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

by Eliza Parsons

  "The thought of my lover's infidelity once admitted, I became more calm; I considered that if the vows of love were disregarded by those who were not compelled to break them, how innocent should I be, whom my relentless fates conspired to force unto it!—I even became in part reconciled to my approaching marriage.—You will marvel at my words:—but put yourself in my situation; conceive but for an instant the distracting thought of being abandoned, if not cursed, by a father; perhaps disregarded by the man to whom you should fly for protection; cast friendless upon an unpitying and prejudiced world: and the idea of giving your hand to a man whom you had already begun to esteem, will not appear in so dark colours as you may perhaps have drawn it.

  "I did not retire to rest that night: early in the morning, my aunt sent to inform me that Frederic was not returned. 'It is well!' I cried; 'too sure he has forgotten me. Oh cruel, cruel Frederic! are these thy vows? is this thy boasted constancy?' All the pleasing scenes of future bliss I had once vainly flattered myself I should enjoy with my Frederic, now recurred to my imagination; and, in spite of my efforts to coerce them, a flood of tears again burst from me. I continued weeping till my father entered my chamber, and summoned me to attend count Byroff to the altar. 'To be for ever parted from my Frederic!' returned my heart. All my resolution again failed me, and I should have sunk senseless at my father's feet, had not the voice of count Byroff, inquiring for me in the tenderest accents, met my ear, and roused me from my lethargy of grief. He took my hand within his—it trembled excessively—he mistook the reluctance with which I suffered him to take it, for virgin bashfulness, and encouraged me with the most soothing expressions of affection.—We entered the chapel, and I returned from it a wife.

  "My doom once fixed, my heart seemed lightened of a heavy weight of anxiety, and I considered it as vain to afflict myself concerning a sentence which was now irrevocably fixed.

  "The day was spent in festivity, and I constrained myself to appear cheerful; the awe in which I stood of my father caused me to wear a smile on my lips, whilst I could not forbear heaving a sigh unheard for Frederic.

  "Innumerable were the gifts made me on that day by all my relations: count Byroff presented me with jewels to a vast amount, and many articles of dress not less costly in their kind: even my father's natural parsimony seemed relaxed; for he bestowed on me a valuable string of pearls, the only ornament I now possess, and which, notwithstanding his unrelenting cruelty, I still hold dear and sacred, in memory of him who gave it. Never did woman pass a less joyful bridal day than myself: when the bustle of festivity was subsided, and night again brought opportunity for reflection, I strongly felt that my love for Frederic had lost no ground in my heart.

  "In the morning, my kind aunt visited me: I inquired eagerly after count Frederic;—he was not returned.

  "In spite of my exertions to appear lively, I was depressed: count Byroff left no means untried to amuse, and render me cheerful. My father, who well knew the cause of my melancholy, let not the first opportunity slip of warning me to beware of raising his anger to a higher pitch than I already had done.

  "About a month after my marriage, my most earnest wishes were crowned with success; my aunt informed me, that Frederic was returned, and half frantic at the intelligence she had given him. My father was luckily from home;—I immediately flew to my aunt's, where I once again beheld my only love. But oh! never was the parting of the most faithful lovers, doomed to weep away a sad and solitary life within monastic walls, more truly affecting than our meeting: my ardent lover gazed at me with a look of sorrow, that penetrated to my inmost soul; my heart shed tears of blood, and, in an agony of grief, I fainted in his arms. On recovering my senses, I entreated him to forgive the rash act into which I had been hurried by the threats of a cruel father, and the vain distrust of my own harassed mind: I besought him to pity me; nay, even more, to love me. Yes, I charged him to love me still, as I still loved him. Do not, I beseech you, misconstrue the meaning of these words, nor suppose me now a penitent for a crime which, the Supreme of all is witness, was far from my thoughts: my fates, cruel and relentless as they have been, were however satisfied with the resignation of my peace, and spared me the additional sacrifice of my virtue.

  "Oh, Frederic! if some bright star thou reignest on high in yon exalted firmament, look down upon thy faithful Lauretta, faithful to thee, even in death, and witness for me the purity of a heart burnt up by love's devouring fire, yet never swerving from the rules of fairest virtue!

  "I continued for some time constantly to meet Frederic at the house of my indulgent aunt, until some circumstances, however trivial in themselves, conspired to inform me that our meetings were discovered. I accordingly forebore to see him; and wrote to him, telling him my reason for absenting myself from my aunt's. A daily correspondence was now commenced between us, which, except that I saw not my Frederic, amounted to the same as if we had met; as, at our interviews, we had only uttered those lamentations, vows, and promises of fidelity, which were now conveyed in our letters. A faithful servant of my aunt's had the care of receiving and delivering them.

  "About a fortnight after the commencement of our correspondence, I learned that my father and my husband were going a short journey, and would not return for two days. On the morning of the day on which my husband had told me they intended setting out, I dispatched a letter by our trusty messenger to Frederic, informing him of their intended absence, and that I would that evening meet him at my aunt's.

  "In the afternoon my father and count Byroff bade me farewell, mounted their horses, and set out. In about two hours after their departure, I ventured to my aunt's; I informed her how things were circumstanced; she congratulated me on my pleasing prospect of seeing my Frederic, and then inquired for her servant, in order to learn whether he had found Frederic at home; but our messenger was not returned.

  "Three hours were passed in anxious expectations and vain surmises: neither Frederic nor the servant appeared: the only conclusion I could draw, was, that Frederic was not in the city, and that our messenger was gone in search of him. But a short interval convinced me of the horrible reverse. Oh! picture to yourself my disappointment, my astonishment, my grief, when, hearing footsteps on the stairs, my aunt opened the door of the apartment, and my father rushed in.—I uttered a violent shriek, and fainted at my aunt's feet; when I recovered, I found myself on my own bed. 'Oh, Frederic! art thou then lost for ever?' I exclaimed; for the first idea which shot across my burning brain on my recovering my senses, was, that the sword of count Byroff had pierced the heart of my Frederic. How I got this intelligence, I am to this moment ignorant: suffice it to say, it was but too true, and I infinitely miserable. My husband was sitting by my bed-side; I upbraided him for his unjust cruelty in the most extravagant terms, suggested by my excessive grief: I laid before him all the history of my love for count Frederic; I wept, I sighed, fainted, and upbraided him by turns.

  "He informed me that my father had told him, that he suspected I entertained a connexion with another man; which idea he had at first endeavoured to confute; but my father persisting in it, he had agreed to assist him in making an attempt at the discovery of the truth; that they had pretended to be going on a journey, under the expectation of my then admitting Frederic into my father's house; but that, on the morning of that very day, my father had seized our faithful messenger, and torn from him my letter to Frederic, inviting him to meet me in the evening of that day at my aunt's: that, having confined the servant, they had found means of conveying my letter to him to whom it was addressed; and having waylaid him in an obscure street through which they well knew he must unavoidably pass in his way to my aunt's, count Byroff had stabbed him. God alone knows what were my feelings during this recital; and thanks be to him, that the fullness of my heart sealed my lips, or I, in frantic rage, had cursed the author of my being.

  "Count Byroff entreated me to be composed; he represented to me, that my sorrow was now ineffectual, since the deed, which he himsel
f avowed to have been rash, was committed. He set before me the resignation I owed to the will of a father, and endeavoured to work upon me, by the shame I should incur in the opinion of the world, if my conduct became publicly known. But I heeded not what he said; I listened with disdain to words uttered by the murderer of my Frederic. At that moment, I should have scorned the words of an angel, had they been incapable of recalling my Frederic to life.

  "I absolutely refused all nourishment and repose: count Byroff became alarmed for my health; he continued with great earnestness to urge me to resignation; made me the most solemn protestations of his love; besought my forgiveness, and prayed me to tell him how he could sooth my anguish.

  "I was silent, and count Byroff left my apartment: he had not been long gone, ere I commanded my faithful woman, who had been the companion of my sorrows, to go and inform my father and my husband, that I had fallen into a sound slumber; and warn them against entering my apartment, lest they should disturb me. Against her return, I had thrown on a long cloak and veil; and, having bribed her to keep my secret, I left the house unobserved. It was about nine o'clock in the evening when I set out: I moved towards the suburbs of the city as quickly as I was able: arrived there, I entered a narrow lane, in which I imagined I recollected the shop of a clothier. I walked down in search of it: to my great joy, I soon found it, and entering, I perceived there to be no one in the shop but an old woman. In imperfect language, intermixed with French, I told the woman I was journeying to Loretto, and wanted the habit of a male pilgrim. She immediately produced several: I purchased one, together with a staff and leathern bottle; and, having tied up my bundle, I left the shop, inwardly rejoicing that the old woman had been too busily occupied in praising the quality of her goods, particularly to notice me. I again set forward, and in a few minutes arrived in the great road leading from the city.

  "Fortunately for me, the rising moon served to show me my way; and being arrived nearly half a league from the city, and perceiving no one near me, I ventured to exchange my garments for the pilgrim's habit; and having buried the clothes I had taken off under a sod, which I had with difficulty managed to cut up for the purpose of hiding them under it, I once more set forward, intending to journey to this convent, which I had heard my aunt mention, and where I had resolved, if you were so kind as to permit me, to pass the remainder of my days.

  "Under favour of my habit, I travelled hither perfectly to my satisfaction, except the inconvenience I suffered from fatigue; but your benevolence and care soon brought me to the happy state in which I now find myself: and I trust I shall never prove ungrateful in my acknowledgments to you, and in prayers to the holy saint in whom you confide, to reward you for the humanity you have shown me."

  Here was a part of the mystery, relative to the conduct of the uncle of Alphonsus, cleared up; count Frederic had loved and been beloved by the niece of his much revered friend Arieno; she thought him dead, and lived and died secluded from the world, mourning his loss. "Mistaken woman! oh that some angel," cried he, moved by the affecting narration of Lauretta's hapless lot, "had whispered to thee the falsity of that tale which drove thee forever from thy Frederic and the world!—Her loss was surely the cause of the grief which visibly preyed upon my uncle's heart!—Still this solves not the mystery in which I am concerned."—He sat a few minutes wrapped in melancholy thought; then returned to father Matthias's apartment.

  "Well!" cried the holy man—"I perceive you feel what you have read;—you pity the unhappy sufferer?"

  "Sincerely I do.—Her Frederic was five years since alive."

  "Mysterious heaven!" exclaimed the old man: "explain to me, I beseech you, what you know concerning him."

  "Indeed—I cannot now:—the time may come."—He paused.

  The father looked disappointed; in a moment he regained his wonted serenity of countenance. "She died," cried he, "as she lived, lamenting the untimely fate of him she loved."

  "How long have her cares been ended?"

  "Grief wasted her frame to a skeleton, and she has sunk into the grave, now seven years."

  "Were any inquiries ever made relative to her?"

  "Never."

  "But she mentions nothing of her child, nor have you spoken to me of her."

  "When she delivered to us the manuscript I put into your hands, she knew not herself that she was about to become a mother.—With tears she some short time after declared her situation to the abbess; and called on heaven to witness that it was the pure offspring of her marriage with count Byroff.—Her sufferings moved the abbess, and she promised to connive at her situation, and protect her child. At the due period of time she gave birth to a female infant, which received its mother's name; this was to her great joy; for had its sex proved other, it must necessarily have been removed from her at an early age."

  "And is the young Lauretta destined to a life of seclusion from the world?" asked Alphonsus.

  "Her mother," answered the friar, "on her death-bed, ordained, that, should any part of her family by any means gain the knowledge of her having borne a child, and demand it of the abbess, it was to be delivered up to them; but in case of her remaining here unknown unto her eighteenth year, she was at that period to take the veil, as it was not likely that even she herself would then be remembered by them after so many years' absence; and on no account to inform her relations that a child of hers was in existence; dreading, as she said, that they should think it incumbent on them to take home the child, and either doubting the purity of its birth, or, in revenge for its mother's transgression, use it unkindly."

  "Of what age is Lauretta?" asked Alphonsus.

  "She has about four months attained her seventeenth year," returned the old man; "and I trust both her father, and count Arieno, are ignorant that such an angel is in existence.—She has been made acquainted with her own story by her mother: but the colours in which her parent painted to her her nearest relatives, leave her no wish to enter upon a world which she has never known, and of which she has heard so unprepossessing an account: she declares herself perfectly happy within these walls, and prepared to take the veil."

  Alphonsus sighed; his eyes fell on the dropping sand, and it admonished him to ring the evening bell.

  CHAPTER V

  —————————a matchless pair,

  With equal virtue form'd, and equal grace;

  The same, distinguish'd by the sex alone:

  Hers, the mild lustre of the blooming morn,

  And his, the radiance of the risen day.

  -THOMSON

  The thoughts of Alphonsus were continually fixed on Lauretta; he every day felt a stronger prepossession in her favour; he began to conceive the nature of his regard for her, and wished to snatch her from the eternal gloom of a monastic life:—he longed to impart to her the sentiments with which she had inspired him: all intercourse with the females of the convent, save the lady abbess, and old Perilla, was denied him:—what means could he pursue to communicate to her his affection, or how did he know she would not disregard, nay perhaps despise him for the confession?

  He resolved steadfastly to fix his eyes on hers as she entered the chapel: he was practically ignorant that love has a language of the eyes; but he conceived that the eyes might be made to express what passes in the heart.

  He fixed on her countenance his black penetrating eyes: the blush of modesty o'ershadowed her cheeks; she cast her eyes on the ground, and proceeded swiftly along.

  He was unacquainted with the sex, and knew not yet to distinguish between diffidence and displeasure.

  He repeated his experiment frequently: sometimes it was returned in the same manner as on his first trial: mostly she raised not her eyes higher than the vase, and immediately dropped them again.

  "No!"—cried he—"Lauretta feels no sentiment congenial with mine; she even meets my looks of love with indifference.—Unhappy Alphonsus!"

  The next time she entered the chapel, he resolved not to raise his eyes to hers: a broken s
igh burst from his heart. Lauretta sighed also. Alphonsus heard the sound,—it tingled on his heart.

  He ventured once more to meet her blue eyes: he imagined a faint blush tinged her cheeks, and a soft smile stole over her countenance.

  It was a confirmation of Alphonsus's most exalted hope. "She sees, and is not insensible to my fondest wishes!" he exclaimed. "Oh ecstasy incomparable!"

  How light a breath turns the wavering balance of a lover's hopes and fears!

  Fearless, he now met her eyes: her diffidence gradually wore off, and she encountered his fond glances with delight.

  A method of conversing with her now entered his mind: he wrote to her the fondest declaration of his love, that the desire of its return could dictate:—he held his letter by the side of the vase; and as she extended her finger to touch the water, he slid the paper unobserved into her hand.

  Three days elapsed ere he was released from the torture of suspense; on the third, at evening prayers, she put a note into his hand, containing these words,—"Oh, Alphonsus, what a conviction of the state of my own heart has the declaration of yours proved to me!—Oh, let it remain a secret to all besides ourselves!—Be cautious how you write to me again,—we shall be suspected!"

  Alphonsus was truly happy for the first time; but ecstasy will cool, and bring time for reflection. It told him that he might never be more closely connected with Lauretta than at that moment.

  About five months after this time, the lady abbess was seized with a violent illness. The friar, who was also the administerer of physic in the convent, was an unremitting attendant at her bed-side: in a few days she died, lamented by all the convent, and particularly by Lauretta, to whom she had been a second mother.

  Her corpse was placed in its coffin, before the altar of the church; masses were performed three times each day for nine days successively, for the benefit of her soul; and three nuns and a novice alternately watched over her body for the same space of time.