A prosperous voyage brought the travellers safely to Ostend.--Castanos
found the instructions he expected from the Baron de Ripperda; and
he informed his charge, their commands were that they must proceed
immediately to the metropolis of Germany, for there he was to meet his
father's friend. Surprised, but not displeased at this extraordinary
route, Louis cheerfully set forward; and did not permit the curiosity
natural to his thirst for knowledge, to detain him a moment in any of
the countries through which he travelled.
On a dark evening in January he and his guide arrived at Vienna. The
streets were in so profound a gloom, he could not have guessed he was
now in one of the most magnificent capitals of the world, had he not
received some intimation of its greatness, by the extent of pavement he
went over from the point of the town at which he entered to that which
was to be his destination. As he drove along, he perceived some other
proofs that he was indeed in the modern Cæsarean metropolis. He passed
noble houses, whose open gates shewed they were superbly illuminated,
and whence proceeded strains of gay music that gave sign of life and
festivity within. Castanos remarked, that these were palaces of the
nobility. Exhilarated by the splendour of the lights, Louis enquired
whether the house he was going to, promised as much consolation after a
tedious journey. "But I flatter myself it will," added he, "from what I
understand of the general rank of my father's friends."
"As the Baron de Ripperda is a nobleman of an universal acquaintance,"
replied Castanos, "he has friends of every rank, in every country."
In this instance, as in others, Louis saw he could get nothing
satisfactory from his companion, and aware that a little patience must
explain whither he was going, and what was to be his errand, he asked
no more questions. As his carriage passed out of the brilliant halo
which surrounded the immediate vicinity of these palaces, it seemed to
enter the regions of tenfold night; so severe was the contrast from gay
illumination to rayless darkness.
After an intricate drive of another half hour, the wheels no longer
rattled on pavement, but turning abruptly down a narrow avenue, the
leafless branches brushed across the carriage windows, as it jolted
onward over a very rough road. A speck of light appeared in the extreme
distance. As the heavy vehicle rumbled forward, the light seemed to
encrease in size, and Louis soon after perceived it to be a flambeau
held in the hand of a man. When the carriage approached him, he opened
a pair of large iron gates under a high archway, through which the
travellers immediately passed. All around was dark, vast, and dreary,
as no lamp chased the deep shadows from a court-yard of immense extent.
The man mounted the steps of a huge black building, sufficiently
capacious for a palace, but gloomy enough to be a prison. Louis
followed his conductor and the flambeau-bearer across a large cold
hall, up a wide-painted stair-case, mildewed and crazy, and through a
long echoing gallery into a saloon whose distant extremities, like the
outer court, were lost in deep shadow. A pair of wax lights, flaring
in the wind, stood upon a great claw-table whose once gilded surface
was browned by time and neglect. Little more furniture was visible
than a couple of chairs of similar fabrick, two or three gigantic
pier-glasses, reflecting the persons in the apartment in ghost-like
obscurity, and a brasier of newly-kindled fuel, sluggishly glimmering
on the hearth.
Louis started at so dismal a reception, so different from the cordial
comforts of Morewick-hall; so different from the social welcome of
Athelstone-manor; so widely different from the anticipated magnificence
of a palace at Vienna, and the hospitable greeting of his father's
friend! He paused at the threshold, then smiling at the effeminacy of
his disgust, entered light of foot and of heart, saying to himself, "Do
I shrink at so poor a trial of my spirit? My father has guessed the sin
of my breeding; and thus disciplines the spoiled boy!"
Louis might have been wearied, body and mind. He had travelled since
the moment of his landing without other sleep than that he had caught
by snatches in his indefatigable vehicle. He might have been hungry,
for he had tasted nothing since the break of day. But he felt none of
these wants of nature, in his eagerness to meet, if not his father,
his father's representative, and to receive from him that father's
commands.
When Louis entered the saloon, and so far took possession of its dismal
hospitality, as to lay his hat and sword upon the table; Castanos
called to the attendant by the name of Gerard, and whispering to
him they withdrew together. Louis sat for some time, expecting the
re-entrance of the Spaniard, but no one appeared. He looked at his
watch: it was near ten o'clock. From the hour, he supposed the taciturn
secretary was staying away in his usual care of manufacturing his
supper; and that he would presently return with his wine and omelet.
Louis sat composedly ten minutes after ten minutes, but at last his
impatience to know why he was brought to so deserted an abode, and who
he was to see, got the better of his determination to quietly await
events, and he rose to ring the bell. He took one of the candles to
seek for this indispensible piece of furniture, but in no corner of
the grim-visaged tapestry could he find even its remains. He opened the
door, and called Castanos. No voice made answer, but the dull vibration
of his own from the numerous vacant apartments. With the candle in his
hand he retraced his way to the great hall, still calling on Castanos,
and then on Gerard, and with as little success.
Determined to find somebody, he turned down a paved passage to the
quarter that seemed to lead to the offices. Not a living creature
presented itself, and all doors which appeared likely to open to the
air were padlocked, and therefore resisted his attempts to force
them. He returned to the hall to examine the great door, and found
it unbolted, but locked, and the key taken away. He now comprehended
that Castanos, and the only apparent inmate of the house, had left the
place, that he was alone, and fastened in; but for what purpose he was
thus betrayed into solitary confinement, time only could shew. To quell
the vague alarm that rose in his breast, he had again to recollect he
was brought into these circumstances by his father's orders.
"But at any rate," thought he, "whether I am to meet friend or foe,
there is no harm in keeping my sword at my side. It is just possible
Castanos may not be honest. He may not hold the rank in my father's
establishment, to which he pretends, he may not be the very Castanos;
should he be a menial domestic, instead of a confidential secretary,
(and from his avoiding my presence at all opportunities, and being so
unwilling to converse, when obliged to be with me, it does not appear
very doubtful!) then I may, indeed, be in the hands of a villain. He
knows the generosity of my two uncles, has made me a no contemptible
object for plunder, and--in short, I do not like appearances!" With
these ideas he hastily re-ascended the stairs to the saloon. He found
his sword safe, and lost no time in returning it to his belt. "What,"
cried he, "would be the reproaches of Sir Anthony, could he guess my
present situation? What the distress at dear Morewick, did they know
that their Louis, for the first time in his life, now feels the touch
of fear?"
Murder in this loneliness! To die under the hands of ruffians, and be
no more heard of by the beings he loved best, haunted his imagination
while he walked to and fro, examining again and again the locks of his
pistols. He had one in his hand, when he heard the rumbling of wheels
in the court-yard. Shortly after, the steps of a man sounded in the
gallery, and the saloon door being open, Louis saw Castanos approaching
with his usual slowness. He entered the apartment, and laid a letter on
the table.
"For me?" said Louis, "from whom?" "Its contents will tell you, Senor."
When Louis glanced on the superscription, he saw it was the
hand-writing of his father. While he broke the seal, Castanos
disappeared again. The letter was as follows:
"Louis!--It was the dying injunction of your mother to your grandfather
Athelstone, that you should be brought up to honour me with a double
duty. You can never forget the contents of the letter which she wrote
to her infant son from her death-bed, and which your uncle Richard was
to open to you on your twelfth birth-day. It told you to love your
father as she had done, and to commit yourself in all things to his
guidance.
"You are now called upon to act by this sacred exhortation. To be
obedient in love and in fear, to a parent who received her legacy of
tenderness for you, in his own bosom, and who will hereafter pay it
with interest from his heart."
"Now that she is gone, you are the only creature existing with whom
I can identify my own being, that is, communicate my thoughts and my
actions without reserve. Your interest is my interest: and till time
and experience have given you judgement to guide your own proceedings,
my judgement must be yours. You are yet a boy in years; though a manly
person, and, I understand, a mind of no common capacity, give you at
twenty the appearance of maturity. But remember, it is appearance
only. Talents and good dispositions are the implements of wisdom,
not wisdom's self, she is born of time and experience, and shews her
proof in hard probation. The scenes in which you have hitherto been an
actor, amongst the simple inhabitants of a remote province in England,
are child's play to the parts you may now be called to perform. I am
about to present you to the world, to aspiring, subtle, treacherous
mankind!--You must be instructed in every movement; prompted, and
supported. I have provided means to these ends; and all you have to
do, is to resign yourself with docility to the masters I set over
you. Should impertinent curiosity, or refractory wilfulness, or any
other perversity in your conduct, traverse my present trial of your
character, we never meet! You shall return whence you came; and only as
one dead, hold a place in the memory of your father. The child of my
spotless wife shall not be denied an ample provision; but I will never
cherish as my son, one who is an alien to my spirit.
"On the night of your arrival at Vienna, my secretary Castanos has my
commands to introduce you to a person, who will give proof of coming
from me, by shewing you a duplicate of that picture of your mother,
which your grandfather bequeathed to me.--Being so assured, you must
revere and obey that person in word and deed, as you would revere and
obey me; and ever hope to behold the face of your father, William,
"Madrid. "Baron de Ripperda."
There were family references in this letter, which affected the heart
of a son;--and though the style was generally severe, yet there was
also a promise of such full future confidence, that Louis could not but
press it to his lips as the earnest of a fellowship with his father he
was determined to deserve. The first sight of the letter had removed
all suspicion of his guide from his mind; and having read it with a
beating heart, he walked up and down the room, impatiently awaiting the
introduction of his father's friend.
Again he heard the approach of steps; but it was now of two persons.
He stopped in the middle of the floor, his eyes rivetted to the
door, which, in a few minutes was thrown open by Castanos; and a man
of a commanding stature, wrapped in a cloak, and with a large hat
flapped over his brows, entered alone into the chamber. The door was
immediately closed. He stepped a few paces forward; and putting up the
projecting brim of his hat, over which hung a heavy black plume, that
still threw a deeper shade over his eyes, their piercing glance shot at
once through the soul of Louis.
The stranger stood; and, without speaking, continued to look
steadfastly on his future charge. With a progressive movement of his
powerful eye, he perused the lineaments of Louis's face and figure
from head to foot. Louis gazed on him in turn; and wondered at the
awe he felt of an unknown being, whose haughty port and unceremonious
investigation, rather announced the future tyrant, than guardian of his
conduct. Hitherto his independent spirit had been wont to start like
fire from the flint, at any touch of oppression; and he could not but
marvel within himself, why he should both fear and respect the stern
aspect of this extraordinary man. The loftiness of his mien was well
adapted to the countenance which the raised brim of the hat disclosed.
Dark mustachios and a pointed beard marked his lip and chin; while
the marble hue of his commanding features seemed to turn even luridly
pale, as the brightness of his deeply-set eyes flashed from under their
shadowy brows, upon his immovable companion. Louis could not withdraw
his riveted eye from the searching gaze of the stranger; and he said
to himself, "I am thus struck, because it is the representative of my
father that stands before me: it is he, who that father has commanded
me to reverence as himself!"--As he ended this short soliloquy, he
unconsciously obeyed the sentiment of his mind, and respectfully bowed
his head.
This action seemed to recall the stranger from the abstraction with
which he was scanning his future pupil; and approaching him with a
step which mingled a prince's dignity with the firmness of a soldier,
he took Louis's hand, grasped, and wrung it, as if with some sudden
sting of mental anguish; and then abruptly relinquishing it, threw
himself into a chair, and pulling the beaver of his hat over his face,
sat for some time leaning his head upon his hand, and preserving the
silence which had not yet been broken.
Louis stood opposite to him, contemplating with interest and
expectation, the further developement of this friend of his father. At
last the stranger spoke.--
"Louis de Montemar," said he.
At the sound of his name, ejaculated by one who had continued so
portentously silent, Louis started; and his heart laboured in his
breast. He was now going to be told the secret of his destiny!--What it
was his father demanded of his strength of mind, or bodily exertion;
and how he was to prove himself worthy to be received as his son.
The stranger had paused, on uttering his first address.--But it was
only for a moment. Again the lightning of his eyes flashed upon the
face of his auditor, and he resumed; but what he said was in the French
language.
"Louis de Montemar, you have read the letter which I conveyed to you,
from your father the Baron de Ripperda?"
"I have."
Again the stranger bent his head on his hand. The long plumes covered
his face from observation; but Louis perceived that his whole frame
trembled. After another, and a longer pause, he spoke again.--"And
you are prepared to obey your father's injunctions, contained in that
letter?"
"I am. For I believe my father would not so entirely commit the
temporal, and therefore eternal, welfare of his son, to any man who is
not worthy of the charge."
The stranger rose from his seat.--"I am the man to whom your father has
confided this awful trust; and I accept your obedience. Know me as the
Sieur Ignatius: and whatever else I may seem hereafter, it is not your
interest to pry into. Your duty is to know of me no more than what I
tell you; and to obey me, as if you knew me without reserve. To-morrow,
at noon, your task shall be appointed.--Meanwhile, stir not hence.
Refresh yourself from the fatigues of your journey; and rest confident
in me and your father. There is my pledge."
Before Louis could find words in a foreign language, to answer,
satisfactorily to himself so extraordinary a speech, the Sieur Ignatius
laid the promised miniature of the late Baroness upon the table, and
disappeared from the room.