CHAP. VII.
Two days passed away without any material occurrence, the third brought visitors to the Castle. Baron Reiberg and his son, the nearest relations and heirs to the late Baron S———, arrived about the middle of the day at this Solitary Mansion. The Baron had for some years enjoyed the revenues of the estate by the courtesy of the Emperor; every inquiry had been set on foot to discover the existence of the Baron, and all proving fruitless, it seemed so unaccountable, that a person of his rank and fortune should so suddenly disappear, and his fate be unknown, that at length some person in the neighbourhood, who had heard a vague report of his being married to a Lady who had run away the same day to a Convent, conjectured that he had gone a volunteer to the wars under a borrowed name, and had fallen undistinguished among the slain.
This idea soon got abroad, and was generally credited, so that the present Baron found but little difficulty in prevailing upon the Emperor to allow him the possession of the estates, to which he was the legal heir, on the demise of Baron S———. The express sent by Count M———, addressed to the steward, or possessor of the estate, had infinitely surprised him; but as it brought a confirmation of his relation's death, it relieved him from a doubt which had often given him pain, lest he should be dispossessed of his fortune. Curiosity induced him to take the journey, accompanied by his son, and no time was lost in putting his design into execution.
Count M——— received them with politeness, and without reserve related every event which had taken place at the Castle. The astonishment of the two Gentlemen may be easily conceived; they detested the cruelty of the late Baron, and reprobated his conduct in the strongest terms: They could offer no reparation to the Count, who was superior to pecuniary favours; but Baron Reiberg earnestly entreated the Lady Eugenia would accept of that income to which she would have been entitled as the late Baron's widow by the marriage settlement, particularly as the Baron possessed her father's fortune.—This offer she strenuously refused; much generous altercation took place between them, at length a compromise was agreed on. As Eugenia could have no just expectations to any part of the Baron's fortune, neither had she power to claim any share of her father's property bequeathed unconditionally to him; yet, as the Baron, who now possessed all, was so extremely desirous of making some restitution to her, she reluctantly acquiesced with his wishes, to accept from him a sum of money sufficient to insure her a most welcome reception when she retired to the Convent.
This plan met with great opposition from Count M———, who could not support the idea that his Eugenia should owe any pecuniary favours to a stranger, and a relation of their cruel persecutor; but the urgent entreaties of the Baron, and the remonstrances of the Lady, who considered the obligation forced upon her, more as a generous resignation of a small part of that property to which she had once undoubted claims, than as a gift from an indifferent person not benefited by her family; as a very inconsiderable share of what she had a natural right to have expected, she consented to gratify the Baron's feelings by her acceptance of, and so greatly did he feel interested in her melancholy story, that her acquiescence was considered as a high obligation to himself.
One great difficulty equally affected all parties; it was essential to the Baron, that the death of his relation should be publicly announced, that all doubts should be removed, and his possession of the estates be unquestionably his right. How this matter could be elucidated, without involving the names and story of Count M——— and Eugenia, puzzled them all. Several plans and stories were suggested, but all liable to objections, until Ferdinand being requested to give his opinion, proposed that the account should be as simple as possible, and that his name only should be brought forward, in the following manner:—"Having lost the road, he was conducted by chance to this Castle, where he was admitted by the late Baron, who acquainted him with his retirement from the world in consequence of his wife's leaving him on the day of marriage, and flying to a Convent; that unable to discover her retreat, and conscious of her utter dislike to him, he had grown weary and disgusted with mankind, and rented this Solitary Mansion of Count M———, having only one domestic with him. That a few days after Ferdinand's residence with him he was seized with an apoplectic fit, which deprived him of life, in consequence of which Ferdinand had sent off expresses to his estate, and to Count M———, whose abode he had been informed of by the Baron. This story, corroborated by Francis, he presumed to think, would effectually satisfy any curious persons, if such there were, who felt any concern about the deceased, and the Lady Eugenia might enter into the Convent as his widow, or not as she pleased."
This arrangement was immediately adopted, except that Eugenia utterly disclaimed an intention of assuming a name to which she had no right, and which indeed was odious to her, and as her marriage with Count M——— was a secret to all but the present party, she had determined to take upon herself the name of Madam of Valse, which had been a name in her mother's family; "and carrying with me (added she) all such requisites as may ensure a welcome, and give me consequence in the eyes of the Nuns, I apprehend any investigation of my family must be a matter of indifference to them."
Those difficulties, which had perplexed the Baron and Count, being now got over, the Baron dispatched expresses to his family, conformable to the plan decided on, and ordered all things to be prepared for the funeral, as he thought it an incumbent duty upon him to have the body of his relation deposited in the vault with his ancestors; all requisite preparations were made for that purpose, and within two days the procession was to set off for Bavaria.
That day and the following passed agreeably to all; the Baron and his son were so exceedingly interested for the Count, and so delighted with the placid manners, the unassumed good sense, and good nature of Ferdinand, that the idea of a separation, even on so short an acquaintance, was painful to them; the Baron therefore seized an opportunity, in the course of the evening, to express his wishes that his new friends would accompany him to Bavaria. He urged a number of inducements, backed by so many persuasions, that, had not the Count thought it essential to his interest to visit his own estate, and settle all his long accounts there, he could not have resisted an invitation so warm and pressing: Both Ferdinand and himself promised to pay him a speedy visit when they had executed their present unavoidable business. With this promise the Gentlemen were obliged to be contented, and when the hour arrived for their departure, they took leave with many expressions of esteem and gratitude;—of the Lady Eugenia, with respect and consideration, such as her misfortunes, and present laudable resolution, had a claim to.
Those remaining in the Castle, though they were much pleased with the Gentlemen, could scarcely regret their absence, as it relieved them from all concerns relative to the late Baron, the removal of whose body seemed to take from them a heavy pressure, and a painful inquietude.
Count M——— began to feel some uneasiness, that the messenger he had dispatched to his estate did not return by the time expected, and blamed himself for sending him, as his own appearance would have answered every purpose: Eugenia was very desirous of entering on her new plan, but she could not take Ferdinand from the Count in his present frame of mind, nor did she wish that the latter should accompany her. The following day all their anxiety was done away by the arrival of the expected messenger, and with him the Count's faithful old steward, who had resisted every attempt, persuasion and temptation, of those persons who, being next in succession to the Count, had long since been desirous to profit by his absence, and, under a supposition of his death, to take possession of the estates.
This honest servant produced the orders of his Lord, to hold the management of his fortune until his return to Suabia. He was ready to submit his accounts to their inspection, but he would not resign a trust delegated to him by his master, until convinced that master no longer existed. Apprehensive at length that some sinister means would be used against him, he was compelled to appeal to the Duke of Wirtemberg, who, on hearing both sides of the question, decreed that the management of the estates should remain in the steward's hands for seven years longer, subject to the inspection of the heir; after which period, if the Count did not appear to claim his rights, the property should pass into the hands of his heirs.
Eight months only of this limited seven years remained unexpired, and Mr. Duclos, the steward, had given himself up to despair, when the arrival of the Count's messenger transported him with joy; his eager desire to behold his master would not permit him to wait his return; but sending for a relation, in whom he could confide to remain with the housekeeper, he accompanied the man to the Castle, and seemed ready to expire with delight when admitted to the Count's presence.
Eugenia was not in the room, nor would she be seen by this man, who knew her when she resided with her father. She considered not the alteration which time and affliction had wrought in her face and form, which was such that the steward never would have recollected her; but as this could not in delicacy be urged to her by the Count, he made no objections to her wish of being absent. Ferdinand leaving Mr. Duclos and his master together, repaired to the apartment of Eugenia, whom he found in a flood of tears. He apologized for his intrusion, and was about to withdraw, when she earnestly called on him to return.
"Dear Sir," said she, when she had prevailed upon him to be seated, "you come most opportunely to my relief; I must leave this house to-morrow, indeed I must; the arrival of that good old man has recalled to my mind past scenes that overwhelm me with distress; I shall relapse into sorrow or madness if haunted with recollections that pain me to my very soul; a fugitive daughter, whose conduct perhaps hastened a parent's death, who died without blessing or forgiving me; he might be arbitrary, prejudiced and cruel, but he was my father, to whose goodness I owed every comfort in life, and to whose tenderness, to whose parental care of me in my infancy, I was indebted for my very existence: What sacrifices had not such a parent a right to demand? And what has been the consequences of my resistance to his will?"
Here she wept aloud. This was a subject that wrung the heart of Ferdinand, every word had sunk into his soul, and painful retrospections darted into his mind—Observing his silence, Eugenia resumed her discourse:—"The state you see me in cannot surprise you, but you have the power to tranquillize my spirits: I cannot support a parting interview—I cannot take leave of the Count—I have endeavoured to acquire fortitude, but the heart in such a moment cannot be trusted; let us go then, Sir, to-morrow at an early hour, I will leave a letter, and my clothes can be sent after me. Do not hesitate (pursued she) consider my peace, my reason may depend upon your compliance."
"Then, Madam," replied Ferdinand—"assure yourself of my obedience to your wishes; to-morrow I will attend you: I only fear that you will find the way more fatiguing than you are aware of, and that arriving at such a place on foot may excite curiosity, and give rise to unfavourable conjectures."
"Well," answered she, hastily, "make what arrangements you please, but let me go to-morrow, and go without taking leave of the ——— Count," she would have said, but the word died on her tongue, her voice faltered, and she turned from Ferdinand as he arose to leave her. He was greatly affected, and withdrew to consider on the best manner of obliging her. After much deliberation he conceived that he could not accomplish his wishes without communicating their intention to the Count, whose good sense, he trusted, would enable him to coincide with Eugenia's plan, and spare both her feelings and his own.
In this he was not mistaken, for when he had repeated the late conversation he had held with that Lady, the Count, though evidently much distressed, made no objection: "Her resolution being fixed (said he) I own to you that I think the sooner every thing can be settled the better, for her peace and mine. It is a hard struggle, my friend, to resign the woman we love, for ever, yet, as it is to be, delay can only increase the difficulty, and prolong sorrow.—To-morrow morning I will take Duclos to the village, or, if I cannot walk so far, into the Forest. Let Francis accompany you, and take such things as he can carry; there are now two horses in the stables."
"That is sufficient," exclaimed Ferdinand; "I will walk by the side of Eugenia's, and you may depend upon my care to see her safe into the Convent. We may possibly not return for the night; should it be so, entertain no apprehensions for our safety."
"And must I see Eugenia no more?" asked the Count, with a melancholy air.
"If you wish it, and think it right to indulge yourself with another interview," answered Ferdinand, "an interview that, under the present circumstances, must be painful to both, you certainly may go to her apartment: I presume not to advise, you must be the best judge of the consequences."
"Well then," said the other, with a deep sigh, "I submit to reason, nor will I wound her feelings for the gratification of a moment, which must be equally afflictive to both.—May Heaven restore her peace, and then I cannot be wholly miserable!" He left Ferdinand at those words, whose sympathizing heart felt deeply for this unfortunate pair, and was not sorry they had resolution enough to avoid a last distressing interview. The following day every thing was arranged for the departure of Eugenia; she seemed to have collected all her fortitude for the occasion, and in the hurry of the moment to have forgotten the sacrifice she had made.
On their arrival at the Monastery, Ferdinand seized a moment to recommend Claudina and his child to her notice, and to request that, as she had promised to write one letter, under cover to him, a week after her residence in the Convent, she would afford him all the information she could gain relative to those dear objects. Father Ambrose being informed of the Lady's arrival soon made his appearance, and, at Eugenia's request, proceeded with her to the Convent, where she was expected. The parting between her and Ferdinand was very affecting: He bowed upon her hand; "Adieu, my amiable friend," was all he could utter.
"May Heaven bless you," replied she, "remember our common friend, and may peace and happiness be the portion of both!"
When the gates of the Convent opened, grating on their hinges, and the Porteress appeared, Ferdinand's heart beat tumultuously: "What (thought he) have I a wife, a child, within those walls, and cannot I be permitted to have one look?" At the instant, when he was about to speak, to supplicate the Porteress for permission to see his child, the gates closed, and he remained alone. Throwing a reproaching melancholy look at the building as the grave of his affections, he returned to the Monastery, and obtained an interview with Father Joseph: That good man sought to tranquillize his mind, and promised to enter into a correspondence with him when a place should be fixed on for the conveyance of their letters.
In less than an hour Father Ambrose returned, and said he left the Lady apparently much satisfied with her reception and situation. Ferdinand having nothing to detain him, and the time allowing of their return by day-light, he took leave of the Fathers, and to the no small joy of Francis returned to the Castle, where they arrived safely and unexpectedly to the Count, whose anxiety was greatly relieved by the presence of Ferdinand.
The letter which Eugenia left for the Count, it is unnecessary to repeat, as it was only expressive of those sentiments before mentioned, calculated to inspire him with resignation and fortitude.
Mr. Duclos was very urgent with his master to accompany him back, as it would be requisite that he should appear to silence the claims of his relations, and give a sanction to the future proceedings of Duclos, that he might remain unmolested. Ferdinand was of the same opinion, and, after various consultations, it was settled that the Solitary Castle and Estate should be let, if a tenant could be found for it; that the Count and Ferdinand should return with the steward, and after the former had surveyed his estate, and finished his business with Duclos and the tenants, the two Gentlemen should proceed to Vienna, and attend the opening of the campaign. Mean time workmen were hired to repair the Castle, and render it more habitable. They were under some difficulties respecting Francis; he was too far advanced in life to bear the fatigue of travelling, and if they sent him to the village with a comfortable provision, the natural garrulity of age would lead him to talk of the strange events he had seen and heard of, which, among illiterate and superstitious people, might occasion such fears, and such exaggerations, as would very possibly prove injurious to the disposal of the estate, and the reputation of its owner. Frequent consultations were held upon the subject, and at length Francis was admitted to counsel, and asked how he wished to dispose of himself for the remainder of his days, when secured from future want?
"Ah!" replied he, "I am old and helpless, I have no relations living that I know of, nor any place to go to, except to the village, and I don't care much for any body there. I wish, methinks, I could lie at your Lordship's house with that there Gentleman (pointing to Duclos) he looks so good-humoured, and speaks so kindly; but I must go where your Honours please."
This answer of Francis's pleased the Count. "Well, my friend (said he) you shall then go with us; we will go slowly on the journey to accommodate you; a day or two on the road makes no great difference." Francis was profuse in his thanks, and tears bespoke his gratitude. He assured them of his silence respecting the recent events at the Castle; and now that his own destination was determined on, he exerted all his strength and abilities to assist the persons employed in the repairs.—Within a few days after this, a respectable farmer offered to lease the estate; terms were soon concluded upon between them, and immediate possession was to be given; they only waited to hear from Eugenia, and at the promised time her letter came.
The contents gave pleasure, surprise and pain; it breathed a spirit of serenity and contentment. She had entered upon the strict observance of the Convent rules; they grew easy and delightful; her mind was more tranquil, her soul superior to earthly considerations, farther than her wishes for the happiness of her friends, of which the Count was the dearest. She had already met with two Ladies who had kindred souls, in whose society she looked forward to much comfort and pleasure. Her friend Ferdinand would not be surprised to hear that one of these Ladies was the person he had requested to see; but she believed he would be astonished to be told that Lady was not Claudina; a coincidence of circumstances had led to a false conjecture on both sides, for the Lady had also been deceived; but it was a certain fact this Lady's name was Theodosia; that she was a stranger to this country, under the most melancholy circumstances from unparalleled ill-treatment, and the child with her was only six months old.—This was all she was allowed to say on the subject, but Ferdinand might be assured, as a solemn truth, that Claudina was not in that Convent, nor ever had been. She then recommended to him an endeavour to banish from his memory a woman he must be assured was unworthy of his regard; nor to waste his time, and ruin his health, in a fruitless pursuit of developing a mystery which could afford him no pleasure: She besought him to attach himself to her dear Count, and in the reciprocal delights of mutual friendship, find that peace and happiness which she daily implored Heaven to bestow on them."
This was nearly the contents of her letter. The Count had generosity enough to rejoice in her tranquillity, though it cost him dear; but the surprise and anxiety of Ferdinand cannot be described. He had established it in his mind for a certainty, that Claudina resided in that Convent, and from thence adduced pleasure to himself when Eugenia had readily agreed to go there, from the expectation of obtaining some intelligence of the former through her; astonished indeed he was, and lost in conjecture. He knew Eugenia too well to believe she would attempt an imposition, or be capable of any duplicity under her present frame of mind; yet it was so extraordinary that the message he sent, and the answer returned, should coincide so exactly with his situation, that the more he reflected, the greater was his surprise, and the more severe his disappointment.
The Count found himself obliged to smother his own feelings, that he might administer consolation to his friend, who, although he could not hope to receive any pleasing intelligence, had Claudina actually been in the Convent, yet felt additional disquietude from being again in a state of ignorance as to her residence. He now determined to see Ernest, to visit his brother for a few days whilst the Count was settling his affairs at his Castle. This design he communicated to him, and could not be persuaded to relinquish.
Both Gentlemen having written to Eugenia, and the tenant being ready to take possession of the Solitary Castle, within a few days they took leave of a place where the Count had known so much misery. His heart felt comparatively light as he quitted it, and but for the painful separation from his dear and much-regretted companion, he would have left that part of the country with transport. Mr. Duclos, Old Francis, and one servant, attended them; they travelled slowly, for the Count was still weak, and Francis very infirm.
When they arrived at a part of the country where the road separated, one direction to the East towards Stutgard, and the other in a direct line to Renaud Castle, a little to the South West of Baden, the Gentlemen halted; the Count once more earnestly pressed his friend to accompany him: "For a few days only shall we be separated," said Ferdinand; "I am mortified that I cannot ask you to my brother's Castle, but an unexpected, perhaps an unwelcome guest, myself, I dare not run the hazard of your reception: If I find a welcome, I will immediately dispatch a messenger to you; if on the contrary I meet neither a brother or a friend, within eight days I will insure to myself the possession of the latter by joining you. Whatever may be my reception, you may depend upon me to accompany you on the earliest notice." Satisfied with this assurance, the Count only requested that the servant might attend him, as he would then have a proper person either to send to him, or to wait upon Ferdinand, when he gave him the pleasure of his company. This friendly desire being complied with, they parted reluctantly, both agitated and occupied by unpleasant reflections.
That same evening, at the close of day, Ferdinand reached his brother's mansion.—He rang at the gate, and when the servant appeared, asked, in the same moment as he dismounted, if Count Rhodophil was at home? The man instantly recollected his voice, and drew near to him: "Heavens bless you, Sir!" exclaimed he, in an accent of joy, "how glad I am to see you returned! No, Sir, my master is not at home, but Mr. Ernest is, and he will be joyful indeed." Ferdinand recommended the servant with him, whose name was Anthony, to his care, and took his way to the steward's apartment. Knocking at the door, the old Gentleman bid him "come in."
"An unexpected friend salutes you," said Ferdinand, as he opened the door. The voice announced him, and in a moment he caught the good Ernest in his arms.—Wonder and joy precluded speech, and the large drops run down his cheeks as he pressed the former to his breast.—"My dear, dear master!" he exclaimed.
"My worthy friend!" returned Ferdinand, "you are doubtless surprised to see me; but I seized a favourable opportunity to see my dear boy, and express my thanks to you." He had taken a seat as he spoke, and requested Ernest to resume his: "I have a thousand things to say, and many questions to ask; but tell me, I conjure you, how affairs stand in this Castle; I find my brother is away from home."
"Yes," replied Ernest, "I believe he is on his daily visit to the Lady Bonhorff."
"But," said Ferdinand, "he wrote to me that he was very low spirited, and had some thoughts of travelling; the former you confirmed."
"True," returned Ernest, "and he is still at times seemingly much oppressed, yet I have reason to believe his design of marrying is in a speedy way of being concluded, from the alterations and preparations ordered, and making in the house."
"Most cordially I wish him happiness," said Ferdinand, adding, with a sigh, "May his union prove a more fortunate one than mine has been; at least he will have no act of disobedience to reflect upon, nor be a weight upon his spirits."
"Ah! Sir," cried Ernest, 'there are more causes for being unhappy than one, every man has his share of troubles; but, my dear master, you told me you had found a friend, thank Heaven for that." Ferdinand then briefly mentioned his ramble to the Count's Castle, whom he described as a Gentleman retired from society on account of great misfortunes; but that his arrival had made a change in the Count's sentiments, and they were now going to Vienna to attend the opening of the campaign, and he hoped a friendly intercourse would tend to lighten their mutual misfortunes: "You, my good friend (added he) have it much in your power to alleviate mine, if you choose to do so."—"Pray, Sir," cried Ernest, "don't break my heart by such a reflection; what I have sworn to I must fulfil; and do your faithful servant the justice to believe, that, could I communicate one word of comfort or pleasure, I would not with-hold it a moment; for Heaven's sake therefore cease to think on what is past. Let me tell you that master Charles is all you can wish, and that a day will come when every thing concerning Madam Claudina will be cleared up, although you never will see her more."
"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Ferdinand, "what a torture is suspense! Tell me, however, is she in a Convent?"
"At present," replied he, "she is not; but in a situation equally dead to the world, and to you: But now, Sir, how do you mean to meet your brother?"
"That depends upon him," answered the other; "I come not to ask favours of him, I have a noble friend, who is more than a brother already; but the voice you mentioned as having alarmed him, that strange unaccountable circumstance, has it disturbed any other part of the family?"
"Never," replied Ernest. "Our master's questions, the night he was frightened, gave some strange suspicions to the servants, which were strengthened by a recollection of the odd occurrences about Madam Claudina; but I endeavoured to dispel their apprehensions by several arguments between jest and earnest, and if they still entertain any doubts or fears, they do not express them openly. Last week, my dear master, I gave a sealed packet into the hands of my nephew, directed for you, with a strict charge never to let it pass his hands until my death, without my consent should be first obtained.
"I mention this for your guide whenever the event takes place that closes all my earthly concerns, and I conjure you, Sir, not to let my nephew be ignorant of your residence wherever you go."
This request Ferdinand assured him he would observe. They then entered into a detail of family occurrences, until the bell at the gate announced his brother's return. Ferdinand hastened to the parlour, and there waited the Count's approach, as he supposed the servant would mention his arrival.