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Chapter 5

AFTER the repose of a few days, we held a council, to decide on our future
movements. Our first plan had been to quit our wintry native latitude, and
seek for our diminished numbers the luxuries and delights of a southern
climate. We had not fixed on any precise spot as the termination of our
wanderings; but a vague picture of perpetual spring, fragrant groves, and
sparkling streams, floated in our imagination to entice us on. A variety of
causes had detained us in England, and we had now arrived at the middle of
February; if we pursued our original project, we should find ourselves in a
worse situation than before, having exchanged our temperate climate for the
intolerable heats of a summer in Egypt or Persia. We were therefore obliged
to modify our plan, as the season continued to be inclement; and it was
determined that we should await the arrival of spring in our present abode,
and so order our future movements as to pass the hot months in the icy
vallies of Switzerland, deferring our southern progress until the ensuing
autumn, if such a season was ever again to be beheld by us.

The castle and town of Versailles afforded our numbers ample accommodation,
and foraging parties took it by turns to supply our wants. There was a
strange and appalling motley in the situation of these the last of the
race. At first I likened it to a colony, which borne over the far seas,
struck root for the first time in a new country. But where was the bustle
and industry characteristic of such an assemblage; the rudely constructed
dwelling, which was to suffice till a more commodious mansion could be
built; the marking out of fields; the attempt at cultivation; the eager
curiosity to discover unknown animals and herbs; the excursions for the
sake of exploring the country? Our habitations were palaces our food was
ready stored in granaries--there was no need of labour, no
inquisitiveness, no restless desire to get on. If we had been assured that
we should secure the lives of our present numbers, there would have been
more vivacity and hope in our councils. We should have discussed as to the
period when the existing produce for man's sustenance would no longer
suffice for us, and what mode of life we should then adopt. We should have
considered more carefully our future plans, and debated concerning the spot
where we should in future dwell. But summer and the plague were near, and
we dared not look forward. Every heart sickened at the thought of
amusement; if the younger part of our community were ever impelled, by
youthful and untamed hilarity, to enter on any dance or song, to cheer the
melancholy time, they would suddenly break off, checked by a mournful look
or agonizing sigh from any one among them, who was prevented by sorrows and
losses from mingling in the festivity. If laughter echoed under our roof,
yet the heart was vacant of joy; and, when ever it chanced that I witnessed
such attempts at pastime, they encreased instead of diminishing my sense of
woe. In the midst of the pleasure-hunting throng, I would close my eyes,
and see before me the obscure cavern, where was garnered the mortality of
Idris, and the dead lay around, mouldering in hushed repose. When I again
became aware of the present hour, softest melody of Lydian flute, or
harmonious maze of graceful dance, was but as the demoniac chorus in the
Wolf's Glen, and the caperings of the reptiles that surrounded the magic

My dearest interval of peace occurred, when, released from the obligation
of associating with the crowd, I could repose in the dear home where my
children lived. Children I say, for the tenderest emotions of paternity
bound me to Clara. She was now fourteen; sorrow, and deep insight into the
scenes around her, calmed the restless spirit of girlhood; while the
remembrance of her father whom she idolized, and respect for me and Adrian,
implanted an high sense of duty in her young heart. Though serious she was
not sad; the eager desire that makes us all, when young, plume our wings,
and stretch our necks, that we may more swiftly alight tiptoe on the height
of maturity, was subdued in her by early experience. All that she could
spare of overflowing love from her parents' memory, and attention to her
living relatives, was spent upon religion. This was the hidden law of her
heart, which she concealed with childish reserve, and cherished the more
because it was secret. What faith so entire, what charity so pure, what
hope so fervent, as that of early youth? and she, all love, all tenderness
and trust, who from infancy had been tossed on the wide sea of passion and
misfortune, saw the finger of apparent divinity in all, and her best hope
was to make herself acceptable to the power she worshipped. Evelyn was only
five years old; his joyous heart was incapable of sorrow, and he enlivened
our house with the innocent mirth incident to his years.

The aged Countess of Windsor had fallen from her dream of power, rank and
grandeur; she had been suddenly seized with the conviction, that love was
the only good of life, virtue the only ennobling distinction and enriching
wealth. Such a lesson had been taught her by the dead lips of her neglected
daughter; and she devoted herself, with all the fiery violence of her
character, to the obtaining the affection of the remnants of her family. In
early years the heart of Adrian had been chilled towards her; and, though
he observed a due respect, her coldness, mixed with the recollection of
disappointment and madness, caused him to feel even pain in her society.
She saw this, and yet determined to win his love; the obstacle served the
rather to excite her ambition. As Henry, Emperor of Germany, lay in the
snow before Pope Leo's gate for three winter days and nights, so did she in
humility wait before the icy barriers of his closed heart, till he, the
servant of love, and prince of tender courtesy, opened it wide for her
admittance, bestowing, with fervency and gratitude, the tribute of filial
affection she merited. Her understanding, courage, and presence of mind,
became powerful auxiliaries to him in the difficult task of ruling the
tumultuous crowd, which were subjected to his control, in truth by a single

The principal circumstances that disturbed our tranquillity during this
interval, originated in the vicinity of the impostor-prophet and his
followers. They continued to reside at Paris; but missionaries from among
them often visited Versailles--and such was the power of assertions,
however false, yet vehemently iterated, over the ready credulity of the
ignorant and fearful, that they seldom failed in drawing over to their
party some from among our numbers. An instance of this nature coming
immediately under our notice, we were led to consider the miserable state
in which we should leave our countrymen, when we should, at the approach of
summer, move on towards Switzerland, and leave a deluded crew behind us in
the hands of their miscreant leader. The sense of the smallness of our
numbers, and expectation of decrease, pressed upon us; and, while it would
be a subject of congratulation to ourselves to add one to our party, it
would be doubly gratifying to rescue from the pernicious influence of
superstition and unrelenting tyranny, the victims that now, though
voluntarily enchained, groaned beneath it. If we had considered the
preacher as sincere in a belief of his own denunciations, or only
moderately actuated by kind feeling in the exercise of his assumed powers,
we should have immediately addressed ourselves to him, and endeavoured with
our best arguments to soften and humanize his views. But he was instigated
by ambition, he desired to rule over these last stragglers from the fold of
death; his projects went so far, as to cause him to calculate that, if,
from these crushed remains, a few survived, so that a new race should
spring up, he, by holding tight the reins of belief, might be remembered by
the post-pestilential race as a patriarch, a prophet, nay a deity; such as
of old among the post-diluvians were Jupiter the conqueror, Serapis the
lawgiver, and Vishnou the preserver. These ideas made him inflexible in his
rule, and violent in his hate of any who presumed to share with him his
usurped empire.

It is a strange fact, but incontestible, that the philanthropist, who
ardent in his desire to do good, who patient, reasonable and gentle, yet
disdains to use other argument than truth, has less influence over men's
minds, than he who, grasping and selfish, refuses not to adopt any means,
nor awaken any passion, nor diffuse any falsehood, for the advancement of
his cause. If this from time immemorial has been the case, the contrast was
infinitely greater, now that the one could bring harrowing fears and
transcendent hopes into play; while the other had few hopes to hold forth,
nor could influence the imagination to diminish the fears which he himself
was the first to entertain. The preacher had persuaded his followers, that
their escape from the plague, the salvation of their children, and the rise
of a new race of men from their seed, depended on their faith in, and their
submission to him. They greedily imbibed this belief; and their
over-weening credulity even rendered them eager to make converts to the
same faith.

How to seduce any individuals from such an alliance of fraud, was a
frequent subject of Adrian's meditations and discourse. He formed many
plans for the purpose; but his own troop kept him in full occupation to
ensure their fidelity and safety; beside which the preacher was as cautious
and prudent, as he was cruel. His victims lived under the strictest rules
and laws, which either entirely imprisoned them within the Tuileries, or
let them out in such numbers, and under such leaders, as precluded the
possibility of controversy. There was one among them however whom I
resolved to save; she had been known to us in happier days; Idris had loved
her; and her excellent nature made it peculiarly lamentable that she should
be sacrificed by this merciless cannibal of souls.

This man had between two and three hundred persons enlisted under his
banners. More than half of them were women; there were about fifty children
of all ages; and not more than eighty men. They were mostly drawn from that
which, when such distinctions existed, was denominated the lower rank of
society. The exceptions consisted of a few high-born females, who,
panic-struck, and tamed by sorrow, had joined him. Among these was one,
young, lovely, and enthusiastic, whose very goodness made her a more easy
victim. I have mentioned her before: Juliet, the youngest daughter, and now
sole relic of the ducal house of L---. There are some beings, whom fate
seems to select on whom to pour, in unmeasured portion, the vials of her
wrath, and whom she bathes even to the lips in misery. Such a one was the
ill-starred Juliet. She had lost her indulgent parents, her brothers and
sisters, companions of her youth; in one fell swoop they had been carried
off from her. Yet she had again dared to call herself happy; united to her
admirer, to him who possessed and filled her whole heart, she yielded to
the lethean powers of love, and knew and felt only his life and presence.
At the very time when with keen delight she welcomed the tokens of
maternity, this sole prop of her life failed, her husband died of the
plague. For a time she had been lulled in insanity; the birth of her child
restored her to the cruel reality of things, but gave her at the same time
an object for whom to preserve at once life and reason. Every friend and
relative had died off, and she was reduced to solitude and penury; deep
melancholy and angry impatience distorted her judgment, so that she could
not persuade herself to disclose her distress to us. When she heard of the
plan of universal emigration, she resolved to remain behind with her
child, and alone in wide England to live or die, as fate might decree,
beside the grave of her beloved. She had hidden herself in one of the many
empty habitations of London; it was she who rescued my Idris on the fatal
twentieth of November, though my immediate danger, and the subsequent
illness of Idris, caused us to forget our hapless friend. This circumstance
had however brought her again in contact with her fellow-creatures; a
slight illness of her infant, proved to her that she was still bound to
humanity by an indestructible tie; to preserve this little creature's life
became the object of her being, and she joined the first division of
migrants who went over to Paris.

She became an easy prey to the methodist; her sensibility and acute fears
rendered her accessible to every impulse; her love for her child made her
eager to cling to the merest straw held out to save him. Her mind, once
unstrung, and now tuned by roughest inharmonious hands, made her credulous:
beautiful as fabled goddess, with voice of unrivalled sweetness, burning
with new lighted enthusiasm, she became a stedfast proselyte, and powerful
auxiliary to the leader of the elect. I had remarked her in the crowd, on
the day we met on the Place Vendome; and, recollecting suddenly her
providential rescue of my lost one, on the night of the twentieth of
November, I reproached myself for my neglect and ingratitude, and felt
impelled to leave no means that I could adopt untried, to recall her to her
better self, and rescue her from the fangs of the hypocrite destroyer.

I will not, at this period of my story, record the artifices I used to
penetrate the asylum of the Tuileries, or give what would be a tedious
account of my stratagems, disappointments, and perseverance. I at last
succeeded in entering these walls, and roamed its halls and corridors in
eager hope to find my selected convert. In the evening I contrived to
mingle unobserved with the congregation, which assembled in the chapel to
listen to the crafty and eloquent harangue of their prophet. I saw Juliet
near him. Her dark eyes, fearfully impressed with the restless glare of
madness, were fixed on him; she held her infant, not yet a year old, in her
arms; and care of it alone could distract her attention from the words to
which she eagerly listened. After the sermon was over, the congregation
dispersed; all quitted the chapel except she whom I sought; her babe had
fallen asleep; so she placed it on a cushion, and sat on the floor beside,
watching its tranquil slumber.

I presented myself to her; for a moment natural feeling produced a
sentiment of gladness, which disappeared again, when with ardent and
affectionate exhortation I besought her to accompany me in flight from this
den of superstition and misery. In a moment she relapsed into the delirium
of fanaticism, and, but that her gentle nature forbade, would have loaded
me with execrations. She conjured me, she commanded me to leave her--
"Beware, O beware," she cried, "fly while yet your escape is practicable.
Now you are safe; but strange sounds and inspirations come on me at times,
and if the Eternal should in awful whisper reveal to me his will, that to
save my child you must be sacrificed, I would call in the satellites of him
you call the tyrant; they would tear you limb from limb; nor would I hallow
the death of him whom Idris loved, by a single tear."

She spoke hurriedly, with tuneless voice, and wild look; her child awoke,
and, frightened, began to cry; each sob went to the ill-fated mother's
heart, and she mingled the epithets of endearment she addressed to her
infant, with angry commands that I should leave her. Had I had the means, I
would have risked all, have torn her by force from the murderer's den, and
trusted to the healing balm of reason and affection. But I had no choice,
no power even of longer struggle; steps were heard along the gallery, and
the voice of the preacher drew near. Juliet, straining her child in a close
embrace, fled by another passage. Even then I would have followed her; but
my foe and his satellites entered; I was surrounded, and taken prisoner.

I remembered the menace of the unhappy Juliet, and expected the full
tempest of the man's vengeance, and the awakened wrath of his followers, to
fall instantly upon me. I was questioned. My answers were simple and
sincere. "His own mouth condemns him," exclaimed the impostor; "he
confesses that his intention was to seduce from the way of salvation our
well-beloved sister in God; away with him to the dungeon; to-morrow he dies
the death; we are manifestly called upon to make an example, tremendous and
appalling, to scare the children of sin from our asylum of the saved."

My heart revolted from his hypocritical jargon: but it was unworthy of me
to combat in words with the ruffian; and my answer was cool; while, far
from being possessed with fear, methought, even at the worst, a man true to
himself, courageous and determined, could fight his way, even from the
boards of the scaffold, through the herd of these misguided maniacs.
"Remember," I said, "who I am; and be well assured that I shall not die
unavenged. Your legal magistrate, the Lord Protector, knew of my design,
and is aware that I am here; the cry of blood will reach him, and you and
your miserable victims will long lament the tragedy you are about to act."

My antagonist did not deign to reply, even by a look;--"You know your
duty," he said to his comrades,--"obey."

In a moment I was thrown on the earth, bound, blindfolded, and hurried away
--liberty of limb and sight was only restored to me, when, surrounded by
dungeon-walls, dark and impervious, I found myself a prisoner and alone.

Such was the result of my attempt to gain over the proselyte of this man of
crime; I could not conceive that he would dare put me to death.--Yet I
was in his hands; the path of his ambition had ever been dark and cruel;
his power was founded upon fear; the one word which might cause me to die,
unheard, unseen, in the obscurity of my dungeon, might be easier to speak
than the deed of mercy to act. He would not risk probably a public
execution; but a private assassination would at once terrify any of my
companions from attempting a like feat, at the same time that a cautious
line of conduct might enable him to avoid the enquiries and the vengeance
of Adrian.

Two months ago, in a vault more obscure than the one I now inhabited, I had
revolved the design of quietly laying me down to die; now I shuddered at
the approach of fate. My imagination was busied in shaping forth the kind
of death he would inflict. Would he allow me to wear out life with famine;
or was the food administered to me to be medicined with death? Would he
steal on me in my sleep; or should I contend to the last with my murderers,
knowing, even while I struggled, that I must be overcome? I lived upon an
earth whose diminished population a child's arithmetic might number; I had
lived through long months with death stalking close at my side, while at
intervals the shadow of his skeleton-shape darkened my path. I had believed
that I despised the grim phantom, and laughed his power to scorn.

Any other fate I should have met with courage, nay, have gone out gallantly
to encounter. But to be murdered thus at the midnight hour by cold-blooded
assassins, no friendly hand to close my eyes, or receive my parting
blessing--to die in combat, hate and execration--ah, why, my angel
love, didst thou restore me to life, when already I had stepped within the
portals of the tomb, now that so soon again I was to be flung back a
mangled corpse!

Hours passed--centuries. Could I give words to the many thoughts which
occupied me in endless succession during this interval, I should fill
volumes. The air was dank, the dungeon-floor mildewed and icy cold; hunger
came upon me too, and no sound reached me from without. To-morrow the
ruffian had declared that I should die. When would to-morrow come? Was it
not already here?

My door was about to be opened. I heard the key turn, and the bars and
bolts slowly removed. The opening of intervening passages permitted sounds
from the interior of the palace to reach me; and I heard the clock strike
one. They come to murder me, I thought; this hour does not befit a public
execution. I drew myself up against the wall opposite the entrance; I
collected my forces, I rallied my courage, I would not fall a tame prey.
Slowly the door receded on its hinges--I was ready to spring forward to
seize and grapple with the intruder, till the sight of who it was changed
at once the temper of my mind. It was Juliet herself; pale and trembling
she stood, a lamp in her hand, on the threshold of the dungeon, looking at
me with wistful countenance. But in a moment she re-assumed her
self-possession; and her languid eyes recovered their brilliancy. She said,
"I am come to save you, Verney."

"And yourself also," I cried: "dearest friend, can we indeed be saved?"

"Not a word," she replied, "follow me!"

I obeyed instantly. We threaded with light steps many corridors, ascended
several flights of stairs, and passed through long galleries; at the end of
one she unlocked a low portal; a rush of wind extinguished our lamp; but,
in lieu of it, we had the blessed moon-beams and the open face of heaven.
Then first Juliet spoke:--"You are safe," she said, "God bless you!--

I seized her reluctant hand--"Dear friend," I cried, "misguided victim,
do you not intend to escape with me? Have you not risked all in
facilitating my flight? and do you think, that I will permit you to return,
and suffer alone the effects of that miscreant's rage? Never!"

"Do not fear for me," replied the lovely girl mournfully, "and do not
imagine that without the consent of our chief you could be without these
walls. It is he that has saved you; he assigned to me the part of leading
you hither, because I am best acquainted with your motives for coming here,
and can best appreciate his mercy in permitting you to depart."

"And are you," I cried, "the dupe of this man? He dreads me alive as an
enemy, and dead he fears my avengers. By favouring this clandestine escape
he preserves a shew of consistency to his followers; but mercy is far from
his heart. Do you forget his artifices, his cruelty, and fraud? As I am
free, so are you. Come, Juliet, the mother of our lost Idris will welcome
you, the noble Adrian will rejoice to receive you; you will find peace and
love, and better hopes than fanaticism can afford. Come, and fear not; long
before day we shall be at Versailles; close the door on this abode of crime
--come, sweet Juliet, from hypocrisy and guilt to the society of the
affectionate and good."

I spoke hurriedly, but with fervour: and while with gentle violence I drew
her from the portal, some thought, some recollection of past scenes of
youth and happiness, made her listen and yield to me; suddenly she broke
away with a piercing shriek:--"My child, my child! he has my child; my
darling girl is my hostage."

She darted from me into the passage; the gate closed between us--she was
left in the fangs of this man of crime, a prisoner, still to inhale the
pestilential atmosphere which adhered to his demoniac nature; the unimpeded
breeze played on my cheek, the moon shone graciously upon me, my path was
free. Glad to have escaped, yet melancholy in my very joy, I retrod my
steps to Versailles.

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