Pleased with his ingenuousness, the old Gentleman said, "I know not the nature of your engagements, or whether you are at liberty to spare us your company. If a day or two will not break in upon other plans, I do assure you, Sir, that you will make me very particularly happy, by obliging me with your conversation and residence here for the short time I hope, that I shall find it requisite to remain."
"You do me honour, Sir," replied he, "by the request, which will be a gratification to myself I have not the resolution to decline, and must trust to the kindness of a friend to allow me." They refused an invitation to supper, and returned to the inn, where Ferdinand gave a slight account of himself, as the brother of Count Rhodophil, and an officer in the Imperial service, now going to a friend, who was also about to join the army.
Mr. D'Alenberg said, he was a widower with this only daughter, and a fortune sufficient for all their moderate demands, with a surplus for the service of the unfortunate.—"My daughter (said he) has chiefly resided in a Convent, until I thought her age and understanding were mature enough to preside at my table with ease and dignity to herself, and satisfaction to me. I have reason to be perfectly satisfied, and I must think very highly of the man to whom I would entrust the happiness of such a daughter; you have heard enough to understand, that in Count Wolfran I thought such a man had met my wishes. I cannot easily relinquish my hope; his external appearance was decidedly in his favour. The friend, at whose house we met, gave him the highest character, and on his judgment and word, I think, I can place implicit confidence. The exclamations uttered by this young woman in her delirium certainly give rise to unfavourable conjectures, and if on an investigation I discover such circumstances as must impede his marriage with Theresa, I confess to you that it will give me an infinite deal of sorrow, not only because it is an advantageous settlement, but for the honour of human nature I shall regret, that such an exterior, so much understanding, and so many plausible, and apparently, so many good qualities should cover a depraved heart."
"Justice demands an impartial and an unprejudiced hearing on both sides," replied Ferdinand, "before we should venture to condemn any person. If Louisa recovers sufficiently to disclose her situation, you will then, in some measure, be enabled to judge what degree of credit may be allowed to her, and give the Count an opportunity to vindicate his own character, if unjustly accused. Miss D'Alenberg appears to be a treasure no common mind can deserve; her beauty, which I believe is superior to most of her sex, I have scarcely remarked, for the heavenly goodness, and animated compassion, she has displayed towards a distressed and unfortunate young woman proves the excellence of her disposition, and entitles her to equal admiration and respect. Heaven forbid that such a mind should not meet with its kindred heart when united for life!"
The old Gentleman, charmed with the energy of Ferdinand's expressions, and delighted with the delicate praise bestowed on his child, felt a lively interest in his behalf, and ventured to inquire more minutely into his situation and prospects. Among other things he said, with a smile, "I do not suppose you are married." Ferdinand started; his whole frame was agitated; he attempted to answer, but his faltering tongue was incapable of uttering a word. Mr. D'Alenberg was surprised and concerned: "I beg your pardon (said he) if my impertinent curiosity has given you pain; be assured that I meant no offence, you will therefore confer an obligation on me, by obliterating from your memory the question I incautiously asked."
Ferdinand sensibly felt the politeness of Mr. D'Alenberg, and gladly availed himself of it for the present. The supposition had recalled many painful ideas, which he endeavoured to repress, and with a half-smothered sigh, that did not pass unobserved, he bowed, saying, "You are very obliging, Sir; there are certain questions which sometimes cannot be answered satisfactorily, and particular situations which cannot be explained, without entering into details tedious and uninteresting to a stranger. As a parent of such a daughter you must doubtless be exceedingly uneasy, until the expressions that fell from Louisa are explained to your satisfaction.—A short time, I hope, will elucidate them, for, if she is an ingenuous character, the generous humanity of Miss D'Alenberg will unlock her heart to repose a confidence in that young Lady, otherwise my conjectures will be less favourable of her than they now are."
"My opinion coincides with yours," answered the other, "and tomorrow, I think, will put an end to a suspense that I own gives me an infinity of concern." The evening passed in conversing on a variety of subjects, and when they separated for the night, each Gentleman retired with an increased good opinion of the other, and each internally was desirous of a more intimate acquaintance.
The morning came, and they had scarcely exchanged the customary salutations before a message came from Miss D'Alenberg, requesting the presence of her father, and from the messenger they learned that Louisa was much recovered.
As Ferdinand was not, nor indeed expected to be, included in the invitation to Mr. D'Alenberg, he was preparing to leave the room, after desiring his respects to the young Lady.
"How!" said the old Gentleman, "will you not accompany me?"
"Undoubtedly, Sir, if you wish me to do so. I am only apprehensive of being an intruder."
"No, no," replied the other, "by no means, we have no secrets; if Count Wolfran is worthy of my daughter, it is for his honour that you should know it; if on the contrary he proves to be a worthless character, it is equally proper that he should be exposed; therefore I beg you will go with me." Ferdinand readily assented; they quickly dispatched their breakfast, and set off for the house of Mr. Dolnitz.
They were received by the good Lady of the house with kindness and complacency.—She gave a very favourable account of her patient, the violence of her disorder was abated, and there was less turbulence in her expressions of grief.—"The consolatory attentions of Miss your daughter," said Mrs. Dolnitz to the old Gentleman, "has greatly aided the doctor's prescriptions, perhaps has been of more real service, as it appears the disorder of the body was occasioned by the emotions of the mind."
The entrance of the young Lady interrupted Mrs. Dolnitz, and she immediately withdrew. Miss D'Alenberg seemed a little embarrassed at the presence of Ferdinand, which he observed, and politely rose to leave the room.—"Stay one moment," cried Mr. D'Alenberg. "Tell me, Theresa, in two words, what am I to think of Count Wolfran?"
"As of a man unworthy of your notice, whose crimes disgrace his rank and character. I speak on good grounds, my dear Sir (added she;) Providence has preserved your daughter from infamy and wretchedness."
"Good Heavens!" exclaimed the Father, "can such an exterior, such an apparently polished mind, cover a depraved heart!"
"Yes," replied she, with some emotion, "his person and accomplishments are the superficial covering to veil the blackest designs, the most abandoned and selfish passions. The poor Louisa is a melancholy victim to his baseness, nor is she the only one; but I am writing down her story, which may be perused at leisure. What I have now to request is, that you will send off a servant with a few lines to Count Wolfran, just to say, 'that your daughter, having thoroughly investigated his character, declines, in the most decided manner, the favour he intended her of a hand, without a heart, or a name, to bestow.' Do not add another word, my dear father, his conscience will speak all the rest that may be necessary."
"I will comply with your wishes," answered Mr. D'Alenberg; "my dear Theresa, you are a heroine."
"No," said she, with a faint smile, "it requires no heroism to give up a man one despises. Count Wolfran is not the man a sensible mind can regret. When once the object we had been taught to esteem through false lights, is proved to be a man capable of the vilest duplicity, and most atrocious wickedness, our detestation and contempt must rise in proportion to the deception of our senses, and the heart can endure but little pain in shutting out such an object for ever."
She instantly changed the subject, seeing both Gentlemen were preparing to speak in admiration of her sentiments. She understood the expression
of their eyes, therefore assuming a supplicating air, "My dear Sir," said she, "as my obligations to the unfortunate Louisa are infinite, as she is deprived of every friend, and in want of every necessary, though legally entitled to rank and fortune, I trust, you will not refuse to permit your Theresa to be her comforter and friend, to offer her an asylum in your house from the machinations of a base enemy."
"Undoubtedly, my dear girl, you are at liberty to make what offers you please, both for me and yourself; I will confirm them all, and shall look up with gratitude to Heaven for this signal preservation of my child from dishonour and misery."
Mr. Dolnitz now joined them, and was happy to hear of the favourable change in Louisa's fever. "Violent attacks (said he) have generally a speedy termination, and I rejoice that the event has turned in her favour." "I flatter myself," said Miss D'Alenberg, 'that our joint attentions will quickly restore her, and that in a day or two we shall be able to take her in a carriage by easy stages to my father's house." After spending three hours in the house of the good priest, the Gentlemen returned to the inn: Here Ferdinand appeared to be under some degree of inquietude, which the old Gentleman remarked, and asked the cause of.
"I confess to you, Sir," answered the other, 'that I feel the warmest admiration at the conduct of your daughter, and I am greatly interested for the unhappy Louisa. I am sensible of the honour and pleasure of your conversation; but I am under engagements to meet a friend, whose mind, from some untoward incidents, is but little calculated to bear disappointment, or to be left to its own reflections: Mortified as I am for the necessity which obliges me to leave you, I should not, however, forgive myself if I gave pain to my friend."
"Then you must leave me?" asked Mr. D'Alenberg.
"Indeed I must," replied Ferdinand,—"because it appears you will unavoidably remain here two or three days, and as I dare not intrude so long on the kindness of a friend, the sooner I leave you the better, as my regret to part from you must hourly increase."
"You are a worthy young man," returned Mr. D'Alenberg, "and it is no compliment to say, that I shall part from you with very great reluctance.
"After the deception I have lately met with, you could not wonder if I shut the door of my heart, afraid of entertaining another delusive guest; but I trust that I have not lost my charity, though my confidence may be more guarded. A countenance like your's is a letter of recommendation, and I do assure you, that you will do me a very particular pleasure, if you continue in this country, by bringing your friend in your hand, and insure to him a welcome reception at my house, on your account."
Ferdinand was not backward in his acknowledgments for this kindness, and having now broken the ice, gave orders for his departure immediately after dinner. At Mr. D'Alenberg's request he promised to write to him before his departure for Vienna, if he could not pay him a visit; and the former assured Ferdinand, that if the story of Louisa was of a fit nature to be communicated, he should certainly receive a transcript of it from him. "My daughter (added he) will be surprised and disappointed, when informed of your departure without taking leave."
"Be so good, Sir," said Ferdinand, 'to make my best respects to Miss D'Alenberg; I have had so little opportunity of recommending myself to her notice, that I am not vain enough to believe my departure can for a moment engage her attention; but of her I shall ever think, with pleasure, admiration and respect. My best wishes also attend the unfortunate young Lady, she so humanely protects; to offer any pecuniary assistance would be an insult to her goodness, and your benevolence; but if on any future occasion either my purse, or personal services, can be useful, command me as freely, Sir, as you would do your own son."
"By Heaven!" exclaimed Mr. D'Alenberg, "I wish you was my son;
but——."
"You do me infinite honour, Sir," said Ferdinand, interrupting him; "I hope you will find a man deserving of the appellation, and whoever he is, his destiny will be enviable, because he will be the happiest of mankind;" then rising from his seat, he inquired if his horse was ready? and being informed it waited for him at the door, he took a hasty, but an affectionate, leave of Mr. D'Alenberg, and followed by his good wishes, set off full speed for the Castle of Count M***.
CHAPTER X
He arrived at the Castle without any accident, and was joyfully received by his friend. "I began to complain of you," said the Count; "I am a selfish mortal it is true, for, as I heard from the servant you kindly sent forward, that you were engaged in an affair of distress and sickness, knowing the benevolence and sympathy of your heart, I ought not to have desired to monopolize such a disposition to myself."
"Indeed," replied Ferdinand, "you do me more credit than I deserve: I was merely a spectator of the benevolence of others, without even presuming to offer my mite when I left the unfortunate young woman you have been told of. I left her, indeed, in much better hands, and feeling myself useless, when I understood she was out of danger, I hastened away; though I confess to you that I left hearts so congenial to my own, and I will say, to yours also, that I lamented the distance which seems placed between us."
At the Count's request he related the scenes already described, and mentioned the characters with esteem and respect.—"It is a singular affair," observed the Count, when he had finished his narration, "and a most providential meeting between the D'Alenberg family and Louisa. I have heard often of Count Wolfran before my seclusion from the world, he was then a very young and a very gay man, he can be but little turned of thirty now. I remember I once saw him, and thought him a most elegant figure."
"So much the worse," said Ferdinand, warmly, "since it is beyond a doubt that he is a villain, and would, most probably, but for this fortunate discovery, have ruined the happiness of a most lovely and amiable young Lady. I hope I shall never see him; but come, my dear Count (added he, in a quick tone) tell me in what manner you have been received coming from death to life, and in what way you found all your affairs?"
The Count told him he had found but little difficulty in being acknowledged by his friends, whom he had amused with an account that he had been travelling, under a borrowed name, to avoid trouble, and had resided both in London and Paris as a private man, until he was tired of the frolic.
This story, he said, had gained credit, and, as it was supposed he did not live without a companion, he had been rallied on his English and Parisian Ladies, which he bore tolerably well, and had therefore silenced curiosity by giving way to their own conjectures.
As to his estates, he found them in perfect good order, and was so well satisfied with his good old steward, Mr. Duclos, that he had presented him with a pretty little estate, and made him independent for life. "I have still enough (said he) I trust, to satisfy the demands of gratitude and friendship, and sufficient in my own power to make the man I esteem superior to receiving the narrow bounty of selfish, contracted hearts, who are incapable of doing justice to virtues they know not how to estimate, because no such inhabits their own bosoms.
"The variety of occupations in which I have been engaged," continued he, "since my arrival here, has given a diversity to my thoughts, very favourable towards recovering that tranquillized state of mind I wish for. Happiness is fled like a vision of the brain; but when I remember what I have been, and what I am now, I should be ungrateful to Providence if I was not thankful for the good, and submit to bear the evil with patience and resignation."
Ferdinand was delighted with the rationality of the Count's sentiments, and presaged much future contentment to a mind capable of such proper discrimination. His friend told him, 'that having many accounts to settle, and leases to renew, he apprehended it would be at least a week or ten days before he could conveniently leave the country. Mean time (added he) command here as myself, the carriage, horses and servants, are your's. Do not confine yourself, but make a circuit round the environs of the Castle, you will find amusement and information.—Follow my example, engage your ideas in a continual variety that you may get out of yourself, and avoid a
train of unpleasant reflections."
Ferdinand followed the Count's advice, and for three or four days, when the other was engaged with his steward and tenants, he was continually on horseback; but, alas! happiness is not dependant on exterior or local circumstances; whilst his eyes wandered over hills and dales, mountains and glens, his mind's eye had other objects in view, and he found it a vain attempt to turn his thoughts on the beauties of nature, whilst the barbed arrow still rankled in his bosom, and the remembrance of past events, of Claudina, his brother, and other recent occurrences, obtruded on his memory. On the contrary, without society, and at liberty to "indulge meditation even to madness," he returned always fatigued in body, and distressed in mind.
The fifth day the weather was bad, and he could not take his accustomed rides; the morning, his friend being busy, he passed in the library, but his temper took its colouring from the weather, and when he entered the dining parlour, the Count was extremely concerned to see his features clouded with melancholy, and all the marks of a deep dejection. "Are you not well," said he, hastily.
"I am certainly not ill," replied Ferdinand; 'that is, I have no bodily complaints; but I feel a weight on my spirits which I cannot shake off."
"Ah! my friend," returned the Count, 'this inactive life ill agrees with a discontented mind. I am sensible that the present composure of mine is but temporary: I can easily allow for your feelings, and am provoked that my haste to finish all my affairs here, compels me to leave you so much alone. In our present state of mind (added he, with a faint smile) we are not fit to be trusted alone; company and active employments suit us much better than solitude."
The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror) Page 173