The International Monthly Magazine Volume V to No II

V >> Various >> The International Monthly Magazine Volume V to No II

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32

"The moat!" echoed the priest. "Thinkest thou, my daughter, that the
Church is wont to carry out her dealings by ordinary means? Signal as this
woman's sin has been, signal must be her expiation."

"_Can_ it be expiated?"

"Never, either in this world or the next. And every moment of delay that
we voluntarily make in hurling her to her doom, must draw down wrath on
our own heads from the saints on high."

The Lady Adelaide meekly bowed _her_ head, as if to deprecate any wrath
that might just then be falling.

"Thy lady in waiting, Lucrezia, is true, I have reason to believe,"
continued the monk.

"I believe her to be true," answered the Lady Adelaide.

"We may want her co-operation," he concluded, "for I opine that thou, my
daughter, wilt not deign to aid in this; neither do I think thou art
fitted for it."

III.

The castle was wrapped in silence, it being past the hour at which the
household retired to repose. Gina Montani was in her nightdress, though as
yet she had not touched her hair, which remained in long curls, as she had
worn it in the day. Suspense and agitation caused her to linger, and she
sat at her dressing-table in a musing attitude, her head resting on her
hand, wondering what would be the ending to all that the day had brought
forth. She had dismissed her attendant some time before. With a deep sigh
she rose to continue her preparations for rest, when the door softly
opened, and the Signora Lucrezia appeared.

"You need not prepare yourself for bed," she observed, in a low, distinct
whisper; "another sort of bed is preparing for you."

"What do you mean?" demanded the startled girl.

"That you are this night to die."

Gina shrieked.

"I may tell you," interrupted the lady, "that screams and resistance will
be wholly useless. Your doom is irrevocable, therefore it may save you
trouble to be silent."

"You are speaking falsely to me. I have done nothing to deserve death."

"Equivocation will be alike unavailing," repeated Lucrezia. "And if you
ask what you have done--you have dared to step with your ill-placed passion
between my lord and the Lady Adelaide: you have brought discredit upon the
long-upheld religion of this house."

"I have disturbed no one's faith," returned Gina. "I wish to disturb none.
It is true that I love Giovanni, Count di Visinara, but I loved him long
ere he saw the Lady Adelaide."

"What!" cried the signora, her cheeks inflamed, and her brow darkening,
"do you dare to avow your shame to my face?"

"It is no shame," answered Gina, sadly; there is nothing of guilt in such
a love as mine."

"Follow me," repeated Lucrezia. "You have no time to waste in
lamentations."

"By whose orders do I die?" demanded the indignant girl. "Not by _his_;
and no one else has a right to condemn me."

Lucrezia expected this, and was prepared. Alas, that the Lord of Visinara
should that day have left his signet ring behind him!

"Do you know this ring!" demanded Lucrezia, holding out the jewel.

"Too well. It is the Count of Visinara's."

"You may then know who has condemned you."

"Oh, Giovanni!" wailed Gina, as she sank prostrate on the floor in her
anguish, "this from you!" All idea of resistance vanished with the thought
that it was him she so loved who doomed her to destruction. "I thought he
was still at the Capella Palace," she inquired, looking up at Lucrezia, a
doubt possibly finding its way to her heart. "When did he return?"

"I came not to waste the moments in idle words," returned Lucrezia, as she
prepared to utter the falsehood; "it is sufficient for you to know that he
_has_ returned, and has given the orders that you seem inclined to
resist."

"Implore him to come to me for one moment, for a last farewell."

"I may not ask it. He is with the Lady Adelaide."

"First, my happiness, then, my life, sacrificed to appease the Lady
Adelaide! Oh, Giovanni! false, but dear Giovanni--"

"I have no orders to call those who will use violence," interrupted the
signora, "but I must do so if you delay to follow me."

"I am about to dress myself," returned Gina.

"The dress you have on will serve as well as another--and better, for a
night-gown bears some resemblance to a shroud."

"One moment for prayer," was the next imploring petition.

"Prayer for you!" broke contemptuously from the signora.

"A single moment for prayer," reiterated the victim. "If I am, indeed,
about to meet my Maker, I stand awfully in need of it; for I have of late
worshipped but one, but it has not been Him."

"Prayer for _you_, a _heretic_!" repeated Lucrezia; "you may as well offer
it up to blocks of wood or stone. The creed you profess forfeits all
inheritance for you in heaven."

Yet still Gina repeated it--"A few moments for prayer, in mercy!"

"Then pray away where you are going," returned Lucrezia, impatiently. "You
will have time enough, and to spare--minutes, and hours, and days,
perhaps."

The signora evidently took a savage pleasure in urging on the death of
Gina Montani. What could be the reason? Women in general are not so
frightfully cruel. The motive was, that she herself loved the count. As
Bianca had said, when watching the bridal cavalcade, could any be brought
into daily contact with one so attractive and not learn to love him? so it
had proved with Lucrezia. Being the favorite attendant of her mistress,
she was much with her, and consequently daily and frequently in the
company of Giovanni. He had many a gay word and passing jest for her, for
he was by nature a gallant, free-spoken man; and this had its effect.
Whilst he never glanced a thought towards her but as one necessary to wait
upon his wife, he became to her heart dangerously dear; and excessively
jealous had she been of Gina ever since she had heard the conversation in
the embroidery-room. Pushing the unfortunate girl on before her, Lucrezia
silently passed from Gina's bed-chamber to the secret passages, plenty of
which might be found in the castle. She bore a lantern in her hand, which
emitted a dim, uncertain light. At length they came to a passage, a little
beyond the chapel, far removed from the habited apartments; and in the
middle of this were two male forms, busily occupied at work of some
description. A lantern, similar to the one Lucrezia carried, was hanging
high up against the opposite wall; another stood on the ground. Gina
stopped and shivered, but Lucrezia touched her arm, and she walked on.
They were nearing the men, who were habited as monks, and their faces
shielded beneath their cowls, when the signora halted and pressed her hand
upon her brow, as if in thought. Presently she turned to Gina. A second
lie was in her mouth; but how was the ill-fated young lady to know it?
"_He_ sent you a message," she whispered. "It is his last request to you.
Will you receive it?" The unhappy victim looked up eagerly.

"He requests, then, by his love for you--by the remembrance of the happy
moments you once spent together, that you neither resist nor scream."

Her heart was too full to speak; but she bowed her head in acquiescence.
Lucrezia moved to go on. "How is my life to be taken? By the dagger? By
blows?"

"By neither--by nothing. Not a hair of your head will be touched."

"Ah! I might have guessed. It is by poison."

"It will be taken by _nothing_, I tell you. Why do you not listen to me?"

"You speak in riddles," said Gina, faintly. "But I will bear my fate,
whatever it may be."

"And in silence? _He_ asks it by your mutual love."

"All, all, for his sake," she answered. "Tell him, as I have loved, so
will I obey him to the last."

Lucrezia walked on, and Gina followed. She saw and understood the manner
of her death, but, faithful to the imagined wish of her lover, she uttered
neither remonstrance nor cry. The clock was upon the stroke of one, when
smothered groans of fear and anguish told that her punishment had begun;
but no louder sound broke the midnight silence, or carried the appalling
deed to the inhabitants of the castle. An hour passed before all was
completed: they were long in doing their deed of vengeance; and, when it
was over, Gina Montani had been removed from the world forever.

"Madame, she is gone!" was the salutation of Lucrezia, her teeth
chattering, and her face the hue of a corpse, when she entered the chamber
of her mistress.

The Lady Adelaide had not retired to rest. She was pacing her apartment in
unutterable misery. The social conditions of life, its forms and objects,
were to her as nothing since her terrible awaking to reality.

Morning had dawned before the return of the Lord of Visinara. He was
fatigued both in body and mind, and, throwing himself upon a couch, slept
for some hours. And he probably would have rested longer, had not an
unusual disturbance and commotion in his household aroused him. They were
telling a strange tale: one that, for the moment, drove the life-blood
away from his heart. It was, that the wicked dealings of Gina Montani with
Satan had been brought to light on the previous day. The holy Father
Anselmo had taxed her with her guilt, and she had openly confessed all
without reserve; and that the Evil One had appeared in the night, and had
run away with her--a just reward.

In those times, a reputed visit of the devil in _propria persona_ would
have been likely to obtain more credence than it could in these: but it
would probably be going too far to say that the Lord of Visinara
participated in the belief of his horror-stricken household. Certain it
is, he caused minute inquiries to be made, although at the express
disapprobation of the spiritual directors of the neighboring monastery,
some of whom were attached to the services of his chapel, and pointed out
to him the grievous sin it was thus to be solicitous about the fate of an
avowed heretic. But he could learn nothing. The maid who waited on her
testified that she assisted Gina to undress on the previous night. In
proof of which, the garments she had taken off were found in the chamber.
The remainder of her clothes were in their places undisturbed; the only
article missing being a nightdress, which the attendant in question said
she saw her put on; and her bed had not been slept in. Giovanni spoke to
his wife, but she observed a haughty silence, and it was useless to
question her. He had the moat dragged, and the neighborhood for miles
round scoured, but no tidings could be obtained. Yet, strange to say, in
passing on that first morning through the remote corridors, he fancied he
heard her voice pronounce his name in a tone of imploring agony. He
searched in every nook and corner, but found nothing, and soon thought no
more of it, except to marvel how his imagination could so have deceived
him.

After a time, peace was restored between the count and the Lady Adelaide;
but all bliss for her, all mutual confidence, had ceased for ever.

IV.

It was midnight. In the nursery at the castle sat the head nurse, and on
her lap was the dying heir of Visinara, now eight or ten months old. Until
nine days previous, he had been a healthy child, but, from that time, a
wasting fever had attacked him, and now he was ill unto death. The Lady
Adelaide, her eyes blinded with tears, knelt beside him, gazing on his
colorless face. The count himself was gently rubbing his little hands to
try and excite some warmth in them.

"Do you not think he looks a little, a _very_ little better?" demanded the
lady, anxiously.

The nurse hesitated. She did not think so, but she was unwilling to say
what she thought.

"His hands--are they any warmer, Giovanni?"

The count shook his head, and the nurse spoke. "There will be hope, madam,
if this last medicine should take effect."

The Lady Adelaide pressed her lips upon the infant's forehead, and burst
into tears.

"You will be ill, Adelaide," said her husband. "This incessant watching is
bad for you. Let me persuade you to take rest."

She motioned in the negative.

"Indeed, madam, but you ought to do so," interrupted Lucrezia, who was
present: "these many nights you have passed without sleep; and your health
so delicate!"

"Lie down--lie down, my love," interposed her husband, "if only for a short
time."

Again she refused; but at length they induced her to comply, her husband
promising to watch over the child, and to let her know if there should be
the slightest change in him. He passed his arms round his wife to lead her
from the chamber, for she was painfully weak; but they had scarcely gone
ten steps from the door, when a prolonged, shrill scream, as of one in
unutterable terror, reached their ears. They rushed back again. The nurse
sat, still supporting the child, but with her eyes dilating and fixed on
one corner of the room, and her face rigid with horror. It was she who had
screamed.

"My child! my child!" groaned the Lady Adelaide.

"Nurse, what in the name of the Holy Virgin is the matter?" exclaimed the
count, perceiving no alteration in the infant. "You look as if you had
seen a spectre!"

"I have seen one," shuddered the nurse.

"What _have_ you been dreaming of?" he returned, angrily.

"As true as that we are all assembled here, my lord," continued the nurse,
solemnly, "I saw the spirit of Gina Montani!"

A change came over the Lord of Visinara's countenance, but he spoke not;
whilst the Lady Adelaide clung to her husband in fear, and Lucrezia darted
into the midst of the group, and laid hold of the nurse's chair.

"What absurdity!" uttered the count, recovering himself. "How could such
an idea enter your head?"

"Were it the last word I had to speak, my lord," continued the woman, "and
to my dying day, I will maintain what I assert. I saw but now the ghost of
Gina Montani. It was in a night-dress, and stood _there_, far away, where
the lamp casts its shade."

"Nonsense!" said the count abstractedly. "Pray did you see anything?" he
continued, banteringly, to Lucrezia, and to another attendant who was in
the room. They answered that they had not: but Lucrezia was white, and
shook convulsively. A wild, frantic sob, burst from the Lady Adelaide. The
child was dead!

V.

Many months again slipped by, with little to distinguish them save the
decreasing strength of the Lady Adelaide. She had been wasting slowly
since the shock given her heart at discovering her husband's love for Gina
Montani. She loved him passionately, and she _knew_ her love was
unrequited; for affections once bestowed, as his had been, can never be
recalled and given to another. The illness of the mind had its effect upon
the body; she became worse and worse, and, after the birth of a second
child, it was evident that she was sinking rapidly. She lay upon the
stately bed in her magnificent chamber, about which were scattered many
articles consecrated to her girlhood, or to her happy bridal, and, as
such, precious. Seated by the bedside was her husband; one hand clasping
hers, in the other he held a cambric handkerchief, with which he
occasionally wiped her languid brow. "Bear with me a little longer," my
husband--but a short time."

"Bear with you, Adelaide!" he repeated; "would to the Blessed Virgin you
might be spared to me!"

"It is impossible," she sighed, pressing his hand upon her wasted bosom.

"Adelaide"--he hesitated; after awhile--"I would ask you a question--a
question which, if you can, I entreat that you will answer."

She looked at him inquiringly, and he resumed, in a low voice: "What
became of Gina Montani?"

Even amidst the pallid hue of death, a flush appeared in her cheeks at the
words. She gasped once or twice with agitation before she could speak.
"Bring not up that subject now; the only one that came between us to
disturb our peace--the one to which I am indebted for my death. I am lying
dying before you, Giovanni, and you can think but of her."

"My love, why will you so misunderstand me?"

"These thoughts excite me dreadfully," she continued. "Let us banish them,
if you would have peace visit me in dying."

"May your death be far away yet," he sighed.

"Ah! I trust so--a little longer--a few days with you and my dear child!"
And the count clasped his hands together as he silently echoed her prayer.

"Will you reach me my small casket?" she continued; "I put a few trinkets
in it, yesterday, to leave as tokens of remembrance. I must show you how I
wish them bestowed."

He rose from his seat, and looked about the room; but he could not find
the jewelcase. "The small one, Giovanni," she said; "not my diamond
casket. I thought it was in the mosaic cabinet. Or, perhaps, they may have
taken it into my dressing-room."

He went into the adjoining apartment, and had found the missing casket,
when a shriek of horror from the lips of the Lady Adelaide smote his ear.
He was in an instant at her bedside, supporting her in his arms; the
attendants also came running in. "My dearest Adelaide, what is it that
excites you thus?" But his inquiries were in vain. She lay in his arms,
sobbing convulsively, and clinging to him as if in terror. Broken words
came from her at length: "I looked up--when you were away--and saw--there, in
that darkened recess--_her_. I did--I did, Giovanni!"

"Whom?" he said becoming very pale.

"Her--Gina Montani. She was in white--a long dress it seemed. Oh! Giovanni,
leave me not again."

"I will never leave you, Adelaide. But this--it must have been a fancy--an
illusion of the imagination. We had just been speaking of her."

"You remember," she sobbed, "the night our child died--nurse saw the same
spectre. It may--"

The lady's voice failed her, and her husband started, for a rapid change
was taking place in her countenance.

"I am dying, Giovanni," she said, clinging to him, and trembling with
nervous terror. "Oh, support me! A doctor--a priest--Father Anselmo--where
are they? He gave me absolution, he said. Then why does the remembrance of
the deed come back again now? They would not have done it without my
sanction. Giovanni, my husband--protect and love our child--desert him
never. Giovanni, I say, can they indeed forgive--or does it rest above? If
so, oh! why did I have her killed? Giovanni, who is it--Father
Anselmo?--God?--_who_ is to forgive me? It _was_ murder! Giovanni, where are
you? My sight is going--Giovanni--" Her voice died away, and the count bowed
his head in his anguish, whilst the attendants pressed forwards to look at
her countenance. The Lady Adelaide had passed to another world!

VI.

It was years after the death of Lady Adelaide, that workmen were making
some alterations in the Castle of Visinara, preparatory to the second
marriage of its lord, who was about to espouse the lovely Elena di
Capella. They were taking down the walls of a secret passage, or corridor,
leading out of the chapel to the neighboring monastery. Standing, looking
on, was the count, still, to all appearance, youthful, though he was, in
reality, some years past thirty, but his features were of a cast that do
not quickly take the signs of age. By his side stood a fair boy of seven
years old--his heir--open-hearted, engaging, with a smiling countenance, on
which might be traced his father's features, whilst he had inherited his
mother's soft blue eyes and her sunny hair.

"What a while you are!" exclaimed the child, looking on, with impatience,
to see the walls come down. "You should hit harder."

"The walls are very thick, Alberto," observed his father. "All these
niches, which have been blocked up, and in the olden time contained
statues, have to come down also."

"They are taking down a niche now, are they not, papa?"

"Not yet. They are removing the wall which has been built before it. It
appears fresher, too, than the rest; of more recent date."

"It seems extraordinarily fresh, my lord," observed one of the workmen.
"The materials are old, but it has certainly been rebuilt within a few
years--within ten, I should say."

"Not it," laughed the count. "These corridors have not been touched during
my lifetime."

"This portion of them has, my lord, you may rely upon it."

As he spoke, the remainder came down with a tremendous crash, leaving the
niches exposed, There was no statue there--but the corpse of the
unfortunate Gina Montani, standing upright in her night-dress, was
revealed to their sight--nearly as fresh as if she had died but yesterday,
having been excluded from the air. The features, it is true, were scarcely
to be recognized, but the hair--the long brown curls falling on her
neck--was the same as ever. This was her horrible death then--to be walled
up alive! The count grew sick and faint as he gazed. Before he had time to
collect his startled thoughts, the child pulled at and clung to his arm.
"Take me away. What is that dreadful thing? You look white and cold too,
not as you always do. Oh, what is it? Dear papa, take me from here!"

The workmen were affrighted--perhaps more so, though less shocked, than the
count. But one of them, partially recovering himself, touched the corpse
with an implement he had been using, and it came down a heap of dust. The
Lord of Visinara turned, and with steps that tottered under him, bore his
child back to the castle.

VII.

You may hear in Italy unto this day, various versions of this tradition.
One will tell you that the Lord of Visinara offered moneys and treasures,
to the half of his possessions, to the monks, if they would lay the
troubled spirit of Gina Montani, but that, although they tried hard, they
could not do it. According to another version, the friars would not try,
for that no heretic's soul may be prayed for in the Roman Church. But,
however the monks may have settled it amongst themselves, all versions of
the history agree in one particular, that the ghost _was not_ laid; that
it never would be, and never could be, but still wanders on the earth. And
you were wise to profess faith in it too, if you go amongst the Italians,
unless you would be looked on as an unbeliever, not a degree better than
the poor Protestant maiden Montani.

Several descendants of Giovanni and Adelaide of Visinara, are still
scattered about Italy, though greatly reduced in station. And the
accredited belief is, that whenever death is going to remove one of these,
the spirit of the ill-fated Gina appears and shows itself to them in the
moments of their last and most terrible agonies.

VISION OF CHARLES XI.

From Sharpe's Magazine

We are in the habit of laughing incredulously at stories of visions and
supernatural apparitions, yet some are so well authenticated, that if we
refuse to believe them, we should, in consistency, reject all historical
evidence. The fact I am about to relate is guaranteed by a declaration
signed by four credible witnesses; I will only add, that the prediction
contained in this declaration was well known, and generally spoken of,
long before the occurrence of the events which have apparently fulfilled
it.

Charles XI., father of the celebrated Charles XII., was one of the most
despotic, but, at the same time, wisest monarchs, who ever reigned in
Sweden. He curtailed the enormous privileges of the nobility, abolished
the power of the Senate, made laws on his own authority; in a word, he
changed the constitution of the country, hitherto an oligarchy, and forced
the States to invest him with absolute power. He was a man of enlightened
and strong mind, firmly attached to the Lutheran religion; his disposition
was cold, unfeeling, and phlegmatic, utterly destitute of imagination. He
had just lost his queen, Ulrica Eleonora, and he appeared to feel her
death more than could have been expected from a man of his character. He
became even more gloomy and silent than before, and his incessant
application to business proved his anxiety to banish painful reflections.

Towards the close of an autumn evening, he was sitting in his
dressing-gown and slippers, before a large fire, in his private apartment.
His chamberlain, Count Brahe, and his physician, Baumgarten, were with
him. The evening wore away, and his majesty did not dismiss them as usual;
with his head down and his eyes fixed on the fire, he maintained a
profound silence, weary of his guests, and fearing, half unconsciously, to
remain alone. The count and his companion tried various subjects of
conversation, but could interest him in nothing. At length Brahe, who
supposed that sorrow for the queen was the cause of his depression, said
with a deep sigh, and pointing to her portrait, which hung in the room,

"What a likeness that is! How truly it gives the expression, at once so
gentle and so dignified!"

"Nonsense!" said the king, angrily, "the portrait is far too flattering;
the queen was decidedly plain."

Then, vexed at his unkind words, he rose and walked up and down the room,
to hide an emotion at which he blushed. After a few minutes he stopped
before the window looking into the court; the night was black, and the
moon in her first quarter.

The palace where the kings of Sweden now reside was not completed, and
Charles XI. who commenced it, inhabited the old palace, situated on the
Ritzholm, facing Lake Modu. It is a large building in the form of a
horseshoe: the king's private apartments were in one of the extremities;
opposite was the great hall where the States assembled to receive
communications from the crown. The windows of that hall suddenly appeared
illuminated. The king was startled, but at first supposed that a servant
with a light was passing through; but then, that hall was never opened
except on state occasions, and the light was too brilliant to be caused by
a single lamp. It then occurred to him that it must be a conflagration;
but there was no smoke, and the glass was not broken; it had rather the
appearance of an illumination. Brahe's attention being called to it, he
proposed sending one of the pages to ascertain the cause of the light, but
the king stopped him, saying, he would go himself to the hall. He left the
room, followed by the count and doctor, with lighted torches. Baumgarten
called the man who had charge of the keys, and ordered him, in the king's
name, to open the doors of the great hall. Great was his surprise at this
unexpected command. He dressed himself quickly, and came to the king with
his bunch of keys. He opened the first door of a gallery which served as
an antechamber to the hall. The king entered, and what was his amazement
at finding the walls hung with black.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32