THE CLUB-BOOK 
 
 BEING 
 
 ORIGINAL TALES, 
 
 BY VARIOUS AUTHORS. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "THE DOMINIE'S LEGACY 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR 
 
 COCHRANE AND PICKERSGILL, 
 
 11, WATERLOO-PLACE, PALL-MALL. 
 
 1831. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 HENRY BAYLIS, JOHNSON'S-COURT, FLEET-STREET. 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 WHENEVER any thing in the least degree 
 promising novelty, or tending to innovation is 
 aimed at in the world, particularly within the 
 well-warded territories of literature ; it is 
 reasonably expected that some plea shall be 
 offered for thus impertinently swerving from 
 the good old beaten tract of imitation. 
 
 In accounting then for our present conduct, 
 in putting forth a publication of the lighter 
 sort, which is meant to differ as well from the 
 
 M622311 
 
IV INTIiODUCTOliY. 
 
 numerous race of pretty picture-books of win- 
 ter, with their lady-like poetry, and their 
 refined romance, as from the general per- 
 formances of our novelists, wherein, by great 
 art and pains-taking, and often sorely against 
 the will both of reader and hero, they contrive 
 to draw out the lengthened sweetness of those 
 valuable productions, to the exact measure of 
 bibliopolical prescription never were men more 
 fortunate than we, for we have to bring for- 
 ward in our favour no less a personage than 
 the great goddess of Fashion herself, who, in 
 these innovating times, hath decidedly pointed 
 her autocratic finger in the very direction which 
 we have obediently taken. 
 
 This omnipotent regulator of the great con- 
 cerns of literature and millinery, then, this 
 mistress of the ceremonies even to politics and 
 religion, having first set up a series of mag- 
 nificent palaces at the western end of our me- 
 tropolis, under the name of Club Houses, and 
 
INTRODUCTORY. V 
 
 caused to associate together into them, numer- 
 ous bodies of worthy men who have little 
 to do ; next in the course of the clubbing fever 
 which naturally followed, threw her handker- 
 chief in the most inviting manner to all per- 
 sons ambitious of being considered literary, 
 and said to them, in a voice of potency, if not 
 of thunder, "go ye and do likewise." How 
 far the mandate of our great ruler has been 
 obeyed in the letter, by the setting up of 
 an additional Club, with a literary title, 
 it does not perhaps become us strictly to in- 
 quire. A higher power even than Fashion 
 herself namely, that irresisfible spirit of im- 
 provement which seems now abroad in the 
 world, hath revealed to us and to all men (who, 
 blessed with that recondite degree of penetra- 
 tion, elegantly termed the possession of half 
 an eye, are disposed to look into the tenden- 
 cies of things.) that it is now time it should 
 be obeyed in the spirit, for reasons applying 
 
VI INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 both to literary men and to the world, which 
 are too grave as well as numerous to be here 
 entered upon. Be that, however, as it may, 
 this peculiar tendency of our time this in- 
 creasing spirit of segregation and of union, 
 both at home and abroad, of which it were 
 well that our men of talent engaged in litera- 
 ture more generally partook, hath furnished 
 the collector and part writer of the following 
 pieces, with that necessary desideratum, a to- 
 lerably suitable title, under which the whole 
 may be appropriately presented to the public. 
 
 Upon the subject of the clubs and all that 
 pertains to them, however, we would willingly, 
 were it at all expedient, take the present op- 
 portunity of saying a few words. Not that we 
 ourselves have any such inconvenient discern- 
 ment, as to see evil in a thing that is decidedly 
 in fashion, so long as the fashion is fairly sup- 
 ported by the goddess. But considering our- 
 selves bound on all occasions to take the part 
 
INTRODUCTORY. Vll 
 
 of the ladies, it hath been put into our heads, 
 to offer on their parts on this occasion a few 
 words of gentle expostulation, with the honour- 
 able members of these great establishments. 
 
 It is well known, that since the clubs have 
 come in 9 marriage has entirely gone out. The 
 reason is obvious. How can young men of 
 moderate fortunes be expected to confine them- 
 selves to an ordinary establishment and plain 
 English fare, when for a tythe of the expense, 
 they can live in a palace and enjoy every sort 
 of luxury ? How can it be expected that a gen- 
 tleman should marry for the old-fashioned mo- 
 tives of comfort and society, when the clubs 
 and their appendages, supply all this at a tenth 
 of the cost ? What is the consequence ? Mar- 
 riage is completely at a stand ! White favours, 
 special licences, and honey-moons are almost 
 forgotten. The spinsters increase on every 
 side, and even the few married men now 
 alive and getting old, have entirely deserted 
 
Vlll INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 their own homes, to live, habit, and repute 
 at their Club House! What is the world 
 to do ? Are the ladies to betake themselves 
 to nunneries, according to the project of Lady 
 Mary Wortley Montague, who, like other 
 advice-givers, was, as we all know, particu- 
 larly inclined to that nunnish life which she 
 once strongly recommended to others ? Some- 
 thing must be done. In these reforming 
 times, the ladies must have a reform of 
 their own. Already they cry out for it loudly, 
 whenever they meet. Nay, they are begin- 
 ning, among themselves, to talk absolute radi- 
 calism in regard to the clubs, and be they 
 rotten-boroughs, or be they close-boroughs, the 
 men say they " must not be suffered to burrow 
 "so constantly about these luxurious establish- 
 ments, or if they do there is no hope for us. 1 ' 
 We have heard of several projects being in 
 actual discussion to bring marriage again into 
 fashion, which it would neither be wise nor 
 
INTRODUCTORY. IX 
 
 delicate in us here to broach. Now all this 
 may be laughed at by some, and sport to the 
 Malthusians, but it is death to the ladies! 
 
 Grievous as this matter must doubtless be to 
 many of that interesting sex for whom we would 
 stand up against any, the most decided, im- 
 provement in which they are not included, we 
 have the satisfaction to think that no such ob- 
 jection can be urged against our simple arrange- 
 ment. Clubbing of wits, or different indi- 
 viduals telling a series of tales in one book, is 
 too intellectual an exercise to have any serious 
 effect in putting a stop to matrimony. At least 
 we should hope so ; for so it happens that every 
 one of us are married men, and it is generally 
 found in the world that those who are in any 
 trouble themselves, are quite pleased to see as 
 many as possible inveigled into similar circum- 
 stances. 
 
 But not to predicate anything upon this 
 matter, we cannot avoid adding a grave word 
 
X INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 upon the subject of a favourite project of ours 
 namely, the association together as much as pos- 
 sible of men of talent and character, who are 
 professionally engaged in literary pursuits. We 
 know it is in the nature of man, that those 
 divided into their respective coteries of socia- 
 lity, or throughout the connections of biblio- 
 polical competition, should be ready to say, " I 
 am of Paul, and I of Apollos," &c., and so bend 
 their minds to all the littlenesses of detraction 
 and opposition. Yet among other orders of 
 men, whose labours have less to do with the 
 world at large, we have heard of such a 
 thing as an esprit du corps, which accom- 
 plished much good and obviated much evil ; 
 and we imagine we see something in the near 
 distance, even in England, where men of 
 letters are comparatively neglected, which 
 promises that not long hence they will be dis- 
 posed voluntarily to say, like the two kings of 
 
INTRODUCTORY. XI 
 
 Israel, " Come and let us look one another in 
 the face." 
 
 Whether, however, he has any prophetic 
 discernment or not, the Editor of the follow- 
 ing tales, &c., has dreamed in his moments of 
 sanguine speculation, of the many advantages 
 both public and personal, which might arise 
 from the friendly association of those who have 
 much to do with that great modern power, 
 public opinion. But this is not the place to 
 speak further upon so grave a subject ; and 
 doubtless he who indulges himself with the 
 penning of these sentiments, and who has made 
 that beginning in literary association which 
 may be implied in this friendly collection, 
 is not worthy to keep a door to a club of real 
 savantes, yet in all matters of private pursuit 
 or public spirit, it is wonderful what a love 
 for any thing, and an occasional gleam of san- 
 guine enthusiasm will, by perseverance, effect. 
 
 But we feel we are taking a liberty with the 
 
Xll INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 public, for which our respected constituents 
 have given us no express authority ; so, to end 
 our introduction, we would only further in 
 their name say to the good-natured reader, 
 though the following stories are comparatively 
 but trifles, yet considering the difficulty in the 
 present hackneyed state of this sort of litera- 
 ture, of writing short tales which may obtain 
 the attention of those who have not leisure or 
 taste for three- volume undertaking, you will 
 please to believe that we have done our best 
 as a first offer for your amusement, both as to 
 interest and variety. To conclude, then, this 
 friendly parley with the reader, we would 
 further say to her or him, in the manner of 
 the older authors, " gentle men, and gentler 
 maidens dames ever fair and ever fascinating, 
 who read tales of love, because for it ye were 
 formed, and smile or sigh as your feelings are 
 affected, because form and feeling are your 
 most engaging attributes also critics stern, 
 
INTRODUCTOEY. Xlll 
 
 penetrating and severe, with spectacle on nose 
 and snuff at elbow, sit down all when you are 
 in an amiable humour, and when reading is no 
 toil, but a mental relaxation, and be pleased 
 if vou can with our CLUB-BOOK." 
 
CONTENTS TO VOL. I. 
 
 Page 
 
 INTRODUCTORY, BY THE EDITOR i to xi 
 
 Bertrand De La Croix ; or, the Siege of Rhodes. 
 
 By G. P. R. JAMES -1 
 
 Haddad-Ben-Ahab ; or, the Traveller. By JOHN 
 
 GALT 101 
 
 The Gipsy of the Abruzzo. By TYRONE POWER.. 115 
 Eisenbach; or, the Adventures of a Stranger. A 
 
 Metropolitan Story. By A. PICKEN 191 
 
THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 BERTRAND DE LA CROIX; 
 
 OH, 
 
 THE SIEGE OF RHODES. 
 BY MR. JAMES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I'll follow this good man ; and go with you, 
 And having sworn truth, ever will be true. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 IT was on the evening of one of those un- 
 certain days of spring, which winter and sum- 
 mer seem to fix upon as a common battle-field, 
 now frowning with clouds of sleet and hail, and 
 now smiling with as bright a glance as if the 
 blue eye of Heaven had never known a tear : 
 it was on the evening of such a day, in the 
 
 * Author of "Richelieu," " Darnley," " De L'Orme," &c. 
 VOL. I. B 
 
THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 beginning of the year 1522, that, in the public 
 room of entertainment of a small inn at Beau- 
 caire, with his feet placed upon the large iron 
 dogs which supported a wood fire one foot upon 
 one and the other upon the other sat a young 
 traveller, turning over the red fagots on the 
 hearth with the steel tip of his sword- scabbard. 
 His form, was light, though muscular, and 
 he had more the appearance of great agility, 
 than of great strength. Yet he was cast so 
 heedlessly on his seat, and his limbs seemed to 
 fall with such a nerveless heaviness, that the 
 promise of activity afforded by his figure was 
 belied by the listlessness of his air, and he 
 might have passed for one of the habitual 
 hostelrie loungers of the period, had not a 
 certain meditative sadness in his countenance 
 spoken a mind overcome by bitter thoughts 
 rather than a body consumed by customary 
 sloth. His habit was good but not new, and 
 a scanty portion of fur and gold about his 
 mantle, seemed to say that the wearer's inclina- 
 tion for splendid apparel was more confined by 
 the narrowness of his purse than by any cir- 
 cumstance of birth or any simplicity of taste. 
 
BERTKAND DE LA CROIX. ,5 
 
 There was no one in the chamber but himself, 
 and totally given up to deep and seemingly sad 
 meditations, he continued stirring the embers 
 with the point of his sword-scabbard, appa- 
 rently unconscious both of the occupation in 
 which he was engaged and the instrument 
 which he employed in it. A tankard of strong 
 Rhone wine stood untouched upon the table ; 
 and while the wind whistled through the ill- 
 stopped cracks of the poor tenement in which 
 he sat, almost extinguishing the lights in the 
 sconce, and the rain of a sharp night-shower 
 dashed angrily against the casement, he un- 
 consciously sung a verse or two of an old 
 Spanish ballad, which had probably as much 
 resemblance to the real matter of his thoughts, 
 as the Tourbillons of Descartes had to the 
 system of the universe. 
 
 " Mas de las penas que siento 
 Esta es la mas principal, 
 Porque perderme yo sola, 
 Al perder llaman ganar. 
 Y en perderos vos, Senora, 
 Es perder sin mas cobrar ; 
 Mas pu assi lo querais 
 No lo queramos dilatar." 
 
 B2 
 
THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 So he sung : and indeed it is an extraordinary 
 fact, that under the pressure of many a heavy 
 grief, the heart will very often find a voice in 
 music for sorrows that are silent to language. 
 In such cases the words to which the melody 
 are joined are nothing. It is the music 
 that is eloquent ; and never did a more me- 
 lancholy tone breathe forth the feelings of a 
 sad and troubled spirit. His thoughts, his 
 sensations, his very external senses, seemed so 
 powerfully concentrated on some deep and 
 absorbing theme, that the ordinary occurrences 
 that passed around him were veiled from his 
 eyes and ears. 
 
 A troop of horses stopped at the inn gate, 
 and the clattering hoofs and jangling of their 
 caparisons might have awakened the seven 
 sleepers ; but his dream remained unbroken, 
 and he marked not one of all the many sounds 
 which trumpet the arrival of a large company 
 at a poor inn. 
 
 A fine manly voice was then heard giving 
 manifold directions to some mute attendants, 
 " Cross the ferry with all speed ! and then on 
 to Aries. The horses are quite fresh. 'Tis 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CKOIX. O 
 
 but three leagues. Tell the noble prior that I 
 remain behind on business at Beaucaire, but 
 that I come onward to-morrow ; and you, Bro- 
 ther Francis, see that the arms be all arrived, and 
 examine well that they be in good condition. 
 Think of all things for the good of the order, 
 < Watch and 'pray f " 
 
 With such injunctions, half clerical, half 
 military, the speaker concluded ; the clattering 
 of the hoofs again echoed along the street, 
 mingling as it receded with the howling of 
 the wind, the pattering of the rain, and the 
 roaring of the angry Rhone ; and, after a little 
 more bustle at the door, the worthy host, with 
 various nondescript attendants, ushered in the 
 stranger, who had remained behind, and whose 
 step, as he strode up to the hearth, was the 
 first thing which roused the original tenant 
 of the room from his dream of other times. 
 
 The young man started, and for a moment 
 looked bewildered, as one whose thoughts had 
 been far, far away ; then rose from his stool, and 
 fixing his eyes for an instant intently on the 
 face of his new companion, he withdrew from 
 the monopolising position in which he had 
 
THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 placed himself before the fire, and with a 
 graceful inclination of the head, made room for 
 the other to share in the warm smile of cold, 
 stern winter's most cheerful opponent. 
 
 The stranger shook his robe, which was 
 drenched with the night rain, and took his 
 seat by the fire, gazing for a brief space on 
 his young companion , with one of those glances 
 of quick examination which we are wont to 
 bestow on him that is to be our fellow for 
 an hour rapid but keen superficial but com- 
 prehensive. His own occupation was at once 
 denoted by the dark robe and eight-limbed 
 cross worn by the Knights of St. John of 
 Rhodes, and his tall martial form, his broad 
 splendid brow, round the high contour of which 
 the grey locks of eld curled un thinned and 
 luxuriant, his eye full of fire and intellect, 
 his proud lip, on whose patrician bend hung 
 a world of energy and command, all bespoke 
 one of the best knights of that gallant order, 
 the stumbling-block of the Saracen power, and 
 the bulwark of Christendom. 
 
 All this was easily read, and one hasty 
 glance was sufficient to satisfy the younger 
 
BERTH/AND DE LA CROIX. / 
 
 traveller ; but he himself presented a page 
 which his companion found harder to decipher. 
 His dress was of that middle rank, which in 
 those days was less common in every country 
 of the world than it is now. Each class was 
 then more distinct : the peasant trod less upon 
 the kibe of the peer, and every species and 
 genus in that branch of zoology called society, 
 was in general to be known immediately by 
 some external mark, as distinctive as the beaks 
 of the accipitrine or the legs of the grume tribe. 
 The young stranger, however, in simplicity of 
 apparel, touched somewhat upon the class of 
 burghers, while a casual ornament of a higher 
 grade spoke pretensions to a more elevated birth. 
 The first glance the Knight of Rhodes had 
 given, did not satisfy him, and he again ran 
 his eye over the stranger's dress: then, still 
 undetermined, he turned it to his face, and 
 read, or thought he read, the traces of tender 
 education and gentle breeding in the fine, clear, 
 defined lines of his features, and the flash of 
 his dark, melancholy eye ; while the extreme 
 whiteness of the upper part of his forehead, 
 which was commonly shaded by his hat, .con- 
 
8 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 trasted strongly with the ruddy, sun-burned 
 hue of the rest of his countenance. 
 
 What had been apparently a severe wound, 
 was still covered with a long black patch 
 upon his cheek ; and as the younger traveller, 
 suddenly roused himself from one of his deep 
 fits of thought, and surprised the eyes of his 
 companion fixed upon his face, the Knight of 
 St. John took that wound as the pass-word to 
 conversation, saying 
 
 " You have been in the late wars, young 
 Sir, I see." 
 
 " I have, Sir Knight," was the reply ; and 
 the younger stranger again sank into silence. 
 
 " Was it in the wars of Navarre, of Flanders, 
 or of Burgundy ?" demanded the other ; " I 
 have a motive for my curiosity, young gentle- 
 man, better than curiosity alone." 
 
 " And I have no motive for concealment," 
 replied the young soldier ; " I served in Na- 
 varre," and he was again silent. 
 
 There was a degree of cold, and somewhat 
 haughty reserve in his manner, that seemed to 
 offend the Knight of St. John, who doubtless 
 looked upon the advances of an old and dis- 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. y 
 
 tinguished member of so renowned an order, 
 as an honour to which any stripling soldier 
 might reply with somewhat more free respect. 
 A cloud came over his brow, and his eye 
 sparkled for an instant, but such signs of heat 
 passed by immediately. 
 
 " After all," muttered he to himself, " we 
 are but poor friars, or at least poor soldiers of 
 Christ ; we should be humbler than we are. In 
 Navarre," he added aloud, " I have a brave 
 nephew, my dead brother's only son, who is 
 fighting under the noble Andrew de Foix to 
 restore to Henry d'Albret his natural domi- 
 nions of Navarre ; I would fain hear news of 
 him, young Sir. In your campaigns have you 
 met with the young Duke of Nivelle ?" 
 
 " There was such a person in the army, 1 ' 
 replied the soldier, " and I remember we won 
 our knightly spurs together at the taking of 
 Pampeluna, but the difference of our fortunes 
 threw us far apart. I saw him once, however, 
 in the prison at Logrogno." 
 
 u In prison !" exclaimed the knight ; u in 
 prison !" 
 
 " Ay, in prison !" replied the young soldier. 
 B 3 
 
10 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 " Have you not heard of our defeat, and the 
 taking of the young Count de Foix, and all 
 his officers? 'tis an old tale with us. Some 
 three weeks gone we fought the Spanish army 
 and were beaten, 'tis an old tale now." 
 
 " But I have been travelling quick, though 
 long, my son," replied the knight, " and have 
 thought of nothing but how best to fulfil my 
 duty towards the Grand Master and my order, 
 by sending arms and provisions to Rhodes, 
 against the menaced invasion of the Turks. 
 Speak, Sir : was my nephew still in prison ? 
 how did you yourself escape ? does he require 
 ransom ? where is he confined ?" 
 
 The youth gazed on his elder companion for 
 a moment with a glance, in which the eager 
 anxiety of the knight's questions seemed to 
 have awakened a corresponding energy ; but 
 instantly the light faded away, and the same 
 cold shadow fell over his face. 
 
 " In truth, I cannot tell," he replied gravely, 
 " whether the Duke de Neville be still in pri- 
 son or not. He sent to Toulouse for money 
 to pay his ransom, and doubtless it has reached 
 him by this time. I myself escaped by acci- 
 
BERTItAND DE LA CROIX. 11 
 
 dent, and go to try my sword under the new 
 Grand Master of Rhodes against the Turks." 
 
 The Knight of St. John paused thoughtfully 
 for a moment, as if there was something in the 
 youth's reply that had struck him deeply. 
 " The new Grand Master of Rhodes P he said 
 at length thoughtfully. " it is strange that I, 
 a prior of the order, should first hear that there 
 is a new Grand Master of Rhodes from the lips 
 of a stranger ; but De Merail loves me not. 
 When he offered me his daughter for my ne- 
 phew in marriage, I refused an alliance with a 
 man of his great pride, and now he loves me 
 not, and doubtless has never notified to me his 
 election, that I may be the last informed of 
 the order. So Fabricius Carette, that valiant 
 prince, is dead, and De Merail has of course 
 been elected in his place ?" 
 
 While his companion thus spoke, half com- 
 muning with himself, half carrying on the con- 
 versation in which they had been engaged, 
 the young soldier had apparently relapsed into 
 thought, and with his eyes fixed again upon 
 the embers, seemed far away in some silent 
 world of his own. Nothing shewed that he 
 
12 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 heard the good knight's words, till at length, 
 without a change of feature, he replied ab- 
 stractedly, " Carette, indeed, is dead ! De 
 Merail has lost the election of which he was so 
 sure, and Villiers de Tlsle Adam is Grand 
 Master of Rhodes." 
 
 The Knight of St. John started on his feet. 
 " I ! I r cried he. " Impossible ! utterly im- 
 possible ! How should De Merail lose his elec- 
 tion, with wealth, and rank, and influence 
 and be it said too, with valour, and wisdom, 
 and talent ? And how should I be chosen 
 absent, and probably almost forgotten ? But 
 tell me, Sir, who are you, who know so much 
 more of my order than myself ?" 
 
 " A poor gentleman of Tourain," replied 
 the youth, " Bertrand de la Croix by name, 
 and it is easy to tell how I learnt all the news 
 I give you. "Tis but two days since, that 
 landing at Marseilles, from Spain, I met with 
 a whole train of knights and serving brothers 
 of the order of St. John, who had been at 
 Paris, seeking in vain for you if you indeed, 
 as you words imply, be the newly elected 
 Grand Master of Rhodes. I came on hither, 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 13 
 
 having some business at Toulouse, and intend- 
 ing instantly to make my way back, and, with 
 the first bark sailing, to take a passage for 
 Rhodes, with the purpose of there offering my 
 sword to the Grand Master on the threatened 
 invasion of the Turks. That sword I now 
 offer with all my heart accept it; Sir, for it 
 is the first drawn in your service." 
 
 The Grand Master stood for a moment mute, 
 with his eye fixed upon vacancy, whilst a 
 crowd of new sensations filled his bosom : 
 hopes, doubts, anxieties, pride chastened by 
 moderation, ambition elevated and purified by 
 religion and disinterestedness. A crowd of new 
 ideas too whirled through his brain cares, 
 dangers, difficulties, much to be met, and 
 much to be overcome, much to be prevented, 
 and much to be crushed. The sudden an- 
 nouncement of his new station, changed like 
 the touch of death his state of existence ; his 
 relation to every thing around was altered, 
 he was in a new world, where all was new, 
 vague, uncertain, indistinct, unfamiliarized 
 with his mind and heart ; yet still it is not to 
 be denied that the whole was pleasing. How- 
 
14 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 / 
 
 ever much we may guard against the seduc- 
 tions of our vanity, that Dalilah of the human 
 mind, her blandishments will still be sweet, 
 even though they win us not to evil. He could 
 not hide from himself that the tidings were 
 gratifying to him, and he that had first com- 
 municated them, found the avenues of his heart 
 opened by the news that he had given. 
 
 The Grand Master laid his hand kindly 
 upon his young companion's shoulder : " Your 
 sword, young Sir," he said, " is willingly 
 accepted by the order of St. John, for, by my 
 faith, we shall need the assistance of all our 
 friends, if the news which I have gathered in 
 Hungary be correct, regarding the prepara- 
 tions of the Turk. But should what you tell 
 me of my election be true and I will not 
 doubt it I must instantly forward to Marseilles 
 to meet the deputies of the council ; although, 
 God help us, I must therefore abandon the 
 design I had formed of going on into Navarre 
 to see my poor nephew, whom I have not met 
 for these fifteen long years. Would that I 
 could find any one worthy of confidence who 
 would bear a letter for me to my poor Nivelle, 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 15 
 
 if he be still in prison, or would absolutely 
 ascertain that he is free." 
 
 The Grand Master fixed his eyes upon his 
 young companion, who at once understood his 
 meaning, and accepted the commission. Nor 
 let it be thought extraordinary that Bertrand 
 de la Croix thus readily undertook a fatiguing 
 journey, and a difficult, perhaps a dangerous 
 enterprise, for a person he had seen but for one 
 short hour. In those days the reverence for 
 age itself was great, and for high military 
 renown still greater. The name of Villiers de 
 I'lsle Adam was gloriously known throughout 
 all Europe, and even without having, like Ber- 
 trand, taken service under him, which rendered 
 his request almost a command, there was pro- 
 bably scarcely a young soldier in all France, 
 who would have hesitated to do his will, had 
 it sent them to the uttermost parts of the 
 earth. 
 
 A few brief explanations ensued. The Grand 
 Master informed his young companion that with 
 all his impatience to depart for Rhodes, he 
 would be still obliged to wait at Marseilles for 
 several weeks, embarking the military stores and 
 
16 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 reinforcements, which during many months he 
 had been employed in collecting for the defence 
 of the order ; and it was agreed that the young 
 soldier should with all speed rejoin him (here, 
 bringing with him, if possible, the old knight's 
 nephew, the Duke of Nivelle. The letter was 
 then written, some business concluded between 
 the Grand Master and the merchants of Beau- 
 caire, and the two travellers separated, to pro- 
 ceed the next day each upon his own path. 
 
BEKTRAND DE LA CB.OIX. VJ 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 When I view the beauties of thy face, 
 
 I fear not death, nor dangers, nor disgrace. 
 
 DRYDEN. 
 
 THE sun had risen and set, and risen again, 
 since we last left Bertrand de la Croix, and 
 now he was in Spain. Not, indeed, in either 
 Navarre or Castille, but in the rich and beau- 
 tiful land of Catalonia, upon that lovely shore 
 that casts its splendid smile over the bright 
 waters of the Mediterranean sea. A high old 
 tower, perched upon a wild, bold rock, from the 
 scanty earth of which a thousand shrubs and 
 trees sprang up and waved their green branches 
 in the sunshine of a Spanish spring, looked over 
 on the one hand, a wide track of hill and dale, 
 
18 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 and wood and pasture, and river and cascade, 
 and on the other, hung beetling above the waves. 
 France and Spain were at enmity, and invad- 
 ing armies lay upon the frontier of each ; but 
 there wandered the young French soldier, 
 through that fair scene, enjoying all its beau- 
 ties, nor did he seem to" fear aught of evil or 
 interruption. The cloud had passed from his 
 brow also, and indeed a magic more potent than 
 northern spells seemed to have been used to dis- 
 pel it, for as he wound down from the castle 
 along the meandering and sunny path, as fair a 
 creature as ever Nature in her sweetest and most 
 witching mood created, hung upon his arm, 
 with that fond confidence which only love, full, 
 deep, undoubting love can give. Far out of 
 ear-shot, toying with one of those gay and silky 
 dogs, whose true though fawning attachment, 
 and whose obedient love have become almost a 
 by-word in the mouth of perverse man, came 
 an old sedate dame, clothed in hood and wimple 
 of deep black, with prim, subservient features, 
 touched with a grim look of habitual acid, which 
 at once denoted the duenna. Down in the val- 
 ley too, two pages, of the true page breed, pert, 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 19 
 
 happy, thoughtless, and as fine as new-blown 
 buttercups, held the proud horse which had 
 borne the young soldier thither, and which, 
 glancing his clear eye around, with raised ear 
 and pawing hoof, seemed anxious for his lord's 
 return, to dart away and revel in his fleetness 
 and his strength. 
 
 But Bertrand de la Croix was in no haste to 
 quit such fair company, and as he strayed on- 
 ward, and ever and anon gazed fondly on the 
 lovely being by his side, a thousand varied 
 expressions of happiness lit up his features, 
 changing from the gay and laughing glance of 
 sparkling joy to the calm, placid smile of bland 
 content. Nor were the dark full eyes that 
 looked upon him sad, though there was a ten- 
 derer tone in their delight, and at times a shade, 
 as if of melancholy, would dim the light that 
 darted through their long and silken lashes. 
 
 At length, as the path wound round the hill, 
 there suddenly broke upon the eye, through 
 the fluttering canopy of the leaves and boughs, 
 a bright far view over the sunshiny sea ; and 
 Bertrand paused, and stretching forth his hand 
 towards it, he exclaimed " Over the sea, Isa- 
 
THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 bel ! over the sea ! Quick, quick, if you love 
 me ! rapidly as Juno^s messenger, or as the 
 winged will of Jove ! You are not frightened, 
 dearest, at those dark blue waves ? Look how 
 they dance and smile in the golden sun-light, 
 as if to woo your small feet to the bark that 
 shall bear you, like the floating feather of some 
 snowy bird, to the spicy island of the east ! Oh, 
 no ! no ! so fair a thing as thou art, should 
 never fear ; 'tis not in the cold cruelty of the 
 most treacherous sea to hurt thee, far less so 
 bright a plain of calm blue waters as that. No, 
 no ! it shall be I who will fear, and listen for 
 every wind, lest it rock my Isabel too roughly, 
 and chide every wave, lest it disturb her slum- 
 bers ! It is I will fear f 
 
 The lady shook her head. " You fear f 
 she answered : " you know not what fear is, 
 Bertrand. I do fear yet still, if that sea which, 
 with all its multitude of false-smiling waves, 
 looks even now like eternity, were trebled in ex- 
 tent, I would cross them all to make you happy. 
 But still, though it is very, very delightful 
 to hope, do not let us deceive ourselves too far. 
 When I tell you that my father has summoned 
 
BEItTRAND DE LA CROIX. 21 
 
 me to Rhodes, you seem to think that every- 
 thing is over, and yet forget that he has said, 
 fire and water shall sooner unite than we with 
 his consent." 
 
 " Rash words, dear Isabel ! rash words !" 
 replied her lover ; " soon said and soon recant- 
 ed. Fear not ! fear not ! I have a thousand 
 ways to win him ; and such good havoc shall 
 my sword make amongst the Turks, that for 
 very shame he shall not dare refuse me. Then, 
 too, I shall see you every day, and your dear 
 eyes shall be the fortunate planets of my house, 
 and light me on to glory and to victory." 
 
 With such lover-like rhapsodies they wandered 
 on, full of sweet thoughts ; and though Isabel 
 would hardly own how much she herself hoped, 
 and how mingled with glad expectations were 
 her fears of crossing the wide sea, yet still her 
 lover's ardent words fell not on her ear without 
 effect ; and when the sad, inevitable moment of 
 parting at length came, she too spoke the mu- 
 tual words of comfort and assurance, and owned 
 that she felt happier, far happier than when last 
 they parted, when he was about to speed alone 
 over the dark waves to win a difficult consent 
 
22 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 from her stern, proud parent, and she had to 
 remain behind in lonely expectation, waiting, 
 comfortless, the uncertain event. 
 
 Bertrand gazed round, to see if there was any 
 one in sight, pressed her to his bosom, and 
 printed his last adieu upon the dear soft lips 
 whose words had given him so much happiness. 
 Then bounding up the hill, he turned the cor- 
 ner of the rock, which had hidden them from 
 the complacent duenna, laid a small but satis- 
 factory purse in the palm of that worthy and 
 discreet friend, and bidding her guard well her 
 mistress in the approaching voyage, he turned 
 away, and hastened to the valley where his 
 horse was held. 
 
 " Have you delivered safely the sacks of 
 money with the ransom ?" demanded he of the 
 elder page. The boy signified that he had ful- 
 filled his orders, and placed a safe conduct, as a 
 passport was then called, in the hands of his 
 master. " Well, then," continued Bertrand, 
 " speed back to your fellows, and bring them 
 with all haste to meet me at Marseilles. You, 
 sirrah, hold the stirrup. But stay,"' he conti- 
 nued, " I had forgot the letter !" and drawing a 
 
BERTHAND DE LA CROIX. 23 
 
 step back, he produced the identical epistle 
 written by the Grand Master of Rhodes to his 
 nephew, and after pausing for an instant to 
 consider, he cut the silk between the seals, mut- 
 tering with a smile " The contents may be 
 fully as useful to Bertrand de la Croix as to 
 the good Duke of Nivelle, so I see not why I 
 should not read." 
 
 Thus saying, he perused the contents from 
 beginning to end, thought for an instant in 
 silence, and then, with a gay smile, tore the letter 
 in a thousand pieces, and gave the fluttering 
 fragments to the wind. A moment after he was 
 upon his horsed back ; and, with as upright a 
 carriage as if he had violated no confidence 
 reposed in him, the deceitful messenger of the 
 Grand Master turned on his road to France. 
 Gradually, however, as he spurred on his way, 
 the bright memory of the happy hours he had 
 passed with Isabel de Merail waned into regret ; 
 the splendid day-dream of young love, with all 
 its many-coloured hues of delight, faded away 
 like a dying rainbow, as the star which had lent 
 it its brilliant tints was hidden by the cold 
 cloud of absence. The gay sparkling of his 
 
24 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 look lasted but for half an hour ; and, before 
 night had fallen, he was nearly as cold and sad 
 as when first we painted him in the inn at 
 Beaucaire. 
 
 On his arrival at Marseilles, he found the 
 Grand Master in all the bustle of active prepa- 
 rations. Knights and soldiers, and serving 
 brothers surrounded him ; and in the palace 
 of the bishop, who lodged and entertained the 
 chief of the Christian knights with courtesy 
 and magnificence, all was hurry, and crowd, 
 and inquiry, and command. Bertrand de la 
 Croix opened a path through a multitude of 
 merchants and seamen, who waited the Grand 
 Master's commands concerning military stores 
 for Rhodes, and finding his way to that prince's 
 presence, he gave an account of his journey, 
 somewhat different, alas ! from the true one. 
 He had not been able to penetrate, he said, as 
 far as Logrogno ; but he had met a messenger 
 speeding back to the Duke of Nivelle with his 
 ransom, and to him he had confided the letter of 
 the knight. He softened the mortification, 
 however, which he saw the Grand Master ex- 
 perienced at not receiving more satisfactory 
 
BERTUAND DE LA CROIX. 25 
 
 news of his nephew, by informing him that he 
 had found means of enlisting fifty veteran vo- 
 lunteers, who were willing to serve the order of 
 St. John, under his command, during the me- 
 naced attack of the Turks, however long that 
 attack might be. 
 
 Villiers de 1'Isle Adam gazed on his young 
 companion for a moment with a look of some 
 surprise ; at length he answered, " If fifty 
 veteran soldiers are willing to serve under so 
 young a man, I have every reason to rely 
 upon their judgment, and to look highly upon 
 their commander ; but we will inspect these 
 troops, Sir Bertrand de la Croix." 
 
 The young soldier made no reply ; but after 
 the interval of a few days, his volunteers ar- 
 rived, and were passed in review before the 
 Grand Master, when their dark and war-worn 
 countenances, their skill in the use of ai^ms, 
 and their correct and easy discipline, at once 
 shewed them choice companions for dangerous 
 moments and bold attempts. Bertrand de la 
 Croix rose in the opinion of the Grand Mas- 
 ter ; but though the Knight of Rhodes felt 
 his curiosity awakened, he would not descend 
 
 VOL. i. c 
 
26 
 
 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 to question the soldiers the young stranger had 
 brought, and did not choose to make any 
 inquiry of a man so reserved and uncommuni- 
 cative as he had shewn himself. 
 
 The troops and the stores were embarked 
 with all possible speed, and at length Bertrand, 
 at the desire of the Grand Master himself, 
 entered the vessel which bore that prince to 
 Rhodes, and accompanied him from the port of 
 Marseilles on his voyage to the island of the 
 order. 
 
 The sun shone upon their departure, and 
 the various galleys and feluccas which convoyed 
 the bark of the Grand Master, bounding lightly 
 over the blue waves, before a mild and favour- 
 able wind, rendered it a gay and splendid 
 scene, as the armament sailed away from the 
 sweet shores of France ; but evil auguries of 
 all kinds soon overclouded their passage. 
 Before the ship was a day old at sea, a cry 
 of fire was heard ; in an instant the flames 
 were seen running with frightful rapidity from 
 spar to spar, from rope to rope, and from sail 
 to sail. Whirlwinds of smoke and fire invested 
 the whole ship, and drifted over the sea, and 
 
BERTRANJ) DE LA CROIX. 27 
 
 terror, confusion, and despair, seemed to take 
 possession of men, who on other occasions had 
 calmly met death and danger in a thousand 
 ^varied forms. Some were mute and stupified, 
 some cried wildly for help, where no help was 
 near, and some sprang into the sea to avoid 
 the more terrible fate around them. In that 
 moment of peril there were but two who pre- 
 served that cool and ready firmness which com- 
 bines all the best qualities of mental and cor- 
 poreal courage Bertrand de la Croix, and the 
 Grand Master of Rhodes ; but their united ef- 
 forts recalled the rest to hope and exertion. 
 The fire was gradually arrested, diminished, 
 extinguished, and the vessel though injured, 
 was preserved. 
 
 After a delay in order to refit, the ship pur- 
 sued her way, but the high lands of Corsica 
 were hardly out of sight, when the heavens, 
 which had hitherto been as clear and smiling 
 as a father's gaze upon the sleeping counte- 
 nance of his first-born child, grew dark and 
 stormy as an evil dream. The winds howled 
 with a hot sharp gust, the rain fell, and the 
 lightning blazed along the sky. Flash after 
 c 2 
 
28 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 flash rent the angry atmosphere, and at length 
 the sharp white stream of liquid fire struck 
 the vessel, pierced the deck, and blazed in the 
 cabin of the Grand Master. For a moment 
 the bright meteoric glare dazzled all eyes-. 
 None saw what passed around, and the inten- 
 sity of the light rendered it akin to darkness, 
 but when sight returned, Bertrand and Vil- 
 liers de Flsle Adam found four of their com- 
 panions stretched lifeless on the floor. The 
 storm passed away and the bodies of the dead 
 had sepulture in the bosom of that dark charnel 
 the sea ; but it was afterwards found that the 
 sword of the Grand Master had been broken 
 by the lightning in its sheath, which itself bore 
 no sign of fire,* and all augured evil to his 
 government, when it began with such prodi- 
 gies and misfortunes. 
 
 Villiers smiled at evil auguries, and though 
 at Syracuse he heard of pirates, who waited 
 him on his passage to Rhodes, he boldly pur- 
 sued his voyage, passed every danger, and 
 rounding Candia, entered the golden expanse 
 
 * See Vertot Histoire de 1'Ordre de Malte, Vol. II. 
 page 426. 
 
BEETEAND DE LA CEOIX. 29 
 
 of the Carpathian sea. A thousand bright 
 islands jemmed the waters, and as the ship 
 sailed on they were seen one after the other in 
 the blue distance, invested with an airy and 
 fantastic splendour, as if they were not really 
 of the earth, but some of the grand phantasms 
 of a splendid vision. 
 
 The heart of Bertrand de la Croix beat high, 
 as he stood upon the deck and saw them one 
 by one rise upon the view, pass by, and recede 
 into the gray obscurity of space. The many 
 memories which those climates recal the 
 spectres of a long-gone age of mighty glory 
 the voices of a thousand wonderful years, salu- 
 ted the young soldier as he sailed along, and 
 for a time shared his bosom with the feelings, 
 the wishes, the hopes, the regrets of the pre- 
 sent. 
 
 At length Rhodes itself rose from the waves 
 before him, and passing on towards its many- 
 memoried port, he beheld the armed city of 
 the Christian knights, stretching down towards 
 the sea with its glorious gardens of the olive, 
 the pomegranate, the fig and the vine, spread- 
 ing over the uplands, towards the clear un- 
 clouded sky. 
 
30 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Duke. Now ! What's the business ? 
 Sailor. The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes, 
 so was I bid report here to the state. 
 
 Othello. 
 
 WHEN Yilliers de Tlsle Adam and his 
 young companion first trod the shores of 
 Rhodes, not a sign of approaching strife was 
 to be seen. The island with all its depen- 
 dencies slept in peace, and the sails of the 
 galleys of the order flapped idly in the listless 
 wind of the port. 
 
 But very soon after the installation of the 
 Grand Master, the whole begun to bear a new 
 aspect. His eye, like that of the long expe- 
 rienced mariner, which sees and prepares 
 against the storm that is gathering afar, beheld 
 at once the tempest of infidel war, which was 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 31 
 
 silently accumulating to break upon the order 
 with double force, and he lost not a moment in 
 putting the island into the most perfect state of 
 defence. The affairs of peace were abandoned 
 at once : stores were sought in every part of 
 the earth : deep ditches channeled the ground 
 in all directions round the city, and mighty 
 fortifications were raised in addition to those 
 which had before guarded the town and ports. 
 The hand of desolation too, was stretched forth 
 over the land, and to insure that neither the 
 means of subsistence, nor materials for offence, 
 might be furnished to the enemy by the coun- 
 try they were about to attack, the fields, 
 the vineyards, the gardens were wasted, the 
 olive tree, the fig and the pomegranate were 
 cut down. The country-houses and the 
 churches were razed to the ground : the very 
 stones of which they were built were swept 
 away, and the whole country was laid as bare 
 and desolate, as if the cultivating spirit of 
 man had never bade it blossom into beauty and 
 plenteousness. At the same time that great 
 and extraordinary force, military discipline was 
 called to give vigour and power to the defen- 
 
32 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 ders of Rhodes. Enthusiasm was kept alive 
 in every bosom. The natives of the island 
 and the citizens of Rhodes, though not belong- 
 ing to the order, showed strongly by their 
 ardour and pride in its defence, that the chi- 
 valrous character of its knights, had extended 
 its influence even to the hearts of the burgher 
 and the peasant; adventurers and volunteers 
 flocked in from every land, the soldiers of St. 
 John were all courage and defiance ; and the 
 whole island looked for the coming of the Turks, 
 as a means of living honour or glorious martyr- 
 dom. Each officer, each soldier, each knight 
 had his particular post assigned him, and sel- 
 dom has the Christian world presented such a 
 splendid display of gallant chivalry as thronged 
 in arms upon the battlements of Rhodes. 
 
 In these arrangements Bertrand de la Croix 
 was not forgotten ; his cool but daring courage 
 in all moments of danger, had forced itself 
 continually upon the observation of the Grand 
 Master during the voyage from France : and 
 there was also in his manner, however taciturn 
 and grave, something which won regard an 
 undefinable charm, which like the secret in- 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 33 
 
 fluence of some magic power, pleased and cap- 
 tivated without being seen or known. Villiefs 
 looked upon the young stranger with kindness, 
 and relaxed the state of office and the sternness 
 of command, to win to confidence and inti- 
 macy ; but Bertrand repelled every advance, 
 and yet the Grand Master's affection, he knew 
 not why, increased towards him instead of di- 
 minishing ; and though he left him within the 
 entrenchments which his silent reserve raised 
 up around him, yet he did every thing con- 
 sistent with his duty and his dignity to honour 
 and to raise him. 
 
 To the fifty veteran soldiers who had first 
 volunteered to serve under this young leader, 
 the Grand Master added a band of an hundred 
 adventurers, who had taken service with the 
 order, and in command of these, Bertrand was 
 assigned the defence of a part of the bastion of 
 Auvergne, as it was called ; for each part of 
 the fortifications was entrusted to one of the 
 several nations or languages of which the order 
 was composed. 
 
 Still days and weeks passed, and no enemy 
 made his appearance ; and Bertrand was con- 
 c 3 
 
34 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 stantly seen gazing from tower and turret, and 
 high ground over the seas ; and every sail that 
 he saw, he watched long and anxiously, as it 
 sometimes glided on calmly over the distant 
 waves, sometimes grew upon the eye till it ap- 
 proached the shore and reached the port. In 
 that case Bertrand was always at the ship's 
 side amongst the first, listening eagerly to every 
 detail of her passage, and, with frowning brow, 
 marking the many tales of Mussulman pirates 
 that hovered round the island, and strove ta 
 master each vessel as it passed round the Sici- 
 lian coast and entered the Ionian seas. 
 
 To the knights of the order the young stran- 
 ger soon became generally known ; but the same 
 silent reserve continued in his manner to all 
 those whose age and pursuits seemed naturally 
 to assimilate them with himself. A cold and 
 somewhat haughty inclination of the head a 
 passing word, neither courteous nor rude, was 
 all that he exchanged with any one, except with 
 Sir Andrew de Merail, the chancellor of the 
 order. To him, however, the manners of Ber- 
 trand de la Croix were very different ; and 
 whatever were the means he took to win the 
 
BERTUAND DE LA CROIX. 35 
 
 proud Castilian, they were at least successful, 
 for De Merail was soon his frequent companion 
 in his walks along the battlements, or in his 
 rides over the high hills, which commanded a 
 view of the sea ; and they would talk long and 
 earnestly of far distant lands, and scenes that 
 seemed to be familiar to both, and some com- 
 mon anxiety appeared to be in the minds of 
 each. 
 
 This was remarked and remembered after- 
 wards, and the knights of Rhodes were accus- 
 tomed to observe, with a smile, how the two 
 haughtiest men in the island had at once fallen 
 into companionship together. 
 
 Though his countenance grew day by day 
 more sad and anxious, the appearance of Ber- 
 trand de la Croix had in other respects assumed 
 a gayer aspect than when first we spoke of him 
 at Beaucaire. His apparel had gradually be- 
 come splendid, his horses were the finest that 
 could be procured. Servants and cavaliers were 
 added to his train, and though he himself fared 
 hardly, and lay upon a soldier's couch, yet ease 
 and luxury pervaded his dwelling in the town 
 of Rhodes, and many a young adventurer was 
 
36 I'HE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 ! >>V 
 
 glad to take service under him. Such as saw 
 Bertrand de la Croix near, however, soon per-, 
 ceived that some deep and agitating care was 
 busy at his mind. Each day, each hour it 
 preyed upon him more and more ; and even at 
 night, when sleep fell, for a few troubled hours 
 upon his eyelids, his slumber was disturbed 
 and wretched, and the name of Isabel would 
 break often from his unconscious lips. 
 
 In the mean while the mind of the Grand 
 Master was wholly occupied with the defence 
 of the capital. The triple enclosure of forti- 
 fications by which it was surrounded, the 
 Castle of St. Angelo, that of St. Elmo, the 
 great tower of the Duke of Burgundy, called 
 the Tower of St. Nicolas, the thirteen old towers 
 which flanked the second wall, had each their 
 respective garrisons. Each of the ramparts also, 
 was defended, as I have said, by .the nation, 
 whose name it bore ; and a reserve was formed, 
 divided into four bands, which were called 
 companies of succour, under four of the most 
 distinguished knights of the order, of whom 
 the chancellor De Merail was one. 
 
 At length a multitude of fires upon the 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROFX. 
 
 Lycian mountains gave notice that some great 
 movement was taking place amongst the infi- 
 dels, and after waiting for a few days in anxious 
 expectations, the dawn of morning shewed to 
 the knights of Rhodes the whole sea, covered 
 with innumerable ships, bearing the enemy to 
 their coasts. Each man in Rhodes was pre- 
 pared to do his duty to conquer or to die : 
 but it must not be dissembled, that when first 
 the cry was heard " A fleet ! A fleet !"" and 
 the fatal crescent was seen glittering upon the 
 air, many a heart, even of the bravest, beat 
 with new and awful feelings, and a deep silence 
 fell upon the armed city after the first rush of 
 many feet had carried the multitude to the 
 walls. They gazed upon the coming foe with 
 the still quietness of strong expectation, watch- 
 ed all his manoeuvres, counted the continual 
 sails, measured with keen eyes the size of every 
 vessel ; and then reasoned, each with his fellow, 
 on the enemy's number and their strength. 
 
 Four hundred ships, of different sizes, an- 
 chored within sight of Rhodes, and during the 
 fifteen days which followed, near two hundred 
 thousand men were disembarked upon the island. 
 
38 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 The scattered report of artillery from some of the 
 small forts, erected to defend the coast, was all 
 that announced to the inhabitants of the town 
 itself that the enemy was multiplying on their 
 shores ; for though the fleet continued still in 
 sight, the bay in which the landing took place 
 was hidden from the view by the high ground 
 around. The reconnoitring parties, however, 
 also brought in news from time to time, and 
 then the advanced posts of the christians were 
 seen retreating towards the town, while here 
 and there upon the heights appeared the gay 
 and fluttering dresses of the Turkish horsemen. 
 At length, thick and cloudy, the dust rose 
 above the hill, and the wind brought swells of 
 wild and martial music to the very battlements 
 of Rhodes. Troop after troop of infidel ca- 
 valry, mounted on horses like the wind, 
 gathered upon the plains, and long files of 
 infantry advanced slowly, lining the edge of 
 the prospect, and bristling the rise with pikes. 
 In the morning the eye might have ran over 
 the whole view without seeing one living thing 
 move through the extent of miles ; and at even- 
 ing, wherever the sight could reach, was 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 39 
 
 thronged with busy life. Myriads of dim 
 forms might be perceived in every direction, 
 and a roar, like the distant voice of the sea, 
 came faintly upon the ear till night fell, and all 
 was silence. 
 
 A space of nearly three miles still lay be- 
 tween the city and the besieging force ; and 
 though a gun or two had been fired upon the 
 parties which advanced far into the plain, the 
 first day passed without any serious effort on 
 either side. 
 
 The next day, however, the trenches were 
 opened, and every hour saw them advance. 
 They were pushed within cannon shot, a bat- 
 tery was erected, and its guns began to play 
 upon the walls ; but the tremendous fire which 
 was opened from the artillery of the place soon 
 silenced the battery and swept the plain. The 
 whole of every day a continual cannonade was 
 kept up from the walls, mowing down like 
 grass before the scythe, every thing that appear- 
 ed ; and during the night, even the dark lines of 
 walls, and angles, and towers, and battlements, 
 wrapped in the deep obscurity, through which 
 the eye could scarcely trace their heavy masses, 
 
40 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 would suddenly become illuminated by a 
 bright line of fire that, running from gun 
 to gun, garlanded with fitful caprice the frown- 
 ing brow of the fortress, and displayed its grim 
 features with a sudden blaze, which was as 
 speedily extinguished. Still, however, the 
 Moslems pushed their approaches, and still by 
 a thousand vigorous sallies the knights of St. 
 John impeded their advance. Death in a mul- 
 titude of fearful shapes awaited each infidel 
 that ventured into the plain, and never did 
 chivalry achieve nobler feats than before the 
 walls of Rhodes. In every sally, in every bold 
 attempt, Bertrand de la Croix was foremost 
 and most keen. Night after night he lay upon 
 the ramparts, and day after day he went forth 
 at the head of his followers, and returned red 
 with the blood of the foe. The eyes of all 
 men gradually fixed upon him, for wherever 
 Bertrand de la Croix was seen, there was the 
 place of danger and of honour there the thick- 
 est of the fight. The Moslems scattered from 
 his arm, like the dust of the desert before the 
 siroc, and the Christians followed where he led, 
 like darkness on the path of the lightning. 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 41 
 
 Days and weeks wore by, and though sup- 
 ported by forty -fold the number of Christians, 
 the Turks made no impression on the walls of 
 Rhodes ; and as every evening closed in, some 
 new tale of the young adventurer's daring was 
 added to those which had gone before. 
 
 If praise and honour, however, were univer- 
 sally given to him, the companion of all his 
 vacant hours, Sir Andrew De Merail, was 
 looked upon with some degree of cold dislike. 
 No one doubted the courage of the chancellor 
 of the order, who for eighteen years of his life 
 which he had devoted to its cause, had shewn 
 a fearless valour, unsurpassed by any of its 
 members ; but certain it was, that in the pre- 
 sent war none of his former activity appeared. 
 He avoided not danger, it is true, he stood calm 
 and unmoved in the midst of the thickest fire : 
 he seemed to forget the possibility of personal 
 fear : but still there was no longer any of that 
 eager energy in his demeanour which had 
 raised him in the eyes of all to the glorious 
 place of one of the most distinguished knights 
 of St. John. His present indifference was 
 easily accounted for ; and the whole order had 
 
*2 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 long perceived that the elevation of another to 
 the dignity of Grand Master, when he had 
 fancied his own election sure, had given his 
 vanity a wound which nothing could heal, and 
 that thenceforward Andrew De Merail was but 
 a lukewarm member of their chivalrous brother- 
 hood. 
 
 The whole talents of each individual, how- 
 ever, was necessary to the very salvation of the 
 order, and the Grand Master tried by every 
 demonstration of kindness and favour to win 
 De Merail back to the display of all his vigour 
 and activity. He praised, he consulted, he 
 even courted him ; and on one occasion he 
 proposed himself the alliance which he had 
 formerly declined, of his nephew, the Duke of 
 Nivelle, with a daughter whom De Merail, 
 when he took the cross of St. John, had left 
 behind him in Spain. The chancellor replied 
 but vaguely, but at the same time there was a 
 bitter and cynical smile upon his lip which 
 argued not favourably for the Grand Master's 
 offer. His efforts, however, in favour of the 
 order seemed occasionally to revive, and such 
 was the fiery and chivalrous defence which 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 43 
 
 the knights opposed to the Ottoman arms, that 
 murmurs, discontent, and despondency spread 
 through the Turkish army, and the fate of 
 Rhodes seemed assured by the gallantry of her 
 noble masters. At this crisis, however, arrived 
 the Sultan Soliman himself, at that time in the 
 meridian of his power and glory. With him, 
 too, was the famous Corsair, Courtogli; and 
 the spirits of the Moslem rose under the eye of 
 their king and the conduct of their daring 
 countryman, to a pitch of ardour and enthu- 
 siasm which required all the fortitude and re- 
 solution of the christians to resist. 
 
 The approaches were now once more pushed 
 forward with incessant activity ; batteries were 
 raised and sustained ; two enormous cavaliers 
 were erected, domineering the bastions of Au- 
 vergne and Italy. The Tower of St. John, 
 from which the christians had discovered and 
 frustrated the former measures of the Turks, 
 was beaten down with cannon shot ; and it 
 seemed, as if by some preternatural intelligence, 
 the infidels obtained information of all the weak 
 points of the fortress, and of the designs of its 
 defenders. At the same time the progress of the 
 
44 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 Turkish works was covered by such immense 
 bodies of troops, that the Grand Master was 
 obliged to forbid the sallies of the knights and 
 soldiers of the order on account of the immense 
 and overwhelming multitude of their enemies. 
 The volunteers, however, were still permitted 
 to follow the dictates of their own courage; and 
 hardly a day passed over but Bertrand de la 
 Croix surprised the foe, and won new honour 
 by some bold and politic exploit. The praises 
 he received, however, and the deference with 
 which he was treated, seemed to fall upon his 
 heart like rain upon the sand of the desart, 
 leaving not a trace of its having been. In the 
 moment of danger and of strife, the soul would 
 beam up and flash forth in living fire from his 
 dark eye ; his glance would become full of 
 energy and command, and a few brief words, 
 instinct with the prestige of victory and the 
 consciousness of power, would rouse his fol- 
 lowers to deeds of almost insane daring, and 
 lead them forward to the very cannon's mouth. 
 At other times he was still cold and sad ; and 
 wandering round the bastions, he would some- 
 times gaze long and wistfully upon the melan- 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 45 
 
 choly sea, and then, with a mournful sigh, turn 
 away, or calmly placing himself in the midst of 
 the enemy's fire, would watch their movements 
 and plan some feat to counteract their designs. 
 
 One day after standing long on the bastion 
 of Italy, against which the whole cannon of the 
 enemy- were pointed, he turned and walked on, 
 musing, to another part of the ramparts, which, 
 unattacked, had been left nearly solitary. As 
 he proceeded he saw an arrow, shot from one of 
 the angles before him, fall into the Turkish 
 lines and a Moslem suddenly pick it up and 
 carry it quickly away. The young soldier 
 hastened forward towards the spot from whence 
 it had been winged ; for, notwithstanding the 
 rapidity of its flight, he felt sure that he had 
 seen a small white packet attached to the head 
 as it fell ; but on turning the angle of the wall 
 he found no one but the Chancellor De Merail, 
 and a slave holding a bow. So high an officer 
 of the order, and so brave a soldier, was above 
 suspicion ; but still the matter was strange, and 
 Bertrand de.la Barre passed on musing. His 
 curiosity was excited ; yet, nevertheless, he felt 
 bound by the laws of courtesy to inquire no 
 
46 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 further, and some ill-defined doubt made him 
 mention what he had observed to no one. De 
 Merail had remarked him pass, and from that 
 moment his regard and attachment towards the 
 young soldier seemed a thousand-fold increased, 
 and all his own energies were henceforth sig- 
 nally exerted in defence of the order. 
 
 Indeed every effort had now become neces- 
 sary. The enemy had rendered themselves 
 masters of a part of the Italian post, and the 
 sap and the mine were going on at once with 
 great alacrity. The English and the Spanish 
 Boulevard also were attacked; fresh troops 
 came over daily from the Lycian continent to 
 the aid of the infidels, and continual, persever- 
 ing, unremitted assaults wore and wasted the 
 small host of defenders. At length more than 
 one terrific breach appeared in the walls, and 
 notwithstanding all the activity of Villiers de 
 PIsle Adam and his brave associates, the tremen- 
 dous fire of the Turkish artillery prevented the 
 reconstruction of the defences. During the 
 twenty-eighth and twenty-ninth of September, 
 this unceasing cannonade seemed to announce 
 that some great and general assault was about 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 47 
 
 to take place on the part of the Moslem ; and 
 during the morning of the thirtieth it was con- 
 tinued with terrible effect. Various movements 
 also were seen in the Turkish army, and a great 
 part of their force was drawn out in array, while 
 a number of reconnoitring parties advanced and 
 examined the state of the fortifications, not- 
 withstanding an incessant shower of shot which 
 poured from the cannon of the place. 
 
 But suddenly the fire of the Turks began to 
 relax, their troops retired within the lines, and 
 though the Christians remained in arms during 
 the whole day, it became the general opinion, 
 towards night, that the infidels had completely 
 abandoned their design. The knights in gene- 
 ral pressed the Grand Master to suffer all such 
 troops as were not absolutely necessary, to retire 
 from the ramparts ; and on his evincing some 
 hesitation, De Merail observed, with a sneer, 
 " that their commander wished to harden his 
 troops like steel ; and that, having heated them 
 red-hot in the sun of a whole September day in 
 the island of Rhodes, he was now going to cool 
 them in the dews of a whole September night." 
 
 Still the Grand Master remained firm ; and 
 
48 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 it was not till he had again and again examined, 
 with careful accuracy, the distant encampment 
 of the enemy, that he suffered a part of his 
 weary soldiers to retire from the shattered walls 
 and seek a few hours' repose. He himself 
 knew none , but instantly proceeding to the cita- 
 del, he called six of his principal knights to 
 council, and remained in long and secret debate. 
 Bertrand de la Croix wrapped himself in his 
 mantle, and casting himself down upon the bas- 
 tion of Auvergne, where a large mass of stone 
 threw a broad shadow in the midst of the yel- 
 low glare of moonlight, he closed his eyes, and 
 seemed to sleep, but his mental vision rested 
 still upon the wide and greedy sea, and many a 
 gloomy phantom rose up before imagination, 
 and drove hope, and peace, and slumber far 
 away. 
 
liKUTKAND DK I. A CROIX. 49 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 To me the cries of fighting fields are charms, 
 Keen be my sabre, and of proof my arms, 
 I ask no other blessing of my stars. 
 
 DRYDEN. 
 
 THE sky, and the air, and the earth were all 
 calm as infancy, and the brightness of the mid- 
 night moon mingling with a soft, white autumn 
 haze which filled up all the hollows, wrapped 
 the scene in a dim, uncertain splendour, more 
 difficult for the eye to penetrate than darkness 
 itself. A slight distant murmuring rush, like 
 the roll of slow waves over a pebbly shore, fell 
 upon the ear of Bertrand de la Croix as he lay 
 upon the bastion, and starting upon his feet he 
 gazed over the space between the armed walls 
 and the lines of the infidel. Nothing, however, 
 
 VOL. i. D 
 
50 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 could he descry, and putting his hand to his 
 ear, he listened ; but for a moment the eager 
 pulsations of his own quick heart was all he 
 heard ; and he doubted An instant after, the 
 same rushing sound rose more clear upon the 
 air yet it might be the river it might be a 
 change of the wind which brought the roaring 
 of the sea along the shore : but suddenly the 
 quick, wild neigh of a war-horse mingled with 
 the sound, and Bertrand, raising his horn to his 
 lips, blew a long and loud alarm 
 
 ".To the walls ! to the walls ! The enemy ! 
 the enemy ! Alerte ! alerte ! To the walls !" 
 he shouted,, and instantly the cry was echoed 
 from voice to voice, from wall to wall, from 
 house to house. Knights, and soldiers, and citi- 
 zens hastened forward ; the couch was quitted 
 in an instant, the armour buckled on, and forth 
 to her ruined battlements, Rhodes poured her 
 armed children, while a thousand torches flashed 
 along the streets, and withered the pale moon- 
 light with their angry glare. But still was 
 heard the rushing sound of the coming enemy, 
 and soon, through the wreaths of the dewy 
 mist, dark masses were seen moving onward, 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 51 
 
 divested of all form and measure by the sha- 
 dows of the night. Instantly, however, as the 
 first trace of their line became discernible, a 
 blaze of fire flashed over the walls of the city, 
 and a thousand mouths of flame hurled death 
 into their ranks. Then came a momentary 
 pause, and then again the cannon opened upon 
 the enemy, who were still seen rushing forward 
 in the blaze ; but at that moment, a roar more 
 loud than that of all the cannon of the place, 
 simultaneous, with a broad, red, sudden glare 
 of intense light, rushed up from the bastion of 
 Italy, while a thousand dark masses hurled into 
 the air, were seen mingled with the bright 
 blaze, like the stones cast up by the first out- 
 break of a volcano. 
 
 The remnants of the shattered wall were 
 still rolling and tottering after the explo- 
 sion of the mine, when the Janizaries rushed 
 up through the breach in thousands, their 
 dark countenances gleaming one behind the 
 other in the light of the torches and of the 
 fires on the ramparts, which shone red and 
 strong on the forms of the first line, and faded 
 gradually away amidst a sea of grim features 
 D 2 
 
52 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 and turbaned heads behind. On the walls too, 
 and in the breach, the fierce blaze lighted up 
 the armour of the knights, and the morions 
 and rondaches of the soldiers ; and while 
 levelled lances, swords, bucklers, casques, and 
 axes filled up in an instant the wide gap the 
 explosion had left, a thousand hands from the. 
 crenelles and battlements around, hurled down 
 stones, and boiling oil, and flaming tar upon the 
 heads of the assailants. Scream and shout and 
 clang and roar rushed up fearfully from the bit- 
 ter struggle of the earth, to God's calm sky. 
 Troop after troop of the infidels forced their 
 way up into the breach, and every turbaned 
 head was met by a waving blade, or hurled 
 down by some impetuous lance ; but still fresh 
 forces thronged to the assault, and foot to foot, 
 and man to man, and steel to steel they fought, 
 sometimes kept at arm's length by the pike or 
 sword, sometimes clasped together in close and 
 deadly struggle, where the dagger and the knife 
 ended all. 
 
 For near an hour, Bertrand de la Croix had 
 stood the foremost on a shattered mass of the 
 wall, dealing death to every Moslem that came 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 53 
 
 within the sweep of his rapid and untiring arm. 
 A hundred shots from below had passed close 
 to his head; a hundred swords had waved 
 around him ; thrice had some of the more 
 daring Moslems singled him out, and rushing 
 upon him with the spring of a tiger, had endea- 
 voured to reach his fearless heart with the 
 dagger, and thrice, by a single blow dealt with 
 the quick precision of the lightning, had they 
 been cast lifeless into the fosse beneath. At 
 length the Grand Master himself stood by his 
 side. 
 
 " Bertrand," he said, in a rapid voice, " you 
 have outdone yourself: but quick, speed to 
 the bastion of Auvergne ; I see all the knights 
 who should have been there to defend it 
 have crowded hither. Your men, there, upon 
 the rampart, are pouring down fire on the 
 enemy : call part away to aid you, and should 
 you find danger, send to me, and I will come 
 to your support ; but, above all things, speed ! 
 speed r 
 
 Using the broken masses of the wall for 
 steps, Bertrand was in a moment upon the 
 battlements above ; there he staid but to choose 
 
54 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 twenty of his bravest men, and then hurried, 
 with a foot of light, towards the bastion of Au- 
 vergne. Every step that he took, the wall 
 became more solitary ; all the defenders had 
 hurried to the principal point of attack, and 
 only here and there a simple sentinel stood 
 looking towards the spot where his friends and 
 fellow-christians were struggling with the enemy. 
 Such was the case upon the bastion of Au- 
 vergne ; but the young soldier found that a 
 still more lamentable fault had been committed 
 on the Spanish side, where not only the knights 
 had quitted their post to hurry to the fight, 
 but the sentinels themselves were all employed 
 in wheeling some cannon to an outwork to 
 point them against the stream of enemies that 
 were still pouring up towards the great breach. 
 Bertrand instantly commanded them to desist 
 and return to their post ; but before they had 
 time to take ten steps towards the spot, a loud 
 shout burst from the Spanish bastion, and 
 the crescent of Mahomet was seen planted by 
 the watch-fire, while the forms of the Jani- 
 zaries were beheld scattering themselves over 
 the platform, and gathering materials for 
 
BERTHAND DE LA CROIX. 55 
 
 effecting a lodgment and defending their con- 
 quest. 
 
 The mind of Bertrand de la Croix instantly 
 saw the only chance of recovery. " Fly to the 
 Grandmaster," he cried to one of his followers ; 
 " tell him what has happened ! You of the 
 bastion d'Auvergne, turn all your cannon on 
 the Spanish platform, and cease not firing for a 
 moment till you see this standard on the wall. 
 Let the men in the traverse sweep the foot of the 
 wall with their guns, so that no new reinforcement 
 overpower us. And now, my brave comrades, 
 once more, Death to the infidels ! Success ! 
 Victory ! and good St. John !" 
 
 Thus saying he turned from the wall, led 
 his scanty band round behind the works, and 
 while the artillery of the bastion of Auvergne 
 played with terrific effect upon the Turks in 
 the post of Spain, Bertrand penetrated by the 
 casemate into the bastion, and with the white 
 cross standard in one hand, and his sword in 
 the other, reached the top of the platform, 
 cast himself into the midst of the Turks, al- 
 ready broken and scattered by the fire, and 
 after a severe struggle drove them once more 
 
56 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 through the breach. At the same moment he 
 beheld the rest of the infidel army retreating 
 from the attack, and heard the general signals 
 of recal, and now certain that the town was 
 saved, he determined upon pursuing the fugi- 
 tives. Without giving them a moment's pause 
 he followed them through the breach, hung 
 upon their flank in the darkness, and urged 
 their retreat into precipitate flight. Carried 
 away, however, by the eager fire of his heart, 
 he forgot the time and the distance, and fol- 
 lowed the flyers almost to the Turkish camp ; 
 but the sight of the watch-fires and the lamps 
 round some of the principal tents, within a 
 few hundred yards, recalled him to himself, 
 and he turned with his followers to find his 
 way back to the city. They could plainly dis- 
 tinguish its dark walls, from which, every now 
 and then, the flash of the cannon still continued ; 
 but Bertrand found himself embarrassed in the 
 Turkish lines, though the trench near him 
 seemed to have been the part of some approach 
 which had been found useless, and in conse- 
 quence was abandoned. While he considered 
 its direction and calculated whither it led, he 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 5^ 
 
 heard the tramp of armed men, and caught a 
 faint glimpse of a strong body retreating from 
 the city to the camp. Silent, and speedily he 
 descended with his men into the trench and 
 hastened back towards Rhodes. The body of 
 Janizaries he had seen, passed him within a 
 hundred yards, but without discovering him ; 
 and he marched for the city. The trench was 
 evidently no longer used, and along all its 
 angles and turnings Bertrand pursued his way 
 undisturbed till he had nearly reached the town, 
 where he encountered a small body of strag- 
 glers, who after a slight struggle dispersed in 
 all directions, and sought safety in flight. 
 The path now led directly to the Spanish 
 bastion ; but that spot which had been so neg- 
 lected during the attack was now all bustling 
 with soldiers, and the first reply to Bertrand^s 
 voice, as he shouted from below, was a cannon 
 shot. It boomed over the heads of his little 
 band, however, without doing injury to any 
 one, and he was soon recognised and admitted. 
 He found all the knights and officers, though 
 wearied and exhausted, full of the events of the 
 night; but there seemed also some other subject 
 D 3 
 
58 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 which occupied them deeply, for he remarked 
 several knots gathered together speaking low 
 and eagerly ; but as he had hitherto entertained 
 little communication with any one, they suffered 
 him to pass on without making him a sharer in 
 their discussion. < At length one of those men 
 who cannot resist bestowing a part of the few 
 ideas they gain upon every one they meet, de- 
 manded if he had heard that Sir Andrew de 
 Merail, the chancellor of the order, had been 
 arrested and confined in the Tower of St. Nico- 
 las for treasonable practices with the enemy ? 
 
 " Impossible !" exclaimed Bertrand, starting 
 back with a degree of emotion no one had seen 
 him evince before, " impossible ! utterly im- 
 possible !" 
 
 <" True, nevertheless," drily observed an old 
 knight who stood near ; and Bertrand seeing 
 the eyes of many around fixed upon himself, 
 regained at once his cold composure, and with 
 somewhat like scorn upon his lip, retired, leav- 
 ing them to comment as they chose. 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 59 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Haste then, and lose no time, 
 
 The business must be enterprized this night. 
 
 DRYDEN. 
 
 THE young soldier strode home to his dwel- 
 ling in the lower town, wearied in body and 
 depressed in mind. " A traitor f he thought, 
 ' c De Merail a traitor ! Was it possible ? One 
 who had so often shed his blood for the order 
 of St. John one who had ever shewn himself 
 a true knight though a haughty man ! And 
 yet the arrow and the -packet he had seen 
 shot into the Turkish lines! The common 
 report among the knights that De Merail had 
 said, on the failure of his own hopes of elec- 
 tion, that Villiers de lisle Adam should be 
 
60 
 
 THE CLUB-BOOK, 
 
 the last Grand Master of Rhodes ! his slackness 
 in the defence ! his pernicious counsels ! all 
 rushed upon the mind of the young knight, 
 and though he would have given a world to 
 believe De Merail innocent, he could not him- 
 self but doubt. He suffered his page to un- 
 clasp his armour and to bathe some slight 
 wounds which he had received, and then cast- 
 ing himself down, he strove for sleep till morn- 
 ing. 
 
 He rose almost with the dawn and sought 
 the palace of the Grand Master, but Villiers 
 was deep in council and might not be dis- 
 turbed. He then joined some of the knights 
 of Castille, to which language De Merail be- 
 longed ; but all he could hear of him was, that 
 two knights grand crosses, together with the 
 ordinary judges, were ordered to sit that very 
 day upon his trial. Those who affected friend- 
 ship for him shook the head in silence, and 
 those whom his pride had offended, boldly 
 called him a traitor. Still Bertrand de la 
 Croix resolved to see the Grand Master himself, 
 and watching his moment when he visited the 
 ramparts, he boldly approached him in behalf 
 
EERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 61 
 
 of the unfortunate man, who had so lately 
 fallen from one of the highest and noblest 
 grades of the order, to imprisonment and dis- 
 grace. But the moment his name was men- 
 tioned, Villiers de Tlsle Adam sternly waved 
 his hand. 
 
 " Sir Bertrand de la Croix," he said, " stain 
 not the honourable name you have acquired, 
 by deeds of unequalled courage in defence of 
 Rhodes, by saying one word in favour of a 
 convicted traitor. His peers and his judges 
 have condemned him on evidence of his guilt, 
 conclusive beyond all doubt, and to-morrow, 
 as I live, he dies by the hand of the execu- 
 tioner. Answer not, Sir : you are a gallant 
 man, and we thank you for your services, but 
 you have no voice in Rhodes !" 
 
 Bertrand's eye met that of the Grand Master 
 with a glance of proud dignity equal to his 
 own. " I come not, Sir," he said, " to speak 
 for the guilty or the condemned : but not 
 knowing that his trial had so quickly taken 
 place, I came to remind you, Sir Villiers de 
 Tlsle Adam, that he was your opponent at 
 your election, and to bid you see that free and 
 
62 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 fair justice was done him, as you would hold 
 your good name throughout the world. This, 
 Sir, I came to tell you as gentleman to gentle- 
 man and knight to knight : and now, Sir, I 
 bid you farewell." 
 
 "Hold!" cried the Grand Master as Ber- 
 trand turned away. " You speak, Sir, some- 
 what too boldly, and yet your words touch 
 upon painful truths. I feel I know that the 
 execution of Andrew de Merail may, in the 
 world, be attributed tome, as an unworthy ven- 
 geance. But I have done and will do justice 
 to him and to all. He has been examined, 
 tried and judged by two noble and upright 
 knights, who voted in his favour against my 
 own election. It has been proved that he first 
 called the infidel to our shores, and that he 
 it has been who has betrayed all our secrets to 
 the enemy. After patient investigation he has 
 been condemned to death, and were he my 
 dearest friend, my nearest kin, he should suffer 
 the award Now, Sir, to you farewell : I have 
 wasted more words than befits me." 
 
 Each turned upon his path, and Bertrand de 
 la Barre, seeking his own dwelling, gave him- 
 
BERTKAND DE LA CROIX. 63 
 
 self up to bitter meditation. " Isabel !" mut- 
 tered he, " Isabel ! How will her heart be 
 wrung ! Yet, why need I think of her ? Her 
 father's fate will never reach her ears. Either 
 those greedy and insatiate waves, have reckon- 
 ed my lost jewel amongst all the'fair bright 
 things they have entombed, or else some cursed 
 pirate but I will not I dare not think of 
 that ;" and Bertrand covered his eyes with his 
 hands and groaned in agony of spirit. 
 
 The hours passed by, and the dark edge of 
 the horizon hid the last beaming spot of the 
 setting sun, when the page of Sir Andrew de 
 Merail stood before Bertrand de la Croix after 
 carefully closing the door and drawing down 
 the tapestry. "Well, boy, what news?' 1 ex- 
 claimed the young soldier. u Bring you let- 
 ter or message from your lord ? Quick ! 
 Speak !" 
 
 " No letter have I, Sir," answered the boy ; 
 " nor have I message but to bid you speedily 
 to him in the prison. Take this friar's gown 
 and this chaplet, Sir Knight ! The gaoler is 
 bribed, and the doors will open to you and 
 hasten to him, for life and death are upon your 
 steps." 
 
64 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 Bertrand paused for a moment, and thought 
 " It matters not !" cried he, at length ; " it 
 matters not !" and taking the gown and chap- 
 let he drew the hood over his face, and strode 
 onwards towards the sea, into which the Tower 
 of St. Nicolas, where De Merail was confined, 
 projected on a sort of natural mole. No sen- 
 tinel challenged him till he came near the 
 tower, but there he was obliged to give the 
 word at each post. His knowledge of the 
 countersign, however, served him till he had 
 entered the tower, and there inquiring in a 
 feigned voice for the civil officer, in whose cus- 
 tody the prisoners were lodged, he found that 
 his way had already been prepared by weighty 
 bribes. He was instantly conducted into a 
 small room, where the gaoler made him unco- 
 ver his head to satisfy himself of his identity. 
 That being done, he led him through the long 
 dim passages of the tower, whose melancholy 
 gloom was heightened by the roaring of the sea, 
 as it* dashed against its base. 
 . All passed in silence, and the only words 
 exchanged were, when opening a strong door 
 the officer bade him enter, whispering "be 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CHOIX. 65 
 
 quick." "I will," replied the young soldier, 
 and he passed into the cell. A table, a chair, 
 a bed and a lamp, were all the moveables it 
 contained, and in the midst stood Andrew de 
 Merail, with a thousand deep channels and 
 lines in his brow and cheek, wrought by the 
 passing of a single dreadful day. His eye was 
 still, however, full of fire and light, and his 
 brow was knit with stern determination ; but 
 the stiff curls of his gray hair, seemed to have 
 relaxed their bend, and hung wildly over his 
 brow and cheek, and there was a quivering 
 eagerness about his lip, which spoke the rest- 
 less and perturbed soul within. 
 
 " You have come !" cried he, as Bertrand 
 entered, and the gaoler closed the door behind 
 him. " You have come ! I thought you 
 would this is no moment for fears or hesita- 
 tion ! But mark me, Sir I sent not for you 
 on my own account ! No ! they might have 
 torn my old limbs with red hot pincers, ere I 
 would have claimed aid of mortal man. But 
 my daughter my Isabel your Isabel our 
 beloved, must be saved." 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed Bertrand, in the same 
 
66 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 rapid, almost incoherent manner ; " have you 
 heard of her ? Where is she ? How can she 
 be succoured ? Speak, my lord ! speak !" 
 
 " Only by one earthly means," replied De 
 Merail. " Till my child was involved, what- 
 ever were my plans, I sought no earthly aid ; 
 content, if I rose, to triumph singly, and if I 
 fell, to fall alone. But now, Sir, you must 
 aid me, and if your heart quail or hesitate, 
 but as a strong lance trembles to a light wind, 
 you are false and faithless to your love, and 
 give her tamely to the polluting arms of a base 
 infidel. Look you you read the lingua 
 franca, construe me that," and he drew from 
 his bosom a roll of paper, which he placed in 
 the hand of his companion. Bertrand ap- 
 proached the light and read. 
 
 THE LETTER. 
 
 " Peri Bacha of Pair as to De Merail, one of 
 the chiefs of the Corsairs of Rhodes. 
 
 " The High and Mighty Sultaun Solimaun, 
 Emperor of the World, wills me to tell thee, 
 ,oh ! faithless Gaiour, that doubting the truth 
 
BERT11AND DE LA CROIX. 67 
 
 and honesty of thy councils, which have as yet 
 proved only fatal and detrimental to the armies 
 of the Prophet, he has found a means to insure 
 thy sincerity, or to punish thee in its default. 
 Know then, oh son of a perverted race ! that 
 a Frankish girl has been taken by Courtogli, 
 the faithful servant of the sublime sultaun, 
 who declaring herself thy daughter, has been 
 kept as a pledge and hostage of thy faith. If 
 according to thy treaty, thou dost deliver into 
 the hands of the servants of the Prophet this 
 strong-hold of Christian robbers, the sove- 
 reignty of Cyprus shall be secured unto thee, 
 according to the unbroken word of the monarch 
 of the monarchs of the earth ; and the maiden 
 thy daughter, shall be restored to thy arms 
 pure and uninjured as she left thee. But if 
 thou failest in that which I am about to pre- 
 scribe to thee, she shall become the slave of 
 the lowest groom of the sultaun's stables, and 
 when Rhodes shall have fallen, thou thyself 
 shall be torn to pieces by wild horses. Know 
 then that to-morrow night, the armies of the 
 prophet will once more march to the storm : 
 two hours after the evening prayer, a false at- 
 
68 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 tack will be made upon the bastion which the 
 Gaiours call that of Italy, but the real one will 
 be against that of Auvergne. See that not a 
 gun be fired from that bastion, for thy daugh- 
 ter's tent is within reach of its fire ; and see 
 also, that when the soldiers of the Prophet 
 plant his standard upon the post of Auvergne, 
 not a Gaiour be found in arms upon that point, 
 and that thou art ready to aid the servants of 
 the Most High. Do this and thou shalt live." 
 
 As Bertrand de la Croix read, the eye of the 
 unhappy De Merail fixed upon his countenance 
 with intense and agonizing scrutiny. The mus- 
 cles of his face were drawn and tense, and his 
 strong marked features were sharpened and 
 almost distorted with the world of busy passions 
 that were thronging at his heart : but when the 
 young soldier had finished, and he saw the proud 
 stern scorn that gathered in his eye, rage took 
 the place of fear and expectation, and with 
 threats and imprecations he sought to drive 
 him to his purpose. 
 
 " Was he the lover," he asked, <c who 
 would sacrifice life and all that life was worth 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 69 
 
 for her he loved yes, he who dared risk 
 nothing ?" 
 
 And then again he menaced him with accu- 
 sations before the council of the order, and 
 threatened to charge him with participation in 
 his own crimes. Wildly and volubly he poured 
 forth a torrent of mingled argument, intimida- 
 tion, inducement and supplication. But Ber- 
 trand de la Croix listened with firm, unshaken 
 mind. 
 
 " Unhappy man," he said at length, " I would 
 not be the thing you think me no ! not for a 
 million empires. I will save your child, my Isa- 
 bel, or die : but stain my knighthood and betray 
 my trust is what I never will do. Fare you 
 well, and God have mercy on you !" and casting 
 down the letter he turned to quit the cell. 
 
 The heart of De Merail was bowed to the 
 earth. " Leave me not ! leave me not !" he 
 cried, " stay, stay, oh stay !" and he laid 
 his hand with an uncertain grasp upon the 
 friar's robe that covered the young soldier. 
 Bertrand turned for an instant with a glance of 
 painful pity : De Merail relaxed his hold, 
 covered his eyes with his hands and exclaim- 
 
70 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 ing, Oh, God ! oh, God !" suffered him to 
 depart. 
 
 When Bertrand issued forth from the Tower 
 of St. Nicolas, the whole earth was covered 
 with deep darkness. The Moslems' hour of 
 evening prayer was past, and the moment which 
 was to bring the new attack, and to seal the 
 fate of her he loved far better than existence, 
 was hurrying on ; but still he turned his steps 
 to the palace of the Grand Master, and demanded 
 earnestly to speak with him on business of life 
 and death, but Villiers refused to see him, and 
 Bertrand turned upon his path. 
 
 In a few minutes all his men were collected, 
 and equipping himself in the lightest armour 
 he could find, Bertrand prepared to leave the 
 city by the sally-port of the post of Auvergne, 
 indignantly leaving the Grand Master to meet 
 the coming danger as best he might. But still 
 as he was about to turn away he paused for a 
 moment 
 
 " No, no !" cried he at length, " he must be 
 warned. Perchance he thought I came to plead 
 for a guilty traitor. Get thee back, Dufarrel ; 
 go to the gate of the Grand Master's palace : 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 7] 
 
 besiege it closely ; seek to speak with him, and 
 leave it not at all events till you see him come 
 forth. Tell him to look to the bastion of 
 Auvergne, for that I have good reason to 
 believe there will be the greatest struggle, 
 wherever the Turks may feign their first attack, 
 and if I return not before dawn to-morrow, 
 give him this ring with your own hands and 
 tell him T am dead." 
 
 The soldier refused not to obey, although he 
 murmured somewhat about quitting his lord. 
 He hurried quickly, however, to the Grand- 
 master's palace, and twice sought to speak with 
 him, but was twice refused admittance, as 
 Villiers de Tlsle Adam was deeply busied in a 
 council of the order. At length an outcry from 
 the western side called his attention as he stood 
 watching at the gate for the Grand Master's 
 coming forth. Shouts and exclamations were 
 heard, and the roar of artillery grew loud and 
 frequent. Forgetting the orders he had received, 
 he rushed with all speed towards the scene of 
 strife, but ere he had gone far his master's com- 
 mands flashed across his memory, and he turned 
 with the same haste to seek the palace gate 
 
THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 again. Before he reached it, however, and 
 panting and out of breath with the speed he had 
 put* forth to remedy his error, he suddenly 
 encountered Villiers himself hurrying on foot 
 towards the Italian ramparts followed by a 
 crowd of knights and soldiers. 
 
 The Grand Master mistook the object of his 
 haste. " What ! flying !" he exclaimed, strik- 
 ing him with his gauntlet. " Back to the 
 ramparts, caitiff ! for by Heaven if thou tightest 
 not like a man, thou shalt die like a dog. Speak 
 not ! back, I say !" and again he struck him 
 with his armed hand. The soldier glared upon 
 him for a moment as if he would have smote 
 him in return, and then turning suddenly 
 round, he darted away, reached the bastion of 
 Italy, and mingled in the fray. 
 
BERTH AND DE LA CROIX. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 For I must love, and am resolved to try 
 My fate, or, failing in the adventure, die. 
 
 DRYDEN. 
 
 THE moon was hidden in clouds, and not a 
 star was to be seen in the heavens, when Ber- 
 trand and his men glided forth from the sally- 
 port of the post of Auvergne. Darkness spread 
 all around them, and a few twinkling lamps in 
 the Turkish camp was the only guide to their 
 footsteps ; but most of the party had crossed 
 and recrossed that plain so often in the various 
 sorties which had taken place, that scarce a step 
 of the ground was unknown to them ; and they 
 advanced fearlessly, though cautiously, down 
 the slope of the hill, till they reached a small 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
74 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 clump of bushes and stunted trees, about a 
 quarter of a mile distant from the first tents of 
 the Turkish encampment. No sallies had of late 
 taken place on the part of the garrison, for their 
 numbers were too small to risk unnecessary loss ; 
 and the infidels, except when urging some night 
 attack, had slept in peace, so that, buried in 
 perfect security, small precautions were taken 
 against any efforts of the Christians. 
 
 So well had Bertrand chosen his way, that not 
 a sentinel had been met ; but now he paused be- 
 hind the bushes, for at no great distance lay a 
 post of Turkish soldiers. At the same time he 
 knew not whether the trench by which he had 
 returned the night before, and which lay close 
 beside him, might not form the line of advance 
 for the Turkish troops upon the post of Au- 
 vergne ; and he was determined to wait till a part 
 at least, had passed by before he attempted to 
 execute the bold adventure on which he was bent. 
 During this temporary halt he told his men the 
 hazardous nature of the action before them, and 
 finding all willing to follow him to death itself, 
 he allotted them their several duties clearly 
 and precisely, and then crouching with them 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. J5 
 
 under the bushes, waited for the passing of 
 the Moslem storming parties. 
 
 It is needless to dwell long upon his thoughts 
 during the few minutes he thus remained. Life 
 and death, as far ashe himself was concerned, and 
 deliverance or degradation to her he loved, were 
 the stakes from which he played his bold and 
 fearful game : but the bitter memory of her fa- 
 ther's treason, and near-approaching fate, hung 
 heavy upon his mind, and mingled with many a 
 painful thought for the future. But still the great 
 excitement of his present enterprise occupied his 
 first thoughts ; and though, when the idea of 
 Be MeraiFs fate flashed across his mind, a chill 
 and painful feeling would gather round his 
 heart, yet his whole senses were alive to what 
 was passing around, and not a leaf fell from the 
 trees above him, but was marked by his keen 
 ear. As he lay, the sound of a gradually ga- 
 thering host was heard from the Turkish camp, 
 the whispered commands, the stealthy move- 
 ments, the muffled arms ; and then the mea- 
 sured but soft tread of men tutored to silence. 
 A large body was evidently advancing, and 
 they could be seen interposing as a dense 
 E 2 
 
76 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 mass between the spot where he lay and the 
 lights in the Turkish camp. They came near 
 more near skirted the very bushes, and 
 passed on, file after file, towards the city. Ano- 
 ther mass of many thousands might be just 
 distinguished as they crossed some faint streaks 
 of struggling light upon the edge of the horizon ; 
 but they too moved on, and then there was a 
 pause. Bertrand lifted his head and listened, 
 but instantly bent down again, while a third 
 and larger body still poured on at a short dis- 
 tance. It was clear that on this great effort 
 Soliman sent forth the whole of his multitude. 
 Silence succeeded, and then advancing gently 
 to the trench, which had not been occupied, 
 Bertrand and his companions stole forward to 
 the Turkish camp. As they advanced they 
 could distinguish, on a hill at half a mile^s dis- 
 tance, a sort of scaffolding, with several torches 
 round about it, together with a large body of 
 cavalry, and on the scaffolding itself several 
 human figures, apparently gazing towards the 
 fortress. Between his party and the camp was 
 a line of sentinels, scattered at considerable dis- 
 tances, and the one nearest the extremity of the 
 
BERTHAND DE LA CROIX. 77 
 
 disused trench had been seduced away to speak 
 with his companion at some distance. Just be- 
 hind was a village of pioneers 1 huts, but they were 
 all dark and deserted, and behind them were 
 some lighted tents, just within the range of the 
 guns on the bastion of Auvergne, and Bertrand 
 doubted not that there lay all that he valued in 
 the world. The sentinel was evidently deep in 
 conversation with his companion, and one by one, 
 Bertrand and two of his comrades stole across, 
 and hid themselves in the darkness of the pio- 
 neers 1 huts. As a fourth was going to pass, how- 
 ever, the sentinel turned back, and resumed his 
 post ; but Bertrand knew that the soldier that 
 was next to follow was bold and skilful, and well 
 versed in the Turkish tongue, and he paused 
 anxiously to see how he would accomplish his 
 passage. 
 
 The sentinel turned slowly backwards and 
 forwards for some time then pausing to listen, 
 he leaned upon his arquebuse ; but at that mo- 
 ment with one spring the Christian soldier was 
 upon him his hand clasped upon his mouth, his 
 foot upon the match of his gun, and his dagger in 
 his heart. The slight rustle of a momentary strug- 
 
THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 gle, and a deep groan, was all that was heard, 
 and before the other sentinel had turned from 
 the round he was making, the Christian soldier, 
 with the turban of the dead man on his head, 
 and his arquebuse on -his shoulder, was slowly 
 parading in a different direction, so as com- 
 pletely to deceive his eye, and make him think 
 that his companion, having resumed his post, 
 was not willing to risk any further conversation. 
 Each time the Turkish sentry whose post 
 was about two hundred yards from the spot 
 turned in his walk, two or three of Bertrand's 
 men passed across into the shadow of the huts ; 
 and when the whole were thus within the lines, 
 he himself advanced cautiously towards the 
 lighted tents, in one of which, he doubted not 
 that Isabel de Merail was confined. Keeping 
 carefully in the shadow, he advanced between 
 two, and bending down his ear, listened to some 
 voices that were speaking within ; but the lan- 
 guage employed was Turkish, and the tone, not 
 that of her he loved. Still he listened for a mo- 
 ment longer, when from the other tent on his 
 left, he could hear a noise as of a dog running 
 quickly round the inside of the canvas walls, and 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 79 
 
 with a low sort of whine of pleasure seeming to 
 recognise him, and to welcome his approach. 
 
 " What ails thee, Querida ? What ails thee ?" 
 cried the voice of Isabel, a moment after. 
 u Alas ! alas ! He that thou were wont so 
 to greet in other days, is no longer near." 
 
 Bertrand beckoned forward his followers, 
 and bade them be prepared to second him in a 
 moment if he found any one in the inner tent 
 besides Isabel herself. Some one was beyond 
 all doubt on guard in the outer tent, but he 
 effected a shorter means of entrance for him- 
 self, by drawing his dagger, and at once 
 ripping the canvas down to the ground. The 
 hangings with which it was lined were easily 
 removed, and Bertrand stood within the tent. 
 Isabel was alone, and the instant she saw him, 
 she sprang forward to his arms with a faint 
 cry of delight. Some one moved in the outer 
 tent, and conscious that their safety greatly de- 
 pended on the secresy of their escape, Bertrand 
 drew back behind the hangings, and Isabel with 
 instinctive quickness stooped to fondle her dog 
 At the same instant, the grim head of an eunuch 
 was thrust in, but seeing nothing to excite sus- 
 
80 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 picion, was immediately withdrawn, and in a 
 moment after Isabel was in the free air by her 
 lover's side. No words were spoken ; all was 
 comprehended at once; but Bertrand hurried 
 forward, to the spot where his follower still 
 kept guard, to all appearance a Turkish sen- 
 tinel, and there bore Isabel across the open 
 space in his arms to the mouth of the deserted 
 trench. The other sentinel had extended his 
 parade farther than usual ; all the followers of 
 the young Christian passed unobserved, and 
 thus, as will sometimes happen, one of the 
 most bold and hazardous attempts that the 
 mind of man could conceive, was executed 
 without difficulty, and with no singular event 
 in its course. 
 
 In the deep darkness which still conti- 
 nued, Bertrand hastened with her he loved, 
 fixing his eyes upon the dim lines of the 
 city, which were scarcely to be distinguished 
 from the deep obscurity of the sky. Sud- 
 denly there was a quick flash upon the Italian 
 bastion, and then came the report of a single 
 cannon. The moment after, the whole walls 
 were in a blaze, and the stillness of the night was 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CllOIX. 81 
 
 swallowed iip in the roar of the artillery. On ! 
 on ! Bertrand sped, sometimes leading Isabel 
 by the hand, sometimes carrying her in his 
 arms, as the ground permitted ; but still hoping 
 to reach the bastion of Auvergne before the 
 false attack upon the post of Italy had been 
 abandoned, and the real one commenced on 
 the other point. The balls of the cannon sang 
 over their heads as they advanced, and some- 
 times striking the ground near them, dashed 
 a shower of sand into the trench, while each 
 minute the roar of the artillery became louder, 
 the shouts and cries of the combatants, mingled 
 with the sound; and through the clouds of 
 smoke that began to envelope them, the flam- 
 ing mouths of the cannons might be seen, 
 pouring death and destruction on the very 
 path they were pursuing. 
 
 Isabel trembled in every limb, and for her 
 the stout heart of Bertrand felt sensations he 
 had never experienced for himself. Nearer, 
 more near they came, and for a moment turn- 
 ed from the thick of the fire, and approached 
 the bastion of Auvergne. The ramparts at 
 that point were but thinly manned, and Ber- 
 E 3 
 
82 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 trand, carrying Isabel in his arms, shouted loud 
 to the soldiers to give him entrance. 
 
 He was soon recognized, and some move- 
 ments were made to admit him ; but at that 
 moment a large body of the Turkish infantry 
 wheeled upon the spot where he was standing. 
 Not a moment was to be lost. The Janizaries 
 were advancing with the speed of lightning to the 
 attack of the bastion; every instant brought 
 them nearer : the warder at the sally-port was 
 fearful and unsteady ; and seeing no other way 
 of escape, Bertrand rushed up over the ruins of 
 the breach, which the Turkish artillery had 
 effected during the day, whilst a tremendous 
 discharge of shot and arrows took place around 
 him. Agitation, fatigue, and terror now com- 
 pletely overwhelmed the unfortunate girl he 
 carried in his arms. The flash and the roar of 
 the cannon, the shouts, the cries, the yells, the 
 strange fierce faces and armed forms she had 
 seen around her on every side, all in a moment 
 faded from before her mind, and she fainted 
 away in the arms of her lover. Staggering up 
 over the unsteady ruins of the wall, Bertrand 
 struggled on, but towards the top a large stone 
 
BEJITHAND DE LA CROIX. 83 
 
 gave way, and nearly cast him back to the 
 ground. At the same time a strong soldier, 
 who knew him, held down his arms from above 
 to reach the beautiful, but apparently lifeless, 
 form he carried. The Turks were close be- 
 hind his steps each moment hazarded her life, 
 and Bertrand entrusted Isabel to the hands of 
 the honest soldier, exclaiming " Quick to my 
 house ! I will take your place." The man, 
 stooping far over, received her in his arms as a 
 father would his infant, and bore her instantly 
 from that scene of bloodshed and death. In 
 the meanwhile Bertrand again endeavoured to 
 climb the last few steps, but there the stones 
 were looser than below ; and as he rushed on, 
 losing nearly as much ground as he gained, the 
 Turks also began to climb the breach. Ber- 
 trand saw that they would reach him before he 
 could arrive at the top, and was about to form 
 his men as best he could even where they stood ; 
 but at that moment the Grand Master, perceiv- 
 ing the real direction the Turkish attack had 
 now taken, hastened to the bastion d'Auvergne. 
 As he sprang forward towards the breach, 
 followed by all the knights and soldiers he 
 
84 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 could collect, the first object his eye fell upon 
 was Bertrand dela Croix, leading on as it ap- 
 peared the Turkish soldiers to the assault. 
 Where he stood, the short space between the 
 young soldier and the Turks was nearly lost to 
 his sight ; the knights who accompanied the 
 Grand Master were deceived like himself, and 
 crying out upon the imagined treason, they 
 threw themselves into the breach. 
 
 Bertrand gladly beheld them coming, as he 
 thought, to his assistance, but, to his surprise, 
 he was in a moment struck to the ground, seized, 
 and disarmed ; and, while shoulder to shoulder, 
 and shield clasped to shield, the Knights of 
 St. John opposed to the Turks the same daunt- 
 less, unconquerable front with which they had 
 met all former attacks, one of their most gal- 
 lant supporters was carried bound and bleeding 
 to the criminal prison in the tower of St. Ni- 
 colas. 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 85 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Peace, good reader ! do not weep 
 Peace ! the lovers are asleep : 
 They, sweet turtles, folded lie 
 In the last knot that love could tie- 
 Let them sleep! let them sleep on, 
 Till this stormy night be gone, 
 And the eternal morrow dawn ; 
 Then the curtains shall be drawn, 
 And they waken with that light, 
 Whose day shall never sleep in night. 
 
 CHASHAW. 
 
 THE fight had passed by, the attack of the 
 Turks was again repulsed, and morning had 
 taken the place of night, when Bertrand de la 
 Croix was led, bound and guarded, from the 
 prison in which he had spent the last eight 
 hours, to the palace of the Grand Master.. As 
 he passed through the great square, he was 
 met by four men carrying a dead body covered 
 with a cloth, and a little further on, he beheld 
 a scaffold, a block, and an axe, with bloody 
 evidences around of their having been lately 
 used for the purposes of death. At the same 
 
86 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 time, from the scattered groups of spectators, 
 who were separating after the fatal scene they 
 had witnessed, he heard frequently pronounced 
 the name u De Merail," and the appellation of 
 " hardened traitor." 
 
 Bertrand required no other comment, and 
 without question, suffered himself to be led on 
 in silence. After arriving at the buildings which 
 were called the inns of the order, he was detained 
 for a few moments, and had an opportunity of 
 observing the ravages which war had already 
 made. More than one half of the lodgings 
 seemed vacant, and the groans of the dying 
 and wounded knights brought home from the 
 last assault, rendered the hall but a melancholy 
 resting-place. At length the door of the coun- 
 cil chamber was opened for him, and he was 
 brought before the tribunal of the order. 
 
 At the end of a long table, in a seat a little 
 raised above the rest, sat the Grand Master ; 
 his features worn and channelled with toil and 
 anxiety, and his garments apparently unchanged 
 since the combat of the preceding night. Seve- 
 ral of the higher officers of the brotherhood were 
 placed around him, and the rest of the table was 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 8? 
 
 filled with knights commanders, and grand 
 crosses. Bertrand placed himself at once oppo- 
 site the chief of the military fraternity, and en- 
 countered his grave dark eye, with a glance, 
 firm, calm, and dignified as his own. 
 
 " It is a melancholy task, Sir Bertrand de 
 la Croix," said the Grand Master, after a 
 momentary pause, " to judge and sentence trea- 
 chery and treason things, we would fain be- 
 lieve, could not exist with gallantry and courage. 
 Nevertheless, in the case of the unhappy man 
 who died this morning, we had proof that such 
 an union of crimes and virtues may take place, 
 and we have strong reason to believe that in you 
 also we have an example of the same. Putting 
 aside what we ourselves beheld, we have this 
 morning examined various witnesses, whose 
 evidence seems conclusive of your guilt. Yet 
 still, whatever you can bring forward in your 
 own defence shall be listened to attentively, and 
 have all due weight ; for, God knows, we would 
 willingly believe you innocent. The specific 
 charge against you is, having leagued with the 
 Turks, in consort with Andrew de Merail, once 
 a knight of this order, and having commu- 
 
88 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 nicated with the enemy, favoured his enterprises, 
 and finally led him on to the attack last night, 
 by which Rhodes has been more injured and 
 her garrison more weakened than by the whole 
 of the previous siege. The facts already proved 
 against you are, that you were the constant 
 friend and companion of the traitor De Merail 
 that you visited him disguised last night in 
 prison, and in consequence of a letter from the 
 Turkish commander, Peri, found upon his per- 
 son, that you concerted with him the means of 
 giving up the city to the Turks, by withdraw- 
 ing your men from the bastion of Auvergne - 
 that you went yourself to the Turkish camp ; 
 and that, in the certainty of success, you your- 
 self, with the men you had brought to Rhodes, 
 led on the infidel troops in their fatal attack of 
 the very post to which you were attached. The 
 witnesses are the page of the traitor Andrew 
 de Merail, the gaoler of the Tower of St. 
 Nicolas, two soldiers who opened for you the 
 sally-port of the post of Auvergne, and five 
 knights of St. John, who with ourselves wit- 
 nessed the fact of your leading on the Janizaries 
 to the breach last night." 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 89 
 
 Good faith, Sir Villiers de 1'Isle Adam," 
 replied the young soldier, " were the matter 
 less than life and death, it would make me 
 smile to see how cunningly a chain of evidence 
 may be woven, against an innocent man. Frown 
 not, Sir ! I charge you not, with seeking the 
 death of one who never injured you. I believe 
 you to be a good knight and true, if ever was : 
 but still I beg you to remember what commu- 
 nication I ever held with the infidels since 
 first I set my foot in Rhodes. That I have 
 leagued with them I acknowledge, but it was 
 as the tiger leagues with the wild bull, for 
 mutual destruction. That I have communi- 
 cated with them true ! but it has been with 
 my sword-edge to their brows and my dagger 
 in their hearts. They are my dear companions 
 in arms ! are they not? Have you not, all of 
 you, seen us mingle our hearts' blood together 
 in trench and in the breach, and holding each 
 other to our bosoms, let nothing part us but 
 death. Fie, fie ! ye knights of Rhodes, is it 
 thus ye repay your soldiers ? True, Grand 
 Master, I did visit De Merail in prison, true, 
 I did read the letter from the Bacha Peri, true, 
 
90 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 1 did go to the Turkish camp, but with no 
 friendly intent ; and before I set my foot beyond 
 the walls of Rhodes, I came to warn you of 
 your danger, if you would be warned, but you 
 refused me your presence. Even then I sent 
 one of my followers to seek you, to watch for 
 you, and to tell you to guard the bastion of 
 Auvergne, for there would be the true attack. 
 Doubtless he did his duty, and why you re- 
 peat not now that fact, I cannot tell. Last 
 night, however, was not my night to watch 
 the bastion of Auvergne, therefore I took not 
 my men from their duty when I sallied out 
 to the Turkish camp ; nor did I go thither 
 to league with enemies of the faith, but to 
 save from their hands a lady, and my love, 
 and where is the knight who dares to say I did 
 not right ?" 
 
 Bertrand de la Croix now proceeded to give 
 an exact detail of all that had occurred during 
 the preceding night, and it was evident that 
 the simple truth of his story had some effect. 
 His manner was calm and dignified, although 
 there was less of that cold haughtiness in it 
 than he usually displayed ; but still the brow 
 
BEJITRAND DE LA CROIX. 91 
 
 of the Grand Master and of the elder knights 
 retained their stern aspect, and after a brief 
 consultation, Villiers de 1'Isle Adam replied 
 
 " Your story, Sir, is plausible ; but we have 
 no proof, even though the deliverance of this 
 captive lady might take place through your 
 means, that you did not betray the city to the 
 Turks as the means of gaining her. The fact 
 of your having sought for me may have taken 
 place the fact of your having sent me warning 
 or message never did. No such warning reached 
 me. However, fearful of doing inj ustice, though 
 resolved to punish where punishment is deserved, 
 we give you two hours to seek through the 
 whole town the messenger you dispatched; 
 choose from the Knights of St. John any two in 
 whom you may place confidence, and on their 
 knighthood let them use every means within 
 that time to produce any proof that you even 
 attempted to warn the Order of the danger you 
 knew was about to befal it. Make your selec- 
 tion, and God speed their endeavours !" 
 
 " You, Sir John de Real ! and you, Sir Oli- 
 ver de Brissac," replied the prisoner, address- 
 ing two of the knights present, "if in your 
 
92 
 
 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 good courtesy you will so far trouble your- 
 selves, I will beg you to seek for one Peter 
 Dufarrel ; first let him be inquired for amongst 
 my own followers, and then through the town. 
 Bring him before the council let him be fairly 
 questioned what were his lord's last commands 
 before setting forth on his expedition last night. 
 If he speak not as I have spoken, strike off my 
 head !" 
 
 The knights willingly undertook the task. 
 Bertrand was removed, and the bonds taken 
 from his hands ; but moment after moment 
 passed, and no tidings of comfort or consolation 
 reached him. An hour went by, and then 
 another, and Bertrand was again led to the 
 council-chamber of the Order ; the cloud had 
 gathered deeper than before on the brow of the 
 Grand Master. 
 
 u The knights you yourself chose," he said, 
 in a slow and solemn voice, addressing the 
 young soldier, " have searched town and castle 
 in vain for the person you have named, and on 
 their honour they cannot discover him ; the 
 council have heard your case, and have patiently 
 examined it all. Traitors must not be left un- 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CRO1X. 93 
 
 punished, and it is, therefore, my painful duty to 
 doom you to death, Sir Bertrand de la Croix !" 
 
 " Hold !" exclaimed the young soldier, in a 
 firm, deep, powerful voice, in the clear steady 
 tone of which no note of fear could be heard. 
 " Hold, Villiers de Tlsle Adam ! and call me 
 not Bertrand de la Croix. Say rather, Fran- 
 cis, Duke of Nivelle yes, Sir, your nephew, 
 and the chief of your own house ! Now for- 
 ward with your sentence now that you know 
 that the innocent blood you are about to shed is 
 kindred to your own," and placing his hat and 
 plume upon his head, he fixed his proud dark 
 eye full upon the countenance of the Grand 
 Master. 
 
 A convulsive motion, springing from the 
 agony of his heart, passed twice over the face 
 of Villiers de Tlsle Adam ; but still the strug- 
 gle to do his duty, and his high sense of im- 
 partial justice, wrought powerfully against the 
 bonds of kindred and affection. His clenched 
 hand wrung the arm of the chair in which he 
 sat, his features became drawn and haggard, 
 his lip quivered, his eye strained upon the 
 fine noble countenance of his nephew, and 
 
94 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 then after several attempts he staggered up 
 from his seat, and strove to speak. Words 
 at first were wanting, but at length with a 
 dreadful effort he repeated twice, " I doom you 
 to death ! I doom you to death !" 
 
 " Not so ! not so !" cried several of the 
 knights present. " Hold, my lord ! hold !" 
 But at that moment the door of the hall was 
 forced open, and a pale ghastly man, covered 
 with bloody bandages, rushed into the hall, 
 followed by several surgeons of the hospital, 
 who strove in vain to hold him. 
 
 " He is delirious," cried the surgeon ; " let 
 him not near the Grand Master ! he is deli- 
 rious from a wound on his head, and raving 
 about some ring." 
 
 But the wounded man strode on, noticing no 
 one in the hall, and with a rapidity that per- 
 mitted no interruption. He approached the 
 Grand Master, cast himself at his feet, and 
 holding up a ring, he exclaimed, " I am not 
 mad, my lord ! Last night, my noble master, 
 the Duke of Nivelle, when sallying forth against 
 the Turks, bade me warn you to look to the 
 bastion of Auvergne. If he returned not before 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 95 
 
 the dawn, I was to give you this ring, and tell 
 you that he is dead. You struck me last night 
 and called me coward when I came to warn 
 you as my lord commanded. Strike me again 
 if you will I am ready to die, for my lord 
 is dead, and I have done his bidding !" 
 
 " God of Heaven !" cried the Grand Master. 
 " Pardon me, a sinner ! my rash haste has 
 caused me to strike an innocent man, and 
 nearly hurried me on to spill the guiltless blood 
 
 of my own brother's son." 
 
 ****** 
 
 But few words now remain to be said, and 
 few explanations to be given. The faithful 
 follower to whom the Duke of Nivelle had 
 entrusted his message to the Grand Master, 
 after having been driven, as we have seen, back 
 to the ramparts, mingled in the thickest of the 
 fight, in order to shame the name of coward, 
 with which he had been branded. He soon 
 fell under several wounds, and was carried to 
 the hospital of the Order, where he raved 
 wildly during the night, of the Grand Master 
 and the Duke of Nivelle, a name unknown in 
 the town of Rhodes. In the morning he asked 
 
96 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 wildly if the Duke had returned, and the sur- 
 geons fancying him delirious, replied in the 
 negative. He then strove to rise, but was pre- 
 vented for some hours, at the end of which, 
 however, he watched his opportunity, forced 
 his way out, and reached the presence of the 
 Grand Master, as detailed above. 
 
 The innocence of the young Duke of Nivelle 
 was now fully established, and he easily ex- 
 plained to his uncle the circumstances which 
 had led to the cold reserve and concealment he 
 had adopted. Having met and loved Isabel 
 de Merail in Spain, he had determined to win 
 her, by high deeds in favour of that order to 
 which her father had devoted himself. But 
 his own uncle, the Grand Master, having re- 
 fused the alliance when pressed in former days, 
 the young lover was afraid that his scheme 
 would meet opposition and obstruction, if he 
 made himself known to his relation, from whose 
 memory fifteen years had obliterated all traces 
 of his person. Lest any casual circumstance 
 should betray his secret also, he imposed upon 
 himself a stern system of reserve, which he 
 only broke through towards the father of her 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 97 
 
 he loved ; nor did he reveal himself to him 
 till he had won his regard. De Merail, who 
 had already bound himself to the Turks, gladly 
 seized a fresh means of punishing, as he 
 thought, the rival who had borne away the 
 highest dignity of the order from the hand he 
 stretched to grasp it, and willingly promised 
 his daughter to the Duke of Nivelle, though he 
 had at one time declared that fire and water 
 should as soon unite as his race with that of 
 Villiers de 1'Isle Adam. 
 
 When many mutual explanations had been 
 given between the Grand Master and his 
 nephew, the mind of the gallant Knight of 
 Rhodes reverted to all the splendid deeds he 
 had seen the young soldier perform in defence 
 of the order, and clasping him to his bosom, 
 he exclaimed, " How how could I ever think 
 you guilty ? But tell me, tell me, Nivelle 
 for it weighs like a load upon my heart, that 
 the same fatal errors which had nearly led to 
 your death, may have brought that wretched 
 man, De Merail, to the block without cause 
 tell me, was his sentence just ?" 
 
 " Be your heart at rest," replied the duke. 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
98 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 " He well deserved his fate ; but if I have served 
 the order of Rhodes if I have shed my blood 
 in its defence, never let the manner of his 
 death reach his daughter's ears. Let it be 
 buried in silence and hid in the bosom of the 
 order, for I would not for a world that my 
 bride's cheek should burn with the knowledge 
 that her father was a traitor." 
 
 Nor did she ever know it. Nivelle soon 
 clasped her again to his bosom, and did away 
 all her fears for his own safety. He had still, 
 however, the hard task of breaking to her the 
 loss of her parent, although his devotion to the 
 order of St. John had long deprived her of 
 his immediate care and near affection. To her 
 dying day she believed that he had fallen gal- 
 lantly in the defence of Rhodes, and in after 
 years when that island was mentioned, though 
 she thought of it with a sigh, there mingled 
 with her sorrow a touch of that pride with 
 which the knights themselves remembered their 
 long glorious resistance. 
 
 As all men know, Rhodes at length fell, but 
 it was not till her bulwarks were levelled with 
 the ground, and defenders reduced to less than 
 
BERTRAND DE LA CROIX. 99 
 
 a hundredth part of the force that assailed them. 
 Even then, a proud capitulation gave glory 
 both to the living and the dead ; and sailing 
 away from the island, for which they had so 
 nobly fought, the Grand Master and his knights 
 anchored at Setia, in the Island of Candia, 
 where Isabel de Merail gave her hand to him 
 who had so long possessed her heart. The 
 morning of their affection broke in storms and 
 tempests^ but now, when once the clouds had 
 passed away, the hours sped on in sunshine and 
 tranquillity, and a bright calm evening closed 
 the long summer day of their existence. 
 
 F 2 
 
HADDAD-BEN-AHAB ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE TRAVELLER. 
 A TALE OF STAMBOUL. 
 
 BY MR. GALT. 
 
 " Gramercy, Sir Traveller, it marvels me how you can 
 carry between one pair of shoulders, the weight of your 
 heavy wisdom ? Alack now ! would you but discourse me 
 of the wonders you saw ayont the Antipodes ! 
 
 " Peace, ignoranimous ! 'tis too good for thy ass's ears 
 to listen to. The world shall get it, caxtonized in a great 
 book." 
 
 The Traveller and the Simpleton. 
 
 HADDAD-BEN-AHAB was a very wise man, 
 and he had several friends, men of discernment, 
 and partakers of the wisdom of ages ; but they 
 were not all so wise as Haddad-Ben-Ahab. 
 
102 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 His sentences were short, but his knowledge 
 was long, and what he predicted generally came 
 to pass, for he did not pretend to the gift of 
 prophecy. The utmost he ever said in that way 
 was, that he expected the sun to rise to-morrow, 
 and that old age was the shadow of youth. 
 
 Besides being of a grave temperament, Had- 
 dad-Ben-Ahab was inclined to obesity ; he was 
 kindly and good-natured to the whole human 
 race; he even carried his benevolence to the 
 inferior creation, and often patted his dogs on 
 the head and gave them bones ; but cats he 
 could not abide. Had he been a rat he could 
 not have regarded them with more antipathy ; 
 and yet Haddad-Ben-Ahab was an excellent 
 man, who smoked his chibouque, with occa- 
 sional cups of coffee and sherbet, interspersed 
 with profound aphorisms on the condition of 
 man, and conjectures on the delights of paradise. 
 
 With his friends he passed many sun-bright 
 hours ; and if much talk was not heard among 
 them on these occasions, be it remembered, that 
 silence is often wisdom. The scene of their 
 social resort was a little koisk, in front of one 
 of the coffee-houses on the bank of the Tygris. 
 
HADDAD-BEN-AHAB. 103 
 
 No place in all Bagdad is so pleasantly situateii. 
 There the mighty river rolls in all the affluence 
 of his waters, pure as the unclouded sky, and 
 speckled with innumerable boats, while the 
 rippling waves, tickled as it were by the sum- 
 mer breezes, gamble and sparkle around. 
 
 This koisk was raised two steps from the 
 ground ; the interior was painted with all the 
 most splendid colours. The roof was covered 
 with tiles that glittered like the skin of the 
 Arabian serpent, and was surmounted with a 
 green dragon, which was painted of that impe- 
 rial hue, because Haddad-Ben-Ahab was de- 
 scended from the sacred progeny of Fatima, of 
 whom green is the everlasting badge, as it is of 
 Nature. Time cannot change it, nor can it be 
 impaired by the decrees of tyranny or of justice. 
 
 One beautiful day Haddad-Ben-Ahab and 
 his friends had met in this Koisk of Dreams, 
 and were socially enjoying the fragrant smoke of 
 their pipes, and listening to the refreshing un- 
 dulations of the river, as the boats softly glided 
 along for the waters lay in glossy stillness the 
 winds were asleep even the sunbeams seemed 
 to rest in a slumber on all things. The smoke 
 
104 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 stood on the chimney-tops, as if a tall visionary 
 tree grew out of each ; and the many-coloured 
 cloths in the yard of Orooblis, the Armenian 
 dyer, hung, unmolested by a breath. Orooblis 
 himself was the only thing, in that soft and 
 bright noon, which appeared on the land to be 
 animated with any purpose. 
 
 Orooblis was preparing a boat to descend the 
 Tygris, and his servants were loading it with 
 bales of apparel and baskets of provisions, 
 while he himself was in a great bustle, going 
 often between his dwelling-house and the boat, 
 talking loud and giving orders, and ever and 
 anon wiping his forehead, for he was a man 
 that delighted in having an ado. HJjyyvcU A . 
 
 Haddad-Ben-Ahab seeing Orooblis so ac- 
 tive, looked at him for some time ; and it so 
 happened that all the friends at the same moment 
 took their amber-headed pipes from their lips, 
 and said 
 
 u Where can Orooblis, the Armenian dyer, 
 be going ?" 
 
 Such a simultaneous interjection naturally 
 surprised them all, and Haddad-Ben-Ahab 
 added 
 
HADDAD-BEN-AHAB. 105 
 
 " I should like to go with him, and see 
 strange things, for I have never been out of the 
 city of Bagdad, save once to pluck pomegranates 
 in the garden of Beys-Addy-Boolk." And he 
 then rose and went to the boat which Orooblis 
 was loading, and spoke to him ; and when it was 
 ready, they seated themselves on board and 
 sailed down the Tygris, having much pleasant 
 discourse concerning distant lands and hills, 
 whose tops pierced the clouds, and were sup- 
 posed to be the pillars that upheld the crystal 
 dome of the heavens. 
 
 Haddad-Ben-Ahab rejoiced greatly as they 
 sailed along, and at last they came to a little 
 town, where Orooblis having business in dye- 
 stuffs to transact, went on shore, leaving his 
 friend. But in what corner of the earth this 
 little town stood Haddad-Ben-Ahab knew not ; 
 for, like other travellers, he was not provided 
 with much geographical knowledge. 
 
 But soon after the departure of Orooblis, he 
 thought he would also land and inquire. Accord- 
 ingly, taking his pipe in his hand, he stepped out 
 of the boat and went about the town, looking at 
 many things, till he came to a wharf, where a 
 F 3 
 
106 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 large ship was taking merchandise on board ; 
 and her sailors were men of a different com- 
 plexion from that of the watermen who plied 
 on the Tygris at Bagdad. 
 
 Haddad-Ben-Ahab looked at them, and as 
 he was standing near to where they were at 
 work, he thought that this ship afforded a bet- 
 ter opportunity than he had enjoyed with Oroo- 
 blis, to see foreign countries. He accordingly 
 went up to the captain and held out a handful 
 of money, and indicated that he was desirous to 
 sail away with the ship.. 
 
 When the captain saw the gold he was 
 mightily civil, and spoke to Haddad-Ben-Ahab 
 with a loud voice perhaps thinking to make 
 him hear was the way to make him understand. 
 But Haddad-Ben-Ahab only held up the fore- 
 finger of his right hand, and shook it to and 
 fro. In the end, however, he was taken on 
 board the ship, and no sooner was he there than 
 he sat down on a sofa, and drawing his legs up 
 under him, kindled his pipe and began to 
 smoke, much at his ease, making observations 
 with his eyes as he did so. 
 
 The first observation Haddad-Ben-Ahab 
 
HADDAD-BEN-AHAB. 10J 
 
 made was, that the sofa on which he had taken 
 his place was not at all like the sofas of Bagdad, 
 and therefore when he returned he would shew 
 that he had not travelled without profit, by 
 having one made exactly similar for his best 
 chamber, with hens and ducks under it, plea- 
 santly feeding . and joyously kackling and 
 quacking. And he also observed a remarkable 
 sagacity in the ducks, for when they saw he 
 was a stranger, they turned up the sides of 
 their heads and eyed him in a most curious and 
 inquisitive manner very different indeed to 
 the ducks of Bagdad. 
 
 When the ship had taken on board her cargo, 
 she spread her sails, and Haddad-Ben-Ahab 
 felt himself in a new situation ; for, presently 
 she began to lie over, and to plunge and revel 
 among the waves like a glad creature. But 
 Haddad-Ben-Ahab became very sick, and the 
 captain shewed him the way down into the in- 
 side of the vessel, where he went into a dark 
 bed, and, was charitably tended by one of the 
 sailors for many days. 
 
 After a season there was much shouting on 
 the deck of the ship, and Haddad-Ben-Ahab 
 
108 THE CLUB-BOOK, 
 
 crawled out of his bed, and went to the sofa, and 
 saw that the ship was near the end of her voyage. 
 
 When she had come to a bank where those 
 on board could step out, Haddad-Ben-Ahab 
 did so ; and after he had seen all the strange 
 things which were in the town where he thus 
 landed, he went into a baker's shop for they 
 eat bread in that town as they do in Bagdad 
 and bought a loaf, which having eaten, he 
 quenched his thirst at a fountain hard by, in 
 his ordinary manner of drinking, at which he 
 wondered exceedingly. 
 
 When he had solaced himself with all the 
 wonders of that foreign city, he went to a fakier, 
 who was holding two horses ready saddled ; 
 beautiful they were, and as the fakier signified 
 by signs, their hoofs were so fleet, that they 
 left the wind behind them. Haddad-Ben-Ahab 
 then shewed the fakier his gold, and mounted 
 one of the, horses, pointing with the shaft of 
 his pipe to the fakier to mount the other ; and 
 then they both rode away into the country, and 
 they found that the wind blew in their faces. 
 
 At last they came to a caravansary, where 
 the fakier bought a cooked hen and two onions, 
 
HADDAD-BEN-AHAB. 109 
 
 of which they both partook, and stretching 
 themselves before the fire which they had light- 
 ed in their chamber, they fell asleep and slept 
 until the dawn of day, when they resumed their 
 journey into remoter parts and nearer to the 
 wall of the world, which Haddad-Ben-Ahab 
 conjectured they must soon reach. They had 
 not, however, journeyed many days in the usual 
 manner, when they came to the banks of a large 
 river, and the fakier would go no further with 
 his swift horses. Haddad-Ben-Ahab was in 
 consequence constrained to pay and part from 
 him, and to embark in a ferry-boat to convey 
 him over the stream, where he found a strange 
 vehicle with four horses standing ready to carry 
 him on towards the wall of the world, " which 
 surely," said he to himself, " ought not to be 
 now far off?" 
 
 Haddad-Ben-Ahab shewed his gold again, 
 and was permitted to take a seat in the vehicle, 
 which soon after drove away ; and he remarked 
 in a most sagacious manner, that nothing in 
 that country was like the things in his own ; 
 for the houses and trees, and all things ran 
 away as the vehicle came up to them ; and when 
 
110 THE CLUB BOOK. 
 
 it gave a jostle, they gave a jump ; which he 
 noted as one of the most extraordinary things 
 he had seen since he left Bagdad. 
 
 At last, H add ad-Ben- Ahab came to the foot 
 of a lofty green mountain, with groves and jo- 
 cund villages, which studded it as it were with 
 gems and shining ornaments, and he said, 
 " This must be the wall of the world, for surely 
 nothing can exist on the other side of these 
 hills ! but I will ascend them and look over, 
 for I should like to tell my friends in Bagdad 
 what is to be seen on the outside of the earth." 1 
 Accordingly he ascended the green mountain, 
 and he came to a thick forest of stubby trees : 
 " This is surprising, 1 ' said Haddad-Ben-Ahab, 
 "but higher 1 will yet go." And he passed 
 through that forest of trees and came to a steep 
 moorland part of the hill, where no living thing 
 could be seen, but a solitude without limit, and 
 the living world all glittering at the foot of the 
 mountain. 
 
 " This is a high place," said Haddad-Ben- 
 Ahab, " but I will yet go higher,"* and he 
 began to climb with his hands. After an upward 
 journey of great toil he came to a frozen region, 
 
HADD AD-BE tf-AHAB. Ill 
 
 and the top of the wall of the world was still 
 far above him. He was, however, none daunted 
 by the distance, but boldly held on in the ascent, 
 and at last he reached the top of the wall. But 
 when he got there, instead of a region of fog 
 and chaos, he only beheld another world much 
 like our own, and he was greatly amazed, and 
 exclaimed with a loud voice " Will my friends 
 in Bagdad believe this ? but it is true, and I 
 will so tell them."" So he hastened down the 
 mountain and went with all the speed he could 
 back to Bagdad : saying, " Bagdad," and giving 
 gold to every man he met, until he reached the 
 Koisk of Dreams, where his friends were smok- 
 ing and looking at the gambols of the Tygris. 
 
 When the friends of Haddad-Ben-Ahab saw 
 him approach, they respectively took their pipes 
 from their mouths and held them in their left 
 hands, while they pressed their bosoms with 
 their right, and received him with a solemn 
 salaam, for he had been long absent, and all 
 they in the meantime had heard concerning 
 him was only what Orooblis, the Armenian 
 dyer, on his return told them : namely, that he 
 was gone to the wall of the world, which limits 
 
J12 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 the travels of man. No wonder then that they 
 rejoiced with an exceeding gladness to see him 
 return and take his place in the koisk among 
 them, as if he had never been a day's journey 
 away from Bagdad. 
 
 They then questioned him about his adven- 
 tures, and he faithfully related to them all 
 the wonders which have been set forth in our 
 account of the journey, upon which they de- 
 clared he had made himself one of the sages of 
 the earth. 
 
 Afterwards they each made a feast, to which 
 they invited all the philosophers in Bagdad, 
 and Haddad-Ben-Ahab was placed in the seat 
 of honour, and being courteously solicited, told 
 them of his travels, and every one cried aloud 
 
 " God is great, and Mahomet is his prophet !" 
 
 When they had in this manner banqueted, 
 Haddad-Ben-Ahab fell sick, and there was 
 a great talk concerning the same. Some said 
 he was very ill ; others shook their heads and 
 spoke not ; but the world is full of envy and 
 hard-heartedness, and those who were spiteful 
 because of the renown which Haddad-Ben- 
 Ahab, as a traveller who had visited the top 
 
HADDAD-BEN-AHAB. 113 
 
 of the wall of the world with so much cou- 
 rage, had acquired, jeered at his malady, 
 saying, he had been only feasted over much. 
 Nevertheless Haddad-Ben-Ahab died; and 
 never was such a funeral seen in all Bagdad, 
 save that of the Caliph Mahoud commonly 
 called the Magnificent. Such was the admi- 
 ration in which the memory of the traveller 
 was held, the poets made dirges on the oc- 
 casion, and mournful songs were heard in the 
 twilight from the windows of every harem. 
 Nor did the generation of the time content 
 itself with the ceremonies of lamentation : they 
 caused a fountain to be erected, which they 
 named the Fountain of Haddad-Ben-Ahab, the 
 Traveller; and when the slaves go to fetch 
 water, they speak of the wonderful things he 
 did, and how he was on the top of the wall 
 of the world, and saw the outside of the earth ; 
 so that his memory lives for ever among them, 
 as one of the greatest, the wisest, and the 
 bravest of men. 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 
 
 BY MR. POWER.' 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE hot south-east wind had prevailed 
 all day, and cast gloom and languor over 
 the lovely valley of Salmona a spot wor- 
 thy of having given birth to the amiable 
 Naso ; that immortal poet, whose glowing 
 imagination has so truly painted those " charm- 
 ing agonies of love, whose misery delights." 
 
 * Author of " The Lost Heir," "The King's Secret," 
 " Married Lovers," &c. 
 
116 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 It was near to that spot, still known to 
 the peasantry as La Bottega tfOvidio, that 
 the young Donna Constanza stayed her eager 
 palfrey to let him drink of the limpid stream 
 of Gli Fonte tfAmore. Notwithstanding the 
 sickening oppression of the malaria, now fast 
 pervading the heated breeze, the flush of 
 hope and happiness sat upon the maiden's brow, 
 and the smile of youthful joy played around her 
 pouting lips. While her horse sucked up the 
 cooling draught, a voice from beneath called out 
 in low but musical tones, 
 
 " Gentil' Donna," two several times, before 
 she could recognise whence it proceeded. 
 
 " Gen til' Donna," said the voice, a third time, 
 " fling a ducat on the margin of Gli Fonte 
 cTAmore, and I'll read you your fortune." 
 
 The lady now discerned the speaker, where 
 he lay stretched at full length beneath the thick 
 olive that shaded one side of the spring. 
 
 " This is no hour to have fortune read," 
 replied the donna ; " but here^s a gold zechino 
 for thy good wishes, for truly never did I 
 need fortune more. Here, Andreas, rein up 
 thy steed, and bear the coin to him." 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 
 
 " Touch it not, Messer Andreas," sharply 
 cried the first speaker, addressing the waiting 
 servitor, " 'twill blister thy fingers else." 
 
 Andreas instinctively started from the prof- 
 fered gold ; the speaker laughed, and in a 
 softened tone continued : 
 
 " Fling it thou upon the flowery turf, made 
 ever verdant by the waters of Gli Fonte 
 d'Amore : fling it freely down, and thy love, 
 lady, shall never know cross again." 
 
 A deep suffusion passed over the cheek of 
 Constanza. 
 
 " The Baron is in sight, Donna," announced 
 Andreas. 
 
 " Then let us ride on," she replied, as, with 
 a look that seemed to say, I would hear more 
 if occasion suited, she flung the coin towards 
 the prophet ; and, giving her spirited palfrey the 
 rein, she galloped lightly on towards the Castello. 
 
 " Your fortune is read molto beato, and may 
 your star never shine less brightly than at this 
 hour," cried the man, springing up, and dis- 
 playing the well-known equipment of the 
 Zingaroor\e of a race, half bandit, half 
 gipsy, who were, at this period, thickly lo- 
 
118 THE CLUB-BOOK. . V^ 
 
 cated about the wild mountain track lying 
 between Isernia and Popoli, and extending 
 from the lake of Celano across the Maronne 
 and Matesse. In his hand he bore a staff, 
 full nine feet long, this was his only apparent 
 weapon ; from his neck hung a rudely formed 
 guitar, a long hair-net constrained his luxuriant 
 black locks, and a large-leafed hat lay back upon 
 his shoulders, sustained by a narrow leather 
 strap passed across his forehead. His nether 
 man was clad in loose breeches of dark yellow 
 cotton, drawn tight below the knee ; a greave- 
 shaped leathern gaiter covered his leg nearly to 
 the ancle, where it was met by the lacing of the 
 rude sandal, which barely protected the sole 
 of the foot. A short closely-fitted jerkin of 
 deer-skin, and a very large capa of coarse 
 black cloth, completed the wardrobe of the 
 very picturesque-looking youth, who, leaning 
 on his staff, watched the receding figure of 
 the beautiful Constanza. There was a yellow- 
 ish tint in his complexion, which would have 
 given a sickly character to the countenance, but 
 that it was more than counteracted by the 
 lustrous brightness of his large black eyes, the 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABitUZZO. 119 
 
 redness of his lips, and a set of teeth, which, 
 from their strength and whiteness, seemed 
 formed for eternity. In figure, he was about 
 the middle height ; his limbs light and long, 
 denoting both strength and elasticity. 
 
 As the cortege of the Baron drew near, the 
 youth thus minutely described moved round 
 the spring, and having picked from the turf 
 the piece of gold, rapidly darted away ; and 
 by the aid of his pole, readily clearing the many 
 streams which intersected the meadow, made 
 for the olive-grove, which covered one side of 
 the steep hill leading to the Castello. 
 
 This was the day of the festival of the patron 
 saint of the Monastery of the Annunziata, and 
 in despite of the sirocco, the Baron de Mirialva 
 had attended the ceremony, in company with 
 his niece. They had left the castle at day- 
 break, and were now returning from the mo- 
 nastery, accompanied by some of the neigh- 
 bouring nobility. It was oh this day, in the 
 church of the Annunziata, Constanza had re- 
 covered the smiles stolen from her brow, ever 
 since the hour her uncle first announced the 
 feud which separated her from Lugi Con- 
 
120 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 radini, her long-affianced and heart-chosen 
 lord. It was from the hand of a mendicant 
 palmer, to whom she tendered alms, in the 
 gloomy aisles of the church, she received the 
 electric touch which imparted new life to her 
 heart. It was from beneath that pilgrim's 
 hood the glances shot, which had kindled anew 
 the fire of joy in her eyes ; and it was to read the 
 letter of love, hidden next her beating heart, 
 whose lines, indeed, were to decide her fate, that 
 she now spurred homeward so freely, heedless 
 of the heat of sun or air. 
 
 The same day was far advanced, when the 
 gipsy stood close before the noble gate of the 
 Castell de Mirialva, and whilst tuning his 
 guitar, the wanderer's constant recommenda- 
 tion, disturbed the rest of the pampered porter 
 who sat within its shade. 
 
 " Peace, and quit thy thrumming, rogue ; 
 thou cannot expect to steal aught here," growled 
 the unmusical servitor ; " what wouldst thou ?" 
 
 " Something to eat, and somewhere to shel- 
 ter me within these ample walls," replied the 
 youth sadly ; "see you the threatening storm ?" 
 
 " Diavolo, Zingaro !" rejoined the porter, 
 " thou must have profited little by thy being 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 121 
 
 ing up, if a coming storm or a night's lying 
 in the air, with a grey stone pillow, and a 
 sky-coloured coverlid can give thee much 
 care." 
 
 " But, charity, good Signer Castellan !" 
 " Aye, aye, I am charitable to the real 
 necessitoso, even to overflowing, and give abun- 
 dantly to the worthy Fathers of San Dominico. 
 The Convent of Monte Garigliano is hardly a 
 league lower down ; and if thou usest lightly 
 those long legs of thine, thou mayest yet cross 
 the torrent, before the mountain-waters find 
 their way there. The holy fathers are excellent 
 judges of the proper objects of compassion; 
 go, tinkle thy guitar at their gate, and see if 
 thy Zingaro ditties may win thee straw and a 
 supper. Ho, ho ! Pah ! that puff of malaria 
 was the very breath of Satan ; the true blast 
 of the sirocco away, rogue ! Off from he por- 
 tal, and let me close out thy ill-breathing, and 
 thy master, the Devil's, together it will not 
 harm thee, 'tis thy native air ; so good night, 
 poveretto." 
 
 " The malaria be your only breathing, son 
 of a ban-dog, until your bloated form be as 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
122 
 
 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 black and as foul as the heart within it !" mut- 
 tered the repulsed suppliant, as he turned from 
 the closely-barred portal of the Castello, and 
 fixed his eyes upon the mighty masses of cloud 
 now fast descending on every side, obscuring 
 the close of day, and creating a premature 
 night, by colouring every object with their 
 sickly saffron hue, only contrasted by the fiery 
 glare of the vivid lightning, shot at intervals 
 from their laden bosoms. 
 
 A few heavy rain-drops, splashing upon the 
 hard and thirsty soil, gave note of the coming 
 storm, and promised a speedy termination to 
 the sirocco that had blown all day. Though 
 it was Iate 3 the birds, by a sudden quick and 
 lively note, seemed to offer up thanks to the 
 God of Nature for the relief about to be afforded 
 them. The leaves of the olive, too, emitted 
 a gentle rustling sound, as if eager to court 
 the coming gale, that with cool breath began 
 already to puff back the baleful blast, under 
 whose withering influence all beneath the sky 
 had seemed to droop and sicken. 
 
 " 'Twill be a heavy fall, and soon too," 
 muttered the gipsy, as after a moment's ob- 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 123 
 
 servation of the heavens, he leaned upon his staff, 
 and glanced about him ; " and not a chance of 
 shelter, except I crawl like a hound under some 
 projection of these walls, upon which my curse 
 should light, but that I watched the fair form 
 of her who flung me this zechino, gallop lightly 
 beneath them. Gold, humph ! if I were in a 
 city now, this would win me supper and shel- 
 ter from Christian or Pagan ; but of what use 
 is it upon the mountain ? A thousand such 
 pieces would not bribe yon over-laden cloud to 
 bear its waters a league further, and leave me 
 in a dry skin. No ! man alone knows its influ- 
 ence, and the ring of this tiny bit of yellow 
 metal would thrill even to the heart of the churl 
 who now bars me in the storm, would even 
 charm him to change hands and touch cup with 
 the Zingaro. Sformato ! if ever we meet on 
 the mountain, I'll read thee a true fortune ; 
 aye, and see to its fulfilment too, even as near to 
 the end of thy life, as may well be with safety." 
 The glance that accompanied this promise 
 fully vouched for the sincerity of the speaker, 
 who now pulled over his brows the large leafed 
 hat which had hitherto lain upon his shoulders, 
 
124 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 drew the hanging part of his hair-net tightly 
 under his throat, and, folding his coarse 
 capa closely about his person, seemed fully 
 prepared to abide the pitiless pelting of the 
 coming maestro, as with a quick and stealthy 
 pace he turned the leeward angle of the Casa. 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 125 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 'TWAS about the second hour of morning, 
 the storm had done its errand, and was passed 
 away, and the dome of heaven shewed clear 
 and unclouded. The cool breeze blew freshly, 
 and formed a singular contrast to the dull 
 suffocating wind that had prevailed during the 
 preceding day ; the deep shadows of the Castello 
 were flung far down the side of the hill upon 
 which it was reared, and the only sound that 
 broke on Nature's repose, was the distant roar 
 of the swollen waters of the Pescara. A tall 
 and stately cavalier was eagerly climbing the 
 
126 THE CLUB-BOOK, 
 
 most precipitate part of the hill, over which 
 hung a large projecting window ; he halted as 
 he arrived beneath it, and after gazing in 
 silence for an instant, eagerly unwound his 
 scarf, and waved it to and fro in the air. 
 
 " No," he at length murmured, in a tone 
 of bitter disappointment ; " there is no hope ; 
 the light has long been extinguished, and she 
 has despaired of my coming. I would I had 
 plunged into the torrent that detained me, 
 death would have been less painful than the 
 eternal misery of hope delayed could I yet 
 apprize her that I am here without noise but 
 how ? Stephano is with the horses, and I 
 could as soon scale the Duomo as reach that 
 cursed window. I would give a thousand du- 
 cats to see it fairly opened." 
 
 " A bargain, Signor Cavaliero," was at once 
 whispered, in a clear and distinct, though low 
 tone, which seemed to rise close from beneath 
 the Signer's feet ; he cast his eyes downwards, 
 and observed, rolled up in a coin of the buttress, 
 immediately under shelter of the window, a 
 dark looking mass, from out of which a pair of 
 twinkling eyes were fixed intensely upon him. 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE .ABRUZZO. ! 27 
 
 " Who art thou ?" he demanded, fiercely, 
 " lying coiled up there like the lynx of the 
 Abruzzo ? Come forth quickly, and shew thy 
 form and errand, or 111 unkennel thee else with 
 the point of my spada." 
 
 " Don't do that, Signor," again whispered 
 the voice ; " don't do that, for when tickled, I 
 have an ugly trick of laughing loud enough to 
 be heard at a round league, and listeners might 
 choose to seek out the joke sooner than you 
 could be prepared to join in it." 
 
 " Come forth, sirrah knave, and fear not 
 only inform me what thou hast been doing in 
 that lair, and why there at all?" 
 
 " Veramente, Signer, I am here for lack of 
 better shelter, and have been doing what I still 
 had done but for your coming, sleeping sound 
 as the cat sleeps ; my ear is quick, Signor, and 
 my eye is quicker. I know you, Luigi Conra- 
 dini) and could guess your present business here, 
 aye, and could help you to do it into the bargain." 
 
 " And what are you that read me this 
 riddle ?" 
 
 " One who lives by riddles, a Zingaro," 
 answered the speaker, rising nimbly to his full 
 
328 
 
 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 height, and shaking about him the folds of his 
 capa. 
 
 " Ha ! methinks I have seen thy face before, 
 friend !" 
 
 " And I am sure I have seen yours, Signer. 
 Zingaro never yet for got the face of friend or foe." 
 
 " Am I then to conclude myself recognized 
 as the former, since you so readily proffer ser- 
 vice ?" 
 
 " Not more promptly, Signer, than you ex- 
 tended it to me twelve months agone this very 
 day, in the wood of Venafro, when the king's 
 hounds turned off the trail of the deer to nose 
 me, where I lay perdu under a tree, watching 
 the chase, and the chasseurs were going to hang 
 me up as a scare-crow for throwing them out- 
 aye, and but for your prompt word had done it 
 too. Now, Signor, what can I do to repay 
 the obligation ? Fear not to trust me, I am 
 your's to the death for gratitude, like ven- 
 geance, should be senza limito." 
 
 " I fear me, Zingaro, that thy service, though 
 honestly and freely proffered, may little avail 
 me in this strait, unless thou hast wit to con- 
 jure me into yonder window, or give warning 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABEUZZO. 129 
 
 in a whisper to her, who no longer watches, 
 that he whom she loves is here. 1 ' 
 
 " Humph ! both may be contrived, and 
 without aid of the devil, if you, Signor, can 
 afford to part with a portion of your dignity, 
 and putting forth the native strength of your 
 manhood, so become my bearer for a brief space." 
 
 " I do not rightly comprehend, but fear not 
 my compliance ; if thou canst but make it ap- 
 pear, that by bearing thee I may enter yon 
 chamber but pshaw ! the thing has no like- 
 lihood ; that window is a good twenty feet from 
 the ground we tread on."" 
 
 " Ha, ha ! I have scaled a higher wall to 
 rob a meal of flour from the Fornajo, and for 
 the wealth and beauty that await thee ! Ammo, 
 Luigi Conradini ! stand on this bench ; so why 
 there's two feet less distance between thee and 
 thy mistress already Now take this pole, and 
 drive the iron point into the opposite buttress 
 with all thy might, and as high above head as 
 may be ; strike manfully for thy lady^s love." 
 The count raised his arm, and the point of the 
 staff was buried between the huge stones. 
 
 "Well stricken, Signor," cried the Gipsy ; " now 
 G 3 
 
130 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 lend me that silken scarf; elevate thine arms to the 
 uttermost so, now hold firm the pole, and stand 
 fast, for my limbs may be periled, if thine fail." 
 
 Agilely springing upon Conte LuigPs shoul- 
 ders, the Gipsy next stepped lightly upon the 
 tough pole, which the lover with his vigorous 
 arms bore above his head, pressing against the 
 point which rested in the opposite wall ; once at 
 this elevation, he dexterously threw the scarf 
 round one of the frightfully carved heads which 
 projected by way of ornament from the ends of 
 the beams that supported the window, and 
 seemed to grin defiance on all below ; this done, 
 to twist the two parts of the scarf together, and 
 climb up by shifting his hands alternately one 
 over the other, with the lightness and nimbleness 
 of a marmot, was the work of a moment. 
 
 He tried the casement it yielded to the 
 touch, and the long-desired haven stood 
 open before the anxiously watching lover of 
 Constanza, who, making a sign to his assistant, 
 quickly drew from his cloak a light but strong 
 ladder of silken cordage, and flinging up one 
 end to be hooked to the window's edge, fas- 
 tened the other to the rude bench below, and 
 promptly mounting entered the chamber. 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 131 
 
 " The thousand ducats are mine," whispered 
 the gipsy-boy in the ear of the Count. 
 
 " They will not be the moiety of thy re- 
 ward," answered Conradini eagerly, " if I this 
 night succeed in my hopes." 
 
 " Basta, Signor," rejoined the successful 
 climber, "let me first rub out the debt con- 
 tracted in the forest of Venafro, before we 
 begin a new score/ 1 
 
 " This apartment, 1 ' continued the count, u is 
 one of the suite occupied by Constanza ; her 
 dressing-room should be somewhere near the 
 window on the right hand. Ah ! during our 
 days of happiness, I knew well each turning 
 in these apartments ; and did the good old 
 Marchese, her father, still live, I need not now 
 be seeking my affianced bride by night, and in 
 darkness, as a thief seeks his prey." 
 
 " Why, I fancy I feel more at home in the 
 darkness than you do, Signor," interrupted the 
 gipsy, as they felt along the wall. " Ha 1 
 perchance here is the very door ; a light within 
 too ! by your leave, Messer Key ; all is well 
 Eccola, Signor ; condescend to place your eye 
 here and behold her whom you seek." 
 
132 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 The count instinctively obeyed. It was in- 
 deed Constanza ; she was still equipped as if 
 for the saddle, except that she had thrown 
 aside her hat and plume. Her beautiful coun- 
 tenance was suffused with the tears still falling 
 upon an open letter that lay upon the table 
 before her, and with whose contents she was 
 intensely occupied. A half-uttered exclama- 
 tion from the count reached her ear; she 
 listened with doubting eagerness a low tap 
 was next heard on the door, and " Constanza" 
 was softly whispered, in thpse tones in which 
 none ever breathed her name, save only one. 
 She started on to her feet, and gazed timidly 
 around, passing her hand across her forehead. 
 The next moment she had flung wide the 
 chamber-door, and the swart form of the 
 Zingaro stood before her ! She saw no more ; 
 a wild piercing scream burst from her lips, 
 and covering her face with her hands, she 
 sank senseless into the arms of her betrothed 
 husband, Luigi Conradini. 
 
 " Diavolo ! Signor, was it your looks or mine 
 that so terrified the donna ?" 
 
 " We are lost !" exclaimed the count, "lost be- 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 133 
 
 yond hope ; her loud scream must have alarmed 
 the household, and my life will be the sacrifice 
 to her guardian uncle^s anger and revenge." 
 
 " Nay, then," cried his companion, " resign 
 thy senseless prize, and let us two fly ; 'tis ill 
 arguing with an angry guardian on his own 
 ground." 
 
 " Not so, but do tliou leave me, good fellow ; 
 take this purse and fly ; for myself, I will abide 
 the worst, and die, rather than again be separ- 
 ated from her for whom alone I wish to live." 
 
 A distant noise, as if of approaching footsteps, 
 was now heard. The Zingaro paused for a mo- 
 ment, as he quietly put aside the proffered gold ; 
 he cast his eyes on the senseless form of Con- 
 stanza, over which the count fondly hung ; 
 then, as if suddenly having resolved and de- 
 cided on his course, he exclaimed, taking the 
 hand of the lady 
 
 " I this day read you a fair fortune, Donna, 
 and it must be fulfilled ; take up your mistress, 
 Signor, and bear her down the ladder." 
 
 " 'Tis useless, worthy fellow : already I hear 
 the sound of advancing feet at the end of the 
 
 O 
 
 corridor ; we should be pursued and seized 
 
134* THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 ere I could bear this dear burthen half 
 way down the hill to where my good horses 
 wait." 
 
 " You shall not be pursued. I will remain 
 behind, will close down the window, lead them 
 on a wrong scent, and so win you ample time 
 away, come !" 
 
 " How ! you remain ! but your life will " 
 
 " I know, I know, Signer ; my neck will 
 be put in some jeopardy, but that is an every- 
 day venture if I 'scape, so if not, at worse, 
 hanging is the natural death of our race, and 
 I am already some twelve months older than 
 I should have been, but for your interference 
 so I owe you a death. Ha ! they are getting 
 impatient without ; so courage, Signer, the 
 fresh air revives her already there, throw your 
 cloak round her head ; let her not again get 
 sight of my face to terrify her anew. Ha, ha, 
 ha ! I never judged before it was so forbidding 
 to the sex." 
 
 A violent hammering was now heard on the 
 outer door of the corridor, together with the 
 baron's voice ordering it to be broken down. 
 The count and his lovely prize were by this 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 135 
 
 time at the foot of the ladder he looked back 
 to the gipsy, and urged him to descend. 
 
 " Down with thee, my brave lad, and try 
 thy fortune with us P 
 
 " You were lost if I did that,'' answered 
 the youth coolly. " Adieu, Luigi Conradini. 
 Tell the Donna 'twas I who yesterday read her 
 fortune by the waters Gli Fonti (TAmore. And 
 hark ! should the aged of our race ever cross your 
 path, fling a coin in their way for my sake, and 
 confess that the gratitude of lo Zingaro is 
 senza limito" 
 
 He closed the window with the last word, and 
 softly entering the chamber of Constanza, had 
 just time to secure the lock, when the outer door 
 was burst open, and the baron appeared, sur- 
 rounded by a crowd of half-dressed domestics, 
 who all eagerly pressed forward, alarmed at the 
 thought of their young lady's danger. 
 
 " All here is quiet," said the baron, after 
 looking about him for a moment ; " are you sure 
 it was the Donna Constanza's voice you heard, 
 calling for help ?" 
 
 <e Per certo, Signer," answered a domestic, 
 " and when first I listened at the outer door, 
 
136 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 I heard more than one voice whispering in this 
 very room." ',\ 
 
 " And I," said another, " heard the most 
 fearful scream."" 
 
 " Scream ! several screams you mean, or 
 Heaven mend your hearing," added a third. 
 
 " Peace, knaves !" said the baron, as he 
 knocked at his niece's chamber. All were si- 
 lent, but no answer was returned ; repeating 
 his summons in a louder key, he next called 
 upon her within but to assure him of her 
 safety : still echo was his only reply. " The 
 girl has not surely been mad enough to attempt 
 her life, for love of the foolish boy, to whom 
 her father in his dotage betrothed her ? Here, 
 Jocope, try thy hammer on this door." 
 
 This command was immediately followed by 
 a storm of blows upon the door, under which, 
 after a gallant resistance, the stout cedar at 
 length gave way, and the hallowed sanctuary 
 of beauty lay open to the profanation of the 
 vulgar gaze. 
 
 The domestics hung back, from a mingled 
 feeling of respect and apprehension, and ,the 
 baron alone entered the chamber. All within 
 
THE GIPSY" OF THE ABRUZZO. 137 
 
 bore testimony to the taste and elegance 
 of the inhabitant, but shewed not any sign of 
 violence or even discomposure. Upon the table 
 stood an extinguished taper, and near it lay 
 the guitar and music, last touched by the fair 
 hand of Constanza. A velvet curtain hung 
 before the recess in which stood her couch ; 
 this was lowered, and as the baron gently drew 
 it aside he perceived the bed was occupied. 
 
 " This," he cried, in astonishment, " is most 
 strange, surely the wilful girl is moon-struck ; 
 Constanza, answer me ! Constanza !" he re- 
 peated, striking the coverlid violently with his 
 hand. " Nay, this foolery is too much for 
 patience ; therefore, bring lights here, knaves. 
 Fair lady,by your leave; for your face I will see, 
 and your voice I will hear, ere I sleep again." 
 
 " You must ride hard, or watch long, then, 
 Grandissimo" cried the occupant, rising up 
 as the baron laid his hand upon the bed. The 
 attendants rolled back upon each other in af- 
 fright ; even the stout Mirialva recoiled, as if 
 he had touched a torpedo. 
 
 Well might the nerves of the Donna Con- 
 stanza quail beneath the glance of the Zingaro 
 
138 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 as he now appeared. His capa was dis- 
 coloured by the red soil he had so long lain 
 upon ; his long elfin locks, escaped from 
 their thraldom during the storm, hung in 
 wild disorder about his face, whilst his eyes, 
 full of the excitement that stirred within him, 
 blazed with an almost unearthly brightness. 
 
 "Devil!" exclaimed the baron, after reco- 
 vering from the surprise of this most unexpect- 
 ed vision, " what has led thy fiend-like carcase 
 to so unfitting a resting-place ?" 
 
 " The stars," was the prompt reply, uttered 
 with an oracular wave of the hand ; " the stars, 
 which govern and decide our destinies, and 
 with whose mighty influence it were as vain to 
 contend, as to puff a feather against the raging 
 blast of the maestro, or stay the determined 
 will of woman's first love." 
 
 " Dog of a cursed breed ! thou shalt find it 
 was an evil star led thee to thrust thy handy- 
 work between me and my will ! Where is my 
 niece ? Speak, hast thou murdered her ?" 
 
 " The blood of woman never yet followed 
 blow of mine ; nor ever did the lust of gold 
 lead me to thrust my will between her and her 
 heart's choice." 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 139 
 
 " Peace, slave ! Answer thou my questioning, 
 and utter word more or less than to that end, and 
 I'll have thy saucy tongue torn from its foul 
 root. Thou canst tell the course she has taken ?" 
 
 " Aye, if you once put me upon her track, 
 my eye is keen enough to distinguish the light 
 foot of a lady from the spur of the lynx." 
 
 " Who is her companion ?" 
 
 " At this minute it would be wild to swear 
 that ; some time has past since I last saw her, 
 and women at the best are variable in their 
 fancies." 
 
 " Holy Mother ! the unblest churl juggles 
 with my patience. Ho, there ! drag this foul 
 carrion from out the bed ; strip the deer's hide 
 from his back, and lash him till he learn 
 straight speech." 
 
 On the Gipsy's being hauled from the couch, 
 and placed upright on the floor, his limbs 
 apparently refused their wonted service, and he 
 at once sunk down like a thing wholly bereft of 
 bone and muscle ; this dogged and passive resis- 
 tance being the only opposition he thought fit to 
 offer, he was quickly raised upon the shoulders 
 of four stout fellows, and borne to the hall ; 
 
140 
 
 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 where, still refusing to stand, his jerkin was 
 slashed with knives from his back, and with 
 such little care, that blood was seen to follow 
 more than one blade. In this work, Jocope, 
 the surly porter, was conspicuously officious. 
 
 " We'll make it more difficult for you to 
 stand, ere we're done dealing on your swart 
 hide !" whispered the fellow, as he assisted in 
 dragging the prisoner's arms round the marble 
 pillar they were made to embrace. When 
 bound, with the upper part of his body exposed 
 and naked for the lash, Jocope approached him, 
 armed with a heavy whip. " I owe thee my 
 service, son of Satan," he whispered in his vic- 
 tim's ear. " What, thou wouldst have tricked 
 me into taking thee under shelter of the Cas- 
 tello, to cut our throats, as well as spirit away 
 my young lady, eh ! But for once thou hadst 
 to deal with thy master." 
 
 " Thou didst deal wisely in barring me out, 
 truly, Spietato /" replied the gipsy, with a 
 bitter smile of triumph. 
 
 " Lay on, and spare not !" impatiently cried 
 the baron, and he seated himself to see the 
 cruel order fully carried into effect. 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 141 
 
 The stalwart arm of the ruffian porter plied 
 his instrument of torture with such coolness and 
 skill, that a streak of red marked the course of 
 every lash. With eyes and teeth firmly compres- 
 sed, and without suffering a groan to escape him, 
 the wretched youth bore for awhile his punish- 
 ment ; even the fiercely exerted strength of his 
 torturer began to flag, when turning his eyes 
 towards the baron, the sufferer cried, " Hold .'" 
 At a sign the next blow was suspended. 
 
 " What, thou hast found thy tongue ?" de~ 
 manded Mirialva. 
 
 " And how am I to be benefited by using it 
 according to your will ?" 
 
 " Thou shalt have a couch of straw and bread 
 and water till to-morrow ; then a strong cord and 
 a fair spring from the top of the castle-gate." 
 
 " Hum ! fair offers and tempting ! what if 
 I still keep silence ?" 
 
 " Thou shalt be now flogged as near to thy 
 death as maybe done on this holy Sabbath morn," 
 sternly replied Mirialva, " and on the morrow 
 shall await thee a like punishment, to be con- 
 tinued until thy dark spirit be dismissed to the 
 hell it sprung from I" 
 
142 
 
 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 "Umph ! unbind me!" calmly said the Gipsy. 
 61 I choose straw and a supper, the long cord and 
 the free spring ; but, hold ! you will not, after 
 squeezing me dry, put me again under lash ?" 
 
 " I have promised thee respite until Monday 
 morn ; wilt thou not take the given word of a 
 Roman Baron ?" 
 
 " As readily as you would take Zingaro oath, 
 sworn on the ROOD ! Touch with your lips the 
 cross of your dagger, and on it swear to keep 
 faith with me, or my lips are again sealed, and 
 for ever !" 
 
 " Unbelieving miscreant!" exclaimed the ba- 
 ron, starting in rage from his seat ; " I am well- 
 enough minded to put thy stoutness to the proof." 
 
 Prudence, however, and the desire of a nobler 
 victim for revenge overruled this momentary 
 burst of passion. Making, therefore, the pre- 
 scribed oath, he again took his seat. 
 
 " A draught of water to moisten my parched 
 throat, and my cloak to cover over my shame, 
 and then your questions, Signer, I am ready to 
 answer. 1 ' 
 
 Water was brought, and the capa thrown 
 upon his lacerated shoulders. He calmly drew 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 143 
 
 his cloak about him, and bowed slightly, in token 
 of being prepared ; the baron began : 
 
 " Who was the contriver and companion of 
 my niece's flight ?" 
 
 4 ' The husband chosen by her father, the 
 Count Luigi Conradini." 
 
 " Ha ! is it so ? And how gained he access 
 to her chamber ?" 
 
 "That service I contrived for him." 
 
 The baron cast a glance of deathful import 
 on the unflinching speaker, then went on. 
 
 " Knowest thou where they now be?" 
 
 " With willing minds, sharp spurs, and stout 
 steeds, they may now be well nigh across the 
 Pettorano." 
 
 " Then they are bound for Naples ?" 
 
 " For Naples." 
 
 " Now art thou a lying knave ; for mortal 
 man dare not venture to cross the Pescara, 
 after the rain of last night.". . , 
 
 " The Count Luigi had already crossed it, 
 though somewhat later than he had looked to 
 do ; a delay that had well nigh lost him his 
 fair prize." 
 
 " May its swollen waters 'whelm them both, 
 
144 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 and for ever f cried the baron, as he started up 
 and rapidly paced the hall. " Ho, there ! to 
 horse, some of you ; hasten to the river, and see 
 if it be yet fordable ; look close for the new 
 track of horses, and ride upon the spur; a thou- 
 sand ducats to him who brings back my niece, 
 or can shew me a blade dyed with the heart's 
 blood of Luigi Conradini. Take hence that 
 hound, bind him hand and foot, and throw him 
 into the tapestried chamber at the extremity 
 of my gallery ; let him have bread and water, 
 and straw to lie on. If thy story be true, and 
 the torrent fordable, I will keep faith with thee, 
 and on the morrow thou shalthave a strong cord, 
 and die the death of thy fathers ; but if thou hast 
 spoken a lie, thou shalt be whipped until thy 
 false heart be laid bare to the sun, whose beams 
 shall wither it within thee." 
 
 " By the star that rules me, I have spoken 
 truly, Baron Mirialva." 
 
 The clatter of the departing horsemen was 
 now heard, as they hastily spurred over the 
 paved court. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! they must ride and spare not, 
 who seek to win back time past, or true lovers 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 145 
 
 flown," continued the Zingaro, as he was led 
 from the hall to his prison-chamber. 
 
 During the foregoing events, Time had held 
 on his unchanging, unchangeable course ; and 
 as the prisoner was thrust into his last earthly 
 lodging, he was saluted by the first burst of 
 a bright morning sun, darting its many-coloured 
 rays through the stained glass of a narrow win- 
 dow, placed high over head, and indeed the 
 only means of supplying with either light or air 
 this gloomy chamber. 
 
 The Zingaro gazed for a moment at the 
 cheerful light, half shading his brow with his 
 hand; then, turning to his guards, he requested 
 that they would place him within the influence 
 of its beams. 
 
 " Ay, to be sure," was the reply : " Nicola, 
 toss down that straw here; the poor devil 
 wants to sun himself." 
 
 "He's no judge of astronomy, then," an- 
 swered the bearer of straw, " or he'd have 
 known that the rays of the morning sun will 
 rest but a short space where they now fall : no, 
 no, poor ignorant, if thou wouldst have the sun 
 
 VOL. i. H 
 
146 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 for company, I'll put thy straw in yonder nook, 
 where he will sleep awhile after mid-day."" 
 
 " Put it down here," said the Zingaro, ad- 
 hering to the same spot ; "'tis not his noon-beam 
 I would watch,' for that I shall never see again; 
 no, 'tis his earliest light on the morrow T would 
 fain give greeting to, that I may know how 
 near is the hour of my end as I watch my last 
 sun rise." 
 
 " O, that's it," replied the astronomer ; 
 u then even so be it have thy bed where thou 
 wilt. But methinks thine is an odd fancy, 
 now I, though naturally of an inquiring turn, 
 am no way curious about seeing my last sun 
 rise, and don't care, in troth, if I never see it 
 at all, so I live the longer but every man to 
 his humour : so there. But, by your leave, we 
 must bind your hands and legs, for you Zin- 
 gari are but slippery subjects ; however, 
 with this little precaution, and without outlet, 
 'except for a weasel, through yon window, I 
 think thou may'st be trusted. Now thou'rt 
 fast, here's thy bread and water ; at night-fall 
 111 not fail to bring thee a fresh supply ; and, 
 unless thou have stomach for a right early 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 14*7 
 
 breakfast, thy turn of eating may be then con- 
 sidered pretty well served for this world. Tisn't 
 every man that's doomed to the dog^s death 
 that meets such gentle fare or soft lodging; 
 but a bargain's a bargain, and thou'lt find the 
 baron a man of his word ; so, till night, rest in 
 peace, honest pagan. Come, comrades, leave 
 the Zingaro to his repose ; there's no fear of 
 his being troubled with nightmare, for he 
 wont lie much on his back, I guess ha, ha, 
 ha!" 
 
 Amidst the loud laughter this jest created, 
 the door was firmly secured without, and the 
 subject of this brutal mirth was left alone. 
 
 The tapestried chamber was a large square 
 apartment, never used but for one melancholy 
 service, that of guarding the mortal remains of 
 the Lords of Mirialva, during their brief pas- 
 sage from the death-bed to the tomb. 
 
 In this chamber was prepared the last dis- 
 play of earthly vanity attendant upon departed 
 greatness; here was laid out in all the im- 
 potence of lifeless clay the once mighty lord of 
 a thousand vassals. The room was, in confor- 
 mity with its sad purpose, hung round with 
 H 2 
 
148 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 black tapestry, that had once, no doubt, been 
 of exquisite workmanship ; but, from age and 
 neglect, it now was torn in many places, and in 
 others hung loose from the wall. With the 
 exception of the high window described above, 
 a stout oaken door, leading into a gallery be- 
 longing to the baron's apartments, was the 
 only outlet; a more secure or melancholy 
 prison, therefore, could not easily have been 
 imagined ; a like conviction appeared to enter 
 on the prisoners mind, for after a keen and 
 searching glance around him, which, as he 
 gazed on his own fettered limbs, settled at 
 length into a look of fixed despair. 
 
 " The slaves," he exclaimed, "have bound 
 my hands so straightly, that the food they have 
 thrown me is useless, for, nor hand nor foot can 
 I stir. The hypocrites would not hang on their 
 Sabbath, but think it no sin to scourge and 
 starve. But, 'tis no matter, I need not much 
 strength to hang, and there is, I fancy, no hope 
 of respite or escape ; so good day, fair sun ! and 
 welcome be thy first ray to-morrow !" 
 
 So saying, the captive turned himself com- 
 posedly upon his straw, and enjoyed, hungry 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 
 
 149 
 
 and lacerated as he was, a sounder sleep than vi- 
 sited the pillow of " thrice driven down," pressed 
 by the proud baron who thirsted for his blood. 
 
 Carlette Mirialva was the younger brother 
 of the late marchese, and the inheritor of his 
 titles and estates : early plunged in dissipation 
 and overwhelmed with debt, the latter he had 
 anticipated long before his brother's death, and 
 consequently, when this event took place, he 
 had little to avail himself of but the empty title. 
 Before the death of the marchese, every thing 
 had been arranged between him and the father 
 of Conradini for the marriage of their children ; 
 it was postponed only by the illness of the 
 marchese, and with his dying breath, he en- 
 joined the fulfilment of his pledge upon his 
 brother. This, however, would have ill suited 
 the views of the needy gamester. The Castell di 
 Mirialva, and the property in the Abruzzo, 
 formed the inheritance of Constanza in right of 
 her mother; and this must have been necessarily 
 given up to her husband, upon her marriage, 
 leaving the proud baron houseless, or compell- 
 ing him to avow his folly, and rest dependant 
 on his niece's bounty, until time should pay his 
 
150 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 debts, and again make him master of his own 
 ample domains. His first act, therefore, on his 
 brother's death, was to refuse his consent to the 
 fulfilment of the marriage contract, unless it 
 were stipulated that he should be left master 
 of this domain for so many years. Luigi and 
 Constanza were too far gone in love not to have 
 agreed readily to his wishes ; but not so the 
 elder Conradini : he, with the prudence atten- 
 dant on his age, and the indignation natural to 
 a high mind, replied by spurning the unworthy 
 proposal in no measured terms. An open and 
 voilent rupture was the immediate consequence, 
 which threatened, in the end, to sunder the 
 lovers for ever; for Constanza was but seventeen, 
 and the laws left her at her uncle's disposal, 
 until she should attain the age of three-and- 
 twenty, a century in true love's calendar. 
 Many months had elapsed since this disagree- 
 ment, and numerous were the suitors, introduced 
 by the baron for his own purposes, and rejected 
 by Constanza, with a firmness well worthy her 
 name. 
 
 At length the festival of the Annunziata 
 enabled Conradini, in the disguise of a mendi- 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 151 
 
 cant palmer, to communicate to her his wishes, 
 and his plans for their execution ; and so well 
 did he describe, in his letter, the present misery 
 of separation, and the risks he had run in vain to 
 see or communicate with her; and in such bright 
 colours did he contrast the happiness and securi- 
 ty awaiting them in flight, and in the fulfilment 
 of a marriage, already plighted before Heaven, 
 and sanctified in their hearts, that Constanza, 
 on that very night, heedless of the storm which 
 raged without, had frankly obeyed the direc- 
 tions of her lover, and like another Hero, placed 
 a light in her turret window, at once to be the 
 guide to his steps, and the token of her own 
 readiness to follow them. 
 
 It has been already told how the swollen Pes- 
 cara detained her eager deliverer, until mortified 
 and wearied, she, two hours after midnight, 
 withdrew her beacon, aqd abandoned herself to 
 grief. Grief soon changed to joy by the em- 
 brace of her long banished Luigi. 
 
 This retrospective detail will at once explain 
 the baron's cause for rage, and his eager thirst 
 for vengeance, not only on the Conradini, but 
 on the humbler agent of his loss, the luckless 
 
152 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 Zingaro, whom no laws of the time either 
 acknowledged or protected. His wretched 
 race were left, like the wild animals of the 
 rude country they inhabited, to roam at large 
 through their desert, and like them too, were 
 liable to be hunted to the death by any noble 
 sportsman, who might choose, at his own 
 proper peril, to follow such diversion. 
 
 Anxiously did the Baron di Mirialva count 
 each minute of that Sabbath morn, that holy 
 Sabbath, ordained as a day of repose, both from 
 the toils and passions of frail nature a day 
 wisely sanctified and set apart for reflection and 
 repentance. But far otherwise were employed 
 the thoughts of Mirialva ; intensely did he listen 
 to each sound, eager to catch the footfall of 
 returning horse ; constantly were his strained 
 eyes fixed on the approach from the banks of 
 the Pescara, whilst his heart was consuming 
 within him, fired by the demon's Avarice, Anger 
 and Revenge. 
 
 A horseman at length appeared, whose hard 
 spurred, jaded steed could hardly bear its rider 
 up the steep. The baron flew to the gate to 
 meet him with the hellish hope in his heart, 
 and the wish on his lip, he demanded, 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 153 
 
 "Well, have they been tracked? have ye 
 overtaken the runagates ? is he dead ? Say yes, 
 and boldly claim the promised thousand ducats, 
 and more, thy lord's eternal favour."" 
 
 The vassal hung his head in silence. One 
 by one the wearied riders returned, with no 
 better success, till at last but one remained out, 
 on whom to rest a hope. But the baron knew 
 well the nature of the hound that still hung 
 upon the track, and whilst Jocope returned not, 
 he did not entirely abandon his demon-like hope. 
 Right well this worthy servant merited the 
 confidence of such a master ; patient, wearyless, 
 and true to the scent of blood, as the hound of 
 whose savage nature he so largely partook, he, 
 though outstripped and baffled, still hunted on, 
 a dogged instinct his guide, and the promised 
 gold his spur. 
 
 H 3 
 
154 THE CI.Ufi-BOOK 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE shades of evening had once more fallen 
 upon the valleys of the Abruzzo, before the 
 Zingaro was re-awakened to a sense of pain 
 and hunger. As he slowly turned upon his 
 straw, he cast his eyes upwards on the now 
 almost darkened window, suddenly a gleam of 
 wild and unrestrained joy lighted up his pallid 
 and worn features his sight became rivetted 
 to the object, as he cried aloud 
 
 " 'Tis there ! 'tis there ! It shines bright 
 and dazzlingly upon me, unclouded and serene, 
 the star of my birth and the guide o our race. 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 155 
 
 I saw it twinkling thus in my past dream of 
 freedom. Hail to thee, herald of hope ! Thou 
 didst shine thus lightly upon me, as, but now, 
 in sleep, I sat again by our mountain stream, 
 with Zea by my side ; and once more listened 
 to her sweet voice, as it rose in thy praise, at- 
 tuned to the guitar she best loves to hear ! 
 Thou art still above me, shining star, and I am 
 not forsaken ! Thou art still unclouded, and I 
 will not despair, for never wouldst thou rise so 
 brightly at eve, were a son of thy people to die 
 the cruel death ere thy setting." 
 
 With the spirit of new-born hope did the cap- 
 tive now await the approach of his jailer, as he 
 heard the massy bolts withdrawn ; for, true to 
 his promise, Nicola again stood beside him, 
 bearing a fresh allowance of bread and water. 
 
 " Why, how's this," said the man, observing 
 the former supply still remaining, "thy food and 
 drink untouched ? Mass, but thou art some- 
 what dainty in thy fare, or hast a marvellous 
 gift of long fasting. Why hast thou not broken 
 bread, Zingaro? thy hanging to-morrow will 
 be none the more agreeable, because thou art 
 some pounds the lighter ; why, man, thou 'It be 
 as hard to die as a cat; eat, and drink, and 
 
156 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 prepare for thy ending as like a good chris- 
 tian as one of thy doomed breed can." 
 
 " How can I do either ?" bitterly replied the 
 prisoner; " your food is left but as a mockery, 
 when my lips might parch for a drop of water, 
 ere I, thus tightly bound, could moisten them. 
 What fear you, that you thus pinion me ? 
 Escape were impossible, unless I had wings like 
 a bird, and no more bulk than a shadow ; for 
 otherwise I could neither reach, nor pass out 
 of yonder window." 
 
 " Why there is some reason in that," rejoined 
 the jailer glancing round ; " and though the 
 baron ordered thee to be bound, he also in- 
 tended thou should'st eat, or else he had ne'er 
 promised thee food so, by our Ladye, I'll strain 
 my warrantry and loose thy cords a trifle and 
 more, thou shalt have the bottom of my wine 
 flask to give a whet to thy appetite. 
 
 " There ! with two foot between hand and 
 hand, a man may do much, with a hungry 
 stomach and good will thou need'st not thy 
 feet to help thy feeding, so we'll let them 
 be ; and if they feel somewhat tight-laced, 
 why console thee, 'tis but a few hours, and 
 then thou may'st kick away with them like an 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE AHRUZZO. 157 
 
 unbroken colt ha, ha, ha! Nay, never lour 
 at "my joke, man thou relishest the smack of 
 the wine though, ha ? Well, finish it then, and 
 welcome, for now we're alone, between thee 
 and me and the wall, I owe thee no ill-will for 
 helping the lady Constanza to the man she 
 liked, and am not sorry the young birds have 
 shewn them such strong wing." 
 
 " The horsemen have then returned ?" de- 
 manded the Zingaro. 
 
 " Aye, come back, empty handed ; all but 
 one, and he'll get little but wrung withers and 
 dirty boots for his ride, I guess." 
 
 " Who is he that still hangs on the track of 
 his lord's daughter ?" 
 
 " Who but Jocope, the porter, 1 ' said Nicola ; 
 " and as for hanging, by the mass, for the gold 
 that's promised he'd hang a slip knot round the 
 neck of the brother that twin'd at birth with him." 
 
 While the jailer thus indulged his gossiping 
 propensity, the Zingaro eagerly continued to eat 
 and drink ; and as from time to time his dark 
 eye flashed upwards, it would kindle with hope 
 revived, and reveal a thousand thick-coming 
 fancies of liberty and vengeance. In a few mo- 
 ments Nicola rose to depart. 
 
158 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 " Adieu till morn, Zingaro," he said . " eat 
 thy last supper, and sleep soundly ; fear not to be 
 awakened in hanging time ha, ha, ha! Nay, 
 no anger at my jest! thou would'st like well 
 enough to list to it this time to-morrow." 
 
 The door again closed; the bolts again jarred 
 on the ear; and the Zingarowas once more alone. 
 But he was no longer the inanimate log that 
 for so many hours had lain without exhibiting 
 one sign of life or motion ; but alert, active and 
 stirring, with a glance like the hawk, and with 
 vigour and ingenuity equal to his will. 
 
 First, with the assistance of his teeth, he 
 managed to spread before him his capa, and then, 
 from a secret pouch within its folds, he drew 
 forth the hidden implements for procuring light, 
 which ever formed a part of his materiel 
 quickly and skilfully using his partially freed 
 hands, he succeeded in the first part of his at- 
 tempt; when holding over the light the bonds 
 which confined his wrists, he sat, partially feed- 
 ing the flame, until the stout cords gave way. 
 His hands thus free, he waved them in triumph 
 and thanksgiving towards the star, still shining 
 brightly upon him ; and in an incredibly short 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 159 
 
 space of time he, by similar process, freed his 
 feet from bondage, though not without some 
 suffering from the flames. As the last turn of 
 the lashing was unwound, he sprung from the 
 floor, and attempted to stand erect, but the 
 cramped trembling joints failed to support him, 
 and he fell back powerless, upon his straw ; by 
 degrees, however, he restored the circulation to 
 his benumbed and sore scorched limbs, until 
 they once more became capable of their wonted 
 exertion. 
 
 As the night advanced he boldly proceeded 
 in his plan. First, tearing down a large portion 
 of the tapestry, he passed his hands along the 
 walls of his prison ; on three sides his views were 
 opposed by solid stone ; the fourth he discovered, 
 with confirmed hope, to be of stout wainscot. 
 But whither did the next room beyond, lead 
 to ? or by whom might it now be occupied ? 
 Could nature support the dense smoke that 
 must attend his attempt to burn a passage 
 through here, for the escape of which smoke 
 not an outlet existed, excepting the window 
 high overhead, any effort to break which 
 would alarm the yet wakeful inhabitants of 
 the castell, before his purpose could be half ef- 
 
160 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 fected. Then came the more horrid suggestion, 
 might he not, ere the stout oak gave way before 
 the flames, himself perish miserably, tortured by a 
 vain dream of freedom, whilst his limbs withered 
 within the folds of the terrible agent whose aid 
 he was about to invoke. These, and a thousand 
 other fearful imaginings, swept through the 
 prisoner's mind, as he busily collected a portion 
 of his straw, together with some of the dry and 
 mouldering tapestry, so as to form a heap of 
 combustibles immediately beneath the wainscot. 
 
 Thus prepared ere he applied the light, he 
 again fixed his eyes upon the window, as if he 
 expected from the star of his wild faith some 
 evident and visible sign to direct him. He now 
 looked in vain ; the star shone no longer upon 
 him. For a moment a shade of doubt clouded 
 his brow, ere he interpreted this change : then 
 bending low his head he cried 
 
 " Thou art gone : thou wilt no longer let 
 thy free rays linger within these thrice accursed 
 walls of stone thou art gone, to light up the dark 
 mountain and the silver stream, and thou callest 
 on thy son to follow thy free course, or die ; 
 ever blessed star of my fathers, be thou obeyed!" 
 
 As he concluded, he again bowed low his 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 161 
 
 head, with a solemn earnestness of voice and 
 manner, that fully bespoke his ardent faith in 
 the strange creed he held. 
 
 He touched with his light a selected portion 
 of the straw, and the flame rose fiercely against 
 the sturdy wainscot, that seemed in its strength 
 to defy the puny effort. 
 
 The Zingaro patiently sat crouching upon 
 his hams, and from time to time carefully fed 
 the slow fire, which, by degrees, gave certain 
 evidence of its subtle and insidious power upon 
 the surface of the blistering, blackened oak. 
 
 A little while longer, and the wainscot began 
 itself to assist in its own destruction : the bluish 
 flame that at first had but flickered for a mo- 
 ment, unsteadily and by fits upon its surface, 
 seemed all at once to fix its hold with a tenacity 
 not to be again shook off, and in a moment after, 
 it rushed in fierce triumph over the hissing wood. 
 
 The smoke became dense, even to suffoca- 
 tion : nevertheless, stretched at full length 
 with his face close to the floor, the Zin- 
 garo continued for a long time to endure this 
 suffering, as he carefully fed and directed the 
 flames, which, to his hopes, gave promise of 
 freedom ; but at length, the heat and smoke 
 
162 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 combined might no longer be borne with life. 
 Thus made reckless of the consequences, he 
 suddenly started up, and seizing the vessel 
 which contained his supply of water, he aimed 
 it against the lofty window : the immediate 
 shiver of falling glass which followed, bespoke 
 the success of his effort, whilst the huge mass 
 of smoke, lifting itself quickly upwards, left 
 the floor comparatively free for breathing. 
 
 The dangerous consequences which had made 
 him so long defer this movement, as he foresaw, 
 almost immediately followed. First was heard 
 the buz of many mingled voices, gathering in the 
 court below, to mark the thick smoke as it rolled 
 through the broken window : then followed an 
 eager cry for the keys of the tapestried cham- 
 ber. Not an instant was to be lost; and no 
 sooner did the prisoner hear these sounds, than 
 gathering together the stout cords which had 
 bound his feet and hands, he with their aid 
 firmly secured the door inside ; a work barely 
 accomplished, before he heard the quick tread 
 of feet, and the hasty withdrawing of bolts ; 
 the heavy lock next turned in its wards, and an 
 attempt was made to thrust open the door. 
 
 u Santa Maria ! 'tis fast within,"" cried a voice 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABKUZZO. 163 
 
 the prisoner recognised for Nicola's : " 'tis the 
 body of the poor Zingaro, doubtless, that has 
 fallen against it push stoutly together, lads" 
 but the door again withstood their united efforts. 
 " Get axe and hammer quickly some of you," 
 continued Nicola ; " the fire is certainly here ; 
 'twas never a spark from my lamp surely when 
 I took the lad his supper. Ring out the great 
 bell ; call up my lord, the baron, or he will be 
 burned in his bed else, like the poor heathen 
 within, whose flesh I can plainly hear sputtering 
 like chesnuts a-roasting." 
 
 A succession of sturdy blows rebounded from 
 the entrance, and immediately the Zingaro tried 
 with his foot to force the crackling wainscot, 
 but it refused to give way. How to gain more 
 time ? already the door was rent from its hinges 
 and had been down, but that the assailants had 
 retreated from the first burst of smoke, calling 
 loudly for water. 
 
 The Zingaro saw at once that now or never 
 came the decisive moment gathering therefore 
 the remainder of his straw and other fuel, he 
 quickly heaped it before the forced door, and 
 just as this was falling inwards, he flung a blaz- 
 ing mass upon the ready pile a wall of fire, in 
 
164 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 an instant supplied the place of the barrier just 
 beaten down, and the terrified water bearers ran 
 from the spot, with cries of horror, as they 
 caught a glimpse of the dark form, beyond which 
 appeared to move calmly and untouched amidst 
 the blaze. 
 
 In a few moments the fallen door began to 
 add fresh fuel to the fire; the great bell, too, 
 rung out the awful sound of flame. Drunk 
 with the smoke, and maddened with the pain of 
 his half-burned hands, the Zingaro also prepared 
 for his last desperate effort. He covered his 
 head and shoulders with thickened folds of his 
 capa, retired a few paces from the now smoul- 
 dering wainscot, then, rousing his whole force 
 for the attempt he rushed forward and dashed 
 himself sideways against it. The half-burned 
 boards burst before his weight, and whelmed 
 amidst the blazing ruin, he rolled into the next 
 apartment. 
 
 Shaking the burning embers from about him, 
 he hurried across the unoccupied and unfur- 
 nished room, and opening the door, entered the 
 passage beyond. On the instant a voice arrested 
 his step : 
 
 "Who art thou?" demanded a man, advanc- 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 165 
 
 ing hastily from an adjoining door, holding 
 high a lamp, " why am I thus rudely aroused, 
 and whence this peal of wild alarm?" The 
 Zingaro turned upon the inquirer, and the light 
 flashed upon his face. Had the master-fiend 
 himself, clothed in all his terrors, met Mirial- 
 va's sight for he was the speaker he could 
 not have looked more dismayed, than he now 
 did, as he gazed upon his late prisoner, black- 
 ened with smoke, and with garments glowing 
 from the sparks of fire which still clung to them. 
 
 66 What demon art thou f n again demanded 
 the baron, as he stepped back towards the 
 nearly closed door of the room just left by his 
 sentenced prisoner, " speak! 1 ' 
 
 Demoniac indeed was the look the gipsy 
 cast upon his proud foe, as with a voice of 
 thunder he shouted ., 
 
 u Z/o Zingaro r Then bounding forward with 
 a tiger-spring he dashed the bewildered baron 
 into the apartment, already half-filled with 
 flames, and closing the door, quickly drew the 
 bolts. He then turned into Mirialva's now vacant 
 bed-chamber, tore from the sumptuous couch 
 and windows the silken cords which draped the 
 curtains, and by their aid descended with speed 
 
166 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 and safety into the private garden of the 
 castello. 
 
 Already flames were bursting from the closely 
 barred windows of the room which held the 
 wretched Mirialva. The Zingaro paused for a 
 moment, and looked upwards a wild scream 
 for " help !" burst upon his ear a roar of 
 curses, and loud laughter followed. This last was 
 the domestics in the gallery, who thus mocked 
 what they took for the cries of the suffering 
 Zingaro. A yet wilder and more piercing cry 
 of agony again filled the air and again was 
 it echoed by fresh yells of savage mockery. 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed the listener, " these shrieks 
 should have been mine, and such the laughter 
 that would have greeted my agonies ! Ha ! ha ! 
 ha! roar on, ye accursed, let your shouts of joy 
 ring in the ears of your unheeded, burning lord : 
 and may the fiends of Eblis redouble your cries, 
 as his black soul is hurled amidst their eternal 
 fires !" 
 
 Dashing the hot sweat from his scathed 
 brow, the gipsy made for the olive grove, 
 and with great difficulty held his way, until, 
 exhausted, he sunk upon the welcome margin 
 of the calm waters of Gli Fonti 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 167 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ON a gentle eminence, at the foot of the 
 Vomero, stood the palace of the Conradini, in 
 the midst of luxuriant vineyards, and imme- 
 diately encircled by a private garden of some 
 extent, beautifully laid out, and evincing a 
 more careful superintendence than is usually 
 bestowed in Italy upon such preserves. For, 
 in this favoured climate, nature has showered 
 so generally on every verdant spot her beauties 
 of tree and flower, that the wealthy have little 
 inducement to enclose for private luxury 
 exotics which may be enjoyed by the meanest 
 serf who cultivates his native fields. 
 
168 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 To the palace of his ancestors, the Conde 
 Luigi had at once borne his youthful bride, for 
 such he had legally made her. Fast as the 
 church could bind them, they were now one ; and 
 although his father would not become a party 
 to an unworthy bargain to obtain a daughter-in- 
 law, he was not in his heart sorry to find that 
 the happiness of his son was secured without 
 such a compromise ; and although Luigi's 
 attempt would, had it been known to him, 
 have been met by his fixed opposition, the die 
 being fairly cast, he received his son with for- 
 giveness, and his new-made daughter with a 
 cordial welcome, and a father's blessing. 
 
 Letters were immediately dispatched to the 
 Baron di Mirialva, to suggest to him the ne- 
 cessity of fulfilling the contract entered into by 
 his deceased brother, or otherwise preparing to 
 abide the king's judgment, and probable dis- 
 pleasure ; for to tiie foot of the throne, imme- 
 diately upon a refusal, Conradini resolved to 
 bear the claims of his son, and appeal to the 
 justice of his sovereign. 
 
 The messenger dispatched with the above 
 demand, had now been absent the full time 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 169 
 
 necessary for his journey, and hourly expecting 
 his arrival, the Conte Luigi and his bride sat 
 beneath a veranda that commanded an ample 
 view of the lovely bay. 
 
 The moon was slowly rising in her fullest 
 majesty, and had already silvered with her light 
 the edges of the lofty cliffs, rising high over the 
 picturesque Castel d'Ovo, which was itself lost 
 in their deep shadows. The classic isles beyond, 
 just shewed in the extreme distance like globes 
 of silver, floating on the dark bosom of the 
 glassy sea. Not far removed might be heard 
 the cries of the fishermen, as they hauled their 
 boats above the reach of the waters, accom- 
 panied by the hoarse low roar of the surf, rolling 
 in, round the long continued line of beach. 
 Nearer the palace, all was thrown into deep sha- 
 dow by the stately silver pines, which, planted 
 in thick rows, covered it in front, like a noble 
 guard, whilst many clumps of sweetly-scented 
 shrubs were made to encroach to within a few 
 paces of the window where sat the lovers. 
 
 Constanza listened with a charmed ear to her 
 lord, as he pointed out the various beauties of 
 the scene, with all the enthusiasm of a poet, 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
1JO THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 and with the love of a patriot for his native 
 Naples. 
 
 " But the night air is freshening, and you, 
 love, must be wearied with my legends of the 
 past glories of Naples, and of imperial Capri 
 and its horrors. They are twice dear to me, for 
 they are associated with my every childish joy 
 and sorrow. They first stole on my wondering 
 eager ears, in all the exaggerated detail of my 
 good old nurse, and were, in after days, made 
 the reward of well-doing, as on this very spot 
 they were described in the grandeur of simple 
 history, made still more noble by the glowing 
 eloquence of my aged preceptor, the excellent 
 Carlo Mattei. Come, we will enter the apart- 
 ment see, the lamps are already lighted : come, 
 and you shall shame my tediousness, by playing 
 one of those wild mountain airs we have so often 
 sung together, as we sauntered through your 
 sweet valley of Salmona." 
 
 " Ah," said Constanza, with a sigh, as the re- 
 collection of her own birth-place rose fresh upon 
 her memory, " loved valley ! shall I ever again 
 behold thee ? ever again wander by those clear 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABEUZZO. 
 
 waters, where I have so often bounded on the 
 light foot of childhood ?" 
 
 " And in the young days of our love, too," 
 whispered Luigi. " Oh, fear not, dearest; your 
 uncle will scarce dare abide the sovereign's com- 
 mand, which he knows must follow my father's 
 appeal. He will yield to strong necessity, doubt 
 not ; and soon again shall you sit in the an- 
 tique hall of your Castello, and sing to me the 
 country's gentle songs in praise of love's own 
 poet and Salmona's pride." 
 
 Together they now entered the apartment, 
 throwing wide the casement, which opened to 
 the ground. Constanza seated herself opposite 
 to it, and, in a tone of anxious melancholy, 
 continued: 
 
 " I know not, my Luigi, what so oppresses 
 me, but my heart is ever and anon seized with 
 a throbbing which threatens even to burst it : 
 my mind, too, has been all this day filled with 
 dismal fancies." 
 
 " What can chill thee thus ?" answered the 
 Conte, as he fondly pressed with his lips her 
 marble brow. " Thou art happy, my own 
 Constanza ?" 
 
 i 2 
 
THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 Beaming with tenderness, she fixed her ga- 
 zelle-like eyes upon her lord, as she replied 
 
 c< Happy ! Luigi, am I not with thee ? Am 
 I not thine own Constanza ? But would that 
 this tardy courier were returned ; you know 
 not the fierce nature of Carlette di Mirialva. 
 When I reflect on his hatred, on his daring, on 
 his vengeance oh ! Luigi, can I speak it ? 
 but at this hour your life is perhaps only held 
 at the will of the most profligate, the most 
 reckless of men."' 1 
 
 " Tush, tush ! this is indeed wild dreaming : 
 what, do you think Mirialva has no fears for 
 himself? Too well he knows my father's vigour, 
 and our house's power, to tempt, by any evil 
 wrought on me, his own assured destruction. 
 I would I were but half as certain of the safety 
 of my poor Zingaro ally ; but he, I fear me, was 
 allowed brief law. I would give, this very 
 hour, the best horse, hound, and hawk, I own, 
 to save him from jeopardy, and that is higher 
 pricing than was ever before put on him or any 
 of his kind." 
 
 " They are, indeed, a wayward, but also a 
 sore-suffering race," replied Constanza : " but 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 173 
 
 if ever I am again restored to the seat of my 
 fathers, you, Luigi, must look to their better 
 ordering, even for the sake of him who read my 
 fortune by the springs of Gli Fonti cTAmore" 
 
 " And died, to have that fortune fairly sped, 1 ' 
 added the Conte. te Even the lynx may be 
 tamed to love, and I will waste some kindness 
 on that rude race, but I will mend their sad 
 condition, even for his sake, who helped me to 
 the sweetest bride Salmona ever saw, or Ovid 
 sung ; that is, provided she belie her sex and 
 change not." 
 
 A look of love and pride beamed from the 
 eyes of Constanza, as, striking her lyre, she 
 prettily echoed the word " change" and 
 sang 
 
 "For ever thine this heart 
 
 Feel how it beats for thee, 
 And whilst it beats, this heart of mine 
 Will answer every throb of thine 
 
 With truest sympathy ; 
 Thine, thine, alone ! 
 
 For ever thine this heart 
 
 All else may change, and be ; 
 But this, thy heart, no change can own, 
 For thee it beats, for thee alone, 
 
 And breaks, cast off' by thee ; 
 Thine, thine, alone ! 
 
THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 For ever thine this heart 
 
 All else beneath the skies, 
 The grass, the flower, earth, air, and sea, 
 May pass away, again to be ; 
 
 The heart for ever dies 
 Thine, thine, alone ! 
 
 The Conte rose in delight from his lady's 
 feet, where he had thrown himself to listen to 
 her melody ; the last tones of her sweet voice 
 had not yet melted into the air, when a slight 
 movement was heard at the window the words, 
 " Die, coward and fool !" were articulated, in 
 tones clear and piercing, though hardly uttered 
 above the breath ; one deep groan and a heavy 
 fall followed and all was silent as before. 
 
 The Conte started, and passed hastily to the 
 window, close to which he at once observed the 
 body of the fallen man. He stooped over the 
 form ; he pressed his hand upon the heart ; but 
 it beat no more ; life had fled with the last 
 sound. He was just opening his lips to call for 
 aid, when a low hiss, issuing from the thick 
 clump of shrubs close in his front, caused him 
 to raise his head. What was his surprise, when 
 full in the light of the moonbeam, with head 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 175 
 
 uncovered, he beheld the well-remembered fea- 
 tures of the Zingaro ! 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed the Conte, " thou alive, 
 and here ! How means all this ? speak !" 
 
 " Pianissimo, Signer mio," whispered the 
 gipsy ; " it is ill speaking too loud of a death 
 done, where one's confession may be overheard 
 by more than the priest. But fear nothing now : 
 first assure thy lady's silence ; for, if you re- 
 member, my face was not altogether after her 
 liking when last she saw it, and I promise you 
 it is not much improved in comeliness since ; a 
 cry from her lips now might peril me to the full 
 as much as it did before ; and by my life I have 
 no mind for another such adventure." 
 
 The Conte Luigi turned into the chamber, 
 where Constanza sat as if spell-bound : she had 
 heard the groan, had seen her husband's move- 
 ment towards the sound, but at that moment 
 her over-excited nerves failed beneath the 
 shock, and she remained without the power 
 of speech or motion. 
 
 " Be no longer alarmed, dearest Constanza," 
 murmured the Conte, trying to reassure his 
 gentle wife ; " 'tis nothing ; only a faithful var- 
 
176 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 let, who is now without, and whose appearance 
 hitherto has ever been to us a harbinger of joy. 
 Come, cheer thee to hear the marvel of his com- 
 ing ; perchance thy uncle has relented, and so 
 released this trusty knave, as a true pledge of 
 his wish to conciliate." 
 
 " Trust not, oh ! trust not to the baron," 
 exclaimed Constanza, wildly, drawing theConte 
 nearer to her ; " for there is danger, my hus- 
 band, and the presence of the Zingaro speaks 
 it. That fearful groan too ! Oh ! said I not my 
 soul foreboded evil ? Luigi, rely not too firmly 
 on the faith of this strange being ; many and 
 fearful are the tales told of his people's trea- 
 chery, and few and bold are they who place deep 
 trust in them." 
 
 " Nay, be not unmindful of his true service, 
 love. Remember I owe to it all my present 
 joys, and even those joys Td freely pledge upon 
 his faith : be not alarmed, and he shall himself 
 speak out his errand." Luigi beckoned the 
 Zingaro to advance : with a glance of bitter 
 scorn, he planted his foot upon the corse 
 stretched in his way, and at once stepped into 
 the apartment. Constanza shrunk within her- 
 
THK GIPSY OF THE AB11UZZO. 177 
 
 self, as doubtingly she gazed upon his features 
 He was, in truth, much changed ; his face and 
 neck were in many places disfigured by blotches 
 of deep red, these contrasted but ill with its 
 natural hue : his once luxuriant hair, too, was 
 almost gone ; in some places it was shorn quite 
 close to the blackened scalp, whilst here and 
 there a stray lock remained, no longer flowing 
 gracefully as before, but shrivelled and brist- 
 ling from his head. His eye alone retained its 
 native lustre, and bespoke that, though all 
 without was altered, the ardent soul within still 
 remained unchanged. 
 
 Bending low to the lady, he calmly stood as 
 if waiting question. 
 
 " When,"" demanded the Conte, " didst thou 
 leave the Castel di Mirialva ?" 
 
 u On the eve of your past Sabbath." 
 
 " By good leave, or ?" 
 
 " Even by the way you entered it the win- 
 dow ; no bad way either, when a man needs 
 more haste than help." 
 
 " How ! You escaped from durance, then, 
 and without the baron's knowledge ?" 
 
 " Not so either, Signer ; the baron learnt, 
 i 3 
 
178 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 though somewhat at the latest, I was about to 
 quit his hospitable keeping." 
 
 "Thou speakest somewhat in riddles, Zin- 
 garo. I have a courier dispatched to the 
 baron : knowest thou his present humour how 
 will my servant find him ?" 
 
 " He may not well find him, Conte, without 
 first quitting your service." 
 "How so ?" 
 
 " Because he whom he seeks no longer lives." 
 " Ha !" Constanza sprung from the couch 
 u my uncle dead !" 
 
 " Start not, lady," coolly replied the Zingaro, 
 " and speak not over loud, for I stay not your 
 questioning on roses. In brief, you are now, 
 thanks to my fortune, once more in safety ; 
 may return to your fair domain, and live free 
 and fearless, for your worst enemy is no more ; he 
 has died the death that best may fit him for the 
 after-life. He was burnt ! burnt within that 
 very house he held from his brother's child : 
 he was swept from life, planning the misery of 
 her to whom he should have proved a sworn 
 protector." 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 179 
 
 " Merciful God, assoilze his soul !" fervently 
 prayed Constanza. 
 
 " The fire was accidental ?" demanded the 
 Conte, closely regarding the man as he spoke. 
 He smiled grimly as, lowering his voice, he 
 answered with fearful earnestness 
 
 " The flames were lighted by me, to aid my 
 escape from bondage and from certain death. 
 What ! did the slaves think to keep the falcon 
 and not hood his eyes ? Did they leave to the 
 Zingaro one glimpse of the clear light of 
 heaven, and look to have him yield without a 
 struggle the life that light made dear? 
 
 " Scourged like a hound, till my very bones 
 lay bared to their lewd mockery, I was bound 
 and thrown aside to wait till their pleasure 
 served to hang me. Was I to bide their coming ? 
 No ! I fired the detested den that held me, and 
 broke once more to freedom from its blazing 
 ruins as they crumbled round me. 
 
 " Thus at liberty, I had, perchance, contented 
 me with my escape, but the ill spirit of the 
 baron threw him in that wild moment across 
 my way. Smarting from the fire I scarce had 
 hoped to live through, I saw my pain, my hopes, 
 
180 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 made by his presence, in an instant void, and 
 fresh tortures again awaiting me. One instant 
 effort promised both safety and revenge. I 
 boldly, madly made the venture. Behold ! I am 
 safe I am revenged. Even now his shriek 
 from that mouldering chamber of death sounds 
 again in my ear, and more than answers all 
 my sufferings. He is no more ! and you, Conte 
 Luigi, are now free to live. 
 
 " Return to your Castello, lady ; 'tis little the 
 worse for the airing I have given it. I read you 
 fair fortune, and you have found it ; may it 
 ever bide with you ! Signor, I owed you a life ; 
 we are now freely quitted, for I have saved 
 you this night from as sudden an ending as 
 awaited me that day when the hunter's belt was 
 drawn round my throat in the forest of Venafro." 
 
 u How ! my life mean you that ?" 
 
 " Look on this carrion," continued the Zin- 
 garo, as he turned over the body of the slain 
 man with his foot ; u stoop down, and know 
 that evil face." 
 
 It was the countenance of Jocope, for many 
 years the porter of the Castel di Mirialva." 
 
 " What !" said Luigi, " would this man 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 181 
 
 have struck the husband of his old master's 
 child ?" 
 
 " He r interrupted the Zingaro, " he would 
 have struck the husband of the mother that 
 bore him, for half the price set upon your head. 
 On my escape I sought out this traitor, and 
 caught him grovelling on a wrong scent. Un- 
 seen and unsuspected, I soon found means to 
 set him right : once well laid on the track, I 
 knew he'd stick to it." 
 
 " What !" cried Constanza, shuddering, 
 " you guided him the way to murder .?" 
 
 "Truly, lady, I left him not unguided; 
 for from that hour I slept when he slept, and 
 when he rose, I rose; I breathed as he breathed, 
 moved as he moved : we had but one shadow 
 in the sun ; but he dreamed not of this : full 
 surely I guided him, even to his purpose and 
 his end. He was blinded to my wish by the 
 promised gold ; it ever glittered before his 
 eyes, and he saw no other object. But it is 
 passed, and behold where he lies ! Mark, Sig- 
 nor, his hand is on the lock of the petronel, 
 whose report was to have pronounced you a 
 corse, and him master of a thousand ducats. I 
 
182 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 watched his serpent-crawl to this very spot ; I 
 saw the felon-sparkle of his eye ; I heard the 
 short panting of his bated breath, and marked 
 his deadly aim ; but me he saw not, heard not, 
 till he felt my blow. 11 
 
 66 Heavens !" cried Constanza, " an instant 
 later and the murder had been done." 
 
 The Zingaro smiled. " No, lady, think 
 not I rested upon less than surety his trusty 
 petronel a truer friend of mine had rendered 
 harmless. Blindly he incurred the penalty 
 without the chance of murder. 1 ' 
 
 " Strange being, 11 inquired the Conte, u why 
 not have informed me of my danger, and left 
 his punishment to justice ?" 
 
 " What ! would justice better have revenged 
 my stripes than my own right hand has done ? 
 That one blow struck, I am again a man, and 
 the mark of the lash will be no longer my 
 shame. From my mother's breast, until the 
 dark hour, but one hand ever inflicted disgrace 
 on my free body this hand it was.' 1 
 
 He let the lifeless limb which he had grasped 
 fall upon the path, and contemptuously gazed 
 upon it. 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABEUZZO. 183 
 
 " But why," said the count, " when you 
 knew his purpose, why let him proceed so near 
 to the fulfilment of his bloody errand ?" 
 
 " Ha, ha ! Conte Luigi, think you his mere 
 death could appease my vengeance ? No ! I 
 am well learned that, by the creed you hold, 
 crime once determined on is dealt with by your 
 God as crime already done. Look there ! read 
 the resolve to murder, stamped upon his brow. 
 Even with his last thought upon the bloody act, 
 the damning wish recorded on his heart, the 
 instrument of death, too, in his hand, I smote 
 him ! and, without one prayer for mercy, his 
 soul is gone to its eternal account. Like his 
 gratitude is also the vengeance of lo Zingaro 
 Senza limito ! But hark ! I hear approaching 
 footsteps." 
 
 He now gave a long, sharp hiss a young 
 female was in an instant by his side. 
 
 " Zea," he said, " there stands the man for 
 whom you have laboured ; the only man who 
 ever saved or spared any of our race. Thank 
 him quickly, and let us begone to the mountain." 
 
 The girl advanced to the Conte, and taking 
 his hand, she pressed it with reverence to her 
 
184 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 forehead, whilst her eloquent look spoke volumes 
 of thanksgiving. 
 
 " Allow me a few minutes 1 law, ere you have 
 this foul carcase stirred," said the Zingaro, " for 
 I would ill like further questioning. Nay, shud- 
 der not, lady,'' he added ; " think upon my 
 wild nature, and my cruel suffering. Farewell /" 
 
 The Zingaro and the maiden together dis- 
 appeared as the attendant announced to the 
 Conte the return of his belated courier. 
 
 First requesting his father's presence, Luigi 
 admitted the man, and from his lips heard the 
 story of the Zingaro confirmed. He told, how 
 he had witnessed the removal of the blackened 
 remains of the baron from the ruins of the still 
 reeking chamber ! the fire, he said, had been 
 promptly got under, and, indeed, extended lit- 
 tle beyond the immediate suite of apartments 
 where it first broke out. 
 
 He told, too, strange stories of the Zingaro, 
 of his having spirited the poor baron to change 
 places with him, through the devil's aid, whom 
 some of the attendants swore they saw person- 
 ally engaged in feeding the flames, and at last 
 take to flight through the broken casement, 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 185 
 
 bearing the Zingaro on his huge wing, and 
 leaving the spell-bound baron to abide the fiery 
 penalty. 
 
 On the man's being dismissed to entertain his 
 awe-stricken fellows with these marvels, the 
 Conte imparted to his father the true, but strange 
 story of his preservation. The proper authori- 
 ties were promptly assembled, and the neces- 
 sary forms gone through ; but as every evi- 
 dence "went to prove the purpose of the dead 
 emissary of Mirialva, the Conte was at once 
 honourably installed, by the royal consent, in 
 all the honours and wide domains of his fair 
 runaway. Large rewards were offered for the ap- 
 prehension of the incendiary, and orders issued 
 to clear the Abruzzo of the outlaw Zingari with 
 fire and sword ; but as the execution of these 
 orders rested with the new baron, they were very 
 differently interpreted. 
 
186 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A TWELVEMONTH had passed away, and 
 many mingled sounds of song and dance, and 
 the light laugh of unrestrained glee, echoed 
 round the old towers of the Castel di Mirialva ; 
 gay banners fluttered in the mountain-breeze 
 from the lofty battlements, and the hill-side 
 swarmed with merry groups of peasants, who 
 were eagerly watching the approach of a dis- 
 tant cavalcade, impatient to hail the first-born 
 of their liege lady, the heir of the Conradini. 
 
 It was the anniversary of the festival of the 
 Annunziata, and chosen by Constanza for the 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 187 
 
 day that was to give the mother church one 
 other member in her new-born son. 
 
 " 1 choose this day," said Constanza to her 
 lord, " for it was on this day I met the men- 
 dicant palmer in the church of the Annunziata ; 
 but, though I love right well the gentle name 
 of Luigi, yet shall this boy be called Ovidio, in 
 remembrance of the spot where I staid to list 
 my fair fortune." 
 
 The lady had her will, and it was her return 
 from the convent the assembled vassals so eagerly 
 abided. As the gay cortege approached the 
 foot of the hill, Constanza turned her palfrey 
 from the side of her infant's litter, and, calling 
 to her lord to follow, gaily galloped over the 
 yielding sward towards Gli Fonti d'Amore. 
 
 Together they reined up upon its margin ; 
 Constanza fondly pressed the hand of Luigi, and 
 pointing to the rich olives whose branches swept 
 the waters, she told how upon that spot her 
 startled eye first rested on the dark form of the 
 Zingaro. She waved her hand to hasten some of 
 the approaching guests, when a female advanced 
 from the thick shade of the trees, and, laying 
 her finger impressively on her lip, motioned the 
 
188 
 
 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 Conte to be gone, glancing at the same time 
 upwards amid the branches. Following the 
 direction of her look, the Conte caught sight of 
 the dark visage of the Zingaro, with finger on 
 lip, just visible for an instant through the thick 
 foliage. On this, whispering his discovery to 
 Con stanza, they quickly turned together and 
 staid the advance of their gentle followers. 
 Loud shouts from the hill, at the same moment, 
 bespoke the reception of Mirialva's future lord 
 amidst his happy vassals. 
 
 " Let us hasten to thank the honest knaves," 
 said the Conte, and in a moment quickly bound- 
 ed each steed onward towards the Castello. 
 
 The day was devoted to sumptuous festivity. 
 At length the sounds ofrevelry were hushed ; 
 the banqueters, wearied with the fulness of their 
 joys, were buried in profound repose. In the 
 silence of their chamber, the Conte and his fair 
 wife, at length left alone, marvelled on their 
 strange vision of that morning ; for from the time 
 he bade them farewell in the palace of the Con- 
 radini, no word of the eagerly sought Zingaro 
 had reached their ears. The fond mother bent 
 above the couch of her sleeping boy, and loudly 
 
THE GIPSY OF THE ABRUZZO. 189 
 
 prayed all evil might be averted from his inno- 
 cent head, when " Hark !" the soft notes of 
 music rose through the air. Imagining it to 
 be a gallant device of their guests, or some 
 rustic serenade, the Conte and lady left their 
 chamber, and advanced to that very window 
 whence, twelve months before, they had so 
 fearfully descended. 
 
 The night was close and calm, and the case- 
 ment stood open to court the lazy air. Look- 
 ing out to greet the serenaders, they recognized 
 at once, standing in the shade below, the figures 
 of the Zingaro and the dark young maiden. She 
 was seated on the rude bench at the foot of the 
 tower ; before her lay a huge hound of the 
 mountain breed, and by her side stood her com- 
 panion, his rude guitar in his hand. The count 
 was about to address them, but motioning for 
 silence, the Zingaro spoke in a low tone to the 
 girl 
 
 " Sing, Zea, sing to them the song of joy, 
 made more welcome from thy lips; sing to 
 them the song of our last parting." 
 
 He pointed impressively towards the distant 
 horizon's edge, and then softly swept the strings 
 
190 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 of his guitar, whilst, raising her dark eyes 
 towards Constanza, the maiden obeyed, and 
 sang the 
 
 PROPHECY. 
 
 " LADYE, look from thy bower on high, 
 Look on yonder western sky, 
 Look o'er tree, o'er tower, and fountain, 
 Where the silver cloud sits on the mountain. 
 
 Look, ladye, look, and mark the star, 
 Beaming so lightly from afar ; 
 That star is a herald bearing joy 
 To thee and thy sleeping cherub boy. 
 
 I mark'd the day, I watch'd the hour, 
 I've read its errand, know its power ; 
 It bears to that boy who cradled lies, 
 All of good beneath the skies. 
 
 Success in love, in peace, in war, 
 
 High fame, and honour, brings yon star ; 
 
 Happy mother, now rest thee well, 
 
 His fortune's read ! Farewell farewell !" 
 
 Never again did the wild form of lo Zin- 
 garo cross the path of the Conradini, nor ever 
 after this hour did the plaintive melody of his 
 guitar awake the night. 
 
EISENBACH; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF A STRANGER. 
 A METROPOLITAN STORY. 
 
 BY MH. PICKEN. 
 
 Marriage is a matter of more worth 
 Than to be dealt in by attorneyship. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE road from Kreuznach, or rather from 
 Minister, towards the picturesque town of 
 Bingen on the Rhine, is so beautiful, and the 
 distance between the two latter places so short, 
 that by the time I had got to that point in my 
 
19*2 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 journey, I determined to travel it on foot, and 
 by myself, for no other reason that I can tell, 
 but because I wished to refresh my limbs by 
 a walk, and had taken a conceited fancy for my 
 own company. 
 
 Before I had arrived at the end of my day's 
 excursion, however, I found that I had quite 
 enough both of the one and the other; for though 
 my " weary legs" did not actually break down, 
 my head began positively to ache from the 
 fervour of my own meditations, excited as they 
 had been all day by the beauty of the scenery 
 through which I had been passing ; and I 
 found that personal solitude, even in the noble 
 valley of the Nah, becomes wearisome at length 
 to a man of colloquial propensities. Besides, 
 I had been quite misinformed regarding the 
 real charms of these parts, and as I mounted 
 the pass of the Ruchesberg, near the chapel 
 of Saint Roch, which overlooks the whole sweep 
 of the valley, and which gave me the Rhine 
 gleaming beneath me, up and down on the right 
 the quaint turrets of Bingen in the hollow re- 
 flected in its bosom, and the noble mountain 
 of the Rudesheim in front of me as I con- 
 
EISENBACH. 1Q3 
 
 templated the view across the valley, I became 
 so lost in poetry and other nonsense, that I 
 quite forgot myself as usual, until common 
 hunger and exhaustion began to remind me 
 once more of the weaknesses of humanity. 
 
 I would not, however, as I descended the 
 mountain, lose the last lowering glance of the 
 sinking sun, which now deepened the black 
 shadows of the rocky hills that skirted the 
 horizon beyond the valley and that lightened 
 the bright green of the vineyards with which 
 they were clothed, and reddened the pictu- 
 resque summit of the Rudesheim beyond for I 
 hoped that could I only reach Bingen this 
 evening, I should there find some English 
 people who would do me great civility for 
 my money, and supply my lack of the Alle- 
 mand language, by wholesome talk which I 
 could reciprocate. But man is short-sighted, 
 and so forth ; a philosophical reflection which 
 I found particularly pertinent to this present 
 occasion for by the time I had descended 
 towards the lower grounds, the shadows of 
 evening began to prevail to the eastward, the 
 Rhine and the town in front of me seemed to 
 
 VOL. i. K 
 
194 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 recede away every step I took, and I was 
 inclined to misdoubt whether I was not making 
 a circle round the mountain, instead of pro- 
 ceeding mathematically to any Christian habi- 
 tation. The usual troubles of a strayed tra- 
 veller journeying in foreign lands now overtook 
 me, and perplexed my thoughts exceedingly. 
 Fancies drear crowded into my brain like the 
 hollow wind that now began to moan in the 
 distance, and to whisper strange words in my 
 ears, while a certain exhausted receiver that I 
 carried about with me, seemed to yawn discon- 
 tentedly like the deep chasms that now grew 
 dark among the surrounding vallies. 
 
 Philosophy, however, came again kindly to 
 my aid, reminding me in the plenitude of its 
 wisdom that 1 had no money wherewith to 
 render me a worthy subject of any creditable 
 robbery ; that moreover, the Germans were an 
 exceedingly honest people, and that, according 
 to natural history, even the vultures and crows 
 of those parts were of a kindly nature, and 
 could not have the heart to pick out my eyes, 
 even if, like a Bethlehem shepherd, I should be 
 obliged to lie in the fields all night. 
 
 While preparing my mind for the worst 
 
EISENBACH. 195 
 
 that might happen, in this judicious and sen- 
 sible manner, I found myself mounting a 
 height on the borders of another small valley. 
 The light seemed now again to brighten a little, 
 and by it I perceived, peeping from among the 
 woodland above me, the white turrets of a small 
 mansion, or rather villa, which came by degrees 
 into view from among the planting, and ap- 
 peared to me at once, as in some way quite 
 different from the usual dwellings in this part 
 of Germany. The road soon passed within a 
 few hundred yards of this house, the valley 
 below swept up enchantingly among the moun- 
 tains, the stream at the bottom turned into a 
 little lake in the distance, and the white houses 
 of a small hamlet studded with a lively effect the 
 side of the hill on the opposite side of the hollow. 
 I was speculating within myself whether the 
 tasteful little property beside me could belong 
 to a native, when I heard a footstep pattering 
 among the planting near, and the voice of a 
 child to my astonishment cry out in English, 
 " O ! papa, here is a stranger going past, and I 
 am sure he is an Englishman, for he wears such 
 a pretty cap : do ask him in." 
 K 2 
 
196 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 A fair-faced, and exceedingly gentleman-like 
 young man now came in view from among the 
 shrubbery by the road, and observing me, 
 seemed for an instant to hesitate whether or 
 not he should address me. I put an end to his 
 doubt by speaking first, and in English, and 
 was agreeably surprised not only by an answer 
 in the same tongue, as I had hoped for, but by 
 an expression of congratulation at meeting me, 
 and a warm invitation to accept of the hospi- 
 tality of his house. Nothing could have been 
 more opportune at the moment. I accepted of 
 his kindness with real joy, and in five minutes 
 after was comfortably seated in a handsome 
 parlour, so fitted up and furnished, that I 
 almost imagined myself on the banks of the 
 Thames or the Severn. 
 
 A slight German accent was all that distin- 
 guished my host from an Englishman and 
 when here on the frontier of Germany, he began 
 to ask me of the news from London, and to talk 
 of persons and places with which I was familiar 
 at home, I was almost as much delighted as 
 his little daughter by his knee, who absolutely 
 jumped with joy at hearing my English speech. 
 
 " I will not hear a word of apology, my good 
 
EISENBACH. 197 
 
 Sir," he said, " and if you can submit to plain 
 fare, here you will be pleased to take up your 
 quarters for the night, for my wife is from 
 home ; I am, as you see, left alone with my little 
 daughter so the gratification from this chance 
 visit of a condescending stranger, is all on my 
 side," and he finished his simple invitation by 
 ordering in fruit and refreshments, with several 
 varieties of that delicious Rhenish, that, drank 
 among the valleys where it grows, is so grateful 
 to the palate of the exhausted traveller. 
 
 " It is not wonderful that I am happy to see 
 an Englishman, Sir," he continued ; " my recol- 
 lections of your country are most interesting. 
 and he looked in the pretty intelligent face of 
 his child. 
 
 " Your lady is an Englishwoman, Sir ?" I 
 said, evincing my usual penetration. 
 
 " She is, Sir how happy she will be to see 
 you, if you will do me the honour to be my 
 guest till she return ! She has left me for the 
 night for a work of kindness at the bed-side 
 of a sick friend ; for we have friends here, and 
 she loves them too, it being my wife's nature 
 to love the good wherever she meets them. 
 Excuse my egotism, Sir, when I speak of her." 
 
198 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 " And your little daughter is her image, I 
 dare say," I ventured to observe, as I again 
 contemplated with pleasure, the pure English 
 features of the beautiful child, so different from 
 the general plainness of the females of these 
 parts. 
 
 The young man gazed on the smiling girl. 
 J seemed to have touched the chord of that deep 
 German feeling which belongs to the inhabitants 
 of these valleys. " She is her mother's image," 
 he said and as he clasped her convulsively in 
 his arms, I turned my head away, that I might 
 not seem to pry into the genuine emotion of the 
 happy parent. 
 
 " And yet," he added, " I can scarcely call 
 myself a German ; still less am I an Englishman. 
 In truth, I have all my life been but a child of 
 chance, if you will allow so unphilosophical a 
 term. Chance made me a stranger wandering 
 the world for many years. Chance took me to 
 England. Chance procured me friends there, 
 as it has your society this evening. Chance has 
 made me a happy man, while it might have 
 made me miserable. But Providence is the 
 better word and the truer, and I am fortunate 
 and thankful." 
 
EISENBACH. 199 
 
 I was positively interested by the conversa- 
 tion and manner of my host, and began to 
 think myself quite favoured in meeting with 
 him, particularly here, finding he had lived in 
 England. 
 
 " But you are not to suppose," he afterwards 
 said, ef that I saw nothing but beauty and vir- 
 tue in London. In the chances of my stay in 
 that capital, there came in my way the usual 
 persons and characteristics which draw often 
 such contrasts into life which mix its inci- 
 dents, or which, like sounds of painful discord, 
 succeed each other with such grating effect 
 upon the tympanum of experience. I saw of 
 course virtue for a time in the grasp or the toils 
 of guilt gentleness of spirit harassed or alarmed 
 by unfeeling grossness. Along with many better 
 things, I saw weakness and waywardness making 
 up the sum of human impulses chance and 
 desert working out the sum of human life." 
 
 With the jealousy of all enthusiasm, and the 
 matter-of-fact way of thinking attributed to my 
 countrymen, I could not help smiling at this 
 speech of my new friend ; yet I love a little 
 moralising when it does not take any high 
 sounding name ; and now thought it suitable 
 
200 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 enough, in a conversation about England with 
 a stranger on the banks of the Rhine. The 
 more I had of my host's company, the more I 
 became interested concerning him. In the 
 course of the evening the hints that dropped 
 'from him regarding certain occurrences which 
 befel him in London excited my curiosity, as 
 they seemed to allude to some circumstances 
 of which I had formerly heard, but with a 
 vagueness and misapprehension which were 
 exceedingly unsatisfactory. 
 
 On the following day, therefore, I with 
 little difficulty persuaded him to narrate to 
 me the details of his story or rather of that 
 part of it which related to his sojourn in 
 England. It will speak for itself, both as to 
 his character and the occurrences in question. 
 The following may be taken as nearly his 
 own words : 
 
 . ~ .i 
 
 I had no sooner set foot in England began 
 my host than chance threw in my way persons 
 and incidents which unaccountably interested 
 me, as if by an involuntary presentiment that 
 both were in some way to become accessory to 
 events in which I was myself to be concerned. 
 
EISENBACH. 201 
 
 On my landing at Dover, having a few hours 
 to spend there, I did not, like the usual rabble 
 of strangers, clime up the cliffs or lounge about 
 the ramparts of the castle, but sat down quietly 
 at the window of my inn, looking out at no- 
 thing at all, unless it might be at the pas- 
 sengers in the street, who did not indeed 
 appear to be particularly worth contemplating. 
 Never, however, had I on former occasions tried 
 this plan of seeming idleness for any length of 
 time, in a strange place, but something fell in 
 my way that more or less fastened on my mind, 
 and became a nucleus for future observation. 
 
 Casting my eyes down a narrow lane or pas- 
 sage nearly opposite to the window where I sat, 
 I observed a gentleman walking backwards and 
 forwards alone, evidently in much anxiety or 
 agitation, or as if he waited for something with 
 the greatest impatience. His bearing and 
 manner fixed my attention on him, but being 
 near-sighted, I could not then obtain a proper 
 view of his face. Presently a servant came hastily 
 up the lane, and whispered something in the 
 gentleman's ear. He drew back his head as if 
 in surprise at the intelligence, smiled with an 
 
 K3 
 
THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 air of aristocratical hauteur, yet spoke with a 
 condescending manner to the man, as he seemed 
 to give him some directions, and while doing 
 so evidently casting his eye towards the place 
 where I sat. They then separated, and I ob- 
 served the servant cross the street, and at once 
 enter my hotel, while the gentleman from whom 
 he had parted slowly walked off up the lane. 
 
 In two minutes after, my own room-door 
 opened, and the landlord of the inn himself 
 came bowing towards me. 
 
 " I am going to ask a particular favour of 
 you, Sir," said he; "I hope you will not be 
 offended." 
 
 " Say on, if you please." 
 " That you will oblige me by moving to the 
 apartments below, only for this day, as this sit- 
 ting-room is particularly required." 
 
 " You gave it up to me not an hour ago," 
 I said, " besides the apartment below is a 
 common room I cannot comply." 
 
 " You would very much oblige me, Sir," 
 added the landlord, " and a gentleman who " 
 " I know not why I should give up the only 
 place in your house where I can sit with comfort 
 
EISENBACH. 203 
 
 to any gentleman whom I do not know. If it 
 was to accommodate a lady, then" 
 
 " Probably there may be a lady, Sir," said 
 the servant whom I had jiist seen with the stran- 
 ger as he now stepped in behind the landlord. 
 " Beg your pardon, Sir," added the man, 
 " but master sends his compliments, and 
 is most anxious" 
 
 " Pray who is your master?" 
 
 " I am not at liberty, Sir my master's name 
 is is" 
 
 " Never mind," said I, perceiving the fellow 
 was about to give me a false name " I will 
 abandon the room," and I rose and walked down 
 stairs. 
 
 Hating to enter the public room of a mid- 
 dling hotel, I preferred standing by the pillar 
 at the door, particularly as I wished to have a 
 look at the person who thus strangely had inter- 
 ested me, and turned me out of my apartment. 
 
 I lingered, however, nearly an hour without 
 his again making his appearance, and was about 
 returning to remonstrate with the landlord, 
 when the same servant again entered the hotel, 
 and instantly after a travelling-chariot drew up 
 
204 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 to the door. Two persons only were seated in 
 it, one a sickly melancholy-looking gentleman, 
 not however much beyond middle age ; the other 
 a lady, muffled up and veiled so that I could not 
 see her face. They did not alight, but while the 
 horses were watered and refreshed, the lady 
 seemed endeavouring to persuade the sickly man 
 to something to which he would not assent, and 
 as I stepped a little aside, I heard the sweet and 
 tender tones of her voice remonstrating with 
 him, while he answered her with a crabbed 
 roughness and seeming contempt, that made my 
 heart bleed for her, whoever she might be. 
 
 On casting my eyes within the hall of the 
 inn, T observed, to my astonishment, the ser- 
 vant of the strange gentleman making every 
 effort, by looks and signs, to attract the obser- 
 vation of the lady in the chariot. She per- 
 ceived him at length, and looked steadily to- 
 wards him. In a minute after I saw her lift 
 the edge of her veil, and looking upwards, fix 
 her eyes upon the window at which I had just 
 been sitting. What could this mean ? for I 
 had seen no one enter the house since I had left 
 that room. Stepping across the way, however, 
 
EISENBACH. 205 
 
 I observed the black curled head of the gentle- 
 man whom I had seen in the lane, who had 
 evidently entered the hotel by a back door, and 
 whose large and intelligent black eyes now 
 seemed to seek those of the lady with the 
 greatest anxiety. I would myself have given 
 any thing to obtain a sight of her face, but 
 could not, and only heard, as I again drew 
 near, her soft pleading tones, and the tart and 
 short replies with which they were greeted by 
 the disagreeable person who sat beside her. 
 
 At length I saw the servant of the stranger 
 and one of the waiters of the inn in close com- 
 munication, and in a short time after the latter, 
 handing some fruit to the lady at the carriage 
 window, slipped into her hand a small piece 
 of paper, which he had concealed under a 
 bunch of grapes. The nervous emotion with 
 which she clutched the billet affected me, and 
 made me almost ashamed of thus watching her ; 
 and as I turned to enter the hotel, the cross and 
 piercing tones of her companion^ blaming her, 
 or uttering a crabbed malediction on the ser- 
 vant for thus delaying them, entered my very 
 soul, as I am sure they did that of the poor 
 
206 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 female who was obliged to endure such beha- 
 viour. In an instant after the whip was laid to 
 the horses, and I saw no more of this strange 
 couple, and before another five minutes had 
 passed, the landlord came bowing to where I 
 stood, and with many apologies, informed me 
 that the apartment I had so obligingly given 
 up was again at my service. 
 
 " And where is the strange gentleman ?" 
 
 " He is gone, Sir." 
 
 " When, or how ?" 
 
 " From the court-gate behind, just this in- 
 stant." 
 
 "Pray who is he?" 
 
 " I never inquire the name of my guests, Sir ; 
 it is not my business ; and I never even say, 
 6 my Lord/ or ' your Grace,' in addressing 
 those who honour my house with their custom, 
 unless it may be a nobleman's pleasure to travel 
 by his own title." 
 
 It is vexatious to have one's curiosity excited 
 and then to know nothing. " It will be very 
 odd," said I to myself, " if the chances of life 
 do not throw in my way some clue to this affair 
 when I get to London." I little knew then how 
 wide a place London is. 
 
EISENBACH. 207 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 UPON my arrival in the capital I found my- 
 self for a considerable time, like other friendless 
 persons, a lost man among the busy myriads 
 of the English metropolis. Knowing no one, 
 and unwilling to make any acquaintance with 
 those who looked upon me with suspicion be- 
 cause I had no friends, I passed away my 
 time in that weary solitude, which has been 
 so often felt in a great town by strangers like 
 myself. 
 
 But though I went every where, and saw 
 every thing that strangers see, and looked in 
 
208 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 every face that passed me, for want of some- 
 thing better to do, I never could set my eyes 
 upon the remarkable man whom I had observed 
 at Dover, and who, together with the lady, still 
 continued to occupy my thoughts with an unac- 
 countable curiosity. Why I should continue to 
 concern my mind about them, seemed odd 
 even to myself, for, as for the lady it was not 
 possible that I should know her again, never 
 having seen her face, and as for the gentleman 
 who had acted so mysteriously, I had seen him 
 at such a distance, and for so short a period, 
 that it was doubtful if I should among the 
 thousands of London, be again able to identify 
 his person. Yet I could not get either him or 
 the seemingly ill-treated lady out of my head. 
 I looked for them so eagerly in all public places, 
 and my mind dwelt so much on the slight cir- 
 cumstance I have related, that for want pro- 
 bably of better employment, curiosity con- 
 cerning them became almost a disease, and I 
 would have given any thing to have had it gra- 
 tified. 
 
 About a fortnight after my arrival in London, 
 proceeding along one of the crowded streets in 
 
EISENBACH. 209 
 
 the west end, on one of those fine days when all 
 the beauty and fashion of the metropolis may 
 be met out of doors, I observed a gentleman 
 walking slowly before me, whose noble figure 
 and elegance of dress, were almost distinguish- 
 ing even among the numbers of handsome men 
 around me. Before I could pass him to obtain a 
 look of his face, however, a servant with a led 
 horse came hastily riding up. The gentleman 
 mounted it, while I involuntarily watched him. 
 Chancing to cast my eye towards the servant, I 
 knew him at once to be the same that I had seen 
 at Dover, and stepped hastily forward to get a 
 proper sight of his master. It was in vain, 
 however, that I even tried to catch the profile 
 the horse's head was turned round as he threw 
 himself into the saddle, and putting spurs to 
 the animal, he and the man were in an instant 
 out of my sight. 
 
 A few days after this, while in a different part 
 of the town, and happening at the time to be 
 musing upon this very circumstance, my eye 
 rested upon the figure of a lady, as, issuing from 
 the door of a mansion, she crossed the flags to 
 her carriage. As she passed before me and 
 
210 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 shewed her ankle in ascending the steps, I 
 noticed her only as one of those fine figures of 
 women so often seen in this land of beauty ; but 
 looking carelessly at the carriage as I passed, 
 the arms on it at once struck upon my recollec- 
 tion. They were the very same as were on that 
 carriage at Dover, which contained persons who 
 had so very much interested me. This must 
 have been the lady I strode forward to observe 
 her face. The blinds however were drawn up 
 in a moment. Crack went the coachman's whip, 
 and in two minutes the vehicle was out of sight. 
 
 I now began to see the absurdity of this in- 
 voluntary curiosity about persons whom I was 
 never likely to meet, and determined to watch 
 for them no more. For several weeks I suc- 
 ceeded in forgetting them, when, coming out of 
 the Argyle Rooms one evening after a concert, 
 I heard two ladies in the crowd whispering 
 eagerly, and one say to the other, " Look there 
 that is he !" 
 
 Where ?" 
 
 " Just beyond the fat lady." 
 
 u Oh, I see him what an elegant young man ! 
 But is it actually true ?" 
 
EISENBACH. 211 
 
 " I am convinced it is but as yet it is a mere 
 whisper." 
 
 I looked in the direction that the ladies 
 pointed to, but I could only see a section of the 
 face, yet I was certain it was the strange gen- 
 tleman. I pushed forward, but the towering 
 head-dress of a tall woman came betwixt me 
 and the object, and whatever way I turned my 
 head, was sure to intercept my efforts for a look. 
 I could not push past her without absolute 
 rudeness, and before I was relieved from this 
 annoyance, the strange gentleman was com- 
 pletely lost in the crowd. 
 
 If there could be any excuse for such ab- 
 surd curiosity, a lady only ought to have made 
 it pardonable in a man, and as to her that 
 was associated in it, I had never actually seen 
 her, and never was likely to do so, in such a 
 manner at least as to identify her with the ob- 
 ject of my anxiety. But if the mind once em- 
 ploys itself long or frequently upon any one 
 object, what that object may be is of no conse- 
 quence as to the interest taken in it. All the 
 sights and scenes of London were stale, flat, 
 and insipid, compared to my obtaining authentic 
 
212 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 information regarding those three persons who 
 had attracted and upheld my curiosity from the 
 first hour of my arrival in England. 
 
 I soon began to find that my present state of 
 mental solitude was not the best, and far from 
 being the most safe for one of my character, for 
 it gave me too much the habit of reading faces 
 and catching impressions from them, which, as 
 beauty was no rarity in London, might end in 
 consequences very serious to my happiness. A 
 thoughtful stranger, wandering about the 
 streets of the metropolis, is nought else but a 
 walking intellect a moving reader of the 
 world's book a meditative unit of mind, which 
 giving out nothing, imbibes as it goes those im- 
 pressions and observations upon which it after- 
 wards chews the cud of inference and reflec- 
 tion. 
 
 This was my case, and an escape from this 
 brooding solitude I found the more necessary, 
 as, in the course of my perambulations in pub- 
 lic places, I had been much struck with two 
 faces, one of which at least began to take firm 
 hold of my fancy. It was that of a young female 
 of about eighteen, one of those quiet but touch- 
 
EISEXBACH. 213 
 
 ing beauties, which the eye cannot long con- 
 template without drawing in the heart, and 
 which it involuntarily turns away from gazing 
 upon, from an instinctive deference to the 
 power of simple loveliness. 
 
 The other face was that of a man who had 
 insinuated himself into my conversation one 
 evening, when I met him among some foreign- 
 ers, at the Cafe de TEurope, and which at 
 least in its indications and expression, was the 
 very contrast of the touching sweetness and in- 
 nocent beauty of the girl. He was a person of 
 about forty with a salacious, I should almost 
 say? swinish eye, a gluttonous if not dissipated 
 look, and a patch of bald on the crown of a 
 frowsy head. Although shrewd, and by no 
 means wanting in intelligence, he was one of 
 those brutish versions of humanity which a 
 mind of any delicacy must instinctively hate. 
 I was involuntarily impelled to abhor the cha- 
 racter that this man's countenance predicated 
 to be his. Yet one of those chance circumstances 
 which often bring in contact persons the most 
 dissimilar in their nature, brought, for the 
 most providential purposes, this coarse man and 
 
214 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 I into some intimacy. I afterwards learned 
 that his name was Compton, and that he was 
 rich, and by profession a lawyer, and occa- 
 sionally a money-lender. 
 
 Finding myself too solitary in a hotel or a 
 private lodging, I determined, rather than live 
 without society, to seek it by boarding with a 
 respectable family. An advertisement in a 
 newspaper soon procured me what I wanted. 
 The house 1 was directed to was in a good 
 street in the west. The apartments I liked. 
 The landlady was smart and a notable English- 
 woman. Two other gentlemen I was informed 
 were domiciled in the house. What was my 
 surprise on sitting down to the first dinner with 
 the guests of this establishment, to find myself 
 introduced to the Mr. Compton whom I have 
 just mentioned ? His very countenance de- 
 prived me at first of all appetite, and to add to 
 my annoyance, he drank wine with me all din- 
 ner, and attached himself to me as my particu- 
 lar friend. I determined to leave the house 
 with all haste, but this determination was not 
 so easily accomplished. 
 
 Meantime, though forswearing this constant 
 
EISENBACH. 215 
 
 reading of faces, I could not help going once 
 more to the crowded drive in your Hyde Park, 
 to obtain one other look of that beautiful, that 
 fascinating countenance, which had now almost 
 become the delight of my existence. For a 
 long time the sweet female did not appear, but 
 just as I was about to leave the crowded spot, 
 I perceived the plain and modest green chariot 
 in which, accompanied by an elderly lady or 
 gentleman, she usually rode. A chock of car- 
 riages stopped the line, and as theirs stood for 
 a time, I observed a gentleman leaning over 
 the rails and gazing on her. With the selfish- 
 ness no doubt of jealousy, as well as from a 
 feeling of admiration and deference, I felt in- 
 dignant to see so sweet a creature so eagerly 
 stared at by another. What was my astonish- 
 ment when, as at length lifting his head, I recog- 
 nized in the gazer the large black eyes of the 
 stranger whom I had thought of with so much 
 curiosity since I first saw him at Dover ! 
 
 The admiration with which I had regarded 
 the fascinating female in the carriage, was but 
 a passing gleam of the sunshine of beauty, 
 at which a traveller stranger might look and 
 
216 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 be satisfied ; but now I seemed to live but under 
 the influence of this peculiar man, of whom I 
 had only this day obtained a proper sight ; for, 
 whereas before I had the most unaccountable 
 wish to see him, and could not for all my 
 anxiety gratify my curiosity, from this day 
 forward I saw him every day and in every 
 place, as if he had been absolutely haunting 
 me. Go where I would in any public place, I 
 was sure to meet him. If I went out in the 
 morning, he was almost the first man I met. 
 If I rode to the country, I could not look over 
 my shoulder but I perceived him riding after 
 me. If I went to the park, he was there already, 
 and stared at me as he passed with a dull and 
 haughty smile, as if he knew me. If I tried 
 'to avoid him by going to church, I was sure to 
 find him in the very next pew to myself. Could 
 all this be accident ; or was I under some en- 
 chantment ? He was a handsome man, with 
 extremely dark eyes and very white teeth, and 
 his whole physiognomy sometimes put on a 
 most peculiar expression. Was I too idle that I 
 thus observed him, or too imaginative that I 
 thought thus about him ? or had he thrown 
 
EISENBACH. 217 
 
 some spell over me ? I really know not, but 
 every time I saw him afresh, a nervous sensation 
 ran through me. He made me forget even the 
 interesting angel that had so often delighted my 
 fancy in the park. Who, or what could he be ? 
 Was he any ordinary living mystery ? Was he 
 Mephistophilis walking the earth? or was he 
 the allegorical demon of England, who mocked 
 the curiosity and froze the feelings of the 
 stranger. 
 
 Avoiding him by staying at home for two or 
 three days, I soon convinced myself that I was 
 too solitary in mind, and too abstracted to 
 think justly, and that by a species of involun- 
 tary yet indulged musing upon single objects, I 
 was all this time making something out of ab- 
 solute nothing. The society at the boarding- 
 house began to break in upon my reserve. 
 The young men quizzed me, and the landlady 
 bantered me, and as for Mr. Compton, he laughed 
 at me with so much good humour, and rallied 
 me with so much clumsy good sense, that my 
 prejudices against him began to give way, and I 
 talked to him with even an approach to freedom. 
 
 " I doubt not, Mr. Eisenbach," said he, 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
218 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 " that you think yourself exceedingly deep and 
 penetrating, and that when you go back to 
 Germany you will write a perfectly correct ac- 
 count of English society, seeing that you know 
 it so intimately. Nay, do not deny it, for I 
 know that that is your drift ; and I myself 
 will give you several hints which you will find 
 particularly valuable. But I would not have 
 you to give yourself much further trouble in 
 diving into the depths of English manners, hav- 
 ing evidently such large opportunities of ac- 
 quiring knowledge, for a man always writes 
 with most zeal upon a subject that he does not 
 understand." 
 
 " I certainly don't understand you" 
 
 " So much the better. It is by want of 
 understanding that the world thrives, for there 
 is no confidence like the confidence of ignorance, 
 and if your book itself was understood, it would 
 have but little success. But, harkee, you'll 
 never get out of England without being taken 
 in." 
 
 " How mean you ?" 
 
 " Why, courted." 
 
 " What ! / courted ?" 
 
EISENBACH. 219 
 
 " To be sure.. The courtship in England is 
 all done by the women, and you are just the 
 honest softling to be wooed and won, if you 
 only have plenty of the geldt^ to make it worth 
 the while of mothers and single sisters, to sue 
 for your hand. But when you are in for it, 
 if you happen to like your wife, and wish to 
 live godly and honest, without horns above your 
 ears, I would advise you to take her beyond 
 the Rhine with you, or at least out of London ; 
 for although the French fashion in this respect 
 is rather out at present, there are strange doings 
 occasionally take place in town." 
 
 " The English women are allowed to be ex- 
 ceedingly virtuous?" 
 
 " They are so in general. But what between 
 ill-assorted marriages, daily made for the sake 
 of fortune, and the arts of certain shewy men 
 on town ; what between the monotony of 
 English life, which makes even the semblance 
 of intrigue so seducing, as it is so dangerous, 
 there are things happen now and then which 
 help to swell the muddy stream of human guilt, 
 and to keep up the bitter tide of private 
 misery." 
 
 L2 
 
220 THE CLUB- BOOK. 
 
 " This is strong language ; but know you of 
 any late occurrence that causes you to speak so ?" 
 and as I spoke the still unexplained scene at 
 Dover came naturally across my mind. 
 
 " Yes ; but if I told 1 you, you would put it in 
 your book." 
 
 " Pshaw ! I am not going to make a book." 
 
 " Ton your honour ?" said my new friend, 
 with affected vulgarity and looking incredulous- 
 ly in my face. " Well, my friend, if you don't 
 write a book while you are ignorant, you have 
 little chance of doing so when you come to know 
 something; for ignorant people always write 
 most and fastest, and those who are more igno- 
 rant still, like a book the better for containing 
 little that is of any value. But excuse me," 
 he added, taking out his watch, " my hour is 
 
 come I have a d d drunken affair to go to 
 
 to-night, which will probably keep me very 
 late," and thus saying, and swallowing the 
 debris of his wine, he left the company, to take a 
 deeper dose somewhere else. 
 
 The resources of a stranger and a bachelor 
 are few, even in London ; at least I found them 
 so. His very pleasures are solitary, and if not, 
 
EISENBACH. 221 
 
 are sure to be in some shape mercenary or in- 
 terested. I took up my hat, and having the 
 privilege of a seat in one of the common sort of 
 boxes, I determined to while away the evening at 
 the Opera. 
 
 The house was thin, and the box into which 
 I had the entree, contained already two 
 ladies, friends of the owner, accompanied only 
 by a spoiled boy. I felt my situation awkward, 
 as a stranger in England will often do, but 
 putting on the dogged dulness of a thick-headed 
 John Bull, to avoid that hateful suspicious look 
 with which in London a foreign face is usually 
 regarded, I sat down behind the women without 
 speaking. 
 
 The music that I heard was elaborate and 
 unmeaning, and as for the ballet, it was well 
 enough, only that it was a mere repetition, as 
 usual. But the ladies in front of me held a whis- 
 pering conversation, which, becoming exceed- 
 ingly earnest, I was, though not an eaves-drop- 
 per, obliged to give attention. It might be 
 only a tale of private scandal, but from the 
 manner in which they talked they seemed to 
 have found a mine of family romance, the de- 
 
222 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 tails of which I could only catch by snatches 
 and single words, but over which the speakers 
 gravely shook their heads as they hinted at 
 strange facts and stranger surmises, deep guilt 
 and deeper suffering, which formed another 
 painful illustration of the weakness and the way- 
 wardness of poor human nature. 
 
 Could it be possible that there could be any 
 identity between this tale and what I had ob- 
 served at Dover ! But I could learn nothing 
 connectedly, for probably nothing satisfactory 
 was known by the ladies after all. In the words 
 I overheard, there seemed to be dim reminis- 
 cences of an envied bride and a proud bride- 
 groom, of a splendid sacrifice to Hymen, which 
 the fashionable long talked of, and of continental 
 adventures afterwards, which were only known 
 by inuendoes to the world, and spoken of chief- 
 ly among the servitor orders, in dark and doubt- 
 ful whisperings. Then there were hints of open 
 assignations and midnight manoeuvres, and 
 bribed servants and dark passages, and of a 
 strange man whom no one knew, who had lately 
 been seen on the streets of town. 
 
 Of this person the ladies spoke with perfect 
 
EISENBACH. 223 
 
 enthusiasm, while yet, with reference to his 
 conduct, they affected disgust and indignation. 
 In the hyperbolical language of female admira- 
 tion, he was described as one who dressed as 
 no man had ever dressed before, and looked as 
 no other man in England ever looked : a man 
 of high title and haughty bearing, with a com- 
 plexion admirable, because un-English a pro- 
 file like that of the master-pieces of Phidias, 
 and a moustache overlooking a scornful lip, 
 that had about it the very curl and authority 
 of aristocracy. 
 
 As to the lady, her beauty was spoken of in 
 those critical and doubtful terms in which one 
 woman usually talks of the attractions of 
 another. Gay and fascinating once, she was 
 described as so no longer, and was now never 
 seen in public, unless it might be in that very 
 house, the Opera, where, added the ladies, she 
 might possibly be that very evening. 
 
 While listening to this gossip, my eye was 
 much struck by a face, which I observed to 
 steal occasionally from behind the curtain of a 
 box nearly opposite. The countenance retired 
 quickly, and I again lost its bold and almost 
 
224 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 magnificent expression of beauty. I laid my 
 head back, and kept the glass to my eye for a 
 quarter of an hour, while I watched for the 
 re-appearance of this hidden star that eclipsed 
 all others around it. While thus occupied, I 
 heard the door of the box next to the one where 
 I sat opened, and a single man, as appeared 
 by the heavy foot, ushered in. Again I saw 
 the head of the lady I was watching come forth 
 from behind the curtain to look at Pasta, and 
 to my astonishment, she slowly, and with seem- 
 ing caution, turned her face towards where I 
 was, and, as I thought, gave a hasty glance 
 exactly at myself. I kept my glass to my eye, 
 instinctively impelled to observe the motions of 
 this apparition. I declare on my soul I saw 
 her smile and almost make a sign to me it 
 seemed evidently to me. I could not mistake 
 it, but in another instant the face was lost be- 
 hind the curtain. 
 
 It was now my disposition, as a stranger, to 
 be curious and observing, and solitude had 
 made me thoughtful. I began to wonder what 
 could cause a single individual to come to the 
 Opera so late as the man in the next box had 
 
EISENBACH. 225 
 
 done. Again I saw the lady opposite look 
 across. It now struck me that it was not to me, 
 but to this late-coming stranger that she had 
 seemed to smile. 
 
 The great curtain of the stage was about to 
 drop, and I should soon know nothing. My 
 curiosity was not to be restrained, and putting 
 my head out to get a sight of my neighbour, I 
 saw a black, foreign-looking head, which turn- 
 ing round at my seeming impertinence, the 
 large dark eyes of the man by whom I had of 
 late been haunted glared full upon me. I 
 delare I was seized with an absolute tremor, 
 and as the house rose, I found a sort of refuge 
 in losing myself in the crowd of the crush-room 
 without. But by the time I had arrived at the 
 colonnade below, and my ears began to be 
 stunned by the shouts of the servants and peo- 
 ple calling for the carriages of the nobility, my 
 curiosity returned, impelling me to try, if pos- 
 sible, to obtain a sight of the lady. This at- 
 tempt was useless now, for though silks rustled 
 around me, and lights glared above, and forms 
 of beauty flitted past, and all the perfumes of 
 Paris wafted across my sense, the crowd was 
 L 3 
 
226 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 too great for me to see any one distinctly, un- 
 less I had made myself more obtrusive than it 
 was my nature to do. 
 
 Just as I had got however among the soldiers 
 and valets, who served to choke up the outer 
 vomitory of the theatre, the steps of a carriage 
 without the columns were let down with a rat- 
 tle, and I turned my head to look at its in- 
 tended and probably fair occupants. A noble 
 female figure, wrapped in a carriage-cloak, 
 swam past me like a queen. As she bent her- 
 self in stepping into the carriage, I had a single 
 glance of a bold Roman profile, which might 
 have suited that of Lucrecia herself. I could 
 see no more save a dark eye-lash, but a portion 
 of the head-dress, which I was able to notice, 
 informed me at once. , I knew it was the very 
 same I had seen from behind the curtain at 
 least I thought so. I tried to get another look 
 to assure myself, but the crowd jostled me out 
 of sight, and I only heard the carriage rattle 
 off down the street, while I elbowed my way 
 forth towards my lodgings almost in a fever of 
 ungratified, and yet strongly excited curiosity 
 and interest, concerning some persons I could 
 not tell whom. 
 
EISENBACH. 227 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WHEN I got to the door of my own home, 
 some fancy struck me, of waywardness or of an 
 odd humour, and I could not bear to enter it. 
 Though the night was by no means particularly 
 inviting, I turned away, and determined, late 
 as it was, to make up for my late confinement, 
 by strolling away some distance, before I at- 
 tempted to sleep. I was by no means well ac- 
 quainted with London, so, proceeding north- 
 ward, I was soon lost among turnings and 
 crossings. 
 
228 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 Wandering through that labyrinth of dull 
 streets that shoot up their tiers of long windows 
 and tire the eye with their eternal sameness, 
 from Piccadilly to the Regent's Park, on turn- 
 ing a corner, and looking down one of those 
 interminable lines of lamps that blind the eyes 
 and fatigue the imagination, a figure intervened 
 in the near distance, which by continuing for a 
 considerable time in my view, and by its slow 
 tread and measured movement, strongly at- 
 tracted my observation. 
 
 Striding forward to get nearer, I observed 
 that the figure wore an elaborately tasselated 
 cloak, while a crushed opera-hat was placed 
 out of all keeping upon his thickly furnished 
 head, as if stuck on to help to disguise the 
 wearer. 
 
 There are individuals, who, when the eye 
 once fixes upon them, excite one's curiosity we 
 know not why. By his stately gait and muffled 
 elaboration of Spanish cloak, the man before 
 me impressed me with the idea that he was a 
 person of rank ; but why such a man should be 
 wandering the streets of London on foot at this 
 hour could not well be acounted for, unless 
 
EISENBACH. 229 
 
 some secret intrigue was supposed, which 
 might make it unsafe to employ any decent 
 vehicle. When this fan^y had once got into 
 my head, after what I had overheard at the 
 Opera, I was instantly smitten with that wo- 
 man's curiosity, which still was at hand, and 
 determined to watch the motions of the 
 stranger. 
 
 Crossing to the opposite side of the street to 
 prevent suspicion', I at length observed the 
 cloaked man stop at one of those large black 
 doors so common in the west of London ; but 
 instead of seeking admittance to the mansion by 
 the bold and decided knock and ring of aristo- 
 cracy, I observed him touch the great door 
 gently by three light taps with the head of his 
 cane, when instantly the door opened, as if a 
 servant had been stationed behind it to wait for 
 him, and the next moment he was out of my 
 sight. 
 
 The incident struck me as so singular, that, 
 stepping across the street, I determined at least 
 to mark the house into which the stranger had 
 been thus suspiciously admitted, and afterwards 
 to inquire the name of the street, in case any 
 
230 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 event should occur to give me a clue to the 
 affair. I stepped up to the door, and in look- 
 ing up close to it for a number or name, I un- 
 intentionally gave it a slight push with my 
 hand. To my astonishment it swung wide 
 open ; and as if an infatuation of curiosity was 
 over me, in another instant I was in the interior 
 of the hall. 
 
 I had stepped in, in the first instance to catch 
 hold of the door, and shut it again without 
 being observed. I did so, but finding no one 
 near, and the entrance lighted only by a single 
 lamp borne by a statue in a niche on the -staircase, 
 I stood for a moment inside to take another 
 observation. I listened and heard feet as if 
 cautiously ascending the stairs from an inner 
 hall, for the mansion was extensive and magni- 
 ficent, yet to me it had a strangely dead and 
 sombre appearance. 
 
 I ventured three or four paces within to listen 
 with better effect. I heard a foot softly tread- 
 ing, but it seemed at a distance. What was 
 my consternation when on looking upwards I 
 perceived a servant stealthily descending the 
 great stairs almost immediately over me. For- 
 
EISENBACH. 231 
 
 tunately I was not seen. Stepping behind 
 a pillar until he should pass, I observed the 
 man go directly to the hall-door. He uttered 
 an oath when he found it scarcely closed, but 
 my feelings may be conceived when as I stood 
 trembling behind the pillar, I saw the fellow 
 double-lock and chain the door, and taking out 
 the key, proceed, with a grumble of characteris- 
 tic profanity at his own stupidity, to place the 
 heavy instrument in his pocket ; then putting 
 out the dim light on the staircase, he walked 
 past me, and descended towards the apartments 
 below. 
 
 I was so amazed at the situation in which I 
 now found myself, thus accidentally locked into 
 a strange mansion, that for a few minutes I 
 stood behind the pillar perfectly stupified. I 
 saw that to get out from this unpleasant predi- 
 cament, I must make myself known to the in- 
 mates, and what excuse to frame or how to face 
 them I knew not. Undoubtedly I had, with 
 the most thoughtless folly, made myself an 
 object of serious suspicion ; and I saw that to 
 get out of durance, explanations would be 
 necessary that could not fail to be exceedingly 
 
THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 degrading. But when I began to anticipate 
 the tale of this adventure getting abroad in the 
 public, and coming to the ears of those I lived 
 among, my face burned with forestalled shame, 
 and my heart became absolutely sick with 
 vexation. 
 
 I was beginning to rally my courage, how- 
 ever, when I heard a door open above, and a 
 heavy step proceed along the passage. Imme- 
 diately after I perceived an elderly woman, 
 having the appearance of a sick nurse, come 
 tottering down the back-stairs. Every thing 
 within this dwelling was eagerly observed by 
 me, in order that I might obtain some idea of 
 the sort of house into which I had got ; and, 
 whether it was the deception of my agitated 
 feelings, I knew not then, but the eyes of the 
 woman glared strangely as she passed down, as 
 if she was intoxicated. Where on earth could I 
 have got to? The beldame hobbled off with her 
 candle in her hand, and soon was lost among 
 the apartments below. 
 
 While considering what I should do, I heard 
 a feeble voice issuing from an apartment over- 
 head and calling repeatedly some name which I 
 
EISENBACH. 233 
 
 could not distinguish. I listened anxiously as I 
 went towards the stairs, and at every repetition 
 of the feeble and entreating cry, I mounted up 
 a few steps higher, impelled now by sympathy 
 even more than by curiosity, until I soon found 
 myself on the first landing-place, and gazing 
 towards the open door whence the sound pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 " Hannah ! Hannah !" cried the voice. " Is 
 there no one here to attend me ? Hannah, I 
 say ! Oh, must I lie here and die of thirst !" 
 
 I stepped involuntarily towards the open door. 
 
 "Is there no one there ? Where are all my 
 servants ? Where is my wife this week past ?" 
 continued the voice. " What serves all my 
 wealth, when here I die of burning thirst? Ah, 
 cursed wealth, without love cursed wealth I 
 choke ! I choke ! Oh, could I only reach that 
 glass, that mocks my parched tongue!" 
 
 The appeal was too much for my excited 
 feelings and forgetting every thing else, I 
 walked into the chamber, and lifting the glass, 
 towards which the sick man looked with harrow- 
 ing eagerness, I held it to his lips. 
 
 " Ha ! he ! he !" uttered the feeble sick 
 
234 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 man, after he had drank hastily, and looking up 
 in my face with a delight that partook of the 
 idiotcy either of raving fever or of insanity 
 a What brought you here, Lodowick, to give 
 me my drink ? Ha ! he ! don't you know me ?" 
 
 The address astonished me, when I looked in 
 the emaciated countenance of the sick gentle- 
 man and tried to recal a dim fancy of having 
 seen it before. I had seen it certainly, but 
 where or when I could not at the moment think 
 of ; for the eyes were so sunk with illness, and 
 their expression so altered by mental imbecility, 
 that past recollections were confounded in the 
 pain of the spectacle. 
 
 " Hark'ee, Lodowick," whispered the sick per- 
 son feebly, and still under the imagination that 
 he knew me, " if you find that drunken old nurse 
 on the stairs, be sure you throw her over ! be 
 sure you do ! Oh, I am a poor wretched man !" 
 and the pained invalid shut his eyes and 
 groaned with a heart-touching moan. 
 
 He again opened his eyes, and gazed sted- 
 fastly upon me. " Shall I help you to more 
 drink ?" I said compassionately. 
 
 " Hell and fury !" screamed the sick man, his 
 
EISENBACH. 235 
 
 i 
 
 countenance now changing into an expression of 
 horror as he gazed on me " you are not Lo- 
 dowick ! I know what you want. You have 
 come here after my wife my false wife ! but 
 I might have known all this for she never, 
 never loved me and some one, such a woman 
 must love Oh, I am an unhappy man !" 
 
 " I solemnly assure you, Sir, I have never 
 seen her. 1 ' 
 
 The countenance again lost its energetic 
 wildness and assumed its pleased and half 
 imbecile expression. " Is that really the case, 
 friend? 1 ' he said, as he still gazed "and you 
 attending upon me here while my own servants 
 leave me to die. But hark !" he whispered, 
 "thereis that drunken old devil coming up again. 
 I cannot get rid of her, for she deceives even 
 my wife, by pretending kindness to me, while 
 she neglects me all night. Now, my friend, will 
 you just watch till she gets to the top of the 
 stairs, and then pitch her over pitch her just 
 over head and heels he ! he !" 
 
 " I will," said I, glad of an excuse to leave 
 this sad scene; " I'll soon do for her ;" and again 
 I stepped out into the passage. 
 
THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 " This is the most extraordinary exhibition of 
 wealth and misery," said I to myself, " that 
 ever presented itself to my observation. Where 
 on earth can I have got tor ? and where is this 
 odd adventure to end ?" 
 
 A light shot upwards from the back-stairs 
 and across the corridor, and the old nurse now 
 came clambering up the stairs, carrying her 
 taper in one hand and a bottle in the other, 
 which obliged me to mount the second flight to 
 escape her observation. As I looked down, I 
 observed that the wretch was nearly tipsy, but 
 fearing to meet her eye, I hastily mounted the 
 next stair, and in a few moments more I found 
 myself on the second story of this strange man- 
 sion. 
 
 66 How in the name of fortune am I to be re- 
 lieved from this awkward perdicament ?" I 
 again asked myself, " and where have I got to ? 
 Never did a house appear less likely for a scene 
 of intrigue than this dismal mansion, and yet I 
 am certain I saw that dark, solemn, aristocratical 
 figure enter it." 
 
 My reflections were interrupted by a murmur- 
 ing sigh, which evidently came from only a 
 
EISENBACH. 237 
 
 short distance, and stepping a few paces inward, 
 I perceived the dark corridor crossed by a 
 stream of light, which proceeded -from a room 
 in the passage, the door of which stood slightly 
 ajar. 
 
 " By Heavens !" said I mentally, " since 1 
 am in this situation, I will take my chance of 
 every consequence, in order to get at the bottom 
 of the mysteries that appear about the inmates 
 of this house/' and I stepped up quite close to 
 the slightly opened door. 
 
 I thought I heard a murmuring sound as if 
 of a soft whisper from within, but as I stood to 
 listen, all was again silent. The door, moved 
 by the draft of air from below, edged a little 
 more open, and I could partly see inside. The 
 glimpse of magnificence and of luxury that I 
 obtained, whetted my curiosity, now, as I was 
 prepared for any personal exposure; and touch- 
 ing the door lightly, it* moved half open. The 
 one glance of rich curtains and couches, gilding 
 and decoration, that first caught my eye, con- 
 vinced me that I was looking into no ordinary 
 apartment, and the idea of a lady's boudoir, 
 but more Parisian than English, came instantly 
 
238 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 across me, accompanied by that guilty feeling, 
 which one may well experience who ventures 
 within the inner recesses of an eastern harem. 
 
 The light seemed to burn low, but I next had 
 a glimpse of the table, on which was placed a 
 dim lamp, which stood on a tripod, fancifully 
 supported by carved figures, and shed its mel- 
 low light over crystal decanters and glasses, 
 wherein the dark ruby colour of wine, with 
 fruits and refreshments, served in silver, and 
 crowded together under the softened light, gave 
 an idea of gorgeous and profuse luxuriance. 
 The sight that next presented itself, however, 
 almost took the light out of my eyes. The bust 
 of a lady appeared beyond the table, as she sat 
 with her arms folded over her breast, and seemed 
 to gaze with an expression of excitement on some 
 object which I could not as yet see. A noble, 
 heroic bust it was, a white throat, and part of the 
 bared bosom, to be seen, her shoulder just touch- 
 ed by the curling tendrils of a bouquet of dark 
 clustering hair which towered above a head of the 
 most classic form. Her lips began to move, but 
 emitted only a whisper ; she turned her face a 
 little, and I detected in an instant the bold and 
 
EISENBACH. 23,9 
 
 striking, yet lovely feminine features, of the 
 lady whom I had seen enter the carriage, and 
 whom I could not mistake, as the very same 
 which I had watched looking stealthily from 
 behind the curtain at the Opera. 
 
 " For mercy's sake, Georgiana, do not use 
 me thus ; I can bear any thing but this," ex- 
 claimed passionately a man's voice from within. 
 
 The lady sighed, and compressed her lips, 
 but replied not. 
 
 " What have I done, Lady Stains, to merit 
 this treatment ?" 
 
 " A slight thing, for a man of gallantry," 
 said the lady, bitterly, but yet with scornful 
 dignity, '* only ruined me ruined me, my 
 lordthat's all." 
 
 " How can you say so, Lady Stains ? when 
 after all my assiduity, all that my unconquerable 
 love has impelled me to do and to submit to for 
 your sake, I have never until this night obtained 
 one half hour's private " 
 
 " Are you not at this moment," interrupted 
 the lady, " alone with me in my boudoir after 
 midnight^ and Sir Archibald's own servant privy 
 to it? Has the world leisure to judge from any 
 
240 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 other than exterior circumstances ? and is it its 
 way to take the favourable view of the conduct of 
 those whom it envies or affects to pity ? Alas ! 
 you, my lord, and my own thoughtless heart, 
 which has given you too much encouragement, 
 and my girlish ambition, and my mercenary re- 
 lations who have placed me in the unnatural 
 circumstances in which I am, have ruined me 
 ruined me ! Oh, if it were possible in this world, 
 for unintentional guilt to retrace its steps " 
 
 " Guilt ! my lady how can you talk thus, 
 when you know " 
 
 " Is not that very assiduity that you make 
 your boast, guilt, when / did not peremptorily 
 forbid it? Is not this meeting deep guilt, on 
 my part ? Were any one of the world's prowl- 
 ers after matter of scandal standing this mo- 
 ment behind that door, and watching us now, 
 would the eves-dropping wretch not call us a 
 guilty pair, and proclaim my deep delinquency 
 to the greedy ears of a rejoicing world, before 
 the morning's dawn ; or hold me up one day 
 to scorn in a public court of j ustice, by witness- 
 ing, with the holy Evangelists at his lips, my 
 everlasting infamy?" 
 
EISENBACH. 241 
 
 My feelings may be conceived at this moment, 
 as the lady paused in her passionate speech, when 
 I thought of my present predicament ; but I 
 stood perfectly still, prepared for the worst. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Georgiana, do not speak 
 so loud; and see, the door is wide open. Allow 
 me," and I heard the speaker rise from his seat. 
 
 " No, my lord, you shall not, unless you mean 
 to leave me this instant," cried the lady. " We 
 are not come to that to be shut in together." 
 
 The noble paramour seemed to resume his 
 seat, while I stood doggedly where I was, but 
 trembling, I confess, with conscious shame, and 
 only putting my head occasionally past the door 
 to catch a glimpse of the lady. 
 
 " My lord,"" she said, after a moment, " I beg 
 of you to leave me. What can you possibly 
 promise yourself by this desperate boldness, 
 after what I have told you ?" 
 
 " Georgiana," he said, assuming a tone of 
 tenderness, " you are unhappy." 
 
 " I know I am : is that any novelty among 
 our helpless sex ?" 
 
 " And you are wedded to one who " 
 
 " Heavens ! my lord, what would you say ? 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
242 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 How few women, from the highest to the low- 
 est, are married to their hearts 1 wish !" 
 
 " From what I can learn, the present illness of 
 Sir Archibald is a mere repetition of those fits, 
 which may keep you lingering over him partly 
 as his sick nurse, and partly as the endurer of 
 his humours, until the blessed years of your 
 youth shall have wasted themselves in sickening 
 depression and confinement ; and that love, for 
 which you were born, and which is the strongest 
 feeling of your nature, shall burst the swell- 
 ing heart in which you would in vain stifle it." 
 
 I looked forth as he paused, and saw the 
 lady cover her eyes with her long plump fingers, 
 and while leaning her head upon her naked arm, 
 her breast heaved with deep emotion. 
 
 " Lady, listen to me, 1 ' continued the other 
 voice eagerly ; ce you talk of there being little 
 novelty in your circumstances ; but point me 
 out amongst all whom you know in society, 
 any one of half your beauty so wretchedly 
 situated ; and would there, let me ask, be, even 
 in the eyes of the world, any novelty in a 
 young and lovely woman breaking through the 
 trammels that others forced upon her at an age 
 
EISENBACH. 243 
 
 when she was unable to judge of the imperative 
 requirements of her own heart, and, abandon- 
 ing age, imbecility, and jealous impotence, for 
 congeniality happiness joy such as I I, 
 Georgiana, who adore you, could bestow 
 and will bestow will confer and lead you 
 to, throughout every moment of my future 
 life, and with every advantage of my birth and 
 my fortune seek for that contentment, which 
 in present circumstances you can never taste. 
 Lady, think consent will you ? this mo- 
 ment is mine this opportunity, that I have 
 bought with so many nights' watching, is ours 
 put yourself under my protection despise 
 the babble of nine short days at home, while 
 you and I shall be abroad enjoying life and 
 love Georgiana ! speak ! are you mine ? I 
 will devote my existence to you I" 
 
 The lady slowly raised her head and let her 
 white arm droop from her face, as she fixed 
 her eyes on the speaker. The pause was like 
 the breathless instant that precedes the flash of 
 the tube which deprives some being of existence. 
 By Heaven, I was unable to resist my anxiety to 
 assure myself regarding the other, and taking 
 M 2 
 
244 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 half a step forward, I saw the eager, half- 
 foreign countenance of that stranger, whom my 
 curiosity had followed from the hour of my ar- 
 rival in England, gazing with an ardour, that 
 was almost terrible, in the beauteous face of 
 the lady. 
 
 " Now," said she calmly ; " now I have 
 heard you out now I know all now I see all 
 that the dread vista of futurity presents, should 
 I listen to your audacious proposal Go, my 
 Lord ! Go ! Leave me I say I will not hear 
 you ! Not a word further will I listen to. Go ! 
 else I will call up the servants ;" and as she 
 rose, I retreated a few steps outside the door. 
 
 " Does not the world, as you say, already 
 call you guilty ?" I heard the other say ; 
 " and does not even your jealous husband be- 
 lieve it and upbraid you concerning me ?" 
 
 % " Yes, and I deserve it ; but I have another 
 to answer to I have my own conscience to 
 satisfy. Now leave me, my Lord," she added, 
 intreatingly ; and now thinking that this strange 
 scene was about to be terminated, I hastily, 
 and on tiptoe, traversed the corridor, and again 
 stood at the head of the stairs. 
 
EISENBACH. 245 
 
 All was again dark around, but I had no 
 sooner got to the staircase, while the stranger 
 within still held a low-toned altercation with the 
 lady, unwilling, as it appeared, to abandon 
 his object, a smell of fire crossed my sense, as 
 if ascending from below. I slipped again softly 
 down to the first landing-place, and now the 
 smell became decidedly sensible. Recollecting 
 the tipsy state of the nurse, I stood once more at 
 the door of the sick man's chamber. A strong 
 light gleamed at the foot of the door, which 
 was now shut. A rapid suspicion again aroused 
 my feelings, and braving every personal consi- 
 deration, I turned the handle of the chamber- 
 door and walked in. I soon saw what had 
 given rise to my suspicions. 
 
 The careless beldame was stitting at a table 
 by the window, sound asleep ; the top of her 
 muslin cap burned completely off, having been 
 consumed by the flame of the candle over which 
 she nodded, and the ignition of the cap and 
 shawl having now communicated with the win- 
 dow-curtain, the latter was rapidly burning 
 towards the drapery above. 
 
 I saw that without aid the fire would in- 
 
246 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 stantly communicate to the bed, in which the 
 sick man lay now also fast asleep, and in short 
 that in five minutes more the room would be in 
 flames. As I ran towards the window, and 
 drawing aside the further curtain which was not 
 yet ignited, perceived that the shutters were not 
 closed, a sudden thought struck me, regarding 
 the termination of this adventure. Heaven 
 help us, but man is a selfish anima}, for in 
 another instant my own awkward predicament 
 came so home upon myself, that I resolved to 
 risk the burning of the mansion, and all other 
 consequences, for the chance now afforded me of 
 getting unobserved out of the house. 
 
 Pulling away the unconscious old woman, 
 who was drunk asleep, as well as some other 
 baggage from near the window, I witnessed the 
 flames spreading, without in the mean time 
 giving any alarm ; and retreating towards the 
 door, which I shut as I went out, to prevent the 
 draft of air, and then descending the great stair, 
 going to the entrance, I lifted the end of the 
 heavy chain and thundered violently at the hall- 
 door. 
 
 The sound of my unexpected noise had not 
 died away within the mansion, when I heard a 
 
EISENBACH. 24*7 
 
 scream above stairs, and light foot-steps come 
 hastily forth ; but the lady seemed to have 
 fainted, for the sounds ceased, and in an in- 
 stant after, I heard the wires move by the walls 
 through the lobbies, and a bell ring violently 
 below. 
 
 Again I thundered at the door, and in a few 
 moments after the servant whose duty it ap- 
 peared *o have been to sit up, came from his 
 lurking-place in great terror, and passing me 
 while I again stood concealed behind the pillar, 
 I observed him take the key from his pocket, 
 and to my great relief, proceed to open the 
 door. Looking out and seeing ho one, he 
 stepped forth as I had calculated, to ascertain 
 who raised this alarm. The street was silent, 
 and deserted, but in his terror he crossed the 
 way while I slipped out, and going up to him, 
 exclaimed in his ear, " Are you mad ? Do you 
 not see that your house is on fire ?" at the same 
 time pointing up to the blazing window. " The 
 whole inmates might have been burned to 
 death," I added, " had I not most fortunately 
 observed it in passing and given the alarm by 
 knocking at the door. Hasten to the apartments, 
 and I will be here to call assistance." 
 
248 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 The fellow ran back in terror, and was soon 
 joined by some of the other servants, but I was 
 not at all disposed to trust myself again inside, 
 and waited without to observe the result and 
 be ready to give any exterior assistance. I 
 could observe that there was not a little bustle 
 and alarm in the mansion, but at length it died 
 away, and with the burning of the window - 
 curtains the whole actual damage seemed to 
 have terminated, excepting what might have 
 been the effects of the accident upon the invalid 
 gentleman, whom I now knew to be the same 
 I had seen at Dover, and whose screams I could 
 plainly hear as I stood in the street, amidst 
 the confused noise within the house. 
 
 Before finally retreating I went once more 
 up to the door to observe the number on it, 
 when it was cautiously opened by the same 
 servant, and the cloaked figure of the aristo- 
 cratic stranger issued forth. The very sight 
 of this remarkable being had such an effect on 
 me, that on perceiving him I had not the power 
 to move. 
 
 " This is the gentleman, your lordship," said 
 the servant, to my astonishment, as he pointed 
 
EISENBACH. 249 
 
 to me, " who saved the house by giving the 
 alarm without." 
 
 " Hah is it so?" said the former, appearing 
 to know me ; but after one start of animation, 
 his features relaxed into the same cold, haughty 
 smile that I had at first observed, as if chagrin 
 and disappointment had sat on it, his large eyes 
 appearing incapable of shooting that lightning 
 of passion which I had been the witness of in 
 the boudoir above. He passed on, however, 
 turned the corner of a street, and before I had 
 completely recovered my surprise, or was able 
 to use my legs with effect, he had entirely va- 
 nished from my sight. 
 
 M 3 
 
250 
 
 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WHEN I found myself fairly, in the street, 
 after the termination of this adventure, it had 
 still such an effect upon me, that I could scarce- 
 ly believe that I was really quite alone, and 
 delivered from the shame of which I had so long 
 felt the painful apprehension. I therefore push- 
 ed my way on from street to street, as I thought, 
 homewards, as if some one was rapidly chasing 
 me, and several times looked over my shoulder, 
 to see if the personage who had so long excited 
 my curiosity was not actually dodging my steps. 
 Meeting, however, with no one, excepting here 
 
EISENBACH. 251 
 
 and there a solitary watchman, for we in En- 
 gland were then under the old watchmen regime, 
 and perceiving, behind and before, a clear 
 street, without a sound disturbing the silence, I 
 began to pace slower, and to suffer the current of 
 my own reflections upon all that I had witnessed. 
 
 The image of a man any man is in general 
 easily dismissed from another man's fancy, but 
 that of a woman, a beautiful woman, is much 
 more adhesive ; particularly to the imagination 
 of a thoughtful and sober-minded stranger, cast 
 by chance into the ocean of human beings, 
 which ebbs and flows through the complex recep- 
 tacles of a great capital. And yet I did not 
 think of the lady I had seen, with any other 
 sentiment than the natural interest we all feel 
 in the fate of a fascinating and high-minded 
 woman, placed in circumstances in which she 
 neither could give nor receive the pleasure for 
 which, in person and mind, she was eminently 
 fitted ; and now in consequence, and by the arts 
 of another, tottering on the brink of ruin. 
 
 The interest I had at first felt, about the 
 strange man, was now turned into suspicion, 
 and almost abhorrence ; and should the lady not 
 
252 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 have the strength of mind to persist, in her ex- 
 clusion of him, or in any degree give way to his 
 further attempts upon her virtue, I saw reserved 
 for her in the dim vista of the future, misery 
 and degradation, such as saddened me to think 
 of. 
 
 As I mused concerning this lady, however, by 
 the natural scene-shiftings of fancy, and the 
 affinities of association, another image of female 
 beauty was presented to my mind, namely, of 
 that sweet innocent face which I had so fre- 
 quently had opportunities of contemplating, as 
 it passed me like the fleeting dream of an angel, 
 during my solitary rambles among the well- 
 dressed crowds of this Babel of the west. 
 Beauty thoughtless, or perhaps pensive beauty, 
 I speak of the unconscious possessor how sel- 
 dom is the young and joyous heart of its wearer 
 aware of the number of its secret but sensitive 
 worshippers, as gliding past, like regretful ghosts, 
 even while they walk the busy streets, its keen 
 glances are darted into their inmost souls, and 
 are afterwards dwelt upon, in fancy, as the 
 precious lightning of the gods, which shooteth 
 down from heaven, to give a golden lustre and 
 
EISENBACH. 253 
 
 a bright radiance to the heavy clouds of existence ! 
 These touching looks of female loveliness, how 
 they linger upon the recollection of the solitary 
 bachelor, as he sighs over the imagination of 
 joys which he cannot taste, until he lays his 
 head at night on his cold dull pillow ; or as, for 
 want of better occupation, he wanders, as I did, 
 at three in the morning, a restless stranger in 
 the streets of the metropolis, looking out for 
 questionable midnight adventures, like the dis- 
 contented spirit of prowling observation, which 
 glares in at the murky corners of city crime, 
 and " vanishes at crowing of the cock." 
 
 I was aroused from these thoughts by the 
 noise of tongues, which suddenly disturbed the 
 narrow street into which I had now strolled, and 
 looking up and around, observed that I had 
 wandered far from my home, and got almost 
 into the city. I hastened forward, however, 
 towards where the noise came from (for night- 
 wandering gentlemen need not attempt to be 
 very select in their society at such hours), and 
 soon my sentimental cogitations were dissipated 
 by a scene, which however new to me then, is 
 no rarity in the streets of London. I observed 
 
254 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 two men* having the appearance of gentlemen, 
 engaged together in an angry quarrel, and 
 abusing each other with excellent drunken vi- 
 gour. The dispute seemed ready to end in 
 blows, but having been put on my guard as a 
 stranger, against midnight affrays in the metro- 
 polis, I kept aloof for a minute or two, until I 
 observed the taller man of the two, after calling 
 the other several different sorts of scoundrels, 
 collar him with both hands and shake him vio- 
 lently. Giving way to my feelings, I now 
 drew near, and begged of the strange man to de- 
 sist, when partly letting go the other, he turned 
 his wrath upon me, and, as I now determinedly 
 interfered, he struck at me with his freed hand. 
 The blow was returned the shorter man strug- 
 gled, and also sparred, and a round engagement 
 of fisty-cuffs was soon the consequence of this 
 gentlemanly business. 
 
 Had I been an Irishman, nothing could have 
 been more gratifying than this affair, for all the 
 watchmen near were comfortably asleep, the 
 coast was perfectly clear, and we being, as I 
 soon found out, all personal acquaintances, 
 fought with the more good-will. The only 
 
ETSENBACH. 255 
 
 thing unpleasant was, that the little man who, on 
 his hat being knocked off, I found, by the bald 
 patch on his crown, to be no other than my friend 
 Compton, and whose sight was mystified by the 
 liquor he had taken, as soon as he got free of 
 the grasp of his antagonist, dealt his blows on 
 me, and thus the engagement became of a gene- 
 ral and rather promiscuous nature. 
 
 Sobriety, however, was the better part of my 
 valour, with reference to the others, and having 
 at length succeeded, at least, in scattering my 
 opponents, the taller man then started off down 
 the street, and we two who remained began to 
 look at each other, and to take breath. 
 
 "Bless my conscience !" cried Compton 
 looking closely in my face ; for my excellent new 
 acquaintance always swore by a quality 
 which he scarcely even professed to possess, 
 " can it possibly be you ? and how well you 
 did deal about you. I am amazed, Sir I am 
 charmed with you ! And to be in the streets 
 of London at this hour in the morning, and so 
 ready to join in an honest quarrel ! You are 
 converted, Sir, you are civilized you are 
 
256 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 homo elegantiarum. You deserve to be presented 
 with the freedom of the city." 
 
 In this way the man's tongue ran on compli- 
 menting me in language of drunken absurdity, 
 for the very things of which I was heartily 
 ashamed ; and indeed his gratitude for my 
 interference in his favour was so great, that I 
 could hardly persuade him to move from the 
 spot. 
 
 By this time the hour was too unseasonable 
 for us to attempt to get into our lodgings, 
 and my companion, knowing the town well, 
 dragged me towards Covent Garden, in some of 
 the hotels round which he proposed we should 
 sleep. When we got, however, under the 
 piazzas, and I thought to end this low-lived scene 
 by housing my companion in an inn, where we 
 saw a light still burning, as he groped for the 
 bell at the door, a fit of drunken obstinacy 
 came over him, and, nill ye will ye, he would 
 not enter. 
 
 (i I tell you what, Mr. Thingumback/' he 
 again was pleased to say, " I've quite a new opi- 
 nion of you after your gentlemanly conduct this 
 night. I'll take you into my favour. Sir ; I'll 
 
EISENBACH. 257 
 
 patronize you, and by G you shan't go home 
 until I shew you something more of London. 
 Nay, no excuses no arguments. Fin a lawyer, 
 and can tell you the value of an argument to 
 sixpence. Besides, you can put it all in your 
 book ha ha ha ! Come ; for I have got 
 something to say to you, if you can attend to 
 it. Heavens, how drunk you are !" he added, 
 with the usual penetration of more sober 
 persons upon the subject of their own faults, 
 as he looked up muddily in my face. 
 
 It was in vain that I refused or insisted ; and 
 he speedily brought me to some place near, 
 which is kept open all night, and which has, I 
 believe, been already described oftener than re- 
 quisite. I saw, however, little that was re- 
 markable in the house, except a young man of 
 exceedingly respectable appearance asleep on 
 his seat in one of the boxes below. Being 
 placed by ourselves in an upper room, the law- 
 yer, looking steadily in my face, and compli- 
 menting his own penetration in having discovered 
 so sensible and tractable a person as myself, 
 began to talk to me with extraordinary distinct- 
 ness and consistency. Having determined to 
 
THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 give me his confidence, his tale, to my astonish- 
 ment, was regarding a young gentlewoman,whom 
 he described with such enthusiasm of gross 
 admiration, and in such terms as led me uncon- 
 sciously to collate all he said with the beauteous 
 female whom my eyes had so often followed 
 when she appeared in public, but whom I had 
 of late looked out for in vain. 
 
 "But what," said I, " is all this to you? 
 What is your meaning with regard to the 
 lady?" 
 
 " The fact is," said he, " I am tired of 
 boarding-houses and bachelorism, particularly 
 as I can now afford to buy a wife." 
 
 " To buy a wife!" exclaimed I, repeating his 
 vile expression ; " what do you mean with refer- 
 ence to a girl such as you describe ?"" 
 
 " I mean exactly as I say because I choose 
 to speak plain language. May not any thing 
 be bought in England ? and have not I money 
 to purchase beauty ?" he added, clapping his 
 hand on his breeches-pocket. u Ay, a heavy 
 purse is a loadstone so powerful, that hang it up 
 between heaven and earth, as the Catholic 
 priests do, and it will draw you upwards and 
 
EISENBACH. 259 
 
 open to you gates unspeakable, after you have 
 purchased here below all that the world offers 
 to the best bidder." 
 
 I stared a moment in the face of my coarse 
 companion, as I reflected on what he said -for 
 even truth itself is disgusting when too broadly 
 spoken and then said simply, 
 
 " But the girl's affections ?" 
 
 " Are upon me !" 
 
 I again glanced over those maudlin salacious 
 grey eyes, and that tinged nose, which had 
 always repelled me, and felt most uncomfort- 
 able. 
 
 " I tell you they are upon me that is, they 
 are, and must be, upon dress and equipage, and 
 the means of creating envy ; and am not I, with 
 my purse, the representative of all these?" 
 
 " And has the lady consented ?" 
 
 " I never asked her. 1 ' 
 
 " But her father ?" 
 
 " If he does not, I have a lawyer's alterna- 
 tive I'll ruin him ! I've lent him money." 
 
 " And do you call this English manners and 
 proceedings ?" 
 
 " Certainly at least with wise people and 
 
260 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 the English are getting wiser every day. Now 
 you may put that in your book if you like, 
 ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 I again looked at the man, arid then gave a 
 glance round the mean apartment. I never in 
 my existence felt so humbled as I did at this 
 moment, to think that I was making myself a 
 companion of such a wretch, and in a place which 
 I am now ashamed to think of. How dear- 
 bought is that thing which we call knowledge 
 of the world ! A thought, however, struck me 
 at the moment that I might be useful to some 
 one in reference to this business, and I deter- 
 mined to persevere in my inquiries. 
 
 Whether during the pause, however, Comp- 
 ton had begun to suspect me, I hardly can 
 judge, but what little additional I could get 
 out of him after this, went to convince me that 
 he had some strange schemes on hand, which 
 were intended to ruin the happiness of some 
 amiable family, whom he judged of only by 
 his own gross conceptions ; and, absurd as the 
 notion seemed, I could not withal entirely 
 divest myself of a distant suspicion that pos- 
 sibly the whole might have reference to her, 
 
EISENBACH. 261 
 
 whose simple beauty had so dwelt upon my 
 fancy since I had become a wandering stranger 
 in London. 
 
 Becoming exceedingly uneasy in the com- 
 pany of my neighbour, and perceiving that 
 sleep began to overpower him, I was now 
 enabled to persuade him to adjourn to the 
 hotel. The day, as we again emerged into the 
 open air, was beginning to break, and to my 
 surprise, Covent Garden was already crowded 
 with its early frequenters from the country, 
 who, with numerous carts filled with all manner 
 of fruits and kitchen- stuffs, caused a species of 
 bustle that had a peculiar effect to a stranger. 
 My mind, however, was scarcely in a humour 
 to observe it, and succeeding in getting into 
 the inn, I at length, weary and jaded, retired 
 to my apartment. Thus ended the adventures 
 of this, to me, memorable night. 
 
262 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE tedium and vulgarity of the street and 
 tavern adventures of the previous night were 
 positively worth submitting to for the sake of 
 the consequences to which they led, and parti- 
 cularly of the look of incredulous astonishment 
 which Compton put on, at our late breakfast 
 on the following morning, upon my repeating 
 what he had told me regarding his scheme of 
 marriage, disclosed to me in his cups. He had 
 no previous conception that the old proverb, in 
 vino veritas, had any application to so guarded 
 a fox as himself, neither had he the slightest 
 recollection of the latter part of the evening^ 
 transactions. 
 
EISENBACH. 263 
 
 Craft begets craft, at least it ought to do so, 
 for that is the only way that its crooked plans 
 are to be fitly met so pretending to know 
 more than Compton had actually told me, he 
 was obliged, as we continued to converse, to 
 give me almost his entire confidence. I did not, 
 however, in return give him mine, for though 
 I suspected, from former hints, that he must 
 have known the strange nobleman who had so 
 oddly interested me, taking my cue from him- 
 self, I drank in every thing that my ears could 
 catch from him, but determined to say nothing in 
 return until I saw proper time. Meanwhile he 
 began to affect to treat me with the highest con- 
 fidence, which I easily discerned was only the 
 consequence of his having already trusted me 
 farther than he intended ; but as I saw as well 
 as himself that a third person would be useful 
 to him in these matters, on his proposing to me 
 to take upon myself that responsible office, in- 
 fluenced by a newly-excited curiosity, I posi- 
 tively refused, unless he was disposed directly 
 to introduce me to the lady whose hand he 
 sought, and also to her father, concerning 
 
264 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 whom he entertained the benevolent intentions 
 let out on the previous night. 
 
 I did not entirely like his answers to me on 
 this point, but made no reply, until a letter he 
 found waiting for him at our lodgings on our 
 return thither, seemed to give him new light ; 
 and brightening up when he had read it, he said, 
 with his usual triumphant yet freezing chuckle, 
 
 " Ha ! this is lucky times are changed with 
 the Fortesques when they are obliged to come 
 to me. In five minutes," he added, taking out 
 his watch, " her father will be here." 
 
 " Well," said I, " and what of that ?" 
 
 " Nothing but that you seemed to take an 
 interest in the lady. Hark ! there is an aristo- 
 cratic knock for you. 'Tis him, I'm certain." 
 
 I walked to the window, and in two minutes 
 saw a tall elderly gentleman descend from a 
 plain green carriage. The door of it was not 
 shut after him. A delicate female figure next 
 stepped out of it, and what was my astonish- 
 ment, when, in spite of veils and cloaks, I was 
 able to recognize the perfect profile of the beau- 
 tiful creature whom I had so long followed 
 with my eyes through the public places of the 
 
EISENBACH. 265 
 
 metropolis. On Mr. Fortescue being an- 
 nounced, Compton went to receive the father 
 and daughter in another room. I heard the 
 light foot of the latter trip along the passage 
 beside me. I could have burst through the 
 wall to get near them, so much had the whole 
 circumstance excited my feelings. 
 
 Through my own half-opened door, I at first 
 heard loud and angry talk between the gentle- 
 men. Afterwards the sound of the stranger's 
 voice sunk into subdued and low murmurings ; 
 but when the clear soft tones of a female struck 
 upon my ear, as if she spoke in expostulating 
 and petitioning language, I was unable to con- 
 tain my feelings, and starting out into the pas- 
 sage, and opening the door of a small room next 
 to theirs, I went in to catch, if possible, some 
 portion of their conversation. Eves-dropping, 
 and what I was now about, are not the same 
 things. To my joy I found a small door within 
 a recess, which appeared to have been nailed 
 up, but the upper part of which was of green 
 glass and covered with a light screen. Remov- 
 ing the screen a little, I found myself almost 
 
 VOL. J. N 
 
266 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 behind the parties, and had a tolerably distinct 
 view of them. 
 
 " And do you really refuse me this small sum, 
 Sir ?" I heard Mr. Fortesque say, casting a 
 glance of mixed scorn and intreaty upon Comp- 
 ton, who stood between the old gentleman and 
 his daughter with a nonchalance that was, to 
 me, perfectly astonishing. " By heavens !" 
 continued the petitioning father, " this last mis- 
 fortune will drive me distracted ! My house 
 the domestic hearth of my father's son to be 
 profaned by the vile executioners of the law, and 
 all for less than a thousand pounds. My God ! 
 and you, too, to desert me !" 
 
 " I assure you I am exceedingly sorry. Sir 
 exceedingly sorry but these things will hap- 
 pen, and do happen every day." 
 
 " Ah, Sir,'* said the afflicted girl, looking up 
 to the inexorable money -trader with an expres- 
 sion of agony in her countenance which almost 
 took the heart out of my body merely to wit- 
 ness it, "can you see my poor father thus 
 situated, after all that has passed, and not do 
 this for him ? I thought when I accompanied 
 him to you this sad morning, that you would 
 
EISENBACH. 267 
 
 surely do it for me at least. Oh, Sir ! will 
 you, will you, Mr. Compton ?" and the poor 
 girl rose up and clasped her hands together 
 in her intense agitation. 
 
 The contrast between the two faces was to me 
 so appalling, while witnessing this sensual repre- 
 sentative of Mammon and the Satyr gloating over 
 that lovely countenance, as, with eyes now stream- 
 ing in tears, the wretched girl continued to 
 gaze upon his bloated face, that I could with 
 difficulty refrain from bursting into the room, to 
 be myself her friend, or, at least, her advocate. 
 
 The smile with which he regarded her was 
 to me worse than all, as he said, addressing her, 
 " Perhaps perhaps I may be able to find the 
 money, since you thus plead for it," and, leav- 
 ing her, he stepped forward, and, with sly de- 
 liberation, whispered something in the ear of 
 her father. 
 
 The start, and the succeeding look which 
 followed the proposal to the distracted victim 
 of ruin, I will not attempt to describe ; a hectic 
 laugh was the first audible explosion of his 
 feelings, and, after a few more words, the old. 
 gentleman again said aloud 
 N 2 
 
268 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 " Say no more, Sir ; I see what it has come 
 to with me Leave me for a moment, and I 
 will at once make the matter known to my 
 daughter/ 1 * 
 
 Compton left the room, and I wished myself 
 anywhere rather than to be witness of what I 
 knew was to come between the father and his 
 child ; but interest in the whole riveted me to 
 the spot, and I bolted the door of the room in 
 which I was that I might not be disturbed, and 
 then stood again at my window to observe 
 them. 
 
 " Matilda," I heard the pale old man say, 
 after a pause, " a proposal has just been made 
 to me that involves your future destiny, and 
 the remaining fortune of my family. It is one 
 which I should not even name to you in ordi- 
 nary circumstances, but it arises naturally out 
 of the unfortunate situation in which we are 
 placed, and is only the last of a series of 
 troubles ; for, as the wheel of fortune is con- 
 tinually turning round, bringing one man up, 
 and" 
 
 " My dear father," said the anxious girl, 
 " name the proposal." 
 
EISENBACH. 269 
 
 " You know the man who has just left us, 
 and how we are situated ; can you not guess the 
 purport of his whisper about you ?" 
 
 " Is it possible, my father, that you could 
 think of my being married to to " 
 
 " Matilda, my love, I do not think of it I 
 cannot " 
 
 " Father, will it save you ?" 
 
 " It will ; but do not let me press it, my 
 child, against your youthful feelings ; although 
 I should be driven to any act of desperation 
 for the present I will go and humble myself 
 before him whom I " 
 
 u I will do what you wish I will do any 
 thing ; but, oh, my God ! the wife of Comp- 
 ton !" and, stifling her grief for a moment, she 
 at length threw herself weeping into the old 
 man's arms. 
 
 I was unable to bear the sobbings of both, 
 and rushing out of the room in which I had 
 been observing them, I encountered the money- 
 lender in the passage. 
 
 " Where have you fled to ?" said he, *< I 
 wanted to see you." 
 
 " What is that you have in your hand ? w 
 
270 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 " It is a contract a missive contract of mar- 
 riage r he whispered triumphantly, " of my 
 marriage into one of the oldest families in the 
 kingdom ; but I have bought it somewhat dear 
 though. Come, you shall see the bride," and 
 before I could reply, I found myself hurried 
 forward by the arm into the room and the 
 presence of the distressed gentleman and his 
 daughter. 
 
 Matilda Fortesque star ted on seeing me, for my 
 face was not unknown to her, our eyes having 
 frequently met before ; but unable to divine in 
 what character I now so unexpectedly stood in 
 her presence at this painful crisis, she turned 
 away and moved towards the window. 
 
 After a formal introduction of me to the old 
 gentleman, Compton and he spoke a few words 
 apart, while I was unconsciously regarding only 
 the sorrowful features of Matilda. Perceiting 
 at once the awkwardness of the situation in 
 which the boisterous forwardness of Compton, 
 and my own feelings had placed me, I was 
 only prevented from instantly apologizing and 
 withdrawing by the hope of some opportunity of 
 defeating the plans of the lawyer, without ap- 
 
EISKNBACH. 271 
 
 pearing a meddler in matters of such extreme 
 delicacy. 
 
 "Is my word not sufficient, Sir?" said Mr 
 Fortesque now, aloud. 
 
 " It is usual in matters of business to have 
 some little writing in a case so important. You 
 can't expect that I should advance another 
 thousand pounds without " and he offered the 
 missive. 
 
 " Shall you not have my bond for it ?" 
 
 " But, there is the contract to " 
 
 " I will give my promise and consent in the 
 presence of your friend, should my daughter be 
 agreeable, you also undertaking to " 
 
 " Excuse me, gentlemen," said I, " I per 
 ceive there are matters between you to which 
 I cannot, in honour and right feeling, be wit- 
 ness, unless they be perfectly voluntary on all 
 sides." 
 
 The lady started from a reverie, as I ut- 
 tered this, as if a sudden hope had crossed her 
 mind, while the old gentleman threw a pene- 
 trating look towards me, which I endeavoured 
 to return in such a way as to convey a particu- 
 lar suggestion to his mind. Adversity is keen 
 
THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 of perception. Mr. Fortesque understood me, 
 or at least seemed to do so, and I at once de- 
 termined to hazard a remark founded upon 
 what I had formerly overheard. 
 
 " I think," said I, u you talked something of 
 a thousand pounds. If it is a common transac- 
 tion arising out of Mr. Compton's profession, I 
 will be witness to the signing of a bond or a re- 
 ceipt ; but if there is any condition attached to 
 the transfer of the money, to which the receiver 
 gives an unwilling consent, you will please 
 excuse my being present to hear it. Besides," I 
 added, as Compton looked aghast, wondering 
 what I was about to say next, u money is not 
 so scarce a commodity in Kngland, that for so 
 paltry a sum as a thousand pounds, a man who 
 has property, and is only in a temporary dif- 
 ficulty, must be saddled with conditions which, 
 for aught I know, may be painful to his 
 feelings." 
 
 " Alas !" said the old gentleman, mournfully, 
 66 you speak, young Sir, like one that never has 
 known adversity." 
 
 u I know this much, Sir," I replied, suiting 
 my style to the state of his thoughts, " that the 
 
EISENBACH. 273 
 
 adversity you seem to allude to may and will 
 pass away; but, incases of this nature, there 
 are other evils which may arise from our own 
 act, hastily performed under the impatience of 
 adversity, for which time itself offers no remedy, 
 and which even the mammon of the world's wor- 
 ship when obtained, totally fails to alleviate."" 
 
 The old gentleman placed his hand over his 
 eyes when I had said this, and laid his head 
 back on his chair in deep thought. 
 
 " You are mighty officious, I think, Sir," said 
 Compton, looking hard at me, on perceiving the 
 impression I had made. " I have known many 
 a man make a fine speech who could not raise a 
 thousand pounds at a pinch." 
 
 " One of the bitterest feelings raised by ad- 
 versity/' said Mr. Fortesque, with a rising 
 scorn, as he now looked at the lawyer, " is to 
 hear small matters when urgently sought for 
 magnified into mountains. How little I would 
 have thought of a sum like this ten years ago !" 
 
 " Tis a trifle not to be mentioned," said I, 
 humouring the proud feeling of the old gentle- 
 man ; " and if / may have the honour of being 
 your agent, I will undertake to produce the sum 
 N 3 
 
274 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 within one hour, and that without any condition 
 whatever, beyond what business requires." 
 
 " By Heaven you shall not !" exclaimed the 
 money -broker, with true tradesman-jealousy of 
 me, and thumping the table as he spoke. c< I'll 
 shew Mr. Fortesque that I'll deal with him as 
 liberally as any man," and, taking out his bank- 
 book, he instantly, without further stipulation, 
 drew a draft for the required sum, and presented 
 it to the astonished father of Matilda. " Now, 
 Sir," said he, " that shews you what /am and 
 I trust that my liberality of dealing will not 
 end with the mere signing of the bond for this, 
 but will be appreciated in the quarter on which 
 I have set my heart," and he accompanied the 
 last words with a most complacent bow to 
 Matilda. 
 
 " How little do we know of people's circum- 
 stances and feelings, by merely seeing them in 
 public !" I thought, as I first heard of the dis- 
 tress of this amiable family. " What a charming 
 thing is joy on the countenances of the high- 
 minded and the intelligent, when it comes sud- 
 dspily after despondency and humiliation ?" 
 WKat I now witnessed, particularly in the tran- 
 
EISENBACH. 275 
 
 sparent face of that heavenly creature, whom my 
 eyes had so long followed, was what no words 
 can ever express. And her beaming and mo- 
 dest glance towards myself, had so much grate- 
 ful feeling in it and so much that seemed to 
 say, " God bless you, youth, for your favourable 
 interference at such a moment as this !" and 
 which plainly spoke the words, " I could wish 
 that we might meet again, where we could speak 
 to each other ;" that I almost regretted that the 
 paltry thousand pounds had not come out of my 
 own pocket, for it would by no means have 
 paid for this exquisite moment. 
 
 I could not, however, help admiring the 
 tact of the old gentleman, when squeezing my 
 hand as we rose to separate, he thus addressed 
 me: 
 
 "I perceive, Sir, 1 ' said he, "that, though 
 young, you are acquainted with business, which 
 I unfortunately am not, a defect which has been 
 the ruin of many other men, who once, like me, 
 possessed a good fortune. And though Mr. 
 Compton here has been frequently useful to me, 
 yet as opposition in these matters is, I am told, 
 productive of excellent effects, should you do 
 
276 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 me the favour of calling upon me, I shall not 
 scruple to avail myself of your advice." 
 
 I assured Mr. Fortesque, that though pro- 
 fessionally I was unconnected with any business, 
 I should nevertheless be most happy if at any 
 time in future I could render him the least 
 service. 
 
 My habits as a stranger had made me a 
 reader effaces, and as I turned towards Matilda, 
 while with an evidently full heart she shook her 
 father's hand I could see as plain in her 
 gleaming eyes as if the words had been written 
 on them that she would say " How strange 
 are the ways of Providence ! that sometimes 
 raises us up a friend and opens a new spring 
 of hope at the very last instant of gathering 
 adversity !" 
 
 I saw also by her grateful glance towards me, 
 or at least I flattered myself, that there was a 
 stronger sentiment mixed with this. I could 
 not be mistaken, and as soon I had seen the 
 father and daughter to their carriage, I hastened 
 away from the house, lest the babble of the 
 coarse lawyer should interrupt the delightful 
 current of my feelings. 
 
E1SENBACH. 277 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE world was now a new world to me. I no 
 longer wandered the streets of London, with 
 that cheerless feeling of solitary individuality 
 which had hitherto oppressed me. England, or 
 rather Europe was to me no longer a wide sea 
 of busy human beings, into which I had been 
 dropped as if from the clouds, and among 
 which I was a lost atom of mind unknowing, 
 unregarded, and unknown. Now I possessed 
 the delightful consciousness of being useful to 
 another human being besides myself. I had 
 been looked upon with an eye of interest and of 
 
278 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 favour, by one of the virtuous hearts, who after 
 all are frequently to be found on the earth's 
 surface, looking eagerly around them for that 
 communion of congenial spirits, which is the 
 very life of their life ; and towards this amiable 
 being, my heart burned within me, in propor- 
 tion to the repulsiveness with which I regarded 
 others with whom I could have no sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 All this time, that is, for several days after 
 the meeting with the Fortesques, I had never 
 
 -A* * 
 
 had a siglrt^jp him I called the strange gentle- 
 man, nor did I now think of him with any 
 interest, my curiosity being pretty well gratified 
 by the extraordinary scene I had witnessed in 
 the mansion. In my hurry that evening I had 
 omitted to observe the name of the street where 
 the house was situated, and it having occurred to 
 me one day to endeavour to find it out, I tried 
 in vain among the labyrinth of builded sameness 
 in the west to obtain the least trace of it. On 
 ruminating over that affair now, the scene 
 seemed so strange that I could almost have 
 regarded the whole as a dream, had it not been 
 for other circumstances. But respecting the 
 
RISENBACH. 279 
 
 stranger nobleman, and the unhappy lady, I was 
 yet far from being entirely satisfied. 
 
 Considering it now time that I should perform 
 my promise of calling upon Mr. Fortesque, I 
 went to the street to which he had given me his 
 address. In looking for the number of his house 
 I happened to cast my eyes across the street ; 
 what was my astonishment to observe the tall 
 portly figure of the strange gentleman, walking 
 leisurely opposite to the very door I was seek- 
 ing, and casting an occasional glance up to- 
 wards the windows. My heart rose in my bo- 
 som at this sight, with a strange sensation of 
 mixed indignation and jealousy. I passed the 
 door at first, then returned to observe his mo- 
 tions. He walked back also the contrary way, 
 gazed up again, and then shot a dark inquisi- 
 tive look across towards me. I went up the 
 steps of Mr. Fortesque^s door, and knocked 
 boldly ; the strange man seemed astonished, 
 passed on, and I was ushered into the 
 house. 
 
 I was received by the old gentleman, and 
 afterwards by Matilda and her mother, with 
 that welcome expression appearing in the eyes 
 
280 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 and in the very tones of the voice, which is so 
 much above the fictitious phrases of common 
 ceremony, and tells of feelings towards those to 
 whom we are irresistibly drawn, which are very 
 unnecessary to describe by words. When I 
 had mentioned some particulars regarding my- 
 self, and of my connections abroad, few of them 
 as still remained alive, the old gentleman knew 
 one of them well; we became more unreserved, 
 and he communicated to me several matters re- 
 garding his affairs and in reference to his tran- 
 sactions with Compton and others, to which I 
 listened with the deepest interest. 
 
 " Your remarks, Sir, 7 ' he said in the course 
 of conversation, " appear to me so judicious 
 that I will intrust you with another matter in 
 which I am painfully interested, and regarding 
 which, as you are more abroad in the world 
 than I of late am disposed to be, and being 
 much of a stranger you are not inveigled into 
 the coteries of ordinary scandal, you perhaps 
 may be enabled to render me some service. 
 You must know that I have a niece alas ! 
 that I should have to mention her name, with 
 blame and regret for the lively daughter of my 
 
EISENBACH. 281 
 
 poor deceased brother, was beautiful and fasci- 
 nating even from a child ; but what will a de- 
 clining family not do to retrieve its ruined for- 
 tunes ? In short, my warm-hearted favourite 
 was influenced --she was more than influenced 
 into a most uncongenial and ill-suited mar- 
 riage. What shall I add ? How can high 
 spirit and enthusiastic energy abide mental im- 
 becility and the sour watchfulness of a narrow 
 mind ? and, in a world where the longings of 
 the heart are so hard to gratify, even with all 
 the means and appliances of the most favourable 
 circumstances, how can it be patient without 
 one feeling answered, or one pulse beating in 
 unison, with the one to whom it is associated 
 for life ? We every day hear of legal prosti- 
 tutions these are hard words, but although 
 few men have known what it is to be obliged to 
 set a value upon money, more than myself, I can 
 never approve of sacrificing to worldly consider- 
 ations those deep feelings of the ardent mind, 
 which if choaked and stifled in warm youth, or 
 worn down into melancholy apathy during the 
 sad tedium of inward suffering without hope, 
 leave the heart in old age a withered and blast- 
 
282 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 ed thing, brooding with regret over a weary ex- 
 istence, and with blanched cheek and saddened 
 eye supporting a burdensome pomp only to con- 
 vey it to a thankless posterity." 
 
 As the old man paused in his serious com- 
 munication, I wondered what all this was to 
 lead to. After a few moments he again re- 
 sumed. 
 
 " It is an old fashion of the world to sacrifice 
 every thing in the shape of feeling or inclina- 
 tion, to worldly advantages and fancied great- 
 ness. Undoubtedly these have their value, in 
 their right place, but, after all, happiness and 
 they are distinct things, and it is only vulgar 
 and gross minds which have no just apprehen- 
 sion of the latter, who, at the expense of all that 
 is dear to the human heart, would teach sensitive 
 minds to seek the former as the summum bonum 
 of life. When I was consulted about the mar- 
 riage of Georgiana, it was in vain that I urged 
 these things, and prophesied evil should my ad- 
 vice be disregarded. Even my niece herself, 
 who was not arrived at the years to have any 
 just conception of life or any understanding of 
 her own feelings not as yet indeed, half deve- 
 
EISENBACH. 283 
 
 loped, dazzled as usual with promised splen- 
 dour, and worried into consent by the false re- 
 presentations of worldly persons, gave way, and 
 I, the unwelcome adviser against such tempta- 
 tions, and the hated prophet of evil, have, I fear, 
 been sadly in the right, if the reports that have 
 reached me have any foundation in truth." 
 
 u What reports, Sir ?" said I, unconsciously, 
 and almost with a start. 
 
 " Have you heard them too ?" said he, 
 sharply. 
 
 "I cannot satisfy you, Sir," I said, " until 
 I hear more fully what you allude to." 
 
 " It is regarding the truth of these very re- 
 ports," he went on, " that I want, if possible, 
 some authentic information. The eccentric 
 baronet and her went to live abroad, on account 
 of the wretched state of his health ; they have 
 of late returned, and have brought with them 
 such a composition of strange accounts, and 
 mysterious scandal, as I never 'thought to have 
 heard attached to any connection of mine." 
 
 " But there must be some male person in the 
 case to whom these reports must also have al- 
 lusion ?" 
 
284 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 " There is ; and that is the principal point 
 of the mystery. A strange gentleman has been 
 lately seen in town, to whom some say these 
 rumours bear allusion ; but though a personage 
 whom many has remarked, no one, that I have 
 heard of, can tell any thing concerning him, 
 excepting that he is a man who lives splendidly, 
 and has been more than once seen, when abroad 
 at least, with my unfortunate niece. Nay 
 more, there is a peculiar- looking, but certainly 
 elegant man, has been following with his eyes, 
 on several occasions, my own daughter, and 
 some fancy has taken her, and her mother, that 
 he must be the same person which these reports 
 refer to. We have even seen him this very 
 morning pacing more than once before the win- 
 dows in the street, and from the oddness of the 
 circumstance, we are more concerned about 
 him than even about the repulsive urgency of 
 Mr. Compton." 
 
 " Of Mr. Compton !" I repeated in addi^ 
 tional surprise. 
 
 " Yes," added Mr. Fortesque ; " presuming 
 upon the circumstances in which I unfortu- 
 nately am placed with him, his urgency for the 
 
EISENBACH. 285 
 
 hand of my daughter is perfectly torturing, 
 almost menacing ; and you may conceive how 
 distressing the idea of such a match, could it 
 possibly be forced on us, must be to me after 
 the painful example of my unhappy niece> I 
 reveal to you these things, Sir," said he, " not- 
 withstanding the shortness of our acquaintance, 
 because I think that, stranger as you are, I can 
 rely upon your honour as well as judgment, 
 and because from your judicious interference 
 when we first met, I feel no degradation in 
 being indebted to you for that peculiar service 
 which a third party can sometimes render in our 
 respective circumstances." 
 
 1 was delighted of course to be thus treated, 
 but did not at' all see my way clearly in respect 
 to the information which I was expected to ob- 
 tain. I was still more gratified by the further 
 conversation I had with Mrs. Fortesque and with 
 Matilda herself, whose beauty I will not now 
 dwell upon, and whose soft looks and delicate 
 sentiments sank deeply into my heart. I at 
 length left the society of that amiable family, my 
 whole being renovated by that glowing senti- 
 ment which gives poor human nature a taste of 
 
286 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 the joy of the gods, and makes this nether 
 world another heaven. As I again walked the 
 crowded streets of London, I experienced, al- 
 most with triumph, that delightful feeling so 
 long a stranger to my bosom, that now I ex- 
 isted in this world not entirely for myself. 
 
EISKNBACH 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " WHAT do you think?" said Compton to 
 me one day shortly after this. " I am refused 
 by old Fortesque, on the part of his daughter, 
 because, forsooth, my fortune is not sufficient, 
 and the doating spendthrift himself hardly now 
 worth a shilling. But 111 have her ! the girl 
 shall be mine ! if I should compass heaven and 
 earth for her ! She shall lie in these arms if 
 Ay, in these very arms ! Oh, isn't she a lovely 
 creature !" 
 
 The very thought the bare fancy as I 
 looked at the bloated and sordid wretch, thus 
 
288 THE CI.UJi-BOOK. 
 
 stretching out his arms before me, almost turned 
 me sick. 
 
 u But what have you been engaged in for 
 the last fortnight ?" I inquired ; " I have 
 scarcely seen you ?" 
 
 " What the devil is there about you, Eisen- 
 bach," said he, " that induces me to make you 
 my confident ? I will tell you but surely you 
 cannot mean to attempt to rival me with Ma- 
 tilda Fortesque ! No, no ! you cannot. You 
 have not got the geldt ! at least not to the 
 amount that / have;" and as he spoke, he 
 clapped his hand significantly on his breeches- 
 pocket, and looked at me with that triumph 
 with which, in England, a rich man glories 
 over those whom he considers poor. 
 
 Scorning to be offended by the coarse free- 
 dom of this man, I made no reply, while he 
 went on. 
 
 " What I am worth now is but a trifle to 
 what I shall soon be possessed of, and then 
 Matilda! I shall keep three carriages! I 
 shall get into parliament ! I shall *' 
 
 " But why," said I, interrupting this vulgar 
 rhapsody, " should you, with all this wealth, 
 
EISENBACH. 289 
 
 think of marrying the daughter of a ruined 
 gentleman who can bring you nothing ?" 
 
 " Ha ! you are raw. You know not what / 
 know of the connections of the Fortesques, and 
 their ultimate expectations. But I shall have 
 power over them in the meantime at least. 
 Come, will you accompany me this morning on 
 the crowning business, and I will tell you all 
 that is necessary by the way ?" 
 
 A hackney coach already stood at the door ; 
 and, wondering where he was going to take me, 
 I stepped in. A stripling who acted as his 
 clerk being also in attendance, came next into 
 the coach with a bag of papers, in tended , along 
 with myself, as a witness of some contemplated 
 transaction, and off we drove in silence. On 
 the way he became thoughtful, as if he al- 
 ready repented of his confidence ; talked of 
 my being a stranger in London of the honesty 
 of the German character, &c. and without 
 giving me any insight into his plans, simply 
 begged that I would consider him my friend, 
 and be his, in reference to this matter should 
 I require to be called on before leaving Eng- 
 land. 
 
 VOL. i. o 
 
290 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 " What can you possibly mean ?" I inquired. 
 
 " You have been my legal friend before," he 
 said, " and on that occasion you rather disap- 
 pointed me ; now I give you an opportunity of 
 doing otherwise. He to whose house we are 
 going is rather eccentric and strange, but he is 
 perfectly collected. You will see that, and if 
 you see any thing that looks like the contrary, 
 you are not to mind it. You will find him, 
 though weak, perfectly compos mentis. I have 
 long been his lawyer, and am of late his par- 
 ticular friend.*" 
 
 We stopped at the door of a large mansion ; 
 something struck me on my entrance into the 
 hall that I had seen it before. What was my 
 astonishment, as I mounted the stairs, to find 
 myself in the same house into which I had been 
 locked, that, to me, remarkable night. I deter- 
 mined to ask no questions of my companion. 
 We were at first ushered into a d awing room 
 furnished in the richest style of English luxury, 
 and soon after the lawyer was called out, leav- 
 ing me to my own reflections. 
 
 Whatever might be Compton's business in 
 this house, I perceived, that in respect to Ma- 
 
EISENBACH. 291 
 
 tilda, now the great object of my thoughts, and 
 whom I had since met with several times, he 
 was making the usual mistake of worldly men, 
 in supposing that what they have amassed by 
 much care and some dishonesty, is as all-power- 
 ful and highly valued in the view of those who 
 have but little of it, as it is by themselves ; and 
 thus he never dreamed, that Matilda's father or 
 herself would ultimately refuse him, far less 
 that he could possibly be supplanted by such 
 as I ; or, in short, that any other advantage 
 of mind or person, could weigh any-thing in the 
 balance, against the power of wealth. As I' 
 thus cogitated Compton re-entered the room. 
 
 " I have brought you here," he said, " merely 
 to witness the signing of a will. This could, of 
 course, be done almost by any one, but it may 
 be necessary hereafter that proof may be re- 
 quired regarding the state of mind of " 
 
 " Make no apology," said I, and with some 
 peculiar anticipations I followed him into the 
 chamber of the invalid. 
 
 " Sir Archibald Staines," said Compton, point- 
 ing to the same melancholy remnant of a man 
 whom I had twice before seen now placed in 
 o 2 
 
292 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 a great chair among a pile of cushions, a small 
 table with writing materials before him, his thin 
 face elongated with illness, and his sunken eye 
 wandering feebly round the room. 
 
 " Now, Sir Archibald, just sign here ;" and 
 the lawyer, with a fawning manner, put a pen into 
 the thin yellow fingers of the sick baronet. 
 
 " Hah ! am I dying then, that you make me 
 sign my will ?"* said the sick, with a ghastly smile 
 of imbecility and terror, as, baring his long 
 teeth, and opening his hollow eyes, he looked up 
 in the lawyer's face with the very expression of 
 the grave. 
 
 Oh, not at all, Sir Archibald," said Comp- 
 ton, "you are much improved you look 
 remarkably well ; but it is better that this 
 should be done before you set off for Italy, you 
 know. 1 ' 
 
 " But can't I do it when I return and then 
 I shall be strong and well and Lady Staines 
 will be quite charmed Hah ! lawyer where 
 is Georgiana ?" he added, as if a sudden reno- 
 vation of his mental powers had taken place, 
 " where is she ? I will not sign my will without 
 her." And the sick man, to Compton's evident 
 consternation, threw down the pen. 
 
EISENBACH. 293 
 
 " It is not usual for ladies to be present on 
 an occasion of this kind ; do, Sir Archibald, 
 sign at once."" 
 
 4t Will no one call me Lady Staines ?" per- 
 sisted the nervous invalid, but with increased en- 
 ergy. " Where are all my servants? where is 
 that ugly old nurse ? Compton, you wicked 
 lawyer, you haunt me about this will ring the 
 bell, I say !" 
 
 The lawyer, with a look of great chagrin, 
 pulled the bell-rope and as the servant came 
 in to receive his order, I felt, I confess, most 
 strangely at the idea of again, seeing Lady 
 Staines, and could hardly credit the chance 
 events, that had conspired to make a stranger 
 Uke myself witness of these extraordinary 
 scenes in England. 
 
 Sir Archibald relapsed for a moment into his 
 usual apathy, while Compton seemed to deter- 
 mine within himself on a bold push for his 
 object. 
 
 " Just have the goodness, Sir, to sign this, if 
 you please " 
 
 The invalid passively took again the offered 
 
294 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 pen, as he seemed to relapse into his wandering 
 half insensibility. 
 
 " Sign there, Sir; now, do not delay, Sir 
 Archibald, for here is a gentleman and my clerk 
 waiting to witness this your act and deed " 
 
 " Mr. Compton," said I, now coming forward, 
 " unless your client has read over what he is to 
 sign, and seems capable of understanding it, I 
 must be excused from bearing witness to all 
 this-" 
 
 On hearing a new voice, Sir Archibald now 
 opened feebly his languid glazed eyes, and for 
 the first time looked steadily upon me. As he 
 gazed, his wan countenance again suddenly 
 changed into a strangely excited expression, 
 and shrinking towards the corner of his chair 
 he only uttered the exclamation " Good 
 Heavens !" 
 
 " What is the meaning of all this ?" cried 
 Compton, in renewed alarm. 
 
 The sick baronet still gazed on me. "It 
 was no dream " he at length uttered in a low 
 voice, " it could not be a dream. You are 
 the very man, 1 " 
 
 " What man ? what can be the meaning of 
 
EISENBACH. 2Q5 
 
 this, Sir Archibald ?" again exclaimed Compton, 
 in amazement. 
 
 " Yes, it was you that gave me my drink that 
 night," continued the bewildered baronet, " I 
 know you, and saw you slip out of the room, 
 just as I was wakened by the smell of fire. You 
 were my guardian angel that fearful night, and 
 as for Lady Staines alas ! she Compton, how 
 know you this gentleman ?" 
 
 At this moment the servant opened the door, 
 and Lady Staines walked in amongst us. She al- 
 most started on observing me. The lawyer 
 seemed to shrink into half his size, as she cast a 
 look of inquisitive contempt towards him, while 
 her noble figure and bearing, and her heroic 
 beauty, in spite of the melancholy that seemed 
 to sit upon her brow, and the evident careless- 
 ness of her morning dress, involuntarily excited 
 my admiration, as it did that of the enfeebled 
 baronet, who now also looked in admiration on 
 his wife under the unsuitable character of the 
 husband of such a woman. 
 
 " You sent for me. Sir Archibald, 1 ' she said 
 abruptly, yet with a look of some kindness. 
 
 " I did, Georgiana," and the invalid raised 
 
296 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 himself astonishingly. " Lawyer ! why do you 
 not hand Lady Staines a chair?" 
 
 The lawyer had Lady Staines placed on a 
 seat, at the same time making her a profound 
 bow. 
 
 " Georgiana," continued the baronet, as he 
 still gazed on the lady across the small table on 
 which lay the papers, " say, are you my wife 
 or not ?" 
 
 An exclamation of amazement from the lady, 
 at being thus addressed in the presence of stran- 
 gers, was the natural consequence of this 
 speech. 
 
 " Lady Staines, 11 he continued, " I purposely 
 address you in the presence of witnesses, if 
 Heaven gives me strength to do so, for notwith- 
 standing the flatteries of that lawyer, who haunts 
 me night and day, I feel that this may be the 
 last time, I shall be sufficiently collected to speak 
 to you seriously. I have made a great mistake 
 in making you my wife, and your purpose and 
 that of your friends in this ill-advised marriage 
 will be disappointed. Here I have made a new 
 will, which I mean to sign and to burn the for- 
 mer one in your presence. Lawyer, reach me 
 that tin box." 
 
EISENBACH. 29? 
 
 The bosom of the lady seemed to be swelling 
 with emotion, but she uttered not a word, while 
 the lawyer bustled forward the box. 
 
 " Will you not speak to me, Georgiana, be- 
 fore I sign away my property from the whole 
 race of your relatives?" 
 
 " If you give it to those who are worthy of 
 it," said the lady, mildly, " then " and she 
 paused. 
 
 " Where will I find them?" interrupted the 
 invalid, with his usual peevish scream; "who 
 is worthy? I may as well will my fortune to 
 this pains-taking lawyer as to any one else.' 7 
 
 " Gracious Heavens !" was the lady's excla- 
 mation of astonishment. 
 
 " Ay, Lady Staines just so. The bear will 
 at least hug and hold fast his prey, and suck 
 his paws over it in his winter's den ; and that is a 
 recommendation to all disponners of the world's 
 wealth but I feel myself growing weak. Give 
 me the pen, Compton, and open the box. I 
 once thought you worthy, Georgiana," he con- 
 tinued. " I once thought your uncle worthy 
 but he is a spendthrift and a fool, that I^or- 
 tesque, and I now see through his motives for 
 o 3 
 
298 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 urging on your marriage with me. But yet, 
 had he sought for a reconciliation " 
 
 " Pardon me, Sir Archibald," said I, now 
 impelled by my feelings to speak ; " Mr. For- 
 tesque, to my knowledge, was strongly against 
 that very marriage." 
 
 The sick man looked across to me in surprise, 
 and then cried, " How know you that, Sir ? 
 Was that really the case, Lady Staines ?" 
 
 " He certainly urged me strongly against it," 
 she said, her heart seeming to fill at the recol- 
 lection. " My good uncle was the only one 
 who did so, and all his prophecies have become 
 but too true." 
 
 " You vile lawyer !" screamed the sick man, 
 looking across upon Compton, his dim eyes 
 kindling into the sharp flame of terrible indig- 
 nation : u didn't you tell me that Fortesque was 
 the great urger of that step for selfish motives, 
 and that he recklessly threw away his fortune 
 expecting that I was to replace it and that 
 now he stands, like the hungry grave itself, 
 yawning for my bones, that when I am dead 
 and buried, he may waste the substance of my 
 forefathers in riotous living ! Oh, where 
 where is truth on earth ?" 
 
EISENBACH. 299 
 
 " So far is that from the truth, Sir Archi- 
 bald, 11 said the lady, " that my poor uncle has 
 suffered the greatest distress, brought on by 
 pure misfortune, and much by the craft of this 
 very lawyer, and was too proud to let you 
 know it fully, even when he applied to you." 
 
 The sick man's mind seemed more and more 
 aroused by astonishment at the manner in which 
 he had been deceived. 
 
 " I was witness of his deep distress/' said I, 
 " when, accompanied by his daughter, he went 
 to borrow money of Mr. Compton ; and I have 
 since been witness of the high honour and just 
 pride of that interesting family."" 
 
 " Went to borrow money of this man !" ex- 
 claimed the lady ; " my sweet cousin so de- 
 grading herself ! and this man not to inform me 
 of it while he was poisoning your ear, Sir 
 Archibald! Wretch!'' she continued, now 
 rising up, her fine eyes flashing fire upon the 
 lawyer, " how am I degraded to be obliged to 
 sit in your company ; but my uncle himself 
 shall expose you. Yes, Sir Archibald, I have 
 sent to Mr. Fortesque intreating him to come 
 to me here even here, and I expect him this 
 
300 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 very day, that I may throw myself on my knees 
 before him, and before you too, my husband, 
 if you would but speak kindly to me at length, 
 to acknowledge all my follies, and to ask for 
 pardon of you and of Heaven for I am indeed 
 indeed an unhappy woman !" 
 
 At this moment a loud knocking at the door 
 indicated a visitor, and a servant entering an- 
 nounced Mr. and Miss Fortesque, wishing to 
 be admitted to Lady Staines. 
 
 " Is he so bitter against me, that he will not 
 condescend to come to my sick chamber ?" said 
 the startled invalid. 
 
 " The virtuous have no need to condescend 
 unworthily," said the lady, "and it is you, 
 Sir Archibald, that has been bitter against him, 
 refusing his request at his utmost need, because 
 this vile lawyer, to whom you have of late re- 
 signed yourself, persuaded you he was a spend- 
 thrift. Beg of Mr. Fortesque and his daughter," 
 she added, turning to the servant " beg of them, 
 in all our names, to step into this apartment." 
 
 The scene that now ensued may perhaps be 
 faintly imagined the first surprise of Mr. For- 
 tesque and Matilda on perceiving me, as well 
 
EISENHACH. 301 
 
 as the lawyer, in presence of the sick baronet, 
 their delight on hearing the turn that had taken 
 place from his original intentions and the 
 terrible and almost terrific agitation of the lady, 
 as she acknowledged, particularly to her uncle, 
 sins and follies which had, all but, ended in her 
 dishonour and as she begged the forgiveness 
 of her dying husband, and poured execrations 
 on the artful and seductive man, who had spared 
 no pains or expense to destroy her reputation 
 and her peace. 
 
 " Take my hand, Georgiana," said the sick 
 baronet, scarcely able to articulate from the 
 effect of the scene " take my hand" and he 
 held out his thin fingers to the kneeling lady 
 " I believe you I do believe you, and I take 
 to myself much of the blame Lawyer ! put 
 that will into the fire." 
 
 " Into the fire, Sir Archibald ?" 
 
 " Do it ! you have made it, and you shall 
 burn it with your own hands." 
 
 " Sweet soul sweet innocent being,'' con- 
 tinued the baronet, his feeble eye resting on the 
 countenance of Matilda, as deeply affected with 
 the scene she sat watching the countenances of 
 
302 
 
 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 all, and then gazing at the will blazing into 
 ashes on the grate. " You will be something 
 the better of my property when I am gone 
 would that I could see you happily happily 
 married, before I go hence and the baronetcy 
 of Staines be extinct for ever." 
 
 He murmured something further which I 
 could not distinctly hear, the apathetic exhaus- 
 tion seeming again to come over him. We at 
 first thought he was dying, but when, as he 
 began to recover, Mr. Fortesque, was congratu- 
 lating his niece, as well as beginning to converse 
 with renewed pleasure, our harmony received a 
 sudden shock from what followed, for the 
 baronet beginning to revive and fixing his eyes 
 on my face, muttered thus : 
 
 " Who this stranger is I don't know, but he 
 spoke the first word this morning, to undeceive 
 me regarding these my last remaining friends ; 
 and I feel myself indebted to him. It was he 
 gave me my drink too, when my head swam 
 with fever, and my lips burned with thirst and 
 it was at the dead of night, that night of the 
 fire when all was silent in my house and 
 Lady Staines Heavens ! what thought is this 
 that comes over me !" 
 
EISENBACH. 303 
 
 " Can this be raving only !" said the lady, 
 as the company first looked at each other, and 
 then turned their eyes on me. 
 
 66 Sir," said the baronet, addressing me with 
 a solemnity that was absolutely distressing, 
 " did you not one night hold a cup of drink to 
 my lips, in this very chamber ?" 
 
 The eyes of all were fixed on me I felt my 
 face glow with a flush that spoke more than my 
 words when, with a hesitating voice, I answer- 
 ed that I did. 
 
 " And how did you come to be in my house 
 at midnight ?" 
 
 I made no reply. 
 
 The kindling eyes of the baronet wandered 
 from the confused face of his lady to mine, while 
 Matilda seemed ready to faint. 
 
 " Answer me truly, Sir, as I am a dying man 
 how long have you been acquainted with 
 Lady Staines ?" 
 
 " I never spoke to her ladyship in my life/' 
 
 " Georgiana, know you not this gentleman?" 
 
 44 I never saw him that I know of until this 
 morning." 
 
 Matilda began to breathe again, and so did 
 
304 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 her father, while I in a few words explained, to 
 the astonishment of all, how that, finding the 
 street-door ajar as I passed, I stepped in to in- 
 form the inmates, and that hearing a feeble 
 voice calling for drink, I ventured up stairs and 
 gave attendance to the sick ; the fire explained 
 the rest, or at least served to save the evident 
 dread of the lady, lest I should say any thing 
 that would undo all that she had effected, and 
 all now joined in acknowledging with surprise 
 the extraordinary means by which Providence 
 had brought me into their acquaintance, and made 
 me instrumental in rendering them, what they 
 were pleased to call, the most essential services. 
 I stood up to take my leave, for, after all, I 
 was still little more than a stranger to those 
 present. As I made my acknowledgments to 
 Mr. Fortesque for the pleasure I had found in 
 his acquaintance since I came to know him, the 
 old man seemed affected, and Matilda, as if for- 
 getting every thing but her feelings, rose and 
 put her right hand frankly into mine. As we 
 looked in each other's faces at this present part- 
 ing, the eyes of all, particularly of Lady Staines, 
 became fixed upon us. At this instant the si- 
 
EISENBACH. 305 
 
 lence was startingly broken by the usual scream 
 from the feeble voice of the sick baronet, and 
 with hectic energy, he was just able to say, 
 
 " I see it I see it this is the fulfilment of 
 my wishes ! and there, before me, is the begin- 
 ning of happiness and love, such as / never ex- 
 perienced. Fortesque, do you consent to the 
 evident wishes of these young people ?" 
 
 " Most willingly," exclaimed the old gentle- 
 man, joining our hands again, while I could see 
 his eyes filling with tears, as he looked at Ma- 
 tilda. 
 
 Why should I dwell upon the rest ? why 
 should I tell of the tears of pleasure which ran 
 from the eyes of all as Matilda and I knelt at 
 the feet of those who now showered blessings 
 upon us, and joined their prayers for that happi- 
 ness in our future lives for which ample worldly 
 provision had been made by the dying baronet ? 
 Alas ! however, it was painfully affecting to 
 witness the convulsive sobbings of the regretful 
 Lady Staines, as she contemplated us both, spoke 
 of our present love and future bliss, and 
 thought of what she herself had missed in life. 
 
 " What shall I add more ?" continued my 
 
306 
 
 THE CLUB-BOOK. 
 
 good host, by this time quite affected with his 
 own story, " that bliss has been well realized, 
 in the course of seven happy years, and now 
 this bright morning, during the short time when 
 my Matilda is gone from me, who, since we left 
 England, has become much attached to these 
 vallies, the pleasure of talking of her in her ab- 
 sence almost compensates for the temporary 
 want of her society, and I shall receive her 
 again with enhanced joy after thus, in fancy and 
 by recollection, going over again the strange 
 events in London connected with our first ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 My friend had scarcely bestowed a conclud- 
 ing caress upon his daughter, and informed me 
 of the subsequent deaths of Sir Archibald and 
 Mr. Fortesque, and of Lady Staines having 
 entered into a second and more happy marriage, 
 but not with the strange nobleman who has 
 since run a remarkable race both in England 
 and abroad, when a vehicle drove up the 
 avenue, and in a few moments after, starting 
 from his seat, my host hastened down stairs 
 to welcome back his Matilda. The tender 
 
EISENBACIT. 307 
 
 embrace of meetings and of partings of those 
 who truly love each other, are always affect- 
 ing. I turned away my head, for I could 
 not look, and the very tones of the soft English 
 voice of the lady and the glance of her charm- 
 ing blue eyes, touched me almost to tears, as 
 I thought of those I had left at home, and of 
 the pious bliss of wedded love. 
 
 From what I perceived during one interest- 
 ing hour, which was all that I enjoyed of this 
 lady's society, I could very well account for 
 the enthusiasm of my new friend in speaking of 
 his wife, as well as for the minuteness with which 
 he detailed the particulars of their story ; and 
 I left his delightful villa on the Rhine with 
 those comforting sensations with which the mind 
 concludes, from actual observation, that in many 
 interesting spots, on the variegated surface of 
 this green earth, there are still enjoyed many 
 quiet hours of virtuous and truly enviable 
 felicity. 
 
 END OF VOL I 
 
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