 | CHAPTER IX. Tales of the Spanish seas |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
The room to which Teresa was thus unwiilingly
introduced, was of dimensions somewhat
smaller than the hall or armory on which
it opened, but far more graceful and luxurious
in its decorations. Its casements, although
high and spacious, and admirably calculated to
admit every breath of air that might be stirring,
were completely closed against the garish light
by deep Italian awnings of peach-colored
damask, striped with broad silver arabesques,
through which the rays stole softly, mellowed
to the same tender hue. The walls were hung
with Genoa velvet of the same delicate color,
divided into panels by rich frames of Venetian
filagree in silver—the very floor was strewn
with carpets of the same material—mirrors
were everywhere in bright profusion, curtained
with gauzy veils of the faintest pink—
couches and ottomans of down, with covers of
soft silk—tables and cabinets of marquetry and
buhl completed the furniture of this voluptuous
bower, the very atmosphere of which, like the
haunts fabled by Grecian bards, of that Cytherean
goddess, reeked by the perfumes redolent
of love. But if the chamber and its decorations
were in themselves luxurious almost beyond
description, what words can paint the
charms almost unearthly, the Aphrodisian air,
the prodigal voluptuousness of its inmates?
They were but three in number—three young
and splendid girls, all the very flower and flush
of young ripe womanhood—all beautiful—but
oh! how different in their beauty.
The first—she it was whose rich clear voice
had reached Teresa's ear before she entered—
was a rare specimen of that peculiar style of
English loveliness, which, save to the voluptuary,
is rendered far less lovely by the predominance
in all its traits essential to intellectual
thought—and yet she was indeed most
beautiful. Her forehead, though rather low
than otherwise, was whiter than the virgin
snow-wreath, before the soft west wind has
thawed its dazzling purity, and smooth as it
was white—her delicately pencilled brows o'erarched
a pair of large soft eyes swimming in
liquid light—her nose was delicate and small
her lips of the richest crimson, wooingly prominent,
disclosed a set of teeth so pearly and
transparent in their lustre, that they set simile
at naught. Her hair, of the lightest and the
most shining brown, was all dishevelled as it
seemed,—but, in truth, trained most artfully to
fall and float in a thousand wreaths of silky
ringlets, over her neck and shoulders, and far
below her waist, shrouding her as with a
golden glory. But exquisite as were her features,
they yet were nothing in comparison to
her unrivalled symmetry of person—the plump
and rounded neck wreathed to and fro with
many a swanlike motion, the soft full arch of
her superbly falling shoulders, the swell of the
fair bosom, even now in her fresh girlhood
luxuriant and mature, with myriads of fine
azure veins meandering about its glowing surface—the
slender waist scarcely confined by
the slight silver zone that gathered in the folds
of the white gauzy lawn that scarcely veiled
her bust, leaving her shoulders and round
dimpled arms all unencumbered; the wavy
outlines of her form, indicated by the fall of
the thick heavy drapery of azure silk that
flowed from her waist downward, to the earth,
suffering only the extremity of one small foot
decked with a silver sandal to peep out modestly
beneath the hem.
Such was the foremost of the fair tenants o
the room, who met the cold indignant eye of
the young prisoner, as she leaned negligently
on a pile of satin cushions, warbling the amatory
air which had so shocked Teresa; not
that there was any touch of grossness or indecency
in the words, which, the more fatally
seductive for that very want, breathed the full
soul of passion blended with sentiment and
pathos—but that the singer threw into every
tone and accent a manner so voluptuous, an
expression so entirely sensual, that, to an
ear not yet corrupted into sin, the effect was
painful and disgusting.
The second damsel was a tall slender Persian,
with the warm dusky hue of her country's
complexion on her soft velvet skin, a
soft rich flush peering out upon either cheek,
like the first touch of young Aurora's pencil
upon the waving night-clouds—her eyes,
fringed by long silky lashes, dark, deep, and
swimming, now melted into a sleepy languor,
now flashed out with intolerable lustre—her
hair, black as the raven's wing, was twisted
into a mass of little spiral curls, and decked
with chain work ornaments of gold, a glittering
amulet all set with sapphires of rare price lying
by either ear. Her dress, too, was no less
dissimilar to that of her fair beauty, than was
the style of her loveliness; yet, though no portion
of her flesh was visible, except the face
and hands and a small part of the throat, it yet
displayed her person, scarcely in a less degree
than did that of her companion which left her
bosom, shoulders, and arms almost entirely
bare. She wore a close cymar or jacket of
bright yellow satin, all flowered with sprigs of
gold, and buttoned up in front with studs of
chrysolite; below the zone, she was clothed in
loose trousers of gold-sprigged Indian muslin,
with heavy golden bangles, allhung with glittering
bells, about her ankles, and light gilded slippers
on her small shapely feet. There was,
perhaps, even more of beauty in the movements,
in the exceeding grace, in the air, the
manner of this oriental fair one, than in her
personal charms, as she danced lightly to and
fro, bending her slight shape into many a
whose every gesture was perfection, and swaying
all her limbs with an exquisite freedom,
her golden bells chiming the while in time to
the words of the singer, and the tones of the
lute or gittern which the third girl—a tall
black-browed Italian—was striking with rare
skill, uttering ever and anon one of those low-toned
happy laughs, which should have told
of an innocent heart at ease, but which, alas,
announced no more than heartless levity. The
tresses of the lute player, though black as the
bright Persian's ringlets, were as different from
them in their nature and disposition as things
can be—even the most dissimilar—for they
were parted evenly upon her forehead, and
flowed down quite uncurled in long and wavy
masses, actually resting in loose coils upon
the velvet floor-cloth, as she sat near the
English girl on a low ottoman, with her back
to a great Venetian mirror, which reflected the
contour of all her sloping shoulders down
nearly to the waist.
Such was the scene—such the companions—
to which the buccaneer now introduced his
captive. For a moment, so soft were the carpets
of the armory, and so light had been the
footsteps of the new comers—for a moment the
girls continued their occupations, unconscious
that they were overlooked by any mortal eye—
but when, after a meaning pause of a second's
space, and a threatening glance at Teresa, Ringwood
advanced a step or two, the Persian dancer
raised her head from one of her low bending
attitudes, and catching sight of her stately
lord, uttered a shrill cry of surprise, and bounded
forward like an antelope to meet him;
quick, however, as were her movements, she
was nevertheless outstripped by the fair beauty,
who, being seated nearer the door, sprang up
the moment she heard the outcry of the other,
and was in the embrace of the buccaneer with
the speed of light, winding her beautiful bare
arms about his noble person, pressing her panting
bosom close to his mighty chest, and pouring
a flood of sweet burning kisses on his
brow, eyes, and mouth; uttering all the time
a low soft murmur, all eloquent of eager passion,
and blushing so profusely with excitement,
that all her neck and bosom, seen clearly
through the thin gauze of her boddice, were
crimsoned by the torrent of hot blood, that
coursed through every vein of her whole body
like streams of burning lava. Nor was the
pirate chieftain slow or reluctant to return her
passionate caress, but clasped her in a long
embrace. After a minute, however, he released
her, reluctant as it seemed. And there
amid those sirens, as beautiful as either, but,
oh! how different in her calm, innocent, pure
loveliness, scarce conscious of her own exquisite
attractions, and all unsunned by any tinge
of noonday passion, from their unmaidenly
beauty, which actually pained the feelings
though it might fix the eye and rivet the mere
senses of the beholder, stood the sad Spanish
maiden. At first she gazed in mute astonishment,
unable to conceive the possibility of
aught so boldly passionate as the blonde
beauty's rapture—but gradually, as she felt her
own heart bound too fiercely in her bosom, and
her own pulses throb, she knew not wherefore,
she let her eyes sink to the carpet, and stood
all breathless and dismayed blushes and paleness
chasing each other over her speaking lineaments,
like the alternate lights and shadows
which sweep in autumn days over some lovely
landscape. The slave-girl all the time gazed
with dilated eyes that seemed to drink in all
that passed before them—without, however,
comprehending anything; clinging with one
hand to the velvet cloak which partly shrouded
the form of her pale mistress, and trembling
wildly between fear and admiration.
When this strange scene had ended, Ringwood
turned towards his prisoner, and taking
her by the hand said, while a cold convulsive
shudder shook her whole form—
“These lovely girls, Teresa, shall be your
future comrades—this bower of bliss shall be
your dwelling. Pleasure shall wait your very
wish; luxury, such as no human heart has
ever dreamed of, shall lull you to your slumbers;
not an air of heaven shall visit your
brow too roughly; and your whole life shall
glide away like one soft dream of rapture.
Bella, my fair-haired beauty, welcome your
new companion, choose her a boudoir near
your own—fit her with garments such as your
own rare taste may choose, and her rare beauty
justify, and above all,” he added, lowering his
voice to a tender whisper, “be not thou jealous,
rare one; for if I seek to win her to my will,
it is not anything for love, but all for vengeance!
and now, farewell, sweet sirens all,”
he added, speaking once more aloud, “and let
me find you, my Teresa, happy as these fair
creatures when I revisit you to-morrow.”
“Oh no!” she cried, in vehement impetuous
tones, that would not brook control even of
reason, “oh no! no! no! Leave me not here,
leave me not here, with these! No, better,
better far to languish in the deepest dungeon;
to writhe in untold agonies; to share the slenderest
pittance of the most wretched innocent
slave, than live in plenty thus, with wanton
guilt and barefaced infamy for comrades!
Slay me, then, slay me with agonies protracted,
as you will, cast me forth to the beasts of the
forest, tear my limbs joint from joint, but leave
me not with these.”
“Teresa,” he said, speaking in a low but
distinct voice, with fearful emphasis, “Teresa,
I have sworn, and you well know how deeply,
and with how deep a cause! Now mark me,
one thing I have remitted to you, in one thing
you.”
“O, slay me! slay me, rather”—she frantically
interrupted him.
“I will,” he said, “I will, by Heaven! if
you say any more about it; but not as you
suppose—I will, Teresa, I will cast you forth
if you provoke me any further; but not to the
wild beasts of the forest! By Him that lives!
tigers and sharks are merciful compared with
those to whom I will abandon you! Hark to
that shout of revelry and riot! they shall enjoy
the charms which you would keep so charily!
in the rack of their barbarous embraces shall
your frame writhe with anguish! by their
hands shall your limbs be torn joint from joint!
Three days I give you, but three days! to
yield you wholly to my will; or beyond doubt
it shall be done to you as I have spoken!”
With an air of proud defiance, tossing her
long black locks from her pale forehead, her
bosom panting, and her eyes flashing as if with
a prophetic inspiration, she raised her head,
which had drooped on her bosom, and shook
her finger, menacingly, at the great Rover.
“And I tell thee,” she said, in clear and
liquid tones—they were like the blast of a silver
trumpet, “and I tell thee, that ere three
days thou shalt be called to thine account—be
it for good or evil!”
“Then!” answered he, bursting into an uncontrollable
fit of fury, “then! by my Marker!
to thine shalt thou precede me!” and he made
a step forward as if to seize her by the arm;
when the Italian girl and the gay Persian
dancer rushed between, and entangling him in
their caresses, hung round his sinewy frame,
like honeysuckles, wreathing their sweet tendrils
about some giant oak; while at the same
moment the fair-haired Bella laid her hand on
the Spanish maiden's shoulder, with a delicate
respectful pressure, and in a soft voice whispered
blandly—
“Oh! irritate him not! oh! irritate him not,
dear lady—for although, when he is himself,
none are more noble-hearted, none are more
generous and kind, none are more gentle, yet
when the paroxysm is upon him, he is the
slave of fifty furious demons, his own unchained
passions, to which the fiends themselves
were powerless and tame! oh! irritate
him not! and all may yet be well; and see, he
smiles,” she added, quite disregarding the air
of bitter scorn with which Teresa met her soft
and disinterested advances; and casting herself
in the way of the Rover with the conscious air
of a favorite, she threw her arms about his
neck, and stopped the words he seemed about
to utter by a long ardent kiss, whispering in his
ear as she did so, “Heed her not now, she
will be tamer soon—consider she is but fresh
caged; and even singing birds will dash themselves
against the bars of their fresh cages, even
although those bars be gilded!” and she uttered
a low sweet merry laugh; which, though in
truth both the action which preceded it, and the
laugh itself, originated in the best and tenderest
motives, struck upon the breast of Teresa as
the height of cold unfeeling heartlessness.
The Rover laughed as he returned the fair
girl's kiss.
“Well, be it so, beautiful Bella—be it so, if
you will;” and then stooping down, he whispered
a sentence in her ear. None heard it
but she—and, pushing him gently to the door,
cried, “Oh, yes! I will remember: and now
go—Reginald, now go!”
Nothing more was said for the moment; and,
turning quietly away, the Rover left the room,
closing the door behind him—releasing Teresa
from the dread, which, when he rushed towards
her, despite her dauntless courage, had
shaken her every nerve.
He had not, however, quitted the apartment
a minute, before Bella again approached the
maiden—an air of calm compassion sitting serenely
on her lovely features; and laying her
white hand, which showed like snow itself for
the contrast, upon the darker complexion of
Teresa's arm—
“Come, lady, come with me,” she said, almost
humbly. “Come to my private bower,
and we will seek for some attire less unbecoming.
With me you will be safe, and can take
some repose, of which I judge it certain you
must stand in need very greatly.”
But the proud virgin shook off the caressing
hand as if contamination had been in its slightest
pressure, and shrank back from her consolation
with an air of absolute horror.
“Pray, shrink not from me thus,” the English
girl exclaimed, in accents that told forcibly
the depth of her emotions, her face again
covered with a deep, deep blush, far different
from the hot crimson color that had suffused
her whole complexion at the words of her
lover.
“Nay, shrink not from me thus, dear lady:
contamination lies not in the mere touch, even
of the violet. It is the mind which, alone,
pollutes; and God, he knows that, be I what I
may myself, I would not teach vice to another—no!
not to be virtuous again myself,
which I can never be, nor pure as I once was.
Nor yet too much despise us: for, be sure, lady,
that as thou art now, we were all once; as innocent,
as pure, as noble; and be not too sure,
lady, proud though thou be, and as unsunned
pure snow, and strong in purity—be not too
sure that thou be not in a few days as we now
are!”
“Never—Oh no! by my own soul, no!
never!” answered Teresa, eagerly, but in a
manner much mollified by her companion's
manner.
“Be not too sure!” Bella responded.
innocent—but life is very sweet! and death,
under the tortures, very awful; and if, by
losing life, we may not save our honor—”
“Then better die dishonored!”—Teresa interrupted
her—“but though I hear your words
I cannot comprehend their purport?”
“Like enough, lady!—like enough! and
may you never do so—but I believe you will!
For you will learn that this same honor, for
which you would die willingly, may be rent
from you, living, by the brute violence, not of
one noble-minded, although erring, soldier, but
of a thousand brutal desperadoes—and that
you may not die till all, even the loathsome
blacks, are sated, and then die horribly—oh!
horribly.—Better, perhaps, comply, than suffer
thus.”
“Besides,” continued the other, as if she
had scarcely heard the Spanish maiden's words
—“Besides, if he so will it, without force he
can win you. No man's arm, and no woman's
heart ever successfully opposed, when he was
resolute in earnest—the fixed and overwhelming
will of Reginald. Lady, before
three days, if he so will it, you shall dote on
him unto adoration.”
“You know not what you say,” answered
the Spaniard firmly, but no longer with any
vehemence of passion in her tone. “I love
another.”
“Ha! is it so?” replied Bella “Is it so?
then indeed, it may be, you shall not fall: for
had I loved another then, as I love now, surely
I had endured all sooner!”
“And do you then—do you in truth love
this dread being?” said Teresa, strong interest
overpowing the disgust which she had felt to
her frail companion. “Do you indeed love—
you, who seem so soft and gentle—this merciless,
this fiend-like Rover?”
“For what then do you take me?” exclaimed
Bella, looking full in the eyes of Teresa,
with as proud and haughty an air as she had
lately met, “with all my mind, and heart, and
spirit!—think you an English lady, though
she may stoop for love to be a Pirate's leman,
would feign love which she felt not? With
my whole mind, and heart, and spirit, I worship,
I adore him! In his love—in his life—
I alone have my being—when he dies I shall
not survive him!—it is enough—trust to me;
you have naught to fear—neither harm to your
person, nor pollution to your mind—come to
my hower, and I will speak with you more
fully.”
The Spanish girl, who for a moment, dignified
as she was, and proud and haughty, had
actually quailed before the fiery and surpassing
pride of the pirate's paramour, now feeling
perhaps that she had something wronged her
in her thoughts, and at all events experiencing
a melting of the heart towards one who, al
though frail, was kind to her and very gentle,
and who might have some palliation of her
crime in the peculiar circumstances of her sad
tale, answered no further, but took her proffered
hand in silence, and leaning on her shoulder,
for she was fast becoming very weak, retired to
the beauty's boudoir.
| CHAPTER IX. Tales of the Spanish seas | |