From this period Gabrielle grew daily worse, yet determined to persevere
till the power of doing so should utterly forsake her. She disregarded
the strong and faithful warnings of nature, which on every exertion,
however trifling, appeared on the point of being overpowered, and still
pressed and goaded it beyond its capability of endurance. She felt a
rapid internal waste, her strength failing, and every indubitable
symptom of hastening decay.
The origin of her malady was certainly in the mind; now its baleful
effects had communicated to her body in an alarming degree; the least
movement fatigued her, to bend over her employment caused a pain at her
chest, amounting to suffocation, to walk was an effort scarcely
endurable, and her only moments of comparative ease were when for a few
hours she allowed herself in a recumbent posture to seek the benefit of
repose.
She now became so extremely feeble, and was so frequently obliged to
intermit her occupation, that she clearly perceived she must speedily
relinquish it altogether. On this subject however she was spared
consideration; for having one morning, with infinite pain, dragged her
weary limbs as far as the residence of her employer, for the purpose of
conveying home the fruits of her labour; the unfeeling being, upon
receiving them from her, looked coldly in her languid countenance, and
carelessly observed that she seemed going into a consumption, and too
ill to work.
The unfortunate Gabrielle, shocked at this cruel remark, shrank back,
yet timidly replied, “that such light work could not possibly injure any
one;” ill, dying as she was, she thought of the feeble Angelo, and still
was anxious to preserve for him the means of procuring a slender
subsistence.
“That’s no concern of mine,” replied the man, in answer to her
observation, “all I know is, you work too slow for me, and I can’t pay
you above half price any longer.”
Gabrielle answered not, for though she despised the brutality of the
man, she easily perceived that remonstrance must be lost upon him, and
that he was one of those vilely selfish beings who have no other idea
than that of trafficking with distress, and think all fair that may be
reaped from the urgent necessities of the unfortunate: she did not
therefore notice his insinuation, for well she knew the pain and labour
which it cost her to compleat what she did for the miserable
consideration which she received; to have performed it for any thing
beneath that, much less half, as this being had intimated, would, she
felt, have been absolutely useless. Stretching forth her fair hand
therefore, she accepted the wretched pittance which was her due, and
without deigning to utter a syllable, left the shop.
Now was her situation indeed dreadful; she saw that want must speedily
overtake them, that nothing could delay its rapid strides; she entered
their sad abode with tottering steps, and a heavy heart, almost
incapable of further exertion, had she even retained her employment.
Angelo was dismayed at her appearance; she looked the chill image of
breathing death, or like some shadowy phantom bearing the false
semblance of life and reality.
In tender accents he enquired the cause of her seeming anguish; for
though her pallid aspect was familiar to him, there was an expression of
distress in it at present, such as, owing to her perpetual exertions to
appear cheerful in his presence, he had not for long so evidently
perceived.
Her fortitude half succumbing at the sad prospect she now anticipated
for Angelo, she looked in his face with the wish to smile, but burst
into tears.
“Ah, tell me, beloved Gabrielle, what has happened!” exclaimed Angelo.
“Nothing, nothing, poor Angelo; nothing has happened, but the time is at
length arrived--we must starve together!”
Angelo, who had scarcely during this period of distress experienced
aught which could be termed privation, and whose mind therefore could
not be like Gabrielle’s, familiarised to the idea of want, remained for
a moment stupified with horror at her words, and the manner in which she
had uttered them.
“Wretch that I am!” at length he exclaimed, striking his forehead with
his hand, “wretch that I am, and monster! it is I, who have caused all
this! Oh! Gabrielle, Gabrielle, on my head rest your sufferings, on my
head will be your death.”
“Not so, Angelo,” faintly cried Gabrielle, “accuse not yourself, neither
give way to despair; consider, dear friend, situated as we are,
existence is rather painful than pleasing; if you then can with calmness
bring your mind to the idea of its surrender, wherefore should we
grieve, since passing from this state cannot fail to be a transition to
a better? But for you, long, long had I anticipated that era with hope,
as now I view it without regret.”
But Angelo possessing not the fortitude of Gabrielle, could not reason
like, nor think with her; life, however bitter, was preferable in his
estimation to death, the idea of which, as usually to weak minds it is,
was terrible to him, viewed with repugnance and dismay. He cast himself
in despair upon the ground, and could offer no consolation to her who
had so long veiled from his eyes, though fully revealed to her own, the
picture of horror now displayed before them. Oppressed by the strong
power of imagination, already he fancied the hand of death upon him, and
again were the waning powers of the hapless Gabrielle exerted to restore
him to firmness and better thoughts.
The first transports of despair over, urged by the pious counsels and
elevated reasonings of the half-sainted Gabrielle, Angelo, gradually
animated by a slight portion of her divine enthusiasm, acquired the
power to contemplate without shrinking the scene before him. He beheld
indeed that the best hope now was death bringing a speedy termination of
their remediless woes; it was death in its apprehension, rather than the
settled thought of death, which appalled him; it was its slow approach
which he dreaded--the pang of seeing it advance, that he wished to be
spared, and he prayed in his heart that it might overtake him suddenly,
and without warning, or that in unconscious slumber, his trembling soul
might pass into eternity.
The day at length dawned upon the wretched pair, when not only their
means of procuring further subsistence were totally at an end, but when
they had not even sustenance to support them through it--not even a
single slender meal. This was indeed a day of horror for Angelo--to
Gabrielle, of pious resignation, firm hope, and blissful anticipation of
a future, better state.
Till now Angelo had resembled the mariner in the storm, who to the last
moment indulges hope, nor amid the crashing wreck resigns it, till
dismayed he sees rushing towards him the mountainous surge which must
envelop him in its fathomless bosom. So till this day, vainly, weakly
and unreasonably, had Angelo indulged the fond hope of some unforeseen
event, some blest occurrence to turn the tide of fate, and preserve him
from the catastrophe, so dreadful and incredible to his mind, of
perishing from want.
Yet this fatal day had already dawned, and no symptoms of an approaching
delivery had appeared--it advanced unvarying--evening arrived--they
gazed at each other in silence--night followed, and as the darkness
spread around them, Angelo started from the fixed attitude of despair in
which he had been gazing on Gabrielle, and clasping his hands together,
exclaimed, “Now indeed have I lost all hope, the crisis of our fate
rapidly approaches, God enable us to meet it with courage;” then in a
deep gloomy voice he pursued, “Gabrielle, canst thou bear my head upon
thy knee? I could sleep--wilt thou then pray, that from the arms of
sleep, gently I may pass into those of death!”
“Come then, my dear friend,” cried Gabrielle, “so be it; for myself, I
will not sleep--my crimes have been great at the bar of heaven; I would
employ my last moments in endeavouring to prepare my guilty soul for
its examination, and praying of the Almighty to judge it with mercy.”
Angelo threw himself at her feet, he laid his head upon her lap, and
covered his eyes with her hand, as if desirous to shut out for ever all
earthly objects, and be spared the _pang_ of death.
Soon as he wished, deep sleep overpowered him. The apartment was in
gloomy darkness--yet the inspired soul of Gabrielle saw light--her
thoughts ascended to eternity, and revelled in the infinity of space. In
the heaven of heavens she fancied she beheld her father, that he looked
down smiling upon her, and with outstretched arms, and in a voice which
seemed to her rapt ears as the music of the spheres, said, “Come, my
Gabrielle, all is forgiven.” In visions like these did she pass the
night, sleep visited not her eyes, neither did she wish it. Morning
dawned, Angelo started suddenly from his slumber, and springing up,
exclaimed in a wild voice, “Oh, my God! do I then still live!”
“Be not impatient, my friend,” said Gabrielle; “but if thou hast
strength, bear me to the bed, that I may die there, for of myself I have
not power to move.”
Angelo, who was somewhat refreshed by sleep, bore the enfeebled
Gabrielle in his arms to the bed, and seated himself beside her. This
day the sun shone upon them, but its splendour was mockery; Gabrielle
gazed not on it through humility, for she wished not that its cheering
beams should exhilarate her soul, or recall her to earthly pleasure,
while Angelo closed _his_ eyes upon the brilliant visitant in the
bitterness of an impatient despair.
Hour after hour rolled on; the dusk of evening again advanced, a sense
of pain from long abstinence began to be acutely felt; their sufferings
by the most terrible of deaths were necessarily protracted, and
gradually increased, while their termination was contemplated, by the
one with an invincible fortitude, by the other with sensations of an
indescribable horror that amounted almost to madness!
The light was now such that they could merely distinguish each other.
Gabrielle in a faint voice murmured to Angelo, to raise her head from
the pillow. Trembling with anguish and alarm, he obeyed, conceiving
from the tone of her voice that her last moments were approaching. He
supported her in his arms, she rested her head upon his shoulder, and
gazed on him, though without speaking, with a grateful placid smile. She
laid her spread hand upon her heart, her eyes of celestial blue were
raised upwards with an animated expression, her countenance was that of
a saint inspired with a holy fervour, while her soul seemed gently
passing like a breath from earth to heaven!
Angelo looked upon her with the wild aspect of moody terrible despair,
on perceiving that he must still survive, yet with an anxious wish that
her fleeting breath might be delayed till his might mingle with it, and
their souls together pass the threshold of mortal life; for he dreaded
the thought of dying as it were unprotected in his last moments, so
tremblingly did he hang on Gabrielle, even in death.
While thus they remained in each other’s arms, a slight noise was heard
at their door. Gabrielle, whose thoughts had already parted from earth,
wished not that they should be recalled to it; she desired to die; and
to return to life and to the world, would have been a painful effort;
she heeded not therefore the noise, either by look or movement.
Mean time it was repeated, but with increased violence. Angelo started
involuntarily; it continued still louder, for their door had been
secured, that no one might intrude upon or witness their anguish and
distress. The attention of Gabrielle was dragged again to earth, she
made a faint movement, Angelo laid her head gently upon the pillow, and
fast as his debilitated limbs would allow, approached the door, opened
it, and in a voice almost inarticulate from passion struggling with
weakness, he cried, “Who dare intrude here! and interrupt our last
moments!” at the same time staring wildly upon the intruder, and holding
the door in his hand, as if unwilling he should enter.
“D’Albini!” cried a voice that recalled itself to the mind of Angelo, “I
perceive you know me not; I have, however, letters and papers of
consequence for you, which I could deliver into your hands alone: with
the utmost difficulty, after having been several days in search of you,
I have been so fortunate as to trace you; and if I judge aright, you
will find in the packet I bring something to reconcile you to my
apparently unwelcome intrusion.”
Angelo now perfectly recognised the voice of an old associate, but his
travelled heart shrunk from contact with him, and in faltering accents
he replied, his native pride still operating, “This is no place for you,
it is the chamber of misery, of death!--I will dispense with your
entrance, you can have no papers, no letters that _now_ concern me.”
“Pardon me,” returned Fitzarden, “and allow me a word only, to convince
you to the contrary. Ellesmere is no more, he expired by a wound
received in a duel from his most _intimate friend_, who had attempted to
seduce his mistress: no sooner was he given to understand that he could
not survive, than he sent for me, and reverting to his unfortunate
transaction with yourself, the whole of which he had before related to
me, he confessed that in that awful moment he felt the bitterest
remorse, from the reflection of having, as he feared, completely ruined
you, since you had suddenly vanished, no one knew whither; and that he
could not die easy, unless he made you restitution of the whole of what
he had obtained from you on that memorable night, and at every former
period. “Promise me, Fitzarden,” he added, “that you will not neglect my
dying request, that you will not rest till you have discovered his
retreat, and re-instated him in the full possession of his own. I
faithfully promised; he lived to see the requisite instrument executed,
which was to confirm you in the possession of your right, and then
expired in comparative tranquillity--though deeply deploring his
manifold errors, yet in the hope that he had retrieved at least the
effects of one most baleful.” Fitzarden concluded; Angelo endeavoured
to speak, hope had dawned upon his soul, and with it had returned, more
strongly than ever, the desire of life.
The attempt, however, that he had made to speak, from the confusion of
ideas that pressed upon his mind, and his extreme debility, overpowered
him. He staggered towards the bed, where the silent Gabrielle still lay;
he essayed to express himself to her, but could not; the words
evaporated in a hollow murmur, and he sunk exhausted on the bed.
Fitzarden, now considerably alarmed, called aloud for lights and some
assistance.
Angelo was presently restored, though appearing in a state of the utmost
debility; but for the unhappy Gabrielle, her last hour seemed to have
arrived, and it was considered almost a forlorn hope to summon the
immediate aid of a physician.
Without making enquiry, the situation of his former gay companion was
sufficiently evident to Fitzarden; he clearly perceived that he was
reduced to the most abject distress, and as he cast his eyes around the
cold desolate apartment, he could not avoid contrasting it in his mind
with the sumptuous dwellings in which formerly he had been accustomed to
behold him. The view of the dreadful change produced by a fatal
indiscretion, struck a salutary terror to the heart of the young man,
and he started to reflect that his own habits were at this period such
precisely as D’Albini’s had long been: thus reverting to self, and what
might be his own fate, he felt his commiseration increase for the
unhappy beings before him.
A physician now arrived, and was conducted instantly to Gabrielle; he
felt her pulse, looked in her death-like countenance, on which the
finger of want had imprinted traces deep as those of sorrow, and
pronounced with an unusual delicacy and sincerity, that her malady was
the result of intense exhaustion, and that nourishment, not medicine,
was alone capable of restoring her.
At this declaration, however compassionately veiled, that the tender and
angelic Gabrielle was expiring from want, Angelo, unable to restrain his
acute emotion, burst into tears. Such was the anguish of his feelings,
that but for immediate assistance he would have sunk into a state worse
far than that from which he had just been recovered.
Despair and eternal repining had made on his countenance a havoc almost
equal to that which want and hidden anguish had made in that of
Gabrielle; and again as Fitzarden pressed him to take some wine, he
gazed upon his sunken cheeks, and hollow eyes, and could not avoid
remembering the gay hours when, glowing in the bloom of health and
careless vivacity, they had pledged each other in repeated goblets, not,
as now, to restore exhausted nature, but to sink it rather in enfeebling
sensuality, or, plunging into the vice of prodigal excess, to fit
themselves for pursuits that sober reason could not have tolerated.
Some exhilarating cordial having been administered to Gabrielle, she
once more opened on the light her faintly beaming eyes.--Angelo
supported her in his trembling arms; while Fitzarden, in whose soul the
scene before him awakened feelings which he was unconscious of
possessing, and whose mind was impressed with the most delicate respect
for Gabrielle, joined his entreaties to those of Angelo, and earnestly
besought her to take some nourishment.
Gabrielle found herself compelled to yield; the cup of existence was
again presented to her lips, she wished not to taste of it, for her sad
mind foreboded that as heretofore the sweets that it might contain,
would bear no proportion to the bitter with which they would be mingled;
yet to repel life was equal to the crime of seeking death; she
remembered that she was the creature of her Creator, and as her piety
had given her the resignation to die, it now inspired her with the
fortitude to live.
She recovered by degrees; with her Angelo recovered likewise, for he saw
that for this time he should be spared the remorse of beholding her die
for _him_. His was not a mind to anticipate distant events, neither to
dive deeply into remote origins, or causes; the simple position of not
having to accuse himself at this juncture of the death of her who had
sacrificed so much for him, who had famished that he might feast--to be
spared a reflection so bitter, so accusing, was of itself sufficient to
exhilarate his soul, while the idea, then shining forth in added lustre,
of his fair future prospects, conveyed a feeling of renovated bliss.
Fitzarden would not leave them till he beheld them in a state widely
different from that in which he had found them; Angelo, ever easily
depressed, now animated to a pitch of extravagance, while a feeling of
pleasure at _his_ joy, chastened by her stronger reason, shone through
the lovely mind of Gabrielle, as the mild light of the soul, or like a
tempered sun-beam diffusing around a soft and tender brilliancy.
Fitzarden promised to return on the following day, but previous to his
visiting them, to arrange for their reception an abode somewhat
different to that which they at present occupied.
“But was not this good enough to _die_ in!” observed Gabrielle to
Fitzarden, as he rose to depart.
“I know not that,” answered Fitzarden, who involuntarily gazed on her
with admiration; “for such a being as _you_ it was not even good enough
to die in; yet indeed,” added he, “virtues like yours are of themselves
independent, requiring neither living pomp nor mausoleum!”
“Who talks of death!” cried Angelo, with a laugh,--“it must be life,
beloved Gabrielle, long and happy life, for both you and me!”
The feelings of Gabrielle told her a less flattering tale, but she
faintly smiled in compliment to the wild hopes of the sanguine Angelo.