Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

country women, was united an expression of intelligence and feeling highly interesting. Our rural repast being soon finished, she gave, with much propriety, a recital which furnished the subject of the following narrative.

The Baron de Monthillier, the last remaining representative of an ancient and illustrious house, after serving with honour in the armies of his Sovereign, had retired, to spend, on his paternal domains, the evening of his days, and to superintend the education of his only daughter, the lovely Adelaide. She had been deprived, while yet an infant, of that greatest of all blessings to a youthful female-the care of a tender and accomplished mother. This circumstance had thrown a shade of melancholy over the character and pursuits of the Baron, and only in his daughter did he seem to acknowledge the tie which bound him to life. In her he beheld the only solace of his grief, and in watching her improvement he found the most pleas. ing occupation. Nor was she unworthy of his care. Talents such as fall to the lot of few, a disposition the most engaging, and a form the most lovely, marked the rising years of Adelaide.

The Baron, his daughter, and her gouvernante, an elderly lady of elegant manners and accomplishments, the widow of an officer who had served under her present protector, had for many years composed the only inmates of the castle. At length, in the twelth year of Adelaide's age, a new event introduced an addition to their domestic circle.

The only sister of the Baron had early in life formed an imprudent match,-for such the world presumes to call those connections which are hallowed by affection, though not recommended by the meaner advantages of wealth or rank. Her husband was by birth a Swiss, in which country he possessed a small property, where his family lived happily, though not splendidly.

His sister had never ceased to be an object of warm affection to the Baron; but the hereditary pride of birth, and dislike of every thing like plebeian connection, were among his

His sister and

strongest prejudices. her husband were equally, but more rationally proud, in disdaining to solicit what they deemed unworthily denied. No intercourse, therefore, had ever been maintained between the separated relatives. In the happiness of domestic duties, in the conversation of the man she loved, and in the education of her only son, this sister, however, never once found cause to regret the sacrifice of useless pomp for real, though humble happiness. But, in this life, there is no permanent felicity. Before their son, the little Theodore, had attained his seventh year, this kind husband and affectionate parent died.

To his widowed mother, Theodore now remained the only comfort, and to his education she directed all her care. For such a duty, both from ability and affection, no one could be better qualified; and her son was thus enabled to acquire accomplishments which would have graced any rank. But misfortune seemed to pursue the youthful sufferer. Scarcely had he attained his fourteenth year, when his mother, who had long been in a declining state, breathed her last. Thus, at an age when it is most important to bend the incipient passions to their proper objects, and to accustom them early to control,-at an age where so much may be done towards forming the future character, was he deprived of both his guardians. These were the only reflections which seriously disturbed the death-bed hours of his mother. She would not leave him, indeed, in want; but who was to watch over his growing years,-to conduct him, with honour and propriety, to manhood? "My brother," she would say, was ever generous and noble, he once loved me; and though he in some measure disowned our little circle, because I preferred happiness to splendour, he never used me unkindly: surely he will not refuse the dying request of an only, and once-dear sister. He will not, he cannot, deny protection to her orphan child, whom, as the last act of her mortal existence, she recommends to his care." Accordingly she traced, with trembling hand, a few lines to the Baron. "Theodore,

my child," said she to her son, a few hours before her death, "when you have laid me by the side of your honoured father, bear this letter to France, to your uncle the Baron de Monthillier; and, as you have ever been obedient to me, be equally submissive to what your uncle may determine. He is noble and generous; endeavour to merit his approbation, as you would have laboured to deserve my esteem."

and, in some measure, by the similarity of their pursuit. While Theodore followed his severer studies, with ardent application, under a learned monk of a neighbouring monastery, he was not neglectful of more elegant accomplishments, the principles of which he had acquired from the instruction of his excellent mother. These were now prosecuted in company with Adelaide. Thus excited, he found himself capable of exerThe Baron de Monthillier was one tions hitherto unknown, or deemed evening seated in the apartment unattainable. The books which they where he usually spent that portion perused, the languages which they of the day with Adelaide and her studied,-the poets which they read aged governess, when he was in- together, possessed charms not to be formed that a youthful stranger wish, discovered in their solitary and died to be introduced. Theodore- vided pursuits. Never did music for it was he, dressed in the deepest breathe sounds so meltingly sweet. mourning, tall and slender, yet ele- Scarcely, indeed, was there harmony gant in person, his dark locks curl- to them, when they played not in ing in profusion round a countenance accompaniment to each other. But sweet, indeed, in its expression, but above all, their walks, amid the beaustill retaining the strong impress of tiful and romantic scenery surroundrecent sorrow-then advanced, and ing the chateau, constituted the most presented his mother's letter. Α delicious moments of existence. struggle between pride and feeling Theodore being fully two years older seemed for a moment to agitate the than his cousin, and the age of the mind of the Baron; but the kindlier Baron, as also of Adelaide's instrucaffections soon obtained the mastery, tress, being such as leads to prefer and he folded his nephew to his repose, the youth was taught to bosom. consider himself as the protector of the young and lovely being who, on these occasions, clung to him for sup port. It was, in truth, a sight capable of awakening the deepest interest in their future fate, to behold two beings so young, so beautiful, so amiable, so pure, regarding each other with looks of unutterable affection; each beholding in the other all that was necessary to the happiness of both, yet unconscious whence these feelings sprung, save from the connection of mere relationship.

Theodore had not long been established an inmate in the family of his new protector, when he became a general favourite. In the handsome youth, the Baron beheld the image of a long-lost and beloved sister; and in admiring his noble and generous disposition, he almost forgot the imaginary stigma derived from his father's plebeian birth. To the aged friend of his fair cousin, Theodore rendered himself no less agreeable, by the respectful manner in which he was ever solicitous to pay those attentions to which her years and sex entitled her,-attentions not less acceptable that circumstances no longer enabled her to command them. Respect is ever valued in proportion as it is voluntarily shewn, and doubly grateful, in adverse fortune, to those whose undoubted right it once was.

Between the youthful cousins an intimacy still more delightful, an union still more close, was soon established, and cemented by the equality of age, by the agreement of taste,

VOL. XV.

Years thus flew rapidly away, unmarked in their flight, and both the cousins were approaching to that maturer age, when conscious Nature takes the alarm, yet leaves the bosom ignorant of the cause of fear, and dubious of its own feelings. A warmer blush suffused the cheek of Adelaide when pressed by the lips of Theodore, in commendation of some sentiment which she had uttered, or observation she had made; and she dared not, as hitherto, yet knew not why, return his caresses. Again, when the hand of his fair cousin

Y

pressed affectionately, or by accident, that of the youth, a thrilling sensation, "half extacy, half pain," pervaded his whole frame; so sweet, yet so powerful, he hardly knew whether to court or to fear its indulgence. In short, both felt, without knowing it, that most delightful of all passions, a first, an early love, a state of felicity in which the human breast can be placed but once, and which is perhaps the purest, the most unalloyed enjoyment which it is in this life destined to feel.

But such happiness must be transitory. Theodore was the first to discover the state of his mind, and to perceive his danger. External circumstances, indeed, forced this knowledge upon him, as the flush amidst the darkness of night may disclose to the mariner the ripple on those breakers of which he slumbered in

forgetfulness. War had some time before been declared by France against Switzerland, and had continued to be carried on with that violence and cruelty which ever mark a contest between the oppressor and the oppressed, when the latter has once been roused to arms. Theodore loved dearly his country. He therefore began to consider it as dishonourable thus to forsake her in the hour of danger. What detained him in France? Alas! must he confess, even to his own heart, that Adelaide was the cause of his delay? He started at this discovery, as if an abyss had opened at his feet; and the reflections which naturally arose on the occasion filled his mind with anxiety and regret. He wished to be gone, yet knew not how to mention the subject to the Baron, who intended that his nephew should carry arms in the service of France, although reluctance to a separation had hitherto procrastinated that event. To have now entered into these views, or even to remain inactive, Theodore considered in the highest degree culpable; while his uncle's prejudices, in favour of this service, were, he knew, very great, and that the execution of the designs which he now meditated would for ever forfeit his friendship. But were not these views correct, and would not his sainted mother, whose dying words had inculcated obedience to his uncle, have approved them? In

the meantime, he could only temporise, without resolving on any thing but to conceal his intentions both from Adelaide and from her father.

Circumstances, however, produced a crisis sooner than was anticipated. The melancholy and restraint now visible in the deportment of Theodore could not escape the observation of his cousin, whose penetration was rendered acute by the state of her own heart. One evening, while seated in a small summer-house, which, standing on a romantic steep near the extremity of the grounds surrounding the chateau, usually terminated their walks, the cousins were insensibly betrayed into a conversation, which disclosed to each other their mutual love. Theodore alone concealed his intention of joining the patriot bands of his countrymen. "But, my dear Adelaide," continued he, "I must leave Monthillier; both prudence and duty dictate my departure. Your father will never consent to our union, and I cannot think for a moment of betraying the confidence of my benefactor, or your peace of mind. I am not worthy of you; I should then be less so. When you no longer daily see me, your bosom will recover its wonted serenity." « Theodore, cruel Theodore!" replied Adelaide; "do you indeed wish to break my heart? Alas! how can I, even were it my desire, forget you? Have I not, for many happy years, been taught to love you as a brother? Wretched greatness! why should I not forsake all?-let me go with you to Switzerland,-your parents were happy there,-happy in each other, -can we not be so likewise? Ah! what have I said?-wretch that I am, do I forget the duty which a father, a generous and indulgent father, claims?" Here she burst into tears, and, covering her face with her hands, wept bitterly; then resuming, in a calm and subdued tone of voice, "Theodore, you are right; duty and prudence demand our separation; obtain your uncle's approbation of your future plans, and the sooner you leave Monthillier the better for us both." A long silence was only interrupted by the opening of the door of a small oratoire attached to the summer-house, from

which the Baron entered. Induced by the beauty of the evening, he had, contrary to his usual custom, extended his walk so far; and while engaged in his devotions, the youthful cousins entered the summerhouse, to whose conversation he had thus been made an unwilling listener. The trembling lovers now concluded themselves lost, and falling on their knees before the Baron, each wished only to implore that his resentment would spare the other. What, then, was their surprise, when, looking with the kindest expression on both, the Baron addressed them: "Rise, my children, and in each other receive the reward of your virtue, and of your filial piety. Cherish those sentiments which have hitherto directed your conduct. Theodore, in this trembling hand which I now place in thine, accept the only precious gift which I have to bestow. Rank, birth, and wealth, are to be valued, when, by our station in life, we have to maintain the dignity and the importance of a name which has descended unsullied to us from illustrious ancestors. Wealth I dispense with. Birth you can claim, at least on one side; rank you may obtain by merit. You are as yet an unknown youth; go and prove to the world that my choice is warranted by nobility of soul; in the ranks of honour acquire renown. You are both young; after a few years service you may with propriety return to Monthillier, and to Adelaide.” Surprise and astonishment kept Theodore silent; he could only kiss the hand which he still held, and press that of his benefactor to his heart. But short was this gleam of happiness, like the ray, which, for a moment, bursts through the stormy clouds. "I had written," continued the Baron," without informing you, to the Duke de, one of the princes of the blood, my former companion in arms, whose son has been appointed to lead the armies of France against these rebellious mountaineers of the Alps, and you are appointed one of his aides-de-camp."

Theodore, summoning all his courage, replied, "I cannot, my Lord, accept of this office. I am not in sensible of your kindness, nor am I

ungrateful; but I cannot, I dare not, even to gain your approbation, and to deserve Adelaide, fight against my own countrymen." "How, romantic boy!" exclaimed the Baron; "dost thou then maintain the part of traitors and rebels, because, forsooth, thou deemest barren mountains and rude glens a bond of union? Thou oughtest to reflect that I am interested in thy fortunes, only as the son of my sister, not as the offspring of a Swiss proprietaire; but I give you till to-morrow to fix your determination. Come, Adelaide;" and before the youth had time to answer, his uncle had departed with the weeping Adelaide.

Theodore, great as was the temptation, required not time to consider whether he ought to accept the conditions on which fortune, and, still more, happiness, were offered. After writing to his uncle, and putting himself in possession of the details respecting his little property, the same night beheld him on his way to his oppressed country.

Months rolled on without soothing the sorrows of Adelaide.

"Oh grief, beyond all other griefs, when fate

First leaves the young heart lone and desolate,

In the wide world, without the only tie For which it lov'd to live or fear'd to

die ;

Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken

Since the sad day its master-chord was broken !"

Nor was this sorrow lessened by the addresses of another suitor, in the son of the Count de, whose domains lay contiguous to the lands of Monthillier. Her father, without pressing the match, gave her to understand, that a union in every respect so suitable would be agreeable to him. Externally, this young nobleman appeared to possess all the qualities which could render a woman happy; but this appearance of virtue was merely superficial: he was selfish and avaricious, though addicted to pleasure. He beheld, indeed, with admiration, the beauty of Adelaide; but her fortune was to him the greatest charm. Adelaide

in part penetrated his character, but to the Baron he appeared unexcep tionable, and his daughter only beheld, in delay, a dubious and temporary relief.

In the mean time, the power of the invaders proved irresistible in Switzerland; and Theodore, after exertions which had greatly signalized him, saw his unhappy country totally subdued. A wanderer and an exile, he was indebted for his personal safety, as well as present liberty, to the gratitude of the French commander-the very nobleman under whom he had been appointed to serve, whose life he had saved at the eminent risk of his own. The French General, attended only by a few officers, and a small escort, had advanced to some distance from his camp, for the purpose of observing the enemy's position. This being observed by Theodore, who held a conspicuous station among the patriot leaders, he quickly assembled an active and intrepid party, with which, taking a circuitous route, he succeeded, after a sharp conflict, in carrying off the General, and several of his officers, prisoners. A short time previous to this event, some Swiss officers either were, or were reported to have been, murdered in cold blood by their invaders, and it was now determined to retaliate this barbarity. Theodore stood bravely forward in defence of his unfortunate captives, and declared, that only with life would he cease to defend those who had submitted on his pledge of security. A bad action frequently requires only one vigorous opponent to be defeated. So it was on the present occasion, and the prisoners were allowed to be ransomed.

Abandoning his enslaved country, where he now possessed nothing, and actuated by that restless anxiety, which, in misery, urges us to revisit the scenes of former happiness, Theodore, almost without intending it, found himself in Lyons. So near, ought he not to trace once more the walks and shades of Monthillier, might he not be allowed to gaze for the last time on Adelaide, while he himself remained unseen? Such were his reflections; and the rays of the evening-sun were falling brightly

on the little summer-house, the scene of his last delusive interview, as he gazed upon it from the opposite bank of the stream. To this, except by going close to the castle, there was only one passage, over a narrow bridge of wood, which here spanned the gulf at a great height above the torrent. By the shade of impending rocks and surrounding woods, this place was gloomy even at noon-day; but when the shadows of evening had closed around, the rustic bridge was involved in almost total darkness. By this path, which long habit rendered at all hours familiar to him, Theodore now entered those precincts so often trodden with pleasure, and soon found himself at the door of the elegant little building, which still continued to be the favourite retreat of Adelaide.

No one was there, but a book lay open on the table. This Theodore recognised as an Italian classic which he had frequently read with Adelaide. He pressed the unconscious volume to his lips, and to his bosom, and ere he was aware, Adelaide herself entered. In mute astonishment, she suffered him to take her hand, and lead him to a seat. She could not speak-tears at length came to her relief. Of many things did the lovers discourse, without coming to any resolution, save to meet again.

The interview had not passed without observation. The new lover of Adelaide had gained over to his purposes a confidential domestic in the family of the Baron. This person, agreeably to his instructions, watching every movement of Adelaide, had discovered the meeting of the cousins, and had also traced Theodore to a neighbouring cottage, where he intended to remain concealed for a few days, as he hoped soon to receive letters which might facilitate a reconciliation with his uncle.

Informed of Theodore's return, and of the meeting with Adelaide, the young Count set no bounds to his desire of vengeance, and resolved, at all hazards, to remove his rival. Yet he was at a loss how to proceed. Should he inform the Baron, the young lady would doubtless be confined; but this would rather increase her dislike to the author of such an

« AnteriorContinuar »