THE DISCOVERY.
In coming from the mountain, while I was yet far above the surface of the vulgar earth, I saw my friend standing, watching my descent, upon one of the hills of shingle which lie at the bottom of Gavarnie, and I hastened on to meet him. There was some degree of agitation in his manner as we met, and as he grasped my hand, he said, "Do you know, Young, something very extraordinary has happened to me since you have been gone."
"Something extraordinary it must have been indeed," I replied, "to stir you from your calm placidity. But, tell me, what is it?"
"Extraordinary indeed," he replied; "but come on towards the inn. Do you know, I have seen the same appearance which has so long tormented you--I have seen again that terrible countenance which will never quit the memory of either of us!"
"Good God! is it possible?" I exclaimed; "then it is no delusion!"
"It is certainly the most extraordinary thing in the world," he replied; and then proceeded to inform me, that as he was coming down to breakfast, while looking along the dark passages at the top of the stairs, that fearful countenance had glared upon him for a moment in terrible distinctness. With prompt presence of mind he had instantly rushed towards it, but found nothing but the long corridors and empty rooms of the inn. On our return we called for the book of travellers' names, but our own were the only English names that it contained; and not a little agitated, we mounted our horses and returned to St. Sauveur.
Without pausing any longer there than was merely necessary to pack the carriage, we set out for Bagneres de Bigorre, and thence proceeded towards Tarbes. More than once we canvassed the extraordinary circumstance that had occurred; and notwithstanding all our efforts to be philosophical, it is in vain to deny that I at least felt a greater degree of superstitious awe in regard to the object which had so often tortured me, than ever I had done before. Previously I had looked upon it as a delusion, originating in a partial derangement of my own brain; but now that my friend had seen it also, it acquired the importance of a terrible reality. Every hour it weighed more and more upon my mind, and I saw that B--- was sorry that on the impulse of the moment he had communicated to me the fact of his having witnessed the same strange occurrence.
As we had set out somewhat late from Bagneres, however, the shadows were coming over the mountains long before we reached Tarbes, and as my friend B---- was rather indisposed, we determined, if the little town of St. Martin afforded a good inn, to halt there for the night. Our postilion informed us that the inn was "admirable," and driving up to the door we saw a crowd round it sufficient to show that it was well frequented.
There were, amongst others, five or six gendarmes on horseback surrounding a little cart, in which appeared a man loaded with irons, with another police soldier beside him. What was my surprise, however, on beholding, when the cart turned to drive off, no other than my former servant Essex, in the person of the apparent criminal. The man evidently saw me, and turned away his head; and as I had but slight grounds to love his acquaintance, I took no farther notice, merely thinking, "The rascal seems likely at length to meet his deserts."
As B---- stepped out of the carriage, however, and walked into the inn, the landlord asked him if Monsieur had come to see the body of the gentleman who had been murdered. He replied, by asking, what gentleman; and, while the host answered that there was then lying in his front room the body of a gentleman who had been murdered by his own servant as he was coming from a château in the neighbourhood, where he had been to pay a visit, B---- walked on to the door where, from the number of people, and the appearance of one or two gendarmes, it seemed the corpse lay for inspection.
The crowd made room for him to pass, and I was following, but he suddenly drew back and grasped my arm, exclaiming, "Good God! Young, do not come in here--and yet do! It is Wild!"
"Wild!" exclaimed I, rushing in; "what do you mean?" But there needed no farther question. There, on the deal board, which usually served the little auberge for a public table, lay stretched the body of my enemy, Alfred Wild, at, least if mortal eyes might be trusted. My hand, it is true, had stretched him on the earth, my eyes had witnessed the convulsive agony of death, the surgeon had pronounced him to be dead, and the newspapers had announced his death; yet, there he lay, or some one so like him, that his own father would not have known the difference.
"Do you recognise the body, sir?" demanded one of the gendarmes, seeing me gazing upon it with feelings which no pen can describe, so mingled were they of hope and relief, and horror and surprise. "Do you recognise the body? for in all the letters and papers which have been found upon him he is called by one name which I do not choose to mention at present, while that in his passport is Monsieur Auguste de Vallançay."
"I think I do recognise the body," I replied; "and if it be the same his name is not Vallançay, but Alfred Wild."
"Précisement!" replied the gendarme; "that is the name on several letters which were found in his pockets. But we are going to send to the gentleman at the château, whom some people believe to be his father."
"Come away, Young," cried my friend; "this will be, at all events, a relief to your mind, and I trust may be but one step to your happiness. Come away; perhaps I had better go, before the horses are taken off, and break this event to the unhappy man's father."
"No!" I answered; "No; you are unwell yourself: I will go, and perhaps the task, painful as it is, may be some atonement for what I inflicted on the old man before."
B---- made some opposition, but I would yield to none; and getting into the carriage, begged the people round to direct the postilion to the château they had mentioned. The man knew it well, and in about three-quarters of an hour we were passing through a pair of old gray stone gates.
It was now quite dark, and the man, half peasant, half footman, who, after ringing five or six times, made his appearance, admitted me with somewhat surly scrutiny to a large vestibule, in which was burning one small ill-trimmed lamp. He then opened a door at one side, and announced "The English gentleman" upon which a voice immediately exclaimed, "If he had not the impudence of the devil, he would not show his face here again--but I will soon settle that! Send him in!"
"Some mistake!" I thought, obeying the words I had overheard, rather than the servant's half-muttered directions, and walked into a large old-fashioned saloon, somewhat better lighted than the hall. At the farther end was a table covered with the materials for making tea, and at the left-hand side sat two persons, on whom my eyes were of course instantly fixed. But before a vague sort of intuition could become really perceptive, a cry of joy met my ear, and in a moment Emily Somers, my own Emily, was in my arms. "It is James, papa! Oh, it is our own dear James!" she cried, and the happy tears flowed fast and long.
There was no mistaking the tone, the manner, or the action. Emily at least was glad to see me, and her father seemed so also, if I might judge by the hearty and reiterated shake of the hand which he now gave me. But how all this, had come about remained to be explained, and it was but by confused and desultory fits and starts that I gained an insight into what I am now about to write down.
The first light which was thrown upon the matter was by Mr. Somers himself, who when he found that I had come thither accidentally, supposing the tenants of the château to be very different people, cut across Emily's delight at seeing me, and withdrew her hand from mine.
"Stay, stay, Emily," he cried, "as Mr. Young does not know what has occurred, it is fit that he should be informed before he commits himself by a word. Remember, my love, his opinions may be altered as well as our fortunes."
"No, no, papa! No, no!" replied Emily. "For once, I will be bold and answer for him."
"But let me tell him at least," said Mr. Somers.--"Soon after you left us for France, Mr. Young, one or two of my speculations were unsuccessful, and left me a loser of nearly fifty thousand pounds; but that was nothing, and would never have been felt, had not, just afterwards, the great house of Kinnerton and Badenham, in Calcutta, failed to an immense amount. That was a shock to many a house, as well as mine, and people began to draw largely upon me; still I could have done very well if the London house of the same name had held firm; but on calling there, though they assured me of their perfect competence to meet all claims, I saw cause to doubt. What could I do? To press them was to make them stop sooner, without helping myself, and, to prepare against the worst, I went to my old friend Samuel Wild, who talked about supporting me with half a million, if it were necessary; but when he came in the evening he made it a condition that his son was to have my Emily.
"It was no time to trifle, and I told him all--her engagement to you--and everything. But he replied, that his son could prove that you did not care anything about her, and a great deal more which it is unnecessary to repeat. We held out for long; writing to you, and receiving no answer, and seeing every now and then letters from your servant Essex to young Wild's valet, telling him a great many stories about you, which we have found to be false, as we have since passed through that part of the country and seen many who knew you and did you justice.
"However, the matter seemed plain enough then. Difficulties increased; the London house of K---- and B---- failed; a regular run was made upon our bank. Old Wild stood firm, and would do nothing unless Emily would consent. I saw nothing before me but poverty and disgrace both for me and her, and I do believe I almost went on my knees to my own child to save us both. Well, sir, she did consent, and immediately Mr. Wild paid in, in one morning, three hundred thousand pounds. We declared our intention of paying everything in gold; the credit of the house rose higher than ever, when suddenly, who should come over but yourself. Your letter first opened my eyes; for, by showing me that you had been ill and unable to write for two months, and that your servant had been playing the rascal with you, you proved to me that I had been cheated also. Well, my dear boy, I went away to old Wild, resolving, at all events, to do you justice, let come what would; and, producing your letter, I told him that his son must make good his charges or I should not suffer Emily to keep her engagement. He then thought fit to bully, and told me, that before six-and-thirty hours were over he would close the doors of my bank. I feared that he had the power to do so, but still he could not take from me my honesty, and I left him in the same determination. The first thing was, if possible, to save my credit; and I went to several old friends, telling them the real state, of the case, that I could meet all, but that it might require time. They promised to meet the next morning, and thus the day was spent without my seeing you.
"The next morning took place that unfortunate duel, and my friends also met; but ere they came to any decision, not only all that old Wild had paid in was drawn out of the bank, but every one, with whom he had a word to say came pouring in with draft upon draft. There was no stemming the current, and before noon the bank stopped. You may conceive what a state we were all in, and then came the news that you had killed young Wild in a duel. Poor Emily was more dead than alive; and to make matters worse, before nightfall there was an execution in the house. We went out of it the next morning, and, to cut my story short, when all the affairs were wound up, which did not take a couple of months, all debts were paid off, twenty shillings in the pound, and eight hundred per annum clear was left for myself. So I came out, my dear boy, triumphant; but still Emily begged me not to try it any more, but let us live upon what we have. We determined for a time to come to France. And now, James, if you love poor Emily Somers, with little or nothing, as well as you loved the heiress of the rich banker, there she is, take her, and God's blessing be upon you both."
I need not say what was my reply, but it was soon made, and I now found that the letter which my friend B---- had written for me to Emily had never been received by her, the house in Portland Place having been taken possession of by Alfred Wild's father, who doubtless had opened and returned it. My stay at Worthing, and illness there, were known both to Emily and her father; and Mr. Somers, conceiving that I must have seen the wreck of his affairs mentioned in the newspapers, had himself requested my banker to tell me when he wrote that Emily and himself were as well as could be expected, which had been done with true commercial brevity.
Alfred Wild, in the meantime, had been carried home to his father's house, but the report had already spread that he was dead; and from the moment that his father saw him in the condition in which he was brought home, the old man never spoke for any other purpose than to give orders for persecuting the family of Mr. Somers.
Great loss of blood, however, and excessive pain--for the ball had lodged in some very sensitive part--had made Alfred Wild faint upon the field at the moment he was about to fire at me; but he had suffered no mortal wound; and though he had fainted and recovered several times ere he reached his father's house, yet before night he was sufficiently recovered to know all that was passing round him. Enmity towards myself and love for Emily Somers were still the predominant passions of his heart; and conceiving some vague scheme of obtaining her and punishing me, he besought his father to give out the story of his death.
He found the execution of the scheme more easy than he imagined, for the report was in all the newspapers that he had died on the spot where he fell; and his parsimonious father's only objection arose from the expense of putting the family in mourning and the trouble of concealment. When he heard, however, what was the object, and that revenge upon me and on the family of his former friend was thus to be obtained, a chord was struck in the old man's bosom, the tone of which was not the less powerful because it had seldom vibrated before. He declared that he would give a hundred thousand pounds--he might have said his heart's blood--to ruin me and the family of Mr. Somers, and measures were instantly taken to carry his son's design fully into effect. The death was regularly inserted in the newspapers, the whole house was shut up, the servants were clothed in black, and those necessarily trusted were bribed to secresy.
I am not even sure that a false funeral was not performed; but, nevertheless, rumours of something strange got about, even before Mr. Somers quitted London. Had I remained in England, I should most likely have discovered the deceit; for Captain Truro had positively declared in several circles that his friend had not died immediately, as had been at first supposed, but, on the contrary, had revived once or twice in the carriage on their way home. No coroner's inquest being reported on the body, also caused doubt, and the gratuitous announcement that the family did not intend to prosecute did not silence rumour.
As soon as he could travel, it seems, Alfred Wild, having re-engaged his confederate Essex in the scheme against me, set out from London for the purpose of following Emily, who, with her father, had taken refuge in a beautiful spot amongst the Pyrenees.
Whether it was with or without design--whether he had discovered the dreadful delusion with which remorse tortured me, and followed me with the fiendish purpose of confirming it--or whether his pursuing the same course was accidental--I cannot tell, but certain it is that during the whole of my journey through France he had been near me, and I cannot even now be sure of which were the occasions when my fancy deceived me, which those when I beheld his real countenance.
Speaking French like a native, and having assumed a French name, he passed unsuspected, and at length presented himself at the château which had been hired by Mr. Somers, in order to throw off his disguise and pursue his claim to the hand of Emily.
Neither the worthy banker nor his daughter were much surprised by his re-appearance, for, as I have said before, they had already learned to doubt the story of his death; but though he made his long constancy, the severe treatment he had suffered, and the vehemence of his passion, all pleas for Emily's hand, she rejected him still with cold abhorrence, and he left the house in not the best mood of mind. He, had brought his servant Essex to the château with him, to guide him, as the man had been previously sent forward from St. Sauveur to discover the house.
Master and servant, however, knew each other to be base, and many a disgraceful dispute had arisen between them already. As long as Essex had his master in some degree in his power by possessing his secret, he knew that he could wring as much money from Wild as he wanted; but as soon as ever he found, by his master's visit to Mr. Somers, that the whole was to be divulged, he determined upon a scheme for the purpose of, at one blow, taking vengeance of Wild for some former offences, and of enriching himself with the contents of a pocket-book which he knew to be valuable. The proximity of Spain was a great inducement for executing, at once, a design he had long meditated, for Essex was citizen of the world, and with a well-furnished purse could make himself happy in any country. Thus, as they returned on horseback from the château, a few angry words from the master brought on a few insolent ones from the servant. Albert Wild, it seems, must have turned to reply; for he was found not two minutes after, with the wound of a pistol-ball, running from temple to temple. Essex was instantly pursued and taken by the gardes chasses, who came up at the report of fire-arms, and being found with his master's pocket-book and a lately-discharged pistol, perceived that he had lost the stake for which he had played, confessed all, and ended his life upon the scaffold.
I have hurried on to the conclusion of the history of Alfred Wild and his servant; but of course, when Emily and her father had given me an account of all that had befallen them up to the moment at which I had again found them after so long an absence, I too had my tale to tell. Though the first sketch was brief, yet the after details were long in telling, for Emily would know all and everything; and while I spoke, the deep and varied emotions which crossed her countenance, the intense interest that every incident I related, every feeling I acknowledged called up in the pure bland mirror of her face, was compensation a thousand and a thousand fold for all that I had suffered.
The pains, the cares, the sorrows of the past had taught us all that sad lesson, the darkest, most grievous which experience forces on us--ever present doubt of each future moment;--and it was agreed that Emily should become mine as speedily as possible. But, alas! who can stretch his power over the next half-hour and say, "It shall be at my disposal!" Our marriage was appointed to take place before the end of the month and we were making preparations to hurry back to Bordeaux for that purpose. But Mr. Somers was obliged to attend the criminal court at Tarbe, on the trial of the prisoner Essex. The agitation and heat were more than he could bear, and after having given his evidence clearly and distinctly, he was seen to fall. I hastened to his assistance, and found that he had been suddenly struck with palsy. Borne back to his own house, medical aid was speedily procured; and he soon recovered the possession of all his faculties, but my marriage with Emily was of course delayed; and the physicians having recommended him to try the waters of Baréges, for the complete restoration of his health, we removed thither, and remained till the close of the season. His health certainly improved in a degree, but still his corporeal powers were so much impaired, his danger so great, and his situation so painful, that all thought of more joyful events was of course put aside.
After our return from Baréges, a friend in whom he placed great reliance, recommended him to a Parisian physician; and although we were obliged to wait for the return of spring, we proceeded towards the French metropolis as soon as the weather was sufficiently warm to permit of our performing the journey without danger to the invalid. It was accomplished by slow stages, and we arrived in Paris in the beginning of June. For a time the health of Mr. Somers seemed to improve under the new treatment to which he was subjected, and so far had he proceeded in his convalescence, that my marriage with Emily was fixed to take place within a month. The unfortunate twenty-sixth of July, 1830, however intervened, and the outbreaking of the last French revolution, found us tied to Paris without the possibility of quitting a capital in which, during all former political convulsions, crimes of the deepest dye had been committed. My anxiety for Emily and Mr. Somers was of course very great, for no one had any right to expect that the French populace would show such noble and magnanimous forbearance as they then did, and the re-enactment of some, at least, of the horrors of former days was reasonably to be anticipated. When, however, the great struggle was over, and a revolution was effected, which, by its splendid moderation and magnificent integrity of purpose and accomplishment, must be received as the atonement and expiation of the former bloody and insane catastrophe, Mr. Somers, over-excited by the reports which we could not shut out from his ears, relapsed into a state worse than that from which he had partially recovered. In the mean time, I applied myself as far as possible to relieve those individual cases of sorrow and distress which every great social convulsion must leave behind. In the course of my efforts for that purpose, a little narrative of suffering fell into my hands, which may not be uninteresting--perhaps not uninstructive. It came to me through a third person, and the ultimate fate of the unhappy man who wrote it, I could never discover. It was as follows:--