The shadows of evening soon shifted to the gloom of night, which was
somewhat anticipated by the vapours, that, gathering fast round the
mountains, rolled in dark wreaths along their sides; and the guides
proposed to rest, till the moon should rise, adding, that they thought
a storm was coming on. As they looked round for a spot, that might
afford some kind of shelter, an object was perceived obscurely through
the dusk, on a point of rock, a little way down the mountain, which
they imagined to be a hunter’s or a shepherd’s cabin, and the party,
with cautious steps, proceeded towards it. Their labour, however, was
not rewarded, or their apprehensions soothed; for, on reaching the
object of their search, they discovered a monumental cross, which
marked the spot to have been polluted by murder. The darkness would not permit them to read the inscription; but the
guides knew this to be a cross, raised to the memory of a Count de
Beliard, who had been murdered here by a horde of banditti, that had
infested this part of the Pyrenees, a few years before; and the
uncommon size of the monument seemed to justify the supposition, that
it was erected for a person of some distinction. Blanche shuddered, as
she listened to some horrid particulars of the Count’s fate, which one
of the guides related in a low, restrained tone, as if the sound of his
own voice frightened him; but, while they lingered at the cross,
attending to his narrative, a flash of lightning glanced upon the
rocks, thunder muttered at a distance, and the travellers, now alarmed,
quitted this scene of solitary horror, in search of shelter. Having regained their former track, the guides, as they passed on,
endeavoured to interest the Count by various stories of robbery, and
even of murder, which had been perpetrated in the very places they must
unavoidably pass, with accounts of their own dauntless courage and
wonderful escapes. The chief guide, or rather he, who was the most
completely armed, drawing forth one of the four pistols, that were
tucked into his belt, swore, that it had shot three robbers within the
year. He then brandished a clasp-knife of enormous length, and was
going to recount the wonderful execution it had done, when St. Foix,
perceiving, that Blanche was terrified, interrupted him. The Count,
meanwhile, secretly laughing at the terrible histories and extravagant
boastings of the man, resolved to humour him, and, telling Blanche in a
whisper, his design, began to recount some exploits of his own, which
infinitely exceeded any related by the guide. To these surprising circumstances he so artfully gave the colouring of
truth, that the courage of the guides was visibly affected by them, who
continued silent, long after the Count had ceased to speak. The
loquacity of the chief hero thus laid asleep, the vigilance of his eyes
and ears seemed more thoroughly awakened, for he listened, with much
appearance of anxiety, to the deep thunder, which murmured at
intervals, and often paused, as the breeze, that was now rising, rushed
among the pines. But, when he made a sudden halt before a tuft of cork
trees, that projected over the road, and drew forth a pistol, before he
would venture to brave the banditti which might lurk behind it, the
Count could no longer refrain from laughter. Having now, however, arrived at a level spot, somewhat sheltered from
the air, by overhanging cliffs and by a wood of larch, that rose over
the precipice on the left, and the guides being yet ignorant how far
they were from the inn, the travellers determined to rest, till the
moon should rise, or the storm disperse. Blanche, recalled to a sense
of the present moment, looked on the surrounding gloom, with terror;
but giving her hand to St. Foix, she alighted, and the whole party
entered a kind of cave, if such it could be called, which was only a
shallow cavity, formed by the curve of impending rocks. A light being
struck, a fire was kindled, whose blaze afforded some degree of
cheerfulness, and no small comfort, for, though the day had been hot,
the night air of this mountainous region was chilling; a fire was
partly necessary also to keep off the wolves, with which those wilds
were infested. Provisions being spread upon a projection of the rock, the Count and
his family partook of a supper, which, in a scene less rude, would
certainly have been thought less excellent. When the repast was
finished, St. Foix, impatient for the moon, sauntered along the
precipice, to a point, that fronted the east; but all was yet wrapt in
gloom, and the silence of night was broken only by the murmuring of
woods, that waved far below, or by distant thunder, and, now and then,
by the faint voices of the party he had quitted. He viewed, with
emotions of awful sublimity, the long volumes of sulphureous clouds,
that floated along the upper and middle regions of the air, and the
lightnings that flashed from them, sometimes silently, and, at others,
followed by sullen peals of thunder, which the mountains feebly
prolonged, while the whole horizon, and the abyss, on which he stood,
were discovered in the momentary light. Upon the succeeding darkness,
the fire, which had been kindled in the cave, threw a partial gleam,
illumining some points of the opposite rocks, and the summits of
pine-woods, that hung beetling on the cliffs below, while their
recesses seemed to frown in deeper shade. St. Foix stopped to observe the picture, which the party in the cave
presented, where the elegant form of Blanche was finely contrasted by
the majestic figure of the Count, who was seated by her on a rude
stone, and each was rendered more impressive by the grotesque habits
and strong features of the guides and other attendants, who were in the
back ground of the piece. The effect of the light, too, was
interesting; on the surrounding figures it threw a strong, though pale
gleam, and glittered on their bright arms; while upon the foliage of a
gigantic larch, that impended its shade over the cliff above, appeared
a red, dusky tint, deepening almost imperceptibly into the blackness of
night. While St. Foix contemplated the scene, the moon, broad and yellow, rose
over the eastern summits, from among embattled clouds, and showed dimly
the grandeur of the heavens, the mass of vapours, that rolled half way
down the precipice beneath, and the doubtful mountains. What dreadful pleasure! there to stand sublime,
Like shipwreck’d mariner on desert coast,
And view th’enormous waste of vapour, tost
In billows length’ning to th’horizon round! THE MINSTREL


From this romantic reverie he was awakened by the voices of the guides,
repeating his name, which was reverbed from cliff to cliff, till a
hundred tongues seemed to call him; when he soon quieted the fears of
the Count and the Lady Blanche, by returning to the cave.