With a slow and thoughtful step I mounted the staircase, glad to
escape, by the quiet tardiness of my return, the importunate
congratulations which my landlady, attributing my delivery entirely to
her own eloquence, was prepared to shower upon me as soon as I came
back.
Cutting her off then from this very laudable exercise of her tongue
and gratification of her vanity, I ascended the stairs, as I have
said, in silence, and was first met by Father Francis, who, after
embracing me, drew me into his own apartment, and informed me that a
letter had arrived from my father, requiring my immediate return to
France; "and, God be praised! my dear son," said the old man, "that
you are at liberty to quit this dark and fearful country, and return
to your parents and happy native land. But go," continued he, "into
your own apartment, where your good friend the Chevalier waits you. I
know not why, but he seems in a strange agitation, speaks abruptly,
and appears to me displeased, though with what I know not, without it
be your sudden recall to your own home. In truth, I never saw him so
affected."
I well understood the meaning of the Chevalier's agitation; I myself
was agitated, and embarrassed how to act, and consequently I acted
ill.
When I entered, my friend was walking up and down the room, with his
eyes fixed upon the ground; but, on hearing my step, he raised them,
and fixed them sternly on my face. The fear of appearing guilty, and
the impossibility of clearly exculpating myself, had a greater effect
upon my countenance than perhaps real guilt would have had, and the
rebellious blood flew up with provoking hurry to my cheek. Angry at my
own embarrassment, I resolved to master it; but the effort
communicated something of bitterness to my manner towards the
Chevalier, who had hitherto said nothing to call it forth. He remarked
it, and striding towards the door, which I had left open, he shut it
impatiently; then turned towards me, and with a straining eye,
demanded--"Tell me, Count Louis de Bigorre, after all the evidence
brought forward to prove that you passed last night in this
house--tell me, was it, or was it not you, that I saw enter this door
at two o'clock this morning?"
"I should think," replied I, coldly, "that what satisfied the judge
before whom I was accused, would be enough to satisfy any one really
my friend."
"Not when their own eyes were evidence against you," answered the
Chevalier, indignantly. "I thought you incapable of a subterfuge. Once
more, was it you, or was it not?"
"Though I deny your right to question me," I replied, growing heated
at the authority he assumed, "yet to show that I seek no subterfuge,
I answer it was; but, at the same time, I repeat, that I am
innocent--perfectly innocent of the crime with which I was charged."
"Pshaw!" cried the Chevalier, with an air of scorn that almost
mastered my patience--"Pshaw!" and turning on his heel, he quitted the
room and the house. When what we have done produces a disagreeable
consequence, whether we have really acted right or not, we are apt to
call to mind every line of conduct which we might have pursued, and
fix upon any other as preferable to that which we have adopted. Thus,
no sooner had the Chevalier left me, than I thought of a thousand
means whereby I might have persuaded him of my innocence, without
breaking my promise to the corregidor; and I resolved to seek him, as
soon as the preparations for my return to France were completed, and
explain myself, as far as I could, without violating the confidence
reposed in me.
My resolution, however, came too late. About an hour after his
departure, one of the servants of the house where he lodged, brought
me a letter from him, of the following tenure:--
"I leave you, and for ever. You have done me the greatest injury that
one man can inflict upon another. You have shown me what human nature
really is, and you have made me a misanthrope. I had watched you from
your infancy, and I had fancied that amongst the many faults and
errors, from which youth is never exempt, I perceived the germ of
great and shining qualities of heart and mind. I devoted myself to
cultivate them to maturity, and to train them aright. Perhaps I was
selfish in doing so; for what man is not selfish? but bitter is the
atonement which you have forced me to make. Adieu! seek me not
henceforth--know me not if we meet--be to me as a stranger. Though,
for the sake of your unhappy father, I rejoice in your escape from the
punishment your crime deserves, my interest in yourself is over; and I
would fain rase out from the tablets of memory all that concerns one
so unworthy of the esteem I once entertained for him."
This was hard to endure, especially from one that I both respected and
loved. My heart swelled with a mixture of indignation and sorrow, both
at the loss of a friend, and at his unjust suspicions; and though my
consciousness of innocence guarded me from bitterer regrets, yet it
increased my painful irritation at the wrong I suffered, and at my
disappointment in not being able to exculpate myself. Occupation,
however--in every situation of life the greatest blessing and
relief--now came to my aid, and called my attention for a time from
the dark and gloomy views that the circumstances of my fate presented
at the moment. Our departure was fixed for the next morning, and all
the thousand petty accumulations of business, which always hang about
the last day of one's sojourn in any place, now came upon me at once.
The weather had much altered since our arrival at Saragossa; for three
months had tamed the lion of the summer, and it was not, at all
events, heat that we had to fear on our journey. Cold autumn winds
were now blowing, and saluted us rudely the moment we got beyond the
sheltering walls of the city, piercing to our very bones. I would have
given a pistole for half an hour of the hot-breathed _siroc_ to warm
the air till we could heat ourselves by exercise.
As we approached the mountains, however, it became colder and more
cold, and the prospect of their snowy passes fell chill and cheerless
upon our anticipations. Yet there was something vast and majestic in
their aspect, which raised and elevated the mind above the petty cares
and sorrows of existence. I had been grave, I had been gloomy--I had
been perhaps peevish--but the contrast between the transitory
littleness of all human things, and the eternal grandeur of such
objects, reproved the impatient repinings of my heart. I felt a
consolation in looking upon them as they stretched along before me, in
the same bold towering forms that they had presented unmemoried
centuries ago. It seemed as if they said, "Ages and generations,
nations and languages, have passed away and been forgotten, with all
their idle hopes and vain solicitudes, while we have stood unmoved,
unaged, unaltered. Even Time, the inexorable enemy of all man's works,
lays not upon us his profaning finger; and while he overthrows the
arch that records man's glory, and hurls down the column that
monuments his grave, he dares not spoil the fabrics of that great God
who created him and us."
Under the influence of such thoughts, the recollections of the last
two days gradually lost themselves; and though I rode along, grave and
perhaps melancholy, my melancholy was not of that bitter and gloomy
nature produced by worldly cares and griefs. Father Francis was well
acquainted with the many changes of my mood, and, consequently, found
it not at all extraordinary that I was silent and thoughtful; but,
attributing my seriousness to the events which had happened at
Saragossa, he wisely let them sleep, hoping that they would soon pass
from my memory.
Towards the evening, on the second day of our journey, we arrived at a
little village consisting of about half a dozen shepherds' huts,
situated at the very foot of the mountains; and here we learned that
the _Port de Gavarnie_, by which we intended to have entered France,
was completely blocked up with snow; but that less had fallen near
Gabas, and that, consequently, the passes in that direction were
practicable. Thither, then, we directed our steps the next morning,
having procured a guide amongst the shepherds, who agreed to conduct
us as far as Laruns, though he often looked at the sky, which had by
this time become covered with heavy leaden-looking clouds, and shook
his head, saying, that we must make all speed. There was but little
good augury in his looks, and less in the prospect around us; for, as
we began to ascend, the whole scene appeared covered with the cold
robe of winter. All the higher parts of the mountains showed but one
mass of snow; and every precipice under which we passed seemed crowned
with an impending avalanche, which nothing but the black limbs of the
gigantic pines, in which that region abounds, held from an
instantaneous descent upon our heads.
No frost, however, had yet reached the bottom of the ravines through
which we travelled. The path was rather damp and slippy, and the
stream rushed on over the rocks without showing one icicle to mark the
reign of winter. Father Francis's mule, which had delayed us on our
former journey, now proved more sure-footed, at least, than either of
the horses; and the good priest, finding himself quite secure and at
his ease, dilated on the grandeur of the scenery and the magnificence
of nature, even in her rudest forms.
"I am nothing of a misanthrope," said he, "and yet I find in the
contemplation of the works of God a charm that man and all his
arts can never communicate. When I look upon the mighty efforts
of creation, I feel them to be all true and genuine--all
unchangeable--the effect of universal Beneficence acting with Almighty
power: but when I consider even the greatest and most splendid deeds
of man, I am never certain in what base motives they originated, or
for what bad ends they were designed; how much pain and injustice
their execution may have cost, or how much misery and vice may attend
upon their consequences. In all man does there is that germ from which
evil may ever spring, while the works of God are always beautiful in
themselves, and excellent in their purpose."
"And yet, my good father," said I, willing enough to shorten the
tedious way with conversation, "though you pronounce the flash of
glory to be but a misleading meteor, and power a dangerous precipice,
and love a volcano as full of earthquakes as fertility, yet still
there are some things amongst men's deeds which even you can
contemplate with delight and admiration,--the protecting the weak, the
assuaging grief, the dispensing joy, the leading unto virtue and
right."
"True, Louis! true!" answered he; "and yet I know not whether my mind
is saddened to-day; but though all these actions are admirable, how
rare it is we can be certain that the motives which prompted them were
good! Only, I believe, when we look into our own breast; and then--if
we examine steadfastly, clearly, accurately, how many faults, how many
weaknesses, how many follies, how many crimes, do we not find to make
us turn away our eyes from the sad prospect of the human heart! Here I
can look around me, and see beauty springing from Beneficence, and
everything that is magnificent proceeding from everything that is
wise. And oh! how happy, how full of joy and tranquillity is the
conviction, that death itself, the worst evil which can happen to this
frail body, is the work of that great Creator who made both the body
and the soul, and certainly made them not in vain."
A moment or two after, indeed, but so close upon what he said that no
other observation had been made, I heard a kind of rushing noise; and,
looking up towards the cloud above us, which hid with a thick veil the
whole tops of the mountains, I saw it agitated as if by a strong wind,
while a roar, more awful than that of thunder, made itself heard
above. I knew the voice of the _lavange_, and with an instant
perception, I know not how nor why, that it was rather behind than
before us, I laid my hand upon Father Francis's bridle, and spurred
forward like lightning. To my surprise, the obstinate mule on which he
was mounted, instead of resisting my effort to make it go on, put
itself at once into a gallop, as if it were instinctively aware of the
approaching danger. Houssaye and the guide followed with all speed;
and, in a moment after, we reached a spot where the valley, turning
abruptly to the left, afforded a certain shelter.
Here I turned to look, and never shall I forget the scene that I
witnessed. Thundering down the side of the hill, rushing, and roaring,
and devastating in its course, came an immense shapeless mass of a dim
hue, raising a sort of misty atmosphere round itself as it fell. The
mountain, even to where we stood, shook under its descent; the
valleys, and the precipices, and the caverns, echoed back the
tremendous roar of its fall. Immense masses of rock rolled down before
it, impelled by the violent pressure of the air which it occasioned;
and long ere it reached them, the tall pines tottered and swayed as if
writhing under the consciousness of approaching destruction, till at
length it touched them, when one after another fell crashing and
uprooted into its tremendous mass, and were hurled along with it down
the side of the steep.
Down, down it rushed, dazzling the eye and deafening the ear, and
sweeping all before it, till, striking the bottom of the valley with a
sound as if a thousand cannon had been discharged at once, it blocked
up the whole pass, dispersing the stream in a cloud of mist, and
shaking by the mere concussion a multitude of crags and rocks down
from the summit of the mountain. Long after it fell, the hollow
windings of the ravines prolonged its roar with many an echoing sound,
dying slowly away till all again was silence, and the mist dispersing
left the frowning destruction that the _lavange_ had caused exposed to
the sight in all its full horrors.
Father Francis raised his hands to heaven; and though I am sure that
few men were better prepared to leave this earth, and had less of
man's lingering desire still to remain upon it, yet with that
instinctive love of life, which neither religion nor philosophy can
wholly banish, he thanked God most fervently for our preservation from
the fate which had just passed us by. We had, indeed, many reasons to
be thankful, not only for our escape from the immediate danger of the
_lavange_, but also for having been enabled to accomplish our passage
before its fall had blocked up the path along which we were
proceeding. The guide, indeed, seemed little disposed to prophesy
good, even from what we had escaped. The avalanches, he said, were
very uncommon at that season of the year, and when they did happen,
they were always indicative of some great commotion likely to take
place in the atmosphere. Neither did he love, he proceeded to say,
those heavy clouds that rested halfway down the sides of the
mountains, nor the dead stillness of the air; both of which seemed to
him to forbode a snow-storm, the most certain agent of the traveller's
destruction in the winter.
Nothing remained, however, but to urge our course forward as fast as
possible; but the mule of the good priest had now resumed her
hereditary obstinacy, and neither blows nor fair words would induce
her to move one step faster than suited her immediate convenience; so
that it bade fair to be near midnight before we could reach the first
town in the valley _D'Ossau_.
After many a vain attempt upon the impassible animal, we were obliged
to yield, and proceed onward as slowly as she chose, while
occasionally a sort of low howling noise in the gorges of the mountain
gave notice that the apprehensions of the guide were likely to be
verified. A large eagle, too, kept sailing slowly before us, breaking
with its ill-omened voice, as it flitted down the ravine, the profound
death-like silence of the air. Over the whole of the scene there was a
dark, inexpressible gloom, which found its way heavily to our own
hearts. All was still, too, and noiseless, except the dull melancholy
sounds I have mentioned: it seemed as if nature had become dumb with
awe at the approaching tempest. No bird enlivened the air with its
song, no insect interrupted the stillness with the hum, no object of
life presented itself, except a hawk or a raven, shooting quickly
across, evidently not in pursuit of prey, but in search of shelter.
The hills and rocks were all cold and grey, except where the snow had
lodged in large white masses, which rendered their aspect still more
cheerless and desolate. The sky was dark, heavy, and frowning, and
every object seemed benumbed by the hand of death; so that it was
impossible, on looking around upon that sad, chill, powerless scene,
to fancy it could ever re-awaken into life, and sunshine, and summer.
Gradually the howling of the mountains increased, and the wind began
to break upon us with quick sharp gusts, that almost threw us from our
horses, while a shower of small, fine sleet drove in our faces,
fatiguing and teasing us, as well as impeding our progress. The guide
began now to grumble loudly at the slowness of Father Francis's mule,
and to declare that he would not stay and risk his life for any mule
in France or Arragon.
We were now upon the French side of the mountains, and, as the road
was sufficiently defined, I doubted not that we should be able to find
our way without his assistance. As his insolence became louder,
therefore, I told him, if he were a coward, and afraid to stay by
those persons he had undertaken to guide, to spur on his horse, and
deliver us from his tongue as speedily as possible. He took me at my
word, replying that he was no coward, but that having his wife and
children to provide for, his life was of value; that if we would go
faster, he would stay with us and guide us on; but that if we would
not, the path was straight before us, and that we had nothing to do
but follow it by the side of the stream till it led us to a town.
Seeing him thus determined, I thought it better to send forward
Houssaye along with him, giving him directions to return with some
people of the country to lead us right if we should have missed our
way, and to relieve us in case we should be overwhelmed by the snow.
Houssaye still smacked too much of the old soldier to say a word in
opposition to a received order, and though he looked very much as if
he would have willingly stayed with Father Francis and myself, yet he
instantly obeyed, and putting spurs to his horse, followed the guide
on towards Laruns.
The storm every moment began to increase, and so sharp was the wind in
our faces, that we could hardly distinguish our way, being nearly
blinded with snow, mingled with a sort of extremely fine hail. The
atmosphere, also, loaded with thin particles, was now so dim and
obscure, that it was not possible to see more than fifty yards before
us, and, while wandering on through the semi-opaque air, the objects
around appeared to assume a thousand strange and fantastic shapes, of
giants, and towers, and castles, as their indistinct forms were
changed by the hand of fancy. Even to the animals that bore us, these
transformations seemed to be visible, for more than once my horse
started from a rock which had taken the shape of some beast; and once
we were nearly half-an-hour in getting the mule past an old pine,
which the tempest had hurled down the mountain, and which, leaning
over a mass of stone, looked like an immense serpent, stretching out
its neck to devour whatever living thing should pass before it.
In the meanwhile, the ground gradually became thickly covered with
snow, and every footfall of the horse left a deep mark, telling
plainly how rapidly the accumulation was going on. Still we made but
little progress, and, what between slipping and climbing, both the
mule and the horse soon lost their vigour with fatigue, and we had now
much difficulty in making them proceed.
Not long after the guide left us, it evidently began to grow dark, and
it was with feelings I have seldom felt that I observed the gathering
gloom which grew around. The white glare of the snow did, indeed,
afford some light, but so confused and indistinct, that it served to
dazzle, but not to guide.
All vestige of a path was soon effaced, and the only means of
ascertaining in which way our road lay, was by the murmuring of the
stream that still continued to rush on at the bottom of the precipice
over which we passed. Even the black patches which had been left,
where some large stone or salient crag had sheltered any spot from the
drift, were soon lost, and it became evident that much more snow had
fallen on the French side of the mountains, even before that day, than
we had been led to expect.
Our farther progress became at every step more and more perilous, for
none of the crevices and gaps in the path were now visible, and the
tormenting dashing of the snow in our eyes, and in those of our
beasts, prevented us or them from choosing even those parts which
appeared most solid and secure. I had hitherto led the way, but Father
Francis now insisted upon going first, on account of the sure-footed
nature of the mule, whose instinctive perception of every dangerous
step was certain to secure him, he observed, from perils of the nature
we were most likely to encounter. The mule might also, he continued,
in some degree serve to guide my horse, who had more than once
stumbled upon the slippery and uneven rocks, concealed as they were by
the snow.
After some opposition, I consented to his doing so, feeling a sort of
depression of mind which I can only attribute to fatigue. It was not
fear: but there was a sort of deep despondency grew upon me, which
made me give up all hope of ever disentangling ourselves from the
dangerous situation in which we were placed. The cold, the darkness,
the chilly, piercing wind, the void, yawning expanse of the dim hollow
before me, the melancholy howling of the mountains, the rush and the
tumult of the swelling stream below, the whispering murmur of the
pine-woods above, beginning with a gentle sigh, and growing hoarser
and hoarser, till it ended in a roar like the angry billows of the
ocean--all affected my mind with dark and gloomy presentiments;--I
never hoped to save my life from the rude hand of the tempest--I
hardly know whether I wished it; despair had obtained so firm a hold
of my mind, that it had scarcely power even to conceive a desire.
After we had changed the order of our progression, however, we went on
for some time much more securely, the mule stepping on with a quiet
caution and certainty peculiar to those animals, and my horse
following it step by step, as if perfectly well understanding her
superiority in such circumstances, and allowing her to lead without
one feeling of jealousy.
Still the snow fell, and the wind blew, and the irritating howling and
roaring of the mountains continued with increasing violence, while the
blank darkness of the night surrounded us on all sides; when suddenly
the mule stopped, and showed an evident determination of proceeding no
farther. Fearful lest there should be any hidden danger which she did
not choose to pass, I dismounted as carefully from my horse as I
could, and proceeding round the spot where she stood, I went on a few
paces, trying the ground at each step I took; but all was firm and
even--indeed, much more smooth than any we had hitherto passed. The
path, it is true, ran along on the verge of the precipice, but there
wanted no room for two or three horses to have advanced abreast, and,
consequently, seeing that the beast was actuated by a fit of
obstinacy, I mounted again, and proceeded to ride round for the
purpose of leading the way, to try whether she would not then follow.
Accordingly, I spurred on my horse to pass her, but he had scarcely
taken two steps forward, when the vicious mule struck out with her
hind feet full in his chest. He reared--plunged--reared again, and in
a moment I found his haunches slipping over the precipice behind. It
was the work of a moment; but, with the overpowering instinct of
self-preservation, I let go the bridle, sprang forward from his back,
and catching hold of the rhododendrons and other tough shrubs on the
brink, found myself hanging in the air with my feet just beating
against the face of the rock. My brain turned giddy, and an agonising
cry, something between a neigh and a scream, from the depth below,
told me dreadfully the fate which I had just escaped.
Slowly, and cautiously, fearing every moment that the slender twigs by
which I held would give way, and precipitate me down into the horrid
abyss that had received my poor horse, I contrived to raise myself
till I stood once more upon firm ground; and then replied to the
anxious calls of Father Francis, who had dimly seen the horse plunge
over, and had heard his cry from below, but knew not whether I had
fallen with him or not.
My heart still beat too fast, and my brain turned round too much to
permit of our proceeding for some minutes; the loss of my horse, also,
was likely to prove a serious addition, if not to our danger, at least
to my fatigues. Nothing, however, could be done to remedy the
misfortune; and, after pausing for a while, in order to gain breath,
we attempted to recommence our journey. For the purpose of leading her
on, I laid my hand upon the mule's bridle, but nothing would make her
move; and the moment I tried to pull her forward, or Father Francis
touched her with the whip, she ran back towards the edge of the
precipice, till another step would have plunged her over. Nothing now
remained but for the good priest to descend and take his journey
forward also on foot. As soon as he was safely off the back of the
vicious beast which had caused us so much uncomfort and danger, I
again attempted to make her proceed; resolving, in the height of my
anger, if she again approached the side, rather to push her over than
save her: but with cunning equal to her obstinacy, she perceived that
we should not entertain the same fear as when her rider was upon her
back, and instead of pulling backwards as before, she calmly laid
herself down on her side, leaving us no resource but to go forward
without her.
The most painful part of our journey now began. Every step was
dangerous--every step was difficult; nothing but horror and gloom
surrounded us on all sides, and death lay around us in a thousand
unknown shapes. Wherever we ascended, we had to struggle with the full
force of the overpowering blast, and wherever the path verged into a
descent, there we had slowly to choose our way with redoubled caution,
with a road so slippery, that it was hardly possible to keep one's
feet, and a profound precipice below; while the wind tore us in its
fury, and the snow and sleet beat upon us without ceasing. For nearly
an hour we continued to bear up against it, struggling onward with
increasing difficulties, sometimes falling, sometimes dashed back by
the wind, with our clothes drenched in consequence of the snow melting
upon us, and the cold of the atmosphere growing more intense as every
minute of the night advanced. At length hope itself was wearied out;
and at a spot where the ravine opened out into a valley to the right
and left, while our path continued over a sort of causeway, with the
river on one hand, and a deep dell filled up with snow on the other,
Father Francis, who had hitherto struggled on with more vigour than
might have been expected from his age, suddenly stopped, and resting
on a rock, declared his incapacity to go any farther. "My days are
over, Louis," said he: "leave me, and go forward as fast as you can.
If I mistake not, that is the pass just above Laruns. Speed on, speed
on, my dear boy; a quarter of an hour, I know, would put us in safety,
but I have not strength to sustain myself any longer: I have done my
utmost, and I must stop."
He spoke so feebly, that the very tone of his voice left me no hope
that he would be able to proceed, especially across that open part of
the valley, where we were exposed to the full force of the wind. It
already dashed against us with more tremendous gusts than we had yet
felt, whirling up the snow into thick columns that threatened every
moment to overwhelm us, and I doubted not that the path beyond lay
still more open to its fury. To leave the good old man in that
situation was of course what I never dreamed of; and, consequently, I
expressed my own determination to wait there also for the return of
Houssaye, who, I deemed, could not be long in coming to search for us.
"No, Louis, no!" cried Father Francis; "the wind, the snow, the cold,
are all increasing. You must attempt to go on, for, if you do not, you
will perish also. But first listen to an important piece of
information which has been confided to me. As I cannot bear the
message myself, you must deliver it to your mother.--Tell her----"
I could hardly hear what he said, his voice was so faint, and the
howling of the storm so dreadful: a few more broken words were added;
but before he had concluded, a gust of wind more violent than any we
had hitherto encountered whirled round us both with irresistible
power. I strove to hold by the rock with all my force, but in vain. I
was torn from it as if I had been a straw, and the next moment was
dashed with the good priest into the midst of the snow that had
collected in the dell below. We sunk deep down into the yielding
drift, which, rising high above our heads, for a moment nearly
suffocated me. Soon, however, I found that I could breathe, and though
all hope was now over, I contrived to remove the snow that lay between
myself and Father Francis, of whose gown I had still retained a hold.
I told him I was safe, and called to him to answer me. He made no
reply--I raised his head--he moved not--I put my hand upon his
heart--it had ceased to beat!