Four days had now elapsed, and still he did not return; something the Marchese imagined must have happened to occasion this delay, and sensations still more afflictive and terrible passed through his disordered mind. Unable any longer to endure the pressure of his uneasiness, which was now rendered still more acute by a thousand memorials of her whom he had thus sacrificed to ambition and unjust resentment, he adopted the resolution of repairing to the castle of Elfinbach, in hopes that a new succession of objects might effect a change of idea. This plan, as soon as formed, was communicated to Ambrose, who was commanded to attend him thither and leaving orders for Paoli to follow him immediately on his return, the Marchese proceeded on his journey.
After a dreary and melancholy ride over barren heaths and rugged precipices, the travellers arrived at this desolated castle, which, from the heavy rains that had recently fallen, and the high winds which had blown down the rampart-wall, and shattered the easements, appeared more than usually gloomy. The Marchese surveyed it for a moment in silence, and then alighting from his horse, asked eagerly for the Signora, and was directed into one of the saloons.
He found her alone, engaged in some household employment; and being surprised at his sudden return to a place not at present rendered fit for his reception, she looked chagrined and embarrassed. The restless agitation of mind that was so strongly delineated on the features and manners of the Marchese, did not elude the observation of the Signora, though the cause was inexplicable. She would have demanded the reason of this conduct, but the reserve, with which he repressed every inquiry she ventured to make that could lead to the subject, occasioned her to desist.
She did not mention Laurette till the following day, fearing lest this mysterious sadness was the effect of her coldness, and might be increased by reverting to the cause; but anxiety to gain some information respecting her lovely young friend overpowering every other consideration, directed her simply to interrogate him concerning her health. The name of Laurette, uttered by the Signora, roused him from that state of stupor into which he had fallen. He started, and confusion for the moment prevented him from framing a reply, till at length recalling some portion of that studied composure, that masterly command of feature, for which he was once so deservedly eminent, he informed her, without recollecting that he had not answered her first question, that Laurette had proved herself unworthy of his future protection, by having escaped secretly from the castle, unknown to and unobserved by any one.
The Signora now imagined that she was acquainted with the whole: every thing that the Marchese had uttered relative to her escape, appeared probable, when she recollected the boldness, and even aversion, with which she had uniformly repressed the ardour of his passion. But in what part of the province could she find an asylum that would defend her from the power of her lover, or elude the vigilance of his researches, should he be disposed to continue his persecutions, was unanswerable. Her unprotected situation filled the mind of the Signora, as she reflected upon it, with new terror; but afraid of betraying too much emotion in the presence of her Lord, she abruptly quitted the apartment, that she might consider it more deeply in secret.
The Marchese now believing that he had convinced his Casiera that Laurette had deservedly forfeited all claim to his protection from having voluntarily quitted the castle, less frequently came into her presence than before, still endeavouring to find that repose he had lost amid the wildest scenes of Nature, which his dark discoloured imagination rendered still more dreary.
Day after day passed in a state of mournful solicitude, yet Paoli was not announced; "the attempt, and not the deed", was dreadful! If the bloody business was transacted, what could have detained him? A thousand terrible surmises now agitated his breast; his nights continued to be sleepless, and, before he had been a week resident at the castle, his pallid countenance, and his emaciated limbs, foretold alarming consequences!
A strange account of noises heard in different parts of the mansion, and of spectres being seen gliding through the galleries at the dead hour of the night, was now circulated among the domestics! The Signora was informed of it, and, willing to remove what she termed causeless superstition, endeavoured to convince them of the absurdity of allowing themselves to be deluded by imaginary terrors; but the arguments she made use of to quiet their apprehensions were ineffectual. Ambrose averred, that he had met a figure clothed in white, gliding through the corridor, who, without accosting him, vanished apparently into one of the deserted apartments! The female servants, who were procured by the Signora from the nearest village, to assist in cleaning the castle, each declared they had seen the same spectre, exactly answering to his description, in different situations, and had all formed the resolution not to stir alone in the night, nor even in the dusk, each declaring that she had rather meet a wild beast than a spirit!
The Signora's woman, being the only one among them who had not caught the contagion, proposed, if any one would accompany her, to explore every room in the castle; but no individual in the family being courageous enough to assist her in her researches, she was compelled to abandon the design, though not without branding all, particularly Ambrose, with the imputation of cowardice.
The Marchese in the meantime, though kept in total ignorance of the affair, through the express orders of the Casiera, appeared to suffer more internal horror than any of the servants. His meals were short, and his answers, when any one addressed him, were far from the purpose, and usually uttered with an aspect of displeasure. At some times he seemed lost in the gloom of silent thoughtfulness, whilst at others his strong expressive features were distorted by emotions; and with his arms folded upon his breast, and his eyes fixed with a vacant stare upon some object he was unconscious of beholding, his whole frame appeared to suffer some dreadful convulsion. He usually retired early to his room, but seldom to his bed: he never courted the sweet influence of sleep, for he knew that it shunned the blood-stained couch of the murderer, and descended only on the lid of unoffending innocence.
CHAPTER II
What man dare, I dare;
Approach thou, like the rugged Russian bear.
The arm'd rhinoceros, or Hyrcanian tiger;
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble.
-SHAKESPEARE
The room, which was selected by ambrose for his Lord immediately on his arrival, was on the northern side of the edifice, and from its remote situation, as well as from the circumstance of that range of apartments having always remained locked during Madame Chamont's residence in the mansion, had long fallen into disuse. It was a large dreary looking chamber, partially hung with tapestry of no common workmanship, representing a group of grim and ghastly figures habited as knights, with their spears, bucklers, and other implements of war. The bed, which was composed of crimson damask, was so much faded and discoloured with age, and the curtains that hung loosely from the high canopied tester, had been so long a prey to the moths and the night-flies, that the windows were no sooner opened, after having been closed for near twenty years, than they fell into fragments. A few faded portraits, in the costume of the thirteenth century, and large old-fashioned mirror, whose massy gilt frame appeared to have withstood the assaults of ages, were the only ornaments this apartment contained, if those could be called ornaments, which, instead of relieving the eye, tended to make the correspondent gloom of the whole more dreadfully impressive.
This room Ambrose endeavoured to convince the Signora was less exposed than any other to the fury of the winds, and upon the whole a more comfortable asylum than any other which the castle contained.
The Marchese, in any other frame of spirits, would have been shocked at its desolate appearance; but horrors were now become familiar to him, and taking a lamp and book, he usually retired to it early; and if he ever closed his eyes, this transient respose was obtained in a large antique chair, covered with green damask, that was placed by the side of the fire.
The Signora, believin
g that this increasing malady was chiefly the effect of sleepless anxiety, ventured one night, unknown to him, to put something in his wine of a soporific nature, whose effect being almost instantaneous, occasioned him to retire to his chamber still earlier than before.
Scarcely had he entered the room before he perceived a soft composure stealing upon his spirits, and contrary to his late custom, threw himself upon the bed, and yielded to a transient slumber. But the comfort of serene sleep was denied him; for his guilty soul conjured up strange and dreadful images, not less appalling than his waking terrors. He imagined that, for some crime committed against the ecclesiastical powers, he was consigned to the dungeons of the inquisition within the authority of Rome, where he remained in hourly expectation of being summoned to the secret tribunal—a tribunal where mercy, and even justice, are for ever excluded, to confess what must doom him to immediate death, or have that confession extorted from him, by means more dreadful than the human mind could conceive, by inflictions more excruciating than the annihilation of existence. He awaked; it was but a dream, and sleep still overpowering him, he closed his eyes, and again yielded to its influence. The dreadful vision still continued; he was now conducted by two of the officers belonging to this hopeless prison, through dark subterranean passages, to the secret tribunal. The grand inquisitor, with the three persons that formed the tribunal, were seated on a lofty elevation. He arose when he entered, and eyeing him with a dreadful kind of minuteness, proceeded to judgment. The charge against him was read; it spoke of murder and sacrilege. His accuser was called; it was a Monk, of a meek and saint-like appearance, clad in the holy vestments of his order. He came forwards; the trial proceeded; the facts alledged against him were incontrovertible, and the tribunal, in a loud voice, demanded his confession. The excessive agitation of his mind now released him from the fetters of sleep, and starting from the couch, in an agony not to be described, he pronounced the word "Confess." "Confess," repeated a voice apparently proceeding from a distant part of the room, in a tone at once deep and impressive. The Marchese's alarm increased; a sound was certainly heard that echoed his words, and surprise and terror for the moment deprived him of utterance. But a desperate kind of courage was at length communicated to his mind, and in an accent not less firm, though more furious, he retorted, "Confess what?" "Confess what?" returned the same voice, delivering the last word in a tone of deeper emphasis—"Dost thou ask what?" The sensation which the Marchese now experienced, was little short of distraction; it could not be an illusion, and he would have sprang from his couch to have investigated this mysterious affair, and to have discovered, if possible, from whence the tones proceeded; but throwing his eyes wildly around, he perceived a tall, dreadful-looking figure moving slowly from one of the angles into a remote part of the chamber. The lamp was extinguished, and the dying embers refused to administer the smallest portion of light; but the moon-beams that penetrated through the half-decayed curtains, dimly discovered the figure.
With a countenance, on which extreme agony of soul was faithfully delineated, the eyes of the Marchese continued to follow the terrifying phantom, who, without appearing to observe him, moved pensively along beneath the dim Gothic arch of the casement, in a kind of white robe or cassock, which descending beneath the feet, swept mournfully along the ground. A hood of the same colour covered its face, and shaded the ghastliness of its features. The castle bell now tolled one; the spectre stopped, turned, and in a few moments advanced with a quickened movement towards the bed. The desperate courage which the Marchese had assumed, now vanished; he threw himself back upon the pillow, his breath shortened, the cold dews paced each other down his forehead, he veiled his face, which exhibited a cadaverous paleness, with the coverture; and stifled groans, and irregular respiration, were all the symptoms of remaining existence!
In a few minutes he heard a rustling kind of noise towards the feet of the bed; the curtains were soon afterwards undrawn, and had not the alarm attendant on conscious guilt, wrapped him in obscurity, he might have seen distinctly the form of the spectre bending silently over his couch.
In this situation he remained till the light of the morning dissipated the gloom that had veiled his dreary apartment; when venturing to divest himself of his temporary covering, he perceived that the phantom, which had excited such alarm, was vanished, though the door of the chamber was still fastened.
This remarkable incident now completely engaged his attention; and having communicated the affair to Ambrose, who was become a kind of confident since the departure of Paoli, he contrived, with his assistance, to remove the tapestry with which the apartment was hung, that by these means they might be enabled to explore every part of the wainscot, and to discover if any secret entrance was concealed behind this grotesque covering; but no door, or any other possible method of gaining admission, appeared, or any thing that could act as a clue to conjecture. Still more perplexed and agonized, the mind of the Marchese became a prey to superstitious terror. Afraid of being alone, yet ashamed of acknowledging his weakness, he suffered a tumult of distracting apprehension, which no effort of fortitude could subdue.
CHAPTER III
Ah me! for aught that ever I could read.
Could ever hear by tale or history.
The course of true love never did run smooth;
But either it was different in blood.
Or else misgrafted in respect of years.
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends.
Or if there were a sympathy in choice.
War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it.
-SHAKESPEARE
Enrico had been prevented from visiting Laurette to his promise by a second letter from Italy, which acquainted him with the increasing indisposition of his Colonel, and convinced him of the necessity of his quitting Germany immediately, if he was desirous of preventing the danger of seeing him no more. The grateful heart of the young Chevalier felt a severe pang of self-reproach when he perused this epistle, and willing to repair this fault of omission with all imaginable speed, he wrote to inform Laurette of the occasion of his absence, and commenced his journey. As the Signora was removed from the castle at the time this letter arrived, it unfortunately fell into the hands of the steward, who, after intercepting and reading it himself, discovered the contents to his Lord. Thus the two lovers mutually upbraided each other without any actual cause, and felt, through the meanness and vices of others, the most poignant regret and solicitude.
As soon as Enrico had reached the borders of Italy, he made the best of his way to Pietola, the customary residence of the Marchese de Martilina when disengaged from the duties of his station.
Here he arrived but just in time to receive the last sigh of his revered patron, and to bathe the almost lifeless hand that was extended to welcome him with his tears! Perfectly sensible, though unable to give his thoughts utterance, the Marchese gazed with silent tenderness upon his young favourite, till the vital spark, which had been long expiring, was extinguished, and he fell into the arms of death as into a quiet slumber. The serenity displayed by this great and good man at the hour of death, sufficiently evinced that his life had been blameless: it was the cloudless evening of a tranquil day; no ruffling gales disturbed the calm of his soul; all was comfort and repose.
The affectionate Enrico felt as if he had lost not only a friend, but a parent; and when he followed the adviser and protector of his youth to his last mournful receptacle, he suffered an agony of distress, which required a more than ordinary effort of fortitude to subdue. Endowed with that exquisite perception of pain, or pleasure, which is annexed to extreme sensibility, he found it difficult to tear himself from the place which contained the sacred remains of his friend; till anxiety to gain some intelligence relative to Laurette's silence, which was as mysterious as alarming, determined him to remove from Pietola without further delay, and to set forwards for the castle of Lunenburg.
Having given orders to Anselmo for the horses to be prepared, w
hich were to convey them into Germany, he visited, for the last time, the grave of his much-revered Colonel; and after having indulged the sacredness of his sorrow in secret, was walking silently from the spot, when he was accosted by the nearest relative of his deceased friend, who, with much courtesy of address, requested an audience.
Enrico bowed assent, and following his conductor to a place appointed for the purpose, was informed that the Marchese di Martilina had bequeathed to him a thousand louis d'ors per annum, as a pledge of his friendship and esteem. The heart of the noble Chevalier overflowed with effusions of gratitude, which no eloquence of language can express, as this event was recited; tears of tenderness and regret rushed into his eyes, and having thanked the Signor for his information, with a gracefulness of expression peculiar to himself, he retired to indulge the luxury of his feelings in secret. Enrico had accidentally heard that his much-lamented Colonel had accumulated a considerable share of personal property, besides those ample estates he possessed in many parts of the Continent, which devolved to the male heir; but he never flattered himself into the supposition that he should be remembered in his will, though on former occasions he had experienced many proofs of his benevolence. A mind more sanguine and disinterested than his own might, indeed, have collected some circumstances to favour such an opinion; as the Marchese had no near relation living, and consequently his immense possessions descended to a distant branch of the family, to whom he was not much attached, whilst the ever-increasing partiality he had discovered for the amiable Chevalier wore the most promising aspect in his favour.
The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror) Page 363