 CHAPTER XV The Marquis, meanwhile, whose indefatigable search after Julia failed of success, was successively the slave of alternate passions and he poured forth the spleen of disappointment on his unhappy domestics. The Marchioness, who may now more properly be called Maria de Valarno, inflamed by artful insinuations, the passions already irritated and heightened with cruel triumph his resentment toward Julia and Madame de Menon. She represented what his feelings too accurately acknowledged, that by the obstinate disobedience of the first and the machinations of the last a priest had been enabled to arrest his authority as a father, to insult the sacred honor of his nobility and to overturn at once his proudest schemes of power and ambition. She declared at her opinion that the abate was acquainted with the place of Julia's present retreat and upbraided the Marquis with want of spirit and thus submitting to be outwitted by a priest and forbearing an appeal to the Pope whose authority would compel the abate to restore Julia. This reproach stung the very soul of the Marquis. He felt all its force and was at the same time conscious of his inability to obviate it. The effect of his crimes now fell in severe punishment upon his own head. The threatened secret, which was no other than the imprisonment of the Marchioness, arrested his arm of vengeance and compelled him to submit to insult and disappointment. But the reproach of Maria sunk deep in his mind, it fomented his pride into redoubled fury and he now repelled with disdain the idea of submission. He revolved the means which might affect his purpose. He saw but one. This was the death of the Marchioness. The commission of one crime often requires the perpetration of another. When once we enter on the labyrinth of vice we can seldom return but are led on through correspondent mazes to destruction. To obviate the effect of his first crime it was now necessary the Marquis should commit a second and conceal the imprisonment of the Marchioness by her murderer. Himself the only living witness of her existence when she was removed the allegations of the Padre abate would by this means be unsupported by any proof and he might then boldly appeal to the Pope for the restoration of his child. He mused upon this scheme and the more he accustomed his mind to contemplate it the less scrupulous he became. The crime from which he would formerly have shrunk he now surveyed with a steady eye. The fury of his passions unaccustomed to resistance uniting with the force of what ambition termed necessary urged him to the deed and he determined upon the murder of his wife. The means of affecting his purpose were easy and various but as he was not yet so entirely hardened as to be able to view her dying pangs and him brew his own hands in her blood he chose to dispatch her by means of poison which he resolved to mingle in her food. But a new affliction was preparing for the Marquis which attacked him where he was most vulnerable and the veil which had so long overshadowed his reason was now to be removed. He was informed by Baptisia of the infidelity of Maria de Valorno. In the first emotion of passion he spurned the informer from his presence and disdained to believe the circumstance. A little reflection changed the object of his resentment. He recalled the servant whose faithfulness he had no reason to distrust and condescended to interrogate him on the subject of his misfortune. He learned that an intimacy had for some time subsisted between Maria and the Cavalier de Vincini and that the Assygnation was usually held at the pavilion on the seashore in an evening. Baptisia farther declared that if the Marquis desired a confirmation of his words he might obtain it by visiting this spot at the hour mentioned. This information lighted up the wildest passions of his nature. His former sufferings faded away before the stronger influence of the present misfortune, and it seemed as if he had never tasted misery till now. To suspect the wife upon whom he doted with romantic fondness on whom he had centered all his firmest hopes of happiness and for whose sake he had committed the crime which embittered even his present moment and which would involve him in a still deeper guilt to find her ungrateful to his love and a traitorous to his honour produced a misery more poignant than any his imagination had conceived. He was torn by contending passions and opposite resolutions. Now he resolved to expiate her guilt with her blood and now he melted in all the softness of love. Vengeance and honour bade him strike to the heart which had betrayed him and urged him instantly to the deed when the idea of her beauty, her winning smiles, her fond endearments stole upon his fancy and subdued his heart. He almost wept to the idea of injuring her and in spite of appearances pronounced her faithful. The succeeding moment plunged him again into uncertainty. His tortures acquired new vigor from cessation and again he experienced all the frenzy of despair. He was now resolved to end his doubts by repairing to the pavilion, but again his heart wavered in irresolution how to proceed should his fears be confirmed. In the meantime he determined to watch the behaviour of Maria with severe vigilance. They met at dinner and he observed her closely but discovered not the smallest impropriety in her conduct. Her smiles and her beauty again wound their fascinations round his heart and in the excess of their influence he was almost tempted to repair the injury which his late suspicions had done her by confessing them at her feet. The appearance of the cavalier de Vincenzi however renewed his suspicions. His heart throbbed wildly and with restless impatience he watched the return of evening which would remove his suspicions. Night at length came he repaired to the pavilion and secreted himself among the trees that empowered it. Many minutes had not passed when he heard a sound of low whispering voices steel from among the trees and footsteps approaching down the alley. He stood almost petrified with terrible sensations and presently heard some persons entering the pavilion. The Marquis now emerged from his hiding place. A faint light issued from the building he stole to the window and beheld within. Maria and the cavalier de Vincenzi. Fired at the sight he drew his sword and sprang forward. The sound of his step alarmed the cavalier who on perceiving the Marquis rushed by him from the pavilion and disappeared among the woods. The Marquis pursued but could not overtake him and he returned to the pavilion with an intention of plunging his sword in the heart of Maria when he discovered her senseless on the ground. Pity now suspended his vengeance. He paused in agonizing gaze upon her and returned his sword into the scabbard. She revived but on observing the Marquis screamed and relapsed. He hastened to the castle for assistance, inventing to conceal his disgrace some pretense for her sudden illness and she was conveyed to her chamber. The Marquis was now not suffered to doubt her infidelity but the passion which her conduct abused her faithfulness could not subdue. He still doubted with absurd fondness and even regretted that uncertainty could no longer flatter him with hope. It seemed as if his desire of her affection increased with his knowledge of the loss of it and the very circumstance which should have roused his aversion by a strange perversity of disposition appeared to heighten his passion and to make him think it impossible he could exist without her. When the first energy of his indignation was subsided he determined therefore to reprove and to punish but hereafter to restore her to favor. In this resolution he went to her apartment and reprehended her falsehood in terms of just indignation. Maria de Valorno, in whom the late discovery had roused resentment, instead of awakening penitence and exasperated pride without exciting shame, heard the upbratings of the Marquis with impatience and replied to them with acrimonious violence. She boldly asserted her innocence and instantly invented a story, the plausibility of which might have deceived a man who had evidence less certain than his senses to contradict it. She behaved with a haughtiness the most insolent and when she perceived that the Marquis was no longer to be misled and that her violence failed to accomplish its purpose she had recourse to tears and supplications but the artifice was too glaring to succeed and the Marquis quitted her apartment in an agony of resentment. His former fascinations however quickly returned and again held him in suspension between love and vengeance that the vehemence of his passion however might not want an object he ordered Baptisia to discover the retreat of the Cavalier de Vincini on whom he meant to revenge his lost honor. Shame forbade him to employ others in the search. This discovery suspended for a while the operations of the fatal scheme which had before employed the thoughts of the Marquis but it had only suspended not destroyed them. The late occurrence had annihilated his domestic happiness but his pride now rose to rescue him from despair and he centered all his future hopes upon ambition. In a moment of cool reflection he considered that he had derived neither happiness or content from the pursuit of dissipated pleasures to which he had hitherto sacrificed every opposing consideration. He resolved therefore to abandon the gay schemes of dissipation which had formally allured him and dedicated himself entirely to ambition in the pursuits and delights of which he hoped to bury all his cares. He therefore became more earnest than ever for the marriage of Julia with a duke de lovo through whose means he designed to involve himself in the interests of the state and determined to recover her at whatever consequence. He resolved without further delay to appeal to the Pope but to do this with safety it was necessary that the Marchioness should die and he returned therefore to the consideration and execution of his diabolical purpose. He mingled a poisonous drug with the food he designed for her and when night arrived called it to the cell. As he unlocked the door his hand trembled and when he presented the food and looked consciously for the last time upon the Marchioness who received it with humble thankfulness his heart almost relented. His countenance over which was diffused the paleness of death expressed the secret movements of his soul and he gazed upon her with the eyes of stiffened horror. Alarmed by his looks she fell upon her knees to supplicate his pity. Her attitude recalled his bewildered senses and endeavouring to assume a tranquil aspect he bade her rise and instantly quitted the cell fearful of the instability of his purpose. His mind was not sufficiently hardened by guilt to repel the arrows of conscience and his imagination responded to her power. As he passed through the long dreary passages from the prison solemn and mysterious sounds seemed to speak in every murmur of the blast which crept along their windings and he often started and looked back. He reached his chamber and having shut the door surveyed the room in fearful examination. Ideal forms flitted before his fancy and for the first time in his life he feared to be alone. Shame only withheld him from calling Baptisia. The gloom of the hour and the deathlike silence that prevailed assisted the horrors of his imagination. He half-repented of the deed yet deemed it now too late to obviate it and he threw himself on his bed in terrible emotion. His head grew dizzy and a sudden faintness overcame him. He hesitated and at length arose to ring for assistance but found himself unable to stand. In a few moments he was somewhat revived and rang his bell but before any person appeared he was seized with terrible pains and staggering to his bed sunk senseless upon it. Here Baptisia who was the first person that entered his room found him struggling seemingly in the agonies of death. The whole castle was immediately roused and the confusion may be more easily imagined than described. Emilia amid the general alarm came to her father's room but the sight of him overcame her and she was carried from his presence. By the help of proper applications the Marquis recovered his senses and his pains had a short cessation. I'm dying, said he in a faltering accent, sent immediately for the Marchenesse and my son. Ferdinand, in escaping from the hands of the Bandidi it was now seen had fallen into the power of his father. He had been since confined in an apartment of the castle and was now liberated to obey the summons. The countenance of the Marquis exhibited a ghastly image. Ferdinand, when he drew near the bed, suddenly shrunk back, overcome with horror. The Marquis now beckoned his attendants to quit the room and they were preparing to obey when a violent noise was heard from him without. Almost in the same instant the door of the apartment was thrown open and the servant who had been sent for the Marchenesse rushed in. His look alone declared the horror of his mind for words he had none to utter. He stared wildly and pointed to the gallery he had quitted. Ferdinand, seized with new terror, rushed the way he pointed to the apartment of the Marchenesse. A spectacle of horror presented itself. Maria lay on the couch lifeless and bathed in blood. A poignard, the instrument of her destruction, was on the floor and it appeared from a letter which was found on the couch beside her that she had died by her own hand. The paper contained these words. To the Marchita Mazzini. Your words have stabbed my heart. No power on earth could restore the peace you have destroyed. I will escape from my torture. When you read this I shall be no more, but the triumph shall no longer be yours. The draft you have drunk was given by the hand of the injured Maria Mazzini. It now appeared that the Marquis was poisoned by the vengeance of the woman to whom he had resigned his conscience. The consternation and distress of Ferdinand cannot easily be conceived. He hastened back to his father's chamber but determined to conceal the dreadful catastrophe of Maria del Vilorno. This precaution, however, was useless for the servants in the consternation of terror had revealed it and the Marquis had fainted. Returning pains recalled his senses and the agonies he suffered were too shocking for the beholders. Medical endeavors were applied but the poison was too powerful for antidote. The Marquis's pains at length subsided. The poison had exhausted most of its rage and he became tolerably easy. He waved his hand for the attendants to leave the room and beckoning to Ferdinand, whose senses were almost stunned by this accumulation of horror, bade him sit down beside him. The hand of death is upon me, said he. I would employ these last moments in revealing a deed which is more dreadful to me than all the bodily agonies I suffer. It will be some relief to me to discover it. Ferdinand grasped the hand of the Marquis in speechless terror. The retribution of heaven is upon me, resumed the Marquis. My punishment is the immediate consequence of my guilt. Heaven has made that woman the instrument of its justice, whom I made the instrument of my crimes, that woman, for whose sake I forgot a conscience, and braved vice, for whom I imprisoned an innocent wife and afterwards murdered her. At these words every nerve of Ferdinand thrilled, he let go of the Marquis's hand and started back. Look not so fiercely on me, said the Marquis in a hollow voice. Your eyes strike death to my soul. My conscience needs not this additional paying. My mother exclaimed Ferdinand. My mother! Speak! Tell me! I have no breath, said the Marquis. Oh, take these keys. The south tower. The trap door. Tis possible. Oh! The Marquis made a sudden spring upwards and fell lifeless on the bed. The attendants were called in, but he was gone for ever. His last words struck with the force of lightning upon the mind of Ferdinand. They seemed to say that his mother might yet exist. He took the keys and ordering some of the servants to follow, hastened to the southern building. He proceeded to the tower and the trap door beneath the staircase was lifted. They all descended into a dark passage which conducted them through several intricacies to the door of the cell. Ferdinand, in trembling horrible expectation, applied the key. The door opened and he entered. But what was his surprise when he found no person in the cell? He concluded that he had mistaken the place and quitted it for further search. But having followed the windings of the passage by which he entered without discovering any other door, he returned to a more exact examination of the cell. He now observed the door which led to the cavern and he entered upon the avenue. But no person was found there and no voice answered to his call. Having reached the door of the cavern which was fastened, he returned, lost in grief, and meditating upon the last words of the marquee, he now thought that he had mistaken their import and that the words to his possible were not meant to apply to the life of the marchiness. He concluded that the murder had been committed at a distant period, and he resolved therefore to have the ground of the cell dug up and the remains of his mother sought for. When the first violence of the emotions excited by the late scenes was subsided, he inquired concerning Maria de Valorno. It appeared that on the day preceding this horrid transaction the marquee had passed some hours in her apartment that they were heard in loud dispute, that the passion of the marquee grew high, that he upbraided her with her past conduct and threatened her with a formal separation. When the marquee quitted her she was heard walking quick through the room in a passion of tears. She often suddenly stopped in vehement but incoherent exclamation and at last threw herself on the floor and was for some time entirely still. Here her woman found her upon whose entrance she arose hastily and reproved her for appearing uncalled. After this she remained silent and sullen. She descended to supper where the marquee met her alone at table. Little was said during the repast, at the conclusion of which the servants were dismissed, and it was believed that during the interval between supper and the hour of repose Maria de Valorno contrived to mingle poison with the wine of the marquee. How she had procured this poison was never discovered. She retired early to her chamber and her woman observing that she appeared much agitated, inquired if she was ill. To this she returned a short answer in the negative and her woman was soon afterwards dismissed. But she had hardly shut the door of the room when she heard her lady's voice recalling her. She returned and received some trifling order and observed that Maria looked uncommonly pale. There was besides a wildness in her eyes which frightened her, but she did not dare to ask any questions. She again quitted the room and had only reached the extremity of the gallery when her mistress's bell rang. She hastened back. Maria inquired if the marquee was gone to bed and if all was quiet. Being answered in the affirmative she replied, This is a still hour and a dark one. Good night. Her woman having once more left the room, stopped at the door to listen, but all within remained silent. She retired to rest. It is probable that Maria perpetrated the fatal act soon after the dismission of her woman, for when she was found two hours afterwards she appeared to have been dead for some time. On examination a wound was discovered on her left side which had doubtless penetrated to the heart, from the suddenness of her death and from the effusion of blood which had followed. These terrible events so deeply affected Emilia that she was confined to her bed by a dangerous illness. Ferdinand struggled against the shock with manly fortitude, but amid all the tumult of the present scenes his uncertainty concerning Julia, whom he had left in the hands of Banditi and whom he had been withheld from seeking a rescuing, formed perhaps the most affecting part of his distress. The late Marquis de Mazzini and Maria de Valorneau were interred with the honor due to their rank in the Church of the Convent of St. Nicolo. Their lives exhibited a boundless indulgence of violent and luxurious passions, and their deaths marked the consequences of such indulgence, and held forth to mankind a singular instance of divine vengeance. In turning up the ground of the cell it was discovered that it communicated with the dungeon in which Ferdinand had been confined and where he had heard those groans which had occasioned him so much terror. The story which the Marquis formally related to his son concerning the southern buildings it was now evident was fabricated for the purpose of concealing the imprisonment of the Marchioness. In the choice of his subject he certainly discovered some art, for the circumstance related was calculated by impressing terror to prevent further inquiry into the recesses of these buildings. It served also to explain by supernatural evidence the cause of those sounds and of that appearance which had been there observed, but which were in reality occasioned only by the Marquis. The event of the examination in the cell threw Ferdinand into new perplexity. The Marquis had confessed that he poisoned his wife, yet her remains were not to be found, and the place which he signified to be that of her confinement bore no vestige of her having been there. There appeared no way by which she could have escaped from her prison for both the door which opened upon the cell and that which terminated the avenue beyond were fastened when tried by Ferdinand. But the young Marquis had no time for useless speculation. Serious duties called upon him. He believed that Julia was still in the power of Bandidi, and on the conclusion of his father's funeral he set forward himself to Palermo to give information of the abode of the robbers and to repair with the officers of justice accompanied by a party of his own people to the rescue of his sister. On his arrival at Palermo he was informed that a Bandidi whose retreat had been among the ruins of a monastery situated in the forest of Marantino was already discovered, that their abode had been searched and themselves secured for examples of public justice, but that no captive lady had been found amongst them. This latter intelligence excited in Ferdinand a very serious distress, and he was wholly unable to conjecture her fate. He obtained a leave, however, to interrogate those of the robbers who were imprisoned in Palermo, but would draw from them no satisfactory or certain information. At length he quitted Palermo for the forest of Marantino, thinking it possible that Julia might be heard of in its neighborhood. He traveled on in melancholy interjection and evening overtook him long before he reached the place of his destination. The night came on heavily in clouds and a violent storm of wind and rain arose. The road lay through a wild and rocky country, and Ferdinand could obtain no shelter. His attendants offered him their cloaks, but he refused to expose a servant to the hardship he would not himself endure. He traveled for some miles in a heavy rain and the wind which howled mournfully among the rocks and whose solemn pauses were filled by the distant roaring of the sea, heightened at the desolation of the scene. At length he discovered, amid the darkness from afar, a red light waving in the wind. It varied with the blast, but never totally disappeared. He pushed his horse into a gallop and made towards it. The flame continued to direct his course, and on a nearer approach he perceived by the red reflection of its fires, streaming in long radiance upon the waters beneath, a lighthouse situated upon a point of rock which overhung the sea. He knocked for admittance, and the door was opened by an old man who bade him welcome. Within appeared a cheerful blazing fire round which receded several persons who seemed like himself to have sought shelter from the tempest of the night. The sight of the fire cheered him and he advanced towards it, when a sudden scream seized his attention. The company rose up in confusion, and in the same instant he discovered Julia in Hippolytus. The joy of that moment is not to be described, but his attention was quickly called off from his own situation to that of a lady who, during the general transport, had fainted. His sensations on learning she was his mother cannot be described. She revived. My son said she in a languid voice, and as she pressed him to her heart, Great God, I am recompensed. Surely this moment may repay a life of misery. He could only receive her caresses in silence, but the sudden tears which started in his eyes spoke a language too expressive to be misunderstood. When the first emotion of the scene was passed, Julia inquired by what means Fertinand had come to this spot. He answered her generally and avoided for the present entering upon the affecting subject of the late events at the castle of Mazzini. Julia related the history of her adventures since she parted with her brother. In her narration it appeared that Hippolytus, who was taken by the Duke de Love Ovo at the mouth of the cave, had afterwards escaped and returned to the cavern in search of Julia. The low recess in the rock through which Julia had passed he perceived by the light of his flambeau. He penetrated to the cavern beyond, and from thence to the prison of the Marchinesse. No color of language can paint the scene which followed. It is sufficient to say that the whole party agreed to quit the cell at the return of night. But this being a night on which it was known the Marquis would visit the prison, they agreed to defer their departure till after his appearance, and thus elude the danger to be expected from an early discovery of the escape of the Marchinesse. At the sound of footsteps above Hippolytus and Julia had secreted themselves in the avenue, and immediately on the Marquis's departure they all repaired to the cavern, leaving in the hurry of their flight untouched the poisonous food he had brought. Having escaped from thence they proceeded to a neighboring village where horses were procured to carry them towards Palermo. Here after a tedious journey they arrived in the design of embarking for Italy. Contrary winds had detained them till the day on which Ferdinand left that city, when apprehensive and weary of delay they hired a small vessel, and it determined to brave the winds. They had soon reasoned to repent their termidity, for the vessel had not been long at sea when the storm arose which threw them back upon the shores of Sicily, and brought them to the lighthouse where they were discovered by Ferdinand. On the following morning Ferdinand returned with his friends to Palermo, where he first disclosed the late fatal events of the castle. They now settled their future plans and Ferdinand hastened to the castle of Mazini to fetch Emilia, and to give orders for the removal of his household to his palace at Naples, where he designed to fix his future residence. The distress of Emilia, whom he found recovered from her indisposition, yielded to joy and wonder when she heard of the existence of her mother and the safety of her sister. She departed with Ferdinand for Palermo, where her friends awaited her, and where the joy of the meeting was considerably heightened by the appearance of Madame de Menin, for whom the Marchinesse had dispatched a messenger to St. Augustine's. Madame had quitted the abbey for another convent, to which however the messenger was directed. This happy party now embarked for Naples. From this period the castle of Mazini, which had been the theatre of a dreadful catastrophe, and whose scenes would have revived in the minds of the chief personages connected with it, painful and shocking recollections was abandoned. On their arrival at Naples, Ferdinand presented to the king a clear and satisfactory account of the late events of the castle, in consequence of which the Marchinesse was confirmed in her rank, and Ferdinand was received as the sixth Marquis de Mazini. The Marchinesse, thus restored to the world into happiness, resided with her children in the palace at Naples, where after time had somewhat mellowed the remembrance of the late Calamity, the napsules of Hippolytus and Julia were celebrated. The recollection of the difficulties they had encountered, and of the distress they had endured for each other, now served only to heighten by contrast the happiness of the present period. Ferdinand, soon after accepted a command in the Neapolitan army, and amidst the many heroes of that war-like and turbulent age, distinguished himself for his valor and ability. The occupations of war engaged his mind, while his heart was solicitous in promoting the happiness of his family. Madam Domenon, whose generous attachment to the Marchinesse had been fully proved, found in the restoration of her friend a living witness of her marriage, and thus recovered those estates which had been unjustly withheld from her. But the Marchinesse and her family grateful to her friendship, and attached to her virtues, prevailed upon her to spend the remainder of her life at the palace of Mazzini. Amelia, wholly attached to her family, continued to reside with the Marchinesse, who saw her race renewed in the children of Hippolytus and Julia. Thus surrounded by her children and friends, and engaged in forming the minds of the infant generation, she seemed to forget that she had ever been otherwise than happy. Here the manuscript annals conclude. In reviewing this story we perceive a singular and striking instance of moral retribution. We learn also that those who do only that which is right endure nothing in misfortune but a trial of their virtue, and from trials well endured derive the surest claim to the protection of heaven.