MYSTERIOUS WARNING.
CHAP. I
I retired to my own apartment overwhelmed with vexation and resentment. What, could I submit to marry a woman who avowed her love for another, who detested me, and in whose eyes my very perseverance must appear meanness? Where was my pride, my feeling, to accept a reluctant hand? Yet when her beauteous form swam before me, her fascinating charms, could I coldly resign her to another? Was she not ungrateful and disdainful, and must I be the sufferer for saving her father's life? No, I would teach her to love, or if not to love, to obey and please me; I would consult my own gratification, nor bear the insult of rejection from a preference to another! Thus determined, love, pride, and resentment, took full possession of my soul, and I resolved to urge a quick completion of the nuptial rites.
The Count joined me soon after, and congratulated himself and me on our success.—"Bear with her coldness, my dear Baron (said he) I know her principles, her integrity. In a very short time she will be sensible of her duties, and become every thing you can wish for; the sooner the marriage takes place the better." This met my wishes, and we settled it that the ceremony should be performed in three days. At supper, when sent for, she directly followed the servant; she spoke not, but tried to eat; it was an attempt only, for she could not swallow. The Count and myself addressed her with the kindest expressions. She only bowed; but being warmly urged by her father, she drank a glass of wine, and instantly burst into a torrent of tears, so violent that I was quite terrified.—For upwards of an hour she wept incessantly, till quite exhausted she was conveyed to her apartment, and in all probability the tears she shed preserved her intellects, as, after they had ceased to flow, she grew more composed, spoke to her attendant, but passed the night without rest, and sighed continually.—The next day the Count passed above two hours with her alone, and then led her into the saloon to me. Pale, trembling and dejected, she received my ardent addresses without manifesting any reluctance, yet, without the least mark of complacency, tortured to death by her cold disdain, I ventured to complain, to remonstrate. She turned her eyes full upon me:—"Of what, Sir, can you complain? I hear you, I obey my father, you know I can do no more, I cannot play the hypocrite; if I become your wife I shall do my duty, but love or affection I can never promise, and—she paused, then fixing her penetrating eye on mine—and, to a mind so little delicate as your's, the tender feelings of the soul can be but of trifling estimation:—Urge me then no more, you may deserve my esteem, but never can possess my heart."
"Eugenia!" cried the Count, in an angry tone, "is this treatment for you to offer, or my benefactor to endure?"
"Your pardon, Sir," (returned she;) "I simply speak the dictates of truth, and the Baron has no cause to be offended; I know my duties, and will perform them."—Provoked as I was, and vowing vengeance in my heart, I thought it best to diversify our subjects of conversation, and appear submissive to her will: I endeavoured to repress my feelings, and by silent assiduities obtain her attention; but a chilling reserve, and a studied politeness, was all the return I met with. I freely confess, rage and resentful pride had an equal share with love in my desire to obtain her hand. Unaccustomed to have my will disputed, I was hurt and mortified to see all my complaisance thrown away, and to feel humbled before the woman I considered as under obligations to me:—Stimulated therefore by every turbulent passion, I determined she should be mine, be the consequences what they might.
Preparations were made for the marriage; she heard, she saw all, without a single observation; and the day previous to that on which we were to be united, her father informed her, that at twelve the following morning the ceremony was to be performed.
"I shall obey your pleasure, Sir," was all her reply.
"The day came, ten thousand curses on it, and the false, dissembling, artful wretch! But I am revenged." Let me then proceed: "At the appointed hour we assembled in the Chapel adjoining to my Castle, there I received the perjured creature's hand in the moment when she was planning to deceive and destroy my peace for ever! After the ceremony was performed, and we retired to the saloon, she turned to me with an air of solemnity: "I have obeyed my father, Sir, and complied with your wishes, permit me to solicit a favour in my turn."
"Name it, my angel," cried I, in a foolish transport, kissing her hand.
"Suffer me to pass the remainder of this day alone, in my own apartment."
"How!" said the Count, "not dine with us, Eugenia? Impossible, you cannot expect your husband will accede to such an absurd request."
"You, Sir," answered she, with an expressive look, "have this day resigned over all your authority to this Gentleman, it is to him therefore I apply. A few hours to myself is no great boon; I again repeat my request not to be broken in upon till the supper hour."
Fool! blockhead as I was! fearful of irritating her, and in the hope I should please her by my compliance, "Dearest Eugenia! (I cried) be mistress of your own time, I submit to any mortification that can oblige you, and let me trust to your generosity to reward my self-denial." I kissed her hand, and led her to the door. She turned her eyes upon her father, tears gushed from them, which she strove to hide, and, bowing to me, hastily withdrew.
"You are wrong, my dear Baron," said the Count, "to indulge her."
"Pardon me," answered I, "reflection will be favourable to my wishes, her vows are now given and a consideration of the duties she has taken upon herself to perform, will probably operate in my favour, and produce a desirable change in her behaviour."
"You may possibly be right," replied he, "but some how I am neither pleased nor satisfied."—Ah! he had his reasons for distrusting the perfidious wretch, whilst I was lulled into a blind security! The woman that attended her had orders to carry some wine and biscuits to her apartment. The Count and myself eat our dinner, and the day being wet, seated ourselves quietly to piquet, though my emotions did not permit me to pay much attention to the game; I felt more than once inclined to have asked particulars respecting the man who had possessed the heart of my wife; but delicacy repressed my curiosity, as the Count had always evaded any explanation on that head.
"The hours passed tardily until the time arrived, when she had permitted an interruption. The moment the supper was prepared I flew to her apartment, and gently knocked at the door: No answer was made, when I repeated it louder: I looked through the key-hole, and saw the key was on the inside; yet no noise or the least bustle was made.—Extremely alarmed I called for her servant; she was no where to be found, nor had she been visible for some hours. The Count by this time had joined me, and ordered the door to be forced. The apartment was empty!
"Never, never shall I forget the anguish of that moment! The window which looked into the garden was open: She is gone—she is lost! (I cried) and I am undone!"
"My dear son," exclaimed the enraged Baron, "lose no time in fruitless grief, let us pursue her through different roads, we soon shall hear of the faithless wretch, whom I blush to call daughter." The servants were instantly summoned; it was a dark, stormy night, but I ordered them to prepare horses for me and for themselves; it was impossible in such weather they could travel fast. On examining we found her clothes were gone. Agnes, who had waited on her, said, "that when she carried the biscuits the Lady ordered her to retire." The Count, with some of my vassals, were to search all the neighbouring cottages, whilst we scoured the roads. Heedless of the weather, myself and four servants took one direction; two more, with some of the tenantry I had caused to be called together, took another, and large rewards were promised to the successful pursuer.
Two days and nights were spent in a vain pursuit round the country and through the woods, without obtaining the least intelligence to guide our search, and I began to be well convinced that she must be concealed somewhere in my own neighbourhood. I returned to the Castle, and found the Count had not been more successful than myself.—Rage, vexation and fatigue, threw me into a fever, which confined me to my bed for eight days; but though incapable of acting myself, I still sent persons to watch the roads night and day. The fourth day of my confinement, a woman servant entered the room with two letters; "having that morning been to Eugenia's apartment to clean the room, and take the linen from the bed, under the pillow she had found those papers." I hastily snatched them from her hand, and saw one was addressed to me, the other to the Count, the writing Eugenia's. I tore it open, and read the following words:
"All endeavours to discover my retreat will prove fruitless, nor will you ever see me more. Had not the prospect of a deliverance from your power been held out to me, my own hand would have terminated my life. To avoid the completion of a father's malediction, I obeyed and gave you my hand, but I secretly repeated other vows.—May Heaven forgive me, for I had no alternative. Had they been given to you I must have been perjured. Love, such as I have an idea of, had no share in your bosom, for you sought your own gratification at the expense of my happiness: On your account therefore I feel no regret; you have preserved the life of my parent to deprive me of his love and protection. You have made me miserable, may you render his future days happy! Adieu for ever!
eugenia."
the letter to the count was as follows:
"Humbly on her knees the lost, unhappy Eugenia implores a father's pardon, and invokes from Heaven every blessing on his head! Had any thing but her everlasting happiness been at stake, she would have sacrificed herself with transport. To a father's wishes she gave up an attachment founded on merit, truth and honour, she resigned her fondest hopes of felicity.—Ah! my Lord, was she not then entitled to a negative voice? Must she be compelled to violate every feeling of her heart, and devote herself to misery? Impossible! the most rigid duty cannot require such a sacrifice.—You commanded your wretched daughter under the penalty of your 'everlasting curses,' dreadful denunciation! to give 'her hand' to Baron S***. He cruelly availed himself of the dread command, and she obeyed:—But there your power ends. The Supreme Being never will sanction constrained or perjured vows, and in the very act of giving her hand, she mentally pronounced others than those dictated by force to her trembling lips: No ties therefore subsist between the Baron and Eugenia; may he make another and a more fortunate choice. For you, dear and ever honoured parent, whilst your unfortunate daughter exists, for you, her prayers will be offered to the Throne of Grace, that every blessing that Heaven can bestow may be yours, and that you may grant that forgiveness she solicits on her knees with a bleeding heart, for the pain and disappointment she is compelled to give you. Grant, Gracious Heaven, that Eugenia may one day kneel and obtain a father's blessing! The pangs of death can scarcely exceed those she feels when she resolves to fly from your paternal arms, and bury herself in solitude, perhaps for ever!
Such were the contents of two letters indelibly imprinted on my memory. The Count's rage was little inferior to mine; from him I learned that she had, almost from infancy, formed an attachment to the young Count M****, son to a man he had once esteemed, but now detested, from a discovery that his principles were inimical to the good of his country: He had therefore broken off the intended marriage. The grief and disappointment attending that event had driven the lover to quit his country in search of returning peace, far from the object of his wishes. This affair had preyed greatly on Eugenia's spirits, and it was to relieve her disquietudes, and by a diversity of objects engage her attention from dwelling on one set of painful ideas, that the Count undertook a journey to Munich, and by a cruel fatality was thrown in my way to complete my misery; we had little doubt but that her lover had been instrumental in her flight, and that a secret correspondence had been carried on between them, but how or which way they could have conducted her escape, so as to baffle all intelligence, has ever remained a mystery to this hour.
I had scarcely attained a state of convalescence, before the old Count fell ill; indignation had for a time supported him, whilst there remained any hopes of discovering her; but when all our different messengers returned unsuccessful, he began to droop, and in proportion as grief and reflection on the loss of an only child, took possession of his mind, his bodily strength decayed. After staying with me near three months, heavily oppressed both in mind and body, hopeless and languishing, he took leave of me to return into Suabia; at the moment of his departure, however, he solemnly protested, that should his daughter ever be recovered, he should consider her as my wife, honour, gratitude, and the rights of an injured parent confirmed her such, unless I chose to break the ties between us. "My dear Baron (said he, as he entered the carriage that was to convey him from me:) My dear Baron, depend upon my integrity, you are free, but I and my daughter are bound; whether she ever returns to her duty or not, you are the heir to all I can dispose of from my nephew, and I trust that I shall shortly see you in Suabia."
We parted to meet no more. I had refused to accompany him, in the faint hope that time might bring me some information respecting the fugitive; and he was desirous of returning that he might make an inquiry respecting Count M***. Some time past before I heard from Count Zimchaw, and of course I concluded he was as far as myself from obtaining the least degree of satisfaction. For my part, neither time nor disappointment had abated my passion; I still loved to a degree of fury; for rage, and a desire of revenge on her and her paramour, went hand in hand with my inclination for her person; and being at length convinced they could not remain so long undiscovered in my neighbourhood, I was on the point of setting off for Suabia when I received a letter from the Count. He informed me that a severe fit of illness had prevented him from writing, tho' he did not neglect every necessary inquiry that might tend to procure a development of the dark plot against our happiness. To his astonishment he learned that the young Count M***, having been recalled by the death of his father, had resided for some time past at his estate, still overwhelmed with a deep melancholy, which had appeared lately to be greatly increased, arising, as he supposed, from the report he had given out on his arrival to his own Castle, "That the Lady Eugenia was married to Baron S****, still desirous (added the Count) of preserving the reputation of an ungrateful wretch, whom I can never again acknowledge as a daughter, unless she is your wife."—He added, "that from every circumstance he had investigated, it was certain that Count M*** held no correspondence with her, and that in his opinion the most certain conclusion was, that she had escaped to some Convent. He earnestly pressed me to come and reside with him, leaving a trusty person on my own estate, who might still continue every proper inquiry, and that should it be possible for her to lie concealed in my neighbourhood, my absence would throw her off her guard, and when we least expected it, she might be discovered."
This letter at once determined me, and in a very few days after I set off on my journey to Suabia. The Count's Castle lay between Stutgard, the capital of Suabia, and Baden, and, after a fatiguing journey, I arrived on the very day on which he had expired, of the gout in his stomach. I found his domestics expected my arrival, in consequence of my answer to their master's letter, and was presently informed he had declared me his heir, and from me they were to take every direction. I was touched with this proof of the Count's gratitude and affection, and more than ever desirous of recovering his daughter, that she might share in that fortune her worthy father had bequeathed to me. Not entirely divested of hope, I accounted for her absence by saying, "that she was likely to produce an heir, and being in a delicate state of health, the physicians had forbidden her to undertake the journey." This passed with every body. I took upon me the management of the household, saw the remains of Count Zimchaw deposited in the family vault, and as his nephew was to have possession of the Castle and estate, I disposed of the furniture, dismissed the servants, and took a lodging at a farmer's for a few days previous to my return home.
The truth was, I had an invincible desire to see Count M***, whose residence was only a very few miles distance. Every day I rode round his grounds, and grew quite desperate that chance did not befriend me.—One morning, riding through a narrow valley, accompanied by one servant only, I met a Gentleman with a gun, and an English pointer running by his side. As he advanced I saw a young man, of a noble air, and an engaging countenance; struck with a presentiment that this must be the Count, I accosted him, and inquired to whom that mansion, whose turrets we saw through the trees, and the neighbouring grounds, belonged?
"To Count M***, Sir (replied he, eying me with a scrutinizing look:) Are you a stranger in this country that you ask the question?"
"I am (answered I) having resided in these parts only a fortnight."
"A fortnight! (repeated he, with some emotion) you are on a visit then I suppose?"
"No; I came here for that purpose, but found my good friend dead, the late Count Zimchaw."
"Count Zimchaw! (he exclaimed.) Great God! perhaps I see Baron S***?"
"You are right, Sir, that is my name."
In a moment he turned pale, trembled, and convinced me by his emotions that my conjectures were just, and that in him I beheld a detested rival. To an indifferent by-stander our appearance must have excited astonishment; we viewed each other for some moments in silent rage, but fortunately prudence predominated over passion, and I recollected that it was necessary to dissemble. I immediately added, as soon as I could speak. "And I have the happiness of being the husband of his daughter, the Lady Eugenia." He leaned against a tree unable to support himself. "O name for ever dear! (cried he) sacred be your peace, whatever becomes of mine!"—"Leave me, Sir, leave me to retrospections more painful than you can wish to your bitterest enemy." For a moment the thought crossed me to put a period to his existence; but whilst I deliberated, two of his servants appeared with dogs and guns. Looking at him with the most pointed contempt I could assume, I departed in silence; but with more heart-felt ease than I had experienced a long while, convinced now that Eugenia was not with him, nor of course in that part of the country. Having in a short time settled every thing with Count Zimchaw's heir, who was also led to believe his relation was my wife, and at my Castle; I left Suabia to return home, richer, but more wretched, than before I had known the Count and his daughter. On my arrival I learned that every search had been fruitless respecting the ungrateful woman, who had so shamefully and suddenly deserted us, I sought to amuse my mind by embellishing my Castle; but in vain I endeavoured to root out my ill-fated passion from my heart.—Eugenia, beautiful and engaging, was ever before my eyes, and threw me into a gloomy dejection, from whence nothing could rouse me. The little society that I had sometimes indulged in, grew hateful to me, love, and a desire of revenge, wholly occupied my mind, and the only idea that could communicate the least degree of satisfaction to my soul, was, that Count M*** was apparently as wretched as myself.
Four years I passed without a friend or a companion to harmonize my feelings, or without the least intelligence of the object that had caused all my misery: During that time I had changed my servants two or three times, for nothing pleased me, and the men preferred serving in the army rather than to support the capriciousness of my temper. One faithful fellow only remained, who had been invariably attached to me for some years, who had the command over the others, and had been generally hated by them for that reason. This man, Peter, who was in my confidence, I had twice dispatched into Suabia, to make private inquiries relative to Count M***, and was informed, that within three months after my departure he had quitted his palace overwhelmed with deep melancholy, and was gone to travel for the recovery of his health.
The last inquiry afforded no other information than that he was abroad. I had also set on foot a diligent search through all the neighbouring convents to procure intelligence of my wife, curse on the name! but all proved abortive; yet neither time, nor despair, caused any revolution in my sentiments; I loved and hated to excess."