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

by Eliza Parsons

  "My lover was obliged to join the army. I accompanied him. The General was compelled to give battle; he was victorious, and the Turks defeated; but unhappily a party of them, headed by Heli, had, in the mean time, surrounded the tents, where the women and officers" baggage remained, pillaged them, beat off the guards, and carried me and several other women off in triumph.

  "At first I was in despair, and expected death. We were put into a covered wagon, and carried to Adrianople, where I remained in close confinement upwards of two months, and had well nigh fretted myself to death; but the arrival of Heli saved my life; his generosity and affection won my heart;—'tis true, the recluse life I was compelled to lead suited very little with my inclinations; but there was no remedy; and after giving myself up some time to sorrow and regret, which availed nothing, I got the better of my trouble, and resigned myself to my fate.

  "When Heli was appointed to the government of Philippo, I gladly accompanied him.—I have had no reason to repent; and thank Heaven, I am once more unexpectedly restored to my own country. What is become of my sister, Dupree, and Keilheim, her friend, I know not. Thus, Sir, I have related my story, and now you know whether I am any ways related to your family or not."

  When Fatima ceased speaking, Ferdinand was for a few moments silent, he found but little cause to congratulate himself on the discovery of a relation so nearly connected by blood; whose conduct, even by her own acknowledgment, had been so faulty and reprehensible; but when he viewed that face, whose every look reminded him of his dear and much regretted father, a rush of tenderness sprung to his heart, that obliterated her errors, and rising hastily, he was about to embrace her, forgetful of Heli's presence and uneasy conjectures; he who had needfully observed his emotions during Fatima's relation, and had watched him with an eye of suspicion, furiously rushed between them, darting a look of vengeance at Ferdinand, and muttering curses on her, roughly pulling her from her seat.

  "Stop, Heli," cried Ferdinand; "judge not rashly from appearances.——Fatima is—my sister!"

  The last word seemed unwillingly pronounced, and to Heli rather the effect of a sudden duplicity, than a serious truth; but Fatima sunk back, evidently shocked and confused repeating the word sister, sister.—"Oh! if that is true, you must despise and hate me."

  She burst into tears, and drew down her veil. Heli stood suspended between passion and curiosity. Ferdinand took his hand.

  "My friend, compose yourself; I will relate every circumstance to you that indisputably proves your Fatima to be my half sister. Strange, indeed, are the events which have brought us to the knowledge of each other; but her features stamp the credibility of her story; and though the situation in which I find her must be wounding to the feelings of a brother, yet, as I can claim no right to control her inclinations, you have nothing to fear from me; she is free to act as she pleases."

  Those words, in some degree, calmed the turbulent passions of Heli; he reseated himself without speaking, visibly impatient for the promised explanation. This Ferdinand entered upon; and at the conclusion, addressing Fatima, he said—"If necessity, and not choice, is now the tie that binds you to Heli, I think it my duty to offer to you a more eligible situation; from preceding circumstances, delicacy, and honour, equally militate against a hope of an honourable connexion with any other man; but I have the power to procure for you either a residence in the country with some worthy retired family, or to place you in a convent, where I will pay for your pension.

  "In providing thus for you, I secure to you the liberty of choosing your own destiny. I pretend to no rights over you beyond what you are willing to allow me. If you voluntarily throw yourself on my protection, your interest shall be as dear to me as my own.—Decide, therefore, for yourself."

  "I am very sensible of your kindness," replied Fatima, "but my choice is made.—In Turkey, perhaps the desire of liberty might have guided me to embrace your offers with transport; but I am now free; and whilst Heli behaves well, gratitude for his preference of me to all my companions, and for the affection he has displayed towards me during our late dangerous undertaking, induces me to declare, that I will partake of his destiny."

  "Yes, Heli," added she in the Turkish language, giving him her hand, "with you I will remain, and trust that I shall never repent refusing my brother's offers to live with you."

  The Turk appeared to be transported;—his doubts and suspicions were instantly dispelled, and he thanked her with an air of tenderness and gratitude. Ferdinand was concerned, but not surprised; the libertine life in which she had been engaged by her own confession, gave but small hopes that she could be reconciled to a retired and regular mode of conduct; and from several little traits that escaped her unguardedly, he conceived she had much natural levity that would ill brook restraint: What he could not control, therefore, he was resigned to; but assuming some degree of freedom, from his connexion with Fatima, he asked Heli in what manner he intended to regulate his future conduct.

  "I design," answered he, 'to live quietly in the country, not ostentatiously, to avoid observation: To regard Fatima as my wife, and mistress of the other women. I pretend not to have a seraglio here; but as I am unknown, I shall have no visitors, nor will Fatima be exposed to the eyes of men."

  Ferdinand accidentally turned his eyes on Fatima at those words, and observed a suppressed smile playing on her lips, and an archness in her looks, that but ill accorded with the plan Heli had designed, nor at all correspondent to the mortified and afflicted air she had assumed, when he first discovered himself to her as a brother. This observation tended to confirm his first suspicions, that she had a light mind, and was capable of much duplicity.

  He was mortified, by the conviction from the affinity between them, but he had no power to control her inclinations, nor influence to effect a change in habits she had long since ceased to think vicious or blamable: Therefore, after a long conversation, in which she avowed her partiality for Heli, and a decided preference for his tenets of religion, Ferdinand left them to their own determinations, recommending to both constancy in their attachment, and the practise of good actions towards others. He added a few words of advice to Fatima in German, and concluded with assuring her, that if she should ever want a friend, the daughter of a respected father should always claim his attention and assistance.

  When retired to his apartment, he was painfully affected by the recollection of such circumstances in the story of Fatima, as convinced him that his wife Claudina must have been that sister she mentioned, and the daughter of the officer by a woman his father had once been connected with. He shuddered at the idea. Yet surely, he thought, there cannot be that degree of consanguinity between us, which should raise the dead;—to bid me "fly from her arms as I would avoid sin and death." Or why, if our union was sinful, why was the warning so late.

  "Ah!" cried he, "if my father knew her, ought he not to have discovered the secret? But no, it was impossible; had he known she was the child of a woman he once fondly loved, surely he would have made inquiries after her and his own child, nor have left even Claudina in indigence; no, he could not have known this painful mystery, and my fatal impetuous passion blindly led me to credit any tale that the wretch Dupree might invent, and to unite myself to the daughter of an infamous woman, who has blighted all my prospects of happiness for ever. Yes, that woman, that mother, if from the grave she can behold the misery that has developed on me, will rejoice, perhaps, that her wrongs from the father are retaliated with bitterness on the son, and that her own offspring has revenged her injuries."

  This idea led him into a train of unpleasant reflections, that concluded with lamenting his youthful rashness, and an ungovernable passion, of which he was the victim; nor could he help reverting to his father's connexion with the mother of Fatima and Claudina.

  Could the libertine, or to speak in the softened term which fashion has established, could the man of gallantry look forward to the consequences of his errors; did he see the unfortunate innocents born of
vicious parents; brought into the world under the stigma of criminality; subject to the eye of scorn;—nourished in vice; corrupted by example;—grow up lovely to the eye, but with minds depraved.—Subject to temptations, they have neither fortitude nor inclination to resist;—sink into a vortex of misery, guilty, hardened, despised, forsaken; and to close the climax, see those unfortunate children of guilty parents abandoned by the world; and when youth and beauty is no more, left to die in wretchedness, without relief, without pity, and without a friend to close their eyes, or speak one word of consolation in that awful moment, when the retrospection of a misspent life, fills them with unutterable sorrow and despair.

  "Surely," thought Ferdinand, on reviewing this melancholy picture, which his misfortunes delineated to his mind's eye in the most gloomy colouring; "surely, if the sins of the fathers are visited upon their children, I am marked out as an object for retribution and vengeance. How far my marriage with Claudina may be criminal, I know not.——That union, so rashly entered into, and followed by a father's curses, wants not the aggravation of criminality to add to my wretchedness; and if she is a lost, a guilty creature, the sins of the mother have fallen upon us both."

  These, and such like reflections, threw him into a profound reverie, from which he was roused by the entrance of the Count.

  "I left you, for a few moments, my dear Ferdinand," said he, "because I thought you would wish to recover from the surprise and vexation that visibly affected you during the relation Fatima gave of herself; her subsequent choice of attaching herself to Heli, I think ought not to afflict you; for perhaps had she given him up, you would have found it a very unpleasant task to regulate a young woman like her, accustomed to a gay desultory kind of life."

  "Your observation is undoubtedly just," replied he.—"I am convinced she is a stranger to all principles of decorum, and would ill brook that regularity I should naturally have expected. I am mortified, I confess, to find a person who owes her existence to my father, under such reprehensible circumstances; but that is not the only cause of the surprise and concern you remarked; I am still more nearly concerned in her story." He then acquainted the Count with every particular relative to Claudina, and severely condemned his own impetuous passion, which wildly pursued its object, regardless of such information as is generally found essential to confidence, if not absolutely necessary to happiness, that of knowing the family, character, and connexions of those with whom we form a union for life.

  "Unquestionably," said the Count; "a prudent man would consider such knowledge highly requisite: But my dear friend, I fear, whilst all-powerful love had such an absolute dominion in your breast—had you really been informed that Claudina was born of worthless or vicious parents, passion would have suggested a thousand alleviating circumstances in her favour, and under the flattering guise of compassion for an unfortunate and innocent young woman, you would have deemed it a meritorious act to rescue her from ruin."

  "Perhaps so," answered Ferdinand;—"for the heart, by its pleadings for a beloved object, is generally too hard for the frigid lessons of prudence; and I have given sufficient proofs of my weakness to warrant the severest conclusions against my understanding."

  "We will drop the subject, if you please," said the Count, "as it can lead to no pleasurable reflections; and as we propose taking leave of this city in a few days, let us make some visits to diversify our ideas."

  Ferdinand very readily consented to a proposal, calculated to draw him from a train of painful retrospections.

  In the course of a week, no material incidents happened to the friends. They accompanied Heli in several little excursions round the environs of Vienna, to discover some pleasant retirement that might coincide with his wishes of living unknown and unobserved.

  One morning, taking their usual ride, they passed a carriage, which was driving very quick; two gentlemen were in it; and from the transient view they had, Ferdinand thought he had some knowledge of them, but could not ascertain who, or what they were. Presently, however, a servant overtook them, and requested to know if Count M*** was one of the company? The Count, though surprised, readily announced himself, when the man respectfully presented the compliments of Baron Reiberg and his son, who, he said, were waiting in their carriage, to know if their conjectures were right, and hoped the gentlemen would return, if fortunately he was not mistaken.

  The Count and Ferdinand readily accompanied the servant back, and were recognized with great pleasure by the Baron, who congratulated himself upon this desired and little expected meeting.

  He, with many others, had heard the report of their deaths; but struck with their appearance, as they passed on the road, had stopped his carriage, and dispatched a servant to know whether the resemblance that surprised him was the illusion of his senses or not.

  He told them he had a house at Vienna, to which he hoped they would accompany him and his son, and give them the pleasure of considering it as their own, whilst business or amusement induced them to remain in that city. They made proper acknowledgments for this politeness; told him, their stay would be short, and that they had friends with them.

  "If your friends will accept of the same accommodations I can offer you, gentlemen," said the Baron, 'they are heartily at their service; and I feel so much interest and curiosity to know by what means you preserved your lives, when your death was generally credited, that I really cannot relinquish my earnest wish to have you inmates of my mansion. Come, come," added he, seeing they hesitated, and looked at each other, "you know I am in possession of your promise to pay me a visit, and I now claim the performance of it."

  This obliging earnestness was irresistible, and they readily accorded with the request, assuring him, that they would wait of him in the evening. Taking the Baron's address with his invitation to their friends, they parted with him for the present, and returned with speed to Heli. Before they rejoined him, Ferdinand observed, 'that he could not think of introducing Fatima to the Baron's house, nor did he suppose it would be at all agreeable to Heli. I hope, therefore," said he, 'the little estate he is now in view of will answer his wishes."

  As he spoke, they saw Heli slowly returning back to meet them.

  The Count told him of their meeting with a friend, and took notice the other seemed very thoughtful, which, on demanding the cause, he said he longed for retirement; that the increase of their acquaintance was painful to him, and their self-denial, in giving up so much of their time to his accommodation, was too great a tax upon their kindness.—He had therefore come to a resolution to take the small solitary cottage they had seen the day before; and as it was furnished, he could have immediate possession.

  To this plan no objection was made.—They called on the owner of the cottage, and presently concluded the bargain. The house, and a small farm belonging to it, lay extremely retired, on the side of a rising wood, which afforded shelter from the sharp air of the north; and on the south was a delightful garden, with grounds attached to it for their cattle, and other necessaries of life, whilst a small but beautiful rivulet run almost round the house, and fertilized the earth.

  Heli, having made the purchase, was impatient to take possession; and on their return to Fatima, bid her prepare for her removal the following morning. It was easy to see she received this mandate with dissatisfaction; nor did a description of her future residence at all tend to lessen her chagrin.—The gay multitudes, which she saw from her windows, were far more gratifying to her than woods or gardens, where she was not likely to see the "human face divine."

  Ferdinand easily penetrated into the workings of her mind, and saw but little prospect of happiness to Heli, if it was dependant on the constancy of Fatima. For the present she was silent, because the alternative he had offered to her was also retirement; and therefore, of the two evils, she submitted to accompany Heli, but without ever pretending to a satisfaction she did not feel.

  In the evening, the Count and his friend took leave of Heli and his lady. To the latter, Ferdinand
ventured a few serious admonitions, but they were heard with a look of careless contempt, and a silent bow.—Heli requested they would sometimes visit him, as themselves would be the only persons he should receive. This they readily promised, and parted with mutual good wishes.

  The Baron welcomed them with much cordiality; the young Baron with equal attention; but he had not that pleasant frankness of manners which seemed to characterize his father. On the contrary, it was obvious to both gentlemen, that something oppressive lay upon his spirits, and that tho" he behaved with much complacency and politeness; yet it appeared an effort upon his natural disposition, more inclined to reserve and taciturnity.

  The father, who was a man of the world, had travelled a good deal, and profited by his observations on men and manners, exerted himself to entertain his guests; and, by his endeavours, they passed a very pleasant evening.

  When the Count and Ferdinand met in the morning, the former took notice of the young Baron's want of spirits, and a disposition so entirely opposite to his father's.

  "I made the same observation at the time they passed with us in the solitary Castle," replied Ferdinand—"He then spoke little, and rather avoided than courted society.—But as some characters do not open themselves at once, as we were strangers, and every circumstance there unpleasant, and indeed melancholy, I allowed much for his reserve, and supposed it might be rather accidental than habitual; but I was mistaken I see now; for certainly he has a natural tendency towards an unsocial disposition, and 'tis on the father we must draw for our entertainment here."

  They were soon after joined by the Baron. He introduced them to several of his friends; was sedulous to show his esteem, by every gratification he could procure to them.—Sought every possible mode of entertainment, and delicately avoided any reference to the former unhappy situation of the Count, or his irreparable loss of the lady Eugenia.