CHAPTER XXII.
The voyage came to an end. We landed, and proceeded to Paris. I soonfound that I had overtaxed my strength, and that I must repose before Icould continue my journey. My father's care and attentions wereindefatigable; but he did not know the origin of my sufferings, andsought erroneous methods to remedy the incurable ill. He wished me toseek amusement in society. I abhorred the face of man. Oh, not abhorred!they were my brethren, my fellow beings, and I felt attracted even tothe most repulsive among them, as to creatures of an angelic nature andcelestial mechanism. But I felt that I had no right to share theirintercourse. I had unchained an enemy among them, whose joy it was toshed their blood, and to revel in their groans. How they would, each andall, abhor me, and hunt me from the world, did they know my unhallowedacts, and the crimes which had their source in me!
My father yielded at length to my desire to avoid society, and strove byvarious arguments to banish my despair. Sometimes he thought that I feltdeeply the degradation of being obliged to answer a charge of murder,and he endeavoured to prove to me the futility of pride.
"Alas! my father," said I, "how little do you know me. Human beings,their feelings and passions, would indeed be degraded if such a wretchas I felt pride. Justine, poor unhappy Justine, was as innocent as I,and she suffered the same charge; she died for it; and I am the cause ofthis--I murdered her. William, Justine, and Henry--they all died by myhands."
My father had often, during my imprisonment, heard me make the sameassertion; when I thus accused myself, he sometimes seemed to desire anexplanation, and at others he appeared to consider it as the offspringof delirium, and that, during my illness, some idea of this kind hadpresented itself to my imagination, the remembrance of which I preservedin my convalescence. I avoided explanation, and maintained a continualsilence concerning the wretch I had created. I had a persuasion that Ishould be supposed mad; and this in itself would for ever have chainedmy tongue. But, besides, I could not bring myself to disclose a secretwhich would fill my hearer with consternation, and make fear andunnatural horror the inmates of his breast. I checked, therefore, myimpatient thirst for sympathy, and was silent when I would have giventhe world to have confided the fatal secret. Yet still words like thoseI have recorded, would burst uncontrollably from me. I could offer noexplanation of them; but their truth in part relieved the burden of mymysterious woe.
Upon this occasion my father said, with an expression of unboundedwonder, "My dearest Victor, what infatuation is this? My dear son, Ientreat you never to make such an assertion again."
"I am not mad," I cried energetically; "the sun and the heavens, whohave viewed my operations, can bear witness of my truth. I am theassassin of those most innocent victims; they died by my machinations. Athousand times would I have shed my own blood, drop by drop, to havesaved their lives; but I could not, my father, indeed I could notsacrifice the whole human race."
The conclusion of this speech convinced my father that my ideas werederanged, and he instantly changed the subject of our conversation, andendeavoured to alter the course of my thoughts. He wished as much aspossible to obliterate the memory of the scenes that had taken place inIreland, and never alluded to them, or suffered me to speak of mymisfortunes.
As time passed away I became more calm: misery had her dwelling in myheart, but I no longer talked in the same incoherent manner of my owncrimes; sufficient for me was the consciousness of them. By the utmostself-violence, I curbed the imperious voice of wretchedness, whichsometimes desired to declare itself to the whole world; and my mannerswere calmer and more composed than they had ever been since my journeyto the sea of ice.
A few days before we left Paris on our way to Switzerland, I receivedthe following letter from Elizabeth:--
"My dear Friend,
"It gave me the greatest pleasure to receive a letter from my uncledated at Paris; you are no longer at a formidable distance, and I mayhope to see you in less than a fortnight. My poor cousin, how much youmust have suffered! I expect to see you looking even more ill than whenyou quitted Geneva. This winter has been passed most miserably, torturedas I have been by anxious suspense; yet I hope to see peace in yourcountenance, and to find that your heart is not totally void of comfortand tranquillity.
"Yet I fear that the same feelings now exist that made you so miserablea year ago, even perhaps augmented by time. I would not disturb you atthis period, when so many misfortunes weigh upon you; but a conversationthat I had with my uncle previous to his departure renders someexplanation necessary before we meet.
"Explanation! you may possibly say; what can Elizabeth have to explain?If you really say this, my questions are answered, and all my doubtssatisfied. But you are distant from me, and it is possible that you maydread, and yet be pleased with this explanation; and, in a probabilityof this being the case, I dare not any longer postpone writing what,during your absence, I have often wished to express to you, but havenever had the courage to begin.
"You well know, Victor, that our union had been the favourite plan ofyour parents ever since our infancy. We were told this when young, andtaught to look forward to it as an event that would certainly takeplace. We were affectionate playfellows during childhood, and, Ibelieve, dear and valued friends to one another as we grew older. But asbrother and sister often entertain a lively affection towards eachother, without desiring a more intimate union, may not such also be ourcase? Tell me, dearest Victor. Answer me, I conjure you, by our mutualhappiness, with simple truth--Do you not love another?
"You have travelled; you have spent several years of your life atIngolstadt; and I confess to you, my friend, that when I saw you lastautumn so unhappy, flying to solitude, from the society of everycreature, I could not help supposing that you might regret ourconnection, and believe yourself bound in honour to fulfil the wishes ofyour parents, although they opposed themselves to your inclinations. Butthis is false reasoning. I confess to you, my friend, that I love you,and that in my airy dreams of futurity you have been my constant friendand companion. But it is your happiness I desire as well as my own, whenI declare to you, that our marriage would render me eternally miserable,unless it were the dictate of your own free choice. Even now I weep tothink, that, borne down as you are by the cruellest misfortunes, you maystifle, by the word _honour_, all hope of that love and happiness whichwould alone restore you to yourself. I, who have so disinterested anaffection for you, may increase your miseries tenfold, by being anobstacle to your wishes. Ah! Victor, be assured that your cousin andplaymate has too sincere a love for you not to be made miserable by thissupposition. Be happy, my friend; and if you obey me in this onerequest, remain satisfied that nothing on earth will have the power tointerrupt my tranquillity.
"Do not let this letter disturb you; do not answer to-morrow, or thenext day, or even until you come, if it will give you pain. My unclewill send me news of your health; and if I see but one smile on yourlips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, Ishall need no other happiness.
"ELIZABETH LAVENZA.
"Geneva, May 18th, 17--."
* * * * *
This letter revived in my memory what I had before forgotten, the threatof the fiend--"_I will be with you on your wedding night!_" Such was mysentence, and on that night would the daemon employ every art to destroyme, and tear me from the glimpse of happiness which promised partly toconsole my sufferings. On that night he had determined to consummate hiscrimes by my death. Well, be it so; a deadly struggle would thenassuredly take place, in which if he were victorious I should be atpeace, and his power over me be at an end. If he were vanquished, Ishould be a free man. Alas! what freedom? such as the peasant enjoyswhen his family have been massacred before his eyes, his cottage burnt,his lands laid waste, and he is turned adrift, homeless, penniless, andalone, but free. Such would be my liberty, except that in my Elizabeth Ipossessed a treasure; alas! balanced by those horrors of remorse andguilt, which would pursue me until death.
/> Sweet and beloved Elizabeth! I read and re-read her letter, and somesoftened feelings stole into my heart, and dared to whisper paradisiacaldreams of love and joy; but the apple was already eaten, and the angel'sarm bared to drive me from all hope. Yet I would die to make her happy.If the monster executed his threat, death was inevitable; yet, again, Iconsidered whether my marriage would hasten my fate. My destructionmight indeed arrive a few months sooner; but if my torturer shouldsuspect that I postponed it, influenced by his menaces, he would surelyfind other, and perhaps more dreadful means of revenge. He had vowed _tobe with me on my wedding-night_, yet he did not consider that threat asbinding him to peace in the mean time; for, as if to show me that he wasnot yet satiated with blood, he had murdered Clerval immediately afterthe enunciation of his threats. I resolved, therefore, that if myimmediate union with my cousin would conduce either to hers or myfather's happiness, my adversary's designs against my life should notretard it a single hour.
In this state of mind I wrote to Elizabeth. My letter was calm andaffectionate. "I fear, my beloved girl," I said, "little happinessremains for us on earth; yet all that I may one day enjoy is centred inyou. Chase away your idle fears; to you alone do I consecrate my life,and my endeavours for contentment. I have one secret, Elizabeth, adreadful one; when revealed to you, it will chill your frame withhorror, and then, far from being surprised at my misery, you will onlywonder that I survive what I have endured. I will confide this tale ofmisery and terror to you the day after our marriage shall take place;for, my sweet cousin, there must be perfect confidence between us. Butuntil then, I conjure you, do not mention or allude to it. This I mostearnestly entreat, and I know you will comply."
In about a week after the arrival of Elizabeth's letter, we returned toGeneva. The sweet girl welcomed me with warm affection; yet tears werein her eyes, as she beheld my emaciated frame and feverish cheeks. I sawa change in her also. She was thinner, and had lost much of thatheavenly vivacity that had before charmed me; but her gentleness, andsoft looks of compassion, made her a more fit companion for one blastedand miserable as I was.
The tranquillity which I now enjoyed did not endure. Memory broughtmadness with it; and when I thought of what had passed, a real insanitypossessed me; sometimes I was furious, and burnt with rage; sometimeslow and despondent. I neither spoke, nor looked at any one, but satmotionless, bewildered by the multitude of miseries that overcame me.
Elizabeth alone had the power to draw me from these fits; her gentlevoice would soothe me when transported by passion, and inspire me withhuman feelings when sunk in torpor. She wept with me, and for me. Whenreason returned, she would remonstrate, and endeavour to inspire me withresignation. Ah! it is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but forthe guilty there is no peace. The agonies of remorse poison the luxurythere is otherwise sometimes found in indulging the excess of grief.
Soon after my arrival, my father spoke of my immediate marriage withElizabeth. I remained silent.
"Have you, then, some other attachment?"
"None on earth. I love Elizabeth, and look forward to our union withdelight. Let the day therefore be fixed; and on it I will consecratemyself, in life or death, to the happiness of my cousin."
"My dear Victor, do not speak thus. Heavy misfortunes have befallen us;but let us only cling closer to what remains, and transfer our love forthose whom we have lost, to those who yet live. Our circle will besmall, but bound close by the ties of affection and mutual misfortune.And when time shall have softened your despair, new and dear objects ofcare will be born to replace those of whom we have been so cruellydeprived."
Such were the lessons of my father. But to me the remembrance of thethreat returned: nor can you wonder, that, omnipotent as the fiend hadyet been in his deeds of blood, I should almost regard him asinvincible; and that when he had pronounced the words, "I shall be withyou on your wedding-night," I should regard the threatened fate asunavoidable. But death was no evil to me, if the loss of Elizabeth werebalanced with it; and I therefore, with a contented and even cheerfulcountenance, agreed with my father, that if my cousin would consent, theceremony should take place in ten days, and thus put, as I imagined, theseal to my fate.
Great God! if for one instant I had thought what might be the hellishintention of my fiendish adversary, I would rather have banished myselffor ever from my native country, and wandered a friendless outcast overthe earth, than have consented to this miserable marriage. But, as ifpossessed of magic powers, the monster had blinded me to his realintentions; and when I thought that I had prepared only my own death, Ihastened that of a far dearer victim.
As the period fixed for our marriage drew nearer, whether from cowardiceor a prophetic feeling, I felt my heart sink within me. But I concealedmy feelings by an appearance of hilarity, that brought smiles and joy tothe countenance of my father, but hardly deceived the ever-watchful andnicer eye of Elizabeth. She looked forward to our union with placidcontentment, not unmingled with a little fear, which past misfortuneshad impressed, that what now appeared certain and tangible happiness,might soon dissipate into an airy dream, and leave no trace but deep andeverlasting regret.
Preparations were made for the event; congratulatory visits werereceived; and all wore a smiling appearance. I shut up, as well as Icould, in my own heart the anxiety that preyed there, and entered withseeming earnestness into the plans of my father, although they mightonly serve as the decorations of my tragedy. Through my father'sexertions, a part of the inheritance of Elizabeth had been restored toher by the Austrian government. A small possession on the shores of Comobelonged to her. It was agreed that, immediately after our union, weshould proceed to Villa Lavenza, and spend our first days of happinessbeside the beautiful lake near which it stood.
In the mean time I took every precaution to defend my person, in casethe fiend should openly attack me. I carried pistols and a daggerconstantly about me, and was ever on the watch to prevent artifice; andby these means gained a greater degree of tranquillity. Indeed, as theperiod approached, the threat appeared more as a delusion, not to beregarded as worthy to disturb my peace, while the happiness I hoped forin my marriage wore a greater appearance of certainty, as the day fixedfor its solemnisation drew nearer, and I heard it continually spoken ofas an occurrence which no accident could possibly prevent.
Elizabeth seemed happy; my tranquil demeanour contributed greatly tocalm her mind. But on the day that was to fulfil my wishes and mydestiny, she was melancholy, and a presentiment of evil pervaded her;and perhaps also she thought of the dreadful secret which I had promisedto reveal to her on the following day. My father was in the mean timeoverjoyed, and, in the bustle of preparation, only recognised in themelancholy of his niece the diffidence of a bride.
After the ceremony was performed, a large party assembled at myfather's; but it was agreed that Elizabeth and I should commence ourjourney by water, sleeping that night at Evian, and continuing ourvoyage on the following day. The day was fair, the wind favourable, allsmiled on our nuptial embarkation.
Those were the last moments of my life during which I enjoyed thefeeling of happiness. We passed rapidly along: the sun was hot, but wewere sheltered from its rays by a kind of canopy, while we enjoyed thebeauty of the scene, sometimes on one side of the lake, where we sawMont Saleve, the pleasant banks of Montalegre, and at a distance,surmounting all, the beautiful Mont Blanc, and the assemblage of snowymountains that in vain endeavour to emulate her; sometimes coasting theopposite banks, we saw the mighty Jura opposing its dark side to theambition that would quit its native country, and an almostinsurmountable barrier to the invader who should wish to enslave it.
I took the hand of Elizabeth: "You are sorrowful, my love. Ah! if youknew what I have suffered, and what I may yet endure, you wouldendeavour to let me taste the quiet and freedom from despair, that thisone day at least permits me to enjoy."
"Be happy, my dear Victor," replied Elizabeth; "there is, I hope,nothing to distress you; and be assured that if a
lively joy is notpainted in my face, my heart is contented. Something whispers to me notto depend too much on the prospect that is opened before us; but I willnot listen to such a sinister voice. Observe how fast we move along, andhow the clouds, which sometimes obscure and sometimes rise above thedome of Mont Blanc, render this scene of beauty still more interesting.Look also at the innumerable fish that are swimming in the clear waters,where we can distinguish every pebble that lies at the bottom. What adivine day! how happy and serene all nature appears!"
Thus Elizabeth endeavoured to divert her thoughts and mine from allreflection upon melancholy subjects. But her temper was fluctuating; joyfor a few instants shone in her eyes, but it continually gave place todistraction and reverie.
The sun sunk lower in the heavens; we passed the river Drance, andobserved its path through the chasms of the higher, and the glens of thelower hills. The Alps here come closer to the lake, and we approachedthe amphitheatre of mountains which forms its eastern boundary. Thespire of Evian shone under the woods that surrounded it, and the rangeof mountain above mountain by which it was overhung.
The wind, which had hitherto carried us along with amazing rapidity,sunk at sunset to a light breeze; the soft air just ruffled the water,and caused a pleasant motion among the trees as we approached the shore,from which it wafted the most delightful scent of flowers and hay. Thesun sunk beneath the horizon as we landed; and as I touched the shore, Ifelt those cares and fears revive, which soon were to clasp me, andcling to me for ever.