CHAP. XII.
Ferdinand now hastened to the Castle in the wood, and knowing the way, he pierced through its intricacies that to a stranger seemed impassable, and in much less time than he expected was at the gates. He hastily pulled the bell, which, to his infinite vexation, broke off in his hand; for having been so long useless, it had been eaten out with rust, moved with difficulty the preceding day, and now, by a second pull, snapped to pieces. Exceedingly disconcerted, he began to apprehend that he should gain no entrance; fortunately the solitary man, who had expected him, being walking in the court, heard the faint sound, which the jarring of the wires occasioned, and instantly appeared at the little wicket. Ferdinand was agreeably surprised at his sudden appearance. "You see me returned (said he) anxious to cultivate your acquaintance, and in your conversation blunt the keen edge of my own calamities."
"Enter (said the solitary) I have expected you, curiosity is so strongly implanted in the mind of man that I scarcely doubted of your return." They passed through the first court, and walked round the wall of the second to a small postern door; on advancing towards it, he added, "Having once permitted you a free entrance, my confidence shall not be a partial one." He then opened the door which led to a handsome colonnade fronting the great gates that were boarded up, and excluded it from being seen in the outer court. They entered a large hall, round which run a gallery supported by pillars that led to the apartments above stairs; but the painting was almost effaced by the damp, the pillars entirely discoloured, some of them decayed and crumbling to pieces, threatening the destruction of the gallery they supported, and indeed the whole bore the appearance of total neglect. The solitary opened a door at the farther end of the hall, and conducted his guest into what he called his library, for as such it seemed to have been intended; but the glasses in many places were broken, the books all tumbling in disorder, and so covered with dust, that they were scarcely discernible. A few old-fashioned velvet chairs, once of crimson, but changed by the damps, two tables, with a writing desk of a very particular old-fashioned construction; a large dog that lay before a great wood fire, and seemed by age rendered almost incapable of moving, though he growled at the stranger; a sword, and a pair of pistols, that hung against the wall, comprised the whole furniture of this room.
Being seated, the solitary inquired of his success at the Convent. Ferdinand related his reception there, and at the Friar's monastery; adding, "You see my wife will afford me no sort of satisfaction, and her message is as extraordinary and inexplicable as her whole conduct."
The old man sighed deeply: "I pity you (said he) not for your present disappointment, but because you are young, and must feel, poignantly feel, the stings of ingratitude, and the destruction of those sanguine hopes of happiness you had figured to yourself in an union with the object of your choice, and who, I have little doubt of pronouncing, has proved unworthy of your attachment."
"How! (exclaimed Ferdinand) do you believe my wife is criminal?"
"Hath she not confessed as much?" replied the other.
"Impossible!" said Ferdinand, "she had no acquaintance, no man visited her, in my absence she resided with my brother, who lived very retired; impossible she could wrong me."
"Cease to torment yourself with conjectures that cannot be elucidated; one day or other be assured every thing will be explained.—Yes (continued he, raising his voice) time and accident develops the darkest schemes, the machinations of the wicked will be detected, and, if to know the worst, your imagination can form, will afford any degree of ease, doubt not but that you will one day be satisfied; 'till then, try to repress your anxiety, and revere that command so extraordinarily delivered; try to forget that you have a wife existing, for she has declared 'she is dead to you."
Ending these words he stamped on the floor, and presently a man, old and feeble, entered the room.—"Bring some bread and wine."
"Strange! (thought Ferdinand) this man said he was not the master, yet he seems to command; he drinks no wine himself, yet keeps it here, for whom then, when he lives thus solitary? Or is there another person here who is the master?"
The old servant returned with bread and wine and a cup; he looked very attentively on Ferdinand, and then withdrew. The Recluse, who penetrated through the silence of his guest, said, "I read your surprise, and guess at the doubts which occupy your mind: I will satisfy them in part. I am not the owner of this once magnificent seat, yet I am the master here, and have resided in it above twelve years. In a clear moon-light night I walk, sometimes to the skirts of the Black Forest, but at other times I never exceed the courts of the Castle, for the gardens are now a wilderness of weeds. Once a week the provisions I want are brought from a village about five miles off, on the edge of the forest. Wine is sometimes drawn here, though not by me, I have that within me which supports my strength and spirits; my old attendant requires more substantial food. Bread, fruits and water, is all that my table affords, and as much as nature requires. I am not so old as you may suppose from my appearappearance, only fifty-two, twelve of which I have past in the manner I tell you."
"It would ill become me (said Ferdinand) to express a wish to penetrate into the cause which has led you to this extraordinary seclusion from the world, though you must allow that it sufficiently warrants the most curious conjectures; but I will deserve the favour you have bestowed on me by my discretion."
"You are wise and prudent (replied the other) qualities not often attached to youth, and perhaps acquired by sorrow and experience; on such terms you are welcome to remain here as long as you please."
"May I be permitted to make one observation?" asked Ferdinand.
"Certainly, speak freely, the answer depends upon myself."
"When I first came to your gate, you expressed it necessary to inquire if I could be admitted, now you confess yourself the master, and without society."
"Your curiosity in this point is so very natural that I will satisfy it without reserve. The discovery of this mansion through the impenetrable, as I thought, woods, hills and valleys, so out of the common road, and even an object of terror to the few inhabitants that dwell on the other side, the sound of a bell, which had been silent for above nine years, and your appearance when I opened the wicket, altogether astonished me! Callous, as I thought my heart was grown, it softened at the view of sorrow and weakness in so young a frame. To your request of admittance I said, "I would inquire." I came back, and consulted Francis; it was possible you might be what you seemed, then there was no danger in permitting you to enter the outer court, but to guard against surprise, Francis secured the gate of the inner court, and was planted in a small room, within the huntsman's, where I led you, armed with that brace of pistols, which had you attacked me, or strove to force your way beyond the bounds I allowed, he had orders to discharge, and instantly to dispatch you."
Ferdinand heard him with some degree of terror, and "Who, or what can this man be?" darted naturally into his mind, and having taken some refreshment, he began to consider whether it would be prudent to remain in a place that seemed to be the abode of wretchedness, fear and distrust. Curiosity however predominated, and as he also was armed with a brace of pistols, he thought himself at least a match for two old men, should they harbour any sinister designs against him. Having thus made up his mind, he began to remark on the conversations between Father Joseph and himself, and the different language of Father Ambrose, the Superior. "I much fear (said he) that the former has been an unhappy victim, and feels no satisfaction in his situation; for I can conceive that even a good mind well disposed towards religion and moral rectitude, if compelled to forsake the world, and lead an inactive life, contrary to the natural disposition, grow languid in the performance of those duties, which free-will might have performed with pleasure and alacrity: For my own part, all my prospects of happiness for ever clouded, oppressed with the weight of a much-loved father's denunciation, and which seems to be so literally fulfilled in this life—a brother, a husband, a father; yet separated from every endearing tie; what can I promise myself in this world, that can counter-balance that tranquil, that serene life which pervades in a convent, and which my misfortunes seem to point out as my only place of rest; and if I can assure to myself such a companion, such a friend, as Father Joseph, what can I desire more?"
"Revenge!" cried the Solitary, with an eye darting fire through his emaciated countenance: "Yes, revenge!" repeated he, with a violence that startled Ferdinand; "Live to detect the artful villainy of those that have wronged you, and to punish them!"
"But I know no such persons," said Ferdinand; "I know of no wrongs that I have met with that require revenge. If my wife has been guilty, she is already punished; and for her accomplice, if such there be, he will not escape with impunity; and to drag on a wretched life, with the diabolical intention of destroying another, would be only redoubling my own miseries here, and assuring to myself punishment hereafter."
"So young a stoic!" exclaimed the old man, with a look of contempt, "either you are a hypocrite, or you were born without passions."
"The detestable character of the first," replied the other, "I utterly disclaim, and had I been created without passions, all the misfortunes of my life would have been avoided: No, I am not without passions, but adversity has taught me wisdom, has moderated the impetuosity of youth, and suffering as I do under the violence of momentary rage, which in an instant may be guilty of excesses never to be repaired, I have learned to bear and to forbear in points that are doubtful, and where my courage and honour are not questioned."
"You are a philosopher, Sir," answered the Solitary, apparently much agitated, "and fitter for the convent, perhaps, than the world, since you can so easily, so tamely, wait for time to elucidate your injuries; but I beg pardon, it cannot concern me; persons born with different sentiments will act differently, and as in this point we do not agree, we will change the subject."
He did so, and Ferdinand found him learned, intelligent, and communicative, yet on every subject he discoursed with a vehemence so little to be expected from the feebleness of his looks and manner when he first appeared at the wicket, discovered a temper so violent and so decided, that his manners rather repulsed than conciliated any growing esteem, and seemed to promise that little pleasure could be derived from cultivating his acquaintance. After some hours conversation the Solitary took him up to the gallery, which was extensive, and had once been magnificent. He opened the doors of several apartments that overlooked the gardens, and an extent of country; but the former was a confused mass of trees, shrubs and weeds, and the country beyond appeared an immense forest.
This was certainly an unpleasant situation to build a superb house on, observed Ferdinand. Our Castle is on a rocky ground, and adjoining to hills and mountains; but they are cultivated and inhabited: Here every thing has the appearance of a desert. Is there no town or village near, for I profess myself entirely unacquainted with this part of the country, from always thinking the woods both dangerous and impenetrable?—"There is a village a few miles distant, but I know not its name," was all the answer.—He then carried him across the gallery to another wing of the building, and opening a door, "Here you may sleep if you please; Francis can find linen for the bed, and shall light a fire, though possibly the chimney may not draw." This room had been handsomely furnished, but it was in a very decayed state, and the whole appearance was so cold and comfortless, that Ferdinand hesitated a moment whether he should accept the offer, and sleep there or not; but the day was shutting in, and he might even lose his way to the monastery, he thought he could be in no hazard of danger, and therefore it would be most prudent to pass that night there, tho' he felt no inclination to prolong his stay, especially as he could hope for no gratification to his curiosity, for the Solitary's heart seemed locked up and carefully guarded. Returning to the lower room they spent the evening together in conversation on various subjects. Ferdinand was pleased with the strong understanding and knowledge of the world which the other displayed; but he observed, on several occasions, that he was decided and peremptory in his opinions, and that he evaded every thing tending to his own situation, and gave not a single instance of that confidence he had at first led his guest to hope for.
At ten o'clock Francis appeared with a lamp, the Gentlemen wished each other a good night, Francis was ordered to attend the stranger to the door of his apartment, and then return to his master. Ferdinand judged this order was to preclude any conversation between him and the old man, and therefore he was silent; but as they parted at the door he thought Francis suppressed a rising sigh, and looking at him saw his face was clouded by a heavy expression of grief. He bowed, retired, and pulled the door after him. A cheerful fire was blazing in the chimney, and examining the door of his apartment, he perceived there was a lock and two strong bolts; these he secured, and having placed the lamp on the table, he threw off his clothes, and got into bed.
Here he lay some time revolving all past circumstances, and considering which road he should pursue in the morning, when suddenly he conceived that he heard some faint shrieks as if at a great distance, he sprung up in the bed and listened; he heard no more, all was a dead silence; yet still he could not be persuaded but that he heard the cries:—He lay some hours in a kind of fearful expectation of, he knew not what. No sort of noise however invaded his ears, and at length he dropped asleep, from which he was awakened by a voice at the door, telling him breakfast was ready. He was soon dressed, and found the Solitary waiting for him, coffee on the table:—"Did you sleep well?" demanded he.
"Perfectly well," replied Ferdinand, suddenly determined not to mention the cries; "indeed my bed was so very superior to what I have had those last two nights, that no wonder I indulged myself so long this morning."
"You are welcome to use the bed as long as you like," was all the reply. The day became gloomy, and in a short time the snow fell in great quantities; this the Gentleman of the house observed, saying, "you are now weather-bound, and must amuse yourself as well as you can."
Ferdinand found among the books the works of many excellent authors, and therefore was at no loss to beguile the time, and indeed had reason to be thankful for his situation, as before night the snow was at least two feet deep on the ground. About the time of retiring the snow ceased, the moon broke through the clouds, and a cold, sharp wind arose denoting a severe frost. When he came into his apartment, the reflection of that resplendent orb induced him to go to the window, and he sat down by it for some time admiring the appearance of the trees and under-wood, which being covered with the snow, exhibited a hundred fantastic shapes to engage the attention.
Lost in the recollection of past events, he sat a long time without thinking of the hour, until suddenly the same faint shrieks broke upon his ear, that he had heard the preceding night. He started up, and opened the window, the voice ceased; he listened attentively a long time, it was no more repeated. Convinced, however, that it was no illusion of a disordered imagination, he began to consider from whom, or from whence it could proceed. The sounds both nights were exactly similar, and he concluded must issue from some person distressed and confined. "There is some unaccountable mystery hangs about this forlorn place, and the Solitary who inhabits it dares not trust me with the secret: I will avail myself of his permission, and stay here a few days to see if I can penetrate through it."
Thus thought Ferdinand when he retired to bed; he slept undisturbed, and when he appeared below, the first question asked him was, "If he slept quiet?"
"Entirely so," answered he; 'this place is remote from all disturbance, and is calculated for the Court of Somnus by its stillness."
The Solitary seemed pleased, and observed, "That the depth of the snow must preclude him from an attempt at travelling in that obscure and unfrequented part of the country." The other raised no objections to remaining another day, and both were much entertained by a mutual communication of observations that seemed greatly to relax the unbending features of the solitary man; but yet he preserved a profound silence relative to his own concerns. Fruit, eggs and salad, were their only refreshments, with which Ferdinand was perfectly content.
When night came, and Ferdinand retired to his apartment, he met Francis on the stairs. The old man stopped; "Are you going to live here, Sir?" asked he.
"For a few days only," replied the other.
"I am sorry for it," said the old man.—"God knows we want company."
"I think so," answered Ferdinand, "for your master must have a horrid time of it here."
"Horrid indeed! You know all then, Sir."
"No, indeed, I know nothing; your master keeps his own secrets, and I do not presume to be inquisitive, though certainly every circumstance about this mansion and its master must raise strange conjectures, and inspire curiosity." The voice of the Solitary calling Francis, obliged the old man to hasten away, though by his earnest look and the motion of his lips he appeared about to say something interesting. Ferdinand was vexed at the interruption, and retired to his apartment, not to sleep, but fixed himself again to the window, that he might more distinctly hear the cries, should they be again repeated.
The more he reflected on this man's conversation and behaviour, the more extraordinary and inconsistent it appeared. On their first interview there seemed more of melancholy than ferocity in his manners, and he had blamed the late Count for his rashness. He had given traits of sensibility and humanity; yet in a late conversation he had advised revenge, and seemed animated by rage to a degree of fury in his looks. He had said, on his entering the Castle a second time, "that his confidence should not be a partial one;" yet his secrets were more guarded than ever, nor was there any probability that he would be more communicative.
"I thought," said Ferdinand, mentally, 'that if admitted to this house I could be content to remain here and spend my days in solitude, I supposed this mansion might be an asylum for the unfortunate, or the abode of undeserved misery, driven from a faithless world; but I fear there is more of guilt than suffering in this man; for affliction makes people plaintive, and if the mind is free from guilt, it naturally expands and grows communicative to a fellow sufferer. I know not what to conclude upon, more than a resolution not to make this my resting-place, should I be invited to do so, which seems not very likely to happen; yet I should be loath to depart without being better informed of the mystery that pervades here."
He sat ruminating on the occurrences that had befallen him some time, when again his ears were assailed by the same cries, though rather fainter, and being on the watch to catch the sound, he was convinced that it proceeded from the other side of the building, and from some place where the sound was suppressed. Excessively agitated, he began to consider in what manner there was a possibility of being satisfied, or of obtaining a solution of this unaccountable business.—He had every evil to apprehend from the resentment of the Solitary, should he be discovered in prying into his secrets, and yet to know some person was regularly ill-treated, which seemed to be the case, and to be incapable of assisting that person, or to leave the Castle without receiving any explanation, was what both his humanity and curiosity revolted against.
In the day he was never alone, or if alone, always in view of the Solitary; nor had he ever an opportunity of speaking to Francis, his master carefully watched him; it appeared impossible therefore to penetrate into this mystery, unless he could by any finesse elude his vigilance, and have an opportunity to ramble about the mansion alone.