AT " 5)0KSTACKS
 
 ROMANCES 
 
 OF 
 
 REAL LIFE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "HUNGARIAN TALES." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1829.
 
 <^3 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The following stories will probably be found 
 guilty of crimes and misdemeanors similar to 
 those critically detected in the Hungarian 
 Tales; —for all of them were written, and some 
 few already known to the public, previous to 
 the appearance of that work. 
 
 I am well aware that if the Richard of 
 Ivanhoe, and the Richard of the Crusaders, 
 be deservedly reproached with inconsistency, 
 my sketches of King Charles at Tunbridge 
 and King Charles at Whitehall, may be pro- 
 nounced incompatible ; but while Princes, — like 
 the shield of the apologue, — are suspended in
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 the highway of history to be adversely ap- 
 proached by the knights of rival factions, 
 portraits the most dissimilar may still be re- 
 garded as historically true ; and Whigs and 
 Tories severally claim authenticity for a golden 
 or a silver monarch. 
 
 The tale of the May Queen is illustrative of 
 Mr. Leslie's celebrated picture, bearing the 
 same name.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 Page 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR 3 
 
 THE SOLDIER PRIEST 99 
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE 149 
 
 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDOE, IN 1664.... 227 
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET 251
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 La cour est comme un edifice bati de marbre; Je veux 
 dire qu'elle est composee d'hommes fort durs mais fort polis. 
 
 La BltUYEEE. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves 
 Shall never tremble. Hence, horrible shadow ! 
 Unreal mockery, hence ! 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 It was a gloomy evening, towards the autumn 
 of the year 1676, and the driving blasts which 
 swept from the sea upon Greville Cross, a 
 dreary and exposed mansion on the coast of 
 Lancashire, gave promise of a stormy night, 
 and added to the desolation which at all times 
 pervaded its vast and comfortless apartments. 
 
 Greville Cross had formerly been a Benedic- 
 tine Monastery, and had been bestowed at the 
 
 b2
 
 4 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 reformation, together with its rights of fores- 
 try, upon Sir Ralph de Greville, the ancestor 
 of its present possessor. Although that part of 
 the building containing the chapel and refectory 
 had been long in ruins, the remainder of the 
 gloomy quadrangle was strongly marked with 
 the characteristics of its monastic origin. It 
 had never been a favourite residence of the 
 Greville family, who were possessed of two 
 other magnificent seats, at one of which, Silsea 
 Castle, in Kent, the present Lord Greville con- 
 stantly resided ; and the Cross, usually so 
 called from a large iron cross which stood in 
 the centre of the court-yard, and to which a 
 thousand romantic legends were attached, had 
 received few improvements from the modernizing 
 hand of taste. 
 
 Indeed, as the faults of the edifice were those 
 of solid construction, it would have been difficult 
 to render it less gloomy or more convenient by 
 any change that art could effect. Its massive 
 walls and huge oaken beams would neither 
 permit the enlargement of its narrow windows, 
 nor the destruction of its maze of useless cor-
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. O 
 
 ridors ; and it was, therefore, allowed to remain 
 unmolested and unadorned, unless when an 
 occasional visit from some member of the Gre- 
 ville family demanded an addition to its rude 
 attempts at splendour and elegance. But it 
 was difficult to convey the new fangled luxuries 
 of the capital to this remote spot ; and the 
 tapestry, whose faded hues and mouldering tex- 
 ture betrayed the influence of the sea air, had 
 not yet .given place to richer hangings. The 
 suite of state apartments was cold and comfort- 
 less in the extreme ; but one of the chambers 
 had been recently decorated with more than 
 usual cost, on the arrival of Lord and Lady 
 Greville, the latter of whom had never before 
 visited her northern abode. Its dimensions, 
 which were somewhat less vast than those of the 
 rest of the suite, rendered it fitter for modern 
 habits of life ; and it had long ensured the pre- 
 ference of the ladies of the house of Greville, 
 and obtained the name of " the lady^ chamber ," 
 by which it is even to this day distinguished. 
 The walls were not incumbered by the portraits 
 of those grim ancestors who frowned in mail, or
 
 6 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 smiled in farthingale on the walls of the adjacent 
 galleries. The huge chimney had suffered some 
 inhospitable contraction, and was surmounted 
 with marble ; and huge settees, glittering with 
 gilding and satin, which in their turn would 
 now be displaced by the hand of Gillow or 
 Oakley, had dispossessed the tall, straight, 
 ebony backed chairs which, in the olden time, 
 must have inflicted martyrdom on the persons 
 of our weary forefathers. 
 
 The present visit of Lord Greville to the 
 Cross, was supposed to originate in the dan- 
 gerous illness of an old and favourite female 
 servant who had held undisturbed control over 
 the household since the death of the first Lady 
 Greville, about ten years before. She had 
 been from her infancy attached to the family 
 service ; and having married a retainer of the 
 house, had been nurse to Lord Greville, whom 
 she still regarded with something of a maternal 
 affection. Her husband had died the preced- 
 ing year, equally lamented by the master whom 
 he served, and the domestics whom he ruled ; 
 and his wife was now daily declining, and threat-
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 7 
 
 ening to follow her aged partner to the grave. 
 It was even imagined by the other members of 
 the establishment, that the old lady had written 
 to her master, with whom she frequently cor- 
 responded, to entreat a personal interview, in 
 order that she might resign her stewardship 
 into his hands before her final release from all 
 earthly cares and anxieties ; and in consideration 
 of the length and importance of her services, 
 none were surprised at the readiness with which 
 her request was granted. 
 
 Lord Greville had never visited the north 
 since the death of his first wife ; a young and 
 beautiful woman, whom he had tenderly loved, 
 and who died and was interred at Greville 
 Cross. She left no children ; and the heir, a 
 fine boy, in the full bloom of childhood and 
 beauty, who now accompanied Lord Greville, 
 was the sole offspring of his second marriage. 
 
 Helen, the present Lady Greville, was by 
 birth a Percy ; and although her predecessor 
 had been celebrated at the court of Charles, as 
 one of the most distinguished beauties of her 
 time, there were many who considered her
 
 8 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 eclipsed by the lovely and gentle being that 
 now filled her place. She was considerably 
 younger than her husband ; but her attachment 
 to him, and to her child, as well as her naturally 
 domestic disposition, prevented the ill effects 
 often resulting from disparity of years. Lord 
 Greville, whose parents were zealous suppor- 
 ters of the royal cause, had himself shared the 
 banishment of the second Charles ; had fought 
 by his side in his hour of peril, and shared the 
 revelries of his court in his after days of pros- 
 perity. At an age when the judgment is 
 rarely matured, unless by an untimely encounter 
 with the dangers and adversities of the world, 
 such as those disastrous times too often afforded, 
 he had been employed with signal success in 
 several foreign missions ; and it was univer- 
 sally known that the monarch was ever 
 prompt to acknowledge the benefit he had on 
 many occasions derived from the prudent coun- 
 sels of his adherent, as well as from his valour 
 in the field. But notwithstanding the bond of 
 union subsisting between them, from the period 
 of his first marriage, which had taken place
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 9 
 
 under the royal auspices, Greville had retired 
 to Silsea Castle ; and resisting equally the in- 
 vitations of his condescending master, and the 
 entreaties of his former gay companions, he 
 had never again joined in the amusements of 
 the court. Whether his retirement originated 
 in some disgust occasioned by the licentious 
 habits and insolent companions of Charles, 
 whose present mode of life was peculiarly un- 
 fitted to the purer taste and intellectual cha- 
 racter of Lord Greville ; or, whether it arose 
 solely from his natural distaste for the parasiti- 
 cal existence of a courtier, was uncertain ; but 
 it was undeniable that he had faithfully followed 
 the fortunes of the expatriated king, and even 
 supplied his necessities from his own resources, 
 and that he had only withdrawn his services 
 when they were no longer required. 
 
 After the death of Lady Greville, his se- 
 cluded habits seemed more than ever confirmed ; 
 but when he again became possessed of a bride, 
 whose youth, beauty, and rank in society ap- 
 peared to demand an introduction to those plea- 
 sures which her age had hitherto prevented her 
 
 b3
 
 10 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 from sharing, it was a matter of no small mor- 
 tification to Lord and Lady Percy, to perceive 
 that their son-in-law evinced no disposition to 
 profit by the royal favour ; or to relinquish the 
 solitude of Silsea for the splendours of the 
 capital. But Helen shared not in their regrets. 
 She had been educated in retirement ; she knew 
 but by report the licentious, but seductive gaie- 
 ties of the court of Charles ; and she had not 
 the slightest wish to increase her knowledge of 
 such dangerous pleasures. Content with loving, 
 and being beloved by, a husband whom she 
 regarded with profound veneration, her happi- 
 ness was not disturbed by a restless search after 
 new enjoyments ; and her delighted parents soon 
 forgot their disappointment in witnessing the 
 contentment of their child. 
 
 For some years succeeding her marriage, 
 they perceived no change in the state of her 
 feelings ; but at length the anxiety of parental 
 love led them to form surmises, which renewed 
 their former disapprobation of the conduct of 
 Oreville. During their frequent visits to Silsea, 
 they observed that his love of study and retire-
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 11 
 
 merit had deepened almost into moroseness ; that 
 his address, always cold and reserved, was 
 becoming offensively distant ; and that he was 
 subject to fits of abstraction, and at other times 
 to a peevish discontent, which materially 
 threatened the happiness of their daughter. 
 They also discovered that Helen, whose playful 
 humour and gaiety of heart had been their 
 solace and amusement, even from her infancy, 
 was now pensive and dispirited. By degrees, 
 the bright expression of her countenance had 
 lost all that beaming joyousness of youth, 
 which had been its great attraction, and though 
 still 
 
 Sphered in the stillness of those heaven-blue eyes, 
 The soul sat beautiful, 
 
 it was the soul of melancholy beauty. 
 
 Alarmed and unhappy, Lady Percy wearied 
 her daughter with inquiries as to the cause of 
 this inauspicious change ; but in vain. Helen 
 denied that any alteration had taken place in 
 her feelings ; and declared that the new and 
 serious tone of her character arose naturally
 
 12 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 from her advance in life, and from the duties 
 devolving upon her as a wife and mother. 
 
 " Be satisfied, dear Madam," said she, " that 
 I am still a happy and adoring wife. You 
 well know that my affections were not won by 
 an outward shew of splendour and gay accom- 
 plishments, nor by the common attraction of an 
 idle gallantry. It was on Greville's high repu- 
 tation for just and honourable principles, and on 
 his manly and noble nature, that my love was 
 founded, and these will never change ; — and if, 
 at times, unpleasant circumstances should arise, 
 into which my sex and age unfit me to inquire, 
 to throw a cloud over his features, or a transient 
 peevishness into his humour, it would ill become 
 me — in short," continued she, in a trembling 
 voice, and throwing her arms round Lady 
 Percy's neck, to conceal her tears, " in short, 
 dear Madam, you must remember that dearly, 
 tenderly, dutifully, as Helen loves her mother, 
 — the wife of Greville can have no complaints to 
 make to the Countess of Percy." 
 
 But however well the suffering wife might 
 succeed in disguising the bitterness of wounded
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 13 
 
 affection from her inquiring family, she could 
 not conceal it from her own heart. She had 
 devoted herself, in the pride of youthful beauty, 
 to the most secluded retirement, through roman - 
 tic attachment for one who had appeared to 
 return her love with at least an equal fervour. 
 Her father's house — her own opening and 
 brilliant prospects — her numerous family con- 
 nexions and " troops of friends," — she had 
 deserted all for him, in her generous confidence 
 in his future kindness. " His people had be- 
 come her people, and his God, her God V 
 She had fondly expected that his society would 
 atone for every loss, and compensate every sacri- 
 fice ; that in the retirement she shared with 
 him, he would devote some part of his time 
 to the improvement of her mind, and the 
 developement of her character ; and that in 
 return for her self-devotion, he would cheer- 
 fully grant her his confidence and affection. 
 But there — " there where she had garnered up 
 her heart," — she was doomed to bear the bit- 
 terest disappointment. She found herself, on 
 awaking from her early dream of unqualified
 
 14 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 mutual affection, treated with negligence, and 
 at times with unkindness ; and though gleams 
 of his former tenderness would sometimes break 
 through the sullen darkness of his present dis- 
 position, he continually manifested towards both 
 her child and herself, a discontented and peevish 
 sternness, wounding her deeply, and filling her 
 heart with inquietude. She retained, however, 
 too deep a veneration for her husband, too 
 strong a sense of his superiority, to permit her 
 to resent, by the most trifling show of displea- 
 sure, the alteration in his conduct. She forbore 
 to indulge even in the 
 
 Silence that chides, and woundings of the eye. 
 
 Helen's was no common character. Young, 
 gentle, timid as she was, the texture of her 
 mind was framed of sterner stuff; and she 
 nourished an intensity of wife-like devotion and 
 endurance, which no unkindness could tire ; and 
 a fixedness of resolve, and high sense of moral 
 rectitude, which no meaner feeling had yet ob- 
 tained the power to blemish. " Let him be as 
 cold and stern as he will," said she to herself, in
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 15 
 
 her patient affliction, " he is my husband — the 
 husband of my free choice ; — and by that I must 
 abide. He may have crosses and sorrows of 
 which I know not ; and is it fitting that I 
 should pry into the secrets of a mind devoted 
 to pursuits and studies which I am incapable 
 of sharing ? — There was a time when I fondly 
 trusted he would seek to qualify me for his 
 companion and friend ; but the enchantment 
 which sealed my eyes is over ; and I must meet 
 the common fate of woman, distrust and neglect, 
 as best I may." 
 
 Anxious to escape the observation of her 
 family, she earnestly requested Lord Greville's 
 permission to accompany him with her son, 
 when he suddenly announced his intention of 
 visiting Greville Cross. Her petition was at 
 first met with a cold negative; but when she 
 ventured to plead the advice she had received 
 recently from several physicians to remove to 
 the sea coast, and reminded him of her frequent 
 indispositions, and present feebleness of con- 
 stitution, he looked at her for a time with 
 astonishment at the circumstance of her thus
 
 16 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 exhibiting so unusual an opposition to his will ; 
 and afterwards, with sincere and evident distress, 
 at the confirmation borne by her faded counte- 
 nance to the truth of her representation. 
 
 " Thou art so patient a sufferer," he replied, 
 " that I am somewhat too prone to forget the 
 weakness of thy frame; — but be content! — I 
 must be alone in this long and tedious journey ." 
 
 The tears which rose in her eyes were her 
 only remonstrance ; and her husband stood re- 
 garding her for some minutes in silence, but 
 with the most apparent signs of mental agitation 
 on his countenance. 
 
 "Helen," said he, at length, in a low, earnest 
 tone, " Helen, thou wert worthy of a better 
 fate than to be linked to the endurance of my 
 waywardness ; but God, who sees thine unmur- 
 muring patience, will give thee strength to meet 
 thy destiny. Thou hast scarcely enough of 
 womanly weakness in thee to shrink from idle 
 terrors, or I might strive to appal thee," he 
 added, faintly smiling, " with a description of 
 the gloom and discomfort of thine unknown 
 northern mansion ; but if thou art willing to
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 17 
 
 bear with its scanty means of accommodation, 
 as well as with thy husband's variable temper, 
 come with him to the Cross." 
 
 Helen longed to throw herself into his arms 
 as in happier days, when he granted her peti- 
 tion ; but she had been more than once repulsed 
 from his bosom, and she therefore contented 
 herself with thanking him respectfully ; and in 
 another week, they became inmates of Greville 
 Cross. 
 
 The evening, whose stormy and cheerless 
 commencement I have before described, was the 
 fourth after her arrival in the north ; and not- 
 withstanding the anxiety she had felt for a 
 change of habitation, she could not disguise 
 from herself that there was an air of desolation, 
 a general aspect of dreariness about her new 
 abode, which justified the description afforded 
 by her husband. As she crossed the portal, a 
 sensation of terror, ill-defined, but painful and 
 overwhelming, smote upon her heart — such as 
 we feel in the presence of a secret enemy ; and 
 Lord Greville's increasing uneasiness and ab- 
 straction since he had returned to the mansion
 
 18 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 of his forefathers, did not tend to enliven its 
 gloomy precincts. 
 
 The wind beat wildly against the casement of 
 the apartment in which they sat ; and which, 
 although named " the lady's chamber," afford- 
 ed none of those feminine luxuries, which are 
 now to be found in the most remote parts of 
 England, within the dwellings of the noble and 
 wealthy. By the side of a huge hearth, where 
 the crackling and blazing logs imparted the only 
 cheerful sound or sight in the apartment, in a 
 richly-carved oaken chair, emblazoned with the 
 armorial bearings of his house, sat Lord Gre- 
 ville, lost in silent contemplation. A chased 
 goblet of wine, with which he occasionally moist- 
 ened his lips, stood on a table beside him, on 
 which an elegantly-fretted silver lamp was burn- 
 ing ; and while it only emitted sufficient light to 
 render the gloom of the spacious chamber still 
 more apparent, it threw a strong glare upon his 
 expressive countenance and noble figure, and 
 rendered conspicuous that richness of attire 
 which the fashion of those stately days demanded 
 from " the magnats of the land ;" and which we
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 19 
 
 now only admire amid the mummeries of thea- 
 trical pageant, or on the glowing canvas of 
 Vandyck. His head rested on his hand ; and 
 while Lady Greville, who was seated on an 
 opposite couch, was apparently engrossed by the 
 embroidery-frame over which she leaned, his 
 attention was equally occupied by his son ; who 
 stood at her knee, interrupting her progress by 
 twining his little hands in the slender ringlets 
 which profusely overhung her work, and by 
 questions which betrayed the unsuspicious 
 sportiveness of his age. 
 
 " Mother," said the boy, u are we to remain 
 all the winter in this ruinous den? Do you 
 know, Margaret says that some of the northern 
 sea winds will shake it down over our heads one 
 stormy night ; and that she would as soon lie 
 under the ruins, as be buried alive in its walls. 
 Now I must own I would rather return to Silsea, 
 and visit my hawks, and Caesar, and — " 
 
 " Hush ! Sir, you prate something too wildly; 
 nor do I wish to hear you repeat Margaret's 
 idle observations. " 
 
 " But, mother, I know you long yourself to
 
 20 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 walk once again in your own dear sunshiny 
 orangerie ?" 
 
 " My Hugh," said Lady Greville, without 
 attending to his question, " has Margaret shewn 
 you the descent to the walk below the cliffs, — 
 and have you brought me the shells you pro- 
 mised to gather ?" 
 
 " How ! dear mother — with the spring tide 
 beating against the foot of the rocks, and the 
 sea raging so furiously that the very gulls 
 dared not take their delicious perch upon the 
 waves. To-morrow, perhaps — V 
 
 " Must I deem thee afraid to venture? — 
 When I walked on the sands at noon, there 
 was a bow-shot space of shore !" 
 
 " No, mother, no ! — not afraid ; — not afraid 
 to venture a fall, or meet a sprinkling of sea 
 spray ; and good truth I have enough to do 
 with fears in doors, — here in this grim old man- 
 sion, — without — V 
 
 " Fears ?"— 
 
 u Yes, fears, dear mother," said the boy, 
 looking archly -round at his attendant, who 
 waited in the back ground, and who vainly
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 21 
 
 sought by signs to silence her unruly charge. 
 " Do you know that the figure of King Herod, 
 —cruel Herod, the murderer of his wife and 
 the slayer of the innocents — stalks down every 
 night from the tapestry in my sleeping room, 
 and wanders through the galleries at midnight ? 
 And then the Cross, where the three Jews 
 were executed a long, long time ago — in the 
 reign of King John, I think — they say that 
 it drops blood on the morning of the Holy 
 Friday ; — and then, mother — and this is really 
 true," continued the child, changing from his 
 playful manner to a tone of great earnestness, 
 " there is the figure of a lady in rich attire, 
 but pale, very pale, who glides in the grey 
 twilight through the apartments. — Yes ! Her- 
 bert, and Richard, and several of the serving- 
 men have seen it ; and Mistress Alice, poor 
 old soul ! was once seen to address it, but she 
 would allow no one to question her on the sub- 
 ject ; and they say it was her doom, and that she 
 must die of her present sickness. Ay : — "'twas 
 in this very room, too — the lady's chamber." 
 " Boy," interrupted Lord Greville, sternly,
 
 22 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 " if thou canst find no better subject for thy 
 prate than these unbecoming fooleries, be silent. 
 — Helen ! why should you encourage his for- 
 wardness, and girlish love of babbling ? -~ Go 
 hence, sirrah ! take thyself to rest ; and you, 
 Margaret," added he, turning angrily to the 
 woman, " remember, that from this hour I hear 
 no more insolent remarks on any dwelling it 
 may suit your betters to inhabit, nor of this 
 imp^ cowardly apprehensions." 
 
 Margaret led her young charge from the 
 room ; who, however sad his heart at being 
 thus abruptly dismissed, walked firm and erect, 
 with all the swelling consciousness of wounded 
 pride. Helen followed him to the door with 
 her eyes ; and when they fell again upon her 
 work, they were too dim with tears to distin- 
 guish the colours of the flowers she was weaving. 
 Lord Greville had again relapsed into silent 
 musing ; and as she occasionally stole a glance 
 towards him, she perceived traces of a severe 
 mental struggle on his countenance ; the mus- 
 cles of his fine throat worked convulsively, his 
 lips quivered — yet still he spoke not. At length
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 23 
 
 his eyes closed, and he seemed as if seeking to 
 lose his own reflections in sleep. 
 
 " I will try the spell which drove the evil 
 spirit from the mind of the King of Israel," 
 thought the sad and terrified wife ; " music 
 hath often power to soothe the darkness of the 
 soul ;" and she tuned her lute, and brought 
 forth the softest of its tones. 
 
 At length her charm was successful ; Lord 
 Greville slept ; and while she watched with all 
 the intense anxiety of alarmed affection, the 
 unquiet slumbers which distorted one of the 
 finest countenances that sculptor or painter ever 
 conceived, she affected to occupy herself with 
 her instrument, lest he should awake and be 
 displeased to find her attention fixed on himself. 
 With the sweetest notes of a " voice ever soft 
 and low, an excellent thing in woman," she 
 murmured the following song; which was re- 
 corded in her family to have been composed by 
 her elder brother, on parting from a lady to 
 whom he was attached, previous to embarking 
 on the expedition in which he fell, and to which 
 it alludes.
 
 24 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 CANZONE. 
 
 Parte la nave, 
 Spiegan le vele, 
 Vento crudele 
 Mi fa partir. 
 Addio Teresa, 
 Teresa, addio ! 
 Piacendo a Dio 
 Ti rivedro. 
 Non pianger bella, 
 Non pianger, No !— 
 Che al mio ritorno 
 Ti sposero. 
 
 II Capitano 
 Mi chiama a bordo ; 
 lo faccio il sordo 
 Per non partir ! 
 Addio Teresa, 
 Teresa, Addio ! 
 Piacendo a Dio 
 Ti rivedro. 
 Non pianger bella, 
 Non pianger, No ! 
 'Che al mio ritorno 
 Ti sposero. 
 
 Vado a levante 
 Vado a ponente 
 Se trovo gente 
 Ti scriverd.
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 25 
 
 Addio Teresa. 
 Teresa, Addio ; 
 Piacendo a Dio 
 Ti rivedro, 
 Non pianger bella, 
 Non pianger, No ! — 
 Che al mio ritorno 
 Ti sposero ! 
 
 Helen had reached the concluding cadence 
 of her soft and melancholy song, when raising 
 her eyes from the strings to her still sleeping 
 husband, she beheld with panic-struck and 
 breathless amazement, a female figure standing 
 opposite, resting her hand on the back of his 
 chair ; — silent, and motionless, and with fixed 
 and glassy eyes gazing mournfully on herself. 
 She saw — yes ! — distinctly saw, as described by 
 little Hugh, " a lady in rich attire, but pale, 
 very pale ;" and in the stillness and gloom of 
 the apartment and the hour, 
 
 'Twas frightful there to see 
 A lady richly clad as she, 
 Beautiful exceedingly ! 
 
 The paleness of that pensive face did not lessen 
 its loveliness, and the hair which hung in 
 vol. i. c
 
 26 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 bright curls on her shoulders and gorgeous 
 apparel, was white and glossy as silver. Helen 
 gazed for a moment spell-bound ; for she be- 
 held in that countenance without the possibility 
 of doubt, the resemblance of the deceased Lady 
 Greville, — whose portrait, in a similar dress, 
 hung in the picture gallery at Silsea Castle. 
 She shuddered; for the eyes of the spectre 
 /emained stedfastly fixed upon her ; and its 
 lips moved as if about to address her. — 
 " Mother of God, — protect me !" exclaimed 
 Helen convulsively, and she fell insensible on 
 the floor. 

 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 27 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 u Sorrow seems pleased to dwell with so much sweetness ; 
 And now and then a melancholy smile 
 Breaks loose like lightning on a winter's night 
 And shows a moment's day." 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 On the succeeding morning, when Lady 
 Greville recovered sufficiently from a succession 
 of fainting fits to collect her remembrances of 
 the dreadful cause of her illness, she eagerly 
 demanded of her attendants in what manner, 
 and by whom, she had been placed in her usual 
 sleeping room. They replied, that Lord Gre- 
 ville had conveyed her there insensible in his 
 arms ; and had summoned them in great agita- 
 tion to her assistance. He had since frequently 
 sent to inquire after her health, and had ex- 
 pressed great delight when the last message, 
 
 c2
 
 28 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 announcing her recovery, had reached him. 
 But he came not himself to watch over her ; 
 and though the shock she had received had 
 brought on an alarming degree of fever, which 
 confined her for several days to her room, he 
 never visited her chamber. Helen was the 
 more surprised and pained by this neglect, as 
 she knew he made frequent visits to the sick 
 bed of old Alice ; and she wept secretly and 
 bitterly over this fresh proof of his alienated 
 love. 
 
 During the tedious hours of illness, the men- 
 tal sufferings of the neglected wife far exceeded 
 those of her corporeal frame. She could reflect 
 but on one subject ; — one idea, one pervading 
 horrible idea, had taken possession of her soul. 
 She felt that though every person to whom she 
 might impart her tale would listen with in- 
 credulity, and mockery, the truth of that 
 awful visitation could not be questioned by her 
 own better judgment. She considered herself 
 one 
 
 To whom the world unknown 
 
 In all its shadowy shapes is shown.
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 29 
 
 She shuddered over the remembrance of the 
 past, — she trembled with apprehension of the 
 future. The approach of night was beginning 
 to be terrible to her feelings ; the very air ap- 
 peared, to her disordered imagination, instinct 
 with being; — low whisperings seemed to ap- 
 proach her ears ; — and if the female attendant 
 whom she had stationed by her bedside disap- 
 peared for a moment, she instantly fancied she 
 saw that noble figure approach, that pale soft 
 countenance once more gazing upon her, and 
 those cold lips about to address her ; and in an 
 agony of approaching insanity, she prayed 
 aloud to the God of all Grace, for deliverance 
 from the torture that assailed her. Her prayers 
 were heard ; for as her constitution recovered 
 from the shocks it had sustained, her mind 
 gradually returned to its wonted serenity ; the 
 impression of the event became less vivid, and 
 in less than a week she was enabled to resume 
 her accustomed habits. 
 
 Her return was more warmly greeted by 
 Lord Greville than she had expected. There 
 was something of " lang syne," in his manner
 
 30 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 of welcoming her to her sitting apartment, 
 which rejoiced her warm and affectionate heart. 
 She did not, however, approach it without 
 trembling ; for it was — the lady's chamber ! 
 Her feelings were fortunately occupied by the 
 unusual kindness displayed by Lord Greville ; 
 and as she silently and gratefully pressed the 
 hand which led her to her seat, she was thank- 
 ful that he made no inquiries into the particular 
 cause of her illness. She knew that he treated 
 all supernatural terrors with especial contempt ; 
 and considered them only as fit subjects for the 
 discussion of the low-minded and ignorant. 
 She had formerly heard him reason soundly, 
 and express himself strongly, on the subject ; 
 and her own scepticism on the possibility of 
 spectral visitation, was principally owing to 
 the arguments she had heard from his lips. 
 Frequently had he praised her in former times 
 for her composure of mind in peril, and for her 
 unfeminine superiority to all ideal terrors ; and 
 she did not dare provoke his surprise and con- 
 tempt by a revocation of her principles, or by 
 a relation of the mysterious event which had
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUli. 31 
 
 befallen her. As soon as he left her, she de- 
 scended into the court enclosed by the qua- 
 drangle of the mansion ; and as long as day- 
 light lasted, she continued to walk there in 
 order to avoid the solitude of her own dreaded 
 apartment. As she traversed the pavement 
 with hurried steps, she gazed on the huge iron 
 cross, and no longer regarded with indifference 
 the terrific legends attached to it. But at 
 length the closing evening, accompanied by 
 tempestuous winds, compelled her to retire to 
 the house. 
 
 Once more she found herself installed for the 
 evening in the abhorred chamber. All was as 
 before — her husband was seated opposite to her 
 in the same chair, by the same lamp-light, — 
 the ticking of the time-piece was again pain- 
 fully audible from the wearisome stillness of 
 the apartment ; — and her own trembling hands 
 were again lingering over the embroidery-frame 
 from which she dared not lift her eyes. Her 
 heart beat painfully, — her breath became op- 
 pressed, — and she ventured to steal a look at 
 her husband, who to her surprise was regard-
 
 32 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 ing her with an air of affectionate interest. 
 Relieved for a moment, she returned to her 
 occupation ; but her former terrors soon over- 
 came her. — She would have given worlds to 
 escape from that room, from that dwelling, and 
 wandered she cared not how, she knew not 
 whither, so she might be rescued from the sight 
 of that awful figure, — from the sound of that 
 dreaded voice. 
 
 The conflict in her mind became at length too 
 strong for endurance; and suddenly flinging 
 down her work, she threw herself at her hus- 
 band's feet, and burying her face in his knees, 
 she sobbed aloud ; " Save me from myself, — 
 save me, save me, from her /" 
 
 He raised her gently, and folded her in his 
 arms. " Save thee from whom, my beloved 
 Helen ?" 
 
 " Greville, believe me or not as thou wilt, — 
 but as the Almighty hears and judges me, I 
 have beheld the apparition of thy wife. I saw 
 her freely, distinctly, standing beside thee even 
 where thou sittest ; clearly visible as the form 
 of a living being ; — and she would have spoken,
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 33 
 
 and doubtless revealed some dreadful secret, 
 had not the weakness of my nature refused to 
 support me. Oh ! Greville, take me from this 
 room, — take me from this house ; — I am not 
 able to bear the horrible imaginings which have 
 filled my mind since that awful hour. My 
 very brain is maddened ;— oh ! Greville, take 
 me hence."' 1 
 
 Even in the agony of her fear, Helen started 
 with delighted surprise to feel the tears of her 
 husband falling on her hand. Yes ! he, — the 
 stern Greville, — the estranged husband, — 
 moved by the deep distress manifested in the 
 appearance of his wife, acknowledged his 
 sympathy by the first tears he had shed in her 
 presence. 
 
 " This is a mere phantasm of the brain," 
 said he at length, attempting to regain his com- 
 posure ; the coinage of a lively imagination 
 which loves to deceive itself by — but no," con- 
 tinued he, observing her incredulous and 
 agonized expression of countenance, " no ! my 
 Helen, I will not longer rack thy generous 
 mind by these sufferings ; however bitter the 
 
 c3
 
 34 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 truth may be to utter or to hear. Helen ! it 
 was no vision — no idle dream, — it was a living 
 form, a breathing curse to thee and me !— Thou 
 who hast accused me of insensibility to thy 
 charms, and to thine endearing affection, judge 
 of the strength of my love by the labyrinth of 
 sin into which it hath betrayed me. — Helen ! 
 my wife still lives, and I am not thy lawful 
 husband. 11 
 
 It was many hours before the unfortunate 
 Lady Greville sufficiently recovered her com- 
 posure to understand and feel the full extent 
 of the fatal intelligence she had received, and 
 the immediate bearing it must have upon her 
 happiness, her rights, and those of her child. 
 As by degrees the full measure of her misery 
 unfolded to her comprehension, she fell into no 
 paroxysm of angry grief, — she vented her des- 
 pair in no revilings against the guilty Greville. 
 Sorrowfully indeed, but calmly, she requested 
 to be made acquainted with the whole extent of 
 her miserable destiny. 
 
 " Let me know the worst, 11 said she. " I 
 have been long, too long deceived ; and the
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 35 
 
 only mercy you can now bestow upon me is 
 an unreserved and unqualified confidence." 
 
 But Lord Greville could not trust himself to 
 make so painful a communication in words, and 
 after passing the night in writing, he delivered 
 to her the following relation : — 
 
 LORD GREVILLE'S HISTORY. 
 
 " I need not dwell upon the occurrences of 
 my childhood ; I need not relate the events 
 which rendered my youth equally eventful and 
 distinguished. My early life was passed so 
 entirely in the immediate service of my sove- 
 reign, and in participation of the troubles and 
 dangers which disastrous times and a rebellious 
 people heaped upon his head, that the tenor of 
 my life has been as public as his own. 
 
 " Yet, forgive me, Helen, for saying that I 
 cannot even now, in this my day of humiliation, 
 but glory in the happy fortune which crowned 
 with success my efforts in the royal cause, both 
 in the field and in the cabinet, and won for me 
 at once the affection of my king, and the appro-
 
 36 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 bation of my fellow-countrymen, when I remem- 
 ber that to these flattering testimonies I owe 
 not only the friendship of your father, but the 
 first affections of his child. How frequently 
 have you owned to me, in our early days of joy 
 and love, that long before we met, my public 
 reputation had excited the strongest interest in 
 your mind; — those days, those happy days, 
 when I was rich alike in the warmest devotion 
 of popular favour, and the approval of — but I 
 must not permit myself to indulge in fond retro- 
 spections ! I must steel my heart ; and calmly 
 and coldly relate the progress of my misery and 
 guilt, and of its present remorse and punish- 
 ment. 
 
 " You have heard that soon after the restora- 
 tion of Charles Stuart to the throne of his ances- 
 tors, I was sent on a mission of great public 
 moment to the Hague ; where I remained for 
 nearly two years, and having succeeded in the 
 object of government, returned home shortly 
 after the union of the king with the princess of 
 Portugal. I was warmly received by his Ma- 
 jesty ; and presented by him to the young queen,
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 37 
 
 as one whom he regarded equally as an affec- 
 tionate friend, and as one of the most faithful 
 servants of the crown. Thus introduced to her 
 notice, it is not wonderful that my homage was 
 most graciously received ; and that I was fre- 
 quently invited to renew it, by admission into 
 the evening circle at Whitehall. The very 
 night after my arrival in London, I was called 
 upon to assist at a masque given on the anni- 
 versary of the royal nuptials ; at which their 
 majesties alone, and their immediate attendants, 
 were unmasqued. The latter, indeed, were 
 habited in character ; but among the splendidly- 
 attired group of the maids of honour, I was 
 surprised at perceiving one, in a costume of 
 deep mourning. Her extreme beauty and the 
 grace of her demeanour excited an immediate 
 interest in her favour ; and her sable suit only 
 served to render yet more brilliant the exqui- 
 site fairness and purity of her complexion. 
 
 "It was not so much the regular cast of her 
 features as their sweet and pensive expression 
 which produced so strong an effect on the feel- 
 ings. At the moment I was first struck by her
 
 38 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 appearance, I happened to be conversing with 
 his Majesty, who was making the tour of the 
 apartment, graciously leaning on my arm ; and 
 my attention was so completely captivated by 
 her surpassing loveliness, that the king could 
 not fail to perceive my absence of mind. 
 
 " ' How now, Charles, how now,' said he 
 kindly ; s twenty-four hours in the capital, and 
 beauty-struck already ? Which among our 
 simple English maidens hath the merit of thus 
 gaining the approval of thy travelled eyes ? 
 What Venus hath bribed the purer taste of our 
 new Paris? — Ha! let me see — Lady Joscelyn? — 
 Lady — No ! by heaven," said he, following my 
 looks, ' it is as I could wish— Theresa March- 
 mont herself. How ! man — knowest thou not 
 the daughter of our old comrade, who fell at my 
 side in the unfortunate affair at Worcester F 
 
 66 The king took an early opportunity of 
 making my admiration known to her Majesty ; 
 and of requesting her permission for my intro- 
 duction to Miss Marchmont ; who, although 
 born of a family distinguished only by its loyalty 
 to the house of Stuart, having been recom-
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 39 
 
 mended to the royal attention from the loss of 
 her only surviving parent in its cause, had suf- 
 ficiently won the good will of the monarch by 
 her beauty and elegant accomplishments, to 
 obtain a distinguished post about the person of 
 the new queen. 
 
 " From this period, admitted as I was into 
 the domestic circle of the royal household, I 
 had frequent opportunities afforded me of im- 
 proving my acquaintance with Theresa ; whose 
 gentle and interesting manners more than com- 
 pleted the conquest which her beauty had begun. 
 Helen ! I had visited many foreign courts/and 
 had been familiarized with the reigning beau- 
 ties of our own, at that time eminently distin- 
 guished by the brilliancy of female beauty ; 
 but never in any station of life did I behold a 
 being so lovely in the expressive sadness of her 
 fine countenance, so graceful in every move- 
 ment of her person. But this was not all— - 
 Theresa possessed beyond other women that 
 retiring modesty of demeanour, that unsullied 
 purity of look and speech, which made her suf- 
 ficiently remarkable in the midst of a licentious
 
 40 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 court, and among companions whose levity at 
 least equalled their loveliness. On making 
 more particular inquiries respecting her family 
 connexions, I found that they were strictly re- 
 spectable, but of the middle class of life ; and 
 that she had passed the period intervening be- 
 tween the death of her father, General March- 
 mont, and her appointment at court, in the 
 county of Devon, in the family of an aged rela- 
 tive ; by whom indeed she had been principally 
 educated. It was at the dying instigation of 
 this, her last surviving friend and protector, 
 that her destitute situation had been represented 
 to the king by the Lady Wriothesly, to whose 
 good offices she was indebted for her present 
 honourable station. Being thus, as it were, 
 friendless as well as dowerless, and backed in 
 my suit by the powerful assistance of the king's 
 approbation, I did not anticipate much opposi- 
 tion to my pretensions to the hand of Miss 
 Marchmont, which had now become the object 
 of my dearest ambition. I knew myself to be 
 formed by nature for domestic life ; and while 
 the disastrous position of public affairs had
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 41 
 
 obliged me to waste the days of my early youth 
 in camps or courts, and in exile from my own 
 hereditary possessions, I resolved to pass the 
 evening of my life in the repose of a happy and 
 well-ordered home in my native country. 
 
 " To the vitiated taste of the gallants of the 
 court, many of whom might have proved power- 
 ful rivals — had they been so inclined, — marriage 
 had no attractions. The acknowledged distaste 
 of Charles for a matrimonial life, and his 
 avowed infidelities, sanctioned the disdain of his 
 dissolute companions for all the more holy and 
 endearing ties of existence. I had therefore 
 little to fear from competition ; indeed, among 
 the maids of honour of the Queen, whose situa- 
 tion threw them into hourly scenes of revelry 
 and dissipation, Theresa Marchmont, who was 
 universally acknowledged to be the loveliest of 
 the train, excited less than any, those atten- 
 tions of idle gallantry which, however sought 
 and prized by her livelier companions, are offen- 
 sive to true modesty. I attributed this flatter- 
 ing distinction to the respect ensured by the 
 extreme retenue and propriety of her manners ;
 
 42 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 but I have had reason since to ascribe the 
 reserve of the courtiers to a less commendable 
 motive. On occasion of a masqued festival 
 given by her Majesty on her birth-day at Kew, 
 the king, in distributing the characters, allotted 
 to Miss Marchmont that of Diana. 
 
 " 6 Your Majesty,'' said the Duchess of Graf- 
 ton, 4 has judiciously assigned the part of the 
 frigid goddess, to the only statue of snow visible 
 among us. Mademoiselle se r encher it sur un petit 
 air de province, glacial et arrange^ continued 
 she, turning to the Comte de Grammont. 
 
 " ' Madam, 1 said the king, bowing respectfully 
 to Theresa, with all that captivating grace of 
 address for which he was distinguished, s if 
 every frozen statue were as lovely and attrac- 
 tive as this, I should forget to wish for their 
 animation ; and become myself a votary of the 
 
 ' Queen and huntress, chaste and fair !' 
 
 " ' Ay,' whispered the Duke of Buckingham, 
 ( even at the perilous risk of being termed 
 Charles — King and Lunatic.'* 
 
 " This sobriquet of Diana had passed into a
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 43 
 
 proverb ; — and such was Theresa^s character for 
 coldness and reserve, that I attributed to her 
 temper of mind, the evident indifference with 
 which she received my attentions. Meeting 
 her as I did, either in public assemblies, or in 
 the antechamber of the queen, among the other 
 ladies in waiting, I had no opportunity of 
 making myself more particularly acquainted 
 with her sentiments and character. When I 
 addressed her in the evening circle, although 
 she readily entered into conversation on general 
 subjects, and displayed powers of mind of no 
 common order, yet, if I attempted to introduce 
 any topic which might lead to a discussion of 
 our mutual situation, she relapsed into silence. 
 At times her countenance became so pensive,— 
 so touchingly sorrowful, — that I could not help 
 suspecting she nourished some secret and hid- 
 den cause of grief ; and once on hinting this 
 opinion to the king, who frequently in our 
 familiar intercourse rallied me on my passion 
 for Theresa, and questioned me as to the pro- 
 gress of my suit, he told me, that Miss March- 
 mont's dejection was generally attributed to
 
 44 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 her regret for the loss of Lady Wriothesly ;— 
 the kind patroness who had first recommended 
 her to his protection ; and by whose death, im- 
 mediately before my return from Holland, she 
 had lost her only surviving friend. 
 
 " ' It remains to be proved,' added he, 
 * whether her lingering affection for the me- 
 mory of an old woman will yield readily to her 
 dawning attachment for her future husband.' 
 
 " Another suspicion sometimes crossed my 
 mind, but in so uncertain a form, that I could 
 scarcely myself resolve the nature of the evil I 
 apprehended. I observed that Theresa con- 
 stantly and anxiously watched the eye of the 
 king, whenever she formed a part of the royal 
 suite ; and if she perceived his attention fixed 
 on herself, or if he chanced to approach the 
 spot where she stood, she would turn abruptly 
 to me ; and enter into conversation with an air 
 of empressement, as though to confirm his 
 opinion of our mutual good understanding. 
 Upon one occasion, as I passed through the 
 gallery leading to the queen's apartments, I 
 found his majesty standing in the embrasure of
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 45 
 
 a window, in earnest conversation with Miss 
 Marchmont. They did not at first perceive 
 me ; and I had leisure to observe that Theresa 
 was agitated even to tears. She turned round 
 at the sound of approaching footsteps, but be- 
 trayed no distress at my surprising her in this 
 unusual situation. In reply to some obser- 
 vation of the king's, she answered, with a re- 
 spectful inclination, ( Your commands, Sire, 
 shall be obeyed,' and left the gallery ; while 
 Charles, gaily taking my arm, led me into the 
 adjoining saloon, and informed me, that he had 
 been pleading my cause with my fair tormentor; 
 as he was pleased to term her. 
 
 " * The worst torment I can be called to en- 
 dure, Sire,'' said I haughtily, c is prolonged 
 suspense; and I must earnestly request your 
 majesty's gracious intercession for Miss March- 
 mont's early reply to my application for the 
 honour of her hand. Should it be refused, I 
 must further intreat your majesty's permission 
 to resign the post I so unworthily hold, in 
 order that I may be enabled to pass some years 
 on the continent.'
 
 46 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 " Charles appeared both startled and dis- 
 pleased by the firm tone of resolution I had 
 assumed. ' Were I inclined for idle alterca- 
 tion,' answered he coldly, c I might argue 
 something for the dignity of the fair sex, who 
 have ever claimed their prescriptive right of 
 holding us lingering in their chains ; and Lord 
 Greville would do well to remember that his 
 services are too important to his country to be 
 held on the caprices of a silly girl's affected 
 coyness. But be it so ! — since you are so 
 petulant a lover, be prepared when you join 
 her majesty's circle to-night, to expect Miss 
 Marchmont's reply. 1 
 
 "It happened that there was a splendid fete 
 given at the palace that evening in honour of 
 the arrival of a French ambassador. When I 
 entered the ball-room I caught the eye of the 
 king, who was standing apart, with his hand 
 resting negligently on the shoulder of the Duke 
 of Buckingham ; and indulging in an immode- 
 rate gaiety apparently caused by some ' fool- 
 born jest,' of the favourite's ; in which, I know 
 not why, I immediately suspected myself to be
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 47 
 
 concerned. On perceiving my arrival, how- 
 ever, Charles forsook his station ; and approach- 
 ing me with that graceful ease which rendered 
 him at all times the most finished gentleman of 
 his court, he took me affectionately by the hand, 
 and congratulating me on my good fortune, he 
 led me to Theresa who was seated behind her 
 companions. Occupied as I was with my own 
 happiness, and with the necessity of imme- 
 diately expressing my gratitude both to Theresa 
 and the King, I could not avoid being struck 
 by the dreadful paleness of her agitated coun- 
 tenance, which contrasted frightfully with her 
 brilliant attire ; for I now saw her for the first 
 time out of mourning for Lady Wriothesly. 
 When I entreated her to confirm by words the 
 happy tidings I had learned from his Majesty, 
 who had again returned to the enlivening society 
 of his noble buffoon, she spoke with an unfal- 
 tering voice ; but in a tone of such deep dejec- 
 tion, and with a fixed look of such sorrowful 
 resolution that I could scarcely refrain, even in 
 that splendid assemblage, from throwing my- 
 self at her feet ; and imploring her to tell me
 
 48 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 whether her consent had not been obtained by 
 an undue exertion of the royal authority. But 
 there was always in Theresa an apparent dread 
 of every cause of emotion and excitement, which 
 made me feel that a wilful disturbance of her 
 calm serenity would be sacrilege. 
 
 " During the short period intervening be- 
 tween her consent and our marriage, — which, 
 by the command of the king, was unnecessarily 
 and even indecorously hastened, — these doubts, 
 these fears, constantly recurred to my mind 
 whenever I found myself in the presence of 
 Theresa ; but during my absence, I listened to 
 nothing but the nattering insinuations of my 
 own heart ; and I succeeded in persuading my- 
 self that her coldness arose solely from maidenly 
 reserve, and from the annoyance of being too 
 much the object of public attention. I remem- 
 bered the sweetness of her manner, when one 
 day, in reply to some fond anticipation of my 
 future happiness, she assured me, although she 
 could not promise me at once that ardour of 
 affection which my present enthusiasm seemed 
 to require, that if a grateful and submissive
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 49 
 
 wife could satisfy my wishes, I should be pos- 
 sessed of her entire devotion. But although 
 thus re-assured, I could scarcely divest myself 
 of apprehension ; and on the morning of our 
 nuptials, which took place in the Royal Chapel 
 in presence of the whole court, her countenance 
 wore a look of such deadly, such fixed despair, 
 that the joy even of that happy moment when 
 I was about to receive the hand of the woman 
 I adored before the altar of God, was completely 
 obliterated. 
 
 " She had been adorned by the hand of the 
 queen, by whom she was fondly beloved, with 
 all the splendour and elegance which could en- 
 rich her lovely figure ; and in the foldings of 
 her bridal veil, her countenance assumed a cast 
 of such angelic beauty, that his majesty, as he 
 presented me with her hand, paused for a mo- 
 ment in delighted emotion to gaze upon her. 
 But even thus late as it was, and embarrassed 
 by the royal presence, I was so pained by her 
 tears that I could keep silence no longer. 
 
 " * Theresa,' I whispered to her as we ap- 
 proached the altar, ' if this marriage be not the 
 
 VOL. I. D 

 
 50 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 result of your own free will, speak ! — it is not 
 
 yet too late. Heed not these preparations — fear 
 
 not the king's displeasure, I will take all upon 
 
 myself. Speak to me, dearest, — deal with me 
 
 sincerely. — Theresa ! are you willing to be 
 mine ?' 
 
 She only replied by bending her knee upon 
 
 the gorgeous cushion before her. 6 Hush P said 
 
 she in a suppressed tone, ' hush ! my lord — let 
 
 us pray to the Almighty for support.' And 
 
 the service instantly began.
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 51 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Let not the Heavens hear these tell-tale women 
 
 Rail on the Lord's anointed. 
 
 Richard III. 
 
 " The month which followed our marriage, 
 we passed in the happy retirement of Silsea ; 
 and there for the first time I became acquainted 
 with the real character of my Theresa. Her 
 beauty had indeed been the glory of the court ; 
 but it was only amid the privacy of domestic 
 life that the accomplishments of her cultivated 
 mind, and the submissive gentleness of her 
 disposition became apparent. Timid almost to 
 a fault, I sometimes doubted whether to attri- 
 bute her implicit obedience to my wishes, to 
 the habit of early dependence upon the caprice 
 
 d 2 
 
 LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 UNWERSITY OF ILLINOIS ILLINOIS LIBRARY 
 
 |T URBANA-CHAMPAIttH
 
 52 THE MAID OF HONOUE. 
 
 of those around her, or to the resignation of a 
 broken spirit. Still she did not appear un- 
 happy. The wearisome publicity and etiquette 
 of the life she had been hitherto compelled to 
 lead, was most unsuitable to her taste for retire- 
 ment ; and she enjoyed equally with myself the 
 calm repose of our quiet home. When she 
 made it her first request to me, that I would 
 take the earliest opportunity to retire from 
 public life, and by settling on my patrimonial 
 estate release her from the slavery of a court, 
 all my former apprehensions vanished ; and I 
 began to flatter myself that the love I had so 
 fondly, so frankly bestowed, had met with an 
 equal return. Prompt as we are to seize on 
 every point which yields confirmation to our 
 secret wishes, and eagerly credulous, where the 
 entire happiness of our lives is dependent on 
 our wilful self-deception, is it wonderful that I 
 mistook the calm fortitude of a well-regulated 
 mind for content, and the gratitude of a warm 
 heart for affection ? — I inquired not, I dared not 
 inquire minutely into the past ; I shrank from 
 any question that might again disturb the
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 53 
 
 serenity of my mind by jealous fears. ' I will 
 not speak of past storms on so bright a day, 1 
 said I, secretly, while I gazed upon my gentle 
 Theresa ; c it might break the spell.'' Alas ! 
 the spell endured not long ; for, however un- 
 willingly, we were now obliged to resume our 
 situation at Whitehall. 
 
 " Our re-appearance at court was marked by 
 the most nattering attentions on the part of the 
 king and queen. Several brilliant fetes were 
 given by their majesties on occasion of our 
 marriage ; and I began to fear that the homage 
 which everywhere seemed to await my young 
 and lovely bride, and the promising career of 
 royal favour which opened to her view, might 
 weaken her inclination for the retirement we 
 meditated. To me, however, she constantly 
 renewed her entreaties for a furtherance of her 
 former wishes on the subject ; in consequence 
 of which, I declined the gracious offers of his 
 majesty ; who was at this time particularly 
 desirous that I should take a more active part 
 in public measures, and accept a situation in 
 the new ministry, which would formerly have
 
 54 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 placed the utmost bounds to my ambition. I 
 was now, however, only waiting a favourable 
 opportunity to retire altogether to the happy 
 fire-side, where I trusted to dream away the 
 evening of my days in the society of my own 
 family. 
 
 " In this position of our affairs, it chanced 
 that we were both in attendance on the queen, 
 at Kew ; where, one evening, a chosen few, dis- 
 tinguished by her majesty's favour, formed a 
 select circle. The conversation turned upon 
 music ; and the queen, who had been describing 
 with national partiality the beauty of the hymns 
 sung by the Portuguese mariners, suddenly 
 addressing me, observed, that since she left her 
 native country she had heard no vocal music 
 which had given her pleasure, except from the 
 lips of Miss Marchmont. 
 
 " ' I cannot, 1 said she, kindly smiling, ' as 
 you may perceive, forget the name of one, 
 whose society I prized so highly ; but if * Lady 
 Greville ' will pardon my inadvertence, and 
 oblige me by singing one of those airs with 
 which she was wont formerly to charm me to
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 55 
 
 sleep when I suffered either mental or bodily 
 affliction, I will in turn forgive you, my lord, 
 for robbing me of the attendance of my friend. r 
 " Theresa instantly obeyed, and while she 
 hung over her instrument her attitude was so 
 graceful, that the queen again observed to me, 
 6 we must have our Theresa seen by Lely in 
 that costume, and thus occupied. She would 
 make a charming study for his pencil ; and 1 
 promise myself the pleasure of possessing it as 
 a lasting memorial of my young friend.' The 
 portrait to which this observation gave rise, 
 you must have seen yourself, my Helen, in the 
 gallery at Silsea Castle. 
 
 " While I was thus engaged by her majesty, 
 I observed the Duke of Buckingham approach 
 my wife with an air of deference bordering on 
 irony ; he appeared to make some unpleasant 
 request, which he affected to urge with an 
 earnestness beyond the rules of gallantry or 
 good-breeding ; and which she refused with an 
 appearance of haughtiness I had never before 
 seen her exercise. He then respectfully ad- 
 dressed the queen, and entreated her interces-
 
 56 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 sion with Lady Greville for a favourite Italian 
 air ; one, he said, which her majesty had pro- 
 bably never enjoyed the happiness of hearing. 
 — But before the queen could reply, — before I 
 had time to inquire into the cause of the agony 
 and shame which were mingled in Lady Gre- 
 ville' s looks, — she covered her brow with her 
 hands, and exclaimed with hysteric violence, 
 5 No, never more — never again. Alas ! it is 
 too late V 
 
 " The queen, herself deeply skilled in the 
 sorrows of a wounded heart, appeared warmly 
 to compassionate the distress which had robbed 
 her favourite of all presence of mind ; and 
 rising, evidently to divert the attention of the 
 circle, whose malignant smiles were instantly 
 repressed, she invited us to follow her into the 
 adjoining gallery, at that time occupied by Sir 
 Peter Lely, for the completion of his exquisite 
 series of portraits of the beauties of Charles's 
 court. In their own idle comments and petty 
 jealousies arising from the resemblances before 
 them, Lady Greville was forgotten. 
 
 " While I was deliberating, the following
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. &] 
 
 morning, in what manner I could with delicacy 
 interrogate Theresa on the extraordinary scene 
 I had witnessed, I was surprised by her sudden, 
 but firm declaration, that she could not, would 
 not longer remain in the royal suite ; and she 
 concluded by imploring me on her knees, as I 
 valued her peace of mind, her health, her sal- 
 vation, to remove her instantly to Silsea. 
 
 " * I have obtained her majesty's private sanc- 
 tion,'* said she, shewing me a billet in the hand- 
 writing of the queen ; and it only remains for 
 you publicly to give in our resignation. The 
 letter was written in French, and contained the 
 following words :— 
 
 " 6 Go, my beloved Theresa ! — dearly as I 
 prize your society, I feel that our mutual hap- 
 piness can only be insured by the retirement 
 you so prudently meditate. May it be a conso- 
 lation to you to reflect that you must ever be 
 remembered with respect and gratitude, by 
 
 6 Your affectionate friend.' 
 
 " The peculiar terms of this billet surprised 
 me; and I began to request an explanation, 
 
 d3
 
 58 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 when Theresa interrupted me by saying hastily, 
 4 Do not question me, for I cannot at present 
 open my mind to you ; — but satisfy yourself 
 that when I linked my fate to yours in the sight 
 of God and man, your honour and happiness 
 became precious to me as my own ; and may He 
 desert me in my hour of need, if in aught I fail 
 to consult your reputation and peace of mind. 
 Let me pray of you to leave this place without 
 delay. I know that you will urge against me 
 the benefit of avoiding the various surmises 
 which will arise from the apparent precipitancy 
 of our retreat ; but trust to me, my lord, that 
 it is a necessary measure ; — and that we have 
 nothing to fear from the opposition of the 
 king.' 
 
 " The pretext we adopted for our hasty re- 
 tirement from public life was the delicate state 
 of Lady Greville's health, who was within a few 
 months of becoming a mother; and having 
 hastily passed through the necessary ceremonies, 
 we again exchanged the tumults of the capital 
 for the exquisite enjoyments and freedom of 
 home. As we traversed the venerable avenue
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 59 
 
 at Silsea, amid the acclamations of my assembled 
 tenantry, I formed the resolution never again to 
 desert the dwelling of my ancestors ; but having 
 now entered into the bonds of domestic life, to 
 seek from them alone the future enjoyments of 
 existence. I had in one respect immediate rea- 
 son to congratulate myself on the change of our 
 destiny; for Theresa, whose health had for 
 some months gradually declined, soon regained 
 her former strength in the quiet of the country. 
 She occupied herself constantly in some active 
 employment. The interests of the sick, the 
 poor, and the decrepit, led her frequently to the 
 village ; where I doubt not you have often 
 heard her named with gratitude and affection; 
 and when she returned to the castle, the self- 
 content of gratified benevolence spread a glow 
 over her countenance which almost dispelled the 
 clouds of sorrow still lingering there. All went 
 well with us ; and if I dared not flatter myself 
 with being passionately beloved, I felt assured 
 that I should in time obtain her entire con- 
 fidence. 
 
 " I was beginning to look forward with the
 
 60 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 happy anxiety of affection to the event of Lady 
 Greville's approaching confinement, when one 
 morning I was surprised by the arrival of a 
 courier with a letter from the Duke of Buck- 
 ingham. I was astonished that he should take 
 the trouble of renewing a correspondence with 
 me ; as a very slight degree of friendship had 
 originally subsisted between us : and the displea- 
 sure publicly testified by Charles on my hasty 
 removal from his service, had hitherto freed me 
 from the importunities of my courtier acquaint- 
 ance. The letter was apparently one of mere 
 complimentary inquiry after the health of Lady 
 Greville, to whom there was an enclosure, 
 addressed to Miss Marchmont, which he begged 
 me to deliver with his respectful services to 
 my much esteemed lady. He concluded with 
 announcing some public news of a nature highly 
 gratifying to every Briton, in the detail of a 
 great victory obtained by our fleet over the 
 Dutch admiral De Ruyter. It was that, my 
 Helen, in which your noble brother fell, at the 
 moment of obtaining one of the most signal suc- 
 cesses hitherto recorded in the naval annals of
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 61 
 
 our country. You were too young to be con- 
 scious of the public sympathy testified towards 
 this intrepid and unfortunate young man ; but 
 I may safely affirm with the crafty Bucking- 
 ham, that his loss too dearly purchased even 
 the splendid victory he had obtained. 
 
 " ' What news from the court? 1 said Theresa, 
 as I entered the apartment in which she sat. 
 
 " ' At once good and bad,"* I replied. ' We 
 have obtained a brilliant victory over De Ruy- 
 ter ; but alas ! it has cost us the lives of several 
 of our most distinguished officers.'' 
 
 " She started from her seat, and wildly ap- 
 proaching me, whispered in a tone of suppressed 
 agony, ' Tell me, — tell me truly, — is he deadf 
 
 " 6 Of whom do you speak ?' 
 
 " ' Of him — of my beloved — my betrothed ; 
 — of Percy, my own own Percy," — said she with 
 frantic violence. 
 
 " Helen — even then, heartstruck as I was, I 
 could not but pity the unfortunate being whose 
 very apprehensions were thus agonizing. I 
 dared not answer her ! — I dared not summon 
 assistance, lest she should betray herself to
 
 62 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 others as she had done to her husband ; for she 
 had lost all self-command. I attempted to 
 pacify her by an indefinite reply to her inqui- 
 ries, but in vain. 
 
 " f Do not deceive me, 1 said she, ' Greville ! 
 you were ever good and generous ; tell me did 
 he know all, — did he curse me, — did he seek 
 his death ?' 
 
 "It occurred to me that the letter which I 
 
 held in my hand might be from from her 
 
 dead lover ; and with a sensation of loathing, I 
 gave it to her. She tore it open, and a lock of 
 hair dropped from the envelope. I found after- 
 wards that it contained a few words of farewell, 
 dictated by Percy in his dying moments ; and 
 this sufficiently accounted for the state of mind 
 into which its perusal plunged the unhappy 
 Theresa. Before night she was a raving maniac, 
 and in this state she was delivered of a dead 
 infant. 
 
 " Need I describe my own feelings ? — need 
 I tell you of the bitter disappointment of my 
 heart in finding myself thus cruelly deceived ? 
 — I had ventured all my hopes of earthly hap-
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 63 
 
 piness on Theresa's affection ; and one evil 
 hour had seen the wreck of all ! — The eventful 
 moment to which I had looked forward as that 
 which was to confirm the blessings I held, by the 
 most sacred of ties, had brought with it misery 
 and despair ; for I was childless, — and could 
 scarcely still acknowledge myself a husband, 
 till I knew how far I had been betrayed. Yet 
 when I looked upon the ill-starred and suffer- 
 ing being before me, my angry feelings became 
 appeased ; and the words of reviling and bit- 
 terness expired upon my lips. 
 
 " Amid the ravings of her delirium, the un- 
 fortunate Theresa alternately called upon Percy 
 and myself, to defend her against the arts of 
 her enemies, to save her from the king. 
 
 " ' They seek my dishonour," she would say, 
 with the most touching expression, 6 and alas ! 
 I am fatherless V 
 
 " From the vehemence of her indignation 
 whenever she mentioned the name of Charles, 
 I became at length persuaded that some pain- 
 ful mystery connected with my marriage re- 
 mained to be unfolded ; and the papers which
 
 64 THE MAID OF HOKOUR. 
 
 her estrangement of mind necessarily threw 
 into my hands, soon made me acquainted with 
 her eventful history. Such was the compas- 
 sion with which it inspired me for the innocent 
 and injured Theresa, that I have sat by her 
 bedside, and wept for very pity to hear her 
 address her Percy — her lost and beloved Percy ; 
 and at other times, call down the vengeance of 
 Heaven upon the king, for his licentious and 
 cruel tyranny. 
 
 " It was during her residence on the coast of 
 Devonshire, that she had formed an acquaint- 
 ance with Lord Hugh Percy, whose ship was 
 stationed at a neighbouring port. They became 
 strongly attached to each other ; and with the 
 buoyant incautiousness of youth, had already 
 plighted their faith, before it occurred to either 
 that her want of birth and fortune would render 
 her unacceptable to his parents. Knowing, 
 which he did, that they entertained very dif- 
 ferent views for his future establishment in 
 life, he dared not at present even make them 
 acquainted with his engagement ; and it was, 
 therefore, mutually agreed between them, that
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 65 
 
 she should accept the proffered services of Lady 
 Wriothesly for an introduction to the royal 
 notice ; and that he, in the mean while, should 
 seek in his profession the means of their future 
 subsistence. Secure in their mutual good faith, 
 they parted ; and it was on this occasion, that 
 he had given her a song, which in her insanity 
 she was constantly repeating. The refrain, 
 'Addio Teresa, Teresa Addio /' I remembered 
 to have heard murmured by the Duke of Buck- 
 ingham, with a very significant expression, on 
 the night when the agitation of Lady Greville 
 had made itself so painfully apparent in the 
 circle of the queen. 
 
 tfc You will believe with what indignation, 
 with what disgust, I discovered that shortly 
 after her appointment at court, she had been 
 persecuted with the licentious addresses of the 
 king. It was nothing new to me that Charles, 
 in the selfish indulgence of his passions, over- 
 looked every barrier of honour and decency ; 
 but that the unprotected innocence of the 
 daughter of an old and faithful servant, whose 
 very life-blood had been poured forth in his
 
 66 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 defence, should not have been a safeguard in 
 his eyes, was indeed incredible and revolting. 
 But it was this orphan helplessness, this afflict- 
 ing destitution which marked her for his prey. 
 " Encompassed by the toils of the spoiler, 
 and friendless as she was, the unhappy Theresa 
 knew not to whom to apply for succour or 
 counsel ; and in this painful exigence, she 
 could only trust to her own discretion and 
 purity of intention to shield her from the 
 advances from which she shrank with horror. 
 Irritated by the opposition he encountered, and 
 astonished by that dignity of virtue, which, 
 ' severe in youthful beauty, 1 had power to awe 
 even a monarch in the consciousness of guilt, 
 the king, by the most ungenerous private 
 scrutiny of her correspondence, made himself 
 acquainted with her attachment to Lord Hugh ; 
 and while she was eagerly looking for the 
 arrival of the ship which contained her only 
 protector, the authority of his majesty pro- 
 longed its station in a distant and unhealthy 
 climate ; where her letters did not reach him, 
 and whence his aid could avail her nothing.
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 67 
 
 " In this dilemma, — when the death of Lady 
 Wriothesly had deprived her of even the sem- 
 blance of a friend, — I was first presented to 
 Miss Marchmont. The motive of the king in 
 encouraging my attachment I can hardly guess ; 
 unless he thought to fix her at court by her 
 marriage, where some future change of sen- 
 timent might throw her into his power ; or 
 possibly he hoped to make my addresses the 
 means of separating her from the real object 
 of her attachment, without contemplating a 
 farther result ; and thus the same wanton 
 selfishness which rendered him regardless of 
 every tie of moral feeling towards Theresa, 
 led him to prepare a life of misery and dis- 
 honour for his early friend and faithful ad- 
 herent. 
 
 " Agitated by a daily and hourly exposure 
 to the importunities of Charles ; insulted by 
 the suspicions which the insinuations of Buck- 
 ingham had excited in the minds of her 
 companions ; friendless — helpless — hopeless, — 
 dreading that she might be betrayed by her 
 ignorance of the world into some unforeseen
 
 68 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 evil, — and knowing that even in the event of 
 Percy's return, her engagement with him must 
 long remain unfulfilled, — the unhappy girl 
 naturally looked upon her union with me as 
 the only deliverance from these assailing mis- 
 fortunes ; and in an hour of desperation she 
 gave me her hand. That her strongest efforts 
 of mind had been exerted, from the moment of 
 her marriage, to banish all remembrance of her 
 former lover I firmly believe. The letter 
 acquainting him with the breach of faith which 
 her miserable destiny seemed to render ine- 
 vitable, had never reached him ; and happily — 
 alas ! how happily for him — his last earthly 
 thoughts were permitted to rest on Theresa, 
 as his beloved and affianced wife. I am per- 
 suaded that had he returned in safety to his 
 native country, she would have avoided his 
 society as studiously as she did that of the 
 king ; and that had she been spared the blow 
 which deprived her of reason, her dutiful re- 
 gard, and, in time, her devoted affection, would 
 have been mine as firmly, as though the vows 
 which gave them to my hopes had been un-
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 69 
 
 tainted by any former passion. As it was, we 
 were both victims — I, to her misfortunes — she, 
 to the brutality of the king. 
 
 "It appeared to me that on our return to 
 court, after our ill-fated union, the king had 
 for some time refrained from his former insult- 
 ing importunities ; and had merely distressed 
 Lady Greville by indulging in a mockery of 
 respectful deference, which exposed her to the 
 ridicule of those around her, who could not fail 
 to observe his change of manner. Perceiving 
 by my unconstrained expressions of grateful 
 acknowledgment for his furtherance of my 
 marriage with Theresa, that she had kept his 
 secret, and incapable of appreciating that purity 
 of mind which rendered such an avowal diffi- 
 cult,— even to her husband — and that prudence 
 which foresaw the evils resulting to both from 
 such a disclosure, he drew false inferences from 
 her discretion, and gradually resumed his 
 former levities. Nor was this the only evil 
 with which she had now to contend. Some 
 malicious enemy had profited by her absence to 
 poison the mind of the queen, with jealous
 
 70 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 suspicions of her favourite : and to inspire her 
 with a belief, that Miss Marchmont's propriety 
 of demeanour in public, had only been a 
 successful mask of private indiscretion ; that 
 Charles, in short, had not been an unsuccessful 
 lover. 
 
 " Unwilling to confide to me the difficulties 
 by which she was assailed, unable alone to 
 steer among the rocks that impeded her course, 
 Theresa at length adopted the bold measure of 
 confiding her whole tale to her royal mistress ; 
 whose knowledge of the king's infidelities was 
 already too accurate to admit of an increase of 
 affliction from this new proof; and on receiv- 
 ing a letter from the avowed friend of her 
 husband, — the grateful patron of her dead 
 father, — the august father of his people, — 
 containing the most insolent declarations of 
 passion, she vindicated her innocence by plac- 
 ing it in the hands of the queen ; at the same 
 time entreating permission that her further 
 services might be dispensed with. 
 
 " Her majesty's reply, equally gratifying 
 and affectionate, you have already seen ; and it
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 7^ 
 
 was in savage and unmanly revenge towards 
 Theresa for the frankness and decision of her 
 conduct, that the king had directed his 
 favourite to enclose me that letter whose 
 sudden perusal had wrought the destruction 
 of my unhappy wife. You will easily conceive 
 that the terms of my answer to the Duke of 
 Buckingham were those of unmeasured indig- 
 nation : — yet he, the parasite, the ready in- 
 strument of royal vice, and the malignant 
 associate of Charles in his last act of pre- 
 meditated cruelty, suffered the accusations of 
 the injured husband to pass unnoticed and 
 unrepelled ; — and I am persuaded that nothing 
 but the dread of exposure prevented me from 
 feeling the full abuse of the prerogative of the 
 crown, by the master I had served with so much 
 fidelity and affection. I have never since that 
 period held direct or indirect communication 
 with a court where the basest treachery had 
 been my only reward. 
 
 " For many months the paroxysms of Lady 
 Greville's distemper were so violent as to re-
 
 72 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 quire the strictest confinement ; and the medical 
 man who attended her assured me that when 
 this state of irritation should subside, she would 
 either be restored entirely to the full exercise 
 of her mental faculties ; or be plunged into a 
 state of apathy, — of tranquil but confirmed 
 dejection, — from which, although it might not 
 affect her bodily health, she would never re- 
 cover. How anxiously did I watch for this 
 crisis of her disorder ! and yet at times I 
 scarcely wished her to avvake to a keener sense 
 of her afflictions ; — for being incapable of re- 
 cognising my person in my frequent visits to 
 her chamber, I have heard her address me in 
 her wanderings for pardon and pity. 
 
 " * Forgive me, Greville ! forgive me V she 
 would say. ' Remember how forlorn a wretch 
 I shall become, when thou too, like the rest, 
 shalt abandon and persecute me. Am I not 
 thy wedded wife, and as faithful as I am 
 miserable ? — am I not the mother of thy child ? 
 — and yet I know not ; — for I seek my poor 
 infant, and they will not, will not give it to me.
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 Tell me,' she whispered, with a ghastly smile, 
 6 have they buried it in the raging sea with him 
 whom I must not name P 1 — 
 
 " The decisive moment arrived ; and Lady 
 Greville's insanity was, in the opinion of her 
 physicians and attendants, confirmed for life. 
 She relapsed into that state of composed but 
 decided aberration of mind, in which she still 
 remains. I soon observed that my presence 
 alone appeared to retain the power of irritating 
 her feelings ; she seemed to shrink instinctively 
 from every person with whom she had been in 
 habits of intercourse previous to her misfor- 
 tune. I therefore consigned this helpless 
 sufferer to the charge of the nurse of my own 
 infancy, Alice Wishart; whom, from her con- 
 stant residence at The Cross, Lady Greville 
 had never seen. 
 
 " This trustworthy woman, and her husband, 
 who was also an hereditary retainer of our 
 house, willingly devoted themselves to the 
 melancholy service required ; and hateful as 
 Silsea had now become to my feelings, I broke 
 up in part my establishment, and became a 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 restless and unhappy wanderer ; seeking in 
 vain, oblivion for the past, or hope for the 
 future. — Would to God I had possessed suf- 
 ficient fortitude to remain chained to the 
 isolation of my miserable home ! — for then had 
 we never met ; and thou, my Helen, wouldst 
 have escaped this hour of shame and sorrow,
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. *]5 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Courteous Lord — one word — 
 Sir, you and I have lov'd — but that's not it- 
 Sir, you and I must part. — 
 
 Anthony and Cleopatra. 
 
 " Hitherto I have had to dwell in my 
 recital on the vices and frailties of my brothers 
 of the dust, and to describe myself as an inno- 
 cent sufferer ; but I now approach a period of 
 my life, from the mention of which I shrink 
 with well-grounded apprehensions. Yet judge 
 me with candour ; — remember the strength of 
 the temptation through which I erred ; — and 
 divesting yourself, if possible, of the recol- 
 lection of your own injuries, moderate your 
 resentment against an unfortunate being, who 
 
 e 2
 
 76 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 for many long years of his existence has not en- 
 joyed one easy hour. 
 
 " It was nearly three years after the period 
 to which I have alluded, that an accident of 
 which I need not remind you, my beloved 
 Helen, introduced me to the acquaintance of 
 your family. You may remember the back- 
 wardness with which I first received their 
 approaches ; the very name of Percy had be- 
 come ominously painful to me, and yet it 
 inspired me with a strange and undefinable 
 interest. A spell appeared to attract me 
 towards you ; and in spite of my first reso- 
 lution to the contrary, — in spite of the melan- 
 choly reserve that still dwelt upon my mind, 
 —I became an acquaintance, and at length the 
 favoured inmate and friend of your father. 
 Could I imagine the dangers that lurked 
 beneath his roof? — Could I believe that while 
 I thus once more indulged in the social con- 
 verse to which I had been long a stranger, I 
 should gain the affections of his child ?~The 
 playful girl towards whom my age enabled me 
 to assume an almost parental authority, while
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 77 
 
 I exercised, in turn, the parts of playmate and 
 preceptor, beloved as she was in all the charms 
 of her dawning beauty, and artless naivete, in- 
 spired me with no deeper sentiment ; not even 
 when I saw her gradually expand into the 
 maturer pride of womanhood, and acquire that 
 feminine gentleness, that dignified simplicity of 
 character, which had attracted me in Theresa 
 Marchmont. Early in our intercourse I had 
 acquainted Lord Percy that the confinement of 
 a beloved wife, in a state of mental derange- 
 ment, was the unhappy cause of my dejection 
 and wandering habits of life ; and I rejoiced to 
 perceive that his own wise seclusion from the 
 world had prevented him from hearing my 
 history related by others. He was also igno- 
 rant of the name and connexions of the lady 
 unto whom he knew his beloved and lamented 
 son to have been attached ; and little indeed 
 did he suspect his own share in producing my 
 domestic calamity. 
 
 " The disparity of our years, and their know- 
 ledge of my own previous marriage, prevented 
 them from regarding with suspicion the par-
 
 78 THE MAID OF HONOUB. 
 
 tiality displayed by their Helen for my society, 
 and the influence which I had unconsciously 
 acquired over her feelings. For a length of 
 time I was myself equally blind ; and the 
 moment I ventured to fear the dangers of the 
 attachment she was beginning to form, I took 
 the resolution of tearing myself altogether from 
 her society ; and, without the delay of an hour, 
 I returned to Silsea. 
 
 " But what a scene did I select to recon- 
 cile me to the loss of the cheerful society I 
 had abandoned ! — My deserted home seemed 
 haunted by shadows of the past, and tenanted 
 only by remembrances of former affliction. In 
 my hour of loneliness and sorrow, I had no 
 kind friend to whom to turn for consolation ; 
 and for the first time the sterile and gloomy 
 waste over which my future path of life was 
 appointed, filled me with emotions of terror and 
 regret. My very existence appeared blighted 
 through the treachery of others ; and all those 
 holy ties which enrich the evening of our days 
 with treasures far dearer than awaited us even 
 in the morning of youth, appeared withheld
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 79 
 
 from me, — and me only. Helen ! it was then, 
 in that moment of disappointment and bitter- 
 ness, that the remembrance of thy loveliness, 
 and the suspicion of thine affection, conspired 
 to form that fatal passion which has been the 
 bane of thy happiness, and the origin of my 
 guilt. 
 
 " Avoiding as I scrupulously did the range 
 of apartments inhabited by the unfortunate 
 Lady Greville, several years had passed since 
 I had beheld her ; and sometimes when I had 
 been bewildered in the reveries of my own 
 desolate heart, I began to doubt her very ex- 
 istence. Yet this unseen being who appeared 
 to occupy no place in the scale of human 
 nature, — this unconscious creature who now 
 dwelt in my remembrance like the unreal 
 mockery of a dream, — presented an insuper- 
 able obstacle to my happiness. I saw my in- 
 heritance destined to be wrenched from me 
 
 By an unlineal hand, 
 
 No son of mine succeeding; 
 
 and I felt myself doomed to resign every en* 
 joyment and every hope for the sake of one to
 
 80 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 whom the sacrifice availed as nothing ; one too 
 who had permitted me to fold her to my heart 
 in the full confidence of undivided affection, 
 while her own was occupied by a passion whose 
 violence had deprived me of my child, and her- 
 self of intellect and health. 
 
 " Such were the arguments by which I 
 strove to blind myself to my rising passion 
 for another ; and to smother the self-reproaches 
 which assailed me when I first conceived the 
 fatal project of imposing upon the world by the 
 supposed death of my wife, and of seeking your 
 hand in marriage. How often did the better 
 feelings of my nature recoil from such an act 
 of villany — how often was my project aban- 
 doned, — how often resumed, — at the alternate 
 bidding of passion and of virtue ! I will not 
 repeat the idle sophistry which served to com- 
 plete my wilful blindness ; nor dare I degrade 
 myself in your eyes by a confession of the 
 tissue of contemptible fraud and hypocrisy 
 into which I was necessarily betrayed by the 
 execution of my dark designs. Oh ! Helen — ■ 
 this heart of mine was once honest, — once good
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 81 
 
 and true as thine own ; — but now there crawls 
 not on this earth a wretch whose lying lips 
 have uttered falsehoods more villanous than 
 mine ! — and honour, the characteristic of the 
 ancient house I have disgraced, — the best 
 attribute of the high calling I have polluted, — 
 is now a watchword of dismay to my ear. 
 
 " In Alice Wishart and her husband I found 
 ready instruments for the completion of my 
 purpose ; and indeed the difficulties which 
 awaited me were even fewer than I had first 
 anticipated. The ravings of Lady Greville, 
 and her distracted addresses to the name of her 
 lover, had inspired her attendants with a belief 
 of her guiltiness, which in the beginning of her 
 illness I had vainly attempted to combat. It 
 was not, therefore, to be expected, that these 
 faithful adherents of my family, who loved me 
 with an almost parental devotion, and whose 
 regret for the extinction of the name of Gre- 
 ville, was the ruling passion of their breasts, 
 should consider her an object worthy the sacri- 
 fice of my entire happiness. The few scruples 
 they exhibited — which were those rather of 
 
 e 3
 
 82 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 expediency than of conscience — were easily over- 
 come. By their own desire they removed to 
 Greville Cross, for the more ready furtherance 
 of our guilty plan ; under pretence that the 
 health of the unfortunate Theresa required 
 change of air. On their arrival, they found 
 it easy to impress the servants of the establish- 
 ment with a belief of her precarious state ; and 
 the nature of her malady afforded them a 
 plausible pretext for secluding her from their 
 observation and attendance. Accustomed to 
 receive from Alice a daily account of her 
 declining condition, the announcement of her 
 death excited no surprise. In a few weeks 
 after her journey, a fictitious funeral completed 
 our system of deception. 
 
 " The moment when, according to our con- 
 certed plan, the death and interment of Lady 
 Greville were formally announced to me, I 
 repented of the detestable scheme which had 
 been thus successfully executed. My soul 
 revolted from the part of ' excellent dissem- 
 bling' I had yet to act ; and refused to stoop 
 to a public exhibition of feigned affliction. I
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 83 
 
 shuddered, too, when I contemplated the 
 shame which awaited me, should some future 
 event, yet hidden in the lap of time, reveal to 
 the world the secret villany of the man who 
 had borne himself so proudly among his fel- 
 lows. Yet even these regrets, even the appre- 
 hension of fresh difficulties in the concealment 
 of my crime, were insufficient to deter me from 
 the prosecution of my original intention ; and 
 blinded by the intemperance of misguided 
 affection, heedless of the shame and misery into 
 which I was about to plunge the woman I 
 adored, I sought and obtained your hand. 
 
 " Helen ! from that moment I have not 
 known one happy hour ; and the first punish- 
 ment dealt upon my sin was an utter incapa- 
 bility to enjoy that affection for which I have 
 forfeited all claim to mercy, here and hereafter. 
 The remembrance of Theresa, — not in her 
 present state of self-abstraction, but captivating 
 as when she first received my vows before God, 
 to ' love and honour her, in sickness and in 
 health,' — haunted me through every scene of 
 domestic endearment ; and pursued me even to
 
 84? THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 the hearth whose household deities I had 
 blasphemed. I trembled when I heard my 
 Helen addressed as Lady Greville ; when I 
 saw her usurping the rights, and occupying 
 the place of one, who now appeared a name- 
 less * link between the living and the dead.' 
 I could not gaze upon the woman whose affec- 
 tions had been so partially, so disinterestedly 
 bestowed upon me, and whose existence I had 
 in return polluted by a pretended marriage, — 
 I could not behold my boy, the descendant of 
 two of the noblest houses in Britain, yet upon 
 whom the stain of illegitimacy might hereafter 
 rest, without feelings of self-accusation which 
 filled the cup of life with the waters of bitter- 
 ness. Alas ! its very springs were poisoned ! — 
 and Helen, — however strong, however j ust thine 
 indignation against thy betrayer, believe, oh ! 
 believe that even in this life I have endured no 
 trifling measure of punishment for my deep 
 offences against thee and thine ! 
 
 " But such is the frailty of human nature, 
 that it was upon these very victims I suffered 
 the effects of my remorse and mental agony to
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 85 
 
 fall. The ill-suppressed violence of my temper, 
 irritated by the dangers of my situation, has 
 already caused you many a sorrowful moment ; 
 and the increase of gloom you must have lately 
 perceived, has originated in the fresh difficul- 
 ties arising to me from the death of the hus- 
 band of Alice ; and the dread of her own 
 approaching dissolution. From these causes 
 my present visit to this dreary abode was deter- 
 mined ; and to them I am indebted for the 
 premature disclosure which has made thy life 
 as wretched as my own. The sickness of her 
 surviving attendant has latterly allowed more 
 liberty to the unhappy Theresa than her con- 
 dition renders safe either to her or me. I 
 could not, on my arrival here, collect sufficient 
 resolution to look upon her, and to adopt those 
 measures of security which the weakness of 
 Alice has left disregarded. To this infirmity 
 of purpose on my part, must be ascribed the 
 dreadful shock you sustained by the sudden 
 appearance of the unfortunate maniac ; who 
 I conclude was attracted to our apartment 
 by the long-forgotten sound of music. On
 
 86 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 that fatal evening, your fall awoke me from my 
 sleep ; and I then perceived my Helen lying 
 insensible on the floor; and Theresa — yes! — 
 the altered, and to me terrible figure of The- 
 resa, bending over her. For one dreadful 
 moment I believed that you had fallen a victim 
 to her insanity. 
 
 " And now, Helen, — my injured, but fondly- 
 beloved Helen, — now that my tale of evil is 
 fully disclosed, resolve at once the doom of my 
 future being. Yet in mercy be prompt in your 
 decision ; and, whether you determine to un- 
 fold to the whole world the measure of my 
 guilt, or, since nothing can now extricate us 
 from the web of sin and shame in which we are 
 involved, to assist in shielding me from a dis- 
 covery which would be fatal to the interests of 
 our innocent child, let me briefly hear the result 
 of your judgment. Of this alone it remains 
 for me to assure you — that I will not one 
 single hour survive the publication of my dis- 
 honour."
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 87 
 
 For several hours succeeding the perusal of 
 the foregoing history, Lady Greville remained 
 chained as it were to her seat by the bewilder- 
 ing perplexities of her mind. The blow, in 
 itself so sudden, so fraught with mischiefs, in- 
 volving a thousand interests, and affording no 
 hope to lessen its infliction, appeared to stupify 
 her faculties. Lost in the contemplation of 
 evils from which no worldly resource availed 
 to save herself or her child, indignation, com- 
 passion, and despair, by turns obtained posses- 
 sion of her bosom. Her first impulse, worthy 
 of her gentle nature, was to rush to the bed-side 
 of her sleeping boy, and there, on her knees, to 
 implore divine aid to shelter his unoffending 
 innocence, and grace to enlighten her mind in 
 the choice of her future destiny. And He, who 
 in dealing the wound of affliction, refuseth not 
 to those who seek it the balm that softens its 
 endurance, imparted to her soul a fortitude to 
 bear, and a wisdom to extricate herself from the 
 perils by which she was assailed. The follow- 
 ing letter acquainted Lord Greville with her 
 final determination :
 
 88 the maid of honour. 
 
 " Greville ! 
 
 " I was about, in the inadvertence of my 
 bewildered mind, to address you once more by 
 the title of husband ; but that holy name must 
 hereafter perish on my lips, and be banished 
 like a withering curse from my heart. Yet it 
 was that alone, which, holding a sacred charter 
 over my bosom, bound me to the cheerful en- 
 durance of many a bitter hour ; ere I knew that 
 through him who bore it, a descendant of the 
 house of Percy would be branded as an adul- 
 tress, and her child as the nameless offspring 
 of shame. Rich as I was in worldly gifts, my 
 birth, my character, the fair fortunes which you 
 have blighted, and the parental care from which 
 you have withdrawn me, alike appeared to 
 shelter me from the evils which have befallen 
 me. — But wo is me ! even these were an in- 
 sufficient protection against the craftiness of 
 mine enemy. 
 
 " But reproaches avail me not. Henceforth 
 I will shut up my sorrow and my complaining 
 within the solitude of my own wounded heart ; 
 — and thou, < my companion, my counsellor,
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 89 
 
 mine own familiar friend,' the beloved of my 
 early youth, the father of my child, must, from 
 this hour, be as nothing unto me ! 
 
 " Hear my decision ! Since one who has 
 already trampled upon every tie, divine and 
 human, at the instigation of his own evil pas- 
 sions, would scarcely be deterred from further 
 wickedness by any argument of mine, I dare 
 not tempt the mischief contemplated by your 
 ungovernable feelings against your life. I will, 
 therefore, solemnly engage to assist you by 
 every means in my power in the preservation 
 of the secret on which your very existence ap- 
 pears to depend. As the first measure towards 
 this object, I will myself undertake that 
 attendance on Lady Greville which cannot be 
 otherwise procured without peril of disclosure. 
 Towards this unfortunate being, my noble bro- 
 ther's betrothed wife, whose interests have been 
 sacrificed to mine, no sisterly care, no affec- 
 tionate watchfulness shall be wanting on my 
 part to lessen the measure of her afflictions. I 
 will remain with her at Greville Cross ; sharing 
 the duties of Alice so long as she shall live, and
 
 90 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 supplying her place when she shall be no more. 
 I feel that God has doomed my proud spirit to 
 the humiliation of this trial ; and I trust in his 
 goodness that I may have strength cheerfully 
 and worthily to fulfil my part. From you I 
 have one condition to exact in return. 
 
 " Henceforward we must meet no more in 
 this world. I can pity you, — I can even for- 
 give you, — but I cannot yet school my heart to 
 that forgetfulness of the past, that indifference, 
 with which I ought to regard the husband of 
 another. Greville ! we must meet no more ! 
 
 " And since my son will shortly attain an 
 age when seclusion in this remote spot would 
 be prejudicial to his interests, and to the for- 
 mation of his character, I pray you take him 
 from me at once, that I may have no further 
 sacrifice to contemplate. Let him reside with 
 you at Silsea, under the tuition of proper in- 
 structors ; — breed him up in nobleness and 
 truth ; — and let not his early nurture, and the 
 care with which I have sought to instil into 
 his mind principles of honour and virtue, be 
 utterly lost. Let his happiness be the pledge
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 91 
 
 of my dutiful fulfilment of the task I have 
 undertaken ; and may God desert me and him, 
 when I fail through negligence or hardness of 
 heart. 
 
 " And if at times the stigma of his birth 
 should present itself to irritate your mind 
 against his helpless innocence, — as alas ! I have 
 latterly witnessed, — smite him not, Greville, 
 in your guilty wrath ; — remember he is come 
 of gentle blood, even on his mother's side — 
 and ask yourself to ivhom we owe our degra- 
 dation, — and from whose quiver the arrow was 
 launched against us ? 
 
 " And now farewell m ay the Almighty 
 enlighten and forgive you, — and if in this 
 address there appear a trace of bitterness, do 
 not ascribe it to any uncharitable feelings ; but 
 look back upon the past, and think on what I 
 was — on what I am. Consider whether ever 
 woman loved or trusted as I have done, or was 
 ever more cruelly betrayed ? — Oh ! Greville, 
 Greville ! — did I not regard you with an affec- 
 tion too intense for my happiness ! — did I not 
 confide in you with a reverence, a veneration
 
 92 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 unmeet to be lavished on a creature of clay ? 
 But you have broken the fragile idol of my 
 worship before my eyes ; — and the after-path 
 of my life is dark with fear and loneliness. 
 But be it so ; my soul was proud of its good 
 gifts ; — and now that I am stricken to the dust, 
 its vanity is laid bare to my sight ; — haply, < it 
 is good for me that I have been afflicted.'' 
 Farewell for ever !" 
 
 The conditions of this letter were mutually 
 and strictly fulfilled ; but the mental struggle 
 sustained by Lord Greville, his humiliation 
 on witnessing the saint-like self-devotion of 
 Helen Percy, combined with the necessity 
 which rendered it expedient to accept her prof- 
 fered sacrifice, were too much for his frame. 
 In less than a year after his return to Silsea, 
 he died — a prey to remorse. 
 
 Previous to his decease, in contemplation of 
 the nobleness of mind which would probably 
 induce the nominal Lady Greville to renounce 
 his succession, he framed two testamentary acts. 
 By one of these he acknowledged the nullity
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 93 
 
 of his second marriage, but bequeathed to 
 Helen, and tier child, all that the law of the 
 land enabled him to bestow ; by the other he 
 referred to Helen only as his lawful wife, and 
 to her son as his representative and successor ; 
 adding to their legal inheritance all his unen- 
 tailed property. Both were enclosed in a letter 
 to Lady Greville, written on his death-bed ; 
 which left it entirely at her own disposal, which 
 to publish, which to destroy. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that the selection 
 cost her one moment's hesitation. Having 
 resigned into the hands of the lawful inheritor 
 all that the strictest probity could require, and 
 much that his admiration of her magnanimity 
 would have prevailed on her to retain, she 
 retired peaceably to a mansion in the South, 
 bequeathed by Lord Greville to her son, and 
 occupied herself exclusively with his education. 
 In the commencement of the ensuing reign 
 he obtained the royal sanction to use the name 
 and arms of Percy ; and in his grateful affec- 
 tion, and the virtuous distinctions he early 
 attained, his mother met with her reward.
 
 94 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 Theresa, — the helpless Theresa, — the guar- 
 dianship of whose person had been bequeathed 
 to Helen, as a mournful legacy, Tby Lord 
 Greville, was removed with her from her 
 dreary imprisonment at the Cross ; and to the 
 latest moment of her existence partook of her 
 affectionate and watchful attention. 
 
 It was a touching sight to behold these two 
 unfortunate beings, linked together by ties of 
 so painful a nature, and dwelling together in 
 companionship. The one richly gifted with 
 youthful loveliness, clad in a deep mourning 
 habit, and bearing on her countenance an air 
 of fixed dejection ; — the other, though far her 
 elder in years, still beautiful, — with her long 
 silver hair, blanched by sorrow, not by time, 
 hanging over her shoulders ; and wearing, as 
 if in mockery of her unconscious widowhood, 
 the gaudy and embroidered raiment to which 
 a glimmering remembrance of happier times 
 appeared to attach her. — The vacant smile and 
 wandering glance of insanity lent at times a 
 terrible brilliancy to her fair features ; but
 
 THE MAID OF HONOUR. 95 
 
 for the most part her malady assumed a cast of 
 settled melancholy ; and patient as 
 
 The female dove, ere yet her golden couplets are disclosed, 
 Her silence would sit drooping. 
 
 Her gentleness and submission would have 
 endeared her to a guardian even less tenderly 
 interested in her fate than Helen Percy ; to- 
 wards whom, from their first interview, she had 
 evinced the most gratifying partiality. 
 
 " I know you,'' 1 she said, on beholding her ; 
 " you have the look and voice of Percy ; you 
 are a ministering angel whom he has sent to 
 defend his poor Theresa from the King, now 
 that she is sad and friendless. You will never 
 abandon me, will you ?" continued she, taking 
 her hand, and pressing it to her bosom. 
 
 " Never — never — so help me, Heaven !" an- 
 swered the agitated Helen; and that sacred 
 promise remained unbroken.
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 THE 
 
 SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 A GERMAN STORY, FOUNDED ON FACT. 
 
 " I have a cause would kill a thousand of ye." 
 
 Rule a Wife and have a Wife. 
 
 Of the numerous streams which pour their 
 tributary waters into the Rhine, few bend their 
 course through scenes of more romantic interest 
 than the Brohlbach ; nor can I imagine how it 
 has hitherto escaped the contamination of the 
 sketch book or sentimental album. Now, how- 
 ever, that the introduction of that amphibious 
 monster, a steam packet, upon the Rhine, has 
 secured its beautiful environs from future in- 
 
 f 2
 
 100 THE SOLDIER-PIUEST. 
 
 trusion, — now, that the adventurous traveller 
 may embark at the Tower Stairs for Switzer- 
 land, and avoid the necessity of visiting the 
 magnificent scenery of Nassau, or the lovely 
 region of Laach, — the valley of the Brohlbach 
 may fairly trust that its waters shall be " as 
 the waters of oblivion. 11 If, however, I am blest 
 with a reader who loathes, like myself, the sight 
 of the Dampschiffe parading its formal ugliness 
 upon the bosom of the most picturesque of 
 rivers, and who is willing to become acquainted 
 with those adjacent mountain defiles, which 
 surpass in beauty the far famed Rheingau itself, 
 let me intreat him to tarry awhile with mine 
 hostess of the Lily at Andernach, and to submit 
 himself to the guidance of the Figaro of the 
 town, the prince of barbers, mineralogists, and 
 coxcombs ! 
 
 Although in aspect a mere mountain stream- 
 let, the Bruhlbach affords an infinite source of 
 riches and importance to the inhabitants of the 
 valley through which it flows, and to the com- 
 mercial little town of Brohl, where, after pour- 
 ing its gushing waters through the prettiest and
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 101 
 
 trimmest flower-garden to be seen out of Hol- 
 land, it loses itself in the Rhine. 
 
 But it is near the baths of Tonesstein, and 
 among the Tufa quarries,* that the abundant 
 flow of the Brohlbach is directed to its most 
 valuable service ; where the numerous mills 
 upon its banks are only to be distinguished 
 from the dark masses of rock among which they 
 are scattered, by the white foam which it throws 
 around their busy wheels. 
 
 It is not for my unlearned pen to attempt a 
 description of such scientific ground as the vol- 
 canic region of Laach. The crater, — the bitu- 
 minous products of the surrounding vallies, — 
 the vitrified fragments of which every path is 
 composed, — the stream of carbonic acid gas 
 issuing from a neighbouring cavern, and pro- 
 ducing a similar effect to that of the Grotta del 
 Cane, the attraction of the sand of the lake to 
 the loadstone; — all these may be objects pre- 
 cious in the eyes of philosophy, and may furnish 
 valuable tests for the theories of the geologist : 
 but to my ignorant mind, the lava, which now 
 
 * Tufa Ccementum.
 
 102 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 appears primeval as the soil by which it is 
 covered, is only a matter of interest so far as it 
 forms the perishable material of a wretched 
 mountain road, by which you ascend to the 
 beautiful hanging- woods, and to the lovely lake 
 embosomed among the hills above ; and the 
 Tufa quarries themselves, although of the most 
 singular form and character, must wait the 
 commemoration of a traveller better skilled to 
 describe them in detail. 
 
 They are said to have been worked in the 
 time of the Romans, whose station at Artona- 
 cwm, or Andernach, is verified by several beau- 
 tiful architectural relics ; and the durability of 
 the trass or cement* they furnish, is attested 
 by the ruins of the Rhenish palace of the Aus- 
 trasian kings. The very window shewn near 
 the gateway of Andernach, as that through 
 which Charlemagne and Pepin caught pike for 
 the imperial dinner, is covered with trass ; and 
 philosophers and antiquarians can discern that 
 the said trass is co-existent with the building. 
 
 * Similar to that known in England as Parker's Cement, 
 which hardens under water.
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 103 
 
 .. 
 
 For my part, I know nothing," except that 
 the Rhine has most unaccountably altered its 
 course, if it ever flowed beneath those walls; 
 and as to the trass — but I leave it to the 
 learned, and proceed to my story. 
 
 In the loneliest part of the valley of the 
 Brohlbach, and far from the disturbance of its 
 numerous mills, there stands a tall, ungainly 
 mansion, whose appellation of chateau, or 
 schloss, I hesitate to translate into that of 
 castle, from the deference I feel towards those 
 specimens of gothic grandeur which lift up 
 their mouldering towers in its immediate vici- 
 nity. The castle on the Brohlbach, in short, is 
 a mere modern country house ; and its sole pre- 
 tension to romantic interest, is through an event 
 which wants several hundred years of mossy 
 antiquity before it may assume the true dignity 
 of romance. 
 
 At the commencement of the French Revolu- 
 tion (alas ! how many promises of interest hath 
 this pompous opening-phrase failed in acquit- 
 ting !) — at the commencement of the French 
 Revolution, when the summer palace of the
 
 104 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 elector of Cologne still dignified the adjacent 
 village of Tonesstein, and attracted a few idlers 
 from Bonn and Coblentz to its mineral baths, 
 the castle of Brohlbach had been appointed by 
 the proprietor of the estate as the residence of 
 the parish priest; or, as he was called in the 
 neighbourhood, the Pastor Weilman. He was 
 a man of the highest character in his profession ; 
 — learned, pious, active, benevolent ; — the arbi- 
 trator of every private quarrel within the con- 
 fines of his reputation — and they were large of 
 limits ; — the favoured guest of his rich neigh- 
 bours ; — the unfailing friend of the poorer of 
 his flock. 
 
 If there were any fault to be found in the 
 " ehrwurdige Pastor von Brohl". it was one of 
 national reproach ; — he was somewhat brusque 
 in his demeanour. A slight degree of unpo- 
 lished roughness blemished the frank cordiality 
 of his address, and was extremely offensive to 
 such of his congregation as had been accustomed 
 to live under the silken j urisdiction of the clergy 
 of France. The Herr Weilman had indeed 
 nothing of the Abbe about him, still less of the
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 105 
 
 reverend Pere, — the sly, smooth, insinuating, 
 Jesuit. He was in the true sense of the word, 
 the servant of God ! — and sought not, by ser- 
 vile complacency towards those around him, to 
 become the master of man. Qualifications like 
 these, which might perhaps have rendered him 
 a less acceptable minister to a city congregation, 
 the more peculiarly fitted him to acquire an 
 influence over the rude mountaineers among; 
 whom his evangelical mission was appointed. 
 Their organs of hearing were not too delicate to 
 endure the loud severity of his reprobation ; 
 and their strong fists could meet without dislo- 
 cation, the hearty shake, a FAngloise, with 
 which he occasionally honoured the kind neigh- 
 bours and good Samaritans of his flock, which 
 was at once the most ample and the most 
 orderly of the district. 
 
 The holy Fathers of the neighbouring con- 
 vent of St. Joseph, would smile indeed, in the 
 luxurious retreat of their easy piety, when they 
 beheld afar off their " very worthy and very 
 Christian neighbour, the pastor Weilman," stalk- 
 ing over the hills, through the stormiest wea- 
 
 f3
 
 106 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 ther, to afford spiritual comfort to some sick 
 herdsman on the Veitsberg ; and they even re- 
 monstrated with him upon the officiousness of 
 his zeal, when he visited their magnificent 
 library, in order to refer to a rare manuscript. 
 
 " Reverend Father ," replied Weilman to the 
 gouty superior, suppressing a smile, perhaps too 
 contemptuous to become a spiritual counte- 
 nance, " Reverend Father ! you will, I trust, 
 acquit me of interference in the pursuits of your 
 holy order, and of any lack of gratitude, 
 when you receive into your hospital my sick 
 parishioners. But I pray of you to reserve 
 your discipline for the patients in your ward ; — 
 for to you is appointed the cure of bodies — unto 
 me, under God's dispensation, the cure of souls. 
 Let each do his duty, and the Almighty's crea- 
 tures will be the better served." 
 
 And still, in defiance of the remonstrances of 
 the monks of Laach, the curate of Brohl conti- 
 nued to watch over his congregation with dili- 
 gence, and to school them with a severity 
 " whose chastening is of mercy ;" when, greatly 
 to their advantage and his own, an assistant in
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 107 
 
 his charitable labours was sent to rule his house- 
 hold, and to soften his asperities. 
 
 He had been unexpectedly summoned into 
 Alsace, to administer the last offices at the 
 death-bed of his only sister ; who, like himself 
 a native of the Palatinate, had emigrated with 
 her husband, and neither had long survived 
 their settlement at Pfalsbourg. But the con- 
 solations of the Holy Church were not alone 
 sufficient to render the departure of the sufferer 
 peaceful and blessed. She was about to leave 
 an orphan daughter to the mercy of the wide 
 world ; and it was not till Madame Bielfeld 
 had seen her poor child clasped in the arms of 
 the worthy uncle, who had promised her the 
 protection of a father, that she felt resigned to 
 give up the breath of life without a murmur. 
 " She is yours now, Justinian,'' 1 faltered the 
 dying woman ; and she held their united hands 
 fast within her own, till death relaxed even the 
 fervent grasp of gratitude and affection. 
 
 Clara Bielfeld, whose fair, girlish beauty was 
 exactly such as young painters always de- 
 corate with wings, was scarcely eighteen, when
 
 108 THE SOLDIER-PltlEST. 
 
 she was thus solemnly bequeathed to the guar- 
 dianship of her rough but excellent uncle ; a 
 critical age for a heroine, and, therefore, most 
 unpropitious for her removal to the seques- 
 tered banks of the Brohlbach. She was little 
 acquainted with the character and habits of the 
 curate, who during her remembrance had paid 
 but one short visit to his expatriated sister ; 
 and had then acquired among their malicious 
 neighbours the sobriquet of " Le bourru bien- 
 faisant? But although Clara was at first 
 shocked and pained by his harsh tone and for- 
 bidding frown, she wanted not discrimination to 
 appreciate the upright excellence, the humane 
 beneficence of his real character ; — and she 
 loved him accordingly, although with fear and 
 trembling. 
 
 " Madame Bielfeld is dead," said he, sternly, 
 but sadly, to the old domestic, who stepped 
 forward to welcome their arrival at the castle. 
 " Yes ! Frau Margarethe, I have indeed lost 
 my poor sister, but I have gained a daughter 
 for my old age ; and you will for the future 
 look upon this child as the mistress of my
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 109 
 
 household. Use your power with gentleness 
 and moderation, Clara, and respect yonder 
 old woman ; for she hath served your uncle 
 with diligence, and will not be wanting in good 
 offices to yourself, if you have German enough 
 to ask them.' 1 
 
 Clara was not slow to prove the possession 
 both of skill and will. She spoke her mother's 
 language with fluency, and its harshness came 
 sweetened from lips to which the tongues of 
 France and Italy were equally familiar. Sad- 
 dened by her recent affliction, she had lost that 
 giddy vivacity, which her good uncle had for- 
 merly reproved as " French levity. 11 But 
 whatever strictures it might incur, Clara's 
 gaiety of heart was of the purest and most 
 endearing nature. Her tears were as ready as 
 her smiles, and her warm affections readier than 
 either. She had adored her mother, — she soon 
 began to love her wise reproving uncle; and 
 if she sometimes plagued Frau Margarethe 
 beyond her patience, she could coax her back 
 into good humour in a second, by seeking in- 
 structions at the spinning-wheel; or by granting,
 
 110 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 in her turn, a lesson in those mysteries of 
 
 comfits and confections into which she had been 
 
 initiated by the delicate fingered nuns of the 
 
 Ursuline Convent of Strasburg ; — the pralines 
 
 of whose sacred manufacture are beyond praise. 
 
 Clara, who had been born and educated in a 
 
 populous city, had, in truth, looked forward 
 
 with some apprehension to her residence in the 
 
 lonely valley of Brohl ; she had anticipated 
 
 the desespoir de se voir entouree de ces gros 
 
 monceaaw d? Allemands , buvant la Mere, et 
 
 mangeant le sauerkraut; and more than all, 
 
 she had grieved over the necessity of being 
 
 placed beyond the reach and knowledge of a 
 
 certain Alphonse, a Chef d^escadron JHnfan- 
 
 terie legere, who — but I will not reveal the secret 
 
 of poor Clara's affections, seeing that she kept 
 
 it herself, not only from " le bourru bienfai- 
 
 sant" and his femme de menage, but from the 
 
 arnie de coeur which every young lady of taste 
 
 and sentiment who receives her education in a 
 
 French convent, is bound to secure for the 
 
 advantage of future correspondence. Not one 
 
 word of Alphonse, however, did Clara breathe
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. Ill 
 
 to her " bien-aimee Adele? in even the best 
 filled of those capacious sheets, which conveyed 
 her weekly assurance of unaltered friendship ; 
 and as these communications were destined to 
 wax both rare and short, "faute cTevenemens 
 dans ma solitude, ma bien-aimee^ not only re- 
 mained in ignorance of the very existence of 
 the chef d^escadron, but had no opportunity of 
 learning that Clara had become the ministering 
 angel of an extensive and needy parish ; that 
 she was busied in teaching the ignorant, re- 
 lieving the distressed, civilizing her old uncle, 
 and making herself the idol of all and each. 
 Nor did she miss the diversions of her earlier 
 and gayer days, among these continual exer- 
 cises of piety and womanly tenderness. No 
 one can have traversed the romantic hills of that 
 most beautiful country, without noticing the 
 variety and exquisite beauty of its wild flowers ; 
 and Clara, although no scientific botanist, and 
 wholly unskilled 
 
 To fill with Greek the garden's blushing borders, 
 
 was immediately struck by the rarity of some,
 
 112 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 by the beauty of all ; and in industriously 
 transferring the varieties to her own garden on 
 the banks of the Brohlbach, she lacked not the 
 assistance of a ragged regiment of village pages, 
 which usually followed her line of march ; and 
 which was sufficiently numerous and active to 
 have covered every acre of the valley with the 
 mountain pinks of Laach. 
 
 In the course of one of these floral excur- 
 sions, Clara had been met by one of the idlers 
 of the Tonesstein Spa, followed by her retinue 
 of urchins, with her long fair hair scattered over 
 her shoulders, and her slender sun-burned hands 
 contrasting strangely with her otherwise ex- 
 quisitely fair complexion. Unfortunately the 
 unalencontreux was a poet ; his German imagi- 
 nation took fire on so romantic an occasion, and 
 expended itself upon a sonnet to the maid of 
 the Brohlbach. The exalted incomprehensibility 
 of the effusion, rendered it so popular among 
 the frequenters of the baths of Tonesstein, that 
 poor Clara found herself a most unwilling ob- 
 ject of general curiosity and admiration ; and 
 although she immediately confined her walks
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 113 
 
 within the limits of her little garden, and began 
 to devote her attention to more sedentary pur- 
 suits, she was followed to her retreat, tormented 
 by unwelcome assiduities, and finally sought in 
 marriage by the heir of the wealthiest banker 
 of Cologne. Smitten with the prevailing epi- 
 demic of the Wells, a passion for the heroine of 
 the Brohlbach, with Werther in one hand, and 
 a cambric handkerchief in the other, the young 
 millionar threw himself at Clara's feet, to press 
 for a favourable reply to the hundred and 
 twenty fairly written hexameters in which he 
 had previously set forth the warmth of his affec- 
 tion. To the utter astonishment of the Colog- 
 nian Orlando, and of her uncle the curate, 
 Clara persisted in declining a match, the pecu- 
 niary advantages of which had been already 
 urged upon her with feeling, delicacy, and 
 liberality, by the family of her lover. Long 
 and patiently did the man of letters and senti- 
 ment labour to soften the feelings of the im- 
 penetrable girl. At first, indeed, the sensibility 
 of her German nature prompted her to weep 
 over the stanzas which so pathetically described
 
 114 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 the sufferings inflicted by her insensibility ; but 
 at length " the French levity" of her second 
 nature prevailed, and she laughed, with the 
 giddiness of her age and sex, at the clumsy 
 adorer, who sighed in metre, and bewailed him- 
 self in rhyme. She then scolded — intreated — 
 re-treated — and finally prevailed upon her uncle 
 to forbid the financial votary of the muses his 
 house. 
 
 " And now, my pretty Fraulein" said old 
 Weilman, after fulfilling her request, " will 
 you condescend to acquaint me with the nature 
 of your objections to a suitor who is better 
 born, better bred, and far better provided for 
 than your utmost deserts might lead you to 
 expect ?" 
 
 " My dear uncle, it would be impossible to 
 love such a man.'" 
 
 " A very indecorous objection, Clara ! But 
 why would it be impossible ?"" 
 
 " I have a bad opinion of his temper, his un- 
 derstanding, and his principles. ,, 
 
 " Three good reasons, child ; each a suffi- 
 cient one. Now go and spin ; and take care
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 115 
 
 that you do not roam about the hills again, to 
 bewilder the imagination of any other rhyming 
 blockhead, who may be loitering away his use- 
 less, inactive existence at the Wells. Go spin, 
 child ! — we have heard enough of love to last us 
 these ten years.'" 
 
 Still, the curate of Brohl, unworldly as he 
 was, and simple in heart and action, could not 
 refrain from guessing that Clara's disinterested- 
 ness arose from other and stronger motives than 
 she had chosen to assign. She had certainly 
 undervalued the claims of her lover ; whose 
 person was unexceptionable, who had no sin, 
 save that of poetry, and whose splendid pros- 
 pects might have flattered the vanity of dam- 
 sels in a more prosperous condition of life than 
 that of a poor curate's portionless niece. " The 
 foolish child has certainly some other attach- 
 ment,"" thought Weilman, as he pursued his 
 evening walk and reflections together, in soli- 
 tary rumination. " But to whom ? — my neigh- 
 bour Spiegelmann, at the paper mills, perhaps ? 
 — a dull, impracticable dunce, whose soul puffs 
 itself away at the mouth of his meerschaum. —
 
 116 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 The commandant of Brtihl ? — with the soul of a 
 pigmy in the body of a giant ; talking like an 
 essay on elocution of the Vaterland, and alle- 
 giance, and patriotism ; and only waiting a 
 favourable opportunity to sell his trust and his 
 patriotism to the French Directory. No, no ! 
 Clara is a girl of sense, spirit, feeling ; she 
 cannot love such puppets as these : but, time 
 will tell her secret, as it does those of the whole 
 human kind, however cunningly devised, or 
 closely kept." 
 
 The worthy curate was, indeed, but too soon 
 initiated into the very heart of the mystery ; and 
 the occasion was one fraught with grief and 
 mortification to himself. Among the many 
 sterling virtues of his character, Weilman che- 
 rished a plain, manly, straight-forward love of 
 his country, and a vigilant watchfulness over 
 her interests, which I will not dignify with the 
 much-abused name of patriotism ; but consider 
 it simply as it was, — an innate love of the 
 Fatherland, — and a secret, although silent, 
 detestation of the feeble counsels and timid 
 measures which, at the critical period of the
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 117 
 
 French revolution, left the frontiers of Germany 
 open to the ambition of the new republic. The 
 very names of the French revolution, or of its 
 leaders, became as burning fuses, when applied 
 to the secret train of those human passions 
 which remained unsubdued in the recesses of 
 the good minister's heart. He was himself 
 unaware, perhaps, that hatred was nourished 
 among the rest ; yet, certain it was, that, 
 despite the christian forbearance and gentle 
 humility of his creed, he had always looked 
 upon a Frenchman with intuitive and uncha- 
 ritable abhorrence. Had he been of the laity, 
 this antipathy might possibly have deepened 
 into feelings of a more ferocious character ; 
 but, accustomed to keep watch and ward 
 against the encroachments of those deadly 
 enemies, — the sins of the secret soul, — Weil- 
 man had tamed down his anti-Gallic propen- 
 sities into a mere casual shew of distrust 
 and disapprobation, and rarely gave vent 
 to his secret sentiments now that the death 
 of his sister had stopped the course of those 
 half-yearly philippics in which his aversion to
 
 118 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 her adopted countrymen had been wont to ex- 
 plode. 
 
 The excesses of the revolution, however they 
 might justify his prophetic views of the state of 
 public affairs in France, and his general opinion 
 of the French character, failed not to excite in 
 the heart of the worthy curate the deepest and 
 most christian sentiments of commiseration and 
 sorrow. They served, at the same time, to 
 sharpen to the utmost acuteness his apprehen- 
 sions from the want of organization among the 
 administrators of the district. He was well 
 aware of the facilities which their inactivity 
 might afford to the views of the French Direc- 
 tory upon the Rhine ; and, urged by strong 
 anxiety, he had even presumed to remonstrate 
 with the authorities of Andernach upon their 
 wilful blindness on the subject. The worship- 
 ful dignities had, indeed, dismissed his repre- 
 sentations with some slight additional hints that 
 he might in future confine his documentations 
 to the stray sheep of his own especial flock ; 
 but they so far followed his counsels, as to place 
 a small detachment in garrison at Brohl, and to
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 119 
 
 appoint a day of inspection, somewhere within 
 three months time, for the Landwehr of the 
 circle. 
 
 " And now, dear uncle," observed Clara, as 
 she communicated this piece of intelligence, 
 " you will at length be satisfied. Sixty men, 
 as I have frequently heard you observe, might 
 make good the defence of this mountain-pass 
 against a whole army." 
 
 " Sixty men, child, — not sixty old women, 
 with such a dunderpate as Major Pappendeckel 
 at their head — who, beyond pipe-clay and pig- 
 tails, has as much notion of military discipline 
 as yourself." 
 
 " But he will be assisted, Sir, by the advice 
 of our friend the Hauptmann ; who, in spite 
 of thirty years retirement, must surely be ca- 
 pable of affording him counsel and assistance." 
 
 " It is not so much their ability, Clara, as 
 their good- will, — their staunchness in the cause, 
 which I question. I doubt whether either 
 would sacrifice a hair of his head to save throne 
 and altar from overthrow. They have eaten 
 their bread at their country's cost, it is true ; —
 
 120 THE SOLDIEll-PUIEST. 
 
 but it is eaten : and the future, not the past, 
 is the link which binds such servile, selfish souls 
 to their duty. Heaven strengthen it, and 
 guard the poor inhabitants of the valley ; for 
 we have much to dread, Clara, from a new 
 yoke, and little to hope." 
 
 The apprehensions of the curate were now 
 daily, and even hourly, strengthened by reports 
 of the advance of the French troops, and by 
 his continued observation of the want of energy 
 of the local authorities. His intimate know- 
 ledge of the prevailing spirit of the district, 
 also tended to increase his uneasiness a thou- 
 sand-fold. The perilous watch-words of the 
 times, — liberty and equality, — had spread like 
 a pestilence over the earth ; and had produced 
 a strong sensation, even among the remote 
 vallies of the Rhine. The patriotism of the 
 inhabitants of a frontier country, — " a debate- 
 able land," — usually attaches itself to the soil, 
 rather than to its varying rulers ; and the 
 workmen of the quarries, who form the most 
 important body of the population of the Laach 
 country, looked upon the French troops rather
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 121 
 
 as deliverers sent to break their ecclesiastical 
 chains, than as invaders intent upon riveting 
 newer, and therefore more irksome fetters. In 
 vain did Weilman attempt to animate his 
 flock to nobler sentiments, — -to rouse them to a 
 sense of national honour. He even addressed 
 them from the pulpit ; and by examples drawn 
 from Holy Writ, as well as from the records 
 of their country, strove to win them back to 
 subordination and heroism. Stupid and dis- 
 contented, they replied by murmurs against 
 the high price of bread, which a bad harvest 
 threatened to raise still higher. 
 
 " Children !" said Weilman, " you murmur 
 against the Almighty, — not against the princes 
 and governors whom he hath set over you. 
 The sunshine and the rain are in the hand of 
 God alone ; and it is not through the breath of 
 kings that your garners can be filled with plen- 
 teousness. But think ye that the march of a 
 victorious army will render your corn-fields 
 more fruitful? — that the rule of a foreign 
 power will make your vintage more abundant ? — 
 Consider this, — arise ! go to your homes ! and 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 as you tread over the green sod that covers the 
 bones of your fathers, tell them that you are 
 about to surrender their sacred hearths to their 
 enemies, — to forsake their faith, — to desert the 
 prince whom they served, — the laws by which 
 they were governed ; and to bring a godless 
 and lawless government upon the country which 
 they loved. Go, children — go ! for verily your 
 wives with their distaffs, — your babes with their 
 bulrushes, would do better service to their 
 native country , n 
 
 Grieved, and even irritated to find his admo- 
 nitions as fruitless among his congregation as his 
 remonstrances had formerly proved among his 
 richer and more powerful neighbours, Weilman 
 retired to the cheerless seclusion of his own man- 
 sion, and began to devote his time and attention 
 to new objects. For some days, Clara observed 
 him occupied in slinging some huge masses of 
 basaltic rock, which had been stored in her 
 garden with the view of making a dam in the 
 brook by which it was watered ; and in raising 
 them, by means of a rusty crane, to the grenier 
 of the house. She had been accustomed to see 
 fagots and hay constantly elevated in the same
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 123 
 
 fashion, to the same spot ; — for it is a laudable 
 custom, in many parts of the continent, to 
 deposit these combustibles where they afford 
 the best promise of peril and mischief; — but 
 the use to which Weilman destined his store of 
 basaltic columns,* at once excited her curiosity, 
 and defied her powers of imagination. Per- 
 haps, like David, the son of Jesse, he thought 
 of employing these ponderous missiles against 
 the mighty men of the enemy ; — perhaps, like 
 Sampson, he purposed to slay his thousands, 
 and tens of thousands, without the edge of 
 the sword. But more probably still, the mind 
 of the curate was undisturbed by any such 
 blood-thirsty projects ; and he might have 
 amused himself by raising the fragments of 
 rock merely as an exercise of physical strength. 
 Courageous, however, and upright as the former 
 of these scriptural heroes,-^cast in nearly as 
 gigantic a mould as the second, — Weilman, with 
 his single hand, might have achieved wonders, 
 had it not been but I must not anticipate. 
 
 f The roads of the Laach district, as well as those of 
 Nassau, are formed of this material. 
 
 g2
 
 124 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 It was a calm autumnal morning, and Clara 
 Bielfeld was busily employed in her garden, 
 protecting her favourite plants against the 
 dangers of premature frost, when the keeper 
 Of the Tonesstein baths galloped hastily past the 
 chateau, exclaiming — 
 
 " In ! Mademoiselle, in ! a detachment of 
 French troops is within an hour's march of the 
 valley. Tell your uncle that I am on my way 
 to Andernach, and will see the commandant 
 of Brohl on my road ; — but for him, as for us, 
 resistance would be fruitless. General Cus- 
 tine's head-quarters are at Laach." 
 
 Clara, pale and breathless, and followed by 
 old Margarethe, invoking every saint in the 
 calendar, tottered into her uncle's study ; who, 
 scarcely waiting for the conclusion of her com- 
 munication, rushed forth to assist the gardener 
 in barricadoing the lower doors and windows of 
 his unprotected dwelling. Active, intrepid, 
 powerful, and cool, his preparations for defence 
 were achieved, and the women of his household 
 lodged in an inner chamber, long before the 
 approach of the French soldiers became visible 
 from his post of observation.
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 125 
 
 The little troop, which appeared in excellent 
 trim and appointment, consisted of about forty 
 men, headed by a young officer of soldierly 
 deportment and spirited figure ; and, although 
 their advance had neither the regularity nor 
 the animation of an intended attack, Weilman 
 unhesitatingly prepared himself for hostile 
 defence. 
 
 After posting part of his company in the rear 
 of the house, the young officer advanced at the 
 head of the remainder to the court-yard in 
 front ; where, having drawn them up in line, 
 he directed a non-commissioned officer to sum- 
 mon the proprietor of the chateau, and to 
 require free quarters for the troops of the 
 French Republic. 
 
 To the first loud knocking at his gate, 
 Weilman returned no answer, — for he was in 
 the act of completing his preparations. At the 
 second summons, however, he appeared in full 
 canonicals at an upper window ; and his fine 
 person and severe countenance gave him an 
 almost imposing appearance, as he replied to 
 the demands of the Republican officer by de-
 
 126 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 claring, that his gates should never unclose to 
 receive the enemies of his country ; and that he 
 was prepared to defend his position even to 
 the last breath of his existence. 
 
 The young officer now came forward in per- 
 son ; and respectfully uncovering himself to 
 address a minister of the gospel, he expressed 
 his regret at finding such hostile intentions 
 where he had trusted to have met with a peace- 
 ful, if not with a friendly reception ; and the 
 more especially, he added, because the inves- 
 titure of the adjacent country by the advanced 
 posts of the Republican army would render all 
 individual resistance absolutely unavailing. 
 
 " I trust,'" continued the young man, modestly, 
 but firmly, " that I shall not find a consecrated 
 Christian minister the foremost to provoke a 
 wanton spilling of blood." He then added 
 something of an entreaty for a personal inter- 
 view with Weilman, which was lost in the loud 
 and indignant reply of the curate. 
 
 " Pass on your way, young man !" exclaimed 
 he, " and let the garrison of Brohl do their 
 duty, as I shall do mine. But as surely as you
 
 THE S0LDIE11-P1UEST. 127 
 
 attempt to make a forced entry into the house, 
 or seek to render my peaceful habitation the 
 vantage ground of my master's enemies, so 
 surely will I hurl down on the heads of my 
 assailants such an implement of destruction as 
 will leave them little inclination to renew the 
 attacK. 
 
 The French officer reddened at the terms of 
 this bold defiance ; and replacing his hat upon 
 his head, he once more, and with great forbear- 
 ance, demanded whether it were the curate's 
 last and fixed resolution to refuse admittance 
 to his men. 
 
 " It is r replied Weilman, closing the win- 
 dow, and retiring. 
 
 "Nay, then," exclaimed the young man, with 
 great emotion, " my duty becomes imperative, 
 and far different from that which I trusted 
 would await me here. Soldiers !" he continued, 
 turning towards his men, who were uttering 
 indignant imprecations against the mad priest, 
 as they termed their resolute opponent, " Sol- 
 diers, make good your entry into the house ; 
 but remember ! the persons of the inhabitants
 
 128 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 are to be respected as you value your lives — as 
 you regard the esteem of your commander. 
 Commit no outrage that can justify the resist- 
 ance of this misguided man !" 
 
 Unprovided with the means of attack, and 
 armed only with muskets, the soldiers attempted 
 in vain to force an entrance through the strongly 
 secured shutters of the lower part of the house. 
 The principal door was thickly studded with 
 iron, and was capable of resisting a far stronger 
 battering ram than the stock of an ordinary 
 musket. Irritated by meeting with defiance 
 and resistance where he had looked for shelter 
 and refreshment after his march, one of the 
 soldiers, intentionally or by accident, fired in 
 the direction of an upper window ; and instantly 
 on the discharge of the piece, a thundering 
 crash announced the descent of one of the 
 curate's basaltic engines of destruction. Three 
 of the soldiers lay stretched upon the ground, 
 desperately injured ; and their comrades scarcely 
 waiting for the command of their officer, fired 
 in a volley. 
 
 Before the smoke cleared away sufficiently to
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 129 
 
 permit them to ascertain the effect of the dis- 
 charge, the clear sonorous voice of Weilman was 
 heard above. 
 
 " Officer of France !" said he, " I warn 
 you that it is my resolve to hold out against 
 your attack till strength and breath fail me. 
 I am amply provided with such instruments of 
 death as that which, under God's will, has laid 
 low the foremost of your band ; and you may 
 perceive that I am myself secure from your fire* 
 Choose therefore, whether you will wantonly 
 expose your men to inevitable destruction. 1 ' 
 
 " Desperate man !" replied the indignant 
 soldier, " you have left me no power of elec- 
 tion. My duty requires, no less than my 
 honour, that I effect at any loss the occupation of 
 your house. Soldiers ! advance to your duty." 
 
 A train was now laid against the entrance 
 door ; but from the scarcity of powder, its effect 
 was very doubtful ; and before the work was 
 achieved, Wielman's preparations were made 
 above. Two smaller, but still most tremendous 
 masses of basalt, were hurled upon the assail- 
 ants ; and the arm of the soldier, who was in 
 
 g 3
 
 130 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 the act of applying a match to the train, was 
 broken. 
 
 The fragments of rock which had fallen close 
 to the door, and covered the train, prevented 
 the renewal of this mode of attack ; and before 
 the little troop had time to recommence its 
 operations, a horseman entered the court-yard, 
 who announced himself as a messenger to the 
 curate, from the commandant of Brohl. Find- 
 ing all ingress to the chateau impossible, he 
 angrily shouted to Weil man the commands of 
 Major Pappendeckel, that he should grant 
 free quarters to the French troops ; the garrison 
 of Brohl having surrendered, and the whole 
 country being invested by the enemy. 
 
 " Inform Major Pappendeckel," replied 
 Weilman sternly from above, " that I am not 
 aware of being professionally subject to his 
 orders. My duty stands towards my prince, 
 and my country ; and to them only am I re- 
 sponsible for my present measures." 
 
 " For the love of mercy," exclaimed the 
 French officer, turning from the bodies of his 
 disabled men, to the emissary of the com-
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 131 
 
 mandant, " dissuade this refractory man from 
 prolonging a contest so unequal, and where the 
 waste of human life can advantage nothing, save 
 the gratification of his own pertinacious pride. " 
 " Surely," replied the man, " your troops 
 can find no difficulty in forcing an entrance ?" 
 
 " I have reason, 1 ' observed the young soldier, 
 " to wish for a more peaceful termination of 
 the affair." 
 
 " Herr Weilman !" shouted the messenger, 
 " for pastor I can no longer call you, — in Hea- 
 ven's name, let me carry news to the com- 
 mandant of your dutiful submission." 
 
 " Give him my former answer : it is definitive !" 
 said Weilman ; and as he spoke, a volley of 
 broken rock fell on the heads of the assailants, 
 who were attempting to force in a shutter. 
 
 The French officer, uttering an angry oath, 
 now seized a musket from the hands of one of 
 his men, and was about to head a furious attack, 
 when a loud piercing shriek from the garden of 
 the chateau arrested his steps. 
 
 In another second, a female figure rushed 
 through the confused and discomfited group of
 
 132 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 soldiery, and throwing herself into the arms of 
 their captain, exclaimed in the shrill unmea- 
 sured voice of agony, " Now, uncle, now pro- 
 ceed in your deadly work ! Hurl down another 
 stone, and you will crush your adopted child. 
 It is Alphonse, — my own Alphonse, — my 
 mother's friend, my betrothed lover. Spare 
 him, uncle ! — Spare these brave men for his 
 sake." 
 
 But poor Clara's earnest entreaties were lost 
 upon Weilman ; his was now the hour of peril — 
 his the destiny worthy to excite her anxiety. 
 The soldiers having discovered the open win- 
 dow through which Clara had effected her 
 escape from the house, had already made good 
 their entry, reached the grenier, — and the curate 
 was at length overcome by numbers, and brought 
 down a prisoner into the court-yard, before 
 Alphonse de Besenval. 
 
 The soldiers had so far obeyed the commands 
 of their superior officer as to spare the life of 
 their obstinate and fatal opponent ; but, in the 
 scuffle, his arm had been slightly wounded by 
 a bayonet, and when he appeared in the court,
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 133 
 
 the blood was pouring down the sleeve of his 
 robe, which was rent to tatters. 
 
 Clara, now alarmed for the life of her beloved 
 kinsman, — her benevolent protector — withdrew 
 from the side of the perplexed and distressed 
 Besenval ; and throwing herself at the feet of 
 the prisoner, she hid her face in his knees. 
 
 " Pardon me, my good, kind uncle !" she 
 faltered through her tears, " pardon my first 
 voluntary offence against your will." 
 
 " Clara !" replied the old man, sorrowfully, 
 and without adverting to his own mischance, 
 " had I known that this boy's life was so pre- 
 cious to you, — " he stopped short, oppressed by 
 some emotion ; or because he cared not to open 
 his heart before the crowd assembled round 
 him. He turned, however, towards Besenval, 
 " Young Sir !" said he, " the chateau is now 
 in your hands ; but bear me witness that the 
 post was not sacrificed through any lack of 
 resolution on my part, and that I would have 
 defended it till the last drop of this worthless 
 blood had ebbed from my veins. 1,
 
 134) THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 There is something in the spectacle of un- 
 daunted courage, — of resolution surviving the 
 wreck of prosperity, — which touches the heart 
 even of an antagonist. The French soldiers, 
 who had by this time ascertained that none of 
 their comrades were materially injured, except 
 the man whose arm was broken, — a calamity 
 more than retaliated by the curate's wound, — 
 now crowded round to look at the priest who 
 had done battle against forty assailants, with 
 his single arm. "He is a gallant old Philistine, ,, 
 said one. " A bird of right different feather 
 from the craven drones of our old regime" 
 observed another. " Honour to the hand that 
 can guard its head," shouted a third ; — " aye ! 
 even though it be a tonsured one." " The old 
 gentleman's trade is, just now, a failing one ; — 
 he would make a good recruit for the Republic," 
 rejoined the first, as he assisted to bear the 
 wounded men into the house ; where Frau 
 Margarethe, who had crept trembling from her 
 hiding place, was actively employed in their 
 service.
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 135 
 
 At length the curate, Besenval, and Clara, 
 were left standing together alone in the court- 
 yard. 
 
 " I am, I conclude, your prisoner, young 
 gentleman ?" observed Weilman, calmly bind- 
 ing a handkerchief round his wounded arm ; 
 " may I presume to inquire what grounds 
 you can afford me for confiding my poor child 
 to your care during my imprisonment ?" 
 
 " This paper," replied Besenval, hastily 
 taking a letter from his pocket-book, " this 
 paper, reverend Sir, will inform you. It was 
 my desire to make you acquainted with its con- 
 tents, which led me some hours ago to implore 
 an interview that might have spared us the pain 
 of this unpleasant meeting.'" 
 
 " My sister's hand writing V exclaimed the 
 priest, unfolding and attentively perusing the 
 letter. 
 
 " I perceive, Monsieur de Besenval," said 
 Weilman, in a softened voice, as he returned 
 it to the young soldier, " that Madame Biel- 
 feld has expressed, in this paper, her. perfect 
 approval of your attachment to my niece, and
 
 136 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 her regrets that the poverty of our family 
 should form an insuperable obstacle to your 
 union. It remains for you to inform me what 
 accession of fortune, on Clara v s part, sanctions 
 the manner in which you just now pressed her 
 hand to your bosom F" 
 
 " My father, whose objection to my marrying 
 at an early age has formed the true cause of my 
 delay in claiming the hand of your niece," said 
 Besenval, " is now no more. His testamentary 
 dispositions contain an express sanction to my 
 union with Mademoiselle Bielfeld ; and her 
 recent affliction, and removal from Phalzbourg, 
 have hitherto alone prevented me from fulfilling 
 the dearest hope of my heart. Under the exist- 
 ing position of the French Republic, it was 
 impossible for a soldier to enter Germany, 
 except as an enemy. You, Sir, have rendered 
 my difficulties still more painful, — still more 
 perplexing ; — but I trust the remembrance of 
 the circumstances which have now effected our 
 meeting, will not induce you to withhold your 
 sanction from our marriage." 
 
 " You find me in a position little calculated
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 137 
 
 to induce me to undervalue your claims," ob- 
 served Weilman, glancing from his ragged vest- 
 ments to the battered door of the chateau. " A 
 protector, in times like these, is valuable, even 
 though he be — " he paused — and presently 
 added in a sterner voice, " Clara ! my dear 
 girl — my poor, unprotected orphan — tell me ! 
 are you really willing to marry this man ? — a 
 Frenchman — the natural enemy of your coun- 
 try ? Are you willing to forsake your father- 
 land, — and to become a denizen of one on which 
 the eyes of the whole earth are now fixed with 
 horror and loathing ?" — 
 
 Clara raised her tearful eyes and clasped 
 hands towards her uncle, as though to implore 
 his forbearance. 
 
 " I speak my thoughts now, child, in honesty 
 and self-respect ; but it is for the last time. 
 Tell me that your affections are fixed upon 
 this young man, that your happiness is engaged 
 in his existence, and my lips are sealed for ever 
 on the subject. " 
 
 " He was my dear mother's choice, 1 ' faltered
 
 138 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 Clara. " You cannot know how she loved and 
 esteemed Besenval, or you would judge him 
 less harshly ." 
 
 " I see how it is," said the curate, strug- 
 gling with his feelings. " It hath pleased God 
 to rebuke my want of charitable humility by 
 this deep mortification." 
 
 He joined the hands of the young lovers as 
 he spoke, and imprinted a silent kiss upon the 
 forehead of his niece. Clara felt upon her 
 cheek, tears that were not her own. She saw 
 the struggle of her uncle's feelings. She was 
 saddened by his rebuke, touched by his sor- 
 row ; and the completion of her long cherished 
 hopes was any thing but a joyful sera in her 
 life. 
 
 While Besenval remained respectfully atten- 
 tive to the exhortations of the curate, that he 
 would faithfully cherish and protect a wife so 
 hardly won, a messenger from Brohl again 
 entering the court-yard, requiring the imme- 
 diate attendance of Weilman at the Mairie of 
 the Commune. He was followed by an escort
 
 THE SOLDIER-PKIEST. 139 
 
 of dragoons and Major PappendeckeFs post- 
 wogen, which he had sent to expedite the 
 arrival of the recusant. 
 
 " You will, I trust, permit me to accompany 
 you," said Besenval, after handing Clara and 
 her uncle into the vehicle, " my presence can- 
 not be disadvantageous to your cause." And 
 in half an hour the ricketty postwagen drew up 
 before the stadt-haus of Brohl, a decayed, 
 mean-looking building, which formed neverthe- 
 less one of the boasts of the town, — the pal- 
 ladium of its rights, and the strong hold of 
 worthy Spiegelmann, the mayor's civic pomps 
 and vanities. 
 
 On entering the hall they found the bur- 
 gesses of Brohl in full assembly. The Major 
 in his chair of state was seated with his meer- 
 schaum in his mouth, and his hand resting on 
 that most offensive weapon, his leaden inkstand ; 
 which was now about to be promoted from its 
 peaceful function of assisting in the signature 
 of the marriage contracts of the district, to the 
 high dignity of executing an indictment for 
 contumacy, — perhaps an arraignment for high
 
 140 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 treason ; for the court was something doubtful 
 of its own powers, as well as of the nature of the 
 crime they were about to denounce. The com- 
 mandant of Brohl, in full uniform, was placed 
 next to the great civil officer, and the invalid 
 captain was seated opposite. The conclave was 
 silent and dignified as became the occasion ; and 
 when Weilman stalked towards the table, 
 nothing was heard in the oppressive, ill-odoured 
 room, but the wheezings of the fat Major. 
 The men in office had averted their eyes with 
 stern displeasure on the curate's approach ; and 
 when on lifting them towards the uncompro- 
 mising minister, they found him supported on 
 one side by his lovely niece, and on the other 
 by an elegant young officer of Infanterie 
 legere, they rose in hasty confusion, and 
 mingled their congratulations to Besenval on 
 his escape, with expressions of good-will towards 
 the French Government, and threats towards 
 all those who might attempt to prolong discord 
 and enmity between the two countries. A chair 
 was placed for the young officer before they 
 proceeded to the order of the day ; in which,
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 141 
 
 having seated the trembling Clara, he leaned 
 over her with some anxiety to observe the ter- 
 mination of the affair. 
 
 The voluminous person of the Major having 
 been at length deposited in his high-backed 
 cherry-wood chair, he hemmed audibly, and 
 gave the usual uneasy demonstration of a man 
 whose eloquence is about to unfold. He ad- 
 justed his military stock, twitched his pig-tail 
 over his right shoulder, bent his heavy brows 
 into an assumption of intellectual sagacity, 
 swelled out his well padded chest with a burst 
 of more than common importance ; — and after 
 receiving an admonitory nod from his neigh- 
 bour, Spiegelmann, he gave utterance to his 
 wrathful indignation in his own peculiarly 
 measured twang of office. 
 
 " Mister Curate Weilman," said the Major, 
 marking the cadence of his eloquence upon the 
 table with his pipe-clayed gauntlet, "it is not 
 without sincere regret that I feel myself com- 
 pelled to express on the part of myself and my 
 colleagues, ,, — he looked to the right and left, — 
 and my colleagues bowed with easy dignity, —
 
 142 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 " to express, I say, my astonishment, my very 
 great astonishment, that a man of your charac- 
 ter and sacred profession, should think fit to 
 compromise the lives and safeties of His Impe- 
 rial and Electoral Highness" s subjects, by op- 
 posing an offensive, and of course ineffective 
 resistance to the march of the French troops ; 
 — a resistance, Sir, permit me to say, which I 
 myself, as Commandant, although your superior 
 in rank, experience, resources, and power, 
 have judged it inexpedient to offer upon this 
 occasion ; and which the express command of 
 this respectable tribunal required you to termi- 
 nate. The pragmatical obstinacy of to-day, 
 Mr. Curate Weilman, — your seditious and 
 rebellious contempt for the mandates of the 
 constituted authorities of Brohl, you will answer 
 in a higher place. In the mean time, I am 
 under the necessity of committing you a pri- 
 soner to the municipal officers ; in order to 
 maintain a good understanding between the 
 inhabitants of the district, and the detachment 
 of — brave — honourable men, who now favour 
 us — by sojourning among us."
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 143 
 
 The latter part of the speech was directed 
 by a doubtful, deprecating bow to Captain de 
 Besenval ; who, having his own views to for- 
 ward, received it with an air of gratified admi- 
 ration ; on the strength of which, the re-assured 
 major shook the powder from his branching 
 side-curls, by a still lower bow ; and his ex- 
 ample was followed by all the other wise men 
 of Gotham, present at the seance. 
 
 In the mean time Weilman, the smart of 
 whose wound was far less galling than that of 
 the pompous rebuke of the florid Major, whose 
 low-minded self-complacency, and time-serving 
 meanness had long incurred his contempt and 
 dislike, — strove in vain to repress the indignant 
 feelings which were labouring within him. At 
 the last, he spake with his tongue. 
 
 " Herr Commandant V he exclaimed, in his 
 roughest and most energetic tone, " do not give 
 this young stranger reason to imagine that the 
 arm of an old priest is the only one ready to 
 strike a good blow in the national cause. You 
 degrade your country, Major Pappendeckel, 
 and, — if possible, — you degrade yourself by the
 
 144 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 supposition. The monks of the Laach monastery 
 have, it is true, their gallery and rich treasury 
 to preserve by an abject submission to the 
 enemies of their country and their faith ; — 
 yourselves, gentlemen ! in whose estimation 
 might is right, may perhaps form your claim 
 to the favour of a new master, by your Judas- 
 like betrayal of your old one ! /, however, have 
 nothing to gain by opening the gates of Ger- 
 many to foreign invasion ; nor aught to lose, 
 save my own unworthy life, and that of this 
 poor girl, by defending the land which gave 
 it — the laws by which it hath been protected. 
 The Searcher of hearts best knows how lightly 
 I should hold the sacrifice of both, could it 
 have redeemed one foot of my native country 
 from a triumphant enemy. With respect to 
 my personal imprisonment, Major Pappen- 
 deckel, I venture to doubt whether your powers 
 extend to the execution of any such measure. ,, 
 
 " Under your pardon, gentlemen ," inter- 
 posed Besenval, who was anxious to terminate 
 the curate's ill-timed harangue, " I feel myself 
 compelled to claim the person of this gentleman
 
 THE SOLDIER-PRIEST. 
 
 145 
 
 at your hands, as my prisoner of war. I can- 
 not cede the rights of the republic without 
 higher sanction ; and he must remain under 
 my guard at the chateau, until I receive fur- 
 ther instructions from General Custine." 
 
 In what these instructions consisted I have 
 never been able to learn ; but I know that long 
 before the curate's wound was healed, he had 
 been coaxed into performing a marriage cere- 
 mony in his parochial church ; and that the 
 mayor prepared the contract, and the pursy 
 Major witnessed the solemnity, with a better 
 grace than might have been expected. 
 
 Weilman survived the fortunes and misfor- 
 tunes of war; and died at Andernach, two years 
 since, in the fulness of age and virtue. Mar- 
 vellous to relate, he bequeathed the whole of 
 his little fortune to a Frenchman. — I need not 
 add, that it was to the son of Besenval and 
 Clara. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 - *r 
 
 .
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 H 2
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 A TRAVELLER'S TALE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Where rose the mountains, there to me were friends ; 
 
 Where rolled the ocean, thereon was my home ; 
 Where a blue sky and glowing clime extends, 
 
 I had the passion and the power to roam ; 
 
 But in man's dwellings I became a thing 
 
 Restless and worn. 
 
 Childe Harold. 
 
 No, Selina ! no ! I cannot surrender my 
 judgment to your peremptory claims. To ad- 
 mit the truth of your position, — to grant that in 
 your world of fashion, your slavish London 
 world — the human mind can perfect and retain 
 its energies, and the human heart strengthen 
 and expand its impulses of feeling as nobly as 
 in the pure solitude of nature, were a libel upon
 
 150 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 the Providence which " made the country ,*" 
 and a base homage unto man who " made the 
 town." You acknowledge that our minds and 
 hearts unite in forming one mighty mirror, 
 which reflects in truest guise every object glanc- 
 ing upon its tell-tale surface. Say, then, and 
 with candour, can your fetes, your follies, your 
 selfish and deceptious joys, produce such lofty 
 and impressive imagery, as Nature in her 
 lonely grandeur pours upon the inspired visions 
 of her votaries ? Can the murmur of your 
 crowded theatres, the feeble lustre of vour illu- 
 minated halls, compete with — 
 
 The silence that is in the starry sky, 
 The sleep that is between the lonely hills ? 
 
 No, Selina ! — no ! your thoughts, your passions, 
 your aspirations, become tinged with the little- 
 ness of conventional life. You listen to the 
 hourly striking of the clock, till your ear can 
 no longer endure the awful voice of eternity ; 
 you gaze upon the gorgeous roof which restrains 
 your prospects, until the measureless span of 
 the universe surpasses your conception. Yes-
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 151 
 
 terday becomes your boundary of memory ; 
 to-morrow your limit of hope ; — your ambition 
 is puerile as a courtier's dream, — your love a ca- 
 price, — your hatred the petty outbreak of the 
 scorpion's venom ! 
 
 But the volcano, the desart-peak, and the ca- 
 taract, shed a loftier reflection upon the soul ! 
 The mountain top was chosen for the transmis- 
 sion of the eternal tables of the law ; and the 
 finger of God yet traceth there the mysterious 
 characters of his wisdom ! While amid the 
 more gentle elements of creation, amid vallies 
 slumbering in southern sunshine, beside the 
 glassy waves of lowland rivers, the enervated 
 soul acquires a softer tone of loveliness — 
 
 A grace beyond the reach of art. 
 
 But I undertook to combat your opinions by 
 a tale, and not by a homily ; a tale of those 
 wayward days of youth, when, free as the wind 
 that bloweth where it listeth, my truant step 
 wandered into the far recesses of other lands ; 
 those days when —
 
 152 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 By visions held in thrall, 
 
 I wearied of my native bower, 
 And loathed my father's hall ! 
 
 yet scarcely found, in my prolonged pilgrimage, 
 or hall or bower of happier seeming. 
 
 It was in one of the wildest moods of my 
 restless spirit, that I directed my vagrant path 
 towards Greece ; — the realm of tears — the heri- 
 tage of the despot and the slave. But it is 
 neither of the land nor of its wrongs that I am 
 about to speak ; " the tale I tell is of the 
 human heart ;" the heart whose universal lan- 
 guage needeth not interpretation, from ultima 
 Thule, even unto the Southern Zante of my 
 story ; — the nemorosa Zacynthus, which floats 
 like a leafy bower upon the Ionian sea, be- 
 neath that cloudless sky 
 
 Where every season smiles 
 Benignant o'er those blessed isles, 
 
 upon which, at that period, the republic of 
 Venice had not surrendered her claims. The 
 winged lion, now a masterless and powerless
 
 THE BRIDE OF 2 ANTE. 153 
 
 ensign, still rode triumphantly the waters of 
 the Adriatic ; and under its domination 
 
 Those isles, encompassed by the Ionian main, 
 The dire abode were the foul harpies reign, — * 
 
 became the prey of a race of modern harpies, 
 as terrific in their operations as the fierce mon- 
 sters of the days of Anchises. 
 
 The Republic appeared, indeed, to consi- 
 der its Dalmatian and Ionian Colonies as a 
 sort of chartered gulph, unto which all that 
 was offensive or intractable among its sons, 
 might be securely* consigned. Every ruffianly 
 or ruined outcast, claiming kindred with its 
 decayed aristocracy ; every creature approach- 
 ing to the miserable dishonour of a Barna- 
 botto, by whatever crime he might have earned 
 his ostracism , was assigned an exile 1 s mainte- 
 nance through some trifling appointment in the 
 islands, to sanctify such acts of rapine or 
 violence as might hereafter tempt the strong 
 arm of his authority. The Ionians, meanwhile, 
 
 * Dryden's .Eneid, 3d Book. 
 
 h 3
 
 154 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 at once too indolent to resist, and too cautious 
 to murmur, sank daily deeper and deeper into 
 the absorbing mud-pool of dishonour by 
 which their natures were defiled. Their tra- 
 ditional virtues became valueless in eyes ac- 
 customed to the contemplation of infamy ; and 
 if at intervals a light arose upon their dark- 
 ness, it flashed from some passing meteor, 
 some hero of an hour : — the planet of their 
 better destinies still withheld its influence. 
 
 Yet notwithstanding these abuses, notwith- 
 standing the painful degradation visible in the 
 social institutions of the land, the aspect of the 
 lovely island of Zante inspired me, on my first 
 arrival, with emotions of enthusiasm, which I 
 had long regarded as dead within my bosom. 
 Its serene skies, its fragrant breezes, which 
 far upon the dark blue seas welcome, like har- 
 bingers of love, the traveller who approaches 
 its wooded shores ; the craggy cliffs of the 
 Akroteria surmounting the bay, the castle 
 crowning a lofty eminence, and the still loftier 
 summit of Monte Skopo, rising in the distance, 
 blend themselves into a living landscape which
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 155 
 
 seemed to fascinate my steps as I landed upon 
 the pier. 
 
 At first, indeed, all was enchantment. The 
 white walls of the city, blanched by intense sun- 
 shine into the semblance of marble, the pia%ze, 
 the barred lattices, the painted awnings, the min- 
 gled costumes of the Mediterranean ports — of 
 Turks, Venetians, Calabrians, Corsicans, Nea- 
 politans, and Algerines ; the turbaned infidel, 
 and the solemn and bearded merchant of 
 Greece, — united to realize before my eyes, the 
 quaint masking of a carnival, or the fairest 
 tracing of Canaletto's canvas. The confusion 
 of tongues, however, soon identified the indi- 
 viduality of the motley tribe ; and proved me 
 to be but a solitary alien upon a foreign coast. 
 I felt my loneliness, and grieved over the ver- 
 bal ignorance by which it was confirmed ; and 
 above all, in gazing upon the commanding 
 loveliness of the daughters of the land, I la- 
 mented bitterly that Romaic was a sealed 
 tongue unto my lips. 
 
 But to one of so unstable a spirit as my own, 
 these objects, however interesting, soon sub-
 
 J 56 
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 sided into the cold monotony of custom, — for 
 sight is of all our senses the most easily sa- 
 tiated ; and when the charm of novelty with- 
 drew its fantastic medium from the picture, 
 nothing solid remained behind, to atone for 
 the disparition of those enchantments which 
 
 • 
 
 Come like shadows, so depart ; — 
 
 nothing to beguile the mind from the loss of 
 imagination's fleeting hues ; nothing to attract, 
 or subdue, or elevate the heart ; — and in the 
 society in which my letters of introduction 
 secured my acceptance, " man delighted me 
 not, nor woman either." 
 
 The resident Italians were either a race of 
 outcasts, or but a single generation removed 
 from some dishonouring parentage ; while the 
 Greeks — subtle, base, and interested — united 
 their national indolence and natural ignorance, 
 with the exotic vices introduced into their 
 contaminated climate by its constituted autho- 
 rities. I had taken up my residence in the 
 family of a native merchant of respectable 
 degree; and although the passive beauty and
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 167 
 
 picturesque adjustment of his young wife and 
 her kindred, attracted me at first into his 
 household reunions more than I had intended 
 or desired, yet the habits of his family, un- 
 cleanly and ungainly as they were, their sus- 
 picious bigotry and total deficiency of instruc- 
 tion, soon sent me back into my solitude. I 
 panted, even then as now, Selina ! — to exchange 
 the limited pleasures of the city, for the 
 boundless joys of a wilder home ; and I re- 
 joiced, when Signor Gordeleni removed to his 
 villa on the coast, whither I was earnestly 
 solicited to accompany his establishment. Ma- 
 dama, his gentle lady, to whom the dolcissimo 
 far niente^ afforded, either in town or country, 
 a sufficient enjoyment, inquired with a lan- 
 guid smile, whether I could be tempted to 
 renounce the casino, and the opera, and the 
 quay, for their lonely Marino ; and, asto- 
 nished by my ready acquiescence, she promised 
 me that Fra Desiderius, her spiritual pastor, 
 the most obese and cajoling Papas of the dis- 
 trict, should daily enliven me by his cheerful 
 converse, during my sojourn at Villa Velania !
 
 158 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 This was an awful alternative ; but I had con- 
 sented, and it was too late to retract. 
 
 My regrets were happily of brief duration ; 
 for my utmost experience of the voluptuous 
 beauties of Levantine scenery, had not pre- 
 pared me for the exquisite charm that in- 
 vests the Zantiot shores. The Marino itself 
 was niched into the shelter of a wooded cliff, 
 broken into cultivation by occasional platforms, 
 whereon gnarled groups of ancient fruit trees 
 had already poured forth their flush of early 
 blossoms to the sun. Immediately round the 
 house, plantations of orange and citron trees 
 contrasted their trim and glossy foliage, with 
 the sad verdure of the olives, — which " turned 
 their silver linings to the sky, 11 at the bidding 
 of every ocean breeze that wandered there ; 
 while trellices of vines afforded the welcome 
 noon-day shade denied by their common shrub- 
 biness of growth. On every side votive cha- 
 pels, and white cottages, and elegant villas, 
 might be detected among the fringed and 
 sunny crags of the Akroteria, unto whose 
 feet the blue waters of ocean stole silently
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 159 
 
 to tender their soft submission ; and far be- 
 yond, of a paler tint, the shores of Cephalonia 
 and of the Morea, were seen, vanishing far 
 away into the clear horizon. A first view of 
 the surpassing loveliness of this richly gifted 
 landscape, induced me to apprehend that my 
 theory was in danger ; for if external imagery 
 have truly power to influence the formation of 
 the human character, Athanasia Gordeleni, 
 whose life had been partly dreamed away at 
 the Marino, ought to have proved a gentler, 
 softer, purer being, and of a taste more bril- 
 liantly refined, than female nature ever yet 
 could boast. But she was a living negative 
 to my system ! Her mind was a blank, — her 
 heart a waste; nay, so totally uncultured, 
 that not even weeds would spring in its feeble 
 and abandoned soil. 
 
 But a further insight into her habits of life, 
 once more accredited my earlier faith. She 
 never gazed upon the glorious skies ; she never 
 wandered among the varying harmonies 
 breathed from the surface of the land ; never 
 watched the chasing cloud-shades shed upon
 
 160 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE 
 
 the ocean, or the twilight deepening over the 
 embrowned forests. Her walks were restricted 
 within the shadowy corridors of the villa, or 
 at farthest, to the trelliced and overgrown walks 
 of its garden. But the greater portion of her 
 leisure was expended upon acts of mechanical 
 devotion ; or wasted in the supine indulgence 
 of reclining with loosened drapery, and unslip- 
 pered feet, twisting a silken thread, upon the 
 divan of an inner chamber ; wrapt in a con- 
 centration of apathy or of self-communing 
 worthy the Delhai-Lama ; — or listening to the 
 " crooning" of a decrepit nurse, whose withered 
 limbs were gathered upon the marble floor 
 beside her couch. 
 
 You smile, Selina ! You feel that Juliet 
 and her ' sweet honey nurse 1 have imparted a 
 spell of enchantment to such a picture ; but 
 in Athanasia^ realization of the fiction — spell, 
 alas ! there was none ! The old woman was 
 filthy in her person, and abject in her mind ; 
 the young one was feeble, and self-neglected in 
 both. Their talk was of their tinselled saints — 
 of the miracles of Spiridion, or the Panayia ;
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 161 
 
 and their language was as mean as their con- 
 ceptions were puerile. One evening I tempted 
 my fair hostess, in despite of her prejudices, to 
 overcome her indolence, and accompany me on 
 a ramble among the cliffs of the Akroteria. 
 But her enfeebled limbs, and the infirmity of 
 step proceeding from her loose chaussure, ren- 
 dered the attempt a labour ; and her attention 
 was too much engrossed by the silken twist, 
 which, to my discomfiture, she still twirled 
 between her nimble fingers, to derive gratifica- 
 tion or improvement from the loveliness of the 
 scenery around. 
 
 The spring was gradually bursting into the 
 fuller exuberance of summer, flowers were be- 
 ginning to glow among the expanded leaves, 
 and fruit to swell beneath the fading flowers, 
 when I perceived an unwonted excitation in the 
 looks of our little household ; Athanasia and 
 her train of damsels, seemed equally touched by 
 its influence. The celebration of the feast of All 
 Saints — the chief festival of the island — was at 
 hand ; and one soft, balmy, cloudless afternoon, 
 I was invited to accompany the family of my 
 host to an olive grove adjoining the hamlet of
 
 162 EHE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 Velania, where all the population of the dis- 
 trict was accustomed to assemble for this high 
 solemnity. The Ionian maidens, in their holi- 
 day array, the wild animation of the youths, 
 many of whom were Greeks from the mainland, 
 and many, mariners belonging to foreign vessels 
 anchored in the port, offered a brilliant contrast 
 to the twilight tranquillity, and downy foliage 
 spread around ; and when the setting sun over- 
 hung the waves with a canopy of gorgeous 
 crimson, and a grayer shadow began to obscure 
 the land, thousands of twinkling lamps became 
 faintly visible among the trees of the grove, 
 and gradually brightened into fuller radiance. 
 Then woke the animating strains of flute and of 
 guitar ; reminding the dancers that the coolness 
 of the evening invited their promised measures. 
 Methought I had never looked upon nobler 
 or more graceful creatures than those Zantiote 
 girls. Their falling braids of raven hair, their 
 flowing sleeves, their waists delicately defined 
 by the prolonged vests which half concealed 
 the richly brocaded bodices beneath, gave a 
 variegated brilliancy to their gay grouping;
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 163 
 
 while the living flowers twined amid the tresses 
 overshading their classic brows, imparted a 
 soothing perfume to the surrounding atmos- 
 phere. Among the numerous high-born Vene- 
 tian dames who had brought their fair love- 
 locks and simpering affectation to the fete, and 
 to escape from whose frivolous chiacchierata, I 
 had wandered from Athanasia's side, there was 
 none who could rival the untutored gracefulness 
 of action, or matchless symmetry of form of the 
 Greek maidens ; and among their own smiling 
 bands, I discerned nor brow nor movement to 
 match with the elegance of one of their sweet 
 multitude, — a girl of some eighteen summers, — 
 who still lingered near the very outskirts of the 
 grove — still bent her downward eyes upon the 
 cliffs, stretching far unto the shore below ; — 
 pausing, with listening gesture, as many a 
 ringing shout and merry accent of gladness 
 burst from the ascending groups that bent 
 their way towards the olive-grove. Her young 
 companions, who called her Zaphryne, vainly 
 summoned her to the dance ; they accused her, 
 with smiling eyes and uplifted fingers, of being
 
 164 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 on the watch for some absent lover ; and al- 
 though she waved her graceful head in de- 
 nial, my own suspicions more than echoed the 
 charge. . 
 
 Selina ! you have nothing throughout your 
 ornate and polished crowd to match with the 
 untrammelled beauty of that Zantiote girl. It 
 partook solely and strictly of the ancient Gre- 
 cian character ; a character which, from its 
 association in our minds with the immobility of 
 marble, we are apt to tax with want of sensi- 
 bility — with an air of formality and coldness. 
 But not a trace of these imperfections was to 
 be detected on Zaphryne's brow ! — It is true, 
 that no glance of playful merriment animated 
 her dark and full-orbed eyes ; but they ivere 
 animated, and with the best of inspiration — 
 that of high intelligence and profound emotion. 
 Nay, even their solitary deficiency, — that of 
 youthful gaiety, — was supplied for a moment, 
 when at length the tones of the voice for which 
 her ear had thirsted, reached her upon some 
 passing breeze. She started ! — a bright flash 
 glanced from her eyes — a brighter flush stream-
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 165 
 
 ed upon her cheek ; she pressed her hand upon 
 her heart, as if to still its importunate clamour ; 
 — and in another moment the ascendant star 
 which had influenced her tide of feeling, shone 
 revealed. A youth, of her own nation and 
 degree, stood by her side : lofty of stature, 
 scornful of brow, and with the trace of a " blood 
 all meridian," upon his swarthy cheek. 
 
 " I have waited, Alexius I 11 I heard her say ; 
 but I caught not the whispered words of his 
 reply ; already they were wandering together, 
 hand in hand, amid the illuminated recesses of 
 the grove. 
 
 A moment afterwards I was compelled to 
 reinstate myself in the Gordeleni party, in order 
 to undergo a solemn presentation to the Con- 
 tessa Michaeli, the wife of the proveditore, or 
 governor of Zante; a woman whose supreme 
 ugliness I could have excused, had it not been 
 heightened by an air of severest prudery, and a 
 tone of narrow and unyielding superciliousness. 
 The Gordeleni family, however, appeared to 
 consider that her rank and influence, as well as 
 the immense wealth which had won her matri-
 
 166 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 nionial honours, were peremptory claims upon 
 our forbearance; they courted rather than 
 endured her caprices ; and lived, and moved, 
 and existed, precisely as her oblique vision, 
 both moral and physical, was pleased to direct. 
 They even insisted that my homage should 
 blend with their own ; and I was com- 
 pelled to become her giovinetto cavalier for 
 more hours than I felt inclined to bestow 
 upon her grandiosity, or to spare from the 
 recreating spectacle of Zaphryne and her 
 lover. 
 
 Twice, however, in the course of the evening, 
 I accidentally distinguished them among the 
 crowd. Once, with wreathing arms and grace- 
 ful action, leading, amid a confusion of dancers, 
 the picturesque movements of the Romaika ; 
 and once, supporting, on either side, a vene- 
 rable man — a gray-bearded Nestor of the isles. 
 Zaphryne called him " Father p and if young 
 Alexius were fain to name him Zavc — " good 
 Zavd," he looked very much as though he 
 were inclined to call him father too ; and Zavo
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 167 
 
 certainly smiled upon him with parental par- 
 tiality. 
 
 It was some time — very many months — after 
 this springtide festival, that I was attempting 
 to beguile my listlessness by wandering among 
 the delicious inland vallies of the island of 
 Zante. It was in August ; — beaming, sultry, 
 overpowering August, — the crowning month 
 of the Zacynthian year ; and the deep central 
 plain, over which its vineyards extend their 
 fertile promise, was dotted with groups of vil- 
 lagers in their broidered velvet vests, and robes 
 of scarlet and azure, whose gaudy hues seemed 
 chastened by the prevailing green of the wide 
 landscape. There was laughter, and joy, and 
 gossipry, amid those verdant wilds, — so lonely 
 throughout the remainder of the year ; — for it 
 was the vintage ! — and songs, — now singly 
 uttered, now bursting into chorus, — sprang from 
 the inmost bosom of the valley. The inclined 
 heads of the busy maidens who were filling 
 their baskets among the bushes, were raised for 
 a moment as I passed, to gaze upon the 
 " Milordo;" and, as I marked the leafy coro-
 
 168 
 
 THE BRIDE OF Zi\NTE. 
 
 nals of vine leaves, whose angular foliage clung 
 so gracefully to the fair foreheads they sur- 
 mounted, methought the Bacchanals of hoar anti- 
 quity were poured forth to labour upon the plains. 
 
 But theirs was no bacchant task. These 
 Zantiot grapes, although their black, or white, 
 or lilac clusters emulate the flavour and 
 the beauty of those devoted to the wine-press, 
 are not destined thereafter to acquire the per- 
 nicious qualities of that species, to which they 
 measure but as dwarfs in the standard of 
 nature. Dried in the fierce meridian sunshine, 
 they become the Corinths, whose name the 
 English familiarize into currants ; while the 
 French retain their classical appellation of 
 raisins de Corinthe : the entrepot whence they 
 are dispersed over Europe. 
 
 The scene was altogether a glorious one ; — 
 many-hued, — and varying, like a wounded 
 dolphin, from brightest green to shadowy 
 purple. Yet, I passed, and went my way ; for 
 I was expressly bound upon an expedition to 
 Chieri, to visit the celebrated pitch-wells, hard 
 upon the southern coast of the island ; but I
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 169 
 
 resolved to devote the morrow to a leisurely 
 saunter among the peopled vineyards. I had 
 not then cast the slough of my scholarship ; and 
 the attractions of a phenomenon commemorated 
 by Herodotus, Pausanias, and Pliny, and still 
 affording an existing illustration of their 
 records, exceeded, in my estimation, those of 
 mere physical beauty. A better instinct, how- 
 ever, whispered that I was in the wrong ; and 
 having, for a moment, fixed my eyes upon the 
 dark morass in which the springs yielding the 
 petroleum are embedded, — having seen the 
 attendant Ionian peasant draw the viscid flakes 
 from the waters of the pool, with a long bough 
 of myrtle, as described in chronicles of 
 nearly three thousand years antiquity, — 
 nothing remained to gratify my satiated 
 curiosity. The wide surface of the marsh 
 was enlivened only by the white and stately 
 blossoms of the squill; and the adjacent 
 hills, overgrown with myrtle and locust-trees, 
 were low, and mean, and uncharactered. 
 
 It is possible, that the remembrance of 
 Zaphryne's loveliness might have hastened the 
 
 vol. I. I
 
 170 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 progress of my enlightenment — for I confess I 
 had discerned her graceful figure among the 
 vintagers of the morning ; and, instead of sleep- 
 ing at Chieri, as my first project had deter- 
 mined, I found myself, long ere the sun went 
 down, returning towards the vineyards ! And 
 when the evening star appeared, heralding the 
 approach of night, and the distant calls of the 
 homeward husbandmen spoke out clearly 
 through the becalmed atmosphere, I reached 
 the spot — the spot ; and was self-convicted by 
 a deep emotion of disappointment on perceiving 
 that the vineyards were as solitary, and as 
 tranquil, as the air that slumbered above them. 
 Yet not absolutely solitary. On a second 
 scrutiny, I observed that a living remnant 
 of industry still enlivened their deserted 
 paths; one bending female figure still ap- 
 plied her despoiling hands to the over- 
 laden branches, and patiently pursued the 
 labours of the field — lonely and lovely as 
 the star that shone over her head. Could 
 it be Zaphryne ? Could she be so humbly 
 diligent? — so neglected, — so desolately alone ? —
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 171 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 My eloquent Ionian ! thou speak'st music ! 
 
 Byron's Sardanapalus. 
 
 Yes! it was indeed Zaphryne: and as I 
 approached, the sound of my advancing footsteps 
 startled her from her labours ; when, looking 
 up, she discovered to me a countenance so care- 
 worn, so toil-worn, so mournfully and painfully 
 miserable, that the pleasure which had replaced 
 my astonishment faded in a moment from my 
 mind. I rejoiced that Athanasia's lessons and 
 my improved experience permitted me to in- 
 quire into the origin of her undue exertions, 
 and the nature of her secret sorrow; but I 
 was not so rash as to startle her by an abrupt 
 investigation. I resolved to win upon her con- 
 
 1 2
 
 172 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 fidence ; — but I was little skilled to effect my 
 wishes. 
 
 " Zaphryne !" said I, drawing deliberately 
 towards her, " wherefore here, and why alone ? 
 Where is Alexius ?" 
 
 She started — amazed at this intimate recog- 
 nition by a total stranger ; yet she appeared 
 little inclined to challenge my authority and 
 good information. 
 
 " Where is Alexius ?" she repeated. " Afar, 
 and, alas, in sorrow like myself. 1 '' And she re- 
 sumed her occupation, either to arrest the pro- 
 gress of my inquiries, or to conceal some 
 vestige of tears up#n her cheek. 
 
 " And thyself, maiden," said I again, 
 " wherefore pursuest thou thy toil, now that 
 all others are at rest? Thou art overworn, 
 Zaphryne !— thy speech falters — thy cheek is 
 pale — far paler than when I saw thee leading 
 the Albanitiko in the olive groves of Velaria." 
 
 " Didst thou see me there ?" she exclaimed, 
 an instant flush chasing the paleness from her 
 countenance. " Didst thou ? Ay, I was happy 
 then ; nor grief, nor fear mingled with my por-
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 173 
 
 tion. I was beloved — contented — secure from 
 evil thought."" 
 
 " But thou art still beloved, my gentle 
 Zaphryne." 
 
 " It matters not — it matters not," replied 
 she, despondingly : — then relapsing into caution, 
 she exclaimed, " And wherefore seekest thou 
 my thoughts ? — why wring forth my bewil- 
 dered speech, or bare the wounds of a reluctant 
 bosom ? — A stranger in the land of my fathers, 
 — I may not trust thee in this thing." 
 
 Unwilling to daunt by pertinacity her timid 
 but ingenuous heart, I refrained from further 
 questioning ; or rather limited my curiosity to 
 the extent and character of the vintage, to the 
 amount of produce arising from "the Zantiot 
 grapes or currants, and to their mode of pre- 
 paration ; and Zaphryne, artless as a child, was 
 no longer niggard of her speech. In the course 
 of less interesting intelligence which I gathered 
 from her lips, I learned that Zavd, her vene- 
 rable and beloved father, was the proprietor of 
 a considerable allotment of the surrounding 
 vineyards, renting at the same time a small
 
 174 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 farm from Count Lengrazio, a Venetian Bar- 
 nabotto, of high authority and low repute in 
 the island ; that Zavo was a falling or a fallen 
 man, and that it was to relieve his difficulties 
 by lightening the labours and wages of his hire- 
 lings, she thus prolonged, or rather doubled, the 
 toils of the day. " Her friend and kinswoman, 
 Agostna," she added, " was exercising at home 
 a similar industry for her sake ; by aiding to 
 dry and pack the fruit for the traders of the 
 Levant, unto whom it was pledged."" 
 
 " I would gladly witness the entire pro- 
 cess," said I. "Is thy home, Zaphryne, far 
 from hence?" 
 
 " Some quarter of a league, or more." 
 
 " It is already late to return unto the city, 
 and I am weary and an hungered. Would 
 thy father, thinkest thou, Zaphryne, accord me 
 a night's hospitality ?" 
 
 " Would the good Zavo open his door to 
 the weary stranger?" exclaimed the young 
 Ionian, with indignation. " Would he not ? — 
 or rather, would any of our islanders deny such 
 a request ? But our home is even now dis-
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 17$ 
 
 ordered by the supremacy of vintage labours ; 
 when the grape ripens we are wont to give no 
 thought to household cares, until the Corinthian 
 merchants have claimed their freight. My 
 father is already ill at ease, and the know- 
 ledge that a Milordo had been rudely enter- 
 tained within his dwelling, would heighten his 
 consciousness of humiliation. Nevertheless, if 
 thou wilt adventure ZavcTs fare, and wait while 
 yet the lingering light sanctions my labours, 
 we will homeward together." 
 
 You may conjecture, Selina, that my ac- 
 quiescence was gratefully prompt, and that my 
 own utmost exertions tended to diminish those 
 of Zaphryne. Long ere the twilight faded, her 
 basket was overbrimming with grapes. She 
 required my assistance to lift it upon her head, 
 but disdainfully rejected my eager offer to ease 
 her altogether of its weight ; and when I saw 
 her sightly burthen poised upon her graceful 
 head, and noticed how little it encumbered the 
 movements of her stately figure, I was con- 
 tented to follow her guidance through the
 
 176 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 vineyards without renewing my overtures of 
 assistance. 
 
 We reached the edge of the plantations, and 
 as we began to ascend the sloping hills border- 
 ing the wide valley, bright thickets of arbutus, 
 and oleander or laurel-rose, glowing with blos- 
 soms, tufted the short and thy my herbage ; 
 and the cystus trees, whose shower of milk- 
 white bloom lay scattered beneath their aro- 
 matic boughs, seemed to have put off their 
 bridal array with the setting sun, and to be 
 waiting the courtship of the matin bee, ere 
 they cared to renew the beauty of their faded 
 charms. 
 
 We went onward and onward, and in utter 
 stillness, save when some insect wing occasion- 
 ally flitted across the path ; till at length, as we 
 gradually surmounted the slope of the furzy 
 sward, two goats, white and bearded as sacri- 
 ficial effigies, came bleating towards Zaphryne ; 
 and while with one hand she balanced her noble 
 burthen, with the other, still pursuing her 
 way, she caressed her butting favourites.
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 177 
 
 " They are mine," said she, in explanation. 
 
 " I guessed as much, Zaphryne. They love 
 thee too, as all should love thee whom thou 
 callest thine. And thy home ?" 
 
 " Zavd dwells in yonder cottage on the brow 
 of the hill," she replied ; and as I approached 
 and could note the singular beauty of the lowly 
 dwelling, I could no longer repress my excla- 
 mations of delight. It was formed with the 
 fragments of some ancient temple, which had 
 bequeathed its marble relics to the neighbour- 
 ing earth ; and on passing the threshold I per- 
 ceived volutes and Ionic capitals mingling with 
 the supports of the door-way, yet half con- 
 cealed by the luxuriant creeping plants, whose 
 tendrils clung to every projecting scroll. 
 
 " Save thee, Zaphryne," said a maiden of 
 about her own years, tenderly kissing her fore- 
 head as we entered the house. 
 
 " Thee also ; Agostna," replied the young vin- 
 tager, gently depositing her burthen on the 
 floor. " Where is my father ? I bring him a 
 young English stranger who seeketh hospi- 
 tality." 
 
 i3
 
 173 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 " He is welcome," replied Agostna, saluting 
 me with earnest grace, when I perceived that 
 her line of countenance was admirably beau- 
 tiful; but that she was lame, slightly deformed, 
 and consequently unequal to share the toils of 
 the vintage. 6( Zavd is not yet returned from 
 the city," she continued. " Our evening re- 
 past must still abide his coming ; I will, there- 
 fore, end my task of removing the parched 
 currants within our door, lest the dews should 
 rise and bring mildew on the fruit." 
 
 Again I proffered my assistance ; and as I 
 was returning from the porch, an osier-hurdle 
 laden with grapes in my hands, I saw Za- 
 phryne, who had preceded me with a similar load, 
 stagger, relax her hold, and fall half senseless 
 on a seat. 
 
 " Zaphryne ! my Zaphryne !" exclaimed 
 Agostna, tenderly supporting her head upon 
 her bosom, " thou art overwearied — exhausted 
 — excess of labour will destroy thee." 
 
 " My pain is here," faltered Zaphryne, with 
 pallid and trembling lips, and extending her 
 clasped hands over her bosom ; but she drank
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 179 
 
 hastily from the water-cruise which I awk- 
 wardly tendered to her use, and seemed reno- 
 vated for a moment. She said she would tarry 
 in the evening air ; and seating herself upon 
 the earth within the porch, she reclined her 
 enfeebled head against the clustering plants by 
 which it was mantled, and bade us leave her to 
 herself. 
 
 "To thyself? — say rather to thy sorrow!" 
 exclaimed the pitying Agostna, as she obeyed 
 the injunction of her friend ; and while pursu- 
 ing with diligence her household cares, I ren- 
 dered her such active assistance and impressed 
 her mind so strongly with my sympathy in the 
 distresses of her Zaphryne, that I finally suc- 
 ceeded in extracting from her lips such general 
 hints of Zavo's adversity, and of his daughter's 
 misery, as redoubled my interest in the des- 
 tinies of both. 
 
 I will not attempt to stimulate your curiosity, 
 Selina, by following the line of cross-examina- 
 tion which proved so favourable to my purpose ; 
 but simply recount the result of my more than 
 legal adroitness.
 
 180 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 It was in the better day of Zavd's fortunes 
 that Zaphryne and the young Alexius had 
 become so fondly attached, and had won his 
 consent to their betrothment. Alexius was 
 poor, the son of a neighbouring vintager ; but 
 of so ardent, so intelligent, and, above all, of so 
 patriotic a spirit, that he had contrived to excite 
 a tenderness as parental within old Zavo's bosom, 
 as that with which he had inspired his daugh- 
 ter was femininely intense, and faithful, and 
 disinterested. He had not, however, prevailed 
 against the wiser maxims of his experience, or 
 shaken the old man's determination that the 
 marriage of his child should not anticipate the 
 period of maturity assigned by the custom of 
 the isles ; and before that period had affixed its 
 crowning seal upon the loveliness of Zaphryne, 
 Zavo's prosperity, his happiness, his hopes, 
 had changed into the vanishing glories of a 
 dream. — He was writhing within the clutches 
 of a Barnabotto ! — 
 
 Count Lengrazio, one of the locusts inflicted 
 upon the land to devour and devastate its fer- 
 tility, chanced to become the purchaser of a
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 181 
 
 confiscated estate adjoining the patrimony of 
 Zavo the vintager, — an estate to which the ac- 
 quisition of the surrounding lands was a neces- 
 sary adjunct, in order to render its produce 
 available. Without laying aside his patrician 
 haughtiness of demeanour, the Venetian noble 
 summoned the native Ionian to his presence, 
 and required him to resign his birthright — his 
 immemorial inheritance — for gold. Was he 
 not a Zantiot — a chartered slave of the repub- 
 lic ? — and could he dream of resistance ? 
 
 He did, however, dream of resistance ; and 
 with the self-possession of one unindebted to 
 mortal man, he maintained his right of pro- 
 perty as resolutely as if 
 
 The earth had rendered from her breast 
 A relic of her Spartan dead ! 
 
 Nay, when again pressed, and with fiercer 
 insolence than before, he mingled with his 
 refusal some expressions of national pride, some 
 traits of conscious indignity, such as the worm, 
 when trampled, will turn and vent upon its 
 dastardly enemy.
 
 182 TEE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 Lengrazio was staggered, — irritated ; yet his 
 callous eye flashed forth no spark of resent- 
 ment ; his stony lips betrayed no threat of ven- 
 geance for the offence ; — the Venetian lord 
 pent within his obdurate heart the festering 
 venom it engendered. Meanwhile his resolve 
 to circumvent the will of the sturdy old Ionian, 
 was fixed as the foundations of Monte Skopo ; 
 and he commenced his system of prospective 
 operations, by affecting to applaud Zavo's per- 
 tinacious amor patrice ; by meeting his refusal 
 with jocular cordiality; and at length com- 
 paring him to the Jezreelite of old, he laugh- 
 ingly threatened to emulate the tyrant of Sama- 
 ria. — How hollow was that laugh ! 
 
 The counfs villa was situated at no great 
 distance from the cottage of his destined victim : 
 their meetings upon their adjoining territories 
 were frequent and friendly ; and by small 
 tokens of favour, and undeviating warmth of 
 address, Lengrazio so far succeeded in winning 
 upon the good-will of his unsuspecting neigh- 
 bour, that if he still declined the sacrifice of 
 his heritage, he was no longer churlish in his
 
 TEE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 183 
 
 welcome ; continually receiving beneath his roof- 
 tree the insidious Barnabotto, as a self-consti- 
 tuted friend and patron. Then came many a 
 mutual interchange of service and of promises 
 of service ; terminating in an offer, on the part 
 of Lengrazio, of half his lands on an easy 
 lease, to his worthiest and most esteemed neigh- 
 bour of the valley. 
 
 Zavo, following the natural instincts of his age, 
 was tempted by the seemingly advantageous 
 terms of the contract ; and " caught in the elabo- 
 rate snare, perchance for life,'''' he rashly em- 
 barked in a speculation, which he had neither 
 capital, nor physical energy to render available 
 to his interest. The first year of his lease, he 
 found himself a considerable loser ; on the 
 second, which had promised him some degree 
 of redemption, he was still in arrear ; the third 
 year so far increased his difficulties that he was 
 compelled to implore indulgence for his rent; — 
 the fourth was a fruitless struggle with over- 
 powering misfortunes ; on the fifth, — the pass- 
 ing, present year, — the easy landlord had shewn 
 hjmself to be a savage creditor ; and already 
 threatened to satisfy his claims by a peremptory
 
 184 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 sale of the lands and hereditaments he had so 
 long and so basely coveted. Unhappily his 
 rapacity was sanctioned by the law. 
 
 u It was nominated in the bond !" 
 
 that bond which Zavd'sj guilelessness had 
 taken upon the trust of friendship ! 
 
 It was long previous to the discovery of this 
 entanglement of disasters, that Zaphryne^s be- 
 trothment had been solemnized ; and Alexius, 
 who beheld in the Count, even in his fairest 
 days of hypocrisy, the oppressor of his country, 
 — the venal, designing, despotic Barnabotto, — 
 omitted no occasion of manifesting his disgust ; 
 or of pointing to the great gulf fixed by nature 
 between the seed of the oppressor and of the 
 oppressed ! Zaphryne, in the mean time, who 
 perceived how greatly the cutting insinuations 
 of her lover tended to incite the evil blood of 
 Lengrazio against his tenant, and who was con- 
 scious that his iron arm might extend itself 
 with fatal influence, even over Alexius him- 
 self, trembled at every fresh provocation ; and 
 readily acquiesced in a project referred to her 
 about this time by her rash admirer, that he
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 185 
 
 should pass the year still destined to intervene 
 before their union, in sailor service on board one 
 of the numerous vessels connected with the port 
 of Zante. She acquiesced, — for he told her not 
 that this seemingly prudent design, masked a 
 bolder and more perilous enterprize ; he told 
 her not that he was about to join the roving 
 crew of the rebel, Lambro Canzani ; and strike 
 a good blow, if occasion were, against the 
 enemy of the land of his fathers. It would 
 appear that Zavo had either better intelligence, 
 or shrewder suspicions of his intentions ; for he 
 mingled at parting, a fervour with his benedic- 
 tion to his future son-in law, such as no mere 
 emotion of tenderness could have wrung from 
 his heart. 
 
 Nor did the departure of Alexius excite 
 either much surprise or much comment among 
 the vintagers of the valley. If they suspected 
 Zaphryne's aged father of being poor and un- 
 prosperous, they knew her affianced lover to be 
 still poorer; and naturally concluded that it was 
 
 To make the crown a pound, young Jamie went to sea.
 
 186 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 They marvelled only at his courage and his 
 confidence, in resigning old Zavo and his 
 daughter unto the tender mercies of a Barna- 
 botto. They dreamed not that the old man's 
 pride, and his child's unheeding ignorance of 
 Worldly interests, had kept Alexius in the 
 dark, as to the real extent of their difficulties ; — 
 that he little imagined how far the helpless Greek 
 stood indebted to the powerful Venetian ; or 
 with what bitter determination his enemy was 
 bent upon his undoing. The trust of his new 
 enterprise was to reverse their positions of 
 supremacy and degradation ; — his heart was on 
 his sword, — and its sole hopes rested upon that 
 mighty cause in which it was about to be un- 
 sheathed. Zaphryne, and her beauty, and her 
 confiding reliance upon his affection, served but 
 as precious incentives to his ruling passion ; and 
 even in his parting hour he had courage and 
 candour to acknowledge — 
 
 I should not love thee, dear, so much, 
 Loved I not honour more ! 
 
 Scarcely, however, had he sailed from the 
 port, when Lengrazio, profiting by the desolate
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 187 
 
 helplessness of the poor old man, pursued his 
 measures with such rigour, as rendered Zavo's 
 ruin apparent to the whole island ; and among 
 the disinterested friends who hastened unto his 
 dwelling to sooth and cheer his first hours of 
 humiliation, came one whose presence had been 
 unto Alexius more revolting and more alarm- 
 ing than ruin itself. 
 
 Raolo was good, and rich, and hand- 
 some, and of striking mental accomplish- 
 ment ; but these good gifts were marred 
 by two qualifying crimes ; he was a Vene- 
 tian, and had been a suitor to Zaphryne ! 
 Although at present occupying a lucrative and 
 confidential post in the household of the Pro- 
 veditor, the young Italian was not cursed with 
 a lineage sufficiently illustrious to forbid his 
 seeking the alliance of a Zantiot maiden of 
 irreproachable descent. He loved her, too, 
 with the uncompromising fervour of a Southern 
 heart ; — he was still willing to take the 
 vintager's daughter — debts, difficulties, dan- 
 gers, and all ; was still anxious to content the 
 avidity of the designing Lengrazio, and to
 
 188 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 defy the resentment of the absent Alexius for 
 her sake. 
 
 " And Zaphryne !" I exclaimed, hastily 
 interrupting Agostna, as she reached this point 
 of her narration, " Zaphryne, doubtless, re- 
 gards with abhorrence, this creature, this tool 
 of Venetian tyrranny ?" 
 
 " Raolo is not the creature of a tyrant V 
 replied Agostna, somewhat warmly. " He is 
 open in hand and heart ; plain in speech and 
 simple in action ; and never fails to advocate 
 the cause of the Zantiots in the ears of his 
 patron, or to incline the balance of justice to- 
 wards our side." 
 
 " Still he might be supposed an object of 
 abhorrence unto the betrothed of one, whom 
 in absence he seeks to injure." 
 
 " He was never so till now ! — Raolo is gen- 
 tle and graceful as Zaphryne*s self — her very 
 semblance in tenderness of word, and thought, 
 and bearing ; and although a perfect similarity 
 of character is said to fail in exciting the ten- 
 derness of love, we know that it is favourable
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 189 
 
 to the growth of friendship. Zaphryne loves 
 the bold, frank, ardent Alexius ; but she has 
 hitherto regarded the calmer and wiser Raolo, 
 with the reverential regard of a sister ." 
 
 " Of a sister !" I unconsciously repeated, 
 as I secretly deplored the hazardous absence of 
 the noble, the high-minded follower of Lambro 
 Canzani. 
 
 " But that is over now," continued Agostna, 
 unobservant of my interpretation. " From the 
 moment that the young Venetian, — building his 
 hopes upon old Zavo's prejudiced attachment 
 to his alienated lands, — pressed a lover's suit 
 upon her misery, a change came over her feel- 
 ings. She learned to despise him for that 
 which she regards as selfish treachery ; but 
 which others consider as arising from the 
 generous ardour of irrepressible attachment. 
 He would lift her from ruin into his bosom, — 
 and she spurns his extended hand.'" 
 
 " And her present excess of sorrow ?" 
 
 " Alas ! the time is approaching for a deci- 
 sive blow. Alexius is away — Lengrazio perse- 
 veringly barbarous ; — and Raolo is ever at her
 
 190 THE BltlDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 father's ear, with his fair promises and earnest 
 supplications.'' 1 
 
 " But Zaphryne will not yield ! — No, no ! — 
 she will not yield; her heart is too firm, too 
 noble— " 
 
 " Noble ! saidst thou PC inquired the mild 
 Agostna, turning towards me, " severe in youth- 
 ful beauty !" " Is it nobleness to scatter ashes 
 of bitterness upon the gray hairs of a father ? — 
 to spare our own tears and heartbreak, when a 
 father's welfare hangs upon the sacrifice ? Zavo 
 was the faithful guardian of Zaphryne' s in- 
 fancy ; — shall she, for a stranger's sake, desert 
 his age ?" 
 
 I stood rebuked. 
 
 " No !" continued the gentle Ionian, " 'tis 
 her very nobleness which teaches me to dread 
 her decision against her own cause — the cause of 
 her happiness. She will wed with Raolo, and 
 we shall all be miserable ;— but who can blame 
 Zaphryne ?" 
 
 At this moment the object of Agostna's 
 sisterly inquietudes hastily entered the cham- 
 ber, and flying towards the cruise, applied its
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 191 
 
 refreshing waters to her swollen eyes, her burn- 
 ing brow ; smoothed back her wandering hair, 
 adjusted her drapery, and strove to efface the 
 disorder of her appearance — as though her lover 
 were at her hand ! 
 
 And it was the tenderest of lovers who fol- 
 lowed close upon her footfall ; even that aged 
 father, unto whom her looks were as the light 
 of heaven, and from whose scrutiny she was 
 eager to conceal the evidences of her recent 
 anguish. She received him with a smile ! — and 
 the gazers loved her for the effort. 
 
 Agostna alone had courage to inquire of her 
 aged kinsman touching the speeding of his 
 morning's suit in the city. Alas ! alas ! — he 
 shook his head despairingly in reply ! — then 
 murmured that " all hope was gone — unless — ?• 
 
 He paused, and looked towards his daughter ; 
 but she noted not the gesture or the word ; she 
 was anxiously busied in placing his accustomed 
 seat, and in bringing water to lave his weary 
 feet. The moment was scarcely propitious for 
 the self-introduction of a stranger ; but I came 
 forward with so little ceremony, that it was evi-
 
 192 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 dent to Zavo I sought none in return. He 
 found me installed, under a stranger's rights of 
 hospitality, in his little household ; and lost in 
 the pre-occupation of his personal interests, he 
 seemed inclined to admit my claim without fur- 
 ther examination. I profited by his frankness 
 of demeanour, and by the engrossment of his 
 mind in the subject, to inquire the actual 
 amount of the Barnabotto , s claim upon his 
 lands ; and great indeed was my amazement, 
 and still greater my delight, on finding that I 
 had frequently refreshed my stud in England 
 at a higher cost ! — I dare not acknowledge, 
 dear Selina, the exact number of sequins I 
 sacrificed in the restoration of peace to that 
 little dwelling ; I care not to diminish the ex- 
 pression of rapturous approval which I already 
 see beaming from your eyes. 
 
 But whatever future tokens of approbation 
 my benevolence was worthy to secure, believe 
 me that Zaphryne's shriek of joy, Agostna's 
 tears of gratitude, and the trembling benedic- 
 tion of Zavo's uplifted hands, were present tri- 
 butes to my soul, painfully and touchingly gra-
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 193 
 
 tifying. I shall never forget our joyful supper 
 that happy night ! — the re-assured and over- 
 flowing confidence with which we clustered 
 round the board ! Methought I had never 
 feasted on viands so delicious as the baked kid, 
 the delicate rice, and fresh figs, which formed 
 our frugal repast. There was a flask too, of 
 old Sirmian wine, which tempted me to breathe 
 the name of Alexius as a pledge to Zaphryne's 
 lips ; but at the sound, she rushed wildly from 
 her seat, and concealed her lovely face, overflow- 
 ing with tears, in her old father's bosom ; — they 
 were the first she had shed since her change of 
 prospects ! Alexius ! — it was so many, many days 
 since she had dared to think of Alexius ! — How 
 could she choose but weep to hear his name. 
 
 But the night was at hand ; — all seemed 
 anxious to breathe in solitude their thankful- 
 ness to Heaven. A couch — an humble but 
 most inviting one, was spread by Agostna for 
 the stranger ; and the dreams with which I 
 was visited upon its refreshing pillow, seemed 
 to my youthful imagination redolent of the 
 
 vol. i. K
 
 194 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 approval of a mighty and protecting influ- 
 ence ! 
 
 Early on the morrow I despatched a messen- 
 ger unto the city, requiring Signor Gordeleni, 
 my banker, to transfer the requisite apportion- 
 ment of coin into Count Lengrazio"s hands, 
 receiving in return a legal discharge for ZavcTs 
 future security ; and I resolved to tarry until 
 evening in the valley, that I might witness the 
 termination of the affair. Zaphryne went forth 
 to her wonted labour in the vineyards; Agostna, 
 scarcely less exulting than her friend, applied 
 herself unto her household tasks ; and I re- 
 mained with Zavo, — following his footsteps 
 over the paths of the beloved territory of his 
 fathers — now once more his own ; gazing upon 
 the spots pointed out by his partial admiration, 
 and striving to catch his rapturous enthusiasm. 
 Alas ! poor human nature ! — the finest spectacle 
 then apparent to my eyes, was that of the tears 
 of joyful gratitude which ever and anon ob- 
 scured his own ! There are few who so warmly 
 interest our prejudices and our feelings, as 
 those whom we have obliged.
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 195 
 
 Meanwhile I was moved by the novelty of 
 the scene, and by the ennui of an almost soli- 
 tary morning, to beguile the period of neces- 
 sary occupation among my Ionian hosts, by 
 inditing the following stanzas. 
 
 k 2
 
 196 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " I'll have a dwelling mid the vines, — 
 
 White-walled, and lowly-roofed, and lone ; 
 Meet for a spirit that resigns 
 
 Its rule, in wedded faith, to one 
 Whose gentle lips can smile, — let sorrow 
 Or joy claim heirship of the morrow ! 
 
 If Prudence — calculating dame ! 
 
 Should freeze us with her Gorgon brow, 
 Young Innocence, secure from blame, 
 
 Shall drive her thence with lily-bough, — 
 Whose spotless blossoms scattered round, 
 Shall mark my dwelling hallowed ground ! 
 
 Philosophy, with look demure, 
 
 Shall ne'er unfold his legends there ; 
 
 Nor learned lore our minds allure 
 From Nature's scriptured character, 
 
 Writ in the running brooks — the leaves — 
 
 The fruitful vines— the brimming sheaves.
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 197 
 
 Nor there shall music breathe her tones 
 
 Of unmelodious laboured art ; — 
 Give me for minstrels, feathered ones ! 
 
 Seeking no plaudits as they dart 
 Quick -winged and bright-hued mid the boughs, 
 Which echo with their thrilling vows. 
 
 No garden round my door shall shed, 
 
 Vain pomp of flowers in gala suit ; — 
 I'll have an orchard ! — tapestried 
 
 With snowy bloom or blushing fruit ; 
 And there we'll sit on the short grass, 
 And feel the summer mornings pass ! 
 
 The vines shall form our hope in Spring, — 
 Our shade from June's wild glance of light ; 
 
 And Autumn hands their fruit shall wring, 
 Enflasked to cheer the Wintry night ; — 
 
 When flowing with their ruby tide, 
 
 Wit, love, and mirth, shall brightly glide. 
 
 Thus gay, — thus blest, — my vineyard home, 
 
 Shall win the pilgrim to its hearth ; 
 Thither shall cit and courtier come, 
 
 And own that o'er the peopled earth, 
 No nobler, happier palace shines 
 Than my lone dwelling mid the vines ! 
 
 Zaphryne was by my side ere I had shaped 
 the full measure of my projects ; — no longer 
 pale,-— no longer drooping, — but wearing the
 
 198 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE 
 
 rich purple clusters of her vintage-garland 
 with a flush of exultation, of youth, of joy, 
 which beamed like an inspiration from her face. 
 Every feature appeared animated by the over- 
 flowing gladness of her soul, — every smile was 
 bright with the heart's sunshine, — every move- 
 ment sprang from the gracious and perfect at- 
 tunement of the emotions of her bosom. How 
 beautiful — how nymphlike she looked in her 
 playful wilfulness when, with one detaining arm 
 twined round Agostna, she persisted in crowning 
 her brows with a vine wreath similar to her own ; 
 and which she had borne suspended from her 
 basket of grapes, on returning from the vine- 
 yards. u Thou art not glad, Agostna!" she 
 exclaimed, — " thou dost not joy thee in our 
 triumph !" 
 
 Agostna only smiled in reply ; and the tone 
 of her smile was so meek, and so subdued, that 
 it served to confirm me in a suspicion I already 
 entertained, that Raolo's champion of yesterday, 
 had, for many yesterdays, dwelt more than was 
 prudent or needful upon the excellent qualities 
 which had so provoked her eloquence. Raolo
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 199 
 
 might adore Zaphryne ; but it struck me that it 
 was Agostna's heart on which the suit of the 
 young Venetian had won its influence. Her 
 anxieties were, therefore, but half allayed. He 
 was no longer likely to unite himself in mar- 
 riage with her lovelier kinswoman ; but it was 
 not necessarily decreed, that he should bend his 
 thoughts and his liking toward^ the humble 
 Agostna ; a maiden, feeble of health, — infirm 
 of gait, — depressed of spirit. It is true there 
 shone a soul — a soul of nobleness, and truth, 
 and tenderness, — within her eyes, which might 
 atone for much ; but could it measure in 
 attraction with Zaphryne's graceful agility of 
 limb, and joy-beaming radiance of brow ? 
 
 " See I" she exclaimed, as waiting the return 
 of our city messenger, I sat between them on a 
 grassy knoll, commanding the whole luxuriant 
 extent of the valley, the crowning summits of 
 the mountains, and the ocean-gleam beyond, 
 revealed between the fissured cliffs ; — " Look 
 on those lofty trees, those two solitary palms 
 which peer up into the sky above our cottage ; 
 — they form a landmark from the distant seas."
 
 200 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 " Their stately stems truly become the lofty 
 eminence from which they spring," I replied. 
 " And they are graceful as they are stately ; — 
 the Zaphryne and Agostna of the landscape." 
 
 " So Alexius called them — so Alexius 
 named them !" exclaimed the young Greek, 
 clapping her hands with delighted surprise. 
 " And when his vessel re-enters the bay, he 
 will look for their dark outlines against the 
 sky, and beholding them still proud and flou- 
 rishing, will know that it is well with those 
 whom his soul loveth. For I promised him, at 
 parting, that should some evil chance arise to 
 disunite us, one of those trees should fall, to be 
 his earliest warning of misfortune." 
 
 " And was it thou, Zaphryne, or thy lover, 
 who didst anticipate calamity ?" 
 
 " Both — both ! Fear comes with love ; even 
 with the most prosperous love ; and when 
 Alexius sailed, something whispered to me, — 
 some evil haunting which perplexed my soul, — 
 that I had looked upon his kind face for the 
 last time. I stood gazing, and gazing, even 
 from this very spot, as his distant sail grew to
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 201 
 
 the size of a curlew's wing, fanning the distant 
 waters ; and I knew that his departing eyes 
 were fixed upon yonder palm trees, and his 
 heart upon her who was weeping under their 
 shade." 
 
 " That was a dreary evening, dearest J" said 
 Agostna, tenderly. (i In sooth — in sooth it 
 was ; yet, thou hast since endured full many a 
 darker hour. 1 ' 
 
 I looked compassionately upon the beautiful 
 Ionian ; for tears hung upon her dark lashes, 
 and she clasped her hands with passionate 
 earnestness as she replied — 
 
 " Ay ! it is scarcely a week since — scarcely 
 a day — when, as my father urged me to wed 
 with Raolo;, — thanks to Heaven and thee, I can 
 now name him without a shudder, — adjuring 
 me by his gray hairs, by my mother's memory, 
 by my hopes of Heaven's grace, to spare his old 
 age disgrace and destitution, and give my hand 
 to one who merited my heart, — I gazed through 
 my tears upon the palm trees, and half expected 
 to see one of them wither and die before my 
 eyes. Blessed mother of God ! should I ever 
 
 k 3
 
 202 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 -rever have found courage to bid them lay the 
 
 axe unto its root ?" 
 
 " Hast thou so soon forgotten, Zaphryne ?" 
 whispered Agostna. " Why thou didst give 
 me in charge, again and again, to see that pro- 
 mise fulfilled, should thy father's commands 
 prevail ?" 
 
 " Ay, ay !^I do remember me ; I do, in- 
 deed, Agostna ! For methought if that hour 
 should come to pass, reason might fail me ; and 
 that when Alexius should return, and see the 
 stately trees yet standing in their pride, he 
 would come hither in the joy of his heart to 
 seek Zaphryne, and find her in the arms of 
 another ; or perhaps in a new-made grave !" 
 
 The approach of Zavo, bearing in his hands 
 the expected scroll, interrupted the course of 
 his daughter's painful reminiscences. Yet I 
 could have dispensed with his arrival ; for he 
 left me no further excuse for lingering by 
 Zaphryne"' s side ; and the humble gratitude of 
 his acknowledgment, — the embarrassment of 
 beholding the reverend man prostrated at my 
 feet, contributed to the expedition of my adieu.
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 203 
 
 As I bad them farewell, upon the limit of the 
 little enfranchised territory, which they now 
 seemed to consider a gift of mine, I promised to 
 return and visit them again before I left the 
 island ; " and then, Zaphryne," I whispered, 
 as she frankly offered her cheek to my parting 
 salute, " then Alexius will be here, — and thou 
 contented. 1 ' 
 
 A bright blush gleamed beneath my lips. 
 " Heaven grant it," she replied. And Zav<> 
 and Agostna echoed the prayer. 
 
 At that moment I heard the approaching 
 chorus of the vintagers ; who, having received 
 from their lovely countrywomen an exaggerated 
 picture of my merits, and of my interposition in 
 Zavo's behalf, were anxious to do honour to my 
 departure. With an Englishman's innate 
 horror of being put in evidence, and made the 
 hero of a scene, I quickened my steps ; and, 
 turning but once to look upon the waving 
 hands, and flowing drapery of the two graceful 
 figures beneath the palm trees, took my hasty 
 way towards the city ; and twilight had man- 
 tled the white walls of Zante, ere I found my-
 
 204 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 self once more an inmate of Gordelenfs mono- 
 tonous and uninviting home. 
 
 Thereafter, however, I had no leisure to com- 
 ment upon its faults ; and even its drowsy inha- 
 bitants soon acquired value and honour in my 
 eyes. Within a few days, a raging and pesti- 
 lential fever chained me to an unconscious couch; 
 death was in my veins, and yet I felt not the 
 scorching poison. The season had, in fact, been 
 one of most unusual sultriness throughout the 
 Levant. The principal wells of the island had 
 been dried up ; the tanks long since exhausted ; 
 the vintage had afforded but a scanty product, 
 although atoning by heightened flavour for 
 diminished quantity ; the olives hung puny and 
 withered upon the tree ; and the vast cracks 
 and fissures riving the bosom of the plains, 
 gaped like deforming wounds upon the face of 
 nature. Disease, as may be imagined, looked 
 upon a realm thus fiercely visited, as its des- 
 tined prey ; and malignant fevers were already 
 prevalent, when I departed on my expedition to 
 Chieri. I remembered having jested upon the 
 predictions that were breathed in my ears
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 205 
 
 touching the fatal effects of the miasma peculiar 
 to the morass of the pitch-wells ; and had 
 noted at the same time, with unqualified 
 amazement, the calmness with which the Zan- 
 tiots asserted that an earthquake would pro- 
 bably terminate the unnatural drought of the 
 season. 
 
 An earthquake ! — Lisbon and its destinies 
 were present to my mind ; nor did I recover 
 from my first surprise, until I had listened to an 
 explanation of the frequent and slight recur- 
 rence of this awful phenomenon, in that and some 
 of the neighbouring islands. A scarcely sus- 
 ceptible undulatory motion of the ground was, 
 they informed me, the sole consequence, or rather 
 effect, of the visitation ; but they alluded to so 
 many public edifices which had been rendered 
 insecure, recalled to my memory so many houses 
 whose fissured walls bore evidence to the force 
 of some former concussion, — the castle of 
 Zante especially, which appears to have been 
 rent in twain by such an agency, — that my 
 astonishment at their sang-froid remained un- 
 abated.
 
 206 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 Meanwhile the strength of my disorder 
 afforded me no opportunity of renewing the 
 subject. For days, for weeks, the light of 
 reason vanished from my brain ; and the first 
 consciousness I attained, was of the untiring 
 gentleness of Athanasia's attendance upon my 
 sick bed, and of the assiduities of the old nurse 
 whom I had so long contemned. Their united 
 efforts, and those of a kind and skilful phy- 
 sician, at length prevailed against my disorder. 
 I acquired a sense of gratitude for their exer- 
 tions ; and at length, the power of giving it 
 utterance. 
 
 The contest between death and life, Selina ! 
 is an awful struggle. Those gates of the in- 
 visible world upon whose threshold we stand, 
 and know that the dread moment of their un- 
 closing can never be redeemed ; — that terrific 
 brink of chaos whence soul-sick and afraid we 
 shrink away ; — even those tangible horrors of 
 the grave, the cold damp shroud, the lonely 
 coffin, acquire at that hour a terrible reality 
 unknown to health. And then to think how 
 soon the hearts that loved us yesterday will
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 207 
 
 flee from our very aspect, — how soon banish 
 our memory, as afflicting and repulsive, — how 
 soon rush into connections with those we know 
 not, — with those whom perchance we loathe ! 
 Oh ! Selina ! death is an awful thing, save unto 
 the minds with whom the promises of heaven 
 are all in all. 
 
 But there is a feeling beyond that terror of 
 the soul with which we behold "the face of 
 immortality unveiled," to be gathered from the 
 solitary hours of sickness. Our own vain hearts 
 are equally laid bare unto our eyes. No com- 
 promise then — no softening of the sin — no 
 entanglement of verbal sophistry deceives us 
 into self-complacency, or wilful blindness. The 
 leprosy is before us, filthy, loathsome, and con- 
 taminating ; and we recoil in horror from the 
 hideous spectacle. We dwell not upon the 
 world applauded action, but on its sickly mo- 
 tive. We recal not the well-mouthed moral 
 axiom, but its selfish result. We acknowledge 
 that we have loved but to be beloved, and done 
 well but to win the empty suffrage of society. 
 That " for fear the knaves should call us fool,' 1
 
 208 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 we have tamed down our noblest impulses ; and 
 that the cold sneer of a shallow world has 
 oftentimes frozen the genial current of our 
 souls ; — that the qiCen dira-t-on ? in short, is 
 the controlling influence of the earth. 
 
 You look reproachfully, Selina. You de- 
 mand a truce to my prolix reflections, for you 
 are well and happy, and 
 
 Bonne ou mauvaise santt fait totite notre philosophie ! 
 
 To return then to the maidens of the vine- 
 yards. 
 
 It was on one of my earliest days of con- 
 valescence, that the suffocating state of the 
 atmosphere induced me to entreat permission to 
 pass the morning in Athanasia^ shadowy apart- 
 ment ; which, opening to a court refreshed by 
 many fountains, and itself encrusted with 
 marble, offered a most luxurious retreat for 
 the sultry noon. 
 
 I was reclining on a divan, the book over 
 which I was dreaming gradually becoming too 
 heavy for my languid hands, while Athanasia 
 with her usual soft tranquillity of brow and
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 209 
 
 listlessness of demeanour sat twisting her ever- 
 lasting silken cord beside an opposite lattice ; 
 when old Irene the nurse, drawing mysteriously 
 towards me, whispered significantly that a 
 stranger — a young Zantiote peasant — impor- 
 tunately demanded an interview. " Shall she 
 return, my son, or — " 
 
 " ,r Tis Zaphryne !" I exclaimed, interrupting 
 her, " admit her instantly ." 
 
 " Nay, the damsel named herself Agostna." 
 
 " Will you," said I, turning towards Ma- 
 dama Gordeleni, " will you permit me to 
 receive in your presence, and solicit your notice 
 for a very fair and gentle countrywoman of 
 your's, in whose fate I am warmly inte- 
 rested ?" 
 
 Athanasia calmly consented, yet certainly 
 her large dark inexpressive eyes wore a wider 
 character of surprise and curiosity than I had 
 ever yet seen them exhibit. In the mean time, 
 my own astonishment was scarcely inferior. 
 The infirm Agostna ! what could have brought 
 her to the city ? 
 
 She entered to determine my perplexity, and
 
 210 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 having bent her feeble way towards Athanasia, 
 and pressed the hem of her garment respect- 
 fully to her lips, she turned unto my couch. 
 Apparently startled by the spectacle of my 
 wasted features and attenuated limbs, she paused 
 abruptly, knelt down in her humbleness, crossed 
 her hands devoutly over her bosom, and either 
 wept or prayed — or both. 
 
 " Agostna," I exclaimed at length, touched 
 by the continuance of her emotion, " speak, 
 maiden ! Thou art silent — thou dost tremble 
 — tears are on thy face — some evil hath befallen 
 Zaphryne !" 
 
 Still she trembled, still wept, but answered 
 not a word. 
 
 " She is no more P 1 I ejaculated. Agostna 
 waved her head in denial. " In sorrow then, 
 or in sickness ? Perhaps Alexius hath perished 
 on the seas ?" 
 
 " Alas ! no ;" replied Agostna, recovering 
 her voice. " I could wish him with the dead ; 
 for no further joy awaits him among the 
 living." 
 
 " Agostna !" I faltered, " thou seest that I
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 211 
 
 am worn with disease, trifle not with my ex- 
 hausted strength, — torment me not with sus- 
 pense ; but say on ! — what has chanced ?" 
 
 " Nought, save evil, gracious Sir !" replied 
 the young Greek, in a clear, but very gentle 
 voice ; " and chiefest in thy grievous sickness ; 
 which, while it augmented our sorrow, deprived 
 us of thine interposition. Count Lengrazio's 
 malice was but the more deeply aggravated by 
 Zavo's unexpected releasement ; he swore that 
 his purpose should not be overmastered; and 
 well has he kept his oath. Scarcely had he 
 found himself compelled to resign his hold upon 
 the lands of my kinsman, when Zavo — sud- 
 denly summoned before the Proveditor in coun- 
 cil — was required to produce his hereditary 
 titles to their possession. The old man an- 
 swered — and he said it proudly — that the parch- 
 ments were deposited among our island archives ; 
 but the Zantiot records were searched, and not 
 a single deed allusive unto Zavo's possessions 
 could be found !" 
 
 " Treachery !" I exclaimed, " base and mani- 
 fest treachery !"
 
 212 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 " Not one in the whole island doubts it," 
 resumed Agostna ; while Athanasia, now inter- 
 ested in the relation, drew near to listen. 
 " Nay, so completely was the common voice 
 upon our side, that he dared not follow the per- 
 suasions of the Barnabotto Lengrazio, to de- 
 clare my kinsman's lands confiscate to the state. 
 He gave him, indeed, a month of grace wherein 
 to seek out the missing documents, or other- 
 wise substantiate his claims." 
 
 i( And he hath been unsuccessful —Agostna ! 
 I read it thine eyes." 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! his hopes have been alto- 
 gether thwarted; and worse than all, a fierce 
 emotion of resentment, and a resolution to meet 
 in every extreme the black machinations of his 
 enemy, have been enkindled within his heart." 
 
 " And what marvel ?" I exclaimed. " Hath he 
 not been persecuted — oppressed — hunted by a 
 blood-hound !" 
 
 " No marvel ; but the greater sorrow," re- 
 plied Agostna, mournfully ; " for Raolo, whose 
 interest with my lord the Proveditor is known 
 as far exceeding that of Lengrazio, has but
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 213 
 
 too well profited by the strife in the old marfs 
 mind ; stimulating his desire of vengeance, and 
 enhancing the joy of triumph !" 
 
 " And has promised in requital for Zaph- 
 ryne's hand, to circumvent the scheming of the 
 Barnabotto ?" 
 
 " Even so, gracious Sir," replied Agostna. 
 " To-morrow expires the month of reprieve — 
 and—" 
 
 " Why have I not heard of this ?" I ex- 
 claimed. " Why thus tardy, Agostna, in thine 
 appeal ?" 
 
 " Day after day, hour after hour, have we 
 tarried by thy portal ; — Zaphryne — Zavo — my 
 very self — to implore thine aid or thy good 
 counsel. But then, alas ! death was in thy 
 chamber ; — and now — all were too late !" 
 
 " Nay !" interrupted Athanasia, touched by 
 the deep feeling evinced by the young peasant ; 
 u to-morrow is a far hour ; — we will speak 
 this night with the noble Proveditor." 
 
 " Ere night," answered Agostna, faintly, 
 bending once more her tearful looks upon the
 
 214 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 ground, " Zaphryne will be the bride of 
 Raolo. 11 
 
 " She shall not, if there be hope in Heaven,'" 
 I exclaimed, rising from my couch. 
 
 " No — no !" faltered Agostna, laying her 
 cold, trembling hand on my arm, " I pray thee, 
 gracious Sir, — spare thyself all hurtful effort. 
 By this hour, — yea ! by this hour, their vows 
 are breathed before the altar." 
 
 " The hazard, 11 I exclaimed, about to leave 
 the chamber, " is at least worth the attempt. 1 ' 
 
 " Be it mine then, 11 said Madama Gordeleni, 
 with more decision than I had ever seen her 
 assume. " I will myself unto the palace. 
 Within there I 11 she exclaimed, clapping her 
 hands ; — " my veil, Irene ! — thine own ! — bid 
 my attendants follow me with a calesso, — and 
 thyself attend my going forth. 11 
 
 Again Agostna reverentially kissed the hem 
 of her garment. 
 
 " Yet stay I 11 said Athanasia, turning towards 
 me, — " one mode of certain success occurs to 
 my thoughts, — to mine, who know too well by 
 what base means our nation is compelled to
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 215 
 
 propitiate its Venetian oppressors. The Pro- 
 veditor has often expressed his admiration of 
 thy favourite horse, — thine Arabian ? — " 
 
 " Often — often ; — has even sought it in pur- 
 chase at my hands. 11 
 
 " Resign it to him then." 
 
 " As a gift — as a bribe, willingly ; but no 
 traffic with such a reptile. 11 
 
 " As thou wilt ; — he will not quarrel with 
 the terms ;" and with a kindly speed, Athanasia 
 Gordeleni exerted herself to depart upon her 
 errand. 
 
 The minutes of suspense, meanwhile, were 
 grievous ; and Agostna did but aggravate my 
 impatience by relating to me that her especial 
 errand in the city had been from Zaphryne unto 
 myself. " Go to him! 11 she had said, " for unto 
 none save so kindly a heart can I entrust the 
 fulfilling of my thought. Tell him that — that 
 Alexius — that the returning vessel for which I 
 have watched so long, is expected, hour by 
 hour, within the harbour. Bid him look upon 
 the face of the despairing man, — he will not 
 despise it that it is a poor one, and a lowly —
 
 216 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 and comfort him, even with such vain com- 
 forting as words can convey. Bid him say that 
 my heart was faithful, although my hand was 
 submissive unto a father's prayer ; and that the 
 death I shall daily implore, will be the more tran- 
 quil, the more sweet, that I know my Alexius 
 resigned to the decree of Heaven's high will. 
 Bid the stranger confirm his early mercy to the 
 miserable Zaphryne ; and when he leaves the 
 Zantiot shores, take from its poisoned atmosphere 
 that wronged lover of her youth whom she may 
 not dare to look upon ; and say, Agostna, for 
 thou knowest well how faithful he is — and 
 how full of trust ; — that he was true to me, and 
 will be true to him? 
 
 " It shall not need — it shall not need P I ex- 
 claimed, interrupting the weeping girl;—" or 
 Heaven knows I would have fulfilled her prayer. " 
 
 Irene — poor decrepit soul ! — now panted into 
 the chamber, bringing me from the lips of her 
 mistress an assurance, on the part of Count 
 Michaeli, that Zavo's case should be favourably 
 adjudged in the morrow's council. I had no 
 time to curse the venal wretch, — not even in my
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 217 
 
 heart ; — I prepared myself, — feeble as I was, 
 — to mount my propitious Arabian for 
 the last time ; — fly to the valley, — and rescue 
 Zaphryne from a destiny so abhorrent to her 
 heart. 
 
 " Out on thee I for a madman," exclaimed old 
 Irene. " Has thy path fallen under an evil 
 eye ? — Thou to ride in the fierce noonshine ? 
 — thou to brave an atmosphere which my sweet 
 mistress, in the fulness of health, dared not to 
 re -traverse on her homeward way ?— -Why 
 myself, although inured to weather changes, I 
 felt as I ran hither from the Proveditor's, even 
 as a hart that panteth for the water-brooks.'" 
 
 Careless of her vehement expostulations, and 
 far more regardful of Agostna's beseeching 
 looks, I desisted not from my preparations. 
 
 " Go not, — oh ! go not, my son !" said the 
 aged crone, yet more importunately, i* There 
 is a stillness — an oppression — as of a coming 
 storm ; the breathlessness of nature pausing for 
 the issue. Yesternight the fishers of Chieri 
 beheld the waters of the great deep troubled, — 
 although tideless, and breezeless, — as if by the 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 concussion of some distant earthquake. Go 
 not, my son." 
 
 I bad her look to Agostna's evident dis- 
 temperature, not to my contingent calami- 
 ties. I told her plainly that I would go, — and 
 go I did ; climbing, rather than vaulting, as 
 was my wont, upon my favourite horse — the 
 Arabian — whose matchless speed I was deter- 
 mined should serve me even this one more time. 
 It recognised the well-known hand, however 
 feeble, which gave it the rein ; and flew like 
 the wind,— where wind, Heaven knows, there 
 was none. A terrific breathlessness seemed, 
 indeed, to overspread the earth. 
 
 I reached the hill commanding the valley 
 of the vines ; — I looked towards the grassy 
 ascent terminating its correspondent limit ; — I 
 looked to the sea — " it was as unruffled as glass 
 might be;" I looked towards the trees — the 
 palm trees — and lo ! there remained but one 
 solitary, widowed, desolate stem ; — the other, 
 and Zaphryne, were lost for ever to the eyes 
 of their Alexius ! 
 
 Still I went forward. Too late to save,
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 219 
 
 I felt that I might yet console and re-assure ; 
 —I might promise to become the comforter 
 of him she loved ; — might cheer her upon her 
 return from the ill-starred nuptial ceremony. 
 I went forward, — passed the outskirts of the 
 vineyards ; and beheld, some few hundreds 
 of yards before me, — just ascending the shrubby 
 hill, — the bridal procession ; two by two, gar- 
 landed, and in gorgeous array ; and headed by 
 the Ionian Zaphryne, and Raolo the Venetian ! 
 — beings whose union appeared forbidden by 
 the voice of nature itself. 
 
 Was it the overpowering consciousness of 
 disappointment, or was it the sulphureous 
 oppression of the lurid atmosphere, which 
 wrought so deadly a faintness in my heart, 
 and caused me to lean so heavily upon my 
 saddle ? — My horse, my gallant horse, paused 
 abruptly, — trembling in every limb,— as if 
 appalled by some hideous vision. I urged him 
 on — in vain ! — the earth trembled and rocked 
 beneath his rooted feet ! I remembered that I 
 was in Zante ; and attempted to subdue my 
 own shuddering consciousness, by a self- 
 
 l 2
 
 220 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 assurance of the frequency, — the innocuous 
 frequency of the phenomenon. I observed that 
 the bridal procession, which had nearly attained 
 the brow of the hill, was halting in disorder, — 
 but secure from all perilous vicinity to a dwell- 
 ing made with hands. The Zantiot youths 
 were supporting and striving to assure their 
 gentle partners of the day — the fair bride- 
 maidens of a fairer bride. — Yet the Venetian — 
 as I distinctly saw — dared not even approach 
 the wife so lately sworn his own ! 
 
 Again the undulating earth quivered, as 
 from some remote shock ; and Raolo, no longer 
 able to repress his feelings, turned towards 
 Zaphryne, and attempted to fold her to his 
 bosom. With what a gesture of loathing did 
 she repel his arm ! — with what strength did she 
 burst from his detaining grasp, — defy his en- 
 treaties, — and, with the speed of a fawn, ascend 
 the hill, and enter the frail cottage, — which 
 already toppled with the force of the repeated 
 concussion. 
 
 My heart grew sick ! — in another moment 
 the ground once more heaved, like the billow of
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 221 
 
 a swelling sea; and when I gained courage to 
 look towards the summit of the hill, eddying 
 clouds of dust obscured the ruins of Zavo's 
 dwelling.* All was over ! — the victim had im- 
 molated herself upon the very altar, in the 
 tenacious preservation of which her sacrifice 
 had originated; and a gray -headed man was 
 tearing his hair, and shrieking forth the name 
 of — Zaphryne ! 
 
 " "Tis an afflicting history,' 1 observed Selina, 
 after a lengthened pause, — a silence prolonged 
 by tears. " Yet even in those records of a 
 
 * This catastrophe will of course, be pronounced unnatural ; 
 a charge which I can only meet by the following extract from 
 Dr. Holland's travels. " Few spots on the earth are more 
 subject to earthquakes than the little isle of Zante. It is not a 
 rare occurrence to have two or three in the month ; and I am 
 informed that in the summer of 1811, for thirty or forty succes- 
 sive days, it was usual to experience several shocks a day. The 
 occasional violence of these earthquakes is testified by the 
 breaches in the castle walls ; and by cracks in different buildings 
 of the city. The motion, or sense of motion in these earthquakes, 
 is more frequently that of undulation than of concussion : and 
 their occurrence is preceded by a peculiar state of air ; which 
 some describe as a heaviness, or oppressiveness ; others with the 
 stronger expression of a sulphureous atmosphere."
 
 222 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 
 
 society which you despise, we have names, 
 freshly remembered, of lovers who have gone 
 forth to the wars, superior to the blandish- 
 ments of love ; — of daughters, who have sacri- 
 ficed their affections to the welfare of a 
 parent." 
 
 " Perhaps so — but you have not yet reached 
 the moral of my tale. In process of time, 
 when grief had wept away its season, there 
 came to be another bride in Zante." 
 
 " Of course ! your gentle Agostna wedded 
 with the Venetian. 1 ' 
 
 " Wide from the mark ; — guess again !" 
 
 " With Alexius ?" 
 
 " Ay — Selina ! — with Alexius. She who 
 had so laboured to hold Zaphryne faithful to 
 her troth-plight, — to secure my aid to Zavo's 
 cause, in order to spare the grief of the lover 
 of his daughter — she, who had exerted herself 
 so nobly to impede that union of Raolo and her 
 loved kinswoman which would have left the 
 hand of Alexius free to her hopes; she, — 
 Agostna, — had loved him from her earliest hour 
 of life ; shared in his visionary patriotism,
 
 THE BRIDE OF ZANTE. 223 
 
 adored his every look, his every thought ! 
 Zaphryne had loved her father and Alexins — 
 Agostna, him alone ! Unspoken, unacknow- 
 ledged^ that passion reigned supreme ; yet for 
 his sake, and for conscience sake, she had toiled 
 against her own cause ! Was not that noble, 
 Selina ?" 
 
 "It was ! — but I do not perceive how the 
 mountains or the vineyards influenced her vir- 
 tues ; else wherefore was Lengrazio brutal, or 
 Zavo selfish ? — you too have toiled against 
 your cause ; and must appeal to a higher court. 
 — Cest la oilje vous attends ; — An revoir /"
 
 THE 
 
 COURT AT TUNBRIDGE, 
 
 in 1664. 
 
 Sentir le merite, et quand il est une fois connu, le bien 
 traiter; deux grandes demarches & faire tout de suite, et don t 
 la plupart des grands sont fort incapable?. 
 
 La Bruyere. 
 
 1 3
 
 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE, 
 
 IN 1664. 
 
 The green slopes and beechen groves of 
 Somerhill were basking under the brightness 
 of an unclouded summer sun ; and even the 
 grey stone walls of the venerable Hall looked 
 gay and gladsome under its cheering influence. 
 In addition to the innumerable songsters whose 
 melody daily enlivens the flowery thickets by 
 which it is surrounded, there was a swell of 
 sweet and stately music pealing along the 
 trim alleys ; accompanied, at intervals, by a 
 measure of harmonious voices, breathing wel- 
 come to the fair of the fairest court in Christen- 
 dom — King Charles was feasting at Sorrier- 
 hill !
 
 228 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE. 
 
 The minstrels remained invisible among the 
 entangled garden-bowers ; but the gay beings 
 unto whom they addressed their flattering in- 
 vocations, were seen scattered in groups upon 
 the closely shaven turf, inhaling the rich fra- 
 grance of the bursting magnolia-flowers, or 
 glancing from out the green-wood walks — gor- 
 geous, and bright, and many-coloured as the 
 holly-hocks that lifted up their stately heads 
 beside them. Nature, as well as majesty, had 
 decreed that it should be a jour de fete ; and 
 smiles, music, and sunshine, united to adorn 
 the scene. 
 
 Among the gallant cavaliers dispersed over 
 the lawn — some standing uncovered to listen to 
 the prattle of la blanche Wetenhall,* or the 
 graceful Chesterfield — others pointing out les 
 promenades delicieuses du riant Somerhill* to 
 the maidens of the queen — (a group as bright 
 as the Pleiades themselves), — one alone, the 
 favourite — the cynosure — the observed of all 
 observers, was missing. Grammont was there, 
 
 * Grammont's Memoirs.
 
 THE COURT AT TUNBRIBGE. 229 
 
 with his flaunting fopperies ; — Hamilton, with 
 his air of graceful nonchalance, — the all-con- 
 quering Jermyn, — the handsome Sydney ; — 
 Killigrew, in devoted attendance upon the 
 thoughtless Lady Shrewsbury ; — and old Sir 
 John Denham, following with equal assiduity 
 the footsteps of his giddy wife, — into whose 
 willing ear his highness of York was breath- 
 ing c sweet honey words,' somewhat closely ; — 
 but Charles, Charles was absent. 
 
 " Methinks," said George Hamilton, throw- 
 ing himself at listless length upon a green bank, 
 on which Sir Harry Brooke, the king's favou- 
 rite page, was already lying in solitary rumi- 
 nation, " methinks 'tis graceless enough in 
 Rowley to abandon our crack-brained hostess, 
 the Princess of Babylon, in this her own par- 
 ticular day and domain, in order to loiter with 
 the mad-cap Stewart, by greenwood tree or 
 mossy dell." 
 
 " Hush !" replied Brooke, laying a cau- 
 tionary finger upon his lips, and glancing 
 towards the thick hedge of bay-trees by which
 
 230 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE. 
 
 they were shaded. " How know you what 
 birds may build in the neighbouring covert ?" 
 
 " Tut ! man — the ears thou dreadest must 
 be as acute as those of Fine Oreille in the story- 
 book, to render them dangerous. Rowley and 
 his rattlepate ran laughing down yonder green 
 alley, towards the stream in the hollow below ; 
 and, my life to a silver penny ! they are even 
 now fishing for minnows with the lady's silken 
 sash and etui pin. But thou lookest neither 
 at brook nor dingle, Harry ! What seest 
 thou among the distant woods on which to gaze 
 so earnestly ?" 
 
 " I see the gleam of an ancient stone wall — 
 I see a peaked roof rising above the dark ches- 
 nuts.'" 
 
 " And what then? 1 ' 
 
 " Tis the roof of Wildinghurst P 
 
 " Etpuisr 
 
 " Nay ! nothing further, 1 ' replied Brooke, 
 turning away his moistened eyes. " 'Twere 
 dull sport, Hamilton, for a gallant like your- 
 self, to listen to a tale of poor and unhappy,
 
 THE COURT AT TUNB11IDGE. 231 
 
 although, God knows, of honest and faithful 
 love !" 
 
 Hamilton raised his eyebrows to the utmost 
 stretch of wonder and admiration, and a signi- 
 ficant smile began to illuminate his handsome 
 countenance ; when a single glance towards 
 his friend suddenly checked his rising mirth. 
 
 " Beshrew my heart, Harry ," exclaimed he, 
 " I guessed thee not for so stricken a deer ! 
 But, since 'tis thus with thee in sober sadness, 
 speed me thy love-tale, man ! the how — the 
 wherefore — the when ! — Trust me," he con- 
 tinued, extending his hand in friendly cor- 
 diality, " I have both sympathy and counsel 
 at thy service. What of Wildinghurst ? and 
 who dwelleth beneath yonder peaked roof, 
 Harry, that moves thee so strangely ?" 
 
 " One who holds courts and courtiers as 
 equally vile and worthless ; the more especially, 
 that he was forced to abandon both the one and 
 the other, through lack of Rowley's good coun- 
 tenance — even old Sir Mark Willoughby." 
 
 " And wherefore should the name of a worn- 
 out cavalier — a frondeur, whom all the world
 
 232 THE COURT AT TUNBIUDGE. 
 
 beside hath forgotten, bring tears into thine 
 eyes ?" 
 
 " Simply, because he hath one fair daugh- 
 ter." 
 
 Hamilton's eye brightened, and his lip curled 
 again. 
 
 " My story is as easily ended as begun, 1 ' 
 quoth the page, reddening angrily. " Grace 
 Willoughby and myself were playmates in 
 childhood — lovers in youth ; — self-confident — 
 and self-betrothed. But Sir Mark, who hath 
 endured unworthy neglect at his majesty's 
 hands, would not, for the worth of the Ex- 
 chequer, bestow his daughter upon a minion of 
 the court ; and he hath accordingly closed his 
 doors upon my further visits. ,, 
 
 u In order that thou mayst find admission 
 through the casement ?" 
 
 " No !" replied Brooke, haughtily. " He 
 gave me a fair choice, between his daughter 
 and my loyal service.'" 
 
 " And thou didst gallantly prefer a livery 
 and court servitude, to freedom and the fair 
 Grace ?"
 
 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE. 233 
 
 " The livery I wear," said Brooke, looking 
 down on his embroidered sleeve, " is that of my 
 sovereign; and my service waits upon the noble 
 descendant of a line of princes, to whom that of 
 my forefathers has been devoted for centuries." 
 
 " Spoken with right-earnest delivery and 
 notable emphasis, like many another fustian 
 rant !" 
 
 " In sober English, then," rejoined Brooke, 
 warmly, " I love Rowley. Despite his whim- 
 sies and vagaries, there lives not a nobler gen- 
 tleman — a kinder friend. Born at Cologne, 
 while my parents shared his exile, I have 
 scarcely left his side since I was high enough to 
 buckle his garter ; and not even the love of my 
 precious Grace shall tempt me to throw back 
 his favours in his teeth. I have lived for him 
 — with him ; — and I trust to die so." 
 
 " Praying that time and our Lady's grace 
 may remove old Willoughby , s prejudices. 
 Well, well, — I shall marvel no more at the staid 
 gravity of thy demeanour, nor at the philo- 
 sophical coldness with which thou receivest the 
 bright glances I have seen levelled at thee from
 
 234 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE. 
 
 behind her majesty's chair. But we must up 
 and away, Harry, for the hall-bell sounds 
 board ward ;" and the two young men, after 
 hurrying towards the stately gallery of Somer- 
 hill, in which the groaning tables were sump- 
 tuously spread, scarcely reached the upper 
 end in time to assume their post, as the gay 
 monarch entered from the garden ; and, by his 
 high-bred courtesies and cheerful gallantry, 
 soon appeased the wounded pride of his irate 
 hostess — the absurd and far-famed Lady Mus- 
 kerry. 
 
 It was some days after the festivities at 
 Somerhill that, one evening towards night-fall, 
 two travellers were seen riding at a brisk pace 
 along one of the numerous green lanes between 
 Tunbridge and Knowle. They were habited 
 alike, in sad-coloured suits, and appeared to 
 belong to the class of poorer gentry ; while the 
 horses on which they were mounted might have 
 laid claim to a higher pedigree. 
 
 " Yonder is the house, if my memory serves 
 me, 11 said the elder of the two, as they crossed 
 the high road towards a plantation that ap-
 
 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE. 235 
 
 peared to surround a mansion of respectability. 
 The other, immediately dismounting, opened 
 an entrance gate, and as they passed into a 
 small wood, the moon shone out brightly 
 through the thickly interwoven branches, and 
 cast a Mosaic-like reflection upon the wild 
 flowers with which it was carpeted. The weep- 
 ing birch, that ' Lady of the woods, 1 hung gar- 
 landing their winding road ; while the majestic 
 pines, that rose with a protecting air in the 
 interior of the shrubbery, sent forth a spicy 
 fragrance as the heavy night-dew clung to the 
 ' medicinable gums 1 of their spreading branches. 
 There was not a breath stirring to wave the 
 festoons of wild honeysuckles, that flung their 
 scattered blossoms from bough to bough. 
 
 A brighter radiance soon shone through the 
 receding trees; and, reaching a second gate, 
 the travellers suddenly came upon an open 
 platform, in the centre of which rose the se- 
 questered Hall of Wildinghurst. It was a 
 low, stone mansion, after the fashion of the 
 early manorial houses ; — half castellated — be- 
 longing to no order — and boasting few orna-
 
 236 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE. 
 
 ments, save the carved masonry of its porch. 
 The strangers having advanced within the 
 screen of open stone-work fronting the house, 
 the younger hastened to set the great bell of 
 the hall in vigorous motion ; till its clang 
 broke inharmoniously upon the soft and slum- 
 berous effect of the moonlight stillness around. 
 The heavy portal soon swung upon its hinges ; 
 and out bounded two gaunt, active blood- 
 hounds, eager to prove their instinctive dis- 
 crimination of friend or foe upon the new 
 comers ; closely followed by a decrepit serving 
 man in a faded livery ; who, after receiving 
 with civility the self announcement of the elder 
 stranger, as Master Hemsworth, of Manor- 
 field, in the marshes of Kent, proceeded to 
 refer his request for a night's hospitality at 
 Wildinghurst to the superior powers within. 
 The plea of a lame horse, and a pressing repre- 
 sentation of the perils of a midnight journey, 
 with a well-filled purse, and without fire-arms, 
 were judged sufficiently urgent by the old 
 cavalier ; who was aware that not a hostel of 
 credit stood within ten miles of his gate ; and
 
 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE. 237 
 
 the gentlemen were accordingly requested to 
 dismount and enter the Hall. 
 
 The younger of the two, conscious perhaps 
 that the appearance of their horses might con- 
 trovert the truth of their alleged dilemma, in- 
 sisted upon officiating in the stable ; and having 
 been placed by the staid maggior-cTuomo under 
 the guidance of a red-headed savage of a farm- 
 ing-lad, he proceeded, with no small awkward- 
 ness, to fulfil his self-imposed duties. 
 
 " Softly, my bonny Bess !" he exclaimed, as 
 he ensconced his mettled steed in one of the 
 forty oaken stalls of the stable, each of which 
 was richly paved, and carved to terminate in 
 the Willoughby crest, " Softly, my dainty 
 dame ! Thou wilt have nor master nor mate 
 unto whom to grumble of hard fare and chilly 
 housing, save yonder wheezing padnag ; who, 
 I wager a pistole, belongeth to no less a person 
 than the sleek chaplain of the Hall V The 
 wooden leg of the veteran proprietor suggested 
 indeed a ready excuse for the lamentable scan- 
 tiness of his stud ; but there was a general 
 coldness, an air of decay and degradation, shed
 
 238 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE. 
 
 over all at Wildinghurst, that accorded well 
 with the rumours of its family annals. 
 
 The young esquire, after loitering over his 
 task, in order to afford an opportunity to his 
 companion of telling their story in his own way, 
 proceeded with some hesitation towards the 
 Hall ; but he was quickly re-assured by the 
 shouts of laughter issuing from the door, and 
 by the familiar attitude in which, on his entrance, 
 he found Master Hemsworth seated at his hosfs 
 right hand. On the rudely covered board 
 stood the remains of a pasty and of a portly 
 sirloin, now rapidly diminishing under the 
 attacks of his comrade ; who was cordially 
 pledging his opposite neighbour, the family 
 priest, in a deep cup of nut-brown ale. The 
 two domestics stood gazing with fixed wonder- 
 ment at the easy assurance with which the 
 unbidden guest commanded their services, and 
 began to augur somewhat suspiciously of the 
 termination of this visit. But Sir Mark, on 
 the contrary, appeared delighted with the frank 
 joviality of the elder Hemsworth ; and was lis- 
 tening with rapture to his humorous description
 
 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE. 239 
 
 of the new-fangled pastimes of the courtiers, 
 and of the extravagant fashions of the court 
 beauties. 
 
 " I tarried at Tunbridge," quoth he, " but 
 to bait my horses ; yet even in that short space 
 of time, yonder scatterbrains," glancing signifi- 
 cantly at his nephew as he entered, " found me 
 time to lose half-a-year's rent of my goodly 
 hop-grounds in a game at shovel-board with 
 one of the idlest rufflers of the Wells ; — a good 
 for little varlet of some distinction, named 
 George Hamilton." 
 
 Whether something in the countenance or 
 bearing of his guests had hit the fancy of the 
 veteran, or whether the lack of better company, 
 to which he had long condemned himself, had 
 rendered him little difficult to please, certain it 
 was that he not only graced his hospitality 
 with friendly welcome, but even indulged in 
 an unsuspicious freedom of speech that might 
 have better become a more mature acquaintance. 
 When the attendants had withdrawn, and the 
 lamb's- wool which, in heavy pewter flagons 
 graced the board, had begun its work of mis-
 
 240 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE. 
 
 chief upon heads ill-accustomed to such heavy 
 potations, he added to the strictures of his un- 
 known visitors upon the follies of the court, 
 many bitter personalities upon its inmates. 
 
 " Aye, gentlemen ," said the old man, warmly, 
 " I have, perchance, better reason than ye wot 
 of to curse these new fangled fopperies. To 
 gild the waste of yonder prodigal, many a fair 
 rood of the woodlands of Wildinghurst hath 
 been turned into a waste. The proudest oaks 
 of Kent once stretched their lusty branches 
 over the plains, whereon ye galloped this after- 
 noon without finding a twig on which to perch 
 a chaffinch. And why, forsooth, do I dis- 
 honour my board with this yeoman's fare, but 
 that old Mark Willoughby scorns to dole out 
 Bourdeaux and Rhenish like a village sutler ; 
 and that, were he to let them flow as they were 
 wont in his father's hall, he might whistle to 
 the waves of the Medway to come and fill his 
 empty cellars. When the exiled prince or his 
 parasites lacked a bag of pistoles, who so ready 
 as the doting dunderhead of Wildinghurst to 
 mortgage acre after acre — to fell coppice after
 
 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE. 241 
 
 coppice — in order to teach them that there still 
 beat one loyal heart in Old England ? Who 
 more forward to spill his blood in the cause of 
 the Stuarts ? — I left a limb, Sirs, upon Wor- 
 cester plain ; and, after having been hunted 
 like a beast during the Commonwealth, I dwelt 
 here in solitude to pinch and spare for the good 
 cause ; and so far I lacked not discretion. But 
 I was fool enough to dream that old claims 
 might avail me something in a new court, and 
 to fancy that a veteran cavalier might find 
 grace in a royal saloon." 
 
 " But surely, Sir," interrupted the elder 
 Hemsworth, his eyes glistening and his cheeks 
 flushed, " Surely, Sir, Charles can know 
 nothing of these claims, — of these unrequited 
 services ?" 
 
 " How should he choose but know !" shouted 
 Sir Mark. — " When the warm feelings of my 
 clownish heart urged me to rush, something 
 roughly perhaps, into the presence chamber, 
 that I might gladden my old eyes with a sight 
 of the restored sovereign, whom I loved with 
 the same fondness I bear my own lady-bird — 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE. 
 
 my daughter Grace, — I was put back like a 
 forward child by a tawdry princox of an usher, 
 who bade me remember God knows what. I 
 should have smitten the hireling varlet to the 
 earth, but that at the moment I heard young 
 Rochester noting to one of his saucy mates, 
 ' the boorish breeding of Corporal Stump. 1 
 My anger fell upon prouder shoulders than 
 those of a lackey ; and I rushed cap in hand 
 to the king, and spoke my indignation in such 
 downright terms, that I was speedily placed in 
 arrest, and in consideration only of my former 
 services — my services I — I was permitted to 
 retire to my country-seat to mend my manners, 
 in order that the minions of Charles Stuart 
 might undergo no further insult." 
 
 " You spoke of your daughter, Sir," said 
 Hemsworth, after a long pause, in which he 
 appeared striving to subdue some painful emo- 
 tion. " Does yonder lovely portrait represent 
 the Lady Grace?" 
 
 "It is her mother's picture," replied Sir 
 Mark, in a calmer tone ; " and although a 
 master-piece of Vandyke himself, and imaging
 
 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE. 243 
 
 as fair a creature as ever trod the earth, yet 
 doth it not set forth one half the loveliness — 
 the heavenly mindedness of her child ! In my 
 days of prosperity, Sir, I admired only in my 
 Grace, the proud beauty, — the accomplished 
 heiress of Wildinghurst ; but what is she now, 
 what hath she not been, since poverty laid his 
 iron hand upon my household ! The soothing 
 comforter of my peevish age; my cheerful, 
 active companion ! — To serve me with sweet 
 and patient duty, she hath forgotten the sports 
 of her years — she hath renounced, one by one, 
 the adornments of her lonely existence ! — She 
 who was born and nurtured in affluence, hath 
 given up state and grace to increase the stock 
 of the old soldier's comforts ; page and bower- 
 maiden, — the palfrey that came neighing to her 
 call, — the jewels that were her mother's bequest, 
 —one by one, have all been sacrificed. Those 
 deUcate hands that had scarcely moved, save 
 over the strings of her gittern, have laboured 
 for me with the activity of a yeoman's house- 
 dame ; and more than all — more than all," con- 
 tinued the old man, in a broken voice, " she 
 
 m2
 
 244 THE COURT AT TUNBR1DGE. 
 
 hath done this, she hath done more than I can 
 find breath to tell, with a heart that shrank not 
 from the sacrifice of its Own fondest feelings. 
 There is a fair lad among the crew of laced 
 blockheads ye saw this morning, who would 
 fain take her from her old father's heart, and 
 place her in a station that becomes her ; but 
 seeing that my prayers cannot induce him to 
 forsake the king's household, she hath given 
 up at my bidding the tender affection with 
 which she repays his long attachment. No ! 
 although the subdued glance of those bright 
 eyes, the languor of that once light step, betray 
 at every moment the sufferings she labours to 
 conceal, Harry Brooke will never bribe my 
 girl to leave the side of her poor, decrepit, 
 doating father !" 
 
 " But may not the health of the Lady Grace 
 suffer under the influence of such feelings ?" 
 
 " I sometimes fear it," replied Willoughby, 
 dejectedly ; " and I even long to call the boy 
 back again, and make them happy before I am 
 too blind to witness their union.'' 1 
 
 "' Nay, then," exclaimed Hemsworth —
 
 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE. 245 
 
 But what he said, and what Sir Mark replied, 
 and how the visit terminated, the curious reader 
 must guess by the sequel. — > 
 
 " What new frolic is astir this morning ?" 
 said Sir Harry Brooke to Hamilton ; who had 
 entered the apartment of his friend at day- 
 break, and was busily selecting for hifi toilet 
 the newest of his gala suits. 
 
 " Nay ! I know not ; but we had orders 
 yesternight to be in readiness for some especial 
 ceremony by noontide. Some ambassador, 
 perhaps, to deliver his credentials." 
 
 " Impossible ! — the Spanish envoy^s recep- 
 tion hath been remitted until the return of the 
 court to Whitehall. For many days past there 
 hath been a rumour of strangers expected, and 
 of apartments to be prepared in the queen's own 
 lodging. For whom, in the name of mystery ? 
 — Nay ! — Miss Jennings bewildered me but 
 last night by her description of a wardrobe of 
 exquisite fashion and richness, that hath been 
 secretly collecting by her Majesty's orders, 
 for a lady of her own person and stature-
 
 246 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE. 
 
 Read me the riddle, Hamilton — what plot is 
 here ?" 
 
 " Time will resolve us, Harry ! — But now 
 that thine outward man hath put on a more 
 goodly seeming, let us to the presence. Stay ! 
 thy breast-piece is, even now, a thought too 
 high ; and the wave of yonder curl becomes 
 thee not. Cheer thee, man ! and put on a 
 brighter countenance ; — for I predict a day of 
 joy and merriment.'" 
 
 At noon, according to his announcement, 
 Charles entered the circle. A stranger was, 
 indeed, leaning upon his arm ; — a stranger to 
 all, save Hamilton and Brooke. 
 
 " Let me present ye, gentlemen," said the 
 king, looking with dignity around his astonished 
 court, " my friend and faithful adherent, Sir 
 Mark Willoughby ; to whom I am anxious to 
 pay a long and reproachful arrear of gratitude 
 and affection. I wish it were more frequently 
 in my power to make so worthy an addition to 
 your number. I shall shortly, however," con- 
 tinued Charles, smiling, " still further deserve
 
 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE. 24<7 
 
 your acknowledgments, by introducing to your 
 courtesies a fair stranger, whom I would name 
 to you as the lovely, the excellent Grace Wil- 
 loughby, but that I shall shortly require your 
 compliments to be addressed to her as — the 
 Lady Brooke." 
 
 Sir Harry, casting a single glance towards 
 the suite of the queen, who at this moment 
 entered the chamber, could no longer repress 
 his emotions. Hastily advancing, he knelt to 
 kiss the hand of his benefactor ; and before he 
 rose from his knee, the king had led forward a 
 gentle, trembling girl, to whom Katharine was 
 breathing the kindest words of encouragement ; 
 and having placed her hand in that of his page, 
 he bade them be happy together, rather with 
 the warmth of a brother, than with the dignity 
 of a monarch. 
 
 They were married on that very day ; and 
 as the bridegroom left the chapel, King Charles 
 whispered audibly to George Hamilton, " Those 
 who are inclined to blame Rowley and the 
 rattlepate as pryers and listeners at Somerhill,
 
 248 THE COURT AT TUNBRIDGE. 
 
 must acknowledge that Master Hemsworth 
 of Manor-field, repaired their error. Trust 
 me he will never forget those who, despite 
 his whimsies and vagaries^ still love old 
 Rowley P*
 
 THE 
 
 LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 Who'll believe 
 
 A mother could do this ? but let it pass : 
 
 Anger suits not the grave. Oh ! my own love, 
 
 Too late I see thy gentle constancy. 
 
 Cornwall. 
 
 M 3
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Tell men of high condition, 
 Who rule affairs of state, 
 Their purpose is ambition, — 
 Their practice only hate." 
 
 Sylvester, 1563. 
 
 It was during a visit of Louis XIV. to his 
 favourite palace of Marly, in the autumn of 
 the year 17 — , that he first proposed to the 
 Due de L— — •, in terms which, to an experi- 
 enced courtier of those days, held the impor- 
 tance of commands, the marriage of his only 
 son with the heiress of the ancient family of 
 Roche-Guyon.
 
 252 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 Although every advantage was included in 
 such a connection, which could gratify the 
 pride, or satisfy the avarice of an illustrious 
 house, — although it afforded every promise 
 which could be exacted by paternal affection, 
 or by the exigence of a chef de famille, still 
 there was a mixture of inquietude, — a slight 
 shadow of anxiety in the respectful obeisance 
 with which the proposition was received. Ci It 
 is time," added the king, with an air of grace- 
 ful condescension, which increased, if possible, 
 the dignified hauteur of his usual demeanour, 
 
 " It is time that the Marquis de L should 
 
 no longer remain a stranger to the pleasures 
 of the court. I wish to begin his season of 
 favour as early as the affection I have ever 
 borne towards his family will entitle him to ex^ 
 pect. We have yet some days unexpired of 
 our stay at Marly ; — your lordship will have 
 the kindness to express our wish, that he should 
 assist at the remaining fetes which will enliven 
 our sojourn." 
 
 Eminently gifted to adorn the high station 
 to which he was now, for the first time, publicly
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 253 
 
 • 
 
 summoned, the young Gu stave de L ex- 
 changed with delight the dulness of the paternal 
 chateau, where, under the guidance of the 
 Abbe de Fresnoy, he had worn away his 
 weary hours between the pedantic and heavily 
 inflicted lessons of his preceptor, and the en- 
 joyment of such field sports as might become 
 one of gentle blood — (and even these were 
 tinctured with the formalities which pervaded 
 every branch of a noble establishment) — for 
 the enjoyments of the most brilliant court that 
 had yet unfolded its magnificence on the banks 
 of the Seine. 
 
 It may be doubted whether a young noble of 
 the present day would hail such an introduc- 
 tion with pleasure, or submit to it with dis- 
 content. The severe laws of etiquette then 
 existing, the slightest infraction of which was 
 sufficient to call down on its perpetrator the 
 full weight of royal displeasure, and the ine- 
 vitable accompaniment of fashionable ignominy, 
 — the cold formalities which then invaded even 
 the domestic privacies of courtier life, — the base 
 renunciation of personal freedom and enjoy-
 
 254 THE LETTItE DE CACHET. 
 
 ment, exacted from every member of a royal 
 train, — the perpetual state of representation 
 which excluded the indulgence of every natural 
 feeling and frailty, — all these are restraints, 
 which, to an independent mind, and a body 
 untamed to relinquish the common impulses of 
 humanity, are sufficiently irksome to counter- 
 balance even the glories of a Cordon, and the 
 overpowering influence of a royal smile. But 
 in those days, when the children of the nobility, 
 and. of those destined to " dwell in the purlieus 
 of the courts of kings," were trained from their 
 cradles in the observance of every stricter form 
 of social ceremony ; — when they were nursed 
 in lappets, and tottered in a hoop instead of 
 a go-cart, as the existing portraits of high and 
 puissant infant princes, in wide-skirted coats, 
 and all the happily-exploded finery of a court 
 toilet, still attest ; — when they saw their parents 
 estimate an apartment at Versailles, however 
 paltry and inconvenient, far above those of 
 their own roomy and magnificent hotels ; and 
 heard the deeds — the graces — the courtesies of 
 the Grand Monarque made an hourly theme
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 255 
 
 of wonder and admiration, it is not remark- 
 able that a presentation at court, under favour- 
 able auspices, should have been considered by 
 a young aspirant, as inferior only to an intro- 
 duction within the gates guarded by St. Peter 
 
 himself. Even Gu stave de L , whose mind 
 
 had suffered less degradation from the debasing 
 habits and chilling influences of early educa- 
 tion than most of those of his age and class, 
 felt no trifling flutter of spirit as he rolled into 
 the vast court-yard ; his six " dappled Flanders 
 mares," sinking under the weight of gorgeous 
 housings, and dragging a vehicle, which rather 
 resembled a capacious family dwelling-house, 
 than those we devote to a similar service in the 
 present day. 
 
 Where is now the father who, on the approach 
 of an only and beloved son, would stand un- 
 moved at the end of a long suite of apartments, 
 till the appointed number of folding doors had 
 been opened and shut by the appointed number 
 of laquais and valets de chambre ? Or where is 
 now the son, who would consider himself ho- 
 noured by being permitted to salute a well-
 
 256 THE LETTRE DE CACHET 1 . 
 
 ruffled hand, coldly extended towards his lips 
 by his own father ? — 
 
 But Gustave saw only in this reception the 
 common politeness of civilized life. He knew 
 himself blessed far beyond any young man of 
 his own acquaintance, in the affection and con- 
 sideration of his father ; and although himself 
 
 Beau — brillant— leste et volage — 
 
 Aimable et franc, comme on Test au bel age, 
 
 he could reconcile the most formal and respect- 
 ful observance of the forms of society, with the 
 warmest glow of filial tenderness. 
 
 The debut of the young Marquis de L. was 
 eminently successful. At the coucher of the 
 king, the bougeoir, — glorious distinction ! was 
 vouchsafed to his hand. The Princess de Conti, 
 the lovely daughter of La Valliere, and at that 
 moment the reigning beauty of Versailles, had 
 pronounced him to be " (Tune toumure des 
 plus distinguees ,•" and the Due de Lauzun 
 had requested the address of his embroiderer ! 
 What marvel then that the general voice should 
 congratulate the father of so promising a son ;
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 257 
 
 or that the fame of the embryo gallant of the 
 court should penetrate even the parloir where 
 Mademoiselle de la Roche-Guyon awaited his 
 formal presentation ! 
 
 But it was rumoured, in that favourite nest 
 of Rumour, the palace of Versailles, with its 
 immeasurable corridores, and their pigeon-hole 
 logements, that the Due de L. had required a 
 delay in negociating the marriage in question ; 
 and it was even whispered that the statesman 
 had exhibited an indifference on the subject of 
 the alliance altogether, sufficiently irritating to 
 the lofty line of Roche-Guyon ; which boasted 
 of Princes, Cardinals, and Field-Marshals, 
 enough to puzzle the numeration table. 
 
 In the mean time Gustave's education was 
 not neglected. He was instructed how many 
 paces to advance as the great Louis passed 
 through the gallery to mass ; — how many 
 seconds to employ in drawing off his glove, 
 should a Prince of the Blood, by aukwardly 
 dropping his own, require his aid in its restora- 
 tion ; — how many inches to depress his shoulders 
 should one of the " children of France" honour
 
 258 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 him by his Royal notice ; — and how many 
 inches lower, should he be equally favoured by 
 one of the children of the king ; for the off- 
 spring of Madame de Montespan were generally 
 believed to hold a much dearer place in the 
 affections of his Majesty than either the Dau- 
 phin or his brother. He was taught 
 
 To whom to bow — whom take into his coach ; 
 
 in short, the frank, the honest-hearted Gu stave, 
 ran no trifling risk of becoming a mere pitiful, 
 cringing, formal, well-bred Marquis de L., full 
 of idle pretensions and narrow designs. But a 
 pause soon occurred in the practice of his newly- 
 acquired accomplishments. 
 
 The Due de L. had requested an audience, in 
 order to demand the outrageous freedom of 
 seven days' release from his duties ; and, on 
 pretence of urgent personal business at the 
 
 Chateau de L , he was graciously permitted 
 
 to visit his domain, for the first time during 
 
 several years. The Due de L had never, it 
 
 is true, evinced any particular predilection for 
 the habitation his ancestors. The Chateau de 
 L was connected in his mind with the
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 259 
 
 memory of his wife, a frail and unfortunate 
 woman, — whose affections, unfettered by a mere 
 marriage of convenance, had been fixed on 
 other objects than her husband and son ; and 
 whose early death had alone rescued her from 
 public infamy. 
 
 Gustave contemplated, with fresh emotion, a 
 first domestication with his father. Graceful, 
 but possessed of a dignity of deportment almost 
 amounting to coldness, the countenance of the 
 Due de L had suffered so severe a school- 
 ing in the service of royalty, that it was difficult 
 to decipher the real nature of his disposition 
 through any external show cf feeling. His 
 conduct alone had stamped upon his character 
 the reputation of a high-minded and honest 
 man ; of one incapable of abusing the high 
 trust reposed in him by his sovereign. But 
 further, penetration reached and fame spoke 
 not. Whether a sensibility, wounded by his 
 domestic sorrows, or whether native indifference 
 had framed the calm apathy of his demea- 
 nour, — none guessed ; and least of all that son,
 
 260 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 to whom he was better known in his official 
 character, than in the seclusion of private life. 
 He might be generous and warm-hearted ; — he 
 might be liberal in his opinions, and tender in 
 his affections, as he was stately and reserved ; 
 but Gustave possessed at present no key to the 
 cypher. He was to him, as to others, the 
 upright minister, — the stern Due de L ; 
 
 he had never yet proved himself the father and 
 the friend. 
 
 On the evening of their arrival at L — i — , the 
 duke and son were invited to contemplate the 
 loveliness of a summer sunset, from one of the 
 lofty terraces overhanging the river Loire, 
 which formed a principal ornament of its far- 
 famed gardens. As they paced slowly along, 
 the broad gravel — long, shadowless, and un- 
 meaning, — returned no tribute of beauty or 
 fragrance to the bright rays that lay revelling 
 on its bosom. In that stately garden, no wil- 
 derness of flowers, no entanglement of luxuriant 
 verdure, invited the wandering step to find 
 refuge from noonday sultriness ; no clustering 

 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 261 
 
 blossoms required the aid of female taste to prop 
 and direct their graceful growth ; — no carol of 
 birds broke at day-dawn from the bushes; — 
 but all was artificial, heartless, and magnificent. 
 The flowers themselves which adorned the par- 
 terres, were of a gaudy and untasteful selec- 
 tion ; — the tall holly-hock, in its rich variety of 
 ranks and colours ; asters and daisies of every 
 dye ; — the myrtle, clipped and formal, ranged 
 in marble vases along the parapet of the ter- 
 race, and mingled at intervals with pomegra- 
 nate and orange trees, similarly robbed of their 
 natural beauty. The very jessamine, that 
 " chartered libertine," ceased to be a vagrant 
 there; and closely nailed over the trellice of 
 a bosquet, no longer drooped its silver stars 
 within reach of the hand. There was a brook 
 too, which nature had here destined to pour its 
 waters into the Loire, from a gravelly bed, 
 where the spotted trout might have darted 
 along the shallows, shaded by a natural fringe 
 of maple and hazel. But it had been directed 
 from its channel, by the perplexing hand of art, 
 to water the dusty fountains, where " gaping
 
 262 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 Tritons," and a thousand venomous reptiles 
 spouted forth their rage against the shrinking 
 form of Latona protecting her twins ; and partly 
 into marble tanks, where the carp basked glit- 
 tering in the sun, and appeared to pant for a 
 more congenial element. 
 
 Such were the ornaments of the garden where 
 the Due de L and his son stood contem- 
 plating the setting of a summer sun, over a 
 landscape richly clothed with forest wood, and 
 already partially enlivened by the vintage feast. 
 " This beautiful spectacle," said the Duke, 
 mournfully, " is somewhat new to me. Were 
 it not too late to debate upon the eligibility of 
 the life I have chosen unto myself, I might be 
 led to inquire whether the mighty Giver of such 
 gifts will forgive their cold and hasty resigna- 
 tion for the artificial atmosphere of a court. I 
 feel at this moment as though I had ungra- 
 ciously rejected the offering of a friend. Gus- 
 tave — I have lived too long for the world ; — 
 the lamp of life is already on the wane, and the 
 unprofitable pursuits for which it hath been 
 consumed have left little behind but vexation
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 263 
 
 and regret. Yes, my son ! the silence with 
 which you listen to my words, the coldness 
 with which you contemplate, for the first time, 
 the emotions of your father, fatally evince that 
 I have omitted to cultivate the affections of my 
 child ; even as the beauties of the creation 
 reproach me, in the simplicity of their loveli- 
 ness, that I have hitherto neglected their enjoy- 
 ment. It is fitting that both should be with- 
 drawn from me." 
 
 The tears that arose in the eyes of the 
 minister as he uttered these words, were already 
 more than answered in those of his son ; but 
 startled and even awed by so unlooked for a 
 display of agitation and bitter reflection on the 
 part of his father, he replied only by respect- 
 fully taking his hand, and pressing it to his 
 lips. After a few moments of mutual silence 
 the duke resumed, in the altered and deep tone 
 of voice which fitted the intense and conflicting 
 emotions of his heart — " Gustave — it was for 
 no idle purpose — no solicitude for worldly ad- 
 vantage, that I declined an immediate termina-
 
 264 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 tion of our treaty with the family of Roche- 
 Guyon, and withdrew from the importunate 
 solicitations of Versailles to this scene of tran- 
 quillity. It is requisite that you should at 
 length know, and be known to your surviving 
 parent. My beloved child, let us no longer be 
 strangers to each other." 
 
 Deeply impressed, the young man followed 
 in silence the hurried and agitated steps of the 
 
 Due de L , to the full extent of the terrace ; 
 
 then leaning heavily on the marble balustrade 
 of a flight of massive steps which led to the 
 saloon, the Duke resumed his stately pace as he 
 passed through a file of liveried attendants in 
 the ante-chamber. For a moment the warm 
 current of his feelings appeared to freeze again, 
 — he resumed his former sternness ; but when 
 the servants whom he had hastily summoned to 
 supply the coffee service withdrew, he com- 
 manded that no one should presume to interrupt 
 him for the rest of the evening ; and motioning 
 to Gustave to follow him, he led the way to a 
 boudoir which terminated the suite of apart-
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 265 
 
 merits they inhabited. It was a small octagon 
 room, richly hung with blue damask, and 
 enriched with gilded cornices and window 
 frames. A canopy of similar materials, and 
 two massive buhl cabinets, completed its fur- 
 niture ; and its general appearance denoted 
 that it had been a favorite resort of female 
 taste. 
 
 " This was my late mother's chosen apart- 
 ment," said the duke, hastily throwing himself 
 upon the couch, and "desiring his son to place 
 himself at his side, " what think you of the 
 taste of its decorations ?" 
 
 Gustave, concluding that his father wished to 
 withdraw his personal observation from him- 
 self, by this inquiry, began carelessly to admire 
 some of the thousand costly trinkets scattered 
 on the cabinets ; and to examine the festoons of 
 exquisite carving which decorated the pannels. 
 " It is indeed," he replied, " a fairy palace — 
 a nest of elegance and luxury." 
 
 " It is a cavern of damnation !" said the duke, 
 in a hollow, agonized voice. " Gustave ! — it was 
 on this very spot that the heart of thy father 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 received the deepest wound which could afflict 
 humanity, — here, the curse fell upon me ! 
 Yea ! here have I suffered the torments of the 
 condemned, — and even here will I derive my 
 first consolation, by unfolding the mystery of 
 my early life to the commiseration of my 
 child." 
 
 " Not now — not at this agitating mo- 
 ment, my lord ! — spare us both, my beloved 
 father. 11 
 
 " Gustave, it is at this hour only that the 
 knowledge of your father's destiny may in 
 aught avail you, and prevent you from rashly 
 undertaking the fulfilment of duties, upon 
 whose good or evil consummation depends the 
 happiness or the utter desolation of your future 
 existence. Had I been so exhorted — so ten- 
 derly forewarned, what hours of bitter and 
 unmitigated torture had I been spared ! But 
 I will no longer keep you in suspense, 11 added 
 he, rising, and taking a large packet of writ- 
 ings from one of the cabinets. " Read these, 
 my dear son, and judge as leniently as you 
 may, the feelings of a father who has him-
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 267 
 
 self so bitterly expiated the errors of his 
 youth." 
 
 So saying, and placing in the hands of Gus- 
 tave the important writings to which he alluded, 
 
 the Due de L slowly withdrew from the 
 
 apartment. 
 
 n 2
 
 268 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Room — room within, 
 For the boy Lordling, and his parasites ! 
 Vice, with her scorpion shadow — dire Remorse, — 
 Folly, with flaunting plumes and jingling bauble — 
 Waste, with outstretching hands — and lewd Excess. — 
 See how they follow, like a rabble-rout, 
 Cheering him on to ruin." 
 
 The Prodigal. 
 
 THE MANUSCRIPT. 
 
 " To you, my son, it were needless to en- 
 large upon the noble descent of our house. 
 From your cradle even until now, the babbling 
 of domestics, the blazonries of the herald, and 
 even the archives of your native land, have not 
 failed to impress upon your mind the splendour 
 of the line to which you belong. Sufficiently 
 conscious of this advantage, my father, the late 
 Due de L , had selected his wife in a
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 269 
 
 family equally illustrious ; and my mother, in 
 adding to our escutcheon the bearings of the 
 house of Monthemar, had also contributed to 
 our household gifts, its pride — and its poverty. 
 In depicting her character, let me not be guilty 
 of unnatural harshness ; — yet deeply as the fail- 
 ings of her nature have been visited upon me 
 and mine, I may not — I cannot consider them 
 with the lenient submission of a son. The 
 small measure of personal care and affection 
 bestowed upon my childhood, when that mother 
 was diverted from the completion of every 
 domestic duty by the vanities of successful 
 beauty, as well as by the anxieties of the most 
 insatiate ambition, convinces me that to her 
 maternal tenderness alone, I am little indebted 
 for the importance I afterwards assumed in her 
 eyes. I can remember no instance in which 
 one genuine caress of motherly love, one spon- 
 taneous effusion of womanly tenderness, was 
 
 ever lavished on me by the Duchesse de L . 
 
 A transient notice of my growth, or a censure of 
 my personal appearance, as she passed through 
 my chamber, on her way to the brilliant saloon,
 
 270 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 where a thousand admirers waited her arrival, 
 was her sole acknowledgment of my existence. 
 I had one sister, who shared, or more than 
 shared with me, the indifference of my mother ; 
 and we grew together like weeds in the desola- 
 tion of a neglected garden. While still a child, 
 I was informed that she was destined for a 
 cloister; and the idea of being parted from 
 Adelaide taught me the first sensation of sorrow. 
 She was the companion of my sports, the gentle 
 assistant of my earliest studies. When threat- 
 ened by my attendants with the displeasure of 
 my mother, whose image was always associated 
 in my mind with the idea of privation and 
 punishment, Adelaide was my consoling angel. 
 But all this was soon to end ; and before she 
 had attained even the second stage of childhood, 
 she was removed, to complete her education, 
 in the convent where, from her birth, she had 
 been destined hereafter to take the veil. 
 
 " To mitigate the pain occasioned by this se- 
 paration, the rudiments of the disgusting art of 
 expediency, to which I have since learned to 
 sacrifice so deeply, were then first unfolded to
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 2^1 
 
 my comprehension. I was, for the first time, 
 given to understand that to the awful pre-emi- 
 nence of rank attached to the house of L — , 
 
 was linked the degradation of pecuniary embar- 
 rassments. Too indolent, too arrogant to im- 
 prove the resources of his impoverished reve- 
 nues by personal exertion, or even by personal 
 privation, my father continued to enjoy the 
 luxurious and wanton waste of magnificence 
 which pervaded every branch of his establish- 
 ment ; while increased expenditure, and de- 
 creased means — decreased by a long succession 
 of inactive and prodigal ancestors, as well as by 
 the haughty recklessness of a profuse wife, 
 threatened to subject his age to penury and 
 deprivation. By sacrificing his only daughter 
 to a life of religious seclusion, he was enabled 
 to evade her claim to a maintenance and dowry 
 suitable to her name ; and by condemning 
 his only remaining child to an ill-assorted 
 union, for the purpose of attaching to his own 
 the splendid domains of the Marechal de Viry, 
 he trusted to escape the necessity for personal 
 sacrifices by which he was menaced. From an
 
 272 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 early age I was taught to consider my future 
 destiny as already assigned. The hopes — the 
 doubts — the fears of affection were denied me ; 
 and my path of life, long, wearisome, and 
 fully developed, lay before me. It was 
 formally announced to me, that as soon as 
 our respective ages permitted, I was to be 
 united to Mademoiselle de Viry ; and that in 
 the mean time, my partial and ill-directed 
 education was to be completed by a tour 
 through the principal countries of Europe, under 
 the tuition of a former secretary of my father, 
 ■ — a Monsieur de Tervines. 
 
 " No proposition could have been more accept- 
 able to my feelings. Of all the various pro- 
 jects thus unfolded to my imagination, Made- 
 moiselle de Viry, and my intended marriage, 
 appeared the least important. I had been 
 already initiated into the dulness and ennui of 
 my father's stately train of idle parasites ; I 
 had been already wearied by the monotonous 
 bon-ton, and empty assumptions of my mother's 
 chosen coterie. The tedious inanity of court 
 whispers — the mortification of disappointed
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 273 
 
 solicitation — the mean avidity — the solemn 
 emptiness of the great, had already disgusted 
 me with the domestic habits of our house ; and 
 the troublesome consideration, which already 
 began to attach itself to the only son of the 
 
 Due de L , taught me to abhor the irksome 
 
 and heartless watchfulness with which I was 
 now beset by my mother. As the heir of her 
 name, as the restorer of the fallen fortunes and 
 tottering greatness of her house, I soon learned 
 my claims to her attention; — as her son — as 
 the offspring of her bosom, how little had they 
 availed me ! 
 
 " In order to receive my homage in presence 
 of our united families, Mademoiselle de Viry 
 was withdrawn from her convent, — the same 
 in which my unfortunate sister was sentenced 
 to waste away the beauty and joy of youth ; — 
 and immediately after this short and formal 
 interview, I departed from Paris. I remarked 
 nothing in my intended bride, except that her 
 appearance was mean, her address awkward, 
 and her countenance cold and contracted. But 
 I grieved not over her want of personal charms. 
 
 n3
 
 274 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 The prospect of our union was remote — remote 
 at least to the unpractised eye of youth. Three 
 years were previously to elapse — three joyous 
 and varying years of endless diversion ; and 
 what visionary projects already floated before 
 my imagination ! Of all the studies to which, 
 by choice or necesssity, I had addressed myself, 
 the art of painting, then little practised in 
 France by amateurs, was the only one to which 
 I had accorded a preference. The prospect of 
 visiting Italy had ever been my favourite day- 
 dream ; and now, the approaching realization 
 of my hopes filled me with delight. Venice 
 — Florence—- Rome — Naples — with their train 
 of voluptuous enjoyments ; — the classic tem- 
 ples of art — the festivals of the great, — all that 
 could charm the ear — the eye — the touch, — 
 appeared awaiting my selection. 
 
 " From the discipline of my governor, the 
 excesses of whose conduct at Paris had been ill 
 concealed from my observation, I knew I had 
 little to dread. In Monsieur de Tervines, I 
 expected to find, and I afterwards found, an 
 elegant and easy companion ; too well bred to
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 275 
 
 intrude on my amusements, and too selfish to 
 forego his own. From the first, there existed 
 an excellent understanding between us. His 
 letters to my father, which were but of rare 
 occurrence, teemed with encomiums on my pru- 
 dence, of the propriety of my general demean- 
 our, and of my success at the various courts to 
 which we had presented letters of introduction. 
 While mine, which were still more rare, care- 
 fully extolled the gentlemanly address and 
 steady surveillance of my preceptor and friend, 
 Monsieur de Tervines. It was true indeed, 
 that he assiduously attended me to the Tennis 
 Court, and shared in my lessons of equitation, 
 and of the Italian language; but the greater 
 part of my time was left absolutely to my own 
 disposal ; and at the age of twenty, in the full 
 excitation of every passion, and in the total 
 absence of each better monitor, it is not won- 
 derful that my career was marked by excesses, 
 such as I will not degrade myself by unfolding 
 to the knowledge of my son. 
 
 "It was nearly seven months after my de- 
 parture from Paris, that we agreed, contrary
 
 276 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 to the express directions of my father, to pass 
 the season of the carnival at Venice. That 
 romantic city, at all times a very palace of the 
 senses, — boasted, at the period to which I al- 
 lude, a society of young nobles, probably the 
 most dissolute in Europe. I had become ac- 
 cidentally acquainted at Milan, with one of its 
 most distinguished members, the Prince Cara- 
 telli. Like myself, the only son of an illus- 
 trious family, — like myself, of a turbulent and 
 ungovernable spirit,— like myself, left to pur- 
 sue the dictates of an ill-regulated mind, — he 
 became my chosen companion : initiating me 
 into the looser pleasures of a licentious career ; 
 pointing, by his bolder and more confident 
 frame of mind, to excesses, from which at first 
 I shrank with dismay ; and lending a charm 
 through the elegance of his personal appearance, 
 and the graces of an accomplished figure, to 
 deeds which had otherwise revolted me by their 
 native repulsiveness. It would be difficult to 
 conceive a more highly-gifted being than Ca- 
 ratelli, considering him as a mere creature 
 fashioned by the Almighty maker of the uni-
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 277 
 
 verse ; and surely it is in itself no small mea- 
 sure of sin, to pollute the image of God as it 
 was hourly polluted by him ; and to degrade 
 the attributes of Omnipotence with every 
 abasement that humanity can compass. 
 
 " We accompanied Caratelli to Venice ; and 
 under his auspices were initiated into the first 
 class of society in that illustrious city, as well 
 as into the orgies by which he delighted to level 
 himself with the lowest it afforded. Wine — 
 women — dice, — companionship with the sharper, 
 the harlot, and the drunken reveller ! — such were 
 our pastimes — such the desperate resources of 
 our desperate hearts. We had exhausted every 
 guiltless means of diversion ; till, wearied to 
 satiety by gratified and lawless indulgence, we 
 drained every fountain of pleasure till its dregs 
 were bitterness to the taste. 
 
 " It was during the last days of the carnival, 
 that on sallying forth from a scene of Baccha- 
 nalian riot, where we had passed the night, a 
 quarrel respecting a worthless woman arose 
 among the inebriated group of which I formed 
 a part. Rash words — rash and intemperate
 
 278 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 words — passed amongst us ; and in the flush of 
 wine, swords were drawn, and blows exchanged, 
 even before the cause of the dispute was exactly 
 known. Monsieur de Tervines and a young 
 Neapolitan officer, were on my side ; — on the 
 other, alas I were Caratelli, and three of his 
 chosen associates. After a personal encounter 
 with one of the three, whom I disarmed, I 
 turned, on an exclamation of my companion, 
 and perceived that three of our antagonists had 
 disappeared ; one only, and that one Caratelli, 
 was lying bleeding on the ground. A cold 
 chill struck to my heart ; I felt an instant 
 presentiment that he was mortally wounded. 
 He was not insensible, — but as we raised him 
 from the ground, his ghastly countenance, ex- 
 hibited by the dull gray twilight of a spring 
 dawn, afforded justifiable cause of alarm. We 
 removed him into the porch of a neighbouring 
 monastery of Dominicans, who afforded him 
 every relief that kindness or skill could suggest. 
 The sword, which was that of Monsieur de 
 Tervines, had been broken in his side by the 
 violence of his fall ; and before the fragment
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 279 
 
 could be extracted, an operation attended with 
 some danger, it was judged necessary to acquaint 
 his family with his situation. 
 
 " They came ; — the haughty patrician father, 
 now moved by the danger of his first-born to 
 the weakness and gentleness of a child; — the 
 stern mother — now pale, tearless, and speechless, 
 sorrowing together in their hopeless agony over 
 the prodigal, but still beloved ! As they bent 
 over the pallet on which, for the sake of imme- 
 diate relief, Caratelli had been deposited, the 
 glittering splendour of his masquerade habit, 
 displaying in its partial removal the muscular 
 vigour of his person, formed a striking contrast 
 with the grey garbs and sallow and passionless 
 countenances of the emaciated brotherhood who 
 were ministering to his relief. His mother 
 knelt by his side, with his unnerved and relax- 
 ing hand clasped in her own ; and the long 
 white robe, in which, amid the dread stillness 
 of the night she had been hurried from her 
 home, was soiled and dabbled in blood — the life 
 blood of her only son. 
 
 " De Tervines was leaning against the wall of 
 the dormitory, in breathless anxiety ; and
 
 280 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 scarcely conscious of a wound, at any other 
 moment, sufficiently painful. Such, Gustave — 
 such was the scene of misery to which the path 
 of habitual vice had conducted your father ! 
 
 " The closing hour of Caratelli's life was 
 worthy of a far nobler commencement. Naturally 
 of a noble and generous disposition, his spirit, 
 about to put on immortality, appeared to shake 
 off the corruption by which it had been obscured, 
 and to exhibit only the better impulses of its 
 nature. His dying request to his parents was, 
 that they should neither directly nor indirectly 
 seek to avenge his death. He stretched out his 
 hands to De Tervines and myself ; and frankly 
 acknowledged that he had fully provoked his 
 fate by his own violence of temper. Then, 
 faintly smiling, he counselled me to withdraw 
 immediately from Venice; lest the law, and 
 either his personal friends, or my own personal 
 enemies, should profit by my mischance, to in- 
 terfere with his good wishes for my welfare. 
 4 For you, De Tervines,' added he, ' I have, 
 if I mistake not, placed an unfortunate obstacle 
 to your flight, — look well to your guard arm,
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 281 
 
 for the blow of Caratelli hath long been esteemed 
 a sure one. But, till your wound be healed, 
 promise me to unite penitence and security, by 
 remaining under sanctuary in this monastery. — 
 My life on it you will not be in case to rejoin 
 your pupil till you have assisted at a hundred 
 masses for the repose of my soul.' I shuddered 
 at this last flight of levity ; for, as he spoke, 
 his voice grew fainter, and his words became 
 perplexed in the approach of death ; and in a 
 few moments, before any material assistance 
 had been rendered him, one long piercing 
 shriek from his kneeling mother, apprized us 
 that the spirit had passed away. I looked, and 
 saw the fixed and uninformed features, — the 
 still lips, whence the breath of life had de- 
 parted, — and I knew that Caratelli was indeed 
 no more ! 
 
 M In a few hours, clad in the dress of my own 
 servant, who by mutual arrangement was to 
 remain with my suffering friend De Tervines, 
 mounted on a fleet horse, and carrying with me 
 a sufficient sum in gold, I was out of the Vene- 
 tian territories, and on my road towards Rome.
 
 282 THE LETTEE DE CACHET. 
 
 Gracious God ! by what a torrent of overwhelm- 
 ing emotion was my heart oppressed on my first 
 pause from the necessary speed of my course ! 
 The events of the preceding day and night had 
 succeeded each other with such bewildering 
 rapidity, that, but an apparent moment past, 
 and Caratelli was wassailing by my side in the 
 intemperate recklessness of youth and joy ! — His 
 clear and manly voice seemed yet ringing in my 
 ears — his friendly pressure seemed still resting 
 on my shoulder ; — but now, the damps of death 
 were on that haughty brow, — and I, his hand- 
 in-hand companion, was fleeing a midnight 
 fugitive, before the avengers of his murder ! I 
 passed, by necessity, one fevered night of agita- 
 tion and remorse, at a miserable inn on the 
 road ;-r— and there, in my solitary vigils, I could 
 not drive the wild laugh of Caratelli from my 
 ears ; nor from my touch, the dying grasp of 
 his cold damp hand. Oh God ! what awful 
 reflections — what humiliating, what overcoming 
 recriminations obscured my troubled faculties 
 during that dreadful night ! 
 
 " It was necessary, however, for my security
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 283 
 
 that I should now adopt decisive measures for 
 my further safety ; not only on my own account, 
 but to prevent the knowledge of my errors and 
 those of my preceptor, from reaching my family. 
 I determined therefore on a temporary change 
 of name and station, till the restoration of De 
 Tervines should enable him to rejoin me. I 
 sold my horse to the Aubergiste ; and on foot, 
 and in the guise of a nameless and obscure 
 traveller, I entered Rome.
 
 284 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Rome, depuis long-temps, est l'asile des exiles de la terre. 
 
 De Stael. 
 
 " Of all who ever passed the mighty gates 
 of the Eternal City, no one had surely ever con- 
 templated its approach with an utter indiffer- 
 ence like mine. Its glories — its greatness, past 
 or present — its treasuries of art — its influence 
 over the fate of nations, — what were these but 
 vanity to me ! The energies of my mind seemed 
 gathered within the winding-sheet of my friend 
 — the pulses of my heart seemed withered by the 
 blow that had laid him with the dead. Even 
 now, I had contemplated the passing of a soul 
 from mortality to immortality ! Eternity had 
 been half unveiled before my eyes ; — and as I
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 285 
 
 turned from so awful a spectacle, how vain — 
 how mean — how impotent appeared the pride of 
 a ruined forum — the splendour of a gorgeous 
 and sovereign altar ! 
 
 " My first measure on my arrival was to pos- 
 sess myself of an obscure lodging in one of the 
 less frequented parts of the city ; and there, 
 under the assumed name of Lavisier, I passed 
 for a young French artist, sojourning at Rome 
 for the purpose of improvement in my profes- 
 sion. Harassed and disgusted by the inquisi- 
 tive familiarity to which I was exposed by the 
 meanness of the rank of society to which I had 
 announced myself as belonging — familiarity 
 equally novel and irritating to one accustomed 
 from his birth to the deference and regard of 
 the vulgar — I was frequently driven, however 
 reluctantly, from the pitiful habitation where 
 I had chosen my retreat ; and instead of aban- 
 doning myself to that silence and solitude 
 which would have been most congenial to my 
 existing frame of mind, I fled from the loneli- 
 ness of my apartment to the still lonelier refuge 
 of a crowd ; and there, unknowing and un-
 
 286 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 known, I mingled with a mass of individuals, 
 alike unconscious and careless of my existence. 
 Hour after hour, day after day, I paraded the 
 public ways of Rome ; attracting in my simple 
 garb no notice which might thereafter entail 
 the shame of recognition upon the heir of the 
 
 house of L . My mind was indeed deeply 
 
 shaken by the afflicting scenes to which I had 
 been recently a witness; yet had I but pos- 
 sessed a single friend, — could I have addressed 
 myself to any human being for consolation in 
 my sorrow, or exhortation in my bewilderment, 
 — and more than all, had I been blest with a 
 fitting consciousness of Divine power and mercy, 
 I had not fallen into so utter a self-abandon- 
 ment. 
 
 " Indifferent, however, as I had become to all 
 external shows, I felt myself impelled, by total 
 incapability of employment, to visit the prin- 
 cipal objects of interest in the city. The 
 churches — the palaces — and galleries of modern 
 Rome; — the desolated temples — the ruined 
 walls of the ancient city, passed before my 
 eyes like the empty pageant of a dream. Cold
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 287 
 
 and unexcited, self-weary and self-condemned 
 — my soul, chilled even unto apathy in its 
 loneliness, returned no echo to the voice of 
 those mighty monuments of past ages. Their 
 beauty touched not my heart ; their desolation 
 roused not my regret. There was a sound of 
 lamentation still ringing in my ears which over- 
 powered all other complaining; — even the 
 voice of a childless mother sorrowing over her 
 bereavement ! At length, unable longer to 
 endure the lassitude of mind which made my 
 season of expectation and seclusion appear un- 
 ending, I determined to profit by my assumed 
 character, and place myself under the tuition 
 of some artist of eminence, in order to perfect 
 myself in the art of figure-painting. I visited 
 accordingly every studio of note ; and finally 
 entered myself as a pupil, under an historical 
 painter commonly known in Rome by the name 
 of Geriglio. He was a Frenchman by birth ; 
 but having passed into Italy early in life under 
 the patronage of the Cardinal de Richelieu, in 
 order to complete his professional education, he 
 had married, and obtained a naturalization in
 
 288 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 Rome, in preference to returning to his native 
 country. 
 
 " His school of art had obtained a reputation 
 little inferior to that of the greatest masters, 
 his predecessors and cotemporaries ; and no 
 gallery was considered complete till orna- 
 mented by a picture of Geriglio. But his 
 caprice in the sale and distribution of his works 
 was one great source of their popularity. He 
 had been frequently known to refuse one of 
 his inferior performances, even at the highest 
 price, to some Monsignore, or noble collector, 
 who had obtained the reputation of illiberality 
 among the necessitous members of the profes- 
 sion ; while to a generous patron of the arts, 
 he would offer the finest of his pieces at a very 
 low price. 
 
 " From the associations to which my name and 
 language probably gave rise, I speedily became 
 a distinguished favourite with my new master. 
 With the enthusiasm and originality of a 
 highly-gifted mind, De Gerilly combined an 
 elegance of address not usually met with in his 
 class of society ; and in defiance of my natural
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 289 
 
 haughtiness of heart, I felt proud of being for 
 the first time distinguished above my fellows, 
 by an enlightened man, whose discrimination 
 had not been prejudiced by his knowledge of 
 my birth and fortune. Three days in the 
 week I diligently attended the academy of 
 De Gerilly ; the three intervening days I knew 
 him to be exclusively occupied in decorating 
 the great staircase of the Villa Ludovisi, — a 
 work; to the accomplishment of which he looked 
 as his best passport to posterity ; and to which 
 he attached so much importance, that he ad- 
 mitted the assistance of only two of his most 
 distinguished scholars — Barbarino and Andrea. 
 
 " Such was his influence with the Prince Piom- 
 bino, to whose patronage he was* indebted for 
 an employment so satisfactory to his ambition, 
 that he had obtained an order for the exclusion 
 of all strangers from the Villa till his work 
 should be completed : — in order to be secure 
 from the irritating and ignorant criticisms, to 
 which artists are usually subjected by the lo- 
 quacious cognoscenti of Rome; and which, to 
 a man of De Gerilly's delicate discrimination, 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 290 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 and intense devotion to his art, were equally 
 perplexing and humiliating. How have I seen 
 him rave and fret, after a visit made to his 
 studio by some Cardinal, overflowing with the 
 cant of connoisseurship ; or some princely tra- 
 veller, whose northern imagination had never 
 been visited by the inspired dreams of art ! 
 
 " Early in my scholarship, I had intreated for 
 exemption from the general sentence of exclusion 
 from the Villa Ludovisi ; and to my great morti- 
 fication, my petition had been rejected. Unac- 
 customed to meet with opposition in matters of 
 such trifling import, my inclinations were stimu- 
 lated to fresh curiosity by the obstacles I encoun- 
 tered ; — I renewed my request, — and again I 
 was repulsed, and even with rudeness. 
 
 " * I tell you, no ! Lavisier,"* said the petu- 
 lant old man, roughly seizing the palette which 
 I was preparing by his side — ' Wait till the 
 fogs of the Seine are dispelled irom your boyish 
 comprehension by the bright sun of Italy ; 
 application, young man, — application and study, 
 must precede such presumptuous aspirations." 
 
 " Ungovernable in my temper, I was about to
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 291 
 
 declare my name and rank, and withdraw my- 
 self from his tuition ; but the dangers of my 
 situation opportunely presented themselves to 
 my remembrance, and I contented myself with 
 withdrawing behind the group of my fellow- 
 students, and muttering between my teeth, 
 ' Accursed Villa ! I will visit thee at the risk 
 of perdition V I was roused from my angry 
 mood by the whispers of one of my fellow- 
 students, who from the first had made parti- 
 cular advances to obtain my friendship. 
 
 " c Be not over-solicitous,'' said he, ' to view 
 this paltry staircase; yonder old fanatico is 
 jealous, even to dotage, of his own pitiful 
 designs. Visit the Palazzo Braschi ; — there, 
 since you are an amateur of staircases, shall you 
 behold one indeed — scala stupenda — gigan- 
 tesca P and he ran on in the cant of a hireling 
 Cicerone, in praise of its red marble columns, 
 till I was even weary of the theme. 
 
 " ' I care not,' said I, peevishly, ' for the 
 most splendid stair that has been erected since 
 the days of the Titans ; but this Villa— -this 
 
 o 2
 
 292 THE LETTRE DE CACHET, 
 
 Hesperian garden — I will visit, in spite of 
 dragons, fabled or breathing.' 
 
 " 6 You must then supplicate the intercession 
 of Andrea,' continued my officious friend ; 
 ' yon ill- shaped elf, who is soothing the ear of 
 Geriglio by his clumsy adulation. He is about 
 to become his son-in-law ; — and heir to his can- 
 vas, easels, and broad lands beside.' 
 
 " ' And is the person of his intended bride 
 assorted to his own loathsome uglinesss ?' 
 
 " 'That, indeed, I know not : none of us have 
 been admitted into the domestic circle of our 
 master; nor has the dignified seclusion which 
 he has been pleased to maintain afflicted us 
 deeply ; for you must know, maestro,'' said the 
 young Roman, with a scornful inflexion of 
 voice, i that your countryman thought proper 
 to select his wife among the most degraded of 
 the people. The mother of the gentle Andrea's 
 future wife, Signore Lavisier, was a baptized 
 Jew !' 
 
 . "In the heat of my resentment against Geriglio, 
 I was secretly gratified by the knowledge of a
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 293 
 
 fact so degrading ; and at the end of my lesson, 
 I closed the door of the studio with a determi- 
 nation never to visit it again, till I had grati- 
 fied my curiosity by a visit to the Villa Ludo- 
 visi-Piombino. 
 
 " The following day, being one devoted by 
 Geriglio to his employment at the Villa, would, 
 I knew, be unpropitious to the fulfilment of 
 my intentions ; but the next morning, having 
 excused myself, on the pretext of indisposition > 
 from attending the academy, I sallied forth on 
 my expedition ; and slowly, and on foot, I 
 ascended the Pincian Hill, on the summit of 
 which the villa is situated. 
 
 fi It was a pure, balmy morning of the month 
 of May, and all nature appeared wantoning in 
 the excess of enjoyment. A gentle air agitated 
 the broad leaves of the plane trees, which 
 afforded a delicious refuge from the increasing 
 heat of the sun ; and as I deliberately reached 
 the commanding eminence, and beheld the city 
 gradually unfolded at my feet, the soothing 
 influence of the summer atmosphere — the cloud- 
 less sky — the snatches of fragrance ever and
 
 294 THE LETTRE DE. CACHET. 
 
 anon bursting from the adjoining gardens of 
 the Villa Medici, intoxicated my senses to the 
 utmost emotion of dreamy enjoyment, and ren- 
 dered me comparatively indifferent to the pri- 
 mary motive of my walk. To breathe in such 
 an hour was almost enough for happiness ! 
 
 " I had no intention of presenting myself at the 
 principal entrance of the villa, where I was sure 
 to be repulsed by the denial of the custode ; 
 but having nearly completed the external circuit 
 of the gardens, which are partly inclosed by the 
 venerable walls of the ancient city, I discovered 
 a low green door opening to the Strada Pin- 
 ciana ; at which stood two mules, caparisoned 
 as fitting to female service, and held by a boy, 
 who reclined against a stone vase ornamenting 
 the gate, overcome by sleep and the heat of the 
 day. Silently I approached. The door, which 
 was ajar, yielded to my touch ;— I entered, and 
 closed it after me without molestation. The 
 gardens of the villa now lay before me, in all 
 the majesty of their loveliness ; their shadowy 
 walks contrasting with the glare of the scene 
 without, — their fragrant labyrinths shaming
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 295 
 
 the dusty and polluted paths of the city. All 
 was silent, in the repose of noontide sultriness. 
 The busy hum of insect wings had ceased to 
 hover in the gleams of sunshine ; and even the 
 eternal grasshopper of Italy was silent for a 
 season. Here and there the spiral cypress de- 
 tached itself from the luxuriant masses of the 
 dark bay trees, or rose above the groups of 
 glossy ilex, while a solitary pine stood 
 
 Long-haired, and dark, and tall, 
 In lordly pride predominant o'er all. 
 
 " Invited by the refreshing beauty of the scene, 
 I followed the green alley which I had first 
 entered, till a sudden turn brought me in view 
 of a magnificent pavilion, placed about the 
 centre of the gardens, and commanding an en- 
 chanting view towards the hills of Sabina and 
 Albano. The portal, which I approached 
 through a splendid orangery, whose blossoms, 
 under the excitement of the sunshine, emitted 
 a perfume almost too rich for endurance, was 
 open ; and impelled onwards, like some fabled 
 victim of magic delusion, I entered the marble 
 vestibule, ascended a small but elegant stair-
 
 296 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 case, and passed through an antechamber, hung 
 with paintings, which at another moment might 
 have arrested my observation ; but I now has- 
 tened forward, and only paused on the threshold 
 of the adjoining chamber, on perceiving it to be 
 already tenanted by two females. For some 
 minutes I stood there unobserved, — both having 
 their faces turned from the door : the one aged, 
 and plainly dressed, was busily employed in 
 knitting ; the other in painting. The subject 
 of her pencil formed apparently some part of 
 the exquisite group of the Aurora of Guercino, 
 which adorned the ceiling — a piece already well 
 known to me by its high reputation ; and which, 
 among the cognoscenti of Rome, was frequently 
 preferred to that of Guido himself. 
 
 " I saw little of the person of the artist, which 
 was enveloped in an ample drapery, till chancing 
 to throw my eyes on an immense mirror op- 
 posite, her young and beautiful countenance was 
 exhibited to my view, in the total unconscious- 
 ness of observation; — now throwing back the 
 glossy raven hair which interrupted her view, 
 as she bent over her work; — now raising her
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 297 
 
 large and intelligent eyes towards the original ; 
 — and from her high and dazzling forehead, 
 and the exquisite contour of her head, re- 
 sembling a sybil in her hour of inspiration. 
 Without pausing in her occupation, she ad- 
 dressed her companion in the silvery tone 
 worthy the bbcca Romana ; and in terms of the 
 most expressive endearment, entreated her pa- 
 tience for one short hour ; ' For unless I am 
 doubly diligent, dearest mother,'' said she, 6 my 
 medallion will be incomplete for the appointed 
 day ; and then, what will my father say to his 
 negligent and ungrateful girl P 1 
 
 " The elderly female, whose name I had dis- 
 covered in the course of the dialogue, of which 
 I had become an unintentional auditor, to be 
 Monna Lisana, was about to reply, when looking 
 towards me, and uttering a loud exclamation of 
 surprise, the fair artist suddenly rose, and let 
 the painting on which she was occupied fall 
 from her hands upon the marble floor. In- 
 stinctively I hastened to assist her in recovering 
 it ; and with the humblest apologies for my in- 
 trusion, which I represented as the accidental 
 
 o3
 
 298 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 result of idleness and an open door, I succeeded 
 in appeasing the momentary alarm of the ladies. 
 By the assiduity of my address, I soon led the 
 elder to the most garrulous enlargement upon 
 her own first emotions of surprise and terror ; 
 and by the interest I displayed in the accident 
 occasioned by my temerity, I soon induced the 
 younger to listen to my suggestions for the 
 reparation of the medallion, which I now held 
 in my hands. 
 
 " ' It was a gift for my father on his birth- 
 day,' said my beautiful companion, with the 
 tears standing in her eyes. 
 
 " ' Will you permit me,' I answered, * to re- 
 touch the blemish P 1 and taking the brush from 
 her hand, with the freedom of more advanced in- 
 timacy, I soon restored the picture to its former 
 state. It was the copy of a head of one of the 
 Hours attendant on Aurora, most delicately and 
 faithfully touched ; but on restoring it to the 
 owner, I was agitated by emotions at once too 
 deep, and too respectful, to utter one compliment 
 of common politeness. 
 
 The Signore is discontented with your per- 
 
 (( i
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 299 
 
 formance, my Armina,' cried Monna Lisana 
 peevishly. 
 
 " c Alas !' replied she, ' his masterly improve- 
 ments on my work discover the hand of too 
 experienced an artist." 
 
 " Without disclaiming her praise^ I strove to 
 afford myself a decent pretext for continuing 
 my unreasonable intrusion, by carefully ex- 
 amining, and then entering into a minute criti- 
 cism of the various pictures decorating the 
 apartment ; drawing near the while to Armina's 
 desk, where she was peaceably re-seated, and 
 pursuing her employment. By dexterously 
 maintaining the conversation on subjects of art, 
 mingled with counsel as to the mode of her 
 performance, I contrived to engage their atten- 
 tion, till the striking of the time-piece reminded 
 them of the necessity of departure. While I 
 assisted the lovely stranger in the disposal and 
 removal of her implements, I vainly strove by 
 artful inquiries and suggestions, to discover her 
 name and station. I was encouraged by her 
 bewitching frankness of demeanour — a frank- 
 ness far more consonant with true modesty,
 
 300 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 than the affected decorum and oninauderie of 
 my countrywomen — to hope that Armina would, 
 at parting, acquaint me with the subject of 
 my curiosity. Without once remembering the 
 original object which had stimulated me to my 
 present adventure, I accompanied the ladies 
 through the gardens, and after passing through 
 the same green door, which MonnaLisana locked 
 with a master-key, I placed them on their mules : 
 and respectfully uncovered, stood to receive their 
 parting salutations, which, however, were unac- 
 companied by the announcement I had half ex- 
 pected. 
 
 " The lively old lady had parried my covert 
 inquiries during our walk through the gardens, 
 by questions tending towards the same object, 
 with regard to myself. But I shrank from 
 declaring the mean capacity I had assumed ; 
 more especially as the elegant address and 
 refined language of the Lady Armina, as well 
 as the richness of her well-chosen attire, an- 
 nounced her to belong to a more distinguished 
 rank than her scanty retinue had at first sug- 
 gested. 
 
 " I stood rooted to the spot while they slowly
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 301 
 
 descended the hill ; and at length I returned to 
 my dark and solitary home, where I passed that 
 night and the following day in a state of feverish 
 excitement ; — in re-considering my adventure, 
 and in minutely recalling to mind every word, 
 every look, every movement of the lovely vision 
 I had so unexpectedly encountered; dwelling, 
 with the irritability of a disordered state of 
 feeling, now on the inexpressible charms of the 
 beautiful Armina, now on my own intolerable 
 dulness in having failed to acquaint myself 
 with her title and residence. The apparent 
 domestication of the ladies in the Villa Ludovisi 
 induced me at first to imagine that they might 
 form part of the family of the Cardinal Piom- 
 bino. I therefore visited my hitherto con- 
 temned fellow-pupil, Andrea, in hopes of 
 discovering, through his means, the various 
 female connexions of his Eminence. 
 
 u In vain I attempted to move his natural dul- 
 ness to a more communicative vein ; it was only 
 by the most tenacious perseverance that I wrung 
 from him the names of such females of the 
 Ludovisi family as had visited the atelier of
 
 302 THE KETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 Geriglio. * There was the Principessa Silvia, 
 his sister, — the Contessina Elena, his niece, — 
 there were the Principesse Chigi and Colonna, 
 his cousins. 1 — ' But their baptismal names P 1 — 
 He knew not. 
 
 " The name of Armina was upon my lips ; 
 but from an emotion hitherto unknown to me, I 
 dared not mention it before the low-born and 
 ill-conditioned Andrea. After turning in my 
 mind all possible expedients by which to trace 
 my incognita, I determined on returning, at the 
 same hour, to the gate of the Strada Pinciana ; 
 for I had observed that the medallion was still 
 incomplete. 
 
 " How did my heart beat against my bosom 
 when, as I approached the garden door, I be- 
 held the well-remembered mules, and the page 
 in his faded livery ! He was no longer asleep ; 
 but boldly, and with a right of entrance, I at- 
 tempted to push open the door. Alas ! it was 
 carefully bolted within, and I was greeted by 
 the insulting laughter of the urchin. 
 
 " ' By what right,' exclaimed I, with vehe-
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 303 
 
 mence, hoping to deceive him, ' by what right 
 is the door closed this morning ?' 
 
 " * By the will of my mistress,' retorted the 
 boy, ' who holds the key.' 
 
 " 6 And her name T 
 
 " * When I have received her orders to com- 
 municate it to your Excellency, I shall inform 
 you/ 
 
 " I was about to seize the mule-whip from the 
 little miscreant's hand, when remembering that 
 a broil with her servant would be no favoura- 
 ble introduction to the notice of Armina, I 
 repressed my indignation, and retired to a dis- 
 tance, resolved to wait the passing of my un- 
 known friends. In about half an hour I heard 
 the tinkling of the small ornamental bells 
 attached to the neck-piece of the mules. 
 I advanced. The ladies, in defiance of the heat 
 of the day, were veiled with even more than 
 Roman punctilio ; nothing was visible but the 
 small white hand of Armina, closing the folds 
 of her black faldetta. They passed, but looked 
 not towards me ; while angrily protesting that 
 I would not a second time be defeated, I slowly
 
 304 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 followed them. Many were the palaces, many 
 were the distinguished abodes which we passed, 
 and which I secretly hoped to see entered by 
 the objects of my pursuit. At length we ap- 
 proached the Ghetto, the detested quarter of the 
 Jews. My breath came short — * it is merely 
 a passage,"' said I to myself, ' towards a nobler 
 vicinage.' 1 But no ! by all that was tormenting 
 and accursed, they paused before the portal of 
 a mean habitation, dismounted, and vanished 
 from my sight. There too vanished the vague 
 chimeras of my dream ! My princess — she in 
 whom I had traced every distinctive mark of 
 innate nobility, — in whose every elegant phrase 
 I had discerned the purity of lofty lineage — all, 
 alas ! for my penetration — all had centred in 
 the nameless daughter of an obscure Jew ! The 
 very name struck me with new disgust, from 
 the force of contrast. 
 
 " I now recalled to mind the person of my en- 
 chantress ; but it was only to exaggerate, with 
 malicious self-humiliation, the clustering rich- 
 ness of her jetty hair, and her commanding 
 features and clear brown complexion. This was
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 305 
 
 the first delusion of the kind that had really 
 touched my feelings ; and my disappointment 
 at its abrupt termination was proportionably 
 great. I had nearly attained the age of twenty- 
 one ; and I had been hitherto a stranger to the 
 true fascination of female charms. The scenes 
 of riot and dissipation through which I had 
 passed had fortunately shed over my mind only 
 a temporary corruption. I had turned from 
 them with disgust, and I was secretly sensible 
 that I had better feelings in my nature than I 
 had yet exercised ; that there were flowers 
 among the rank weeds which dishonoured my 
 desart heart. These feelings I had been about 
 to lavish upon Armina ; — but the transient 
 madness was over. 
 
 "It was not in my nature to exist without an 
 object, — an aim to qualify the monotony of my 
 existence. I perceived by my father's letters, 
 forwarded to me from Venice by Monsieur de 
 Tervines, that I was destined to pass another 
 year on my travels, and I discovered at the 
 same time from his own, that many months 
 must elapse before he could safely rejoin me.
 
 306 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 These I determined to pass in study, and in 
 improving myself in the fine arts ; and thus I 
 trusted that my forced abode in Rome would 
 not be utterly lost to me. 
 
 " Stimulated by this burst of ambition, I re- 
 turned with renewed ardour to the studio of 
 Geriglio ; and for some weeks laboured with 
 such patient assiduity, that I more than regained 
 my former place in his esteem. Thus rein- 
 stated, I was invited by my fellow-students to 
 join them in an intended compliment to our 
 master, by presenting him with a laurel crown 
 on his approaching birth-day, when he would 
 attain his sixtieth year. A member of the 
 band was destined to recite a complimentary 
 sonnet on the occasion ; one of those ready-made 
 inspirations, so readily procured at Rome. 
 Unwilling to degrade myself to the level of 
 those with whom I associated only for an espe- 
 cial and temporary purpose, I declined their 
 proposition ; but when they represented the 
 probable mortification of the old man on missing 
 his favourite scholar and countryman among 
 his partisans, I agreed to join in the ceremony ;
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 307 
 
 and to this end, I accompanied them to our 
 master's house on the appointed morning. 
 
 " We were shown into an elegant chamber ; 
 ornamented, as became its owner, with models 
 from all the most celebrated statues of anti- 
 quity, and spirited copies in outline of the most 
 distinguished pictures of modern artists. There 
 were flowers disposed among these trophies of 
 art, and musical instruments were scattered 
 about : — it was altogether a fitting retreat for 
 taste and genius. The old man entered, and 
 received our offering with equal politeness and 
 sensibility ; but while he patiently listened to 
 the trite effusion which was pompously recited 
 by Andrea, my eyes were rivetted upon his 
 person. Over his sober but rich suit of black 
 velvet, hung a massive gold chain, to which 
 was suspended the medallion of the Villa 
 Ludovisi ! Armina then — my Armina — was, 
 after all, the daughter of Geriglio ! 
 
 This connexion at once accounted for the 
 familiar rights I had seen her exercise in the 
 Villa Ludovisi ; nor could I be surprised at 
 having traced to the Ghetto the daughter of
 
 308 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 " a baptized Jew." I could no longer deceive 
 myself with the hope of finding in the lady of 
 my thoughts a fitting bride for the heir of the 
 
 house of L ; but with other, and newly 
 
 awakened expectations, I determined on ob- 
 taining access to the domestic circle of my 
 master. At first, with the natural prejudice 
 of birth and education in favour of the distinc- 
 tions of nobility, I resolved privately to declare 
 my real name, and to entrust him with the 
 secret of my incognito. But my knowledge of 
 the peculiarities of Geriglio's mind soon gave a 
 different turn to my conclusions. A democrat 
 in his political principles, a zealous defender of 
 popular rights, and an enthusiastic worshipper 
 of the arts, I knew that in his estimation one 
 single attribute of genius would far outweigh 
 the highest grade of earthly honour to be 
 bestowed by king or kaiser. He had long and 
 openly declared that he should seek his son-in- 
 law among those of his own station, — namely, 
 among the artists of Rome ; and as he was 
 known to have amassed a considerable fortune, 
 and to be on the point of retiring from his pro-
 
 THE LETTKE DE CACHET. 309 
 
 fessional labours, I had more than once heard 
 the hand of the daughter of Geriglio mentioned 
 as an object of emulation among the Roman 
 artists. With such a man, therefore, the name 
 
 of the Marquis de L was more likely to 
 
 procure a sentence of exclusion, and to awake 
 his suspicions of my designs upon his daughter, 
 than the simple announcement of the painter 
 Lavisier. 
 
 " Under this impression, I commenced my 
 operations by devoting all the powers of my 
 pencil to the completion of a painting, repre- 
 senting the pavilion scene of the Villa Ludovisi. 
 The beautiful figure of Armina, with the bright 
 effulgence of inspiration shed upon her brow ; 
 the rich background of the ornamented Belve- 
 dere ; the figure of the old lady, relieved by a 
 stream of light which fell from the window near 
 which she sat knitting, afforded objects for a 
 striking composition ; and the inspired memory 
 of a lover enabled me to form a most remark- 
 able likeness of the principal object of my 
 study. I laboured with the persevering ardour 
 of enthusiasm. My picture was scarcely con-
 
 310 THE LETTHE DE CACHET. 
 
 ceived and designed, before it was richly framed, 
 and hanging in the private gallery of Geriglio ; 
 while the fortunate artist, caressed and applaud- 
 ed, was peaceably seated in his domestic circle, 
 and enjoying the conscious smiles of the beau- 
 tiful Armina.
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 311 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I own my love imperfect — all 
 That mortals by that name miscall ; 
 But say — oh ! say, — hers was not guilt. 
 
 Byrok. 
 
 " I am now, Gustave, approaching a period 
 of my recital which I would willingly pass over 
 as briefly as the necessity for your perfect com- 
 prehension of the circumstances may allow. 
 But I will neither screen myself from your 
 condemnation by a partial disclosure, nor, by 
 affecting to regarded the infatuations of my 
 youth with the cold and contemptuous eye of 
 reason, — teach you to undervalue the influence 
 of the strongest, the most intoxicating of all 
 excitations, — the passion of love. Even now 
 that the tenor of my mind is framed by far
 
 312 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 more important considerations, I cannot but 
 turn with wonder to the remembrance of those 
 days when every thought — every wish, every 
 hope — centred in my beautiful Armina ; when 
 my last invocation, as I closed my eyes in sleep, 
 was to her ; and when, as I awoke in the morn- 
 ing, her half-formed name still hovered like a 
 spell upon my lips; — and I, who had ap- 
 proached her society with the plans and ex- 
 pectations of a demon, became in my turn a 
 mere slave to her attractions, and the most 
 intense and devoted of lovers. For if I had 
 been startled by the first illusion of her mar- 
 vellous grace and loveliness, how were my 
 feelings excited, and my heart overcome, by the 
 gradual unfolding of the glorious gifts of that 
 noble soul — by those charms of mind, which, 
 though 'yielded with sweet delay,"' in turn 
 bewildered, in turn enchanted my observation ! 
 
 " Armina, born and cherished among the 
 haunts of the great of old, appeared to have 
 unconsciously imbibed the heroism and mag- 
 nanimity of the mighty dead.— Armina, dwell-
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 313 
 
 ing in her maturity among the finest inspirations 
 of art — breathing the very air of poetry, and 
 stimulated by the continual excitement of glory 
 and fame, the aim and end of all around her — 
 seemed to have snatched the bright flame of 
 genius from the ever-burning altars of Italy. 
 Like the favourite statue of the sculptor — not 
 only framed of the most spotless materials, and 
 
 fashioned in the purest idealism of beauty, but 
 bright with the polish of the master-hand — the 
 favour of the Creator still apparently lingered 
 around his glorious work. 
 
 " One principal charm of the character of Ar- 
 mina consisted in the total absence of worldly 
 cant, and worldly usages. For this she was in- 
 debted to the strict seclusion in which she had 
 been educated by her father. The peculiarities 
 of her mother's connexions — she herself having 
 died in the childhood of Armina — had prevented 
 the necessity of family re-unions ; and except- 
 ing her grand-aunt, Monna Lisana, and the old 
 nurse who had watched over her from infancy, 
 she had not a single acquaintance in Rome. 
 
 vol. i. p
 
 314 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 Her fathers approbation had been the only 
 reward for her ceaseless labours in literary 
 pursuits ; — her father's house had been the 
 theatre where her talents had been fostered and 
 applauded ; and, like a flower gifted by nature 
 with nought but loveliness and fragrance, she 
 had blossomed from childhood to maturity in 
 the shadow of solitude ; — no young Indian from 
 the most remote wilderness, could boast a more 
 uncontaminated heart. Was it wonderful that 
 a being so gifted should joyfully welcome the 
 stranger destined to cross unexpectedly the 
 solitary path of her existence, — should receive 
 with gratitude the first assurances of affection, 
 — and willingly consent to divide her burden of 
 joys and sorrows with one so warmly desirous 
 of participating in both. 
 
 " 6 I know not why I weep, 1 whispered she, 
 when one evening sitting together to wait the 
 arrival of her father in the Ludovisian gardens, 
 I had surprised her into a confession of her 
 feelings towards me ; * I should not weep, La- 
 visier ; — for surely I may consider myself an
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 315 
 
 especial favourite of fortune. First among my 
 joys, let me reckon that of being a native of 
 Italy ; of being permitted to say when I look 
 around me, like the tomb of Poussin's Grecian 
 maiden, ' And I, too, lived in Arcadia.' Second- 
 ly, that I share the undivided affection of an 
 indulgent and intelligent father,— -of one equally 
 desirous and capable of instructing me ; so that 
 of all I know, and all I feel, I am nought in- 
 debted to the care of an hireling. And lastly, 
 Armand, and most important of all, now that 
 my dear father, in his age, had begun to seek a 
 companion for himself, and a wedded protector 
 for his child, thou, my beloved, — the friend of 
 whom I have dreamed in my loneliness, — hast 
 fallen among us ; and I am spared the misery 
 of being bestowed on one who might perhaps 
 have accepted me for my dowry, and then have 
 taken little thought of poor Armina. But thou 
 wilt rescue me from becoming a neglected wife, 
 a household drudge ; — for thy pursuits — thy 
 feelings — thy peaceable demeanour, assimilate 
 with my own. The commendations of my father 
 long ago interested me in his favourite scholar ;
 
 316 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 and to him I owe, with every other good gift, 
 the friendship of Lavisier. And thou wilt 
 assist me, 1 continued the agitated girl, ? in 
 soothing and in amusing his old age ; al- 
 ready he considers thy presence necessary 
 to the happiness of his domestic circle, — 
 already he begins to class us together in 
 his terms of endearment. He calls us ' his 
 children,' Lavisier I 1 
 
 " 6 Yea — and such, dearest, shall we be, in 
 word and in deed ; together, we may support 
 him in his declining years ; together, Armina, 
 all tasks will be easy, all employments delight- 
 ful. I have sought and found the object of my 
 first and only attachment ; I have won — may I 
 not say so ? — the affections of Armina, and the 
 good- will of her father ; and what have we now 
 to fear ?' 
 
 " It is true, that I was conscious of being the 
 subject of Geriglio's careful consideration; and 
 I saw that he was fully aware of my passion for 
 his daughter. . I believed, too, that he destined 
 me her hand ; a gift that would have been rich 
 in every sense to the obscure Lavisier ; but I
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 317 
 
 also saw that he was slow to commit the charge 
 of one so beloved to a person imperfectly known 
 to him ; — and, moreover, that he was too proud 
 to permit a prize so noble to be won unsought. 
 He had too much delicacy of mind to bestow 
 that as a benefactor, which he wished should be 
 received only with the warmth of. a lover. 
 
 " My own feelings and intentions I dare not 
 so scrupulously analyze. — I believe — / trust — 
 that from the moment of my domestication in 
 the family of Geriglio, I had ceased to entertain 
 any dishonourable views upon his daughter. 
 Armina was herself too pure a being for any 
 one to approach her with licentious expecta- 
 tions. Although timid and playful as a child, 
 in the ordinary intercourse of life, I dared no 
 more rouse and encounter the scorn of that 
 lofty brow, than the anger of Heaven itself ; 
 for though she was several years younger than 
 myself, she was far above me in strength of 
 mind, and decision of character. Those better 
 purposes, those honourable principles of action 
 which were with me the result of deliberation 
 and self-inquiry, were instinctive in her correct 
 
 p 2
 
 318 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 understanding and upright heart. Thus, while 
 I dwelt with Armina apart from the tumult of 
 the world, and had leisure to make myself fully 
 acquainted with the virtues of the woman I 
 loved, 1 wanted energy, I wanted candour, to 
 throw off the mask I had assumed ; — to declare 
 myself high in fortune and descent, and then 
 combat, as best I might, the difficulties by 
 which I was beset. Content to revel in that 
 most exquisite of earthly enjoyments, a first and 
 requited affection, I knew that discovery might 
 at any moment overtake me ; but lost jn a 
 dream of love, I thought not or cared not for 
 the result. 
 
 " In the mean time, the summer season was 
 passing deliciously away, in the society of those 
 I loved, and in the constant interchange of vows 
 of faith and affection. Our evenings were passed 
 together ; now in an excursion to the classic 
 haunts of the ancient city, — now in invocating 
 the spirit of Numa in the grotta of Egeria. 
 -—Sometimes we rested after our ride in the 
 mausoleum of Cecilia Metella; and often Armina 
 would enchant her adoring father, by sportively
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 319 
 
 assuming the semblance of an ancient priestess, 
 as we traversed some ruined temple of anti- 
 quity; or throw her graceful figure into the 
 attitude of some celebrated statue, and occupy a 
 niche in the bath or building we were explor- 
 ing with the enthusiasm of brethren of the art. 
 At other times, her ready pencil would lend 
 fresh grace to the picturesque groups of peasant 
 girls who surrounded us with offerings of fruit 
 and flowers, when we were tempted by the love- 
 liness of the weather to pass our entire day on 
 the banks of the Anio ; while she, in her spor- 
 tive gaiety, would, in her turn, join in their 
 dance on the turf, for the amusement of the 
 delighted Geriglio. 
 
 " The health of the old man, which had given 
 him frequent warnings to desist from the seden- 
 tary habits of his early life, was now seriously 
 impaired; and having completed his engage- 
 ment with the Prince Piombino, and gratified 
 his honest pride by receiving the gratulations of 
 all the distinguished artists, his contemporaries 
 in Rome, upon his perfect success, he resolved 
 to avoid his usual residence during the trying
 
 320 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 season of the maFaria ; and for this end, by the 
 advice of his patron, his friend, the banker 
 Dorlaschi, he hired a villa near Terni. 
 
 " Hither he earnestly invited me to accompany 
 him ; and with ill-repressed feelings of exulta- 
 tion I found myself dwelling under the same 
 roof with the object of my passionate attach- 
 ment ; — sharing, with the ease of domestic fami- 
 liarity, the cares of Armina for the comfort of 
 her father, and his daily lessons to his beloved 
 child. It appeared that, before he quitted 
 Rome, he had received warnings of approach- 
 ing dissolution which he had lacked courage to 
 communicate to either of us : for on parting 
 with Dorlaschi he had placed a favourite 
 antique ring upon his finger ; and had presented 
 him, as a last bequest, with the finest painting 
 in his gallery, — his own picture of the massacre 
 of the Innocents, for which he had twice refused 
 an immense sum offered by the Grand Duke of 
 Tuscany. There had existed a peculiar cause 
 for his predilection for this work ; he had 
 copied the infant in the foreground, on whose 
 bosom a centurion has placed his foot, from his
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 321 
 
 own Armina ; and the mother of the martyred 
 babe, from his own wife. The child presented 
 a model of infantine grace and loveliness ; and 
 in the mother he had national traits of great 
 beauty, which well enabled her to represent the 
 persecuted Jewish matron. 
 
 " The presentiments of the old man did not 
 deceive him. Instead of deriving benefit from 
 the change of air, his disorder appeared hourly 
 to gain ground on his constitution ; and as his 
 mind became depressed from indisposition, he 
 could no longer conceal the anxieties which 
 weighed on his mind ; nor repress his impa- 
 tience for the marriage which he considered 
 necessary to secure the welfare of his orphan 
 daughter. 
 
 "'1^1816^ said he, one night, as we were all 
 three sitting together under his portico, in the 
 stillness of moonlight, — c Lavisier, I must not 
 permit a mistimed delicacy to prolong these 
 days of courtship and punctilio, and rob me of 
 the delight I shall experience in bestowing 
 upon you the treasure you covet. It is from 
 the living hand of Geriglio you must receive
 
 322 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 that of Armina ; — it is before the anxious ear of 
 a father, that you must breathe your vows to 
 protect my child, when all other earthly protec- 
 tors shall be withdrawn from her. Send for a 
 notary — nay, no remonstrances, young man ! I 
 know all that you would urge of your inequa- 
 lity of fortune; but you are rich, Lavisier — 
 rich, in integrity — in talent — and in affection 
 for my girl ; and as such, I would have selected 
 you for her husband, had all the peers of 
 France and all the nobles of Italy competed for 
 her choice. Take her, Armand ; — and may 
 God give his blessing to both, as I do I 1 
 
 " Would that I could have summoned courage 
 to reject his tender benediction — to render back 
 his precious gift — and to smite the heart of the 
 aged man with disappointment and death ; — and 
 thus have spared the future destiny of his child. 
 I shuddered with conscious shame, when I 
 affixed a fictitious name to the legal instrument 
 by which he made over to us, jointly, the entire 
 reversion of his rich possessions ; subject to no 
 condition, but relying absolutely on the honour 
 of his son-in-law: — and still deeper were my
 
 THE LETTItE DE CACHET. 323 
 
 emotions, when, on the following day, I pro- 
 nounced those vows at the foot of the altar, 
 whose infraction I already virtually contem- 
 plated. But the deed was done; and as I 
 folded my agitated bride to my bosom, and 
 hailed her as my own — my precious Armina, — 
 I could scarcely consider in its true enormity 
 the act which enriched me with so dear a 
 ri£ht ! 
 
 " The certainty of our union, and the ecstacy 
 of happiness which now daily presented itself to 
 his view, appeared to renovate for a season the 
 enfeebled health of Geriglio. To behold our 
 satisfaction, — our mutual affection, was to him 
 as the unfolding of a bright page of the futurity 
 of his child ; while the calm serenity of 
 
 A mind at peace with all below, — 
 A heart whose love is innocent, 
 
 spread over the beautiful person of Armina a 
 matron gentleness, a new and distinct expres- 
 sion of womanly modesty, which ever com- 
 manded from her husband the respectful ten- 
 derness of a lover. What an inexpressible 
 charm — what moments of unsought and unex-
 
 324 THE LETTER DE CACHET. 
 
 pected enchantment, does an intelligent and 
 feeling woman possess the secret of distributing 
 over the sober monotony of existence ! What 
 bursts of enthusiasm may she command, — what 
 tears of gratified affection may she call forth, 
 while in turn commanding with the gentle rule 
 of prevailing love, or serving with the meek 
 but unhumiliating duty of a wife ! In such 
 accomplishments — in such powers, — how gifted 
 — how powerful was Armina de Gerilly ! Oh ! 
 God of mercy ! can it be that, while basking 
 in the sunshine of her love, I meditated to 
 return such generous — such hallowed — such 
 unqualified affection with ruin and desertion ! 
 
 " We passed one happy year in our retire- 
 ment ; that first year of wedded joy, which we 
 trust to each succeeding one to resemble, — but 
 which, — fearless — confiding — rapturous as it is, 
 cann — ever dawn again on the weary sameness 
 of after-life ! Geriglio lived to hold a grandson 
 in his arms, and expired in the calm security 
 arising from a well-spent and honourable life. 
 Must I confess that, in one point of view, I 
 derived satisfaction from the death of my bene-
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 325 
 
 factor? — I knew that the hour was at hand 
 which must of necessity unveil my deception ; 
 I knew the difficulties I should have to en- 
 counter from my family in the legalization of 
 my marriage ; — and I rejoiced that I should be 
 spared the mortification of witnessing the indig- 
 nation of one honest heart, — the angry contempt 
 of a father, whom an impostor had robbed of 
 his child. But with my Armina, my gentle 
 and confiding wife, I trusted that the voice of 
 love might prevail, to restore me to affection 
 and trust. 
 
 Monsieur de Tervines, the companion of 
 my excesses, the remote source of all my errors, 
 was no more. I had received and trans- 
 mitted to France as accurate a detail as was 
 required of the circumstances of his decease ; 
 and at the moment of Geriglio's peaceful de- 
 parture, I was on the rack, in hourly expecta- 
 tion of a summons from the Due de L to 
 
 return to Paris. Fortunately for my designs, 
 the will of my father-in-law directed an imme- 
 diate sale of his estates and effects ; in order to 
 enable us to make an extended tour through 
 
 vol. i. q.
 
 326 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 the principal countries of Europe, which he 
 knew to be the ardent desire of his daughter. 
 6 When youthful curiosity is once fairly satiated,' 
 he would say, 6 you will return, with enlarged 
 views, and a corrected judgment, to pass the 
 remainder of your days in the great city — the 
 sanctuary of the arts ; and my children's chil- 
 dren will learn to reverence the name of Geriglio, 
 among the palaces of Rome.' 
 
 " In consideration of her father's expressed 
 design, I had little difficulty in persuading 
 Armina to accompany me immediately to Paris ; 
 and still less — with the readiness of a now 
 practised deceiver, — in framing a plausible ex- 
 cuse for expediting our departure. Her recent 
 affliction, and her cares for the lovely infant at 
 her bosom, prevented all inclination for a mere 
 tour of taste or pleasure ; yet when, in the ex- 
 citement occasioned by the fine scenery of Swit- 
 zerland through which we passed, the first 
 smile passed over her countenance, she could 
 not forbear exclaiming, as she rested her head 
 on my bosom — " This — this indeed, dear 
 Armand, has been the dream of my life ; — to
 
 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 327 
 
 visit these romantic countries, and taste in 
 its most intense rapture the beauty of nature, 
 shared by the heart of my only and best be- 
 loved:' 
 
 " i And you are willing,' I replied, in the 
 hope of eliciting some sentiment favourable to 
 the disclosure I meditated, ' you are willing 
 and content, Armina, to enter the native 
 country of your father and husband, as the 
 wife of an obscure individual ? You, whose 
 rich portion might have insured a titled lover ? 
 Can you be satisfied, dearest, to join the mean 
 circle to which I shall be obliged to present 
 you ? Will there be no feeling of disappoint- 
 ment — of blighted ambition, when ' 
 
 " * Thy country is my country — and thy God 
 my God' — answered she, in the language of 
 Scripture, — >< and shall not thy kindred and 
 thy friends be mine also ? Wouldst thou be- 
 lieve, 1 continued my wife, smiling mournfully, 
 ' that the mediocrity of thy station was a glo- 
 rious gift in my sight ? and that my very heart 
 throbbed for joy when I knew thee to be but 
 the student Lavisier ? When first I saw thee, 
 
 a 2
 
 328 THE LETTRE DE CACHET. 
 
 all stranger as thou wert, in the Pavilion, I 
 trembled with the fear that thou wert of too 
 high a station to bend thy thoughts to the 
 daughter of Geriglio. With the vain blind- 
 ness of love, methought I saw in thee a look 
 of nobleness, an air of courteous condescen- 
 sion, which augured of high birth. — Say, 
 dearest, was I not discerning ? Now, Lavisier, 
 I can smile as I think of this; — but it was 
 grief and terror to me then ; — for I had been 
 haunted from my youth upwards with the dread 
 that I should scorn an alliance with one of my 
 own class ; and rashly fix my affections, where 
 my presumption could hope for no return/ 
 
 " 4 A woman's chimera — Armina — a visionary 
 fear V 
 
 " ' Visionary, — but dreadful to my expecta- 
 tions — oh ! of all griefs — of all humiliation — 
 all sorrow, — save me from that of unrequited 
 
 love — of desertion — of ' I stopped her by 
 
 caresses — for it was a theme on which every 
 word uttered by my wife pierced me to the 
 soul. 
 
 We travelled hastily through France ; and
 
 THE LETTItE DE CACHET. 329 
 
 in a few weeks, having settled my wife and 
 child at St. Mande, in a small country-house 
 which afforded an equal facility to their utter 
 seclusion, and to my own constant visits to 
 Paris, I returned to the frontier ; and once 
 more openly pursued my route to the capital, 
 equipped and attended as became the heir of 
 the house of L . 
 
 END OF vol. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SHACKELL AND BAYLIS, JOHNSONS-COURT, FLEET-STREET.
 
 A
 
 ^OUNO^