Charlotte Smith- Collected Poetical Works

by Charlotte Smith

  It was natural for him to pay the most assiduous attention to persons to whom he was so infinitely obliged; and gratitude, as well as the esteem which their characters inspired, attached him every day more and more to the Baroness de Rosenheim and her daughter. He considered the former as his mother, the latter as his sister; and attempted not to conceal the affection he felt for them, or that the only alleviating circumstance he at present found for his misfortunes, was being admitted on the most friendly footing to visit them; while on their parts they were both equally pleased with him, and as they knew more of him, felt a stronger interest in his fate. The younger lady, who had now received assurances that her husband was safe, and would soon be with her, re-assumed her usual serenity, and waited without uneasiness the instructions that were expected from the Baron, as to their future measures. Madame de Rosenheim seemed to be persuaded that he would direct them to go to him at Vienna; and as she wished to continue to be of service to her young French friend, she had held several conferences with her daughter, on means of retaining D’Alonville with them, without shocking the pride, which his high birth and exalted notions of honor, had very properly inspired. Heurthofen, whose hatred of D’Alonville he did not even attempt to conceal, was very seldom of the parties which the Baroness collected round her; he contented himself with a cold and sullen performance of his duties in the family, and passed almost all the rest of his time in societies of his own; but to the servants he openly expressed his disapprobations of the Baroness’s conduct in encouraging around her so many of the French emigrants, and avowed his hopes, that they should soon go to Vienna, and shake off these coxcombs; for a softer name he could not find for men whose superiority, though he felt it, he was too proud to allow. Heurthofen was a man of a singular character, of which pride and self consequence were the predominant features. Thrown by his birth at a great distance from the eminence he desired to aspire to, and apparently condemned, by having taken orders in the Catholic church, to remain for ever dependant on his patron, or to become the pastor of some German village, his ambitious spirit soared above his obscure lot, and he had neither feelings or principles likely to check any means, however daring or however immoral, which that spirit might prompt him to use for his exaltation. With a cool head, and a callous heart, he had none of those passions which so often baffle and betray the schemes of the politician. Incapable alike of friendship or of love, he had yet so much personal vanity, that he was persuaded his abilities gave him a general command over the minds of others; that no man could detect him whom he determined to deceive; no woman resist him whose affections he desired to appropriate. He had not that degree of taste and discrimination which would have led him to admire the talents, virtues, and graces of Madame D’Alberg; but he had tried to ingratiate himself with her, in hopes to have the glory of discovering, that even a woman of understanding so superior, could not resist his art and his eloquence. The haughty repulse that he had always met with, and the pointed dislike towards him, which Madame D’Alberg always expressed, had mortified and piqued him without curing him of his presumptuous folly. He was till persuaded, that only opportunity and perseverance were wanting to obtain a more favorable reception; till her acquaintance with the Chevalier D’Alonville alarmed his pride, by shewing him, that while he was treated with haughty reserve, and kept at a disdainful distance, this young man, of whom nothing was know but his misfortunes, was received and considered like an equal, while he appeared at the parties of the Baroness only as a dependant. Rage and hatred boiled in his bosom, and stimulated his intriguing and malignant spirit to punish the authors of the pain he felt, while he fought himself above the humiliating situation, where his dependence seemed to counteract perpetually the ascendancy of talents, which he believed would be under other circumstances, irresistible.

  CHAPTER VI.

  Il n’est point de peril, que je n’ose affrontu,

  Je hazarderai tout. —

  VOLTAIRE.

  THE family who had been driven thus precipitately from the castle of Rosenheim, had no sooner been safely settle at Coblentz, than the Baroness sent off a messenger to Vienna to acquaint her husband of their being in a place of security, and to ask his future directions. The messenger returned in the due course of time, with a letter from the Baron de Rosenheim, in which he expressed his satisfaction, that his family were in safety after so many perils, and assured them, that he would soon be with them. He added, “I am almost afraid to enquire whether, under such circumstances of haste and terror, you thought of those papers and deeds that were in a closet in the wall near the chapel, of which Heurthofen ought to have, and I hope has, taken care. He knew they were there, and he knew that infinite consequence they are to me, and still more to my daughter: they are indeed so material, that it would be a less loss to me to have Rosenheim destroyed, than to lose them — her’s and her children’s succession to a great part of my property depends on these deeds. I had so little idea of any in road from the French patriots when I left Rosenheim, that I gave no charge about them; but I sent you the key of the iron door which secures them, and charge to you to take care of them, by the messenger, who was, I find, robbed on his way back — a circumstance that, together with your not naming them among the effects you have carried with you to Coblentz, makes me very apprehensive that these very material deeds may have been forgotten; — but even then, as it could answer no purpose to the banditti, who have perhaps plundered my house, to take or to destroy such things, as the small iron door is very little observable, and could not but with great difficulty be opened — there is such a chance of my recovering these parchments, that, if they have unfortunately been forgot, I entreat that some of the servants who know the place may be sent back to attempt to recover them. If, as I have reason to believe, there is a French garrison at Rosenheim, I should not hesitate to write to the commander; or even to offer money for leave to take away these papers, which they cannot make the least use of — not a moment is to be lost in attempting to recover them, should my apprehensions of their having been neglected by well grounded; and I entreat you to exert yourself in doing so; and that you will remember how very much depends upon it. It is very distressing, that my private and public duties are at this moment so incompatible, that when you most want me, I cannot be with you.

  On the perusal of this letter, Madame de Rosenheim, to whom the importance of these papers were well known, was struck with consternation and concern — she sent immediately for Heurthofen — he was not to be found; but the Baroness was but too well assured that he had taken no care to secure these papers. When he arrived, he answered her enquires with great coldness; he said, that he had been too much hurried and occupied by her commands to attend the dying emigrant and his son, her young friend; and that if she pleased to recollect what passed on their precipitate retreat, she must do him the justice to acknowledge, that she did not allow him time to execute his duty to the Baron. That he had not the key; and never having been in habits of having the care of these parchments, it was not wonderful he should overlook the charge, in a time of so much confusion. Madame de Rosenheim, in great perplexity, then enquired of him whether he could point out any person who was fit to be entrusted, and would undertake the task of endeavouring to regain them; but he with the utmost sangfroid declined interfering and said that he could not in conscience recommend it to any man who valued his life, to undertake so perilous, and in his opinion, so useless an exploit. Madame D’Alberg came into the room, attended by D’Alonville at this moment; she immediately saw the uneasiness under which her mother suffered, and already detesting Heurthofen, she could not let pass this opportunity of expressing her impatience and disgust. “I am surprised, madam,” said she addressing herself to Madame de Rosenheim, “that you should find any difficulty in this matter; undoubtedly Monsieur Heurthofen, who is so bravely adventurous; he who dared so heroically to brave the raging flood in order to our rescue, will readily return to snatch from the invaders these papers, of whose consequence
he is aware; besides, continued she (throwing still more irony into her manner), “he may perhaps have interest with Messieurs les Sans Culottes, whose principles, if I am rightly informed, he does not altogether disclaim.” Heurthofen evidently struggled with his confusion and rage; he bit his lips, and seemed to repress with difficulty the answer he was tempted to give. Madame de Rosenheim, however, vexed by the loss of the papers, and by the little hope there appeared of recovering them, was more disposed to be angry with herself than with Heurthofen, whom she dismissed, desiring him to consider what could be done; and then she gently intimated to her daughter that she thought her too severe upon Heurthofen, “who, after all, my dear,” said she, “was not so much to blame as I was; it was I who ought to have thought of those papers; and if we never recover them, which it is very improbable we ever shall, it is only I, who ought to be reproached with all the disagreeable, indeed ruinous, conseqences consequences that will follow.” D’Alonville, who was yet ignorant of the subject of this conversation, now asked if he might be indulged with an explanation. The Baroness read to him that part of her husband’s letter which related to his fears for these valuable papers, and she spoke of the reproaches she made herself for having forgotten them. D’Alonville recollected, that amidst so many cares for her own family, and in an hour of such danger and distress, his father’s and his own situation had engaged so much of her time and thought; and he was affected almost to tears, when he found how much her generous pity for the calamities of strangers, was likely to injure her family. D’Alonville, however, was not a man to lament the misfortune of his friends, without making some attempt to alleviate those misfortunes; and the persuasion that he had himself been in a great measure the occasion of that which his benefactress now deplored he felt an irresistible impulse to attempt recovering these papers, and he could not help instantly expressing what he felt; declaring with great warmth, that if they would only furnish him with such instructions as should enable him to find the place, he would go himself, and endeavour to repair the loss of which he knew himself to have been the cause. Madame de Rosenheim, thought struck with the generosity of his offer, and the zeal with which he expressed it; but it appeared to her so hazardous in the attempt, and so doubtful in the success, that she besought him to mention it no more. She kindly endeavoured to persuade him, that her omission had not been owing to her attention to his father or himself, and while he remained with her, she affected to make light of a circumstance he, which notwithstanding saw, gave her the greatest uneasiness. The Baroness having left the room for a few moments, D’Alonville obtained from Madame D’Alberg an avowal of the truth. She told him that, in consequence of her father having no male heir, a very considerable part of his property would have gone after his decease, to a distant relation, had it not been for these deeds, executed by the grandfather of the present possessor, who had taken precautions to preserve it to his own posterity, whether male or female. — A power, however, which the relation in question was so much disposed to dispute, that he had been actually at law with the Baron; and the whole cause must turn on these parchments. D’Alonville, more than ever confirmed in his resolution to attempt regaining them at whatever risk, forbore to express his thoughts to Madame D’Alberg; but left her in a few minutes, and went in search of Heurthofen. Heurthofen, as usual, was not to be met with. He seemed to have found a new set of acquaintance, with whom he constantly associated; and was only seen at the hotel inhabited by Madame de Rosenheim, at those hours when it was necessary to appear as her chaplain. At their supper, therefore, the Chevalier D’Alonville met him; and without being deterred by the supercilious coldness with which Heurthofen affected to treat him, he followed him out when he left the house, and accosting him in the street, desired to have a moment’s conversation with him in a coffee-house not far from thence.— “With me? Monsieur le Chevalier;” replied the almoner, “I should not have supposed it likely you could have any business with me: whatever it is, it is probably slight enough to be settled where we are, and let it be quickly, if you please, for I have an engagement, and am in haste.” D’Alonville despised the priest too much to resent his impertinent and repulsive manner; but entering immediately on the subject, he desired Heurthofen to inform him of what he knew as to the size and number of the parchments which were of so much consequence, and to describe to him, as nearly as he could, the place where they were to be fought by any person who attempted to recover them. “Attempt to recover them!” exclaimed Heurthofen, “And who will attempt to recover them?” “I will attempt it,” answered D’Alonville. “You! Monsieur le Chevalier,” replied he; “Indeed! I have always had reason to venerate and admire your fears of gallantry in the service of the ladies; and, in truth, thus undertaking this adventure, proves you to be a most daring and adventurous knight, whose prowess, or boast of prowess, will, I dare say, meet with the usual reward in such cases, — The smiles and favors of the fair.”

  “What do you mean, Sir?” D’Alonville, who could no longer command himself— “I ask of you information which may be material to the family in whose service you are.” Heurthofen interrupted him by repeating, indignantly, the word “service!”

  “Yes, Sir,” cried D’Alonville, with increased warmth— “I say service — You are, according to my apprehension, a domestic in the family of the Baron de Rosenheim; and as such you are obliged by your duty give me the information I demand.”

  “And who are you, Sir, and by what authority do you demand any thing of me; or by whose desire trouble yourself with the affairs of the Baron de Rosenheim? I shall give you no information, Sir — I know nothing of you — You may or may not be the man you call yourself — You say you are a French noble.”

  “If I were not so,” said D’Alonville, interrupting him, “If I could for a moment put myself upon a level with such a person as you are, you would the next moment feel the chastisement you deserve for your insolence. Even as it is, I dare not trust myself to talk to you longer, left I should degrade myself, and forget the respect I own to Madame de Rosenheim, whose servant as such, is exempt from my vengeance; but you must not imagine this matter is to end here.” “Wherever you please, Monsieur le Chevalier,” replied Heurthofen, as he walked another way. D’Alonville felt almost irresistibly tempted, to follow him and knock him down; but however warm and impetuous his passion was at this moment, he had good sense enough to remember that the cause in which he was engaged would profit nothing by his giving way to the emotions he felt; and that it was neither proper for him to strike a man who belonged to the household of Madame de Rosenheim, nor a time for an individual of his nation to engage in the streets of Coblentz in a broil, the real cause of which could not be explained. D’Alonville, therefore, suffered the priest to depart without carrying with him any of those marks of resentment which he so well had deserved; but he was extremely vexed in reflecting that he had been baffled in his enquiry by the insolence of this man, for who he felt a decided antipathy, and that he had gained nothing as to the object of his enquiry. He would not, however, at that time yield to the indignation and resentment he felt, but began to consider whether it was not probable that some other of the domestics might supply him with the information he wanted. He had observed that the woman who attended Madame D’Alberg was talkative and communicative; extremely attached to her lady, and possessed of a good understanding. He knew, that as she was a young and rather an handsome girl, he should make himself liable to suspicions very wide of the truth, by attempting to obtain a private conference with her; but this he was determined to hazard. The next day he was early at the hotel inhabited by Madame de Rosenheim’s family; and as he sat reading in the room where they usually assembled after breakfast, Madame D’Alberg sent down her femme-de-chambre for the very book he happened to have in his hand; D’Alonville eagerly seizing the opportunity, addressed himself to her; and telling her he had something very material to say to her, entreated her to sit down and hear him. The young woman, whose name was Bessola, being somewhat
of a conquest, affected the utmost surprize; “Dear Sir,” cried she, trying to disengage her hand which D’Alonville had taken; “I wonder what you can have to say to me — It is quite impossible for me to stay Sir — I must desire you to let me go — There! I declare my lady calls me — Do pray, Sir, give me the book.” “I will,” replied D’Alonville, “if you will tell us where I can have half an hour’s conversation with you.” “Good gracious, Sir,” replied Bessola, “it is impossible you can have any thing to say to me, Sir: besides, Chevalier, my lady would take it so ill of me, and if she would not, dear me! how is it possible for me to meet you, when I am sure she would never perhaps forgive me, if, when we are all as it were banished from our own homes, and in such troublesome times, I should desire to go out for pleasure. — I never go any where but to vespers.”

  “And you will be at vespers to-night my pretty Bessola, will you not? At the convent hard by where your lady goes? It is there you pay our devotions?” “Sometimes,” replied Bessola; “but now and then I go to the Cordelier’s church on the other side of the Grand Place.” “And it is there,” interrupted he eagerly, “you will be to-night?” “Dear goodness,” answered she, “how you do worry one. — I cannot tell; — perhaps I may. There! my lady wonders, no doubt, why I stay so long.” A footman entered the room, and Bessola taking the book from D’Alonville, said artfully, “I’ll inform my lady, Sir, that you have done with the book.” D’Alonville vexed at the delay, and not being sure that she either meant to meet him, or if she did, being uncertain whether he could obtain from her the intelligence he wanted, went to his lodgings; but more mature reflection confirming him in his design, he resolved, at whatever hazard of misrepresentation, to meet Bessola, who, if not able to give him the information he wanted, might, he thought, put him in a way how to procure it from some of the other servants, who might be better acquainted with the particulars he wished to learn.