Romance and Reality (Landon)/Chapter 60
CHAPTER XIV.
"He abandoned all his schemes of policy, intent only upon the means of making, if possible, a handsome retreat from the disastrous situation into which his presumptuous confidence had betrayed him."
Sydenham.
It would have been very much below Don Henriquez's dignity to have escaped easily from Spain; and it was rather disrespectful of Fortune not to throw more impediments in his way than she did. He was as lucky in missing obstacles as heroes of romance used to be in finding them. Many were the disguises he assumed. At one time he even meditated cutting off his mustaches;—that would have been "the unkindest cut of all." However, after a longer period of wandering than he had expected, he found himself in perfect safety on board a little trading-vessel bound for Naples.
He was landed at his own express desire, on a lonely part of the sea-coast; and his precaution was rewarded by being, in a most picturesque bend of the road, suddenly seized, his arms pinioned, his eyes blindfolded, and himself hurried into the presence of our old acquaintance, Giulio Castelli. An old acquaintance, too, was he of Don Henriquez, who, during his last sojourn in Naples, had found him an active and clever partisan.
Zoridos was immediately released—met with the most polite reception—and learnt that his friends in Naples had made their last speeches, some from very elevated situations. To this was added, that Naples was in a state of great discontent, and might still be considered a very promising theatre for a man of brilliant talents and enlightened opinions.
Henriquez was just now most desirous of learning something from Pachetti, of his daughter and his ducats. Giulio, since his matrimonial speculation, had become more notorious, and better known personally, than is quite desirable for a gentleman who was looking back with longing eyes to that land of Cockaigne, England: so, one dark night, attended by one or two of his band, who intended leaving off business and turning lazzaroni, they all set off for Naples, which they found in an uproar. The truth is, the inhabitants of that languid and luxurious city wanted some little variety; and the minister (your great men have each their weak point) supported a favourite actress in the range of first-rate characters in the Opera—supported her against the united musical opinion of Naples. One night she sang worse than ever; and the next morning half the city rose up, demanding liberty and a new prima donna. A body of the lazzaroni also insisted on a lower price for lemonade, for the revolutionary movement was not serious enough for macaroni.
At this moment Don Henriquez arrived. It was too tempting an opportunity to be missed. He placed himself at the head of a company of people, who were prepared to do some great thing, though as yet they had not determined what. He drove back a body of soldiers, who, being disturbed in their morning's sleep, were scarce awake—saw at once the commanding position of St. Valerie—prepared to take possession of the hill—and sent Giulio to Pachetti's for five hundred ducats. He met with some slight opposition from a few straggling troops; but made good his post. Unluckily, the porch of the door-way caught fire: this led to an incursion into the garden, and the result has already been told. Giulio, who had loitered somewhat on the road, was, however, early enough to follow Henriquez into the garden. Even in the utmost happiness of surprise, Beatrice was not one to think only of herself: a hope of Emily's escape instantly suggested itself.
"Dearest father, this way!" exclaimed she, hurrying him to the thicket where Emily leant, too terrified and too bewildered for speech. "She is English—she pines for her own country. Can we not now aid her to fly?"
"Only too happy to be so employed. Surely, Don Henriquez, this claim upon your gallantry will be more powerful than that upon your patriotism—especially as the one may be of some avail, and the other cannot," interrupted Giulio, who attended them.
Henriquez looked hesitatingly first at the convent, and then at his daughter.
"Use your influence, lady, with your father; he is too brave a man to throw away his life for nothing. A body of troops are now on their way: the rest of the city is quiet already. As I passed through the court, sacrilege was the word, not liberty. The moment the soldiers are seen, the people will disperse, or a few of the bravest may remain to pelt their leader."
"My poor Beatrice, is this our meeting?" exclaimed Zoridos,
"You see, Senhor, the case is desperate as regards fighting, and no one can blame the flight which is sheer necessity. I know this ground very well. This won't be the first nun who has found my services useful. It is now getting dusk; in half an hour it will be dark. By that time we shall be on the shore; and Pachetti, with his usual discretion, told me there is a vessel lying about a mile from the coast, and bound for Marseilles. Once on board we are safe."
"Well, we must just fight our way through the court," said Henriquez.
"You would not fight far, with a nun on one side, and a novice on the other. No, no; follow me—and that as speedily as possible."
So saying he advanced to assist Emily, who instantly recognised the banditti chieftain. Faintly she sank on Beatrice's shoulder, scarcely able to utter her entreaties not to venture with such a guide. The recognition was mutual.
"I don't very much wonder at her fright. We have met before; but I owe her no grudge, and we must not wait for womanish fear. Don Henriquez, have I ever broken faith with you? Trust me now, and follow me at once."
Beatrice saw the necessity for instant action. "Emily, dear, you cannot fear my father"—and transferring the trembling girl to Zoridos, she advanced, and, accepting Giulio's offered aid, said, "I can well trust my father's comrade; let us lead the way."
"By the Madonna, lady, you shall be as safe as myself!"
Confidence is its own security. Henriquez finding Emily too terrified or too weak to move, took her up in his arms, and carried her like a child. They reached a remote part of the garden, and, partly forcing, partly cutting a way through some thick shrubs, they saw a door, whose hinges soon yielded to their efforts.
"I doubt," said Giulio, "whether this entrance will ever be as useful again as it has been. Well, I do not believe any one knew of its existence, save myself, an old priest long since dead, and a young count not likely to say much about it. So it will not be greatly missed."
It was now getting darker every minute—luckily their guide knew his way perfectly. In a very short time, the sound of the waves breaking on the sea beach was distinctly heard, the trees grew together less thickly, when suddenly their guide paused.
"Your dress will inevitably betray you, lady. We shall find a little boat waiting; but though their consciences are not very tender, I doubt whether the rowers will like carrying off a nun; and they will not hear of it on board our vessel. To aid an escape from the clutches of justice is a meritorious act; but from those of the church is quite another matter."
The whole party looked at each other in dismay.
"Leave me! leave me!" exclaimed Emily, to whom the idea of the danger she was bringing on her friends gave a momentary energy. "Why should three lives be sacrificed for one so nearly spent as mine? Leave me!"
"Never!" replied Beatrice. "You had remained in the garden but for my persuasions. Quit us, my father—we can surely return to the convent—fright will excuse an absence, which, from its return, will seem unintentional."
"And how are you to account for finding out the door? and how are you to get back? I must try some better plan. Stay you here—I shall be back in half an hour. You could not have a better pledge for my return than this"—placing on the ground a bag, which, both from its weight and sound, seemed filled with metal substances. "Pray to every saint you can think of, that the wind does not rise while I am gone."
Before they could answer, he had disappeared among the trees. The half hour passed in the most intolerable anxiety. Every rustle in the leaves sounded like the beginning of a breeze; the slightest movement of any of the party filled the others with alarm; and Emily sat on a fallen branch and wept bitterly. At length a rapid footstep was heard: it was Giulio.
"I have procured other habits. You must dress as quickly as possible. Let the tree hide the light on one side, my cloak will do it on the other."
So saying he laid a packet on the ground, and struck a light; while the cloak, which hung on the boughs, served at once for a screen to the light and themselves.
All the colours of the rainbow seemed in Giulio's bundle. He had procured two peasants' gala dresses, which shone with scarlet and blue. Hastily Beatrice performed both her own and Emily's toilette; for what with fatigue and terror, her companion was almost powerless: still their celerity excited the praise of the ci-devant professor of the fine arts.
"What a shame to cut off the nuns' hair as they do! No wonder they want to escape! Still I think yours will soon grow again"—addressing Emily, whose deficiency in, as the Macassar advertisements have it, "woman's chief adornment," was, however, hidden by a red kerchief knitted round her temples.
The light was extinguished, and they again set forth. A boat was in waiting, and they reached the side of the ship in safety. After a short parley, in which the word "ducats" bore a prominent part, they were admitted on board.
It was a merchantman, laden with sweet wines. The accommodations were wretched enough—to Beatrice they seemed luxurious. A little cabin, the only one, was allotted to their use; and there Giulio begged permission to deposit his bag. He fastened it up anew. Still Beatrice was right when she fancied it contained the gold chalice of St. Valerie's chapel. Before morning they were out of sight of Naples. For the information of all interested in such matters, we beg leave to state, that the insurrection ended in a proclamation, setting forth, that, thanks to Santo Januario, the lemons promised to be especially productive, and that there was to be a display of fireworks in his honour at the next festival.
A Signora Rossinuola, with the face of a goddess, and the voice of an angel, made her first curtsy that evening to the Neapolitans. She was received with the most rapturous applause. Nothing was heard of next day but her shake and her smile. Her rival talked of an ungrateful public, and set off for England. The next year she outbid the Queen of Naples for a diamond necklace.
Essays are written on causes—they might be more pithily turned on consequences. The Neapolitan revolution ended in the departure of one actress, the début of another, and the escape of a nun. Well, the importance of an event is to the individual. One of Beatrice's first acts was to give Lorraine's letter to her father. It was filled with expressions of the most generous and devoted attachment, mentioned his intention of returning to Spain, there endeavouring to learn Don Henriquez's fate, and also to prevail on his daughter to unite her fortunes with his own.
It needed all Beatrice's exertion and submission not to sink beneath the most agonising apprehensions. Her time and attention, too, were occupied by the rapid and increasing illness of Emily, who, with that pertinacity with which an invalid adheres to some favourite idea, seemed filled but with the hope of dying at home. Don Henriquez was sufficiently tired of action to look rejoicingly forward to the security of England; Beatrice's heart was there already; and Giulio avowed his belief that it was the only place in the world where talent was properly encouraged.