The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1855-04-26

distance not great but seconds thought made
HIM hesitate, and well it was that he did. A
vivid flash OF lightning exhibited the terrible
iact that ne was swinging halfway between his
WINDOW and the ground. The treason, the
cruel trap, was but too evident. To let himself
fal would be certain death-and yet he could
not continue cinging in the storm to the cord /;
his remaining strength would soon be exhaust
cd. He determined to return. With desperate
efforts ne clambered short distance up the
rope, and, holding by his teeth and one hand
with the other he passed the end of the rope
around his leg in such q manner as to afford
him support-and loosening his wearied grasp,
ne gathered breath and strength for his new Of
forts.
AS the Count swung, resting upon the narrow
cord, the storm swept by, but the wind continu-
ed, and the stars twinkled in the blue depths,
which the many lights of the vast city seemed
rejecting. One little life in that vast multitude
one little existence in the immensely of space
appeared scarcely worth struggling to preserves
yet to the young man, whose brave heart never
faltered, the multitude below, and the very stars
above, seemed only secondary to himself The
sublime egotism of heroic character nerved him
to the contest, and he commenced his painful
ascent. Slowly he strove, gaining little by lit
tie, until the window ledge was within his
grasp. BY terrible and last effort he gained
this, drew himself in, and fell exhausted upon
his bed. He did not despair; but from the very
mouth of treacherous defeat won his victory
Selling cloak and hat, he threw them from the
window, and, in the dim light of coming day.
had the satisfaction of seeing them floating in
the moat below; he then concealed himself
waiting patiently for the approach of his cruel
jailer. He came at last, opened the door, and
uttered an exclamation of delight on seeing the
hor Il L.
the window. He gave but one glance at the
cloak and hat swimming below, and FASTENED
away to announce the death of their trouble
some prisoner. In his hurry, he left unlocked
the prison-door, and Philip was quick to follow
In the hall he found number of TOOLS left the
night before by workman employed on some
repairs. He seized a hammer, followed with
quick, light step, the treacherous keeper, and
at the first door he stopped to unlock, felled
him to the floor. 1t was so sudden and fierce,
that the man fell like a log. Philip seized the
keys, unlocked the door, and, after shutting and
locking it behind him, fed swiftly along the
deserted hall. He encountered many other
doors, history tells us, and several domestics;
but by his wit and impudence passed them all.
to find himself once more beyond the walls of
his hated prison.
One would suppose, now at least, after this
effort to escape the hands of enemies so unre-
lenting. BY no manner of means-the very
night of his escape he appeared as usual at the
palace. One can but suspect, after all, while
reading from this true history the Count Phil
ips pertinacity in counting the vengeance of
the Cardinal, that he had, or believed that he
had, some influence in the quarter suspected
by his powerful enemy. Be that as it may,
he was Immediately seized upon by the guards
under command of "this shade of Richeeu"
and the shade set about thinking of some dis
position other than the Bastille afforded The
weak imitator of a great man regarded the Bas-
tile as a State prison, subject to the interior.
ence, if not under the control, of others than
himself, and had, on that account, what he
called his "petite maison," entirely subject to
his tyrannical and somewhat capricious viii.
To this, Count Philip was consigned, with
orders to place him in the best-secured apart
ment, and, under penalty of DEATH suffer no es-
cape. To the adventurous young man the
prospect was not cheering. He found himself
in low, arched chamber, into which the light
struggled dimly from long, narrow, window,
heavily barred. Into this he had been brought
blind-folded, traversing many passages-hear-
ing numerous doors open and shut for him,
and, being fairly bewildered by the many turns
he was forced to make. He seemed, indeed,
introduced to his tomb. With heavy heart,
he turned from the material Obstacles to the
human. He turned at first IJom the glance
with horror.
His keeper was a woman-a deformed woman.
Indeed the responsible guardians Of this prison
were an old soldier and his daughter The man,
a wreck of former strength eminently developed,
had but one arm, and was lame. The daugh-
ter, as 1 said, was deformed. / cannot give,
he oh thnrh
of this Unlocking person. An injury to the
spine, when young, had destroyed all symmetry
of figure, and nothing but the head remained to
testify to the beauty so cruelty destroyed. Could
that head have been separated from its fearful
support, it would have appeared the head of
Madonna. But placed as it was, it seemed to
add to the deformity. The great quantity of
silken black hair fell over complexion of start
ling purity-and large lustrous eyes lit up
face, so exquisitely regular, so delicate, so ex-
pressive that sculptor might give a life of
ideal effort for this-our reality. But, alas
this head of an angel was chained down to the
body of fend, was indeed its exponent, and
exhibited but expressions angry, impatient, or
painful. The heart born to be full of sympa-
thies-kind as the spring-generous as the
day-had been locked up in its loathsome prison
house, and like plant shut out from light,
vance of my story. Day after day went by, and
Philips active intellect found no means of
escape. No one approached him save this
woman, with the domestics and she stood 81
lent with keys in hand, while he ate his meals,
and they arranged his cell. This ended, she
followed them out, giving one or two searching
chances to the interior as she went He was,
indeed, well guarded-the only important pris.
oner, he had the undivided attention of an hon.
est, stout, old soldier aided by the vigilance of
a morbidly sharpened intellect, and stimulated
by the hope of reward if successful in keeping
the prisoner, and the certainty of death if he
failed. Philips was not spirit to despair.
He said to himself, Why, this is a woman /
will appeal to her feelings. will make love to
her." The first interview after this resolution
made him start back from his own hidden pur-
pose-so hideous in person-so cold and sar-
castle in expression. But it was necessary, and
he accordingly approached cautiously his VIC
tim. So clear q head, so shrewd an intellect.
would suspect at once the design of approaches
too hastily made. There was no reasonable
motive to which to appeal-nothing natural to
rest upon. wish / had the space to follow the
French author in his history of this affair-in
his cold anatomy of the being he had selected
to dissect. The poor heart, imprisoned in its
fearful tomb, was yet human; the strong, yet
unrecognised, unacknowledged longing for hu-
man sympathy-that great principle of life that
moves and controls all our actions-there had
its growth, morbidly perhaps-ike plant de-
prived of lght-yet positive and strong. 1t is
hard to know the fact that one created to love
and be loved saw the world shrink away the
very child start from the offered caress, and no
recognition given but of horror and disgust
walked alone in crowds, and could die unlament-
ed. For even the father, rough old soldier as