Nothing is more painful to the
human mind, than, after the feelings
have been worked up by a quick
succession of events, the dead
calmness of inaction and certainty
which follows, and deprives the
soul both of hope and fear. Justine
died; she rested; and I was alive.
The blood flowed freely in my
veins, but a weight of despair
and remorse pressed on my heart,
which nothing could remove. Sleep
fled from my eyes; I wandered
like an evil spirit, for I had
committed deeds of mischief beyond
description horrible, and more,
much more (I persuaded myself),
was yet behind. Yet my heart
overflowed with kindness, and
the love of virtue. I had begun
life with benevolent intentions,
and thirsted for the moment when
I should put them in practice,
and make myself useful to my
fellow-beings. Now all was blasted:
instead of that serenity of conscience,
which allowed me to look back
upon the past with self satisfaction,
and from thence to gather promise
of new hopes, I was seized by
remorse and the sense of guilt,
which hurried me away to a hell
of intense tortures, such as
no
language can describe.
This state of mind preyed upon
my health, which had perhaps
never entirely recovered from
the first shock it had sustained.
I shunned the face of man; all
sound of joy or complacency was
torture to me; solitude was my
only consolation--deep, dark,
deathlike solitude.
My father observed
with pain the alteration perceptible
in
my disposition and habits, and
endeavoured by arguments deduced
from the feelings of his serene
conscience and guiltless life,
to inspire me with fortitude,
and awaken in me the courage
to dispel the dark cloud which
brooded over me. "Do you think,
Victor," said he, "that I do
not suffer also? No one could
love a child more than I loved
your brother" (tears came into
his eyes as he spoke); "but is
it not a duty to the survivors,
that we should refrain from augmenting
their unhappiness by an appearance
of immoderate grief? It is also
a duty owed to yourself; for
excessive sorrow prevents improvement
or enjoyment, or even the discharge
of daily usefulness, without
which no man is fit for society."
This advice, although good,
was totally inapplicable to my
case; I should have been the
first to hide my grief, and console
my friends, if remorse had not
mingled its bitterness, and terror
its alarm with my other sensations.
Now I could only answer my father
with a look of despair, and endeavour
to hide myself from his view.
About this time we retired
to our house at Belrive. This
change was particularly agreeable
to me. The shutting of the gates
regularly at ten o'clock, and
the impossibility of remaining
on the lake after that hour,
had rendered our residence within
the walls of Geneva very irksome
to me. I was now free. Often,
after the rest of the family
had retired for the night, I
took the boat, and passed many
hours upon the water. Sometimes,
with my sails set, I was carried
by the wind; and sometimes, after
rowing into the middle of the
lake, I left the boat to pursue
its own course, and gave way
to my own miserable reflections.
I was often tempted, when all
was at peace around me, and I
the only unquiet thing that wandered
restless in a scene so beautiful
and heavenly if I except some
bat, or the frogs, whose harsh
and interrupted croaking was
heard only when I approached
the shore--often, I say, I was
tempted to plunge into the silent
lake, that the waters might close
over me and my calamities for
ever. But I was restrained, when
I thought of the heroic and suffering
Elizabeth, whom I tenderly loved,
and whose existence was bound
up in mine. I thought also of
my father and surviving brother:
should I by my base desertion
leave them exposed and unprotected
to the malice of the fiend whom
I had let loose among them?
At these moments I wept bitterly,
and wished that peace would revisit
my mind only that I might afford
them consolation and happiness.
But that could not be. Remorse
extinguished every hope. I had
been the author of unalterable
evils; and I lived in daily fear,
lest the monster whom I had created
should perpetrate some new wickedness.
I had an obscure feeling that
all was not over, and that he
would still commit some signal
crime, which by its enormity
should almost efface the recollection
of the past. There was always
scope for fear, so long as anything
I loved remained behind. My abhorrence
of this fiend cannot be conceived.
When I thought of him, I gnashed
my teeth, my eyes became inflamed,
and I ardently wished to extinguish
that life which I had so thoughtlessly
bestowed. When I reflected on
his crimes and malice, my hatred
and revenge burst all bounds
of moderation. I would have made
a pilgrimage to the highest peak
of the Andes, could I, when there,
have precipitated him to their
base. I wished to see him again,
that I might wreak the utmost
extent of abhorrence on his head,
and avenge the deaths of William
and Justine.
Our house was the house of
mourning. My father's health
was deeply shaken by the horror
of the recent events. Elizabeth
was sad and desponding; she no
longer took delight in her ordinary
occupations; all pleasure seemed
to her sacrilege toward the dead;
eternal woe and tears she then
thought was the just tribute
she should pay to innocence so
blasted and destroyed. She was
no longer that happy creature,
who in earlier youth wandered
with me on the banks of the lake,
and talked with ecstasy of our
future prospects. The first of
those sorrows which are sent
to wean us from the earth, had
visited her, and its dimming
influence quenched her dearest
smiles.
"When I reflect, my dear cousin," said
she, "on the miserable death
of Justine Moritz, I no longer
see the world and its works as
they before appeared to me. Before,
I looked upon the accounts of
vice and injustice, that I read
in books or heard from others,
as tales of ancient days, or
imaginary evils; at least they
were remote, and more familiar
to reason than to the imagination;
but now misery has come home,
and men appear to me as monsters
thirsting for each other's blood.
Yet I am certainly unjust. Everybody
believed that poor girl to be
guilty; and if she could have
committed the crime for which
she suffered, assuredly she would
have been the most depraved of
human creatures. For the sake
of a few jewels, to have murdered
the son of her benefactor and
friend, a child whom she had
nursed from its birth, and appeared
to love as if it had been her
own! I could not consent to the
death of any human being; but
certainly I should have thought
such a creature unfit to remain
in the society of men. But she
was innocent. I know, I feel
she was innocent; you are of
the same opinion, and that confirms
me. Alas! Victor, when falsehood
can look so like the truth, who
can assure themselves of certain
happiness? I feel as if I were
walking on the edge of a precipice,
towards which thousands are crowding,
and endeavouring to plunge me
into the abyss. William and Justine
were assassinated, and the murderer
escapes; he walks about the world
free, and perhaps respected.
But even if I were condemned
to suffer on the scaffold for
the same crimes, I would not
change places with such a wretch."
I listened
to this discourse with the
extremest agony I, not
in deed, but in effect, was the
true murderer Elizabeth read
my anguish in my countenance,
and kindly taking my hand, said, "My
dearest friend, you must calm
yourself. These events have affected
me, God knows how deeply; but
I am not so wretched as you are.
There is an expression of despair,
and sometimes of revenge, in
your countenance, that makes
me tremble. Dear Victor, banish
these dark passions. Remember
the friends around you, who centre
all their hopes in you. Have
we lost the power of rendering
you happy? Ah! while we love--while
we are true to each other, here
in this land of peace and beauty,
your native country, we may reap
every tranquil blessing--what
can disturb our peace?"
And could not such words from
her whom I fondly prized before
every other gift of fortune,
suffice to chase away the fiend
that lurked in my heart? Even
as she spoke I drew near to her,
as if in terror; lest at that
very moment the destroyer had
been near to rob me of her.
Thus not the tenderness of
friendship, nor the beauty of
earth, nor of heaven, could redeem
my soul from woe: the very accents
of love were ineffectual. I was
encompassed by a cloud which
no beneficial influence could
penetrate. The wounded deer dragging
its fainting limbs to some untrodden
brake, there to gaze upon the
arrow which had pierced it, and
to die--was but a type of me.
Sometimes I could cope with
the sullen despair that overwhelmed
me: but sometimes the whirlwind
passions of my soul drove me
to seek, by bodily exercise and
by change of place, some relief
from my intolerable sensations.
It was during an access of this
kind that I suddenly left my
home, and bending my steps towards
the near Alpine valleys, sought
in the magnificence, the eternity
of such scenes, to forget myself
and my ephemeral, because human,
sorrows. My wanderings were directed
towards the valley of Chamounix.
I had visited it frequently during
my boyhood. Six years had passed
since then: _I_ was a wreck--but
nought had changed in those savage
and enduring scenes.
I performed the first part
of my journey on horseback I
afterwards hired a mule, as the
more sure footed, and least liable
to receive injury on these rugged
roads. The weather was fine:
it was about the middle of the
month of August, nearly two months
after the death of Justine; that
miserable epoch from which I
dated all my woe. The weight
upon my spirit was sensibly lightened
as I plunged yet deeper in the
ravine of Arve. The immense mountains
and precipices that overhung
me on every side--the sound of
the river raging among the rocks,
and the dashing of the waterfalls
around, spoke of a power mighty
as Omnipotence--and I ceased
to fear, or to bend before any
being less almighty than that
which had created and ruled the
elements, here displayed in their
most terrific guise. Still, as
I ascended higher, the valley
assumed a more magnificent and
astonishing character. Ruined
castles hanging on the precipices
of piny mountains; the impetuous
Arve, and cottages every here
and there peeping forth from
among the trees, formed a scene
of singular beauty. But it was
augmented and rendered sublime
by the mighty Alps, whose white
and shining pyramids and domes
towered above all, as belonging
to another earth, the habitations
of another race of beings.
I passed the bridge of Pelissier,
where the ravine, which the river
forms, opened before me, and
I began to ascend the mountain
that overhangs it. Soon after
I entered the valley of Chamounix.
This valley is more wonderful
and sublime, but not so beautiful
and picturesque, as that of Servox,
through which I had just passed.
The high and snowy mountains
were its immediate boundaries;
but I saw no more ruined castles
and fertile fields. Immense glaciers
approached the road; I heard
the rumbling thunder of the falling
avalanche, and marked the smoke
of its passage. Mont Blanc, the
supreme and magnificent Mont
Blanc, raised itself from the
surrounding _aiguilles_, and
its tremendous _dome_ overlooked
the valley.
A tingling long-lost sense
of pleasure often came across
me during this journey. Some
turn in the road, some new object
suddenly perceived and recognised,
reminded me of days gone by,
and were associated with the
light-hearted gaiety of boyhood.
The very winds whispered in soothing
accents, and maternal nature
bade me weep no more. Then again
the kindly influence ceased to
act--I found myself fettered
again to grief, and indulging
in all the misery of reflection.
Then I spurred on my animal,
striving so to forget the world,
my fears, and, more than all,
myself--or, in a more desperate
fashion, I alighted, and threw
myself on the grass, weighed
down by horror and despair.
At length I arrived at the
village of Chamounix. Exhaustion
succeeded to the extreme fatigue
both of body and of mind which
I had endured. For a short space
of time I remained at the window,
watching the pallid lightnings
that played above Mont Blanc,
and listening to the rushing
of the Arve, which pursued its
noisy way beneath. The same lulling
sounds acted as a lullaby to
my too keen sensations: when
I placed my head upon my pillow,
sleep crept over me; I felt it
as it came, and blest the giver
of oblivion. |