The silver gleams of a winter morning streaked the horizon, as the chaise which conveyed Louis de Montemar from the friends of his youth, mounted the heights of Warkworth, and gave him a last glimpse of Morewick-hall, lying in its shroud of mist at the bottom of the valley. The smoke of his uncle's chimney, beside which he had just received that venerable man's parting embrace and blessing, was mingling its dark volumes with the ascending vapours. A bleak and gusty wind tossed their white billows around the ancient pinnacles of the building; but no smoke arose from any other chimney!—; There was no opened window-shutter; no sign of any other of the dear inhabitants being awake. Thegood old man was then weeping alone, and mingling with his tears, the earnest prayer of solicitude for the preservation of his beloved nephew!
"And the prayer of the righteous availeth much!" said Louis to himself, fixing his eye on the golden disk just peeping above the distant rim of the ocean: "lovers have preserved their constancy, by a promise that each would remember the other when the sun set or rose! Why shall I not preserve my constancy to a better love than that of woman, whenever I look on yon rising or setting orb, and remember, that at those hours my venerable uncle is on his knees to Heaven for the conservation of my soul?"
As the turning of his carriage down an abrupt declivity snatched the whole of the vale of Coquet from his view, Louis thought of his aunt and Cornelia; how, in another hour, they would be looking in vain for his entrance into the breakfastparlour: and, what would be the burst of their grief, when they should be told that he was gone; that he had found the heart to leave them without one affectionate farewell! He almost regretted that he had spared himself and them a pang, which, he began to think, would have been more tolerable than the idea they might entertain, that a passion for novelty had rendered him neglectful of their parting tenderness. The wan countenance, and piteous accents of Alice, next presented themselves to his imagination; and, painful as were many of his thoughts connected with her recent disclosure, he could not but rejoice that her timely remorse, and as critical a resolution, had afforded him an opportunity to make his last act in the home of his youth, one that would eventually repay his vast debt of gratitude to her mother.
These reflections accompanied him over many a heathy track, caverned with coal-mines; and at night, the gleamingfires on their bituminous surface, with their wandering vapoury lights, lit him along moor and fell, till the sulphurous cloud which usually canopies the city of Newcastle, received his vehicle as it whirled down the steep northern hill into the town.
At Athelstone-manor, a few miles south of the city, he met his uncle Sir Anthony; and, as he expected, had to listen to many a rough remonstrance against obedience to so abrupt a summons. Louis did not use much argument in replies, the reasoning of which, good or bad, he knew would be equally disregarded; but with assurances that neither distance nor time should lessen his affection for the friends he left behind, he sought to dissipate his uncle's thoughts from the subject of debate; and so far succeeded, as to pass the remainder of the day with him in tolerable cheerfulness. But when the captain of the vessel that was to convey the travellers to Ostend, appeared atthe manor, to announce that the wind served and the ship was ready to sail; the newly-restored good-humour of the baronet was put to the proof: and it did not stand the trial. He burst into invectives against the Baron, for reclaiming his son; against the Pastor, for admitting his authority; and poured forth a torrent of reproaches on his nephew, for so readily consenting to quit relations who loved and honoured him, to become dependant on the caprices of a father who seemed to consider himself rather the patron than the parent of his son.
Louis saw it would be vain to reason with this violence; and that all he could do, was to take a grateful and steady leave of his uncle. Sir Anthony clung to him, mingling entreaties for his stay, with upbraidings for his departure. And amidst vows of entailing all on him, if he would remain; and oaths, to cut him off with a shilling, if he persisted to go, Louis tore himself away; leaving his uncle in anagony of grief and exasperation in the arms of his servants.
Distressed by the outrageous emotions of Sir Anthony; so different from the chastised feelings of the Pastor, whose profound affections smoothed by their fulness the rising sorrow of the parting moment; Louis found a refuge, though a dreary one, in the solitude of his cabin. He sat for some hours, alone and silent, in the encreasing gloom. The evening-gun fired from the fort at the mouth of the harbour; and in a few minutes Castanos appeared with a lamp. He set it on the table, and silently threw himself into the birth appropriated to his use. Louis was not in a mood to desire companionship; and with little more than a gracious word or two of thanks to the civilities of the captain and his mate, as they stepped in at intervals to enquire how he fared, he passed the remainder of the night.
Next morning at dawn, when he pressedhis repeater and counted the hour, he calculated that if the breeze had continued, his vessel must now be far from the coast; and fearing to lose a last look of the shore where he first remembered consciousness of being, and where he had imbibed, from friends dear to his heart, all the valued impulses of his soul; he sprang from the cot on which he lay, and stepped upon deck. The lonely helmsman was at his post, gazing at the stars, and steering, slowly to leeward.—To windward, stretched darkly along the horizon, lay the embattled cliffs of Northumberland.
"Majestic England!" said he, as he turned towards them; "How do thy lofty rocks declare thy noble nature! There, liberty has stationed her throne; there, virtue builds her altar; and there peace has planted her groves! I leave thee, to prove myself worthy of being thy adopted son. I go far away, to send a good report to the dear friends slumbering behind thy promontories. England, beloved, honoured! Where shall I find a country like thee? Will gorgeous Spain be to me what thy simple glades have been?" He smiled at his own soliloquy.
"I go not to luxurious groves, and gorgeous indolence," cried he, "my errand is to the arena of populous cities; to win, or lose myself, in the Olympian struggles of man with man."
Louis forgot the receding shores of his country and its beloved inhabitants, in the ideas these images suggested; and forgetful alike of the wintery blast, he only drew his thick cloak closer around him; and cradled in the coiled rope of the anchor, with his eyes half-closed, he continued to muse on his future destiny: dreaming of martial achievements, and a succession of visionary triumphs, till the bright phantoms were lost in the chaos of sound sleep.
A prosperous voyage brought the travellers safely to Ostend.—Castanos found the instructions he expected from the Baron de Ripperda; and he informed his charge, their commands were that they must proceed immediately to the metropolis of Germany, for there he was to meet his father's friend. Surprised, but not displeased at this extraordinary route, Louis cheerfully set forward; and did not permit the curiosity natural to his thirst for knowledge, to detain him a moment in any of the countries through which he travelled.
On a dark evening in January he and his guide arrived at Vienna. The streets were in so profound a gloom, he could not have guessed he was now in one ofthe most magnificent capitals of the world, had he not received some intimation of its greatness, by the extent of pavement he went over from the point of the town at which he entered to that which was to be his destination. As he drove along, he perceived some other proofs that he was indeed in the modern Cæsarean metropolis. He passed noble houses, whose open gates shewed they were superbly illuminated, and whence proceeded strains of gay music that gave sign of life and festivity within. Castanos remarked, that these were palaces of the nobility. Exhilarated by the splendour of the lights, Louis enquired whether the house he was going to, promised as much consolation after a tedious journey. "But I flatter myself it will," added he, "from what I understand of the general rank of my father's friends."
"As the Baron de Ripperda is a nobleman of an universal acquaintance,"replied Castanos, "he has friends of every rank, in every country."
In this instance, as in others, Louis saw he could get nothing satisfactory from his companion, and aware that a little patience must explain whither he was going, and what was to be his errand, he asked no more questions. As his carriage passed out of the brilliant halo which surrounded the immediate vicinity of these palaces, it seemed to enter the regions of tenfold night; so severe was the contrast from gay illumination to rayless darkness.
After an intricate drive of another half hour, the wheels no longer rattled on pavement, but turning abruptly down a narrow avenue, the leafless branches brushed across the carriage windows, as it jolted onward over a very rough road. A speck of light appeared in the extreme distance. As the heavy vehicle rumbled forward, the light seemed to encrease in size, and Louis soon after perceived it to be a flambeau held in the hand of a man. When the carriage approached him, he opened a pair of large iron gates under a high archway, through which the travellers immediately passed. All around was dark, vast, and dreary, as no lamp chased the deep shadows from a court-yard of immense extent.
The man mounted the steps of a huge black building, sufficiently capacious for a palace, but gloomy enough to be a prison. Louis followed his conductor and the flambeau-bearer across a large cold hall, up a wide-painted stair-case, mildewed and crazy, and through a long echoing gallery into a saloon whose distant extremities, like the outer court, were lost in deep shadow. A pair of wax lights, flaring in the wind, stood upon a great claw-table whose once gilded surface was browned by time and neglect. Little more furniture was visible than a couple of chairs of similar fabrick, two or three gigantic pier-glasses, reflecting thepersons in the apartment in ghost-like obscurity, and a brasier of newly-kindled fuel, sluggishly glimmering on the hearth.
Louis started at so dismal a reception, so different from the cordial comforts of Morewick-hall; so different from the social welcome of Athelstone-manor; so widely different from the anticipated magnificence of a palace at Vienna, and the hospitable greeting of his father's friend! He paused at the threshold, then smiling at the effeminacy of his disgust, entered light of foot and of heart, saying to himself, "Do I shrink at so poor a trial of my spirit? My father has guessed the sin of my breeding; and thus disciplines the spoiled boy!"
Louis might have been wearied, body and mind. He had travelled since the moment of his landing without other sleep than that he had caught by snatches in his indefatigable vehicle. He might have been hungry, for he had tasted nothing since the break of day. But he felt none of these wants of nature, in hiseagerness to meet, if not his father, his father's representative, and to receive from him that father's commands.
When Louis entered the saloon, and so far took possession of its dismal hospitality, as to lay his hat and sword upon the table; Castanos called to the attendant by the name of Gerard, and whispering to him they withdrew together. Louis sat for some time, expecting the re-entrance of the Spaniard, but no one appeared. He looked at his watch: it was near ten o'clock. From the hour, he supposed the taciturn secretary was staying away in his usual care of manufacturing his supper; and that he would presently return with his wine and omelet.
Louis sat composedly ten minutes after ten minutes, but at last his impatience to know why he was brought to so deserted an abode, and who he was to see, got the better of his determination to quietly await events, and he rose to ring the bell. He took one of the candles to seek forthis indispensible piece of furniture, but in no corner of the grim-visaged tapestry could he find even its remains. He opened the door, and called Castanos. No voice made answer, but the dull vibration of his own from the numerous vacant apartments. With the candle in his hand he retraced his way to the great hall, still calling on Castanos, and then on Gerard, and with as little success.
Determined to find somebody, he turned down a paved passage to the quarter that seemed to lead to the offices. Not a living creature presented itself, and all doors which appeared likely to open to the air were padlocked, and therefore resisted his attempts to force them. He returned to the hall to examine the great door, and found it unbolted, but locked, and the key taken away. He now comprehended that Castanos, and the only apparent inmate of the house, had left the place, that he was alone, and fastened in; butfor what purpose he was thus betrayed into solitary confinement, time only could shew. To quell the vague alarm that rose in his breast, he had again to recollect he was brought into these circumstances by his father's orders.
"But at any rate," thought he, "whether I am to meet friend or foe, there is no harm in keeping my sword at my side. It is just possible Castanos may not be honest. He may not hold the rank in my father's establishment, to which he pretends, he may not be the very Castanos; should he be a menial domestic, instead of a confidential secretary, (and from his avoiding my presence at all opportunities, and being so unwilling to converse, when obliged to be with me, it does not appear very doubtful!) then I may, indeed, be in the hands of a villain. He knows the generosity of my two uncles, has made me a no contemptible object for plunder, and—in short, I do not like appearances!"With these ideas he hastily re-ascended the stairs to the saloon. He found his sword safe, and lost no time in returning it to his belt. "What," cried he, "would be the reproaches of Sir Anthony, could he guess my present situation? What the distress at dear Morewick, did they know that their Louis, for the first time in his life, now feels the touch of fear?"
Murder in this loneliness! To die under the hands of ruffians, and be no more heard of by the beings he loved best, haunted his imagination while he walked to and fro, examining again and again the locks of his pistols. He had one in his hand, when he heard the rumbling of wheels in the court-yard. Shortly after, the steps of a man sounded in the gallery, and the saloon door being open, Louis saw Castanos approaching with his usual slowness. He entered the apartment, and laid a letter on the table.
"For me?" said Louis, "from whom?""Its contents will tell you, Senor."
When Louis glanced on the superscription, he saw it was the hand-writing of his father. While he broke the seal, Castanos disappeared again. The letter was as follows:
"Louis!—It was the dying injunction of your mother to your grandfather Athelstone, that you should be brought up to honour me with a double duty. You can never forget the contents of the letter which she wrote to her infant son from her death-bed, and which your uncle Richard was to open to you on your twelfth birth-day. It told you to love your father as she had done, and to commit yourself in all things to his guidance."You are now called upon to act by this sacred exhortation. To be obedient in love and in fear, to a parent who received her legacy of tenderness for you, in his own bosom, and who will hereafter pay it with interest from his heart."Now that she is gone, you are the only creature existing with whom I can identify my own being, that is, communicate my thoughts and my actions without reserve. Your interest is my interest: and till time and experience have given you judgement to guide your own proceedings, my judgement must be yours. You are yet a boy in years; though a manly person, and, I understand, a mind of no common capacity, give you at twenty the appearance of maturity. But remember, it is appearance only. Talents and good dispositions are the implements of wisdom, not wisdom's self, she is born of time and experience, and shews her proof in hard probation. The scenes in which you have hitherto been an actor, amongst the simple inhabitants of a remote province in England, are child's play to the parts you may now be called to perform. I am about to present you to the world, to aspiring, subtle, treacherous mankind!—You must beinstructed in every movement; prompted, and supported. I have provided means to these ends; and all you have to do, is to resign yourself with docility to the masters I set over you. Should impertinent curiosity, or refractory wilfulness, or any other perversity in your conduct, traverse my present trial of your character, we never meet! You shall return whence you came; and only as one dead, hold a place in the memory of your father. The child of my spotless wife shall not be denied an ample provision; but I will never cherish as my son, one who is an alien to my spirit."On the night of your arrival at Vienna, my secretary Castanos has my commands to introduce you to a person, who will give proof of coming from me, by shewing you a duplicate of that picture of your mother, which your grandfather bequeathed to me.—Being so assured, you must revere and obey that person in word and deed, as you would revere andobey me; and ever hope to behold the face of your father, William,"Madrid. "Baron de Ripperda."
"Louis!—It was the dying injunction of your mother to your grandfather Athelstone, that you should be brought up to honour me with a double duty. You can never forget the contents of the letter which she wrote to her infant son from her death-bed, and which your uncle Richard was to open to you on your twelfth birth-day. It told you to love your father as she had done, and to commit yourself in all things to his guidance.
"You are now called upon to act by this sacred exhortation. To be obedient in love and in fear, to a parent who received her legacy of tenderness for you, in his own bosom, and who will hereafter pay it with interest from his heart.
"Now that she is gone, you are the only creature existing with whom I can identify my own being, that is, communicate my thoughts and my actions without reserve. Your interest is my interest: and till time and experience have given you judgement to guide your own proceedings, my judgement must be yours. You are yet a boy in years; though a manly person, and, I understand, a mind of no common capacity, give you at twenty the appearance of maturity. But remember, it is appearance only. Talents and good dispositions are the implements of wisdom, not wisdom's self, she is born of time and experience, and shews her proof in hard probation. The scenes in which you have hitherto been an actor, amongst the simple inhabitants of a remote province in England, are child's play to the parts you may now be called to perform. I am about to present you to the world, to aspiring, subtle, treacherous mankind!—You must beinstructed in every movement; prompted, and supported. I have provided means to these ends; and all you have to do, is to resign yourself with docility to the masters I set over you. Should impertinent curiosity, or refractory wilfulness, or any other perversity in your conduct, traverse my present trial of your character, we never meet! You shall return whence you came; and only as one dead, hold a place in the memory of your father. The child of my spotless wife shall not be denied an ample provision; but I will never cherish as my son, one who is an alien to my spirit.
"On the night of your arrival at Vienna, my secretary Castanos has my commands to introduce you to a person, who will give proof of coming from me, by shewing you a duplicate of that picture of your mother, which your grandfather bequeathed to me.—Being so assured, you must revere and obey that person in word and deed, as you would revere andobey me; and ever hope to behold the face of your father, William,
"Madrid. "Baron de Ripperda."
There were family references in this letter, which affected the heart of a son;—and though the style was generally severe, yet there was also a promise of such full future confidence, that Louis could not but press it to his lips as the earnest of a fellowship with his father he was determined to deserve. The first sight of the letter had removed all suspicion of his guide from his mind; and having read it with a beating heart, he walked up and down the room, impatiently awaiting the introduction of his father's friend.
Again he heard the approach of steps; but it was now of two persons. He stopped in the middle of the floor, his eyes rivetted to the door, which, in a few minutes was thrown open by Castanos; and a man of a commandingstature, wrapped in a cloak, and with a large hat flapped over his brows, entered alone into the chamber. The door was immediately closed. He stepped a few paces forward; and putting up the projecting brim of his hat, over which hung a heavy black plume, that still threw a deeper shade over his eyes, their piercing glance shot at once through the soul of Louis.
The stranger stood; and, without speaking, continued to look steadfastly on his future charge. With a progressive movement of his powerful eye, he perused the lineaments of Louis's face and figure from head to foot. Louis gazed on him in turn; and wondered at the awe he felt of an unknown being, whose haughty port and unceremonious investigation, rather announced the future tyrant, than guardian of his conduct. Hitherto his independent spirit had been wont to start like fire from the flint, at any touch of oppression; and he couldnot but marvel within himself, why he should both fear and respect the stern aspect of this extraordinary man. The loftiness of his mien was well adapted to the countenance which the raised brim of the hat disclosed. Dark mustachios and a pointed beard marked his lip and chin; while the marble hue of his commanding features seemed to turn even luridly pale, as the brightness of his deeply-set eyes flashed from under their shadowy brows, upon his immovable companion. Louis could not withdraw his riveted eye from the searching gaze of the stranger; and he said to himself, "I am thus struck, because it is the representative of my father that stands before me: it is he, who that father has commanded me to reverence as himself!"—As he ended this short soliloquy, he unconsciously obeyed the sentiment of his mind, and respectfully bowed his head.
This action seemed to recall the stranger from the abstraction with whichhe was scanning his future pupil; and approaching him with a step which mingled a prince's dignity with the firmness of a soldier, he took Louis's hand, grasped, and wrung it, as if with some sudden sting of mental anguish; and then abruptly relinquishing it, threw himself into a chair, and pulling the beaver of his hat over his face, sat for some time leaning his head upon his hand, and preserving the silence which had not yet been broken.
Louis stood opposite to him, contemplating with interest and expectation, the further developement of this friend of his father. At last the stranger spoke.—
"Louis de Montemar," said he.
At the sound of his name, ejaculated by one who had continued so portentously silent, Louis started; and his heart laboured in his breast. He was now going to be told the secret of his destiny!—What it was his father demanded of his strength of mind, or bodily exertion; and how he was to prove himself worthy to be received as his son.
The stranger had paused, on uttering his first address.—But it was only for a moment. Again the lightning of his eyes flashed upon the face of his auditor, and he resumed; but what he said was in the French language.
"Louis de Montemar, you have read the letter which I conveyed to you, from your father the Baron de Ripperda?"
"I have."
Again the stranger bent his head on his hand. The long plumes covered his face from observation; but Louis perceived that his whole frame trembled. After another, and a longer pause, he spoke again.—"And you are prepared to obey your father's injunctions, contained in that letter?"
"I am. For I believe my father would not so entirely commit the temporal, and therefore eternal, welfare of his son, toany man who is not worthy of the charge."
The stranger rose from his seat.—"I am the man to whom your father has confided this awful trust; and I accept your obedience. Know me as the Sieur Ignatius: and whatever else I may seem hereafter, it is not your interest to pry into. Your duty is to know of me no more than what I tell you; and to obey me, as if you knew me without reserve. To-morrow, at noon, your task shall be appointed.—Meanwhile, stir not hence. Refresh yourself from the fatigues of your journey; and rest confident in me and your father. There is my pledge."
Before Louis could find words in a foreign language, to answer, satisfactorily to himself so extraordinary a speech, the Sieur Ignatius laid the promised miniature of the late Baroness upon the table, and disappeared from the room.
Having partaken of a slight refreshment, which the solitary domestic of the mansion set before him, Louis desired to be conducted to his bed-chamber. The man opened a door at the further extremity of the saloon, and the weary traveller followed into an apartment even more desolate than the one he had left. The dull cold light of a winter moon, shrouded in snow-clouds, gleamed through the mouldering remnants of what had once been damask curtains. These perishing relics of departed grandeur were all of furniture that presented itself to the eye of Louis, as he looked around for a place of rest. At last, in a distant recess deep in darkness, the candle he held in his hand shewed a mass of somethingheaped together. He approached, and found his own travelling palliasse on the floor, and his baggage so disposed, as to supply the place of chair and table.
In recognizing even these poor necessaries to the repose he needed, Louis cast not a thought on the comforts he did not see, but thanking God for the good provided, stretched himself upon his hard bed, and soon was wrapped in balmy slumber.
After a night of profound sleep, the bright smile of the awakened sun played on his eye-lids, and starting from his pallet, with his usual morning-spring of joy he hailed the brilliancy of the opened day. In an apartment close to his chamber he found that luxury of the continent (which even this deserted mansion retained), a bath, and having enjoyed its refreshment, with spirits ready for whatever task might be assigned him, he prepared to meet again his mysterious visitor.
On re-entering the saloon, the gloominess which had appalled him the preceding evening was no longer there; it had disappeared before the chaser of shadows, and he advanced to a window to see what evidence of neighbourhood would present itself without.
A view, as novel as it was gay and picturesque, burst upon his sight. Under the windows stretched a high balustraded terrace, with broad stone-steps leading down to a garden intersected with parterres and long vistas foliaged with glittering icicles. The ground was white with snow, which had been falling all night, and nothing having tracked the deserted walks, it lay in shining smoothness as far as the low wall which bounded the garden. Beyond the parapet, trees of loftier growth stretched their ample arms over a plain that banked the mighty waters of the Danube, now arrested by the mightier hand of winter into a vast substantial causeway.
At this early hour in the morning, andon that long line of ice, whose limits were lost in the horizon, all Vienna and its surrounding country seemed assembled. Carriages of various forms and colours elevated on sledges, and filled by their owners of as various quality and habits, swept along in every direction. Men and women mounted on scates, darted past each other with the velocity of light; some with baskets of merchandize on their heads, and others, simply wrapped in their bear-skins, speeded forward on errands of business or of pleasure. Many of the sledged carriages took the direction of a beautiful island in the midst of the river. It was crowned with cedars, and every tree of perpetual green; they parted their verdant ranks to give place to a sloping glade, on whose smooth bosom stood a splendid but fantastic mansion. A thousand strains of music pierced the distant air, while the gaytraineauxadvanced in succession before its gilded colonades.Louis gazed and listened. How different was this unexpected, this glittering scene, from the sombre-suited winters of Northumberland! There, the black and sterile rocks frowned horrible over the frozen stream, which lay in death-like stillness under their gloomy shade. But yet that awful pause of nature was dear to his contemplative and happy mind. It filled him with recollections of the gracious voice, which had spoken the world into existence from the sterner solitude of chaos! And then, when his mood for loneliness changed, he had only to quit his meditations amongst these caverns of cold and silence, to emerge at once into the warm, social circle of endearing kindred, and animating friends!
While, with a fixed eye, he was thus musing on the present and the past, Gerard entered the room, and placed a tray with breakfast on the table. Louis enquired for Senor Castanos. The man answered, he was engaged."With whom?"
"I do not know."
"Then I am not to expect him at breakfast?"
"He went out at sun-rise."
Louis asked no more questions, seeing that all around him were under the same law of laTrappe.
His lonely meal was soon dispatched; and as he found it impossible to fasten his attention to a book, or even to writing to the friends he loved, until he knew when he was to be removed from his strange situation; he left the table, and returned to his contemplations at the window. He was standing with folded arms, his eyes rambling over the ever-varying scene on the river, and sometimes wishing to be one in the animated groupe; when, hearing a step on the floor, he turned round, and beheld his expected visitor.
He wore the same enveloping dress as before, and, as before, shook aside theoverhanging plumes of his hat as he advanced into the room. Louis was recovered from the amazement into which the mystery of his new guardian's address had thrown him on their first interview; but he did not attempt to dispel the awe impressed by his deportment, and his relation as the Baron de Ripperda's friend; and, therefore, he greeted his re-appearance with a collected, but a profoundly respectful demeanor.
The Sieur Ignatius approached him.
"I need not enquire of your health this morning: you look well and cheerful; and these are signs of a constitution indispensable to the fulfilment of your future duties."
Louis answered with a grateful smile, that he had to thank Heaven for a vigorous frame, and for a destiny which, hitherto had not afforded him an excuse for being otherwise than cheerful.
"The cheerfulness of a life passed in retirement," observed Ignatius, "beingthe effect of active amusements rather than of active duties, is habit and not principle; and must be re-moulded with stouter materials, to stand the buffets of the world. Louis, you are called from the happiness of self-enjoyment to that of self-neglect. You are called upon to toil for mankind."
"Point but the way, Sir!" cried Louis, in a subdued but earnest voice; "and I trust, you shall not find me turn from it."
"It is in all respects different from the one you have left. Fond old age, and female partiality, have hitherto smoothed your path. In the midst of this effeminacy, I know you have meditated on a manly life, on the career of fame, its triumphs, and its crown. But between the starting point and the goal, there is a wide abyss. The imagination of visionary youth overleaps it: but, in fact, it must be trod with strong unwearied feet; with wariness, privation, and danger."The eyes of Louis, flashing the brave ardours of his heart, (and which he believed were now to be summoned into licenced exercise,) gave the only answer to the Sieur's remarks, but it was eloquent of the high expectations he had raised.
"Young man," continued his austere monitor, "I come to lay open this momentous pass to you; and, once entered, you are no longer your own. You belong to mankind: you are devoted to labour for them:—And, above all, to sacrifice the daintiness of a pampered body; the passions of your soul; the affections of your heart; to the service of the country, which was that of your ancestors, and to which your father is now restored."
"I am ready, Sir," exclaimed Louis, "to take my post, be it where it may, and I trust that I shall maintain it as becomes my father's son."
"At present," replied the Sieur, "it is within these walls."Louis looked aghast. The animation of hope springing forward to military distinction, faded from his countenance.—"Within these walls!—How?—What can be done here?—I believed—I thought the army—"
This incoherent reply was suddenly arrested by the steady fixture of Ignatius's eyes. A pause ensued, doubly painful to Louis, on account of the shock his expectations had received, and because he had so weakly betrayed it. With the tint of shame displacing the paleness of disappointment, he stood before his father's friend, looking on the ground; at last the Sieur spoke.
"What army do you speak of?"
With encreased embarrassment, Louis replied: "the Spanish army; that which the Marquis Santa Cruz gave my uncle to understand was soon to march against Austria, to compel the Emperor to fulfil his broken treaties."
"And to meet that army in the heartof the Austrian capital," said Ignatius, "you thought was the object of your present summons?"
Unable to speak, from a humiliating consciousness of absurdity, Louis coloured a deeper scarlet, and again cast his eyes to the ground.
"No," continued the Sieur, "there are ways of forcing sovereigns to do their duties, besides that which the sword commands. If it will sooth your disappointment, to think that you labour in one of these, believe what you wish, and rest satisfied."
"I am satisfied," returned Louis, "and ready to be confined within these walls, at whatever employment, and for whatever time, my father may chuse to dictate."
"Follow me."
As Ignatius pronounced this command, he opened the saloon door, and crossing the gallery, stopped before another door at its extremity. He unlocked it; andLouis, who had obeyed his peremptory summons, followed him into a room furnished with an escritoire, and a large table covered with implements for writing.
"This, Louis de Montemar, is your post," cried the Sieur, closing the door and bolting it. "Here you must labour for Spain and your own destiny; and here," added he, in a decisive voice; "you must take an oath of inviolable secrecy, that neither bribery of wealth, honours, nor beauty; nor threats of ruin, torments, nor of death; shall ever induce you to betray what may be confided to you in this chamber."
Appalled at this demand, Louis did not answer. The Sieur examined his changing countenance.
"You cannot hesitate to give me this pledge of honour!"
"Honour does not need such a pledge," replied Louis, turning on him the assured look of conscious worth; "trustme, and you shall find, that in no case where honour enjoins silence, death itself can compel me to speak."
Ignatius shook his head.—
"This will not do, in an affair like the present. When the interests of millions may hang upon a yea or nay; he, who has it in his power to pronounce either, must be bound on the perdition of his soul to utter that only which ensures the general safety."
He paused for an answer. But Louis remaining silent, as if still unconvinced, his stern monitor resumed with augmented asperity.
"I do not like this mincing nicety. It savours more of effeminate dreaming, than of manly intention to observe and to act. At a word, take the oath I proffer you; or, prepare to set out this night on your return to England; and to the absurd people who have taught you to pant for glory, and to start from its shadow."The Sieur turned haughtily away.—The reasoning faculties of his pupil became confused. Was he doing right or wrong in resisting this demand? It called on him to stake his salvation on the preservation of secrets, of the nature of which he was entirely ignorant. It seemed to him more than just, that a stranger, however sanctioned, should, at so early a stage of acquaintance, expect that perfect reliance on his virtue, as would warrant a man in so awful a venture as that of vowing to adopt all that stranger might propose. But the authority with which he pronounced the sentence which should follow persisted refusal, struck Louis with astonishment. Who was he, that durst so fearlessly take on himself the responsibility of banishing, without appeal, and with disgrace, the son of the Baron de Ripperda? As Louis looked up, with something of this question in his eyes, he met the searching glance of Ignatius."Young man," said he, "you think your honour insulted, by the mention of an oath. Your honour, which is yet untried! Which has passed through no ordeal, but those presented by phantastic imagination! What must the Baron de Ripperda think, when he hears of a son who so insults his father's approved honour, as to doubt whether he ought to pledge his faith on that father's virtue? And, after all," added he, "what more is demanded of you, than the surety that is offered every hour by the rest of mankind, on the slightest requisition, and on the commonest occasions?"
"What is slightly assumed," returned Louis, "would be as slightly relinquished. And I trust that my father will not condemn, and that his friend will not continue to misjudge, a hesitation which springs from the inexpressible awe in which I hold the nature of an oath. By that most solemn of appeals, I have never yet called upon the presence of myCreator; and therefore I tremble to do it now. But," added he, "as it is the will of my father; who, through your agency, demands it of me; on the probity of his soul, I commit mine, and am ready to swear."
"Then," cried the Sieur, "subscribe that paper with your name."
Louis took it, and read a form of words in the Spanish language, which claimed his allegiance to Spain; by the privileges and pledges of his long line of ancestors born in that realm, by the reunion of his father to that realm; and by the restitution which the King and council had made to him of the Ripperda territories in Andalusia and Granada, forfeited to the crown in the year 1673, by the rebellious conduct of Don Juan de Montemar Duke de Ripperda. In just return for this grace from the land of his ancestors, William, the present Baron de Ripperda, had taken an oath of fealty to Philip and to Spain.And Louis de Montemar, his only son, and heir to all his possessions, honours, and civic duties, was called upon, by the same solemn rite to devote himself to Spain, as his country; and to Philip as his liege-lord. At the end of this official document, a postscript was written in the Baron's own hand, demanding of his son, to add to the signature required, on oath to perform all that might be appointed him by his father directly, or indirectly through the Sieur Ignatius, for the service of the King; and to hold all secrets confided to him for that purpose, inviolable as his Christian faith.
Louis saw nothing in bonds which his father's hand-writing had sanctified, to suggest further hesitation; and, without reluctance, he set his name to the paper, and pressed to his lips the sacred volume presented by the Sieur.
"Now Louis," said he, "your task is easy. Will, is a conquering sword!"—as he spoke, a smile played for a momenton his stern lip; but like a sun-beam on a dark cloud, it suddenly disappeared, and all was gloom again. He opened the escritoire, and took from the shelves two thick scrolls in strange characters. Louis continued to gaze on the face of this mysterious man, as he arranged the sheets on the table. The smile, which had just lit up those lurid features with the nameless splendors of mental beauty, was passed away; but the impression remained on his pupil's heart. Louis congratulated himself on the assurance that it gave him, and said inwardly, "I shall never forget that magic smile, so eloquent of every ineffable grace of mind and spirit! It is a pledge to me, that I may love, as well as reverence its possessor."
Ignatius placed the papers before his attentive pupil, telling him, they comprised his duty for the day; that he must copy them stroke by stroke, for the inaccuracy of a single curve, might produce consequences to burthen his soul for ever. The Sieur then sat down to give minute instruction respecting the execution of these momentous documents. The task was complicated, and of a nature totally different from any thing Louis had ever practised, or could possibly have anticipated. However, he cheerfully engaged in its performance; and his employer, having seen the precision of his commencement, rose to withdraw. Before he quitted the room, he turned and said, that he supposed it was hardly necessary to enjoin the propriety of always keeping that chamber locked, both when it was occupied and when it was vacant. On Louis's bowing to the implied command, he added, that Gerard would strike on the door, when dinner was served in the saloon; and that at midnight, he would himself return to the chateau, to inspect the papers, and affix his seal to their contents.
Louis continued from noon, till thegloom of twilight, at his laborious penmanship. He knew nothing of the particular purport of any one of the numerous sheets he was transcribing. The characters were unknown to him; but he was assured by Ignatius, all were directed to the service of Spain; and with alacrity and exactness he had completed half his task before the duskiness of the hour, and the promised stroke of Gerard, gave him a short respite.
Solitude was again at his temperate meal. He had heard enough from the Sieur, to warn him against the imprudence of putting unnecessary questions; and determined to allow all unimportant circumstances, at least, to pass by him unnoticed by oral remark; he said nothing to his taciturn attendant about the continued absence of Castanos. His dinner was dispatched in a few minutes, and taking the candles in his hands, he returned to the locked chamber to finish his work.At the appointed hour, Ignatius reappeared.
The several heaps of papers were arranged for his inspection, and, with a nod of approbation he examined them one by one. He approved what was done, and turning to the escritoire, sealed them, and affixed to each packet its appropriate address. What were the names on these superscriptions, Louis had no guess, though he did not doubt they were all to be consigned to the Baron de Ripperda; and, (as he observed by the proceedings of the Sieur, they were ready to be put into their last envelope,) he ventured to ask whether he might not add one packet more to his father. Ignatius remained silent. Though Louis saw no encouragement on his contracting brow, he would not be so repulsed, but steadily repeated his request, adding, that he was particularly anxious to dispatch this letter, as it was not only to assure his father of his devotedness to his commands, but to beg him to forward one on most urgent business, which he had inclosed for Don Ferdinand d'Osorio.
"Your father will have sufficient assurance of your obedience, in the execution of these papers," returned the Sieur, "and as to promoting a correspondence with Don Ferdinand d'Osorio;—in your situation, that is out of the question. Your residence here is unknown to any one, and must continue so, till the affair that commands your service, is made or marred. Burn your packet, therefore; it cannot go."
During this speech, he opened the leathern-bag that was to be the travelling case of the dispatches.
Louis sighed convulsively as he put his letter back into his bosom. Ignatius took no notice of this heart-struck sign of disappointment, but calmly continued packing the papers. Louis thought of the unhappy Alice; of the tears sheshed on his neck at parting; of his vow to restore to her, her peace of mind; and he could not endure his own cowardice in having been over-awed to the appearance of giving up her cause, even for a moment. He resumed in a firmer voice.
"I seek no correspondence with Don Ferdinand, Sir, I never desire to hear from him in return for the letter I am so anxious he should receive. It is only to demand of him an act of justice to a lovely woman whose happiness he has destroyed. And to do this, I have solemnly engaged myself to her and to my own heart."
"Louis de Montemar," replied the Sieur, "you are entered on a course of life that will not admit of romantic trifling. There is but one direction for all your faculties:—the public good.—Private concerns must take care of themselves."
He closed the leathern-case over the dispatches, and covering its padlock with wax, stampt it with his seal."I repeat, Sir," cried Louis impetuously, "I have pledged my honour, to the forwarding this letter to Don Ferdinand; and the public good will not deem it necessary to make me a private deceiver!"
Ignatius turned on him a look of haughty reproof.
"Young man, you know little of your duty towards the public good, if you can put its smallest tittle into competition with the adjustment of an amour between a weak girl and a profligate youth. Her folly must be her punishment."
The indignation of insulted virtue burnt upon the cheek of Louis.
"You mistake me, Sir! She for whom I am interested, is as pure from unchaste weakness, as my father's honour from stain. It is her soul that is enthralled, by a vow extorted from her by this ungenerous Spaniard; and to release her from the wretched load, is the sole purport of my letter to him.""You love the girl yourself," said the inflexible Ignatius, taking no visible notice of the encreasing agitation of his pupil.
"I do love her," returned he, "but not in the way your observation would imply. I love her, as becomes the son of the Baroness de Ripperda to love the daughter of her sister; that sister, who has been to him in the place of the mother heaven took from him at his birth! Alice Coningsby is the person to whom I have bound myself to release her conscience from the bonds of an artful man. And, after this explanation, I cannot believe that the friend of my father will longer withhold my letter!"
The Sieur listened with his eyes bent to the ground. He looked up when Louis ceased speaking; and saw, by his proud indignant air, that he rather expected occasion for further braving a refusal, than to receive the permission he affected to think could no longer be denied."Louis," said he, "I see what is passing in your mind; but I will not be rigid to your present feelings. Your letter shall go to Don Ferdinand. But you must expunge from it all reference to where you are, and tell him, to send the acquittal of your imprudent cousin, direct to herself."
Surprised and thankful, Louis readily undertook to re-write the letter according to these injunctions; a few minutes put it into the form required, and inclosing the irresistible appeal of Alice herself, to her ungenerous lover, he sealed the packet, and delivered it to the Sieur. The dispatches being fastened up, it was to be committed to the particular charge of Castanos, who was to carry the bag to Madrid. Louis's grateful heart was again going to pour itself out, but Ignatius checked the ingenuous effusion, by turning severely round, as he moved to the door.
"This time," said he, "I have yieldedto your request, in consideration of its pious motive. But you must fully understand me; and then you will not presume more on this indulgence, than the spirit of your recent oath will sanction. Here not only ends your correspondence with Don Ferdinand, but closes your communication with every person without these walls, until our affair is terminated. Not even the inhabitants of Lindisfarne must know of your being at Vienna."
"I lament my ignorance of the necessity for such precaution," replied Louis, "but the interdicted intimation is now beyond my recall. I wrote to both my uncles from Ostend; and twice during my journey to Vienna."
"Such an accident was provided against," answered Ignatius; "Castanos had the Baron de Ripperda's orders to destroy all such letters in their way to the post; so be at rest on that head. Your father himself will take care to letMr. Athelstone and Sir Anthony know that you are well, and conducting yourself to his satisfaction."
"I am in his hands, and in your's," said Louis, bowing his head; while struck by so strange an act of precaution, he had not power to utter a word more. The Sieur drew his cloak over the dispatches, and without further observations, left the apartment.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
Printed by A. Strahan,New-Street-Square, London.