‘Melmoth, as she spoke, was profoundly silent, and deeply attentive. He said at last, “Do you then resign yourself to me?” – “Alas! have I not?” – “A question is not an answer. Will you, renouncing all other engagements, all other hopes, depend on me solely for your extrication from this fearful emergency?” – “I will – I do!” – “Will you promise, that if I render you the service you require, if I employ the power you say I have alluded to, you will be mine?” – “Yours! – Alas! am I not yours already?” – “You embrace my protection, then? You voluntarily seek the shelter of that power which I can promise? You yourself will me to employ that power in effecting your escape? – Speak – do I interpret your sentiments aright? – I am unable to exercise those powers you invest me with, unless you yourself require me to do so. I have waited – I have watched for the demand – it has been made – would that it never had!” An expression of the fiercest agony corrugated his stern features as he spoke. – “But it may yet be withdrawn – reflect!” – “And you will not then save me from shame and danger? Is this the proof of your love – is this the boast of your power?” said Isidora, half frantic at this delay. “If I adjure you to pause – if I myself hesitate and tremble – it is to give time for the salutary whisper of your better angel.” “Oh! save me, and you shall be my angel!” said Isidora, falling at his feet. Melmoth shook through his whole frame as he heard these words. He raised and soothed her, however, with promises of safety, though in a voice that seemed to announce despair – and then turning from her, burst into a passionate soliloquy. “Immortal Heaven! what is man? – A being with the ignorance, but not the instinct, of the feeblest animals! – They are like birds – when thy hand, O Thou whom I dare not call Father, is on them, they scream and quiver, though the gentle pressure is intended only to convey the wanderer back to his cage – while, to shun the light fear that scares their senses, they rush into the snare that is spread in their sight, and where their captivity is hopeless!” As he spoke, hastily traversing the room, his foot struck against a chair on which a gorgeous dress was spread. “What is this?” he exclaimed – “What ideot trumpery, what May-queen foolery is this?” – “It is the habit I am to wear at the feast to-night,” said Isidora – “My attendants are coming – I hear them at the door – oh, with what a throbbing heart I shall put on this glittering mockery! – But you will not desert me then?” she added, with wild and breathless anxiety. “Fear not,” said Melmoth, solemnly – “You have demanded my aid, and it shall be accorded. May your heart tremble no more when you throw off that habit, than now when you are about to put it on!”
‘The hour approached, and the guests were arriving. Isidora, arrayed in a splendid and fanciful garb, and rejoicing in the shelter which her mask afforded to the expression of her pale features, mingled among the groupe. She walked one measure with Montilla, and then declined dancing on the pretence of assisting her mother in receiving and entertaining her guests.
‘After a sumptuous banquet, dancing was renewed in the spacious hall, and Isidora followed the company thither with a beating heart. Twelve was the hour at which Melmoth had promised to meet her, and by the clock, which was placed over the door of the hall, she saw it wanted but a quarter to twelve. The hand moved on – it arrived at the hour – the clock struck! Isidora, whose eyes had been rivetted on its movements, now withdrew them in despair. At that moment she felt her arm gently touched, and one of the maskers, bending towards her, whispered, “I am here!” and he added the sign which Melmoth and she had agreed on as the signal of their meeting. Isidora, unable to reply, could only return the sign. “Make haste,” he added – “All is arranged for your flight – there is not a moment to be lost – I will leave you now, but meet me in a few moments in the western portico – the lamps are extinguished there, and the servants have neglected to relight them – be silent and be swift!” He disappeared as he spoke, and Isidora, after a few moments, followed him. Though the portico was dark, a faint gleam from the splendidly illuminated rooms disclosed to her the figure of Melmoth. He drew her arm under his in silence, and proceeded to hurry her from the spot. “Stop, villain, stop!” exclaimed the voice of her brother, who, followed by Montilla, sprung from the balcony – “Where do you drag my sister? – and you, degraded wretch, where are you about to fly, and with whom?” Melmoth attempted to pass him, supporting Isidora with one arm, while the other was extended to repel his approach; but Fernan, drawing his sword, placed himself directly in their way, at the same time calling on Montilla to raise the household, and tear Isidora from his arms. “Off, fool – off!” exclaimed Melmoth – “Rush not on destruction! – I seek not your life – one victim of your house is enough – let us pass ere you perish!” – “Boaster, prove your words!” said Fernan, making a desperate thrust at him, which Melmoth coolly put by with his hand. “Draw, coward!” cried Fernan, rendered furious by this action – “My next will be more successful!” Melmoth slowly drew his sword. “Boy!” said he in an awful voice – “If I turn this point against you, your life is not worth a moment’s purchase – be wise and let us pass.” Feman made no answer but by a fierce attack, which was instantly met by his antagonist.
‘The shrieks of Isidora had now reached the ears of the revellers, who rushed in crowds to the garden – the servants followed them with flambeaux snatched from the walls adorned for this ill-omened festival, and the scene of the combat was in a moment as light as day, and surrounded by a hundred spectators.
‘“Part them – part them – save them!” shrieked Isidora, writhing at the feet of her father and mother, who, with the rest, were gazing in stupid horror at the scene – “Save my brother – save my husband!” The whole dreadful truth rushed on Donna Clara’s mind at these words, and casting a conscious look at the terrified priest, she fell to the ground. The combat was short as it was unequal, – in two moments Melmoth passed his sword twice through the body of Fernan, who sunk beside Isidora, and expired! There was a universal pause of horror for some moments – at length a cry of – “Seize the murderer!” burst from every lip, and the crowd began to close around Melmoth. He attempted no defence. He retreated a few paces, and sheathing his sword, waved them back only with his arm; and this movement, that seemed to announce an internal power above all physical force, had the effect of nailing every spectator to the spot where he stood.
‘The light of the torches, which the trembling servants held up to gaze on him, fell full on his countenance, and the voices of a few shuddering speakers exclaimed, “MELMOTH THE WANDERER!” – “I am – I am!” said that unfortunate being – “and who now will oppose my passing – who will become my companion? – I seek not to injure now – but I will not be detained. Would that breathless fool had yielded to my bidding, not to my sword – there was but one human chord that vibrated in my heart – it is broken to-night, and forever! I will never tempt woman more! Why should the whirlwind, that can shake mountains, and overwhelm cities with its breath, descend to scatter the leaves of the rosebud?” As he spoke, his eyes fell on the form of Isidora, which lay at his feet extended beside that of Fernan. He bent over it for a moment – a pulsation like returning life agitated her frame. He bent nearer – he whispered, unheard by the rest, – “Isidora, will you fly with me – this is the moment – every arm is paralysed – every mind is frozen to its centre! – Isidora, rise and fly with me – this is your hour of safety!” Isidora, who recognized the voice but not the speaker, raised herself for a moment – looked on Melmoth – cast a glance on the bleeding bosom of Fernan, and fell on it dyed in that blood. Melmoth started up – there was a slight movement of hostility among some of the guests – he turned one brief and withering glance on them – they stood every man his hand on his sword, without the power to draw them, and the very domestics held up the torches in their trembling hands, as if with involuntary awe they were lighting him out. So he passed on unmolested amid the groupe, till he reached the spot where Aliaga, stupified with horror, stood beside the bodi
es of his son and daughter. “Wretched old man!” he exclaimed, looking on him as the unhappy father strained his glazing and dilated eyes to see who spoke to him, and at length with difficulty recognized the form of the stranger – the companion of his fearful journey some months past – “Wretched old man – you were warned – but you neglected the warning – I adjured you to save your daughter – I best knew her danger – you saved your gold – now estimate the value of the dross you grasped, and the precious ore you dropt! I stood between myself and her – I warned – I menaced – it was not for me to intreat. Wretched old man – see the result!” – and he turned slowly to depart. An involuntary sound of execration and horror, half a howl and half a hiss, pursued his parting steps, and the priest, with a dignity that more became his profession than his character, exclaimed aloud, “Depart accursed, and trouble us not – go, cursing and to curse.” – “I go conquering and to conquer,” answered Melmoth with wild and fierce triumph – “wretches! your vices, your passions, and your weaknesses, make you my victims. Upbraid yourselves, and not me. Heroes in your guilt, but cowards in your despair, you would kneel at my feet for the terrible immunity with which I pass through you at this moment. – I go accursed of every human heart, yet untouched by one human hand!” – As he retired slowly, the murmur of suppressed but instinctive and irrepressible horror and hatred burst from the groupe. He past on scowling at them like a lion on a pack of bayed hounds, and departed unmolested – unassayed – no weapon was drawn – no arm was lifted – the mark was on his brow, – and those who could read it knew that all human power was alike forceless and needless, – and those who could not succumbed in passive horror. Every sword was in its sheath as Melmoth quitted the garden. “Leave him to God!” – was the universal exclamation. “You could not leave him in worse hands,” exclaimed Fra Jose – “He will certainly be damned – and – that is some comfort to this afflicted family.”
*Vide the beautiful tale of Auheta the Princess of Egypt, and Maugraby the Sorcerer, in the Arabian Tales.
CHAPTER XXXVI
Nunc animum pietas, et materna nomina frangunt.
‘In less than half an hour, the superb apartments, the illuminated gardens of Aliaga, did not echo a footstep; all were gone, except a few who lingered, some from curiosity, some from humanity, to witness or condole with the sufferings of the wretched parents. The sumptuously decorated garden now presented a sight horrid from the contrasted figures and scenery. The domestics stood like statues, holding the torches still in their hands – Isidora lay beside the bloody corse of her brother, till an attempt was made to remove it, and then she clung to it with a strength that required strength to tear her from it – Aliaga, who had not uttered a word, and scarcely drawn a breath, sunk on his knees to curse his half-lifeless daughter – Donna Clara, who still retained a woman’s heart, lost all fear of her husband in this dreadful emergency, and, kneeling beside him, held his uplifted hands, and struggled hard for the suspension of the malediction – Fra Jose, the only one of the groupe who appeared to possess any power of recollection or of mental sanity, addressed repeatedly to Isidora the question, “Are you married, – and married to that fearful being?” – “I am married!” answered the victim, rising from beside the corse of her brother. “I am married!” she added, glancing a look at her splendid habit, and displaying it with a frantic laugh. A loud knocking at the garden gate was heard at this moment. “I am married!” shrieked Isidora, “and here comes the witness of my nuptials!”
‘As she spoke, some peasants from the neighbourhood, assisted by the domestics of Don Aliaga, brought in a corse, so altered from the fearful change that passes on the mortal frame, that the nearest relative could not have known it. Isidora recognized it in a moment for the body of the old domestic who had disappeared so mysteriously on the night of her frightful nuptials. The body had been discovered but that evening by the peasants; it was lacerated as by a fall from rocks, and so disfigured and decayed as to retain no resemblance to humanity. It was recognizable only by the livery of Aliaga, which, though much defaced, was still distinguishable by some peculiarities in the dress, that announced that those defaced garments covered the mortal remains of the old domestic. “There!” cried Isidora with delirious energy – “There is the witness of my fatal marriage!”
‘Fra Jose hung over the illegible fragments of that whereon nature had once written – “This is a human being,” and, turning his eyes on Isidora, with involuntary horror he exclaimed, “Your witness is dumb!” As the wretched Isidora was dragged away by those who surrounded her, she felt the first throes of maternal suffering, and exclaimed, “Oh! there will be a living witness – if you permit it to live!” Her words were soon realized; she was conveyed to her apartment, and a few hours after, scarcely assisted and wholly unpitied by her attendants, gave birth to a daughter.
‘This event excited a sentiment in the family at once ludicrous and horrible. Aliaga, who had remained in a state of stupefaction since his son’s death, uttered but one exclamation – “Let the wife of the sorcerer, and their accursed offspring, be delivered into the hands of the merciful and holy tribunal, the Inquisition.” He afterwards muttered something about his property being confiscated, but nobody paid attention. Donna Clara was almost distracted between compassion for her wretched daughter, and being grandmother to an infant demon, for such she deemed the child of “Melmoth the Wanderer” must be – and Fra Jose, while he baptized the infant with trembling hands, almost expected a fearful sponsor to appear and blast the rite with his horrible negative to the appeal made in the name of all that is holy among Christians. The baptismal ceremony was performed, however, with an omission which the good-natured priest overlooked – there was no sponsor – the lowest domestic in the house declined with horror the proposal of being sponsor for the child of that terrible union. The wretched mother heard them from her bed of pain, and loved her infant better for its utter destitution.
*
‘A few hours put an end to the consternation of the family, on the score of religion at least. The officers of the Inquisition arrived, armed with all the powers of their tribunal, and strongly excited by the report, that the Wanderer of whom they had been long in search, had lately perpetrated an act that brought him within the sphere of their jurisdiction, by involving the life of the only being his solitary existence held alliance with. “We hold him by the cords of a man,” said the chief inquisitor, speaking more from what he read than what he felt – “if he burst these cords he is more than man. He has a wife and child, and if there be human elements in him, if there be any thing mortal clinging to his heart, we shall wind round the roots of it, and extract it.”
*
‘It was not till after some weeks, that Isidora recovered her perfect recollection. When she did, she was in a prison, a pallet of straw was her bed, a crucifix and a death’s head the only furniture of her cell; the light struggled through a narrow grate, and struggled in vain, to cast one gleam on the squalid apartment that it visited and shrunk from. Isidora looked round her – she had light enough to see her child – she clasped it to her bosom, from which it had unconsciously drawn its feverish nourishment, and wept in extasy. “It is my own,” she sobbed, “and only mine! It has no father – he is at the ends of the earth – he has left me alone – but I am not alone while you are left to me!”
‘She was left in solitary confinement for many days, undisturbed and unvisited. The persons in whose hands she was had strong reasons for this mode of treatment. They were desirous that she should recover perfect sanity of intellect previous to her examination, and they also wished to give her time to form that profound attachment to the innocent companion of her solitude, that might be a powerful engine in their hands in discovering those circumstances relative to Melmoth that had hitherto baffled all the power and penetration of the Inquisition itself. All reports agreed that the Wanderer had never before been known to make a woman the object of his temptation, or to entrust her with the ter
rible secret of his destiny;* and the Inquisitors were heard to say to each other, “Now that we have got the Delilah in our hands, we shall soon have the Sampson.”
‘It was on the night previous to her examination, (of which she was unapprised), that Isidora saw the door of her cell opened, and a figure appear at it, whom, amid the dreary obscurity that surrounded her, she recognized in a moment, – it was Fra Jose. After a long pause of mutual horror, she knelt in silence to receive his benediction, which he gave with feeling solemnity; and then the good monk, whose propensities, though somewhat “earthly and sensual,” were never “devilish,” after vainly drawing his cowl over his face to stifle his sobs, lifted up his voice and “wept bitterly.”
Melmoth the Wanderer 1820 Page 70