"How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags?"
_Macbeth._
At the same hour that Narcisse and his companions entered the sombre
and suspicious looking dwelling, the advocate returned to his home
in the upper environs of the city, wearied in mind and frame, from
an application broken only by the entrance of Monsieur Veuillot,
and the arrival of a messenger from Stillyside, who, hot and excited
from the violent scene whereof it had been the theatre, painted
the outrage in deepened colors, and exaggerated form. Anger and
shame contended in the old lawyer's bosom as he heard the story;
the former sentiment urging for the punishment of the delinquents,
the latter pleading for forbearance; for amongst the transgressors
was his illegitimate son, whose share in the offence, if brought
into the light of the tribunal, would thence cast back a shadow
upon the father, and point, publicly and anew, to their disreputable
relationship. Others also, whose reputation was far dearer to him
than his own, must be dragged, either as witnesses or as prosecutrix,
to public gaze, and thus be made to furnish matter for the tongue
of scandal. Perhaps, too, some latent paternal tenderness inclined
the incensed advocate to mercy; and, giving the messenger a hastily
written note, sympathizing with the tenants of Stillyside, he
despatched him thither, along with a noble Newfoundland dog, then
lying in the office, and which he meant should replace the disabled
mastiff. Afterwards, his thoughts, occupied with the important
professional business of the day, scarcely reverted to the vexatious
occurrence of the morning; but now, at eve, the tide of attention,
that had been so long dammed back, came flowing over his spirit
with increasing depth and force; and, in spite of his unwillingness
and the necessity for recruiting his wasted energies, for the
performance of the onerous public duties of the morrow, he fell to
brooding over the new misdeed of the already too obnoxious Narcisse.
From the son, his musings reverted to the menial mother, and, by
contrast, from her to the fair tenants at Stillyside; till, tossed
by the contrary and vexed tides of thought and feeling, he arose,
perturbed from the lounge, went to the window, and, drawing aside
the curtains, beheld in the east the full moon climbing the clear,
blue heavens, amidst a multitude of marble clouds. Struck with
sudden admiration and oblivious pleasure, he opened the folding
frames and stepped into the garden. The air was balmy; and, soothed
by the change, he returned within, reassumed the habiliments of
the day, took a stout, ivory-headed walking cane from its corner,
and, calling a domestic, announced that he should for some time be
absent. His first impulse was to cross a contiguous, half-reclaimed
tract, sprinkled with vast boulders of the glacial period, and
reach the turnpike road that led around the mountain. But before
he turned to commence his stroll he paused to gaze down on the
outstretched city, that, lying as asleep on the arm of the St.
Lawrence, with tin-covered domes, spires, cupolas, minarets, and
radiant roofs, showing like molten silver in the moonbeams,
contrasting with the dark shingles covering most of the houses,
presented an enchanted-looking scene of glory and of gloom. On the
left, and oldest of its class, was the Bonsecours Church, with its
high-pitched roof, and airy, but inelegant, campanile, refulgent
as if cut from some rock of diamond. Nearer, was the Court House,
and, beneath it, the Jail; and, behind them both, the dusky expanse
of the poplar-planted Champ de Mars. In the midst of the city rose
the tin-mailed tower and spire of the French Cathedral, and, at
its rear, loomed the neighboring, wall-girt, solemn Seminary of
Saint Sulpice. The bright, precipitous roof of the Church of the
Recollets, and the spangled canopy of the vast foundation of the
Grey Nuns reposed resplendent; and, within its ample enclosure,
luminous as a moon-lit lake, the quadrangled and cloistered College
of Montreal. Beyond these, in the midst of the shining river,
duskily slumbered the little, fortified and wooded Island of Sainte
Helene; and up the stream, apast the petty promontory of Pointe
Saint Charles, stretched the low, umbrageous lapse of Nuns Island,
whence the eye followed the bending flood, that trended towards
where, with eternal toil and sullen roar, agonize for ever the
hoary rapids of Lachine. In the other direction the eye roved
downwards over Hochelaga and Longueuil, Longue Pointe and Pointe
aux Trembles, towards where lay the islet-strewn shallows of
Boucherville, and, lower yet, the village of Varennes. The mountains
of Boucherville, Beloeil, Chambly, and Vermont shadowy bounded the
horizon; and, turning from these, abrupt before him rose the awful
and spectral presence of Mount Royal. Skirting its foot he now
proceeded, brushing away the shining dew, disturbing the lazy lizard
and the serenading grasshopper, and hearing below him the harsh
croaking of the bullfrog in the pool; whilst, ever and anon, the
gust awoke, with a huge sigh, the dreaming maples, poplars, and
dark, penitential pines. From the remote, secluded farms came the
faint bark of dogs; and amidst such sights and sounds he at length
emerged upon the winding road, that, if followed, would lead him
past Stillyside. Slowly and without special aim he continued to
walk, ruminating and still drawn onwards, lured by the time and
scene, until the sound alike of mastiff and of cur had ceased, the
grasshopper refused to pipe upon the dusty road, and the too distant
bullfrog was no longer heard gurgling to its mates, but all was
silent, lying as in a trance, both heaven and earth. And then he
paused, and lapsing into meditation, stood unconscious of surrounding
things, till the tolling of the clock in the distant tower of the
cathedral of Notre Dame awoke him, and, starting from his reverie
and listening, he counted the hours to the full score of midnight.
Struck, then, by the weird aspect of the scene and singular silence,
a vague sense of horror stole through him, and he exclaimed hoarsely:
"This is the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn
and spirits walk abroad!" and scarcely had the words escaped his
lips when a wild tumult rose near him, and he perceived a bacchanalian
and disorderly troop of both sexes sallying into the moonlight;
wherein with uncouth antics and inviting pose, they disported
towards a group of trees, encircling which, and in the chequered
beams beneath their boughs, he beheld them in Harlequin and
Columbine-like appeals of passion, or already mated and forming
for the meditated measure; appearing the very gang of Circe;--and
in their midst he now observed his son, the brutish looking, cunning,
and sensual Narcisse, wine-flushed and loud, and seeming to be the
mimic Comus of the crew. As with the power of divination, he at
once comprehended the spectacle. He had arrived opposite the
equivocal building wherein Narcisse and his companions had disappeared
some hours before, and the door of which had just been suddenly
flung open, and kindling with wrath he at once advanced upon the
bacchants in the midst of their orgies. At the same instant, from
the direction of the city and unseen by him, a tall rider on a
lofty steed, cloak flying to the breeze, swept by like an apparition;
greeted only with a comical yell of astonishment and derision from
one of the females, as like a spectre it swept by. But the hilarious
band before him was too much preoccupied with the performance of
its mockeries to have observed anything, and the advocate, with
eyes gleaming and fixed upon his son, who now perceiving him stood
terror stricken, approached the revellers, who subsided before him,
as, with grey hair fluttering in the wind, he came beneath the
extending boughs, like some denouncing Druid amidst the sacred
oaks, his countenance inflamed, his whole frame seeming to shake
as if in throes to eject some foul possession; or, rather, as if
he were himself a fierce, incarnate, and unfriendly spirit; and,
at length, addressing his son, who was now leaning against a tree,
both for support and concealment, he burst forth: "Miscreant!"--and
the word was echoed from the side of a huge, dilapidated barn,
--"Wretches," he hollowed; and the guilty crowd, fearing both
individual recognition and personal contact, again began to retire.
"Stay," he commanded, imperiously, "you are known, and flight shall
put the worst construction on your case;--halt, brawlers and bullies,
spendthrifts and bankrupts, breakers of the peace; sons of afflicted
parents, husbands of weeping wives, brothers of sisters both ashamed
and grieved; outlaws; the city's scum, the country's scourge, the
harvest that shall yet be reaped for the jail, and leave gleanings
for the gallows; abandoned creatures, linger;" and suddenly grasping
Narcisse: "Sirrah," he cried, "here is your nightly haunt, these
are your companions,--come with me, sir, come,--ah, will you resist
your"--father he was about to say, but he recoiled from the word
as from an adder, and, casting upon his son a look of unspeakable
disdain, he shook the writhing criminal, who the next moment escaped
from his hold, and slunk away, still looking backward over his
shoulder and muttering curses upon his begetter. The advocate stood
watching him in silence, as, withdrawing along with the others,
the distance dimmed his form, and drowned his maledictions; then,
drawing a deep sigh, a dark, vindictive scowl gathered upon his
visage, until its expression became diabolical, and these words
rolled from his heaving chest in deep, irregular murmurs:
"Thou son of a wicked and rebellious woman, do I not know that thou
hast set my friends against me, and caused mine enemies to hold me
in derision! But thou shalt suffer, thou shalt bend, or I will
break thee, yea, dash thee into pieces. May not the potter do what
he wills with the cup his own hands have fashioned? Away with
thee, misshapen reptile; may soon the Saint Lawrence hide thee, or
may'st thou soon be laid in the burial field of thy mother's race.
Away, thou vessel of dishonor; grant Heaven that I may not yet make
of thee a vessel of wrath!" and the old man's countenance worked
convulsively, as he seemed to be revolving some terrible idea; but
at last growing calmer he exclaimed: "Down, down, ye cruel thoughts,
ye horrible conceptions; hence, busiest suggestions of the fiend;
be silent at my ears, ye visionary lips; ye perilous and importunate
prompters, peace!" But scarcely had he uttered these words, when
a report of firearms sounded amongst the trees, and a shot rattled
through the boughs, scattering the leaves upon his head; and the
replicated echoes had hardly ceased, when a peal of triumphant
laughter rose, and continued to be renewed till the spot appeared
a field for the sport of a hundred goblins of mischief.
"Come in," at length said a voice, and, turning, he beheld a woman
standing in the doorway.
"Who are you?" he enquired.
"Enter, and learn;" she answered: "I would not have you murdered
in your old age. Do you not know me?" and seizing him rudely she
drew him towards her until his face almost touched her own emaciated
countenance, on which played a sardonic smile as she turned it
towards the moonlight, and he strove to free himself, exclaiming:
"Witch, hag, loose me:" and gazed upon her with a look of mingled
amazement and abhorrence.
"Am I then so changed?" she demanded, with a gloomy smile; "am I
become a leper; am I grown loathsome now, whom you once declared
to be so lovely? Follow me, false man; you did not once require
solicitation." And again the sound of firearms startled the night,
and once more the leaves fell fluttering on his head, and the beldam
angrily exclaimed: "Come in, old fool," and laid hands on him a
second time, as, in a voice thick and hurried with dislike and
terror, he replied: "You are remembered by me, woman; give me
shelter for a moment," and hastily stepping with her over the
threshhold, she closed the door after them. Another burst of
triumphant laughter rose from the retiring revellers, and again
moonlight and returning silence rested on the scene.