The Castle of Wolfenbach by Eliza Parsons (best book club books for discussion .TXT) 📖

the heat of the room, and the sudden chill she felt in getting out of the carriage. Her friends, glad to see her recovered, enquired no further, but the Count drew the Marquis out of the room, and in much agitation, cried out, ‘That persecuting fiend, in a female form, is the cause of her illness.’ ‘Who do you mean?’ demanded the Marquis. ‘Who should I mean,’ answered he, warmly, ‘but that malicious Fontelle; I saw her not far from Matilda, and I dare say she insulted her; but, by heavens! if she propagates her infamous falsehoods here, she shall repent it, however she may trust to my honor.’

The Marquis was a little surprised at this sally, but without appearing to observe it, said, ‘You know, Count, we shall leave town three days hence, and consequently be out of her malice. I wonder what brought her to England.’ ‘Spite and envy,’ replied he; ‘but does the amiable girl know how much Mademoiselle De Fontelle is her enemy?’ ‘No certainly,’ answered the Marquis; ‘you do not suppose we would wound her feelings, by repeating the disagreeable reports spread among our acquaintance at Paris.’ ‘I am glad of it,’ said the Count, ‘yet I cannot but think the other affronted her.’ ‘We shall know tomorrow, but let us return and eat our supper now.’

They went down to the supper-room, and were much pleased in beholding Matilda cheerful and perfectly well.

When the company separated, and she was retired to her apartment, she gave way to her own reflections; she could not otherwise account for the impertinence of Mademoiselle De Fontelle, but by supposing she was acquainted with her birth; ‘Ah!’ said she, ‘I doubt not but Mr Weimar published it at Paris, from motives of revenge and she, who as a relation to the Marchioness, received a thousand civilities, is now despised as an imposter; an orphan, and a dependent on charity; nay, even my benefactors may suffer in the opinion of their friends for introducing me! Good heavens!’ cried she, ‘why should I continue in the world -why assume a character and appearance I have no pretensions to? What blameable pride, what meanness, in accepting gifts which draw upon me contempt and derision -I will no longer support it.’

Tormented all night by the distress of her situation, she arose unrefreshed, pale, feeble and agitated.

The Marchioness, alarmed at her appearance, insisted upon sending for a physician; the Marquis was going to pull the bell. ‘Stay, my dear friends,’ cried she, ‘I beseech you; ‘tis my mind, not my body, that is disordered, and you only have the power to heal it.’ ‘Speak your wishes, my dear child,’ said the Marchioness; ‘be assured, if in our power, you may command the grant of them.’ ‘On that promise, my dearest benefactress, your poor Matilda founds her hopes of peace.’ She then repeated the affronts of the preceding evening, and her own conjectures upon it. ‘I am humbled, my dearest madam, as all false pretenders ought to be,’ added she: ‘I can no longer support the upbraidings of my heart; a false pride, a despicable vanity induced me to lay hold of your sentiments in my favour, which, after the discovery of my original meanness, I ought to have blushed at your condescension, and sought some humble situation, or retired to a convent, where, unknowing and unknown, I might have pursued the lowly path Providence seems to have pointed out for me. I have been punished for my presumption and duplicity -it has made me look into myself; doubtless, out of this family, every one beholds me with the scorn and contempt I have justly incurred from Mademoiselle De Fontelle, and all who know my doubtful origin. O, my beloved friends,’ cried she, wringing her hands, tears running down her cheeks, ‘save me from future insults, save me from self-reproach! complete your generosity and goodness, and let me retire to a convent. My poor endeavours to amuse you as a companion are no longer necessary; the Countess is restored to you, and I have only been a source of vexation and trouble ever since the hour you first condescended to receive me; -a convent is the only asylum I ought to wish for, and there only I can find rest.’ Here she stopt, overwhelmed with the most painful emotions.

The Marquis was affected, the Marchioness drowned in tears. ‘My dear, but too susceptible girl,’ said she, when able to speak, ‘why will you thus unnecessarily torment yourself; what is Fontelle and her opinions to us? We are going to Scarborough; you have friends who will protect you from every insult, -who will treat you with increased respect, from a conviction that your mind is superior to all the advantages which birth and fortune has given to Mademoiselle De Fontelle, or a thousand such: besides, depend upon my assertions, -you sprung not from humble or dishonest parents, the virtues you possess are hereditary ones, doubt it not, my dear Matilda; if nobleness of birth can add any lustre to qualities like yours, you will one day possess that advantage.’

‘Tis impossible to express the agitations of Matilda, on hearing such kind and consoling sentiments; but her resolution to retire from the world was unconquerable; she found her heart too tenderly attached to the Count she knew the impossibility that she should ever be his; she was convinced her story was known, her friends had not attempted to deny it; in whatever public place she might visit, it was very possible to meet persons who had heard it, and she might be exposed to similar insults, which her spirit could not brook.

The Marquis and his lady made use of persuasions, arguments, and even reproaches, but she had so much resolution and fortitude, when once she had formed a design, approved by her judgment, as could not be easily shaken; and though her heart was wounded with sorrow, and her mind impressed with grief, in being obliged to resist the kindness of her friends, yet she still persevered.

Well, Matilda,’ said the Marchioness, in a reproachful tone, ‘since you are inflexible to our wishes, I must insist upon your going with me to Mrs Courtney’s: what will she, what will my sister think, but that I have treated you ill, and you can no longer remain with one you have ceased to love.’

‘Kill me not,’ cried she, in an agony, ‘with such reproaches; let me fly to the Countess and disclose my reasons -ah! surely she will do more justice to my heart: oh! madam, that you could see it - that you could read the love, the admiration, and respect indelibly imprinted there, with your image, never, never to be erased whilst it beats within my bosom.’

Overcome with these sensations, she wept aloud; the Marchioness embraced and soothed her.

The carriage was ordered, and they drove to Mrs Courtney’s. the Marquis setting them down, and going on to Lord Delby’s.

It is needless to repeat what passed at Mrs Courtney’s, since it was only a repetition of every argument and persuasion which her protectors had before used in vain. Nothing could shake her resolution; and all the favour they could obtain, was to permit Louison and Antoine to accompany her to Boulogne, and remain in a convent there, ‘till her friends returned to France, and the twelvemonth expired Mr Weimar had allowed her to remain under the care of the Marquis.

Whilst every countenance spoke pity, grief, and admiration, the gentlemen suddenly entered the room, the Count with an air of wildness and distress. The moment Matilda saw him she trembled violently, and could with difficulty keep her seat. ‘Ah! madam,’ said he, ‘what is it I hear -is it possible you mean to abandon your friends, to distress the most affectionate hearts in the world, to give up society, and, from romantic notions, bury yourself in a convent? Hear me thus publicly,’ cried he, throwing himself at her feet, With a frantic look, ‘hear me avow myself your lover, your protector, and if you will condescend to accept of me, your husband; yes, that is the enviable distinction I aspire to; plead for me, my friends, - soften the obdurate heart that would consign me to everlasting misery. Oh ! Matilda, cruel, unfeeling girl, has a proud and unrelenting spirit subdued every tender and compassionate sentiment. - has neither love nor friendship any claims upon your heart’ His emotions were violent.

The ladies, ‘till now, strangers to his sentiments, sat mute with wonder.

Matilda had covered her face with her handkerchief; when he stopt she withdrew it; it was wet with tears: he snatched it from her trembling hand, kissed it, and thrust it into his bosom. ‘I beseech you, Sir, to rise,’ said she, when able to speak, ‘this posture is unbecoming of yourself and me. The resolution I have formed is such as my reason approves, and my particular circumstances call upon me to adopt; I ought to have done it long ago, and blush at my own folly in delaying it.’ ‘But, good God! madam,’ interrupted the Count, ‘can the ridiculous behaviour, or unjust prejudices of one worthless woman weigh against the affections, the esteem of so many respectable friends? What have we done to deserve being rendered miserable through her envy and malice?’ ‘Could the warmest love, gratitude and respect, which I owe to every one here,’ answered she; ‘could the arguments of the most condescending kindness, deeply imprinted here’ -putting her hand to her heart - ‘could these avail to alter my purpose, I might not be able to withstand your persuasions; but, my Lord, when I have had fortitude sufficient to deny those who are dearer to me than life, you cannot be offended, that ‘tis impossible for me to oblige you; and here, in the presence of those who have been witnesses to the honors you have offered me, I release you from every vow, every obligation your too ardent love has conferred on me, and from this hour beseech you to think of me as a friend, zealous for your honor and happiness, for your fame, and the respect you owe to your family; but equally jealous of every duty I owe myself, and therefore deter mined to see you no more.’ She rose quickly from her chair, and ran into Mrs Courtney’s dressing-room, giving way to a violent burst of tears. The astonished Count, who had not the power to prevent her departure, threw himself into a chair, without speaking. The Countess had followed Matilda.

‘This is really,’ said Mrs Courtney, ‘the most extraordinary young woman I ever met with; I wonder not at your attachment, my dear Count, but after this public declaration, you have nothing to hope for: imitate her example of fortitude and self-denial, and suffer not your mind to be depressed, when it is necessary you should exert man’s boasted superiority of reason and firmness.’ The Count replied not.

The Marchioness looked with a little surprise at Mrs Courtney, who she thought appeared less affected than she ought for her young friend.

Lord Delby was warm in her praise, and offered to be her escort to Boulogne, as he thought it highly improper she should be accompanied by servants only.

This offer was thankfully accepted by the Marchioness. ‘She has absolutely prohibited the Marquis and myself,’ said she, ‘but I hope will make no objections to the honor you intend her.’

The Count, making a slight apology, withdrew, and every one joined in pitying the necessity for a separation of two persons so worthy of each other. ‘Was fortune the only obstacle her delicacy could raise,’ said the Marquis, there are those who would rejoice to remove it; but when we consider the particular disadvantages of her situation -the disgrace and insults which would attend the Count, from her want of birth, however great her merit: