The Castle of Wolfenbach - Eliza Parsons (little red riding hood ebook free .txt) 📗

England, such immense sums are raised for their support, such resources for industry, and so many hospitals for the sick and aged, that, if proper management was observed, none need complain of cold or hunger; yet in my life I never saw so many painful and disgusting objects as there are in the streets and environs of London. I admire the public buildings, the places of entertainment, and the performers at them; but sometimes, as will ever be the case, liberty degenerates into licentiousness, and the mob will rudely interrupt the performers, and carry their applause or censure in opposition to every effort of their betters: this certainly is an abuse of their freedom, but ‘tis an evil they know not how to remedy in a land of liberty.

‘As for the ladies, my dear sister.’ ‘Aye, brother, now for it; - I hate your English belles, they are such monopolizers when they make their appearance at Paris.’ ‘And yet, Adelaide, I assure you, it is not often you see the most beautiful of them here, doubtless there are very many charming women among the first circles of fashion, who may dispute the palm of beauty with any court in the known world; but generally speaking, the middling ranks of people are by far the handsomest of both sexes, and I account for it in this manner. In fashionable circles they keep very late hours, play deep, enter into every scheme for amusement and dissipation, without regard to their health or complexions; hence they injure one, and destroy the other: no artificial resources can give brilliancy to the eyes, or health and vivacity to the figure; acquired bloom can never deceive, and the natural beautiful complexions of the English ladies are so delicate and transparent, that art may disguise, but never can improve them. Their ill hours, and deforming their lovely faces by the anxiety of avarice, envy, and passion, when at their midnight orgies, adorning and watching the effects of chance in their favour, destroys their beauty many years before age would have lessened their attractions; for I must confess,’ added he, smiling at his sister, ‘the English women, take them all in all, are more fascinating than any other nation I ever saw.’ ‘And yet,’ said she, ‘you are returned heart-whole, brother?’ ‘That is begging the question, my curious sister; but where there are so many charmers, men’s eyes involuntarily wander, and must consider it almost an insult upon the rest to select one, when there are such equal pretensions.’

‘The English ladies are much obliged to you, Count,’ said the Marquis de Melfort, ‘and we shall soon have an opportunity of judging if your picture is over-charged, as we design visiting England within this month.’

This declaration conveyed no pleasure to any of the party. The De Bouvilles were already so much prejudiced in favour of Miss Weimar, that they were hurt at the idea of parting: the Count particularly felt uneasy, though he could not express it upon so short an acquaintance.

Matilda was highly pleased with Monsieur De Clermont, her friend’s lover; he was polite, sensible, and intelligent; the Marquis, his father, lively, chatty, and attentive to the ladies.

The dinner hours passed very agreeably, and they regretted that an assembly in the evening must break in upon their party.

The young folks had an hour to themselves: the Count paid Matilda the most marked attention; congratulated his sister on the acquisition of such a friend, and hoped some event, favourable to his wishes, might prevent their tour to England, though he acknowledged the hope a selfish one. After chatting on various subjects, the Count accidentally enquired of Matilda, if she liked Paris as well as she did Vienna? The question confused her, and she replied, with some hesitation, she had never seen Vienna. ‘I beg your pardon, madam,’ said he, ‘I understood you came from thence.’ ‘No, brother, Miss Weimar resided in Switzerland.’ ‘At Berne, madam?’ asked he. ‘No, Sir,’ answered she, still more confused. ‘I chiefly resided in the country.’ The Count saw by her manner he had been guilty of some impropriety, though he hardly knew of what nature; he was therefore silent, and she recovered from her embarrassment. In the evening the company began to assemble; amongst the rest that eternal gadabout Madame le Brune, and her niece, Mademoiselle De Fontelle. The Count was obliged to pay his compliments, and receive their congratulations on his return; which done, he hastily returned to the side of Matilda.

The envious De Fontelle could not bear this; she made her way to them, took the hand of Matilda, called her her sweet friend, assured her they must be violently intimate, she was quite charmed with her; with a hundred such delusive compliments, as meant nothing, and to which the other only replied with a cold civility. All at once, turning quickly to her, ‘Bless me, Miss Weimar, I forgot to ask if you have a relation of your name now in Paris?’ The roses forsook Matilda’s cheek, she trembled, and could scarce stand; every one observed her confusion; the Count caught her arm. ‘Bless me!’ cried Mademoiselle De Fontelle, ‘has my question disordered you; I only asked because I was in company yesterday with a gentleman of your name, just arrived from Germany.’

This was enough for the unhappy girl - down she dropt, and had not the Count been attentive to her motions, and caught her in his arms, she must have fallen to the ground. Every body was alarmed, and crowded round her, the Marchioness particularly so; she was carried into another room, the Count still supporting her, and followed by his sister. It was some time before she returned to life. The first objects that struck her, was the Count holding her in his arms, the Marchioness on her knees, applying salts, and Mademoiselle De Bouville pressing her hand. ‘O, madam!’ cried she, eagerly and trembling, ‘he is come he is come.’ ‘Compose yourself, my love,’ said the Marchioness, ‘no one is come that can hurt you.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ answered she, hardly knowing what she said, ‘ ‘tis he, he will carry me of, he will take me from you.’

Her friend still endeavoured to sooth and calm her spirits. The Count and his sister were surprised; they saw there was some mystery, but forbore any enquiries.

It was some time before she was perfectly restored: they urged her to return to the company - she felt a repugnance, ‘I fear that Miss - ‘ ‘Fear nothing, madam,’ interrupted the Count; ‘you have friends who will protect you with their lives.’ She looked at him with an expression of gratitude, but said nothing. She arose, and with feeble steps attended her friends into the saloon.

Mademoiselle De Fontelle officiously came to congratulate her return. The amiable De Bancre felt real concern, and expressed it with feeling, and without exaggeration.

Matilda, sensible of the kindness of her friends, and ashamed of the observation she had attracted, tried to acquire new spirits; but it was an endeavour only; her eyes were incessantly turned towards the door, she dreaded every moment she should see her uncle enter, and nothing could exceed her joy when the evening closed and they were seated in the Marquis’s carriage.

‘O, madam! O, Sir! ‘tis assuredly my uncle - he will know where I am, and tear me from you.’ ‘Do not afflict yourself, my dear Miss Weimar,’ answered the Marquis; ‘if it should be him, he shall prove his pretensions before he gets any footing here, much less take you from our protection.’

Poor Matilda thanked him with a grateful heart, and retired to her bed, but not to sleep: her mind was greatly disturbed, ‘What a poor creature I am,’ cried she; ‘no father, brother, or protector, not even the clothes I wear my own property; if this man, this uncle claims, who can dare detain me? What are the evils which may befall me - whatever becomes of me, I will not embroil my friends. Happy, happy Miss De Bouville!’ said she, ‘you have a mother, a brother to protect you! Such a brother! what an amiable man! O, I never knew my wretchedness ‘till now, that I am humbled to the dust!’ Under these melancholy impressions she past the night, and when morning came was in a high fever.

The servant who came to attend her was alarmed at her indisposition, and flew to inform the Marchioness, who instantly went to her apartment. She found her very ill. A physician was sent for, who ordered her to be bled and kept very quiet. About noon the Marchioness left her asleep, and had scarcely entered the parlour, when she was informed a gentleman requested to speak with her; she ordered his admittance.

A middle aged man, of respectable appearance, politely entered the room. ‘I must apologize to your Ladyship for my intrusion, without sending in my name, which I now avow to be Weimar, and I am uncle, I may say father, to a young lady of that name now in your house. I fear, madam, you have been strangely imposed upon to afford her protection; it is painful to a person so nearly connected as I am to that unhappy girl.’ ‘I beg your pardon, Sir, for interrupting you, but I have no person under my roof that answers to your description; you are therefore, I presume, in all error as to the lady you allude to.’ ‘I believe not, madam,’ answered he rather haughtily; ‘I come here to demand my niece, Matilda Weimar, and through her to discover a servant with whom she went off, after robbing me.’ ‘Robbing you, Sir! take care what you say; you shall bring proofs of your assertions, and then we will answer you: at present Miss Weimar is safe in our protection, and you will find, Sir, she has powerful friends to guard her, and expose those who are her enemies.’ ‘ ‘Tis well, madam,’ replied he, ‘you will hear from me in another manner.’ He bowed and quitted the house.

She was glad he did not see the Marquis, at the same time she felt they were in an awkward predicament.

Soon after the Count De Bouville and his sister called on her. ‘My dear madam,’ said the latter, ‘how does our charming young friend? we have been quite unhappy for her indisposition.’ ‘You are very obliging, my dear Adelaide; she well deserves your solicitude and I am sorry to say she is really very ill this morning.’ ‘Ill!’ cried the Count, eagerly; ‘O, madam, has she any advice - has she a physician?’ ‘Yes,’ replied the Marchioness; ‘I hope there is no danger, - her spirits are hurried and she is a little feverish.’

The Count walked about the room. His sister said, ‘Will you pardon me, madam, if I tell you the strange reports we have heard this morning?’ ‘I shall thank you for the communication,’ replied the other. ‘This morning early Mademoiselle De Fontelle called on us, O heavens!’ said she, eagerly, ‘no wonder Miss Weimar fainted last night; why she turns out to be an imposter, and a shocking creature.’ ‘Who, Miss Weimar,’ cried my brother, ‘impossible madam; go and circulate that envious tale some where else, there will be no credit given to it here.’ ‘You are very ready, Sir, to insult your friends, and take the part of strangers; but I assure you,’ added she, haughtily ‘I have no cause to envy Miss Weimar, and should be extremely unhappy to be thought like her.’ Seeing my brother smile contemptuously. ‘Well,’ said she, ‘ ‘tis of little consequence to me if her uncle is come in search of her; if she run away from his house with a servant, and jointly robbed him of his property, and now has contrived to impose herself upon the Marchioness for a different person; perhaps she