told me what had occurred after my departure; the intrigues of her
step-mother, the helpless efforts of her father to defend himself, and
his child, against the ascendency of the clergy; her useless attempts
to disarm and confound her enemy by the most unshaken sincerity. At
last, when she perceived that they would mercilessly separate her from
her father, and shut her up in a distant convent, from whence no letter
from her could reach me, she suddenly determined on apparent submission
to every thing for the sake of saving herself and me. "And, in fact,
they only desired an outward victory. What do they care whether my soul
is lost or not," she continued. "Did they ever blame the woman who
bears my poor father's name for indulging all her passions freely? They
are all of them the slaves of appearances, and they cannot bear to look
truth in the face, for it would put them to confusion. Oh! Amadeo, how
often did I form the resolution to fly to you, and then declare openly
that I am your wife, and shall be so to eternity. But you do not know
how powerful they are. Even if we started this very moment, and
travelled day and night they would overtake us, and that would be
certain death to you. Then my poor dear father also, he would not
survive the separation, and such a one, from me. But do not grieve my
love, we are now united and those who know our secret are faithful.
Pardon me, for not telling you of my coming in my note of this morning,
but I knew not for certain whether I should be able to accomplish my
plan, or whether that wretch might not strike me to the ground on my
refusal to acknowledge him as my master. And if I then had staid away,
should you not have suffered greater tortures than in this uncertainty?
You knew that I had pledged myself to you, and that I would keep my
word; that I would be faithful to you, and never belong to any man but
you.--I will return to you every night. The porter who is an honest
fellow, hates his present master, but would have died for you."
She noticed that in spite of my happiness; my wife sitting on my knee,
that I was silent and thoughtful. "Why are you so sad?" she asked.
"That we must obtain by fraud what is ours by right," I replied. "That
we must hide in darkness, and mystery as if we committed a crime in
keeping our vows!"
"Do not think of that," she said, and passed her hand across my
forehead. "The future is unknown to us; we are only certain of the
present hour, and of our own hearts. Why should we not thank God for
it. He surely knows that it is best so. Come now; I am not going to sit
here as your lady love with my hands folded, and leave it to others to
minister to you. You must be half famished, and I too am hungry. I have
tasted nothing since last night. I remember perfectly where Fabio keeps
his provisions. I will go and prepare a wedding feast which will be
more joyful than the last one was, where I saw that every drop of wine
was turned to gall for my poor father."
She rose, and hastened to the cellar, and larder. In the meantime I
pushed a small table into the middle of the room, and lighted up all
the bits of candle which remained in the dusty chandeliers. When she
returned with the plates and glasses, she stopped on the threshold with
a joyful exclamation. Then she laid the table and filled the glasses
with her own hands from the heavy wicker bottle. "Come," she said, "let
us drink to our future happiness, if your sister were but here I should
desire no other wedding banquet." After drinking this toast, she waited
on me, helping me to the cold meat and olives, persuading me to eat,
and doing the honours like a good little housewife. To please her I
swallowed some morsels though I felt no hunger. She too would hardly
take anything till I began to feed her like a child holding the
choicest morsels to her lips, then she laughingly opened them and
complied with my request.
"Now I have had enough," she said, rising. "I must provide a better
couch for you than these cushions on the floor. Fabio never thinks
about such things. An old soldier like him hardly perceives whether he
is lying on the bare ground or on a feather-bed. To be sure the wisest
thing for you will be to take possession of my little room upstairs,
instead of remaining here where any body can look in, and betray you."
She took my arm and conducted me thither after we had put out all the
lights. As we passed Fabio's closet, I stopped to listen if he moved.
"Don't mind him," she whispered; "he knows that I am here. A short
while ago, when I fetched the wine, I met him coming from the garden,
where he had plucked the fruit for our wedding feast. He was nearly
beside himself with joy on seeing me; he wept, and kissed my hands. Now
he does not appear, for fear of disturbing us."
The day had not dawned when she reminded me that we must part. I
insisted on accompanying her back to town, and when she saw the
disguise in which I had ventured out the day before, she consented. She
pulled her broad brimmed hat over her eyes and I wrapped her up in her
large cloak. We then left the house, and proceeded in the direction of
the town. We met not a soul--no lights burned either in the houses or
in the streets--the morning star sparkled alone in the pale azure of
the sky. A cool breeze came from the North. We hardly spoke a word
during our walk. My heart was oppressed, and she too when the moment of
separation approached, seemed to feel, for the first time, how
unnatural was our position. When we reached the house, she clasped me
in her arms with tears in her eyes and held me so for a while before
giving the appointed signal to the porter. "Expect me to-morrow," she
whispered, and disengaging herself from my neck she glided through the
half open door, and I was once more alone in the darkness.
A bitter feeling came over me. So I had to resign her again, my own, my
bride, who had vowed to belong to no one but me; to leave her at the
threshold of a stranger's house, whose door was for ever closed to me.
Here I had to stand at the entrance, and if the master of the house
appeared, should have to hide in a corner, as a thief from the bailiff.
What would be the end of it? Would a life of so full of bye ways and
mysteries be endurable. Can that be called happiness which can only be
obtained at the price of daily torment, and anxiety?
Before I reached the villa I had firmly resolved to put an end to this
insufferable position. From that moment I felt easy at heart, and as I
walked along the deserted road, could fully rejoice in the unalloyed
happiness which had been granted me, and I considered in its minutest
details how the plan which was to unite us for ever was to be
accomplished.
In the garden of the villa I found the old man at work. I apprized him
of my scheme, and though he thought the execution of it would be more
difficult than I expected, he willingly agreed to do all I asked of
him, and this was no slight sacrifice at his age, the more so that he
would have to part with his daughter. But where Bicetta's happiness was
concerned, he had no will of his own.
We both spent the day in preparations. More than once, while taking our
measures, I had occasion to admire the circumspection, and the
foresight of the old soldier. During the afternoon I slept, and at ten
o'clock at night, I was stationed at the gate of the town through which
she had to come. We had not settled that I was to meet her, so when I
stepped out of my lurking place, she started back but instantly
recognizing me as I pushed back my hat she gave me her still trembling
hand, from underneath her cloak. So we walked along gazing at each
other in silence, for we met several tardy wayfarers who were returning
to the town, and feared to awaken their suspicion should they hear a
soft woman's voice underneath that broad brimmed hat only when we had
reached the villa, and its comfortable hall where lights were burning,
and a rustic meal had been prepared for us by Fabio, she again talked
freely. She told me how she had passed the day, how long and dreary it
had appeared to her. Richino had treated her with a rigid coldness,
hoping to mortify her by it, and to force her to make some advances,
but before the world, her parents and their numberless visitors, he had
assumed the manners of a happy young husband. In the evening however,
he had bowed to her without a word, and had withdrawn to his apartment.
"This cannot last," I suddenly said, after a long silence; "It is as
unworthy of you, as it is of me. We must put an end to it. Your
decision alone is wanting. Mine is already formed."
"Amadeo!" she exclaimed, and her eyes turned towards me with a
wondering look. "What can you mean? Separation! Oh death rather than
that!"
"No," I replied, "fear not; I do not demand what is impossible to me as
well as to you. Leave thee my wife, my second self, truly that would be
death! But our present existence, is it not worse than death? A life
which must in time, kill the soul's freedom and dignity, and will
sooner or later cause our ruin. But even if it did succeed, which is
most improbable, if I could remain here concealed year after year, in
what a wretched state should I not drag through the weary days; idle
and solitary cut off from all society but yours; condemned to an
aimless, useless life, consumed by the torture of an obscure, and
worthless existence. But even if, in more favourable circumstances, I
could openly come to your horse as your declared lover I would not do
it; I could not brook this state of ambiguity and falsehood. I must be
able to acknowledge my feelings, and openly take possession of what is
mine. Do you now understand me my darling?"
She nodded, and her eyes were pensively fixed on the ground.--"I know
how painful it will be for you," I continued, and took her cold and
lifeless hand in mine, "You feel that you must leave your father,
perhaps for ever, if he cannot summon courage enough to follow us; You
must leave your country, and all that is dear to you, and has taken
root in your heart from childhood upwards. You can no longer kneel in
the church on the same spot where your mother once prayed--You dread
the strange country all the more, that you will have to enter it as a
fugitive, and not with the rejoicings and honours due to a bride. You
imagine that you would not dare to lift up your eyes to those who love
you. Is it not so Beatrice?"
She again nodded; then she looked up to me and said, "I will bear all
if it can make you happy."
"My own love," I resumed clasping her in my arms; "You have full
confidence in me, have you not? You believe that I have carefully
considered what I owe to you, and to myself, and that I would not
shrink from any sacrifice so long as my honour is not concerned, and
that it does not lower me in your eyes. There is but one way of escape
possible from all the snares and fetters which our enemies have thrown
around us. You said truly that flight with the swiftest horses would
not save us: no, we must set about it with more caution, if we do not
wish to be overtaken. I have spoken to Fabio, he knows all the ways to
Ancona as thoroughly as he knows this garden. He will be our guide. We
shall travel on foot, dressed as peasants and only at night, once
there, we shall embark for Venice. Fabio too leaves all that is dear
and valuable to him, only for our sakes, in order that he may assist us
to recover our freedom and happiness. Are you courageous enough
Beatrice? Do you feel strong enough to undertake this journey at your
husband's side?"
"I will follow you all over the world," she said, and pressed my hand;
"You shall have no cause to complain; I can do all you expect of me."
I embraced her with great emotion. "Come, then, I said; let us take
some food to strengthen us for the journey."
"To-night Amadeo? I implore you with all my heart, ask anything of me,
but that I should leave this without once more seeing my poor father,
without the sacred memorials of my mother which I keep at home. I
promise you that nothing shall alter my resolution, not a tear shall
betray me, when I kiss my father for the last time. I feel that without
that, without bidding him at least a mute farewell I should find no
rest, and the longing for home would kill me. As yet, we risk nothing.
No one knows that you are here, no one sees me coming, or going. I
shall not even acquaint Nina with our plan. To-morrow evening when I
leave my home, it shall be for ever; that I promise you. Grant me only
these few hours, and then, I shall be as entirely yours, as if I had
fallen from heaven into your arms, and had no other home than your
heart." She looked at me with an imploring expression which I could not
resist, although I felt uneasy at the slightest delay. I gave way to
her entreaties, and her gaiety then returned, and soon banished every
care from my mind. We supped together; Fabio waited on us, and not a
word more was said of our project. I then sent Fabio to his bed, and
brought in the dessert myself, and a bottle of sweet wine which she
liked to drink only a thimble full of, at a time, but even a few drops
of it sufficed to give her pale cheeks a rosy tint. Who could have seen
us, joyous as we were together, and have believed that we had obtained
these brief hours of happiness by stealth, and were enjoying them
clandestinely.
She then drew me into the garden. "Let me bid farewell to all my
friends, to the pomegranate, the orange trees, the fountain. To-morrow
there will not be time for it." We walked arm in arm into the garden.
She drank once more from the marble fountain, put a few oranges
in her pocket, and plucked a spray from the pomegranate. "These
must go with me," she observed, "in your home in the north, these
things do not grow. I shall soon learn to do without them. And this
shuttlecock,"---she picked it up as she saw it lying forgotten in the
grass, "I will not leave behind. Our children," she whispered, and drew
close to me, "shall play with it, and you will tell them how you
exchanged your heart for one of these feathery balls."
We had now reached the place where I had once looked over the wall.
There underneath the spreading branches of the trees, the sward had
remained fresh, and soft, and the air was pure, and free from dust.
"Let us pass the remainder of the night here," I said, "I will bring
some cushions from the house." I returned and brought a few, and also a
cloak for Beatrice. She wrapped herself up in it and soon slept calmly,
but it was long before I could find repose. I listened to her gentle
breathing, and gazed at her sweet face, with the closed eyes up-turned
to the grey sky. She murmured some indistinct words in a dream. I could
not understand them, but their soft tone still lingers in my ear.
At last I too slept; I know not for how many hours. When I awoke, the
day had not yet dawned, but she was gone. A sudden fear seized me, why
had she left me? I jumped up to ascertain whether Fabio, at least, had
accompanied her. Hardly had I taken a few steps, when I heard the bell
at the garden gate pulled violently. In that moment a fearful
foreboding came over me, and forgetting all prudence, I dashed across
the garden, and round the house towards the gate. Nevertheless old
Fabio had reached it before me, and when I turned the corner, I saw him
trying to lift up a dark figure which had sunk down at the entrance of
the garden.
"Beatrice!" I cried and rushed to the spot. When I reached it, she just
opened her eyes again, and supported by Fabio, she turned towards me
with a look of intense anguish and despair, but directly she tried to
smile again. "It is nothing Amadeo," she gasped out with a great
effort, her hand pressed to her heart. "Do not be alarmed, I do not
feel much pain. Are you vexed that I left, without awaking you? You
slept so quietly, and I thought there was no danger. How could he have
discovered that you were concealed here? Yes to be sure, I forgot to
tell you what Richino said to me yesterday at table; he spoke in French
to prevent the people from understanding him: 'Do you believe in
ghosts, Madame? If such things exist, they are welcome to roam about,
but if living creatures take it into their heads to play the
_revenants_, upon my honour, I will take good care that they are soon
turned into real phantoms.'
"I fancied that these were only idle words. Alas, Amadeo, now I cannot
travel with you; you will have to go alone, and in this very hour.
Those two who were on the watch outside the garden gate, certainly
expected you to pass. They called to me when I was ten paces distant
from the gate, and asked for my name. I gave no answer, so they did
what had been ordered them. They did not succeed however; see I can
still walk and even speak. Leave me here and do not be uneasy on my
account. I shall not die. When I hear that you are in safety then I
will follow you. Go my darling husband--before the break of day--Give
me your hand--kiss me."
Her voice grew faint; her knees could no longer support her. We carried
her, insensible, into the hall, and laid her on a low couch. When we
pushed back her cloak, and opened her coat, the blood streamed over our
hands. I bent over her; she heaved a deep sigh, looked at me once
again, and sunk back to rise no more.
Let me pass over that morning in silence.
When the sun shone through the glass door, it found me still kneeling
beside her couch, and gazing on her pale face. Old Fabio crouched in a
corner, and sobbed.
Suddenly we heard her name called from without. Nina rushed in, and
with a loud cry, threw herself on the corpse. By her demeanour it
seemed as if she had been struck a deadly blow. Then in the midst of
her convulsive sorrow, she roused herself, and turning me she said,
"You must escape; I hastened hither to caution you and Beatrice. A
short while ago Richino entered her bedroom and sought her. I know now
for what reason; it was to tell her that the man she loved was dead. He
hardly expected it to end as it has done. When he perceived that she
was not in her room, he turned pale as death, and went away. But
believe me, he will come to seek her here, and if he finds those
dreadful marks on the path--listen! I hear footsteps approaching--they
are his. Fly! they forebode death to you." I replied not, but rose and
stood by the couch of my dead wife.
The door opened and he entered ...
Whatever he had meant to say, the sight before him turned him to stone.
He staggered back, and clung to the door post for support. His
cadaverous face was distorted by helpless horror. I saw that he
struggled in vain for breath.
"What do you seek here?" I said at last. "You hoped to find me lying
covered with blood; your servants did your bidding promptly, but
unfortunately they mistook the person. So you are disappointed of your
malignant pleasure. You could not crown your deed by awakening this
unhappy woman, of whose heart not a particle was yours, with the
tidings that her lover was dead, and would never return. What hinders
me," I continued, approaching him, and clenching my hands with rage,
and maddening pain. "What hinders me from crushing you beneath my feet,
and casting you out of the house, so that you should no longer pollute
with your breath this sacred dwelling of the dead. If you had loved
her, miserable scoundrel, if you could extenuate your deed by a human
passion--but you would have taken possession of her, you would have
abased this noble soul to your own level, only for the sake of
gratifying your low desires, and because you were incited by others.
Go, I say, hide your face in eternal darkness. Assassin! I swear that
if you dare to stretch out your hand towards the dead, or cast your
eyes on her once again, I will tear you to pieces with my own hands!
Away with you!"--
In the midst of this outburst of my fury, I was silenced by the
expression of his face, on which an expression of intense pain
appeared. It seemed as if the ground reeled underneath him, as if it
were going to burst asunder and devour him. He did not look at any one;
he tried to raise his head, but sank down on the threshold completely
overcome and remained so for several minutes. I had to avert a sort of
pity, which I should have deemed a crime. When I had regained
sufficient composure to say a few last words to him, I saw him totter
like a drunken man towards the gate, and leave the garden.
I then allowed Nina to take off Beatrice's man's clothes, and to dress
her in the same white gown in which I had first seen her. There she lay
smiling peacefully amongst the flowers which her faithful attendant had
brought from the garden and the conservatory, and so she remained
during the day. Nina had just concluded this last act of friendship,
when we heard a carriage approach the gate. Her father sat in it, pale,
and with an insane smile hovering on his withered lips. Fabio, with
scalding tears, assisted him to leave the carriage, and led him into
the hall. When he saw his child surrounded by the apparel of death he
dropped silently on his knees, and pressed his forehead on her folded
hands. When at last we tried to raise him, we found that a paralysis of
the heart had compassionately united him to his darling.
In the following night we buried them both. No one was present but
Fabio, and Nina. Don Vigilio pronounced the benediction on the dead. He
told me afterwards that Richino had appointed it so, and had given
orders that all my requests were to be complied with as if I were
master of the house. He had received no visitors, and after a violent
scene with his mother-in-law, had on the same day left Bologna for
Rome.
The widow of the General entered a convent for the time of her
mourning. I for my part when the earth had closed over the two coffins,
took horse, and before the day had dawned was on my way to Florence.
A year after, I read in the papers that the widow of the General had
married the young count, her faithful admirer. But though I often
returned to Bologna to visit the grave of my wife I never saw either of
them again.
BEGINNING, AND END.
BEGINNING, AND END.
In the deep bay window of an otherwise brilliantly lighted saloon, a
single candle, supported by the arms of a winged figure in chased
silver, shed its faint lustre.
This soft shade was increased by broad-leaved plants, the last blossoms
of the season, and by a slender palm-tree whose delicate branches
arched gracefully above the entrance of this dusky bower. Two chairs
stood beside each other in the background, inviting to repose, out only
one of them was occupied.
The slender figure of a young woman reclined in it, her head supported
by her arm. Those who suspected her of retiring from the gay company to
this verdant hiding-place in order to attract attention or cause a
search to be made for her wronged her. She thought not of the effect
produced by the delicate half shade of the palm-tree on her pure white
brow, nor of the soft moonshine-like reflex of the candlelight on the
shining waves of her dark hair. Neither did she take advantage of the
solitude around her, whilst a girlish voice was heard singing to the
piano at the further end of the room, to indulge in those reveries
which in the summer time of life so often take their abode underneath
the closed eyelids. In a word, she slumbered. The music to which she
had at first dreamily listened, had at last lulled her to sleep like a
tired child. She did not even awake when the song being ended, the old
gentlemen around applauded encouragingly, the piano stool was pushed
back, and the hum of the interrupted conversation again sounded through
the saloon with renewed vivacity.
No one came to disturb her; she was a stranger in this society, and
besides there was a certain expression of grave reserve in her
countenance which did not encourage new acquaintances.
It was her fate to be considered proud. She knew it, but the little
effort she made to dispel this error arose more from indifference than
contempt. A familiar voice which addressed her by her name at last
aroused her. She opened her eyes in some confusion and saw the master
of the house standing before her, and by his side a stranger whose
forehead reached up to the branches of the palm-tree.
"Allow me to interrupt your meditation. Madam," said the host with a
smile. "I here present to you my friend, and cousin Valentine, who only
returned to Germany a few weeks ago, and a few hours since became my
guest. We must now try to retain him, and who could undertake this task
with more success than our fair country women."