Ecco l'ora--Nel sonno immerso giace
----E gli occhi all'alma luce
Non aprira piu mai? Questa mia destra
Per farsi or sta del suo morir ministra?....
_Alfieri._
Est-ce une illusion soudaine
Qui trompe mes regards surpris?
Est-ce un songe dont l'ombre vaine
Trouble mes timides esprits?
_J. B. Rousseau._
The night was far advanced, and the numerous guests whom the hospitality
of Don Alonso had summoned together, began to retire from the joyous
scene of revelry and feasting. The noisy pleasure was wearing fast away,
and those antique halls no longer echoed with the boisterous mirth of so
many joyous hearts; for in Aguilar's palace that night every heart was
happy,--every heart save one,--one which, desolate and solitary amidst
this world of rejoicing, was a prey to the canker sorrow that had
fastened upon its core.
But now the convivial assemblage had retired, and the banqueting hall
was left to the undisputed dominion of silence and lonely repose. No
longer ornamented with all the panoplies of war, and the verdant and
perfumed spoils of the garden, those glittering scenes which dazzled the
eyes and benumbed the senses, were now no longer resplendent, but wore
that chilling aspect which imparts to the mind a painful sensation of
melancholy and regret. Upon the long tables still remained the scattered
fragments, remnants of the banquet. Here the sumptuous display of the
looms of Valencia were stained with the waste of racy and highly
flavoured wines, and there broken goblets and ornaments of curious
workmanship were flung around in the reckless excitement of the
revellers. The lamps were out, and the few that still glimmered in the
sockets served but to heighten with their fitful and scanty light the
deserted and gloomy appearance of the scene.
Gomez Arias had retired to his chamber in a transport of delight; the
most pleasing reveries thronged upon his mind, and as he paced the
silent apartment, he inwardly congratulated himself on the near
completion of all his hopes--the speedy enjoyment of his fondest wishes.
In this ferment of expectation, not a single thought obtruded to damp
his ardour, or throw a partial shadow over so bright a picture. Every
thing around him contributed to his felicity,--for alas! he did not see
the sorrow that was busily destroying those charms by whose power he had
been once captivated: nor did he hear the wailings of that voice
designed by nature to convey the softest tones of innocence and delight.
No, Gomez Arias had no thought for his unhappy victim--far, far was he
from surmising that she was at that moment beneath the same roof.
In this delightful mood, Don Lope threw himself upon the superb couch,
to pass the night in the luxurious vision of his approaching happiness.
The silence was awful! the dull bluish glare of a solitary lamp flung
around the dim splendor of the chamber a charm of melancholy
tranquillity; the rich arabesque ornaments, the gorgeous tapestry, on
which the heroes of other times stood frowning in gloomy repose, were
now partially obscured in solemn shadows that might have imparted a
sensation of superstitious awe. More faintly now gleamed the expiring
light of the lamp, which looked a cold unearthly beam, colourless and
fixed, save when the chilling draft of nightly air found its way through
a crevice of the ponderous casement, and animated the languid flame with
a dull and sickly motion.
Hushed is every sound, when lo! the door gently opens, and a white
figure moves slowly forwards. It is a female form, and the lamp that
still glimmered in the room, and another which the nocturnal visitor
carried in her hand, revealed a picture which might well chill the heart
of the most hardened:--it was a female in the first stage of youth, and
in whose lineaments could yet be traced the fading remains of beauty.
She grasped a dagger, and she came ready steeled for crime. Murder!--the
blackest deed of human depravity, revolting to the senses even when
instigated by the revengeful passions of man, but in a young and tender
female, unnatural, and full of horror. The figure paused, and cast
around a dubious and uncertain glance; her whole frame trembled, and the
weapon in her hand seemed ready to forsake its grasp. Alas! those
irresolute motions, bespoke her nature: it was woman, woman armed for
crime, but woman still. With noiseless step she advanced towards the
couch; she reached the spot, and gazed with fixed earnestness on the
sleeping Gomez Arias; a thousand gloomy thoughts expand on her pallid
brow; her dark eyes gleam with the flame of revenge; her livid lips curl
with the bitter smile of despair! With difficulty she draws the
oppressive breath, and violently shakes the hand that holds the shining
weapon. 'Tis a demon that directs her every motion, and imparts to that
melancholy and fading picture of youth and beauty, the darkest hues of
the fierce and frenzied passions.
But the gust of rage is passed. She looks again upon the sleeper, and a
deadly calm overspreads those features but lately fraught with
convulsive passion. Fixed to the ground, she now appeared like an
inanimate statue, and apparently forgetful of the dire purpose that had
brought her to the spot. Poor Theodora!--child of misfortune!--victim of
that intensity of feeling which nature seemed to have designed for thy
bane and ruin; thou wert guilty but of a single error, and is then that
error so severely to be visited! That heaven which made thee pure, and
beautiful, and lovely, did it intend that thou shouldst experience all
the horrors of the most malignant fate, as a counterpoise for the
possession of so may attractions; or was it only to be exemplified as a
warning to others, who, like thee, might be rich in beauty and
gracefulness, of the dangers which these gifts bring in their train!
Theodora had been guilty of one crime; if, alas! that deserves the name
of crime which is the genuine offspring of the sincerest heart. She had
loved, and loved with all the enthusiasm of devoted affection. She had
been generous, and unsuspecting, and for this she was betrayed and
abandoned. Her injuries had so far wrought upon her distempered brain,
that she was now about to commit a crime, for which she would be cursed,
despised, and perhaps brought to an ignominious end.
Theodora remained a short time in a doubtful mood, and a heavenly spirit
seemed to struggle with the malignant fiend that instigated her. She
held the lamp in her trembling hand over the sleeping form of her lover,
and by the sickly light she discovered his features as if inspired by
some happy dream. His breath came thick upon her face, as she bent over
the couch. Smiles were upon his lips, and a gentle motion shook his
frame.
"He loves her!" groaned the despairing Theodora,--"he loves her dearly,
and I am come to----"
At this moment the deep toned bell of the palace sounded the hour, and
interrupted her dreadful sentence. Solemnly the peal rung through the
place like the death-knell of the perjured lover; but he, unconscious of
his impending fate, slept securely and dreamt of love and happiness. For
now his lips move, and in the broken articulation of deep but pleasing
sighs, the name of her who occupied his mind, burst from his swelling
bosom. It was the name of Leonor; the baneful sound went piercing to
Theodora's heart, and roused all the furies that held dominion there.
The kindly feelings which had returned, now withered fast away. She
starts with frenzy; she grows paler, and revenge alone prevails; her
bosom rises and falls with fearful emotion; wildly her eyes roll. She
resolutely grasps the dagger; the moment is arrived; one blow, and the
despoiler of her happiness would cease to exist: she fiercely raised her
arm, but at the instant all her strength withered: nerveless she dropped
the weapon from her powerless hand: no! she could not strike; for she
was a woman maddened by deep injuries, but she still loved her
betrayer, and the fountain of her gentle nature again bedewed her heart.
She could not strike the man who had, without remorse, inflicted on her
the pangs of a thousand deaths: she smiles in bitterness, and hangs over
the couch of her unconscious lover, her clustering hair loosely flowing
over the pillow; a piteous sigh escapes her, and, bending lower, she
kisses the lips that had betrayed her.
Gomez Arias awakes.--Is this a vision? Surely a phantom mocks his sight;
the spectre of _her_ he had forsaken stands before him: it is indeed the
image of Theodora,--but, alas! how changed! A short time only had flown
since last he saw her, and yet so altered was that form, that were it
not for a consciousness of guilt, with difficulty he would have
recognised her whom he had once idolized. Gomez Arias thrilled as he
gazed on the nocturnal visitor; in her pale features could be traced no
sympathy with life; a clammy dampness bedewed her brows; a chilling
apathy sat upon her countenance. One of her hands now mechanically fell
on the feverish breast of Don Lope, and the cold, cold touch imparted a
thrill of horror.
In speechless amazement Gomez Arias looked on the mournful figure, and
in her glazed eye he beheld one large tear, that, overwhelming the
eye-lid, dropt heavily on his hand. It was the tear of anguish, and the
drop, as it moistened the hand of Gomez Arias, awakened in his heart a
sad remembrance of violated love and truth.
The first impression of astonishment had now subsided, and Don Lope, in
a broken voice, exclaimed--"Theodora! Heavens! is it thou?"
"Yes," she answered, gloomily, "it is the lost, the wretched Theodora,
once the object of thy adoration, and now thy curse. But tremble not;
the dreadful moment is passed, and I cannot harm thee; for though thou
hast cruelly betrayed me, thou art _still_ Gomez Arias."
"How came you hither?" demanded Don Lope, with emotion: "What was your
intention?"
"Behold!" she replied, with a bitter smile, pointing to the dagger that
shone on the ground; "I came to kill thee--I came to deal out a reward
but little adequate to the pangs to which thy treachery has eternally
condemned me. Oh! Lope! Lope! why didst thou not take from me this
wretched life when I was no longer dear to thy heart? I should then have
been happy!--Thou didst not--but cruelly left me to the mercy of
strangers, when I had _none_ to look upon in life but thee."
All the feelings of an injured, yet fond woman now flowed uncontrolled
over that heart where the stormy passions had raged before. She sobbed
convulsively, and a shower of tears relieved her breaking bosom. Her
weeping countenance was upon her lover's breast, and as he contemplated
her deep anguish, and the wreck of those charms which, but for him, had
still shone in their native grace, a ray of pity dawned upon his heart,
callous as he was. There was something so peculiarly distressing in the
situation of the unfortunate girl, that all the glowing considerations
of ambition faded for a moment from his view, and his senses were alive
only to more humane sentiments.
Gomez Arias no longer loved Theodora; but still when he saw the extent
of her misery, and felt her warm tears inundating his bosom, pity
partially supplied the place of his departed affection. He took the
passive hand of Theodora, and gently pressed it between his own--and
happy--happy was at that moment his innocent victim at this solitary
mark of kindness. It was like a healing balm to her lacerated soul; but
too soon she discovered--for what, alas! can escape the acute
penetration of a loving woman--she soon discovered that pity alone
suggested the consoling token--pity which might alike have been excited
by any other object of distress; and, oh! how little does the sedate
voice of pity satisfy the craving bosom of one who had such claims to
command unbounded love!
Theodora fixed her eyes on her lover, not in anger but in sorrow, and,
in a thrilling and piteous voice, she exclaimed--
"I know you no longer love me; but, Oh! heavens! have I deserved this
from you, Lope? Your vows I will not recall, for who can forget them?
They are deeply engraven in my heart, and I believed them true,--I loved
you, Lope--Oh! I loved you as never woman loved before, and how was such
affection requited? Alas! had I suffered the most terrible of deaths, it
had been kind compared with thy desertion."
"Yes, Theodora," said Gomez Arias, "your reproaches are just; for well I
deserve the most bitter that language can invent; but I was compelled to
that necessity by obligations so imperative, so sacred, that they may
serve to explain, and perhaps, in some measure, to extenuate the
disgrace, which my heart tells me I have so justly incurred."
"Oh!" cried Theodora, "could aught in earth oblige you to abandon one
linked to you by the dearest of ties?"
"It was the consequence of former guilt," replied Don Lope. "Theodora, I
will deal frankly by you,--nay tremble not at the intelligence which I
must disclose, for it is now imperiously required.--Curse me, Theodora,"
he then added with emotion, "curse the man who has accomplished your
ruin. When I courted your affections; when I sought your innocent
caresses, then--then, alas! I was the betrayer; for it was then that I
deceived your unsuspecting heart."
"Oh! Heavens!" shrieked Theodora, "you never loved me then!"
"Yes, I adored you,--I loved you truly,--passionately, but it was my
very love that wrought this misery. I had no strength to reveal the
terrible secret: I became selfish and ungenerous; for when I breathed to
your innocent ear the vows of everlasting affection, when you repaid my
profession with undisguised, pure, and disinterested love, even at that
time, my hand, my faith, were sacredly pledged to another."
Theodora hid her face in agony, and wrung her hands in despair, but she
could not speak; her heart was full even to breaking, and it was with a
severe struggle that she faintly pronounced "Leonor!"
"It is too true," replied Gomez Arias. "Previous to my arrival at
Guadix, and my acquaintance with you, my honor was bound to the daughter
of Aguilar by indissoluble ties; we were betrothed, and on the point of
being united, when an untoward accident drove me from Granada to avoid
the vengeance of the friends of my discarded rival Don Rodrigo de
Cespedes. Misguided by the fever of passion, I forgot my sacred
obligations to Leonor. You have already but too dreadfully suffered, and
a repetition of such scenes must necessarily increase the anguish of
your situation."
This recital threw the hapless daughter of Monteblanco into that
exquisite agony which falls to the lot of woman alone to feel: for man,
far happier in the diversity of his pursuits; less susceptible in the
refinement of sensibility; more divided in his intercourse with
society, can never experience that poignancy of feeling excited by shame
and disappointed love, which exert their baneful influence over the
heart of forsaken woman!
Theodora answered not her lover; there was something so atrocious in his
recital, that in spite of the palliation which a fond woman, even when
most injured, is anxious to find for the man who has wronged her, she
could not cast a shade over the glaring colours in which Don Lope's
treachery was depicted: she recoiled from him with a feeling of
apprehension, and her countenance assumed a deadly hue as she fearfully
exclaimed--
"And you left me then to perish in the mountains?"
"No, Theodora," eagerly cried Gomez Arias; "no! such intentions never
entered my mind; of that at least I am innocent: it was my purpose to
have placed you in a convent, and I availed myself of your sleep to
spare you the pangs of a separation. Having instructed Roque how to act,
I proceeded onwards to make the necessary arrangements for your
reception in the religious asylum the Moors surprised you; Roque fled:
of the rest I am ignorant, and how I find you here is more than
imagination can conceive."
"I came," said Theodora, bitterly--"I came to be a witness of your
joyful wedding: it is to be celebrated to-morrow, and I am yet in time."
There was something evil-boding in the tone of these words, and an
involuntary chill crept over Gomez Arias as he fixed his eyes on the
sufferer.
"Yes," she continued, "it is necessary that the ceremony should be
attended at least by one of your victims--the triumph of Leonor will
then be more brilliant; and I," she added in a faltering tone, "I shall
also enjoy one satisfaction----"
Struck with horror, no less at these words than at the manner in which
they were delivered, Gomez Arias looked wildly on Theodora; but was
unable for some time to give utterance to his thoughts.
"My poor life," continued Theodora, "must always be an obstacle to your
happiness, and it is meet I should make the sacrifice at the foot of the
altar, at the time of your union with the choice of your heart."
Don Lope was fixed in deep abstraction; a thousand thoughts rushed
across his fevered brain; he raised himself from the couch; a copious
suffusion bathed his distended brows, and every thing bespoke the
dreadful conflict of his feelings. He saw all his prospects of grandeur
fall like the baseless structure of a dream: on the point of snatching
the golden treasure, he was arrested as effectually as if by the hand of
death. Perplexed with the most distracting thoughts and boisterous
passions, he for a time appeared even unconscious of the form that came
to nip his hopes in their blossom: but soon a light seemed to illumine
his over-clouded imagination, and his brow brightened as if actuated by
a sudden resolution.
"Theodora," he said, with a solemn and energetic tone--"Theodora, I will
no longer dissemble with you; I have been cruel, barbarous as never man
was before: yes, to-morrow I am to be united to Spain's proudest
daughter, and all that ambition and glory can offer in dazzling
perspective to the ardent imagination of man, all, all is to be
fulfilled. But, alas! Theodora, I cannot endure your distress; your
tears, your anguish rend my heart, and awaken that affection which was
never completely extinguished. Dared I but hope for your forgiveness,
how willingly would I make the sacrifice of these glittering bubbles,
and return to that path where alone I can find peace and happiness.
Theodora!" he continued after a pause, "can you forgive me?"
This appeal was made in a tone so subdued and pathetic, that a
conviction of its sincerity was readily admitted by the sorrowing
Theodora.
"Forgive thee!" she exclaimed, in a voice thrilling with emotion, whilst
a rich glow of animation overspread those pale features: "Forgive thee,
Lope! Can Theodora deny you!"
Earnestly she raised her clasped hands to Heaven, and, in the genuine
abandonment of an enthusiastic heart,
"Oh God!" she exclaimed, "thy mercies are boundless. Dear Lope!" she
continued, "can I do otherwise than forgive you!" and the tear of joy
glistened in her eye. "Your returning love will repay me for all the
agonies I have undergone. And now you must forgive me--for did I not
even now come armed for your destruction! Oh, horror! I came to murder
thee--in this spot--sleeping as thou wast! But ah! pardon me; I was then
a poor distracted woman, a despairing maniac, and----"
"Stay, my Theodora; reproach not thyself for an act of which I was the
cause; it was a fate that I too justly merited. But no more of that.
Listen, dear girl, and follow my injunctions, as upon their strict
observance depends our future happiness. To-morrow night I will conduct
you to your poor deserted parent: together at his knees we will implore
forgiveness. He will not be invulnerable to the tears and supplications
of his child; and I will forget the wild dreams that have so long
tyrannised over my kinder feelings, to fix all my thoughts upon love and
Theodora. To the happy termination of these designs, however, you must
be willing to pay attention to my instructions."
"I will do all!" emphatically cried Theodora.
"Well," returned Gomez Arias, "take heed that thou keepest silence with
reference to our meeting and resolves;--closed in thy chamber, thou must
appear an uninterested stranger to whatever may be proceeding without.
It will require the utmost delicacy and ability to disclose my
determination to the proud Aguilars, when the arrangements with them are
so far advanced. It is an insult they will never tamely brook, and all
my policy will be necessary to defer, at least for some time, the
terrible explosion of their indignation."
"Oh, Lope," exclaimed the fond girl, in a transport of tenderness, "I
will--I will obey you faithfully! Your slightest wish shall be to me a
law."
The tide of rapturous feeling overflowed her heart. Intoxicated with
happiness, she threw herself beside the couch, fervently clasped the
passive hands of her repentant lover, and tenderly pressed them to her
throbbing bosom. But those transports beat coldly responsive within the
breast of Don Lope; for pity and a sense of duty are but poor and
inadequate substitutes for the glow of passion. Still, however,
recollection brought to his fancy raptures past and endearments since
flown; and memory perhaps made him cherish the present by vividly
recalling the past. But it was like the melancholy regretful pleasure
which is experienced by one who revisits the scenes of his childhood. He
may indulge in the recollection of those departed joys, but his mind is
estranged by other feelings, and can no longer enjoy those pleasures
which formerly constituted his happiness.
The morning was now fast approaching, and a separation became
indispensable.--Theodora made a hasty recital of her adventures and
withdrew, replete with returning joy; for she had passed a few moments
with greater delight than perhaps she could ever again experience in
this world--those blissful moments when hearts severed by destiny, or
alienated by misfortune, again unite in the genuine bonds of revived
affection.