The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror)

by Eliza Parsons

  "My dear child," exclaimed the Marchioness, "what is the matter, are you ill?" Matilda gave her Joseph's letter, and expressed her fears of being found in Paris by her uncle. Her friends requested she would compose her mind. The Marquis assured her of his protection. "You are not well enough, my love, to go out or see company this morning; we will retire to my dressing-room, and to amuse you from thinking of your own troubles, I will enter upon the story of my unfortunate sister, as far as I know it, for great part is involved in mystery, and she has taken, she says, the most sacred oaths never to divulge the rest, without permission of another person. My father, Baron Stielberg, inherited from his ancestors, a respectable name, a great share of family pride, and very small possessions, which by wars, and a struggle to keep up the family consequence, had been diminished greatly within the last fifty years. He had no son, a source of eternal regret to him, and two daughters, whom he determined should marry advantageously or not at all. Our mother died when I was about ten, and my sister eight years of age. We were placed in a convent for six years, at the expiration of which time we were sent for home. Our father seemed satisfied with our improvements. We had the good fortune to please, and it was the fashion to admire us. In a few months after our return to the world the Marquis De Melfort, who was on his travels, stopped at Vienna; we met at an assembly, and a mutual approbation took place; he was introduced to my father; and, in short, not to be tedious, his addresses were allowed, for though my father would have prefered a German nobleman; yet the amiable character of the Marquis, his very large fortune, and an earnest desire to see me settled in his life time, prevailed on him to accede to the advantageous proposals made for me, and in a short time I became the happy wife of one of the best of men. We remained near six months at Vienna, but the Marquis beginning to express a wish of returning to Paris, having been absent above two years. I requested my father would permit my sister to accompany me; but to this he peremptorily objected. I took leave of my friends and my country with tears and reluctance. The dear Victoria was ready to expire - it was our first separation, and we had lived in the most perfect harmony with each other: she was my father's favourite and therefore he did not feel that grief on my leaving him, which might have been expected. I had a consolation - I accompanied a beloved husband, and was received by his friends with the most flattering attention. My sister and I constantly corresponded. In about eight months after my residence at Paris she wrote me, that at an assembly she had met with one of the most amiable men in the world, a Chevalier De Montreville, a gentleman of a noble family, but small fortune, secretary to the French ambassador. The manner in which she described this young man, convinced me she liked him: I was sorry for it, I knew he never would be countenanced by my father. She also added, that Count Wolfenbach was her very shadow - that she detested him, notwithstanding his immense fortune and prodigious stock of love. In my answer, I cautioned her against indulging a partiality for the Chevalier, as I well knew my father never would approve of it. A short time after I received a very melancholy letter. "Pity me, my dear sister, for I am miserable - I cannot deny my attachment to the most deserving of men: he has been rejected with contempt by my father, and yesterday I was commanded to receive Count Wolfenbach as my destined husband! I hate, I detest him - he is morose, savage, sneering, revengeful - Alas! what am I saying? this man may be my husband O, my dear sister, death is far preferable to that situation."

  "These expressions filled me with extreme grief; my generous husband wrote my father immediately; he besought him not to sacrifice his child, - that if the want of fortune was his only objection to the Chevalier, he would gladly remove that deficiency, and he had both interest and inclination to procure him a handsome establishment: that from the affection he bore me and my sister, it was his earnest desire to see her happy, if at the expense of one third of his fortune."

  "To this letter we received no answer within the expected time. I grew very uneasy, I wrote again to my sister. It was more than a month before I received any return. I have it now in my pocket book": the Marchioness took it out, and read as follows.

  "COUNTESS OF WOLFENBACH, TO THE MARCHIONESS

  "MY DEAREST SISTER,

  "Just recovered from the jaws of death, the lost unhappy Victoria acknowledges the receipt of your kind letter: alas! the contents have almost broken a heart already exhausted by grief and despair. I have been a wife five weeks, near a month I was confined to my bed; but if I can, I will be methodical in the relation of what has befallen me. The letter your generous and respectable husband wrote, unfortunately was delivered by the servant in the same moment with one from the Chevalier. My father believed you acted in concert. Never shall I forget the fury of his countenance. "This insolent Frenchman wants to degrade me into a dependence on him, and marry my daughter to his beggarly countryman." "Ah! my father," cried I, "do not judge so unkindly of my excellent brother, his views are for our general happiness." "And that," said he, interrupting me furiously, "can be accomplished without his interference; the Count has a noble fortune, high birth, a title, and is a German - not another word," added he, seeing me about to speak, "not a single objection; on Monday next you become his wife - see that you obey without the least reluctance." Saying this, he left the room, and in a few minutes afterwards I fell senseless from my seat. How long I continued thus, I know not, but on my recovery I found myself on my bed, and Therese with me; she was bathing me with her tears. "Thank heaven, my dear young lady, you are alive still! O, what a dismal day for me to see you thus." I thanked the poor creature, her kindness was of service, - I shed a copious flood of tears. Soon after my father sent to know how I did, and to tell me I was expected in the library. I obeyed the summons with trembling steps. The odious Count, I must call him so, was with him. My father advanced, and rudely snatching my hand, "There, my Lord, I give her to you, your day shall be ours." "This day, this hour," cried he, eagerly, kissing my hand, "do not delay my happiness." A sickness came over my heart - I sunk into a chair. "Victoria!" cried my father, in an angry voice. I endeavoured to reply, but burst into tears. "Foolish girl," said he, "receive the honour my Lord does you, in a manner more worthy of yourself and me." He left the room. The Count approached me with a malicious air, "Charming Victoria, am I so very hateful; has the Chevalier so many advantages over me, as to engross all your affection?" I started, but indignation roused my spirits, - "Whatever are his advantages, my lord, or whether he has any real superiority or not, for I make no invidious comparisons; yet if you suppose he is the object of my affections, surely I am unworthy the honour of being your wife; no man of spirit could bear a divided heart but if he engrosses all, which I neither affirm nor deny, your Lordship will do well, both for your own sake and mine, to renounce all thoughts of me." "No, madam," said he, in the highest rage, "your father has given me your hand, and you shall be mine, let the consequence be what it may." He flung out of the room with a look of vengeance. You may conceive, I cannot describe my situation. In the evening my father told me the Chevalier was gone to Switzerland. From the hour my father rejected him, I gave him up to outward appearance: I wrote and conjured him, if he valued my peace, to think of me no more. His answer almost broke my heart, "but my commands were sacred, my peace all the good he sought for in this life." When I heard he had quitted Vienna a momentary pleasure seized hold of my heart; he would not be here when I was sacrificed to his rival, nor until I had left the city. Not to tire you, my dear sister, the Monday following I became a wife - spare me the repetition of the dreadful circumstances The following day I was in a high fever and continued ill for a month; I received but little attention from the Count - there was more of resentment than tenderness in his manner when he came into my apartment, and involuntarily I used to shrink from his view. However it pleased heaven to restore me to health. I am gaining strength daily, but as yet keep my own apartment; - to-morrow I have engaged to meet our father down stairs to dinner. Pray for me, advise me, dearest sister; depend upon my honour, I will
deserve your love whatever becomes of me. Heavens bless you and my dear generous brother.

  VICTORIA WOLFENBACH"

  "You must suppose, my dear Miss Weimar," said the Marchioness, "that this letter made us extremely unhappy; I wrote however, and, fearful the Count might have meanness enough to insist upon seeing her letters, I took little notice of her complaints, but congratulated her on the recovery of her health, desired she would pay attention to it, for the sake of her husband and friends; in short, it was an equivocal kind of a letter, and I thought could give no offence. After this I heard from her but seldom, and then there was an evident restraint in her style, which hurt me, but which I dared not take notice of. She had been married about eight months, when the Marquis received a letter from the Count, acquainting us that my father was dead, after only three days illness, giving an account of his effects, and inviting the Marquis over to see a proper division of them. I persuaded him to comply. He would not go without me, and I was not sorry for the opportunity offered me to see my sister. We got safe to Vienna. We met the Count and his lady, who had come from their country seat, about seven leagues from Vienna, for that purpose. We flew into each others arms, with tears of mingled joy and sorrow. Alas! it was but the shadow of the once blooming Victoria. I surveyed her with surprise and distress: she took no notice, but introduced me to her husband; the cause of the alteration I observed was then explained. Never surely was there a man with a more ferocious countenance, he inspired me with horror the moment I examined him: I felt for my sister, but tried to receive his cold civilities with politeness for her sake. After dinner we were glad to leave the gentlemen to business, and retire to ourselves. "My dearest Victoria," cried I, embracing her, "tell me - tell me all: you are not happy, your fragile form too plainly speaks it." "I endeavor to be contented," she replied: "my dear father thought happiness must be connected with splendour and riches, he sought to aggrandize his children; I respect the motive, however he has been deceived." "The Count, I must own," said I, "is a disagreeable object." "My dear Charlotte," she cried, "do not think so meanly of me, as to suppose his want of personal attractions weighs any thing with me - I should despise myself in that case; neither is it now any preference for another: I have never seen or heard from the Chevalier since my marriage. I will strictly fulfil every duty I have sworn to observe, perhaps time may do much for me; it will either soften the severity of the Count's disposition, or habit will enable me to bear with less feeling, evils I cannot prevent. Ask me no questions, my dear sister, I am not at liberty to answer them; but if you regard my peace, meet my husband with good humour and complaisance: and now tell me," said she, "of your comforts, your pleasures and mutual happiness - in your felicity I will find my own." I was drowned in tears, her manner was so solemn, so touching, so resigned, that my heart was wrung with sorrow, and I could not speak. "Dear Charlotte," continued she, wiping my eyes, "spare me those tears, I cannot bear them: remember what I have told you, be cheerful when you return to company, or I shall be the sufferer. I met you with tears of joy, 'tis long since they were shed for grief. Here" (putting her hand on her heart), "here my sorrows are buried, too deep for that relief but I have done, dear sister let me enjoy pleasure now in your society." She attempted to smile, it was a smile of woe; I tried however to suppress my emotions, and to divert her attention; asked a few questions relative to our old acquaintance, and in about an hour we returned tolerably composed. The Count examined my looks; I approached him with smiles, chatted about our journey, and I observed his features grew relaxed, and he behaved with great civility. We continued at Vienna a fortnight; he never asked us to his seat. Victoria conducted herself like an angel; she was attentive to every word and wish of his; her deportment was grave but perfectly obliging so that it appeared more a natural disposition than arising from any particular cause. When all our business was finished, the Count one morning took occasion to observe his presence was much wanted in the country; that he had lately purchased an estate in Switzerland, and should go there soon, consequently had many affairs which required his inspection, We took the hint, and finding I must part with my sister, I was very ready to leave Vienna. The day previous to our departure an old friend of my father's paid me a visit; after chatting some time, "My dear Marchioness," said he, "I sincerely lament the unhappy fate of your charming sister; she has certainly the worst husband in the world; she is shut up, denied all society; he is jealous, cruel, and revengeful: I am sorry to grieve you, but I tremble for her life - she cannot long support such wretchedness. The poor Chevalier," added he, "has been absent from hence ever since her marriage I am told he is now daily expected; he will hear most afflictive news, for her happiness is the chief wish of his heart." I answered this worthy man, and told him my sister's reserve, as to her husband's treatment of her: he praised her prudence, and added, "your father had two motives in obliging her to marry the Count; he was disappointed in both, for he was no stranger to her situation before he died." "And what, Sir, was his other motive?" "An intention to marry a relation of the Count's, but she absolutely refused him, and married another two months ago. You know, I suppose," added he, "that the Count was a widower?" "No, Sir, I never heard that circumstance." "Why, it is a black story, as it is reported: 'tis said about three years ago he married a young lady, an orphan, of good family, but small fortune, at Bern, in Switzerland; that he treated her so ill as to cause her death, and left two children, who were put to nurse, afterwards taken from thence, without any one's knowing what became of them; however your father told me the Count informed him they were both dead. Almost every person believes his wife and children came to an untimely end; but he is a man of such rank and large possessions, nobody chooses to say much. I hinted the affair to your father, but fortune and love was too powerful to be given up, he affected not to believe it; but after his own disappointment, he thought more of his daughter, and had he not been so suddenly cut off, I believe would have interfered; at least, I am sure, would have made some separate provision for her, independent of that bad man her husband."

  "You may conceive, my dear Miss Weimar, how much I was shocked at this relation. I trembled for my Victoria, in the hands of such a monster, but alas! we could do nothing. I entreated my good friend to watch the Count narrowly, and to give me information, from time to time, concerning her, who I considered a victim to a villain.

  "The following day we took a heart-breaking leave. The Marquis entreated the Count to pay us a visit. "In another year perhaps he might." My sister, dear unhappy creature, never shed a tear. "My Charlotte, my beloved sister, think no more of me," said she, an hour before we parted; "my pilgrimage will be short; the hour which gives birth to an unfortunate being (I had forgot to tell you she was with child) will, in all probability, give me everlasting peace: fortunate if the dear infant accompanies me to the grave, if not, O, my sister, consider it as the only remains of the wretched Victoria, who has, does, and ever will love you to her last hour." I will not wound your heart, my dear Matilda, by any further recital of our conversation. When we parted, in presence of her husband, I could have struck a dagger to his heart. She embraced me with fervor, "Heavens bless you, my dear and happy sister! and you, my generous my noble brother, may you both live to enjoy years of uninterrupted happiness." "Doubtless they will," said the Count, with a malicious smile; "surely you forget we are to meet again at Paris next year, and not taking leave for life." "True," returned the Marquis; "I thank you for the remembrance, Sir, - a few months hence, my valued friends, I hope to see you at Paris." She tore herself from my arms, and I got into the carriage, more dead than alive. Not to enter into an unnecessary detail, we returned safe to Paris, and in a short time after I received a few lines from my sister, dated from their castle in Switzerland, telling me she was tolerably well, both in health and spirits, but hourly in expectation of an event which might affect both.

  "Near three weeks after this letter we received two; one from the Count, informing the Marquis, that, to his inexpres
sible grief, he had lost both wife and child; the other from the medical gentleman who attended her, informing me of the same event, and that my sister, in her last moments, requested he would write to express her affection and wishes for my happiness with her departing breath . "Though I had always apprehended this event, yet it caused me inexpressible misery; and there being no longer any ties to bind us to that detested Count, we never answered or took any further notice of him.

  "About six weeks after the dreadful information we had received, a letter came to me, directed in an unknown hand; I opened it - judge what were my emotions in reading these words, deeply impressed upon my memory.

  " "Your sister lives, though dead to all the world but you; a solemn vow has passed her lips, never to disclose preceding events without permission - ask no questions, and you shall soon hear more, but more than one life depends upon your secresy.

  VICTORIA"

  "I flew to the Marquis with this billet; he was equally surprised and overjoyed, but naturally concluded we might have spies upon us, and that therefore we had better continue our mourning the usual time.

  "It was upwards of a fortnight before I heard again, and I grew very impatient; at length I had another letter: this informed me she was confined, that she had reason to hope her child (a boy) was alive. Under that hope she lived, and, notwithstanding her confinement, was better in health than when I saw her last. I might write a few lines now and then, under cover to Joseph Kierman, in a vulgar disguised hand; that she perhaps might never see me more, and meet certain death if her secret was discovered.

  "This letter, like the former, was in a different hand from hers. I answered it, and from that time, near eighteen years, we have corresponded about once in two months, never oftener, till our last epistles concerning you.

  "The whole affair is certainly very strange: often has the Marquis vowed to apply either to the Count or courts of justice; but the letters we received were never written by her, we could adduce no actual proofs of his guilt, and she continually warned us to take no steps without her permission. Thus, in a most unaccountable manner we are prohibited from doing her justice, whilst all the world believes her dead: he lives chiefly at Vienna, a dissipated life; though from my friend I hear he is at times gloomy, and apparently unhappy: this gentleman however believes my sister and her child dead, nor dare I undeceive him.