------Quæque ipsa miserrima vidi,
Et quorum pars magna fui.
VIRGIL.
“The wife of Walberg, who was naturally of a cool sedate temper, and to
whom misfortune had taught an anxious and jealous prevoyance, was not so
intoxicated with the present prosperity of the family, as its young, or
even its aged members. Her mind was full of thoughts which she would not
communicate to her husband, and sometimes did not wish to acknowledge to
herself; but to the priest, who visited them frequently with renewed
marks of Guzman’s bounty, she spoke explicitly. She said, that however
grateful for her brother’s kindness, for the enjoyment of present
competence, and the hope of future wealth, she wished that her children
might be permitted to acquire the means of independent subsistence for
themselves, and that the money destined by Guzman’s liberality for their
ornamental education, might be applied to the purpose of ensuring them
the power of supporting themselves, and assisting their parents. She
alluded slightly to the possible future change in her brother’s
favourable feelings towards her, and dwelt much on the circumstance of
her children being strangers in the country, wholly unacquainted with
its language, and averse from its religion; and she mildly but strongly
stated the difficulties to which a heretic family of strangers might be
exposed in a Catholic country, and implored the priest to employ his
mediation and influence with her brother, that her children might be
enabled, through his bounty, to acquire the means of independent
subsistence, as if----and she paused. The good and friendly priest (for
he was truly both) listened to her with attention; and after satisfying
his conscience, by adjuring her to renounce her heretical opinions, as
the only means of obtaining a reconciliation with God and her brother,
and receiving a calm, but firm negative, proceeded to give her his best
LAY advice, which was to comply with her brother’s wishes in every
thing, to educate her children in the manner which he prescribed, and to
the full extent of the means which he so amply furnished. He added, _en
confiance_, that Guzman, though, during his long life, he had never been
suspected of any passion but that of accumulating money, was now
possessed with a spirit much harder to expel, and was resolved that the
heirs of his wealth should be, in point of all that might embellish
polished society, on a level with the descendants of the first nobility
of Spain. Finally, he counselled submission to her brother’s wishes in
all things,--and the wife of Walberg complied with tears, which she
tried to conceal from the priest, and had completely effaced the traces
of before she again met her husband.
“In the mean time, the plan of Guzman was rapidly realized. A handsome
house was taken for Walberg,--his sons and daughters were splendidly
arrayed, and sumptuously lodged; and, though education was, and still
is, on a very low level in Spain, they were taught all that was then
supposed to qualify them as companions for the descendants of Hidalgoes.
Any attempt, or even allusion to their being prepared for the ordinary
occupations of life, was strictly forbidden by the orders of Guzman. The
father triumphed in this,--the mother regretted it, but she kept her
regret to herself, and consoled herself with thinking, that the
ornamental education her children were receiving might ultimately be
turned to account; for the wife of Walberg was a woman whom the
experience of misfortune had taught to look to the future with an
anxious eye, and that eye, with ominous accuracy, had seldom failed to
detect a speck of evil in the brightest beam of sun-shine that had ever
trembled on her chequered existence.
“The injunctions of Guzman were obeyed,--the family lived in luxury. The
young people plunged into their new life of enjoyment with an avidity
proportioned to their youthful sensibility of pleasure, and to a taste
for refinement and elegant pursuits, which their former obscurity had
repressed, but never extinguished. The proud and happy father exulted in
the personal beauty, and improving talents of his children. The anxious
mother sighed sometimes, but took care the sigh should never reach her
husband’s ear. The aged grandfather and grandmother, whose infirmities
had been much increased by their journey to Spain, and possibly still
more by that strong emotion which is a habit to youth, but a convulsion
to age, sat in their ample chairs comfortably idle, dozing away life in
intervals of unuttered though conscious satisfaction, and calm but
venerable apathy;--they slept much, but when they awoke, they smiled at
their grandchildren, and at each other.
“The wife of Walberg, during this interval, which seemed one of
undisturbed felicity to all but her, sometimes suggested a gentle
caution,--a doubtful and anxious hint,--a possibility of future
disappointment, but this was soon smiled away by the rosy, and laughing,
and kissful lips of her children, till the mother at last began to smile
at her apprehensions herself. At times, however, she led them anxiously
in the direction of their uncle’s house. She walked up and down the
street before his door with her children, and sometimes lifted up her
veil, as if to try whether her eye could pierce through walls as hard as
the miser’s heart, or windows barred like his coffers,--then glancing on
her children’s costly dress, while her eye darted far into futurity, she
sighed and returned slowly home. This state of suspence was soon to be
terminated.
“The priest, Guzman’s confessor, visited them often; first in quality of
almoner or agent of his bounty, which was amply and punctually bestowed
through his hands; and secondly, in quality of a professed chess-player,
at which game he had met, even in Spain, no antagonist like Walberg. He
also felt an interest in the family and their fortunes, which, though
his orthodoxy disowned, his heart could not forbear to acknowledge,--so
the good priest compromised matters by playing chess with the father,
and praying for the conversion of his family on his return to Guzman’s
house. It was while engaged in the former exercise, that a message
arrived to summon him on the instant home,--the priest left his queen
_en prise_, and hurried into the passage to speak with the messenger.
The family of Walberg, with agitation unspeakable, half rose to follow
him. They paused at the door, and then retreated with a mixed feeling of
anxiety for the intelligence, and shame at the attitude in which they
might be discovered. As they retreated, however, they could not help
hearing the words of the messenger,--“He is at his last gasp,--he has
sent for you,--you must not lose a moment.” As the messenger spoke, the
priest and he departed.
“The family returned to their apartment, and for some hours sat in
profound silence, interrupted only by the ticking of the clock, which
was distinctly and solely heard, and which seemed too loud to their
quickened ears, amid that deep stillness on which it broke
incessantly,--or by the echoes of Walberg’s hurried step, as he started
from his chair and traversed the apartment. At this sound they turned,
as if expecting a messenger, then, glancing at the silent figure of
Walberg, sunk on their seats again. The family sat up all that long
night of unuttered, and indeed unutterable emotion. The lights burnt
low, and were at length extinguished, but no one noticed them;--the pale
light of the dawn broke feebly into the room, but no one observed it was
morning. “God!--how long he lingers!” exclaimed Walberg involuntarily;
and these words, though uttered under his breath, made all the listeners
start, as at the first sounds of a human voice, which they had not heard
for many hours.
“At this moment a knock was heard at the door,--a step trod slowly along
the passage that led to the room,--the door opened, and the priest
appeared. He advanced into the room without speaking, or being spoken
to. And the contrast of strong emotion and unbroken silence,--this
conflict of speech that strangled thought in the utterance, and of
thought that in vain asked aid of speech,--the agony and the
muteness,--formed a terrible momentary association. It was but
momentary,--the priest, as he stood, uttered the words--“All is over!”
Walberg clasped his hands over his forehead, and in ecstatic agony
exclaimed,--“Thank God!” and wildly catching at the object nearest him,
as if imagining it one of his children, he clasped and hugged it to his
breast. His wife wept for a moment at the thought of her brother’s
death, but roused herself for her children’s sake to hear all that was
to be told. The Priest could tell no more but that Guzman was
dead,--seals had been put on every chest, drawer, and coffer in the
house,--not a cabinet had escaped the diligence of the persons
employed,--and the will was to be read the following day.
“For the following day the family remained in that intensity of
expectation that precluded all thought. The servants prepared the usual
meal, but it remained untasted. The family pressed each other to partake
of it; but as the importunity was not enforced by the inviter setting
any example of the lesson he tried to teach, the meal remained untasted.
About noon a grave person, in the habit of a notary, was announced, and
summoned Walberg to be present at the opening of Guzman’s will. As
Walberg prepared to obey the summons, one of his children officiously
offered him his hat, another his cloke, both of which he had forgot in
the trepidation of his anxiety; and these instances of reminiscence and
attention in his children, contrasted with his own abstraction,
completely overcame him, and he sunk down on a seat to recover himself.
“You had better not go, my love,” said his wife mildly. “I believe I
shall--I _must_ take your advice,” said Walberg, relapsing on the seat
from which he had half risen. The notary, with a formal bow, was
retiring. “I _will_ go!” said Walberg, swearing a German oath, whose
guttural sound made the notary start,--“I _will_ go!” and as he spoke he
fell on the floor, exhausted by fatigue and want of refreshment, and
emotion indescribable but to a father. The notary retired, and a few
hours more were exhausted in torturing conjecture, expressed on the
mother’s part only by clasped hands and smothered sighs,--on the
father’s by profound silence, averted countenance, and hands that seemed
to feel for those of his children, and then shrink from the touch,--and
on the children’s by rapidly varying auguries of hope and of
disappointment. The aged pair sat motionless among their family;--they
knew not what was going on, but they knew if it was good they must
partake of it,--and in the perception or expectation of the approach of
evil, their faculties had latterly become very obtuse.
“The day was far advanced,--it was noon. The servants, with whom the
munificence of the deceased had amply supplied their establishment,
announced that dinner was prepared; and Ines, who retained more presence
of mind than the rest, gently suggested to her husband the necessity of
not betraying their emotions to their servants. He obeyed her hint
mechanically, and walked into the dining-hall, forgetting for the first
time to offer his arm to his infirm father. His family followed, but,
when seated at the table, they seemed not to know for what purpose they
were collected there. Walberg, consumed by that _thirst of anxiety_
which nothing seems sufficient to quench, called repeatedly for wine;
and his wife, who found even the attempt to eat impossible in the
presence of the gazing and unmoved attendants, dismissed them by a
signal, but did not feel the desire of food restored by their absence.
The old couple eat as usual, and sometimes looked up with an expression
of vague and vacant wonder, and a kind of sluggish reluctance to admit
the fear or belief of approaching calamity. Towards the end of their
cheerless meal, Walberg was called out; he returned in a few minutes,
and there was no appearance of change in his countenance. He seated
himself, and only his wife perceived the traces of a wild smile stealing
over the trembling lines of his face, as he filled a large glass of
wine, and raised it to his lips, pronouncing--“A health to the heirs of
Guzman.” But instead of drinking the wine, he dashed the glass to the
floor, and burying his head in the drapery of the table on which he
flung himself, he exclaimed, “Not a ducat,--not a ducat,--all left to
the church!--Not a ducat!” * * * * *
“In the evening the priest called, and found the family much more
composed. The certainty of evil had given them a kind of courage.
Suspence is the only evil against which it is impossible to set up a
defence,--and, like young mariners in an untried sea, they almost felt
ready to welcome the storm, as a relief from the deadly and loathsome
sickness of anxiety. The honest resentment, and encouraging manner of
the priest, were a cordial to their ears and hearts. He declared his
belief, that nothing but the foulest means that might be resorted to by
interested and bigotted monks, could have extorted such a will from the
dying man,--his readiness to attest, in every court in Spain, the
intentions of the testator (till within a few hours of his death) to
have bequeathed his whole fortune to his family,--intentions which he
had repeatedly expressed to him and others, and to whose effect he had
seen a former will of no long date,--and, finally, gave his strenuous
advice to Walberg to bring the matter to legal arbitration, in aid of
which he promised his personal exertions, his influence with the ablest
advocates in Seville, and every thing--but money.
“The family that night went to bed with spirits exalted by hope, and
slept in peace. One circumstance alone marked a change in their feelings
and habits. As they were retiring, the old man laid his tremulous hand
on the shoulder of Walberg, and said mildly, “My son, shall we pray
before we retire?”--“Not to-night, father,” said Walberg, who perhaps
feared the mention of their heretical worship might alienate the
friendly priest, or who felt the agitation of his heart too great for
the solemn exercise; “Not to-night, I am--too happy!”
“The priest was as good as his word,--the ablest advocates in Seville
undertook the cause of Walberg. Proofs of undue influence, of
imposition, and of terror being exercised on the mind of the testator,
were ingeniously made out by the diligence and spiritual authority of
the priest, and skilfully arranged and ably pleaded by the advocates.
Walberg’s spirits rose with every hour. The family, at the time of
Guzman’s death, were in possession of a considerable sum of money, but
this was soon expended, together with another sum which the frugality of
Ines had enabled her to save, and which she now cheerfully produced in
aid of her husband’s exigencies, and in confidence of eventual success.
When all was gone, other resources still remained,--the spacious house
was disposed of, the servants dismissed, the furniture sold (as usual)
for about a fourth of its value, and, in their new and humble abode in
the suburbs of Seville, Ines and her daughters contentedly resumed those
domestic duties which they had been in the habit of performing in their
quiet home in Germany. Amid these changes, the grandfather and
grandmother experienced none but mere change of place, of which they
hardly appeared conscious. The assiduous attention of Ines to their
comforts was increased, not diminished, by the necessity of being
herself the sole ministrant to them; and smiling she pleaded want of
appetite, or trifling indisposition, as an excuse for her own and her
children’s meal, while theirs was composed of every thing that could
tempt the tasteless palate of age, or that she remembered was acceptable
to theirs.
“The cause had now come to a hearing, and for the two first days the
advocates of Walberg carried all before them. On the third the
ecclesiastical advocates made a firm and vigorous stand. Walberg
returned much dispirited;--his wife saw it, and therefore assumed no
airs of cheerfulness, which only increase the irritation of misfortune,
but she was equable, and steadily and tranquilly occupied in domestic
business the whole evening in his sight. As they were separating for the
night, by a singular contingency, the old man again reminded his son of
the forgotten hour of family prayer. “Not to-night, father,” said
Walberg impatiently; “not to-night; I am--too unhappy!”--“Thus,” said
the old man, lifting up his withered hands, and speaking with an energy
he had not showed for years,--“thus, O my God! prosperity and adversity
alike furnish us with excuses for neglecting thee!” As he tottered from
the room, Walberg declined his head on the bosom of his wife, who sat
beside him, and shed a few bitter tears. And Ines whispered to herself,
“The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit,--a broken heart he will not
despise.” * * * * * *
“The cause had been carried on with a spirit and expedition that had no
precedent in the courts of Spain, and the fourth day was fixed on for a
final hearing and termination of the cause. The day dawned, and at the
dawn of day Walberg arose, and walked for some hours before the gates of
the hall of justice; and when they were opened, he entered, and sat down
mechanically on a seat in the vacant hall, with the same look of
profound attention, and anxious interest, that he would have assumed had
the court been seated, and the cause about to be decided. After a few
moment’s pause, he sighed, started, and appearing to awake from a dream,
quitted his seat, and walked up and down the empty passages till the
court was prepared to sit.
“The court met early that day, and the cause was powerfully advocated.
Walberg sat on one seat, without ever changing his place, till all was
over; and it was then late in the evening, and he had taken no
refreshment the entire day, and he had never changed his place, and he
had never changed the close and corrupted atmosphere of the crowded
court for a moment. Quid multis morer? The chance of a heretic stranger,
against the interests of churchmen in Spain, may be calculated by the
most shallow capacity.
“The family had all that day sat in the innermost room of their humble
dwelling. Everhard had wished to accompany his father to the court,--his
mother withheld him. The sisters involuntarily dropt their work from
time to time, and their mother gently reminded them of the necessity of
renewing it. They did resume it, but their hands, at variance with their
feelings, made such blunders, that their mother, δακρυοεν γελασασα,
removed their work, and suggested to them some active employment in
household affairs. While they were thus engaged, evening came on,--the
family from time to time suspended their ordinary occupations, and
crowded to the window to watch the return of their father. Their mother
no longer interfered,--she sat in silence, and this silence formed a
strong contrast to the restless impatience of her children. “That is my
father,” exclaimed the voices of the four at once, as a figure crossed
the street. “That is not my father,” they repeated, as the figure
slowly retired. A knock was heard at the door,--Ines herself rushed
forward to open it. A figure retreated, advanced again, and again
retreated. Then it seemed to rush past her, and enter the house like
a shadow. In terror she followed it, and with terror unutterable saw
her husband kneeling among his children, who in vain attempted to raise
him, while he continued to repeat, “No, let me kneel,--let me kneel, I
have undone you all! The cause is lost, and I have made beggars of you
all!”--“Rise,--rise, dearest father,” cried the children, gathering
round him, “nothing is lost, if you are saved!”--“Rise, my love, from
that horrible and unnatural humiliation,” cried Ines, grasping the
arms of her husband; “help me, my children,--father,--mother, will you
not help me?”--and as she spoke, the tottering, helpless, and almost
lifeless figures of the aged grandfather and grandmother arose
from their chairs, and staggering forwards, added their feeble
strength,--their _vis impotentiæ_, to sustain or succour the weight
that dragged heavily on the arms of the children and their mother. By
this sight, more than by any effort, Walberg was raised from the
posture that agonized his family, and placed in a chair, around which
hung the wife and children, while the aged father and mother, retreating
torpidly to their seats, seemed to lose in a few moments the keen
consciousness of evil that had inspired them for an instant with a
force almost miraculous. Ines and her children hung round Walberg, and
uttered all of consolation that helpless affection could suggest; but
perhaps there is not a more barbed arrow can be sent through the heart,
than by the thought that the hands that clasp ours so fondly cannot
earn for us or themselves the means of another meal,--that the lips
that are pressed to ours so warmly, may the next ask us for bread,
and--ask in vain!
“It was perhaps fortunate for this unhappy family, that the very
extremity of their grief rendered its long indulgence impossible,--the
voice of necessity made itself be heard distinctly and loudly amid all
the cry and clamour of that hour of agony. Something must be done for
the morrow,--and it was to be done immediately. “What money have you?”
was the first articulate sentence Walberg uttered to his wife; and when
she whispered the small sum that the expences of their lost cause had
left them, he shivered with a brief emphatic spasm of horror,--then
bursting from their arms, and rising, he crossed the room, as if he
wished to be alone for a moment. As he did so, he saw his youngest
child playing with the long strings of his grandfather’s band,--a mode
of sportive teazing in which the urchin delighted, and which was at
once chid and smiled at. Walberg struck the poor child vehemently, and
then catching him in his arms, bid him--“Smile as long as he could!”
* * * * *
“They had means of subsistence at least for the following week; and that
was such a source of comfort to them, as it is to men who are quitting a
wreck, and drifting on a bare raft with a slender provision towards some
coast, which they hope to reach before it is exhausted. They sat up all
that night together in earnest counsel, after Ines had taken care to see
the father and mother of her husband comfortably placed in their
apartment. Amid their long and melancholy conference, hope sprung up
insensibly in the hearts of the speakers, and a plan was gradually
formed for obtaining the means of subsistence. Walberg was to offer his
talents as a musical teacher,--Ines and her daughters were to undertake
embroidery,--and Everhard, who possessed exquisite taste both in music
and drawing, was to make an effort in both departments, and the friendly
priest was to be applied to for his needful interest and recommendation
for all. The morning broke on their long-protracted consultation, and
found them unwearied in discussing its subject. “We shall not starve,”
said the children hopefully.--“I trust not,” said Walberg
sighingly.--His wife, who knew Spain, said not a word.----