 | THE FOURTH PICTURE. Adrian, the neophyte |  |
THE DOOM OF THE STUDENT AND THE LADYE.
He looked far, far beyond, and there, gleaming
in the sunlight, he beheld the altar of white, the
bridegroom and the bride.
One long glance he cast over the sea of faces, and
ran along the cathedral, and the altar of black was
vacant, while through the affrighted multitude with,
steps that knew no obstacle or hinderance, rushed
a figure in mingled robes of white and black, his
eye fixed upon the distant altar, his arms outspread
and a long and slender dagger gleaming in his
clenched right hand.
Onward, still onward, ere the venerable Abbot
had time to glance around him, ere the dark robed
monks knew that the Altar of Black was vacant,
onward and onward, fearlessly breaking his way
through the bands of maskers and revellers, onward
toward the bridal altar, with the speed of wind
rushed Adrian the Neophyte.
A pause of a moment!
Another yell of horror shrieks along the aisles of
the cathedral!
The dark figure has reached the bridal altar—one
bound and he springs upward, and stands erect
upon the velvet carpeting of the stage, the gleaming
knife raised on high, the arm nerved and the
death certain, while the astonished priests, the
thunder-striken bridegroom, and the bridal guests
recoil with the utter helplessness of a fearful surprise.
He stands upon the altar, his eyes glaring, and
the knife raised!
One blow, and the Rose of Ellarini will fall a
bleeding corse upon the snow white velvet of the
bridal altar—no human arm may save her now—
the madman may call one single moment his own
—that moment is small, yet to him, to Adrian the
neophyte 'tis worth an age—it will serve for the accomplishment
of his purpose!
“Nay, start not, fair maiden, nor turn pale!”
These were the words that fell shrieking from his
lips. “Recoil not with horror, nor avert thine eyes
with fear! Fair thou art and beautiful, thy full
dark eyes were but made to speak passion, thy ruby
lips to murmur tones of love! And for thee have
I denied my God, for thee have I bartered my soul,
for thee have I kindled the flames of the eternal
fire within this bosom, that knew no care till mine
eyes looked upon thy face of beauty and thy form
of grace!
“And these are the last words of Adrian the Neophyte
to the proud and peerless beauty—Rose of
Ellarini!
“If ever thou knowest a joy, dear unto thee, as
hath been the thought of God to me, then may that
joy be torn from thee as thou hast torn the thought
of God from my soul!
“Mayst thou taste the cup of human bliss, nor
taste alone, but drain to the dregs—mayst thou
revel in hollow pleasure and souless gaiety, until it
becometh a part of thy nature, and then when the
faces thou lovest to look upon wither, when the
friends of thy heart are faithless, when the lips thou
wert wont to kiss stale on thy taste, then when
life has wasted all her pleasures at thy feet, mayst
thou then know, not Despair, nor Woe, nor
Death—but Life! And then as the curse of curses
—the curse of SATIETY is gathering over thy
heart, then remember that for thee, Adrian the
Neophyte denied his God and bartered his soul!”
With eye flashing, with hair thrown back from
his brow, in a tone of fear and horror, the Neophyte
uttered the words, which thrilled the spectators
with helpless terror, while the dagger gleamed in
his clenched hand.
He advanced toward the maiden—he gazed upon
her fair face for a moment—he flung the dagger to
the floor.
“The curse of Satiety!” he murmured, looking
her fully in the face, and then folding his arms
across his breast, he stepped backward, and cast a
look to heaven!
In a moment a heavy body fell to the floor, and
the bystanders gazed upon the shapeless corse of
Adrian the Neophyte, the arms outstretched, the
limbs contorted, and a thin stream of blood flowing
from the compressed lips.
“He lieth low, a wreck of all that is noble or
good!” exclaimed the venerable Abbot, as bursting
through the affrighted throng he surveyed the corse.
“He lieth low, a shapeless corse, and yet fair maiden
'tis for thee that we should weep—not for him!—
He hath said the curse, and it is upon thee—the
curse of a broken heart! Behold how his blood
streams along the white robes of the altar!”
And there, while the bystanders recoiled with
horror at this strange and spectral scene, while the
Lord Urban Di Capello hid his face in his robe, and
the maiden Rose of Ellarini stood gazing vacantly
at the corse, while the head of the Abbot was
drooped on his breast, and from aisle to aisle of the
cathedral ran the shriek and the cry and the groan,
there, above shout and cry and groan, was heard the
sound of unreal laughter, far above in the air, and
a voice unseen and unknown whispered the
words—
“Youth—and Hope—and Love! Brave things
are they all! Ha—Ha—Ha—Behold
Adrian the Neophyte!”
| THE FOURTH PICTURE. Adrian, the neophyte | |