The Penny Dreadfuls MEGAPACK™ (273 page)

Consequently, She entertained very little hope of ever being recompensed; But this consideration prevented her not from taking care that the Interment was performed with decency, and from showing the unfortunate Antonia all possible respect.

Nobody dies of mere grief; Of this Antonia was an instance. Aided by her youth and healthy constitution, She shook off the malady which her Mother’s death had occasioned; But it was not so easy to remove the disease of her mind. Her eyes were constantly filled with tears: Every trifle affected her, and She evidently nourished in her bosom a profound and rooted melancholy. The slightest mention of Elvira, the most trivial circumstance recalling that beloved Parent to her memory, was sufficient to throw her into serious agitation. How much would her grief have been increased, had She known the agonies which terminated her Mother’s existence! But of this no one entertained the least suspicion. Elvira was subject to strong convulsions: It was supposed that, aware of their approach, She had dragged herself to her Daughter’s chamber in hopes of assistance; that a sudden access of her fits had seized her, too violent to be resisted by her already enfeebled state of health; and that She had expired ere She had time to reach the medicine which generally relieved her, and which stood upon a shelf in Antonia’s room. This idea was firmly credited by the few people, who interested themselves about Elvira: Her Death was esteemed a natural event, and soon forgotten by all save by her, who had but too much reason to deplore her loss.

In truth Antonia’s situation was sufficiently embarrassing and unpleasant. She was alone in the midst of a dissipated and expensive City; She was ill provided with money, and worse with Friends. Her aunt Leonella was still at Cordova, and She knew not her direction. Of the Marquis de las Cisternas She heard no news: As to Lorenzo, She had long given up the idea of possessing any interest in his bosom. She knew not to whom She could address herself in her present dilemma. She wished to consult Ambrosio; But She remembered her Mother’s injunctions to shun him as much as possible, and the last conversation which Elvira had held with her upon the subject had given her sufficient lights respecting his designs to put her upon her guard against him in future. Still all her Mother’s warnings could not make her change her good opinion of the Friar. She continued to feel that his friendship and society were requisite to her happiness: She looked upon his failings with a partial eye, and could not persuade herself that He really had intended her ruin. However, Elvira had positively commanded her to drop his acquaintance, and She had too much respect for her orders to disobey them.

At length She resolved to address herself for advice and protection to the Marquis de las Cisternas, as being her nearest Relation. She wrote to him, briefly stating her desolate situation; She besought him to compassionate his Brother’s Child, to continue to her Elvira’s pension, and to authorise her retiring to his old Castle in Murcia, which till now had been her retreat. Having sealed her letter, She gave it to the trusty Flora, who immediately set out to execute her commission. But Antonia was born under an unlucky Star. Had She made her application to the Marquis but one day sooner, received as his Niece and placed at the head of his Family, She would have escaped all the misfortunes with which She was now threatened. Raymond had always intended to execute this plan: But first, his hopes of making the proposal to Elvira through the lips of Agnes, and afterwards, his disappointment at losing his intended Bride, as well as the severe illness which for some time had confined him to his Bed, made him defer from day to day the giving an Asylum in his House to his Brother’s Widow. He had commissioned Lorenzo to supply her liberally with money: But Elvira, unwilling to receive obligations from that Nobleman, had assured him that She needed no immediate pecuniary assistance. Consequently, the Marquis did not imagine that a trifling delay on his part could create any embarrassment; and the distress and agitation of his mind might well excuse his negligence.

Had He been informed that Elvira’s death had left her Daughter Friendless and unprotected, He would doubtless have taken such measures, as would have ensured her from every danger: But Antonia was not destined to be so fortunate. The day on which She sent her letter to the Palace de las Cisternas was that following Lorenzo’s departure from Madrid. The Marquis was in the first paroxysms of despair at the conviction that Agnes was indeed no more: He was delirious, and his life being in danger, no one was suffered to approach him. Flora was informed that He was incapable of attending to Letters, and that probably a few hours would decide his fate. With this unsatisfactory answer She was obliged to return to her Mistress, who now found herself plunged into greater difficulties than ever.

Flora and Dame Jacintha exerted themselves to console her. The Latter begged her to make herself easy, for that as long as She chose to stay with her, She would treat her like her own Child. Antonia, finding that the good Woman had taken a real affection for her, was somewhat comforted by thinking that She had at least one Friend in the World. A Letter was now brought to her, directed to Elvira. She recognized Leonella’s writing, and opening it with joy, found a detailed account of her Aunt’s adventures at Cordova. She informed her Sister that She had recovered her Legacy, had lost her heart, and had received in exchange that of the most amiable of Apothecaries, past, present, and to come. She added that She should be at Madrid on the Tuesday night, and meant to have the pleasure of presenting her Caro Sposo in form. Though her nuptials were far from pleasing Antonia, Leonella’s speedy return gave her Niece much delight. She rejoiced in thinking that She should once more be under a Relation’s care. She could not but judge it to be highly improper, for a young Woman to be living among absolute Strangers, with no one to regulate her conduct, or protect her from the insults to which, in her defenceless situation, She was exposed. She therefore looked forward with impatience to the Tuesday night.

It arrived. Antonia listened anxiously to the Carriages, as they rolled along the Street. None of them stopped, and it grew late without Leonella’s appearing. Still, Antonia resolved to sit up till her Aunt’s arrival, and in spite of all her remonstrances, Dame Jacintha and Flora insisted upon doing the same. The hours passed on slow and tediously. Lorenzo’s departure from Madrid had put a stop to the nightly Serenades: She hoped in vain to hear the usual sound of Guitars beneath her window. She took up her own, and struck a few chords: But Music that evening had lost its charms for her, and She soon replaced the Instrument in its case. She seated herself at her embroidery frame, but nothing went right: The silks were missing, the thread snapped every moment, and the needles were so expert at falling that they seemed to be animated. At length a flake of wax fell from the Taper which stood near her upon a favourite wreath of Violets: This compleatly discomposed her; She threw down her needle, and quitted the frame. It was decreed that for that night nothing should have the power of amusing her. She was the prey of Ennui, and employed herself in making fruitless wishes for the arrival of her Aunt.

As She walked with a listless air up and down the chamber, the Door caught her eye conducting to that which had been her Mother’s. She remembered that Elvira’s little Library was arranged there, and thought that She might possibly find in it some Book to amuse her till Leonella should arrive. Accordingly She took her Taper from the table, passed through the little Closet, and entered the adjoining apartment. As She looked around her, the sight of this room brought to her recollection a thousand painful ideas. It was the first time of her entering it since her Mother’s death. The total silence prevailing through the chamber, the Bed despoiled of its furniture, the cheerless hearth where stood an extinguished Lamp, and a few dying Plants in the window which, since Elvira’s loss, had been neglected, inspired Antonia with a melancholy awe. The gloom of night gave strength to this sensation. She placed her light upon the Table, and sank into a large chair, in which She had seen her Mother seated a thousand and a thousand times. She was never to see her seated there again! Tears unbidden streamed down her cheek, and She abandoned herself to the sadness which grew deeper with every moment.

Ashamed of her weakness, She at length rose from her seat: She proceeded to seek for what had brought her to this melancholy scene. The small collection of Books was arranged upon several shelves in order. Antonia examined them without finding any thing likely to interest her, till She put her hand upon a volume of old Spanish Ballads. She read a few Stanzas of one of them: They excited her curiosity. She took down the Book, and seated herself to peruse it with more ease. She trimmed the Taper, which now drew towards its end, and then read the following Ballad.

ALONZO THE BRAVE, AND FAIR IMOGINE

A Warrior so bold, and a Virgin so bright

Conversed, as They sat on the green:

They gazed on each other with tender delight;

Alonzo the Brave was the name of the Knight,

The Maid’s was the Fair Imogine.

‘And Oh!’ said the Youth, ‘since to-morrow I go

To fight in a far distant land,

Your tears for my absence soon leaving to flow,

Some Other will court you, and you will bestow

On a wealthier Suitor your hand.’

‘Oh! hush these suspicions,’ Fair Imogine said,

‘Offensive to Love and to me!

For if ye be living, or if ye be dead,

I swear by the Virgin, that none in your stead

Shall Husband of Imogine be.

‘If e’er I by lust or by wealth led aside

Forget my Alonzo the Brave,

God grant, that to punish my falsehood and pride

Your Ghost at the Marriage may sit by my side,

May tax me with perjury, claim me as Bride,

And bear me away to the Grave!’

To Palestine hastened the Hero so bold;

His Love, She lamented him sore:

But scarce had a twelve-month elapsed, when behold,

A Baron all covered with jewels and gold

Arrived at Fair Imogine’s door.

His treasure, his presents, his spacious domain

Soon made her untrue to her vows:

He dazzled her eyes; He bewildered her brain;

He caught her affections so light and so vain,

And carried her home as his Spouse.

And now had the Marriage been blest by the Priest;

The revelry now was begun:

The Tables, they groaned with the weight of the Feast;

Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased,

When the Bell of the Castle told,—‘One!’

Then first with amazement Fair Imogine found

That a Stranger was placed by her side: His air was terrific;

He uttered no sound; He spoke not, He moved not,

He looked not around,

But earnestly gazed on the Bride.

His vizor was closed, and gigantic his height;

His armour was sable to view:

All pleasure and laughter were hushed at his sight;

The Dogs as They eyed him drew back in affright,

The Lights in the chamber burned blue!

His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay;

The Guests sat in silence and fear.

At length spoke the Bride, while She trembled;

‘I pray, Sir Knight, that your Helmet aside you would lay,

And deign to partake of our chear.’

The Lady is silent: The Stranger complies.

His vizor lie slowly unclosed:

Oh! God! what a sight met Fair Imogine’s eyes!

What words can express her dismay and surprize,

When a Skeleton’s head was exposed.

All present then uttered a terrified shout;

All turned with disgust from the scene.

The worms, They crept in, and the worms, They crept out,

And sported his eyes and his temples about,

While the Spectre addressed Imogine.

‘Behold me, Thou false one! Behold me!’ He cried;

‘Remember Alonzo the Brave!

God grants, that to punish thy falsehood and pride

My Ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side,

Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as Bride

And bear thee away to the Grave!’

Thus saying, his arms round the Lady He wound,

While loudly She shrieked in dismay;

Then sank with his prey through the wide-yawning ground:

Nor ever again was Fair Imogine found,

Or the Spectre who bore her away.

Not long lived the Baron; and none since that time

To inhabit the Castle presume:

For Chronicles tell, that by order sublime

There Imogine suffers the pain of her crime,

And mourns her deplorable doom.

At midnight four times in each year does her Spright

When Mortals in slumber are bound,

Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white,

Appear in the Hall with the Skeleton-Knight,

And shriek, as He whirls her around.

While They drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave,

Dancing round them the Spectres are seen:

Their liquor is blood, and this horrible Stave

They howl.—‘To the health of Alonzo the Brave,

And his Consort, the False Imogine!’

The perusal of this story was ill-calculated to dispel Antonia’s melancholy. She had naturally a strong inclination to the marvellous; and her Nurse, who believed firmly in Apparitions, had related to her when an Infant so many horrible adventures of this kind, that all Elvira’s attempts had failed to eradicate their impressions from her Daughter’s mind. Antonia still nourished a superstitious prejudice in her bosom: She was often susceptible of terrors which, when She discovered their natural and insignificant cause, made her blush at her own weakness. With such a turn of mind, the adventure which She had just been reading sufficed to give her apprehensions the alarm. The hour and the scene combined to authorize them. It was the dead of night: She was alone, and in the chamber once occupied by her deceased Mother. The weather was comfortless and stormy: The wind howled around the House, the doors rattled in their frames, and the heavy rain pattered against the windows. No other sound was heard. The Taper, now burnt down to the socket, sometimes flaring upwards shot a gleam of light through the room, then sinking again seemed upon the point of expiring. Antonia’s heart throbbed with agitation: Her eyes wandered fearfully over the objects around her, as the trembling flame illuminated them at intervals. She attempted to rise from her seat; But her limbs trembled so violently that She was unable to proceed. She then called Flora, who was in a room at no great distance: But agitation choaked her voice, and her cries died away in hollow murmurs.