Brillat Savarin - "The Physiology of Taste"

George Washington - "State of the Union Addresses of George Washington"

F. Colburn Adams - "Siege of Washington, D.C."

Arthur Conan Doyle - "The Valley of Fear"

A Sicilian Romance

A >> Ann Radcliffe >> A Sicilian Romance




They obeyed, and descended with the marquis, who, arriving at the
dungeon, instantly threw open the door, and discovered to the
astonished eyes of his attendants--Ferdinand!--He started with
surprize at the entrance of his father thus attended. The
marquis darted upon him a severe look, which he perfectly
comprehended.--'Now,' cried he, turning to his people, 'what do you
see? My son, whom I myself placed here, and whose voice, which
answered to your calls, you have transformed into unknown sounds.
Speak, Ferdinand, and confirm what I say.' Ferdinand did so. 'What
dreadful spectre appeared to you last night?' resumed the marquis,
looking stedfastly upon him: 'gratify these fellows with a description
of it, for they cannot exist without something of the marvellous.'
'None, my lord,' replied Ferdinand, who too well understood the manner
of the marquis. ''Tis well,' cried the marquis, 'and this is the last
time,' turning to his attendants, 'that your folly shall be treated
with so much lenity.' He ceased to urge the subject, and forbore to
ask Ferdinand even one question before his servants, concerning the
nocturnal sounds described by Peter. He quitted the dungeon with eyes
steadily bent in anger and suspicion upon Ferdinand. The marquis
suspected that the fears of his son had inadvertently betrayed to
Peter a part of the secret entrusted to him, and he artfully
interrogated Peter with seeming carelessness, concerning the
circumstances of the preceding night. From him he drew such answers as
honorably acquitted Ferdinand of indiscretion, and relieved himself
from tormenting apprehensions.

The following night passed quietly away; neither sound nor appearance
disturbed the peace of Ferdinand. The marquis, on the next day,
thought proper to soften the severity of his sufferings, and he was
removed from his dungeon to a room strongly grated, but exposed to the
light of day.

Meanwhile a circumstance occurred which increased the general discord,
and threatened Emilia with the loss of her last remaining comfort--the
advice and consolation of Madame de Menon. The marchioness, whose
passion for the Count de Vereza had at length yielded to absence, and
the pressure of present circumstances, now bestowed her smiles upon a
young Italian cavalier, a visitor at the castle, who possessed too
much of the spirit of gallantry to permit a lady to languish in vain.
The marquis, whose mind was occupied with other passions, was
insensible to the misconduct of his wife, who at all times had the
address to disguise her vices beneath the gloss of virtue and innocent
freedom. The intrigue was discovered by madame, who, having one day
left a book in the oak parlour, returned thither in search of it. As
she opened the door of the apartment, she heard the voice of the
cavalier in passionate exclamation; and on entering, discovered him
rising in some confusion from the feet of the marchioness, who,
darting at madame a look of severity, arose from her seat. Madame,
shocked at what she had seen, instantly retired, and buried in her own
bosom that secret, the discovery of which would most essentially have
poisoned the peace of the marquis. The marchioness, who was a stranger
to the generosity of sentiment which actuated Madame de Menon, doubted
not that she would seize the moment of retaliation, and expose her
conduct where most she dreaded it should be known. The consciousness
of guilt tortured her with incessant fear of discovery, and from this
period her whole attention was employed to dislodge from the castle
the person to whom her character was committed. In this it was not
difficult to succeed; for the delicacy of madame's feelings made her
quick to perceive, and to withdraw from a treatment unsuitable to the
natural dignity of her character. She therefore resolved to depart
from the castle; but disdaining to take an advantage even over a
successful enemy, she determined to be silent on that subject which
would instantly have transferred the triumph from her adversary to
herself. When the marquis, on hearing her determination to retire,
earnestly enquired for the motive of her conduct, she forbore to
acquaint him with the real one, and left him to incertitude and
disappointment.

To Emilia this design occasioned a distress which almost subdued the
resolution of madame. Her tears and intreaties spoke the artless
energy of sorrow. In madame she lost her only friend; and she too well
understood the value of that friend, to see her depart without feeling
and expressing the deepest distress. From a strong attachment to the
memory of the mother, madame had been induced to undertake the
education of her daughters, whose engaging dispositions had
perpetuated a kind of hereditary affection. Regard for Emilia and
Julia had alone for some time detained her at the castle; but this was
now succeeded by the influence of considerations too powerful to be
resisted. As her income was small, it was her plan to retire to her
native place, which was situated in a distant part of the island, and
there take up her residence in a convent.

Emilia saw the time of madame's departure approach with increased
distress. They left each other with a mutual sorrow, which did honour
to their hearts. When her last friend was gone, Emilia wandered
through the forsaken apartments, where she had been accustomed to
converse with Julia, and to receive consolation and sympathy from her
dear instructress, with a kind of anguish known only to those who have
experienced a similar situation. Madame pursued her journey with a
heavy heart. Separated from the objects of her fondest affections, and
from the scenes and occupations for which long habit had formed claims
upon her heart, she seemed without interest and without motive for
exertion. The world appeared a wide and gloomy desert, where no heart
welcomed her with kindness--no countenance brightened into smiles at
her approach. It was many years since she quitted Calini--and in the
interval, death had swept away the few friends she left there. The
future presented a melancholy scene; but she had the retrospect of
years spent in honorable endeavour and strict integrity, to cheer her
heart and encouraged her hopes.

But her utmost endeavours were unable to express the anxiety with
which the uncertain fate of Julia overwhelmed her. Wild and terrific
images arose to her imagination. Fancy drew the scene;--she deepened
the shades; and the terrific aspect of the objects she presented was
heightened by the obscurity which involved them.

[End of Vol. I]



CHAPTER VII

Towards the close of day Madame de Menon arrived at a small village
situated among the mountains, where she purposed to pass the night.
The evening was remarkably fine, and the romantic beauty of the
surrounding scenery invited her to walk. She followed the windings of
a stream, which was lost at some distance amongst luxuriant groves of
chesnut. The rich colouring of evening glowed through the dark
foliage, which spreading a pensive gloom around, offered a scene
congenial to the present temper of her mind, and she entered the
shades. Her thoughts, affected by the surrounding objects, gradually
sunk into a pleasing and complacent melancholy, and she was insensibly
led on. She still followed the course of the stream to where the deep
shades retired, and the scene again opening to day, yielded to her a
view so various and sublime, that she paused in thrilling and
delightful wonder. A group of wild and grotesque rocks rose in a
semicircular form, and their fantastic shapes exhibited Nature in her
most sublime and striking attitudes. Here her vast magnificence
elevated the mind of the beholder to enthusiasm. Fancy caught the
thrilling sensation, and at her touch the towering steeps became
shaded with unreal glooms; the caves more darkly frowned--the
projecting cliffs assumed a more terrific aspect, and the wild
overhanging shrubs waved to the gale in deeper murmurs. The scene
inspired madame with reverential awe, and her thoughts involuntarily
rose, 'from Nature up to Nature's God.' The last dying gleams of day
tinted the rocks and shone upon the waters, which retired through a
rugged channel and were lost afar among the receding cliffs. While she
listened to their distant murmur, a voice of liquid and melodious
sweetness arose from among the rocks; it sung an air, whose melancholy
expression awakened all her attention, and captivated her heart. The
tones swelled and died faintly away among the clear, yet languishing
echoes which the rocks repeated with an effect like that of
enchantment. Madame looked around in search of the sweet warbler, and
observed at some distance a peasant girl seated on a small projection
of the rock, overshadowed by drooping sycamores. She moved slowly
towards the spot, which she had almost reached, when the sound of her
steps startled and silenced the syren, who, on perceiving a stranger,
arose in an attitude to depart. The voice of madame arrested her, and
she approached. Language cannot paint the sensation of madame, when in
the disguise of a peasant girl, she distinguished the features of
Julia, whose eyes lighted up with sudden recollection, and who sunk
into her arms overcome with joy. When their first emotions were
subsided, and Julia had received answers to her enquiries concerning
Ferdinand and Emilia, she led madame to the place of her concealment.
This was a solitary cottage, in a close valley surrounded by
mountains, whose cliffs appeared wholly inaccessible to mortal foot.
The deep solitude of the scene dissipated at once madame's wonder that
Julia had so long remained undiscovered, and excited surprize how she
had been able to explore a spot thus deeply sequestered; but madame
observed with extreme concern, that the countenance of Julia no longer
wore the smile of health and gaiety. Her fine features had received
the impressions not only of melancholy, but of grief. Madame sighed as
she gazed, and read too plainly the cause of the change. Julia
understood that sigh, and answered it with her tears. She pressed the
hand of madame in mournful silence to her lips, and her cheeks were
suffused with a crimson glow. At length, recovering herself, 'I have
much, my dear madam, to tell,' said she, 'and much to explain, 'ere
you will admit me again to that esteem of which I was once so justly
proud. I had no resource from misery, but in flight; and of that I
could not make you a confidant, without meanly involving you in its
disgrace.'--'Say no more, my love, on the subject,' replied madame;
'with respect to myself, I admired your conduct, and felt severely for
your situation. Rather let me hear by what means you effected your
escape, and what has since be fallen you.'--Julia paused a moment, as
if to stifle her rising emotion, and then commenced her narrative.

'You are already acquainted with the secret of that night, so fatal to
my peace. I recall the remembrance of it with an anguish which I
cannot conceal; and why should I wish its concealment, since I mourn
for one, whose noble qualities justified all my admiration, and
deserved more than my feeble praise can bestow; the idea of whom will
be the last to linger in my mind till death shuts up this painful
scene.' Her voice trembled, and she paused. After a few moments she
resumed her tale. 'I will spare myself the pain of recurring to scenes
with which you are not unacquainted, and proceed to those which more
immediately attract your interest. Caterina, my faithful servant, you
know, attended me in my confinement; to her kindness I owe my escape.
She obtained from her lover, a servant in the castle, that assistance
which gave me liberty. One night when Carlo, who had been appointed my
guard, was asleep, Nicolo crept into his chamber, and stole from him
the keys of my prison. He had previously procured a ladder of ropes.
O! I can never forget my emotions, when in the dead hour of that
night, which was meant to precede the day of my sacrifice, I heard the
door of my prison unlock, and found myself half at liberty! My
trembling limbs with difficulty supported me as I followed Caterina to
the saloon, the windows of which being low and near to the terrace,
suited our purpose. To the terrace we easily got, where Nicolo
awaited us with the rope-ladder. He fastened it to the ground; and
having climbed to the top of the parapet, quickly slided down on the
other side. There he held it, while we ascended and descended; and I
soon breathed the air of freedom again. But the apprehension of being
retaken was still too powerful to permit a full enjoyment of my
escape. It was my plan to proceed to the place of my faithful
Caterina's nativity, where she had assured me I might find a safe
asylum in the cottage of her parents, from whom, as they had never
seen me, I might conceal my birth. This place, she said, was entirely
unknown to the marquis, who had hired her at Naples only a few months
before, without any enquiries concerning her family. She had informed
me that the village was many leagues distant from the castle, but that
she was very well acquainted with the road. At the foot of the walls
we left Nicolo, who returned to the castle to prevent suspicion, but
with an intention to leave it at a less dangerous time, and repair to
Farrini to his good Caterina. I parted from him with many thanks, and
gave him a small diamond cross, which, for that purpose, I had taken
from the jewels sent to me for wedding ornaments.'



CHAPTER VIII

'About a quarter of a league from the walls we stopped, and I assumed
the habit in which you now see me. My own dress was fastened to some
heavy stones, and Caterina threw it into the stream, near the almond
grove, whose murmurings you have so often admired. The fatigue and
hardship I endured in this journey, performed almost wholly on foot,
at any other time would have overcome me; but my mind was so occupied
by the danger I was avoiding that these lesser evils were disregarded.
We arrived in safety at the cottage, which stood at a little distance
from the village of Ferrini, and were received by Caterina's parents
with some surprise and more kindness. I soon perceived it would be
useless, and even dangerous, to attempt to preserve the character I
personated. In the eyes of Caterina's mother I read a degree of
surprise and admiration which declared she believed me to be of
superior rank; I, therefore, thought it more prudent to win her
fidelity by entrusting her with my secret than, by endeavouring to
conceal it, leave it to be discovered by her curiosity or discernment.
Accordingly, I made known my quality and my distress, and received
strong assurances of assistance and attachment. For further security,
I removed to this sequestered spot. The cottage we are now in belongs
to a sister of Caterina, upon whose faithfulness I have been hitherto
fully justified in relying. But I am not even here secure from
apprehension, since for several days past horsemen of a suspicious
appearance have been observed near Marcy, which is only half a league
from hence.'

Here Julia closed her narration, to which madame had listened with a
mixture of surprise and pity, which her eyes sufficiently discovered.
The last circumstance of the narrative seriously alarmed her. She
acquainted Julia with the pursuit which the duke had undertaken; and
she did not hesitate to believe it a party of his people whom Julia
had described. Madame, therefore, earnestly advised her to quit her
present situation, and to accompany her in disguise to the monastery
of St Augustin, where she would find a secure retreat; because, even
if her place of refuge should be discovered, the superior authority of
the church would protect her. Julia accepted the proposal with much
joy. As it was necessary that madame should sleep at the village where
she had left her servants and horses, it was agreed that at break of
day she should return to the cottage, where Julia would await her.
Madame took all affectionate leave of Julia, whose heart, in spite of
reason, sunk when she saw her depart, though but for the necessary
interval of repose.

At the dawn of day madame arose. Her servants, who were hired for the
journey, were strangers to Julia: from them, therefore, she had
nothing to apprehend. She reached the cottage before sunrise, having
left her people at some little distance. Her heart foreboded evil,
when, on knocking at the door, no answer was returned. She knocked
again, and still all was silent. Through the casement she could
discover no object, amidst the grey obscurity of the dawn. She now
opened the door, and, to her inexpressible surprise and distress,
found the cottage empty. She proceeded to a small inner room, where
lay a part of Julia's apparel. The bed had no appearance of having
being slept in, and every moment served to heighten and confirm her
apprehensions. While she pursued the search, she suddenly heard the
trampling of feet at the cottage door, and presently after some people
entered. Her fears for Julia now yielded to those for her own safety,
and she was undetermined whether to discover herself, or remain in her
present situation, when she was relieved from her irresolution by the
appearance of Julia.

On the return of the good woman, who had accompanied madame to the
village on the preceding night, Julia went to the cottage at Farrini.
Her grateful heart would not suffer her to depart without taking leave
of her faithful friends, thanking them for their kindness, and
informing them of her future prospects. They had prevailed upon her to
spend the few intervening hours at this cot, whence she had just risen
to meet madame.

They now hastened to the spot where the horses were stationed, and
commenced their journey. For some leagues they travelled in silence
and thought, over a wild and picturesque country. The landscape was
tinted with rich and variegated hues; and the autumnal lights, which
streamed upon the hills, produced a spirited and beautiful effect upon
the scenery. All the glories of the vintage rose to their view: the
purple grapes flushed through the dark green of the surrounding
foliage, and the prospect glowed with luxuriance.

They now descended into a deep valley, which appeared more like a
scene of airy enchantment than reality. Along the bottom flowed a
clear majestic stream, whose banks were adorned with thick groves of
orange and citron trees. Julia surveyed the scene in silent
complacency, but her eye quickly caught an object which changed with
instantaneous shock the tone of her feelings. She observed a party of
horsemen winding down the side of a hill behind her. Their uncommon
speed alarmed her, and she pushed her horse into a gallop. On looking
back Madame de Menon clearly perceived they were in pursuit. Soon
after the men suddenly appeared from behind a dark grove within a
small distance of them; and, upon their nearer approach, Julia,
overcome with fatigue and fear, sunk breathless from her horse. She
was saved from the ground by one of the pursuers, who caught her in
his arms. Madame, with the rest of the party, were quickly overtaken;
and as soon as Julia revived, they were bound, and reconducted to the
hill from whence they had descended. Imagination only can paint the
anguish of Julia's mind, when she saw herself thus delivered up to the
power of her enemy. Madame, in the surrounding troop, discovered none
of the marquis's people, and they were therefore evidently in the
hands of the duke. After travelling for some hours, they quitted the
main road, and turned into a narrow winding dell, overshadowed by high
trees, which almost excluded the light. The gloom of the place
inspired terrific images. Julia trembled as she entered; and her
emotion was heightened, when she perceived at some distance, through
the long perspective of the trees, a large ruinous mansion. The gloom
of the surrounding shades partly concealed it from her view; but, as
she drew near, each forlorn and decaying feature of the fabric was
gradually disclosed, and struck upon her heart a horror such as she
had never before experienced. The broken battlements, enwreathed with
ivy, proclaimed the fallen grandeur of the place, while the shattered
vacant window-frames exhibited its desolation, and the high grass that
overgrew the threshold seemed to say how long it was since mortal foot
had entered. The place appeared fit only for the purposes of violence
and destruction: and the unfortunate captives, when they stopped at
its gates, felt the full force of its horrors.

They were taken from their horses, and conveyed to an interior part of
the building, which, if it had once been a chamber, no longer deserved
the name. Here the guard said they were directed to detain them till
the arrival of their lord, who had appointed this the place of
rendezvous. He was expected to meet them in a few hours, and these
were hours of indescribable torture to Julia and madame. From the
furious passions of the duke, exasperated by frequent disappointment,
Julia had every evil to apprehend; and the loneliness of the spot he
had chosen, enabled him to perpetrate any designs, however violent.
For the first time, she repented that she had left her father's house.
Madame wept over her, but comfort she had none to give. The day
closed--the duke did not appear, and the fate of Julia yet hung in
perilous uncertainty. At length, from a window of the apartment she
was in, she distinguished a glimmering of torches among the trees, and
presently after the clattering of hoofs convinced her the duke was
approaching. Her heart sunk at the sound; and throwing her arms round
madame's neck, she resigned herself to despair. She was soon roused by
some men, who came to announce the arrival of their lord. In a few
moments the place, which had lately been so silent, echoed with
tumult; and a sudden blaze of light illumining the fabric, served to
exhibit more forcibly its striking horrors. Julia ran to the window;
and, in a sort of court below, perceived a group of men dismounting
from their horses. The torches shed a partial light; and while she
anxiously looked round for the person of the duke, the whole party
entered the mansion. She listened to a confused uproar of voices,
which sounded from the room beneath, and soon after it sunk into a low
murmur, as if some matter of importance was in agitation. For some
moments she sat in lingering terror, when she heard footsteps
advancing towards the chamber, and a sudden gleam of torchlight
flashed upon the walls. 'Wretched girl! I have at least secured you!'
said a cavalier, who now entered the room. He stopped as he perceived
Julia; and turning to the men who stood without, 'Are these,' said he,
'the fugitives you have taken?'--'Yes, my lord.'--'Then you have
deceived yourselves, and misled me; this is not my daughter.' These
words struck the sudden light of truth and joy upon the heart of
Julia, whom terror had before rendered almost lifeless; and who had
not perceived that the person entering was a stranger. Madame now
stepped forward, and an explanation ensued, when it appeared that the
stranger was the Marquis Murani, the father of the fair fugitive whom
the duke had before mistaken for Julia.

The appearance and the evident flight of Julia had deceived the
banditti employed by this nobleman, into a belief that she was the
object of their search, and had occasioned her this unnecessary
distress. But the joy she now felt, on finding herself thus
unexpectedly at liberty, surpassed, if possible, her preceding
terrors. The marquis made madame and Julia all the reparation in his
power, by offering immediately to reconduct them to the main road, and
to guard them to some place of safety for the night. This offer was
eagerly and thankfully accepted; and though faint from distress,
fatigue, and want of sustenance, they joyfully remounted their horses,
and by torchlight quitted the mansion. After some hours travelling
they arrived at a small town, where they procured the accommodation so
necessary to their support and repose. Here their guides quitted them
to continue their search.

They arose with the dawn, and continued their journey, continually
terrified with the apprehension of encountering the duke's people. At
noon they arrived at Azulia, from whence the monastery, or abbey of St
Augustin, was distant only a few miles. Madame wrote to the _Padre
Abate_, to whom she was somewhat related, and soon after received an
answer very favourable to her wishes. The same evening they repaired
to the abbey; where Julia, once more relieved from the fear of
pursuit, offered up a prayer of gratitude to heaven, and endeavoured
to calm her sorrows by devotion. She was received by the abbot with a
sort of paternal affection, and by the nuns with officious kindness.
Comforted by these circumstances, and by the tranquil appearance of
every thing around her, she retired to rest, and passed the night in
peaceful slumbers.

In her present situation she found much novelty to amuse, and much
serious matter to interest her mind. Entendered by distress, she
easily yielded to the pensive manners of her companions and to the
serene uniformity of a monastic life. She loved to wander through the
lonely cloisters, and high-arched aisles, whose long perspectives
retired in simple grandeur, diffusing a holy calm around. She found
much pleasure in the conversation of the nuns, many of whom were
uncommonly amiable, and the dignified sweetness of whose manners
formed a charm irresistibly attractive. The soft melancholy impressed
upon their countenances, pourtrayed the situation of their minds, and
excited in Julia a very interesting mixture of pity and esteem. The
affectionate appellation of sister, and all that endearing tenderness
which they so well know how to display, and of which they so well
understand the effect, they bestowed on Julia, in the hope of winning
her to become one of their order.

Copyright (c) 2007. topbookz.net. All rights reserved.