they blindly ascribed to me the faculty of doing whatever I -pleased. As long as every thing went on prosperously, -they were grateful; the moment a reverse occurred, they -were inclined to murmur. They made no allowance for the -limited capacities of a human creature: they imputed -whatever was unpleasing to indifference or ill will. The -price of commodities, after having for a while become -moderate, now rapidly rose again: this was partly the consequence -of the increased quantity of the precious metals, -by means of which any assignable sum bore a less proportion -to the provisions of the market than it had done -before. Bread was at a very high price; and it occasionally -happened to buyers who did not come early enough, -that there was no bread to be purchased. The doors of the -houses where it was sold, were besieged; the industrious -poor appeared before them with the first faint dawn of the -morning’s light. Here they consumed hours of painful -expectation, in grievous addition to the hours of their customary -fatigue. The whole was a scene of anguish and -calamity; the passions of those who composed it, mingled -with the distress, and rendered it too heavy to be borne. -Anticipating famine, they felt the mischiefs of it before -it arrived. Never was the demand so urgent; it seemed as -if the capacity of men’s appetites was enlarged, and the -cravings of hunger became more insatiable, in proportion to -the smallness of the supply. To people thus circumstanced, -it would have been vain to recommend frugality and moderation. -They devoured the food with their eyes, while -it was yet beyond the reach of their hands; and the lesson -you read them, would have sounded in their ears as if you -had bid them die to-day, to escape the danger of dying to-morrow.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span></p> - -<p>The crowds which the necessity of purchasing bread -brought together at certain hours, when assembled, naturally -entered into the discussion of their present discontents. -They were not satisfied with the discourse and jostling of -the morning; the habits produced by these noisy assemblies -had a secret charm with them, and drew them together at -seasons of less urgent demand. They patroled the streets: -they were loud in the expressions of their dissatisfaction. -With the inconsequence incident to the lower orders of -mankind, they threatened to destroy the mills, the markets, -the places of sale, the means and materials by which their -wants were to be supplied.</p> - -<p>In the midst of these scenes of tumult and confusion, it -is not to be imagined that I escaped uncensured. Far -otherwise: in proportion to the gratitude and adoration -with which they had lately regarded me, were their detestation -and abhorrence now. My interference was spoken -of with contempt and execration. For what purpose had -I, a foreigner, come into their country, and intruded myself -into their affairs? Why had I impiously taken them out -of the hands of their heavenly Father, whose care was so -constant, and whose relief so certain? It was on my part a -despicable vanity and presumption, which the justice of -Providence could not fail to avenge; and they must now -suffer the punishment of my blasphemy. But they did not -stop here. There was no horrible calumny which they did -not invent, or give credit to, against me. They imputed to -me the basest personal motives for what I had done. Under -the hypocritical pretence, they cried, of being their benefactor -and saviour, I was using them only for my private ends. -I had become a purchaser and vender of corn, for the single -purpose of increasing my fortune. The present scarcity, -they were well assured, was artificial, and of my own contriving. -I had magazines in different stations on the borders, -which, when the price was risen to the standard of my -avarice, and when half the people had fallen victims to my -inhumanity, I purposed to dispose of to an immense profit.</p> - -<p>Such were the aspersions to which my character became -generally exposed. By the populace, who now experienced -the unsatisfied cravings of hunger, and in whom my proceedings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span> -had excited hope, only to be followed by a more -cruel disappointment, they were greedily credited. Many -who knew their falsehood, were yet zealous to propagate -them. Short as had been my residence in Hungary, I had -made many enemies. It is to be feared that no man can -be assiduous and indefatigable in the service of others, -without incurring that consequence. I employed a great -number of workmen; every one whom for whatever reason -I refused to employ, every one who, being unqualified for -the service I required, looked with an envious eye on the -better fortune of his neighbour, was well disposed to be my -enemy. Persons of no contemptible account in the community -had been excited by expectations of profit to -engage in the importation of corn: these persons viewed -my efforts in the same department with a suspicious eye, -and regarded a man who, however cautious in his proceedings, -was not regulated by the same motive, as a most pernicious -rival. My sudden elevation and importance in the -country were viewed with not more astonishment than -aversion by those whose importance I obscured. They could -not hear with patience of an upstart, a boy, a stranger, -one universally unknown, elbowing out the influence of -all that was most illustrious and venerable in the community, -and robbing them daily of their adherents and -retainers. All these persons left no effort untried to defame -my character.</p> - -<p>The impulse once given, the turbulent disposition of the -populace became every day more formidable. It is much -easier to disseminate a temper of this sort than to quell it: -my opulent foes might take alarm at its excesses, and desire -to undo what they had done; but it was beyond their -power. Every day I feared lest, from threats and invectives, -the populace should proceed to violence: every night -I thought I had reason to congratulate myself, that the day -had passed without waste and spoil committed by them on -the means of their subsistence, or was not marked with the -destruction of their champion and benefactor. In some -places a sort of petty sedition broke out among the labourers -I employed: in the morning they refused to work: why -should a man work, they muttered, when after all he may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span> -starve with the wages of his labour in his possession? At -night they became impatient and furious, and demanded -from my superintendents and storehouse-men the food, -which in the morning they had refused to earn, and were -therefore now unable to purchase. I had already had some -experience in the nature of popular tumults; I had now no -marchese Filosanto at hand to persuade me of their inefficacy; -and, if I had, I should no longer have lent an ear -to his serene and unsuspicious generosity. I felt the reality -of the danger; I saw the storm as it blackened in my horizon, -and was deeply convinced what it would be if it burst -upon my head.</p> - -<p>It may be imagined with what feelings I viewed my -whole design on the point to be subverted, by the unruliness -of those for whose benefit it had been planned. It is true -I had now no darling relations to be involved in my fate, -no incomparable wife, no daughters illustrious in innocence -and beauty; yet my feelings were scarcely less pungent -than they had been at the period of my catastrophe at Pisa. -I had blamed myself in review, that, in my experiments at -Constance, at Dresden, at Pisa, and at Madrid, I had not -commenced upon a sufficiently ample scale, but had suffered -myself to be frustrated by the ingloriousness of my precautions. -That had not been my error in the present -instance; yet my success now promised to be scarcely more -flattering than upon former occasions. I had looked for -happiness as the result of the benevolence and philanthropy -I was exerting; I found only anxiety and a well grounded -fear even for my personal safety. Let no man build on the -expected gratitude of those he spends his strength to serve! -Let him be beneficent if he will; but let him not depend -for his happiness on the conviction of his rectitude and -virtue that is to be impressed on the minds of others! -There is a principle in the human breast, that easily induces -them to regard every thing that can be done for them, -as no more than their due, and speedily discharges them -from the oppressive consciousness of obligation. There is -a levity in the generality of men, that entails on them a -continual oblivion of past benefits, and makes one recent -disappointment of more importance in their eyes than an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span> -eternity of kindnesses and condescension. I shall have -other instances of ingratitude to display in what yet remains -to be related of my story.</p> - -<p>My nights were restless; my thoughts were in arms. -What was it that it became me to do in the present emergency? -Sometimes, in the bitterness of my heart, hating -myself, hating the endowments of the stranger, hating a -race of beings who denied all credit to the most unheard-of -exertions for their advantage, I determined to withdraw -unobserved from my attendants and clients, and bid adieu -to Hungary for ever. But whither was I to fly? What -was I to do next? What experiment could I make of the -purposes to which to apply the philosopher’s stone, that I -had not already made? These questions, to none of which -I could give a satisfactory answer, checked the career of my -passion, and gave pause to my thoughts.</p> - -<p>Whatever I did, I was determined to do nothing rashly, -nor to quit a great experiment without its having been fully -tried. It was no light concern, no trivial child’s-play, in -which I had embarked. I had taken the welfare, perhaps -the existence, of a great and heroic nation under my protection. -In this glorious vocation it did not become me to -be lightly discouraged. What if those I served and saved -did not show themselves sufficiently sensible to the exertions -I made for them? I ought to purify my bosom, on an -occasion like this, from base and ignoble motives, and to -deem myself sufficiently recompensed by my conscious virtue. -What if the service in which I had engaged now -appeared to be a service of hazard and peril? Is there -any great undertaking that can be separated from this condition? -If hastily, from cowardice, from pique, or from -any other motive, I deserted the business on which I had -entered, what was to become of my mistaken indeed, but -in that case most unfortunate clients? The greater was -the crisis to which they were exposed, the more were unremitted -vigilance and uncommon powers necessary to guide -them amidst its rocks and its quicksands. I saw thousands -of men who for several weeks had fed, as it were, from the -stores of my bounty. By a propensity inseparable from the -human heart, I became attached to the work of my meditations,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span> -and the labour of my thoughts. All their fickleness, -their injustice, even the atrocious calumnies they admitted -and propagated against me, could not wean my -attachment from beings, a great portion of whom, but for -my interference, would, I believed, long ere this have expired -of hunger.</p> - -<p>In the peculiar and urgent circumstances in which I -found myself, no expedient was so obvious as that of calling -in the interference of the government under which I lived. -It was necessary that the resources of national subsistence -should be defended from the wanton spoil of those who, -when they were annihilated, must inevitably perish. It -was necessary that the benefactor of Hungary, who, I flattered -myself, was still able to watch effectively for her -advantage, should be protected from her misguided resentment. -The alternative was singularly painful to my feelings. -The pride with which my unparalleled endowments inspired -me, was deeply wounded, when I was compelled to confess -that I was not alone equal to the task I had undertaken, -and that I must submit to call in a foreign auxiliary. I -augured little favourable from the interference of government, -which, if I implored, I could scarcely expect to -guide, which was not likely to submit to my principle of -rendering its interference the mildest and smallest that the -nature of the case would admit; but, puffed up with presumption, -and intoxicated with authority, would probably -leave no concern of the public welfare uninvaded. Least -of all, could I anticipate much of good from a Turkish government. -But what could I do? I could discover no -other expedient. Influenced by the views I have recited, -I had hitherto kept myself as far from the observation of -the political directors of the state as I could. But my -cautiousness and reserve were now at an end. With my -eyes open I exposed myself to all the evils that might attend -on my proceeding.</p> - -<p>I determined to apply to the bashaw of the province. -Previously to my taking this step, I had the precaution to -enquire his character. He was the genuine offspring of the -Turkish system of government. His name was Muzaffer -Bey. He was originally a Circassian slave; then a Janissary;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span> -and, rising by insensible gradation, had at length been -appointed bashaw of Buda, which, as being the immediate -frontier between Austria and the Porte, was at this time -the most arduous situation in the gift of the sultan. He -was esteemed a good soldier; he had been early distinguished -by his dexterity in military exercises; he had since -seen much service; and, in every situation in which he was -placed, had earned commendation and honour. He was -abstemious and hardy; for himself, he neither pampered -his appetites nor shrunk from severity; and he had as little -indulgence for those under his command as for his own person. -Yet he was indebted for his present eminence more to -the arts of the courtier, than to his merits in the field. His -chief care had ever been to recommend himself to those -above him, and to obtain the good will of his equals; for -the opinion of his inferiors he gave himself little concern. -With considerable ability, he laboured under no check from -either principle or ingenuous pride; and therefore was -extremely successful in his attacks on the inclination of -those he sought. The habits of his mind had modified the -lines of his countenance and the tones of his voice. Except -to his dependants and the poor he almost always spoke with -a smile upon his face, and his enunciation was silver-tongued, -oily, copious, and insinuating. If he ever adopted -a different manner, the variation was only in the means -not the end; and, when he seemed to travel by an opposite -road, the goal at which he aimed was the same. He never -consulted any oracle but that of his apparent interest; if he -had any insolence in his nature, he regarded his slaves and -those under his military command as affording a sufficient -sphere for its exercise; he had no affections to disturb him -from his bent; he had no passions but the self-complacency -of superior cunning, and the sordid love of pelf.</p> - -<p>This account of the man with whom I had to deal was -far from encouraging; but I had no alternative. I sent to -signify my desire to confer with him; or, to speak more -accurately, to ask, in the Eastern manner when it would be -agreeable to him to receive a present of which I requested -his acceptance. He appointed the morning of the following -day. I prepared a gift, such as might tend to conciliate his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span> -favour, without marking in the donor the possession of -immoderate wealth. It consisted of silks and muslins, with -a small piece of plate of exquisite workmanship. My -present was borne by two of my servants. We were -ushered to the bashaw in his private apartment; there were -two or three persons in attendance upon him. They examined -my present together; and, without condescending -to express much approbation, I could nevertheless discern -that the bashaw was pleased with it. This ceremony concluded; -Muzaffer ordered what I had brought to be taken -into a different apartment; and, every other person withdrawing, -we were left alone.</p> - -<p>While the bashaw was examining my gift, I took the -opportunity of considering his person. He appeared to be -about sixty years of age; his complexion dark and muddy; -his features coarse and distorted; his mustachoes remarkably -large; his person, though bony and muscular, considerably -below the middle size; and his figure ungainly and -ungraceful. I felt surprised that such a man should ever -have been an excellent soldier, or have risen from a low -rank to one of the first situations of the empire. To look -at him, he seemed better formed for the vice of a comedy, -than the ruler of a nation. He raised his eyes towards me -askance, as he sat leaning on his elbow, and said,</p> - -<p>“You call yourself—?”</p> - -<p>“The sieur de Chatillon.”</p> - -<p>“And your age—?”</p> - -<p>“Is two and twenty.”</p> - -<p>“I am glad you are come to me. I intended to have -sent for you, and you have saved me the trouble.”</p> - -<p>I made many apologies for my intrusion, but added -that I had a petition to prefer, and I hoped he would favour -me with a hearing.</p> - -<p>“Not at all, not at all; do not call it an intrusion: it -is necessary I should be acquainted with you.” He proceeded:—</p> - -<p>“You have undertaken to confer great benefits on the -subjects of the grand signior, my master; to rescue them -from famine. Young, rich, a stranger, unknown to my -master, unknown to his subjects, I understand that you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span> -have spared no labour or expense to bring about their welfare. -This is really a very extraordinary case; your merit -is unprecedented; I do not feel myself competent to reward -it.”</p> - -<p>I answered that I laid no claim to uncommon merit; -that every temper had its particular gratifications; and that -I found as real a luxury in the proceedings he had remarked, -as other men did in the excesses of the table, or -the promiscuous enjoyments of the harem.</p> - -<p>“It is out of my power,” continued he, “to remunerate -you as you deserve; I must send you to Constantinople.”</p> - -<p>I perceived that this was the first essay of his artifice. -I informed him which I have no doubt he knew well enough -before, that I had no desire to go to Constantinople. I -wished to remain where I was, and to finish what I had -begun.</p> - -<p>“What, you have not done then?” suddenly and with -an abrupt voice exclaimed the bashaw. “By Mahomet, a -man of a reasonable appetite in your place might be satisfied. -Have not you filled the streets with riots, and the -country with rebellion? Do not the populace assemble in -crowds, insulting every one they meet, and talking of nothing -but fire and devastation, the bowstring and the -cimeter? Be so good, my dear sir; as to inform me what -further you may have in view?”</p> - -<p>“Reverend bashaw,” cried I with submission, yet with -firmness, “I have none of these things in view. But a -moment ago you did justice to my intentions. They are -those of beneficence, and beneficence only.”</p> - -<p>“I know nothing about that. I have nothing to do -with honest men’s blunders; I look to the effects they produce.”</p> - -<p>“These effects, most mighty sir, are temporary; they -are the clouds that will often obscure for an instant the -brightest sunshine. Condescend to lend me your generous -assistance, and all will be well.”</p> - -<p>“Do not tell me of clouds and sunshine. This is, to -my thinking, not an April shower, but an earthquake and -a hurricane. If we are all to be swallowed up or whirled -into the air, it is no consolation to me, that the day after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[388]</a></span> -we are gone, every thing shall be as fair and serene as -paradise itself.”</p> - -<p>“Remember, sir, that when I came into Hungary, I -found its inhabitants in the most desperate condition, miserable, -wasted and starving. Have I not already suspended -this evil for months?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I do remember. You are one of those busy-bodies, -who never see an evil without imagining they are -the persons to correct it, intruding into every thing, and -subverting every thing. The superintendence of the public -welfare is a mystery to which none are competent, but those -whom Mahomet has raised to the situation of statesmen. -Your interference is blasphemy against the spirit of our -religion, and deserves to be encountered with the most -exemplary punishment.”</p> - -<p>“Good God! then, is it in this country a crime to feed -the hungry, to clothe the naked, and shelter the houseless?”</p> - -<p>“Sieur de Chatillon,” retorted the bashaw, “you appear -to be unacquainted with the maxims of Turkish policy, the -wisest and most beneficent in the world. If none of the -disturbances had happened at which I have so much reason -to be alarmed, still, in relieving the people in the manner -you have done, you have incurred the guilt of high treason -against the sultan. Know, sir, that, through the whole -extent of his dominions, there is but one proprietor, -and that is our illustrious monarch. You say, that you -wish to be the benefactor of his subjects, and the judge of -your own proceedings: such sentiments are direct rebellion -against the glorious constitution of Ottoman. The sovereign -of Constantinople will have no benefactor in the -countries he presides over, but himself. Like the invisible -ruler of the universe, he acts by second causes; he allows -his ministers to be the instruments of his beneficence; but -all must be ascribed to him, must flow from his will, and -be placed under his control. You, who have formed a plan -of public benefit without consulting him, and have presumed, -like a luminary of the world, to move in an orbit -of your own, have in strictness of construction forfeited your -life to his justice; and I consult rather the clemency of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[389]</a></span> -nature than the maxims of his policy, if I suffer you to go -from this palace with your head upon your shoulders.”</p> - -<p>Without permitting myself to be too much moved by the -imperious language addressed to me, I complained to the -bashaw of the rigorous and arbitrary character of what he -stated to be the maxims of the Turkish government. I -solemnly protested that I had no private or personal object -in view. The effect of my operations would be to give -new strength and energy to his master’s dominions. By -diffusing happiness among his subjects, by reviving industry, -and scattering plenty, prosperity, and ease, all disaffection -would be rooted out; and the people, who are never -minute in scanning the cause of their enjoyments, would -bless the sceptre under which they were made to participate -such manifold benefits. If the policy of the divan led them -in any degree to interfere, they ought rather to crown my -measures with their applause, than wantonly to throw obstacles -in the way of what I purposed. I asked however -no reward, I demanded no favour for myself; all I desired -was that the sultan would assist me in securing to his people -those benefits, the dissemination of which I had so -auspiciously begun.</p> - -<p>The bashaw, without taking any direct notice of this -expostulation, answered, that I was not aware of the maxims -of his government, to which, in consideration of my seeming -generosity and rectitude, he was willing to give the mildest -interpretation. “It is however,” continued he, “to the -last degree idle in you to imagine, that you can be permitted -to go on unobserved, and that the sultan and his representatives -are to take no account of your proceeding. The great -instrument for ruling mankind is by their passions and -their opinions. The man from whom they believe they -have the most to fear and the most to hope, will always be -their master. Whatever be your secret or your professed -designs, you go on from day to day making yourself partisans, -and enlisting the subjects of the sultan among your -personal retainers. What security has he for your submission -and loyalty? How shall he know that, when you -have acquired the advantages of a powerful leader, you will -not go over to the enemy, or, in the present distracted condition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[390]</a></span> -of the province, even have the audacity to set up for -yourself? If therefore, by an unexampled clemency of -construction, I decline to reduce you into the passive machine -of my master’s will, it is at least incumbent on me, -that I should take account of your powers, and possess myself -of the schedule of your property. By this means only -can I watch your progress, and take care that you do not -suddenly become too powerful for a subject. Are you prepared -to satisfy me on this head?”</p> - -<p>On this question I hesitated for a moment; I had not -exactly anticipated the enquiry; at length I requested the -delay of a few days, and then I promised that all his demands -should be satisfied. The bashaw resumed:—</p> - -<p>“Sieur de Chatillon, I remark your hesitation, and I -draw from it no favourable augury. These indirect and -involuntary indications are more worthy of my attention -than all the studied and elaborate information you shall -think proper to give me. Sir, you are a man of darkness, -and every thing that relates to you is enveloped in mystery. -You come hither with no apparent motive; you have no -connections of blood in Hungary; you have no acquaintance -with any eminent person of the Hungarian nation. I -have had my spies on you, though I have not hitherto -thought proper to summon you to my presence. You have -purchased no property in the province; I cannot learn that -you have any correspondences or resources from abroad. I -have been at the pains to procure an account of your expenditure -during the three months you have resided among -us; much of that expenditure has been obscure, clandestine, -and indirect; but I believe you will find my estimate, -which you are at liberty to inspect and remark upon, tolerably -correct. Your disbursements for three months, -exceed the amount of two years’ income of the richest subject -that even the credulous monarchs of Christendom suffer -within their dominions. What am I to think of this? How -can I be sufficiently vigilant respecting a man, whose expenditure -is immense, and whose wealth can neither be -traced to its source, nor ascertained in its amount?”</p> - -<p>I was not slow in conjecturing the result which the -bashaw proposed to himself from our present conference. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[391]</a></span> -was confirmed in my conjecture by the circumstance of his -choosing that the discussion between us should be apart -from all witnesses. He regarded me as a boy, and had -therefore practised upon me all those arts which might -most effectually excite in me fear and alarm. He found -however that, under the external indications of youth and -inexperience, I possessed the wariness that added years most -powerfully inculcate, and the self-possession of a mind thoroughly -awake to its situation and its resources. This -must have been to the minister before whom I stood a -memorable phenomenon. But curiosity is not a Turkish -passion; and the single object of the bashaw in the present -instance, was to make the mysteriousness of my circumstances -a pretext for extorting money. I submitted with -as little seeming reluctance as possible to the necessity of -the case; I requested the good offices of Muzaffer to protect -my benefactions; and begged permission to make him -the compliment of a handsome sum of money, by way of -convincing him that I was worthy of his friendship.</p> - -<p>This business was easily adjusted between us. I found -him perfectly skilled in the duties of a public office, and -by no means under the dominion of visionary scruples. He -told me he was now convinced that I was a well meaning -man, and a good subject; he said, that nothing could tend -more effectually to demonstrate my innocence, than my -showing that I understood the duties and concerns of a -minister of state; and that for his own part he was never -so happy, as when he was thus able to reconcile his private -interests with the good and faithful service of his master. -There was nothing that demanded a more unremitted vigilance, -or a more skilful management, than such a situation -as his; and it would be most unreasonable, either in the -sovereign that appointed him, or the subjects over whom he -was placed, to expect him to be indifferent to the emoluments -and perquisites of his function. He complimented -me warmly upon the disinterestedness and liberality of my -exertions. He thought himself particularly fortunate in -having so public-spirited an individual within the circuit -of his jurisdiction. In fine, he hoped he should be honoured -with my personal acquaintance, and assured me that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[392]</a></span> -nothing could make him more happy than the frequent repetition -of my visits.</p> - -<p>We now perfectly understood one another; and it was -apparent that I had to do with a man, who, for what he -deemed an adequate consideration, would willingly lend me -the authority and countenance of his office, and suffer me -to guide him in any of the functions I might conceive necessary -for the execution of my projects. Guards were -agreed to be placed upon the magazines where corn was -still contained, and from place to place on the banks of -the rivers, where the depredations of a misguided populace -were most to be apprehended. Finding the bashaw so -perfectly willing to comply with my requisitions, I further -obtained from him the direction of several squadrons of -cavalry for the protection of the crops, which from the consequences -of my interference now began on all sides to -variegate the scene. This was a most important service. -When the corn was first committed to the earth, it was out -of the reach of military devastation. But, as time glided -silently on, the case became materially altered; the enemy -might from forecast desire to reap the harvest of what he -had not sown, or from malice to destroy that without which -the Turk would perhaps be unable to retain his newly acquired -territory. This had in reality been the principal -cause, before my arrival in Hungary, of the very general -neglect into which agriculture had fallen. Muzaffer, than -whom no person could now be more polite and condescending, -allowed me to determine the number and nature of the -troops I required; and added that, though he could not -openly put them under my direction, the slightest intimation -I might think proper to convey to him, should at any -time decide their march, and regulate their quarters.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> - -<p>In my conference with the bashaw I may seem to have -secured more than one point of material importance;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[393]</a></span> -yet it was difficult for any man to be in a state less consolatory -or more full of danger and menace, than I was at -this moment. By my vigilance and the power which thus -I had acquired, I prevented indeed the inhabitants from -wantonly destroying the means of their own subsistence; -but, the more I was their benefactor, the more I appeared -to become odious to their thoughts. My negotiation with -the bashaw, whatever other benefit might accrue from it, -did not tend to increase the resources of the country; I was -obliged to witness many scenes of wretchedness. He that -would assist mankind in their adversity, must harden his -heart to be the spectator of the distress that he can, and that -he cannot, relieve. But whatever I beheld of this sort, the -majority of the bystanders obstinately persisted to ascribe -to my deliberate malignity. The military aid I found myself -necessitated to introduce by no means tended to disarm -the prejudices of my clients. In one or two instances, but -no more, slight tumults arose, and a few of the rioters fell -a prey to their own wickedness and folly. These misfortunes -were cast as reproach upon me; and I was pursued -with clamours and curses. I found it requisite to obtain a -guard for my person. I was abhorred by those for whom -all my vigilance was exerted, and insulted by the mouths -that I supplied with the necessaries of existence.</p> - -<p>Nor was this my only source of alarm and uneasiness in -my present situation. I was by no means a dupe to the -ostentatious civility of the bashaw. I perfectly understood -his insinuation when he invited the frequent repetition of -my visits. I knew that, however dearly I purchased his -friendship and patronage, I should still have to purchase -them again and again. His extortions upon me admitted -of no limits, except from his own modesty, or the estimate -he might form of my invisible resources. Bribery itself -afforded me no complete security; and, now that I had become -an object of curiosity and remark, he had sufficiently -shown me I was at the mercy of his caprice, or that of his -master, for my liberty, and even for my life.</p> - -<p>Yet, could I have resolved to quit Hungary, and seek -the protection of some more regular government, what benefit -should I derive from a removal? Mystery was the great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[394]</a></span> -and unconquerable bane of my situation, and from the poisonous -influence of mystery, the most regular system of -government was not competent to protect me. It would be -idle to imagine that, in any country on earth, a stranger -would be permitted to launch into such expenses as those -in which I was engaged, without becoming an object of -suspicion, and being made liable to continual interruption -in his measures. Yet, unless allowed to use the resources -I possessed, of what advantage was it to be the depository -of wealth without a bound? Was it to be wished for a -man under my circumstances, to have a family, or to be -without a family? When I had one, I found the legacy of -the stranger robbing me of every comfort of that sort, with -the most calamitous aggravations. When I was stripped -of wife and children, though no man could prize those benefits -more dearly than I prized them, I took to myself the -consolation, that at least now I should risk no one’s happiness -but my own; and that, for a person exercising my -endowments, it was perhaps requisite to be free from every -shackle and incumbrance. I found however the topic from -which I had consoled myself, in reality the source of a new -misfortune. I had the wealth of a nobleman; but I was -deprived of his adventitious attributes. I had no illustrious -ancestry to boast; I had neither lineage nor parent; I had -neither wife nor children, in whom mutually to reflect and -see reflected the elevatedness and generosity of my station. -I had not even the ordinary advantage, which is within the -reach of almost every man, of connections and acquaintance, -friends handed down to me as a branch of my patrimonial -inheritance, friends whose value experience enabled -me to ascertain, and friends with whom long habits of familiarity -had given birth to reciprocal endearment. The -bashaw had imputed to me the design of forming a party. -Alas! these, which are the great materials for cementing -party attachments, were totally denied me. I had no bonds -of alliance but those which money afforded, the coarsest, the -meanest, the least flattering, and the most brittle of those -ligatures, that afford the semblance of uniting man with -man.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[395]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> - -<p>Aware of the difficulties which unavoidably sprung out of -the nature of my situation, I resolved immediately to endeavour -to supply them to the best of my power. I conceived -that there was no consideration so urgent upon me -at the present moment, as that I should without loss of -time create to myself connections that might balance and -keep at bay the sallies of arbitrary rule, and that I should -weave with my own hand the cords of friendship.</p> - -<p>I had no sooner formed this project, than an individual -suggested himself to my reflections, whom I judged to be, -by a singular concurrence of circumstances, happily fitted -to be the subject of my experiment, and admirably qualified -to afford me protection in the most unfavourable events. -The name of this man was Bethlem Gabor. He had been -some time before brought to me by one of his friends, and -he was a man whom for a thousand reasons it was impossible -to see and converse with, without receiving the most -indelible impression. He was the lineal representative of -one of the most illustrious houses in Hungary. His vocation, -like that of the majority of the Hungarian nobility, -had been arms; but, in the midst of a fraternity all of -whom were warlike, he stood conspicuous and alone. His -courage, though cool and deliberate, almost mounted to a -degree of desperate rashness; and the fertility of his invention, -and the variety of his stratagems did not fall short -of his courage. The celerity of his measures was equally -distinguished; distance was no bar to him; and he had -no sooner conceived a project, however arduous, than it was -executed. He had formed under his own eye a band of -men like himself, impetuous yet deliberate, swift in execution, -silent in march, invincible to hardship, contemners -of fatigue, of difficulties, of hunger, and of thirst. When -introduced to me, he was upwards of fifty years of age. -He was more than six feet in stature; and yet he was built -as if it had been a colossus, destined to sustain the weight -of the starry heavens. His voice was like thunder; and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[396]</a></span> -never uttered a word, but it seemed to shake his manly chest. -His head and chin were clothed with a thick and shaggy hair, -in colour a dead black. He had suffered considerable mutilation -in the services through which he had passed; of -one of his hands three fingers were gone; the sight of his -right eye was extinguished, and the cheek half shot away, -while the same explosion had burned his complexion into a -colour that was universally dun or black. His nose was -scarred, and his lips were thick and large. Bethlem Gabor, -though universally respected for the honour and magnanimity -of a soldier, was not less remarkable for habits of -reserve and taciturnity. But these habits misfortune had -caused to become more deeply ingrafted in his nature. -During one of his military excursions, a party of marauders -had in his absence surprised his castle, burned it to the -ground, and savagely murdered his wife and children, -and every living creature within the walls. The same -stroke that rendered him childless made him also a beggar. -He had been regarded for his proceedings as an adherent -to the Turkish standard, but he had always tenaciously -maintained the most complete independence. The adversity -that had now fallen upon him was too great. He -would not become a pensioner of the sultan; despair had -taken fast possession of his heart. He disbanded the body -of men he had formed, and wandered a solitary outcast -upon the face of his country. For some time he seemed to -have a savage complacence in conceiving that the evil he -had suffered was past all remedy, and in spurning at those -palliations and disguises with which vulgar souls are -accustomed to assuage their woe. Yet the energy of his -nature would not suffer him to rest: he wandered an outcast; -but every day engendered some new thought or passion: -and it appeared probable that he would not yet quit -the stage of existence till he had left behind him the remembrances -of a terrible and desolating revenge.</p> - -<p>It may seem strange that such a man as I have described -should be the individual I selected out of the whole -Hungarian nation to make my friend. It may seem that -his qualities were better adapted to repel than attract. My -choice would not appear strange, if the reader could have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[397]</a></span> -conversed with him, as I did. He was hideous to the sight; -and he never addressed himself to speak, that I did not -feel my very heart shudder within me. Seldom did he -allow himself to open his thoughts; but, when he did, -great God! what supernatural eloquence seemed to inspire -and enshroud him! Not that upon such occasions he was -copious and Ciceronian, but that every muscle and every -limb seemed to live, and to quiver with the thoughts he -expressed. The hearer could not refuse to venerate, as -well as fear him. I never pitied him; Bethlem Gabor’s -was a soul that soared to a sightless distance above the -sphere of pity; I can scarcely say I sympathised with him; -but, when I listened to his complaints, rather let me say -his invectives, I was astonished, overwhelmed, and motionless. -The secret of the effects he thus produced, lay -in his own way of feeling the incidents he described. Look -at him, when he sat alone, wrapped in meditation, you -would say, “That is a man of iron; though adversity pour -her fiercest darts upon him, he is invulnerable; he is of -too colossal a structure to be accessible to human feelings -and human affections.” Listen to his narrative, or rather -to the bursts of passion, which with him supplied the place -and performed the functions of narrative, you would soon -confess your mistake. While he spoke, he ceased to be a -man, and became something more amazing. When he alluded -to what he had endured, you did not compassionate -him, for you felt that he was a creature of another nature; -but you confessed, that never man seemed to have suffered -so much, or to savour with such bitterness the cup of woe. -He did not love his wife or his children as any other man -would do; he probably never dandled or fondled them; his -love was speechless; and disdaining the common modes of -exhibition, it might sometimes be mistaken for indifference. -But it brooded over and clung round his heart; and, when -it was disturbed, when the strong ties of domestic charity -were by the merciless hand of war snapped asunder, you -then saw its voluminous folds spread and convulsed before -you, gigantic and immeasurable. He cursed their murderers; -he cursed mankind; he rose up in fierce defiance -of eternal providence; and your blood curdled within you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[398]</a></span> -as he spoke. Such was Bethlem Gabor: I could not help -admiring him: his greatness excited my wonder and my -reverence; and, while his manners awed and overwhelmed -me, I felt an inexplicable attachment to his person still increasing -in my bosom.</p> - -<p>On his part, my kindness and partiality appeared scarcely -less pleasing to Bethlem Gabor, than his character and -discourse were fascinating to me. He had found himself -without a confidant or a friend. His wife and his children -in a certain degree understood him; and, though he had -an atmosphere of repulsion beyond which no mortal ever -penetrated, they came to the edge of that, and rested there; -they trembled involuntarily at his aspect, but at the same -time they adored and they loved him. The rest of the -world viewed him from a more fearful distance; respected -him, but dared not even in fancy be familiar with him. -When therefore he lost his family, he lost his all. He -roamed the earth in solitude, and all men made room for -him as he passed. I was the first who, since the fatal -event that had made him childless and a beggar, had -courted his society, and invited his communications. I -had dared to take the lion by the paw, and seat myself -next him in his den. There was a similarity in our fortunes -that secretly endeared him to me. We had each by -the malice of a hostile destiny, though in a very different -manner, been deprived of our families; we were each of -us alone. Fated each to be hereafter for ever alone; we -blended ourselves the one with the other as perfectly as we -could. Often over our gloomy bowl we mingled groans, -and sweetened our draught as we drank it with maledictions. -In the school of Bethlem Gabor I became acquainted -with the delights of melancholy—-of a melancholy, -not that contracted, but that swelled the soul—of a melancholy -that looked down upon the world with indignation, -and that relieved its secret load with curses and execrations. -We frequently continued whole nights in the participation -of these bitter joys; and were surprised, still at our serious -board, by the light of the morrow’s sun.</p> - -<p>I have now, I believe, fully accounted for our intimacy, -and displayed the ligatures that secretly bound us to each<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[399]</a></span> -other. It is scarcely necessary to add, that my understanding -confirmed what my heart impelled. Bethlem -Gabor appeared to me the fittest man in the world upon -whom to fix for my friend. We were qualified mutually -to benefit each other. My kindness, my unremitted attentions, -the earnestness with which I listened to and -soothed his griefs, mitigated their agony. I proposed, -when I could once more reconcile and incite him to activity, -to repair his castle, and restore his fortune. On -the other hand, he was, of all the persons I could have -pitched upon, the ablest to protect me. By his birth he -ranked among the first men of his country; by his ability, -at least as a partisan soldier, a character at that time highly -esteemed, he rose above them all.</p> - -<p>For some time I regarded Bethlem Gabor as entirely -my friend, and I consulted him in every thing, in which, -compatibly with the legacy of the stranger of the summer-house, -I could consult him. I told him of the suspicions of -the bashaw, and the precariousness of my safety. I demanded -his advice as to the best method of securing it. -Ought I to regard it as a more effectual or as a cheaper -expedient, to attempt to purchase the countenance of the -sultan, instead of condescending to bribe his minister? -Ought I to set up for myself, and by rendering myself the -independent prince of one of the Hungarian provinces, -defy the Turk, or at least endeavour to negotiate with him -from a more respectable and commanding situation? I -said more than enough under these heads, as it afterwards -appeared, to awaken strange imaginations in a mind of so -much penetration as that of Bethlem Gabor. In fine, I -demanded of him whether, in case of any great and formidable -danger falling on me, he would to the utmost of his -power afford me protection? When the question was first -started, he swore to me with his customary impressiveness -and energy that he would.</p> - -<p>While I was thus employed in consulting him, and -opening to him as far as was practicable my prospects and -fears, I did not less succeed in dissipating or suspending -the despair of his melancholy. It was of benefit to him -in this respect, that, by opening to him my affairs, I from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[400]</a></span> -time to time called off his attention from his personal misfortunes. -I proposed to him the rebuilding his castle, and -I at length obtained his permission to send off a corps of -workmen for that purpose. Beside the castle in which his -wife and children had been murdered, and which the -marauders had nearly destroyed, he had one considerably -stronger, though void of all recommendation from cheerfulness -or beauty, in the more northerly part of the kingdom. -This we visited together. I restored the condition -of his fields; with considerable difficulty I replaced the -cattle he had lost, by purchases in Poland; and I revived -his dilapidated revenues. At first he felt an invincible -repugnance to the receiving any advantage from the bounty -of another; but by continual remonstrances I was able to persuade -him, that he owed me nothing, and that what I did -was no more than was required from me by a regard for -my own safety.</p> - -<p>If ever on the face of the earth there lived a misanthrope, -Bethlem Gabor was the man. Never for a moment did he -forget or forgive the sanguinary catastrophe of his family; -and for his own misfortunes he seemed to have vowed vengeance -against the whole human race. He almost hated -the very face of man; and, when expressions of cheerfulness, -peace, and contentment discovered themselves in his -presence, I could see, by the hideous working of his features, -that his spirit experienced intolerable agonies. To him -such expressions were tones horribly discordant; all was -uproar and havoc within his own bosom, and the gaiety of -other men inspired him with sentiments of invincible antipathy. -He never saw a festive board without an inclination -to overturn it; or a father encircled with a smiling family, -without feeling his soul thrill with suggestions of murder. -Something, I know not what, withheld his hand: it might -be some remaining atom of humanity: it might be—for -his whole character was contemplative and close—it might -be that he regarded that as a pitiful and impotent revenge, -which should cause him the next hour to be locked up as a -madman, or put to death as criminal. Horrible as was his -personal aspect, and wild and savage as was his mind, yet, -as I have already said, I felt myself attached to him. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[401]</a></span> -knew that all the unsocial propensities that animated him, -were the offspring of love, were the sentiments of a lioness -bereaved of her young; and I found an undescribable and -exhaustless pleasure in examining the sublime desolation of -a mighty soul.</p> - -<p>Bethlem Gabor had at first regarded me with some degree -of partiality. Kindness in almost all cases begets kindness; -he could not see how much I interested myself about and -how much I courted him, without feeling for me a sentiment -different from that he confessed for other men. I saw -however after some time, with inexpressible grief, that his -regard for me, instead of increasing, suffered perceptible -diminution. Our propensities were opposed to each other. -He rejoiced in disorder and desolation as in his congenial -element; my present pursuit was the restoration of public -order and prosperity. He repeatedly expostulated with me -on this. I had sometimes in our conversations, in the bitterness -of my recollections, exclaimed on myself as the -most unfortunate and most persecuted of men, though -without entering into an explanation of my sufferings. He -reminded me of these exclamations. He reproached me as -a contemptible and pusillanimous wretch, that I did not, -like him, resolve amply and memorably to revenge my own -sufferings upon my species at large. In his estimate, the -poorest and most servile of all maxims was, that of the -author of the christian religion, to repay injury with favour, -and curses with benediction.</p> - -<p>I perceived with grief that the kindness towards me that -had been excited in Bethlem Gabor’s mind, rather declined -than augmented; but I was very far from being aware of -the degree in which, as I afterwards found, this sentiment -had relapsed into its opposite. It seems, I inflicted on him -a daily torture by my daily efforts for the dissemination of -happiness. Of these he had not been at first completely -aware. His mind had been too much absorbed in its own -feelings to attend very distinctly to any thing I did, unless -it were done in his presence. But, in proportion as I -soothed his sorrows, and made him my confidant, the film -was removed; and all that he saw had the peculiar misfortune -to excite at once his contempt and his rage. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[402]</a></span> -finishing stroke that I gave to the animosity which, unknown -to me, was now brooding and engendering in his -breast, consisted in my bestowing an important benefit -upon one, against whom he had entertained a long and -eternal feud.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> - -<p>While Bethlem Gabor became every day more confirmed -in his antipathy against me, I reposed in him an unsuspecting -confidence—a confidence more extensive than -I had, since the singular and fatal acquisition I had made, -reposed in any other man. Frequently for a considerable -time together he resided under my roof; frequently we -went forth together in those excursions which either my -projects or his views rendered it necessary for us to make. -In his character of a nobleman of great consideration in -his native country, he was now rising like a phœnix from -its ashes. His castles were repairing; his property was -restored; the list of his retainers daily became more numerous; -he revived and carefully recruited the martial -band, which, in the first exacerbations of his despair, he -had dismissed from his service. My purse and all that I -had were his; he never made a demand upon me that I -did not instantly supply; I reaped a particular pleasure -from the largeness and frequency of his requisitions; there -was nothing for which I was more anxious, than to bind -him to me in indissoluble ties of gratitude and affection.</p> - -<p>Little, alas! did I understand the compound of tenderness -and ferocity, of decisiveness and inscrutability, with -which I was now concerned. My friend, such I esteemed -him, had been absent some time; I expected his return -to my residence at Buda; and anxious to pay him every -mark of attention and respect, I set out to meet him. It -was scarcely safe, during the existing hostilities between -the Austrians and the Turks, to travel any where without -a guard; I had the precaution in the present instance to -take with me an attendance of twenty men.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[403]</a></span></p> - -<p>It was after having partaken of a slight and early dinner -that I set out on my excursion. The season was remarkably -fine, and the air genial and balsamic. I scarcely ever -commenced any tour with more agreeable sensations. The -harvest was already ripe; and, as I passed along, I saw -reapers from time to time entering upon the first essay of -their interesting occupation. I felt that I had at length -surmounted one of those difficulties, with which I had been -so strongly assailed, and to which I had refused to yield. -If I were not free from apprehensions from the arbitrary -nature of the government under which I lived, I believed -however that I had nothing further to dread from the -misconstruction and animosity of the nation I preserved. -My anxiety as to whether I should be able to substantiate -the benefit I had sought to confer, was at an end; and I -had little doubt that, with the plenteous crops which were -on the point of being gathered, my popularity would return, -and the gratitude of my clients become more ardent -than ever. It was a delicious enjoyment that I now experienced; -the pleasures that the eye unavoidably takes in -from the spectacle of a luxuriant autumn, became blended -in my mind with the ideas of famine put to flight, my own -rectitude vindicated, and the benevolent purposes realised, -the prosecution of which had cost me so profound a heartache.</p> - -<p>We at length passed the lines of the soldiers planted for -the defence of the soil against the depredations of the -enemy. I had calculated that I should meet my guest a -few leagues from Buda; I was deceived in my estimate. -The day however of his arrival was fixed; I could not be -mistaken in his route; I resolved not to turn back without -meeting him. The road I took led upon the borders of -that part of Hungary which owned the Austrian yoke; -the shades of night were fast gathering round us, and we -heard at a distance the alarm-guns and the drums of the -enemy. I was not however a novice in the appearances of -a country, the seat of military excursions and war; and, if -my mind were not wholly free from perturbation and -uncertainty, I at least resolved not to be turned aside from -my purpose. We travelled two hours longer; still no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[404]</a></span> -notice of the approach of Bethlem Gabor. At length a -question was started whether we were still in the right -road, and I thought it advisable to hold a sort of council -of war to deliberate respecting our further proceedings. -Having assembled my attendants for that purpose, I was -now first struck with the apprehensions and timidity which -they unanimously betrayed. They had been drawn out -rather for show, and to keep accidental stragglers in awe, -than with the expectation of actual service. I became sensible -that nothing was to be hoped from their resistance in -the event of an action; and the utmost I could aim at was -in the mean time to hold them together by the sentiment -of a common danger.</p> - -<p>It was resolved to return; I began to be apprehensive -that Bethlem Gabor had been prevented by some unexpected -occurrence from observing his appointment. Scarcely had -we faced about, before we heard a body of cavalry approaching -us. I called to my party to halt. I soon discerned, -from symptoms not difficult to be remarked by a -careful observer, that the party at hand was composed of -Austro-Hungarians. We had every thing to fear from -them. I held myself bound under these circumstances first -to make experiment of the fleetness of our horses. I -however charged my people to keep together, and not to -suffer the enemy, by means of our inadvertence and folly, -to make an easy prize of us one after another. In a short -time I found that our pursuers sensibly gained ground upon -us. I was mounted upon an excellent beast, and could -easily have rode away from my troop, while they would -have been placed as a sort of intercepting object between -me and the enemy. But I had too much of a military -spirit not instantly to reject so inglorious an expedient. I -called a second time to my attendants to halt. I judged -that the party of our antagonists was less numerous than -ours. I was convinced that our common safety depended -upon our concerted resistance. Filled with the gallantry -that my situation inspired, I did not perceive, till it was too -late, that my present call to halt was attended to by few; -even those few rather hung back, divided between apprehension -and shame. I was the foremost, and, before I was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[405]</a></span> -aware, I found myself, through the means of the darkness, -enveloped by the enemy. From my appearance they -judged that I was the master, and the rest my attendants; -they contented themselves therefore with the prize they had -made, and did not give themselves the trouble to pursue -the fugitives. They eagerly enquired of me who I was; -and, comparing my answers with various circumstances -which rumour had brought to their ear, they easily concluded -that I was the rich stranger of Buda. The character -they had heard of me did not produce in these freebooters -any sentiments of forbearance, or demonstrations of respect; -the only point about which persons of their habits were -concerned, was how they should make the greatest advantage -of what the fortune of war had thrown in their -way.</p> - -<p>While they were consulting, and various expedients were -started by one and another for this purpose, a second alarm -was given, and one of the party being despatched to reconnoitre, -presently returned with intelligence, that the persons -approaching were horsemen of the enemy, and that they -amounted, as he guessed, to forty in number. Upon this -information the party whose prisoner I was, agreed to return -with all expedition by the way they had come, and -commanded me upon pain of death to proceed in their -company. This menace had not the effect to deprive me of -courage or presence of mind; and I easily conceived that -the readiest way to deliver myself from my embarrassment -would be to join at the first opportunity the band of Turco-Hungarians, -whose approach had occasioned our sudden -retreat. The darkness of the night was favourable to my -purpose; and, taking advantage of a sudden winding in -the road, I slackened all at once the pace of my horse without -being observed by my companions, who, as the enemy -approached, had now their thoughts almost wholly intent -upon the safety of their retreat. They passed me; and I -no sooner perceived that to be the case, than, covered from -their observation by the intervening inclosure, I turned my -horse, and gradually, as my distance from my keepers increased, -urged him to a fuller speed. It was not long -before I came up with the band which had produced our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[406]</a></span> -alarm; and hailing them with the acclamation, “Long live -the mighty sultan!” was without difficulty admitted into -their troop. I instantly understood to my great joy that -this was the party of Bethlem Gabor that I had come out -to meet.</p> - -<p>He received me with much cordiality, and seemed greatly -rejoiced that fortune had made him the instrument of my -rescue. He proposed however that, having met on the -road, I should now, instead of proceeding to Buda, return -with him to his northern castle, from which our distance -was scarcely greater than from the metropolis. The proposal -was such as I had not expected, nor could I well -comprehend the purpose with which it was made. But the -habitual demeanour of Bethlem Gabor neither accorded -with his minutely assigning a reason for what he did, nor -was calculated to encourage enquiry in another. I saw no -material objection, and therefore felt little scruple in yielding -to his desires. Our brief consultation on this point -passed at some little distance from the rest of the troop.</p> - -<p>When the morning broke, the first thing that excited -my attention was the appearance of his followers. They -were full forty in number, well mounted, of a large and -athletic figure, with sun-burnt faces, immense whiskers and -a ferocious countenance. I thought I had never seen so -tremendous a band. To me they were every one of them -strangers; of all the persons that surrounded me, the only -one of whom I had the slightest knowledge was Bethlem -Gabor himself. I know not why it was, but I no sooner -beheld my situation than I was struck with alarm. I saw -myself completely in the power of a man who three months -before was ignorant even of my existence. I had not a -single attendant of my own, not an individual with me over -whom I had personal authority or command. I had no -reason to distrust my host; towards me his demeanour had -ever been frank, confidential, and manly; I had every -imaginable claim upon his generosity and his gratitude. -But our senses are often the masters of our mind, and reason -vainly opposes itself to the liveliness of their impressions. -Every time that I lifted my eyes, and saw myself -hemmed in by these barbarians, my heart seemed involuntarily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[407]</a></span> -to fail me. Bethlem Gabor too appeared to neglect -me; he had never shown himself so little obliging and attentive -as at this moment; and, aided by the rest of the -scene, I thought I had never beheld him so deformed or so -tremendous. I was more than half inclined to wish myself -again a prisoner with the Austrians.</p> - -<p>When we arrived at the castle, we were all of us fatigued -and hungry; we had roamed during the whole night. A -repast was prepared; we sat down to partake of it. “Excuse -me,” said Bethlem Gabor, in a low voice as he passed -me, “that I this night offer you the fare of a soldier; to-morrow -you shall be accommodated in a different manner.” -The words were innocent; the proceeding natural; but -there was a mysterious gloom, at least as I thought, in the -tone in which he spoke, that electrified me. The hall in -which we supped was spacious and lofty; the naked walls -and rafters were imbrowned with age. Though it was -daybreak as we entered, the windows were still darkened, -and the apartment was illuminated only by the partial -glare of lamps depending from the roof. As I sat at table -with the troop of my host, I appeared to myself as if inclosed -in a cavern of banditti. Though excellent partisans, -skilful in execution, and perfect in their discipline, they were -unpolished in their manners and brutal in their conversation. -I had been inured from infancy to all the refinement -that the age in which I lived had any where to boast; and, -amidst the various evils I had suffered, that of being associated -with the vulgar and the base had never presented -itself. While they uttered, now a loathsome jest, and now -a sanguinary ejaculation, I became ashamed of my species, -and the pride of manhood perished within me. They however -paid little attention either to my feelings or my person; -and, accustomed as I had been, whether with friends or -enemies, to be regarded as of some importance, I found -myself unaccountably and suddenly dwindled into a cipher. -I felt it like a release from the state of a galley-slave, when -Bethlem Gabor proposed that we should break up our meeting -and retire to rest.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[408]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL.</h2> - -<p>A succession of gloomy thoughts revolved in my mind for -some time after I was left to myself. I was however overcome -with fatigue, and, after an interval of harassing -meditations, insensibly fell asleep. I was awakened after -some hours’ repose, by the presence of Bethlem Gabor -standing by the side of my couch. He invited me to rise, -and, when I had attired myself, started the plan of our -visiting together the various apartments of the castle, a -small part of which only had been seen by me when I was -last at this place. Among other things, he told me, there -was a subterranean of most wonderful extent, interspersed -with a variety of cells and lurking places, of which no man -had to his knowledge ever ascertained the number.</p> - -<p>The same dreary complexion of thought followed me -to-day, which had been first produced in me upon my reception -into the troop of Bethlem Gabor the preceding -night. My sensations were of the most depressing and -discomfiting nature; I felt as if I were the slave of some -dark, mysterious tyrant, and dragged along supinely wherever -he motioned me to go. I tasked myself seriously; I reasoned -with myself. I felt that it was no idle and every-day -part that I was called to sustain; and I resolved that -I would not be ruined by my own inactivity and cowardice. -Yet, when I examined the question dispassionately, I could -not find that I had any occasion for courage, and I confessed -that it was not less censurable, to discover a useless -spirit of mistrust and defiance, than to desert one’s preservation -where resistance was demanded. What reason -had I to suspect a man between whom and myself there -had prevailed so much mutual confidence? None, none, -I replied, but the causeless and superstitious misgivings of -my own mind! Even if I had ground to distrust him, -what remedy had I against his ill faith, placed as I was in -the midst of his own domains, and surrounded by men devoted -to his service? To discover apprehension under such -circumstances, was to excite animosity.—These reasonings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[409]</a></span> -particularly occurred to my mind, as I stood waiting for -the torch, which he had himself gone to procure that he -might attend me to the subterranean caverns.—I had as -yet seen no one, since we broke up from our nightly repast, -but my host. “We will breakfast,” said he, “when we -return from viewing these curiosities.”</p> - -<p>We crept along a succession of dark and gloomy vaults, -almost in silence. Bethlem Gabor, though he led me on, -and discharged the office of a guide, seemed to have small -inclination to assume that of an interpreter. This was -sufficiently in unison with his ordinary character, to have -little claim to excite surprise. Yet the reader will not on -reflection greatly wonder that my present situation was far -from agreeable. I was alone in passages which, to judge -from any discoverable token, you would scarcely imagine -had for ages been trod by a human creature. The voice -was lost amidst the damps of these immense caverns; nor -was it possible by any exertion to call the hand of man to -your aid. My guide was an individual whom calamity -had prompted to quarrel with the world; of strong feelings -indeed, of capacious thought; but rugged, ferocious, brutal, -and inaccessible to prayer. I had chosen him for my protector -and ally; I had never intended to put myself in his -power. There was a mystery in his carriage, a something -not to be explained, a shell that no human forces could -penetrate, that was mortal to confidence, and might quail -the stoutest.</p> - -<p>I thought there would be no end to our pilgrimage. At -length we came to a strong door, cross-barred and secured -with a frame of iron. Bethlem Gabor unlocked it. We -had no sooner entered, that it impetuously closed behind -us. “What is that?” said I, startled at the loudness of -the report. “Come on,” cried my host; “it is only the -wind whistling through the caverns: the spring-bolt is -shot, but I have the key in my hand!” At the opposite -end of the apartment was another door with an ascent of -five steps leading to it. Bethlem Gabor unlocked that -also, and then faced about with the torch in his hand: I -was close behind him. “Stay where you are!” said he -with a furious accent, and thrust me violently from him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[410]</a></span> -The violence was unexpected: I staggered from the top of -the steps to the bottom. This door closed with as loud a -report as the other; Bethlem Gabor disappeared; I was -left in darkness.</p> - -<p>For an instant I doubted whether the situation in which -I thus found myself were the result of design or of accident. -The shutting of the door might be ascribed to the latter: -the action however, and the words of my host did not admit -of that interpretation. I stood motionless, astonished, -and almost incapable of reflection. What an incredible -reverse was thus the creature of a moment! Yesterday I -possessed unbounded treasures, and the hearts of the whole -Turco-Hungarian nation. Yesterday, as I rode forth on -this fatal excursion, I beheld the food of a mighty people, -mature for consumption, the growth of my exertions; and -it will not be thought surprising that my heart leaped within -me at the sight. Who would not have envied the unparalleled -eminence at which I had arrived? My triumphs -were attended with no melancholy exceptions to damp their -joy. They were the children of no intrigue; they were -manly, frank, ingenuous, and honourable. My laurels were -stained with no drop of blood, were tarnished with no tears -of the widow and the orphan. How much more noble to -rescue mankind from famine and death, than to violate the -honest pride of their nature with the exhibition of victories -and trophies!</p> - -<p>Yet, truly considered, there was nothing abrupt in the -reverse under which I was now suffering. The whole was -a chain, every link of which was indissolubly connected from -one end to the other. My attempt to rescue a people from -the horrors of famine necessarily exposed me to unfavourable -accidents and misconstruction. It inevitably led to -my application to the government for its aid. It could not -fail to excite the alarms and jealousies of government as to -the tendency of my proceedings. By exhibiting me as the -possessor of immense wealth, with very limited means for -the protection of that wealth, it marked me a prey to a rapacious -viceroy or his more despotic master. When I became -sensible of the precarious situation in which I stood towards -the powers of the state, could I have fallen upon a more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[411]</a></span> -natural expedient, than the endeavour to cover myself with -the shield of friendship and gratitude in the person of one -of its nobles? But this expedient would almost infallibly -lead to the placing myself sooner or later in the power of -the man whose friendship I sought. I had done so, and -this was the termination of my views and my projects!</p> - -<p>I now well understood the purpose of that inattention -and neglect with which Bethlem Gabor had treated me the -preceding evening, the uneasiness resulting from which I -had blamed in myself at the time, as the dictate of weakness -and unworthy suspicion. Yesterday I had been placed -under the safeguard of a nation; every man in Buda and -its environs was familiar with my person; every man would -have been ready almost to sacrifice his life to procure my -safety. Now I was far from the scene of my philanthropical -exertions; no one in the troop of Bethlem Gabor knew who -I was; he had appeared to treat me the preceding evening -with indifference and contempt; if they saw me no more, -no curiosity would by that circumstance be excited in their -minds. My clients on the other hand in the vicinity of the -metropolis, however great an interest they might take in -my fortune, had no clue that could lead them to the knowledge -of it. They must suppose me a prisoner with the -Austrians, or that I had been killed, in resisting to become -their prisoner. I was cut off from all assistance and discovery, -and left as much in the power of my treacherous -ally, as if I had been alone with him, oppressed with the -utmost disparity of personal force, in the remotest island of -the Pacific Ocean.</p> - -<p>Such were the reflections that early suggested themselves -to my mind in the solitude and darkness in which I was thus -unexpectedly involved. Meanwhile one tedious hour succeeded -to another, and I remained unintruded on and unnoticed. -I could form no conjecture as to the object of -Bethlem Gabor in the atrocious perfidy he had committed. -Could he have any resentment against me, and did he -meditate revenge? He had received from me nothing but -benefits. Did he employ restraint on my person as the -means of extortion? I could not conceive that he could -have any clue leading him to the discovery of my grand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[412]</a></span> -secret; and, short of this, my bounties had been so exuberant, -as, I imagined, left him nothing to wish. In this wilderness -of conjecture I however fixed upon extortion as a -motive less incredible than revenge. I impatiently waited, -till the appearance of my tyrant should free me from some -part of my present uncertainty.</p> - -<p>He did not appear. In the mean time I was in a condition -feeble and exhausted. The exercise of yesterday, the -hourly-baffled expectation of meeting him whom I had -called my friend, the alternation of being first taken prisoner -and afterwards rescued, had extremely fatigued me. -We had travelled during the whole night. Yet the unaccountable -dejection of mind under which I laboured on our -arrival at Bethlem Gabor’s castle had prevented me from -taking almost any share in the coarse repast that had then -been set before us. The entrance of my host in the morning -had rendered my slumbers short. As I followed him to my -dungeon, unconscious whither I went, my limbs ached, and -my heart ached still more. I was ill prepared for a fast -of thirty-six hours which the brutality of my jailor inflicted -upon me. After having long expected him in vain, I gave -myself up to despair. What a termination of life for him -who possessed the philosopher’s stone!</p> - -<p>I cannot do justice to the sensations that now took possession -of my mind. It was not the deadly calm of despair, -for I still expected every moment when Bethlem Gabor -would appear. I believed than he would, and I believed -that he would not, leave me to perish. I listened with eager -attention to every sound, and my soul floated on the howling -winds. In vain! nothing came of it; there was no -alteration in the sound, or only those vicissitudes to which -the howling of the wind is unavoidably subject. I then -turned away in anguish; I cursed; I stamped with my -feet; I smote my forehead with my closed hand; I tore -my hair. Anon another sound arrested my attention; it -was a different howling; it seemed to be like a human -voice; my fancy created to me the tread of a human foot. -I listened with more intentness of soul than ever. It was -again in vain!</p> - -<p>No, no; he will not come! he will never come. Why<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[413]</a></span> -should I agitate myself to no purpose? Let me lie down -and die!—I reasoned with myself. Why should I wish -to live? I am nothing to any human being: I am alone in -the boundless universe; I have no tie to existence. St. -Leon has no wife; St. Leon has no child; he has neither -connection nor friend in the world. Even in this wretched -vision of the philosopher’s stone, have I not tried it enough? -have I any hopes from it? is it not time that I should -throw away that and existence together?—My meditations -were ineffectual. I suppose it is the case with all men thus -violently thrust out of life in the full possession of their -faculties—I know it was the case with me,—the more -peremptory was my summoner, the more obstinately I clung -to the worthless toy.</p> - -<p>At length I laid myself down on the floor; and, if I occasionally -listened, I no longer ran to the walls and the -doors to catch the uncertain sounds. The gnawings I now -felt within were intolerable. They were at one period so -severe, that I can compare them to nothing, but the sensation -of having swallowed a glowing ember. Afterwards, -the weakness of nature would no longer feed this excruciating -pain, and it subsided into a starting and convulsive -throb; the pain was diversified with intervals of a death-like -and insupportable sickness.—But, no; I will not attempt -to describe the horrors of hunger sublimed by despair, where -the torture of the mind gives new pungency and uproar to -the corporeal anguish. The image, as it now presents itself -to my recollection, is too dreadful.</p> - -<p>At last I sunk into a state of insensibility; and the agony -I had suffered seemed drawn to its final close. The busy -turmoil, the feverish dream of human existence was at an -end. I shut my eyes, and I believed I should open them -no more.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI.</h2> - -<p>How long I endured this suspension of the vital faculties I -cannot tell. The next impression on my sensorium, subsequent -to those I have described, was a sort of external<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[414]</a></span> -twitching and violence that seemed to persecute me. It was -an importunity from which I felt desirous to escape; I -longed to be undisturbed and at rest. The intruder on my -quiet would not leave me; and I at length roused myself, -as if to put away my cause of molestation. My thoughts -were all confounded and obscure; I knew not where, I -could scarcely be said to know who, I was. A little more -effort brought with it a further capacity of perception; I -saw before me, what was now the chief object of my mortal -aversion, the figure of Bethlem Gabor. It was some time -longer, before I became aware that he had been employed -in taking up my apparently lifeless corpse, placing it on a -stone-bench in the side of the cave, and chaining it to the -wall. He observed the motions that indicated in me returning -life: he remarked the stare of my glassy and rayless -eyes; he now spoke with a stern and unpitying voice—“There -is food; there is a light; eat!” Having thus said, he -left me.</p> - -<p>What a cruel and remorseless treatment! He cared not -for my life; he disdained to make the slightest exertion to -restore me; he left it to chance whether I should revive or -perish. The figure of a dying man that I presented, did -not make one fibre of his bosom bend or quiver.</p> - -<p>I revived; I ate. By degrees I recovered from the -deadly languor which had invaded my senses. In about twelve -hours longer Bethlem Gabor returned with a new supply of -sustenance. I was now strong enough to be able to converse -with him. I heard the heavy sound of opening locks and -removing bolts before he entered, and I summoned my -faculties to expostulate with him.</p> - -<p>“Why am I here? What is the meaning of the unworthy -way in which you treat me?”</p> - -<p>“It is,”—he regarded me with a truculent aspect, as if -he would pierce through my heart,—“because I hate you!”</p> - -<p>“You hate me? Good God! is it possible? What evil -have I done to you? What good have I not done you? -What supplies have I refused you? What occasions have -I neglected of studying your advantage, your interest, and -your honour? If thus your hatred is purchased, how shall -that man demean himself who is to purchase your love?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[415]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, think not my hatred idle or capricious! Heaven -knows, I would have refrained from hating you if I had -been able; I struggled against it with all the energies of -my soul. But you have committed towards me the most -mortal offences that man ever endured. There is an antipathy -between your nature and mine, that all the menstruums -in the world could never bring to coalesce.”</p> - -<p>“Eternal Providence! and what is the source of this -antipathy?”</p> - -<p>“And do you profess ignorance? Have you not gone -on day after day with the full consciousness and will to -torment me? Have I not warned you, and expostulated -with you times without number?”</p> - -<p>“Of what have you warned me?”</p> - -<p>“I hate mankind. I was not born to hate them. I have -no native obliquity of character. I have no diabolical maliciousness -of constitution. But they have forced me to -hate them, and the debt of abhorrence shall be amply paid.</p> - -<p>“I loved as never mortal loved. No human heart was -ever so devoted, and centred, and enveloped in the kindly -affections of family and parentage as mine has been. Was -not my wife, were not my children, murdered? When I -came home to feast my eyes and tranquillise my soul with -the sight of them, did I not find all waste and desolation? -Did I not find their bodies naked, pale, disfigured with -wounds, plunged in blood, and already putrid? This was -the welcome I looked for! This was the object I so -speeded to see! No, never was a moment like that! My -whole nature was changed in an instant. My eyes were -blasted and dried to horn. My blood froze in my well -stored veins. I have no longer delight but in human -misery.</p> - -<p>“My revenge is not causeless; this was not the act of -individuals. All men, in the place of these murderers, -would have done as they did. They are in a league together. -Human pity and forbearance never had a harbour -but in my breast; and I have now abjured them. With -something more of inwrought vigour and energy, I will -become like to my brethren. All men are excited by the -same motives, urged by the same temptations, influenced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[416]</a></span> -by the same inducements. Why should I attempt a futile -distinction, when nature had made none? All men bear -the same figure; I cannot view the human figure without -a torture the most dreadful.”</p> - -<p>“I always knew,” answered I, “your general hatred of -mankind; but your manners and your behaviour persuaded -me that you exempted me from the general censure.”</p> - -<p>“I wished to do so; you made the attempt impossible. -You told me, that you had suffered the same misfortunes -which I had; that you, by the injustice and persecutions -of men, had also lost your wife and your children. I -hailed you as a brother; in my heart I swore to you -eternal friendship; I said, we will carry on this holy warfare -together. We communicated to each other our mutual -sorrows; with you, and you only, I found moments of -consolation.</p> - -<p>“Soon I discovered my mistake. Instead of, like me, -seeking occasions of glorious mischief and vengeance, you -took upon yourself to be the benefactor and parent of mankind. -What vocation had you to the task? With the -spirit of a slave who, the more he is beaten, becomes the -more servile and submissive, you remunerated injuries with -benefits. I found that there was not within you one atom -of generous sentiment, one honest glow of fervent indignation. -Chicken-hearted wretch! poor, soulless poltroon! -to say the best of you, to your insensate heart it was the -same whether you were treated with reverence or scorn. I -saw you hunted, hooted at, and pursued by the people you -fed; you held on your course, and fed them still. I was -compelled to witness or to hear of your senseless liberalities -every day I lived. Could I submit to this torment, -and not endeavour to remove it? I hate the man in whom -kindness produces no responsive affection, and injustice no -swell, no glow of resentment. I hated you the more, because, -having suffered what I had suffered, your feelings -and conduct on the occasion have been the reverse of -mine. Your character, I thank God! is of all beings the -most opposite to that of Bethlem Gabor.</p> - -<p>“At length you filled up the measure of the various -thwartings with which you daily insulted me. There was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[417]</a></span> -one native of Hungary between whom and me there subsisted -an open and eternal war. I relate in no human ear -the cause of my animosity to that man. Suffice it, that it -was deep, immeasurable, inexpiable. With a refinement of -cruelty and insult difficult to conceive, you chose that man -for one of the objects of your beneficence. Would I consent -to see my name joined in pension list with my mortal -enemy? The injury you inflicted on me would have been -less if you had stabbed me to the heart. Less? That -would have been a blessing. I impose on myself the task -of living for my revenge: but never shall I deem that man -my foe, who should rid me of all this tumult of passions, -and this insupportable load of existence together.</p> - -<p>“You have heard my motives. You may wonder at, you -may censure them: but they are human. I have -nothing further to say to you now: you have no need to -recur to expostulation; expostulation never moved the -heart of Bethlem Gabor. Hereafter you shall hear more!”</p> - -<p>Thus speaking, he left me; and I must confess, with -whatever disgrace to my sagacity, he opened upon me a -new world. I conceived not, till now, the faintest suspicion -of what had been labouring in his bosom. Amidst -all my experience of the varieties of human character, this -was a species that had never fallen under my observation -before. What a painful and mortifying occurrence is it -in human life, when we have lived with a man from day to -day, when we have conversed with him familiarly, and seen -him in all the changes of circumstance, and when we -flatter ourselves we have penetrated all the recesses of his -heart, suddenly to start upon something portentous that -brooded there, of which to that moment we had not the -lightest suspicion! I am not the only individual to whom -this event has occurred.</p> - -<p>In a subsequent visit of Bethlem Gabor to my cell (for -he only attended me with provisions, he would intrust the -secret of my confinement to no other mortal), I intreated -him to inform me with what intention he retained me a -prisoner, and to fix a price on my ransom. To this overture -he appeared to yield some degree of attention. He -made no explicit answer, but asked with an inquisitive and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[418]</a></span> -severe tone, in what manner I imagined I could procure -money in my dungeon?</p> - -<p>“Let us agree upon the terms, and set me at large. You -have never found me deceitful, and you shall not find me -deceitful now.”</p> - -<p>“Do not hope I will consent to that. I ask you again, -in what manner do you imagine you can procure money in -your dungeon?”</p> - -<p>I reflected for a moment. Liberty is ineffably sweet; -and whatever followed, upon the present overture, I was -determined not to neglect the faintest prospect that led to a -termination of my confinement.</p> - -<p>“There is,” answered I, “in my mansion at Buda, a -chest which, if it can be brought to me hither, will enable -me to supply your demands. I have the key in my custody, -and no key but my own will unlock the treasure.”</p> - -<p>“Give me the key!” replied Bethlem Gabor.</p> - -<p>“No,” rejoined I, “it is in my custody; it is not upon -my person: I have taken care of that. No human hand -shall touch it but my own.”</p> - -<p>“And how can I cause this chest to be brought to you -without risking a discovery of your situation, or that I had -a concern in your disappearance?”</p> - -<p>“Of that,” said I, “judge for yourself. I have made -a proposition to you, and I have done enough. I will have -no share in the detail of its execution.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Bethlem Gabor, after having ruminated -a moment, “the chest you shall have; I undertake that. -Describe it.”</p> - -<p>I described the chest, and its situation in my house, -with a minuteness that made mistake impossible.</p> - -<p>After a considerable time it was brought to me. It was too -bulky and ponderous to be introduced into my cell by a single -arm. But Bethlem Gabor, having first caused me unconsciously -to swallow a powerful opiate, found no difficulty, -either to conceal my person in the dark shadows of this ragged -subterranean, or to cause some of his followers to place -the chest within my reach, believing that they placed it in -a vacant apartment. I awoke, and found it at hand. I was -secure that the lock was such a one as could not be forced;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[419]</a></span> -but I examined the different surfaces, to see whether violence -of any other sort had been exercised on it. There were -marks of damage, but not sufficiently unequivocal to enable -me to form a certain judgment on this point. The chest -contained, not gold, but the implements for making and -fashioning gold. Allowing for the distance from which it -was brought, they appeared to be pretty exactly in the state -in which I left them. I had never placed much confidence -in this expedient for softening the heart of Bethlem Gabor; -but I perceived that it would serve at worst to divert my -thoughts, and, by exciting in me some share of expectation, -might call off my attention from the miseries of my present -condition. Embracing the occasions when I was most -secure against the intrusion of my jailor, I provided myself -with the sum that had been previously agreed on between -us. My task being finished, I carefully displayed the produce -of my labour, against the next time Bethlem Gabor -should visit my cell. He viewed it with an air of sullen -and gloomy triumph; he removed it from the cave which -was my habitation, to an apartment of this subterraneous -abode, little distant from my own. When he had concluded -this employment, it seemed to be a just inference, -that he was to give me my liberty. He did no such thing. -Without uttering a word, he closed the door of my cavern, -locked it, and departed.</p> - -<p>When Bethlem Gabor next entered my cell, I reproached -him with this, as with the breach of a solemn engagement. -His first answer was an infernal laugh, expressive of -derision, hard-heartedness, and contempt. By and by, -however, he condescended to explain himself more fully.</p> - -<p>“I made no engagement,” cried he. “You talked of a -ransom, and I suffered you to talk. I made you no answer; -I gave you no encouragement. Boy, I deceived you not! -No; though my heart pants for vengeance and for misery, -I will never be guilty of treachery; I will break no engagements; -I am a knight and a soldier. You have given -me ten thousand ducats; what are ten thousand ducats to -me? Do you think I am uninformed of your secret? I -opened your chest; I found no gold; its contents were -crucibles, minerals, chemical preparations, and the tools of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[420]</a></span> -an artist. You are possessed of the grand arcanum, the -philosophers stone. If I had a doubt of it before, the -transaction of yesterday converted conjecture into certainty. -And did you suppose, idiot, driveller that you are, that I -would take ten thousand ducats in commutation for wealth -inexhaustible? No; you are my prisoner, and may choose, -in this infallible dilemma, whether you will remain my -slave, to supply me daily resources as I shall daily think -proper to demand, or at once make over to me your whole -mystery, and place me in this respect on a level with -yourself.”</p> - -<p>It was now my part to be peremptory and firm.</p> - -<p>“I refuse,” said I, “every part of your dilemma, and -all that you can propose to me. Do you talk of my remaining -your slave, to supply you with daily resources? -Do you imagine that, shut up in this dungeon, I will -nevertheless labour for your gratification? Do you believe -that that gift, which I received as the instrument of my -own happiness and the benefit of mankind, shall be made -the pledge of my perpetual imprisonment?</p> - -<p>“With regard to imparting to you the secret you suppose -me to possess, I answer without hesitation, that, dearly as -I prize liberty, and numerous as are the motives you may -think I have to prize it, I will not purchase my liberty at -that rate. I would rather spend the days of eternity in -this cavern, than comply with your proposal. The gift of -the philosopher’s stone, the moment a man possesses it, -purifies his mind from sordid and ignoble inducements. -The endowment which raises him so much above his -species, makes him glory in his superiority, and cherish his -innocence. He cannot, if he would, mingle in the low -passions and pursuits of the generality of mankind. For -myself, I value too much the verdict of my own heart, ever -to allow myself to be influenced in the main concerns of -my existence by menaces and compulsion. Beside, this -gift I received for holy and beneficent purposes; to such -it is consecrated; and if I ever impart it, I must select its -depository with all the assiduity and penetration it is practicable -for me to exert. You I will henceforth benefit no -more. You hate me; my disapprobation of you is fixed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[421]</a></span> -and irrevocable. I weep to think how much I have been -deceived in you; I weep to think how many high and -heroic qualities in your breast are now converted into -malignity and venom.—You the possessor of the philosopher’s -stone! You tell me, the sole pursuit of the rest of -your life is revenge and human misery. What an image -do you raise in my mind, if, with such dispositions, you -possessed the means which the acquisition of riches inexhaustible -would confer on you? And do you believe -that any consideration on earth could induce me to realise -such an image?”</p> - -<p>“As you please,” replied Bethlem Gabor indignantly. -“I have nothing to propose to you. Think you that, -either as my enemy or my slave, and I hold you for both, -I would descend to negotiate with you? I simply told -you your situation. Yours be the consequences of your -wilfulness and folly!</p> - -<p>“One mistake however that I see you make respecting -my purposes, I will remove. You seem to suppose that, if -you were to communicate to me your secret, I would then -set you at liberty. No, by heavens! This cavern is your -abode for ever. You shall never go forth from it alive; -and, when you are dead, here your flesh shall moulder, and -your skeleton shall rest, as long as the world remains. -Look round your walls! Enter fully into possession of -your final home! I know that to keep you here and alive -my prisoner, I must in a certain sense imprison myself. -But at that I do not murmur. I shall have the gratification -of beholding my foe, and seeing him daily wither in -disappointment. You wish to be a father to the human -race; and I shall deem the scope of my misanthropy almost -satisfied, while, in your restraint, I image myself as making -the human race an orphan. Never shall Bethlem Gabor -set at large a man of your unnatural and gall-less disposition, -and your powers for the indulgence of that disposition.</p> - -<p>“Sieur de Chatillon, I do not want your secret: it -suffices that I know you possess it. Have I not yourself -in my keeping? It will be more joy to me rudely to issue -my commands, and to see you complying with them in -spite of the most heartfelt reluctance, than to possess the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[422]</a></span> -richest gift on earth in the fullest independence. Think -you Bethlem Gabor incompetent to tame the tenant of this -wretched cavern? Boy, you <em>are</em> my prisoner; you <em>shall be</em> -my creature. I will humble you at my feet, and teach you -to implore my bounty for the most miserable pittance. -Look to it! You know your destiny! Do not provoke my -fury, without a foresight of the consequences!”</p> - -<p>I will enter into little further detail of this my wretched -imprisonment in the wilds of Hungary. It was not destitute -of its varieties; and I could, if I pleased, fill a volume -with the artifices and the violence of my gloomy superintendent. -I could fill volumes with the detail of the multiplied -expedients, the furious menaces, the gigantic starts -and rhapsodies of passion, by which he alternately urged -me to compliance and concession. But I will not. I will -bring to an end the history of Bethlem Gabor; and then, -having detailed the surprising events that immediately followed -it, will close the page of St. Leon’s history for ever. -I stood like a rock. Shut out from all other gratifications, I -at least resolved to accumulate in my own person all the energies -of resistance. If I were to unfold the story, I could -command the reader’s astonishment, his admiration; but the -object of these papers is to record, not my merits, but my fate.</p> - -<p>How different was my imprisonment in the cavern of the -man-abhorring palatine, from that which I had experienced -in the dungeons of the inquisition! There an inexorable -apathy prevailed: my tyrants were indifferent whether I -died or lived; filled with the sense of their religious elevation, -they held on the even gravity of their course, and -counted my groans and my tears neither for remorse nor -pleasure. The variety I experienced in their dungeons was -the growth of my own thoughts: from without I encountered -no interruption; it was not to be ascribed to those -who held me in durance, if my faculties were not lethargied -into death. Bethlem Gabor possessed no share of their apathy; -his malice was ever alive, his hatred ever ingenious -and new in its devices. He had a purpose to answer,—to -extort from me the supply of his necessities and projects. It -was not so much perhaps that he stood in need of this, as -that he placed a pride in it, and had fiercely resolved to show<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[423]</a></span> -me that I was unreservedly his slave. His animosity against -me was so fixed and insatiable, that nothing that was pain -to me was indifferent to him. If at any time he saw me -subsiding into insensibility, he failed not to exert himself to -sting me into life again.</p> - -<p>The consequence of this was somewhat different from -what Bethlem Gabor expected. Desponding as I was, -weary of life, and almost finally alienated from the all-coveted -gift of the philosopher’s stone, if he had left me to -myself, I should very probably have sought in insensibility -relief from the torment of my own thoughts. But he -taught me a better lesson. Refusing me the indulgence of -torpor, he obliged me to string myself to resistance. He -gave me a passion; he gave me an object; he gave me comparative -happiness. I was roused to opposition; I was -resolved that, placed, as I seemed to be, at his mercy, I -would yield him no atom of his desires. Thus employed, -I found in my employment pride. Perpetual occasion presented -itself for fortitude; and I gradually ascended to the -sweets of consistency, perseverance, and self-gratulation. I -had for years been inured to satisfy myself with a sparing -stock of pleasures; and I was less at a loss to expand and -ramify those which I now possessed, than almost any other -man would have been in my situation. If my attendant -train of sensations was scanty, Bethlem Gabor took care to -afford them a perpetual supply of food and employment, -and I was comparatively little exposed to the pain of -vacuity. When he saw that I was inflexible, and that he -could no longer gain from me the smallest compliance with -his will, he raged against me with terrifying fury. Was it -a crime in me, that this fury in my tyrant produced the -operation of a sedative and a cordial? There was no malignity -in the joy it gave me. I had much aversion for -Bethlem Gabor, but no hatred. I took no pleasure in his -agonies, because they were agonies. My sympathies towards -him now, I confess, were small; but the joy I felt was -because his fury told me, was the unwilling evidence of my -own value. I left him to assail the mound I opposed to his -desires as he pleased; it remained strong and unaffected -as the sea-beaten promontory.—From the inefficacy of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[424]</a></span> -efforts, I sometimes took occasion to remonstrate with my -jailor, and demand the restoration of my liberty; but -Bethlem Gabor was not a man whom arguments and expostulations -like these could move. In spite of himself -however I commanded his wonder, if not his esteem. He -regarded the contrast as almost incredible, between the -boy-aspect under which he saw me, and the inflexibility -and resources of my time-instructed mind.</p> - -<p>The contentment that I have here described in myself, -was however a creature of the imagination, the forced progeny -of uncommon effort. It was no natural state of the -soul. My mind would sometimes wander beyond the -limits of my cavern, and remember that there were other -persons beside Bethlem Gabor and myself in the world. -I recollected the situation in which I had left my great -project for the reviviscence of Hungary, and rejoiced to -remember that it was already in such forwardness, as, I -hoped, no longer to stand in absolute need of my assistance. -Yet what I had done was but a small portion, a dismembered -branch, of what I had meditated to do, and what -every person of a generous and enterprising mind, who -had been in possession of the philosopher’s stone, would -have designed. Why was I thus stopped in the commencement -of a career so auspiciously begun, and to which -an ardent fancy, would prescribe no limits? Why was -every power of the social constitution, every caprice of the -multitude, every insidious project of the noble, thus instantly -in arms against so liberal and grand an undertaking? -Nor could I help repining at the perverseness of -my fate, which had decreed that I should savour all the -bitterness incidentally resulting from my plan, and not be -permitted so much as to taste the applause and reward that -ought to grow out of its completion. Thousands of men -were at this instant indebted to my generosity and exertions -for every blessing they enjoyed; and I was cast forth -as the refuse of the earth, pining under the alternate succession -of solitude, negligence, and malice, my very existence -and the manner of it unknown, except to one -individual, who had, from the strangest and most unexpected -motives, sworn eternal hostility to me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[425]</a></span></p> - -<p>Bethlem Gabor had resolved that, so long as he lived, I -should remain a prisoner: when he died, if he continued -my only jailor, the single individual acquainted with the -place of my confinement, the probable issue was that I -should perish with hunger. Twelve years before, I should -have contemplated this attitude and condition of existence -with indescribable horror. But within that time I had -been better taught. I had received an education, I thank -them, in the dungeons of the Spanish inquisition; and, if -that be properly considered, it will not be wondered at that -I was superior to ordinary terrors. Early in my present -situation the presentiment had suggested itself to me that, -by some striking event, I should be rescued from my -present confinement; and, improbable as the suggestion -was, it made an indelible impression on my mind. I had originated -in, or it had produced, a dream, the scenes of which -had appeared particularly luminous and vivid. I imagined -I saw a knight, cased complete in proof, enter my prison. -A smile of angelic kindness beamed on his countenance. -He embraced me with ardour; he made a sign to me to -follow him. I felt that I had seen him somewhere, that -he had been my intimate friend. Yet all the efforts I made -in sleep, or afterwards when I was awake, were unavailing -to remove the mystery that hung upon his features. I -rose to obey him; the ground trembled under my feet like -an earthquake. Presently, with the incoherency usually -attendant on a dream, the figure changed to that of a female -of unblemished grace and beauty; it unfolded a pair of -radiant wings; we ascended together in the air; I looked -down, and saw the castle of Bethlem Gabor a prey to devouring -flames.—Here ended my dream. I soon felt that -I could reason myself out of all confidence in the presages -of this wild and incongruous vision. But I refused to do -it; my consolations were not so plenteous in this frightful -solitude as that I should willingly part with one so delicious. -Reason, thus applied, I contemplated as an abhorred -intruder. It was, for a long time, part of my -occupation in every day to ruminate on this vision, not -with the sternness of a syllogist, but with the colouring of -a painter, and the rapture of a bard. From thus obstinately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[426]</a></span> -dwelling on it in the day, it happened that it became -again and again and again my vision of the night. Slumbers -like these were truly refreshing, and armed and nerved me -for the contentions of my tyrant. Sacred and adorable -power of fancy, that can thus purify and irradiate the -damps of a dungeon, and extract from midnight glooms -and impervious darkness perceptions more lovely and inspiriting -than noontide splendour!</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII.</h2> - -<p>I had now continued here for several months, and in all -that time had received no external impressions but such as -related to the cell I inhabited, and the misanthropical savage -by whom it was visited. One evening that Bethlem Gabor -entered my dungeon, I observed in him an air of unusual -disturbance. Where apathy reigns, the intercourse between -those over whom it presides will be marked with a death-like -uniformity; but wherever the furious passions take -their turn, they will occasionally subside into a semblance -of familiarity and benevolence. There was something in -the countenance of my tyrant that made me for a moment -forget the complicated injuries I had received from him. -“What is it that has disturbed you?” cried I. There was -no answer. There was a knitting in his brow, and a contraction -in his features, that showed me his silence was an -effort. He departed however, and had already passed the -threshold of my dungeon. The door was in his hand. He -returned. “Chatillon,” said he, “perhaps you will never -see me more!”</p> - -<p>“My castle is besieged. I have passed through dangers -of a thousand names, and I ought not to be made serious -by that which now assails me. But a gloomy presentiment -hangs upon my mind. The busy phantom of life has -lasted too long, and I am sick at heart. In the worst event -I will not be made a prisoner; I will die fighting.</p> - -<p>“I feel as if this were the last day of my existence; and, -upon the brink of the grave, animosity and ferociousness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[427]</a></span> -die away in my soul. In this solemn moment, my original -character returns here (striking his heart) to take possession -of its native home; a character, stern and serious, if you -will; but not sanguinary, not cruel, not treacherous or unjust. -Between you and me there is a deadly antipathy; -but you did not make yourself; you intended me friendship -and advantage; the sufferings you have experienced from -me in return have been sufficiently severe. If I die defending -my walls, and you remain thus, you will perish -with hunger. I had intended it should be so; but I am -now willing to remit this part of your fate. I will enter -into a compromise with you; I will trust to your fidelity, -and your honour. I will take off your chains; I will -bring you a timepiece and torches; I will leave with you -the key of the spring lock of your cavern,—provided you -will engage your word to me that you will not attempt to -make use of your advantages till the expiration of twenty-four -hours.”</p> - -<p>To these terms I assented without hesitation. The chains -fell from my wrists and my ancles; I stood up once more -unshackled, and in respect of my limbs a free man. When -Bethlem Gabor was on the point to depart, my soul melted -within me. I took hold of his hand; my fingers trembled; -I grasped and pressed the fingers of my tyrant. I cannot -describe what then passed in my bosom. No man can -understand my sensations, who had not been in my situation, -who had not passed through a treatment, arbitrary, -ferocious, and inhuman, and had not then seen the being -who had wounded him so unpardonably, suddenly changing -his character, commiserating his fate, and rescuing him -from destruction.</p> - -<p>From this time I saw Bethlem Gabor no more; he died, -as he had sworn to do, in the last dike of his fortress. -His self-balanced and mighty soul could not submit to the -condition of a prisoner; he was nothing, if he were not -free as the air, and wild as the winds. I may be mistaken; -but this appears to me to have been a great and -admirable man. He had within him all the ingredients of -sublimity; and surely the ingredients of sublimity are the -materials of heroic virtue. I have much cause of complaint<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[428]</a></span> -against him; he conceived towards me an animosity -the most barbarous and unprovoked; but, in writing this -narrative, I have placed my pride in controlling the suggestions -of resentment, and I have endeavoured to do him -justice.</p> - -<p>I had engaged to wait twenty-four hours; I waited only -six. I know not how the reader will decide upon the morality -of my conduct; but I own I had not the force, I believe -I may call it the insensibility, to remain in my dungeon -any longer. There was no doubt that, if Bethlem Gabor -returned a conqueror, the term of my imprisonment would -be renewed, and all his former menaces continued in force. -What should I deserve to have thought of me, if I could -sit down idly, and tamely wait the return of my jailor? -No! liberty is one of the rights that I put on when I put -on the form of a man, and no event is of power to dissolve -or abdicate that right. Of what validity was the promise -that Bethlem Gabor extorted from me by compulsion, and -as the condition of that which he had no title to withhold? -What gratitude did I owe to this man, who treated me with -every contumely, and shrunk from nothing but the thought -of causing me to perish with hunger? Whatever became -of my attempt to escape, I could at least in this vast subterranean -hide myself from the face of him who had injured -me. I had a provision of phosphorus in my chest; -and could therefore extinguish my torch upon the slightest -alarm, and relume it at pleasure. What was the value of -life, situated as I was situated? It was better to perish in -the attempt to escape, than linger on for ever in perpetual -imprisonment. As a further resource I left a billet in my -dungeon (for for this also I had implements) intreating -Bethlem Gabor by every motive of compassion and humanity -to provide for me the means of sustenance as usual. -Having taken these precautions, I lighted a fresh torch; -and, unlocking the door, and thrusting the key into my -girdle, set out upon my expedition. Though Bethlem -Gabor had stipulated for twenty-four hours, the siege might -even now be over, and I trembled every instant lest my -jailor should return.</p> - -<p>I wandered for a considerable time among the alleys and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[429]</a></span> -windings of this immeasurable cavern. I had the precaution -to mark the sides of the vault with characters and -tokens as I passed, that, if necessary, I might be able to -find the way back to my dungeon: this might prove an -indispensable resource, to prevent me from perishing with -hunger. Once or twice I changed my route, inferring -from a comparison of circumstances, the best I could make, -that I was not in the direction of the castle from which -Bethlem Gabor had led me to my imprisonment. In all -this wandering I had seen nothing, I had heard nothing, -which could demonstrate to me that I was approaching the -habitation of man. I had groped my way for near two -hours, when on a sudden I heard a loud and tremendous -shout that almost stunned me, and that from its uncommon -shock could be at no great distance from the place -where I stood. This was succeeded by a terrifying glare -of light. I extinguished my torch, both that I might be -better qualified to observe, and that I might be less in -danger of discovery by any one who should approach me -unawares. The shouts were several times repeated. The -light I found to proceed from that end of the vault towards -which I had been advancing, and, by the best conjectures I -could form, I concluded the outlet into the castle to be at -no great distance. I heard the crackling of the flames, -and the fall of rafters and beams. Presently I discerned a -volume of smoke approaching me, and found that, if I remained -long in my present station, I should incur the risk -of being suffocated. I formed my resolution. I concluded -that Bethlem Gabor’s castle was taken, and set on fire by -the Austrians. I believed that my persecutor was already -no more: to this faith I was undoubtedly prompted by the -presentiment which he had communicated to me. I saw -that it would be impossible for me to emerge into light, till -the flames should abate. I once more therefore lighted -my torch, and returned by the straightest road I could find -to my dungeon. Arrived there, I proposed to pass the -interval quietly, in the cavern where I had so long felt the -weight of the Hungarian’s chains. Suddenly however the -suggestion occurred to me, may not my conjectures be -false? may not Bethlem Gabor yet repel the enemy, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[430]</a></span> -return to me from amidst the ruins of his falling castle? -The thought was sickness and extinction to my heart. -Hope! beautiful as are thy visions, in how much anguish -and agony do they clothe the terrors of disappointment! -Never had Bethlem Gabor been half so dreadful to me as -now. I shrunk away; I took with me the fragments -of provision that yet remained; I hid myself; I deemed -no cell remote enough to conceal me from the inhuman -persecution of my tyrant.</p> - -<p>I continued in the subterranean all that day and all the -succeeding night. Once in this period I attempted to reconnoitre -the avenue of my escape, but I found the situation -still so heated and suffocating that I did not venture to -proceed. At length I came forth from this den of horrors, -and again beheld the light of the sun. The path had -already been sufficiently explored by me, and I no longer -found any material obstacles. I now saw that my conjectures -were true: the castle of my ferocious adversary was -a pile of ruins. The walls indeed for the most part remained, -but choked with fragments of the falling edifice, -blackened with the flames, and penetrated in every direction -by the light of day. With difficulty I climbed over -the ruins, which opposed my egress from the subterranean, -and rendered my passage to the outside of the castle an -affair of peril and caution. Here the first object that -struck me was some tents, probably of the soldiers who -had been employed in this work of destruction. I was -hailed by a sentinel, and I demanded that he would conduct -me to his commander. He led me to the centre of -the little encampment, and I stood in the presence of his -chief. I lifted my eye to behold him, and was petrified -with such astonishment as till that hour I had never felt. -It was Charles, my son, my only son, the darling of his -mother, the idol of my soul!</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> - -<p>It may seem extraordinary that I should instantly have -known him. He was sitting at a table, covered with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[431]</a></span> -papers, and with one or two aides-de-camp waiting to receive -his orders. He was clothed in complete armour, -and his casque was resting on the ground by his side. -When I entered, his eye was fixed on a despatch that day -received from the great palatine of Hungary; but, in little -more than a minute, he raised his head, and his countenance -was completely presented to my view. It was -fifteen years since I had beheld it; he was then scarcely -above half his present age, a mere stripling, in whom the -first blush of manhood had awakened the sentiment of independence -and an honour impatient of a shade; he was -now a leader of warlike bands, his complexion olived over -with service, and his eye rendered steady with observation -and thought. But I knew him; I knew him in a moment. -My soul, with the rapidity of lightning, told me who he -was. Not all the arts in the world could have hid him -from me; not all the tales that delusion ever framed could -have baffled me; I could have challenged him against the -earth!</p> - -<p>I have already had occasion to explain the complexity of -my feelings, when, after a long absence, I visited the -heiresses of the house of St. Leon. The sweets of recognition, -that transporting effervescence of the mind, where -the heart bounds to meet a kindred heart, where emotions -and tears mingle in speechless encounter, where all is -gazing love and strict embrace,—these pleasures were -denied me. I stood stiff and motionless in the presence of -my child. My heart might burst; but it must not, and it -could not communicate its feelings.</p> - -<p>After an instant’s pause of overwhelming sensation, I -sunk back on myself, and considered my own figure. It -happened that, exactly opposite to me, in the tent of my son, -hung his armour, and over the rest his polished shield, in -which I saw my own person clearly reflected. The youth -of my figure indeed was still visible; but the hardships of -my dungeon had imprinted themselves in glaring characters -on my face. My beard was neglected, my hair was matted -and shaggy, my complexion was of a strong and deadly -yellow. My appearance to a considerable degree told my -story without the need of words. Charles enquired of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[432]</a></span> -those who brought me, where they had found this wretched -and unhappy figure; and was told that I had been seen a -few minutes before coming out from the ruins of Bethlem -Gabor’s castle. He humanely and naturally concluded, -that I was a victim on whom the tyrant had exercised his -ferocity, and that I had been shut up in some dungeon of -the fortress: it was impossible that any person above ground -in the castle should have come out alive from the operation -of the flames. He commanded that I should be led to a -neighbouring tent and taken care of. After having been -refreshed with food and rest, and attired with other apparel, -he directed that I should be brought to him again, -that he might hear my story.</p> - -<p>Under these circumstances there was nothing for which -I was more anxious, than that I might recruit myself, and -shake off as quickly as possible the effects of my confinement. -Cordials were brought me, and I tasted of them: -I bathed in a neighbouring stream: one of my son’s attendants -removed my beard, and arranged my hair. I now -desired to be left alone, that I might take some needful -repose. I could not sleep; but I reclined my limbs upon -a couch, and began to collect my thoughts.</p> - -<p>I saw myself in one hour the sport of the most complete -reverse of fortune that could happen to a mortal. I had -been the prisoner of a cavern so wild and pathless, as almost -to defy the utmost extent of human sagacity to explore -its recesses. From this cavern, but for the sudden -and extraordinary event which had just occurred, I could -never have come forth alive. All sober calculation would -have taught me to expect that I should have remained -there, chained up like a savage tiger in his cage, as long as -Bethlem Gabor existed; and that, when he died, I should -perish, unheard, unknown; no creature that lived suspecting -my situation, no lapse of ages ever bringing to light my -dismal catastrophe. The remorse and relenting of Bethlem -Gabor towards me seemed so little to accord with any thing -that I had personally witnessed of his habits and his mind, -that even now I feel myself totally unable to account for it. -As it was however, I was once again free. From the state -of an outlaw imprisoned for life, I suddenly saw myself at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[433]</a></span> -large, inspirited by the light of the sun, and refreshed by -his genial rays, in the full possession of youth and all its -faculties, enabled to return amidst my clients of Buda, or -to seek some new adventure, in any corner of the earth to -which my inclination led me. There is no man, however -overwhelmed with calamities, however persecuted with endless -disappointment, however disgusted with life and all its -specious allurements, to whom so sudden and admirable a -change would not convey some portion of elasticity and -joy.</p> - -<p>But there was one thought that entirely occupied me. I -cannot describe how my soul yearned towards this my only -son: the sentiment, even now as I write, is an oppression -I am scarcely able to sustain. Willingly, most willingly, -would I have traversed every region of the globe, if so I -might have discovered his unknown retreat: and now suddenly, -without the smallest effort on my part, he was placed -before me. His last solemn parting, his abjuration of my society -and intercourse for ever, rose to my memory, and gave -a zest inexpressible to our present encounter. At the thought -that my son was in the neighbouring tent, all earthly objects -beside faded from my mind, and appeared uninteresting -and contemptible. I instantly resolved to devote myself -to his service, and to place all my enjoyment in the -contemplation of his happiness, and the secret consciousness -of promoting it. He had, if I may so express myself, in -my own person forbidden me his presence: in my now -altered figure I might disobey his injunction without fearing -his rebuke. Let not the reader condemn me, that, endowed -as I was with unlimited powers of action, I preferred -a single individual, my own son, to all the world -beside. Philanthropy is a godlike virtue, and can never be -too loudly commended, or too ardently enjoined; but natural -affection winds itself in so many folds about the -heart, and is the parent of so complicated, so various and -exquisite emotions, that he who should attempt to divest -himself of it, will find that he is divesting himself of all -that is most to be coveted in existence. It is not a selfish -propensity; on the contrary, I will venture to affirm that -the generosity it breathes is its greatest charm. Beside, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[434]</a></span> -my case I considered my own existence as blasted; and I -could therefore find nothing better than to forget myself in -my son. I had made a sufficient experiment of the philosopher’s -stone, and all my experiments had miscarried. My -latest trials in attempting to be the benefactor of nations -and mankind, not only had been themselves abortive, but -contained in them shrewd indications that no similar plan -could ever succeed. I therefore discarded, for the present -at least, all ambitious and comprehensive views, and believed -that I ought to be well content, if I could prove the -unknown benefactor of the son of Marguerite de Damville. -I entered into a solemn engagement with myself that I -would forget and trample upon every personal concern, and -be the victim and the sacrifice, if need were, of the happiness -of my child. Dismissing my project of becoming a -factor for the Hungarian people, I determined to lay aside -the name of Chatillon, and cut off every indication that -might connect my present existence with that of the rich -stranger of Buda. One of the advantages I possessed for -that purpose was, that no creature in Hungary had the -slightest suspicion that the sieur de Chatillon had ever been -the prisoner of Bethlem Gabor.</p> - -<p>Having thus arranged my thoughts, I now called for the -garments that had been assigned me. They were supplied -me from the stock of my son; and, when I had put them -on, I overheard the attendants whispering to each other their -astonishment, at the striking resemblance between their -master and myself. When I came once more into the -tent of their captain, and stood as in the former instance -before his shield, I did not wonder at their remark. -The coincidence of our features was so great, that, had we -passed through a strange place in each other’s company, I -should infallibly have been regarded as his younger brother. -Yet there was something of Marguerite in the countenance -of Charles that I wanted. When I recovered, as in a short -time afterwards I did, my vigour and health, I was more -blooming than he; but there was something graceful, ingenuous -and prepossessing in his aspect, which I could by no -means boast in an equal degree, and which might have -carried him unhurt and honoured through the world. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[435]</a></span> -shall see some of the effects of this in what I shall presently -have occasion to relate.</p> - -<p>When my son required of me to declare who I was, I -told him, as I had already determined to do, that I was a -cadet of the house of Aubigny in France; that, after having -passed through several other countries, I had come into -Poland with the floating and half formed purpose of entering -as a volunteer against the Turk; but that, before my -plan was completely arranged, having been led, by my -juvenile ardour in a hunting party, far within the frontier -of Hungary, I had been so unfortunate as to become a -prisoner to the troopers of Bethlem Gabor. I added that, -when introduced to their chief, I had given him so much -offence, by the firmness of my manner, and my refusing to -comply with certain propositions he made me, that he had -thrust me into a dungeon, from which, but for the gallant -exertions of the present detachment, I should never have -come out alive.</p> - -<p>Charles heard my story with attention and interest. He -called on me to resume my courage and my hopes, and to -be confident that my sufferings were now at an end. He -told me, that he was a Frenchman as well as myself, and -like myself, had been a soldier of fortune. He felt, he -said, a powerful sympathy in my tale; there was something -in my countenance that irresistibly won his kindness; and, -if I would put myself under his protection, he did not -doubt to be the means of my future success. He spoke -with great asperity of Bethlem Gabor, who, as an -intrepid, indefatigable and sanguinary partisan, had been -the author of greater mischiefs to the Christian cause, than -any of the immediate servants of the sultan of Constantinople. -He congratulated himself that the same action that -had delivered the world from so murderous a renegado, had -rendered him the preserver of a youth of so much enterprise -and worth, as he doubted not I should prove. He -said, there was but one other man in Hungary, who -had been so effectual an enemy to the cause of truth -and Christianity as Bethlem Gabor. The name of this -man he understood was Chatillon, and he grieved to say<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[436]</a></span> -that he bore the appellation of a Frenchman. To the -eternal disgrace of the nation that gave him birth, he had -joined the Turkish standard, and, by exertions difficult to -be comprehended, had rescued the infidels from famine at -a time when, but for his inauspicious interference, Buda, -and perhaps every strong town in Hungary, were on the -point of falling into the hands of the Christians. It was -this same man who had revived the resources of Bethlem -Gabor, after they had once before, by his own fortunate -exertions, been routed out; and whom I might therefore -in some sense consider as the author of my calamities, as -well as the inveterate foe of Christendom. Such a wretch -as this was scarcely entitled to the common benefit of the -laws of war: and he would not answer for himself if Chatillon -had fallen into his power, to what extremity his holy -resentment against this degenerate fellow-countryman might -have hurried him. Providence however had overtaken him -in his impious career; and he had fallen obscurely, as he -had lived basely, in a night skirmish with a party of -marauders from the Austrian camp.—The reader may -believe that I did not a little rejoice that, in announcing -myself a few moments before, I had taken the name, not -of Chatillon, but D’Aubigny. What I heard however -occasioned in me a profound reflection on the capriciousness -of honour and fame, and the strange contrarieties with -which opposite prejudices cause the same action to be -viewed. I could not repress the vehemence of my emotions, -while I was thus calumniated and vilified for actions, -which I had firmly believed no malice could misrepresent, -and fondly supposed that all sects and ages, as far as their -record extended, would agree to admire.</p> - -<p>In another point of view, the invective which my son -thus unconsciously poured in my ears, had the effect of -making me regard with a more complacent satisfaction the -plan I had formed of devoting myself to his service. Here -I pursued no delusive meteor of fame; the very essence of -my project lay in its obscurity. Kings and prelates, armies -and churches, would no longer find an interest in disputing -about my measures; I should indulge the secret promptings -of my soul, undisturbed alike by the censure of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[437]</a></span> -world, and its applause. It was thus that, under every -change of fortune, I continued to soothe my soul with delusive -dreams.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile my project went on with the happiest auspices. -The friendship between me and Charles continued -hourly to increase. As a Frenchman, whom chance had -introduced to his acquaintance in a distant country, it was -natural that he should feel a strong bias of affection towards -me. But that sort of fraternal resemblance which the most -inattentive spectator remarked in us, operated forcibly to the -increase of Charles’s attachment. He would often, in the -ingenuous opening of his soul towards me, call me his -brother, and swear that I should for ever experience from -him a brother’s love. Charles had by this time completed -the thirty-second year of his age; I was, in appearance, at -least ten years younger than he. There is something in -this degree of disparity, that greatly contributes to the cultivation -of kindness, and is adapted to the engendering a -thousand interesting sentiments. Frequently would he exclaim, -“Our fortunes, my dear Henry,” that was the name I -assumed, “have been in a considerable degree similar: we -were both of us early cast on the world; I indeed at the -immature age of seventeen. I entered the world without -an adviser or a friend; but my destiny was favourable, and -I escaped its quicksands and its rocks. I have now by a -concurrence of happy circumstances obtained a place among -honourable men and soldiers, and for what is to come may -reasonably regard myself with some degree of confidence. -You are yet in one of the most dangerous periods of human -life; your work is all to do; your battles are yet to fight. -Suffer me, my dear friend, to represent your better genius, -and act an elder brother’s part. You shall find me no -ignorant Mentor, and no ungentle one.”</p> - -<p>Nothing could be more gratifying to me than to see the -shoots of affection thus springing up spontaneously in -Charles’s bosom. I willingly humoured the generous deception -that he was putting on himself, and heard with -transports inconceivable his assurances of kindness and protection. -We rode, and we walked together; we were in a -manner inseparable. When he went out to reconnoitre, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[438]</a></span> -was his chosen companion; when he inspected the discipline -and condition of his soldiers, he applied that opportunity -to initiate me in the science of war; when he expected to -encounter the enemy, he placed me immediately by his side.</p> - -<p>Sometimes he would open his heart to me, and dwell -with a melancholy delight upon his secret sorrows. “It is -no wonder, my Henry,” he would say, “that I feel this uncommon -attachment to you. I am alone in the world. I -have no father, no mother, and no brethren. I am an -exile from my country, and cut off for ever from those of -my own lineage and blood. It is with inexpressible delight -that I thus cheat the malice of my fate, and hold you to -my bosom as if you were indeed my brother. I would not -part with the fiction for the mines of Peru; and I know -not whether I do not cultivate it more assiduously, and regard -it with a sentiment of more anxiety and zeal, because -it is a fiction, than I should do if it were a reality. I had -indeed,” added Charles, “a mother!”—And, when he had -started this theme, he would dwell for ever on her praises. -I easily saw that never son loved a mother more cordially, -than Charles loved the all-accomplished Marguerite. With -what sentiments did I hear her eulogium? I could not join -in her praises; I could not be supposed to know her. I -stood there, as the statue of Prometheus might have done, -if, after being informed with a living soul, the Gods had -seen fit to chain its limbs in everlasting marble. The passion -within me panted and laboured for a vent; but I was -invincibly silent. With what sentiments did I hear her -eulogium? Every word of it was a dagger to my heart; -every word said, “And thou, villain, wert not thou her -murderer?” more painfully, than the fiercest reproaches -could have done.</p> - -<p>When Charles had celebrated with an eloquence truly -divine this incomparable mother, a sudden pang of memory -would make him start into rage.——“And this mother I -left! Of this mother I cannot tell whether she is alive or -dead! What shall I say? the crime, or the not less fatal -error of my father, separated me from this mother! I -loved my father: I loved him because he was my father; -I had great obligations to him; he once had virtues. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[439]</a></span> -my mother,—if I could have found her in the wildest -desert of Africa, and have known her virtues, a stranger -to my blood, descended from the remotest tribe of the human -race, I should have chosen her for my friend, my -preceptress and my guide, beyond all that youth and beauty, -with their most radiant charms, could tender to my acceptance!”</p> - -<p>Thus unconsciously, yet ingeniously, did my dear son -from time to time torture his father’s heart. I could not -even deliver him from the gloomy and wretched uncertainty, -whether this mother were alive or dead. With one -word I could have composed his soul into a sober grief; I -could have said, Your adorable mother at length rests from -her sorrows; she is no longer the victim of a misguided -and a cruel father; you have no longer occasion to brood -over that most disconsolate of reflections, “I know not what -anguish may be at this moment suffered by her who is entitled -to all my duty and all my affection.” With one -word I might have told this; and that word I dared not -utter.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV.</h2> - -<p>My son related to me his history, and made me the depository -of his feelings and reflections. The name of St. -Leon indeed never passed his lips; I felt that he had consigned -that to inviolable oblivion. The appellation he bore -in the army was the chevalier de Damville. Soon after he -abandoned me at Dresden, he had entered as a volunteer -in the imperial army. Charles the Fifth was at that time -assembling forces to encounter the confederates of the -league of Smalcalde. In this situation my son was eminently -fortunate. He was distinguished for uncommon -enterprise and courage in some of the first actions of the -war, and early attracted the notice of Gian-Battista Castaldo, -count of Piadena, who held an eminent command -under the emperor. In this army my son was a party to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[440]</a></span> -the decisive battle of Muhlberg, in April, 1547. Four years -afterwards, Castaldo was appointed commander in chief -against the Turks in Hungary, and the French chevalier -accompanied his patron to this new scene of military enterprise. -Charles had felt dissatisfied with the grounds and -motives of war between the Catholics and Protestants of -Germany, men worshipping the same Saviour, and appealing -to the same authorities, but many of them at least, -from the most upright and ingenuous scruples, differing in -their interpretation of those authorities. But, in their contentions -between the crescent and the cross, he entered -with unbounded enthusiasm into all the feelings that constitute -a champion or a martyr. He conceived that whatever -was dear to the human race in this world or the next -hung on the issue; he regarded the grandeur of the cause -as purifying his efforts and consecrating his name; and, -when he lifted his sword in vindication of an expiring -God, he felt himself steeled with more than mortal energy.</p> - -<p>My son dwelt on the merits of his patron with a degree -of veneration and love that knew no bounds. Castaldo -was ranked by the consenting voice of mankind with the -most accomplished generals of the age in which he lived. “I -knew him,” said Charles, “in his most private hours, and -stood next to and observed him in the greatest and most -critical occasions of his life. It was the least of his merits -that he distinguished me, that he took me up friendless and -an orphan, that under every circumstance he was more -than a father to me; that he corrected my faults, that he -guided me with his advice, that he instructed me with his -wisdom, and supported me by his countenance. Castaldo -was the most persevering and indefatigable of mankind; no -difficulties could undermine his apparent serenity; no accumulation -of dangers could appal or perplex him. Victory -never robbed him of his caution; misfortune and -defeat never destroyed the grandeur and elasticity of his -soul. I firmly believe that no general had ever a more discouraging -variety of counteractions to struggle with. The -enemy was barbarous and sanguinary, yet firm and undismayed, -in the full vigour of their political health, under -the rule of the ablest of their sovereigns. The nobles of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[441]</a></span> -the country Castaldo had to defend had almost all of them -been alienated, one after another, by the tricking and ill-judged -politics of the house of Austria. The nation was -ruined, houseless and starving. Many of the officers who -served under my general were the basest of poltroons; but -they were imposed upon him by his court; he was compelled -to place them in important trusts; and, even when -in the most dastardly way they betrayed those trusts, they -were by some pitiful intrigue sheltered from his discipline -and his justice. The forces of Castaldo were mutinous -and ungovernable; and he was almost constantly denied -the funds requisite for their pay.</p> - -<p>“For two years the count of Piadena struggled with these -complicated difficulties. When he had obtained a hard-earned -advantage at one extremity of the kingdom, he -found it rendered useless by some treachery or incapacity -in the other extremity, which it was instantly necessary he -should hasten to repair. He quelled four alarming mutinies -by his firmness, his resources, and the prudent combination -of his calmness and severity. In the midst of one of his -most arduous situations he suddenly received intelligence -that the states of Hungary, which were at that time assembled, -were debating whether they should enter into a treaty -with Solyman for the purpose of placing their country -under the Turkish sceptre. He immediately flew to the -place of council; the decision in favour of Solyman was -drawn up and ready to be adopted; but Castaldo, by his -presence, his authority, and his eloquence, recalled the -states to their duty, and prevented them from eternally -staining the Christian name. Surrounded with these difficulties, -opposed to an enemy many times more numerous -than the forces he could bring against them, and whose -wants were all plentifully supplied, Castaldo by his single -abilities kept the balance even, or rather caused it to incline -in favour of the Christian scale. But what,” added Charles, -“avails the most consummate merit! How may the most -incessant and undaunted exertions be shadowed by the veil -of obscurity! The world judges by events; success is -necessary to procure the palm of fame. After two years -of such labours as I witnessed and glory to describe, a mutiny<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[442]</a></span> -broke out among the mercenary troops, more formidable -than any that preceded; it was no longer even in the -abilities of Castaldo to quell. ‘We honour and respect you,’ -said the mutineers, ‘but we will no more serve without -pay: we have been baffled two years; we will march to the -gates of Vienna, and demand from Ferdinand, our sovereign, -why we are thus denied the arrears that are due to -us.’ They chose leaders for this expedition among themselves. -The great Castaldo, whose peculiar talent it is to -accommodate himself to events, and never by any misfortune -to be deprived of his invention and resources, saw -what it was that became him. Having in vain tried every -method for retaining his troops in Hungary, he offered -himself to lead them to Vienna. Then was seen the true -ascendancy of a noble mind. Goaded with want and distress, -they had been deaf to the remonstrances of their -general when he sought to direct them against the enemy. -But, when they saw him submitting himself to their rage -and impatience, and fearlessly intrusting his safety to -those who had before refused even to listen to him, and -who had reason to fear his retribution as their accuser and -judge, they were awed and speechless. They almost repented -of their frenzy, and were half determined to return -to their duty. Their remorse indeed was imperfect and -ineffectual; but Castaldo led this band of mutineers -through the heart of the kingdom, with as many symptoms -of regularity, modesty, and order, as if they had been -the best paid, the promptest and most loyal army in the -world.”</p> - -<p>My son spoke in terms of the warmest enthusiasm of -the defence of Erlau, in the period of Castaldo’s last and -most arduous campaign against the Turks. In respect of -fortifications the town was scarcely competent to resist the -feeblest enemy; but its deficiency in this point was supplied -by the constancy and valour of its garrison and inhabitants. -The very women displayed an enterprise, that -the more vigorous sex have seldom exhibited. In one instance, -a heroine of this sort was seen fighting in the presence -of her mother and her husband. Her husband fell -dead by her side. “Let us, my daughter,” said the mother,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[443]</a></span> -“remove the body, and devote the rest of our care to -its honourable funeral.”—“May God,” returned the impassioned -widow, “never suffer the earth to cover my husband’s -corse, till his death has been amply revenged; this -is the hour of battle, not a time for funeral and for tears!” -So speaking, and seizing the sword and shield of the -breathless champion, she rushed upon the enemy; nor did -she quit the breach till, by the slaughter of three Turks -who were ascending the scaling ladders, she had appeased -the fury in her breast, and the ghost of her departed husband. -Then raising the corpse, and pressing it to her -bosom, she drew it to the great church of the city, and -paid to it the last honours with all possible magnificence.<a name="FNanchor_9" id="FNanchor_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> -Many other examples of a heroism not inferior to this -were displayed on the same occasion. “And shall I,” -added Charles, in a sally of glorious enthusiasm, “ever -desert a cause which has been thus honoured? Shall I -betray a soil which has been immortalised by such illustrious -actions? Shall I join myself to the renegado Bethlem -Gabor, and the execrable Chatillon? No: such virtue -as I have described never could have been conceived, -but in the bosom of truth! Great as is the pious devotion -I feel for that God who died on the cross for the salvation -of mankind, I own my weakness, if it be a weakness, his -cause is scarcely less endeared to me by the sublime exertions -of his heroic followers, than by his own adorable -condescension and mercy.</p> - -<p>“When the glorious Castaldo departed with his rebellious -army for the metropolis of Germany, there was nothing I -more earnestly desired than to accompany his march. For -seven years he had conferred on me the benefits, and shown -towards me the affection, of a father; and I could not think -of being separated from him without the extremest anguish. -Beside, I regarded it as little less than sacrilege, to quit his -side at a time that he was exposed to the furious suggestions -of a host of robbers and banditti. But he would not allow -me to abandon my post. ‘Some time,’ said he, ‘we must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[444]</a></span> -separate, and you must stand alone. I have been long -enough your instructor; and, if my lessons or my example -can produce improvement in you, they must have performed -that office already.’ He treated with disdain the thought -of the danger to which he might be exposed, and his need -of a faithful guard; a thought which he had detected in the -midst of my anxieties, but which I had not the courage to -mention. ‘This,’ said he, ‘is your genuine sphere. You -are a young man, burning with the zeal of truth and religion. -You are inspired with the enthusiasm of a champion -and a martyr. Heaven knows how willingly I would have -spent my blood for the overthrow of Mahomet and his -blasphemous impieties. To me this is not permitted; to -you it is. I shall be engaged in the painful scenes of civil -contention between Christian and Christian, misguided and -inflamed by the human inventions of Luther and of Calvin. -You have before you a clearer and a brighter field; and, I -confidently persuade myself, you will be found worthy of -your happier destiny.’—The count of Piadena bestowed -me, so he was pleased to express himself, upon Nadasti, -the great palatine of the realm, as the most precious pledge -of his friendship that it was in his power to confer.</p> - -<p>“Since the retreat of Castaldo, the Christian standard has -obtained little more either of attention or aid from our -lawful sovereign, now the possessor of the imperial throne. -Ferdinand for a great part of this time has had his negotiators -at Constantinople, whom the insulting Turk has -condescended neither sincerely to treat with, nor to dismiss. -The Christian army in Hungary has been left to its own -resources; but zeal has supplied the place of magazines, -and religious ardour has taught us to omit no occasion of -annoying and distressing the enemy. The most considerable -occurrence of this period, has been the siege of Ziget about -four years ago. Solyman, taking advantage of certain factious -broils among our hereditary nobility, appointed at that -time one of his eunuchs bashaw of Buda; and, having -placed a numerous army under his command, -dismissed him from the foot of his throne with this arrogant -injunction, not to enter the capital of his province, till he -had first sent the keys of Ziget as an offering to his royal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[445]</a></span> -master. Horvati, the Christian governor of this fortification, -is one of the most accomplished and the bravest of -our native commanders; and, Nadasti having sent him a -reinforcement the better to enable him to support the -threatened siege, I was in the number of the soldiers appointed -on this service. The trenches were opened early -in June, and the siege continued for the space of seven -weeks. The bashaw, though an eunuch, in person stunted, -and of monstrous deformity, was distinguished for an uncommon -degree of audacity and perseverance. Four times -he filled the dikes of the fortification with wood and earth; -and as often, by means of a furious sally of the besieged, -the materials, which had thus with vast expense of industry -and labour been accumulated, were set fire to and consumed. -On the twelfth day of the siege he gained possession -of the town, and drove us back into the citadel; -but on the day following we recovered the ground we had -lost, and from that time the town was his no more. The -actions of these days were the severest of the whole siege; -we fought the enemy street by street, and inch by inch; -the great fountain in the market-place ran with blood; we -ascended hills of the dead, which the infidels opposed as a -barrier to our further progress; I seized two Turkish -standards; and, though wounded, pursued the enemy -through the eastern gate, and returned in triumph. Nadasti -in the sixth week of the siege marched to our relief; -but he was met and worsted by the bashaw, who returned -victorious to the foot of the walls. During the whole of -the siege mutual animosity was cherished by every species -of contrivance, and the heads of the distinguished dead -were exhibited on both sides as spectacles of abhorrence -and terror. The inflamed passions of the combatants several -times found a vent in listed duels: Horvati, the -governor, killed in one of these encounters a gigantic Turk, -who had sent a proud defiance to our host. I procured -myself honour upon a similar occasion; and the scarf -which I now wear, composed the turban of the infidel I -slew. At length the disappointed bashaw was obliged to -raise the siege; and he soon after died of grief and mortification -in his palace at Buda. I confess I recollect the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[446]</a></span> -Christian exploits in the defence of Ziget, in which I also -had a share, with rapture and delight; they will serve to -awaken in me new animation, when hereafter the coldness -of ordinary life might strike palsy to my soul. I shall -never think I have lived in vain, after having contributed, -in however humble a place, to arrest the career of insolence -and impiety which, under the standard of the crescent, -threatened to over-run the whole Christian world.”</p> - -<p>Such were the adventures and such the sentiments of the -gallant chevalier de Damville. I had been a warrior in my -youth, and the discourse he held was sufficiently congenial -to my earliest propensities. I saw indeed that he had -gained, in the zeal of a soldier of the cross, a source of martial -heroism, to which my military history had been a -stranger. But, though I could not entirely enter into this -sentiment of his, and indeed regarded it as an infatuation -and delusion, I did not the less admire the grandeur of soul -with which this heroic fable inspired him. There was no -present propensity in my heart that led me to delight in -deeds of blood and war; I saw them in their genuine colours -without varnish or disguise; I hated and loathed -them from my very inmost soul; but, notwithstanding this, -I was sensible to the lustre which military zeal cast round -the character of my son. Nor is this incredible or absurd; -the qualities of a generous and enterprising champion are -truly admirable, though the direction they have received -should be worthy of eternal regret.</p> - -<p>Charles de Damville was my friend; and, when I say -this, I cannot help stopping a moment for the indulgence -of reflecting on the contrast between my present intercourse -with my son, and my late connection with Bethlem Gabor. -I had sought the friendship of the Hungarian partisan, -partly because I wanted a protector and an ally, but partly -also because in my soul I looked up to and admired the -man. I called Bethlem Gabor my friend; I persuaded -myself that I had cogent reasons for calling him so. But -there was little sympathy between us; he was wrapped up -in his own contemplations; he was withered by his own -calamities; our souls scarcely touched in a single point. -No, no; this is not friendship.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[447]</a></span></p> - -<p>Friendship is a necessity of our nature, the stimulating -and restless want of every susceptible heart. How wretched -an imposture in this point of view does human life for the -most part appear! With boyish eyes, full of sanguine -spirits and hope, we look round us for a friend; we sink -into the grave, broken down with years and infirmities, and -still have not found the object of our search. We talk to -one man, and he does not understand us; we address ourselves -to another, and we find him the unreal similitude -only of what we believed him to be. We ally ourselves to -a man of intellect and of worth; upon further experience -we cannot deny him either of these qualities; but the more -we know each other, the less we find of resemblance; he -is cold, where we are warm; he is harsh, where we are -melted into the tenderest sympathy; what fills us with rapture, -is regarded by him with indifference; we finish with -a distant respect, where we looked for a commingling soul: -this is not friendship. We know of other men, we have -viewed their countenances, we have occasionally sat in their -society: we believe it is impossible we should not find in -them the object we sought. But disparity of situation and -dissimilitude of connections prove as effectual a barrier to -intimacy, as if we were inhabitants of different planets.</p> - -<p>It is one of the most striking characteristics of the nature -of man, that we are eternally apt to grow dead and insensible -to the thing we have not. Half our faculties become -palsied, before we are in the slightest degree aware that we -are not what we were, and what we might be. There are -philosophers who regard this as the peculiar privilege of -man, a wise provision of Providence to render us contented -and easy with our lot in existence. For my part, -I do not envy, and I have never aspired to, the happiness -of ignorance and stupidity. But, be it a blessing or a -curse, the phenomenon is undoubted. Present me with some -inestimable benefit, that my nature fitted me to enjoy, but -that my fortune has long denied me to partake, and I instantly -rise as from an oppressive lethargy. Before, it may -be, I felt myself uneasy; but I knew of no remedy, I -dreamed it was my nature, I did not put forth a finger for -relief. But now, that I have drawn the unexpected prize,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[448]</a></span> -I grow astonished at my former blindness; I become suddenly -sensible of my powers and my worth; the blood that -slept in my heart, circulates, and distends every vein; I -tread on air; I feel a calm, yet ravishing delight; I know -what kind of an endowment life is, to a being in whom -sentiment and affection are awakened to their genuine -action.</p> - -<p>This was the effect of the mutual attachment produced -between me and Charles. I looked into him, and saw a -man; I saw expansive powers of intellect and true sensibility -of heart. To be esteemed and loved and protected by -such a man; to have him to take one by the hand, to enquire -into one’s sorrows, to interest himself in one’s anxieties, to -exult in one’s good fortune and one’s joys; this and this -only deserves the name of existence.</p> - -<p>I had however a painful drawback upon my satisfaction. -It was my fate since the visit of the stranger of the lake of -Constance, to rejoice for moments and to lament for years. -I could not at first ascend to that purity and eminence of -friendship to forget myself; I could not but painfully feel -the contrast between me and my son. How happy was -Charles, how respectable, how self-approving, how cheerful -of heart: I shall presently have occasion to speak of a still -further addition to his happiness! I looked indeed young, -fair, blooming, a stranger to care: but I had a secret worm -gnawing at my vitals. This very deceitfulness of my countenance -was a bitter aggravation to my remorse. I never -saw my features reflected in the polished shield without -feeling myself struck to the core. Charles had walked -right onward in the paths of honour; he feared no detection; -he had no secret consciousness that gave the lie to the voice -of applause, partiality, and friendship. But I was all a lie; -I was no youth; I was no man; I was no member of the -great community of my species. The past and the future -were equally a burthen to my thoughts. To the eye that -saw me I was a youth flushed with hope, and panting for -existence. In my soul I knew, and I only knew, that I was -a worn out veteran, battered with the storms of life, having -tried every thing and rejected every thing, and discarded -for ever by hope and joy. When I walked forth leaning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[449]</a></span> -on the arm of him who delighted to call me his younger -brother, this was the consciousness that hunted my steps -and blasted me with its aspect whichever way we turned.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XLV">CHAPTER XLV.</h2> - -<p>Among the various confidences reposed in me by my son, -one was his love. The object of his attachment was a -young lady of quality, named Pandora, niece to Nadasti, -great palatine of Hungary. In consequence of the earnest -recommendation of Castaldo in 1553, Nadasti had taken my -son under his particular protection, and Charles’s principal -home at the periods when the army was dispersed in winter-quarters -was at the palatine’s house in the city of Presburg. -Here his manners had become more polished, and his taste -more refined. Till then, bred in tents, and living amidst -the clangour of arms, he had been a mere soldier, rough, -generous, manly, and brave. But Nadasti was an elegant -scholar, smitten with that ardent love of classical and -ancient lore which has so eminently distinguished the sixteenth -century. He assembled round him men of letters -from various parts of Europe; and, under his auspices, the -days of Matthias Corvinus, king of Hungary, seemed to be -revived, whose love of literature was such, that he kept three -hundred transcribers in his house, constantly employed in -multiplying copies of the precious relics of Roman and -Athenian learning. The consort of Nadasti was one of the -most accomplished matrons of the age in which she lived, -and her three daughters were patterns of every polite and -amiable accomplishment. Such was the school into which -the chevalier de Damville entered at the age of twenty-five, -immediately after the retreat of Castaldo. This may seem -an age somewhat late for new-modelling the character, but -Charles had an enterprising and aspiring temper; and he -soon became a distinguished ornament of courts and the -society of ladies. Castaldo had taught him all he knew,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[450]</a></span> -the temper, the manners, and the science of a military -chieftain: the palace of Nadasti finished and completed the -education of my son.</p> - -<p>Pandora was only fourteen years of age when Charles de -Damville first became a sort of inmate of the house of her -uncle. She at that time lived with her father; but he -being afterwards killed in the battle which Nadasti fought -for the relief of Ziget, Pandora occupied an apartment in -the palatine palace. From the first hour he saw her, a -mere child as it were, accompanied by her governess, Charles -confessed to me that he had beheld her with eyes of distinction. -He had said to himself, This little girl will hereafter -be a jewel worthy of the crown of an emperor. He -had found something inexpressibly attractive in the starry -brightness of her complexion; her air he regarded as both -lighter and more graceful than any thing he had ever before -seen; and her speaking and humid eye seemed to him the -very emblem of sensibility and sweetness. If, at the girlish -and immature season of fourteen, he had ascribed to her all -these perfections, it will easily be supposed that, as she increased -in stature as the beauties of form unfolded themselves -in her, and she advanced in sentiment and a lovely -consciousness of her worth, the partiality of Charles became -more deep and unalterable. But the orphan niece of Nadasti -was altogether without a portion; and the great -palatine would have seen with more complacency the chevalier -de Damville addressing his pretensions to one of his -daughters.</p> - -<p>Charles confessed to me that the passion he nourished -had been fruitful of pleasures and griefs, of hope and perplexity. -It was now almost a year since Pandora and -himself had confessed a mutual affection. The confession -had not been the result of design on either side: both had -wished to suppress it; Pandora from virgin dignity and -reserve; and Charles, because he saw not how their affection -could be crowned with success, and he dreaded, more than -any misery to himself, to be the author of degradation and -misery to her he loved. But what is ever uppermost in -the heart will at some time or other betray itself. Their -sympathetic and accordant feelings upon a point so deeply<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[451]</a></span> -interesting to both, rendered them eagle-eyed to discern -the smallest indications. They had had a thousand opportunities, -and a thousand opportunities had been resisted. -They became more than usually silent and reserved towards -each other; they shunned to meet, and, when they met, -avoided each other’s eyes. One day a casual encounter in -a solitary retreat, which each had sought principally with -intention to escape the presence of the other, had taken -them off their guard. They were mutually hesitating and -perplexed; each discerned more unequivocal indications -than had ever occurred before of the state of the other’s -sentiments; the entire accord snapped as it were at once -the chains of reserve; and each, after a short interval of -hesitation, spoke with an eloquence, hitherto untried, the -language of love. The difference of years between them -gave a zest to the communication. Pandora seemed to be -throwing herself upon the protection of an elder brother, -of a guardian, one in whose prudence she confided as the -antidote of her inexperience; Charles felt his maturer years -as imposing on him more severely that sacred integrity, the -obligation of which, at least as society is at present constituted, -seems in the majority of cases to grow out of the -relative situation of the sexes, of the protectorship of the -one, and the dependence of the other.</p> - -<p>“And now,” exclaimed Charles, “what am I to do? -what am I to desire? It would be affectation in me to -conceal from myself on an occasion like this, that the reputation -I have acquired both in the arts of peace and war -is such, as to have caused Nadasti to set his heart upon -my becoming his son-in-law. The great palatine, though -in many respects generous and liberal, has that inflexibleness -of opinion, which is perhaps more apt to grow up in -the hearts of scholars, than in other departments of society. -He is grave and solemn; all his habits are of a majestic -and lordly nature; and I have small reason to hope that I -shall find him accessible to my representations. He is little -subject to sallies of passion; his own propensities are wholly -under the control of his judgment; and it is not likely -that he will make allowance for the ardent affections of -other minds. Pandora is entirely dependent on him; in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[452]</a></span> -any case the portion she would receive from him would be -very inadequate to her worth; but, discarded and discountenanced -by him who has the absolute rule of Christian -Hungary, what can she expect? I am myself destitute of -fortune; my provision as a soldier will be very inadequate -to the wants of the first and softest of her sex. But even -of that provision Nadasti will deprive me, if I marry in -opposition to his pleasure. Shall I make Pandora the inhabitant -of tents and encampments; shall I expose her to -all the changes and hazards of a military life; shall I drag -her as the attendant of a soldier of fortune through every -climate of Europe? No, by heavens! I should regard -myself as the most selfish and the basest of mankind, if I -could deliberate on such a question. Never shall the charmer -of my soul owe a single privation to her Charles. I love -her with so pure and entire a passion, that I prefer her -prosperity to every earthly good. Nor is it merely necessary -to my attachment that she should live in plenty and ease; -I require that my Pandora should be seen in her native -lustre, that she should be surrounded with every appendage -due to her merit, that she should command applause from -the mercenary, and homage from the superficial. Her -praise is the only music I enjoy. I could not bear to hear -her name coupled with levity and scorn. I could not bear -that, where she appeared, every eye should not be turned -to her with reverence and honour. My passion, I confess -it, is that of a disciple of liberal arts and a nobleman, not -that of an Arcadian.”</p> - -<p>The period of the campaign now drew to an end, and -Charles, having requested me to accompany him, set out -for his usual winter retreat in the city of Presburg. I saw -Pandora. Never in my life had I beheld any thing so -sweetly simple. I had always been an admirer of the sex; -but the perfections of Pandora were of a nature that I had -not observed in any other woman. Her symmetry was so -perfect, the pearly lustre of her skin so admirable, and her -form and carriage so light and ethereal, that at first view it -was difficult to persuade one’s self that she was framed of -the same gross materials as the rest of the species. She -seemed not constructed to endure the shocks of the world, -and the rude assaults of ill humour or neglect, of censure or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[453]</a></span> -adversity. Her voice was of the sweetest, the clearest and -softest tone I ever heard. There was a peculiar <i lang="fr">naïveté</i> in -her accents, that riveted your soul in irresistible fetters. -Her conversation, for in the sequel I enjoyed much of her -conversation, had a very uncommon zest. She seemed to -have no art, and what she uttered appeared as if wholly unchecked -by consideration or reserve. You were persuaded -that she always delivered without restraint the first thing -that occurred to her mind; yet in what she said there was -so much good sense, so much true feeling, and, as the occasion -allowed, so much whim and imagination, that you could -not discover how any of her words could be changed but -for a worse. This circumstance strikingly contrasted with -the childish simplicity, or rather the feminine softness and -sylph-like delicacy, of her manner and her tone. The opposition -of appearance between her and my son made a -strong impression upon me. He was a perfect soldier, with -an ample chest, broad shoulders, and a figure, though graceful -and well proportioned, yet so strong, that it seemed -framed to contend with and to conquer the wrestlers in the -Grecian games. His complexion, shaded with luxuriant -curls of manly hair, was itself made brown with the rigours -of climate. Pandora was so heavenly fair, so sweetly delicate -and slender, that you would have thought she would be -withered and destroyed in his embrace, like the frailest ornament -of the garden before the northern breeze. But -courage to choose what is rugged and manlike is often characteristic -of the softest of her sex.</p> - -<p>I speedily contracted an intimate commerce with the -beautiful Pandora. I was naturally desirous to be as consummate -a judge as possible of those perfections, which I -believed fated to determine the future happiness of my son. -When sufficiently satisfied in that respect, I still continued -the indulgence, and found a pure and exquisite pleasure in -the daily contemplation of accomplishments that were to -prove the materials of his gratification and delight, whose -gratification I preferred to my own. I had a still further -view in this commerce. I was anxious to be perfectly informed -of the connections and family of Pandora, that upon -them I might build a project I had deeply at heart, of bestowing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[454]</a></span> -on her, in the least questionable and exceptionable -manner, a dowry, that should place her upon an equality -with her cousins, the daughters of Nadasti, and deliver my -son from all apprehension of the unpleasing consequences -to result from the resentment of the great palatine. Nadasti -was opulent, and the portions of his daughters very -considerable; and, however inclined, I could not exceed -this limit without risking the entire miscarriage of my project. -Charles thought nothing too rich either in situation -or income to do honour to the mistress of his soul; but, -separately from this enthusiastic sentiment, both he and -Pandora had too just a taste, not to prefer the simple majesty -of ancient nobility, to the expensive ostentations of -modern refinement.</p> - -<p>Having digested my plan I was obliged to travel as far -as Venice for the execution of it. The mother of Pandora -had been a Venetian, and the uncle of her mother was one -of the adventurers who had sailed with Pizarro for the conquest -of Peru. He had died before the completion of that -business, and had left behind him no relative so near to -him in blood as the lovely Pandora. By a singular piece -of good fortune, I encountered at Venice an individual who -had sailed in the same ship with the young lady’s uncle. -The uncle having died prematurely, the share he might -otherwise have obtained of the spoils of Peru was sunk in -the shares of the rest, and nothing was allowed to remain -that might have descended to his heirs. His friend and -countryman I found, though once rich with the booty he -made, had by a series of calamities, before he reached his -native home, been reduced to a state of poverty. The vicissitudes -he experienced, had produced in him the effect -of a very uncommon eagerness for acquisition. This man -I fixed on for my instrument; I opened to him my plan, -and offered him a very ample gratification, provided he -acted successfully the part I assigned him. In concert with -each other we digested and forged the various documents -that were best calculated to give credibility to the tale. -Having completed our arrangement, I set out for Presburg -without a moment’s delay, and directed my Venetian not to -follow till after a stipulated interval. He was not to enter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[455]</a></span> -into full possession of his reward till he had completed the -task he had undertaken. It was fixed that no person in -Hungary should be acquainted with my visit to Venice, -but only be allowed to understand generally, that I had been -engaged for a certain time in an excursion of amusement. -So hard is the fate of the possessor of the philosopher’s -stone, and so limited his power, as to have rendered all -these precautions on my part indispensably necessary. Had -not the various circumstances concurred, the detail of which -is here stated, the birth of Pandora’s mother in a maritime -state, the expedition of Pizarro to Peru, her uncle’s engaging -in this expedition and dying before it was completed, -and my own casual rencounter with his <i lang="fr">compagnon -du voyage</i>, my project would too probably have been baffled. -A direct gift of the fortune I designed would never have -been admitted of; and, had not the coincidence been eminently -favourable, even though I should have succeeded in -misleading every other party, I could not hope to have -eluded the perspicacity and jealous honour of my son.</p> - -<p>When I returned to Presburg, I again renewed my intercourse -with Pandora. The passion entertained by Damville -for the beautiful orphan was a secret to every person -at court; they had managed so discreetly as to have avoided -every hint of suspicion; and, as it was universally known -that the great palatine had an eye on this gallant soldier for -one of his daughters, few persons entertained a doubt that -my son would speedily declare his election among the co-heiresses -of Nadasti. On the other hand, in the friendly -intercourse between me and Pandora, neither she nor myself -felt that there was any thing to conceal, and it was -therefore a matter of complete notoriety. My blooming -youth of appearance was remarked; by the majority of -bystanders we were judged formed for each other; and, -before I was aware, the beautiful Hungarian was awarded -to me by the general voice as my destined bride. When -however I became acquainted with the rumour, I was contented -to smile at it; the consciousness in my own breast -how far the public sagacity had wandered in its guess, gave -to that guess, in my apprehension, a certain air of whimsical -and amusing.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[456]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XLVI">CHAPTER XLVI.</h2> - -<p>Such was the situation of the affair of Pandora, and I daily -looked for the arrival of my Venetian confederate, when -suddenly I remarked an alteration in the carriage of my -beautiful ally. She had hitherto, on all occasions, sought -my conversation; she now appeared sedulously to avoid -me. Her manner had been characterised by the gaiety, -the sprightliness and general good humour, incident to her -age, and congenial to her disposition. She was now melancholy. -Her melancholy assumed a tone correspondent -to the habits of her mind, and was peculiar and individual. -It had an ingenuous and defenceless air, inexpressibly calculated -to excite interest. It seemed to ask, what have I -done to deserve to be melancholy? You felt for her, as -for a spotless lily depressed by the unpitying storm. You -saw, that those enchanting features were never made for a -face of sorrow, and that that bewitching voice ought never -to have been modulated into an expression of heaviness.</p> - -<p>I was in the highest degree anxious to learn the cause -of this revolution, and was the farthest in the world from -suspecting its real foundation. I pursued Pandora with -so much importunity, and demanded an interview with such -irresistible earnestness, that she at length consented to grant -it. We met in a remote part of the garden. “Why, -Henry,” said she, “do you thus persecute me? You are -my evil genius, the cause of the greatest calamity that -could ever have overtaken me.”</p> - -<p>I started. “For heaven’s sake, beautiful Pandora, what -do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“I love the chevalier de Damville. I have loved him -long; he is dearer to me than life; and he has cast me off -for ever!”</p> - -<p>“And am I the cause?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you, and you alone. I had for some time observed -a change in his behaviour, that he was uncommonly -grave, serious, and reserved. I endeavoured to soothe him; -I redoubled my blandishments in our next season of unreserved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[457]</a></span> -discourse; I tenderly enquired into the source of -his grief.</p> - -<p>“For a long time he resisted my importunity. At -length, ‘Faithless girl,’ said he, ‘have you the cruelty to -ask the meaning of my depression? This is the extremity -of insult. Is it not enough that I know your inconstancy? -Is it not enough that I have found you, like the -rest of your frivolous sex, the mere slave of your sense of -sight, regardless of vows, regardless of an affection which -despised all interests but that of tenderness and love, -caught by the first appearance of something younger, softer, -and more courtly, than I pretend or desire to be? Will -nothing satisfy you but the confession of my unhappiness -from my own mouth? Do you require expostulation, intreaty, -and despair, from your discarded lover, to fill up the -measure of your triumph?’</p> - -<p>“For a long time I was totally at a loss to apprehend -my dear chevalier’s meaning.</p> - -<p>“‘No,’ continued he, ‘I am not jealous. There is no -temper I hold in such sovereign contempt as jealousy. I -am not of a disposition easily to conceive umbrage, or -lightly to doubt the protestations of the woman I adore. I -have been blind too long. But I see that you are eternally -together. I see that you take advantage of the distance at -which the despotic temper of Nadasti keeps us from each -other, to give all your time to my favoured rival. You -seem never to be happy out of his society. I was first led -to throw off the dulness of my unsuspecting security, by -the general voice of the public. The whole court gives you -to each other. Not a creature it holds, but has discerned -that passion, which you have the insolence to expect to -conceal from me. Since I have been awakened from my -security, I have seen it a thousand times. I have seen -your eyes seek and encounter each other. I have seen -them suddenly lighted up by your interchanging glances. -I have seen the signs of your mutual intelligence. I have -seen with what impatience, the moment you could escape -from the crowded circle, you have joined each other, and -retired together. Ungenerous Pandora!</p> - -<p>“‘But do not imagine I will enter the lists with the gaudy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[458]</a></span> -butterfly who has now attracted your favour. I have told -you already that I am not formed for jealousy. I am not -the sort of man you have supposed me to be. I have loved -you much; I have loved you long. But I would tear out -my heart from my manly breast, if I believed it yet retained -an atom of passion for you. I know what it was -I loved; I loved a character of frankness, of ingenuousness, -of simplicity, which I fondly imagined was yours, but -which I now find was the creature of my own fancy. -The Pandora that stands before me; the child of art; the -base wretch that could take advantage of my forbearance in -regard to her uncle, which was adopted purely out of love -to her; the unfeeling coquette that would wish to retain -me in her chains when she had discarded me from her -affections; this creature I never did love, and I never will. -I know how deeply rooted the habit has been in my bosom -of regarding you as the thing you are not; I know how -bitter it is to a temper like mine to detect so unlooked-for -a delusion; I know what it will cost me to cast you off for -ever. But I never yet proposed to myself a conquest over -my own weakness that I did not gain, nor will I now. If -you were to discard this wretched D’Aubigny to-morrow, -if you were convinced of and contrite for your error, I -must ingenuously tell you, no time, no penitence could -restore you to my admiration. I had set up an imaginary -idol in my bosom; but you have convinced me of its -brittleness, and dashed it to pieces.’</p> - -<p>“I endeavoured,” continued Pandora, “by every imaginable -protestation to convince my late faithful lover of his -mistake. But it was to no purpose; all I could say only -tended to swell the tide of his fearful resentment.”</p> - -<p>“‘Be silent,’ cried he: ‘add no further to the catalogue -of your wanton and causeless delusions. Do not -make me hate too much what I once so blindly and ardently -adored. I feel that I have an enemy within me, that would -fain co-operate with your deceptions and hypocrisy. I -find that man, treacherous to himself, is formed by nature -to be the fool of your artful sex. But I will subdue this -propensity in me, though I die for it. I may be wretched; -but I will not despise myself. Have I not seen your falsehood?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[459]</a></span> -Have not all my senses been witnesses of your -guilt? The miracle is that I could have been duped so -long. I have heard this stripling lover of yours inexhaustible -in your praises, and dwelling upon them with an ardour -that nothing but passion could have inspired. I have -seen, as I have already told you, the intelligence of your -eyes. I have seen those melting glances, I have heard -those tender and familiar tones between you, that bespoke -the most perfect confidence and the most entire mingling of -heart. If I did not believe this, I should believe worse of -you. I should think your heart not merely capricious, but -an absolute prostitute; prepared to bestow upon hundreds -those sweet, those nameless tendernesses of accent and -countenance, which I fondly imagined were reserved for -me alone. I should regard you as the worst and most pernicious -acquisition that could fall to the lot of a man. -‘Go, Pandora,’ added he: ‘my heart is chaste; my -soul is firm. I can no longer be deceived by you; I will -not dispute your charms with the idle boy you have now -thought proper to favour.’ And, saying thus, he burst -from me in an agony of impatience.</p> - -<p>“Alas!” continued the sweet and ingenuous Pandora, -“my dear Henry, what shall I do? How shall I remove -the unreasonable imaginations of this noble mind? Bear -me witness, Heaven! nothing could be more innocent than -the correspondence I allowed myself to hold with you. My -adorable Charles was continually calling you brother; I -scarcely ever heard him speak of you by any other appellation. -I regarded Charles as my husband; I already viewed -you in anticipation as the brother of my lord. Excluded -as I was from frequent conversation with him whom I most -loved, I endeavoured to supply the deficiency by an unreserved -communication with you. The extreme resemblance -of your persons increased my gratification. You were his -picture, his speaking image. While I looked at you, I -said, ‘Such once was my Charles, before he was the great -man, the gallant soldier, the accomplished cavalier, the -adored object, that now engrosses my affections.’ Beside, I -knew that Charles loved you as much as he did any man on -earth, and that knowledge made you dear to me. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[460]</a></span> -were constantly eager to dwell upon and describe his excellences; -could I fail to be pleased with your conversation? -I own that the pleasure I took in it was unbounded, and -the emotions it awakened in my affectionate heart delicious. -But all this, candidly explained, was only an additional -proof of the tenderness and constancy of my earliest attachment.</p> - -<p>“And now, ever since the fatal day in which this conversation -passed with my Charles, he is absent from court, -and I know not whither he is gone. He has disdained to -seek any further explanation, nor do I know how to appeal -to his calmer feelings and more deliberate mind. One -thing however I had determined on, and that was, Henry, -strictly to avoid your society.</p> - -<p>“I trust, wherever my Charles is, he will hear of this. -I owe this expiation to his agonised feelings, and to the -appearances that in some degree justify his misconstruction. -I will wait patiently, till the simplicity and singleness of -my conduct have cleared my faith. If I should otherwise -have found pleasure and relief in your society, I will make -a merit with myself of sacrificing this to the apprehensive -delicacy of my Charles’s mind. In this single instance -your importunity has prevailed with me to dispense with -my rule: you were not to blame, and I thought upon more -mature reflection that I owed you an explanation. But -henceforth, if you have any kindness for me, or value for -him who has acted and felt towards you like a brother, I -must entreat you to co-operate with me in this, and that, -whether in public or private, we may bestow no notice on -each other, and avoid all opportunities of communication. -To persuade you to this, was indeed a principal inducement -with me so far to deviate from the rule I had laid down to -myself, as to admit this conversation.”</p> - -<p>I was extremely affected with the unhappiness of Pandora. -I exerted myself to console her. I promised that -nothing on my part should be wanting to remove every -shadow of doubt that hung upon her fidelity, and I exhorted -her to believe that every thing would infallibly terminate -in the way most honourable and gratifying to herself. -Pandora listened to me, and dried her tears. The conversation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[461]</a></span> -was interesting and soothing to us both; we -regarded it as the last unreserved and sympathetic communication -we should ever have with each other; it insensibly -grew longer and longer, and we knew not how to put -an end to it. We were still in this state of irresolution -when, looking up, I perceived Charles de Damville approaching -from the further end of the walk that led to the alcove.</p> - -<p>I would have withdrawn. I was anxious to remove the -unjust suspicion that hung upon his mind; but the instant -that presented to him so strong an apparent confirmation of -them, the instant that by so doing must have worked up his -soul into tumult, did not appear a favourable one for explanation. -To withdraw was impossible. Pandora had -discerned her lover at the same moment with myself. She -was seized with a faintness. She would have sunk to the -ground; but I caught her in my arms. I rested with one -knee on the earth; her head was reclined on my bosom. -Charles approached with a quicker pace.</p> - -<p>“Rise,” said he. “This is beyond my hopes. I left Presburg -with the purpose of not revisiting it for years; but, -as I proceeded further and further from a place which had -lately been the centre of my affections, I began to doubt -whether I had not acted with precipitation, and to believe -that there was yet some uncertainty hanging on my fate. -The seemingly earnest protestations of this delusive syren -rung in my ears; mechanically, without any formed resolution, -I changed my course, and returned on my steps. -My doubts are now at an end. I find you taking instant -advantage of my absence to throw yourselves into each -other’s arms. The feelings I so lately uttered in your presence, -Pandora, would have kept you apart, if my feelings -had been in the least sacred in your eyes, if all my surmises -had not been too true.”—He took by the hand the -weeping Pandora, and led her to the seat which a little -before she had quitted.</p> - -<p>“Why all this artifice? Why all this deceit? It is said -that we are not masters of our own hearts, and that no -human passion is formed to endure for ever. Influenced -by these maxims, I could have pardoned your inconstancy, -too fair, too fickle Pandora! but why strain every nerve,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[462]</a></span> -to make me believe you still retained a passion you had -discarded, to subject me to the lingering torture of deceit, -instead of communicating to me a truth, agonising indeed -to human frailty, but calculated to inspire fortitude and -decision? This I cannot excuse: this racks me with the -bitterest of disappointments, disappointment in the virtues -I had ascribed to you; and convinces me, that you are -neither worthy of me, nor worthy of happiness.</p> - -<p>“And you too, D’Aubigny, you have acted a part in this -unworthy plot, I rescued you from prison, from a dungeon -from which, a few hours before, you had no hope of -coming forth alive. I took you under my protection, when -you had no friend; I placed you next myself; I conceived -for you the affection of a brother; I loved you, next in -degree to the mistress of my soul. In return for all that -I have done, and all that I felt for you, you have with -insidious heart and every base disguise, seduced from me the -woman of my choice. Why not frankly and ingenuously -have demanded her at my hands? The heart is free; -your reciprocal passion, though I might have regretted it, -I should have been unable to blame; it is the cloak that -you have drawn over it, that proves the baseness of its -origin. Do you think I had not the courage cheerfully -and without a murmur to resign to you this illustrious fair -one? I feel that I was worthy to be openly treated. Had -I seen in you a mutual and ingenuous passion, I would not -have been the bar to its just consummation. I would not -have sought the person of a woman, whose heart, in spite -perhaps of her better resolutions, was given to another. I -should loathe myself for ever, were I capable of such a part. -It was the sympathetic sentiment towards me, beating in -accord to the sentiment of my own bosom, that I once saw -in Pandora, and not either her peerless beauties, or the excellences -I imputed to her mind, that formed the master-charm -which fascinated my soul. I feel that I had the -force, in the negation of my own happiness, to have drawn -comfort and compensation from the happiness of two creatures -I so dearly loved, as D’Aubigny and Pandora.</p> - -<p>“But this alleviation in the midst of what you have -condemned me to suffer, you have ungenerously denied -me.”——</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[463]</a></span></p> - -<p>I sought to interrupt my son. I could no longer bear to -see him involved in so painful an error, and not exert every -nerve to rescue him from it. But his passions were -wrought higher than mine: he would not suffer me to -speak.</p> - -<p>“Be silent, D’Aubigny! I cannot brook to be interrupted -now. My heart is full; and I must have leave to -utter the sentiments that agitate and distend it.”</p> - -<p>He advanced towards Pandora. He took hold of her -hand.</p> - -<p>“Rise, madam. I shall not long trouble you with the -boisterous impetuousness of my passions. Do not resist me -now!”</p> - -<p>She rose, and followed him; her face still covered with -her handkerchief, and drowned in tears. He led her to the -front of the alcove: he motioned me to approach; with -his other hand he took hold of mine. He seemed to lift -Pandora’s hand to his lips, as if to kiss it; with a sudden -start he put it down again; he held it below the level of -his breast.</p> - -<p>During this scene, Pandora and myself were speechless. -Most women, in the situation of Pandora, would, I suppose, -have spoken, and have been eager to vindicate themselves -from so groundless an imputation. But what she did was -peculiar to the delicacy and defencelessness of her personal -character. She was overwhelmed, and incapable of effort. -For my own part, my feelings were uncommonly complicated. -My apparent situation was a plain one, the situation -of a youth mistaken by his friend for the seducer of the -mistress of that friend; and had my feelings been merely -relative to this situation, I could undoubtedly have spoken -without embarrassment. But with this were involved the -sentiments originating in my secret character, the sentiments -of a man anxious to benefit, and who had devoted -himself to the interests of another; of a father tremblingly -alive to the happiness of his son, and eager to dive into his -soul, that he might the more sensibly admire his virtues, -and with a more enlightened skill secure his fortune. I was -silent: Charles de Damville proceeded:—</p> - -<p>“Thus,” said he, “I join your hands; thus I withdraw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464">[464]</a></span> -all my claims upon Pandora; thus I remove every impediment -to your wishes. This, Pandora,—this, D’Aubigny, -I was capable of, if you had treated me honourably, and -avowed an honest passion. You do not know Charles de -Damville. You have treated me, as none but the most -groveling soul could deserve to be treated. Had you been -ingenuous, I should have a consolation in what I am doing, -that now I cannot have. I can no longer persuade myself -that I am joining two worthy hearts to each other. I can -no longer relieve the bitterness of my own disappointment, -by the image of your future felicity. May I be mistaken! -May you be truly happy in each other! You cannot be -happy beyond the wishes formed in your favour, by him -who will remember, to the latest hour of his existence, how -much his heart was devoted to you both.”</p> - -<p>Saying this, he burst away from us abruptly, and disappeared. -At first, as I listened to the heroic language of -my son, I asked myself whether it were the expression of -a warm heart or a cold one. It costs nothing to a cold -heart to ape the language of heroism, and to pretend to -make the greatest sacrifices, when its constitution has rendered -all effort unnecessary to the feat. But I looked in -the face of Charles, and forgot my doubts. His voice he -had indeed wound up to the tone of his speech; it was a -little tremulous, but in the main firm, serious, deliberate, -and elevated. But his countenance was the picture of distress. -There sat enthroned, defying all banishment and -disguise, the anguish of his soul. His eye was haggard; -his complexion was colourless and wan. He had been absent -several days from Presburg; his appearance told me -that he could scarcely either have eaten or slept during the -period of his absence. He might talk of the generosity -with which he could resign Pandora; I read in his face -what that resignation had cost, and would go on to cost -him. Ingenuous, noble-hearted Charles! I doubted whether, -but for a reverse of the events he apprehended, he -would be able to survive it.</p> - -<p>He had no sooner left us, than I applied myself to comfort -Pandora. I swore to her that, in spite of every temporary -cloud, I would yet witness the union of her and her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465">[465]</a></span> -adored chevalier. I assured her that I would not rest, till -I had forced Damville to hear me, and compelled him to -credit the sincerity of my tale.</p> - -<p>How many things were there, that, in the scene which -had just passed, I might have urged in answer to Damville, -but respecting which my situation imposed upon me the -most rigorous silence! I might have said, “You call yourself -my protector, my benefactor, my patron; the real relation -between us is the reverse of the picture you have -drawn. I want not your protection; I am qualified, if I -please, to be a patron to all the world. I am meditating -the most generous things in your behalf: this perfidious -friend, as you deem him, has devoted all his thoughts, and -postponed all his gratifications, that he might prove himself -substantially and in the most important particulars your -friend.”</p> - -<p>More than this I might have said. I might have said, -“I am your father. I have no inclinations, no passions contravening -your gratification. I love you with more than -a father’s love; I transfer to you all the affection I entertained -for your peerless, murdered mother! All my study -is your happiness. You are to me the whole world, and -more than the whole world. Extensive and singular as are -my prerogatives, I fold them up; I forget them all; and -think of you alone.”</p> - -<p>I cannot give a stronger proof than is contained in what -I have here stated, of the misery of my condition. I was -cheated, as I have once before remarked, with the form of -a man, but had nothing of the substance. I was endowed -with the faculty of speech, but was cut off from its proper -and genuine use. I was utterly alone in the world, separated -by an insurmountable barrier from every being of my -species. No man could understand me; no man could -sympathise with me; no man could form the remotest guess -at what was passing in my breast. I had the use of words; -I could address my fellow-beings; I could enter into dialogue -with them. I could discourse of every indifferent -thing that the universe contained; I could talk of every -thing but my own feelings. This, and not the dungeon of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466">[466]</a></span> -Bethlem Gabor, is the true solitude. Let no man, after -me, pant for the acquisition of the philosopher’s stone!</p> - -<p>Charles de Damville had again left Presburg, the very -instant he quitted the alcove. When I inquired for him -in the palace, I received this afflicting intelligence. I did -not hesitate a moment in resolving that I would pursue -his steps. It was of the utmost consequence that I should -overtake him; all that was most interesting to me hung -upon our interview. The preparations however of my -journey, though followed with ardour, inevitably reduced -me to the being some hours in the rear of my son. I was -continually in his track, but could not come up with him: -to judge from events, you would have supposed that he had -as strong a motive to fly, as I had to pursue. He led me -along the course of the Danube, to the source of that far-famed -and munificent river.</p> - -<p>I reached the passage of the Rhine, and was on the point -of crossing into Alsace. But here I lost all notice of Charles; -no enquiry I could make was effectual to procure me the -slightest intelligence. He had not crossed the river; he -had proceeded neither to the right nor the left along its -banks. I was disappointed, mortified, and distressed. What -was I to do next? Could I return to Pandora? What -tale must I relate to this adorable creature, whom I had -urged to depend upon my exertions? Could I leave her -however to the anguish and uncertainty that must follow -upon her hearing no more either from her lover or myself?</p> - -<p>I think I never felt more truly depressed than in this -conjuncture. Most amply, most critically did the curse of -the <i lang="la">opus magnum</i> attend upon my projects, and render all -my exertions abortive. It was the same, whether my plans -were formed upon a larger or a smaller scale. When I -endeavoured to live in total obscurity in Madrid, when I -undertook to be the steward and the father of the people of -Hungary, and now that, with a chastised ambition I sought, -what is permitted to all other human creatures, to provide -for the honourable settlement of my only son, still, still my -evil genius pursued me, and blasted every concern in which -I presumed to interfere. I had intruded between two faithful -lovers: unfortunate they had been indeed, and considerable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467">[467]</a></span> -obstacles were interposed to their felicity; but -obstacles are commonly found to yield to firmness and constancy; -and, without my fatal interference, Charles and -Pandora would one day have been happy. If by adverse -fates they had hitherto been kept asunder, still they understood -each other, and rejoiced in their mutual confidence -and attachment. This, the consolation of all their sorrows -and disappointments, it was mine to have destroyed. The -globe, for aught I knew, would speedily be interposed between -them, and here I stood in the middle point, like one -of those invincible repulsive powers hid in the storehouse -of nature, forbidding to them all future retrogression to each -other.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XLVII">CHAPTER XLVII.</h2> - -<p>The picture which my distracted fancy thus set before the -eye of my mind, was not altogether verified in the event. -After a thousand fruitless inquiries and perquisitions, I -found, to my utter astonishment, that Charles, arresting -his career at the town of Fribourg, had returned upon his -steps, and sought a second time the metropolis of Austrian -Hungary. This was of the class of those events which we -sometimes meet with in the world, that baffle all calculation, -and strike us like magic, or like madness, in their -authors.</p> - -<p>I had nothing to do, as I conceived, on this occasion, -but to follow the example of my son, and like him to resume -the route of Presburg. I yet hoped to witness, if not to -co-operate in, the reconciliation of Charles and Pandora. -My spirits in this respect were revived, and my prospects -made brighter, by the thoughts that these virtuous and -meritorious lovers were at last likely to be once again inclosed -within the cincture of the same city. Add to which, -my Venetian confederate had not yet made his appearance -at Presburg; and not only was I under engagements to -give him the meeting there, but it was also clear that his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468">[468]</a></span> -errand could not be brought to its proper close without my -assistance.</p> - -<p>I once more entered the city to which Pandora owed -her birth. Charles de Damville had preceded my arrival -several days. I should without delay have repaired to his -apartments, but that I found at my own lodgings a letter -from Benedetto Cabriera of Venice, informing me that he -was now in Presburg, and to avoid all cause for suspicion, -had taken up his residence in a remote quarter of the -town. From the enquiries I made, I became satisfied -that my son had in some degree resumed his usual occupations, -and that there was no appearance of his again immediately -quitting the metropolis. I therefore felt my transaction -with Cabriera more urgent than an immediate -conference with Charles. Though I had sought that conference -with earnest expedition, yet I dreaded it. It might -require the maturest consideration and the nicest management, -to render it effectual for the purposes I sought. I -found from certain intelligence that Damville and Pandora -had yet had no explanation with each other. I therefore -regarded my exertions for that purpose as a final effort; -and I was willing that every thing should be in train, and -the portion of Pandora fully adjusted, before I entered -upon that interesting scene. With Cabriera I had little -difficulty. The documents and evidences of his tale we -had concerted at Venice; and I presently found that he -told his story so plausibly, and supported it so consistently, -that it was admitted by every one without the smallest -suspicion.</p> - -<p>No sooner had Cabriera opened his business to the parties -to whom the cognisance of it most properly belonged, -than I once more presented myself to the beautiful and engaging -niece of Nadasti. The instant I entered her apartment, -I was shocked with the extreme change of her personal -appearance. All the airiness, alertness and vivacity, -that had once so exquisitely adorned her, were gone. The -roses in her cheek were faded, and had given place to a delicate, -but sickly paleness. Her arms, though always what -is called white, had before been round, and had been distinguished -by the purest hue of health. They were now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469">[469]</a></span> -emaciated, skinny, and colourless. Her eyes were hollow, -and her eyelids inflamed with weeping. All these changes -had taken place in about five weeks that had elapsed since -I saw her last. I was so struck with the sight, that I involuntarily -started, and could scarcely command myself -enough to refrain from tears. It was plain that she carried -an arrow in her bosom, which one hand only in the -universe could extract with safety. As I approached, she -raised her lovely head that had been depressed with grief, -and lifted her white arms with an expression of despair.</p> - -<p>“Come nearer, my sweet Henry,” said she, “I rejoice -to see you; though you have proved my worst enemy, the -destroyer of my peace. But your intentions, my kind boy, -my brother, for such I will still call you, have always been -good and innocent. But, ah, Henry, you have deluded -me; you urged me to banish despair; and every day I see -more reason to despair.”</p> - -<p>I asked if she had not seen the chevalier since his return -to Presburg.</p> - -<p>“It were better for me,” replied Pandora, “if I had -not seen him. What has really happened, is worse than if -I had been denied to see him. I have met him every day -in the apartments of my aunt. To an indifferent eye it -would have appeared as if he neither sought nor avoided -me. He carries himself towards me with a cold and constrained -civility. But he neither demands an interview, -nor allows me the opportunity to utter a word to him in -private. Oh, D’Aubigny, I see too well that I have lost -him for ever. When he fled my presence, when he resolved -to seek some distant region, cruel as that conduct was, it -convinced me that I was of some importance to him. But -now he passes by me in stern neglect; he has utterly driven -me from his heart. Indeed, my brother, this last blow is -too much; I feel that I shall never recover it.”</p> - -<p>“And does the chevalier,” cried I, “appear at his ease? -Does he exhibit the wonted symptoms of his health and -triumphant spirit?”</p> - -<p>“Away; too pleasing deluder!” replied Pandora. -“Cheat me not with false hopes! flatter me not with unreal -expectations! Damville does not appear to be well or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470">[470]</a></span> -happy. But you have deceived me too much; the disappointments -that you prepared for me are too excruciating. -I feel now at no time so high a degree of gloomy satisfaction -and composure, as when I press despair firmly to -my breast.</p> - -<p>“But you, Henry,” continued she, “are probably uninformed -of my last and severest misfortune. I had a great -uncle in the list of the adventurers that achieved the conquest -of Peru; he has died, and unexpectedly bequeathed me -a fortune, that sets the portionless Pandora upon a level with -the wealthy heiresses of the great palatine himself. For a -long time want of fortune was the only obstacle that stood -between me and all my hopes of happiness. Now that -poverty is no longer an evil to me, and wealth no longer -desirable, I have obtained this unwelcome acquisition. -You can have no conception how painful a sensation is -produced by this mockery, the gift of ample possessions to -the votary of despair.”</p> - -<p>I endeavoured somewhat to encourage Pandora; but she -obstinately rejected my soothings. I was the less importunate -on this subject, as, since the return of my son, I -persisted to persuade myself that I should soon have something -more substantial to offer her on his part, than mere -guesses and conjectures. The day after this conversation, -I boldly sought the presence of the chevalier. Till then, -I had, since our return to Presburg, avoided to meet him. -I now resolved to force from him a hearing; to assure -him, with the most solemn asseverations, of my own innocence, -and the constancy of his mistress; to represent to -him in how eminent a degree the newly acquired estate of -Pandora was calculated to facilitate their mutual wishes; -and finally, to offer him any pledge he should desire of the -sincerity of my declarations, even to the banishing myself -from the presence and intercourse of him and the lovely -Pandora for ever.</p> - -<p>When I saw my son, his appearance and air advanced -a forcible claim on my compassion. I will not now describe -them. Suffice it, that they completely proved, how -true was the sympathy, even to the minutest particulars, -between him and his mistress. The difference was only in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471">[471]</a></span> -kind, and not in degree: hers a defenceless, a delicate and -truly feminine grief; while his, amidst all its aggravations, -had something in it of the champion and the hero. When -he felt most severely, he seemed to disdain himself for -what he felt; and, though his struggles were excruciating, -he resolutely smoothed his manly front, and the loftiness -of his spirit produced on his cheek a generous and a settled -blush.</p> - -<p>I have just said that I had resolved to force from him a -hearing. I was mistaken in my calculations on this point. -Dejected as his habits had lately been, he no sooner saw -me, than he advanced towards me with a fierce and imperative -demeanour, that absolutely startled me.</p> - -<p>“How is it, man!” cried he, “that you are at this -hour out of custody?”</p> - -<p>“Custody!” interdicted and astonished, repeated I.</p> - -<p>“Yes, custody! If such a wretch as thou art, be permitted -to go at large, what human institution, what human -possessions, shall ever be secure?”</p> - -<p>“Good God,” said I, “what am I to understand by -your present rage? I know that you have considered me -as your personal enemy and the underminer of your happiness. -But, when first you accused me of this crime, you -treated me in a manner less violent and disdainful than -that which you now employ.”</p> - -<p>“I brook not to explain. Read that letter. I received -it at Fribourg. That letter brought me back from the confines -of France to the spot where now we meet.”</p> - -<p>I took up the letter. Its contents were nearly as follow:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="center">LETTER.</p> - -<p>“My dear Friend,—You will permit me to call you -so, since to me, and me only, you have recently thought -proper to confide your projects, and your unfortunate passion -for the charming Pandora. What you related to me -on the subject convinced me how much she was unworthy -of your love, and how basely she has conducted herself -towards you. Yet you will yourself feel some compassion -for her, when you learn who it is upon whom she has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472">[472]</a></span> -bestowed this unmerited preference. Know then that this -wretched D’Aubigny is no other than the notorious Chatillon, -the infamous impostor, who, by his machinations -about a year ago preserved the Turkish provinces of Hungary -from being conquered by the christian arms. The -man is moreover a magician, the pretended or real possessor -of the philosopher’s stone. He is therefore doubly -worthy of death, first as a traitor, the abettor and comforter -of the common enemy of the christian faith, and, -secondly, as a dealer in the black art, and a man notoriously -sold and delivered over to the devil.</p> - -<p>“I have received this information from the most unquestionable -authority. A soldier in my old corps, who has -lately escaped from a Turkish prison, no sooner saw him -than he identified his person. I happened to be near the -fellow at the moment, when, by an unexpected exclamation, -he betrayed his discovery. It immediately struck me that -the circumstance might be of importance to your interests; -and, therefore, taking the soldier aside, I charged him not -to mention to any one what he had observed. To render -his secrecy the more secure, I have since removed him to -a garrison at some distance from Presburg; and I have -myself mentioned the circumstance to no living creature, -that I might first receive your instructions on the subject, -and act in all respects concerning it as you shall judge -proper. The blackness of the character of the man sets all -exaggeration at defiance. This very individual, whom you -liberated from the bowels of the earth, who by the most -treacherous arts won your confidence, and upon whom you -lavishly heaped every imaginable distinction, was all the -while conscious to himself, that he was the character that -of all that live you hated most; in one word, the renegado -Chatillon. He acted consistently with his preceding conduct -and his recent disingenuousness, when he seduced -from you the affections of the woman of your choice.</p> - -<p>“I am concerned to add, that, on the very day that I -made this discovery, this Chatillon D’Aubigny disappeared -from Presburg, nor can I by any effort learn whither he is -gone. It is impossible he should have been informed by any -human means of the detection that had happened. But indeed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473">[473]</a></span> -it is vain to attempt to form any reasonable conjecture, respecting -a character so mysterious and inexplicable.</p> - -<p class="center">“Your devoted friend,</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Andrew</span>, count of <span class="smcap">Bathori</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>“Well, sir,” seeing I had finished the perusal, “and -what have you now to allege? When I saw you simply as -the favoured lover of Pandora, however treacherous and dishonourable -I might deem your conduct towards me, I quitted -the field. I did not trust myself to be a judge in my own -cause. I did not confide in my estimate of your unworthiness, -when I was myself wholly concerned. I had -some time before received an invitation from the duke -d’Aumale, who was collecting a number of generous and -high-spirited nobles to accompany Mary queen of Scots -to the barbarous fields of her native realm. I at first declined, -I now accepted, the invitation; I set out for Paris -to join him. I found that letter waiting my arrival at Fribourg, -and I returned. Deeply as Pandora has sunk in -my esteem, I determined I would never allow her to be -thrown away upon the infamous Chatillon.</p> - -<p>“You haunt my steps. I heard of you again and again -on my route as I returned from Fribourg. I arrive at -Presburg, and presently after you again make your appearance. -What further villanies have you to act? What new -treacheries have you devised against me? This morning I -consented to the representations of count Bathori, and agreed -that you should be delivered up to justice. Why then are -you not in custody?</p> - -<p>“When I consider the mystery and inscrutableness of -your character, I am lost in conjecture. You are said to be -a magician, a dealer in the unhallowed secrets of alchymy -and the <i lang="la">elixir vitæ</i>. In cases like this, all the ordinary -rules of human sagacity and prudence are superseded, the -wisest man is a fool, and the noblest spirit feels the very -ground he stood on struck from under his feet. How can -I know that the seduction of Pandora’s affections is not -owing to magical incantations, who in that case is rather -an object for compassion than for censure? How can I tell -that the fraternal resemblance borne by your features to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_474" id="Page_474">[474]</a></span> -my own, and the sudden and ardent partiality that rose in -my breast when first I saw you, have not been produced by -the most detested arts? Magic dissolves the whole principle -and arrangement of human action, subverts all generous -enthusiasm and dignity, and renders life itself loathsome -and intolerable.</p> - -<p>“This is to me the most painful of all subjects. I had a -father whom I affectionately loved: he became the dupe of -these infernal secrets. I had a mother, the paragon of the -creation: that father murdered her. All the anguish I -ever felt, has derived its source from alchymy and magic. -While the infamous Chatillon thus stands before me, I feel -all the long-forgotten wounds of my heart new opened, and -the blood bursting afresh from every vein. I have rested, -and been at peace; and now the red and venomed plague, -that tarnished the years of my opening youth, returns to -blast me. Begone, infamous, thrice-damned villain! and -let me never see thee more!</p> - -<p>“Wretch that you are!” continued Charles; for he saw -me motioning to withdraw,—I felt that all further expostulation -and discussion on my part was useless,—“wretch -that you are! what is it that you are about to do? Think -no to escape my vengeance! In the midst of all the tumultuous -passions you waken in my breast, I still feel in -myself the soldier and the man of honour. I am not a thief-taker -or a bailiff. You are within my power, and that is -your present protection. I will not now deliver you up to -the justice of the state, but will hurl against you my personal -defiance. I am willing to meet you man to man: I -thirst to encounter you as my worst and most mortal foe, -who has perpetrated against me the basest injuries, and excited -in my bosom the most hateful sensations. Though -you were fenced with all the legions of hell, I fear you not; -and seeing that, after all that is past, you have once again -intruded into my presence, I here bind myself by all that is -sacred to pursue you to the death.”</p> - -<p>What could I answer to such an attack? I saw at once -that the case, as to all future harmony between me and my -son was desperate and irremediable. What hope could I -entertain further? What had hitherto been the result of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_475" id="Page_475">[475]</a></span> -our ill-fated intercourse? Every offence and prejudice that -can gall the human mind had been brought forward in it in -turn. I had wounded Damville in the most sensible point -of private life, and had blasted his hopes there where he -stored them all. I had offended his most rooted political -prepossessions, by aiding the Turk, and feeding a nation -that perished with hunger. I was an equivocal character, -assuming different names, and wandering over the world -with different pretences. Last of all, I had revived in his -mind the images of his father and his mother,—all that had -once been most dear, and now was most painful, to his recollection; -and had tortured his fancy with nameless horrors. -These sentiments could never be removed. All the explanations -in the world could never reconcile me to his mind; -and I felt that I had that within, which, in what was to -come, as it had in what was past, must for ever annihilate -all confidence between us. At once therefore I accepted his -challenge, arranged with him the terms of a hostile encounter -on the following morning, and immediately after bid -adieu to Presburg, and to the sight of every soul contained -within its walls, for ever.</p> - -<p>This is, I powerfully feel, the last adventure that I shall -ever have the courage to commit to writing. A few minutes -more, and I will lay down my pen, and resolve in the most -solemn and sacred manner never to compose another line. -Indeed, all other adventures must necessarily be frigid and -uninteresting, compared with that which I have now described. -Great God, what a fate was mine! Anxious as -I had been to prove myself in the most momentous respects -the benefactor of my son, dismissing all other thoughts and -cares from my mind, journeying with this sole object in -view, from Presburg to Venice, and from Venice to -Presburg, from Hungary to the banks of the Rhine, and -from the banks of the Rhine back again to Hungary,—the -whole scene was now terminated by a declaration on his -part, that nothing could appease the animosity he cherished -against me, short of rioting in the blood of his father’s -heart. I was reduced to the necessity either of lifting my -sword against my son, of running myself upon the point of -his weapon, or of forfeiting the engagement between us,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_476" id="Page_476">[476]</a></span> -and suffering him to brand me as a coward in the face of -Christendom. I mention not this, because the variety of -objects of choice produced in me the slightest hesitation. -Weary as I was of life, I could cheerfully have consented -to die, but not to stain the sword of Charles de Damville -with my vital blood. I prevented him from being the assassin -of his father’s life; I could not prevent him from -being the assassin of his father’s character. He was assiduous -and indefatigable in spreading against me the blackest -invectives, which he regarded as the most unerring truths. -All Hungary has resounded for thirty years with the atrocities -of the sieur de Chatillon; what is here recorded contains -the whole and unvarnished truth on the subject. -This narrative however shall never see the light, till the -melancholy hour when Charles de Damville shall be no -more.</p> - -<p>Yet in the midst of the anguish, the disappointment of -every cherished hope, which rends my soul, I have one -consolation, and that an invaluable one, in the virtues, the -glory, and the happiness of my son. I said I would forget -every gratification and sentiment of my own in him; I am -now more than ever instigated to do so. When I quitted -Presburg, I left Cabriera behind me in that city, and I -took care to obtain a parting interview with him. He -afterwards gave me the meeting, as we then concerted, at -Trieste in the duchy of Carniola. It happened, as I had -flattered myself the event would prove, that, the visible -source of umbrage being removed, Charles and Pandora in -no long time came to a mutual understanding, and were -finally made happy in each other. I had been the fortunate -means of supplying to this excellent and incomparable -creature the only defect under which she laboured, a want -of fortune; her uncle, having no longer a pretence to -oppose their mutual passion, united their hands; and, at -the time of which I am speaking, they were regarded as -the most graceful and accomplished couple in the whole -Hungarian dominions. The chevalier de Damville is considered -in that country as the great bulwark of the Christian -frontier, and the most generous and illustrious pupil in -the school of the Bayards and the Scanderbegs. Cabriera,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_477" id="Page_477">[477]</a></span> -worn out with years and fatigues, but still grasping and -avaricious to his latest hour, expired in my arms in the -city of Trieste; and by his death yielded me this contentment, -that henceforth the only obvious means for detecting -my beneficent fraud in securing the dower of Pandora was -for ever removed.</p> - -<p>That the reader may enter the more fully into my sentiment -of congratulation upon the happiness of my son, -and rise from the perusal of my narrative with a more -soothing and pleasurable sensation, I will here shortly recapitulate -the good qualities that had been unfolded in this -truly extraordinary young man from his earliest infancy. -He was a child, only nine years of age, at the period of the -truly affecting and exemplary behaviour the reader may remember -him to have displayed, while I was at Paris squandering -the property of my family at the gaming-table. In -the alienation of mind produced in me by that dreadful -catastrophe, he was my constant attendant, my careful -nurse, and my affectionate friend. When, twelve months -after, we were driven by our calamities out of Switzerland, -and I lay extended to all human appearance on the bed of -death, Charles was the comforter of his mother, the friend -of his sisters, and even, young as he was, contributed to the -maintenance of my starving family by the labour of his infant -hands. At Dresden, as yet no more than seventeen -years of age, he was assailed by one of the severest trials -with which the mind of man can in any case be beset. But -he hesitated not a moment. Obliged to choose between -poverty and innocence, with the sacrifice of all his habitudes, -and the loss of every friend, on the one side, and -wealth, new to his enjoyment, with ignominy or an equivocal -character, on the other, his determination was instant -and unalterable. Cast, at so immature an age, alone and -portionless, upon the world, he almost immediately, by his -gallantry, his winning qualities, and his virtues, gained to -himself a friend in one of the greatest captains of the age. -Unaided by the brilliancy of family or fortune, he acquired -the character of the bravest soldier in Hungary, where all -were brave. This last trial, to which I had been the undesigning -means of subjecting him, was none of the least<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_478" id="Page_478">[478]</a></span> -arduous. Love often entails imbecility on the noblest of -mankind: but Charles surmounted the most perilous attacks -of this all-conquering passion. When he thought -Pandora unworthy, he tore himself from her, and would -not admit a struggle. When he believed she loved another, -he disdained to claim a heart that seemed alienated from -him, and himself joined the hands of his mistress and his -rival. He might have died; he could not disgrace himself. -I was the hero’s father!—but no! I am not blinded by -paternal partiality;—but no! he was indeed what I thought -him, as near the climax of dignity and virtue as the frailty -of our nature will admit. His virtue was at length crowned -with the most enviable reward the earth has to boast,—the -faithful attachment of a noble-minded and accomplished -woman. I am happy to close my eventful and somewhat -melancholy story with so pleasing a termination. Whatever -may have been the result of my personal experience of -human life, I can never recollect the fate of Charles and -Pandora without confessing with exultation, that this busy -and anxious world of ours yet contains something in its -stores that is worth living for.</p> - -<p class="titlepage">THE END.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> To this story, in the book from which I have quoted it, is subjoined the following -reference:—“<cite>Mémoires Historiques</cite>, 1687, tom. i. p. 365.” Being desirous -of giving my extract from the oldest authority, I caused the British -Museum, and the libraries of Oxford and Cambridge, to be searched for this -publication, but in vain. The story and the reference are, not improbably, -both of them the fictions of the English writer.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Johnson’s Occasional Prologue on Garrick’s assuming the management of -Drury-lane Theatre.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Charles V.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4" id="Footnote_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Henry VIII.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5" id="Footnote_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Antonio de Leyva.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6" id="Footnote_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> The constable of Bourbon.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7" id="Footnote_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Mistresses of Francis I.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8" id="Footnote_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> The battle of Cerisolles.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9" id="Footnote_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> This incident is told, nearly in the words of St. Leon, by Thuanus, <cite>Historiæ -Sui Temporis</cite>, <i>lib.</i> 2. <i>cap.</i> 14.</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smcap">London</span>:<br /> -Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode,<br /> -New-Street-Square.</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of St. Leon, by William Godwin - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ST. LEON *** - -***** This file should be named 53707-h.htm or 53707-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/7/0/53707/ - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/53707-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/53707-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 4e11cf2..0000000 --- a/old/53707-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/53707-h/images/i_001.jpg b/old/53707-h/images/i_001.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 80b8d70..0000000 --- a/old/53707-h/images/i_001.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/53707-h/images/i_002.jpg b/old/53707-h/images/i_002.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 4b5a693..0000000 --- a/old/53707-h/images/i_002.jpg +++ /dev/null |
