Charlotte Smith- Collected Poetical Works

by Charlotte Smith

  The Count heard her with unaffected astonishment, and with anger and concern, which he in vain attempted to stifle; he observed, from her manner, that she had long thought of what she now spoke upon. He listened, however, with as much patience as he could command, and then set himself to prove to her the wildness and impossibility of what she proposed; the injury it might be to Montalbert, the risk it would be to herself. He represented Signora Belcastro as the most violent and vindictive of Italian women, and bade Rosalie consider how she could meet the eye, or endure the reproaches, of such a person? How bear to be treated with contempt and insult, if, as was very probable, Signora Belcastro protested against the legitimacy of the little Montalbert? Or how, on the contrary, support his being torn from her, which, Alozzi protested, she might expect, should the capricious passions of his grandmother take another turn?

  Rosalie listened and shuddered, but still persisted in declaring, that if in two days no news arrived of Montalbert, she would adopt this expedient of claiming for his child the protection of his own family, and, conscious that in doing so had done her duty, would leave the event to Heaven.

  These two days Alozzi hardly ever left her, nor did he omit any argument to dissuade her from, what he termed, a scheme of the wildest desperation. Some expressions, however, that he let fall in the warmth of this debate, served only to confirm her resolution. She told him very calmly, that many of the reasons he had given against her acting as she proposed seemd to her to be the very reasons why she should pursue her plan; that she should have been very much obliged to him would he have lent her his assistance; but added, with a degree of resolution she had never exerted before, that since he declined it, she knew there were Englishmen in Naples, and she was sure, that when her situation was known, there was not one of them but what would come forward to protect and support her.

  A flood of tears followed this temporary exertion of artificial courage, for her forlorn and friendless condition pressed more forcibly than it had ever yet done on her mind; she caught her child to her bosom, and sobbed with a violence of grief which she was not longer able to command. — Alozzi, almost thrown off his guard by the mingled emotions he felt, and alarmed by the mention of her appealing to her own countrymen, now endeavoured to sooth and appease her. He besought her to give him a little more time to make inquiries after his friend, from people who were every day coming in from Sicily; represented how possible it was that he might yet be seeking her there, and gave so many plausible reasons why she ought to wait a little longer before she took a measure which she might repent, when it would be too late, that, at length, he extorted a promise from her to do nothing without his knowledge, and to wait at least another week.

  This week, the third of her arrival at Naples, was rapidly passing away. No news of Montalbert arrived, and now Alozzi affected extreme concern whenever he was spoken of, and the tormenting suspense of his unfortunate wife became almost insupportable. Her former plan was again thought of: if it was followed by none of the advantages she hoped for she should at least learn what was by his own family supposed to be the fate of Montalbert, of which it was improbable they should be as ignorant as she was. Even at the moment when she was suffering all the misery of conjecture, it was possible he might be at Naples, as uncertain in regard to her fate as she was of his; and what other means but those she now thought of, had she to discover whether he yet lived?

  Among the variety of thoughts that offered themselves as she considered this subject, there was one which she wondered had never occured to her before. This was, that Charles Vyvian was certainly in Itlay, and might very probably be at Naples: what a consolation it would be to see him, even though she dared not reveal how nearly they were related! — She, therefore, busied herself in contriving means to discover the names of the English who were now at Naples; but, upon examining this nearer, she found it knowledge that was very difficult for her to obtain. Of the people of the house where she lodged she knew nothing; they had never once appeared in her sight, and her cook was, as Alozzi told her, a Sicilian, who had come over in the same vessel with them, whom he had taken out of pity into his service; but when Rosalie attempted to speak to him, by way of giving him commissions, she found him to be a fellow who had orders to evade executing them, and perfectly knew his part; she even fancied she had seen him before, though she could not recollect where or when. As to the woman, she declined doing any thing, and her reasons too were plausible; she was a stranger at Naples; she did not even know her way in the streets. How was it possible for her to do what Signora Rosalia desired? And how could she go to inquire after English Signors? — and where? — — “Ah, Signora! (said the artful Italian, venturing now on a liberty she had never taken before) —— Ah, Signora! If you should find those rich and great Signori Inglese, do you think there is among them a finer or a nobler gentleman than Count Alozzi?”

  Rosalie to this impertinence gave a cold and haughty answer. It sunk, however, deeply into her mind; but should she resent it as it deserved, she might, perhaps, deprive her child of the cares of this woman, and it was possible another would be less attentive and less experienced: nor had she, indeed, the means of discharging her, or could she consider her as being her servant.

  The observations which every hour forced themselves upon her mind, were at length so accumulated and so painful, that some immediate relief became necessary; but where was it to be found? Stranger and depressed as she was at her first arrival, she had neither strength nor inclination to go out; nor had she then a change of clothes to appear in. Alozzi had supplied her with every article of dress in proportion; but of these she had forborne to take more than was absolutely necessary, not knowing whether Montalbert could ever repay his friend these pecuniary obligations.

  Now, indeed, the weight of them became intolerable, for Rosalie, having once had her fears awakened that the intentions of Alozzi were dishonourable, seized with trembling avidity on every circumstance that confirmed these fears; and, as generally happens in these cases, they went even beyond the truth, and she figured to herself the many imaginary evils: that Signora Belcastro had never been absent from Naples; that her son was even now there, deceived by the artifices of his treacherous friend, and perhaps lamenting as dead the wife and infant who actually existed in the same city — then a train of frightful possibilities followed. Convinced of her death by the report of Alozzi, he might determine to oblige his mother and give his hand to the Roman lady, whom she was so desirous of his marrying. He might then, perhaps, leave Naples for the neighborhood of Rome, she should lose sight of him for ever, and, with her helpless, deserted boy, become a forsaken wanderer upon earth.

  With these terrors sleep forsook the pillow of Rosalie, and peace no longer visited her for a moment during the day. The sight of her child, but yesterday a balm to her anxious heart, no longer afforded her unmixed delight; his innocent eyes and unconcious smiles seemed to reproach her for timidity, which, while it was unworthy of herself, might irreparably injure both his father and him.

  By these reflections her wavering resolution was at last so confirmed, that she determined to write to the mother of Montalbert; and as she could imagine no other safe or even possible way of conveying it, she determined, when her letter was written, to direct it in the most correct manner she could, and walking into the street give it to the first lazzerone she found; such a person could have no interest in deceiving her; and as she intended to give him a small reward when she delivered the letter, and promise one more considerable when he had executed her commission, she thought she should at all events obtain information so very material to her, as whether Signora Belcastro was now at her house at Naples.

  This plan she executed without difficulty because, among all the attempts to write that Alozzi had guarded against, that of her giving herself the letter to the first she met of the numerous lazzeroni in the streets of Naples, was what had never occured to him as possible.

  The letter was long and explanatory, and, if not
written in the very purest Italian, was infinitely better than many Italian natives could themselves have penned. It contained expressions of the tenderest nature towards Montalbert; of humility and deference for his mother, on whose pity and protection she threw herself, and with whom she pleaded for her infant boy with a pathos which few hearts could have resisted.

  Having then sealed and directed it, she took her child in her arms, and, her attendant being engaged in another part of the house, walked down into the street; she trembled as she looked around her, and shrunk from the eyes of the few passengers that she saw. Such a person, however, as she had occasion for was soon found. A stout boy of sixteen, half clothed, eagerly presented himself; Rosalie, in a hurried and faltering voice, gave him his commission and two carlinoes, promising him double that sum if he returned within an hour to the house she had left, which she pointed out to him, and gave her the information she required. The lad promised to do all she directed, and sprang out of sight in an instant. Rosalie, hardly able to support herself, returned to her apartments, from which she had not even been missed. The die was now cast. The future happiness or misery of herself and child depended on the answer to this letter: breathless with fear, she awaited the return of her messenger, who came back almost immediately; she flew to the door, the lad told her, that Signora Belcastro was at Naples, and that he had given the packet to one of her servants, who would deliver it to his lady. It was now then certain, that Alozzi had deceived her......Alas! it was certain too, that, in this attempt to emancipate herself from his power, she had been compelled to commit her whole happiness to a woman, whose proud and vindictive character she now thought upon with more terror than ever. It was, however, too late to recede, nor did she wish to do so, but armed herself with the fortitude conscious integrity ought to give, and determined to endure whatever should happen, while no wilfull imprudence or impropriety could be imputed to her.

  Her own words will now be used to describe how far she was enabled to act as she proposed; when doubting of the existence of him to whom her letters were addressed, she yet found relief in relating her sufferings, and in keeping a register of the melancholy moments as they passed.

  CHAPTER 23

  A Letter from ROSALIE to MONTALBERT.

  “WHEN consciousness of existence returns only to bring with it the consciousness of misery — can I feel any satisfaction in recollection? — Yet I might have been more wretched — I might have been driven quite to distraction; for my little angel Harry might have been torn from me — but he is still with me, still the innocent, unconscious companion of his mother’s sufferings!

  “Where art thou, Montalbert? — Alas! if thou hadst really been lost at Messina, as that treacherous Alozzi insinuated, would it be worth the pains that are now taken to persecute thy unhappy wife; to arraign the legality of thy son’s birth? — Ah! no, Montalbert! — thy cruel mother would then have left me to my ignominious fate, or, if common humanity had touched the heart of Signora Belcastro with pity for an unprotected stranger, she would have sent me and my child to England, where we could never have offended her more. But, Montalbert, the husband and the father lives, and his inhuman parent knows, that in whatever country we are, his unwearied love will discover us, unless we are hidden in some hideous prison like this. Barbarous Belcastro, it is thus that your cruelty defeats itself! — for amidst these dreary scenes this reflection supports and consoles me. — I dwell upon it incessantly — I convince myself that Montalbert lives — I press his little Harry to my heavy heart, and feel it less agonized as I determine to attempt to live for them both.

  “In the confidence that you, Montalbert, live for me, I tried, when I first recovered myself from terrors that almost deprived me of my reason, to give you some account of the letter I wrote at Naples to your mother, which was undoubtedly the cause of all that has since befallen me. It is now before me, incoherent and half-blotted with my tears; but it describes what I felt, and I will not alter it. It ends at the point of time when I was persuaded I should have an answer, and when my sanguine hopes flattered me that it would be favourable.

  “I looked at our boy, and thought that, if once your mother saw him, his beauty, and his strong resemblance to you, would secure her kindness......I knew that I should tremble and falter; but yet I believed I could acquire courage enough to put him into her arms, with a few words which I mediated to speak. I persuaded myself, that infant loveliness and the voice of nature would do the rest. But the hours passed away, and no summons came for us, as I had fondly expected. I concluded that I should hear the next morning, and I endeavoured to compose myself for the night. “It passed, however, in restlessness and anxiety; but day came, and with it my spirits regained some degree of tranquility. I dressed my baby with more care than I had done the preceeding day, and again sat down to hopes, fears, and conjectures — the hours wore away as on ordinary days, and I received neither letter nor message. The Count Alozzi paid me his daily visit, but it was shorter than usual, and he either did not observe or at least did not speak to me of that anxiety, which I thought, my looks and manner must have betrayed.

  “Night came, and I now concluded that either Signora Belcastro would not condescend to notice me at all, or that her deliberating so long was a favourable circumstance; for, had she hastily and arrogantly determined to crush my hopes for ever, it was most probable, that, a temper so irritable and violent as hers, she would have done it at once, and with as much rage as her contempt would suffer her to show.

  “In this persuasion then, which was calculated to calm my spirits as much as under such circumstances they would admit of being calmed, I again laid myself down by the side of my sleeping boy, and, notwithstanding the anxiety of my thoughts, fatigue overcame me, and I was lost in a dream that brought you, Montablert, to my view.....I imagined, that, reconciled to your mother, and in possesson of all our wishes, I was recounting to you the sad scenes which I had witnessed at Messina, when, suddenly awakened by a noise in my room, I saw a man, holding a small lantern, approach my bed, followed by one or two others. I shrieked in terror, and inquired, as well as I could, what they would have — and who they were? — One of them came near me, and, in a deep and solemn voice, told me that I must rise, dress myself, and follow them. I asked, why? and whither I was to go? — I implored their mercy — I earnestly entreated they would tell who had sent them, and on what pretence I was thus to be dragged from my bed? — To these questions, the men told me, they neither could nor would answer; and one of them, more savage than the rest, approached to take my child, telling me, that he supposed, if he took the little master, I should be pleased to follow. This cruel menace drove me to madness. I snatched my child to my bosom, protesting that I would die before he should be forced from me; but that, if I must follow them, and they would only send my woman to me, and retire while I put on my clothes, that I would endeavour to obey.

  “As to a woman, they told me, none could be allowed me; that I must quit that house immediately; and that, if I would hasten, they would wait at the door till I was ready with the child. This last word gave me some degree of courage, for the dread of losing my boy had been more terrible than all the rest. I promised every thing required of me, and asked if I might not take some clothes? for I now concluded I was going to prison. They answered, that I might take what I would; but that I must be expeditious, and that silence would avail me more than remonstrance or complaint.

  “The men then left the room, and I tried to acquire steadiness enough to dress myself. My infant needed little but a mantle in which I wrapped him, and our clothes were in two small trunks that stood near my bed. I had, therefore, nothing to pack, and was soon ready; but, expeditious as I had been, my conductors were become impatient, and I had hardly hurried on my things, and wrapped a large cloak around us both, before they entered, and, by the light of the same lantern, conducted me down the stairs, on which stood two or three other men; an equal number were in the passage, and two others, who stood at the door li
ke sentinels, opened it, where I saw a coach, into which they lifted me; the man who seemed to have the most authority seated himself opposite to me, and drove it away.

  “The night was extremely dark, yet I could not, even had it been otherwise, have formed the least idea whither they were carrying me......What a situation was mine! — Alone at such a time of night, with men whom I could consider not otherwise than as the banditti and assassins of whom I had often read in Italian stories. The strangeness and alarm of such a state alone enabled me to endure it, for I seemed petrified, and had no power to complain or to shed a tear. The man who was with me spoke not, and when I attempted to make any inquiries, which I once or twice collected enought courage to do, he gravely, but not uncivilly, told me, he could not answer them, and that it was merely fatiguing my spirits to ask any questions whatever. I know not how far we had travelled, when the coach stopped at a house where I was taken out by the attendants, who seemed as numerous as before, led into a dreary room, which I thought belonged to an inn, and left to myself for a few moments. Some refreshment was then brought, and the man who had attended me in the coach came in at the same time, and seated himself at the table: he bade me eat, and I obeyed him on account of my infant; he eat heartily himself, yet spoke very little, and wore his hat pulled over his face, which, by the glimmering light of a lamp that hung in the room, appeared, I thought, to be the face of an assassin, and not young in his profession; for the man was between fifty and sixty, tall, bony, and hard-featured, with hollow eyes and large eyebrows, under which he seemed sometimes to examine my countenance with a look that made my heart sink within me.