Clermont/Chapter 27
CHAP. II.
How would Philosophy enjoy this hour,
Did not grief's arrow in her bleeding side
Deep, deep infix'd, at every painful step
Pierce to the heart, and poison all her bliss.
Ev'n this calm solitude, this still serene,
Tranquillity, that to internal views
Recalls our scatter'd thoughts, and from the brow
Of ruffl'd passion steals its gloomy frown,
Is now my gentle foe; provokes the tear
From the pale eye of sorrow, and reminds
West.
As they were drinking their coffee, Madeline was agreeably surprised by hearing there was a connexion between her family and that of her departed benefactress:—the father of Viola's husband was a near relation of the Marquis and next heir to his titles if he died without issue.
"As soon as I discovered I had a son in existence (said the Marquis), I wrote to Monsieur D'Alembert, whose chateau is about four leagues from this, acquainting him with the joyful event, and requesting his immediate presence, well convinced, from the generosity of his disposition, that he would rather rejoice than grieve at the discovery, though the means of destroying his prospect of my title and fortunes. I received a letter from him, breathing the warmest congratulations; and assuring me he would instantly have obeyed my summons, had not domestic calamity interposed to prevent his doing so. A dispatch had just arrived from his son, he continued, informing him of the illness of Madame D'Alembert."
"Her illness!" cried Madeline, turning pale.
"Yes (resumed the Marquis), an illness which threatened to end in a decline, and for which she was ordered directly to Bareges, whither Monsieur D'Alembert determined on accompanying her and his son."
Madeline, though inexpressibly shocked, was not surprised to hear this account of Madame D'Alembert, whose health she had long beheld declining. Almost confident, from the character of young D'Alembert, that he would not pay those attentions her situation required, Madeline could not forbear giving vent to her feelings, and exclaimed with energy—"Would to God I was now with her! would to God I was now permitted to pay to the daughter the debt of gratitude I owed the parent!"
"Impossible (cried the Marquis); Madame D'Alembert, accompanied as she is, cannot require additional attendance: besides, your presence in the castle is absolutely requisite, as an entertainment is already planned, and will be given in a few days, in honour of you and your father, at which you must preside. Of the travellers we shall receive the earliest intelligence, as Monsieur D'Alembert promised to write immediately on their arriving at Bareges: let this promise therefore contribute to quiet your mind."
Madeline bowed, and endeavoured to appear composed; but her heart swelled with sorrow at the idea of being separated from her friend, at a time when her attentions would have been so acceptable, perhaps necessary; and with difficulty she suppressed her tears.
When coffee was over, the Marquis and St. Julian sat down to chess, and Madeline withdrew to the court, from whence she was soon tempted to wander into the forest.
It was now the still, the dewy hour of eve, an hour in which she particularly loved to walk; and she proceeded, thinking of the happy period in which she had wandered, devoid of care, through the wild-wood walks surrounding her native valley; and sighing at the idea, that felicity such as she then experienced would never, never more return.
Unheeding whither or how far she went, she rambled on till her progress was unexpectedly stopped by the monumental pillar of Lord Philippe.
A kind of awful fear now took possession of her; a fear, which the idea of the distance she had wandered from the chateau, the lateness of the present hour, and the deep gloom surrounding her, inspired; a
———long cathedral aisle of shade
led to the pillar, around which clustered
cypress and bay,
Funereal, pensive birch, its languid arms
That droops, with waving willows, deem'd to weep,
And shiv'ring aspins———
The yellow radiance, diffused over the tall trees and the antique turrets of the castle, at her first setting out, was now entirely withdrawn, and scarcely a star-light ray penetrated to the spot on which she stood; whilst a breeze swept through the forest with a hollow murmur, that to her ear sounded like the lamentings of a troubled spirit.
The dreadful fate of him to whom the pillar was dedicated, rushed upon her recollection; and, shuddering, she was moving from it, when a deep groan arrested her steps. She paused,—she trembled; the surrounding trees faintly rustled; a figure slowly emerged from them, and gliding by her, gave as it passed a look at once tender and mournful—a look which presented to her view the exact features of de Sevignie.
"Oh, God! (cried she, recollecting the likeness between him and the picture of Lord Philippe), is it de Sevignie I saw, or the spirit of the murdered Philippe?"
The pale and hollow cheek presented to her view, the melancholy eye that beamed upon her, inclined her to believe the latter; and while a cold perspiration burst from every pore at the idea of having seen a supernatural being, she fled trembling up the long avenue that led from the pillar: at its termination she paused, uncertain which way to go, for the paths were here wild and entangled; but as she despairingly struck her breast from a fear of not finding her way, she beheld a light suddenly glimmering through the trees: from the castle she knew this must proceed; darting forward therefore, and still keeping it in view, she soon found herself at home.
She stopped for a few minutes in the hall in order to regain her breath and some degree of composure; she then repaired to the parlour where she found the gentlemen just rising from chess. In answer to their enquiries as to where she had been, she briefly replied, rambling about, but did not inform them how far or whither. Her paleness struck both the Marquis and St. Julian; both however imputed it to her grief for the illness of Madame D'Alembert.
On retiring to her chamber, Madeline was not sorry to find some of the servants stationed outside the chamber next to her's, for the purpose of apprising the Marquis and his son if there was any return of the noise that had alarmed the family the preceding night. Her spirits weakened by the idea of having seen a being of the other world she could ill have borne total solitude. Unable to sleep, she stood a considerable time at the window, contemplating that part of the forest where she had been terrified; yet without shuddering she could not look upon those trees, beneath whose covert she imagined the troubled spirit of Lord Philippe wandered.