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 NF. 616. ch.8.
Vts 62 wit
 Y
RAR
FIB 20

AN .
D
IO
NAT
 MELMOTH
THE

WANDERER :

TALE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF " BERTRAM," &c.

IN FOUR VOLUMES.

VOL. IV.

EDINBURGH :
PRINTED FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND COMPANY,
AND HURST, ROBINSON, AND CO, CHEAPSIDE ,
LONDON.

1820.
ΛΟΓΙΑ
MELMОТН.
Printed by John Pillans, James's Court, Edinburgh.
 MELMOTH.klarst

CHAPTER XXI.

Ifhe to thee no answer give,

I'll give to thee a sign ;
A secret known to nought that live,
Save but to me and mine.

Gone to be married.
SHAKESPEARE.

HE whole of the next day was occu-

pied by Donna Clara, to whom letter-
writing was a rare, troublesome, and
momentous task, in reading over and
correcting her answer to her husband's
letter; in which examination she found
so much to correct, interline, alter, mo-
VOL . IV. A
2 MELMOTH :

dify, expunge, and new-model, that final-

ly Donna Clara's epistle very much re-
sembled the work she was now employ-
ed in, namely, that of overcasting a piece
of tapestry wrought by her grandmother,
representing the meeting of king Solomon
and the queen of Sheba. The new work,
instead of repairing, made fearful havock
among the old; but Donna Clara went on,
like her countryman at Mr Peter's puppet-
show, playing away (with her needle) in a
perfect shower of back-strokes, fore-strokes,
side-thrusts, and counter-thrusts, till not a
figure in the tapestry could know himself
again. The faded face of Solomon was gar-
nished with a florid beard of scarlet silk
(which Fra Jose at first told her she must rip
out, as it made Solomon very little better
than Judas) that made him resemble a boil-
ed scallop. The fardingale of the queen of
Sheba was expanded to an enormous hoop,
ofwhose shrunk and pallid wearer it might
be truly said, " Minima est pars sui." The
dog that, in the original tapestry, stood
 A TALE . 3

by the spurred and booted heel of the

oriental monarch, (who was clad in Spanish
costume), by dint of a few tufts of black
and yellow satin, was converted into a ti-
ger, a transformation which his grinning
fangs rendered as authentic as heart could
wish. And the parrot perched on the
queen's shoulder, with the help of a train
ofgreen and gold, which the ignorant mis-
took for her majesty's mantle, proved a
very passable peacock.
" As little trace of her original epistle
did Donna Clara's present one bear, as did
her elaborate overcasting to the original
and painful labours of her grandmother.
In both, however, Donna Clara (who
scorned to flinch) went over the same
ground with dim eye, and patient touch,
and inextinguishable and remorseless as-
siduity. The letter, such as it was,
was still sufficiently characteristic of the
writer. Some passages of it the reader
shall be indulged with, and we reckon
on his gratitude for not insisting on his
 MELMOTH :

perusal of the whole. The authentic copy,

from which we are favoured with the ex-
*
* *
tracts, runs thus.
* *
* * *

" Your daughter takes to her religion

like mother's milk; and well may she do
so, considering that the trunk of our fami-
ly was planted in the genuine soil of the
Catholic church, and that every branch of
of it must flourish there or perish. For a
Neophyte, (as Fra Jose wills me to word
it), she is as promising a sprout as one
should wish to see flourishing within the
pale of the holy church ;-and for a hea-
then, she is so amenable, submissive, and
of such maidenly suavity, that for the
comportment of her person, and the dis-
creet and virtuous ordering of her mind,
I have no Christian mother to envy. Nay,
I sometimes take pity on them, when I
see the lightness, the exceeding vain car-
riage, and the unadvised eagerness to be
wedded, of the best trained maidens of our
country. This our daughter hath nothing
 A TALE. 5

of, either in her outward demeanour, or

inward mind. She talks little, therefore •

she cannot think much ; and she dreams

not of the light devices of love, and is
therefore well qualified for the marriage
*
* *
proposed unto her.
*

" One thing, dear spouse of my soul, I

would have thee to take notice of, and
guard like the apple of thine eye, our
daughter is deranged, but never, on thy
discretion, mention this to Don Montilla,
even though he were the descendant in
the right line of the Campeador, or of
Gonsalvo di Cordova. Her derangement
will in no wise impede or contravene her
marriage, for be it known to thee, it
breaks out but at times, and at such
times, that the most jealous eye of man
could not spy it, unless he had a fore-
taught intimation of it. She hath
strange fantasies swimming in her brain,
such as, that heretics and heathens shall
not be everlastingly damned-
(God and
6 MELMOTH :

the saints protect us!)-which must clear-

ly proceed from madness, but which her
Catholic husband, if ever he comes to
the knowledge of them, shall know
how to expel, by aid of the church, and
conjugal authority. That thou may'st
better know the truth of what I hereby
painfully certify, the saints and Fra Jose
(who will not let me tell a lie, because he
in a manner holds my pen) can witness,
that about four days before we left Ma-
drid, as we went to church, and I was
about, while ascending the steps, to dole
alms to a mendicant woman wrapt in a
mantle, who held up a naked child for the
receiving of charity, your daughter twitch-
ed my sleeve, while she whispered, ' Ma-
dam, she cannot be mother to that child,
for she is covered, and her child is naked.
If she were its mother, she would cover
her child, and not be comfortably wrapt
herself.' True it was, I found afterwards
the wretched woman had hired the child
from its more wretched mother, and my
 TALE. 7

alms had paid the price of its hire for the

day; but still that not a whit disproved
our daughter insane, inasmuch as it show-
edher ignorant of the fashion and usages
of the beggars of the country, and did in
some degree shew a doubt of the merit of
alms-deeds, which thou know'st none but
heretics or madmen could deny. Other
and grievous proofs of her insanity doth
she give daily; but not willing to in-
cumber you with ink, (which Fra Jose
willeth me to call atramentum), I will add
but a few particulars to arouse your dor-
mant faculties, which may be wrapt in le-
thargic obliviousness by the anodyne of
my somniferous epistolation."
* " Reverend Father," said Donna Clara,
looking up to Frá Jose, who had dictated
the last line, " Don Francisco will know
the last line not to be mine he heard it
in one of your sermons. Let me add
the extraordinary proof of my daughter's
insanity at the ball."-" Add or diminish,
compose or confound, what you will, in
God's name !" said Fra Jose, vexed at the
8 MELMOTH :

frequent erazures and lituras which disfi-

gured the lines of his dictation ; " for
though in style I may somewhat boast of
my superiority, in scratches no hen on the
best dunghill in Spain can contend with
you ! On, then, in the name of all the
saints !-and when it pleases heaven to
send an interpreter to your husband, we
may hope to hear from him by the next
post-angel, for surely such a letter was
never written on earth."
" With this encouragement and ap-
plause, Donna Clara proceeded to relate
sundry other errors and wanderings of her
daughter, which, to a mind so swathed,
crippled, and dwarfed, by the ligatures
which the hand of custom had twined
round it since its first hour of conscious-
ness, might well have appeared like the
aberrations of insanity. Among other
proofs, she mentioned that Isidora's first
introduction to a Christian and Catholic
church, was on that night of penitence in
passion-week, when, the lights being ex
 A TALE . 9

tinguished, the miserere is chaunted in

profound darkness, the penitents macerate
themselves, and groans are heard on every
side instead ofprayers, as if the worship of
Moloch was renewed without its fires ;-
struck with horror at the sounds she heard,
and the darkness which surrounded her,
Isidora demanded what they were doing.
-" Worshipping God," was the answer.
" At the expiration of Lent, she was in-
troduced to a brilliant assembly, where the
gay fandango was succeeded by the soft
notes of the seguedilla, and the crackling
of the castanets, and the tinkling of the
guitars, marked alternate time to the light
and ecstatic step of youth, and the silvery
and love-tuned voice ofbeauty. Touched
with delight at all she saw and heard,-
the smiles that dimpled and sparkled over
her beautiful features reflecting every
shade of pleasure they encountered, like
the ripplings of a brook kissed by the
moon-beams, she eagerly asked, " And
are not these worshipping God ?"-" Out
A2
10 MELMOTH :

on it, daughter!" interposedDonna Clara,

who happened to overhear the question;
" This is a vain and sinful pastime, the
invention of the devil to delude the chil-
dren offolly,-hateful in the eyes ofheaven
and its saints, and abhorred and renoun-
ced by the faithful."-" Then there are
two Gods," said Isidora sighing, " the
God of smiles and happiness, and the God
of groans and blood. Would I could
serve the former !" " I will take order
you shall serve the latter, heathenish and
profane that you are !" answered Donna
Clara, as she hurried her from the assem-
bly, shocked at the scandal which her
words might have given. These and
many similar anecdotes were painfully in-
dited inDonna Clara's long epistle, which,
after being folded and sealed by Fra Jose,
(who swore by the habit he wore, he had
rather study twenty pages of the Polyglot
fasting, than read it over once more), was
duly forwarded to Don Francisco.mprom
" The habits and movements of Don
 A TALE. 11

Francisco were, like those of his nation,

so deliberate and dilatory, and his aver-
sion to writing letters, except on mercan-
tile subjects, so well known, that Donna
Clara was actually alarmed at receiving,
in the evening of the day in which her
epistle was dispatched, another letter from
her husband.
" Its contents must be guessed to be
sufficiently singular, when the result was,
that Donna Clara and Fra Jose sat up
over them nearly the whole of the night,
in consultation, anxiety, and fear. So in-
tense was their conference, that it is re-
corded it was never interrupted even by
the lady telling her beads, or the monk
thinking of his supper. All the artificial
habits, the customary indulgences, the fac-
titious existence of both, were merged
in the real genuine fear which pervad-
ed their minds, and which asserted its
power over both in painful and exact-
ing proportion to their long and hardy
rejection of its influence. Their minds
succumbed together, and sought and gave

1
 12 MELMOTH :

•in vain, feeble counsel, and fruitless conso-

lation. They read over and over again
this extraordinaryletter, and at every read-
ing their minds grew darker, and their
counsels more perplexed, and their looks
more dismal. Ever and anon they turn-
ed their eyes on it, as it lay open be-
fore them on Donna Clara's ebony writ-
ing-desk, and then starting, asked each
other by looks, and sometimes in words,
" Did either hear some strange noise in
the house ?" The letter, among other
matter not important to the reader, con- *

tained the singular passage following.

* * *
*
*

" In my travel from the place where

I landed, to that whence I now write,
I fortuned to be in company with stran-
gers, from whom I heard things touch-
ing me (not as they meant, but as my
fear interpreted them) in a point the most
exquisite that can prick and wound the
soul of a Christian father. These I shall
discuss unto thee at thy more leisure.
They are full of fearful matter, and such
 A TALE . 18

as may perchance require the aid of some

churchman rightly to understand, and ful-
ly to fathom. Nevertheless this I can
commend to thy discretion, that after I
had parted from this strange conference,
the reports of which I cannot by letter
communicate to thee, I retired to my
chamber full of sad and heavy thoughts,
and being seated in my chair, pored over
a tome containing legends ofdeparted spi-
rits, in nowise contradictive to the doc-
trine of the holy Catholic church, other-
wise I would have crushed it with the sole
of my foot into the fire that burned be-
fore me on the hearth, and spit on its cin-
ders with the spittle of my mouth. Now,
whether it was the company I fortuned to
be into, (whose conversation must never
be known but to thee only), or the book
I had been reading, which contained cer-
tain extracts from Pliny, Artemidore, and
others, full-filled with tales which I may
not now recount, but which did relate
altogether to the revivification of the de
14 MELMOTH :

parted, appearing in due accordance with

ourCatholic conceptions ofChristian ghosts
in purgatory, with their suitable accoutre-
ments of chains and flames,-as thus Pliny
writeth, " Apparebat eidolon senex, ma-
cie et senie confectus," or finally, the
weariness of my lonelyjourney, or other
things I know not, but feeling my mind
ill-disposed for deeper converse with books
or my own thoughts, and though oppress-
ed by sleep, unwilling to retire to rest,-
amood which I and others have often ex-
perienced, I took out thy letters from
the desk in which I duly reposit them,
and read over the description which thou
didst send me of our daughter, upon the
first intelligence of her being discovered
in that accursed isle of heathenism, and
I do assure thee, the description of our
daughter hath been written in such cha-
racters on the bosom to which she hath
never been clasped, that it would defy the
art of all the limners in Spain to paint it
more effectually. So, thinking on those
 A TALE. 15

dark-blue eyes, and those natural ringlets

which will not obey their new mistress,
art, and that slender undulating shape,-
and thinking it would soon be folded in
my arms, and ask the blessing of a Chris-
tian father in Christian tones, I dozed as I
sat in my chair; and my dreams taking
part with my waking thoughts, I was
a-dreamt that such a creature, so fair,
so fond, so cherubic, sat beside me, and
asked me blessing. As I bowed to give
it, I nodded in my chair and awoke. A-
woke I say, for what followed was as pal-
pable to human sight as the furniture of
my apartment, or any other tangible ob-
ject. There was a female seated opposite
me, clad in a Spanish dress, but her veil
flowed down to her feet. She sat, and
seemed to expect that I should bespeak
her first. " Damsel," I said, " what seek-
est thou ?-or why art thou here ?" The
figure never raised its veil, nor motioned
with hand or lip. Mine head was full of
what I had heard and read of; and after
16 MELMOTH :

making the sign ofthe cross, and uttering

certain prayers, I approached that figure,
and said, " Damsel, what wantest thou ?"
-" A father," said the form, raising its
veil, and disclosing the identical features
of my daughter Isidora, as described
in thy numerous letters. Thou mayest
well guess my consternation, which I
might almost term fear, at the sight and
words of this beautiful but strange and so-
lemn figure. Nor was my perplexity and
trouble diminished but increased, when
the figure, rising and pointing to the door,
through which she forthwith passed with
amysterious grace and incredible alacrity,
uttered, in transitu, words like these :-
" Save me !-save me !-lose not a mo-
ment, or I am lost!" And I swear to
thee, wife, that while that figure sat or de-
parted, 1heard not the rustling ofher gar.
ments, or the tread of her foot, or the
sound of her respiration-only as she went
out, there was a rushing sound as of a
wind passing through the chamber,-and
 A TALE. 17

amist seemed to hang on every object a-

round me, which dispersed, and I was
conscious of heaving a deep sigh, as if a
load had been removed from my breast.
I sat thereafter for an hour pondering on
what I had seen, and not knowing whe-
ther to term it a waking dream, or a dream-
like waking. I am a mortal man, sensi-
ble of fear, and liable to error,-but I am
also a Catholic Christian, and have ever
been a hearty contemner of your tales of
spectres and visions, excepting always
when sanctioned by the authority of the
holy church, and recorded in the lives of
her saints and martyrs. Finding no end
or fruit of these my heavy cogitations, I
withdrew myself to bed, where I long lay
tossing and sleepless, till at the approach
of morning, just as I was falling into a
deep sleep, I was awoke by a noise like
that of a breeze waving my curtains. I
started up, and drawing them, looked a-
round me. There was a glimpse of day-
light appearing through the window-
18. MELMOTH :

shutters, but not sufficient to enable me to

distinguish the objects in the room, were
it not for the lamp that burned on the
hearth, and whose light, though somewhat
dim, was perfectly distinct. By it Idis-
covered, near the door, a figure which my
sight, rendered more acute by my terror,
verified as the identical figure I had be-
fore beheld, who, waving its arm with a
melancholy gesture, and uttering in a pi-
teous voice these words, " It is too late,"
disappeared. As, I will own to thee,
overcome with horror at this second visi-
tation, I fell back on my pillow almost
bereft of the use ofmy faculties, I remem-
ber the clock struck three."
" As Donna Clara and the priest (on
their tenth perusal of the letter) arrived
at these words, the clock in the hall below
struck three. " That is a singular coin-
cidence," said Fra Jose. " Do you think
it nothing more, Father ?" said Donna
Clara, turning very pale. " I know not,"
said the priest; " many have told credible
 A TALE. 19

stories ofwarnings permitted by our guar-

dian saints, to be given even by the mini-
stry of inanimate things. But to what
purpose are we warned, when we know
not the evil we are to shun ?"-" Hush !-
hark !" said Donna Clara, " did you hear
no noise ? "-" None," said Fra Jose listen-
ing, not without some appearance of per-
turbation-" None," he added, in a more
tranquil and assured voice, after a pause;
" and the noise which I did hear about
two hours ago, was of short continuance,
and has not been renewed." " What a
flickering light these tapers give!" said
Donna Clara, viewing them with eyes
glassy and fixed with fear. " The case.
ments are open," answered the priest. " So
they have been since we sat here," re-
turned Donna Clara ; " yet now see what
a stream of air comes rushing against
them! Holy God! they flare as if they
would go out!"
" The priest, looking up at the tapers,
observed the truth of what she said, and
20 MELMOTH :

at the same time perceived the tapestry

near the door to be considerably agitated.
" There is a door open in some other di-
rection," said he, rising. " You are not
going to leave me, Father ?" said Donna
Clara, who sat in her chair paralyzed with
terror, and unable to follow him but with
her eyes.
" The Father Jose made no answer. He
was now in the passage, where a circum-
stance which he observed had arrested all
his attention,-the door of Isidora's apart-
ment was open, and lights were burning in
it. He entered it slowly at first, and gazed
around, but its inmate was not there. He
glanced his eye on the bed, but no human
form had pressed it that night-it lay un-
touched and undisturbed. The casement
next caught his eye, now glancing with
the quickness of fear on every object. He
approached it-it was wide open,-the
casement that looked towards the garden.
In his horror at this discovery, the good
Father could not avoid uttering a cry that
 A TALE . 21
>

pierced the ears of Donna Clara, who,

trembling and scarce able to make her
way to the room, attempted to follow him
in vain, and fell down in the passage.
The priest raised and tried to assist her
back to her own apartment. The wretch-
ed mother, when at last placed in her
chair, neither fainted or wept ; but with
white and speechless lips, and a paralytic
motion of her hand, tried to point towards
her daughter's apartment, as if she wished
to be conveyed there. " It is too late,"
said the priest, unconsciously using the
ominous words quoted in the letter of
Don Francisco.
 CHAPTER XXII. 11 and

Responde meum argumentum-nomen est nomen

-ergo, quod tibi est nomen-responde argumentum.
BEAUMONT and FLETCHER'S
Wit at several Weapons.
८८
THAT night was the one fixed on for
the union of Isidora and Melmoth. She
had retired early to her chamber, and sat
at the casement watching for his approach
for hours before she could probably expect
it. It might be supposed that at this ter-
rible crisis of her fate, she felt agitated by
a thousand emotions, that a soul suscep
 A TALE. 23

tible like hers felt itself almost torn in

pieces by the struggle,-but it was not so.
When a mind strong by nature, but
weakened by fettering circumstances, is
driven to make one strong spring to free
itself, it has no leisure to calculate the
weight of its hindrances, or the width of
its leap,-it sits with its chains heaped a-
bout it, thinking only of the bound that
is to be its liberation-or
" During the many hours that Isidora
awaited the approach of this mysterious
bridegroom, she felt nothing but the aw-
ful sense of that approach, and of the e-
vent that was to follow. So she sat at
her casement, pale but resolute, and trust-
ing in the extraordinary promise of Mel-
moth, that by whatever means he was en-
abled to visit her, by those she would be
enabled to effect her escape, in spite of
her well-guarded mansion, and vigilant
household. đại như củ s으며)
" It was near one (the hour at which
Fra. Jose, who was sitting in consul-
24 MELMOTH :

tation with her mother over that melan-

choly letter, heard the noise alluded to in
the preceding chapter) when Melmoth ap-
peared in the garden, and, without utter-
ing a word, threw up a ladder of ropes,
which, in short and sullen whispers, he in-
structed her to fasten, and assisted her to
descend. They hurried through the gar-
den, and Isidora, amid all the novelty of
her feelings and situation, could not avoid
testifying her surprise at the facility with
which they passed through the well-secur-
ed garden gate.
66
They were now in the open country,
-a region far wilder to Isidora than the
flowery paths of that untrodden isle, where
she had no enemy. Now in every breeze
she heard a menacing voice,-in the echoes
ofher own light steps she heard the sound
of steps pursuing her."
" The night was very dark,-unlike the
midsummer nights in that delicious cli-
mate. A blast sometimes cold, sometimes
stifling from heat, indicated some extraor-
 A TALE. 25

dinary vicissitude in the atmosphere.

There is something very fearful in this
kind ofwintry feeling in a summer night.
The cold, the darkness, followed by in-
tense heat, and a pale, meteoric light-
ning, seemed to unite the mingled evils of
the various seasons, and to trace their sad
analogy to life, whose stormy summer al-
lows youth little to enjoy, and whose chill-
ing winter leaves age nothing to hope.
" To Isidora, whose sensibilities were
still so acutely physical, that she could feel
the state of the elements as if they were
the oracles of nature, which she could
interpret at sight, this dark and trou-
bled appearance seemed like a fearful o-
men .
More than once she paused, trem-
bled, and turned on Melmoth a glance
of doubt and terror, which the dark-
ness of the night, of course, prevented
him from observing. Perhaps there was
another cause,-but as they hurried on,
Isidora's strength and courage began to
fail together. She perceived that she was
VOL. IV. B
26 MELMOTH :

borne on with a kind of supernatural ve-

locity,-her breath failed, her feet faulter-
ed, and she felt like one in a dream.
" Stay!" she exclaimed, gasping from
weakness, " stay !-whither am I going ?
-where do you bear me ?"- " To your
nuptials," answered Melmoth, in low and
almost inarticulate tones ;-but whether
rendered so by emotion, or by the speed
with which they seemed to fly along, Isi-
dora could not discover.
" In a few moments, she was forced to
declare herself unable to proceed, and
leaned on his arm, gasping and exhaust-
ed. " Let me pause," said she ominously,
" in the name of God!" Melmoth return-
ed no answer. He paused, however, and
\
supported her with an appearance of anxie-
ty, if not of tenderness.
" During this interval , she gazed around
her, and tried to distinguish the objects
near ; but the intense darkness of the
night rendered this almost impossible,-
and what she could discover, was not cal-
 A TALE . 27
۱

culated to dispel her alarm. They seemed

to be walking on a narrow and precipitous
path close by a shallow stream, as she
could guess, by the hoarse and rugged
sound of its waters, as they fought with
every pebble to win their way. This path
was edged on the other side by a few trees,
whose stunted growth, and branches toss-
ing wild and wide to the blast that now
began to whisper mournfully among them,
seemed to banish every image of a sum-
mer night from the senses, and almost from
the memory. Every thing around was
alike dreary and strange to Isidora, who
had never, since her arrival at the villa,
wandered beyond the precincts of the
garden,-and who, even if she had, would
probably have found no clue to direct her
where she now was. " This is a fearful
night," said she, half internally. She then
repeated the same words more audibly,
perhaps in hope of some answering and
consolatory sounds. Melmoth was silent-
and her spirits subdued by fatigue and emo-
28 MELMOTH :

tion, she wept. " Do you already repent

the step you have taken ?" said he, laying
a strange emphasis on the word-already.
" No, love, no !" replied Isidora, gently
wiping away her tears ; " it is impossible
for me ever to repent it. But this loneli-
ness, this darkness , this speed, this si-
lence,-have in them something almost
awful. I feel as if I were traversing some
unknown region. Are these indeed the
winds of heaven that sigh around me ?
Are these trees of nature's growth, that
nod at me like spectres ? How hollow
and dismal is the sound of the blast -
! it
chills me though the night is sultry!-and
those trees, they cast their shadows over
my soul! Oh, is this like a bridal night ?"
she exclaimed, as Melmoth , apparently
disturbed at these words, attempted to
hurry her on-" Is this like a bridal ? No
father, no brother, to support me !-no
mother near me !-no kiss of kindred to
greet me !-no congratulating friends !"-
and her fears increasing, she wildly ex-
 A TALE. 29

claimed, " Where is the priest to bless

our union ?-where is the church under
whose roof we are to be united ?"
" As she spoke, Melmoth, drawing her
arm under his, attempted to lead her
gently forward. " There is," said he, " a
ruined monastery near-you may have
observed it from your window."-" No !
I never saw it. Why is it in ruins ?"-" I
know not-there were wild stories told.
It was said the Superior, or Prior, or-I
know not what had looked into certain
books, the perusal of which was not alto-
gether sanctioned by the rules of his or-
der-books of magic they called them.
There was much noise about it, I remem-
ber, and some talk of the Inquisition,-
but the end of the business was, the Prior
disappeared, some said into the prisons of
the Inquisition, some said into safer cus-
tody-(though how that could be, I can-
not well conceive) and the brethren were
drafted into other communities, and the
building became deserted. There were
30 MELMOTH :

some offers made for it by the communities

of other religious houses, but the evil,
though vague and wild reports, that had
gone forth about it, deterred them, on in-
quiry, from inhabiting it, and gradually
the building fell to ruin. It still retains all
that can sanctify it in the eyes of the faith-
ful. There are crucifixes and tomb-stones,
and here and there a cross set up where there
has been murder,-for, by a singular con-
geniality of taste, a banditti has fixed their
seat there now, and the traffic of gold
for souls, once carried on so profitably by
the former inmates, is exchanged for that
of souls for gold, by the present."
" At these words, Melmoth felt the
slender arm that hung on his withdrawn,-
and he perceived that his victim, between
shuddering and struggling, had shrunk
from his hold. " But there," he added,
66
even amid those ruins, there dwells
a holy hermit, one who has taken up
his residence near the spot, he will, u-
nite us in his oratory, according to the
 A TALE . 31

rites of your church. He will speak the

blessing over us, and one of us, at least,
shall be blessed."—" Hold !" said Isidora,
repelling, and standing at what distance
from him she could,-her slight figure ex-
panding to that queen-like dignity with
which nature had once invested her as the
fair and sole sovereign ofher own island-pa-
radise. " Hold!" she repeated-" approach
me not by another step,-address me not
by another word,-till you tell me when
and where I am to be united to you, to
become your wedded wife ! I have borne
much of doubt and terror,-of suspicion
and persecution,-but"- " Hear me,
Isidora," said Melmoth, terrified at this
sudden burst of resolution. 66
Hear
me," answered the timid but heroic girl,
springing, with the elasticity of her early
movements, upon a crag that hung
over their stony path, and clinging to
an ash-tree that had burst through its
fissures-" Hear me ! Sooner will you
32 MELMOTH :

rend this tree from its bed of stone, than

me from its trunk ! Sooner will I dash
this body on the stony bed of the stream
that groans below my feet, than descend
into your arms, till you swear to me they
will bear me to honour and safety ! For
you I have given up all that my newly-
taught duties have told me was holy !-all
that my heart long ago whispered I ought
to love ! Judge by what I have sacrificed,
of what I can sacrifice-and doubt not
that I would be my own victim ten thou-
sand times sooner than yours !"-" By all
that you deem holy !" cried Melmoth,
humbling himself even to kneel before her
as she stood,-" my intentions are as pure
as your own soul !-the hermitage is not
an hundred paces off. Come, and do not,
by a fantastic and causeless apprehension,
frustrate all the magnanimity and tender-
ness you have hitherto shewed, and which
have raised you in my eyes not only above
your sex, but above your whole species.
 A TALE. 33

Had you not been what you are, and

what no other but you could be, you had
never been the bride of Melmoth. With
whom but you did he ever seek to unite
his dark and inscrutable destiny ? Isi-
dora," he added, in tones more potent and
emphatic, perceiving she still hesitated,
and clung to the tree-" Isidora, how
weak, how unworthy ofyou is this ! You
are in my power,-absolutely, hopelessly
in my power. No human eye can see me
-no human arm can aid you. You are
as helpless as infancy in my grasp. This
dark stream would tell no tales of deeds
that stained its waters, and the blast that
howls round you would never waft your
groans to mortal ear ! You are in my
power, yet I seek not to abuse it. I offer
you my hand to conduct you to a conse-
crated building, where we shall be united
according to the fashion of your country
-and will you still persevere in this fan-
ciful and profitless waywardness ?"
" As he spoke, Isidora looked round
B2
34 MELMOTH :

her helplessly every object was a confir-

mation of his arguments-she shuddered
and submitted. But as they walked on in
silence, she could not help interrupting it
togive utterance to the thousand anxieties
that oppressed her heart.
" But you speak," said she, in a sup-
pressed and pleading tone,-" you speak
of religion in words that make me trem-
ble-you speak of it as the fashion of a
country, as a thing of form, of accident,
of habit. What faith do you profess ?--
what church do you frequent ?-what holy
rites do you perform ?"-" I venerate all
faiths--alike, I hold all religious rites-
pretty much in the same respect," said
Melmoth, while his former wild and scof-
fing levity seemed to struggle vainly with
a feeling of involuntary horror. "And do
you then, indeed, believe in holy things ?"
asked Isidora. " Do you indeed ?" she
repeated anxiously. “ Ibelieve in a God,"
answered Melmoth, in a voice that froze
herblood; 66
you have heard of those who
 A TALE . 35

believe and tremble, such is he who speaks

to you!"
" Isidora's acquaintance with the book
from which he quoted, was too limited to
permit her to understand the allusion.
She knew, according to the religious edu-
cation she had received, more of her bre-
viary than her Bible; and though she pur-
sued her inquiry in a timid and anxious
tone, she felt no additional terror from
words she did not understand.
" But," she continued, " Christianity is
something more than belief in a God.
Do you also believe in all that the Catho-
'lic church declares to be essential to salva-
tion ? Do you believe that"- And
here she added a name too sacred, and ac-
companied with terms too awful, to be ex-
pressed in pages so light as these *. " I
believe it all I know it all," answered

* Here Monçada expressed his surprise at this

passage, (as savouring more of Christianity than Ju-
daism), considering it occurred in the manuscript of
a Jew.
36 MELMOTH :

Melmoth, in a voice of stern and reluctant

confession. " Infidel and scoffer as I may
appear to you, there is no martyr of the
Christian church, who in other times
blazed for his God, that has borne or ex-
hibited a more resplendent illustration of
his faith, than I shall bear one day-and
for ever. There is a slight difference only
between our testimonies in point of dura-
tion. They burned for the truths they
loved for a few moments-not so many
perchance. Some were suffocated before
the flames could reach them, but I am
doomed to bear my attestation to the truth
of the gospel, amid fires that shall burn for
ever and ever. See with what a glorious
destiny yours, my bride, is united ! You,
as a Christian, would doubtless exult to
see your husband at the stake, and amid
the faggots to prove his devotion. How
it must ennoble the sacrifice to think that
it is to last to eternity !"
" Melmoth uttered these words in ears
that heard no longer. Isidora had faint
 A TALE. 37

ed ; and hanging with one cold hand on

his arm still, fell ahelpless, senseless weight
on the earth. Melmoth, at this sight,
shewed more feeling than he could have
been suspected of. He disentangled her
from the folds of her mantle, sprinkled
water from the stream on her cold cheek,
and supported her frame in every direction
where a breath of air was to be caught.
Isidora recovered ; for her swoon was that of
fatigue more than fear ; and, with her re-
covery, her lover's short-lived tenderness
seemed to cease. The moment she was
able to speak he urged her to proceed,-
and while she feebly attempted to obey
him, he assured her, her strength was per-
fectly recovered, and that the place they
had to reach was but a few paces distant.
Isidora struggled on. Their path now lay
up the ascent of a steep hill,-they left the
murmur of the stream, and the sighing of
trees, behind them, the wind, too, had
sunk, but the night continued intensely
dark, and the absence of all sound seem
38 MELMOTH :

ed to Isidora to increase the desolateness

of the scene. She wished for something
to listen to beside her impeded and pain-
ful respiration, and the audible beatings of
her heart. As they descended the hill
on the other side, the murmuring of the
waters became once more faintly audible ;
and this sound she had longed to hear
again, had now, amid the stillness of the
night, a cadence so melancholy, that she
almost wished it hushed.
" Thus always, to the unhappy, the
very fulfilment of their morbid wishings
becomes a source of disappointment, and
the change they hoped for is desirable only
as it gives them cause to long for another
change. In the morning they say, Would
to God it were evening !-Evening comes,
-and in the evening they say, Would to
God it were morning ! But Isidora had
no time to analyse her feelings, a new
apprehension struck her, and, as shecould
well guess from the increasing speed of
Melmoth, and head thrown backward
 A TALE . 39

impatiently, and often, it had probably

reached him too. A sound they had
been for some time watching, (without
communicating their feelings to each
other), became every moment more dis-
tinct. It was the sound of a human
foot, evidently pursuing them, from the
increasing quickness of its speed, and a
certain sharpness of tread, that irresistibly
gave the idea of hot and anxious pursuit.
Melmoth suddenly paused, and Isidora
hung trembling on his arm. Neither of
them uttered a word ; but Isidora's eyes,
instinctively following the slight but fear-
ful waving of his arm, saw it directed
towards a figure so obscure, that it at first
appeared like a spray moving in the misty
night, then was lost in darkness as it de-
scended the hill, and then appeared in a
human form, as far as the darkness of the
night would permit its shape to be dis-
tinguishable. It came on its steps were
more and more audible, and its shape al-
most distinct.-Then Melmoth suddenly
40 MELMOTH :

quitted Isidora, who, shivering with ter-

ror, but unable to utter a word that might
implore him to stay, stood alone, her whole
frame trembling almost to dissolution, and
her feet feeling as if she were nailed to the
spot where she stood. What passed she
knew not. There was a short and dark-
ened struggle between two figures, and,
in this fearful interval, she imagined she
heard the voice of an ancient domestic,
much attached to her, call on her, first in
accents of expostulation and appeal, then
in choaked and breathless cries for help-
help--help !-Then she heard a sound as if
a heavy body fell into the water that
murmured below. It fell heavily--the
wave groaned-the dark hill groaned in
answer, like murderers exchanging their
stilled and midnight whispers over their
work of blood-and all was silent. Isi-
dora clasped her cold and convulsed fin-
gers over her eyes, till a whispering voice,
the voice of Melmoth, uttered, " Let us
hasten on, my love."-" Where ?" said Isi-
 A TALE . - 41

dora, not knowing the meaning of the

words she uttered.-" To the ruined mo-
nastery, my love,-to the hermitage,
where the holy man, the man of your
faith, shall unite us."-" Where are the
steps that pursued us ?" said Isidora, sud-
denly recovering her recollection.-" They
will pursue you no more." " But I saw a
figure."-" But you will see it no more."
-" I heard something fall into that stream
-heavily-like a corse."-" There was a
stone that fell from the precipice of the
hill-the waters splashed, and curled, and
whitened round it for a moment, but they
have swallowed it now, and appear tohave
such a relish for the morsel, that they will
not be apt to resign it."
" In silent horror she proceeded, till
Melmoth, pointing to a dusky and inde-
finite mass of what, in the gloom of night,
bore, according to the eye or the fancy,
the shape of a rock, a tuft of trees, or a
massive and unlighted building, whisper-
ed, " There is the ruin, and near it stands
42 MELMOTH :

the hermitage,-one moment more of ef-

fort, of renewed strength and courage,
and we are there." Urged by these words,
and still more by an undefinable wish to
put an end to this shadowy journey, these
mysterious fears, even at the risk of find-
ing them worse than verified at its termi-
nation, Isidora exerted all her remaining
strength, and, supported by Melmoth, be-
gan to ascend the sloping ground on which
the monastery had once stood. There had
been a path, but it was now all obstructed
by stones, and rugged with the knotted and
interlaced roots of the neglected trees that
had once formed its shelter and its grace.
As they approached, in spite of the
darkness of the night, the ruin began to
assume a distinct and characteristic ap-
pearance, and Isidora's heart beat less fear-
fully, when she could ascertain, from the
remains of the tower and spire, the vast
Eastern window, and the crosses still visi-
ble on every ruined pinnacle and pedi-
ment, like religion triumphant amid grief
 A TALE. 43

and decay, that this had been a building

destined for sacred purposes. A narrow
path, that seemed to wind round the edi-
fice, conducted them to a front which over-
looked an extensive cemetery, at the ex-
tremity of which Melmoth pointed out to
her an indistinct object, which he said was
the hermitage, and to which he would has-
ten to intreat the hermit, who was also a
priest, to unite them. " May I not ac-
company you ?" said Isidora, glancing
round on the graves that were to be her
companions in solitude. " It is against
his vow," said Melmoth, " to admit a fe-
male into his presence, except when ob-
liged by the course of his duties." So
saying he hasted away, and Isidora, sink-
ing on a grave for rest, wrapt her veil
around her, as if its folds could exclude
even thought. In a few moments, gasp-
ing for air, she withdrew it ; but as her
eye encountered only tomb-stones and
crosses, and that dark and sepulchral ve-
getation that loves to shoot its roots, and
44 MELMOTH :

trail its unlovely verdure amid the joints

of grave-stones, she closed it again, and
sat shuddering and alone. Suddenly
a faint sound, like the murmur of a
breeze, reached her, she looked up, but
the wind had sunk, and the night was
perfectly calm. The same sound recur-
ring, as of a breeze sweeping past, made
her turn her eyes in the direction from
which it came, and, at some distance from
her, she thought she beheld a human fi-
gure moving slowly along on the verge
of the inclosure of the burial-ground.
Though it did not seem approaching
her, (but rather moving in a slow cir-
cuit on the verge of her view), con-
ceiving it must be Melmoth, she rose a

in expectation of his advancing to her,

and, at this moment, the figure, turning
and half-pausing, seemed to extend its
arm toward her, and wave it once or twice,
but whether with a motion or purpose of
warning or repelling her, it was impossible
to discover,-it then renewed its dim and
silent progress, and the next moment the
 A TALE . 45

ruins hid it from her view. She had no

time to muse on this singular appearance,
for Melmoth was now at her side urging
her to proceed. There was a chapel, he
told her, attached to the ruins, but not
like them in decay, where sacred cere.
monies were still performed, and where
the priest had promised to join them in a
few moments. " He is there before us,"
said Isidora, adverting to the figure she
"
had seen ; I think I saw him. "-
" Saw whom ?" said Melmoth, starting,
and standing immoveable till his question
was answered.-" I saw a figure," said
Isidora, trembling-" I thought I saw a
figure moving towards the ruin."-" You
are mistaken," said Melmoth ; but a mo-
ment after he added, " We ought to have
been there before him." And he hurried
on with Isidora. Suddenly slackening his
speed, he demanded, in a choaked and in-
distinct voice, if she had ever heard any
music precede his visits to her,-any
sounds in the air. " Never," was the an
46 MELMOTH :

swer. " You are sure ? "-" Perfectly

sure."

" At this moment they were ascending

the fractured and rugged steps that led to
the entrance of the chapel,--now they
passed under the dark and ivied porch,-
now they entered the chapel, which, even
in darkness, appeared to the eyes of Isi-
dora ruinous and deserted. " He has not
yet arrived," said Melmoth, in a disturbed
voice; " Wait there a moinent." And
Isidora, enfeebled by terror beyond the
power of resistance, or even intreaty, saw
him depart without an effort to detain
him. She felt as if the effort would be
hopeless. Left thus alone, she glanced
her eyes around, and a faint and watery
moon-beam breaking at that moment
through the heavy clouds, threw its light
on the objects around her. There was a
window, but the stained glass of its com-
partments, broken and discoloured, held
rare and precarious place between the flut-
ed shafts of stone. Ivy and moss darken-
 A TALE. 47

ed the fragments ofglass, and clung round

the clustered pillars. Beneath were the
remains of an altar and crucifix, but they
seemed like the rude work of the first
hands that had ever been employed on
such subjects. There was also a marble
vessel, that seemed designed to contain
holy water, but it was empty, and there
was a stone bench, on which Isidora sunk
down in weariness, but without hope of
rest. Once or twice she looked up to the
window, through which the moon-beams
fell, with that instinctive feeling of her
former existence, that made companions
of the elements, and of the beautiful and
glorious family of heaven, under whose
burning light she had once imagined the
moon was her parent, and the stars her
kindred. She gazed on the window still,
like one who loved the light of nature, and
drank health and truth from its beams,
till a figure passing slowly but visibly be-
fore the pillared shafts, disclosed to her
view the face of that ancient servant,
48 MELMOTH :

whose features she remembered well. He

seemed to regard her with a look, first of
intent contemplation, then of compassion,
--the figure then passed from before the
ruined window, and a faint and wailing
cry rung in the ears of Isidora as it disap-
peared.
" At that moment the moon, that had
so faintly lit the chapel, sunk behind a
cloud, and every thing was enveloped in
darknesss so profound, that Isidora did
not recognize the figure of Melmoth till
her hand was clasped in his, and his voice
whispered, " He is here-ready to unite
us." The long-protracted terrors of this
bridal left her not a breath to utter a word
withal, and she leaned on the arm that
she felt, not in confidence, but for sup-
port. The place, the hour, the objects,
all were hid in darkness. She heard a
faint rustling as of the approach of ano-
ther person, she tried to catch certain
words, but she knew not what they were,-
she attempted also to speak, but she knew
 A TALE. 49

nor what she said. All was mist and dark-

ness with her, she knew not what was
muttered, she felt not that the hand of
Melmoth grasped hers, but she felt that
the hand that united them, and clasped
their palms within his own, was as cold
as that ofdeath.

VOL. IV. C
 CHAPTER XXIII.

Τηλε μέιργουσι ψυχαι, ειδοωλα καμοντων.

HOMER.

८८

We have now to retrace a short period

of our narrative to the night on which Don
Francisco di Aliaga, the father of Isidora,
" fortuned," as he termed it, to be among
the company whose conversation had pro-
duced so extraordinary an effect on him.
" He was journeying homewards, full of
the contemplation of his wealth, the cer-
tainty of having attained complete security
against the evils that harass life, and being
 A TALE . 51

able to set at defiance all external causes of

infelicity. He felt like a man " at ease in
his possessions," and he felt also a grave
and placid satisfaction at the thought of
meeting a family who looked up to him
with profound respect as the author of
their fortunes, of walking in his own
house, amid bowing domestics and obse-
quious relatives, with the same slow au-
thoritative step with which he paced the
mart among wealthy merchants, and saw
the wealthiest bow as he approached, and
when he had passed, point out the man of
whose grave salute they were proud, and
whisper, That is Aliaga the rich.-So
thinking and feeling, as most prosperous
men do, with an honest pride in their
worldly success, an exaggerated expecta-
tion of the homage of society, (which
they often find frustrated by its contempt),
---and an ultimate reliance on the respect
and devotion of their family whom they
have enriched, making them ample amends
for the slights they may be exposed to
52 MELMOTH :

where their wealth is unknown, and their

newly assumed consequence unappreciated,
-or if appreciated, not valued :-So think-
ing and feeling, Don Franciscojourneyed
homeward.
" At a wretched inn where he was
compelled to halt, he found the accommo-
dation so bad, and the heat of the weather
so intolerable in the low, narrow, and un-
windowed rooms, that he preferred taking
his supper in the open air, on a stone
bench at the door of the inn. We cannot
say that he there imagined himself to be
feasted with trout and white bread, like Don
Quixote, and still less that he fancied he
was ministered unto by damsels of rank ;-
on the contrary, Don Francisco was di-
gesting a sorry meal with wretched wine,
with a perfect internal consciousness of the
mediocrity ofboth, when he beheld a person
ride by, who paused, and looked as if he was
inclined to stop at the inn. (The interval
of this pause was not long enough to permit
Don Francisco to observe particularly the
 A TALE . 53

figure or face of the horseman, or indeed

to recognize him on any future occasion
of meeting ; nor was there any thing re-
markable in his appearance to invite or ar-
rest observation.) He made a sign to the
host, who approached him with a slow
and unwilling pace,-appeared to answer
all his inquiries with sturdy negatives,-
and finally, as the stranger rode on, re-
turned to his station, crossing himself with
every mark of terror and deprecation.
" There was something more in this
than the ordinary surliness of a Spanish
innkeeper. Don Francisco's curiosity was
excited, and he asked the innkeeper, whe-
ther the stranger had proposed to pass the
night at the inn, as the weather seemed to
threaten a storm ? " I know not what
he proposes," answered the man, " but
this I know, that I would not suffer him
to pass an hour under my roof for the re-
venues of Toledo. If there be a storm
coming on, I care not those who can
raise them are the fittest to meet them ! "
54 MELMOTH :

" Don Francisco inquired the cause of

these extraordinary expressions of aversion
and terror, but the innkeeper shook his
head and remained silent, with, as it were,
the circumspective fear of one who is in-
closed within a sorcerer's circle, and dreads
to pass its verge, lest he become the prey of
the spirits who are waiting beyond it to
take advantage of his transgression.
" At last, at Don Francisco's repeated
instances, he said, " Your worship must
needs be a stranger in this part of Spain
not to have heard of Melmoth the wan-
derer. "-" I have never heard of the name
before," said Don Francisco; " and I con-
jure you, brother, to tell me what you
know of this person, whose character, if I
may judge by the manner in which you
speak of him, must have in it something
extraordinary."-" Senhor," answered the
man, " were I to relate what is told of
that person, I should not be able to close
an eye to-night; or if I did, it would be
to dream of things so horrible, that I had
 A TALE . 55

rather lie awake for ever. But, if I am

not mistaken, there is in the house one
who can gratify your curiosity-it is a
gentleman who is preparing for the press
a collection of facts relative to that person,
and who has been, for some time, in vain
soliciting for a license to print them, they
being such as the government, in its wis-
dom, thinks not fit to be perused by the
eyes of Catholics, or circulated among a
Christian community."
"As the innkeeper spoke, and spoke with
an earnestness that at least made the hearer
believe he felt the conviction he tried to
impress, the person ofwhom he spoke was
standing beside Don Francisco. He had
apparently overheard their conversation,
and seemed not indisposed to continue it.
He was a man of a grave and composed
aspect, and altogether so remote from any
appearance of imposition, or theatrical and
conjuror-like display, that Don Francisco,
grave, suspicious, and deliberate as a Spa-
niard, and moreover a Spanish merchant,
56 MELMOTH :

may be, could not aviod giving him his

confidence at sight, though he forbore
any external expression of it.
66
Senhor," said the stranger, " mine
host has told you but the truth. The
person whom you saw ride by, is one of
those beings after whom human curiosity
pants in vain, whose life is doomed to be
recorded in incredible legends that moulder
in the libraries of the curious, and to be
disbelieved and scorned even by those who
exhaust sums on their collection, and un-
gratefully depreciate the contents of the
volumes on whose aggregate its value de-
pends. There has been, however, I believe,
no other instance of a person still alive,
and apparently exercising all the functions
ofahuman agent, who has become already
the subject of written memoirs, and the
theme of traditional history. Several cir-
cumstances relating to this extraordinary
being are even now in the hands of curious
and eager collectors ; and I have myself
attained to the knowledge of one or two
 A TALE . 57

that are not among the least extraordinary.

The marvellous period of life said to be
assigned him, and the facility with which
he has been observed to pass from region
to region, (knowing all, and known to
none), have been the principal causes why
the adventures in which he is engaged,
should be at once so numerous and so si-
milar."
" As the stranger ceased to speak, the
evening grew dark, and a few large and
heavy drops of rain fell. " This night
threatens a storm," said the stranger, look-
ing abroad with some degree of anxiety-
66
we had better retire within doors ; and
if you, Senhor, are not otherwise occupied,
I am willing to pass away some hours of
this unpleasant night in relating to you
some circumstances relating to the wan-
derer, which have come within my certain
knowledge.
" Don Francisco assented to this pro-
posal as much from curiosity, as from the
impatience of solitude, which is never
c2
58 MELMOTH :

more insupportable than in an inn, and

during stormy weather. Don Montilla,
too, had left him on a visit to his father,
who was in a declining state, and was not
to join him again till his arrival in the
neighbourhood of Madrid. He therefore
bid his servants shew the way to his a-
partment, whither he courteously invited
his new acquaintance.
66

Imagine them now seated in the

wretched upper apartment of a Spanish
inn, whose appearance, though dreary and
comfortless, had in it, nevertheless, some-
thing picturesque, and not inappropriate,
as the scene where a wild and wondrous
tale was to be related and listened to.
There was no luxury of inventive art to
flatter the senses, or enervate the atten-
tion, to enable the hearer to break the
spell that binds him to the world of hor-
rors, and recover to all the soothing reali-
ties and comforts of ordinary life, like one
who starts from a dream of the rack, and
finds himself waking on a bed of down.
 A TALE. 59

The walls were bare, and the roofs were

raftered, and the only furniture was a ta-
ble, beside which Don Francisco and his
companion sat, the one on a huge high-
backed chair, the other on a stool so low,
that he seemed seated at the listener's foot.
Alamp stood on the table, whose light
flickering in the wind, that sighed through
many apertures of the jarring door, fell al-
ternately on lips that quivered as they
read, and cheeks that grew paler as the
listener bent to catch the sounds to which
fear gave a more broken and hollow tone,
at the close of every page. The rising
voice of the stormy night seemed to make
wild and dreary harmony with the tones
of the listener's feelings. The storm came
on, not with sudden violence, but with
sullen and long-suspended wrath-often
receding, as it were, to the verge of the
horizon, and then returning and rolling its
deepening and awful peals over the very
roof. And as the stranger proceeded in
his narrative, every pause, which emotion
60 MELMOTH :

or weariness might cause, was meetly fill-

ed by the deep rushing of the rain that fell
in torrents, the sighs of the wind, and
now and then a faint, distant, but long-
continued peal of thunder. " It sounds,"
said the stranger, raising his eyes from the
manuscript, " like the chidings of the
spirits, that their secrets are disclosed!"
1
 CHAPTER XXIV.

*
* *

-And the twain were playing dice.

*
*
* *

The game is done, I've won, I've won,

Quoth she, and whistled thrice.
COLERIDGE-Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner.

The Tale of Guzman's Family.

66

Or what I am about to read to you,"

said the stranger, " I have witnessed part
myself, and the remainder is established
on a basis as strong as human evidence
can make it.
 62 MELMOTH :

" In the city of Seville, where I lived

many years, I knew a wealthy merchant,
far advanced in years, who was known by
the name of Guzman the rich. He was
of obscure birth, and those who honoured
his wealth sufficiently to borrow from him
frequently, never honoured his name so
far as to prefix Don to it, or to add his
surname, of which, indeed, most were ig-
norant, and among the number, it is said,
the wealthy merchant himself. He was
well respected, however; and when Guz-
man was seen, as regularly as the bell toll-
ed for vespers, to issue from the narrow
door of his house,-lock it carefully,-
view it twice or thrice with a wistful eye,
-then deposit the key in his bosom, and
move slowly to church, feeling for the key
in his vest the whole way, the proudest
heads in Seville were uncovered as he
passed,--and the children who were play-
ing in the streets, desisted from their
sports till he had halted by them.
" Guzman had neither wife or child,-
 A TALE. 63

relative or friend. An old female domes-

tic constituted his whole household, and his
personal expences were calculated on a
scale of the most pinching frugality ; it
was therefore matter of anxious conjec-
ture to many, how his enormous wealth
would be bestowed after his death. This
anxiety gave rise to inquiries about the
possibility of Guzman having relatives,
though in remoteness and obscurity ; and
the diligence of inquiry, when stimulated
at once by avarice and curiosity, is indefa-
tigable. Thus it was at length discovered
that Guzman had formerly a sister, many
years younger than himself, who, at a very
early age, had married a German musi-
cian, a Protestant, and had shortly after
quitted Spain. It was remembered, or re-
ported, that she had made many efforts to
soften the heart and open the hand of her
brother, who was even then very wealthy,
and to induce him to be reconciled to their
union, and to enable her and her husband
to remain in Spain. Guzman was inflexi-
64 MELMOTH :

ble. Wealthy, and proud of his wealth

as he was, he might have digested the un-
palatable morsel of her union with a poor
man, whom he could have made rich ; but
he could not even swallow the intelli-
gence that she had married a Protestant.
Ines, for that was her name, and her hus-
band, went to Germany, partly in de-
pendence on his musical talents, which
were highly appreciated in that coun-
try, partly in the vague hope of emi-
grants, that change ofplace will be attend-
ed with change of circumstances, and
partly, also, from the feeling, that misfor-
tune is better tolerated any where than in
the presence of those who inflict it. Such
was the tale told by the old, who affected
to remember the facts, and believed by
the young, whose imagination supplied all
the defects of memory, and pictured to
them an interesting beauty, with her chil-
dren hanging about her, embarking, with
a heretic husband, for a distant country,
 TALE . 65

and sadly bidding farewell to the land and

the religion of her fathers.
66

Now, while these things were talked

of at Seville, Guzman fell sick, and was
given over by the physicians, whom with
considerable reluctance he had suffered to
be called in.
" In the progress ofhis illness, whether
nature revisited aheart she long appeared
to have deserted, or whether he conceiv-
ed that the hand of a relative might be a
more grateful support to his dying head
than that of a rapacious and mercenary
menial, or whether his resentful feelings
burnt faintly at the expected approach of
death, as artificial fires wax dim at the ap-
pearance of morning ;-so it was, that Guz-
man in his illness bethought himself of his
sister and her family,-sent off, at a consi-
derable expence, an express to that part of
Germany where she resided, to invite her
to return and be reconciled to him, and
prayed devoutly that he might be permit-
ted to survive till he could breathe his last
66 MELMOTH :

amid the arms of her and her children.

Moreover, there was a report at this time,
in which the hearers probably took more
interest than in any thing that related
merely to the life or death of Guzman,-
and this was, that he had rescinded his
former will, and sent for a notary, with
whom, in spite of his apparent debility, he
remained locked up for some hours, dicta-
ting in a tone which, however clear to the
notary, did not leave one distinct impres-
sion of sound on the ears that were strain-
ed, even to an agony of listening, at the
double-locked door of his chamber.
" All Guzman's friends had endeavour-
ed to dissuade him from making this ex-
ertion, which, they assured him, would
only hasten his dissolution. But to their
surprise, and doubtless their delight, from
the moment his will was made, Guzman's
health began to amend, and in less than
aweek he began to walk about his cham-
ber, and calculate what time it might take
an express to reach Germany, and how
 A TALE . 67

soon he might expect intelligence from his

family.
" Some months had passed away, and
日
the priests took advantage of the interval
to get about Guzman. But after exhaust-
S ing every effort of ingenuity, after ply-
コ
ing him powerfully but unavailingly on
the side of conscience, of duty, of fear, and
of religion, they began to understand
their interest, and change their battery.
And finding that the settled purpose of
Guzman's soul was not to be changed, and
that he was determined on recalling his
sister and her family to Spain, they con-
tented themselves with requiring that he
should have no communication with the
heretic family, except through them, and
never see his sister or her children unless
they were witnesses to the interview.
" This condition was easily complied
with, for Guzman felt no decided inclina-
tion for seeing his sister, whose presence
might have reminded him of feelings alie-
nated, and duties forgot. Besides, he was
 68 MELMOTH :

a man of fixed habits; and the presence of

the most interesting being on earth, that
threatened the slightest interruption or
suspension of those habits, would have
been to him insupportable.
" Thus we are all indurated by age and
habit, and feel ultimately, that the dear-
est connexions of nature or passion may
be sacrificed to those petty indulgences
which the presence or influence of a stran-
ger may disturb. So Guzman compro-
mised between his conscience and his feel-
ings. He determined, in spite of all the
priests in Seville, to invite his sister and
.

her family to Spain, and to leave the mass

of his immense fortune to them ; (and to
that effect he wrote, and wrote repeatedly
and explicitly). But, on the other hand,
he promised and swore to his spiritual
counsellors, that he never would see one
individual of the family ; and that, though
his sister might inherit his fortune, she
never-never should see his face. The
priests were satisfied, or appeared to be so,
 A TALE . 69

■ with this declaration; and Guzman, having

propitiated them with ample offerings to
the shrines of various saints, to each of
whom his recovery was exclusively attri-
buted, sat down to calculate the probable
expence of his sister's return to Spain, and
the necessity of providing for her family,
whom he had, as it were, rooted from
their native bed; and therefore felt bound,
in all honesty, to make them flourish in
the soil into which he had transplanted
them.
" Within the year, his sister, her hus-
band, and four children, returned to Spain.
Her name was Ines, her husband's was
Walberg. He was an industrious man,
and an excellent musician. His talents
had obtained for him the place of Maestro
di Capella to the Duke of Saxony; and
his children were educated (according to
his means) to supply his place when va-
cated by death or accident, or to employ
themselves as musical teachers in the
courts of German princes. He and his
70 MELMOTH :

wife had lived with the utmost frugality,

and looked to their children for the means
of increasing, by the exercise of their ta-
lents, that subsistence which it was their
daily labour to provide.
" The eldest son, who was called Ever-
hard, inherited his father's musical talents.
The daughters, Julia and Ines, were musi-
cal also, and very skilful in embroidery.
The youngest child, Maurice, was by turns
the delight and the torment of the family.
" They had struggled on for many years
in difficulties too petty to be made the sub-
ject of detail, yet too severe not to be pain-
fully felt by those whose lot is to encoun-
ter them every day, and every hour of
the day, when the sudden intelligence,
brought by an express from Spain, of their
wealthy relative Guzman inviting them
to return thither, and proclaiming them
heirs to all his vast riches, burst on them
like the first dawn of his half-year's summer
on the crouching and squalid inmate of a
Lapland hut. All trouble was forgot,-
 A TALE . 71

all cares postponed, their few debts paid

off,-and their preparations made for an
instant departure to Spain.
66

1 So to Spain they went, and journeyed

on to the city of Seville, where, on their
arrival, they were waited on by a grave
ecclesiastic, who acquainted them with
Guzman's resolution of never seeing his
offending sister or her family, while at the
same time he assured them of his inten-
tion of supporting and supplying them
with every comfort, till his decease put
them in possession of his wealth. The
family were somewhat disturbed at this
intelligence, and the mother wept at being
denied the sight of her brother, for whom
she still cherished the affection of memo-
ry ; while the priest, by way of softening
the discharge of his commission, dropt
some words of a change of their heretical
opinions being most likely to open a chan-
nel of communication between them and
their relative. The silence with which
72 MELMOTH :

this hint was received spoke more than

many words, and the priest departed.
" This was the first cloud that had in-
tercepted their view of felicity since the
express arrived in Germany, and they sat
gloomily enough under its shadow for the
remainder of the evening. Walberg, in
the confidence of expected wealth, had
not only brought over his children to
Spain, but had written to his father and
mother, who were very old, and wretched-
ly poor, to join him in Seville ; and by
the sale of his house and furniture, had
been enabled to remit them money for the
heavy expences of so long a journey.
They were now hourly expected, and the
children, who had a faint but grateful re-
collection of the blessing bestowed on their
infant heads by quivering lips and wither-
ed hands, looked out withjoy for the arri-
val of the ancient pair. Ines had often
said to her husband, " Would it not be
better to let your father and mother re-
main in Germany, and remit them money
 A TALE . 73

for their support, than put them to the fa-

tigue of so long a journey at their far ad-
vanced age ?"-And he had always an-
swered, " Let them rather die under my
roof, than live under that of strangers."
This night he perhaps began to feel the
prudence of his wife's advice ;-she saw
it, and with cautious gentleness forbore,
for that very reason, to remind him ofit.
The weather was gloomy and cold that
evening, it was unlike a night in Spain.
Its chill appeared to extend to the party.
Ines sat and worked in silence-the chil-
dren, collected at the window, communi-
cated in whispers their hopes and conjec-
tures about the arrival of the aged tra-
vellers, and Walberg, who was restlessly
traversing the room, sometimes sighed as
he overheard them.
" The next day was sunny and cloud-
less. The priest again called on them,
and, after regretting that Guzman's reso-
lution was inflexible, informed them, that
he was directed to pay them an annual
VOL. IV. D
74 MELMOTH :

sum for their support, which he named,

and which appeared to them enormous ;
and to appropriate another for the educa-
tion of the children, which seemed to be
calculated on a scale of princely munifi-
cence. He put deeds, properly drawn and
attested for this purpose, into their hands,
and then withdrew, after repeating the
assurance, that they would be the un-
doubted heirs of Guzman's wealth at his
decease, and that, as the interval would be
passed in affluence, it might well be pass-
ed without repining. The priest had
scarcely retired, when the aged parents of
Walberg arrived, feeble from joy and fa-
tigue, but not exhausted, and the whole
family sat down to a meal that appeared
to them luxurious, in that placid contem-
plation of future felicity, which is often
more exquisite than its actual enjoyment.
" I saw them," said the stranger, inter-
66

rupting himself,-" I saw them on the

evening of that day of union, and a paint-
er, who wished to embody the image of
 A TALE . 75

domestic felicity in a group of living fi-

gures, need have gone no further than the
mansion of Walberg. He and his wife
were seated at the head of the table, smil-
ing on their children, and seeing them smile
日 in return, without the intervention of one
anxious thought,-one present harassing of
petty difficulty, or heavy presage of future
mischance,-onefear ofthe morrow, or ach-
ing remembrance of the past. Their chil-
dren formed indeed a groupe on which the
eye of painter or of parent, the gaze of taste
or of affection, might have hung with equal
delight. Everhard their eldest son, now
-
sixteen, possessed too much beauty for his
sex, and his delicate and brilliant com-
plexion, his slender and exquisitely mould-
ed form, and the modulation of his tender
and tremulous voice, inspired that mingled
interest, with which we watch, in youth,
over the strife of present debility with the
promise of future strength, and infused in-
to his parent's hearts that fond anxiety
with which we mark the progress of a
76 MELMOTH :

mild but cloudy morning in spring, rejoic-

ing in the mild and balmy glories of its
dawn, but fearing lest clouds may over-
shade them before noon. The daughters,
Ines and Julia, had all the loveliness of
their colder climate--the luxuriant ringlets
of golden hair, the large bright blue eyes,
the snow-like whiteness of their bosoms,
and slender arms, and the rose-leaf tint
and peachiness of their delicate cheeks,
made them, as they attended their pa-
rents with graceful and fond officious-
ness, resemble two young Hebes mi.
nistering cups, which their touch alone
was enough to turn into nectar.
" The spirits of these young persons had
been early depressed by the difficulties in
which their parents were involved ; and
even in childhood they had acquired the
timid tread, the whispered tone, the
anxious and inquiring look, that the con-
stant sense of domestic distress painfully
teaches even to children, and which it is
the most exquisite pain to a parent to wit-
 A TALE . 77

ness. But now there was nothing to re-

strain their young hearts, that stranger,
a smile, fled back rejoicing to the lovely
home of their lips, and the timidity of
their former habits only lent a grateful
shade to the brilliant exuberance ofyouth-
ful happiness. Just opposite this picture,
whose hues were so bright, and whose
shades were so tender, were seated the fi-
gures of the aged grandfather and grandmo-
ther. The contrast was very strong ; there
was no connecting link, no graduated medi-
um,-you passed at once from the first and
fairest flowers of spring, to the withered
and rootless barrenness of winter.
" These very aged persons, however,
had something in their looks to soothe the
eye, and Teniers or Wouverman would
perhaps have valued their figures and cos-
tume far beyond those of their young and
lovely grandchildren. They were stiffly
and quaintly habited in their German
garb-the old man in his doublet and cap,
and the old woman in her ruff, stomacher,
78 MELMOTH :

and head-gear resembling a skull-cap, with

long depending pinners, through which a
few white, but very long hairs, appeared -
on her wrinkled cheeks ; but on the coun-
tenances of both there was a gleam of joy,
like the cold smile of a setting sun on a
wintry landscape. They did not distinctly
hear the kind importunities of their son
and daughter, to partake more amply of
the most plentiful meal they had ever wit-
nessed in their frugal lives, but they
bowed and smiled with that thankfulness
which is at once wounding and grateful
to the hearts of affectionate children.
They smiled also at the beauty of Ever-
hard and their elder grandchildren,-at
the wild pranks of Maurice, who was as
wild in the hour of trouble as in the hour
of prosperity ;-and finally, they smiled at
all that was said, though they did not hear
half of it, and at all they saw, though they
could enjoy very little-and that smile of
age, that placid submission to the pleasures
of the young, mingled with undoubted
 A TALE, 79

anticipations of a more pure and perfect fe-

licity, gave an almost heavenly expression
to features, that would otherwise have
borne only the withering look of debility
and decay.
" Some circumstances occurred during
this family feast, which were sufficiently
characteristic of the partakers. Walberg
(himself a very temperate man) pressed
his father repeatedly to take more wine
than he was accustomed to,-the old man
gently declined it. The son still pressed
it heartfully, and the old man complied
with a wish to gratify his son, not himself.
" The younger children, too, caressed
their grandmother with the boisterous
fondness of children. Their mother re-
proached them. " Nay, let be," said the
gentle old woman. " They trouble you,
mother," said the wife of Walberg.-
" They cannot trouble me long," said the
grandmother, with an emphatic smile.
" Father," said Walberg, is not Everhard
grown very tall ?"-" The last time I saw
80 MELMOTH :

him," said the grandfather, " I stooped to

kiss him ; now I think he must stoop to
kiss me." And, at the word, Everhard
darted like an arrow into the trembling
arms that were opened to receive him, and
his red and hairless lips were pressed to the
snowy beard of his grandfather. " Cling
there, my child," said the exulting father.
-" God grant your kiss may never be ap-
plied to lips less pure."-" They never shall,
my father !" said the susceptible boy, blush-
ing at his own emotions-" I never wish
to press any lips but those that will bless
me like those of my grandfather. "
" And do you wish," said the old man jo-
cularly, " that the blessing should always
issue from lips as rough and hoary as
mine ?" Everhard stood blushing behind
the old man's chair at this question, and
Walberg, who heard the clock strike the
hour at which he had been always accus-
tomed, in prosperity or adversity, to sum-
mon his family to prayer, made a signal
which his children well understood, and
 A TALE . 81

which was communicated in whispers to

their aged relatives. " Thank God," said
the aged grandmother to the young whis-
perer, and as she spoke, she sunk on her
knees. Her grandchildren assisted her.
" Thank God," echoed the old man, bend-
ing his stiffened knees, and doffing his cap
-" Thank God for this shadow of a great
rock in a weary land !" "--and he knelt,
while Walberg, after reading a chapter or
two from a German Bible which he held
in his hands, pronounced an extempore
prayer, imploring God to fill their hearts
with gratitude for the temporal blessings
they enjoyed, and to enable them " so to
pass through things temporal, that they
might not finally lose the things eternal."
At the close of the prayer, the family rose
and saluted each other with that affection
which has not its root in earth, and whose
blossoms, however diminutive and colour-
less to the eye of man in this wretched
soil, shall yet bear glorious fruit in the
garden of God. It was a lovely sight to
D2
82 MELMOTH :

behold the young people assisting their

aged relatives to arise from their knees,-
and it was a lovelier hearing, to listen to the
happy good-nights exchanged among the
parting family. The wife of Walberg was
most assiduous in preparing the comforts
of her husband's parents, and Walberg
yielded to her with that proud gratitude,
that feels more exaltation in a benefit con-
ferred by those we love, than if we con-
ferred it ourselves. He loved his parents,
but he was proud of his wife loving them
because they were his. To the repeated
offers of his children to assist or attend
their ancient relatives, he answered, " No,
dear children, your mother will do better,
-your mother always does best." As he
spoke, his children, according to a custom
now forgot, kneeled before him to ask
his blessing. His hand, tremulous with af-
fection, rested first on the curling locks of
the darling Everhard, whose head towered
proudly above those of his kneeling sisters,
and of Maurice, who, with the irrepressible
 A TALE. 83

and venial levity of joyous childhood,

laughed as he knelt. " God bless you !"
said Walberg-" God bless you all,-and
may he make you as good as your mother,
and as happy as-your father is this night ;"
and as he spoke, the happy father turned
aside and wept.
 CHAPTER XXV.

-Quæque ipsa miserrima vidi,

Et quorum pars magna fui.
VIRGIL.

66

THE wife of Walberg, who was na-

turally of a cool sedate temper, and to
whom misfortune had taught an anxious
and jealous prevoyance, was not so intoxi-
cated with the present prosperity of the
family, as its young, or even its aged mem-
bers. Her mind was full of thoughts
which she would not communicate to her
 A TALE . 85

husband, and sometimes did not wish to

acknowledge to herself; but to the priest,
who visited them frequently with renewed
marks of Guzman's bounty, she spoke ex-
plicitly. She said, that however grateful for
her brother's kindness, for the enjoyment
ofpresent competence, and the hope of fu-
ture wealth, she wished that her children
might be permitted to acquire the means of
independent subsistence for themselves,
and that the money destined by Guzman's
liberality for their ornamental education,
might be applied to the purpose of ensur-
ing them the power of supporting them-
selves, and assisting their parents. She al-
luded slightly to the possible future change
in her brother's favourable feelings towards
her, and dwelt much on the circumstance
of her children being strangers in the
country, wholly unacquainted with its lan-
guage, and averse from its religion ; and
she mildly but strongly stated the difficul-
ties to which a heretic family of stran-
gers might be exposed in a Catholic coun-
86 MELMOTH :
1

try, and implored the priest to employ his

mediation and influence with her brother,
that her children might be enabled, through
his bounty, to acquire the means of inde-
pendent subsistence, as if and she paus-
ed. The good and friendly priest (for
he was truly both) listened to her with at-
tention; and after satisfying his conscience,
by adjuring her to renounce her heretical
opinions, as the only means of obtaining a
reconciliation with God and her brother,
and receiving a calm, but firm negative,
proceeded to give her his best LAY advice,
which was to comply with her brother's
wishes in every thing, to educate her chil-
dren in the manner which he prescribed,
and to the full extent of the means which
he so amply furnished. He added, en con-
fiance, that Guzman, though, during his
long life, he had never been suspected of
any passion but that of accumulating
money, was now possessed with a spirit
much harder to expel, and was resolved
that the heirs of his wealth should be, in
 A TALE . 87

point of all that might embellish polished

society, on a level with the descendants of
the first nobility of Spain. Finally, he
counselled submission to her brother's
wishes in all things, and the wife of
Walberg complied with tears, which she
tried to conceal from the priest, and had
completely effaced the traces of before she
again met her husband.
" In the mean time, the plan ofGuzman
was rapidly realized. Ahandsome house
was taken for Walberg, his sons and
daughters were splendidly arrayed, and
sumptuously lodged; and, though educa-
tion was, and still is, on a very low level
in Spain, they were taught all that was
then supposed to qualify them as compa-
nions for the descendants of Hidalgoes.
Any attempt, or even allusion to their be-
ing prepared for the ordinary occupations
of life, was strictly forbidden by the orders
of Guzman. The father triumphed in
this, the mother regretted it, but she
kept her regret to herself, and consoled
88 MELMOTH :

herself with thinking, that the ornamental

education her children were receiving
might ultimately be turned to account ; for
the wife of Walberg was a woman whom
the experience of misfortune had taught
to look to the future with an anxious eye,
and that eye, with ominous accuracy, had
seldom failed to detect a speck of evil in
the brightest beam of sun-shine that had
ever trembled on her chequered existence.
" The injunctions of Guzman were obey-
ed, the family lived in luxury. The young
people plunged into their new life of en-
joyment with an avidity proportioned to
their youthful sensibility of pleasure, and
to a taste for refinement and elegant pur-
suits, which their former obscurity had re-
pressed, but never extinguished. The
proud and happy father exulted in the
personal beauty, and improving talents of
his children. The anxious mother sighed
sometimes, but took care the sigh should
never reach her husband's ear. The aged
grandfather and grandmother, whose in-
 A TALE . 89

firmities had been much increased by their

journey to Spain, and possibly still more
by that strong emotion which is a habit to
youth, but a convulsion to age, sat in
their ample chairs comfortably idle, dozing
away life in intervals of unuttered though
conscious satisfaction, and calm but vene-
rable apathy ;-they slept much, but when
they awoke, they smiled at their grand-
children, and at each other.
" The wife of Walberg, during this in-
terval, which seemed one of undisturbed
felicity to all but her, sometimes suggest-
ed a gentle caution,--a doubtful and
anxious hint,-a possibility of future dis-
appointment, but this was soon smiled a-
way by the rosy, and laughing, and kiss-
ful lips of her children, till the mother at
last began to smile at her apprehensions
herself. At times, however, she led them
anxiously in the direction of their uncle's
house. She walked up and down the
street before his door with her children,
and sometimes lifted up her veil, as if to
90 MELMOTH :

try whether her eye could pierce through

walls as hard as the miser's heart, or win-
dows barred like his coffers, then glancing
on her children's costly dress, while her
eye darted far into futurity, she sighed and
returned slowly home. This state of sus-
pence was soon to be terminated.
" The priest, Guzman's confessor, visit-
ed them often; first in quality of almoner
or agent of his bounty, which was amply
and punctually bestowed through his
hands ; and secondly, in quality of a pro-
fessed chess-player, at which game he had
met, even in Spain, no antagonist like
Walberg. He also felt an interest in the
family and their fortunes, which, though
his orthodoxy disowned, his heart could
not forbear to acknowledge, so the good
priest compromised matters by playing
chess with the father, and praying for the
conversion of his family on his return to
Guzman's house. It was while engaged
in the former exercise, that a message ar-
rived to summon him on the instant home,
 A TALE. 91

1 --the priest left his queen en prise, and

hurried into the passage to speak with the
messenger. The family of Walberg, with
agitation unspeakable, half rose to follow
him. They paused at the door, and then
retreated with a mixed feeling of anxiety
a

for the intelligence, and shame at the

attitude in which they might be discover-
ed. As they retreated, however, they
could not help hearing the words of the
messenger,- " He is at his last gasp,-he
has sent for you, you must not lose a mo-
ment." As the messenger spoke, the
priest and he departed.
" The family returned to their apart-
ment, and for some hours sat in pro-
found silence, interrupted only by the
ticking of the clock, which was distinctly
and solely heard, and which seemed too
loud to their quickened ears, amid that
deep stillness on which it broke incessant-
ly, or by the echoes of Walberg's hurried
step, as he started from his chair and tra-
92 MELMOTH :

versed the apartment. At this sound

they turned, as if expecting a messenger,
then, glancing at the silent figure of Wal-
berg, sunk on their seats again. The fa-
mily sat up all that long night of unutter-
ed, and indeed unutterable emotion. The
lights burnt low, and were at length ex-
tinguished, but no one noticed them;-the
pale light of the dawn broke feebly into
the room, but no one observed it was
morning. " God !-how long he lingers !"
exclaimed Walberg involuntarily ; and
these words, though uttered under his
breath, made all the listeners start, as at
the first sounds of a human voice, which
they had not heard for many hours.
" At this moment a knock was heard
at the door, a step trod slowly along the
passage that led to the room, the door
opened, and the priest appeared. He ad-
vanced into the room without speaking, or
being spoken to. And the contrast of
strong emotion and unbroken silence,-
this conflict of speech that strangled
 A TALE. 93

- thought in the utterance, and of thought

that in vain asked aid of speech, the
agony and the muteness,-formed a ter-
rible momentary association. It was but
- momentary, the priest, as he stood,
uttered the words-" All is over !" Wal-
_berg clasped his hands over his fore-
head, and in ecstatic agony exclaimed,-
" Thank God !" and wildly catching at the
object nearest him, as if imagining it one
of his children, he clasped and hugged
it to his breast. His wife wept for
a moment at the thought of her brother's
death, but roused herself for her children's
sake to hear all that was to be told. The
Priest could tell no more but that Guz-
man was dead,-seals had been put on
every chest, drawer, and coffer in the
-house,-not a cabinet had escaped the dili-
gence of the persons employed, and the
will was to be read the following day.
" For the following day the family re-
mained in that intensity of expectation
that precluded all thought. The servants
 94 MELMOTH :

prepared the usual meal, but it remained

untasted. The family pressed each other
to partake of it; but as the importunity
was not enforced by the inviter setting
any example of the lesson he tried to
teach, the meal remained untasted. A.
bout noon a grave person, in the habit of
a notary, was announced, and summoned
Walberg to be present at the opening of
Guzman's will. As Walberg prepared to
obey the summons, one of his children
officiously offered him his hat, another his
cloke, both of which he had forgot in the
trepidation of his anxiety ; and these in-
stances of reminiscence and attention in
his children, contrasted with his own ab-
straction, completely overcame him, and
he sunk down on a seat to recover himself.
" You had better not go, my love," said
his wife mildly. " I believe I shall-I
must take your advice," said Walberg, re-
lapsing on the seat from which he had half
risen. The notary, with a formal bow,
was retiring. " I will go !" said Walberg,
 A TALE . 95

swearing a German oath, whose guttural

sound made the notary start,-" I will go ! "
and as he spoke he fell on the floor, ex-
hausted by fatigue and want of refresh-
ment, and emotion indescribable but to a
father. The notary retired, and a few
hours more were exhausted in torturing
conjecture, expressed on the mother's part
only by clasped hands and smothered
sighs, on the father's by profound silence,
averted countenance, and hands that seem-
ed to feel for those of his children, and
then shrink from the touch, and on the
children's by rapidly varying auguries of
hope and of disappointment. The aged
pair sat motionless among their family ;-
they knew not what was going on, but
they knew if it was good they must par-
take of it, and in the perception or ex-
pectation of the approach of evil, their fa-
culties had latterly become very obtuse.
" The day was far advanced, it was
noon. The servants, with whom the mu-
nificence of the deceased had amply sup-
 96 MELMOTH :

plied their establishment, announced that

dinner was prepared ; and Ines, who re-
tained more presence of mind than the
rest, gently suggested to her husband the
necessity of not betraying their emotions
to their servants. He obeyed her hint
mechanically, and walked into the dining-
hall, forgetting for the first time to offer
his arm to his infirm father. His family
followed, but, when seated at the table, they
seemed not to know for what purpose they
were collected there. Walberg, consumed
by that thirst of anxiety which nothing
seems sufficient to quench, called repeat-
edly for wine ; and his wife, who found
1
even the attempt to eat impossible in the
presence of the gazing and unmoved at-
tendants, dismissed them by a signal, but
did not feel the desire of food restored
by their absence. The old couple eat as
usual, and sometimes looked up with an
expression of vague and vacant wonder,
and a kind of sluggish reluctance to admit
the fear or belief of approaching calamity.
 TALE. 97

Towards the end of their cheerless meal,

Walberg was called out; he returned in a
few minutes, and there was no appearance
of change in his countenance. He seated
himself, and only his wife perceived the
traces of a wild smile stealing over the
- trembling lines of his face, as he filled a
large glass of wine, and raised it to his
lips, pronouncing-" A health to the heirs
ofGuzman." But instead of drinking the
wine, he dashed the glass to the floor,
and burying his head in the drapery of the
table on which he flung himself, he ex-
claimed, " Not a ducat,-not a ducat, all
*
left to the church !-Not a ducat !"
* *
*

" In the evening the priest called, and

- found the family much more composed.
The certainty of evil had given them a
kind of courage. Suspence is the only
evil against which it is impossible to set up
a defence, and, like young mariners in
an untried sea, they almost felt ready to
- welcome the storm, as a relief from the
VOL. IV. E
98 MELMOTH :

deadly and loathsome sickness of anxiety.

The honest resentment, and encouraging
manner of the priest, were a cordial to
their ears and hearts. He declared his be-
lief, that nothing but the foulest means
that might be resorted to by interested and
bigotted monks, could have extorted such
a will from the dying man, his readiness
to attest, in every court in Spain, the in-
tentions of the testator (till within a few
hours of his death) to have bequeathed his
whole fortune to his family, intentions
which he had repeatedly expressed to him
and others, and to whose effect he had
seen a former will of no long date,-and,
finally, gave his strenuous advice to Wal-
berg to bring the matter to legal arbitra-
tion, in aid of which he promised his per-
sonal exertions, his influence with the
ablest advocates in Seville, and every thing
-but money.
" The family that night went to bed
with spirits exalted by hope, and slept in
peace. One circumstance alone marked a
 TALE . 99

change in their feelings and habits. As

they were retiring, the old man laid his
tremulous hand on the shoulder of Wal-
berg, and said mildly, " My son, shall we
pray before we retire ?"-" Not to-night,
father," said Walberg, who perhaps fear-
ed the mention of their heretical worship
might alienate the friendly priest, or who
felt the agitation of his heart too great for
the solemn exercise ; " Not to-night, I am
-too happy !"
The priest was as good as his word,-
the ablest advocates in Seville undertook
the cause of Walberg. Proofs of undue
influence, of imposition, and of terror be-
ing exercised on the mind of the testator,
were ingeniously made out by the dili-
gence and spiritual authority of the priest,
and skilfully arranged and ably pleaded by
the advocates. Walberg's spirits rose with
every hour. The family, at the time of
Guzman's death, were in possession of a
considerable sum of money, but this was
soon expended, together with another sum
100 MELMOTH :

which the frugality of Ines had enabled

her to save, and which she now cheerfully
produced in aid of her husband's exigen-
cies, and in confidence of eventual success.
When all was gone, other resources still
remained, the spacious house was dis-
posed of, the servants dismissed, the fur-
niture sold (as usual) for about a fourth of
its value, and, in their new and humble a-
bode in the suburbs of Seville, Ines and
her daughters contentedly resumed those
domestic duties which they had been in
the habit of performing in their quiet
home in Germany. Amid these changes,
the grandfather and grandmother expe-
rienced none but mere change of place, of
which they hardly appeared conscious.
The assiduous attention of Ines to their
comforts was increased, not diminished, by
the necessity of being herself the sole
ministrant to them ; and smiling she plead-
ed want of appetite, or trifling indisposi-
tion, as an excuse for her own and her
children's meal, while theirs was composed
 A TALE . 101

of every thing that could tempt the taste-

less palate of age, or that she remembered
was acceptable to theirs.
" The causehad now come to a hearing,
and for the two first days the advocates
of Walberg carried all before them. On
the third the ecclesiastical advocates made
a firm and vigorous stand. Walberg re-
turned much dispirited;-his wife saw it,
and therefore assumed no airs of cheerful-
ness, which only increase the irritation of
misfortune, but she was equable, and
steadily and tranquilly occupied in domes-
tic business the whole evening in his
sight. As they were separating for the
night, by a singular contingency, the old
man again reminded his son of the for-
gotten hour of family prayer. " Not to-
night, father," said Walberg impatiently ;
" not to-night ; I am-too unhappy !"-
" Thus," said the old man, lifting up his
withered hands, and speaking with an
energy he had not showed for years,-
" thus, O my God! prosperity and adver-

L LI
NA BR
JO A

ONVIC
OS 유
102 MELMOTH :

sity alike furnish us with excuses for ne-

glecting thee!" As he tottered from the
room, Walberg declined his head on the
bosom of his wife, who sat beside him,
and shed a few bitter tears. And Ines
whispered to herself, " The sacrifice of
God is a troubled spirit, a broken heart
*
he will not despise." * *
*

" The cause had been carried on with a

spirit and expedition that had no prece-
dent in the courts of Spain, and the fourth
day was fixed on for a final hearing and
termination of the cause. The day dawned,
and at the dawn of day Walberg arose, and
walked for some hours before the gates of
the hall of justice; and when they were
opened, he entered, and sat down me-
chanically on a seat in the vacant hall, with
the same look of profound attention, and
anxious interest, that he would have as-
sumed had the court been seated, and the
cause about to be decided. After a few
moment's pause, he sighed, started, and
 A TALE. 103

appearing to awake from a dream, quitted

his seat, and walked up and down the
empty passages till the court was prepared
to sit.
" The court met early that day, and the
cause was powerfully advocated. Wal-
berg sat on one seat, without ever chang-
ing his place, till all was over ; and it was
then late in the evening, and he had taken
no refreshment the entire day, and he had
never changed his place, and he had never
changed the close and corrupted atmo-
sphere of the crowded court for a moment.
Quid multis morer ? The chance of a he-
retic stranger, against the interests of
churchmen in Spain, may be calculated
by the most shallow capacity.
" The family had all that day sat in the
innermost room of their humble dwelling.
Everhard had wished to accompany his
father to the court, his mother withheld
him. The sisters involuntarily dropt their
work from time to time, and their mother
gently reminded them of the necessity of
 104 MELMOTH :

renewing it. They did resume it, but

their hands, at variance with their feelings,
made such blunders, that their mother,
δακρυσεν γελασασα, removed their work, and
suggested to them some active employ.
ment in household affairs. While they
were thus engaged, evening came on, the
family from time to time suspended their
ordinary occupations, and crowded to the
window to watch the return of their fa-
ther. Their mother no longer interfered,
-she sat in silence, and this silence form-
ed a strong contrast to the restless impa-
tience of her children. " That is my fa-
ther," exclaimed the voices of the four at
once, as a figure crossed the street. " That
is not my father," they repeated, as the
figure slowly retired. A knock was heard
at the door, Ines herself rushed forward
to open it. A figure retreated, advanced
again, and again retreated. Then it
seemed to rush past her, and enter the
house like a shadow. In terror she follow-
ed it, and with terror unutterable saw
 A TALE . 105

her husband kneeling among his children,

who in vain attempted to raise him, while
hecontinued torepeat, " No, let mekneel,
-let me kneel, I have undone you all !
The cause is lost, and I have made beggars
ofyou all!"-" Rise,-rise, dearest father,"
cried the children, gathering round him,
" nothing is lost, if you are saved!"-
" Rise, my love, from that horrible and
unnatural humiliation," cried Ines, grasp-
ing the arms of her husband; " help me,
my children, father, mother, will you
not help me ? "-and as she spoke, the tot-
tering, helpless, and almost lifeless figures
of the aged grandfather and grandmother
arose from their chairs, and staggering for-
wards, added their feeble strength,-their
vis impotentiæ, to sustain or succour the
weight that dragged heavily on the arms
of the children and their mother. By this
sight, more than by any effort, Walberg
was raised from the posture that agonized
his family, and placed in a chair, around
which hung the wife and children, while
E2
106 MELMOTH :

the aged father and mother, retreating tor-

pidly to their seats, seemed to lose in a
few moments the keen consciousness of
evil that had inspired them for an instant
with a force almost miraculous. Ines and
her children hung round Walberg, and
uttered all of consolation that helpless af-
fection could suggest; but perhaps there is
not a more barbed arrow can be sent
through the heart, than by the thought
that the hands that clasp ours so fondly.
cannot earn for us or themselves the means
of another meal, that the lips that are
pressed to ours so warmly, may the next
ask us for bread, and ask in vain !
" It was perhaps fortunate for this un-
happy family, that the very extremity of
their grief rendered its long indulgence im-
possible, the voice of necessity made itself
be heard distinctly and loudly amid all the
cry and clamour of that hour of agony.
Something must be done for the morrow,
-and it was to be done immediately.
" What money have you ?" was the first
 A TALE . 107

articulate sentence Walberg uttered to his

wife; andwhen she whispered the small sum
that the expences of their lost cause had
left them, he shivered with a brief empha-
tic spasm of horror, then bursting from
their arms, and rising, he crossed the
room, as if he wished to be alone for a
moment. As he did so, he saw his young-
est child playing with the long strings of
his grandfather's band, a mode of spor-
tive teazing in which the urchin delighted,
and which was at once chid and smiled at.
Walberg struck the poor child vehement-
ly, and then catching him in his arms, bid
*
him-" Smile as long as he could!"
* * * *

" They had means of subsistence at least

for the following week ; and that was such a
source of comfort to them, as it is to men
who are quitting a wreck, and drifting on a
bare raft with a slender provision towards
some coast, which they hope to reachbefore
it is exhausted. They sat up all thatnight
together in earnest counsel, after Ines had
108 MELMOTH :

taken care to see the father and mother of

her husband comfortably placed in their a-
partment. Amid their long and melan-
choly conference, hope sprung up insensi-
bly in the hearts of the speakers, and a
plan was gradually formed for obtaining
the means of subsistence. Walberg was
to offer his talents as a musical teacher,-
Ines and her daughters were to undertake
embroidery, and Everhard, who possessed
exquisite taste both in music and drawing,
was to make an effort in both departments,
and the friendly priest was to be applied
to for his needful interest and recommen-
dation for all. The morning broke on
their long-protracted consultation, and
found them unwearied in discussing its
subject. " We shall not starve," said the
children hopefully.-" I trust not," said
Walberg sighingly. His wife, who knew
Spain, said not a word.
 CHAPTER XXVI.

-This to me
Indreadful secrecy they did impart,
And I with them the third night kept the watch.
SHAKESPEARE.

" As they spoke, a soft knockwas heard,

such as kindness gives at the door of mis-
fortune, and Everhard started up to an-
swer it. " Stay," said Walberg, absently,
" Where are the servants ?" Then recol-
lecting himself, he smiled agonizingly, and
waved his hand to his son to go. It was
the good priest. He entered, and sat
down in silence, no one spoke to him.
110 MELMOTH :

It might be truly said, as it is sublimely

said in the original, " There was neither
speech nor language, but voices were heard
among them-" and felt too." The worthy
priest piqued himself on his orthodoxy of
all matters of belief and form enjoined by
the Catholic church ; and, moreover, had ac-
quired a kind ofmonastic apathy, of sanc-
tified stoicism, which priests sometimes
imagine is the conquest of grace over the
rebellion of nature, when it is merely the
result of a profession that denies nature its
objects and its ties. Yet so it was, that as
he sat among this afflicted family, after
complaining of the keenness of the morn-
ing air, and wiping away in vain the mois-
ture, which he said it had brought into his
eyes, he at last yielded to his feelings, and
" lifted up his voice and wept." But tears
were not all he had to offer. On hearing
the plans of Walberg and his family, he
promised, with a faultering voice, his
ready assistance in promoting them ; and,
as he rose to depart, observing that he had
 A TALE. 111

been entrusted by the faithful with a small

sum for the relief of the unfortunate, and
knew not where it could be better bestow-
ed, he dropped from the sleeve of his ha-
bit a well filled purse on the floor, and
hurried away.
" The family retired to rest as the day ap-
proached, but rose in a few hours afterwards
without having slept ; and the remainder
of that day, and the whole of the three fol-
lowing, were devoted to applications at
every door where encouragement might be
expected, or employment obtained, the
priest in person aiding every application.
But there were many circumstances unfa-
vourable to the ill-starred family of Wal-
berg. They were strangers, and, with the
exception of their mother, who acted as
interpreter, ignorant of the language of
the country. This was " a sore evil," ex-
tending almost to the total preclusion of
their exertions as teachers. They were
also heretics, and this alone was a suffi-
cient bar to their success in Seville. In
112 MELMOTH :

some families the beauty of the daughters,

in others that of the son, was gravely de-
bated as an important objection. In others
the recollection of their former splendour,
suggested a mean and rancorous motive to
jealous inferiority to insult them by a re-
jection, for which no other cause could
be assigned. Unwearied and undismayed,
they renewed their applications every day,
at every house where admission could be
obtained, and at many where it was de-
nied; and each day they returned to exa-
mine the diminished stock, to divide the
scantier meal, calculate how far it was pos-
sible to reduce the claims of nature to the
level of their ebbing means, and smile
when they talked of the morrow to each
other, but weep when they thought of it
alone. There is a withering monotony in
the diary of misery,-" one day telleth an-
other." But there came at length a day,
when the last coin was expended, the
last meal devoured, the last resource ex-
hausted, the last hope annihilated, and the
 A TALE. 113

friendly priest himself told them weeping,

he had nothing to give them but his
prayers.
" That evening the family sat in pro-
found and stupified silence together for
some hours, till the aged mother of Wal-
berg, who had not for some months utter-
ed any thing but indistinct monosyllables,
or appeared conscious of any thing that
was going on, suddenly, with that omi-
nous energy that announces its effort to
be the last, that bright flash of parting
life that precedes its total extinction, ex-
claimed aloud, apparently addressing her
husband, " There is something wrong
here, why did they bring us from Ger-
many ? They might have suffered us to
die there, they have brought us here to
mock us, I think. Yesterday,-(her me-
mory evidently confounding the dates of
her son's prosperous and adverse fortune),
yesterday they clothed me in silk, and I
drank wine, and to-day they give me this
sorry crust, (flinging away the piece of
114 MELMOTH :

bread which had been her share of the mi-

serable meal), there is something wrong
here. I will go back to Germany,-I
will !" and she rose from her seat in the
sight of the astonished family, who, hor-
ror-struck, as they would have been at the
sudden resuscitation of a corse, ventured
not to oppose her by word or movement.
" I will go back to Germany," she repeat-
ed; and, rising, she actually took three or
four firm and equal steps on the floor,
while no one attempted to approach her.
Then her force, both physical and mental,
seemed to fail, she tottered, her voice
sunk into hollow mutterings, as she re-
peated, " I know the way, I know the
way, if it was not so dark. I have not
far to go, I am very near-home ! " As she
spoke, she fell across the feet of Walberg.
The family collected round her, and raised
-a corse . " Thank God !" exclaimed her
son, as he gazed on his mother's corse.-
And this reversion of the strongest feeling
of nature, this wish for the death of
 A TALE. 115

those for whom, in other circumstances,

we would ourselves have died, makes
those who have experienced it feel as if
there was no evil in life but want, and no
object of rational pursuit but the means of
avoiding it. Alas ! if it be so, for what
purpose were hearts that beat, and minds
that burn, bestowed on us ? Is all the
energy of intellect, and all the enthusiasm
of feeling, to be expended in contrivances
how to meet or shift off the petty but tor-
turing pangs of hourly necessity ? Is the
fire caught from heaven to be employed in
lighting afaggot to keep the cold from the
numbed and wasted fingers of poverty.
Pardon this digression, Senhor," said the
stranger, " but I had a painful feeling,
that forced me to make it." He then pro-
ceeded.

" The family collected around the dead

body, and it might have been a subject
worthy the pencil of the first of painters, to
witness its interment, as it took place the
following night. As the deceased was a
116 MELMOTH :

heretic, the corse was not allowed to be

laid in consecrated ground ; and the family,
solicitous to avoid giving offence, or at-
tracting notice on the subject of their re-
ligion, were the only attendants on the
funeral. In a small inclosure, at the rear
of their wretched abode, her son dug his
mother's grave, and Ines and her daugh-
ters placed the body in it. Everhard was
absent in search of employment, as they
hoped, and a light was held by the
youngest child, who smiled as he watched
the scene, as if it had been a pageant got
up for his amusement. That light, feeble
as it was, showed the strong and varying
expression of the countenances on which
it fell; in Walberg's there was a stern
and fearful joy, that she whom they were
laying to rest had been " taken from the
evil to come," in that of Ines there was
grief, mingled with something of horror,
at this mute and unhallowed ceremony.-
Her daughters, pale with grief and fear,
wept silently ; but their tears were check-
 A TALE. 117

ed, and the whole course of their feelings

changed, when the light fell on another
1 figure who appeared suddenly standing a-
TI
mong them on the edge of the grave,-it
was that of Walberg's father. Impatient
of being left alone, and wholly uncon-
scious of the cause, he had groped and
tottered his way till he reached the spot ;
and now, as he saw his son heap up the
earth over the grave, he exclaimed, with
a brief and feeble effort of reminiscence,
sinking on the ground, " Me, too,-lay
me there, the same spot will serve for
both!" His children raised and supported
him into the house, where the sight of
Everhard, with an unexpected supply of
provisions, made them forget the horrors
of the late scene, and postpone once more
the fears of want till to-morrow. No in-
quiry how this supply was obtained, could
extort more from Everhard than that it
was the gift of charity. He looked ex-
hausted and dreadfully pale, and, for-
bearing to press him with further ques-
1
118 MELMOTH :

tions, they partook of this manna-meal,-

this food that seemed to have dropped
from heaven, and separated for the night.
* *

" Ines had, during this period of cala-

mity, unremittingly enforced the applica-
tion of her daughters to those accomplish-
ments from which she still derived the
hopes of their subsistence. Whatever
were the privations and disappointments
of the day, their musical and other exer-
cises were strictly attended to; and hands
enfeebled by want and grief, plied their
task with as much assiduity as when oc-
cupation was only a variation of luxury.
This attention to the ornaments of life,
when its actual necessaries are wanted,
-
this sound of music in a house where the
murmurs of domestic anxiety are heard
every moment, this subservience of ta-
lent to necessity, all its generous enthu-
siasm lost, and only its possible utility re-
membered or valued, is perhaps the bit-
terest strife that ever was fought between
 A TALE . 119

the opposing claims of our artificial and our

natural existence. But things had now
occurred that shook not only the resolution
of Ines, but even affected her feelings be-
yond the power of repression. She had
been accustomed to hear, with delight, the
eager application of her daughters to their
musical studies ;-now-when she heard
them, the morning after the interment of
their grandmother, renewing that appli-
cation-she felt as if the sounds struck
through her heart. She entered the room
where they were, and they turned towards
her with their usual smiling demand for
her approbation.
The mother, with the forced smile of a
sickening heart, said she believed there
was no occasion for their practising any
further that day. The daughters, who un-
derstood her too well, relinquished their
instruments, and, accustomed to see every
article of furniture converted into the
means of casual subsistence, they thought
no worse than that their ghitarras might
120 MELMOTH :

be disposed of this day, and the next they

hoped they would have to teach on those
of their pupils. They were mistaken.
Other symptoms of failing resolution, of
utter and hopeless abandonment, appeared
that day. Walberg had always felt and
expressed the strongest feelings of tender
respect towards his parents-his fatherpar-
ticularly, whose age far exceeded that of
his mother. At the division of their meal
that day, he shewed a kind of wolfish
and greedy jealousy that made Ines trem-
ble. He whispered to her." How much
my father eats-how heartily he feeds
while we have scarce a morsel !" " And
let us want that morsel, before your father
wants one !" said Ines in a whisper-" I
have scarce tasted any thing myself."-
" Father-father," cried Walberg, shout-
ing in the ear of thedoting old man, " you
are eating heartily, while Ines and her chil-
dren are starving !" And he snatched the
food from his father's hand, who gazed at
him vacantly, and resigned the contested
 A TALE . 121

morsel without a struggle. A moment

afterwards the old man rose from his seat,
and with horrid unnatural force, tore the
untasted meat from his grandchildren's
lips, and swallowed it himself, while his
rivelled and toothless mouth grinned at
them in mockery at once infantine and
malicious.
" Squabbling about your supper ?" cried
Everhard, bursting among them with a
wild and feeble laugh,-" Why, here's
enough for to-morrow--and to-morrow."
And he flung indeed ample means for two
day's subsistence on the table, but he look-
ed paler and paler. The hungry family
devoured the hoard, and forgot to ask the
cause of his increasing paleness, and obvi-
* *

ously diminished strength.

*

66
They had long been without any do-
mestics, and as Everhard disappeared mys-
teriously every day, the daughters were
sometimes employed on the humble er-
1 rands of the family. The beauty of the el-
VOL . IV.
122 MELMOTH :

der daughter, Julia, was so conspicuous,

that her mother had often undertaken the
most menial errands herself, rather than
send her daughter into the streets unpro-
tected. The following evening, however,
being intently employed in some domes-
tic occupation, she allowed Julia to go
out to purchase their food for to-morrow,
and lent her veil for the purpose, directing
her daughter to arrange it in the Spanish
fashion, with which she was well acquaint-
ed, so as to hide her face.
" Julia, who went with trembling steps
on her brief errand, had somehow derang-
ed her veil, and a glimpse of her beauty
was caught by a cavalier who was passing.
The meanness of her dress and occupation
suggested hopes to him which he ventured
to express. Julia burst from him withthe
mingled terror and indignation of insulted
purity, but her eyes rested with uncon-
scious avidity on the handful of gold which
glittered in his hand.--She thought of her
famishing parents, of her own declining
 A TALE . 123

strength, and neglected useless talents.

The gold still sparkled before her, she felt
-she knew not what, and to escape from
some feelings is perhaps the best victory
we can obtain over them. But when she
arrived at home, she eagerly thrust the
small purchase she had made into her mo-
ther's hand, and, though hitherto gentle,
submissive, and tractable, announced, in a
tone of decision that seemed to her startled
mother (whose thoughts were always limit-
ed to the exigencies of the hour) like that
of sudden insanity, that she would rather
starve than ever again tread the streets of
Seville alone.
" As Ines retired to her bed, she thought
she heard a feeble moan from the room
where Everhard lay, and where, from
their being compelled to sell the necessary
furniture of the bed, he had entreated his
parents to allow Maurice to sleep with him,
alleging that the warmth ofhis body would
be a substitute for artificial covering to his
- little brother. Twice those moans were
122 MELMOTH :

heard, but Ines did not dare to awake Wal-

berg,who had sunk into that profound sleep
which is as often the refuge of intolerable
misery, as that of saturated enjoyment.
A few moments after, when the moans
had ceased, and she had half persuaded
herself it was only the echo of that wave
that seems for ever beating in the ears
of the unfortunate,-the curtains of her
bed were thrown open, and the figure
of a child covered with blood, stained in
breast, arms, and legs, appeared before
her, and cried, " It is Everhard's blood-
he is bleeding to death, I am covered
with his blood !-Mother-mother-rise
and save Everhard's life !" The object,
the voice, the words, seemed to Ines like
the imagery of some terrible dream, such
as had lately often visited her sleep, till
the tones of Maurice, her youngest, and
(in her heart) her favourite child, made her
spring from the bed, and hurry after the
little blood-spotted figure that paddled be-
fore her on its naked feet, till she reached
 A TALE . 125

the adjoining room where Everhard lay.

Amid all her anguish and fear, she trod as
lightly as Maurice, lest she should awake
Walberg.
43" The moon-light fell strongly through
the unshuttered windows on the wretched
closet that just contained the bed. Its
furniture was sufficiently scanty, and in
his spasms Everhard had thrown off the
sheet. So he lay, as Ines approached
his bed, in a kind of corse-like beauty,
to which the light of the moon gave
an effect that would have rendered the
figure worthy the pencil of a Murillo,
a Rosa, or any of those painters, who,
inspired by the genius of suffering, de-
light in representing the most exquisite
ofhuman forms in the extremity of human
agony. A St Bartholomew flayed, with
his skin hanging about him in graceful
drapery-a St Laurence, broiled on a gri-
diron, andexhibiting his finely-formed ana-
tomy on its bars, while naked slaves are
blowing the coals beneath it, even these
126 MELMOTH :

were inferior to the form half- veiled,-

half-disclosed by the moon-light as it lay.
The snow-white limbs of Everhard were
extended as if for the inspection ofa sculp-
tor, and moveless, as if they were indeed
what they resembled, in hue and symme-
try, those of a marble statue. His arms
were tossed above his head, and the blood
was trickling fast from the opened veins
of both, his bright and curled hair was
clotted with the red stream that flowed
from his arms, his lips were blue, and a
faint and fainter moan issued from them
as his mother hung over him. This sight
banished in a moment all other fears and
feelings, and Ines shrieked aloud to her
husband for assistance. Walberg, stagger-
ing from his sleep, entered the room, the
object before him was enough. Ines had
only strength left to point to it. The
wretched father rushed out in quest of me-
dical aid, which he was obliged to solicit
gratuitously, and in bad Spanish, while
his accents betrayed him at every door he
 A TALE. 127

knocked at,-and closed them against him

as a foreigner and a heretic. At length a
barber-surgeon (for the professions were
united in Seville) consented, with many a
yawn, to attend him, and came duly armed
with lint and styptics. The distance was
short, and he was soon by the bed of the
young sufferer. The parents observed,
with consternation unspeakable, the lan-
guid looks of recognition, the ghastly smile
of consciousness, that Everhard viewed
him with, as he approached the bed ; and
when he had succeeded in stopping the hæ-
morrhage, and bound up the arms, a whis-
per passed between him and the patient,
and the latter raised his bloodless'hand to
his lips, and uttered, " Remember our bar-
gain." As the man retired, Walberg
followed, and demanded to know the
meaning of the words he had heard.
Walberg was a German, and choleric-
the surgeon was a Spaniard, and cool.
" I shall tell you to-morrow, Senhor," said
he, putting up his instruments,-" in the
128 MELMOTH :

mean time be assured of my gratuitous

attendance on your son, and of his certain
recovery. We deem you heretics in Se-
ville, but that youth is enough to canon-
ize the whole family, and cover a multi-
tude of sins." And with these words he
departed. The next day he attended
Everhard, and so for several, till he was
completely recovered, always refusing the
slightest remuneration, till the father,
whom misery had made suspicious of
every thing and nothing, watched at the
door, and heard the horrible secret. He
did not disclose it to his wife, but from
that hour, it was observed that his gloom
became more intense, and the communi-
cations he used to hold with his family,
on the subject of their distress, and the
modes of evading it by hourly expedients,
utterly and finally ceased.
" Everhard, now recovered, but still
pale as the widow of Seneca, was at last
able to join the family consultation, and
give advice, and suggest resources, with
 A TALE. 129

a mental energy that his physical weak-

ness could not overcome. The next day,
when they were assembled to debate on
the means of procuring subsistence for
the following one, they for the first time
missed their father. At every word that
was uttered, they turned to ask for his
sanction-but he was not there. At last
he entered the room, but without taking
a part in their consultation. He leaned
gloomily against the wall, and while Ever-
hard and Julia, at every sentence, turned
their appealing looks towards him, he
sullenly averted his head. Ines, appearing
to pursue some work, while her trembling
fingers could scarce direct the needle, made
a sign to her children not to observe him.
Their voices were instantly depressed, and
their heads bent closely towards each other.
Mendicity appeared the only resource of
this unfortunate family, and they agreed,
that the evening was the best time for try-
ing its effect. The unhappy father remain-
ed rocking against the shattered wainscot
F2
130 MELMOTH :

till the arrival of evening. Ines repaired

the clothes of the children, which were
now so decayed, that every attempt at re-
pair made a fresh rent, and the very thread
she worked with seemed less attenuated
than the worn-out materials it wrought
on.
66

The grandfather, still seated in his

ample chair by the care of Ines, (for his
son had grown very indifferent about him),
watched her moving fingers, and exclaim-
ed, with the petulance of dotage, " Aye,
-you are arraying them in embroidery,
while I am in rags.-In rags !" he repeat-
ed, holding out the slender garments which
the beggared family could with difficulty
spare him. Ines tried to pacify him, and
showed her work, to prove that it was the
remnants of her children's former dress she
was repairing; but, with horror unutter-
able, she perceived her husband incensed
at these expressions of dotage, and vent-
ing his frantic and fearful indignation in
language that she tried to bury the sound
 A TALE. 131

of, by pressing closer to the old man, and

attempting to fix his bewildered attention
on herself and her work. This was easily
accomplished, and all was well, till they
were about to separate on their wretched
precarious errands. Then a new and un-
told feeling trembled at the heart of one
of the young wanderers. Julia remem-
bered the occurrence of a preceding even-
ing, she thought of the tempting gold,
the flattering language, and the tender
tone of the young cavalier. She saw her
family perishing around her for want,-
she felt it consuming her own vitals, and
as she cast her eye round the squalid room,
the gold glittered brighter and brighter in
her eye. A faint hope, aided perhaps by
a still more faint suggestion of venial
pride, swelled in her heart. " Perhaps he
might love me," she whispered to herself,
" and think me not unworthy of his hand."
Then despair returned to the charge. "I
must die of famine," she thought, " if I
return unaided, and why may I not by
132 MELMOTH :

my death benefit my family ! I will never

survive shame, but they may, for they
will not know it !"-She went out, and
took a direction different from that of the
family.
" Night came on,-the wanderers return-
ed slowly one by one, Julia was the last.
Her brothers and sister had each obtained
a trifling alms, for they had learned Spa-
nish enough to beg in, and the old man's
face wore a vacant smile, as he saw the
store produced, which was, after all, scarce
sufficient to afford a meal for the youngest.
" And have you brought us nothing, Ju-
lia ?" said her parents. She stood apart,
and in silence. Her father repeated the
question in a raised and angry voice. She
started at the sound, and, rushing for-
ward, buried her head in her mother's
bosom. " Nothing, nothing," she cried,
inabroken and suffocated voice; " I tried,
-myweak and wicked heart submitted to
the thought for a moment, but no, no,
notevento save you from perishing, could
 A TALE. 133

I!-I came home to perish first myself!"

Her shuddering parents comprehended her,
-and amid their agony they blessed her
and wept, but not from grief. The meal
was divided, of which Julia at first steadi-
ly refused to partake, as she had not con-
tributed to it, till her reluctance was over-
comeby the affectionate importunity of the
rest, and she complied.
" It was during this division ofwhat all
believed to be their last meal, that Walberg
gave one of those proofs of sudden and
fearful violence of temper, bordering on
insanity, which he had betrayed latterly.
He seemed to notice, with sullen displea-
sure, that his wife had (as she always did)
reserved the largest portion for his father.
He eyed it askance at first, muttering an-
grily to himself. Then he spoke more a-
loud, though not so as to be heard by the
deaf old man, who was sluggishly de-
vouring his sordid meal. Then the suf-
ferings of his children seemed to inspire
him with a kind of wild resentment, and
134 MELMOTH :

he started up, exclaiming, " My son sells

his blood to a surgeon, to save us from
perishing * ! My daughter trembles on the
verge of prostitution, to procure us a
meal !" Then fiercely addressing his father,
" And what dost thou do, old dotard ?
Rise up, rise up, and beg for us thyself,
or thou must starve!"-and, as he spoke,
he raised his arm against the helpless old
man. At this horrid sight, Ines shrieked
aloud, and the children, rushing forward,
interposed. The wretched father, incensed
to madness, dealt blows among them,
which were borne without a murmur; and
then, the storm being exhausted, he sat
down and wept.
" At this moment, to the astonishment
and terror of all except Walberg, the old
man, who, since the night of his wife's
interment, had never moved but from his
chair to his bed, and that not without as-

* Fact, it occurred in a French family not many

years ago.
 A TALE. 135

sistance, rose suddenly from his seat, and,

apparently in obedience to his son, walked
with a firm and steady pace towards the
door. When he had reached it, he paused,
looked back on them with a fruitless ef-
fort at recollection, and went out slowly ;
-and such was the terror felt by all at
this last ghastly look, which seemed like
that of a corse moving on to the place of
its interment, that no one attempted to
oppose his passage, and several moments
elapsed before Everhard had the recollec-
tion to pursue him.
" In the mean time, Ines had dismissed
her children, and sitting as near as shke
dared to the wretched father, attempted
to address some soothing expressions to
him. Her voice, which was exquisite-
ly sweet and soft, seemed to produce a
mechanical effect on him. He turned to-
wards her at first, then leaning his head
on his arm, he shed a few silent tears,
-
then flinging it on his wife's bosom, he
wept aloud. Ines seized this moment
136 MELMOTH :

to impress on his heart the horror she felt

from the outrage he had committed, and
adjured him to supplicate the mercy of
God for a crime, which, in her eyes, ap-
peared scarce short of parricide. Walberg
wildly asked what she alluded to; and
when, shuddering, she uttered the words,
-" Your father,-your poor old father !"
-he smiled with an expression of myste-
rious and supernatural confidence that
froze her blood, and, approaching her ear,
softly whispered, " I have no father ! He
is dead,-long dead ! I buried him the
night I dug my mother's grave ! Poor old
man," he added with a sigh, " it was the
better for him, he would have lived only
to weep, and perish perhaps with hunger.
But I will tell you, Ines, and let it be a
secret, I wondered what made our provi-
sions decrease so, till what was yesterday
sufficient for four, is not to-day sufficient
for one. I watched, and at last I dis-
covered-it must be a secret-an old gob-
lin, who daily visited this house. It came
 A TALE. 137

in the likeness of an old man in rags, and

with a long white beard, and it devoured
every thing on the table, while the chil-
dren stood hungry by ! But I struck at-
I cursed it, I chased it in the name of the
All-powerful, and it is gone. Oh it was a
fell devouring goblin !-but it will haunt
us no more, and we shall have enough.
Enough," said the wretched man, invo-
luntarily returning to his habitual associa-
tions,-" enough for to-morrow !"
" Ines, overcome with horror at this ob-
vious proof of insanity, neither interrupt-
ed or opposed him; she attempted only to
soothe him, internally praying against the
too probable disturbance of her own intel-
lects. Walberg saw her look of distrust,
and, with the quick jealousy of partial in-
sanity, said, " If you do not credit me in
that, still less, I suppose, will you in the
account of that fearful visitation with
which I have latterly been familiar."-
" Oh, my beloved !" said Ines, who recog-
nized in these words the source of a fear
138 MELMOTH :

that had latterly, from some extraordinary

circumstances in her husband's conduct,
taken possession ofher soul, and made the
fear even of famine trifling in comparison,
-" I dread lest I understand you too well.
The anguish of want and of famine I
could have borne,-aye, and seenyou bear,
but the horrid words you have lately ut-
tered, the horrid thoughts that escape you
in your sleep,-when I think on these,
and guess at " " You need not guess,"
said Walberg, interrupting her, " I will
tell you all." And, as he spoke, his coun-
tenance changed from its expression of
wildness to one of perfect sanity and calm
confidence, his features relaxed, his eye
became steady, and his tone firm.--" Every
night since our late distresses, I have wan-
dered out in search of some relief, and
supplicated every passing stranger;-lat-
terly, I have met every night the enemy
-

of man, who"- " Oh cease, my love,

to indulge these horrible thoughts, they
are the results of your disturbed unhappy
 A TALE. 139

state of mind."." Ines, listen to me. I

see that figure as plainly as I see yours,-
I hear his voice as distinctly as you hear
mine this moment. Want and misery are
not naturally fertile in the production of
imagination, they grasp at realities too
closely. No man, who wants a meal, con-,
ceives that a banquet is spread before him,
and that the tempter invites him to sit
down and eat at his ease. No, no, Ines,
the evil one, or some devoted agent of his
in human form, besets me every night,-
and how I shall longer resist the snare, I
know not."-" And in what form does he
appear ?" said Ines, hoping to turn the
channel of his gloomy thoughts, while she
appeared to follow their direction. "In
that of a middle-aged man, of a serious
and staid demeanour, and with nothing
remarkable in his aspect except the light
of two burning eyes, whose lustre is al-
most intolerable. He fixes them on me
sometimes, and I feel as if there was fas-
cination in their glare. Every night he
140 MELMOTH :

besets me, and few like me could have re-

sisted his seductions. He has offered, and
proved to me, that it is in his power tobe-
stow all that human cupidity could thirst
for, on the condition that I cannot
utter ! It is one so full of horror and im-
piety, that, even to listen to it, is scarce
less a crime than to comply with it!
" Ines, still incredulous, yet imagining
that to soothe his delirium was perhaps the
best way to overcome it, demanded what
that condition was. Though they were
alone, Walberg would communicate it
only in a whisper ; and Ines, fortified as
she was by reason hitherto undisturbed,
and a cool and steady temper, could not
but recollect some vague reports she had
heard in her early youth, before she quit-
ted Spain, of a being permitted to wander
through it, with power to tempt men un-
der the pressure of extreme calamity with
similar offers, which had been invariably
rejected, even in the last extremities of
despair and dissolution. She was not su-
1
 A TALE . 141

perstitious, but, her memory now taking

part with her husband's representation of
what had befallen him, she shuddered at
the possibility of his being exposed to si-
milar temptation ; and she endeavoured to
fortify his mind and conscience, by argu-
ments equally appropriate whether he was
the victim of a disturbed imagination, or
the real object of this fearful persecution.
She reminded him, that if, even in Spain,
where the abominations of Antichrist pre-
vailed, and the triumph of the mother of
witchcrafts and spiritual seduction was
complete, the fearful offer he alluded to
had been made and rejected with such un-
mitigated abhorrence, the renunciation of
one who had embraced the pure doctrines
of the gospel should be expressed with a
tenfold energy offeeling and holy defiance.
" You," said the heroic woman, " you first
1

taught me that the doctrines of salvation

are to be found alone in the holy scrip-
tures, I believed you, and wedded you
in that belief. We are united less in the
142 MELMOTH :

body than in the soul, for in the body

neither of us may probably sojourn much
longer. You pointed out to me, not the
legends of fabulous saints, but the lives of
the primitive apostles and martyrs of the
true church. There I read no tales of
" voluntary humility," of self- inflicted-
fruitless sufferings, but I read that the
people of God were " destitute, afflicted,
tormented. " And shall we dare to mur-
mur at following the examples of those
you have pointed out to me as ensamples
of suffering ? They bore the spoiling of
their goods, they wandered about in
sheep skins and goat skins, they resisted
unto blood, striving against sin.-And
shall we lament the lot that has fallen
to us, when our hearts have so often
burned within us, as we read the holy
records together? Alas ! what avails feel-
ing till it is brought to the test of fact ?
How we deceived ourselves, in believ-
ing that we indeed participated in the
feelings of those holy men, while we were
 A TALE. 143

so far removed from the test by which

they were proved ! We read of imprison-
ments, of tortures, and of flames !-We
closed the book, and partook of a com-
fortable meal, and retired to a peaceful
bed, triumphing in the thought, while sa-
turated with all the world's good, that
if their trials had been ours, we could
have sustained those trials as they did.
Now, our hour has come, it is an
hour sharp and terrible !"-" It is !" mur-
mured the shuddering husband. "But
shall we therefore shrink ?" replied his
wife. " Your ancestors, who were the
first in Germany that embraced the re-
formed religion, have bled and blazed for
it, as you have often told me, can there
be a stronger attestation to it ?"-" I be-
lieve there can," said Walberg, whose
eyes rolled fearfully,-" that of starving
for it ! Oh Ines," he exclaimed, as he
grasped her hands convulsively, " I have
felt, I still feel, that a death at the stake
144 MELMOTH :

would be mercy compared to the lingering

tortures ofprotracted famine, to the death
thatwe die daily-and yetdo not die! What
is this I hold ?" he exclaimed, grasping un-
consciously the hand he held in his. "It
is my hand, my love," answered the trem-
bling wife.-" Yours !-no-impossible !-
Your fingers were soft and cool, but these
are dry, is this a human hand ?"-" It
is mine," said the weeping wife. "Then
you must have been famishing," said Wal-
berg, awakening as if from adream. "We
have all been so latterly," answered Ines,
satisfied to restore her husband's sanity,
even at the expense of this horrible con-
fession,-" We have all been so-but I
have suffered the least. When a fa-
mily is famishing, the children think of
their meals-but the mother thinks only
of her children. I have lived on as little
as-I could, I had indeed no appetite."
-" Hush," said Walberg, interrupting
her-" what sound was that ?-was it not
 A TALE. 145

like adying groan ?"-" No-it is the chil-

drenwho moan in their sleep. "-" What
do they moan for ?" " Hunger I believe,'
said Ines, involuntarily yielding to the
dreadful conviction of habitual misery.-
" And I sit and hear this," said Walberg,
starting up,- " I sit to hear their young
sleep broken by dreams of hunger, while
for a word's speaking I could pile this floor
with mountains ofgold, and all for the risk
of". " Ofwhat ? " said Ines, clinging
to him, " of what ?-Oh ! think of that !
-what shall a man give in exchange for
his soul ?-Oh ! let us starve, die, rot be-
fore your eyes, rather than you should seal
your perdition by that horrible" -
" Hear me, woman!" said Walberg, turn-
ing on her eyes almost as fierce and lus-
trous as those of Melmoth, and whose
light, indeed, seemed borrowed from his ;
" Hear me !-My soul is lost ! Theywho
die in the agonies offamine know no God,
and want none if I remain here to famish
among my children, I shall as surely blas-
VOL. IV. G
146 MELMOTH :

pheme the Author ofmy being, as I shall

renounce him under the fearful conditions
proposed to me !-Listen to me, Ines, and
tremble not. To see my children die of
famine will be to me instant suicide and
impenitent despair ! But if I close with
this fearful offer, I mayyet repent,-I may
yet escape ! There is hope on one side-
on the other there is none-none-none !
Your hands cling round me, but their
touch is cold !-You are wasted to a sha-
dow with want ! Shew me the means of
procuring another meal, and I will spit at
the tempter, and spurn him !--But where
is that to be found ?-Let me go, then, to
meet him !-You will pray for me, Ines,-
will you not ?-and the children ?-No,
let them not pray for me !-in my despair
I forgot to pray myself, and their prayers
would now be a reproach to me.-Ines !-
Ines !--What ? am I talking to a corse ?"
He was indeed, for the wretched wife had
sunk at his feet senseless. " Thank God !"
he again emphatically exclaimed, as he be
 TALE. 147

heldher lie to all appearance lifeless before

him. " Thank God a word then has killed
her, it was a gentler death than famine !
It would have been kind to have strangled
her with these hands ! Now for the chil-
dren!" he exclaimed, while horrid thoughts
chased each other over his reeling and un-
seatedmind, and he imagined he heard the
roar ofa sea in its full strength thundering
in his ears, and saw ten thousand waves
dashing at his feet, and every wave of
blood. " Now for the children !"-and he
felt about as if for some implement of de-
struction. Indoing so, his left hand cross-
ed his right, and grasping it, he exclaimed
as ifhe felt a sword in his hand,-" This
will do-they will struggle-they will sup-
plicate, but I will tell them their mother
lies dead at my feet, and then what can
they say ? Hold now," said the miserable
man, sitting calmly down, " If they cry to
me, what shall I answer ? Julia, and Ines
her mother's namesake, and poor little
Maurice, who smiles even amid hunger,
148 MELMOTH :

and whose smiles are worse than curses !-

I will tell them their mother is dead ! " he
cried, staggering towards the door of his
childrens' apartment-" Dead without a
blow !-that shall be their answer and
their doom."
" As he spoke, he stumbled over the
senseless body of his wife; and the tone
of his mind once more strung up to the
highest pitch of conscious agony, he
cried, " Men !-men !-what are your pur-
suits and your passions ?-your hopes and
fears ?-your struggles and your triumphs ?
-Look on me !-learn from a human be-
ing like yourselves, who preaches his last
and fearful sermon over the corse of his
wife, and approaching the bodies of his
sleeping children, whom he soon hopes to
see corses also-corses made so by his own
hand ! Let all the world listen to me !-
let them resign factitious wants and wishes,
and furnish those who hang on them for
subsistence with the means of bare subsis-
tence! There is no care, no thought be-
 A TALE. 149

yond this ! Let our children call on me

for instruction, for promotion, for distinc-
tion, and call in vain-I hold myself inno-
cent. They may find those for themselves,
or want them if they list-but let them
never in vain call on me for bread, as
they have done,-as they do now ! I
hear the moans of their hungry sleep !-
World-world, be wise, and let your chil-
dren curse you to your face for any thing
but want of bread ! Oh that is the bitter-
est of curses, and it is felt most when it
is least uttered ! I have felt it often, but I
shall feel it no longer!"-And the wretch
tottered towards the beds of his children.
" Father !-father!" cried Julia, " are
these your hands ? Oh let me live, and I
will do any thing-any thing but" -
" Father !-dear father!" cried Ines, " spare
us!-to-morrow may bring another meal!"
Maurice, the young child, sprung from his
bed, and cried, clinging round his father,
" Oh, dear father, forgive me ! but I
dreamed a wolf was in the room, and was
150 MELMOTH :

tearing out our throats ; and, father, I

cried so long, that I thought you never
would come. And now-Oh God ! oh
God!"-as he felt the hands of the frantic
wretch grasping his throat,-" are you the
wolf?"
" Fortunately those hands were power-
less from the very convulsion of the agony
that prompted their desperate effort. The
daughters had swooned from horror, and
their swoon appeared like death. The
child had the cunning to counterfeit death
also, and lay extended and stopping his
breath under the fierce but faultering gripe
that seized his young throat-then relin-
quished-then grasped it again-and then
relaxed its hold as at the expiration of a
spasm.
" When all was over, as the wretched
father thought, he retreated from the cham-
ber. In doing so, he stumbled over the
corse-like form of his wife. A groan
announced that the sufferer was not dead.
" What does this mean?" said Walberg,
 A TALE.1 151

staggering in his delirium,

-" does the
corse reproach me for murder ? or does
one surviving breath curse me for the un-
finished work ?"
" As he spoke, he placed his foot on his
wife's body. At this moment, a loud
knock was heard at the door. " They are
come!" said Walberg, whose frenzy hur-
ried him rapidly through the scenes of an
imaginary murder, and the consequence of
a judicial process. " Well! come in-
knock again, or lift the latch-or enter as
ye list-here I sit amid the bodies of my
wife and children--I have murdered them
-I confess it-ye come to drag me to tor-
ture, I know-but never-never can,your
tortures inflict on me more than the agony
of seeing them perish by hunger before
my eyes. Come in-come in--the deed
is done !-The corse of my wife is at my
foot, and the blood of my children is on
my hands-what have I further to fear ?"
But while the wretched man spoke thus,
he sunk sullenly on his chair, appearing
152 MELMOTH :

to be employed in wiping from his fingers

the traces of blood with which he ima-
gined they were stained. At length the
knocking at the door became louder,-the
latch was lifted, and three figures entered
the apartment in which Walberg sat.
They advanced slowly,-two from age and
exhaustion, and the third from strong
emotion. Walberg heeded them not,-
his eyes were fixed,-his hands locked in
each other ;-nor did he move a limb as
they approached.
" Do you not know us ?" said the fore-
most, holding up a lanthern which he
held in his hand. Its light fell on a
groupe worthy the pencil of a Rembrandt.
The room lay in complete darkness, ex-
cept where that strong and unbroken light
fell. It glared on the rigid and moveless
obduracy of Walberg's despair, who ap-
peared stiffening into stone as he sat. It
showed the figure of the friendly priest
who had been Guzman's director, and
whose features, pale and haggard with age
 A TALE. 153

and austerities, seemed to struggle with

the smile that trembled over their wrink-
led lines. Behind him stood the aged fa-
ther of Walberg, with an aspect of perfect
apathy, except when, with a momentary
effort at recollection, he shook his white
head, seeming to ask himself why he was
there and wherefore he could not speak.
Supporting him stood the young form of
Everhard, over whose cheek and eye wan-
dered a glow and a lustre too bright to
last, and instantly succeeded by paleness
and dejection. He trembled, advanced,-
then shrinking back, clung to his infirm
grandfather, as if needing the support he
appeared to give. Walberg was the first
to break the silence. " I know ye who
ye are," he said hollowly-" ye are come
to seize me-ye have heard my confession
-why do you delay? Drag me away-
I would rise and follow you if I could, but
I feel as if I had grown to this seat-you
must drag me from it yourselves.
" As he spoke, his wife, who had re-
G2
154 MELMOTH :

mained stretched at his feet, rose slowly

but firmly ; and, of all that she saw or
heard, appearing to comprehend only the
meaning of her husband's words, she clasp-
ed her arms round him, as if to oppose
his being torn from her, and gazed on the
groupe with a look of impotent and ghast-
ly defiance. " Another witness," cried
Walberg, " risen from the dead against
me ? Nay, then, it is time to be gone,"-
and he attempted to rise. " Stay, father,"
said Everhard, rushing forward and de-
taining him in his seat; " stay, there is
good news, and this good priest has come
to tell it, listen to him, father, I cannot
speak."-" You ! oh you ! Everhard," an-
swered the father, with a look of mourn-
ful reproach, " you a witness against me
too, I never raised myhand against you !
-Those whom I murdered are silent, and
will you be my accuser ?"
" They all now gathered round him,
partly in terror and partly in consolation,
-all anxious to disclose to him the tid
 A TALE . 155

ings with which their hearts were burden-

ed, yet fearful lest the freight might be
too much for the frail vessel that rocked
and reeled before them, as if the next
breeze would be like a tempest to it. At
last it burst forth from the priest, who, by
the necessities of his profession, was igno-
rant of domestic feelings, and of the feli-
cities and agonies which are inseparably
twined with the fibres of conjugal and pa-
rental hearts. He knew nothing of what
Walberg might feel as a husband or father,
-for he could never be either; but he felt
that good news must be good news, into
whatever ears they were poured, or by
whatever lips they might be uttered.
" We have the will," he cried abruptly,
" the true will of Guzman. The other
was asking pardon of God and the saints
for saying so-no better than a forgery.
The will is found, and you and your fa-
mily are heirs to all his wealth. I was
coming to acquaint you, late as it was,
156 MELMOTH :

having with difficulty obtained the Supe-

rior's permission to do so, and in myway
I met this old man, whom your son was
conducting, how came he out so late?"
At these words Walberg was observed to
shudder with a brief but strong spasm.
" The will is found!" repeated the priest,
perceiving how little effect the words
seemed to have on Walberg, and he
raised his voice to its utmost pitch. "The
will ofmy uncle is found," repeated Ever-
hard. " Found,-found,-found !" echoed
the aged grandfather, not knowing what
he said, but vaguely repeating the last
words he heard, and then looking round
as if asking for an explanation of them.
" The will is found, love," cried Ines, who
appeared restored to sudden and perfect
consciousness by the sound ; " Do you not
hear, love ? We are wealthy, we are
happy! Speak to us, love, and do not
stare so vacantly,-speak to us !" A long
pause followed. At length,-" Who are
 A TALE. 157

those?" said Walberg in a hollow voice,

pointing to the figures before him, whom
he viewed with a fixed and ghastly look,
as if he was gazing on a band of spectres.
"Your son, love, and your father, and
the good friendly priest. Why do you
look so doubtfully on us ?"-" And what
do they come for ?" said Walberg. Again
and again the import of their communica-
tion was told him, in tones that, trem-
bling with varied emotion, scarce could
express their meaning. At length he
seemed faintly conscious ofwhat was said,
and, looking round on them, uttered a
long and heavy sigh. They ceased to
speak, and watched him in silence.-
" Wealth !-wealth !-it comes too late.
Look there,-look there !" and he pointed
to the room where his children lay.
" Ines, with a dreadful presentiment at
her heart, rushed into it, and beheld her
daughters lying apparently lifeless. The
shriek she uttered, as she fell on the bo-
dies, brought the priest and her son to her
 A

158 MELMOTH :

assistance, and Walberg and the old man

were left together alone, viewing each
other with looks ofcomplete insensibility ;
and this apathy of age, and stupefaction
of despair, made a singular contrast with
the fierce and wild agony of those who
still retained their feelings. It was long
before the daughters were recovered from
theirdeath-like swoon, and still longer be-
fore their father could be persuaded that
the arms that clasped him, and the tears
that fell on his cold cheek, were those of
his living children.
" All that night his wife and family
struggled with his despair. At last recol-
lection seemed to burst on him at once.
He shed some tears ;-then, with a mi-
nuteness of reminiscence that was equally
singular and affecting, he flung himself
before the old man, who, speechless and
exhausted, sat passively in his chair, and
exclaiming, " Father, forgive me !" buried
*

his head between his father's knees.

* *
 A TALE. 159

" Happiness is a powerful restorative,-

in a few days the spirits of all appeared to
have subsided into a calm. They wept
sometimes, but their tears were no longer
painful; they resembled those showers in
afine spring morning, which announce the
increasing warmth and beauty of the day.
The infirmities of Walberg's father made
the son resolve not to leave Spain till his
dissolution, which took place in a few
months. He died in peace, blessing and
blessed. His son was his only spiritual at-
tendant, and a brief and partial interval
of recollection enabled him to understand
and express his joy and confidence in the
holy texts which were read to him from
the scriptures. The wealth of the family
had now given them importance ; and, by
the interest of the friendly priest, the
body was permitted to be interred in con-
secrated ground. The family then set out
for Germany, where they reside in prospe-
rous felicity ;-but to this hour Walberg
shudders with horror when he recals the
160 MELMOTH :

fearful temptations of the stranger, whom

he met in his nightly wanderings in the
hour of his adversity, and the horrors of
this visitation appear to oppress his recol-
lection more than even the images of his
family perishing with want.
" There are other narratives," continued
the stranger, " relating to this mysterious
being, which I am in possession of, and
which I have collected with much diffi-
culty; for the unhappy, who are exposed to
his temptations, consider their misfortunes
as a crime, and conceal, with the most
anxious secresy, every circumstance of this
horrible visitation. Should we againmeet,
Senhor, I may communicate them to you,
and you will find them no less extraordi-
nary than that I have just related. But it
is now late, and you need repose after the
fatigue of your journey."-So saying, the
stranger departed.

" Don Francisco remained seated in his

chair, musing on the singular tale he had
 A TALE. 161

listened to, till the lateness of the hour,

combining with his fatigue, and the pro-
found attention he had paid to the narra-
tive of the stranger, plunged him insen-
sibly into a deep slumber. He was a-
woke in a few minutes by a slight noise
in the room, and looking up perceived
seated opposite to him another person,
whom he never recollected to have seen
before, but who was indeed the same who
had been refused admittance under the
roof of that house the preceding day. He
appeared seated perfectly at his ease, how-
ever; and to Don Francisco's look of sur-
prise and inquiry, replied that he was a
traveller, who had been by mistake shown
into that apartment, that finding its oc-
cupant asleep and undisturbed by his en-
trance, he had taken the liberty of re-
maining there, but was willing to retire if
his presence was considered intrusive.
" As he spoke, Don Francisco had lei-
sure to observe him. There was some-
thingremarkable in his expression, though
162 MELMOTH :

the observer did not find it easy to define

what it was ; and his manner, though not
courtly or conciliating, had an ease which
appeared more the result of independence
ofthought, than of the acquired habitudes
of society.
" Don Francisco welcomed him gravely
and slowly, not without a sensation of awe
for which he could scarcely account;-and
the stranger returned the salutation in a
manner that was not likely to diminish
that impression. A long silence followed.
The stranger (who did not announce his
name) was the first to break it, by apolo-
gizing for having, while seated in an adja-
cent apartment, involuntarily overheard
an extraordinary tale or narrative related
to Don Francisco, in which he confessed
he took a profound interest, such as (he
added, bowing with an air of grim and re-
luctant civility) would, he trusted, palliate
his impropriety in listening to a commu-
nication not addressed to him.
" To all this Don Francisco could only
 A TALE . 163

reply by bows equally rigid, (his body

scarce forming an acute angle with his
limbs as he sat), and by looks of uneasy
and doubtful curiositydirected towards his
strange visitor, who, however, kept his seat
immoveably, and seemed, after all his apo-
logies, resolved to sit out Don Francisco.
" Another long pause was broken by
the visitor. " You were listening, I
think," he said, " to a wild and terrible
story of a being who was commissioned
on an unutterable errand, even to tempt
spirits in woe, at their last mortal extremi-
ty, to barter their hopes of future happi-
ness for a short remission of their tempo-
rary sufferings."-" I heard nothing of
that," said Don Francisco, whose recollec-
tion, none of the clearest naturally, was
not much improved by the length of the
narrative he had just listened to, and by
the sleep into which he had fallen since he
heard it. " Nothing ?" said the visitor,
with something of abruptness and asperity
in his tone that made the hearer start-
164 MELMOTH :

66
nothing ? I thought there was mention
too of that unhappy being to whom Wal-
berg confessed his severest trials were
owing, in comparison with whose fearful,
visitations those of even famine were as
dust in the balance."-" Yes, yes," answer-
ed Don Francisco, startled into sudden
recollection, " I remember there was a
mention of the devil, or his agent, or
something" -

" Senhor," said the stran-

ger interrupting him, with an expression
of wild and fierce derision, which was lost
on Aliaga-" Senhor, I beg you will not
confound personages who have the honour
tobe so nearly allied, and yet so perfectly
distinct as the devil and his agent, or a-
gents. You yourself, Senhor, who, of
course, as an orthodox and inveterate Ca-
tholic, must abhor the enemy ofmankind,
have often acted as his agent, and yet
would be somewhat offended at being mis-
taken for him." Don Francisco crossed
himself repeatedly, and devoutly disavow-
ed his everhaving been an agent of the
 A TALE. 165

enemy of man. " Will you dare to say

so?" said his singular visitor, not raising
his voice as the insolence of the question
seemed to require, but depressing it to the
lowest whisper as he drew his seat nearer
his astonished companion-" Will you dare
to say so ?-Have you never erred ?-Have
you never felt one impure sensation ?-
Have you never indulged a transient feel-
ing ofhatred, or malice, or revenge? Have
you never forgot to do the good you ought
to do, or remembered to do the evil you
ought not to have done?-Have you never
in trade overreached a dealer, or banquetted
onthe spoils ofyourstarvingdebtor?-Have
you never, as you went to your daily de-
votions, cursed from your heart the wan-
derings of your heretical brethren, and
while you dipped your fingers in the holy
water, hoped that every drop that touched
your pores, would be visited on them in
drops of brimstone and sulphur ?-Have
you never, as you beheld the famished, il-
literate, degraded populace of your coun.
166 MELMOTH :

try, exulted in the wretched and tempora-

ry superiority your wealth has given you,
-and felt that the wheels of your carriage
would not roll less smoothly if the way
was paved with the heads of your country-
men ? Orthodox Catholic-old Christian
-as you boast yourself to be, is not this
true ?-and dare you say you have not
been an agent of Satan ? I tell you,
whenever you indulged one brutal pas-
sion, one sordid desire, one impure imagi-
nation-whenever you uttered one word
that wrung the heart, or embittered the
spirit of your fellow-creature-whenever
you made that hour pass in pain to whose
flight you might have lent wings of down
-whenever you have seen the tear, which
your hand might have wiped away, fall
uncaught, or forced it from an eye which
would have smiled on you in light had
you permitted it whenever you have
done this, you have been ten times more
an agent of the enemy of man than all
the wretches whom terror, enfeebled
 A TALE. 167

nerves, or visionary credulity, has forced

into the confession of an incredible com-
pact with the author of evil, and whose
confession has consigned them to flames
much more substantial than those the
imagination of their persecutors pictured
them doomed to for an eternity of suffer-
ing! Enemy of mankind!" the speaker
continued, " Alas ! how absurdly is that
title bestowed on the great angelic chief,
-the morning star fallen from its sphere!
What enemy has man so deadly as him-
self? If he would ask on whom he should
bestow that title aright, let him smite his
bosom, and his heart will answer,-Be-
stow it here !"
" The emotion with which the stran-
ger spoke, roused and affected even the
sluggish and incrusted spirit of the listen-
er. His conscience, like a state coach-
horse, had hitherto only been brought on
solemn and pompous occasions, and then
paced heavily along a smooth and well-
prepared course, under the gorgeous trap
 168 MELMOTH :

pings of ceremony;-now it resembled the

same animal suddenly bestrid by a fierce
and vigorous rider, and urged by lash and
spur along a new and rugged road. And
slow and reluctant as he was to own it, he
felt the power of the weight that pressed,
and the bit that galled him. He answer-
ed by a hasty and trembling renunciation
ofall engagements, direct or indirect, with
the evil power; but he added, that he
must acknowledge he had been too often
the victim of his seductions, and trusted
for the forgiveness of his wanderings to
the power of the holy church, and the in-
tercession of the saints.
" The stranger (though he smiled some-
what grimly at this declaration) seemed to
accept the concession, and apologized, in
his turn, for the warmth with which he
had spoken; andwhichhebeggedDonFran-
cisco would interpret as a mark of interest
inhis spiritual concerns. This explanation,
though it seemed to commence favourably,
 A TALE . 169

was not followed, however, by any at-

tempt at renewed conversation. The par-
ties appeared to stand aloof from each
other, till the stranger again alluded to his
having overheard the singular conversa-
tion and subsequent narrative in Aliaga's
66
apartment. Senhor," he added, in a
voice whose solemnity deeply impressed
the hearer, wearied as he was,-" I am
acquainted with circumstances relating to
the extraordinary person who was the
daily watcher of Walberg's miseries, and
the nightly tempter of his thoughts,-
known but to him and me. Indeed I
may add, without the imputation of va-
nity or presumption, that I am as well ac-
quainted as himself with every event of
his extraordinary existence ; and that your
curiosity, if excited at all about him, could
be gratified by none so amply and faith-
fully as by myself."-" I thank you, Sen-
hor," answered Don Francisco, whose
blood seemed congealing in his veins at
the voice and expression of the stranger,
VOL . IV. H
170 MELMOTH :

he knew not why-" I thank you, but

my curiosity has been completely satisfied
by the narrative I have already listened
to. The night is far spent, and I have to
pursue my journey to-morrow ; I will
therefore defer hearing the particulars
you offer to gratify me with till our next
meeting."
" As he spoke, he rose from his seat,
hoping that this action would intimate to
the intruder, that his presence was no
longer desirable. The latter continued, in
spite of the intimation, fixed in his seat.
At length, starting as iffrom a trance, he
exclaimed, " When shall our next meet-
ing be?"
" Don Francisco, who did not feel par-
ticularly anxious to renew the intimacy,
slightly mentioned, that he was on his
journey to the neighbourhood of Madrid,
where his family, whom he had not seen
for many years, resided that the stages of
his journey were uncertain, as he would
be obliged to wait for communications
 A TALE . 171

from a friend and future relative, (he al-

luded to Montilla his intended son-in-law,
and as he spoke, the stranger gave a pecu-
liarsmile), and also fromcertain mercantile
correspondents, whose letters were of the
utmost importance. Finally, he added, in
a disturbed tone, (for the awe of the
stranger's presence hung round him like a
chilling atmosphere, and seemed to freeze
even his words as they issued from his
mouth), he could not easily-tell when
he might again have the honour of meet-
ing the stranger. " You cannot," said the
stranger, rising and drawing his mantle
over one shoulder, while his reverted eyes
glanced fearfully on the pale auditor-
" You cannot, but I can. Don Fran-
cisco di Aliaga, we shall meet to-morrow
night!"
" As he spoke, he still continued to
stand near the door, fixing on Aliaga eyes
whose light seemed to burn more intense-
ly amid the dimness of the wretched a-
partment. Aliaga had risen also, and was
172 MELMOTH :

gazing on his strange visitor with dim and

troubled vision, when the latter, sudden-
ly retreating from the door, approached
him and said, in a stifled and mysterious
whisper, " Would you wish to witness
the fate of those whose curiosity or pre-
sumption breaks on the secrets of that mys-
terious being, and dares to touch the folds
of the veil in which his destiny has been en-
shrouded by eternity ? If you do, look
here!" And as he spoke, he pointed to a door
which Don Francisco well remembered to
be that which the person whom he had
met at the inn the preceding evening, and
who had related to him the tale of Guz-
man's family, (or rather relatives), had re-
tired by. Obeying mechanically the wav-
ing of the arm, and the beckoning of the
stranger's awful eye, rather than the im-
pulse of his own will, Aliaga followed him.
They entered the apartment; it was nar-
row, and dark, and empty. The stranger
held a candle aloft, whose dim light fell on
a wretched bed, where lay what had been
 TALE . 173

the form of a living man within a few

hours. " Look there!" said the stranger ;
and Aliaga with horror beheld the figure
of the being who had been conversing
with him the preceding part of that very
evening,-extended a corse !
" Advance-look-observe !" said the
stranger, tearing off the sheet which had
been the only covering of the sleeper
who had now sunk into the long and
last slumber " There is no mark of vio-
lence, no distortion of feature, or convul-
sion of limb-no hand of man was on him.
He sought the possession of a desperate
secret-he obtained it, but he paid for it
the dreadful price that can be paid but
once by mortals. So perish those whose
presumption exceeds their power !"
66
Aliaga, as he beheld the body, and
heard the words of the stranger, felt him-
self disposed to summon the inmates of
the house, and accuse the stranger of mur-
der; but the natural cowardice of a mer-
cantile spirit, mingled with other feelings
174 MELMOTH :

which he could not analyse, and dared not

own, withheld him, and he continued to
gaze alternately on the corse and the corse-
like stranger. The latter, after pointing
emphatically to the body, as if intimating
the danger of imprudent curiosity, or una- 1

vailing disclosure, repeated the words,

" We meet again to-morrow night !" and
departed.
" Aliaga, overcome by fatigue and emo-
tion, sunk down by the corse, and remain-
ed in that trance-like state till the servants
of the inn entered the room. They were
shocked to find a dead body in the bed,
and scarce less shocked at the death-like
state in which they found Aliaga. His
known wealth and distinction procured
for him those attentions which otherwise
their terrors or their suspicions might have
withheld. A sheet was cast over the
body, and Aliaga was conveyed to another
apartment, and attended sedulously by the
domestics .
" In the mean time, the Alcaide ar-
 A TALE, 175

rived; and having learned that the person

who had died suddenly in the inn was one
totally unknown, as being only a writer,
and aman of no importance in public or
private life, and that the person found
near his bed in a passive stupor was a
wealthy merchant, snatched, with some
trepidation, the pen from the ink-horn
which hung at his button-hole, and sketch-
ed the record of this sapient inquest : -
" That a guest had died in the house,
none could deny; but no one could sus-
pect Don Francisco di Aliaga of murder."
" As Don Francisco mounted his mule
the following day, on the strength of this
just verdict, a person, who did not appa-
rently belong to the house, was particular-
ly solicitous in adjusting his stirrups, &c.;
and while the obsequious Alcaide bowed
oft and profoundly to the wealthy mer-
chant, (whose liberality he had amply ex-
perienced for the favourable colour he had
given to the strong circumstantial evidence
against him), this person whispered, in a
176 MELMOTH :

voice that reached only the ears of Don

Francisco, " We meet to-night !"
" Don Francisco checked his mule as
he heard the words. He looked round
him-the speaker was gone. Don Fran-
cisco rode on with a feeling known to few,
and which those who have felt are perhaps
the least willing to communicate.
 CHAPTER XXVII .

Χαλεπονδε το φιλησαι
χαλεπον το μη φιλησαι
· χαλεπωτερον δε παντων
αποτυγχανειν φιλεντα.

66
DON FRANCISCo rode onmost of that
day. The weather was mild, and his ser-
vants holding occasionally large umbrellas
over him as he rode, rendered travelling
supportable. In consequence of his long
absence from Spain, he was wholly unac-
quainted with his route, and obliged to
depend on a guide; and the fidelity of a
Spanish guide being as proverbial and
H2
178 MELMOTH :

trust-worthy as Punic faith, towards even-

ing Don Francisco found himself just
where the Princess Micomicona, in the ro-
mance of his countryman, is said to have
discovered Don Quixote,-" amid a laby-
rinth of rocks." He immediately dis-
patched his attendants in various direc-
tions, to discover the track they were to
pursue. The guide gallopped after as fast
as his wearied mule could go, and Don
Francisco, looking round, after a long de-
lay on the part of his attendants, found
himself completely alone. Neither the
weather nor the prospect was calculated to
raise his spirits. The evening was very
misty, unlike the brief and brilliant twi-
light that precedes the nights of the fa-
voured climates of the south. Heavy
showers fell from time to time,-not inces-
sant, but seeming like the discharge of
passing clouds, that were instantly suc-
ceeded by others. Those clouds gathered
blacker and deeper every moment, and
hung in fantastic wreaths over the stony
 A TALE. 179

mountains that formed a gloomy perspec-

tive to the eye of the traveller. As the
mists wandered over them, they seemed
to rise and fade, and shift their shapes and
their stations like the hills of Ubeda *, as
indistinct in form and as dim in hue, as
the atmospheric illusions which in that
dreary and deceptive light sometimes gave
them the appearance of primeval moun-
tains, and sometimes that of fleecy and
baseless clouds.
" Don Francisco at first dropt the reins
on his mule's neck, and uttered sundry
ejaculations to the Virgin. Finding this
did no good, that the hills still seemed
to wander before his bewildered eyes, and
the mule, on the other hand, remained
immoveable, he bethought himself of call-
ing on a variety of saints, whose names
the echoes of the hills returned with the
most perfect punctuality, but not one of

** Vide Cervantes, apud Don Quixote de Collibus

Ubedæ.
180 MELMOTH :

whom happened just then to be at leisure

to attend to his petitions. Finding the
case thus desperate, Don Francisco struck
spurs into his mule, and gallopped up a
rocky defile, where the hoofs of his beast
struck fire at every step, and their echo
from the rocks of granite made the rider
tremble, les he was pursued by banditti at
every step he took. The mule, so provoked,
gallopped fiercely on, till the rider, weary as
he was, and somewhat incommoded by its
speed, drew up the reins more tightly, at
hearing the steps of another rider close
behind him. The mule paused instantly.
Some say that animals have a kind of in-
stinct in discovering and recognizing the
approach of beings not of this world.
However that may be, Don Francisco's
mule stood as if its feet had been nailed
to the road, till the approach of the tra-
veller set it once more into a gallop, on
which, as it appeared, the gallop of the
pursuer, whose course seemed fleeter than
that of an earthly rider, gained fast, and
 A TALE.T 181

in a few moments a singular figure rode

close beside Don Francisco !
" He was not in a riding dress, but
muffled from head to foot in a long cloke,
whose folds were so ample as almost to hide
the flanks of his beast. As soon as he
was abreast with Aliaga, he removed that
part of the cloke which covered his head
and shoulders, and, turning towards him,
disclosed the unwelcome countenance of
his mysterious visitor the preceding night.
" We meet again, Senhor," said the stran-
ger, with his peculiar smile, " and fortu-
nately for you, I trust. Your guide has
ridden off with the money you advanced
him for his services, and your servants are
ignorant of the roads, which, in this part
of the country, are singularly perplexed.
If you will accept of me as your guide,
you will, I believe, have reason to con-
gratulate yourself on our encounter."
" Don Francisco, who felt that no choice
was left, acquiesced in silence, and rode
on, not without reluctance, by the side of
182 MELMOTH :

his strange companion. The silence was

at length broken, by the stranger's point-
ing out the village at which Aliaga pro-
posed to pass the night, at no very great
distance, and at the same time noticing
the approaching of his servants, who were
returning to their master, after having
made a similar discovery. These circum-
stances contributing to restore Aliaga's
courage, he proceeded with some degree
of confidence, and even began to listen
with interest to the conversation of the
stranger ; particularly as he observed, that
though the village was near, the wind-
ings of the road were likely to retard
their arrival for some hours. The in-
terest which had thus been excited,
the stranger seemed resolved to improve
to the uttermost. He rapidly unfolded
the stores of his rich and copiously fur-
nished mind ; and, by skilfully blending
his displays of general knowledge with
particular references to the oriental coun-
tries where Aliaga had resided, their com
 A TALE. 183

merce, theircustoms, andtheir manners,and

with a perfect acquaintance with the most
minute topics of mercantile discourse, he
so far conciliated his fellow-traveller, that
the journey, begun in terror, ended inde-
light, and Aliaga heard with a kind of
pleasure, (not however unmixed with aw-
ful reminiscences), the stranger announce
his intention of passing the night at the
same inn.
" During the supper, the stranger re-
doubled his efforts, and confirmed his suc-
cess. He was indeed a man who could
please when he pleased, and whom. His
powerful intellects, extensive knowledge,
and accurate memory, qualified him to
render the hour of companionshipdelight.
ful to all whom genius could interest, or
information amuse. He possessed a fund
of anecdotical history, and, from the fide-
lity of his paintings, always appeared him-
self to have been an agent in the scenes
he described. This night, too, that the
attractions of his conversation might want
 184 MELMOTH :

no charm, and have no shade, he watch-

fully forbore those bursts of passion,-those
fierce explosions of misanthropy and male-
diction, and that bitter and burning irony
with which, at other times, he seemed to
delight to interrupt himself and confound
his hearer.
" The evening thus passed pleasurably ;
and it was not till supper was removed,
and the lamp placed on the table beside
which the stranger and he were seated a-
lone, that the ghastly scene of the preced-
ing night rose like a vision before the eyes
of Aliaga. He thought he saw the corse
lying in a corner of the room, and waving
its dead hand, as if to beckon him away
from the society of the stranger. The vi-
sion passed away, he looked up,-they
were alone. It was with the utmost effort
of his mixed politeness and fear, that he
prepared himself to listen to the tale which
the stranger had frequently, amid their
miscellaneous conversation, alluded to, and
showed an evident anxiety to relate.
ナ
 A TALE. 185

" These allusions were attended with

unpleasant reminiscences to the hearer,-
but he saw that it was to be, and armed
himself as he might with courage to hear.
" I would not intrude on you, Senhor,"
said the stranger, with an air of grave in-
terest which Aliaga had never seen him
assume before " I would not intrude on
you with a narrative in which you can feel
but little interest, were I not conscious
that its relation may operate as a warning
the most awful, salutary, and efficacious
to yourself."-" Me !" exclaimed Don
Francisco, revolting with all the horror of
an orthodox Catholic at the sound.-
" Me !" he repeated, uttering a dozen eja-
culations to the saints, and making the
sign of the cross twice that number of
times. " Me !" he continued, discharging
a whole volley of fulmination against all
those who, being entangled in the snares
of Satan, sought to draw others into them,
whether in the shape of heresy, witchcraft,
or otherwise. It might be observed, how.
186 MELMOTH :

ever, that he laid most stress on heresy,

the latter evil, from the rigour of their
mythology, or other causes, which it were
not unworthy philosophical curiosity to in-
quire into, being almost unknown in
Spain; and he uttered this protestation
(which was doubtless very sincere) with
such a hostile and denunciatory tone, that
Satan, if he was present, (as the speak-
er half imagined), would have been al-
most justified in making reprisals. A-
mid the assumed consequence which pas-
sion, whether natural or artificial, always
gives to a man of mediocrity, he felt
himself withering in the wild laugh of
the stranger. " You,-you !" he exclaim-
ed, after a burst of sound that seem-
ed rather like the convulsion of a de-
moniac, than the mirth, however frantic,
of a human being-" you !-oh, there's
metal more attractive ! Satan himself, how-
ever depraved, has a better taste than to
crunch such a withered scrap of ortho-
doxy as you between his iron teeth. No!
 A TALE . 187

-the interest I alluded to as possible for

you to feel, refers to another one, for whom
you ought to feel if possible more than for
yourself. Now, worthy Aliaga, your per-
sonal fears being removed, sit and listen
to my tale. You are sufficiently acquaint-
ed, through the medium of commercial
feelings, and the general information which
your habits have forced on you, with the
history and manners of those heretics who
inhabit the country called England."
" Don Francisco, as a merchant, avouch-
ed his knowledge of their being fair deal-
ers, and wealthy liberal speculators in
trade ; but (crossing himself frequently)
he pronounced his utter detestation of
them as enemies to the holy church, and
implored the stranger to believe that he
would rather renounce the most advanta-
geous contract he had ever made with
them in the mercantile line, than be sus-
pected of " I suspect nothing," said
the stranger, interrupting him, with that
smile that spoke darker and bitterer things
188 MELMOTH :

than the fiercest frown that ever wrinkled

the features of man.-" Interrupt me no
more,-listen, as you value the safety of
a being of more value than all your race
beside. You are acquainted tolerably
with the English history, and manners,
and habits ; the latter events of their his-
tory are indeed in the mouths of all Eu-
rope." Aliaga was silent, and the stranger
proceeded.

The Lovers' Tale.

" In a part of that heretic country lies

a portion of land they call Shropshire, (" I
have had dealings with Shewsbury mer-
chants," said Aliaga to himself, " they fur-
nished goods, and paid bills with distin-
guished punctuality,")-there stood Mor-
timer Castle, the seat of a family who
 A TALE . 189

boasted of their descent from the age of

the Norman Conqueror, and had never
mortgaged an acre, or cut down a tree, or
lowered a banner on their towers at the
approach of a foe, for five hundred years.
Mortimer castle had held out during the
wars of Stephen and Matilda, it had
even defied the powers that summoned it
to capitulation alternately, (about once a
week), during the struggle between the
houses of York and Lancaster, it had al-
so disdained the summons of Richard and
Richmond, as their successive blasts shook
its battlements, while the armies of the
respective leaders advanced to the field of
Bosworth. The Mortimer family, in fact,
by their power, their extensive influence,
their immense wealth, and the indepen-
dency of their spirit, had rendered them-
selves formidable to every party, and supe-
rior to all.

" At the time of the Reformation, Sir

Roger Mortimer, the descendant of this
powerful family, vigorously espoused the
190 MELMOTH :

cause of the Reformers ; and when the no-

bility and gentry of the neighbourhood
sent their usual dole, at Christmas, of beef
and ale to their tenants, Sir Roger, with his
chaplain attending him, went about from
cottage to cottage, distributing Bibles in
English, of the edition printed by Tyn-
dal in Holland. But his loyalism prevail-
ed so far, that he circulated along with
them the uncouth print, cut out of his own
copy, of the King (Henry VIII.) dispen-
sing copies of the Bible from both hands,
which the people, as represented in the
engraving, caught at with theirs, and
seemed to devour as the word of life, al-
most before it could reach them.
" In the short reign of Edward, the fa-
mily was protected and cherished ; and the
godly Sir Edmund, son and successor to
Sir Roger, had the Bible laid open in his
hall window, that while his domestics
passed on their errands, as he expressed
himself, " he that runs may read." In
that of Mary, they were oppressed, con-
 A TALE . 191

fiscated, and menaced. Two of their ser-

vants were burned at Shrewsbury ; and it
was said that nothing but a large sum,
advanced to defray the expences of the
entertainments made at Court on the ar-
rival of Philip of Spain, saved the godly
Sir Edmund from the same fate.
" Sir Edmund, to whatever cause he
owed his safety, did not enjoy it long.
He had seen his faithful and ancient ser-
vants brought to the stake, for the opinions
he had taught them, he had attended
them in person to the awful spot, and seen
the Bibles he had attempted to place in
their hands flung into the flames, as they
were kindled round them, he had turned
with tottering steps from the scene, but
the crowd, in the triumph of their barba-
rity, gathered round, and kept him close,
so that he not only involuntarily witness-
ed the whole spectacle, but felt the very
heat of the flames that were consuming
the bodies of the sufferers. Sir Edmund
returned to Mortimer Castle, and died.
192 MELMOTH :

" His successor, during the reign of

Elizabeth, stoutly defended the rights of
the Reformers, and sometimes grumbled
at those of prerogative. These grumblings
were said to have cost him dear-the
court of purveyors charged him £.3000,
an enormous sum in those days, for an
expected visit of the Queen and her court
-a visit which was never paid. The
money was, however, paid ; and it was
said that Sir Orlan de Mortimer raised
part of the money by disposing of his fal-
cons, the best in England, to the Earl of
Leicester, the then favourite of the Queen.
At all events, there was a tradition in the
family, that when, on his last ride through
his territorial demesne, Sir Orlando saw
his favourite remaining bird fly from the
falconer's hand, and break her jesses, he
exclaimed, " Let her fly; she knows the
way to my lord of Leicester's."
66

During the reign of James, the Mor-

timer family took a more decided part.
The influence of the Puritans (whom
 A TALE . 193

James hated with a hatred passing that of

even a controversialist, and remembered
with pardonable filial resentment, as the
inveterate enemies of his ill-fated mother)
was now increasing every hour. Sir Ar-
thur Mortimer was standing by King
James at the first representation of " Bar-
tholomew Fair," written by Ben Jonson,
when the prologue uttered these words * :
" Your Majesty is welcome to a Fair ;
Such place, such men, such language, and such ware,
You must expect with these the zealous noise
Of your land's faction, scandalized at toys. "
66

My lord," said the King, (for Sir Ar-

thur was one of the lords of the privy
council), " how deem you by that?"-
" Please your Majesty," answered Sir
Arthur, " those Puritans, as I rode to

* Vide Jonson's play, in which is introduced a

Puritan preacher, a Banbury man, named Zeal-of-
the-landBusy.
VOL . IV. I
194 MELMOTH :

London, cut off mine horse's tail, as they

said the ribbons with which it was tied sa-
voured too much of the pride of the beast
on which the scarlet whore sits. Pray
God their shears may never extend from
the tails of horses to the heads of kings!"
And as he spoke with affectionate and
ominous solicitude, he happened to place
his hand on the head of Prince Charles,
(afterwards Charles I.), who was sitting
next his brother Henry, Prince of Wales,
and to whom Sir Arthur Mortimer had
had the high honour to be sponsor, as
proxy for a sovereign prince.
" The awful and troubled times which
Sir Arthur had predicted soon arrived,
though he did not live to witness them.
His son, Sir Roger Mortimer, a man lofty
alike in pride and in principle, and immove-
able in both,-an Arminian in creed, and
an aristocrat in politics,-the zealous friend
of the misguided Laud, and the bosom-
companion of the unfortunate Strafford,-
was among the first to urge King Charles
 A TALE . 195

to those high-handed and impolitic mea-

sures, the result of which was so fatal.
" When the war broke out between the
King and the Parliament, Sir Roger e-
spoused the royal cause with heart and
hand, raised a large sum in vain, to pre-
vent the sale of the crown-jewels in Hol-
land, and led five hundred of his tenants,
armed at his own expence, to the battles of
Edge-hill and Marston-moor.
" His wife was dead, but his sister, Mrs
Ann Mortimer, a woman of uncommon
beauty, spirit, and dignity of character,
and as firmly attached as her brother to
the cause of the court, of which she had
been once the most brilliant ornament,
presided over his household, and by her
talents, courage, and promptitude, had
⚫ been of considerable service to the cause.
" The time came, however, when valour
and rank, and loyalty and beauty, found
all their efforts ineffectual ; and of the five
hundred brave men that Sir Roger had
led into the field to his sovereign's aid, he
brought back thirty maimed and mutilated
196 MELMOTH :

veterans to Mortimer Castle, on the disas-

trous day that King Charles was persuad-
ed to put himself into the hands of the
disaffected and mercenary Scots, who sold
him for their arrears of pay due by the
Parliament.
" The reign of rebellion soon com-
menced, and Sir Roger, as a distinguish-
ed loyalist, felt the severest scourge of its
power. Sequestrations and compositions,
-fines for malignancy, and forced loans
for the support of a cause he detested,-
drained the well-filled coffers, and depress-
ed the high spirit, of the aged loyalist.
Domestic inquietude was added to his
other calamities. He had three children.
-His eldest son had fallen fighting in the
King's cause at the battle of Newbury,
leaving an infant daughter, then supposed
the heiress of immense wealth. His se-
cond son had embraced the Puritanic
cause, and, lapsing from error to error,
married the daughter of an Independent,
whose creed he had adopted ; and, accord-
 A TALE . 197

ing to the custom of those days, fought

all day at the head of his regiment, and
preached and prayed to them all night, in
strict conformity with that verse in the
psalms, which served him alternately for
his text and his battle- word-" Let the
praises of God be in their mouth, and a
two-edged sword in their hands." This
double exercise of the sword and the word,
however, proved too much for the strength
of the saint-militant ; and after having,
during Cromwell's Irish campaign, vigo-
rously headed the attack on Cloghan Cas-
tle *, the ancient seat of the O'Moores,

* I have been an inmate in this castle for many

months-it is still inhabited by the venerable descen-
dant of that ancient family. His son is now High-
Sheriff of the King's county. Half the castle was
battered down by Oliver Cromwell's forces, and re-
built in the reign of Charles the Second. The re-
mains of the castle are a tower of about forty feet
square, and five stories high, with a single spacious
apartment on each floor, and a narrow staircase com-
municating with each, and reaching to the bartizan .
A
198 MELMOTH :

princes of Leix, and being scalded

through his buff-coat by a discharge of
hot water from the bartizan, and then
imprudently given the word of exhorta-
tion for an hour and forty minutes to his
soldiers, on the bare heath that surround-
ed the castle, and under a drenching rain,
-he died of a pleurisy in three days, and
left, like his brother, an infant daughter
who had remained in England, and had
been educated by her mother. It was
said in the family, that this man had writ-
ten the first lines of Milton's poem "on
the new forcers of conscience under the
Long Parliament." It is certain, at least,
that when the fanatics who surrounded his
dying bed were lifting up their voices to

Abeautiful ash-plant, which I have often admired,

is now displaying its foliage between the stones of
the bartizan, and how it got or grew there, heaven
only knows. There it is, however ; and it is better
to see it there than to feel the discharge of hot water
or molten lead from the apertures.
 A TALE . 199

sing a hymn, he thundered with his last

breath,

" Because ye have thrown offyour prelate lord,

And with stiff vows renounce his Liturgy,
To seize the widowed w-e pluralitie,
From them whose sin ye envied not, abhorr'd," &c.

" Sir Roger felt, though from different

causes, pretty much the same degree of
emotion on the deaths of his two sons.
He was fortified against affliction at the
death of the elder, from the consolation
afforded him by the cause in which he
had fallen ; and that in which the apostate,
as his father always called him, had pe-
rished, was an equal preventive against his
feeling any deep or bitter grief on his dis-
solution.

" When his eldest son fell in the royal

cause, and his friends gathered round him
in officious condolence, the old loyalist re-
plied, with a spirit worthy of the proudest
days of classic heroism, " It is not for my
dead son that I should weep, but for my
200 MELMOTH :

living one." His tears, however, were

flowing at that time for another cause.
" His only daughter, during his absence,
in spite of the vigilance of Mrs Ann, had
been seduced by some Puritan servants in
a neighbouring family, to hear an Inde-
pendent preacher of the name of Sandal,
who was then a serjeant in Colonel Pride's
regiment, and who was preaching in a
barn in the neighbourhood, in the inter-
vals of his military exercises. This man
was a natural orator, and a vehement en-
thusiast ; and, with the license of the day,
that compromised between a pun and a
text, and delighted in the union of both,
this serjeant-preacher had baptized himself
by the name of " Thou-art-not-worthy-to-
unloose-the-latchets-of-his-shoes,-Sandal.
" This was the text on which he preach-
ed, and his eloquence had such effect on
the daughter of Sir Roger Mortimer, that,
forgetting the dignity of her birth, and
the loyalty of her family, she united her
destiny with this low-born man ; and, be
 Α ΤΑΙ.Ε. 201

lieving herself to be suddenly inspired

from this felicitous conjunction, she ac-
tually out-preached two female Quakers in
a fortnight after their marriage, and wrote
a letter (very ill-spelled) to her father, in
which she announced her intention to
" suffer affliction with the people of God,"
and denounced his eternal damnation, if
he declined embracing the creed of her
husband ;-which creed was changed the
following week, on his hearing a sermon
from the celebrated Hugh Peters, and a
month after, on hearing an itinerant
preacher of the Ranters or Antinomians,
who was surrounded by a troop of licen-
tious, half-naked, drunken disciples, whose
vociferations of " We are the naked
truth," completely silenced a fifth-mo-
narchy man, who was preaching from a
tub on the other side of the road. To this
preacher Sandal was introduced, and be-
ing a man of violent passions, and unset-
tled principles, he instantly embraced the
opinions of the last speaker, (dragging his
12
202 MELMOTH :

wife along with him into every gulph of

polemical or political difficulty he plunged
in), till he happened to hear another
preacher of the Cameronians, whose con-
stant topic, whether of triumph or of con-
solation, was the unavailing efforts made
in the preceding reign, to force the
Episcopalian system down the throats
of the Scots ; and, in default of a text,
always repeated the words of Archy,
jester to Charles the First, who, on the
first intimation of the reluctance of the
Scots to admit Episcopaljurisdiction, ex-
claimed to Archbishop Laud, " My Lord,
who is the fool now ?"-for which he had
his coat stripped over his head, and was
forbid the court. So Sandal vacillated be-
tween creed and creed, between preacher
and preacher, till he died, leaving his wi-
dow with one son. SirRoger announced
to his widowed daughter, his determined
purpose never to see her more, but he pro-
mised his protection to her son, if entrust-
ed to his care. The widow was too poor
 A TALE. 203

to decline compliance with the offer of her

deserted father.
" So in Mortimer Castle were, in their
infancy, assembled the three grandchil-
dren, born under such various auspices
and destinies. Margaret Mortimer the
heiress, a beautiful, intelligent, spirited
girl, heiress of all the pride, aristocratical
principle, and possible wealth of the fa-
mily ; Elinor Mortimer, the daughter of
the Apostate, received rather than admit-
ted into the house, and educated in all the
strictness of her Independent family ; and
John Sandal, the son of the rejected
daughter, whom Sir Roger admitted into
the Castle only on the condition of his be-
ing engaged in the service of the royal
family, banished and persecuted as they
were ; and he renewed his correspondence
with some emigrant loyalists in Holland,
for the establishment of his protegé, whom
he described, in language borrowed from
the Puritan preachers, as " a brand snatch-
ed from the burning."
204 MELMOTH :

" While matters were thus at the Castle,

intelligence arrived of Monk's unexpect-
ed exertions in favour of the banished fa-
mily. The result was as rapid as it was
auspicious. The Restoration took place
within a few days after, and the Morti-
mer family were then esteemed of so
much consequence, that an express, girth-
ed from his waist to his shoulders, was
dispatched from London to announce the
intelligence. He arrived when Sir Roger,
whose chaplain he had been compelled by
the ruling party to dismiss as a malig-
nant, was reading prayers himself to his
family. The return and restoration of
Charles the Second was announced. The
old loyalist rose from his knees, wav-
ed his cap, (which he had reverently
taken from his white head), and, sud-
denly changing his tone of supplication
for one of triumph, exclaimed, " Lord,
now lettest thou thy servant depart in
peace, according to thy word, for mine eyes
have seen thy salvation!" As he spoke,
 A TALE. 205

the old man sunk on the cushion which

Mrs Ann had placed beneath his knees.
His grandchildren rose from their knees
to assist him, it was too late, his spirit
had parted in that last exclamation.
 CHAPTER XXVIII.

She sat, and thought

Of what a sailor suffers.
COWPER.

66

THE intelligence that was the cause of

old Sir Roger's death, who might be said
to be conducted from this world to the
next by a blessed euthanasia, (a kind of
passing with a light and lofty step from a
narrow entry to a spacious and glorious a-
partment, without ever feeling he trod the
dark and rugged threshold that lies be-
tween), was the signal and pledge to this
 A TALE. 207

ancient family of the restitution of their

faded honours, and fast-declining posses-
sions. Grants, reversals of fines, resto-
ration of land and chattels, and offers of
pensions, and provisions, and remunera-
tions, and all that royal gratitude, in the
effervescence of its enthusiasm, could be-
stow, came showering on the Mortimer
family, as fast and faster than fines, con-
fiscations, and sequestrations, had poured
on them in the reign of the usurper. In
fact, the language of King Charles to the
Mortimers was like that of the Eastern
monarchs to their favourites,-" Ask what
thou wilt, and it shall be granted to thee,
even to the half of my kingdom." The
Mortimers asked only for their own,-and
being thus more reasonable, both in their
expectations and demands, than most other
applicants at that period, they succeeded
in obtaining what they required.
" Thus Mrs Margaret Mortimer (so un-
married females were named at the date of
the narrative) was again acknowledged as
 208 MELMOTH :

the wealthy and noble heiress of the Castle.

Numerous invitations were sent to her to
visit the court, which, though recom-
mended by letters from divers of the
court-ladies, who had been acquainted,
traditionally at least, with her family, and
enforced by a letter from Catherine of
Braganza, written by her own hand, in
which she acknowledged the obligations of
the king to the house of Mortimer, were
steadily rejected by the high-minded heir-
ess of its honours and its spirit.-" From
these towers," said she to Mrs Ann, 66

my
grandfather led forth his vassals and te-
nants in aid of his king,-to these towers
he led what was left of them back, when
the royal cause seemed lost for ever. Here
he lived and died for his sovereign, and
here will I live and die. And I feel that
I shall do more effectual service to his Ma-
jesty, byresiding on myestates, and protect-
ing my tenants, and repairing," she added
with a smile,-" even with my needle, the
 A TALE. 209

rents made in the banners of our house by

many a Puritan's bullet, than if I flaunt-
ed it in Hyde-Park in my glass coach, or
masqueraded it all night in that of * St
James's, even though I were sure to en-
counter the Duchess of Cleveland on one
side, and Louise de Querouaille on the
other,-fitter place for them than me."-
And so saying, Mrs Margaret Mortimer
resumed her tapestry work. Mrs Ann
looked at her with an eye that spoke vo-
lumes, and the tear that trembled in it
made the lines more legible.
" After the decided refusal of Mrs Mar-
garet Mortimer to go to London, the fa-
mily resumed their former ancestorial ha-
bits of stately regularity, and decorous
grandeur, such as became a magnificent
and well-ordered household, of which a

* See a comedy of Wycherly's, entitled, "Love

in a Wood, or St James's Park," where the company
are represented going there at night in masks, and
with torches.
210 MELMOTH :

noble maiden was the head and president.

But this regularity was without rigour,
and this monotony without apathy-the
minds of these highly fated females were
too familiar with trains of lofty thinking,
and images of noble deeds, to sink into
vacancy, or feel depression from solitude.
I behold them," said the stranger, " as I
once saw them, seated in a vast irregularly
shaped apartment, wainscotted with oak
richly and quaintly carved, and as black as
ebony-Mrs Ann Mortimer, in a recess
which terminated in an ancient case-
ment window, the upper panes of which
were gorgeously emblazoned with the arms
of the Mortimers, and some legendary at-
chievements of the former heroes of the
family. A book she valued much * lay
on her knee, on which she fixed her eyes
intently-the light that came through
the casement chequering its dark lettered
pages with hues of such glorious and fan-

* Taylor's Book of Martyrs.

 A TALE. 211

tastic colouring, that they resembled the

leaves of some splendidly-illuminated mis-
sal, with all its pomp of gold, and azure,
and vermilion.
" At a little distance sat her two grand-
nieces, employed in work, and relieving
their attention to it by conversation, for
which they had ample materials. They
spoke of the poor whom they had visited
and assisted, of the rewards they had dis-
tributed among the industrious and order-
ly, and of the books which they were
studying ; and of which the well-filled
shelves of the library furnished them with
copious and noble stores.
" Sir Roger had been a man of letters
as well as of arms. He had been often
heard to say, that next to a well-stocked
armoury in time of war, was a well-stocked
library in time of peace ; and even in the
midst of his latter grievances and priva-
tions, he contrived every year to make an
addition to his own.
" His grand-daughters, well instructedby
212 MELMOTH :

him in the French and Latin languages,

had read Mezeray, Thuanus, and Sully.
In English, they had Froissart in the
black-letter translation of Pynson, im-
printed 1525. Their poetry, exclusive of
the classics, consisted chiefly of Waller,
Donne, and that constellation of writers
that illuminated the drama in the latter
end of the reign of Elizabeth, and the
commencement of that of James, Marlow,
and Massinger, and Shirley, and Ford-
cum multis aliis. Fairfax's translations
had made them familiar with the conti-
nental poets ; and Sir Roger had consent-
ed to admit, among his modern collection,
the Latin poems (the only ones then pub-
lished) of Milton, for the sake of that in
Quintum Novembris,-for Sir Roger, next
to the fanatics, held the Catholics in utter
abomination."
" Then he will be damned to all eter-
nity," said Aliaga, " and that's some satis-
faction."
" Thus their retirement was not in-
elegant, nor unaccompanied with those
 A TALE. 213

delights at once soothing and elating,

which arise from a judicious mixture of
useful occupation and literary tastes.
" On all they read or conversed of, Mrs
Ann Mortimer was a living comment.
Her conversation, rich in anecdote, and
accurate to minuteness, sometimes rising
to the loftiest strains of eloquence, as she
related " deeds of the days of old," and of-
ten borrowing the sublimity of inspiration,
as the reminiscences of religion softened
and solemnized the spirit with which she
spake, like the influence of time on fine
paintings, that consecrates the tints it mel-
lows, and makes the colours it has half ob-
scured more precious to the eye of feeling
and of taste, than they were in the glow
of their early beauty,-her conversation
was to her grand-nieces at once history
and poetry.
" The events of English history then
not recorded, had a kind of traditional
1

history more vivid, if not so faithful as the

records of modern historians, in the me
214 MELMOTH :

mories of those who had been agents and

sufferers (the terms are probably synoni-
mous) in those memorable periods.
" There was an entertainment then, ba-
nished by modern dissipation now, but al-
luded to by the great poet of that nation,
whom your orthodox and undeniable creed
justly devotes to eternal damnation.
" In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire,
* *
* * * *

and tell the tales

Ofwoful ages long ago betid ;
And send the hearers weeping to their beds.
*
* * * * *

We cited up a thousand heavy times."

*
* * * * *

" When memory thus becomes the de-

pository of grief, how faithfully is the
charge kept ! and how much superior are
the touches of one who paints from the
life, and the heart, and the senses,-to
those of one who dips his pen in his ink-
stand, and casts his eye on a heap ofmus-
ty parchments, to glean his facts or his
 A TALE . 215

feelings from them ! Mrs Ann Mortimer

had much to tell, and she told it well.
Ifhistory was the subject, she could relate
the events of the civil wars events which
resembled indeed those of all civil wars,
but which derived a peculiar strength of
character, and brilliancy of colouring, from
the hand by which they were sketched.
She told of the time when she rode be-
hind her brother, Sir Roger, to meet the
King at Shrewsbury ; and she almost
echoed the shout uttered in the streets
of that loyal city, when the University
of Oxford sent in its plate to be coined
for the exigences of the royal cause. She
told also, with grave humour, the anec-
dote of Queen Henrietta making her
escape with some difficulty from a house
on fire, and, when her life was scarce se-
cure from the flames that consumed it,
rushing back among them to save her
lap-dog!
" But of all her historical anecdotes,
Mrs Ann valued most what she had to
216 MELMOTH :

relate of her own family. On the virtue

and valour of her brother Sir Roger, she
dwelt with an unction whose balm impart-
ed itself to her hearers ; and even Elinor, in
spite of the Puritanism of her early prin-
ciples, wept as she listened. But when
Mrs Ann told of the King taking shelter
for one night in the Castle, under the pro-
tection only of her mother and herself, to
whom he intrusted his rank and his mis-
fortunes, (arriving under a disguise),-
(Sir Roger being absent fighting his bat-
tles in Yorkshire)-when she added that
her aged mother, Lady Mortimer, then
seventy-four, after spreading her richest
velvet mantle, lined with fur, as a quilt
for the bed of her persecuted sovereign,
tottered into the armoury, and, presenting
the few servants that followed her with
what arms could be found, adjured them
by brand and blade, by lady's love, and
their hopes of heaven, to defend her royal
guest. When she related that a band of
 A TALE. 217

natics, after robbing a church of all its sil-

ver-plate, and burning the adjacent vicar-
age, drunk with their success, had invest-
ed the Castle, and cried aloud for " the
man" to be brought unto them, that he
might be hewed to pieces before the Lord
in Gilgal-and Lady Mortimer had call-
ed on a young French officer in Prince
Rupert's corps, who, with his men, had
been billetted on the Castle for some days
-and that this youth, but seventeen years
of age, had met two desperate attacks of
the assailants, and twice retired covered
with his own blood and that of the assail-
ants, whom he had in vain attempted to
repel-and that Lady Mortimer, finding
all was lost, had counselled the royal fugi-
tive to make his escape,-and furnished
him with the best horse left in Sir Roger's
stables to effect his flight, while she re-
turned to the great hall, whose windows
were now shattered by the balls that hiss-
ed and flew round her head, and whose
doors were fast yielding to the crows and
VOL . IV . K
218 MELMOTH :

other instruments which a Puritan smith,

who was both chaplain and colonel of the
band, had lent them, and instructed them
in the use of andhow Lady Mortimer fell
on her knees before the young Frenchman,
and adjured him to make good the defence
tillKing Charles was safe, and free, and far
-and how the young Frenchman had
done all that man could do;--and finally,
when the Castle, after an hour's obstinate
resistance, yielded to the assault of the fa-
natics, he had staggered, covered with
blood, to the foot of the great chair
which that ancient lady had immove-
ably occupied, (paralyzed by terror and
exhaustion), and dropping his sword, then
for the first time, exclaimed, " J'ai fait
mon devoir !" and expired at her feet-
and how her mother sat in the same ri-
gour of attitude, while the fanatics ravag-
ed through the Castle,-drank half the
wines in the cellar,-thrust their bayonets
through the family-pictures, which they
called the idols of the high-places,-fired
 A TALE.W 219

bullets through the wainscot, and convert-

ed half the female servants after their own
way, and on finding their search after
the King fruitless, in mere wantonness of
mischief, were about to discharge a piece
of ordnance in the hall that must have
shattered it in pieces, while Lady Morti-
mer sat torpidly looking on,-till, perceiv-
ing that the piece was accidentally point-
ed towards the very door through which
King Charles had passed from the hall,
her recollection seemed suddenly to re-
turn, and starting up and rushing before
the mouth of the piece, exclaimed, " Not
there !-you shall not there !"-and as
she spoke, dropt dead in the hall. When
Mrs Ann told these and other thrilling
tales of the magnanimity, the loyalty,
and the sufferings of her high ancestry,
in a voice that alternately swelled with
energy, and trembled with emotion, and
as she told them, pointed to the spot
where each had happened, her young
hearers felt a deep stirring of the heart,
220 MELMOTH :

-a proud yet mellowed elation that never

yet was felt by the reader of a written his-
tory, though its pages were as legitimate
as any sanctioned by the royal licenser at
Madrid.
" Nor was Mrs Ann Mortimer less qua-
lified to take an interesting share in their
lighter studies. When Waller's poetry
was its subject, she could tell of the charms
of his Sacharissa, whom she knew well,-
the Lady Dorothea Sidney, daughter of
the Earl of Leicester, and compare, with
those of his Amoret, the Lady Sophia
Murray. And in balancing the claims of
these poetical heroines, she gave so accu-
rate an account of their opposite styles of
beauty, entered so minutely into the de-
tails of their dress and deportment, and so
affectingly hinted, with a mysterious sigh,
that there was one then at court whom
Lucius, Lord Falkland, the gallant, the
learned, and the polished, had whispered
was far superior to both,----that her audi-
tors more than suspected she had herself
 A TALE. 221

been one of the most brilliant stars in that

galaxy whose faded glories were still re-
flected in her memory, and that Mrs
Ann, amid her piety and patriotism, still
blended a fond reminiscence of the gallan-
tries of that court where her youth had
been spent, and over which the beau-
ty, the magnificent taste, and national
gaiete of the ill-fated Henrietta, had
once thrown a light as dazzling as it was
transient. She was listened to by Mar-
garet and Elinor with equal interest, but
with far different feelings. Margaret,
beautiful, vivacious, haughty, and gene-
rous, and resembling her grandfather and
his sister alike in character and person,
could have listened for ever to narrations
that, while they confirmed her principles,
gave a kind of holiness to the governing
feelings ofher heart, and made her enthu-
siasm a kind of virtue in her eyes. An
aristocrat in politics, she could not con-
ceive that public virtue could soar to a
higher pitch than a devoted attachment to
222 MELMOTH :

the house of Stuart afforded for its flight ;

and her religion had never given her any
disturbance. Strictly attached to the
Church of England, as her forefathers
had been from its first establishment, she
included in an adherence to this not only
all the graces of religion, but all the vir-
tues of morality; and she could hardly
conceive how there could be majesty in
the sovereign, or loyalty in the subject, or
valour in man, or virtue in woman, unless
they were comprised within the pale of
the Church of England. These qualities,
with their adjuncts, had been always re-
presented to her as co-existent with an at-
tachment to monarchy and Episcopacy,
and vested solely in those heroic charac-
ters of her ancestry, whose lives, and even
deaths, it was a proud delight to their
young descendant to listen to, while all
the opposite qualities, all that man can
hate, or woman despise,-had been repre-
sented to her as instinctively resident in
the partizans of republicanism and the
 A TALE. 223

Presbytery. Thus her feelings and her

principles, her reasoning powers and the
habits of her life, all took one way ; and
she was not only unable to make the least
allowance for a divergence from this way,
but utterly unable to conceive that another
existed for those who believed in a God,
or acknowledged human power at all. She
was as much at a loss to conceive how any
goodcould come out of that Nazareth of
her abhorrence, as an ancient geographer
would have been to have pointed out A-
merica in a classical map.-Such was Mar-
garet.
" Elinor, on the other hand, bred up a-
mid a clamour of perpetual contention,-
for the house of her mother's family, in
which her first years had been passed, was,
in the language of the profane of those
times, a scruple-shop, where the godly of
all denominations held their conferences
of contradiction, had her mind early a-
wakened to differences of opinion, and op-
position of principle. Accustomed to hear
224 MELMOTH :

these differences and oppositions often ex-

pressed with the most unruly vehemence,
she had never, like Margaret, indulged in
a splendid aristocracy of imagination, that
bore every thing before it, and made pro-
sperity and adversity alike pay tribute to
the pride of its triumph. Since her ad-
mission into the house of her grandfather,
the mind of Elinor had become still more
humble and patient,-more subdued and
self-denied. Compelled to hear the opi-
nions she was attached to decried, and the
characters she reverenced vilified, she sat
in reflective silence ; and, balancing the
opposite extremes which she was destined
to witness, she came to the right conclu-
sion, that there must be good on both
sides, however obscured or defaced by pas-
sion and by interest, and that great and
noble qualities must exist in either party,
where so much intellectual power, and so
much physical energy, had been displayed
by both. Nor could she believe that these
clear and mighty spirits would be for ever
 A TALE. 225

opposed to each other in their future des-

tinations, she loved to view them as chil-
dren who had " fallen out by the way,"
from mistaking the path that led to their
father's house, but who would yet rejoice
together in the light of his presence, and
smile at the differences that divided them
on theirjourney.
" In spite of the influence of her early
education, Elinor had learned to appre-
ciate the advantages of her residence in
her grandfather's castle. She was fond of
literature and of poetry. She possessed
imagination and enthusiasm, and these
qualities met with their loveliest indul-
gence amid the picturesque and historical
scenery that surrounded the Castle, the
lofty tales told within its walls, and to
which every stone in them seemed to ery
out in attestation, and the heroic and
chivalrous characters of its inmates, with
whom the portraits of their high descend-
ed ancestry seemed starting from their
gorgeous frames to converse, as the tale of
K2
226 MELMOTH :

their virtues and their valour was told in

their presence. This was a different scene
from that in which she had passed her
childhood. The gloomy and narrow a-
partments, divested of all ornament, and
awaking no associations but those of an
awful futurity-the uncouth habits, aus-
tere visages, denunciatory language, and
polemical fury of its inmates or guests,
struck her with a feeling for which she re-
proached herself, but did not suppress ;
and though she continued a rigid Calvi-
nist in her creed, and listened whenever
she could to the preaching of the non-con- :

formist ministers, she had adopted in her

pursuits the literary tastes, and in her
manners the dignified courtesy, that be-
came the descendant of the Mortimers.
" Elinor's beauty, though of a style
quite different from that of her cousin,
was yet beauty of the first and finest
character. Margaret's was luxuriant,
lavish, and triumphant, every move-
ment displayed a conscious grace, every
 A TALE. 227

look demanded homage, and obtained

it the moment it was demanded. Eli-
nor's was pale, contemplative, and touch-
ing ;-her hair was as black as jet, and the
thousand small curls into which, accord-
ing to the fashion of the day, it was
woven, seemed as if every one of them
had been twined by the hand of nature,-
they hung so softly and shadowingly, that
they appeared like a veil dropping over
the features of a nun, till she shook them
back, and there beamed among them an
eye of dark and brilliant light, like a star
amid the deepening shades of twilight.
She wore the rich dress prescribed by the
taste and habits of Mrs Ann, who had
never, even in the hour of extreme ad-
versity, relaxed in what may be called the
rigour of her aristocratical costume, and
would have thought it little less than a
desecration of the solemnity, had she ap-
peared at prayers, even though celebrated
(as she loved to term it) in the Castle-hall,
unless arrayed in satins and velvets, that,
228 MELMOTH :

like ancient suits of armour, could have

stood alone and erect without the aid of
human inhabitant. There was a soft and
yielding tone in the gently modulated har-
mony of Elinor's form and movements,-a
gracious melancholy in her smile,-a tremu-
lous sweetness in her voice, an appeal in
her look, which the heart that refused to
answer could not have living pulse within
its region. No head of Rembrandt's, amid
its contrasted luxuries of light and shade,
-no form of Guido's, hovering in exqui-
site and speechful undulation between
earth and heaven, could vie with the tint
and character of Elinor's countenance and
form. There was but one touch to be
added to the picture of her beauty, and
that touch was given by no physical grace,
-no exterior charm. It was borrowed
from a feeling as pure as it was intense,-
as unconscious as it was profound. The
secret fire that lit her eyes with that lam-
bent glory, while it caused the paleness of
her young cheek, that preyed on her
 A TALE . 229

heart, while it seemed to her imagination

that she clasped a young cherub in her
arms, like the unfortunate queen of Vir-
gil, that fire was a secret even to herself.
-She knew she felt, but knew not what
she felt.
" When first admitted into the Castle,
and treated with sufficient hauteur by her
grandfather and his sister, who could not
forget the mean descent and fanatic prin-
ciples of her father's family, she remem-
bered, that, amid the appalling grandeur
and austere reserve of her reception, her
cousin, John Sandal, was the only one
who spoke to her in accents of tenderness,
or turned on her an eye that beamed con-
solation. She remembered him as the
beautiful and gentle boy who had lighten-
ed all her tasks, and partaken in all her re-
creations.
" At an early age John Sandal, at his
own request, had been sent to sea, and
had never since visited the Castle. On
the Restoration, the remembered services
230 MELMOTH :

of the Mortimer family, and the high

fame of the youth's courage and ability,
had procured him a distinguished situation
in the navy. John Sandal's consequence
now rose in the eyes of the family, of
whom he was at first an inmate on tole-
ration only ; and even Mrs Ann Mortimer
began to express some anxiety to hear tid-
ings of her valiant cousin John. When
she spoke thus, the light of Elinor's eye
fell on her aunt with as rich a glow as
ever summer sun on an evening land-
scape ; but she felt, at the same moment,
an oppression, an indefinable suspension
of thought, of speech, almost of breath,
which was only relieved by the tears
which, when retired from her aunt's pre-
sence, she indulged in. Soon this feeling
was exchanged for one of deeper and more
agitating interest. The war with the
Dutch broke out, and Captain John San-
dal's name, in spite of his youth, appear-
ed conspicuous among those of the officers
appointed to that memorable service.
 A TALE. 231

" Mrs Ann, long accustomed to hear

the names of her family uttered always
in the same breath with the stirring report
of high heroic deeds, felt the elation of
spirit she had experienced in by-gone days,
combined with happier associations, and
more prosperous auguries. Though far
advanced in life, and much declined in
strength, it was observed, that during the
reports of the war, and while she listened
to the accounts of her kinsman's valour
and fast-advancing eminence, her step be-
came firm and elastic, her lofty figure di-
lated to its youthful height, and a colour
at times visited her cheek, with as rich and
brilliant a tinge as when the first sighs of
love murmured over its young roses. The
high minded Margaret, partaking that
enthusiasm which merged all personal feel-
ing in the glory of her family and of her
country, heard of the perils to which her
cousin (whom she hardly remembered) was
exposed, only with a haughty confidence
that he would meet them as she felt she
232 MELMOTH :

would have met them herself, had she

been, like him, the last male descendant
of the family of Mortimer. Elinor trem-
bled and wept, and when alone she pray-
ed fervently.
" It was observable, however, that the
respectful interest with which she had hi-
therto listened to the family legends so
eloquently told by Mrs Ann, was now ex-
changed for a restless and unappeaseable
anxiety for tales of the naval heroes who
had dignified the family history. Happily
she found a willing narrator in Mrs Ann,
who had little need to search her memory,
and no occasion to consult her invention,
for splendid stories of those whose home
was the deep, and whose battle-field was
the wild waste ocean. Amid the gallery !

richly hung with family portraits, she

pointed out the likeness of many a bold
adventurer, whom the report of the riches
and felicities of the new discovered world
had tempted on speculations sometimes
wild and disastrous, sometimes prosperous
 A TALE . 233

beyond the golden dreams of cupidity.

" How precarious !-how perilous !" mur-
mured Elinor, shuddering. But when Mrs
Ann told the tale of her uncle, the lite-
rary speculator, the polished scholar, the
brave and gentle of the family, who had
accompanied Sir Walter Raleigh on his
calamitous expedition, and years after died
of grief for his calamitous death, Elinor,
with a start of horror, caught her aunt's
arm, emphatically extended towards the
portrait, and implored her to desist. The
decorum of the family was so great, that
this liberty could not be taken without an
apology for indisposition ;-it was duly
though faintly made, and Elinor retired to
her apartment.
" From February 1665, -from the first
intelligence of De Ruyter's enterprises,
till the animating period when the Duke
of York was appointed to the command
of the Royal fleet,-all was eager and an-
ticipative excitement, and eloquent expa-
tiations on ancient achievements, and pre
234 MELMOTH :

sageful hopes of new honours, on the part

of the heiress of Mortimer and Mrs Ann,
and profound and speechless emotion on
that of Elinor.
" The hour arrived, and an express was
dispatched from London to Mortimer
Castle with intelligence, in which King
Charles, with that splendid courtesy which
half redeemed his vices, announced him-
self most deeply interested, inasmuch as
it added to the honours of the loyal fami-
ly, whose services he appreciated so high-
ly. The victory was complete, and Cap-
tain John Sandal, in the phrase which
the King's attachment to French manners
and language was beginning to render po-
pular, had " covered himself with glory."
Amid the thickest of the fight, in an open
boat, he had carried a message from Lord
Sandwich to the Duke of York, under a
shower of balls, and when older officers
had stoutly declined the perilous errand ;
and when, on his return, Opdam the
Dutch Admiral's ship blew up, amid the
 A TALE . 235

crater of the explosion John Sandal plung-

ed into the sea, to save the half-drown-
ing, half-burning wretches who clung
to the fragments that scorched them, or
sunk in the boiling waves ; and then,-dis-
missed on another fearful errand, flung
himself between the Duke of York and
the ball that struck at one blow the Earl
of Falmouth, Lord Muskerry, and Mr
Boyle, and when they all fell at the same
moment, wiped, with unfaultering hand,
and on bended knee, their brains and gore,
with which the Duke of York was cover-
ed from head to foot. When this was
read by Mrs Ann Mortimer, with many
pauses, caused by sight dim with age, and
diffused with tears, and when at length,
finishing the long and laborious read de-
tail, Mrs Ann exclaimed " He is a hero !"
Elinor tremblingly whispered to herself-
" He is a Christian ."
" The details of such an event forming
akind of era in a family so sequestered,
imaginative, and heroic, as that of the
236 MELMOTH :

Mortimers, the contents of the letter sign-

ed by the King's own hand were read over
and over again. They formed the theme
of converse at their meals, and the subject
of their study and comment when alone.
Margaret dwelt much on the gallantry of
the action, and half-imagined she saw the
tremendous explosion of Opdam's ship.
Elinor repeated to herself, " And he
plunged amid the burning wave to save
the lives of the men he had conquered!"
And some months elapsed before the bril-
liant vision of glory, and of grateful royal-
ty, faded from their imagination ; and
when it did, like that of Micyllus, it left
honey on the eye-lids of the dreamer.
" From the date of the arrival of this
intelligence, a change had taken place in
the habits and manners of Elinor, so strik-
ing as to become the object of notice to all
but herself. Her health, her rest, and her
imagination, became the prey of indefina-
ble fantasies. The cherished images of
the past, the lovely visions of her golden
 A TALE. 237

childhood,-seemed fearfully and insanely

contrasted in her imagination with the
ideas of slaughter and blood, of decks
strewed with corses, and of a young and
terrible conqueror bestriding them amid
showers of ball and clouds of fire. Her
very senses reeled between these opposite
impressions. Her reason could not brook
the sudden transition from the smiling and
Cupid-like companion of her childhood, to
the hero of the embattled deep, and of na-
tions and navies on fire, garments rolled
in blood, the thunder of the battle and
the shouting.
" She sat and tried, as well as her wan-
dering fancy would allow her, to reconcile
the images of that remembered eye, whose
beam rested on her like the dark blue of
a summer heaven swimming in dewy
light, with the flash that darted from the
burning eye of the conqueror, whose light
was as fatal where it fell as his sword.
She saw him, as he had once sat beside
238 MELMOTH :

her, smiling like the first morning in

spring, and smiled in return. The slen-
der form, the soft and springy movements,
the kiss of childhood that felt like velvet,
and scented like balm, was suddenly ex-
changed in her dream (for all her thoughts
were dreams) for a fearful figure of one
drenched in blood, and spattered with
brains and gore. And Elinor, half-scream-
ing, exclaimed, " Is this he whom l
loved ?" Thus her mind, vacillating be-
tween contrasts so strongly opposed, be-
gan to feel its moorings give way. She
drifted from rock to rock, and on every
rock she struck a wreck.
" Elinor relinquished her usual meet-
ings with the family-she sat in her own
apartment all the day, and most of the
evening. It was a lonely turret project-
ing so far from the walls of the Castle,
that there were windows, or rather case-
ments, on three sides. There Elinor sat
to catch the blast, let it blow as it would,

13
 A TALE . 239

and imagined she heard in its moanings

the cries of drowning seamen. No music
that her lute, or that which Margaret
touched with a more powerful and bril-
liant finger, could wean her from this me-
lancholy indulgence.
" Hush!" she would say to the females
who attended her " Hush ! let me lis-
ten to the blast !-It waves many a banner
spread for victory,-it sighs over many a
head that has been laid low !"
" Her amazement that a being could
be at once so gentle and so ferocious-her
dread that the habits of his life must have
converted the angel ofher wilderness into
a brave but brutal seaman, estranged from
the feelings that had rendered the beauti-
ful boy so indulgent to her errors, so
propitiatory between her and her proud
relatives, so aidant in all her amuse-
ments, so necessary to her very existence.
-The tones ofthis dreamy life harmonized,
awfully for Elinor, with the sound of the
blast as it shook the turrets of the Castle,
240 MELMOTH :

or swept the woods that groaned and bow-

ed beneath its awful visitings. And this
secluded life, intense feeling, and profound
and heart-rooted secret of her silent pas-
sion, held perhaps fearful and indescribable
alliance with that aberration of mind, that
prostration at once of the heart and the
intellect, that have been found to bring
forth, according as the agents were im-
pelled, " the savour of life unto life, or of
death unto death." She had all the in-
tensity of passion, combined with all the
devotedness of religion ; but she knew not
which way to steer, or what gale to follow.
She trembled and shrunk from her doubt-
ful pilotage, and the rudder was left to the
mercy of the winds and waves. Slender
mercy do those experience who commit
themselves to the tempests of the mental
world-better if they had sunk at once
amid the strife of the dark waters in their
wild and wintry rage; there they would
soon have arrived at the haven where they
would be secure.
 A TALE . 241

Such was the state of Elinor, when the

arrival of one who had been long a stran-
ger in the vicinity of the Castle caused a
strong sensation in its inhabitants.
" The widow Sandal, the mother of the
young seaman, who had hitherto lived in
obscurity on the interest of the small for-
tune bequeathed her by Sir Roger, (under
the rigid injunction of never visiting the
Castle), suddenly arrived in Shrewsbury,
which was scarce a mile from it, and de-
elared her intention of fixing her residence
there.
" The affection ofher son had showered
on her, with the profusion of a sailor, and
the fondness of a child, all the rewards of
his services-but their glory ;-and in com-
parative affluence, and honoured and point-
ed to as the mother of the young hero
who stood high in royal favour, the widow
ofmany sorrows took up her abode once
more near the seat of her ancestors.
"At this period, every step taken by the
member of afamily was asubject ofanxious
VOL . IV. L
-242 MELMOTH :

and solemn consultation to those who con-

sidered themselves its heads, and there was
a kind of chapter held in Mortimer Castle
on this singular movement of the widow
Sandal. Elinor's heart beat hard during the
debate-it subsided, however, at the deter-
mination, that the severe sentence of Sir
Roger was not to be extended beyond
his death, and that a descendant of the
house of Mortimer should never live
neglected while almost under the shadow
of its walls.
" The visit was accordingly solemnly
paid, and gratefully received, there was
much stately courtesy on the part of Mrs
Ann towards her niece, (whom she called
cousin after the old English fashion), and
a due degree of retrospective humility
and decorous dejection on that of the wi-
dow. They parted mutually softened to-
wards, if not pleased with each other, and
the intercourse thus opened was unremit-
tingly sustained by Elinor, whose weekly
visits of ceremony soon became the daily
 A TALE. 243

visits of interest and of habit. The object

of the thoughts of both was the theme
of the tongue ofbut one; and, as is not un-
common, she who said nothing felt the
most. The details of his exploits, the de-
scription of his person, the fond enumera-
tion of the promises of his childhood, and
the graces and goodliness of his youth,
were dangerous topics for the listener, to
whom the bare mention of his name caused
an intoxication of the heart, from which
it scarce recovered for hours.
" The frequency of these visits was not
observed to be diminished by a faint ru-
mour, which the widow seemed to believe,
rather from hope than probability, that
Captain Sandal was about to visit the
neighbourhood of the Castle. It was one
evening in autumn, that Elinor, who had
been prevented during the day from visit-
ing her aunt, set out attended only by her
maid and her usher. There was a private
path through the park, that opened by a
small door on the verge of the suburbs
244 MELMOTH :

where the widow lived. Elinor, on her

arrival, found her aunt from home, and
was informed she had gone to pass the
evening with a friend in Shrewsbury.
Elinor hesitated for a moment, and then
recollecting that this friend was a grave
staid widow of one of Oliver's knights,
wealthy, however, and well respected, and
a common acquaintance, she resolved to
follow her thither. As she entered the
room, which was spacious, but dimly lit
by an old-fashioned casement window, she
was surprised to see it filled with an un-
usual number of persons, some of whom
were seated, but the greater number were
collected in the ample recess of the win-
dow, and among them Elinor saw a figure,
remarkable rather for its height, than its
attitude or pretension, it was that of a
tall slender boy, about eighteen, with a
beautiful infant in his arms, whom he was
caressing with a tenderness that seemed
rather associated with the retrospective
fondness of brotherhood, than the antici-
 A TALE. 245

pated hope of paternity. The mother of

the infant, proud of the notice bestowed on
her child, made, however, the usual incre-
dulous apology for its troubling him.
" Troubling me !" said the boy, in tones
that made Elinor think it was the first time
she had heard music. " Oh, no-if you
knew how fond I am of children,--how
long it is since I had the delight of press-
ing one to my breast-how long it may be
again before" and averting his head,
he bowed it over the babe. The room was
very dark, from the increasing shades of
evening, deepened by the effect of the
heavy wainscotting of its walls ; but at this
moment, the last bright light of an au-
tumnal evening, in all its rich and fading
glory, burst on the casement, powering on
every object a golden and purpureal light.
That end of the apartment in which Eli-
nor sat remained in the deepest shade.
She then distinctly beheld the figure which
her heart seemed to recognize before her
senses. His luxuriant hair, of the richest
246 MELMOTH :

brown, (its feathery summits tinged by the

light resembling the halo round some glo-
rified head), hung, according to the fashion
of the day, in clusters on his bosom, and
half-concealed the face of the infant, as it
lay like a nestling among them.
" His dress was that of a naval officer,-
it was splendidly adorned with lace, and
the superb insignia of a foreign order,
the guerdon of some daring deed ; and as
the infant played with these, and then look-
ed upward, as if to repose its dazzled sight
on the smile of its young protector, Elinor
thought she had never beheld association
and contrast so touchingly united, it was
like a finely coloured painting, where the
tints are so mellowed and mingled into
each other, that the eye feels no transition
in passing from one brilliant hue to ano-
ther, with such exquisite imperceptibility
are they graduated, it was like a fine
piece of music, where the art of the modu-
lator prevents your knowing that you pass
from one key to another; so softly are the
 A TALE. 247

intermediate tones of harmony touched,

that the ear knows not where it wanders,
but wherever it wanders, feels its path
is pleasant. The young loveliness of
the infant, almost assimilated to the beauty
ofthe youthful caresser, and yet contrasted
with the high and heroic air of his figure,
and the adornments of his dress, (splendid
as they were), all emblematic of deeds of
peril and ofdeath, seemed to the imagina-
tion of Elinor like the cherub-angel of
peace reposing on the breast of valour,
and whispering that his toils were done.
She was awoke from her vision by the
voice of the widow.-" Niece, this is your
cousin John Sandal." Elinor started, and
received the salute of her kinsman, thus
abruptly introduced, with an emotion,
which, if it deprived her of those courtly
graces which ought to have embellished
her reception of the distinguished stranger,
gave her, at least, the more touching ones
of diffidence.

" The forms of the day admitted of, and

248 MELMOTH :

even sanctioned, a mode of salutation since

exploded ; and as Elinor felt the pressure
of a lip as vermeil as her own, she trem-
bled to think that that lip had often given
the war-word to beings athirst for human
blood, and that the arm that enfolded her
so tenderly had pointed the weapons
of death with resistless and terrible aim
against bosoms that beat with all the cords
of human affection. She loved her young
kinsman, but she trembled in the arms
of the hero.
" John Sandal sat down by her, and in
a few moments the melody of his tones,
the gentle facility of his manner, the eyes
that smiled when the lips were closed, and
the lips whose smile was more eloquent
in silence than the language of the bright-
est eyes, made her gradually feel at ease
with herself-she attempted to converse,
but paused to listen-she tried to look up,
but felt like the worshippers of the sun,
sickening under the blaze she gazed on,-
and averted her eyes that she might see.
 A TALE . 249

There was a mild, inoppressive, but most

seductive light in the dark-blue eyes that
fell so softly on hers, like moon-light float-
ing over a fine landscape. And there
was a young and eloquent tenderness in
the tones of that voice, which she expected
to have spoken in thunder, that disarmed
and dulcified speech almost to luxury. Eli-
nor sat, and imbibed poison at every inlet of
the senses, ear, and eye, and touch, for her
kinsman, with a venial, and to her imper-
ceptible licence, had taken her hand as he
spoke. And he spoke much, but not ofwar
and blood, of the scenes where he had been
so eminent, and of the events to which his
simple allusion would have given interest
anddignity, but ofhis return to his family,
of the delight he felt at again beholding his
mother, and of the hopes that he indulged
of being not an unwelcome visitor at the
Castle. He inquired after Margaret with
affectionate earnestness, and after Mrs Ann
with reverential regard ; and in mention-
ing the names of these relatives, he spoke
L2
250 MELMOTH :

like one whose heart was at home before

his steps, and whose heart could make
every spot where it rested a home to it-
self and to others. Elinor could have
listened for ever. The names of the rela-
tives she loved and revered sounded in her
ears like music, but the advancing night
warned her of the necessity of returning to
the Castle, where the hours were scrupu-
lously observed ; and when John Sandal
offered to attend her home, she had no
longer a motive to delay her departure.
" It had appeared dark in the room
where they were sitting, but it was still
rich and purple twilight in the sky, when
they set out for the Castle.
"Elinor took the path through the park,
and, absorbed in new feelings, was for the
first time insensible of its woodland beauty,
at once gloomy and resplendent, mellow-
ed by the tints of autumnal colouring, and
glorious with the light of an autumnal eve-
ning, till she was roused to attention by
the exclamations of her companion, who
 A TALE. 251

appeared rapt into delight at what he be-

held. This sensibility of nature, this fresh
and unworn feeling, in one whom she had
believed hardened by scenes of toil and
terror against the perception of beauty,-
whom her imagination had painted to her
asfitter to cross the Alps, than to luxuriate
in Campania, touched her deeply. She
attempted to reply, but was unable, she
remembered how her quick susceptibility
of nature had enabled her to sympathize
with and improve on the admiration ex-
pressed by others, and she wondered at her
silence, for she knew not its cause.
" As they approached the Castle, the
scene became glorious beyond the imagi-
nation of a painter, whose eye has dream-
ed of sun-set in foreign climes. The vast
edifice lay buried in shade, all its varied
and strongly charactered features of tower
and pinnacle, bartizan and battlement,
were melted into one dense and sombrous
mass. The distant hills, with their coni-
cal summits, were still clearly defined in
252 MELMOTH :

the dark-blue heaven, and their peaks still

retained a hue of purple so brilliant and
lovely, that it seemed as if the light had
loved to linger there, and, parting, had
left that tint as the promise of a glorious
morning. The woods that surrounded
the Castle stood as dark, and apparently
as solid as itself. Sometimes a gleam like
gold trembled over the tufted foliage of
their summits, and at length, through a
glade which opened among the dark and
massive boles of the ancient trees, one
last rich and gorgeous flood of light burst
in, turned every blade of grass it touched
into emerald for a moment, paused on its
lovely work-and parted. The effect was
so instantaneous, brilliant, and evanishing,
that Elinor had scarce time for a half ut-
tered exclamation, as she extended her
arm in the direction where the light had
fallen so brightly and so briefly. She rais-
ed her eyes to her companion, in that full
consciousness of perfect sympathy that
make words seem like counters, compared
 A TALE . 253

to the sterling gold of a heart-minted look.

Her companion had turned towards it
too. He neither uttered exclamation, nor
pointed with finger, he smiled, and his
countenance was as that of an angel. It
seemed to reflect and answer the last
bright farewell of day, as if friends had
parted smiling at each other. It was not
alone the lips that smiled,-the eyes, the
cheeks, every feature had its share in that
effulgent light that was diffused over his
aspect, and all combined to make that
harmony to the eye, which is often as de-
liciously perceptible, as the combination of
the most exquisite voices with the most
perfect modulation, is to the ear. To the
last hour of her mortal existence, that
smile, and the scene where it was uttered,
were engraved on the heart of Elinor. It
announced at once a spirit, that, like the
ancient statue, answered every ray of light
that fell on it with a voice of melody, and
blended the triumph of the glories of na-
ture with the profound and tender felici
254 MELMOTH :

ties of the heart. They spoke no more

during the remainder of their walk, but
there was more eloquence in their silence
* *
than in many words. *
* *

" It was almost night before they ar-

rived at the Castle. Mrs Ann received
her distinguished kinsman with stately
cordiality, and affection mingled with
pride. Margaret welcomed him rather as
the hero than the relative ; and John, after
the ceremonies of introduction, turned to
repose himself on the smile of Elinor.
They had arrived just at the time when
the chaplain was about to read the even-
ing prayers, a form so strictly adhered to
at the Castle, that not even the arrival
of a stranger was permitted to interfere
with its observance. Elinor watched this
moment with peculiar solicitude ;-her
religious feelings were profound, and
amid all the young hero's vivid display of
the gentlest affections, and purest sensibili-
ties by which our wretched existence can be
 A TALE. 255

enhanced or beautified, she still dreaded

that religion, the companion of deep
thought and solemn habits, might wander
far for an abode before it settled in the
heart of a sailor. The last doubt passed
from her mind, as she beheld the intense
but silent devotion with which John min-
gled in the family rite. There is some-
thing very ennobling in the sight of male
piety. To see that lofty form, that never
bowed to man, bowed to the earth to
God, to behold the knee, whose joints
would be as adamant under the influence
of mortal force or threat, as flexible as
those of infancy in the presence of the
Almighty, to see the locked and lift-
ed hands, to hear the fervent aspiration,
to feel the sound of the mortal weapon
as it drags on the floor beside the kneeling
warrior,-these are things that touch the
senses and the heart at once, and suggest
the awful and affecting image of all phy-
sical energy prostrate before the power of
256 MELMOTH :

the Divinity. Elinor watched him even

to the forgetfulness of her own devo-
tions ; and when his white hands, that
seemed never formed to grasp a weapon of
destruction, were clasped in devotion, and
one of them slightly and occasionally rais-
ed to part the redundant curls that shaded
his face as he knelt, she thought that she
beheld at once angelic strength and angelic
purity.
" When the service concluded, Mrs
Ann, after repeating her solemn welcome
to her nephew, could not help expressing
her satisfaction at the devotion he had
showed; but she mingled with that,ex-
pression a kind of incredulity, that men ac-
customed to toil and peril could ever have
devotional feelings. John Sandal bowed
to the congratulatory part of Mrs Ann's
speech, and, resting one hand on his short .
sword, and with the other removing the
thick ringlets of his luxuriant hair, he
stood before them a hero in deed, and a
 A TALE . 257

boy in form. A blush overspread his

young features, as he said, in accents at
once emphatic and tremulous, Dear 66

Aunt, why should you accuse those of

neglecting the protection of the Almighty
who need it most. They who " go down
to the sea in ships, and occupy their busi-
ness in the great waters," have the best
right to feel, in their hour of peril, " it is
but the wind and the storm fulfilling his
word." A seaman without a belief and
hope in God, is worse off than a seaman
without chart or pilot."
" As he spoke with that trembling elo-
quence that makes conviction be felt al-
most before it is heard, Mrs Ann held out
to him her withered but still snow-white
hand to kiss. Margaret presented hers
also, like a heroine to a feudal knight ;
and Elinor turned aside, and wept in de-
.
*
* *
licious agony.
* * * * *

" When we set ourselves resolutely to

258 MELMOTH :

discover perfection in a character, we are

always sure to find it. But Elinor
needed little aid from the pencil of ima-
gination to colour the object that had
been stamped by an ineffaceable touch upon
her heart. Her kinsman's character and
temper developed themselves slowly, or
rather were developed by external and ac-
cidental causes ; for a diffidence almost fe-
minine prevented his ever saying much,-
and when he did, himself was the last
theme he touched on. He unfolded him-
self like a blowing flower,-the soft and
silken leaves expanded imperceptibly to
the eye, and every day the tints were
deepening, and the scent becoming richer,
till Elinor was dazzled by their lustre, and
inebriated with the fragrance.
" This wish to discover excellencies in
the object we love, and to identify esteem
and passion by seeking the union ofmoral
beauty and physical grace, is a proof that
love is of a very ennobling character,
 A TALE . 259

that, however the stream may be troubled

by many things, the source at least is
pure, and that the heart capable of feel-
ing it intensely, proves it possesses an
energy that may one day be rewarded by
a brighter object, and a holier flame, than
earth ever afforded, or nature ever could
*
* * *
kindle.
* * *

" Since her son's arrival, the widow

Sandal had betrayed a marked degree of
anxiety, and a kind of restless precaution
against some invisible evil. She was now
frequently at the Castle. She could not
be blind to the increasing attachment of
John and Elinor, and her only thought
was how to prevent the possibility of
their union, by which the interest of the
former and her own importance would be
materially affected.
" She had obtained, by indirect means,
a knowledge of the contents of Sir Roger's
will; and the whole force of a mind which
possessed more of art than of power, and
260 MELMOTH :

of a temper which had more passion than

energy, was strained to realize the hopes
it suggested. Sir Roger's will was sin-
gular. Alienated as he was from his
daughter Sandal, and his younger son the
father of Elinor, by the connexions they
had adopted, it seemed to be the strongest
object of his wishes to unite their descend-
ants, and invest the wealth and rank of
the house of Mortimer in the last of its re-
presentatives. He had therefore bequeath-
ed his immense estates to his grand-daugh-
ter Margaret, in the event of her marrying
her kinsman John Sandal;-in the case of
his marrying Elinor, he was entitled to no
more than her fortune of £.5000 ;-and
the bequest of the greater part of the pro-
perty to a distant relative who bore the
name of Mortimer, was to be the conse-
quence of the non-intermarriage of San-
dal with either of his cousins.
" Mrs Ann Mortimer, anticipating the
effect that this opposition of interest to af-
fection might produce in the family, had
 A TALE . 261

kept the contents ofthe will a secret,-but

Mrs Sandal had discovered it by means of
the domestics at the Castle, and her mind
wrought intensely on the discovery. She
was a woman too long familiar with want
and privation to dread any evil but their
continuance, and too ambitious of the re-
membered distinctions of her early life,
not to risk any thing that might enable
her to recover them. She felt a personal
feminine jealousy of the high-minded Mrs
Ann, and the noble-hearted beautiful Mar-
garet, which was unappeasable; and she
hovered round the walls of the Castle like
a departed spirit groaning for its re-admis-
sion to the place from which it had been
driven, and feeling and giving no peace
till its restoration was accomplished.
" When with these feelings was united
the anxiety of maternal ambition for her
son, who might be raised to a noble inhe-
ritance, or sunk to comparative mediocri-
ty by his choice, the result may be easily
guessed; and the widow Sandal, once de-
262 MELMOTH :

termined on the end, felt little scruple a-

bout the means. Want and envy had
given her an unslakeable appetite for the
restored splendours of her former state ;
and false religion had taught her every
shade and penumbra of hypocrisy, every
meanness of artifice, every obliquity of in-
sinuation. In her varied life she had
known the good, and chosen the evil.
The widow Sandal was now determined
to interpose an insurmountable obstruc- *
* *
tion to their union .
* *
* * *

" Mrs Ann still flattered herself that

the secret of SirRoger's will was suppress-
ed. She saw the intense and disrupta-
ble feeling that seemed to mark John and
Elinor for each other; and, with a feeling
half-borrowed from magnanimity, half
from romance, (for Mrs Ann had been
fond of the high-toned romances of her
day), she looked forward to the felicity
of their union as being little disturbed by
the loss of land and lordship, of the im
 A TALE. 263

mense revenues, and the far-descended

titles of the Mortimer family.
" Highly as she prized these distinc-
tions, dear to every noble mind, she prized
still more highly the union of devoted
hearts and congenial spirits, who, tramp-
ling on the golden apples that were flung
in their path, pressed forward with unre-
mitting ardour for the prize of felicity.
" The wedding-day of John and Elinor
was fixed, the bridal clothes were made,-
the noble and numerous friends summon-
ed, the Castle hall decorated, the bells of
the parish church ringing out a loud and
merry peal, and the blue-coated serving
men adorned with favours, and employed
in garnishing the wassail bowl, which was
doomed by many a thristy eye to be often
drained and often replenished. Mrs Ann
herself took with her own hands, from an
ample chest of ebony, a robe ofvelvet and
satin, which she had worn at the court of
James the First, on the marriage of the
princess Elizabeth with the prince palatine,
264 MELMOTH :

ofwhom the former, to borrow the lan-

guage of a contemporary writer, had
" brided and bridled it so well, and indeed
became herself so handsomely," that Mrs
Ann, as she arrayed herself, thought she
saw the splendid vision of the royal bridal
float before her faded eyes in dim but gor-
geous pageantry once more. The heiress,
too, attired herself splendidly, but it was
observed, that her beautiful cheek was
paler than even that of the bride, and the
smile which held a fixed unjoyous station
on her features all that morning, seemed
more like the effort of resolution than the
expression of felicity. The widow Sandal
had betrayed considerable agitation, and
quitted the Castle at an early hour. The
bridegroom had not yet appeared, and the
company, after having in vain for some
time awaited his arrival, set out for the
church, where they supposed he was im-
patiently expecting them.
" The cavalcade was magnificent and
numerous-thedignity and consequence of
 TALE . 265

the Mortimer family had assembled all

who had aspired to the distinction of their
acquaintance, and such was then the feu-
dal grandeur attendant on the nuptials of
a high-descended family, that relatives,
however remote in blood or in local dis-
tance, collected for sixty miles in every
direction around the Castle, and presented
a " host of friends, gorgeously arrayed and
attended on that eventful morning."
"Most of the company, even including
the females, were mounted on horseback,
and this, by apparently increasing thenum-
ber of the procession, added to its tumultu-
ous magnificence. There were some cum-
brous vehicles, misnomed carriages, of a
fashion indescribably inconvenient, but
gorgeously gilded and painted, and the
Cupids on the pannels had been re-touch-
ed for the occasion. The bride was lifted
on her palfrey by two peers,-Margaret
rode beside her gallantly attended, and
Mrs Ann, who once more saw nobles con-
tending for her withered hand, and adjust-
VOL . IV. M
266 MELMOTH :

ing her silken rein, felt the long-faded glo-

ries of her family revive, and led the van
of the pompous procession with as much
dignity of demeanour, and as much glow
of faded beauty, once eminent and resist-
less, as if she still followed the gorgeous
nuptial progress of the princess palatine.
They arrived at the church, the bride,
the relatives, the splendid company, the
minister-all but the bridegroom, were
there. There was a long painful silence.
Several gentlemen of the bridal party rode
rapidly out in every direction in which it
was thought probable to meet him,-the
clergyman stood at the altar, till, weary of
standing, he retired. The crowd from the
neighbouring villages, combined with the
numerous attendants, filled the church-
yard. Their acclamations were incessant,
-the heat and distraction became intoler-
able, and Elinor begged for a few moments
to be allowed to retire to the vestry.
" There was a casement window which
opened on the road, and Mrs Ann sup-
 A TALE. 267

ported the bride as she tottered towards

it, attempting to loose her wimple, and
veil of costly lace. As Elinor approached
the casement, the thundering hoofs of a
horse at full speed shook the road. Elinor
looked up mechanically,-the rider was
John Sandal, he cast a look of horror at
the pale bride, and plunging his desperate *
spurs deeper, disappeared in a moment.
* *

" A year after this event, two figures were

seen to walk, or rather wander, almost
every evening, in the neighbourhood of a
small hamlet in a remote part of York-
shire. The vicinage was picturesque and
attractive, but these figures seemed to
move amid the scenery like beings, who,
if they still retained eyes for nature, had
lost all heart for it. That wan and atte-
nuated form, so young, yet so withered,
whose dark eyes emit a fearful light amid
features chill and white as those of a statue,
and the young graces of whose form seem
to have been nipt like those of a lily that
268 MELMOTH :

bloomed too soon in spring, and was de-

stroyed by the frost of the treacherous sea-
son, whose whispers had first invited it to
bud, that is Elinor Mortimer, and that
figure that walks beside her, so stiff and
rectangular, that it seems as its motion
was regulated by mechanism, whose sharp
eyes are directed so straight forward, that
they see neither tree on the right hand, or
glade on the left, or heaven above, or earth
beneath, or any thing but a dim vision of
mystic theology for ever before them,
which is aptly reflected in their cold con-
templative light, that is the Puritan maid-
en sister of her mother, with whom Elinor
had fixed her residence. Her dress is ar-
ranged with as much precision as if a ma-
thematician had calculated the angles of
every fold, every pin's point knows its
place, and does its duty-the plaits of her
round-eared cap do not permit one hair to
appear on her narrow forehead, and her large
hood, adjusted after the fashion in which it
was worn by the godly sisters, who rode out
 3

A TALE . 269

tomeet Prynne on his return from the pil-

lory, lends a deeper shade to her rigid fea-
tures, a wretched-looking lacquey is carry-
ing a huge clasped bible after her, in the
mode in which she remembered to have
seen Lady Lambert and Lady Des-
borough march to prayer, attended by their
pages, while she proudly followed in their
train, distinguished as the sister of that
godly man and powerful preacher of the
word, Sandal. From the day of her dis-
appointed nuptials, Elinor, with that in-
sulted feeling of maiden pride, which not
even the anguish of her broken heart could
suppress, had felt an unappeaseable anxiety
to quit the scene of her disgrace and her
misfortune. It was vainly opposed by her
aunt and Margaret, who, horror-struck at
the event of those disastrous nuptials, and
wholly unconscious of the cause, had im-
plored her, with all the energy of affection,
to fix her residence at the Castle, within
whosewalls theypledged themselves hewho
had abandoned her should never be permit-
270 MELMOTH :

ted to place his foot. Elinor answered the

impassioned importunities, only by eager
and clinging pressures of her cold hands,
and by tears which trembled on her eye-
lids, without the power to fall.-" Nay, stay
with us," said the kind and noble-hearted
Margaret, " you shall not leave us !" And
she pressed the hands of her kinswoman,
withthatcordial touch that gives a welcome
as much to the heart as to the home of
the inviter.-" Dearest cousin," said Eli-
nor, answering, for the first time, this affec-
tionate appeal with a faint and ghastly
smile-" I have so many enemies within
these walls, that I can no longer encounter
them with safety to my life."-" Ene-
mies !" repeated Margaret.-" Yes, dearest
cousin-there is not a spot where he trod-
not a prospect on which he has gazed-
not an echo which has repeated the sound
of his voice, that does not send daggers
through my heart, which those who wish
me to live would not willingly see infixed
any longer." To the emphatic agony with
 TALE. 271

which these words were uttered, Margaret

had nothing to reply but with tears ; and
Elinor set out on her journey to the rela-
tive of her mother, a rigid Puritan, who
resided in Yorkshire.
"As the carriage was ordered for her
departure, Mrs Ann, supported by her
female attendants, stood on the draw-
bridge to take leave of her niece, with so-
lemn and affectionate courtesy. Margaret
wept bitterly, and aloud, as she stood at a
casement, and waved her hand to Elinor.
Her aunt never shed a tear, till out of the
presence of the domestics,--but when all
was over,--" she entered into her chamber,
and wept there."
" When her carriage had driven some
miles from the Castle, a servant on a fleet
horse followed it at full speed with Eli-
nor's lute, which had been forgotten,-it
was offered to her, and after viewing it for
some moments with a look in which me-
mory struggled with grief, she ordered its
strings to be broken on the spot, and pro-
ceeded on her journey.odrom
272 MELMOTH :

" The retreat to which Elinor had retired,

did not afford her the tranquillity she ex-
pected. Thus, change ofplace always de-
ceives us with the tantalizing hope of re-
lief, as we toss on the feverish bed of life.
" She went in a faint expectation of the
revival of her religious feelings-she went
to wed, amid the solitude and desert
where she had first known him, the im-
mortal bridegroom, who would never de-
sert her as the mortal one had done,-but
she did not find him there-the voice of
God was no longer heard in the garden-
either her religious sensibility had abated,
or those from whom she first received the
impression, had no longer power to renew
it, or perhaps the heart which has ex-
hausted itself on a mortal object, does not
find its powers soon recruited to meet the
image of celestial beneficence, and ex-
change at once the visible for the invisible,
-the felt and present, for the future and
the unknown.
" Elinor returned to the residence of
her mother's family in the hope of renew-
 A TALE. 273

ing former images, but she found only

the words that had conveyed those ideas,
and she looked around in vain for the im-
pressions they had once suggested. When
we thus come to feel that all has been il-
lusion, even on the most solemn subjects,
-that the future world seems to be desert-
ing us along with the present, and that
our own hearts, with all their treachery,
have done us no more wrong than the
false impressions which we have received
from our religious instructors, we are like
the deity in the painting of the great Ita-
lian artist, extending one hand to the sun,
and the other to the moon, but touching
neither. Elinor had imagined or hoped,
that the language of her aunt would have
revived her habitual associations-she was
disappointed. It is true no pains were
spared-when Elinor wished to read, she
was furnished amply with the Westminster
Confession, or Prynne's Histriomastrix ; or
if she wished for lighter pages, for the
Belles Lettres of Puritanism, there were
м2
274 MELMOTH :

John Bunyan's Holy War, or the life of

Mr Badman. If she closed the book in
despair at the insensibility of her untouch-
ed heart, she was invited to a godly con-
ference, where the non-comformist minis-
ters, who had been, in the language of
the day, extinguished under the Bartholo-
mew bushel *, met to give the precious
word in season to the scattered fold of the
Lord. Elinor knelt and wept too at these
meetings ; but, while her form was prostrat-
ed before the Deity, her tears fell for one
whom she dared not name. When, in in-
controulable agony, she sought, like Jo-
seph, where she might weep unobserved
and unrestrained, and rushed into the nar-
row garden that skirted the cottage ofher
aunt, and wept there, she was followed by
the quiet, sedate figure, moving at the
rate of an inch in a minute, who offered
her for her consolation, the newly publish-

* Anachronism-n'importe.
 A TALEM 275

ed and difficultly obtained work of Mar-

shall on Sanctification.
" Elinor, accustomed too much to that
fatal excitement of the heart, which ren-
ders all other excitement as faint and fee-
ble as the air of heaven to one who has
been inhaling the potent inebriation of the
strongest perfumes, wondered how this
being, so abstracted, cold, and unearthly,
could tolerate her motionless existence.
She rose at a fixed hour,-at a fixed hour
she prayed, at a fixed hour received the
godly friends who visited her, and whose
existence was as monotonous and apathetic
as her own, at a fixed hour she dined,-
and at a fixed hour she prayed again, and
then retired, yet she prayed withoutunc-
tion, andfedwithout appetite, and retired to
rest without the least inclination to sleep.
Her life was mere mechanism, but the
machine was so well wound up, that it ap-
peared to have some quiet consciousness
and sullen satisfaction in its movements.
" Elinor struggled in vain for the re-
276 MELMOTH :

newal of this life of cold mediocrity, she

thirsted for it as one who, in the deserts of
Afric, expiring for want of water, would
wish for the moment to be an inmate of
Lapland, to drink of their eternal snows,
-yet at that moment wonders how its
inhabitants can live among SNOW. She
saw a being far inferior to herself in men-
tal power, offeelings that hardly deserved
the name-tranquil, and wondered that
she herself was wretched.-Alas ! she
did not know, that the heartless and un-
imaginative are those alone who entitle
themselves to the comforts of life, and
who can alone enjoy them. A cold and
sluggish mediocrity in their occupations
or their amusements, is all they require-
pleasure has with them no meaning but
the exemption from actual suffering, nor
do they annex any idea to pain but the
immediate infliction of corporeal suffering,
or of external calamity-the source of
pain or pleasure is never found in their
hearts-while those who have profound
 ΑΤΑΙ.Ε. 277

feelings scarce ever look elsewhere for

either. So much the worse for them, the
being reduced to providing for the neces-
sities of human life, and being satisfied
when that provision is made, is perhaps
the best condition of human life-beyond
that, all is the dream of insanity, or the
agony of disappointment. Far better the
dull and dusky winter's day, whose gloom,
if it never abates, never increases, (and
to which we lift up an eye of listlessness,
in which there is no apprehension of fu-
ture and added terrors),-to the glorious
fierceness of the summer's day, whose sun
sets amid purple and gold,-while, panting
under its parting beams, we see the clouds
collecting in the darkening East, and view
the armies of heaven on their march,
whose thunders are to break our rest, and
whose lightnings may crumble us to ashes.
* * *

" Elinor strove hard with her fate, the

strength of her intellect had been much
developed since her residence at Mortimer
278 MELMOTH :

Castle, and there also the energies of her

heart had been developed fatally. How
dreadful is the conflict of superior intellect
and a burning heart, with the perfect me-
diocrity of the characters and circumstan- 1

ces theyare generally doomed to live with !

The battering-rams playagainst wool-bags,
-the lightnings glance on ice, hiss, and
are extinguished. The greater strength we
exhibit, we feel we are more and more
paralyzed by the weakness of our enemies,
-our very energy becomes our bitterest
enemy, as it fights in vain against the im-
pregnable fortress of total vacuity! It is
in vain we assail a foe who neither
knows our language or uses our weapons.
Elinor gave it up,-yet still she struggled
with her own feelings ; and perhaps the
conflict which she now undertook was the
hardest of all. She had received her frst
religious impressions under the roof of her
Puritanic aunt, and, true or false, they had
been so vivid, that she was anxious to re-
vive them. When the heart is robbed of
 A TALE. 279

its first-born, there is nothing it will not

try to adopt. Elinor remembered a very
affecting scene that had occurred in her
childhood, beneath the roof where she now
resided.
" An old non-conformist minister, a very
Saint John for sanctity of life, and simpli-
city of manners, had been seized by a
magistrate while giving the word of con-
solation to a few of his flock who had met
at the cottage of her aunt.
" The old man had supplicated for a
moment's delay on the part of the civil
power, and its officers, by an unusual effort
of toleration or of humanity, complied.
Turning to his congregation, who, amid
the tumult of the arrest, had never risen
from their knees, and only changed the
voice of supplication from praying with
their pastor, to praying for him, he
quoted to them that beautiful passage from
the prophet Malachi, which appears to
give such delightful encouragement to the
spiritual intercourse of Christians, " Then
280 MELMOTH :

they that feared the Lord, spoke often to

one another, and the Lord heard it," &c.
As he spoke, the old man was dragged
away by some rougher hands, and died
soon after in confinement.
" On the young imagination of Elinor,
this scene was indelibly written. Amid
the magnificence of Mortimer Castle, it
had never been effaced or obscured, and
now she tried to make herself in love with
the sounds and the scene that had so deep-
ly touched her infant heart.
" Resolute in her purposes, she spared
no pains to excite this reminiscence of re-
ligion, it was her last resource. Like the
wife of Phineas, she struggled to bear an
heir of the soul, even while she named
him Ichabod, and felt the glory was de-
parted. She went to the narrow apart-
ment, she seated herself in the very chair
that venerable man occupied when he was
torn from it, and his departure appeared
to her like that of an ascending prophet.
She would then have caught the folds of
 A TALE . 281

his mantle, and mounted with him, even

though his flight had led to prison and to
death. She tried, by repeating his last
words, to produce the same effect they had
once had on her heart, and wept in inde-
scribable agony at feeling those words had
no meaning now for her. When life and
passion have thus rejected us, the backward
steps we are compelled to tread towards
the path we have wandered from, are ten
thousand times more torturing and arduous
than those we have exhausted in their
pursuit. Hope then supported our hands
every step we took. Remorse and disap-
pointment scourge us back, and every step
is tinged with tears or with blood ; and
well it is for the pilgrim if that blood is
drained from his heart, for then-his pil-*

grimage will be sooner terminated.

* * * *

" At times Elinor, who had forgotten

neither the language or habits of her for-
mer existence, would speak in a manner
that gave her Puritanic relative hopes that,
282 MELMOTH :

according to the language of the times,

" the root of the matter was in her, " and
when the old. lady, in confidence ofher re-
turning orthodoxy, discussed long and
learnedly on the election and perseverance
of the saints, the listener would startle
her by a burst of feeling, that seemed to
her aunt more like the ravings of a de-
moniac, than the language of a human
being, especially one who had from her
youth known the Scriptures. She would
say, " Dearest aunt, I am not insensible of
what you say ; from a child, (thanks to
your care), I have known the holy scrip-
tures. I have felt the power of religion.
At a latter period I have experienced all
the enjoyments of an intellectual exis-
tence. Surrounded by splendour, I have
conversed with enlarged minds, I have
seen all that life can shew me, I have
lived with the mean and the rich, the
spiritual in their poverty, and the world-
ly-minded in their grandeur,-I have deep-
ly drank of the cup which both modes of
 A TALE . 283

existence held to my lip, and at this

moment I swear to you,-one moment of
heart, one dream such as once I dream-
ed, (and thought I should never awake
from), is worth all the existence that the
earthly-minded lavish on this world, and
those who mystify expend on the next !"-
" Unfortunate wretch! and undone for ever-
lasting!" cried the terrified Calvinist, lifting
up her hands.-" Cease, cease," said Elinor
with that dignity which grief alone can
give,-" If I have indeed devoted to an
earthly love that which is due to God
alone, is not my punishment certain in a
future state ? Has it not already commen-
ced here ? May not then all reproaches be
spared when we are suffering more than
human enmity can wish us, when our
very existence is a bitterer reproach to us
than malignity can utter ?"-As she spoke,
she added, wiping a cold tear from her
wasted cheek, " My stroke isheavier than
my groaning!"
" At other times she appeared to listen
284 MELMOTH :

to the language of the Puritan preachers

(for all were preachers who frequented the
house) with some appearance of attention,
and then, rushing from them without any
conviction but that of despair, exclaimed
in her haste, " All men are liars !" Thus
it fares with those who wish to make an
instant transition from one world to an-
other, it is impossible,-the cold wave in-
terposes for ever interposes, between the
wilderness and the land of promise-and
we may as soon expect to tread the
threshold which parts life and death with-
out pain, as to cross the interval which
separates two modes ofexistence so distinct
as those of passion and religion, without
struggles of the soul inexpressible-with-
out groanings which cannot be uttered.
" To these struggles there was soon to
be an addition. Letters at this period cir-
culated very slowly, and were written only
on important occasions. Within a very
short period, Elinor received two letters by
express from Mortimer Castle, written by
 A TALE. 285

her cousin Margaret. The first announced

the arrival of John Sandal at the Castle,
-the second, the death of Mrs Ann, the
postscriptums of both contained certain
mysterious hints relative to the interrup-
tion of the marriage,-intimations that the
cause was known only to the writer, to
Sandal and to his mother, and entreaties
that Elinor would return to the Castle,
and partake of the sisterly love with which
Margaret and John Sandal would be glad
to receive her. The letters dropt from her
hand as she received them, of John San-
dal she had never ceased to think, but she
had never ceased to wish not to think,-and
his name even now gave her a pang which
she could neither utter or suppress, and
which burst forth in an involuntary shriek,
that seemed like the last string that breaks
in the exquisite and too-highly strung in-
strument of the human heart.
" Over the account of Mrs Ann's death,
she lingered with that fearful feeling that
ayoung adventurer experiences, who sees
286 MELMOTH :

a noble vessel set out before him on a

voyage ofdiscovery, and wishes, while lin-
gering in harbour himself, that he was
already at the shore where it has arrived,
and tasted of its repose, and participated
in its treasures .
" Mrs Ann's death had not been un-
worthy of that life of magnanimity and
high heroic feeling which had marked
every hour of her mortal existence-she
had espoused the cause of the rejected Eli-
nor, and sworn in the chapel of Mortimer .
Castle, while Margaret knelt beside, never
to admit within its walls the deserter of
his betrothed bride.
On adim autumnal evening, when Mrs
Ann, with fading sight but undiminished
feeling, was poring over some of Lady
Russel's letters in manuscript, and, to re-
lieve her eyes, sometimes glanced on
the manuscript of Nelson's Fasts and Fes-
tivals of the Church of England, it was
announced to her that a Cavalier (the ser-
vants well knew the charm of that name
to the ear of the ancient loyalist) had
 A TALE. 287

B
crossed the draw-bridge, entered the hall,
-
and was advancing to the apartment where
she sat. " Let him be admitted," was her
answer, and rising from her chair, which
was so lofty and so spacious, that as she
lifted herself from it to greet the stranger
with a courtly reception, her form appear-
ed like a spectre rising from an ancient
monument, she stood facing the entrance
-at that entrance appeared John Sandal.
She bent forwards for a moment, but her
eyes, bright and piercing, still recognized
him in a moment.
" Back !-back !"-exclaimed the stately
ancestress, waving him off with her wither-
ed hand " Back!-profane not this floor
with another step !"-" Hear me, madam,
for one moment-suffer me to address you,
even on my knees-I pay the homage to
your rank and relationship-misunder-
stand it not as an acknowledgement of
guilt on my part!"
" Mrs Ann's features at this action
underwent a slight contraction-a short
 288 MELMOTH :

66
spasmodic affection. Rise, Sir-rise,"
she said-" and say what you have to say
--but utter it, Sir, at the door whose
threshold you are unworthy to tread."
" John Sandal rose from his knees, and
pointed instinctively as he rose to the
portrait of Sir Roger Mortimer, to whom
he bore a striking resemblance. Mrs Ann
acknowledged the appeal-she advanced a
few steps on the oaken floor-she stood
erect for a moment, and then, pointing
with a dignity of action which no pencil
could embody to the portrait, seemed to
consider her attitude as a valid and eloquent
answer-it said he to whose resemblance
you point, and claim protection from, never
like you dishonoured these walls by an act
of baseness of heartless treachery ! Be-
trayer !-look to his portrait ! Her expres-
sion had in it something of the sublime-
the next moment a strong spasm contract-
ed her features-she attempted to speak,
but her lips no longer obeyed her-she
seemed to speak, but was not heard even
 A TALE. 289

by herself. She stood for a moment before

John Sandal in that rigid immoveable at-
titude that says, " Advance not another
step at your peril-insult not the portraits
of your ancestors-insult not their living
representative, by another step of intru-
sion!" As she spoke thus, (for her atti-
tude spoke), a stronger spasm contracted
her features. She attempted to move-
the same rigid constriction extended to
her limbs ; and, waving her prohibitory
arm still, as if in defiance at once of the
approach of death and of her rejected *

kinsman, she dropt at his feet.

* *
* *

" She did not long survive the inter-

view, nor did she ever recover the use of
speech. Her powerful intellect was, how-
ever, unimpaired; and to the last she ex-
pressed herself most intelligibly by action,
as determined not to hear a word explana.
tory of Sandal's conduct. This explanation
was therefore made to Margaret, who,
though much shocked and agitated at the
VOL . IV. N
290 MELMOTH :

first disclosure, seemed afterwards perfect-

* *
ly reconciled to it.
* *

" Shortly after the receipt of these let-

ters, Elinor took a sudden, but perhaps
not singular resolution,-she determined to
set out immediately for Mortimer Castle.
It was not her weariness of the withering
life, the αβιωτος βιος she lived at her Purita-
nic aunt's-it was not the wish to enjoy
again the stately and splendid ceremonial
of Mortimer Castle, contrasted with the
frugal fare and monastic rigour of the cot-
tage in Yorkshire-it was not even the
wish for that change of place that always
flatters us with change of circumstance, as
ifwe did not carry our own hearts with us
wherever we go, and might not therefore
be sure that an innate and eroding ulcer
must be our companion from the Pole to
the Equator-it was not this, but a whis-
per half unheard, yet believed, (just in
proportion. as it was inaudible and incre-
dible), that murmured from the bottom of
her credulous heart, ' Go-and perhaps'
 A TALE. 291

" Elinor set out on her journey, and

after having performed it with fewer diffi-
culties than can be imagined, considering
the state of the roads, and the modes of
travelling in the year 1667 or thereabouts,
she arrived in the vicinity of Mortimer
Castle. It was a scene of reminiscence to
her, her heart throbbed audibly as the
carriage stopped at a Gothic gate, through
which there was a walk between two rows
of lofty elms. She alighted, and to the
request of the servant who followed her,
that he might be permitted to shew her
the way through a path entangled by
the intersecting roots of the trees, and
dim with twilight, she answered only
by her tears. She waved him off, and
advanced on foot and alone. She re-
membered, from the bottom of her soul,
how she had once wandered amid that
very grove with John Sandal how his
smile had shed a richer light on the
landscape, than even the purple smile of
the dying day-light. She thought of that
292 MELMOTH :

smile, and lingered to catch it amid the

rich and burning hues flung by the fading
light on the many-tinted boles of the an-
cient trees . The trees were there-and
the light was there but his smile, that
once eclipsed the sun-light, was there no
longer!
" She advanced alone-the lofty avenue
of trees still retained its magnificent depth
of shade, and gorgeous colouring of trunk
and leaf. She sought among them for
that which she had once felt and God
and nature alone are conscious of the ago-
ny with which we demand from them the
object which we are conscious was once
consecrated to our hearts, and which we
now require of both in vain ! God with-
holds, and Nature denies them !
" As Elinor with trembling steps ad-
vanced towards the Castle, she saw the
funeral scutcheon which Mrs Margaret, in
honour of her grand-aunt, had caused to
be affixed over the principal tower since
her decease, with the same heraldric deco-
 A TALE . 293

rum as if the last male of the Mortimer

family were extinct. Elinor looked up,
and many thoughts rushed on her heart.-
" There is one departed," she thought,
" whose mind was always fixed on glorious
thoughts-the most exalted actions of hu-
manity, or the sublime associations of eter-
nity! Her noble heart had room but for
two illustrious guests-the love of God,
and the love of her country. They tarried
with her to the last, for they found the
abode worthy of them; and when they
parted, the inmate found the mansion
untenantable any longer-the soul fled
with its glorious visitors to heaven ! My
treacherous heart welcomed another in-
mate, and how has he repaid its hospita-
lity ?-By leaving the mansion in ruins !"
As she spoke thus, she approached the en-
trance of the Castle.
" In the spacious hall she was receiv-
ed by Margaret Mortimer with the em-
brace of rooted affection, and by John
Sandal, who advanced after the first en-
294 MELMOTH :

thusiasm of meeting was over, with that

calm and brother-like good-will, from
which there was nothing to be hoped.
There was the same heavenly smile, the
same clasp of the hand, the same tender
and almost feminine expression of anxiety
for her safety-even Margaret herself,
who must have felt, and who did feel
the perils of the long journey, did not
enter into them with that circumstan-
tiality, or appear to sympathize with them
so vividly, or, when the tale of toil and
travel was told, appear to urge the neces-
sity of speedy retirement, with such soli-
citude as did John Sandal. Elinor, faint
and gasping, grasped the hands of both,
and by an involuntary motion locked both
together. The widow Sandal was present
-she shewed much agitation at the ap-
pearance of Elinor; but when she saw this
extraordinary and spontaneous movement,
it was observed she smiled.
" Soon after, Elinor retired to the a-
partment she had formerly occupied. By
 TALE. 295

the affectionate and delicate prevoyance of

Margaret, the furniture had all been chang-
ed-there was nothing to remind her of
former days, except her heart. She sat for
some time reflecting on her reception, and
hope died within her heart as she thought
of it. The strongest expression of aver-
sion or disdain would not have been so
withering.
" It is certain that the fiercest passions
may be exchanged for their widest ex-
tremes in a time incredibly short, and by
means the most incalculable. Within the
narrow circle of a day, enemies may em-
brace, and lovers may hate,-but, in the
course of centuries, pure complacency and
cordial good-will never can be exalted
into passion. The wretched Elinor felt
this, and feeling it, knew that all was
lost.
" She had now, for many days, to un-
dergo the torture of complacent and fra-
ternal affection from the man she loved,-
and perhaps a keener torture was never
 296 MELMOTH :

endured. To feel hands that we long to

press to our burning hearts, touch ours
with cool and pulseless tranquillity-to
see eyes in whose light we live, throw on
us a cold but smiling beam, that gives
light, but not fertility, to the parched and
thirsting soil of the heart-to hear the or-
dinary language of affectionate civility ad-
dressed to us in tones of the most delicious
suavity-to seek in these expressions an
ulterior meaning, and to find it not
This this is an agony which only those
who have felt can conceive !
" Elinor, with an effort that cost her
heart many a pang, mingled in the habits
of the house, which had been greatly
changed since the death of Mrs Ann. The
numerous suitors of the wealthy and no-
ble heiress, now crowded to the Castle ;
and, according to the custom of the times,
they were sumptuously entertained, and
invited to prolong their stay by numerous
banquets.
" On these occasions, John Sandal was
 A TALE. 297

the first to pay distinguished attention to

Elinor. They danced together; and though
her Puritanic education had taught her an
abhorrence of those " devil's measures," as
her family was accustomed to term them,
she tried to adapt herself to the gay steps
of the Canaries *, and the stately move-
ments of the Measures-(for the newer
dances had not, even in report, reached
Mortimer Castle)-and her slender and
graceful form needed no other inspiration
than the support of John Sandal's arms,
(who was himself an exquisite dancer), to
assume all the graces of that delightful
exercise. Even the practised courtiers

* In Cowley's " Cutter of Coleman Street," Mrs

Tabitha, a rigid Puritan, tells her husband she had
danced the Canaries in her youth. And in Rush-
worth's Collections, if I remember right, Prynne
vindicates himself from the charge of a general de-
nunciation against dancing, and even speaks of the
" Measures," a stately, solemn dance, with some ap-
probation.
N2
298 MELMOTH :

applauded her. But, when it was over,

Elinor felt, that had John Sandal been
dancing with a being the most indifferent
to him on earth, his manner would have
been exactly the same. No one could
point with more smiling grace to her
slight deviations from the figure, no one
could attend her to her seat with more
tender and anxious politeness, and wave
the vast fan of those days over her with
more graceful and assiduous courtesy.
But Elinor felt that these attentions, how-
ever flattering, were offered not by a
* * * *
lover.
*
* * * *

" Sandal was absent on a visit to some

neighbouring nobleman, and Margaret and
Elinor were one evening completely alone.
Each seemed equally anxious for an ex-
planation, which neither appeared willing
to begin. Elinor had lingered till twi-
light at the casement, from which she
had seen him ride, and lingered still
when to see him was no longer possible.
 A TALE. 299

Her sight was strained to catch a glimpse

of him through the gathering clouds, as
her imagination still toiled to catch a
gleam of that light of the heart, which
now struggled dimly amid clouds of
gloomy and unpierceable mystery. "Eli-
nor," said Margaret emphatically, " look
for him no longer, he never can be
yours!"
" The sudden address, and the impe-
rative tone of conviction, had upon Eli-
nor the effect of being addressed by a
supernatural monitor. She was unable
even to ask how the terrible intelligence
that burst on her so decisively, was ob-
tained.
" There is a state of mind in which we
listen thus to a human voice as if it were
an oracle, and instead of asking an ex-
planation of the destiny it announces, we
wait submissively for what yet remains to
be told. In this mood, Elinor slowly ad-
vanced from the casement, and asked in a
voice of fearful calmness, " Has he ex
300 MELMOTH :

plained himself perfectly to you ?"-" Per-

fectly."-" And there is nothing to ex-
pect ?"-" Nothing."-" And you have
heard this from himself-his very self?"
-" I have ; and, dear Elinor, let us never
again speak on the subject."-" Never!"
answered Elinor,-" Never ! "
" The veracity and dignity of Marga-
ret's character, were inviolable securities
for the truth of what she uttered ; and
perhaps that was the very reason why Eli-
nor tried to shrink most from the convic-
tion. In a morbid state of heart, we can-
not bear truth-the falsehood that intoxi-
cates us for a moment, is worth more than
the truth that would disenchant us for life.
-I hate him because he tells me the truth,
is the language natural to the human
mind, from the slave of power to the slave
*
* *
of passion.b *
*

" Other symptoms that could not escape

the notice of the most shallow, struck her
every hour. That devotion of the eye and
 A TALE. 301

heart, of the language and the look,

that cannot be mistaken, were all ob-
viously directed to Margaret. Still Elinor
lingered in the Castle, and said to herself,
while every day she saw and felt what was
passing, " Perhaps." That is the last word
*
that quits the lips of those who love.
* *

" She saw with all her eyes,-she felt to

the bottom of her soul,-the obviously in-
creasing attachment of John Sandal and
Margaret ; yet still she dreamed of in-
terposing obstacles, of an explanation.
When passion is deprived of its proper
aliment, there is no telling the food on
which it will prey,-the impossibilities to
which, like a famished garrison, it will
look for its wretched sustenance.
" Elinor had ceased to demand the heart
of the being she was devoted to. She now
lived on his looks. She said to herself,
Let him smile, though not on me, and I
am happy still-wherever the sun-light
falls, the earth must be blessed. Then she
302 MELMOTH :

sunk to lower claims. She said, Let me

but be in his presence, and that is enough
-let his smiles and his soul be devoted to
another, one wandering raymay reach me,
and that will be enough !
" Love is a very noble and exalting
sentiment in its first germ and principle.
We never loved without arraying the ob-
ject in all the glories of moral as well as
physical perfection, and deriving a kind of -
dignity to ourselves from our capacity of
admiring a creature so excellent and dig-
nified; but this lavish and magnificent
prodigality of the imagination often leaves
the heart a bankrupt. Love in its iron
age of disappointment, becomes very de-
graded-it submits to be satisfied with
merely exterior indulgences-a look, a
touch of the hand, though occurring by
accident-a kind word, though uttered al-
most unconsciously, suffices for its humble
existence. In its first state, it is like man
before the fall, inhaling the odours of pa-
radise, and enjoying the communion of
 A TALE. 303

the Deity; in the latter, it is like the same

being toiling amid the briar and the this-
tle, barely to maintain a squalid existence
without enjoyment, utility, or loveliness.
*
*
*
* *

" About this time, her Puritan aunt

made a strong effort to recover Elinor out of
the snare of the enemy. She wrote a long
letter (a great exertion for a woman far
advanced in years, and never in the habits
of epistolary composition) adjuring her
apostate niece to return to the guide of
her youth, and the covenant of her God,-
to take shelter in the everlasting arms
while they were still held out to her,-and
to flee to the city of refuge while its gates
were yet open to receive her. She urged
on her the truth, power, and blessedness of
the system of Calvin, which she termed
the gospel. She supported and defended
it with all the metaphysical skill, and all
the scriptural knowledge she possessed,-
and the latter was not scanty. And she
affectingly reminded her, that the hand
 304 MELMOTH :

that traced these lines, would be unable

ever to repeat the admonition, and would
probably be mouldering into dust while
she was employed in their perusal.
" Elinor wept while she read, but that
was all. She wept from physical emotion,
not from mental conviction ; nor is there
such an induration of heart caused by any
other power, as by that of the passion
which seems to soften it most. She an-
swered the letter, however, and the effort
scarce cost her less than it did her decre-
pid anddying relative. She acknowledged
her dereliction of all religious feeling, and
bewailed it the more, she added with
painful sincerity, because I feel my grief
is not sincere. " Oh, my God!" she con-
66
tinued, you who have clothed my heart
with such burning energies-you who
have given to it a power of loving so in-
tense, so devoted, so concentrated-you
have not given it in vain ;-no, in some
happier world, or perhaps even in this,
when this " tyranny is overpast," you will
 TALE. 305

fill my heart with an image worthier than

him whom I once believed your image on
earth. The stars, though their light ap-
pears so dim and distant to us, were not
lit by the Almighty hand in vain. Their
glorious light burns for remote and hap-
pier worlds ; and the beam of religion that
glows so feebly to eyes almost blind with
earthly tears, may be rekindled when a
broken heart has been my passport to a
*
place of rest.
*

" Do not think me, dear aunt, deserted

by all hope of religion, even though I have
lost the sense of it. Was it not said by
unerring lips to a sinner, that her trans-
gressions were forgiven because she loved
much ? And does not this capacity of
love prove that it will one day be more
worthily filled, and more happily employed.
*
* * * * *

" Miserable wretch that I am ! At this

moment, a voice from the bottom of my
heart asks me " Whom hast thou loved so
306 MELMOTH :

much ? Was it man or God, that thou

darest to compare thyself with her who
knelt and wept-not before a mortal idol,
but at the feet of an incarnate divinity ?"
*
*
* *
*

" It may yet befall, that the ark which

has floated through the waste of waters
may find its resting-place, and the trem-
bling inmate debark on the shores of an *
*

unknown but purer world."

*
*
* * *
 CHAPTER XXIX. Nord

There is an oak beside the froth-clad pool,

Where in old time, as I have often heard,
Awoman desperate, a wretch like me,
Ended her woes !-Her woes were not like mine !
*
* *

-Ronan will know;

When he beholds me floating on the stream,
His heart will tell him why Rivine died !
HOME'S FATAL DISCOVERY.

THE increasing decline ofElinor's health

was marked by all the family ; the very
servant who stood behind her chair looked
sadder every day-even Margaret began
to repent of the invitation she had given
her to the Castle.
308 MELMOTH :

" Elinor felt this, and would have spar-

ed her what pain she could; but it was
not possible for herself to be insensible of
the fast-fading remains of her withering
youth and blighted beauty. The place-
the place itself, was the principal cause of
that mortal disease that was consuming
her ; yet from that place she felt she had
less resolution to tear herself every day.
So she lived, like those sufferers in
eastern prisons, who are not allowed to
taste food unless mixed with poison, and
who must perish alike whether they eat or
forbear.
" Once, urged by intolerable pain of
heart, (tortured by living in the placid
light of John Sandal's sunny smile), she
confessed this to Margaret. She said,
" It is impossible for me to support this
existence--impossible ! To tread the floor
which those steps have trod-to listen
for their approach, and when they come,
feel they do not bear him we seek-to
see every object around me reflect his
 1

TALE. 309

image, but never-never to see the rea-

lity to see the door open which once
disclosed his figure, and when it opens,
not to see him, and when he does appear,
to see him not what he was-to feel
he is the same and not the same, the
same to the eye, but not to the heart-to
struggle thus between the dream of ima-
gination and the cruel awaking of reality
-Oh ! Margaret-that undeceptionplants
a dagger in the heart, whose point no
human hand can extract, and whose venom
no human hand can heal !" Margaret
wepttas
as Elinor spoke thus, and slowly,
very slowly, expressed her consent that
Elinor should quit the Castle, if it was
necessary for her peace.
" It was the very evening after this
conversation, that Elinor, whose habit
was to wander among the woods that
surrounded the Castle unattended, met
with John Sandal. It was a glorious
autumnal evening, just like that on which
they had first met,-the associations ofna-
310 MELMOTH :

ture were the same, those of the heart

alone had suffered change. There is that
light in an autumnal sky, that shade in
autumnal woods, that dim and hallow-
ed glory in the evening of the year,
which is indefinably combined with re-
collections. Sandal, as they met, had
spoken to her in the same voice of melody,
and with the same heart-thrilling tender-
ness of manner, that had never ceased to
visit her ear since their first meeting, like
music in dreams. She imagined there
was more than usual feeling in his man-
ner ; and the spot where they were, and
which memory made populous and elo-
quent with the imagery and speech of
other days, flattered this illusion. A
vague hope trembled at the bottom of
her heart, she thought of what she dared
not to utter, and yet dared to believe.
They walked on together,-together they
watched the last light on the purple hills,
the deep repose of the woods, whose sum-
mits were still like " feathers of gold,"-
 A TALE. 311

together they once more tasted the confi-

dence of nature, and, amid the most per-
fect silence, there was a mutual and unut-
terable eloquence in their hearts. The
thoughts of other days rushed on Elinor,
-she ventured to raise her eyes to that
countenance which she once more saw " as
it had been that of an angel." The glow
and the smile, that made it appear like a
reflexion of heaven, were there still,-but
that glow was borrowed from the bright
flush of the glorious west, and that smile
was for nature, not for her. She linger-
ed till she felt it fade with the fading
light, and a last conviction striking her
heart, she burst into an agony of tears.
To his words of affectionate surprise, and
gentle consolation, she answered only by
fixing her appealing eyes on him, and a-
gonizingly invoking his name. She had
trusted to nature, and to this scene of
their first meeting, to act as an interpreter
between them, and still even in despair
she trusted to it.
312 MELMOTH :

" Perhaps there is not a more agonizing

moment than that in which we feel the
aspect of nature give a perfect vitality to
the associations of our hearts, while they
lie buried in those in which we try in vain
to revive them.
" She was soon undeceived. With that
benignity which, while it speaks of conso-
lation, forbids hope-with that smile which
angels may be supposed to give on the
last conflict of a sufferer who is casting off
the garments of mortality in pain and hope
---with such an expression he whom she
loved regarded her. From another world
he might have cast such a glance on her,- *
and it sealed her doom in this for ever.
*
* * *

" As, unable to witness the agony of the

wound he had inflicted but could not heal,
he turned from her, the last light of day
faded from the hills-the sun of both
worlds set on her eye and soul-she sunk
on the earth, and notes of faint music that
seemed designed to echo the words-" No
 A TALE. 313

-no-no-never-never more !" trembled

in her ears. They were as simple and
monotonous as the words themselves, and
were played accidentally by a peasant boy
who was wandering in the woods. But
to the unfortunate, every thing seems pro-
phetic; and amid the shades of evening,
and accompanied by the sound of his de-
parting footsteps, the breaking heart of
Elinor accepted the augury of these me-
*
* *
lancholy notes *.

" A few days after this final meeting,

Elinor wrote to her aunt in York to an-

* As this whole scene is taken from fact, I sub-

jointhe notes whose modulation is so simple, and
whose effect was so profound.

VOL . IV .
314 MELMOTH :

nounce, that if she still lived, and was not

unwilling to admit her, she would reside
with her for life; and she could not help
intimating, that her life would probably
not outlast that of her hostess. She did
not tell what the widow Sandal had whis-
pered to her at her first arrival at the Cas-
tle, and what she now ventured to repeat
with a tone that struggled between the
imperative and the persuasive, the con-
ciliating and the intimidative. Elinor
yielded, and the indelicacy of this repre-
sentation, had only the effect to make her
shrink from its repetition.
" On her departure, Margaret wept,
and Sandal shewed as much tender offi-
ciousness about her journey, as if it were
to terminate in their renewed bridal. To
escape from this, Elinor hastened her pre-
parations for departure.
" When she arrived at a certain dis-
tance from the Castle, she dismissed the
family carriage, and said she would go on
foot with her female servant to the farm-
 A TALE . 315

house where horses were awaiting her.

She went there, but remained concealed,
for the report of the approaching bridal
*
resounded in her ears.
* * * * *

" The day arrived-Elinor rose very ear-

ly-the bells rung out a merry peal-(as she
had once heard them do on another occa-
sion)-the troops offriends arrived in great-
er numbers, and with equal gaiety as they
had once assembled to escort her-she saw
their equipages gleaming along-she heard
the joyous shouts of half the county-she
imagined to herself the timid smile of
Margaret, and the irradiated countenance
ofhim who had been her bridegroom.
66

Suddenly there was a pause. She felt

that the ceremony was going on--was
finished-that the irrevocable words were
spoken-the indissoluble tie was knit !
Again the shout and wild joyance burst
forth as the sumptuous cavalcade returned
to the Castle. The glare of the equipages,
-the splendid habits of the riders, the
316 MELMOTH :

cheerful groupe of shouting tenantry,-

* *
* *
she saw it all !
*
* * *
*

" When all was over, Elinor glanced

accidentally at her dress-it was white like
her bridal habit;-shuddering she exchang-
ed it for a mourning habit, and set out, as
she hoped, on her last journey.
 CHAPTER XXX .

Fuimus, non sumus.

WHEN Elinor arrived in Yorkshire,

she found her aunt was dead. Elinor
went to visit her-grave. It was, in com-
pliance with her last request, placed near
the window of the independent meeting-
house, and bore for inscription her favour-
ite text, " Those whom he foreknew, he
also predestinated," &c. &c. Elinor stood
by the grave some time, but could not
shed a tear. This contrast of a life so ri
318 MELMOTH :

gid, and a death so hopeful, this silence

of humanity, and eloquence of the grave,
-pierced through her heart, as it will
through every heart that has indulged in
the inebriation of human passion, and feels
that the draught has been drawn from
broken cisterns.
" Her aunt's death made Elinor's life,
if possible, more secluded, and her habits
more monotonous than they would other-
wise have been. She was very charitable
to the cottagers in herneighbourhood; but
except to visit their habitations, she never
* *
*
quitted her own.
* *
* * *

" Often she contemplated a small stream

that flowed at the end of her garden. As
she had lost all her sensibility of nature,
another motive was assigned for this mute
and dark contemplation ; and her ser-
vant, much attached to her, watched her
* *
* *
closely.
*
*

" She was roused from this fearful state

 A TALE . 319

of stupefaction and despair, which those

who have felt shudder at the attempt to
describe, by a letter from Margaret. She
had received several from her which lay
unanswered, (no unusual thing in those
days), but this she tore open, read with in-
terest inconceivable, and prepared instant-
ly to answer by action.
" Margaret's high spirits seemed to have
sunk in her hour of danger. She hinted
that that hour was rapidly approaching,
and that she earnestly implored the pre-
sence of her affectionate kinswoman to
soothe and sustain in the moment of her
approaching peril. She added, that the
manly and affectionate tenderness of John
Sandal at this period, had touched her
heart more deeply, ifpossible, than all the
former testimonies of his affection-but
that she could not bear his resignation of
all his usual habits of rural amusement, and
of the neighbouring society-that she in
vain had chided him from her couch, where
she lingered in pain and hope, and hoped
320 MELMOTH :

that Elinor's presence might induce him

to yield to her request, as he must feel, on
her arrival, the dearest companion of her
youth was present-and that, at such a
moment, a female companion was more
suitable than even the gentlest and most
*
*
affectionate of the other sex.
* * *
*

" Elinor set out directly. The purity

of her feelings had formed an impenetra-
ble barrier between her heart and its ob-
ject, and she apprehended no more dan-
ger from the presence of one who was
wedded, and wedded to her relative, than
from that of her own brother.
" She arrived at the Castle-Margaret's
hour of danger had begun-she had been
very ill during the preceding period. The
natural consequences of her situation had
been aggravated by a feeling of dignified
responsibility on the birth of an heir to
the house of Mortimer-and this feeling
had not contributed to render that situa-
tion more supportable.
 A TALE. 321

" Elinor bent over the bed of pain-

pressed her cold lips to the burning lips of
the sufferer-and prayed for her.
" The first medical assistance in the
country (then very rarely employed on
such occasions) had been obtained at a
vast expence. The widow Sandal, de-
clining all attendance on the sufferer,
paced through the adjacent apartments in
agony unutterable and unuttered.
" Two days and nights went on inhope
and terror-the bell-ringers sat up in every
church within ten miles round-the te-
nantry crowded round the Castle with ho-
nest heartfelt solicitude-the neighbour-
ing nobility sent their messages of inqui-
ry every hour. An accouchement in a
noble family was then an event of impor-
tance.
"The hour came-twins were born dead
-and the young mother was fated to fol-
low them within a few hours ! While life
yet remained, Margaret shewed the re-
mains of the lofty spirit of the Mortimers.
02
322 MELMOTH :

She sought with her cold hand that of her

wretched husband and of the weeping Eli-
nor. She joined them in an embrace
which one of them at least understood,
and prayed that their union might be
eternal. She then begged to see the bo-
dies of her infant sons-they were produ-
ced; and it was said that she uttered ex-
pressions, intimating that, had they not
been the heirs of the Mortimer family-
had not expectation been wound so high,
and supported by all the hopes that life
and youth could flatter her with,-she and
they might yet have existed.ni bus (2100
" As she spoke, her voice grew feebler,
and her eyes dim-their last light was
turned on him she loved; and when sight
was gone, she still felt his arms enfold her.
Thenext moment they enfolded-nothing !
" In the terrible spasms of masculine
agony-the more intensely felt as they
are more rarely indulged-the young wi-
dower dashed himself on the bed, which
shook with his convulsive grief; and Eli
 A TALE . 323

nor, losing all sense but that ofa calamity

so sudden and so terrible, echoed his deep
and suffocating sobs, as if she whom they
deplored had not been the only obstacle to
*
* *
herhappiness.T
* *

" Amid the voice of mourning that

rung through the Castle from vault to
tower in that day of trouble, none was
loud like that of the widow Sandal-her
wailings were shrieks, her grief was de-
spair. Rushing through the rooms like
one distracted, she tore her hair outby the
roots, and imprecated the most fearful cur-
ses on her head. At length she approach-
ed the apartment where the corse lay. The
servants, shocked at her distraction, would
have withheld her from entering it, but
could not. She burst into the room, cast
one wild look on its inmates the still
corse and the dumb mourners-and then,
flinging herself on her knees before her
son, confessed the secret of her guilt, and
developed to its foul base the foundation
324- MELMOTH :

of that pile of iniquity and sorrow which

had now reached its summit.akamai
" Her son listened to this horrible con-
fession with fixed eye and features unmov-
ed; and at its conclusion, when the wretch-
ed penitent implored the assistance of her
son to raise her from her knees, he repell-
ed her outstretched hands, and with a
weak wild laugh, sunk back on the bed.
He never could be removed from it till
the corse to which he clung was borne
away, and then the mourners hardly knew
which to deplore-her who was deprived
of the light of life, or him in whom the
light ofreason was extinguished for ever!
*
*
*

" The wretched, guilty mother, (but

for her fate no one can be solicitous), a
few months after, on her dying bed, de-
clared the secret of her crime to a minister
of an independent congregation, who was
induced, by the report of her despair, to
visit her. She confessed that, being insti-
gated by avarice, and still more by the de
 A TALE. 325

sire ofregaining her lost consequence in the

family, and knowing the wealth anddig-
nity her son would acquire, and in which
she must participate, by his marriage with
Margaret, she had, after using all the
means of persuasion and intreaty, been
driven, in despair at her disappointment,
to fabricate a tale as false as it was horri-
ble, which she related to her deluded son
on the evening before his intended nup-
tials with Elinor. She had assured him
he was not her son, but the offspring of
.the illicit commerce of her husband the
preacher with the Puritan mother of Eli-
nor, who had formerly been one of his
congregation, and whose well-known and
strongly-expressed admiration ofhispreach-
ing had been once supposed extended to
his person, had caused her much jealous
anxiety in the early years of their mar-
riage, and was now made the basis of this
horrible fiction. She added, that Marga-
ret's obvious attachment to her cousin had,
in some degree, palliated her guilt to her
326 MELMOTH :

self; but that, when she saw him quit her

house in despair on the morning of his in-
tended marriage, and rush he knew not
whither, she was half tempted to recall
him, and confess the truth. Her mind
again became hardened, and she reflected
that her secret was safe, as she had bound
him by an oath, from respect to his fa-
ther's memory, and compassion to the
guilty mother of Elinor, never to disclose
the truth to her daughter.
" The event had succeeded to her guil-
ty wishes. Sandal beheld Elinor with the
eyes of a brother, and the image of Mar-
garet easily found a place in his unoccu-
pied affections. But, as often befals to the
dealers in falsehood and obliquity, the ap-
parent accomplishment of her hopes prov-
ed her ruin. In the event of the marriage
of John and Margaret proving issueless,
the estates and title went to the distant
relative named in the will; and her son,
deprived of reason by the calamities in
which her arts had involved him, was by
 A TALE. 327

them also deprived of the wealth and rank

to which they were meant to raise him,
and reduced to the small pension obtained
byhis former services,-the poverty of the
King, then himself apensioner of Lewis
XIV., forbidding the possibility of added
remuneration. When the minister heard
to the last the terrible confession of the
dying penitent, in the awful language
ascribed to Bishop Burnet when consulted
by another criminal,-he bid her " almost
despair," and departed.
*
**

" Elinor has retired, with the helpless

object of her unfading love and unceasing
care, to her cottage in Yorkshire. There,
in the language of that divine and blind
oldman, the fame ofwhose poetry has not
yet reached this country, it is mined an

" Her delight to see him sitting in the house,"

and watch, like the father of the Jewish

champion, the growth of that " God-given
328 MELMOTH :

strength," that intellectual power, which,

unlike Samson's, will never return.
" After an interval of two years, during
which she had expended a large part of
the capital of her fortune in obtaining the
first medical advice for the patient, and
" suffered many things of many physi-
cians," she gave up all hope,-and, reflect-
ing that the interest of her fortune thus
diminished would be but sufficient to pro-
cure the comforts of life for herself and him
whom she has resolved never to forsake,
she sat down in patient misery with her
melancholy companion, and added one
more to the many proofs of woman's
heart, " unwearied in well-doing," with-
out the intoxication ofpassion, the excite-
ment of applause, or even the gratitude of
the unconscious object.
" Were this a life of calm privation,
and pulseless apathy, her efforts would
scarce have merit, and her sufferings hard-
ly demand compassion; but it is one of
pain incessant and immitigable. The first-
 A TALE . 329

born of her heart lies dead within it ; but

that heart is still alive with all its keenest
sensibilities, its most vivid hopes, and its
* *
most exquisite sense of grief.
* * *
*

" She sits beside him all day-she

watches that eye whose light was life, and
sees it fixed on her in glassy and unmean-
ing complacency -she dreams of that
smile which burst on her soul like the
morning sun over a landscape in spring,
and sees that smile of vacancy which tries
to convey satisfaction, but cannot give it
the language of expression. Averting
her head, she thinks of other days. A vi-
sion passes before her.-Lovely and glo-
rious things, the hues of whose colouring
are not of this world, and whose web is too
fine to be woven in the loom of life, rise to
her eye like the illusions of enchantment.
A strain of rich remembered music floats
in her hearing-she dreams of the hero,
the lover, the beloved, him in whom were
united all that could dazzle the eye, ine-
330 MELMOTH :

briate the imagination, and melt the heart.

She sees him as he first appeared to her,-
and the mirage of the desert present not a
vision more delicious and deceptive-she
bends to drink of that false fountain, and
the stream disappears-she starts from her
reverie, and hears the weak laugh of the
sufferer, as he moves a little water in a
shell, and imagines he sees the ocean in a
* * *
*
storm !
*
*
* * *

" She has one consolation. When a

short interval of recollection returns,
when his speech becomes articulate,-he
utters her name, not that of Margaret,
and a beam of early hope dances on her
heart as she hears it, but fades away as fast
as the rare and wandering ray of intellect
*
from the lost mind of the sufferer !
*
* * *
*

" Unceasingly attentive to his health

and his comforts, she walked out with
him every evening, but led him through
the most sequestered paths, to avoid those
 A TALE . 331

whose mockful persecution, or whose va-

cant pity, might be equally torturing to
her feelings, or harassing to her still gentle
and smiling companion.
" It was at this period," said the stran-
ger to Aliaga, " I first became acquainted
with I mean-at this time a stran-
ger, who had taken up his abode near the
hamlet where Elinor resided, was seen to
watch the two figures as they passed slow-
ly on their retired walk. Evening after
evening he watched them. He knew the
history of these two unhappy beings, and
prepared himself to take advantage of it.
It was impossible, considering their seclud-
ed mode of existence, to obtain an intro-
duction. He tried to recommend himself
by his occasional attentions to the invalid
---he sometimes picked up the flowers that
an unconscious hand flung into the stream,
and listened, with a gracious smile, to the
indistinct sounds in which the sufferer,
who still retained all the graciousness
332 MELMOTH :

of his perished mind, attempted to thank

him.
" Elinor felt grateful for these occasion-
al attentions ; but she was somewhat alarm-
ed at the assiduity with which the stran-
ger attended their melancholy walk every
evening, and, whether encouraged, ne-
glected, or even repelled, still found the
means of insinuating himself into compa-
nionship. Even the mournful dignity of
Elinor's demeanour, her deep dejection,
-her bows or brief replies, were una-
vailing against the gentle but indefatiga-
ble importunity of the intruder.
" By degrees he ventured to speak to
her of her misfortunes, and that topic is
a sure key to the confidence of the unhap-
py. Elinor began to listen to him ;-and,
though somewhat amazed at the know-
ledge he displayed of every circumstance
of her life, she could not but feel soothed
by the tone of sympathy in which he
spoke, and excited by the mysterious hints
of hope which he sometimes suffered to
 A TALE . 333

escape him as if involuntarily. It was ob-

served soon by the inmates of the hamlet,
whom idleness and the want of any object
of excitement had made curious, that Eli-
nor and the stranger were inseparable in
* *
their evening walks.
*
* * * *

☑ " It was about a fortnight after this ob-

servation was first made, that Elinor, un-
attended, drenched with rain, and her head
uncovered, loudly and eagerly demanded
admittance, at a late hour, at the house of
a neighbouring clergyman. She was ad-
mitted, and the surprise of her reverend
host at this visit, equally unseasonable and
unexpected, was exchanged for a deeper
feeling of wonder and terror as she related
the cause of it. He at first imagined
(knowing her unhappy situation) that the
constant presence of an insane person
might have a contagious effect on the in-
tellects of one so perseveringly exposed to
that presence.
" As Elinor, however, proceeded to dis-
334 MELMOTH :

close the awful proposal, and the scarcely

less awful name of the unholy intruder,
the clergyman betrayed considerable emo.
tion; and, after a long pause, desired per-
mission to accompany her on their next
meeting. This was to be the following
evening, for the stranger was unremitting
in his attendance on her lonely walks.
" It is necessary to mention, that this
clergyman had been for some years abroad
-that events had occurred to him in fo-
reign countries, of which strange reports
were spread, but on the subject of which
he had been always profoundly silent-and
that having but lately fixed his residence
in the neighbourhood, he was equally a
stranger to Elinor, and to the circumstan-
ces of her past life, and of her present situ-
*
* * *
ation.
* * * *
*

" It was now autumn, the evenings

were growing short, and the brief twi-
light was rapidly succeeded by night. On
the dubious verge of both, the clergyman
 A TALE. 335

quitted his house, and went in the direc-

tion where Elinor told him she was accus-
tomed to meet the stranger.
" They were there before him ; and in
the shuddering and averted form of Eli-
nor, and the stern but calm importunity
of her companion, he read the terrible se-
cret of their conference. Suddenly he ad-
vanced and stood before the stranger.
They immediately recognised each other.
An expression that was never before be-
held there an expression of fear-wan-
dered over the features of the stranger !
He paused for a moment, and then depart-
ed without uttering a word-nor was
Elinor ever again molested by his presence.
*
*
*
*
*

" It was some days before the clergy.

man recovered from the shock of this sin-
gular encounter sufficiently to see Elinor,
and explain to her the cause of his deep
and painful agitation.
" He sent to announce to her when he
was able to receive her, and appointed the
336 MELMOTH :

night for the time of meeting, for he

knew that during the day she never for-
sook the helpless object of her unalienated
heart. The night arrived-imagine them
seated in the antique study of the clergy-
man, whose shelves were filled with the
ponderous volumes of ancient learning-
the embers of a peat fire shed a dim and
fitful light through the room, and the
single candle that burned on a distant
oaken stand, seemed to shed its light on
that alone-not a ray fell on the figures of
Elinor and her companion, as they sat in
their massive chairs of carved-like figures
in the richly-wrought nitches of some Ca-
tholic place of worship " ted
" That is a most profane and abomina-
ble comparison," said Aliaga, starting from
the doze in which he had frequently in-
dulged during this long narrative.
" But hear the result," said the perti-
nacious narrator. " The clergyman con-
fessed to Elinor that he had been acquaint-
ed with an Irishman of the name of Mel
 A TALE . 337

moth, whose various erudition, profound

intellect, and intense appetency for infor-
mation, had interested him so deeply as to
lead to a perfect intimacy between them.
At the breaking out of the troubles in
England, the clergyman had been com-
pelled, with his father's family, to seek re-
fuge in Holland. There again he met
Melmoth, who proposed to him a journey
to Poland-the offer was accepted, and to
Poland they went. The clergyman here
told many extraordinary tales of Dr Dee,
and of Albert Alasco, the Polish adven-
turer, who were their companions both
in England and Poland and he added,
that he felt his companion Melmoth was
irrevocably attached to the study of that
art which is held in just abomination by
all " who name the name of Christ." The
power of the intellectual vessel was too
great for the narrow seas where it was
coasting-it longed to set out on a voyage
ofdiscovery-in other words, Melmoth at-
tachedhimself to those impostors, or worse,
who promised him the knowledge and the
VOL . IV. P
338 MELMOTH :

power of the future world-on conditions

that areunutterable." A strange expression
crossed his face as he spoke. He recover-
ed himself, and added, " From that hour
our intercourse ceased. I conceived of
him as of one given up to diabolical de-
lusions to the power of the enemy.
I had not seen Melmoth for some years.
I was preparing to quit Germany, when,
on the eve of my departure, I received
a message from a person who announced
himself as my friend, and who, believing
himself dying, wished for the attendance
of a Protestant minister. We were then
in the territories of a Catholic electoral
bishop. I lost no time in attending the
sick person. As I entered his room, con-
ducted by a servant, who immediately
closed the door and retired, I was asto-
nished to see the room filled with an as-
trological apparatus, books and implements
of a science I did not understand ; in a
corner there was a bed, near which there
was neither priest or physician, relative or
friend on it lay extended the form of
 A TALE . 339

Melmoth. I approached, and attempted

to address to him some words of consola-
tion. He waved his hand to me to be
silent and I was so. The recollection
ofhis former habits and pursuits, and the
view of his present situation,had an effect
that appalled more than it amazed me.
66
Come near," said Melmoth, speaking
very faintly-" nearer. I am dying-how
my life has been passed you know but
too well. Mine was the great angelic sin
-pride and intellectual glorying ! It was
the first mortal sin-a boundless aspiration
after forbidden knowledge ! I am now
dying. I ask for no forms of religion-
I wish not to hear words that have to me
no meaning, or that I wish had none !
Spare your look of horror. I sent for
you to exact your solemn promise that
you will conceal from every human being
the fact of my death-let no man know
that I died, or when, or where."
" He spoke with a distinctness of tone,
and energy of manner, that convinced
me he could not be in the state he de
340 MELMOTH :

scribed himself to be, and I said, " But I

cannot believe you are dying-your in-
tellects are clear, your voice is strong,
your language is coherent, and but for
the paleness of your face, and your lying
extended on that bed, I could not even
imagine you were ill." He answered,
" Have you patience and courage to abide
by the proof that what I say is true ?"
I replied, that I doubtless had patience,
and for the courage, I looked to that Be-
ing for whose name I had too much reve-
rence to utter in his hearing. He ac-
knowledged my forbearance by a ghastly
smile which I understood too well, and
pointed to a clock that stood at the foot
ofhis bed. " Observe," said he, " the hour-
hand is on eleven, and I am now sane,
clear of speech, and apparently healthful-
tarry but an hour, and you yourself will
behold me dead ! "
" I remained by his bed-side-the eyes of
both were fixed intently on the slow mo-
tion of the clock. From time to time he
spoke, but his strength now appeared ob
 A TALE. 341

viously declining. He repeatedly urged

on me the necessity of profound secresy,
its importance to myself, and yet he hint-
ed at the possibility of our future meet-
ing. I asked why he thought proper to
confide to me a secret whose divulgement
was so perilous, and which might have
been so easily concealed ? Unknowingwhe-
ther he existed, or where, I must have
been equally ignorant of the mode and
place of his death. To this he returned
no answer. As the hand of the clock ap-
proached the hour of twelve, his counte-
nance changed-his eyes became dim-
his speech inarticulate-his jaw dropped-
his respiration ceased. I applied a glass
to his lips-but there was not a breath to
stain it. I felt his wrist-but there was no
pulse. I placed my hand on his heart-
there was not the slightest vibration. In
a few minutes the body was perfectly
cold. I did not quit the room till nearly
an hour after-the body gave no signs of
returning animation.
" Unhappy circumstances detained me
342 MELMOTH :

long abroad. I was in various parts of the

Continent, and every where I was haunt-
ed with the report of Melmoth being still
alive. To these reports I gave no credit,
and returned to England in the full con-
viction of his being dead. Yet it was
Melmoth who walked and spoke with you
the last night of our meeting. My eyes
never more faithfully attested the presence
ofliving being. It was Melmoth himself,
such as I beheld him many years ago,
when my hairs were dark and my steps
were firm. I am changed, but he is the
same-time seems to have forborne to
touch him from terror. By what means or
power he is thus enabled to continue his
posthumous and preternatural existence,
it is impossible to conceive, unless the
fearful report that every where followed
his steps on the Continent, be indeed true."
" Elinor, impelled by terror and wild
curiosity, inquired into that report which
dreadful experience had anticipated the
meaning of. " Seek no farther," said the
minister, " you know already more than
 A TALE. 343

should ever have reached the human ear,

or entered into the conception ofthe human
mind. Enough that you have been ena.
bled by Divine Power to repel the as-
saults of the evil one-the trial was terrible,
but the result will be glorious. Should
the foe persevere in his attempts, remem-
ber that he has been already repelled amid
the horrors of the dungeon and of the
scaffold, the screams of Bedlam and the
flames of the Inquisition-he is yet to be
subdued by a foe that he deemed of all
others the least invincible-the withered
energies of a broken heart. He has tra-
versed the earth in search of victims,
" Seeking whom he might devour," and
has found no prey, even where he might
seek for it with all the cupidity of infernal
expectation. Let it be your glory and
crown of rejoicing, that even the feeblest
of his adversaries has repulsed him with
a power that will always annihilate his."
*
* *

* * *
*
344 MELMOTH :

" Who is that faded form that supports

with difficulty an emaciated invalid, and
seems at every step to need the support
she gives ?-It is still Elinor tending John.
Their path is the same, but the season is
changed-and that change seems to her to
have passed alike on the mental and phy-
sical world. It is a dreary evening in
Autumn-the stream flows dark and tur-
bid beside their path-the blast is groan-
ing among the trees, and the dry dis-
coloured leaves are sounding under their
feet-their walk is uncheered by human
converse, for one of them no longer thinks,
and seldom speaks !
66

Suddenly he gives a sign that he

wishes to be seated-it is complied with,
and she sits beside him on the felled
trunk of a tree. He declines his head
on her bosom, and she feels with de-
lighted amazement, a few tears stream-
ing on it for the first time for years
-a soft but conscious pressure of her
hand, seems to her like the signal of re-
viving intelligence-with breathless hope
 A TALE . 345

she watches him as he slowly raises his

head, and fixes his eyes_God of all con-
solation, there is intelligence in his glance !
He thanks her with an unutterable look
for all her care, her long and painful la-
bour of love ! His lips are open, but long
unaccustomed to utter human sounds, the
effort is made with difficulty-again that
effort is repeated and fails-his strength is
exhausted-his eyes close-his last gentle
sigh is breathed on the bosom of faith and
love-and Elinor soon after said to those 1

who surrounded her bed, that she died

happy, since he knew her once more ! She
gave one parting awful sign to the minis-
ter, which was understood and answered !
 CHAPTER XXXI .

Cum mihi non tantum furesque feræque suëtæ,

Hunc vexare locum, curæ sunt atque labori ;
Quantum carminibus quæ versant atque venenis,
Humanos animos.
HORACE.

IT is inconceivable to me," said Don

Aliaga to himself, as he pursued his jour-
ney the next day-" it is inconceivable to
me how this person forces himself on my
company, harasses me with tales that have
no more application to me than the legend
of the Cid, and may be as apocryphal as
the ballad of Roncesvalles-and now he
has ridden by my side all day, and, as if
 A TALE . 347

to make amends for his former uninvited

and unwelcome communicativeness, he
has never once opened his lips."
" Senhor," said the stranger, then speak-
ing for the first time, as if he read Aliaga's
thoughts-" I acknowledge myself in er-
ror for relating to you a narrative in which
you must have felt there was little to in-
terest you. Permit me to atone for it, by
recounting to you a very brief one, in
which I flatter myself you will be dispos-
ed to feel a very peculiar interest."-" You
assure me it will be brief," said Aliaga.
" Not only so, but the last I shall obtrude
on your patience," replied the stranger.
" On that condition," said Aliaga, " in
God's name, brother, proceed. And look
you handle the matter discreetly, as you
have said."
66
" There was," said the stranger, " a cer-
tain Spanish merchant, who set out pro-
sperously in business ; but, after a few
years, finding his affairs assume an unfa-
vourable aspect, and being tempted by an
offer of partnership with a relative who
348 MELMOTH :

was settled in the East Indies, had em-

barked for those countries with his wife
and son, leaving behind him an infant
daughter in Spain."-" That was exactly
my case," said Aliaga, wholly unsuspicious
of the tendency of this tale.
" Two years of successful occupation
restored him to opulence, and to the hope
of vast and future accumulation. Thus
encouraged, our Spanish merchant enter-
tained ideas of settling in the East Indies,
and sent over for his young daughter with
her nurse, who embarked for the East In-
dies with the first opportunity, which was
then very rare."-" This reminds me ex-
actly of what occurred to myself," said
Aliaga, whose faculties were somewhat
obtuse.mod
" The nurse and infant were supposed
to have perished in a storm which wreck-
ed the vessel on an isle near the mouth
of a river, and in which the crew and
passengers perished. It was said that the
nurse and child alone escaped; that by
some extraordinary chance they arrived
 A TALE . 349

at this isle, where the nurse died from

fatigue and want of nourishment, and
the child survived, and grew up a wild
and beautiful daughter of nature, feeding
on fruits, and sleeping amid roses, and
drinking the pure element, and inhaling
the harmonies of heaven, and repeating
to herself the few Christian words her
nurse had taught her, in answer to the
melody of the birds that sung to her, and
of the stream whose waves murmured in
accordance to the pure and holy music of
her unearthly heart."-" I never heard a
word of this before," muttered Aliaga to
himself. The stranger went on. I now
" It was said that some vessel in distress
arrived at the isle, that the captain had
rescued this lovely lonely being from the
brutality of the sailors, and, discovering
from some remains of the Spanish tongue
which she still spoke, and which he sup-
posed must have been cultivated during
the visits of some other wanderer to the
isle, he undertook, like a man of honour,
to conduct her to her parents, whose names
350 MELMOTH :

she could tell, though not their residence,

so acute and tenacious is the memory of
infancy. He fulfilled his promise, and the
pure and innocent being was restored to
her family, who were then residing in the
city of Benares." Aliaga, at these words,
stared with a look of intelligence some-
what ghastly. He could not interrupt the
stranger-he drew in his breath, and closed
his teeth.
" I have since heard," said the stranger,
" that the family has returned to Spain,-
that the beautiful inhabitant of the foreign
isle is become the idol of your cavaliers of
Madrid, your loungers of the Prado,-
your sacravienses,-your-by what other
name of contempt shall I call them ? But
listen to me, there is an eye fixed on her,
and its fascination is more deadly than
that fabled of the snake !-There is an arm
extended to seize her, in whose grasp hu-
manity withers !-That arm even now re-
laxes for a moment, its fibres thrill with
pity and horror, it releases the victim for
a moment, it even beckons her father to
 A TALE . 351

her aid ! Don Francisco, do you under-

stand me now ?-Has this tale interest or
application for you ?"
" He paused, but Aliaga, chilled with
horror, was unable to answer him but by
a feeble exclamation. " If it has," resum-
: ed the stranger, " lose not a moment to
save your daughter !" and, clapping spurs
to his mule, he disappeared through a
narrow passage among the rocks, apparent-
ly never intended to be trod by earthly
traveller. Aliaga was not a man suscep-
tible of strong impressions from nature ;
but, if he had been, the scene amid which
this mysterious warning was uttered would
have powerfully ministered to its effect.
The time was evening,-a grey and misty
twilight hung over every object ;-the
way lay through a rocky road, that wound
among mountains, or rather stony hills,
bleak and bare as those which the weary
traveller through the * western isle sees
rising amid the moors, to which they form

portal * Ireland,-forsan.
352 MELMOTH :

a contrast without giving a relief. Heavy

rains had made deep gullies amid the hills,
and here and there a mountain-stream
brawled amid its stony channel, like a proud
and noisy upstart, while the vast chasms
that had been the beds of torrents which
once swept through them in thunder, now
stood gaping and ghastly like the deserted
abodes of ruined nobility. Not a sound
broke on the stillness, except the monoto-
nous echo of the hoofs of the mules an-
swered from the hollows of the hill, and
the screams of the birds, which, after a few
short circles in the damp and cloudy air,
fled back to their retreats amid the cliffs .
*
* *
*
*

" It is almost incredible, that after this

warning, enforced as it was by the perfect
acquaintance which the stranger displayed
of Aliaga's former life and family-circum-
stances, it should not have had the effect of
making him hurry homewards immediate-
ly, particularly as it seems he thought it
of sufficient importance to make it the
 A TALE. 353

subject of correspondence with his wife.

So it was however.coeb abem barn m
" At the moment of the stranger's de-
parture, it was his resolution not to lose
a moment in hastening homewards ; but
at the next stage he arrived at, there were
letters of business awaiting him. A mer-
cantile correspondent gave him the infor-
mation of the probable failure of a house
in a distant part of Spain, where his speedy
presence might be of vital consequence.
There were also letters from Montilla, his
intended son-in-law, informing him that
the state of his father's health was so pre-
carious, it was impossible to leave him till
his fate was decided. As the decisions of
fate involved equally the wealth of the
son, and the life of the father, Aliaga could
not help thinking there was as much pru-
dence as affection in this resolution.na
" After reading these letters, Aliaga's
mind began to flow in its usual channel.
There is no breaking through the invete-
rate habitudes of a thorough-paced mer-
cantile mind, " though one rose from the
354 MELMOTH :

dead." Besides, by this time the myste-

rious image of the stranger's presence and
communications were fading fast from a
mind not at all habituated to visionary
impressions. He shook off the terrors of
this visitation by the aid of time, and gave
his courage the credit due to that aid.
Thus we all deal with the illusions of the
imagination, with this difference only,
that the impassioned recal them with the
tear ofregret, and the unimaginative with
the blush of shame. Aliaga set out for
thedistant part of Spain where his pre-
sence was to save this tottering house in
which he had an extensive concern, and
wrote to Donna Clara, that it might be
some months before he returned to the
neighbourhood of Madrid.
..

CHAPTER XXXII .

Husband, husband, I've the ring

Thou gavest to-day to me;
And thou to me art ever wed,
As I am wed to thee !
LITTLE'S POEMS.

66
THE remainder of that dreadful night
when Isidora disappeared, had been passed
almost in despair by Donna Clara, who,
amid all her rigour and chilling mediocri-
ty, had still the feelings of a mother-and
by Fra Jose, who, with all his selfish lux-
ury and love of domination, had a heart
where distress never knocked for admit-
tance, that she did not find pity ready to
open the door.
356 MELMOTH :

" The distress of Donna Clara was ag-

gravated by her fear of her husband, of
whom she stood in great awe, and who,
she dreaded, might reproach her with un-
pardonable negligence of her maternal au-
thority.
" In this night of distress, she was often
tempted to call on her son for advice and
assistance ; but the recollection of his vio-
lent passions deterred her, and she sat
in passive despair till day. Then, with
an unaccountable impulse, she rose from
her seat, and hurried to her daughter's a-
partment, as if she imagined that the events
of the preceding night were only a fearful
and false illusion that would be dispersed
by the approach ofday.
" It seemed, indeed, as if they were, for
on the bed lay Isidora in a profound sleep,
with the same pure and placid smile as
when she was lulled into slumber by the
melodies of nature, and the sound was pro-
longed in her dream by the whispered
songs of the spirits of the Indian Ocean.
 A TALE . 357

Donna Clara uttered a shriek of surprise,

of
that had the singular effect of rousing Fra
0,
Jose from a deep sleep into which he had
fallen at the approach of day. Starting at
the sound, the good-natured, pampered
priest, tottered into the room, and saw,
with incredulity that slowly yielded to
日
frequent application to his obstinate and
adhesive eye-lids, the form of Isidora ex-
tended in profound slumber.
" Oh what an exquisite enjoyment !"
said the yawning priest, as he looked on
the sleeping beauty without another emo-
tion than that of the delight of an uninter-
rupted repose.-" Pray, don't disturb her,"
he said, yawning himself out of the room
-" after such a night as we all have had,
sleep must be a very refreshing and lauda-
ble exercise ; and so I commend you to
the protection of the holy saints ! "-" Oh
reverend Father !-Oh holy Father ! " cried
Donna Clara clinging to him, " desert me
not in this extremity-this has been the
work of magic-of infernal spirits. See
how profoundly she sleeps, though we are
358 MELMOTH :

speaking, and it is now day-light."-

" Daughter, you are much mistaken," an-
swered the drowsy priest; " people can sleep
soundly even in the day-time; and for proof
send me, as I am now retiring to rest, a
bottle of Foncarral or Valdepenas-not
that I value the richest vintage of Spain
from the Chacoli of Biscay to the Mataro
of Catalonia, * but I would never have
it said that I slept in the day-time, but
for sufficient reason." " Holy Father !"
answered Donna Clara, " do you not think
my daughter's disappearance and intense
slumber are the result of preternatural
causes?".." Daughter," answered the priest,
contracting his brows, " let me have some
wine to slake the intolerable thirst caused
by my anxiety for the welfare of your
family, and let me meditate some hours
afterwards on the measures best to be
adopted, and then when I awake, I will
give you my opinion. " " Holy Fa-
ther, you shall judge for me in every
* Vide Dillon's travels through Spain.
 A TALE . 359

thing."-" It were not amiss, daughter,"

said the priest retiring, " if a few slices
ofham, or some poignant sausages, accom-
panied the wine-it might, as it were, abate
the deleterious effects of that abominable
liquor, which I never drink but on emer-
gencies like these."-" Holy Father, they
shall be ordered," said the anxious mother
66

-" but do you not think my daugh-

ter's sleep is supernatural ?"-" Follow
me to mine apartment, daughter," an-
swered the priest, exchanging his cowl for
a night-cap, which one of the numerous
household obsequiously presented him,
" and you will soon see that sleep is a
natural effect of a natural cause. Your
daughter has doubtless passed a very fa-
tiguing night, and so have you, and so
have I, though perhaps from very different
causes; but all those causes dispose us to
a profound repose.-1 have no doubt of
mine-fetch up the wine and sausages-
I am very weary-Oh I am weak and worn
with fasts and watching, and the labours
of exhortation. My tongue cleaves to the
360 MELMOTH :

roof of my mouth, and my jaws cling to-

gether,-perhaps a draught or two might
dissolve their parching adhesion. But I do
so hate wine why the devil don't you
fetch up the bottle ?"
" The attendant domestic, terrified by
the tone of wrath in which the last words
were uttered, hurried on with submissive
expedition, and Fra Jose sat down at
length in his apartment to ruminate on
the calamities and perplexities of the fa-
mily, till he was actually overcome by the
subject, and exclaimed in a tone of despair,
" Both bottles empty ! Then it is useless
*
to meditate further on this subject."
* * * *

" He was roused at an earlier hour than

he wished, by a message from Donna
Clara, who, in the distress of a weak mind,
accustomed always to factitious and exter-
nal support, now felt as if every step she
took without it, must lead to actual and
instant perdition. Her fear ofher husband,
next to her superstitious fears, held the
strongest power over her mind, and that
 A TALE. 361

○ morning she called Fra Jose to an early

그
consultation of terror and inquietude.--
Her great object was to conceal, if possi-
■ ble, the absence of her daughter on that
eventful night ; and finding that none of
the domestics appeared conscious of it, and
that amid the numerous household, only .
one aged servant was absent, of whose
absence no one took notice amid the super-
fluous multitude of a Spanish establish-
ment, her courage began to revive. It was
ne raised still higher by a letter from Aliaga,
■ announcing the necessity of his visiting a
distant part of Spain, and of the marriage
of his daughter with Montilla being de-
ferred for some months this sounded
an like reprieve in the ears of Donna Clara-
1
she consulted with the priest, who answer-
ed in words of comfort, that if Donna
Isidora's short absence were known, it was
but a slight evil, and if it were not known,
it was none at all, and he recommended
to her, to ensure the secresy of the
he servants by means that he swore by his
at habit were infallible, as he had known them
VOL . IV. Q
362 MELMOTH :

operate effectively among the servants of a

far more powerful and extensive establish-
ment. " Reverend Father," said Donna
Clara," I know of no establishment among
the grandees of Spain more splendid than
ours."-" But I do, daughter," said the
priest, " and the head of that establishment
is--the Pope ;-but go now, and awake
your daughter, who deserves to sleep till
dooms-day, as she seems totally to have
forgotten the hour of breakfast. It is not
for myself I speak, daughter, but I cannot
bear to see the regularity of a magnificent
household thus interrupted ; for myself,
a basin of chocolate, and a cluster of
grapes, will be sufficient ; and to allay
the crudity of the grapes, a glass of
Malaga. Your glasses, by the bye, are the
shallowest I ever drank out of could you
not find some means to get from Ildefon-
so * glasses of the right make, with short
shanks and ample bodies ? Yours resemble
those of Quichotte, all limbs and no trunk.

* The celebrated manufactory for glass in Spain.

 A TALE . 363

I like one that resembles his squire, a spa-

cious body and a shank that may be mea-
1
sured by my little finger."-" I will send
to St Ildefonso this day," answered Donna
Clara. " Go and awake your daughter
first," said the priest.
66

As he spoke, Isidora entered the

room-the mother and the priest both
stood amazed. Her countenance was as
serene, her step as equal, and her mein as
composed, as if she were totally uncon-
scious of the terror and distress her disap-
pearance the preceding night had caused.
To the first short silence of amazement,
succeeded a storm of interrogations from
Donna Clara and Fra Jose in concert-
1
why-where-wherefore and what, and
with whom and how-that was all they
コ could articulate. They might as well
have spared themselves the trouble, for
neither that day nor many following, could
the remonstrances, intreaties, or menaces
of her mother, aided by the spiritual au-
-

thority and more powerful anxiety of the

コ priest, extort from her a word of explana-
364 MELMOTH :

tion on the cause of her absence that awful

night. When closely and sternly pressed,
Isidora's mind seemed to assume some-
thing of the wild but potent spirit of in-
dependence, which her early habits and
feelings might have communicated to her.
She had been her own teacher and mis-
tress for seventeen years, and though natu-
rally gentle and tractable, when imperious
mediocrity attempted to tyrannize over
her, she felt a sense of disdain which she
expressed only by profound silence.
" Fra Jose, incensed at her obstinacy, and
trembling for the loss of his power over
the family, threatened to exclude her from
confession, unless she disclosed to him the
secret of that night-" Then I will confess
to God!" said Isidora. Her mother's impor-
tunity she found it more difficult to resist,
for her feminine heart loved all that was
feminine even in its most unattractive
shape, and the persecution from that quar-
ter was alike monotonous and unremit-
ting.
" There was a weak but harassing
 A TALE. 365

tenacity about Donna Clara, that is the

general adjunct to the female character.
when it combines intellectual mediocrity
with rigid principle. When she laid siege
to a secret, the garrison might as well capi-
tulate at once. What she wanted in vi-
gour and ability, she supplied by a minute
and gnawing assiduity. She never ventur-
ed to carry the fort by storm, but her ob-
stinacy blockaded it till it was forced to
surrender. But here even her importunity
failed. Isidora remained respectfully, but
resolutely silent ; finding matters thus des-
perate, Donna Clara, who had a fine talent
for keeping as well as discovering a secret,
agreed with Fra Jose not to utter a syl-
lable of the business to her father and bro-
ther. " We will show, " said Donna
Clara, with a sagacious and self-approving
nod, " that we can keep a secret as well as
she " " Right, daughter, " coid Fu
" imitate her in the only point in which
you can flatter yourself with the hope of
*
*
resemblance.
*
* * *
366 MELMOTH :

" The secret was, however, soon disclos-

ed. Some months had elapsed, and the
visits of her husband began to give an ha-
bitual calm and confidence to the mind of
Isidora. He imperceptibly was exchanging
his ferocious misanthropy for a kind ofpen-
sive gloom.--It was like the dark, cold, but
unterrificand comparativelysoothing night,
that succeeds to a day of storm and earth-
quake. The sufferers remember the ter-
rors of the day, and the still darkness of
the night feels to them like a shelter.
Isidora gazed on her espoused with de-
light, when she saw no longer his withering
frown, or more withering smile ; and
she felt the hope that the calm purity
of female hearts always suggests, that its
influence will one day float over the form-
less and the void, like the spirit that moved
upon the face of the waters ; and that the
unbelieving hushand may yet be saved
by the believing wife.
" These thoughts were her comfort, and
it was well she had thoughts to comfort
her, for facts are miserable allies when ima-
 A TALE . 367

gination fights its battle with despair. On

one of those nights that she expected Mel-
-

moth, he found her employed in her

usual hymn to the Virgin, which she ac-
companied on her lute. " Is it not rather
late to sing your vesper hymn to the
Virgin after midnight ?" said Melmoth
with a ghastly smile. " Her ear is open
at all simes, I have been told," answered
Isidora.-" If it is, then, love," said Mel-
moth, vaulting as usual through the case-
ment, " add a stanza to your hymn in fa-
vour of me."-" Alas !" said Isidora, drop-
ping her lute, " you do not believe, love,
in what the Holy Church requires."-
" Yes, I do believe, when I listen to you."
-" And only then ? "-" Sing again your
hymn to the Virgin."
" Isidora complied, and watched the effect
on the listener. He seemed affected-he
motioned to her to repeat it. "My love,"
said Isidora, " is not this more like the re-
petition of a theatrical song called for by
an audience, than a hymn which he who
listens to loves his wife better for, because
 368 MELMOTH :

she loves her God."-" It is a shrewd ques-

tion," said Melmoth, " but why am I in
your imagination excluded from the love
ofGod ?"-" Do you ever visit the church,"
answered the anxious Isidora. A pro-
found silence.-" Do you ever receive the
Holy Sacrament ?"--Melmoth did not
utter a word.-" Have you ever, at my
earnest solicitation, enabled me to an-
nounce to my anxious family the tie that
united us ?"--No answer.--" And now--that
-perhaps-I dare not utter what I feel !
Oh ! how shall I appear before eyes that
watch me even now so closely ?-what shall
I say ?--a wife without a husband-a mo-
ther without a father for her child, or one
whom a fearful oath has bound her never
to declare ! Oh ! Melmoth, pity me,-
deliver me from this life of constraint, false-
hood, and dissimulation. Claim me aς
your wedded wife in the face of my fa-
mily, and in the face of ruin yourwedded
wife will follow-will cling to-will perish
with you !" Her arms clung round him,
her cold but heart-wrung tears fell fast
 TALE. 369

on his cheek, and the imploring arms of

woman supplicating for deliverance in her
hour of shame and terror, seldom are twin-
ed round us in vain. Melmoth felt the ap-
peal-it was but for a moment. He caught
the white arms extended towards him--
he fixed an eager and fearful look of in-
quiry on his victim-consort, as he asked-
" And is it so ?" The pale and shuddering
wife shrunk from his arms at the ques-
tion-her silence answered him. The ago-
nies of nature throbbed audibly in his
heart. He said to himself-it is mine-the
1

fruit of affection-the first-born of the

heart and of nature-mine-mine,-and
whatever becomes of me, there shall yet
be a human being on earth who traces me
in its external form, and who will be
taught to pray for its father, even when its
prayer falls parched and hissing on the
fires that burn for ever, like a wandering
drop of dew on the burning
*
*
sands of the
*
*
desert!
* *
*

Q2
370 MELMOTH :

" From the period of this communica-

tion, Melmoth's tenderness for his wife
visibly increased.
" Heaven only knows the source of that
wild fondness with which he contemplated
her, and in which was still mingled some-
thing of ferocity. His warm look seemed
like the glow of a sultry summer day,
whose heat announces a storm, and com-
pels us by its burning oppression, to look
to the storm almost for relief.
" It is not impossible that he looked to
some future object of his fearful experi-
ment and a being so perfectly in his power
as his own child, might have appeared to
him fatally fitted for his purpose-the
quantum of misery, too, necessary to
qualify the probationer, it was always in
his own power to inflict. Whatever was
his motive, he assumed as much tender-
ness as it was possible for him to assume,
and spoke of the approaching event with
the anxious interest of a human father.
" Soothed by his altered manner, Isidora
bore with silent sufferance the burden of
 A TALE . 371

her situation, with all its painful accompa-

niments of indisposition and dejection, ag-
gravated by hourly fear and mysterious
secresy. She hoped he would at length re-
ward her by an open and honourable decla-
ration, but this hope was expressed only in
her patient smiles. The hour approached
fast, and fearful and indefinite apprehen-
sions began to overshadow her mind, rela-
tive to the fate of the infant about to be
born under circumstances so mysterious.
" At his next nightly visit, Melmoth
found her in tears.
" Alas !" said she in answer to his abrupt
inquiry, and brief attempt at consolation,
" How many causes have I for tears-and
how few have I shed ? If you would
have them wiped away, be assured it is
only your hand can do it. I feel," she
added, " that this event will be fatal to
me-I know I shall not live to see my
child-I demand from you the only pro-
mise that can support me even under this
conviction"-Melmoth interrupted her by
the assurance, that these apprehensions
372 MELMOTH :

were the inseparable concomitants of her

situation, and that manymothers, surround-
ed by a numerous offspring, smiled as they
recollected their fears that the birth of each
would be fatal to them.
" Isidora shook her head. " The pre-
sages," said she, " that visit me, are such
as never visited mortality in vain. I have
always believed, that as we approach the
invisible world, its voice becomes more
audible to us, and grief and pain are very
eloquent interpreters between us and eter-
nity-quite distinct from all corporeal suf-
fering, even from all mental terror, is that
deep and unutterable impression which is
alike incommunicable and ineffaceable-it
is as if heaven spoke to us alone, and told
us to keep its secret, or divulge it on the
condition of never being believed. Oh !
Melmoth, do not give that fearful smile
when I speak of heaven-soon I may be
your only intercessor there." "My dear
saint," said Melmoth, laughing and kneel-
ing to her in mockery, " let me make early
interest for your mediation-how many
 A TALE. 373

ducats will it cost me to get you canoniz-

ed?-you will furnish me, Ihope, with an
authentic account of legitimate miracles-
one is ashamed of the nonsense that is
sent monthly to the Vatican." " Let
your conversion be the first miracle on the
list," said Isidora, with an energy that made
Melmoth tremble-it was dark-but she
felt that he trembled-she pursued her
imagined triumph-" Melmoth," she ex-
claimed, " I have a right to demand one
promise from you for you I have sacri-
ficed every thing-never was woman more
devoted-never did woman give proofs of
devotion like mine. I might have been
the noble, honoured wife of one who would
have laid his wealth and titles at my feet.
In this my hour of danger and suffering,
the first families in Spain would have been
waiting round my door. Alone, unaided,
unsustained, unconsoled, I must undergo
the terrible struggle ofnature-terrible to
those whose beds are smoothed by the
hands of affection, whose agonies are
soothed by the presence of a mother-who
hears the first feeble cry of her infant
374 MELMOTH :

echoed by the joy of exulting noble rela-

tives. Oh Melmoth ! what must be mine !
I must suffer in secresy and in silence ! I
must see my babe torn from me before I
have even kissed it, and the chrism-mantle
will be one of that mysterious darkness
which your fingers have woven ! Yet grant
me one thing-one thing !" continued the
suppliant, growing earnest in her prayer
even to agony ; " swear to me that my
child shall be baptised according to the
forms of the Catholic church,-that it shall
be a Christian as far as those forms can
make it, and I shall feel that, if all my
fearful presages are fulfilled, I shall leave
behind me one who will pray for his father,
and whose prayer may be accepted. Pro-
mise me, swear to me," she added, in in-
tenser agony, " that my child shall be a
Christian ! Alas ! if my voice be not wor-
thy to be heard in heaven, that of a che-
rub may ! Christ himself suffered children
to come unto him while on earth, and will
he repel them in heaven ?-Oh ! no, no !
he will not repel yours !"
 A TALE. 375

" Melmoth listened to her with feelings

e that it is better to suppress than explain
1 or expatiate on. Thus solemnly adjured,
1 however, he promised that the child
should be baptised ; and added, with an
expression which Isidora's delight at this
concession did not give her time to under-
stand, that it should be a Christian as far
as the rites and ceremonies of the Catholic
church could make it one. While he add-
ed many a bitter hint of the inefficacy of
any external rites-and the impotentiality
of any hierarchy and of the deadly and
desperate impositions of priests under
every dispensation--and exposed them
with a spirit at once ludicrous and Satanic,
-a spirit that mingled ridicule with hor-
ror, and seemed like a Harlequin in the
infernal regions, flirting with the furies,
Isidora still repeated her solemn request
that her child, if it survived her, should
be baptised. To this he assented ; and
added, with a sarcastic and appalling levi-
ty,--" And a Mahometan, if you should
change your mind, or any other mytho
 376 MELMOTH :

logy you please to adopt;-only send me

word, priests are easily obtained, and ce-
remonies cheaply purchased ! Only let me
know your future intentions, when you
know them yourself."-" I shall not be
here to tellyou," said Isidora, replying with
profound conviction to this withering levi-
ty, like a cold winter day to the glow of a
capricious summer one, that blends the
sunshine and the lightning ;-" Melmoth,
I shall not be here then !" And this e-
nergy of despair in a creature so young,
so inexperienced, except in the vicissitudes
of the heart, formed a strong contrast to
the stony apathy of one who had traversed
life from Dan to Beersheba, and found all
barren, or-made it so.
" At this moment, while Isidora wept
the cold tears of despair, without daring
to ask the hand of him she loved to dry
them, the bells of a neighbouring convent,
where they were performing a mass for
the soul of a departed brother, suddenly
rung out. Isidora seized that moment,
when the very air was eloquent with the
 A TALE. 377

voice of religion, to impress its power on

that mysterious being whose presence in-
spired her equally with terror and with
love. " Listen,-listen !" she cried. The
2
sounds came slowly and stilly on, as if it
コ
was an involuntary expression of that pro-
found sentiment that night always inspires,
-the reverberating watch-word from sen-
tinel to sentinel, when wakeful and re-
flecting minds have become the " watchers
-
of the night *. " The effect of these
sounds was increased, by their catching
from time to time the deep and thrilling
chorus of the voices, these voices more
than harmonized, they were coincident
with the toll of the bell, and seemed like
them set in involuntary motion,-music
- played by invisible hands.
" Listen," repeated Isidora, " is there
no truth in the voice that speaks to you in
tones like these ? Alast if ditie be no

* He called unto me out of Seir, Watchman, what

of the night ?-Watchman, what of the night ?
ISAIAH.
378 MELMOTH :

truth in religion, there is none on earth !

Passion itself evanishes into an illusion,
unless it is hallowed by the consciousness
of a God and of futurity. That sterility
of the heart that forbids the growth of
divine feeling, must be hostile also to every
tender and generous sentiment. He who
is without a God must be without a heart !
Oh, my love, will you not, as you bend
over my grave, wish my last slumbers to
have been soothed by sounds like these,-
wish that they may whisper peace to your
own ? Promise me, at least, that you will
lead your child to my tomb-stone,-that
you will suffer it to read the inscription
that tells I died in the faith of Christ, and
the hope of immortality. Its tears will be
powerful pleaders to you not to deny it
the consolation that faith has given me
in hours of suffering, and the hopes with
which itwill illuminate my parting hour.
Oh promise me this at least, that you will
suffer your child to visit my grave--that
is all. Do not interrupt or distract the
impression by sophistry or levity, or by
 A TALE . 379

that wild and withering eloquence that

flashes from your lips, not to enlighten but
to blast. You will not weep, but you will
■ be silent,-leave Heaven and nature free
to their work. The voice of God will
speak to its heart, and my spirit, as it wit-
nesses the conflict, will tremble though in
paradise, and, even in heaven, will feel
1
an added joy, when it beholds the victory
won. Promise me, then,-swear to me !"
she added, with agonizing energy of tone
and gesture. " Your child shall be a
Christian !" said Melmoth.

1
 CHAPTER XXXII .

Oh, spare me, Grimbald !

I will tempt hermits for thee in their cells,
And virgins in their dreams.
DRYDEN'S KING ARTHUR.

It is a singular, but well-attested fact,

that women who are compelled to undergo
all the inconveniences and uneasiness of
clandestine pregnancy, often fare better
than those whose situation is watched over
by tender and anxious relatives ; and that
concealed or illegitimate births are actually
attended with less danger and suffering
than those which have all the aid that skill
and affection can give. So it appeared
 A TALE. 381

likely to fare with Isidora. The retirement

in which her family lived-the temper of
Donna Clara, as slow to suspect from want
of penetration, as she was eager in pursu-
ing an object once discovered, from the
natural cupidity of a vacant mind--these
circumstances, combined with the dress of
the day, the enormous and enveloping
fardingale, gave safety to her secret, at
least till the arrival of its crisis. As this
crisis approached, one may easily imagine
the secret and trembling preparation-the
important nurse, proud of the trust re-
posed in her-the confidential maid-the
faithful and discreet medical attendant-
to obtain all these Melmoth supplied her
amply with money-a circumstance that
would have surprised Isidora, as his ap-
pearance was always remarkably plain and
private, if, at this moment of anxiety, any
thought but that of the hour could have *
*
found room in her mind.
* * *
*

" On the evening supposed to be that pre-

ceding the dreaded event, Melmoth had
382 MELMOTH :

thrown an unusual degree of tenderness

into his manner-he gazed on her fre-
quently with anxious and silent fondness
--he seemed to have something to com-
municate which he had not courage to dis-
close. Isidora, well versed in the language
of the countenance, which is often, more
than that of words, the language of the
heart, intreated him to tell her what he
looked. " Your father is returning," said
Melmoth reluctantly. " He will certainly
be here in a few days, perhaps in a few
hours." Isidora heard him in silent horror.
" My father !" she cried " I have never
seen my father.-Oh, how shall I meet him
now! And is my mother ignorant of this ?
-would she not have apprized me?"-" She
is ignorant at present ; but she will not long
be so."-" And from whence could you
have obtained intelligence that she is ig-
norant of?" Melmoth paused some time,
-his features assumed a more contracted
and gloomy character than they had done
laterally-he answered with slow and
stern reluctance-" Never again ask me
 A TALE. 383

es
that question-the intelligence that I can
re
give you must be of more importance to
6
you than the means by which I obtain it
L
-enough for you that it is true. "-" Par-
don me, love," said Isidora ; " it is pro-
bable that I may never again offend you-
will you not, then, forgive my last offence?"
" Melmoth seemed too intently occupied
with his own thoughts to answer even her
tears. He added, after a short and sullen
pause, " Your betrothed bridegroom is
coming with your father-Montilla's father
is dead-the arrangements are all conclud-
ed for your nuptials-your bridegroom is
coming to wed the wife of another-with
him comes your fiery, foolish brother, who
has set out to meet his father and his fu-
ture relative. There will be a feast pre-
pared in the house on the occasion of your
future nuptials-you may hear of a strange
guest appearing at your festival-I will be
there!"
66

Isidora stood stupified with horror.

" Festival! " she repeated " a bridal fes
 384 MELMOTH :

tival !-and I already wedded to you, and

about to become a mother ! "
* * * *

" At this moment the trampling of

many horsemen was heard as they ap-
proached the villa-the tumult of the do-
mestics hurrying to admit and receive
them, resounded through the apartments
-and Melmoth, with a gesture that seem-
ed to Isidora rather like a menace than a
farewell, instantly disappeared ; and within
an hour, Isidora knelt to the father she had
never till then beheld-suffered herself to
be saluted by Montilla-and accepted the
embrace of her brother, who, in the petu-
lance of his spirit, half rejected the chill
and altered form that advanced to greet
him.
*
* * * *

66

Every thing at the family meeting

was conducted in true Spanish formality.
Aliaga kissed the cold hand of his withered
wife-the numerous domestics exhibited a
grave joy at the return of their master-
Fra Jose assumed increased importance,
 A TALE . 385

and called for dinner in a louder tone.

Montilla, the lover, a cold and quiet cha-
racter, took things as they occurred.
" Every thing lay hushed under a brief
■ and treacherous calm. Isidora, who trem-
bled at the approaching danger, felt her
terrors on a sudden suspended. It was not
so very near as she apprehended-and she
bore with tolerable patience the daily men-
tion of her approaching nuptials, while she
was momently harassed by her confiden-
tial servants with hints of the impossibility
of the event of which they were in expec-
tation, being much longer delayed. Isi-
dora heard, felt, endured all with courage
-the grave congratulation of her father
and mother-the self- complacent attentions
of Montilla, sure of the bride and of her
dower-the sullen compliance of the bro-
ther, who, unable to refuse his consent,
was for ever hinting that his sister might
have formed a higher connection. All
these passed over her mind like a dream
-the reality of her existence seemed inter-
nal, and she said to herself,-" Were I at
VOL . IV. R
386 MELMOTH :

the altar, were my hand locked in that of

Montilla, Melmoth would rend me from
him." A wild but deeply-fixed conviction
-a wandering image of preternatural
power, overshadowed her mind while she
thought of Melmoth ;-and this image,
which had caused her so much terror and
inquietude in her early hours oflove, now
formed her only resource against the hour
of inconceivable suffering; as those unfor-
tunate females in the Eastern Tales, whose
beauty has attracted the fearful passion of
some evil genie, are supposed to depend,
at their nuptial hour, on the presence of
the seducing spirit, to tear from the arms
of the agonised parent, and the distracted
bridegroom, the victim whom he has re-
served for himself, and whose wild devo-
tion to him gives a dignity to the union
so unhallowed and unnatural *.
* * *

* Vide the beautiful tale of Auheta the Princess

of Egypt, and Maugraby the Sorcerer, in the Ara-
bian Tales.
 A TALE. 387

" Aliaga's heart expanded amid the ap-

proaching completion of the felicitous
plans he had formed, and with his heart,
his purse, which was its depositary, open-
ed also, and he resolved to give a splendid
fete in honour of his daughter's nuptials.
Isidora remembered Melmoth's prediction
of a fatal festival; and his words, " I will
be there," gave her for a time a kind of
trembling confidence. But as the prepa
rations were carried on under her very eye,
-as she was hourly consulted about the
disposal of the ornaments, and the decora
tions of the apartments, her resolution
failed, and while she uttered a few incohe-
rent words, her eye was glazed with hor-
ror.

" The entertainment was to be a mask-

ed ball; and Isidora, who imagined that
this might suggest to Melmoth some au-
spicious expedient for her escape, watched
in vain for some hint of hope, some allu-
sion to the probability of this event facili-
tating her extrication from those snares of
388 MELMOTH :

death that seemed compassing her about.

He never uttered a word, and her depen-
dence on him was at one moment confirm-
ed, at another shaken to its foundation, by
this terrible silence. In one of these latter
moments, the anguish of which was in-
creased beyond expression by a conviction
that her hour of danger was not far dis-
tant, she exclaimed to Melmoth-" Take
me-take me from this place ! My exis-
tence is nothing-it is a vapour that soon
must be exhaled-but my reason is threat-
ened every moment ! I cannot sustain the
horrors to which I am exposed! All this day
Ihave been dragged through roomsdecorat-
ed for my impossible nuptials ! Oh, Mel-
moth, ifyou nolongerlove me, at least com-
miserate me ! Save me from a situation of
horror unspeakable !-have mercy on your
child, if not on me ! I have hung on your
looks,-I have watched for a word of hope
-you have not uttered a sound--you
have not cast a glance of hope on me !
I am wild! I am reckless of all but the
 A TALE . 389

imminent and present horrors of to-

morrow-you have talked of your power
to approach, to enter these walls without
suspicion or discovery-you boasted of
that cloud of mystery in which you
could envelope yourself. Oh ! in this last
moment of my extremity, wrap me in its
tremendous folds, and let me escape in
them, though they prove my shroud !-
Think of the terrible night of our mar-
riage! I followed you then in fear and
confidence-your touch dissolved every
earthly barrier-your steps trod an un-
known path, yet I followed you !-Oh !
If you really possess that mysterious and
inscrutable power, which I dare not either
question or believe, exert it for me in this
terrible emergency-aid my escape-and
though I feel I shall never live to thank
you, the silent suppliant will remind you
by its smiles of the tears that I now shed ;
コ
☐ and if they are shed in vain, its smile will
have a bitter eloquence as it plays with the
flowers on its mother's grave !"
390 MELMOTH :

" Melmoth, as she spoke, was profound-

ly silent, and deeply attentive. He said
at last, " Do you then resign yourself to
me ? "-" Alas ! have I not ?"-" A question
is not an answer. Will you, renouncing
all other engagements, all other hopes,
depend on me solely for your extrication
from this fearful emergency ?"-" I will-
I do !"-" Will you promise, that if I
render you the service you require, if I
employ the power you say I have allud-
ed to, you will be mine ?"-" Yours !-
Alas! am I not yours already ?"-" You
embrace my protection, then ? You volun-
tarily seek the shelter of that power
which I can promise ? You yourself will
me to employ that power in effecting your
escape ?-Speak-do I interpret yoursenti-
ments aright ?-I am unable to exer-
cise those powers you invest me with, un-
less you yourself require me to do so. I
have waited-I have watched for the de-
mand-it has been made-would that it
never had !" An expression of the fierc-
 A TALE. 391

est agony corrugated his stern features as

he spoke.-" But it may yet be with-
drawn-reflect!"-" And you will not
then save me from shame and danger ? Is
this the proof of your love is this the
boast of your power ?" said Isidora, half
frantic at this delay. " If I adjure you to
pause-if I myself hesitate and tremble--
it is to give time for the salutary whisper
of your better angel."-" Oh ! save me,
and you shall be my angel!" said Isidora,
falling at his feet. Melmoth shook
through his whole frame as he heard these
words. He raised and soothed her, how-
ever, with promises of safety, though in a
voice that seemed to announce despair- (

and then turning from her, burst into a

passionate soliloquy.-" Immortal Hea-
ven ! what is man ?-A being with the ig-
norance, but not the instinct, of the
feeblest animals !-They are like birds-
when thy hand, O Thou whom I dare not
call Father, is on them, they scream and
quiver, though the gentle pressure is in-
392 MELMOTH :

tended only to convey the wanderer back

to his cage--while, to shun the light fear
that scares their senses, they rush into the
snare that is spread in their sight, and
where their captivity is hopeless!" As he
spoke, hastily traversing the room, his
foot struck against a chair on which a gor-
geous dress was spread. " What is this ?"
he exclaimed." What ideot trumpery,
what May-queen foolery is this ?"-" It is
the habit I am to wear at the feast to-
night," said Isidora--" My attendants are
coming-I hear them at the door-oh,
with what a throbbing heart I shall
put on this glittering mockery !-But
you will not desert me then ?" she add-
ed, with wild and breathless anxiety.
66

Fear not," said Melmoth, solemnly-

" You have demanded my aid, and it
shall be accorded. May your heart trem-
ble no more when you throw off that
habit, than now when you are about to
put it on!"
" The hour approached, and the guests
 A TALE . 393

were arriving. Isidora, arrayed in a splen-

did and fanciful garb, and rejoicing in the
shelter which her mask afforded to the ex-
pression of her pale features, mingled
among the groupe. She walked one mea-
sure with Montilla, and then declined
dancing on the pretence of assisting her
mother in receiving and entertaining her
guests.
" After a sumptuous banquet, dancing
was renewed in the spacious hall, and Isi-
dora followed the company thither with a
beating heart. Twelve was the hour at
which Melmoth had promised to meet her,
and by the clock, which was placed over
the door of the hall, she saw it wanted but
a quarter to twelve. The hand moved on
-it arrived at the hour-the clock struck !
Isidora, whose eyes had been rivetted on
its movements, now withdrew them in
despair. At that moment she felt her
arm gently touched, and one of the
maskers, bending towards her, whispered,
" I am here !" and he added the sign
R2
394 MELMOTH :

which Melmoth and she had agreed on.

as the signal of their meeting. Isido-
ra, unable to reply, could only return
the sign. " Make haste," he added-" All
is arranged for your flight-there is not a
moment to be lost-I will leave you now,
but meet me in a few moments in the
western portico-the lamps are extinguish-
ed there, and the servants have neglected
to relight them-be silent and be swift ! "
He disappeared as he spoke, and Isidora,
after a few moments, followed him.
Though the portico was dark, a faint gleam
from the splendidly illuminated rooms dis-
closed to her the figure of Melmoth. He
drew her arm under his in silence, and
proceeded to hurry her from the spot.
" Stop, villain, stop !" exclaimed the voice
of her brother, who, followed by Montilla,
sprung from the balcony-" Where do you
drag mysister ?-and you, degradedwretch,
where are you about to fly, and with
whom ?" Melmoth attempted to pass him,
supporting Isidora with one arm, while
 A TALE . 395

the other was extended to repel his ap-

proach; but Fernan, drawing his sword,
コ
placed himself directly in their way, at the
same time calling on Montilla to raise the
household, and tear Isidora from his arms.
" Off, fool-off !" exclaimed Melmoth-
" Rush not on destruction !-I seek not
your life-one victim of your house is e-
nough-let us pass ere you perish !"-
" Boaster, prove your words !" said Fer-
nan, making a desperate thrust at him,
which Melmoth coolly put by with his
hand. " Draw, coward !" cried Fernan,
rendered furious by this action-" My
next will be more successful !" Melmoth
slowly drew his sword. " Boy !" said he
in an awful voice-" If I turn this point a-
gainst you, your life is not worth a mo-
ment's purchase-be wise and let us pass."
Fernan made no answer but by a fierce
attack, which was instantly met by his
antagonist.
" The shrieks of Isidora had now reach.
ed the ears of the revellers, who rushed in
396 MELMOTH :

crowds to the garden-the servants follow-

ed them with flambeaux snatched from
the walls adorned for this ill-omened fes-
tival, and the scene of the combat was in
amoment as light as day, and surrounded
by a hundred spectators.
" Part them-part them-save them !"
shrieked Isidora, writhing at the feet of
her father and mother, who, with the rest,
were gazing in stupid horror at the scene
-" Save my brother-save my husband !"
The whole dreadful truth rushed on Don-
na Clara's mind at these words, and cast-
ing a conscious look at the terrified priest,
she fell to the ground. The combat was
short as it was unequal, in two moments
Melmoth passed his sword twice through
the body of Fernan, who sunk beside Isi-
dora, and expired ! There was a univer-
sal pause of horror for some moments-
at length a cry of " Seize the murderer !"
burst from every lip, and the crowd began
to close around Melmoth. He attempted
no defence. He retreated a few paces,
 A TALE. 397

and sheathing his sword, waved them back

only with his arm ; and this movement,
that seemed to announce an internal
power above all physical force, had the ef-
fect of nailing every spectator to the spot
where he stood.
" The light of the torches, which the
trembling servants held up to gaze on him,
fell full on his countenance, and the voices
of a few shuddering speakers exclaimed,
" MELMOTH THE WANDERER ! " " I am-
I am !" said that unfortunate being-" and
who now will oppose my passing-who
will become my companion ?-I seek not
to injure now-but I will not be detained.
Would that breathless fool had yielded to
my bidding, not to my sword-there was
but one human chord that vibrated in
my heart-it is broken to-night, and for
ever ! I will never tempt woman more !
Why should the whirlwind, that can
shake mountains, and overwhelm cities
with its breath, descend to scatter the
leaves of the rose-bud?" As he spoke,
his eyes fell on the form of Isidora,
398 MELMOTH :

which lay at his feet extended beside that

of Fernan. He bent over it for a moment
-a pulsation like returning life agita-
ted her frame. He bent nearer-he whis-
pered, unheard by the rest,-" Isidora,
will you fly with me-this is the moment
-every arm is paralyzed every mind is
frozen to its centre !-Isidora, rise and fly
with me this is your hour of safety !"
Isidora, who recognized the voice but not
the speaker, raised herself for a moment-
looked on Melmoth-cast a glance on the
bleeding bosom of Fernan, and fell on it
dyed in that blood. Melmoth started up
-there was a slight movement ofhostility
among some of the guests-he turned one
briefand withering glance on them-they
stood every man his hand on his sword,
without the power to draw them, and the
very domestics held up the torches in their
trembling hands, as if with involuntary
awe they were lighting him out. So he
passed on unmolested amid the groupe,
till he reached the spot where Aliaga, stu-
 A TALE. 399

pified with horror, stood beside the bodies

of his son and daughter. " Wretched old
man !" he exclaimed, looking on him as
the unhappy father strained his glazing
and dilated eyes to see who spoke to him,
and at length with difficulty recognized
the form of the stranger-the companion
of his fearful journey some months past-
" Wretched old man-you were warned-
out you neglected the warning-I adjured
you to save your daughter-1 best knew
her danger-you saved your gold-now
estimate the value of the dross you grasped,
and the precious ore you dropt ! I stood
between myself and her-I warned-I
menaced-it was not for me to intreat.
Wretched old man-see the result !"_and
he turned slowly to depart. An involun-
tary sound of execration and horror, half
a howl and half a hiss, pursued his parting
steps, and the priest, with a dignity that
more became his profession than his cha-
racter, exclaimed aloud, " Depart accurs-
ed, and trouble us not-go, cursing and
400 MELMOTH :

to curse."-" I go conquering and to

conquer," answered Melmoth with wild
and fierce triumph-" wretches ! your
vices, your passions, and your weaknesses,
make you my victims. Upbraid your-
selves, and not me. Heroes in your
guilt, but cowards in your despair, you
would kneel at my feet for the terri-
ble immunity with which I pass through
you at this moment. I go accursed of
every human heart, yet untouched by one
human hand !"-As he retired slowly, the
murmur of suppressed but instinctive and
irrepressible horror and hatred burst from
the groupe. He past on scowling at them
like a lion on a pack of bayed hounds,
and departed unmolested-unassayed-no
weapon was drawn-no arm was lifted-
the mark was on his brow, and those who
could read it knew that all human power
was alike forceless and needless, and those
who could not succumbed in passive hor-
ror. Every sword was in its sheath as
Melmoth quitted the garden. " Leave
1
2
 A TALE. 401

him to God !"-was the universal exclama-

tion. " You could not leave him in worse
hands," exclaimed Fra Jose-" He will
certainly be damned-and-that is some
comfort to this afflicted family."
 CHAPTER XXXIII .

Nunc animum pietas, et materna nomina frangunt.

66
In less than half an hour, the superb
1
apartments, the illuminated gardens of
Aliaga, did not echo a footstep ; all
were gone, except a few who lingered,
some from curiosity, some from humanity,
to witness or condole with the sufferings
of the wretched parents. The sumptuous-
ly decorated garden now presented a sight
horrid from the contrasted figures and
 A TALE. 403

scenery. The domestics stood like statues,

holding the torches still in their hands-
Isidora lay beside the bloody corse of
her brother, till an attempt was made
to remove it, and then she clung to it
with a strength that required strength
to tear her from it-Aliaga, who had
not uttered a word, and scarcely drawn
a breath, sunk on his knees to curse his
half- lifeless daughter-Donna Clara, who
still retained a woman's heart, lost all
fear of her husband in this dreadful e-
mergency, and, kneeling beside him, held
his uplifted hands, and struggled hard
for the suspension of the malediction-
Fra Jose, the only one of the groupe
who appeared to possess any power of re-
collection or of mental sanity, addressed
repeatedly to Isidora the question, " Are
you married, and married to that fearful
being ?"-" I am married !" answered the
victim, rising from beside the corse of her
brother. " I am married !" she added,
glancing a look at her splendid habit, and
404 MELMOTH :

displaying it with a frantic laugh. A loud

knocking at the garden gate was heard at
this moment. " I am married !" shrieked
Isidora, " and here comes the witness of
my nuptials !"
" As she spoke, some peasants from the
neighbourhood, assisted by the domestics
of Don Aliaga, brought in a corse, so al-
tered from the fearful change that passes
on the mortal frame, that the nearest rela-
tive could not have known it. Isidora re-
cognized it in a moment for the body of
the old domestic who had disappeared so
mysteriously on the night of her frightful
nuptials. The body had been discovered
but that evening by the peasants ; it was
lacerated as by a fall from rocks, and so
disfigured and decayed as to retain no re-
semblance to humanity. It was recogniz-
able only by the livery of Aliaga, which,
though much defaced, was still distin-
guishable by some peculiarities in the
dress, that announced that those defaced
garments covered the mortal remains of
 A TALE . 405

the old domestic. " There !" cried Isido-

ra with delirious energy-" There is the
witness of my fatal marriage !"
" Fra Jose hung over the illegible frag-
ments of that whereon nature had once
written- This is a human being, and,
turning his eyes on Isidora, with involun-
66
tary horror he exclaimed, Your witness
is dumb ! " As the wretched Isidora was

-
dragged away by those who surrounded
her, she felt the first throes of maternal
suffering, and exclaimed, " Oh ! there
will be a living witness-if you permit it
to live ! " Her words were soon realized ;
she was conveyed to her apartment, and
in a few hours after, scarcely assisted and
wholly unpitied by her attendants, gave
birth to a daughter.
" This event excited a sentiment in the
L

family at once ludicrous and horrible. A-

liaga, who had remained in a state of stu-
pefaction since his son's death, uttered but
one exclamation-" Let the wife of the
sorcerer, and their accursed offspring, be
406 MELMOTH :

delivered into the hands of the merciful

and holy tribunal, the Inquisition." He
afterwards muttered something about his
property being confiscated, but to this no-
body paid attention. Donna Clara was
almost distracted between compassion for
her wretched daughter, and being grand-
mother to an infant demon, for such she
deemed the child of " Melmoth the Wan-
derer" must be-and Fra Jose, while he
baptized the infant with trembling hands,
almost expected a fearful sponsor to appear
and blast the rite with his horrible nega-
tive to the appeal made in the name of all
that is holy among Christians. The baptis-
malceremonywasperformed, however, with
an omission which the good-natured priest
overlooked-there was no sponsor-the
lowest domestic in the house declined with
horror the proposal of being sponsor for
the child of that terrible union. The
wretched mother heard them from her bed
of pain, and loved her infant better for its
*
utter destitution. *

* *
 A TALE. 407

2 " A few hours put an end to the

consternation of the family, on the
-
score of religion at least. The officers of
- the Inquisition arrived, armed with all
the powers of their tribunal, and strong-
ly excited by the report, that the Wan-
derer of whom they had been long in
search, had lately perpetrated an actthat
brought him within the sphere of their
jurisdiction, by involving the life of
- the only being his solitary existence held
alliance with . " We hold him by the
cords of a man," said the chief inquisitor,
speaking more from what he read than
what he felt " if he burst these cords he
is more than man. He has a wife and
child, and if there be human elements in
him, if there be any thing mortal cling-
ing to his heart, we shall wind round *
the roots of it, and extract it."
*

" It was not till after some weeks, that

Isidora recovered her perfect recollection.
When she did, she was in a prison, a pallet
408 MELMOTH :

of straw was her bed, a crucifix and a

death's head the only furniture of her cell;
the light struggled through a narrow grate,
and struggled in vain, to cast one gleam
on the squalid apartment that it visited
and shrunk from. Isidora looked round
her-she had light enough to see her child
--she clasped it to her bosom, from which
it had unconsciously drawn its feverish
nourishment, and wept in extasy. " It is
my own," she sobbed, " and only mine !
It has no father-he is at the ends of the
earth-he has left me alone-but I am not
alone while you are left to me ! "
" She was left in solitary confinement
for many days, undisturbed and unvisited.
The persons in whose hands she was had
strong reasons for this mode of treatment.
They were desirous that she should reco-
ver perfect sanity of intellect previous
to her examination, and they also wished
to give her time to form that profound at-
tachment to the innocent companion of her
solitude, that might be a powerful engine
 A TALE. 409

in their hands in discovering those circum-

stances relative to Melmoth that had hi-
therto baffled all the power and penetra-
tion of the Inquisition itself. All reports
agreed that the Wanderer had never be-
fore been known to make a woman the
object of his temptation, or to entrust her
with the terrible secret ofhis destiny * ; and
the Inquisitors were heard to say to each
ti
other, " Now that we have got the Deli-
lah in our hands, we shall soon have the
ne
Sampson."
DO
" It was on the night previous to her
examination, (of which she was unap-
nen
prized), that Isidora saw the door of her
ted
cell opened, and a figure appear at it,
hal
whom, amid the dreary obscurity that sur-
Dent
rounded her, she recognized in a moment,
eo
-it was Fra Jose. After a long pause of
mutual horror, she knelt in silence to re-
jou
she
ceive his benediction, which he gave with
dat
fhe * From this it should seem that they were unac-
quainted with the story of Elinor Mortimer.or
gin VOL . IV . S
410 MELMOTH :

feeling solemnity; and then the good

monk, whose propensities, though some-
what " earthly and sensual," were never
" devilish," after vainly drawing his cowl
over his face to stifle his sobs, lifted up his
voice and " wept bitterly."
" Isidora was silent, but her silence was
not that of sullen apathy, or ofconscience-
seared impenitence. At length Fra Jose
seated himselfon the foot of the pallet, at
some distance from the prisoner, who was
also sitting, and bending her cheek, down
which a cold tear slowly flowed, over her
infant. " Daughter," said the monk, col-
lecting himself, " it is to the indulgence
of the holy office I owe this permission to
visit you."-" I thank them," said Isidora,
and her tears flowed fast and relievingly.
" I am permitted also to tellyou that your
examination will take place to-morrow,-
to adjure you to prepare for it, and, if
there be any thing which"- "My
examination !" repeated Isidora with sur-
prise, but evidently without terror, "on
 A TALE. 411

d
what subject am I then to be examined ?"
e
-" On that of your inconceivable union
e with a being devoted and accursed."
W
His voice was choaked with horror, and
he added, " Daughter, are you then in-
deed the wife of-of-that being, whose
25
name makes the flesh creep, and the hair
e stand on end ?"-" I am."-" Who were
‫א‬
the witnesses of your marriage, and what
at hand dared to bind yours with that unholy
and unnatural bond ? "_" There were no
Π witnesses-we were wedded in darkness.
I saw no form, but I thought I heard
words uttered-I know I felt a hand place
mine in Melmoth's-its touch was as cold
加 as that of the dead."-" Oh complicated
and mysterious horror !" said the priest,
turning pale, and crossing himself with
. marks of unfeigned terror ; he bowed his
head on his arm for some time, and re-
if mained silent from unutterable emotion.
"Father," said Isidora at length, " you
knew the hermit who lived amid the ruins
ofthe monastery near our house, he was a
priest also, he was a holy man, it was he
412 MELMOTH :

who united us !" Her voice trembled.

" Wretched victim !" groaned the priest,
66

without raising his head, you know not

what you utter--that holy man is known
to have died the very night preceding that
of your dreadful union."
" Another pause of mute horror follow-
ed, which the priest at length broke.-
" Unhappy daughter," said he in a com-
posed and solemn voice, " I am indulged
with permission to give you the benefit
of the sacrament of confession, previous
to your examination. I adjure you to un-
burden your soul to me, will you ? " -
" I will, my father."--" Will you answer
me, as you would answer at the tribunal
of God ? "-" Yes,-as I would answer at
the tribunal of God." As she spake, she
prostrated herself before the priest in the
attitude of confession. * *

" And you have now disclosed the

whole burden of your spirit ?"-" I have,
my father." The priest sat thoughtfully
for a considerable time. He then put to
 A TALE . 413

-
her several singular questions relative to
st Melmoth, which she was wholly unable to
ot answer. They seemed chiefly the result
WD of those impressions of supernatural power
and terror, which were every where asso-
18 66

ciated with his image. My father,"

W said Isidora, when he had ceased, in a
faultering voice, " My father, may I in.
quire about my unhappy parents ?" The
ed priest shook his head, and remained silent.
At length, affected by the agony with
50
which she urged her inquiry, he reluc-
tantly said she might guess the effect
which the death of their son, and the im-
el
prisonment of their daughter in the In-
quisition, must have on parents, who were
no less eminent for their zeal for the Ca-

e
tholic faith, than for their parental affec-
tion. " Are they alive ?" said Isidora.-
e
" Spare yourself the pain of further in-
quiries, daughter," said the priest, " and
be assured, that if the answer was such as
could give you comfort, it would not be
withheld."
" At this moment a bell was heard to
414 MELMOTH :

sound in a distant part of the structure.

" That bell," said the priest, " announces
that the hour of your examination ap-
proaches-farewell, and may the saints be
with you."-" Stay, father, stay one mo-
ment, but one moment ! cried Isidora,
rushing franticly between him and the
door. Fra Jose paused. Isidora sunk
before him, and, hiding her face with her
hands, exclaimed in a voice choaked with
agony, " Father, do you think that I
am-lost for ever ?"-" Daughter," said the
priest in heavy accents, and in a troubled
and doubting spirit, " Daughter, I have
given you what comfort I could-press
for no more, lest what I have given (with
many struggles of conscience) may be
withdrawn. Perhaps you are in a state
on which I can form no judgment, and
pronounce no sentence. May God be
merciful to you, and may the holy tribu-
nal judge you in its mercy also."-" Yet
stay, father-stay one moment-only one
moment-only one question more." As
she spoke, she caught her pale and inno-
 A TALE. 415

cent companion from the pallet where it

S
slept, and held it up to the priest. " Fa-
ther, tell me, can this be the child of a
demon ?-can it be, this creature that
smiles on me-that smiles on you, while
you are mustering curses against it ?-
e Oh, holy drops have sprinkled it from
your own hand !-Father, you have spoke
1 holy words over it. Father, let them
tear me with their pincers, let them roast
me on their flames, but will not my
e child escape-my innocent child, that
ㅓ smiles on you ?-Holy father, dear father,
e. look back on my child." And she crawled
after him on her knees, holding up the
miserable infant in her arms, whose weak
e cry and wasted frame, pleaded against the
dungeon-life to which its infancy had been
日 doomed.
Fra Jose melted at the appeal, and he
-
was about to bestow many a kiss and many
a prayer on the wretched babe, when the
bell again was sounded, and hasting away,
he had but time to exclaim, " My daugh-
ter, may God protect you !"-" God pro-
 1

416 MELMOTH :

tect me," said Isidora, clasping her infant

to her bosom. The bell sounded again,
and Isidora knew that the hour of her
trial approached.

bault adt boe - boot

andgut at lost of urged suffic

 CHAPTER XXXIV.

Fear not now the fever's fire,

Fear not now the death-bed groan ;
Pangs that torture, pains that tire
Bed-rid age with feeble moan.
MASON.

66

The first examination of Isidora was

conducted with the circumspective forma-
lity that has always been known to mark
the proceedings of that tribunal. The se-
cond and the third were alike strict, pe-
netrating and inoperative, and the holy
office began to feel its highest functionaries
were no match for the extraordinary priso
32
418 MELMOTH :

ner who stood before them, who, combin .

ing the extremes of simplicity and magna-
nimity, uttered every thing that might
criminate herself, but evaded with skill
that baffled all the arts of inquisitorial ex-
amination, every question that referred to
Melmoth . 10
" In the course of the first examination,
they hinted at the torture. Isidora, with
something of the free and nature-taught
dignity of her early existence, smiled as
they spoke of it. An official whispered
one of the inquisitors, as he observed the
peculiar expression of her countenance,
and the torture was mentioned no more.
" A second-a third examination fol-
lowed at long intervals-but it was
observed, that every time the mode of
examination was less severe, and the treat-
ment of the prisoner more and more
indulgent-her youth, her beauty, her
profound simplicity of character and
language, developed strongly on this
singular emergency, and the affecting
circumstance of her always appearing with
 A TALE . 419

her child in her arms, whose feeble cries

a- she tried to hush, while she bent forward
to hear and answer the questions addressed
to her-all these seemed to have wrought
powerfully on the minds of men not ac-
customed to yield to external impressions.
There was also a docility, a submission,
, about this beautiful and unfortunate being
-a contrite and bending spirit-a sense
t of wretchedness for the misfortunes of her
S family-a consciousness of her own, that
touched the hearts even of inquisitors.
" After repeated examinations, when
nothing could be extorted from the prisoner,
a skilful and profound artist in the school of
mental anatomy, whispered to the inqui-
sitor something about the infant whom
she held in her arms. " She has defied the
rack," was the answer. " Try her on that
rack," was rejoined, and the hint was
taken.
" After the usual formalities were gone
through, Isidora's sentence was read to
her. She was condemned, as a suspected
heretic, to perpetual confinement in the
420 MELMOTH :

prison of the Inquisition-her child was

to be taken from her, and brought up in
a convent, in order to
" Here the reading of the sentence was
interrupted by the prisoner, who, uttering
one dreadful shriek of maternal agony,
louder than any other mode of torture had
ever before extorted, fell prostrate on the
floor. When she was restored to sensa-
tion, no authority or terror of the place or
the judges, could prevent her pouring
forth those wild and piercing supplications,
which, from the energy with which they
are uttered, appear to the speaker himself
like commands, that the latter part of
her sentence might be remitted-the for-
mer appeared to make not the least im-
pression on her-eternal solitude, passed
in eternal darkness, seemed to give her
neither fear or pain, but she wept, and
pleaded, and raved, that she might not
be separated from her infant.ameb
" The judges listened with fortified
hearts, and in unbroken silence. When
she found all was over, she rose from her
 A TALE. 421

posture of humiliation and agony-and

there was something even of dignity about
her as she demanded, in a calm and alter-
ed voice, that her child might not be re-
moved from her till the following day. She
had also self-possession enough to enforce
her petition by the remark, that its life
might be the sacrifice if it was too sudden-
ly deprived of the nourishment it was ac-
customed to receive from her. To this re-
quest the judges acceded, and she was re-
manded to her cell. *

*
*

" The time elapsed. The person who

brought her food departed without utter-
- ing a word; nor did she utter a word to
him. It was about midnight that the
door of her cell was unlocked, and two
persons in official habits appeared at it.
They seemed to pause, like the heralds at
the tent of Achilles, and then, like them,
forced themselves to enter. These men
had haggard and livid faces-their atti-
tudes were perfectly stony and automaton-
like-their movements appeared the result
422 MELMOTH :

of mere mechanism-yet these men were

touched. The miserable light within hard-
ly shewed the pallet on which the priso-
ner was seated; but a strong red light
from the torch the attendant held, flar-
ed broadly on the arch of the door un-
der which the figures appeared. They
approached with a motion that seemed si-
multaneous and involuntary-and uttered
together, in accents that seemed to issue
from one mouth, " Deliver your child
to us." In a voice as hoarse, dry, and
natureless, the prisoner answered, " Take
it!"
" The men looked about the cell-it
seemed as if they knew not where to find
the offspring of humanity amid the cells
of the Inquisit on. The prisoner was si-
lent and motionless during their search.
It was not long-the narrow apartment,
the scanty furniture, afforded little room
for the investigation. When it was con-
cluded,, however, the prisoner, bursting
into a wild laugh, exclaimed, " Where
would you search for a child but in its
 A TALE . 423

mother's bosom ? Here-here it is take

N it-take it !" And she put it into their
SO hands. " Oh what fools ye were to seek
my child any where but on its mother's
bosom! It is your's now !" she shrieked
in a voice that froze the officials. " Take
hen it
-take it from me !"
$ " The agents of the holy office advan-
red ced; and the technicality of their move-
ments was somewhat suspended when Isi-
dora placed in their hands the corse of her
infant daughter. Around the throat of
the miserable infant, born amid agony,
and nursed in adungeon, there was a black
mark, which the officials made their use of
no in representing this extraordinary circum-
stance to the holy office. By some it was
deemed as the sign impressed by the evil
one at its birth-by others as the fearful
effect of maternal despair.
" It was determined that the prisoner
should appear before then within four-
and-twenty hours, and account for the *
*
e
death of her child.
*
*
424 MELMOTH :

" Within less than half that number of

hours, a mightier arm than that ofthe In-
quisition was dealing with the prisoner-
an arm that seemed to menace, but was
indeed stretched out to save, and before
whose touch the barriers of the dreaded
Inquisition itself were as frail as the for-
tress of the spider who hung her web on
its walls. Isidora was dying of a disease
not the less mortal because it makes no
appearance in an obituary-she was dying
of that internal and incurable wound-a
broken heart.
" When the inquisitors were at last
convinced that there was nothing more to
be obtained by torture, bodily or mental
torture, they suffered her to die unmolest-
ed, and granted her last request, that Fra
*

Jose might be permitted to visit her.

*
* * * *

" It was midnight, but its approach was

unknown in that place, where day and
night are the same. Adim lamp was sub-
stituted for that weak and struggling beam
that counterfeited day-light. The peni-
 A TALE. 425

tent was stretched on her bed of rest-

of
1 the humane priest sat beside her ; and if
his presence gave no dignity to the scene,
as it at least softened it by the touches of hu-
*
*
re manity.
* * *

ed
66

66
My father," said the dying Isidora,
you pronounced me forgiven."—" Yes,
se
my daughter," said the priest, " you have
10
assured me you are innocent of the death
of your infant."-" You never could have
1
believed me guilty," said Isidora, raising
herself on her pallet at the appeal-" the
consciousness of its existence alone would

0
have kept me alive, even in my prison.
Oh, my father, how was it possible it
could live, buried with me in this dread-
t
ful place almost as soon as it respir-
ed ? Even the morbid nourishment it re-
ceived from me was dried up when my
sentence was read. It moaned all night
S
-towards morning its moans grew faint-
er, and I was glad at last they ceased,
and I was very-happy !" But, as she talk-
ed of this fearful happiness, she wept.
426 MELMOTH :

" My daughter, is your heart disengag-

ed from that awful and disastrous tie that
bound it to misfortune here, and to per-
dition hereafter?" It was long before she
could answer ; at length she said in a
broken voice, " My father, I have not now
strength to search or to struggle with my
heart. Death must very soon break every
tie that was twined with it, and it is use-
less to anticipate my liberation ; the effort
would be agony-fruitless agony, for,
while I live, I must love my destroyer !
Alas! in being the enemy of mankind,
was not his hostility to me inevitable
and fatal ? In rejecting his last terrible
temptation-in resigning him to his des-
tiny, and preferring submission to my own,
I feel my triumph complete, and my sal-
vation assured."-" Daughter, I do not
comprehend you."-" Melmoth," said Isi-
dora, with a strong effort, " Melmoth was
here last night-within the walls of the
Inquisition-within this very cell !" The
priest crossed himself with marks of the
profoundest horror, and, as the wind
 A TALE. 427

swept hollowly through the long passage,

at almost expected the shaken door would
1
burst open, and disclose the figure of the
* *
*
he Wanderer.
* *
* *
8
A
" My father, I have had many dreams,"
answered the penitent, shaking her head
66

at a suggestion of the priest's, " many-

e many wanderings, but this was no dream.
rt I have dreamed of the garden-land where
I beheld him first-I have dreamed of the
nights when he stood at my casement, and
d trembled in sleep at the sound of my mo-
le ther's step-and I have had holy and
hopeful visions, in which celestial forms
$ appeared to me, and promised me his con-
version-but this was no dream-I saw
1
. him last night. Father, he was here the
whole night-he promised-he assured
me-he adjured ine to accept of libera-
S tion and safety, of life and of felicity.
He told me, nor could I doubt him, that,
by whatever means he effected his en-
trance, he could also effect my escape.
He offered to live with me in that In
428 MELMOTH :

dian isle-that paradise of ocean, far from

human resort or human persecution. He
offered to love me alone, and for ever-
and then I listened to him. Oh, my fa-
ther, I am very young, and life and love
sounded sweetly in my ears, when I look-
ed at my dungeon, and thought of dying
on this floor of stone ! But-when he
whispered the terrible condition on which
the fulfilment of his promise depended-
when he told me that"- -

"
Her voice failed with her failing
strength, and she could utter no more.
" Daughter, said the priest, bending over
her bed, " daughter, I adjure you, by the
image representedonthiscrossI hold to your
dying lips-by your hopes of that salva-
tion which depends on the truth you utter
to me, your priest and your friend-the
conditions proposed by your tempter !"
" Promise me absolution for repeating the
words, for I should wish that my last
breath might not be exhaled in uttering-
what I must."-" Te absolvo," &c. said
the priest, and bent his ear to catch the
 A TALE. 429

sounds. The moment they were uttered,

he started as from the sting of a serpent,
and, seating himself at the extremity of
66
the cell, rocked in dumb horror. My
father, you promised me absolution," said
the penitent. " Jam tibi dedi, mori-
bunda," answered the priest, in the con-
fusion of thoughts using the language ap-
propriated to the service of religion.
" Moribunda indeed !" said the sufferer,
falling back on her pallet, " Father, let me
feel a human hand in mine as I part !"-
" Call upon God, daughter !" said the
priest, applying the crucifix to her cold
lips. " I loved his religion," said the pe-
nitent, kissing it devoutly, " I loved it be-
fore I knew it, and God must have been
my teacher, for I had no other ! Oh !" she
exclaimed, with that deep conviction that
must thrill every dying heart, and whose
echo (would God) might pierce every liv-
ing one-" Oh that I had loved none but
God-how profound would have been my
peace-how glorious my departure-now
-his image pursues me even to the brink
430 MELMOTH :

of the grave, into which I plunge to e-

scape it!"
" My daughter," said the priest, while
the tears rolled fast down his cheeks-
66
my daughter, you are passing to bliss-
the conflict was fierce and short, but the
victory is sure-harps are tuned to a new
song, even a song of welcome, and wreaths
ofpalm are weaving for you in paradise!"
" Paradise !" uttered Isidora, with her
last breath " Will he be there !"
24

92

Hod molila diod thach aid to godt and

 CHAPTER XXXV.

PO Loud tolled the bell, the priests prayed well,

en The tapers they all burned bright,
Themonk herson, andher daughterthe nun, dân dã
They told their beads all night !

The second nightdtoond sal

The monk and the nun they told their beads
Asfastasthey could tell,
And aye the louder grew the noise,
The faster went the bell !

The third night came

The monk and the nun forgot their beads,

They fell to the ground dismayed,
Therewas not a single saint in heaven
Whom they did not call to their aid !
SOUTHEY.

MONÇADA here concluded the tale ofthe

Indian,-the victim of Melmoth's passion,
no less than of his destiny, both alike un-
hallowed and unutterable. And he an-
432 MELMOTH :

nounced his intention of disclosing to him

the fates of the other victims, whose skele-
tons were preserved in the vault of the
Jew Adonijah in Madrid. He added, that
the circumstances relating to them, were
of a character still darker and more awful
than those he had recited, as they were
the result of impressions made on mascu-
line minds, without any excitement but
that of looking into futurity. He men-
tioned, too, that the circumstances of
his residence in the house of the Jew,
his escape from it, and the reasons of
his subsequent arrival in Ireland, were
scarcely less extraordinary than any thing
he had hitherto related. Young Mel-
moth, (whose name perhaps the reader has
forgot), did " seriously incline" to the pur-
pose of having his dangerous curiosity
further gratified, nor was he perhaps al-
togetherwithout the wild hope ofseeing the
originalof that portrait he had destroyed,
burst from the walls and take up the fear-
ful tale himself.
The narrative of the Spaniard had oc-
 A TALE. 433

cupied many days; at their termination,

young Melmoth signified to his guest that
he was prepared to hear the sequel.
Anight was fixed for the continuation
of the recital. Young Melmoth and his
guest met in the usual apartment-it was
adreary, stormy night-the rain that had
fallen all day, seemed now to have yielded
to the wind, that came in strong and sud-
den bursts, suddenly hushed, as if collect-
ing strength for the tempest of the night.
Monçada and Melmoth drew their chairs
closerto the fire, looking at each other with
the aspect of men who wish to inspire each
other with courage to listen, and to tell,
and are the more eager to inspire it, be-
cause neither feels it himself.
At length Monçada collected his voice
and resolution to proceed, but as he went
on, he perceived he could not fix his
hearer's attention, and he paused.
" I thought," said Melmoth, answering
his silence, " I thought I heard a noise-
as of a person walking in the passage."
" Hush ! and listen," said Monçada, " I
VOL . IV . T
434 MELMOTH :

would not wish to be overheard." They

paused and held their breath-the sound
was renewed-it was evidently that of steps
approaching the door, and then retiring
from it. " We are watched," said Mel-
moth, half-rising from his chair, but at
that moment the door opened, and a
figure appeared at it, which Monçada re-
cognized for the subject of his narrative,
and his mysterious visitor in the prison of
the Inquisition, and Melmoth for the ori-
ginal of the picture, and the being whose
unaccountable appearance had filled him
with consternation, as he sat beside his
dying uncle's bed rooz hita o
The figure stood at the door for some
time, and then advancing slowly till it
gained the centre of the room, it remained
there fixed for some time, but without
looking at them. It then approached the
table where they sat, in a slow but dis-
tinctly heard step, and stood before them
as a living being. The profound horror
that was equally felt by both, was diffe-
rently expressed by each. Monçada cross-
 : A TALE. 435

ed himself repeatedly, and attempted to

utter many prayers. Melmoth, nailed to
his chair, fixed his sightless eyes on the
form that stood before him-it was in
deed Melmoth the Wanderer-the same
as he was in the past century-the same
as he may be in centuries to come,
should the fearful terms of his exist-
ence be renewed. His " natural force
was not abated," but " his eye was dim,"
-that appalling and supernatural lustre of
the visual organ, that beacon lit by an in-
fernal fire, to tempt or to warn the adven-
turers of despair from that coast on which
many struck, and some sunk-that porten-
tous light was no longer visible-the form
and figure were those of a living man, of
the age indicated in the portrait which the
young Melmoth had destroyed, but the
*
eyes were as the eyes of the dead.
*
* *

As the Wanderer advanced still nearer

till his figure touched the table, Monçada
and Melmoth started up in irrepressible
horror, and stood in attitudes of defence,
436 MELMOTH :

though conscious at the moment that all

defence was hopeless against a being that
withered and mocked at human power.
The Wanderer waved his arm with an
action that spoke defiance without hostility
-and the strange and solemn accents of
the only human voice that had respired
mortal air beyond the period of mortal life,
and never spoken but to the ear of guilt
or suffering, and never uttered to that ear
aught but despair, rolled slowly on their
hearing like a peal of distant thunder.
66
Mortals-you are here to talk of my
destiny, and of the events which it has
involved. That destiny is accomplished, I
believe, and with it terminate those events
that have stimulated yourwildandwretched
curiosity. I am here to tell you of both !-
I-I-of whom youspeak, am here !-Who
can tell so well of Melmoth the Wanderer
as himself, now that he is about to resign
that existence which has been the object of
terror and wonder to the world?-Mel-
moth, you behold your ancestor-the be-
ing on whose portrait is inscribed the date
 A TALE. 437

of a century and a half, is before you.-

Monçada, you see an acquaintance of a
later date." (A grim smile of recognition
wandered over his features as he spoke).-
" Fear nothing," he added, observing the
agony and terror of his involuntary hear-
ers-" What have you to fear ?" he con-
tinued, while a flash of derisive malignity
once more lit up the sockets of his dead
eyes " You, Senhor, are armed with
your beads and you, Melmoth, are forti-
fied by that vain and desperate inquisitive-
ness, which might, at a former period,
have made you my victim," (and his fea-
tures underwent a short but horrible con-
vulsion)-" but now makes you only my
mockery.
*
*

" Have you aught to quench my thirst?"

he added, seating himself. The senses of
Monçada and his companion reeled in de-
lirious terror, and the former, in a kind of
wild confidence, filled a glass of water, and
offered it to the Wanderer with a hand as
steady, but somewhat colder, as he would
438 MELMOTH :

have presented it to one who sat beside

him in human companionship. The Wan-
derer raised it to his lips, and tasted a few
drops, then replacing it on the table, said
with a laugh, wild indeed, but no longer
ferocious " Have you seen," said he to
Monçada andMelmoth,whogazedwith dim
and troubled sight on this vision, and wist
not what to think " Have you seen the
fate ofDon Juan, not as he is pantomimed
on your paltry stage, but as he is repre-
sented in the real horrors of his destiny
by the Spanish writer * ? There the spectre
returns the hospitality of his inviter, and
summons him in turn to a feast. The
banquet-hall is a church-he arrives it is
illuminated with a mysterious light-invi-
sible hands hold lamps fed by no earthly
substance, to light the apostate to his
doom ! He enters the church, and is greet-
ed by a numerous company-the spirits of
those whom he has wronged and murder-

* Vide the original play, of which there is a cu-

rious and very obsolete translation o
 A TALE. 439

ed, uprisen from their charnel, and swath-

ed in shrouds, stand there to welcome
T him ! As he passes among them, they
al call on him in hollow sounds to pledge
them in goblets of blood which they pre-
sent to him and beneath the altar, by
which stands the spirit of him whom the
parricide has murdered, the gulph of per-
dition is yawning to receive him ! -
Through such a band I must soon prepare
to pass ! Isidora ! thy form will be the
last I must encounter-and-the most ter-
rible! Now for the last drop I must taste
of earth's produce-the last that shall wet
my mortal lips !" He slowly finished the
draught of water. Neither of his compa-
nions had the power to speak. He sat
down in a posture of heavy musing, and
neither ventured to interrupt him.
They kept silence till the morning was
dawning, and a faint light streamed through
the closed shutters. Then the Wanderer
raised his heavy eyes, and fixed them on
66
Melmoth. Your ancestor has come
home," he said ; " his wanderings are over!
440 MELMOTH :

-What has been told or believed of me

is now of light avail to me. The secret of
my destiny rests with myself. If all that
fear has invented, and credulity believed
of me be true, to what does it amount ?
That if my crimes have exceeded those of
mortality, so will my punishment. I have
been on earth a terror, but not an evil to
its inhabitants. None can participate in
my destiny but with his own consent-
none have consented-none can be involv-
ed in its tremendous penalties, but by par-
ticipation. I alone must sustain the pe-
nalty. If I have put forth my hand, and
eaten of the fruit of the interdicted tree,
am I not driven from the presence of
God and the region of paradise, and sent
to wander amid worlds of barrenness and
curse for ever and ever ?
" It has been reported of me, that I
obtained from the enemy of souls a range
of existence beyond the period allotted to
mortality-a power to pass over space
without disturbance or delay, and visit re-
mote regions with the swiftness of thought
 A TALE . 441

-to encounter tempestswithout the hope of

their blasting me, and penetrate into dun-
geons, whose bolts were as flax and tow at
my touch. It has been said that this
power was accorded to me, that I might
be enabled to tempt wretches in their fear-
ful hour of extremity, with the promise
of deliverance and immunity, on condition
of their exchanging situations with me.
If this be true, it bears attestation to a
truth uttered by the lips of one I may not
name, and echoed by every human heart
in the habitable world.
" No one has ever exchanged destinies
with Melmoth the Wanderer. Ihave tra-
versed the world in the search, and no one,
to gain that world, would lose his own
soul !-Not Stanton in his cell-nor you,
Monçada, in the prison of the Inquisition
-nor Walberg, who saw his children pe-
rishing with want -nor-another"-
He paused, and though on the verge of
his dark and doubtful voyage, he seemed
to cast one look of bitter and retrospective
442 MELMOTH :

anguish on the receding shore of life, and

see, through the mists of memory, one
form that stood there to bid him farewell.
He rose-" Let me, ifpossible, obtain an
hour's repose. Aye, repose-sleep !" he re-
peated, answering the silent astonishment
ofhis hearers' looks, " my existence is still
human !"-and a ghastly and derisive smile
wandered over his features for the last
time, as he spoke. How often had that
smile frozen the blood of his victims !
Melmoth and Monçada quitted the apart-
ment ; and the Wanderer, sinking back in
his chair, slept profoundly. He slept, but
what were the visions of his last earthly
slumber ?

The Wanderer's Dream. 40018

He dreamed that he stood on the sum-

mit of a precipice, whose downward height
 A TALE. 443

no eye could have measured, but for the

fearful waves of a fiery ocean that lash-
ed, and blazed, and roared at its bottom,
sending its burning spray far up, so as to
drench the dreamer with its sulphurous
rain. The whole glowing ocean below was
alive-every billow bore an agonizing soul,
that rose like a wreck or a putrid corse on
the waves of earth's oceans -uttered a
shriek as it burst against that adamantine
precipice-sunk-and rose again to repeat
the tremendous experiment ! Every bil-
low of fire was thus instinct with immor-
tal and agonizing existence, each was
freighted with a soul, that rose on the
burning wave in torturing hope, burst on
the rock in despair, added its eternal shriek
to the roar of that fiery ocean, and sunk
to rise again-in vain, and for ever !
Suddenly the Wanderer felt himself
flung half-way down the precipice. He
stood, in his dream, tottering on a crag mid-
way down the precipice-he looked up-
ward, but the upper air (for there was no
heaven) showed onlyblackness unshadowed
444 MELMOTH :

and impenetrable-but, blacker than that

blackness, he could distinguish a gigantic
outstretched arm, that held him as in sport
on the ridge of that infernal precipice,
while another, that seemed in its motions
to hold fearful and invisible conjunction
with the arm that grasped him, as if both
belonged to some being too vast and hor-
rible even for the imagery of a dream to
shape, pointed upwards to a dial-plate fixed
on the top of that precipice, and which
the flashes of that ocean of fire made fear-
fully conspicuous. He saw the mysterious
single hand revolve he saw it reach the G

appointed period of 150 years-(for in this

mystic plate centuries were marked, not
hours)-he shrieked in his dream, and,
with that strong impulse often felt in
sleep, burst from the arm that held him,
to arrest the motion of the hand.didasneb
In the effort he fell, and falling grasped
at aught that might save him. His fall
seemed perpendicular-there was nought
to save him--the rock was as smooth as
ice-the ocean of fire broke at its foot !
 A TALE. 445

Suddenly a groupe of figures appeared,

ascending as he fell. He grasped at them
successively ; first Stanton-then Wal-
berg-Elinor Mortimer-Isidora-Monça-
da-all passed him, to each he seemed in
his slumber to cling in order to break
his fall-all ascended the precipice. He
caught at each in his downward flight,
but all forsook him and ascended.
His last despairing reverted glance was
fixed on the clock of eternity-the up-
raised black arm seemed to push forward
the hand-it arrived at its period-he fell
-he sunk-he blazed-he shrieked ! The
burning waves boomed over his sinking
head, and the clock of eternity rung out its
awful chime-" Room for the soul of the
Wanderer ! "_and the waves of the burn-
ing ocean answered, as they lashed the a-
damantine rock- " There is room for
more!" The Wanderer awoke, adr ol
 CHAPTER XXXVI .

And in he came with eyes of flame,

The fiend to fetch the dead.
SOUTHEY'S Old Woman ofBerkeley.

MELMOTH andMonçada did not dare to

approach the door till about noon. They
then knocked gently at the door, and find-
ing the summons unanswered, they enter-
ed slowly and irresolutely. The apart-
ment was in the same state in which they
had left it the preceding night, or rather
morning; it was dusky and silent, the shut-
ters had not been opened, and the Wan-
derer still seemed sleeping in his chair.
 A TALE. 447

At the sound of their approach he half-

started up, and demanded what was the
66

hour. They told him. My hour is

come," said the Wanderer, " it is an hour
you must neither partake or witness-the
clock of eternity is about to strike, but its
knell must be unheard by mortal ears !"
As he spoke they approached nearer, and
saw with horror the change the last few
hours had wrought on him. The fearful
lustre of his eyes had been deadened be-
fore their late interview, but now the lines
of extreme age were visible in every fea-
ture. His hairs were as white as snow,
his mouth had fallen in, the muscles of his
face were relaxed and withered-he was
the very image of hoary decrepid debility.
He started himself at the impression which
his appearance visibly made on the in-
truders. " You see what I feel," he ex-
claimed, " the hour then is come. Iam
summoned, and I must obey the sum-
mons-my master has other work for me !
When a meteor blazes in your atmos-
phere-when a comet pursues its burning
448 MELMOTH :

path towards the sun-look up, and per-

haps you may think of the spirit con-
demned to guide the blazing and erratic
orb."
The spirits, that had risen to a kind of
wild elation, as suddenly subsided, and
he added, " Leave me, I must be alone
for the few last hours of my mortal exist-
ence-if indeed they are to be the last."
He spoke this with an inward shuddering,
that was felt by his hearers. " In this a-
partment," he continued, " I first drew
breath, in this I must perhaps resign it,-*
would-would I had never been born !
*
*
*

" Men--retire-leave me alone. What-

ever noises you hear in the course of the
awful night that is approaching, come not
near this apartment, at peril of your lives.
Remember," raising his voice, which still
retained all its powers, " remember your
lives will be the forfeit of your desperate
curiosity. For the same stake I risked
more than life and lost it !
-Be warned
-retire !"
 A TALE. 449

They retired, and passed the remainder

of that day without even thinking of food,
from that intense and burning anxiety
that seemed to prey on their very vitals.
At night they retired, and though each
lay down, it was without a thought of re-
pose. Repose indeed would have been
impossible. The sounds that soon after
midnight began to issue from the apart-
ment of the Wanderer, were at first of a
description not to alarm, but they were
soon exchanged for others of such inde-
scribable horror, that Melmoth, though he
had taken the precaution of dismissing the
servants to sleep in the adjacent offices,
began to fear that those sounds might
reach them, and, restless himself from in-
supportable inquietude, rose and walked
up and down the passage that led to that
room of horror. As he was thus occupied,
he thought he saw a figure at the lower
end of the passage. So disturbed was his
vision, that he did not at first recognize
Monçada. Neither asked the other the
450 MELMOTH :

reason of his being there-they walked

up and down together silently.
} In a short time the sounds became so
terrible, that scarcely had the awful warn-
ing of the Wanderer power to withhold
them from attempting to burst into the
room. These noises were of the most
mixed and indescribable kind. They could
not distinguish whether they were the
shrieks of supplication, or the yell of blas-
phemy-they hoped inwardly they might
be the former.
Towards morning the sounds sudden-
ly ceased-they were stilled as in a mo-
ment. The silence that succeeded seemed
to them for a few moments more terrible
than all that preceded. After consulting
each other by a glance, they hastened to-
gether to the apartment. They entered-
it was empty-not a vestige of its last in-
habitant was to be traced within.
After looking around in fruitless a-
mazement, they perceived a small door op-
posite to that by which they had entered.
 A TALE. 451

It communicated with a back staircase, and

was open. As they approached it, they
discovered the traces of footsteps that
appeared to be those of a person who
had been walking in damp sand or clay.
These traces were exceedingly plain-
they followed them to a door that open-
ed on the garden-that door was open
also. They traced the foot-marks dis-
tinctly through the narrow gravel walk,
which was terminated by a broken fence,
and opened on a heathy field which spread
half-way up a rock whose summit over-
looked the sea. The weather had been
rainy, and they could trace the steps dis-
tinctly through that heathy field. They
ascended the rock together.
Early as it was, the cottagers, who
were poor fishermen residing on the shore,
were all up, and assuring Melmoth and
his companion that they had been disturb-
ed and terrified the preceding night by
sounds which they could not describe. It
was singular that these men, accustomed
452 MELMOTH :

by nature and habit alike to exaggeration

and superstition, used not the language of
either on this occasion.
There is an overwhelming mass of
conviction that falls on the mind, that
annihilates idiom and peculiarities, and
crushes out truth from the heart. Mel-
moth waved back all who offered to ac-
company him to the precipice which
over-hung the sea. Monçada alone fol-
lowed him.
Through the furze that clothed this
rock, almost to its summit, there was a
kind of tract as if a person had drag-
ged, or been dragged, his way through
it-a down-trodden track, over which
no footsteps but those of one impelled by
force had ever passed. Melmoth and
Monçada gained at last the summit of the
rock. The ocean was beneath the wide,
waste, engulphing ocean ! On a crag be-
neath them, something hung as floating
to the blast. Melmoth clambered down
and caught it. It was the handkerchief
 A TALE. 453

which the Wanderer had worn about his

neck the preceding night-that was the
last trace of the Wanderer !
Melmoth and Monçada exchanged
looks of silent and unutterable horror, and
returned slowly home.

FINIS.

JOHN PILLANS, Printer, Edinburgh.

 THAT A

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sift, any tail -idgία γαρίδοροια, sủi đoạn

boqundoza , nhữquoM ban dieuLith

bris gioriod oldmslanie fire holle to alool
natod ylwola bomitst
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