The scene is now changed, and passing over what is not immediately
material to be detailed, we behold Gabrielle de Montmorency in Naples,
unmolested, and unnoticed in her male attire; and having no imbecile
fears of her own to contend against, she had performed her journey
without danger, and with little difficulty. She was entering on a world,
where all was strange and new to her; but yet her strong mind felt no
alarm, nor did she suffer herself to be discouraged; the reflection of
her purpose armed her with resolution, and tower-crested fortitude lent
her treble shield. Determined to dare the worst in the prosecution of
her duty, undismayed she considered every obstacle that might arise,
and, undismayed, planned how to surmount them.
Angelo had in his letter informed her, that his stay at Naples would be
uncertain. It was not impossible, therefore, but that still he might be
there. He had named the place of his residence; at least, the attempt
might be made to gain from thence some intelligence of him. Gabrielle
had, under the instructions of her departed father, obtained
considerable knowledge in various languages; among others, the Italian.
She did not, therefore, find it difficult to make herself understood,
and by dint of enquiry, and the most patient perseverance, found herself
at length on the spot where he had described himself to have taken up
his abode.
What now were the sensations of Gabrielle, as she contemplated the
exterior of an edifice, which contained, perhaps, the destroyer of her
peace and innocence! but still the being whom her heart, in despite of
herself, most fondly loved. Trembling, almost overpowered from excessive
agitation, the beating of that wayward heart became almost too powerful
for its feeble tenement; she leaned for support against some palisadoes,
near which she stood, and, for the first time since her undertaking, her
firm soul shrunk at what she might have to encounter. Almost in the same
instant, however, she became ashamed of this emotion, higher thoughts
pervaded her mind, and she determined, ere she left the spot, to be
informed whether or not Angelo still dwelt in the mansion before her.
It was a late hour of the evening, lights began to appear in most of the
apartments; and at least she was convinced that it contained some one
who might perhaps, if Angelo were even departed, give her information
respecting him. Now she walked to and fro; and now paused in eager
examination; presently she beheld the door open, and a servant come
forth, who stood beneath the portico. This was the moment for Gabrielle;
she hastened towards him, and with as much indifference as she could
assume, enquired of him if il Conte D’Albini dwelt in that house.
“He does;” the servant replied, “why do you ask?”
The heart of Gabrielle beat with redoubled violence; but, gathering
courage, she said, “Know you if the Conte wants a page? if he does, I
would willingly----”
“A page,” interrupted the man, “how came that in your head--who do you
come from?”
“I would see your master.”
“No doubt you would, but he’s not to be seen,” he answered, (with a
malicious grin) “no page is wanted here;” and entering the house the
door was shut, with rude violence, in the face of the disappointed
Gabrielle.
Desponding, but not discouraged, she retraced her melancholy steps to
the quarter where she had taken up her residence; and though mortified
for a moment at the treatment she had experienced from vulgar ignorance,
she felt every uneasy sensation more than counterbalanced by the
unhoped for conviction that D’Albini was still in Naples; the thought of
this was balm for every wound. “Ah!” she mentally cried, “is it then
possible,--and shall I again behold that beloved---- Heaven,” (suddenly
interrupting herself,) “is this the language for a betrayed forsaken
wretch? Oh, let me banish from my mind ideas so degrading, let me think
of him as the father and protector of his child, but not as the man who
once loved me, and whom I loved.”
Virtue can slumber, even in the midst of misfortune, and Gabrielle was
still virtuous, though no longer innocent; she retired to her melancholy
bed, and wearied by the succession of new objects during the day,
exhausted by fatigue, she soon sunk into peaceful rest, resolving that
on the morrow she would renew her endeavors to procure an interview
with D’Albini.
On the following morning, at an early hour, she bent her eager steps
towards his house; and, now decided that no insolence should check or
intimidate her, she placed herself beneath the portico, with firm intent
to remain there till she could catch a glimpse of him she sought. A
beautiful English carriage stood at the door, and from this circumstance
Gabrielle hoped that he would speedily appear. She had not long occupied
her position, ere the door was hastily opened, and a servant, whom she
perceived was not the same that she had addressed the proceeding
evening, came forth. She was on the point of speaking to him, when he
exclaimed, “What do you here, boy,--who do you want?” Gabrielle
disdained an answer, but did not move, when the same man who had before
insulted her made his appearance, and joined his companion. “Ho, ho,”
cried he, on perceiving Gabrielle, “what here again, my young Cavaliero,
after what I said to you last night? Go, go, get you gone, for my Lord
is coming out.”
“I am waiting for him,” coolly answered Gabrielle. The men looked at
each other, and he who had first spoken to her, cried, “Why, stripling
as thou art, of what service canst thou be?” and turning to his
companion, added, “He wants to be page to our master, forsooth.”
“Oh, is it so!” replied the other, “Go, go, my boy! if you want bread,
you are light and supple, enlist with the Lazaroni, you would soon out
do the best of them, I’d warrant you.” This observation was seconded by
a loud laugh from the first man, when, at this very moment, the voice of
Angelo was heard, and the mirth of his menials gave way to the most
obsequious appearance of respect.
Gabrielle heard too that well-known voice, and her heart died within
her;--in a few moments he was before her;--she dared not lift her eyes,
but she felt that his were fixed upon her, and she was ready to sink
into the earth. In truth, Angelo was regarding her with attention, and
turning to his servants, he enquired if they knew aught of the youth, or
what he desired; at this question they looked confusedly at one another,
uncertain what to reply; when Gabrielle, gathering courage, said, “My
Lord, I am an unfortunate orphan, I have no friend,--nor have I the
means of procuring bread in this country; if, therefore, you deem not
the request too bold, humbly I would entreat, that you should take me
into your service.”
“If I were not in want of a page,” returned Angelo, with one of those
soft smiles that Gabrielle well remembered, “so interesting a youth as
you appear must ever be an acquisition.”
“Do you consent then, my Lord, do you grant my wish?” cried Gabrielle,
with undisguised joy.
“I do, most readily;” replied Angelo, “and since you are friendless, I
take you into my service without other recommendation than your
countenance and appearance.” And nothing, surely, could be more
calculated to interest than the countenance and appearance of Gabrielle;
her attire, though simple, and that of a page, was highly becoming,--it
was grey, van-dyked with black; and a large Spanish hat and feather,
while it partly shaded her face, rather added to, than detracted from
its beautiful expression.
“I am going,” continued Angelo, “to the Corso; enter the house, and on
my return we will have some further conversation.” Then seating himself
in the carriage, he gracefully, with a smile, waved his hand to the
agitated Gabrielle, who, gazing after him while he remained in sight,
with eyes that in another garb would have betrayed her, slowly, as he
disappeared, entered the house.
Behold her now in the habitation of her lover, near his person, and
empowered to watch his every action; this point gained, she had leisure
to re-consider, or improve her plans, and decided that she would not
discover herself to him, now that she possessed the means of doing so
when she chose, till time had developed to her his present pursuits, and
how far, if possible, his sentiments had changed towards herself.
In the capacity of a page, she was almost a constant attendant upon his
person; this circumstance of itself produced frequent conversation
between them, but, independently of that, there seemed to Angelo so
interesting and peculiar a charm in the manners and deportment of the
young Eugene, (for so Gabrielle had designated herself) that often he
unnecessarily summoned him into his presence, and contrived pretexts for
detaining him, in order to indulge, without committing his dignity, in
the pleasure he took in his society. In the reply that Gabrielle had
made to his enquries, respecting her history, she had added little of
embellishment; she had represented herself as an orphan, and most truly
she was such; that she was of French extraction, and having been fondly
educated and cherished by a tender father, her only surviving parent,
was, on his death, which had recently occurred, thrown without support
upon the world; that unwilling to struggle for bread in her native
country, France, it had been more consonant to her feelings and
inclinations, to seek it in another land; for this purpose she had
travelled into Italy, and, fortunately, as she would observe, with an
animated look which powerfully affected Angelo, she had obtained her
object far sooner than she could have presumed to hope. But though
Angelo had heard all this often and often, he was still unsatisfied, and
could not reconcile to himself, that a youth of such extraordinary mind,
seeming so superior to present circumstances, should have nothing more
peculiar attached to his history. Sometimes he would make him repeat his
little narative, to discover if possible some variation; but no,
Gabrielle, ever on her guard, related still the same, and with a look of
interest Angelo would occassionally suggest his doubts, and seem to
solicit further confidence. Eugene, however, as we must call Gabrielle,
would then only bow, and reply, with an air of indifference, that such
was his history.
But a short time elapsed, and the supposed page became so endeared to
his master, that he could no longer suffer him to associate at any
period with his other dependants, which painful degradation the
mortified, yet determined Gabrielle, had been sometimes obliged to
submit to, and had endured with that forbearing patience that ever
attends the consciousness of an exalted motive. Now, however, this
temporary humiliation was at an end; she was more properly the companion
than servant of Angelo, and was seldom from his presence. When he rose
she attended his breakfast table, and partook with him the morning’s
repast; the hours of noon she whiled away, by reading to him the newest
productions of the day, or often, sighing with the tender Tasso, or
lovelorn Petrarch, or smiling with the romantic Ariosto. Sometimes the
philosophical works of her countryman, Voltaire, engaged her, or
history, or metaphysics, and sometimes even the best English authors;
each had its turn, and at these periods the surprise and admiration of
Angelo would increase. “Your father must have given you, indeed, a
superior education,” would he involuntarily exclaim, fixing his eyes
upon her.
“He did his utmost,” Gabrielle would answer, with a sigh, and without
raising her eyes from the book she might be reading.
Angelo usually dined abroad, or otherwise had large companies at his
house; yet even then he felt uneasy, dissatisfied and anxious to escape
again to his youthful companion, in whose society he felt almost
exclusively happy, and who, distant from these scenes of revelry, adding
in his solitary chamber to the treasures of his well-stored mind, he
fancied superior to all present. To excuse his frequent unlooked for
appearance, and to prevent Eugene from surmising the true reason of his
visits, he would say that he felt not well, that conversation was
fatiguing to him, or that he had drank too much wine, and had escaped to
avoid drinking more; then, in his presence, enjoying his society, the
lassitude or melancholy of Angelo would speedily vanish, and books,
music, or conversation beguile agreeably the night, till the hour of
repose. Often on his pillow would he enquire of himself, and endeavour
to trace the cause of the excessive interest he felt for a comparative
stranger, but he could discover only the absoluteness of the sentiment,
without being able to ascertain its source, and, half uneasy at the
inexplicable feelings he experienced, he determined to see less of the
youth, and to treat him if possible with greater coolness. These
resolutions however, vanished always with the night, and the next day,
and the next, found him still the same, still irresistibly associating
with the attractive Eugene, and becoming more and more attached to him.
Meantime Gabrielle, blessing the Providence which had thus early
conducted her beneath the roof of him, on whom her best hopes were
fixed, began to experience some melioration of that deep-seated sorrow
which for long had corroded her heart; yet hoping nought, nor presuming
to expect aught, her thoughts and feelings were resolutely suppressed,
or concentered to a single point--the future interests of her child. Her
genuine and unsophisticated ideas of duty taught her that to ensure
protection for the unconscious being she had been the means of ushering
into life, her whole efforts should be directed, and no sacrifices of
self be esteemed too great to achieve an end so momentous, and so simply
due to the object for whom they were made. Such was the pure morality of
a nature uncontaminated by association with the world, unbiassed by its
contracted estimates of right and wrong.
In various ways had Angelo evinced extraordinary friendship towards
Eugene; it now remained to demonstrate still higher his regard for him,
by giving him his confidence. On those days when he dined abroad, it
sometimes happened that he did not return till a late hour of the night,
or towards morning; and sometimes not till the following day. Gabrielle,
who never accompanied him from home, knew not whither he went at these
times; but naturally concluded that convivial or agreeable society
occasionally detained him thus long. It remained, however, for her to
become more accurately informed.
The departed Montmorency had taught her to play on various instruments,
among others on the lute; with that was she occupied when, one evening,
Angelo entering her apartment, caused her to cease, and she arose.
“Resume your seat, Eugene,” cried Angelo, “why all this ceremony? will
you never forget the idle distinction fortune has placed between
us?--Come, I have something to say to you.”
“I am attentive,” replied Gabrielle, immediately seating herself.
“Your secrecy, first,” cried Angelo, with a smile, and taking her hand.
“On what subject, my Lord,” asked Gabrielle, faintly smiling in return.
“I am going to give you my confidence, Eugene,”--he paused--“I have a
mistress!”
Gabrielle involuntarily started; the lute fell from her nerveless hand,
and she was on the point of sinking, when suddenly recollecting
herself, and rallying her perturbed spirits, she said, laying her hand
upon her heart, “Excuse me, my Lord,--I felt a pain here!”
“Poor boy!” said Angelo, looking anxiously in her face, “are you often
thus?”
“Sometimes, my Lord; but this is the severest pang I have had for some
time past,” answered Gabrielle, with a quivering lip--“I feel better
now.” Angelo still held her hand, and his eyes were rivetted upon her
countenance; at that moment how did Gabrielle bless the artificial
colouring which veiled from his eager glance the strong and momentary
changes of her natural complexion.
“I am indeed recovered, my Lord,” she said, withdrawing her trembling
hand, and stooping for her lute to divert his attention.
“Well, then hear me, Eugene,--I have, as I have said, a
mistress!”--Gabrielle could now bear the word, though it grated on her
ear.--“This evening I am going to visit her;--certain reasons, which I
may in time explain to you, render it necessary that I should do so
secretly. I seldom visit her during the day, and am never accompanied by
any one to her house; it would, however, be highly agreeable to me,
Eugene, that you should accompany me, first for the pleasure of your
society, and secondly because I frequently require one whom who I could
trust to convey to her my letters, bring me her answers, and
occasionally reconnoitre the space before her house;--indeed it is far
from impossible, Eugene, but I may introduce you to her; she will not, I
am certain, disdain one whom I regard, and thus I could often enjoy, at
the same time, your society and the society of her I love.”
“Her I love!” repeated Gabrielle to herself with horror, and a
half-stifled groan escaped her.
“Are you ill again, Eugene?” cried Angelo, with alarm.
“No--no, my Lord,--a slight oppression only at my breast.”
“I will not say any more to you, my dear Eugene,--you shall not
accompany me this evening; retire to your bed, and I will go alone.” He
gazed affectionately in her agitated countenance, and again took her
hand to bid her farewell.--A tear dropped upon his hand as he held
her’s, and his eyes following the pellucid gem, he exclaimed, “Does
your pain cause you to shed tears, my dear boy?”
“Yes, yes; or it would kill me;” replied Gabrielle, unable to controul
her emotion;--“but let me not distress you, my Lord, I shall recover
when alone.”
“Indeed I will not leave you, Eugene,--lean on me, I entreat you, and
give free vent to your tears, if they relieve you.”--So saying, he
supported the trembling Gabrielle on one arm, and gently laid her head
upon his shoulder, while with the disengaged hand he tenderly pressed
her forehead, as though he sought to allay the throbbing of her burning
temples. “Ah!” thought Gabrielle, “these kind offices, performed in
friendship,--would he thus, if he really knew the object on whom he
bestowed his pity?” This thought, while it conveyed an additional pang,
yet helped to arouse her spirits, for she felt the necessity of
checking this excessive emotion, lest it should indeed excite some ideas
detrimental to the prosecution of her purpose; she therefore made an
effort, and raising her head from the shoulder of Angelo, she said,
brushing off her tears, “My Lord, I am grateful to you for the interest
you are pleased to manifest; my heart thanks you;--I am well.”
“I am most happy, Eugene; but you shall remain at home this night;
retire to bed, and I will leave you.”
“Ah, whither to go!” thought Gabrielle, as Angelo, rising, drew near the
door, and gazing after him, a sigh escaped her; Angelo turned, but
perceiving a faint smile, which with a heavy heart she had forced upon
her features, he concluded that the sigh was merely accidental, and
waving his hand towards her, left the room.
Now alone, Gabrielle had leisure to ponder over the imprudence of which
she had been guilty; she justly feared another such scene, if it led not
to discovery, must inevitably to suspicion, and might ultimately defeat
her every view; she therefore, after severely arraigning herself,
determined to keep in future a strict guard over her feelings, and
never, upon any occasion, permit them to overcome her. True, Angelo had
imparted to her a most painful secret; but even so, was it not far
better that a secret so material for her to know, should not have been
withheld, she might otherwise have acted erroneously, her plan of
conduct wholly undirected by the knowledge of important circumstances;
the chief advantage to be obtained under her disguise, was in the
discovery of events, in which he could not thus suppose her interested,
and of which she must otherwise have remained in ignorance.
Perhaps the attempt in her own person to have banished from his breast a
later passion, might have been vain; her claims might have been
slighted, her remonstrances disregarded; as a youth, however, the task
appeared less difficult; she would see this favourite, yes, painful as
would be the effort, she would see her; perhaps she might discover much
respecting her; she might be unworthy of the love of Angelo; she might
be even infamous; as a female any conviction of this nature must be
useless, for whatever she might reveal, whatever she might urge upon the
subject, would in all probability be attributed to envy, jealousy, or
disappointed love. As a youth, the confidant and friend of Angelo, no
motive, no interest could be supposed to influence such representation.
Suspicion must at all events be excited, and thus some steps would be
advanced; Angelo would be weaned from an improper attachment, and then
would be the favourable moment to appear before him.
What grief and anguish filled her breast to discover that he had not
only forsaken and forgotten her, but that her image in his heart, or
rather, as she believed, in his fancy, had been displaced by another.
She had thought him cruel and insensible, she now beheld that he was
faithless; but must this deter her from her purpose? no, his infidelty
to her could not exonerate her from prosecuting, with undiminished
energy, the interests of her child; why, because self-love was wounded,
her tenderness outraged, or weakness despised, turn traitor to an
innocent cause, or neglect the claims of one who called imperiously for
the most persevering efforts? Well she argued, that to remain unshaken
she must be divested of self, she must require no tokens of a former
love, no tenderness, no homage, no consideration; her aim must be
higher, nobler, more honorable; she had the welfare of another to
contend for, one whom her own errors had rendered dependent on her
exertions. “Let me then acquit myself of my high duties towards that
other,” she cried, “and then let me die.”