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 L I B R.AR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 N79e 
 
 v./ 
 
 4 
 
 aV^
 
 EUPHRONIA, 
 
 OR 
 
 THE C^JPTIVE^
 
 EUPHRONIA, 
 
 THE C^lPTIVEi 
 
 a Eomance, 
 
 BY 
 
 Mrs. NORRIS, 
 
 AUTHOR OF ''JULIA OF E N G L A ND, &C." 
 
 For now I stand as one upon a rock. 
 
 Environ 'd by a wilderness of sea ; 
 
 Who. marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, 
 
 Shakespear. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 PRINTED FOR HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 ENGLISH AND FOREIGN LIBRARY, 
 
 CONDUIT STREET, 
 
 BOND STREET. 
 
 1810.
 
 PRINTED BY RICHAKD TAYLOR AND CO. 
 
 SHOE LANE.
 
 5 
 
 ?4 3 
 Nile. 
 
 V, / 
 
 EUPHRONIA 
 
 CHAPTER r. 
 
 Firebrand of hell, first tin'd In Phlegeton, 
 ^. By thousand furies, and from thence outthrov/n 
 ^V Into this world to work confusion 
 3 And sett It all on fire. Spenser. 
 
 ^ J. HE aera of most prophetic importance to 
 the world was that^ in which France, long 
 
 :^ corrupted by vital maladies, shook in the 
 convulsion of a regenerating constitution, 
 
 <i^ and every nerve^ distorted by the violence 
 
 i of disease, trembled in reverberation From 
 
 Pi> the centre of its agitated frame. 
 
 ':?■ Yet even in such a moment did France 
 
 |~* consecrate an asylum sacred to peace. A re- 
 
 CU cess in that natural barrier^ which separates 
 
 3 her from her sister Italy, still afforded se- 
 
 i curity to an unoffending brother of the 
 
 "^ human race'. An amphitheatre of mountains, 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 rising in tremendous majesty^ concealed their 
 summits in the clouds above, and lost their 
 rocky bases in the waters of the deep below, 
 affording a spot well suited to the indulgence 
 of contemplation and the culture of genuine 
 taste; — and in this spot the dwelling of the 
 Abbe Fuillereaud calmly reposed. The 
 towering steeps, the craggy prominences, the 
 alpine cliiFs, the umbrageous woods, which 
 in vast magnificence circumvironed this 
 solitude with invincible protection, were 
 sublimely contrasted with the tranquil beauty 
 of the undulating waters which guarded the 
 southern outlet of this retreat* The Genius 
 of the Mountains frowned awful defiance 
 against the sons of rebellion, whose hands 
 were daily bathed in streams of blood ; but 
 turned to smile a benign assurance that this 
 retreat should for ever remain devoted to the 
 purest meditations of the philosopher, and 
 the most sacred feelings of the man. 
 
 The life of the Abbe was in its wane^ but 
 his mind v/as yet in its meridian. An early
 
 EUPHRONIA, ^ 
 
 intercourse with the world had stamped on 
 his manners an impression never to be ef- 
 faced ; and in the very bosom of seclusion 
 there was to be found the polished suavity 
 of a court. The eye of discernment could 
 however easily penetrate through an external 
 so refined, to the original nobility of the soul 
 v/ithin. When in passive occupation, the 
 countenance of the Abbe betrayed the eleva- 
 tion of sentiment which none but the noble 
 mind can knov/ ; but when his feelings were 
 awakened to action, a spark of the'Divinity ir- 
 radiated his eyes, and the animation of youth 
 beamed for a moment through the sombre 
 veil of years. 
 
 But, professionally an outcast from the 
 endearing ties of relative life, the Abbe 
 might perhaps have sulfered the corro- 
 ding hand of time to blunt the finer edge 
 of human affections, had he not secu- 
 red to them a source of perpetual employ- 
 ment in the society of a companion :— 
 and when his eyes, with anxious care or
 
 4 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 fervid delight, followed the graceful form 
 of the young Varenza, as he bounded forth 
 from the confinement of the morning stu- 
 dies to the agile exercises of the field, he felt 
 that he was indeed a father 1 Varenza had 
 never known any other parent. In infancy 
 he had loved him with filial duty and affec- 
 tion ; but the advance of maturity, by enlarg- 
 ing his knowledge of the obligations which 
 bound him to his benefactor, had added new 
 streanis to the current of his feelings, whidi 
 now often swelled in a tide of impetuous 
 sensation too great to be resisted, oi* sunk his 
 soul in a softened tenderness that over- 
 powered all his senses. Often, very often, 
 v/ould he snatch the hand of the venerable 
 Abb^tohis quivering lips, and, starting from 
 his seat, fly from the presence that was so 
 painful to his gratitude, nor again return till 
 liis countenance resumed' its usual appear- 
 ance, and his manner its wonted gaiety. 
 
 The source in which this emotion origi- 
 nated was simple. He had alv/avs under-
 
 EUPHRONIA. .•> 
 
 Stood that the Count de Massignon, his fa- 
 ther, had intrusted him from a very early 
 period of infancy to the tutorship of the 
 Abbe. The circumstance had neither re- 
 quired nor received his investigation, till, as 
 he advan-ced towards manly years, his ripen- 
 ed understanding became quick to an in- 
 quiry so natural, and he desired to know 
 why his father had never in such a lapse of 
 time personally inspected the progress of his 
 improvements ? To this question he could 
 never obtain a solid ansv^er. He learned that 
 he was an only son j that the Count his father 
 possessed an ample fortune ; that his mother, 
 a woman of high spirit, had devoted her at- 
 tentions only to her daughter : in a word, 
 that both his parents had consigned him 
 even in infancy to the arms and protection 
 of a stranger, to whom they at stated intervals 
 addressed letters of professed solicitude, ex- 
 pressed in a language of proud thanks and 
 formal protestations of natural affection. 
 
 Though this information was gradually
 
 6 EUPHRONIA, 
 
 developed or rather gradually extorted by 
 Yarenza, his astonishment at the final dis- 
 covery was unspeakable. The Abbe assured 
 him he had importuned the Count for the 
 trust ) but he gave no reason that could 
 prompt such a • solicitation, and Varenza 
 fancied die assertion was but a palliative 
 for glaring neglect. The suspicion once 
 awakened cast a dusky veil over every suc- 
 cessive reflection, and he found himself, when 
 ripening into manhood, as a branch lopt off 
 from the family tree, as a flower rooted 
 from its parent soil. His heart withered al- 
 most to faindng when this sensation, as a 
 noxious vapour, stole over his feelings ; or, 
 when a sudden pang of memory lighted the 
 spark of resentment, his eyes flashed fire, his 
 lim.bs were knit with new vigour, and his 
 features betrayed that his soul was labour- 
 ing with a dark revenge. 
 
 But under the influence of any impression 
 Varenza could not be seen without interest. 
 The softened beauties of juvenile bloom were
 
 EUPHRONIA. i 
 
 facHng away, only to give place to more 
 characteristic perfection. The expression 
 of his features was at once indicative of 
 manly boldness, and polished by a seducing 
 gentleness that spoke to the heart, and 
 emanated in a thousand graces that were 
 ever varied, and ever new. There were mo- 
 ments in which he could not conceal the gay 
 successions of fancies, or the thrilling impres- 
 sion of tenderness that took alternate posses- 
 sion of his soul : — there were others in which 
 his fixed resolve locked every sensation from 
 human sight ; — when, retiring within him- 
 self, he seemed to look dov/n upon even the 
 species of which he was a member, and al- 
 most to despise himself for bearing an ex- 
 ternal affinity to those on whom his soaring 
 spirit glanced with ineffable contempt. 
 
 The Abbe with anxiety, not unmixed 
 with surprise, watched the progressive dis- 
 closure of his pupil's mind. While travers- 
 ing the paths of education at a public semi- 
 nary, he had been only distinguished for his
 
 8 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 vigorous pursuit of avc cation, whether of 
 play or of study ; and afterwards, in col- 
 lege, a few leading features manifested 
 themselves in the contest of sport, or of 
 literary investigation : but in nothing of 
 these could be read any other peculiarity 
 than a pre-eminence in the endowments of 
 nature and the eiOforts of a capacious intellect. 
 Varenza, when not devoted to mental oc- 
 cupation, was the most thoughtless of all 
 thoughtless creatures. The anticipation of 
 the future no more engaged him than the 
 retrospection of the past. He could not be 
 said to live for the day,— he lived but for 
 the moment. 
 
 The Abbe was however more provident. 
 In the levity of his young charge he saw 
 there was more to fear for the future than 
 disapprove for the present. ' The ebullitions 
 of fervid youth required the reins of vigilant 
 sagacity; and such were the skill and rr^anage- 
 ment bestowed upon Varenza, that he had 
 passed the aera of subjection without'^feeling
 
 EUPHRONIA. y 
 
 his subjugation. The Abbe hcid never im- 
 posed on him a command, but his slightest 
 injunction had an influence irresistible; and 
 while the skilful leader continued to conceal 
 his authority, his power continued absolute. 
 — Varenza had never once suspected that he 
 might not act as he pleased. 
 
 '^ Nov/, my son," said this excellent pre- 
 ceptor on the day his pupil took his degree 
 at the university of Geneva, " now, my 
 son, I want to consult with you on the plan 
 we ought to pursue for the next year. You 
 are sufficiently master of accomplishments 
 to dispense with further instructions ; but 
 in mental acquirements it must be owned 
 you are terribly deficient.'* 
 
 Varenza started. " What, sir !" said he,- 
 " have I not outstripped all competitors ?'^ 
 
 ** Certainly. But who were your compe- 
 titors?-^— The butterflies of a gay sun ! the bub- 
 bles of a frothy pool ! Do you claim the 
 B 5
 
 10 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 meed of perfection for having outstripped 
 these?'' 
 
 Varenza reflected. He almost blushed at 
 his mistake, and acknowledged it. 
 
 ** In truth, my boy/' said the Abbe 
 proudly, '' 1 shrink from the humih'ating idea 
 of associating you with any class of men. En- 
 dowed as you are by nature, I almost expect 
 to see you rise above them ! — You remember 
 the eagle and the sparrow belong to the same 
 species of creation.'* 
 
 The eyes of Varenza gleamed a luminous 
 flame. Ke looked at his patron ; who more 
 gravely resumed : — 
 
 "But to impose on you a part in life, in your 
 present state of mental improvement, would 
 be an act of injustice for which I should ever 
 stand condemned. I cannot expect you ta 
 mount into the skies before your pinions are 
 sufficiently fledged to quit the earth.*' — ^'Butj
 
 £UPHRONIA. li 
 
 my dear fellow,*' he more gaily added^ " you 
 are in admirable training : and if we retire 
 for a year, and you can devote that time to 
 those studies essential to invigorate your 
 mental strength, proportionably to thcit capa- 
 bility of attainment I well know you so 
 eminendy possess, you will then, no doubt, 
 be able, with full power and confidence, to 
 pursue your flight." 
 
 Varenza viewed the proposition in every 
 light: and the more he considered, the more 
 he became convinced of the necessity for 
 adopting the measure, . The Abb4 accord- 
 ingly carried his pupil to the seclusion of the 
 Alps. 
 
 The mind of Varenza was incapable of 
 enduring half occupation ; he must either 
 be absolutely idle or absolutely busy. His 
 idle hours were not few, but his busy ones 
 were profitably engaged. The Abbe sup- 
 plied him with the requisites for improvement, 
 and he applied with assiduous attention.
 
 }2 EUPHRQNIA. 
 
 But at the end of the year he found he had 
 undertaken so much that he was perfect in 
 
 nothing. 
 
 " That would be an unlucky loss of time 
 to the majority of men," observed the Abbe; 
 *' but if you mean to mount to any akitude in 
 your sphere, I see not which of these branches 
 of knowledge you can abandon." 
 
 *' Then what is to be done ?" 
 
 " As you please. Two roads are given 
 for your selection. The one settles you in a 
 dull mediocrity by obstructing your further 
 progress, the other leads to the goal of per- 
 fection by the way of perseverance." 
 
 " I must, sir," exclaimed Varenza, " I 
 must seek that goal. In my present state I 
 am fit for nothing." 
 
 Another year accordingly passed. Va- 
 renza was master of the dead and living Ian-
 
 EUPHRONIA. 13 
 
 guages 5 — he was elegantly conversant with 
 the classics and belles lettres ; — he had trod- 
 den the maze of science 5 — he was an adept 
 in the arts. 
 
 " Now," said the Abbe, '' we may at 
 least try what this pre-eminence may pro- 
 duce. I have some business to transact at 
 Vienna : — let us go thither without delay." 
 
 Varenza left the solitude of the Alps, and, 
 as he thought, entered the world when he 
 entered Vienna. The season was at the 
 highest^ and Vienna in full splendour. . The 
 Abbe had not concealc^d from him his su- 
 periority both mental and personal, and his 
 bosom panted a little to display it. His 
 vanity was elated, and had every prospect of 
 gratification. The Abbe, on taking up his 
 abode, told him he was free to be his own 
 guide, even in this early moment of com- 
 mencing active life : and, to render this free- 
 dom perfect^ he gave him a sum of money, 
 and desired him when it was expended to
 
 14 EUPHRONIAr 
 
 call for more. Varenza, however, chose 
 to reside with the only friend he had ever 
 known, and whose advice and even protec- 
 tion he now fek lie yet required. 
 
 '*■ I am an advocate for libertVi it is true," 
 said he, " for perfect Hberty ; but I know 
 not what to do with mine. I know not how 
 to use it, nor whither to carry it." 
 
 ** I shall go this evening to the Duchess 
 of G — 's assembly,*' said the Abbe ; " you 
 shall go with me if you please." 
 
 The assembly was crowded : — the women 
 were beautiful, the men were irresistible. 
 " Ah !" thought Varenza, " if this is the 
 world, who would willingly seclude them- 
 selves from it ?" The Abbe seemed per- 
 fectly acquainted with the scene. He ap- 
 peared on the most friendly terms with the 
 Duchess, who in- the grandeur of matronly 
 dignity moved a queen in the plenitude of 
 power. Varenza was introduced to her as
 
 EUPHRONIA. 15 
 
 a man; but she treated hlnias a child, — with 
 aliectionate familiarity, but quite as a child. 
 Her example was the model for imitation: — 
 Vkr^nza dwindled into insignificance. Stung 
 with mortification, he was more than once 
 compelled to struggle with his tears ; but 
 his pride proved triumphant, and the Abbe 
 at length yielded to his solicitations, and they 
 returned home. 
 
 " What an elegant society V* observed 
 the Abbe, as they drove from the portico. 
 " The Duchess admits none but women of 
 the most indisputable virtue^ and — '* 
 
 " Virtue !" interrupted Varenza. " Then 
 Virtue has disappointed me : — she is not quite 
 so captivating as poets feign her to be.'* 
 .*■ 
 
 " But you have not yet seen enough to 
 form a decisive or even a comparative opi- 
 nion on the subject/' said the Abbe. 
 
 " I see, indeed," answered Varenza, " that 
 
 3
 
 i5- EUPHRONIA. 
 
 one hour of demonstration can overturn years' 
 of theoretical anticipation." 
 
 " True," said the Abbe gravely : '.S^^ft as 
 it is, and as it ought to be^ are separate -con- 
 siderations, — as far divided as the wisdom 
 of books, and the wisdom of the world/* 
 
 " Then how," cried Varenza, '' are we to 
 obtain a knowledge of that wisdom so ne- 
 cessary to our conduct through it?" 
 
 " By experience,'' replied the Abbe: and 
 the carriage stopped at home. The conver- 
 sation consequently dropped : but Varenza 
 had much to think of. 
 
 A month passed at Vienna; and every day, 
 every hotir became more tedious to Varenza. 
 The men and women would not make a 
 conjipanion of him, and he would not asso- 
 ciate with children. He complained bitterly 
 of his youth, and inquired of the Abbe 
 when this probation might end f
 
 EXJPHRONIA. 17 
 
 " That," answered the Abbe, " must be 
 decided by circumstances. You are yet but 
 eighteen ; by the laws of your country ycu 
 must be a child till twenty-one.*' 
 
 Varenza had no patience. '' And what," 
 he exclaimed, " are we to do with the inter- 
 val of time ?" 
 
 " Employ It usefully, no doubt,'' replied 
 his friend. '' You have studied books, you 
 must now study men: — see them in their 
 own countries ; investigate their manners as 
 well as their policies; and even then you will 
 fmd much is yet to be learned." 
 
 The arrangement was perfectly suited to 
 the inclinations of Varenza^ and in two days 
 they left Vienna. 
 
 The Abbe had long deemed it important 
 that his pupil should commence the tour that 
 was to complete his education and his cha- 
 racter under peculiar impressions. This was
 
 IS EUPHRONIA. 
 
 not a journey of trifling curiosity; it v/as 
 one of serious inquiry and solid observation ; 
 it was for the improvement of his know- 
 ledge, of liis taste, of his feelings, of his 
 heart ! The local, the political, and the moral 
 state of nations v/ere to be given to his in- 
 spection, not that he might cavil at evil as the 
 dispensation of a capricious or a mysterious 
 Providence, but that he might learn how 
 much men owe their miseries to themselves 
 and to their fellow-men ; that he might learn 
 how much a single individual of the human 
 race can be a blessing or a curse, as he uses 
 the gifts of fortune and power, or exerts the 
 endowments of wisdom. But to lead a youth 
 of eighteen, just emerged n'om seclusion, and 
 who was yet dazzled by the transition into 
 light, to the path of these essential consi- 
 derations, was an undertaking that required 
 some address. The strength and extension 
 of the pupil's understanding were the basis on 
 which the careful preceptor rested for suc- 
 cess : for Varenza was not without the faults 
 or even the weaknesses of youth* His pride
 
 EUPHRONIA. 19 
 
 was unbending, his spirit unconquerable : 
 vanity^ the fatal betrayer of true greatness in: 
 the manly breast, had sometimes insidiously 
 found a place in Varenza's, and threatened 
 to tarnish that lustre which the Abbe -well 
 knew ou^rht to shine resplendent. While he 
 saw his young favourite capable of all that 
 exalts human nature, the keen sight of 
 friendship discerned that the impressions of 
 self-esteem also exposed him to self- flat- 
 tery : the refinement of his taste naturally led 
 him to cultivate personal graces; and it some- 
 times appeared that his pre-eminence of 
 mental attainment yielded not such secret 
 satisfaction as the superiority of his prowess 
 in games of bodily strength and feats of ac- 
 tivity. But any innovation even on Varen- 
 za's faihngs was a hazardous enterprise^ 
 The Abbe knev/ him too well to check the 
 rein with his own hand ; but he had pre« 
 pared for him an useful lesson, — a conviction 
 of the great truth of man's natural depen~ 
 dence on society, and the, consequent neces- 
 sity of bending from the elevation which h-
 
 20 tUPIIPvONIA, 
 
 inaccessible to others, that we may find the 
 association so essential. Varenza had not 
 calculated on bending: he had indulged reve- 
 ries of triumph only, and expected the ap- 
 probation he did not intend to return. An 
 early check could alone eradicate this error. 
 A letter from the Abb£ to the Duchess of 
 G — had prepared this check, and it proved 
 efEsctual. 
 
 A tour commenced under such favourable 
 auspices promised a happy .completion. It 
 was in truth an itinerant course of study, 
 and no expedient was neglected that could 
 render it efHcient. For this son of his care 
 and his affections, the Abbe forgot his years 
 and renounced his habits of life : and so 
 successfully did he seduce his youthful com- 
 panion into the social bonds of friendship, 
 that Varenza never willingly submitted to 
 even a temporary separation. 
 
 Such were the juvenile years of Varenza, 
 and such the preface to his active character in 
 future life.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 How tlirobb'J my fluttering pulse with hopes s.nJ 
 
 fears 
 To Icara the colour of my future years! 
 
 Rogers. 
 
 Xiow different was Varenza when, at the 
 age of almost twenty-one years, he returned 
 with his parental friend to their retreat in 
 the Alps! Every grace, mental and personal, 
 was ripened into manhood : his understand- 
 ing was extensive and highly cultivated : his 
 morals vi^ere pure as his sentiments were re- 
 lined ; and his feelings were fervid^ even to 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 The Abbe contemplated his worlv^ and 
 gloried in it : he saw there was every thing 
 to hope ; and when his apprehensions some- 
 times whispered that the theory and the 
 practice of life were often fatally different in 
 their productions, he again tranquillized 
 these apprehensions by the suggestions of
 
 ^2 EUPHRONIAe 
 
 what Varenza now was; how steadily he 
 had supported his dawning character during 
 this theoretic probation, and how richly 
 he had imbibed those principles that would 
 sustain him through the dangerous futurity 
 of practice. 
 
 To Varenza, Indeed, the years that were 
 passed appeared only as the misty vision of a 
 night. It seemed to him that now only he 
 began to exist ; for now only he began to 
 think of the purposes of existence. He 
 remembered what he was when he had left 
 this retreat, and compared it with himself 
 now returned to it. His very nature seemed 
 ti-ansformed ; his every sense had changed. 
 The feelings with which his eyes now^ wan- 
 dered over the scenes, yet familiar to them, 
 surprised him. Formerly, he had sprung with 
 light step over the craggy cliffs, nor cast a 
 thought on the tottering dangers he had past. 
 Over these he was now seen reclining 
 in deep contemplation, or bursting through 
 the dark brakes to gain a higher and more
 
 EUPHRONIA. 23 
 
 terrible eminence. The sublime emotion that 
 swelled in his soul was often distinguishable 
 even in his gesture ; and when with adventu- 
 rous footsteps he bounded over the yawning 
 rifts of th 3 gigantic steep, his eyes returned to 
 traverse their horrors as he stood- exulting 
 in his povv^er to overcome. No longer trifling, 
 no longer thoughtless,- — every lock, every 
 motion, betrayed the importance of the soul 
 within. 
 
 The Abbe w^as a silent observer of this 
 revolution : it pleased more than surprised 
 him ; but it^ yet excited some contending 
 apprehensions. " The meditations of youth," 
 said he, "are not the meditations of wisdom. 
 In this glad season of existence, imagination 
 spreads a seducing canvass : the scenes there 
 exhibited are only of the future, — they are 
 contrasted by opposed colouring; and evea 
 in the darkest shades the youthful eye dis- 
 covers something to captivate the heart. 
 The trials there delineated are so arranged, 
 that the afflicted and the oppressed overcome
 
 1'4 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 misfortune and oppression ; — the triumphant 
 conqueror appears in the next view wreathed 
 with the circle of glory or the laurel of 
 fame ; and the elevation of the smile which 
 is turned on past calamity, is a thousand 
 times more ennobling to man than the bold 
 revelry of vicious pleasure, the festive gesture 
 of transient enjoyment, or even the sweet ex- 
 pression of untainted simplicity. But, alas! 
 the hand of Innocence has aided in sketching 
 these pictures. The object he paints are 
 delicate, and they are just; but the pencil of 
 practised Art undertakes to correct imputed 
 errors ; — its glaring colour soon effaces the 
 nicer tints, and, in the progress of his work, 
 the most forward and favoured objects qf 
 juvenile approbation become entirely effaced. 
 Man can view life only by retrospect; — never, 
 no never by anticipation!'* 
 
 Varenza sometimes saw the traces of these 
 reflections still lurking in the benevolent 
 aspect of his kind friend : but the Abbe had 
 ever been subject to inequalities of spirit, and
 
 EUPHRONIA, 25 
 
 Varenza had been accustomed not to seek 
 their source. Occupied by his own sensa- 
 tions, which were in truth become infinitely 
 more unequal than those of his protector, he 
 eagerly sought to indulge them without a 
 witness. The hours of the morning he spent 
 in rambling through the wilds of the sur- 
 rounding mountains, or reclining in the shade 
 with a book in his hand, on which his eyes 
 seldom rested. Sometimes he crossed the 
 stupendous boundary of the little domain, 
 and viewed with varied reflections the wide- 
 extended plains of fertile Italy, which spread 
 their full produce of sleeping and animated 
 beauties, — of towns, villages, and scattered 
 dwellings, enriched by the glowing rays of a 
 setting sun, and the bursting treasures of the 
 peasant's toil: and many hours of successive 
 nights were passed in traversing the tranquil 
 waters of the Mediterranean, over whose 
 liquid bosom the little bark slowly glided, 
 while his eyes contemplated the clear ex>^ 
 pause of heaven's wide canopy above, re - 
 fleeted on the glassy wave below,^— his scnse^ 
 
 VOL. L C
 
 26 EUPMRONIA. 
 
 lulled to serenity by the dipple of the oar or 
 the boatman's chant of the midnight hymn. 
 
 In one of these excursions his sombre 
 sensations were suddenly awakened by a soft, 
 an almost imperceptible strain of music. — 
 He started from his reclining posture, and 
 intently listened! The boatman suspended 
 the oar; and, as the tide bore the little 
 bark on its slumbering bosom, the music 
 became more distinct* The tones were those 
 of a harp — now struck boldly — now sinking 
 into sadness — then breaking on the gale in a 
 light and frolic measure. 
 
 '* From whence is this?'* demanded Va- 
 renza; but, at the same moment, raising his 
 eyes, he beheld the gray turrets of a building 
 on the summit of a rock, which advanced 
 its bold and craggy front far into the sea; 
 and towards which the boat still continued to 
 move. 
 
 '' It is the convent of Helena," said the
 
 EUPHRONIA. 27 
 
 boatman; as a sudden pull of the oars neared 
 the little vessel towards the rock. 
 " Hark!'* said Varenza. 
 
 A rapid symphony vibrated from the 
 chords; but the tones suddenly became 
 plaintive, and he distinctly heard the following 
 lines in a strain of melody well suited to their 
 subject : 
 
 Ah ! woe is me! — each lingerhig da}", 
 I hapless pine in pain and sorrow ; 
 
 Nor night, with sad and sable ray. 
 Foretells a hope to cheer the morrow I 
 
 Each mom, Aurora's splendid car 
 
 Rolls, glht'ring, o'er the swelling billow 5 
 
 And Zephyr's rich perfumes, from far, 
 Invade in vain my weary pillow. 
 
 In vain, alas? delusive sleep 
 
 HasluUM, in mimic death, my anguish i 
 I only wake at morn to weep 
 
 Th« prison's gloom in which I languish. 
 
 In vain for me the ruddy beam. 
 On Ocean's.bosom golden glowing. 
 
 Reflects a gemm'd and sparkling stream • 
 From sea-green waves eternal flowing ' 
 c 2
 
 28 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 In vain a gray and placid light 
 
 The sober hand of Evening borrows ; 
 
 And vain to me the breezy night 
 Thus sighs responsive to my sorrows. 
 
 Ah ! woe is me ! — ah ! never more 
 
 My heart shall greet a cherish'd blessing ; 
 
 Nor memVy e*er cease to deplore 
 Delights so transient in possessing. 
 
 Entombed within my prison's gloom. 
 
 Each circling hour still finds me mourning j 
 Receding hope still pales my bloom, 
 I Nor yields a whisper of returning. 
 
 '* Ah! poor lady!*' said the boatman, 
 " she may well sing of sorrow! she has 
 but a dreary life of it!" 
 
 " And who — who is she?" 
 
 ''It is hard to say exactly," replied the 
 man, " there are so many in the convent; 
 but it is suspected that she is a young girl 
 who is kept there very closely confined.'* 
 
 *' A nun?"
 
 EUPHRONIA, 
 
 29 
 
 «« No; nor does it appear that she intends 
 to take the profession." 
 
 " How is that known?'* 
 
 " It is guessed at. She has been two 
 years there, and has not entered the noviciate 
 yet." 
 
 " But, how do you learn these particu- 
 lars?*' demanded Varenza. 
 
 " I serve the convent with fish/* repl; - 
 the man; " and the portress is so fond ot a 
 chatter! I told her that I had often heard 
 such sweet music, and she was very much 
 surprised; but, at last, she concluded it must 
 be the young girl who was so cruelly con- 
 fined, that not even the nuns had seen her 
 since her admission into the convent. Little 
 sister Judith, moreover, added, that every 
 soul within the walls pitied the poor creature, 
 and called her the Prisoner,''
 
 so liUPHRONiA. 
 
 A sensation indefinite wrang the heart oi 
 Varenza, as his eyes wandered over the form 
 of the dark structure, which impended above 
 liim. The moon had not yet risen j but the 
 pale gleam of an unclouded sky enabled him 
 to distinguish the object with tolerable pre- 
 cision. The architecture v^ as Gothic; and> 
 though tlic rock on which it was seated 
 seemed to defy the hand of time, or the ac- 
 cess of intrusion, it was faced by a rampart 
 of frowning defence ; and, as the boatman 
 affirmed, was protected on the land side by a 
 deep moat and regular fortificadon. 
 
 While Varenza made his own obser- 
 vations, and listened to these added particu- 
 lars by the boatman, he continued to gaze 
 on the structure, before which the boat had 
 now passed. It was in vain^ however, he 
 sought the semblance of a moving object. 
 All was fixed in the shades of sullen gloom ; 
 and, the convent clock sounding one, he 
 permitted the boatman to steer his little 
 vessel for the shore.
 
 ' EUPHRONIA. ♦ SI 
 
 Again they passed the structure. In anx- 
 ious curiosity, his eyes again wandered over 
 the solitary pile, as the boatman, to take 
 advantage of the calmer surface of the tide, 
 moved nearer to the dark basement ; — 
 when, at the moment the vessel was about 
 again to recede, a sudden fiash of light 
 streamed from a narrow aperture on. the 
 waves below. A few minutes it remained 
 fixed, and Varenza distinguished within the 
 aperture a passing figure enveloped in a black 
 mantle. A second figure, almost in the 
 same moment, advanced — -the light was sud- 
 denly raised — it struck full on the features of 
 
 this second figure — and the astonished Va- 
 -- — -> ^v^ ' -^ • • _ • • ^ 
 
 oUkeAbhei 
 
 Every faculty was enchained by amaze- 
 ment — and every sense of Varenza was fixed 
 on the object so unexpectedly given to his 
 view. It was certainly the Ahh6\ Even the 
 expression of his countenance was discern-
 
 oti LUPHRONIA. 
 
 :ble. He talked earnestly, and as if in 
 consultation with his companion, whose white 
 arm now crossing in fi-ont of the light, as 
 certainly convinced the wondering observer 
 that this companion was a female. Equally 
 and vehemently they for some t^ime continued 
 in debate, but at length it concluded — a 
 parting salutation was exchanged between 
 them, and the light instantly disappeared. 
 
 A circumstance so extraordinary called for 
 something more than mere transient attenr 
 tion, and Varenza continued earnestly intent 
 on the spot till convinced the light was gone 
 not to return. As the boat then moved 
 
 tinned to watch the outline of the clifFs, the 
 summits of which he knew aiTorded a path- 
 way the most direct from the convent to the 
 dweUing whither the Abbe would probably 
 return. But in vain the moon, now risen 
 high, lent a lucid light; no object moved iu 
 the silvered gleams of her rays; and Varenza
 
 EUPHRONIA. 33 
 
 landed in a state of astonished conjecture that 
 suffered kim to think of nothing clearly till 
 he reached the house. 
 
 The hour of night, or rather of morning, 
 was too far advanced to expect seeing any 
 person from whom he could derive a solution 
 of the mystery that so deeply engaged him* 
 As he opened the house door, which, accord- 
 ing to custom, had been left unbarred for his 
 admission, he made a hasty resolve to wait 
 patiently an explanation from the Abbe, 
 who would J no doubt, return, without delay, 
 when the sun rose to light him in his path ; 
 in the mean time, he could only endeavour 
 to lull his own imagination into the rest he 
 so much required. This arrangement was 
 completed as soon as the door was fastened ; 
 and he was about to cross the hall to his cham- 
 ber, when a light from beneath the door of 
 the parlour attracted his notice. Hastily he 
 threw it open, and beheld the Abbe himself! 
 
 Transfixed he stood! — The old man was 
 c 5
 
 34? EUPHRONIA. 
 
 earnestly engaged by some papers that lay 
 scattered on the table; but, catching a 
 glimpse of his young favourite, he started 
 up, 
 
 *^Varenza!" he exclaimed; " but I am 
 glad you are returned. Your absence at 
 such a crisis, if protracted, might prove most 
 unfortunate!" 
 
 The senses of Varenza were absolutely 
 bewildered. 
 
 " Ebre are letters from Gascony,'* re- 
 sumed the Abbe 'with emotion. " Your 
 father is ill — he wishes to see you.'* 
 
 Perhaps no other sentence could have so 
 instantly changed the tenor of Varenza's 
 thoughts. He never remembered to have 
 seen his father — it was the first time his 
 father had wished to see him — it was an 
 event that absorbed the recollection of all 
 others.
 
 EUPHR.ONIA. 35 
 
 The Abbe, while he searched amongst 
 the papers on the table, added the further 
 intelligence that a courier had arrived four 
 hours before with directions to make no 
 delay. The illness of the Count wore a 
 threatening aspect, and he earnestly wished 
 to see his son. " And, here," rejoined the 
 Abbe, " is your motlier's letter to you.'' 
 
 *' To me!" exclaimed Varenza— ^He could 
 hardly believe it — he had never received a 
 line from the hand of either parent addressed 
 directly to himself. On opening the paper, 
 he read the following: — 
 
 ^^ -^ Monsieur le Chevalier de Snellgrdve, 
 '^ My dear Varenza, 
 
 '' I write to ihe Abbe de Fuillereaud^ to inform 
 ^^ him of the indisposition of the Count de 
 " Massignon, your father, and the consequent 
 '' necessity that you should immediately set out 
 *^ for Guscony. I hope your tutor may not be 
 ^^ so far influenced by the apprehensions inci- 
 <^ dent to old age, and arising from the rumour 
 ^^ of disturbance in Fiance^ as to impede tht^
 
 56 EUl>HRpNIA. 
 
 ^' coiTimenceinent of your journey. If he has 
 ^^ instructed you as becomes your rank, you 
 ^' must ever find that a passport through every 
 *^ country,, however partially outraged by the 
 *^ iiagitiousness of an occasional mob. The 
 " tranquillity in which our chateau still remains, 
 *^ is a proof that even national insanity acknovv- 
 '^ ledges the rights of distinction, and the respect 
 ^' due to such a house as ours. I, however, 
 *^ permit the Abbe to make such arrangements 
 " for your journey as his reasonable fears may 
 *^ suggest, provided his precautions do not mi- 
 ^^ litate against expedition. The situation of 
 *' the Count, your father, demands your im- 
 *' mediate presence ; nor can I hesitate to believe 
 ** you will promptly answer the demand. 
 
 '* I trust it is unnecessary for me to offer 
 *' you any assurance of that affection to which 
 ** you are certainly entitled from your mother, 
 
 *^ Adelaide de Massignon.'* 
 
 Varenza read this epistle once over in 
 great agitation — a second time with subsid- 
 ing emotion— -a third time with perfect com- 
 posure j and^ twisting it up, he set fire to it
 
 EUPHRONIA, 37 
 
 by the lamp, and continued to hold it till the 
 flame drew the last remnant from his fingers. 
 
 The Abbe observed him, and he perceived 
 it. — " What would you choose me to do in 
 this case, sir ?" he demanded* 
 
 "My dear fellow,^* cried the old man, ^'you 
 cannot refuse obedience to this command.'* 
 
 *' To any command but yours, sir," he 
 tranquilly answered, '' I shall never acknow- 
 ledge obedience. — I know no other parent.*^ 
 
 The Abbe looked at him earnestly, but 
 again suddenly turned from him, and burst 
 into tears." — '' I will speak to you by-and-by, 
 my son," said he, and precipitately retreated 
 into his own apartment. 
 
 During his absence, Varenza was variously 
 agitated. — His mother's letter recurred to 
 him ; but he was almost angry with himself 
 for thinking of it. The ignorant pride and
 
 S8 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 unfeeling — ungrateful arrogance It evinced, 
 withered in his heart the germ of natural 
 affection and relative respect. Perhaps, had 
 he leisurely investigated his sensations, he 
 had been shocked to discover that a mother 
 had awakened the contempt of her own son. 
 Such was not the avov/al he permitted him- 
 self to make — it was the impression on his 
 heart. The character of his father he could 
 not separate from that of his mother, for 
 their conduct had been the same ; and the 
 summons to their presence hung upon his 
 spirit like the damp and chilling dews of 
 night. 
 
 But the transition of his feelings, when 
 they returned to the Abb6, rushed through 
 his veins in a glowing torrent. His bene- 
 factor ! — his friend ! — his all in life that had 
 rendered life valuable or could yet render it 
 respectable ! — ^^His soul swelled v;ith gratitude 
 unutterable. — The sacrifice of existence itself 
 could but faintly portray his sense of the im- 
 mense debt he owed.
 
 EUPHRONIA* 39 
 
 Such was the fever of his mind when his 
 old friend reentered the room. The coun- 
 tenance he had so long been accustomed to 
 venerate now appeared more radiant than 
 ever, and the affections of Varenza softened 
 him even to tears. 
 
 The good old man approached and took 
 his hand : he pressed it to his heart. 
 
 " Varenza/^ said he, in a voice which he 
 endeavoured should be a firm one, " this is 
 an awful moment ! it is indeed the crisis of 
 your fate and — of mine ! We part, my 
 young friend,— >and shall meet in a better 
 world.'' 
 
 " Oh ! my father P' exclaimed the agi- 
 tated youth. 
 
 The Abbe pressed his hand more fervently 
 — -" Yes," he resumed, " I have indeed per- 
 suaded h^yself that in duty and affection you 
 are my soji — I am firm in the belief you will
 
 40 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 ever continue worthy of the important obliga- 
 tion I in this moment wish to confer on you/' 
 
 Varenza was surprised — he looked for the 
 explanation. 
 
 " Let us be seated/' said the Abbe, " I 
 have much to say to you.'* 
 
 In silence Varenza obeyed, and the old 
 man with more composure resumed. He 
 slightly scanned over the leading features of 
 Varenza *s situation; and having won the un- 
 divided attention of his auditor by a preface 
 so unexpected, he promptly turned to tl>e 
 promised explanation. 
 
 " I have. never," said he, " informed you 
 of the entire truth, but I have never led you 
 into falsehood. Your father yielded to my 
 solicitations through motives he had no 
 power to resist, when he gave you into 
 my possession; and the motives 1 had for 
 taking upon myself such an important care,
 
 liUPHRONIA. 44 
 
 were those which I reflect on with exulting 
 approbation on my own account — with hope 
 ■^-the brightest hope for yours !" 
 
 *' Never, no never/' exclaimed Varenza^ 
 '^ shall one hope of yours be disappointed by 
 me." 
 
 ** My son," hastily interrupted the Abbe, 
 " promise not too much. I am about to 
 ask in one moment a sacrifice of you — a 
 proof of your confidence, and of your gra- 
 titude, that not only cancels your obligations, 
 whether fancied or real, to me, but, if com- 
 plied with, renders me the debtor." 
 
 " What mean you, my father?" cried the 
 nearly exhausted Varenza. 
 
 " In three words I shall explain the pri- 
 mary source of my anxiety to educate you aa 
 my son. — I have a daughter!'' 
 
 Varenza started.
 
 42 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 ** She is nobly born — she Is richly en- 
 dowed by fortune and by education — she is 
 young, lovely, and every way worthy of 
 being your wife/* 
 
 Varenza gasped for breath. The Abbe 
 however did not wait for his reply, but 
 proceeded. 
 
 " Such was the purport for which I re- 
 turned to this solitude. 'Tis true that the 
 genius of France has loudly called for our 
 active arm in her cause; but i wished you 
 not to ansv/er the call till the completion of 
 your twenty- first year. I wished not to owe 
 
 the accomol'shipent of all T h:?v^ cr. loi-..o,« 
 lived for to the mfluence of my own persua- 
 sion, but to the feelings of your own heart — 
 for this violet 1 have cherished to place in 
 your bosom.'* 
 
 Varenza trembled in extreme emotion, 
 and as the sentence concluded threw himself 
 on the neck of his benefactor.
 
 EUPHRONIA. 43 
 
 " Son of my affections," exclaimed the 
 Abbe falteringly, " son of my hopes, of my 
 cares, of all the wishes I have ever formed, 
 you can only know how dear you are to me 
 when you know the treasure I have intended 
 to bestow upon you," 
 
 "Intended! — Oh my father! complete 
 these intentions. — Is she not your daughter? 
 — can I fail then of making her happy?'' 
 
 The Abbe withdrew a little from his em- 
 brace, and gazed at him earnestly. " Yes,*' 
 he exclaimed, " you are what I expected — • 
 you are what a father has hoped:— yes^ I 
 will give you my child." 
 
 The heart of Varenza sank in his bosom. 
 He felt almost fainting. The Abbe spoke 
 encouragement and deep obligation, and 
 again he revived. He found his destiny was 
 irretrievableo
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 -Virtue's purest light, 
 
 Yet could not soothe remorseless fate, nor teach 
 Malignant fortune to revere the good. 
 
 Glover. 
 
 ' " Come then/' said the Abbe after an hour 
 spent in solemn conversation j '' time is 
 precious. Your absence on the arrival of 
 the courier enabled me to make arrange- 
 ments to meet whatever emergency might 
 require. We are therefore not wnexpected.. 
 Let us hasten.'* 
 
 Varenza hesitated, he knevir not vfhy^ for 
 he felt determined. In truth he could dis- 
 cover no alternativej and submitted to his 
 fate through the impulse of irretrievable 
 necessity. The Abbe was too much occu- 
 pied by his wishes to see any thing that could 
 oppose them, and urged the necessity of 
 dispatch.
 
 EUPHRONIA. 45 
 
 Silence implied assent. The old man led 
 the way from the parlour into his own apart- 
 ment, which was adjoining, and the door of 
 which he <:arefully closed after they had 
 entered. Varenza in much perturbation 
 awaited the result of this already apparently 
 mysterious proceeding. The Abbe took 
 from a closer two large roquelaures, one of 
 which he thre^A over Varenza, and in the 
 other enveloped himself. 
 
 The Abbe smiled with emotion. "Are you 
 superstitious, Varenzct?" said he, as he pressed 
 his foot on a spring in the floor ; and some 
 boards slipping back, discovered an aperture 
 shrouded in impenetrable darkness. " This 
 is/' he added, " the passage to the altar." 
 Varenza shuddered — the Aobe suddenly 
 extinguished the ftght, and taking the 
 hand of his young friend, instructed him to 
 descend into the gulf. The spring above 
 then snapped as the boards resumed their sta- 
 tion, and they immediately moved forward in 
 their mysterious course. 
 
 2
 
 46 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 The clammy cold hand of the trembling 
 Varenza might have told a tale ; but the 
 Abbe did not, or would not, understand it. 
 With hasty steps they trod the passage, 
 which to Varenza seemed immeasurable, but 
 which his fears prognosticated would termi- 
 nate too soon. No ray of light penetrated 
 the dreary region, no sound broke the silence 
 but the sullen echo of their own footsteps. 
 The Abbe however seemed familiar with the 
 way, and at length soinething interrupted 
 their progress. The creaking of hinges an- 
 nounced to Varenza the opening of a door, 
 and the fresher air which fanned his face 
 with a balmy coolness, confirmed the con- 
 jecture that they had gained another atmo- 
 sphere. 
 
 The Abbe then broke the silence ; — it 
 appeared to Varenza the hollow voice of 
 death: "This," said he, " is the place: 
 remain here till I return." Varenza wished 
 to reply, but the closing of a second door 
 apprized him of his being alone.
 
 EUPHRONIA. 47* 
 
 This was indeed an awful moment ! A 
 contest of conjectures agonized his feelings ; 
 he felt something of the importance of the 
 engagement he was about to enier into, and 
 the hasty manner of inducing him to it awa- 
 kened suspicions he had never before even 
 thought of. It was the first moment he had 
 doubted the integrity of the Abbe, and the 
 first time he had felt afraid to trust him. Yet 
 to retreat — to retreat from the only proof he 
 could give of his gratitude, so justly due! — 
 so readily accepted ! — it was impossible. 
 
 Yet an involuntary impulse urged him to 
 both, but to retreat he soon found impracti- 
 cable. The door by which he had entered 
 he soon discovered to be of iron grating, the 
 fastening to which he could not by any means 
 discover, and it was immovable — the second 
 door corresponded, and was fixed. Fate had 
 spread her toils, and he was irretrievably in- 
 snared. In the first moment of convicdon 
 he was desperate, but a state of torpid resig- 
 nation succeeded. He leaned for support
 
 48 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 against the grating through which the Abbe 
 had retreated, and his heart and his lips invo- 
 luntarily uttered, *' Now my obligations are 
 all repaid." The reflection awakened in him 
 a degree of pride, and pride happily awaken- 
 ed his senses. He listened, and with tolera- 
 ble firmness heard the approach of footsteps. 
 
 Though at first far distant, the sound every 
 moment came nearer, and the steps became 
 quicker. In vain he looked through the 
 grating for a ray of light — all was portentous 
 darkness. The grating was drawn back, 
 and the footsteps passed the threshold. 
 
 " Hist !" repep.ted the voice of the Abbe 
 in the lowest tone, " hist ! we are watched," 
 
 The heart of Varenza bounded, but again 
 it sank, when the old man took his hand. 
 It was difficult to say which trembled most, 
 but a third hand joined them — it was placed 
 in Varenza's. By an involuntary emotion 
 he grasped it— it was soft as the bosom
 
 £UPHRONIA. 49 
 
 of a dove! — a sensation of pleasure struck 
 on his heart. 
 
 " My son," said the old man in a tremu- 
 lous tone, " I secure your felicity in this gift» 
 You will here find more than I can promise 
 and than you can hope. This is a solemn 
 bequest, given in the hour of parting for 
 ever 1 — Can you appreciate its value ?" 
 
 Varenza pressed the hands of father and 
 daughter to his palpitating heart, to his 
 quivering lips, and uttered the promise of 
 acceptance which was never to be broken. 
 The Abbe falteringly blessed them^ and in 
 the next moment, with low but hasty accents, 
 commenced the impressive, the enchaining 
 ceremony. 
 
 The human mind is endowed with a na* 
 tive vigour capable of sustaining the severest 
 contest of local incident. Varenza in this 
 moment of trial had strength to support him, 
 
 VOL, I, D
 
 50 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 and with tolerable firmness. His trembling 
 almost ceased; and the hand he held had 
 some imperceptible attraction, some feminine 
 charm, that endeared it to him. He pressed 
 it involuntarily in both his, and he perceived 
 it was agitated by sudden emotion. It almost 
 shrank from him, but by a stronger grasp 
 he retained it. 
 
 The low tones of the Abbe proceeded in 
 the sacred office till he arrived -at the awful 
 interrogatory — ! In emotion he paused — 
 then proceeded in a yet lower tone. — Va- 
 renza's heart fluttered almost to suffocation : 
 — he endeavoured to quiet it for the irrevo- 
 cable reply. 
 
 The Abbe's tones were yet lower as he 
 advanced — they were hardly articulate even 
 to the ardent ear of Varenza. — Other sounds 
 reverberated — the Abbe paused — a sudden 
 light glared in the door-way^ and a number 
 of persons rushed forward from it. A shriek
 
 EUPHkONIA. , oi 
 
 from the companion, almost the wife, of 
 Varenza aroused all his soul. He clasped 
 her in his arms to preserve her from danger, 
 but in the same moment lost the power of 
 defence. A blow levelled him senseless to 
 the ground. 
 
 25 2 
 
 ^»BRARV__^,,„^^,.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 With wise intent 
 
 The hand of Nature on peculiar minds 
 Imprints a different bias, and to each 
 Decrees its province in the common toil. 
 
 Akenside. 
 
 Whatever might have been the state of 
 Varenza remained several hours unknown 
 even to himself. When his senses revived 
 from temporary death, he perceived, by the 
 light which issued through a long narrow 
 aperture in the wall, that he was inclosed in 
 a small apartment, and a. bandage that cross- 
 ed his forehead announced to him that he 
 had not been unheeded. His hands and 
 clothes were stained with blood, and a damp 
 tension over his eyes convinced him he had 
 suffered much. 
 
 But, as recollection returned, the mist 
 cleared from his sight. The first objects of 
 his recognition were the grated doors, a »
 
 EUPHRONIA. 55 
 
 proof that he had not been removed from 
 the place in which he had fallen. The next 
 was the aperture that admitted the light of 
 day and a current of refreshing air. The 
 undulating waves of the sea floated beyond 
 itj and his imagination instantly disclosed to 
 him that this was the place in which the ap- 
 pearance of the Abbe had on the preceding 
 night so astonished him; and the purport of 
 which was now explained. 
 
 This discovery of his own situation im- 
 parted to his weaned spirit some degree of 
 satisfaction, and a hope of being able to 
 force his passage back from whence he came, 
 urged him to the instant trial. It was how- 
 ever inefi-ectual. Both grates were immov- 
 ably barred, and the survey of his apartment 
 convinced him it was intended for a prison. 
 It was lined throughout with stone, and the 
 aperture that admitted the light scarcely 
 afforded passage to his hand. Disappointed 
 and sick at heart, his exhausted frame could 
 no longer support itself, and he threw him-
 
 ^4 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 self on the floor in that state of mind which 
 in the absence of hope was capable of 
 enduring an accession of sufferings. 
 
 That such threatened him was already 
 apparent. Without food or a bed to rest 
 on, he had either to expect the approach of 
 death, or the almost equally horrible appear- 
 ance of an unfeeling jailor — for no heart 
 possessing common humanity could have 
 left a human creature as he had been left — 
 wounded — apparently dying, without succour 
 or the means of refreshment if he should 
 again revive. His roquelaure was a most 
 fortunate and salutary relief to his limbs, 
 stiffened by cold and loss of their vital 
 supply — in this he enveloped himself, and, 
 again stretching on the floor, permitted the 
 lethargy of weakness to creep over his 
 senses. 
 
 From this torpor, for it could hardly be 
 called sleep, he did not revive during many 
 hours, A slight noise then startled him j
 
 EUPHRONIA.' 6u 
 
 he looked around for the cause, but Hone 
 appeared. The gray light of evening, how- 
 ever, gave to his view the welcome restora- 
 tives of a vessel of water and a small loaf. 
 Involuntarily he rejoiced that he had not 
 been wholly forgotten, and the refreshment 
 even of this coarse fare raised his spirits and 
 his hopes. 
 
 But- this night passed, and the next day, 
 without any new promise of succour. The 
 means of supporting existence were exhaust- 
 ed, and his enfeebled frame seemed shrouded 
 la the cold vapour of death. The faint 
 breathing of the wind, wafted to him on the 
 waves, alone disturbed the gloomy silence 
 that reigned in this terrible abode, and every 
 moment his oppression became more stu- 
 pifying. 
 
 The sun had already yielded the world to 
 night ; but Varenza, no longer interested by 
 local objects, lay extended on the cold floor 
 of his solitary mansion, when the noise rj
 
 56 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 footsteps once more recalled him to memory. 
 He listened — they approached, and a gleam 
 of light through the grating became every 
 moment stronger. Without moving from 
 his station he continued to v/atch, and soon 
 the creeking of the rusty hinges announced 
 coming help. Two figures entered — one 
 bearing a bhizing torch, and both enveloped 
 in wrapping mantles. There was something 
 in their appearance that extinguished the 
 spark of hope their approach had hghted up 
 in the bospm of Varenza. A sluggish mist 
 again hovered over his senses, till one of the 
 men, stooping over him in scrutinizing exa- 
 mination, caught all his attention. His eyes 
 met the dark scowl of a gaze overshadowed 
 by the sacerdotal hood ; and the bearer of 
 the torch in that moment flaring it on high, 
 its dingey smoke recoiled from the moss- 
 spotted roof, and disclosed the narrow limits 
 of the dismal cell. It was a place suited to 
 deeds of villany ; and exhausted as were the 
 senses of Varenza, a sudden conviction of 
 liorrpr pressed on them with invigorating
 
 EUPHRONIA. 57 
 
 Strength, The eyes that bent over him 
 gleamed in new and more terrible expression, 
 and in the supposition that' they betrayed the 
 intention of silent murder he started^ and 
 half rose. 
 
 The stooping figure receded — the torch- 
 bearer swung his light low, to give the 
 victim more fully to view. Yet, though 
 they receded, their heads still bent forward 
 in investigation, and their eyes, having dwelt 
 a moment on their object, were raised to 
 each other. They smiled. Varenza rose. 
 
 " What would you?" he demanded, his 
 nerves now braced to sell his life as dearly 
 as it might be cruelly exacted. 
 
 The men again looked at him, and at each 
 other. He who bore the torch then waved 
 it towards the grating by v.'hich they had 
 entered, and his companion retreated towards 
 it with a sideling sluggish step, his eyes still 
 riveted on his prey. 
 
 D 5
 
 58 EUPHRONIA^ 
 
 " By heaven I**^ exclaimed Varenzn, dart- 
 ing forward and seizing him, '^ I will know 
 the worst," 
 
 The monk sedately advanced one arm to 
 repel him— with the other he raised a dag- 
 ger. A moment Varenza was appalled; 
 but the strength of desperation rushed 
 through his veins. With an Herculean force 
 he flung his adversary into the distant corner 
 of the cell, and bursting through the door- 
 way he closed the grating. — It fell from his 
 hand with a crash, and the spring loudly 
 snapped. 
 
 The Hght of liberty broke upan his soul — 
 for a moment he thought himself free ; but 
 the rays of the torch through the grating 
 beamed on the walls of the narrow passage, 
 and showed him he was still a prisoner. To 
 seek liberty v/as however in his power, and 
 the Yokes of those within the cell calling 
 aloud for help, urged him to fly. He 
 •bounded forward, till a winding in the pas-
 
 EUPHRONIA, 59 
 
 sage deprived him of any glimmering of 
 light — still with hasty though cautious steps 
 he proceeded — the sound of voices died 
 away, and in another winding of the passage 
 were totally lost. 
 
 Here he paused to consider. His senses 
 and memory had returned with acute force, 
 and he distiijictly recollected that the door 
 by v/hich he had escaped w^as opposite that 
 by which he and his friend had entered the 
 cell. The way he was now in must there- 
 fore lead to the convent of Helena, and to 
 his enemies. — To proceed or to return, 
 seemed for a moment equally perilous — but 
 the dangers he had encountered were already 
 known to him as being great — those he had 
 to fear could not be more dangerous, and 
 might be less so. He recollected too that 
 the convent was inhabited by women ; and 
 all his hopes instantly revived. 
 
 With new vigour he now proceeded till 
 a cross wall stopped his progress j he thea
 
 'to £UPHRONIA. 
 
 discovered that the passage divided, and 
 knew not which side to choose. He endea- 
 voured to guess what must be the direction 
 of either ; but while he stood in suspense the 
 faint jarring of a bolt sounded in his ear — he 
 turned, and perceived in the distant gloom 
 the figure of a female glide through a door 
 which seemed the termination of the passage 
 on the right. In one hand she held a shaded 
 lamp, which cast a pale gleam on her yet 
 paler face, and betrayed the contortions of a 
 malicious daemon. Haggard and wan, her 
 sunken eyes with the peculiar lustre of a 
 spirit of evil piercingly traced the way as she 
 trod ; the other hand bore a flagon, and a 
 small parcel. Varenza in this moment fan- 
 cied he Vv'as not the only sufferer within 
 these dismal walls. 
 
 By stepping ba(?k he concealed his figure 
 in the passage from which' he had just 
 emerged, but advanced his head- and conti- 
 nued intently to observe. The nun (for 
 such she appeared to be) had cautiously
 
 EUPHRONIA. 6t 
 
 closed the door through which she had 
 passed, aiid moved forward. Varenza per- 
 ceived, as the h'ght glided along the rough 
 wall, that she marked, as if in counting, the 
 low recesses which seemed to him, from 
 where he stood, to be those of doors, and on 
 coming to the fifth she stopped. A large 
 key hung by her wrist — she set down? the 
 light and the flagon, and with some diffi- 
 culty turned the key in its rusty wards^ 
 drew back the heavy bolts which secured the 
 strength of fastening, the door fell slow'ly 
 back, and taking up the light and the flagon, 
 she proceeded, as was now evident to Va- 
 renza, in a descent. 
 
 There is a generosity inherent in the 
 human breast, which banishes the remem- 
 brance of self-distress in the fancied cal-imity 
 of another. Varenza in this moment forgot 
 he was a prisoner on whom death already 
 frowned — he resolved to see the purport of 
 this mysterious visit; and leaving his station.
 
 62 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 with silent steps he moved towards the 
 opening through which the nun had dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 On reaching it he found his conjecture 
 was right — that slie had descended, and by 
 a flight of stairs so steep, that, though she 
 had proceeded a considerable way down, the 
 sickly lamp lent not a strength of ray suffi- 
 cient to give to view the termination of the 
 stairs. The dark walls inclosing the narrow 
 way added to the gloom, and Varenza saw 
 he might follow without fear of discovery. 
 
 Cautiously, almost imperceptibly, he 
 glided down after the messenger of evil. 
 She reached the foot of the descent, where an 
 aperture, low and yet more narrow, seemed 
 to stop all further progress. Again she laid 
 dcv/n the lamp and flagon, and, applying 
 both hands, with diffic^,ulty grated back the 
 massy bars of the door which filled up this 
 aperture, the rusty hue of which disco-
 
 EUPHRONIA, 63 
 
 vered It to be of iron. Against this she 
 pushed with all her weight, till it yielded 
 room enough for her passage, and then re- 
 suming her lamp and flagon she glided on- 
 
 Varenza now resolved to see the termina- 
 tion of this adventure, and followed with less' 
 caution, in the certainty that from this woman 
 he could apprehend no danger to himself, 
 and to another he might aiford succour. 
 She moved on in the intuitive security that 
 the secrets of this horrid abode were con- 
 cealed from all human sight but her own ; 
 and by the time Varenza reached the lowest 
 step he saw she had crossed to a second 
 door, which she opened with yet more diffi- 
 culty. Varenza started as the ghastly light 
 shed its rays into the recess beyond — it was 
 the blackness of a sepulchre : the vaulted 
 roof was too low to admit the upright en- 
 trance of even the murky visitor, w^ho, as she 
 stoopingly penetrated the fearful chasm, 
 seemed to tread with more caution. The 
 slimy trails 'of the grave- worm, marked in
 
 64 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 winding mazes through the mouldy damps, 
 rendered the limits of this tomb more dis- 
 cernible — the light moved round, instead of 
 straight forward. — Varenza reached the 
 second door, and now saw that the centre 
 of the dungeon was excavated. A sensation 
 of new horror struck him as the hag 
 traversed the margin of the opposite side, and 
 with a scowling smile sent her inquiring 
 eyes into the depth of the cavity. — But how 
 was his horror increased, when a faint and 
 hollow moan stole murniuringly on his ear! 
 
 The hag stopped 5 and setting down the 
 light and the flagon, she seated herself on 
 the ground close by the edge of the well, 
 her hands crossing her knees on which she 
 rested htr chin, in an attitude of composure 
 that might truly be called hellish. 
 
 " I Jo!" she cried, " ho! sister Euphronia, 
 are you awake?'* 
 
 *' Awake!" repeated a voice, the sweetness
 
 EUPHRONIA. 65 
 
 of which was not lost in the accent of misery* 
 — " O that I were indeed sleeping — in 
 death !" 
 
 " Aye !" the tormentor retorted in a tone 
 half jeering, half exulting, " talk of dying 
 at eighteen, truly! I am thirty-six, yet hope 
 to live for a few years/* 
 
 *' Oh !" cried the fainting victim, *^ one 
 drop — for mercy, one drop of water." 
 
 *' Patience a while," said the mock com« 
 forter, " I must first tell you what 1 came 
 about/* 
 
 The miserable creature moaned in despair;. 
 and Varenza, no longer capable of cauiion, 
 even if it v/ere needful^ stepped . forward to 
 see the worst. It was indeed the worst, last 
 state of torture the mortal frame coald en~ 
 dure. The sufferer was in the abyss of the 
 cavity, standing ! for the space that 
 enclosed her was too contracted to admit of 
 2
 
 6d BUPHRONIA* 
 
 any other position ; and the sharp stones that 
 projected around forbade her to seek the 
 rehef of any support. The question of "Are 
 you asleep?" recoiled on the memory of 
 Varenza ; and the look of retributive venge- 
 ance tie cast on the perpetrator of such 
 intolerable suffering, must have quickly called 
 her to other feelings than those she now 
 indulged, had she been sufficiently disen- 
 gaged from her victim to observe it. 
 
 A half laugh extended the long line of 
 her thin lips as they opened to speak. " I 
 have brought you water and bread/' said she. 
 
 The prisoner made an efrort to raise her 
 head, but it was without success. Varenza 
 SZ.W her enfeebled frame sink against the wall, 
 but again recoil from it in silent endurance. 
 Her arms had found support in the interstices 
 of the flints — they resumed their position, 
 and again her forehead dropped on them, 
 
 " I drew the water from the convent well
 
 JEUPHRONIA. €7 
 
 myself," said the tormentor, " that I might 
 bring it fresh and sparkling/' 
 
 The prisoner moaned. 
 
 " But I am not to give you any unless 
 you confess all/' 
 
 " All!*' sighed the prisoner : " nothing ! 
 indeed I know nothing !" 
 
 ** Pshaw !" drawled the witch, " what a 
 fool the girl is ! Why don't you confess at 
 once that you are guilty, whether you are 
 or not?" 
 
 A sudden emotion seemed to arouse the un« 
 happy creature. vShe now looked up — it was 
 a lock of indignation. The eyes of Varenza 
 darted rays of fire — their beams caught hers 
 — she shrieked !—in the same moment the 
 hag started up. 
 
 ^^ Nay!'* cried Varenza^ " you move not*
 
 6B _ EUPHRONIA. 
 
 It is you who are now the prisoner— and by 
 heaven I you shall learn to feel the scourge 
 with which you have lacerated your victim I" 
 
 Aghast she stood : — he approached, when 
 a sudden turn of her cunning eye as sud- 
 denly awoke all his caution. He retreated 
 to the door^, which he closed, and then, 
 springing across the gulf^ seized his prey. 
 Her shrieks and struggles wound him up to 
 madness, and gave him strength irresistible ; 
 with one end of her own veil he quickly 
 restrained her voice by bandaging her mouth, 
 with the other he fastened her hands to a 
 large iron ring which opportunely and con- 
 spicuously presented itself to his sight in the 
 wall. It was the work of a moment — even 
 in the performance of it one object only was 
 in his thoughts, and to that object he now 
 turned. 
 
 Gracious Heaven, what were his feelings [ 
 The face of the sufferer was raised — her 
 eyes were starting from their sockets, and
 
 EUPHROKIA. 69 
 
 half glazed In death, yet seemed to look 
 for deliverance — a miraculous, an indefinable 
 deliverance. Her mouth was half open — ^the 
 agony of hope had overwhelmed every sense, 
 even the feeling of hope itself — she was im- 
 movable — transfixed ! 
 
 His own agony was now dreadful — he 
 knew not how to effect her release. The 
 sides of the well were smooth and slippery 
 with damps, excepting the space which the 
 victim of cruelty herself occupied ; and for 
 him to descend would be to entomb both 
 without a chance of rescue. He unfastened 
 the collar of his roquelaure, and, in accents 
 well expressive of his earnestness, entreated 
 her to be tranquil, to be collected, and firmly 
 grasp in both hands the corner which he 
 flung towards her. It caught her eyes, they 
 glared on it, and a convulsed effort agitated 
 her frame : but she seemed incapable of un- 
 derstanding the cause — a fatal torpor had 
 benumbed her faculties, till the voice of 
 Varenza in tender entreaties seemed suddenly
 
 70 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 to reach her he^rt. With a wildness resem- 
 bling phrensy she caught at the means 
 of preservation — emaciated, drooping, dying 
 with misery and famine, as was this hapless un* 
 fortunate, the hope of returning life restored 
 her to a sense of her situation: — by an exertion 
 almost supernatural she raised herself suffi- 
 cienlty to be within the reach of a saving armj 
 and Varenza, the transported Varenza, drew 
 her from the gulf of death! The transition 
 from despair, however, in the same moment 
 threatened to render his efforts for her preser- 
 vation unavailing, for in the very hope of life 
 she sank to the ground apparently a corse^ 
 
 But Varenza in being so far successful 
 had gained new courage. The flagqn con- 
 tained a restorative which proved most 
 effectual, for in a very few minutes he 
 forced her to swallow some drops of the 
 clear sparkling liquid — she opened her 
 eyes — stared on her deliverer— and almost 
 in the instant seem d to recover memory, 
 and to feel the terrors of her situation*
 
 EUPHRONIA. 71 
 
 Her tormentor in bondage, — the abyss from 
 which she had arisen — caught her attention. 
 She looked at them and at Varenza v/ith 
 wildness, and endeavoured to rise from the 
 ground. r 
 
 " Let us hasten from this place," said 
 he, as he aided her, and threw over her rough 
 garment the roquelaure which had already- 
 proved so importantly useful. She spoke 
 not, but, with that hurried air peculiar to in- 
 sanity, snatched up the lamp and looked 
 around for the way to escape. '' Let us 
 hasten," repeated Varenza ; and in the next 
 moment they passed the door of the fatal 
 vault, and the bolt crashed an awful separa- 
 tion from a living grave. No father who 
 had just recovered a long lost and only 
 child — no lover who had found the object 
 of his best affections, ever felt an emotion 
 of transport greater than Varenza in this 
 eventful crisis. 
 
 Quickly they reached the stairs-foot — the
 
 72 EUPHRONIA, 
 
 terminating door he waited not to fasten, but 
 the quivering of the light evinced too plainly 
 that the transient strength of his companion 
 was already beginning to fail ; and the 
 steps, steep and glassy with damps, were 
 difficult to ascend. Feeble as was his own 
 frame through recent loss of blood and want 
 of nourishment, he felt that courage and 
 hope can equally renovate the body and the 
 mind : lightly he raised her from the earth, 
 and swiftly ascended the stairs. Half- fainting, 
 her folding arms clasped his neck, and a 
 gush of tears fell on his cheek as hers bent 
 over him. O Nature! who shall dare to 
 chain thy feelings by the icy hand of maxim .^ 
 they are sacred deposits intrusted by heaven 
 to a few — let these few cherish them! 
 
 To the heart of Varenza they were indeed 
 hallowed, and Euphronia seemed to feel 
 that every streaming tear loosened the grasp 
 which misery had fastened on her soul. 
 When they reached the top of the stairs, she 
 could stand without support j and when the
 
 EUPHRONIA. 73 
 
 key grated in the lock, she uttered a lively 
 exclamation of gratitude to Heaven for her 
 escape. 
 
 To Varenza, however, the conviction was 
 by no means certain. '' Hist!" he cried, 
 " we are yet in the toils, nor do I know 
 how we shall find safety." 
 
 A moment he stood to consider. There 
 were three ways to choose: — one of them he 
 knew the necessity of avoiding — another he 
 conjectured led to the body of the convent, 
 as one of its members had issued from it by 
 the terminating door ; — the third therefore 
 was the only alternative, and through this 
 they determined to proceed. 
 
 At every step new hope arose ; the forlorn, 
 almost ruinous state of the passage gave an 
 indication that it was seldom trodden. Webs 
 of insects clotted with dew hung down so 
 low as to impede their way, and the path 
 was continually interrupted by lumps ^f 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 fallen stone and cement, to his companion 
 peculiarly distressing, as her feet were bare 
 and had already endured much. But while 
 the spark of hope remains^ and the alterna- 
 tive is despair, what are the sufferings the 
 spirit will not enable the body to support ! 
 
 Onward they trod, till the length of the 
 passage and its increasing ruin created 
 apprehensions which the state of the air, 
 saturated with pent up vapours, every mo- 
 ment threatened to confirm. The flame of 
 the lamp lingered low, and their respiration 
 became quick and heaving. No termination 
 — no breaking^ off appeared to their aching 
 sight ; to proceed or to return was to meet 
 death : and Euphronia at length, no longer 
 able to contend with misery, sank from his 
 arm incapable of further exertion. 
 
 Varenza, half maddened by terror, be- 
 sought her to support herself yet a little 
 longer > in the probability that this passage, 
 from its length and appearance, must have
 
 EUPHRONIA. 75 
 
 already extended far beyond the building, 
 and that a few minutes more must end their 
 doubts. She endeavoured to obey him ; 
 but the effort was so painful that he pro- 
 posed going forward himself to explore the 
 passage, and then to return for her. It was 
 the only alternative — he therefore took up 
 the lamp and departed. 
 
 The eyes of Euphronia dwelt on his figure 
 till it dwindled into obscurity, and was finally 
 lost in darkness. Terrors for herself in the 
 first moments abandoned her to despair ; but 
 fancy suggested that her deliverer was gone 
 to encounter unknown dangers — that he 
 might be seized — murdered ! The tortures 
 he had drawn her from, and those which had 
 been painted to appal her, crowd^ed on her 
 memory ; and to share his fate was the only 
 reserve this recollection suggested. Stung 
 by the sudden thought, and invigorated 
 by the fever of her brain, she rushed to 
 pursue him. At the second step she stum- 
 bled; but, quickly recovering, proceeded 
 E 2
 
 76 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 with more caution, her hands extended to 
 explore the way, and her feet raised high at 
 every step. The slimy walls on either side 
 directed her to follow the object of her only 
 wish; and, though the darkness was terrible, 
 her starting eyeballs seenried to find a gleam 
 of a lighter ray. To relieve the visual nerve 
 she closed the lids — again she opened them, 
 and the light appeared stronger — she almost 
 believed she saw the shadow of her own 
 figure move in the way before her. She 
 started 1 she turned — and in the vista of the 
 passage already trodden she perceived what 
 to her appeared a ball of fire. Fixed to the 
 spot, she gazed — the object moved towards 
 her ; it increased every moment till she di- 
 stinguished it to be a flame, and also distin- 
 guished the dark forms of two persons 
 moving with it. 
 
 To escape was now every way impractica- 
 ble ; for in terror the power of her limbs 
 wholly failed her, and the only path was 
 that by which they continued to approach.
 
 EUPfiRONIA. , / i 
 
 But the intenseness of agony was too great 
 for oblivion ; and as she again sunk to the 
 earth, her sight was riveted in wild and 
 liaggard gaze on the coming spectres. The 
 dame they carried now seemed to flow in a 
 red torrent that filled the passage, and ar 
 liquid sulphur rolled before to clear its way 
 through the mists. Euphronia, though no 
 longer sensible of agony, continued to gaze. 
 The light already fell upon her, and the 
 features of those who bore it were plainly 
 discernible. They were pale as the inhabi- 
 tants of the grave, and their eyes with dark 
 scrutiny seemed to pierce through the gloom. 
 They approached — their figures as they 
 stooping moved were wrapped in the dark 
 garments of banditti. A convulsion strug- 
 gled in the bosom of Euphronia and veiled 
 her sight ; and when she became capable of 
 again discerning, the enveloped forms were 
 already passed, and hastened onwardo with a 
 quicker pace. A scream of horror escaped 
 through her locked teeth — she remembered 
 her deliverer must be overtaken !
 
 78 iOniRONiA, 
 
 The sufferer stretched on the rack. In the 
 first torture,, fancies he must expire — but the 
 sense cf life is recalled by a new pang. 
 Another and another succeed, till nature 
 reaches her final struggle, — yet he dies not, 
 and a sudden release from the tension of 
 anguish rushes through his veins. Euphronia 
 suffered no less tortures ; and nature had 
 already reached her final struggle^, when she 
 heard the approach of footsteps. — A groan 
 escaped her. 
 
 *' Euphronia !" ^aid a low voice. 
 
 This was the release ! — she started up~it 
 was the voice of her preserver! In the phrensy 
 of transport she bounded forward and met 
 his arms. He said something, she knew 
 not what — a confusion floated on her senses, 
 and in the next moment they deserted her 
 entirely.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 So in the lir.gsrlng dream of tedious ni^^ht, 
 A thousand lorms appear to Fancy's sight ; 
 In gloomy mists their pathless course they keep. 
 Or through the dark ethereal mazes sweep,— 
 Or gathering into numbers threatening stand, 
 Proplietic messengers of Fate*s command — • 
 Or groping onwards, cast the oppressive chain, 
 Which binds the captive of their transient teign. 
 
 The struggling soul in panting anguish lies 
 And m despairing fancy feels "he dies! 
 
 Such were the sensations of Euphrcnia, 
 when the spell which bound her senses began 
 to yield to returning animation. The voice 
 of her preserver struck on her heart, and 
 her eyes opened to the conviction that she 
 was in safety. 
 
 With the return of sense, memory quickly 
 resumed its place, and the past and the pre- 
 sent appeared in all the force of contrast. 
 The throbbings of her soul pressed against
 
 so EUPHRONIA. 
 
 the bosom of Varenza as she reclined on 
 him for support^ and the hand with which 
 he held one of hers in tender solicitude was 
 soon bathed by her fast-falling tears. They 
 spoke the language of the heart, to which his 
 own emphatically replied ; but for some 
 minutes the silence was unbroken. 
 
 Such a crisis as this, however, permitted 
 not a long indulgence of emotion, and Eu- 
 phronia awakened to a full recollection of 
 her situation. She spoke of it to Vareiiza, 
 who in the strongest terms declared the 
 necessity of an immediate removal to some 
 place of more probable safety, and to which 
 the want of refreshment for both was in 
 itself a sufficient argument. Euphronia with 
 a prom.ptitude that seconded his wishes 
 endeavoured to rise ; but the effort proved 
 so painful, and nature was so far exhausted, 
 that she was compelled to consent once 
 more that he should leave her to seek what 
 they so much required. He obliged her to 
 wrap the roquelaure more closely round
 
 EUPHRONIA. 81 
 
 her, and wiih assurances of speed reluc- 
 tantly departed. 
 
 Now again the eyes of Euphronia followed 
 him; but the lamp which had before lent his 
 figure to her sight was now wanting, and he 
 was soon lost in the windings of the dell. 
 Involuntarily she looked up to heaven — it 
 was unusually obscured by the shades of 
 night. The moon was no where visible^ 
 and not a star twinkled in its sphere. As 
 the heavy clouds rolled on in their sullen 
 course, a lighter tmr sometimes gleamed, and 
 delineated the place in which she had taken 
 refuge. Its features were terrible, and the 
 defile so enclosed by steeps that she almost 
 wondered how it had been penetrated. The 
 way by which Varenza had left her was dis- 
 cernible only by its deepening shade, and 
 seemed to lurk between the massive rocks, 
 which had many ages past been precipitated 
 by the hand of Time, in rude and angry ma^ 
 jesty, down the broken sides of the mountains. 
 Euphronia had read of such places : she
 
 82 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 shuddered, and her imagination conjectured 
 a thousand horrors. Profound as was the 
 silence around her, she suppressed her 
 breathings, lest the rustling of a leaf should . 
 be mistaken by her ear — she seemed to 
 watch for that which she dreaded. 
 
 The indulgence of fears at length became 
 so intolerable, that once more she made an 
 effort to rivse, and had succeeded, when the 
 falling of some rough pebbles near, again 
 sank her panting to the earth. She turned 
 to observe from whence they came, and in 
 the instant distinguished two figures standing 
 on a craggy prominence of the steep. As 
 from her situation the only shade beyond 
 them was the clouds, their outline was accu- 
 rately divStinct — from their attitudes they 
 appeared to be seeking a path by whi'ch they 
 could descend, and this conjecture the next 
 moment was confirmed by their leaving their 
 station; and quickly after she perceived them 
 slowly, and as if cautiously, creeping down 
 the hazardous declivity. Again her strength
 
 EUPHRONIA. 83 
 
 \vhoIIy forsook her — yet still she ardently 
 observed them — they still approached — they 
 passed her, and she was certain they were 
 the very men she had before escaped in the 
 passage ! They even seemed to be in search 
 of something lost, and wandered between the 
 huge masses which might afford concealment. 
 In these wanderings they more than once 
 repassed the spot that sheltered herself, and 
 at length she heard one of them call to his 
 companion. He spoke in a half tone, and 
 eagerly as she listened the first words were 
 lost. The next however she distinctly heard. 
 
 " But are you sure you saw the light in 
 the cavern ?" 
 
 ^* Certain," replied the others "I even 
 saw him dash it from his hand," 
 
 " Judas be his speed!" reiterated tlie 
 first: " he is a daring fellow, and has wrench- 
 ed my shoulder devilishly. But, Lazaro, he 
 cannot be far distant ?"
 
 84 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 *' I think not," replied Lazaro; " and if I 
 had had but the wit not to extinguish my 
 torch, 'tis odds but we had discovered him 
 before this time. The devil's in him if he can 
 choose a hiding-place that is unknown to usl" 
 
 *' Let us traverse the ravine to the west/* 
 said the first man. " I owe him a grudge, 
 and must pay my debt by some means." 
 
 *^ Aye !'* retorted Lazaro jeeringly, '' next 
 time you have your bird caged, you'll be 
 more nimble than to let him cage you in his 
 stead. By St. Helen herself! and by the 
 Mother ^bess, who shall give us the pro- 
 mised purse, fail or finely if I had kept the 
 dagger and you the torch, the thousand 
 crowns had been- in our pockets by this time. 
 You should have staid at home to milk the 
 ewes, and sent your wife with me for help." 
 
 The joke galled, but a faint laugh parried 
 it. '' True," he answered, " Marinette 
 would not only have carried the torch to
 
 EUPHRONTA. 85 
 
 light you. but a double portion of brandy to 
 give you valour. And by the Pope himself 
 the quantity of your courage always keeps 
 even with the quantity of your liquor V 
 
 "Hist!'' cried Lazaro. 
 
 They paused in sudden attention — ^ap- 
 proached each other silently— listened again, 
 and then hastily retreated by the defile 
 through which Varenza had already passed. 
 
 The agony of Euphronia was now indeed 
 madness. She started from her seat, but 
 again sank. Even had she not recognised 
 the figures she had before escaped in the 
 ruinous passage, their conversation alone had 
 led her to the most horrible suspicions of 
 their purpose. Again she rose: bodily pain 
 was no longer felt — she resolved to share the 
 dangers she conjectured, and advanced to the 
 defile through which they had disappeared. 
 Its very entrance was terrible. The rocks
 
 86 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 had fallen so intricately that a way only wide 
 enough for a single person was left between, 
 and their walls on either side rose some feet 
 above her head. The rugged path was now 
 no impediment 5 she wound through it with 
 a speed impossible under any other circum- 
 stances, till its sudden termination startled 
 her : — it ran on the very extremity of a ciiif, 
 from whence the extensive view of sea 
 and land was only bounded by the distant 
 horizon, at the eastern edge of which some 
 streaks of morning light began to appear. 
 But two steps more and she had fallen over 
 the steep to inevitable destruction 1 and as 
 her eye glanced at the horrors beneath, she 
 involuntarily scanned the masses of moun- 
 tains as heap on heap they descended in 
 gigantic confusion to the plains far below. 
 
 An awful sensation in this moment over- 
 whelmed her faculties, till the sound of 
 footsteps once more waked her to her 
 terrors. To escape was im.practicable, and
 
 EUPHRONIA. 87 
 
 breathlessly she rested against the rocks till 
 the footsteps turned the angle which con- 
 cealed her. It was her preserver himself i 
 
 Surprised to find her thus situated^ and 
 so far advanced to meet him, he would have 
 asked the cause j but her weakness was too 
 apparent to leave him any other considera- 
 tion, and he besought her to collect strength 
 and composure sufficient for temporary ex- 
 ertion, as he had found a cottage not far 
 distant where she might obtain the relief 
 immediately necessary. His voice was that 
 of encouragement as he endeavoured to 
 assist her ; but a combination of sensations 
 quite overwhelmed her spirits. She could 
 neither utter her fears or her gratitude, and 
 could only evince the latter by her efforts to 
 obey him. 
 
 As their way was now skirted by the edge 
 of the precipice^ and was often too narrow for 
 the passage of two, they sometimes separated 
 —sometimes he carried her a few paces, and
 
 88 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 when they walked together, his arm round 
 her waist sustained her from sinking. At 
 length they wound round the prominence, 
 and Varenza pointed out to her the place of 
 refuge he had found. It was a wretched 
 hovel, and seemed to have been formed by 
 an excavation in the decUvity below ; but he 
 assured her she would find the woman civil; 
 and as there was no other dwelling acces- 
 sible to her present strength, he urged her to 
 make the best of what could neither be 
 evaded nor amended. 
 
 " Almost the first words I heard you 
 utter/* said he, '' were an evidence of your 
 firmness, and that in a situation infinitely 
 more terrible than the present. We have 
 now every thing to hope — almost nothing to 
 fear ; and trust me, my sweet companion in 
 adversity, the power must be almost super- 
 natural that shall sever you from the protec- 
 tion of my arm till I place you beyond the 
 reach of danger.'*
 
 EUPHRONIA. 89 
 
 With a sudden and lively emotion 
 she raised iier eyes to answer him ; but 
 something caught her attention — she started 
 in new terror, and pointed to a little distance 
 above them. The morning dawn had already 
 thrown a pale gleaming through the sky, 
 and gave to view an aperture in the rock. 
 
 " Be tranquil !*' replied Varenza; '' that 
 is the cavern which terminates the long and 
 dreary avenue of our mutual prison. Having 
 escaped the horrors prepared for us both in 
 that place, I feel the impression that we are 
 reserved for a better fcite." 
 
 " Oh hasten ! hasten !*' exclaimed the 
 agitated Euphronia, — " Death itself pursued 
 you in that place ! Let us fly !" 
 
 Her strength and speech no longer requir- 
 ed his aid, and she hurried forward with 
 an impetuosity he could hardly keep pace 
 with. The path leading down to the hovel
 
 90 EUPHRONJA. 
 
 was not very rugged, and they reached it 
 soon and in safety. 
 
 Varenza knocked at the door, and Eu- 
 phronia, now awaking from her trance of 
 terror, looked at the dwelling. As her head 
 was enveloped in the roquelaure, even the 
 degree of expression which the gray light 
 might have enabled him to discern was con- 
 cealed : but as if assailed by a sudden ap- 
 prehension she caught his arm. 
 
 " Whither, whither are we come?'* she 
 exclaimed j '' Let us retreat while yet we 
 may," 
 
 " What do you fear ?'* he demanded in 
 surprise. 
 
 '' Your enemies — your assassins. — Let 
 us fly, I implore you." 
 
 A moment he stood in hesitation j but in
 
 EUPHRONIA, 91 
 
 the next the door was opened. '^ It is too 
 late,'* said he, " we must make the best of 
 it — -but certainly your fears are groundless.'* 
 
 His tone was less decic^ive than his words, 
 and Euphronia felt that she had reason for 
 her terrors. The appearance of the woman, 
 too, who had opened the door, she fancied 
 was forbidding ; yet her words of welcome 
 were, as Varenza had expressed, civil ; and 
 she was even ofHcious in her attentions to 
 their comfort. She made ihQ faggots blase, 
 and, setting some miik and bread upon the 
 table, offered some excuse for the coarseness 
 of her fare. 
 
 Varenza, convinced by the manner of his 
 companion that she had a cause for fear 
 which he knew not, summoned his presence 
 of mind and concealed his suspicions. The 
 appearance of the woman and of her dwelling 
 announced her inured to hardship, and her 
 countenance proclaimed that she had been 
 born to no better station. Her fiery red
 
 92 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 hair and brows overshadowed her little 
 greenish-gray eyes, which twinkled from 
 their half-closed lids with peculiar brightness. 
 Her nose was little, her mouth large, her 
 lips thin, her teeth jagged and prominent, 
 and her cheeks hollow. Her figure, i hough 
 small, was bony and muscular, and her 
 dress bespoke poverty'and dirt. 
 
 '* Would that we could fly this place !" 
 thought Varenza, as he turned his eyes to 
 another and a very different object. The 
 blazing faggots, for the first time, gave to 
 his view the features of Euphronia. Pale 
 and emaciated by various misery, there was 
 a radiance in their expression that startled 
 him. Long and silken lashes fringed her 
 eyes of the darkest shade, and of a brilliancy 
 that seemed an illumination of the mind 
 within. Her face was nearly oval; her nose 
 approached the aquiline ; and her mouth, 
 almost voluptuous, disclosed the bright 
 enamel of her perfectly formed teeth. Her 
 hair of glossy jet was collected and fastened
 
 EUPHRONIA. 93 
 
 by a braid ; but the tresses had fallen from 
 their knot, and now shadowed her neck in 
 long and graceful profusion. Though the 
 roquelaure was thrown open, he had no means 
 of delineating her figure, except that it was 
 slight, and very little above the middle size; 
 but her arms of polished white were finely 
 rounded, and her hands w^re in the justest 
 proportion of delicacy. Her garment of 
 coarse hair-cloth had disclosed so much, 
 and he trembled with reviving indignation 
 against her persecutors when he beheld her 
 throat, and her arms near the shoulders, 
 lacerated by its roughness. 
 
 *' Now do I find," thought Varenza, 
 " that life was given me for a good purpose ! 
 This creature must be saved!" 
 
 In that moment her eyes met his. Her 
 soul seemed to have been occupied in con- 
 tending against her fears ; but in this little 
 interval a pang of intolerable anguish crossed 
 her brow, and she concealed her face by one
 
 94 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 of her hands, and extended to him the other. 
 Varenza was much affected, — he pressed it 
 to his lips and his heart — the action was in- 
 voluntary, for he thought only of the dangers 
 that threatened her, and the means possible 
 for her preservation. 
 
 The first essential was to recruit her 
 strength, and with his own hand he raised 
 the bowl of milk to her lips. The first taste 
 of it revived her, and an effort to overcome 
 her weakness succeeded. 
 
 " Let us hope," said she, forcing a smile. 
 " This is not our first peril. The approach 
 of danger is often more terrible than its 
 arrival." " At all events," she rejoined, " I 
 acknowledge myself incapable of moving 
 further, and must be resigned, whatever 
 happen." 
 
 The return of the woman, who had been 
 absent, prevented Varenza*s reply. She had 
 been preparing a bed, and now announced
 
 EUPIIRONIA. U5 
 
 that It was in readiness. Varenza went to 
 the door-way of the apartment from whence 
 she came, and turned yet paler as he looked 
 in. He took the lamp with which the wo- 
 man had provided herself, and, resolving to 
 explore the place, entered. Though exca- 
 vated from the rock itself, it was lofty and 
 capacious, — an iron lamp plate suspended 
 by an iron chain hung from the centre of 
 the rudely vaulted roof, and the bed which 
 stood at the further end was the only furni^ 
 ture besides. He approached this bed — it 
 was such as he might have expected, yet 
 such as he knew not how to permit Euphro- 
 nia to rest on : but the fatal certainty of 
 possessing no other means of alleviating her 
 fatigue forced on his recollection, and he 
 turned from it with an anxious heart. To 
 the only aperture of entrance he now return- 
 ed; and having made his report toEuphronia, 
 she languidly expressed a wish to obtain rest. 
 On bidding him adieu, she clasped her hands 
 with renovated energy, and raised her eyes 
 to heaven. There was something in the 
 8
 
 96 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 look that disclosed to his imagination a volume 
 of futurity; and Varenza, imable to resist its 
 influence, sank almost fainting on the seat 
 she had left. A strange confusion floated 
 on his fancy, he deplored his temerity in 
 coming to a place unknown without calling 
 to mind the necessity for suspicion, and 
 vaguely sought some expedient to escape. 
 The woman returning awoke him from this 
 labyrinth of suggestions, and they were 
 somewhat dissipated by learning that the 
 1^ lady expected to sleep immediately, and had 
 sent word that she already felt refreshed.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 -The porter of tliis place, 
 
 Ujito whose trust the charge thereof was lent; 
 His name was Doubt, he had a double face, 
 Th'one forward looking, and the other backward 
 
 bent; 
 Therein resembling Janus, auncient. 
 Which hath in charge the ingate of the yeare : 
 And evermore his eyes about him went. 
 As if some proved peril he did feare. 
 Or did misdoubt some ill, whose cause did not 
 
 appeare, Spenser. 
 
 jL he feelings of Varenza in the succeeding 
 interval bore a strong resemblance to this 
 description. His vivid eye glanced every 
 where around him, and suspicion steeled 
 his nerves with ten-fold force. That this 
 was the abode of villany he was too truly 
 certain ; but the shape in which it might 
 approach was yet unknown, nor could he 
 hope to learn it from his hostess, whose every 
 movement filled him with apprehensions. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 .The rays of the morning were fast breaking 
 through the interstices of the door, (for 
 window there was none,) and she had extin- 
 guished the lamp ; but the intermitting flame 
 of some fresh billets on the fire lent a partial 
 gleam to discover the situation she had 
 selected for herself. — It was on a truss of 
 straw in the corner of the place where he 
 sat; and when his eyes traversed towards the 
 spot in his eager watchings, he always ob- 
 served that hers had been fixed on him, and 
 were suddenly withdrawn in pretended slum- 
 ber. That she as earnestly watched him 
 was evident; and a pang wrung his manly 
 soul when he remembered he was unarmed, 
 and consequently incapable of affording the 
 protection that might probably be required 
 of him. 
 
 Unsettled however as were his ideas, he 
 -endeavoured to ponder on the means of 
 resource. A little calculation of the path he 
 had travelled since he left his own peaceful 
 .dwelling, convinced him that the distance
 
 EUPHRONIA. 99 
 
 could not be so much as a league ; and a 
 wish to remove Euphronia thither as na- 
 turally followed this suggestion. How to 
 remove herv^^as the difficulty; she was with- 
 out shoes, and her feet were already dread- 
 fully torn. — He well knew she must be more 
 incapable of moving after an interval of rest 
 than she was before she obtained any, while 
 her limbs were yet supple and accustomed to 
 exertion. Any mode of conveyance with 
 his assistance might suffice, -and to procure 
 one was now his first desire. 
 
 In the hope and the probability that the 
 vicinity of the hovel was not untenanted by 
 some animal of burden, he rose, and opened 
 the door. The woman started up in alarm, 
 which however was quickly dispelled on his 
 making the inquiry. She replied to him 
 that her husband was a poor shepherd, in 
 the service of a man who allowed no com- 
 forts to any creature but himself: nor did 
 she know how he could obtain such a thing. 
 The country was waste^, and, as fee might 
 F 2
 
 100 -EUPHRONIA. 
 
 see, uninhabited down to the plains. The 
 only mules she ever saw were those of occa- 
 sional travellers, and that seldom, as this 
 was not near the passes. 
 
 Unsatisfied with this account, he inquired 
 further, and collected from what she said 
 that the spot which embosomed his own 
 dwelling was not much more than half a 
 league distant. He asked, could a messen- 
 ger be procured? but she replied, it was 
 impossible. — Her husband had gone to a 
 distance with the flocks, and would not return 
 for several days ; and that till he did, she 
 could not expect to see any one except by 
 accident, as she had seen him and the lady. 
 
 Half encouraged to hope by the knov/ledge 
 of certain relief being so near, if he could 
 reach it, his perplexity increased; and yet 
 more increased when the thought suddenly 
 occurred, that Euphronia would still proba- 
 bably rest some hours ; and if he was his 
 own, messenger^ there was every supposition
 
 EUPHRONIA. 101 
 
 that he must return before her ^vaking. 
 Every moment increased his wish to execute 
 this project, and every moment was of infi- 
 nite consequence. The woman, having at 
 his desire gone softly into the chamber, 
 returned with the consoling assurance that 
 the lady slept profoundly ^ and his resolution 
 was instantly sealed. He charged the hostess 
 to be careful of her guest, and to depend 
 upon receiving a rich reward^ and telling 
 her he would return in the course of two 
 hours, with a sad heart but swift feet he 
 departed.. 
 
 It is very easy to imagine that the regret 
 of Varenza, at leaving the object of his care, 
 was little less than Euphronia's must have 
 been had she been apprised of her deserted 
 state. Happily however her slumbers shut 
 out remembrance during several hours, and 
 the sun had nearly reached its western abode 
 when she revived to recollection. 
 
 Her first sensation was that of bodily
 
 102 EUPHP.ONIA. 
 
 pain. Her lips were parched and dry, her 
 frame burned with fever, and her lacerated 
 feet had no power to move. Hoping for 
 the entrance of the woman, she for some 
 time remained still ; but though involved in 
 darkness^ she felt that much time must have 
 elapsed in insensibility, and a sudden alarm 
 took possession of her. She called aloud ; 
 and the door opening, a figure entered 
 bearing a dingey lamp. The figure approached 
 the bed — it was a female; but as she came 
 near, Euphronia perceived it was not the 
 woman she had seen before. 
 
 Eagerly she made inquiries; but the wo- 
 man in return uttered a language she could 
 not understand, and it soon became evident 
 that her own was as unintelligible. By signs 
 she intimated her wish to v/et her fevered 
 lips, and succeeded in obtaining the salutary 
 refreshment of some v/ater. Having cooled 
 her mouth and bathed her feet, her ardent 
 anxiety assFsted her to move from the bed, 
 and seek in the anti-apartment the object
 
 JfilTPHRONIA. 103 
 
 she most panted to see. The woman aided 
 her; but, on reaching the dooo ^^^ found 
 th© place vacant, 
 
 A thousand terrors now rushed on her 
 fancy. That she had been voluntarily de- 
 serted did not once occur to her ; but she 
 looked around, in expectation of beholding 
 the dagger which she too surely knew had 
 been commissioned to drink the blood of 
 her deliverer. It was in vain that she uttered 
 inquiries, that she implored for some inteU 
 Ifgence. The woman looked at her v/ith 
 surprise • but it was surprise devoid of cOnu 
 passion, though excited by the phrensy of 
 agony itself. Of all the sufferings the devoted 
 Euphronia had yet endured, this was the 
 most acutely intolerable. Torn with con- 
 tending anguish, she had no resource — ^no 
 relief to asf^uaga misery. Maddened by the 
 sniart, she left the hovel — -the rays of the 
 setting sun told her how long she had been 
 insensible, and how much might have hap- 
 pened ia the lapse of time. No human
 
 1C4 EUPHRONIi, 
 
 object met her eye — no human voice sounded 
 ©n her ear. This was the last struggle of 
 reasoDj and it yielded to despair. 
 
 The result of this state of mind was in- 
 definable even to her own apprehension. 
 Though suffering the last degree of torture 
 human nature is capable of sustaining, she 
 was no longer aware of her agony. Stretched 
 on the bed to which she had, without know- 
 ing why, returned, her spirit at last recoiled 
 from its climax, and she felt the hope that 
 she was dying. - 
 
 Yielding now in despondency to her fate, 
 she continued motionless, till a coarse mur- 
 mur of voices in the anti-room awoke her 
 to liew sensations. Involuntarily she raised 
 herself to listen ; and her heart once more 
 began to throb, in the dawning expectation 
 that the only tone which could reach its 
 feelings might mingle in the murmur. But 
 no sound resembling it met her ear ; and 
 again she was sinking under the oppression.
 
 EUPHRONIA. 105 
 
 wh^n she recollected the possibility of now 
 obtaining some information. Aroused to 
 new animation even by the wish to know the 
 worst, and no longer sensible of any pain 
 but mental, she again left the bed, and easily 
 found the door. A violent burst of the 
 voices made her hesitate to open it — agaia. 
 they sunk into a hum indistinct and unintel- 
 ligible ; but amongst them she at an interval 
 distinguished that of the woman she had 
 first seen, and from her she could most pro« 
 pably gain intelligence. Again she hesitated, 
 but the press of her feelings urged her, and 
 she ventured to unclose the door. 
 
 The cnly light in the wretched place was, 
 as the night before, the hre that blazed in 
 the centre of the clay floor, and round which 
 were seated some figures of a strange and; 
 terrific appearance. Their heads were co- 
 vered by caps of skin that slouched over 
 their ears — their dresses appeared shaggy, 
 and their air savage. In the first moment- 
 one of them, whose back was towards her, ' 
 E 5
 
 106 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 leaned across the fire in looking at some- 
 thing which was on it, and his position 
 obscured the others from her sight ; but 
 when he sank again into his place, she distin- 
 guished the ferocity of countenance which 
 grouped round the blaze. Two of these 
 faces she had seen before, yet at first she 
 knew not where ; — they were laughing, and 
 she could not recognise them till they 
 scowling frowned. The sight then forsook 
 her eyeSj in the horrid conviction they were 
 the persons she dreaded— whom she had 
 seen in the passage — who had haunted her 
 in the deli — and from whose conversation 
 she had gathered, that the purport of their 
 search was a deed suited to the execution of 
 fiends. The murdered image of Varenza 
 jBitted before her — she covered her eyes with 
 her hands, but the struggle that tore her 
 bosom was ineffectual. She uttered a faint 
 cry — the group started up. 
 
 The result of this imprudence she was 
 aware of even before it escaped her. They
 
 EUPRRONIA. 107 
 
 dragged her forward, and a frantic shriek 
 burst from her lips, as with accents and a 
 countenance maddened by combined terrors 
 she called for her preserver by the only name 
 she knew him — " her friend!" 
 
 " Ho, Marinetta 1" said one of the men^ 
 '*" here, tell Mademoiselle la Nonine^ what 
 is become of herfriencL'^ 
 
 The woman from whom Euphronia had 
 indeed hoped to gain intelHgence advanced 
 from a corner and leaned over the group. 
 Euphronia turned on her eyes of dagger-like 
 inquiry. She burst into a laugh, and the 
 laugh reverberated throughout the group. 
 
 The wretched Euphronia a moment gazed 
 on her and on the group. A fearful distortion 
 agitated her features, and her hands, raised 
 by a sudden motion, fastened on them witba 
 fell gripe. The blood that instantly bathed 
 
 * The nun.
 
 108 EtXPHRONIA. 
 
 them seemed to recall her senses — she sank 
 on her knees, and with a suffocating excla- 
 mation cried, " O God, forsake me not !*' 
 
 " Mademoiselle la religieuse should have 
 thought of that sooner/' observed one of 
 the men. " I guess she has forsaken, or 
 intended to forsake him. It is not to be 
 expected he will take the trouble to help 
 her now," 
 
 Again the group laughed. Euphronia 
 raised her eyes — a sullen gloom sat on her 
 darkened aspect as she surveyed them. 
 
 **Come, Lazaro,'^ said his fellow ruffian , **see , 
 is the supper stewed. Mademoiselle v.ould no 
 4oubt like to taste a bit after her long fast.'* 
 
 ^* Aye," he retorted, " and belike too 
 Tshe would be glad to see her friend taste a 
 bit. — But if you wait for that, my dear, 
 you'll fast enough to take us all out of 
 purgatory."
 
 EUTHROKIl. 109 
 
 Again they laughed, but were soon more 
 busily engaged bv a partition of the supper. 
 To Euphroni?, v.ho had not risen from the 
 ground, they allotted a portion, which she 
 neither refused nor tasted. Her eyes wan- 
 dered vaguely, yet she seemed sensible of 
 her situation; but it. was an intractable sen- 
 sibility — a stubborn composure. 
 
 At first the men were too ?nuch employed 
 to notice her taciturnity ; but one of them, 
 having finished his fare, clapped her on the 
 shoulder with a coarse Hilloa! and asked 
 her what she was thinking of? 
 
 *' Her matins, no doubt,'' replied Lazaro* 
 *' I believe 'tis past midnight." 
 
 Marinetta moved her hand across her 
 forehead and bosom. 
 
 *'For the matter of her own soul,*' re- 
 sumed the second ci-devant priest, "it has 
 been in good keeping, I suppose j — and 
 8
 
 110 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 when the mother-abbess takes her to herself 
 again, she will help her to a dish of pennance 
 
 that will wipe off all scores.". 
 
 * Euphronia did not appear to hear him.. 
 
 " But for her frier: d,*^ he resumed, " as 
 I kindly undertook to be his father confessor, 
 I was careful to give him timely absolution. 
 So — rest his souiT' 
 
 Euphronia started, her eyes seemed to sink 
 into her head ; but the next moment they 
 resumed their dull trarquiility. 
 
 '^N'importe^'" said the woman. '"Tistooiate 
 to make merry now — rwe must be up betimes.'* 
 
 The party assented to the suggestion. The 
 companion of Lazaro with Marinetta retired 
 to the chamber Euphronia had occupied — 
 the men replenished the fire by billets, and, 
 laying themselves round it. were all soon 
 profoundly asleep.
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 Aurora now, not, as she wont to rise, 
 
 In gay attire, tinged with a thousand dyes, 
 
 But sober-sad, In solemn state appears. 
 
 Clad in a dusky veil, bedewed with tears. 
 
 Thick mantling clouds beneath her chariot spread, 
 
 A faded wreath hangs drooping from her head. 
 
 The sick'ning sun emits a feeble ray, 
 
 Half drown'd in fogs, and struggling into day. 
 
 Lisle. 
 
 JL he path had been described to Varenzj 
 very exactly by his hostess, and he easily 
 found it. It crossed the mountain direct to 
 the sea, and, skirting along the steeps which 
 overhung the waste of waters, gave at once 
 to his ken the pl?xe of his recent Imprison- 
 ment and the recess of his paternal home. 
 Many very many sensations agitated him, — 
 he endeavoured to hope, but sadness into- 
 lerable weighed upon his spirits. The clouds 
 surcharged with damps below the way he
 
 112 EUPHRONIA* 
 
 traversed, and the sun in robes of angry red, 
 seemed to foretell some sinister event.' He 
 quickened his pace, as if to fly from his own 
 reflections ; but they still pursued — more 
 than once he w^s on the point of returning^ 
 and hazarding all things rather than abandon 
 even for an hour the interesting being who 
 depended on his protection ; but the neces- 
 sity of accomplishing his design, and the 
 great benefit which must result, as often 
 recurred to him, and urged his expedition. 
 In an interval which surprised even himself, 
 he reached the mountain brow, which shel- 
 tered the peaceful abode. 
 
 Yet his heart did not hail it, as he bounded^ 
 m his descent from rock to rock, whose 
 yawning chasms he had heretofore contem- 
 plated with sensations of terrific sublimity* 
 His sight v^' as now riveted on the goal where 
 he wished finally to lodge all he held valuable^ 
 and almost ached to behold some living ob- 
 ject to give him welcome. The repose of 
 <ieath seemed to reign around, The twit-
 
 EUPHRONIA. 113 
 
 tering of the early bird was already silenced 
 by the rising day. No smoke curled from 
 the hospitable roof.— The mausoleum of 
 departed spirits was not mora breathlessly at 
 rest. 
 
 The recollection of his old friend, com- 
 bined with indefinable terrors, rushed on his 
 mind. He paused to meet the fears he 
 dreaded in the knowledge of the Abbe's 
 continued absence, and the consequent un- 
 certainty of his fate. But such a suspense 
 could not long be endured. He reached 
 the house ; the door lay open, and he 
 entered. No living creature appeared to 
 him J — he called aloud — no voice answtred 
 him ; — he flew to the parlour — ^it was vacaat, 
 — to the chamber of the Abbe — all — all 
 were silent as the grave. 
 
 Shocked and astonished, he knew not 
 which way to turn, what to conjecture, or 
 whither to seek for that which he would 
 find. Only three days had elapsed si.ice he
 
 114 ETJPHRONL^* 
 
 had left the habitation, cheerful with the 
 human face divine— -it was deserted now even 
 by the domestics. Every thing apptargd as 
 when ha and his old friend had taken their 
 luckless way to the scene which there was so 
 much reason to deplore. Some letters and 
 papers werescattered on the table, and his own 
 apartment was in the disorder resuhing from 
 the preparations of his intended journey^ 
 
 What course to pursue he now knew not, 
 nor had he time to conjecture ;~the neces- 
 sity of returning to his care could not be a 
 moment absent from his thoughts, and 
 hastily unpacking a velisse which had been 
 a part of his destined baggage, he rejoiced 
 to find the purse he had himself thrown into 
 it, and the value of which he now treasured 
 up. However anxious he might have been 
 under any other circumstances to obtain the 
 refreshment of a change of dress, he did not 
 now spend a thought on it, but, having 
 secured his li tie hoard, left his chamber, 
 and was recrossing the parlour to leave the
 
 EUPHRONIA. ll^' 
 
 house again, when a slight noise in the 
 apartment of the Abbe called him to seek the 
 cause. He sprang to the door, and in the 
 moment he threw it open, he beheld the 
 boards of the flooring close, and a slip of 
 paper lying beside it. — How eagerly did he 
 snatch it up ! and how much more eagerly 
 did he read these lines in the well-known 
 hand of the Abbe 1 
 
 '< If Varenza has escaped from the den in 
 which complicated villany confined him, let 
 him fly to Gascony. A moment of delay may 
 be a moment of death. His old friend is in 
 safety, but detained by a dearer interest than 
 even his adopted son.*' 
 
 The iron grasp of terror was instantly 
 loosed from the bosom of Varenza. He felt 
 as if he had nothing to fear. Eager, how- 
 ever, to learn more, he endeavoured to 
 remove the flooring ; but it was firmly 
 closed, and his impatience gave him no time 
 to devote to occupations which might prove
 
 116 EUPRRONIA. 
 
 fruitless. He had now accumulated motives 
 for obeying the command of his parental 
 friend, and in preserving his ovv^n safety 
 fancied he was preserving the safety of his 
 associate in danger. Lightly hearted, he 
 once more left the house, reascended the 
 mountain, and from its lofty summit turned 
 a last and lingering glance on the home he 
 had quitted — for ever ! 
 
 When the mind is freed from an oppres* 
 sive weight of care, the body with wonderful 
 celerity resumes its strength and activity* 
 Varenza, restored to the vigour of health, 
 pursued his way. The world lay before 
 him 5 and had he been at liberty to think 
 only of the world, he had no doubt been 
 agitated by solemn reflections ; but one 
 object intervened and obscured it from his 
 sight — this only occupied him, and this he 
 eagerly flew to seek. 
 
 With the swiftness of an Hermes, he 
 retraced his path, now keeping to the verge
 
 XUPHUONIA. _ 117 
 
 which seemed to tremble over the ocean^ 
 now immerging into dells and fissures, which 
 afforded him no view but the walls which 
 Nature had raised around him and the canopy- 
 that gleamed above. Though he was return- 
 ing without having completed the purpose 
 for which he came, he had no doubt but the 
 purse he carried with him would purchase 
 even in that desolate spot the conveyance he 
 should require, and a few leagues descent 
 to the plains of Provence must enable him. 
 to procure all that to his companion and 
 himself might be essential- Rapidly his 
 thoughts traversed the line of conduct he 
 should pursue. If Euphronia had friends, 
 and she much wished it, he would restore 
 her to them. If not, he would carry her to 
 Gascony, and at all hazards, and by all ex- 
 pedients, secure for her the protection of 
 his own friends, oJ* disclaim it for himself. 
 Nothing appeared to him impossible but 
 deserting the object of his solicitude. 
 
 While his mind revolved this train of
 
 118 EUPHRONJA. 
 
 reflection, his attention was too deeply- 
 engaged to notice any external objects. His 
 eyes, bent on the path he trod, neither turned 
 to the right or left, till on mounting to the 
 summit of a steep he suddenly encountered 
 a party of six men, whose appearance de- 
 noted a meagre ferocity, but the tri-coloured 
 cocarde* he knew to be the badge of the 
 Repuhlique Militaire, They were seated 
 on a mound when he first perceived them ; 
 but at the sight of him they rose, and waited 
 his approach. Such a circumstance in such 
 a place, where the few individuals, in a state 
 of nature as uncultivated as the wilds over 
 which they wandered, had nothing to call 
 for the attention of the existing government, 
 in the first moment extremely surprised him. 
 He moved on however with the design to 
 pass them, wheji one who appeared to head 
 the party advanced, and demanded his name. 
 Irritated at the question and the interruption, 
 he refused to submit to either. The Cora- 
 
 * Cockade.
 
 EUPHRONIA. 11'9 
 
 mlssaire made a signal ; and bis assistants 
 instantly obeyed it, by surrounding Varenza, 
 who at the same moment heard himself 
 denounced a prisoner. 
 
 Stunned by the combined sensations of an 
 event from which so many evil consequences 
 must result, his first impulse was resistance ; 
 but against numbers and without arms it 
 was futile to contend, and he attempted a 
 parley. He no longer refused his name, 
 but the mention of it was the signet of his 
 fate, vin the scroll of arrest which the 
 Commissaire now produced, he beheld 
 ■Varenza Snelgrave at full length. 
 
 Astonishment at first overwhelmed his 
 faculties, till he recollected the sentence 
 traced by the hand of his old friend. This 
 was the danger it warned him to fly from. 
 He now found he had thrown himself into 
 the toils of his enemies, and also found that 
 to escape was impracticable. But no feel- 
 ings for himself once obtruded — the image
 
 120 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 of his deserted companion appeared to his 
 memory in all the horrors of her defenceless 
 state. He implored permission to proceed 
 to the hut in which he had left her, and 
 promised implicit compliance in every other 
 instance ; but the Commissaire was impene- 
 trable to the suggestions of mercy, and 
 refused in a manner that rendered the 
 wretched Varenza hopeless. Half frantic, 
 he imprecated vengeance on the head of the 
 petty tyrant ; whose only reply was an order 
 to bind the prisoner's hands. Gnashing his 
 teeth, he was compelled to submission ; and 
 the order being executed, they proceeded on 
 their way by a path which led into the 
 mountains. 
 
 To endure the tortures that assailed him 
 was almost impossible. His guard however 
 felt none of them, and laughed and talked 
 withoutintermission. From their conversation, 
 he discovered that they had waited for him 
 at the edge of the boundary between Italy 
 aiid France. He had known that the Coa.
 
 EUPHRONIA. 121 
 
 vent of Helina belonged to the diocese of 
 Nice, and that the residence of the Abbe 
 was within the limits of Provence, but till 
 this moment the circumstance had never de- 
 manded his attention. That they had taken 
 this particular station for some design he also 
 learned ; but what that design might be, or 
 on what pretence he was arrested, remained 
 concealed. His questions were as much un« 
 heeded as his complaints ; and wearied with 
 fatigue of body and of spirit, he abandoned 
 himself to silence and despondency. 
 
 At length the party stopped to take some 
 refreshment, and the <:onversation for the 
 present almost ceased. Varenza, however, 
 was too truly sick at heart to lend any atten- 
 tion to their proceedings ; and his dejection 
 so far operated on the compassion and the 
 curiosity of his guards, as to induce them to 
 release his hands, and to draw from them 
 some questions respecting the source of it. 
 He had been meditating how to renew the 
 
 TOL. I, G
 
 J22 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 subject, and now shaped his replies with 
 such addiess as to create a new inducement 
 for them to listen. Pie described the hovel, 
 its subterraneous chamber, and the obscurity 
 of its situation, hinting his real supposii ion that 
 the place belonged to smugglers, who were 
 now out on a cruize, and that the woman might 
 easily be intimidated to disclose some secrets 
 for which the rSpubligue would probably be 
 extremely grateful. The Commissaire laugh 
 ed in ridicule ; but the guard looked at each 
 other, and, retiring one by one to the distance, 
 of a few paces, talked in consultation, which 
 the Comimissaire finally joined. Varenza 
 did not advance any new plea for their 
 concession till they returned. 
 
 He then perceived they were still wavering 
 — it was a hazardous undertaking, for the 
 smugglers might be returned, and ihey were 
 well known to be desperate fellows, and in 
 great numbers. Varenza gave some reasons 
 for the contrary opinion, but in vain j and
 
 EUPHRONIA, 123 
 
 he was driven to his last resource. He drew 
 his purse from the place in which he bad 
 concealed it, and added the entire weight of 
 it to his persuasions. 
 
 The Commissaire shook his head. — " Ah 
 ha! monsieur,** he repeated, '^^ What will 
 they say at the town-house to which we are 
 to conduct you ? They will ask you, who 
 searched your pockets and took away your 
 money and papers. You will say, ' My 
 guards robbed me ;* and then your guards 
 will pay the forfeit at the guillotine." 
 
 The drift of this speech was visible ; and 
 Varenza invStantly replied to it by offering to 
 bind himseli ro secrecy in any manner they 
 should dictate, if they would but agree to his 
 proposal. He observed, the sun was now 
 setting, but the path by which they had come 
 was circuitous, and he was certain they 
 might find one more direct to the 1 ovel. 
 The situation of the hovel itself was n*rxt 
 canvassed, and the description of Vartiiza 
 
 G 2
 
 124 £UPPIRONIA. 
 
 proved it to be within their department; and 
 having discussed the further precaution of 
 ^A^hat plea they could allege for their long 
 absence in the execution of their commission, 
 they at length agreed to accept Varenza for 
 their guide. 
 
 His transports were now nearly as strong 
 as his agony had recently been, but he 
 endeavoured to suppress it ; and having 
 arranged the direction of the path that should 
 be taken, the party set out. At first his steps 
 were light, and in unison with his feelings ; 
 but soon the obtrusion of reflections cast a 
 sombre veil over his brightest joy, and sunk 
 him into sadness. He might see Euphronia, 
 but perhaps see her only to abandon her 
 again ; for, if he-r youth and her deplorably 
 unprotected situation had no power to soften 
 the inflexibility he had found so difficult to 
 move, he had no argument left by which he 
 could induce her removal with him to what- 
 ever destiny he was doomed. Involved by 
 degrees in. the labyrinth of these thoughts,
 
 EUPHRONIA. 125 
 
 and uncertain what he ought to hope, he 
 became so entangled in the intricacies of the 
 mountains, that he knew not which track to 
 pursue. The guard began to complain of 
 weariness, an4 hinted something of treachery. 
 Varanza saw a new danger in such a suspi- 
 cion, and, with an openness and promptitude 
 peculiar to his character, explained his mis- 
 take. The Commissaire listened with 
 unexpect^ed patience, talked apart with his 
 escort ; and it was finally agreed that, having 
 gone the wrong way, they must seek the 
 right with all diligence* This measure was 
 accordingly adopted. 
 
 The force of mental spirit, -however great, 
 cannot immeasurably resist the force of 
 bodily weakness, Varenza had felt himself 
 fast sinking, but this event gave him new 
 life and strength ; and supported by his 
 resolution, he at length succeeded in reco- 
 vering a more open path to the place of his 
 wishes. The night was already far advanced j
 
 3 26 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 but the Commissaire and his party had won- 
 derful patience, ^and bore their fatigue with- 
 out further complaint. Ke observed, indeed, 
 that they were much engai^ed in private 
 ccnversation, frequently whispering, and 
 speaking with emphasis of gesture, and he 
 judged that their earne.<^tness beguiled the 
 road. Still they proceeded with an even and 
 steady pace as he led, and a sudden turn over 
 the ridge of a mountain gave to his view 
 the object he sought. 
 
 Gladly he hailed itj and the party stop- 
 ped to survey before they ventured further. 
 Varenza would have proceeded, but they 
 required him to de^^kt ; and having spoken 
 apart, the Commissaire took the tri-coloured 
 ribbon from his hat, and said he would go 
 alone to reconnoitre. Varenza thought it 
 politic in such a crisis to be obedient, but 
 looked wistfully after the Commissaire, who 
 descended vith as much ease and expedition 
 as if intimately acquainted with the path.
 
 E'UPHRONIA* 127 
 
 The moon shone bright, and gave hlai to 
 view till he reached the hovel, at the door 
 of which he demanded admission. 
 
 He was not immacllately answered j but 
 the smoke which issued through the hole in 
 the middle of the roof indicated that the 
 place was not uninhabited, and again he 
 knocked, and more loudly repeated his de- 
 mand. A short parlev ensued — the door 
 then was opened, but on his entrance was 
 hastily closed. The suspense Varenza en- 
 dured shook his frame almost to dissolution; 
 and the agony was increased by a delay 
 unaccountable as it was alarming.. At length 
 the door re-opened — the Commissaire step- 
 ped over the threshold and whistled aloud, 
 a signal which his party obeyed, and the 
 ' palpitating Varenza descended with them to 
 the wretched abode, 
 
 " Here," said the Commissaire, " has 
 been some mistake. It was not here you 
 left the lady,"
 
 128 ' EUPHRONIA, 
 
 Varenza started back, aghast. 
 
 " The poor people here know nothing oF 
 such a person. I could hardly get them 
 even to understand my inquiries.'* 
 
 The guard grumbled in great discontent^ 
 but alarm had already fired Varenza. He 
 insisted on his certainty, and the Commis- 
 saire with the utmost coolness desired him 
 to enter and to satisfy himself. 
 
 The appearance of the place was as fami- 
 liar within as without. Some faggots blazed 
 in the centre of the floor, and three men 
 were seated by it. Varenza vehemently 
 affirmed that here he had left the lady, and 
 here he would find her, or learn whither she 
 had been carried ! The men stupidly stared 
 at him, but returned no answer; and the 
 Commissaire coolly accounted for their silence 
 by observing they were Montagnards, 
 
 In the moment the word was pronounced
 
 EUPHRONIA, 129 
 
 a smile of horrid intelligrence broke throurK 
 
 o o 
 
 the savage dulhiess of one of the men. Va- 
 renza, convinced of villany, bounded over 
 the blazing faggots, and with an impreca- 
 tion seized his throat. A shriek resounded 
 from the adjoining apartment — it was the 
 cry of a female — of Euphronia ! The man 
 reeled from the strong arm of Varenza as 
 iie flung him from' him in maddened despe- 
 ration at the well-known voice, but numbers 
 quickly overpowered him : — the Gommis» 
 saire drew a handkerchief over his mouth, 
 while the myrmidons bound him. He 
 struggled till nature could no longer aid in 
 the conflict ; and recollection then wholly 
 failing, he forgot his misery in apparent- 
 death. 
 
 G 5
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Who would be born to such'a phantom world. 
 Where nought's substantial but pur miseries? 
 Being a shadow ! consciousness a dream ! 
 A dream how dreadful ! universal blank 
 Before it and behind ! 
 
 Young. 
 
 INURING the course ©f Varenza's studies, 
 he had ever derived a forcible pleasure from 
 metaphysical research, rlis watchful pre- 
 ceptor had warned him of the dangers into 
 which he might be led by adopting opinions 
 erroneous or indefinite; but the caution did 
 not always avail. He was frequently bewil- 
 dered, in the mazes of his own investigations, 
 and the voice of his Mentor alone conducted 
 him into the straight path. In such moments 
 the apostrophe he uttered to superior wisdom 
 was trite but expressive : " I find," said he, 
 ** I am not yet fit to enter the world alone."
 
 EUPHRONIA. 131 
 
 — But that he was to enter it under such 
 circumstances no art of divination could 
 have conjectured. The Abbe had led him 
 into scenes which gave him a theoretical 
 knowledge of the devious road he expected 
 to tread, and he had in fancy marked out 
 for himself that line he deemed niost suited 
 to his turn of thinking, and the bent of his- 
 talents: he now found how futile are the 
 schemes of men: — one event alone can anni* 
 hilate the deepest projects. 
 
 Hitherto he had reposed on the roses of 
 pleasure, but now that he was left alone he 
 felt the thorn, and the anguish of the rank- 
 ling, wound recalled his senses. He looked^ 
 round, and the change of place assured him 
 he had long been torpid, and equally absent- 
 to the feelings of the body and the mind*. 
 The conveyance on which he moved was a. 
 hurdle, borne as a litter on men's shoulders ; 
 but who the men were he had not the power 
 to learn by sight, as his hands and feet were 
 bound, and he was too weak to make an
 
 132? EUPHRONIA* 
 
 effort to release them. To complaints, 
 which hc'-believed must be useless^ he never 
 stooped ; and completely exhausted as he 
 wasj he had no inclination to make inquiries 
 that might not be answered. He heard 
 voices in conversation which were not those 
 of the C©mmissaire or his band;- — he saw 
 the mountains ascending high above him^ 
 and the plains not far distant below; and- 
 these two observations led him to conclude 
 that he had changed his guard, and the 
 misfortune he dreaded respecting the total 
 loss of Euphronia became conclusive. 
 
 Of these conjeclures he soon after ob- 
 tained a confirmation. His bearers stopped 
 to I'est, and the person who seemed their 
 leader offered him some wine. As he felt 
 how much he required the refreshment, he 
 accepted it; and as the man spoke with a voice 
 less rough than his predecessor in office^ he 
 ventured to ask whither they were taking him, 
 
 *^ To the next village," was the reply.
 
 EUPHRONIA, 13$ 
 
 ^■* And whither then ?" 
 
 The man professed ignorance. The charge 
 of arrest was sealed, and if a case of mO' 
 ment, the president of the sitdng committee 
 would, after perusing, re-seal it, and forward 
 the prisoner as directed. Varenza yielded 
 his soul to despair, and his bearers resuming 
 their burden again set forward. The shades- 
 of night had obscured the objects around, 
 before the party reached a village in which 
 a sorry auberge was to give him shelter and 
 repose. It afforded, however^ an apartment 
 strongly fenced by bars and bolts, and into 
 this the forlorn Varenza was conducted, and 
 left alone. It was the first ray of satisfaction 
 he had for several hours experienced. 
 
 In a little time the host entered with lights 
 and some supper, and as the door opened 
 the figure of a sentinel appeared in the 
 passage. But while he waited outside only^ 
 Varenza felt it as an indulgence 5 and having 
 dismissed the host, he retired to the bed
 
 134 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 provided for a succession of miserable occu- 
 piers^ of whom he deemed himself the most 
 unhappy. The shrieks of Euphronia still 
 reverberated on his fancy — a thousand rack- 
 ing tortures crowded forward — and could 
 his life have purchased her preservation from 
 those which his iiiiagination suggested she 
 might suffer, he liad ceased to exist in the 
 next moment* 
 
 A carelessness of his own fate was the 
 inevitable result of this anxiety for hers, — it 
 was of Euphrouia only he thought, till,. 
 wearied by the oppression, he at length sank 
 into sleep. 
 
 But the morning had not yet dawned 
 when he was wakened by the jarring of 
 bolts, and a person entered to announce that 
 he was to recommence his journey. He was 
 soon prepared, and the sentinel at the door 
 conducted him down stairs and delivered 
 him to ihe guards who were to be his escorts 
 He rejoiced to see that theae were more
 
 ILUPHRONIA. 135 
 
 evidently military than his former attendants; 
 and the officer who commanded spoke in a 
 tone of authority rather than association. A 
 little cart was in readiness — into this the 
 whole party mounted, and it drove off at a 
 quick pace. 
 
 From the chill of the morning, or some 
 other cause, the officer remained silent, and 
 the prisoner had no inclination to speak ; 
 but when the rays of the sun exhaled the 
 vapours of the night, their influence seemed 
 to revive even Varenza. He surveyed his 
 fellow-travellers 5 but the officer alone caught 
 his attention, and led him into reflections less 
 painful than those which he had for many 
 hours dwelt on. His features, though not 
 handsome, were manly, his countenance 
 varied frequently from vivacity to contem- 
 plation, and his air indicated courage without 
 ferocity. Whenever Varenza turned his 
 eyes on him, his were hastily withdrawn, 
 and the cadence of a w^hlstle, or hum of a 
 merry note, betrayed an effort to appear
 
 1'3(T EUPHRONIA. 
 
 careless. His eyes were often obscured hj 
 the tears in which they floated; but he 
 brushed them away with his hand, and his 
 note was then louder and less harmonious. 
 
 His taciturnity tovv-ards his prisoner was 
 however persevering ; for though on clearing, 
 the village he directed the shackles to be 
 taken from his hands, he did not once ad- 
 dress him in conversation. Varenza never 
 felt so much at a loss, or so anxious to speak. 
 At length he hazarded the observation, that 
 the duty of a' soldier under the present cir- 
 cumstances must sometim.es prove painful. 
 
 " Peut-clre/' v/as the reply. 
 
 Varenza was disconcerted at a rejection of 
 his advance so very laconic^ and his heart 
 returned to its sorrows. 
 
 ** C'est ht destince de la guerre ^^ resumed 
 the officer, after a pause of meditaaon; ''but 
 a soldier thinks nothing of these things."
 
 liUPHRONlA. 137 
 
 The first sentence was uttered in a melan- 
 choly tone— the last in heroics. Varenza 
 looked at him earnestly. 
 
 " Cest vraiy Monsieur^'* he resumed,—- 
 " What business has a soldier with a heart 
 in this country ?'* 
 
 Varenza caught at the interruption, and 
 understood it. *' If,'* said he, " the details 
 which have reached me of various events in 
 this country be true, no man in it should 
 possess a heart — '* 
 
 The olHcer shrugged up his shoulders^. 
 a. la franpise. 
 
 " If he can help it I" rejoined Varenza, 
 
 *' Aye,'^. exclaimed the officer impressively: 
 ^' but," he added carelessly, *' custom is- 
 second nature.'* 
 
 " And are you,*' said Varenza,, " one of
 
 138 EUPRRONIA. 
 
 those beings who submit your feelings to 
 her mouluing hand ?'* 
 
 *' No," answered the officer, his rounte* 
 nance braced to firmness;" ** willing'/ i did 
 not submit even to come to this country." 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 " But they would not let me I'v?* in •^y 
 own. So the mua chat is born must live 
 somewhere — '* 
 
 «c 
 
 You are mysterious !'* 
 
 The officer smiled with expression. " That 
 is not my national character/* said he, — *' I 
 am an Irishman," 
 
 A spark of animation illuminated the fea- 
 tures of Varenza. " Ah then!" he exclaimed, 
 we are brothers! — ^England is my native 
 soil r
 
 EUPHRONIA. 139 
 
 The officer shook his head dissentingly, 
 but observed, " It ought to be so." 
 
 *' And,'* he resumed after a pause, " It 
 woi'Jd be so if the sons of England*s soil 
 extended to ns the hands of brothers j if the 
 policy of En^^ land's laws fostered us as 
 children !'* 
 
 Varenza saw the fire that kindled in bis 
 eyes, bat ventured to atk, did he not " speak 
 with pnjudicfc ?" 
 
 " You shall judge/* he repli d, " that I 
 speak from my own experience 1 was born 
 to a gentleman's rank ; but ihc policy of the 
 land precluded me the mems of obtaining a 
 gentleman's education*, and 1 was sent to 
 France to seek it. In my absence the policy 
 
 * The hardships here complained of existed in the 
 penal laws against Roman Catholics in Ireland. 
 Their repeal was one of the measures resorted to iii 
 Qrd^r to secure the union of the two countries.
 
 140 EUPHRON-IA. 
 
 of the land permitted a ruffian to wrest from 
 my parents their possessions, and consigned 
 them to poverty, ir^ which they died." 
 
 A blush of Indignation crimsoned tlm 
 cheek of Varenza. " But youj" he critdj 
 — " you never returned !" 
 
 " Why should I not ? — ^The country itself 
 I cherished in my affections — the people I 
 loved as they deserved to be loved. Gene- 
 rous, amiable, energedc! no cold-blooded 
 prudence binds their souls in chains of ice ! 
 But 1 scorned to prey upon their kindness, 
 and required the means to provide for 
 myself.** 
 
 ** And, did you succeed ?" 
 
 " I could not, — V7ith the rank ^.vA the 
 education I also possessed the mind of a gen- 
 tleman. I would have pleaded in the cause of 
 justice — it was barred against me ! I would 
 have shed my blood in the defence of mjp
 
 EUPHRONIA. 141 
 
 king and my native land, but I was required 
 to renounce tlie only inheritance my parents 
 had bequeathed to me !" 
 
 " What was that r' demanded Varenza. 
 
 ** My reh'gion/' he replied. 
 
 A pulsation quivered his pale lip as he 
 pronounced these words. Varenza blushed 
 for the place of his birth. 
 
 " I might, no doubt," resumed the ofEcer, 
 *' have entered these or other professions by 
 stealth, but why should I conceal what I 
 was? Why be compelled to appear what 
 I was not? I had heard eulogiums on Eng- 
 lish liberty, but I understood not the Hberty 
 that shackled the mind on a subject in which 
 the mind only was concerned. In France 
 the slavery of the subject was deplored, but 
 I was permitted to live in France as my talents 
 or capability might enable me j and of France, 
 ' ihexefbre, i consider myself a subject."
 
 142 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 " Alas!" cried Varenza, *' that even that 
 should now be an uncertain right !*' 
 
 *' True," observed the officer, " but 
 France has long been labouring under com- 
 plicated maladies^the revolution is her 
 physician. What effect the remedies may 
 produce time only can tell.*' 
 
 " And until then you are the physical 
 agent ?" 
 
 " One of them. There are but two 
 
 parties to choose fi'oni — I have adopted that 
 ! think least bad." 
 
 There was in the manner, the voice, the 
 countenance, of this man, a frankness inde- 
 scribable : it was that sprcies of sincerity 
 which looks not to the resuks of what it 
 utters. He expressed his sentiments, not in 
 the <:onfidence of friendship, but as truths 
 which he knew, and which he cared not all 
 else should know, Varenza did not take
 
 EUPHSLONIA. 143 
 
 the pains to investigate the attractions which 
 drew him invincibly towards this stranger ; 
 but he felt that hj could entirely repose on 
 his valour, his honour, and hishumanity„ 
 
 With this in^pression, and fearless of be- 
 ing understood by the gens-d'armes, (for he 
 now spoke In English,) he related to his 
 new friend the eventful history of the last 
 three days, described the poignancy of the 
 anguish that rent his heart, and lamented 
 the fate to which the desolate Euphronia 
 must inevitably have been, and must still be 
 exposed. He could not speak of her with- 
 out the mOvSt violent agitation ; and as he 
 advanced in his incoherent derail, the officer 
 caught the infection of his enthusiasm. A 
 cold dew burst from his forehead — he started 
 from his seat, and again sank into it in per- 
 turbation ; but at the relation of the last 
 scene in the hovel — of the shriek of Euphro- 
 nia, and her forcible detention from her 
 only friend, his feelings were wound to a 
 pitch of horror, which the denunciations
 
 144 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 he uttered could not tranquillize. A brood- 
 ing storm seemed then to gather in his soul 
 —he sat silent and in deep thought, till 
 suddenly returning to his vivacity, he urged 
 the driver to proceed with greater expedition, 
 and frequently expressed his impauence at 
 the tediousness of the way. 
 
 Had they however been less mentally 
 occupied, the complaints of tediousness must 
 have been reversed. The road marked for 
 them in the passport was silent and unfre- 
 quented, but at every step afforded new 
 objects to gratify taste and awaken imagina- 
 tion. The little vehicle wound through 
 vales presenting to the eye the rich harvest 
 of vineyards glowing with the bright purpk 
 of the grape, and flinging to the evening 
 ^ale the perfume of the ripening orange. 
 The hills extended in gay verdure, crowned 
 with dark woods, or yielding their scented 
 herbage to the browsing flocks, interrupted 
 sometimes by the craggy front of projecting 
 steeps, or interspersed with spots of variously
 
 EUPHRONIA. 145 
 
 coloured heath, or copses of embrowned 
 underwood. Sometimes their narrow way 
 skirted the verge of cliffs overhanging the 
 streams which rolled to supply the rapid 
 current of the Rhone, and gave to their 
 view the blue waters of the Mediterranean, 
 reflecting on her glassy bosom the golden 
 beams of the setting sun, or tranquilly 
 reposing in the ray of night*s silver lamp. 
 Varenza had often anticipated happiness in 
 traversing the scenes of Provence and Lan- 
 guedoc, but the hope was cherished under 
 different impressions from those his mind 
 now revolved ; and if beauties casually stole 
 his attention, it was without exciting any 
 interest. 
 
 From the sympathy of his companion 
 was now derived the only alleviation of the 
 anguish of his cares and his regrets ; and 
 though he could obtain from him no intel- 
 ligence of the ground of his arrest, or the 
 probable result, or even of the place whither 
 he was finally going, he almost felt that a 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 I46 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 knowledge of these from any future guardian 
 of the same description could not recom- 
 pense him for the loss of the society he now 
 enjoyed. But such an event he knew must 
 arrive; and the termination of this day's 
 journey was destined to sever the tendril of 
 friendship by which they were already 
 entwined. 
 
 It was midnight ere they reached a town 
 of any consideration. The vehicle drove up 
 to a building, whose gloomy walls and grated 
 windows announced it to be a prison. Some 
 forms were gone through by the officer in a 
 hurried manner, who then, suddenly turning 
 to Varenza, caught his hand in an ardent 
 grasp, and, as suddenly releasing it, precipi- 
 tately retreated. Varenza's foreboding heart 
 told him they had parted never to meet 
 again.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The rural pipe and merry lay 
 No longer cheer tlie happy day ; 
 No social scenes of gay delight 
 Beguile the dreary lapse of night : 
 No strains but those of sorrow flow. 
 And nought is heard but sounds of woe } 
 While the pale phantoms of the slain 
 Glide nightly o'er the silent plain. 
 
 O baneful cause, O fatal morn. 
 Accurst to ages yet unborn ! 
 When sons against their fathers stood. 
 And parents shed their children's blood. 
 Yet when the rage of battle ceased 
 The victors' souls were not appeased : 
 The naked and forlorn still feel 
 Devouring flames and murd'ring steel ! 
 
 Smollet. 
 
 jL)espondency took possession of the soul 
 
 of Varenza, when torn from the only object 
 
 which he deemed capable of interesting his 
 
 feelings : he was consigned to an apartment 
 
 suited to his wretchedness, and heard the 
 H 2
 
 148 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 grating of the bar that fastened his door 
 without any additional pang. 
 
 Here he remained for some hours undis- 
 turbed, but before the morning dawned he 
 was called to resume his journey. On this 
 or ai.y fuiure event he had not bestowed a 
 thought; but on leaving his cell he too soon 
 discovered that his feelings were not yet 
 steeled against the miseries of others, though 
 callous to his own. The roll of the hour 
 had just summoned a stated number of 
 wretches to an awful release from all earthly 
 fetters. He heard their shrieks ! he saw 
 their struggles ! Mothers torn from their 
 children;— husbands dragged from the arms 
 of their wives. Tortured by agony little less 
 than that he witnessed, he hurried from the 
 scene, nor breathed freely till the receptacle 
 of sorrow had been long out of sight. 
 Dreadful as were the sensations it impressed, 
 they had the salutary effect of dispersing his 
 reflections into, a wider range : in the mass 
 of misery he felt himself as lost, and the
 
 £UPHRONiA. 149 
 
 despair of others lightened his own by call- 
 ing for his participation. 
 
 As the country through which he travelled 
 in this and the succeeding day was thickly 
 inh'abifed, and the towns proportionably 
 null) ere us and large, he "bad i he fullest op- 
 portunities to observe the iatal and increasing 
 devastation of the sword of civil anarchy. 
 Nature had moulded bis heart with a sensidve 
 hand; and if the precepts- of philosophy had 
 strengthened its fibres from their original 
 softness, their spring was proportionably 
 increased. Ihe shout of nadonal ardour 
 was the knell of departing vicdms ! The 
 funeral pall covered the tombs of those who 
 yet breathed, — who wished yet to live ! In 
 the hourly contemplation of death, existence 
 seemed to lose its value ; and in the possi- 
 bility that Euphronia had preferred an early 
 grave to calamities he durst not think of, 
 he felt a ray of consolation that softened his 
 agony, and enabled him to sustain the severity 
 of his own lot.
 
 loO EUPHRONIA. 
 
 But busier and more fearful scenes yet 
 awaited him -, and when the spires of the 
 city of Aix rose to his view, he shuddered to 
 think on the thousands who in every passing 
 hour were trembling on the brink of a yawn- 
 ing grave. It was late when they entered 
 the suburbs, and midnight ere the vehicle 
 reached the place of its destination. The 
 black walls of the prison encompassed varie- 
 ties of horror ; and the vehicle no sooner 
 entered the court than Varenza foreboded 
 his ov/n speedy fate. The ceremonial of his 
 admission was here almost unnecessary — 
 crowds of hapless wretches were hurried 
 through the gates ; — some in stupid w^onder 
 — others in shrieking terror; and in all the 
 thread of life seemed so tightly stretched 
 that one more pang must sever it for ever. 
 
 It was here that Varenza felt the first emo- 
 tion of regret for the loss of his purse; for the 
 luxury of solitude was allowed only to those 
 who could purchase it, when a cell or a dun- 
 geon was vacated by its condemned inhabi-
 
 EUPHRONIA. 151 
 
 tant. The common apartment of the prison 
 was his only place of abode; but in the 
 belief that the period of existence must be 
 short, he wished to think lightly of an incon- 
 venience so transient. Here he endeavoured 
 to collect his thoughts; but in despite of 
 himself they were often called away by the 
 passing scenes. Nature appeared to him in 
 colours which he had never supposed her 
 capable of assuming ; for here man, sunk 
 below himself betrayed the degraded state of 
 mortality, and in the very jaws of death grasped 
 at wishes or submitted to fears the most con- 
 temptible ; and here too he appeared in all 
 the magnificence of a soul-ennobled exalta- 
 tion ; and, while he hovered over the tomb, 
 smiled at its dark terrors and hailed the 
 glory that irradiated beyond it ! 
 
 Though the work of death proceeded 
 hourly, the insatiable thirst of blood was 
 yet unappeased ; and the victims who were 
 carried out were as quickly succeeded by 
 others who arrived. The summons to trial
 
 i^^ LUPHRONIA. 
 
 was but the summons to execution; and the 
 soil of France, empurpled by the blood of 
 her children, exhaled to Heaven their tears 
 and their cries. As life became more pre- 
 carious, the possessors of it v/ere no longer 
 tenacious of its preservation, and the triumphs 
 of the axe were talked of with more apathy 
 than a common spectacle. When at stated 
 periods the jailor appeared with the magis- 
 trate, and detailed the list of names 
 contained in the roll which he held, every 
 eye looked terror, hope, or despair. The 
 devoted were led away to their fate; but those 
 who remained returned to their occupations, 
 whether important or frivolous, remembering 
 only that to tliemselves the blow of death 
 was yet an hour delayed. This at first 
 surprised Varenza; but he soon found that 
 he himself participated in th:; sensation. 
 A sting of shame then galled hie bosom, and 
 again he returned to devote the meeting mo- 
 ments to reflections more dear to his r.olicicude! 
 
 As he expected, the event so awful in
 
 EUPHRONIAi 153 
 
 perspective was not long delayed : the mes- 
 sengers of fate entered, and in the list of 
 names called over, was that of Varenza 
 DE Snelgrave Count de Massignon, 
 The title hardly caught his attention in a 
 moment so impressive, but in this moment 
 too he received a lesson which taught him 
 how to meet death. A mother, who had 
 not yet numbered twenty years, whose fea- 
 tures the fell hand of calamity could not 
 rob of their charms; whose soul, though yet 
 enchained to its mansion, seemed already 
 hovering in its flight j — this mother, yet in 
 the dawn of youth and beauty, was his in- 
 structress ! On the entrance of the deputies 
 her child was receiving nourishment at her 
 breast : — she looked her expectations, but did 
 not remove the infant till her name was 
 pronounced. She then knelt beside the 
 straw on v/hich she had been seated, placed 
 the babe in a position to sleep, and, kissing 
 its dimpled cheek, cast up her eyes with an 
 expression that announced the destiny her 
 spirit was already on the wing to reach. A 
 H 5
 
 154 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 moment she remained motionless; then rising 
 from the floor, with one hand she pointed 
 to her sleeping care, with the other to heaven! 
 Again her name was called ; and snatching 
 one last look, she suddenly turned, and 
 mingled with the devoted group. Varenza 
 was close beside her — he observed her nar- 
 rowly. She did not tremble — she did not 
 once look back at the tie to existence which 
 she had abandoned. Her air was firm and 
 commanding — her countenance in perfect 
 repose. 
 
 ** Alas I" said an old woman, bending 
 under the weight of infirmity, '' it is hard 
 to die r 
 
 The young mother bestowed on her a 
 glance. It expressed contempt and com- 
 passion : but in withdrawing her eyes they 
 met those of Varenza. Perhaps a kindred 
 expression invited her to speak. 
 
 *' It is harder to endure life," she ob*-
 
 EUPHRONIA. 155 
 
 served; " the prolongation of existence has 
 a thousand terrors in every passing hour." 
 
 ^' But you," cried Varenza in a suffocated 
 voice — " you have a child.'* 
 
 A pang crossed her features, but it lasted 
 not a moment, * " True/' she rejoined, '' he 
 may live!— yet I hope — I believe he must 
 soon die. This would indeed be a dreadful 
 moment else — " 
 
 A rush of the prisoners separated them, 
 and he spoke to her no more. But her 
 observation, combined with the serenity of 
 her manner, had made an indelible impres- 
 sion on his mind. " Why, indeed," thought 
 he, " .should she wish her child to live ? 
 Deprived of a parent's care — a parent's 
 instruction ; — consigned to all the evils of 
 existence, unmitigated by the reasonable 
 hope of one of its blessings, why should she 
 not wish him speedily to die ?" ^' And 
 why," he rejoined, by a natural transition,
 
 156 EUPHRONTA. 
 
 " why should I lament the loss of life? — The 
 chaos before me is dark and dreary — why 
 should I wish to penetrate its gloom r" 
 
 In arriving at the hall of trial, the gens- 
 d'armes who guarded it made way for the 
 prisoners to pass) and, as they moved in file, 
 Varenza, witji an exclamation of joy, recog- 
 nized in the officer who commanded tliem 
 his Hibernian conductor ! But to his utter 
 astonishment, his recognition was not return- 
 ed, though their eyes met. Even in such a 
 moment as this, he felt the smart of such a 
 v/ound. The officer proceeded in the routine 
 of his duty as an automaton might, and 
 appeared to possess no sense but that required 
 for the discharge of it. As Varenza passed 
 he looked vacant of thought, and by the 
 prisoner alone was heard the sigh which 
 burst from his disappointed heart. 
 
 The commissioners v/ere sitting, and the 
 Tictims crowded in the anti-room were called 
 in succession beiore them. Varenza, interested
 
 EUPHRONIA. 157 
 
 for the fate of the young mother, looked 
 for her in each countenance that passed. 
 At length her name was called : — she an- 
 swered with an unshaken voice, and obeyed 
 the summons. Varenza de Snelgrave was 
 the next ; and the moment he entered 
 the chamber of trial he heard the sentence 
 of death pronounced against her. She 
 pleaded not for a mitigation^ and the sen- 
 tinel at the opposite door gave her in charge 
 to the final dispenser of public justice. Va- 
 renza in this moment forgot that he stood 
 before a tribunal from which there was no 
 appeal. 
 
 The voice of the president, however, awa- 
 kened him to a sense of the conduct which he 
 owed to himself. He had determined to 
 sustain his part in the little that remained to 
 be acted of life, as a man ought to sustain it. 
 
 The hackneyed interrogatory was now put 
 to him, of " What he had to say why sea-
 
 158 EUPHRONIA, 
 
 fence of death should not be pronounced 
 against him ?" 
 
 " I have nothing to say,'* he replied, '' in 
 resistance of any sentence that may be 
 pronounced against me ; but I should hope 
 at least to be informed what is the imputed 
 crime for which I am to suffer " 
 
 The president was surprised. " How !" 
 he exclaimed, " a crime of such enormity 
 cannot weigh lightly on your conscience. 
 Have you not been the agent of sedition 
 against the standard of liberty?" 
 
 Varenza's first emotion was astonishment; 
 but it changed to contempt. " This is an 
 accusation," said he, " I did not indeed 
 dream, of, but no doubt it will answer the 
 purpose as well as any other." 
 
 " Other crimes you may have committed,"^ 
 resumed the president, ^' but the laws of the
 
 EUPHRONIA. 159 
 
 republic are merciful. If you confess who 
 are your accomplices in this, you may hope 
 for a remission of your punishment." 
 
 *' This is trifling," he replied ; " I can 
 have no accomplices where I intended no 
 crime." 
 
 The president was busied looking over 
 some papers, from which he drew a packet, 
 and directed the secretary to show it to 
 Varenza. 
 
 ^' Were these written by yourself or your 
 confederates?" was demanded. 
 
 Varenza looked them over — they were 
 written in cypher, and absolutely unin- 
 telligible. 
 
 " I know nothing of them,** he replied 
 calmly ; '' I never saw them before." 
 
 *^ Do not hope to deceive us/' said
 
 160 EUPHRONIA, 
 
 one of the commissioners : " they were 
 found on your person." 
 
 *' And by whom, pray ?" he demanded, 
 9s a question of course rather than of 
 curiosity. He conjectured it to be a fiction, 
 similar probably to many others by which 
 thousands were brought to condemnation. 
 
 ^' As the crime -vitally aims at the repub- 
 lic/' said the president, " you shall be left 
 without subterfuge. Call in the witness," 
 
 The name of James Fitzblaney v/as 
 repeated ; and the astonished Varenza beheld 
 the man in whom he would have trusted as 
 himself — on whose faith he would have 
 rested as on his own ; — the officer — the 
 Irishman ! — no longer under the semblance 
 of friendship or humanity, but blustering, 
 daring, and insolent. 
 
 *' Is this," exclaimed Varenza, " is this 
 man indeed my accuser ?"
 
 EUPHRONIA. 161 
 
 *^ I am/' cried Fitzblaney : " I accuse 
 you of having had in your possession that 
 packet of papers, ihe dangerous tendency of 
 which yourself confessed to me, as also, that 
 you had an accomplice in your guilt/* 
 ** Citizens/' he added, " the blood of this* 
 criminal alone is not sufficient to appease 
 hisulted liberty ! He told me his accomplice 
 was in Paris. — It is there that our divinity 
 holds her chief court, and it is in that court 
 that punishment should overtake the arch- 
 transgressors !" 
 
 *< Justice is open througliout France/' 
 observed one of the commissioners. 
 
 " True, citizens,*' he replied, " where the 
 offenders are within the reach of her righte- 
 ous sword ! And, in Paris, who shall escape 
 
 her vigilance f* 
 
 " Citizen," said the president, " you are 
 right. The enormity of this man's crime 
 requires the fullest investigation. Into your
 
 162 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 hands I intrust the evidences of his guilt. 
 He must forthwith be sent to Paris." 
 
 Fitzblaney received the papers: Varenza 
 was committed to the custody of a guard, 
 and within an hour departed from the city 
 of Aix.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 And see with visionary haste 
 (Too soon) the gay delusion past, 
 
 Reality remains ! 
 Despair has seized my captive soul j 
 And horror drives without controul, 
 
 Nor slackens once the rtina. 
 
 Greville. 
 
 " And is this," thought Varenza, " is this 
 human nature ! Why should I wish existence 
 to be prolonged, if I am to bear a likeness 
 rendered so odious by treachery and crime 1" 
 
 Such, indeed, is man !— so weak — so 
 changeable. The errors of one can disgust 
 him against all ; and the disappointment of 
 one cherished chimaora can close his heart 
 against the human race ! During this journey 
 the resentment of Varenza every moment 
 gathered new strength, and by the time he 
 entered Paris he was a confirmed misan- 
 thrope.
 
 164 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 The scenes here were not of a description 
 to soften his intolerance. In the suburbs 
 he met a procession escorting a guillotine 
 voyao^er*^ still reeking with gore — the air he 
 breamed seemed tainted with its exhalations. 
 The very pavement of the streets he passed 
 through was in many places red with recent 
 murder ; and his entrance into the courc of 
 the prison to which he was consigned was 
 for some minutes prevented by the egress of 
 three carts filled with the victims of a bloody 
 insanity. The anguish of his heart was in- 
 tolerable ! he lamented that the sword of 
 fate suspended over his own head, had not 
 already given the blow that would terminate 
 his sense of pain with his existence. 
 
 Any mitigation of this pain was not in- 
 tended him ; yet in being consigned to the 
 honors of a dungeon he exp^rrienced some- 
 thing like a relief. He was separated from 
 human intercourse — his sullen soul despised 
 
 * Travelling Guillotine.
 
 EUPHRONIA, 165 
 
 personal feeling j and the heavy air of his 
 prison, and the damp bed on which he 
 prostrated himself in da k revolvings of 
 thought, were congenial to his stncoiions. 
 Abhorring the pas', and reckless ot the future, 
 he anticipated the f^nal iou, uith impatience 
 at its delay. Son.etimes a leajful indignation 
 ru; i.ed thiough his veins, and gave nevv life 
 to iiil his passions — the burning of his brain 
 was iht n beyond endurance; luc in tie next 
 moment th^ hand of iron that pressed on his 
 heait cooled the fever, ana he was again 
 losi in gloom. 
 
 The lapse of three weeks had in a degree 
 lessened the frequency of these variations, 
 but he was suffering under a paroxy.-m of 
 enfuiiated aixguish when the heavy gioiing 
 01 his prison bolts announced the coming of 
 the janor, and the long expected sun)mons 
 to appear at the tribunal of impending death 
 calmed his rage, and restored him in some 
 degree to the tranquillity which his situation 
 now demanded. 
 8
 
 166 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 The blessings of light and a pure air had 
 so long been denied him, that his sudden 
 emersion from confinement overcame his 
 constitution too much to allow him to feel 
 their beneficial influence. He had reached 
 the place of trial before his sight enabled 
 him to distinguish the objects around. 
 
 The first that then presented itself was 
 the officer Fitzblaney. The president of the 
 committee was about to speak, but the 
 impetuosity of this accuser interrupted him. 
 
 " Varenza de Snelgrave, ci-devant Count 
 de Massignon," he cried, " I accuse you as 
 a traitor to France ! Citizens, he has eaten 
 the bread of her fields till the age of twenty- 
 one, and at the very period that his country 
 called for his gratitude in defence of her 
 newly asserted rights, he was detected in the 
 crime of abandoning her for ever ! Citizens, 
 he was arrested in the very act of emi- 
 gration !"
 
 fiUPHROTflA. 167 
 
 Varenza in new astonishment stood mo- 
 tionless ! 
 
 " Citizens/' pursued Fitzblaney, " by a 
 decree of your assembly, you have pro- 
 nounced every man a tra!tor, and an enemy 
 to liberty, vi^ho basely shrinks from defending 
 her rights." 
 
 *' The decree was founded in wisdom/' 
 observed the president. " Cit^ztn Varenza 
 de Snelgrave — " 
 
 " — Ci-devant count de Massignon," 
 rejoined the irritating Fitzblaney — 
 
 " — Ci-devant Count de Massignon," 
 resumed the president, *' What have you to 
 say that sentence of death should not be 
 passed against you ?" 
 
 The manly soul of Varenza now struggled 
 with giant strength against his contending 
 passions ^ and^ assuming all his dignity, he
 
 168 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 would have addressed the commissioners ; 
 but the vociferations of Fitzblaney over- 
 whelmed the sentence he would have spoken. 
 *^ Citizens,'* he cried, " the crime I accuse 
 him of he would palliate, but the certainty 
 t>f his guilt demands the retribution. The 
 republic is in danger while such worms are 
 permitted to gnaw its vitals !" 
 
 The president observed, that the prisoner 
 had already occupied too much time ; and 
 sentence of death was in a few words pro* 
 Rounced against him ! 
 
 Varenza, as much astonished at this event 
 as if it had been unexpected, turned his in- 
 dignant eyes on the perpetrator of a double 
 treachery ; but Fitzblaney was talking and 
 ^ven laughing with the person who stood 
 next, and appeared without a remembrance 
 of his atrocity. As the sentence of death 
 was immediate^ Varenza was hurried from 
 the bar into the vehicle which was to convey 
 him to the final scene ; and even in such a
 
 EUPHRONIA« IG^ 
 
 crisis one passion still lingered in his heart- 
 he regretted that his arm must be nerveless 
 ere he could inflict on the traitor the ven- 
 geance so justly due! 
 
 So tprturingly did this regret tear his 
 bosom, that he was inattentive to aught else; 
 and associated as he was with victims strug- 
 gling on the brink of eternity, he thought 
 only on the sacrifice he would have im- 
 molated at the altar of his rage. But when 
 the vehicle stopped, a more impressive sen- 
 sation took possession' of him 1 He had 
 been early taught the necessity of forgiveness 
 of injuries, and now remembered the essential 
 maxim of dying in charity with all men ! 
 In this moment he endeavoured to forgive 
 the only man towards whom he had ever 
 felt a sensation of hatred : — as he ascended 
 the platform his mind sank hito the softness 
 of submission to the voice of Nature's God, 
 and, no longer allied to the concerns of life, 
 hcwsought to fix his thoughts beyond it. ^ 
 vol,. I. I
 
 170 EETPHRONIA. 
 
 He was the last of this party of melancholy 
 sufferers that ascended to the fatal theatre of 
 blood, and his name was also the last that 
 the executioner called. He requested to be 
 left unbound, and promised unresistingly to 
 yield to any injunctions he might receive ; 
 but it was against custom, and the request 
 was refused. The board was affixed to his 
 back, and he had already crossed his hands 
 ever it, when a murmuring in the crowd 
 below, and a cry of " Stop ! stop !" caused 
 the executioner to pause in the performance 
 of his office. A figure mounted to the 
 scaffiDid — ' Stop ! stop !" he cried. — ''1 am 
 the Count de Massignon !" 
 
 Varenza uttered a fearful cry ! It was 
 the Abbe ! 
 
 *«##•*# * 
 
 ****## #■ 
 
 **#**#♦ 
 * * # *. * * *
 
 euphronTa. 171 
 
 When Varenza began to recover corporeal 
 sense, he felt as if awaking from a dream# 
 The confusion of his head brought to his 
 view a thousand fantastic imaginations, and 
 he burst into a loud laugh at their grotesque 
 variety. This effort of nature dissipate a 
 part of the mist in which his intellects 
 were involved — he endeavoured to recollect 
 himself. 
 
 Surrounded by darkness, he believed him* 
 self in his dungeon- — but on attempting to 
 rise he found his hands and feet fast bounds 
 and his memory recalled the scaffold. Again 
 a confusion of fancies floated on his brain- 
 fee was sensible of nothing, till some boister- 
 ous tones of merriment reached his ears. 
 Again the question of where he was, 
 occurred to him : he listened ; and amongst 
 the voices which ascended from the room 
 below he distinctly heard that of Fitzblaney. 
 
 The multitude of his injuries now poured 
 thick upon him, and in the struggle tp get 
 1 2
 
 172 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 free he tore the flesh from his hands. Th^ 
 cflFort was however vain, and he sank back 
 on the floor, overpowered by a contest so 
 unequal. 
 
 Again, however, he revived. A little 
 stream of lights which rose from the flooring 
 in a distant part of the room, caught his 
 sight, and he contrived to move to it ; — ^it 
 was a fissure in the boards, and his eye could 
 distinguish through it the objects below. 
 The apartment seemed to be a coffee room 
 filled with rabble of both sexes, all eager in 
 conversation ; and Fitzblaney, the traitor 
 Fitzblaney, more eager than all ! Varenza 
 lost the power to distinguish — his brain 
 whirled — he was only sensible that something 
 strange was the matter with him, till footsteps 
 sounded on the stairs, and approached his 
 door. It opened^ — a woman entered, bearing 
 a light, and she was followed by Fitzblaney 
 himself ! 
 
 It was now that Varenza felt his bonds y
 
 EUPHRONIA. 173 
 
 yet indefinitely. — His senses were tumult 
 tuous. 
 
 " So so !*' cried the traitor jestingly, 
 ^ Monsieur has contrived to find the use of 
 his body, though his head is so high in the 
 clouds. — Hilloaj sir ! can you rise ?'* 
 
 Varenza's face was ghastly and distorted. 
 
 " Pardi /" said the woman, " but he 
 frightens me ! — ^Where 's the use of keeping 
 him here ?" 
 
 *' My philosophy never learnt so much as 
 that,** replied Fitzblaney ; " it's a doubt to 
 me that ever he'll come to use." 
 
 ** Besides," rejoined the woman, '' who'll 
 pay for the mischief he may do ?" 
 
 « — To your bare walls ?*' rejoined Fitz- 
 blaney. "As to that, ma chere, alll can 
 promise you is that I w'on't pay for him :
 
 174 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 and, what 's more to your comfort, if you 
 keep him locked up here he may inform 
 against you for depriving him of his Hberty." 
 
 The woman looked terrified. " If we 
 could but get him away ?" said she. 
 
 " Only just put him out,'* returned Fitz- 
 blaney, " and my life for it you'll never see 
 him again." 
 
 " But he looks so dreadful ! — How shall 
 we manage to get him away ?" 
 
 <* Pshaw !'* returned Fitzblaney, " the 
 fellow is not worth so many words. Til 
 untie his legs, and lead him to the end of 
 the street, so that he wo'n*t find his way 
 back." 
 
 " Bien fait J" said the woman, " but 
 I '11 not stay too near him.'' 
 
 She accordingly retired beyond the door.
 
 EUPHRONIA-. l*7x? 
 
 holding forward the light. . Frtzblaney un- 
 bound the feet of the prisoner, who was now 
 struggling as if in the agony of death. He 
 seemed choking, and quite insensible . to 
 what was nassitig : even his release was 
 unfelt till his tyrant raised hini- from the 
 floor. 
 
 In this moment his pent-up breath found 
 passage, and all his strength and all his 
 fury returned : but Fitzblaney catching him 
 by the bleeding wrists, held him as he might 
 an infantj and drew him towards the door. 
 The woman saw his distorted visage, and, 
 with a cry of terror, fled down the stairs. — 
 Fit^>blaney and his captive followed, and the 
 rabble hurried to see the madman as he 
 passed, 
 
 "Keep clear of us!" cried Fitzblaney. 
 ** If I had not the strength of a dozea of 
 you, you'd never see me again. — If I can 
 get rid of him, Til return sogn."
 
 i'/6 L'UPKROl^jrA. 
 
 One, more courageous thi^n the resr, 
 opened the house door, and the traitor Fitz- 
 blaney and deceived Varenza v/ere the next 
 moment shut out in the street. 
 
 "Without loosening theVrasp which linked 
 them together^ they proc.eeded in silence 
 through some narrow lanes. The air had 
 somewhat revived Varenza, but he staggered 
 as if inebriated, and comprehended nothing. 
 Turning a sudden angle, they were met by 
 ^ pirol. 
 
 " Qui va Id f" * was demanded. 
 
 Fitzblaney answered by giving the watch- 
 word. 
 
 •* And who goes with you ?" 
 
 " A maniac," answered Fitzblaney, *' who 
 
 it 
 
 * \\'lio goes there ?
 
 EUPHRONIA. 177 
 
 has escaped his confinement. I am taking 
 him back to it." — 'The patrol passed on. 
 
 Another angle they now turned, and 
 Fitzblaney began to sing vociferously, Ca 
 ira I* ga ira / sometimes low, sometimes 
 roaring, till they were stopped by another 
 patrol. 
 
 " Qui va la F" was repeated. 
 
 The reply was the same as before, 
 
 " But, who sings at this hour ?" 
 
 '• A poor madman/* answered Fitzblaney ; 
 " but he's mad, as you hear, in a right 
 cause. I am leading him home/* 
 
 *' Pass on," was returned. Fitzblaney; 
 obeyed, and when he had proceeded a few 
 ^aces he resumed his vociferation* But on 
 
 * It will do. 
 I 5
 
 178 £UPHRONIA. 
 
 a sudden he became silent, and the next 
 moment stopped at a door. 
 
 It was opened by a female enveloped in 
 mean apparel : she held a sickly lamp, and, 
 having admitted them, she shut the door, 
 and proceeded up the stairs. Fitzblaney 
 with his captive followed, till they reached 
 the top, and entered an apartment, the door 
 of which the girl also shut. She then led 
 into an, inner room— they followed, — and 
 Fitzblaney let go his grasp. 
 
 A sudden phrensy of recollection, like an 
 electric spark, lighted the reason of Varenza. 
 He sprang on his foe — but the girl threw 
 herself between them. Ker garment had 
 fallen — her face caught the phrensied eye of 
 Varenza. — He started ! — he reeled 1 — he 
 fell !— It was Euphronia !
 
 CHAPTER Xr. 
 
 So may the outward shows be least them^elres. 
 
 The world is still deceived with ornament. 
 
 How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false 
 
 As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chin 
 
 The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars ; 
 
 Who inward searched, have livers white as milk! - 
 
 ———■those crisped, snaky, golden locks, 
 
 Which make such wanton gambols with the wind 
 
 Upon supposed fairness, oft are known 
 
 To He the dowry of a second head j 
 
 The scull that bred them in the sepulchre. 
 
 Thus ornament is but the gilded shore 
 
 To a most dangerous sea ; -the beauteous scatf 
 
 Veiling an Indian, beauty ; in a word. 
 
 The seeming truth which cunning times put on . 
 
 T'entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, ■ 
 
 I'll none of thee ; but thcu, thou meagre lead, 
 
 Which rather threat'nest than dost promise aught, . 
 
 Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence, 
 
 And here choose I. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 h iTZBLANEY had oHce said to Varenza, 
 " Why should I conceal what. I am?^— 
 why be compelled to appear what I am
 
 180 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 not ?" However inconsistent his after con- 
 duct made these maxims appear, they were 
 dictated by his head and his heart. In truth, 
 Fitzblaney could be compelled to nothing. 
 
 He had besides a natural inclination to 
 overcome difficulties. He had twice in his 
 life restored drowning men to their lamenting 
 wives and children, because the medical 
 assistants declared they were not recoverable; 
 and once he had saved a man from assassi- 
 nation^ because he was beset by superior 
 numbers. The story of Varenza was ex- 
 tremely favourable to this dispobition — it 
 presented a number of difficulties which he 
 thought worthy of combating. He sympa- 
 thized with the feelings of the narrator ;. but 
 his imagination was roused to agony by the 
 horrors which the object of it might even in 
 that very moment be enduring. The claims 
 of her sex and youth were those which the 
 heart of Fitzblaney had no power to resist, 
 and over which it hovered with the tenderness 
 and pity of a dove^ over her callow care.
 
 EXJPHRO^IA. 18X 
 
 No sooner, therefore, was he released 
 from the charge of his prisoner than he went 
 to the municipality of the town ; and in 
 conformity to the plan he had arranged 
 during the last hours of his journey, he. laid 
 before them a formal declaration that a 
 woman (a native of France) was held in 
 detendon on the confines in a miserable and 
 sequestered hovel, on no alleged grounds 
 whatever, and to whom no shadow of crime 
 could be imputed, but that she had escaped 
 from the imprisonment of a convent under 
 circumstances that called aloud for the inter- 
 vention of the republic. His story was 
 framed and related with seeming carelessness 
 respecting the person really concerned, but 
 with vehement declarations of zeal for the 
 rights of liberty, which in this instance he 
 asserted were most grossly" violated ; and 
 adroitly contrived to excite suspicions respect- 
 ing the purposes for v^hich a convent situ- 
 ated beyond the frontier could have an avenue 
 so mysteriously terminating within the line 
 of demarcation. The relation was such as
 
 182 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 in justice ought to have a claim for redress, 
 but it was on the peculiar features of it he 
 rested for success. An emancipation from 
 religious vows had been issued from the 
 convention of Paris throughout France, and 
 the mysterious passage rendered the convent 
 of Helena subject to the law^ The assertion 
 that the person detained was a native of 
 France had been made at a hazard ; but in 
 such a cause Fitzblaney could have been 
 infinitely more fertile of expedients, if they 
 vi^ere required to ensure success. 
 
 Even his most sanguine wishes were 
 answered. A party of gens-d'armes was 
 selected for the service, and himself was 
 intrusted with the command, and discre- 
 tionary powers to act as occasion might 
 require. 
 
 The first great difficulty he had to over* 
 come was the discovery of the hovel, as it 
 was night when he arrived at what he con- 
 jectured must be the situation. Some sparks
 
 EUPHROKIA. ISS 
 
 of fire bursting through the centre of the 
 roof, at length betrayed it ; and having so 
 placed his men as to prevent the escape of 
 any one from it, he chose five of the tallest 
 and most fAcrce-iooking, and with them pro- 
 ceeded towards the spot ; but ere they, had 
 gained the way of direct descent, the figure 
 of a man was seen moving towards it. They 
 halted just in time to let him pass without 
 discovering them ; and when he reached 
 the door they again moved on. He was 
 admitted almost instantly ; and Fitzblaney, 
 conjecturing som.e new villany was on foot, 
 directed his men to stop silently. 
 
 This precaution was the more essential, as^ 
 on approaching, they perceived the door, was 
 not quite closed, and voices Vv'ithin already 
 ascertained that there v/ere more than one 
 person. Fitzblaney crept close and listened. 
 
 Tones, which from their shrillness he 
 conjectured to be those of a woman, sounded 
 in the discordance of ill-humour. 
 8
 
 i84 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 * " And, IS that all your reward?" she 
 demanded. 
 
 " All/* hoarsely replied a man. *' I told 
 her to take back her money, and let me 
 have the girl again; but she said she would 
 not have such a sin on her soul for all 
 
 Piedmont J* 
 
 " The canting hypocrite ! I warrant me 
 she can eat meat on Fridays if nobody sees 
 her. But did she pay you- for the young 
 jnan ? — Did you make her believe he was 
 dispatched ? How did you manage that ?" 
 
 ** D^ — n her to purgatory ten thousand 
 years!" he replied. '^ She found out he 
 had escaped, by missing the nun who had 
 the g:ri In. charge ; and when they at last 
 found her, she told how she had been 
 locked up. So the affair was discovered; and 
 guessing, shrewdly enough, that he would 
 go home, she sent information that he was 
 about to emigrate, and had him taken upu"
 
 EUFHRONIA. 185 
 
 ** Aye !'* ejaculated the woman, '* that 
 Baudoin ! Only that he was such a coward 
 we might have dispatched him here, and it 
 was madness to let him off after he had heard 
 the girl's voice." 
 
 ** But Baudoin was right after all — who 
 can blame him for taking care of himself ? 
 The information had been lodged about 
 emigrating, and he must give an account of 
 his prisoner/* 
 
 " Why so ? Why not say he was not 
 
 found at all?" 
 
 " His men would have told. — He could 
 not depend on one of them." 
 
 " But there were only six — and sorry 
 fellows," reiterated the woman. — " Here 
 were five of us." 
 
 " Well, well," cried the man, " it can't
 
 ISi? EUTtlRONlA. 
 
 he helped now — we 'il be wiser another 
 lime. V/hat have ycu done with Lazaro?'* 
 
 " He's in the far cavern preparing the 
 artns. ** ' 
 
 " Why, what's to dor" tha man dc- 
 mianded. 
 
 *' Nothing to-r,i|2:ht j but Raouj was here 
 at sun-set to say there will be great booty in 
 the passes tomorrow evening.'* 
 
 « That 's well," he repeated. *< Til go 
 talk with him till supper is ready;" 
 
 Fitzblaney pushed tho door a little, and 
 saw him pass through to a second apartment. 
 
 ^^ Who goes there r" cried the woman, 
 ^ alarm. 
 
 . The man turned quickly back, and Fit?-
 
 EUPHRONIA. 187 
 
 bianey with his party rushed in. A scuffle 
 ensued, aided by Lazaro, who swang his 
 scimitar ia furious defiance ; hut the mus- 
 ket of a gens-d'armes brought him to the 
 ground j — the first man surrenderedj aud 
 the woman begged for mercy. 
 
 As Fitzblaney had already obtained all 
 the intelligence he wanted respecting Eu- 
 phronia, he wasted no time in unnecessary 
 inquiries. But, collecting his forces from 
 without, he intrusted to half of them the 
 search and care of the hovel till his return | 
 and the agent of the abbess being manacled 
 by the hands of two of the gens-d'armes, 
 he sallied forth with his selected half on his 
 adventure. 
 
 The man was at lirst extremely averse to 
 compliance ; but, finding Fitzblaney not to 
 be trifled with, he made a virtue of necessity, 
 and not only promised obedience if his life 
 should be spared, but, on this condition 
 offered every facihty ^to the recovery of the
 
 IS^ EUPIIRONIA. 
 
 lady, who he confessed was In bad hands. 
 Fitzblaney replied, he woidd enter into no 
 stipulation— the power was already with 
 himself, and he would exert it by shooting 
 the first man who would have the temerity 
 to deceive him. " Your only chance of 
 mercy/* he rejoined, " is by being so useful 
 to me that I shall not find it convenient to be 
 without you. So now lead us the shortest 
 way to your righteous patroness." 
 
 Having climbed a rugged «teep, ihey 
 reached the mouth of the cavern already 
 described bf Varenza, and proceeded to the 
 mouldering passage, which strongly brought 
 to Fitzblaney's fancy the calamities he was 
 about to relieve. The man and his linked 
 associates led the way, bearing a lanthorn, 
 and the war-breathing troop followed with 
 cautious silence. After a tedious traverse^ 
 they passed the division of these subterra- 
 neous avenues, and reached the door through 
 which Varenza had seen the nun issue on 
 her mission of iniquity.
 
 tOPHRONIAe 1S3 
 
 " Now/* said the man, " monsieur shall 
 see that I deserve his clemency.*' 
 
 *' That is the way to nnd it," returned 
 Fitzblaney. " I am not come here on child's 
 play. — I must find the lady I seek, or the 
 convent shall be in flames in half an hour, 
 and the abbess and you shall travel together 
 to the other world." 
 
 *' If monsieur will only hear me,** resumed 
 the man, *' matters may be more easily 
 brought about. This door is fastened at 
 the other side, but at a particular signal a 
 nun comes and opens it. — This nun you 
 must secure." 
 
 "Nothing easier." 
 
 " And thei^, monsieur, we shall soon reach 
 the chapel. At this hour it is empty, or if 
 it is not, you must '* 
 
 . " — Secure whoever may be there also. 
 And then« '*
 
 190 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 " There is a door at the opposite side 
 which appears Hke the door of a confessional. 
 Through this we must pass, — it leads to a 
 little stair-case, and at the top of this stair- 
 case is the flooring of a closet in which the 
 lady abbess performs her private devotions/* 
 
 ^ Trh lien! proceed.'* 
 
 " If monsieur will then order one of my 
 hands to be released, I shall give a particular 
 knock. If she is there, or in her chamber, 
 she will come to inquire what I want to say 
 to her — and then monsieur " 
 
 " We shall seize her also ! — Hey ! and 
 drag her down the stair-case— and bring her 
 to the chapel — and make her swear at the 
 altar to do as I shall order !" 
 
 The man a^ented. 
 
 " And if she do'n't ! ! 1" rejoined Fitzblaney 
 with a tlireatening look. — -*'' So n ow - the 
 signal r*
 
 EUPHRONIA. 11/1 
 
 It was a triple whistle, loud and shrill. 
 The door presently unclosed, and the per- 
 teress was instantly seized, and silenced by a 
 bandage drawn over her mouth. They then 
 crossed the chapel, which was vacant, and 
 having reached the last signal post, the man 
 knocked at it smartly. 
 
 No answer, however, was given, and he 
 was about to repeat the knock when he per- 
 ceived the flooring had slipped from the 
 bolt. Fitzblaney in the same moment per- 
 ceived it also, and, rushing by, took posses- 
 sion of the closet without opposition. He 
 listened, but no sound of voice reached him, 
 and, resolving to proceed further, he directed 
 the- man and two gens-d'armes to accompany 
 him. The others remained to keep the pass. 
 
 Apprehensive of a premature discovery, 
 they left the feeble light below ; but the door 
 of the closet was easily found, and they 
 entered a second apartment. This also was 
 silent and dark. — A gleam of light from
 
 192 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 \inder a distant door, however, promised 
 something ; and the man whispered to Fitz- 
 blaney that the abbess often gave secret 
 audience in her anti- room. 
 
 This door they approached with caution, 
 and Fitzblaney cautiously opening it, looked 
 in. — The abbess (for such the imperious 
 haughtiness of her air bespoke her) 
 was standing with her back towards these 
 unknown intruders. — An old man in a 
 secular habit stood by a door at the opposite 
 side of the apartment. His hand was on the 
 bolt, yet he seemed reluctant to go. 
 
 ** Instead of these complaints," said the 
 abbess, ** you should thank me for my for- 
 bearance : but if I am teased in this manner, 
 1 shall at once put an end to all solicitations 
 by a speedy riddance of the cause/* 
 
 The old man clasped his hands, — and 
 Fitzblaney walked into the room.
 
 EUPHRONIA. 195 
 
 The abbess at the noise of footsteps 
 wheeled her majestic form round. Fitzbla- 
 ney levelled a pistol. 
 
 "Silence!" said he. 
 
 The terrified abbess sunk half fainting 
 into a chair. She had no power to shriek j 
 and Fitzblaney lowered the pistol. 
 
 ''I am not an assassin," said he. *' I am 
 a minister of justice, and come, not to de- 
 miand, but to dispense mercy. — You see, 
 madam," he continued, pointing to the in- 
 strument of her crimes, " you are known to 
 me, and you are in my power." 
 
 The old man hastily stepped forward. 
 Mental distress had given his eyes a keen 
 expression. He looked at Fitzblaney, but 
 did not speak. 
 
 The abbess, a little recovered^ rose. "Sir,*' 
 she demanded, " what do you require?*' 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 " What I must have/* replied Fitzblaney; 
 ** or you shall feel the weight of a dreadful 
 vengeance. But I shall spare a woman the 
 mortification of a public disgrace." 
 
 He then spoke to some of his attendants ; 
 who in obedience to his command retired to 
 the closet, where their companions anxi- 
 ously expected their return. 
 
 Here they waited a considerable time, 
 but the man had no inclination to let it be 
 a silent interval. "Monsieur," said he, "may 
 be a very brave man, but he's not made 
 of common clay if he can manage a woman, 
 and such a woman as my lady abbess. She 
 has the reputation of a saint ! All her nuns, 
 however, are not of that opinion, for those 
 who cannot pay her for indulgencies have 
 a miserable life of it. ^ She has a niece in 
 the convent, a fine young creature, as people 
 guess — but she has kept her a close prisoner 
 during two years, because, if she should by 
 any accident escape, Madame my lady will
 
 EUPHRONIA. 195 
 
 lose the control of her estates. And as she 
 has no friend but the single nun who 
 attends her in her dismal cell, 'tis probable 
 that there the girl may live and die, and 
 nobody be the wiser." 
 
 " And how does she contrive,'* asked 
 one of the gens d'armes^ " to settle accounts 
 with her conscience ?" 
 
 *' Conscience !" repeated the man : "what 
 has any one to do with conscience who 
 can pay for the use of other people's souls ? 
 When she wants any thing bad to be done, 
 she sends for one of her spies j (God forgive 
 me !) and having settled her price as a matter 
 of bounty, she tells her confessor she has 
 given away so much money to charitable 
 purposes." 
 
 His companions attended with lively inter- 
 est to his detail, which however was inter- 
 rupted by the return of Fitzbbney, leading in 
 the object of this discussion. She had been 
 K 2
 
 196 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 in tears ; but .they appeared to have been tears 
 of haught}^ resentment, and their traces were 
 mar-ked by an expression far different from 
 those which still rested on the furrowed 
 cheek of the old man who accompanied her. 
 
 *^ You must remain here," said Fitzblaney 
 to his guard, " and take care of this lady, 
 till I whistle aloud. You may then leave her 
 and your prisoner together, and bolting the 
 trap below follow me with all speed." 
 
 '' Monsieur !" exclaimed the man in ter- 
 ror, " leave me ? leave m.e here ? Take me 
 hence in pity — I '11 follow you any where." 
 
 ^^ I give you your life," replied Fitzblaney 
 as he -descended to the stair-case, "take 
 care and amend it.** 
 
 *' Send me to the galleys. Monsieur," he 
 vociferated, " but don't leave me here." 
 
 Fitzblaney was already beyond the sound
 
 EUPHP.ONIA. 197 
 
 of his voice, accompanied by the old gen- 
 tleman, and bearing with him the lamp. 
 
 In about half an hour the whistle reached 
 the guard ; who, bidding adieu to their 
 terrified companion, let down the door which 
 divided them for ever.
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 O, 'tis glorious mischief ! 
 When vice turns holy, puts religion on. 
 Assumes the robe pontifical, the eye 
 Of saintly elevation, blesseth sin. 
 And makes the seal of sweet offended Heaveiv 
 A sign of blood, a label for decrees 
 That Hell would shrink to own. 
 
 ^ Brooke. 
 
 This was the reflection of a soldier*, and 
 well might it be applied to the object which 
 Fitzblaney bore in his arms. 'Sharp misery 
 had worn her to the bone/ and her ema- 
 ciated frame, sinking beneath even its own 
 frail weight, rested helpless and enfeebled 
 on the strength which had released her 
 from a second grave. It was indeed the 
 persecuted Euphronia ! 
 
 With light heart and steps the chivalric 
 knight sustained his prize ; but the old man, 
 exhausted by grief for his own hopeless 
 
 Gustavus Vasa.
 
 EUPHRONIA. 199 
 
 cares, and by his exertions in assisting the 
 enterprise, followed with difficulty. By the 
 support of the soldiers, however, he was 
 enabled to proceed ; and at length the vic- 
 torious party emerged from the damps of 
 the tomb, and breathed an untainted air. 
 
 The spirits of Euphronia, revived by its 
 influence, obtained sufficient fortitude to un- 
 derstand more clearly the greatness of her de- 
 liverance. Her tears were the only evidence 
 of the sensations that oppressed her ; and 
 the old man endeavoured to offer his con- 
 gratulations, but his own feelings recoiled 
 on him, and he wept in secret. Abhorring 
 the abbess, and hopeless of her justice or 
 her mercy, he had almost resolved to aban- 
 don any further intercession ; but now, 
 having won the protection of Fitzblaney in 
 his journey to his native plains, and suc- 
 ceeded beyond his expectations, he left 
 what he might truly call the horrors of 
 the Alps, for the more horrible scenes of 
 civil devastation.
 
 200 E U PH HON I A . 
 
 His request indeed proved an important 
 acceleration to the plans of Fitzblaney, who 
 having adopted the ostensible motive of the 
 service of the Republic, felt the imprudence of 
 apparently desertingthatservice, when through 
 itsinterventionhe had accomplished the object 
 of his own designs. He knew the necessity 
 and propriety of intrusting the young and 
 iriteresting Euphronia to the age and pro- 
 tection of this companion of her flight ; 
 and having settled every arrangement, and 
 
 appuiiueu a piace wHe/c nZ ir.Igiic Jind them 
 in Fans, he gave them an CSCOIc to secure 
 their safety to the plains, and his anxious 
 eyes followed till they were lost in the in- 
 tricacies of the way. 
 
 But his meditated. achievements w^ere only 
 commenced by this event, — the preserva- 
 tion of Varenza still remained, — and the 
 task was fraught with infinitely more dangers 
 than those he had already overcome. The 
 arrest of emigration was invariably fatal, 
 and protestations of innocence, or a repre-
 
 EUPHRONIA. 201 
 
 sentation of facts, would occupy more time 
 than was generally allotted to the condem- 
 nation of a dozen victims. 
 
 The only expedient he could devise was 
 to change the ground of arrest, to one of 
 such enormity as w^ould crush an inquiry 
 into the first, and increase the importance of 
 the criminal by involving other individuals 
 in his guilt. It would then be essential that 
 his life should be spared till his associates 
 should be disclosed. 
 
 The execution of this plan was easy, for 
 Fitzblaney well knew that the accuser only 
 was heard. He produced a packet of pa- 
 pers, written by his own hand, and which 
 possessing no meaning could contradict none 
 that he chose to affix to them. He formally 
 presented his accusation, and impatiently 
 awaited the event, 
 
 " Impudence befriend me !*' thought he, 
 when he was called to support his charge. 
 He appeared as the prisoaer's implacable
 
 9.02 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 enemy : by increasing the fury of the com- 
 missioners against him he lulled their caution, 
 and induced them to follow as he led. 
 Bold and decisive^ he pointed out to them 
 the measures that ought to be pursued j and 
 an order for the culprit's removal to Paris 
 was accordingly pronounced. 
 
 But much danger yet remained ; and that 
 danger was tenfold increased on the day 
 of his own arrival in Paris, by accidentally 
 discovering in a person with whom he had 
 travelled, the Baudoin who had executed 
 the original arrest. The risk of attempting 
 any other accusation was , now such as no 
 temerity could warrant, and the hopes he 
 had so strongly cherished sank into the 
 most terrible apprehensions. 
 
 This was the state of mind he laboured 
 under when he went to seek the two persons 
 by whom he knev/ he was most anxiously 
 expected. Euphronia had borne the jour- 
 ney better than could have been hoped ; 
 ' "U her incertitude for the fate of her first
 
 EUPHRONIA. 203 
 
 preserver had marked her features with 
 strong lines of mental anguish. The old 
 man appeared to have suffered nothing less ; 
 but this similarity of feeling had increased 
 the ties of necessity into those of affection, 
 and Fitzblaney rejoiced to see that the 
 kindness they testified for him was not 
 greater than they evinced towards each 
 other. They occupied an apartment which, 
 though poor and obscurely situated, was 
 large enough for the accommodation of a 
 third person ; and Fitzblaney gladly con- 
 sented to share it vAih them while he re- 
 mained in Paris. 
 
 He had in truth discovered that the old 
 gentleman possessed a most excellent under- 
 standing, and he wished to confide to him 
 the perplexity in which he was involved. For 
 this purpose he took the earliest opportunitv : 
 — their conversation was long and private ; 
 and the expression the countenance of both 
 betrayed when they returned to Euphronia 
 evinced it had been solemn and interesting.
 
 204 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 Fitzblaney had certainly been shedding 
 tears, and an oppression still rested on 
 his manly soul. The old gentleman had 
 been agitated, but was now composed* 
 
 By this consultation the difficulties of 
 Fitzblaney respecting Varenza had been 
 nearly removed ; and he was enabled to 
 form plans which, however hazardous, he 
 could not refuse to adopt. The old gen- 
 tleman had listened attentively and in silence 
 to the subject of discussion, but his reply 
 astonished Fitzblaney ; he proposed to in- 
 tercept the crisis of Varenza's fate by 
 assuming the name and title of Massignon : — 
 this w^ould at least occasion a delay, and 
 numbers of lives had been saved, or de- 
 voted, by the intervention of circumstances 
 less impressive. To soften the regret of 
 such a sacrifice, he represented himself 
 already severed from existence by the cala- 
 mities that had overtaken him, — that a life 
 drawing near its natural period of dissolution 
 would be well replaced by that of a man
 
 EUPHRONIA. 265 
 
 yet in youth, and in the vigour of health 
 both bodily and mental ; and who, if per- 
 mitted to struggle against the torrent of 
 present adversity, might perhaps act such 
 a part in life, as to rescue his name and 
 memory from the horrible tomb of eternal 
 oblivion. 
 
 Fitzblaney confessed the reasoning to be 
 good ; and the more readily assented to try 
 the experiment, as he had an intimacy with 
 « T^oi*.--- "^hose influence he knew mif^h*- K^ 
 
 turned to gOOu acCOUnt. Having therefore 
 given the subject the fullest investigation, 
 he made such minute arrangements as he 
 hoped might lead to the preservation of 
 both the persons endangered ; and the old 
 gentleman promised to adhere to every point 
 of his instructions. 
 
 To inform Euphronia of the real state of 
 the affair was every way impracticable. 
 Her interest for the old gentleman, to whose
 
 2(36 EUPHRONIA, 
 
 cares and kindness she was so largely a 
 debtor, seemed little inferior to that she 
 suffered from anxiety for the unknown fate 
 of Varenza. On the morning of the event- 
 ful day, therefore, her paternal friend told 
 her he had a design to go in quest of a gen- 
 tleman whom he had long most earnestly 
 wished to see, and if he should be so for- 
 tunate as to find him, he would not per- 
 haps return home for a few days. To 
 Fitzbjaney's well-tried faith he emphatically 
 ConfiJed her, and at parting she threw hec 
 arms round his venerable neck. The emo- 
 tion on both sides was natural. Since their 
 arrival in Paris they had not been separated; 
 ?ind in such a period of national turbulence 
 the aching heart too frequently whispered, 
 that friends who parted for a moment might 
 never meet again. 
 
 Fitzblaney felt little less when he de- 
 scended to the house door with his venera- 
 ble companion. According to the plans
 
 EUPHRONIA. 2GT 
 
 projected they there divided, nor were they 
 to recognise each other till the threatening 
 danger was past. 
 
 The hour speedily arrived : Fitzblaney 
 was called to the hall of trial, and there 
 prosecuted his victim with a zeal of malig- 
 nity that baffled all suspicion. He laughed 
 and talked with the person who stood near 
 him while sentence of death was pro- 
 nounced ; and when Varenza moved to his 
 last expected scene of life, Fitzblaney min- 
 gled ill the crowd, exulting in his destruc- 
 tion. The care of the old gentleman he 
 had intrusted to his political friend. 
 
 With apparently the most hardened indif- 
 ference he beheld the successive exit of Va- 
 renza's condemned associates; with the same 
 indifference he saw Varenza himself brought 
 forward ; and when the old gentleman rush- 
 ed to save him, in the fury of his persecu- 
 tion he sprang on. the scaffold.
 
 208 EUPHRONIA. 
 
 In this moment indeed his assumed cha- 
 racter almost failed him — Varenza heard 
 the cry of " Stop !" — It was the voice of his 
 more than father — of the man to whom he 
 owed infinitely more than Hfe, and in the 
 moment of recognition he understood the 
 horrible interchange of fate. The hfe of 
 the Abbe must be the purchase, of his own! 
 — A phrensy seized his brain ; he sprang 
 upon the executioner, who was with diffi- 
 culty released from his grasp; and the 
 guards, seizing him and the new claimant 
 
 to his tiiits and his destiny, led them to the 
 hall of condemnation. The political friend 
 of Fitzblaney now became the witness against 
 the culprits ; he averred that the younger 
 was a lunatic unworthy cf notice^ and un- 
 allied to the title of Massignon, observing 
 that the. hand of fate should not be arrested 
 without a just cause. Varenza was accord- 
 ingly set at liberty, and the Abbe was or- 
 dered to close confinement till his name and 
 character should be investigated.
 
 EUPHRONIA. 209 
 
 So far all was well : but Fitzblaney for- 
 got not his caution. The wretched maniac 
 (for such indeed was now Varenza) Vv^as re- 
 stored to liberty, but wholly unconscious 
 whether it was a blessing or a curse. The 
 crowd assembled on an event so singular 
 seemed to regret that blood had been 
 spared ; and Fitzblaney followed the unfor- 
 tunate object with taunts and insult, that 
 vvell corroborated the fury of his persecu- 
 tion. Sometimes he led him in the par- 
 oxysm of his delirium, and in despite of 
 his efforts ; again he released him, and let 
 him stray whither his wandering brain hur- 
 ried him. At length he rambled into a 
 public-house. Hither Fitzblaney rambled al- 
 so, and found him fallen to the ground ap- 
 parently lifeless. 
 
 Without once forgetting the character he 
 had yet to support, he had the address to 
 render the poor sufferer such assistance as 
 he judged might save him from the imme- 
 diate suifocation his struggling pussions
 
 210 EUPHRONIA, 
 
 threatened. The hostess then proposed re- 
 moving him into a waste room, lest he might 
 frighten away her customers; and Fitz- 
 blaney, well knowing his insanity might last 
 some time, advised his hands and feet to be 
 tied. Secure now that he could not escape 
 him, he carelessly sauntered out of the 
 house. 
 
 When he turned out of the street, how- 
 ever, he moved more quickly. He hastened 
 to Euphronia, to whom he now for the first 
 time intrusted the real situation of him 
 who had been the cause of so much anxi- 
 ous solicitude, and who had cost her so 
 many tears.. He related the little story of 
 his rescue ; but by whom, he as yet sup- 
 pressed. Her feelings were too much en- 
 gaged by one object, and all the capability 
 of strength and exertion she possessed must 
 now to this object be devoted. 
 
 For this important purpose he urged her 
 to summon her presence of mind, and to
 
 EUPHRONIA. 211 
 
 act in strkt conformity to his injunctions. 
 When night closed, she was to hsten for 
 every noise from the street; and when she 
 heard his voice singing ca-ira, she was to 
 come down the stairs, and to let him and 
 his unfortunate companion in — to avoid any 
 exclamation or expression of her feelings 
 — in a word, to preserve such composure 
 as should enable him to bring his prize 
 in safety into the interior chamber of the 
 apartment, where he must be secure from 
 the probability of immediate discovery. 
 
 The task imposed on her was as difficult 
 as any she had yet sustained : but she proved 
 equal to it ; and Fitzblaney, in the success 
 of his enterprise, forgot for a period how 
 much yet remained to engage his care. 
 
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