CHAP. VIII.
Thus ended the confession of the wretched guilty Rhodophil, which was not made without many breaks, pauses, and frequent refreshments, to enable him to proceed in the dreadful story; but we would not notice them to interrupt the narrative.
Ferdinand sat fixed in the chair; his eyes riveted on his brother, or occasionally thrown up to Heaven; he shuddered with horror, but spoke not a single word.
When the story was concluded, and the miserable object before him lay gasping for breath, he clasped his hands, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Gracious father!" said he, "extend thy mercy to this unhappy man; may the long torment conscious guilt has inflicted—may the unspeakable terrors of a distracted mind plead in mitigation of his crimes; and may his sufferings obtain the same forgiveness from Heaven, which, with my whole soul, I accord to him here."
To this fervent address, Ernest pronounced an amen.—The wretched man seemed inwardly to join in prayer; he lay exhausted and speechless; the effort he had made during the confession of his crimes, reduced him to the last extremity; nor could he utter a single word for some time.
At length he wished to be alone with Ernest: Ferdinand, with tottering steps, reached the antechamber, and sunk on a sofa, overpowered by the recollection of what he had heard, and hardly believing it possible human nature could be debased by such deliberate malice and unheard of wickedness.
He remained for three hours alone; for he could not see any one, but was at length again summoned to the sick chamber; Rhodophil had again recovered speech, and besought him once more to pronounce him forgiven, and to join Ernest in prayers for him to Heaven.
Poor—poor Rhodophil! On the bed of death, with all the horrors of a guilty conscience, who can describe thy feelings; what lethean draught can silence the inward monitor, than now shrinks trembling from the view of futurity!!!
Most fervent were the prayers they offered to the throne of mercy; he seemed to have a temporary calmness, and at last dropped into a slumber. Ferdinand was persuaded to withdraw; the Countess had ordered a bed for him; he gladly retired to it for a few hours, to recover his spirits.
The night passed without any change;—Rhodophil dozed, started, and often waked in great horror, but his senses were not much deranged. In the morning Ferdinand entered the room just as he had desired to see his Countess; they met at his bedside; he spoke very inwardly, and with much difficulty of respiration, he entreated her pardon for many acts of unkindness and inattention; owned his motives for marrying her were her large fortune, and the hope of an heir to prevent Ferdinand or his son from succeeding him.
He praised and blessed her.—Then taking Ferdinand's hand, he feebly pressed it,
"Be her friend," said he.—"May Heaven bless you, and pardon me.—See the end of guilt and duplicity.—Truth and innocence only can make a death-bed easy.—The virtuous man looks forward with hope; the guilty one with fear and trembling—Heaven have mercy on me!!!"
Those were the last words he spoke.———Violent convulsive hiccups soon came on, which drove the Countess and Ferdinand to their respective apartments, unable to support the last struggle of nature; and in less than a quarter of an hour, the latter was informed the dreadful scene had closed!!!
Thus then expired the unhappy Rhodophil, only seven and twenty years of age.—Ferdinand requested Ernest and Mr. Dunloff to take the management of every thing upon themselves, for he was incapable of giving directions; he entreated them to let the confession of the wretched Rhodophil rest in their own bosoms, and, if possible, never to hint a word relative to the story, on any occasion whatever. This they faithfully promised; and at his request, Mr. Dunloff undertook to write for him to Count M——— and his friends, directing them at the Count's castle; and if he was not arrived, to have them forwarded to Vienna.
We will now look back on the friends of Ferdinand, who were suffering the most painful inquietude on his account. The day preceding the one appointed by them to leave Vienna, the Count called on Heli at the interpreter's, and, to his surprise, found him preparing to leave Germany in a few days.
"I was coming to you," said he; a great revolution has taken place in my affairs;—the Grand Seigneur is dead; his successor was the friend of our family; my uncle is appointed to a place of much eminence, and I shall return to my own country without fear, and sure of preferment.
"Your bounty to me, therefore, I intended to resign, and only request a sufficient sum to carry me safe into Constantinople.—I go with joy, for I like neither your country or customs; and the women I detest.
"The ungrateful Fatima will have cause to repent her desertion of me, now I might have placed her at the head of a hundred women, perhaps; but no matter, I shall soon find others to please and console me."
The Count was not sorry to hear of this change in Heli's hopes and circumstances;—he assured him of their ready concurrence to his wishes, and took leave of him to get the business immediately settled. They also procured the liberty of the man who had been detained as a witness against Fatima, as after a fruitless search, they had given up any farther inquiry.
On the following day, Mr. D'Alenberg, his daughter, Louisa, the Countess of Wolfran, the two Barons, and the Count M———, accompanied by their servants, left Vienna, determined to proceed through Lintz, and make some inquiries after Ferdinand. The ladies were entirely unacquainted with their apprehensions for his safety, and supposed him with his brother.
As they stopped at the same inn Ferdinand had rested in, they were quickly informed of his leaving Lintz on the very day he had written to them, and, in their course of inquiries, learnt that a band of robbers sometimes infested the neighbouring hills and woods, which made it extremely hazardous for passengers, and therefore the landlord persuaded the company to go the lower road, as having less woods to travel through.
This account made them excessively apprehensive that Ferdinand had unhappily fallen in with the gang, and had been murdered. The Count accused himself incessantly, and protested, that, should any accident have befallen his friend, he never should enjoy peace more, or forgive himself, for not insisting upon going with him.—The Barons were extremely concerned; Mr. d'Allenberg overpowered with sorrow.
His extreme dejection, and the inquietude not to be concealed, which pervaded the countenance of Count M———, alarmed the ladies, and Miss D'Alenberg earnestly inquired of her father the cause of so visible a disorder.—He tried to evade her curiosity, but only augmented it, because perfectly assured he was uneasy, his endeavours to hide it from her, proved it was a matter of some consequence; she therefore caught the infection of her father's looks, and though she ceased to importune him, she saw there was some affliction preparing for her, which he was unwilling to communicate.
The Countess and Louisa were not more composed; each thought the painful secret must concern herself, and were equally unhappy.
A general air of concern pervaded through the whole party, and every one seemed to avoid particular conversation, though the Count, impressed with the idea that Miss d'Allenberg viewed him with some degree of preference, which indeed was justified by her behaviour to him; exerted all his endeavours to assume a tranquillity far distant from his heart, that he might not communicate his uneasiness to her: But the disguise was too flimsy to succeed, and only the more strongly convinced her that something lay hid, that would not bear investigation.
Mr. d'Allenberg had a small estate at Augsburg; he proposed to his friends going there, and sending off an express to Count Rhodophil, also, another to Mr. Dunloff.—This proposal met their approbation; the Barons could not resolve to separate themselves from the party, until some intelligence was gained to remove or confirm their present conjectures.
The ladies made no opposition; they frankly avowed to each other the painful suspense which tortured their imaginations, and anxiously sought for some clue to elucidate the mystery, but it was plain they must wait for the discovery.
They proceeded on to Augsburg, a very unsocial party, and arrived there without any accident: Being unexpected, they were not presently, or comfortably accommodated, but they were not fastidious, and bore inconveniences without repining.
The same night of their arrival, two messengers were procured; letters written and sent off: One of them was ordered to proceed on to the Count's estate, if he obtained no satisfactory answer from Mr. Dunloff.—The gentlemen took a walk in the garden after this business had been expedited. There was a small pavilion of two rooms, each opening into, and fronting different walks, with a communication door between them.
The gentlemen entered one of these rooms and sat down.
"I am convinced," said the Count, as if continuing a conversation—"I am convinced, that if we do not gain satisfactory information from the return of the expresses, it will be impossible to impose longer on the sagacity of the ladies, already so much alarmed; we cannot dissemble our inquietude, and the dreadful certainty of what we fear, if unhappily it proves such, must be known to them at last."
"True," answered Mr. D'Alenberg;—"but whilst there exists a possibility that Ferdinand lives, I would not wound them by our ———."
He had not time to finish the sentence;—an exclamation of "Help, help," from the adjoining room, caused them to pull open the door, where they beheld Miss D'Alenberg on the floor, the Countess and Louisa endeavouring to raise her.
They flew to her assistance; she was cold and senseless; what a sight for a father!—Poor Mr. D'Alenberg was in agonies: The young Baron, more collected, had hastened to the house, and returned with drops and water, which, on applying, she showed signs of returning life, and was raised and placed on two chairs, Louisa supporting her in her arms.
She opened her eyes, and saw the whole group standing round her, her father holding her hand between his trembling ones.
"Ah!" said she, "Ferdinand is then dead!"
"Not so, I hope, my dear Theresa," replied he tenderly.
"Dying, if not dead," returned she, "the dreadful certainty will soon arrive—A second time to feel this blow—alas! 'tis too, too much to bear."
Mr. d'Allenberg and the ladies besought her to retire into the house; she submitted in silence to their wishes, and was supported through the garden; the Count remained rooted to the spot, inconceivably astonished at a discovery so little expected.
"What an unfortunate adventure," said Baron Reiberg, "that we should be overheard; I had not the smallest idea of Miss D'Alenberg's attachment to our friend."
"Nor I, I promise you," returned the Count, trying to recover from his surprise; "nor I am sure had Ferdinand."
"But if he lives," said the Baron, "as he is now a disengaged man, I hope the young lady will be happy; for she is a most charming young woman."
"Indeed she is," replied the Count;—"Heaven grant my friend may be alive; the rest we must leave to Providence."
They returned to the house, not a little disconcerted that accident had revealed what they had so industriously sought to conceal.
Mean time, Mr. D'Alenberg found it requisite, for the peace of his daughter, to enter into a full explanation of their hopes and fears; disguise would no longer avail to impose upon her, and he candidly laid every thing before her.
When he had concluded, and again mentioned hope,
"My dear Sir," said she, interrupting him, with a solemnity of look and accent, that penetrated to his heart—"my dear Sir, do not attempt to delude me with hope; rather seek to strengthen my mind, and fortify it to expect the worst. I always told you, because I always felt, that the preference I entertained for that unfortunate young man would terminate unhappily.
"It was the soft melancholy of his air, the tuneful accents of his voice, and the effusions of a bright understanding and pleasing vivacity, which now and then broke through the cloud that seemed to overcast his mind: It was those affecting appearances that stole insensibly into my heart, and to see Ferdinand was to pity him; pity soon ripened into esteem and affection, and now there is an end of all."
"Do not decide so peremptorily," said her father; "hope may still exist."
"You once before told me so, Sir," returned she; "but I have never listened to the flatterer; yet I had brought my mind to a comparative degree of content, when he was so unexpectedly restored to us; not that I could ever flatter myself with his esteem, nor circumstanced as he was, ought I to have wished for it."
"Dear Theresa," said Mr. d'Allenberg, 'those circumstances are changed; he has lately lost his wife, from whom he was parted."
"Why would you tell me so, to enhance my distress? Oh! my dear father, my Louisa, assist me to derive courage from the extent of my misfortunes; teach me to submit to the dispensations of Providence, that I may not cloud the last days of a beloved parent with sorrow, by an imprudent attachment."
Her father embraced her with streaming eyes, entreating her not to give way to despair, though he could hardly bid her to indulge hope. He retired and left her with the ladies, and in the evening she appeared at supper with them.
The gentlemen were agreeably surprised; she tried to eat, though she could not swallow three mouthfuls; she endeavoured to speak, to smile, but it was a smile of woe that shocked every one present; but her efforts were astonishing to her father, and convinced him of the dignity of her mind, and what struggles she was capable of, to afford him peace.
Four days of painful suspense they had endured, in which the delicate frame of Miss d'Allenberg seemed to be falling a sacrifice to the strength of her mind, and the assumption of a fortitude her spirits but ill supplied. They were sitting at the dinner table when the return of a messenger was announced; she turned faint and sick.
"I will retire, if you please," said she to her father, and accompanied by her two friends, tottered out of the room.
With difficulty, they preserved her from fainting.
"I shall soon know the worst," said she, "and that is some degree of ease from this dreadful uncertainty. If he lives, I am indifferent as to myself; for where there is no expectation, there can be no disappointment."
Her trembling frame spoke the agitations of her heart, when suddenly the door opened, and Mr. d'Allenberg appeared with an animated countenance.
"He lives," she exclaimed; and leaning her head on the bosom of Louisa, burst into a flood of tears, the first she had shed for three days.
"He does, my dear Theresa; a letter from Mr. Dunloff has restored us all to happiness.
He lives, indeed, wonderfully preserved, and arrived only two days before the messenger.—His brother had expired that day, and therefore both men went to Dunloff's, who quickly sent one back with intelligence so much desired; the other is gone on to Count M———'s, to give notice of his return."
Mr. d'Allenberg might have proceeded for an hour; his beloved daughter heard nothing, thought of nothing, but "Ferdinand is alive; yes, that amiable and unfortunate young man is the care of Heaven; his life is preserved!!!"
"Will you not come down, my Theresa, and hear read, or read yourself, this charming letter? We shall pursue our journey tomorrow, if you are capable of bearing the fatigue."
"Yes," said she, starting up; "let me hear the letter, dear Sir—how good you are."
She descended to the parlour, where Mr. Dunloff's letter was presented to her; she devoured the contents with great avidity, and joined, with astonishing composure, in the mutual congratulations they made each other, for the completion of their wishes.
The next morning they left Augsburg.—The two Barons resolved to attend them to Ulm, as they made that in their route to drop the Countess, who engaged, the moment she had settled her affairs, to bring her son with her, and spend some weeks at Mr. d'Allenberg's. The Barons took leave of her there; but young Reiberg so earnestly importuned his father, that he might be permitted to accompany his friend the Count, that the old gentleman consented, and also engaged to join them very soon.
They all proceeded to the Count's mansion, as being nearest to Ferdinand; arrived there without any accident, and immediately sent a servant, with letters to Castle Renaud.
Those letters reached Ferdinand just as he returned from the funeral of his brother.—What delightful sensations sprung to his heart, when he found his friends were so near to him; he thought his obligations to them superseded the cold forms of decorum in circumstances like his, therefore, sending for his faithful old Ernest, he requested Mr. Dunloff and his son would come to the castle, and remain with him during his absence.
He had entreated the Countess to remain there, and command, as usual; but she declined the offer, and the day preceding the funeral, had removed to the house of a friend, until one of her own was ready to receive her. She had a good estate of her own, and a very handsome settlement from Rhodophil.
Ferdinand detained the messenger, that he might accompany him, and agreeably surprise his friends.—When he was announced, they could hardly credit the information;—all started up, and, in a moment, he received the embraces of his three friends: The ladies were present; Miss d'Allenberg behaved like a heroine; she said little, but that little was extremely proper.
At length he was quietly seated; they asked him a hundred questions in a breath.
"Spare me at present," said he; "I wish not to remember unpleasant scenes now, when I am so perfectly happy."
He certainly thought himself so at that moment; but soon after, when in conversation, he beheld Miss d'Allenberg speaking with some attention to the Count—Ah! thought he, how unfortunate, that such a charming young woman should encourage a hopeless passion.—Then the numberless little incidents in which he had admired her, came to his recollection; he watched her attentively; thought her more beautiful than ever, and again sighed that the Count was precluded from rendering her happy.
He was so lost in thought, and absorbed in attention towards them, that Mr. d'Allenberg was obliged to remind him that he had not once asked for the lovely Countess.
"Forgive me," said he: "I have the highest respect for that estimable woman, but I have my excuse before me. When looking at those ladies, is it possible to recollect any others.—I hope, however, you left that amiable lady well."
"Perfectly so," said Reiberg; "and 'tis only in this company that I can pardon your omission."
Ferdinand had always so carefully avoided saying even a gallant thing to a lady, that the little compliment he uttered caught the attention of Miss d'Allenberg; she looked at him; he withdrew his eyes, and fixed them on Louisa, to whom he addressed some trifling question, that called the blood from the cheeks of the other, and she again turned towards the Count.
He was a minute observer of the scene, and instantly thought he understood the recesses of Ferdinand's heart better than he did himself. Nor was the Count mistaken.
The very first day Ferdinand had seen Miss D'Alenberg, he was charmed with her humanity, and generous compassion for Louisa. The sentiments she uttered were so congenial to his own feelings, that her character was instantly decided in his breast to be a worthy one. He felt exceedingly for the base duplicity of Count Wolfran's conduct, and rejoiced that such a woman had not fallen a victim to it.
When at her father's house, she seemed still more worthy of admiration; the study, the chief pleasure of her life, was to obey and contribute to his amusement.—She was sensible without affectation; cheerful without levity; attentive to every part of domestic management, without the least ostentation: Added to which, her polite kindness to Louisa denoted a mind above the idea of conferring favours, but was herself the obliged person, in being permitted to offer them.
Such was the character of Miss D'Alenberg.—He admired, he revered her; but at that time, the recent unaccountable troubles that hung over him; his affection for Claudina, which, though weakened, was not extinguished, and his peculiar situation, impeded every thought of Miss D'Alenberg, otherwise than as a most estimable young woman.
But when the Count and himself had so fortunately met with Louisa, the story she related of her friend's melancholy and secret attachment, the dormant admiration of her person and mind, again blazed forth; he felt the sincerest concern for her situation, not entirely unmixed with envy, for the man who was the object of her preferable regard.—This object, his sagacity at length discovered to be Count M———, and he also was convinced the unfortunate partiality was a mutual one. Here then he sighed in silence, as he thought in pity to them, and in that pity stifled his own regrets.
When he received an account of Claudina's death, he was greatly affected; her ill conduct, though plainly avowed, had not effaced her image from his heart, or eradicated the tenderness which was once reciprocal.—He lamented her death; he grieved for her depravity; but his sorrow was not of that deep heart-felt kind, which he must have felt in other circumstances, because reason whispered to his mind that she had proved unworthy.
When Mr. d'Allenberg and his daughter arrived at Vienna, and he waited upon them, he saw, as he judged, a confirmation of his suspicions of the unfortunate preference that young lady entertained for the Count, and without being sensible of it himself, he certainly exhibited some little petulance in his conversation, which did not pass unobserved.
He was then sent for to his brother, and his agitations on that account superseded all other ideas. The subsequent events pretty much engrossed his mind; and it was not until his present arrival at the Count's, when he saw Miss d'Allenberg with circumstances so much altered in his own favour, that the sentiments he had long suppressed, and was scarcely conscious of, now burst full upon him, mingled with the painful regret that his friend possessed that invaluable heart he thought above all price; and from his unfortunate situation, was precluded from even a wish to profit by the preference he was honoured with, and of course both must be unhappy.
Thus have we accounted for the workings of Ferdinand's mind, and for those sentiments which now, for the first time, were no longer concealed from himself.
Louisa made her own observations in silence.—Her friend, who saw the direction of Ferdinand's eyes, and felt the little compliment that had escaped him, immediately gave Louisa the credit of it.
"Yes," said she, mentally, "I see the attraction, and now there exists, on either side, no obstacles to impede their union.—Well, then, I will teach my heart to rejoice in their happiness, and henceforth draw only on my dear father for my future tranquillity." Impressed with this idea, she turned her eyes tenderly towards her father, and saw an expression of joy in his, that greatly surprised her, but which she immediately attributed to the pleasure of seeing his friend.
In the evening, the company walked into the gardens, and strolling through the shrubbery, they accidentally fell into small parties.—Louisa designedly led her friend from the company, and seemed to be in very uncommon spirits; Miss d'Allenberg thought it was not quite so decorous; but she allowed for the human heart; and a conquest, such as Ferdinand, justified the little breach of delicacy towards a friend.
"You are more than usually cheerful, my dear Louisa?"
"Indeed I am; the arrival of our friend has gratified my warmest wishes."
"May every wish of your heart be realized; you may suppose I do not feel less pleasure, though his presence is not of that immediate consequence to me, as to my dear Louisa."
"Indeed," cried the other, at once penetrating into the nature of her feelings, "indeed, have you then changed your favourable opinion of Ferdinand, since he is become a widower and a Count?"
"No," said Miss D'Alenberg, a little piqued; "but I hope I have fortitude and generosity sufficient to change the nature of my sentiments in favour of my friends."
"I see," returned Louisa, 'that you suspect the new Count has a partiality for me."
"It was a suspicion," said the other; "but his behaviour this day amounts to a confirmation; and believe me, my dear Louisa, weak as you have seen me in many instances, I have acquired that command over my feelings, now that I see him alive and happy; that I am enabled to partake in your mutual felicity, though, for a time, perhaps I should not choose to be an eye-witness of it."
"Generous friend," exclaimed Louisa, kissing her hand, "I know the sincerity of your heart, and doubt not but that the nobleness of your mind would support you under the most painful disappointment, if productive of happiness to those you love: But undeceive yourself, my beloved Theresa, Ferdinand respects me as the friend of Miss d'Allenberg; but my amiable Theresa is the sole possessor of his heart."
"Impossible," cried she, "impossible, dear Louisa; you must be mistaken."
"Indeed I am not," returned she; "an attentive observer can translate the looks of a lover, and is not often mistaken; at least suspend your conclusion against him for a day or two.—I will be answerable for the events."
"Against him!" repeated Miss d'Allen-" berg; "his supposed preference of you does credit to his judgment."
"I shall not dispute that point with you," answered she, smiling, "because it gratifies my self-love; but here they come, and I only beseech you to open your eyes, and disperse the mist that clouds your judgment."
The gentlemen, who had joined in different walks, now approached the ladies, the eyes of Ferdinand meeting those of Miss d'Allenberg's. She blushed excessively, from thinking of the preceding conversation; she turned to Louisa, the archness of whose looks more greatly disconcerted her; her disorder was very visible, which, when Louisa remarked, she drew the attention off from her friend by a sprightly sally, that brought Mr. d'Allenberg upon her: He rallied her upon her gaiety, for which he was indebted, he said, to the company of their beaus. This passed off the confusion of his daughter, and she recovered her spirits.