Never, perhaps, in my existence--an existence varied by dangers, by
difficulties, by passions, and by follies--never did any day seem to
drag so heavily towards its conclusion as that which lay between me
and the meeting appointed for the following night. It was not alone
that impatient expectation which lengthens time till moments seem
eternities, but it was, added to this, that I had to find occupation
for every moment, lest tardy regrets should interpose, and mingle
bitter with what was ever a sweet cup to me--excitement. Verily do I
believe that I crowded into that one day more employments than many
men bestow upon a year. I rode through the whole town; I witnessed the
bull-fight; I wrote a letter to my father--God knows what it
contained, for I know not, and I never knew; I read Plato, which was
like pouring cold water on a burning furnace; I played on my guitar--I
sung to it; I solved a problem of Euclid; I read a page of Descartes:
and thousands of other things did I do to fill up the horrid vacancy
of each long-expectant minute. At length, however, day waned, night
came, and the hour approached nearer and more near. At ten o'clock I
pretended fatigue, and leaving Father Francis, who seemed well
inclined to consume the midnight oil, I retired to my apartment as if
to bed. Old Houssaye came to assist me, but I made an excuse to send
him away, which, though perhaps a lame one, he was too old a soldier
not to take at once. He was a man that never asked any questions;
whatever the order was, he obeyed it instantly, and he was unrivalled
at the quick conception of a hint. Thus I had scarcely finished my
first sentence, explanatory of my reasons for not requiring his
services, than running on at once to the conclusion, he made his bow,
and quitted the room.
Being left alone, two more long hours did I wear out in the fever of
expectation. All noises gradually subsided in the town and in the
house, and everybody was evidently at repose before half-past eleven.
This was now the longest half-hour of all. I thought the church clock
must have gone wrong, and have stopped; and I was confirmed in this
idea when I heard the midnight round of the patrol of the Holy
Brotherhood pass by the house, as usual pushing at every door to see
that all were closed for the night. Shortly after, however, the chimes
of midnight began; and, with a beating heart, I descended the stairs,
having previously insured the means of opening the door without noise.
In a moment after, the fresh night air blew chill upon my cheek, and
conveyed a sort of shudder to my heart, which I could scarce help
feeling as a sinister omen; but, closing the door as near as I could,
without shutting it entirely, I darted across the street, pushed open
the little door, and entered. As I did so, the garments of a woman
rustled against me, and I caught the same fair soft hand I had held
the former night. It burned like a living fire; and, as I held it in
mine, it did not return or even seem sensible to the pressure, but my
fingers felt almost scorched with the feverish heat of hers.
Cautiously shutting the door, she led me by the hand up a flight
of stairs to a small, elegant dressing-room, wherein, on the
toilet-table, was a burning lamp. It shone dimly, but with sufficient
light to show me that my fair companion, though lovely as ever, was
deadly pale; and, attributing it to that agitation which she could not
but feel a thousand times more than even I did, I attempted to compose
her by a multitude of caresses and vows, which she suffered me to
lavish upon her almost unnoticed, remaining with a mute tongue and
wandering eye, as if my words scarcely found their way to the seat of
intellect. At length, laying her hand upon the hilt of my sword, with
a faint smile, she said, "What! a sword! You should never come to see
a lady with a sword;" and unbuckling it with her own hand, she laid it
on the table.
"Now," proceeded she, taking up the lamp, and leading the way into a
splendid room beyond--"now you must give me a proof of your love;" and
she shut the door suddenly behind us with a quickness which almost
made me start. Her whole conduct, her whole appearance was strange.
That a girl of such high station should appear agitated at receiving
in secret the first visit of one whom she had every right to look upon
as a lover, was not surprising; but her eye wandered with a fearful
sort of wildness, and her cheek was so deadly, deadly pale, that I
scarcely ever thought to see such a hue in anything living. At the
same time, the hand with which she held one of mine, as she led me on,
confirmed its grasp with a tighter and a tighter clasp, till every
slender burning finger seemed impressing itself on my flesh. "Have you
a firm heart?" asked she at length, fixing her eyes upon me, and
compressing her full beautiful lips, as if to master her own
sensations.
I answered that I had; and, indeed, as the agitation of passion gave
way to other feelings, called forth by her singular manner and
behaviour, the natural unblenching courage of my race returned to my
aid, and I was no longer the tremblingly empassioned boy that I
entered her house.
"It is well!" said she. "Come hither, then!" and she led me towards
what seemed a heap of cushions covered with a large sheet of linen.
For a moment she paused before them, with her foot advanced, as if
about to make another step forward, and her eye straining upon the
motionless pile before her, as if it were some very horrible object;
then, suddenly taking the edge of the cloth, she threw it back at
once, discovering the dead body of a priest weltering in its gore. He
seemed to have been a man of about thirty, both by his form and face,
which was full, and unmarked by any lines of age. It was turned
towards me, and had been slightly convulsed by the pang of death; but
still, even in the cold, meaningless features, I thought I could
perceive that look of an habitually dissolute mind, which stamps
itself in ineffaceable characters; and there was a dark determined
scowl still upon the brow of death, which, to my fancy, spoke of the
remorseless violation of the most sacred duties. The limbs were
contracted, and one of the hands clenched, as if there had been a
momentary struggle before he was mastered to his fate; while the other
hand was stretched out, with all the fingers wide extended, as while
still striving to draw the last few agonizing breaths. His gown was
gashed on the left side, and dripping with gore; and it is probable
that the wound it covered went directly to his heart, from the great
effusion of blood that had taken place.
It was a dreadful sight; and, after looking on it for a few moments in
astonishment and horror, I turned my aching eyes towards the lovely
girl that had conducted me to such a strange and awful exhibition.
She, too, was gazing at it with that sort of fixed intensity of look,
which told that her mind gathered there materials for strong and
all-absorbing thoughts. "In the name of Heaven!" cried I, "who has
done this?"
"I!" answered she, with a strange degree of calmness;--"I did it!"
"And what on earth could tempt you," I continued, "to so bloody and
horrible a crime?"
"You shall hear," she replied. "That man was my confessor. He took
advantage of his power over my mind--he won me to all that he
wished--and then--he turned to another--fairer, perhaps, and equally
weak. I discovered his treachery, but I heeded it the less, as I had
seen you, and, for the first time, knew what love was; but I warned
him never to approach me again, if he would escape that Spanish
revenge whose power he ought to have known. He came, this very
night--perhaps from the arms of another,--and he yet dared to talk to
me of passion and of love! thinking me still weak enough to yield to
him. Oh! with what patience I was endued not to slay him then! I bade
him go forth, and never to approach me again. He became enraged--he
threatened to betray me--to publish my shame--and he is--what he is!"
There was a dreadful pause: she had worked herself up by the details
to a pitch of almost frenzied rage; and, gazing upon the body of him
that had wronged her with a flushed cheek and flashing eyes, she
seemed as if she would have smote him again. "The story is told,"
cried she at length; "and now, if you love me, as you have said, you
must carry him forth, and cast him into the great fosse of the city.
Ha! you will not! You hate me!--you despise me! Then I must speak
another language. You shall! Yes, you shall! or both you and I will
join him in the grave!" and, drawing a poniard from her bosom, she
placed herself between me and the door.
"And do you think me so great a coward," replied I, hastily, "to be
frightened into doing what I disapprove, by a poniard in the hand of a
woman? No, lady, no," I continued, more kindly, believing her, as I
did, to be disordered in mind by the intensity of her feelings; "I
pity you from my heart--I pity you for the base injuries you have
suffered; and even, though I cannot but condemn the crime you have
committed, I would do much, very much, to soothe, to calm, to heal
your wounded spirit; but----"
I spoke long--gently--kindly to her. It reached her heart--it touched
the better feelings of what might have been a fine, though exquisitely
sensitive, mind; and, throwing away the poniard, she cast herself at
my feet, where, clasping my knees, she wept till her agony of tears
became perfectly fearful. I did everything I could to tranquillize
her; I entreated, I persuaded, I reasoned, I even caressed. There
was something so lovely, yet so terrible in it all--her face, her
form, her agitation, the sweetness of her voice, the despairing,
heart-broken expression of her eyes, that, in spite of her crime, I
raised her from my feet, I held her in my arms, and I promised to do
all that she would have me.
After a time she began to recover herself; and, gently disengaging
herself from me, she gazed at me with a look of calm, powerful,
painful regret, that I never can forget. "Count Louis," she said, "you
must abhor me; and you have, alas! learned to do so at a moment when I
have learned to love you the more. Your kindness has made me weep. It
was what I needed,--it has cleared a cloud from my brain, and I now
find how very, very guilty I am. Do not take me to your arms; I am
unworthy they should touch me;--but fly from me, and from this place
of horror, as speedily as you can, for I will not take advantage of
the generous offer you make, to do that which I so ungenerously asked.
I asked it in madness; for I feel that, within the last few hours, my
reason has not been with me. It slept:--I have now wept; and it is
awake to all the misery I have brought upon myself. Go--go--leave me;
I will stay and meet the fate my crime deserves. But, oh! I cannot
bear to think upon the dishonour and misery of my father's old age!"
and again she wept as bitterly as before.
Again I applied myself to soothe her; and imprudently certainly,
perhaps wrongly, insisted upon carrying away the evidence of her
guilt, and disposing of it as she had at first demanded. But two short
streets lay between the spot where we were and the old boundary of the
city, over which it was easy to cast the body into the water below. At
that hour I was not likely to meet with any one, as all the sober
inhabitants of the town were by this time in their first sleep, and
the guard had made its round some time before. I told her all this,
and expressed my determination not to leave her in such dreadful
circumstances; so that, seeing me resolved upon doing what I had
proposed, the natural horror of death and shame overcame her first
regret at the thought of implicating me, and she acquiesced.
As I approached the body for the purpose of taking it in my arms, I
will own, a repulsive feeling of horror gathered about my heart, and a
slight shudder passed over me. She saw it, and casting her beautiful
arms round my neck, held me back with a melancholy shake of the head,
saying, "No, no, no!" But I again expressed myself determined, and
suddenly pressing her burning lips to mine, she let me go. "Pardon
me!" said she; "it is the last I shall ever have, most generous of
human beings." And turning away, she kneeled by her bed-side, hiding
her face upon the clothes, while I raised the body of the priest in my
arms, and bore it down stairs.
Being fortunately of a very strong and vigorous mould, and well
hardened by athletic exercises, I could carry a very great weight, but
never did I know till then, how much more ponderous and unwieldy a
dead body is than a living one. I however gained the street with my
burden; and with a beating heart, and anxious glaring eye proceeded as
fast as I could towards the walls. Everything I saw caused me anxiety
and alarm; the small fountain at the corner of the Calle del Sol made
me start and almost drop the body; and each shadow that the moon cast
across the street, cost me many a painful throb. At length, however, I
reached the old rampart, where it looks out over the olive grounds,
and advancing hurriedly forward, I gave a glance around to see that no
one was there, and cast the corpse down into the fosse, which was full
of water; I heard the plunge of the body and the rush of the agitated
waters, and a shudder passed over me to think of thus consigning the
frail tabernacle, that not long since had enshrined a sinful but
immortal spirit, to a dark and nameless grave. All the weaknesses of
our nature cling to the rites of sepulture, and at any time I should
have felt, in so dismissing a dead body to unmourned oblivion, that I
was violating the most sacred prejudices of our nature; but when I
thought upon the how, and the wherefore, my blood felt chill, and I
dared not look back to see the full completions of that night's
dreadful deeds.
My heart was lightened, however, that it was now done, and I turned to
proceed home, having had enough of adventure to serve me for a long
while. Before I went, I gave an anxious glance around to see whether
any one was watching me, but all seemed void and lonely. I then darted
away as fast as I could, still concealing myself in the shadowy sides
of the streets, and following a thousand turnings and windings to
insure that my path was not tracked. At length, approaching the street
wherein I lived, I looked round carefully on all sides, and seeing no
one, darted up it, sprang forward, and pushed open the door of my
lodging. At that moment a figure passed me coming the other way; it
was the Chevalier de Montenero, and though he evidently saw me, he
went on without remark. I closed the door carefully, groped my way up
to my own chamber, and striking a light, examined my doublet, to see
if it had received any stains from the gory burden I had carried. In
spite of every precaution I had taken, it was wet with blood in three
places, and I had much trouble in washing out the marks, though it was
itself of murrey-coloured cloth, somewhat similar in hue.
Difficult is it to tell my feelings while engaged in this
employment--the horror, the disgust, at each new stain I discovered,
mingled with the painful anxiety to efface every trace which the blood
of my fellow-being had left. Then to dispose of the water, whose
sanguine colour kept glaring in my eye wherever I turned, as if I
could see nothing but it, became the question; and I was obliged to
open the casement, and pour it gently over the window-sill, without
unclosing the _jalousies_, so as to permit its trickling down the
front of the house, where I knew it must be evaporated before the next
morning. This took me some time, as I did it by but very cautious
degrees: but then, when it was done, all vestiges of the deed in which
I had been engaged were effaced, and to my satisfaction I discovered,
on examining every part of my apparel with the most painful
minuteness, that all was free and clear.
Extinguishing my light, I now undressed and went to bed, but of course
not to sleep. For hours and hours, the scenes in which I had that
night taken part floated upon the blank darkness before my eyes, and
filled me with horrible imaginations. A thousand times did I attempt
to banish them, and give myself up to slumber, and a thousand times
did they return in new and more horrible shapes; till the faint light
of the morning began to shine through the openings of the blinds, when
I fell into a disturbed and feverish sleep. It was no relief--it was
no oblivion. The same dreadful scenes returned with their full
original force, heightened and rendered still more terrific by a
thousand wild accessories that uncontrolled fancy brought forward to
support them. All was horror and despair; and I again woke, haggard
and worn out, as the matin bell was sounding from the neighbouring
convent: I tried it once more, and at length succeeded in obtaining a
temporary forgetfulness.