Complete Poetical Works of Charlotte Smith

by Charlotte Smith

  The men approached, and, as soon as the light they held made the figures before them visible, one of them uttered an exclamation of surprise, and eagerly advanced towards Rosalie — it was Count Alozzi, who, with one of his servants, had come in search of her. Without, however, staying to tell her what circumstances had brought him thus from Agrigentum, or how he knew that she had escaped with her child from the destruction that had overwhelmed the house, he entreated her to suffer him to conduct her to place of security, which he hoped, he said, to find not far off.

  The dread of perishing with her child in the woods being thus suddenly removed from her mind, hope and gratitude as rapidly succeeded. — Ah! what so comfortable to the weary wanderer, even in the common paths of life, as the soothing voice of a friend! — and such Alozzi now appeared to Rosalie. As she suffered him to lead her on, his servant preceding them with the light, she eagerly questioned him, if he knew any thing of Montalbert? — Whether it was possible that he might be arrived at Messina? — and then, trying to persuade herself he was safe, she went on to compare the probabilities there were that he had not suffered, but was either at Naples, or at sea on his passage. These inquiries Alozzi answered with great coldness: he told her, (which was true), that he had not been at Messina; that of Montalbert it was impossible any thing could yet be known, and that all they could do was to wait with patience for the next day, when, if they were not visited by a new shock, the survivors might be able to know the extent of their loss.

  The mournful manner in which Alozzi uttered this, gave to Rosalie the most poignant alarm. Without reflecting how natural it was for him to speak thus, if only the general misfortune of the country was considered, of which he bore himself a share proportioned to his property, she immediately figured to herself that he knew something of Montalbert, and was willing by delay to prepare her for the intelligence he had to give her. She had not, however, power to repeat her questions; but a melancholy silence was observed on all sides till they reached a house, which, with two or three others, were situated among olive grounds, and which, Alozzi said, belonged to his estate. These buildings had received but little injury, yet the inhabitants of them, still doubting whether they might remain under the roofs, were so terrified and dejected by what had passed, and the dread of that which was to come, that the presence of Alozzi seemed to make no impression upon them. They coldy and silently acquiesced in affording the accomodation he asked, for the lady he brought with him, and set before the party such food as they happened to have. Zulietta, recovering some degree of courage, pressed Rosalie to eat, and Alozzi watched her with eager and anxious solicitude, which, when she observed, she imputed to his solicitude, or sorrow for the fate of his friend, which she still fancied he knew.

  Fatigue, however, both of mind and body, and the care necessary to herself for the sake of her child, overcame for a while her excessive anxiety for Montalbert, of whom Alozzi again and again repeated he knew nothing; at length Rosalie consented to retire with Zulietta to a bed, or rather mattress, which the wife of one of the tenants of Alozzi prepared for her, where her child appearing to be in health and in present safety, sleep lent a while its friendly assistance to relieve her spirits, and recruit her strength, after such sufferings and such scenes as those of the preceding day.

  Her repose was broken and disturbed, for she fancied she heard Montalbert call her, and that the buildings were about to crush her and her infant. In the morning, however, she was refreshed and relieved, even by this partial and interrupted forgetfulness, and able to receive the visit of the Count, who waited on her with inquiries after her health, and to consult with her what she should do. To this last question she was entirely ignorant what to answer, and could only, instead of a reply, put to him other questions; what he believed Montalbert would have directed, had he been present? and what he himself advised.— “It is impossible (said he gravely) to tell what Montalbert would have done, were he here; but, for myself, I own it appears to me that there is only one part to take. It is but too probable that another shock will be felt before many days are over. Here I have no longer a house to receive me, for that I inhabited at Messina is, I know, destroyed, though I was not near it yesterday when the earthquake happened, but about a mile from the town on my way home. The villa, which you did me the honour to inhabit, has shared the same fate. I approached it; I saw part of it buried in the earth, and the rest is by this time probably reduced to ashes. What then can I do but quit this devoted country, and return to Naples? — There I have a home, I have friends. — If you, Madam, will put yourself under my protection, I will defend you with my life, and consider myself highly honoured by so precious a charge.”

  “To go to Naples! (cried Rosalie, interrupting him); — Ah, Count! Do you recollect how many reasons I have for wishing to avoid Naples? — And is it thither, do you think, Montalbert would conduct me, were he now here?”

  “Alas! (replied Alozzi), it is impossible to say whether those reasons exist which would formerly have influenced him. His mother may no longer be there, or, if she be, it is more than possible that pride and pique may be lost in general calamity, and that at such a time.”

  “You think then, (said Rosalie, eagerly interrupting him), I am sure you think that her son, that Montalbert, is lost — or what other calamity would reach her?”

  “You exhaust your spirits in vain, my dear Madam, (replied Alozzi); to yield to vague fears can avail nothing. If any evil has befallen my friend, your destroying yourself cannot recall him — if he lives, as he probably does, you owe it to him to preserve yourself and his son.”

  “Oh! how coolly you talk! (exclaimed Rosalie, falling into an agony of grief). I see now that it is indeed easy to bear the misfortunes of others with calmness.”

  Alozzi, finding that argument only served to irritate her uneasiness, desisted, and took the wiser resolution of returning to his house, to see if any thing useful to his late guests could yet be saved; which, though improbable was not impossible. He communicated his intentions to Zulietta, who, with the true chambermaid’s eagerness to find her few fineries, immediately asked leave to accompany him. Her terrors were now dissipated, or greatly weakened, for she was not of a disposition to be very solicitous about others, and thought herself not only in present security, but in the way of returning to Naples, which she had long been very desirous of doing. She tripped away, therefore, with the Count and his servant, leaving her mistress at the house where they had slept, and whither Alozzi proposed to return in a few hours.

  When they were gone Rosalie went out with her baby in her arms, and seated herself on an open piece of ground, about a hundred yards from the house, which commanded from between the stems of a few straggling olive trees an extensive view of the city of Messina and the country round it. It presented a strange contrast of beauty and destruction. Those parts of the country that had not been convulsed or inverted were adorned with the blossoms of the almond, waving over fields of various coloured lupines and lentiscus; hedges of myrtles divided the enclosures, and among them the pomegranate was coming into flower; the stock doves in innumerable flocks were returning to feed among them, or fluttering amist the purple and white blossoms of the caper trees: but within half a mile of this profusion of what is most soothing to the imagination, black and hideous gulfs, from whence pestilential vapours seemed to issue, defaced the lovely landscaped. The beautiful town of Messina seemed more than half destroyed, and now Rosalie saw not far from her many groups of sufferers, who, frantic from the loss of their friends, their children, or their substance, were wandering about the fields without any hope but of passing the next night as they had done part of the preceding one, under the canopy of Heaven, gazing with tearless eyes on the melancholy spot where all their hopes were buried. From the sight of misery, which she could not relieve, her sick heart recoiled; she walked slowly back to the house, and attempted but in vain to form some resolution as to her future plans; but such was her situation, and so entirely did she feel hers
elf dependent on the Count, that this was hardly possible......Again, in a convulsive sigh, she repeated the name of Montalbert — again implored the mercy of Heaven for him and her child, on whose little face, as it was pressd to her bosom, her tears fell in showers!

  She turned her fearful eyes on the people among whom she was left. Many were now in the house whom she had not seen before, and some among them gave her but too forcibly the idea of those banditti, of whom Zulietta had expressed so many fears the evening before as they passed through the woods. Some of them were men of large stature, in a kind of uniform, and she fancied that they passed through the room where she was on purpose to observe her. A new species of terror assailed her in consequence of this remark, yet she endeavoured to reason herself out of it, and to suppose that where Count Alozzi had left her she must be in security.

  The people, who appeared to belong to the house, brought her some slender meal, which she eat mechanically, and would then have questioned them as to the probability of the Count’s return and the distance of his late residence; but they appeared averse to any conversation, and she thought looked as if they wished her away, but of their real motives she had not the remotest idea.

  Hours passed away, and neither Alozzi nor Zulietta appeared. Many new faces entered the house, and she understood, from such conversation as she heard and put together, that they were come to obtain an asylum for the night. One of them was a lovely Sicilian girl, of sixteen or seventeen, who wept grievously, as Rosalie comprehended, for the loss of her sister and her sister’s children. The beauty of the little Montalbert, as he lay sleeping in his mother’s arms, seemed to interest and affect this young person; she spoke to Rosalie, and was approaching to caress the child, when an old woman who was with her said something in a sharp and severe accent, and drew her hastily out of the room.

  This circumstance, and indeed every remark she now made, increased the impatience and uneasiness with which she waited for the return of Alozzi. Night was at hand; the parties in the house were contriving how to pass it most at their ease, but nobody seemed to attend to her; on the contrary, she believed that a disposition to shun her was evident in the women, while the looks of the men gave her infinitely more alarm, and she sometimes resolved, rather than pass the night among them, to set out alone, and seek the protection of Alozzi.

  On this then she had almost determined, and, trembling and faint, left the house with an intention of discovering how far such an attempt might be safer than to remain where she was. She had proceeded only about a hundred yards, when a new convulsion of the earth threw her down, and her senses entirely forsook her; nor did she recover her recollection till she found herself on board a small vessel at sea, her child laying by her, and a woman, whom she had never seen before, watching her. As soon as she appeared to be sensible Alozzi came to her, endeavouring to sooth and console her. He told her, that another shock of an earthquake had compelled all who could leave Sicily to depart; that he had before engaged a bark; that they were now far on their way to Naples with a fair wind, and that they should be there in a few hours.

  The shock she had received, the terror and confusion with which she was yet impressed, were such as left Rosalie little sensation but that ever predominant one of love and anxiety for her infant boy, whom she clasped with more fondness than ever to her breast, and, amidst the terrors that on every side surrounded her, found in his preservation something for which to be grateful to Heaven.

  CHAPTER 22

  WHEN the vessel, freighted with these wretched victims of calamity, reached the port of Naples, Rosalie was carried on shore with the rest almost insensible. The woman, whom Alozzi had placed about her during the voyage, was extremely careful of her and her child; he appeared to have suffered much less than might have been expected. The anxiety of Rosalie for his safety recalled her to life and recollection, but with these came the cruel remembrance of all she had suffered, and the dread of all she might yet have to encounter: youth, and a good constitution, were on her side. With her the soothing voice of hope had not yet been silenced by frequent disappointment; a few hours of repose, therefore, with the consciousness of present safety, gave her strength of mind to look steadily on the prospect before her, obscured as it was by uncertainty and fear.

  A stranger in Naples, and without the means of inquiring of any one but Alozzi, who saw her only for a few moments every day, she continued to torment herself with vague and fruitless conjectures as to the fate of Montalbert, of whom she incessantly spoke to the Count, entreating him to make every inquiry, and, above all, to visit Signora Belcastro, his mother, as the probability of Montalbert’s safety could be guessed at only by calculating the time of his departure. To these earnest and continual applications Alozzi at first answered by promising to do as she desired; after three or four days he said, he was informed by the servants that their lady was gone to Rome; that Mr. Montalbert left Naples about ten days before her, but whither he was gone they were ignorant.

  This account Roslaie thought Alozzi delivered with a degree of sang-froid very unlike his usual manner, especially when so dear a friend as Montalbert was concerned. It served, therefore, only to irritate her impatience and awaken new fears. She was now entirely dependent on Count Alozzi, and though she was unconscious of that jealousy which had rendered Montalbert uneasy before their last parting, she was sensible that it was extremely improper for a woman of her age to remain under the protection of such a man as Alozzi, who was not related to her, and who had, she knew, the reputation of a libertine. Variety of apprehensions assailed her, from which she knew not how to escape. Though she was ignorant of Montalbert’s particular suspicions, she had often remarked with concern that general tendency to jealousy, which was almost the only blemish she had discovered in his character; and it was but too probable, that when they met again, (for the idea of Montalbert’s death her heart repelled as soon as it approached), their meeting, and perhaps their future lives, might be embittered by the uneasiness her present situation would create his mind. Nor was that all. In what a light might she not be represented to his mother, already too much prejudiced against her.

  However perplexed by these considerations, Rosalie was under the cruel necessity of keeping them within her own breast; for how could she speak of them to Alozzi? — The woman, who had supplied the place of Zulietta, was not only of an inferior description, but was resolutely silent when questioned on any subject whatever; and all Rosalie could learn of her maid was, that, during the hurry and confusion of their embarkation, Zulietta was among those who had been left on shore, where the waves soon after rose so suddenly that they swept off a multitude of people in their reflux, and it was more than probable that this unfortunate girl was drowned. Of the woman, now her attendant, who was called Maddalena, she was told, that she had lost her husbnad at Messina, and that he had been Maitre d’Hotel to the Count at his house in that city; Maddalena had fled to the villa, and had arrived just as those were embarking whom the Count admitted into the vessel. This story, however probable, and however confirmed by the account Alozzi himself had given, was told by Maddalena with an air so calm and even cold, that Rosalie could not help doubting of its truth, and thought it impossible, that, had she sustained such a loss, she could have spoken of them with so little emotion.

  However that might be, she was perfectly convinced that Alozzi had given this woman orders, which she seemed determined to obey. Day after day passed; on some of them the Count did not appear, on others he sat with her an hour or two, endeavouring to keep up some thing that might resemble common conversation; but the moment Rosalie spoke of Montalbert, of her increasing anguish of heart, of the awkwardness of her situation, and of the burden she must necessarily feel herself to him, Alozzi seemed impatient to put an end to his visit, still persisting to say, however, when he could not entirely evade her questions, that he believed in the safety of Montalbert. But there was something in his manner of saying this, that gave Rosalie greater pain than if he had spoken
more doubtfully. There seemed to be some mystery for which she could not account, and a carelessness as to the fate of his former friend, which was quite unnatural. Alozzi, it is true, treated her with great respect: he appeared hurt at the remotest hint of any trouble she might give him, and said fine things as to the delight it afforded him to be of any use to her. These sort of speeches he had not unfrequently made while Montalbert was present and they lived together at the Sicilian villa; but now they were made in another manner, and Rosalie shrank from them with something like terror and disgust.

  Anxiety, such as at this time assailed her, could not long be patiently endured. The natural strength of her understanding told her, that to remain under the protection of the Count, and concealed in an obscure lodging at Naples, must in the event be infinitely more prejudicial to her future happiness with Montalbert, if he yet lived, than even the discovery in regard to his mother, which had formerly been the source of so much uneasiness. If Montalbert was lost, how could she think of suffering his son to remain in obscurity, without claiming for him the protection of his father’s family, and the fortune, small as it might be, that belonged to him? — This idea gathered strength from hour to hour as she indulged it. — She looked at her son, who visibly improved in health and beauty, and reproached herself for the injury she was doing him by the concealment of a secret, which, perhaps, there might be no danger in revealing; or, if there was, which could affect only herself.

  She considred, that if Montalbert had been a moment in danger, and was restored in safety to his mother, she would hardly at such a time refuse him her pardon. If, on the contrary, his fate was uncertain, if he had sailed for Messina before the tremendous catastrophe which had happened there, and was not yet returned, the fears his mother must entertain for his life would surley prevent her driving from her the fatherless child, for whom she should implore her pity and protection; for herself she had nothing to ask, but to be received as the mother of that child. Almost convinced, by this reasoning, that she ought immediately to throw herself at the feet of Signora Belcastro, she formed plans for proceeding, and even thought that, if they succeeded, Montalbert would be made completely happy by this reconcilliation. Fully possessed by this design, she knew there was no way of executing it without the participation and even the assistance of Alozzi, to whom she took the first opportunity to explain her plans and her reasons for adopting them, desiring Alozzi to make immediate inquiries as to the probability of Signora Belcastro’s return to Naples; or, if that was not likely to happen soon, she desired to be put in a way of addressing her properly at Rome.