Slike strani
PDF
ePub

clination, and a sounder judgment for performing them. But pray observe, that I assume my reading woman to be a religious woman; for I will not answer for the effect of literary vauity, more than for that of any other vanity, in a mind not habitually disciplined by Christian principles, the only safe and infallible antidote for knowledge of every kind."

"Before we had finished our conversation we were interrupted by the arrival of the post. Sir John eagerly opened the newspaper; but, instead of gratifying our impatience with the intelligence for which we panted from the

stated "that Miss Denham had eloped with Signor Squalliui, that they were on their way to Scotland, and that Lady Denham had been in fits ever since."

to please on the one part, and a disposition to | be pleased on the other, in their own house, would make most visits appear dull. But then the disposition and the capacity must be cultivated antecedently to marriage. A woman whose whole education has been rehearsal, will always be dull, except she lives on the stage, constantly displaying what she has been sedulously acquiring. Books, on the contrary, well chosen books, do not lead to exhibition. The knowledge a woman acquires in private, desires no witness; the possession is the pleasure. It improves herself, it embellishes her family society, it entertains her husband,|| glorious Spaniards, he read a paragraph which it informs her children. The gratification is cheap, is safe, is always to be had at home." "It is superfluous," said Sir John, "to decorate women so highly for early youth; youth ' is itself a decoration. We mistakingly adorn most that part of life which least requires it, || and neglect to provide for that which will want it most. It is for that sober period when life has lost its freshness, the passions their intenseness, and the spirits their hilarity, that we should be preparing. Our wisdom would be to anticipate the wants of middle life, to lay in a store of notions, ideas, principles, and habits, which may preserve, or transfer to the mind that affection, which was at first partly || attracted for the person. But to add a vacant mind to a form which has ceased to please; to provide no subsidiary aid to beauty while it lasts, and especially no substitute when it is departed, is to render life comfortless, and|| marriage dreary."

"The reading of a cultivated woman," said Mr. Stanley, "commonly occupies less time than the music of a musical woman, or the idleness of an indolent woman, or the dress of a vain woman, or the dissipation of a fluttering woman; she is therefore likely to have more leisure for her duties, as well as more in

[ocr errors]

Lady Belfield with her usual kindness was beginning to express how much she pitied her old acquaintance. "My dear Caroline," said Sir John, "there is too much substantial and inevitable misery in the world, for you to waste much compassion on this foolish woman. Lady Denham has little reason to be surprised at any event which all reasonable people must have anticipated Provoking and disgraceful as it is, what has she to blame hut her own infatuation? This Italian was the associate of all her pleasures; the constant theme of her admiration. He was admitted when her friends were excluded. The girl was continually bearing that music was the best gift, and that Signor Squallini was the best gifted. Miss Denham" added he laughing "had more wit than your Strada's nightingale. Instead of dropping down dead on the lute for envy, she thought it better to run away with the lutauist for love. I pity the poor girl however, who has furnished such a commentary to our text, and who is rather the victim of a wretched education than of her own bad propensities."

CONRADINE;

OR,

INNOCENCE TRIUMPHANT,
[Concluded from Page 15.]

CONRADINE had commanded the physi- || mine to poison a damsel so gentle, so amiables cian to administer the poisonous draught to Euphrosyne in the presence of the Countess de Martiques. Dr. Alibour was one of the kindest hearted men in the world; he might be styled, by way of eminence, the physician of the fair sex; he loved to feel a lady's pulse how then was it possible that he could deter

and so beautiful as Euphrosyne! Mounted on a mule, and without any attendant, he arrived in the midst of the night at Conradine's capiHe was informed that Euphrosyne was in bed. "It does not signify," said he, "I must and will speak to her." He was conducted to her apartment.

tal.

"Dr. Alibour," exclaimed Euphrosyne, what brings you hither? have you left Conradine? has any accident befallen him?"

Dr. Alibour. None, fair lady, except that being far distant from you, he has been highly exasperated against you by false accounts. At the moment of my departure his hatred of you was as vehement as his love had before been. Euphrosyne. Your information afflicts me, Doctor. Who can be my accuser?

Dr. Alibour. The Countess de Martiques; for I am too much interested in your welfare to conceal any thing from you; the young Baron de Bormes, who is your constant attendant, and whom you have not kept confined in the

tower-.

Euphrosyne. Is it possible?

Dr Alibour. Possible enough. Conradine, burning with rage, has sent me hither. My errand would be the very reverse of agreeable, were I wicked enough to fulfil my commission. He has commanded me to give you poison.

Euphrosyne. To give me poison! And (with a supplicating look) would you obey his orders? Dr. Alibour (respectfully kissing her hand). No;|| but I must pretend to obey them. To-morrow, in the presence of the Countess, I shall band you a bason full of a mixture of honey; you must drink it up, and then complain that you feel as if you bad a fire within you, and counterfeit convulsions. As it will be looked upon as a slow poison, you may afterwards by degrees resume your serenity, and will have an opportunity to prepare yourself to act your part adroitly on Conradine's return.

Euphrosyne. It is not in my power, Doctor, to make you a recompence for so important a service as the preservation of my life.

Dr. Alibour (smiling). Do you imagine then, that physicians never preserve the lives of their patients except for money? In this case I do nothing but what is perfectly natural, and do not even expect any acknowledgment. Farewel, fair lady, equally fair in body and in mind.

ing sisters; she acted her part to perfection. "I know all," said she to the Countess; "[ am doomed to die. Where is the bowl, Doctor? give it to me. I thank heaven," added she as she held it in her hand, "for putting an end to all my misery at once. With a man of so impetuous a disposition as Conradine I should have been unhappy." She drank off the contents of the bowl." It is over!" she exclaimed; "I carry death within my bosom; a consuming fire already circulates in my veins. Whither am 1 to be conveyed?" said she to the guards. "Are my hands to be loaded with fetters?"-"No," answered the Countess, "you are free, enjoy in liberty the few days you have to live."-" Tell him then, that I thank him for having at least spared me that humiliation." So saying she withdrew. Her sisters, unacquainted with the secret, wept and sobbed. The Countess admired her composure and her indifference to life, while the guards were lost in the utmost astonishment.

Their surprise was augmented when they a few days afterwards beheld Euphrosyne resume her accustomed vivacity. She returned to her former occupations, and seemed to have lost all remembrance of the tremendous scene Conradine, having vanquished all his enemies, hastened back to the capital, elated with his victories, and as much incensed as ever against Euphrosyne. It was not merely offended love that roused him to vengeance; pride made him blush that he had betrayed such weakness as to suffer himself to be for a moment enchained by passion. The bonds were burst asunder; his gloomy, vindictive, and haughty disposition returned. He imagined that Euphrosyne would tremble in his presence, and betray in her features the marks of his re venge; and he was determined to sharpen the pains of death with reproaches and humiliations.

On his arrival she was the first person that he met with. She was gathering flowers in her garden, and singing at the same time the The next morning the Doctor went to the touching straius of the poet of Limoges. With Countess, who was previously informed of his the utmost composure, unmixed with fear, she visit." Well," exclaimed she, “you are come beheld Conradine. "What, are you here?" to avenge our master."-"Yes," replied the said she.-"Yes, faithless woman, I am here." Doctor." Where is the poison?"" Here," "O, no more reproaches," rejoined she calmly, said he, shewing her the bason with the honey. "after you have caused poison to be admi"Let me see it."-" Do not touch it; its nistered to me; I am sufficiently punished; operation is dreadful though slow. There is no more of that. How have you been? Your no antidote; sooner or later death must en- victory, I am told, is complete; and this mornsue."—" So much the better; send for Eu-ing I returned thanks to God for it in the phrosyne." church of the Capuchins; for though I am not

Euphrosyne appeared, surrounded by Con-long for this world, yet believe me I am inter. `radine's body-guard, and followed by her weep- ested in all that concerns you, and heartily

forgive you. But-hold me, Conradine,-hold ||
me-I seem as if I should faint." Couradine
held her in his arms for some minutes with
emotions of indignation and astonishment.-
"It is the effect of the poison," said she, ap-
parently coming to herself again; "except
that I ail nothing." Mute and gloomy, Con-
radine knew not what to answer; love, stronger
than his anger, reproached him for his conduct,
and he hastily quitted Euphrosyne. 66 No,"
said he, “no; her torments would at last be-
come my own. When she shall be no more
I may forget Euphrosyne, but to see her and
to hehold her sufferings, to feast myself on her
tortures.—No, I am not so cruel as I imagined.
Die she shall: either my sword or a stronger
dose shall, to-morrow put an end to her
misery."

||

cence and thine, if thou darest."-" I will," replied the Baron. Conradine conducted him to the church of the Capuchins, and caused the terrific mass to be read which is commonly used for enemies of the state, sorcerers, and excommunicated persons. The wax-candles were extinguished, the church was hung with black; the young Baron himself was covered with a winding-sheet; before him was a half open grave, from which a frightful skeleton was rising, and a sacrifice overturned, Undaunted by all these appalling preparations, the young Baron swore with a loud voice that Euphrosyne was innocent. The clouds which before had overcast the sky disappeared; the sun shone forth in all his splendour; the tapers were again lighted; the temple resounded with shouts of joy; and the people accompanied Conradine and the young Baron with expressions of satisfaction which clearly proved how much Euphrosyne was beloved. What a glorious triumph for her! From this moment she feigned herself extremely weak, and complained of an internal decay occasioned by poison; her fainting fits were more frequent, and she appeared in public more rarely than before. Now that she was sure that Conradine still loved her, and no longer doubted her innocence, she wished him to feel the horrors of remorse, and to impel him to au explanation for which she had paved the way.

Conradine, indeed, appeared to be tormented by the furies themselves. He never quitted Euphrosyne without reluctance; and as long as he was in her company he sighed and sat silent and melancholy. His sighs were answered by those of Euphrosyne; she too was silent, and seemed desirous to avoid his ob

But he had first to inflict punishment on another criminal. The young Baron de Bormes, whom he looked upon as a rival, and a rival who was preferred to himself, deserved in his opinion something worse than death. Im mediately on his arrival he had ordered him to be loaded with fetters, and thrown into a dungeou. Neither Beatrix, nor the Countess de Montford, nor the Regent of France could prevail upon him to set the prisoner at liberty. He might have put him to death at once, but || he was desirous of obtaining from him a confession of the truth. Every night he was haunted by frightful dreams; he fancied that he saw the spirit of Euphrosyne with the poisonous bowl in her withered hands, upbraiding him with his vindictive disposition, and summoning him before the tribunal of the Almighty, where her inuocence would be made clearly manifest; whithersoever he went this terrific phantom pursued him. All the infor-servation. Each returning day brought a remation which he had collected since his return proved nothing positive against Euphrosyne. Every mouth overflowed with her praise; he beheld a new people, which she had civilized by her amiable demeanor, and to whom she To this secret affliction was superadded anxseemed to have imparted her native cheerful-icty respecting his future state. The spirit of ness. He saw that by her condescension she had contributed to render him dearer to his subjects, who now did from affection what they had formerly been impelled to do by fear."So many virtues, and yet so false!" No person except the young Baron de Bormes could satisfy him respecting her innocence; but was it likely that he would answer his murderer? was it probable that he would confess the truth? Conradine resolved to intimidate him by a solemn and religious ceremony.

petition of the same scenes." Euphrosyne!" sometimes exclaimed Conradine in a tone of anguish, "Euphrosyue! wretched, wretched man!" and departed.

his age possessed complete dominion over his mind; and in that age a persou might be at the same time a tyrant and a devotee. The knights plundered orphans, founded rich chapels, and endowed convents; the highroads swarmed with silly crusaders, who, having united under one leader, were going to embark for the Holy Land; with small troops. of banditti, who sought opportunities of surprising castles; with pilgrims, who to accom plish their vows, begged from door to door; He descended into his dungeon. “Come and with hermits singing the Lamentations of hither," said he to him; "come hither and the Sieur de Creque, which occasioned the confirm to me at the altar Euphrosyne's inno-renewal of the crusade under Louis IX.

For some time one of these hermits had taken up his abode upon a mountain not far from Conradine's capital. He had constructed with his own hands a small habitation which, however, commanded veneration by the silence that reigned around, and by the precious relics, and among the rest a piece of the holy cross which he had brought back with him from the unfortunate crusade of Acre. He pretended to be a knight, and that he was accomplishing a vow which he had made when in extreme danger. A long beard, the reputation of prophecy, and austere manners, caused the people to place confidence in him. They thronged to him for advice, and to implore him to intercede for the divine mercy in their behalf.

To this venerable man Conradine resolved to apply; through his means he hoped to obtain pardon from Heaven for the crime which he had intended to commit. Clothed in a bair-garment, like a penitent, he ascended the steep mountain on foot. "Man of God," said he, "listen to me; afford me thy assistance;

Conradine kneels before thee. Do the same before the Almighty, who looks down with complacency upon thee, and acquaint him with my repentance. But first I promise thee to build a chapel upon this spot, and to provide priests for its service. Now hear what I have to communicate."-On this, in the humble attitude of a contrite penitent, he commenced a confession of the insignificance of human grandeur, and of all his sins, and concluded with imploring the mercy of the Most High, and the blessing of the hermit. What a confession for the latter, who was no other than Elzear de Sabran, the father of Euphrosyne. Ou his return from the disastrous expedition to Palestine, he had at first intended to seek an asylum with Conradine; presuming that his daughters had followed his advice, and that the Count had been unable to resist their united attack; but when the false report concerning Euphrosyne had reached his ears, he thought it better to conceal his name, and to embrace the life of a hermit.

It is easy to conceive what difficulty he had to keep his temper, and to dissemble his feelings, when he beheld the murderer of his daughter kneeling before him. At length, unable to restrain himself, he exclaimed in a tone of indignation :-" Tremble Conradine; the poisoning of a fellow-creature cannot be forgiven; it is the basest of all crimes, and is particularly obnoxious to an offended God. It cannot be otherwise Conradine.-Live, tortured by conscience in this world, and tremble at the prospect of that which is to come."

Conradine rolled upon the ground in agony; he tore his hair, and beat his breast. "O God!" exclaimed he, "then she cannot recover! Unfortunate Euphrosyue! The Hermit. Where is she? Conradine. In my castle.

The Hermit. Has she any one to comfort her?

Conradine. Her sisters.

The Hermit. Tell her to come hither and to bring them with her. Who administered the poison?

Conradine. My physician.

The Hermit. Tell him to come also, but not a creature besides. I will pray the whole night, that Heaven may take compassion on Euphrosyne, and point out to me among the herbs which I myself cultivate an antidote to restore her.

Conradine. Man of God! if thou preservest her life, I will erect a glorious monument to thy memory. Thou seest the two peaks of you mountains, separated by a broad valley. I vow to consecrate to God a chain of gold which shall reach from one peak to the other as a token of gratitude for Euphrosyne's recovery.

The whole night long the hermit tolled the bell at his solitary retreat, and at the doleful sound Conradine betook himself to prayers at his castle. No sooner had the sun darted his first rays above the horizon than be repaired to Euphrosyne." Hasten to the mountain,” said he, "fair Euphrosyne; the holy man who resides there expects you. Would to Heaven that he may fiud means to restore you to health. Doctor Alibour and your sisters shall accompany you. If he can devise noue, before to-morrow dawns I shall cease to live.

Euphrosyne at length began to pity Conra dine. His repentance attested the violence of his passion, and his remorse was a sufficient punishment for an unaccomplished crime. More than once she was inclined to disclose every thing to Conradine, but she was apprehensive lest the discovery of the artifice should be productive of bad consequences in so proud a man as Conradine. Doctor Alibour was in the like dilemma; the pilgrimage to the mountain was therefore agreeable to them both, "I doubt not the omnipotence of God," said she to Conradine; "he sees your repentance, he knows that I have forgiven you; he will take compassion on us both; and I have a secret presentiment of some extraordinary miracle."-"You pour consolation into my soul, fair lady," said Conradine; "go, pray for me to God, whose hand lies heavy upon me.

In the mean time, while you are ascending to the hermitage, I will go to the superior of the Capuchins, and open my heart to him."-He accordingly repaired to the convent. The superior was a better comforter than the hermit; or rather he was an adept in the policy of his station, which consisted in promising indulgences and forgiveness to those who chose to purchase them by their liberality.

Euphrosyne was meanwhile ascending the mountain. Her sisters, more dejected than herself, were occupied with pious meditations; Doctor Alibour laughed in secret at the miracie that was to be performed; and Euphrosyne could scarcely refrain from laughing too, whenever she looked round at the Doctor.

[ocr errors]

earth, at least to one who has a humane heart, than to conduct twenty thousand men to the field of slaughter. Now return to Conradine. And you, my beloved Euphrosyne, appease his tormented conscience; then promise to come back to me and to receive his hand, together with the honourable name of his wife, at this altar, in my solitary cell. Tell him not who I am: here I will live and die unknown. Farewel for the present, my dear girls." They departed; and when they had proceeded to some distance, he raised his hands towards Heaven and exclaimed:-" Take me, O God, take ine from this world, as soon as I have witnessed the union of Euphrosyne with Conradine!"It was now the hour when he was accustomed to go to the sea-shore to fish; he therefore took his line and repaired to the beach.

During this interval Conradine had not broken his fast; ever since the morning he had not quitted the altar; but kneeling on the || graves of his ancestors, he had bedewed them with his tears. The monks had continued to pray without ceasing in the choir, and their superior had been the whole time at his side. He was informed of Euphrosyne's return. He rose, trembling. “() God!” said he, “am I doomed to die, or shall I receive a new existence?"-The superior flattered him with the hope of a miracle. He proceeded to the castle. The sisters were standing at the window, and as soon as they saw him coming, they called to him :-" Courage, Conradine, courage !"— These few words revived his spirits; he ad

At length they reached the hermitage. They found its venerable tenant seated at the ♦ threshold, reading very devoutly in his prayerbook. So much was he altered that neither Euphrosyne nor her sisters recognized their father. He, however, immediately knew them, and looked in silence at one after another. When he beheld Euphrosyne tears trickled from his eyes, and he sunk back upon the stone. The amiable sisters were affected; they looked at him and wept. The hermit at length came to himself. "Come nearer Euphrosyne," said he, dost thou not know me?" His words, his voice, made an instantaneous impression. Euphrosyne and her sisters fell | at his feet; he clasped them all in his arms and wept over them." I see thee then for the last time, my Euphrosyne! Conradine—” "It is not so, father, I have not taken poison.vanced with a quicker pace and firmer step. Conradine ordered it to be administered, but Alibour deceived him. Conradine, the victim of his delusion, is now tortured with remorse; and every thing has been so managed, that on my return he will believe me restored by amiracle. In future you will hear none but pleasing || accounts, for he is waiting for me to conduct me to the altar."-" Praised be God!" exclaimed the hermit, "this, day which at its dawn promised to be the most unhappy in my whole life, is now one of the most delicious. But the priest will presently attend before the altar: come my children, let us there implore the blessing of heaven."

Euphrosyne met him on the stair-case. "A miracle!" exclaimed she; "a miracle !" Conradine fell at her feet, unable to utter a word. After a long silence Euphrosyne offered him her hand. "Not till you tell me," said he, "that all is forgiven."-" With all my heart," replied Euphrosyne.

Splendid preparations were speedily made for the nuptials. Conradine distributed money among the people, and shewed extraordinary liberality to the monks, to whose intercession he ascribed Euphrosyne's recovery. He immediately gave orders for the gold chain which he had promised. On the appointed day, he repaired with his whole court to the hermitage, where the ceremony was to be performed.

Never was mass heard with greater devotion. As soon as it was over, the old man set before his daughters and the good Doctor a humble breakfast of fruits and roots. "I cultivated them myself," said he, and his daughters wept at the idea of the pain which this labour must bave occasioned to him who was not accustom ed to it "Man," replied he, " is capable of doing whatever he wills. Believe ine, dearing, he took his staff and after he had with girls, it is much less painful to cultivate the some difficulty knelt down, and in a few words

The good hermit had meanwhile fallen sick, and at the approach of death he only regretted that he could not join the hands of Conradine and his daughter. Being told one morning that the Count and his whole court were com

« PrejšnjaNaprej »