To dwell on the sorrows of others, when the mind is agitated by misfortune, tends only to depress the already sinking spirits. Thus Lauretta now felt a gloom cloud her mind, which she found herself unable to shake off; and her attempts to appear cheerful only added to the depression which in reality weighed down her spirits, while the tears stole insensibly from her downcast eyes.
The old man perceived the melancholy which had seized upon his fair guest, and began to converse on various topics, which he hoped might engage her attention from the gloomy subjects on which he well saw they were dwelling: but finding his endeavours to be in vain, he again heated for her a cup of his balsamic cordial; and having bathed with a mollifying ointment her head and arm, which were now in a healing condition, he prevailed on her, as night was rapidly shutting in, to seek relief for her agitated mind in the composure of sleep.
On the following morning, Lauretta arose at the moment the old man returned from fetching his accustomed measure of water; and he joyed to find that the refreshment of sleep had dispelled the gloom of sorrow which had on the preceding evening clouded her brow.
The hermit had also been to a neighbouring cottage, where he was constantly supplied with bread, and had brought from thence a bunch of fresh-gathered grapes, as a present to Lauretta.
During the course of the day, Lauretta expressed to her host her astonishment at Theodore's never having visited her during her late confinement; as, had he conveyed her thither from the love he bore her person, it was natural to suppose he would have immediately followed her, and by force have rendered her subservient to his base desires. The hermit bade her be contented with the knowledge of having escaped the evil she had dreaded, nor sink her spirits with dwelling on a gloomy retrospect, now a smiling prospect of hope was placed in her view.
"But should it vanish," cried Lauretta, "should the wicked Theodore have by any means cut me off from again beholding my Alphonsus"——she paused, and the tears started in her eyes.
"Why thus unnecessarily afflict thee, by visionary phantoms of distress?" exclaimed the solitary man. "From the evils experienced in this life of probation no one is exempt: it is a chequered scene, wherein the most submissive to their fate endure the less affliction here, and ensure to themselves the greater reward hereafter: whereas, to anticipate misfortune, is to double our earthly calamities, while we endanger our future felicity, in drawing upon us the displeasure of him who alone can bestow it, by our want of confidence in his will and ability to protect us."
Lauretta felt the force of his words; but she felt also, that it was easier for a man, dead to every connexion with the world, to give philosophic counsel, than for her to cease to be anxious for the fate of him whom alone she loved.
Towards evening, a sprightly fire cheered the hermit's cell, and various discourse wasted the hours pleasantly, till the hermit gave the signal of retiring for the night; and Lauretta having joined him in fervent prayer, they each betook themselves to their respective pallet.
About midnight Lauretta awoke, and Alphonsus immediately becoming the subject of her thoughts, she lay ruminating on what might have befallen him since their separation, when a faint sigh caught her ear; somewhat startled, she raised herself upon her couch and listened; but instantly recollecting the near situation of her host, she smiled at her vain apprehensions, and turning on her pallet, fell insensibly into a second sleep.
On waking in the morning, she called to the hermit, inquiring the hour; and receiving no answer to her demand, she concluded him gone to the spring; she accordingly rose, and entered the outward division of the hermitage, when, what was her astonishment on beholding her venerable benefactor stretched lifeless on his mossy couch!
She uttered a loud shriek, and sunk upon the ground; but there was no one near to hear, or to raise her: at length, with tottering steps she ventured to approach the clay-cold corpse,—she gazed upon it awhile in silent anguish; then, bursting into a flood of tears, she exclaimed—"Hard, when I had found a friend to soothe the loss of those from whom the base designs of villainy have for a while exiled me, that the hand of death should, at that needy moment, have wrested him from me!—Oh! that I had flown to him when I first heard that passing sigh! his last breath, doubtless, then hung lingering on his lips, and my timely aid might have recalled it!—Oh! preserver of my life, pardon my unwilling neglect of thine: and if, after death, exalted saints (for, surely, such thou art) have influence here on earth, unseen by man, Oh! cast a thought on the unhappy wretch thou didst not here disdain to succour."
Weeping, she cast herself upon the bench which had not long before supported the old man and herself in cheerful conversation over the crackling embers;—a dead silence now reigned, broken only by her sighs.—Three tedious days and equal nights were before her, to be passed in solitude, irksome in itself, and which she yet feared to see interrupted by any unwelcome visitant, before the time would elapse, at the expiration of which the hermit had taught her to expect the return of her messenger.
Day was nearly closed ere she awoke from the lethargy of grief and reflection into which she had fallen; and having then eaten a small quantity of bread, and drank a cup of water, she cast a look of sorrow at her deceased friend; and having prayed fervently, she cast herself upon her pallet, relying for protection on that being who, in the trials to which he subjects us in this transient state, consults only our welfare, by fixing our thoughts more forcibly on the blissful scenes of an endless futurity.
CHAPTER XII
Oh, my wrongs,
My wrongs! they now come rushing o'er my head.—
Again, again, they wake me into madness.
-HARTSON
We now return to Alphonsus, whom we left on that fatal night on which Lauretta was conveyed from him by the villainy of Theodore.
The night was far advanced, when Alphonsus returned from the water; and, on approaching his little habitation, his surprise was instantly excited by seeing the door open, and no light burning within against his return;—he entered,—all was silent.—He called on Lauretta, and on the girl who attended her; no answer was given him:—he sought her in every part;—again he called on her, it was in vain.—Frantic with surprise and fear, he ran to the habitation nearest to his own: he awoke its inhabitants, and, scarcely knowing what he said, or able to explain his own ideas, he asked for Lauretta; she was not there.—He then flew to the next cottage, and so on to every one in succession:—Lauretta was not to be found, or any information to be gained respecting her.—He again returned to his own dwelling; again he searched it, and again he called on his beloved Lauretta; but Lauretta answered him not.—"She is gone! lost for ever!" he exclaimed—"Theodore, the cursed Theodore, has torn her from me; he triumphs over me, and tortures her!"—In the wildest agitation he threw himself on the ground; then starting from the momentary trance into which he had fallen, and with his net still on his arm, as he had brought it from his boat, he rather flew than ran towards Smaldart castle.
The baron was just risen as Alphonsus reached the castle:—Alphonsus perceived him in the garden, and flying to him, apologised for his abrupt intrusion, and then requested the baron to inform him whether Theodore was absent from the castle.
The baron answered, that he had not seen him since the preceding evening; and immediately asked his reason for the inquiry; and Alphonsus, in as collected a manner as the agitation of his spirits would allow him to speak, related to the baron all that had passed since Theodore's arrival in Germany.
The baron was too well acquainted with the disposition of Theodore, to doubt either what Alphonsus had said of him, or his being the means of Lauretta's being torn from her husband, and immediately dispatched a servant to the chamber of Theodore, to ascertain whether he was in the castle.
The servant quickly returned, with information that Theodore was still in bed.
"I did not suppose he had left the castle," said the baron; "I am well acquainted with his extraordinary temper, and see the motives of his entire
conduct;—not love, but pride, first edged him on to supplant you in the affections of an amiable and lovely woman; the triumph he there sought to gain was defeated by your Lauretta's virtue; revenge is now the only passion left open to him, and he seeks its gratification in separating the persons of those whose affections he could not divide:—but rely on my friendship and services; he has doubtless entrusted your wife to the care of some bribed peasant in the neighbourhood till he can find an apt moment for carrying her beyond your reach:—saddle the fleetest horses in my stable, take two of my domestics to accompany you, and visit every habitation in the circle of my estate, commanding them in my name not to retain her.—I will in the mean time be answerable that Theodore shall not pursue her."
With terms of unfeigned gratitude to the baron, Alphonsus ran to the stables, and having announced what the baron had authorised him to perform, in a few minutes' time departed from the castle, together with the two domestics appointed to accompany him.
Theodore, if he had slept at all (and sleep is rarely the portion of even the most secure villainy), had been awakened by the entrance of the servant into his chamber, and had immediately risen, and descended into the hall; he was inquiring of every domestic the cause of his uncle's having asked for him at so early an hour, when the baron entered from the garden; and perceiving Theodore, who was listening with the utmost counterfeited composure to the story of Lauretta's disappearance, as relating by one of the servants to his fellows, he beckoned him to follow him into an apartment.
Theodore obeying his uncle's call, entered the room, and threw himself into a chair; the baron closed the door, and thus addressed him: "Theodore, the unlimited indulgence of a too fond uncle has been your ruin,—boyish errors, left unchastised, have ripened with your years into crimes; those crimes, either from their having been confined within the limits of too lenient laws, or from the inability of those you have wronged, to punish, have escaped with impunity; on this presumption your haughty spirit, triumphing in its imaginary security, seeks revenge for every thwarted inclination; but know, that the forbearance of an uncle may be too far imposed upon, and the laws of your country too highly insulted. I greatly fear you have been tempting the former, and abusing the latter."
Theodore rose in great agitation, and was beginning to speak.—
"Be calm, and hear me," continued the baron; "your passion of revenge has been excited against two amiable persons, sufficiently unhappy in their knowledge of you without the addition of your cruelty: but it was not enough for you that they were not miserable;—this was only to be done by tearing them asunder, and you have effected it: but they shall meet again to your confusion."
Choking with rage at this open declaration of the sentiments of the baron, when he had buoyed himself up with the idea of having so dexterously conducted the villainous act, as to have removed all fear of the slightest suspicion falling upon him, Theodore exclaimed, "Me! accuse me of having carried off the wife of Alphonsus the fisherman! You pay an exalted compliment to my taste, and to my knowledge of my rank in life."—Then, with a satirical smile, he added, "But I beg the female's pardon, 'tis unfair to decide on the merits of her I never saw."
"Never saw!" returned the baron, fixing his eyes steadfastly on his nephew.
Theodore met the baron's eyes;—he read in them his knowledge of the falsehood he had uttered; and a frown of passion succeeding the sneer of contumely which had before sat upon his countenance, he cried, "No, I swear by heaven, that"——
"Hold," interrupted the baron, "violate not heaven by an oath, which, ten times repeated, would not convince me. I cannot suppose that the man whom I suspect to be the perpetrator of a crime, heinous as that of which I now accuse you, will hesitate the commission of a second, whereby he hopes to clear away the imputation of the first."
Perceiving the baron to be firm in the point he was urging, and thinking a patient show of innocence to be most likely to win on the baron in his favour, he said, "If you are determined to think so hardly of me, sir, I must trust alone to the conviction time will give you of my innocence, for my return to your good opinion; in the interval I have, however, my own heart to refer to for consolation."
What villain is not skilled in fair words?—The baron was too well acquainted with the human heart, to ask the confession of Theodore. He knew that guilt is stubborn, and that the urgency of entreaty tends only to harden, not relax, its obstinacy.
He accordingly thus addressed him. "Theodore, you may be innocent with regard to what has occurred; it would greatly delight me to find you so, but I much fear you are not. If you are guilty, the restraint I am about to impose on you, will be only what you merit: if otherwise, the elucidation of this mystery will be to your honour. I am resolute in my determination, that the two apartments at the end of the northern gallery shall be your prison, till Lauretta is restored to her husband. Should it be possible that she has fled from Alphonsus on any other account, or with any other person, you have no business to interfere in what concerns them only: if you have conveyed her hence, it is my duty to prevent your pursuing her, and I will take care to put an effectual bar to your further annoying her peace."
Theodore raised his hands and eyes with a look of astonishment and sorrow, then walked slowly to the window with his handkerchief to his face.
The apartments to which the baron had alluded, were immediately prepared; and Theodore, in sullen silence, entered them; and the lock was turned upon him by the baron's own hand.
The key of the apartments wherein the chevalier was confined, was given, by the baron, to a trusty servant; with orders to visit him frequently, and to supply him with every necessary of life, and any article of amusement he required; but on no account to suffer him to pass the limits of his prison.
Late in the evening, Alphonsus returned much fatigued, and his spirits greatly depressed by the want of success that had attended his numerous inquiries.
Exhausted as he was, he immediately sought the baron, and requested permission of him to exchange his steed, and again set out in search of his beloved Lauretta. The baron informed him of what had passed between him and Theodore since his departure; and besought him, for his health's sake, to await the morning, before he again set out. But no consideration of what he might himself undergo, could restrain Alphonsus from the pursuit of one whose safety was so essential to his happiness; and, having scarcely permitted himself to partake of a hasty repast, he mounted a fresh horse that had been prepared for him, and set out in a different direction from the castle to that he had before taken.
In the course of the following day, the baron visited Theodore. Confinement, to which he was unaccustomed, had already gone far towards curbing his crabbed disposition; and, on seeing his uncle, he burst into a peevish exclamation, which sued for liberty; and during which it was with difficulty that he restrained his tears. The baron having looked round the apartments in order to satisfy himself that they were secure in every part, and the accommodation of his nephew good, left him without speaking a single word.
Midnight brought back Alphonsus to Smaldart castle: the fatigue of body and mind he had undergone, had so far exhausted nature, as to require the most assiduous attention being paid to him; and being lifted off his horse, he was immediately, by the baron's order, conveyed to a bed in the castle.
"She is gone for ever, for ever!" he exclaimed, as the baron approached the side of the bed on which he lay: he endeavoured to say more, but weakness overpowered him.
The baron used every argument he could devise to cheer him, but he was too miserable to be soothed by any consolation, save the presence of his Lauretta.
Early in the morning the baron sent out four horsemen, commanding them to take a more extended circuit than Alphonsus had done, and to omit no possible means that might lead to the discovery of the object they were going in pursuit of.
A fever in the blood had seized upon Alphonsus, and towards evening the wildest delirium possessed him: at intervals, with returning reas
on, he asked for tidings of Lauretta; then again raving, in thought, beheld her standing by him; and again, reason returned to prove the pleasing vision a fallacy.
Thus passed on eight days of the most unhappy nature to all parties: to Theodore the most irksome imagination can conceive; the success of his base plan alone affording him a slender satisfaction, which was nearly outweighed by the idea that suspicion fell too heavily upon him to be easily shaken off. A thousand plans had he formed for escaping from his confinement, and as many obstacles arose to render them impracticable: worn out by curbing his violent temper or venting it on empty air, he at length submitted to entreat, where before he had scarcely deigned to command; and in the humblest language, interlarded with the most liberal promises which the hope of obtaining his wish could instigate, he besought the domestic whom the baron had appointed to serve and watch over him, to favour his escape.
The servant, on whom the baron's injunctions had been too forcibly laid, to hesitate a single moment in the discharge of the trust reposed in him, ventured to remonstrate with the chevalier on the impropriety of the request he so strongly urged, and the inadequacy of any reward to the loss of the baron Smaldart's favour.
The baron, who had not visited his nephew since the second day of his inhabiting those apartments, now entered, and thus put a stop to a further conversation. Theodore, on beholding his uncle, burst into a flood of tears, and calling on heaven to witness his innocence, besought a remission of his confinement.
"I had weighed well my reasons for the punishment I have doomed you to," cried the baron, "ere I enforced it; and those tears, the effect of disappointed villainy, shall not impel me to relax its severity. Is every thing here to your satisfaction? I wish you to undergo no farther inconvenience than what you may suffer in being prevented from leaving these walls."
The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror) Page 264