Charlotte Smith- Collected Poetical Works

by Charlotte Smith

  “It was impossible to assign any other cause for what had happened to me, than the rage and indignation of Signora Belcastro; and I now endeavoured to recollect, what I had heard you, my Montalbert, relate of your mother’s property and power in a part of Italy at a considerable distance from Naples, and of a suit at law she had gained against your elder brother, which had confirmed her in the considerable estates he had disputed with her. — Careless as to what related to property which I considered only as a barrier to our happiness, I had given less attention to this detail than to almost any thing else, relative to your mother, on which we had ever conversed; but now endeavouring to recall that conversation to my mind, I thought it certain that I was her prisoner in one of those baronial houses that belonged to her; and as she might have condemned me, defenseless as I was, to a convent, or even to a dungeon, I felt somethig like gratitude towards her, for not having treated me so cruelly as she might have done.

  “The very circumstances of her confining me at all counteracted part of the uneasiness it inflicted; for I refelcted, that had not my Montalbert lived, and still remained attached to his Rosalie, it could never have been an object to his mother to banish me thus from evey place where he was likely to inquire for me. It would have been easier for her, and more inimical to the pretensions which offended her to have sent me and my son to England, where, in the obscurity of poverty, perhaps of disgrace, (for you will observe that in my letter I have related the manner of our marriage), I should have been too much depressed ever to have troubled her more either with my child’s claims or my own. But in England Montalbert might have sought me, and I was persuaded that it was her fear of that, which had shut me up in a fortress on a distant part of the Italian shore.

  “There was, however, something soothing to my imagination in the sight of the sea, the only medium by which I could reach my native land, for thither my wishes were directed; thither I believed Montalbert was gone in search of his Rosalie; and there, in my present disposition to sanguine hope, I flattered myself with believing we should meet again.

  “The woman I had seen the evening before came into my room, and brought me dried fruit and biscuts for my breakfast; but she seemed to keep her resolution of being inexorably silent, and when I asked her to inform me what liberty would be granted me, she answered drily, that I might walk about the house. I then ventured to inquire where I was? — in what part of the country?

  “The woman, fixing on me a look where pity seemed stifled by contempt and prejudice, answered, that I was in Calabria, and that, if my confinement had the happy effect of leading me from the heretical and bad opinions I had been brought up in, I ought to thank the blessed Saints who had permitted my escape from perdition. I cannot do justice to the strength of her language, for it was a dialect quite unlike common Italian; but the countenance and manner of the woman it would be still more difficult to paint. I received her admonition with an appearence of submission, and asked her if she belonged to a religious society? — She replied, that she was not a nun. This gave me no satisfaction; I wished to ask, to whom she belonged, if she was a domestic of the house? — and this question I endeavoured to make in the way least likely to alarm her integrity; but my art was all thrown away; neither then nor at any other time could I prevail on her to tell me whom she served, or by what prospect of advantage she was engaged to live a life more solitary than that of a convent. She was, in appearance and manners, a little, and but a little, superior to the peasantry of the domain whom I have since had occasion to see.

  “I now took my little Harry in my arms, and began to survey my great and melancholy dwelling. I wandered from room to room — they appeared less gloomy, yet larger, than when I had seen them before; that next to mine seemed to have been used as an oratory, but, except a marble table, serving for an altar, and several seats covered with flowered velvet, of great antiquity, it was as destitute of furniture as the rest. Some, indeed, were quite empty, and others even without windows, in place of which pieces of board were nailed up, which rendered the apartments entirely dark. There seemed no end of these great gloomy rooms; the survey of them was little calculated to encourage that cheerful train of thought which I had indulged in the morning. As I looked over the bulastrades into the great hall, or cast my eyes along the extensive range of rooms and galleries, not even the brilliant light of an Italian sky could drive from my mind the idea of their being visited by nocturnal spectres.

  “The remembrance of what my conductor had told me, that I could never escape, struck cold upon my heart. The lone and isolated situation of this mournful solitude seemed to confirm it but too strongly. I listened at a window to the sounds around the house, by which I thought I could judge whether there were many inhabitants; but I heard only the notes of birds, who were now in the season of song......No human voice was heard — no noise of mechanics, or labourers, about the offices; and towards evening, as the variety of birds without ceased their chorus, a silence so solemn pervaded the place, that I felt my terror return, as if my child and I were the only living creatures in this vast edifice.

  “My silent keeper, however, regularly returned with food; and as I thought, on the second day, that she regarded me with less asperity, I again attempted to enter into conversation with her.

  “I began by expressing my concern for the trouble I gave her, and asked, if she alone executed all the business of this large house? — She replied, that she had help when she wanted it.

  ‘Alas! (then said I), how much happier you are than I am! — I should be content, methinks, if I had one female companion to speak to....Indeed I should be very much obliged to you, if you would now and then sit with me — it is extremely dreary never to hear the sound of a human voice.’

  ‘Ahime, Signora! (replied the woman, who was called Cattina) — Ahime! you complain of want of company already! — and I, Signora, pray to the blessed Lady that we may not see at the castle any other persons than are here now, at least while I am its inhabitant; but perhaps, Signora, you might not hold in abhorrence such visitors as have been here in former times, and not so long ago, that is, not so very long ago neither.’

  “I asked what visitors she could mean in a place like this, which seemed to me to be the very extremity of Europe.

  ‘Yes, (replied she), it is a long long way off, to be sure, from any great town; but the visitors I mean are not Christians, as we are, of this country, but Pagans and Heretics like the wicked English. This castle has been plundered by the Algerines three or four times, and that is the reason that my —— —— —— — (she suddenly recollected herself, paused, and then went on) — that the owners of it never have resided here for I don’t know how many years; and nothing is now ever left in the house of any value.’

  “My very soul failed within me as I heard this.— ‘O merciful Heaven! (exclaimed I), and these Algerines yet come occasionally to this coast! — and you think it not impossible but that they may return hither? —— Tell me, Madam, I entreat you, how long it is since they were here?’

  ‘Three or four years, perhaps, (answered Cattina, resuming her usual cold manner). I don’t know, however, exactly as to that; perhaps they may not land on the coast again, not just here, for they know there is nothing of value for them to take: but then, indeed, we have no defense; formerly there was a guard kept at the castle, and those guns that you see there below were kept loaded to drive away the infidels, but all that is laid aside now. For my part I am not much afraid.’

  “I now doubted whether Cattina had not told me this, to add to my punishment by all the aggravation of imaginary terrors. I had hardly courage to inquire farther; yet I ventured to make her some farther questions, and she took me to a window on the southern side of the house, where she showed me evident marks of the depredations made by the Barbarians, who had she said, about five and twenty years before landed to the number of fifty, and killed all the men who were then in the house, carrying off the women and children, not only from the castle, but the
villages around it.— ‘And who (said I), then resided in the castle? — Were the owners themselves among those who suffered?’

  “Cattina looked as if she would say— ‘And do you really think yourself cunning enough to engage me, by these questions, to betray my trust?’ — She then, affecting not perfectly to understand my question, for we had already been once or twice puzzled in our dialogue, left me to brood alone over the additional dread she had impressed upon me. I went to the window and looked upon the sea, which I had formerly gazed at with so much pleasure: now, as the last rays of the setting sun illuminated its waves with glowing light, I fancied that they might guide some inhuman pirates towards these lonely and defenceless walls, and that the vengeance of your mother, your cruel mother had looked forward with malignant satisfaction to such a catastrophe, and had devoted me and my child to slavery — a fate infinitely worse than death.

  “O Montalbert! what a night I passed after this discovery! — I forgot my real terrors only to be assaulted by all that fancy could collect: yet, I heard you, I saw you in my dreams, but it was contending with these lawless plunderers of the sea, for the safety of your wife and your boy......I saw you struggling with numbers; I shrieked, awoke, and listened in breathless terror to hear if this fearful vision was not realised, though you, Montalbert, I knew were not there. All, however, was still around me, and I heard only the soft breathing of my child as he lay sleeping on my arm, while my tears fell on his cheek. Thus passed the first eight and forty hours of my abode here.”

  VOLUME III.

  CHAPTER 25

  IT appears as if the fears, which had distressed Rosalie, had in some degree subsided when she thus proceeded with her narrative, or rather journal: ——

  “April 11th, 1783.

  “It is now above a fortnight since I have been here. Every day has appeared more melancholy than that which preceded it; for every day and every hour diminishes my hope that Montalbert is engaged in seeking me......Alas! could his vigilant love be deceived, or would not Signora Belcastro betray herself, had she been questioned? — Ah! fool that I am! I recollect that he could not question her; that he certainly could never know from her that Rosalie exists — Alozzi too is interested in deceiving him — perhaps we shall never meet again.....Montalbert! perhaps I am doomed to pass here, in this dreadful solitude, a long and wretched life. It is now four days since I prevailed on Cattina to let me wander over the deserted grounds that were once a garden; she finds I make no attempt to abuse this indulgence, and she does not now interdict the woods that surround the enclosure, or even the sea shore, though it is there only that I am likely to meet any of the few human beings who inhabit this depopulated region. I have been down to the sands, and on the wave-worn remains of a marble column, once, perhaps, the ornament of the port; I have been sitting to look at the sea. A very few days since I should not have ventured hither, for then my imagination was filled with the fears that Cattina had so recently taught me, of Corsairs and Turks. By habit, and from having assured myself, by subsequent conversations, that Cattina had exaggerated and misdated her accounts, I had appeased those apprehensions, or learned to think of them with more steadiness: nor, indeed, could my walks increase, whatever real danger there might be, since, during the day time, any vessel would be discerned from the coast long before it could land its crew. I saw today a group of peasant girls picking up the small fish along the sand; they were gay and sportive, and seemed to have no fear of such visits as Cattina has described to me as frequently happening. I wished to have spoken to them; but, perhaps, I ought to consider it as a part of my convention with Cattina, not to enter into conversation with any of the persons I may chance to meet. — Alas! these poor Calabrese could be of no use to me: they seemed to have no ideas beyond the little circle of their own necessities or pleasures; for though they must have known me to be a stranger, I excited no curiosity. Their happy indifference brought to my mind days when I was as thoughtless and as light-hearted as these simple peasants! That reflection was followed by the recollection of the circumstances that have happened to me with these last two years, and the chain of events, which, from one of the happiest, had reduced me to one of the most miserable of women. My waking dream lasted till the sun was set; the waves, as well as the whole horizon, assumed that rosy hue which mocks alike the pencil and the pen; I had heard that the exhalations from the marshes were unwholesome after a warm day, and I returned to my melancholy residence lest my child should suffer. Now, Montalbert, that he is sleeping by me, I relate on paper the sad employment of my solitary day — alas! how many more may pass in the same manner — what a prospect is mine!

  “It is night. — I go to my window and look at the stars, which, in this clear atmosphere, are singularly brilliant. I seek the north star, because, Montalbert, I believe that you are in England — an idea that sometimes torments and sometimes sooths me; yet I encourage it even when I am most pained by it, for you have returned thither, perhaps, if not to seek your Rosalie, to weep with her mother for her supposed death.....That dear mother! — ah! how many tears have I already cost her — how many will she shed over my imaginary grave; while I, buried yet living, call on her name — on yours, Montalbert, in vain!

  “Perhaps it is fit we should suffer thus — perhaps it is the proper punishment for our disobedience.....Oh! if it be so, may I alone be pursued by the vengeance of Heaven, and may that little innocent creature be spared and restored to the protection of his father. It is possibly to me, to my rash folly, that Montalbert owes much of his present uneasiness: his mother may have driven him from her with reproaches, with anger — he may, on my account, be loaded with a parent’s curse! —— Dreadful thought! I dare not dwell upon it.

  “I cast my eyes round the high and gloomy room where I sit: all is silent and forlorn; cold and faint, my heart seems to sink within me, and I listen, with even a degree of eagerness, to hear the slow footsteps of Cattina, along the apartments, bringing me my evening meal.

  “My keeper, for what else can I call her, is gone; she seems every day to soften in her manners towards me, and especially since she finds my child is to be brought up in the religion of his father. Poor, prejudiced woman; but she has not a bad heart, and there is something respectable even in her prejudices. I complained to her, this evening, of the languor I felt for want of some amusement when my child slept; and I asked if there were no books to be obtained here? — It was some time before I could make her understand my question. At length, however, she told me, that at the farther end of the castle, in a room which is never opened, there are a great many papers, and she believes books; she promises to show it me to-morrow. I may meet with some Italian poets, who may beguile those tedious minutes in which I am now tortured with my own thoughts. How well I remember, at Barlton Brooks, exploring the library of Mr. Lessington, and with as little success as I shall probably have tomorrow.

  “But talking to this woman has a little relieved my spirits; for even the sound of a human voice is consoling to my ear!

  “I will now endeavour to sleep.....Oh, come! thou image of my adored Montalbert — not as last night, in imaginary danger and contention, and risquing, for my defence, a life more precious than my own — but come to whisper peace and hope to the dreams of your devoted Rosalie! — Ah! would I could be assured that you will ever read my journal; that your eye will ever mark where the tears have blistered the paper as I write this, perhaps, fruitless wish!

  “April 13th.

  “I look back at my journal of yesterday, and of the preceding day, and am half-tempted to give up this monotonous account of lingering anguish. I have learned nothing by my research after books, but the great extent of this my prison, and that it is Formiscusa, a castle situated seventeen miles from Squilace, and was the seat of feudal government, when the Norman Barons possessed this country. A rude map or chart, hung up against the walls of the room I explored yesterday, has told me this; but not without my taking some pains to get at the intelligence, by cleari
ng away the mould with which it was covered, and, like many others, I have fought only my own pain; for I now see that, from the situation of the place, there is but too much reason to believe it must be, at all times, exposed to hostile visits from Africa, or Turkey in Europe. I thought I had reasoned myself out of these fears, but they return in spite of me — so prone is the human mind, when under the pressure of actual evils, to aggravate them by anticipation of the future.

  “You would chide me, Montalbert, for any tendency to indulge this disposition. — Ah! wretch that I am, if you were here, should I murmur? — should I dream of evil? — Ah! — no — with you, this solitary and frowning pile would be to me a Paradise! I should then enjoy the beauty of a country, which, in some parts, is really lovely, but over which my eyes now wander often half-blinded by tears.

  “Since I have had permission to go out, however, and have walked about the garden, I am better; for there is a charm, in the contemplation of vegetable nature, that sooths my spirits beyond every thing but music.....When poor Rosalie Lessington was ill at ease, at Barlton Brooks, it was a seat on the turf of the downs, under the shade of an old thorn or a tufted beech, that she retired to sigh at liberty, though she then hardly knew why she sighed. Now the really unhappy Rosalie Montalbert, with her infant in her arms, and, ah! with sensations how different in her heart, finds a resting place on the plinth of a broken statue, or on a piece of granite rock, shaded with myrtle or embowered in arbutus, and surveys, with hopeless eyes, the sun sinking into the sea, from whence he will arise tomorrow to bring to her another day of tears and despair!