CHAPTER XIX.
WHO IS HE?
From a state of dreamy apathy—a delirium between sleeping and waking: the very fever of desperation—the increased roar of ocean aroused me. Through the sullen gloom I discerned, a-head, a mighty barrier of rocks, against which the sea was running with incredible fury, casting the foam of its breakers to the clouds, and hurrying the wreck onwards to total destruction. I heard my heart beat: the critical moment was come, for safety or destruction. I drew off my boots, buttoned up the despatches in the breast of my coat, and casting another glance at that frowning, sable, and appalling barrier of rock, felt my heart sink within me: yet that heart had never quailed in the breach, or on the battle-field.
An exclamation of sincere piety escaped my lips, and suppliantly my hands were raised to Heaven. Next moment there was a frightful crash! the parting wreck sank beneath me, the deck split under my feet, and I was struggling breathlessly in the dark water amid the dashing breakers; which were covered with froth and foam, and fragments of spare masts, yards, ribs, cargo, planks, &c.: from these I received more than one severe blow; while blinded with spray, sick at heart, and trembling in every nerve, I swam towards this black and terrible shore. Thrice my hand touched the slippery rocks, and thrice the greedy waves sucked me back into their whirling vortex: but one flung me headlong forward on a ledge, and I grasped, convulsively, the strong tough sea-weed which grew on its beetling face.
Fervently thanking Heaven for my escape, I clambered up the slippery cliffs beyond the reach of the breakers; whose bitter and heavy spray beat over me incessantly. After stopping for a few minutes to recover breath and recall my scattered energies, I ascended to the summit: the level country spread before me, and a few lights sparkling at a distance, announced a neighbouring town. A distant bell tolled the eleventh hour as I walked forward along a road bordered by trees: but my knees bent tremulously at every step; for I felt still the roll of the ship and the dull boom of the ocean, and the hiss of its salt frothy breakers yet rang in my ears.
As if its object had been accomplished in the destruction of the little schooner, the storm, which had raged so long, now began to die away: the trees became less agitated; the veil of dark clouds, which had obscured the face of heaven, withdrew; and the silver stars were seen sparkling in the blue dome above.
Though rejoicing in my safety, and pitying the poor fellows who had perished, I moved on in dread and doubt, shivering with cold and misery. My uniform was drenched with salt water, and stuck close to me, and my head and feet were without covering. I longed to learn whether Fate had thrown me on the Calabrian shore, or on that of Otranto: if on the latter, I felt certain of becoming a prisoner to the French; whose commanders often displayed, at that time, more of the savage spirit of the Revolutionists, than of that chivalry which distinguished the brave soldiers of the empire. When I thought on the many years of captivity which might elapse ere I again beheld Bianca or my home, I almost regretted that the ocean had not swallowed me up; immediate death appearing preferable to the sickening future I anticipated: hope deferred for years, promotion stopped, and prospects blighted, perhaps, for ever.
As I walked slowly forward, my feet were soon cut by the hard flinty road; which I pursued towards the town. But the appearance of a handsome little villa, in the centre of a lawn, standing by the wayside, changed my intentions: I did not hesitate to approach the house; deeming it safer to acquaint an Italian gentleman with my condition, than to proceed, with the chance of being captured by the quarter-guard of a French camp or cantonment.
Passing through an ornamental wicket, I approached the villa, which was surrounded by a paved terrace, enclosed by a stone balustrade: every window was dark, save one on the ground floor, which appeared made to open like a folding door. In front of this a flight of marble steps descended from the terrace, between two pedestals, on each of which reposed a sculptured lion. I stood before the window, between the crimson curtains of which the interior was revealed; and its decorations and furniture were more splendid than the general aspect of the villa led me to expect.
An aged man, of a venerable, benign, and truly noble aspect, sat near an ebony table, on which he leant, intently reading by the light proceeding from the globe of a silver lamp. He wore a baretta of crimson velvet, adorned in front with a gold cross, and a cape and stockings of scarlet peeped out from under an ample dressing-gown of faded brocade, which enveloped his person. A few thin silvery hairs escaped from beneath his cap, and they glittered in the lamplight; his forehead was high and commanding, the curve of his lip was majestic, and there was an indescribable dignity in his whole aspect. His cheek and brow were pale; yet, at times, his eyes sparkled as brightly as those of an Italian girl, as he conned over an old and discoloured piece of parchment, to which various seals and coloured ribbons were attached.
I know not what it was that agitated me at that moment, but there was something in the presence of that venerable stranger which, as it were, drew me insensibly towards him; and all dread of acquainting him with my situation, and entrusting him with my liberty and safety, vanished. Once more, ere essaying, I looked steadily at him. He was replacing the charter in an iron safe, and had drawn forth another, to which a seal, like a pancake, was appended. The light flashed more fully on his features than it had done before; and, strange to say, they appeared to me like those of an old friend, or of one whom I had a dim recollection of having seen before: but where, I endeavoured in vain to recollect.
"O, my illustrious brother!" he exclaimed, "though thy gallant heart is mouldering at Frescati, thy memory will be cherished while chivalry and valour are respected among men!" He paused, and lay back in an arm-chair, when I could perceive that tears were running down his cheeks; but the deep emotion passed away, and he again resumed his reading. I then tapped gently on the casement, and lifting the latch entered the apartment.
"Pardon this intrusion—be not alarmed, reverend signor."
He started; the paper fell from his hand; he closed the safe with precipitation, and grasping the gilded knobs of his arm-chair, stared at me in astonishment. Certainly my appearance was not very prepossessing: my old fighting coat, which had long since acquired a purple hue by campaigning and the blood of wounds, had become of a most unique colour, by being drenched in salt water. I was unshaven, grisly, and gaunt of visage; minus boots and hat, and my damp hair hung around my face in matted locks.
"A British officer in my presence, and at this time of night!" he exclaimed. "Whence come you, sir?" he added, surveying me with a proud stern glance, which gradually melted into one more pleasant and benign. "Your name and purpose, signor?'
"Claude Dundas, a captain of the 62nd regiment, and aide-de-camp to General Sir John Stuart, now serving in the Calabrias."
"Stuart—Stuart!" he muttered, "the times are indeed changed when—you say your name is Dundas? Which family are you of?"
Though surprised at this question from an Italian lord, I satisfied him; he smiled, and said, "I know them."
"Illustrissimo, I have undergone great misery during the past storm in the Gulf of Tarento, and in this condition have been wrecked: I know not upon what part of the Italian shores I have been thrown, but trust to be received with that hospitality which I, as an officer of Italy's ally, have a right to expect."
"Welcome, signor: but excuse my rising. I never rise but to equals. No Briton in distress ever sought succour from me in vain; yet little—little, truly, do these heretical islanders deserve favour at my hands! Ola, Catanio!"
He rang a silver hand-bell, and an attendant, or old priest, made his appearance; who exhibited the same aspect of dismay that his master had done on beholding me.
"With us, signor," said my host, "you are safe, although Massena's soldiers swarm everywhere around us. Here you can remain in disguise until we discover some means of sending you to Calabria."
"You speak my very wishes—I am deeply indebted to you! Upon what part of the coast have I been thrown?"
"Near Canne, in Basilicata, a few miles from the frontier of Upper Calabria."
"I am then in rear of the French lines at Cassano!" said I, aghast at the intelligence. He bowed.
"Follow Catanio; change your attire, and partake of some refreshment—go! afterwards I will speak with you." He had all the air and tone of a man who through life had been accustomed to wield authority.
"Basilicata!" I repeated inwardly, as we retired: it seemed almost incredible that the water-logged wreck, under a jury-foresail, even when aided by wind and tide, could have run so far up the gulf since daybreak. Her sailing must have averaged five knots an hour, since we lost sight of the Capo della Colonna. Catanio, who by his taciturnity and outward trim appeared to be a monk, led me into an ante-room, where he furnished me with dry apparel. I asked him numerous questions concerning my host, but he seemed very unwilling to gratify my curiosity.
"Signor Catanio," said I, while slipping on a pair of black cotton breeches; "I presume he is a man of rank."
"In Italy none is nobler; the vicegerent of God excepted," he replied, energetically.
"You are an Abbruzzese by your accent, I think?" The old fellow smiled sourly, and took a great pinch of snuff.
"I am an honest man," said he, handing his snuff-box to me, and bundling my wet uniform, somewhat contemptuously, into a chest, which he locked.
"And my host," I continued, thrusting on a black serge jacket; "he must be a churchman, as he is served by priests: how am I to address him?"
"Italians style him, 'his eminence;' but we, his faithful domestics and followers,——"
"Eminence!—is he Cardinal Ruffo?"
"Ruffo, the apostate!" repeated the other, with such intense scorn, that I was undeceived.
"He is a cardinal at all events; and I (unhappy pagan!) have been styling him plain signor. Excuse my laughing; but, faith! one feels so comfortable in these dry clothes, after the misery of—but what is this? I am not going to a masquerade!"
"It is our master's pleasure that you attire yourself thus," said Catanio, handing me a cassock and three flapped-hat like his own; "it is your only safe disguise."
"It is just like a snug dressing-gown after all," said I, donning the garment.
"You are a perfect monk, signor!" said the old man, smiling kindly; "but do not keep your head so erect: that is an old habit. Ah! there was a time—but here are your beads—tie the girdle thus. Bravo! you are a very monk."
"Snuff, grease, garlic, &c. excepted," I thought.
"I am happy to assist in saving a countryman from those false Frenchmen."
"A countryman—what! are you a Scotchman?'
"Born and bred, sir," said he, laying aside his Italian, and with an effort recalling the strong northern dialect of his boyhood. "I was called Duncan Catanach, and in happier days dwelt near Lochaber, in old Caledonia; which I would fain behold once more before I die."
The eyes of the old man glistened, and we shook hands with all the brotherly warmth of heart with which Scot greets Scot in a foreign land.
"I rejoice to meet in this place a subject of old George III."
"I am no subject of his! the petty princes—"
"Ha! some follower of Watt, who was beheaded for treason—eh?"
"No!" he replied, proudly and sternly; "I follow no traitor—nor do I participate in treason!" At that moment his master's bell rang loudly, and he hurriedly withdrew.
CHAPTER XX.
THE CARDINAL.
In a few minutes he led me back to the presence of my host. A slight repast had been hastily laid for me in a snug little library, the walls of which were adorned with a few trophies of arms and portraits, some of them veiled by crimson curtains; but I was too much interested in the cold fowls, the sparkling wine, and other viands displayed on the snowy table-cloth, to bestow a thought upon anything else. On entering, I bowed profoundly to his eminence, who occupied a large gilt chair, cushioned with crimson velvet. Catanio seated himself at the table to help me.
"Make yourself quite at home, signor," said my host, "and sup without ceremony; being lashed to a wreck for ten hours is enough to give any man an appetite: but excuse my not bearing you company. I have already supped, the hour is late, and I do not usually admit strangers to my table. Catanio, be attentive to our friend."
Catanach—or Catanio—filled my glass with glowing sherry; and long ere the speech of my host was finished, I had dissected the major part of an excellent fowl. My eye fell upon my figure reflected in a mirror opposite, and I could scarcely restrain my mirth: I was a perfect canon, save that a head of curly brown hair supplied the place of a shaven scalp.
"Truly, signor, you make an excellent friar," said the cardinal, who seemed to know what was passing in my mind; "and I doubt not that were you to resign the sword and belt for the cross and cord, you might rise in our catholic church, as many of your countrymen from Douay have done. You must be aware," he continued, after a pause, "that while here, in rear of Massena and Regnier's lines, you run considerable risk of discovery, with the danger of suspicion as a spy. But the ruthless marshal never disturbs my household; and while with it you are safe. He regards me with respect; although his master's iron hand robbed me of the little that war, rebellion, and crime had left me: the poor remnant of the fairest patrimony in Europe."
"I am indebted to your eminence: it would be a deathblow to my hopes to be taken prisoner just now, and would quite play the devil with me!"
"A British frigate often comes up the gulf as far as Canne."
"Ah! the Amphion"
"I will send you off to her by a boat: to pass the French picquets at Cassano is too dangerous a mode of escape. I wish to befriend you, signor; and would deplore—ah! I love the scarlet coat: for I, too, have worn it in my youth."
"A cardinal in a red coat! In our service, my lord?"
"No," he replied coldly, while his eyes sparkled and his cheek flushed. "No: but when I commanded fifteen thousand French infantry at Dunkirk, in the service of my father, whose portrait is behind you."
From the incomprehensible speaker, I turned to the portrait, which was that of a dark and oval-featured cavalier, in a long wig, which flowed over his steel breastplate and scarlet coat; his eyes possessed the same keen and proud expression which I beheld in those of the Italian.
"I presume, my lord, you have seen service?"
"None worth mentioning," he replied; and, after pausing a while, till Catanio had retired and the table was cleared, he thus continued:—"And you are a Scotsman? How I love to meet with one! Ah! capitano, the Scots were a loyal people once; but how changed since their rampant Presbyterian priesthood have moulded the nation to their purpose—the designing heretics! Oh, cunning clodpoles! I may live to mar you yet."
"You, eminenza?"
"I," he replied, his eyes sparkling again.
"You have been in Scotland, I presume?" I asked, with an air of pique.
"Never: but the name of that country finds an echo in my heart. Though born a Roman, the ideas of your people, their Lowland nobles and the chiefs of the loyal and illustrious clans, are all well known to me. Dear to me, indeed, is every inch of the isle of Great Britain: though truly I owe little to the land which set a price on the heads of my nearest and dearest relatives."
"Whom have I the honour of addressing?"
"Your king!" he replied, with a deep voice, which caused me to start, as he rose erect from his chair, and his tall and venerable figure seemed to dilate, and his faded cheek to glow. "Your king, sir," he added, in pure English: "one, at least, who should have been so; but the hands of time and fate are now laid heavily upon him. I am Henry the Second of Scotland and the Ninth of the sister kingdom—the Cardinal Duke of York: now, alas! known as the last of the House of Stuart. Fate—fate—yes, hardly hast thou dealt with me! Expelled from Rome by Napoleon, robbed of my estates, and driven to penury in my old age, I dwell here in forgotten obscurity, subsisting on that poor pittance which is yearly doled out by the Government of Britain. Yet let me not be ungrateful to George their king: even that he might have withheld from me. A time may come—God hath given, and God can take away. You know me now, sir: let your wonder cease."
As if exhausted by this outburst of his troubled spirit, the venerable cardinal sank back in his chair, while I arose from mine in a very unpleasant state of astonishment, pleasure, and doubt: astonishment at the discovery, a joyous pleasure at beholding the aged and illustrious prelate (even then the secret idol of many a heart which clung to memories of the past), and doubt how to address him; having heard that he exacted the title of "Majesty," which it was as much as my commission was worth to yield him. But a spell was upon me. I had looked on kings at the head of armies, surrounded by their staff and courtiers; and, though banners were lowered and cannon thundered in salute, to me they were just as other men: but in the air and aspect of the aged Henry Stuart, even in that humble apartment, and surrounded by no external grandeur save that with which the mind invested him—with no insignia of royalty save those with which inborn grace and majesty arrayed him—there was a nameless charm, a potent and mysterious influence which quite bewildered me; and all the romance, the misfortune, the ten thousand stirring memories of the past—so stirring, at least, to every thorough Scotsman—rushed upon my mind like a torrent. It was a sensation of happiness, a gush of chivalric sentiment and honest veneration which accompanied them. I bowed, with proper humility, before the old cardinal-duke; whose proud dark eyes sparkled again, as he extended his hands above my head, and, forgetting his imaginary majesty in the churchman, bestowed on me a solemn Latin benediction.
"Wear this in memory of me." He threw around my neck a ribbon to which a gold medal was attached; and, when the tumult of my spirits passed away, and I raised my head, he was gone. Catanio stood beside me.
"Has he not the air of a king?" he asked, while a bitter smile curled his thin lips, and lit up his sharp gray eye. "You are afraid to answer. You are wearied, perhaps. His Majesty has retired for the night: allow me to lead you to your apartment."
In the solitude of my chamber, I endeavoured to unravel the chaos of thought that whirled through my brain. The driving wreck, the drowning crew, and the terrors of the midnight storm—the white salt foam, the roaring sea, the cliffs up which I clambered—the villa, the cardinal-duke blessing me: all passed before me in rapid review. I drew forth the ribbon and medal to examine them: the latter was of massive gold; it was one of those struck by order of the cardinal on the death of his brother, Prince Charles, and distributed among his friends (who even then, as his papers afterwards revealed, were both powerful and numerous), in commemoration of his imaginary succession. It bore his head in bold relief, with the motto—"Henricus Nonus, Anglia Rex." On the reverse was a cross, supported by Britannia and the Virgin; behind rose a bridge and cathedral, with the crown of Britain. George III. became possessed of two of those singular medals; but perhaps I was the first of his officers who received one from the hand of York: I have preserved the gift, with proper reverence, in memory of an interview which I shall never forget.
Next morning, I was awakened by the familiar but unwelcome sound of drums beating. Dressing in my strange garb, and descending to the lawn which lay around the mansion, I walked forth to enjoy a ramble in solitude. I looked on my shovel-hat, the serge sleeves and knotted girdle of my strange attire. Three days ago, I was aide-de-camp to the Count of Maida, galloping along the line on a garrison parade; to-day, a monk, and a follower of Henry Stuart, the Cardinal-Duke of York!
The beauty of the scenery and freshness of the morning drew my steps towards Canne, which I beheld on the sea-shore, about two miles distant; its white walls, church spire, and casements, gleaming in the rising sun. The sound of distant bells reminded me that it was Sunday. The morning was cloudless, the sky blue, the earth green and glistening with dew; the wide gulf of Tarento sparkled with light as it vanished into dimness and misty obscurity; the horizontal line where sea met sky, being only marked by some sail glittering, like a snow-wreath or white cloud, in the distance. The road was narrow, and, being bordered by thick copsewood, was cool and shady. I wandered on until a turn unexpectedly brought me upon the parade of a regiment of French infantry, which had just been inspected by Massena, and was being formed into sections preparatory to marching. My heart beat quick: discovery was death, and I shrank from the lynx-like gaze of the ferocious Massena; who, after a few words with the colonel, galloped off accompanied by his aide. I began to breathe a little more freely. I recognised the 12th Grenadiers in their blue greatcoats and bear-skin caps; and at their head my old friend De Bourmont, as paunchy and merry as ever. An exchange of prisoners had taken place, and all that we had captured were once more in arms against us. The band struck up, the arms flashed as they were sloped in the sun, and the battalion moved off, en route for the frontiers of Calabria; where Massena was concentrating his forces at the very time our troops were about to abandon the country. How bravely the sharp trumpet and the hoarse drums rang in the wooded way, as they marched through the green defiles! Whilst I listened, regardless of time and place, cassock and cope, some peasant women approached that I might bestow a benison on their children; they, however, received only very vague and curious answers as I pushed past and hurried back towards the good cardinal's villa, from which I had been too long absent.
After I had breakfasted hastily in my own apartment, Catanio informed me that as his majesty was to celebrate high mass at Canne, as a piece of etiquette it would be necessary for me to attend.
"Faith! I have entertained the natives enough for one day," said I. Catanio frowned; and being obliged to consent, a mule was brought me, and I set off with the household of the cardinal. A lumbering, old-fashioned coach bore his eminence from the villa, at a most solemn pace; its little Roman horses appearing dwarfed to the size of ponies beside the ancient vehicle, on whose carved and gilded pannels shone the crown and arms of Britain. The old man considered himself in everything a king; and doubtless an excellent one he would have made, if we judge by the goodness of his heart, and the fidelity of his few and disinterested adherents.
That magic influence by which his family always gained the unbounded loyalty and most romantic attachment of their followers, he certainly possessed in no small degree: there was a nobility of soul, a quiet stateliness of demeanor, and a pious resignation to his obscure fate, which made his imaginary crown shine with greater lustre; and he passed through life more peacefully and happily, in consequence of taking no active part in the great question of hereditary right, which had embittered the days of his father and brother. His years, his rank, his reputed sanctity, and general amiability of character procured him the admiration and devotion of the Italians; who were exasperated by the invasion of Rome, and the expulsion of so many ecclesiastics of rank. The crowd surrounding the porch of the church uncovered, with reverence, as he descended from the coach, and, followed by his household, three old Scottish priests, an Irish valet, and myself, ascended the steps of the church. On these crowded a number of wretched mendicants,—a hideous mass of festering sores, ragged garments, black visages, and squalid misery; they fell upon their knees, and when Catanio scattered some silver among them, there arose cries of—
"Viva eminenza! O, the gracious lord! the beneficent father! Viva Enrico Stuardo! Viva la famiglia Stuardi!"
High mass in its most impressive form was celebrated by the cardinal. The congregation consisted of the people of Canne, a few ladies, fewer cavaliers, and a sprinkling of the French garrison. Though the church was not large, its ancient aisles and carved roof presented a noble specimen of the old Italian gothic, exhibiting those striking extremes of light and shadow for which that style is remarkable. The strong blaze of the noon-day sun poured between the many mullions of its stained windows, slanting on the picturesque crowd who stood or knelt around the columns; on the cavalier in his ample cloak, the signora in her veil and mantle, the peasant in his rough jacket, and the graceful country girl with her sparkling eyes and olive cheek, shaded by a modest muslin panno. Six tall candles glimmered before the dark altar-piece, while the altar itself, being covered with the richest carving and gilding, shone like a blaze of glory around the aged cardinal, who stood on the highest step.
The relics of several saints and martyrs, of great reputed sanctity, stood upon it; and an old ragged mantle, which hung from one of the columns, was said to be the cloak of Madonna, and to have cured divers disorders by being wrapped round the sufferers.
My informant was a priest: while speaking he glanced at Bianca's diamond ring which sparkled on my finger; and the scrutinizing eye with which he regarded me brought the blood to my temples. I was also exposed to the watchful glances of a French officer; in whom, to my horror, I recognised General Compere, whom I had met at Maida: some recollections of my face appeared to flash across his mind, and he stared at me with cool determination. Uneasy at the chance, the danger, and disgrace of discovery, I withdrew, by a side door, into a little oratory which adjoined the body of the church.
"Reverend father," said a man advancing with a bunch of keys, "are you the Frà Sermonello, whom his eminence has deputed to visit the chapel of the penitents?"
"To be sure, fool! for what should I be here else?" I answered, gruffly, forgetting my assumed character in the annoyance I felt; but immediately adding, "of course, my son, I am come to visit these unfortunate devils—heretics, I mean."
"This way, then, Signor Canonico," said he, with an air which showed he had no great veneration for my sanctity.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE FIRST PENITENT—THE NUN.
"A cursed scrape!" thought I, whilst following him through a little side-door of iron, which creaked on its rusty hinges as it rolled slowly back, revealing a long passage, dark and mysterious as any in the pages of 'Anne Radcliffe,' and interrupted by flights of steps; where we required a lamp to aid us in descending. The black walls were covered with glistening slime, and reflected the flashes of the lamp, which flickered and almost expired as it struggled with the noxious vapours floating through these dismal vaults; and I became chilled with cold as we descended. An iron grate or portcullis, which barred our way, was raised up in a sliding groove by my guide; who requested me to pass, and, saying he would await me there, gave me his lamp.
Many tales of the holy office, and of the bigoted ferocity of Italian monks, flashed on my remembrance. Perhaps I was in a snare! Doubtful whether to proceed, or knock the fellow down and regain the church, even at the risk of being discovered by General Compere, I stood for a moment irresolute: but I had no secret enemy there, and the cardinal was a powerful friend.
"Father," said my guide, "you are a stranger here?"
"I am in these vaults for the first time."
"They contain three penitents: first, a nun, who broke her vows, and lies sneezing and coughing in the cell just before you. Poor girl! she has been here three weeks, and likes her quarters no better than the first hour she saw them: maladetto! you may hear how she moans. Opposite lies the cell of a mad cavalier, who is chained like a tiger—my lord bishop intends confining him here for life; and next his cell is that of a monk, sent hither for living too joyous a life—gaming and drinking with gay damsels, when he should have been snug in his dormitory."
"I have a project," said I; "leave me the keys. On my return, I will deposit them in the niche at the chapel door."
"That was old Frà Grasso's way," replied the keeper or warder; and, doffing his hat, withdrew.
"Now, were there a thousand prisoners here, I should set every one of them free!" I exclaimed, while hurrying along the passage, lamp in hand; execrating the cruelty of that tyrannical prelate, who confined three human beings in a place which I could not contemplate without a shudder. The low, narrow passage was arched by rough stone groins, springing from corbelled heads, hideous as those of demons, that projected from walls, through the joints of which the damp reeking slime had been distilling for ages: innumerable stalactites hung long and pendent like foul icicles; enormous fungi flourished luxuriantly on the sable masonry; large bloated toads croaked on the slippery floors; rats peeped forth from holes and corners, and the whistling bat flitted to and fro on the cold vapours of those dripping dungeons.
Before me lay the cell of the nun: intending to visit her first, I unlocked with great difficulty the oaken door, and entered. Accustomed to the gloom, I could survey the whole place at a glance; it was a dark, cold, and comfortless den, about sixteen feet square, and had a narrow zig-zag loop-hole opening high in the wall, which admitted little air and less light. Crouching upon a bundle of straw, in a corner of that detestable place, lay the poor nun; wasted and worn, pale and ghastly. Her eyes were raised to Heaven; and though her lips moved not, she was praying, but in that still voice which God alone can hear. At the sound of my steps, she turned on me an apathetic stare, and her sunken eyes sparkled wildly between the long dishevelled masses of her raven hair, which wandered over her bare bosom and shoulders. She was almost destitute of covering; having, I believe, no other garment than a gown of black serge, which was torn in many places, revealing her pure white skin, that gleamed like alabaster through the gloom.
"Oh, pity, pity! for the gentle love of God!" she exclaimed; and added, with a shriek, "Ah! it is the bishop—again—again!"
Shuddering, she hid her face in her long hair, and began to weep as if her heart would burst. Approaching her, I laid my hand kindly on her soft shoulder, and said—
"Poor woman! be comforted; you are not entirely forsaken——"
"Begone!" she exclaimed, spitting upon me; "away, priests of hell, who murdered my love—my husband! Away, lest I tear you with my teeth! Ha! ha! madness is coming fast upon me! Oh, joy, Jesu Christo! my brain begins to wander."
"Signora——"
"Preach on—of what? religion—and in this dungeon!—in which religion has consigned me to darkness, solitude, and horror. Oh! the soul-sinking misery I have endured these many, many weeks! My husband—who murdered him before my face?—A priest. Who would have dishonoured me?—A priest! Ha, away to your tyrant bishop! I will commune with God without the medium of wretches such as thee!"
"Lady, I am no priest," I replied, deeply touched by her misery and piercing voice. "I am a soldier—a gentiluomo in disguise. Trust me, and you may yet escape to be free and happy."
As I spoke, she rose from the floor, grasped my arm with convulsive energy, and gazed upon my face with a searching glance, as if she would read the inmost secrets of my breast: she passed her hand across my head and face, to assure herself my figure was not a vision; her whole arm was thus revealed, and, though attenuated, its purity was dazzling.
"Oh, signor! dear and good signor! oh, if you should deceive me!" she exclaimed, clinging to my hand and weeping bitterly. "Oh, if you should be but some emissary from the accursed bishop! At times he comes, like an evil genius, to offer me freedom. Ah! canst thou guess its price? I will not go with thee—away! leave me!"
"Can there be greater misery than that which you now endure?"
"No, no; there cannot! Who can live without hope? yet all fled from me! Oh, my Luigi! hadst thou been living, I had not been forgotten to perish thus! My sisters——"
"Luigi!" I reiterated, while gently removing the dishevelled masses of silky hair which veiled her features—a cry burst from me! I beheld the belle of Palermo, the nun of Crotona, the sister of Bianca, who had been so cruelly carried off by the sbirri of this infamous Petronio of Cosenza. "Francesca!" I exclaimed; "Francesca of Alfieri do you not remember me?"
She regarded me fixedly, pressed her hands upon her temples, and then shook her head mournfully.
"I am Claude Dundas—the friend of Santugo, and betrothed of your sister Bianca." I threw my arm around the poor bewildered girl, whom at that moment I loved with all the tenderness of a brother.
"The friend of Luigi!—O, tell me if he yet lives? Tell me, though the answer should destroy me at the instant!"
"He lives, signora; but you alone can restore him to perfect happiness."
She raised her hands to Heaven, and an exclamation of pious and fervent thankfulness died away on her lips: a bright blush for a moment shone on her wan, but alas! no longer beautiful cheek, and had not my arm supported her she would have sunk on the pavement in a swoon. Without delaying a moment, I bore her away, and locking all the doors after me, deposited the keys in my pocket instead of in the niche. The church was empty, and the cardinal gone. Leaving my charge for a moment in the recess of an old monument, I hurried to the porch: I reeled giddily as the full glory of noon blazed on my sight; so overpowering was the glare of light after the obscurity of the vaults. Hailing a passing calesso, I desired the driver to draw up near the door: on beholding Francesca, he scratched his unshaven chin, and appeared in an unpleasant state of doubt; but on my slipping a scudo into his hand, and desiring him to drive to the cardinal's villa, all his scruples vanished, and we drove off.
Great was the astonishment of the good cardinal, when I entered the lower saloon or drawing-room, leading the squalid apparition of poor Francesca; who was weakened by long confinement, and overcome with awe on finding herself in the presence of so high a dignitary of the church. She sank upon her knees, clasping my hand in hers, and not once daring to raise her timid eyes to the face of York; who had arisen on our entrance, and regarded us with a stare of silent wonder.
"Captain Dundas!" he exclaimed, in a tone which had something of sternness in it; "what am I to understand by this intrusion—and who is this woman?"
Francesca trembled violently; she would have spoken, but the words died away in whispers on her pallid lips.
"My lord—your eminence, pardon me! The case is urgent, and my meeting with this lady so unexpected, that with your usual goodness you will excuse my importunity, while I relate as briefly as possible her unhappy story: it cannot fail to draw forth that gentle sympathy which no member of your illustrious house ever refused to the unfortunate."
This was graciously received: the old cardinal was as accessible to flattery as if he wore a crown; a pleasant smile spread over his features, and resuming his throne-like seat in the large gilt-chair, he said, waving his hand,—
"Proceed, sir: I trust I have fallen not away from the ancient virtues of my ancestors. You know the old homely saying,
'A king's faceShould give grace:'
And here at least we are a king, and our subjects shall not sue in vain. Catanio, hand the lady a chair, and Captain Dundas will please to proceed."
I endeavoured to raise Francesca; but altogether overcome with a sense of her imaginary unworthiness, in a presence so august, she remained kneeling in painful humility, with downcast eyes and trembling limbs. I pressed her hand to reassure her, and recalling all her story related it briefly, and in such a mode as I deemed would be most pleasing to the ear of the aged duke, and most likely to obtain his sympathy; which the unhappy never claimed in vain.
"De Bivona and my Lord Bishop did right," he replied, "in capturing this runaway; and the doom to which the latter consigned her, is only such as the laws of the most holy Catholic Church have from time immemorial directed for broken vows."
Francesca trembled more violently, and my heart sank: all hope seemed to die away when the cardinal frowned on our cause.
"O, may it please your eminence to bend a favourable eye on this unhappy girl? You will confer a boon on the descendant of a family which of old was never wanting in loyalty to your house."
He remained buried in thought for a time.
"Captain Dundas," said he, "I will think over this matter: the bishop may have stretched rather too far that high authority with which the Church invests her servants; but this unfortunate sister must return to a convent, and there remain until her case has been duly considered. My order will assure her of the kindest treatment. Catanio!" he rang his bell, and the fac-totum appeared.
Although Francesca regarded with invincible repugnance a return to a convent, where she would be subjected to the impertinent scrutiny of the sisterhood, and perhaps that of a severe superior, yet it was a joyful relief from the horrors she had endured: I led her away, in tears, and gave the cardinal those thanks which she was unable to articulate. He wrote a brief note to the abbess, which Catanio was to deliver. The calesso was at the door, and we drove off at true Neapolitan speed to the Cistercian convent at Canne.
We resigned Francesca to the superior; whom I was glad to find was a short and stout old lady, with double chin, two merry twinkling eyes, and a visage which betokened the utmost good-nature. The poor girl wept as if her heart would burst, when we prepared to retire; but on my obtaining permission to visit her often, she became more reconciled. I left the prison-like nunnery, feeling happy that I could thus befriend Santugo by protecting his Francesca, and restoring her to light and life: the whole affair had quite the air of a romance. Dismissing Catanio, I went to the shop of a locksmith, whom I desired to make three keys like those of the vaults, which were placed in his hand.
He bestowed an inquisitive glance at my curious monastic garb; but on my displaying a few ducats, readily took an impression of the keys in wax: on receiving his promise that a new set should be in readiness next day, I hurried off and restored the originals to the niche where I had promised to deposit them.
I was overjoyed to find the venerable cardinal so much interested in Francesca's favour, that he forthwith despatched a courier to Rome, praying for her dispensation; which I then considered as certain: his influence with Pope Pius being so great, that a boon so trifling as loosening the vows of a nun could not be refused him. I knew not how to express my thanks: he was conferring as great a gift on me as on the visconte, and I contemplated with joy the happiness our return would diffuse at the Villa D'Alfieri, when I restored a bride to the arms of Luigi; while, in return, he——but let me not anticipate that, for fear of a disappointment.
CHAPTER XXII.
A CHANCE OF ESCAPE LOST.
A week slipped away: I visited Francesca every morning, and saw, with pleasure, the bloom returning to her faded cheek, and the lustre to her sunken eye: yet I spoke not of the dispensation, while there was the least chance of a miscarriage; knowing that she was too weak to stand many alternate shocks of grief and joy.
Notwithstanding the gracious manner and winning kindness and hospitality of the cardinal—who appeared to possess that charm hereditary in his family, by which he gained the hearts of all who knew him—I was impatient to deliver at Crotona the despatches with which I was entrusted; to fling aside the slovenly cassock, and don, once more, my smart uniform. I grew heartily tired of the disguise, when its novelty passed away; and bestowed many a most unpriestly malison on its ample skirt, when it impeded me in walking.
One evening Catanio came to me in a hurry, saying "his Majesty wished to see me without a moment's delay:" he was most scrupulously exact in styling him thus.
I found the cardinal seated on a lofty terrace, where he usually passed the evening, enjoying the beauty of the prospect and coolness of the air.
"Sir," said he, "a path is just opened for your escape, and you have an opportunity which may never occur again. The British ship I mentioned to you is again off the coast, and a boatman will take you on board after dusk. There are no French gun-boats in the gulf, therefore you can escape in perfect safety."
While he spoke, a frigate hove in sight: she was clearing a point of land, over which her topsails were glittering in the light of the setting sun; which was then gilding the glassy waters of the gulf, and reddening, with its last rays, the surrounding shore. It was the Amphion: her bellying canvass shone white as snow, as she rounded the promontory, and the evening wind unrolled the bright scarlet standard at her mizzen peak: that standard which a Briton never hails with such joyous pride as when it waves in the breeze of a foreign clime. Gracefully the beautiful frigate came on, with the white foam curling under her bows and rolling past her swelling sides, from which thirty-six pieces of cannon protruded through the port-holes; and we could discern the long flush line of her gun-deck crowded with men.
A smart American ship, which had probably been blown up the gulf by the late storm, passed at a short distance on the opposite tack, showing her stripes and stars. Scarcely had she cleared the Amphion's quarter, when a puff of white smoke curled from it, and a gun-shot whistled across her fore-foot, skimming the water beyond. The Americans immediately took this rough hint, and lowered their topsails to our flag—a good old custom of ocean homage, which of late years has been disused.
"For what reason has the frigate fired on the poor merchantman?" asked the cardinal.
I acquainted him with the ancient etiquette, by which Britain compelled the flags of foreign nations to do homage on her wide watery dominions; and a smile of gratified pride lighted up the glistening eyes of the listener.
The frigate would be close off Canne, when she crossed the gulf on the other tack; and the cardinal observed that Catanio would have a boat waiting on the beach after dusk. It was a tempting offer, and a most tantalizing sight to behold within musket-shot a British ship, for whose commander I had important despatches; but to abandon poor Francesca, when I was so anxious to convey her to a place of safety, and to present her in person to Luigi, was a project I could not relinquish. The cardinal read the expression of doubt which my face betrayed.
"Do you not wish to return to your friends and your duty?" he asked.
"Anxiously," I replied; "but not without the Signora D'Alfieri, whose dispensation you so graciously requested. Permit me to reside here a few days longer—at least until it arrives—that I may convey this desolate girl to the arms of the only friends whom war and time have left her. You will thus confer another boon, which I shall long remember, though I never can repay."
"As you please, Captain Dundas. I shall be very happy if you reside with me so long as your duty and inclination will permit you. Happy indeed! Seldom it is now that an English tongue is heard among my diminished household; save when some Scottish priest from Douay, or some Highland gentleman whom English interest and the change of manners have left uncorrupted, comes here to pay homage to the last of the Stuarts. Yet their presence brings more sorrow than pleasure: it raises up those airy visions which shipwrecked the happiness of my chivalric brother, and beseem me not to think upon now, in my helpless obscurity and very old age; creating a useless longing to behold that isle of which I have heard and thought so much, and which I fain would look upon before my eyes close in their last slumber, and I am laid in the tomb of my father at Frescati."
Thus the good cardinal continued for hours: there was a something in his tone and manner which touched me deeply. Could I listen to his words without sympathizing with fallen greatness, in the person of the last representative of our long line of kings?
The sun went down, crimsoning land and sea with a warm glow, as it sank behind the hills; the ocean changed from bright yellow to deep blue, the stars were shining in heaven, and the Amphion had diminished to a speck on the distant waters of Tarentum, before the cardinal ended his reminiscences and disjointed self-communings, and, leaning on my arm, retired to his apartment. The frigate appeared no more: but after that evening I became doubly anxious to be gone, and waited with intense impatience the return of the courier, bringing from Rome the decree which would free Francesca, or seal her doom for ever.
Remembering the false keys made for me at Canne, I resolved, in my assumed character, to visit the cells of the penitents, and discover those who were worthy of liberty, and those who deserved to remain in durance vile. One dusky evening I departed on this mission, with my duplicate keys and a dark lantern, and having my shovel-hat flapped over my face to avoid observation. The night soon became dark; not a star was visible, and the wind howled through the battlements of the ancient church, and moaned in its hollow aisles. Had I been timid or superstitious, here was enough, in the horrible aspect of these vaulted chambers, to deter me from advancing: but in them day and night were almost alike.
I first opened the cell of the cavalier mentioned by the guide, and on entering awakened the occupant from a dreamy sleep—a man: although his features were hollowed by long confinement, want, and care; though his eyes were wild and his beard grizzled—the expression of whose face was as prepossessing and noble as his figure was commanding. He was tall and strong in person, but heavily fettered; and his garments were rags, which fluttered in the breeze that swept through his prison: he trembled with cold and debility. Poor man! a captivity of three long years had not inured him to the misery of the den to which the tyranny of a powerful persecutor had consigned him: his manacles clanked as he rose from the damp pavement, and a stern and scornful frown gathered on his haughty brow when he beheld me.
"Reverend signor," said he, waving his fettered hand, "you may spare me your usual exhortations, and begone: yet think not that I am so hardened as to scorn a Christian churchman. God forbid you should suppose so! but I have nothing to confess, save my abhorrence of these bonds and the foul tyranny which immures me here, in a living grave, from light and happiness; subjecting me to misery under which, had not my own indomitable spirit supported me, reason must have given way. Leave me—begone!"
"Signor Cavalier speak less angrily: I am not what you take me for, but a friend who comes to set you free. Remember, signor, that the British are the friends of Calabria; which our victorious army has already freed from the yoke of France."
"What is this you tell me?" he exclaimed. "British troops in Calabria! And what am I reserved to hear? Naples has again become a province of France! yet not a voice has whispered it to me in this living tomb, where I have been kept in ignorance of all those great events that have shaken my country. From France—again from the grasp of France?" said you.
"From the brother of Napoleon, whose soldiers we have driven from the rocks of Scylla to the hills of Cassano; hoisting the banner of Ferdinand on the towns and castles of the provinces, and gaining one most signal victory in a battle on the plains of Maida."
"I am thunderstruck! And all this has passed in three years?"
"In as many months."
"O joy! And you have come to set me free, most reverend father?"
"Yes,—but address me not thus: I am a British officer in disguise, and placed in a most peculiar position," I replied; quite forgetting the part I intended to act, in my sympathy for this unfortunate, whose frank and graceful bearing gained my entire good-will. "This Bishop of Cosenza," I observed, "seems a tyrant, of whose cruelty and injustice I have heard innumerable instances."
"A tyrant, said you? Call him monster, fiend, or what you will: the flaming depths of hell contain not a darker spirit, a more designing devil! You offer me life: yet what is life to me now, when every flower that adorned my path in youth has been crushed and blighted, and every beam of joy extinguished, till gloom, horror, and revenge have settled like a shadow on my soul? O, signor! words cannot depict the bodily and spiritual agony I have endured. Ere we go, hear me, but a moment! My story is short, but bitter. Hear it, and pity me!"