CHAPTER XIX.

At first, a kind of horror seized upon me; for I knew not if this could be reality, or the mockery of that relentless Fiend, that would lure me on to destruction. But, with a violent effort, I summoned up courage; an entire revolution again took place in my mind; new hopes and feelings began to break through the gloom and melancholy, which for a space had gathered around me.

With eager eyes, I devoured the charms of Aurelia, which from the enchanted canvass now gleamed out in full splendour before me. Yet, alas! did not these childlike pious looks seem only to complain against the murderer of her brother? The mystery of his guilt, however, which had been deposited in my bosom, gave me confidence; and even a malicious spirit of scorn and irony rose within me. I only regretted now, that in that fatal night of Hermogen's death, Aurelia had not become mine. His appearance had then frustrated my plans; but with death he had expiated the rashness of his attempts against me.--"Aurelia," said I, "yet survives; and this alone is sufficient to encourage my hopes of one day possessing her. From the destiny in which she is involved, it is impossible for her to escape; for am not I myself the living impersonization of the fate to which she is subjected?"

All the sadly-cherished dreams of youth, all feelings of piety which the Abbess's portrait had inspired, were thus banished; and, still gazing on Aurelia, I encouraged myself to the commission of deliberate and premeditated crime. The old man was astonished at my conduct. He drawled out a long string of words, about drawing, tone, colouring, etc. etc.; but I heard him not. The thoughts of Aurelia, the hopes that I might yet fulfil some one of those many plans, which had only been delayed, absorbed me so completely, that I walked away, as in a dream, from the exhibition-room, without once asking for the painter--thus losing, perhaps, the best opportunity of learning what sort of connection there existed betwixt myself and these pictures, which seemed to comprehend in that magic circle the chief impressions of my whole life.

Once more, I was now resolved to venture all things for Aurelia. Nay, it seemed almost as if the clouds of mystery would soon be broken--as if, elevated to a station from which I could overlook all the characters and events connected with my life, I could have from them nothing to fear, and therefore nothing to risk. I brooded, as formerly, over a thousand plans and resolutions, in order to arrive nearer to my object. In the first place, I perceived that I should, no doubt, learn much from the strange painter, and, by conversation with him, develope many trains of evidence, of which the possession was to me most important. At last, I had nearly resolved that I would return, in my present state of complete disguise and metamorphosis, to the Baron's castle. Nor, to my excited feelings and disordered imagination, did this appear as an act of extraordinary hazard and daring.

In the evening, I went, as usual, to the club-room, where I had trouble enough to restrain the vehemence of my emotions, and to prevent the ebullitions of my overheated phantasy from being observed. I heard much of the strange painter's productions, especially of that wonderful power of expression which he had displayed in his portraits, above all in that of Aurelia. I had now the means of joining in this approbation, and, with a peculiar splendour, and strength of language, (heightened, too, by a kind of scorn and irony, for I felt my own superiority in speaking of this picture,) I described the nameless graces, the angelic charms, which were spread over that saint-like countenance. Hereupon, one of the party declared his intention of bringing the painter himself to the club on the following evening, adding, that, though advanced in years, he was still an interesting and agreeable companion, and that he would be detained here for some time longer, having been employed professionally by several rich families in the town.

* * * * *

Agitated by a tempest of conflicting feelings and indefinable apprehensions, I could scarcely summon up resolution for the encounter which I had so much wished, and, on the following night, went at a later hour than usual to the club-room.

On my entrance, I perceived at once which was the stranger, though his countenance was not turned towards me. A conviction of the truth immediately flashed on my mind; and, when I went round, and took my place opposite to him--then, oh Heaven! there glared out upon me the never-to-be-forgotten features of that horrible Unknown, the same who, on St Anthony's day, had leaned against the pillar of the church, and filled me with abhorrence and consternation!

Now, too, even as then, he looked at me with the same fixed solemnity of aspect--the same cold spectral self-possession. But the mood of mind which I had so recently been cherishing, the thoughts of Aurelia, and my determination to brave all things for her sake, gave me courage and stability to bear up against his inspection, apparently unmoved. I could no longer suppose that I but dreamed. The enemy had now visibly started into life; and I was necessitated to venture the combat.

I resolved, however, not to begin, but wait for his attack; and, should he attempt to tear off the mask by which I was now concealed, to beat him back with weapons, on the strength of which I flattered myself that I could rely.

After a short interval, however, the stranger appeared to take no particular notice of me, but, turning his looks another way, continued the conversation in which he had been engaged at my entrance. The party began, at length, to speak of his own works, and bestowed especial praise on the portrait of Aurelia. Some one among them maintained, that, although this picture was, even at first sight, evidently a portrait, yet it might serve for an imaginative study, and be taken for the _beau_ (or _belle_) _ideal_ of a female saint. As I had, on the preceding evening, been so eloquent in praise of this work, they now asked my opinion, and, almost unconsciously, I said that I coincided with the last speaker, and that I could not imagine to myself the blessed St Rosalia otherwise than as a counterpart of the female here represented.

The painter seemed scarcely to notice my words, but again broke in--"Indeed, that young lady, whom the portrait, whatever may be its merit as a work of art, very faithfully resembles, is a real and immaculate saint--who, in the spiritual combat, exalts herself even to supernatural excellence. I have painted her at the moment when, under the influence of the most overwhelming griefs, she yet placed her hope and trust in religious consolation,--in the aid of that Divine Providence which unceasingly watches over us.

"The expression of this hope, which, in a perfect degree, can dwell only in a mind elevated above all that is terrestrial, I have endeavoured to give to my picture--I cannot flatter myself that I have adequately succeeded, but the principle, '_in magnis voluisse_,' seems to me to have rendered it at least one of the most tolerable of my productions."

The conversation now wandered away to other subjects.--The wine, which to-day, in honour of the stranger-guest, was of a better sort, and drunk more freely than usual, soon did its good office in enlivening the party--Every one of them at last found something diverting to relate, or some comical song to sing. The painter, meanwhile, seemed only to laugh inwardly. If any change was produced in his countenance, it was to be observed in his eyes, which were lighted up occasionally with a certain mysterious lustre,--yet, by means of a few striking and powerful words occasionally thrown in, he was able to play his part, and to keep the whole company in admirable good humour.

Although, whenever the stranger happened to fix his looks on me, I could not repress a certain feeling of apprehension, yet I gradually overcame that still worse mood of mind into which I had been brought, on my first _reconnoissance_ of his features. I even told stories of the absurd Belcampo, who was known less or more to all the party, and, to their great amusement, gave such a lively account of his behaviour on the day of my arrival, (with imitations of his voice and gesticulations,) that a good-humoured fat merchant who sat opposite to me, declared, with tears of laughter in his eyes, "That was the most delightful evening he had ever spent in his life!"

When the merriment that I had raised had begun to decline away, the stranger suddenly inquired--"Gentlemen, has any one among you ever seen the Devil?"

This question was received but as the prelude to some new and comical story. Of course, every one assured him, in turn, "that he had never yet had that honour."

"Well," said the stranger, "it so happened, that I was very lately within a hair-breadth of attaining myself to that honour, and this, namely, at the Castle of the Baron von R----, among the Thuringian mountains."

I now trembled in every limb; but the others laughed aloud, crying out, "Go on--go on!"

"Gentlemen," said the painter, "you probably all know that wild district in the Thuringian mountains, through which every one must pass, who travels in that direction northwards. But there is especially, on a by-road, one romantic spot, where, if the traveller emerges out of the dark pine-tree forests, and advances to the height of the rocky cliffs, he finds himself suddenly, to his amazement, on the extreme verge of an awful, deep, and, indeed, bottomless abyss. This is called the devil's ground, and the projecting promontory of the rock the devil's chair.

"Of the devil's chair it is related, that once, when a certain Count Victorin, with his head full of wicked projects, had sat down upon this rock, the devil suddenly appeared beside him; and because he was himself resolved to carry the Count's wicked designs into execution, he incontinently hurled Victorin down into the unfathomable gulf.

"Thereafter, the devil appeared as a capuchin monk, at the castle of the Baron von R----; and when he had taken his pleasure with the Baroness, he first sent her out of the world, (no one knew how,) and then, because the Baron's son, a madman, would by no means allow of this masquerade, but always called out, 'The devil, the devil is among us!' he strangled him. However, by that persevering _annonce_ of the madman, _one_ pious soul at least was saved from the destruction which the devil had intended for them all; and this was the young Baroness Aurelia, the subject of the picture, which you have this night been commending.

"Afterwards, the capuchin, (or the devil,) in an inconceivable manner, vanished; and it is said, that he fled, coward-like, from Victorin, who had risen like a bloody spectre from the grave against him.

"Let all this be as it may, I can assure you, in plain truth, that the Baroness died mysteriously--probably by poison; and that Hermogen (the madman) was assassinated. The Baron himself, shortly afterwards, died of grief; and Aurelia, the pious Saint, whose portrait I painted, at the very time when these horrible events had taken place at the castle, fled as a desolate orphan into a distant Cistertian Convent, of which the Abbess had been in terms of friendship with her father.

"You have seen and admired in my gallery the likeness of this admirable and unfortunate young lady. But as to other circumstances, this gentleman (pointing to me) will be better able to inform you than I am, since, during the whole of the adventures to which I have alluded, he was an inhabitant of the castle!"

All looks, full of astonishment, were now directed towards me. Quite unnerved, and lost to all self-possession, I started up--"How, sir!" exclaimed I, in a violent tone--"What have I to do with your absurd stories of capuchins, and devils, and assassinations? You mistake me--you mistake me completely, I assure you; and I must beg that, for this once, you will leave me completely out of the question."

Considering the tumult of my mind, it was difficult for me to give my words even this much of connection and propriety, or to assume any degree of composure. The powerful influence of the painter's narrative, and my excessive disquietude, were only too visible. The cheerful tone which prevailed through the party rapidly declined; and as the members of the club gradually recollected that I was a complete stranger, and had only by accident obtained my place among them, they began to fix on me mistrustful and suspicious glances.

Meanwhile, the painter had risen from his chair, and, standing opposite, transfixed me once more with his dead-alive glaring eyes, as formerly in the Capuchin church. He did not utter a word; he stood cold, stiff, and, but for the expression of his eyes, as if lifeless.

But at those ghostly looks, my hair rose on end; cold drops gathered on my forehead, and, seized by the most intense horror, I trembled through every fibre. "Avaunt!--away with thee!" I exclaimed, out of myself with agitation; "for thou thyself art Satan! Thou art the murderer--yet over me thou hast no power!"

The whole party instantly left their seats.--"What's the matter? Who is that?" was heard from all quarters; and out of the adjoining _salle_, the people, terrified by my voice, having left their amusements, came thronging into our room.--"A drunk man!--A madman!--Turn him out!" cried several voices.

Meanwhile, the painter stood there steadfast, and immovably staring upon me. The power which he thus (I know not how) exerted over my very mind and thoughts--the whole train of consequences which the discovery he was determined to force out would bring upon me--the wretched thraldom in which I should remain at present, and the destruction which must ensue--all these ideas conflicted together in my mind. But even without their aid, the looks of the spectral painter alone were more than I could endure. Methought his detestable features at length enlarged, moved, and were writhen in mockery and scorn. At last, driven to the uttermost paroxysm of rage and despair, I drew forth the stiletto with which I had, in self-defence, killed Hermogen, and which I always carried in my breast-pocket.

With this weapon in my hand, I now fell upon my enemy; but his quick eye had caught every movement, and one blow of his powerful arm brought me to the ground. Methought I heard him laugh aloud, in hideous and scornful triumph, so that his voice resounded through the chamber.

"Brother Medardus!" said he, "Brother Medardus, play no longer this false game! Go, return to the sanctuary of thy convent, and humble thyself to the dust in shame and repentance!"

I now felt myself seized by the people in the room; and allowing them to raise me up, pretended at first to be quite exhausted; then, all at once, rousing my whole strength, I drove and struck like a raging wild beast against my assailants; and this so unexpectedly, that several of them fell to the ground, and I made myself a passage towards the door; but had scarcely rushed into the corridor, when a small side door opened, and I felt myself seized on by an invisible arm, by which I was drawn into a dark chamber. To this I made no resistance, for the multitude of pursuers were raging behind me.

Into this dark room I had been drawn just as I turned round a corner of the corridor, and the mob of people, imagining that I had run onwards and escaped down stairs, passed by the door and left me for the moment unmolested. My invisible companion listened to their proceedings, and in a few moments led me by the arm down a dark, private staircase, into a back court, and then through the buildings behind into the open street. By the light of the lamps I here recognised as my deliverer the absurd Belcampo!