CHAP. II.
"Such was the relation," continued the young Baron, "which the fellow gave me. Providence, doubtless, conducted him to the house to clear up the strange mystery of the Count's death, otherwise one would have thought the man mad to come there."
This account certainly tended to exculpate Heli from the murder, as it was evident he had been wounded first by persons who broke into his house, and every man, in a situation like his, had an indubitable right to defend himself. I ordered the interpreter to explain the man's confession to him, and told him, that, as he could now clearly understand Ferdinand was entirely unacquainted and unconnected with the persons who had injured him; he must be convinced that he ought to make the humblest concessions to that gentleman and his friends for the insult offered to him, by imprisoning his person, and aspersing his character; that if he was disposed to behave properly, I would very readily exert my interest to serve him.
At first, I believe, from the looks that accompanied his words, he was stubborn and very ungracious; but after some conversation, the interpreter told me, he was very sensible of my kindness, and sorry for the injury and trouble he had brought on Mr. Ferdinand. The man who had so fortunately dropped in upon us, I left in custody, assuring him that his confinement should be short, and that I would perform all my promises in his favour.
I left the house at length, and went to the prison; there I had the pleasure to hear our friend had just been liberated; from thence I proceeded to the magistrate's, related to him the odd story I have been repeating to you, and requested the man might be brought before him to-morrow. Also, that some inquiry might be set on foot through the city, to discover, if possible, the wretches who have robbed Heli.
"Ah! my dear Baron," exclaimed Ferdinand, "in that point I cannot wish you success; consider one of them is but too nearly connected with me by blood. Would to Heaven I could recompense Heli for what he has lost."
"That would be a Quixote generosity," said the Count, "which his malice to you can by no means deserve: If, however, he is stripped, I have no objection to join in securing to him a support, that may enable him to spend his days with comfort; this our own feelings may be gratified in doing; at the same time that I am persuaded, had he not conceived our company and connexions were necessary for his own convenience, we might have remained in Philippo, and got free how we could."
"I believe you are right in your conclusion," replied Ferdinand; "but through him we did obtain our liberty—and I also owe him obligations for civil treatment and many indulgences; he therefore shall not want in a strange country, while I have the means of preventing it.
"Count Wolfran's character and proceedings is, I think, the strangest medley of follies and inconsistencies I ever heard of; for he was open to detection in every scheme he pursued; and that he carried any plan into execution, appears to me the effect of chance and accident; for there was neither regularity nor decision in any thing he undertook. He is said to have been a very handsome and plausible young man; but surely the most inconsiderate that ever existed, and at an early age, has fallen a sacrifice to his own vices and follies."
"Thank Heaven!" said the Count, "that Miss D'Alenberg escaped his villainous designs, and that Louisa was saved from the destruction he threatened to her."
"Again," thought Ferdinand, "I see how it is.—With what earnestness did he inquire of Mr. D'Alenberg for his daughter, and now, with what animation he thanks Heaven in her behalf: The Count is most certainly the object of her attachment; and without much penetration, I can see that she has superseded Eugenia in his heart. Yet surely, if I am not greatly mistaken in my judgment, her delicacy will always impede a union with him in his present circumstances.—How unfortunate for both, that such an obstacle should intervene, where both honour and justice must revolt against a single wish to remove it."
As Ferdinand appeared lost in thought, his friends endeavoured to rouse his attention, by talking of the pleasure Louisa must experience in being restored to her friends; and Reiberg naturally reverted to the ill-treatment his adored Countess had experienced from a man of such loose principles and absurd conduct.
"Do not think me selfish and ungenerous," said he, "if I bless the hand of Providence that has recalled from the world a man whose exterior advantages were made the passport to the vilest profligacy, and whose heart was so depraved, that a union with an angel could not ensure his constancy."
The Count and Ferdinand looked at each other, and read their reciprocal sentiments.
"Little does he think of the base duplicity to which his admired Theodosia was the sacrifice, and the unfortunate Louisa a willing victim."
Fatigued with the various occurrences of the day, they all retired early to their apartments, and Ferdinand was at liberty to indulge that sorrow which pressed heavily upon his spirits.
Claudina returned to his mind's eye with all that innocence, beauty, and tenderness, which adorned her, when struggling under poverty and affliction. How difficult to believe, that she who had borne every evil with fortitude, who had preserved her honour, when poor and subject to temptation, should, when fortune smiled, when every want and wish was supplied, should fail in the trial, when blessed with ease and affluence.
"My absence," said he, "was her ruin; some artful wretch took the advantage of an unguarded moment to destroy her honour and happiness, and to plant thorns in my bosom, which must rankle there for ever."
He more earnestly than ever wished to return into Suabia, and meet with Ernest, Claudina now no more. Surely there could no longer exist reasons for concealing those secrets, known only to that faithful old man, and which had so long tortured him. These uneasy reflections were not the only ones that tormented him: He dreaded the discovery of Fatima, whose association and flight with the late Count's valet, too plainly spoke her guilt, and laid her open to punishment, should they be found; the consequence of which must give him the most painful concern, both as relative to herself, and the disgrace that an illiberal world might attach to his father's memory, and his own name.
"A too hasty discovery of our connexion, by my imprudence," thought he, "has involved me in this additional labyrinth of vexation: Would to Heaven I could leave Vienna; but I cannot separate from the Count, and I fear he will not be prevailed upon to quit the city, now that Mr. D'Alenberg and his charming daughter reside in it."
Under this variety of inquietude, Ferdinand past the night; and when morning dawned, quitted his bed, languid and unrefreshed: He went down and amused himself in the garden, until the servants were up, and then strolled away towards the suburbs, which were infinitely more pleasant than the city itself. Heedless of time or distance, unmindful of his friends, who would naturally feel anxiety at his absence, he proceeded on 'till the connexion of the houses were broken, and a few scattered ones of mean appearance, first led him to recollect the extent of ground he had gone over: He looked at his watch, and, to his surprise, saw that he had exceeded the breakfast hour already, of course could not return in any time for that refreshment, which, until that moment, he had never thought of.
He drew near to the last house; a woman appeared; he asked could he have any thing to eat; she told him bread and milk he was welcome to; this he accepted, and entered a poor little room to rest. Throwing himself upon a window seat, he accidentally cast his eyes upon the floor, and under a small stool opposite to him, thought there lay something like a seal; he rose, and picked it up: To his infinite astonishment, he beheld a gold seal, with a device upon a white cornelian, which he well remembered Heli had purchased for Fatima a day or two after their arrival at Vienna.—He called to the mistress of the house, and asked if that trinket was her's.
"No, indeed, Sir," said she; "I have no such fine things belongs to me, or Anthony either."
"I found it here," returned Ferdinand.
"Dear me, then it surely must have fell out of the pocket of the lady or gentleman that was here yesterday."
"Very possibly," said Ferdinand.—"Pray who were they?"
"I don't know, indeed, Sir,—it was a very tall lady and a short gentleman, that came here, as you have done. Yesterday morning they had some milk, as you be going to have—then they walked away, and in the afternoon came again—stayed here some time eating bread and fruit; then payed me well—and I have seed no more of them."
The "very tall lady" did not answer the figure of Fatima, who, though elegantly formed, was not above the middle size; yet he was confident the seal had been her's.—He asked several questions of the good woman, but could obtain no satisfactory answers.
"Do you think," said he, 'that they are in this neighbourhood; for then this trinket might be returned to them?"
"No, indeed," replied she," eying the seal with a look that implied a wish to retain such a pretty bauble; "but perhaps they may come again; for I heard something about "Pratt's-Grove;" and so likely they be going there to-day, and will call here again, when I shall be sure to give it to them."
"As you please," said Ferdinand, delivering it to her: "'Tis certainly your property, without you see them, or they send for it.—But pray where is "Pratt's-Grove?"
"Why, in the Little Island, Sir, where all the gentry goes to make merry, and walk about."
"And can I go to it from hence?"
"O yes, a little below, to the river's side. You will see a boat, that will take you over."
"Then I will go," resolved Ferdinand, swallowing his milk in haste.
With many courtesies and blessings from the good woman, who was well satisfied with his liberality and her golden toy, he left the house, and followed her direction, which brought him to the banks of the river, where a boat lay conveniently for his purpose. He was soon carried over to the Island, which was indeed a little paradise; the most enchanting walks among groves of fine tall spreading trees, that in some places were almost impervious; then suddenly breaking through small openings, long narrow vistas terminated with some beautiful romantic views, that astonished and delighted the observer.
He wandered about here a considerable time, before he began to reflect that this was the most unlikely place in the world for persons to come who wished to be unnoticed, because it was the resort of much company in fine weather. He began likewise to feel himself fatigued, and incapable of making a tour through all the walks that were cut in this beautiful grove. What then shall I do, thought he; go into one of the buildings to rest myself, or return back? He felt ashamed of the impulse that had brought him to the Island, without considering that its situation, and the number of persons who made it a place of entertainment, must effectually preclude any concealment.
"Well then," said he, "I will walk to the next building, repose myself for half an hour, and then return.—Some future day, when my mind is more calculated to admire and enjoy the beauties of this delightful spot, I shall be glad to devote more time to it."
He was now close to the building, and about to enter it, when he thought he heard voices as if disputing; he stopped.
"If you can find the means to get off undiscovered, and will go to England, I will accompany you; but I hate the thoughts of going into Turkey—nor will I go. To remain here many days longer, cannot be done. Had you taken my advice, we had been safe."
"What! to murder the man:—"No—I'll have no murder on my conscience.—As to robbing the Turk, I hold it no sin; for they are all a parcel of freebooters and unbelievers; yet I may be hanged for it;—therefore I say, no place so safe as Turkey, where we may live in some snug place like a King and a Queen."
"How ridiculous you are! I tell you again, that there you will be plundered by the Turks.—If you are seen to live without employment, they will suppose you rich;—you will be informed against; your head will be off, and your house destroyed in an hour. I have heard enough of their tricks and rogueries—therefore to England I will go: If you don't choose it, let us divide, and do each as we like."
"No, I shan't part with you so; but I am afraid to leave Vienna, because I dare say there's an information against us before now."
"Against us! Pray what have I to do with it—I stole nothing; this casket of jewels is my own property."
"The devil it is: Pray how would you have come at it, after running away with the Count?"
At this moment, two gentlemen were seen coming down a vista; a man and a woman darted out from the building, so close upon Ferdinand, that they almost threw him backwards. They were staggered, and retreated; for he stood in a narrow path way; the gentlemen were advancing in front; he stepped in after them, and instantly saw that Fatima was in a man's dress, and the man wrapped in a loose robe of her's, with a long cloak and woman's head dress.
She as quickly knew him, and gave a violent scream.
"Be silent," said Ferdinand, "or you are undone; you are traced and discovered; if you attend to me, I will preserve you from punishment; but first return to me the casket of jewels which belongs to Heli, who is alive, and out of danger.—The man you seduced to join in the theft, and then deceived, is in my custody; he had discovered all the Count's designs, and your baseness."
The valet, with the weakness that generally attends little minds, when convicted of guilt, fell at Ferdinand's feet.
"Preserve my life, Sir, and I will give up every ———."
"Poor despicable wretch!" exclaimed Fatima, "thy life is not worth saving! You may do with me, Sir, as you please; you are my brother; it will be honourable for you to deliver your sister into the hands of justice; but be assured, whilst I have life, I will retain my jewels; jewels which Heli plundered me of, when he basely broke into the women's tents, rifled our baggage, and carried me off; these jewels were my property, and I will swear to it."
Ferdinand stood thunder-struck at her unparalleled effrontery; she saw her advantage, and pursued it.
"There are persons coming," said she;—take your choice: Suffer me to leave you instantly, without discovery or pursuit; or if you insult, detain, or give me up, I will immediately declare my affinity to you, claim the late Count Renaud as my father, protest he was married to my mother, commence a process against you for his fortune, and accuse you as an accomplice in urging me to regain my own diamonds."
The gentlemen were now pretty near to them; she turned to Ferdinand—"One word of discovery, and you are ruined."—She walked out; the gentlemen past, and she followed them pretty closely. The valet was silent, though dreadfully agitated. Ferdinand kept his eyes fixed on her as long as she remained in sight, with so much mute surprise, such horror and astonishment, that it took from him all power of speech or motion for some minutes.
Recovering at length, when she was lost to his view—"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, "is it possible that woman, so soft, so lovely, so interesting in her gentleness, can, by vice and profligacy of manners, attain to such a degree of boldness and impudent bravery, as would shame the most hardened of mankind!
"For you," said he, turning to the trembling valet—"you who have profited nothing by your crimes, I know not that your conviction could afford any satisfaction to Heli, without the recovery of his property; tho' guilty of many base actions, you scrupled at murder, which I heard that wretch who has left us upbraid you for; and I am even tempted to think the robbery was more the impulse of the moment, from the existing circumstances, which you could not foresee, than a premeditated design.
"If you can repent, perhaps you may find friends; follow me, however, I must dodge that woman."
The man obeyed, and gathering up his robes, looked with conscious shame on his dress, now that he was discovered: They walked quick, and soon came in sight of Fatima, who was then walking with her two beaus towards one part of the Island, where lay a small pleasure-boat;—to Ferdinand's infinite astonishment, one of the gentlemen handed her in.
"How," cried he, "has she confessed her sex; or have they penetrated through the disguise?"
The boat put off, and he remained fixed to the spot.
"Well," said he, resuming his recollection, "had this woman's conduct been represented to me by another, I should either have believed it fabulous, or very greatly exaggerated: What a strange adventure have I made of my morning's ramble?"
He then turned, deeply musing, and so entirely forgetful of the valet, that had the man been possessed of a weapon, or any evil designs, he might have had cause to have repented of his carelessness.
But fortunately weapon he had none, and therefore had no temptation to commit an injury, which we know not, desperate as his situation seemed to be, whether he might have had the fortitude or conscience to resist.—For how many are the follies and crimes mankind are drawn into by opportunity, to gratify a prevailing passion, which, free from the temptation of the moment, they do not even dream of.
Ferdinand walked slowly back the same way that he came; went into the boat, still followed by the lady valet, whom he very uncourteously left, to seat himself as he liked, to the no small amusement of the boatmen, who concluded the gentleman and lady had been falling out.
When he was landed, he began to quicken his pace, and in much less time than when he set off in the morning, he arrived at the Baron's house. Great had been the solicitude of his friends; the dejection that marked his countenance, when he retired for the night, his early rising, and unaccountable long absence, were circumstances that gave rise to the most painful conjectures: Mr. D'Alenberg had attended the breakfast table, an invitation that had escaped Ferdinand's recollection, and seemed to be extremely surprised when he found the other did not appear; nor could any reason be assigned by his friends, for an omission that carried with it an air of rudeness and neglect.
The Count saw the dissatisfaction of Mr. D'Alenberg, and in justice to his friend, at length mentioned the account he had recently received of his wife's death, which he said deeply affected him.
"How!" said Mr. D'Alenberg, "is his wife dead? "
"She is," replied the Count; "and although, for certain family reasons, they were separated, yet Ferdinand dearly loved her, and tenderly regrets her for the present.—When reason and judgment resume their empire over the heart, I hope he will be sensible of the duties he owes to his child and his friends, nor by unavailing grief, hurt his own peace and wound theirs."
"He has a child, then?"
"Yes, a son placed at an academy in Baden."
"He is a very young father," observed the Baron.—"He married very young, a love match—but not a happy one."
"I understand," said Mr. d'Allenberg—"Poor young man; 'tis natural enough that he should feel sorrow on such an event; but I earnestly hope he will not injure his health, nor meet with any accident this morning.—I shall look in upon you again by and bye, after paying a few visits, and shall be glad to see him returned."
He did call in again, and was greatly surprised to see the anxiety of his friend's increased; the Count had intended to pay his devoirs to the two ladies; but he was so extremely uneasy concerning Ferdinand, that he felt no inclination to dress or visit.
Baron Reiberg had just determined to send his servants in quest of Ferdinand, when he appeared, followed, as they thought, by a lady, who stopped short at the door, looking down exceedingly confused. The Count had flown to embrace Ferdinand, reproaching him at the same time for giving them so much concern; but he had hardly spoken, when the lady, standing so awkwardly, struck him; he left his friend, and hastily offered his hand to lead her into the room; an offer which, to his great astonishment, she declined, by a low bow.
Ferdinand, who was about to apologize to the Baron, that moment turned his head, and seeing the surprise of one, and the confusion of the other, with the attitudes of both, tho' he was far from being cheerful, yet the ridiculous situation of the valet, caused him to burst out in a violent laugh, which still more disconcerted the Count, who, bowing to the lady again, came up to Ferdinand.
"For Heaven's sake, what does this mean; who is that—woman?"
"That woman," answered he, "has a long story to tell, and is accountable for great part of the time I have been absent.—Suspend your curiosity, however, for a few minutes, and we will return to satisfy it."
He then withdrew, followed still by the lady; the Count and Baron looked at each other for a minute, when the latter exclaimed, laughing heartily,
"Upon my soul, I believe 'tis a fellow disguised."
"A man!" cried the Count; 'then indeed, I have made myself ridiculous enough; and now that you have started the idea, I own that I thought she was an odd figure."
"Yet how gallant you was," returned the other: "I wish Reiberg had been here, to have shared your politeness."
"Pray be sparing of your jeers," said the Count; "they may be premature.—You are not certain that your conjectures are right."
The Baron, having once entertained the idea, seemed to be every moment more strongly confirmed in his judgment, and rallied the Count most unmercifully on his politeness to the fair sex.
In a short time, Ferdinand returned, having equipped the man with an old suit of clothes, that fitted him tolerably.
"Now," said he, smiling, "allow me to introduce the metamorphosed lady as the late Count Wolfran's valet."
"Is it possible," they both cried; "for Heaven's sake, how have you been so fortunate as to meet with him?"
"I know not," replied Ferdinand very gravely, "whether I can deem it as any piece of good fortune; for the meeting has been productive of strange scenes, and I am in a very perplexing predicament; but I will repeat the circumstances to you, and you will be the more competent to advise me. Mean time, permit this man to retire into your kitchen; when his presence is necessary, I will call him.—"Go," said he to the valet, "keep your own secret, and wait my orders."
The man bowed, and withdrew.
"What!" cried the Baron, "do you permit him to be at liberty?"
"Keep your surprise for my story," answered he, "and then judge according to the circumstances that will appear before you."
He then entered upon all the events of the day; described Fatima's extraordinary assurance and menaces, and the astonishment that overcame him, and impeded him from making any efforts to stop or to pursue her.
"Her wickedness," added he, "is so complete, that I am confident there is nothing she would leave undone, no perjuries she would scruple at, to be revenged on those who interfere to the prejudice of her schemes. Where, or with whom she is gone, I know not, or whether I ought to inform Heli of the particulars I have related to you. Have you heard of him to-day; has the Baron produced the servant who made the discoveries?"
"Yes," replied the Count; 'the man was carried this morning before the magistrate, and, as his story was partly corroborated by Heli, and many particulars confirmed by Louisa, on whom the magistrate waited to take her information, orders were given to discharge the men who kept Heli in custody: Your innocence was declared, and fresh orders sent forth to search for Fatima and the valet, on account of the robbery.—How they have contrived to hide themselves, and yet venture at a place so public as the pleasurable little Island of Pratt, I can't conceive; but I think it very probable Fatima will be discovered."
"Though she justly deserves punishment," returned Ferdinand, "I must hope she will elude the search.—I am sorry, indeed, she is possessed of the jewels; but she is so profligate a creature, that I am persuaded she will derive but little benefit from the possession.—Mean time, what is to be done with this valet of the Count's: If he is discovered, we shall not be able to serve him, because his guilt is clearly proved; yet I think he deserves consideration, for the fellow seems penitent; followed me without reluctance, and certainly proved, by their conversation, that he had some principle—a conscience that resisted the idea, and was proof against the persuasion of committing a murder."
"What you say is very true," said the Count; "and I have other reasons for wishing he may escape punishment; the story of Count Wolfran will not bear an investigation." Ferdinand took the hint: This fellow had been present at the marriage of Louisa; had entered into all his master's schemes against her; the whole would therefore come before the public; himself and his friends exposed; the deceit and indignity put upon the Countess would be brought forward, to the mortification of her and young Reiberg. In short, he saw the most painful consequences would ensue, should this man be taken up; and how to aid his escape now, seemed a very difficult affair, without risque or reflection to themselves.
"I think," said the Baron, after a little pause, "I can manage this matter.—The description of his person, with the particular orders for seizing him, can hardly take place 'till to-morrow; I want to send an express to my steward in Bavaria: If he sets off immediately this night with credentials from me, he will precede the orders for his arrest, which are not likely to extend far beyond the city. I will give orders to my steward to employ him upon my estate, to use him well, but to keep a watchful eye upon him 'till my return; what think you of this scheme?"
"Let us hear him," said Ferdinand, and called for his servant.—He appeared with a confused and mortified air.—Ferdinand told him of the orders given for his apprehension; explained to him the magnitude of his guilt in the bad actions he had been guilty of, and privy to, for his late master; and then repeated the Baron's noble and generous offer to preserve him from shame and death:—"An offer," said he, "so inconsistent with prudence, in trusting to a reformation of your life, that it must appear wonderful to you, and for which you are indebted solely to a few words I heard you say to Fatima, which makes us hope you are not quite abandoned; and if we can save a guilty being to atone for his past offences, and by penitence and good behaviour, to deserve forgiveness from Heaven, we are willing to run the chance in your favour—What say you?"
"My Lords," said the man, throwing himself at their feet, "I humbly thank your goodness: I have been a very wicked wretch; I had a very bad master; and I was too ready to obey him, and join in bad actions; but if your Lordships will please to trust me, in return for a life saved, I will devote it to you, and as faithfully obey a good master, as I too well served a wicked one."
"Rise," said the Baron; "your words please me, and I will trust you; within two hours you shall set off; I am only apprehensive the servants may recollect his person."
"My Lord," said he, "fearful that I might be known, I have had my handkerchief to my face, complaining of a violent tooth-ache, and only two servants have seen me at all."
"That's well," returned the Baron; "retire to the antechamber, until all is ready."—The Baron bid his servants instantly to get a horse at the door, as he was going to send Mr. Ferdinand's new servant off with an express.—Mean time, among them, they contrived a small parcel of linen; got him boots and a great coat, and being furnished with money for the journey, and letters from the Baron, he was soon on horseback, and lost no time in pursuing his journey; doubtless no less anxious to get beyond the environs of Vienna, than they were to have him.
This whole business, from the return of Ferdinand, had been planned and executed in about three hours, and he felt great relief to his mind, and a heavy weight taken from his spirits, when the man was gone.