I had now continued here for several months, and in all that time
had received no external impressions but such as related to the cell
I inhabited, and the misanthropical savage by whom it was visited.
One evening that Bethlem Gabor entered my dungeon, I observed in him
an air of unusual disturbance. Where apathy reigns, the intercourse
between those over whom it presides will be marked with a death-like
uniformity; but wherever the furious passions take their turn,
they will occasionally subside into a semblance of familiarity and
benevolence. There was something in the countenance of my tyrant that
made me for a moment forget the complicated injuries I had received
from him. “What is it that has disturbed you?” cried I. There was
no answer. There was a knitting in his brow, and a contraction in
his features, that showed me his silence was an effort. He departed
however, and had already passed the threshold of my dungeon. The door
was in his hand. He returned. “Chatillon,” said he, “perhaps you will
never see me more!”
“My castle is besieged. I have passed through dangers of a thousand
names, and I ought not to be made serious by that which now assails me.
But a gloomy presentiment hangs upon my mind. The busy phantom of life
has lasted too long, and I am sick at heart. In the worst event I will
not be made a prisoner; I will die fighting.
“I feel as if this were the last day of my existence; and, upon the
brink of the grave, animosity and ferociousness die away in my soul.
In this solemn moment, my original character returns here (striking his
heart) to take possession of its native home; a character, stern and
serious, if you will; but not sanguinary, not cruel, not treacherous or
unjust. Between you and me there is a deadly antipathy; but you did not
make yourself; you intended me friendship and advantage; the sufferings
you have experienced from me in return have been sufficiently severe.
If I die defending my walls, and you remain thus, you will perish with
hunger. I had intended it should be so; but I am now willing to remit
this part of your fate. I will enter into a compromise with you; I will
trust to your fidelity, and your honour. I will take off your chains; I
will bring you a timepiece and torches; I will leave with you the key
of the spring lock of your cavern,--provided you will engage your word
to me that you will not attempt to make use of your advantages till the
expiration of twenty-four hours.”
To these terms I assented without hesitation. The chains fell from my
wrists and my ancles; I stood up once more unshackled, and in respect
of my limbs a free man. When Bethlem Gabor was on the point to depart,
my soul melted within me. I took hold of his hand; my fingers trembled;
I grasped and pressed the fingers of my tyrant. I cannot describe what
then passed in my bosom. No man can understand my sensations, who had
not been in my situation, who had not passed through a treatment,
arbitrary, ferocious, and inhuman, and had not then seen the being
who had wounded him so unpardonably, suddenly changing his character,
commiserating his fate, and rescuing him from destruction.
From this time I saw Bethlem Gabor no more; he died, as he had sworn to
do, in the last dike of his fortress. His self-balanced and mighty soul
could not submit to the condition of a prisoner; he was nothing, if he
were not free as the air, and wild as the winds. I may be mistaken;
but this appears to me to have been a great and admirable man. He had
within him all the ingredients of sublimity; and surely the ingredients
of sublimity are the materials of heroic virtue. I have much cause of
complaint against him; he conceived towards me an animosity the most
barbarous and unprovoked; but, in writing this narrative, I have placed
my pride in controlling the suggestions of resentment, and I have
endeavoured to do him justice.
I had engaged to wait twenty-four hours; I waited only six. I know not
how the reader will decide upon the morality of my conduct; but I own I
had not the force, I believe I may call it the insensibility, to remain
in my dungeon any longer. There was no doubt that, if Bethlem Gabor
returned a conqueror, the term of my imprisonment would be renewed,
and all his former menaces continued in force. What should I deserve
to have thought of me, if I could sit down idly, and tamely wait the
return of my jailor? No! liberty is one of the rights that I put on
when I put on the form of a man, and no event is of power to dissolve
or abdicate that right. Of what validity was the promise that Bethlem
Gabor extorted from me by compulsion, and as the condition of that
which he had no title to withhold? What gratitude did I owe to this
man, who treated me with every contumely, and shrunk from nothing but
the thought of causing me to perish with hunger? Whatever became of
my attempt to escape, I could at least in this vast subterranean hide
myself from the face of him who had injured me. I had a provision of
phosphorus in my chest; and could therefore extinguish my torch upon
the slightest alarm, and relume it at pleasure. What was the value
of life, situated as I was situated? It was better to perish in the
attempt to escape, than linger on for ever in perpetual imprisonment.
As a further resource I left a billet in my dungeon (for for this
also I had implements) intreating Bethlem Gabor by every motive of
compassion and humanity to provide for me the means of sustenance as
usual. Having taken these precautions, I lighted a fresh torch; and,
unlocking the door, and thrusting the key into my girdle, set out upon
my expedition. Though Bethlem Gabor had stipulated for twenty-four
hours, the siege might even now be over, and I trembled every instant
lest my jailor should return.
I wandered for a considerable time among the alleys and windings of
this immeasurable cavern. I had the precaution to mark the sides of
the vault with characters and tokens as I passed, that, if necessary,
I might be able to find the way back to my dungeon: this might prove
an indispensable resource, to prevent me from perishing with hunger.
Once or twice I changed my route, inferring from a comparison of
circumstances, the best I could make, that I was not in the direction
of the castle from which Bethlem Gabor had led me to my imprisonment.
In all this wandering I had seen nothing, I had heard nothing, which
could demonstrate to me that I was approaching the habitation of man. I
had groped my way for near two hours, when on a sudden I heard a loud
and tremendous shout that almost stunned me, and that from its uncommon
shock could be at no great distance from the place where I stood.
This was succeeded by a terrifying glare of light. I extinguished my
torch, both that I might be better qualified to observe, and that I
might be less in danger of discovery by any one who should approach me
unawares. The shouts were several times repeated. The light I found to
proceed from that end of the vault towards which I had been advancing,
and, by the best conjectures I could form, I concluded the outlet
into the castle to be at no great distance. I heard the crackling of
the flames, and the fall of rafters and beams. Presently I discerned
a volume of smoke approaching me, and found that, if I remained long
in my present station, I should incur the risk of being suffocated.
I formed my resolution. I concluded that Bethlem Gabor’s castle was
taken, and set on fire by the Austrians. I believed that my persecutor
was already no more: to this faith I was undoubtedly prompted by the
presentiment which he had communicated to me. I saw that it would be
impossible for me to emerge into light, till the flames should abate. I
once more therefore lighted my torch, and returned by the straightest
road I could find to my dungeon. Arrived there, I proposed to pass the
interval quietly, in the cavern where I had so long felt the weight of
the Hungarian’s chains. Suddenly however the suggestion occurred to
me, may not my conjectures be false? may not Bethlem Gabor yet repel
the enemy, and return to me from amidst the ruins of his falling
castle? The thought was sickness and extinction to my heart. Hope!
beautiful as are thy visions, in how much anguish and agony do they
clothe the terrors of disappointment! Never had Bethlem Gabor been half
so dreadful to me as now. I shrunk away; I took with me the fragments
of provision that yet remained; I hid myself; I deemed no cell remote
enough to conceal me from the inhuman persecution of my tyrant.
I continued in the subterranean all that day and all the succeeding
night. Once in this period I attempted to reconnoitre the avenue of my
escape, but I found the situation still so heated and suffocating that
I did not venture to proceed. At length I came forth from this den of
horrors, and again beheld the light of the sun. The path had already
been sufficiently explored by me, and I no longer found any material
obstacles. I now saw that my conjectures were true: the castle of my
ferocious adversary was a pile of ruins. The walls indeed for the
most part remained, but choked with fragments of the falling edifice,
blackened with the flames, and penetrated in every direction by the
light of day. With difficulty I climbed over the ruins, which opposed
my egress from the subterranean, and rendered my passage to the outside
of the castle an affair of peril and caution. Here the first object
that struck me was some tents, probably of the soldiers who had been
employed in this work of destruction. I was hailed by a sentinel, and
I demanded that he would conduct me to his commander. He led me to
the centre of the little encampment, and I stood in the presence of
his chief. I lifted my eye to behold him, and was petrified with such
astonishment as till that hour I had never felt. It was Charles, my
son, my only son, the darling of his mother, the idol of my soul!