A RE-ENTRANCE INTO LIFE THROUGH THE EBON GATE, AFFLICTION.
MONTHS passed away before my senses returned to me. I rose from the bed
of suffering and of madness calm, collected, immovable,--altered, but
tranquil. All the vigilance of justice had been employed to discover
the murderers, but in vain. The packet was gone; and directly I, who
alone was able to do so, recovered enough to state the loss of that
document, suspicion naturally rested on Gerald, as on one whom that loss
essentially benefited. He came publicly forward to anticipate inquiry.
He proved that he had not stirred from home during the whole week in
which the event had occurred. That seemed likely enough to others; it
is the tools that work, not the instigator,--the bravo, not the
employer; but I, who saw in him not only the robber, but that fearful
rival who had long threatened Isora that my bridals should be stained
with blood, was somewhat staggered by the undeniable proofs of his
absence from the scene of that night; and I was still more bewildered in
conjecture by remembering that, so far as their disguises and my own
hurried and confused observation could allow me to judge, the person of
neither villain, still less that of Isora's murderer, corresponded with
the proportions and height of Gerald. Still, however, whether mediately
or immediately--whether as the executor or the designer--not a doubt
remained on my mind that against his head was justice due. I directed
inquiry towards Montreuil: he was abroad at the time of my recovery;
but, immediately on his return, he came forward boldly and at once to
meet and even to court the inquiry I had instituted; he did more,--he
demanded on what ground, besides my own word, it rested that this packet
had ever been in my possession; and, to my surprise and perplexity, it
was utterly impossible to produce the smallest trace of Mr. Marie
Oswald. His half-brother, the attorney, had died, it is true, just
before the event of that night; and it was also true that he had seen
Marie on his death-bed; but no other corroboration of my story could be
substantiated, and no other information of the man obtained; and the
partisans of Gerald were not slow in hinting at the great interest I had
in forging a tale respecting a will, about the authenticity of which I
was at law.
The robbers had entered the house by a back-door, which was found open.
No one had perceived their entrance or exit, except Desmarais, who
stated that he heard a cry; that he, having spent the greater part of
the night abroad, had not been in bed above an hour before he heard it;
that he rose and hurried towards my room, whence the cry came; that he
met two men masked on the stairs; that he seized one, who struck him in
the breast with a poniard, dashed him to the ground, and escaped; that
he then immediately alarmed the house, and, the servants accompanying
him, he proceeded, despite his wound, to my apartment, where he found
Isora and myself bleeding and lifeless, with the escritoire broken open.
The only contradiction to this tale was, that the officers of justice
found the escritoire not broken open, but unlocked; and yet the key
which belonged to it was found in a pocketbook in my clothes, where
Desmarais said, rightly, I always kept it. How, then, had the
escritoire been unlocked? it was supposed by the master-keys peculiar to
experienced burglars; this diverted suspicion into a new channel, and it
was suggested that the robbery and the murder had really been committed
by common housebreakers. It was then discovered that a large purse of
gold, and a diamond cross, which the escritoire contained, were gone.
And a few articles of ornamental /bijouterie/ which I had retained from
the wreck of my former profusion in such baubles, and which were kept in
a room below stairs, were also missing. The circumstances immediately
confirmed the opinion of those who threw the guilt upon vulgar and
mercenary villains, and a very probable and plausible supposition was
built on this hypothesis. Might not this Oswald, at best an adventurer
with an indifferent reputation, have forged this story of the packet in
order to obtain admission into the house, and reconnoitre, during the
confusion of a wedding, in what places the most portable articles of
value were stowed? A thousand opportunities, in the opening and
shutting of the house-doors, would have allowed an ingenious villain to
glide in; nay, he might have secreted himself in my own room, and seen
the place where I had put the packet: certain would he then be that I
had selected for the repository of a document I believed so important
that place where all that I most valued was secured; and hence he would
naturally resolve to break open the escritoire, above all other places,
which, to an uninformed robber, might have seemed not only less exposed
to danger, but equally likely to contain articles of value. The same
confusion which enabled him to enter and conceal himself would have also
enabled him to withdraw and introduce his accomplice. This notion was
rendered probable by his insisting so strongly on my not opening the
packet within a certain time; had I opened it immediately, I might have
perceived that a deceit had been practised, and not have hoarded it in
that place of security which it was the villain's object to discover.
Hence, too, in opening the escritoire, he would naturally retake the
packet (which other plunderers might not have cared to steal), as well
as things of more real price,--naturally retake it, in order that his
previous imposition might not be detected, and that suspicion might be
cast upon those who would appear to have an interest in stealing a
packet which I believed to be so inestimably important.
What gave a still greater colour to this supposition was the fact that
none of the servants had seen Oswald leave the house, though many had
seen him enter. And what put his guilt beyond a doubt in the opinion of
many, was his sudden and mysterious disappearance. To my mind, all
these circumstances were not conclusive. Both the men seemed taller
than Oswald; and I knew that that confusion which was so much insisted
upon, had not--thanks to my singular fastidiousness in those
matters--existed. I was also perfectly convinced that Oswald could not
have been hidden in my room while I locked up the packet; and there was
something in the behaviour of the murderer utterly unlike that of a
common robber actuated by common motives.
All these opposing arguments were, however, of a nature to be deemed
nugatory by the world; and on the only one of any importance in their
estimation, namely, the height of Oswald being different from that of
the robbers, it was certainly very probable that, in a scene so
dreadful, so brief, so confused, I should easily be mistaken. Having
therefore once flowed in this direction, public opinion soon settled
into the full conviction that Oswald was the real criminal, and against
Oswald was the whole strength of inquiry ultimately, but still vainly,
bent. Some few, it is true, of that kind class who love family
mysteries, and will not easily forego the notion of a brother's guilt
for that of a mere vulgar housebreaker, still shook their heads and
talked of Gerald; but the suspicion was vague and partial, and it was
only in the close gossip of private circles that it was audibly vented.
I had formed an opinion by no means favourable to the innocence of Mr.
Jean Desmarais; and I took especial care that the Necessitarian, who
would only have thought robbery and murder pieces of ill-luck, should
undergo a most rigorous examination. I remembered that he had seen me
put the packet into the escritoire; and this circumstance was alone
sufficient to arouse my suspicion. Desmarais bared his breast
gracefully to the magistrate. "Would a man, Sir," he said, "a man of my
youth, suffer such a scar as that, if he could help it?" The magistrate
laughed: frivolity is often a rogue's best policy, if he did but know
it. One finds it very difficult to think a coxcomb can commit robbery
and murder. Howbeit Desmarais came off triumphantly; and immediately
after this examination, which had been his second one, and instigated
solely at my desire, he came to me with a blush of virtuous indignation
on his thin cheeks. "He did not presume," he said, with a bow
profounder than ever, "to find fault with Monsieur le Comte; it was his
fate to be the victim of ungrateful suspicion: but philosophical truths
could not always conquer the feelings of the man, and he came to request
his dismissal." I gave it him with pleasure.
I must now state my own feelings on the matter; but I shall do so
briefly. In my own mind, I repeat, I was fully impressed with the
conviction that Gerald was the real and the head criminal; and thrice
did I resolve to repair to Devereux Court, where he still resided, to
lie in wait for him, to reproach him with his guilt, and at the sword's
point in deadly combat to seek its earthly expiation. I spare the
reader a narration of the terrible struggles which nature, conscience,
all scruples and prepossessions of education and of blood, held with
this resolution, the unholiness of which I endeavoured to clothe with
the name of justice to Isora. Suffice it to say that this resolution I
forewent at last; and I did so more from a feeling that, despite my own
conviction of Gerald's guilt, one rational doubt rested upon the
circumstance that the murderer seemed to my eyes of an inferior height
to Gerald, and that the person whom I had pursued on the night I had
received that wound which brought Isora to my bedside, and who, it was
natural to believe, was my rival, appeared to me not only also slighter
and shorter than Gerald, but of a size that seemed to tally with the
murderer's.
This solitary circumstance, which contradicted my other impressions,
was, I say, more effectual in making me dismiss the thought of personal
revenge on Gerald than the motives which virtue and religion should have
dictated. The deep desire of vengeance is the calmest of all the
passions, and it is the one which most demands certainty to the reason,
before it releases its emotions and obeys their dictates. The blow
which was to do justice to Isora I had resolved should not be dealt till
I had obtained the most utter certainty that it fell upon the true
criminal. And thus, though I cherished through all time and through all
change the burning wish for retribution, I was doomed to cherish it in
secret, and not for years and years to behold a hope of attaining it.
Once only I vented my feelings upon Gerald. I could not rest or sleep
or execute the world's objects till I had done so; but when they were
thus once vented, methought I could wait the will of time with a more
settled patience, and I re-entered upon the common career of life more
externally fitted to fulfil its duties and its aims.
That single indulgence of emotion followed immediately after my
resolution of not forcing Gerald into bodily contest. I left my sword,
lest I might be tempted to forget my determination. I rode to Devereux
Court; I entered Gerald's chamber, while my horse stood unstalled at the
gate. I said but few words, but each word was a volume. I told him to
enjoy the fortune he had acquired by fraud, and the conscience he had
stained with murder. "Enjoy them while you may," I said, "but know that
sooner or later shall come a day when the blood that cries from earth
shall be heard in Heaven,--and /your/ blood shall appease it. Know, if
I seem to disobey the voice at my heart, I hear it night and day; and I
only live to fulfil at one time its commands."
I left him stunned and horror-stricken. I flung myself on my horse, and
cast not a look behind as I rode from the towers and domains of which I
had been despoiled. Never from that time would I trust myself to meet
or see the despoiler. Once, directly after I had thus braved him in his
usurped hall, he wrote to me. I returned the letter unopened. Enough
of this: the reader will now perceive what was the real nature of my
feelings of revenge; and will appreciate the reasons which throughout
this history will cause me never or rarely to recur to those feelings
again, until at least he will perceive a just hope of their
consummation.
I went with a quiet air and a set brow into the world. It was a time of
great political excitement. Though my creed forbade me the open senate,
it could not deprive me of the veiled intrigue. St. John found ample
employment for my ambition; and I entered into the toils and objects of
my race with a seeming avidity more eager and engrossing than their own.
In what ensues, you will perceive a great change in the character of my
memoirs. Hitherto, I chiefly portrayed to you /myself/. I bared open
to you my heart and temper,--my passions, and the thoughts which belong
to our passions. I shall now rather bring before you the natures and
the minds of others. The lover and the dreamer are no more! The
satirist and the observer; the derider of human follies, participating
while he derides; the worldly and keen actor in the human drama,--these
are what the district of my history on which you enter will portray me.
From whatever pangs to me the change may have been wrought, you will be
the gainer by that change. The gaudy dissipation of courts; the
vicissitudes and the vanities of those who haunt them; the glittering
jest and the light strain; the passing irony or the close reflection;
the characters of the great; the colloquies of wit,--these are what
delight the temper, and amuse the leisure more than the solemn narrative
of fated love. As the monster of the Nile is found beneath the sunniest
banks and in the most freshening wave, the stream may seem to wander on
in melody and mirth,--the ripple and the beam; but /who/ shall tell what
lurks, dark, and fearful, and ever vigilant, below!