C H I L L N.
 
 CHILLON; 
 
 OR, 
 
 PROTESTANTS OF THE SIXTEENTH 
 CENTUEY, 
 
 AN HISTOKICAL TALE. 
 i3g Sane Houfsa Mllgams. 
 
 Chillon, thy prison-is a holy place. 
 
 SONNET TO BONNIVARD. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 J. HATCHARD AND SON, 187, PICCADILLY. 
 1845.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTKI) BV (!. J IMI.MKR, SAVOY STHKKT, STRAND.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF VOLUME SECOND. 
 
 CHAPTER I, 
 The Revels . . . . Page 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 The Banquet . . . . . .18 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 The Knight of Jerusalem . . . .32 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 The Trial .. . . . . 47 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Pilgrim . . . -. . .63 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The Parting Token . . " .78
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 The Escape . . . . -97 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 The Flight . . . . . .112 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 The Embassy ... . ] 29 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 St. Bernard . . . . .142 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 La Fete des Fous . . . . . 161 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 The Blessing of the Banner . . .177 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 Geneva . . . / .193 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Persecution . . . . m " m 209 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 The Martyr . . . 226 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 The Release ... 246
 
 CONTENTS. VI 1 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 The Farewell . . . . .275 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Retribution . . . . . 273 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The Siege of Chillon . . . 290 
 
 Concluding Notice . . .313
 
 C H I L L N. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE REVELS. 
 
 La courtoisie a cote de la joie. 
 
 OLD BALLAD. 
 
 AN unclouded sun arose the next morning, and 
 shed its laughing heams over the clear mirror of 
 Lac Lernan, which sparkled and dimpled around 
 the prows of the innumerable little vessels that 
 glided over its limpid waters. The coast also was 
 full of life and action, and the numerous parties 
 which passed along it, echoed back the song and 
 the laugh that reached them from their joyous 
 companions on the waves. Pleasure sparkled in 
 
 VOL. II. B
 
 2 CHFLLON. 
 
 every eye ; labour was laid aside, and care seemed 
 forgotten on the gay holiday. The habiliments of 
 mourning were exchanged for those of festivity : 
 and garlands ornamented the churches and altars, 
 which, but the day before, were hung in sables. 
 The plain of the Rhone, a little on the Italian side 
 of Villeneuve, was the spot chosen for the scene of 
 the festivities, and this was covered with tents and 
 other temporary buildings; some containing the 
 glittering prizes destined for the reward of skill and 
 strength ; some filled with tables covered with pro- 
 visions already prepared; whilst others served as 
 temporary kitchens, in which numerous cooks were 
 busily employed in getting ready a further supply 
 for the multitude, whose appetites were rendered 
 yet keener by the savoury effluvia that issued there- 
 from. But the object of supreme attraction was a 
 splendid pavilion, raised for the reception of the 
 patrician party the united banners of Savoy and 
 Vaud waving from its gilded dome, and its sides 
 hung with silken draperies. 
 
 Already from an early hour, the plain was covered 
 by groups of peasants, in their various and pic- 
 turesque costumes. The slight upright forms of 
 the young girls of Montreux, with their coloured
 
 THE REVELS. 3 
 
 bodices and conical straw-bats ; the fuller figures of 
 their neighbours of Valais, with their low-crowned 
 bonnets, loaded with ribbons of all dies; the 
 Psyches of Schweitz, with their butterfly head-gear, 
 the blue-eyed German, the long-tressed Bernoise, 
 and the classic-featured Italians, with many other 
 fair human flowers, composed groups of forms and 
 colours that might vie with the gayest parterre; 
 nor were the manly candidates for the distinctions 
 of the day behind their fair countrywomen either in 
 attire or natural advantages. 
 
 Every description of itinerant musician, wander- 
 ing glee-maiden, or improvisatore, pedlar, fortune- 
 teller, and juggler,, had been drawn from afar to 
 attend the fete, and each had their group of ad- 
 mirers ; but when the numerous bands had some- 
 what satisfied their curiosity in listening to them, 
 and viewing the various preparations for its celebra- 
 tion, they began to show some impatience for the 
 commencement of the sports, and awaited with 
 eagerness the discharge of artillery from the castle, 
 as the appointed signal of the approach of the noble 
 party. Many had already left the plain to climb 
 the slopes on the sides of the road, in order to view 
 the procession, the magnificence of which might be 
 
 B2
 
 4 CHILLON. 
 
 anticipated from the number of gay barges that 
 were anchored around the walls of the castle, and 
 the splendid cavalcades and litters which passed its 
 bridge. 
 
 At length the cannon were fired ; the warder 
 stationed on one of the towers, blew a loud and pro- 
 tracted blast, and the pageant issued from the 
 castle gate. Surrounded by a large number of 
 military in full accoutrement, their arms gleaming 
 in the sun, their banners floating on the breeze, 
 and preceded by a band of martial music, first rode 
 the Archbishop in the full splendour of his pontifi- 
 cals. He was mounted on a beautiful Spanish 
 mule, whose sleek coat vied with the ermined robe 
 which partially covered it ; and near him, on a 
 prancing war horse, came the Governor of Chillon, 
 splendidly attired, his doublet of dark velvet 
 slashed with satin, his hat ornamented with a large 
 flowing feather, and looped with precious stones. 
 A page in rich livery walked on either side of the 
 prelate's horse, while the Sire de Beaufort was at- 
 tended by a guard of honour. The litter of his 
 daughter, together with those of the other distin- 
 guished ladies, surrounded by the flower of the 
 Italian and Vaudois chivalry, occupied a large
 
 THE REVELS. 5 
 
 space in the procession, and rendered still more 
 brilliant by the dress and beauty of the fair oc- 
 cupants, the noble forms, and fanciful devices of 
 their attendant knights; the gay liveries of their 
 followers, and the blooming joyousness of their 
 squires and pages, formed one of its most attractive 
 ornaments. 
 
 But where was the fair page of Chillon ? The 
 Count de Blonay and the Chevalier di Rossi rode 
 near his young mistress, but Cottier was not at her 
 side. He was, she trusted, safe under the covert 
 of the mountain forest; yet she dreaded to meet 
 her father's eye, lest, discovering his absence, he 
 should demand the cause. Thus, splendidly at- 
 tired, the admired of all eyes, and the welcomed by 
 all hearts, how gladly would she have laid down 
 this envied distinction for the humblest situation 
 of liberty and peace ! 
 
 The cavalcade moved slowly on' until it reached 
 the town of Yilleneuve, where the crowd was so 
 dense, that in spite of the efforts of the soldiers, it 
 met with frequent interruption in its progress. 
 Not a window but was crammed with spectators ; 
 the roofs of the houses seemed a mass of human 
 heads ; garlands fell like a flowery shower, strewing
 
 6 CHILLON. 
 
 the paths of those below, whilst countless voices 
 rent the air with shouts of " Long live Charles the 
 Good ! Long live our noble Duke !" 
 
 The prelate held out his hands in the act of 
 benediction on those around; the Governor of 
 Chill on bowed and smiled in gracious condescen- 
 sion ; the ladies waved their fans ; even the calm 
 sadness of the Count de Blonay gave way to the 
 enthusiasm of the moment. 
 
 " There is something exhilarating in this scene," 
 he said to Di Rossi, " something infectious in this 
 wild loyalty." 
 
 " If fatal experience had not taught us its bitter- 
 ness and inconstancy," replied the chevalier. 
 
 " Ay, thou art right ! there is nothing so change- 
 able as the breath of popular feeling those 
 are wise who do not allow themselves to be carried 
 away by it." 
 
 " And those -are wiser still who have learnt to 
 despise, and are prepared to brave it." 
 
 The Count looked at him. " I hardly compre- 
 hend your meaning," he said. 
 
 " Perhaps not since you have not, like me, cal- 
 culated on the possibility of being one day exposed 
 to the fury and mockery of those, or such as those, 
 who now strew our way with flowers."
 
 THE REVELS. 7 
 
 " Pardon me, I have ! though not exactly in the 
 same cause." 
 
 " And is your determination equally irrevocable, 
 De Blonay ?" 
 
 " It is. The Duke of Savoy cannot cease to be 
 my sovereign, even should all others turn from 
 their allegiance, and not a rood of ground remain 
 to him of the territory of his forefathers." 
 
 The procession now moving on, stopped all fur- 
 ther conversation. Beatrice had listened with deep 
 interest, and understanding fully the meaning of 
 Di Eossi, she was astonished and alarmed at his 
 boldness. She was not aware of the great intimacy 
 which subsisted between the two young cavaliers, 
 and that although of contrary opinions in religion, 
 they were of perfect accord in every noble and 
 generous feeling. Di Kossi's secret, and Di Rossi's 
 safety, were as sacred and precious to De Blonay, 
 as if their sentiments had been the same ; and the 
 immortal interests of De Blonay was an object of 
 such tender solicitude to his friend, as would have 
 induced him to run any risk in the endeavour to 
 convince him of its peril. 
 
 The intercourse of the friends was chiefly oc- 
 cupied, on tbe one hand, by earnest and affec-
 
 8 CHILLON. 
 
 tionate counsels of prudence and secresy ; on the 
 other, in solemn and reiterated calls for liberality 
 and investigation. But as easily might his more 
 cautious friend have pent the wild winds of heaven, 
 as have restrained the enthusiastic love of civil and 
 religious liberty which glowed in the breast of Di 
 Rossi ; and whilst his church was attacked, and his 
 prince in danger, de Blonay considered all but 
 blind submission to their claims, would be, situated 
 as he was, both impious and treasonable. 
 
 When the gay cavalcade reached the plain, the 
 ladies were escorted by their attendant cavaliers to 
 the seats prepared for them, in a building erected 
 for the purpose, from whose open galleries, adorned 
 with flags and garlands, they could survey the 
 sports that passed below, without being pressed on 
 by the crowd. 
 
 The signal for the commencement of these sports 
 was now given, and the candidates for the prizes 
 showed equal ardour and dexterity in the contest. 
 The games provided for the amusement of the 
 mixed multitude were indicative of the rudeness of 
 the times, as well as of the hardy nature of the 
 people amongst whom they were exercised, and 
 consisted principally in wrestling, hurling vast
 
 THE REVELS. 6 
 
 masses of rocks, and shooting with the arquebuse 
 and cross-bow. In the latter sport, so dear to 
 every true Helvetian, the nobles and gentry bore a 
 distinguished part, and received their rewards from 
 the hands of the fair heiress of Brieres, together 
 with their due meed of approbation from the rest 
 of the spectators. 
 
 When the games were concluded, the next cir- 
 cumstance of importance which took place, was the 
 banquet in the large pavilion already described, and 
 which was partly thrown open, that the people, 
 when tired of their sports, and satiated with their 
 own abundant cheer, might obtain a sight of the 
 brilliant assembly. After the repast, the remains 
 were distributed amongst them, and the gentle and 
 the gay looked on, greatly delighted at seeing the 
 fragments of their dainty viands scrambled for by 
 the motley claimants, cutting many a jest, and in- 
 dulging much merriment at their expense. 
 
 That no moment might pass without amusement, 
 a lottery had been prepared for the ladies in an 
 adjoining pavilion, which supplied the stimulus 
 of gambling to the declining energy of the gay 
 idlers. Beatrice excused herself from taking a part, 
 and seated near the door of the tent, she was soon 
 
 B 5
 
 10 CHILLON. 
 
 interested in contemplating a small group, con- 
 sisting of Kosette, her father and uncle, together 
 with the parents of her lover, who were seated 
 beneath one of the beautiful trees with which the 
 plain was studded, whilst some of the younger 
 members were dancing around them. The soft 
 voice of De Blonay aroused her from her reverie. 
 
 " The Lady Beatrice," he said, " seems to have 
 little participation in the surrounding merriment." 
 
 " On the contrary, my lord, I was watching with 
 much interest the little group beneath yonder tree. 
 I love this quiet, social happiness !" 
 
 " And so do I, so preferable is it to the heartless 
 dissipation of the gay world, which is intoxication 
 rather than enjoyment. But I hardly hoped in 
 these days, to meet any lady whose opinions would 
 accord with mine. Show and parade are now the 
 prevailing idols, and have banished our household 
 gods even from their own hearths." 
 
 " And yet," said Beatrice smiling, " whilst you 
 
 ^ 
 
 complain of our frivolity and vanity, I doubt whe- 
 ther you would allow us willingly, to occupy our- 
 selves with those pursuits which make retirement 
 desirable." 
 
 " Pardon me ! although I would not burden
 
 THE REVELS. 11 
 
 you with the weightier business of life yet are 
 there not many objects of home employment which 
 are essentially yours ?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly so ; but in the high stations 
 that are exempt from household cares, these can 
 fill but a small part of our time. If, therefore, 
 women are required as companions, they must be 
 educated as such, and their first lesson must be to 
 learn to think a dangerous one perhaps in these 
 times, my lord." 
 
 " It is," said the Count thoughtfully. 
 
 " Yet without it," continued Beatrice, " what are 
 human beings but puppets, acted on by hidden 
 wires, and danced at the will of those who direct 
 them ?" 
 
 " But surely as a wife and mother, lady, there is 
 no necessity that a woman should be a philosopher ! 
 There are the elegant accomplishments of music and 
 the needle." 
 
 " Alas !" sighed Beatrice, " if life were one long 
 dream of youth and joy, these would but poorly 
 fill up idle hours but life is not such, and the lute 
 and the embroidery-frame are but sad comforters in 
 sickness and sorrow." 
 
 " Sickness!" repeated the Count; " here at least
 
 12 CHILLON. 
 
 education can be of small importance. A woman 
 may be a good nurse without even knowing how to 
 read." 
 
 " She may but only in the measure of an at- 
 tached domestic. The essential duties of the 
 office, such as ministering to a diseased mind, 
 cheering the drooping spirit, clearing the doubting 
 
 soul " 
 
 " Nay, lady !" interrupted the Count, " in this 
 last she would be assuming the sacred office of the 
 priest !" 
 
 " Let this pass," returned the young moralist ; 
 " there are other ills to which life is exposed 
 besides sickness there are sufferers in mind and 
 estate as well as body. When the Duchess d'Alen- 
 9on flew to her royal brother's prison, was it with 
 the light accomplishments of a court she sought 
 to cheer his lonely hours and soothe his chafed 
 spirit ?" 
 
 " I listen to you, lady," said De Blonay, " with 
 an admiration I dare not avow but tell me, though 
 it is with diffidence I ask, where have you learnt 
 this early wisdom ?" 
 
 " From a mother such as few ever possessed," 
 said she, her eyes filling with tears; " a mother
 
 THE REVELS. 13 
 
 from whom I was never separated for one day in 
 my life, until that in which she was taken from me 
 to heaven. When I resigned her to the grave, all 
 earthly hopes were huried with her ; and when torn 
 from that grave, from the scenes of my childhood 
 and its complicated interests, I was immured in 
 yonder gloomy castle think you it was the em- 
 broidery-frame and the lute that filled the aching 
 void ? No, I needed, and found, deeper consolation 
 than this !" 
 
 " From whence, then/' asked the Count, regard- 
 ing the fair being before him with reverential ad- 
 miration, " from whence drew you that consola- 
 tion ?" 
 
 " From the Bible !" said Beatrice solemnly, as 
 she rested her eyes on his countenance, which was 
 suddenly suffused with the deepest crimson. " Yes ! 
 from that sacred volume, placed in my hands by 
 my dying mother, I alone drew strength to bear an 
 existence of otherwise uncheered solitude, and to 
 support even heavier grief than this ; but I have 
 said enough we will now drop the subject, should 
 such be your will for ever !" 
 
 " Would it were in my power to forget it!" ex- 
 claimed De Blonay, distressed rather than surprised
 
 14 CHILLON. 
 
 at the disclosure which Beatrice had now made ; 
 he dreaded to inquire further, and at the same time 
 he felt the state of uncertainty in which her partial 
 communication left him, to he almost insupportable. 
 Every word she uttered, every tone of her soft 
 voice, every change of her expressive countenance, 
 had rivetted closer the chain which bound him ; 
 but he felt the imperative duty of endeavouring to 
 break the dangerous spell, as, independent of the 
 sentiments she avowed, which from any other 
 lips would have filled him with horror, he knew 
 that every word, whilst it evinced a thorough con- 
 fidence in his honour and secresy, was framed for 
 the express purpose of annihilating his hopes. 
 
 A movement in the company broke in on these 
 reflections. They were preparing to return to 
 the castle, where the royal apartments were thrown 
 open, and arrangements made for the ball which 
 was to terminate the festivities of the first day. 
 During the whole of it, Di Kossi had sought an 
 opportunity of approaching the fair mistress of the 
 castle, but in vain; for if the Count De Blonay 
 left her side for an instant, his place was filled by 
 his sister or mother. Beatrice had declined dancing 
 after opening the ball at her father's express desire, 
 
 10
 
 THE REVELS. 15 
 
 with De Blonay; but when, as the evening ad- 
 vanced, and the gay group became too much en- 
 grossed in their own interests to notice what passed 
 around them, Di Kossi approached; she allowed 
 him to lead her into an adjoining apartment, where, 
 in the deep shadow of a window, he hoped to con- 
 verse with her unperceived. 
 
 " You have brought me here, I trust, to bid me 
 farewell," said she. 
 
 " I have, and to implore you to remember the 
 retreat offered should you need it ; I leave the castle 
 at day-break." 
 
 " Heaven be praised ! and Cottier, have you 
 heard aught of him ?" 
 
 " Alas no !" replied the chevalier. 
 " Why do you not seek an explanation with 
 Leuoir ?" 
 
 " Lenoir can nowhere be found." 
 Beatrice turned deadly pale, and Di Rossi, fear- 
 ing she would faint, opened the casement. 
 
 " Be comforted, Beatrice !" he said ; " I will 
 leave no stone of this grey building unturned, until 
 I find the youth, or revenge his death." 
 
 " Ah, Di Hossi ! think on whom you would 
 revenge it, and on Him who hath said, " Ven- 
 geance is mine !"
 
 16 CHILLON. 
 
 At that moment the joyous laugh of the Lady 
 Blanche de Blonay was heard, and she entered the 
 room, led hy the Governor, and talking gaily to 
 liim, whilst he was listening with that mixture of 
 indulgent admiration and gratified vanity, with 
 which an elderly man is inclined to view the 
 sprightly childishness of a beautiful girl, who deigns 
 to receive his homage. The sight of Di Rossi and 
 his daughter changed at once the current of his 
 feelings ; hut concealing his displeasure under the 
 semblance of parental solicitude, he reproved the 
 chevalier for his inattention in allowing his partner 
 to remain near an open window, whilst the young lady 
 Blanche made one of those witty remarks on the 
 preservative power of love, that have come down to 
 our own days. Di Rossi excused himself hy pleading 
 Beatrice's indisposition, to which her pallid looks 
 bore testimony, and the Governor led her himself 
 to an outer room, and consigned her into the care 
 of her attendant. Alas ! poor Rosette had no com- 
 fort to bestow ! Dulait had been absent from the 
 sport, occupied in a fruitless search for Cottier and 
 Lenoir, and the only cheering circumstance was, 
 that all had been arranged for the chevalier's de- 
 parture the next morning by break of day.
 
 THE REVELS. 17 
 
 " I dare not breathe my suspicions of the poor 
 lad's fate even to thee, Rosette," said Beatrice. 
 " Prayer is the only relief for the burdened soul." 
 She took off some of her costly ornaments as she 
 spoke, and laid them in their casket. " glitter- 
 ing baubles !" she continued, " how many an aching 
 brow do ye encircle, which the world vainly believes 
 ye can, like a charmed amulet, preserve from care !"
 
 18 CHILLON. 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 THE BANQUET. 
 
 Rest, holy pilgrim, rest, I pray, 
 Dreary to Mecca's shrine the way. 
 
 OLD BALLAD. 
 
 THE second day passed in the same uninter- 
 rupted circle of amusements ; but the theatre was 
 changed from the magnificent mountain-girt plain, 
 to the clear bosom of the lake. The grand galley 
 was fitted up for the accommodation of the prin- 
 cipal nobility and gentry, who viewed from its deck 
 the sailing-match between a number of the pretty 
 little barges belonging to the boatmen and other 
 persons of the neighbourhood. The breeze was 
 fresh, the gallant vessels, with their lateen sails and 
 flying colours, darted with the rapidity of bright-
 
 THE BANQUET. 19 
 
 winged birds over the surface of the water ; and 
 the foremost in the race, circling round the gilded 
 galley, received the prize of a beautiful flag, em- 
 broidered with the united arms of Savoy and of 
 Vaud. It was with unmixed pleasure that Beatrice 
 bestowed it on young Colin Dulait, whose triumph 
 was doubtless doubled, by receiving it in the pre- 
 sence of Kosette. 
 
 In the evening the whole neighbourhood was 
 illuminated by the resplendent fireworks which were 
 let off from a barge on the lake. Some of the 
 party looked at them from the windows of the 
 castle, others preferred the more open view which 
 the ramparts afforded, and amongst the latter were 
 Beatrice and the Count de Blonay, who rarely left 
 her side, anxious, yet dreading to penetrate her 
 sentiments, and more and more deeply fascinated 
 by her unaffected manners, her uncommon intelli- 
 gence and graceful deportment, which, in spite of 
 the melancholy that clouded them, had won on 
 every heart. The Governor appeared satisfied with 
 her conduct, and flattered by the encomiums on her 
 grace, affability, and beauty, which were addressed 
 to him from all his guests ; but engaged in the 
 duties of hospitality, which in those days of cum-
 
 20 CHILLON. 
 
 brous ceremony fell heavy on the entertainer, he 
 had little semblance of noticing her. To Beatrice's 
 great relief, Di Rossi was absent, and she fervently 
 hoped free from danger ; but her fears for Cottier 
 weighed heavily on her spirits, and it was not with- 
 out the strongest effort that she was enabled to 
 perform the duties of the passing hour. 
 
 A large quantity of fire- works, representing various 
 devices, had been exhibited, and glittered for a 
 transitory moment, when a splendid Chinese temple 
 rose as it were from the waves. The pointed 
 towers, sparkling with gems, spouted fountains of 
 liquid fire from their turrets, or darted showers of 
 coloured stars into the lake, which glowed from 
 the reflected light, like a sea of liquid gold. At 
 length the fabric began to totter, and its vivid 
 fires to burn less bright ; piece after piece of the 
 frail edifice fell hissing into the water, and after a 
 few faint efforts of reviving brilliancy all was dark 
 and silent. 
 
 What an emblem of human enjoyment !" said 
 Beatrice to her companion ; " I do not relish 
 these costly baubles, the pleasure is so painfully 
 evanescent." 
 
 " Like that of most toys made only for the 
 amusement of the passing hour, lady."
 
 THE BANQUET. 21 
 
 " Did their brilliant light, think you, find its 
 way into the dungeons ?" asked Beatrice sorrow- 
 fully. 
 
 " It is to be hoped not," answered De Blonay, 
 " since it would only render their gloom more 
 apparent, and embitter a hard lot by contrasting it 
 with the brighter fate of others." 
 
 " We know that there is another world where 
 suffering will be forgotten," said the maiden, " or 
 we might murmur at the inequalities we see in 
 this. Tell me, my Lord of Blonay, do you think 
 man has a right to inflict punishment on his 
 fellow-beings for differing from him in points of 
 faith ?" 
 
 The Count started. " You touch on dangerous 
 subjects, lady," he said with embarrassment ; " the 
 church has answered the question, and I am bound 
 to sanction what she decrees, although, as far as 
 my private opinion goes, I would leave all such 
 judgments to God." 
 
 " If, then, your most valued friends were to fall 
 under the displeasure of the church, would you 
 think it your duty to sanction any suffering she 
 might inflict on them ?" 
 
 " Alas, lady ! to what do these painful interro-
 
 22 CHILLON. 
 
 gations tend ? I beseech you change the subject ;" 
 and he heaved a sigh so deep, that Beatrice felt 
 she had not courage to inflict additional pain, and 
 hoped she had been already sufficiently explicit 
 to do away any necessity of further explanation. 
 
 In the meantime, the revels proceeded under the 
 superintendence of the gay and beautiful sister of 
 de Blonay, whose slightest wish had been a law to 
 the enamoured Governor a young lady who differed 
 in many essential points from her grave and accom- 
 plished brother. The children of different mothers, 
 they had each inherited the qualities of their sepa- 
 rate parent ; the mother of the Lady Blanche was 
 vain and ambitious, whilst her predecessor had been 
 a pattern of every virtue. The elder Count did not 
 long survive his second marriage, and left his 
 Countess still young, with an only daughter, whom 
 she caused to be educated in a convent in France, 
 and afterwards introduced at the gay and dissipated 
 court of the first Francis. The young Count, there- 
 fore, had but few opportunities of seeing his sister, 
 until she left her convent, when he found her little 
 answering to the model which his own lamented 
 mother had presented a model which he believed he 
 had once again met in Beatrice de Beaufort, that
 
 THE BANQUET. 23 
 
 vision which had shed a momentary light on his 
 path, only to shroud it in additional gloom. It 
 was in vain that he sought to support the disappoint- 
 ment of his hopes, hy representing to himself her 
 dangerous sentiments, and daring departure from 
 the received opinions ; the sweet and melancholy 
 morality with which her mind was tinged the love 
 of truth which mingled in all its investigations 
 the refined purity and holy abstraction of her man- 
 ner, threw over her whole being, an indefinable and 
 mysterious charm, the more irresistible, as it har- 
 monized so well with the intellectual and romantic 
 temperament of his own ; and whilst he read his 
 doom in the candour with which she avowed her 
 sentiments, he honoured the uprightness by which 
 they were dictated, and reckless of future suffering, 
 he continued to flutter around the flame that con- 
 sumed him. 
 
 In the mean time the revels proceeded with acce- 
 lerated stir and animation, as they approached their 
 termination ; and when the closing evening obliged 
 the gay multitude to leave the plain, the brilliant 
 illumination of the houses of Villeneuve, and the 
 flambeaux of the attendants, supplied an artificial 
 day. Thus the festive party returned at the end of
 
 24 CHILLON. 
 
 tliree days, of almost incessant diversion, with 
 apparently untired spirits, to the castle, amid the 
 playing of bands, the waving of flags, the roar of 
 cannon, and the cheering of the people. 
 
 As the whole of the establishment had, together 
 with the people of the neighbourhood, been amply 
 regaled during the day, none but the nobles and 
 principal gentry were invited to partake of the even- 
 ing banquet ; and the servants of the castle, together 
 with the retainers of the guests, in splendid liveries, 
 stood ready marshalled to receive them. The walls 
 of the beautiful hall were decorated with banners, 
 and its floor strewn with rushes, tastefully entwined 
 with garlands of flowers. The large armoires were 
 thrown open, displaying a vast quantity of costly 
 vases of gold and silver. Down the centre of the 
 supper table ran a fountain of wine, that threw its 
 sparkling fluid from several jets; the table-cloth 
 was of bright tapestry, the covers of silver gilt, 
 elaborately chased, and the napkins of the finest 
 damask, were bordered with a fringe of gold The 
 most ingenious and fantastic devices in sugar, re- 
 presenting castles, fortresses, flowers, and animals, 
 ornamented the various dishes of pastry and sweet- 
 meats, and the arms of Savoy, elevated in the centre,
 
 THE BANQUET. 25 
 
 were enwreathed with artificial flowers, that almost 
 rivalled nature in colour, form, and even scent ; 
 whilst lamps of silver filagree threw a brilliant yet 
 chastened light over the whole magic scene. At 
 the top of this magnificent banquet, as the repre- 
 sentative of his sovereign, sat the Archbishop ; and 
 at his right hand, splendidly attired, but pale as 
 monumental marble, and almost as still, was placed 
 the Lady Beatrice. The Count de Blonay occupied 
 the seat near, silent and melancholy as herself; and 
 the adjourning places were filled by some of the 
 elder magnates who, fatigued by the exertions of the 
 day, or awed by the supercilious prelate, added little 
 to the gaiety of the party. As a contrast to its 
 sombre stillness, on the other side of the table sat 
 the Governor, between the portly dame of Blonay 
 and her brilliant daughter. Dressed with the utmost 
 magnificence, and dazzling with jewels, they looked 
 a personification of enjoyment and worldly pros- 
 perity. A keen observer, however, might have dis- 
 covered, that even whilst addressing his most ex- 
 travagant compliments to the beauty near him, the 
 eyes of the Lord of Brieres often wandered to- 
 wards his daughter, and that although no one sat 
 at that festive board who had reason to complain of 
 
 VOL- II. C
 
 26 CHILLON. 
 
 lack of courtesy in the master of it, or found one 
 thing wanting in its profuse luxury, yet there was 
 an expression of constraint and anxiety on the 
 countenances of some of the elder guests, that har- 
 monized but ill with the brilliant scene. Many, no 
 doubt, were the light-hearted youths who keenly 
 enjoyed it, and many the young beauties whose eyes 
 were dazzled by its magnificence, and who wondered 
 at the sadness of its lovely mistress ; yet the con- 
 science of others told them that a crisis was at 
 hand, and that they only waited for it, to turn 
 against those who now so hospitably regaled them. 
 The Governor noticed the general depression, and 
 circulated the wine-cup ; deep pledges were drank 
 and animating toasts proposed ; a rising cheerfulness 
 began to diffuse itself around, and the voice of mirth 
 and the light-hearted laugh to be heard. In the 
 midst of this renewed hilarity, a strong blast of a 
 horn was heard on the outside of the castle, and 
 shortly after the warder entering, said something in 
 a low voice to the Governor. " A band of pilgrims 
 returning from the Holy Land, and bound for the 
 shrine of our Lady of Einsiedeln, ask for entrance 
 into our castle, my lord," said he aloud, and ad- 
 dressing the Archbishop, "They are conducted
 
 THE BANQUET. 27 
 
 hither by Father Ambroise, the chanoine of St. 
 Bernard, and I would know, if it please your 
 lordship and this goodly company, that they enter 
 and share our repast ?" 
 
 " Certainly !" replied the prelate ; " I would fain 
 believe there is no one at this board but would deem 
 it honoured by such guests." 
 
 There was a general movement at the entrance of 
 the motley band that followed Father Ambroise into 
 the banqueting-hall, and formed by their travel- 
 stained garments and care-worn countenances, a 
 striking contrast to the gay party which occupied 
 it. They wore the strict pilgrim habit of coarse 
 cloth, the cape, large-brimmed hat, the cockle-shell 
 and rosary, and the dress of the greater part be- 
 tokened a difficult and distant pilgrimage. Places 
 were, notwithstanding, offered them at the table, 
 with much show of courtesy, and room was made 
 between the archbishop and Beatrice to accommo- 
 date one of the most distinguished amongst them, 
 whose countenance was almost entirely hidden by 
 his large slouched hat, drawn closely over it. The 
 bustle attendant on the placing of so many addi- 
 tional guests having subsided, the Bishop demanded 
 of his neighbour news from the Holy Land. 
 
 c 2
 
 28 CHILLON. 
 
 " I cannot answer you my lord," he replied, 
 " from personal experience, since I am not so happy 
 as to have visited it, hut some of our hrethren will 
 be proud to satisfy your laudable curiosity." 
 
 The prelate than offered the wine- cup to the 
 stranger, who passed it untasted ; and whilst con- 
 versation again became general, and his lordship 
 questioned the other pilgrims of the holy city, and 
 the countries they had passed through, Beatrice, 
 addressing her neighbour, prayed him to take some 
 refreshment after his weary journey. 
 
 " A bunch of grapes from your fair hand, lady, 
 would tempt me to break my fast," said he courte- 
 ously. 
 
 She selected the finest and placed it before him. 
 
 " Will you not partake of the produce of the 
 vine in another form, holy pilgrim?" asked the 
 Count de Blonay. 
 
 " Thank you, noble sir ; I have vowed only to 
 drink of the spring." 
 
 Beatrice bid Marco offer a basin of water with a 
 napkin to the stranger, who, politely thanking her, 
 plunged his hands into it with evident satisfaction. 
 It would have been sufficiently apparent, from the 
 form and colour of those hands, that their owner
 
 THE BANQUET. 29 
 
 was a person of no low calling, had there not been 
 on one of the fingers a ring of a peculiar form, sur- 
 rounded by a legend of strange and antiquated 
 characters, and set in large brilliants ; but the disguise 
 of a pilgrim excited no surprise, and little curiosity 
 in those days, when persons of the highest rank 
 performed similar acts of devotion; nor did the 
 costly ornament betray more than the voice and 
 deportment of the stranger had already announced. 
 
 " This is indeed a luxury !" he said, as he returned 
 the napkin into the servant's hands. " I can now 
 feelingly appreciate the Eastern custom of offering 
 water to the guest before the meal." 
 
 "And the justice of our Lord's reproach to 
 Simon, 'Ye gave me no water!'" said Beatrice 
 softly. 
 
 Her companion started, but replied in the same 
 low tone, "Those sacred feet were washed from 
 another source ; but young and innocent as you are, 
 lady, you cannot understand the bitterness of St. 
 Mary Magdalene's tears and repentance you who 
 have scarcely ever shed the one, and have no need 
 of the other." 
 
 " Alas ! holy pilgrim !" answered the maiden ; 
 "have you then made your painful journeyings over
 
 30 CHILLON. 
 
 the rough paths of life, and not discovered that there 
 are few eyes, however bright, which are not some- 
 times moistened with tears, and no heart, however 
 inexperienced, that needs not repentance and 
 pardon ?" 
 
 " And where, my lovely moralist, did you learn 
 the wisdom, rarely acquired but in the school of 
 misfortune ?" 
 
 " There are other griefs beside selfish and ex- 
 ternal ones," she replied with a melancholy smile. 
 " Misfortune has many ways to approach us. We 
 find her leaning over the tomb of our departed 
 friends ; we see her amid the distractions of our 
 country ; and we feel that she is often near us even 
 in our hours of festivity. Sir pilgrim, I fear she 
 may have accompanied you on your weary road ; or 
 perchance, chase you from your home." 
 
 "You have rightly discerned my history," re- 
 plied the pilgrim, with a heavy sigh. " Sorrow has 
 indeed driven me from my home, to seek conso- 
 lation at the shrine of the Lady of Einsiedeln." 
 
 " It is a weary and barren road, holy pilgrim, and 
 her blessed Son is nearer at hand to hear all who 
 will address themselves to Him." 
 
 Again the stranger drew back involuntarily, and
 
 THE BANQUET. 31- 
 
 added gravely, " Thou art an extraordinary moni- 
 tress, young maiden, and these are strange themes 
 for a festal board ; but thy voice is sweet, and there 
 is Heaven's own pity in thine eye may the blessing 
 of the afflicted go with thee !" 
 
 " And be thine also, holy pilgrim," said Beatrice, 
 as in obedience to a signal from her father, she 
 rose to leave the table.
 
 32 CHILLON. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE KNIGHT OF JERUSALEM. 
 
 And yet I weep thee not, thou true and brave. 
 I cannot weep ! there gathers round thy name 
 Too deep a passion. Thou denied a grave t 
 Thou with a blight flung on thy soldier fame ! 
 0, had all earth decreed that doom of shame, 
 I had reposed, against all earth's decree, 
 The unalterable trust of my firm soul in thee. 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 EVERY one has heard the old proverb, " The end 
 of a feast is better than the beginning of a fray," 
 and some may perchance, recollect instances in which 
 the termination of the one has been the com- 
 mencement of the other. Now, although these our 
 festivities of the 16th century did not finish by open 
 hostilities, they were not closed without much
 
 THE KNIGHT OF JERUSALEM. 33 
 
 heart-burning; nor were they unattended by the 
 vexation of spirit, weariness, and disappointment, 
 that, more or less, accompany all human efforts at 
 happiness and amusement. The whole country 
 presented a different aspect from what it had done 
 on the three preceding days, and the skies appeared 
 to sympathise in the change ; for the fogs which 
 usually accumulate around the lake towards the end 
 of October, had seemed this year to have courteously 
 deferred their arrival to a much later period, waiting 
 for the termination of the bright drama, ere they 
 dropped their curtain over the magnificent stage. 
 
 Groups of peasants were now crowding the roads 
 from Villeneuve to the adjoining villages, on their 
 return to their several homes : many of the men were 
 yet under the effect of the intoxication in which the 
 fete had concluded the young lasses with soiled 
 garments and faded cheeks, and the elder women 
 weary and out of humour, lamenting their wasted 
 time, and anxious for the fate of their neglected 
 homes. 
 
 The festive garlands still hung, but drooping and 
 withered, around the tents and temporary buildings, 
 and the barge from which so many bright lights had 
 ascended, was now black with smoke, and strewed 
 
 c 5
 
 34 CHILLON. 
 
 with the half-burnt sticks and carcases of the ex- 
 hausted fireworks. Nor had the expensive pageant 
 answered the political end it was intended to 
 promote ; the discerning Archbishop had not failed 
 to remark the awkward backwardness of some of 
 his Vaudois guests, when any loyal toast had been 
 proposed, or any sentiment of strong attachment to 
 the Church of Rome brought forward ; and it was 
 not without secret satisfaction that he saw these dis- 
 affected guests take their departure after the banquet, 
 leaving, for the most part, the true adherents to the 
 house of the Savoy and the ancient faith, to take 
 their seats either as judges or spectators, at the 
 approaching trial. The Archbishop of Turin had 
 thus secured a large and influential assembly in the 
 hall of justice on the day after the banquet, and as 
 he mounted the throne of state, elevated for him as 
 president, he looked around satisfied that the arrange- 
 ments wanted none of that scenic effect, with which 
 the Roman Church has, in all ages, studied'to invest 
 her ceremonies. The hall of justice, as it is still 
 called, remains entire, and although it is divested 
 of all its former decorations, and now used as a 
 military store, filled with lumbering cannon, a cor- 
 rect idea may be formed of its size and proportions.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF JERUSALEM. 35 
 
 At one end is the chamber of torture, where the 
 pulleys and blackened pillar still bear witness to the 
 cruelties practised in the dark ages. The door at 
 the opposite end, which is now blocked up, then 
 opened on a staircase, leading to the under- ground 
 chapel, where the condemned prisoners were taken 
 to receive the last offices of their religion before 
 their execution, unless ordered back again to pine 
 in the dungeons on the other side. The throne of 
 the president was, as well as the raised seats of the 
 other judges surrounding it, of carved oak, darkened 
 by age, and rendered still more sombre by cushions 
 of black velvet. The principal noblemen in their robes 
 of states occupied the latter ; whilst on the benches 
 in front, were placed the secretaries and other official 
 persons belonging to the royal establishment. On 
 one side of the long hall were ranged the pilgrims 
 who arrived the preceding evening ; and the opposite 
 was crowded by guards and other functionaries, 
 amongst whom were some of those terrific adminis- 
 trators of torture, whose aspect was calculated to 
 thrill the stoutest heart with horror; their arms 
 bared to the shoulder, and their countenances con- 
 cealed by a black mask. The centre of the court 
 was left unoccupied for the reception of the prison-
 
 36 CH1LLON. 
 
 ers and their accusers. Daylight was carefully 
 excluded hy thick draperies of black cloth hung 
 across the windows, and extending over the inter- 
 mediate wall; and the saloon was hut partially 
 illuminated within, hy one large lamp that de- 
 scending from the centre, was so contrived as to 
 throw its full light on the countenances of the 
 accused, whilst those of their judges were left entirely 
 in the shade. Let us endeavour for one moment, to 
 imagine the effect of such a scene as this, on the 
 dazzling vision and reeling senses of a poor captive, 
 brought suddenly into it from the silent darkness of 
 his dungeon, and we shall acknowledge that it is 
 not in man to resist such a combination of power, 
 terror, and superstition; and that the martyred 
 thousands who rose triumphant over the malice of 
 their enemies, did not conquer through their own 
 strength, 
 
 The assembly being arranged, the president 
 arose, and addressed them in a speech of consum- 
 mate art and sophistry, in which he touched on all 
 those points most likely to work on the minds of 
 worldly and ambitious men, identifying their in- 
 terests with those of the Church of Rome ; showing 
 that it was by her reflected power that princes
 
 THE KNIGHT OF JERUSALEM. 37 
 
 reigned, and feudal nobles retained their influence. 
 He next proceeded, in the most impressive terms, to 
 lay open the clanger she was in from the attacks of 
 those who wished her downfall, only to commence 
 a reign of anarchy and confusion. " What then is 
 to he done, my noble lords, my gentle sirs," he con- 
 tinued, looking around the spacious hall "what 
 is to be done to check this daring spirit of the times, 
 but to meet it with a spirit as resolute ? If they 
 fight with carnal weapons, let us use our spiritual 
 power. The church must hurl her thunderbolts 
 on the heads of her enemies she has forborne 
 too long; at length she begins to arise from 
 her sleep, and to scatter her enemies before her. 
 Kings and potentates are clearing her way, that she 
 may roll the wheels of her triumphant chariot over 
 the necks of her opposers. The King of France 
 himself lights the funeral pyre of her adversaries 
 the mighty Emperor of the West leads his armies 
 against her infidel foes ; and shall not our sovereign 
 also bear the sword of justice in our righteous 
 cause ? Yea, verily, let him exclaim in the words of 
 holy David, ' down with them ! down with them 
 even to the ground !' " He paused a moment as 
 the murmur of applause ran round the assembly,
 
 38 CHILLON. 
 
 and then continued, in a subdued tone, " I have 
 convoked ye, my lords and gentlemen, spiritual 
 and temporal, to judge some of these enemies of 
 the church, enemies of the state, enemies of all 
 those institutions and laws that time has honoured 
 and God approved. One of them has already been 
 arraigned before our holy tribunal ; but as no lenity 
 can turn him from his heresy, it is time that Ms 
 sentence should be pronounced and judgment go 
 forth against him. The other two are more recent 
 offenders ; and let not the birth or former fame of 
 either of the culprits influence your verdict, but 
 laying aside all private feelings, triumphing over 
 all weak compassion, I call on ye, noble and august 
 sirs, learned and reverend fathers, to gird on the 
 sword of the Lord of Gideon, and to acquit your- 
 selves as faithful sons of our Holy Mother, and 
 loyal subjects of our beloved sovereign !" 
 
 "With your permission we proceed to call on 
 Kodolph de Wendenburg, Baron of Rheinan, Knight 
 of the order of St. John of Jerusalem, to appear 
 before this honourable court, there to answer for 
 contumely towards the rites of the only true church 
 for blasphemy against the blessed mother of our 
 Lord, and for repeated rebellion against the amho-
 
 THE KNIGHT OF JERUSALEM. 39 
 
 rity of God's vicar and vicegerent on earth, his 
 holiness the Pope." 
 
 The Bishop sat down : a solemn silence reigned 
 throughout the court not the lowest whisper was 
 breathed, no sound was audible save the low murmur 
 of the waves, as they dashed against the outer wall 
 of the building. At length, the heavy tread of 
 footsteps was discerned slowly ascending the stairs ; 
 the band of officials that stood at the lower end of 
 the room divided, and gave place to something like 
 a funereal bier, which was borne by four men into 
 the middle of the assembly, and laid down in 
 front of the judges' seats. Here, drawing aside the 
 sable curtains which enveloped it, they discovered a 
 pale and attenuated figure that perfectly harmonized 
 with the melancholy couch on which it reposed. 
 The form was that of a knight in the full dress of 
 the order of St. John of Jerusalem, the long robe 
 edged with fur, wrapped round his shrunken limbs, 
 the gilded spurs, the glittering cross, the gauntlet, 
 the helmet, and the sword, all spoke his calling and 
 his rank; but his eyes were closed, a deathlike 
 paleness overspread his thin cheeks and lips, and 
 nothing but the labouring breath, that struggled 
 beneath his sunken chest, gave any sign of life.
 
 40 CHILLON. 
 
 " Rodolph de Wendenburg," said the Arch- 
 bishop, in a solemn and impressive manner, as he 
 slowly arose, " we call upon you in the name of 
 the holy mother church, and of our sovereign lord, 
 Charles of Savoy, to recant your blasphemous here- 
 sies ! and I offer you, in the name of each, pardon 
 and remission, both here and hereafter, on your ex- 
 pressing due contrition for your heinous offences, 
 and an earnest desire to make the only amends in 
 your power, by an open recantation of your damn- 
 ing errors, and the performance of such penances 
 and purifications as the Church commands and 
 your weak body can sustain." The prisoner uttered 
 a faint groan, and on the prelate beckoning to one of 
 the attendants, to raise his head, and sprinkle 
 a little cold water on his face, he breathed freer, 
 and gave some slight signs of returning conscious- 
 ness. " We do not require much from you," con- 
 tinued his judge, who had not expected to find the 
 prey so nearly escaping his fangs. " Holy mother 
 church is merciful, and seeing your debility and 
 faintness, she asks you only to make the sign of the 
 cross, to kiss these sacred relics from the shrine of 
 our Lady of Loretto, and to worship the holy Eu- 
 charist." Then making a sign to one of the priests,
 
 THE KNIGHT OF JERUSALEM. 41 
 
 he immediately brought forward a little image of 
 the Virgin, a rosary, and a crucifix. 
 
 At this moment every eye in the assembly was 
 fixed on the interesting figure before them, who 
 seemed as if gradually awakening from the slumber 
 of death into life and consciousness. He opened 
 his eyes, a faint colour tinged his cheeks and lips, 
 and motioning to be raised so as to sit nearly up- 
 right on his couch, he looked slowly around on the 
 assembly, and spoke. The accents, though low, 
 were distinct, and amid the profound stillness that 
 reigned throughout the chamber, seemed like a voice 
 from the tomb. 
 
 " My God, I thank Thee !" he said, as he clasped 
 his hands, and raised his eyes, already glazed by 
 death, to heaven. "I thank Thee that Thou 
 grantest me once more the blessed privilege of ac- 
 knowledging thy truth that truth which I learnt 
 from thy Holy Spirit breathing in thy sacred Word. 
 My Lord Bishop," he continued, " and ye, noble 
 gentlemen, ye are here to condemn one whom ye 
 have already judged, and to hear him, with his 
 dying breath, repeat what he has oftentimes amid 
 torture and agony declared, that he acknowledges but
 
 42 CHILLON. 
 
 one faith, one Lord, one baptism: that he deems 
 all homage, whether of the lips or body, paid to 
 external images or symbols all priestly assumption 
 of the power of forgiving sins all setting up of the 
 traditions of men, and other errors and heresies 
 which have polluted the pure apostolical church of 
 Christ, and are too numerous for his failing breath 
 to particularize, as directly contrary to the express 
 command of God, as doing dishonour to his Spirit, 
 and as usurping the offices and honours of his 
 blessed Son, the only Saviour, and sole Mediator 
 between fallen man and his Creator !" 
 
 A murmur of disapprobation arose from some 
 of the assembly at these words, in the midst of 
 which the prelate exclaimed, " Ye hear what the 
 foul fiend declares, my lord judges ye hear the 
 blasphemy he utters against the blessed Mary, and 
 the councils of our church ! Will ye bear any 
 longer these insults on all ye have been taught to 
 believe most sacred, and will ye not come forward 
 to vindicate the honour of the immaculate Virgin, 
 and maintain the supremacy of the successor of St. 
 Peter ? Wretch !" he continued, raising his voice, 
 which echoed through the lofty hall, " worse than
 
 THE KNIGHT OF JERUSALEM. 43 
 
 pagan infidel ! since thou wert nurtured in the 
 bosom of the unerring church, the earth shall 
 henceforth conceal the enormity of thy guilt ; the 
 bright sun shall never more shed one beam upon 
 thy hell- ward path. Away with him !" he conti- 
 nued, motioning to the bearers to approach the 
 bier ; " bear him to the lowest dungeon within 
 these walls, where no ray of light can penetrate, 
 nor sound of human voice can reach ! Let him be 
 plunged alive into the confines of the grave, yet not 
 to sink at once into the confines of hell ; let his 
 miserable existence be protracted for a few days 
 one morsel of bread, one drink of water, be buried 
 with Mm, that as the scanty supply, serving only to 
 mock his raging wants, diminishes, he may antici- 
 pate the unmitigated torture of everlasting thirst ! 
 But stay !" he continued, as the bearers- were about 
 to raise the bier, " ere thou take hence the wretched 
 man, strip him of every vestige of his once honour- 
 able office take away these disgraced trophies 
 remove his tarnished arms knock ofi" his disho- 
 noured spurs !" 
 
 The abject minions of tyranny obeyed the 
 command with alacrity. They had already pulled
 
 44 CHILLON. 
 
 from the shoulders of their victim the ermined 
 robe, removed the jewelled collar and the glittering 
 stars, and were proceeding to knock off the spurs, 
 when a venerable nobleman who sat on the right- 
 hand of the president, rushed suddenly into the 
 midst of them, and bade them, in a voice of autho- 
 rity, to desist. 
 
 " Away, miscreants !" he cried ; " lay not your 
 unhallowed hands on what God hath sanctified ! 
 It was from Him alone, my Lord Bishop," he 
 continued, " and in good service done in His 
 cause against the infidels, that Kodolph de Wen- 
 denburg received these honourable tokens from 
 his prince's hand ; and were the sovereign pontiff 
 himself present, I would tell him to his face that 
 ' what God hath given, man has no right to take 
 away !' " 
 
 " Let the spurs then remain," said the Arch- 
 bishop, who saw from the impression which the 
 Baron de Vionnay's speech had made that he could 
 go no further, " since your lordship so wills it ; and 
 if in after ages any of our descendants, in exploring 
 the recesses of this venerable pile, shall find his 
 wretched remains, let them learn in trembling, that
 
 THE KNIGHT OF JERUSALEM. 45 
 
 high birth and honourable deeds are not always a 
 a safeguard from the gangrene of heresy, and 
 heresy's just reward !" 
 
 The officials reluctantly laid aside the forceps and 
 the hammer, when the captive, turning to the Baron 
 de Vionnay, said, " In a dying hour these trophies 
 of fame, however honourably earned, fade with all 
 the other distinctions of a fleeting world, into less 
 than nought ; but the kindness which would have 
 saved me from this last earthly insult shall not lose 
 its recompense. My lord, when your dying hour 
 approaches, let these words of your Saviour cheer 
 your departing spirit, together with the recol- 
 lection of the charity you now show towards one of 
 the most unworthy of his disciples : ' Inasmuch as 
 ye have done it to one of the least of these, ye have 
 done it unto me !' " 
 
 The Archbishop, afraid of any further impression 
 in favour of the captive, ordered the attendants to 
 bear him away. He had sunk back on his couch, 
 and his closed eyes and ashy paleness indicated that 
 the period of his sufferings drew near its close but 
 whether the freed spirit was then released, to wing 
 its way to the God it had so faithfully served, or 
 whether it remained yet a few days in its earthly
 
 46 CHILLON. 
 
 tenement was known to Him alone. At a signal 
 from the Bishop, a coarse cloth of goat's hair was 
 thrown over him, and the secret of his fate was 
 hidden, together with the suffering yet triumphant 
 martyr, in his living tomb.
 
 THE TRIAL. 47 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE TRIAL. 
 
 The bigot's zeal 
 
 Doth fiirbish up his armoury of murder, 
 We our's of patience ; we must buckle on 
 Heav'n's panoply of faith and constancy, 
 And so go forth to war. 
 
 MILMAN. 
 
 THE melancholy procession had scarcely quitted 
 the hall of justice, ere another party entered it, and 
 stood before the inexorable judge, consisting of a 
 young man in the bloom of manhood, on whose 
 lofty brow sat high resolve and firm determination, 
 whilst in the soft shading of his eye and the swee 
 benevolence of his countenance, charity, hope, and 
 gentle bravery were portrayed. At his side was 
 placed one yet in early youth ; but notwithstanding 
 
 6
 
 48 " CHILLON. 
 
 the almost infantile loveliness of his face, and the 
 slight gracefulness of his boy-like form, there was 
 an expression of elevated intelligence in 
 
 " The deep summer of his dark blue eye," 
 
 that spoke a soul as firm and exalted as that of his 
 companion. 
 
 Header, dost thou recognize the portraits ? The 
 Chevalier di Rossi bowed to the assembly with 
 that mixture of dignity and courtesy which distin- 
 guished the high-born cavalier of the period, and 
 listened respectfully as the Archbishop thus ad- 
 dressed him : 
 
 " We cite you, Chevalier di Rossi, in the name of 
 our holy church, and of our sovereign lord the 
 Duke, to answer before this honourable tribunal to 
 the charge of heresy against the one, and treason 
 against the other." 
 
 " And I stand here, reverend father, ready to re- 
 fute those charges, and throw them back on my 
 accusers," said the chevalier, raising his majestic 
 person to its full height. 
 
 " We cite you," resumed the prelate, " first, for 
 the grievous sin of heresy, in endeavouring to per- 
 vert the minds of the faithful sons and daughters of
 
 THE TRIAL. 49 
 
 the church, by the introduction of books containing 
 sentiments in direct opposition to her doctrines, as 
 well as for endeavouring to lead them astray by the 
 forbidden perusal of the Holy Scriptures ; and we 
 also arraign you for high treason to your prince, in 
 concerting, together with the boy Michael Cottier, 
 means for the escape of the prisoner, Fra^ois Bon- 
 nivard, from the dungeons, and for betraying the 
 castle of Chillon into the hands of his rebel sub- 
 jects of Geneva. In proof of which latter indict- 
 ment, we proceed to take the ear-witnesses to con- 
 versations which have passed between you and the 
 aforesaid Michael Cottier on this subject." 
 
 Bertoldo Scarpi and the Sergeant Prepotenti 
 were now brought forward, and deposed that they 
 had, at several distinct times, being concealed in a 
 cavity in the ceiling of Michael Cottier's sleeping 
 apartment, overheard conversations between him 
 and the Chevalier di Rossi respecting the libe- 
 ration of one of the captives, and the sending a 
 plan to Geneva for the attack of the fortress, &c. 
 &c. And thus, by artfully blending in their evi- 
 dence some truths which they knew could be fully 
 proved, with inventions of the most subtile malice, 
 they wove a net of complicated artifice to entrap their 
 
 VOL. II. D
 
 50 CHILLON. 
 
 innocent victims. The visit to the hermitage, the 
 intended escape of Cottier, and his interview with 
 Bonnivard, the actual departure of the chevalier's 
 attendants, were charges acknowledged hy the ac- 
 cused : how then could they he separated from those 
 of holding treasonable correspondence with the 
 Genevan government and tampering with the jailer 
 for the liberation of his prisoner ? 
 
 The chevalier's defence, though concise, was 
 powerful by its dignity and truth. He denied hold- 
 ing any correspondence with Geneva, having re- 
 turned to his country charged with a private de- 
 spatch from his royal mistress, the Queen of Na- 
 varre, to her uncle of Savoy, who had directed Mm 
 to proceed to Chillon, and there await his answer ; 
 and he bade the Archbishop and the assembled 
 judges beware how they detained and otherwise 
 maltreated the envoy of a powerful court. 
 
 " Thou hast appealed unto Caesar, and thus far, by 
 Cffisar shalt thou be judged," said the Archbishop ; 
 but no secular power can interfere to set aside our 
 second charge. Holy mother church and her minis- 
 ters must here decide. "We shall not," he continued, 
 looking round the court, whilst anger flashed from 
 his eye, and bitter scorn curled his lip ; " we shall
 
 THE TRIAL. 51 
 
 not be blinded by names, however glorious, we 
 have proof of guilt, and a witness whom none dare 
 falsify one who found the trail of the serpent even 
 in the paradise of domestic sanctity." Then turn- 
 ing to the Governor, he begged him to produce the 
 evidence of guilt wlu'ch he had discovered in the 
 apartment of his daughter. 
 
 After a speech in which he reiterated, in still 
 more intemperate language, the vituperation of his 
 reverend colleague, the Sire de Beaufort drew from 
 his bosom a small book, bound in vellum, with 
 clasps of silver, and handing it to Di Rossi, asked, 
 insultingly, " if he had ever seen it ?" 
 
 " I have, my lord," he replied, " it was once my 
 own." 
 
 " And to whom did you give it ?" 
 
 " To one, my lord," replied Di Eossi, deeply 
 colouring, " whose name is too honoured by me to 
 bring it forward thus." 
 
 " Nay, that subterfuge shall not avail you ! If 
 her father make the sacrifice so painful to his feel- 
 ings, and drag his daughter forward, it is not that 
 the guilty should screen himself behind her ! You 
 gave this book to the Lady Beatrice de Beaufort ?" 
 
 " I did."
 
 52 CH1LLON. 
 
 The Archbishop looked triumphantly around. 
 " You hear the chevalier's confession, my lords 
 and gentlemen ; " you hear him unhesitatingly de- 
 clare, that he placed heretical hooks in the hands of 
 a noble lady, a daughter of the church ; and now 
 hear some of the sentiments of these precious compo- 
 sitions, or rather judge for yourselves !" he added, 
 is he handed the little volume to the Baron de Vion- 
 nay, who stood nearest, and who, without opening, 
 would have returned it ; but the Archbishop signed 
 to him to circulate it amongst the rest of the judges, 
 many of whom declining to touch anything so de- 
 filing, it was scarcely opened by the numerous 
 hands it passed through. " It is now my pain- 
 ful office," continued the prelate, " to ask a further 
 confession from the Lord of Brieres, whose noble 
 devotion to the church can only be estimated by 
 the sacrifice he makes to her interests." 
 
 " Mark, my lord," interrupted the Governor, 
 " I do not implicate my daughter ! In acknow- 
 ledging that these books were found in her apart- 
 ment, I bring forward no proof of her having placed 
 them there. I therefore proceed to state, that near 
 the volume already before the court, I found a 
 Bible.
 
 THE TRIAL. 53 
 
 He stopped, and looked fixedly on the chevalier, 
 who replied, although in a voice that had lost some 
 of its firmness, " Had you looked on the opening 
 page of that sacred book, my lord, you would have 
 seen, that if there be guilt in placing the Word of 
 God in the hands of one, whose every action is, as 
 far as the frailty of human nature permits, con- 
 formable to it, I have not incurred it." Here 
 the Governor would have interrupted, but the 
 unanimous voice of the assembly called on Di 
 Rossi to proceed. " With regard to the other vo- 
 lume, I have acknowledged myself guilty, if so it 
 be deemed, to offer the production of one noble 
 and excellent lady to the notice and acceptance of 
 another; but when I name that most exalted 
 princess, the Queen of Navarre, as the writer, as 
 well as the giver, of that condemned volume, I trust 
 I shall be acquitted on this count also." An ex- 
 pression of general surprise ran round the court, 
 and Di Kossi, profiting by the favourable turn, con- 
 tinued : " I wish, my noble judges, to owe my ac- 
 quittal to your justice alone, but since I see amongst 
 your number some who would not grant it to my 
 innocence, let me warn those who detain me, that 
 they do so at their peril. My attendants are, ere
 
 54 CHILLON. 
 
 this, on their way to the court of the French king, 
 who will avenge any insult offered to the ambassador 
 of his sister ; nor will the Duke of Savoy, your 
 sovereign and mine, pardon, a second time, the 
 violation of his safe conduct !" 
 
 It would be difficult to describe the effect of this 
 appeal on the minds of the principal accusers of the 
 chevalier, backed as it was by the loud demands of 
 his friends for his immediate release. Robbed of 
 their most valuable prey, they turned with redoubled 
 fury on that which remained in their power. 
 
 " We despise your threats, chevalier," said the 
 prelate, " but we consent to defer your sentence, 
 until we can add to it the august names to which 
 you appeal. As to what concerns the wretched 
 partner of your crimes, we need not keep this 
 honourable conclave in suspense." 
 
 The life or sufferings of an obscure youth would 
 have excited little interest in the barons of Savoy or 
 of Vaud, but for the part he had borne in the trial 
 of the Chevalier di Rossi, and the political interest 
 involved in the charges brought against him. 
 
 Cottier replied with unblenching truth to these 
 charges : he related his story with modest simpli- 
 city, but when the Archbishop endeavoured, in the
 
 THE TRIAL. 55 
 
 most artful manner, to draw from him a confession 
 of collusion with the government of Geneva, which 
 might have compromised Di Eossi, he found his 
 threats, promises, or consummate address, alike 
 ineffectual. 
 
 " The young gentleman's memory is weak," said 
 the Governor, with his usual sarcastic laugh ; " there 
 are some assistants yonder, who will, I dare say, 
 refresh it. Time wears, and we have trifled away 
 too much of it already, off with him to the tor- 
 ture !" 
 
 " Patience, my nohle governor ! patience, I pray 
 you ! I have still some questions of importance to 
 put," interrupted the prelate, whose schemes of 
 deeper policy were sometimes impeded by the in- 
 temperance of his colleague. " Tell me, young 
 heretic, what is become of thy Bible ?" 
 
 " My little possessions have been examined, my 
 person searched," said Cottier, now indeed trem- 
 bling lest Alice's gift to Bonnivard should be dis- 
 covered. 
 
 " Dost thou, then, deny," continued his in- 
 terrogator, " that thou hast read the forbidden 
 book ?"
 
 56 CHILLON. 
 
 " No, my lord, since I have learnt therein, that 
 lies are an abomination." 
 
 " Admirably well applied ! and what besides has 
 your unassisted wisdom drawn from the prohibited 
 source ?" Cottier was silent, and after a few mo- 
 ments' pause, his godless persecutor continued : 
 " Has the stolen knowledge puffed thee up with 
 contumely and disobedience, that thou refusest to 
 reply to my demands ?" 
 
 " no ! it bids me yield to them that are in 
 authority, and when smitten on one cheek, to turn 
 the other." 
 
 " An excellent lesson !" retorted the scoffer, 
 " and one thou shalt not lack opportunities for 
 practising; but proceed: perchance thou hast 
 learnt therein to forsake thy church, and betray thy 
 lawful prince ?" 
 
 " No, my lord !" answered the poor boy, ex- 
 hausted by his protracted examination, and roused 
 by the insulting jeers and rude laughs of his merci- 
 less judges ; " but it has taught me, however hard 
 the saying, to pray for them that despitefully use 
 and persecute me." 
 
 " Why that is bravely said ! and now, as an obe-
 
 THE TEIAL. 57 
 
 dient son of the church and wise expounder of the 
 Scriptures, thou wilt kneel before this image of the 
 blessed Lady, and ask forgiveness for thy past 
 negligence towards her." 
 
 " I dare not !" said the noble youth, shrinking 
 with horror from the painted idol ; "I cannot ask 
 pardon of one who has no power to grant it !" 
 
 " Stop the mouth of the blasphemer !" exclaimed 
 the impatient Governor ; " the question ! the ques- 
 tion !" 
 
 And 0, shame to the church to which they be- 
 longed ! shame to the noble names they bore ! there 
 were many in that assembly who reiterated the cry ! 
 If this be a stain on human beings too deep to be 
 believed, let the trials of our own countrymen at 
 Smithfield let the bloody persecutions of the Vau- 
 dois and Albigenses let the whole army of martyrs 
 of all ages, sex, and countries, bear witness to the 
 faithfulness of the picture. The cry became louder 
 and louder, and was fearfully swelled by the yells 
 with which the agents of this blood-thirstiness 
 rushed on their prey. As their iron hands grasped 
 the tender arms of the youth, the blood forsook his 
 cheeks and lips, and rushed gushing to the heart ; 
 oppressed and almost suffocated, one sigh, one long- 
 
 D 5
 
 58 CHILLON. 
 
 drawn sigh, which bore on its breath an earnest 
 prayer for support, relieved that burdened heart, 
 and he recovered his fortitude nay, that is a cold 
 word for such an hour his faith in the promises 
 of his God. 
 
 But deliverance was at hand; the chevalier, 
 who had borne his own injurious treatment with so 
 much forbearance, unable to command himself at 
 the sight of Cottier's danger, darted forward, and 
 seizing in either hand one of the executioners of 
 torture, threw them violently to a considerable 
 distance ; then raising his arms over the head 
 of the youth, as if to shield him from re- 
 turning evil, whilst the agitated expression of his 
 countenance subsided into that of compassion- 
 ating sweetness, he looked like a guardian angel 
 who had rescued a spirit from the demons of 
 darkness, to convey it to the regions of the 
 blest. 
 
 " Archbishop of Turin !" he exclaimed, in a voice 
 whose thrilling tones penetrated to the furthest 
 corner of the hall, " is it by persecution and blood- 
 thirstiness that thou wouldest establish thy claims 
 as a priest and shepherd in the church of Christ ? 
 Ye nobles of the land, know ye not that God hath
 
 THE TRIAL. 59 
 
 denounced woe against those who decree unrighteous 
 judgments ? And ye, too, lords of Savoy, wot ye not 
 that it is for these your bloody persecutions that the 
 enemy is permitted to devastate your country, and 
 that the earth, saturated with the blood of the mar- 
 tyred, refuses to yield her increase that death 
 enters your palace gates, and lays the hope of the 
 nation low ?" 
 
 " Nay, this is beyond all endurance !" exclaimed 
 the Archbishop. " My lords, why sit ye tamely 
 here to be bearded thus ? Guards, do your duty ; 
 bear the prisoner off; and for thee, young heretic, 
 the rack has long been stretched, the pincers ready 
 heated." 
 
 The officials hesitated, awed by the majestic de- 
 portment of the chevalier, who, turning a look of 
 scorn on the assembly, as his eye glanced around 
 the hall, exclaimed, " What ! has cowardice and 
 cruelty seized on ye all, nobles, knights, priests, 
 and pilgrims? Is there not one generous spirit 
 that dares stand forward in the defence of inno- 
 cence ? Can ye not believe that virtue exists upon 
 the earth, and that the youth whose father was 
 rescued from a prison, should risk his young life to 
 return the boon ? Is it, then, for this ye cast him
 
 60 CHILLON. 
 
 into bonds, and bring him here to make sport for 
 the ungodly ? But sport ye shall have, my noble 
 lords sport ye did not dare even to dream of. Lay 
 me on the rack instead of this frail boy these 
 limbs will sustain a heavier wring of agony these 
 sinews are tougher !" saying this, he bared an arm 
 modelled for strength and symmetry. 
 
 " We can accept no vicarious sacrifice," said the 
 Archbishop ; " reserve your strength and courage, 
 sir knight, for the future demand that may be made 
 on it ! Minions ! are ye under the spell of the evil 
 one ? Do your duty, or ye shall taste of the torture 
 yourselves !" 
 
 At this threat, the guards advanced, and sur- 
 rounded the chevalier, who, finding all resistance 
 vain, cast a look of unutterable anguish on his 
 companion in bonds, as the demons of the in- 
 quisition again laid their hands on lu'm, and 
 felt that he had no resource but submission and 
 prayer. 
 
 Already was the victim dragged to the chamber 
 of torture,* already had his upper garments been 
 torn off, when one of the pilgrims, who during the 
 whole of the trial had stood immoveably leaning 
 on his staff, his hat, as on the preceding evening,
 
 THE TRIAL. 61 
 
 flapped over his face, turned to Father Ambroise, 
 who had been observed before earnestly to address 
 him, and pulling the ring already noticed from his 
 hand, gave it to him. The monk hastily crossed 
 the hall, mounted the tribunal, and as he whis- 
 pered a few words in the Archbishop's ear, presented 
 to him the token. 
 
 " Stay !" exclaimed the prelate, whilst a dark 
 cloud overspread his countenance, and belied the 
 words of peace which he uttered ; " we will pro- 
 ceed no further to-day. Bring back the culprit; 
 the holy Mary has been pleased, through her faith- 
 ful servant, Father Ambroise, to intercede for him. 
 Go, thou wretched misguided youth," he continued, 
 addressing Cottier, who had been conducted back 
 into the hall, " return to the solitude of thy dun- 
 geon ; the father will visit thee there : and if in 
 humble contrition thou abjure thy heresy, and 
 art willing, by fasting, confession, and penance, 
 to atone for thy sins, the church, merciful and 
 long-suffering, may again receive thee into her 
 bosom. 
 
 Ere the chevalier left the hall, he had the un- 
 speakable consolation of seeing his beloved fellow- 
 sufferer released from the dreadful fate which threat- 
 
 5
 
 62 CHILLON. 
 
 ened him ; and in comparative forgetfulness of his 
 own precarious situation, he returned to his former 
 place of captivity.
 
 THE PILGRIM. 63 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 Qui delivera le prisonier de ee sommeil sans rafraichissement 1 Qui 
 I'affranchira de ces chaines toutes autrement pesantes que celles qui 
 pendent a ces bras ] c'est 1'Ange qui 1'a instruit a preferer le pauvret6 
 au sein d'un peuple de frerse, aux joies voluptueuses qu'il ut connues 
 assis a la table des rois. 
 
 LE CHRONIQUER DE L'HELVETIE ROMAUDE. 
 
 IMMEDIATELY after the breaking up of the assem- 
 bly, the Archbishop of Turin entered the cabinet of 
 the Governor of Chillon. 
 
 " You are almost the only being I could look 
 on without abhorrence," said the latter, " and I 
 have given positive orders to be denied to all others 
 Tell me, I pray you, my lord, why you so suddenly 
 broke up the conclave ?" 
 
 " Saw you not the token he brought me the 
 precious ring of the holy martyr ? * I recog-
 
 64 CHILLON. 
 
 nised it the evening before on the hand of the 
 pilgrim." 
 
 " It seems strange that his highness should en- 
 trust any one to act with this unlimited authority. 
 Has your lordship any suspicion who this pilgrim 
 may he ?" 
 
 " He evidently desires to be unknown, and 
 therefore I have sought nothing beyond the validity 
 of his credentials. That ring and the monk did us 
 good service, however, in putting an end to a 
 scene that had a different effect to that I intended." 
 The Governor looked astonished. " The fortitude 
 of these heretics begins to have a dangerous power 
 over the spectators/' continued the Bishop, " and 
 the spirit of the times to rise against coercion." 
 
 " Would you, then, spare these miscreants all 
 corporeal punishment ?" 
 
 " I spoke only of the public exhibition of it. 
 But let us now change the subject for the more 
 grateful one of the extraordinary devotedness you 
 evinced in bringing forward the name of your 
 daughter; and tell me, De Beaufort, for as an 
 affectionate and deeply-interested friend I ask it, 
 is the young lady's mind at all tainted by these 
 cursed doctrines?"
 
 THE PILGRIM. 65 
 
 ' Alas, my lord !" replied the Governor, " oblige 
 not a tender father to condemn his only child !" 
 
 " Far he it from me to wound your feelings. I 
 only wished to know if the plague spot has shown 
 itself, that I might recommend some gentle remedy 
 ere it reached a vital part. It appears to me your 
 fair daughter's affections incline to little that is 
 mundane, and that she would make an admirable 
 nun the very abbess of Santa Clara whom we are 
 in search of." There was a pause of a few seconds, 
 when the Bishop, turning suddenly to his com- 
 panion, added, " De Beaufort, you are yet in the 
 prime of life you must marry again, and give an 
 heir to your noble house and princely wealth, who 
 will know better how to appretiate such advantages, 
 than your beautiful yet melancholy daughter, who 
 seems to sigh only for solitude." 
 
 The tempter had taken the most insidious form, 
 and had seized on the exact moment. 
 
 " Nay, my good lord," said the Governor, " what 
 fair lady would favour so ancient a suitor ?" 
 
 But the wily flatterer interrupting him, said, with 
 a sly expression and peculiar emphasis, " Who but 
 the illustrious Queen of the Kevels the Lady 
 Blanche ? Ah, my lord," he continued, resuming
 
 66 CHILLON. 
 
 his usual stately manner, " the lookers on, whose 
 vows preclude them from taking a part in the 
 pastimes of life, observe more than those occupied 
 in them. The calm Lord of Blonay has staked his 
 heart and his happiness on a losing venture, and 
 if you know how to profit by the turn of -Fortune's 
 wheel, you may not only secure his fair sister, but 
 his castle as her dower." 
 
 The Governor started, and looked at his com- 
 panion with awe the scheme nourished so long in 
 secret had found a tongue and that the eloquent 
 one of the confidential adviser of his prince. Guilt 
 thus sanctioned could, therefore, be no longer 
 guilt. 
 
 " You forget, my lord, that the Count has de- 
 manded Beatrice's hand; and I have empowered 
 Father Ambroise to question her, and convey her 
 answer to De Blonay." 
 
 ' The proceedings of this day may perhaps enable 
 him to hear that answer without regret," answered 
 the prelate ; " but let Father Ambroise fulfil this 
 mission, and then the further he is removed from 
 the seductions of inquiry, and the attractive influ- 
 ence of his fair pupil, the better. We must 
 provide him with some state employment, and the
 
 THE PILGRIM. 67 
 
 young lady with a temporary retirement in a nun- 
 nery." 
 
 " What think you of Einsiedeln ? the abbess is 
 a woman of known sanctity." 
 
 " Perhaps it would be better to put her under 
 milder rule at first generous natures are easier 
 won by concession. I have a cousin, the Abbess 
 of the Carmelites at St. Maurice, whose piety would 
 be more effective on such a mind as your daughter's, 
 than the intemperate zeal of Mother Chabelais, to 
 which we will only have recourse should milder 
 measures fail." 
 
 A summons to the noon-day repast now broke 
 up the conference. Soon after its termination, the 
 pilgrim, attended by Father Ambroise, was con- 
 ducted through several dark and winding passages 
 to the outer door of the subterranean dungeons, 
 where the monk, taking the keys and lamp from 
 the jailer, bade him there await their return, and 
 himself locked the ponderous door on the inside. 
 
 " How great a relief it is to feel myself free from 
 observation !" exclaimed his companion, raising his 
 hat, and wiping the cold sweat from his pale brow. 
 I have run a great risk in visiting this man, and 
 now scarcely dare to meet his eye ! O Father !
 
 68 CHILLON. 
 
 this is a fearful place in which to plunge one whose 
 pulse beats with life and energy !" 
 
 " I will dispose the light so as it shall fall on 
 the prisoner, and your high you, holy pilgrim, re- 
 main in the shade." 
 
 " So let it be ! and now proceed. Yet stay,'' 
 continued he, as Father Ambroise placed the key 
 in the lock of Bonnivard's cell, " do I not hear 
 some one speak ?" 
 
 " I have been told the Prior often talks to him- 
 self, sometimes repeating poetry, or holding imagi- 
 nary colloquies." 
 
 " Hist ! hist !" said the pilgrim, impatiently lay- 
 ing his hand on that of his companion. They 
 were silent, but heard nothing, save the clanking 
 of chains and the measured tread of a heavy foot. 
 The hold of the pilgrim was relaxing, when he 
 once more grasped the hand of the monk, as the 
 voice from within repeated the following lines : 
 
 " patience ! patience ! time will be 
 When yawning tombs shall yield their dead, 
 And He who sets the captive free, 
 Shall bind the tyrant in his stead." 
 
 Again all was silent the footsteps ceased the 
 monk turned the key and entered the cell, leaving
 
 THE PILGRIM. 69 
 
 open the door that his companion might remain in 
 obscurity without, and yet observe all that passed 
 within it, 
 
 Bonnivard had thrown himself into his usual 
 position at the foot of the pillar; his face was 
 buried in his hands, and he did not raise it as he ex- 
 claimed impatiently, " Thou art come early, jailer, 
 and will find my cruise unemptied leave it, and 
 begone ! Why dost thou linger ?" he continued ; 
 c ' away ! thy presence incommodes me !" and rais- 
 ing his head, his eyes fell on the compassionating 
 countenance of Father Ambroise, where they rested, 
 whilst he endeavoured to recollect himself; then 
 rising and bowing with the courtly grace and ease 
 which even suffering could not destroy, he said, 
 " Pardon me, holy father, I thought it was my hard 
 jailer. It is now so long since I have lived in 
 solitude, that memory nearly fails in her power of 
 reproduction: yet methinks she tells me, that when 
 Frangois Bonnivard was yet amongst his fellow- 
 men, his eye somewhere rested on your counte- 
 nance." 
 
 " We met, I think, five years since in Savoy," 
 said the monk. 
 
 " Nay, not so recently, holy father no man has
 
 70 CHILLON. 
 
 seen Frai^ois Bonnivard so lately by the light of 
 day ; he has been six long years in this living 
 tomb. The prisoner has an unerring calender, 
 though he has neither sun nor moon to reckon by 
 it is graven by suffering on the heart, by that 
 hope deferred which sickens, though it does not 
 deaden it. It is strange we do not die, but like 
 the Egyptian corse are dried and blackened, yet 
 preserved. You cannot surely, reverend sir, trace 
 in these gaunt bones and parchment skin, a like- 
 ness to Frangois Bonnivard ?" 
 
 " I find it in the intelligence of the eye," said 
 the monk ; " but I trust that suffering and trial 
 have subdued the inner with the outer man, and 
 disposed you to listen to the generous overtures 
 I am commissioned to make you from your prince." 
 
 " Poor Charles of Savoy !" said the prisoner, 
 with a deep sigh ; " he calculates liberally on my 
 Christian powers of forgiveness, or perhaps on the 
 lethean properties of silence and darkness." 
 
 " He calculates no further than his own generous 
 mind sanctions. Think you, Prior of St. Victor, 
 that your Prince has nought to forgive ?" 
 
 ' There are two ways of viewing the subject," 
 said Bonnivard, his eyes lighting up, his pale thin
 
 THE PILGRIM. 71 
 
 cheeks glowing with a brilliant hectic, and his 
 whole heing animated by the long smothered hut 
 unextinguished fires which the subject called forth ; 
 " viewed only as subject towards his prince, I may 
 have appeared in fault, but as friend towards friend, 
 or man towards man, I deny the accusation. I 
 saw the first gleam of light burst from the moral 
 chaos around us, yea, even before those rays of 
 divine intelligence appeared, which afterwards 
 visited our benighted church ; I discovered the 
 spirit of liberty and justice brooding on the waters, 
 I aroused my prince, I conjured him to yield in 
 some degree to the pressing demands of that grow- 
 ing light, and when I found that his once noble 
 and gentle heart was seared by prejudice and evil 
 counsel against even moderate concession, I openly 
 declared my own determination of giving up the 
 revenues I held from the church, and enlisting in 
 the cause of liberty and Geneva." 
 
 " And did your ardent hopes meet their comple- 
 tion there ?" 
 
 " If you ask me if I found the philosophy of 
 Greece and Home amongst the bustling citizens, I 
 answer nay ; but I found what was more precious 
 and disinterested, self-denial and noble courage.
 
 72 CHILLON. 
 
 which raised them ahove the proudest examples of 
 antiquity : and when my fastidious taste, fresh from 
 the schools of eloquence, and attic wit, revolted 
 against their coarse oratory, my soul was moved hy 
 the reality of the sacrifices they daily made to the 
 nohlest of causes, religion and liherty and, holy 
 father ! amidst all my sufferings, that struggling 
 city has been nearest my heart I scarcely dare ask 
 you of her welfare ?" 
 
 " She has hitterly expiated her wrongs towards 
 her lawful prince," said the monk sternly, " and her 
 citizens have been called on for the heaviest sacri- 
 fices." 
 
 " Which will one day be recompensed," inter- 
 rupted Bonnivard. " Listen to mfe, holy father ! 
 The Spirit of God was in the still small voice 
 that broke on the prophet's solitude in the 
 silence of my cell that voice has reached me too, 
 in prophetic breathings, and told me that Geneva 
 will be both spiritually and morally free that the 
 door of my prison will be opened, and that these 
 dungeons will never again echo to the sigh of the 
 captive. Yes !" he continued, and his voice rose 
 in its full melodious diapason, " amid solitude and 
 darkness, the mist that hangs over the distant
 
 THE PILGRIM. 73 
 
 prospect has been cleared from my mental eye, and 
 I have been enabled to behold the lovely scene 
 beneath. I see this land free and happy I see 
 peace and industry blessing its favoured inmates 
 and through the long vista of ages I perceive a 
 pilgrim band of all nations come to deck, as a holy 
 shrine, the pillar where the unfortunate Bonnivard 
 lingered out a captivity of years. The poet will 
 here suspend his laurel crown the tear of beauty 
 will moisten the soil the children of the land will 
 come on a favoured holiday, to raise their young 
 voices in thanksgiving for the light of liberty which 
 first broke from the captive's cell, and the youth 
 of all nations and creeds will pause in their wild 
 wanderings across the mountains, to bless his 
 memory ; whilst thou, poor Charles of Savoy ! will 
 be denounced as the weak and wavering prince 
 who, yielding to the counsel of evil men, denied the 
 light of freedom to thy subjects, and the light of 
 Heaven to thy friend !" He stopped, and dropping 
 his voice, added, " Do I not hear some one on the 
 outside of my cell ?" 
 
 At this moment " A sunbeam that had lost its 
 way," penetrated into the outer dungeon, and 
 
 VOL. II. E
 
 74 CHILLON. 
 
 partially illuminated it. Bright flambeaux, hung 
 by no human hand, seemed suddenly suspended 
 from the vaulted roof, and to shed their uncertain 
 and tremulous light between the arched pillars. It 
 was but the transient illumination of the setting 
 sun already noticed, but it lasted long enough to 
 enable the captive to distinguish the figure of the 
 pilgrim, who, overcome by conflicting emotions, 
 and almost believing its sudden appearance to be 
 an augury of the fulfilment of Bonnivard's pro- 
 phecy, had sunk on his knees at the open door of 
 the cell. 
 
 " Charles of Savoy," said the prisoner, " comest 
 thou hither to view the misery of him thou hast 
 wronged ?" 
 
 " I come, Prior of St. Victor, to offer thee par- 
 don and restitution," said the Duke, rising and 
 entering the cell. 
 
 " On what terms ?" asked the undaunted cap- 
 tive. 
 
 " Terms that are in themselves a recompense a 
 return to the bosom of your church and the con- 
 fidence of your prince." An expression of sorrow 
 crossed the brow of the Prior, but he spoke not.
 
 THE PILGRIM. 75 
 
 '' Thou dost not answer ! Is it that thou scornest 
 the mercy that would deliver thee from temporal 
 and eternal bondage ?" 
 
 " Why will you mock me with the question, my 
 Prince ? why force me to tell you what it will 
 anger you to hear ? Enough ! I have left the 
 abominations of the seven-hilled harlot, and will 
 not again place myself within her unhallowed em- 
 brace ! You have your answer, Duke of Savoy, 
 press me no further." 
 
 " Presumptuous man ! knowest thou not that 
 thou art in my power ?" 
 
 " I know that your highness has power over my 
 life, but not my faith !" returned the prisoner. 
 
 " I must then draw again thy prison bolts," said 
 the Duke, with a deep sigh ; " and my weary pil- 
 grimage has been made in vain !" 
 
 " O not in vain, my prince," said Bonnivard, 
 deeply affected, " since it will prove to you that 
 even in the midst of the severest human misfor- 
 tunes God can give peace to the injured, and enable 
 him to pardon the injurer !" 
 
 The pilgrim prince hesitated the slightest con* 
 cession would have inclined him to mercy, but 
 
 E 2
 
 76 CHILLON. 
 
 without it he had not sufficient elevation of senti- 
 ment to grant it. Turning once more to his cap- 
 tive he said, " My conscience is clear of your 
 blood, Fra^ois Bonnivard ; you have woven the 
 tissue of your own destiny, and died it with its 
 sombre hue ! Farewell !" 
 
 The monk pressed the hand of the captive ere he 
 followed the Duke out of the cell, and reluctantly 
 closed the door after him. When he reached his 
 apartment, Charles, threw himself on his knees be- 
 fore an image of the Virgin, exclaiming, " O 
 Maria, mother of God ! thou wilt recompense me 
 for the costly sacrifice of a fellow-creature's suffer- 
 ings, which I have this day placed on thine altar!" 
 
 He trembled so excessively, and looked so pale 
 and exhausted, that the monk hastened to present 
 him with a cup of spiced wine, which Charles swal- 
 lowed, and Father Ambroise took the opportunity 
 of urging him to give up his contemplated pilgrim- 
 age to Einsiedeln, and return at once to his capital. 
 Having obtained a reluctant consent, he promised 
 to hold himself in readiness to accompany the 
 Duke back to Turin, stipulating only for one day's 
 delay, which the pilgrim party were to spend at the
 
 THE PILGRIM. 77 
 
 tomb of Sigismond, and the good father destined 
 himself to the performance of deeds of active bene- 
 volence, far more accordant to the example of Him 
 " who went about doing good."
 
 78 CHILLON. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE PARTING TOKEN. 
 
 Bear her this farewell token 'twas her gift, 
 And it will tell my fate, although thy tongue 
 Denies its utterance and when her cheek 
 Grows wan with grief, her gentle spirit sinks 
 Then do thy gracious errand, holy man, 
 
 And minister of mercy. 
 
 MS. 
 
 FATHER AMBROISE arose the next morning after 
 a sleepless night, during which the interview with 
 Bonnivard shared his vigils, with many other subjects 
 of painful interest. He saw himself strongly hlended, 
 hoth from circumstances and inclination, with those 
 whose religious tenets he, as a pious member of 
 the Romish church, was called on to denounce and 
 condemn ; and his conscience often upbraided him 
 for the anxious solicitude he felt to rescue them 
 from her grasp, as well as for the love he entertained
 
 THE PARTING TOKEN. 79 
 
 for them. In contemplating the efforts which the 
 succeeding day would call on him to make in their 
 behalf, he most dreaded the interview with Beatrice, 
 and the painful disclosure he might have to make 
 to De Blonay ; nor did the proposed visit to the 
 dungeon of Cottier inspire him with any hope of 
 winning hack that young wanderer to his abjured 
 faith. Under the influence of these melancholy 
 forebodings, the benevolent monk sought the apart- 
 ment of his beloved pupil ; and after a painful in- 
 terview, in which she made a full confession of her 
 determination to adopt the reformed faith, he left 
 her with a spirit still more depressed, to break, at 
 her desire, the sad intelligence to De Blonay. 
 Avoiding the public road, he had struck into a 
 retired path, which led up the beautiful valley 
 towards his castle, when he was accosted by a 
 peasant, who came out of one of the foresters' 
 lodges. 
 
 " I have seen your countenance before, friend," 
 said the monk, " but I cannot just now recollect 
 where." 
 
 " Where you will probably never see it again, 
 holy father in yonder fortress."
 
 80 CH1LLON. 
 
 " Lenoir ! forgive me, that I did not sooner re- 
 cognise thee but thou art changed methinks thou 
 art freer, happier." 
 
 " Ay, praised be God, and my Lord of Blonay, 
 I am ! Look, holy father, at yonder neat cottage 
 and its garden and meadow, they are all mine ; and 
 those are my children yonder, and my excellent 
 wife will it please ye enter ?" 
 
 " Thank ye, Lenoir, another day ; but I am now 
 in haste to reach the castle of thy new lord." 
 
 " If you will permit me to conduct you by a 
 nearer path, I will accompany you, father, for I need 
 your counsel and want your assistance ; and Heaven 
 seems purposely to have placed you in my path." 
 
 Lenoir led the way towards a pine forest, and 
 plunging into the thickest shade, walked on for 
 some time very quickly, the monk following in 
 silence ; at length stopping suddenly he said, " Fa- 
 ther, I am about to place my life in your hands 
 but you will not betray me ?" 
 
 " Proceed, son you have nothing to fear." 
 
 " You know my office, holy father, and that I 
 have been a man of rough calling from my youth ; 
 but it was not till I came to yon castle that I
 
 THE PARTING TOKEN. 81 
 
 lifted my hand in aught but honest warfare of 
 sword against sword there, at the bidding of one 
 bad man but let this pass, his soul must answer 
 for the deed, and I have vowed that the circum- 
 stances of that dark act shall never be divulged by 
 me. I only hint at it to show you why the proud 
 Governor trembled before his meanest servant. I 
 have yet a fouler spot to wipe off. Yes, holy 
 father at the command of those who told me I 
 did a service to our church, I fell so low as to 
 tarnish my honest name, and take the pincers of 
 the torturer. Once, once only and O the noble 
 limbs that writhed beneath my vile hands !" 
 
 Here the poor man, overpowered by his emotion, 
 leant against a tree, and convulsive sobs checked his 
 voice. 
 
 " Go on ! go on, I entreat !" said his compas- 
 sionating listener. 
 
 " I bore the bleeding man myself from the rack, 
 with a soul hardened in wickedness. I laid him on 
 his wretched pallet, and steeling myself against 
 expected reproaches, 1 was about to mock his 
 agony by some fiend-like jeer, when I heard him 
 pray pray for me his torturer !" The heavy 
 throes of conscience seemed again to rend the 
 
 E 5
 
 82 CHILLON. 
 
 powerful frame of the penitent, and to suspend his 
 narrative ; at length, after a short pause, he con- 
 tinued. " I pray you pardon me, father ! you are 
 in haste, and I will endeavour to he so too. I had 
 another prisoner, the Prior of St. Victor, him 
 too I loved loved for his patient cheerfulness, and 
 his hrave endurance of misery. By degrees I 
 lingered in his cell, and that of the Christian knight 
 whom I had so injured. By degrees I became less 
 brutish, and my soul was softened by their gentle- 
 ness." The Governor saw the change, and his spies 
 discovered the little indulgences I granted to my 
 prisoners. My young lady had a fair page, a gentle 
 boy, whose services she much valued ; there were 
 many guesses amongst the menials that his birth 
 and breeding were above the office he filled, and 
 my lady perhaps knew this, for she showed him 
 much favour. You saw those children, holy father, 
 playing around my dwelling ; to that young gen- 
 tleman's bravery I owe their lives. In return for 
 this, I asked what I could do for him, and he bade 
 me conduct him into the cell of Bonnivard. I 
 took every precaution, but it was frustrated by 
 some secret intelligence which his spies obtained 
 of our intention. In short, we were discovered.
 
 THE PARTING TOKEN. 83 
 
 and all I dreaded happened the youth was left in 
 the prisons, and I conducted into the presence of 
 the Governor. I was not unprepared for tin's pos- 
 sible turn of events, and when his excellence 
 talked of punishment, I informed him that in 
 case of my detention, I had desired my wife, 
 to inform my Lord of Blonay where he might 
 seek me. ' Villain !' exclaimed the Governor, 
 turning pale with rage, ' thou hast been too cun- 
 ning for me ;' but quickly recovering himself he 
 added, ' It is time that we part, Lenoir, let us 
 do so as friends ; whilst I can depend on thy 
 secresy, thou shalt have no reason to doubt my 
 generosity. Go to thy home, and let 110 vestige 
 of yourself or your belongings remain until the 
 morrow.' I bowed and left the room." 
 
 " And the poor boy ?" interrupted the monk. 
 
 " I tried to put in a word for him, but in vain," 
 said Lenoir sorrowfully ; " and it is on his account 
 that I wish to entreat your assistance, knowing 
 you, father, are not one of those, who think all 
 mercy shown to those who differ from you in creed, 
 to be sin." 
 
 " Is there any chance of escape ?" asked the monk 
 eagerly.
 
 84 CHILLON. 
 
 " None from his present position in the lower 
 dungeons ; hut if, hy your interest with the Gover- 
 nor, you could get him removed into the chamber 
 above, whose window looks into the lake, old Isaack 
 might, on pretence of fishing, bring his little boat 
 near enough to pick him up if he could jump into 
 it." 
 
 " I will use my best endeavour to aid the poor 
 youth," said the father, " I will visit him on my 
 return; and now, farewell, for here isBlonay." 
 
 Lenoir having expressed his thanks, and kissed 
 the good man's hand, left him to pursue his way 
 thoughtfully, beneath the noble avenue of ancient 
 trees that led up to the baronial residence. As he 
 walked slowly underneath the terrace, which once 
 ornamented the western wing of the building, he 
 heard the sound of laughter, and distinguished the 
 voice of the Governor, who was leaning over the 
 balcony with the Lady Blanche ; whilst on a seat at 
 a little distance, he observed the elder lady of the 
 castle in close conversation with the Archbishop of 
 Turin. He passed on unobserved, and entered the 
 great court, where some of the retainers were dis- 
 tributing wine and provisions to a party of servants,
 
 THE PARTING TOKEN. 85 
 
 in attendance on the noble visitors. The monk 
 asked for the young count, and was informed he 
 was ill, and kept his apartment. 
 
 " If you will please to enter, holy father," said one 
 of the men, " perchance my lord might like to see 
 you in his sleeping chamber." 
 
 The valet conducted him into the hall ; and throw- 
 ing open the door of the saloon, begged him to 
 enter, and await the answer he would bring him 
 from Ms master. The windows of this room were 
 open, and led into the balcony in which the Lady 
 Countess and the Archbishop were seated. They 
 were shaded by Venetian blinds, which concealed 
 those who were within, without preventing the con- 
 versation from being overheard. 
 
 " I tell you again and again, my lord," said the 
 Lady de Blonay, " that Alberto will never love any 
 other than the Lady Beatrice ; and as he cannot 
 marry her, his possessions will, of course, become 
 the heritage of my daughter's children : surely, then, 
 with such expectations, added to her great beauty, 
 Blanche has a right to a rich jointure." 
 
 "And will not the rich lands of Brieres furnish 
 one, dear lady ?" 
 
 "The Sire de Beaufort, my lord, you must be
 
 86 CHILLON. 
 
 aware, has no claim on these after his daughter's 
 minority ; they were the inheritance of her mother, 
 the Countess of Brires and Cormayeur, and will 
 revert to her only child." 
 
 "What if the Duke should refuse to allow a 
 heretic to enjoy them ?" 
 
 " In that case," returned the lady with a sarcastic 
 smile, " finding her new fancies likely to cost her 
 so dear, she will renounce them." 
 
 " Well, then we must make a nun of her, and 
 dower her with the rich abhey of Santa Clara." 
 
 " There too you will fail, my lord, for I know the 
 young lady's rooted aversion to the veil." 
 
 " Well, well, madam, 1 ' said the prelate, in a tone 
 which admitted no further contradiction, " we will 
 now, if you please, drop the discussion. Let it 
 satisfy you to know, that the Archbishop of Turin 
 has pledged his word ; that his resolution is taken, 
 and that if persuasion and influence do not succeed 
 Here the servant entered to inform the 
 father that his master would be happy to see him. 
 
 The young nobleman was seated in his private 
 cabinet, and looked pale and dejected. In reply to 
 the inquiries of his visitor, he answered, " I have 
 profited by a trifling indisposition to keep my room,
 
 THE PARTING TOKEN. 87 
 
 and enjoy the privilege of solitude ; but my thoughts 
 are such melancholy companions, that I rejoice to 
 exchange them for your society, holy father, even 
 though I perceive, by the kind commiseration of 
 your looks, that you have nothing cheering to im- 
 part. Have you seen the Lady Beatrice ? " 
 
 The father replied sadly in the affirmative. " I 
 ask you no further," continued the Count, his pale 
 countenance becoming yet paler. " I never had 
 any hope "Beatrice was too sincere to hold out any 
 too upright to deceive. And indeed, how could I 
 wish it otherwise ? for even with her, I could enjoy 
 no happiness her unfortunate opinions " 
 
 The father interrupted him hastily. " If you 
 are equal to the walk, I would ask your company on 
 my homeward road, and I will explain myself more 
 fully ; my recent experience has made me mis- 
 trustful of the thickness of these walls." 
 
 " I will gladly accompany you," said the Count, 
 " for I want your sympathy on a subject that 
 weighs yet heavier on my heart, since its burden 
 also oppresses my conscience. I allude to my base 
 desertion of my friend in the hour of trial, and the 
 cowardice which tamely submitted to the unjust 
 persecution of that extraordinary youth."
 
 88 CHILLON. 
 
 " You remind me of a mission I have undertaken 
 in his favour, and that I must visit him ere set of 
 sun," said Father Amhroise ; as he and the lord of 
 the castle quitted it hy a private passage, that led 
 directly into the forest. 
 
 Before we introduce the henevolent monk into 
 Michael Cottier's cell, we must go hack a few days, 
 and describe the poor boy's situation as Lenoir left 
 him alone in silence and darkness, on the night of 
 their ill-fated visit to the Prior of St. Victor. The 
 jailer had not proceeded many paces, ere he re- 
 turned to take the key from the lock and give it to 
 the youth. " Take it," he said, " and hide it under 
 the pavement in the corner of the cell, where the 
 poor knight concealed his treasures. If we are 
 discovered, and I can't return to let you out, which 
 God forbid ! this key may one day be of service, and 
 I have its fellow at home, if applied to." 
 
 On removing the stone, and groping beneath, 
 Cottier found a book and some papers, but the 
 darkness prevented his seeing further, and laying 
 them with the key underneath the pavement, he 
 threw himself on his knees, and prayed ardently 
 for fortitude and faith to meet the trials that 
 threatened him and fortitude and faith were given
 
 THE PARTING TOKEN. 89 
 
 him ; for when the cruel Bertoldo entered the cell 
 a short time after, he received him with the calm 
 superiority of a purer essence. This served to in- 
 crease the malignant passions of the wretch, who 
 indulged in hitter taunts and low revilings, whilst 
 the spirit of the young Christian rose higher by 
 oppression, as the fire of persecution, operating 
 only on the baser metal of human pride and human 
 will, leaves the pure gold of the sanctuary unalloyed. 
 Under the stone already mentioned, Cottier found 
 an ink-horn, and a few sheets of paper full of the 
 pious breathings of the former captive. For a few 
 hours in the day, eyes occustomed to darkness 
 could trace their characters, for these they fur- 
 nished a delightful occupation ; and when night 
 came he would muse on what he had read, and 
 endeavour to fix it on his memory. Sometimes 
 also he would, with a piece of charcoal, trace on 
 the walls of his cell, from subjects that filled his 
 imagination, rough sketches which time long 
 spared ; and at others, would draw on his mental 
 store for interests to while away the long hours. 
 Prayer, however, was his chief resource ; and during 
 its exercise, there were precious moments when the 
 covering of the flesh seemed to be removed when
 
 90 CHILLON. 
 
 the roof of his dungeon was opened, and angels, 
 such as visited the patriarchs in Bethel, descended 
 to minister unto him. It was in such a frame of 
 mind, with a soul strengthened by manna from 
 Heaven, that our youthful confessor was called on 
 to appear before bis unjust judges in the hall of the 
 castle. At the bottom of the staircase, he passed 
 the bier containing the pale form of the Knight of 
 Jerusalem; and immediately at the entrance en- 
 countered the Chavalier di Rossi. They could only 
 look at each other, and breathe a cheering word of 
 encouragement and hope. 
 
 The history of their trial has already been given ; 
 but it would be difficult to analyze the mingled 
 feelings with which the young Christian returned to 
 his cell. At first, he felt disappointed at being 
 drawn back from the goal, which he seemed almost 
 to have reached ; but when the supernatural strength 
 supplied in his need, began to sink, next to his 
 thankfulness to Heaven for his deliverance, his 
 young heart burned with enthusiastic gratitude to- 
 wards his intrepid defender, and the desire of escape 
 for his sake, and that of Bonnivard, for the first 
 time took possession of his mind. " If I can suc- 
 ceed in reaching Geneva," he said, " I cannot fail of
 
 THE PARTING TOKEN. 91 
 
 procuring assistance ; but something must be 
 attempted, and that speedily, or the torture may, 
 to-morrow, incapacitate me from all further exertion." 
 He took the key of his dungeon from its hiding- 
 place, and trusting that Bertoldo would not return 
 until his accustomed hour at night, he unlocked 
 the door, and ventured into the outer passage, 
 which, as we have already observed, ran the whole 
 length of the subterranean chamber. He examined 
 the walls, and found them pierced by loop-holes, 
 which he imagined would be wide enough to admit 
 the passage of his slender form, had they not been 
 guarded by a thick iron bar, which ran perpen- 
 dicularly through them. Could he remove tin's im- 
 pediment ? He climbed the wall, and applied his 
 whole force to the massive iron. Alas, as easily 
 might he have pulled down the pillars of his prison. 
 Sad, and almost despairing, he re-entered his cell, 
 and sat down to consider what he could do. The 
 silence of the grave was around him, interrupted 
 only by the ticking of his watch a sudden thought 
 struck him, he took it from his pocket. " It 
 was thy parting gift, my mother," he said, " and 
 thou badest me use it in an hour of need that 
 hour is now arrived." He detached the cover, un-
 
 92 CHILLON. 
 
 screwed the workings, and succeeded in taking out 
 the main- spring which, the watch being of a large 
 size, was of considerable force ; then replacing the 
 screws, he put the watch again into his bosom, and 
 felt as though he had silenced a thing of life. 
 Once more, he left the cell, anxious to try the 
 effect of his acquisition, and judging from the last 
 hour his now silent companion had indicated, that 
 there were yet many ere his jailer would appear, he 
 climbed to the loophole with a beating heart, and 
 applied his singular tool to the iron bar. The pro- 
 gress he made through its massive strength, was 
 almost imperceptible, but it was progress ; and with 
 a flushed cheek, and beating heart, he continued 
 for some time exerting his utmost efforts in his 
 interesting employment, when the sound of approach- 
 ing footsteps obliged him to return hastily into his 
 cell. He had scarcely time to lock the door and to 
 thrust the key into his bosom, ere Bertoldo entered ; 
 to whom he stammered out something on the un- 
 usual hour of his visit. 
 
 " I am anxious to know how you do to-day, 
 young master, after your little relaxation of yester- 
 day ? Why I declare," he continued, " holding the 
 lamp with a fiend-like leer towards his shrinking
 
 THE PARTING TOKEN. 93 
 
 victim, " you are looking all the better for it ; your 
 cheeks are red as a midsummer rose, and your eyes 
 so bright that I have little need of a lamp to find 
 you; these occasional breaks in a somewhat 
 solitary life, keep the blood in circulation may be 
 your next will be still more animating." 
 
 Cottier answered not, and Bertoldo went on. 
 " As I see you are in a very sociable humour, I am 
 sorry I cannot stay just now; but here is a gentle 
 man at hand desirous of speaking with you, if it 
 suits your humour to admit him." 
 
 " Certainly," said Cottier ; and a few minutes 
 after Father Ambroise entered his cell. 
 
 " This is not the first time we have met," said the 
 monk, looking with compassionate interest on the 
 young captive. 
 
 "It was to your kind influence, father, that I 
 yesterday owed the reprieve of my punishment ; or 
 perhaps I should say, its postponement." 
 
 " I trust not, my dear son. I hope that you will 
 listen to the pleadings of truth and reason, and 
 hear me patiently, since I am empowered to offer 
 you pardon and liberty, if I can succeed in winning 
 you back to your ancient faith." 
 
 Their conversation was long and interesting
 
 94 CHILLON. 
 
 begun in Christian charity, it was continued on both 
 sides with the same zealous desire to rescue a soul 
 from what each deemed dangerous error. It did not 
 degenerate into bigotry or bitterness, and if neither 
 party was convinced, both were benefited by the 
 gentleness and charity evinced by the other. 
 
 " I must then leave thee in thy dungeon, my poor 
 boy," said the monk ; when after a considerable 
 time spent in close conference, he found how in- 
 effectual his arguments had been. 
 
 " Yes, dear Father Ambroise, but you leave me 
 not alone." 
 
 " True, my son, Heaven will not yet, I trust, 
 leave thee to thy blindness. My soul yearns over 
 thee, and I would fain spare thee the trial of the 
 flesh that too surely awaits thee." 
 
 " A few passing clouds, dear father ; some drops 
 of rain, and then eternal sunshine." 
 
 " Hast thou no misgivings, boy no struggles 
 to be free ?" 
 
 " Yes, holy father, ardent struggles, as the eagle 
 after the sun." 
 
 " I spoke of earthly liberty. Hast thou no 
 friends ?" 
 
 " I have a mother, and perhaps you would be 
 6
 
 THE PARTING TOKEN. 95 
 
 the bearer to her of a farewell gift ?" Cottier took 
 his watch from his bosom. " She gave me this at 
 parting, and bade me keep it for an hour of need ; 
 you will tell her I did so, and when she receives, 
 she will read in it the fate of her son." 
 
 " Nay," said the monk, pushing Cottier's hand 
 gently back ; " keep thy watch, it may cheer thy 
 lone hours." 
 
 " I have done with time," he replied, solemnly. 
 
 The father took the watch, and placed it to his 
 ear; he found it had ceased to work, and opening 
 it, discovered the reason. He made no remark, 
 but after a short pause, turning to Cottier, said, 
 in a very low voice, " I will not fail to do as thou 
 wishest but I have hopes that thou mayst ere long 
 return to thy dear parent. Dost thou remember 
 seeing me in the cottage of poor Isaack Bontemps, 
 the night his sister died ?" 
 
 " Perfectly they were tried friends of our 
 family." 
 
 " And are faithful to you still ;" and the father's 
 voice sunk still lower as he added, " not a night 
 passes but the old man throws his net beneath these 
 walls. I have hopes of getting thee removed into 
 an upper chamber, I dare not add more." Then
 
 96 CHILLON. 
 
 raising his voice, he said, " Farewell, my son ! the 
 holy pilgrim to whom thou already owest so much 
 has interceded with the Governor for thy removal 
 into a lighter apartment ; I will pray that the beams 
 of truth may visit you in it."
 
 THE ESCAPE. 97 
 
 . CHAPTEK VII. 
 
 THE ESCAPE. 
 The wall is high ; and yet I will leap down. 
 
 I am afraid ; and yet I'll venture it. 
 If I get down, and do not break my limbs, 
 I'll find a thousand shifts to get away ; 
 As good to die and go, as die and stay. 
 
 SHAK.SPEARE. King John. 
 
 IT was night dark, starless night. The inha- 
 bitants of the castle had early sought their beds ; 
 the servants, worn out by the late hours and addi- 
 tional services of the preceding days, as well as 
 drowsy from the fumes of the wine which had cir- 
 culated freely during their carousals, slept soundly. 
 The guests had all quitted the castle, except the 
 Archbishop and his suite, and the pilgrims who had 
 
 VOL. II. F
 
 98 CHILLON. 
 
 returned from St. Maurice to pass a last night be- 
 neath its roof. The evening meal had been scan- 
 tily attended, and speedily dispatched. Even the 
 Governor and the Archbishop had laid aside their 
 diplomacy, and yielded to the imperious call of 
 fatigue ; and the jailer, placing his keys beneath 
 the pillow of the former an hour before the usual 
 time, retired with the laconic assurance " that all 
 was safe." The sentinel on the western rampart, 
 conscious perhaps of his share in the general drowsi- 
 ness, walked quickly to and fro, shielding his arms 
 from the hail which rebounded from his polished 
 helmet, and secretly rejoicing in the vigour of the 
 night wind which blew against his face, and pre- 
 vented his heavy eyes from closing. 
 
 The hum and bustle of man had ceased, but they 
 seemed only to have resigned the arena to the jar 
 of elements, and all around was dark, except when 
 vivid and forked lightning threw the brilliancy of 
 day on the surrounding objects, playing on the 
 old towers of the castle, and glancing over the 
 waters. 
 
 " Who goes there ?" asked the soldier, as one 
 of these occasional illuminations revealed to him 
 a dark figure, standing at one of the loop-holes.
 
 THE ESCAPE. 99 
 
 " It is I, my son, Father Ambroise," answered a 
 calm voice. 
 
 " By my patron, St. Anthony, father, you have 
 chosen a rough night to leave your warm nest. I 
 should have thought no one would have taken a 
 walk on these battlements in such weather, by 
 choice." 
 
 " Dost thou not know, my son, that hardship 
 and endurance are part of my vows ?" 
 
 " I know, holy father, that men vow, now- 
 a-days, much that they never perform : not that 
 we tax Father Ambroise with such double deal- 
 ing ; but certes, father, this is a work of useless 
 penance." 
 
 " Nothing is useless, my son, that teaches us to 
 despise the complacencies of the flesh. Besides, I 
 love to contemplate the beauties of creation, and to 
 listen to the voice of the Creator, even in his angry 
 thunder. How bright was that vivid flash ! Thou 
 wouldest do well, my friend, to lay aside thy arque- 
 buse it is a dangerous attraction for the lightning.' 1 
 The soldier laid it within the watch-tower, and the 
 monk, calling him to the further side of the ram- 
 part, pointed to the chain of the Jura. " Look ! 
 look !" he said, " how the incessant ashes illumine 
 
 / F 2
 
 ] 00 CHILLON. 
 
 the sides of the mountains one would almost ima- 
 gine it to be a wall of fire." 
 
 The sentinel's eyes were fixed on an object nearer 
 home, for the tell-tale flash had discovered a little 
 boat, struggling against the foaming waves of the 
 lake, just beneath the castle walls 
 
 " Did you not see a boat yonder, holy father ? 
 Wait until the next flash, there, there !" he cried, 
 " immediately under the hall of justice ;" and he 
 ran for his fire-arms. " I will hazard a shot at it," 
 he continued, as he returned with the loaded piece. 
 It may rouse the other sentinels, and prevent 
 mischief." 
 
 " Stop, my son !" said the monk, laying his hand 
 on the soldier's arm ; " may it not be some poor 
 fisherman, who is gone in the midst of the storm to 
 secure his nets ?" 
 
 " I scarcely think any of the craft would be 
 hardy enough to venture out in such a night. 
 Hist, father ! did you not hear a plash, as if some 
 one had fallen into the water ? May be it is one of 
 the prisoners taking an evening bath in the lake, 
 under the superintendence of the master of the 
 bathing establishment, Signer Bertoldo," continued 
 the man, with a short significant laugh ; " but they
 
 THE ESCAPE. 101 
 
 do not usually take a boat with them in their 
 pastimes, and I surely hear the stroke of oars." 
 
 This was not fancy. The ears of the other 
 listener, stretched in the deepest attention, had also 
 heard the plunge and the plash of oars that suc- 
 ceeded, but the wild spirit of the storm that again 
 arose after the transitory calm, soon drowned all 
 other sound. 
 
 The soldier again raised his arms. " There they 
 are, there they are," he shouted, as successive flashes 
 of lightning again discovered the little bark, bearing 
 rapidly away towards the other side of the lake. 
 The man fired the shot ran hissing across the 
 waters another was heard from a distant part of 
 the castle and then all was still. 
 
 " If anything comes of this, holy father, you are 
 a witness that I did my duty," said the sentinel. 
 " I am sorry I could not hit the fellows, for be 
 their errand what it may, they have no business to 
 be lurking there at this time of night. However, 
 it is some comfort to know, that if they have escaped 
 my balls, there is no chance for their cockleshell in 
 such a storm." 
 
 " There would indeed be none, if Heaven were 
 not more merciful than man/' replied the monk ;
 
 102 CHILLON. 
 
 ' but perchance I am more skilful in reading the 
 skies than thou, my friend. I see a clearing over 
 the Jura, and can discern a few stars ; the violence 
 of the wind is passing away, and God has stilled 
 the raging of the waves. ' 
 
 It was as he predicted : the thunder rolled more 
 distantly, the pelting hail was succeeded by soft 
 rain, the wind sank sobbing to rest, and the waves 
 of the lake subsided into the long roll which follows 
 unusual agitation. 
 
 The father now retired to his apartment not to 
 sleep, but to prostrate himself in painful penance 
 before the image of his vain idolatry, and to im- 
 plore her forgiveness for the part he had taken in 
 the escape of one who had renounced her worship. 
 
 At breakfast the next morning he joined the 
 party in the hall, where nothing was mentioned 
 of the events of the preceding evening, except a few 
 cursory observations on the weather ; and he hoped, 
 if the prisoner had escaped, his absence would not 
 be discovered before the jailer's nightly round. 
 He was now desirous of leaving the castle to pre- 
 vent any discovery of the part he had taken in his 
 flight; but before the hour fixed by the pilgrim 
 prince for commencing their march, he visited his
 
 THE ESCAPE. 103 
 
 beloved pupil, conjuring her to let him hear of her 
 future movements, and promising to come to her 
 assistance, should she at any time want his counsel 
 or aid. Poor Beatrice and her attendant reverently 
 bent to receive his parting benediction, and with 
 strained and weeping eyes saw their only friend 
 pass over the drawbridge a short time after, and 
 take, with the pilgrim band, the chesnut-shaded 
 path that led to Villeneuve. At the same moment 
 the Governor of Chillon and the Archbishop left 
 the castle, and drawing up with their attendants on 
 one side, uncovered their heads and bent low as the 
 pilgrims, chanting their Ave Marias, and treading 
 in slow measure to the monotous accompaniment, 
 passed by. . 
 
 " A strange fancy this," said the prelate, " as the 
 assumed humility of his countenance was succeeded 
 by his usual sarcastic haughtiness; " to lay aside 
 the sceptre and take up the staff." 
 
 " The fickle jade, Fortune," returned his compa- 
 nion, " played poor dame Nature a sorry trick, 
 when she placed a crown on that weak head, and 
 covered your's with a cowl, my lord." 
 
 " Nature, however, generally .asserts her right/' 
 said the Bishop, " and Charles is not the first prince
 
 104 CHILLON. 
 
 who has been governed by a monk. But let us 
 
 
 
 now turn to the concerns of another deity more 
 powerful than either. To-day, I trust, we shall 
 conclude our negotiations, and secure the beautiful 
 Lady Blanche as your affianced bride. You are a 
 lucky man, de Beaufort." 
 
 " You shall find me a grateful one," returned the 
 Governor ; " but De Blonay, I fear, will not like me 
 so well as a brother-in-law." 
 
 " He has a right loyal heart, and will sacrifice 
 a great deal for his prince's interest. I will read 
 you that young man's fortune without a silver mark. 
 He has staked his happiness on the glance of a 
 scornful eye." 
 
 " Nay, my lord, that surely is not a right appel- 
 lative for my gentle nun." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but I contented myself with the 
 vocabulary of the troubadour." 
 
 " And the Count's fortune ?" asked the anxious 
 interrogator. 
 
 " A divided shield, and distant grave," said the 
 prelate solemnly, as they rode into the court of the 
 castle. 
 
 Two hours after, the Sire de Beaufort descended 
 the mountain gorge, intoxicated with love and am-
 
 THE ESCAPE. 105 
 
 bition, turning ever and anon to acknowledge the 
 signal waved by the white hand of his lady love 
 from the balcony, until the deep shade of her ances- 
 tral trees shut her from his view, and another form 
 as fair, in its pale seriousness, presented itself to 
 his mind's eye. 
 
 " Tush !" he exclaimed, as he sought to stifle 
 the voice of conscience, " Beatrice will be happier 
 in her cloister, or, if not, why did she refuse the 
 hand of the Count ? She has been the arbitress of 
 her own fate." 
 
 Under the influence of this self-deception, the 
 Governor entered his castle, and was met at the 
 door by Bertoldo, with a countenance that an- 
 nounced intelligence of weighty and no pleasant 
 import. The man beckoned mysteriously to his lord 
 to follow, and led the way into an apartment half 
 way up the principal stone staircase it was empty. 
 
 " Gone ! escaped !" exclaimed the Governor ; 
 " villain, if thou hast betrayed thy trust, thy head 
 shall answer for it." 
 
 Bertoldo advanced towards the window, which 
 looked into the lake, and pointed to the bar, which 
 had been bent aside.* 
 
 f* See note K. 
 
 F 5
 
 J06 CHILLON. 
 
 , 
 
 " Was it I that moved this ?" he said ; " was it 
 I that placed the prisoner where help could have 
 been hrought him from without ?" 
 
 The Governor examined the window. " It is 
 impossible," he said, thoughtfully, " that the un- 
 assisted arm of man could have bent this bar." 
 
 " But if the old witch of the whirlwind did not 
 help her brood through the storm of last night," 
 said the jailer, with a malignant laugh, " he must 
 have perished in its fury !" 
 
 " Go, sirrah, call the captain of the galley and 
 Colonel Dufour, we must dispatch men and boats 
 in all directions." 
 
 The officers appeared, and received their orders ; 
 the sentinels of the night were examined ; and no 
 pains were spared in trying to discover the manner 
 of the prisoner's flight, or in arranging the best 
 methods for retaking the fugitive. 
 
 In the evening the old Concierge tapped at the 
 door of his young mistress's apartment to inform 
 her that her father wished instantly to see her : she 
 obeyed in trembling, and found him alone in his 
 cabinet. As the old domestic threw open the door 
 and announced the Lady Beatrice, the Governor 
 quitted the desk, at which he was writing, and
 
 THE ESCAPE. 107 
 
 taking her hand, seated himself near her on u 
 couch. There was an expression of assumed dig- 
 nity, and at the same time of almost shrinking ap- 
 prehension, in his manner, which unconsciously 
 inspired his companion with courage to lift her 
 eyes towards a countenance, which was turned from 
 her searching look. 
 
 " My dear daughter," said the Sire de Beaufort, 
 after a short pause, " I have sent for you to con- 
 verse on a subject of the deepest importance one 
 that nearly concerns the honour of our house. You 
 have been imprudent, my dear child, and this im- 
 prudence has almost cost your father his situa- 
 tion in life, if not his life itself." He paused ; 
 Beatrice answered not ; there was a vague doubt of 
 the sincerity of her father's statement a hope, at 
 least, that the danger was exaggerated, which kept 
 her silent. She still fixed her inquiring eyes on him, 
 as he proceeded : " I see, my daughter, that you 
 do not feel the full import of what I say you do 
 not estimate the dreadful ruin which must have en- 
 sued to us both, if I had not possessed friends suf 
 ficiently powerful to avert it." 
 
 " My father," said Beatrice, at length forcing 
 herself to reply, " I beseech you explain ! what
 
 108 CHILLON 
 
 have I done to occasion you so much uneasi- 
 ness ?" 
 
 "What have you done ? Is it possible that you can 
 be ignorant that your avowal of heretical opinions, 
 and your reading of heretical books, has been a sub- 
 ject of general remark, and would have attracted the 
 censure of the church, had not the Archbishop of 
 Turin considerately taken the subject into his pri- 
 vate jurisdiction." Beatrice was now considerably 
 alarmed, and trembled exceedingly as her father 
 proceeded. " He has consented to overlook your 
 imprudence, on condition you ask pardon, and 
 fulfil another exaction which will fall heavily on 
 me, since I shall be called on to part with you for a 
 time, that you may make a pilgrimage to Einsiedeln, 
 there to implore forgiveness at the shrine of our 
 Lady of the Hermits." The Governor stopped, but 
 Beatrice spoke not, she could not speak, her 
 tongue clove to the roof of her mouth, the room 
 ran round before her closing eyes, and she turned 
 exceedingly pale. " My dear child," said the Go- 
 vernor, somewhat alarmed, "be not terrified, the 
 danger is past, and all will be well if thou art 
 obedient." 
 
 " It is your anger I fear, my father, when I de-
 
 THE ESCAPE. 109 
 
 clare unto you that my conscience will not allow 
 me to undertake the pilgrimage you propose." 
 
 She bent her head meekly to meet the pelting of 
 the expected storm, and pressed her hands on her 
 bosom to still its beatings. But her unfeeling 
 parent perceived that he had now proceeded far 
 enough for his present purpose; he therefore raised 
 her gently, and wiped the cold dew from her fore- 
 head. 
 
 " My little trembler," he said kindly, " think 
 not that I would exact anything to give thee 
 needless pain. If thou wiliest it not, thou 
 shalt leave thy pilgrimage until we can make it 
 together. Here, however, thou canst not remain, 
 for this castle is threatened with attack. What 
 sayest thou to our sunny glades of Cormayer wilt 
 thou bend thy steps thither ? Ah, now I see thou 
 canst smile a rainbow gleam through the dropping 
 shower. Well, let me think how I can best arrange 
 our plans." He placed his hand on his forehead, as 
 if in deep consideration, whilst Beatrice stood by in 
 breathless expectation ; at length he said, as though 
 the plan had that instant presented itself to his 
 thoughts, " The only way I see to release us from 
 our present difficulties, will be to ask a shelter, for a
 
 110 CHILLON. 
 
 short time, from the kind abbess of St. Maurice, 
 until I can either accompany thee myself, or 
 Father Ambroise shall return to escort thee across 
 the mountains." 
 
 The heart of Beatrice sank at the mention of a 
 convent, and she ventured timidly to ask if she 
 might not remain at Chillon, until he could leave it 
 with her. 
 
 " Impossible ! the castle must be put into a state 
 of immediate defence, and thou must leave it to- 
 morrow morning. Kosette will accompany, and an 
 escort befitting thy rank escort thee. And now go, 
 my child," he continued, rising, and taking her in 
 his arms, " thou hast doubtless some preparation 
 to make. Nay, do not cling around me as if we 
 were to part for ever. I shall see thee on thy way 
 to-morrow." 
 
 The Sire de Beaufort thus far kept his word, and 
 was ready the next morning at an early hour to 
 hand his daughter into her litter. Beatrice could 
 only embrace her father in silence ; the grey dawn 
 did not admit of her observing his countenance, but 
 he pressed her to his bosom, kissed her cheek and 
 forehead, and then, bidding her " God speed," 
 ordered the cavalcade to proceed. Poor Boniface
 
 THE ESCAPE. Ill 
 
 closed the curtains of the litter with a trembling 
 hand, and turning to Rosette, renewed his injunc- 
 tions of attention and care towards her precious 
 charge.
 
 112 CH1LLON. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE FLIGHT. 
 
 Yet better 
 
 This wild life of danger and distress, 
 Watchings by night, and perilous flight by day, 
 Far better, than to kneel with them, 
 And pay the impious rite thy laws condemn. 
 
 BRYANT. 
 
 AND how sped our little bark over the stormy 
 lake on that dark night when Father Ambroise 
 sought to direct from it the deadly aim of the sen- 
 tinel ? And what did the frail bark contain, that 
 he denied repose to his sunken eye until he had 
 prayed earnestly for its safety ? A Christian flying 
 from persecution a captive escaped from trea- 
 cherous thraldom and two generous men who had 
 perilled their lives to ransom his.
 
 THE FLIGHT. 1 I 3 
 
 It were vain to attempt a description of the wild 
 straggle which followed the plunge of the captive^ 
 into the lake from the window of his prison : the 
 nervous, strenuous contest with darkness, wind, and 
 wave, until he was seated in the boat, and that 
 was impelled by the stout arms of the rowers, 
 and a favouring though tempestuous gale, out of 
 reach of the shot which whizzed over the lake. 
 Not a word was uttered the danger was too immi- 
 nent to allow a pause ; and every breath was re- 
 quired for ceaseless exertion. 
 
 After half- an-hour's severe rowing, the exhausted 
 boatmen rested a moment on their oars, and one of 
 them exclaimed, " Thank Heaven, we are now for 
 a while safe, and may venture to pull in for the 
 cove, one tug more, and we shall be there." 
 
 The renewed effort was successful, and soon 
 brought them within the safe enclosure of one of 
 the sheltered bays of the lake, into which a consi- 
 derable torrent from the mountains above, poured 
 its now turgid and swollen waters. The foremost 
 boatman here jumped ashore, and was quickly fol- 
 lowed by his companions, with whose aid he drew 
 the little bark high up on the beach, and placed in 
 it some fishing tackle which lay there.
 
 114 CHILLON. 
 
 " Now, Isaack," said he, " you will have notliing 
 Jto do but to go quietly to-morrow morning to 
 mending your nets ; but in the meantime it shall 
 be our first business to seek a little refreshment, 
 and change our wet clothes, after which we will con- 
 sult what is best to be done." 
 
 Saying this, he plunged into a deep ravine, whilst 
 the others followed in silence, sometimes climbing 
 over steep rocks, sometimes knee- deep in the mud 
 brought down by the swollen torrent. They thus 
 continued for nearly an hour to mount the rugged 
 steep, when they turned into a thick forest, and 
 following a path which led down the sides of some 
 rocks, saw at a little distance a light gleam from 
 the windows of a cottage. A woman, who was 
 leaning over the gallery, hastily descended, and 
 asked "if all was safe, and the captive free ?" 
 
 " All safe," replied Lenoir, " thanks to a protect- 
 ing Providence." 
 
 " But where is Monsieur Cottier?" inquired she, 
 raising her lamp to the stranger's face; " thU i- 
 not he !" 
 
 " All in good time," said her husband, gently 
 pushing her towards the house. " I hope thou art
 
 THE FLIGHT. 115 
 
 prepared to give us good welcome. Come in, 
 signor ; come in, good Isaack ; do thou dry thy 
 garments beside the fire whilst I equip his Excel- 
 lence ;" and he led the rescued captive into an inner 
 chamber, where he furnished him with dry linen 
 and a suit of clothes such as was then worn by the 
 fishermen of the lake, and bringing him forth 
 thus equipped, placed a seat for him at one of the 
 little tables near the fire, whilst he took his supper 
 with old Isaack at the other. The hospitality of 
 the gude wife was not diminished by the disappoint- 
 ment she had experienced at not finding the pre- 
 
 9 
 
 server of her children amongst the liberated ; and after 
 her guests had liberally partaken of her good cheer, 
 Di Eossi poured out his grateful thanks to his host 
 and Isaack for their intrepid and unlooked-for aid, 
 and asked how they had discovered the place of his 
 confinement ? 
 
 " Why, Eccelenza," said Lenoir, " since my wife 
 has partly let the cat out of the bag, I may as well 
 tell you at once, that though we are glad enough to 
 get such a noble fish into our nets, you are not 
 exactly the one we were in search of. It was young 
 Master Cottier that Isaack and I have been angling 
 for many a rough night, seeing we have both good
 
 116 CHILLON. 
 
 reason to be obliged to him. Since our business, 
 therefore, is not done whilst he remains in bonds, 
 I fear you must go on your way without us, though 
 I will do all I can to speed you on it." 
 
 " Thank thee, Lenoir, but before we talk of my 
 concerns, I must hear how you mistook me for my 
 poor friend." 
 
 " You must know, then, signor, that ever since 
 I was the innocent cause of the noble lad's impri- 
 sonment, my good father-in-law and myself have 
 not rested night or day, in endeavouring to set him 
 
 free. Some day I may tell you more about it, but 
 
 
 at present I am on tenters till you are off, and I 
 
 will only say that, as a last hope, we ventured to 
 interest Father Ambroise in his favour, to beg he 
 might be removed into the chamber immediately 
 above the dungeons, from whose window I knew it 
 was practicable to escape. It was but this even- 
 ing that I received from the good monk an as- 
 surance that he had obtained the permission from 
 the Governor himself; when, therefore, I heard a 
 plash in that direction for the darkness of the 
 night prevented us from marking the exact spot 
 what could we think but that it was the young man
 
 THE FLIGHT. 117 
 
 himself ? although I soon found we had hooked a 
 larger fish." 
 
 " Would it had been he !" exclaimed Di Eossi. 
 
 " Nay, chevalier, we are thankful for what we 
 have obtained, and will trust to Providence, and 
 your efforts with the great folks of Geneva, for the 
 rest not that we will spare any pains on our part ; 
 but, signor, if I may be so bold, will you tell us 
 how the Governor got you into the trap ? I 
 thought he would have feared to set a finger 
 on such a gentleman, with half-a-dozen of brave re- 
 tainers." 
 
 " My attendants were removed out of the castle 
 on pretence of making room for the Archbishop's 
 suite. I, however, anticipated no treachery from 
 this, nor from being requested, on the same plea, to 
 change my sleeping apartment, and I entered that 
 allotted to me without the most distant suspicion of 
 finding a prison in it. It differed in no other re- 
 spects from an ordinary bed-room, than in having 
 strong iron bars across the window, and a certain 
 piece of machinery inserted in the massive door, the 
 use of which I learnt the next evening, when my 
 jailer introduced my food through it." 
 
 " I know the chamber well," interrupted Lenoir ;
 
 1 ] 8 CHILLON. 
 
 " it has before been used as a decoy pit for noble 
 prey, whose roar frightened the cowardly hunter 
 from open attack. But, signor, how could you get 
 from the window ? I have myself tried the strength 
 of those bars, and found them too thick for the un- 
 aided strength of a giant." 
 
 " Help was vouchsafed me in my hour of need," 
 said the chevalier, with an uplifting of the eye 
 which showed to whom he ascribed the praise; 
 " but I did not break, I only bent the bars suffi- 
 ciently aside to admit of my forcing myself between. 
 I had before made many attempts to remove them, 
 intending to endeavour to swim across the lake ; 
 providentially I did not succeed until help was at 
 hand, and I saw your little boat immediately be 
 neath the window." 
 
 " We must now consult on the next step," said 
 Lenoir ; " what say you, chevalier, shall I haste to 
 Blonay, and ask help of the Count, or will you 
 trust to Dulait's little boat, which lies on the beach, 
 and which he will be as well satisfied you should 
 use, as the poor youth for whom it was obtained ? 
 Choose, but do not delay ; for every gust of wind I 
 fancy to be that infernal Bertoldo and his blood- 
 hounds !"
 
 THE FLIGHT. 119 
 
 Di Eossi did not hesitate to profit by the last 
 offer, in preference to compromising his friend, and 
 he and Lenoir were soon on their way down the 
 ravine. 
 
 " A time may come when I shall have an oppor- 
 tunity of proving my gratitude," said the chevalier, 
 as he wrung his deliverer's hand. 
 
 " Ah, signer ! if you could make me lord of 
 Blonay, you would not confer on me so great a 
 benefit as in helping me to wipe off old scores." 
 
 The little boat was, as they expected, on the 
 lake shore, and as Di Eossi sprang into it, Lenoir 
 placed in his hands a small basket, saying, " My 
 wife has remembered that you must eat, signor, 
 and may find no safe opportunity of procuring pro 
 visions on your voyage. And now farewell, noble 
 sir ; I must away, and be in bed ere the sun rises 
 Isaack mending his nets, and all as if you and 
 I had never met. That's right off like a dart 
 the lake will tell no tales. Would that all in yonder 
 dungeons were as free !" 
 
 " Amen ! amen !" exclaimed Di Eossi, as the 
 
 prayer of Lenoir came wafted to him across the 
 
 water ; and even amid the wild joy of restored 
 
 liberty, he felt that he had usurped the liberty in- 
 
 6
 
 120 CHILLON. 
 
 tended for another. These feelings however, of 
 regret, gave way to sentiments of gratitude and 
 hope, and in that hour of blissful freedom, he 
 vowed to devote the whole energies of his length- 
 ened life to the spiritual and temporal emancipation 
 of his fellow-heings. Unable to check these de- 
 lightful anticipations, he gave way to their full 
 enjoyment, and laying aside his oars, allowed his 
 boat to drift before the wind, until his delicious 
 reveries were broken in on by the approach of one 
 of the Chillon barges, which had nearly overtaken 
 him. In the first alarm of the moment he seized 
 his oars, which reflection made him as quickly lay 
 aside, and taking a fishing-line, placed in the boat 
 by Lenoir to complete his disguise, he threw it 
 over its side, apparently intent on the assumed 
 calling. The barge shot rapidly by, regardless of 
 the humble fishing-boat, and Di Kossi saw it 
 shortly after land a party of soldiers at La Tour, 
 and pursue its onward way. He doubted not that 
 these men were sent in pursuit of him, and rowing 
 with great diligence, he kept far from the shore 
 until the evening set in, when weary of the exer- 
 cise, he approached nearer the banks of the lake, 
 in the hope of finding some retired cove in which
 
 THE FLIGHT. 121 
 
 he might draw up his little bark and sleep until 
 morning. The evening was happily calm, and as 
 the wanderer saw the stars shine out one by one in 
 the blue ether above him, relaxing his efforts, he 
 slowly glided through the world of waters, and his 
 soul sought communion with Him who dwelleth 
 beyond them. He prayed for those who still lin- 
 gered in chains prayed for the gentle beings who 
 had thrown off the bands of error. But in 
 that hour there was another who occupied his 
 mind, even more than the companion of his trial 
 or the object of his early choice his friend De 
 Blonay. 
 
 Occupied by these melancholy musings, he saw 
 the sun of the first evening decline. He drew up 
 the boat at night in a secluded nook of the lake, 
 and having made a slight repast on the contents of 
 Fanchette's basket, and drank of a clear spring that 
 ran stealthily through the verdant grass, he laid 
 himself down in the bottom of the boat, and slept 
 soundly until morning. 
 
 Accustomed, as a sportsman and a soldier, to 
 much hardship and privation, he heeded not the 
 evening dew, nor the night-air; but the weather 
 was now become very wintry ; the next day was wet, 
 
 VOL. II. G
 
 122 CHILLON. 
 
 and after rowing the whole of it through heavy 
 rain mixed with snow, he began to consider whether 
 he had not better run the risk of landing, and en- 
 deavouring to procure food and shelter. The wind, 
 too, had been unfortunately adverse, and the waves, 
 breaking on the edge of his boat, entirely destroyed 
 all that remained of his little sea-store. But the 
 horror he felt of being discovered by the emissaries 
 of the Governor of Chillon, deterred bim from 
 going on shore until dark, as he felt that death 
 itself would be preferable to falling into the hands 
 of one who, he knew, would not hesitate to gratify 
 his revenge on him, as he had done on many other 
 unfortunate beings who had fallen into his hands. 
 To sleep in his wet clothes he found to be impos- 
 sible; he therefore passed the night in pacing 
 up and down the shore, after having in vain sought 
 for shelter near it. 
 
 " One day. more," he said, as on the third morn- 
 ing he cleared his battered bark of the snow which 
 had partly filled it, and prepared to launch it into 
 the lake ; " one day more my arm is feeble and 
 my strength nearly exhausted ; but He who drew 
 me from my prison, will deliver me in the way best 
 suited to his wisdom."
 
 THE FLIGHT. 123 
 
 He took a draught of the waters of the lake as 
 his only breakfast, and once more committed him- 
 self to its waves. The snow had now ceased to 
 fall, hut the dawn was red and lowering, and Di 
 Rossi pushed on in the hope of reaching Geneva 
 ere the storm, which hung black and lowering over 
 the Jura, spread to the vale below. As he felt 
 his little remaining strength decline, he looked 
 wistfully towards the town of Nyon, half doubting 
 whether he was justified in proceeding in his crazy 
 boat, amid a threatening storm; but the fear of 
 captivity nerved his arm with temporary force, and 
 enabled him, buoyed by the hope which the near 
 approach to Geneva inspired, to exert his most 
 strenuous efforts. In another hour, however, in 
 which adverse and conflicting winds entirely ex- 
 hausted his remaining strength, the threatened 
 storm, sweeping down from the mountains, hid the 
 city from his view : the waves rose and broke over 
 his frail bark, until, filling with water, it was drawn 
 down by the eddying flood. Di Rossi kept pos- 
 session of one of the oars, and endeavoured to 
 support himself on it ; but he felt aware that his 
 grasp was gradually relaxing, and a mist fast 
 gathering over bis eyes. His senses, however, were 
 
 G 2
 
 124 CHILLON. 
 
 yet acute enough to enable him to distinguish a 
 voice, which, amid the roar of the elements, called 
 on him to " hold fast." It was high and shrill, 
 and appeared that of a young man. " Hold on, 
 my lad !" it said : " don't he down-hearted, we shall 
 soon be with you." 
 
 A boat, guided by two lads, now approached 
 from the shore, and reached the exhausted sufferer, 
 just as he was relinquishing his hold on the sus- 
 taining oar. His last effort was, aided by his young 
 deliverers, to get into their boat, at the bottom 
 of which he lay, almost without consciousness. 
 
 " It was well we had the boat at hand, or the 
 poor fellow must have been drowned," said the 
 younger lad. 
 
 " Ay, truly, Antoine, and that I had the help 
 of thy stout arm," returned the elder brother, with 
 a good-humoured smile ; " but now we have 
 got him, I hardly know what we shall do with 
 him." 
 
 " Carry him home to be sure, to supper." 
 
 " But what will father say to our bringing 
 another mouth, when there are already more than 
 there is bread to put in them? Dost thou not 
 remember the poor women and children who were
 
 THE FLIGHT. 125 
 
 turned away starving from the city gates, the other 
 day ?" 
 
 " Ay, Jules, that I do, and am not like to forget 
 it soon. But this poor fellow looks very sick, and 
 perhaps may not want much, therefore I could spare 
 him a part of my allowance." 
 
 " Why, Antoine, thou forgettest that Dotto has 
 already the hest share of it wilt thou hang the 
 poor beast?" 
 
 " Yes, Jules," said the little hoy, whilst his eyes 
 filled with tears, " if it must be. Master Farrel 
 said truly, that men must be fed before dogs." 
 
 " Master Farrel," repeated Di Rossi, making an 
 effort to speak ; " if you could bring me to the 
 speech of Master Farrel, my good lads, he would 
 lighten you of all further charge on my account." 
 
 " Holla ! boys, what are ye about ? Are ye bent 
 on delivering the city from some of her superfluous 
 burthens ?" roared out an elderly man, who, his 
 cloak flying back from his shoulders, his hair 
 blown about by the wind, ran from a bureau on the 
 side of the lake to the edge of the water. " There, 
 there ! throw me a rope, and I will help pull ye on 
 shore. But what could induce ye to go out in such 
 a storm ?"
 
 126 CHILLON. 
 
 " To the rescue of this poor fisherman, father/' 
 said the elder boy, who had now jumped on shore, 
 " whom we saw nearly perishing, and who, but for 
 timely aid, must have been lost." 
 
 " Poor fellow !" said the father, " I fear you have 
 done him li ttle benefit by saving him fromd rown- 
 ing, to bring him hither to starve. I hardly know 
 how to refuse him aid, yet my orders are peremp- 
 tory to let no one land." During this little con- 
 versation, the father and sons had succeeded in 
 almost lifting poor Di Rossi out of the boat ; and 
 when they had placed him on a bench in the 
 bureau, the former continued, as he rested the 
 sufferer's head on his shoulder, " I really know not 
 what we shall do to provide him with food and 
 shelter in this besieged city." 
 
 " Aunt has plenty of room," said the youngest 
 boy, " and I'm sure she will take him in." 
 
 " Room is not what we want, my child, but food, 
 and she has half-starved herself already." 
 
 " Well, dear father, continued the pleader, " I 
 must I will hang poor Dotto, and give the rescued 
 man half my rations." 
 
 " Agreed, my little Antoine, and remember thou 
 keepest thy promise."
 
 THE FLIGHT. 127 
 
 " The stranger said he knew Master Farrel," 
 observed the elder boy ; " would it not be wise to 
 run to the temple and stop him as he comes out ?" 
 
 " Yonder is thy aunt, my son go and hasten 
 her steps she will direct us to the minister, and 
 I doubt not find some way of helping the poor 
 man." 
 
 The boy quickly returned with a lady, dressed in 
 deep mourning, who, throwing off her cloak and 
 gloves, advanced rapidly towards the sufferer. 
 
 " He is fainting for want of food !" she exclaimed, 
 as she bared Ms wrist, and felt his fluttering pulse. 
 " Kun, Antoine, and fetch a little bread and wine 
 from my buffet." 
 
 " Nay, there is no need to go so far," inter- 
 rupted the father ; " these are articles that do not 
 abound just now in our city, but we have never- 
 theless a little yet to spare to the destitute. Where 
 is the minister, sister ?" 
 
 " He came out of the temple with me, and will 
 be here anon," said the lady, as she advanced 
 eagerly to take the wine from the hands of her 
 nephew, and carry it to the sick man's mouth. Di 
 Rossi swallowed a small portion, and the temporary
 
 128 CHILLON. 
 
 excitement enabled him to sit up and utter a faint 
 acknowledgment, when his eyes closed again, and 
 he sunk, perfectly insensible, into the aims of his 
 compassionating supporter.
 
 THE EMBASSY. 129 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE EMBASSY. 
 
 Now may this relic reverend of old 
 Guard thee in danger. Health and strength be thine 
 Through thy long travel. May no sunbeam strike, 
 No vapour cling and wither. Mayst thou be, 
 Sleeping or waking, sacred and secure. 
 
 ROGERS. 
 
 WHEN Charles of Savoy reached his capital, he 
 found that heavy news had collected from all quar- 
 ters. His nephew Francis, burning with the desire 
 of taking possession of Milan, and effacing the dis- 
 grace of the unfortunate battle of Pavia, had assem- 
 bled a large army for that purpose, whilst the Em- 
 peror, Charles V., had lost no time in seizing on the 
 dukedom of Francis Sforza, who had just expired, 
 and placing it in a condition to oppose the preten- 
 sions of his rival. 
 
 G 5
 
 ] 30 CHILLON. 
 
 History informs us that Pope Clement VII. , con- 
 versing one day with the King of France, on the failure 
 of his Italian campaigns, imputed it to the want of 
 some place of retreat for his army after a battle ; 
 and with an absence of integrity which has often 
 disgraced the politics of the Vatican, counselled 
 him to seize on the neighbouring dominions of his 
 uncle, the Duke of Savoy, and incorporate them 
 with his own. In furtherance of this iniquitous 
 advice, Francis had the littleness of mind to bring 
 several frivolous charges against his relative ; but 
 being unable to give to them the slightest colouring 
 of justice, he boldly claimed the dukedom in right 
 of his mother, Louisa of Savoy, alleging that 
 Charles, as the descendant of a second marriage, had 
 no legitimate title to it. Already had he dispatched 
 the president of his parliament, Poyet, to assert his 
 claims, but notwithstanding the vehement eloquence 
 of the royal advocate, the upright integrity of the 
 Duke's leading counsellor, Jean Fra^ois Porporat, 
 had refuted all his pretensions, and obliged him, at 
 length, to recognise the arrogance and oppression on 
 which they were grounded. 
 
 " Le Roi le veut," said the Frenchman to which 
 the Piedmontois calmly replied,
 
 THE EMBASSY. 181 
 
 "You cite a law that I do not find in my code." 
 
 But this was not the only point on which Francis 
 attacked his overwhelmed kinsman. The persecutor 
 of heretics, and defender of the rights of legitimacy, 
 condescended to employ a private ambassador, the 
 politic and courtly Veret, to offer protection and co- 
 operation to the protestant and republican citizens 
 of Geneva. 
 
 Harassed from without, as well as borne down 
 by domestic trials, the amiable, yet weak prince,, 
 only clung with greater tenacity to the superstitious 
 rites and observances of his church ; and believing 
 that a remissness in some of these might have been 
 the cause of his misfortunes, he called on Father 
 Ambroise once more to quit his convent walls, and 
 go on pilgrimage for him to Einsiedeln. 
 
 " The blessed Virgin is angry at my desertion of 
 her shrine." he said, " and will refuse to aid me, 
 until I make my intended offering. Since the 
 council opposes my quitting Turin, thinkest thou, 
 father, that the holy Maria will accept it from other 
 hands the purest I can find to lay it there ?" 
 
 " She, who so faithfully fulfilled the duties of a 
 humble station, my prince, would not surely require 
 you to neglect those of the lofty one assigned your
 
 132 CHILLON. 
 
 highness. Although it is with deference I venture 
 my humble judgment, yet methinks, we too often 
 slight our home obligations, to wander to distant 
 shrines." 
 
 " Thou therefore condemnest my late journey to 
 Chillon ?" 
 
 " Does not the brightest example teach us to 
 visit the sorrowing and imprisoned, my prince ?" 
 
 " True ; and although the effort, as far as Bonni- 
 vard is concerned, was useless, I feel happy that it 
 was made. But," continued the prince, resigning 
 himself again to the power that subjugated him, 
 " thou wilt go for me to the shrine of our Lady of 
 the Hermits ? Thou wilt not shrink from the ex- 
 actions of a rigid pilgrimage, which I myself should 
 have performed ? Thou wilt not stop by the way 
 to repose thy weary limbs, more than nature ab- 
 solutely requires ? Thy drink must be the waters 
 of the spring, thy food and lodging what the hand 
 of charity supplies ; and thou wilt tread thy pilgrim 
 steps, to the measure of thy chanted prayers." 
 The evident abstraction of the father, somewhat 
 offended the Prince, for he added in an altered tone, 
 " Speak ! do I tax thy duty too severely ? I know 
 thou scornest reward, but perchance thou requires! 
 rest ?'
 
 THE EMBASSY. 133 
 
 "I seek neither, here," said the monk, with a 
 deep sigh. 
 
 " Thou wouldest give all and receive nothing," 
 said the Duke, somewhat haughtily. " And yet, if 
 the poor Duke of Savoy has little that is worth thy 
 care, his word might procure for thee the cardinal's 
 hat which the proud Archhishop so eagerly covets." 
 
 "This simple cap will suit my grey hairs better/' 
 said the monk smiling, as he took off the conical 
 cap of his order, and discovered his commanding 
 hrow. He continued, whilst a deep flush crim- 
 soned it : 
 
 " I am not so moderate as your highness kindly 
 judges. Where is the human heart without a wish ? 
 But the request I have to make is, of so engrossing 
 a nature, that I forhear to wear out your generosity 
 hy smaller claims." 
 
 " I promise unheard, to grant it," said Charles, 
 with evident satisfaction ; " therefore, tell it me 
 without hesitation." 
 
 " Not now, my liege lord let it be my reward for 
 the faithful discharge of my present trust ; at my 
 return from Einsiedeln, I will remind your highness 
 of your gracious promise. In the mean time, for- 
 give my boldness, if, in token of it, I ask the pledge
 
 134 CHILLON. 
 
 of this crucifix." And he pointed to one of gold, 
 with an exquisite relievo of carved ivory, which 
 stood on the table. 
 
 The prince looked at his companion with sur- 
 prise. "Thou wert not wont to doubt my word." 
 
 " Nor do I now, my liege lord ; but life is uncer- 
 tain, and I would not rest the fulfilment of your 
 promise on my return, but on the safe restoration 
 of the sacred pledge. Besides, in the contingencies 
 of my journey, I may stand in need of such creden- 
 tials ; circumstances may occur which may require 
 prompt " 
 
 " Enough," interrupted the prince, " thou shall 
 have it, holy father, and not more willingly than I 
 will redeem the pledge at thy return. It is indeed, 
 a relic of inestimable value, and next to the King of 
 the great captain, which my ancestor Pierre le 
 Grand received from the Dean of St. Maurice, I 
 own notliing of greater sanctity. Read the in- 
 scription on the pedestal ; thou wilt learn from it 
 that this crucifix was given by St. Bernard to the 
 Duke Amadeup, called the Crusader, just before his 
 departure for the Holy Land. When, mortally 
 wounded, he retired some years after to die in the 
 island of Cyprus, he despatched a trusty page with
 
 THE EMBASSY. 135 
 
 orders to deliver it to his successor ; and it has 
 descended ever since, with the crown of Savoy. 
 Thou seest then, holy father, how great is my con- 
 fidence in thy discretion." 
 
 " My prince does not repent the yet more valuable 
 trust he reposed in me atChillon and I will make a 
 no less worthy use of this precious deposit." 
 
 " Take it then," said Charles, reverently passing 
 the crucifix to his lips, whilst the monk unhonnetted 
 himself to receive the relic, " and may He who 
 hung on it, restore you both in safety to me !" 
 
 After a short pause, the monk said, "I shall 
 visit the castle of Chillon in my way, would your 
 highness entrust me with any mission to the Gover- 
 nor?" 
 
 "Wherefore shouldest thou go thither ?" asked 
 the Duke hastily ; methinks thou wilt find better 
 welcome at the shrine of St. Eoche, or near the 
 tomb of Sigismond. That castle is not now, as in 
 the days of the pious Amadeus, the favourite halting 
 place of Palmer and Pilgrim." 
 
 " I have left there an object of great affection 
 and solicitude my spiritual daughter, the young 
 lady of Brieres." 
 
 The prince's countenance assumed an unusual
 
 136 CHILLON. 
 
 expression of sternness. " Name her not," he said, 
 " fair and gentle as she seems, I have too sure 
 proof of her guilt, to listen to any overtures in her 
 favour." 
 
 " I only ask to see the maiden, and try to win 
 her back to the faith." 
 
 " Itcannot he," interrupted the Duke, impatiently ; 
 " besides, thy visit to Chillon would be bootless. I 
 have complied with the request of her father, backed 
 by the advice of the Archbishop of Turin, to per- 
 mit her being placed under the mild rule of the 
 Abbess of St. Maurice." 
 
 " Will your highness then allow of my visiting 
 her there the tomb of Sigismond is one of the 
 stations of my pilgrimage ?" 
 
 " I am not sure that even here, you could see her," 
 returned the Duke, with evident embarrassment. 
 " Besides, it is better thou shouldest not. I bid 
 thee, not only as thy prince, but as thy friend, 
 to beware of tampering with these heretics ; thy 
 holy life has not quite freed thee from the imputa- 
 tion of too great indulgence to their errors." 
 
 "Alas! my prince, is it from the sick and dis- 
 eased that the physician flies ?" 
 
 " Press me not, holy father. I tell thee thou
 
 THE EMBASSY. 137 
 
 knowest not what them askest ; dangerous diseases 
 call for strong remedies, and the soul of the young 
 woman will be irrevocably lost, if she fall into the 
 hands of Di Kossi." 
 
 " Of Di Kossi, my prince ! is he not a prisoner 
 in her father's castle ?" 
 
 The Duke fixed his eyes on him. " Knowest 
 thou not that he is at liberty ? Men charge thee, 
 father, with aiding in his escape." 
 
 " They charge me falsely," said the monk calmly ; 
 " I knew not until this moment, that the young 
 man was free." 
 
 "And yet they tell me of some one who pre- 
 vented the sentinel from doing his duty on the 
 night of the prisoner's flight." 
 
 "My lord, I am a servant of the Prince of Peace ; 
 I do not, therefore^ hesitate to avow, that I en- 
 deavoured to turn aside the soldier's too ready 
 aim, imagining however, that it had another mark 
 that of the poor youth, whose punishment your 
 highness revoked on the day of the trial " 
 
 The prince was silent, and the monk added, " I 
 would willingly hope that your highness rejoices 
 with me in the emancipation of Di Rossi from his 
 cruel persecutor ?"
 
 138 CHILLON. 
 
 Charles did not notice the words of Father Am- 
 broise, who would have withdrawn, had not 
 the Duke detained him, saying, " I promised to 
 admit the Archbishop, and he should be already 
 here. He too, has need of thy services, holy father, 
 for honest men are scarce in these degenerated 
 times." He rang, and his secretary appearing, he 
 desired the prelate should be admitted. " We have 
 much to thank you, holy father," said he. after he 
 had paid his homage to the prince, " for under- 
 taking the pilgrimage which our too devoted sove- 
 reign had purported ; and 'whilst hastening to lay his 
 offering on our Lady's shrine, you may do the state 
 good service by the way." 
 
 The monk bent his head, and crossed his arms 
 in the attitude of obedience and attention. 
 
 " The prince commands that we have no reserve 
 with you," continued the prelate ; " I must, therefore, 
 first inform you, that Fra^ois de Montelbet, Lord of 
 Very, is, at the command of the King of France, 
 raising several hundred men in the Lyonnois, to 
 proceed to the deliverance of the rebellious city." 
 
 "Heaven will give strength to its own cause," 
 said Charles. " The blessed saints send daily to 
 our army volunteers, burning with zeal in this 
 crusade against heresy."
 
 THE EMBASSY. 139 
 
 A slight movement of impatience contracted the 
 features of the haughty prelate. " Your highness's 
 faith in the marvellous interposition of the church, 
 is a lesson even to us, her own anointed priests," 
 he said, checking its expression ; " but if you would, 
 in return, deign to receive a caution from our ex- 
 perience, I would urge that ambassadors be sent to 
 the Emperor's court, as well as to that of the French 
 king, and a secret emissary to the cantons of 
 Fribourg and Berne." 
 
 " Have we not already thought of this ?" said 
 Charles; "the president Lembert is, ere now, at 
 Naples, and your brother prelate, the Lord Bishop 
 of Lausanne, will leave our capital to-morrow for 
 Dijon, where my dutiful nephew chafes and frets 
 under the chastisement of temporary sickness that 
 Heaven has sent him. What more do you com- 
 mand, John of Coulpoys ?" 
 
 " Nay, my liege lord," said the Bishop, bowing 
 with proud submission, " I only ventured my poor 
 opinion, which the exigency of the moment drew 
 from me." 
 
 " I do not doubt thy wisdom," said the Duke 
 with a heavy sigh. " Thou counsellest, therefore, 
 that Father Ambroise should courteously beg these
 
 140 CHILLON. 
 
 upstart burghers to reach out their clumsy hands to 
 poor Charles of Savoy." 
 
 "My prince," said the Bishop, suppressing his 
 just indignation at his sovereign's obstinate pre- 
 judice, "these upstart burghers, as you perhaps 
 too harshly term them, want not royal suitors. 
 The emperor and king have already been many 
 days at their gates demanding an audience ; and 
 even now the delegates return to tell their fellow 
 citizens of the slights they received at Aosta." 
 
 "Well, be it so, since such is thy will !" said 
 Charles, with the peevishness of a man convinced 
 against his wishes. " Let the father bear our hum- 
 ble excuses to these citizen princes, for our pre- 
 sumption in forbidding the entrance of their Lutheran 
 hypocrites into our canton of Vaud. But since 
 when, has the primate of Turin laid aside the 
 thunderbolts of the Vatican, and taken up the olive 
 branch ?" 
 
 " Since experience has taught him the insuffici- 
 ency of opposition without power, my prince : be 
 advised by one, who is little inclined to stoop, unless 
 it be to conquer and consent that the father, 
 whilst prosecuting his original object of a pilgri- 
 mage to the shrine of Einsiedeln, should visit the
 
 THE EMBASSY. 14] 
 
 towns of Fribourg and Berne, and learn how they 
 stand affected to our cause." 
 
 " There is reason in what thou urgest," said the 
 Duke. "If Berne help Geneva, she is for ever 
 lost to Savoy, and is not the only jewel that will 
 fall from her crown. The hears have always 
 coveted the fair forests of la Suisse Romande." 
 
 Early on the following morning, having received 
 his political instructions from the Archbishop, and 
 his costly offering for the image of Einsiedeln from 
 the hands of the Duke himself, Father Ambroise 
 once more set off for the monastery of St. Bernard, 
 whither, gentle reader, if it please thee, we will 
 follow him in the next chapter.
 
 142 CHILLON. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ST. BERNARD. 
 
 But not a sigh of lurking life 
 Through all his frame he found to creep, 
 He knew not what it was to die, 
 But knew his master did not sleep. 
 
 OLD BALLAD. 
 
 THE beams of a cloudless sun enlivened the 
 lovely Vale of Aosta, as Father Ambroise rode 
 slowly and thoughtfully through it. His pilgrimage, 
 strictly so called, was not to begin until he left the 
 monastery, and the Duke, in order to spare him all 
 needless fatigue, had insisted on his performing the 
 previous journey on a mule, with whose paces 
 and dispositions, he graciously assured him, he was 
 well acquainted. 
 
 It was an unwonted luxury for the self-denying
 
 ST. BERNARD. 143 
 
 ascetic, thus at ease to look around on the beautiful 
 scenes of nature, which his ardent soul and culti- 
 vated taste knew so keenly how to appreciate. 
 
 " 'Twas well," he said, as his delighted eye wan- 
 dered from the romantic and luxuriant vale to the 
 dark forests above, and the snowy peaks which 
 crowned them " 'Twas well my heavenly Father 
 called me early by trial from the delights of sense, or 
 I should have forgotten that earth was not my para- 
 dise. Now, weaned by suffering from its transient 
 pleasures, the stern heights of St. Bernard are more 
 congenial to my spirit than all the fruitful luxu- 
 riance of these plains. Yet Thou hast been bene- 
 ficent to man," he continued, as the habitual devo- 
 tion and thankfulness of his mind broke out in a 
 song of praise from his lips ; " how excellent is 
 Thy name in all the earth ! These valleys smile in 
 Thy sunbeams these fruits and flowers bloom and 
 ripen amid Thy dews these sturdy forests clothe 
 the rocks on which Thou hast cast their seed ; yea, 
 even the snowy tops of the mountains give back the 
 last beams of Thy day, and glow in its closing 
 rays, but man, man alone is cold, unfruitful, and 
 insensible ! Welcome," he continued, as his eye 
 caught the first view of the convent of St, Bernard, 
 
 6
 
 ] 44 CHILLON. 
 
 " welcome, thou coldest, barest habitation of 
 civilized life ! Thou art not, like the world below, 
 fair outside, but heartless and chilling within, for 
 under that rough exterior thou aboundest in light 
 and warmth. Here, at least, I can show kindness 
 to my fellow- creatures, without asking their creed 
 or country. It was a heaven-born thought of thine, 
 St. Bernard, thus to raise a shrine, not to exact 
 costly offerings from thy votaries, but to afford 
 help and shelter to the weary wanderers of the 
 earth." 
 
 As the monk passed slowly over the road that 
 skirts the little frozen lake, his reverie was inter- 
 rupted by a wild howl which proceeded from a largg 
 dog of the well-known St. Bernard breed, who, 
 rushing from the lower door of the hospice, and 
 joined by two or three more that were playing 
 about on the snow outside, came bounding towards 
 him, and impeding each other's course in the tumul- 
 tuous race. The first, however, and noblest of the 
 party, outripped the rest in speed, urged perhaps 
 by warmer affection, and ere his master could dis- 
 mount, almost pulled him from his mule by his im- 
 portunate caresses. Jumping on the sides of the 
 poor beast, he caught hold of its mane in his wild
 
 ST. BERNARD. 145 
 
 delight ; licked the monk's face and hands, and did 
 all but welcome him in the speech of man, but 
 that of nature was quite as powerful. With the rest 
 of his canine friends, arrived also some of the 
 Chanoines, who, roused from their dinner by this 
 unusual noise, hastened to greet the stranger ; and 
 by the time he had reached the entrance, the monas 
 tery had turned out all its inmates to welcome 
 one, who was universally beloved within its walls. 
 
 " Welcome, thrice welcome, brother ! we spoke of 
 thee just now," said the superior, as he led his 
 guest into the refectory, and placed a portion of the 
 dinner before him. " Eat first, and satisfy our 
 curiosity after. Down, Drapeau ! down ! Brother 
 Erasmus, do take this troublesome fellow on thy 
 rounds with thee." 
 
 The young monk called the dog, but Drapeau 
 had no intention of obeying ; and ensconcing him- 
 self at his master's feet, neither coaxing nor threat- 
 ening could induce him to move. 
 
 " I will send Victor for him, when we are 
 equipped for our evening's course he will accom- 
 pany him willingly." 
 
 " Ay, ay, Drapeau will not hang back when duty 
 
 VOL. n. H
 
 146 CHILLON. 
 
 calls like master, like man," said the superior, 
 with a kind look at Father Ambroise: and when 
 left alone with him, he added earnestly, " Thou wilt 
 not leave us again, I trust ! Sit thee here, near the 
 fire, and tell me how our poor Duke bears up 
 against his evil fortune. Thou wilt not leave us 
 again, I trow ?" continued the old man, accompany- 
 ing the reiterated question with an earnest look of 
 interrogation. 
 
 " Not to-night, I trust, reverend father, but to- 
 morrow, with your permission, I set out for Einsie- 
 deln." 
 
 " Not with my permission, assuredly ; I cannot 
 always give up my claims on thee. Charity, thou 
 knowest, begins at home." 
 
 " Begins, reverend father ; but your charity 
 makes wide circuits." 
 
 " Like my truant monk," said the good Chanoine, 
 patting him on the shoulder. " But I tell thee, 
 Brother Ambroise, now I have caught thee, I will 
 not easily let go my hold." 
 
 Here the maronier entered, wrapped in his long 
 cloak, a lanthom in his hand, and a small wicker 
 basket and flask hung across his shoulder. 
 
 " Come, Drapeau, my boy !" he said, " all's
 
 ST. BERNARD 147 
 
 ready, and a heavy snow-storm driving over the 
 valley. Come along, thou lazy fellow, up, up !" 
 
 The dog slowly arose, opened his wide mouth in 
 a tremendous yawn, stretched his ponderous limbs, 
 and then approaching his master, placed his head on 
 his knee, and looked meaningly in his face. 
 
 " Not to-night, Drapeau, not to-night," said the 
 monk, gently patting the nohle creature's head. 
 " Thou reproachest me rightly with my laziness I 
 have more than half a mind to go with thee." 
 
 " Nay, brother, I insist on thy resting this even- 
 ing ! Thou spoilest the creature. Away, Victor, 
 and take the darling with thee !" 
 
 The man whistled shrilly, the dog followed him 
 out of the chamber ; and soon his deep bay was 
 heard, mingled with the voices of men, on the outside 
 of the convent. 
 
 " This noisy fellow has snapped the thread of my 
 discourse," said the good Chanoine, when they had 
 re-seated themselves ; " but I must tie it together 
 again, as I have much at heart to urge thee to take 
 on thy shoulders, a burden I begin to find too heavy 
 for mine. I must soon lay it down anyhow, and it 
 remains with thee to decide whether I try tbe 
 chance of a milder air on my worn-out frame, or let 
 
 H 2
 
 1 48 CHILLON. 
 
 it be laid a few years sooner in our mountain 
 church. There is this advantage in the latter case, 
 with which a poor pedlar, who died here a few days 
 since, consoled himself that I shall not have so far 
 to climb as those who are buried in the cloisters 
 below." 
 
 Father Ambroise, who had no relish for this jest- 
 ing on serious subjects, in which many even of the 
 devout of his persuasion indulge, replied gravely, 
 " I would do all I could to prolong your valuable 
 life, holy father, but give you an unworthy suc- 
 cessor. There are many amongst our brothers who 
 could fill your office far better than one who, from 
 constitution and habit, is equally unfit for catering 
 for the temporal wants, or discharging the politer 
 duties of hospitality to the numerous strangers who 
 visit our walls. At present," he continued, " it is 
 our sovereign's will that I leave you to-morrow." 
 
 The good superior's interest and curiosity was now 
 so much excited by the communications his compa- 
 nion had to make, and in talking over the many 
 little occurrences of minor importance on which he 
 wanted the direction of his master-mind, that some 
 hours had flown unheeded by, when they were 
 startled by an unusual noise at the entrance door.
 
 ST. BERNARD. 149 
 
 "It is Drapeau's voice," said Father Ambroise, 
 " who has returned before his party, and wishes to 
 force his way to me." 
 
 " They hear him from below," said the Chanoine, 
 probably a little disappointed at his return, " and 
 here he comes through the passage. Softly, my 
 good fellow ! don't scratch down the door !" 
 
 Before Father Ambroise could rise to admit the 
 importunate intruder, the door was opened from 
 without, and Drapeau bounded to the side of his 
 master. Instead, however, of lying down as before 
 at his feet, he stood at his side, looking intently at 
 him, and placing his broad paw with no gentle em- 
 phasis, from time to time, on his knee or arm, to 
 attract his notice. The superior, tired of these in- 
 terruptions, yet unwilling to banish the favourite a 
 second time, succeeded, by roughly ordering him to 
 lie down, in keeping him for a few minutes quiet ; 
 but the instant the restraining eye was turned from 
 him, he got up, walked round the room snuffing in 
 every corner, and at length placing his nose under 
 the door, whined most piteously. 
 
 " There is something more than common in 
 this," said Father Ambroise ; " the dog has cer- 
 tainly run away from his companions, perhaps to
 
 150 CHILLON. 
 
 give us warning of some misfortune that has hap- 
 pened to them, and in his way, to urge us to assist 
 them. Drapeau, my poor fellow, tell me what thou 
 wouldest ?" The dog ran hastily at the call, and 
 taking the monk's habit in his mouth, pulled him 
 towards the door. " I must indulge thee, my brave 
 dog. I will but get my cloak, and follow thee." 
 
 " At any rate, if you will go, take a Maronier 
 with you," pleaded the Grand Chanoine. 
 
 But Drapeau had become so importunate, that he 
 scarcely allowed his master to put on the usual 
 equipments for his nightly expeditions, and his wild 
 joy rendered all the good man urged, unheard. 
 
 The night was clear, but intensely cold ; a bright 
 moon " looked deeply down" from the blue vault of 
 heaven, and shone on the glittering snow, over which 
 the monk and his companion hastened. The storm 
 had rolled off for the moment, but a heavy cloud, 
 like a curtain partly drawn up, hung round the 
 mountains' heads, forming a deep setting to the 
 sharply peaked rocks ; and ever and anon, a muffled 
 gust arose as it were from the earth, and lifted the 
 snow in whirlwinds of the finest powder. The dog 
 ran steadily forward, his nose towards the ground, 
 turning occasionally to ascertain that his master was
 
 ST. BERNARD. J 51 
 
 following him, who, yielding himself entirely to his 
 guidance, walked on as quickly as the newly-fallen 
 snow, and the inequalities of his path permitted. 
 
 After descending the gorge for half an hour, 
 Father Ambroise perceived lights at a little dis- 
 tance, and soon found that they proceeded from 
 the party who had left the convent early in the 
 afternoon ; hut instead of running to meet them, as 
 he expected, Drapeau slunk back, and remained close 
 at his heels. 
 
 " Ah, my poor fellow," said the monk, " thou art 
 then, after all, but a poltroon, and only wanted a 
 little holiday." 
 
 The dog crouched low, as if he understood the 
 reproach, and his master advancing to meet the 
 party, found they were returning to the hospice with 
 three travellers, whom they had discovered bewil- 
 dered in the snow-storm. 
 
 " Have you seen Drapeau, father ?" asked one of 
 the attendants. 
 
 " Here he is, Victor and now we will return al- 
 together to the hospice, and if we make good speed, 
 may reach it ere the storm breaks." 
 
 But Drapeau was again unmanageable ; he darted 
 past the whole party, and although he stopped
 
 152 CHILLON. 
 
 within sight, all efforts to get hold of, or coax him 
 to return, were fruitless. 
 
 " It's the voice of Heaven, speaking through that 
 dumb creature," said Drapeau's most especial patron, 
 Victor ; " if you will permit me, holy father, I 
 will just humour him, and go whither he chooses to 
 lead." 
 
 The man having received an assenting nod from 
 his superior, ran forward, whistling, and cheering 
 Drapeau, who joyfully preceded him for some paces, 
 whilst Father Amhroise, curious to observe his 
 movements, remained a little behind the homeward- 
 bound party. Of a sudden the animal stopped, 
 looked round for his master, and running towards 
 him, took hold of his gown, and urged him forward 
 as he had before done. 
 
 " Thou art right, Victor," said the monk, strongly 
 affected, " it is the voice of Heaven, and we will not 
 resist it. Go on, my faithful Drapeau, and we will 
 trustingly follow thee." 
 
 Having ascertained that Victor's stores were yet 
 untouched, and desired the party to dispatch 
 some one in search of them, should they not return 
 in a few hours ; Father Ambroise now set out 
 with his attendant and their faithful guide, to tra-
 
 ST. BERNARD. 153 
 
 verse the trackless waste, over which dark clouds 
 rapidly gathering, threatened a quick- coming 
 storm. 
 
 " I'm always as sure that Drapeu is right, as I 
 can be that I am so myself, and perhaps surer," 
 said Victor ; " why that dog is as good a Christian 
 as we are that is, I mean, as such poor ignorant 
 folks as myself, and the like, father." 
 
 " In one respect he is better than any of us, 
 Victor he does his duty int hat state of life, in 
 which his Creator has placed him." 
 
 " Well, that's exactly what I said to a young 
 jackanapes of a serving man, who came up here last 
 summer, and who wanted to compare our- dogs with 
 his master's long-legged, addle-headed lurchers. 
 ' Our dogs,' said I, ' St. Bernard's dogs, are almost 
 human beings, and may perhaps go to the same 
 heaven as we shall.' " 
 
 " Nay, Victor, there thy partiality carried thee 
 further than was reasonable," said the father, almost 
 wishing, if not believing, like an eminent minister 
 of another creed nearly three centuries later, that 
 there was a 
 
 ' World, where dogs are blest.'" 
 
 H 5
 
 154 CHILLON. 
 
 " Why, father, will you believe," pleaded Victor, 
 that Drapeau there, a dog of his figure and parts 
 a dog that has been all his life devoted to good 
 works succouring the needy, leading the wander- 
 ing into the right way, reviving the fainting a dog, 
 as one may say, that is consecrated by our patron. 
 Do you believe " 
 
 Here Drapeau's panegyrist was arrested by a sud- 
 den tornado, which almost took him off his legs, and 
 raised such a cloud of snow around the wanderers, 
 as for the moment nearly buried, and entirely 
 blinded them. 
 
 " We must strive to get into shelter, until the 
 violence of the wind abates," said the monk, " or we 
 shall be lost." 
 
 They paused a moment: Drapeau's deep bark 
 was heard amid the wild raging of the elements. 
 
 " There he is, noble fellow! " exclaimed Victor, 
 " that's his own sweet voice, encouraging us to 
 follow. I always say that I'd as soon any time 
 hear it, as the organ and the whole choir to boot." 
 
 " It is impossible to think of returning," said the 
 monk, heedless of his companion's unorthodox 
 taste. " The mountain morgue should be some- 
 where hereabout ; " if we could reach it we should 
 7
 
 ST. BERNARD. 155 
 
 find in it a refuge, although a melancholy one, until 
 the morning." 
 
 " I think, now madam moon chooses to peep at 
 us from hehind the clouds again," said Victor, 
 " that I see something like the dog yonder : perhaps 
 he is seeking shelter for us therein, yes, here is 
 indeed the morgue." 
 
 It was so. The dog approached a low building, 
 whose top was nearly concealed by the snow, and 
 suddenly disappeared underneath it. 
 
 " Follow on," said the monk, " I think I hear 
 moans." 
 
 " It is the dog's voice, father he has found a 
 body ; hear how he howls. We must try and get 
 round to the window on the other side, and look 
 through the grating." 
 
 With much difficulty they effected this, Victor 
 removing the snow with his alpenstock : and as the 
 moonbeams fell directly on the grated aperture, they 
 clearly discerned the whitened bones and ghastly 
 skulls with which the mountain charnel-house was 
 filled. Guided by the barking of the dog, they at 
 length succeeded in reaching the entrance, and in 
 widening the hole already made by Drapeau's pas- 
 sage through the snow, sufficiently to enable them
 
 156 CHILLOX. 
 
 to creep through it. Victor trimmed his lamp, and 
 they crossed the heaps of bones which crumbled be- 
 neath their feet, until they discovered amongst these 
 fearful relics of mortality, a yet breathing female 
 form, half resting against the wall, the head sunk 
 on her breast, whilst the dog was licking her hands, 
 which lay listlessly at her sides ; sometimes barking 
 as if to awaken the slumberer, and then moaning 
 piteously at the futile attempt. 
 
 " Hold the lanthorn nearer," said the father, as 
 he gently raised the head, and almost again dropped 
 it, on recognising the pale features ; " there is yet 
 a faint fluttering of the pulse," he continued, his 
 surprise and emotion conquered by the necessity for 
 prompt effort. " Open the flask, Victor ; do thou 
 chafe her hands, whilst I moisten her lips with a 
 little of its reviving contents. That's right, my 
 brave Drapeau ! thy kindly warmth will be most 
 beneficial," he added, as the dog, with heaven-di- 
 rected instinct, placed himself at the side of the suf- 
 ferer, laid his face across the body, and thawed by 
 his warm breath the isicles that hung on the coarse 
 garments with which it was clothed. 
 
 " Will any one deny that creature has a soul ?" 
 muttered Victor, as he skilfully and humanely as- 
 
 -*
 
 ST. BERNARD. 157 
 
 sisted the monk in administering the usual restora- 
 tives; and his idol Drapeau, in support of his 
 favourite hypothesis, looked at their movements with 
 a face full of meaning, and a whine of commisera- 
 tion. " See, holy father, how he licks these poor 
 hands, as cold and white as marble. I warrant 
 ye, they belong, together with these jetty tresses, 
 to some gentle damsel, although clad in pilgrim's 
 weeds." 
 
 " One little used to cold and fatigue," said Father 
 Ambroise, with a deep sigh, " and evidently recog- 
 nised by Drapeau.' 
 
 " Ay, holy father, and if not by a miracle, there's 
 none worthy credit. I shall never believe in ano- 
 ther saint if Drapeau is n't canonized." 
 
 The good father could not reprove the heterodox 
 idolatry of his favourite, whilst he aided him so in- 
 defatigably in administering all the means practised 
 by the philanthropists of the hospice for restoring 
 suspended animation ; but it was nearly two hours 
 before their benevolent efforts were rewarded, and it 
 would be difficult to determine which of the three 
 amiable beings who surrounded the poor sufferer, 
 was most delighted, when she opened her eyes, 
 raised herself in Victor's ams, and looking fearfully
 
 1 58 CHILLON. 
 
 around, uttered some incoherent words. Certainly 
 Drapeau's joy was the most demonstrative, and per- 
 haps his voice the most soothing that, under exist- 
 ing circumstances, could have met her awakening 
 faculties. Bursting into tears, she wept unchecked 
 for a long time, whilst the gentle animal licked her 
 hands and face. At length she said, " Drapeau, 
 dear Drapeau ! art thou here again ? that I 
 could see thy master !" 
 
 " He is not far off," said Victor, gently. 
 
 " And who art thou, friend ?" asked the patient, 
 now first perceiving him. 
 
 " A servant of St. Bernard, and his dog Drapeau, 
 fair pilgrim." 
 
 " And Father Ambroise ! tell me, where is 
 he?" 
 
 " He is at thy side, my poor child," said the 
 monk, advancing and taking her hand. " But 
 how earnest thou here, and where is thy young 
 mistress ?" 
 
 " Tis a sad story, father." 
 
 " And one we will not now tax. thy strength to 
 relate," said the monk, recollecting himself; " let 
 us only gratefully acknowledge thy preservation, 
 which we owe to the interposition of a gracious Pro- 
 vidence."
 
 ST. BERNARD. 159 
 
 " And to Drapeau's sagacity and courage," inter- 
 rupted Victor. 
 
 " Yes, truly," said Eosette, for since the good 
 father has found her out, we think the reader will 
 also courteously recognise her, "thou wert indeed 
 the humble instrument of my deliverance." She 
 then related, though her little story was often 'inter- 
 nip ted by weakness, that having been overtaken by 
 a snow-storm, just as she reached the morgue, she 
 had taken refuge in that melancholy building, with- 
 out being aware of the horrors it contained ; that 
 when night approached she had heard human voices, 
 mingled with Drapeau's well-known bark ; that she 
 had called the dog, who recognised the voice of his 
 old playmate of the castle of Brieres, whither he had 
 often been brought by Father Ambroise, and that 
 after having greeted her with the most lively demon- 
 strations of joy, he had left her, she doubted not, to 
 fetch his master. 
 
 " Which he did, as I am here to witness," inter- 
 rupted the delighted Yictor ; " but go on, fair 
 pilgrim." 
 
 " I can remember little more," said Eosette, 
 faintly, " for overcome with cold and fear, my senses 
 forsook me. I resisted, however, as long as I
 
 160 CHILLON. 
 
 could, having understood that sleep under such cir- 
 cumstances would be fatal, and knowing how much 
 depended on my reaching the hospice ; the horrors 
 of my situation also took away all inclination 
 for repose." 
 
 " And to this you in part owe your preserva- 
 tion, as fright kept the blood longer in circulation." 
 As the monk uttered these words, Drapeau 
 bounded from the building, and returned shortly 
 after with a party from the hospice, dispatched to 
 their aid by the Grand Chanoine. 
 
 Poor Rosette, still accompanied by her faithful 
 guard and guide, was carefully conveyed to the con- 
 vent ; and Father Ambroise, in committing her to 
 the charge of the housekeeper, promised to visit her 
 early on the following morning.
 
 LA FETE DBS FOUS. 161 
 
 CHAPTEK XI. 
 
 LA FETE DES FOUS. 
 
 Know'st thou what travellers shall walk with us on this day's pil- 
 grimage 1 
 
 THE notes of the organ pealing along the corri- 
 dors, awoke Rosette at an early hour ; she started 
 up in her hed, imagining she was still at St. Maurice 
 with her lady, hut the keenness of the moniing air, 
 and a few moments' reflection, realized her actual 
 situation, and recalled the urgent nature of her 
 errand. She therefore arose, and had completed 
 her simple toilette, when the good house- dame 
 arrived with some breakfast, and a message of kind 
 solicitude from Father Ambroise, who visited her as 
 soon as the morning service in the chapel was ended, 
 anxious to know the object of her adventurous pil-
 
 1 62 CHILLON. 
 
 grimage to the snowy heights of St. Bernard. Al- 
 though their conversation occupied much time, the 
 substance of it may be thus briefly related : 
 
 After a residence of some months in the Carme- 
 lite convent of St. Maurice, during which, although 
 urgent for their conversion, the gentle abbess had 
 treated Beatrice and her attendant with the greatest 
 kindness, and had become much attached to them ; 
 she received an intimation from her relative, the 
 Primate of Turin, accompanied by severe censure of 
 her indulgence, and that of her confessor, Father 
 Anselmo, of their intended removal to a stricter 
 rule, and into more rigorous confinement ; and was 
 sternly commanded to prepare them for immediate 
 departure. The evening before this mandate arrived, 
 Rosette, who was permitted occasionally to go out 
 with one of the servants, was accosted by a pilgrim, 
 who found means to discover himself to her as the 
 Savoy Lackey, Marco, and to inform her that he had 
 been sent by the old Concierge to urge her and her 
 young lady to instant flight, for which everything 
 had been arranged, and to disclose to her, as a 
 powerful motive for the measure, the discovery 
 which he had made of a plot to immure his young 
 mistress for life in a distant cloister, and to betray
 
 LA FETE DES FOUS. 163 
 
 her attendant into the hands of the Sergeant Prepo- 
 tenti. 
 
 We pass over the perplexed consultations of the 
 persecuted young confessors, and give only the re- 
 sult of their deliberations, that the duty of Beatrice 
 was to abide the gathering storm, rather than by 
 flight to subject the kind abbess to its fury ; and 
 that of Kosette to escape from the horrid fate which 
 awaited her, to the monastery of St. Bernard, which 
 naturally presented itself, both as affording a present 
 place of refuge, and the only means of securing the 
 future services of their inestimable friend, Father 
 Ambroise. 
 
 In order to allow Rosette the necessary repose 
 after her late harassing exertions, and to gain time 
 for the due consideration of the perplexing path 
 which lay before him, the monk of St. Bernard, to 
 the great delight of his superior, and almost equal 
 satisfaction of our humble friend Drapeau, delayed 
 his departure until the following morning, when 
 placing Rosette on his mule, he commenced his 
 painful pilgrimage at her side. 
 
 Carefully avoiding all those places in which Ro- 
 sette might be recognised, they reached Fribourg on 
 the fourth morning after they left the hospice. As
 
 164 CHILLON. 
 
 they proceeded down the steep streets of that pic- 
 turesque city, they observed a general stir though- 
 out the whole population, and that everything wore 
 the air of a general holiday. The streets were strewn 
 with rushes, and arched in various places with 
 boughs of evergreens. Lamps were displayed in 
 almost every window, oftentimes encircling some 
 paltry image of the Virgin or saints, gaily dressed ; 
 but the most prominent decorations surrounded 
 several gaunt figures of the magi, composed of 
 painted wood or wax, and displayed in front of 
 many of the principal buildings. 
 
 " Canst thou show us the church of St. Nicholas, 
 friend ?" said the monk, addressing a man, who 
 appeared from his habit to belong to the choir of 
 the cathedral. 
 
 " Ye will need no guide thither at present," an- 
 swered the man, " since the crowd are not per- 
 mitted to enter, until the bishop and magistrates 
 have chosen a king." 
 
 " A king, friend ?" 
 
 " Ay, a king we have got two, but cannot find 
 a third ; this way, holy pilgrim you may, perhaps, 
 be of use in their need. Don't you know that it is 
 le jour des Fous ?"
 
 LA FETE DBS FOUS. 165 
 
 " Ay, indeed !" said Rosette, " if we may trust 
 our eyes and ears. But do tell me, father, what 
 does the man mean by choosing a king ? Crowns 
 do not often go a bogging." 
 
 " He means, child," said the monk, with very un- 
 usual pettishness, " that it is the anniversary of the 
 day on which the wise men, guided by a star, came 
 to worship, in His lowly manger, One who was the 
 light of the world." 
 
 " But what has that to do with kings ? The 
 Bible only talks of wise men who came from the 
 East it does not mention their number or con- 
 dition." 
 
 " But the traditions of the church, which are of 
 equal authority, I speak it with reverence, inform 
 us that Gaspar, Melchor, and Balthazar, were three 
 eastern kings, who came to offer their treasures, and 
 worship the infant Saviour. It is an ancient custom 
 of the good people of Fribourg, and doubtless still 
 kept up in many other places, to represent in a sort 
 of pageant, or religious masque, as it is called, the 
 memorable scene, on the anniversary of the day on 
 which it took place. These exhibitions, which, in 
 the earlier ages of the church, were performed with 
 great solemnity and devotion, have, I regret to ob-
 
 166 CH1LLON. 
 
 serve, fallen into folly and misrule ; and have too 
 justly merited the name hy which the common 
 people designate this sacred day. But here is the 
 church ; thou mayest amuse thyself whilst I enter 
 it, in contemplating the curious bas-relief represent- 
 ing the last judgment, which ornaments the portal 
 beneath the tower. It will furnish thee with more 
 profitable meditations than the captious objections 
 with which thou hast of late exercised thy spirit." 
 Poor Eosette keenly felt the first unkind word she 
 had ever received from the father. She blushed 
 deeply, and hung down her head, whilst tears 
 rushed into her eyes, and her kind companion, re- 
 pentant and sorrowful, said gently, " I will not 
 leave thee long I have particular business with 
 the cur6, and when it is finished, I will come and 
 seek thee." 
 
 It was not without some demur, that the appa- 
 rently humble pilgrim, was admitted into the pre- 
 sence of the cure, who, with his diocesan and 
 officials, together with the chief magistrates of the 
 city, were assembled in an inner chapel, divided 
 from the great altar by a screen, as is still seen in 
 some of our own cathedrals. Here a singular scene 
 met his eyes. In a recess at one end, representing
 
 LA FETE DES FOUS. 107 
 
 a stable, surrounded with stuffed oxen, mules, and 
 camels, sat a young woman, dressed in the inappro- 
 priate costume of the court ladies of the day, with a 
 quantity of slio^y drapery and glittering ornaments. 
 A tall man, clad in an embroidered doublet with 
 slashed sleeves, a scarlet mantle flowing back from 
 his shoulders, stood at her side, and a waxen baby 
 lay in her arms. Two men of dark complexion, 
 habited in long ermined robes, with crowns on their 
 heads, were kneeling at her feet, prepared to lay 
 their treasures before her. In the meanwhile, the 
 Bishop and his satellites were half coaxing, half 
 scolding, a tall and extremely handsome Jesuit 
 priest, who, flushed and angry, was defending him- 
 self from their attempts to invest him with the 
 clothes and regalia of the royal Balthazar, whilst the 
 rest of the dramatis persouse were casting, every now 
 and then, a supplicating look to be delivered from 
 their painful attitudes of suspense and constraint. 
 
 " I crave your indulgence, reverend father/' said 
 the young man, shaking off the officious menials ; 
 " I shall but disgrace the royal Magus. Here is a 
 venerable pilgrim whose noble deportment will do 
 him far more justice ;" and he directed the attention
 
 168 CHILLON. 
 
 of all present to Father Ambroise, who now 
 entered. 
 
 " Get thee gone, then," said the cure, advancing 
 to meet the monk ; " here is one who will deem it 
 an honour to be thus employed in the sanctuary. 
 Welcome, holy pilgrim, whence comest thou, and 
 whither bound ?" 
 
 "Your first interrogatory, reverend sir," answered 
 Father Ambroise, courteously, " I will answer at a 
 more convenient opportunity ; to the last, I name 
 Einsiedeln as the end of my journey." 
 
 " Tis a long way," said the Bishop, " and a diffi- 
 cult one at this season ; thou canst pay thy homage 
 to our Lady nearer at hand. This foolish fellow 
 refuses the crown we offer him if thou wilt wear it 
 for a few hours, thou wilt greatly oblige the good 
 citizens of Fribourg and their Bishop." 
 
 A slight shade of scorn passed over the fine 
 countenance of Father Ambroise as he answered, 
 " My business, my Lord Bishop, is with the realities 
 of life ; I have neither time nor taste for its masks 
 and pastimes." 
 
 " Nay, my grave sir palmer," said the prelate 
 sarcastically, " you do not suppose I ask you to 
 enact the part for my own amusement ; but it were
 
 LA FETE DES FOUS. 169 
 
 a pity to deprive our worthy fellow-townsmen of 
 their annual diversion, and I pray you, be persuaded 
 to undertake it." 
 
 " Crowns do not grow on the bushes of Einsei- 
 deln, holy pilgrim," said one of the magistrates, 
 " and it is something, even for one night, to be a 
 king." 
 
 " I am content with my pilgrim's habit, worthy 
 sir, and let me at once caution you not to waste any 
 more of your time on one who has none of his own 
 to dispose of," said Father Ambroise, in a tone that 
 put a stop to all further solicitation. 
 
 " Your pilgrimage probably, is not on your own 
 account ?'' asked the Bishop, who began to feel he 
 had to deal with some one who deserved respect. 
 
 " If your lordship, and these worshipful gentle- 
 men, will grant me a private audience, I will ex- 
 plain my own plans, together with the important 
 mission with which I am entrusted." 
 
 " Certainly," said the chief magistrate ; " but, 
 my Lord Bishop, I pray you lay your commands 
 on some of your own train, to take on him these 
 cumbrous robes of King Balthazar, if the people 
 must have their rara-show on this their holiday of 
 fools. Pardon me, my lord, I'm a rough citizen, 
 
 VOL. II. I
 
 170 CHILLON. 
 
 and cannot just now, stay to sort my words, for my 
 wife has dispatched half-a-dozen messengers to ad- 
 vise me, that three of the lordly bears from Berne 
 have stalked out of their dens, and demand loudly 
 to see me. If I do not hasten home, they may, 
 perchance, seek me here ; and I should not quite 
 relish that one of their stiff-ruffed preachers should 
 peep behind the scenes at all this mummery." 
 
 " These sacred representations " began the cure, 
 but the entrance of another of the magistrate's ser- 
 vants, with evident marks of haste and agitation, 
 cut short the exordium. 
 
 " Did I not bid thee tell thy mistress, rascal, 
 that we were crowning King Balthazar ?" exclaimed 
 the angry citizen. " Can't wait ! nay, tell them 
 they must. Stop their mouths with some of our 
 holiday cheer why did not thy lady bid them to 
 the feast?' 
 
 " An't please your worshipful honour, my mis- 
 tress urged them many times to alight and refresh 
 themselves, but they would accept nothing but a 
 stirrup-cup, and said their business was urgent. 
 They will be beforehand with your worship if you 
 do not come forthwith, for I left them in hot con- 
 tention with my lady about following you here."
 
 LA FETE DES FOUS. 17l 
 
 " Then, by St. Michael and all the saints, I must 
 run for it ! I say, fellow, do thou stand at the 
 door and keep them out I will be after thee as 
 fast as I may." He seized his cap and sword, and 
 whilst buckling on the latter, said in breathless 
 haste to the Bishop, " Your lordship sees I cannot 
 remain for the coronation." 
 
 " These sacred representations," again observed 
 the sententious cure, only again to be cut short by 
 the impatient magistrate. 
 
 " Very true, reverend sir, all right and expe- 
 dient ; but these starched matter-of-fact Reformers 
 would sot us down for a pack of idolaters, and 
 sneer at the holy mysteries of the jour des fous. 
 By St. Anthony !" he continued, as he let fall the 
 sword, which he had vainly attempted in his haste 
 to fasten on, whilst his face became as red as the 
 rejected robes of the eastern sage, " and ye may 
 now have an opportunity of proving the truth of 
 my words, for here come Masters Bruin in solemn 
 scorn, and in spite of my orders to keep them out. 
 That rascal's ears shall tingle for this !" 
 
 The worthy magistrate's mortification at being 
 discovered in an employment so little befitting his 
 vocation, and of which his plain good sense could 
 
 i 2
 
 172 CHILLON. 
 
 not but point out the folly, was not much soothed 
 by the dignified simplicity of the personages who 
 now entered the chapel, and advanced towards him, 
 unruffled by the repulse they had encountered at 
 their entrance. The leader of the party, Jean Ro- 
 dolph Neugli,* like his brother, the celebrated 
 general of that name, united the nobler qualities of 
 wisdom, gentleness, and benevolence, to the most 
 determined courage and resolution; and his col- 
 leagues, Louis le Diesbach, and Rodolph de Grafen- 
 reid, were amongst the noblest and most esteemed 
 of the citizens of Berne. 
 
 As they proceeded up the nave of the church, 
 the Bishop whispered something in the ear of his 
 officious attendant, the cure, who hastily causing 
 the regalia of the slighted Balthazar to be removed, 
 proceeded to oblige his royal brothers, Gaspar and 
 Melchoir, to resume the kneeling posture, which 
 they had exchanged for a more comfortable posi- 
 tion, on the steps of the altar, and somewhat 
 roughly to awaken St. Joseph, who had, during the 
 long pending negociation, fallen asleep in the midst 
 of his camels. 
 
 These arrangements were happily finished in 
 time for the official to advance with his diocesan a 
 
 * See note L.
 
 LA FETE DBS FOUS. 173 
 
 few steps, to meet the intruders, and give him the 
 support of his portly presence. 
 
 " We would fain have awaited your arrival at 
 your own house, worshipful sir," said Neugli, ad- 
 dressing the chief magistrate, after all parties had 
 courteously saluted each other, " but our haste was 
 urgent, aud we were told the ceremony in which 
 you were engaged was likely to detain you until 
 noon." 
 
 " These sacred representations, these holy mys- 
 teries " 
 
 " Pardon me, reverend sir," interrupted De Gra- 
 fenreid, whose zeal for the reformed religion, if not 
 greater than that of his courteous companion, was 
 more demonstrative, " we have no wish to intrude 
 into such secrets we only desire that our fellow- 
 magistrate will leave their arrangement in the abler 
 hands of the priesthood, and accompany us to the 
 council-chamber." 
 
 " It is the Holiday of Fools," muttered the 
 worthy citizen, " and I am not the least of them 
 for meddling with it ! I. am quite ready to attend 
 ye, gentlemen," he continued, leading the way to- 
 wards a side-door ; " this is our nearest road."
 
 174 CHILLON. 
 
 " Perhaps my Lord Bishop will also aid in 
 the assembly," said Neugli. " And I beg your 
 worship speedily to convoke it, as to-morrow's 
 sun must see us far advanced on our road to 
 Geneva." 
 
 The mention of Geneva quickened the move- 
 ments of the party, and as the cure closed the door 
 on the last of the retiring train, he said, " Mum- 
 mery ! holiday of fools did the bloated idiot call it ? 
 And what would the church of Rome do without 
 such? These sacred representations these holy 
 mysteries, revive the spark of devotion, which in 
 these days of heresy and unbelief, it requires strong 
 attrition to elicit, and constant effort to feed." 
 
 The long pent up speech was at length set free ; 
 but alas ! instead of the approbation of his diocesau, 
 for which it was conned, it was echoed only from 
 the deserted aisles of the church; and the poor 
 cure turned disappointed and disheartened, to ar- 
 range the melodrame of le jour des fous for the 
 expectant crowd, whose hour of admittance was now 
 fast approaching. 
 
 The interest which the mention of Geneva ex- 
 cited, was deeply shared by Father Ambroise, since
 
 LA FETE DES FOUS. 175 
 
 the hopes and fears of a great part of Europe 
 hovered around that struggling state, as the pivot 
 on which many mighty interests revolved. 
 
 To prevent a coalition between the oppressed citi- 
 zens of Geneva and their more powerful neighbours 
 of Berne, had exercised the abilities of many a politi- 
 cal potentate, who would, under other circumstances, 
 have scorned her petty interests and agitations 
 those " tempests in a tumbler," as the witty scoffer 
 who dwelt three centuries later on her shores, termed 
 them. 
 
 But whilst France had twice attempted to throw 
 troops into her garrison, and Savoy tenaciously 
 endeavoured to hold her in vassalage, the emperor 
 was crouching with fawning adulation to the citizen 
 princes of Berne, to prevent their coming forward 
 to help her. 
 
 It is not necessary for the elucidation of our 
 little history, to relate what passed in the council- 
 chamber between the ambassadors from Berne and 
 the good burghers of Fribourg, nor to detail the 
 various opinions which they expressed relative to 
 the appeal of Savoy, presented by Father Ambroise. 
 It will be sufficient that we endeavour, albeit with a 
 feeble pen, to pourtray the generous enthusiasm
 
 1 7 6 CHILLON. 
 
 which animated the hearts of the Bernese, when the 
 watch-word was at length given for the noble army 
 of these northern heroes to buckle on their swords, 
 and to march forward to the relief of their op- 
 pressed, yet undaunted brother Protestants of Ge- 
 neva.
 
 THE BLESSING OF THE BANNER. 177 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE BLESSING OF THE BANNER. 
 What spell is o'er the populous city cast ! 
 
 IT was nearly a fortnight ere our pilgrims reached 
 the city of Berne, since their journey thither was 
 not without hindrance and adventure. Harassed in 
 mind, and wearied by the painful ceremonies im- 
 posed on him, Father Ambroise with difficulty ac- 
 complished the first day's stage after leaving Fri- 
 bourg ; and ere he reached the village where he 
 meant to rest on the second night, he found him- 
 self utterly exhausted, and unable to proceed. 
 " I will rest on this bench, dear daughter," he 
 said, as he quitted Rosette's supporting arm. and 
 seated himself within a little sheltered alcove by 
 the way- side, erected close to the rapid stream of 
 the Seuse, which divides the cantons of Fribonrg 
 
 I 5
 
 178 CHILLON. 
 
 and Berne. The friendly retreat, thus placed for 
 the refreshment of the traveller, was separated by a 
 narrow road from the gate of a garden and orchard, 
 which surrounded a comfortable house, built in the 
 Swiss style, with high and projecting roof, wooden 
 galleries, and texts of Holy Scripture painted over 
 them. The garden and adjacent ground were 
 covered with snow, but a path had been cleared 
 from the house to the gate : a pastor, in the 
 cloak and cap of the reformed church, was pacing 
 slowly backwards and forwards on it, with a book 
 in his hand, from which he occasionally raised his 
 eyes to fix them on the long range of snowy moun- 
 tains, now glowing with the reflected rays of the 
 setting sun. As the pilgrim sank back on the 
 bench, pale and exhausted, Rosette uttered an in- 
 voluntary cry, which brought the pastor to her 
 side. 
 
 " Your companion looks very ill, young maiden," 
 he said ; " if you will assist me in supporting him 
 into my house, we will procure him some restora- 
 tive." 
 
 ' Thank ye, kind sir," replied Father Ambroise 
 feebly ; " I fear I should be too heavy a charge, 
 since I feel the approach of a serious malady. If
 
 THE BLESSING OF THE BANNER. 179 
 
 you could procure me any easy mode of convey- 
 ance to the next hostelry, you will do all that 
 charity requires." 
 
 " Not all, my poor friend," replied the pastor, 
 with a sweet smile ; " wot ye not that he who was 
 neighbour unto him who fell among thieves, bound 
 up his wounds, ere he set him on his own beast ? 
 Thou must come into my house, where there is 
 always a chamber ready for the wayfaring. Say- 
 ing this, he gently raised the monk from his seat, 
 and supporting him on one side, whilst Kosette 
 aided on the other, they crossed the road and ag- 
 proached the house. Ere they reached it, a pleas- 
 ing-looking young woman had opened the door, 
 and placed a chair in the entrance, on which she 
 bade them rest the invalid, whilst she prepared him 
 a draught of warm milk, the only restorative he 
 could be prevailed on to accept. 
 
 As they were about to convey him to bed, Father 
 Ambroise again remonstrated on the trouble they 
 were taking for a stranger." 
 
 " My friend," replied the host, " many were the 
 friendly roofs that sheltered me when I wandered 
 about houseless and persecuted ; and my Madeleine 
 knows the vow I have made thus to return the 
 benefits I received."
 
 180 CHILLON. 
 
 " Then be it so," said the priest, " although on 
 my head, as a son of the church from which you 
 suffered persecution, you are heaping coals of 
 fire." 
 
 When Father Ambroise was left alone with his 
 host, he confided to his care the costly offering for 
 the shrine of Emsiedeln, and the yet more precious 
 crucifix, with directions for their destination, should 
 he be prevented, by illness or death, from perform- 
 ing the remainder of his pilgrimage. 
 
 " Alas !" thought the pastor, as he took the glit- 
 tering baubles from the trembling hand which pre- 
 sented them, " that man should thus hew out to 
 himself broken cisterns, when the full stream of 
 mercy flows without limit or bounds !" 
 
 The perceptions of the sufferer now became more 
 and more clouded, and in a short time all the symp- 
 toms of fever were apparent. For many days and 
 nights, Kosette and her kind entertainers watched 
 by his pillow, comforted by the doctor's assurance 
 that care and rest would restore the wasted strength, 
 and quiet the agitated mind of their patient ; and 
 the doctor's prognostic was fulfilled. The naturally 
 robust constitution of the monk, inured to hard- 
 ship and privation, recovered its usual tone, and
 
 THE BLESSING OF THE BANNER. 181 
 
 his mind was soothed by the quiet nursing he re- 
 ceived. 
 
 During the succeeding days which the travellers 
 spent under this truly hospitable roof, they became 
 greatly endeared to its excellent owners. Eosette 
 made herself generally useful and agreeable to the 
 simple yet elegant mistress, and won the hearts of 
 the children ; but there was yet a stronger bond of 
 union between the pastor and monk. Himself 
 escaped from the errors of the Komish church; 
 sacrificing country, fortune, and friends, for the 
 reformed faith the pious and talented Jean le 
 Comte, Seigneur de la Croix, could not behold 
 another entangled in the chains of superstition 
 without striving to set him free. Whole hours 
 were occupied by these amiable antagonists in argu- 
 ing on the tenets of their respective creeds ; and 
 they separated only to pray for direction and light. 
 But amid this subject of primal interest, they did 
 not forget the fate of those who needed their utmost 
 efforts, and often concerted together every possible 
 means of afford ing them assistance. In this Ma- 
 dame le Comte and liosette were also deeply inte- 
 rested ; for the heart and imagination of the pastor's 
 wife had been engaged by her countrywoman's
 
 182 CHILLON. 
 
 history of the various scenes through which she 
 had passed and she never wearied of hearing, or 
 Kosette of speaking, of her young mistress, of Mi- 
 chael Cottier, and the castle prison. 
 
 No entreaties, however, could prevail on Father 
 Ambroise to remain longer, than his health abso- 
 lutely required, beneath the sheltering roof of the 
 Swiss pastor, and he urged the plea of Beatrice's 
 danger, as one to which his benevolent host would 
 offer no opposition. " That excellent lady," he 
 said, " has won all our hearts I only ask one 
 day's delay, and I will myself accompany you as 
 far as Berne but my wife would fain keep this 
 young maiden until your return." 
 
 Rosette shook her head. " A thousand thanks, 
 Monsieur le Ministre, but I cannot let my first 
 friend traverse that wild desert alone." 
 
 " Thou art a good girl," said the pastor, " and I 
 am content that our friend should see that we of 
 the reformed church can go on pilgrimage too, 
 when duty calls. However, I think I can smooth 
 all objections. What sayest thou, Madeleine '? wilt 
 thou and Eosette accompany us to the city, and 
 abide at thy brother's, whilst I go on to Einsiedehi 
 with our friend ?"
 
 THE BLESSING OF THE BANNER. 183 
 
 Father Ambroise had weighty reasons for re- 
 joicing at this change of companion, and accepted 
 the proposal with grateful alacrity. 
 
 It was about eight o'clock on a bright and frosty 
 morning, when the party descended the hill leading 
 into the city of Berne. The air was cold but pure, 
 and the sun shone on the fantastic frost-work which 
 hung from the boughs of the trees, or gemmed the 
 herbage beneath. As they passed under the arcades 
 on which the city is built, they found every shop 
 shut, and almost every house tenantless. No busy 
 housewife, no gossiping maiden, lingered round 
 the quaint fountains, the sound of whose gushing 
 waters alone interrupted the stillness of the deserted 
 streets. 
 
 " It is, I suppose, some feast of your church, " 
 said the monk, addressing his companion. 
 
 "It is a day of peculiar solemnity," was the 
 answer. 
 
 " The people of Berne have a better," Rosette 
 hesitated and added, " a different manner of cele- 
 brating their holy days from their neighbours of 
 Fribourg. You remember, father, the noise and 
 confusion of la Fete des Fous ?" 
 
 " I do, daughter, and think with thee that solem-
 
 184 CHILLON. 
 
 nity, if it do not degenerate into gloominess, (an 
 extreme charged on the seceders,) is a better man- 
 ner of honouring a God of order, than the wild up- 
 roar we have lately witnessed." 
 
 " Stop, Madeleine !" exclaimed Mons. le Comte, 
 " you should do the honours of our city to the 
 strangers. You surely will not pass the clock- 
 tower of Berchold of Ziiringen without pointing out 
 its quaint device. Look steadily at yon chanticleer, 
 maiden," he continued, laying hold of Rosette's arm, 
 as they approached the antique watch-tower, which 
 even in our day, attracts the attention of travellers, 
 " and those curious lords of Berne, sculptured in 
 
 stone, and thou wilt see a dance which, at thy age, 
 
 .. ' 
 
 should not want attraction." 
 
 Rosette stopped, and raising her eyes as the pastor 
 good-humouredly directed, saw, with wonder and 
 admiration, the bird flap his wings, crow twice, and 
 the hideous face above, yawn at each beat of the 
 bell that struck the hour of eight an intimation, 
 by-the-bye, that time passed as heavily to the idle 
 of the twelfth century as it does to those of our 
 own. The puppet had scarcely opened his mouth 
 for the last time, and lowered his sceptre in gracious 
 recognizance of his subjects the bears, who make
 
 THE BLESSING OF THE BANNER. 185 
 
 their hourly circuit below, when all attention was 
 drawn from the grotesque group by a burst of har- 
 mony, so full, so loud, so blended, that it was like 
 the voice of many waters ; or such as to human 
 conception might seem to resemble the hallelujah 
 of that countless multitude which surround the 
 throne of Omnipotence. For a few minutes the 
 travellers, giving themselves up to the rapt delight, 
 stood motionless and silent, when Monsieur leComte, 
 taking the arm of the monk, and beckoning the 
 others to follow, passed quickly through a portion 
 of one street, then crossed a transverse alley, and 
 came at once into the open space which surrounds 
 the venerable and spacious minster church of the 
 city. On one side, planted with fine trees', and 
 surmounted by a solid wall of masonry, rising more 
 than a hundred feet from the bed of the rapid Aar, 
 was, and still remains, a lofty terrace, from which 
 can be discovered, in fine weather, twelve snowy 
 peaks of the range of the Bernese Alps, whose cloud- 
 less summits seemed, this day, to have uncovered 
 themselves in honour of the occasion, and formed a 
 meet setting for the scene within. 
 
 The doors of the fine cathedral were thrown open, 
 and around each were assembled a multitude of
 
 186 CHILLON. 
 
 persons who could not find accommodation within 
 its walls a crowd of persons so dense, and yet so 
 orderly and immoveable, that they appeared rooted 
 to the spot. They were composed principally of 
 the peasants of the neighbourhood dressed in holi- 
 day costume, and fell hack from the principal portal 
 at the approach of the well-known pastor, who, 
 followed by his party, reached the interior of the 
 edifice, and there beheld a sight of mingled interest, 
 grandeur, and beauty. 
 
 The centre of the building was filled with soldiers 
 the brave soldiers of Berne with their handsome 
 uniform and massive arms, and that mingled dig- 
 nity and simplicity of deportment, which reminded 
 the classic spectator of the legions of Rome, when 
 Rome was free and virtuous. Nor did the band of 
 grave citizens and senators, who occupied the seats 
 near the pulpit, destroy the similitude. At the head 
 of these were the three noble brothers Neugli 
 the General Francois Neugli being conspicuous 
 amid the patrician band, from his commanding form 
 and eagle eye, tempered by grace and sweetness. 
 In the galleries were ranged the female aristocracy 
 of Berne, who, on this patriotic occasion, did not 
 disdain to wear the costume of their canton, differ-
 
 THE BLESSING OF THE BANNER. 187 
 
 ing only in the fineness of the snowy neck-kerchiefs 
 and sleeves, and the richness of its jewels, from that 
 of the numerous groups of the lower citizens' wives 
 and daughters, and the peasants of the neighbour- 
 hood, who, with their silver chains and buttons, 
 long plaited hair, and the fanciful decorations of 
 their diminutive straw-hats, vied in freshness and 
 gaiety with their patrician countrywomen. But 
 amid this hright hand of the brave, the wise, and 
 the fair, there was one form in its pale holiness, and 
 venerable sanctity, on whom all eyes were fixed 
 bound rivetted : and when the first low tones of his 
 voice were heard, breathing out his soul in prayer, 
 youth, beauty, power, and wisdom, hung breathless 
 on its moving tones. 
 
 Berthold Haller, the great, the good, the philoso- 
 pher, and the Christian, occupied the pulpit. On 
 his dying-bed, the intelligence that his countrymen 
 had at last listened to the voice of supplicating 
 Geneva, revived the expiring embers of life : the 
 flickering fire burst at once into light and heat. 
 " Bear me," he exclaimed, " to the church : I shall 
 yet have strength accorded me to bless the banner 
 of my country, and to bid its brave defenders go 
 forth, conquering, and to conquer." Pale, trembling,
 
 188 CHILLON. 
 
 and emaciated, yet animated with that burning zeal 
 which the waters of sorrow cannot quench, nor the 
 floods of trial overwhelm, the dying man was borne 
 by his brother ministers, as a father by dutiful and 
 affectionate sons, and placed by them in that pulpit, 
 which had so often resounded to the harmony of his 
 voice, and the earnestness of his supplications. 
 And now the prayer ended, he sat down a short 
 time to recover his breath. A stillness the most 
 profound reigned throughout that vast assembly, 
 and expectation held every soul in its powerful 
 chains. The holy man arose, and the general ad- 
 vanced with his lieutenant and banneret, bearing the 
 gorgeous banner of Berne, embroidered with its 
 well-known emblem the Bear, to the foot of the 
 pulpit, from whence its waving panoply seemed 
 almost to enfold the form of the preacher. At first 
 his voice was low and weak, and his ashy-pale coun- 
 tenance was coloured only by a small hectic spot in 
 the middle of each sunken cheek ; but as he pro- 
 ceeded, he seemed endowed with supernatural force. 
 His eye lighted up, dark and flashing, beneath the 
 snowy honours of his fine formed head ; the blood 
 rushed into his hollow cheeks, and gave that appear- 
 ance of fulness and vigour, which is sometimes the 
 10
 
 THE BLESSING OF THE BANNER. 189 
 
 precursor of dissolution ; whilst the accents of his 
 voice, clear and sonorous, pierced the hearts of his 
 auditors, as if they had been addressed to them 
 from that hright heaven which overshadowed him, 
 and to which he was hastening. 
 
 " My brothers and fellow- soldiers in Christ !" 
 such was his address, and in some such words as 
 the following he continued : " When He who came 
 to give light and life to a world sunk in darkness 
 and iniquity, was borne, a weak and wailing infant, 
 into the temple, the tongue of the aged Simeon 
 broke out in the full ecstacy of his joy and thanks- 
 giving ' Lord, now lettest Thou thy servant depart 
 in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.' 
 And such, my brethren, was my prayer, though 
 such was not my hope ! for, whilst wearying Heaven 
 with petitions for the deliverance of Geneva, I did 
 not believe my eyes would behold that salvation. 
 Yet why did I doubt ? for never since He who was 
 greater than the temple was borne into it, never has 
 there been a cause more vitally important to the 
 world, than this which it is your high privilege to 
 aid and defend. Insignificant as that distressed city 
 may appear, from it shall arise the light of truth 
 and Christianity ; and the spark now almost smo-
 
 190 CHILLON. 
 
 thered, nurtured by your fostering hands, shall 
 burn until the days of the Lord are accomplished 
 until the earth shall be rolled up as a scroll, 
 and the angel of the Covenant, stretching forth his 
 hand to heaven, shall swear by Him who liveth for 
 ever and ever, that " time shall be no more." My 
 fellow- citizens and magistrates," he added, after a 
 short pause, " ye have done your duty ; ye have called 
 together a brave army ; ye have bound them by mer- 
 ciful and judicious laws ; ye have set over them ex- 
 perienced and Christian commanders and God will 
 abundantly recompense ye and your descendants, for 
 this act of justice and charity. Your citizens shall 
 live in peace and plenty, no enemy shall enter your 
 walls, and the light of the everlasting Gospel shall 
 shine brightly over your fruitful land, unless, grown 
 careless by prosperity, ye forget to feed the sacred 
 flame, amid the pursuits of worldly gain or the en- 
 joyments of luxury and ease. But to ye, my fellow- 
 soldiers in this Christian warfare ! I would particu- 
 larly address the last words of your dying pastor. 
 Let me bid you buckle on, not only the arms of 
 carnal warfare, but those of spiritual defence; let 
 me entreat ye to take unto ye the whole armour of 
 God, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the
 
 THR BLESSING OF THE BANNER. 191 
 
 Spirit ; and oh ! above all, may your feet be shod 
 with the preparation of the Gospel of peace ! Let 
 me impress on your minds, that this is no common 
 warfare : that if blood be shed, it must flow from 
 kindred veins. Oh, then, let each blade be stain- 
 less, bright in its spotless lustre, when ye return to 
 your native city; and as ye show mercy, may 
 mercy, peace, and blessing be your everlasting re- 
 ward. As your warfare is one the world never yet 
 beheld, so let its results, as far as depend on you, 
 be equally wonderful a pangless, bloodless vic- 
 tory !" He paused a few moments, wiped the cold 
 dew from his brow, and then directing his discourse 
 to the galleries, in which, as we have already said, 
 the Bernese ladies sat, he continued as simulta- 
 neously rising, they bent their heads in meek atten- 
 tion : " And ye, my countrywomen daughters and 
 mothers of my people ye to whom the precious 
 charge of rearing the children of the commonwealth, 
 cheering the labours, and multiplying the enjoy- 
 ments of your sons, your fathers, and your hus- 
 bands, is assigned I bid ye, as Christian women, 
 join your influence to mine, to reward with your ap- 
 probation and your love, those who alone are worthy 
 of it ; and, strong in your weakness, to promote the
 
 192 CHILLON. 
 
 reign of peace and holiness upon the earth." The 
 holy man stopped from exhaustion, and the sobs of 
 the fair beings he addressed were distinctly audible. 
 After a short pause, he continued : " I shall not be 
 on earth to welcome ye home again, my beloved 
 friends and fellow-citizens ! but I feel there will be 
 none other wanting in the happy re-union ; and if 
 purified spirits are permitted to look down from their 
 region of blessedness, believe, that of Berthold 
 Haller will be in the midst of ye." 
 
 He ceased, and a hymn was given out and sung. 
 Then, when the full swell of voices sunk into silence, 
 Haller once more arose, and stretching his arms 
 over the banner of his country, and towards the 
 whole assembled multitude, he pronounced, in a 
 solemn and impressive voice, the blessing of the 
 high priest on the hosts of Israel.* 
 
 * Numbers x. 35 ; vi. 24.
 
 GENEVA. 193 
 
 CHAPTEK XIII. 
 
 GENEVA. 
 
 Yet shall she rise but not by war restored ; 
 Not built in murder planted by the sword. 
 Then on her tops shall deathless verdure spring, 
 Break forth ye mountains, and ye valleys sing ! 
 
 HEBER. 
 
 THE affecting scene at the minster church made 
 a strong impression on the mind of Father Am- 
 broise, which the subsequent evening, spent in the 
 house of an eminent Reformer, and in company 
 with some of the most celebrated ministers of the 
 period, further strengthened; but nothing could 
 shake his resolution of continuing his journey, or 
 even induce him to defer it beyond the following 
 morning, when, accompanied by Monsieur le Comte, 
 he took the road to our Lady of the Hermits. We 
 
 VOL. II. K
 
 194 CHILLON. 
 
 must now leave them to pursue their pilgrimage, 
 and return to Geneva, there to await the arrival of 
 her brave and welcome deliverers, and in the inter- 
 mediate time continue the history of the Chevalier 
 di Rossi. 
 
 We left him, it will he remembered, in kind and 
 skilful hands ; but for many a painful day and 
 sleepless night, he lay, unconscious of the unwearied 
 charity that kept her vigil near his bed, or the sacri- 
 fice made by the Christian family who ministered to 
 his wants, whilst their own were so scantily supplied. 
 A low fever, brought on by anxiety, fatigue, and pri- 
 vation, for a long time wasted his strength and op- 
 pressed his brain, rendering him unconscious of 
 aught but restlessness and pain. At length some 
 powerful application removed the weight, and after 
 a long sleep, during which it remained a painful 
 doubt whether he would ever awake, he opened his 
 eyes in restored reason, and fixed them on a coun- 
 tenance of peculiar interest. 
 
 " He is awake," said this hovering angel of cha- 
 rity to her companion, whom his dress announced 
 to be a minister of the reformed church ; " will you 
 send for Dr. Giithertz, who desired to be immediately 
 called ?'
 
 GENEVA. 195 
 
 " Where am I ?" whispered the sick man, looking 
 vacantly around. 
 
 " You are with Christian friends, and in the hands 
 of One, who has brought you back from the jaws of 
 death," said the minister. 
 
 Di Rossi closed his eyes, but it was to lift his 
 soul in grateful prayer. The doctor quickly arrived, 
 felt his patient's pulse, and ordered some nourish- 
 ment to be given him. 
 
 " His fever has left him," he said, " and this long 
 sleep has renovated exhausted nature ; henceforth 
 he will require more food than physic ; an untoward 
 circumstance/' he continued, with a playful smile, 
 " since the demand for the one has decreased with 
 the scarcity of the other; but I will try and help 
 out with both." 
 
 " There will be no need, my good friend," said 
 the minister, " for any further demands on your 
 generosity. I bid ye all, as the prophet did besieged 
 Samaria, Getup, eat and drink ! Deliverance is, as 
 surely, at hand for our Israel : and so strongly do 
 I feel this, that I would not hesitate this moment to 
 open our granaries, and deal out the last grain to 
 our stinted population." 
 
 During this little dialogue, we beg the reader to 
 
 K 2
 
 196 CHILLON. 
 
 believe, that the comfort of the patient was not for- 
 gotten. The active nurse had prepared some warm 
 nourishment, the doctor had raised the pillow, and 
 drawn aside a little of the curtain, permitting a 
 struggling beam of the afternoon's sun to find its 
 way through the half-closed shutters. 
 
 When the invalid had swallowed a little of the 
 food administered to him by the good aunt, as we 
 shall for the present call her, the doctor laid him 
 again on his pillow, and said, good-humouredly, 
 " There, lie you still until I see you again to-night, 
 and neither ask nor answer questions. And do 
 thou, my fair mistress, let that soft pipe of thine be 
 more distinctly heard ; it will amuse my patient to 
 listen, whilst thou and Master Fanel discourse gently 
 together. Where's Antoine ?" 
 
 " He will be here soon, kind Dr. Giithertz," said 
 the aunt, as she opened the door for the excellent 
 man, and then returned to her companion. 
 
 " Let us kneel together," he said, " and render 
 thanks for the mercy shown to the sick man." 
 
 Di Rossi bent his head in token of grateful ac- 
 quiescence ; and then in a strain of powerful and 
 devotional eloquence, the minister poured out his 
 grateful acknowledgments.
 
 GENEVA. 197 
 
 They were yet on their knees, when a little boy 
 entered, leading a small dog by a string. He 
 closed the door softly, walked on his tip-toes across 
 the room, and knelt down, whilst his little compa- 
 nion seated by him on his haunches, his ears pricked 
 up, was kept from moving by the raised finger of 
 his young master, who looked at him occasionally, 
 his eyes brimful of tears. 
 
 When the prayer was ended, the little boy went 
 up to his aunt, and kissing her, said, " Dr. Giithertz 
 says our sick gentleman is better, and will want all 
 the food we can spare, so I have brought poor Dotto 
 to take his leave." Here he burst into tears, and 
 buried his face in his little favourite's silky coat. 
 
 " Antoine, my child, dost thou repent the sacri- 
 fice thou art making?" asked theKeformer. "Look 
 round, my boy, and see how each one pours what is 
 most valuable to him into the treasury. Did not 
 thy father and our kind doctor pull down the houses 
 that sheltered them; and wot we not of another who 
 has made greater sacrifices than this ?" and he 
 glanced at the good aunt, whose glistening eyes 
 rested on her nephew. During this discussion, the 
 poor little dog, whose instinct had told him that
 
 198 CHILLON. 
 
 something was in agitation in which he was con- 
 cerned, and that not of a pleasant nature, looked 
 from one to the other, gently whining. " Trust thy 
 little idol to me, Antoine," continued the minister, 
 " and it shall be spared unnecessary pain ; and trust 
 the word of one who has seen more of God's gra- 
 cious dealings than thou hast, that He will cause 
 thee to rejoice in the sacrifice thou now makest, and 
 will amply requite it to thee." 
 
 The little boy placed the string in the Reformer's 
 hand, stooped to give his favourite a parting kiss, 
 and hurried from the room. 
 
 In the meantime, our invalid, who had heard all 
 that passed, was inexpressibly touched, and beckon- 
 ing to the aunt, she laid her ear close to him, and 
 understood his faint though urgent entreaty that his 
 young deliverer might be spared so painful a sa- 
 crifice. 
 
 " My brother," she said, " is desirous of proving 
 his sincerity, and of teaching him that when he 
 makes promises, they must be fulfilled." 
 
 " Ay," returned the Reformer," and we must also 
 teach our little pilgrim self-denial, and trust in Pro- 
 vidence he comes of a noble race, who have laid
 
 GENEVA. 199 
 
 their best on the altar. But be not distressed, good 
 sir, the idol shall be spared if possible, and Antoine's 
 sincerity yet uncompromised." 
 
 The patient now endeavoured to express some of 
 that gratitude to his benefactors, with which his 
 heart was oppressed, but the minister imposed 
 silence, on the authority of the doctor. " There," 
 he said, pointing to Heaven, " is the only safe vent 
 for the emotions of the sick man's heart." 
 
 The doctor, soon after, again visited his patient, 
 and pronounced him in a fair way of recovery, pro- 
 vided all excitement was avoided, and that he kept 
 his bed for a few days longer ; to the side of which 
 Antoine was, at his particular request, often ad- 
 mitted. The celebrated reformer, Fanel, still came 
 daily to pray and read by the invalid, and although 
 he looked often on him with an eye of searching 
 inquiry, he as yet forbore to ask him any questions. 
 
 It was on the eve of the day in which Dr. Giithertz 
 had promised to take off his restrictions, that An- 
 toine took his seat as usual> near his new friend. 
 " I now see," he said, " that master Fanel was right. 
 You are a far better friend and companion than 
 Dotto could be though, for a dog, there never was 
 his equal." This was the first time the boy had
 
 200 CHILLON. 
 
 ventured to speak of his favourite, and doubtful of 
 his own firmness, he suddenly changed the subject, 
 saying, " My aunt says we always love those most 
 for whom we have made the greatest sacrifices 
 she has given up more than any one, I believe." 
 
 " For your cousin Michael, I suppose ?" 
 
 "O no, dear sir, not quite that; for Michael 
 gave up much too, and risked more." 
 
 Di Rossi pressed his hand to his beating temples, 
 and dared not ask any more questions ; when 
 his gentle nurse entered, he looked at her with an 
 eye of intense interest, and felt a suffocation ar his 
 heart, and dizziness of brain, which made the phy- 
 sician shake his head at his evening visit, and ask 
 on what agitating subjects he had been speaking ?" 
 
 " Speaking of none, dear sir," said the patient, 
 " but thinking on one that wrings my heart ; and I 
 shall be a happier man if you will allow me to un- 
 burden it." 
 
 The doctor looked alarmed. " Perhaps the mi- 
 nister would be a better confessor," he said. 
 
 " I would choose the one most interested in the 
 family to whom I am so indebted." 
 
 " On that subject, I yield to no one, sir, but your 
 health ?"
 
 GENEVA. 201 
 
 ' Nay, dear doctor, hear me ! I was the fellow 
 prisoner the fellow sufferer, of Michael Cottier !" 
 
 "Michael Cottier!" exclaimed Dr. Giithertz, 
 starting. "O tell me all you know of that dear 
 boy !" and he listened with the most eager interest 
 to Di Rossi's history of his own, and Michael's 
 blended adventures ; promising to bring his painful 
 situation before the council, at the earliest oppor- 
 tunity, but begging the chevalier for the present, to 
 conceal from Madame Cottier and the rest of the 
 family, his knowledge of one so dear to them, whilst 
 he gave him free permission to relate his own previ- 
 ous history. 
 
 The next morning was an eventful one for our 
 sick man ; it was the first time he was to leave 
 his bed, after having kept it more than a month and 
 all invalids know with what a mixture of pain and 
 pleasure they look forward to the fatiguing exertion. 
 On tin's occasion our little friend Antoine acted as 
 valet de chambre, performing his office with tender- 
 ness and ability. 
 
 " And this is the strength of man !" said Di 
 Rossi, as, the operation of dressing finished, he 
 leant on Antoine's shoulder to support him to a 
 couch. " You will scarcely believe, Antoine, that I 
 
 z 5
 
 202 CHILLON. 
 
 was once a very giant ; but you see how vain 
 it is to pride ourselves on what is so soon taken 
 from us." 
 
 Madame Cottier, for it was under the roof of 
 Michael's mother that his noble friend and defender 
 had found so generous a shelter, now entered, and 
 asked permission to sit by him whilst Antoine read, 
 adding, " You must, I fear, content yourself with 
 our poor services as pastor and physician this morn- 
 ing, since our gentlemen are gone to attend a 
 special meeting of the council. Some deputies are 
 newly arrived from Berne ; but it is almost courting 
 disappointment to hope for assistance from that 
 quarter, since scarcely a week passes, that does not 
 bring offer of help, clogged with exactions that we 
 cannot accede to." 
 
 " Shall I read, sir ?" said Antoine, mounted on 
 his high stool, with all the grave dignity of a 
 divine ; " I have found out that pretty chapter about 
 the three children in the fiery furnace, which I think 
 will amuse you." 
 
 The lecture finished, Madame Cottier took her 
 knitting, and Di Rossi considered how he should 
 make the disclosure of his name and circumstances, 
 which his hospitable entertainers were too delicate
 
 GENEVA. 203 
 
 to require, when Antoine relieved him from his em- 
 barrassment, by asking a question which led directly 
 to the subject, and was prompted by that of which they 
 had been reading. " Did you ever see a king, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes, Antoine ; and what is more, lived some 
 years in the palace of one." 
 
 Antoine opened his eyes wide. " What kind of 
 looking men are they, sir ? very large and tall, I sup- 
 pose, like our lieutenant Berchold ?" 
 
 " Which of your questions must I answer first ?" 
 said Di Kossi. " Perhaps I had better tell you a 
 little of my own history, in one respect resem- 
 bling that of the three youths you have been reading 
 of; for though not actually a captive, I was taken 
 from a country I greatly loved, my mountains and 
 my liberty, and carried to a king's palace, where I 
 was made his page." 
 
 " Is not this delightful, aunt?" said the little boy 
 in a low voice. 
 
 " It is, indeed, Antoine ; but you must not tire 
 monsieur by asking troublesome questions." 
 
 " I am delighted to answer them, dear madam," 
 said Di Rossi ; " and at the same time to inform you 
 who it is you have so generously sheltered, with no 
 other claim on your bounty, but his want of it."
 
 204 CH1LLON. 
 
 " And yet, how many have we found in his pati- 
 ent sweetness under suffering, his piety, his '* 
 
 " Dear aunt," said Antoine, " I beg your pardon, 
 but will you let Monsieur " 
 
 "Di Rossi Fernando di Rossi is my name, and in 
 future you must call me by it. But here I am, An- 
 toine, to tell you my story. I went from my father's 
 castle to the vale of Aosta at your age, and ex- 
 changed my simple mountain habit for a dress em- 
 broidered with gold lace ; and then, instead of scam- 
 pering through the forests with hawk and hound, 
 I was forced to stay in an ante-chamber with half- 
 a-score of mischievous urchins like myself, until it 
 became my turn to wait upon the king." 
 
 " And what did you do for him ?" interrupted the 
 delighted listener. " Did you put on his crown, 
 and help him to get up on his throne ?" 
 
 " No," replied Di Rossi, smiling, " he was placed 
 there by stronger arms than mine." 
 
 " Then you buckled on his sword, perhaps, or 
 pulled off his boots ?" 
 
 " Nay, now you run into extremes, and degrade 
 my office to that of a valet. I sometimes carried 
 messages took orders to the servants in waiting ; 
 but really, Antoine, I can scarcely remember what
 
 GENEVA. 205 
 
 I did, but bear the jokes and compliments of the 
 fair ladies of the court." 
 
 " Well, I fear 1 should have quickly tired of such 
 a life, and have tried to escape to my mountains." 
 
 " That is exactly what I did," continued Di 
 Rossi, " but I was brought back just as I got half 
 way from Versailles to Paris; this step, though 
 I did not deserve it, was the happiest of my 
 life ; for as I was conducted up the great staircase, 
 that most excellent Princess Margaret, now Queen 
 of Navarre, was descending with the venerable 
 Bishop of Meaux. She stopped, and inquired why 
 I wept, I told her frankly that I was tired of 
 idleness and a court life, and that I had a friend in 
 Savoy whom I could not be happy without. 
 
 The Princess smiled, and said, " she would beg me 
 of the king would procure me a good tutor, and 
 send for my friend to share his instruction. 
 
 " And did you have school, sir ?" asked Antoine. 
 
 " That we did, and learnt to know the best of all 
 books, the Bible, under the teaching of the pious 
 Bishop of Meaux. It was at this time I became 
 acquainted with your pastor, Fanel ; but sickness has 
 so much changed, that he has not recognised me,
 
 206 CHILLON. 
 
 and until this day, our kind and cautious doctor 
 would not allow me to speak." 
 
 " And now, I fear, he would be angry with us for 
 making you talk too much," said Madame Cottier. 
 
 "One question more, dear aunt," said Antoine 
 coaxingly. "Did the Princess send for your friend? 
 and what was he called ?" 
 
 " He was a namesake of yours, dear boy, Antoine 
 de Beaufort. The Princess kept her word, and we 
 
 spent three happy years together, till *' Di Rossi 
 
 stopped. 
 
 " O go on ! go on !" exclaimed the eager listener, 
 " till what ?" 
 
 " Till the Duke of Savoy begged our fathers to 
 recal us, and placed us near his son Philibert, at 
 Madrid. De Beaufort caught the fever, which proved 
 fatal to his youthful master, and shared his early 
 grave. And now, dear boy, ask me no more 
 questions to-day," said Di Rossi, laying himself 
 back on the couch, and shutting his eyes. 
 
 The aunt resuming her knitting, and Antoine his 
 studies half-an-hour of perfect stillness suc- 
 ceeded. At the end of that time, the report of a 
 cannon, followed by the loud shout of cheering
 
 GENEVA. 207 
 
 voices, was heard from the street below. Madame 
 Cottier laid aside her work, and Antoine ran to the 
 window. " What can all this mean ?" he exclaimed. 
 " Good news I am sure, for the people are running 
 out of their houses as if they were mad; shaking 
 hands, and embracing one another. There goes 
 another big gun ! and another ! why the old house 
 will tumble about our ears ! But, dear aunt, do 
 come to the window, for here is papa and Dr. 
 Giithertz, and Master Fanel and Auguste, with such 
 a big branch of laurel in his cap, and 0, can it 
 really be ! Dotto running at his side." Saying this, 
 and forgetting all besides, the happy boy sprang 
 out of the room, and down stairs, to welcome his 
 recovered treasure. 
 
 " It would be impossible to keep the secret if we 
 wished it, in this city, overflowing with joy and 
 gratitude," said Dr. Giithertz on their entrance ; 
 " and indeed, I do not see that it will do my patient 
 any harm to rejoice with his friends. Our suffer- 
 ing state has at length, good grounds to hope for 
 deliverance from her enemies, since the deputies 
 from Berne are now come, not to negociate hard 
 terms, but to offer unconditional assistance, and 
 only wait for our acceptance of their unquali-
 
 208 CHILLON. 
 
 fied friendship, to inarch their noble army hither, 
 and raise the siege." 
 
 The recovery of Di Rcfssi was now henceforth. In 
 a few days he was enabled to unite his thanksgivings 
 with those of the grateful citizens, in a solemn 
 assembly, which it had been the first care of the 
 Reformers to convoke in the cathedral of St. Pierre ; 
 and, a fortnight afterwards, to hail with them the 
 first glance of the bright arms of the rescuing army, 
 as they descended the snowy heights of the Jura. 
 Then, charged with a mission from the council, 
 and sanguine with the hope of a speedy return to 
 aid in the emancipation of the prisoners, and the 
 restitution of their rights, he set off for the court of 
 his royal mistress, the Queen of Navarre.
 
 PERSECUTION. 209 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 PERSECUTION. 
 
 Yet mighty God, yet shall thy frown look forth 
 Unveiled, and terribly shall shake the earth. 
 Then the foul power of priestly sin, and all 
 Its long upheld idolatries shall fall ; 
 Thou shalt raise up the trampled and opprest, 
 And thy delivered saints shall dwell in rest. 
 
 BRYANT. 
 
 WE now return to Beatrice and the convent at St. 
 Maurice, taking up the thread of our narrative where 
 Rosette's hroke off, at the parting between her and 
 her young mistress. The flight of the waiting 
 woman was happily not discovered until after the 
 arrival of the escort appointed to conduct Beatrice 
 to her new abode, when the gentle Abbess, for- 
 bidden to take leave in person, sent a sorrowful
 
 210 CHILLON. 
 
 farewell through the portress, together with a letter 
 from, the Sire de Beaufort, in which he commanded 
 her to surrender his daughter into the hands of the 
 official, appointed by the Archhishop of Turin, as her 
 guide and guardian. Beatrice made no resistance, 
 confident in the wisdom of Him in whom she trusted, 
 and ready to follow His bidding, even to the stake. 
 The portress wept, as she handed her into her litter 
 at an early hour, on the following morning, and saw 
 it conveyed through the court to the outer gate, 
 where Beatrice, looking anxiously amongst the armed 
 escort which surrounded her, for the dark counte- 
 nance of Serjeant Prepotenti, shuddered as she 
 discovered his absence, lest he might overtake the 
 fugitive of whom she doubted not he had gone in 
 search. Her conductor, having closed the curtains, 
 rode silently by the side of her Utter ; and our poor 
 heroine, thus left to the uninterrupted indulgence of 
 her own thoughts, had ample time, during her soli- 
 tary journey of three days, to ruminate on the past, 
 and to school her mind for future trial. She had 
 little communication with her guide, who waited on 
 her in silence, and locked the door of her apart- 
 ment "at night ; but assured of the painful truth, 
 that her father had sanctioned her present rigid
 
 PERSECUTION. 211 
 
 treatment, she forbore all inquiry or complaint. 
 About the middle of the fourth day, she was desired 
 to descend from her covered carriage, and mount a 
 mule. The road now lay over rough mountain 
 passes, covered with snow, the minute particles of 
 which, raised by the wind, nearly blinded her ; 
 whilst her hands became so frozen, that she could 
 not guide the animal she rode. 
 
 At length they reached an elevated plain, from 
 which, amid the wide waste that spread around, they 
 discerned the glittering spires of a large church 
 surrounded by numerous buildings, presenting a 
 strange contrast with the wild region in which they 
 stood. They next descended into a hollow between 
 rough and barren mountains, and passed through a 
 village composed chiefly of various descriptions of 
 houses of public entertainment, from the large hos- 
 telry which displayed on its sign a daubed represen- 
 tation of two enormous ravens, to the lowest cabaret 
 in which pilgrims of the most wretched appearance 
 were carousing. Proceeding forward, the travellers 
 entered a spacious court, two sides of which were 
 formed of high stone buildings ; in the centre 
 rose a stately cathedral, whose shrine was surrounded 
 by lamps, which shed, through the stained pains, a
 
 CHILLON. 
 
 faint light on the court helow, and partially illu- 
 mined the gloomy edifice before which the cavalcade 
 drew up. A large fountain in front of the church 
 poured its incessant waters from fourteen shoots, 
 fed by the melted snows of the neighbouring 
 mountains the only sound which broke the death- 
 like stillness around, until the vesper-bell clanging 
 from the lofty tower, struck like a knell on the heart 
 of the weary girl, who shuddered as she looked on 
 the dreary prison which she now perceived was to 
 be the termination of her journey. 
 
 At the sound of that bell the attendants descended 
 from their mules, prostrating themselves for a 
 few seconds on the ground, when a lay monk, who 
 acted as porter, opened the door, and demanded 
 their business. Beatrice did not hear the answer 
 given by the conductor, for, numbed and dizzy, she 
 could scarcely keep herself from falling, as he as- 
 sisted her to alight, and supported her into the 
 building. 
 
 She passed through a gloomy, arched, passage, 
 preceded by the spectre-like guide, the close damp 
 air of which almost suffocated her, and she shud- 
 dered as she observed some doors with iron 
 gratings, with a foreboding that some such might
 
 PERSECUTION. 213 
 
 one day close on her. It was, therefore, a consider- 
 able relief to find her way lay up a long flight of 
 stone steps, at the head of which the guide rang a bell, 
 and a nun appearing at the door, bade Beatrice enter. 
 The parlour, if such the gloomy apartment might 
 be designated, was large and lofty, with a brick 
 floor, and heavy beams black with age and smoke. 
 A few embers burned on the hearth, near which 
 stood a small table, having on it a wooden trencher, 
 a bowl of milk, and a loaf of coarse bread. 
 
 " Eat," said the hard-featured nun, " and warm 
 ye quickly, for the hour of prayer is nigh." 
 
 Beatrice seated herself, and ate moderately of the 
 homely fare before her, when the nun starting up at 
 the sound of a bell, took her lamp, and bade her 
 follow to the choir. 
 
 " Good sister," said Beatrice, detaining her, " I 
 pray you show me my sleeping chamber, for I have 
 travelled far, and am weary." 
 
 " Are ye then too tired to return thanks to our 
 blessed Lady for her protection by the way ?" asked 
 the nun scornfully. 
 
 " I prefer offering up my thanks to God for His 
 gracious guidance, in my own room," said Beatrice, 
 calmly.
 
 214 CHILLON. 
 
 " Heretic !" muttered the recluse, as she pro- 
 ceeded through the cold stone passage ; whilst pale 
 spectral beings, each bearing a lighted taper, issued 
 from the grated cells on either side, and glided past 
 them. 
 
 At length they reached the high folding-doors 
 which led into the choir ; when Beatrice again re- 
 fusing to enter, the nun cast on her a fearful scowl, 
 and led the way to a door at a little distance in the 
 same gallery. 
 
 " Here is the room thou art so desirous to enter," 
 said she, " maybe thou wilt ere long, be equally glad 
 to quit it, for thou wilt find little in it to pamper 
 thy worldly delicacy. Yonder is thy bed to-mor- 
 row at sunrise, thou must quit it to attend the early 
 matins." Saying this, she left the apartment, and 
 locked the door on the outside. 
 
 Alas, poor Beatrice ! she looked around her me- 
 lancholy cell, and felt as if the grave had closed on 
 her. It was small, scarcely more than eight feet 
 square, but so high that it had almost the appear- 
 ance of a well, since the flickering flame of the lamp 
 did not enable her eyes to reach the top of the 
 blackened ceiling. It contained but one window, 
 placed very high, the grated bars of which were
 
 PERSECUTION. 215 
 
 draperied by cobwebs ; one chair and a wretched 
 pallet comprised the whole furniture of the miser- 
 able cell, and though weary, and almost benumbed 
 with cold it was long ere she could prevail on herself 
 to approach the latter. In this situation of earthly 
 hopelessness, what was the deserted girl's only con- 
 solation ? what could it be but prayer ? Com- 
 posed, strengthened by its exercise, she threw her- 
 self, without undressing, on the hard bed ; where sleep 
 for a few hours sealed her swollen eyelids. On 
 opening them the next morning, she beheld the 
 sour countenance of sister Barbara, who, with a 
 change of apparel, brought her a small cup of milk 
 and a bit of bread, and informed her of the Abbess's 
 command to dress quickly, and accompany her to 
 morning prayers. 
 
 " Tell your superior," said the captive firmly, 
 " that I do not join in the services of the church 
 of Kome, and that if she will allow me the favour 
 of an interview, I will inform her of my reasons for 
 declining them." 
 
 The nun left the cell with her usual scowl, and 
 Beatrice was once more alone. Hour after hour 
 passed heavily by, marked by the deep-toned con- 
 vent bell ; but no one came. She had no book, no 
 6
 
 216 CHILLON. 
 
 work, nothing but her own sad anticipations to 
 mark the dragging time. The rays of the setting 
 sun were seen for a few moments, between the 
 grated bars of her window, and then all was again 
 grey twilight. When the evening bell broke on 
 the fearful stillness, the nun entered the room with 
 a lamp, and the reiterated command to attend ves- 
 pers, which met the same undaunted negative. 
 Once again she returned with a small quantity of 
 bread and wretched broth, then taking the lamp, 
 bolted the door after her, and left her captive in 
 silent darkness. Another night, more forlorn than 
 the last, passed over that captive's head. Weari- 
 ness of body had enabled her on the preceding one 
 to sleep, but as the hopelessness of her situation 
 became more apparent, a thousand restless fears for 
 the future, and recollections of the past, chased 
 slumber from her eyes. Foremost amongst these 
 recollections was her father's cruel change, his un- 
 feeling desertion of a child he had once appeared 
 so fondly to love ; and she taxed her memory in 
 vain for any ground for his cruel conduct towards 
 her. in all but " touching her God," her con- 
 science acquitted her of the slightest neglect of his 
 wishes, or opposition to his will.
 
 PERSECUTION. 217 
 
 Thus passed the first day of the poor captive's 
 imprisonment, and thus, with no variation, dragged 
 on seven silent, solitary days, seven almost sleep- 
 less nights. Since her entrance into this miserable 
 abode, she had never heard a human voice, except 
 the melancholy salutation of the nuns as they 
 passed one another in the corridor, and the few 
 words repeated morning and evening, with unvarying 
 monotony, by her rigid jailor. 
 
 On the eighth morning, instead of this oft-re- 
 hearsed invitation to the mass, the nun informed 
 her that the Abbess commanded her attendance in 
 the parlour, and preceding her to the end of the 
 corridor, she opened the door of the apartment, and 
 withdrew ; leaving Beatrice in the presence of the 
 formidable superior and another person, who sat with 
 her at the upper end of it. The room was spacious, 
 handsomely furnished, and lighted by two oriel 
 windows, through which the morning sun streamed, 
 dazzling the eyes of the captive, who stood irre- 
 solute whether or not to advance, and timidly 
 shrinking from the fixed gaze of those before her. 
 There was nothing in the appearance of either that 
 indicated the rigour of a penitential life. The 
 Abbess was apparently about forty years of age, 
 VOL. n. L
 
 218 CHILLON. 
 
 and before indulgence had spoiled the symmetry 
 of her form, she had possessed a considerable share 
 of beauty. Even now, when filling her place in 
 the choir, or performing her dramatic part in the 
 pompous ceremonies of the Romish church, she was 
 a comely and striking personage ; but the slightest 
 opposition to her imperious will, lent a fierceness 
 to her eyes, and a suffusion to her complexion, 
 which formed a painful contrast to her habit of 
 humility, and vows of sanctity. Her companion, 
 the noble and mitred Abbot of the neighbouring 
 monastery, was in the full vigour of manhood, ex- 
 tremely handsome, and dressed with the most 
 scrupulous care, and costly splendour. His lawn 
 sleeves were of dazzling whiteness, his cloak flowed 
 gracefully from his shoulders, and his scarlet stock- 
 ings drawn closely over his well-shaped leg, were 
 fastened at the knee by diamond buckles. He 
 rose at Beatrice's entrance, and uttered an exclama- 
 tion, which was repressed by the stately Abbess, 
 who turning towards the object of his involuntary 
 admiration, said, in no harmonious tone, " Lady 
 Beatrice de Beaufort approach ! You may perhaps 
 have deemed me wanting in the respect due to 
 your rank and house, in not personally receiving
 
 PERSECUTION. 219 
 
 you within these walls. But the censure of the 
 church levels all worldly distinctions ; and as her 
 unworthy servant, I felt called on to show my dis- 
 approbation of one, who had so justly incurred it." 
 
 During this harangue, Beatrice crossed the room 
 with a firm step, and stood at its close, on the 
 opposite side of a small marhle table, placed before 
 her formidable judge. She spoke not, for as yet it 
 had not been given her what to say, and her silence 
 seemed embarrassing to the Abbess, who stopped a 
 few seconds as if awaiting an answer. 
 
 " 1 had another reason for not breaking in on 
 you," she at length continued ; " I trusted that 
 solitude and privation might have a salutary effect 
 on your spirit, and instruct you to meet me with the 
 respect and obedience due from a daughter to her 
 spiritual mother." 
 
 " Personal suffering, madam," replied Beatrice, 
 in a gentle yet firm tone, " can have no power 
 over opinions which were not formed from earthly 
 motives." 
 
 " In that you said rightly, Lady Beatrice ; it 
 must have been satanic influence only, that induced 
 you to disgrace your birth and sex, and to rise 
 
 L 2
 
 220 CHILLOX. 
 
 in rebellion against your spiritual and temporal 
 parents." 
 
 " Your zeal, dear madam," interrupted the Abbot, 
 placing his hand gently on the arm of the nun, 
 " commendable as in itself it assuredly is, carries 
 you perhaps a little too far. Let us hope that this 
 our erring daughter may be induced, by milder 
 methods, to listen to the admonitions of our holy 
 church and her ministers, and to recant the per- 
 nicious opinions she has so unhappily adopted. I 
 wish much to see her in private, and to use argu- 
 ments which cannot at present be fully discussed, in 
 the hope of prevailing on her to accept the pardon 
 offered by our gracious prince." 
 
 " Whatever you may wish to say to my charge, 
 monsignore," said the nun, laying a peculiar stress 
 on the possessive pronoun, " must be said in my 
 presence, and subject to my authority, since, with 
 humble submission to your lordship on all other 
 matters, the Lady Beatrice de Beaufort was en- 
 trusted to my sole guardianship by her diocesan, 
 the Archbishop of Turin." 
 
 " I will then profit by the present opportunity of 
 urging my cause," said the Abbot, with calm polite-
 
 PERSECUTION. 221 
 
 ness, " since I fear it will be the only one afforded 
 me, as I depart to-morrow for Home. But first, 
 daughter," he continued, rising and placing a chair, 
 " let me release you from your present painful 
 position, and then distinctly state to you that I am 
 empowered by the Duke to set you at liberty, and 
 to place you in the safe keeping of any friend you 
 will name, on the sole condition of your returning 
 to the bosom of your holy Mother, who holds out 
 her compassionating arms ready to embrace you 
 nay, answer me not, until I set before you the peril 
 of your refusal. I wish you to know the depth of 
 the precipice on which you stand, ere you turn aside 
 the friendly hand that would snatch you from it." 
 
 " Nay, this is past all bearing !" interrupted the 
 Abbess, the veins of her forehead swelling beneath 
 the band which with difficulty compressed them, 
 and her heightened colour painfully contrasting 
 its snowy whiteness. " A noble Abbot suing to a 
 stubborn heretic to accept the pardon, which no true 
 son of the church should offer !" 
 
 " In that censure you include a far more illustrious 
 member of it than her unworthy son before you, 
 madam," said the Abbot, with dignity. " But 
 I must not permit your zeal to interfere with my
 
 222 CHILLON. 
 
 duty." Then turning to Beatrice, he continued, 
 " I do not, intend, young lady, to enter now on 
 points of faith all that can be urged to convince 
 or warn has, I am aware, been already set before 
 you by the pious and learned Father Ambroise." 
 
 " Whose kindness," interrupted Beatrice, her eyes 
 filling with tears, " must have overcome all con- 
 siderations, but those of conscience and convic- 
 tion." 
 
 " Ay," said the Abbess scornfully, " and whose 
 weak indulgence, together with the affected tender- 
 ness of my sister of St. Maurice, has pampered self- 
 sufficiency into insolence." 
 
 The Abbot turned again to Beatrice; " You will 
 consider my propositions weigh well their advan- 
 tages, and the danger of rejection and give me 
 your answer at my return." 
 
 " I can consent to no delay the present moment 
 must decide the young lady's fate," interrupted the 
 Abbess. 
 
 " Then let her at least hear her doom ere she 
 seal it. Will you accept the pardon of your prince, 
 daughter ?" asked the prelate. 
 
 " I cannot, on the terms he proposes,'' said Bea- 
 trice ; " and I do beseech you, my lord, to receive
 
 PEKSECUTIOX. 223 
 
 this as my final answer, together with my grateful 
 thanks. Time cannot alter my convictions, although 
 it may weaken my powers of resistance." 
 
 " Farewell then, obstinate and ill-fated girl !" 
 said the Abhot ; " you have closed on yourself the 
 door of the outer world, and the mildest fate which 
 awaits you, is a life of punishment and penitence." 
 
 Beatrice turned pale, and trembled exceedingly, 
 and the Abbess, under a semblance of compassion, 
 but in reality to terminate an interview during 
 which she was every moment expecting her prey 
 would escape, called on sister Barbara, who stood 
 at the door, to lead the exhausted girl back to her 
 cell, where she threw hersflf on her hard pallet, and, 
 worn out by long sleepless nights, and the violent 
 struggle she had lately endured, fell into a deep 
 and tranquil sleep. She was awakened, by the 
 nightly return of the nun, to all the horrors of her 
 situation, 
 
 " My earthly doom is now fixed," she said ; 
 " there is no return to the cheerful light of day 
 my brief course is nearly finished, and these gloomy 
 walls will be my living grave. O my God ! give 
 me but strength to continue stedfast to the end, 
 and all will be well for what is life ? what its
 
 22-4 CHILLON. 
 
 longest duration, what its brightest prospects, but 
 a dream a warfare a pilgrimage ? And ye, my 
 beloved fellow-travellers over the rugged road of 
 human suffering," she continued, as her thoughts 
 wandered over the snowy mountain and the stormy 
 lake, and penetrated into the captive's cell, re- 
 calling each beloved companion of her Christian 
 course. " Ye too are climbing alone, the rough 
 steeps of adversity that lead to the mountain of our 
 Lord. May He be with, to cheer and support you, 
 as He does me, in this hour of woe !" 
 
 Such were the meditations, such the consolations 
 of the young Christian, who, like the persecuted 
 saints of the first ages, was " cast down, but not 
 destroyed." 
 
 It is difficult and painful to detail the parti- 
 culars of the days that followed, varied only by 
 fresh injuries, privations, and sufferings. Each 
 evening was the victim led into the Abbess's par- 
 lour, where, instead of the compassionating and 
 well-bred Abbot, she was exposed to the coarse 
 invectives of some priests, who were assembled for 
 the purpose of argument and reproof. Throughout 
 the fiery ordeal she was supported by such strength 
 from above, as enabled her not only to bear with
 
 PERSECUTION. 225 
 
 patience the ill-usage she received, but to render 
 such reasons for her faith as often silenced her 
 enemies, and even softened all but those whom 
 interest and natural malevolence had hardened 
 against her. Her outward frame, it is true, decayed 
 the rounded beauty of her form was gone the 
 pure clearness of her complexion assumed a sallow 
 hue, and her eyes lost their lucid light. But the 
 soul daily became more devoted and holy, and one 
 undeviating principle never forsook her constant 
 mind a belief in the kindness aud goodness 
 of God, and a humble and child-like dependence on 
 His mercy and truth.
 
 226 CHILLON. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE MART YE. 
 
 When persecution's torrent blaze 
 Wraps the unshrinking martyr's head, 
 When fade all earthly flowers and bays, 
 When summer friends are gone and fled, 
 Is he alone in that dark hour, 
 Who owns the Lord of love and power ! 
 
 CHBISTIAN YEAR. 
 
 THE malignant beings into whose power, in times 
 of persecution, it has pleased the Lord to place so 
 many of his chosen people, have ever been most 
 subtle in devices of torture, varying and increasing 
 the portion of suffering, as they have observed 
 strength from above given to support it. 
 
 The tormentors of Beatrice de Beaufort were not 
 behind the most forward, either in invention or
 
 THE MARTYR. 227 
 
 power finding their victim unmoved by taunts 
 or threats, they determined to vary their plans, 
 and by drawing her from her solitude, sub- 
 ject her to more active trial. Although the Arch- 
 bishop of Turin had been obliged to concede to the 
 wishes of the Duke, that offers of pardon and re- 
 storation should first be made to the offender, 
 through the medium of the Abbot, he had prevailed, 
 by an artful exaggeration of her offence, and its 
 dangerous consequences, that the case should after- 
 wards be subjected to the decision of the church, 
 and that she should be placed under the sole direc- 
 tion of the Abbess Chabalais. The commands of 
 the Archbishop to his female agent were positive, as 
 far as related to the strict confinement and rigid 
 penance of her captive ; but even to this ready in- 
 strument of his dark designs, the naked truth was 
 too hideous to be laid open. Thus much, however, 
 was definite Beatrice de Beaufort must never again 
 breathe the air of the outer world. If she could be 
 persuaded or frightened into a cloistered life, (and 
 no effort must be spared to accomplish the desired 
 end,) the powerful and beautiful abbey of Santa 
 Clara was to be placed under her rule ; but should 
 she continue obstinate in her heresy, the holy In-
 
 228 CHILLON. 
 
 quisition must pronounce her doom, and the 
 rich guerdon fall into more deserving hands. 
 " Where then," wrote the wily priest, " where can 
 we find a more fitting directress of the envied and 
 honourable situation, amongst the numerous list of 
 fair and noble candidates, than she, whose high 
 qualifications have been too long wasted on a cold 
 and barren soil ?" 
 
 The bait, so richly gilded, was eagerly swallowed ; 
 and the artful priest well knew that by thus placing 
 her victim in the situation of a rival, the full stipu- 
 lations of the services required would be scrupu- 
 lously fulfilled. Thus, in whichever way the affair 
 terminated, the noble inheritance of Brieres would 
 be lost to the suspected and hated Di Kossi, and 
 remain in the possession of one, whom he had 
 secured to his interest by links which could not 
 easily be severed. It has been truly said that, 
 
 " Forgiveness to the injured doth belong, 
 Those never pardon who have done the wrong." 
 
 and never was the observation more fully exempli- 
 fied, than in the hatred borne by the cruel mother 
 Chabalais towards her lovely, and innoceDt charge 
 a hatred that appeared to increase in proportion as
 
 THE MARTYR. 229 
 
 her powers of torture and punishment were exer- 
 cised. 
 
 Finding her unmoved amid the fearful solitude 
 and inaction of her prison, she drew her from it to 
 perform the most painful offices in the infirmary, 
 imagining that such would be peculiarly revolting to 
 a high-born female. But she knew not that Bea- 
 trice had been early exercised by a Christian mother 
 in deeds of mercy, and that she would find a solace 
 for her own woes in administering comfort and aid 
 to the afflicted. This solace, however, was not of 
 long duration, for when the Abbess perceived that, 
 notwithstanding the odium of heresy which clung 
 to their gentle nurse, and the strict silence imposed 
 on her, her sweetness and " skill of comfort" won 
 on the invalids, she found other and more painful 
 services for her. 
 
 After the day spent in the most arduous and 
 menial occupations of the household, she supplied 
 her with a large quantity of coarse needlework, and 
 set her tasks which could not be accomplished with- 
 out robbing her of many hours of needful repose. 
 At length, her mind, sympathising with her ex- 
 hausted body, longed for rest longed to lay 
 down the heavy load of life, anxious only to bear to
 
 230 CHILLON. 
 
 the last an undeviating testimony to the truth, and 
 fearful lest her protracted sufferings might shake 
 the constancy of her mind, by destroying the powers 
 of resistance. Under these circumstances she heard 
 with joy, although it was not unmixed with a feeling 
 of natural dread, that the inquisitor, whose arrival 
 from Rome had been anticipated, had reached the con- 
 vent, and that she was summoned for the last time 
 to the Abbess's parlour, to be subjected to a final 
 examination ere her doom was sealed. 
 
 Either to give effect to the scene, to strike terror 
 into his victim, or really to disguise his person, the 
 inquisitor wore a covering of cere-cloth, which com- 
 pletely concealed the upper part of his form, being 
 drawn over the head, and falling below the waist. Slits 
 were cut in it for the eyes and mouth, and the whole 
 presented an unnatural and hideous appearance, 
 whilst the muffled sound confinement imparted to 
 the voice, added to the disagreeable effect an 
 effect, however, powerless, together with all the 
 other means of intimidation employed to subjugate 
 and terrify the victim, who looked with calmness on 
 the futile effort, and felt nothing but pity for her 
 blind and erring oppressors. The inquisitor ad- 
 dressed her but rarely, rather prompting the priests
 
 THE MARTYR. 231 
 
 from time to time, as they examined her on the 
 leading articles of her creed. 
 
 Truly, in that moment it was " given her what 
 she should say." Amid threats, taunts, and pro- 
 mises, she stood, firm as thousands of others have 
 done in the same blessed cause, and supported by 
 the same everlasting arms. 
 
 Her courage rose by oppression even her weak- 
 ened frame, invigorated by her undaunted spirit, 
 sustained the long trial which the malice of her 
 enemies seemed to find pleasure in protracting, 
 until, unable to reply to her searching arguments 
 and powerful truths, the inquisitor broke up the 
 assembly, and dismissed her with these words : "Go 
 to thy apartment, Beatrice de Beaufort, thy doom is 
 sealed !" 
 
 It would be too difficult a task to describe 
 various emotions which agitated the breast of our 
 young Christian, as she closed the door of her cell 
 for the last time, and sat down to contemplate the 
 dreadful fate that awaited her on the morrow a 
 fate which, although not openly denounced by her 
 unrighteous judge, had been sufficiently made known 
 to her through the dark insinuations of sister 
 Barbara. Terror at her anticipated martyrdom was
 
 232 CHILLON. 
 
 blended with joy at the release it promised from pre- 
 sent evil hope and blissful anticipation, with lin- 
 gering regret and natural weakness. The struggle 
 was long and agonising ; but consoled and strength- 
 ened by those direct ministrations of the Spirit 
 which have enabled the martyr in all ages calmly to 
 contemplate death, and even to glory in suffering, 
 faith at length obtained her victory, and holy 
 peace succeeded to the bitter strife. The convent 
 clock had marked the progress of many an hour of 
 abstracted devotion, ere she arose from her knees, 
 and prepared for the last time, to put off her earthly 
 clothing ; its warning voice fell yet again un- 
 heeded on her ear, as a gentle sleep threw its soft 
 oblivion on the past, and strengthened her for future 
 trial. 
 
 She arose at day-break selected the dress she 
 thought best suited to the solemn occasion ; and 
 throwing a light mantilla over her head, with which 
 she could at pleasure conceal her face, she looked, 
 not like a victim dragged unwillingly to the altar, 
 but as one prepared to lay herself cheerfully on it. 
 At length the convent bell flung its deep note on 
 the breath of morning, and at the same time the 
 sound of numerous and measured footsteps caught
 
 THE MARTYR. 233 
 
 her ear, accompanied by a low chant. They ap- 
 proached nearer and nearer, traversing the gallery in 
 which her cell was situated : the door of it was un- 
 locked, and the stern nun entered. She seemed 
 surprised at finding her prisoner prepared and calm 
 perhaps she had anticipated a struggle, which would 
 have excited less bitterness than the Christian gen- 
 tleness of her deportment. Placing the door open, 
 she bade Beatrice stand at her side, as the long 
 procession passed slowly before them, until the 
 time arrived in which she was to take her station 
 in it. 
 
 In front of that imposing procession walked several 
 young choristers bearing a large cross, and chanting 
 a low dirge-like mass ; then came four priests hold- 
 ing a canopy over the head of a fifth, who bore the 
 Host. An image of the Virgin was next carried by 
 with similar honours, the nuns followed veiled, 
 and clothed in long mantles, holding each a 
 lighted taper, the tall and portly Abbess closing 
 their ranks. After these walked some other, but 
 subordinate performers in the solemn drama, and 
 the procession was closed by a group, whose office, 
 but too obvious, sent the blood of the trembling 
 victim for a few short moments of weakness, curd-
 
 23-1 CHILLON. 
 
 ling to the heart. The two foremost, habited as free- 
 masons, with conical caps, and aprons on which were 
 traced various sombre devices, held in their hands the 
 implements of their calling, and were followed by 
 others carrying bricks and materials for building 
 surrounded by flags, on which were portrayed the 
 most horrid representations of the fires of purgatory 
 with other hideous and chimerical phantasmia. It 
 was behind these wretched beings, appointed to hew 
 and close her living tomb, and at the side of the 
 masked inquisitor, that the young confessor was 
 ordered to take her place, partly to humiliate and 
 terrify her, and partly to give effect to the pageant ; 
 since effect is as necessary a portion in a Romish 
 ceremony, as in the kindred representations of the 
 theatre and the opera-house. Little, however, was 
 she, who was the object of these low designs, affected 
 by them. The distinctions and terrors of earth 
 were beneath her heaven- directed gaze ; she knew 
 she was walking to her tomb, and she heeded not the 
 path of humiliation by which it was approached. 
 
 After traversing several galleries, they descended 
 a long flight of stone steps, then proceeding through 
 a vaulted passage, they arrived at another and wider 
 staircase, at the foot of which, large grated doors
 
 THE MARTYR. 235 
 
 conducted into a spacious subterranean clmrch. 
 The greater part of the building was in deep shade, 
 but a brilliantly illuminated altar lighted the upper 
 end, and a solitary lamp burned within one dark 
 recess in the thick walls, before which the train 
 moved slowly, in order that each might view it, as 
 well as to strike terror into the soul of her, who was 
 so soon to be buried within. It was an excavated 
 cell, about four feet square and six high ; in a niche 
 in one of its walls stood a lamp, a crucifix, and a 
 skull ; and on the ground, in mockery of mercy, a 
 small loaf of bread and cruise of water. There 
 were few in that procession who did not shudder as 
 they paced slowly before that fearful tomb, but from 
 the eye of her whom it was to enclose the mists of 
 earth were cleared ; she was enabled to see the 
 angels that kept guard near it, and a world of un- 
 fading bloom beyond its gloomy precincts. 
 
 At length the procession reached the altar, and 
 fell into their appointed places at, and around it. 
 The priests took their stand within the rails, the 
 nuns ranged themselves on either side, whilst the 
 rest of the assembly filed round at a little distance, 
 forming a living wall about the young martyr, who 
 was left standing in the middle of the circle.
 
 236 CHILLON. 
 
 how commandingly beautiful did she appear in that 
 moment of trial ! She looked calmly around on her 
 bloodthirsty accusers on the gloomy tomb on 
 the meretricious solemnity ; and all seemed to shrink 
 before the truth of her searching glance, like the 
 false enchantments of the Egyptian sorceress, before 
 that of the prophets of God. 
 
 " Beatrice de Beaufort," at length exclaimed the 
 inquisitor, who stood in front of the altar, masked 
 as on the preceding night, " I call on thee for the 
 last time, to renounce thy damnable heresies, and to 
 return with sorrow and humiliation,' to the bosom 
 of thy oflended and holy mother ofiering 
 thee in her name, and that of the blessed Virgin, 
 a retreat within the walls of this her Convent 
 of the Hermits, if thou wilt openly abjure those soul- 
 destroying errors, and pronounce the vows of per- 
 petual poverty, obedience, and celibacy. Do thou 
 choose, therefore, between the cloister and yonder 
 living tomb." 
 
 " I cannot choose," replied Beatrice, in a firm 
 and distinct voice, " because in choice there is no 
 compulsion ; and I do not acknowledge your power, 
 or that of any other human being, to inflict on me 
 either of the dreadful fates you name !"
 
 THE MARTYR. 237 
 
 " This subterfuge shall not avail/' said the in- 
 quisitor ; " I demand again, wilt thou renounce thy 
 heresies ?" 
 
 "Never!" she replied, with a strong emphasis; 
 " never ! if by that name you designate a sole re- 
 liance on the intercession and merits of the only 
 Mediator, the Lord Jesus Christ ! Never ! if you 
 call it heresy to obey God rather than man, and to 
 reverence the commands contained in his Holy 
 Word, beyond the vain traditions of human inge- 
 nuity and falsehood ! Never ! if by such a term 
 you mean a refusal to bow the knee to idols, or to 
 ask from man the pardon of sins, which God will 
 alone remit through the intercession of His Son." 
 
 " Thou deniest, then, bold scoffer," interrupted 
 the father confessor, who had been with difficulty 
 thus long kept silent ; " thou, a worm of the earth ! 
 a vile heretic ! deniest the authority of the blessed 
 Virgin thou refusest to do her honour !" 
 
 " But as one blessed among women, though 
 woman still !" 
 
 There was an evident stir of displeasure through- 
 out the whole assembly at this bold avowal, and the 
 father confessor was proceeding with increased 
 vituperation, when the more wary inquisitor inter- 
 rupted him.
 
 238 CHILLON. 
 
 " Patience, good father, I beseech you ! We 
 shall want no testimony but what proceeds from 
 the mouth of the accused." Then turning to 
 Beatrice, he said, " Thou art, then, determined to 
 seal thine own doom, and to take from our holy 
 and pitying church all power of forgiveness ? Be 
 it so ! thy blood rests on thine own head my hands 
 are free of it !" 
 
 " Deceive not thyself thus, reverend sir," said 
 Beatrice, solemnly ; " on you, and on my other 
 cruel oppressors, will rest the foul stain, and God 
 will avenge it. It is not, then, for myself I plead 
 I ask not human pardon I shrink not from human 
 vengeance ; yon gloomy tomb will be to me the 
 gate of Paradise ; but I do beseech ye to have mercy 
 on your own souls ! I do implore ye to pause, ere 
 ye bring on them such heavy condemnation. And 
 oh ! may God hear me, when I pray, not alone for 
 those who ' decree unrighteous judgments,' but for 
 those who witness them, and lift not up their voice 
 against them !" 
 
 There was a short pause of death-like stillness, 
 during which even hatred and envy contemplated, 
 with compelled admiration, the Christian maiden, 
 who, with hands and eyes raised to heaven, implored 
 forgiveness for her enemies.
 
 THE MARTYR. 239 
 
 But the interruption was short-lived, for the 
 Abbess and her priests, by various signs of impa- 
 tience, intimated their desire to proceed, and the" 
 father confessor, turning to the inquisitor, said, 
 " Holy father, it is time that we put an end to this 
 mockery : guilty or not guilty ?" 
 
 " Guilty !" said the unrighteous judge, " and let 
 the sentence of the church be speedily executed. 
 Officials, do your office !" 
 
 The nuns shrunk closer together, as the terrific 
 beings advanced to seize their prey, but stood irreso- 
 lute and awed, when, lifting her hand, and receding 
 a few paces, she said solemnly, " Approach me not 
 lay not a finger on me, until I warn ye of the 
 deadly peril in which ye place your souls by obeying 
 the wicked mandates of those, who would plunge 
 them in perdition. If the foul act is to be perpe- 
 trated if a human and unoffending being is to be 
 hurried alive into the tomb let those who imagined, 
 execute the deed !'' 
 
 The wretched instruments were yet human, and 
 paused irresolute and awe-struck; till the authorita- 
 tive commands of the inquisitor chased the tran- 
 sient emotion, and they laid their ruthless gripe on 
 their delicate and unresisting prey, bearing her to- 
 
 5
 
 240 CHILLON. 
 
 wards the yawning grave. But no human eye was 
 permitted to penetrate into the mysteries of those 
 diabolical rites no human ear to listen to the shriek, 
 the expostulation, or prayer of the victim ; the in- 
 quisitor alone followed to direct the execution of 
 this worse than pagan sacrifice, whilst the choir, 
 aided by the trembling voices of the nuns, burst 
 forth in a loud and discordant anthem, and at the 
 same moment extinguished the tapers they carried. 
 The lamps burnt dim around the altar ; then one 
 by one, and apparently without human agency, 
 went out; whilst, at the same time, the stunning 
 chorus sank, as gradually, into a low monotonous 
 dirge but ere light and sound had quite melted 
 into darkness and silence, and the procession had 
 addressed themselves to quit the subterranean 
 church, it was flooded by a torrent of light which 
 rushed through the en trance- doors, and dazzled 
 eyes, so long veiled in partial darkness. A multi- 
 tude of persons carrying flaming torches, burst into 
 the building ; and filling the arches on either side of 
 the principal aisle, the brilliant illumination disco- 
 vered the forms of the Abbot of Einsiedeln and the 
 Monk of St. Bernard, as they passed rapidly up it. 
 Preceding his companion, breathless and agitated
 
 THE MARTYR. 241 
 
 Father Ambroise forced his way through the ter- 
 rified nuns who had closed around their supe- 
 rior, and demanded the restoration of her victim. 
 The Abbess, bewildered and dazzled at the sudden 
 apparition, made no reply, whilst her eye glared 
 fiercely on the intruder; then, as recollection re- 
 turned, alarmed and conscience-struck, she became 
 deadly pale, and trembled exceedingly. 
 
 " Do not trifle with us, madam," exclaimed the 
 Abbot, " I command you instantly to deliver up the 
 Lady Beatrice delay may be fatal speak ! where 
 have you concealed her ?" 
 
 For another dreadful moment the wretched woman 
 stared fearfully around, her eyes bursting from tlieir 
 sockets, whilst she struggled for utterance ; but a 
 gurgling in the throat choked all articulation the 
 rushing blood swelled the veins of her neck, and 
 mounted into her cheeks and forehead, and with 
 one wild shriek she fell back into the arms of the 
 surrounding nuns. 
 
 " Away ! away !" said the Abbot to Father Am- 
 broise ; " lose not a moment in rescuing your ward ; 
 and claiming for her and yourself the promise 
 and protection of the Duke, leave me to appease the 
 thunders of the Vatican." 
 
 VOL. II. M
 
 5>42 CHILLON. 
 
 Father Ambroise hastily placed one knee on the 
 earth, seized and pressed to his lips the hand of his 
 generous superior, and then followed Monsieur le 
 Comte and Marco, who, assisted by some monks, 
 had extricated Beatrice from the tomb which had 
 partly closed around her, and were bearing her up 
 the staircase into the outer court. Here, pale, 
 trembling, and almost insensible, they placed her in 
 the litter which stood ready prepared for her flight ; 
 and mounting on mules, they proceeded some way, 
 ere they ventured to stop and administer the refresh- 
 ment which she so greatly needed. Stunned by 
 the overwhelming events of the past, Beatrice could 
 scarcely realise her escape ; but although feeble and 
 suffering, her dread of pursuit enabled her to bear 
 the fatigues of their journey, and even to urge her 
 companions to increased exertions. On the second 
 evening they reached the friendly city of Berne, and 
 Father Ambroise had the unspeakable delight of 
 placing his exhausted charge in the arms of her 
 faithful Rosette. 
 
 Madame le Comte received the rescued captive as 
 a sister, and the reformed city participated in the 
 delight of welcoming a victim snatched from the fire 
 of Romish persecution. But it was a long time be-
 
 THE MARTYR. 243 
 
 fore Beatrice could personally acknowledge the at- 
 tention which the noblest of the citizens vied in 
 showing her, and many an anxious hour did her 
 tender nurses, Madame le Comte and Eosette, pass 
 by her bedside, from which her judicious physician 
 had excluded all other attendants, ere their beloved 
 patient was restored even to partial recovery. 
 
 Father Ambroise and the faithful Marco were 
 then the first to claim an interview ; and whilst the 
 former, better schooled in concealing his feelings, 
 gazed in silent agony on her altered features and 
 wasted form, the poor serving man's sorrow found 
 vent in lamentations and tears. Beatrice held out 
 her hand to him, and after expressing her lively 
 gratitude for the inestimable services he had ren- 
 dered her, begged he would give her a circumstan- 
 tial history of all that had befallen him after he ac- 
 companied Kosette to the foot of the St. Bernard 
 pass. 
 
 The faithful creature related his story with much 
 simplicity, but as it was interlarded with some unne- 
 cessary detail, we will give it in fewer words. On 
 leaving Rosette, he returned to St. Maurice, and 
 from thence followed Beatrice unperceived to Ein- 
 siedeln. Here he remained hovering about the 
 
 M 2
 
 244 CHILLON. 
 
 convent, until he contrived to gain the good-will of 
 the porter, and to be employed by him in many 
 little services within the walls. On one of these oc- 
 casions, he had been sent with some food to the 
 workmen occupied in the preparation of the subter- 
 ranean chapel, when partly from the hints he re- 
 ceived, and partly from conjecture and apprehen- 
 sion, he felt assured that the contemplated ceremony 
 was in some way connected with the fate of his 
 young mistress, who he knew was yet a prisoner in 
 the convent. He had long intended to acquaint the 
 Abbot with her detention, and having been in- 
 formed the prelate had returned the evening before, 
 be bent his steps towards the cathedral, with an 
 intention of accosting him after the early pray- 
 ers. Great indeed was his surprise and joy to 
 perceive, as he knelt around the grated chapel of 
 '' Our Lady," the Abbot approach with Father Am- 
 broise to lay the Duke's offering on her shrine ; but 
 deeper yet were those of the Monk of St. Bernard 
 when he heard tidings of his lost daughter. Her 
 peril, however, was imminent, and assured by the 
 promise and pledge of his Prince, the Abbot lost 
 not a moment in arranging with Father Ambroise 
 and his able assistants, Monsieur le Comte and
 
 THE MARTYR. 245 
 
 Marco, some measures for her escape. Fearing, by 
 demanding openly her liberation from the Abbess, 
 she might accelerate her destruction, they finally 
 determined on the plan which, as we have seen, it 
 pleased God to bless, and in the execution of which, 
 graciously employing the agency of man in the 
 work of mercy, he took on Himself alone the aven- 
 ger's part. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the most exhilarating accounts 
 daily reached Berne from her conquering army. 
 The siege of Geneva had been raised, her distressed 
 citizens relieved, and their brave deliverers had 
 marched triumphant, yet without blood- shedding, 
 through the Pays de Vaud ; receiving the homage of 
 its inhabitants, and leaving only one solitary fortress 
 to own the sway of Savoy the Castle of Chillon.
 
 246 CHILLON. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE RELEASE. 
 
 Soldier, rest but not for thee 
 Spreads the world her downy pillow ; 
 On the rock thy conch must be, 
 Whilst around thee chafes the billow. 
 
 CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH. 
 
 IN following the more eventful history of the other 
 personages of our little tale, we have been obliged 
 to neglect those first introduced to the reader, and 
 the prisoners of Chillon have remained unnoticed in 
 their dungeons. But, alas ! what is there in the life 
 of a captive to relate, but a tale of suffering mono- 
 tony ? Yet, whilst darkness and solitude were their 
 portion whilst they ate the bitter bread of captivity 
 and drank the water of scarceness, their fellow-
 
 THE RELEASE. 247 
 
 beings in the same castle rioted in freedom and 
 luxury. The lake smiled in its loveliness before 
 them, green mountains afforded them shelter and 
 pastime, and earth laid its store of fruit and flowers 
 at their feet. Yet, amid this seeming inequality of 
 fate, the law of compensation was not outraged, 
 since the peace of God rested on those who suffered 
 for the truth, whilst the struggles of ambition, and 
 the stings of conscience, poisoned the happiness of 
 their guilty oppressors, even in the first flush of its 
 attainment. 
 
 And the Governor of Chillon has purchased the 
 toy he panted for the fair and frivolous Lady 
 Blanche ; and the bridal has been celebrated with the 
 same mirth and festivity as if the union had been 
 assorted by nature and approved by Heaven ; but 
 when the gloss of novelty had worn off, when the 
 glittering pageant had passed by, he found her folly 
 and waywardness somewhat irksome, and a thought 
 of his daughter occasioned a writhing of remorse 
 that amply revenged her wrongs. Still, even in his 
 darkest moments, no intention of redress presented 
 itself he had turned the current of his hopes into 
 another channel, which, in his conception, rendered 
 the sacrifice of Beatrice inevitable ; thus the ambi-
 
 248 CHILLON. 
 
 tious and sensual often make a law to themselves of 
 their wishes and aims, and pursue them with a per- 
 tinacity which would be heroism in a righteous 
 cause. Since the escape of Di Rossi had furnished 
 him with a plausible pretext for continuing the 
 strict guardianship of his innocent daughter, he had 
 committed it unconditionally into the hands of the 
 Archbishop, and, engaged by new ties and fresh 
 schemes of ambition, he endeavoured to banish all 
 recollection of her wrongs or claims. Vain effort ! 
 since conscience asserted her right, and in spite of 
 the constant gaiety in which his youthful bride 
 had involved him, his spirits became clouded, Ms 
 temper morose ; and naturally stern and cruel, he 
 redoubled his severity and vigilance on the unfortu- 
 nate captives committed to his keeping. 
 
 We left Michael Cottier in the midst of his 
 arduous endeavour to cut through the bars of his 
 prison window with the slender means which, tradi- 
 tion has informed us, he made use of for that pur- 
 pose ; and the visitors to the dungeons of Chillon 
 may still see the loop-hole through which, it affirms, 
 he plunged into the lake.* 
 
 Notwithstanding the promise made to Father 
 
 * See note M.
 
 THE RELEASE. 249 
 
 Ambroise by the Governor, that Cottier should be 
 removed into an upper apartment, we have seen that 
 means were found to evade it, and that Di Rossi pro- 
 fited in his stead, by the zeal and fidelity of the 
 young man's friends. It was a considerable time 
 ere Lenoir and the old fisherman could again ven- 
 ture near the castle ; but after suspicion was lulled, 
 the latter returned to throw his nets at a little dis- 
 tance, and with eyes cleared by affection and grati- 
 tude, perceived some one within the grating on the 
 outside of Michael's cell. It was impossible to ap- 
 proach or make any sign, but he continued to ply 
 his humble calling within sight of the loop-hole, in 
 the hope, should the captive find means of getting 
 through it, he would perceive that friendly aid was 
 near. Nor was he deceived: Michael had recog- 
 nised the little bark, and it had given fresh vigour 
 to his efforts. 
 
 And now behold the young captive mounted on 
 the wall, working the live- long day at the massive 
 bar. His progress was so slow, that it was only at 
 the end of distant portions of time that it was dis- 
 covered to be such, and that a slight indenture had 
 been made on the obdurate iron. At first he laboured 
 almost without intermission, and sleep and food 
 
 M 5
 
 250 CHILLON. 
 
 \vere neglected in the prosecution of the energetic 
 task. His frame wasted as his spirit became more 
 ardent, and hope lighted the bright flame of his eye, 
 and painted the hectic of his cheek. At length, 
 the savage Bertoldo began to suspect some reason 
 for the undrained pitcher, and almost untouched 
 bread, and to threaten, if he did not eat his allow- 
 ance, he would report it to the Governor. But the 
 appetite, which eagerness and hope had at first 
 blunted, would not return with the return of less ex- 
 cited feelings, and his stomach refused the prison 
 fare. Day by day was the threat and taunt re- 
 newed, and day by day the captive's prayer for re- 
 lease was breathed with additional fervour. 
 
 We have said that some slight impression was 
 made on the bar ; but it was the work of months 
 completely to divide it and thus passed the winter 
 away, and the first opening of spring. That slow, 
 yet never ceasing effort, which conquers all diffi- 
 culty, like the dropping of water on flint, was at 
 length successful. The bar was nearly divided, (the 
 last stroke being reserved for the hour of departure, 
 since to remove it before would have been certain 
 discovery,) when Bertoldo entered the cell for the 
 last time.
 
 THE RELEASE. 251 
 
 ' What, at your old tricks, young master !" said 
 he, as he looked into the unemptied pitcher. " Come, 
 come, this is child's play ; think not to deceive me 
 thus !" and turning aside the straw, he discovered a 
 quantity of stale pieces of hread. " This very night, 
 by the beard of St. Anthony ! I will acquaint the 
 Governor, and he will discover some means of 
 drenching thee, as we do a stubborn horse." 
 
 " Bertoldo, said the young Christian, in accents 
 of pity, rather than reproof, " every hard word that 
 thou sayest to the unfortunate will rise up against 
 thee in judgment. A day will come when, if thou 
 repent not, punishment will overtake thee, and thou 
 wouldest gladly give all thy hoarded gold for one 
 promise of that mercy, which is made to the mer- 
 ciful." 
 
 The wretch took again the food he had brought, 
 and said, with a sneer, " All this is mighty fine 
 preaching, young sir ! but thou wilt not find Ber- 
 toldo the man to relish, or take it without return. 
 A few twinges of the pincers, and a little salutary 
 stretching of the limbs, may perchance improve thy 
 appetite. In the meantime, as thou dost not appear 
 to like the fresh food I have brought, I will leave 
 thee, like a wayward child, to eat thy last night's
 
 252 CHILLON. 
 
 supper, ere I give thee this day's dinner." He left 
 the cell, and Cottier fell asleep with a prayer on his 
 lips and heart for his conversion. 
 
 The next morning dawned brightly on the out- 
 ward world, though it threw no cheering ray into the 
 captive's cell ; but he heard the soft breeze of spring 
 stirring the waves which gently laved the walls of 
 his prison. He spent the day the last of his 
 earthly captivity in prayer and meditation ; and 
 when the sun had set, and the stars began to ap- 
 pear, he quitted his cell, and approached that of 
 Bonnivard. 
 
 " Who is it that calls on the unfortunate Boimi- 
 vard ?" answered the soft voice of the Prior of St. 
 Victor. 
 
 Cottier explained to him that he had been many 
 months the sharer of his dungeon, and his hope of 
 bringing him relief when he had effected his own 
 escape. 
 
 " Alas, my son, the attempt is fraught with peril, 
 and I entreat thee not to incur it for my sake ; leave 
 me rnther to perish in captivity it is not so sad to 
 me, as to thy young years ; besides, thou hast al- 
 ready well fulfilled thine errand in the comfort thy
 
 THE RELEASE. 253 
 
 too dearly purchased visit afforded me. Thou hast 
 brought me back to the love of my kind ; and I have 
 found both mercy and correction in Alice's precious 
 legacy. I beseech thee, attempt not the dangerous 
 leap ! the lake is deep, and there are hidden rocks 
 around the dungeon walls !" 
 
 " I am an expert swimmer," pleaded Cottier, 
 " and help is at hand ; moreover, there is no retreat 
 the iron bar is removed, and this attempt at escape 
 would incur a heavier penalty than death itself." 
 
 " Go, go, then, my child !" exclaimed Bonnivard, 
 in a voice of strong emotion, " and may God, in 
 his infinite mercy, preserve thee !" 
 
 " He will, my reverend benefactor, and remember 
 whichever way He extends his protecting arm, whe- 
 ther to draw me from the deep waters and place me 
 on the soil of earth, or to land me on the everlasting 
 shores of pure delight Michael Cottier is alike under 
 His guidance, and alike blessed." His emotion 
 now checked all further utterance, but of the word 
 " farewell," and he hastened away, lest Bertoldo 
 should arrive ere he had effected his escape. He 
 climbed the wall, removed the divided bar, and 
 looked through the narrow aperture.
 
 254 CHILLON. 
 
 The day had been remarkably fine, and the lake 
 unruffled ; but the evening breeze now swept its sur- 
 face with a moaning sound, and large masses of 
 clouds floated across the bright surface of the moon, 
 dimming her fair light, which yet silvered their 
 edges ; like Christian love that strives to illumine 
 the envious malice which would obscure it. 
 
 On examining the loop-hole, the captive found it 
 would only admit, even his slender form, sideways ; 
 but although to plunge thus into the lake was at- 
 tended with difficulty and danger, he did not hesi- 
 tate. One look at the bright sky one prayer to 
 Him who dwells beyond it a prayer of faith, of 
 hope, of charity and he has darted through the 
 narrow opening, and plunged into the deep blue 
 waves below.
 
 THE FAREWELL. Ji55 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 Oh fair flower, 
 
 How lovely yet thy ruins show how sweetly 
 E'en death embraces thee ! The peace of Heaven, 
 The fellowship of all blest souls be with thee ! 
 
 OLD AUTHOR, 
 
 THE Count de Blonay, after having in vain op- 
 posed the sordid sacrifice of his sister, had re- 
 fused to sanction by his presence the celebration of 
 those nuptials, at once repugnant to his delicacy 
 and affections, and set off to join his regiment, 
 which shortly after took the field. At the end of the 
 campaign he returned to the Pays de Vaud, to find 
 it had submitted without resistance to the Bernese 
 power, and to learn that the relative into whose 
 
 10
 
 256 CHILLON. 
 
 keeping he had entrusted his castle and estates, 
 had done homage to the conquerors, as the only 
 means of saving them from destruction. Further 
 intelligence, of a nature that brooked no delay, had 
 been conveyed to him relative to a proposed attack 
 on the castle of Chillon and the day after his 
 return, he presented himself at its gates. He 
 greeted his brother-in-law with distant courtesy, and 
 proceeded at once to speak of the purport of his 
 sudden return. 
 
 " Your castle is threatened, my lord," he said ; 
 " the Bernese army is again advancing towards the 
 Pays de Vaud, and Geneva has equipped and 
 manned six galleys, whose sails are already un- 
 furled, to carry war to the further shores of the 
 lake." 
 
 The Governor's lip curled in scorn. 
 
 " True strength," continued the Count, " con- 
 sists not in despising, but in preparing to combat 
 our foes. This fortress should be effectually 
 manned, its walls strengthened, and the whole 
 building restored to its former state of defence. 
 The banqueting and withdrawing rooms must again 
 become the barrack and guard - chamber ;" and
 
 THE FAREWELL. 257 
 
 as he spoke, his eye glanced around the splendidly 
 adorned apartment he then occupied. 
 
 ' You cannot really be in earnest !" said the 
 Governor, " thus to fear a few painted galleys, 
 which have been so long held up to us as bug- 
 bears, that our children have learned to jest on 
 them." 
 
 " My apprehensions are founded on the co-opera- 
 tion of Berne." 
 
 " Have not the surly bears but now, turned 
 growling from our walls ?" 
 
 " Danger deferred, my lord, is not overcome ; 
 and if you will read this, you may be enabled better 
 to judge of the justness of my apprehensions." 
 
 The Governor took the offered document, but ere 
 he examined it, said, " If your lordship wishes to 
 see your sister, you will find her alone. I need 
 not caution so tender a brother to spare her all un- 
 necessary alarm." 
 
 The Count bowed, and ere he left the room the 
 Governor had opened the packet, and commenced 
 the perusal of its contents. 
 
 It was with feelings of mingled affection and rs- 
 gret, that Albert de Blonay entered the room where 
 he had first beheld the only woman he had ever
 
 258 CHILLON. 
 
 loved regret deepened by the consciousness of the 
 injustice done her. His mother and sister had in 
 their letters assured him that she had sought the 
 cloister from choice ; hut the sentiments she had 
 so unreservedly avowed to him rendered this impro- 
 hahle ; still a vague hope that she had renounced 
 these errors, that thus the barrier which separated 
 them might be removed, in spite of his melancholy 
 nature, lighted up a faint ray of hope within his 
 drooping heart. He found his sister just in that 
 state of languid satiety which the favourites of for- 
 tune experience, when the gilded toys they have 
 dearly purchased begin to lose their first brightness. 
 Her attendants were displaying before her some 
 costly stuffs, from which she was selecting a dress 
 for an approaching ball ; and she was pouting be- 
 cause the Governor, who had been twice summoned, 
 had not arrived to give his opinion on the important 
 choice. She was charmed to see her brother, for 
 he came from the court, and must have much to 
 communicate uttering, therefore, a cry of delight, 
 and bundling up the finery, she exclaimed, " There, 
 wenches, take it all away, and yourselves too, and 
 leave me alone with my Lord of Blonay." 
 
 A volley of questions now burst from the young
 
 THE FAREWELL. 259 
 
 lady's lips, which the patient brother answered ere 
 he ventured to bring forward the subject nearest 
 his heart ; and this was done with so much grace, 
 that his lively sister complimented him on his un- 
 usual communicativeness. 
 
 " Well then, dear Blanche, you must reward me 
 by answering questions in your turn. Are you 
 happy in your new situation ?" 
 
 " Why ye s, tolerably so. I don't much like 
 this old castle, but my lord promises that we shall 
 go next summer to Brieres, where he is anxious the 
 heir of those fine domains should be born." 
 
 " The heir of Brieres !" exclaimed De Blonay ; 
 " surely that estate belongs to the Lady Beatrice in 
 right of her mother ?" 
 
 " But don't you know, Albert, that Beatrice is to 
 be a nun ; in which case it remains in her father's 
 possession." 
 
 " Indeed !" replied her brother, suppressing his 
 indignation ; " and how long is it since the Lady 
 Beatrice has shown this inclination for a cloister ?" 
 
 " My lord tells me she had a decided vocation 
 from childhood, and that her late melancholy was 
 occasioned by his refusal of her wish to take the 
 veil."
 
 260 CHILLON. 
 
 A glow of indignant scorn flushed the pale coun- 
 tenance of De Blonay, as he interrupted his sister 
 by asking, " If the Lady Beatrice was in Savoy ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell you, Albert, I rather think she 
 is at St. Maurice, and that my lord says she is re- 
 moved that I may not desire to visit her." 
 
 " You must not be put off thus, Blanche, it is 
 your duty to inquire into the poor young lady's 
 actual situation promise me you will do so, dear 
 sister," he continued, kissing her cheek. 
 
 The lady was about to reply, when a servant en- 
 tered with a message from the Governor, begging 
 to see the Count immediately in his cabinet. He 
 found him in great agitation. 
 
 " Your information is but too true," he said, 
 " and has just been confirmed by .an express from 
 the Bishop of Lausanne. Thejfctenevan galleys 
 have already been descried frpiMhat city, and cer- 
 
 Jm 
 
 tain intelligence reached it tha the army of Berne 
 
 is once more on its marc|i. i W|> must, therefore, 
 
 ' if^~ ' ~ ^ ^^^i J V 
 
 look for its arrival ere many houre are passed." 
 
 " And we will receive"! them, 1 !/ said De Blonay, 
 " as becomes the loygj/subjects of our gracious 
 masteiv happy <'in> the opportunity they give us of 
 recovering the territories they have wrested from 
 him in a moment of surprise."
 
 THE FAREWELL. 261 
 
 " It is all in vain, De Blonay ; you forget that 
 since the discovery of gunpowder this fortress is no 
 longer impregnable. If we can save our families 
 and our valuables, it must be before the enemy 
 arrives have you anything you wish preserved ?" 
 
 " The inestimable jewels of honour and loyalty." $ 
 
 " All fine talking, young man ! but we are 
 run into a corner, and have no elbow-room for 
 heroics." 
 
 " You will at least present a daring front to the 
 enemy you will not allow him to conquer without 
 resistance ?"* asked De Blonay. 
 
 " I will make the best defence I can, and if this 
 fail as fail it must I will secure the most favour- 
 able terms of capitulation more than that, le 
 petit Charlemagne himself could not do." 
 
 Somewhat appeased by this concession, De Blonay, 
 having arranged with her husband a plan for the 
 immediate removal of the Lady Blanche, quitted 
 the castle to collect the few followers which yet re- 
 mained true to the house of Savoy, and promised 
 to return on the morrow to take up his position 
 with them on the ramparts. He rode on for some 
 time in melancholy musings, and then by a strong 
 effort concentrating his thoughts on the subject
 
 262 CHILLON. 
 
 which required present and prompt determination, 
 he hanished the pleading form of Beatrice, and 
 forced himself to dwell on the approaching bom- 
 bardment of Chillon, and the best means of meeting 
 the threatened danger. In this emergency he re- 
 collected the courage and experience of Lenoir, his 
 intimate acquaintance with the secret approaches to 
 Chillon and all the intricacies of the building and 
 dismounting and giving his horse to his servant, 
 he proceeded alone up the gorge which led to his 
 cottage. 
 
 The blustering winds of March were now subsid- 
 ing into the soft sighing of April ; the trees were 
 partly clothed in the vivid tints of spring, and the 
 meadows glowed with the thousand blossoms that 
 strewed their green lap. The young chevalier 
 paused as he caught a view of his ancestral towers 
 rising above the embowering foliage, and looked 
 around on the matchless scene. / " All, all !" he 
 muttered to himself, " prince, co"untry; hearth and 
 altar, all will ere long be swept away ! But De 
 Blonay's part is marked out, his lot decreed amid 
 the wreck of every other possession, honour and 
 loyalty shall yet be his !" 
 
 Everything was still around the cottage of Lenoir.
 
 THE FAREWELL. 263 
 
 His children were not there to gamhol with the 
 goats, who grazed undisturbed amid the rooks. The 
 industrious housewife no longer sat by with her 
 knitting, nor the old fisherman mending his nets on 
 the sunny bench yet his work lay near, together 
 with the tools of husbandry, which De Blonay 
 imagined the master of the cottage had laid aside 
 as he entered it for his noon repast. He therefore 
 approached the outer door and knocked gently. 
 No one rose to bid him welcome, but as it was not 
 quite closed, he distinctly heard within a low voice 
 in prayer, mingled with sobs, lamentation, and 
 woe. Unwilling to intrude on a scene of domestic 
 calamity, and equally so to quit it without some 
 offer of sympathy or assistance, he hesitated a mo- 
 ment, and then gently opening the half-closed door, 
 beheld a scene at once so interesting and mournful, 
 as rivetted him for a few moments to the spot, till 
 delicacy obliging him to quit it, he walked some 
 hurried paces into the wood, and burying his face 
 in his hands, endeavoured to recall it, as he would 
 the ethereal loveliness of a fleeting dream. A quick 
 step behind roused him he turned and beheld Fa- 
 ther Ambroise. 
 
 " Do I still dream !" he exclaimed, as he clasped
 
 264 CHILLOX. 
 
 the hand of his revered friend. " No, this at 
 least is reality, and I find you in unchanged friend- 
 ship." 
 
 " Then wherefore shun me, De Blonay ? did I 
 not see you at the door of the cottage ?" 
 
 (' I shunned you not, dear father I did not 
 even perceive you amid that touching group ex- 
 plain it to me, I heseech you ! That lovely face, 
 fair as the flowers strewed around it tell me, have 
 1 not seen that form before ?" 
 
 " You have, my son, you saw him surrounded 
 by trial and suffering he is now in the Paradise of 
 his God." 
 
 " Did he then die a faithful son of the church ?" 
 
 " He died, I trust, a faithful son of the church of 
 Christ died in the holy cause of mercy which He 
 sanctified : sacrificed his young years, his budding 
 hopes, and obeyed the simple and saving injunction 
 of Ms Master, to quit all and follow Him. As a 
 soldier of the cross, he stumbled not over it, but 
 took it rejoicingly on his young shoulders. But 
 why do I mourn him ? the stamp of early glory 
 was on his fair brow the martyr's wreath might 
 almost be said to shade it even amid the sunny 
 ringlets of his bright locks. I will not weep !"
 
 THE FAREWELL. 265 
 
 said the monk, as he dashed the tears from his 
 overflowing eyes ; " at least I will not allow the 
 weak drops of human frailty to quench my hright 
 rejoicings at his deliverance." 
 
 " And that deliverance, as you term it, dear 
 father ?" asked the Count, deeply affected ; " speak ! 
 were murderous hands " 
 
 " No, son, no ! Marked you not one slight blood- 
 spot on his marble brow, amid the snowdrop- 
 wreath which infant hands had twined around it ? 
 that was the only stain which Heaven permitted to 
 disfigure even his mortal form, occasioned by his 
 falling, on his descent from the window of his cell, 
 against the sharp point of a rock. Lenoir and 
 Isaack Bontemps were near at hand, and hastened 
 to his aid ; but his spirit exhaled as they drew its 
 frail covering from the water. He was excessively 
 emaciated, and of course weakened by captivity, and 
 had not strength sufficient to struggle with the 
 waves." 
 
 " You are then going to inter him ?" asked the 
 Count, in a voice which betrayed his sympathy with 
 the father's tale. 
 
 " Not yet, not here" he replied with emphasis ; 
 " but of this more anon. His own minister is now 
 
 VOL. II. N
 
 266 CHILLON. 
 
 praying by his mortal remains, in the hope of 
 administering comfort to those who are weeping 
 around them." 
 
 " I have gazed with indescribable interest on the 
 mourning group," said the Count and his voice 
 faltered as he added, " gazed on that kneeling form, 
 as attenuated and marble-like as the face of death 
 she bathed with her tears O, father, can it indeed 
 be she ?" 
 
 " It is Beatrice de Beaufort and well may you 
 ask that question doubtingly. Yet amid its wasting 
 and pallor I can trace that heavenly sweetness which 
 
 few mortal countenances ever " The monk 
 
 checked himself, and after a few moments' pause 
 continued, without any apparent notice of his com- 
 panion's emotion, " my son, what devastation have 
 I witnessed in the last few months, occasioned by 
 the wild fury of man's passions !" 
 
 " She has then suffered ?" interrupted DeBlonay. 
 
 " You shall hear her history before we part," 
 answered the monk ; and they walked on in silence 
 until they reached the castle. Entering the prin- 
 cipal hall, the Count led the way into a smaller 
 apartment, whose balcony overlooked one of the 
 most glorious views which earth offers to the admir-
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 ing gaze of her inhabitants. Immediately beneath , 
 them lay the garden and pleasure-grounds of the. 
 
 VA 
 
 castle, laid out in long terraced walks, ornamented 
 with statues ; and in flower-beds, intersected by 
 hedges of evergreens, and enlivened by fountains. 
 Beyond these, and gradually sloping to the edge of 
 the lake, rose majestic forests of trees, brightening 
 in tint as they approached to dip their pendant 
 branches in its blue waters whose opposite shores 
 were bounded by the snow-tipped mountains of 
 Savoy. 
 
 " What a paradise !" exclaimed the monk, as they 
 leant over the balustrade. 
 
 " It is a paradise," answered his companion, 
 " but a fallen one, and therefore 'I must quit it." 
 The monk looked at him with surprise. " Yes, 
 holy father, traitors to their prince, recusants from 
 their church, I would rather herd with the wild 
 flocks on yonder pathless mountains, than remain 
 amid this redundant loveliness." He stopped, over- 
 powered by contending emotions, and after a short 
 pause, continued with deep yet resigned melancholy 
 " I must leave the shores of Lac Leman leave my 
 ancestral halls to that branch of my family who 
 have sworn allegiance to the usurping power of 
 
 N 2
 
 268 CHILLON. 
 
 Berne and give to the injured church and tottering 
 throne of my forefathers, the weak prop of my 
 feeble arm." 
 
 " Nay, my son," said the monk, " wherefore 
 
 shouldest thou leave the sheltering roof-tree which 
 f> 
 
 " Wherefore !" exclaimed De Blonay, interrupt- 
 ing him, whilst he laid liis hand on the father's 
 arm, and the calm sadness of his manner changed 
 to firmness and determination ; " look at yon castle," 
 and he pointed to Chillon, whose towers, gleaming 
 in the sun-beams, were distinctly visible, " it is the 
 last rood of ground that belongs to our prince, of 
 all this fair land of Vaud, the guerdon of his an- 
 cestor's valour even now the flotilla of Geneva 
 have spread their white sails, and the northern bears 
 have roused themselves from their lair to attack it 
 even now the vultures collect over the castle ram- 
 parts, rejoicing at the coming slaughter." 
 
 The monk shuddered ; " Alas, De Blonay, the 
 foul bird has never missed his evening repast near 
 those guilty walls, and well would it have been for 
 Charles of Savoy had they been rased to the ground, 
 ere he placed them under the authority of the man 
 of blood who now has rule within them."
 
 THE FAREWELL. 269 
 
 The Count started, and then, whilst a tone of 
 reproach mingled with the soft accents of his voice, 
 added, " Art thou too a traitor to our cause ? hast 
 thou remained long enough within the contagion of 
 heresy to taint even thy pure faith ?" 
 
 ' These are hard words, my son. I have seen 
 much that has shaken my faith in the creed of man, 
 and drawn me closer to the word of God. I have 
 seen the foulest spirit of hell pursue his victims in 
 the name of the religion of love and peace. My 
 soul has sickened at the iniquity I have witnessed, 
 and has heen harassed by cruel douhts of much 
 that I have been used to venerate and obey." 
 
 " Explain, dear father, I see you are agitated 
 tell me what presses on your mind." 
 
 " Not here," said the monk, struggling for com- 
 posure: this bright sun and smiling landscape 
 suit not the tale I have to unfold we will seek the 
 shade of your cabinet, where I can better relate, 
 
 K 
 
 and you listen, to the sufferings of one dear to us 
 both." 
 
 The monk looked not on his companion as he 
 said this, but led the way into the retired apartment 
 he had named and beginning his history from 
 Beatrice's departure from Chillon, he proceeded to
 
 270 CHILLON. 
 
 detail his own, and her, blended adventures ; finishing 
 them by confiding the secret motives which had in- 
 duced him to return, with her, into the neighbour- 
 hood of her father's castle. " We knew no more 
 than yourself," he added, " the melancholy spec- 
 tacle which we were to meet at Lenoir's, and 
 stopped only to make inquiries respecting Rosette's 
 father, at whose house our party will for the present 
 remain." 
 
 De Blonay listened to this narrative with an in- 
 tensity which concentrated every faculty of his 
 soul sometimes cold and trembling, sometimes with 
 a flushed cheek and flashing eye : and now absent 
 and absorbed, he saw only the soft form of Beatrice 
 contending with the malignant spirits around her, 
 and invested with a more touching interest than 
 when he had beheld her, the load-star of admiring 
 eyes, in her father's halls. Father Ambroise re- 
 spected his feelings, and shrinking from the yet 
 harder proof to which he must subject them, he 
 arose, and leaning against the high chimney- 
 piece, was soon buried in painful reflections. De 
 Blonay interrupted them, saying, whilst his voice 
 belied the calmness he struggled to assume, " I 
 will not trust my tongue to speak of the excellence
 
 THE FAREWELL. 271 
 
 of her, who known too late, is lost to me for ever ; 
 all I would crave is a right to revenge her wrongs, 
 and promote her happiness show me but the way, 
 and I will not hesitate to build it, even on the 
 wreck of my own." 
 
 " She must not be allowed to fall into the hands 
 of her unnatural father," said the monk ; " we must 
 use our joint interest to implore pardon and resti- 
 tution from the Duke, and" he added with an 
 averted eye, " we must find her another protector." 
 
 " There lives but one man worthy the precious 
 charge," said De Blonay, whilst the blood forsook 
 his quivering lip, and then returned almost to purple 
 his cheeks and forehead, " that man is my friend, 
 my injured friend, Di Kossi. I owe him this repa- 
 ration for my base desertion of him in his hour of 
 trial ; and for the meanness with which I sought to 
 win from him the love of one, whom I knew was the 
 object of his earliest affections." 
 
 " Those affections were sanctioned by a mother's 
 approbation," said the pitying monk, " and as far as 
 any one could share the heart of the maiden with 
 Heaven and that mother, Di Eossi did. But, my 
 son, let us now change this subject, though for one 
 scarcely less painful the situation of yon fortress
 
 272 CHILLON. 
 
 surely the garrison will make a stand ? the walls 
 are thick, the position favourable ?" 
 
 " But there is hollowness and cowardice within," 
 said the Count, with a deep sigh ; however, I will 
 collect all the aid I can, though I fear it will con- 
 sist only of my personal domestics, since my vassals 
 have taken the oath of allegiance to Berne. Lenoir 
 is a subject of Savoy, and may he of use; we will 
 admit him into our consultations." 
 
 The sun had run its course in the heavens ere 
 those consultutions were ended ; when Father Am- 
 broise, having partaken of a slight repast, left the 
 castle of Blonay, and proceeded towards that of 
 Chillon.
 
 RETRIBUTION 273 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 RETRIBUTION. 
 
 Heaven's trampled justice girds itself for fight 
 . . . to thy knees, and cry for mercy ! cry 
 With earnest heart, for thou art growing old 
 And hoary, unrepented, unforgiven ! 
 
 CHRISTIAN YEAR. 
 
 ALTHOUGH the evening was far advanced when 
 Father Ambroise arrived at Chillon, the bridge had 
 not been drawn up ; numerous persons were passing 
 and repassing on it, and an unusual bustle per- 
 vaded every part of the castle. The monk was con- 
 ducted immediately, at the desire of the Governor, 
 into his cabinet, where he found him busily em- 
 ployed in examining and destroying papers, the 
 ashes of which lay on the hearth. 
 
 The room was but partially lighted by one lamp,
 
 274 CHILLON. 
 
 which threw its rays directly on the countenance of 
 the Governor, and the monk was struck by its ex- 
 treme paleness, and the deep lines that had gathered 
 on his brow, even during the few months which had 
 elapsed since they had met. His dress, usually 
 arranged with such studied care, was now neglected, 
 and his eyes were swollen and inflamed. 
 
 " You are welcome, father," he said, as shading 
 them with his hand from the inmediate glare of the 
 lamp, he tried to penetrate into the gloom beyond, 
 " welcome as unexpected. Sit ye here near the 
 fire, for the evening air is fresh, and say whence, 
 and wherefore come ye ?" 
 
 "I will answer your lordship's last question 
 first," replied Father Ambroise. "The wherefore 
 of my visit is, that I have heard danger threatens 
 you, and am come to warn you of its approach, 
 and to urge you to make some necessary prepara- 
 tions for it." 
 
 " This is truly kind, but unlike the world, who 
 fly from, rather than court, the peril of the 
 threatened. But tell me, what have you h(jard of 
 the approach of the Bernese ?" 
 
 " That they are almost within gun-shot of your 
 walls." 

 
 RETRIBUTION. 275 
 
 " And the flotilla from the rebel city ?" 
 
 " Will ere, to-morrow's noon, float on the waters 
 around them." 
 
 " Then there is not a moment to he lost," ex 
 claimed the Governor rising, and throwing open the 
 large oriel window of the apartment. " I have ar- 
 ranged matters for the departure of my lady and 
 valuables by day-break, but the night is clear and 
 calm, and I see no reason to prevent their setting 
 sail immediately, together with the prisoners ;" 
 saying this he rang a bell. 
 
 The first impulse of the monk was to remonstrate 
 against the removal of those prisoners ; and the 
 next, to remain a quiet spectator of the Governor's 
 plans, until he found a more favourable moment for 
 frustrating them. He therefore placed himself in 
 the embrasure of the window, as a page entered, 
 who was ordered to summon the captain of the 
 galley and the jailor; the former, having re- 
 ceived orders to prepare his vessel for immediate 
 departure, left the room as Bertoldo was announced. 
 The position of Father Ambroise, together with the 
 darkness of the apartment, prevented those who 
 entered it from perceiving him, and it is probable 
 that, in the agitation of the moment, the Governor
 
 276 CHILLON. 
 
 had either forgotten his presence, or did not anti- 
 cipate the confession he was to receive from his 
 trust- worthy associate, whom he thus accosted. 
 
 " Are your prisoners ready, Bertoldo ?" 
 
 " All, my lord. They have had their forage and 
 shake-down for the night ; and a better feed than 
 ordinary to hearten them for the extra work of the 
 morrow." 
 
 " But what shall we do with the sick man must 
 he he left behind ?" 
 
 " Ay, ay, Excellenza !" said the fellow, his little 
 grey eyes twinkling with a peculiar expression. "We 
 must leave him behind but there is no chance of 
 his running away, and there will be enough left to 
 ransom your highness, and all worth redeeming, 
 without this heretic Genevese." 
 
 " The Governor, sunk in thought, did not reply ; 
 and the sarcastic fellow, who seemed to take the 
 same morbid pleasure in the malice of words as of 
 deeds, went on. " The Prior of St. Victor will 
 balance your highness ; then there are the four depu- 
 ties and the two remaining comrades of the aforesaid 
 unbeliever, to weigh against the colonel and the 
 captain of le petit Charlemagne, with old Confetti, 
 and two or three serving men to boot."
 
 RETRIBUTION. 277 
 
 " Hold thy fool's prate !" said the Governor, now 
 rousing himself. "I tell thee 'tis unlucky this 
 fellow cannot he removed ; for I have no one I can 
 trust to attend on him, when thou departest with 
 the other captives." 
 
 " Be not alarmed on this head, Excellenza ; the 
 sick man will require no nurse, and tell no tales." 
 
 " Is he then dead ?" 
 
 " As a door nail." 
 
 "Explain, when how did he die ?" 
 
 "I am a modest man, Excellenza, and not given 
 to hoast of my good deeds ; but I thought I could 
 not do him a hetter service than to shorten his 
 laboured breathings, and spare him a trip to the 
 other side of the lake, so I " and here the har- 
 dened wretch, placing his thumb against his wind- 
 pipe, made a gesture of such significancy, as thrilled 
 Father Ambroise with horror ; and an involuntary 
 exclamation, reminded the Governor of the presence 
 of a third person. 
 
 The light that fell on the countenance of the 
 speakers, enabled the monk further to perceive, that 
 the Governor placed his finger on his lips as he said 
 aloud, " Since the poor man was so great a sufferer, 
 I am thankful that it has pleased heaven to release
 
 278 CHILLON. 
 
 him ; but I regret he had not the consolations of re- 
 ligion in his last moments. Why didst thou not 
 summon the chaplain ?" 
 
 " You forget, my lord, that his reverence has left 
 the castle; and also that the dead man was a 
 heretic." 
 
 " Well, well, thou doubtless didst thy best; and 
 now away ! and prepare for starting in an hour at 
 furthest." 
 
 When Bertoldo had quitted the apartment, Father 
 Ambroise returned to the chair he had occupied 
 opposite the Governor, who looked anxiously at 
 him, and perceiving no change in the calm expres- 
 sion of his countenance, said, with an air of forced 
 indifference, " You have not yet told me, reverend 
 father, from whence you come, and what has drawn 
 you from your snowy mountain ?" 
 
 "I left it at the bidding of our prince, with a 
 valuable offering for the shrine of our Lady of Ein- 
 siedeln." 
 
 As the monk pronounced the last word, laying on 
 it a marked emphasis, he looked at his companion, 
 who tried in vain to meet the eye that rested on 
 him ; and stooping down under the pretence of 
 placing some fresh wood on the fire, said, " From
 
 RETRIBUTION. 279 
 
 Einsiedeln ? You probably then, heard, whilst there, 
 of the yet more precious sacrifice which I have laid 
 on our Lady's altar ? You heard perhaps, that I 
 had yielded to her the most valuable possession I 
 had in life in short, that I have at last, and re- 
 luctantly, consented to my daughter's wish of taking 
 the veil in her convent." 
 
 Father Ambroise arose scorn and indignation 
 curled his lip, and reddened his cheek, converting 
 the meek and indulgent Christian, into the stern 
 and awful judge. "Antoine de Beaufort!" he ex- 
 claimed, in a voice that penetrated to the culprit's 
 soul. "Antoine de Beaufort, nearly thirty years 
 have passed since, an artless and trusting boy, I 
 listened to your wily misrepresentations, and be- 
 came the dupe of your deep hypocrisy. Thirty 
 years spent in close inspection of the heart of man, 
 have taught me mistrust, if not wisdom. Thou 
 canst not deceive me now. Thy child, thy exem- 
 plary child, was a compulsory inhabitant of the 
 cloisters of Einsiedeln a victim of treachery and 
 falsehood the treachery and falsehood of a parent 
 she loved and trusted. Nay, hear me !" he conti- 
 nued, waving his hand in an authoritative manner, 
 " 1 speak not from unfounded rumour, I was my-
 
 280 CHILJLON. 
 
 self a witness of the tragic scene. I saw the 
 tremhling victim, and her unrighteous judges ; I 
 beheld the living tomb in which she was immured." 
 
 " Thou liest !" exclaimed the Governor, approach- 
 ing his accuser with his fist clenched, his eyes on 
 fire, and his whole frame trembling with inde- 
 scribable emotion. 
 
 " I tell thee, wretched man," continued the un- 
 shrinking witness, " I did see all this, with eyes that 
 might have wept blood at the cruel spectacle." 
 
 " Again, I say thou liest, false priest ! " replied 
 the conscience-stricken parent. " Thou couldest 
 not behold my child, the child of Bianca, 
 in the hands of those execrable harpies, and 
 not attempt her deliverance I gave no authority 
 for this." 
 
 " Can the shepherd, who wilfully places his one 
 pet lamb in the den of the tigress, justly arraign 
 that savage beast for devouring its tender flesh ?" 
 
 As Father Ambroise uttered these words, a long 
 roll of distant artillery broke on the stillness of 
 night slowly rumbling over the lake, and rever- 
 berating from the rocks and mountains on its 
 shores. The Governor had risen, and lent his 
 head against the mantel-piece; he spoke not
 
 RETRIBUTION. 281 
 
 but the monk hoped, from the convulsions of his 
 frame, that he had succeeding in touching his ob- 
 durate heart, and awakening his seared conscience. 
 
 As the cannonade reached his ear, he started and 
 exclaimed, " Tkey come ! messengers of the ven- 
 geance of Heaven ! I may to-morrow be called to the 
 tribunal of God unshrived, to answer for all my sins ; 
 and yet I declare, solemnly, the murder of my child, 
 my darling Beatrice, is not amongst them. But I 
 will revenge it. Gracious heaven, hear my vows !" 
 he continued, raising his clasped hands, " I will 
 pursue the guilty, and for every pang they have in- 
 flicted on my precious child, their heart-strings shall 
 answer their quivering flesh shall atone. I will 
 pursue them whilst life and fortune last ; and my 
 dying accents shall breathe curses on them." 
 
 " Hush !" said the monk sternly ; " lay not on 
 others the sin which lies at thine own door ; and 
 which must be atoned for by far other sacrifices 
 than those so consonant to thine own malignant 
 spirit. My religion forbids all deception, and there- 
 fore I use it not, even for the good of thy soul. Thy 
 daughter lives but that she does so, is through 
 the grace of God, and the instrumentality of 
 strangers."
 
 282 CHILLON. 
 
 " She lives ! Heaven be praised !" exclaimed the 
 Governor, bursting into a flood of tears. " O what 
 a weight thou hast taken from my heart ! But tell 
 me, where is she ? Why does she not seek the 
 protection of her father ?" 
 
 "Why! Sire de Beaufort? Do you ask why the 
 quivering dove flies from the falcon's claws ? You 
 have forfeited all right to the disposal of your 
 daughter and she quits my guardianship only for 
 one more powerful." 
 
 " O reverend father, thou art hard upon me in 
 this my day of chastisement !" said the Governor, as 
 he sank into a chair ; " yet not harder than I deserve. 
 My sins rise up against me in judgment wilt thou 
 hear my confession, and relieve me of their intole- 
 rable burthen ? I would make a clean breast, ere 
 that sun rises, whose setting rays I may never be- 
 hold." 
 
 " Before I consent to receive your confession, 
 Sire de Beaufort," said the monk sternly, " let me 
 again remind you that I know too much of your 
 past life to be deceived ; and also let me caution 
 you against flattering yourself with the hope of 
 making a compromise with heaven, by confessing 
 sins, for which you do not mean to make reparation."
 
 RETRIBUTION. 283 
 
 " Thou art cold and stern, father, and wouldest 
 repulse instead of encourage me; but my iniquities 
 rise fearfully before me, my sins stare me in the 
 face, and I must find relief in confession, or they 
 will overwhelm me !" and he breathed a sigh so 
 deep and long drawn, as though the weight on his 
 breast impeded respiration. 
 
 The monk walked to the door, bolted it, and re- 
 turning to his seat, desired the penitent to kneel be- 
 fore him. The seal of confession is set for ever on 
 that dark disclosure a seal never broken but by 
 the command of high authority, and under circum- 
 stances of urgent and public necessity. 
 
 When the harrowing avowal of dark deeds and 
 sinful passions, which overwhelmed the hearer almost 
 as much as the perpetrator, was ended, the penitent 
 threw himself prostrate on the earth, and remained 
 some time uttering no sound, but groans and heavy 
 sighs ; at length he said, " You speak not, holy 
 father ! are my sins too heavy to be pardoned ? 
 Can you not, will you not, grant me the absolution 
 of the church ?" 
 
 " I can grant it only on the condition of repen- 
 tance and reparation, son," said the monk, forgetting
 
 284 CHILLON 
 
 all else but the solemnity of his office the most 
 awfully responsible, as exercised in the Romish 
 church, that man ever conferred on man. 
 
 ' I will make any atonement you will impose, " 
 exclaimed the penitent. " I will build churches^ 
 endow hospitals, go on pilgrimage, enrich shrines." 
 
 " This is not the atonement that will wash out 
 the stain of blood," interrupted the priest. " The 
 wealth of Golconda cannot compensate to the 
 widowed mother for the son of whom you have 
 robbed her. Gold cannot open the living tomb of 
 the murdered knight. Hospitals and alms-deeds 
 cannot restore the wasted strength of your daughter, 
 nor counteract the poison which ran through the 
 veins of her you once " 
 
 ' ' Stop, stop ! you drive me to distraction ! Tell 
 me what I can do to obtain absolution, and I will 
 obey ; but do not mock me thus cruelly !" 
 
 " I do not mock you, son," replied the father. 
 " I do but probe the sincerity of your repentance. 
 Prove it by wiping off the insult you have offered 
 the noble Di Rossi, and give him the hand of your 
 daughter." 
 
 " Never !" exclaimed the Governor, hastily rising
 
 RETRIBUTION. 285 
 
 from his knees, "never ! This is idly trifling with 
 my feelings ; denounce on me the anathemas of the 
 church I can no more." 
 
 " Those anathemas will reach you from a higher 
 quarter," replied the father coldly, " to whom I 
 must report your contumely, and under whose 
 guardianship I will place your daughter. I have 
 claims on the Duke which he will not disown ; and 
 the first service I shall request, will be, the restitu- 
 tion of the inheritance of her mother for the Lady 
 Beatrice. I vowed to that mother, whom you so 
 greatly wronged, to protect her child and I will 
 keep my word.'' 
 
 The guilty man trembled violently ; but as he was 
 silent, the monk continued " You have to choose 
 then between the sacrifice I demand, and the public 
 shame which must follow your refusal." 
 
 " But can you, a son of the church, desire me to 
 give my child to a heretic ?" asked the Governor 
 evasively. 
 
 " I ask you to fulfil your promise to Beatrice's 
 mother. I ask you to give her hand to one like- 
 minded with herself, and if in error, yet, resisting as 
 they have both done unto death, nothing will alter 
 the fixed determination of their souls. Judge then
 
 286 CHILLON. 
 
 for yourself pronounce your own doom remain 
 in your sins, or put your signature to this paper, in 
 which you profess yourself ready to restore to your 
 daughter her liberty and rights, and give her hand 
 to Di Rossi." 
 
 The Governor took the pen in his trembling fin- 
 gers. 
 
 " Wait one moment," said the monk, " I must 
 have witnesses." Then stepping to the door, he un- 
 locked it, and two persons entered the apartment. 
 " I have ventured to admit your lordship's noble 
 brother-in-law, together with one for whose services 
 I shall have further occasion," continued Father 
 Ambroise, as they approached the table. "My 
 lord of Blonay, I beg you to witness that the Sire 
 de Beaufort puts his signature without compulsion, 
 to that deed." 
 
 The Governor wrote his name, and the monk, 
 folding the paper, and placing it in his bosom said, 
 " There is yet another act of restitution which I re- 
 quire from your hands, my lord ; I demand punish- 
 ment on a murderer, and his office for one whom 
 you unjustly degraded." 
 
 The Governor seemed relieved by the lightness 
 of the task now imposed on him, and willingly 
 
 5
 
 RETRIBUTION. 287 
 
 delivered up Bertoldo to justice. " As the vicegerent 
 of the church, I place the culprit in your hands, 
 father," he said, crossing himself, " and wash mine 
 from all participation in his crime." 
 
 "You will then give orders that the wretched 
 Bertoldo, with two of your followers, do proceed im- 
 mediately to the outer door of the dungeon," said 
 Father Amhroise ; then turning to De Blonay, he 
 added, " I know I may reckon on your kind co- 
 operation, my son, in giving decent hurial to the 
 murdered man, and administering punishment to his 
 murderer." 
 
 The Count bowed, and said as he was quitting 
 the room, " We will now leave you, father, to your 
 religious offices, and in half an hour await your 
 arrival at the dungeons." 
 
 " Before you quit us," said the Governor, detain- 
 ing him, " let me inform you of my intention of 
 sending off the prisoners ere the evening arrives." 
 
 " In so doing, my lord," answered De Blonay, 
 with firmness, " I deem you would be guilty of an 
 act of injustice, in which I cannot participate; 
 since, if there be deliverance at hand for them, I 
 would not frustrate the will of Heaven." 
 
 The Governor bowed submissively, saying, he
 
 288 CHILLON. 
 
 would leave the final arrangement to him and the 
 father ; and the Count and Lenoir left the room. 
 
 When alone with the penitent, Father Ambroise 
 said solemnly, " Sire de Beaufort, you have now 
 complied with the terms of repentance that I, in the 
 name of our church, required of you ; I can there- 
 fore no longer withhold the absolution which she 
 empowers her priests to pronounce. Kneel down, 
 and receive the pardon she graciously accords 
 you !" 
 
 The Governor obeyed, and the monk, in accents 
 of blended intercession and solemnity, pronounced 
 the striking formulary used on these occasions by 
 the Komish priesthood. The solemn benediction 
 given, this indefatigable servant of God, and friend 
 of man, hastened to fulfil another painful duty, and 
 to meet his friend at the dungeon door. 
 
 We pass cursorily over the horrid scene that 
 followed. The terror of the wretched Bertoldo when 
 called on to surrender the keys of his office, and to 
 remain himself a prisoner his abject cries for 
 mercy his imprecations of vengeance, and his 
 frightful agony and remorse when sentenced to 
 occupy the cell of his murdered victim. His mer- 
 ciful judges, however, at the earnest pleading of
 
 RETRIBUTION. 289 
 
 Lenoir, consented to an exchange of cells with 
 another prisoner, who deemed the spot hallowed 
 by the death of a fellow countryman, martyred in the 
 cause, for which he himself suffered. 
 
 VOL. n.
 
 290 CHILLON. 
 
 CHAPTER XV11. 
 
 THE SIEGE OF CHILLON. 
 
 No sound of joy or sorrow 
 
 Was heard from either bank ; 
 But friends and foes in dumb surprise, 
 With parted lips, and strained eyes 
 
 Stood gazing where he sank ; 
 
 And when aboTe the surges 
 
 They saw his crest appear, 
 
 His friends sent forth a rapturous cry, 
 
 And CTen the gallant enemy 
 
 Could scarce forbear to cheer. 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 HISTORY has preserved but few details of the siege 
 of Chillon. That feudal fortress, of no more im- 
 portance than hundreds of others now sunk in ruin 
 and oblivion, owes its present celebrity not only to 
 the strength of its massive walls, and the surpassing
 
 THE SIEGE OF CHILLON. 291 
 
 beauty of its situation, but to the classic halo thrown 
 around them by genius, and yet more to the suffer- 
 ings of its celebrated prisoner Bonnivard, connected 
 as they were with that glorious struggle for religious 
 and civil liberty that immortalized the commence- 
 ment of the sixteenth century. The feeble light 
 which history has thrown over this last effort of the 
 house of Savoy in the Pays de Vaud, has enabled 
 us to trace the cowardice and treachery of one of 
 their adherents, whilst her more seductive sister, 
 Tradition, has shed a gleam over the misty waste, 
 by preserving in the romantic adventures of another, 
 one of those chivalric traits which, if not founded 
 on authentic records, meet a ready belief from all 
 generous minds. We have not essentially altered 
 or added to the scanty materials which we have col- 
 lected, being aware that, however the writer of his- 
 torical romance, like the landscape painter, may 
 adorn his sketches by imaginary groups, the out- 
 line, when professedly drawn from nature, should be 
 rigidly correct in its leading features. 
 
 The morning after the events recorded in the last 
 chapter, at an early hour, the Lady Blanche and her 
 attendants left the castle. They took with them the 
 principal articles of value belonging to the Governor, 
 
 o 2
 
 292 CHILLON. 
 
 together with several chests of treasure committed to 
 his keeping by some, of the neighbouring gentry, 
 during the late invasion of the Bernese. 
 
 The Count de Blonay was indefatigable in his en- 
 deavour to prepare for the approach of the enemy, 
 laying in stores for the siege, encouraging the garri- 
 son, and setting an example of activity and self-devo- 
 tion ; but he early perceived a supineness through- 
 out, caused by the representations of the Governor, 
 echoed by the leading officers, of the hopeless- 
 ness of defence, and the needless expenditure of 
 lives and treasure in its attempt. 
 
 The barge containing the valuable freight from 
 the castle had scarcely reached the opposite shore, 
 when the flotilla from Geneva hove in sight, consist- 
 ing of six large galleys armed aud manned. They 
 sailed majestically over the bosom of the clear 
 waters, hailing the crowds assembled along the shores, 
 and were received by them with shouts and accla- 
 mations. The Bernese troops approached at the 
 same time by land, and throwing up trenches, com- 
 menced a cannonade, which was feebly returned by 
 the besieged. The Count de Blonay could not con- 
 tend single-handed against the cowardly spirit which 
 pervaded all ranks. It was in vain he raised his
 
 THE SIEGE OF CHILLON. 293 
 
 voice in the council, or strove, by sharing the labours 
 and danger of the lowest soldier, to protract their 
 efforts of defence : at the end of two days of siege, 
 he had the grief and mortification to see the white 
 flag float on the great tower of the castle, and a 
 herald leave its gates with offers of capitulation. 
 The armed galley, called Le Petit Charlemagne, 
 quitted at the same time, its posture of defiance in 
 front of the walls, and by the command of the Go- 
 vernor, was drawn up so closely to the sides of the 
 fort, that it might easily be reached by means of a 
 gang board. 
 
 Disgusted with the base spirits he had to contend 
 with, the young cavalier left the council, and sought 
 consolation for his grieved soul in the sympathy of 
 Father Ainbroise, whom he found pacing the ram- 
 part, which had formerly been the favourite walk of 
 the Lady Beatrice. 
 
 " How delightful is this calm !" said the monk, 
 as his young friend approached ; " the deafening 
 din of war is hushed, and yon magic flag in its 
 white purity, seems characteristically to portray the 
 soft reign of peace." 
 
 De Blonay shook his head: " I can rejoice in no 
 peace which is not first purchased by victory."
 
 294 CHILLON. 
 
 " Alas, and what is victory on one side, but de- 
 feat and disappointment on the other ? I have seen 
 enough of war even during these last two days, to 
 sicken me of the high-sounding names of glory and 
 renown, with which man has glossed his avarice 
 and ambition. Be comforted, my son, thou hast 
 done all that the most devoted subject could do for 
 his prince ; but every drop of human blood that 
 flows after the last reasonable hope of resistance 
 is past, is murder, call it by what name you 
 choose." 
 
 " Yet surely, father, you cannot justify the 
 cowardice of the Governor, and the baseness of the 
 officers, in thus yielding up a fortress, whose stores 
 are undiminished, and walls unbroken." 
 
 " I cannot read the heart, but let us hope that 
 mercy may have induced them to stop the waste of 
 human life." 
 
 " And if a sense of duty and personal responsibi- 
 lity should induce me to refuse a base surrender of 
 my arms and honour into the enemy's hand, will 
 you judge me with the same lenity ?" 
 
 " I am not likely to show more partiality to the 
 Sire de Beaufort than to thee, my son," said Father 
 Ambroise, with a sweet smile ; " but what can tf
 
 THE SIEGE OF CHILLON. 295 
 
 unassisted arm do, impelled though it be by thy 
 chivalric soul, to prevent the fall of Chillon ?" 
 
 " Nothing but it may ward off the dishonour of 
 yielding my sword into the invader's hand." 
 
 The monk started, and looking fixedly at his 
 companion, said, " What mean these dark hints, De 
 Blonay? Thou art a Christian, and wilt lay no 
 unhallowed hand on thy life, to escape from what 
 even men do not call disgrace, and God entitles 
 submission." 
 
 The young man smiled affectionately, but the 
 transient gleam was soon overcast by a more than 
 usual shade. " Fear me not, dear Christian friend," 
 he said, whilst he grasped the monk's hand, " the 
 " last sand of the hour-glass shall flow unchecked 
 by me, even though each grain be marked by heavi- 
 ness and pain. But see ! the herald has crossed 
 the bridge, and has reached the enemy's trenches. 
 Why the surly bears will hardly deign to gnaw the 
 bone thus thrown to them without a struggle !" 
 
 " Their leader is merciful as he is brave, and 
 would not willingly stain the laurels that he has 
 reaped on foreign fields, with his countrymen's 
 blood," observed the monk. " That tall form which
 
 296 CHILLON. 
 
 advances to meet the herald is he. I had the 
 honour of frequent intercourse with him whilst at 
 Berne. Methinks, so deep an impression has his 
 worth and courtesy made on me, that I seem, even 
 at this distance, to hear the gentle accents of his 
 voice." 
 
 " I would fain hear them also, father, if you will 
 be his interpreter. The herald waits for the com- 
 bined decision of the chiefs, whom I see assemble 
 near him the general turns to him now what 
 does he say ?" 
 
 " Without any assumption of witchcraft or astro- 
 logy, I think I can venture to predict the words of 
 Fran9ois Neugli from my knowledge of his cha- 
 racter." 
 
 " Proceed then, father, or the messenger will be 
 back ere you have established your fame for sooth- 
 saying." 
 
 " Well, then, the Bernese general offers the gar- 
 rison of Chillon safe conduct to die borders of their 
 own country nay, more, he gives them time to 
 collect their goods, and to go out with them and 
 their arms, demanding only the walls, and the 
 prisoners."
 
 THE SIEGE OF CHILLON. 297 
 
 " Those are fair and generous terms." 
 
 " And such as even a De Blonay should not 
 scruple to accept." 
 
 " Perhaps not," said the young man, hesitatingly ; 
 " but at any rate, the Governor of Chillon will not 
 be so scrupulous as to reject them, for here he 
 comes, ready accoutred to meet the conference 
 but why does he cross the court of the castle so 
 hastily ?" 
 
 " Let us come a little on this side, De Blonay," 
 said Father Ambroise, drawing his companion into 
 a watch-tower which commanded a more unimpeded 
 view. " Tell me, are tliey not drawing up the 
 bridge ? and who is that now stepping on board Le 
 Petit Charlemagne ? It surely cannot be the Sire 
 de Beaufort !" 
 
 " Dastardly coward !" exclaimed the young sol- 
 dier ; " the Governor flies, and leaves his garrison 
 at the mercy of a justly enraged enemy !" 
 
 Saying these words, he flew, rather than ran, across 
 the rampart, and bounded over the steps that led to 
 the court of the castle ; but ere he had reached it, 
 his worst fears were more than realised. 
 
 We have seen that the drawbridge was raised ; 
 at the same time, the galley belonging to the castle 
 
 o 5
 
 298 CHILLON. 
 
 drew nearer to its walls, and the Governor, descend- 
 ing hastily to the rocks that projected at their hase, 
 crossed the gang-board and stepped into it.* In 
 an instant, forty oars were plunged into the water, 
 as if springing from the sides of the vessel, so art- 
 fully had they, and those who guided them, been 
 concealed ; and ere the thought of treachery 
 had crossed the enemy's mind, the vessel had 
 launched wide into the lake. A loud cry of " trea- 
 son ! treason !" burst from their ranks, and shot, 
 thick as hail, rattled over the lake, now buried 
 beneath its limpid waters, and then rising and hiss- 
 ing along its surface. The Genevan fleet, furious 
 at what they supposed to be the treacherous ab- 
 straction of the prisoners they came to rescue, grasped 
 their oars, and crowded sail in the pursuit : at the 
 same time, a deep curse on the cowardice of their 
 commander escaped from every mouth in the garri- 
 son. The soldiery awaited in fearful expectation 
 the renewed attack of an enemy justly exasperated 
 by this act of treachery in the moment of negotia- 
 tion ; but the wise and temperate Bernese leader 
 satisfied by the assurance of the herald that the caj 
 tives were yet secure in the dungeons of the castle 
 * See note N.
 
 THE SIEGE OF CHILLON. 299 
 
 did all in their power to curb the impatience and 
 calm the resentment of their followers, whilst De 
 Blonay seized on the moment as propitious for en- 
 deavouring to rouse the courage of the garrison 
 but his promises and reproofs were alike abortive. 
 They threw the blame of defeat on the avarice of 
 their commander ; and instead of endeavouring to 
 obliterate the odium thus cast on them, remained 
 inertly watching the flying bark and its pursuers. 
 When it had crossed the lake about half way, the 
 Genevan galleys gained on the fugitive, but having 
 thrown its guns overboard, Le Petit Charlemagne 
 darted on with increased speed, and was soon an- 
 chored in ignominious safety beneath the sheltering 
 coast and arms of Savoy. 
 
 After some further debate, the Bernese general 
 determined on sending back the herald with the 
 offer of terms, more rigid than those at first proposed 
 to the garrison of Chillon, before the disgraceful 
 flight of the Governor inasmuch as it now called 
 on them to lay down their arms, and evacuate the 
 fortress at the end of two hours. These terms, how- 
 ever humiliating, were acceded to by Colonel Dufour, 
 and all the rest of the officers excepting the Count de 
 Blonay, who, nevertheless, perceiving the utter use-
 
 300 CHILLON. 
 
 lessness of any further remonstrance, resigned him- 
 self to the necessity of bidding a last adieu to 
 Chillon. 
 
 And now, whilst the forces of the Duke of Savoy 
 reluctantly prepare to yield up their hold on the 
 beautiful country won by the valour of his renowned 
 ancestor, the invading armies of Berne and Geneva 
 pant to throw open the gates of the hitherto impene- 
 trable dungeons. It was a moment of intense, 
 though conflicting interest to both parties, when, 
 at the expiration of the acceded time, the roll of the 
 drum called on the besieged to assemble in the court 
 of the castle. A long blast of the trumpet was next 
 heard a melancholy protracted note, returned in 
 echoes from the rocks, and dying gradually along 
 the waters. All was stilled at the sound ; not a sol- 
 dier stirred in the ranks of Berne not an oar moved 
 the waters around the Genevan galleys. The draw- 
 bridge was lowered the gates of the castle thrown 
 open, and a party was seen slowly issuing from its 
 court. In front, walked the Count de Blonay, 
 accompanied by Father Ambroise, and attended by 
 Lenoir and a groom, who with difficulty reined in 
 the fiery impatience of the richly- caparisoned war- 
 horse which he led. The Count was dressed with a 

 
 THE SIEGE OF CHILLON. 30 J 
 
 magnificence more suited to a conquering, than a 
 vanquished knight, and he walked with an erect port 
 and measured step ; he wore a vest of dark velvet 
 richly embroidered, and a large two-handed sword 
 hung over his shoulder, the sheath of which was 
 ornamented with gold studs, and the hilt set in 
 brilliants. Father Ambroise walked at his right 
 hand, bare-headed, and carrying the crucifix so often 
 noticed. The groom who followed, was dressed in a 
 rich livery, and held a small flag, displaying on a 
 dark ground, the cross and star of Savoy whilst his 
 companion Lenoir, habited in the gorgeous trappings 
 of a warder, a bunch of ponderous keys hanging at 
 his belt, gave, by his gigantic form, and dark coun- 
 tenance, the last shading to the singular yet pictu- 
 resque group. Imagining that they intended to offer 
 some fresh terms of capitulation, General Neugli and 
 his staff, who stood in front of their lines, came 
 forward a few steps to meet the advancing party, 
 as they slowly crossed the bridge; but these ac- 
 knowledging the courtesy by a deep reverence, 
 turned from them, and mounting a grassy knoll 
 on the right which sloped gently down to the edge 
 of the lake, stood in the centre of the invading 
 forces. Here the Count de Blonay, placing one
 
 302 CHILLON. 
 
 knee on the earth, took off his sword and gave it 
 to the monk, who in return, placed in his hands the 
 precious crucifix. Having reverentially kissed the 
 relic, he held it whilst the father pronounced a 
 solemn benediction over his hended head; then 
 rising and returning it, he vaulted lightly into the 
 saddle, throwing the reins on the neck of his 
 charger, who stood obedient to his master's voice. 
 In this situation, the young soldier remained a few 
 brief moments, contemplating the living wall of foes 
 which rose on one side, and the waste of waters which 
 encircled him on the other, as if irresolute which 
 path to choose ; when taking the banner from the 
 hand of his servant, whilst his whole form was di- 
 lated by indomitable resolution, he waved it slowly 
 several times around his head, and turning his horse 
 towards the lake, they plunged together into its 
 waters. Astonishment, mixed with admiration, 
 kept the countless spectators in breathless suspense, 
 as the animal and its rider struggled bravely amid 
 the waves. The decks of the galleys, and the ram- 
 parts of Chillon, sent forth a mingled cheer 
 of encouragement and esteem whilst the Ber- 
 nese, partaking the generous enthusiasm of their 
 captain, joined the stronger accents of their northern
 
 THE SIEGE OF CHILLON. 303 
 
 tongue, to the softer salutations of the south, ex- 
 claiming, " Success to the horse and his rider ! 
 Long life to the true and the hrave !"* When they 
 had diminished to a speck on the face of the waters, 
 and could scarcely be discerned by the keenest eye, 
 Father Ambrose rose from his knees, on which he 
 had thrown himself, and advanced to meet General 
 Neugli. 
 
 " You and your young hero, father," said the 
 Bernese captain, " have placed us in a situation of 
 greater peril, even than that in which you yourselves 
 stood. One unguarded shot would have tarnished 
 the lustre of a day, which I trust will descend to 
 posterity as one of the brightest in our history.*' 
 
 "Next to Heaven, my general," replied Father 
 Ambroise, " I trusted to your brave Bernese, and you 
 see I did not trust in vain. The young man will 
 doubtless be perceived and aided from the opposite 
 shore, since Chillon is at this moment an object of 
 too much interest to permit any one to leave its 
 walls unobserved. 
 
 " I hope you may be right, father," said the general. 
 The Savoyards, I am well aware, will use every effort 
 to meet their young hero, and convey him in safety 
 
 * Note 0. 
 8
 
 304 CHILLON. 
 
 to the shores he has ennobled; but the enterprise 
 was fraught with peril." 
 
 " He would not believe anything impossible to 
 fidelity and courage ; and besides what he considered 
 the dishonour of leaving his post, disarmed and 
 vanquished, I suspect his secret wish was to redeem 
 the dishonour done to the cause of Savoy from the 
 dastardly cowardice of its other adherents, by shed- 
 ding a parting lustre on its arms. Yet think not I 
 sanctioned the daring enterprise, though I could 
 not refuse to execute the commission entrusted to 
 me by my young friend to beg that this sword, 
 to prevent the surrender of which he has perilled 
 his life, may be hung up in the ancestral halls he 
 has now for ever vacated." 
 
 Saying this, Father Ambroise would have pre- 
 sented the weapon to the General, but Neugli drew 
 back, and whispered a few words to his aide-de- 
 camp. 
 
 " Keep it," he said, " until you can deliver it 
 into the hand of his kinsman. Although I trust 
 that Fran9ois Neugli may reckon amongst his friends 
 all the generous and true, yet standing in his public 
 position as opposed to De Blonay, even he may not 
 touch that trusty blade ; here," he continued, as a
 
 THE SIEGE OF CHILLON. 305 
 
 young officer approached with the aide-de-camp, 
 " is a scion of his own nohle house. Take this 
 sword, De Blonay, hang it high in the halls of your 
 forefathers, that all who look on it may he reminded 
 of the unshaken truth, and disinterested loyalty of 
 him who bore it." 
 
 A tear glistened in the youthful soldier's eye, 
 even whilst a flush of pride and pleasure mantled 
 his cheek, as he knelt to receive the valuable 
 charge from the hand of Father Ambroise, who, in 
 rendering it up, breathed a pious benediction over 
 his young head. 
 
 " And now," said the General, " the day wears ; 
 we must not forget that we have a great work to do, 
 that there are prisoners to be freed." 
 
 " For that purpose, General, I have brought one 
 anxious to open their dungeons," said Father Am- 
 broise, pointing to Lenoir; " and I would myself 
 fain participate in the delightful task." 
 
 " In which I fear we shall have but too many 
 competitors," returned Neugli, " I tremble for 
 the sudden inroad of light and sound." 
 
 " Cannot you set the captives secretly at liberty ?" 
 asked Father Ambroise. 
 
 " It would scarcely be politic, even if it were
 
 306 CHILLON. 
 
 possible," replied the General. " This, however, it 
 is not, for the moment the garrison evacuates, the 
 castle must be delivered up to sack and plunder. 
 I will now go forward and receive the keys of the 
 fortress, and the capitulation of its former oc- 
 cupants." 
 
 In another hour the castle of Chillon had passed 
 from the dominion of Savoy to that of Berne. An 
 advance guard was posted within the gates to prevent 
 the entrance of any beneath a certain rank, either 
 in the Bernese or Genevan forces ; the rush, not- 
 withstanding, was considerable, and the name of 
 Bonnivard was repeated with thundering acclama- 
 tion, until it penetrated into the captive's dungeon, 
 and jarred in its intensity almost as much on his 
 delicate organs, as the accents of disaster and grief. 
 Such is man ! 
 
 " A harp, whose chords elude the sight," 
 
 trembling alike at the touch of joy or woe ! Bonni- 
 vard, the sage, the hero, the Christian, he who 
 stood firm in adversity, now sinks into weakness, as 
 the flaming torches strike on his dilated eye, nnd 
 the loud huzzas pierce his tender ear. The impa- 
 tient soldiers attempted to break open the door of
 
 THE SIEGE OF CHILLON. 307 
 
 his cell, ere Lenoir could struggle through the 
 crowd to unlock it and when he had done so, they 
 pushed him aside, seized on the captive, and bore 
 him to the outer door of the dungeon. 
 
 " For the love of Heaven, sirs, be patient," cried 
 out Lenoir, as he exerted his giant strength in fol- 
 lowing them. 
 
 Bonnivard turned at the well-known voice me- 
 mory and her thousand associations awoke, and he 
 threw himself into the arms of his compassionating 
 jailer; then raising his head as they reached the 
 threshold of the prison, he looked back on the me- 
 lancholy abode of six years' solitary confinement, 
 and burst into tears ! tears, it is said, of regret 
 but who shall attempt to analyze those mingled 
 drops that fall from human eyes ! The fountain of 
 our tears, unlike all other springs, can send forth, 
 at the same moment, sweet and bitter waters.* 
 When Bonnivard was conveyed into the upper 
 world, General Neugli, and the principals of each 
 army, approached to receive, and convey him to an 
 inner apartment, where he was furnished with every 
 accommodation, and left with one attendant, to 
 
 * See note P.
 
 308 CHILLON. 
 
 recover his agitated spirits. In the interim, the 
 services of Lenoir were loudly called for. Cell 
 after cell was opened, and the captives they con- 
 tained restored to the arms of their friends. 
 
 The reader has already learnt that the subterra- 
 nean dungeon of Chillon contained at that time, 
 seven separate cells. The first was empty its two 
 former inmates rejoicing in the fulness of that 
 liberty which has no earthly clog. From the next 
 three cells were released as many deputies from the 
 cantons, who had long been unjustly detained ; then 
 came the vacant dungeon of Bonnivard, and from 
 the one adjoining issued an emaciated Genevese, 
 who, together with a brother- soldier, since dead, had 
 been placed in confinement after the battle of 
 Guiguins. There remained yet another cell un- 
 opened and at the door of this Lenoir hesitated. 
 
 " Do your duty, " exclaimed the impatient crowd ; 
 " unlock the door !" 
 
 " If you will permit, good sirs," said he, " we 
 will leave this fellow until we ask his excellency the 
 General what his pleasure may be respecting him. 
 He is a Savoyard, and " 
 
 " No, no !" vociferated several of the bystanders ;
 
 THE SIEGE OF CHILLON. 309 
 
 " our General will not suffer any one to remain in 
 bonds on such a day. Slip his collar, and let the 
 poor dog free !" 
 
 " You will not harm him, nohle sirs !" 
 
 " Harm him !" repeated their leader, a young 
 Genevan officer. D'ye take us for cannibals? 
 Open the door, I say !" 
 
 Lenoir reluctantly turned the key, and the officer 
 entered the cell. Ordering one of the soldiers to 
 approach with a torch, they discovered lying, or 
 rather coiled up in a corner, beneath a heap of 
 straw, the wretched Bertoldo. 
 
 " What have we here ?" exclaimed the officer, re- 
 moving with his sword the covering from the ill- 
 shaped lump, " snake or lizard ? Unroll thyself, 
 reptile ! Thou verily art an ill-visaged knave, and 
 a Savoyard to boot ; but we will not stain our good 
 blades with thy slime. Nay, off! off! I like not 
 thy clammy touch ! I tell thee, I mean thee no 
 harm. Why dost thou beslabber me thus ?" he 
 continued, shaking off the terrified and grovelling 
 wretch, who clung to him with his long lean arms, 
 his skinny fingers taking fresh hold, as fast as the 
 officer disengaged himself from their tenacious hold. 
 " Here, jailer seneschal ! for thou art too fine a
 
 310 CHILLON. 
 
 fellow for the first calling get me quit of this jab- 
 bering idiot, or I may do him some harm." 
 
 As he spoke, and ere Lenoir could secure the re- 
 treat of the trembling wretch, the Genevan soldier 
 who had been liberated from the adjacent cell, took 
 the arm of his fellow-citizen, saying ; as he led him 
 from that of Bertoldo, " Close the door, we will ex- 
 amine into the case to-morrow ; but we must not set 
 at liberty the murderer of my comrade." 
 
 The bystanders caught the dreadful import of his 
 words they had sought in vain for their missing 
 fellow-countryman, and at this intimation of his 
 fate, the vaults resounded with imprecations on his 
 murderer. " To the gibbet ! to the gibbet !" ex- 
 claimed ahundred voices, hoarse with vengeance and 
 deaf alike to the expostulations of Lenoir and the com- 
 mand of their officers, they seized on Bertoldo, hur- 
 ried him into the outer dungeon, and having passed 
 a rope around his neck, suspended him from the gal- 
 lows. A few piercing screams of agony a few 
 writhings of expiring nature, and earthly suffer- 
 ing was ended, and his spirit in the presence of his 
 offended Judge !" * 
 
 The crowd having executed this summary act of 
 
 See note Q.
 
 THE SIEGE OF CHILLON. 311 
 
 retribution, now quitted the dungeons, intent on the 
 plunder of the castle, leaving Lenoir alone with their 
 yet quivering victim. 
 
 " Thou hast justly merited thy fate !" he ex- 
 claimed, apostrophising the ghastly spectacle, " but 
 hundreds of innocent men have perished on that 
 same gallows. O may Heaven grant that the groan 
 of human suffering may never again echo from these 
 guilty walls!" 
 
 The castle was now given up to indiscriminate 
 plunder ; alas ! that man cannot perform an act of 
 justice without tarnishing it by rapacity and re- 
 venge ! The beautiful apartments of the Duke were 
 despoiled, not only of their costly furniture, but of 
 the silver which was inlaid in their ceilings. The 
 chapel was plundered, the tombs desecrated ; and 
 when the secrets of the great prison-house were 
 brought to light, it is supposed the mysterious roof 
 in poor Cottier's apartment was discovered, and 
 Bertoldo's ill-gotten treasures taken from their 
 hiding-place. One dark, lone, spot remained unex- 
 plored, the ashes of the martyred knight lay un- 
 molested, until three centuries had mouldered all but 
 a few bones, which, with the badge of knighthood,
 
 312 CHILLON. 
 
 were found enveloped in the coarse winding-sheet, in 
 which his dying limbs were wrapped. 
 
 On the second morning after the taking of the 
 fortress of Chillon, the returning flotilla hove in sight 
 of Geneva, whose quays and ramparts looked like 
 living walls Every street had poured forth its in- 
 habitants the young, the old, the rich, the poor, 
 all alike anxious to welcome their emancipated cap- 
 tives, to greet their victorious fellow- citizens, and 
 above all, to hail the return of one who had suffered 
 so long and so devotedly in the cause of Geneva 
 and of truth. The name of Bonnivard was repeated 
 by every tongue, until even infancy had learnt to 
 lisp it, and clap its little hands in imitative joy. 
 And now, as the white sails and floating pennons 
 heave in sight, one lofty bark, conspicuous above the 
 rest, advances first towards the quay, gliding majes- 
 tically over the bosom of the tranquil lake. Every 
 eye is strained to view its inmates to discern the 
 idolised Bonnivard. Yes,it is he ! They can dis- 
 cern his still commanding form in the prow of the 
 vessel, and around him are his emancipated fellow- 
 sufferers ; but whence that melancholy group near 
 them ? that sable bier those mourners ? O, who
 
 SIEGE OF CHILLON. 313 
 
 that had a friend amongst the captives, but dreaded 
 to find him there. 
 
 The galley nears the port amid stunning accla- 
 mations the hero of the day and his companions 
 are borne through streets lined with spectators, and 
 strewn with flowers, to the council-chamber. But 
 the bier and the mourning train stop at the mansion 
 of Cottier's mother. 
 
 VOL. II.
 
 CONCLUDING NOTICE. 
 
 AND Bonnivard, the prisoner of Chillon ! In de- 
 picting all that remains of his eventful life, we must 
 be content with the few faint lines which the pen of 
 history enables us to trace. 
 
 He lived many years after his release from cap- 
 tivity mingled once more with his fellow-men 
 returned to the busy strivings of political life, and 
 left to after generations a copious history of his 
 own times, the beautiful manuscript of which is still 
 preserved in the public library of Geneva. This, 
 however, furnishes but little information of a per- 
 sonal nature. 
 
 It is related of him, that the powers of abstrac- 
 tion and imagination which had converted his
 
 CONCLUDING NOTICE. 315 
 
 solitary cell into the academy or senate-house, 
 enabling him to draw around him, as hy the 
 spell of a powerful enchanter, the great and good 
 of all nations and ages, were not weakened hy 
 a return to the peopled scenes of life; and that 
 shutting himself up with his Bible and his favourite 
 authors of ancient Greece and Eome, he felt as 
 much abstracted amid the busy hum of men, as in 
 the solitude and silence of his cell. 
 
 All research has failed in tracing the history of 
 Bonnivard's last days. It is well known, however, 
 that he lived to an advanced age, and as his death 
 is nowhere recorded in the registers or archives of 
 the city, those who have most diligently investigated 
 them, suppose it to have taken place in the year 
 1570, during the ravages of the plague, when the 
 bills of mortality were discontinued, and that he 
 probably fell a sacrifice to that dreadful malady. 
 Some historians, however, have adopted an earlier 
 date for it, placing it in the year 1556, just twenty 
 years after his liberation from captivity ; but what- 
 ever difference of opinion may exist respecting the 
 exact period at which it took place, all seem to 
 agree in the pleasing assurance of its having been 
 preceded by an honourable old age.
 
 316 CHILLON. 
 
 The place of Bonnivard's interment remains a 
 secret which even conjecture has not ventured to 
 disturb and it is one we have little wish to un- 
 ravel, or cause to regret since why should we seek 
 the spot that contains only the dust returned to 
 its kindred earth, when we have the tomb in which 
 the living man so long bore his testimony to the 
 truth ; so long suffered in that great cause, that 
 moral earthquake, which shook all the nations of 
 Europe that salutary tempest, during which our 
 catholic and apostolic church, emerging from the 
 clouds and darkness in which the weakness and 
 wickedness of man had enveloped her, cast indig- 
 nantly away the broken cisterns of human tradition 
 and invention, and returned, with her pristine zeal 
 and love, to the unsullied and unfailing stream which 
 flows direct from the 
 
 LIVING ROCK!
 
 IN'OTES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 NOTE A. Page 94. 
 
 THE Bible was printed at Neuchatel, on the 5th of June, 
 1535, in the French language, a folio edition by Pierre de 
 Winzel, called Pirot Picard- from the type of his book, 
 Picard de Nation. The Neuchatolois granted him the free- 
 dom of their city for his beautiful and correct execution of 
 the important task. The Sacred Book bore the following 
 title : " La Bible qui est toute la sainte Ecriture ;" and as 
 motto, "Dieu est tout." It was translated by Olevetan, 
 aided by Calvin, and five hundred gold crowns were fur- 
 nished by the poor Protestants of the Vaudois valleys, to 
 defray the expenses of its publication; a generosity which we 
 cannot sufficiently estimate, and which is thus acknow- 
 edged in some verses placed at the beginning of the Bible. 
 
 " Les Vaudois, peuples evangeliques 
 Ont mit ce tresor en publique."
 
 318 NOTES. 
 
 NOTE B. Page 156. 
 
 At the annual meeting of the Societe de la Suisse Ro- 
 mande, which was held in the month of August, 1842, at 
 the castle of Chillon, one of the members read an interest- 
 ing notice extracted from an ancient historian, of the deten- 
 tion therein of Waldo, abbot of Corbie, by his relation, the 
 Emperor Louis le Pieux, in the year 830, a much earlier date 
 than is usually affixed to its venerable walls. Many other 
 proofs of their high antiquity, drawn from the archives of 
 Sion, were at the same time brought forward by the learned 
 antiquarian. 
 
 NOTE C. Page 194. 
 
 The holy Sacrament was carried through the city (Paris) 
 in great pomp ; Francis walked uncovered before it, bearing 
 a torch in his hand ; the princes of the blood supported the 
 canopy over it ; the nobles marched in order behind. In 
 the presence of this numerous assembly, the king declared, 
 that if one of his hands were infected with heresy, he would 
 cut it off with the other, and would not spare even his own 
 children if found guilty of that crime. As a dreadful proof 
 of his being in earnest, six unhappy persons were publicly 
 burnt before the procession was finished, with circum- 
 stances of the most shocking barbarity attending their ex 
 ecution. Robertson's History of Charles 5th, vol. ii. p. 212.
 
 NOTES. 319 
 
 NOTE D. Page 210. 
 Form of Absolution used by Tetzel. 
 
 May our Lord Jesus Christ have mercy upon thee, and 
 absolve thee, by the merits of His most holy passion. And 
 I, by His authority, that of his blessed apostles Peter and 
 Paul, and of the most holy Pope, granted and committed to 
 me in these parts, do absolve thee, first from all ecclesias- 
 tical censures, and then from all thy sins, transgressions, 
 and excesses, how enormous soever they may be, even from 
 such as are reserved for the cognisance of the holy See ; and 
 as far as the keys of the holy Church extend, I remit to you 
 all punishment which you deserve in purgatory on their 
 account, and I restore you to the holy sacraments of the 
 Church, to the unity of the faithful, and to that innocence 
 and purity which you possessed at baptism ; so that, when 
 you die, the gates of punishment shall be shut, and the 
 gates of the paradise of delights shall be opened ; and if you 
 should not die at present, this grace shall remain in full force 
 when you are at the point of death. In the name of the 
 Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Robertson's 
 History of Charles 5th, vol. ii. p. 122. 
 
 NOTE F. Page 254. 
 
 " Redeem then," says St. Eloy or Egidius, Bishop of 
 Noyon, one of the canonized saints of the Church of Rome, 
 of the 7th century, " Redeeem then your souls from destruc-
 
 320 NOTES. 
 
 tion, whilst you have the means in your power ; offer pre- 
 sents and tithes to churchmen ; come more frequently to 
 church ; humbly implore the patronage of the saints ; for 
 if you observe these things you may come with security in 
 the day of retribution to the tribunal of the Eternal Judge, 
 . and say, " Give to us O Lord, for we have given unto Thee." 
 Mosheim's Eccles. Hist, vol i. p. 324. 
 
 NOTE G. Page 342. 
 
 The concealed cavity and staircase here described, was 
 accidently discovered by a mason, who inhabited the cham- 
 ber assigned to Cottier, whilst employed in the annual re- 
 pairs of the castle. 
 
 NOTE H. Page 342. 
 
 It is an historical fact, that both Pierre and his countess 
 were buried at Chillon, although no trace of their remains 
 have been discovered. It is conjectured that their tombs 
 were ransacked by the Bernese troops in search of the 
 treasures they were supposed to contain. The vault in which 
 they were deposited is still pointed out, but the ground has 
 been raised ten or twelve feet there, as well as in the little 
 cemetery beyond. 
 
 NOTE I. Page 348. 
 
 Bonnivard often composed verses whilst pacing his nar- 
 row cell : or held imaginary conversations with persons of 
 celebrity amongst the ancients. Chroniques.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 NOTE, p. 46. 
 
 In the summer of 1840, Madame V discovered a 
 
 subterranean dungeon in a tower of the castle, opposite to 
 that in which the oubliettes before known, are situated. 
 Observing a niche in the wall, such as usually contains the 
 image of the Virgin, she informed the author that she caused 
 the floor to be opened, and found, as she expected, an open- 
 ing into some underground dungeons. A chimney-sweeper 
 was induced, by the promised reward of a five-franc piece, to 
 descend into them with ropes ; but he was so terrified that he 
 demanded to be quickly drawn up into a purer atmosphere. 
 He remained, however, long enough to collect some human 
 bones, a rusty spur, and a coarse cloth of goat's hair. The 
 latter was lying at the door of the chamber as late as the 
 summer of 1843, and may possibly still remain ; since the su- 
 perintendence of the castle has passed into the hands of those 
 little interested in its historical or legendary recollections.
 
 322 NOTES. 
 
 NOTE, p. 60. 
 
 The torture-chamber at Chillon still contains the post to 
 which the victim was bound. The instruments of torture 
 have not many years been removed from thence. Mademoi- 
 selle C., the daughter of a former commandant, told the 
 author that they were always kept there during the time she 
 resided in the castle. 
 
 NOTE, page 63. 
 
 LC Comte de Savoie recut, comme le present le plus 
 precieuse, 1'anneau du St. Martyr, chef de la legion The- 
 baine. Get anneau etoit d'autant plus venere que les Rois 
 de Bourgogne s'en servaient pour sceller la prise de posses- 
 sion de leur etats. C'etait dans cette Abbaye (celle de St. 
 Maurice) qu'ils venaient en recevoir 1'investiture, et se faire 
 couronner, A leur initiation, nos Princes se servirent ensuite 
 de ce meme anneau pour sceller les grands acts de leur ad- 
 ministration. Le grand Pierre en fit un si grand cas, qu'il 
 le prit pour ea devise 
 
 Sacro hoc pignore felix 
 Heureux par ce pieux gage. 
 
 Miiller. 
 
 NOTE, page 73. 
 
 Any one who has entered the dungeon of Chillon after 
 the setting of the sun, in a clear autumnal evening, must be
 
 NOTES. 32$ 
 
 well aware of the sudden illumination here described. We 
 have been told that Turner has taken his view of these dun- 
 geons at this felicitous moment. 
 
 NOTE, page 75. 
 
 Words said actually to have been uttered by Charles and 
 Bonnivard, during a similar interview. 
 
 NOTE K. Page 105. 
 
 The bent bar still remains in the widow, from which a Savoy 
 gentleman is said to have made his escape. It is in a room 
 rarely shown to strangers, and having been evidently used 
 as a place of confinement. 
 
 NOTE L. Page 172. 
 
 When the deputies from Berne visited Fribourg, previous 
 to their last offers of assistance to the Genevans, they found 
 the chief magistrates of the city engaged as here described 
 in organising the Fete des Fous. They were, at the mo- 
 ment of Monsieur Neugli's and his colleague's entrance, en- 
 deavouring to prevail on a young priest to take on 
 himself the personification of King Balthazar. Archives de 
 Berne. 
 
 NOTE M. Page 254. 
 
 Mademoiselle C., daughter of a former Concierge of 
 Chillon, informed the author that a young Englishman,
 
 324 NOTES. 
 
 doubting the possibility of passing through the narrow loop- 
 hole, through which the young Cottier is said to have 
 jumped into the lake, was furnished by her with ropes and 
 ladders for making the experiment, which succeeded. 
 
 NOTE N. Page 298. 
 
 Ce ful le 29 de Mars, 1536, apres deux jours de siege seul- 
 ment, que Chillon fut pris par les Bernois et les Genevois. 
 II n'y eut pas de resistance serieuse. La Chatelain s'en fuit 
 lachement; tandis qu'on parlementait, le capitainne de la 
 grande Galere s'en fugait avec sa nef en si grand hute et de 
 si bon cceur que Messrs, de Geneve n'ont sut 1'atteindre. 
 Le Chroniquer de la Suisse Romande. 
 
 NOTE O. Page 303. 
 
 Un seul homme, si Ton eut croit la tradition, jeta un reflet 
 de gloire sur les derniers moments du regne des Dues de Sa- 
 voie dans le Pays de Vaud, c'etait un De Blonay. On raconte 
 que, fort attache a la religion de ses peres, et a ses anciens 
 maitres, il se precipita a cheval dans le lac pour s'echapper a 
 la flotilla qui entourait le chateau, gagna a la nage la rive du 
 chablais, et fut recu a la cour avec la plus rare distinction. 
 Le peuples s'empara de cette merveilleuse progresse, et la 
 racontra au loin : il ne lui vint pas dans la pensee que rien 
 peut etre impossible a la fidelite et au courage. Notice sur 
 Chillon extraite des Memoires Historiques du feu Monsieur 
 Ann Joseph. Channoinede la Cathedrale de Siori.
 
 NOTES. 325 
 
 NOTE P. Page 307- 
 
 On a dit que Bonnivard a etc quelque temps comme sans 
 savoir ce qu'on lui voulait, et comme s'il lui eut ete indifferent 
 de revoir le ciel. On dit encore, qu'au moment de franchir, 
 le seuil de la prison, il s'est retourne, et que son regard 
 humide a fait un long adieu a tout ce qu'il laissait. Chro- 
 niques. 
 
 NOTE Q. Page 310. 
 
 Outside the principal dungeon of Chillon, between the 
 chapel and the staircase leading to the Salle de Justice, the 
 traveller is still shown a beam, now black with age, as the 
 potence or gibbet ; and tradition adds, that the last person 
 who suffered on it was a murderer, found in the dungeons 
 at the time of the release of Bonnivard. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY G. J. PALMER, SAVOY STREET, STRAND.
 
 A 000127324 2