Clermont/Chapter 15
CHAP. V.
The wand'ring breath was on the wing to part,
Weak was the pulse, and hardly heav'd the heart.
As they proceeded thither, Agatha expressed her regret at her lady's persevering in visiting the chapel. "She is there, (said she) encompassed by the dead, and remote from human aid, if such should be required; often and often have I shuddered at the idea of the dangers to which she exposed herself by going thither alone; and often have I taken the liberty of entreating her not to do so, but without effect: she has a particular pleasure in its solitude, and in praying where not only the bones of her ancestors, but those of her husband and children rest."
"I own (cried Madeline) I am surprised she can go, at the lonely hours she does, to so dreary a place, which appears to me surrounded by every thing that can appal the imagination."
"For my part (exclaimed Agatha) nothing in the world could tempt me to do so;—Lord! I should be scared out of my very senses by apprehension, if I stopped a few minutes in it after it was dark. Holy Virgin! (cried she suddenly, as they advanced down the valley) protect us;—nothing but love for my lady could tempt me to go on, this place is so frightful."
Madeline could not wonder at the terror she betrayed; the scene was calculated to inspire it, and she felt a degree of it herself:—on either side the mountains rose in black masses to the clouds, and the wind issued from their cavities with a hollow sound, that had something particularly awful in it, whilst the ravens screamed horribly from the trees which waved about their feet. Madeline began to regret not having procured the protection of one of the men, but that regret, with the fears which excited it, she concealed from her companion; both, however, were too much disturbed to continue to converse; and in silence they reached the monastery, and were just turning into it, when the figure of a man, standing beneath a broken arch, near the entrance, caught their eyes; both started, and Agatha, who, from being foremost, had a better view of him than Madeline, instantly exclaimed, but without withdrawing her eyes from him, "The Lord defend my soul! what brings you hither?" She received no reply however—the man who had neither noticed her nor her companion till she spoke, started at the first sound of her voice, and, after surveying them for a moment with a look of affright, precipitately fled down the valley.
"Oh, my lady! my dearest lady! (exclaimed Agatha) some evil, I fear, has befallen her."
"Oh, heavens! (cried Madeline, trembling so she could scarcely stand) what evil do you apprehend? who is that stranger? why, if he knew you, as I suppose he did from your knowing him, did he fly from you?"
"Because he is a villain," (replied Agatha, as she rushed into the chapel followed by Madeline, whose terror and amazement were beyond language to express.) The moon then at its full, aided by the twilight of summer, gave a full view of the interior of the chapel; and as they entered it, they beheld another man darting out of a small door opposite to them. Madeline involuntarily caught the arm of Agatha, and both pausing, strained an eye of agony and terror after him: they paused however but for a moment; for a deep groan reaching their ears, made them hastily rush up the aisle from whence it proceeded, where, with feelings too dreadful to relate, they beheld their friend, their benefactress, lying stretched before the monument of her husband, apparently lifeless, and a small stream of blood issuing from her side. A shriek of mingled grief and horror burst from Madeline, and, unable to stand, she sunk beside her and clasped her trembling arms around her. Agatha, though equally afflicted, was not so much shocked as Madeline; for from the moment she beheld the stranger whom she had addressed outside the chapel, she had from secret reasons of her own been almost convinced, on entering it, she should behold a sight of horror. From being in some degree prepared for it, she was in some degree collected; and kneeling down, soon discovered that her lady still breathed, and trusted, that from the small quantity of blood which issued from it, her wound was not of a very dangerous nature. She now called upon Madeline to assist her in staunching it, ere she went to the castle for some of the servants to assist in carrying her thither.
The almost fainting senses of Madeline were recalled by her voice, and starting up, she wildly demanded if the Countess lived.
"Thank heaven! she does," said Agatha.
Madeline dropped upon her knees in a transport of joy. "Gracious heaven! (she exclaimed) receive my thanks. (Then hastily rising) had I not better fly to the castle (said she) for assistance."
"First help me to bind her wound (cried Agatha). Madeline was habited in a lawn dress; she now instantly tore it from her waist, and giving it to Agatha, supported the head of the Countess upon her bosom, while a bandage was bound round her. The motion of raising her and binding her wound, served to bring the Countess to herself; as she regained her sensibility, with a deep groan, and without opening her eyes, she extended her hand, and made a feeble effort to push away Agatha, exclaiming as she did so—
"Murderous ruffian, forbear! 'tis not in mercy to me, but to your unnatural employer I ask you to spare my life; for never will peace or joy revisit his heart, if my blood rests upon his head."
"Oh! my friend, my more than mother, (exclaimed Madeline, pressing her cold cheek to the yet colder one of the Countess) no murderous ruffian is now near you."
The Countess sighed heavily, and opening her dim eyes, looked round her some minutes before she spoke, as if doubting the reality of what she saw; then in a faint voice, but one that evidently denoted pleasure, she cried, "Great and glorious Being, I thank thee—I shall not die far from those I love, beneath the cruel hand of an assassin."
"Dearly shall he, who raised that hand against you, rue his crime! (exclaimed Agatha); I know the villain—I discovered his accursed confidant near the chapel, and I will bring him to punishment, though my own life should be forfeited by doing so."
"Mistaken woman, (said the Countess in a hollow voice) how would you avenge me? is it by exposing to infamy and death those more precious to me than life—by giving to my heart a deeper wound than my body has sustained?
"This spot I will not quit!—no aid will I receive—on this cold marble will I die—except you promise to give up such an intention—except you swear, solemnly swear, within those consecrated walls, never to divulge to mortal ear the author of my injuries."
"My dearest lady, (cried Agatha, terrified by her expressions), though to see vengeance executed on the wretch who attempted to take away your life, would rejoice my very soul, I will do but what you please; I will promise what you wish."
"Swear then!" exclaimed the Countess.
"I do, (replied Agatha) by all my hopes of happiness here and hereafter, to lock within my heart, from every human ear, all I know concerning this black transaction."
"And you, Madeline (resumed the Countess), must do the same."
"She knows not (said Agatha, interrupting her lady) by whom the atrocious deed has been committed."
"Thank Heaven! (cried the Countess) even from her, though I might confide in her prudence, I would conceal him—conceal my having a relative, who, from self-interest, could be tempted to take away my life. But Madeline, my love, (continued she, looking at her) will you not quiet my troubled heart by the assurance I desire, from every being, I except not even your father; you must conceal my wound being occasioned by premeditated treachery; you must, like Agatha, to all my household, to all who shall enquire concerning it, declare it owing, as I myself shall do, to some unknown and wandering ruffian."
"Hear me swear, then, (said Madeline with energy) by every thing precious to me in heaven or on earth never to disclose what you have desired me to conceal."
"Enough," cried the Countess in a weak voice; and the next instant, as if overcome by the exertions she had used, she fainted away.
"Fly, my dear young lady, (said Agatha to Madeline) our efforts to recover her without other assistance will be vain."
"Madeline started up, and walked with hasty steps halfway down the aisle; she then paused—paused from the most horrible suggestions of fear. "Should the murderers return—(cried she, gasping for breath at the very idea)—should they return before assistance can be procured, and complete their dreadful design; or should they be still lurking about the chapel, will they not seize me as I go for that assistance, and sacrifice me to their own safety!"
In an agony of fear—an agony which took from her all emotion, she leaned against a pillar;—a deep groan from the Countess in a few minutes roused her from this situation. "Oh heavens! (she exclaimed, rushing forward) she expires through my means. (She instantly quitted the chapel)—If I die, (said she, as she did so) I die in the cause of friendship." A cold dew hung upon her temples, and she could scarcely drag her trembling limbs after her; every yard, almost, she involuntarily stopped to listen, and to cast her fearful eyes around: ready at the first intimation of danger, to retreat to the walls of the monastery. But she received no such intimation, and when she came within sight of the garden, her courage revived; her strength returned with her courage, and, like an affrighted lapwing, she then almost flew to the house, and, scarcely touching the ground, rushed into the servants' hall. A figure as terrific as the one she now exhibited, they had never, either in reality or imagination, seen; her face was pale as death, her hair dishevelled, and her clothes torn and stained with blood. She attempted to speak, but her voice died away inarticulate; in about a minute she made another effort, and, in a voice so hollow, that it seemed issuing from the very recesses of her heart, exclaimed, "Fly!—your lady—there's murder in the chapel!"
Struck with terror, the servants eagerly crowded round her to know what she meant. "Ask no explanation! (she cried, in almost breathless agitation) a moment's delay may be fatal." The men no longer hesitated to obey her, and unable to endure her suspense till they returned, she went back with them to the monastery; but by the time she had reached it, she grew sick with apprehension that the ruffians had returned and finished their bloody work; and whilst the servants entered it, she was compelled to clasp her arms round a pillar at its door for support. Whilst she leaned here, a cry of horror reached her from the chapel, and her spirits grew fainter. "She is gone for ever!" she exclaimed, sinking upon the earth, no longer able to stand from the tremor that seized her. In a few minutes she heard the servants approaching; she then raised her head, and beheld two of them bearing out their lady. "Does she live?" asked Madeline.
"Live, (repeated the weeping Agatha), yes, dear Mam'selle, she still lives, and notwithstanding this dreadful accident, will live, I trust, for many years to come."—Relieved from the horrible fears which had overwhelmed her, Madeline again recovered her strength, and was able immediately to return with the servants to the castle.
By the time they reached it the Countess had regained her senses; and as soon as she was laid on her bed, she commanded, whoever went for a surgeon not, on any account whatsoever, to inform him for what purpose he was sent for till he came to the castle; and that at the peril of being dismissed from her service if they disobeyed her. Her domestics should strictly conceal what had befallen her from every one out of her house, assigning as a reason for this command, that if known, she should be teased by enquiries about it; but to Agatha and Madeline, it was evident it proceeded from a fear of having the ruffian detected if his atrocious crime was mentioned. The servants promised obedience to their lady, and two of the men directly set out for the nearest town to procure a surgeon, whilst another went to the convent for Father Bertrand, who on every emergency was the counsellor and consoler of the family; he came without delay, and the moment he entered the Countess's chamber, who had sent for him, she dismissed every other person from it.
Nothing but the solemn promise which Madeline knew Agatha to have given, to conceal the author of the Countess's sufferings could now have prevented her from asking who he was. The more she reflected on the horrible affair, the more mysterious it appeared to her, and the more astonished and perplexed she felt. How strange that a woman of the Countess's benevolence, whose temper was gentleness itself, whose heart was the seat of charity, and whose liberal hand ever kept pace with the wishes of that heart, should have provoked the enmity of any one. Yet not enmity alone provoked the attempt at her life; her words in the chapel on first regaining her senses, declared its being also prompted by some view of self-interest.—This was another mystery to Madeline, for she knew of none but Monsieur and Madame D'Alembert, that could be materially benefited by the death of her benefactress.
Agatha left her soon after they had quitted the Countess's room, to prepare things for her lady against the surgeon came. But Floretta continued with her, in hopes of having her curiosity, which exceeded both her sorrow and surprise, gratified by hearing the particulars of the attack made upon the Countess by the robber, as she and all the rest of the servants supposed the assassin to be.
"Lord Mam'selle, (cried she, interrupting the deep reverie of Madeline) you must have been terribly frightened when you first beheld the villain. I protest it was well it was not I but Agatha who went with you, for I should certainly have dropped down dead at once upon the spot; I dare say he was a frightful looking creature."
"I do not know, (said Madeline) for I did not see his face."
"Lord, I am very sorry you did not, for then if you ever met him again, you might have sworn to him at once, and have had him taken up. Well, to be sure, I always thought my lady would come to some harm by going to that old ruin; I wish with all my soul it was all tumbled down, I don't know any thing it is fit for, but to enclose the dead or secret a robber;—many and many a time have I quaked with fear, lest my lady should have desired me to attend her to it. Certainly, 'tis a horrid thing to live in such a dismal place as we do; I dare say we shall all be murdered some night or other in our beds: we have nothing in the world to defend ourselves with, for the old guns are so rusty that I am sure it would only be wasting powder to try and do any thing with them. I think it would be a wise thing Mam'selle, if you would try and prevail on my lady, to send her jewels and plate away, for if the gang, to which no doubt the villain who attacked her in the chapel belongs, once heard a rumour of their being gone, and that they assuredly would from always having their spies about, they would never, I am sure, think it worth their while to break into the castle.
"Well, many men many minds, and many women I suppose the same. For I am certain if I was my lady, I would never live with the fine fortune she has, amongst these dismal woods and mountains. No, no, Paris would be the place for my money."
"Do you think Floretta, (asked Madeline, who sat as pale as death, and almost motionless) that the surgeon will soon arrive."
"Why that depends, Mam'selle, (replied Floretta) upon the haste Antoine and Jerome make in going for him, and the haste he makes in coming back with them. Though upon reflection indeed, I should not be surprised if none of them ever reached the castle; for 'tis extremely probable they may may all fall into the hands of the gang, who no doubt are lurking about the castle."
"I have not a fear of that nature," said Madeline.
"I am sure I hope mine may be an idle one (cried Floretta); poor fellows! they would die a melancholy death if such an accident befell them. Well, Mam'selle, I must now leave you; there is fortunately a sliding wainscot in my chamber, and I shall go directly and hide all my good clothes within it; I shall then try if I can't prevail on the men to see what can be done with the old fire arms. But after all, Mam'selle, (resumed she, after pausing a minute) if the rogues once broke into the house, what comfort could I receive from knowing my clothes were hid, for to be sure I should be killed as well as the rest of the family, and what avails fine clothes or money, if one has no life to enjoy them." She now retired, and Madeline remained alone in a state of the most dreadful disquietude, till the arrival of the surgeon. Father Bertrand then came to her, and Madeline eagerly enquired what he thought about her friend.
"With respect to her wound (replied he) I cannot give an opinion, as I left her room the moment the surgeon entered it; but with respect to her mind I think her an angel."
It instantly struck Madeline, that to this venerable man the Countess had imparted every secret of her heart, and that his warm, his energetic praise, proceeded from admiration at her mercy and forbearance, in not attempting to punish the monster who had injured her. "To a much later date (he continued) may heaven preserve the life of a woman, whose charities and example are so beneficial to mankind."—"Oh! long, long may she be spared (cried Madeline, with uplifted hands) who amongst the children of distress would have such reason to mourn her death as I should."
Father Bertrand informed her, that as soon as he had seen the surgeon, he should go and write to Madame D'Alembert to come directly to the chateau.
"Poor lady! (cried Madeline, with a sigh) how dreadfully shocked and affected she will be to hear of the injury her mother has received!"
"I do not mean to inform her of it," replied he.
"But when she comes to the chateau, she cannot be kept in ignorance of it," cried Madeline.
"Such precautions (said the Father) will be used, that even then she will not know it. The sight of her amiable and beloved child will, I trust, have a happy effect upon the estimable mother."
The surgeon now made his appearance; the faltering accents of Madeline were unequal to the enquiry her heart dictated; but Father Bertrand, more composed, soon learned, that the Countess's wound was not dangerous. "My principal fears, (said the surgeon) arise from the fever with which she is threatened, in consequence of the agitation of her mind." He then mentioned his intention of continuing at the castle till he had dressed her wound the next morning.
Madeline, no longer able to control her strong anxiety to be with her friend, and certain that Agatha would have every proper attention paid to him, now bade him and Father Bertrand good night, and repaired to the chamber of the Countess, where she resolved to continue till morning. All was quietness within it, for the Countess, exhausted by the pain she had suffered during the dressing of her wound, and her long conversation preceding it with Father Bertrand, had fallen into a slumber; and her attendants, Agatha and Floretta, fearful of disturbing her, would not move;—the latter, however, could not avoid whispering to Madeline, that she had prevailed on the men to collect some of the fire-arms, and that they had promised to double-bar all the doors.
Deep groans frequently escaped the Countess, but she continued tolerably quiet for about two hours; she then, in a weak voice, called for drink; which the ready hand of Madeline instantly presented to her.
"Why, my love (said the Countess, as Madeline, bending over her, raised her languid head), why do I see you here?"
"Ah! Madam (said Madeline), the only comfort my heart can know is in watching by you."
"I thank you for your tenderness (replied the Countess); but I must now insist on your retiring to bed: nay, do not attempt to refuse doing so (seeing Madeline about speaking); I will not go to sleep (and want of rest you may be sure will injure me), till you leave me."
Those words conquered all opposition on the part of Madeline; and, after kissing her benefactress's hand, she withdrew, though with the greatest reluctance, to her chamber. She could not bring herself to go to bed, lest she should not in a moment, if called upon, be ready to attend her friend; she took off her torn garments, and putting on a wrapper, lay down; but though fatigued to a degree, her mind was too much agitated, too full of horror, to permit her to sleep: and, after passing a few restless hours, she arose as soon as it was light.