Sketches

Sketches, by Benjamin Disraeli

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Title: Sketches The Carrier Pigeon, The Consul's Daughter,
Walstein--Or A Cure For Melancholy, The Court Of Egypt, The Valley
Of Thebes, Egyptian Thebes, Shoubra Eden And Lebanon, A Syrian
Sketch, The Bosphorus, An Interview With A Great Turk, Munich, The
Spirit Of Whiggism
Author: Benjamin Disraeli
Release Date: November 13, 2006 [EBook #19781]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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Produced by David Widger

SKETCHES
By Benjamin Disraeli

THE CARRIER PIGEON
CHAPTER I.
Charolois and Branchimont
ALTHOUGH the deepest shades of twilight had descended upon the
broad bosom of the valley, and the river might almost be recognised
only by its rushing sound, the walls and battlements of the castle of
Charolois, situate on one of the loftiest heights, still blazed in the
reflected radiance of the setting sun, and cast, as it were, a glance of
triumph at the opposing castle of Branchimont, that rose on the western
side of the valley, with its lofty turrets and its massy keep black and
sharply defined against the resplendent heaven.
Deadly was the hereditary feud between the powerful lords of these
high places--the Counts of Charolois and the Barons of Branchimont,
but the hostility which had been maintained for ages never perhaps
raged with more virulence than at this moment; since the only male heir
of the house of Charolois had been slain in a tournament by the late
Baron of Branchimont, and the distracted father had avenged his
irreparable loss in the life-blood of the involuntary murderer of his son.
Yet the pilgrim, who at this serene hour might rest upon his staff and
gaze on the surrounding scene, would hardly deem that the darkest
passions of our nature had selected this fair and silent spot for the
theatre of their havoc.
The sun set; the evening star, quivering and bright, rose over the dark
towers of Branchimont; from the opposite bank a musical bell
summoned the devout vassals of Charolois to a beautiful shrine,
wherein was deposited the heart of their late young lord, and which his
father had raised on a small and richly wooded promontory, distant
about a mile from his stern hold.
At the first chime on this lovely eve came forth a lovelier maiden from

the postern of Charolois--the Lady Imogene, the only remaining child
of the bereaved count, attended by her page, bearing her book of
prayers. She took her way along the undulating heights until she
reached the sanctuary. The altar was illumined; several groups were
already kneeling,--faces of fidelity well known to their adored lady; but
as she entered, a palmer, with his broad hat drawn over his face, and
closely muffled up in his cloak, dipped his hand at the same time with
hers in the fount of holy water placed at the entrance of of the shrine,
and pressed the beautiful fingers of the Lady Imogene. A blush,
unperceived by the kneeling votaries, rose to her cheek; but apparently
such was her self-control, or such her deep respect for the hallowed
spot, that she exhibited no other symptom of emotion, and, walking to
the high altar, was soon buried in her devotions.
The mass was celebrated--the vassals rose and retired. According to her
custom, the Lady Imogene yet remained, and knelt before the tomb of
her brother. A low whisper, occasionally sounding,-assured her that
someone was at the confessional; and soon the palmer, who was now
shrived, knelt at her side. 'Lothair!' muttered the lady, apparently at her
prayers, 'beloved Lothair, thou art too bold!'
'Oh, Imogene! for thee what would I not venture?' was the hushed
reply.
'For the sake of all our hopes, wild though they be, I counsel caution.'
'Fear naught. The priest, flattered by my confession, is fairly duped. Let
me employ this golden moment to urge what I have before entreated.
Your father, Imogene, can never be appeased. Fly, then, my beloved!
oh, fly!'
'Oh, my Lothair! it never can be. Alas! whither can we fly?'
'Sweet love! I pray thee listen:--to Italy. At the court of my cousin, the
Duke of Milan, we shall be safe and happy. What care I for
Branchimont, and all its fortunes? And for that, my vassals are no
traitors. If ever the bright hour arrive when we may return in joy, trust
me, sweet love, my flag will still wave on my father's walls.'

'Oh, Lothair! why did we meet? Why, meeting, did