blossom would ever flourish on a new soil had already faded from the
bosom of the most sanguine among us, when one evening the guardian
genius of the cabin beckoned to me from its portal. My entrance
seemed to arouse the fair invalid, who was reclined upon a couch.
The enchanting halo of her perfect beauty was unabated by disease;
and she was surrounded by articles so rare, so costly, and in such
profusion, as to force themselves upon my attention even in that
first glance. A faint smile, and a recognition from those now too
bright eyes, were my welcome. But they did not rest upon me long;
for, as if by some fascination, those eyes seemed always turned
toward him, or, if by chance he was beyond their reach, to the
spot where they could first behold his return.
So this nursling of a palace, evidently dying out on the wide sea,
with only rough men about her, had neither a word nor a look of
reproach for the one who had dragged her forth to so wretched a
fate. Even in her mind's wanderings, she seldom went back to former
pomps or pleasures, and her tongue preferred rather to stumble
through the rough and unfamiliar language in which of late she
had been so terribly schooled, than to speak that of her youth.
Once, when after a short absence her attendant returned to her
side, she said,--
"My heart was trying to cross the waves that were between us, and
oh! how it was tossed upon them--and it ached, and--and--" Then,
giving a sigh of relief, she sank back, closed her eyes, and slumbered
restfully.
He disposed of the lamp he had just lighted, and then, with an
expression as inscrutable as ever, he stood looking down upon her.
While this scene was being enacted, I marked through the open portal
of the cabin--in one of those strange distractions that occur to
us amidst the most intense feelings of our lives--the stars above
us growing brighter and brighter as the shades of the twilight
deepened. Suddenly turning from the couch, he also, at a stride,
stood in full view of those bright revelations of the darkness; but
his eye sought them with no such abstracted regard as mine. Fixedly
and sternly he seemed to be watching among them some portentous
index of fate. Soon a change came over his countenance, and he
resumed his place beside the scarcely breathing form. Then the
fountains of the great deep within him were broken up, and the
rushing torrent of its emotions shook his whole frame and convulsed
his features. Stooping, he kissed the insensible girl passionately,
again and again, and he would, I believe, have clasped her to his
bosom if I, fearing for her the effects of his stormy transports,
had not caught his arm. He needed no explanation of my interruption,
neither was he startled or incensed by it, and he seemed more like
one reluctantly obeying some sudden restraining impulse of his
own than yielding to that of another.
"No," he said, "I must not cut short a single flicker of that bright
spirit; the wondrously beautiful vessel that it glorifies will be
cold clay soon enough! ashes from which no future Phoenix shall
arise. O," he exclaimed, "this sacrifice is too great, too great!
and for nothing! Even had she perished on the destined altar, an
accepted sacrifice, it were too great! But I tore her from home
and friends, and life itself, for this,--for nothing! O Destiny,
thou art a subtle adversary, and infinite are thy devices for our
overthrow! But I never reckoned on such an impediment as this
heart-weakness."
Then approaching me, he laid a hand upon my shoulder, and said:
"As the representative of the young, hopeful, living world she
is about to leave, I called you here that you and she might look
your last upon each other. Go now, and though your present emotion
accords duly with the part I have assigned you, see that you do
not play false to it hereafter by letting this woful event impress
you with too deep or too lasting a sorrow."
Then to my Ideal, so strangely found and lost, I looked and murmured
an adieu, and returned among my companions, reverenced as one who
had been in a hallowed place.
It was the third evening after this, to me, memorable visit. Streaks
of sable, with golden edges, barred the face of the setting sun,
and promised to our hopes a change of weather. But this indication,
important as it was after the long calm, was evidently not that which
the whole ship's crew, officers and men, were now discussing,--as the
converged attention of the scattered groups on the closed entrance
of that silent, mysterious cabin testified.
"I know," said O'Hanlon, answering to an objection from some one
in the group where he stood, "it would be like invading a sanctuary
to intrude there; but the conviction sometimes comes over me that
we have, all hands of us, from the captain down, acted in regard
to this matter with the incapacity of men in a nightmare. Fear is
a condition under which a true man should not breathe a moment
without contest; and yet I know we have been all, more or less
consciously, under its influence since this man came on board.
Out upon us! I will, for myself at least, break through this dream
of terror at once, by a tap at yonder door."
"It's the captain's place, not ours," said Smith, "to investigate
this affair. Don't be too impulsive; you will get yourself into
serious trouble."
"This is no matter of ordinary discipline," said the other; "the
captain has a more substantial awe of this man than you or I,--and
for more substantial reasons. He was aware of his wealth and power
when we were not. How, without his knowledge, could the treasures
worth a king's ransom, that adorn yonder coop, have been smuggled
in or arranged there? But I am resolved, right or wrong, to do
as I said."
I was questioning within myself whether to second him, when the
door toward which he was advancing slowly opened, and once more
the object of our discussion issued from it, and again in his arms
was the beautiful form to which they had proved such a fatal
resting-place. But none of the emotions of terror, trustfulness,
or affection, which had alternately thrilled it in that position,
did it now exhibit. The bright eyes were closed, the beautiful
features settled in lasting repose. The glossy hair was daintily
braided. The spotless garments were gracefully disposed. The jewels
glittered conspicuously, as if relieved from the outvying lustre of
her eyes. All, as in life, was pure and perfect; and as in life,
so in death, she was still a revelation of transcendent beauty.
A snowy winding-sheet, fringed with heavy coins, alternately of
gold and of silver, and looped with silken cords on which bunches
of the same precious metals hung as tassels, was so disposed that
he could enfold her in it without laying her from his arms.
Stepping to the side of the vessel, he stood holding her thus in
our view for a few moments; then, deftly and deliberately as usual,
he wrapped the preciously weighted linen around her, stepped easily
upon the bulwark, and with that perfect and deliberate poise so
peculiar to him, and with his burden clasped firmly to his breast,
he flung himself far clear of the ship, into the ocean, and was
seen no more.
Thus vanished like a dream the romance of my life. Indeed, but for
the lurid gleam of this strange jewel, a true type and testimony of
it, I might yet grow to persuade myself it was a dream, so wondrous
it becomes to me in memory.
THE ADVOCATE'S WEDDING-DAY.
BY CATHERINE CROWE.
Antoine de Chaulieu was the son of a poor gentleman of Normandy,
with a long genealogy, a short rent-roll, and a large family. Jacques
Rollet was the son of a brewer, who did not know who his grandfather
was; but he had a long purse, and only two children. As these youths
flourished in the early days of liberty, equality, and fraternity,
and were near neighbors, they naturally hated each other. Their enmity
commenced at school, where the delicate and refined De Chaulieu,
being the only _gentilhomme_ amongst the scholars, was the favorite
of the master (who was a bit of an aristocrat in his heart), although
he was about the worst dressed boy in the establishment, and never
had a sou to spend; whilst Jacques Rollet, sturdy and rough, with
smart clothes and plenty of money, got flogged six days in the week,
ostensibly for being stupid and not learning his lessons,--which
he did not,--but in reality for constantly quarrelling with and
insulting De Chaulieu, who had not strength to cope with him.
When they left the academy, the feud continued in all its vigor,
and was fostered by a thousand little circumstances, arising out
of the state of the times, till a separation ensued, in consequence
of an aunt of Antoine de Chaulieu's undertaking the expense of
sending him to Paris to study the law, and of maintaining him there
during the necessary period.
With the progress of events came some degree of reaction in favor
of birth and nobility; and then Antoine, who had passed for the
bar, began to hold up his head, and endeavor to push his fortunes;
but fate seemed against him. He felt certain that if he possessed
any gift in the world, it was that of eloquence, but he could get
no cause to plead; and his aunt dying inopportunely, first his
resources failed, and then his health. He had no sooner returned
to his home than, to complicate his difficulties completely, he
fell in love with Miss Natalie de Bellefonds, who had just returned
from Paris, where she had been completing her education. To expatiate
on the perfections of Mademoiselle Natalie would be a waste of
ink and paper; it is sufficient to say that she really was a very
charming girl, with a fortune which, though not large, would have
been a most desirable addition to De Chaulieu, who had nothing.
Neither was the fair Natalie indisposed to listen to his addresses;
but her father could not be expected to countenance the suit of
a gentleman, however well-born, who had not a ten-sous piece in
the world, and whose prospects were a blank.
Whilst the ambitious and love-sick barrister was thus pining in
unwelcome obscurity, his old acquaintance, Jacques Rollet, had
been acquiring an undesirable notoriety. There was nothing really
bad in Jacques; but having been bred up a democrat, with a hatred
of the nobility, he could not easily accommodate his rough humor
to treat them with civility when it was no longer safe to insult
them. The liberties he allowed himself whenever circumstances brought
him into contact with the higher classes of society, had led him
into many scrapes, out of which his father's money had in one way
or another released him; but that source of safety had now failed.
Old Rollet, having been too busy with the affairs of the nation to
attend to his business, had died insolvent, leaving his son with
nothing but his own wits to help him out of future difficulties;
and it was not long before their exercise was called for.
Claudine Rollet, his sister, who was a very pretty girl, had attracted
the attention of Mademoiselle de Bellefonds's brother, Alphonse;
and as he paid her more attention than from such a quarter was
agreeable to Jacques, the young men had had more than one quarrel
on the subject, on which occasion they had each, characteristically,
given vent to their enmity, the one in contemptuous monosyllables,
and the other in a volley of insulting words. But Claudine had
another lover, more nearly of her own condition of life; this was
Claperon, the deputy-governor of the Rouen jail, with whom she
had made acquaintance during one or two compulsory visits paid
by her brother to that functionary. Claudine, who was a bit of a
coquette, though she did not altogether reject his suit, gave him
little encouragement, so that, betwixt hopes and fears and doubts
and jealousies, poor Claperon led a very uneasy kind of life.
Affairs had been for some time in this position, when, one fine
morning, Alphonse de Bellefonds was not to be found in his chamber
when his servant went to call him; neither had his bed been slept
in. He had been observed to go out rather late on the previous
evening, but whether he had returned nobody could tell. He had not
appeared at supper, but that was too ordinary an event to awaken
suspicion; and little alarm was excited till several hours had
elapsed, when inquiries were instituted and a search commenced,
which terminated in the discovery of his body, a good deal mangled,
lying at the bottom of a pond which had belonged to the old brewery.
Before any investigation had been made, every person had jumped
to the conclusion that the young man had been murdered, and that
Jacques Rollet was the assassin. There was a strong presumption
in favor of that opinion, which further perquisitions tended to
confirm. Only the day before, Jacques had been heard to threaten
Monsieur de Bellefonds with speedy vengeance. On the fatal evening,
Alphonse and Claudine had been seen together in the neighborhood
of the now dismantled brewery; and as Jacques, betwixt poverty and
democracy, was in bad odor with the respectable part of society,
it was not easy for him to bring witnesses to character or to prove
an unexceptionable _alibi_. As for the Bellefonds and De Chaulieus,
and the aristocracy in general, they entertained no doubt of his
guilt; and finally, the magistrates coming to the same opinion,
Jacques Rollet was committed for trial at the next assizes, and
as a testimony of good-will, Antoine de Chaulieu was selected by
the injured family to conduct the prosecution.
Here, at last, was the opportunity he had sighed for. So interesting
a case, too, furnishing such ample occasion for passion, pathos,
indignation! And how eminently fortunate that the speech which
he set himself with ardor to prepare would be delivered in the
presence of the father and brother of his mistress, and perhaps
of the lady herself. The evidence against Jacques, it is true,
was altogether presumptive; there was no proof whatever that he
had committed the crime; and for his own part, he stoutly denied
it. But Antoine de Chaulieu entertained no doubt of his guilt,
and the speech he composed was certainly well calculated to carry
that conviction into the bosom of others. It was of the highest
importance to his own reputation that he should procure a verdict,
and he confidently assured the afflicted and enraged family of
the victim that their vengeance should be satisfied.
Under these circumstances, could anything be more unwelcome than
a piece of intelligence that was privately conveyed to him late on
the evening before the trial was to come on, which tended strongly
to exculpate the prisoner, without indicating any other person
as the criminal. Here was an opportunity lost. The first step of
the ladder on which he was to rise to fame, fortune, and a wife
was slipping from under his feet.
Of course so interesting a trial was anticipated with great eagerness
by the public; the court was crowded with all the beauty and fashion
of Rouen, and amongst the rest, doubly interesting in her mourning,
sat the fair Natalie, accompanied by her family.
The young advocate's heart beat high; he felt himself inspired by
the occasion; and although Jacques Rollet persisted in asserting
his innocence, founding his defence chiefly on circumstances which
were strongly corroborated by the information that had reached De
Chaulieu the preceding evening, he was nevertheless convicted.
In spite of the very strong doubts he privately entertained respecting
the justice of the verdict, even De Chaulieu himself, in the first
flush of success, amidst a crowd of congratulating friends and
the approving smiles of his mistress, felt gratified and happy;
his speech had, for the time being, not only convinced others but
himself; warmed with his own eloquence, he believed what he said.
But when the glow was over, and he found himself alone, he did not
feel so comfortable. A latent doubt of Rollet's guilt now pressed
strongly on his mind, and he felt that the blood of the innocent
would be on his head. It was true there was yet time to save the
life of the prisoner; but to admit Jacques innocent, was to take
the glory out of his own speech, and turn the sting of his argument
against himself. Besides, if he produced the witness who had secretly
given him the information, he should be self-condemned, for he could
not conceal that he had been aware of the circumstance before the
trial.
Matters having gone so far, therefore, it was necessary that Jacques
Rollet should die; and so the affair took its course; and early
one morning the guillotine was erected in the court-yard of the
gaol, three criminals ascended the scaffold, and three heads fell
into the basket, which were presently afterward, with the trunks
that had been attached to them, buried in a corner of the cemetery.
Antoine de Chaulieu was now fairly started in his career, and his
success was as rapid as the first step toward it had been tardy. He
took a pretty apartment in the Hotel Marboeuf, Rue Grange Bateliere,
and in a short time was looked upon as one of the most rising young
advocates in Paris. His success in one line brought him success
in another; he was soon a favorite in society, and an object of
interest to speculating mothers; but his affections still adhered
to his old love, Natalie de Bellefonds, whose family now gave their
assent to the match,--at least prospectively,--a circumstance which
furnished such additional incentive to his exertions, that in about
two years from his first brilliant speech he was in a sufficiently
flourishing condition to offer the young lady a suitable home.
In anticipation of the happy event, he engaged and furnished a
suite of apartments in the Rue de Helder; and as it was necessary
that the bride should come to Paris to provide her trousseau, it
was agreed that the wedding should take place there, instead of at
Bellefonds, as had been first projected,--an arrangement the more
desirable, that a press of business rendered Monsieur de Chaulieu's
absence from Paris inconvenient.
Brides and bridegrooms in France, except of the very high classes,
are not much in the habit of making those honeymoon excursions so
universal in this country. A day spent in visiting Versailles, or
St. Cloud, or even the public places of the city, is generally all
that precedes the settling down into the habits of daily life. In
the present instance, St. Denis was selected, from the circumstance
of Natalie's having a younger sister at school there, and also
because she had a particular desire to see the Abbey.
The wedding was to take place on a Thursday; and on the Wednesday
evening, having spent some hours most agreeably with Natalie, Antoine
de Chaulieu returned to spend his last night in his bachelor apartments.
His wardrobe and other small possessions had already been packed
up, and sent to his future home; and there was nothing left in
his room now but his new wedding suit, which he inspected with
considerable satisfaction before he undressed and lay down to sleep.
Sleep, however, was somewhat slow to visit him, and the clock had
struck one before he closed his eyes. When he opened them again,
it was broad daylight, and his first thought was, had he overslept
himself? He sat up in bed to look at the clock, which was exactly
opposite; and as he did so, in the large mirror over the fireplace,
he perceived a figure standing behind him. As the dilated eyes
met his own, he saw it was the face of Jacques Rollet. Overcome
with horror, he sank back on his pillow, and it was some minutes
before he ventured to look again in that direction; when he did
so, the figure had disappeared.
The sudden revulsion of feeling which such a vision was calculated
to occasion in a man elate with joy may be conceived. For some
time after the death of his former foe, he had been visited by
not infrequent twinges of conscience; but of late, borne along by
success and the hurry of Parisian life, these unpleasant remembrances
had grown rarer, till at length they had faded away altogether.
Nothing had been further from his thoughts than Jacques Rollet
when he closed his eyes on the preceding night, or when he opened
them to that sun which was to shine on what he expected to be the
happiest day of his life. Where were the high-strung nerves now,
the elastic frame, the bounding heart?
Heavily and slowly he arose from his bed, for it was time to do
so; and with a trembling hand and quivering knees he went through
the processes of the toilet, gashing his cheek with the razor,
and spilling the water over his well-polished boots. When he was
dressed, scarcely venturing to cast a glance in the mirror as he
passed it, he quitted the room and descended the stairs, taking
the key of the door with him, for the purpose of leaving it with
the porter; the man, however, being absent, he laid it on the table
in his lodge, and with a relaxed hand and languid step he proceeded
to the carriage which quickly conveyed him to the church, where
he was met by Natalie and her friends.
How difficult it was now to look happy, with that pallid face and
extinguished eye!
"How pale you are! Has anything happened? You are surely ill?" were
the exclamations that assailed him on all sides.
He tried to carry the thing off as well as he could, but he felt
that the movements he would have wished to appear alert were only
convulsive, and that the smiles with which he attempted to relax
his features were but distorted grimaces. However, the church was
not the place for further inquiries; and whilst Natalie gently
pressed his hand in token of sympathy, they advanced to the altar,
and the ceremony was performed; after which they stepped into the
carriages waiting at the door, and drove to the apartments of Madame
de Bellefonds, where an elegant _dejeuner_ was prepared.
"What ails you, my dear husband?" inquired Natalie, as soon as they
were alone.
"Nothing, love," he replied; "nothing, I assure you, but a restless
night and a little overwork, in order that I might have to-day
free to enjoy my happiness."
"Are you quite sure? Is there nothing else?"
"Nothing, indeed, and pray don't take notice of it; it only makes
me worse."
Natalie was not deceived, but she saw that what he said was
true,--notice made him worse; so she contented herself with observing
him quietly and saying nothing; but as he felt she was observing
him, she might almost better have spoken; words are often less
embarrassing things than too curious eyes.
When they reached Madame de Bellefonds' he had the same sort of
scrutiny to undergo, till he grew quite impatient under it, and
betrayed a degree of temper altogether unusual with him. Then everybody
looked astonished; some whispered their remarks, and others expressed
them by their wondering eyes, till his brow knit, and his pallid
cheeks became flushed with anger.
Neither could he divert attention by eating; his parched mouth
would not allow him to swallow anything but liquids, of which he
indulged in copious libations; and it was an exceeding relief to
him when the carriage which was to convey them to St. Denis, being
announced, furnished an excuse for hastily leaving the table.
Looking at his watch, he declared it was late; and Natalie, who saw
how eager he was to be gone, threw her shawl over her shoulders,
and bidding her friends good morning they hurried away.
It was a fine sunny day in June; and as they drove along the crowded
boulevards and through the Porte St. Denis, the young bride and
bridegroom, to avoid each other's eyes, affected to be gazing out
of the windows; but when they reached that part of the road where
there was nothing but trees on each side, they felt it necessary
to draw in their heads, and make an attempt at conversation.
De Chaulieu put his arm round his wife's waist, and tried to rouse
himself from his depression; but it had by this time so reacted
upon her, that she could not respond to his efforts; and thus the
conversation languished, till both felt glad when they reached their
destination, which would, at all events, furnish them something
to talk about.
Having quitted the carriage and ordered a dinner at the Hotel de
l'Abbaye, the young couple proceeded to visit Mademoiselle de
Bellefonds, who was overjoyed to see her sister and new brother-in-law,
and doubly so when she found that they had obtained permission to
take her out to spend the afternoon with them.