We pass over a period of several months during which Angelo was
indefatigable in his search, and incessant in his endeavours to discover
his son. To gain even the remotest intelligence of him, he left no means
untried, he ransacked town and country, and offered the most
considerable rewards to whomsoever could give even the smallest trace of
him.
All proved vain, and Angelo was at length compelled to admit the idea
that he could not be in England, perhaps not even in Europe, so large a
part of which he had already traversed, but rather that in some rash
momentary impulse, he had either trusted his life to the waves, or
seeking death in the field of battle, had perished in another part of
the globe. Ah! erring father, happy thou, had such been the destiny of
thy son.
From Verospi he had heard more than once since his residence in England;
the unfortunate Agnes still remained in the same hopeless state,
rendered still more hopeless from its long continuance; and as the
terrible idea pressed heavily on his mind, that ere long he might lose a
daughter, it redoubled his longing anxiety to recover a son.
One evening, towards the close of summer, Angelo, as was frequently his
custom, rode towards the country; gradually his mind became absorbed in
the reflection of the past; this offered only painful images, and he
reverted to his son, his present probable situation; the idea brought
with it others, still more painful, and deeply musing he unconsciously
resigned the reins to his horse, indifferent what path he pursued.
Thus for some time he wandered on, when his horse slightly stumbling,
aroused him to the recollection of the present, and he observed that it
was nearly dark, and that he was entering a solitary path, unarmed and
unaccompanied: checking the animal therefore, he thought of returning
homewards, but scarcely had he retraced three paces of the way, than he
beheld a person spring from an adjoining thicket, who galloping swiftly
towards him, immediately on reaching him seized his horse’s bridle, and
presenting a pistol to his breast, exclaimed in a smothered voice--“Your
gold instantly, or you die!”
Angelo, becoming sensible of his imprudence, perceived that he had
encountered a highwayman: he was masked, but his figure, which was
undisguised, resembled not that of a vulgar ruffian, wearing on the
contrary an appearance of youth and elegance, which caused Angelo to
consider with surprise a conduct so inconsistent with it. Unarmed
however, a weapon at his bosom threatening instant death, the present
was no time for resistance or remonstrance, or for an exertion of
courage hazardous as vain. Calmly therefore complying with the request
of his assailant, he gave into his hands all he possessed about him, and
then could not avoid observing--“You appear but young, my friend, and
your profession is a dangerous one.”
“True,” answered the robber in a low voice, “but we can meet death only
once, and how soon I encounter it I care not!” so saying he slightly
bowed, and darted away with inconceivable velocity.
Angelo pursued him with his eyes as far as the darkness would permit; he
could not reconcile his profession with his appearance, and though he
had received convincing proof that whatever he might think, they were
not incompatible, he felt pity for one whom nature seemed so little to
have fitted for a course so desperate, and so degrading. Indulging
these ideas as he proceeded onwards, he perceived two men on horseback,
rapidly advancing, whom from their air, however, he did not imagine to
be approaching with hostile intent. One of them respectfully accosting
Angelo, as he drew near, inquired if he had been on the S---- road.
“I have,” returned Angelo, surprised at the question; “for what purpose
do you ask?”
“Pardon me,” replied the man, “but have you been attacked?”
“I have,” answered Angelo, “and robbed;” now supposing that their
enquiries originated only in motives of personal safety.
“And he who robbed you,” added the other, “appeared a young man, and
rode a brown mare, did he not?”
“He did.”
“One question more--did you observe what direction he took?”
“I did,” Angelo answered, at the same time naming and pointing out the
path.
“We are obliged to you,” returned they; “we are in pursuit of him, he
robbed a gentleman on the same spot yesterday evening; your description
tallies so exactly with his, there can be no doubt of his being the same
person.”
“He was masked!” cried Angelo; his natural humanity interposing on
discovering these were the minions of justice, “I saw not his face,--it
was dark, I could not swear to his person!”
“But the other gentleman can,” replied one of the men; “his face was
then uncovered, he is but a young man,” he added with an unfeeling
smile, “and has not yet learnt caution.”
“Nor can we now give him time to learn it,” added the other: so saying,
and thanking Angelo for his information, they rushed off at full speed
in the direction he had pointed out.
Chagrined and distressed that he had been so explicit, gladly would
Angelo have retracted all he had said, and wistfully did he look around,
vainly anxious to behold the youth, that he might warn him of his
danger. Dissatisfied with himself that he should be an involuntary
means of depriving a human creature of existence, and more particularly
one in whose unfortunate fate he felt some interest, he yet secretly
hoped that he would be able to elude his pursuers, and when he
remembered the spirit of the animal on which he was mounted he flattered
himself this hope was not irrational.
Some few days after this adventure, which had so unusually impressed the
mind of Angelo, he accidentally read in a diurnal print that the
highwayman who had for some time past infested the S---- road had
successively robbed two gentlemen, and was supposed to have committed
other similar offences, had been apprehended, and was lodged in prison.
When Angelo perused this, involuntarily he felt a sensation of extreme
regret; he decided in his mind that he would be present at his trial,
but give no evidence that would tend to criminate him, for he
sufficiently repented that he had already, as it were, pointed him out
to justice; and rather than have uttered a syllable to endanger his life
he would have rejoiced in an opportunity to preserve it.
The day of the trial at length arrived. Angelo had intended to have been
present from the commencement, but unforeseen circumstances prevented
him, and when he arrived, he learned that the trial was over, that the
prisoner was coming out of court, and that he was condemned to suffer
death. Powerfully affected, yet anxious to obtain at least a glimpse of
his countenance, he pressed eagerly through the crowd, and by his
exertions approached sufficiently near to have a view of the person of
the prisoner.--But oh, what language can describe his horror!--his
despair!--his madness at that view!---- it was _his son_ that he beheld!
Uttering a loud frantic cry, he rushed with the strength of a maniac
back through the crowd.--Could a whole life of future happiness, (if
such were possible) blot out a moment like the present! The wretched
Angelo felt it could not:--his resolution was taken;--he gained his
house in a state of frenzy; and securing himself in his apartment took
his pistols from his cabinet, loaded and placed them on the table before
him;--then gazing eagerly upon them, he seized one, and pointed it to
his burning temple!--another instant, and death would bury in internal
oblivion his shame, his anguish, his remorse! Suddenly a thought darted
through his brain; his hand, nerved with the wild fury of despair,
trembled and relaxed its hold of the instrument of death; he withdrew it
from his head, paused, placed it on the table again, and exclaimed--“No,
I must not quit the world thus; I must first perform some sacred duties,
and ere I sleep for ever, _must_ behold my boy!”
For a moment he seated himself to collect his tumultuous thoughts, then
starting up, added, “it shall be so.”--Quitting his apartment he
endeavoured to appear calm, to betray no extraordinary emotion to
superficial observers; he succeeded, and seemed sufficiently composed to
escape remark.
His first step was to make his will, which he caused to be regularly
attested, speaking of it merely as a matter of propriety, and appearing
perfectly rational and tranquil.--All he possessed he bequeathed to
Agnes, or in case of her death, (which with an inward pang he considered
might already be,) one half to Verospi, the other to the convent.
He then addressed Verospi by letter, informing him of what he had done;
and, without touching on the dreadful events which had induced this
step, (for in the midst of the most terrible degradation, even on the
verge of the grave, his pride was insurmountable,) stated simply as the
cause, his conviction that he should not long survive. In this letter he
enclosed one to Agnes, tenderly affectionate, desiring of him, if she
was restored to reason, that it might be given her, praying of her to
forgive him for having destroyed her happiness, which but for him might
have been perfected, and to endeavour to live, that his soul might not
be burthened with the additional crime of having precipitated her to an
early grave!--to remember him with tender pity in her orisons, and to
pray for the repose of his spirit.
These arrangements employed the remainder of the day, and a part of the
night; the intermediate hours ere he could behold his son, he durst not
pass in reflection. He sought to banish thought by motion, and walked
rapidly to and fro in his chamber, yet now pausing involuntarily in
fearful meditation, now starting in horror at the appalling images that
would present themselves before him. Morning at length arrived; he stole
from his house and wandered about, till the period when he might be
permitted to enter the prison, which contained (distracting thought!)
his only son! The hour at length arrived; he presented himself at the
gate, received admittance, and was conducted to the door of his cell. By
dint of entreaty, and the more powerful eloquence of gold, he obtained
what with half his fortune he would have purchased, the permission to
remain for a short time alone with the prisoner.
Scarce could he support his trembling frame, while the dreadful door
unlocked and grated on its hinges,--he entered;--Oh! tremendous
God!--could it indeed be?--that fondly, too fatally loved boy;--his
cherished form, still rich in youthful beauty, weighed down, degraded by
the massive emblems of the vilest guilt!--that fair countenance, round
which waved bright auburn ringlets, so often dwelt on with delight, did
he behold it in the gloom of a dungeon!--his son! his Felix! the child
of Gabrielle!--was it thus at last that they were doomed to meet?--Oh!
fatal hour! oh! miserable father! Words were denied such excruciating
anguish; it mounted almost into madness, and dashing himself upon the
flinty earth, the wild ravings of terrible despair filled the gloomy
habitation of guilt!
Felix beheld the agony of his father, at first, with a dreadful
tranquillity, even as though he knew him not; at length in faltering
accents he exclaimed, “To what purpose, oh! my father, this violent
anguish? this vain despair?--The die is cast, and I must perish!--Yet
think not that I regret existence,--it has been long oppressive to me!”
The words of Felix seemed to excite in the breast of Angelo a desperate
fortitude; he sprang from the earth, gazed upon him with a look of
frightful calmness, and cried, “Let me hear _all_, while I have yet the
power; I would know your thoughts,--why has life been long oppressive to
you?--say, by what inconceivable and dreadful fatality do I behold you
thus?”
“Oh! my father!” exclaimed the youth, bursting into tears, and throwing
himself upon the bosom of the despairing Angelo--“let us--let us not
retrace the past--but exchange mutual forgiveness.”
Angelo wept not, the muscles of his countenance were convulsed with
mighty horror, and alone betrayed the tremendous workings of his
soul.--“Felix,” said he at length, in a deep hollow voice, “I implore
you to answer me.”
“Oh spare me! spare me;” cried the youth, “my father, spare yourself!”
“No,” answered Angelo, with a half suppressed groan, “I will not spare
myself!--say then, am I, am I the cause?--nay then, I command,--I
entreat--.”
“Wherefore, wherefore,” cried Felix clasping his hands in agony, “would
you drag from me----”
“Proceed, proceed!” wildly interrupted Angelo.
“Oh! why was I taught to hate the best of mothers?” then passionately
exclaimed the youth, “to contemn her virtuous maxims, to repay with
abhorrence, and scorn, her instructions? Why did I behold my father
prefer to her the most abandoned of her sex?--That fatal connexion was
the origin of all my crimes, it perfected my ruin!--She, destroying
demon, gloried to sow in my mind the seeds of early vice, taught me that
I owed to my parents nor filial love nor gratitude, and alienated my
affections from them to herself.--She was my mother, my adviser, my
friend, she had over me implicit sway;--did I not fly with her from the
house of my father? did I not participate---- must I go on?--you will
not bid me be silent,--yet I cannot, no I cannot retrace my numberless
progressive crimes, each, each more dreadful than the other---- at
length I--I--”
“Enough! enough!” cried Angelo in gloomy voice, “I can imagine the
gradations from crime to crime--I have traced you before--I learned, but
no matter.”--He paused;--from the look of tranquil horror, his
countenance assumed an expression of the wildest frenzy, and he
exclaimed, seizing the arm of his son, “Unhappy boy!--kneel, kneel, and
curse your father!--it is not enough that his vices have been the origin
of all your crimes!--but he has placed you here! _he_ delivered you into
the hands of your pursuers!” With a terrible smile as he concluded, he
gazed upon his son, for his brain was whirling with madness and despair.
“What do I hear?” cried the youth--“my father my accuser---- _you_!”
“Yes, yes, I!--you attacked me--it was fated that your _father_ should
become your murderer;--I experienced certain sensations for you
indeed,--but I disregarded them, for I am a monster!”
Intense horror had taken possession of the youth, his blood froze in his
veins, his limbs shook!--Sinking on his knees he raised his eyes to
heaven, with an expression so like his sainted mother’s that the heart
of Angelo bounded with agony--“Oh, God!” he cried, “merciful God, I
thank thee that at thy bar, where speedily I must appear, I have not to
answer for the _murder_ of my _father_!” Then in the deep gratitude and
humility of his penitent soul, he kissed the ground, and approaching his
father, seized his hand, and bedewed it with his tears.
“But thy father,” cried Angelo in torture inexpressible, “will have
_thy_ blood upon his head!” and throwing himself on his knees beside his
son, “Felix,” he exclaimed, “canst thou embrace thy murderer?”
“Oh! my father,” cried Felix, endeavouring to strain him to his breast,
“my dear father, may you live long and happy: yet ere you leave your
guilty son, assure him of your forgiveness for having brought on you
indelible dishonour--for weighing you to the grave in shame and sorrow!”
“Cease, cease, my boy,” exclaimed the frantic father, “this is too
much.--Oh God! my heart, my brain, will burst!--have I no tears?--no! I
cannot weep, my heart has turned to stone! Felix, did you wish me
life?--no, no, believe it not,--the father who has caused your ruin
will not survive you;--you asked my forgiveness--I ask _yours_--on my
knees I beseech it,--deny it not to my parting soul!”
“Bless, bless my father! God restore peace to his heart, banish his
despair, and enable him to forget the son, the disgrace and curse of his
existence.”
Angelo drew his son to his bosom--they were locked in each other’s arms,
they remained so for some minutes.--In that awful embrace, in the pangs
which mutually tore their heart-strings, Death, stripped off its
horrors, stood forth the succouring angel, the deliverer from horrors,
which future happiest life could never cancel, for it could not put the
blot of oblivion on the present!--The souls of both tremblingly aspired
to the throne of mercy, hoping that the dreadful punishment awarded in
this world might save from eternal condemnation in the next!
At this moment, when the past seemed but a crowd of gloomy visions, when
the present receded from their view, and the dread _future_ alone
engaged their hearts and thoughts,--the door opened, and awakened them
from their profound abstraction from earth.--Both arose, for no vulgar
witness might profane the sacredness of their sensations--but the blest
illusion was at an end, and they were recalled to earth.
Angelo, incapable of conversing with, or even gazing on his son, at this
awful juncture, in the presence of another human being, hastily cried,
“_Farewell_, my Felix,” and moved towards the door.
“Oh, my father!” cried the youth dissolving again into mortal weakness,
“shall I no more behold you?”
Angelo drew near his son, took his hand, pressed it convulsively to his
heart, and murmured--“_Hope_, my boy!--oh, endeavour to hope that we may
meet hereafter!”--then added--“arm thyself with courage, give thy soul
to God,--implore him to receive it, and pardon the errors of thy
youth.---- _My_ peace will be more difficult to make!--One last
embrace--now then farewell--_for ever_!”
Their arms entwined, their throbbing hearts met, and beat in tremendous
agony against each other’s bosoms--this embrace had more of _earth_ in
it--the other more of _heaven_! The tears of Felix covered his
cheeks--sighs and groans rent his breast, but still Angelo wept not--his
brain and heart were bursting,--he tore himself from the arms of his
son, and rushed from the dungeon.
Reaching home, he retired instantly to his apartment and secured the
door. Once more he placed his pistols on the table, and seated himself
before them.--His wish was, to end his existence at the same moment that
his son should resign his, that the souls of both might take their
flight together.
Fixed, determined, he no longer shrunk from himself--he desired to feel
agony, remorse; the past rose to his view, he beheld himself such as he
really was--the source and cause of the most terrible events.--All had
sprung from the impetuosity of his passions, unchecked by the voice of
reason or of virtue; he beheld not only himself the guilty author of
misfortunes and crimes, but the cause of them in others.--What dreadful
havoc had he caused!--His various victims, (a mournful group) passed in
sad guise before him. The high soul’d noble Montmorency, the fair
accusing form of Gabrielle, who pointing to heaven, while sternly she
gazed upon him, seemed to exclaim, “There, there must thou answer all!”
then fading remote in shadowy distance, she vanished from his view! His
daughter, the gentle devoted Agnes, punished by _his_ hand to save his
pride, for those errors which _he_ had caused!--His son! appalling
image!--he beheld him expire!--his lifeless corpse was before him! those
fair features _once_ so lovely!--oh! the thought was madness! and he
shrieked aloud.--The origin of all his crimes, by an awful dispensation
of offended Omnipotence, he was doomed to become likewise the instrument
of his destruction!--
The wretched libertine, awakened to a sense of his manifold guilt,
shrunk enhorrored from the picture traced in the burning characters of
despair! “Oh! no, no,” he cried, as his eyes glared on the instruments
of death,--“there is not, there can be no pardon for _me_! then let me
at once set free my tortured soul, lest by appearing at the bar of
Heaven in the same moment with that of my son, I may rob him of divine
mercy for holding communion with mine!”
He cast himself prostrate on the earth, he longed, yet _feared_ to die,
for his soul was tumult and despair, and to die without _hope_!--is
nature equal to the thought? He endeavoured then to acquire fortitude,
to arm himself with hope, and to abide by his first intended purpose.
Miserable were the hours endured by the tortured victim of a too late
remorse, till morning dawned; his eyes, which in the terrors of his
haunted imagination he had covered with his hands, now opened and
discerned the coming light. Though horror still raged within, something
like a re-animating ray shot through his breast, but so instantly
accompanied by a poignant pang, that scarce could the mind identify the
transition from one to the other.--Ah! who is there so wretched, so
despairing, or so guilty, that, bent on destruction, yet delaying it,
shall not for an instant think of life; more deeply regretting the
terrible cause which makes death the only refuge from insupportable woe!
He thought of the happiness that might have been his in the fond
chearing circle of domestic felicity; it gave an additional throb of
agony to the present moment, by the hopeless contrast that it offered.
“Oh God!” he cried, “have I then arrived so far!--the hour of release
draws near.”--He rose and drew toward the window, his hands uplifted,
and his eyes gazing on the moving clouds that gave birth to ideas in his
mind, which human reason could not pursue, and the soul trembled, and
feared to identify!
The beams of the sun now burst forth, and a stream of radiance entered
his chamber.--“Oh, glorious sun!” he exclaimed--“once again I have
beheld thee--but never shall I more--My Felix--my unhappy boy--at this
time thou canst not behold it,--but thou wilt, once again---- Oh!
horrible idea!--I cannot stay--the thought of thee at that fearful
moment would unnerve my hand!--it must be now--my soul struggles to be
free, it can no longer wait for thine!”
He rushed towards the table, where lay his pistols--he sunk on his
knees; one he held to his throbbing temple, the other he placed beside
him, lest the first should fail.--He essayed to utter a prayer, but
could not; his burning cheek crimsoned with the agonizing dread that God
could not listen to a wretch like him!--his brow was writhed, and his
eyes glanced wildly round, at the appalling thought of eternal
perdition!--His whirling brain could suggest no form of language--no
prayer for _himself_;--his lips moved convulsively, and he murmured “To
pray for thee, oh, my boy! would arm against thee the anger of God,--for
myself I dare not!”--He raised his despairing eyes to Heaven,--they
implored the mercy which he dared not ask,--his hand then gave the
fatal movement,--it was but too unerring!--the ball entered his brain,
and bathed in blood he fell lifeless to the floor.
Thus ended the career of the once gay Libertine, an awful example “_that
the sins of the father shall be visited upon the children_.” Dreadful
decree, yet intended by an all-wise Being to serve the great cause of
society, and impress upon the mind of man the crime of which he is
guilty in the subversion of a _moral duty_.
The wisdom of past ages perceived the necessity of decreeing holy
ties--subsequent ages found it wisdom to abide by the law. Marriage
became the bond of society--the strong, though imperceptible chain which
linked mankind together. From it sprang the dear and tender affinities
of husband, father, wife, mother, brother, and sister. To outrage the
sacred institution, entails misery and ruin upon unborn myriads, sinks
and loses in labyrinthian confusion every tie of consanguinity, causes
an unknown offspring to wander through the world unclaimed, and plunges
them in a vortex of misfortune and crime.
The momentous subject furnishes matter for the lessons of the moralist,
the contemplation of the sage, and the commentaries of the philosopher.
Some of the fatal consequences attendant on the disregard of a system so
glorious, rational and indispensable, it has been the object of the
preceding work, conscientiously, it is hoped not vainly to pourtray.
FINIS.
W. Flint, Printer,
Old Bailey.