"'In the morning, he said Ferdinand, with two gentlemen, came to the house, the former, no doubt, expecting to find him dead, and seemed much surprised and confused when he saw both alive. The Count dying soon after, Ferdinand went into the rooms, and then returned, crying out, the house was plundered; upon which he (Heli) accused his infamous sister: That Ferdinand spoke to him in the Turkish language, desiring he would not expose him, by calling Fatima his sister; but he disdained any other reply than the same accusation in German; upon which the other, greatly confounded, pretended to show much compassion for him, but made off as soon as he could; and he supposed some of his confederates had charged him with the murder of the Count, to get rid of him; but he now charged Ferdinand, his sister, and other accomplices, with an intent to murder and rob him.
"'This,' continued the interpreter, 'was the account delivered to the men. Some circumstances seemed improbable; yet there were others not unlikely, because it was plain he had been robbed, by the disorder in the house. Two men were left to guard him, whilst three went away to repeat this story to the magistrate.
"'They soon returned; we were ordered to wait here, and seize who ever should come to Heli. Mean time, an order was given to arrest this Ferdinand at the house of Baron Reiberg, according to Heli's directions;—and now, gentlemen, this is all I know of the business; the Turk persists in his story, and the affair must be investigated by those in power.'
"When the man concluded his account," said Reiberg, "I asked to speak with Heli, but I was refused; we then demanded to be conducted to the magistrate, which was complied with; and on coming before him, and declaring our names, he permitted us to depart at liberty, as no particular charge had appeared against the Count or myself. All this business occasioned our late return, but we little thought the order for Ferdinand's arrest had been so speedily issued and executed; and now, dear Sir, what can be done?"
"Nothing can be done this night," replied the Baron.—"Early in the morning I will attend the magistrate myself.—At any rate, the Count's testimony and mine will procure his liberty, on our parole of honour, I should suppose."
"That villainous Turk can only be actuated by malice," said the Count; "for he well knows the innocence of my friend.—What share Fatima had in the business, I know not; but I believe that Count Wolfran came there to seek for the lady, and not to rob the house.—I only fear it will be difficult to investigate the truth, for want of evidence; but to-morrow I shall most certainly apply to the Emperor himself to prove the rank of Ferdinand, and then I hope we shall soon confound his accusers."
Ferdinand was conducted to a prison; but he was treated with gentleness, and had (for a prison) tolerable accommodations. He was not without very unpleasant reflections; no letters had arrived from his friends, which involved him in doubts and anxiety for his son, Claudina, and his brother.—By his imprudence, in acknowledging his connexion with the worthless Fatima, he had brought on himself his present disagreeable situation: Then he considered, that if the affair was prosecuted on Heli's testimony against him, he should be compelled to make his father's weakness known, and the attendant circumstances.
He then reverted to the story of Louisa. Miss D'Alenberg's situation gave him the most poignant concern; a young woman so respectable, so charming, a victim to a hopeless passion; who could the object be? that her heart was free, when she consented to marry Count Wolfran, was a certainty avowed by herself. He then recollected every little circumstance of her behaviour, when Count M*** and himself were on a visit to her father. Her politeness and attention then appeared to be equally divided, but now, on a review of every thing, Ferdinand remembered the Count had much the greater share of her notice. She talked mostly to him; she leant on his arm in the garden;—and on the day of their departure, he had observed in taking leave, she fixed her eyes on the Count as she spoke.
"Yes," said he, on recapitulating those trifling circumstances.—"Yes, I am convinced the Count has been so happy to touch that heart so good, so amiable; he is unconscious of the distress he has given birth to, and his situation will, from honour and delicacy, ever preclude him the unspeakable delight of restoring her mind to peace."
What a fatality, thought he, that so lovely a woman should have placed her affections so unhappily; never shall I forgive myself for that unfortunate introduction to her acquaintance. The more he reflected, the more he was convinced the Count was the object that had produced the lamentable change in this amiable young lady.
Our confession at parting, that we were "married, and unfortunate," her father doubtless repeated, and from thence originated the melancholy that oppressed the daughter. He sighed heavily for her disappointment, and scarcely thought life worth preserving, when subject to such various events, productive of certain misery.
"Did not my child exist," exclaimed he in a fit of despondency; "did I not feel, that I owe to him a duty I cannot delegate to another, that of superintending his conduct, and directing his mind as he advances in years; instructing him to guard against the impetuosity of youthful passions; a too easy confidence in the seeming integrity of plausible appearances, and from the example of his unhappy father, see those precepts illustrated; example, which speaks more forcibly to an inexperienced mind than the most elaborate reasoning adduced from theory only. Yes, for his sake, I must endeavour to retain my existence, that my follies may not spread wider in the conduct of my child."
Under the oppressive recollection of former scenes, and doubtful anxiety for the future, poor Ferdinand passed a wretched night; nor were his friends much easier.—Count M***, whose affection for him was truly fraternal, lamented, that it was in consequence of his advice they had remained in Vienna 'till the return of their letters.——Whatever unpleasant consequences might have attended their sudden appearance, they could not have been productive of such vexatious circumstances as had now happened, he thought. Yet, then, what might have become of the poor Louisa? How would young Reiberg have acquired that promise of returning tranquillity, if the events that had taken place at Heli's had remained unknown? Those questions again reconciled him to a degree of comparative ease, to think less of the blame he had attached to himself, and to trust in Heaven for the protection of his friend, and their deliverance from the malicious accusations of Heli.
The next morning, at the instant when the Count, Baron Reiberg and his son, were preparing to wait on the magistrate, and from thence, if they found it necessary, to address the Emperor; the long-expected letters arrived from Suabia. The Count received one from his steward, very much to his satisfaction; the good Duclos being overjoyed at the restoration of his master from death to life, particularly as he had applied to the Duke of Wirtemberg, and obtained leave to keep possession of the estates for six months, or until a certainty of his master's fate within that period should arrive. This prudent proceeding had saved much trouble.
The next letter was from Eugenia, and written in a style of such content, and calm resignation, that although she expressed an infinity of satisfaction from the receipt of his letter, yet that satisfaction seemed more like the affectionate joy of a sister, than the transports of a wife: Her expressions were kind, but guarded; her congratulations were warm, but not rapturous; in short, it was such a letter as a sister might write to a beloved brother; not one word reverted to past scenes; not a line of regret for their separation. She told him, "she was more than tranquil; she was happy: That the tender interest she must ever feel for the state of his mind, was the only cloud that hung over her, otherwise, perfect content; and as she had but little doubt of the good effects of time, of the cares of friendship, and of the advantages resulting from employment and amusements, she hoped that cloud would soon be brushed away to their mutual satisfaction."
The perusal of this letter at first rather displeased Count M***; but at the second reading, he was more just; it was selfish to feel discontent, because religion and good sense had tranquillized her mind, and that the situation she had chosen from the purest motives should
have realized her expectations and wishes: Did he not wish her happy, after the years of misery she had struggled with; and was not her conduct truly laudable and praise-worthy? Those reflections recalled him from his temporary displeasure, and rendered the sentiment she expressed more estimable in his eyes, from the very circumstances that first offended him.
She did not mention the Countess in her letter, and therefore it was uncertain if she remained in that convent, or had changed her residence.
The Count, having examined the contents of his own letters, saw there were two also for Ferdinand, one with a black seal. As he was not acquainted with the writing, he could not have an idea from what quarter it came. At first he proposed taking the letters to him; but after a little deliberation, it was settled that young Reiberg should visit him with the letters, whilst the Count and the Baron pursued their first intention of exerting all their joint interest to procure an order for the release of Ferdinand.
END OF VOLUME THREE
VOLUME FOUR
CHAPTER I
The young Baron Reiberg was admitted without any difficulty to see Ferdinand, but he was excessively shocked on entering the wretched hole of his confinement, though informed it was one of the best rooms in the prison. "One of the best" could not reconcile it to his feelings, and when he embraced the prisoner, his emotions were very visible.
"I thank you most cordially (said the latter) for this kindness; but, my good friend, do not throw your eyes around thus, with such a revolting kind of horror in your features. A prison is not a desirable place I grant ye, but is disarmed of all its terrors when conscious innocence brightens the gloom. You know I have no cause for apprehension, this temporary confinement, therefore, is only a little variety in the chequered work of life."
"I am rejoiced (said Reiberg) to find your mind is cheerful in this horrid place; in similar circumstances I am sensible that I should possess neither your resignation or fortitude: However, I think your confinement will be of short duration. My father and the Count are gone earnestly to work, and I am certain will not give over until they have obtained your enlargement. I came here, I hope, to bring you some consolation, to bring you letters from your friends, that you have so much wished for."
Ferdinand eagerly took the letters, looking on the superscription, and then on the seal. "This black herald (said he) forebodes no good news I fear; but the worst must be known, and no place so proper as a prison to bear sorrow, or teach patience under unavoidable evils."
He had turned the letter two or three times whilst speaking, irresolute how to open it.—Reiberg observed his embarrassment: "Do you wish to be alone? (said he.) Speak, I will retire, and come to you by and bye."
"No (replied Ferdinand) for my own sake I do not wish it; but perhaps——."
"Say no more (interrupted Reiberg) peruse your letters, I have a book in my pocket." The other obeyed, and with a trembling hand broke the seal.
"It is from Mr. Dunloff (exclaimed he) the guardian of my son! Ah! what am I to hear? Thank Heaven, my child is well."—Reading further on, he again cried out,—"How, Claudina dead! Poor, poor Claudina! then I have indeed lost thee for ever!" He continued to read, his emotions increased, the big drops fell on his face, he turned from the Baron, and leaning against the wall,—"Excuse me (said he, falteringly) I have lost a wife, once dear to my heart!"
Attempting to read on, but being too greatly affected at the moment, "My dear Baron (said he) I avail myself of your considerate kindness. An hour or two hence I shall be better enabled to thank you for this visit."—Reiberg immediately withdrew, trusting on his return to bring an order for his enlargement. Ferdinand, at liberty to indulge the sorrow that oppressed him, read the following letter from Mr. Dunloff:
"Let not the black wax too much alarm you, Sir, your son, my amiable pupil, is well: My good old uncle is also well as a man can be, who is ready to expire with joy, on receiving intelligence so little hoped for and unexpected; but——your Lady, Madam Claudina, who had retired from the world, who was before dead to her friends, is now released from all her cares, and is happy, I trust, in Heaven!
"This event ought not, Sir, to afflict you. My uncle and myself attended her; with him she was some time alone, but before both she confessed herself unworthy of your affection, that she had deceived and injured you. She lamented most bitterly your supposed death, the report of which I believe accelerated her's, because she accused herself as the primary cause of all your misfortunes. Not to dwell on this melancholy subject, she died a true penitent, entreating mercy for her offences, and imploring blessings on her dear child, who had long before mourned the loss of his mamma, and was therefore spared any further concern.
"My uncle, who is confined to his bed with the gout, orders me to express his transports of joy for your health and safety.—The letters which conveyed the intelligence of your death had nearly deprived him of life, and brought on that disorder which has hung upon him ever since. He hopes you will condescend to write to him once more before your return, that he may know where to attend you. He has not seen the Count, his master, since your letters arrived, but hears they have caused more surprise than pleasure; of that you will have a circumstantial account hereafter."
Mr. Dunloff concluded his letters with "praises of his young pupil, whose docility and good disposition gave promise of much future satisfaction to his father. His little daughter, whose delicate health would be most considerately attended to by his uncle and himself, was placed with a very worthy woman within a few doors of his own residence, and was visited by him daily. He conjured Ferdinand to divest himself of all anxiety for the health and safety of his children, and rely on his watchful care for the preservation of both."
When Ferdinand had recovered from the first shock naturally felt on hearing a woman he once adored was no more, when he had acquired composure sufficient to peruse the letter through, indignation kept pace with sorrow.
Claudina's last confession had confirmed the implied guilt frequently insinuated, but of which he never could have thought her capable; he resolved in his mind the whole tenor of her conduct; he saw nothing wrong, nothing reprehensible, in word or action, before their removal to Renaud Castle: There then she must have met with the object that seduced her from her duty to him and herself; but among all his brother's visitors, there was no particular man to whose artifices he could attribute the misfortune that so deeply wounded him. Lost in conjecture, he saw only that the fact was certain, and from Ernest only he could hope to have the mystery elucidated. He grieved for the unhappy Claudina, and from his soul forgave a crime which her subsequent conduct proved she deeply and sincerely repented of.
"This then (said he) is the termination of an union formed in disobedience, pursued with rashness, which entailed upon me the curses of a parent, brought misery and guilt on her, sorrow, shame, and unavailing repentance, on the wretched Ferdinand!"
He remained for near three hours overwhelmed with the most painful reflections, and entirely forgetful of the other letter which he had put into his pocket. At length the remembrance of his brother made him start from his reverie, recollect the letter, and hastily search for it. The superscription was Count Rhodophil's. He tore it open; it was not a long one.
The Count expressed more surprise than Ferdinand thought needful; the joy was more reserved: He said, 'that he was delighted to lay aside his mourning, and rejoice in the restoration of a brother;" but he wrote it as if he did not feel it; there was an air of constraint; the expressions seemed not the genuine feelings of the heart, but the laboured sentiments of a man fearful he should not say enough, and therefore ran into the contrary extreme, and said too much; at least so it appeared to Ferdinand.
"Ah! (thought he) all this eloquence breathes not the air of sincerity, which glows in the simple words of nature, uttered by Ernest through his nephew's pen." The farther he read the more he was dissatisfied, and when he had finished the letter he was thoroughly disgusted, and yet knew not well of what to complai
n.
"Whether it is ill-humour, prejudice, or the effects of a distempered mind, I know not (said he) but certainly this letter does not please me. He mentions the death of Claudina too so slightly, and with such little concern, that it is not decent, and of his own Lady he is entirely silent."
Revolving on those things which appeared so strange and unnatural, he had fallen into a deep dejection, from which he was roused by the entrance of the Baron, and his friend Count M***, who warmly embraced and congratulated him on his liberty.
"Liberty!" repeated Ferdinand, surprised.
"Yes," said the Baron, "we have succeeded in obtaining your freedom on our parole of honour. The accusation of an insignificant person like Heli, without he can adduce proofs to substantiate his charge, is not sufficient to weigh against a man of your birth and merit; but as all accusations claim attention from justice, though your innocence is not questioned, yet, for the due observance of form, we were obliged to be answerable for your appearance."
Ferdinand warmly thanked his generous friends, and preparing to leave the prison, asked after the young Baron.
"He is gone to Heli's (answered the Count) as we wish to know what is transacting there, and whether he still persists in the false story he has promulgated."
They saw the dejection that clouded the countenance of Ferdinand, but avoided appearing to notice it, and exerted themselves to amuse his mind in the way to the Baron's house, where, on their arrival, he was left alone with the Count, who gave him an account of their proceedings, and also the contents of the two letters he had received. Ferdinand was equally as communicative, and in the Count's friendly sympathy found some alleviation to his sorrows.
The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror) Page 188
