CHAP. VIII.
Every attention that affection, and the duties of hospitality enjoined, was paid by Rhodophil to his sister-in-law, and no longer restrained by the prudence and pride of Ferdinand, he made her a number of considerable presents, increased the finery of her wardrobe, was assiduous to amuse her, and in short gained so highly on the esteem and gratitude of Claudina, that she insensibly felt her regret lessened for the loss of her husband, and although she sometimes felt and expressed a concern for his safety, yet the well-timed amusements Rhodophil prepared for her, left that occasional anxiety but as a passing cloud upon her memory, that was followed by brighter ideas. Ernest, who had engaged to pay every attention to his mistress, as he called her, found nothing was wanting from him to comfort her, and so captious is the human mind, that, though he would have been grieved to have seen her unhappy, yet he was very much displeased to see her so cheerful.
She commanded the house entirely, every servant was at her disposal, and the master of it seemed to have no will but her's, no laws but of her making. If we look back, and see the very humble state in which Claudina had lived before she knew Ferdinand, and even the humble mediocrity which she enjoyed with him before the death of Count Renaud; if we consider that, though Ferdinand had procured masters to teach her accomplishments before she married, and of course with the advantages of his conversation her mind must have been enlightened, and her understanding improved, yet still a number of improper ideas, habitual from early life, would at times recur, and render both her sentiments and behaviour very unequal. She had been always taught to expect that her beauty would make her fortune, therefore of course she thought highly of her charms, and when she sometimes listened to the extravagant praises of Rhodophil, she was ready to blame herself for so quickly accepting the offer of a younger, portionless brother, when, in all probability, had she waited, she might have been a Countess.
A too frequent repetition of those thoughts by degrees undermined the warmth of her affection for her husband, and one day, when walking in the garden with Rhodophil, that he was lavish in his encomiums on her person, she interrupted by asking, with a look of naivete, "How it happened, that, if he thought so well of her, he had not loved her like Ferdinand?"
"And did I not love you?—Yes, Claudina," replied he, "from the first moment I adored you; but could I see my brother wretched?—Or could I hope you would reserve the blessing of your hand for me until my father's death? Neither dared I think of marrying you to involve you in wretchedness. Had you suffered for me, what I have known you to bear with Ferdinand, I should have been distracted. No, Claudina, such was the delicacy of my passion, that I chose to be miserable myself, rather than make the woman I adored unhappy; to lay her under the interdiction of a father, the weight of a curse would have sunk me to the grave."
Not a word of this was lost on Claudina; every syllable sunk into her soul; she began to reflect on what she had forfeited by marrying Ferdinand, and blamed the ardour of that love which had sought its own gratification at her expense. Rhodophil saw the workings of her mind, and pursued his insidious tale.
"When my brother married you, how great was my misery—what sleepless nights, what days of anguish! yet how did I labour for your happiness? Now I may tell you:—Know then, my father never allowed you one shilling; I invented that tale to spare your delicacy, that you might not feel yourself too much obliged to me; but could I do too much for the woman I adored? During my father's illness I laboured with uncommon zeal to procure a settlement for you, to procure a pardon for my brother. I ventured to brave his utmost resentment by taking him into the next room (not thinking his death so very near) in the hope of having him revoke that dreadful curse he had laid upon him; but, alas! he died, and all my endeavours were fruitless."
"How!" exclaimed she, "Did he not see his father? Did he not forgive him on his death-bed?"
"No," he replied, "he never saw the Count after the day your marriage was discovered."
"Good Heavens!" said she, "what imposition, what falsities did Ferdinand tell me!" She then repeated to him what has been already mentioned, and the very circumstances which he had invented to calm her mind, and restore her peace, were now turned against him, as a piece of base duplicity, and the inference drawn was, 'that if he was capable of so much deceit in one thing, he might in another, and therefore she could have no confidence where there was room for doubts."—Rhodophil, who was perfectly acquainted with his brother's motives for the deception, pretended to be entirely ignorant of them, and, by the most artful finesse, gave a colouring to an action dictated by tenderness alone, that stamped an indelible impression on the mind of Claudina, to the injury of that love and truth she owed to the most affectionate of husbands.
Letters very soon arrived from the much injured Ferdinand, acquainting them of his arrival at Vienna, his introduction to the Emperor, and the desirable situation in which he found himself placed. His expressions to Claudina were replete with tenderness, and all his anxiety arose from a separation that he knew must be equally painful to her. The only consolation he could promise to himself were her letters, and he besought her to indulge him with hearing of herself and children by every opportunity. To his brother he was grateful and affectionate; to Ernest kind and friendly, requesting him to watch over the health and peace of his beloved wife, whose tender sensibility he was apprehensive would injure her constitution.
Poor Ferdinand! little did he conceive that his little bark of happiness was wrecked upon a fatal shore that blasted all his hopes for ever; much less could he have an idea to what hand he was indebted for conducting her to the port of destruction. Ernest, when he had perused his letter, sighed heavily:—"Alas!" said he, "how one fatal action has destroyed the peace of a whole family for ever! The mole that has long laboured to undermine the happiness of Ferdinand has now succeeded; his own rash hand first pointed the weapon that must wound his bosom beyond all possibility of a cure, for I too plainly see his wife is grown indifferent to him, and attached to the pleasures of the world!"
Days and weeks passed away, and saw Claudina gay and happy; they heard often from Ferdinand, who had been twice in an engagement, and had been promoted.—When the campaign was over he hoped to return and embrace all the treasures he possessed in one circle, a tender wife, a generous and affectionate brother, and his darling children.—This hope, so flattering to him, was little capable of giving pleasure to the inhabitants of the Castle; and Ernest observed all at once a deep thoughtfulness take possession of the Count, and a pensive melancholy steal over the features of Claudina, for neither of which was there apparently any cause.
One day, being in the room which had formerly been the library, and adjoining to Claudina's bed chamber, sitting at the window indulging his own reflections, he thought he heard the Count's voice in a whispering tone; there was nothing extraordinary or reprehensible in his being in her apartment, yet some how Ernest found his curiosity excited to know why the conversation should be in a whisper; he therefore listened, and though he could only make out indirect sentences and half words, he understood but too much, and retired overwhelmed with astonishment and horror; a scheme replete with the most unpardonable wickedness seemed to be in agitation, which it was his duty, if possible, to prevent.
The following day Ernest sought out the Count's valet, who had been always more civil to him than ever his master had, since the old Count's death, and which indeed arose from a circumstance Ernest had long since forgotten. In the juvenile days of Rhodophil and Ferdinand, when they were riding out one day, accompanied by Peter (then also a lad) and Ernest, the horse of Peter took fright: Ernest, who had an excellent one, as quickly followed, overtook the other, and by a dexterous manoeuvre stopped the horse in the very moment when he must have plunged over a precipice. This signal service Peter never had forgotten, and though he could boast but of little principle or integrity in any one point, yet he always looked up to Ernest as the preserver of his life; when the old man scarcely remembered a single circumstance of it, and had sometimes been at a loss to account for Peter's particular civilities to him. These attentions, however, encouraged Ernest to address him, and to endeavour, if possible, to gain his confidence, being well assured that his master's secrets were in his possession.
Meeting by chance in the gallery, the old steward invited him to his apartment in the evening, an honour Peter was proud of, and took care not to neglect: He found a good bottle of wine prepared for him, and a very friendly reception; both warmed his heart. After a little preparatory conversation the old Gentleman remarked, 'that he was fearful the Count, or his sister-in-law, was ill, as they appeared to be very dull and melancholy."
"As to illness, Mr. Ernest," answered Peter, 'there is not much of that I believe; but they have enough to make them melancholy, when it is likely Mr. Ferdinand may soon come home."
"How!" cried the other, 'that is strange indeed! I should rather think they would be overjoyed at that, though to be sure he won't stay long."
"Ah! bless you, Mr. Ernest, you know nothing of the business, and yet it is as plain as the nose in your face."
"Why, you know, Peter, I never pry into secrets, and am no tattler of other people's affairs."
"No, I'll be sworn, you ar'n't; you are a good man, Sir, and don't know what wickedness goes forward here."—"Why don't you drink, Peter?"
"I do, I do, thank your love." Two or three glasses opened his heart still more freely. "To tell you the truth, Mr. Ernest, my master, the Count, is but a bad man, for seeing he has got all the fortune, he might have let his brother keep his wife to himself."
"How! why, sure! why, you do not think he wants to separate them, do you?"
"Bless your soul, why they be leagued together, and to my mind Madame Claudina loves him more than ever she did her husband."
"Astonishing!" cried Ernest.
"Yes, 'tis astonishing to be sure, because Mr. Ferdinand is a much handsomer man; but I'll let you know the whole if you'll be secret."
"You know I am no talker, Peter."
"Nor more you ar'n't, for you never made mischief on any poor servant, so I'll tell you, then, as sure as you be alive, Madame is a breeding."
"Impossible!" exclaimed the other.
"No, no, 'tis not impossible, the truth is out, and master wants to persuade her to go away to some place in Hungary, as if she runned away, and then they think Mr. Ferdinand will kill himself, or break his heart, or something, and then they two are to be married. This was one scheme; then another was, to have Mr. Ferdinand way-laid and killed, for if he comes home all will come out, and then 'twill for a certainty be murder among them."
"Good Heavens! what treachery and infamy! How did you learn all this, Peter?"
"Why, because I am in master's secrets; he can't do without me."
"Then I conjure you, Peter, to let me know all your proceedings; I will amply reward you, and God will bless you if you serve the innocent."
"Why, as to that, Sir, I know I am not very innocent to be sure; but I love you, for you saved my life you know, when the horse was going to caper over the mountain with me, and so I think it my duty to serve you, and if you desire me I will tell you all, only don't speak a word of it to master or any body." This Ernest faithfully promised, and Peter engaged to step into his room, whenever he could gain any intelligence to communicate.
This information of Peter's corroborating the conversation he had overheard in the library, left Ernest no room for doubt of a connexion terrible to think of, yet what steps to take, whether to acquaint Ferdinand with the dreadful secret, or to let him still remain ignorant and happy, were measures he thought must depend on the result of their determinations, and for the knowledge of them he depended on Peter. Nothing particular transpired for two days. Claudina's dejection increased, and she seemed very ill, her appetite was lost, and frequent faintings alarmed the family; but she refused to have medical advice, and said it was only weakness from a violent cold. On the third night, however, she was seized with convulsions, only her maid and Rhodophil attended her, and for hours her life was in great danger; but towards the morning she grew better. Rhodophil seemed transported that the convulsions had left her, and observed among the servants that his sister-in-law had for many years been subject to those fits at times, and the approach of the disorder had occasioned the weakness and dejection of her spirits for some days before, he was glad the crisis was over.
This tale passed current with the servants; but Ernest had his suspicions, which a short time confirmed, for she soon recovered, and was as gay and as happy as usual. The arrival of Ferdinand, in about three weeks after, seemed to give general joy in the family.—Ernest alone was unhappy, because he knew too much, yet he resolved to be silent, rather than destroy the peace of his beloved master, (as he always called him) and render his future days miserable.