The Romance of the Forest

nd venom'd with disgrace the dart of Death.

SEWARD.

We now return to the Marquis de Montalt, who having seen La Motte safely
lodged in the prison of D----y, and learning the trial would not come on
immediately, had returned to his villa on the borders of the forest,
where he expected to hear news of Adeline. It had been his intention to
follow his servants to Lyons; but he now determined to wait a few days
for letters, and he had little doubt that Adeline, since her flight had
been so quickly pursued, would be overtaken, and probably before she
could reach that city. In this expectation he had been miserably
disappointed; for his servants informed him, that though they traced her
thither, they had neither been able to follow her route beyond, nor to
discover her at Lyons. This escape she probably owed to having embarked
on the Rhone, for it does not appear that the Marquis's people thought
of seeking her on the course of that river.

His presence was soon after required at Vaceau, where the court-martial
was then sitting; thither therefore he went, with passions still more
exasperated by his late disappointment, and procured the condemnation of
Theodore. The sentence was universally lamented, for Theodore was much
beloved in his regiment; and the occasion of the Marquis's personal
resentment towards him being known, every heart was interested in his
cause.

Louis de La Motte happening at this time to be stationed in the same
town, heard an imperfect account of his story; and being convinced that
the prisoner was the young chevalier whom he had formerly seen with the
Marquis at the abbey, he was induced partly from compassion, and partly
with a hope of hearing of his parents, to visit him. The compassionate
sympathy which Louis expressed, and the zeal with which he tendered his
services, affected Theodore, and excited in him a warm return of
friendship; Louis made him frequent visits, did every thing that
kindness could suggest to alleviate his sufferings, and a mutual esteem
and confidence ensued.

Theodore at length communicated the chief subject of his concern to
Louis; who discovered with inexpressible grief that it was Adeline whom
the Marquis had thus cruelly persecuted, and Adeline for whose sake the
generous Theodore was about to suffer. He soon perceived also that
Theodore was his favoured rival; but he generously suppressed the
jealous pang this discovery occasioned, and determined that no prejudice
of passion should withdraw him from the duties of humanity and
friendship. He eagerly inquired where Adeline then resided. She is yet,
I fear, in the power of the Marquis, said Theodore, sighing deeply. O
God!--these chains!--and he threw an agonizing glance upon them. Louis
sat silent and thoughtful; at length starting from his reverie, he said
he would go to the Marquis, and immediately quitted the prison. The
Marquis, was, however, already set off for Paris, where he had been
summoned to appear at the approaching trial of La Motte; and Louis, yet
ignorant of the late transactions at the abbey, returned to the prison;
where he endeavoured to forget that Theodore was the favoured rival of
his love, and to remember him only as the defender of Adeline. So
earnestly he pressed his offers of service, that Theodore, whom the
silence of his father equally surprised and afflicted, and who was very
anxious to see him once again, accepted his proposal of going himself to
Savoy. My letters I strongly suspect to have been intercepted by the
Marquis, said Theodore; if so, my poor father will have the whole weight
of this calamity to sustain at once, unless I avail myself of your
kindness, and I shall neither see him nor hear from him before I die.
Louis! there are moments when my fortitude shrinks from the conflict,
and my senses threaten to desert me.

No time was to be lost; the warrant for his execution had already
received the king's signature, and Louis immediately set forward for
Savoy. The letters of Theodore had indeed been intercepted by order of
the Marquis, who, in the hope of discovering the asylum of Adeline, had
opened and afterwards destroyed them.

But to return to La Luc, who now drew near Vaceau, and whom his family
observed to be greatly changed in his looks since he had heard the late
calamitous intelligence; he uttered no complaint; but it was too obvious
that his disorder had made a rapid progress. Louis, who during the
journey proved the goodness of his disposition by the delicate
attentions he paid this unhappy party, concealed his observation of the
decline of La Luc, and to support Adeline's spirits, endeavoured to
convince her that her apprehensions on this subject were groundless. Her
spirits did indeed require support, for she was now within a few miles
of the town that contained Theodore; and while her increasing
perturbation almost overcame her, she yet tried to appear composed. When
the carriage entered the town, she cast a timid and anxious glance from
the window in search of the prison; but having passed through several
streets without perceiving any building which corresponded with her idea
of that she looked for, the coach stopped at the inn. The frequent
changes in La Luc's countenance betrayed the violent agitation of his
mind; and when he attempted to alight, feeble and exhausted, he was
compelled to accept the support of Louis, to whom he faintly said as he
passed to the parlour, I am indeed sick at heart, but I trust the pain
will not be long. Louis pressed his hand without speaking, and hastened
back for Adeline and Clara, who were already in the passage. La Luc
wiped the tears from his eyes (they were the first he had shed) as they
entered the room. I would go immediately to my poor boy, said he to
Louis; yours, Sir, is a mournful office--be so good as to conduct me to
him. He rose to go, but, feeble and overcome with grief, again sat down.
Adeline and Clara united in entreating that he would compose himself,
and take some refreshment; and Louis urging the necessity of preparing
Theodore for the interview, prevailed with him to delay it till his son
should be informed of his arrival, and immediately quitted the inn for
the prison of his friend. When he was gone, La Luc, as a duty he owed
those he loved, tried to take some support; but the convulsions of his
throat would not suffer him to swallow the wine he held to his parched
lips, and he was now so much disordered, that he desired to retire to
his chamber, where alone, and in prayer, he passed the dreadful interval
of Louis's absence.

Clara on the bosom of Adeline, who sat in calm but deep distress,
yielded to the violence of her grief. I shall lose my dear father too,
said she; I see it; I shall lose my father and my brother together.
Adeline wept with her friend for some time in silence; and then
attempted to persuade her that La Luc was not so ill as she apprehended.

Do not mislead me with hope, she replied that will not survive the shock
of this calamity--I saw it from the first. Adeline knowing that La Luc's
distress would be heightened by the observance of his daughter's, and
that indulgence would only increase its poignancy, endeavoured to rouse
her to an exertion of fortitude by urging the necessity of commanding
her emotion in the presence of her father. This is possible, added she,
however painful may be the effort. You must know, my dear, that my grief
is not inferior to your own, yet I have hitherto been enabled to support
my sufferings in silence; for M. La Luc I do, indeed, love and reverence
as a parent.

Louis meanwhile reached the prison of Theodore, who received him with an
air of mingled surprise and impatience. What brings you back so soon?
said he, have you heard news of my father? Louis now gradually unfolded
the circumstances of their meetings and La Luc's arrival at Vaceau. A
various emotion agitated the countenance of Theodore on receiving this
intelligence. My poor father! said he, he has then followed his son to
this ignominious place! Little did I think when last we parted he would
meet me in a prison under condemnation! This reflection roused an
impetuosity of grief which deprived him for some time of speech? But
where is he? said Theodore, recovering himself; now he is come I shrink
from the interview I have so much wished for. The sight of his distress
will be dreadful to me. Louis! when I am gone, comfort my poor father.
His voice was again interrupted by sobs; and Louis, who had been fearful
of acquainting him at the same time of the arrival of La Luc and the
discovery of Adeline, now judged it proper to administer the cordial of
this latter intelligence.

The glooms of a prison and of calamity vanished for a transient moment;
those who had seen Theodore would have believed this to be the instant
which gave him life and liberty. When his first emotions subsided, I
will not repine, said he, since I know that Adeline is preserved, and
that I shall once more see my father, I will endeavour to die with
resignation. He inquired if La Luc was then in the prison, and was told
he was at the inn with Clara and Adeline. Adeline! Is Adeline there
too?--This is beyond my hopes. Yet why do I rejoice? I must never see
her more: this is no place for Adeline. Again he relapsed into an agony
of distress--and again repeated a thousand questions concerning Adeline,
till he was reminded by Louis that his father was impatient to see
him--when, shocked that he had so long detained his friend, he entreated
him to conduct La Luc to the prison, and endeavoured to recollect
fortitude for the approaching interview.

When Louis returned to the inn, La Luc was still in his chamber; and
Clara quitting the room to call him, Adeline seized with trembling
impatience the opportunity to inquire more particularly concerning
Theodore, than she chose to do in the presence of his unhappy sister.
Louis represented him to be much more tranquil than he really was.
Adeline was somewhat soothed by the account; and her tears, hitherto
restrained, flowed silently and fast till La Luc appeared. His
countenance had recovered its serenity, but was impressed with a deep
and steady sorrow, which excited in the beholder a mingled emotion of
pity and reverence. How is my son, Sir? said he as he entered the room.
We will go to him immediately.

Clara renewed the entreaties that had been already rejected, to
accompany her father, who persisted in a refusal. To-morrow you shall
see him, added he; but our first meeting must be alone. Stay with your
friend, my dear; she has need of consolation. When La Luc was gone,
Adeline, unable longer to struggle against the force of grief, retired
to her chamber and her bed.

La Luc walked silently towards the prison, resting on the arm of Louis.
It was now night: a dim lamp that hung above showed them the gates, and
Louis rang a bell: La Luc, almost overcome with agitation, leaned
against the postern till the porter appeared. He inquired for Theodore,
and followed the man; but when he reached the second courtyard he seemed
ready to faint, and again stopped. Louis desired the porter would fetch
some water; but La Luc, recovering his voice, said he should soon be
better, and would not suffer him to go. In a few minutes he was able to
follow Louis, who led him through several dark passages, and up a flight
of steps to a door which, being unbarred, disclosed to him the prison of
his son. He was seated at a small table, on which stood a lamp that
threw a feeble light across the place, sufficient only to show its
desolation and wretchedness. When he perceived La Luc he sprung from his
chair, and in the next moment was in his arms. My father! said he in a
tremulous voice. My son! exclaimed La Luc; and they were for some time
silent, and locked in each other's embrace. At length Theodore led him
to the only chair the room afforded, and seating himself with Louis at
the foot of the bed, had leisure to observe the ravages which illness
and calamity had made on the features of his parent. La Luc made several
efforts to speak; but, unable to articulate, laid his hand upon his
breast and sighed deeply. Fearful of the consequence of so affecting a
scene on his shattered frame, Louis endeavoured to call off his
attention from the immediate object of his distress, and interrupted the
silence; but La Luc shuddering, and complaining he was very cold, sunk
back in his chair. His condition roused Theodore from the stupor of
despair; and while he flew to support his father, Louis ran out for
other assistance.--I shall soon be better, Theodore, said La Luc,
unclosing his eyes, the faintness is already going off. I have not been
well of late; and this sad meeting!--Unable any longer to command
himself, Theodore wrung his hand, and the distress which had long
struggled for utterance burst in convulsive throbs from his breast. La
Lac gradually revived, and exerted himself to calm the transports of his
son; but the fortitude of the latter had now entirely forsaken him, and
he could only utter exclamation and complaint. Ah! little did I think we
should ever meet under circumstances so dreadful as the present! But I
have not deserved them, my father! the motives of my conduct have still
been just.

That is my supreme consolation, said La Luc, and ought to support you in
this hour of trial. The Almighty God, who is the judge of hearts, will
reward you hereafter. Trust in him, my son; I look to him with no feeble
hope, but with a firm reliance on his justice! La Luc's voice faltered;
he raised his eyes to heaven with an expression of meek devotion, while
the tears of humanity fell slowly on his cheek.

Still more affected by his last words, Theodore turned from him, and
paced the room with quick steps: the entrance of Louis was a very
seasonable relief to La Luc, who, taking a cordial he had brought, was
soon sufficiently restored to discourse on the subject most interesting
to him. Theodore tried to attain a command of his feelings, and
succeeded. He conversed with tolerable composure for above an hour,
during which La Luc endeavoured to elevate, by religious hope, the mind
of his son, and to enable him to meet with fortitude the awful hour that
approached. But the appearance of resignation which Theodore attained
always vanished when he reflected that he was going to leave his father
a prey to grief, and his beloved Adeline for ever. When La Luc was about
to depart he again mentioned her. Afflicting as an interview must be in
our present circumstances, said he, I cannot bear the thought of
quitting the world without seeing her once more; yet I know not how to
ask her to encounter, for my sake, the misery of a parting scene. Tell
her that my thoughts never, for a moment, leave her; that----La Luc
interrupted, and assured him, that since he so much wished it, he should
see her, though a meeting could serve only to heighten the mutual
anguish of a final separation.

I know it--I know it too well, said Theodore; yet I cannot resolve to
see her no more, and thus spare her the pain this interview must
inflict. O my father! when I think of those whom I must soon leave for
ever, my heart breaks. But I will, indeed, try to profit by your precept
and example, and show that your paternal care has not been in vain. My
good Louis, go with my father--he has need of support. How much I owe
this generous friend, added Theodore, you well know, Sir.--I do, in
truth, replied La Luc, and can never repay his kindness to you. He has
contributed to support us all; but you require comfort more than
myself--he shall remain with you--I will go alone.

This Theodore would not suffer; and La Luc no longer opposing him, they
affectionately embraced, and separated for the night.

When they reached the inn, La Luc consulted with Louis on the
possibility of addressing a petition to the sovereign time enough to
save Theodore. His distance from Paris, and the short interval before
the period fixed for this execution of the sentence, made this design
difficult: but believing it was practicable, La Luc, incapable as he
appeared of performing so long a journey, determined to attempt it.
Louis, thinking that the undertaking would prove fatal to the father,
without benefiting the son, endeavoured, though faintly, to dissuade him
from it--but his resolution was fixed--If I sacrifice the small remains
of my life in the service of my child, said he, I shall lose little: if
I save him, I shall gain every thing. There is no time to be lost--I
will set off immediately.

He would have ordered post-horses, but Louis and Clara, who were now
come from the bed-side of her friend, urged the necessity of his taking
a few hours' repose: he was at length compelled to acknowledge himself
unequal to the immediate exertion which parental anxiety prompted, and
consented to seek rest.

When he had retired to his chamber, Clara lamented the condition of her
father.--He will not bear the journey, said she; he is greatly changed
within these few days.--Louis was so entirely of her opinion, that he
could not disguise it, even to flatter her with a hope. She added, what
did not contribute to raise his spirits, that Adeline was so much
indisposed by her grief for the situation of Theodore and the sufferings
of La Luc that she dreaded the consequence.

It has been seen that the passion of young La Motte had suffered no
abatement from time or absence; on the contrary, the persecution and the
dangers which had pursued Adeline awakened all his tenderness, and drew
her nearer to his heart. When he had discovered that Theodore loved her,
and was beloved again, he experienced all the anguish of jealousy and
disappointment; for, though she had forbidden him to hope, he found it
too painful an effort to obey her, and had secretly cherished the flame
which he ought to have stifled. His heart was, however, too noble to
suffer his zeal for Theodore to abate because he was his favoured rival,
and his mind too strong not to conceal the anguish this certainty
occasioned. The attachment which Theodore had testified towards Adeline
even endeared him to Louis, when he had recovered from the first shock
of disappointment, and that conquest over jealousy which originated in
principle, and was pursued with difficulty, became afterwards his pride
and his glory. When, however, he again saw Adeline--saw her in the mild
dignity of sorrow more interesting than ever--saw her, though sinking
beneath its pressure, yet tender and solicitous to soften the
afflictions of those around her--it was with the utmost difficulty he
preserved his resolution, and forebore to express the sentiments she
inspired. When he further considered that her acute sufferings arose
from the strength of her affection, he more than ever wished himself the
object of a heart capable of so tender a regard--and Thedore in prison
and in chains was a momentary object of envy.

In the morning, when La Luc arose from short and disturbed slumbers, he
found Louis, Clara, and Adeline, whom indisposition could not prevent
from paying him this testimony of respect and affection, assembled in
the parlour of the inn to see him depart. After a slight breakfast,
during which his feelings permitted him to say little, he bade his
friends a sad farewell, and stepped into the carriage, followed by their
tears and prayers.--Adeline immediately retired to her chamber, which
she was too ill to quit that day. In the evening Clara left her friend,
and, conducted by Louis, went to visit her brother, whose emotions, on
hearing of his father's departure, were various and strong.