CHAPTER VII.
THE EVENTS OF A SINGLE NIGHT.--MOMENTS MAKE THE HUES IN WHICH YEARS ARECOLOURED.
MEN of the old age! what wonder that in the fondness of a dim faith,and in the vague guesses which, from the frail ark of reason, we sendto hover over a dark and unfathomable abyss,--what wonder that ye shouldhave wasted hope and life in striving to penetrate the future! Whatwonder that ye should have given a language to the stars, and to thenight a spell, and gleaned from the uncomprehended earth an answer tothe enigmas of Fate! We are like the sleepers who, walking under theinfluence of a dream, wander by the verge of a precipice, while, intheir own deluded vision, they perchance believe themselves surroundedby bowers of roses, and accompanied by those they love. Or, rather likethe blind man, who can retrace every step of the path he has _once_trodden, but who can guess not a single inch of that which he hasnot yet travelled, our Reason can re-guide us over the roads of pastexperience with a sure and unerring wisdom, even while it recoils,baffled and bewildered, before the blackness of the very moment whoseboundaries we are about to enter.
The few friends I had invited to my wedding were still with me, when oneof my servants, not Desmarais, informed me that Mr. Oswald waited forme. I went out to him.
"_Parbleu_!" said he, rubbing his hands, "I perceive it is a joyous timewith you, and I don't wonder you can only spare me a few moments."
The estates of Devereux were not to be risked for a trifle, but Ithought Mr. Marie Oswald exceedingly impertinent. "Sir," said I, verygravely, "pray be seated; and now to business. In the first place may Iask to whom I am beholden for sending you with that letter you gaveme at Devereux Court? and, secondly, what that letter contained? for Inever read it."
"Sir," answered the man, "the history of the letter is perfectlydistinct from that of the will, and the former (to discuss the leastimportant first) is briefly this. You have heard, Sir, of the quarrelsbetween Jesuit and Jansenist?"
"I have."
"Well--but first, Count, let me speak of myself. There were three youngmen of the same age, born in the same village in France, of obscurebirth each, and each desirous of getting on in the world. Two weredeuced clever fellows, the third, nothing particular. One of the two atpresent shall be nameless; the third, 'who was nothing particular' (inhis own opinion, at least, though his friends may think differently),was Marie Oswald. We soon separated: I went to Paris, was employed indifferent occupations, and at last became secretary, and (why should Idisavow it?) valet to a lady of quality and a violent politician. Shewas a furious Jansenist; of course I adopted her opinions. About thistime, there was much talk among the Jesuits of the great genius and deeplearning of a young member of the order, Julian Montreuil. Though notresiding in the country, he had sent one or two books to France, whichhad been published and had created a great sensation. Well, Sir, mymistress was the greatest _intriguante_ of her party: she was very rich,and tolerably liberal; and, among other packets of which a messengerfrom England was _carefully_ robbed, between Calais and Abbeville (youunderstand me, sir, _carefully_ robbed, _parbleu_! I wish I were robbedin the same manner, every day in my life!), was one from the said JulianMontreuil to a political friend of his. Among other letters in thispacket--all of importance--was one descriptive of the English familywith whom he resided. It hit them all, I am told, off to a hair; and itdescribed, in particular, one, the supposed inheritor of the estates,a certain Morton, Count Devereux. Since you say you did not read theletter, I spare your blushes, Sir, and I don't dwell upon what he saidof your talent, energy, ambition, etc. I will only tell you that hedilated far more upon your prospects than your powers; and that heexpressly stated what was his object in staying in your family andcultivating your friendship,--he expressly stated that L30,000 a yearwould be particularly serviceable to a certain political cause which hehad strongly at heart."
"I understand you," said I, "the Chevalier's?"
"Exactly. 'This sponge,' said Montreuil, I remember the veryphrase,--'this sponge will be well filled, and I am handling it softlynow in order to squeeze its juices hereafter according to the uses ofthe party we have so strongly at heart.'"
"It was not a metaphor very flattering to my understanding," said I.
"True, Sir. Well, as soon as my mistress learned this she rememberedthat your father, the Marshal, had been one of her _plus chers amis_; ina word, if scandal says true, he had been _the cher ami_. However, shewas instantly resolved to open your eyes, and ruin the _maudit Jesuite_:she enclosed the letter in an envelope and sent me to England with it.I came, I gave it you, and I discovered, in that moment, when theAbbe entered, that this Julian Montreuil was an old acquaintance ofmy own,--was one of the two young men who I told you were such deucedclever fellows. Like many other adventurers, he had changed his nameon entering the world and I had never till now suspected that JulianMontreuil was Bertrand Collinot. Well, when I saw what I had done, I wasexceedingly sorry, for I had liked my companion well enough not to wishto hurt him; besides, I was a little afraid of him. I took horse, andwent about some other business I had to execute, nor did I visit thatpart of the country again, till a week ago (now I come to the otherbusiness), when I was summoned to the death-bed of my half-brother theattorney, peace be with him! He suffered much from hypochondria inhis dying moments,--I believe it is the way with people of hisprofession,--and he gave me a sealed packet, with a last injunction toplace it in your hands and your hands only. Scarce was he dead--(do notthink I am unfeeling, Sir, I had seen very little of him, and he wasonly my half-brother, my father having married, for a second wife,a foreign lady who kept an inn, by whom he was blessed withmyself)--scarce, I say, was he dead when I hurried up to town.Providence threw you in my way, and you shall have the document upon twoconditions."
"Which are, first to reward you; secondly, to--"
"To promise you will not open the packet for seven days."
"The devil! and why?"
"I will tell you candidly: one of the papers in the packet I believeto be my brother's written confession,--nay, I know it is,--and it willcriminate one I have a love for, and who, I am resolved, shall have achance of escape."
"Who is that one? Montreuil?"
"No: I do not refer to him; but I cannot tell you more. I require thepromise, Count: it is indispensable. If you don't give it me, _parbleu_,you shall not have the packet."
There was something so cool, so confident, and so impudent about thisman, that I did not well know whether to give way to laughter or toindignation. Neither, however, would have been politic in my situation;and, as I said before, the estates of Devereux were not to be risked fora trifle.
"Pray," said I, however, with a shrewdness which I think did mecredit,--"pray, Mr. Marie Oswald, do you expect the reward before thepacket is opened?"
"By no means," answered the gentleman who in his own opinion was nothingparticular; "by no means; nor until you and your lawyers are satisfiedthat the papers enclosed in the packet are sufficient fully to restoreyou to the heritage of Devereux Court and its demesnes."
There was something fair in this; and as the only penalty to me incurredby the stipulated condition seemed to be the granting escape to thecriminals, I did not think it incumbent upon me to lose my cause fromthe desire of a prosecution. Besides, at that time, I felt too happy tobe revengeful; and so, after a moment's consideration, I conceded tothe proposal, and gave my honour as a gentleman--Mr. Oswald obliginglydispensed with an oath--that I would not open the packet till the end ofthe seventh day. Mr. Oswald then drew forth a piece of paper, on whichsundry characters were inscribed, the purport of which was that, if,through the papers given me by Marie Oswald, my lawyers were convincedthat I could become master of my uncle's property, now enjoyed by GeraldDevereux, I should bestow on the said Marie L5000: half on obtainingthis legal opinion, half on obtaining possession of the property. Icould not resist a smile when I observed that the word of a gentlemanwas enough surety for the safety of the man he had a love for, but thatMr. Oswald required a w
ritten bond for the safety of his reward. One isready enough to trust one's friends to the conscience of another, but aslong as a law can be had instead, one is rarely so credulous in respectto one's money.
"The reward shall be doubled if I succeed," said I, signing the paper;and Oswald then produced a packet, on which was writ, in a tremblinghand,--"For Count Morton Devereux,--private,--and with haste." As soonas he had given me this precious charge, and reminded me again of mypromise, Oswald withdrew. I placed the packet in my bosom, and returnedto my guests.
Never had my spirit been so light as it was that evening. Indeed thegood people I had assembled thought matrimony never made a man so littleserious before. They did not however stay long, and the moment they weregone I hastened to my own sleeping apartment to secure the treasure Ihad acquired. A small escritoire stood in this room, and in it I wasaccustomed to keep whatever I considered most precious. With many awistful look and murmur at my promise, I consigned the packet to one ofthe drawers of this escritoire. As I was locking the drawer, the sweetvoice of Desmarais accosted me. Would Monsieur, he asked, suffer him tovisit a friend that evening, in order to celebrate so joyful an eventin Monsieur's destiny? It was not often that he was addicted to vulgarmerriment, but on such an occasion he owned that he was tempted totransgress his customary habits, and he felt that Monsieur, with hisusual good taste, would feel offended if his servant, within Monsieur'sown house, suffered joy to pass the limits of discretion, and enterthe confines of noise and inebriety, especially as Monsieur had sopositively interdicted all outward sign of extra hilarity. He implored_mille pardons_ for the presumption of his request.
"It is made with your usual discretion; there are five guineas for you:go and get drunk with your friend, and be merry instead of wise. But,tell me, is it not beneath a philosopher to be moved by anything,especially anything that occurs to another,--much less to get drunk uponit?"
"Pardon me, Monsieur," answered Desmarais, bowing to the ground: "oneought to get drunk sometimes, because the next morning one is sure tobe thoughtful; and, moreover, the practical philosopher ought to indulgeevery emotion, in order to judge how that emotion would affect another;at least, this is my opinion."
"Well, go."
"My most grateful thanks be with Monsieur; Monsieur's nightly toilet isentirely prepared."
And away went Desmarais, with the light, yet slow, step with which hewas accustomed to combine elegance with dignity.
I now passed into the room I had prepared for Isora's _boudoir_. I foundher leaning by the window, and I perceived that she had been intears. As I paused to contemplate her figure so touchingly, yet sounconsciously mournful in its beautiful and still posture, a more joyoussensation than was wont to mingle with my tenderness for her swelled atmy heart. "Yes," thought I, "you are no longer the solitary exile, orthe persecuted daughter of a noble but ruined race; you are not eventhe bride of a man who must seek in foreign climes, through dangerand through hardship, to repair a broken fortune and establish anadventurer's name! At last the clouds have rolled from the bright starof your fate: wealth, and pomp, and all that awaits the haughtiest ofEngland's matrons shall be yours." And at these thoughts Fortune seemedto me a gift a thousand times more precious than--much as my luxuriesprized it--it had ever seemed to me before.
I drew near and laid my hand upon Isora's shoulder, and kissed hercheek. She did not turn round, but strove, by bending over my hand andpressing it to her lips, to conceal that she had been weeping. I thoughtit kinder to favour the artifice than to complain of it. I remainedsilent for some moments, and I then gave vent to the sanguineexpectations for the future which my new treasure entitled me to form.I had already narrated to her the adventure of the day before: I nowrepeated the purport of my last interview with Oswald; and, growing moreand more elated as I proceeded, I dwelt at last upon the description ofmy inheritance, as glowingly as if I had already recovered it. I paintedto her imagination its rich woods and its glassy lake, and the fitfuland wandering brook that, through brake and shade, went bounding onits wild way; I told her of my early roamings, and dilated with aboy's rapture upon my favourite haunts. I brought visibly before herglistening and eager eyes the thick copse where hour after hour, invague verses and still vaguer dreams, I had so often whiled away theday; the old tree which I had climbed to watch the birds in their gladmirth, or to listen unseen to the melancholy sound of the forest deer;the antique gallery and the vast hall which, by the dim twilights, Ihad paced with a religious awe, and looked upon the pictured forms of mybold fathers, and mused high and ardently upon my destiny to be; the oldgray tower which I had consecrated to myself, and the unwitnessed pathwhich led to the yellow beach, and the wide gladness of the solitarysea; the little arbour which my earliest ambition had reared, thatlooked out upon the joyous flowers and the merry fountain, and, throughthe ivy and the jessamine, wooed the voice of the bird, and the murmurof the summer bee; and, when I had exhausted my description, I turned toIsora, and said in a lower tone, "And I shall visit these once more, andwith you!"
Isora sighed faintly, and it was not till I had pressed her to speakthat she said:--
"I wish I could deceive myself, Morton, but I cannot--I cannot root frommy heart an impression that I shall never again quit this dull citywith its gloomy walls and its heavy air. A voice within me seems tosay, 'Behold from this very window the boundaries of your livingwanderings!'"
Isora's words froze all my previous exaltation. "It is in vain," saidI, after chiding her for her despondency, "it is in vain to tell me thatyou have for this gloomy notion no other reason than that of a vaguepresentiment. It is time now that I should press you to a greaterconfidence upon all points consistent with your oath to our mutual enemythan you have hitherto given me. Speak, dearest, have you not some yetunrevealed causes for alarm?"
It was but for a moment that Isora hesitated before she answered withthat quick tone which indicates that we force words against the will.
"Yes, Morton, I _will_ tell you now, though I would not before the eventof this day. On the last day that I saw that fearful man, he said, 'Iwarn you, Isora d'Alvarez, that my love is far fiercer than hatred; Iwarn you that your bridals with Morton Devereux shall be stained withblood. Become his wife, and you perish! Yea, though I suffer hell'stortures forever and forever from that hour, my own hand shall strikeyou to the heart!' Morton, these words have thrilled through me againand again, as if again they were breathed in my very ear; and I haveoften started at night and thought the very knife glittered at mybreast. So long as our wedding was concealed, and concealed so closely,I was enabled to quiet my fears till they scarcely seemed to exist. Butwhen our nuptials were to be made public, when I knew that they were toreach the ears of that fierce and unaccountable being, I thought I heardmy doom pronounced. This, mine own love, must excuse your Isora, if sheseemed ungrateful for your generous eagerness to announce our union. Andperhaps she would not have acceded to it so easily as she has done wereit not that, in the first place, she felt it was beneath your wife tosuffer any terror so purely selfish to make her shrink from the proudhappiness of being yours in the light of day; and if she had not felt[here Isora hid her blushing face in my bosom] that she was fated togive birth to another, and that the announcement of our wedded love hadbecome necessary to your honour as to mine!"
Though I was in reality awed even to terror by learning from Isora's lipso just a cause for her forebodings,--though I shuddered with a horrorsurpassing even my wrath, when I heard a threat so breathing of deadlyand determined passions,--yet I concealed my emotions, and only thoughtof cheering and comforting Isora. I represented to her how guarded andvigilant should ever henceforth be the protection of her husband; thatnothing should again separate him from her side; that the extreme maliceand fierce persecution of this man were sufficient even to absolve herconscience from the oath of concealment she had taken; that I wouldprocure from the sacred head of our Church her own absolution from thatvow; that the moment concealment was over, I could take steps
to preventthe execution of my rival's threats; that, however near to me he mightbe in blood, no consequences arising from a dispute between us couldbe so dreadful as the least evil to Isora; and moreover, to appease herfears, that I would solemnly promise he should never sustain personalassault or harm from my hand; in short, I said all that my anxiety coulddictate, and at last I succeeded in quieting her fears, and she smiledas brightly as the first time I had seen her in the little cottage ofher father. She seemed, however, averse to an absolution from her oath,for she was especially scrupulous as to the sanctity of those religiousobligations; but I secretly resolved that her safety absolutely requiredit, and that at all events I would procure absolution from my ownpromise to her.
At last Isora, turning from that topic, so darkly interesting, pointedto the heavens, which, with their thousand eyes of light, looked downupon us. "Tell me, love," said she, playfully, as her arm embraced meyet more closely, "if, among yonder stars we could choose a home, whichshould we select?"
I pointed to one which lay to the left of the moon, and which, thoughnot larger, seemed to burn with an intenser lustre than the rest. Sincethat night it has ever been to me a fountain of deep and passionatethought, a well wherein fears and hopes are buried, a mirror in which,in stormy times, I have fancied to read my destiny, and to find somemysterious omen of my intended deeds, a haven which I believe othershave reached before me, and a home immortal and unchanging, where, whenmy wearied and fettered soul is escaped, as a bird, it shall flee away,and have its rest at last.
"What think you of my choice?" said I. Isora looked upward, but did notanswer; and as I gazed upon her (while the pale light of heaven streamedquietly upon her face) with her dark eyes, where the tear yet lingered,though rather to soften than to dim; with her noble, yet tenderfeatures, over which hung a melancholy calm; with her lips apart, andher rich locks wreathing over her marble brow, and contrasted by asingle white rose (that rose I have now--I would not lose one witheredleaf of it for a kingdom!),--her beauty never seemed to me of so rare anorder, nor did my soul ever yearn towards her with so deep a love.
It was past midnight. All was hushed in our bridal chamber. Thesingle lamp, which hung above, burned still and clear; and through thehalf-closed curtains of the window, the moonlight looked in upon ourcouch, quiet and pure and holy, as if it were charged with blessings.
"Hush!" said Isora, gently; "do you not hear a noise below?"
"Not a breath," said I; "I hear not a breath, save yours."
"It was my fancy, then!" said Isora, "and it has ceased now;" and sheclung closer to my breast and fell asleep. I looked on her peaceful andchildish countenance, with that concentrated and full delight with whichwe clasp all that the universe holds dear to us, and feel as if theuniverse held nought beside,--and thus sleep also crept upon me.
I awoke suddenly; I felt Isora trembling palpably by my side. Before Icould speak to her, I saw standing at a little distance from the bed, aman wrapped in a long dark cloak and masked; but his eyes shone throughthe mask, and they glared full upon me. He stood with his arms folded,and perfectly motionless; but at the other end of the room, before theescritoire in which I had locked the important packet, stood anotherman, also masked, and wrapped in a disguising cloak of similar hue andfashion. This man, as if alarmed, turned suddenly, and I perceived thenthat the escritoire was already opened, and that the packet was in hishand. I tore myself from Isora's clasp--I stretched my hand to the tableby my bedside, upon which I had left my sword,--it was gone! No matter!I was young, strong, fierce, and the stake at hazard was great. I sprangfrom the bed, I precipitated myself upon the man who held the packet.With one hand I grasped at the important document, with the other Istrove to tear the mask from the robber's face. He endeavoured ratherto shake me off than to attack me; and it was not till I had nearlysucceeded in unmasking him that he drew forth a short poniard, andstabbed me in the side. The blow, which seemed purposely aimed to save amortal part, staggered me, but only for an instant. I renewed my gripat the packet--I tore it from the robber's hand, and collecting mystrength, now fast ebbing away, for one effort, I bore my assailant tothe ground, and fell struggling with him.
But my blood flowed fast from my wound, and my antagonist, if lesssinewy than myself, had greatly the advantage in weight and size. Nowfor one moment I was uppermost, but in the next his knee was upon mychest, and his blade gleamed on high in the pale light of the lampand moon. I thought I beheld my death: would to God that I had! With apiercing cry, Isora sprang from the bed, flung herself before the liftedblade of the robber, and arrested his arm. This man had, in the wholecontest, acted with a singular forbearance, he did so now: he paused fora moment and dropped his hand. Hitherto the other man had not stirredfrom his mute position; he now moved one step towards us, brandishing aponiard like his comrade's. Isora raised her hand supplicatingly towardshim, and cried out, "Spare him, spare _him_! Oh, mercy, mercy!" With onestride the murderer was by my side; he muttered some words which passionseemed to render inarticulate; and, half pushing aside his comrade, hisraised weapon flashed before my eyes, now dim and reeling. I made a vaineffort to rise: the blade descended; Isora, unable to arrest it, threwherself before it; her blood, her heart's blood gushed over me; I sawand felt no more.
When I recovered my senses, my servants were round me; a deep red, wetstain upon the sofa on which I was laid brought the whole scene I hadwitnessed again before me--terrible and distinct. I sprang to my feetand asked for Isora; a low murmur caught my ear: I turned and beheld adark form stretched on the bed, and surrounded, like myself, by gazersand menials; I tottered towards that bed,--my bridal bed,--with a fiercegesture motioned the crowd away; I heard my name breathed audibly;the next moment I was by Isora's side. All pain, all weakness, allconsciousness of my wound, of my very self, were gone: life seemedcurdled into a single agonizing and fearful thought. I fixed my eyesupon hers; and though _there_ the film was gathering dark and rapidly,I saw, yet visible and unconquered, the deep love of that faithful andwarm heart which had lavished its life for mine.
I threw my arms around her; I pressed my lips wildly to hers."Speak--speak!" I cried, and my blood gushed over her with the effort;"in mercy speak!"
Even in death and agony, the gentle being who had been as wax unto mylightest wish struggled to obey me. "Do not grieve for me," she said,in a tremulous and broken voice: "it is dearer to die for you than tolive!"
Those were her last words. I felt her breath abruptly cease. The heart,pressed to mine, was still! I started up in dismay; the light shone fullupon her face. O God! that I should live to write that Isora was--nomore!
BOOK IV.