CHAP. IV.
Ferdinand perused the manuscript with eagerness, and an increasing curiosity that would not admit of an interruption until he had gone through the whole.—When the memoir was concluded, he sat for some time motionless, overcome with astonishment, and scarcely believing there could have existed a man who had for years cherished in his bosom such a diabolical passion for revenge, and such a persevering cruelty. He shuddered with horror when he reflected on the situation of those unhappy victims, and the fate they must have experienced, had not Providence conducted him to the Castle previous to the old Baron's death.—His own misfortunes appeared light in the balance, when weighed against the uncommon miseries the Count and his Eugenia had sustained; and the heart-felt delight at being the instrument to deliver them, at that moment seemed to overpay all the sorrows which had conducted him to that wretched habitation.
Francis, whose youth appeared to be renovated by the enjoyment of society, exerted himself to make all the accommodations in his power to afford ease and pleasure to Ferdinand and his guests, not having the least idea that they were the owners of the Castle; fortunately it was the day on which the farmer regularly came for orders, and to his great surprise he had a demand for such luxuries as had long been unasked for there. Francis mentioned the death of his old master, and that his heir was now arrived, and desired to see him.
It was not without some reluctance that the man ventured inside the gates, for a thousand ridiculous stories had been promulgated in the village sufficiently strange to terrify a weak and ignorant mind; but Francis, who knew the stimulative to a selfish disposition, held out such hopes of advantages to himself in being serviceable to his young master, that self-interest predominated over fear, and the man was at length persuaded to appear before Ferdinand. He was then informed that the old Gentleman being dead, it was necessary to have proper measures taken for his funeral, and the farmer was requested to send such persons as would be useful on the occasion. This he promised to do, and also to bring a young woman to attend the sick Lady.
After the farmer's departure, Ferdinand more closely examined the papers in the cabinet where he had found the manuscript, to see if the deceased had held any correspondence, or to find by what means he had acquired money for his support during the twelve years he had resided in that solitary mansion; but his search was attended with no gratification to his curiosity, farther than the discovery of near three hundred crowns in a private drawer, and the deeds and papers belonging to the estate Count Zimchaw had bequeathed to him, which appeared very extraordinary, and unlikely to be found there: The more he reflected on the memoir, and conduct of the Baron, the greater was his astonishment that any mind could indulge the horrid passion of revenge to such a degree, as to render him indifferent to every pleasure and convenience in life, to undergo the most painful of all situations, an outcast from society, dead to the world, to family, fortune, and friends, solely to inflict punishments upon others, which from habit must, he thought, have long since ceased to afford the smallest degree of gratification to his vindictive and cruel disposition. His sudden death, under such a frame of mind, made Ferdinand shudder, and was, he thought, a severe retribution for his uncommon cruelties.
Anxious to hear the story of the Count and Eugenia, he flattered himself sleep would restore them to a comparative degree of strength, and enable them to relate their "eventful history."
Frequently, during the course of the evening, Ferdinand went to the doors of their apartments to listen if they were awake, and at length he heard the Count moving, upon which he entered the room. The Count extending his hand, pressed his deliverer's to his lips: "The voluptuary in his highest enjoyments," said he, "never experienced the luxury I have felt this day. O, Sir! to conceive the misery I have endured is impossible, nor can language describe it. To the goodness of Heaven (who strengthened me to bear, what must appear almost incredible for a human creature to suffer) I owe the preservation of my senses, and the enjoyment, the exquisite delight of this blessed hour. To you———."
"Not a word to me, my dear Sir," cried Ferdinand, interrupting him; "I have simply performed a duty the poorest and most ignorant of mankind would have done as well had they been in my place. I rejoice to see you thus refreshed, and I hope the Lady will feel equal benefit from a few hours sleep."
"The poor Eugenia!" exclaimed the Count, with a deep sigh, "great and unparalleled have been her woes; for years, Sir, she lost her reason, and all sense of her miseries, and to that state I doubtless owe her life, which must otherwise have sunk under the oppressive recollection of past scenes, and continued miseries. 'Tis not many months since that her dreadful malady took a sudden turn, and that was occasioned by an accident which I feared would have been her death.
Walking one day pretty quick, the sudden check of the chain threw her down with such force, that she struck her mouth and nose violently, and bled to an alarming degree. Unable to afford her any assistance, judge what were my feelings to behold her in that situation! She rolled towards the straw, and at length fainted; that temporary death, which I thought a conclusive stroke, by stagnating the powers of life, I believe caused the bleeding to stop, and in a short time, to my infinite surprise, for I could scarcely be said to feel joy, she showed signs of returning life, and what was still more unexpected, the first words she faintly uttered convinced me that her senses and reason were also wonderfully restored. She continued very weak, and now and then rambled a little for several days, and even to the day of our deliverance she never saw our tormentor enter the dungeon without a temporary deprivation of her reason, by shrieking most violently as he approached to lay down our food; nor do I believe the inhuman wretch ever had an idea of her being at all recovered from the melancholy situation she had fallen into through his barbarity.
I hope her present refreshing rest will be of equal service to tranquillize her mind, and restore her to some degree of strength."
"I hope the same," replied Ferdinand, "and have already spoken to a person to procure an attendant for her; mean time you must be content with our services."
The Count made the warmest acknowledgments, and entreated the assistance of Francis to dress him: "My arms," said he, "have so long been confined, that the muscles are stiffened, and will be some time, I fear, before they are relaxed so as to enable me to help myself."—Ferdinand withdrew to send Francis, who was but an awkward valet de chambre; however, he helped on his clothes, and assisted him to the parlour, which they were obliged to darken, the Count's eyes not being able to support the glare of light after having been so many years in a visible darkness.
The Gentlemen partaking of some refreshment, and having stationed Francis at the door of the Lady's apartment, the Count addressing Ferdinand, "Doubtless, Sir," said he, "your curiosity must be sufficiently excited to know our extraordinary story, and if you'll pardon the frequent pauses which weakness may oblige me to make, I will endeavour to gratify you."
Ferdinand then mentioned the manuscript, which, he said, "had already acquainted him with every thing subsequent to Count Zimchaw's arrival at the house of the late Baron, except the Lady Eugenia's escape from him, and her story until the Baron discovered them in the Castle."
"What a mind of determined cruelty must that man have possessed," exclaimed the Count, "who could sit calmly down and commit his diabolical deeds to paper! I hope, for the sake of human nature, there exists not such another monster; but I have always observed, that it is dangerous to let a single passion engross the mind, it generally tends to the most violent excesses; the love of such a man as Baron S——— must be furious, and meeting with a disappointment which equally wounded his pride, produced that implacable hatred which settled in a stern and cruel revenge, the gratification of which, like Aaron's rod, swallowed up every sentiment of humanity. Poor wretch! I can pity him, for his death, in such a frame of mind, disarms resentment."