CHAPTER XX.
The castle of the Unknown was situated above a narrow and shady valley,on the summit of a cliff, which, belonging to a rugged chain ofmountains, was nevertheless separated from them by banks, caverns, andprecipices. It was only accessible on the side which overlooked thevalley. This was a declivity rather steep, but equal, and continuedtowards the summit: it was occupied as pasture ground, and its lowerborders were cultivated, having habitations scattered here and there.The bottom was a bed of stones, through which flowed, according to theseason, a small brook, or a large torrent, which served for a boundarybetween the two territories. The opposite chain of mountains, whichformed, as it were, the other wall of the valley, was slightlycultivated towards its base; the rest was composed of precipitous rockswithout verdure, and thrown together irregularly and wildly. The scenealtogether was one of savage grandeur.
From this castle, as the eagle from his eyrie, its lawless owneroverlooked his domain, and heard no human sound above him. He couldembrace at a view all the environs, the declivities, the abyss, thepracticable approaches. To the eyes of one viewing it from above, thewinding path which ascended towards the terrible habitation could beperceived throughout its whole course, and from the windows andloopholes, the signor could leisurely count the steps of the personascending, and examine him with the closest scrutiny. With the garrisonof bravoes which he kept at the castle he could defy an army, which hewould have crushed in the valley beneath, before an individual couldreach the summit. But none, except such as were friends with the masterof the castle, dared set foot even in the valley. Tragical stories wererelated of some who had attempted the dangerous enterprise, but thesestories were already of times long past, and none of the young vassalscould remember to have encountered a human being in this place, exceptunder his lord's authority.
Don Roderick arrived in the middle of the valley, at the foot of thecliff, at the commencement of the rugged and winding path; at this pointwas a tavern, which might have been called a guard-house; an old sign,with a rising sun painted on both sides, was suspended before the door;but the people gave the place the more appropriate name of _Malanotte_.
At the noise of the approaching cavalcade a young boy, well furnishedwith swords and pistols, appeared on the threshold of the door; andcasting a rapid glance at the party, informed three ruffians, who wereplaying at cards within the house, of its approach. He who appeared tobe the chief among them arose, and recognising a friend of his master,saluted him respectfully; Don Roderick returned the salutation with muchpoliteness, and asked if the signor was at the castle. The man repliedin the affirmative; and he, dismounting, threw his horse's bridle toAimwell, one of his retinue. Then, taking his musket from his shoulder,he gave it to _Montanarolo_, as if to relieve himself from an uselessencumbrance, but in reality because he knew that on this cliff none werepermitted to bear arms. Drawing from his pocket some _berlinghe_, hegave them to _Tanabuso_, saying, "Wait here till my return; and in themean time amuse yourselves with these honest people." Then presenting tothe chief of the band some crowns of gold for himself and hiscompanions, he ascended the path with Griso.
Another bravo belonging to the Unknown, who was on his way to thecastle, bore him company; thus sparing him the trouble of declaring hisname to whomsoever he should meet. When he arrived at the castle (Grisowas left at the gate) he was conducted through a long succession of darkgalleries, and various halls hung with muskets, sabres, and otherweapons of warfare; each of these halls was guarded by a bravo. Afterhaving waited some time, he was admitted to the presence of the Unknown,who advanced to meet him, replying to his salutation, and at the sametime, as was his custom, even with his oldest friends, eying him fromhead to foot. He was tall in stature; and from the baldness of his head,and the deep furrows of his countenance, appeared to be much older thansixty, which was his real age; his countenance and movements, thefirmness of his features, and the fire which sparkled from his eyes,indicated a vigour of body as well as of mind which would have beenremarkable even in a young man.
Don Roderick told him he had come for advice and assistance; that,having embarked in a difficult enterprise, from which his honour did notsuffer him to withdraw, he had remembered the promises of one who neverpromised in vain; and he then related his abominable intrigue. TheUnknown, who had already heard something of it, listened with muchattention to the recital, both because he naturally loved suchrelations, and because Friar Christopher, that avowed enemy of tyrants,was concerned in it. Don Roderick spoke of the difficulty of theundertaking, the distance of the place, a monastery, the _signora_,--butthe Unknown, as if prompted by the demon in his heart, interrupted him,saying, that he took the charge of the affair on himself. He wrote downthe name of the poor Lucy, and dismissed Don Roderick, saying, "In alittle while you will receive news from me."
The reader may remember the villain Egidio, who lived near the walls ofthe monastery into which Lucy had been received; now, he was one of themost intimate colleagues in crime of the Unknown; and this accounts forthe promptness with which this lord assumed the charge of theundertaking. However, no sooner was he left alone than he repented ofhis precipitation. He had for some time experienced, not remorse, but avague uneasiness on account of his crimes; at every new addition tothem, the remembrance of those he had previously committed pressed uponhis memory, if not upon his conscience, and loaded it with anintolerable weight. An undefinable repugnance to the commission ofcrime, such as he had experienced and subdued at the outset of hiscareer, returned with all its force to overwhelm his spirit. Thethoughts of the future contributed to render the past more painful. "Togrow old! to die! and then?" And the image of death, which he had sooften met undaunted, in face of an enemy, and which seemed to inflamehis courage and double his energy--this same image now, in the midnightsilence of his castle, quelled his spirit, and impressed him with an awewhich he in vain endeavoured to resist. Formerly, the frequent spectacleof violence and murder, inspiring him with a ferocious emulation, hadserved as a kind of authority against his conscience; now the confusedbut terrible idea arose in his mind of individual responsibility at thebar of God. The idea of having risen above the crowd of vulgarcriminals, and of having left them far behind, an idea which onceflattered his pride, now impressed him with a sentiment of fearfulsolitude; and experiencing at certain moments of despondence the powerand presence of that God whose existence he had hitherto neitheradmitted nor denied, having been wholly immersed in himself, hisaccumulated crimes rose up, to justify the sentence which was about tocondemn him to eternal banishment from the divine presence. But thisuneasiness was not suffered to appear, either in his words or hisactions; he carefully concealed it under the appearance of more profoundand intense ferocity. Regretting the time when he was accustomed tocommit iniquity without remorse, without any other solicitude than forits success, he made every effort to recall these habits and feelings;to take pleasure in wickedness; and glory in his shame, in order toconvince himself that he was still the same man.
This accounts for the promptitude of his promise to Don Roderick: hewished to deprive himself of the chance of hesitation; but, scarcelyalone, he felt his resolution fail, and thoughts arose in his mind whichalmost tempted him to break his word, and expose his weakness to aninferior accomplice. But with a violent effort he put an end to thepainful conflict. He sent for Nibbio[30], one of the most skilful andresolute ministers of his atrocities, and of whom he had made use in hiscorrespondence with Egidio, and ordered him to mount his horse, to go toMonza, to inform Egidio of the affair he had undertaken, and to requirehis assistance for its accomplishment.
[30] Kite.
The messenger returned sooner than his master expected him with thereply of Egidio; the enterprise was easy and safe; the Unknown had onlyto send a carriage with two or three bravoes, well disguised; Egidiotook charge of the rest. The Unknown, whatever passed in his mind, gaveorders to Nibbio to arrange every thing, and to set out immediately onthe expedition.
If, to
perform the horrible service which had been required of him,Egidio had depended only on his ordinary means, he would not certainlyhave sent back so explicit an answer. But in the asylum of the convent,where every thing appeared as an obstacle, the villain had a means knownto himself alone; and that which would have been an insurmountabledifficulty to others was to him an instrument of success. We haverelated how the unhappy signora once lent an ear to his discourse, andthe reader may have surmised that this was not the last time; it wasonly the first step in the path of abomination and blood. The same voicewhich then addressed her, become imperious through crime, now imposed onher the sacrifice of the innocent girl who had been intrusted to hercare.
The proposition appeared frightful to Gertrude; to lose Lucy in anymanner would have seemed to her a misfortune, a punishment; and todeprive herself of her with criminal perfidy, to add to her crimes bydealing treacherously with the confiding girl, was to take away the onlygleam of virtuous enjoyment which had shone upon her mysterious andwicked career. She tried every method to avoid obedience; every method,except the only infallible one, that was in her power. Crime is a severeand inflexible master, against whom we are strong only when we entirelyrebel. Gertrude could not resolve on that, and obeyed.
The day agreed on came; the hour approached; Gertrude, alone with Lucy,bestowed on her more caresses than ordinary, which the poor girlreturned with increasing tenderness, as the lamb licks the hand of theshepherd who entices it without the fold into the murderous power of thebutcher who there awaits it.
"I want you to do me a great favour; many are ready to obey me, butthere is none but yourself whom I can trust. I must speak immediately onan affair of great importance, which I will relate to you some othertime, to the superior of the capuchins, who brought you hither, my dearLucy; but no one must know that I have sent for him. I rely on you tocarry a secret message----"
Lucy was astonished at such a request, and alleged her reasons fordeclining to perform it; without her mother! without a companion! in asolitary road! in a strange country! But Gertrude, instructed in aninfernal school, showed great astonishment and displeasure at herrefusal, after having been loaded with so many benefits; she affected totreat her excuses as frivolous. "In open day! a short distance! a roadthat Lucy had travelled a few days before!" She said so much, that thepoor girl, touched with gratitude and shame, enquired, "What was to bedone?"
"Go to the convent of the capuchins; ask for the superior, tell him tocome here immediately, but to let no one suspect that he comes at myrequest."
"But what shall I say to the portress, who has never seen me go out, andwill ask me where I am going?"
"Endeavour to pass without being seen; and if you cannot, say you aregoing to some church to perform your orisons."
A new difficulty for Lucy! to tell a falsehood! but the signora was sooffended at her refusal, and so ridiculed her for preferring a vainscruple to her gratitude, that the unhappy girl, alarmed rather thanconvinced, replied, "Well, I will go; may God be my guide andprotector."
Gertrude, from her grated window, followed her with anxious looks, andwhen she saw her about to cross the threshold, overcome by irresistibleemotion, she cried, "Stop, Lucy."
Lucy returned to the window; but another idea, the one accustomed topredominate, had resumed its sway over the mind of the unhappy Gertrude.She affected dissatisfaction at the directions she had given; describedthe road again to Lucy, and dismissed her: "Do exactly as I have toldyou, and return quickly."
Lucy passed the door of the cloister unobserved, and proceeding on herway with downcast eyes, found, with the aid of the directions given, andher own recollections, the gate of the suburb; timid and trembling, shecontinued on the high road, until she arrived at that which led to theconvent. This road was buried, like the bed of a river, between two highbanks, bordered with trees, whose branches united to form an arch aboveit. On finding it entirely deserted, she felt her fears revive; shehurried on, but gained courage from the sight of a travelling carriagewhich had stopped a short distance before her; before the door of it,which was open, there stood two travellers looking about, as ifuncertain of their way. As she approached, she heard one of them say,"Here is a good girl, who will tell us the way." As she came on a linewith the carriage, this same man addressed her: "My good girl, can youtell us the way to Monza?"
"You are going in the wrong direction," replied the poor girl; "Monzalies there." As she turned to point it out, his companion (it wasNibbio) seized her by the waist, and lifted her from the ground. Lucyscreamed from surprise and terror; the ruffian threw her into thecarriage; a third, who was seated in the bottom of it, seized her, andcompelled her to sit down before him; another put a handkerchief overher mouth, and stifled her cries. Nibbio then entered the carriage, thedoor was closed, and the horses set off on a gallop. He who had askedher the perfidious question remained behind; he was an emissary ofEgidio, who had watched Lucy when she quitted the convent, and hadhastened by a shorter road to inform his colleagues, and wait for her atthe place agreed on.
But who can describe the terror and anguish of the unfortunate girl? Whocan tell what passed in her heart? Cruelly anxious to ascertain herhorrible situation, she wildly opened her eyes, but closed them again atthe sight of those frightful faces. She struggled in vain. The men heldher down in the bottom of the carriage: if she attempted to cry, theydrew the handkerchief tightly over her mouth. In the mean while, threegruff voices, endeavouring to assume a tone of humanity, said to her,"Be quiet, be quiet: do not be afraid; we do not wish to harm you."After a while her struggles ceased, she languidly opened her eyes, andthe horrible faces before her appeared to blend themselves into onemonstrous image; her colour fled, and she fell lifeless into their arms.
"Courage, courage," said Nibbio; but Lucy was now beyond the reach ofhis horrible voice.
"The devil! she appears to be dead," said one of them. "If she shouldreally be dead!"
"Poh!" said the other, "these fainting fits are common to women; theydon't die in this way."
"Hush," said Nibbio, "be attentive to your duty, and do not meddle withother affairs. Keep your muskets ready, because this wood we areentering is a nest for robbers. Don't keep them in your hands--thedevil! put them behind you. Do you not see that this girl is a tenderchicken, who faints at nothing? If she sees that you have arms, she maydie in reality. When she comes to her senses, be careful not to frightenher. Touch her not, unless I tell you to do so. I can hold her. Keepquiet, and let me talk to her."
Meanwhile the carriage entered the wood. Poor Lucy awoke as from aprofound and painful slumber. She opened her eyes, and her horriblesituation rushed with full force upon her mind. She struggled again invain, she attempted to scream, but Nibbio said to her, holding up thehandkerchief, "Be tranquil; it is the best thing you can do. We do notwish to harm you; but if you do not keep silence, we must make you."
"Let me go. Who are you? Where are you taking me? Why am I here? Let mego, let me go."
"I tell you, don't be frightened. You are not a child, and you ought toknow that we will not harm you. We might have murdered you before this,if such had been our intention. Be quiet, then."
"No, no, let me go; I know you not."
"We know you well enough, however."
"Oh, holy Virgin! Let me go, for charity's sake. Who are you? Why haveyou brought me here?"
"Because we have been ordered to do so."
"Who? who? who ordered you to do it?"
"Hush!" said Nibbio, in a severe tone. "Such questions must not beanswered."
Lucy attempted to throw herself from the door of the carriage, butfinding the effort vain, she had recourse again to entreaties, and withher cheeks bathed in tears, and her voice broken by sobs, she continued,"Oh, for the love of heaven, and the holy Virgin, let me go! What harmhave I done you? I am a poor creature, who have never injured you; Iforgive you all that you have done, and will pray to God for you. If youhave a daughter, a wife, or a mother, think what they would suffer in my
situation. Remember that we must all die, and that one day you willhope that God will show mercy to you. Let me go, let me go; the Lordwill guide me on my way."
"We cannot."
"You cannot? Great God! why can you not? Where are you taking me?"
"We cannot; your supplications are useless. Do not be frightened; wewill not harm you. Be quiet; no one shall harm you."
More than ever alarmed to perceive that her words produced no effect,Lucy turned to Him who holds in his powerful hand the hearts of men, andcan, if he sees fit, soften the most ferocious. She crossed her arms onher breast, and prayed from the depth of her heart, fervently; thenagain vainly implored to be set free: but we have not the heart torelate more at length this painful journey, which lasted four hours, andwhich was to be succeeded by many hours of still deeper anguish.
At the castle, the Unknown was waiting her arrival with extraordinarysolicitude and agitation of mind. Strange, that he who had coldly andcalmly disposed of so many lives, and had regarded as nothing thetorments he inflicted, should now feel an impression of remorse, almostof terror, at the tyranny he exercised over an unknown girl, an humblepeasant! From a high window of his castle, he had for some time lookeddown upon the valley beneath; at last he saw the carriage approachingslowly at a distance, as if the horses were wearied with their rapidjourney. He perceived it, and felt his heart beat violently.
"Is she there?" thought he. "What trouble this girl gives me! I mustfree myself from it." And he prepared himself to send one of hisruffians to meet the carriage, and tell Nibbio to conduct the girlimmediately to the castle of Don Roderick; but an imperious _No_, whichmade itself heard by his conscience, caused him to relinquish hisdesign. Tormented, however, by the necessity of ordering something to bedone, and insupportably weary of waiting the slow approach of thecarriage, he sent for an old woman who was attached to his service.
This woman had been born in the castle, and had passed her life in it.She had been impressed from infancy with an opinion of the unlimitedpower of its masters; and her principal maxim was implicit obediencetowards them. To the ideas of duty were united sentiments of respect,fear, and servile devotion. When the Unknown became lord of the castle,and began to make such horrible use of his power, she experienced adegree of pain, and at the same time a more profound sentiment ofsubjection. In time she became habituated to what was daily actingbefore her: the powerful and unbridled will of such a lord she viewed asan exercise of fated justice. When somewhat advanced in years, she hadespoused a servant of the house, who being sent on a hazardousexpedition, left his body on the high road, and his wife a widow in thecastle. The revenge that her lord took for his death imparted to her asavage consolation, and increased her pride at being under hisprotection. From that day she rarely set foot beyond the castle walls,and by degrees there remained to her no other idea of human beings, thanthat of those by whom she was daily surrounded. She was not employed inany particular service, but each one gave her something to do as itpleased him. She had sometimes clothes to mend, food to prepare, andwounds to dress. Commands, reproaches, and thanks were equally mingledwith abusive raillery: she went by the appellation of the _old woman_,and the tone with which the name was uttered varied according to thecircumstances and humour of the speaker. Disturbed in her idleness andirritated in her self-love, which were her two ruling passions, shereturned these compliments with language in which Satan might haverecognised more of his own genius than in that of her persecutors.
"You see that carriage below there," said the Unknown.
"I do," said she.
"Have a litter prepared immediately, and let it carry you to_Malanotte_. Quick, quick; you must arrive before the carriage; itapproaches with the slow step of death. In this carriage there is--thereought to be--a young girl. If she is there, tell Nibbio from me, that hemust place her in the litter, and that he must come at once to me. Youwill get into the litter with her; and when you arrive here, you musttake her to your room. If she asks you where you are leading her, whoseis this castle, be careful----"
"Oh, do not doubt me," said the old woman.
"But," pursued the Unknown, "comfort her, encourage her."
"What can I say to her?"
"What can you say to her? Comfort her, I tell you. Have you arrived atthis age, and know not how to administer consolation to the afflicted?Have you never had any sorrow? Have you never been visited by fear? Doyou not know the language that consoles in such moments? Speak thislanguage to _her_ then; find it in the remembrance of your ownmisfortunes. Go directly."
When she was gone, he remained some time at the window, gazing at theapproaching carriage; he then looked at the setting sun, and theglorious display of clouds about the horizon. He soon withdrew, closedthe window, and kept pacing the apartment in a state of uneasyexcitement.