CHAP. IX.
The ext morning Mr. D'Allenberg and Ferdinand happened to meet in the avenue before the house, where the latter was strolling apparently lost in thought.—"My good friend," said the old Gentleman, "I have scarce had an opportunity to speak my perfect satisfaction at the termination of your troubles: I know not indeed all your story, but I know enough to interest me warmly in your happiness."
"You do me great honour, Sir," replied Ferdinand; "but though the veil is withdrawn from the mystery, which so long rendered me wretched, yet the disclosure has been attended with the knowledge of so many painful circumstances, that at times I feel my spirits sink under the recollection of them."
"Time, and a variety of objects," said Mr. D'Allenberg, "will, I hope, by and bye, have its usual effects, and blunt the remembrance of former sorrows. I thank Heaven, there is much alteration in the disorder that affected my daughter's spirits, from the very remedy I prescribe for you; do you not think her complexion and cheerfulness are returning?"
"I hope so," replied Ferdinand, "most fervently I hope it; every one must feel interested for a young lady so truly excellent, that the beauty of her person is her least perfection."
"I thank you for the warmth of your sentiments," said Mr. D'Allenberg, "which encourages me to speak freely to you; there is only one man in the world that I am desirous of calling son, that man is a friend of your's."
"A friend of mine!" repeated Ferdinand, starting in great confusion, adding, in a tremulous voice, "any man must be highly honoured by such a distinction; but I am at a loss to guess who you mean."
"The Count's unfortunate situation sets him entirely out of the question," interrupted Mr. D'Allenberg.—"Indeed, Sir! the young Baron's predilection in favour of the Countess is not unknown to you."
"No," returned he, 'that's a point settled. The Gentleman I mean has now, I believe, neither a prior engagement or attachment, he is one who engaged my esteem the first day I saw him, from particular traits of humanity and honour that I observed in him, and from the conversations, short as they were, that gave me a perfect good opinion of his head and his heart. Unfortunate circumstances at that time stepped between me and my wishes, which are now, I believe, all done away. Are you at a loss now to know my man?"
During this speech Ferdinand had been violently agitated; at the conclusion he caught the hand of Mr. D'Allenberg: "Ah! Sir, how flattering is your kindness; I will not affect to misunderstand you, but can that happy distinguished man presume to hope Miss D'Allenberg views him with the partial eyes of her father? No, he cannot, he dares not, flatter himself with an idea, his own observation convinces him would be erroneous."
"You would not then decline the connexion, should Theresa be more discerning than you are so ready to suppose?"
"Decline! dear Sir! to call you father; to contribute to the happiness of your lovely daughter, would indeed be to ensure my own, and render me the most enviable of mankind. Your kindness has dragged a secret forth from the inmost recesses of my heart, and by its palpitation convinces me, that heart is entirely engrossed by Miss D'Allenberg."
"Well," said the old Gentleman, infinitely delighted, "you shall not at any rate bear the torture of suspense, you shall speak to her this day, if she sees with her father's eyes, you have nothing to fear. If I am mistaken, and her inclination is not in your favour, I shall be sorry and disappointed; but—you shall ever be the son of my affection."
Ferdinand was so entirely overcome by this kindness, that words were denied to him, and, confused at his emotions, he turned abruptly from him.
The party assembled at breakfast, all seemed gay and happy except the two lovers. After the repast Mr. D'Alenberg asked the Ladies and Ferdinand to view a small pavilion the Count's steward had lately erected in a beautiful shrubbery.—The name of a pavilion caused his daughter to shudder.—She remembered a conversation which had passed in a similar place that had given her the most poignant grief; but no objection being made, they readily accompanied him, and were highly pleased with the steward's taste.
"There is another spot, not far off," said Mr. D'Allenberg, "where a small building may be erected to an advantage. Come hither, Louisa, I will have your opinion first." She started up, took his arm, and they were out of sight in a moment.
Miss D'Alenberg was rooted to her seat in breathless terror; Ferdinand was little less discomposed, but recovering himself—"I know not, Madam, whether you will have the goodness to pardon my temerity in seizing this opportunity of opening to you my whole heart, a heart long tortured by the most painful events.
"Ever since I had the honour of knowing Miss D'Alenberg I have considered her as the most amiable of women, and respected her accordingly. My unhappy situation precluded every selfish wish, and her happiness was my first concern, independent of my own.
"That situation is now changed, and though perhaps I may err against the common rules of decorum, yet I hope Miss D'Allenberg will not condemn me if I am solicitous to know whether my future destiny is to be happy or wretched; if my kind stars ordain the former, then my anxiety is removed; if on the contrary I am to be unfortunate, the sooner I fly from hence the better.
"Need I add, Madam, that you are the arbitress of that destiny, that on you must rest all my hopes of future bliss? If you will deign to admit me a candidate for your favour, if no happier man has superseded me, and rendered all my hopes of felicity successless, if you will permit me to dedicate my future life to the delightful study of rendering your's happy, then indeed I may congratulate myself on being the most fortunate of mankind; the wounds which have been given by the hands of those I loved and trusted, and which yet rankle in my bosom, you only can heal, and from you I would derive that peace which the world has hitherto denied to me."
Whilst Ferdinand was speaking with an earnestness and solemnity in his manner that was truly touching, Miss D'Allenberg had time to recall her fleeting spirits, and compose her mind sufficiently to answer him, tho" not without some emotion.
"This address, Sir, is so unexpected, so opposite to the idea that I had entertained of your sentiments, that surprise has no small share in my too visible emotions; the love of candour, and a strict adherence to truth, were the first lessons I received from the best of mothers: Her precepts and example have governed every action of my life, I will therefore frankly confess."—She stopped.
"Ah! Madam, speak, go on, keep me not in suspense."
"I scarce know what I ought to say, yet I will confess, such is my esteem for your character, that I am persuaded, if I have really the power of contributing to your happiness, I cannot fail of insuring my own."
The moment she had pronounced the last words, Ferdinand threw himself on his knee, and kissed her hand:—"Forgive me," was all he could utter. She raised him, and for a moment both were silent.
"Your generous frankness, my dear Miss D'Allenberg, has overwhelmed me with rapture; my future life must speak my gratitude; joy is not eloquent when so complete as mine."
She arose—"If you please we will seek my father."—He took her hand, and obeyed in silence. They saw Mr. D'Allenberg and Louisa advancing.
"Heyday!" said the latter, "what are you both speechless? Have you exhausted all your stock of ideas, that not a single word is left to ask our opinion of the intended plan for building?"
"You are malicious, Louisa," returned her friend, blushing.
"Sorrow, my dear Madam," answered Ferdinand, "often makes people plaintive, and the overcharged heart sometimes finds relief in complaining; but joy is a miser, and I feel at present too happy to be communicative."
"Extremely well explained, I must own," said Louisa, "a few words has done the business. Come, my silent friend, you shall give me your opinion of our judgment!"—Saying this she drew Miss d'Allenberg away, leaving her father and Ferdinand together. The latter instantly embraced Mr. d'Allenberg. "I am the happiest of men!"
"One only of the happiest," replied he, returning the embrace, "for I share with you."
The party did not meet together till the dinner hour, but Mr. d'Allenberg had seized an opportunity to inform Count M——— and the young Baron of the completion of his wishes, and they very sincerely rejoiced in the promised happiness of Ferdinand.
At table Louisa was the most talkative of the company.—"I cannot help remarking, with an infinity of pleasure," said the Count, "on the agreeable change there is in your health and spirits, Madam."
"I am sure," answered she, "the intention of your remark is friendly, but not at all calculated to increase my cheerfulness, by reminding me of the alteration. Retrospections are not always pleasing, and I owe much of my health and spirits to a resolution henceforth to look forwards."
"I beg your pardon, my dear Madam," returned he, very seriously, "your reproof is very just, and I take shame to myself for the rudeness of my observation, which I entreat you to believe arose entirely from the real delight I felt in the charms of your conversation."
"It must be owned," said she, with a returning smile, "that you know how to extricate yourself from an error extremely well, and my self-love accepts of the apology."
They had scarcely dined when an express came from Ernest with letters to Ferdinand. He retired to read them, and was surprised to find one from the steward of the Castle of Danhaet, with information, that "two days after his departure, the hermit had called there for his customary allowance, and informed him, that he had been alarmed the preceding day by seeing some men come out of one of the caves in the rock; he was not discovered himself, but he supposed they were some proscribed persons, or banditti.
"This intelligence," continued the steward, "I instantly conveyed to the Magistrates, who sent a party of men that same night to the rocks, and they remained concealed in the hermit's cave to make their observations.
"About midnight a boat was seen advancing to the Beach; two men landed, and were presently out of sight, but in less than half an hour returned with four others, all well loaded. As they proceeded towards the boat, the guards silently issued from the cave, and were upon them before they were discerned. They threw down their booty, and attempted to fly; one fired a pistol; the fire was returned; in the same moment two fell, and they were surrounded, taken, and conveyed to Lintz.
"The two wounded were not in much danger. One of them, who was most hurt, proved to be the villain, who had imposed upon Ferdinand.
"Several robberies and frauds were proved against them, and they had property to a great amount. Amongst the rest, a casket of jewels, which they had defrauded a Lady of, and seduced her from Vienna, where they oftentimes went as Gentlemen, to obtain a knowledge of what travellers were going on the road.
"They had formerly dwelt in the caves under the hills; but hearing the foolish story that the pavilion was haunted; they availed themselves of it, to get possession there, and securing all the doors and windows so as to prevent a surprise, fixing a bell at the little area door, that, should any one attempt it, the persons below by groans might frighten, and impose on the credulity of the peasants, as the gang only came there at night, and had a watch word."
This confession was made by the same villain who had before applied at the Castle, and the same cowardly spirit, generally attendant on roguery, had now induced him to make a complete discovery to save his life.
"He was not of the party when they took the jewels from the Lady, but had heard she had brought them from Turkey. What became of her after they had stripped her on the mountains, none of them could tell."
The steward concluded, by saying, that "there was little doubt but that they would all suffer for their crimes; the property remained in the hands of the Magistrates to be claimed."
This letter gave Ferdinand further occasion to admire at the justice of Providence, which sooner or later brings villainy to its deserved punishment; for
"Foul deeds will rise,
"Tho' all the earth o'erwhelms them, to men's eyes."
He could not bear to reflect on the conduct of Rhodophil; a regular course of duplicity, instigated by the vilest passions, had pervaded through his whole life, and when he considered how greatly his own senses and reason had been imposed upon by his artful management, when he found that even his father had been the dupe of a profound dissimulation, difficult to be conceived in the heart of man. He sighed for the late unhappy Claudina, who had fallen a victim to the same complicated baseness.
Nursed in vice and dissipation, the seeds of virtue were never nourished in her bosom, and the wretch, to whose care she had fallen at an early age, had doubtless taught her but one lesson, 'to make the most of her beauty," yet it is certain (thought he) that she loved me; that she bore adversity with sweetness and patience, and but for the insidious arts of a cruel spoiler, the dormant passions, which accelerated her ruin, for gaiety and dress, might have been buried in the duties of a wife and mother:
But a weak mind, and the taint of early dissipation, aided the work of a cruel enemy; and the progressive vice that marked his conduct, led him at last to the commission of the most horrid crimes.
From those dreadful objects he turned his eyes to contemplate and admire the exemplary conduct of his amiable friends, and most fervently offered his prayers to Heaven, that they might enjoy the happiness their virtues so well deserved; to those friends he returned, and communicated the contents of the letter he had received.
No one could be sorry that such a nest of villains were on the point of being exterminated; but Ferdinand could never prevail upon himself to charge his brother with the assassination he met with, nor the heinous crime which had led to it; those two particular atrocities he forbore to mention even to his best friends; he left them always to suppose he was only attacked in common with other passengers.
A week was spent at the Count's in all the delights of love and friendship, in which time the Ladies heard from the Countess, that "she had found no difficulty in having her affairs settled, no one had doubted her rights, nor any other claim seemed to be remembered; she hoped therefore, in less than a month, to join them at Mr. d'Allenberg's mansion."
The party now prepared to separate; the Baron to his father's Castle for a short time, having received an invitation to meet his beloved Countess; Mr. D'Alenberg, with his daughter and Louisa, to their own house; and the Count returning with Ferdinand, his affairs requiring his presence at Castle Renaud.
He found it extremely difficult to tear himself from his charming Theresa, but she pleaded delicacy and decorum. The recent death of his wife and brother, though separated from the one, and ill-treated by the other, had some claims to observance.
"I am far," said she, "from being a slave to forms, but the good opinion of the world is always worth preserving, and the sacrifice of one's inclinations for a short time, will be much less painful, than a consciousness of having forfeited that opinion by an appearance of indecorum; therefore, until our friends join us, you must not be offended if you are excluded from being an inmate of our house."
Ferdinand turned to Louisa, "Hasten the journey of your sweet Countess, my dear friend; the Baron will feel the attraction, and my time of probation will be shortened."—She nodded an assenting smile; but the remainder of the day passed not like the former ones; they knew they were to separate, and the idea threw a cloud over every countenance.
The next morning they parted different ways, for Miss D'Alenberg would not permit the Gentlemen to accompany them a step out of their road:—"Why should we prolong the pain we feel in separating?" said she; "Let the moment be short and decided; one adieu conveys the same meaning as a thousand." They submitted reluctantly to her wishes, and left the house immediately.
The Count had not heard from Eugenia since his return; he was uneasy at it, and had written to her the preceding day. Francis, their old attendant at the Solitary Castle, lived happy and contented under the protection of Mr. Duclos, the Count's steward, and blessed the day that brought Ferdinand to that desolate mansion.
The two friends arrived in safety at Castle Renaud, where the good and faithful Ernest was ready to receive them, accompanied by his nephew and little Charles. The Count was charmed with the sweet boy, and when he admired his features, thought Ferdinand perfectly acquitted for his strong attachment to his mother.
They had been three days at the Castle, when one evening Ferdinand was informed that a woman, of a very ordinary appearance, wished to speak with him; the Count would have withdrawn:—"By no means," said Ferdinand, and ordered her admittance.—She entered, wrapped in a long cloak, and her head so covered that no part of her face was visible but her eyes.
"What is your business?" demanded he.
"Justice!" replied she, fiercely, and throwing off her hood, discovered Fatima.
"Fatima!" exclaimed he.
"No longer Fatima," said she, "but Charlotte, daughter to the late Count Renaud, and as such entitled to be provided for by his heir."
Her astonishing assurance for a moment disconcerted both Gentlemen; but Ferdinand recovering, and looking on her with some indignation:
"The provision you so rudely demand was once offered, when I was less able to serve you, myself then supported by the bounty of a friend; but you will remember it was offered to you conditionally. Your birth does not entitle you to make any demands upon me; but the respect I owe to the memory of my father will incline me to do it, if you deserve it."
"I scorn the idea of an obligation," said she, "I come to claim my right, and to tell you, that secure as you think yourself of the title and estates you have taken possession of, I can annihilate your claims in a moment, if you dispute mine."
"Charlotte, since that is your name, do not injure yourself by an insolent asperity that ill becomes you: I am inclined to serve you, but it must be in my own manner, nothing shall be extorted from me."
"And I disdain a favour," said she:—"Know then, your father was married to my mother, consequently neither the late Rhodophil or yourself were entitled to inherit."
"This is so wild a chimera," said Ferdinand, 'that I know not which to admire most, the impudence or the falsehood of the assertion."
"You shall find," returned she, "that it is a decided truth; I have two witnesses to prove the marriage, and shall immediately enter a process against you, unless you consent to give me a moiety of your fortune."
"And pray," asked Ferdinand, with a disdainful smile, "who, and where are your witnesses?"
"They are in Baden, and without you accede quietly to my proposal, to-morrow shall witness the publication of my claims, your father's memory shall be branded as it deserves, and you, you shall be known as the child of disgrace, assuming rank and title, to which you have no pretensions."
Never was astonishment equal to the Count's, or perturbation of spirits like Ferdinand's—that this fabricated story was an impudent forgery he had no doubt, and he was well assured could not be maintained; but then she was capable of promulgating the falsehood through the town, his father's memory would be branded by a hundred malicious tongues that delight in a tale of scandal; if in revenge she instituted a suit, he must appear to controvert her assertions, and in the mean time hold only a doubtful title, and a disputed estate.
Whilst he was silently revolving in his mind those perplexities, the Count was considering how to undermine this plot against the interest of his friend.
"I think," said he, mildly, "if this Lady has the proofs she speaks of, it will be much more for your interest and honour to compromise the affair between you, than to enter into a tedious process, that in the end must injure both; I would advise you, my friend, to deal cautiously, hear the witnesses, and, if you cannot disprove their testimony, then settle the business amicably between you.—The Lady can claim neither the title nor family estate, she may injure you by her claims, and throw both into another branch of the family, but she would be no gainer by that; supposing therefore her story to be just, it is for your mutual interest that it should not transpire beyond ourselves."
Whilst the Count was speaking, Ferdinand looked at him with the utmost surprise, but a turn in his eye undeceived him in a moment; therefore when he ended his observations, the other seemed to be considering, and at length, with an air of reluctance, replied, "Your counsel is difficult to follow, yet you are my only friend, and as such best entitled to advise me."
"Well, then, Madam, bring your witnesses to-morrow morning, I only request that till you have produced your proofs, and have my answer, you will not divulge to any one what you have said here."
"I do promise (said she) and will attend you to-morrow, when you will find it most for your advantage to pay attention to my demands, and the advice of your friend."—She then withdrew.
"This is the most impudent, ill-concerted scheme I ever heard of (said the Count.)—This woman knowing how tenderly you regard the reputation of your late father, has founded her plot upon your weakness: Now let us instantly send to Baden for officers of justice to be here at an early hour, and, my life for it, we shall frighten them into a confession, be the witnesses who they may."
Ferdinand was compelled to adopt this plan, though it did not exactly correspond with his inclination. This woman was the child of his father, as such he could have wished to save her from disgrace, and have made her life comfortable; but she insisted upon rights which his duty to himself and his heirs would not permit him to allow of.
He passed a sleepless night.—"Foolish mortals as we are (said he) when pluming ourselves in a fancied security of happiness! here is a blow, which, if persisted in, must at least interrupt, if not annihilate all my hopes of future felicity with Miss D'Alenberg; for no compromise will I make, or enjoy a doubtful title to which I have no claim.—"Ah! (cried he) the sins of the fathers are multiplied upon their children! What a lesson to parents, what a pharos to the gay and dissipated of both sexes, when their crimes and follies are thus extended to their wretched posterity."
The morning came; he arose languid and unhappy; in vain the Count sought to disperse his gloomy ideas; every way he turned his thoughts, they were pregnant with trouble and vexation.
The officers came; they were placed in a closet adjoining to the room in which Ferdinand prepared to receive Fatima, or rather Charlotte. In a short time two women and a man were announced, one of whom proved to be Dupree, the man was unknown.
"How! (exclaimed Ferdinand) Dupree!"
"Yes (said she) Dupree. "Till lately I knew not that your sister was alive, and therefore, for poor Claudina's sake, I was entirely silent on a subject that must have injured you, without benefiting any one I know; but having accidentally discovered Charlotte, justice now compels me to speak."
"You lived then with Charlotte's mother?" asked the Count; for the sight of Dupree had recalled such a train of unpleasant ideas to Ferdinand, that he could not speak.
"Yes (replied she) before the Count paid his addresses to her. He finding she was virtuous, and above all his offers, at length determined to marry her unknown to his father, exactly (said she, addressing Ferdinand) as you proceeded with respect to Claudina. This Gentleman, Mr. Keilheim and myself, were the witnesses to the marriage, which was private in her own house."
"Who was the priest?" demanded the Count.
"Mr. Reinheim, of Baden, who died soon after Charlotte was born, which gave the Count courage to comply with his father's commands, and marry the mother of Rhodophil. He represented to my poor mistress that a discovery of her marriage would ruin him, as he had no fortune to support her; but that, if she would be content to live as she had done, and permit him to marry, she would always be conscious of her own innocence, always enjoy his love, and he would make ample provision for her children.
"She foolishly consented rather than injure the man she loved. He married a wife he never liked, and was constant in his love to my mistress, 'till unluckily, Ferdinand's mother came a visiting to his house, he then fell in love with her, and basely used both wives.
"My mistress sent for him, and threatened to disclose the marriage. He laughed at her, the priest was dead, she had consented to appear at his mistress, his present wife had powerful friends, and every one would be convinced her claim was only founded on malice and revenge; he therefore defied her power.
"Just at this time a young Nobleman, high in the army, whom I shall name by and bye, who was distractedly in love with my mistress, made her the most liberal proposals of a good settlement. She, in a fit of passion and resentment, accepted his offers, and left Baden with him, though she sent word to the Count she would always hold a rod over him, and some day or other prove the rights of her child.
"With this Nobleman she resided till his death, and Claudina was his daughter. They lived very expensive, and she had no great matter left to support her children, which I believe broke her heart, for she died soon after him, leaving her daughters to the care of Mr. Keilheim and myself.
"We did what we could for them, but found it would be necessary for them to do something to maintain themselves, or that we must apply to their relations.
"We were consulting about coming to Baden, and proving the rights of Charlotte, when she foolishly eloped from us with an officer, and followed him to the camp. A battle followed soon after, he was killed, and we could gain no intelligence of her. Mr. Keilheim went to England with a friend on particular business, and advised me to go to Suabia with Claudina, and make her known to her father's brother, who would doubtless provide for her. I took the journey, and came to the Nobleman's house; to my great vexation he had been gone abroad above three years, and nobody knew if he was alive or dead.
"What was this Nobleman's name?" demanded the Count, much agitated.
"Count M——— (replied she.) I believe you know him.
"Good God! (exclaimed he) but go on."
"Well (said she) after abundance of inquiries, I could hear of no relation likely to be of service to Claudina; I therefore took a small house in the suburbs of Baden, to wait for the return of her uncle, and in the hope that her beauty might get her provided for: I also expected the return of Mr. Keilheim, when I intended making myself known to Count Renaud, and demand of him some provision for keeping his secret.
"In a short time after the Count's sons both fell in love with Claudina. Rhodophil wanted her as a mistress, Ferdinand courted her for a wife, and I learned he was the favourite son; I therefore made no application to the Count on her account; the marriage took place, and Ferdinand was turned out of doors. This vexed me, but I thought time would reconcile the father to his son, so as to provide for him; but he was obstinate, without considering he had done the same thing, and they were reduced to much distress. About this time I heard from Mr. Keilheim that his friend was dead, and had left him some property; that he was ill at Hamburgh, and desired me to come to him. Glad to be no longer a burden upon Claudina, and willing to save her from the sorrow of parting, I went away without taking leave.
"I contrived, however, to hear of her, and was rejoiced to learn the Count was dead, Ferdinand and she provided for, and living at the Castle, not then believing Charlotte was alive, I thought myself free from the whole business, and troubled my head no more about them. "This, Gentlemen, is the whole story.