Red thunder-clouds, borne on the wings of the midnight whirlwind,
floated, at fits, athwart the crimson-coloured orbit of the moon;
the rising fierceness of the blast sighed through the stunted
shrubs, which, bending before its violence, inclined towards the
rocks whereon they grew: over the blackened expanse of heaven, at
intervals, was spread the blue lightning's flash; it played upon
the granite heights, and, with momentary brilliancy, disclosed the
terrific scenery of the Alps, whose gigantic and mishapen summits,
reddened by the transitory moon-beam, were crossed by black
fleeting fragments of the tempest-clouds. The rain, in big drops,
began to descend, and the thunder-peals, with louder and more
deafening crash, to shake the zenith, till the long-protracted war,
echoing from cavern to cavern, died, in indistinct murmurs, amidst
the far-extended chain of mountains. In this scene, then, at this
horrible and tempestuous hour, without one existent earthy being
whom he might claim as friend, without one resource to which he
might fly as an asylum from the horrors of neglect and poverty,
stood Wolfstein;--he gazed upon the conflicting elements; his
youthful figure reclined against a jutting granite rock; he cursed
his wayward destiny, and implored the Almighty of Heaven to permit
the thunderbolt, with crash terrific and exterminating, to descend
upon his head, that a being useless to himself and to society might
no longer, by his existence, mock Him whone'er made aught in vain.
"And what so horrible crimes have I committed," exclaimed
Wolfstein, driven to impiety by desperation, "what crimes which
merit punishment like this? What, what is death?--Ah, dissolution!
thy pang is blunted by the hard hand of long-protracted
suffering--suffering unspeakable, indescribable!" As thus he spoke,
a more terrific paroxysm of excessive despair revelled through
every vein; his brain swam around in wild confusion, and, rendered
delirious by excess of misery, he started from his flinty seat, and
swiftly hastened towards the precipice, which yawned widely beneath
his feet. "For what then should I longer drag on the galling chain
of existence?" cried Wolfstein; and his impious expression was
borne onwards by the hot and sulphurous thunder-blast.
The midnight meteors danced above the gulf upon which Wolfstein
wistfully gazed. Palpable, impenetrable darkness seemed to hang
upon it; impenetrable even by the flaming thunderbolt. "Into this
then shall I plunge myself?" soliloquized the wretched outcast,
"and by one rash act endanger, perhaps, eternal happiness;--deliver
myself up, perhaps, to the anticipation and experience of
never-ending torments? Art thou the God then, the Creator of the
universe, whom canting monks call the God of mercy and forgiveness,
and sufferest thou thy creatures to become the victims of tortures
such as fate has inflicted on me?--Oh! God, take my soul; why
should I longer live?" Thus having spoken, he sank on the rocky
bosom of the mountains. Yet, unheeding the exclamations of the
maddened Wolfstein, fiercer raged the tempest. The battling
elements, in wild confusion, seemed to threaten nature's
dissolution; the ferocious thunderbolt, with impetuous violence,
danced upon the mountains, and, collecting more terrific strength,
severed gigantic rocks from their else eternal basements; the
masses, with sound more frightful than the bursting thunder-peal,
dashed towards the valley below. Horror and desolation marked their
track. The mountain-rills, swoln by the waters of the sky, dashed
with direr impetuosity from the Alpine summits; their foaming
waters were hidden in the darkness of midnight, or only became
visible when the momentary scintillations of the lightning rested
on their whitened waves. Fiercer still than nature's wildest uproar
were the feelings of Wolfstein's bosom; his frame, at last,
conquered by the conflicting passions of his soul, no longer was
adequate to sustain the unequal contest, but sank to the earth. His
brain swam wildly, and he lay entranced in total
insensibility.
What torches are those that dispel the distant darkness of
midnight, and gleam, like meteors, athwart the blackness of the
tempest? They throw a wavering light over the thickness of the
storm: they wind along the mountains: they pass the hollow vallies.
Hark! the howling of the blast has ceased,--the thunderbolts have
dispersed, but yet reigns darkness. Distant sounds of song are
borne on the breeze: the sounds approach. A low bier holds the
remains of one whose soul is floating in the regions of eternity: a
black pall covers him. Monks support the lifeless clay: others
precede, bearing torches, and chanting a requiem for the salvation
of the departed one. They hasten towards the convent of the valley,
there to deposit the lifeless limbs of one who has explored the
frightful path of eternity before them. And now they had arrived
where lay Wolfstein: "Alas!" said one of the monks, "there reclines
a wretched traveller. He is dead; murdered, doubtlessly, by the
fell bandits who infest these wild recesses."
They raised from the earth his form: yet his bosom throbbed with
the tide of life: returning animation once more illumed his eye: he
started on his feet, and wildly inquired why they had awakened him
from that slumber which he had hoped to have been eternal.
Unconnected were his expressions, strange and impetuous the fire
darting from his restless eyeballs. At length, the monks succeeded
in calming the desperate tumultuousness of his bosom, calming at
least in some degree; for he accepted their proffered tenders of a
lodging, and essayed to lull to sleep, for a while, the horrible
idea of dereliction which pressed upon his loaded brain.
While thus they stood, loud shouts rent the air, and, before
Wolfstein and the monks could well collect their scattered
faculties, they found that a troop of Alpine bandits had surrounded
them. Trembling, from apprehension, the monks fled every way. None,
however, could escape. "What! old greybeards," cried one of the
robbers, "do you suppose that we will permit you to evade us: you
who feed upon the strength of the country, in idleness and luxury,
and have compelled many of our noble fellows, who otherwise would
have been ornaments to their country in peace, thunderbolts to
their enemies in war, to seek precarious subsistence as Alpine
bandits? If you wish for mercy, therefore, deliver unhesitatingly
your joint riches." The robbers then despoiled the monks of
whatever they might adventitiously have taken with them, and,
turning to Wolfstein, the apparent chieftain told him to yield his
money likewise. Unappalled, Wolfstein advanced towards him. The
chief held a torch; its red beams disclosed the expression of stern
severity and unyielding loftiness which sate upon the brow of
Wolfstein. "Bandit!" he answered fearlessly, "I have none,--no
money--no hope--no friends; nor do I care for existence! Now judge
if such a man be a fit victim for fear! No! I never
trembled!"
A ray of pleasure gleamed in the countenance of the bandit as
Wolfstein spoke. Grief, in inerasible traces, sate deeply implanted
on the front of the outcast. At last, the chief, advancing to
Wolfstein, who stood at some little distance, said, "My companions
think that so noble a fellow as you appear to be, would be no
unworthy member of our society; and, by Heaven, I am of their
opinion. Are you willing to become one of us?"
Wolfstein's dark gaze was fixed upon the grounds his contracted
eyebrow evinced deep thought: he started from his reverie, and,
without hesitation, consented to their proposal.
Long was it past the hour of midnight when the banditti troop, with
their newly-acquired associate, advanced along the pathless Alps.
The red glare of the torches which each held, tinged the rocks and
pine-trees, through woods of which they occasionally passed, and
alone dissipated the darkness of night. Now had they arrived at the
summit of a wild and rocky precipice, but the base indeed of
another which mingled its far-seen and gigantic outline with the
clouds of heaven. A door, which before had appeared part of the
solid rock, flew open at the chieftain's touch, and the whole party
advanced into the spacious cavern. Over the walls of the lengthened
passages putrefaction had spread a bluish clamminess; damps hung
around, and, at intervals, almost extinguished the torches, whose
glare was scarcely sufficient to dissipate the impenetrable
obscurity. After many devious windings they advanced into the body
of the cavern: it was spacious and lofty. A blazing wood fire threw
its dubious rays upon the mishapen and ill-carved walls. Lamps
suspended from the roof, dispersed the subterranean gloom, not so
completely however, but that ill-defined shades lurked in the
arched distances, whose hollow recesses led to different
apartments.
The gang had sate down in the midst of the cavern to supper, which
a female, whose former loveliness had left scarce any traces on her
cheek, had prepared. The most exquisite and expensive wines
apologized for the rusticity of the rest of the entertainment, and
induced freedom of conversation, and wild boisterous merriment,
which reigned until the bandits, overcome by the fumes of the wine
which they had drank, sank to sleep. Wolfstein, left again to
solitude and silence, reclining on his mat in a corner of the
cavern, retraced, in mental, sorrowing review, the past events of
his life: ah! that eventful existence whose fate had dragged the
heir of a wealthy potentate in Germany from the lap of luxury and
indulgence, to become a vile associate of viler bandits, in the
wild and trackless deserts of the Alps. Around their dwelling,
lofty inaccessible acclivities reared their barren summits; they
echoed to no sound save the wild hoot of the night-raven, or the
impatient yelling of the vulture, which hovered on the blast in
quest of scanty sustenance. These were the scenes without: noisy
revelry and tumultuous riot reigned within. The mirth of the
bandits appeared to arise independently of themselves: their hearts
were void and dreary. Wolfstein's limbs pillowed on the flinty
bosom of the earth: those limbs which had been wont to recline on
the softest, the most luxurious sofas. Driven from his native
country by an event which imposed upon him an insuperable barrier
to ever again returning thither, possessing no friends, not having
one single resource from which he might obtain support, where could
the wretch, the exile, seek for an asylum but with those whose
fortunes, expectations, and characters were desperate, and marked
as darkly, by fate, as his own?
Time fled, and each succeeding day inured Wolfstein more and more
to the idea of depriving his fellow-creatures of their possessions.
In a short space of time the high-souled and noble Wolfstein,
though still high-souled and noble, became an experienced bandit.
His magnanimity and courage, even whilst surrounded by the most
threatening dangers, and the unappalled expression of countenance
with which he defied the dart of death, endeared him to the
robbers: whilst with him they all asserted that they felt, as it
were, instinctively impelled to deeds of horror and danger, which,
otherwise, must have remained unattempted even by the boldest. His
was every daring expedition, his the scheme which demanded depth of
judgment and promptness of execution. Often, whilst at midnight the
band lurked perhaps beneath the overhanging rocks, which were
gloomily impended above them, in the midst, perhaps, of one of
those horrible tempests whereby the air, in those Alpine regions,
is so frequently convulsed, would the countenance of the bandits
betray some slight shade of alarm and awe; but that of Wolfstein
was fixed, unchanged, by any variation of scenery or action. One
day it was when the chief communicated to the banditti, notice
which he had received by means of spies, that an Italian Count of
immense wealth was journeying from Paris to his native country,
and, at a late hour the following evening, would pass the Alps near
this place; "They have but few attendants," added he, "and those
few will not come this way; the postillion is in our interest, and
the horses are to be overcome with fatigue when they approach the
destined spot: you understand."
The evening came. "I," said Wolfstein, "will roam into the country,
but will return before the arrival of our wealthy victim." Thus
saying, he left the cavern, and wandered out amidst the
mountains.
It was autumn. The mountain-tops, the scattered oaks which
occasionally waved their lightning-blasted heads on the summits of
the far-seen piles of rock, were gilded by the setting glory of the
sun; the trees, yellowed by the waning year, reflected a glowing
teint from their thick foliage; and the dark pine-groves which were
stretched half way up the mountain sides, added a more deepened
gloom to the shades of evening, which already began to gather
rapidly above the scenery.
It was at this dark and silent hour, that Wolfstein, unheeding the
surrounding objects,--objects which might have touched with awe, or
heightened to devotion, any other breast,--wandered
alone--pensively he wandered--dark images for futurity possessed
his soul: he shuddered when he reflected upon what had passed; nor
was his present situation calculated to satisfy a mind eagerly
panting for liberty and independence. Conscience too, awakened
conscience, upbraided him for the life which he had selected, and,
with silent whisperings, stung his soul to madness. Oppressed by
thoughts such as these, Wolfstein yet proceeded, forgetful that he
was to return before the arrival of their destined
victim--forgetful indeed was he of every external existence; and
absorbed in himself, with arms folded, and eyes fixed upon the
earth, he yet advanced. At last he sank on a mossy bank, and,
guided by the impulse of the moment, inscribed on a tablet the
following lines; for the inaccuracy of which, the perturbation of
him who wrote them, may account; he thought of past times while he
marked the paper with--
"'T was dead of the night, when I sat in my dwelling;
One glimmering lamp was expiring and low;
Around, the dark tide of the tempest was
swelling.
Along the wild mountains night-ravens were
yelling,--
They bodingly presag'd destruction and woe.
'T was then that I started!--the wild storm was
howling.
Nought was seen, save the lightning, which
danc'd in the sky;
Above me, the crash of the thunder was rolling.
And low, chilling murmurs, the blast wafted
by.
My heart sank within me--unheeded the war
Of the battling clouds, on the mountain-tops,
broke;--
Unheeded the thunder-peal crash'd in mine ear--
This heart, hard as iron, is stranger to fear;
But conscience in low, noiseless whispering
spoke.
'T was then that her form on the whirlwind
upholding.
The ghost of the murder'd Victoria strode;
In her right hand, a shadowy shroud she was
holding.
She swiftly advanc'd to my lonesome abode.
I wildly then call'd on the tempest to bear
me--"
Overcome by the wild retrospection of ideal horror, which these
swiftly-written lines excited in his soul, Wolfstein tore the
paper, on which he had written them, to pieces, and scattered them
about him. He arose from his recumbent posture, and again advanced
through the forest. Not far had he proceeded, ere a mingled murmur
broke upon the silence of night--it was the sound of human voices.
An event so unusual in these solitudes, excited Wolfstein's
momentary surprise; he started, and looking around him, essayed to
discover whence those sounds proceeded.--What was the astonishment
of Wolfstein, when he found that a detached party, who had been
sent in pursuit of the Count, had actually overtaken him, and, at
this instant, were dragging from the carriage the almost lifeless
form of a female, whose light symmetrical figure, as it leant on
the muscular frame of the robber who supported it, afforded a most
striking contrast.--They had, before his arrival, plundered the
Count of all his riches, and, enraged at the spirited defence which
he had made, had inhumanly murdered him, and cast his lifeless body
adown the yawning precipice. Transfixed by a jutting point of
granite rock, it remained there to be devoured by the ravens.
Wolfstein joined the banditti: and, although he could not recall
the deed, lamented the wanton cruelty which had been practised upon
the Count. As for the female, whose grace and loveliness made so
strong an impression upon him, he demanded that every soothing
attention should be paid to her, and his desire was enforced by the
commands of the chief, whose dark eye wandered wildly over the
beauties of the lovely Megalena de Metastasio, as if he had
secretly destined them for himself.
At last they arrived at the cavern; every resource which the cavern
of a gang of lawless and desperate villains might afford, was
brought forward to restore the fainted Megalena to life: she soon
recovered--she slowly opened her eyes, and started with surprise to
behold herself surrounded by a rough set of desperadoes, and the
gloomy walls of the cavern, upon which darkness hung, awfully
visible. Near her sate a female, whose darkened expression of
countenance seemed perfectly to correspond with the horror
prevalent throughout the cavern; her face, though bearing the marks
of an undeniable expression of familiarity with wretchedness, had
some slight remains of beauty.
It was long past midnight when each of the robbers withdrew to
repose. But his mind was too much occupied by the events of the
evening to allow the unhappy Wolfstein to find quiet;--at an early
hour he arose from his sleepless couch, to inhale the morning
breeze. The sun had but just risen; the scene was beautiful; every
thing was still, and seemed to favour that reflection, which even
propinquity to his abandoned associates imposed no indefinably
insuperable bar to. In spite of his attempts to think upon other
subjects, the image of the fair Megalena floated in his mind. Her
loveliness had made too deep an impression on it to be easily
removed; and the hapless Wolfstein, ever the victim of impulsive
feeling, found himself bound to her by ties, more lasting than he
had now conceived the transitory tyranny of woe could have imposed.
For never had Wolfstein beheld so singularly beautiful a form;--her
figure cast in the mould of most exact symmetry; her blue and
love-beaming eyes, from which occasionally emanated a wild
expression, seemingly almost superhuman; and the auburn hair which
hung in unconfined tresses down her damask cheek--formed a
resistless tout ensemble.
Heedless of every external object, Wolfstein long wandered.--The
protracted sound of the bandits' horn struck at last upon his ear,
and aroused him from his reverie. On his return to the cavern, the
robbers were assembled at their meal; the chief regarded him with
marked and jealous surprise as he entered, but made no remark. They
then discussed their uninteresting and monotonous topics, and the
meal being ended, each villain departed on his different
business.
