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

in my impatience no longer; I was eager to congratulate you on the arrival of the Count, and on your happiness, in having now all your friends about you.’ ‘You are ever good and kind to me, my dear madam. I have indeed met with so many great and undeserved blessings, that my heart bounds in gratitude to heaven for its goodness towards one who, a short time since, thought herself the most unhappy of her sex.’ ‘You will remember, my dear,’ said the Marchioness, ‘it was my constant lesson to you, never to despair. Providence has now brought you out of all your troubles; a reliance on its justice and mercy, and an humble and grateful heart for the blessings you enjoy, will henceforth make your happiness permanent. But, my dear Matilda, I can perceive your confidence in your charming mother has not been quite unreserved; I plainly see she is a stranger even to the name of the Count De Bouville; how comes that to be the case?’ ‘As all possibility of any connexion between the Count and myself was at an end, I conceived there would be an indelicacy in mentioning his former offers to my mother; yet perhaps I was wrong, and ought to have done justice to the sentiments he then honoured me with, as they proved his generosity and nobleness of mind. If I have been wrong,’ said she, with a sigh, ‘ ‘tis not too late to repair the fault, though it can be of no consequence to him now.’ ‘Your words astonish me,’ cried the Marchioness; what has the Count De Bouville done to have forfeited your esteem?’ ‘Nothing, madam,’ replied she, confused; ‘he has done nothing to lessen his merit or virtues in my estimation. I think indeed,’ resumed her friend, ‘you must be strangely altered. If it should be so, for I thought you always an enthusiast in gratitude, and surely the man who made you an unreserved offer of his hand, and though rejected, still preserved his affection through many temptations -who has traversed lands and seas in search of you.’ ‘Of me, madam!’ exclaimed Matilda, surprised; ‘pardon my interruption, but did you say the Count had been in search of me?’ ‘Doubtless I did,’ replied her friend; ‘can that surprise you; could you suppose we did not inform him, you were in the power of Weimar? or that he knowing it, would not range through the world to find you? I am sorry you do him so little justice, Matilda, for certainly he is entitled to your warmest gratitude, if your heart no longer speaks in his favor.’ Astonishment overpowered the senses of Matilda for a moment. ‘He is not then married to Mrs Courtney’ said she, faintly. ‘To Mrs Courtney! good God! no; how came you to entertain such a ridiculous idea?’

Joy, transport, and unexpected relief from the painful thoughts she long had entertained were now too powerful for her feelings: with difficulty she tottered to a seat, and leaning her head on her friend’s shoulder, burst into a flood of tears, which preserved her from fainting.

‘My dear Matilda,’ cried the Marchioness, ‘I now clearly comprehend the whole; but, at the same time that I give you joy of your doubts being removed, I could beat you for presuming to wrong my amiable friend by entertaining them; see that you excuse yourself well, or depend upon my displeasure.’

Matilda, after taking some time to recover her spirits, mentioned the anonymous letter; also, nearly as she could recollect, the contents of Mrs Courtney’s, written to her whilst she was in the convent; she repeated her answer. ‘After which,’ added Matilda, ‘your journey taking place, when you kindly sent to invite me of your party, the Count was not mentioned; I therefore naturally concluded he was married, and remained with his lady, and that, from considerate motives you declined giving me the information.’ ‘How industrious some spirits are to torment themselves,’ exclaimed the Marchioness, ‘yet I own you had some little cause for your conclusions; but I am most inconceivably surprised Mrs Courtney should have taken such a step; that she was very partial to him, I believe, and might wish for a return from him, is also very probable, but I am convinced the Count never did make, nor ever thought of making the smallest pretensions to her favour, any more than common politeness required; and so, my little credulous, jealous friend, I desire you will return to the company, make the Count one of your best courtesies, and pay him the highest attention otherwise I will certainly put him out of the pain that now oppresses him, by telling the whole story.’

Matilda, who felt her heart uncommonly light, readily promised to behave very well, and requested the Marchioness would take an opportunity to acquaint her mother with the Count’s generosity and affection for her.

This being agreed on, the ladies returned to the dessert, with so much satisfaction in their countenances as excited the attention of their friends.

‘I do not ask after the head-ache,’ said the Marquis, smiling, ‘a t��t��-��-t��te seems to have driven it away.’ ‘You are right,’ answered his lady, in the same tone; ‘it sometimes cures both the head and the heart; but come, give us some fruit, it must be confessed you have done pretty well in our absence.’

The Countess Berniti was delighted to see her daughter look cheerful; and as the Count De Bouville had engaged her in conversation, Matilda joined in it now and then with great complaisance towards him, which elevated his spirits to the highest pitch; and every thing relative to her being full in his mind, he observed what an uncommon generous Turk the Captain of the corsair was.

‘Why, do you know him, my Lord?’ asked the Countess.

He was struck mute; Matilda hung her head, evidently confused. ‘Ah! Count, Count,’ said the Marquis, ‘when men get tipsy, whether with wine or joy, out pops all their secrets; but I see you are dumb -I will answer for you. Yes, madam,’ added he, addressing the Countess, ‘I believe the Count does know the Captain, for he has been taken a prisoner too.’ ‘Indeed !’ cried she, ‘what, at the same time my daughter was?’ ‘I will not take upon me to say,’ answered he, smiling archly at Matilda, ‘that it was exactly at the same time, but I believe it was pretty nearly so.’

The Marchioness and her sister could not help laughing at this equivoque which added to the confusion of Matilda.

‘Come, come,’ cried the Countess, her friend, ‘none of your pleasantry my Lord; the Count shall tell his own story to the ladies another time, and I will assist him where he fails to do himself justice.’

The Count bowed; ‘You are very good to me, madam; I am only afraid I shall have occasion for troubling you and the Marchioness to prove your partiality for me, at the expence of your judgement.’ ‘Very well, Count,’ said the Marquis, ‘I am thrown out, I see. Faith, you are in the right; a young handsome fellow seldom fails of engaging the ladies, whilst no such dust is thrown in our eyes, to blind our judgement, or obtain a partial testimony.’ ‘Be quiet, Marquis,’ said his sister; ‘you are really malicious.’

The company arose soon after, and going into the garden, divided into little parties. The Marchioness and the two Countesses went towards an alcove; the lady of the house, with Matilda, the Count, Lord Delby, and Frederic took another path; the Marquis and Count Marcellini strolled into a different one.

Matilda now took an opportunity to atone for the omission she had been guilty of, by asking Lord Delby after Mrs Courtney and his son. Meantime the Marchioness explained to the Countess the sentiments of the Count De Bouville; his early affection for Matilda, his repeated offers of marriage, and her noble refusal openly, grounded on the uncertainty of her birth, since she did not deny a preferable esteem for him. She also repeated his long and tedious searches after her, as far as she knew of them, and concluded with observing, his rank and fortune, elevated as both were, fell far short of his merit and amiable disposition. When she had finished, ‘I own to you, madam,’ said the Countess, ‘your relation has broke in upon my favourite plan. I hoped to have carried my daughter to Naples, and to have seen her married and settled there for life. ‘Ah!’ said she, ‘to what purpose did I find her, if we are to be separated again?’ ‘But where is the necessity for a separation?’ said the Countess Marcellini, ‘cannot you alternately visit each other every year?’ ‘No,’ replied she; ‘when she marries there will be many things to prevent it. Indeed,’ added she, in tears, ‘good and amiable as the Count is, I wish Matilda had never known him.’ ‘Possibly, madam,’ answered the Marchioness, very gravely, she might then never have seen the convent, never have been carried off, and you still ignorant you had such a daughter living, whose generous self denial deserves some praise as the Count’s disinterested and uncommon passion is entitled to some consideration: but I beg your ladyship’s pardon; I have only done my duty in making this communication; the Lady, Matilda, will doubtless conform herself to your wishes.’

The Countess struck with her words and manner of speaking them, caught her hand, and kissing it, ‘Pardon me, dearest madam,’ said she, ‘if I have appeared petulant and ungrateful, my heart is not so, but consider how natural it is for a mother, just in possession of a treasure so long and painfully regretted as entirely lost, to be jealous of a superior attachment, and unhappy at the idea of parting from an object so entwined about her heart.’ ‘It is natural, my dear madam,’ answered the Marchioness, ‘and if I did not hope some method might be found out to obviate the objection, I believe the Count would have little chance of succeeding with -‘ ‘Your and my Matilda,’ said the Countess, eagerly. ‘That “Lady Matilda” struck me to the heart.’ ‘She is indeed mine,’ replied the Marchioness, ‘my adopted child; and had the want of fortune only prevented her union with the Count, we offered largely to remove it; but her objections proceeded from an elevation of soul, a greatness of mind, that would not disgrace the man she married, whilst the Count thought she would dignify any rank, and honour any man to whom she gave her hand.’ ‘Amiable, good young people!’ said the Lady Marcellini. ‘O ! my dear Countess they ought not be separated.’ ‘Nor shall they,’ answered she, ‘if I find their affection is still mutual: I will have a private conversation with Matilda tomorrow, and you, madam, shall immediately know the result.’ They now walked towards the house, and were soon joined by the rest of their party.

Notwithstanding every one wished to appear pleasing, the evening was not a gay one. The Countess Berniti seemed collected within herself Matilda was confused and apprehensive; the Count De Bouville distracted with doubts, drew unfavourable omens from the looks of the mother and daughter, and therefore was very silent. They separated at an early hour, and sought in sleep a forgetfulness of care.

The following morning, the Countess and Matilda being alone in their dressing-room the former said, ‘How comes it, my dear child, that, in relating your story to me, you never mentioned the particular obligations you owed to the Count De Bouville, for his generous offers?’ ‘Because, madam,’ answered Matilda, blushing, ‘I thought it would appear to give myself a consequence I did not wish to arrogate, for merely doing my duty in declining them. Another reason was, I had been misled into a belief, that the Count had married an English lady, a sister of Lord