 | CHAPTER IX. Ringwood the rover |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
The room to which Teresa was thus unwillingly
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 fillagree in silver—
same material—mirrors were every where 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 in 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 penciled
brows o'er-arched 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 disheveled 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 unrivaled 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 which 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 sil
ver sandal to peep out modestly beneath the
hem.
Such was the foremost of the fair tenants of 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 faint 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 chainwork ornaments of gold, a glittering
amulet all set with sapphires of rare price
laying by either ear. Her dress, too, was no less
dissimilar to that of the 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 trowsers of gold-sprigged Indian
muslin, with heavy golden bangles, all hung 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 strange and graceful posture,
waving her arms, 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
ringlets, were as different from them in their nature
and disposition as any 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,
sprung up the moment she head 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 clapsed
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 noon-day
passion, from their unmaidenly beauty, which
actually pained the feelings though it might fit
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 dismay, 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 toward 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 any thing 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 have I pardoned;
tempt me no farther, I beseech you.”
“O, slay me! slay me, rather”—she frantically
interrupted him.
“I will,” said he, “I will, by heaven! if you
say any more about it; but not as you suppose—
me any farther; 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 Maker! 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 toward
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 shrunk 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
pure as unsunned 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. “Honor
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
scarcely 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 tones. “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 overpowering
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 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 bower, 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 toward one who although 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 farther, 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. Ringwood the rover | |