At first, a kind of horror seized upon me; for I knew not if this could
be reality, or the mockery of that relentless Fiend, that would lure me
on to destruction. But, with a violent effort, I summoned up courage; an
entire revolution again took place in my mind; new hopes and feelings
began to break through the gloom and melancholy, which for a space had
gathered around me.
With eager eyes, I devoured the charms of Aurelia, which from the
enchanted canvass now gleamed out in full splendour before me. Yet,
alas! did not these childlike pious looks seem only to complain against
the murderer of her brother? The mystery of his guilt, however, which
had been deposited in my bosom, gave me confidence; and even a malicious
spirit of scorn and irony rose within me. I only regretted now, that in
that fatal night of Hermogen's death, Aurelia had not become mine. His
appearance had then frustrated my plans; but with death he had expiated
the rashness of his attempts against me.--"Aurelia," said I, "yet
survives; and this alone is sufficient to encourage my hopes of one day
possessing her. From the destiny in which she is involved, it is
impossible for her to escape; for am not I myself the living
impersonization of the fate to which she is subjected?"
All the sadly-cherished dreams of youth, all feelings of piety which the
Abbess's portrait had inspired, were thus banished; and, still gazing on
Aurelia, I encouraged myself to the commission of deliberate and
premeditated crime. The old man was astonished at my conduct. He drawled
out a long string of words, about drawing, tone, colouring, etc. etc.; but
I heard him not. The thoughts of Aurelia, the hopes that I might yet
fulfil some one of those many plans, which had only been delayed,
absorbed me so completely, that I walked away, as in a dream, from the
exhibition-room, without once asking for the painter--thus losing,
perhaps, the best opportunity of learning what sort of connection there
existed betwixt myself and these pictures, which seemed to comprehend
in that magic circle the chief impressions of my whole life.
Once more, I was now resolved to venture all things for Aurelia. Nay, it
seemed almost as if the clouds of mystery would soon be broken--as if,
elevated to a station from which I could overlook all the characters and
events connected with my life, I could have from them nothing to fear,
and therefore nothing to risk. I brooded, as formerly, over a thousand
plans and resolutions, in order to arrive nearer to my object. In the
first place, I perceived that I should, no doubt, learn much from the
strange painter, and, by conversation with him, develope many trains of
evidence, of which the possession was to me most important. At last, I
had nearly resolved that I would return, in my present state of complete
disguise and metamorphosis, to the Baron's castle. Nor, to my excited
feelings and disordered imagination, did this appear as an act of
extraordinary hazard and daring.
In the evening, I went, as usual, to the club-room, where I had trouble
enough to restrain the vehemence of my emotions, and to prevent the
ebullitions of my overheated phantasy from being observed. I heard much
of the strange painter's productions, especially of that wonderful power
of expression which he had displayed in his portraits, above all in that
of Aurelia. I had now the means of joining in this approbation, and,
with a peculiar splendour, and strength of language, (heightened, too,
by a kind of scorn and irony, for I felt my own superiority in speaking
of this picture,) I described the nameless graces, the angelic charms,
which were spread over that saint-like countenance. Hereupon, one of the
party declared his intention of bringing the painter himself to the club
on the following evening, adding, that, though advanced in years, he was
still an interesting and agreeable companion, and that he would be
detained here for some time longer, having been employed professionally
by several rich families in the town.
* * * * *
Agitated by a tempest of conflicting feelings and indefinable
apprehensions, I could scarcely summon up resolution for the encounter
which I had so much wished, and, on the following night, went at a later
hour than usual to the club-room.
On my entrance, I perceived at once which was the stranger, though his
countenance was not turned towards me. A conviction of the truth
immediately flashed on my mind; and, when I went round, and took my
place opposite to him--then, oh Heaven! there glared out upon me the
never-to-be-forgotten features of that horrible Unknown, the same who,
on St Anthony's day, had leaned against the pillar of the church, and
filled me with abhorrence and consternation!
Now, too, even as then, he looked at me with the same fixed solemnity of
aspect--the same cold spectral self-possession. But the mood of mind
which I had so recently been cherishing, the thoughts of Aurelia, and my
determination to brave all things for her sake, gave me courage and
stability to bear up against his inspection, apparently unmoved. I could
no longer suppose that I but dreamed. The enemy had now visibly started
into life; and I was necessitated to venture the combat.
I resolved, however, not to begin, but wait for his attack; and, should
he attempt to tear off the mask by which I was now concealed, to beat
him back with weapons, on the strength of which I flattered myself that
I could rely.
After a short interval, however, the stranger appeared to take no
particular notice of me, but, turning his looks another way, continued
the conversation in which he had been engaged at my entrance. The party
began, at length, to speak of his own works, and bestowed especial
praise on the portrait of Aurelia. Some one among them maintained, that,
although this picture was, even at first sight, evidently a portrait,
yet it might serve for an imaginative study, and be taken for the _beau_
(or _belle_) _ideal_ of a female saint. As I had, on the preceding
evening, been so eloquent in praise of this work, they now asked my
opinion, and, almost unconsciously, I said that I coincided with the
last speaker, and that I could not imagine to myself the blessed St
Rosalia otherwise than as a counterpart of the female here represented.
The painter seemed scarcely to notice my words, but again broke
in--"Indeed, that young lady, whom the portrait, whatever may be its
merit as a work of art, very faithfully resembles, is a real and
immaculate saint--who, in the spiritual combat, exalts herself even to
supernatural excellence. I have painted her at the moment when, under
the influence of the most overwhelming griefs, she yet placed her hope
and trust in religious consolation,--in the aid of that Divine
Providence which unceasingly watches over us.
"The expression of this hope, which, in a perfect degree, can dwell only
in a mind elevated above all that is terrestrial, I have endeavoured to
give to my picture--I cannot flatter myself that I have adequately
succeeded, but the principle, '_in magnis voluisse_,' seems to me to
have rendered it at least one of the most tolerable of my productions."
The conversation now wandered away to other subjects.--The wine, which
to-day, in honour of the stranger-guest, was of a better sort, and drunk
more freely than usual, soon did its good office in enlivening the
party--Every one of them at last found something diverting to relate, or
some comical song to sing. The painter, meanwhile, seemed only to laugh
inwardly. If any change was produced in his countenance, it was to be
observed in his eyes, which were lighted up occasionally with a certain
mysterious lustre,--yet, by means of a few striking and powerful words
occasionally thrown in, he was able to play his part, and to keep the
whole company in admirable good humour.
Although, whenever the stranger happened to fix his looks on me, I could
not repress a certain feeling of apprehension, yet I gradually overcame
that still worse mood of mind into which I had been brought, on my first
_reconnoissance_ of his features. I even told stories of the absurd
Belcampo, who was known less or more to all the party, and, to their
great amusement, gave such a lively account of his behaviour on the day
of my arrival, (with imitations of his voice and gesticulations,) that a
good-humoured fat merchant who sat opposite to me, declared, with tears
of laughter in his eyes, "That was the most delightful evening he had
ever spent in his life!"
When the merriment that I had raised had begun to decline away, the
stranger suddenly inquired--"Gentlemen, has any one among you ever seen
the Devil?"
This question was received but as the prelude to some new and comical
story. Of course, every one assured him, in turn, "that he had never yet
had that honour."
"Well," said the stranger, "it so happened, that I was very lately
within a hair-breadth of attaining myself to that honour, and this,
namely, at the Castle of the Baron von R----, among the Thuringian
mountains."
I now trembled in every limb; but the others laughed aloud, crying out,
"Go on--go on!"
"Gentlemen," said the painter, "you probably all know that wild district
in the Thuringian mountains, through which every one must pass, who
travels in that direction northwards. But there is especially, on a
by-road, one romantic spot, where, if the traveller emerges out of the
dark pine-tree forests, and advances to the height of the rocky cliffs,
he finds himself suddenly, to his amazement, on the extreme verge of an
awful, deep, and, indeed, bottomless abyss. This is called the devil's
ground, and the projecting promontory of the rock the devil's chair.
"Of the devil's chair it is related, that once, when a certain Count
Victorin, with his head full of wicked projects, had sat down upon this
rock, the devil suddenly appeared beside him; and because he was himself
resolved to carry the Count's wicked designs into execution, he
incontinently hurled Victorin down into the unfathomable gulf.
"Thereafter, the devil appeared as a capuchin monk, at the castle of the
Baron von R----; and when he had taken his pleasure with the Baroness,
he first sent her out of the world, (no one knew how,) and then, because
the Baron's son, a madman, would by no means allow of this masquerade,
but always called out, 'The devil, the devil is among us!' he strangled
him. However, by that persevering _annonce_ of the madman, _one_ pious
soul at least was saved from the destruction which the devil had
intended for them all; and this was the young Baroness Aurelia, the
subject of the picture, which you have this night been commending.
"Afterwards, the capuchin, (or the devil,) in an inconceivable manner,
vanished; and it is said, that he fled, coward-like, from Victorin, who
had risen like a bloody spectre from the grave against him.
"Let all this be as it may, I can assure you, in plain truth, that the
Baroness died mysteriously--probably by poison; and that Hermogen (the
madman) was assassinated. The Baron himself, shortly afterwards, died of
grief; and Aurelia, the pious Saint, whose portrait I painted, at the
very time when these horrible events had taken place at the castle, fled
as a desolate orphan into a distant Cistertian Convent, of which the
Abbess had been in terms of friendship with her father.
"You have seen and admired in my gallery the likeness of this admirable
and unfortunate young lady. But as to other circumstances, this
gentleman (pointing to me) will be better able to inform you than I am,
since, during the whole of the adventures to which I have alluded, he
was an inhabitant of the castle!"
All looks, full of astonishment, were now directed towards me. Quite
unnerved, and lost to all self-possession, I started up--"How, sir!"
exclaimed I, in a violent tone--"What have I to do with your absurd
stories of capuchins, and devils, and assassinations? You mistake
me--you mistake me completely, I assure you; and I must beg that, for
this once, you will leave me completely out of the question."
Considering the tumult of my mind, it was difficult for me to give my
words even this much of connection and propriety, or to assume any
degree of composure. The powerful influence of the painter's narrative,
and my excessive disquietude, were only too visible. The cheerful tone
which prevailed through the party rapidly declined; and as the members
of the club gradually recollected that I was a complete stranger, and
had only by accident obtained my place among them, they began to fix on
me mistrustful and suspicious glances.
Meanwhile, the painter had risen from his chair, and, standing opposite,
transfixed me once more with his dead-alive glaring eyes, as formerly in
the Capuchin church. He did not utter a word; he stood cold, stiff, and,
but for the expression of his eyes, as if lifeless.
But at those ghostly looks, my hair rose on end; cold drops gathered on
my forehead, and, seized by the most intense horror, I trembled through
every fibre. "Avaunt!--away with thee!" I exclaimed, out of myself with
agitation; "for thou thyself art Satan! Thou art the murderer--yet over
me thou hast no power!"
The whole party instantly left their seats.--"What's the matter? Who is
that?" was heard from all quarters; and out of the adjoining _salle_,
the people, terrified by my voice, having left their amusements, came
thronging into our room.--"A drunk man!--A madman!--Turn him out!" cried
several voices.
Meanwhile, the painter stood there steadfast, and immovably staring upon
me. The power which he thus (I know not how) exerted over my very mind
and thoughts--the whole train of consequences which the discovery he was
determined to force out would bring upon me--the wretched thraldom in
which I should remain at present, and the destruction which must
ensue--all these ideas conflicted together in my mind. But even without
their aid, the looks of the spectral painter alone were more than I
could endure. Methought his detestable features at length enlarged,
moved, and were writhen in mockery and scorn. At last, driven to the
uttermost paroxysm of rage and despair, I drew forth the stiletto with
which I had, in self-defence, killed Hermogen, and which I always
carried in my breast-pocket.
With this weapon in my hand, I now fell upon my enemy; but his quick eye
had caught every movement, and one blow of his powerful arm brought me
to the ground. Methought I heard him laugh aloud, in hideous and
scornful triumph, so that his voice resounded through the chamber.
"Brother Medardus!" said he, "Brother Medardus, play no longer this
false game! Go, return to the sanctuary of thy convent, and humble
thyself to the dust in shame and repentance!"
I now felt myself seized by the people in the room; and allowing them to
raise me up, pretended at first to be quite exhausted; then, all at
once, rousing my whole strength, I drove and struck like a raging wild
beast against my assailants; and this so unexpectedly, that several of
them fell to the ground, and I made myself a passage towards the door;
but had scarcely rushed into the corridor, when a small side door
opened, and I felt myself seized on by an invisible arm, by which I was
drawn into a dark chamber. To this I made no resistance, for the
multitude of pursuers were raging behind me.
Into this dark room I had been drawn just as I turned round a corner of
the corridor, and the mob of people, imagining that I had run onwards
and escaped down stairs, passed by the door and left me for the moment
unmolested. My invisible companion listened to their proceedings, and
in a few moments led me by the arm down a dark, private staircase, into
a back court, and then through the buildings behind into the open
street. By the light of the lamps I here recognised as my deliverer the
absurd Belcampo!