"Thus, my dear Miss Weimar, you have before you all I know of this melancholy affair; what now is become of this hapless victim heaven only knows, - I cannot think of leaving Paris yet; the Marquis can scarcely be restrained from exerting himself, and, indeed, in a short time, if we gain no further information, I shall feel disposed to coincide with his wishes."
Matilda returned the Marchioness thanks for the trouble she had taken in giving this painful relation: she felt deeply for the poor suffering Countess, and could not help joining in opinion, that some step ought to be taken, if she was not heard of soon.
They both waited with impatience to have another letter from Joseph, as he promised to write again about the gentleman and his horse; and the Marquis and Marchioness requested Matilda to offer him and Bertha, in their name, an asylum at Paris, if they had any fears of remaining at the castle.
Three or four days passed, and nothing new occurred. Mademoiselles De Bouville and De Bancre had frequently called on Miss Weimar, also Madame Le Brune and her niece.
On the fifth morning the first mentioned young lady entered the house, accompanied by a very elegant young man, whom she introduced to Matilda as her brother. The Marquis and his lady were rejoiced to see him and gave him the most cordial welcome.
Matilda was uncommonly struck by his appearance; she thought him (and with justice), the most amiable man she had ever seen. The Count De Bouville was indeed deserving of approbation: he had all the elegance of French manners, without their frivolities, an excellent understanding, and a desire of improving it induced him to visit England, after his tour through Italy and Germany; he had gained knowledge from the different manners and customs of each nation, and returned a truly accomplished young man, with much good sense and polished manners, a strict integrity of heart, and the highest sense of duty and love for his mother and sister. He had always entertained great respect for the Marquis and Marchioness De Melfort, and that, added to his sister's warm eulogiums on Miss Weimar's perfections, brought him the morning after his return to make his compliments. He had never seen a young woman like Matilda; she was in truth the child of nature; for, though accomplished and well informed, having been bred up in obscurity, never visiting nor being visited, a stranger to young men, to flattery, or even the praises of a chamber-maid, with a most beautiful face, and elegant shape, and many natural if not acquired graces; she was unconscious of her perfections - she knew not the art of displaying them to advantage - she had no vanity to gratify - thought but humbly of herself, and received every mark of admiration and respect as favors to which she had no pretensions. A character so new to the world, which was easily understood in a short visit, from the frankness and naivete of her manners, could not fail of engaging the attention and esteem of the Count. Her person was charming; her conversation and unaffected sweetness insensibly gained upon the heart, and rendered it impossible to avoid bestowing that homage to which she made no claims. When the visit was over and an engagement made for the Melfort family to dine the following day at the Bouvilles", Matilda, with her usual candour, warmly praised the young Count: her friends smiled, but co-incided with her sentiments, and expatiated on his good qualities with all the warmth of friendship and esteem. They were yet on the same subject, when a servant entered and delivered a letter to Matilda. "From Joseph," said she, looking at the address. "O, pray open it," cried the Marchioness. She did so, and perusing it hastily to herself was struck with horror at the contents. He was now at the seat of Baron Wolmar, from whence he writes an account of all the proceedings at the castle. He concludes with telling her the Baron and his niece have given him an asylum, but that the Count's story was still unknown; is desirous of receiving her commands, and bitterly regrets the loss of poor Bertha.
When she had looked it over, without a single comment she gave it to the Marchioness, but her looks prepared her friend for some dreadful intelligence. "Good heavens!" cried she, "what a villain! every thing now is past a doubt - most certainly he has destroyed my sister, and by burning the castle, sought to make away with the person privy to his transactions."
When the Marquis had read it, "By all means," said he, "let Joseph be sent for immediately, he will prove a material witness, and I am determined, if no news arrives from her shortly, to enter a process against the Count, and oblige him to produce her."
A servant was ordered to set off the following morning to bring Joseph, and the Marquis wrote to thank the Baron for protecting him.
Various and melancholy were their conjectures relative to the Countess, whose strange fate they all deplored. "I shall never forgive myself," cried the Marquis, "for not interfering in this business years ago. When I knew she was first confined, though we never understood so clearly the nature of that confinement till she wrote to us of the courage and resolution a young lady, driven by accident to the castle, had shown in exploring the way to her gloomy apartments. At the same time she was cautious in withholding any particular information as to the nature of her situation. Maria, her attendant, always wrote for her, nor was any name signed on either side."
"Every circumstance," returned Matilda, convinces me her life is not in danger, for had that been determined on so many years would never have passed, and left her in possession of it." "I hope and wish your observation may be verified, said the Marchioness. "But pray, madam," cried Matilda, "what became of the poor Chevalier after her marriage and the subsequent report of her death?"
"My friend at Vienna," replied the Lady, "informed me, he returned there soon after the Count carried my sister into Switzerland, and in a short time quitted the ambassador, and talked of visiting Asia, and remaining abroad some years; since which we have never heard of him, whether he is living or not."
Some company now broke in upon them; and an engagement in the evening prevented any particular conversation.
The following day they were to dine with the Countess De Bouville. Matilda, for the first time in her life, took some pains with her dress, and felt an anxiety about her appearance; yet, unconscious of her motives, she attributed them solely to a desire of pleasing the Marchioness. When they arrived at their hotel, the Count was ready to conduct and introduce them. The Countess received them with pleasure. "I know," said she, "my good friends, you rejoice with me on the return of my son. We are a family of love," added she, turning to Matilda, "therefore you must not be surprised to see us a little intoxicated with joy on meeting again after so long an absence." "Indeed, madam, such affectionate feelings do you great honour."
Adelaide was all transport, which was soon after rather checked by the introduction of the Marquis de Clermont and his son: the young men ran into each other's arms. "A thousand welcomes, my dear De Bouville, I impatiently longed to see you." "I believe it," returned the other, with a smile; "you had powerful reasons, and I have shortened my stay in England considerably on your account." "Apropos," said the Marquis; "how do you like England, my young friend?" "So well, Sir," replied the Count, "that I could be contented to pass my life there in the bosom of my friends. I consider the English as the happiest people under the sun: they are naturally brave, friendly, and benevolent; they enjoy the blessings of a mild and free government; their personal safety is secured by the laws; no man can be punished for an imaginary crime, they have fair trials, confront their accusers, can even object to a partial jury; in short, as far as human judgement admits can be deemed infallible. Very few, if any, suffer but for actual crimes, adduced from the clearest proofs. Their merchants are rich and respectable, the first nobility do not disdain an alliance with them, they are considered as the supporters of the kingdom: 'tis incredible to think of the liberal sums subscribed by these opulent, respectable, generous people, on any popular occasion, or private benefaction, without astonishment. The men of fashion are many of them admirable orators, great politicians, and perfectly acquainted with the government of different nations, as much as of their own. The young men, I believe, are the same every where - fond of pleasure, expense, and in
trigue; but the rock on which they most generally split is that spirit of gambling which pervades through almost all ranks of people, dissipates fortunes, distresses families, hardens the heart, depraves the mind, and renders useless all the good qualities they receive from nature and education. There are very strict laws against play, but those laws only awe the middling or poorer kind of people, the great infringe them with impunity.
"But I beg pardon" added the Count, "for falling into the common mode of travellers, engrossing the attention of the company to myself." "I desire you will go on," said the Marquis; "I am pleased with your observations." "And the ladies, dear brother," cried Mademoiselle De Bouville "pray tell us something of the ladies." "I shall punish your curiosity," replied he, smiling, "by and bye. What I most admire in the English, is the great encouragement given to all manufactories, and to all useful discoveries; there ought not to be any poor, that is, I mean beggars, in England, such immense sums are raised for their support, such resources for industry, and so many hospitals for the sick and aged, that, if proper management was observed, none need complain of cold or hunger; yet in my life I never saw so many painful and disgusting objects as there are in the streets and environs of London. I admire the public buildings, the places of entertainment, and the performers at them; but sometimes, as will ever be the case, liberty degenerates into licentiousness, and the mob will rudely interrupt the performers, and carry their applause or censure in opposition to every effort of their betters: this certainly is an abuse of their freedom, but 'tis an evil they know not how to remedy in a land of liberty.
"As for the ladies, my dear sister." "Aye, brother, now for it; - I hate your English belles, they are such monopolizers when they make their appearance at Paris." "And yet, Adelaide, I assure you, it is not often you see the most beautiful of them here, doubtless there are very many charming women among the first circles of fashion, who may dispute the palm of beauty with any court in the known world; but generally speaking, the middling ranks of people are by far the handsomest of both sexes, and I account for it in this manner. In fashionable circles they keep very late hours, play deep, enter into every scheme for amusement and dissipation, without regard to their health or complexions; hence they injure one, and destroy the other: no artificial resources can give brilliancy to the eyes, or health and vivacity to the figure; acquired bloom can never deceive, and the natural beautiful complexions of the English ladies are so delicate and transparent, that art may disguise, but never can improve them. Their ill hours, and deforming their lovely faces by the anxiety of avarice, envy, and passion, when at their midnight orgies, adorning and watching the effects of chance in their favour, destroys their beauty many years before age would have lessened their attractions; for I must confess," added he, smiling at his sister, "the English women, take them all in all, are more fascinating than any other nation I ever saw." "And yet," said she, "you are returned heart-whole, brother?" "That is begging the question, my curious sister; but where there are so many charmers, men's eyes involuntarily wander, and must consider it almost an insult upon the rest to select one, when there are such equal pretensions."
"The English ladies are much obliged to you, Count," said the Marquis de Melfort, "and we shall soon have an opportunity of judging if your picture is over-charged, as we design visiting England within this month."
This declaration conveyed no pleasure to any of the party. The De Bouvilles were already so much prejudiced in favour of Miss Weimar, that they were hurt at the idea of parting: the Count particularly felt uneasy, though he could not express it upon so short an acquaintance.
Matilda was highly pleased with Monsieur De Clermont, her friend's lover; he was polite, sensible, and intelligent; the Marquis, his father, lively, chatty, and attentive to the ladies.
The dinner hours passed very agreeably, and they regretted that an assembly in the evening must break in upon their party.
The young folks had an hour to themselves: the Count paid Matilda the most marked attention; congratulated his sister on the acquisition of such a friend, and hoped some event, favourable to his wishes, might prevent their tour to England, though he acknowledged the hope a selfish one. After chatting on various subjects, the Count accidentally enquired of Matilda, if she liked Paris as well as she did Vienna? The question confused her, and she replied, with some hesitation, she had never seen Vienna. "I beg your pardon, madam," said he, "I understood you came from thence." "No, brother, Miss Weimar resided in Switzerland." "At Berne, madam?" asked he. "No, Sir," answered she, still more confused. "I chiefly resided in the country." The Count saw by her manner he had been guilty of some impropriety, though he hardly knew of what nature; he was therefore silent, and she recovered from her embarrassment. In the evening the company began to assemble; amongst the rest that eternal gadabout Madame le Brune, and her niece, Mademoiselle De Fontelle. The Count was obliged to pay his compliments, and receive their congratulations on his return; which done, he hastily returned to the side of Matilda.
The envious De Fontelle could not bear this; she made her way to them, took the hand of Matilda, called her her sweet friend, assured her they must be violently intimate, she was quite charmed with her; with a hundred such delusive compliments, as meant nothing, and to which the other only replied with a cold civility. All at once, turning quickly to her, "Bless me, Miss Weimar, I forgot to ask if you have a relation of your name now in Paris?" The roses forsook Matilda's cheek, she trembled, and could scarce stand; every one observed her confusion; the Count caught her arm. "Bless me!" cried Mademoiselle De Fontelle, "has my question disordered you; I only asked because I was in company yesterday with a gentleman of your name, just arrived from Germany."
This was enough for the unhappy girl - down she dropped, and had not the Count been attentive to her motions, and caught her in his arms, she must have fallen to the ground. Every body was alarmed, and crowded round her, the Marchioness particularly so; she was carried into another room, the Count still supporting her, and followed by his sister. It was some time before she returned to life. The first objects that struck her, was the Count holding her in his arms, the Marchioness on her knees, applying salts, and Mademoiselle De Bouville pressing her hand. "O, madam!" cried she, eagerly and trembling, "he is come he is come." "Compose yourself, my love," said the Marchioness, "no one is come that can hurt you." "Yes, yes," answered she, hardly knowing what she said," 'tis he, he will carry me of, he will take me from you."
Her friend still endeavoured to sooth and calm her spirits. The Count and his sister were surprised; they saw there was some mystery, but forbore any enquiries.
It was some time before she was perfectly restored: they urged her to return to the company - she felt a repugnance, "I fear that Miss - " "Fear nothing, madam," interrupted the Count; "you have friends who will protect you with their lives." She looked at him with an expression of gratitude, but said nothing. She arose, and with feeble steps attended her friends into the saloon.
Mademoiselle De Fontelle officiously came to congratulate her return. The amiable De Bancre felt real concern, and expressed it with feeling, and without exaggeration.
Matilda, sensible of the kindness of her friends, and ashamed of the observation she had attracted, tried to acquire new spirits; but it was an endeavour only; her eyes were incessantly turned towards the door, she dreaded every moment she should see her uncle enter, and nothing could exceed her joy when the evening closed and they were seated in the Marquis's carriage.
"O, madam! O, Sir! 'tis assuredly my uncle - he will know where I am, and tear me from you." "Do not afflict yourself, my dear Miss Weimar," answered the Marquis; "if it should be him, he shall prove his pretensions before he gets any footing here, much less take you from our protection."
Poor Matilda thanked him with a grateful heart, and retired to her bed, but not to sleep: her mind was greatly disturbed, "What a poor creature I am," cried she; "no father, brother, or protector, not even the clothes I wear my own property;
if this man, this uncle claims, who can dare detain me? What are the evils which may befall me - whatever becomes of me, I will not embroil my friends. Happy, happy Miss De Bouville!" said she, "you have a mother, a brother to protect you! Such a brother! what an amiable man! O, I never knew my wretchedness "till now, that I am humbled to the dust!" Under these melancholy impressions she past the night, and when morning came was in a high fever.
The servant who came to attend her was alarmed at her indisposition, and flew to inform the Marchioness, who instantly went to her apartment. She found her very ill. A physician was sent for, who ordered her to be bled and kept very quiet. About noon the Marchioness left her asleep, and had scarcely entered the parlour, when she was informed a gentleman requested to speak with her; she ordered his admittance.
A middle aged man, of respectable appearance, politely entered the room. "I must apologize to your Ladyship for my intrusion, without sending in my name, which I now avow to be Weimar, and I am uncle, I may say father, to a young lady of that name now in your house. I fear, madam, you have been strangely imposed upon to afford her protection; it is painful to a person so nearly connected as I am to that unhappy girl." "I beg your pardon, Sir, for interrupting you, but I have no person under my roof that answers to your description; you are therefore, I presume, in all error as to the lady you allude to." "I believe not, madam," answered he rather haughtily; "I come here to demand my niece, Matilda Weimar, and through her to discover a servant with whom she went off, after robbing me." "Robbing you, Sir! take care what you say; you shall bring proofs of your assertions, and then we will answer you: at present Miss Weimar is safe in our protection, and you will find, Sir, she has powerful friends to guard her, and expose those who are her enemies." " 'Tis well, madam," replied he, "you will hear from me in another manner." He bowed and quitted the house.
The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror) Page 8
