m i % a I E) R A FLY OF THE UN IVLRSITY Of ILLINOIS 823 R7\2 v,/ .-/- &c. &c. VOL. T. iaofiJamunD, COUNTESS OF CLARENSTEIN. I see vthAt you are ; you are too proad. But if you were the De%-il, you are fair. Tadfth Night, or What you Will, Tu legasti il Cor mio con mille nodi Tu'l formasti di nuovo ; e poi che ftii Genlll fatto per te, — rompesti i LaccL T ltont!on: PRINTED BY A. J. VALPY ; TOOKE'S COURT, CHANCERY LANE. 1812. /^J///^J^^<iolvO!* uU\ hnnj;f, drown, <>i sl»il». . ■ ■ ^^ Imt ii ihoir h hero worth living for i* VVhut nt h'n;;(h ihrnr CuvuruMM \\\u\ U\ (hi own coMfoitsion, wvw noi m pusMi N«»iou ol (h« right KonNrt. (irlriiiuiH'd (<> u*Mmg ohsrrviM ' How oUm um (hni < out r<|nipH^rR«wnrp (ho Khrrlwol ihe i'H|»iUil tlo (I yonng itnd iuexp^ririnj^d tiHilttim, ♦ llow hiipji 8 ^lO^AMUND. must they be !' Oh fond, and credulous judg- ment ! The pomp, which, like a veil, surrounds the great, serves but to keep the anxious spirit, the aching heart, from view. They, in return, as they pass by the homely, but peaceful cottage of the peasant, exclaim, ' how happy must they be !' There is some French author who in speak- ing of the false conceptions frequently entertain- ed of the superior happiness of the great, says, *Dans tous les Palais des Grands il y a un Cabinet de douleur.' A secret chamber where the sighs and tears of suffering humanity are paid as oflferings to the shrine of that sorrow, which is more or less the lot of all created beings. But if ever there existed an exception to this universal law of suffering and pain, it was to be found in the palace of the Duke of Rhonberg ; ROSAMUND. 9 and if, as his carriage swept the streets of the Capital any sigh was breathed of * how happy must they be 1' it was n o fond and credulous judgment, for in that fair company as much of nobleness, wealth, and beauty was to be found, as the world in all its wide extent could produce. The castle of Rhonberg was situated at the distance of a day's journey from Vienna. I shall pass over the occurrences of the journey 'till towards evening, when they rested at a village for a relay of horses. The Duke rode up to the Landau, and said, ' I wish that you would take me in.' * With all my heart, my dear Lord,' replied the Duchess, but what then must I do with these sweet boys who are charming com- pany.' 10 ROSAMUND. ' Oh yes, we are so happy/ cried the elder, ^ Eugene and I, we cannot go away, Mamma says that we keep her awake, we are such merry little things — so we can't go^ you know ! ' ' Oh if that is all, Duchess^' cried the Duke, ' I will promise to keep you awake. Come you little rebels, get down. Such merry grigs as you may live and laugh any where !' So saying, the Duke opened the door of the landau, and, after tenderly embracing her sons, the Duchess told her attendants to place them in the carriage with her women. The Duke took his place, and the carriage went on. The road became more mountainous as they proceeded. At length; after descending for more ROSAMUND. 11 than a mile a steep declivity, a sudden turn in the road gave to view the open plains of Rhon- berg, and its castle, which rose like a fair enchant- ment on the sight, with its lofty spires glittering in the setting sun. ' Ah/ exclaimed the Duke, ' there is Rhon- berg. My lady and sister/ continued he, bend- ing towards the Countess of Clarenstein, ' throw your dark eye over that scene of beauty, and say can you for a short season inhabit there I ' It was indeed a scene of beauty. Between two lofty mountains, whose sides were clothed with forest trees, a rich and verdant plain extend- ed itself. Half concealed amid embowering groves, stood the village of Rhonberg. Through the plain ran a broad and placid river, on wliose 12 ROSAMUND. sloping banks stood the ruins of an ancient monastery, partially hid by groupes of trees, whose broad foliage, extending itself in various directions, formed masses of shade, secret bowers, which the eye loved, yet half feared to penetrate. At some distance higher up the plain, a bridge was thrown across the river, and at the upper end, commanding the view of this beauteous scene, stood the castle of Rhonberg. It was of Gothic architecture ; but not of that construction which presents to the imagination the idea of rugged strength and savage grandeur able to sus- tain and repel the attack of hostile force. But rather did it seem to be a princely residence where love might be well pleased to hold his court, and act his gay enchantments. Such did it appear to the Lady Rosamund, as. ROSAMUND. 13 in obedience to her brother's command, she threw her dark eye on the vale of Rhonberg. < I thought you told me that you were bringing me into a desert ! Do you call this one ?' asked the Countess. * I said so/ replied the Duke, ' because I thought that to you who have lived all your life in courts and palaces, even such an Arcadia as this might wear the aspect of a desert. For here are no knights ; and my peasants are homely rustics, who neither dance, nor speak love in Italian, nor tie their hair w ith rose-colored rib- bons as yours do at the opera. Here are no refinements on pastoral life. Nay,,' cried the Duke, laughing, ' at this very moment I am ready to apologise for the ill manners of my mountain winds which blow in your face, and 14 ROSAMUND. disorder your ringlets with as little ceremony as if you were a ruddy mountaineer ! What would the Court Zephyrs say to this insolent freedom, who come laden with rich perfumes from jessa- mine bowers, and orange groves, and always have the art to blow a lady's drapery about_, in the most graceful disorder that she could desire.' Lady Clarenstein unveiled her beauteous fore- head to let the breeze play at its pleasure round the finest head that ever was seen. * There is something very diverting in the assurance of your country-bred zephyrs,' said she, ' 1 am not cer- tain whether their audacity will not win my favor extremely.' * True woman !' exclaimed the Duke ; * they who would win your favor would do well boldly to defy your anger.' ROSAMUND. 15 ' It is now just six years ago/ went on the Duke, looking at the Duchess, * that we travelled together this road, in just such a heavenly even- ing. Dost thou remember it, lady of my soul r' ' Do I remember it r • • • • My Lord Duke is not so much in love, as he was then.' * And my Lady Duchess not quite so ill at her ease,' retorted the Duke archly, ' I remember how you drove me to despair with your mono- syllables, and your persisting in calling me, My Lord, and your always looking out of the oppo- site window, in order to avoid seeing me.' ' Had you quarrelled r ' asked Lady Rosa- mund. }6 ROSAMUND. * We were just married/ said the Duke ; ' but Hermione seemed at that time to regard it with exactly the same horror she would have done^ had she been going to that fair castle yonder to be buried alive.' * Oh, I did not know/ returned the Countess^ * that it was a forced marriage. I thought that it had been an affair of love.' * On mt/ part/ replied the Duke. * 1 do not understand you : Hermione, what does he mean ? And why are your blue eyes filled with tears? Nay, the Duke too looks as i f - ■ < My dear Lord/ said the Duchess, giving BOSAMUND. 17 him both her hands, * shall we tell Rosamund how near we were being very miserable ?* < Yes — for I perceive that she is all amazement — but do justice to yourself, or^ • • ., ' Fear not— I will do justice to myself, for only thus can I do justice to the most beloved of men.' After a moment's pause, during which the Duchess passed her white fingers over her eyes to clear them from the tears which hung on their lids, she turned towards her sister, and thus addressed her. ^ Know then, my sweet sister, that the day which united me to your brother, was beheld by 18 ROSAMUND. me with sorrow and apprehension^ and when we drove through the gates of Vienna^ and I found myself on the road with the Duke by my side, surrounded by every thing which love and mag- nificence could assemble to charm the fancy of a bride of sixteen, I only wept^ as if I had been sacrificed. The Duke increased my confusion, for he seemed to consider my conduct as natural enough in an inexperienced girl just emerged from the walls of a convent, and the raillery which he used to restore my spirits, only the more disconcerted me. But on his calling me * beau- tiful child,' and asking me whether he should ' catch those butterflies to amuse me,' I instantly dried up my tears, and seeing myself treated as a child, I grew the more convinced that the Duke considered me as a pretty play-thing which he could govern at his pleasure. I, on my part, ROSAMUND. 19 regarded him as a cold, selfish tyrant, who would never consult my happiness except so far as his own was concerned ; one who would take advan- tage of eveiy confidence or developement of character that I should make before him, in order hereafter to thwart and control me — that he would seek with subtlety to win on my affection in order to turn my own weapons against me, and at length so to enslave my mind that I should have neither thought nor will, but as he should suggest. ' Forgive me, my dear Lord/ said the Duchess, casting her blue eyes with inexpressible tenderness on the Duke, ' forgive me if I so slandered you — for it was thus, that from my youth they had counseled me to con- sider men. The more graceful and worthy to be loved, that you appeared to me, the more did I esteem it a duty to steel my heart against you. 20 ROSAMUND. But in this I suffered incessant torment/ con^ tihued the Duchess, again addressing herself to Lady Clarenstein, ' how often has the Duke's demeanor, so commanding, yet so gay, charmed my youthful fancy, when I seemed wholly unim- pressed by the graces of his person. How often when I thought it politic to be grave, did his joyous laugh animate my naturally buoyant spirits, till I could have danced and sung from mere hilarity of feeling. I regarded every testimony of his attachment to me as a snare, and every pleasure which his magnificence lavished on me, as baits to betray me into a discovery of what the turn of my disposition was, that he might the better know how to counteract me in every thing. In a word, never was there such tenderness, and such a profusion of delights so cast away on a ROSAMUND. 21 *" Marble statue/ exclaimed the Duke, taking up the narrative, ' indeed never was man so per- plexed with a bride of sixteen as I was ; for my sweet sbter must think that I soon ceased to attribute to a girlish folly the behaviour of the Duchess to me. Cold^ reluctant, ever on her guard, as it were, against me, I believed myself disliked, nay more than disliked, hated. I knew that Hermione was naturally gay, and had high spirits — To say nothing of catching butterflies, I had seen her as full of merriment and fancies as the veriest buifa in existence, but now I saw nothing but gravity, and smiles which were not the smiles of the heart. She had sensibility I knew, but she now seemed insensible to every thing. Whatever I proposed met with her instant compliance, but compliance that wounded everv ^2 ROSAMUKD. generous feeling of my soul : it said so clearly ' you are master/ that I would have given the world that I had married a shrew, whom, at least, if I could not please, I could displease. Often I conjured her to let me know how I could please or divert her ; nay, I even questioned her women if they could instruct me, but in vain. * She had no choice ; it was as I pleased.' ' She had every thing that she desired.' At length dis- heartened, and not a little mortified, 1 began to suspect that she possessed one thing that she did not wish for, and that was myself. By good luck the pain which I endured from this suspi- cion, the disgust which I felt at having become the gaoler and tyrant of the woman I loved, offi- ces for which I never had either the talent or the taste, so confounded me, that they threw me into a fever.' ROSAMUND. 23* < Ah, then/ cried the Duchess, ' you were Well avenged ! Never shall I forget the pain I felt when, from the wild ravings of your delirium_, I gathered, how great had been the error of my conduct. I heard my name a thousand time repeated — Oh, how repeated ! Never shall I forget the moment of the Duke waking after a slumber of some hours long desired in vain by his physicians. It w as in the dead of the night ; his attendants, fatigued with watching, were sunk in sleep ; I sat by the bed-side sick with terror, and not daring even to hope. At length he moved, and the first words that he uttered assured me that his senses w^ere returned. I threw myself on my knees, and silently blessed heaven for the favorable symptom. The Duke asked for something to drink— I answered not, for in his delirium he had often repulsed my 24 ROSAMUND. offered assistance, and the sight of me had seemed so powerfuMy to disturb him that the physicians had counseled me to forbear appearing before him. So I spoke not, but filling a glass with some beverage, I held it to him. His eyes were cast down, and he took the glass from my hand. But my tears betrayed me. He raised his eyes upon me — oh never shall 1 forget that look ; never, the faint pressure of that arm which he cast round my waist, nor the voice in which he ' 4;hanked me for my kindness,' that voice would have won my soul from death. Then followed incoherent, broken words that went like daggers to my soul. The Duke declared that he ' died with die less regret since he was not beloved by me/ What happened then I scarcely know. I believed that the Duke was dving — the horror of never having it in my power to undeceive him so ROSAMUND. 25 pressed on my soul that I fell on that noble breast in an agony of despair and remorse : and l^'hat I said 1 know not.' The Duchess paused. The sacred emotion bereft her of words. The Duke a thousand times kissed her hands and said, * Since that hour all has been we'\' * This/ cried the Duke more gaily, ' was the romance of our marriage, Rosamund. It had nearly been a tragedy. Since that time my Lady Duchess has found a will of her own, and is no longer the " marble statue."' This interesting communication had so beguil- ed the time, that the travellers observed not that they were within a short distance of the village of B 26 ROSAMUND. Rhonberg, where a scene awaited them not cal- culated to repress the softened feelings which it had awakened in their hearts. The servants who preceded the carriage, being questioned by the peasants, spread the intelligence of the Duke's approach. The country was all in motion. Joy and surprise seemed every w here to prevail. From every cottage, groupes of pea- sants were seen issuing, and a thousand confused cries were heard of ^ It is the Duke, it is our good Lord.' Every voice uttered a blessing, or a welcome, as they passed. The old men, seated at their cottage-doors taking their evening's repast, would rise as they saw the noble company approach, and bowing low, as they lifted the cup to their lips, would drink prosperity to the house of Rhonberg. The children left their ROSAMUND. 27 Sports to gaze on them with delighted eyes ; the young girls would run from the beechen shade, where the rustic dance was forming, to scatter at the feet of the horses the flowers with which their bosoms were adorned. The minstrel broke off his rustic air, and his fingers rested suspended on the oaten pipe — nay, the very youths who throughout the tedious day had sighed for the evening hour, now left the story of their love untold^ to bound over the fields, or spring from tlie heights into the road, to meet the carriage as it passed. Thus in rural triumphs, with sensa- tions sweeter far than the most courtly honors could inspire, did the Duke pass through the fair vale of Rhonberg, till, on entering the village, the crowd of people became so great that the horses could with difficulty proceed. With a roughness not unusual with the attendants of the 28 ROSAMUND. great, the grooms endeavoured to disperse the honest peasants. The Duke observed it, and in a tone of loud displeasure called out to them to ' stand/ Then the people hung, as it were, on the earriage-wheels, and every gracious inclination of the head, every smile of the Duke's, were followed by a rapturous cry of * long live the Duke, and his lovely Duchess!* The Duchess drew off her veil, and with moistened eyes, cast on the people a smile worthy of an angel. Her lovely bosom heaved gently beneath the lawn which covered it, and her lips half unclosed softly murmured * God bless the Duke.' Sweet incense which his ear alone received, and his heart in secret cherished. Turn- ROSAMUND. 29 iiig towards the peasants with that dignity, that was tempered with the most benign sweetness, he said, ' My good friends, these marks of your attachment are very grateful to me : it assures me that you are happy, and I rejoice to find peace and prosperity in the vale of Rhonberg/ An old and venerable peasant then spoke in these w ords, ' Most noble Sir, Rhonberg is indeed blessed with happiness and peace : — it is to you, next to heaven, that we owe the blessing. We have sighed, we have longed, to see this day, that we might heap blessings on your honored head — for there is not a heart in Rhonberg that has not cause to bless you. 30 ROSAMUND. Here a confused number of voices at once called out, ' He says true, noble Sir ! every lieart in Rlionberg blesses you.' The Duke was somewhat moved. He unco- vered his head for a moment, and bowed. ' I thank every heart here, for the expression of its honest gratitude. But no acts of mine towards yourselves deserve this excess of homage.' ' O Sir, they do,' exclaimed the did man aa ho had spoken before. ' Last winter was a dreadful One : our fields were inundated and laid waste : our habitations were destroyed by frightful storms : our cattle perished by hundreds. 1 he sick and the aged must have perished too, but for you — you forgave our rents — nourished and sup- ported us — supplied the loss that we had sustained; ROSAMUND. SjL and ill a word gave us new life. Bat for jou, we could not have weathered that dreadful year. May God prosper the house of Rhonberg. Ye are a blessing to this land.' The old man passed his hand across his eyes, bowed his head, and was silent. ^Die Duke, with that chaste eloquence with which, on all occasions, he expressed himself, now assured them of his protection, and of the satisfaction that he felt at their happiness. * And now, my good friends,' said he, * let the carriage pass !' Several voices called out at once, ' Noble Sir, we understand that the young lords, your sons, are in that carriage. If it please you to let us see them, we will depart satisfied.' 32 ROSAMUND. The Duke commanded that his sons should be brought to him. The fair children, conscious and half-pleased at the honors paid them, yet somewhat timid at the sight of such a concourse of people, stood like two angels stolen from hea- ven, at the feet of the Duke and Duchess. ^ This,* cried the Duke, ' is my eldest bom. He bears my name. Destined to be the ,heir of these fair domains, he shall early be taught to respect the sacred claims of humanity, and to reverence yours.' ' May God preserve him,' riied the people, ' he is a princely boy.' The Duke took off his son's bat, and the fair child bowed his head with a sort of mimic majesty that he inherited from his father. ROSAMUND. 53 ' And this/ said the Duke, taking the young Eugene in his arms, ^ is the youngest jewel of my house. A merry boy ; and as you see, the gracious image of his mother/ The young Eugene, without waiting to be told, pulled off his cap with an infantine grace, and nodded his head, rich with golden curls, with so bew'itching a sweetness, that the enraptured people were wild with suppressed delight, and the Duke laughed aloud. ITie beautiful boy cast his eyes on a young peasant girl, who wore in her breast a nosegay of wild flowers, he looked for some time w istfullv at them, then turning to the Duke, he pointed to the flowers, and lisping said, ' dey are so pretty ones.' 54 ROSAMUND. The young peasant heard him, and timidly presented the flowers to the fair boy, who grasped them with delight, and held them out to his mother, that she might look at them. ' What do you give her for them r asked the Duke. ' Me have nothing.' The Duchess untied from her waist a rich blue ribbon, and gave it to Eugene, who, leaning on the Duke*s arm over the carriage, held out the gay streamer to the young peasant, who hesitated, embarrassed at the honor. < Look here,' said Eugene, ' dere is mamma's sath for you. Do you ike it V ROSAMUND. 35 ' Take it, my child/ said the Duke. The girl took the ribbon, and while the peasants in a transport of delight at the courteous action, threw up their caps, and made the air resound with their joy, the Duke gave a sign to his people to proceed, and the gay pageant passed on rapidly. It was dusk when they arrived at Rhonberg, and the noble company who had in silence passed the remainder of the journey they had to make, broke not from their reveries till the carriage stopped beneath the lofty portico. They de- scended, and the fair Rosamund found herself in the enchanted castle. Supper was laid in a hall, one side of which was open to the air, and through the light Gothic arches brightly illumi- nated, the whole vale of Rhonberg was seen. S6 ROSAMUND. The moon hung like a fair lamp in the clear heavens : her silver rays chastened into pensive beauty every object which before had been so brilliant, and cast over the woods masses of light and shade. The village lay in profound repose, and not a sound issued thence to disturb the sweet tranquillity. The Duchess had left the hall to attend the supper of her children. Lady Clarenstein, en- chanted with the beauty that surrounded her, stood leaning against a pillar of the arcade. The Duke came up, and casting his arm around her slender waist, said affectionately, ' My sweet Rosamund, what think you of Rhonberg ? Is it to your taste ?* ' 'Tis an Arcadia ; and your peasants, brother, though they do not speak love in Italian, speak ROSAMUND. 37 most eloquently the language of the heart io bad German. Those " vivat " that they bestowed on you and the Duchess, gave me a sweeter sensation than all the intonations of that recitative I love so much/ * It was the grand pastoral after the Comedie larmoyante, that -the Duchess gave us in the car- riage. I think that the air of Rhonberg is favor- able to romance. What think you, Contessa, of making a third part of the romance already begun. You are just the sort of thing for a lady of romance.' * What character shall I play ?' * What think you of Armida r' * Ah, elle est trop coquette !' 38 ROSAMUND. * Pas trop,' said the Duke, shrugging up his shoulders. * Clorinda then ?' ' I am no Amazon, brother.' ' Angelica bella r' < Mais fi done, mon frere. Do you think that I could love a little curly-headed page ?' ' Amarillide ?' ' Elle est trop bergere.' * Oriana ? There are ^vhinis and caprices enough to suit any woman.' ROSAMUND. 39 * I should like that. But le grand serieux d'Amadis would disconcert me. 1 think that I had better make a romance in my own name.' ' Ah/ cried the Duke emphatically, ' that you will do, I doubt not. But here comes the Duchess. Well, my Cornelia, how do the young Gracchi r' ' Well and happy. Asleep, I believe, by this time ;' the Duchess answered. ' Tlien, perhaps, you will allow us to have some supper.' And now, gentle reader, while sleep closes her fair eyes, suffer me to present before you the por- trait of the beauteous sister of the Duke. 40 CHAPTER II. Rosamund, Countess of Clarenstein, was half- sister, by a second marriage, to the Duke of Rhonberg. Her mother died in giving her birth, and her titles and estates devolved upon the lovely infant who became the idol of her father.. It might with truth be said of her, that she was cradled in the lap of luxury and greatness. The voice of tenderness alone met her infant ear, and unbounded indulgence from the hour of her birth had prevented her every wish. ROSAMUND. 4l Never, indeed, was there an object more form- ed by nature to excite enthusiastic fondness in a parent's heart, nor one on whom could be lavished with more graceful effect, every refinement which education could invent, to exalt and cherish natural graces. Had the whole imperial Court of Fairies presided at her christening, she could not have been more proudly gifted. Her infancy was an eternal smile, her youth a tissue of ever-varying pleasures, 'till the age of fifteen, when her father was taken from her by death. He left the young heiress to the protection of a maternal aunt, who resided in Hungary. With her she remained, 'till, at the expiration of two years, death a second time robbed her of a tender friend. Tlie Duke her brother being then married, she returned to Vienna, and lived with him and the Duchess on terms of tlie greatest confidence and friendship. 42 ROSAMUND. The Duke Dext to idolised his sister, and her future happiness was the wish nearest his heart. He saw with pain that there existed in her cha- racter a powerful defect: a defect which the Duke justly apprehended would fatally influence her future destiny : but the Countess of Claren- stein was one of those women whose very faults have so winning a grace in them, that they make austerity itself less austere. In her absence, the Duke's judgment saw much to reprehend; but in her presence, he felt nothing but a tender admira- tion of her uncommon graces, and her rich variety of powers, to adorn the world in which she was to move. This attachment on the part of the Duke to his sister, was returned by her with a degree of respect and honor that could not be surpassed. ROSAMUND. 43 The person of the young Countess was tall and slender ; and never did the genius of a Phidias or a Praxiteles give to the sculptured image of a virgin Goddess proportions more exquisitely har- monious. O'er all her form — " the Graces From their sacicd alabaster vase, Shed that blest unguent which to all her limbs (Accordant to proportion's faultless law) Gave new dimensions, only seen before In shapes of heavenly frame." But it was impossible to characterise the peculiar sort of grace which animated her form : its endless variety baffled all description. It might be said of her, that her every feature knew, as it were, the extent and the diversity of its 44 ROSAMUND. power, and by turns employed them all to dazzle and betray. Her beauty was of so rare and ex- quisite a kind, that all other forms seemed ordinary in the comparison. Her complexion, though tinged with the hue of health, was so fair, so un- blemished, so brilliant in its delicacy, that you might have thought that it was the statue of some vestal virgin, over whose fair cheek, Love had not dared to lay his roseate tints. Her large black eyes were more commanding than tender in their expression, except when " the fringed curtains of her eyes advancing," they for a moment rested on an object dear to her heart, and then an exqui- site softness escaped, as it were, from them, and told the penetrating observer, that in that proud form of beauty, a treasure of yet unborn sweetness lay hid. She had the finest dark hair in the world, which she usually confined beneath a cap ROSAMUND. 45 or fillet of gold net-work, which, with classic sim- plicity, designated the fine outline of her head. On each white temple lay a cluster of ringlets, which shaded with modest grace a brow of incomparable majesty, and gave it an air of effeminate delicacy. Every action and movement of her person was living grace. Her step was light and firm. The air with which she presented herself was a strange mixture of aristocratic grace and virgin sweetness, that you doubted whether it were more conmiand- ing or bewitching. Pier voice was clear and full ; but it was not impassioned. She spoke with an eloquence that seized attention rather than penetrated the heart. Nay, oftentimes there was something, in the tones of her voice, that almost bordered on disdain — but her wondrous powers ovemiastered reason, and made even caprice seem to wear an angel's face 4^ ROSAMUND. Such in person and in charms, was the young Countess of Clarenstein. Her character was not altogether so faultless : it was yet unformed. She possessed the germ of every thing that was excellent in the female character, but the circum* stances of her life had not been of that nature which call forth the exercise of the exalted vir- tues. Education tended rather to develope talents, and the lighter endowments of the mind than those moral qualities which form character. Her mind was richly cultivated, and she possessed all those graces of talent and of taste, which give a brilliant charm to society^ and constitute the en* chanting friend and mistress. Perpetual adula- tion had not succeeded in corrupting one of the finest natural tempers in the world. She was neither petulant nor capricious nor exacting, in her intercourse with her family. She had retained ROSAMUND. 47 much of candor, much of liberality, in her senti- ments respecting herself and others, and she had none of those little passions which disturb the peace of society, and embitter social life. But adulation had in her nourished one fatal master passion, till it became the governing principle of her conduct. Never in any female breast did the love of power reign with more despotic sway than in hers. Nature and art had equally com- bined to make her the delight of all beholders, and in that rich variety of graces which it has already been observed she possessed, she found but too facile a means of engaging all heaits, ITie grave, the gay, the austere, the luxurious, all equally felt and acknowledged the influence of her uncommon graces. She took a strange de- light in encouraging the dawnings of a new-born passion : its progress amused her fancy: to excite 48 ROSAMUND. hope and fear, pain and delight in a heart which she knew to be all her own, was her joy, the occupation of her days. Her conquest once secured, she either with unfeminine insolence derided the pain which she gave, or listened with a profound and unfeeling indifference to reproaches, prayers, ex- postulations. They were incense to her self- love, and uninterrupted success in the exertion of her influence began now to render it at once habi- tual and necessary to her enjoyment of life. No rival beauty could contest with her. Assured of success, she became at once careless of those already enslaved, and at the same time eager after fresh conquests. Giri un sguarda, jNlille costringe a impallidir; sorrida, Sforza inille altri a sospirar; s'avvede ROSAMUND. 49 t)el suo poter, se ne compiace, e mentre A dilatar Timpcro Attendc, sol del fasto suo ripitna. Such ^vas the Lady Clarenstem. A proud, imperious, unfeeling coquetry cast a shade over the finest diamond that nature ever produced or art polished. It kept back the secret treasure of her finest qualities, and by slow degrees poisoned that sweet submissive grace of thought and feeling, which is a woman*s greatest charm. Nothing was more delicate, more insidious, than her coquetry- : nothing could be in more perfect taste than the deluding blandishments which she employed to ensnare an unsuspecting heart, or soften one ready to escape from her chains : but she dishonored both her taste VOL. I. n 50 ROSAMUND. and her delicacy in making them act as ministers to her pride and insatiable desire of universal admiration. Yet never perhaps in the character of a coquette did a prouder principle of female honor reside. The very wiles that she used, had an air of elevation in them which shielded the delicacy of her honor from all aspersion. She had not resided six months with the Duke her brother, ere his penetration discovered with regret, and a disapprobation that he did not conceal, this ruling defect in her disposition. She listened to all his remonstrances with a sweetness and a deference to his opinions that often disarmed the poignancy of his censures. * You make,' would the Duke sometimes say, a wild waste of those enchanting powers with ROSAMUND. Si which nature endowed you to inspire a noble and a lasting passion ; those powers which should be used to animate and engage one only object, you exercise on beings who are either unworthy to touch your heart, or who at least have not the power to do it. Is this noble, is it delicate ? you profane the virgin bloom, if I may so express myself, of your smiles, your looks, your graceful endearing arts, by a too indiscriminate exertion of their influence ; and you will lose that refined grace, that sweet austere reserve of a virgin heart, which to him whom you shall hereafter love would be a treasure of delicate price.* * Him whom 1 shall love!' repeated the youn^ Countess with a disdainful smile. «HlVERSrPf Of ^ '^ ^2 ROSAMUND. ' I understand you. — No one, you think, can deserve your heart — ^you are too proud, Con- tessa/ ' I am far from thinking that no one can deserve it. But 1 never yet saw a man whom 1 should chuse to call master. Tlie servile puppets vrho smile or sigh as I command, are not of that race divine, which shall charm me. Would you have me lower my flight to sparrows and starlings ? I will only do that to a royal eagle. ^ The man to whom I will lay down my crown and sceptre, shall be one who is worthy to wear it. I must have a soul of honor — a mind full of dignity, sense, power, and authority : — a man in one word, Constantine, who shall resemble you ;' and so saying tile young Countess, with a grace irresistible, bent her head to the Duke* He smiled, and he pressed his lips on the fair ROSAMUND. 55 forehead which so sweetly inclined itself towards him. * Contessa mia/ said he, * not even that sweet action shall prevent me from observing to you, that such a man is of all others the one who will least accommodate himself to a coquette wife.' The young Countess blushed, and her eyes seemed to say ^ you are severe.' The Duke continued. ' What can we augur of noble or exalted in her future conduct, when we see the patrician vh*gin casting her spells around her like an enchantress ? Can a youth so passed educate the mind for the lofty and severe virtues of the Roman matron.? Be warned, my sister. Your taste is yet uncorrupted — you are yet capable of loving and appreciating in man what is truly great. But take care lest the wild indulgence 54 ROSAMUND. of a lawless thirst of power do not at length tarnish the chaste simplicity of all your feelings, and so estrange the light of truth from your mind, that you can no longer distinguish the truly great in character, — till truth, and honor, and nobility of feeling cease to have charms powerful enough in your eyes to make you resign with grace and sweetness of temper, that frivolous incense which now intoxicates your pride without a.vakening your sensibility !* The effect which such arguments as these pro- duced in the mind of the youthful Countess, was powerful but transient : and the Duke forbore to repeat what was so fruitless in producing reform. He resolved to wait patiently till her own ripen- ed reason should of itself work that change his arguments failed to effect in her disposition. ROSAMUND. 55 But what then shall tame this wild indifference ? Love has sworn to do it. The sighs and groans of her prostrate slaves have reached his ear and roused his jealous honor. He makes ready his formidable bow, he tries his pointed darts. * Are these powerful enough r' whispers the God. He hesitates. He contemplates the beauteous enemy and becomes thoughtful ; again he essays their points. He is dubious of their force — he invents new and more potent spells — he breathes on them an exquisite and insidious fire. Thus prepared he spreads on the buoyant air his purple wings, and directs his flight to the vale of llhouberg. Ah beauteous Clarenstein, thou unconscious of the impending danger, disportest thyself in airy levity ! Yet a few days, enjoy thy wild disdainful liberty. Wander free as air, through the open plains of Rhonberg, and press with thy light foct 56 ROSAMUND. the fresh springmg flowers. Mount the eastern hill ; present thyself before the throne of the rising sun, and let his first beams salute the most rare and most perfect pattern of nature's works ! Enjoy thy reign, press into the rapid hour eVery delight with which nature and thy own happy state surround thee, for soon a proud enchanter will appear, whose hand shall waken in that cold bosom a chord that sounds alike to agony and joy- " But see! The morn in russet mantle clad Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill/' Already the sun's first beams gild the tall spires of the castle ; I see the silken curtains of the Ladv Rosamund's chamber undrawn. Let us ROSAMUND. 57 depart^ lest we too, rashly gazing, become ena- mored of those bright eyes which unclose like another Aurora to spread around gladness and joy- 58 CHAPTER THE THIRD. A FEW days were spent by this noble company in a retirement that left them nothing to wish for — every delight that taste could procure was at their command, and perhaps there is no life more enchanting than that in which the ease and simpli* city of the pastoral, is illustrated and adorned by the graces of artificial manners. What is it that, in the pictures of the Arcadian age, so delights ROSAMUND. 69 the fancy ? Is it not the union of elegance with natural manners which without banishing simpli- city, the ground-work of true beauty of every kind, gives a shade of grace and elevation to the most ordinary and simple actions and feelings of every-day intercourse. Tliis union is however as chimerical as an Arabian night's tale. Where is now to be seen the grace of nature united to the grace of art ? One evening the Duke proposed to walk to some distance up the river where there stood the beautiful remains of an ancient tower. The Duchess assented. ^ And you Contessa,' said he to his sister. She excused herself. She had a slight head-ache — She did not feel heroine Enough that evening to walk four miles. ' I will,' continued she, ' wait your return here, and when it 60 ROSAMUND. is cooler, and the moon is risen, 1 will, if you like it, walk with you in the beech grove. Duchess, will you leave Eugene with me ?' The Duchess smiled assent : the Duke tenderly kissing his sister's forehead, and recommending her to repose and her own fair thoughts, departed with the Duchess and his eldest son. When they w^ere gone, the Lady Clarenstein placed herself on a couch by the window, whose golden lattices opened on a lofty terrace. There amidst clusters of roses and orange flowers, golden cages were hung filled with the most beautiful foreign birds. The breeze came from thence loaded with a thousand odors, a soft light stole on waves of purple through the rose-colored curtains of the saloon, and the silence around her was undisturbed save by the low hum of ROSAMUND, 61 some insect, as it passed through the trees and flowers. The young Countess was unusually serious: there was a cessation, a pause, as it were, in her usual gay and triumphant spirits. A thought- fulness stole over her. She was oppressed, with- out exactly knowing why. Era ni lieta ni dogliosa Come chi teme ed altro mal non sente. She fell into a sort of vague reverie, in which passed in review before her some of those bril- liant scenes of which her happy life had been composed. The retrospect did not, as oft it had done before, give to her heart a quickened pidse of pride and animation. She cast her eyes on 62 ROSAMUND. a voluine of Racine, from which the Duke had been reading aloud to her. The tragedy .f Bere- nice had been chosen for the subject of their amusement, where love is painted with all that noble delicacy, that chastened fire, w hich makes the principal and powerful charm of that poet. What is this vaunted passion which is here pour- trayed r — What is that sentiment of the soul that can absorb all others ? The Lady Rosamund sighed, and the book dropped from her hand. At that moment a music wild and sonorous filled the air with richest melody, and the young Countess smiled. She knew from whence it came, and recognised in the sweet attention her brother's tenderness. On leaving the castle, the Duke had, to divert the retirement of his sister, directed his musicians to ROSAMUyD. 63 place themselves in a grove at the bottom of the terrace, from whence the strains might reach her car in sounds * by distance made more sweet/ Meanwhile the young Eugene, the blue-eyed darling of her heart, that child whose mingled gaiety and tenderness of disposition rendered him so peculiarly interesting, was playing on the ter- race, and feeding his birds. Now and then he would glide into the room, as if wafted by the breath of the breeze, to lisp in her ear some phrase of infantine endearment ; or sometimes he would climb up behind the sofa, to lay on her bosom some choice spring, or flower of delicate per- fume ; then smiling in her face, like an angel, he would timidly apologise for the frequent intrusion with that enchanting naivete and address, which is so charming in children. 64 ROSAMUND, * Me do not want Lady Othamund to play with me. Me only bring her these flowers to make her head better ; but if she will come, me can show her where they grow.' *• My sweet child, I cannot come out now.' * Oh no, me do not say you will come .... but only you might, you know.' Thus alternately musing and listening to the notes which floated on the air, the Lady Rosa- mund beguiled the time, till at length the profound repose of all around threw her senses into a sweet composure. And when again the k)vely boy came in, he saw that her eyes were closed, and softly drew back not to disturb her slumber. ROSAMUND. 65 Ah, beauteous Clarenstein, now dost thou slumber, when danger is so near ! Now dost thou indulge the pensive softness of thy soul, when the enemy of thy peace is at hand ; at the very gates ; within a moment of being in thy presence ! And does no guardian Sylph, attached to thy fair des* tiny, rouse thee from this slumber, and flash before thee the image of danger ? No ! they leave thee to thy fate, and Love's enchantment is already begun. Already has he cast on thy own fair person fresh harmony and grace — the very air which thou iuhalest, is infected by his poison. A sudden noise startled her: it seemed to her that the bell of the great gate had rung. ' 'Tis fancy only,' said she^ and her eyes closed again. Again she starts. She hears the trampling of horses in the court. Thus roused from slumber^ 66 ROSAMUND. her heart beat with a quickened movement. She hears the sound of many voices, and amongst them, one unkuovvn to her, twice pronounced the name of the Duke. The sounds subside ; the folding doors softly open, and Bertrand, the groom of the chambers, informs ' Madame la Comtesse que Monsieur le General Comte de Mansfeldt vient d*arriver, et demaude d voir Monsieur le Due. Madame veut elle que Mon- sieur le Comte soit admis chez elle ?' The name of General Count Mansfeldt brought instantly to the idea of Lady Clarenstein a thou- sand^reat and brilliant actions — the strength and bulwark of the Austrian greatness. It was a name also which the Duke was accustomed to mention with extreme affection and regard. So ROSAMUND. 67 instantly she replied to Bertrand, ' Surement, ne faites pas attendre M. le Comte.* Scarcely was the word pronounced, than there appeared before her eyes a figure of even princely grandeur, who advanced with an air so full of martial confidence, that it would have been too commanding, if over every manly limb had not been cast a shade of courtly softness. He made a low obeisance : he said, that passing w ith his troops through that province in his road to Vienna, and having heard that the Duke w as at his castle of Rhonberg, he had ridden over from the village where a detachment of them was sta- tioned for the night, to pass with the Duke the few hours tliey would require for repose. To this the young Countess replied, that the Duke was at that moment absent, but she would send 68 ROSAMUND. instantly to acquaint him with his arrival. The General bowed. She wrote a short billet to the Duke, and with infinite sweetness expressed the part which she took in what would so greatly delight him. Again the General inclined his majestic figure. He seemed to take her for a fair phantom, and stood suspended, as does a man on whose eyes suddenly bursts a beauteous pros- pect. Twice did the young Countess request him to be seated, ere he seemed to comprehend her; at length, however, he was seated. The heat was excessive; he had ridden all day, and his boots were covered with dust. The Lady Rosamund gently observed, that perhaps it might be pleasant to him to lay aside some of his mili- tary accoutrements, thus delicately insinuating that she wished him to put himself at his ease in her presence. The General thanked her, and ROSAMUND. 69 unbracing his heavy sabre, unknotted his crimson sash, and as he rose to lay them on a chair, he cast a rapid glance round the chamber. He smiled, and said as he reseated himself, ' I have been lately in scenes so unlike the one in which I now find myself, that 1 can scarcely believe the enchantment real/ He then spoke slightly of the fatigue of th5 late campaign, and seemed to anticipate, with a feeling of satisfaction, the repose he should now enjoy after four years' hard service : peace being ^declared. At that moment Eugene flew into the room in a transport of infantine delight, with a bird on his finger—calling out, ' Look, look, it sits upon my hand/ 70 ROSAMUND. And he was running up to Lady Rosamund, when, seeing the Count, he started, looked sur- prised, and crept timidly to her knee. ' What a beautiful boy,' exclaimed the Count, extending towards him a hand that might have served for a model of the finest form of manly strength and beauty. Eugene pressed close to Lady Rosamund. * Shake hands with the Count,' said she to him. He looked averse, and instead of obeying her injunction, with a sudden spring he jumped on her lap, and laying his head on her shoulder, from that safe retreat he gazed at the Count with a half-smiling, half-astonished look. The Count's eyes were fixed on the exquisite picture. * Is that,' inquired he, ' your Grace's youngest child r' ROSAMUND. 71 At this question, which implied that the Count did not know her relation to the Duke, a delicate blush passed over her cheek, and she said with irresistible grace, * 1 think, my lord the Count mistakes me for the Duchess of Rhonberg. This sweet child is my nephew, the youngest jewel of my dear brother's house.' The Count explained, that he had never had the honor of seeing the Duchess of Rhonberg. * That is her portrait,' said the Countess, di- recting his eyes to a picture of the Duchess, which hung in the apartment. ' Is he angry,' whispered Eugene, * because I would not shake hands with him r' 72 ROSAMUND. The Count heard him, and again extended his hand. ^ No, fair boy,' said lie^ ' but will you Come now ?' and so saying, he drew nearer and seated himself on the couch by Lady Rosamund j and soon won the boy to him by his courteous softness. The young Eugene sat on his knee, and played with the rich ornaments of his military costume, and laughed, and chatted : in a word, grew perfectly at his ease. The Lady Rosamund felt, she knew not why, more grave than ever. The Count was engaged with the child, and she became thoughtful, almost disturbed. There was soniething so distinguished in his address, that it was almost imposing. The Lady Rosamund, who was accustomed oftentimes to see ' men look silly in her presence,' beheld ROSAMUND. 75 now the union of even piincely ease, uith a politeness manly, graceful, but not obsequious. She heard the voice of the noble stranger, low and impassioned, ans^^ ering the artless questions of a child. She saw that mighty arm which had fought the battles of his country, deign to contend with an infant's strength. She saw the simplicity of greatness which was accustomed to command and to be obeyed, now submit to the playful drolleries of a stripling child. They were noisy in their play ; and the Count laughed aloud, et de bon coeur. ' Your hair,' cried Eugene, lifting up a mass of daik brown hair from the Count's forehead, ' is so black, and mine is so white. It curls more than mine does ; how do you make it curl so :' VOL. I, D 74 ROSAMUND. * Indeed/ said the Count, laughing, ' I do not know — It curls of itself, I fancy/ ' Shall I tell you how mine curls ?* ' Yes/ * Why, when I go to bed. Lady Othamund turns it round her fingers, and then in the morn- ing it is all in an uproar, as Constantine says. Does any body curl yours so ?' ' No, indeed,' said the Count, * nobody is so kind to me ; I am not so happy as you, fair boy/ * Ah,' cried Eugene, in a tone of alarm, as playing with his hair he discovered a large scar on the Count's forehead, * what is that great long ROSAMUN'D. 75 place on your forehead ? Did you cut yourself ?' The Lady Rosamund lifted up her eyes — • Oh, what a grace was seated on ihat brow, ' Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself, ' An eye like Mars to threaten or command.* Tlie Count beheld the touching expression of her eyes as they for a moment rested on his fore- head, — he was a little embarrassed — he felt a proud modesty at thus having his scars of honor unveiled to the eye of a woman. So he endea- voured to divert the attention of Eugene to some- thing else, which with some pain he effected. ' Are you come to stay with us V asked Eu- gene. 76 ROSAMUND. * No, I am going away to-morrow/ ' But will you come back ?' * Perhaps.' * And will you play with me then f ' Yes/ * And will you love me V * I do love you now.* < And will you love Constantiue, and mamma and papa V * Yes, certainly.' ROSAMUND. n * And will you love her too ?' said he, leaning over to Lady Rosamund, and pulling softly her hand. ' You must love dear Lady Othamund too.' The Count smiled — he cast a transient glance on Lady Rosamund — he did not speak. * Why don't you speak r' said Eugene. * Per- haps you think she won't let you — but I am sure she will — because she loves me — won't you, Lady Othamund ? won't you let me and the Count love you r' * Oh yes, certainly,' said the Countess laugh- ing, and slightly embarrassed. * Oh, she says we may,' continued the child, turning to the Count — ' so you may love her if you please — and I am sure you w ill like her so much 78 ROSAMUND. — you will be so happy. She is so good, and tells so many pretty stories about fairies and knights, and kings and queens.' ' Hark/ exclaimed Lady Rosamund, ' I think I hear the Duke's voice — Yes, it is he — Come here to me, you prattler. My lord,' said she, addressing herself to the Count, ' if you wish more immediately to see the Duke, at the end of that terrace, there is a flight of steps which will lead you to the path my brother must cross before he reaches the castle.' The Count bowed. A shade of emotion passed over his features ; and he hastily withdrew. The Countess remained on the terrace with Eugene. The Duchess soon joined her, her eyes sparkling with delight, declaring that tht ROSAMUND. 79 arrival of the General had made the Duke the happiest of men. ' Have you seen him, Hermione ?' * No, I left the Duke at the entrance of the beech grove. I never saw any one more happy than the Duke was when he received your note, Rosamund.' ' I did the honors of your castle, Duchess, as well as they can be done in your absence.' * A thousand thanks for the service done, and for the flattering humility of my sweet sister,' returned the Duchess, laughing. ' As we went up the river, we saw some tioops at a distance going into Rhonberg, but as the country towards 80 ROSAMUND. Vienna is now filled with troops returning home, we did not much observe it, except for the pic- turesque effect they produced in these quiet vales. In a few moments the Duke, and with him that noble stranger, entered to them. The Duchess gave him a reception full of grace and animation, and Lady Rosamund said, ' Do you know, Hermione, that Monsieur le Comte de Mans- feldt did me the honor to take me for you ? — Nay, I am not certain that he yet knows pre- cisely who I am.' The Count smiled. ^ Yes,' replied he, ' I do. I know that your name is Rosamund. — Is there any other name or title attached to that imperial flower I I beseech you let me know it.' The Duke took his sister's ROSAMUND. 81 hand, and, with an action that authorised the Count to receive it, he said, * Tlie imperial rose is known also by the name of the Countess of Clarenstein.' At that name, the Count started as if he had received an electric shock. ^ Clarenstein !' re- peated he — he dropped the hand which he held. ' Is the Countess of Clarenstein, your sister r' The smile vanished from his lips, his brow was clouded; and he bent his awful eye upon her with a look cold, serious, scrutinising. Surprise held the noble family mute — A shade of deeper carna-^ tion passed over the fair face of the young Coun- tess, and her bosom hearved with a prouder grace. ' What is this?' cried the Duke. The Count recollected himself: he said coldly, that he had 82 ROSAMUND. not been aware that the Countess of Clarensteia was the Duke's sister. The Duke made no reply. The Lady Clarenstein, with an air of dignity that never more became her, retired from the circle. With much address, the Duchess endeavoured to turn the conversation on other subjects, but in vain were all her graceful efforts. The animation and pleasure, which ten minutes before had irra- diated every countenance, were banished. Asto- nishment on the part of the Duke cast a shade of reserve over his manner. He loved and honored the Count above all men, and he awaited with im- patience the moment which should allow him to ask an explanation of a conduct so extraordinary. The Lady Rosamund, when she returned to^ them, showed no marks of resentment for what had passed. She said little, however. The Count ROSAMUND. OJ did not address himself to her, and he was polite, cold and distant. The evening was short. The Duchess retired early. Whether or not the Duke was satisfied with the explanation which he received from the Count, will be known hereafter. The Lady Rosamund w^ent with the Duchess to her cham- ber. * In the name of all that is extraordinary,' ex- claimed she, ^ do tell me, Hermione, if you know what this means ? Is the Count de Mansfeldt wrong in his head ?' ' By the life of the Duke,' cried the Duchess, ^ I cannot explain this mystery. Have you your- self no suspicion of the cause r' S4 ROSAMUND. * None upon earth — ^till this evening I never saw the Count. I knew him only by reputation, as every one else knows him/ * The Duke will ask him, however. Of that 1 am certain : I saw displeasure in his eye.* ' 'Tis very strange. I saw no signs of discon- tent before. He seemed pleased with the recep- tion given him : and though he does smile in most lofty guise, yet still he did smile. To start at my name ! To drop my hand ! proud fastidious lord t Did you see it ?' * Aye, my sweet sister, I beheld it.* ' But,* continued the young Countess, in a half-laughing, half-resentful tone, * if this proud ROSAMUND. 85 friend of Rhonberg's came here in thunder and lightning to declare war against my name, though I cannot command his dainty liking, I will know, at least, how to command his silence. I will not be frightened at a pair of black brows, be they as black as the Olympian Jove's. If my fair name displease him, let him depart and breathe another air ; let another land bear his august weight — 1*11 promise not to cross his path to starde him.* ' I foresee that he will some day be at your feet for this — there is some mbtake, some misunderstanding.' * At my feet! I scarcely think that he can bend so low, unless it were to some Empress or other, who would give him her crown.' 86 ROSAMUND. * He has indeed a most noble presence !* * Tall enough ; he looks as if his front would quarrel with the stars for shining.' ' He has something of a chivalrous air, like Francis the First/ * Francis the First, Duchess ! that prince of all gallantry — ihe cream of courtesy, and pink of politeness ! Do you think that Francis the First M'ould have behaved in that way to me^ if I had lived in his age, and been presented to him ?' ' He has something in his smile that resembles the Duke's,' went on the Duchess. ' The Duke's upper lip is not disfigured bj those Austrian mustachios.' ROSAMUND. 87 ' Disfigured ! I think that it adds a manliness and grace to his countenance that is pleasing/ * Not like my name !* repeated the Lady Rosa- mund, after a moment's pause. * It must be some secret prejudice.* * Prejudice! dear Duchess, what prejudice can exist in his mind against mer 1 never, that I know of, injured any one/ ' Only a small amiy of men without hearts/ * Oh that goes for nothing. Those sort of in- juries are understood to mean nothing.' 88 ROSAMVND. * Perhaps the Count does not think it quite so much an affair of nothing/ ' He has no right to be offended at other peo- ple's wrongs/ * Perhaps he is afraid of becoming one of that heartless band/ * And defends himself before he is attacked/ * The Count has been much in Hungary. When you resided there, did you never see him ?' - * No; it so chanced that he never came to Buda. I heard him often mentioned with enthu- siasm by the people of that country for his great humanity, and by officers who served under him ROSAMUND. 89 who were occasionally at Buda. He had the reputation of being wholly devoted to war, and of being insensible to pleasure, and the dissipa- tions for which men of his profession are in gene- ral so noted. He was called austere in his man- ners, severe in discipline, inaccessible to the siren voice of pleasure — not much, like Francis the First that I think, Duchess ? But come, I see you are sleepy, I will send you your women. You shall tell me to-morrow what the Duke says/ 90 CHAPTER THE FOURTH. 1 HE next morning at her reveil, the young Countess received from the hands of her woman a billet. * What is this, Helene ?' said she half asleep, and not observing the hand writing of the Duke. * One of my Lady Duchess*s women brought it to me, Madam. The Duke left it in her chamber this morning, before he set off!' ROSAMUND. 91 * Set off !' repeated Lady Rosamund. ' My Lord Duke went as far as with the Count this morning. They set off at day break/ Tlie Countess opened the note and read as follows. ' My Lady and Sister. 1 am going as far as on the road to Vienna with General Mansfeldt, but I shall do all in my power to return to breakfast as usual with you. May I hope that you will then be disposed to receive with your accustomed candor the communication which I am under the necessity of making to you. ' Rhonberg.' 92 ROSAMUND. The Countess read this letter twice over, with- out being able to understand from it, the nature of the communication which the Duke had to make to her — but it was evident since he thought it necessary to bespeak her candor^ that it was a subject not only displeasing to him, but would also be so to her. There was likewise a coldness in the expressions of his note very unlike the playful * eloquence du billet' in which he usually addressed her. The Duke and his sister were accustomed to breakfast together in her apart- ments, as the Duchess rose late. They passed together the first hours of the morning, as the young Countess, • with slumbers light, that fly th' approach of morn,' always quitted her chamber at an early hour. ROSAMUND. 93 She was yet laying on her uhite forehead the glossy ringlets of her dark hair, when she heard the Duke enter the adjoining apartment. * Braid up my hair as fast as you can/ said she to Helena, ^ I can finish dressing afterwards T So not to make the Duke wait, she wrapped around her slender form, a loose robe of pale- colored sattin, and went to him. Tlie Duke was standing by the window : he looked grave. He did not, as he was accustomed to do, embrace his sister — He only held out his hand to her and said, * Will you give me some breakfast, Contessa? I have ridden forty miles since four o'clock this morning.' They seated themselves. The Duke did not take his usual place. The Lady Rosamund felt 94 ROSAMUND. / uneasy — any change, however slightyin the Duke^s manner was of importance to her, since the equa- nimity of his temper never suffered an apparent alteration but from some serious cause. The next time therefore, that she addressed him, though it was only to ask if he would have some coffee, her softened, anxious vbice betrayed her feeling of his altered manner* The Duke drew his chair into its accustomed position nearer his sister— but he only said gently * Si Contessa, si vous voulez bien,' and he began to eat his breakfast. The young Countess sat turning lier spoon in her tea with a pensive uneasy air — not a word was spoken. Helene came in with a basket of flowers which she placed on the table. Now the UOSAMUXD. 95 Lady Clareusteiu was accustomed every morning to make up a nosegay for the Duke — so she drew the flowers near her, and began selecting some of them — but she had never before found so much difficulty in making a nosegay. The flowers all turned the wrong way, and their colors did not assort. At length seeing that the Duke did not open on the subject of his letter, she drew it out gently from within the folds of her robe, and said, ' you tell me in this, that there is something of which you w ish to inform me.' * There is are you disposed to receive itr* ' Am I disposed ? Am I ever otherwise .? Rhonberg, you are offended at something !' 96 HOSAMUND. ^ OiFended r No — I am hurt !' ^ At what ! I beseech you, let me know it !' ' You will not like what I have to say.' ' Perhaps no t - ■ ■ but nothing that I can hear will be so painful as the coldness of your manner/ she would have said ; but the word died on her lips. ' I have not indeed the right,' continued the Duke with increased gravity, ' to resent an estrangement from what 1 conceive to be the high point of female honor; but I must be wounded at it.' Tlie Lady Rosamund looked appalled. The puke went on — ROSAMUND. 97 * You will perhaps esteem such delicacy in me a weakness, but that vou will pardon— your sentiments I know are widely different from mine on this point — for I think that you are well assured that my attachment to you is not that of a common brother ; if it were, I might perhaps, like them, smile, and suflPer such slight deviations from propriet}- to pass. But to know that the conduct of the Count de Mansfeldt last night to you which alarmed the jealous tenderness of my feelings of what is due to you^-to feel, I say, that such conduct was justified, ' ' Justified.'' repeated the Countess proudly. * It is painful to me to know that the man I love and honor above all men, is justified in thinking less nobly than I do, of my sister.' VOL. I. E 9S KOSAMUNI). * I can imagine no cause the Count de Mans- feldt should have to think of me otherwise than well/ ^ Know you of none ?' ^ None, on my honor/ * Are then the triumphs of your coquetry so numerous that they escape your memory ? The Chevalier Ferdinand St. Julien. . . / A crimson blush covered the face of the young Countess. The Duke was answered. He paused ; a moment after he tlius addressed her. * It may be imagined that the circumstance, which took place yesterday evening in my presence, greatly astonished and displeased me. The explanation ROSAMUND. 99 Nvhich the Count de Mansfeldt gave me with extreme reluctance, yielding only to my earnest entreaty, was as follows. " It is now three years since the battle of one of the most memorable for the glory of the Austrian arms. The pride of the German youth were there, and fought as if to contest among each other the palm of glory. The Chevalier Ferdinand St. Julien alone was not found at his post in the field of honor. He was at that time an officer in the regiment of General M *= * * * ^vho com- manded the army. The Chevalier had for some time been stationed at Buda, from whence three days before the battle he had received orders to return to the army Nvith the party under his com- mand : he was not specially informed of the intended engagement : he w as commanded only to return, his active services being required. He divoboyed hii onkt*. He \\m not at \\w bnttlt*. llo nriiveti tho day after it hud been won. A court niaitittl >vu« in.ntitutcHl : the Chevalier wat tJied, caiJucird, (lishonort-d, am! disniij^ned the •ervice." ITie young Counter betrayeil ttigiw ol* grt:at emotion, llie Duke went on. *^ Frantic with shame he attempted hb hfe. General Mansfeldt, under who.se protection be had been from his first ontmnce into the service, was moved with compassion at his extreme des- pair. He knew him to be a young man of ardent feelings and the noblest sense of honor; 'till that moment, never having swerved from the line of duty. He went to the Chevalier ; he counseled^ aiid sustained him under the weight ROSAMUND. TOl 9i hin disgrace : he showed him the possibilitj q( rcgaiaing his lost honor : promised to let him serve under him as a voiunteer, and cag aggd to give him opportunities of aignalisiog kiaMeif in the most hazardous achievements. The Chevalier fell at his feet, and thanked him, as if it had been ior life itself. The Count then ia^iurecl what had detained him at Buda. Then tfce wretched youth, in a paroxysm of love, grief and iiK%]is^ tion pronounced the name of Clarc mtcfliy wad told a tale of passion even to idolatry on his part, of witchery and seduction on hers, it was that Lady who had demanded of him as a proof of his love, that sacndce of his obedience. He, little in MJiif^ of the battle, consented, though with pain. He was present at the fete at which she, like another Annida, despoiled him of his honor. 102 ROSAMUND. The Count insisted that never more he should behold that dangerous beauty. The madly ena- mored boy prostrated himself at his feet implor- ing his General not to demand such a sacrifice. * Are you beloved r' he cried. Tlie boy was silent. Tlie General then was firm^ the resigna- tion he demanded was tlie price of his favor. He had patience with the wild ravings of a pas- sion to which himself was a stranger. He heard the name of Clarenstein a thousand times pro- nounced with the expression of a sick delirious fancy. At length he conquered. The Chevaher regained his friend, his honor, and his former post. He fought like a lion in several desperat© engagements and all was repaired— all but the injury done to his peace of mind. Yet did the General, for the sake of that nice honor wliich he thinks should guard the name of a noble Lady ROSAMUND. 103 iVom all aspersion, conceal the tale he had heard. It was known that love had been the cause of the Chevalier's misfortune — the rest w as concealed." The Duke was silent. He rose from his seat, and pressed his sister's hand. * I am sorry/ said he, * thus to disturb you : but I could no other- wise explain what passed last night.' A shower of tears fell from the eyes of the Countess. The Duke twice kissed her passive hand, and left the room. 104 CHAPTER THE FIFTH. JL H E Count, after spending a few days at Vienna^ returned to Rhonberg, the Duke and Duchess having warmly solicited him to spend with them the time they proposed remaining there. Tlie second meeting of himself and Lady Clarenstein was far different from the first. The Count had been where he had heard all the world vaunting the power of her charms, and the abuse which she made of it. The secret prejudice, therefore, ROSAMUND. 105 which he entertained against her character was in no wise diminished, and the distant politeness with whicli he behaved to her, sufficiently evinced it. It is in the retirement of the country alone where character and disposition show themselves without constraint, and the young Countess had full opportunity of observing that of her proud enemy, as she called him ; and die more she ob- served, the more she regretted that in so noble and generous a mind there should exist an impres- sion of herself so little favorable ; for it was in affairs of the heart alone, where her vanity was strongly excited, that the Lady Rosamund ceased to be candid and reasonable. The Count pos- sessed a strong and ardent soul, the most perfect self-command allied to a passionate admiration 106 HOSAMUND. of every thing that is beautiful and grand in th« vorks of art and nature. He was not only an accomplished soldier, he was also what the soldier seldom is, an accomplished man of literature. He had studied as well as fought. He had a flow of language lofty and simple — a richness of imagery in which he clothed his sentiments, that possessed all the seductive power of eloquence — eloquence which never prostituted itself to render vice or error amiable, but which served to render more beautiful, sentiments full of integrity, sound judg- ment and liberality, at once exalted and indul- gent. The Count's life had been devoted to the severe duties of his profession. Pleasure and the soft play of the affections were known to him only as beautiful illusions, in which he must not ROSAMUND. 107 bdulge his fancy. But sonaetimes a slight melancholy, resting on his fine countenance, told the penetrating observer that he was framed for all the sweet charities of life — it seemed like the emanation of a soul made for tenderness and joy. Of women, and all the variety of the female clia- racter, he knew little — he had lived but little in their society — he regarded them as a species of beautiful flowers, too delicate to be mixed with the austere laurels which he gathered. He re- garded them as with a kind of blind adoration, firmly believing that their minds were as lovely as their persons. He was, in a word, a creature formed to be their dupe ; to give up his whole soul to them, and to be deceived. Yet did he not suspect the depth of his own character, and the immense capability with which his heart was endowed for attaching itself to a beloved object. 108 ROSAMUND. No>V in the lap of peace, all the sensibilities of his nature were awakened by objects of loveliness and grace. The interchange of the soft affec- tions^ smiles and winning endearments, the charm of nature^ united to a classic elegance of taste, these, and a thousand other, to him yet unknown, f strane dolcezze della vita umana^' all poured like a torrent on his heart, and lulled in sweet repose that soul accustomed to the hard exertions of magnanimous fortitude and self-denial. For the Count was a soldier of fortune. He had known adversity, and his present greatness wag the beautiful structure of his own virtues. The hours now flew for him on silken wings. Yet were all his attentions directed towards the Duchess. It was her hand which he solicited, w hen, as they often did, they joined the dance of ROSAMUND* 109 the peasants on the lawn before the castle. It was for her he spread his mantle on the grass, if fatigued with walking she wished to repose. It was on her side of the barouche that he drew up his horse in their moonlight drives. Now the fair Rosamund opposed to this indif- ference nothing but the sweetest affability. It was impossible not to be wounded at it, but she had too much dignity to resent it : but neither did she attempt, by flattering blandishments, to appease the offended power. * I think,' said she one day to the Duchess^ ' that it is little less than hate.* ' If it is not the effect of caution,* replied the Duchess, ' it is very bad taste.' 110 ROSAMUND. If the Countess hud so construed the behaviour of her proud enemy, it is possible that she might have seen in it more to gratify than wound her self-love; and probably she would so have inter- preted it, had she not known that a strong preju- dice existed against her in his mind. It has been said before, that the Count knew little of the cha- racter of women, and he suspected not that ever he should behold in a coquette that which was to win his whole soul away. He never dreamt of danger, for the first few days of his residence at Rhonberg : but as the time passed on by degrees, he began to observe that in Lady Clarenstein's deportment, there was a nobleness, an ease, an absence so entire, of all the inferior arts of coquet- ry, even to a neglect oftentimes of occasions on which it might fairly have exercised itself, that astonished and perplexed him. He knew from KOSAMUND, 111 the Duke that she was informed of the part he had taken m the unfortunate affair of the Cheva- lier St. Julien. He half regretted that he had not better concealed his knowledge of it. He half wished to apologise for tJie uncourteous action into ^^hich he had been betrayed at the moment of being presented to her. One evening, as they were returning from a drive of some distance, the night closed in with heavy clouds, which threatened a stonn. The Duchess was liable to be alarmed at thunder. The gentlemen rode up, and the Duke appre- hending that a storm would come on, told the postilions to drive on at full speed, hoping to reach Rhonberg ere it came on ^vlth violence. They did so ; but they had not proceeded half a league, before a tremendous flash of lighturog. 112 ROSAMUND; which caihe in the faces of the front horses, so startled one of them^ that it reared and plunged in a frightful manner. All was confusion. The Duke called to them to take the horses out. They obeyed. The Duchess was much fright* ened. ' My dearest love/ said the Duke_, ' it is im- possible to proceed 'till the storm is over: com- pose yourself: there is no danger.' The Duchess wished to alight and take shelter in a thick grove hard by, * You are better here/ said the Duke ; ' but if you wish it/ and seeing terror in her counte- nance, which she vainly endeavoured to restrain, assisted her to alight. Lady Rosamund followed. They entered the grove, and stationed themselves ROSAMUND. 113 under the shade of some large trees. The storm \vas loud, and the rain began to pour in torrents. The Duchess, no longer able to conceal her ter- rors, threw herself on the breast of the Duke, trembling, and concealing her eyes not to behold the lightning. ^leantime the young Countess, with her back to a tree, stood like the angel in the midst of the storm; silent, yet awed. The wind blew the white plumes of her hat with a pictur- esque wildness against her cheek. Her fair hands tried* to hold on her bosom her light scarf, which fluttered in disorder round her, and there was a mixture of \\ildness and composure in her air and figure and in the expression of her large black eyes a little thrown upwards, that fixed the attention of the Count Mausfeidt who stood near her. 114 ROSAMUND. ' Are you not frightened ?' said he. ' No/ she replied, * but 1 think that it is very awful.' It was the first time that the Count had ever immediately addressed her, and the dialogue went no further. At length the heavens became serene — the storm was over — and the Duchess recovered from her fear. The horses were put to, and they pro* ceeded on the road to the castle. It was quite dusk. Fatigued and harassed by her apprehen- sions, the Duchess laid herself back in the car- riage, and they proceeded in silence. The Lady Clarenstein was no more than her sister disposed for conversation. There was something in the indifference of General Mansfeldt to her, that Jiad been more than usually apparent that evew- ROSAMUND. Hi ing. His cold silence : the little solicitude uhicli he seemed to feel for the inconvenience that she sufiered during the storm, mortified her. Her thoughts were thus engaged, when General Mansfeldt, pulling his horse up along side of the barouche, said, in a softened voice, * I hope that you do not suffer from the wet.' Now it was too dark to distinguish the expression of the Count's face, and certain as Lady Rosamund felt that the question, and the tone in which it was spoken, were not addressed to her, she concluded that the Count had mistaken her for Hennione. She made no answer, but gently rousing the Duchess she said, * Hermione, Monsieur le General de- sires to know how you are.' The Duchess replied, and thanked him. The Count bowed, checked liis horse, and let the barouche pass on. 116 ROSAMUND. * What then/ said he to himself, ' does she think that 1 am an unfeeling brute, so little anx- ious for her safety, that a simple inquiry, dictated by common benevolence, cannot be addressed to her, but to the Duchess ? Does she think that I have not common humanity ? When I saw the rain beating on her breast, in spite of those exqui- site hands which but ill guarded it. It is true that I took off my cloak to cover the Duchess from the storm, but it was because I dare not offer it to her. She much mistakes if she thinks that I can see a woman exposed to difficulties, and give myself no care about them. 1 would rather have had all the waters of the Rhine upon mine own head, than see that throne of loveliness deluged beneath all that wet lawn : I suppose that she thinks I did not see that — nor all her ROSAMUND. 117 forgetfulness of herself, while she was consoling and supporting her sister. I cannot bear that any one should think me an unfeeling brute.' }J8 CHAPTER THE SIXTH. i H E next morning the young Countess waiting for the Duke to breakfast) stepped from her apart- ment into a viranda to gather some moss-roses. The morning was beautiful, the dew yet rested on the grass, and a soft light air played among ihe branches of the trees. On the lawn beneath, her brother and the Count were slowly walking. TtTie thick foliage of the flowers concealed her^ and not to overhear their discourse^ the Lady Rosamund put back the branches which shaded her from their sight, and spoke to the Duke. To the Count she bowed her graceful head. ' Era un salute soavemente altera.' ' I am quite well,' said she, replying to an inquiry of the Duke's after her health — ^ but are you not coming ?' ' Immediately, Contessa,' he answered, and then spoke to the Count, who replied with an air of embarrassment, and as if refusing to assent to what the Duke proposed. * It is impossible,' she heard him say ' I cannot — I have not the boldness 1 can employ myself 'till your return.' ' Contessa,' said the Duke, detaining him by the arm. Shej understood the expression of his eye. It intimat- ed that she should ask the Count to breakfast 120 ROSAMUND. with them. So bending over the balcony she said to the Count, * if it is not displeasing to you to come with the Duke, it will give me pleasure* I shall otherwise feel that I deny you the satis- faction of his company/ The Count half-pleased, half-embarrassed, said, ' that she did him too much honor,' in a voice so low that it was scarcely audible, and followed the Duke to her cabinet. Never had the eyes of the soldier beheld any thing so be- witchingly fair as that Lady whom he felt every moment more deeply to regret having offended. He was silent, and a sort of half-dignified em- barrassment gave a constraint to his actions that would have gratified the young Countess, if she had known the feeling from which it proceeded : but satisfied that the Count disliked her, she KOSAMUND. 121 attributed all the reserve of liis manner to that cause ; and content with having obliged the Duke by asking him, she addressed all her conversation to the latter. She was gay, animated, irresis- tibly charming. The Count sighed when he felt the different tone in which she addressed him and the Duke : he envied Rhonberg, the courteous smiles which she gave him — the freedom of her air and the playfulness of her actions. He would have given his right hand if she would have said to him ' you,' instead of speaking to him in the third person. ' ^Monsieur le Comte prefere-t-il,' or ' permettra-t-il/ seemed so plainly to say, I treat you with all possible honor because you are my brother's friend. If she cast her eye on him, its softened expression vanished : if she spoke, it was without a smile : if she a\ as of a different opinion to him, she sajd so with an VOL. I. F 122 ROSAMUND. air ' alteramente umile/ not with that playful desire of contest that she did to the Duke her brother. The Count was unhappy, and he was silent : — he was thoughtful — he no longer attempted to take any part in the conversation, and wished breakfast at an end, that the Coun- tess might be relieved from the tediousness of his presence. The young Countess divided the cluster of roses which she had gathered — she gave some to the Duke, ' Will you wear these to day r' said she. The Duke kissed the hand whiter than snow that placed the flowers in his breast. The Count never moved his eyes. The Duke looked expressively at his sister, and then at the flowers on the table. She shook her head. ^ Pray do ; he is hurt,' whispered the Duke. ' If you desire it r said she, carelessly. ROSAMUND. 123 The Count neither seemed to see nor hear, when that lovely hand, the very perfection of female softness, laid beside him a beautiful half- blown bud; her hand chanced to touch his own. He started looked disordered. ' Again!* exclaimed involuntarily the young Countess, and blushing deeply. Tlie Count felt to what she alluded. Provoked at himself, he said something unintelli- gible about his ' absence,' and went out of the rooni in much disorder^ leaving the rose on the table. The Lady Rosamund looked at her brother : ^ What does this mean :' said she. ' More than is declared,' replied the Duke, who understood what had pissed. * Tis very like aversion j' said she coldly. 124 ROSAMUND. ^ Not much, Contessa.' ' What is it then pray may I ask V * Time will show.* * I never thought to see this little hand twice cast away. Is there poison in my fingers r' Tlie Duke laughed : ' More than you suspect/ thought he. * Why do you laugh, Rhonberg V ' Time will show.' < I do not understand you — but I do not like to be hated even by the Count/ ROSAMUND. 125 ' Even by the Count,' repeated the Duke— that * eveu' is delightfully flattering. * Don't you go to see what ails hhn r' * No— tlie fresh air will recover him:— this cabinet is so perfumed. The odor of roses is disagreeable to him perhaps.* * It seems to me that roses of all sorts offend him.' ^ Yes, even the rose unique/ said the Duke affectionately. ' But come, are you disposed to read some Spanish with me, now I am at your service for an hour or two r' ia6 ItOSAMUND. ' I shall like it very much. Let us go into the V iranda — we shall get out of the perfumed cabinet ; perhaps it annoys you too/ ' No/ said the Duke significantly — ' my senses are not disordered by roses* So saying, he took from her hand the books which she held, and removed into the viranda. CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. xxs it was the custom at Rhonberg to do exactly that which was most agreeable to the inhabitants, not because the Lord and Lady of the castle wished to put off from themselves the trouble of amusing their guests^ but because it was their desire that every one should be at their ease ; the Count never appeared 'till dinner-time. He had been wandering over the woods and lawns, the whole morning. 328 ROSAMUND. He entered the dining room some moments after every body had been seated. He bowed his excuses to the Duchess — never looked at Lady Rosamund, and began a sort of disjomted tete-d-t^te with the Duke. But on his features rested that shade of pensive thoughtful ness which seemed to betray what had been the subject of his reveries that morning. It was agreed during dinner^ that they should sail up the river to that ruin whither the Duke had gone on the evening of the Count's arrival. Soon after, the Duchess rose from table, and having some letters to write for Vienna, she went to her apartment to finish them. Half an hour after, the Duke went to her, and the Count sIov» ly sauntered into the saloon. It was empty. He threw himself into a chair, and leaning his head on his hand, some minutes passed in reflective silence, when suddenly from ROSAMUND, 129 the terrace, the Lady Rosamund flew into the room with an air of terror even to wildness. She darted towards the door. The Count's voice arrested her. *■ Is any thing the matter r' exclaim- ed he : — ' What has happened?' She came up to him. *■ ^ly Lord/ said she, her hands clasped together, ' for the love of heaven save him.' ' Save whom r — what r' * Eugene,' cried she, pointing to the terrace. The Count stayed to hear no further, but disappeared. The sweet child had been playing on the terrace, while Lady Rosamund, who was sitting there, was reading. Unseen by her, he had climbed over the balustrades which bordered the 130 ROSAMUND. terrace, and had let himself down on the pedi- ment or base on which they stood. Heedless, and unconscious of his danger, the lovely child stood balancing himself by his hands, smiling at the novelty of his situation. The Count shuddered when he beheld him. He came up gently, and leaning over the rails, said, ' Is that pleasant ?' ' Oh yes —do try!' The Count saw indeed that the only means by which he could save him was to place himself in the same perilous position. The base indeed was scarcely wide enough for him to stand, but the boy had got too low to admit of the possibi- lity of reaching him from above. ROSAMUND. 131 ' Shall I come down r' said he calmly. * Oh, do, do/ ' Stand fast then 'till I come/ So saying the Count sprung over the rails. He sustained his foot firm on the perilous edge. A hair's breadth was between him and destruc- tion. He measured the height above with his eye, and in a moment ere the boy was aware, he cast his arm around him, grasped him by the waist, lifted him over the height, and let him fall gently on the turf beneath, unhurt_, and even laughing at the adventure. He ran into the saloon. The Count vaulted over the rails, and followed him. He saw the child on the lap of the Countess. She clasped him in her arms — 1S2 ROSAMUND. called him by the tenderest names, and a deluge of tears fell from her eyes. * Merciful heaven/ she exclaimed, ' what would have become of thy mother if ' The Count's manly heart was moved at the natural expression of feelings, which placed all the woman before his eyes. Eugene surprised and half frightened at the paleness of Lady Rosamund's countenance and her extreme emo- tion, of which he did not clearly understand that he was the cause^ wound his arm round her neck and said, * dear Lady Othamund, w hat is it f why do you cry so ?' At length she left gazing on the child, and gratitude to his preserver suspended the first transports of her joy. She lifted up her eyes on ROSAMUND. 133 him as he stood before her, and said with an affecting earnestness, ' What can I say, my Lord r you have done me a service that the universe could not repay.' I scarcely imagine how you took him from that dreadful situation ! ^ Oh, he came down to me,' said the child. She shuddered. She com- prehended alike the extent of the danger and the peril in which the Count had put himself in order to save the boy. She turned pale — and sickened, and bent her head over him. * Are you vexed that I went there f' cried Eugene. * His mother,' faintly exclaimed the Countess, ' his mother, who would have died with grief but for you, shall thank you as the greatness of the sjift deserves.' The Count kissed the fore- 134 ROSAMUND. head of Eugene wet with her tears. He was silent^ for, in truth, he was too much moved to speak. Now the young Countess mistook this silence for a fresh proof of his cold indifference to herself. At that moment her soul was soften- ed ; and too much impressed by gratitude to be capable of entertaining any feeling of a personal kind. But she felt the more the cold unkindness which seemed thus, on every occasion, to refuse any communion of feeling with her, however sacred and important. So pressing the child to her bosom she said in a tremulous voice, ^ As for myself I love this child so entirely, that not even the gratitude of a mother can exceed mine but from me there is a painful certainty at my heart, that thanks from me would be grat- ing in your ear So my Lord, from the bottom of niv soul I thank you in my sister's name. ROSAMUND. 135 Come bo}v, we will go to her. In truth thou hast put me into a fearful panic' Saying these words, she arose, took him in her arms, and mur- muring over him ten thousand blessings, accom- panied by the most tender embraces, she left the room. The Count stood riveted to the earth. * What did she say r' at length he cried, ' that thanks from her by heaven I cannot suffer this^ She shall not think so 1 will go instantly, and tell her it is too much.' The Count precipitately followed her. He saw her passing through the great hall leading to the apartments of the Duchess. She sat down on the steps to recover, herself. She was drying 13^ ROSAMUND, her fair eyes when he came up. She heard hi8 «tep, and rose to retire. ' Lady Clarenstein !' cried he, ' may I beg to he heard one moment.' She turned round. * I am the most miserable man alive/ w'ent on the Count, ' if you have not the goodness to bury in everlasting forgetfulness an action, which I can never enough regret. You said just now, that '^ thanks" from you would be grating to my ear. I can no longer endure to be for ever misunder- stood. Madam, I would spend my heart's blood to serve you — and I beseech you to believe that I have been miserable ever since the evening of my arrival. You know to what I allude. 1 was wrong ; impetuous. I come now to say so — pray forget it, and pardon me.' ROSAMUND. 137 * Pardon you, my Lord ! Tlie indignation which you expressed wasjustified by the cause/ ' That is nothing. Be what I heard true or false, it was in me a most injurious action. Per- haps it hurt you r' ' I believe it did/ * I know,' said the Count in a low^ subdued voice, * that I am too blunt in manner to do any thing but displease you but T am sure that not willingly would I do any thing that should hurt the feelings of a woman/ ' I believe it, and will think of it^ my Lord, no more !' 138 ROSAMUND. * You are an angel/ cried the Count abruptly, ' I will have your name engraven on my shield — . it shall be my cry of war. It shall take more towns for the Emperor than all the thunder of his cannon/ The Countess smile'H. ' Say you forgive me/ ' 1 do/ ' And will you not misunderstand every thing that I say/ * Not if the meaning is clear/ KOSAMUND. 139 ' And >vill you not make another answer when I speak to you, as you did last night when I asked if you were tired r' ' I will promise always to answer you when I am certain that you mean to speak to me, which last night I did not understand/ * And will you thank me now in your own name for saving the boy's life/ ' Oh, I do indeed. * And will you—' MVhatmyLord?' 140 ROSAMUND. Tlie Count clasped her fair hand, and kissed it. ' I meant this/ ' It is like taking a town by storm, and asking the Governor's leave to enter it !' ' lliis/ cried he for saving the boy^ and this — , ' For what other reason, my Lord f said she. ' You are too fertile in invention,' and she withdrew the treasure from his princely hands. ' Oh for a thousand ! I could give, if I may so be paid, every drop of blood in my veins.' ' What would you so cast aw ay your precious life,' said the young Countess^ turning from him ROSAMUND. 141 with ail enchanting smile, and an air of virgin majest)^ that infinitely became her. That smile that air were the death-warrants of the Count's liberty. CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. A. SHALL not pourtray, step by step, the gradation of love's power on the heart of Count Mansfeldt. Suffice it to say, that the poison worked into every fibre of his heart, and before many days were passed, the expression of ' madly enamored/ which, with some severit)', he had bestowed on the young St. Juhen, might, with even equal justice, be given to his General. ROSAMLXD. 143 All coldness and restraint between them beins: now dissolved, he gave himself up to the ever new delight which the character of the Countess brought each hour into play. He breakfasted with her iu the morning, he danced with her in the evening, he followed her steps all day like her shadow, and if for an hour he was constrained to be where she was not, he thought over every word that she had uttered, every graceful action ; — repeated to himself in a whisper, certain little dainty phrases that she was accustomed to use, and in a word, acted over all the enamored follies which are to be found in the archives of the court of love. The Duke saw all thb, and so did Hermione. The fair Rosamund alone, gay, full of a changing ease^ seemed to ascribe to the Count nothincr of 144 IIOSAMUXD. a personal nature. All his attentions to her she attributed to the desire which a generous mind feels to do away every trace of coldness which might exist after a recent reconciliation^ and she saw nothing further in it. — Besides, the fair Rosamund was accustomed to be the object of attention, and to be adored. So there was not the charm of novelty to excite suspicion in her mind as to its cause. But it was not long ere the Count's eyes were opened as to the situation of his ow n heart. He had never loved. His mind had not been enervated and rendered familiar to the reception of passion, and he therefore did not recognise its first impressions. Love was not in his eyes a ' talent de societe,' a thing which may serve as well for the light frivolous entertainment of a drawing-room, as any other ' jeu de bonne com- pagnie/ He had never been accustomed to the ROSAMUND. 145 language of gallantry, which may be styled ' L'esprit de I'amour/ He did not know by heart any of those Gentillesses which are repeated at random to all the sex. Love with him was ' serieusement ime affaire du coeur,' and there- fore he had better taste than to be for evermore talking of what he did not understand, like all those essenced sprigs of fashion, who fly about like butterflies in a flower-garden, so lightly flutter- ing on each flower, that they scarcely make the shadow of an impression on any. A single word from the lips of the young Countess, spoken without design, sufficed to give birth in his soul to a crowd of reflexions new and strange. The conversation one evening turned on what was most requisite for the happiness of life. 1 shall not repeat what was said de part et d'autre. VOL. I. G 146 ROSAMUND. The Count had only spoken vaguely on the subject. His lofty mind, susceptible of the greatest sacrifices, educated in the school of adversity, spoke of happiness as being independent of outward circumstances, yet was there in his eloquence a somewhat of a pensive cast, of unsa- tisfied feeling. He spoke not in the language of sensibility, of an ' aching void,' a craving after happiness, ^ le besoin d aimer et d'etre aime ;' for active duty, and the most noble exercise of his faculties, had so filled up his days, that he had had no time to waste in languid, petulant complaints of their weaiiness. The source of enjoyment was not dried up in his soul by a lawless diffusion of that which should serve as a refreshment to the mind, after difficult and laborious exertion : but still he spoke as if happiness w ere a thing that he had been content to live w ithout, rather than had ROSAMUND. 147 possessed : and while he spoke, the Lady Rosa- mund could not forbear feeling affected at the grandeur of his sentiments, thus tinctured with the pale cast of thought. She honored that proud enthusiasm which kept back its ardent concep- tions, that chastened fire, that noble forgetfulness of hinaself, the truest test of real greatness, and when he ceased to speak, she lifted up her dark e^^es and said, * It seems, then, that your happi* liess has hitherto consisted in making others so ; that is the happiness of a God rather than of mortal man. Is that sufficient for a human soul ?' The Count replied not, but the words fell on his heart, and made strange disorder there. A new world broke, as it were, on his view : a world in which a power yet unknown presided ; whose enchantments, half unveiled to the souFs eye, delighted and alarmed: a world whose paths were 148 ROSAMUND. strewed with roses. On every side soft delight, and evermore the form, the smile, the dark eye of Lady Rosamund glided like a phantom, and drew his soul away, llie Count oftentimes broke from the enchantment as one who raises himself from a pleasing dream, and barred the entrance of love into his breast ; for to a noble and well regulated mind, the first dawnings of a sentiment hitherto unfelt, and its extent and influence un- known, ever excite distrust and apprehension. It fears lest its admission to the heart should disturb the harmony and order which exist there. It is like a beautiful ornament in architecture, which, though graceful in itself, may not be of the same order with the structure that we are raising ; and therefore good taste rejects it. Thus was it with the Count, to whose thoughtful mind love seemed too fair, too exquisitely penetrating, too produc- ROSAMUND. 149 tive of joy, to be a fit inmate in that heart where austere duty had till now held an undivided sway. He paused on the banks of that Rubicon, which once passed, there was no return. Not glory, not ambition, invited him to cross the stream. Those might be resisted. But the beauteous phantom wandered on its bank. He beheld that smile, that eye dark and brilliant, which like the famed serpent's gaze, drew away his half-reluctant, yet enamored, soul. He paused no more. He plunged into the wave, and when on the opposite bank he stood, love waved on high his purple pinions^ and his smile spoke victory ! CHAPTER THE NINTH. jI\ ow it was not long ere the Duke became assured of what he already suspected, that the Count loved his sister; though there existed between them the most perfect confidence, yet as it costs something to that sex of its accustomed independence of spirit to say, ^ I love/ the Count from day to day protracted the moment in which he should be constrained to own his new- born passion. ' Mais Tamour se trahit par son ROSAMUND. 151 propre feu/ and it signifies nothing to cast a veil over it. The burning torch beneath proclaims the hidden fire. The Count, one day off his guard, caught Eugene to his breast, and passionately pressed his lips to that forehead where, an instant before, the Countess had done the same. The action was not ambiguous: neither was it unobserved of her. A few minutes after she took Eugene by the hand, and went out of the room. ' Bien, mon Ami !* said the Duke. ' C'etoit de bon coeur cela.* * Is she offended ?* * C'etoit au moins un peu trap fort.* 132 ROSAMUND. A long silence ensued. The Duke resumed his book which he had before been reading, and the Count walked to the window. The beauteous phantom again pursued him ; he saw her on the lawn with the Duke's two children. ' The children only are happy in this house/ said the Count, as if to himself. * They get every thing.' * I am sorry,' said the Duke^ looking up, * that you are not happy in this house.' The Count did not hear him. His soul was hovering near the lovely groupe. Eugene and Constantine were running a race to see who" first could reach the Countess. Con- ROSAMUND. 153 stantiue was the better racer, he sprung into her arms, and shouted for joy. Eugene hung his head and began to cry. To pacify him Lady Rosa- mund stooped and tenderly embraced him. *" Ah,* cried the Count, * who would wish for victory .^ ' May I enquire/ asked the Duke, ' the cause of that soldier-like exclamation ?* * She haunts me every where/ said the Count in a low voice ; ' I cannot move a step but I see her / and he withdrew from the window. ' Raymond/ said the Duke anxiously, ^ you love my sister!' Startled at the abrupt accusation, the Count made no reply. But he grasped the Duke's hand 154 ROSAMUND. fervently. The Duke was silent too^-he was answered — ^he became thoughtful. The Count looked at him^ a suspicion darted across his mind. * Is it/ said he, * displeasing to my friend that his sister should be beloved by mer ^ 'Tis as I feared V said the Duke to himself. ' Feared r * It will never end but in misery !' * Misery ! To whom ?* ' I would have given half my dukedom/ went he on warmly, * that this had never been.' ROSAMUND. 155 With inexpressible dignity, but with great emotion, the Count a second time grasped the Duke's hand, and said, ' Then it shall not be. I can crush the risings of this passion/ The Duke shook his head. ' 1 can and will,* said the Count with a proud warmth of eye and action. ' Rhon- berg, you are the noblest friend that ever man had, and never shall the friendship between us be broken by any act of mine. Forget what I have said. If to have addressed the Countess of Cla- renstein had had your sanction, 1 should have been too' — happy, the Count would have said. He paused a moment — then in a hurried voice he continued, * But since it is so, I will leave Rhouberg tonight. Here I cannot stay to see, to hear her, every hour.' 156 ROSAMUND. ' Oh you much mistake/ exclaimed the Duke warmly. * If there is a thing on earth I wish more than another^ it is one day to behold my sister Countess of Mansffeldt/ . The Count looked disturbed : he cast an eye full of impatience on the Duke. ' What is it then ?' said he * The aflfections of the Lady Clarenstein — * ' Are yet to be bestowed. She loves nothing — not as you mean — but — ' ' You think, perhaps, that I can have no pre- tensions there — and indeed I feel so myself, yet—' ROSAMUXD. 157 ' Pretensions !' repeated the Duke, ' you might ask for an Empress and be received/ The Count stood suspended. He did not un- derstand the Duke. * My noble friend/ cried he at length, ' you must explain yourself, li you sanction my hopes, if the Lady Clarenstein's affections are unbestowed, what is it you fear V ' That the noblest heart in the world should become, like St. Julien's, the victim of passion.' The Count started. His countenance fell. ' Now I do understand you, and in truth such a fate would suit me ill — but why augur so ill of—' 158 ROSAMUND. ^ Because I know my sister's character, which you do not/ ' I M'ill throw myself on her generosity. I will trust her/ * In all else but where her darling passion is concerned, you might with safety trust her/ * Her darling passion !' * Aye, the master passion of her soul, power J * I will answer with my life that she will not abuse it/ ' So confident was perhaps St. Julien/ ROSAMUND. 159 ' He was not beloved/ ' And are you certain that you will touch that heart which so many have failed — I am perhaps too cautious, but I should grieve to see my noble friend the passive minion of a lady*s capricious law/ * And, by heaven, it would please me as ill.* ' You are, however, by the very nobleness of your nature, in some danger of becoming it. There is a frank simplicity about you which in- vites the exercise of insidious arts. It would be rich pastime to take that generous heart into hand, and make it live and die by turns as it suits the sovereign lady's will.' 160 ROSAMUND, ' I cannot think that beneath that throne of beauty exists a heart so destitute of feeling, and indeed I ahnost doubt St. Julien*s tale ; so rich in all feminine grace and honor does she appear to me. She does not seem to me to think of power; there is even a neglect of it.' * Because she is assured that when she pleases she can make it be felt.' ' But I see no undue exercise of it,' said Lord Mansfeldt. ' Here are no objects to call it forth. No one disputes it. You are taken in the toil, and here th^re are no rivals.' ROSAMUND. 161 The Duke then with delicacy, but with force, laid before the eyes of the Count all that he feared for his peace, on becoming the avowed pretender to the favor of the young Countess. To which the Count with a generous warmth replied, that such capricious conduct might in her, proceed from a heart unmoved as yet: that to the man she loved, her conduct would be widely different. * Then,' cried the Duke warmly, * be not pre- cipitate. Observe what impression you make on that insensible heart. Mark her every word, look.' ' I understand you. But that by heaven I wiM not do.' 162 ROSAMUND. * Then go and declare yourself, and be treated like the rest. Rashness and confidence are not generosity. Are you certain to be favored be- yond a hundred others ? I see nothing hitherto io Rosamund's manner to you, that passes beyond the sentiment of respect and bienveillance that you must always inspire. Pas un seul trait dc preference, mon cher General.' The Count sighed, and assented to what the Duke had said. It seemed to have weight with him also. He was no coxcomb. And he did really think, what no one else thought, diat he might be rejected even though he should lay his noble name, and his still more noble heart, at the feet of the first lady in the kingdom. The Duke pressed warmly on him his request that he would for a time defer the declaration of his sentiments, ROSAMUND, 1 63 to Lady Clarenstein. * For my sake^ aod hers, no less than for your own, I ask it, Raymond ; for if I were to see that Rosamund plays you false, it will cause between her and myself an ahena- tioo/ * That willingly/ interrupted the Count, ' I will never do. Though against my will, I con- sent to what your caution requires of me.' The Duke embraced his friend, and expressed an ardent wish that every thing might tend auspi* ciously to his wishes. ' I know,' cried he gaily, ' that you are the finest General in the world for taking towns, but 1 do suspect that you know nothing of taking a lady's heart by stratagem.' 164 ROSAMUND. ' I abhor all stratagems. They can only ho- norably be used when the enemy practises them against us/ ' I only ask you to remain passive, and watch the enemy's motions. Would you surrender at discretion, and give the enemy carte blanche to impose what conditions he pleases V * I do not exactly see,' said the Count half- vexed, ' why the Lady Rosamund is to be designated under the masculine semblance of an enemy, armed from head to foot like an Amazon. I have no idea of treating friends like enemies.* ^ *^ Friends !" it is not of friends we were speaking. We were speaking of lovers. I wish ROSAMUND. 165 that you may never have cause to know that friends and lovers are a distinct species.' * Duke, you are the " raven ** that croaks the fatal entrance of Mansfeldt beneath this roof. But were there ten thousand perched on your battlements^ they should not scare the eagle from the dove.' * The eagle will be taken in the net, and the dove will sit by, and delight to see him fluttering his royal pinions in vain.' ' I do not like such prophecies. I leave you. If 1 stay here, 1 shall be made to think that love is like Lucifer, full of all subtleties and deceits ; and Lady Rosamund's heavenly eyes Uke Medusa'i 166 ROSAMUND. of such horrid power as to turn the heart to stone ; or hke a basilisk^ to strike me dead/ * In your enumeration of beautiful-eyed mon- sters,' cried the Duke, ' do not pray forget the rattle-snake. If you should escape being turned to marble, or struck dead, you may stiJl run the risk of being fascinated.' CHAPTER THE TENTH. Xhe Duke imparted to Hermione the preceding conversation, and the result of it ; which as soon as she heard, she exclaimed, * Ah, that is treache- rous, very treacherous : I like it not/ * I had hoped that you would be in thb our faithful ally: ' ^Vy> y^^ mean. No, my good lord: you will have no secret intelligence from me. Your 168 ROSAMUND. «ex is powerful enough as it is. I have too much esprit de corps in me de vouloir aplunir vos difiicullC's. There are already too few in your way.* ' Tell me, my sweet Duchess, what does Rosamund say of the Count .•* Come, come, un- seal those lips. Are not your thoughts, mine? Docs not every tiling that you feel and know, belong to me as lord paramount f* ' Ah yes,' said the Duchess laughing, * and for that reason 1 will keep all that I know safe locked in my breast.' * Nay, but my sweet lady, you shall tell me.' The Duchess softly repeated the word ' shall.' ROSAMUND. 169 ' I promise you to take no advantage of it,' went on the Duke. ' I win so far trust you: for nothing can come of nothing.' ^ Do you mean to imply that you know nothing of Rosamund's sentiments f' ' I do.' ' She never expressed herself to you in any way concerning him ? Come, my Lady Duchess^ / know that you have her confidence.' * And you ask me to betray it ? False lord ! But without participating in your treachery', I can with truth say, that I have nothing to declare. VOLi I. U 170 ROSAMUND. Lady Rosamund, never since the evening of tlif General's arrival, has expressed herself, in any manner, of importance to you to know. What she said of him then, I told you at the time. Her self-love and her delicacy were wounded by his Yery extraordinary behavior.' ' She seems now to wish his good opinion.' * I think 'tis more to ingratiate herself with you.' * What has she done with her coquetry ?' ' Left it at Vienna. Where we shall take it up again on our return.' * Aye, that's what I fear. Do you think that she is capable of love ? A coquette seldom is.' ROSAMUND. 171 * If she ever does love^ it will be the destiny of her life. Certainly her heart is as yet cache sous une ecorce si epaisse/ ' I hope with all my heart, that the Count may break it.' ' A most fraternal wish indeed.' * I meant the ecorce, Duchess. So you persist in denying the Count and me your powers V The Duchess nodded. ' Tlien, my Lady Duchess,' said the Duke, ' you will ha?e the goodness to be a neutral power : for I swear by that saucy smile sparkhng ia your eye at this moment^ if 1 see you give the 172 ROSAMUND. slightest intimation to Rosamund, be it a Iook> a hint only, I will — ' ' Am I threatened ? But be calm. I will keep your secret, false Lord/ ' Swear then.' ^ By what ?' * By the thing in the world that you love best/ * I do not recollect what that is. I love every thing and every body/ ' And all alike, I suppose. O rare benevo- lence ! Since when is my Lady Duchess become fuch a philanthropist? Come, I will refresh your ROSAMUND. 1/3 memory. This is the oath. Swear by Philippe Charles Constantine, Duke of Rhonberg, that you will not betray the conspiracy.' ' In that name I will swear any thing, albeit I like not such disloyal proceedings against the im- perial rose.' But in spite of the pointed raillery which the Duchess was pleased to cast on what she termed a disloyal league, the Duke was justified in his extreme apprehension of the influence his sister's reigning defect of character might produce on a heart so open, so generous, so credulous, from inexperience, as that of the Count Mansfeldt : and it seemed to him no less a point of feeling than one of honor, to guaid the happiness of the friend his soul had selected, * ever since she 174 HOSAMUNP. became mistress of her choice/ from being injured by any individual with whom he was connected by blood. Some days elapsed, during which every look and gesture and expression of the Lady Rosa- mund was scrutinised by her brother^s watchful cbservfition : but her tranquil air, her unrestrained conversation perplexed him. ' There is no love/ thought he, ' where there iff so much aisance de cceur.' The Duke souglrt in vain for that smile, beautiful in disdain, which always enthroned itself on her lips in the presence of her lovers. She saw and allowed the impas- sioned demeanor of the Count, but that was all. She neither seemed to regard it, avec le ton du grand sentiment, nor du ton subtil de la coquet- ROSAMUND. l/J terie. Is then, thought the Duke, her heart so uisensible, that love cannot touch it even under the noble form of Mansfeldt, assisted as it is in him, by all the seduction of genius^ reputation and virtues, which wear the softened air of graces, rather than the cold austerity of principle, little attractive to a reigning beauty. The Duke was irresolute : the Count unhappy. The Duchess listened with courtesy to his com- plaints, and kept with even provoking scrupulosity the Duke's injunction of neutrality. But love has strange disguises: never is he more dangerous than when he insinuates himself into the heart through the medium of feelings but remotely connected with passion. Now it was thus, that love had crept into the heart of the 17^ ROSAMUND. young Countess, and daily more firmly established itsel/ there, all unknown to her. He came disguised under that respect and admiration of the Count's great character, which it was impossible to deny him, and which was even honorable to feel ; for who does not adore virtue, enthusiasm, and the powers of a noble mind ? It came disguised under the feeling so natural, that made her desire to be approved by a mind so noble, and to erase from it all tincture of that prejudice which St. Julien's relation had sown there. This desire, so natural and so laudable, accom- panied as it was by doubt whether or not he had ceased to regard her as a cold and heartless coquette, gave to all her manner a shade of soft- ened deference that was infinitely bewitching to the Count. If she addressed him, her form ROSAMUND. 177 gently inclined itself, as one does towards a supe- rior ; if he supported by his own eloquence any sentiment she expressed, her dark eyes sought the ground, and a natural smile played on her lips beautiful in its modest pride. But these were signs of inward respect and reverence, not the timid graces of new-bom love. They were all found in the person of the Count, the rising color, the brightening eye, the involun- tary sigh suppressed, the murmured indistinct impassioned applause. But on her fair cheek no roseate color enriched its tints, no sigh half- breathed fluttered the throne of beaut)*. She was herself unconscious of the nature of her feelings ; she enjoyed all the charm of sentiment without its bitterness ; she dreamt not, that what now made up the rich eochantment of her existence touched 178 ROSAMUND. near on that fatal passion which can give to every joyous feeling an added rapture, or render deso- late and arid that which, before its cruel influence was felt, had power to cheer and invigorate the heart. O love, how animated, how tender, how proudly free are thy first hours ! ' Poi rendi Amor lieta e felice Le rapid 'ore di nostro eta.* 179 CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. At was a heavenly morning, when Count Mans- feldt, roused by the first beams of the sun, sprung from a sleepless couch, and went forth to breathe the freshness of the morning air. With folded arms, musing as he went, he pursued the winding course of the river, 'till the sun beaming more powerfully, he struck into a grove of forest trees on his right hand, keeping still the river in view. He pursued the path, indulgbg without restraint 180 ROSAMUND. les reveries de son amour, 'till he came to \vhere the trees more thinly set bordered the broad turfy bank of the river. A scene of exquisite beauty presented itself to the eye ; the deep and placid river rolled silently its waters through groves of beech and lime and various forest trees, whose majestic branches spreading over the stream darkened its wave in pensive beauty. The deer browsed on the green herbage, chequered by the sun-beams. The breeze at intervals crept through the forest in low murmurs. It was such a retreat as Petrarch might have sought. *' On each steep bank arose an ancient wood, And vaulted with encountering boughs the flood. ROSAMUND. 181 Meanwhile a youth beneath the chequered shade, Forlorn and pensive on the turf was laid. A lute, that when he stood, his arm could reach, Hung on the branch of an umbrageous beech. And rushing through the strings, at times the blast Swept melancholy music as it pass'd. Dim was the radiance of his hollow eye. And oft his bursting bosom heav'd the sigh. The tear was on his cheeli, his scattered hair And gestures spoke solicitude and care. Starting, at length, upon his feet he sprung. The name of Laura trembled on his tongue, From the tall beech the shell of rapture drew, And on the strings his flying fingers threw. if Love, no less than in the vale of Vaucluse, reigned here with undivided sway. He wore indeed a smiling aspect, and every thing breathed confide Qce and hope. J 83 ROSAMUND. The Count for some moments gazed on the fair scene, then passing a clump of thickly tufted trees which crossed his way, he beheld at some distance a tall slender form of beauty. He started. Was it a vision, the artful coinage of his brain to delude and mock his hope r or was it in very truth the sovereign lady, the Imperial Rose? She was standing beneath the shade of two lofty poplars, between which w^as placed a marble statue of a Faun. On the pedestal of the statue was laid a drawing on which she appeared to be deeply engaged. On the grass beside her, lay her straw hat and gloves. So entirely was she absorbed in her occupation, that she might have been taken for a statue herself, if now and then the breeze folding the muslin of her robe around the fair proportions of her slender form, had not given to it a gentle animation that told she was a living ROSAMUND. 18S wonder. She stood with her back to the Count, and her long black hair^ braided in two rich braids with purple ribbons, hung below her round and flexible waist. The Count, uncertain whether to proceed or return, stood, for a moment, lost in wonder and sweet delight, when her voice, break- ing the air with richest harmony, arrested his steps. She had drawn back a few paces, and regarding the drawing with extreme attention^ shading her forehead with a hand of ivory, she said, ' C'est bien la figure — il y a meme quelque nuance de cette douce majeste, ce feu martial— mais les traits — il faut y retoucher, ils ne sent pas aussi reguliers que les siens— et puis ; ce regard — ce sourire noble et tendre : allons, j'ai bien •ncore une demie heure.' 184 ROSAMUND. * Of whom does she speak ?' said the Count. ^ Whose portrait is it, that the Lady Clarenstein finishes with such care in this retreat ?' . The Count knew that she possessed to a degree of excellence not to be equalled, the talent of design. He had seen several groupes, which, with the carelessness often attendant on genius, she suffered to lie about the rooms for the amusement of the children. The facility with which she drew from nature and imagination, rendered her unsolicitous to preserve what she could so easily renew. The drawing on which she was now engaged was evidently from imagination. * Qui done a ce regard, ce sourire ?' ROSAMUND. 185 As this doubt passed in his mind, a little tame fawn came up to her, and pushed gently against her in order to attract her notice. An exclama- tion of alarm passed her lips. She let fall the pencil, and turning hastily round, the Count saw a rich carnation mantling on her cheek. She stooped to caress the fa\vn, and laughing said, * Mon Dieu, Babet, comme tu m'as fait battre le coeur ! Je croyois que c'etoit lui— c'eut ete una belle scene ! Cher petit, tu as une heureuse inca- pacity de dire ce que tu vois — tu ne Finstruiras de rien, toi — tu n'iras pas dire a personne qu'on vient ici faire son portrait pendant que tout le mondc dort au Chateau/ * Tout le monde ne dort pas,' said the Count to himself. 186 ROSAMUND. The young Countess resumed her pencil, but Babet was importunate, and his playfuhiess at- tracted her attention, so she walked with it to some distance. The Count, uncertain whether to stay or go, followed with his eye the fair form of her whom he adored. He marked her step, so commanding, yet so delicate, and as she sport- ively played with the fawn, every bending of her figure had a living, rapid, springing grace, that bespoke the exulting vigor of unbroken spirits, and youth gladdening in existence. ' Exquisite sight,' exclaimed the Count to himself. * She has an air so free, so untamed, so imbued with joy, that she seems not to be a creature of this earth. How beautiful is the proud freedom of her step ! Care has never saddened that dark brilliant eye — smiles only have dwelt on that scarlet lip — dejec- tion has not bent that towering head.' ROSAMUND. 187 The Count was about to turn his unwilling- feet away, when in a tliicket hard by, he heard a loud rusding, and presently he saw an old stag dart from it, and with somewhat of a hostile air, plant himself directly in the path of the young Countess. She attempted to wave it off" with her hand^ but the animal, fai- from retreating, made a motion with its antlers that caused her to tura back in the path. It followed her. She quick- ened her pace — it did the same — she stopped — it stopped — she went on, and the stag followed her, ' Mon Dieu,* said she with some alarm, ' que ferai je de cet animal :' The Count heard these -words, and he advanced. ' Ah Monsieur le Comte,' exclaimed she in a tone half-frightened, half- rejoiced. * Vous venez bien a propos dans ce moment — veuillez bien 188 ROSAMUND. mettre en fuite cet animal qui persiste i me pour- suivre.' The Count presently succeeded in turning the fierce animal round; but during that time she had leisure to recollect herself; and when the Count returned to her, she appeared little less uneasy and alarmed than before. With a disconcerted air she cast her eyes towards the statue of the Faun. The Count assured her several times that there wais nothing to apprehend from the stag, he having darted into the depths of the forest. He also accounted in a natural manner for his own appearance : but all did not suffice to restore to serenity the countenance of Lady Rosamund. The Count, surprised at the embarrassment so unusual in her manner, doubted whether or not to retire. She said something about the beauty of ROSAMUND. 189 the morning, and walked forward a few paces, but when near the statue abruptly turned and retraced her steps, and walked several times backward and forward between the trees, all the time talking in half sentences and disjointed phrases, that evidently betrayed some hidden un- easiness. At length she seemed to take a sudden resolution, observing, that it was growing late, and hastily stepping on before the Count, she took her hat and gloves, and was proceeding, when the Count said, ' Will you let me carry your portfolio for you ?' * No, no,' was the answer, * she would send Helene for them. Jt would delay them too much/ The hurried tone in which she spoke greatly surprised the Count. He became certain that she wished to divert his attention from 190 ROSAMUND. the drawing w hich lay on the pedestal ; and too delicate even to cast a glance towards it that might have ascertained that which he burned to know, he passed before the statue; when lo! a malicious zephyr, sent by Love himself, at that instant wafted the drawing to his feet. He stooped to restore it to its place, when he felt on his arm the hand of the Countess, and he heard her exclaim, ' For heaven's sake, my lord !' The Count absolutely started. He stood sus- pended, gazing on the fair face of the Countess which grew alternately pale and red : from thence bis eye fell on the paper. With precipitation she that moment planted her foot upon it, as if she wished to sink it in the earth — in vain — for the Count had recognised the portrait. The thick beating pulses of his heart came and went so fast;, ROSAMUND. 191 that the heaving of his manly breast beif ayed the secret tiimult— his eye fastened on the paper as if spell-bound^ and such a smile passed over his face ! Now the zephyr, if it had been so inclined, might have spared to the young Countess all this disorder. It might have thrown over the paper the drapery of her robe, but, far from aiding its concealment, it blew with all its gentle force against the finest ancle that eye ever beheld. This was a fresh embarrassment : for whether on the Atalantine foot, or on tlie paper, the Count's eyes so obstinately fastened, it was equally insup- portable. Abashed, confounded, she drew it away ; and half-murmuring, ' Mon Dieu, que c'est facheux/ she hastily withdrew. IPS ROSAMUND. The Count did not follow her. He spent the morning in the consecrated grove^ breathing the air which she had breathed, and treading the patli which her feet had pressed. So felt Rinaldo when Armida left him, * A rivedere Gli affari suoi, le sue magiche carte.* And not *till a late hour did he bend back his steps to the castle, where he felt a momentary surprise on beholding the court-yard filled with a gallant retinue ; he then recollected that the Prince di Bronti was that day expected at Rhon- berg. CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. And now that retirement, which had been for some weeks enjoyed by the noble family with such sweet repose, was interrupted by the unex- pected arrival of a foreigner of distinction, to whom the Duke deemed it iiidispensible to pay the honors of hospitality. Gentle reader, suffer me to present before your eyes a new character of no less dignity and YOL. I. I 194 ROSAMUND. importance in this history than that of rival to the Count jMansfeldt. Casimir, Prince di Bronti, was the represen- tative of an illustrious house in Florence. It is impossible, perhaps, to conceive two characters more strongly contrasted than that of the Prince and General Mansfeldt. If the one presented the assemblage of every thing that is great and beautiful by nature's special and large endow- ment, so was there in the other, every thing which a high-toned refinement has pronounced to be graceful and distinguished. The person of the one was such as the conceptions of a Michael Angelo would have chosen to clothe in mortal shape a divine power. It w as gifted w ith a grace, lofty and free, with strength to perform high •xploits, and the will to dare them. Whereas th« TIOSAMUND. 195 light, and elegantly proportioned figure of the Prince presented the id^ of a youthful and effem- inate Ganymede. The manners of Lord Mans- feldt rapt the attention, for every action of his had a simplicity in it, that seemed to be the fair and genuine expression of inward greatness of soul. The tones of his voice breathed benignity and power. The glance of his eye compelled obedience, the very shadow of his arm seemed to promise protection. Vv'hile in the Prince, on the other hand, were seen all the elegance of courtly breeding, and the gay confidence of aristocratic ease, which is ever graceful and assured, because it is unshackled by the awkward constraint that the uncertainty of pleasing often induces on the air and address of a simple individual. For their minds, they were even more contrasted than their manners. In the depths of his soul, the Count adored the beauteous and sublime. His sensi- 196 ROSAMUND, bility was profound ; so profound, so inwrought with every passion and feeling of his nature, that it, instinctively as it were, sought concealment, and exercised itself in perpetual subjection, as conscious of its own too great predominance : therefore was it rarely seen to prevail over that pensive serenity of deportment which was become habitual to him. Yet sometimes would his calm and equal eye, as it rested on loveliness and grace, betray, by its suppressed fire, the sensibility of his nature. Then the * form of pleasure smiHng at his heart' would, for a moment, hold sweetly entranced those austere virtues which governed that noble soul. But not so the Prince. He had ardent passions : he was eager and impressi- ble : he spoke the language of sentiment, but he had no sensihiUti/ . He adored beauty and per- fection, but only as they contributed to adorn his ROSAMUND. 197 earthly paradise. Art, not nature, had been his school : consequently his taste uas often false, and mixed with much of tlie foreign ornament invented by a factitious elegance. Though born in an Italian climate, accustomed to behold those fine forms of art and nature which ilhistrate that country, yet never did the light of genius, or the fire of enthusiasm so penetrate his soul as to sublime his taste. His was a false fire, which dazzled, but gave no heat. Nay, so false and perverted was his mind, that truth and order, and that noble simplicity which form the ground- work of beauty, whether moral or material, seem- ed to him a fable. They even served oftentimes for the theme of his ignoble derision ; for he had a strong tincture of malice in his nature, and bating what in his secret thought he could not 198 ROSAMUND. but reverence^, he thought to revenge himself by casting a ridicule on the finest qualities of our nature. In his character there was a strange mixture of fierceness and indolence, of violence and efieminate delicacy, tie would pursue with extreme ardor the object of his fancy or of his ambition, and when acquired, he scarcely in enjoyment, seemed to feel a joy. For experience of every dehght had robbed delight of all its fresh- ness ; and induced a satiety and restlessness of feeling which embittered his gayest hours. Every thing w as by turns with him enchanting and intor lerable. To the Count, the magic voice of pleasure was scarcely known. He esteemed it to be the glory of his manhood to benefit his fellow creatures by the active exertion of his talents. He had such ROSAMU.VD. 199 an ardor for true glonv, that no sacrifice for the service of his country seemed too great for liim to make. His heart was the seat of benevolence. Adversity, not pleasure, had been the governing power of his early years. She had taught him to know himself, and to respect the rights of every class of men. But Prince Casimir was a dainty, delicate Prince, who esteemed all exertion of personal activity in the service of any one, as an unpriucely degradation. He entertained a sove- reign contempt for what he termed the people, and regarded them as machines born and fitted expressly for the service of himself and all other Princes. Yet did his aristocratic pride well become him ; it was so delicately tempered by his illustrious affabihty. There was so mucli grace in his petulance, and so much polish in his impertinence, that he was the idol of that cla^s of 200 ROSAMUND. people which he did not deign to consider as of the same class with himself. Add to this he possessed a quality which never fails to intoxicate the imagination of the people, when it is accom- panied by personal graces. The Prince was beautiful as Adonis, and brave as Achilles. He had served several campaigns, and had a regi- ment which for costliness and splendor surpassed any regiment on earth. It was composed of the finest horses, and the finest men, that Italy c juld produce. Paris himself might not have disdained to lead such a legion of beauty against the Greeks. This regiment was the delight and pride of the Prince. The men of which it was composed performed all their military exercises with the grace and address of dancers. Not a gesture, not a movement was allowed in this regiment that was either common or clumsy, and scarce!/ ROSAMUND. 201 would praise have been given to the most heroic achievement unless it were conducted according to the rules of chivalrous grace. It has been said already that the Count knew little of the character of women. The Prince, on the contrary, knew them perfectly, and perhaps, io no inferior degree, possessed the talent of turning to his own advantage their weaknesses. He at once worshipped, and despised them. He considered the sacrifice of their peace and their honor as trifles : nay, if the sacrifice w ere made to him, he thought that the deity to whom it was offered ennobled the offering. ^Die Prince had always a reigning favorite to whom his whole soul was devoted, the object of his flatteries, and the dupe of his profes- sions. Yet it must be said that these honors were paid with a grace suflicient to captivate the imagination of any woman. At the time of his 203 KOSAMUND. arrival at Rhonberg he imagined himself to be everlastingly devoted to a Lady of Florence who had, by a recent marriage, condemned him to the torments of a hopeless passion. To alleviate these torments it was, that he had resolved to travel. Already, in consequence of this resolu- tion, he had with a rapidity sufficient to take away, rather than restore, his senses, traversed all Italy and France in vain. The fair Paulina still haunted his imagination ; and he came to Rhon- berg invested with all the insignia of her power. Her picture was enthroned on his heart. Her hair encircled his arm. Her name evermore hovered on his lips. The gentlemen of his suite, who had the fruidess task of soothing his petu- lance, and diverting his weariness, blessed the hour that brought them to Rhonberg ; for when their master beheld the Countess of Clarenstein, ROSAMUND, 203 they saw in his eye a new-born love, and whis*^ pered each other ' Grazia al Ciel, ecco I'infe- delti !' They were right. From that hour the fair Paulina ceased to reign. At night, when the Prince retired to rest, he said to a youth who served him as page, ' What think you of the Countess of Clarenstein ?' ' E veramente degna d'essere di Bronti Principessa." The Prince smiled. * I think so too,' replied he, ' therefore carry out of my sight this picture, this bracelet, and this casket of letters.' ' To whom shall 1 take them r' ' To whom you please. Take them back, if you will, to their former mistress ; or rather go and cast them at the feet of the divine Countess.' 604 ROSAMUND. ' As a forerunner of your own approach, my Lord.' * Aye, boy say that I will be there myself to-morrow. Viva, viva I'amore.' * E rincostanza,' softly pronounced the page as he cast his eye on the picture of Paulina. ' Eppure e bella, bella assai.' . < And so she is !' replied the Prince, looking likewise at the picture. ' She is fair, and I have loved : what more can I do ? Is not the air of France and Italy infected with my sighs r' * Aye, my Lord, you raised such a tempest ^ith your sighs that it blew your love away." ROSAMUND. 205 in ' There is no resisting the power of love any shape, and especially not in that of a whirl wind/ ' I have heard of love's zephyrs/ cried the page, ' but Boreas by way of a Cupidon However since we were destined to meet with one, I am glad that it has pleased to transport us into so fair a paradise. This castle is the abode of gaiety and pleasure. All the world is happy, and my Lady Duchess's women are handsome — Would your Highness choose to be read to sleep to night, or shall I take my lute ?* ' Sing to me, boy^ till sleep close my ♦eyes, and bring me the image of the beauteous Rosa- mund. Open that casement, that I may inhale the breath of the flowers. Remove farther from 206 ROSAMUND. me that alabaster lamp. Let the moon cast her fair light upon me.' 'Perhaps the Goddess may take you for Endymion^ my Lord.' ' I hope not. I have no taste for Diana. I hate women who are always in the dog-kennel> and tearing out the hearts of wild beasts. No, give me the fair delicate hands of the Countess, which seem made only for stringing pearls and — touching rose-buds/ £07 CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH. \J s the evening of the arrival of the Prince at Rhonberg, the Duke observed to Lord Mans- feldt that an excellent opportunity would now offer for his judging of the sentiments entertained of him by the Countess. ' You know/ said he, * the character of the Prince di Bronti, and what are his pretensions ; they are such as to render him no ignoble preten- 208 ROSAMUND. der to the attention of a woman, in whose breast resides the love of universal power. Be cautious, be wary, and let no rash avowal of your senti- ments obstruct the free play of her disposition. If she coquet with the Prince, her heart is untouch- ed by you. Observe her, and be silent/ Tlie Count replied not to this counsel. He disliked even that shadow of artifice which the Duke's cautious conduct obhged him to use, and he did not impart to him the incident of that morn- ing, which had for some time intoxicated his soul with the hope that he was beloved, nor did he show him that image of himself which now lay on his heart, and of which, like another NarcissuS;i he was in danger of becoming enamored. ROSAMUND. 209 But far from acting as a spy on the demeanor of Lady Rosammid, far from entertaining any presumptuous hope that she felt for him any thing but a courteous kindness, if for a moment he had dared to indulge his fancy in the rapturous thought of having touched her heart, one single moment of her dear presence served to dispel every fond idea which, in her absence, he had dared to entertain. More doubtful and timid than he had ever been, he scarcely addressed her ; and when he did, his voice betrayed by its uncer- tain tones, the state of his feelings. He was silent ; and amid the gay circle which surrounded her, did not obtrude himself. The Countess, con- scious of the interpretation which niii^ht be given to her having sought a retirement in order there to employ her pencil on the image of the Count, did also somewhat studiously avoid occasions ol 210 IIOSAMUNT. conversing uilh, or being near him. A sweet and noble delicacy was the cause of this. The Count understood it as intending to check any high hope, which he might have conceived himself authorised to entertain from having seen her so engaged, and he felt at once unhappy and embarrassed. On his part the Prince was somewhat piqued to observe the ease almost amounting to indiffe- rence, with which the Countess received his insi- nuating adorations ; and insinuating they were^ for the Prince possessed the talent of all other* the most delicate and i are, of giving to common attentions a shade of enamored meaning sufficiently declared to gain tlie attention of the object to w horn they were addressed, and enough concealed to render them valuable by their delicate mystery, which seemed to say * I wish you alone to read ROSAMUND. 211 my meaning.' If be spoke to her, there was nothing in the substance of uhat he said, that might not have equally suited any other woman present. The tone of his voice would suddenly lower itself to an artful expression of passionate admiration and respect. He would, as if by chance, throw into his discourse some phrases of hers, wliich if, by a glance or smile, she recog- nised, he would suddenly stop and appear con- fused, as if he had not intended to repeat them. If he had occasion to present her with any thing, a book^ a work-bag, a flower, he did it not with that empressement which merely marks the readi- ness to oblige, but with such an insinuating, soft, lingering motion, as if his soul dwelt on the delight of being near her, and sought to prolong every part of the service demanded ; thus making it no h>nger a service but a favor ^^hich had 212 ROSAMUND. happily fallen to hii lot, and of which he was resolved to make the most that he could. Of these and a thousand other * insidiose grazie' the Prince now beheld w i:h astonishment the ill- success. The Duke also observed it_, and was astonished. * Is this real or affected indiffe- rence ? Is it coquetry r' He decided in his own mind that it was the latter. Tlie Duke was unjust. But being unable to account for the reserve \a hich there existed between his sister and Lord Mansfeldt; he could oni} attribute the change which he witnessed to a capricious coquetry. Affairs were in tliis state, when one morning that the Count had absented himself for several hours, returning about an hour before dinner, he heard, as he passed through the hall, the sound of music from the saloon. He paused to listen. ROSAMUND. 213 The air was ravishingly sweet, and never had he heard tones so rich and- powerful as those w hich the fine tenor voice of the Prince produced. It w as one of those arie butfe in wliich the genius of the Italians knows, w ith exquisite art how, to unite gaiety with passion, and to mingle sounds expressive of a comic petulance w ith the deep and pensive tones of sentiment. The Count knew that music was the reigning taste of the illustrious family, and that the young Countess more particularly made it her study and pleasure. Did the noble soldier feel in his heart the sting of jealousy r I know not. But his feet moved involuntarily from the saloon. He cast out of his hand a bunch of beautiful white lilies, and muttering unintelligibly something about her 214 ROSAMUND. not deigning to wear them in her white bosom, went to the apartments of the Duchess. ' May 1 come in r' said he as he entered. The Duchess was writing, she nodded her assent. He threw himself on the sofa with an air of fatigue and said, ' there is no repose except in this place.' The tone in which this observ'ation was uttered caused the Duchess to turn her head. * \ou look tired, my Lord 't Have you been out all the morning ?' The Count, a little embarrassed, answered ' Oh no ! . . . . only diere is so much noise in the saloon.' ' Noise !' repeated the Duchess. ROSAMUND. 215 ' Music, I mean/ ' 1 thought that you loved music* * So I do, but ' But not the Prince's perhaps, thought the Duchess and smiling with an archness that increased the Count's confusion, she resumed her pen. Some moments passed in silence which nothing broke but the deep siglis of Lord Mans- feldt. The Duchess was provokingly resolved to take no notice of them. Presently the voice of the Lady Clarenstein, who sang, as she cam« along the gallery, a few notes of the aria bufFa, broke the Count's reverie. He started. 216 _ ROSAMUND. ' She is coming here perhaps V * Very possibly/ replied the Duchess coolly, ' But is that a reason for your Lordship to depart V *• The very sound of her voice electrifies me. I cannot stay/ * Nonsense/ cried the Duchess laughing, * You are worse than a child/ ' You laugh. Duchess . . . but if you kne\y the state of misery in which I have been this week past ' ' I know it very well .... It is misery of your own contriving j what between your excess ROSAMUND, 217 of love, and your excess of cowardice you are nearly out of your senses/ * Cowardice !' repeated the General. ' I said it my Lord : and pardon me if I think that your conduct deserves any other name. Does not the very sound of her voice put you to flight r' * You are pleased to divert yourself/ said the Count, in a tone of slight vexation. ' No, I do not divert myeelf with any thing that so provokes me. It is the first time that 1 ever saw a man avoid and slight the woman that he adores.' ' Avoid slight! Ij madam V VOL. I. K 218 ROSAMUND. ' Pray tell me, have you uttered a word to her since the Prince's arrival ? Did not you give up your place at table to him ? And is it not suffi- cient to make you leav^ the room if she enters it?* ' Do you so interpret signs of . . ?' * Signs/ continued the Duchess, ' of love I suppose you mean Be assured, my Lord, that such signs as these will never win the favor of any woman. They may be very politic ; but cool, calculating policy, will never, believe me, do any thing but disgust a gene- rous mind. Are these the means that you employ to please a lady accustomed to all the insinuating flatteries of your sex ? Or is it thus ROSAMUND. 219 that the Duke has counseled you to conduct yourself towards a lady, whose sweet demeanor toward you on a certain occasion, deserves at least openness and candor fiom you.' Stung by this reproach the Count was going eagerly to reply, and justify himself from the insolent manege of which the Duchess accused him, when suddenly the door opened, and full on his sight came, like a sun-beam, the beauteous sister of the Duke. She carried in her band those lilies which the Count had cast away. Seeing the Count there, she boM ed her graceful head, and in the sweetest tone in the world asked him, ' if he had been out all the morning r' Tlie Count had not recovered himself sufficiently from the disorder in which the poignant raillery of the Duchess had thrown him. His answer to her enquiry was absolutely unintelligible. Lady Clareustein, too delicate to 220 ROSAMUNB. increase the confusion which she observed^ turned away her fair eyes, and going up to the Duchess, said, ' Look at these lilies, Duchess Are they not beautiful V * Yes they are ... . and of that sort which you admire, Rosamund — where did you get them V * I found them on the table in the hall. I thought that they w ere yours perhaps. Will you have some of them f* So saying, she ungloved her delicate hands, and with fingers whiter than the lilies they held, she divided the cluster, and was presenting them to Hermione, when the Count abruptly laid his hand on the flowers, and said, < These flowers are mine, I gathered them,* ROSAMUND. 221 * Did you gather them to wear yourself, my Lord ?' asked the Countess with a smile. ' No ; I gathered them for . . . .' ' For the Duchess ? And you Nvish to give them to her yourself? Is tliat what you mean :' * No, I meant 1 intended . . I . .' ' It is very difficult to find out what General Mansfeldt means,' cried the Duchess point- edly ; * or if he has any meaning at all . . . Come, my Lord, be a little less mysterious . . . What did you gather the flowers for :* ' For Lady Clarenstein/ said the Count ia a low voice. 222 ROSAMUND. ' TTie most extraordinary way of presenting a nosegay that I ever witnessed !' answered the Duchess. ' I did not mean to present it/ said the Count coloring. ' I thought ... I fancied . .' The Count stopped. Lady Rosamund's smile vanished, and her countenance assumed a seriousness that went to Lord Mansfeldt's heart. * Not the oracles of old are more incompre- -liensible than your Lordship's words and actions. They are past my guessing ; and so I leave you.' The Duchess hastily quitted the room, and Lady Clarenstein, leaving all the flowers in the Count's hands, moved towards the door, saying something about its being near dinner time. ROSAMUND. 22S ' You \vill not take them then r' said the Count, following her, and holding them out. * They were not, as I remember, ever given/ she replied ; and there was a slight shade of dis- pleasure in her tone : neither did she look at the Count when she spoke, and she slightly put back the lilies. The Count, disconcerted now more than ever, let them all fall. ' I would not,* continued Lady Rosamund, ' disturb the influence of your better reason. No doubt it was that ^^hich prevented General Mansfeldt from pursuing his original intention/ * My better reason ! Rather say, my cowar- dice, — or what is more likely still, my dread of offending you/ 224 ROSAMUND. ' Offending me !* * Yes, because when I gathered those flowers^ which I knew jou liked, I thought . . . .' Lord Mansfeldt stopped abruptly. * What my Lord ?* ' That you would perhaps deign to take them with' " ' ' with more pleasure for my presenting but for that thought I am punished,' added the Count; looking at the flowers at his feet. Lady Clarenstein stooped. She gathered up all the flowers, and put them in her breast. It was done with a silent grace, and a downcast eye, and an air of the gentlest dignity. ROSAMUND, 225 The Count bent his knee. A thousand pulses at his heart so broke the accents of his voice, that nothing but murmurs met her ear. But again, fts on a former occasion, she saw, beneath the folds of his sattin vest, the rapid beating of the noble heart which burned to break through restraint and dared not. He raised his dark eyes, gazed on her matchless face, and instantly lowered them. At length in a voice so low that it was scarcely audible he said, ' I have something to disclose, which night and day bears on my soul with a weight . . . Dearest Lady if you would deign .... but here I have no courage, aad unless you say '* declare it" I never . . . .' He rose abruptly, and went some paces from her. 'What is it that General Mansfeldt would sayr* asked 226 ROSAMUND. the Countess with gentleness. With a sudden transport the Count exclaimed, ^ That you have utterly confounded and subdued me . . carried such a war of passion here, that my soul is no longer mistress of herself! I wonder, 1 am dis- tracted at the strange disorder .... I am your servant . . . your slave ... and I blush at the unconquerable weakness .... I would be your master, and your Lord, and I tremble at the ambitious thought !' The Count threw himself at her feet. ' Sink my knee in the earth,' cried he, ' and for the proud words my lips have uttered make some atonement. Countess, these knees never yet bent to woman ; these lips never breathed a sigh for woman's favor .... the first offering of my ROSAMUND. 227 soul's desire is yours I love to madness, to idolatry/ Lady Clarenstein in a tone of extreme astonish- ment answered, ' To me is this said r Does Lord Mansfeldt recollect to whom he has thus spoken ?' The Count raised his eye to read in her counte- nance the meaning of her ambiguous words. * To me/ continued the Countess, ' whose character inspired such strong aversion that . . / ' Oh for the dear love of heaven, lady, suffer not the memory of that injurious action to step between me and your precious favor.' 228 ROSAMUND. Lady Rosamund was silent. ' But* continued the Count, ' if you will, you may resent it ... . you can make me the veriest wretch on earth .... greater far than even St. Julien was.* At that name the Countess started, and a crimson blush came over her cheek. * Then if you so fear to trust, renounce me.* * Ask me,' cried the Count vehemently, ' to renounce heaven and all its joys .... Thou art my heaven ! To gain you 1 would endure death itself, despair, hate, scorn, any thing at your hands .... every torment that woman Can inflict on man, if so I may ever hope.' ROSAMUND. 229 ' But this is madness, and the very excess of passion/ cried Lady Clarenstein, breaking from him^ * I cannot hear it.* ' Nay then I am lost ... I have been too rash .... you are oflfended, Lady Clarenstein.' ' Say honored/ exclaimed the Countess, bend- ing with irresistible grace towards him. ' Now pray rise . . . you distress me ' * But from this exquisite gentleness what am I to hope . . . that I am heard with . . . .' * Wonder and astonishment, my Lord,' replied the Countess . . . . ' even to disbelief . . . nor will I take this for the act of your better reason. It is the influence of those graces which your 230 ROSAMUND. partial eye thinks it finds in me, which has, for a moment, overmastered your discretion. I know what once your thoughts were of me, and there- fore 1 will not lightly believe that you can so soon have changed them. I will take no advantage of what those lips have uttered in a transport of passion so sudden ; for, your cool reason returned, you will disavow it. Now let me leave you, and rise, I beseech you, from that posture which suits not w ith you, whose vows paid from the heart, and sanctioned by the judgment, it were honor to an Empress to receive.' The Count arose. He was disturbed. His eye was fixed on the ground. * Am I to pay for that rash action with the loss of heaven?' he exclaimed in a suppressed voice, and his breast heaving with something like an indignant feeling. ROSAMUND. 231 * Not believe me ... . not grant faith to my true vows !' Lady Clarenstein saw that she had wounded the soul of honor. ' it is so strange, so passing strange' said she, gently laying her white hand on the Count's arm, * that I cannot think ... I cannot believe . .* The Count made no reply. He carried her hand to his breast .... she felt the tumultuous beatings. ^ Why, what a war of anger is there !' said she, as she forcibly disengaged it ... * Full as proud as . . .' tender she would have said: but a smile, which forced a flood of transport to the Count's heart, finished the sentence, and she disappeared. 2S2 HOSAMUND. * Exquisite creature !' cried the Count, ' not believe me ! May I never hear the shout of victory more, but I will vanquish your disbelief,* CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH. JLhere was that day a great entertainment given at the Castle. Lady Clarenstein had been so long detained from her toilette, that her lovely person was but half adorned when the Duchess sent to let her know that the company were assembled, but that she would have dinner delayed till she appeared. ' Give me any thing, Helene,* said she^ ' and dispatch.' £34 RO$AMUXD. * Madame veut-elle cette etoile de diamans 8ur le front ? Elle a les yeux si brillans, et de si belles couleurs/ if I 'Tout ce que vous voulez.* ' Madame est sortie ce matinf EUe est fraiche comme une ro£e^ ' Suis-je sortie-^ oui nou . . mais, Hel^ne, voyez done, comme vous etes lente . . . et je n'ai pas deux momens/ * Madame, je vous assure qu' il y a du terns assez. Monsieur le Due et le General, cinq minutes passes, se promenoient sur la Terrasse/ Lady Clarenstein blushed a little, and turned away her head. ROSAMUND. 23 J ' Mon Dieu comme les m^ins de Madame soiit tremblantes ! ' cried Helene, seeing that the Mhite fingers of her Mistress tried in vain to fasten the rich clasps of diamonds of her ^vhitc silk corsets. ' C'est Totre babil eternel qui me confond . . . allons, ai-je tout ce qu' il me faut r' * Voila vos gants, Madame. Voulez vous unc echarpe r' < Non suis je bien, Helene : ' ^ Madame est charmante/ So likewise thought the whole assembly whea the folding doors opened, and the young Countess entered. Oh how the Count's eyes adored her Q36 ROSAMUND. as she walked up the great saloon with that delicacy of mien which so well became her ! The Duke met her ; lightly touched her hand, and presented her to the circle: one low obeisance made with a grace which even Grassini might have copied, served for her general salutation. She w^ent up to the Duchess and said, ' I am very sorry, my dear Duchess, to be so late/ I do not know how it so chanced that at that moment, her eyes met those of the Count who stood behind the chair of the Duchess. A beau- tiful carnation came over her cheek, and passing her hand across her forehead, as one does when slightly embarrassed, she took the chair which was offered by the Duchess. Never did she look so transcendantly lovely. Her high-bred grace, the ease and composure of her movements, which preserved all their polish amid the silence which prevailed a few moments after her entrance, before ROSAMUND. 237 fifty people whose eyes were fixed upon her — the tones of her voice which betrayed by their soft- ness a recent emotion but newly suppressed— all these varied graces of demeanor in the Lady of his soul, enraptured the imagination of the Count. He bent over her chair and said, ' suffer me to sit next you at table.' She assented. The Prince heard the request, and in a tone of re- proach said, ' What have 1 done, lUustrissima r* * Done my Lord .... nothing.' Tlie Prince sullenly retired, muttering something in a low voice about the ^ august melancholy of Monsieur le General being that day uncommonly animated.' The Prince had the talent of saying the most impertinent things in the world, with the most cool and composed air possible. 238 ROSAMUND. As this was a public day, of course general politeness took place of individual attention. The young Countess, therefore, addressed her con- versation to- those persons near her. The Count spoke little. Kow and then he made an effort to abstract his thoughts from what so utterly absorbed them, but it was a transient effort alone ; — for every instant his silent attentions, the smile which brightened his pensive countenance, the gentle bending of his noble figure when he addressed her, nay, even his manner of presenting things to her, all betrayed the secret of his soul, — and the whole province determined that the Duke's beautiful sister was to espouse General Mansfeldt. There is nothing perhaps more engaging than the temporary cessation of all personal interests in affairs of the hearty which good breeding ROSAMUND. 239 requires in a mixed society. From the suppres- sion to which they are compelled, every action, word and gesture, has a tenfold charm ; and there is perhaps nothing more difficult than the art of reconciling with the forms of politeness, the testimonies of partiality, which we wish to con- vey to the feelings of the beloved object, unob- served by others. At tlie table of the Duke of Rhonberg was sure to be found conversation animated and full of gaiety, without being superficial ; and full of sense, without pedantry. What charmed most of all, was, that amenity seemed to prevail in all. Tlie dignity of rank was supported in every point without deriving any of its lustre from forced and artful contnist with the inferiority of others. '^The Duchess had a mind so highly cul- 240 ROSAMUND. tivated, she had such a fund of sense, and such a gaiety of heart, that she embellished with new graces every subject on which she spoke. She found no difficulty in entertaining Ladies with whom she was not in habits of intimacy ; for there are standard subjects which speak to the mind and the heart of all well educated persons, though they know nothing of what is done in the great world, or the intrigues of a court. These latter subjects were held back, in order that the self love of others should not be wound- ed. And so gracefully was the illusion on all sides maintained, that no one felt oppressed by the condescending affability of the great. After the gentlemen had taken their coffee, the Duchess proposed that they should walk on the lawn. The most animated music resounded from ROSAMUND. 241 the grove where the Duke's musicians were placed. At length tlie Duchess exclaimed on their playing an air of which she was particularly fond, that she should like very much to dance, and the dance was instantly formed. The Prince came up to Lady Clarenstein, and said, * Will you at least, lUustrissima, be pleased to do me the honor to dance with me : ' ' Oh yes, ' without the least displeasure, replied Lady Clarenstein, smiling at the petu- lance of his expression. Then taking off a rich mantle that she wore, she turned to the Count and said with a sweet smile, * Will you, my Lord, be my servant, and carry this for me r ' Tlie Count bowed with an air that said^ ' I will be any thing to you,' and cast the mantle VOL. I. L 242 ^ ROSAMUND. over his arm. And as with feet uplifted by th.e air, she bounded over the turf, he slowly foUowcatl at a distance down the dance, guarding the heaven of her charms in perfect and secure tranquillity. When the dance was done, they seated themselves, and the Prince now hoped for five minutes to find her disengaged ; but he saw the Count hovering near at hand, to seize the moment when he might again approach her. The irritated Prince could no longer endure this : he started up, bowed, and retired ; and as he passed one of his gentlemen, he shrugged up his shoulders, and said, * By my soul 'tis of no use. That star on her forehead bodes me no good. The august melancholy carries the day. Now would I give the universe to disturb the insolent composure of those Austrian musta- HOSAMUND. 243 dhoes. By all that 's distracting he is going to thke her away ' . . . continued the Prince^ as he saw the action of the Count, who now stood by her side, and laying the mantle on her shoulders, bowed his head, and held out his hand with silent eloquence soliciting hers. She hesitated. ' Grant me one moment . . . gen- tle Countess ... I must. I cannot live 'till I am further heard ' . . . . and so saying he drew her delicate hand within his arm, and they disappeared among the tall trees which bounded the lawn. Onward they went, 'till by degrees the strains of the joyous music died gradually on their retreating steps. The crowded halls, and all the festive pomp which they dis- played, disappeared. Love held alone the enchant- ment of the hour. 244 ROSAMUND. Then what a power of eloquence, albeit broken at first and mterrupted, burst on the lady's ear ! Vows, ^vhere greatness of soul ennobled the accents of impassioned love. The Count seemed to draw the eloquent pleadings of his heart from a deep source of love and joy, implanted by Nature's own hand. His eloquence was the frank expres- sion of natural feelings, but how powerful in its simplicity ! How irresistible in its impassioned tendeniess ! There was in it too that pensive cast of expression, which ever characterises deep and intense feeling in a great mind. Every thing which he said bore the stamp of purity and truth, and he seemed irresistibly, as it were, to compel the judgment to honor and accept his vows ; and thus w^as the bashful shamefacedness with which a tale of love is sometimes heard, overcome by the noble confidence with which he told it. ROSAMUND. 245 He spoke of the joyless tenor of his past life — of the difficulties with which his youth had had to contend^ and the privations to which he had been obliged to submit — of that tone of character which adversity had induced upon his natural dis- position, throwing a shade of though tfulness and austerity over the lofty energies of his nature. Then he unveiled the secret recesses of his be.drt, whither by stern necessity impelled, all the soft affections of his character had fled for refuge and concealment, and a torrent of enthusiasm burst, as if involuntarily, from his lips. He paused. The noble soldier checked the proud exuberance of his feelings. He bowed his head on her hands, and said, that she alone had the power to make that heart happy or miserable for ever. J246 ROSAMUND. What could she answer ? For the first time in her life the young Countess felt awed by the homage of a heart which solicited her favor. She was silent ; for the raillery that she was accus- tomed to use, would here have been displaced — neither could she answer it with haughty indiffer- ence. She felt honored, yet oppressed by the offering of so exalted a love, which soared too high above the courtly tone of gallantry to he answered lightly: and when, as he often did, he laid his hand upon his breast, and said, ' believe me,' a gentle inclination of her head gave an instinctive assent to the touching demand. Thus went they on 'till the Count suddenly stopping, Lady Rosamund raised her eyes and beheld the spot to which he had led her. She saw the statue of the faun, the grove, the river. ROSAMUND. £47 A sudden recollection passed across her mind, and to avoid the fire of the Count's smile, she turned from him and seated herself on the marble steps^ which supported the statue. Tlie moon was rising behind the high forest on the opposite bank of the river, and her silver light lay in pro- found repose on the pine-tree tops. At intervals the breeze with rustling sound passed through the tall poplars, beneath which the statue stood. A nightingale, concealed amid their branches, * poured forth its amorous descant/ These sounds alone were heard — for the Count had ceased to speak, but the voice of Nature took up the tale of Love. The lady of his soul sat beside him so bewitchingly fair, that she seemed like the ideal coinage of his fancy. There was at times around her a sort of ideal and 248 ROSAMUXB. romantic grace so unlike the ordinary forms of beauty, that it bewitched the soul with a strange and indefinite delight. Her profile was turned towards him ; and now in the moon's chaste light, it looked like some sculptured image, fair, polish- ed, peaceful. Her dark hair was disordered by the wind, and one rich tress, half unbraided, spread itself over her shoulder. One arm, whiter than the marble on which it lay, was partially en- veloped in a mantle of green and gold. The sol- dier gazed on her proud charms, and trembled at the lofty ambition of his enamored thoughts. Now the dusk of the evening came on, and, for the first time, the eyes of the Countess dared to rest on the soldier who lay like a lion at her feet. A passing cloud tempered the brightness of the moon, and gave only light sufficient to mark the ROSAMUND. 249 outline of his ample and majestic proportions. But what a world of expression was there ! He was graving some character on the base of the statue with the point of a dagger, \vhich he always wore in his girdle: and thus employed, the com- manding expression of his fine features was all chastened into the pensive cast of unutterable ten- derness. * What is it you do, my Lord^' asked the Countess, bending forwards to observe the cha- racters. ' Is it with an instrument of death that you engrave my name ?' ' 'Tis thus I unite the master passions of my soul, glory and love.' 550 ROSAMUND. And so saying, having finished the letters, he cast the dagger from him, and kissed them as if he would impress his life into the marble. — * Stand there,' cried he, ' for ever — and be as imperishable as my souFs desire ! What can I do to honor thee more, oh fair marble, which bore my image on thy base ? These lofty bowers, this placid river, how have they haunted me in my dreams since that moment when first my soul was filled with strange aspiring thoughts that pursue me night and day ! Now punish me, fair creature, if I were then too bold : for here, to this exquisite spot, I have led you, to do a bolder thing. I come to ask a confirmation of that hope/ llie Count paused. His eye shot a suppressed fire through the dark masses of his hair. * Am 1/ ROSAMUND. 251 cried he, bending his forehead on her knees, * am I beloved r' The noble lady softly replied. * Of love and all its varied conflicts, 1 know but little. Oft indeed have I heard its pains, its wayward fancies related, and sighs have been breathed unheeded in my ear. This heart never yet knew a stronger feeling than that which I bear to my dear brother. But this I will say now to you, that if high respect and honor for your virtues will suffice to answer what you entertain for me of — ' ' Oh no ! dearest lady, that will not suffice.' * Is not that love V 252 ROSAMUND* ' No, by heaven, that is not love. Can nothing more be felt for Mansfeldt than cold respect, and joyless honor ?' * These, my lord, are the ground-work of all true and noble love/ ' And so they are — but there is something dearer still — tliat is not all which lovers feel/ Lady Rosamund was silent. * Now heaven and you forbid,' continued the Count, * that it should be all; for then I am ensnared indeed/ The Count looked at her with intense anxiety. * What means,* cried he, ^ this silence ? Oh tell me : for I am all untutored as a child in woman's arts. How shall I interpret ROSAMUND. ^53 the heavenly calm in those eyes, while they be- hold before them the tumult of my contending passions ? Is this, delicate reserve — is it displeasure — is it secret exultation ? Be it what it may, give me the truth, for though it should come like the chill of death on my heart, suspense is more cruel still ! Destroy my hopes at once, or nobly say^ ' thou art beloved/ Silent still — why brightens the lustre of those dark eyes as they rest on me ? Why plays on your scarlet lip that insidious smile ? ^ow, by my soul, I could almost think that you enjoyed the suppliant posture, and all the signs of slaveiT about me ! Is it so, proud angel ? You smile again — that smile distracts me — I love, I doat to madness. I will serve you for ages for your dear favor : but I am no dainty minion that will fawn, and flatter servilely the thing \hat I worship — nor would surely your 254* ROSAMUND. noble nature exact from a true heart the sacrifice of its honor. Nay Countess, I cannot, I will not be evenyowr slave!' * Proud soldier !' exclaimed the Countess. * No, not proud. Yours all, and ever thus,* cried the Count, casting himself before her, * if so I may ever hope that you will love me. Now speak, my gracious silence ! Do pronounce or life or death ! Refuse at once my offered vows, or nobly take me by the hand thy lover and thy lord !' ' Call you this wooingy Lord Mansfeldt ^ 'Tis something like imperious command.' ROSAMUND. 255 ^ The lion wooes not as the spaniel does. Give me my answer, and my soul's desire, angel of beauty !^ ' Give me my answer, and my soul's desire — Why, my lord, you speak as you would do in.the field of battle, when you call out to the enemy, * Give me the victory,' and they let you take it. But women are not to be won as you take towns, by the thunder of your voice.' * How are women won r' said Lord Mans- feldt, gazing with impassioned delight on the varying animation of her fine countenance, * tell me how V * Some are won by a shadow of greatness; by an air^ a grace, something — nothing— they ^56 ROSAMUND. know not well themselves. But there are otHer»^ who direct their flight higher, and they—' ' What do they demand?* ' They for their suitor will have one whose name shall make all the world tremble but them- selves. From him they will have duty and service. They will have such a one woo whole days for a smile, and rejoice as many more for having gained it. He must do any fantastic thing that suits the sovereign lady's will, and call it honor, delight, pleasure ! though it should make him smile in scorn of himself, that his greatness should be forced to act the part of a page in a lady's chamber.' ROSAMUND. 237 ' I will be that page, and call it honor, delight, pleasure ! I will do all that you have said.' ' You must do more.' * Say what r' ' You must change that in your nature which I could uever love.' ' What is it you cannot love, and I will nok love it either. For if you love it not, it cannot be worthy to be loved. Fair angel, tell me what you cannot love in me ?' Ladv Rosamund hesitated. 258 ROSAMUND. * Nay, I beseech you,' cried the Count impa- tiently. * Not like my nature ! Why how am 1 different from all others ?* ' Oh most different !' exclaimed the Countess, and a roseate color suffused her cheek as she saw that, by the Count's smile, he did not under- stand what she said unfavorably to himself. * Is it because I love war, and the taking of towns, and the shout of victory ?' * No, in the truth, my lord, it is not that.^ * It is not my figure,' said the Count archly. « It is not my profession — is it perhaps my lordly nature that you fear?' asked the Count gently. ROSAMUND. 2v)9 ' No/ replied Lady Clarenstein^ * there is not a shade too much of authority in your nature. Whoever commands me shall have the right as well as the power to do it. But I have been taught by the general voice to believe, that you are a man rigid and austere : incapable of attach- ment — severe to yourself^ and unindulgent to others. Now^ my lord, I fear this lofty tone of virtue in you, though 1 honor it with deep respect. Shall I give up my joung heart to tlie dominion of one who would sternly repress all the fresh- springing joys of my youth r 1 have been free as air! happy as the happiest of women! I could never love one whom I .should so much fear.' A feelini^ of indignant sorrow swelled the heart of the Count, and he said, ' Do you think so of me r Do vou fear that the heart of the woman 260 ROSAMUND. whom I adore would be withered by my unkiiid- ness? Am I austere, because cast on the world even in my infancy, without parents, friends, or fortune^ I swore to preserve unstained the only treasure that I possessed, my noble name and my sacred honor ? — My path was difficult, but it was glorious. I pursued it, and will to the end pursue itj so help me heaven, cost what it may of sacrifice and privation. Am I inaccessible to the voice of pleasure^ because I love such refinement in my joys, that I will have them unmixed with any alloy of that bitter remorse which comes from wounded honor? The soul of Mansfeldt cannot indeed be charmed from duty by the false lustre of those gay delights, which lawless natures profane with the name of happiness. ROSAMUND. 261 "^ x\ni I incapable of attachment, because heaven denying me the dear and natural ties of blood %vhereon my heart might rest its affections with security^ it has been condemned to a dreary deso- lation, an absence of all congenial feeling 1 Inju- rious aspersions ! 1 am not beloted — I know it well 1 have seen with secret pain that the lofty tone which adversity has given to my man- ners inspires in those whom I would fain draw near my heart, nought but cold respect and joy- less honor ; one dear and noble friend excepted^ thy most beloved brother. But if it were true that my soul craved from its fellow creatures no dearer portion of their love, would the pensive cast of thought have already darkened my youth- ful brow, would melancholy already have blanched the hue of health on my cheek ? Would this heart tremble as it does with strong emotion. 2I()^ ROSAMUND. if but an infant's voice speak with fondness the name of Mansfeldt ? ' Noblest of women, deign to judge of me by yourself, and leave these light observers. What can they know of the heart of Mansfeldt ? If ever/ and here the Count's voice changed to tones less powerful, * If ever Nature gave to man a heart intensely alive to all that is lovely and tender in her works, she has given it to me. Is this proud reserve ? Is this like cold austerity ? Can I say more ? Enchantress, speak to me.' Tlie eyes of the Countess were humid with tears of admiration at this noble address to her feelings, and she said, * Rise, thou most noble of heaven's creation ! Keep thy exalted nature ROSAMUND. 263 unspotted as it is ! What does that princely heart demand of me r' * Love/ answered the Count. ' I will not deceive you/ said the Countess. ' Here is my hand. Above all men I honor you. For love — if yet I am to learn it — be thou my heart's instructor. Tlie way to it is open : gain it, and 1 am thine!' The Count replied not. The deep power of joy kept him silent. He raised not his head from her knees; he clasped them, and he trembled. ' Is the noblest heart in the world satisfied.^' said the Countess softly. * Have I uttered enough ?' 264 ROSAMUND. ' More than my soul can bear. Your vvordiS are the balm of heaven, but they kill with joy/ * Mansfeldt!' exclaimed the Countess, bending her charming head over the prostrate Count. At that name, so uttered, he raised himself. ' Beloved of my soul, w hat is this ? — tears ! My name breathed in ^ighs on that scarlet lip ! The name, the sigh, are mine; and by heaven my soul will have her right. Take thou the first embrace that I ever gave to woman : take my life with it, iny truth, my eternal love !' If the softened feelings of the Countess suffered the impassioned adoration, yet was it granted with such a sweet austerity, that the Count in admiration of that virgin majesty which thus re- pressed his boldness, fell at her feet, Slie arose, ROSAMUND. 965 and wrapping around her the mantle of green and gold, she said^ ' Rise, Count Mansfeldt, and let us return — it is late/ He obeyed ; and they returned through paths chequered by the moon. All the stars of heaven were visible, and shed their good influence on the noble lovers. Alas ! one bad inauspicious star there was destined to work them woe. Dearly, in after days, did the Count regret, and with bitter pains deplore, the exquisite delight of that most happy hour ! VOL. I. M CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH. XT may be imagined how ill the haughty soul of the Prince di Bronti could brook the several mortifications which he had that day received ; and all the succeeding night he revolved in his mind how best he might succeed in blasting the fair promise of the Count's happiness, whom now beyond all doubt he knew to be his rival. He at once feared and hated the Count ; for the tran- ROSAMUND. 267 quil dignified politeness MJth which the Count treated him, seemed to be a haughty assumption of superiority that incensed him greatly. If in conversation the Count expressed his opinion on any subject^ the Prince never failed, with infinite politeness, most impertinently to dispute the point with him : nay once, even to rudeness, he supported a contrary' opinion in a case of military, science with the Count, whose consummate talents rendering him at length too absolutely master of the subject, the Prince reluctantly found himself obliged to give way ; and with an intent to wound the feelings of the General, by insolently adverting to the impoverished fortunes of his family, he with the most provoking affec- tation of humility, apologised for * having entered into any dispute w ith him on military affairs, with which undoubtedly as a soldier of fortune the 268 ROSAMUND. Count must be better acquainted than he himself could be/ The Count took no further notice of this in- tended insult, than to fix on the effeminate Prince his calm eye for one single moment : a look which the Prince never forgave : for it had too much disconcerted him, ever to be forgotten. And now to be supplanted by this soldier of fortune, and with such lofty serenity, such security of success, as marked no fear of him whom all men feared, and all women loved ! — it w as intolerable ! The Prince slept not an hour all night long, and in the morning when he arose, he had full as many caprices and humors as a reigning beauty who is dissatisfied with her morning looks. ROSAMUxr. 269 ' How does the illustrious family this morn- ing :' said he to the page. * Well ; my Lord, as I shoidd think. I met my Lady Duchess and her two sons as I came to your highness' chamber. She asked me if you were rising r' ' A thousand thanks. Why did she not come herself? She is the prettiest blue-eyed buffa that I ever saw. The sight of her would revive me.' * My I^ady Clarenstein too I saw, and Avith her—' * U gran Diavolo della guerra, I suppose.' ' Whom does your highness mean ?* 570 ROSAMUXD. ' Mean, child ! the most puissant thunderbolt of %var. The most magnificent piece of august melancholy, Monsieur le General Count Mans- feldt. He, no doubt, was by her dainty side.' ' No, my Lord, he was not with her/ ' Would he were run through the heart with his own sword or with mine — I care not which — Boy, give me ray fur pelisse. I am frozen in this climate.' ' My Lord, it is a scorching heat.' * I am in ice I tell you. Oh Italia, bella Italia, what now would I give for one of thy aure soave ed amorose, che spiran amore e gioja !' UOSAMUND. 271 ' Ah mio Prence/ cried the Page, ' non k in Italia, piu diletto, piu belle e care cose, che non trove io in questo palazzo/ ' Be silent, minion, or speak as I do! Vanish and bring me word whether breakfast is ready.' The Page obeyed; and returning said, that the Duchess was gone into the saloon. The Prince, wrapping himself up in fur and embroi- dery, as if he had been on the top of his own i\ppenines, deigned to drag his beautiful person into the apartment : and seating hunself by the Duchess, made such comic lamentations on the coldness of the climate, of the ten dionsand ele- gant languors, and princely vaporini, that he suf- fered, that she found it impossible to forbear laughing at tlie mixture of effeminacy and fire 272 ROSAMUND. which he evinced. He entirely confined his con- versation to her, and no otherwise noticed the other members of the illustrious house, than by inclinations of his head signifying his assent to their observations. His sovereign impertinence so hit the fancy of the Duchess, that she indulged him in all his ^vhims for her own amusement : yet did slie not fail to observe, that often beneath his dark brows he cast glances full of fierceness at the gran diavolo del la guerra ; a name, given to the great Henry, which the Prince bestowed on the Count. Breakfast being ended, he threw himself on a satin couch, and implored the Duchess to amuse him. * My Prince,' cried she laughing, ' I can do nothing for you. I am going to my own apartments.' ROSAMUND. 275 * Ah, let me come thither, beautiful Duchess/ * Ask the Duke,' said she laughing. He did, and the Duke said, ^ Certainlj your Highness is master here, if the Duchess consents.' ' Andiamo dunque, Sovrana,' cried [the Prince. ' Why,* replied the Duchess, ' do you seriously think that 1 will carry to my cabinet such a heap of vapors as your highness is composed of this morning ?' The Prince let himself fall back on the cushion, exclaiming, ' Barbara, in questo stato mi lasciate? Son morto. Son nel inferno.* 274 ROSAMUND. ' A thousand thanks for calling the Duke's castle an inferno.' ' Senza la presenza tua sarebbe Paradiso un Inferno a me, Nobilissima. Ma parte dunque. Sarai piu tosto di ritorno.' ' Ah/ continued he, as his hand fell on a book, ' Sorte beata ! Ecco il caro Tasso. Viene, Armida, e mi consola !' * I cannot leave you in fairer company/ said she, * I hope that Armida wilt disenchant you of the vapors. At two o'clock I shall drive out : if then your highness can leave Armida, and will be my escort, I shall be honored in your com- pany.* ROSAMUND. 275 * A me Tonore e il piacer, Signora.' The Duchess left the room, and Lady Clarenstcin went Avith her. The Prince affected to read, but his mind was absorbed by far other thoughts than those which the reading of Tasso suggested. At length he overlieard the Duke say in a low voice to the General, * I wish very much to have some con- versation with you. I know not yet what to think of your rashness Meet me in half an hour in the grove of oaks at the foot of the south lawn. We shall be private there.' *I will meet you there/ returned the General. The Duke left the room. Now the Prince instantly resolved to be there first. He knew the place : and slowly sauntering Q76 ROSAMUND. out of the room, after first taking a direction opposite to the one in which that part of the grounds lay, in order the better to conceal his trea- cherous design, he with all possible speed. ggined the retreat which the Duke had chosen for his private interview with General !Mansfeldt. Here he artfully concealed himself, and scarcely had he found safe ambush, when he saw the friends advancing. They came so near to the spot where the Prince stood that he could distinctly overhear ever}- word that they uttered. ' Here/ said the Duke, * we shall be quite secure of interruption. On a point so interesting, and so important to us to conceal from Rosamund, I scarcely thought myself authorised to speak in the castle : but Dryads and Fauns tell no tales. Now then, Raymond, explain to me why, contrary to all my cautions and my counsels, you have made your- ROSAMUND. 277 self, against my will and consent, my brother by alliance, which long you have been by my soul'* election.' 1 shall not here repeat the conversation which, upon this opeuing, took place between the Duke and the General. From it the Prince became acquainted wilh that species of artifice which the prudence of the Duke had prevailed on the Count to permit at least, if not himself to practise, against the heart of the young Countess. A malicious joy filled the breast of the Prince, as instantly all the advantage to be made of such a discovery flashed on his mind. To betray it to the Countess, to exaggerate every point to which he could possibly give the color of a secret and subtle design to make her the dupe of their trea- cherous manege, to incense her against the Count ; 278 ROSAMUND. and on her consequent indignation to build his own pretensions, all in a moment presented them- selves to his imagination. Scarcely coild he subdue the perfidious joy which animated him, 'till the Duke and the General, rising from the turf on which they had seated themselves, bent their steps to a distant part of the grounds beyond the uttermost limit of the grove. Then spring- ing from his retreat, he laughed aloud, ' Now this,' cried he, ^ is beyond my hopes. For if I am not the veriest infant in love, she is mine ! 1 will so represent this thing to her, that if she has the soul of a woman she cannot choose but resent it. Now will I have a rich revenge for all the slights that she put upon me yesterday ! — I will so gall and vex her spirit, so startle her superb delicacy with certain words that women hate, such as easy dupe, pretty fool, love-sick girl, that ROSAMUND. 279 if she frown not But soft here she comes, by all that's beautiful, reading ! I'll spoil your studies, proud beauty .... I'll give you that you shall not easily digest ! . . . How fair she is! How transcendently fair ! She steps as if the earth were too mean to bear her weight. The youth of Hebe, and the port of Diana ! She comes this way . . . Now for a well feigned disorder. Oh love assist me !' The Prince was too great a master in tlie art of feigning not to act to the life the disorder^ into which, as Lady Clarenstein drew near^ he tlurew himself; and fearing lest if she observed it, her delicacy should lead her to take another direc- tion he took care to utter loud enough to catch her ear exclamations full of wonder and indigna- tion. * What ! The peerless Rosamund ! ... It ^80 ROSAMUND. is impossible ! Is there a man on earth could use such mean deceit with the noblest lady in the world ? . . . Shame on such arts I' ' My Lord !' exclaimed the Countess, trans- fixed with suiprise. The Prince at the sound of her voice affected to start as if he had not seen her approach, and with hicreased confusion turaed out of the path as if with an intent to escape from her pre- sence. * Stay, Prince,' cried the Countess, * I beseech you ! . . . . What is this disorder V Again the Prince attempted to fly. ROSAMUND. 281 ' Of whom/ cried the Countess/ did you speak r* * Speak! . . . of no one.' ' Pardon me ... I heard my name. What arts are those ^vhich you spoke of ? Who is de- ceived ? Who is duped :' ' Oh my foolish tongue. Now heaven forbid that you should have heard . . . .' ' Enough to rouse all the powers of my soul ; and if you do not mean mortally to offend me, you will not depart.' My stay will much more offend you. . , !282 ROSAMUND. 1 must retire .... forgive the disorder that I am in, aud forget. ... * ' Impossible. ... My Lord, on the honor of of a gentleman you are bound to satisfy me in this instance.' The Prince bowed . . looked greatly dis* tressed , and stood before her in silence. ' And more/ continued the Countess, * you will not refuse to explain the meaning of those strange words which you uttered.' ' I am no traitor, Madam, nor will I declare it. Indeed, before your face I could not utter such things.' < What things ? ' ROSAMUXD. 283 ' Oh, the most incredible, and the most un- heard of! Nvhich to have heard roused all the indignation of my soul. Suffer me to depart. It does too much concern your peace ! ' * And you refuse to acquaint mc with it ? * * Unknown it hurts you not/ * My Lord/ said the Countess with dignity, * if by those mysterious insinuations you mean but to play on my woman's curiosity, suffer me to tell you that it is ill done, and you much mis- take the Lady with whose feelings you are pleased to make a sport/ ' Madam, I could ^s soon sport with my own 28.4 ROSAMUND. life, as do go bold and injurious a thing as that of which you accuse me.' ' If you would have- me think so, my Lord, I beg of you, as a man and a gentleman, no longer to decline tho^ communication, which, as you say, affects rx\y peace/ " Madam, I caiiiiot satisfy youjvithout treach- erously betraying those who are dear to you. Would I had been dumb! . . A curse on my incautious zeal ! ' * Those who are dear to me. . . Who are they!' < The Duke, your Brother, and Count Mans- ROSAMUND. 285 feldt.' At the last-mentioned name the Prince sighed profomidly, and turned aside his head. Lady Clarenstein looked steadily at the Prince, and said with calmness ; ' If it were not from a gentleman and a Prince that I heard those words, I should have answered him with silent disdain. From the Duke ray Brother, and General Mansfeldt, can come no ill to me. » . . It is some mistake.' ' It is, no doubt, Madam. I tliink so, and forgive my indiscretion.' 'Ungenerous I nay, unjust to the highest de- gree. To throw suspicions on a dear Brother, and refuse to confirm, or else dissipate my. 28(5 ROSAMUND. doubti. From whose lips heard you that which you so obstinately conceal from me ? ' ' From their own. Not many minutes are passed since they stood conversing on this spot.* ' My Brother, and the Count ! There is nothing singular in that.' * Nothing, Madam — they spote of you.' ' That is very natural. Prince.' < Very natural. It is also very natural that what I heard should astonish jne : very natural that in that disorder you should over-hear my words ; and very natural that 1 should refuse to tell what would make you ' ROSAMUND. 287 ' What, my Lord?* * Miserable, as I should think ; if I \vere a woman, and such a one as yourself. ' But/ con- tinued the Prince, suddenly checking himself^ ' perhaps you may already know it. To you they may have confessed their plan you may have pardoned it. Love will pardon every thing/ ' Ah ! ' cried the Prince, it is so — you know it, and you forgive it. Then pardon me ; * and so saying the Prince bent his knee. The Countess was extremely disordered, and trembled so much that she leaned against a tree for support. ' Pardon me, I beseech you. My incautious zeal has occasioned me to hurt the delicacy of your feelings.* 288 ROSAMUND. ' Leave me, Sir ; you distract me/ * If/ continued the Prince with well-feigned regret, 'I could, for an instant, have thought, that, with your consent, you had been so ungener- ously and ignobly dealt with duped , Lady Rosamund started as if a serpent had stung her. * I am a stranger/ continued the Prince, ' to the manners of this country, and that must be my excuse The women of my country are of such nice honor, that they would resent what perhaps would be allowed here. The Ita- lians are proud/ ' Not so proud, or of more nice honor than ROSAMUND. 289 the Austrians/ exclaimed the Countess haughtily, and instantly recovering all her self-possession, * but since you refuse to satisfy me, I will learn elsewhere the secret which it imports me to know for my peace's sake. Leave me, my Lord ! * * I would expire to satisfy you in any thing,' cried the Prince vehemently, * but my own honor is concerned in this ; and I am not accustomed, added he haughtily, * to do that, which according to the laws of honor is unbecoming in a gentle- man ; and though led on by an irresistible feeling in my breast to offend against these laws, however lightly, yet I should ill brook the censure which 1 perhaps deserve. The circumstance which you wish to know, I secretly overheard.' VOL. 290 . ROSAMUND. * And it shall ever by me be kept as secretly/ replied the Countess. ' May I depend on your promise^ that you never will disclose what you shall learn from me to any human being ? ' * You may depend upon it. Now then, my Lord, torture me no longer with this suspense.' ' Oh, the noblest Lady in the world ! ' ex- claimed the Prince in an affected transport of vexation and regret. ' What pain it is for me to obey you. For on me your hate will fall. Would I had never heard, or hearing, had better con- cealed it ! * Know then. Countess, that on your departure apd that of the Duchess from the saloon this ROSAMUND. 291 morning, to pass away the hours of your absence, I came to this grove, and little caring how I spent the tedious moments, 1 threw myself at the foot of this beech-tree, and soon by the silence of the place 1 fell into a slumber. How long I slept I know not, but 1 was on a sudden wakened by the sound of voices near me. 1 scarcely heeded this interruption 'till, hearing your name frequently, all my soul was roused to attention. — I stayed — I heard — Let honor, and your gentle self forgive me ! The Duke your brother, and Count Mansfeldt, when they reached this turfy glade, paused, and discoursed together most ear- nestly: the Duke with some heat blaming the Count for the precipitate avowal of his attach- ment to you. The Count replied to this, that he well knew the ground on which he stood with 292 ROSAMUND. you : that he feared nothing : being certain of your favor, and he recounted to the Duke, to prove this beyond all doubt — But pardon me, noble lady, if I forbear to wound your ear with what the Count then said. Never did I from the lips of man hear such bold, audacious confi- dence of success as fell from him. He made such boasts as true and noble lovers keep in their inmost hearts, and never confide to a friend; told over each heavenly smile, each tender word, nay more ' The false Prince here cast down his eyes : a glow of indignation suffused the fair face of the Countess. He saw the advantage and proceeded. * The General drew a paper from his breast, and related how on the morning of my arrival ROSAMUXD. ^9S here he had found you intent on this portrait of himself. The Duke on this seemed satisfied, and from their after discourse I gathered that you had been the object of their artful Nviles, that the Duke had counseled Lord Mansfeldt not to declare himself to you, 'till he should have good reason to judge that he was beloved by you/ ' Oh my false brother !' exclaimed the Countess. ' This counsel,' continued the Prince, ' Lord Mansfeldt had implicitly followed. He and the Duke congratulated themselves much on the success which had crowned their measures; saying, that but for this, your high spirit would never have been subdued, that you would have seen, and abused your power, but that now all would follow that they could wish. To some 294 ROSAMUXD. things they alluded, that I, from not being acquainted with, but partially understood. The substance, as I conjectured, was some misunder- standing that on the General's first arrival her* existed between yourself and him. Am I per- mitted to repeat all ?' asked the artful Prince. Lady Clarenstein bowed her head. ' They then said that you had shown such a sweet grief on that occasion, such a desire to conciliate the Count, that it was not to be resisted, and that he had yielded to your wishes.' * Insolent falsehood ! Who spoke that ?* ' The Count, Madam. He said likewise that yesterday he had been thrown entirely off his guard, on your seeming to reproach him with ROSAMUND. 295 cold unkindness, and that it was not in the power of man to resist such' — the Prince abruptly paused. ' Such what i speak, my Lord.' ' I cannot so offend your nature.' * Let me have all — ■ — all the shameful story! Though but the lightest word you have spoken is enough. I command you, my Lord, to conceal nothing from me.' ' To resist such winning intimations of your sentiments/ continued the Prince. ' The Count said that ? intimations ?' ^96 ROSAMUND, ' He did, Madam. That was the word. Tlien in a lower voice he told the Duke something that I did not hear, on which the Duke laughed a little, and the Count in a sudden transport said aloud^ that if he were Emperor of three king- doms, he would give two of them for such another moment/ ' Enough, enough!' exclaimed the Countess. ' I have heard what the world shall not/,,' ' Little more passed. The Duke only cau- tioned Lord Mansfeldt to be\\ are of letting the part which they had acted come to your know- ledge, to which the Count gaily answered that you would forgive him. ' Never,' said the Countess calmly. ROSAMUND. 297 ' They then departed — and shortly afterwards, you. Madam, by becoming unwarily a witness of the agitation into which this discovery threw nie, have most unhappily obliged me to disclose what I would otherwise have concealed with my life.' Lady Clarenstein, though sickening with a variety of contending feelings, so far preserved her dignity of demeanor as to express in a few words her thanks to the Prince for what he had done. * If by this I become the object of your dis- pleasure — ' said the Prince. ' I am everlastingly indebted to you. I can feel no displeasure where no cause for it exists. Now pray leave me.' 298 ROSAMUND. The Prince with sorrow admirably feigned, and dfeep respect, through whose expression gleamed a softened tenderness, lightly touched her hand with his lips, and hastily departed. ' The deed is done,' said he to himself. * llie arrow has pierced, and the Count is fallen.' It is almost needless to represent the state of feeling into which this intelligence, so insidiously, and with such detestable art, conveyed to her ear, threw the Countess : for who can imagine that the high-spirited Rosamund could fail to resent with all the pride of her soul the false disloyal proceedings against her. The Duke too, the author and promoter of these designs ! Had he so little confidence in her ? ... so little regard of that delicacy which, rather than voluntarily ROSAMUND. 299 expose them, should have made him shield the affections of her heart from outrage. * But/ said she at length, after great and various conflicting emotions, ' if they have so ungener- ously played upon me, we will see who is the deepest player at such a game ! I am not so bewitched with the love of this false Lord, but that I can contrive a plot which will startle them. I know that I am beloved. I have power and 1 will use it ... . aye, Cvjst it what it may! I will have such revenge as will satisfy me .... even to the very utmost point of what I can inflict Secure of me ! Fix the inconstant moon . . . catch the breeze as it flies ... or grasp at some bright star and think to hold it ! ... it were as easy as to be secure of my heart ! I can give and take away ... love and not 300 ROSAMUND. love . . . delude with hope, and kill with scorn ... do any thing sooner than any man on earth shall dare to say " I am secure." If even in the noble breast of the Count, such mean arts can exist, who shall now be trusted ? ' A few tears of wounded feeling started into the eyes of the Countess, which she dashed hastily away, and went out of the grove with far other thoughts than those with which she had entered it. Now as the young Countess, in haste to gain her chamber, passed through an open corridor of the castle, the Count, walking on the terrace be- low, saw her as she passed, and springing up the steps, he was by her side. Her disordered air struck him with surprise. ROSAMUND. 301 * What means this haste/ he cried. * Pray let me pass, my Lord — I am somewhat tired with walking/ * But you look distressed — and why are the loveliest eyes in the world averted from me: Have I done any thing r' ' Oh no ! I am only fatigued with the heat.' ' This sweet hand/ cried the Count, drawing oflf her glove, and clasping it, ^ has not been mine to-day : let me go with you to your apartments.' The Countess murmured something unintelli- gible, and tried to disengage her hand. 302 ROSAMUND. ' What can thus have fluttered that sweet tem- per?' said the Count tenderly. ^ Tell me what it is r' and he gently drew her nearer to him. ' Nothing, my Lord, has fluttered me.' * Nothing — and your eyes are full of tears^ and your hand trembles !' * I met a serpent in my path, and I thought that it would have stung me.' The Count smiled incredulously. ' But as it did not sting you — Tell me, however, where this serpent is, and I will hunt him out. By all that's strange, I believe that I am myself the serpent, from the terror which you seem to have of me,' cried the Count, letting go her hand. ROSAMUND. 303 The Countess cast a glance at him full of in- dignant expression ; when suddenly recollecting herself, she laughed, and affected to rally her own humor which she attributed to fatigue. * ^Vllat are you going to do, my Lord, this morning r' ' 1 was going to ride — but if you would let me stay with you — ' ' You will have a charming ride — and here are your horses/ The Count said reproachfully, ' My sweet Lady is in such great care of my going, that since she will have it so, I will not longer make her desire my absence/ So saying, he ran down the steps. Now it was not the intention of the Countess that she should appear offended, or un- 304 ROSAMUND. kind to Lord Mansfeldt : so she did not retire, but drew near the balustrades, and stayed to see him mount. He wreathed his hand in his horse's mane^ and vaulted into his seat. The animal seemed to know the touch of his hand, as he stroked his neck, and caressed him. He reared and bounded beneath the weight which he loved to feel. While the Count, with chivalrous grace, sat erect and firm, and tried the ardor of the ani- mal in w hich he seemed to take pleasure, ' Stand,' cried he, * stand, Tartar — proud fool — come — come, my brave fellow, be quiet.' * He is very beautiful,' said the Countess. ' Yes, he is the finest fellow that ever I saw,' said the Count with animation. ' He knows me. ROSAMUND. 305 and the sound of my voice, and the touch of my hand.' • * He minds no one else, my Lord/ said the groom, as he fixed the stirrup at his master*s foot, ' 1*11 say that for him, that he is the most plaguy animal that ever I had to manage.' * You don't go the right way about it. I never see any thing of this sort of behavior.* ' No, my Lord ; because when you come in, he stands as quiet as a lamb ; and the moment that you go out of the stable he begins capering and playing over all his tricks again, as if his feet were not made to stand on the ground like other horses'.' 306 ROSAMUND. The Countess smiled. * My I^rd/ said shr^ * here are your gloves which you have left.' The Count took them, and for a moment de- tained the beautiful hand which held them. * I cannot think/ said he in a low voice, ' what it is that disturbs the lady of my soul. I do believe that it is my august melancholy, as the Prince calls it, that infects you.' ^ You will come back soon, my Lord.^ * I only go because you will have it so/ said the Count, half dismounting. . * No, no/ cried the Countess, * you must go now, and if you wish to see me when you return, you may come to my cabinet.' ROSAMUND. 307 * I will ride round the world in half an hour with that sweet hope at the end of my journey/ At these words he lifted the hat from his head, put his horse into a gallop, and disappeared. * No/ said the Countess, looking after hina, ' it is impossible, lliat soul of honor, evermore breaking like the sun through the clouds, can never practise arts so ungenerous.' But when Lady Rosamund gained her cham- ber, no longer impressed by his presence, all her resentment returned. Every thing that the Count had just said to her in his tenderness, now seemed in her eyes so many traits of confidence in her favor. She sickened — she turned pale — she glowed with resentment. She became more calm^ and she fell into a deep study of the plan which 308 ROSAMUND. she meant to pursue ; and having resolved on the first step that she should take, she composed her heavenly face into smiles, and called up every grace^ every charm which she possessed, every dormant talent of fascination of which she was so great a mistress. The Count had seen her only adorned by her native graces, simple, unsolicitous of conquest, neglectful of all art. But now the picture was to be changed, and he was to behold every chaim rendered more penetrating and subtle by her nice conduct of coquetry. True and noble love speaks to the soul— it is without design; it elevates while it enraptures — but coquetry studies the art of managing the passions, and establishes its influence on the imagination. ROSAMUND. 309 Now farewell the sweet and genuine expres- sions of the heart ! Farewell each natural and sim- ple grace ! smiles where no art is, and looks which speak the meaning of the soul ! Scarcely were all her powers assembled round her, when she heard the rapid step of the Count on the great stair-case. The door opened, and the soldier entered, panting from the enamored haste with which he came. A subdued rosy light filled the gay cabinet, a soft perfumed air wafted the silken curtains, a voice that sounded like an angel's speech, saluted his ear, a form half reclin- ed on a Turkish couch gently raised itself, and a hand like ivory was extended. Tlie Count pausedj his rapid step, his high-spirited movements, were suddenly, as if by enchantment, subdued. 310 ROSAMUND. * Come here, my dear Lord/ said the heavenly voice. * Sit here by me. Have you had a plea- sant ride ? Why you are covered with dust ?' The Count gazed on her in silence. ^ Are you speechless with the speed at which you came,' said she with an arch smile. * I want to tell you that I am sorry to have been so appa- rently ill-humored to you just now. Something had disturbed me — sliake hands — let us be friends.' ' Lady of my soul !' cried the Count, * apolo- gies to me r ' Come, tell me, what saw you in your ride^' said the Countess, taking up her embroidered ROSAMUND. 311 handkerchief, which she was on the point of completing, and which she had destined for the Duke, it being at that time the fashion for men to wear them tied round the throat. It was on a crimson ground, and flowered in a rich pattern. She was putting on the last shade of the last flower. * What I saw in my ride ?' said the Count, watching intently her graceful fingers as they moved. ' That rose-bud seems to be colored with the ends of your fingers.' ' I asked you what you saw in your ride,* re- peated the Countess, smiling. * Oh nothing. My horse and myself were very near being trampled under the Duchess's 312 ROSAMUND. barouche. 1 artar galloped full in between the front horses. I hope that the Duchess was not much frightened. She laughed, and asked me if I rode with my eyes shut. Lady of my soul/ continued the Count, ' you promised, — when will you love me as you promised r' * Oh, you must have patience. Come, woo me now, I am in the humor. You said that you would be my heart's instructor. Now let me hear what you can say.' ' I love,' said the Count. ' That is wooing like a Spartan, my Lord. In what degree and fashion. How do you love me F *With adorations and with fertile tears, With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.' ROSAMUND, 313 * Oh, that is poetic love !* * You would not be loved in dull prose V ' No, for that is loving like the Englishmen/ * Will you be loved as Frenchmen love ?' ' That is as much too lightly, as the other is too heavy.' ' As the Italians then ?' ' I do not know how the Italians woo/ * The Prince fain would show you/ ' I like not the master/ VOL, I. o 314 ROSAMUND. ' My sweet Lady, you must let me woo in my own fashion/ ' Well then, declare it/ * I will love you like a man and a gentleman/ ' A fair promise, if you keep it. It is the first lesson, my Lord. It is just finished in time, for here is Helene/ * Madame veut elle faire sa toilette ? II est trois heures passees/ ' 1 will come immediately,' replied the Count- ess. ROSAMUND. 315 * All not immediately, I have a thousand things to say/ cried the Count ; ' besides, I can serve you instead of Helene. I can braid that beautiful hair, I can twist the strings of pearl round those arms, I could tie a ribbon round that slender waist, and I could put on those small satin sbppers which you wear, and clasp the emerald clasps. Try me, sweet Countess : I be- ♦ seech you, leave me not. Nay, smile not in that way, you madden my reason/ ^ Aye,' tliought the Countess, * you shall ht maddened with something else than joy.' Now as she arose to depart, she took tlie handkerchief which she had just finished, and with the softness and grace of an angel, she pre- sented it to the Count, and said, ^ 1 think that 31^ ROSAMUND. you have not one of these. Will you wear this ? Do you know what to do with a lady's gift ?' The enamored Count kissed the handkerchief a thousand times, and said to himself, though loud enough for the Countess to hear, as she passed into her chamber, ' So would I, if I durst^ th« hand that gives it.' ' Aye,' said she exultingly to herself, * but ere that hand is yours, your heart shall break with hard service. You have dared to do the most insolent and audacious thing that ever man did, and you shall learn to love as I please. For every bold word that you have uttered, 1 will have a separate torment, but not yet. The poison is not yet potent enough. But I know thee, Mansfeidt. Thou ha>t the heart of a child in simplicity and ROSAMUND. 317 tenderness. 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