"He turned from me and I felt severely humbled. Two servants were sent with me loaded with blankets, a mattress, and several little conveniences. I was something amused by the mixture of curiosity and fear those fellows expressed when they saw my habitation, they assisted me in disposing of the things, and seemed extremely glad when I dismissed them.
"From that hour to this my life has been uniformly the same. My dislike of society gained ground daily, and accustoming myself to live upon little, and finding many palatable herbs round the mountains, I have been no great tax upon the bounty of the Castle.—The old Lord I never saw more; one of his sons married and resided in the Castle, but I have understood, from little hints thrown out by the present steward, that he was unhappy, and now lives at some distant part of the country.
"As my clothes wore out I refused others, determined to appear as I lived, like a hermit detached from the world. I take fish here sometimes, and still have what I please from the Castle, which has been long deserted by the family, and only inhabited by the steward, his wife, and two men, who look after the ground and cattle."
Here the hermit stopped; Ferdinand had been very attentive to him, and had decided in his own mind, that he had glossed over his conduct by only a slight account of his falseness and ingratitude to his Prince: He concluded his errors had been of no common magnitude, and such as deserved the severest punishment, or he would never have given up the world. This conclusion was strengthened as he proceeded in the story, and though he felt himself indebted for his assistance, yet the contempt that naturally arose in his mind for a character so unamiable, lessened his sense of gratitude.
He had continual occasions to observe an unequal and unpleasant temper in the hermit. He had a few books, with which he was supplied from the Castle, pens, ink and paper, neither of which seemed to afford him amusement. He was always rambling about, as if weary of his existence, and though he affected the language, as well as the manners, of a hermit, yet he paid but little attention to the duties of religion; his devotions were by fits and starts, and seemed not to proceed from a regular and habitual course.
From all these observations Ferdinand could not respect his host, and therefore was very impatient to get well enough to leave him; but more than a week passed without having strength to walk, his bruises being infinitely more painful than the wound.
During this time the hermit had not been at the Castle, for he had received his usual supply of bread, meat and wine, the very day that Ferdinand was so wonderfully saved from a dreadful death, and having caught a good deal of fish, they had not felt any want of provisions; but now the stock being exhausted, he signified his intention of going to the Castle.—"I should think (said Ferdinand) that blanket covering must be very troublesome to walk any distance with."
"No (replied the other) it is as commodious as a coat, and, were it otherwise, custom would render it easy."
The hermit set off for his walk; Ferdinand, just able to creep about, came out of the cave to enjoy the sun and fresh air; looking round him, he observed on one side a smaller opening nearer to the ground; curiosity led him to this, and stooping almost to the earth, he saw that it widened, and appeared to have light within. This discovery engaged him to crawl into it; at first he found some difficulty, the passage was dark, and the faint light seemed farther off; still he persisted to crawl on, when on a sudden it opened into a large cave, with a rill of water running through it, and dropping from the sides.
A ray of light, which proceeded from a small chasm at the top, served to discover the most beautiful sight that imagination can form: the waters petrified round looked like so many diamonds, hanging in long spars, and twisted into a variety of shapes, glittering so as to dazzle the eye; several large pieces of rock-work hung over the top; many of those shining spars suspended from them, which, with the rill of water, and the solemn stillness of the place, had a most wonderful effect upon the mind of Ferdinand; he was never tired of admiring the beauties of this enchanting cavern.
"How comes it (said he) that the hermit never mentioned this sweet place? What an insensible blockhead he must be; he is fit indeed to live alone, since neither society, nor the beauties of nature have any charms for him, he merely vegetates: What a horrid life! The wild and foolish scheme of rambling that once possessed me, though I am now convinced of its absurdity, yet was ordered by Providence to prove beneficial to others; but this man can have no opportunity of doing good, unless another is thrown over the mountain, or cast up from the river, and even his assistance is given with an apathy that is disgusting."
These ideas passed in his mind whilst he admired the dazzling petrifactions; but feeling himself very chilly, he wisely crept back to the entrance, and remained on the Beach till the old man appeared tolerably loaded.—"Here (said he) is some provisions, and I have related your accident to the steward; he will come here tomorrow, and you may be taken to the Castle if you like."
"Most certainly I shall like it (said Ferdinand) for many reasons." He then told him where he had been, and expressed his surprise, that he had not mentioned a place so replete with natural curiosities.
"To you indeed (answered he) I might have thought it would be interesting; but after once seeing it, I never went a second time, so it slipped my memory: I dare say there are a hundred such places about, but I never sought for any of them."
"What a lifeless, inanimate lump!—(thought Ferdinand:) Yes, indeed, I shall be mighty glad to quit such a being, who has no more soul than the rock he inhabits."
The next day a well-looking, middle aged man appeared at the opening of the rock, and being invited, entered within it. He congratulated Ferdinand with kindness and respect on his miraculous escape from death, or at least broken limbs, and invited him to come and spend a few days at the Castle until he was able to travel.
Ferdinand accepted the offer, but was fearful he could not get there. "With my assistance, a good firm stick, and a little resting, I do not despair (said the steward) and the sooner you make the trial the better."—Ferdinand wanted but very few persuasions to a thing so agreeable to his inclinations as leaving his insensible companion; therefore, after returning his thanks, they parted with equal indifference, and taking the steward's arm he turned his back on the rock.
The distance to the Castle was about three miles, but it was through the woods on the side of the hills, and not very easy walking, which, with the weakness of Ferdinand, made it full three hours before they arrived at it. A bed was ordered to be got ready, and, as it was a luxury he had not enjoyed for some time, he soon fell asleep, and forgot all his cares. Whilst he enjoys a comfortable repose we will look back on his friends at Vienna.
CHAPTER V
Mr. D'Alenberg, after leaving the Baron's, returned to his daughter, whom he found in tears, her head reclining on the shoulder of Louisa.—"My dear Theresa (said this tender father) have some compassion upon me; must the remnant of my days be embittered by seeing my child unhappy. I have already told you there exists a possibility that every wish of your heart may be gratified."
"No, my dear father, No (said she, raising her head) my happiness is beyond the reach of possibilities; but I trust despair will have the same effects of making me composed and resigned, as if I could indulge a visionary hope. These tears will be the last you shall see me shed, not one sigh more shall give you pain; I have given too much indulgence to a fatal weakness which stole upon me insensibly, but now I throw it from my heart for ever. Your daughter never shall live to blush for her attachment to an insensible object; but she will admire the constancy of an unfortunate man, and imitate a character that rises upon her every hour. Yes, his fortitude, his discretion, his strict adherence to honour and rectitude of conduct, shall inspire me with equal courage, to bear the misfortunes of life without sinking under them, and teach me to respect your feelings by suppressing my own."
She rose, and kissing her father's hand.—"Do not look at me (said she) with such tender surprise; this is not a false her
oism; you shall see what resolution and a sense of duty will enable me to perform."
Mr. D'Alenberg was charmed with the behaviour of his daughter; but taking an opportunity, on her leaving him, of speaking to Louisa, she followed her friend to another apartment.
In the evening the Count and the two Barons paid a visit to the Ladies; every one expressed their regret at the sudden mandate which had taken their friend from Vienna, and every tongue was lavish in his praise. The Count seemed but half himself without Ferdinand, and could not reconcile it to his own feelings, that he submitted to let him go alone with only his brother's messenger.
Two days after the departure of Ferdinand, a messenger came to the Baron's from Mr. D'Alenberg, acquainting him with the arrival of the Countess Wolfran, and requested to see the Count immediately. He obeyed the summons. On being introduced to an apartment where that Gentleman waited to receive him, after saluting him, "I have been a witness (said he) to one of the most interesting scenes you can possibly conceive, between two amiable and noble minded women. The indiscretion of Louisa, in marrying Count Wolfran without her parent's sanction, she has amply atoned for, not only by her subsequent sufferings, but by a generosity of conduct that highly exalts her.
"You know the subject of the letter she wrote to the Countess, and her fixed determination never to avail herself of the Count's last declaration in her favour. The Countess, on the receipt of her letters, without communicating the contents to any one, set off post for Vienna, leaving her child to the care of a friend in the Convent.
"She came directly to this house; the meeting was truly affecting, and the self-denying arguments on both sides, such as did honour to the goodness of their hearts.—Louisa held one that I thought was incontrovertible. 'In resigning those rights (said she) which you wish me to assume, I forfeit nothing; claims which were never publicly made, nor at any time allowed, from which I could derive but a trifling pecuniary advantage to myself only, which must subject me to the talk of the country, and drag me into public notice as an object of compassion for past injuries, and of curiosity for the claims and circumstances so mortifying, which I must adduce to prove my rights; advantages attained under all these considerations would be to me more humiliating than indigence if unnoticed.
"'Had the Count acknowledged me in the life time of my father, my duty, and regard for his honour, would certainly have made me act very differently, and then, my dear Countess, I should not have known the superior nobleness of your mind, so different from the jealousy and hatred a narrow and contracted heart would have felt towards an object who had, however innocently, interrupted her happiness.
"'Never, were I to live a thousand years, shall I forget your kind visit, and subsequent generosity: And will you deny the poor Louisa the heart-felt satisfaction of imitating, as well as she can, so bright an example?—But to do away every idea of any obligation to me, I own to you, my dear friends, that was I a parent, had I a child to inherit from the claims I might bring forward, then, I should feel it a duty to assert them; but to wrong the Countess, married in the face of the world, to disinherit a lawful heir, for such is your son; to throw the estates and titles into a very distant branch of the family, to the prejudice of his own child, merely for a temporary advantage to myself—never, never, can I think of it! And after all, what merit is there in giving up claims which the uncertainty of the law might long with-hold, and, perhaps, deny me at last for want of sufficient proofs.'
"Those arguments of Louisa, which I think I have pretty exactly repeated," continued Mr. D'Alenberg, "seemed unanswerable; the Countess had only to oppose what she termed justice and equity; the matter was at length referred to me, and both parties pledged themselves to abide by my determination; without hesitation I pronounced Louisa's conduct both just and proper, and that the Countess ought, without scruple, to act for her son according to the rights allowed her by the world.
"My opinion was decisive, and concluded the debate. Louisa has drawn up a short declaration in these words, to which myself and daughter have signed as witnesses, and to which you also are requested to put your signature.
"Louisa, the daughter of Claude Hautweitzer, thus publicly acknowledges Theodosia—to be the true and lawful wife of Frederic Count Wolfran; and as such entitled to all his estates and effects in right of her son, heir to the late Count Wolfran.—This declaration made before, and witnessed by, &c. &c."
"This paper (pursued Mr. D'Alenberg) she has written herself for the farther satisfaction of the Countess, not that I think there will ever exist any cause that shall make it necessary to produce it, only that there were some persons in the room when Mr. Hautweitzer claimed the Count as his daughter's husband; but as the affair fell to the ground, and that claim has never been renewed, there is no great chance that it will be noticed; if it should, this paper will be conclusive, and, Louisa being almost entirely unknown, has consented to adopt our name, and to reconcile the Countess to herself, agrees to accept a very handsome independent settlement.
"Thus all parties are satisfied at last, and all this business has been begun and ended in little more than three hours."
Mr. D'Alenberg having concluded, introduced the Count to the Ladies. He was much struck with the fine person and noble air of the young Countess, and with admiration gazed on three such women, as it would have been extremely difficult to produce their equals.
He earnestly inquired after Eugenia.—"I have a letter for you, Sir," said the Countess, "from my amiable friend. Thank Heaven, her health is amazingly restored, though the fatigues and fasts she voluntarily inflicts upon herself are great trials to a delicate constitution. I have left my child to her tender care, and shall feel inconceivable regret to part from that Lady, and attend to the necessary cares my friends have heaped upon me for the advantage of my son. All my objections are over-ruled and silenced, Sir, but I shall never feel half satisfied with myself."
The Count joined heartily in the opinion before given, and then mentioned the civilities for which he was indebted to Baron Reiberg and his son. The Countess blushed at the name; but with a noble frankness she said, "I doubt not, Sir, from the expression of your countenance, but that you have heard of the early attachment the young Baron honoured me with. My dear father was pleased to consign both my person and fortune to the care of Baron Nolker, and made his consent absolutely necessary to my marriage with any man, at the same time recommending Count Wolfran for my husband, if he desired my hand.
"The Baron, though a good man, availed himself of this authority in favour of his nephew, whom he certainly thought a good character; my preference of the Baron was reprobated, the acquaintance broken off, and in obedience to the will of my father I consented to sacrifice myself rather than wound my character and delicacy, by forfeiting my fortune to indulge what might have been deemed a juvenile attachment in a giddy young woman.
"I owe the Baron much respect, and many obligations for his strict adherence to my wishes and entreaties. He respected my peace, and I had too much regard for his, ever to inform him of the cruel duplicity of Count Wolfran; I rather wished him to believe our separation was my own work, and the effects of my own weak and discontented spirit."
"And your secret, Madam," said the Count, "has never transpired; the Baron feared you was unhappy, suspected the Count did not behave well; but he had no grounds to form his opinion from, as upon inquiry he was told the Count opposed your retirement; and grieved at your absence."
"I am glad the Baron was so informed," returned she; "but the hypocrite never regretted me; the possession of my estates easily consoled him for my absence."
As the Countess was now compelled to appear as the widow of the late Count Wolfran, she was obliged to confine herself till after the funeral, which was ordered to be at the burial-place of his family near Ulm, and every preparation was set on foot to forward the procession in a day or two.
It was singular enough to the company to see two widows, both of whom disdained to assume any appearance of
sorrow for a man they equally despised, whose interests, one would suppose, must have been incompatible with each other, linked in the firmest bands of friendship, and each feeling the highest admiration for the merits of her friend.
The fortunate escape of Louisa being talked of, naturally led to the situation of Heli, and she avowed much pain that the poor Turk should have been so great a sufferer by affording her an asylum in his house. "I think it a duty upon me," said she, 'to reimburse his losses in some degree, and the Countess having made me so handsome a provision, infinitely beyond my wants, I shall certainly appropriate a part of it for his use, since it is through him ultimately that I am indebted for the blessings I at present enjoy."
This generous intention was only opposed in part, the Count insisting both for himself and Ferdinand, that they should participate in the benefits she proposed for Heli. This claim was at length allowed, and he was commissioned to get a settlement drawn up for the advantage of the Turk.
The day following Mr. D'Alenberg and his daughter was to be presented at Court; she would gladly have declined a fatiguing, and to her little pleasing, ceremony; but as her father appeared desirous of it, she submitted to his wishes. The Count, the two Barons, and the Lady of the first Minister, were to be of the party.
The day came, and Miss D'Alenberg went through the ceremony, was graciously received, and very much admired. One Nobleman of high rank and fortune, was particularly charmed with her, fixed himself in her party, and paid her the most marked attention.
In the evening, when all the friends met at Mr. D'Alenberg's lodgings, the Count gave an account of his commission to Heli, which he had executed that morning, and at length prevailed upon him to accept the settlement; but he declared he would not relax in his endeavours to trace Fatima, and should he recover his jewels, or such part of them as would enable him to live, he would throw up his obligations to Christians, and enjoy the pleasure of revenge upon an ungrateful, abandoned woman.
The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror) Page 193