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

by Eliza Parsons

  "I am sorry it cannot be thought about (answered the man) but I know it must be done; for, indeed master, neither in kitchen or cellar have I room for man or beast, be the weather what it will." The fall of snow increasing, Ferdinand again applied both to his humanity and interest, and to the latter he spoke so forcibly, that at length he cried, "Well, well, Gentlemen, you must come in, if you insist upon it, the house is too full already, some must turn out somewhere, and you may take your chance with the rest."

  Ferdinand hardly attended to the end of this speech, for hastily dismounting he desired the man to take care of his servant and the horses, whilst he made his way to the kitchen, as they called a very miserable small room, already, as the landlord had declared, filled with servants, and two or three other passengers. He had suffered too much from the weather to be fastidious either as to the company or accommodations, and some of the servants observing his situation, and struck by his appearance, drew back, and made way for his advance to the fire.

  "I beg," said Ferdinand, in a courteous manner, 'that I may displace no one, I only wish for a covering from this dreadful weather, and not to incommode any person."—This address procured him more room, every one seemed ready to give way to a Gentleman so considerate; so true it is, that gentle and complaisant manners, and a conduct free from pretensions and arrogance, are sure to be allowed much more consequence than they give up; for the mind of man, in every situation, naturally revolts against the demands of pride and insolence, but willingly show respect where the manners prove their claim to it, and not the look or tone of assumption.

  One of the servants felt the rights of Ferdinand, and immediately went to the apartment occupied by his master and young Lady, with a report so much in favour of the Gentleman in the kitchen, that it procured him an invitation from Mr. D'Alenberg to "partake of his fire-side and ordinary supper."

  Ferdinand saw by the pleasure with which this message was delivered to him, that he was indebted for it to the favourable report of the servant; he therefore accepted the invitation without hesitating, and requested that he would permit his servant to occupy some corner of the room with the present company. This desire was readily accorded to, and he was leaving the kitchen preceded by the servant, when he beheld the figure of an aged man in one corner, whose head was supported by a female, but whether old or young could not be discerned, as she was wrapped up in a large cloak, and her head dress was drawn quite over her face.

  Ferdinand stopped:—"Is the man ill?" asked he.

  "Very ill indeed," was answered in a low, tremulous voice; "but I believe all will soon be over."

  "Good God!" returned he, "is he so reduced as to give room for such a supposition, and is there no bed he can be put into?" At that moment the landlord came up:—"You see (said he, addressing the woman) my rooms are so crowded, that I cannot possibly let you stay here; I have no room for sick folks." The woman raised her head:—"What would you have me do, he cannot move?"

  "Do!" cried he, "why let somebody help to take him into the out-house, he can't die here."

  Ferdinand turned full upon him, and was going to speak, when a sudden groan from the woman, who fell towards him senseless, and dropped the head she had supported, stopped him from speaking. He caught her in his arms, as the servant did the old man, who, to his great terror, proved to be lifeless. All present crowded round those moving objects; Ferdinand conveyed the woman to a seat, and supported her until, by the assistance of water thrown in her face, and forced into her mouth, she began to show signs of life. In doing this they were obliged to remove her head dress, and open her cloak.—Greatly was every one astonished to behold a young and lovely female, whose complexion, hands and arms, exhibited a delicacy but little suited to her garb or situation.

  There is something attractive in beauty, even to the most vulgar souls, and though I would hope the humanity of every man would be excited towards objects in so deplorable a state, yet it is most certain, that when the young woman's face was discovered, all eagerly flew to administer relief, and the buzz of pity was general through the room, except with the landlord, who was rubbing his face with vexation, and exclaimed—"A pretty piece of business this! Here is a dead man, no hole to put him in, nor any one to bury him: Come, come, carry him to the stable for the present."

  The unfortunate girl, for she appeared to be not more than nineteen, had just recovered sufficient recollection to hear those words.—She sprang from the encircling arm of Ferdinand, threw herself on the body, and exclaimed, in a wild, piercing tone:—"To the stable! Great God! the stable! Never, never shall my father be so degraded. O! that I could but expire with him; for me, for me, he died!"

  Her heart-wounding shrieks brought out Mr. D'Alenberg and his daughter, who stood shocked at the scene before them; she had sunk on the floor, and dragged the lifeless body on her lap. On their entrance she looked up with such an expression of woe and horror, that both involuntarily started back; but suddenly the young Lady exclaimed,—"Good Heavens! Do I not see Louisa Hautweitzer?"

  "Yes," said the other, in a tone of voice which touched every one present, "Yes, I was called Louisa Hautweitzer, but now I am nobody; there (putting her hand to her father's cheek) there is the author of my being, he exists no more, and I am a wretch without a name, a home, or a parent. Pray, pray, afford us one small spot of earth, bury us together!" She threw her head down on the face of the deceased, with sighs that seemed to burst her heart-strings.

  Miss D'Alenberg took her hand, and addressing her father, "My dear Sir, this young Lady is an old school-fellow of mine, good, amiable, and of genteel birth, save her, pray save her from despair and death!"

  The old Gentleman wanted no persuasions to serve the unhappy; he ordered his attendants to carry her into his apartment, but she clung to the body, screaming, "No one should carry her father to a stable;" that he was compelled to have the body taken there also. Ferdinand attended, and Mr. D'Alenberg ordered the priest of the village to be sent for, that he might, through his means, procure a place for the deceased to be carried to, and give some assistance to the unfortunate young woman.

  On their entrance into the room the body was placed on two chairs, and Miss D'Alenberg administered wine and drops, which fortunately she had in her pocket, with the most soothing expressions of tenderness to Louisa.

  The poor afflicted at length shed a torrent of tears, which greatly relieved her; kissing the hand of the young Lady, "I feel your kindness, but I am undeserving of it; my imprudence, my credulity, has destroyed my father, and made me miserable for ever!" Before any reply could be made the priest appeared, and being informed of this strange event, and assured by Mr. D'Alenberg that he would be answerable for every expense, the priest readily consented to receive the body at his house, and to take care of the young woman for the present: Understanding also how greatly they were crowded, he offered to accommodate Miss D'Alenberg with a bed, and as his house was but a few yards distance, and the hostess could lend her cloaks, with the permission of her father, she readily accompanied the unhappy Louisa, who seemed mechanically to follow the body of her father without being at all curious, or even heeding the conversation that had passed. Ferdinand requested leave to attend them with the servants to the house, and taking leave of them at the door, returned, as desired, to Mr. D'Alenberg.

  The old Gentleman saluted him with much complacency: "This is a melancholy business," said he; "my daughter seems much interested for her young acquaintance, and indeed the poor girl's situation is very pitiable. I am sorry that a particular engagement will oblige us to leave this place tomorrow: I know not what can be done for this young woman, as her circumstances are unknown to us."

  "It is most probable, Sir," answered the other, 'that your daughter will gain every information that may be necessary; if she is distressed by pecuniary wants, I will most gladly contribute my share towards her relief; the heart-felt blow she has sustained, time and reason only can reconcile her to bear with patience and resignation."
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  Mr. D'Alenberg paid Ferdinand a compliment on his humanity, and having learned which road he was taking, seemed not a little pleased that they were going the same way. "My house (said he) is about twenty miles the other side of Stutgard; I have concluded a very advantageous marriage for my daughter, during a visit that I have been making to a friend, and am now hastening home to forward the necessary preparations: I shall, however, borrow a few hours in the morning to see what can be done for the peace and comfort of this poor orphan." Ferdinand had made the same resolution, and after partaking of a very poor supper, he retired to take possession of the bed intended for the young Lady.

  He arose at an early hour, and was just drinking his coffee when he was joined by Mr. D'Alenberg. They quickly finished their breakfast, and proceeded to the priest's house, where they met the young Lady with every mark of sorrow on her countenance.

  "Ah! Sir," cried she to her father, "poor Louisa is extremely ill: A physician was called in about an hour ago by the good father here, and he pronounces her to be in a violent and dangerous fever; I cannot leave her in this situation, without either a relation or a friend; I knew her, I esteemed her, in happier days, it would be inhuman to forsake her now."

  "Indeed it would," answered the good Mr. D'Alenberg; "we will see what can be done to reduce this fever, and then get her removed to our house; if she is only unfortunate, we will protect her; if her conduct has been faulty, she shall be placed out of temptation, and means afforded her to atone for past errors."

  "My dear, my generous father!" cried the young Lady, in a tone of exultation, "you know not how happy this kind intention of yours makes your Theresa!"

  Ferdinand, who had scarcely looked at Miss D'Alenberg the preceding evening during his concern for Louisa, and who was on his entrance engaged in speaking to the priest, found his attention suddenly engaged by the animated voice behind him; he turned quick round, and met a countenance so interesting, so illumined by a glow of humanity and tenderness, that his eyes were fixed on the young Lady's face, until her blushes, and the confusion with which she turned aside from his eager gaze, made him sensible of his rudeness. It was the enthusiasm of the moment, for the sweet accents of pity and humanity vibrated to the heart of Ferdinand. Mr. D'Alenberg declared he would freely retard his journey for that day, until some information relative to the health and situation of the young woman could be rendered satisfactory to his daughter, and Ferdinand, who was not limited for a day or two, readily offered to remain there also, as he was equally desirous, to the utmost of his abilities, to share in the pleasure of assisting the unfortunate. The priest, who happily was a man of a good and humane heart, voluntarily made an offer of his humble accommodations to their utmost extent. His sister, an ancient maiden, resided with him, and was equally good and charitable as her brother. Mr. D'Alenberg desired to be at the expense of the burial of poor Louisa's father, and Ferdinand hastily requested the physician might attend at his expense. Miss D'Alenberg was permitted to remain there, and the two Gentlemen took a walk round the village until their return to the miserable inn, where they had ordered dinner. As the Castle of Count M*** lay in the route of his companion, and the landlord was ill prepared to receive or entertain so many persons, Ferdinand sent off his servant with a cursory mention to the Count of the cause that detained him on the road for a day or two, when he should have the advantage of a large escort within a mile of his house.

  Towards the evening a message from Miss D'Alenberg carried both Gentlemen to the priest's. They found her in extreme agitation; Louisa had been delirious for several hours, but by copious bleedings, and other applications, now lay more composed: "But, my dear father," added the young Lady, "you will not wonder at my emotions, when I inform you that in the height of her delirium she continually called on Count Wolfran, and in such terms as imply a degree of intimacy very incompatible with his professions to another."

  "You indeed surprise me," answered the old Gentleman; "but be not too credulous, my dear Theresa, nor judge rashly on slight presumptions; I hope this young creature will get better, mean time I wish to be informed who she is, and what you know of her."

  "My dear Sir," said she, "very soon after I was placed at Ausburgh, Louisa Hautweitzer came there as a boarder; her father was an officer in the Imperial service; she made a very genteel appearance, and was much esteemed throughout the Convent.—As I was her elder by at least three years, she paid me great respect and attention, which I returned by a very sincere attachment.—Four years we continued together. About that time her father came to fetch her from the Convent: I had understood her mother died when she was a child, and she appeared surprised and sorry to leave us, as she was not more than sixteen, and rather too young to conduct her father's family. We parted with regret, and she desired to correspond with me; but from that day I never heard of her, although many of the boarders made inquiries among their friends, which all proved fruitless, as we knew not where her father resided.

  "I left the Convent about six months after, and frequently, when I wrote to my companions, inquired if any information had been gained of Louisa; but no one had obtained the least intelligence, and I have often thought it was a very singular circumstance. It is now near three years since I saw her, and it is certain some uncommon misfortunes must have reduced her father to that poverty which is apparent in the dress of Louisa, and the situation in which we met with them. Last night, when I accompanied her to her room, she kissed my hand with an energy that surprised me.—'Dear Miss D'Alenberg, I deserve not the honour of your attention; I am an unfortunate wretch, a victim to my own credulity, and the baseness of a perjured man; my follies, for sure they were not crimes, yet why should I seek to soften those errors that have eventually destroyed my dear unhappy father! There, there,' cried she, in extreme agitation, 'is the climax of my miseries!'

  "She fell into violent hysterics, and recovered only to experience a temporary madness which brought on a terrible fever for many hours. During this suspension of reason she raved on Count Wolfran, called him the 'destroyer of her peace, and the murderer of her father.' Then again she exclaimed, 'Heaven was a witness of our union; I am, I am, your wife!' In short, Sir, I cannot repeat every expression, nor is it necessary, enough was said to convince me that she has been very ill treated, and to determine on being perfectly acquainted with every circumstance relative to her intimacy with the Count, previous to any preparations for an event, which possibly may never take place."

  "I cannot blame your resolution," answered Mr. D'Alenberg; "I am equally anxious with yourself to have this affair elucidated; if, indeed, we are deceived in the Count's character, no prospects of rank, or fortune, shall induce me to entrust him with the happiness of my Theresa." The entrance of Mrs. Dolnitz, the priest's sister, changed the subject; the Gentlemen paid her many compliments on the humanity of her brother, and her kindness to Louisa. She was a woman of plain sense, with a very good heart, and appeared to be much gratified that she had the power of being useful to a fellow creature. "This poor village (said she) affords no accommodations but in our house and the inn; you must experience great inconvenience there I have no doubt, as very few persons lodge in it but from necessity.—I am sorry we can only entertain Miss, and the sick young woman; but our power is more limited than our wishes and good-will, for my brother is one of the best men in the world, he is truly the father of all his flock. I beg your pardon for saying so much, but when I speak of my brother I could talk for ever."

  "I honour you, Madam, for your feelings," said Mr. D'Alenberg; "a good man is a theme that must please every honest mind, and you cannot give us a better eulogium on your own character, than by your praises of a worthy brother. Heaven has conducted us to this spot, I trust, for our mutual advantage."——Ferdinand spoke little, but his eyes said a great deal, and his heart sympathized in every word of Mr. D'Alenberg's. Mr. Dolnitz and the physician soon after joined them; the latter had found his patient more calm, and the extreme violence of the fever abated. T
hey consulted on proper measures for the interment of the deceased, when Louisa was more composed to speak on the subject. Mr. D'Alenberg drew the physician aside, Miss Theresa returned to the sick chamber: Ferdinand therefore entered into a conversation with Mr. Dolnitz, whose modest and unreserved manners, charity without ostentation, and beneficence without a hope of reward, from a very moderate income, denoted real piety and goodness of heart. When the others joined them, Theresa's father drawing a purse from his pocket, put it into the hands of Mr. Dolnitz, saying at the same time, "My worthy Sir, you must permit me to share with you in your charitable attentions. Be not offended, if, knowing that your income is very inadequate to the benevolence of your disposition, I entreat you to disburse this money in whatever manner you please for the advantage of those persons now in your house, or any others deserving or wanting your donations."

  "I will not decline the office of your almoner, Sir," replied Mr. Dolnitz, respectfully; "but you must permit me to be accountable to you for the disbursements; on no other condition can I receive the trust."

  "It must be as you please," answered the other. The physician, who lived about two miles from the village, finding the strangers were persons of consequence, offered the two Gentlemen beds at his house, but they declined the civility; for although their accommodations were extremely indifferent, yet, as they were permitted to consider themselves at home in the house of Mr. Dolnitz, they were very well reconciled to sleep at the inn.

  Ferdinand, indeed, began to consider himself as a useless person; the generosity of Mr. D'Alenberg left but little for him to do, and having no other interests but those of humanity towards the unfortunate Louisa, and as it appeared very probable that the others would be personally concerned in the events of her story, he was fearful it would betray rather an unwarrantable curiosity, than a concern for the melancholy objects that had at first engaged his attention, if he remained at the village. He was revolving this in his mind, and consequently looked very thoughtful, which Mr. D'Alenberg observing, said, "Are you not well, Sir, or has any thing particularly occurred to give you pain?" The other recovering from his reverie by this address, frankly confessed what had been his ideas, and given him that momentary thoughtfulness.