"The letter was shown me:—it was the hand-writing of my villainous brother.
"I informed her of the contents of my father's will, relating to me; I showed her how I conceived myself to have been doubly injured by my brother: she sympathised in my fate, and I in hers; our sorrow flowed from the same source.
"In the course of that day, my beloved Camilla breathed her last. How shall I relate my anguish on receiving the bitter intelligence? you, my friend, must conjecture what I have not words to describe.
"On the following morning, I was permitted to visit her corpse: oh, how altered was her once beautiful countenance! Oh, my God, what did I undergo during the moments I gazed upon her cold form! In an ecstasy of sorrow, I kissed her icy lips.—The scene was too much—it overpowered me;—I was dragged from her, I know not by what means, never again to behold the innocent and unhappy victim of falsehood, my loved Camilla!
"When her funeral obsequies were performed, I returned to Venice; a short time developed to me the perfidy of my brother; I learnt that he had gained the credit of my father to my marriage with Camilla, by showing him a forged certificate of our having been united in a parish church at Montpelier:—how did my heart pant for revenge!—cooler reflection taught me not to spill a brother's blood.—I disdained, however, to ask of him the small legacy portioned out to me by my father, and resolved for ever to leave the Venetian dominions; and having passed over into Germany, I offered myself a volunteer in the service of the emperor.—I have served under him about thirty-two years, and his goodness has raised me to the rank I now hold.—My brother possesses riches; but I enjoy a treasure whose blessings he will never know—an approving conscience."
Alphonsus thanked him for his recital, sympathised with him in his sufferings, and inquired if he had ever heard any tidings of his brother since the period of his leaving Venice.
"By accident I heard, about fourteen years ago, that he had married a woman of fortune immediately on his father's death; that my mother had not long survived her husband, and that his wife died in child-birth of her first infant, which was a female; I heard it by means of an officer who had visited Venice, and mentioned that the discourse of the city, whilst he was there, had turned solely upon the disappearance of the only daughter of one count Arieno. 'He is an avaricious fellow,' said he, 'and was bent on espousing his daughter to a noble as rich as himself, while the poor girl had fallen in love with a German count, whom she had seen at the carnival. Her father forced her to marry the noble; and a short time after she was missed, and no inquiries could discover whither she had fled.'—The name of her lover, I think the officer said, was count Cohenburg, a descendant of a noble family of Saxony:—thus providence punished his avarice by depriving him of his only child."
Alphonsus changed colour at the mention of his name; but Arieno perceived it not; and Alphonsus ventured to inquire, what was conjectured to have been the young lady's fate.
Arieno answered, that she was supposed to have fled with her lover, and eluded the diligence of her father's and husband's search.
Alphonsus's brain was now on the rack to decide on some part of his father's or uncle's conduct, that might tally with this account; his father had never been a sufficient time together absent from his castle to have formed any engagement of the kind; indeed, had opportunity been ever so favourable, he had always loved his mother too tenderly to wrong her in the regard she bore him;—his uncle, he recollected, had been much absent from Saxony about the time mentioned by Arieno; but he had several times at intervals returned to his mansion; and no one had accompanied him;—there were no others of their name in Germany;—he was convinced it was not his father—thus suspicion rested on his uncle;—his next thought was, whether what he had now heard could by any means be made to account for the death of his father, and the conduct of his mother, or in any way be supposed to be connected with either.—Here thought again lost itself in a maze of uncertain conjecture.
CHAPTER III
Oh, day and night, but this is wond'rous strange!
-HAMLET
Before the time of taking the field arrived, Arieno received information from the emperor, that his regiment was to be mounted for the ensuing campaign. Alphonsus wished for his faithful steed: but it was beyond his reach.
In the spring, Alphonsus and his Italian friend set out from the hospitable mansion of the latter; Arieno thanked Alphonsus for the pleasure his society had afforded him, and gave him a warm invitation to renew his visit the following winter.
About the middle of the summer, Arieno lost his life in an engagement on the borders of the empire; the receipt of this intelligence went nigh to cost Alphonsus his life. On the very same day, a fall from his horse had fractured his sword-arm; and he heard not of the tidings of his friend's death, till stretched himself on the bed of sickness.
It was near the end of the campaign, ere Alphonsus recovered from his wound; and in a very short time after the re-establishment of his health, a decisive victory was obtained by the Germans over the Poles. This put an end to a long and vigorously fought war: most of the newly-raised regiments were disbanded, and every incapable soldier also received his discharge. The weakness which still remained in Alphonsus's arm, made him unwilling to sue for his continuance in the army; and he accordingly determined to seek some other means of subsistence, attended with less danger to his already fractured limb.
After much deliberation, he resolved to sue for employment in the least laborious line, which the then lately-discovered silver mine in Bohemia afforded. His regiment had been disbanded at Prague, and thus he had not far to travel, for the purpose of putting his plan into execution. He was readily hired by the contractor for working the mine, and his labour fell short of what he had pictured to himself it would prove; he had felt much bodily weakness, proceeding from what he had suffered when he undertook the employment; and, conscious of his own inability, he had exaggerated in idea the labour of the task he had undertaken.
His fellow-labourers worked hard, and earned their pittance with the sweat of their brow; but it was the more sweetly relished by them at their moments of recreation.
They laughed, they sang, they told tales for each other's diversion; they related anecdotes that had fallen within their knowledge; and thus cheerfulness presided in the midst of labour.
They delighted much to hear Alphonsus recount the course of the battles in which he had fought: some amongst them had served, and to them his narrations were peculiarly interesting; and they ever and anon interrupted him to relate some similar circumstances which had occurred during the campaigns in which they had served.
Alphonsus had belonged to the mines nearly a year, when no new workmen having joined them, and their conversation thus beginning to grow insipid, and anecdotes, from often recounting, becoming stale, they resolved that at evening, when their tasks were ended, each miner should in his turn relate the events of his life.
Alphonsus was amongst the first to whom the lot fell to relate their adventures; he easily fabricated a short and simple tale, which served his purpose, and gained neither the approbation nor the contempt of his hearers: he joyed when the task was ended.
A few days after, the lot fell upon a youth, whose mirth had often drawn forth the loud laughs of his companions.—"Few words will tell my tale," he said, and thus began:
"My father and mother, good souls, rented a farm of count Cohenburg, in Lower Saxony, near the river Elbe."
Alphonsus was all attention.
"Oh, had he lived yet, I should not have been here! but I might have been much worse off: and so I thank the saints that I am here; and may I never fare worse, pray I.—Well, though my father did not come of a great family, a great family came of him; for, boys and girls, he had fifteen of us."—Here a loud laugh applauded the young miner's wit.—He continued—"Well, as I said before, my father rented a farm of count Cohenburg; he was very good to the poor, and promised my father he would do something for all his children;—God rest h
is soul in heaven!—Let me see, I have now worked in these mines two years and a half; it was about eight months before that time, that the count went out to some foreign part, for aught I know; or it might be only to see our emperor; I can't tell, however, about some such thing"—
The suspense of Alphonsus for the conclusion of this tale, may be easily conceived.
"So, on the day he was expected home, news was brought to his castle by old Robert, who went with him, that his horse had thrown him, and killed him, on his way home; and so Robert went back with orders to have the count buried where he died.—Well, now comes the most extraordinary part of my story; the good dead count had a son about seventeen or eighteen years of age, a fine comely handsome youth, not much unlike me,—only he never worked in a mine."
Again the miners laughed, and Alphonsus heaved an inward sigh.
"Well, two days after, he was missing, and so was the countess; neither of them to be found, high nor low: now the folks say, the good lady killed her son in a mad fit, for the loss of her husband; and was so vexed at what she had done, when she came to herself, that she killed herself too—and directly after, a ghost began to walk; and every night at twelve o'clock, it tolls the great bell in the south turret, because that is the time she killed the young count."
"Well, and did you ever see it?" cried one of the miners.
"Oh no! no body has gone near the castle since; it belonged by right to the count's brother; and he came to it; but he stayed only a day or two; for he saw and heard such things, that he could not bear his own life; and so he discharged all the servants, and locked up the castle gates; and away he went, some folks say, out of the country, and left the ghost to ring away by itself; and I fancy it is pretty safe, for having all the supper the castle walls can give it to itself, for no company will trouble it, I am sure.—Well, so, for want of the count's help, my father went down in the world; and so we most of us left him, to seek our own fortunes; and here am I, a jolly miner:—and though ours is a low calling under ground, I fancy it will bear looking into as well as many great men's upon the surface of the earth."
Here the youth ended his history;—a murmur of applause ran through the assembly, and they parted for the night.
Alphonsus slept not; he had now fresh food for unconfirmed conjecture.—A subject which he had not heard mentioned during two years' intercourse with the busy world, he had at length heard discussed in a mine; this led him to conjecture the story was not in current report.—"The castle deserted!—yet a bell tolled at midnight!"—In spirits he had no faith; and what could it avail any human being to live there, retired from the world? nor did he think it possible they could remain there undiscovered.—That his mother was dead, he did not in the least credit; the youth had said the same of him.—He ruminated again and again on what he had heard, but his meditations ended where they had begun.
Some time elapsed ere Alphonsus ventured to question the youth relative to what he had related of his family; and the only additional intelligence he could gain, was that some people suspected count Frederic to be the murderer of his brother, the countess and her son, for the sake of possessing the castle, which descended by the death of count Alphonsus to his son;—"But then, if this was the case," cried the youth, "what could make him run away, and leave the whole?"
"Conscience!" thought Alphonsus.—But his mother had declared his uncle innocent; and he was determined not to suspect him whom she had exculpated.
It was one day shortly after this time, that a gentleman travelling through Bohemia, came, attracted by curiosity, to visit the mine; Alphonsus and another miner were deputed to conduct him; the gentleman's servant accompanied him: in passing a deep cavity of the mine, over which a narrow plank was laid, the servant's eyes not being directed to the unsteady board over which he was passing, one of his feet slipped, and, unable to recover his balance, he sunk into the space below. The fall was, to any one, inevitable death:—he was dashed to pieces.
The gentleman, whose name was baron Kardsfelt, was much affected by the misfortune that had befallen his servant; he had lived with him many years, and had proved himself a faithful attendant.
The baron immediately returned to the surface of the earth, where the first objects that struck his sight, were his own and his servant's horses, fastened to a post at a short distance from the mouth of the mine: a difficulty immediately arose in his mind, how to get the animal he did not ride himself conveyed to the next town; he accordingly offered Alphonsus a liberal perquisite to ride it thither for him; Alphonsus willingly agreed to his proposal, and they mounted, and rode on.
Alphonsus had for some time considered his situation in the mine as a disagreeable one; he had entered into it from the same motive from which he had so long continued in it,—urgent necessity: he knew no other mode of procuring a subsistence, in which he could pass unknown; and yet he earnestly wished again to mix in the world, in the hope of gaining some light on the mystery which continually occupied his mind; accordingly he determined to offer himself to supply the place of the man whose death he had just witnessed.
The baron asked him many questions as to his abilities for filling the office he wished to undertake, and Alphonsus declared himself capable of every particular: what he had been accustomed formerly to have done for himself, he thought it no difficult matter to perform for another. There was something in his manner of application that interested the baron in his favour; he accepted the offer made to him by Alphonsus, and wrote a few lines to the superintendent of the mine, saying, that he should retain Alphonsus in his service.
The baron Kardsfelt was a man about thirty years of age, and unmarried; his manners were pleasant and his temper mild, unless he conceived himself to be ill-treated or affronted; and then his resentment knew no bounds.
He had at this time been on a visit to his sister, who was married and resided at Prague, and was returning to his own mansion at a short distance from Inspruck, when the accident took place which introduced Alphonsus to his knowledge.—Returned home, Alphonsus was made acquainted with the duties of his station, and executed them much to the satisfaction of his master, who behaved towards him with great kindness.
Alphonsus frequently visited Inspruck, and never missed an opportunity of starting some subject which he hoped might lead to the mention of his family, but he never heard the name. He was often a listener to the tales of spirits and witches, to which the common people in that part of the country give much credit; but the castle of Cohenburg was never spoken of; and he now began to distrust there being any foundation, except the imagination of some weak mind, for the tale the young miner had related.
The baron was fond of play, though he never staked large sums, and passed much of his time at the gaming-table. Having one day engaged a stranger in a game at draughts, his antagonist was accidentally called from the room in the midst of the game. The stranger had been much beaten by the baron: he was chafed by his losses, and, on his return to the room, asserted that the baron had re-drawn his last move. The baron's fiery temper was heated; he rose, drew his sword, and called on his antagonist to defend his assertion:—it proved to the baron a fatal summons, for he received his adversary's weapon in his side.
He was immediately conveyed home, fainting with loss of blood, and the wound pronounced to be mortal: speech was refused him; he beckoned Alphonsus to his bed-side, and gave him his purse; Alphonsus received it, kissed his hand, and retired weeping. The baron pulled the sleeve of his confessor who stood by him, and pointed to Alphonsus; the friar understood that he asked his protection for him, and answered by a significant inclination of the head: about an hour after the baron expired in great agonies.
Alphonsus gazed at him as he closed his eyes for ever.
It was a lesson to the gamester to play no more.
CHAPTER IV
Ah me! for aught that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth;
> But either it was different in blood,
Or else misgrafted in respect of years;
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends;
Or if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
Making it momentary as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream:
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
That in a spleen unfolds both heaven and earth;
And, ere a man hath pow'r to say—"Behold!"
The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
So quick, bright things come to confusion.
-A MIDSUMMER NIGHT DREAM
When the friar had given the necessary orders, and made the proper arrangements for the funeral of the baron, he thus addressed Alphonsus,—"Young man, you seem greatly interested in the fate of the baron."
Alphonsus wept bitterly. Every added pang of sorrow deeply lacerates a grief-worn heart. "I have lost my only friend!" he cried.
"Do not despair," returned the friar: "the deceased baron has recommended you to my notice:—I will find some means of providing for your future life, be assured."
These words were balm to the wounded breast of Alphonsus.
"farewell," continued the holy man: "place your confidence in the will of heaven to repair your loss, and be comforted; I will be here again to-morrow."—So saying he departed.
On the following day Alphonsus found himself more composed, and at the appointed hour father Matthias arrived.
The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror) Page 256
