CHAP. VIII.
In a few minutes Count Rhodophil entered the room, and with an exclamation of joy embraced his brother, which was as cordially returned. For a moment Ferdinand forgot all past events, and his brother's coolness on former occasions; the seeming since- rity, and warm reception he so little expected, vibrated to his heart, and he felt a true fraternal affection. The Count, after many expressions of joy to see his beloved Ferdinand returned, inquired what had happened to procure him a pleasure so little hoped, though so much wished for? Ferdinand, who had recovered from the momentary transport, was very limited in his confidence, nor gave the smallest hint relative to the story of Count M———; he avowed his intention of returning to the army accompanied by that Nobleman, and that the visit, which affection and gratitude demanded at Renaud Castle, was chiefly owing to the design his brother had intimated of travelling, in consequence of indifferent health and bad spirits; he was agreeably surprised (he added) to observe in the Count's appearance no traits of either the one or the other."
"I am indeed much better," answered the Count, "and (smiling) have some thoughts of making a different arrangement in my household, which will at least suspend, if not entirely supersede any necessity for a journey. In short (added he) I am going to be married, and what will perhaps surprise you, to the very Lady once offered to you, the Lady Amelia Bonhorff! What say you to this, brother?"
"That I most sincerely wish you happy," replied Ferdinand.
"Permit me to observe," said Rhodophil, hastily, 'that you shall not be injured by my marriage; I will still be your banker, and answer all your demands, as I know you are very moderate."
"I am much obliged to you," returned Ferdinand; "but one motive which brought me here is, to thank you for all past favours, and to acquaint you that henceforth I shall make no farther demands on your generosity."
"What do you mean?" asked the other.
"I mean that I have accepted an offer to share the fortune of a friend, not as a dependant, for his soul disdains the idea of conferring favours; but he has given me a title to an independence, that we may be on an equality, and considers himself as the obliged person by my acceptance."
"A rare instance of generosity indeed," cried the Count, much disconcerted; "you are wonderfully fortunate in acquiring such a friend: But, my dear brother, are you well acquainted with the character of Count M———, for I suppose he is the man? Are you sure no injurious or unworthy design lurks under the semblance of generosity? He binds you in chains by this free-will offering stronger and heavier far than a state of dependence, which you can at any time reject without reproach; know your man well therefore before you decline the kindness of a brother, and fix yourself the slave of a stranger."
"I thank you for your caution," answered Ferdinand, coolly; "but I do know the man, and can read his heart, where there is neither guile nor duplicity. There are some minds that are superior to falsehood or reserve, such are open to every intelligent person; his is enveloped by no dark schemes, he has no points to carry, no errors to disguise, under a semblance of friendship."
"Well, well," cried the Count, greatly confused, which he sought to hide by a haughty air of contempt, "enough of your faultless man, I wish he may prove a disinterested friend. How long pray may I flatter myself you propose to stay in the Castle?"
"Three days," answered Ferdinand, "if you will permit me to do so."
"Most certainly, if you can spare me so much of your company: I am sorry you will not remain here long enough to witness my nuptials, which will take place within three weeks."
"O, Rhodophil!"—cried Ferdinand, wounded to the soul by a painful recollection, "O, Rhodophil! may your marriage be fortunate and happy; blind, inconsiderate and rash, I have dearly suffered for the impetuosity of my passions. You speak not, you ask not after Claudina, yet surely her strange conduct, her sudden disappearance, must sometimes have a place in your thoughts.—Did you never in my absence make any inquiries concerning her?"
"Why should I?" answered he, in a quick tone, "What expectations could I form, that, if she absented herself from you, any information would be granted to me?—In short, brother, I wish you to forget an ungrateful woman, and therefore I never shall revive the subject." Supper being then announced precluded farther conversation, and Ferdinand retired early to his apartment.
He retired, but not to sleep; a thousand bitter thoughts obtruded to agonize his mind; he had carefully examined Rhodophil; he saw confusion, restlessness and perturbation, in every word and look; there was a mystery hung about him that he could not penetrate; yet he saw enough to convince him there existed no brotherly affection in the Count, and that he was not a little pleased to get rid of one he considered as a tax upon his honour and generosity. He next reverted to Claudina, then to the voice, which, though he was not credulous in the belief of supernatural missions, yet was it wholly unaccountable in any other light. He passed the night without rest, and when day-light appeared, gladly left his bed, and repaired to that part of the Castle inhabited by Ernest.
The good old man had just opened his window shutters, and was surprised to see Ferdinand thus early, who entered without ceremony, where he could insure to himself a welcome. They had a long conversation, as the Count was no early riser. Ernest mentioned the shepherdess and her father, with whom Ferdinand had passed a night in the cottage under the hanging rocks: The steward had provided them with a safer and a more comfortable habitation, and they blessed the day which brought the strange Gentleman to the side of the rivulet. Ferdinand declared his intention of going after breakfast to see his son, and of leaving the Castle the following day.
"Will not the Count be displeased that you shorten the time you first purposed to stay?" asked Ernest.
"I believe not," replied Ferdinand; "my preference can give neither pleasure nor information; if he is not sincere in his professions of affection, he will be glad to be relieved from the irksomeness of dissembling, and of beholding a man whose penetration he may fear; if on the contrary, I do him injustice, he can set no value on my company, when he knows I have preferred a stranger, by declining all pecuniary favours, and have consented to owe obligations to another;—thus, every way, he can derive no satisfaction from my being here, and he has sufficient employment in his new prospects to engross all his attention." Ernest subscribed to the justice of this opinion, and Ferdinand soon after attended his brother.
A very general and uninteresting conversation took place at table; both seemed equally desirous of avoiding particular subjects, and when breakfast was over Ferdinand ordered his horse, and set off to see his little boy. The meeting was truly affecting; poor Charles hung about his dear father, and repeatedly cried, "My poor mamma is dead, Yes, indeed, my poor mamma is dead!"—Stung to the heart by the infantile tone of sorrow which accompanied these words, and the reflection that his child was deprived of all those maternal cares so necessary at his early age. Ferdinand could not repress his emotions, but pressed his boy to his bosom, whilst the big drops fell on his face.
Mr. Dunloff, the nephew of Ernest, now entered the room, and relieved both. To him the anxious father recommended his little Charles in the most moving terms, beseeching him to be a father to his child, and to watch over the first dawning of reason, that, as his mind expanded, his ideas might be properly directed to the practice of truth, humanity, and a proper pride to disdain a mean or unworthy action. "Pardon me, my dear Sir (added he) for presuming to dictate to you, but I am well convinced, that were children accustomed from the earliest dawn of reason to a strict observance of truth, humanity, and generosity; if the virtues were inculcated with the same care, which is generally bestowed to teach them different languages before they are capable of understanding their own properly; if the morals of children were more attended to as the foundation for future improvements, we should see wiser and happier men than are generally met with; but unhappily, in most seminaries for education, the useful is neglected, because the shining, or rather superficial part, is supposed to reflect most credit on the master."
Mr. Dunloff received those remarks of Ferdinand with much complacency, and assured him, that whilst he presided over the child, it should be his unremitting study to do his duty in the strictest sense of the word, by forming the mind, as well as the manners, of his young pupil, as his reason appeared to expand. "I shall teach him to love me (added Mr. Dunloff) and when I have obtained his affection my work will be very easy, for he will fear to offend."
Ferdinand was perfectly satisfied with this Mr. Dunloff: "Ah! (thought he) here is the counterpart of our good Ernest; my boy, under his care, will prove a worthy man." After spending a few hours with little Charles and his master, Ferdinand tore himself from the caresses of the former, and returned, oppressed with melancholy, to his brother's house.
In the evening at supper Ferdinand announced his intention of pursuing his route to the Castle of his friend on the following day. Rhodophil made some faint efforts to detain him, but his manner wanted that cordiality which might have been expected from a brother, and therefore the other found no difficulty in persevering. He arose at a very early hour the next morning, that he might have an hour's conversation with Ernest.—The good old man deeply regretted the necessity which obliged him to leave the mansion of his forefathers, but in the present state of things he could not urge his stay. The conversation that ensued it is unnecessary to repeat, as it afforded no information to Ferdinand, and consisted chiefly of assurances on the part of Ernest to watch over his interests, and to pay a fatherly attention to his little son.
When the brothers met to take leave, Rhodophil assumed an air of affection and concern, which Ferdinand really felt. He had been for many years accustomed to consider Rhodophil as a brother and a generous friend. The late strange occurrences had deprived him of every comfort, the coldness of Rhodophil, and a suspicion of his duplicity, completed his misfortunes, and obliged him to turn his eyes towards a stranger for every future expectation of peace and support; but the natural and habitual affection he had so long indulged could not be eradicated entirely, and when Rhodophil embraced him his heart glowed with tenderness. "I leave you, Rhodophil, and perhaps for ever; if I die, remember my child; the prospect that now awaits you, may in a short time inform you, what the feelings of a parent are. May you never experience the agonizing pangs I have suffered; but when you become a husband and a father, think of, and pity me."
His emotions became too powerful to proceed; his brother was still more agitated; with difficulty he pronounced a "farewell," and turned quickly into another apartment. "What! (thought Ferdinand) is he really grieved? Then have I wronged my brother!" That moment Ernest, who had been a distant witness of this scene, observing the looks of Ferdinand, and guessing at his sentiments, drew near to him: "Heavens bless you, my honoured Sir, doubt not of its protection;" adding, in a low voice, "be not deceived by appearances, pursue your plan."—This roused Ferdinand from a momentary self-reproach, and shaking the friendly hand that was humbly extended: "I thank you, my good friend, and will endeavour to deserve your good wishes;" then lowering his voice, "I will remember your admonitions." No more passed; Ferdinand, attended by the servant who had accompanied him, pursued his route to the Castle of Count M———, which was about thirty miles to the East of Baden, between that and Stutgard, the capital of Suabia.
The wind was high, and the cold very piercing, which retarded his speed a good deal, and finding it would be impossible to reach the end of his journey that night, they hastened to a small village about twelve miles short of it, and arrived, just as the day closed in, at a mean looking inn, at the extremity of a few scattered houses, and, as they were informed, the only house of accommodation in the village. Here, to Ferdinand's great mortification, he found already accommodated Mr. D'Alenberg, a German Nobleman, his daughter, and several servants; in short, there were already many more persons than could be conveniently lodged in that place, and they were consulting in what manner to dispose of their company, when the arrival of Ferdinand and his servant threw them into fresh difficulties.
The master of the house came out to inform them they could have no room there. A violent drift of snow came suddenly on, the night was dark, and they had a wood to pass through; these circumstances made it impossible to proceed.—"At least (cried Ferdinand) permit me to sit by your kitchen fire; I can be contented without a bed, but to go on a journey of some miles now, you must see, cannot be thought of."
"I am sorry it cannot be thought about (answered the man) but I know it must be done; for, indeed master, neither in kitchen or cellar have I room for man or beast, be the weather what it will." The fall of snow increasing, Ferdinand again applied both to his humanity and interest, and to the latter he spoke so forcibly, that at length he cried, "Well, well, Gentlemen, you must come in, if you insist upon it, the house is too full already, some must turn out somewhere, and you may take your chance with the rest."
Ferdinand hardly attended to the end of this speech, for hastily dismounting he desired the man to take care of his servant and the horses, whilst he made his way to the kitchen, as they called a very miserable small room, already, as the landlord had declared, filled with servants, and two or three other passengers. He had suffered too much from the weather to be fastidious either as to the company or accommodations, and some of the servants observing his situation, and struck by his appearance, drew back, and made way for his advance to the fire.
"I beg," said Ferdinand, in a courteous manner, 'that I may displace no one, I only wish for a covering from this dreadful weather, and not to incommode any person."—This address procured him more room, every one seemed ready to give way to a Gentleman so considerate; so true it is, that gentle and complaisant manners, and a conduct free from pretensions and arrogance, are sure to be allowed much more consequence than they give up; for the mind of man, in every situation, naturally revolts against the demands of pride and insolence, but willingly show respect where the manners prove their claim to it, and not the look or tone of assumption.
One of the servants felt the rights of Ferdinand, and immediately went to the apartment occupied by his master and young Lady, with a report so much in favour of the Gentleman in the kitchen, that it procured him an invitation from Mr. D'Alenberg to "partake of his fire-side and ordinary supper."
Ferdinand saw by the pleasure with which this message was delivered to him, that he was indebted for it to the favourable report of the servant; he therefore accepted the invitation without hesitating, and requested that he would permit his servant to occupy some corner of the room with the present company. This desire was readily accorded to, and he was leaving the kitchen preceded by the servant, when he beheld the figure of an aged man in one corner, whose head was supported by a female, but whether old or young could not be discerned, as she was wrapped up in a large cloak, and her head dress was drawn quite over her face.
Ferdinand stopped:—"Is the man ill?" asked he.
"Very ill indeed," was answered in a low, tremulous voice; "but I believe all will soon be over."
"Good God!" returned he, "is he so reduced as to give room for such a supposition, and is there no bed he can be put into?" At that moment the landlord came up:—"You see (said he, addressing the woman) my rooms are so crowded, that I cannot possibly let you stay here; I have no room for sick folks." The woman raised her head:—"What would you have me do, he cannot move?"
"Do!" cried he, "why let somebody help to take him into the out-house, he can't die here."
Ferdinand turned full upon him, and was going to speak, when a sudden groan from the woman, who fell towards him senseless, and dropped the head she had supported, stopped him from speaking. He caught her in his arms, as the servant did the old man, who, to his great terror, proved to be lifeless. All present crowded round those moving objects; Ferdinand conveyed the woman to a seat, and supported her until, by the assistance of water thrown in her face, and forced into her mouth, she began to shew signs of life. In doing this they were obliged to remove her head dress, and open her cloak.—Greatly was every one astonished to behold a young and lovely female, whose complexion, hands and arms, exhibited a delicacy but little suited to her garb or situation.
There is something attractive in beauty, even to the most vulgar souls, and though I would hope the humanity of every man would be excited towards objects in so deplorable a state, yet it is most certain, that when the young woman's face was discovered, all eagerly flew to administer relief, and the buzz of pity was general through the room, except with the landlord, who was rubbing his face with vexation, and exclaimed—"A pretty piece of business this! Here is a dead man, no hole to put him in, nor any one to bury him: Come, come, carry him to the stable for the present."
The unfortunate girl, for she appeared to be not more than nineteen, had just recovered sufficient recollection to hear those words.—She sprang from the encircling arm of Ferdinand, threw herself on the body, and exclaimed, in a wild, piercing tone:—"To the stable! Great God! the stable! Never, never shall my father be so degraded. O! that I could but expire with him; for me, for me, he died!"
Her heart-wounding shrieks brought out Mr. D'Alenberg and his daughter, who stood shocked at the scene before them; she had sunk on the floor, and dragged the lifeless body on her lap. On their entrance she looked up with such an expression of woe and horror, that both involuntarily started back; but suddenly the young Lady exclaimed,—"Good Heavens! Do I not see Louisa Hautweitzer?"
"Yes," said the other, in a tone of voice which touched every one present, "Yes, I was called Louisa Hautweitzer, but now I am nobody; there (putting her hand to her father's cheek) there is the author of my being, he exists no more, and I am a wretch without a name, a home, or a parent. Pray, pray, afford us one small spot of earth, bury us together!" She threw her head down on the face of the deceased, with sighs that seemed to burst her heart-strings.
Miss D'Alenberg took her hand, and addressing her father, "My dear Sir, this young Lady is an old school-fellow of mine, good, amiable, and of genteel birth, save her, pray save her from despair and death!"
The old Gentleman wanted no persuasions to serve the unhappy; he ordered his attendants to carry her into his apartment, but she clung to the body, screaming, "No one should carry her father to a stable;" that he was compelled to have the body taken there also. Ferdinand attended, and Mr. D'Alenberg ordered the priest of the village to be sent for, that he might, through his means, procure a place for the deceased to be carried to, and give some assistance to the unfortunate young woman.
On their entrance into the room the body was placed on two chairs, and Miss D'Alenberg administered wine and drops, which fortunately she had in her pocket, with the most soothing expressions of tenderness to Louisa.
The poor afflicted at length shed a torrent of tears, which greatly relieved her; kissing the hand of the young Lady, "I feel your kindness, but I am undeserving of it; my imprudence, my credulity, has destroyed my father, and made me miserable for ever!" Before any reply could be made the priest appeared, and being informed of this strange event, and assured by Mr. D'Alenberg that he would be answerable for every expense, the priest readily consented to receive the body at his house, and to take care of the young woman for the present: Understanding also how greatly they were crowded, he offered to accommodate Miss D'Alenberg with a bed, and as his house was but a few yards distance, and the hostess could lend her cloaks, with the permission of her father, she readily accompanied the unhappy Louisa, who seemed mechanically to follow the body of her father without being at all curious, or even heeding the conversation that had passed. Ferdinand requested leave to attend them with the servants to the house, and taking leave of them at the door, returned, as desired, to Mr. D'Alenberg.
The old Gentleman saluted him with much complacency: "This is a melancholy business," said he; "my daughter seems much interested for her young acquaintance, and indeed the poor girl's situation is very pitiable. I am sorry that a particular engagement will oblige us to leave this place tomorrow: I know not what can be done for this young woman, as her circumstances are unknown to us."
"It is most probable, Sir," answered the other, 'that your daughter will gain every information that may be necessary; if she is distressed by pecuniary wants, I will most gladly contribute my share towards her relief; the heart-felt blow she has sustained, time and reason only can reconcile her to bear with patience and resignation."
Mr. D'Alenberg paid Ferdinand a compliment on his humanity, and having learned which road he was taking, seemed not a little pleased that they were going the same way. "My house (said he) is about twenty miles the other side of Stutgard; I have concluded a very advantageous marriage for my daughter, during a visit that I have been making to a friend, and am now hastening home to forward the necessary preparations: I shall, however, borrow a few hours in the morning to see what can be done for the peace and comfort of this poor orphan." Ferdinand had made the same resolution, and after partaking of a very poor supper, he retired to take possession of the bed intended for the young Lady.
He arose at an early hour, and was just drinking his coffee when he was joined by Mr. D'Alenberg. They quickly finished their breakfast, and proceeded to the priest's house, where they met the young Lady with every mark of sorrow on her countenance.
"Ah! Sir," cried she to her father, "poor Louisa is extremely ill: A physician was called in about an hour ago by the good father here, and he pronounces her to be in a violent and dangerous fever; I cannot leave her in this situation, without either a relation or a friend; I knew her, I esteemed her, in happier days, it would be inhuman to forsake her now."
"Indeed it would," answered the good Mr. D'Alenberg; "we will see what can be done to reduce this fever, and then get her removed to our house; if she is only unfortunate, we will protect her; if her conduct has been faulty, she shall be placed out of temptation, and means afforded her to atone for past errors."
"My dear, my generous father!" cried the young Lady, in a tone of exultation, "you know not how happy this kind intention of yours makes your Theresa!"
Ferdinand, who had scarcely looked at Miss D'Alenberg the preceding evening during his concern for Louisa, and who was on his entrance engaged in speaking to the priest, found his attention suddenly engaged by the animated voice behind him; he turned quick round, and met a countenance so interesting, so illumined by a glow of humanity and tenderness, that his eyes were fixed on the young Lady's face, until her blushes, and the confusion with which she turned aside from his eager gaze, made him sensible of his rudeness. It was the enthusiasm of the moment, for the sweet accents of pity and humanity vibrated to the heart of Ferdinand. Mr. D'Alenberg declared he would freely retard his journey for that day, until some information relative to the health and situation of the young woman could be rendered satisfactory to his daughter, and Ferdinand, who was not limited for a day or two, readily offered to remain there also, as he was equally desirous, to the utmost of his abilities, to share in the pleasure of assisting the unfortunate. The priest, who happily was a man of a good and humane heart, voluntarily made an offer of his humble accommodations to their utmost extent. His sister, an ancient maiden, resided with him, and was equally good and charitable as her brother. Mr. D'Alenberg desired to be at the expense of the burial of poor Louisa's father, and Ferdinand hastily requested the physician might attend at his expense. Miss D'Alenberg was permitted to remain there, and the two Gentlemen took a walk round the village until their return to the miserable inn, where they had ordered dinner. As the Castle of Count M——— lay in the route of his companion, and the landlord was ill prepared to receive or entertain so many persons, Ferdinand sent off his servant with a cursory mention to the Count of the cause that detained him on the road for a day or two, when he should have the advantage of a large escort within a mile of his house.
Towards the evening a message from Miss D'Alenberg carried both Gentlemen to the priest's. They found her in extreme agitation; Louisa had been delirious for several hours, but by copious bleedings, and other applications, now lay more composed: "But, my dear father," added the young Lady, "you will not wonder at my emotions, when I inform you that in the height of her delirium she continually called on Count Wolfran, and in such terms as imply a degree of intimacy very incompatible with his professions to another."
"You indeed surprise me," answered the old Gentleman; "but be not too credulous, my dear Theresa, nor judge rashly on slight presumptions; I hope this young creature will get better, mean time I wish to be informed who she is, and what you know of her."
"My dear Sir," said she, "very soon after I was placed at Ausburgh, Louisa Hautweitzer came there as a boarder; her father was an officer in the Imperial service; she made a very genteel appearance, and was much esteemed throughout the Convent.—As I was her elder by at least three years, she paid me great respect and attention, which I returned by a very sincere attachment.—Four years we continued together. About that time her father came to fetch her from the Convent: I had understood her mother died when she was a child, and she appeared surprised and sorry to leave us, as she was not more than sixteen, and rather too young to conduct her father's family. We parted with regret, and she desired to correspond with me; but from that day I never heard of her, although many of the boarders made inquiries among their friends, which all proved fruitless, as we knew not where her father resided.
"I left the Convent about six months after, and frequently, when I wrote to my companions, inquired if any information had been gained of Louisa; but no one had obtained the least intelligence, and I have often thought it was a very singular circumstance. It is now near three years since I saw her, and it is certain some uncommon misfortunes must have reduced her father to that poverty which is apparent in the dress of Louisa, and the situation in which we met with them. Last night, when I accompanied her to her room, she kissed my hand with an energy that surprised me.—"Dear Miss D'Alenberg, I deserve not the honour of your attention; I am an unfortunate wretch, a victim to my own credulity, and the baseness of a perjured man; my follies, for sure they were not crimes, yet why should I seek to soften those errors that have eventually destroyed my dear unhappy father! There, there," cried she, in extreme agitation, "is the climax of my miseries!'
She fell into violent hysterics, and recovered only to experience a temporary madness which brought on a terrible fever for many hours. During this suspension of reason she raved on Count Wolfran, called him the "destroyer of her peace, and the murderer of her father." Then again she exclaimed, "Heaven was a witness of our union; I am, I am, your wife!" In short, Sir, I cannot repeat every expression, nor is it necessary, enough was said to convince me that she has been very ill treated, and to determine on being perfectly acquainted with every circumstance relative to her intimacy with the Count, previous to any preparations for an event, which possibly may never take place."
"I cannot blame your resolution," answered Mr. D'Alenberg; "I am equally anxious with yourself to have this affair elucidated; if, indeed, we are deceived in the Count's character, no prospects of rank, or fortune, shall induce me to entrust him with the happiness of my Theresa." The entrance of Mrs. Dolnitz, the priest's sister, changed the subject; the Gentlemen paid her many compliments on the humanity of her brother, and her kindness to Louisa. She was a woman of plain sense, with a very good heart, and appeared to be much gratified that she had the power of being useful to a fellow creature. "This poor village (said she) affords no accommodations but in our house and the inn; you must experience great inconvenience there I have no doubt, as very few persons lodge in it but from necessity.—I am sorry we can only entertain Miss, and the sick young woman; but our power is more limited than our wishes and good-will, for my brother is one of the best men in the world, he is truly the father of all his flock. I beg your pardon for saying so much, but when I speak of my brother I could talk for ever."
"I honour you, Madam, for your feelings," said Mr. D'Alenberg; "a good man is a theme that must please every honest mind, and you cannot give us a better eulogium on your own character, than by your praises of a worthy brother. Heaven has conducted us to this spot, I trust, for our mutual advantage." ——— Ferdinand spoke little, but his eyes said a great deal, and his heart sympathized in every word of Mr. D'Alenberg's. Mr. Dolnitz and the physician soon after joined them; the latter had found his patient more calm, and the extreme violence of the fever abated. They consulted on proper measures for the interment of the deceased, when Louisa was more composed to speak on the subject. Mr. D'Alenberg drew the physician aside, Miss Theresa returned to the sick chamber: Ferdinand therefore entered into a conversation with Mr. Dolnitz, whose modest and unreserved manners, charity without ostentation, and beneficence without a hope of reward, from a very moderate income, denoted real piety and goodness of heart. When the others joined them, Theresa's father drawing a purse from his pocket, put it into the hands of Mr. Dolnitz, saying at the same time, "My worthy Sir, you must permit me to share with you in your charitable attentions. Be not offended, if, knowing that your income is very inadequate to the benevolence of your disposition, I entreat you to disburse this money in whatever manner you please for the advantage of those persons now in your house, or any others deserving or wanting your donations."
"I will not decline the office of your almoner, Sir," replied Mr. Dolnitz, respectfully; "but you must permit me to be accountable to you for the disbursements; on no other condition can I receive the trust."
"It must be as you please," answered the other. The physician, who lived about two miles from the village, finding the strangers were persons of consequence, offered the two Gentlemen beds at his house, but they declined the civility; for although their accommodations were extremely indifferent, yet, as they were permitted to consider themselves at home in the house of Mr. Dolnitz, they were very well reconciled to sleep at the inn.
Ferdinand, indeed, began to consider himself as a useless person; the generosity of Mr. D'Alenberg left but little for him to do, and having no other interests but those of humanity towards the unfortunate Louisa, and as it appeared very probable that the others would be personally concerned in the events of her story, he was fearful it would betray rather an unwarrantable curiosity, than a concern for the melancholy objects that had at first engaged his attention, if he remained at the village. He was revolving this in his mind, and consequently looked very thoughtful, which Mr. D'Alenberg observing, said, "Are you not well, Sir, or has any thing particularly occurred to give you pain?" The other recovering from his reverie by this address, frankly confessed what had been his ideas, and given him that momentary thoughtfulness.
Pleased with his ingenuousness, the old Gentleman said, "I know not the nature of your engagements, or whether you are at liberty to spare us your company. If a day or two will not break in upon other plans, I do assure you, Sir, that you will make me very particularly happy, by obliging me with your conversation and residence here for the short time I hope, that I shall find it requisite to remain."
"You do me honour, Sir," replied he, "by the request, which will be a gratification to myself I have not the resolution to decline, and must trust to the kindness of a friend to allow me." They refused an invitation to supper, and returned to the inn, where Ferdinand gave a slight account of himself, as the brother of Count Rhodophil, and an officer in the Imperial service, now going to a friend, who was also about to join the army.
"Mr. D'Alenberg said, he was a widower with this only daughter, and a fortune sufficient for all their moderate demands, with a surplus for the service of the unfortunate.—"My daughter (said he) has chiefly resided in a Convent, until I thought her age and understanding were mature enough to preside at my table with ease and dignity to herself, and satisfaction to me. I have reason to be perfectly satisfied, and I must think very highly of the man to whom I would entrust the happiness of such a daughter; you have heard enough to understand, that in Count Wolfran I thought such a man had met my wishes. I cannot easily relinquish my hope; his external appearance was decidedly in his favour. The friend, at whose house we met, gave him the highest character, and on his judgment and word, I think, I can place implicit confidence. The exclamations uttered by this young woman in her delirium certainly give rise to unfavourable conjectures, and if on an investigation I discover such circumstances as must impede his marriage with Theresa, I confess to you that it will give me an infinite deal of sorrow, not only because it is an advantageous settlement, but for the honour of human nature I shall regret, that such an exterior, so much understanding, and so many plausible, and apparently, so many good qualities should cover a depraved heart."
"Justice demands an impartial and an unprejudiced hearing on both sides," replied Ferdinand, "before we should venture to condemn any person. If Louisa recovers sufficiently to disclose her situation, you will then, in some measure, be enabled to judge what degree of credit may be allowed to her, and give the Count an opportunity to vindicate his own character, if unjustly accused. Miss D'Alenberg appears to be a treasure no common mind can deserve; her beauty, which I believe is superior to most of her sex, I have scarcely remarked, for the heavenly goodness, and animated compassion, she has displayed towards a distressed and unfortunate young woman proves the excellence of her disposition, and entitles her to equal admiration and respect. Heaven forbid that such a mind should not meet with its kindred heart when united for life!"
The old Gentleman, charmed with the energy of Ferdinand's expressions, and delighted with the delicate praise bestowed on his child, felt a lively interest in his behalf, and ventured to inquire more minutely into his situation and prospects. Among other things he said, with a smile, "I do not suppose you are married." Ferdinand started; his whole frame was agitated; he attempted to answer, but his faltering tongue was incapable of uttering a word. Mr. D'Alenberg was surprised and concerned: "I beg your pardon (said he) if my impertinent curiosity has given you pain; be assured that I meant no offence, you will therefore confer an obligation on me, by obliterating from your memory the question I incautiously asked."
Ferdinand sensibly felt the politeness of Mr. D'Alenberg, and gladly availed himself of it for the present. The supposition had recalled many painful ideas, which he endeavoured to repress, and with a half-smothered sigh, that did not pass unobserved, he bowed, saying, "You are very obliging, Sir; there are certain questions which sometimes cannot be answered satisfactorily, and particular situations which cannot be explained, without entering into details tedious and uninteresting to a stranger. As a parent of such a daughter you must doubtless be exceedingly uneasy, until the expressions that fell from Louisa are explained to your satisfaction.—A short time, I hope, will elucidate them, for, if she is an ingenuous character, the generous humanity of Miss D'Alenberg will unlock her heart to repose a confidence in that young Lady, otherwise my conjectures will be less favourable of her than they now are."
"My opinion coincides with yours," answered the other, "and to-morrow, I think, will put an end to a suspense that I own gives me an infinity of concern. The evening passed in conversing on a variety of subjects, and when they separated for the night, each Gentleman retired with an increased good opinion of the other, and each internally was desirous of a more intimate acquaintance."
The morning came, and they had scarcely exchanged the customary salutations before a message came from Miss D'Alenberg, requesting the presence of her father, and from the messenger they learned that Louisa was much recovered.
As Ferdinand was not, nor indeed expected to be, included in the invitation to Mr. D'Alenberg, he was preparing to leave the room, after desiring his respects to the young Lady.
"How!" said the old Gentleman, "will you not accompany me?"
"Undoubtedly, Sir, if you wish me to do so. I am only apprehensive of being an intruder."
"No, no," replied the other, "by no means, we have no secrets; if Count Wolfran is worthy of my daughter, it is for his honour that you should know it; if on the contrary he proves to be a worthless character, it is equally proper that he should be exposed; therefore I beg you will go with me." Ferdinand readily assented; they quickly dispatched their breakfast, and set off for the house of Mr. Dolnitz.
They were received by the good Lady of the house with kindness and complacency.—She gave a very favourable account of her patient, the violence of her disorder was abated, and there was less turbulence in her expressions of grief.—"The consolatory attentions of Miss your daughter," said Mrs. Dolnitz to the old Gentleman, "has greatly aided the doctor's prescriptions, perhaps has been of more real service, as it appears the disorder of the body was occasioned by the emotions of the mind."
The entrance of the young Lady interrupted Mrs. Dolnitz, and she immediately withdrew. Miss D'Alenberg seemed a little embarrassed at the presence of Ferdinand, which he observed, and politely rose to leave the room.—"Stay one moment," cried Mr. D'Alenberg. "Tell me, Theresa, in two words, what am I to think of Count Wolfran?"
"As of a man unworthy of your notice, whose crimes disgrace his rank and character. I speak on good grounds, my dear Sir (added she;) Providence has preserved your daughter from infamy and wretchedness."
"Good Heavens!" exclaimed the Father, "can such an exterior, such an apparently polished mind, cover a depraved heart!"
"Yes," replied she, with some emotion, "his person and accomplishments are the superficial covering to veil the blackest designs, the most abandoned and selfish passions. The poor Louisa is a melancholy victim to his baseness, nor is she the only one; but I am writing down her story, which may be perused at leisure. What I have now to request is, that you will send off a servant with a few lines to Count Wolfran, just to say, 'that your daughter, having thoroughly investigated his character, declines, in the most decided manner, the favour he intended her of a hand, without a heart, or a name, to bestow.' Do not add another word, my dear father, his conscience will speak all the rest that may be necessary."
"I will comply with your wishes," answered Mr. D'Alenberg; "my dear Theresa, you are a heroine."
"No," said she, with a faint smile, "it requires no heroism to give up a man one despises. Count Wolfran is not the man a sensible mind can regret. When once the object we had been taught to esteem through false lights, is proved to be a man capable of the vilest duplicity, and most atrocious wickedness, our detestation and contempt must rise in proportion to the deception of our senses, and the heart can endure but little pain in shutting out such an object for ever."
She instantly changed the subject, seeing both Gentlemen were preparing to speak in admiration of her sentiments. She understood the expression of their eyes, therefore assuming a supplicating air, "My dear Sir," said she, "as my obligations to the unfortunate Louisa are infinite, as she is deprived of every friend, and in want of every necessary, though legally entitled to rank and fortune, I trust, you will not refuse to permit your Theresa to be her comforter and friend, to offer her an asylum in your house from the machinations of a base enemy."
"Undoubtedly, my dear girl, you are at liberty to make what offers you please, both for me and yourself; I will confirm them all, and shall look up with gratitude to Heaven for this signal preservation of my child from dishonour and misery."
Mr. Dolnitz now joined them, and was happy to hear of the favourable change in Louisa's fever. "Violent attacks (said he) have generally a speedy termination, and I rejoice that the event has turned in her favour. "I flatter myself," said Miss D'Alenberg, "that our joint attentions will quickly restore her, and that in a day or two we shall be able to take her in a carriage by easy stages to my father's house." After spending three hours in the house of the good priest, the Gentlemen returned to the inn: Here Ferdinand appeared to be under some degree of inquietude, which the old Gentleman remarked, and asked the cause of."
"I confess to you, Sir," answered the other, "that I feel the warmest admiration at the conduct of your daughter, and I am greatly interested for the unhappy Louisa. I am sensible of the honour and pleasure of your conversation; but I am under engagements to meet a friend, whose mind, from some untoward incidents, is but little calculated to bear disappointment, or to be left to its own reflections: Mortified as I am for the necessity which obliges me to leave you, I should not, however, forgive myself if I gave pain to my friend."
"Then you must leave me?" asked Mr. D'Alenberg.
"Indeed I must," replied Ferdinand,—"because it appears you will unavoidably remain here two or three days, and as I dare not intrude so long on the kindness of a friend, the sooner I leave you the better, as my regret to part from you must hourly increase."
"You are a worthy young man," returned Mr. D'Alenberg, "and it is no compliment to say, that I shall part from you with very great reluctance.
"After the deception I have lately met with, you could not wonder if I shut the door of my heart, afraid of entertaining another delusive guest; but I trust that I have not lost my charity, though my confidence may be more guarded. A countenance like your's is a letter of recommendation, and I do assure you, that you will do me a very particular pleasure, if you continue in this country, by bringing your friend in your hand, and insure to him a welcome reception at my house, on your account."
Ferdinand was not backward in his acknowledgments for this kindness, and having now broken the ice, gave orders for his departure immediately after dinner. At Mr. D'Alenberg's request he promised to write to him before his departure for Vienna, if he could not pay him a visit; and the former assured Ferdinand, that if the story of Louisa was of a fit nature to be communicated, he should certainly receive a transcript of it from him. "My daughter (added he) will be surprised and disappointed, when informed of your departure without taking leave."
"Be so good, Sir," said Ferdinand, "to make my best respects to Miss D'Alenberg; I have had so little opportunity of recommending myself to her notice, that I am not vain enough to believe my departure can for a moment engage her attention; but of her I shall ever think, with pleasure, admiration and respect. My best wishes also attend the unfortunate young Lady, she so humanely protects; to offer any pecuniary assistance would be an insult to her goodness, and your benevolence; but if on any future occasion either my purse, or personal services, can be useful, command me as freely, Sir, as you would do your own son."
"By Heaven!" exclaimed Mr. D'Alenberg, "I wish you was my son; but ———."
"You do me infinite honour, Sir," said Ferdinand, interrupting him; "I hope you will find a man deserving of the appellation, and whoever he is, his destiny will be enviable, because he will be the happiest of mankind;" then rising from his seat, he inquired if his horse was ready? and being informed it waited for him at the door, he took a hasty, but an affectionate, leave of Mr. D'Alenberg, and followed by his good wishes, set off full speed for the Castle of Count M———.