Caroline took advantage of the opportunity of returning home with her
brother Alfred, when he went to the country, to prepare Clermont-park
for the reception of Lord Oldborough. And now she saw her home again
with more than wonted delight. Every thing animate and inanimate seemed
to smile upon her, every heart rejoiced at her return; and she enjoyed
equally the pleasure of loving, and of being beloved by, such friends.
She had been amused and admired during her residence in London; but a
life of dissipation she had always thought, and now she was convinced
from experience, could never suit her taste or character. She would
immediately have resumed her former occupations, if Rosamond would have
permitted; but Rosamond took entire possession of her at every moment
when her father or mother had not claimed their prior right to hear and
to be heard.
“Caroline, my dear, don’t natter yourself that you shall be left in
peace--See!--she is sitting down to write a letter, as if she had
not been away from us these six months--You must write to Lady Jane
Granville!--Well, finish your gratitude quickly--and no more writing,
reading, or drawing, this day; you must think of nothing but talking, or
listening to me.”
Much as she loved talking in general, Rosamond now so far preferred
the pleasure of hearing, that, with her eyes fixed on Caroline, her
countenance varying with every variety of Caroline’s expression, she
sat perfectly silent all the time her sister spoke. And scarcely was her
voice heard, even in exclamation. But, during the pauses of narrative,
when the pause lasted more than a minute, she would say, “Go on, my dear
Caroline, go on. Tell us something more.”
The conversation was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Mr.
Temple--and Rosamond did not immediately find her fluency of speech
increase. Mr. Temple had seized the first moment that duty and gratitude
to his master and friend permitted to hasten to the Hills, nor had Lord
Oldborough been unmindful of his feelings. Little as his lordship was
disposed to think of love affairs, it seems he recollected those of his
secretary; for, the morning after their arrival at Clermont-park, when
he proffered his services, Lord Oldborough said, that he had only
to trouble Mr. Temple to pay a visit for him, if it would not be
disagreeable, to his old friend Mr. Percy.
“Tell him that I know his first wish will be to come to show me that it
is the man, not the minister, for whom he had a regard: tell him this
proof of his esteem is unnecessary. He will wish to see me for another
reason: he is a philosopher--and will have a philosophical curiosity to
discover how I exist without ambition. But of that he cannot yet form a
judgment--nor can I: therefore, if he pleases, let his visit be delayed
till next week. I have some papers to arrange, which I should wish
to show him, and I cannot have them sooner in readiness. If you, Mr.
Temple, can contrive to pass this week at Mr. Percy’s, let me not detain
you. There is no fear,” added he, smiling, that “in solitude I should
be troubled by the spectre which haunted the minister in Gil Blas in his
retirement.”
Never was man happier than Mr. Temple, when he found himself in the
midst of the family circle at the Hills, and seated beside Rosamond,
free from all cares, all business, all intrigues of courtiers, and
restraints of office; no longer in the horrors of, attendance and
dependence, but with the promise of a competent provision for life--with
the consciousness of its having been, honourably obtained; and to
brighten all, the hope, the delightful hope, of soon prevailing on the
woman he loved, to become his for ever.
Alfred Percy had been obliged to return directly to London, and for once
in his life Mr. Temple benefited by the absence of his friend. In the
small house at the Hills, Alfred’s was the only room that could have
been spared for him; and in this room, scarcely fourteen feet square,
the ex-secretary found himself lodged more entirely to his satisfaction
than he had ever been in the sumptuous apartments of the great. The
happy are not fastidious as to their accommodations; they never miss the
painted ceiling, or the long arcade, and their slumbers require no bed
of down. The lover’s only fear was, that this happy week would pass too
swiftly; and, indeed, time flew unperceived by him, and by Rosamond.
One fine day, after dinner, Mrs. Percy proposed, that instead of sitting
longer in the house, they should have their dessert of strawberries in
some pleasant place in the lawn or wood. Rosamond eagerly seconded this
proposal, and whispered, “Caroline’s bower.”
Thither they went. This bower of Caroline, this favourite spot,
Rosamond, during her sister’s absence, had taken delight in ornamenting,
and it did credit as much to her taste as to her kindness. She had
opened a view on one side to a waterfall among the rocks; on the other,
to a winding path descending through the glen. Honey-suckle, rose, and
eglantine, near the bower, were in rich and wild profusion; all these,
the song of birds, and even the smell of the new-mown grass, seemed
peculiarly delightful to Mr. Temple. Of late years he had been doomed to
close confinement in a capital city; but all his tastes were rural,
and, as he said, he feared he should expose himself to the ridicule Dr.
Johnson throws on those “who talk of sheep and goats, and who babble of
green fields.”
Mr. Percy thought Dr. Johnson was rather too intolerant of rural
description, and of the praises of a country life, but acknowledged that
he quite agreed with him in disliking, pastorals--excepting always that
beautiful drama, “The Gentle Shepherd.” Mr. Percy said, that, in his
opinion, a life purely pastoral must, if it could be realized, prove
as insufferably tiresome in reality, as it usually is found to be in
fiction. He hated Delias and shepherdesses, and declared that he should
soon grow tired of any companion with whom he had no other occupation
in common but “_tending a few sheep_.” There was a vast difference, he
thought, between pastoral and domestic life. His idea of domestic life
comprised all the varieties of literature, exercise, and amusement for
the faculties, with the delights of cultivated society.
The conversation turned from pastoral life and pastorals to Scotch and
English ballads and songs. Their various merits of simplicity, pathos,
or elegance, were compared and discussed. After the Reliques of Ancient
Poetry had been sufficiently admired, Rosamond and Caroline mentioned
two modern compositions, both by the same author, each exquisite in its
different style of poetry--one beautiful, the other sublime. Rosamond’s
favourite was the Exile of Erin; Caroline’s, the Mariners of England.
To justify their tastes, they repeated the poems. Caroline fixed the
attention of the company on the flag, which has
“Braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze,”
when suddenly her own attention seemed to be distracted by some object
in the glen below. She endeavoured to go on, but her voice faltered--her
colour changed. Rosamond, whose quick eye followed her sister’s,
instantly caught a glimpse of a gentleman coming up the path from the
glen. Rosamond started from her seat, and clasping her hands, exclaimed,
“It is! It _is_ he!--It is Count Altenberg!”
They had not recovered from their astonishment when Count Altenberg
stood before them. To Mr. Percy, to Mrs. Percy, to Rosamond, to each he
spoke, before he said one word to Caroline. But one look had said all,
had spoken, and had been understood.
That he was not married she was certain--for that look said he loved
her--and her confidence in his honour was secure: Whatever had delayed
his return, or had been mysterious in his conduct, she felt convinced
that he had never been to blame.
And on his part did he read as distinctly the truth in her
countenance?--Was the high colour, the radiant pleasure in that
countenance unmarked? The joy was so veiled by feminine modesty, that he
doubted, trembled, and if at last the rapid feelings ended in hope,
it was respectful hope. With deference the most marked, mingled with
dignity, tenderness, and passion, he approached Caroline. He was too
delicate, too well-bred, to distress her by distinguishing her more
particularly; but as he took the seat, which she left for him beside her
mother, the open and serene expression of her eye, with the soft sound
of her voice, in the few words she answered to what he said, were enough
to set his heart at ease. The sight of Mr. Temple had at first alarmed
the Count, but the alarm was only momentary. One glance at Rosamond
re-assured him.
Ideas, which it requires many words to tell, passed instantaneously with
the rapidity of light. After they were seated, some minutes were spent
in common-place questions and answers, such as those which Benjamin
Franklin would wisely put all together, into one formula, to satisfy
curiosity. Count Altenberg landed the preceding day--had not stopped
to see any one in England--had not even heard of Lord Oldborough’s
resignation--had proceeded directly to the Hills--had left his equipage
at a town a few miles distant--thought he had been fully master of the
well-known road, but the approach having been lately changed, he had
missed his way.
This settled, to make room for a more interesting explanation, Mr.
Temple had the politeness to withdraw. Rosamond had the humanity, and
Caroline the discretion, to accompany him in his walk.
Count Altenberg then said, addressing himself to Mr. Percy, on whose
regard he seemed to have reliance, and to Mrs. Percy, whom he appeared
most anxious to interest in his favour, “You certainly, sir, as a man
of penetration, and a father; you, madam, as a mother, and as a lady who
must have been accustomed to the admiration of our sex, could not avoid
seeing, when I was in this country before, that I felt the highest
admiration, that I had formed the strongest attachment for your
daughter--Miss Caroline Percy.”
Mr. and Mrs. Percy both acknowledged that they thought Count Altenberg
had shown some preference for Caroline; but as he had never declared
his attachment, they had not felt themselves justified in inferring
more from his attentions than his general good opinion. A change in
his manner, which they observed shortly before they quitted Hungerford
Castle, had impressed them with the idea that he had no such views as
they had once been led to imagine, and their never having heard any
thing from him since, had confirmed them in this belief.
“Painful--exquisitely painful, as it was to me,” said Count Altenberg,
“I felt myself bound in honour to leave you in that error; and, at all
hazards to myself, to suffer you to continue under that persuasion, as
I was then, and have been till within these few days, in dread of
being obliged to fulfil an engagement, made without my concurrence or
knowledge, and which must for ever have precluded me from indulging
the first wish of my heart. The moment, literally the moment I was
at liberty, I hastened hither, to declare my real sentiments, and to
solicit your permission to address your daughter. But before I can
expect that permission, before I can hope for your approbation of my
suit--an approbation which, I am well aware, must depend entirely upon
your opinion of my character--I must, to explain whatever may have
appeared unintelligible in my conduct, be permitted to make you fully
acquainted with the circumstances in which I have been placed.”
Beginning with the history of his father’s letters and his own,
respecting the projected marriage with the Countess Christina, he
related, nearly as follows, all that passed, after his having, in
obedience to his father’s summons, returned home. He found contracts
drawn up and ready for his signature--the friends of both families
apprized of the proposed alliance, and every thing actually prepared
for his marriage. Remonstrances with his father were vain. The old Count
said that it was impossible to break off the match, that his honour and
the honour of his house was pledged. But independently of all promises,
he considered the accomplishment of this marriage as most desirable and
advantageous: with all the vehemence of affection, and all the force of
parental authority, he charged his son to fulfil his engagements. The
old Count was a fond but an imperious father; a good but an ambitious
man. It was his belief that love is such a transient passion, that it
is folly to sacrifice to its indulgence any of the solid and permanent
interests of life. His experience at courts, and his observation on the
gallantries of young princes and nobles, had taught him to believe that
love is not only a transient, but a variable and capricious feeling,
easily changing its object, and subsisting only by novelty. All that
his son said of his attachment to Caroline, of the certainty of its
permanence, and of its being essential to the happiness of his life, the
father heard but as the common language of every enamoured youth. He let
his son speak without interruption, but smiled incredulous, and listened
only as to the voice of one in the paroxysm of a passion, which, however
violent, would necessarily subside. Between the fits, he endeavoured
to control the fever of his mind, and as a spell repeated these words,
“Albert! see the young Countess Christina--but once--I ask no more.”
Albert, with the respect due to a father, but with the firmness due to
himself, and with all the courage which love only could have given to
oppose the authority and affection of a parent, refused to ratify the
contract that had been prepared, and declined the proposed interview.
He doubted not, he said, that the lady was all his father
described--beautiful, amiable, and of transcendant talents; he doubted
not her power to win any but a heart already won. He would enter into
no invidious comparisons, nor bid defiance to her charms--his own choice
was made, he was sure of his constancy, and he thought it not only the
most honourable course, but the most respectful to the Lady Christina,
ingenuously at once, and without having any interview with her, or her
friends, to state the truth--that the treaty had been commenced by his
father without his knowledge, and carried on under total ignorance of an
attachment he had formed in England. The father, after some expressions
of anger and disappointment, was silent, and appeared to acquiesce. He
no longer openly urged the proposed interview, but he secretly contrived
that it should take place. At a masked ball at court, Count Albert
entered into conversation with a Minerva, whose majestic air and figure
distinguished her above her companions, whose language, thoughts, and
sentiments, perfectly sustained the character which she assumed. He was
struck with admiration by her talents, and by a certain elevation of
thought and sentiment, which, in all she said, seemed the habitual
expression of a real character, not the strained language of a feigned
personage. She took off her mask--he was dazzled by her beauty. They
were at this moment surrounded by numbers of her friends and of his,
who were watching the effect produced by this interview. His father,
satisfied by the admiration he saw in Count Albert’s countenance, when
they both took off their masks, approached and whispered, “the Countess
Christina.” Count Altenberg grew pale, and for a moment stood in silent
consternation. The lady smiled with an air of haughty superiority, which
in some degree relieved him, by calling his own pride to his aid, and
by convincing him that tenderness, or feminine timidity, which he would
have most dreaded to wound, were not the characteristics of her mind.
He instantly asked permission to pay his respects to her at her father’s
palace the ensuing day. She changed colour--darted a penetrating glance
at the Count; and after an incomprehensible and quick alternation of
pleasure and pain in her countenance, she replied, that “she consented
to grant Count Albert Altenberg that interview which he and their mutual
friends desired.” She then retired with friends from the assembly.
In spite of the haughtiness of her demeanour, it had been obvious that
she had desired to make an impression upon Count Albert; and all who
knew her agreed that she had never on any occasion been seen to exert
herself so much to shine and please. She shone, but had not pleased. The
father, however, was content; an interview was promised--he trusted to
the charms and talents of the Countess--he trusted to her flattering
desire to captivate, and with impatience and confidence, he waited for
the event of the succeeding day. Some intervening hours, a night of
feverish and agonizing suspense, would have been spared to Count Albert,
had he at this time known any thing of an intrigue--an intrigue which an
artful enemy had been carrying on, with design to mortify, disgrace, and
ruin his house. The plan was worthy of him by whom it was formed--M.
de Tourville--a person, between whom and Count Albert there seemed an
incompatibility of character, and even of manner; an aversion openly,
indiscreetly shown by the Count, even from his boyish years, but
cautiously concealed on the part of M. de Tourville, masked in courtly
smiles and a diplomatic air of perfect consideration. Fear mixed with M.
de Tourville’s dislike. He was aware that if Count Albert continued in
confidence with the hereditary prince, he would, when the prince should
assume the reins of government, become, in all probability, his prime
minister, and then adieu to all M. de Tourville’s hopes of rising to
favour and fortune. Fertile in the resources of intrigue, gallant and
political, he combined them, upon this occasion, with exquisite address.
When the Countess Christina was first presented at court, he had
observed that the Prince was struck by her beauty. M. de Tourville took
every means that a courtier well knows how to employ, to flatter the
taste by which he hoped to benefit. In secret he insinuated into the
lady’s ear that she was admired by the prince. M. de Tourville knew her
to be of an aspiring character, and rightly judged that ambition was her
strongest passion. When once the hope of captivating the prince had been
suggested to her, she began to disdain the proposed alliance with the
house of Altenberg; but she concealed this disdain, till she could show
it with security: she played her part with all the ability, foresight,
and consummate prudence, of which ambition, undisturbed by love, is
capable. Many obstacles opposed her views: the projected marriage with
Count Albert Altenberg--the certainty that the reigning prince would
never consent to his son’s forming an alliance with the daughter of
a subject. But the old Prince was dying, and the Lady Christina
calculated, that till his decease, she could protract the time appointed
for her marriage with Count Albert. The young Prince might then break
off the projected match, prevail upon the Emperor to create her a
Princess of the empire, and then, without derogating from his rank,
or giving offence to German ideas of propriety, he might gratify his
passion, and accomplish the fulness of her ambition. Determined to
take no counsel but her own, she never opened her scheme to any of her
friends, but pursued her plan secretly, in concert with M. de Tourville,
whom she considered but as a humble instrument devoted to her service.
He all the while considering her merely as a puppet, played by his art,
to secure at once the purposes of his interest and of his hatred. He
thought he foresaw that Count Albert would never yield his intended
bride peaceably to his prince--he knew nothing of the Count’s attachment
in England--the Lady Christina was charming--the alliance highly
advantageous to the house of Altenberg--the breaking off such a
marriage, and the disappointment of a passion which he thought the young
Countess could not fail to inspire, would, as M. de Tourville hoped,
produce an irreparable breach between the Prince and his favourite. On
Count Albert’s return from England, symptoms of alarm and jealousy had
appeared in the Prince, unmarked by all but by the Countess Christina,
and by the confidant, who was in the secret of his passion.
So far M. de Tourville’s scheme had prospered, and from the character of
the hereditary Prince, it was likely to succeed in its ultimate view. He
was a Prince of good dispositions, but wanting in resolution and civil
courage: capable of resisting the allurements of pleasure for a certain
time, but soon weary of painful endurance in any cause; with a taste for
virtue, but destitute of that power to bear and forbear, without which
there is no virtue: a hero, when supported by a stronger mind, such as
that of his friend, Count Albert; but relaxing and sinking at once, when
exposed to the influence of a flatterer such as M. de Tourville: subject
to exquisite shame and self-reproach, when he had acted contrary to his
own idea of right; yet, from the very same weakness that made him err,
disposed to be obstinate in error. M. de Tourville argued well from his
knowledge of his character, that the Prince, enamoured as he was of
the charms of the fair Christina, would not long be able to resist his
passion; and that if once he broke through his sense of honour, and
declared that passion to the destined bride of his friend, he would ever
afterwards shun and detest the man whom he had injured. All this M. de
Tourville had admirably well combined: no man understood and managed
better the weaknesses of human nature, but its strength he could not
so well estimate; and as for generosity, as he could not believe in its
sincerity, he was never prepared for its effects. The struggles
which the Prince made against his passion were greater, and of longer
duration, than M. de Tourville had expected. If Count Albert had
continued absent, the Prince might have been brought more easily to
betray him; but his return recalled, in the midst of love and jealousy,
the sense of respect he had for the superior character of this friend
of his early days: he knew the value of a friend--even at the moment
he yielded his faith to a flatterer. He could not at once forfeit the
esteem of the being who esteemed him most--he could not sacrifice the
interest, and as he thought, the happiness, of the man who loved
him best. The attachment his favourite had shown him, his truth, his
confiding openness of temper, the pleasure in his countenance when he
saw him first upon his return from England, all these operated on the
heart of the Prince, and no declaration of his passion had been made at
the time when the appointed interview took place between Count Albert
and the Countess Christina at her father’s palace. Her friends not
doubting that her marriage was on the eve of its accomplishment, had no
scruple, even in that court of etiquette, in permitting the affianced
lovers to have as private a conference as each seemed to desire. The
lady’s manner was this morning most alarmingly gracious. Count Albert
was, however, struck by a difference in her air the moment she was alone
with him, from what it had been whilst in the presence of her friends.
All that he might without vanity have interpreted as marking a desire to
please, to show him favour, and to evince her approbation, at least,
of the choice her friends had made for her, vanished the moment they
withdrew. What her motives might be, Count Altenberg could not guess;
but the hope he now felt, that she was not really inclined to
consider him with partiality, rendered it more easy to enter into that
explanation, upon which he was, at all events, resolved. With all the
delicacy due to her sex, with all the deference due to her character,
and all the softenings by which politeness can soothe and conciliate
pride, he revealed to the Countess Christina the real state of his
affections: he told her the whole truth, concluding, by repeating the
assurance of his belief, that her charms and merit would be irresistible
to any heart that was disengaged.
The lady heard him in astonishment: for this turn of fate she had been
wholly unprepared--the idea of his being attached to another had never
once presented itself to her imagination; she had never calculated on
the possibility that her alliance should be declined by any individual
of a family less than sovereign. She possessed, however, pride of
character superior to her pride of rank, and strength of mind suited to
the loftiness of her ambition. With dignity in her air and countenance,
after a pause of reflection, she replied, “Count Albert Altenberg is, I
find, equal to the high character I have heard of him: deserving of my
esteem and confidence, by that which can alone command esteem and merit
confidence--sincerity. His example has recalled me to my nobler
self, and he has, in this moment, rescued me from the labyrinth of a
diplomatist. Count Albert’s sincerity I--little accustomed to imitation,
but proud to _follow_ in what is good and great--shall imitate. Know
then, sir, that my heart, like your own, is engaged: and that you may
be convinced I do not mock your ear with the semblance of confidence,
I shall, at whatever hazard to myself, trust to you my secret. My
affections have a high object--are fixed upon him, whose friend
and favourite Count Albert Altenberg deservedly is. I should scorn
myself--no throne upon earth could raise me in my own opinion, if I
could deceive or betray the man who has treated me with such sincerity.”
Relieved at once by this explanation, and admiring the manner in
which it was made, mingled joy and admiration were manifest in his
countenance; and the lady forgave him the joy, in consideration of the
tribute he paid to her superiority. Admiration was a tribute he was most
willing to yield at this moment, when released from that engagement to
love, which it had been impossible for him to fulfil.
The Countess recalled his attention to her affairs and to his own.
Without his making any inquiry, she told him all that had been done, and
all that yet remained to be done, for the accomplishment of her hopes:
she had been assured, she said, by one now in the favour and private
confidence of the hereditary prince, that his inclination for her
was--painfully and with struggles, which, in her eyes, made his royal
heart worthy her conquest--suppressed by a sense of honour to his
friend.
“This conflict would now cease,” Count Albert said. “It should be
his immediate care to relieve his Prince from all difficulty on his
account.”
“By what means?” the Countess asked.
“Simply by informing him of the truth--as far as I am concerned. Your
secret, madam, is safe--your confidence sacred. Of all that concerns
myself--my own attachment, and the resignation of any pretensions that
might interfere with his, he shall immediately be acquainted with the
whole truth.”
The Countess coloured, and repeating the words, “_the whole truth_,”
looked disconcerted, and in great perplexity replied, that Count
Albert’s speaking to the Prince directly--his immediate resignation
of his pretensions--would, perhaps, defeat her plans. This was not the
course she had intended to pursue--far from that which M. de Tourville
had pointed out. After some moments’ reflection, she said, “I abide by
the truth--speak to the prince--be it so: I trust to your honour and
discretion to speak to him in such terms as not to implicate me, to
commit my delicacy, or to derogate from my dignity. We shall see then
whether he loves me as I desire to be loved. If he does, he will free
me, at once, from all difficulty with my friends, for he will speak _en
prince_--and not speak in vain; if he loves me not, I need not tell you,
sir, that you are equally free. My friends shall be convinced that I
will never be the bride of any other man.”
After the explanation with the Lady Christina, Count Albert lost no
time; he went instantly to the palace. In his way thither, he was met
by one of the pages, who told him the Prince desired to see him
immediately. He found the Prince alone. Advancing to meet him, with
great effort in his manner to command his emotion, the Prince said, “I
have sent for you, Count Albert, to give you a proof that the friendship
of Princes is not, in every instance, so vain a thing as it is commonly
believed to be. Mine for you has withstood strong temptation:--you come
from the Countess Christina, I believe, and can measure, better than
any one, the force of that temptation. Know, that in your absence it
has been my misfortune to become passionately enamoured of your destined
bride; but I have never, either by word or look, directly or indirectly,
infringed on what I felt to be due to your friendship and to my own
honour. Never did I give her the slightest intimation of my passion,
never attempted to take any of the advantages which my situation might
be supposed to give.”
Count Albert had just received the most convincing testimony
corroborating these assertions--he was going to express his sense of the
conduct of his Prince, and to explain his own situation, but the Prince
went on speaking with the eagerness of one who fears his own resolution,
who has to say something which he dreads that he should not be able to
resume or finish, if his feelings should meet with any interruption.
“And now let me, as your friend and prince, congratulate you, Count
Albert, on your happiness; and, with the same sincerity, I request that
your marriage may not be delayed, and that you will take your bride
immediately away from my father’s court. Time will, I hope, render her
presence less dangerous; time will, I hope, enable me to enjoy your
society in safety; and when it shall become my duty to govern this
state, I shall hope for the assistance of your talents and integrity,
and shall have deserved, in some degree, your attachment.”
The Count, in the strongest manner, expressed his gratitude to his
Prince for these proofs of his regard, given under circumstances the
most trying to the human heart. He felt, at this instant, exquisite
pleasure in revealing to his highness the truth, in showing him that the
sacrifice he had so honourably, so generously determined to make, was
not requisite, that their affections were fixed on different objects,
that before Count Albert had any idea of the prince’s attachment to the
Lady Christina, it had been his ardent wish, his determination, at all
hazards, to break off engagements which he could not fulfil.
The Prince was in rapturous joy--all his ease of manner towards his
friend returned instantly, his affection and confidence flowed in full
tide. Proud of himself, and happy in the sense of the imminent danger
from which he had escaped, he now described the late conflicts his heart
had endured with the eloquence of self-complacency, and with that sense
of relief which is felt in speaking on the most interesting of all
subjects to a faithful friend from whom a secret has been painfully
concealed. The Prince now threw open every thought, every feeling of
his mind. Count Altenberg rose higher than ever in his favour: not
the temporary favourite of the moment--the companion of pleasures--the
flatterer of present passion or caprice; but the friend in whom there is
certainty of sympathy, and security of counsel. The Prince, confiding in
Count Albert’s zeal and superior powers, now took advice from him, and
made a confidant no longer of M. de Tourville. The very means which that
intriguing courtier had taken to undermine the Count thus eventually
proved the cause of establishing more firmly his credit. The plain
sincerity of the Count, and the generous magnanimity of the lady, at
once disconcerted and destroyed the artful plan of the diplomatist. M.
de Tourville’s disappointment when he heard from the Countess Christina
the result of her interview with Count Albert, and the reproaches which
in that moment of vexation he could not refrain from uttering against
the lady for having departed from their plan, and having trusted to the
Count, unveiled to her the meanness of his character and the baseness of
his designs. She plainly saw that his object had been not to assist
her love, but to gratify his own hate: not merely to advance his own
fortune--that, she knew, must be the first object of every courtier--but
“to rise upon the ruins of another’s fame;” and this, she determined,
should never be accomplished by her assistance, or with her connivance.
She put Count Albert on his guard against this insidious enemy.
The Count, grateful to the lady, yet biassed neither by hope of her
future favour nor by present desire to please, firm in honour and
loyalty to the Prince who asked his counsel, carefully studied the
character of the Countess Christina, to determine whether she possessed
the qualities fit for the high station to which love was impatient that
she should be elevated. When he was convinced that her character was
such as was requisite to ensure the private happiness of the prince, to
excite him to the attainment of true glory--then, and not till then, he
decidedly advised the marriage, and zealously offered any assistance in
his power to promote the union. The hereditary Prince about this time
became, by the death of his father, sole master of his actions; but it
was not prudent to begin his government with an act in open defiance of
the prejudices or customs of his country. By these customs, he could not
marry any woman under the rank of a Princess; and the Emperor had been
known to refuse conferring this rank, even on favourites of powerful
potentates, by whom he had been in the most urgent manner solicited.
Count Albert Altenberg stood high in the esteem of the Emperor, at whose
court he had spent some time; and his prince now commissioned him to go
to Vienna, and endeavour to move the Emperor to concede this point in
his favour. This embassy was a new and terrible delay to the Count’s
anxious desire of returning to England. But he had offered his services,
and he gave them generously. He repaired to Vienna, and persevering
through many difficulties, at length succeeded in obtaining for the
Countess the rank of Princess. The attachment of the Prince was then
publicly declared--the marriage was solemnized--all approved of the
Prince’s choice--all--except the envious, who never approve of the
happy. Count Albert received, both from the Prince and Princess, the
highest marks of esteem and favour. M. de Tourville, detected and
despised, retired from court in disgrace and in despair.
Immediately after his marriage, the Prince declared his intention of
appointing Count Albert Altenberg his prime minister; but before he
entered on the duties of his office and the very moment that he could
be spared by his Prince, he asked and obtained permission to return to
England, to the lady on whom his affections were fixed. The old Count,
his father, satisfied with the turn which affairs had taken, and
gratified in his utmost ambition by seeing his son minister of state,
now willingly permitted him to follow his own inclination in the choice
of a wife. “And,” concluded Count Albert, “my father rejoices that my
heart is devoted to an Englishwoman: having himself married an English
lady, he knows, from experience, how to appreciate the domestic merits
of the ladies of England; he is prepossessed in their favour. He agrees,
indeed, with foreigners of every nation, who have had opportunities of
judging, and who all allow that--next to their own countrywomen--the
English are the most charming and the most amiable women in the world.”
When the Count had finished, and had pronounced this panegyric of a
nation, while he thought only of an individual, he paused, anxious to
know what effect his narrative had produced on Mr. and Mrs. Percy.
He was gratified both by their words and looks, which gave him full
assurance of their entire satisfaction.
“And since he had done them the honour of appealing to their opinion,
they might be permitted to add their complete approbation of every part
of his conduct, in the difficult circumstances in which he had been
placed. They were fully sensible of the high honour that such a man as
Count Altenberg conferred on their daughter by his preference. As to the
rest, they must refer him to Caroline herself.” Mr. Percy said with a
grave voice, but with a smile from which the Count augured well, “that
even for the most advantageous and, in his opinion, desirable connexion,
he would not influence his daughter’s inclination.--Caroline must
decide.”
The Count, with all the persuasive tenderness and energy of truth and
love, pleaded his own cause, and was heard by Caroline with a modest,
dignified, ingenuous sensibility, which increased his passion. Her
partiality was now heightened by her conviction of the strength and
steadiness of his attachment; but whilst she acknowledged how high he
stood in her esteem, and did not attempt to conceal the impression
he had made on her heart, yet he saw that she dreaded to yield to the
passion which must at last require from her the sacrifice of her home,
country, friends, and parents. As long as the idea of being united to
him was faint and distant, so was the fear of the sacrifices that
union might demand; but now, the hope, the fear, the certainty, at once
pressed on her heart with the most agitating urgency. The Count as far
as possible relieved her mind by the assurance, that though his duty
to his Prince and his father, that though all his private and public
connexions and interests obliged him to reside some time in Germany,
yet that he could occasionally visit England, that he should seize every
opportunity of visiting a country he preferred to all others; and, for
his own sake, he should cultivate the friendship of her family, as each
individual was in different ways suited to his taste and stood high in
his esteem.
Caroline listened with fond anxiety to these hopes: she was willing
to believe in promises which she was convinced were made with entire
sincerity; and when her affections had been wrought to this point, when
her resolution was once determined, she never afterwards tormented the
man to whom she was attached, with wavering doubts and scruples.
Count Altenberg’s promise to his prince obliged him to return at an
appointed time. Caroline wished that time had been more distant; she
would have delighted in spending the spring-time of love in the midst
of those who had formed till now all the happiness of her life--with
her parents, to whom she owed every thing, to whom her gratitude was
as warm, as strong, as her affection--with her beloved sister, who had
sympathized so tenderly in all her sorrow, and who ardently wished to
have some time allowed to enjoy her happiness. Caroline felt all this,
but she felt too deeply to display feeling: sensible of what the duty
and honour of Count Altenberg demanded, she asked for no delay.
The first letters that were written to announce her intended marriage
were to Mrs. Hungerford and to Lady Jane Granville. And it may be
recorded as a fact rather unusual, that Caroline was so fortunate as to
satisfy all her friends: not to offend one of her relations, by telling
any too soon, or too late, of her intentions. In fact, she made no
secret, no mystery, where none was required by good sense or propriety.
Nor did she communicate it under a strict injunction of secrecy to
twenty friends, who were afterwards each to be angry with the other for
having, or not having, told that of which they were forbidden to speak.
The order of precedency in Caroline’s confidential communications was
approved of even by all the parties concerned.
Mrs. Hungerford was at Pembroke with her nieces when she received
Caroline’s letter: her answer was as follows:
“MY DEAR CHILD,
“I am ten years younger since I read your letter, therefore do not be
surprised at the quickness of my motions--I shall be with you at the
Hills, in town, or wherever you are, as soon as it is possible, after
you let me know when and where I can embrace you and our dear Count. At
the marriage of my niece, Lady Mary Barclay, your mother will remember
that I prayed to Heaven I might live to see my beloved Caroline united
to the man of her choice--I am grateful that this blessing, this
completion of all my earthly hopes and happiness, has been granted to
me.
“M. ELIZABETH HUNGERFORD.”
The answer of Lady Jane Granville came next.
“_Confidential_.
“This is the last _confidential_ letter I shall ever be able to write
to you--for a married woman’s letters, you know, or you will soon
know, become, like all the rest of her property, subject to her
husband--excepting always the secrets of which she was possessed before
marriage, which do not go into the common stock, if she be a woman of
honour--so I am safe with you, Caroline; and any erroneous opinion I
might have formed, or any hasty expressions I may have let drop, about a
certain Count, you will bury in oblivion, and never let me see you look
even as if you recollected to have heard them.
“You were right, my dear, in that whole business--I was wrong; and all
I can say for myself is, that I was wrong with the best possible
intentions. I now congratulate you with as sincere joy, as if this
charming match had been made by my advice, under my _chaperonage_, and
by favour of that _patronage of fashion_, of which I know your father
thinks that both my _head_ and _heart_ are full; there he is only half
right, after all: so do not let him be too proud. I will not allow that
my heart is ever wrong, certainly not where you are concerned.
“I am impatient, my dear Caroline, to see your Count Altenberg. I heard
him most highly spoken of yesterday by a Polish nobleman, whom I met at
dinner at the Duke of Greenwich’s. Is it true, that the Count is to be
prime minister of the Prince of ----? the Duke of Greenwich asked me
this question, and I promised I would let his grace know from _the best
possible_ authority--but I did not _commit_ you.
“And now, my dear, for my own interest. If you have really and cordially
forgiven me, for having so rashly said, upon a late occasion, that
I would never forgive you, prove to me your placability and your
sincerity--use your all-powerful influence to obtain for me a favour on
which I have set my heart. Will you prevail on all your house to come
up to town directly, and take possession of mine?--Count Altenberg, you
say, has business to transact with ministers: whilst this is going on,
and whilst the lawyers are settling preliminaries, where can you all be
better than with me? I hope I shall be able to make Mr. and Mrs. Percy
feel as much at home, in one hour’s time, as I found myself the first
evening after my arrival at the Hills some years ago.
“I know the Hungerfords will press you to go to them, and Alfred and
Mrs. A. Percy will plead _nearest of kin_--I can only throw myself upon
your generosity. The more inducements you have to go to other friends,
the more I shall feel gratified and obliged, if you favour me with this
proof of your preference and affection. Indulge me, my dear Caroline,
perhaps for the last time, with your company, of which, believe me, I
have, though a woman of the world, sense and feeling sufficient fully to
appreciate the value. Yours (at all events), ever and affectionately,
“J. GRANVILLE.
“_Spring Gardens--Tuesday_.
“P. S.--I hope your father is of my opinion, that weddings,
especially among persona of a certain rank of life, ought always to be
_public_,--attended by the friends and connexions of the families, and
conducted with something of the good old aristocratic formality, pomp,
and state, of former times.”
Lady Jane Granville’s polite and urgent request was granted. Caroline
and all her family had pleasure in showing Lady Jane that they felt
grateful for her kindness.
Mr. Temple obtained permission from Lord Oldborough to accompany the
Percys to town; and it was settled that Rosamond and Caroline should be
married on the same day.
But the morning after their arrival in London, Mr. Temple appeared
with a countenance very unlike that which had been seen the night
before--Hope and joy had fled.--All pale and in consternation!--Rosamond
was ready to die with terror. She was relieved when he declared that the
evil related only to his fortune. The place that had been promised to
him was given; indeed--the word of promise was kept to the ear--but by
some management, either of Lord Skreene’s or Lord Skrimpshire’s, the
place had been _saddled_ with a pension to the widow of the gentleman
by whom it had been previously held, and the amount of this pension was
such as to reduce the profits of the place to an annual income by
no means sufficient to secure independence, or even competence, to a
married man. Mr. Temple knew that when the facts were stated to Lord
Oldborough, his lordship would, by his representations to the highest
authority, obtain redress; but the secretary was unwilling to implicate
him in this disagreeable affair, unwilling to trouble his tranquillity
again with court intrigues, especially, as Mr. Temple said, where his
own personal interest alone was concerned--at any rate this business
must delay his marriage. Count Altenberg could not possibly defer the
day named for his wedding--despatches from the continent pressed the
absolute necessity of his return. Revolutionary symptoms had again
appeared in the city--his prince could not dispense with his services.
His honour was at stake.
Mr. Temple did not attempt or pretend to bear his disappointment like
a philosopher: he bore it like a lover, that is to say, very ill.
Rosamond, poor Rosamond, rallied him with as much gaiety as she could
command with a very heavy heart.
After a little time for reflection, her good sense, which, when called
upon to act, never failed to guide her conduct, induced her to exert
decisive influence to prevent Mr. Temple from breaking out into violent
complaints against those in power, by whom he had been ill-treated.
The idea of being married on the same day with her sister, she said,
after all, was a mere childish fancy, for which no solid advantage
should be hazarded; therefore she conjured her lover, not in heat of
passion to precipitate things, but patiently to wait--to return and
apply to Lord Oldborough, if he should find that the representations
he had already made to Lord Skrimpshire failed of effect. With much
reluctance, Mr. Temple submitted to postpone the day promised for his
marriage; but both Mr. and Mrs. Percy so strongly supported Rosamond’s
arguments, that he was compelled to be prudent. Rosamond now thought
only of her sister’s approaching nuptials. Mrs. Hungerford and Mrs.
Mortimer arrived in town, and all Mr. and Mrs. Percy’s troops of friends
gathered round them for this joyful occasion.
Lady Jane Granville was peculiarly happy in finding that Mr. Percy
agreed with her in opinion that marriages ought to be publicly
solemnized; and rejoiced that, when Caroline should be led to the altar
by the man of her choice, she would feel that choice sanctioned by
the approbation of her assembled family and friends. Lady Jane justly
observed, that it was advantageous to mark as strongly as possible the
difference between marriages with consent of friends, and clandestine
unions, which from their very nature must always be as private as
possible.
If some little love of show, and some aristocratic pride of family,
mixed with Lady Jane’s good sense upon this as upon most other
occasions, the truly philosophic will be inclined to pardon her; for
they best know how much of all the principles which form the strength
and happiness of society, depends upon mixed motives.
Mr. and Mrs. Percy, grateful to Lady Jane, and willing to indulge her
affection in its own way, gratified her with permission to arrange the
whole ceremonial of the wedding.
Now that Rosamond’s marriage was postponed, she claimed first right to
be her sister’s bridemaid; Lady Florence Pembroke, Mrs. Hungerford’s
niece, had made her request, and obtained Caroline’s promise, to be the
second; and these were all that Caroline desired to have: but Lady Jane
Granville evidently wished for the honour and glory of Lady Frances
Arlington for a third, because she was niece to the Duke of Greenwich;
and besides, as Lady Jane pleaded, “though a little selfish, she really
would have been generous, if she had not been spoiled: to be sure,
she cared in general for no one but herself; yet she absolutely showed
particular interest about Caroline. _Besides_, her ladyship had set her
heart upon the matter, and never would forgive a disappointment of a
fancy.” Her ladyship’s request was granted. Further than this affair of
the three bridemaids we know not--there is no record concerning who
were the bride-men. But before we come to the wedding-day, we think it
necessary to mention, for the satisfaction of the prudent part of the
world, that the settlements were duly signed, sealed, and delivered, in
the presence of proper witnesses.
At the moment of recording this fact, we are well aware that as much as
we shall gain in the esteem of the old, we shall lose in the opinion of
the young. We must therefore be satisfied with the nod of approbation
from parents, and must endure the smile of scorn from lovers. We know
that
“Jointure, portion, gold, estate,
Houses, household-stuff, or land,
The low conveniences of fate,
Are Greek, no lovers understand.”
We regret that we cannot gratify some of our courteous readers with a
detailed account of the marriage of Caroline and Count Altenberg, with a
description of the wedding-dresses, or a list of the company, who, after
the ceremony, partook of an elegant collation at Lady Jane Granville’s
house in Spring-Gardens. We lament that we cannot even furnish a
paragraph in honour of Count Altenberg’s equipage.
After all their other friends had made their congratulations, had taken
leave of Caroline, and had departed, Mrs. Hungerford and Mrs. Mortimer
still lingered.
“I know, my love,” said Mrs. Hungerford, “I ought to resign you, in
these last moments, to your parents, your brothers, your own Rosamond;
yet I have some excuse for my selfishness--they will see you again, it
is to be hoped, often--But I!--that is not in the course of nature:
the blessing I scarcely could have expected to live to enjoy has been
granted to me. And now that I have seen you united to one worthy of you,
one who knows your value, I am content--I am grateful. Farewell, again
and again, my beloved Caroline, may every--”
Tears spoke the rest. Turning from Caroline, she leaned on Count
Altenberg’s arm; as he conducted her to her carriage, “You are a happy
man, Count Altenberg,” said she: “forgive me, if I am not able to
congratulate you as I ought--Daughter Mortimer, you know my heart--speak
for me, if you can.”
Count Altenberg was more touched by this strong affection for Caroline
than he could have been by any congratulatory compliments to himself.
After the departure of Mrs. Hungerford and Mrs. Mortimer, came the
separation so much dreaded by all the family, for which all stood
prepared. Despising and detesting the display of sensibility, they had
fortified themselves for this moment with all their resolution, and each
struggled to repress their own feelings.
Count Altenberg had delayed till the last moment. It was now necessary
that they should set out. Caroline, flushed crimson to the very temples
one instant, and pale the next, commanded with the utmost effort her
emotion; Rosamond, unable to repress hers, clung to her sister weeping.
Caroline’s lips quivered with a vain attempt to speak--she could only
embrace Rosamond repeatedly, and then her mother. Her father pressed her
to his bosom--blessed her--and then drawing her arm within his, led her
to her husband.
As they passed through the hall, the faithful housekeeper, and the old
steward, who had come from the country to the marriage, pressed forward,
in hopes of a last look. Caroline stopped, and took leave of each. She
was able, though with difficulty, to speak, and she thanked them for all
the services and kindness she had received from them from childhood to
this hour: then her father led her to the carriage.
“It is the order of nature, my dear child,” said he; “we are fond but
not selfish parents; your happiness is gained by the sacrifice, and we
can part with you.”