CHAPTER I.
A RE-ENTRANCE INTO LIFE THROUGH THE EBON GATE, AFFLICTION.
MONTHS passed away before my senses returned to me. I rose from the bedof suffering and of madness calm, collected, immovable,--altered, buttranquil. All the vigilance of justice had been employed to discover themurderers, but in vain. The packet was gone; and directly I, who alonewas able to do so, recovered enough to state the loss of that document,suspicion naturally rested on Gerald, as on one whom that lossessentially benefited. He came publicly forward to anticipate inquiry.He proved that he had not stirred from home during the whole week inwhich the event had occurred. That seemed likely enough to others; it isthe tools that work, not the instigator,--the bravo, not the employer;but I, who saw in him not only the robber, but that fearful rival whohad long threatened Isora that my bridals should be stained with blood,was somewhat staggered by the undeniable proofs of his absence from thescene of that night; and I was still more bewildered in conjectureby remembering that, so far as their disguises and my own hurried andconfused observation could allow me to judge, the person of neithervillain, still less that of Isora's murderer, corresponded with theproportions and height of Gerald. Still, however, whether mediatelyor immediately--whether as the executor or the designer--not a doubtremained on my mind that against his head was justice due. I directedinquiry towards Montreuil: he was abroad at the time of my recovery;but, immediately on his return, he came forward boldly and at once tomeet and even to court the inquiry I had instituted; he did more,--hedemanded on what ground, besides my own word, it rested that this packethad ever been in my possession; and, to my surprise and perplexity,it was utterly impossible to produce the smallest trace of Mr. MarieOswald. His half-brother, the attorney, had died, it is true, justbefore the event of that night; and it was also true that he had seenMarie on his death-bed; but no other corroboration of my story couldbe substantiated, and no other information of the man obtained; and thepartisans of Gerald were not slow in hinting at the great interest I hadin forging a tale respecting a will, about the authenticity of which Iwas at law.
The robbers had entered the house by a back-door, which was found open.No one had perceived their entrance or exit, except Desmarais, whostated that he heard a cry; that he, having spent the greater part ofthe night abroad, had not been in bed above an hour before he heard it;that he rose and hurried towards my room, whence the cry came; that hemet two men masked on the stairs; that he seized one, who struck him inthe breast with a poniard, dashed him to the ground, and escaped; thathe then immediately alarmed the house, and, the servants accompanyinghim, he proceeded, despite his wound, to my apartment, where he foundIsora and myself bleeding and lifeless, with the escritoire broken open.
The only contradiction to this tale was, that the officers of justicefound the escritoire not broken open, but unlocked; and yet the keywhich belonged to it was found in a pocketbook in my clothes, whereDesmarais said, rightly, I always kept it. How, then, had theescritoire been unlocked? it was supposed by the master-keys peculiar toexperienced burglars; this diverted suspicion into a new channel, and itwas suggested that the robbery and the murder had really been committedby common housebreakers. It was then discovered that a large purse ofgold, and a diamond cross, which the escritoire contained, were gone.And a few articles of ornamental _bijouterie_ which I had retained fromthe wreck of my former profusion in such baubles, and which were keptin a room below stairs, were also missing. The circumstances immediatelyconfirmed the opinion of those who threw the guilt upon vulgar andmercenary villains, and a very probable and plausible supposition wasbuilt on this hypothesis. Might not this Oswald, at best an adventurerwith an indifferent reputation, have forged this story of the packet inorder to obtain admission into the house, and reconnoitre, during theconfusion of a wedding, in what places the most portable articles ofvalue were stowed? A thousand opportunities, in the opening and shuttingof the house-doors, would have allowed an ingenious villain to glide in;nay, he might have secreted himself in my own room, and seen the placewhere I had put the packet: certain would he then be that I had selectedfor the repository of a document I believed so important that placewhere all that I most valued was secured; and hence he would naturallyresolve to break open the escritoire, above all other places, which, toan uninformed robber, might have seemed not only less exposed to danger,but equally likely to contain articles of value. The same confusionwhich enabled him to enter and conceal himself would have also enabledhim to withdraw and introduce his accomplice. This notion was renderedprobable by his insisting so strongly on my not opening the packetwithin a certain time; had I opened it immediately, I might haveperceived that a deceit had been practised, and not have hoarded it inthat place of security which it was the villain's object to discover.Hence, too, in opening the escritoire, he would naturally retake thepacket (which other plunderers might not have cared to steal), as wellas things of more real price,--naturally retake it, in order that hisprevious imposition might not be detected, and that suspicion mightbe cast upon those who would appear to have an interest in stealing apacket which I believed to be so inestimably important.
What gave a still greater colour to this supposition was the fact thatnone of the servants had seen Oswald leave the house, though many hadseen him enter. And what put his guilt beyond a doubt in the opinion ofmany, was his sudden and mysterious disappearance. To my mind, allthese circumstances were not conclusive. Both the men seemed taller thanOswald; and I knew that that confusion which was so much insisted upon,had not--thanks to my singular fastidiousness in those matters--existed.I was also perfectly convinced that Oswald could not have been hiddenin my room while I locked up the packet; and there was something inthe behaviour of the murderer utterly unlike that of a common robberactuated by common motives.
All these opposing arguments were, however, of a nature to be deemednugatory by the world; and on the only one of any importance in theirestimation, namely, the height of Oswald being different from thatof the robbers, it was certainly very probable that, in a scene sodreadful, so brief, so confused, I should easily be mistaken. Havingtherefore once flowed in this direction, public opinion soon settledinto the full conviction that Oswald was the real criminal, and againstOswald was the whole strength of inquiry ultimately, but stillvainly, bent. Some few, it is true, of that kind class who love familymysteries, and will not easily forego the notion of a brother's guiltfor that of a mere vulgar housebreaker, still shook their heads andtalked of Gerald; but the suspicion was vague and partial, and it wasonly in the close gossip of private circles that it was audibly vented.
I had formed an opinion by no means favourable to the innocence of Mr.Jean Desmarais; and I took especial care that the Necessitarian, whowould only have thought robbery and murder pieces of ill-luck, shouldundergo a most rigorous examination. I remembered that he had seen meput the packet into the escritoire; and this circumstance was alonesufficient to arouse my suspicion. Desmarais bared his breast gracefullyto the magistrate. "Would a man, Sir," he said, "a man of my youth,suffer such a scar as that, if he could help it?" The magistratelaughed: frivolity is often a rogue's best policy, if he did but knowit. One finds it very difficult to think a coxcomb can commit robberyand murder. Howbeit Desmarais came off triumphantly; and immediatelyafter this examination, which had been his second one, and instigatedsolely at my desire, he came to me with a blush of virtuous indignationon his thin cheeks. "He did not presume," he said, with a bow profounderthan ever, "to find fault with Monsieur le Comte; it was his fate to bethe victim of ungrateful suspicion: but philosophical truths couldnot always conquer the feelings of the man, and he came to request hisdismissal." I gave it him with pleasure.
I must now state my own feelings on the matter; but I shall do sobriefly. In my own mind, I repeat, I was fully impressed with theconviction that Gerald was the real and the head criminal; and thricedid I resolve to repair to Devereux Court, where he still resided, tolie in wait for him, to reproach him with his guilt, and at the swor
d'spoint in deadly combat to seek its earthly expiation. I spare the readera narration of the terrible struggles which nature, conscience, allscruples and prepossessions of education and of blood, held with thisresolution, the unholiness of which I endeavoured to clothe with thename of justice to Isora. Suffice it to say that this resolution Iforewent at last; and I did so more from a feeling that, despite myown conviction of Gerald's guilt, one rational doubt rested upon thecircumstance that the murderer seemed to my eyes of an inferior heightto Gerald, and that the person whom I had pursued on the night I hadreceived that wound which brought Isora to my bedside, and who, it wasnatural to believe, was my rival, appeared to me not only also slighterand shorter than Gerald, but of a size that seemed to tally with themurderer's.
This solitary circumstance, which contradicted my other impressions,was, I say, more effectual in making me dismiss the thought of personalrevenge on Gerald than the motives which virtue and religion shouldhave dictated. The deep desire of vengeance is the calmest of all thepassions, and it is the one which most demands certainty to the reason,before it releases its emotions and obeys their dictates. The blow whichwas to do justice to Isora I had resolved should not be dealt till I hadobtained the most utter certainty that it fell upon the true criminal.And thus, though I cherished through all time and through all change theburning wish for retribution, I was doomed to cherish it in secret, andnot for years and years to behold a hope of attaining it. Once only Ivented my feelings upon Gerald. I could not rest or sleep or execute theworld's objects till I had done so; but when they were thus once vented,methought I could wait the will of time with a more settled patience,and I re-entered upon the common career of life more externally fittedto fulfil its duties and its aims.
That single indulgence of emotion followed immediately after myresolution of not forcing Gerald into bodily contest. I left my sword,lest I might be tempted to forget my determination. I rode to DevereuxCourt; I entered Gerald's chamber, while my horse stood unstalled at thegate. I said but few words, but each word was a volume. I told him toenjoy the fortune he had acquired by fraud, and the conscience he hadstained with murder. "Enjoy them while you may," I said, "but know thatsooner or later shall come a day when the blood that cries from earthshall be heard in Heaven,--and _your_ blood shall appease it. Know, ifI seem to disobey the voice at my heart, I hear it night and day; and Ionly live to fulfil at one time its commands."
I left him stunned and horror-stricken. I flung myself on my horse, andcast not a look behind as I rode from the towers and domains of which Ihad been despoiled. Never from that time would I trust myself to meetor see the despoiler. Once, directly after I had thus braved him in hisusurped hall, he wrote to me. I returned the letter unopened. Enoughof this: the reader will now perceive what was the real nature of myfeelings of revenge; and will appreciate the reasons which throughoutthis history will cause me never or rarely to recur to thosefeelings again, until at least he will perceive a just hope of theirconsummation.
I went with a quiet air and a set brow into the world. It was a time ofgreat political excitement. Though my creed forbade me the open senate,it could not deprive me of the veiled intrigue. St. John found ampleemployment for my ambition; and I entered into the toils and objects ofmy race with a seeming avidity more eager and engrossing than their own.In what ensues, you will perceive a great change in the character of mymemoirs. Hitherto, I chiefly portrayed to you _myself_. I bared open toyou my heart and temper,--my passions, and the thoughts which belong toour passions. I shall now rather bring before you the natures and theminds of others. The lover and the dreamer are no more! The satiristand the observer; the derider of human follies, participating while hederides; the worldly and keen actor in the human drama,--these are whatthe district of my history on which you enter will portray me. Fromwhatever pangs to me the change may have been wrought, you will be thegainer by that change. The gaudy dissipation of courts; the vicissitudesand the vanities of those who haunt them; the glittering jest and thelight strain; the passing irony or the close reflection; the charactersof the great; the colloquies of wit,--these are what delight the temper,and amuse the leisure more than the solemn narrative of fated love. Asthe monster of the Nile is found beneath the sunniest banks and in themost freshening wave, the stream may seem to wander on in melody andmirth,--the ripple and the beam; but _who_ shall tell what lurks, dark,and fearful, and ever vigilant, below!