MYSTERIOUS WARNING.
CHAP. I
The young Baron Reiberg was admitted without any difficulty to see Ferdinand, but he was excessively shocked on entering the wretched hole of his confinement, though informed it was one of the best rooms in the prison. "One of the best" could not reconcile it to his feelings, and when he embraced the prisoner, his emotions were very visible.
"I thank you most cordially (said the latter) for this kindness; but, my good friend, do not throw your eyes around thus, with such a revolting kind of horror in your features. A prison is not a desirable place I grant ye, but is disarmed of all its terrors when conscious innocence brightens the gloom. You know I have no cause for apprehension, this temporary confinement, therefore, is only a little variety in the chequered work of life."
"I am rejoiced (said Reiberg) to find your mind is cheerful in this horrid place; in similar circumstances I am sensible that I should possess neither your resignation or fortitude: However, I think your confinement will be of short duration. My father and the Count are gone earnestly to work, and I am certain will not give over until they have obtained your enlargement. I came here, I hope, to bring you some consolation, to bring you letters from your friends, that you have so much wished for."
Ferdinand eagerly took the letters, looking on the superscription, and then on the seal. "This black herald (said he) forebodes no good news I fear; but the worst must be known, and no place so proper as a prison to bear sorrow, or teach patience under unavoidable evils."
He had turned the letter two or three times whilst speaking, irresolute how to open it.—Reiberg observed his embarrassment: "Do you wish to be alone? (said he.) Speak, I will retire, and come to you by and bye."
"No (replied Ferdinand) for my own sake I do not wish it; but perhaps———."
"Say no more (interrupted Reiberg) peruse your letters, I have a book in my pocket." The other obeyed, and with a trembling hand broke the seal.
"It is from Mr. Dunloff (exclaimed he) the guardian of my son! Ah! what am I to hear? Thank Heaven, my child is well."—Reading further on, he again cried out,—"How, Claudina dead! Poor, poor Claudina! then I have indeed lost thee for ever!" He continued to read, his emotions increased, the big drops fell on his face, he turned from the Baron, and leaning against the wall,—"Excuse me (said he, falteringly) I have lost a wife, once dear to my heart!"
Attempting to read on, but being too greatly affected at the moment, "My dear Baron (said he) I avail myself of your considerate kindness. An hour or two hence I shall be better enabled to thank you for this visit."—Reiberg immediately withdrew, trusting on his return to bring an order for his enlargement. Ferdinand, at liberty to indulge the sorrow that oppressed him, read the following letter from Mr. Dunloff:
"Let not the black wax too much alarm you, Sir, your son, my amiable pupil, is well: My good old uncle is also well as a man can be, who is ready to expire with joy, on receiving intelligence so little hoped for and unexpected; but ——— your Lady, Madam Claudina, who had retired from the world, who was before dead to her friends, is now released from all her cares, and is happy, I trust, in Heaven!
"This event ought not, Sir, to afflict you. My uncle and myself attended her; with him she was some time alone, but before both she confessed herself unworthy of your affection, that she had deceived and injured you. She lamented most bitterly your supposed death, the report of which I believe accelerated her's, because she accused herself as the primary cause of all your misfortunes. Not to dwell on this melancholy subject, she died a true penitent, entreating mercy for her offences, and imploring blessings on her dear child, who had long before mourned the loss of his mamma, and was therefore spared any further concern.
"My uncle, who is confined to his bed with the gout, orders me to express his transports of joy for your health and safety.—The letters which conveyed the intelligence of your death had nearly deprived him of life, and brought on that disorder which has hung upon him ever since. He hopes you will condescend to write to him once more before your return, that he may know where to attend you. He has not seen the Count, his master, since your letters arrived, but hears they have caused more surprise than pleasure; of that you will have a circumstantial account hereafter."
Mr. Dunloff concluded his letters with "praises of his young pupil, whose docility and good disposition gave promise of much future satisfaction to his father. His little daughter, whose delicate health would be most considerately attended to by his uncle and himself, was placed with a very worthy woman within a few doors of his own residence, and was visited by him daily. He conjured Ferdinand to divest himself of all anxiety for the health and safety of his children, and rely on his watchful care for the preservation of both."
When Ferdinand had recovered from the first shock naturally felt on hearing a woman he once adored was no more, when he had acquired composure sufficient to peruse the letter through, indignation kept pace with sorrow.
Claudina's last confession had confirmed the implied guilt frequently insinuated, but of which he never could have thought her capable; he resolved in his mind the whole tenor of her conduct; he saw nothing wrong, nothing reprehensible, in word or action, before their removal to Renaud Castle: There then she must have met with the object that seduced her from her duty to him and herself; but among all his brother's visitors, there was no particular man to whose artifices he could attribute the misfortune that so deeply wounded him. Lost in conjecture, he saw only that the fact was certain, and from Ernest only he could hope to have the mystery elucidated. He grieved for the unhappy Claudina, and from his soul forgave a crime which her subsequent conduct proved she deeply and sincerely repented of.
"This then (said he) is the termination of an union formed in disobedience, pursued with rashness, which entailed upon me the curses of a parent, brought misery and guilt on her, sorrow, shame, and unavailing repentance, on the wretched Ferdinand!"
He remained for near three hours overwhelmed with the most painful reflections, and entirely forgetful of the other letter which he had put into his pocket. At length the remembrance of his brother made him start from his reverie, recollect the letter, and hastily search for it. The superscription was Count Rhodophil's. He tore it open; it was not a long one.
The Count expressed more surprise than Ferdinand thought needful; the joy was more reserved: He said, "that he was delighted to lay aside his mourning, and rejoice in the restoration of a brother;" but he wrote it as if he did not feel it; there was an air of constraint; the expressions seemed not the genuine feelings of the heart, but the laboured sentiments of a man fearful he should not say enough, and therefore ran into the contrary extreme, and said too much; at least so it appeared to Ferdinand.
"Ah! (thought he) all this eloquence breathes not the air of sincerity, which glows in the simple words of nature, uttered by Ernest through his nephew's pen." The farther he read the more he was dissatisfied, and when he had finished the letter he was thoroughly disgusted, and yet knew not well of what to complain.
"Whether it is ill-humour, prejudice, or the effects of a distempered mind, I know not (said he) but certainly this letter does not please me. He mentions the death of Claudina too so slightly, and with such little concern, that it is not decent, and of his own Lady he is entirely silent."
Revolving on those things which appeared so strange and unnatural, he had fallen into a deep dejection, from which he was roused by the entrance of the Baron, and his friend Count M———, who warmly embraced and congratulated him on his liberty.
"Liberty!" repeated Ferdinand, surprised.
"Yes," said the Baron, "we have succeeded in obtaining your freedom on our parole of honour. The accusation of an insignificant person like Heli, without he can adduce proofs to substantiate his charge, is not sufficient to weigh against a man of your birth and merit; but as all accusations claim attention from justice, though your innocence is not questioned, yet, for the due observance of form, we were obliged to be answerable for your appearance."
Ferdinand warmly thanked his generous friends, and preparing to leave the prison, asked after the young Baron.
"He is gone to Heli's (answered the Count) as we wish to know what is transacting there, and whether he still persists in the false story he has promulgated."
They saw the dejection that clouded the countenance of Ferdinand, but avoided appearing to notice it, and exerted themselves to amuse his mind in the way to the Baron's house, where, on their arrival, he was left alone with the Count, who gave him an account of their proceedings, and also the contents of the two letters he had received. Ferdinand was equally as communicative, and in the Count's friendly sympathy found some alleviation to his sorrows.
The late occurrences had rendered them forgetful of Louisa, and they proposed calling on her in the evening. Young Reiberg was not yet returned, and they began to grow uneasy at his absence, when the Baron was informed a Gentleman requested to speak with him; his name D'Alenberg.
They started with joy, the Baron hastened to the library where the servant had conducted him, and very soon returned, introducing him to the Count and Ferdinand.—They flew to welcome him.
"I am at a loss for words (said the friendly Gentleman) to express the unexpected pleasure of this meeting: I came here under the most painful inquietude; two words from this Gentleman (pointing to the Baron) has almost intoxicated me with joy."
The two friends congratulated themselves on this agreeable meeting; the Count eagerly inquired after Miss D'Alenberg.
"Poor Theresa (answered he) has suffered much, a disorder on her spirits, a nervous affection the doctors term it. The strange adventures which befell Louisa did not tend to lessen it; but the letters we received from her and you gave a sudden and uncommon turn, a flow of spirits, such as I could scarcely have expected.
"We lost no time in setting off for Vienna, and arrived safely this morning; but had hardly time to embrace our young friend, when the doctor entered with a story that threw my poor invalids into a very terrible situation, no other than that Count M——— and Count Ferdinand had been accused of robbery and murder, were taken up, and confined in a prison. This relation, of which the doctor could not foresee the sad effects, gave me more exquisite pain than any I had ever experienced: The anxiety I have felt for some hours cannot be described; I came here under the apprehension of hearing the fatal certainty of the doctor's report. How little did I expect to see you both!"
"Indeed, Sir (said Ferdinand) we are much indebted to you for the kind solicitude you express, but there has been but too much truth in the story you heard."
"Well, well (cried Mr. D'Alenberg) I have not time to hear the explanation at present; it is sufficient that I see you safe; I must fly back to remove the anxiety of my daughter and Louisa."
"May we not be permitted to wait upon the Ladies?" asked the Count.
"Not this evening (answered he;) the journey has fatigued Theresa, and she has been thrown into great agitations on your account. Early in the morning I will see you again. The Baron invited him to breakfast, and he promised to attend them."
The friends were exceedingly pleased at the arrival of Mr. D'Alenberg, and promised to themselves a speedy termination of an affair so injurious to Ferdinand, from the concurrent testimony of him and Louisa, in his favour; as her account would develop the design of Count Wolfran in forcing his way into Heli's house, and the elopement of Fatima the preceding day with the Count, naturally accounted for the fatal effects that followed his intrusion; for the rest, conceiving that he had lost Louisa through her knowledge of Ferdinand, and feeling himself deceived and abandoned by the person he had acknowledged as a sister, Heli had, from mere malice and revenge, accused Ferdinand of crimes he could not for a moment think him really guilty of. As to the robbery, their suspicions fell on the attendants of the Count, as the two Barons could prove Ferdinand was in their house during the whole transaction.
On a review of these circumstances they concluded the false accusations would be unquestionably proved, and Heli, if he lived, meet the punishment his baseness truly deserved. The Baron was just beginning to express some anxiety for the safety of his son, when he entered the room.
"Your looks are full of importance," said the Baron.
"They are a transcript of my mind then (answered he) for I promise you that I have not been idle since my departure from you this morning; I shall therefore wave my congratulations to Ferdinand, and relate to you my proceedings.
I repaired without delay to Heli's cottage, most fortunately I met one of our servants, and took him with me. When arrived there I was admitted by one of the men who guarded Heli, who told me that he was so much better, they intended to remove him to the prison.
I went up to him; he preserved the same sullen silence, and as I could not make him understand me, I desired the interpreter to inform him, "that his malice had proved ineffectual to hurt Ferdinand, whose innocence of his charges had been satisfactorily proved by my father and his friends; but that the murder of the Count would bear hard upon him, as not a single person knew him, or could he adduce any circumstances in his favour that would tend to invalidate the proofs against him, for no one would credit a story so absurd, as that Count Wolfran intended to rob his house, whatever were the motives that brought him there."—The interpreter repeated my words; he answered him with fury in his looks, and a kind of desperation in his air that shocked me. The answer was explained to me thus: "That he cursed Ferdinand, Fatima, and the Count, and to the former attributed all his misfortunes; for Fatima would have been faithful, had she never known him as a brother, and the other woman (meaning Louisa) might have consoled him for her loss, had not that "Christian dog" forced himself into her company, and contrived to get her away; for all which he never would forgive him, nor cease to pray that his prophet Mahomet might destroy him.
As for himself, he despised all threats, and laughed at their menaces, for they could not hurt him.
He was then told, "that he was to be conveyed to a prison, and that his trial would prove the innocence of Ferdinand, as Louisa could declare in his favour by an account of the circumstances of the preceding day, when he had insulted Count Wolfran, and Fatima voluntarily eloped with him."
This intelligence threw him into a violent rage: "I have lost my jewels, lost the woman I loved, another torn from me, am wounded, and insulted; to serve those Christian dogs I have suffered all this! and shall I have no revenge? Great Prophet, avenge thy servant! Shall I prove the innocence of Ferdinand? No, he and his sister have been my ruin!"
"He gnashed his teeth with fury, and doubtless had any weapon been at hand he would have destroyed himself; but at this instant was heard a knocking at the door; it was opened; a man entered, who seemed confused at seeing so many persons, and inclined to retreat; but Heli immediately exclaimed, "That is one of the villains," and the interpreter seized him.
My servant exclaimed, "How, Sancho!"
"Sir (said he to me) this man I well remember; he was discharged from my late master's service for some dishonest practices, and enlisted himself in the army; It is now four years since he left Vienna as a soldier."
"What is your business here?" demanded I, pretty sternly.
"Sir (said he) I will to you make a free confession of some very particular circumstances, if you will pledge your honour to save me from punishment; without that assurance I am dumb for ever."
"Being dumb, as you term it, will but little avail when this man proves you entered his house to rob and murder him; but if you are just in your confession, and repent of your crimes, by giving up your accomplices, I will exert my interest to procure you pardon, and you may depend upon my protection."
He was then freed, and entered on the following detail. "After the last battle with the Turks, the regiment he belonged to being disbanded, he sought to enter again into the service of some Nobleman, but his character was too well known at Vienna; he went therefore to Ratisbon, as he was related to a man who kept an inn there, and who, he thought, might possibly procure him a place.
At this inn he met with, and was hired by, Count Wolfran, who had only a confidential valet with him. The Count was very fond of the Ladies, and had two or three mistresses in the city. They lived there for some weeks, when the valet one day told him, they should soon go to a small hunting seat, which his master had near Vienna, and as the summer advanced they should travel.
A few days after this information the valet received a letter, which, he said, would be joyful news to his master. They had several private conferences, and one evening he received orders to pack up the baggage, as they were to leave Ratisbon the following morning. They did so, and arrived at a small village about two miles from the city of Ens; here he was told on no account to mention the name of his master, as they had some private business to transact.
The same evening the Count sent for him, and, after some conversation, promised him a handsome reward if he would assist in securing and carrying off two Ladies who had greatly injured him. The bribe was too considerable to be refused, and he was ordered to watch in a particular part of the city for the arrival of some company at a Gentleman's house.
In less than a week, a Gentleman, two Ladies and servants, were seen to alight at the house, which information he conveyed to the Count. He believed the first intention was to attend to their motions, to follow them, and if they could not secure the Ladies whilst they remained in the city, to surround and seize upon them in their road to Vienna.
The Count never walked in the city, only sailed about the river. The day after the arrival of Mr. D'Alenberg, as he was in a boat, he saw the Ladies alone walking on the banks. This suggested to him a possibility of carrying them off by water. He immediately ordered his carriage to be in waiting every evening at a certain distance; the valet, himself and the Count, disguised, were in a boat with two men he had also bribed for his purpose.
He little expected to succeed so soon, as the whole scheme depended on seeing the Ladies alone, and no boats on the river to observe him, which might possibly be some time before such an opportunity happened; but, contrary to his expectations, the very next evening they appeared on the banks alone, and walked a considerable way; it grew late, the air was rather cool, and the boats drew off sooner than was customary.
He lost no time, but made towards the shore and landed; the Ladies seemed frightened, and ran back; they pursued them; one had considerably the start of the other; the one behind fell; she was secured; in that moment, when they could soon have overtaken the other, a boat appeared at a distance coming down the river; they were compelled to retreat with only half of their expected prize.
She was carried to the boat, and soon conveyed to the carriage, after which, by cross roads, they arrived at the Count's hunting seat. He understood this Lady was an old mistress of the Count's, who had injured him with another whom he loved. He was highly provoked at not getting the other, but swore to be revenged on this.
What the design was he could not say; the Lady was confined for that night, and they were ordered to be in readiness to travel again: But the next morning all was confusion, the Lady had escaped out of window by a very extraordinary contrivance; the Count was almost raving mad; he ordered the valet and himself to take horses, and attend him through the wood and adjacent villages, and promised a hundred crowns to the person who discovered her.
They stopped at a small house, at the end of the wood, to make inquiries. A Turk came out; it was with difficulty they understood each other. Whilst they were speaking a very beautiful woman came out, and asked, "If they were gallant Gentlemen, who would release a Lady from Turks and Infidels?"—The Count told her, he would die in her service.—The Turk compelled her to go in, and presently they heard her scream, upon which they burst into the house, gave the Turk a drubbing, the Lady ran out, the Count took her on his horse, and they rode with her to his house in the wood.
This Lady pleased him so much that he staid at home with her, only sending the others to make inquiries after the run-away Lady, and he believed might have forgot her, had he not been desirous of revenge, and fearful she would get to her friends.
He understood from the valet, that when the Lady with them found it was not love that induced the Count to seek her, she owned that the person he sought for, was in the Turk's house, and very ill; upon which it was resolved that they should break into his house, confine him and the women servants, and carry off the Lady.
Before this scheme was to be executed, they had prepared every thing for leaving the house in the wood, to embark as soon as possible for Turkey, where they intended to leave the Lady in a strange country, without money or friends, to make her way as she could, and all this trouble was taken to satisfy the Count's revenge.—"He believed (he said) there was more plots intended than he was informed of, because the Count and the valet were always conferring together."
However, they all set out two nights after for Heli's, the Turk's Lady waiting at some little distance in the carriage. On breaking into the house, the two women escaped by a back door into the wood. Heli told them the Lady was taken away, but they would not believe him, and proceeded to search the house; he taking up pistols foolishly, threatened them, upon which the valet fired and wounded him; in the same moment he fired, and the Count fell, crying he was a dead man.
The valet then said both would die, and they must provide for their own escape; but first he would have some of the Turk's riches. They opened the drawers and closets. He saw the valet take a small box, which he said belonged to the Lady, and he secured it for her. They found gold and many valuables, which they took, and then hastened to the Lady, telling her what had happened.
She seemed to be much frightened, and asked what they could do? He whispered to her, and then said, "It would be better to return to the house for that night, and dismiss the carriage."—The other thought this very strange; but presently the valet told the post-boy to bring the carriage next morning, as his master had met with a friend, and would not go on his journey that night. They entered the house, only one woman servant was there, who supposed them gone, and was surprised at their return. The valet told her the same story he had before said to the post-boy, and then proposed to the other going immediately into the city, hiring a carriage, and to bring it at the first dawning of day to a place in the wood, where they would join him, make the best of their way to the water, get on board a trading vessel, and sail into Turkey.
He, frightened with apprehensions of being discovered, staid not to consider about this strange wild plan; but instantly left them, though on the road his heart misgave him that some way they intended to deceive him; but he went on, called up the people at an inn, and ordered a carriage directly to be ready, resolved to go back in it to the house.
It was some time, however, before he could execute his purpose, and the day began to appear as they drove through the wood.—He went to the appointed spot, no one was there, and he proceeded to the house. The doors were fastened, he knocked, and at length the servant came down and let him in. He asked if the Lady and Mr. Bissot were ready?—She had not seen them.—He went up stairs, knocked at the Lady's door, no one answered, he opened it, and found the Lady was gone.
"He searched the other apartments, neither of them were in the house, the back door was on the latch, and he supposed they had gone that way. He directly got into the carriage, and returned into the wood, every part of it he searched; where the horses could not penetrate he alighted, and explored every recess, but all was fruitless; he wasted the whole day in examining the wood and its environs, and at length was compelled to dismiss the carriage, and return to the house.
"He now thought they had contrived to escape, and leave him to suffer; yet where they could be hid was very extraordinary.—He resolved to go the next morning to all the post-houses, and, describing their persons, find if they had, by any means, got a carriage. This he had done all that morning; and at length it came into his head to call at the Turk's, and by some pretence learn whether the Count and the master of the house were dead or not."