Picciola. The prisoner of Finestrella

Front matter

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PRISONER OF FINESTRELLA:

OR,

Chapter I

Charles Veramont, Count de Charney, whose name is not wholly effaced from the annals of modern science, and may be found inscribed in the mysterious archives of the police under Napoleon, was endowed by nature with an uncommon capacity for study. Unluckily, however, his intelligence of mind, schooled by the forms of a college education, had taken a disputatious turn. He was an able logician rather than a sound reasoner; and there was in Charney the composition of a learned man, but not of a philosopher.

At twenty-five, the count was master of seven languages ; but instead of following the example of certain learned Polyglots, who seem to acquire foreign idioms for the express purpose of exposing their incapacity to the contempt of foreigners, as well as of their own countrymen, through a confusion of tongues, as well as intellect, Charney regarded his acquirements as a linguist only as a stepping-stone to others of higher value. Commanding the services of so many menials of the intellect, he assigned to each his business, his duty, his fields to cultivate. The Germans served him for metaphysics; the English and Italians for politics and jurisprudence ; all for history ; to the remotest sources of which he travelled in company with the Romans, Greeks, and Hebrews.

In devoting himself to these serious studies, the count did not neglect the accessory sciences. Till at length, alarmed by the extent of the vast horizon, which seemed to expand as he advanced ; finding himself stumble at every step in the labyrinth in which he was bewildered — weary of the pursuit of Truth — (the unknown goddess,) — he began to contemplate history as the lie of ages, and attempted to reconstruct the edifice on a surer foun-

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dation. He composed a new historical romance, which the learned derided from envy, and society from ignorance.

Political and legislative science furnished him with more positive groundwork ; but these, from one end of Europe to the other, were crying aloud for Reform ; and when he tried to specify a few of the more flagrant abuses, they proved so deeply rooted in the social system, — so many destinies wera based on a fallacious principle, that he was actually discouraged. Charney had not the strength of mind, or insensibility of heart, indispensable to overthrow, in other nations, all that the tornado of the Revolution had left standing in his own.

He recollected, too, that hosts of estimable men, as learned, and perhaps as well-intentioned as himself, professed theories in totaJ opposition to his own. If he were to set the four quarters of the globe on fire for the mere satisfaction of a chimera? This consideration, more startling than even his historical doubts, reduced him to the most painful perplexity.

Metaphysics afforded him a last resource. In the ideal world, an overthrow is less alarming; since ideas may clash without danger in infinite space. In waging such a war, he no longer risked the safety of others; he endangered only his own peace of mind.

The farther he advanced into the mysteries of metaphysical science, analyzing, arguing, disputing, — the more deeply he became enveloped in darkness and mystery. Truth, ever flying from his grasp, vanishing under his gaze, seemed to deride him like the mockery of a will-o'-the-wisp, shining to delude the unwary. When he paused to admire its luminous brilliancy, all suddenly grew dark ; the meteor having disappeared to shine again on some remote and unexpected point ; and when, persevering and tenacious, Charney armed himself with patience, followed with steady steps, and attained the sanctuary, the fugitive was gone again ! This time he had overstepped the mark ! When he fancied the meteor was in his hand — grasped firmly in his hand — it had already slipped through his fingers, multiplying into a thousand brilliant and delusive particles. Twenty rival truths perplexed the horizon of his mind, like so many false beacons beguiling him to shipwreck. After vacillating between Bossuet and Spinoza, — deism and atheism, — bewildered among spiritualists, materialists, idealists, ontologists, and eclectics, he took refuge in universal scepticism, comforting his uneasy ignorance by bold and universal negation.

Having set aside the doctrine of innate ideas, and the revelation of theologians, as well as the opinions of Leibnitz, Locke, and Kant, the Count de Charney now resigned himself to the grossest pantheism, unscrupulously denying the existence of one high and supreme God. The contradiction existing between ideas ana things, the irregularities of the created world, the unequal distribution of strength and endowment among mankind, inspired his overtasked brain with the conclusion that the world is a conglomeration of insensate matter, and Chance the lord of all.

Chance, therefore, became his God here, and nothingness his hope hereafter. He adopted his new creed with avidity — almost with triumph — as if the audacious invention had been his own. It was a relief to get rid of the doubts which tormented him by a sweeping clause of incredulity ; and from that moment, Charney, bidding adieu to science, devoted himself exclusively to the pleasures of the world.

The death of a relation placed him in possession of a considerable fortune. France, reorganized by the consulate, was resuming its former habits of luxury and splendour. The clarion of victory was audible from every quarter ; and all was joy and festivity in the capital. The Count de Charney figured brilliantly in the world of magnificence, elegance, taste, and enlightenment. Having attracted around him the gay, the graceful, and the witty, he unclosed the gates of his splendid mansion to the glittering divinities of the day, — to fashion, bon ton, and distinction of every kind. Lost in the giddy crowd, he took part in all its enjoyments and dissipations; amazed that amid such a vortex of pleasures he should still remain a stranger to happiness !

Music, dress, the perfumed atmosphere surrounding the fair and fashionable, were the chief objects of his interest. Vainly had he attempted to devote himself to the society of men renowned for wit and understanding. The ignorance of the learned, the errors of the wise, excited only his compassion or contempt.

Such is the misfortune of proficiency ! No one reaches the artificial standard we have created. Even those who are as learned as ourselves are learned after some other fashion ; and from our lofty eminence we look down upon mankind as upon a crowd of dwarfs and pigmies. In the hierarchy of intellect, as in that of power, elevation is isolated : — to be alone is the destiny of the great.

Vainly did the Count de Charney devote himself to sensual pleasures. In the infancy of a social system so long estranged from the joys of life, and still defiled by the blood-stained orgies of the Revolution, attired in rags and tatters of Roman virtue, yet emulating the licentious excesses of the regency, he signalized himself by his prodigality and dissipation. Labour lost. — Horses, equipages, a splendid table, balls, concerts, and hunting-parties, failed to secure Pleasure as his guest. He had friends to flatter him, mistresses to amuse his leisure; yet, though all these were purchased at the highest price, the count found himself as far as ever from the joys of love or friendship. Nothing availed tc

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smooth the wrinkles of his heart, or force it into a smile : Charney actually laboured to be entrapped by the baits of society, without achieving captivation. The syren Pleasure, raising her fair form and enchanting voice above the surface of the waters, fascinated the man, but the eye of the philosopher could not refrain from plunging into the glassy depths below, to be disgusted by the scaly body and bifurcal tail of the ensnaring monster.

Truth and error were equally against him. To virtue he was a stranger, to vice indifferent. He had experienced the vanity of knowledge ; but the bliss of ignorance was denied him. The gates of Eden were closed against his re-entrance. Reason appeared fallacious, joy apocryphal. The noise of entertainments wearied him ; the silence of home was still more tedious ; in company, he became a burden to others; in retirement, to himself. A profound sadness took possession of his soul !

In spite of all Charney's efforts, the demon of philosophical analysis, far from being exorcised, served to tarnish, undermine, contract, and extinguish the brilliancy of every mode of life he selected. The praise of his friends, the endearments of his loves, seemed nothing more than the current coin given in exchange for a certain portion of his property, the paltry evidence of a necessity for living at his expense.

Decomposing every passion and sentiment, and reducing all things to their primitive elements, he, at length, contracted a morbid frame of mind, amounting almost to aberration of intellect. He fancied that in the finest tissue composing his garments, he could detect the exhalations of the animal of whose fleece it was woven — on the silk of his gorgeous hangings, the crawling worm which furnishes them. His furniture, carpets, gewgaws, trinkets of coral or mother-of-pearl, all were stigmatized in his eyes as the spoil of the dead, shaped by the labours of some squalid artisan. The spirit of inquiry had destroyed every illusion. The imagination of the sceptic was paralyzed !

To such a heart as that of Charney, however, emotion was indispensable. The love which found no single object on which to concentrate its vigour expanded into tenderness for all mankind ; and he became a philanthropist !

With the view of serving the cause of his fellow-creatures, he devoted himself to politics, no longer speculative, but active; initiated himself into secret societies, and grew a fanatic for freedom, the only superstition remaining for those who have renounced the higher aspirations of human nature. He enrolled himself in a plot ' — a conspiracy against nothing less than the sovereignty of the victorious Napoleon !

Tn this attempt, Charney fancied himself actuated by patriotism, by philanthropy, by love of his countrymen ! — More likely by animosity against the one great man, of whose power and glory he was envious ! An aristocrat at heart, he fancied himself a leveller. The proud noble who had been robbed of the title of count, bequeathed him by his ancestors, did not choose that his inferior in birth should assume the title of emperor, which he had conquered at the point of his sword.

It matters little in what plot he embarked his destinies; at that epoch, there was no lack of conspiracies ! It was one of the many hatched between 1803 and 1804, and not suffered to come to light: the police — that second providence which presides over the safety of empires — was beforehand with it! Government decided that the less noise made on the occasion, the better; they would not even spare it so much as a discharge of muskets on the Plaine de Grenelle, the scene of military execution : but the heads of the conspiracy were privately arrested, condemned, almost without trial, and conveyed away to solitary confinement in various state prisons, citadels, or fortresses, of the ninety-six departments of consular France.

Chapter II

In traversing the Alps on my way to Italy, — an humble tourist, with my staff in my hand, and my wallet on my shoulder, I remember pausing to contemplate, near the pass of Rodoretto, a torrent swollen by the melting of the glaciers. The tumultuous sounds produced by its course, the foaming cascades into which it burst, the varying colours and hues created by the movement of its waters, yellow, white, green, black, according to its channel through marl, slate, chalk, or peat earth, — the vast blocks of marble or granite it had detached without being able to remove, around which a thousand ever-changing cataracts added roar to roar, cascade to cascade ; the trunks of trees it had uprooted, of which the still foliaged branches emerging from the water were agitated by the winds, while the roots were buffeted by the waves ; fragments of the very banks clothed with verdure, and driven like floating islands against the trees, as the trees were driven in their turn against the blocks of granite; — all this, these murmurs, clashings, and roarings, confined between narrow and precipitous banks, impressed me with wonder and admiration. And this torrent was the Clusone !

Skirting its shores, I pursued the course of the stream into one of the four valleys retaining the name of " Protestant," in the memory of the Vaudois who formerly took refuge in their solitudes. ?*

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PICCIOLA.

There, my torrent lost its wild irregularity ; and its hundred roaring voices were presently subdued. Its shattered trees and islands had been deposited on some adjacent level ; its colours had resolved themselves into one ; and the material of its bed no longer distinguishable on the tranquil surface. Still strong and copious, it now .flowed with decency, propriety, almost with coquetry: affecting the airs of a modest rivulet as it bathed the rugged walls of Fenestrella.

It was then I visited Fenestrella, a large town celebrated for peppermint water, and the fortress which crowns the two mountains between which it is situated, communicating with each other by covered ways, but partly dismantled during the wars of the Republic. One of the forts, however, was repaired and refortified when Piedmont became incorporated into France.

In this fortress of Fenestrella, was Charles Veramont, Count de Charney, incarcerated, on an accusation of having attempted to subvert the laws of government, and introduce anarchy and confusion into the country.

Estranged by rigid imprisonment, alike from men of science and men of pleasure, and regretting neither, — renouncing without much effort his wild projects of political regeneration, — bidding a forced farewell to his fortune, by the pomps of which he had been undazzled, — to his friends, who were grown tiresome, and his mistresses, who were grown faithless ; having for his abode, instead of a princely mansion, a bare and gloomy chamber ; — the gaoler of Charney was now his sole attendant, and his imbittered spirit his only companion.

But what signified the gloom and nakedness of his apartment? The necessaries of life were there, and he had long been disgusted with its superfluities. — Even his gaoler gave him no offence. It was only his own thoughts that troubled him !

Yet what other diversions remained for his solitude — but selfconference 1 — Alas ! none ! Nothing around him or before him but weariness and vexation of spirit ! All correspondence was interdicted. He was allowed no books, nor pens, nor paper ; for such was the established discipline at Fenestrella. A year before, when the count was intent only on emancipating himself from the perplexities of learning, this loss might have seemed a gain. But now, a book would have afforded a friend to consult, or an adversary to be confuted! Deprived of every thing, sequestered from the world, Charney had nothing left for it, but to become reconciled to himself, and live in peace with that natural enemy, his soul. For the cruelty with which that unsilenceable monitor continued to set before him the desperateness of his condition, rendered conciliation necessary. His case was indeed a hard one ! A man to whom nature had been so prodigal, whose cradle society had surrounded with honours and privileges, — he to be reduced to such abject insignificance! — he to have need of pity and protection, who had faith neither in the existence of a God nor the mercy of his fellow-creatures !

Vainly did he strive to throw off this frightful consciousness, when in the solitude of his reveries it alternately chilled and scorched his shrinking bosom : and once more, the unhappy Charney began to cling for support to the visible and material world, — now, alas ! how circumscribed around him. The room assigned to his use was at the rear of the citadel, in a small building raised upon the ruins of a vast and strong foundation, serving formerly for defence, but rendered useless by a new system of fortification.

Four walls, newly whitewashed, so that he was denied even the amusement of perusing the lucubrations of former prisoners, his predecessors; a table, serving for his meals; a chair, whose insulated unity reminded him, that no human being would ever sit beside him there in friendly converse ; a tr«ra for his clothes and linen : a little sideboard of paintea deal, half worm-eaten, offered a singular contrast to the rich mahogany dressing-case, inlaid with silver, standing there as the sole representative of his former splendours. A clean, but narrow bed, window-curtains of blue cloth (a mere mockery, for, thanks to the closeness of his prison bars and the opposite wall rising at ten feet distance, there was little to fear from prying eyes or the importunate radiance of the sun.) Such was the complement of furniture allotted to the Count de Charney.

Over his chamber was another, wholly unoccupied ; he had not a single companion in that detached portion of the fortress.

The remainder of his world consisted in a short, massive, winding stone staircase, descending into a small paved court, sunk into what had been a moat, in the earlier days of the citadel, in which narrow space ho was permitted to enjoy air and exercise during two hours of the day. Such was the ukase of the commandant of Fenestrella.

From this confined spot, however, the prisoner was able to extend his glance towctrds the summits of the mountains, and command a view of the vapours rising from the plain ; for the walls of the ramparts, lowering suddenly at the extremity of the glacis, admitted a limited proportion of air and sunshine into the court. But once shut up again in his room, his view was bounded by an horizon of solid masonry, and a surmise of the majestic and picturesque aspect of nature it served to conceal. Charney was well aware that to the right rose the fertile hills of Saluces; that to his left were developed the last undulations of the valley of Aorta and the banks of the Chiara; that before him lay the noble plains of Turin; and behind, the mighty chain of Alps, with its adornment of rocks, forests, and chasms, from Mount Genevra to Mount Cenis. But, in spite of this charming vicinage, all he was permitted to behold was the misty sky suspended over his head by a framework of rude masonry ; the pavement of the little court, and the bars of his prison, through which he might admire the opposite wall, adorned with a single small square window, at which he had once or twice caught glimpses of a doleful human countenance.

What a world from which to extract delight and entertainment! The unhappy Count wore out his patience in the attempt ! At first, he amused himself with scribbling with a morsel of charcoal on the walls of his prison the dates of every happy event of his childhood ; but from this dispiriting task he desisted, more discouraged than ever. The demon of scepticism next inspired him with evil counsel ; and having framed into fearful sentences the axioms of his withering creed, he inscribed them also on his wall, between recollections consecrated to his sister and mother !

Still unconsoled, Charney at length made up his mind to fling aside his heart-eating cares, adopt, by anticipation, all the puerilities and brutalization which result from the prolongation of solitary confinement. The philosopher attempted to find amusement in unravelling silk or linen ; in making flageolets of straw, and building ships of walnut-shells. The man of genius constructed whistles, boxes, and baskets, of kernels; chains and musical instruments, with the springs of his braces; nay, for a time, he took delight in these absurdities ; then, with a sudden movement of disgust, trampled them, one by one, under his feet !

To vary his employment, Charney began to carve a thousand fanciful designs upon his wooden table ! No schoolboy ever mutilated his desk by such attempts at arabesque, both in relief and intaglio, as tasked his patience and address. The celebrated portal of the church of Candebee, and the pulpit and palm trees of St. Gudula at Brussels, are not adorned with a greater variety of figures. There were houses upon houses, fishes upon trees, men taller than steeples, boats upon roofs, carriages upon water, dwarf pyramids, and flies of gigantic stature, — horizontal, vertical, oblique, topsy-turvy, upside down, pell-mell, a chaos of hieroglyphics, in which he tried to discover a sense symbolical, an accidental intention, an occult design ; for it was no great effort on the part of one who had so much faith in the power of chance, to expect the developement of an epic poem in the sculptures on his table, or a design of Raphael in the veins of his box-wood snuffbox.

It was the delight of his ingenuity to multiply difficulties for conquest, problems for solution, enigmas for divination ; but even in the midst of these recreations, ennui, the formidable enemy, again surprised the captive.

The man whose face he had noticed at the grated window, might have afforded him food for conjecture, had he not seemed to avoid the observation of the Count, by retiring the moment Charney made his appearance ; in consequence of which, he conceived an abhorrence of the recluse. Such was his opinion of the human species, that the stranger's desire of concealment convinced him he was a spy, employed to watch the movements of the prisoners, or, perhaps, some former enemy, exulting over his humiliation.

On interrogating the gaoler, however, this last supposition was set at rest.

" 'Tis an Italian," said Ludovico, the turnkey. " A good soul, — and, what is more, a good Christian ; for I often find him at his devotions."

Charney shrugged his shoulders : " And what may be the cause, pray, of his retention?" said he.

" He attempted to assassinate the Emperor."

"Is he, then, a patriot?"

" A patriot ! Rubbish ! Not he. But the poor soul had once a son and daughter: and now he has only a daughter. The son was killed in Germany. A cannon-ball broke a tooth for him. Povero Jigliuolo !"

" It was a paroxysm of selfishness, then, which moved this old man to become an assassin?"

"You have never been a father, Signor Conte!" replied the gaoler. " Cristo Santo ! if my Antonio, who is still a babe, were to eat his first mouthful for the good of this empire of the French

(which is a bantling of his own age, or thereabouts,) I 'd soon

But basta! I've no mind to take up my lodging at Fenestrella, except as it may be with the keys at my girdle or under my pillow."

" And how does this fierce conspirator amuse himself in prison?" persisted Charney.

"Catching flies!" replied the gaoler, with an ironical wink

Instead of detesting his brother in misfortune, Charney now began to despise him. " A madman, then?" he demanded.

" Perchc pazzo, Signor Conte? Though you are the last comer, you excel him already in the art of hacking a table into devices. Pazicnza!"

In defiance of the sneer conveyed in the gaoler's remark, Charney soon resumed his manual labours, and the interpretations of his hieroglyphics ; but, alas ! only to experience anew their insufficiency as a kill-time. His first winter had expired in weariness and discontent : when, by the mercy of Heaven, an unexpected object of interest was assigned him.

Chapter III

One day, Charney was breathing the fresh air in the little court di the fortress, at the accustomed hour, his head declining, his eyes downcast, his arms crossed behind him, pacing with slow and measured steps, as if his deliberation tended to enlarge the precincts of his dominion.

Spring was breaking. A milder air breathing around, tantalized him with a vain inclination to enjoy the season of liberty, as master of his time and territory. He was proceeding to number, one by one, the stones paving the court-yard, (doubtless to verify the accuracy of former calculations, — for it was by no means the first time they had put his arithmetic to the test,) when he perceived a small mound of earth rising between two stones of the pavement, cleft slightly at its summit.

The Count stopped short — his heart beat hurriedly without any rational grounds for emotion, except that every trivial incident affords matter of hope or fear to a captive. In the most indifferent objects, in the most unimportant events, the prisoner discerns traces of a mysterious project for his deliverance.

Who could decide that this trifling irregularity on the surface might not indicate important operations under ground ? Subterraneous issues might have been secretly constructed, and the earth be about to open and afford him egress towards the mountains ! Perhaps his former friends and accomplices had been sapping and mining, to procure access to his dungeon, and restore him to light and liberty !

He listened ! he fancied he could detect the low murmur of a subterraneous sound. He raised his head, and the loud and rapid clang of the tocsin saluted his ear. The ramparts were echoing with the prolonged roll of drums, like the call to arms in time of war. He started — he passed his trembling hand over his forehead, on which cold dews of intense agitation were already rising. Is his liberation at hand? Is France submitted to the domination of a new ruler?

The illusion of the captive vanished as it came. Reflection soon restored him to reason. He no longer possesses accomplices — he never possessed friends! — Again he lends a listening ear. and the same noises recur ; but they mislead his mind no longer. The supposed tocsin is only the church bell which he has been accustomed to hear daily at the same hour, and the drums, the usual evening signal for retreat to quarters. With a bitter smile, Charney begins to compassionate his own folly, which could mistake the insignificant labours of some insect or reptile, some wandering mole or field-mouse, for the result of human fidelity, or the subversion of a mighty empire.

GILBERT &.&INON

Resolved, however, to bring the matter to the test, Charney, bending over the little hillock, gently removed the earth from its summit; when he had the mortification to perceive that the wild though momentary emotion by which he had been overcome, was not produced by so much as the labours of an animal armed with teeth and claws ! but by the efforts of a feeble plant to pierce the soil — a pale and sickly scatterling of vegetation. Deeply vexed, he was about to crush with his heel the miserable weed, when a iffrieshing breeze, laden with the sweets of some bower of honeysuckles, or syringas, swept past, as if to intercede for mercy towards the poor plant, which might perhaps hereafter reward him with its flowers and fragrance.

A new conjecture conspired to suspend his act of vengeance How has this tender plant, so soft and fragile as to be crushed with a touch, contrived to pierce and cleave asunder the earth, dried and hardened into a mass by the sun, daily trodden down by his own footsteps, and all but cemented by the flags of granite between which it was enclosed ? On stooping again to examine the matter with more attention, he observed at the extremity of the plant a sort of fleshy valve affording protection to its first and tenderest leaves, from the injurious contact of any hard bodies they might have to encounter in penetrating the earthy crust in search of light and air.

" This, then, is the secret?" cried he, already interested in his discovery. " Nature has imparted strength to the vegetable germ, even as the unfledged bird which is able to break asunder with its beak the egg-shell in which it is imprisoned ; happier than myself — in possession of unalienable instruments to secure its liberation I" And after gazing another minute on the inoffensive plant, he lost all inclination for its destruction.

On resuming his walk the next day, with wide and careless steps, Charney was on the point of setting his foot on it, from inadvertence; but luckily recoiled in time. Amused to find himself interested in the preservation of a weed, he paused to take note of its progress. The plant was strangely grown ; and the free light of day had already effaced the pale and sickly complexion of the preceding day. Charney was struck by the power inherent in vegetables to absorb rays of light, and, fortified by the nourishment, borrow, as it were, from the prism, the very colours predestined to distinguish its various parts of organization.

" The leaves," thought he, " will probably imbibe a hue different from that of the stem. And the flowers? what colour, I wonder, will be the flowers? Nourished by the same sap as the green leaves and stem, how do they manage to acquire, from the influence of the sun, their variegations of azure, pink, or scarlet? — For already their hue is appointed. In spite of the confusion and disorder of all human affairs, matter, blind as it is, marches with admirable regularity: still blindly, however! for lo, the fleshy lobes which served to facilitate for the plant its progress through the soil, though now useless, are feeding their superfluous substance at its expense, and weighing upon its slender stalk!"