A Sicilian Romance | Page 5

excite a strong degree of surprise and terror. In the minds of the vulgar,
any species of the wonderful is received with avidity; and the servants
did not hesitate in believing the southern division of the castle to be
inhabited by a supernatural power. Too much agitated to sleep, they
agreed to watch for the remainder of the night. For this purpose they
arranged themselves in the east gallery, where they had a view of the
south tower from which the light had issued. The night, however,
passed without any further disturbance; and the morning dawn, which
they beheld with inexpressible pleasure, dissipated for a while the
glooms of apprehension. But the return of evening renewed the general

fear, and for several successive nights the domestics watched the
southern tower. Although nothing remarkable was seen, a report was
soon raised, and believed, that the southern side of the castle was
haunted. Madame de Menon, whose mind was superior to the effects of
superstition, was yet disturbed and perplexed, and she determined, if
the light reappeared, to inform the marquis of the circumstance, and
request the keys of those apartments.
The marquis, immersed in the dissipations of Naples, seldom
remembered the castle, or its inhabitants. His son, who had been
educated under his immediate care, was the sole object of his pride, as
the marchioness was that of his affection. He loved her with romantic
fondness, which she repaid with seeming tenderness, and secret perfidy.
She allowed herself a free indulgence in the most licentious pleasures,
yet conducted herself with an art so exquisite as to elude discovery, and
even suspicion. In her amours she was equally inconstant as ardent, till
the young Count Hippolitus de Vereza attracted her attention. The
natural fickleness of her disposition seemed then to cease, and upon
him she centered all her desires.
The count Vereza lost his father in early childhood. He was now of age,
and had just entered upon the possession of his estates. His person was
graceful, yet manly; his mind accomplished, and his manners elegant;
his countenance expressed a happy union of spirit, dignity, and
benevolence, which formed the principal traits of his character. He had
a sublimity of thought, which taught him to despise the voluptuous
vices of the Neapolitans, and led him to higher pursuits. He was the
chosen and early friend of young Ferdinand, the son of the marquis,
and was a frequent visitor in the family. When the marchioness first
saw him, she treated him with great distinction, and at length made
such advances, as neither the honor nor the inclinations of the count
permitted him to notice. He conducted himself toward her with frigid
indifference, which served only to inflame the passion it was meant to
chill. The favors of the marchioness had hitherto been sought with
avidity, and accepted with rapture; and the repulsive insensibility which
she now experienced, roused all her pride, and called into action every
refinement of coquetry.

It was about this period that Vincent was seized with a disorder which
increased so rapidly, as in a short time to assume the most alarming
appearance. Despairing of life, he desired that a messenger might be
dispatched to inform the marquis of his situation, and to signify his
earnest wish to see him before he died. The progress of his disorder
defied every art of medicine, and his visible distress of mind seemed to
accelerate his fate. Perceiving his last hour approaching, he requested
to have a confessor. The confessor was shut up with him a considerable
time, and he had already received extreme unction, when Madame de
Menon was summoned to his bedside. The hand of death was now
upon him, cold damps hung upon his brows, and he, with difficulty,
raised his heavy eyes to madame as she entered the apartment. He
beckoned her towards him, and desiring that no person might be
permitted to enter the room, was for a few moments silent. His mind
appeared to labour under oppressive remembrances; he made several
attempts to speak, but either resolution or strength failed him. At length,
giving madame a look of unutterable anguish, 'Alas, madam,' said he,
'Heaven grants not the prayer of such a wretch as I am. I must expire
long before the marquis can arrive. Since I shall see him no more, I
would impart to you a secret which lies heavy at my heart, and which
makes my last moments dreadful, as they are without hope.' 'Be
comforted,' said madame, who was affected by the energy of his
manner, 'we are taught to believe that forgiveness is never denied to
sincere repentance.' 'You, madam, are ignorant of the enormity of my
crime, and of the secret--the horrid secret which labours at my breast.
My guilt is beyond remedy