156 A Chapter from the Meiiioirs, S^c. £Aug. 



During the whole of this eventfbl period, I never once quitted Hortense. 

 Alone I kept watch by her bed-side ; alone I marked the changes of 

 that countenance, once so gentle — so lovely — so impassioned in its 

 expression ; alone I listened to the hollow sounds of that voice, once so 

 sweet and plaintive ; alone I marked the glare of that red, dilated eye, 

 which, except on one occasion, had never turned towards me but in kind- 

 ness ; and, as I observed these proofs of an insanity, that, at one sudden 

 blow, had torn up reason by the roots and shivered the stem to ashes, 

 I prayed that the same bolt which had struck this lovely but fragile 

 plant to earth, might, ere long, lay me beside it. 



The evening of the fourth day was now fast approaching. Hortense's 

 attendant had gone into a neighbouring street upon some errand, and I 

 sate alone beside the invalid. Night overtook me on my watch — a night 

 of hurricane and tempest — of arrowy lightning — of loud, incessant 

 thunder ! But there was one who heard it not : for her the elements 

 henceforth were still ; a far other storm had swept the desert of her 

 brain — she could never feel a worse ! As I marked the changes of her 

 countenance, and listened to her damp, heavy breathing, which every 

 instant fell fainter and fainter on my ear, the cathedral clock tolled mid- 

 night. 



At this instant a crash of thunder burst right above my head, and 

 shook the house to its foundations. 



Another — and then, in the sudden, unnatural pause of the tempest, rose 

 a vision before my eyes, which, whether real or conjured up solely by 

 imagination, has since fixed itself as an imperishable record on my 

 mind. Dim at first, but strengthening gradually into a distincter shape, 

 stood at the foot of the bed, his form arrayed in a pale, wan, sickly 

 light, the spirit of the dead Herwaldsen. His face was set in the solemn 

 expression of the grave ; all trace of life had passed from it : the thin 

 closed lip stirred not ; the stony eye was fixed; but there looked out, 

 methought, from its moveless orbs the soul of an intellect sublimed by 

 the knowledge of eternity. Had the form before me indeed passed the 

 portals of death ? Had it penetrated that mysterious realm from which, 

 ever and anon, comes forth a voice of power which awes us, though we 

 may not comprehend it .'' 1 know not — who on earth shall ever know ? 

 For a brief while the spectre remained unchanged and moveless, when 

 suddenly it pointed its upraised arm to the wasted form that lay before 

 it, and then slowly melted into air — one dim, shadowy smile throwing 

 over its countenance an expression of humanity as it vanished. 

 Alarmed — breathless with awe — I turned towards the dying maniac. 

 Life was ebbing fast away ; but it w as departing in triumph, to 

 the wild dirge of the hurricane, the stormy music of the thunder, the 

 sepulchral torches of the lightning ! For upwards of an hour she con- 

 tinued in a state of hopeless, imbecile delirium ; when, suddenly, she 

 half-raised herself in bed, and, in a faint whisper — so faint, so very faint, 

 that it was next akin to silence — pronounced her husband's name. Asto- 

 nished, and even almost venturing to hope, I looked earnestly into her 

 countenance — God of heaven ! there was intelligence in its expression. 

 With a wan, benignant smile, she held out her hand towards me, 

 while her eye expressed all she would have said'. This was her last 

 movement : the springs of existence were drained ; the fountain had 

 ceased to flow ; the spark was just going out ; and, as I caught its glim- 

 mer on the threshold, jt dimmed — wavered — and then sank into eternal 

 darkness. Hortense was dead ! 



