Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 20

by A Double Life (v1. 1)

  “I must take you far back into the past, Evan, for my secret is but the sequel of one begun long before our birth. Our grandfather, as you know, was made governor of an Indian province while still a young and comely man. One of the native princes, though a conquered subject, remained his friend, and the sole daughter of this prince loved the handsome Englishman with the despotic fervor of her race. The prince offered the hand of the fair Naya to his friend, but being already betrothed to an English girl, he courteously declined the alliance. That insult, as she thought it, never was forgiven or forgotten by the haughty princess; but, with the subtle craft of her half-savage nature, she devised a vengeance which should not only fall upon the offender, but pursue his descendants to the very last. No apparent breach was made in the friendship of the prince and governor, even when the latter brought his young wife to the residence. But from that hour Naya’s curse was on his house, unsuspected and unsleeping, and as years went by the Fate of the Forrests became a tragical story throughout British India, for the brothers, nephews and sons of Roger Forrest all died violent or sudden deaths, and the old man himself was found murdered in the jungle when at the height of fame and favor.

  “Two twin lads alone remained of all who had borne the name, and for a time the fatal doom seemed averted, as they grew to manhood, married and seemed born to know all the blessings which virtue and valor could deserve. But though the princess and her father were dead, the curse was still relentlessly executed by some of her kindred, for in the year of your birth your father vanished suddenly, utterly, in broad day, yet left no trace behind, and from that hour to this no clue to the lost man was ever found beyond a strong suspicion, which was never confirmed. In that same year a horrible discovery was made, which shocked and dismayed all Christian India, and was found hard of belief across the sea. Among the tribes that infested certain provinces, intent on mischief and difficult to subdue, was one class of assassins unknown even to the native governments of the country, and entirely unsuspected bv the English. This society was as widely spread and carefully organized as it was secret, powerful and fanatical. Its members worshipped a gloomy divinity called Bohwanie, who, according to their heathen belief, was best propitiated by human sacrifices. The name of these devotees was Phansegars, or Brothers of the Good Work; and he who offered up the greatest number of victims was most favored bv the goddess, and received a high place in the Hindoo heaven. All India was filled with amazement and affright at this discovery, and mysteries, till then deemed unfathomable, became as clear as day. Among others the Fate of the Forrests was revealed; for by the confession of the one traitor w ho betrayed the society, it appeared that the old prince and his sons had been members of the brotherhood, which had its higher and its lower grades, and when the young governor drew down upon himself the wrath of Nava, her kindred avenged her bv propitiating Bohwanie w ith victim after victim from our fated family, ahvays working so secretly that no trace of their art remained but the seal of death.

  “This terrible discovery so dismayed mv father that, taking you, an orphan then, and mv mother, he fled to England, hoping to banish the dreadful past from his mind. But he never could, and it preved upon him night and dav. No male Forrest had escaped the doom since the curse was spoken, and an unconquerable foreboding haunted him that sooner or later he too should be sacrificed, though continents and oceans lay between him and the avengers. The fact that the black brotherhood was discovered and destroyed weighed little with him, for still a fear pursued him that Navas kindred would hand down the curse from generation to generation, and execute with that tenacitv of purpose which in that climate of the passions makes the humblest foe worthy of fear. He doubted all men, confided his secret to none, not even to his wife, and led a wandering life with us until my mother died. You remember, Evan, that the same malady that destroyed her fell likewise upon you, and that my father was forced to leave us in Paris, that he might comply with my mother’s last desire and lay her in English ground. Before he went he took me apart and told me the dark history of our unfortunate family, that I might be duly impressed with the necessity of guarding you with a sleepless vigilance; for even then he could not free himself from that ominous foreboding, soon, alas! to be confirmed. It was a strange confidence to place in a girl of seventeen, but he had no friend at hand, and knowing how wholly I loved you, how safe I was from the Eate of the Eorrests, he gave you to my charge and left us for a week. You know he never came again, but found his ghostly fear a sad reality in England, and on the day that was to give my mothers body to the earth he was discovered dead in his bed, with the marks of fingers at his throat, vet no other trace of his murderer ever appeared, and another dark secret was buried in the grave. You remember the horror and the grief that nearly killed me when the tidings came, and how from that hour there was a little cloud between us, a cloud I could not lift because I had solemnly promised my father that I would watch over you, yet conceal the fate that menaced you, lest it should mar your peace as it had done his own. Evan, I have kept my word till the danger is for ever past.”

  She paused there, but for a moment her cousin could only gaze at her, bewildered by the sudden light let in by the gloomy past. Presently he said, impetuously:

  “You have, my faithful Ursula, and I will prove that I am grateful by watching over you with a vigilance as sleepless and devoted as your own. But tell me, was there nowhere in the world justice, power or wit enough to stay that savage curse? Why did not my father, or yours, appeal to the laws of either country and obtain redress?”

  “They did, and, like others, appealed in vain; for, till the Phan- segars were discovered, they knew not whom to accuse. After that, as Naya’s kindred were all gone but a few newly-converted women and harmless children, no magistrate in India would condemn the innocent for the crimes of their race, and my father had no proofs to bring against them. Few in England believed the seemingly incredible story when it was related to them in the Indian reports. No, Evan, the w ily princess entrusted her revenge to able hands, and well they did the work to the very last, as w e have bitter cause to know’. Every member of the brotherhood, and even helper of the curse, bore on his left arm the word ‘Bohwanie!’ in Hindoo characters. You saw the sign on that dead arm. Do vou understand the secret now?”

  “Great heavens, Ursula! Do you mean that Stahl, a Christian man, belonged to this heathen league? Surely you wrong him there.”

  “You will not think so when I have told all. It seemed as horrible, as incredible to me as now to you, when I first saw and comprehended on the night that changed both our lives. Stahl suspected, from many unconscious betrayals of mine (my dislike of India, mv anxiety for you, then absent, and a hundred indications unseen bv other eyes) that I knew the secret of the curse; he proved it by whispering the hated name of Bohwanie in my ear, and show ing me the fatal sign — I knew it, for my father had told me that also. Need I tell you what recollections rushed upon me when I saw it, what visions of blood rose red before my panic-stricken eyes, how instantly I felt the truth of my instinctive aversion to him, despite his charms of mind and manner, and, above all, how utterly I was overpowered by a sense of your peril in the presence of your unknown enemy? A single thought, hope, purpose ruled me, to save you at any cost, and guard the secret still; for I felt that I possessed some power over that dread man, and resolved to use it to the uttermost. You left us, and then I learned at what a costly price I could purchase the life so dear to me. Stahl briefly told me that his mother and one old woman w ere the last of Navas race, and w hen his grandfather, who belonged to the brotherhood, suffered death with them, he charged her to perpetuate the curse, as all the members of the family had pledged themselves to do. She promised, and when my father left India she followed, but could not discover his hiding-place, and with a blind faith in destiny, as native to her as her superstition, she left time to bring her victim to her. While resting from her quest in Germany she met and married Felix Stahl, the elder, a learned man, fond of the mysticism
and wisdom of the East, who found an irresistible charm in the dark-eyed woman, who, for his sake, became a Christian in name, though she still clung to her Pagan gods in secret. With such parents what wonder that the son was the man we found him? for his father bequeathed him his features, feeble health, rare learning and accomplishments; his mother those Indian eyes that I never can forget, his fiery yet subtle nature, the superstitious temperament and the fatal vow.

  “While the father lived she kept her secret hidden; when he died, Felix, then a man, was told it, and having been carefully prepared by every art, every appeal to the pride and passion of his race, every shadow years of hatred could bring to blacken the memory of the first Forrest and the wrong he w as believed to have done their ancestors, Felix was induced to take upon himself the fulfilment of the family vow. Yet living in a Christian community, and having been bred up by a virtuous father, it w as a hard task to assume, and only the commands of the mother w hom he adored would have won compliance. I le was told that but two Forrests now remained, one a girl who w as to go scatheless, the other a boy, w7ho, sooner or later, was to fall by his hand, for he was now the last male of his race as you of ours. How7 his mother discovered these facts he never knew’, unless from the old woman w ho came to them from England to die near her kin. I suspect that she was the cause of my poor father’s death, though Stahl swore that he never knew of it until I told him.

  “After much urging, many commands, he gave the promise, asking only freedom to do the work as he would, for though the savage spirit of his Hindoo ancestors lived again in him, the influence of civilization made the savage modes of vengeance abhorrent to him. His mother soon followed the good professor, then leaving our meeting still to chance, Felix went roaming up and down the world a solitary, studious man, for ever haunted by the sinful deed he had promised to perform, and whieh grew7 ever more and more repugnant to him.

  The Mystery Revealed

  “In an evil hour we met; my name first arrested him; my beauty (I may speak of it now for it is gone) attracted him; my evident aversion piqued his pride and roused his will to overcome it; and then the knowledge of my love for you fanned his smouldering passion to a blaze and confirmed his wavering purpose. You asked on that sad night if I had learned to love while you were gone? I spoke truly when I answered yes, for absence proved how dear you had become to me, and I only waited your return to gratefully accept the love with which I knew your heart was overflowing. You came, and seeing Stahl’s devotion, doubted the affection I never had confessed. He saw it plainly, he divined your passion, and in an hour decided upon gratifying his own desire, keeping the promise he made his mother, yet sparing himself the crime of murder, well knowing that for you life without me would be a fate more dark than any death he could devise. I pleaded, prayed and wept, but he was inexorable. To tell you was to destroy you, for he feared nothing; to keep the secret was to forfeit your love and sacrifice myself. One hope alone remained to me, a sinful yet a pardonable one in such a strait as mine; Felix could not live long; I might support life for a time by the thought that I had saved you, by the hope that I might soon undeceive and recompense you for the loss you had sustained. Evan, it was a natural yet unrighteous act, for I did evil that good might come of it, and such deeds never prosper. Better have left you in God’s hand, better even have seen you dead and at peace than have condemned you to the life you have led and still must lead for years perhaps. I was a weak, loving, terror- stricken woman, and in that dreadful hour one fear overwhelmed all other passions, principles and thoughts. I could save you, and to accomplish that I would so gladly have suffered death in any shape. Believe that, dearest Evan, and forgive me for the fate to which I have condemned the man I love, truly, tenderly even to the end.”

  Her voice died in a broken sob as Evan gathered her close to his sore heart, and she clung there spent and speechless, as if the pain of parting were for ever over and her refuge found at last. Evan spoke first, happily and hopefully for, the future opened clearly, and the long twilight seemed about to break into a blissful dawn.

  “You shall be repaid for your exceeding love, Ursula, with a devotion such as man never gave to woman until now. There is no longer any cloud between us, nor shall there be between you and the world. Justice shall be done, and then we will leave this city of bitter memories behind us, and go away together to begin the new life that lies before us.”

  “We shall begin a new life, but not together, Evan,” was the low answer, as she tenderly laid her pale cheek to his, as if to soften the hard truth.

  “But, love, you will be free at once; there can be no doubt of the pardon now.”

  “Yes, I shall soon be free, but human hands will not open mv prison doors, and I humbly trust that I may receive pardon, but not from human lips. Evan, I told you I would never tell my secret till I lay on my deathbed; I lie there now.”

  If she had stabbed him with the hand folded about his neck, the act would not have shocked and startled him like those last words. They pierced him to the heart, and as if in truth he had received a mortal wound, he could only gaze at her in dumb dismav, with eyes full of anguish, incredulity and grief.

  “Let me seem cruel that I may be merciful, and end both suspense and fear by telling all at once. There is no hope for me. I have prayed to live, but it cannot be, for slowly yet surely Felix has killed me. I said I would gladly die for you, God takes me at my word, and now I am content. Let me make my sacrifice cheerfully, and let the suffering I have known be mv atonement for the wrong I did myself and you.”

  As she spoke so tranquilly, so tenderly, a veil seemed to fall from before her cousins eves. He looked into the face that smiled at him, saw there the shadow which no human love can banish, read perfect peace in its pale serenity, felt that life was a poor boon to ask for her, and with a pang that rent that faithful heart of his, silently relinquished the one sustaining hope which had upheld him through that gloomy year. Calm with a grief too deep for tears, he drew the wan and wasted creature w ho had given herself for him closer to the shelter of his arms, and changed her last fear to loving pride by saying, with a manful courage, a meek resignation that ennobled him by its sincerity:

  “Rest here in peace, my Ursula. No selfish grief shall cloud your sunset or rob you of one hour of happy love. I can bear the parting, for I shall follow soon; and thank God that after the long bewilderment of this sad world we may enjoy together the new life which has no end.”

  THE END

  A Double Tragedy. An Acors Story

  CHAPTER I

  CLOTILDE was IN HER element that night, for it was a Spanish play, requiring force and fire in its delineation, and she threw herself into her part with an abandon that made her seem a beautiful embodiment of power and passion. As for me I could not plav ill, for when with her my acting was not art hut nature, and I was the lover that I seemed. Before she came I made a business, not a pleasure, of mv profession, and was content to fill my place, with no higher ambition than to earn my salary w ith as little effort as possible, to resign myself to the distasteful labor to which my poverty condemned me. She changed all that; for she saw7 the talent I neglected, she understood the w ant of motive that made me indifferent, she pitied me for the reverse of fortune that placed me w here I was; bv her influence and example she roused a manlier spirit in me, kindled every spark of talent I possessed, and incited me to win a success I had not cared to labor tor till then.

  She was the rage that season, tor she came unheralded and almost unknown. Such was the power ot beauty, genius, and character, that she made her wav at once into public tavor, and before the season was half over had become the reigning favorite. My position in the theatre threw us much together, and I had not played the lover to this beautiful woman many weeks before I found I was one in earnest. She soon knew it, and confessed that she returned my love; but when I spoke of marriage, she answered with a look and tone that haunted me long afterward.

  “Not yet, Paul; something that conce
rns me alone must be settled first. I cannot marry till I have received the answer for which I am waiting; have faith in me till then, and be patient for my sake.”

  I did have faith and patience; but while I waited I wondered much and studied her carefully. Frank, generous, and deep- hearted, she won all who approached her; but I, being nearest and dearest, learned to know her best, and soon discovered that some past loss, some present anxiety or hidden care, oppressed and haunted her. A bitter spirit at times possessed her, followed by a heavy melancholy, or an almost fierce unrest, which nothing could dispel but some stormy drama, where she could vent her pent-up gloom or desperation in words and acts which seemed to have a double significance to her. I had vainly tried to find some cause or explanation of this one blemish in the nature which, to a lover’s eyes, seemed almost perfect, but never had succeeded till the night of which I write.

  The play was nearly over, the interest was at its height, and Clotilde’s best scene was drawing to a close. She had just indignantly refused to betray a state secret which would endanger the life of her lover; and the Duke had just wrathfully vowed to denounce her to the Inquisition if she did not yield, when I her lover, disguised as a monk, saw a strange and sudden change come over her. She should have trembled at a threat so full of terror, and have made one last appeal to the stern old man before she turned to defy and dare all things for her lover. But she seemed to have forgotten time, place, and character, for she stood gazing straight before her as if turned to stone. At first I thought it was some new presentiment of fear, for she seldom played a part twice alike, and left much to the inspiration of the moment. But an instant’s scrutiny convinced me that this was not acting, for her face paled visibly, her eyes dilated as they looked bevond the Duke, her lips fell apart, and she looked like one suddenly confronted by a ghost. An inquiring glance from my companion showed me that he, too, was disturbed by her appearance, and fearing that she had over-exerted herself, I struck into the dialogue as if she had made her appeal. The sound of my voice seemed to recall her; she passed her hand across her eves, drew a long breath, and looked about her. I thought she had recovered herself and was about to resume her part, but, to my great surprise, she only clung to me, saying in a shrill whisper, so full of despair, it chilled my blood —