To explore the house in this manner was so contrary to ordinary rules,
that the design was probably wholly unsuspected by the women whom I had
just left. My silence, at parting, might have been ascribed by them to
the intimidating influence of invectives and threats. Hence I proceeded
in my search without interruption.
Presently I reached a front chamber in the third story. The door was
ajar. I entered it on tiptoe. Sitting on a low chair by the fire, I
beheld a female figure, dressed in a negligent but not indecent manner.
Her face, in the posture in which she sat, was only half seen. Its hues
were sickly and pale, and in mournful unison with a feeble and emaciated
form. Her eyes were fixed upon a babe that lay stretched upon a pillow
at her feet. The child, like its mother, for such she was readily
imagined to be, was meagre and cadaverous. Either it was dead, or could
not be very distant from death.
The features of Clemenza were easily recognised, though no contrast
could be greater, in habit and shape and complexion, than that which her
present bore to her former appearance. All her roses had faded, and her
brilliancies vanished. Still, however, there was somewhat fitted to
awaken the tenderest emotions. There were tokens of inconsolable
distress.
Her attention was wholly absorbed by the child. She lifted not her eyes
till I came close to her and stood before her. When she discovered me, a
faint start was perceived. She looked at me for a moment, then, putting
one spread hand before her eyes, she stretched out the other towards the
door, and waving it in silence, as if to admonish me to depart.
This motion, however emphatical, I could not obey. I wished to obtain
her attention, but knew not in what words to claim it. I was silent. In
a moment she removed her hand from her eyes, and looked at me with new
eagerness. Her features bespoke emotions which, perhaps, flowed from my
likeness to her brother, joined with the memory of my connection with
Welbeck.
My situation was full of embarrassment. I was by no means certain that
my language would be understood. I knew not in what light the policy and
dissimulation of Welbeck might have taught her to regard me. What
proposal, conducive to her comfort and her safety, could I make to her?
Once more she covered her eyes, and exclaimed, in a feeble voice, "Go
away! begone!"
As if satisfied with this effort, she resumed her attention to her
child. She stooped and lifted it in her arms, gazing, meanwhile, on its
almost lifeless features with intense anxiety. She crushed it to her
bosom, and, again looking at me, repeated, "Go away! go away! begone!"
There was somewhat in the lines of her face, in her tones and gestures,
that pierced to my heart. Added to this, was my knowledge of her
condition; her friendlessness; her poverty; the pangs of unrequited
love; and her expiring infant. I felt my utterance choked, and my tears
struggling for passage. I turned to the window, and endeavoured to
regain my tranquillity.
"What was it," said I, "that brought me hither? The perfidy of Welbeck
must surely have long since been discovered. What can I tell her of the
Villars which she does not already know, or of which the knowledge will
be useful? If their treatment has been just, why should I detract from
their merit? If it has been otherwise, their own conduct will have
disclosed their genuine character. Though voluptuous themselves, it does
not follow that they have laboured to debase this creature. Though
wanton, they may not be inhuman.
"I can propose no change in her condition for the better. Should she be
willing to leave this house, whither is it in my power to conduct her?
Oh that I were rich enough to provide food for the hungry, shelter for
the houseless, and raiment for the naked!"
I was roused from these fruitless reflections by the lady, whom some
sudden thought induced to place the child in its bed, and, rising, to
come towards me. The utter dejection which her features lately betrayed
was now changed for an air of anxious curiosity. "Where," said she, in
her broken English,--"where is Signor Welbeck?"
"Alas!" returned I, "I know not. That question might, I thought, with
more propriety be put to you than me."
"I know where he be; I fear where he be."
So saying, the deepest sighs burst from her heart. She turned from me,
and, going to the child, took it again into her lap. Its pale and sunken
cheek was quickly wet with the mother's tears, which, as she silently
hung over it, dropped fast from her eyes.
This demeanour could not but awaken curiosity, while it gave a new turn
to my thoughts. I began to suspect that in the tokens which I saw there
was not only distress for her child, but concern for the fate of
Welbeck. "Know you," said I, "where Mr. Welbeck is? Is he alive? Is he
near? Is he in calamity?"
"I do not know if he be alive. He be sick. He be in prison. They will
not let me go to him. And"--here her attention and mine was attracted by
the infant, whose frame, till now motionless, began to be tremulous. Its
features sunk into a more ghastly expression. Its breathings were
difficult, and every effort to respire produced a convulsion harder than
the last.
The mother easily interpreted these tokens. The same mortal struggle
seemed to take place in her features as in those of her child. At length
her agony found way in a piercing shriek. The struggle in the infant was
past. Hope looked in vain for a new motion in its heart or its eyelids.
The lips were closed, and its breath was gone forever!
The grief which overwhelmed the unhappy parent was of that outrageous
and desperate kind which is wholly incompatible with thinking. A few
incoherent motions and screams, that rent the soul, were followed by a
deep swoon. She sunk upon the floor, pale and lifeless as her babe.
I need not describe the pangs which such a scene was adapted to produce
in me. These were rendered more acute by the helpless and ambiguous
situation in which I was placed. I was eager to bestow consolation and
succour, but was destitute of all means. I was plunged into
uncertainties and doubts. I gazed alternately at the infant and its
mother. I sighed. I wept. I even sobbed. I stooped down and took the
lifeless hand of the sufferer. I bathed it with my tears, and exclaimed,
"Ill-fated woman! unhappy mother! what shall I do for thy relief? How
shall I blunt the edge of this calamity, and rescue thee from new
evils?"
At this moment the door of the apartment was opened, and the younger of
the women whom I had seen below entered. Her looks betrayed the deepest
consternation and anxiety. Her eyes in a moment were fixed by the
decayed form and the sad features of Clemenza. She shuddered at this
spectacle, but was silent. She stood in the midst of the floor,
fluctuating and bewildered. I dropped the hand that I was holding, and
approached her.
"You have come," said I, "in good season. I know you not, but will
believe you to be good. You have a heart, it may be, not free from
corruption, but it is still capable of pity for the miseries of others.
You have a hand that refuses not its aid to the unhappy. See; there is
an infant dead. There is a mother whom grief has, for a time, deprived
of life. She has been oppressed and betrayed; been robbed of property
and reputation--but not of innocence. She is worthy of relief. Have you
arms to receive her? Have you sympathy, protection, and a home to bestow
upon a forlorn, betrayed, and unhappy stranger? I know not what this
house is; I suspect it to be no better than a brothel. I know not what
treatment this woman has received. When her situation and wants are
ascertained, will you supply her wants? Will you rescue her from evils
that may attend her continuance here?"
She was disconcerted and bewildered by this address. At length she
said, "All that has happened, all that I have heard and seen, is so
unexpected, so strange, that I am amazed and distracted. Your behaviour
I cannot comprehend, nor your motive for making this address to me. I
cannot answer you, except in one respect. If this woman has suffered
injury, I have had no part in it. I knew not of her existence nor her
situation till this moment; and whatever protection or assistance she
may justly claim, I am both able and willing to bestow. I do not live
here, but in the city. I am only an occasional visitant in this house."
"What, then!" I exclaimed, with sparkling eyes and a rapturous accent,
"you are not profligate; are a stranger to the manners of this house,
and a detester of these manners? Be not a deceiver, I entreat you. I
depend only on your looks and professions, and these may be dissembled."
These questions, which indeed argued a childish simplicity, excited her
surprise. She looked at me, uncertain whether I was in earnest or in
jest. At length she said, "Your language is so singular, that I am at a
loss how to answer it. I shall take no pains to find out its meaning,
but leave you to form conjectures at leisure. Who is this woman, and how
can I serve her?" After a pause, she continued:--"I cannot afford her
any immediate assistance, and shall not stay a moment longer in this
house. There" (putting a card in my hand) "is my name and place of
abode. If you shall have any proposals to make, respecting this woman, I
shall be ready to receive them in my own house." So saying, she
withdrew.
I looked wistfully after her, but could not but assent to her assertion,
that her presence here would be more injurious to her than beneficial to
Clemenza. She had scarcely gone, when the elder woman entered. There was
rage, sullenness, and disappointment in her aspect. These, however, were
suspended by the situation in which she discovered the mother and child.
It was plain that all the sentiments of woman were not extinguished in
her heart. She summoned the servants and seemed preparing to take such
measures as the occasion prescribed. I now saw the folly of supposing
that these measures would be neglected, and that my presence could not
essentially contribute to the benefit of the sufferer. Still, however, I
lingered in the room, till the infant was covered with a cloth, and the
still senseless parent was conveyed into an adjoining chamber. The woman
then, as if she had not seen me before, fixed scowling eyes upon me, and
exclaimed, "Thief! villain! why do you stay here?"
"I mean to go," said I, "but not till I express my gratitude and
pleasure at the sight of your attention to this sufferer. You deem me
insolent and perverse, but I am not such; and hope that the day will
come when I shall convince you of my good intentions."
"Begone!" interrupted she, in a more angry tone. "Begone this moment, or
I will treat you as a thief." She now drew forth her hand from under her
gown, and showed a pistol. "You shall see," she continued, "that I will
not be insulted with impunity. If you do not vanish, I will shoot you as
a robber."
This woman was far from wanting a force and intrepidity worthy of a
different sex. Her gestures and tones were full of energy. They denoted
a haughty and indignant spirit. It was plain that she conceived herself
deeply injured by my conduct; and was it absolutely certain that her
anger was without reason? I had loaded her house with atrocious
imputations, and these imputations might be false. I had conceived them
upon such evidence as chance had provided; but this evidence, intricate
and dubious as human actions and motives are, might be void of truth.
"Perhaps," said I, in a sedate tone, "I have injured you; I have
mistaken your character. You shall not find me less ready to repair,
than to perpetrate, this injury. My error was without malice, and----"
I had not time to finish the sentence, when this rash and enraged woman
thrust the pistol close to my head and fired it. I was wholly unaware
that her fury would lead her to this excess. It was a sort of mechanical
impulse that made me raise my hand and attempt to turn aside the
weapon. I did this deliberately and tranquilly, and without conceiving
that any thing more was intended by her movement than to intimidate me.
To this precaution, however, I was indebted for life. The bullet was
diverted from my forehead to my left ear, and made a slight wound upon
the surface, from which the blood gushed in a stream.
The loudness of this explosion, and the shock which the ball produced in
my brain, sunk me into a momentary stupor. I reeled backward, and should
have fallen, had not I supported myself against the wall. The sight of
my blood instantly restored her reason. Her rage disappeared, and was
succeeded by terror and remorse. She clasped her hands, and exclaimed,
"Oh! what! what have I done? My frantic passion has destroyed me."
I needed no long time to show me the full extent of the injury which I
had suffered and the conduct which it became me to adopt. For a moment I
was bewildered and alarmed, but presently perceived that this was an
incident more productive of good than of evil. It would teach me caution
in contending with the passions of another, and showed me that there is
a limit which the impetuosities of anger will sometimes overstep.
Instead of reviling my companion, I addressed myself to her thus:--
"Be not frighted. You have done me no injury, and, I hope, will derive
instruction from this event. Your rashness had like to have sacrificed
the life of one who is your friend, and to have exposed yourself to
infamy and death, or, at least, to the pangs of eternal remorse. Learn
from hence to curb your passions, and especially to keep at a distance
from every murderous weapon, on occasions when rage is likely to take
place of reason.
"I repeat that my motives in entering this house were connected with
your happiness as well as that of Clemenza Lodi. If I have erred in
supposing you the member of a vile and pernicious trade, that error was
worthy of being rectified, but violence and invective tend only to
confirm it. I am incapable of any purpose that is not beneficent; but,
in the means that I use and in the evidence on which I proceed, I am
liable to a thousand mistakes. Point out to me the road by which I can
do you good, and I will cheerfully pursue it."
Finding that her fears had been groundless as to the consequences of her
rashness, she renewed, though with less vehemence than before, her
imprecations on my intermeddling and audacious folly. I listened till
the storm was nearly exhausted, and then, declaring my intention to
revisit the house if the interest of Clemenza should require it, I
resumed my way to the city.