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[[This serialized novel began in no. 22 of the New-York Weekly; the
last 41 of its 74 segments are in Volume II. For sources, see the
end of the e-text.]]
THE VICTIM OF MAGICAL DELUSION.
_OR, INTERESTING MEMOIRS OF MIGUEL, DUKE DE CA*I*A._
Unfolding Many Curious Unknown Historical Facts.
_Translated from the German of Tschink._
(Continued from page 415 of Vol. I.)
“Your features, dear Duke,” she resumed after a long pause, “have no
resemblance with those of this picture; and yet the originality of the
face is so remarkable to me, that it would afford me the greatest
pleasure, if you would give it me.”
“If your Majesty should know how dear it is to me--”
“Well, that will enhance the value it has in my eyes. Whenever I shall
look at the picture of the mother, I will remember the son. I will give
you _my_ picture, in lieu of it; will you resign it to me on that
condition?”
I bowed respectfully, she opened a drawer, putting my picture in it, and
took another out of it, which was adorned with jewels much more precious
than that of my mother.
“Take it, Duke, and whenever you look at it, think that it is the
picture of--a very unhappy woman.” So saying, she gave me the picture.
The accent and the mien with which these words were pronounced, wounded
my heart. I prostrated myself---“How, amiable Queen, should you really
be unhappy? and this pledge of your condescension should be to me a
remembrancer of your misfortunes? O, name the source of your sorrows,
and if the power of a mortal being can remove it, I will do it with
pleasure, will attempt it even at the peril of my life!” So saying,
I pressed my lips with vehemence on her hand.
“Rise! the interest which you take in my unhappiness renders me less
unfortunate. It will not be in your power to make me happy, though I
should be at liberty to unfold a mystery to you which never must be
revealed. Rise, Duke!” She stooped to raise me up, her cheek touched my
face, and a tremor of joy trembled through my frame. “Take courage!”
I exclaimed, “though neither my power nor that of any man living should
be able to render you happy, yet I know a person who possesses
supernatural powers, and I flatter myself he will not refuse to grant my
prayers. He shall make you happy, my Queen!”
She looked at me with weeping eyes, then up to heaven, and then again at
me. “Your prayer,” she said at length, “would be fruitless; for if an
angel would descend from heaven to offer me his assistance, he could not
restore me to happiness, while certain human laws and political
relations are in force.”----
I plainly perceived the dreadful struggles of her soul, and it would
have been cruel to render her victory more difficult by farther
persuasions.
I beheld with respectful silence the workings of her mind; however, she
could not but observe that I adored her---her looks bespoke the grateful
emotions of her heart.
“You have told me a few minutes ago, that your mother is no more,” she
began after a long pause. “I hope your father is yet alive?”
“I have little reason to think he is.”
The Queen turned as pale as a corpse. “You doubt?” she stammered, “you
doubt whether your father is alive?”
“A dangerous illness which has confined him to his bed, gives me reason
to apprehend---but what is the matter with your Majesty?”
“Nothing---nothing at all---A dangerous illness did you say.”
“So he has informed me sometime since, by a letter, and requested me, at
the same time, to hasten to his arms, that he might see me once more
before his death, and give me his blessing.”
The Queen started up, and went to another part of the room, as if in
search of something, but soon came back again:
“He wants to see you and you are _here?_”
“Before I received the letter of my father, I had promised to that
_Unknown_ of whom I have been speaking, that nothing should detain me
from travelling to Fr**ce, and imploring your assistance in behalf of my
unhappy country.”
“Poor father!” said the Queen, absorbed in melancholy, “how anxiously
will he have expected the arrival of his son--I fancy I see the dying
Marquis, how he extends his arms in vain to receive the child of his
love--”
“Does your Majesty know my father?” I enquired hastily.
She gazed at me. “If I know him?---no!---yes---I saw him several times
when at the court of my father---But why do you ask this
question?”---Without giving me time to reply, she resumed, “Make haste!
make haste, return to your native country; perhaps he is yet alive---the
sight of you will animate him with new strength, he will recover in your
arms, and perhaps be restored to health!” The last words she pronounced
with a visible joyful emotion.
“Shall I leave your Majesty,” I replied “without having my prayer
granted? Is my unhappy country to expect no assistance from a Queen
whose sentiments are so sublime? Is the picture of the best of women to
be to me a lasting mark of her favour and displeasure?”
She seemed to meditate, “It is true,” she said at length, “we have
entirely wandered from your concerns. Did you not tell me that you are
haunted every where by an apparition? I too have seen an apparition some
time ago. It was the ghost of my departed father, who, at midnight drew
the curtains of my bed, and said ‘I am very wretched my daughter!
neither prayers nor masses will give me relief, while Por****l which we
have usurped shall be submitted to the Sp***sh sceptre. O! my daughter,
if the least spark of filial love is left in thy bosom, if thou wilt
relieve me from unspeakable torments, then make use of all thy interest
at this court, in order to support the endeavours of those who, at
present, are secretly occupied to deliver Por****l from her oppressors.
A noble youth will arrive in a few days and implore thy assistance. He
is sent from Heaven; grant his prayer. He has a mole on his left breast,
which will be to thee a token of his mission.”
I started up. “That youth stands before your Majesty,” I exclaimed,
uncovering my breast, “behold here the mole. O! relieve the suffering
spirit of your father, relieve my country!”
She seemed to be in a trance, encircling me with her arms, and straining
me to her bosom. “Thy prayer is granted!” she said in a faint
accent.---No sooner had the last syllable escaped her lips, when the
sound of a little bell was heard in the adjoining apartment. She
disengaged herself from my neck and started back, “Gracious heaven!---”
she exclaimed, pale and trembling, “the King is returned. Begone! for
God’s sake begone!”
I was going to obey her command; the stopped me: “Never reveal a word of
what has happened between ourselves,” she whispered; “leave the palace
and the kingdom as soon as possible: beware of the King, I conjure you!”
I prostrated myself and encircled her knees, shedding tears of anguish;
wanted to take leave, but could not utter a single word. The bell in the
adjoining apartment was rung a second time; the Queen disengaged herself
seized with terror: “make haste!---flee!---O stay!” she exclaimed when I
hastened to the door, “come back!” She opened her arms to receive me;
I flew to her bosom; she imprinted three burning kisses on my lips, and
hurried into an adjoining apartment.
I do not recollect how I got out of the room. On the staircase I
observed first, that the same lady who had conducted me to the Queen was
walking by my side. We returned the same way by which I had entered the
palace, and I arrived happily at our hotel in the company of the Count.
After I had communicated to him my success, I went to my apartment in
order to give audience to my thoughts; however I was not able to account
for the behaviour of the Queen, and my feelings during the whole scene.
Was it love that I felt for the Queen? certainly not; at least, my
sentiments for her were quite different from those I entertained for
Amelia; was it mere esteem that endeared her so much to me?
impossible!---My heart left me entirely in the dark with respect to that
point, as well as my reason. It is true, _one_ particular idea prevailed
in my soul, however it appeared to me ridiculous, as soon as I reflected
on other circumstances. The account which the Queen gave me of the
apparition of the ghost of her father, completed my confusion. Was it
the work of the _Unknown_, and did she really believe she had seen the
ghost of her father? in that case the grant of my prayer was perhaps
merely the consequence of her love for her father, whom she hoped to
release thus from his sufferings; even her tears, embraces, and kisses,
were then nothing else but means of alluring me to strain every nerve,
in order to bring to a happy conclusion an undertaking, from the
execution of which the eternal happiness of her father depended. But
perhaps---and that, I thought, was not less possible---has she only
invented that apparition in order to prevent me from suspecting the real
source of her willingness to grant my prayer, and her confidential and
endearing deportment? Even the manner in which she mentioned the mole on
my breast, appeared to me an artifice which she might have made use of,
rather to assure herself of the identity of my person, than of my
mission from above; and this supposition received an additional
confirmation, by her singular behaviour, after the discovery.---Thus I
was wandering in the mazy labyrinth of conjectures and doubts, till
sleep stole upon me by degrees, and shut my heavy eyes.
We left P**is the following night, and directed our road to Sp**n as
Hiermanfor had ordered.
I stopped a few days at **cia, a hundred miles from the frontiers of
Fr**ce, in order to rest a little from the fatigues of my journey, and
received from the bribed surgeon a letter from my father, who informed
me he was in a fair way of recovery. This welcome intelligence animated
me with new life, and dispelled the gloom which had overcast my mind. We
continued our journey without delay, and arrived at ***pala, where we
alighted at the principal hotel. The first object that attracted my
attention, was a handsome well dressed man, whose features struck me at
a great distance, because I fancied I knew them. He was engaged in
conversation with a tall thin man, and did not observe me till I was
close by him. My sudden appearance seemed to surprize him, and the sight
of him produced the same effect upon me, for now I perceived that it was
Paleski, Amelia’s former valet. He approached me with evident marks of
uneasiness, and welcomed me in broken accents. I ordered him to follow
me to my apartment. The first question I put to him, was where Amelia
resided, and how she was. Paleski lamented it was not in his power to
give me the least information on that head. I enquired after the
_Unknown_, and he assured me that he had not seen him since the last
scene in the wood. “However,” said I, “you still owe me an account of a
dreadful accident concerning the _Unknown_, of which you pretended to
have been informed on your pilgrimage.” Paleski hesitated a few moments,
and then promised to satisfy my curiosity the day following, being
prevented by business of great importance from doing it on the spot.
I dismissed him, with the injunction not to forget to come to my
apartment in the evening of the next day. He promised it; however I
waited in vain for him, for in his room a Capuchin friar came to my
hotel, desiring to speak a few words to me in private. I ordered him to
be admitted, and was told by him that Paleski had had a quarrel with
some young men, who first had intoxicated and then provoked him, and
that he had received some mortal wounds, by which he was confined to his
bed at the hospital where he desired to see me, in order to disclose to
me important secrets. The friar offered to conduct me to the hospital,
and I drove thither in anxious expectation.
When I alighted at the gate of the hospital, I met Count Clairval. He
seemed to be petrified when he saw me in the company of the friar.
“Whither are you going?” he enquired at length. “To Paleski, who is on
the brink of eternity.” The Count changed colour, and whispered in my
ear: “Don’t go, the fellow is infected with a contagious
disease.”---“You are mistaken (was my answer) he has been wounded
dangerously, as his confessor tells me.” “I have just come from him,”
the Count resumed with visible uneasiness, “the fever has deranged his
head, and he will tell you a number of foolish things.” “No matter,”
I replied, “I must see him, for he has sent me word that he has
important discoveries to make.” “What can he discover to you?” said the
Count, “Paleski has ever been an impostor.” “This will render his
confession on the brink of eternity so much the more remarkable. But I
must not lose a moment. Farewell, Count, till I see you again!” So
saying, I tore myself from him, and hastened with the friar to Paleski’s
apartment. When the nurse had left the room, the former said: “you need
but ring the bell, if you should want me, I shall be within
hearing.”---With these words he went out of the room. Paleski stared at
me for some time. The livid colour of death covered his haggard
countenance, and the most agonizing anguish of a tormented conscience
was strongly painted on his looks. “My Lord!” he at length began, “I owe
you a thousand thanks for your condescension; I should undoubtedly have
fallen a sacrifice to black despair, if you had refused to give me an
opportunity to unfold mysteries to you which lie heavy on my mind.”