Chapter 9

He is, however, greatly to be pitied, said the baron de la Valiere, that the wars he is engaged in, and which, in all probability will be of long continuance, hinders him from the possession of the most amiable princess in the world, and I dare answer, at least if I may credit those about her, she wishes he were of a less martial disposition.

He will be the more worthy of her, cried Horatio interrupting him, and the immortal fame of his actions be a sufficient attonement for all the years of expectation that may be its purchase.

From the time Horatio had this discourse with the baron, the king of Sweden was ever uppermost in his thoughts: he had always reflected that, in the station he then was, it would be impossible to obtain any more of mademoiselle Charlotta than her heart, at least while the baron de Palfoy lived, and that a thousand accidents might deprive him of all hopes of ever being more happy; but, said he to himself, were I among the number of those who attend this hero in his martial exploits, I might at least have an opportunity of proving how far fortune would befriend me;--who knows but I might be able to do something which might engage that just and generous monarch to raise me to a degree capable of avowing my pretensions even to her father, and the same blessed day that joined our principals, might also make me blessed in the possession of my dear Charlotta.

With these ideas did he often flatter himself; but the manner in which he should accomplish his desires was yet doubtless to him. The chevalier St. George treated him with so much kindness, that he had no room to doubt his having a great share in his favour; and was fully perswaded, that if he communicated his intentions to him, he would vouchsafe to give him letters of recommendation to a prince who was to be his brother-in-law: but this he feared to ask, lest it should be looked upon as ingratitude in him to desire to leave a court where he had been so graciously received, and had many favours, besides the perquisites of his post, heaped upon him, not only by the chevalier himself, but also by the queen and princess, who, following the example of the late king, behaved with a kind of natural affection to all the English.

He sometimes communicated his sentiments on this head to mademoiselle Charlotta, who was too discreet not to allow the justness of them; and well knew, that in the station her lover now was, they never could be on any terms with each other than those they were at present: her reason, therefore, and the advantage of her love, made her sometimes wish he would follow the dictates of so laudable an ambition; but then the dangers he must inevitably be exposed to in following a monarch who never set any bounds to his courage, and the thoughts how long it might possibly be before she saw him again, alarmed all her tenderness; and he had the satisfaction of seeing the tears stand in her eyes whenever they had any discourse of this nature; and tho' her words assured him that it was her opinion he could not take a more ready way to raise his own fortune, yet her looks at the same time made him plainly see how much she would suffer in his taking that step.

Many reasons, both for and against following his inclination in this point, presented themselves to him; and he had no sooner, as he thought, determined for the one, than the other rose with double vehemence and overthrew the former. In this fluctuating situation of mind did he remain for some time, and perhaps had done so much longer, had not an accident happened which proved decisive, and indeed left him no other party to take than that he afterwards did.

Charlotta, being now entirely mistress of herself, gave him frequent meetings in the Tuilleries, judging it safer to converse with him there than at the house of any person, whom, in such a case, must be the confidante of the whole affair; whereas, if they were seen together in the walks, it might be judged they met by accident, and not give any grounds of suspicion, which hitherto they had been so fortunate as to avoid.

It was in one of those appointments, when entered into a very tender conversation, they forgot themselves so far as to suffer the moon to rise upon them: the stillness of the evening, and the little company which happened to be there that night, seemed to indulge their inclinations of continuing in so sweet a recess:--they were seated on a bench at the foot of a large tree, when Charlotta, in answer to some tender professions he had been making, said, depend on this, Horatio, that as you are the first who has ever been capable of making me sensible of love, so nothing shall have power to change my sentiments while you continue to deserve, or to desire I should think of you as I now do. He shall not long continue to desire it,--cried a voice behind them, and immediately rushed from the other side of the thicket a man with his sword drawn, and ran full upon Horatio, who not having time to be upon his guard, had certainly fallen a victim to his rival's fury, had not a gentleman seized his arm, and, by superior strength, forced him some paces back.--Are you mad, monsieur, said he; do you forget the place you are in, or the danger you so lately escaped for an enterprize of this nature?

Mademoiselle Charlotta, now a little recovered from her first, surprize, and knowing it was young monsieur de Coigney who had given her this alarm, had presence enough of mind to ask how he dared, after he knew her own and father's resolution, to disturb her, or any company she had with her? he made no reply, but reflecting that there were other ways than fighting, by which he might be revenged, went hastily away with that friend who had hindered him from executing his rash purpose; but they could hear that he muttered something which seemed a menace against them both.

How impossible is it to express the consternation our lovers now were in: they found by the repetition monsieur de Coigney made of the words she spoke, that what they had so long and so successfully laboured to conceal, was now betrayed:--betrayed to one who would not fail to make the most malicious use of the discovery, and doubted not but the affair would become the general talk, perhaps to the prejudice of Charlotta's reputation; but the least thing either could expect, was to be separated for ever.

Horatio, full of disturbed emotions, conducted his disconsolate mistress to the gate of the Tuilleries, and there took a farewel of her, which he had too much reason to fear would be his last, at least for a long time. He was tempted by his first emotions to seek de Coigney, and call him to account for the affront he had put upon him, and either lose his own life, or oblige the other to secrecy; but then he considered, that there was some probability he would not dare to own that he had given himself any concern about mademoiselle Charlotta, after the injunction laid on him by his father, much less as he had attempted a duel in her cause, having, as has been already mentioned, been before guilty of a like offence against the laws, which in that country are very strict, on account of madame de Olonne; and this prevailed with him to be passive as to what had happened, till he should hear how the other would behave, and find what turn the affair would take.

Charlotta in the mean time was in the most terrible anxieties:--she could not imagine what had brought monsieur de Coigney, who she thought had been many miles distant, so suddenly to Paris: but on making some private enquiry, she was informed, that having met some difficulty in the execution of his office, he had taken post, in order to lay his complaints before the king, and had arrived that very day.--She now blamed her own inadvertency in holding any discourse with Horatio, of a nature not proper to be over-heard, in a place so public as the Tuilleries, where others, as well as he, might have possibly been witnesses of what was said.

Young monsieur de Coigney suffered little less from the turbulence of his nature, and the mortification it gave his vanity, to find a person, whom he looked upon as every way his inferior, preferred to him. His thoughts were wholly bent on revenge; but in what manner he should accomplish it, he was for some time uncertain: when he acquainted his father with the discovery he had made, and the resentment he had testified against this unworthy rival, as he called him, the old gentleman blamed him for taking any notice of it. Let them love on, son, said he; let them marry;--we shall then have a fine opportunity of reproaching the haughty baron with his new alliance. This did not however satisfy monsieur de Coigney: all the love he once had for mademoiselle Charlotta was now turned into hate; and in spite of his father's commands not to meddle in the affair, he could not help throwing out some reflections among his companions, very much to the disadvantage of the young lady's reputation. But these might possibly have blown over, as he had but a small time to vent his malice. His father knowing the violence of his temper, in order to prevent any ill consequences, compelled him to return to his employment; taking upon himself the management of that business which had brought him so unluckily to Paris.

But mademoiselle de Coigney had no sooner been informed by her brother of the discovery he had made, than she doubted not that it was on the score of Horatio that he had met with such ill success in his courtship; and also imagined, that it had been owing to some ill impressions mademoiselle Charlotta had given the baron de Palfoy, that her father had been treated by him in the manner already recited. She complained of it to the baron de la Valiere, and told him, her whole family had been affronted, and her brother rendered miserable, for the sake of a young man, who, said she, can neither have birth or fortune to boast of, since he has been so long a prisoner without any ransom paid, or interposition offered to redeem him.

The baron was too generous not to vindicate the merits of Horatio, as much as was consistent with his love and complaisance for his mistress: he was notwithstanding very much picqued in his mind that a person, to whom he had given the greatest proofs of a sincere and disinterested friendship, should have concealed a secret of this nature from him, and the more so, as he had seemed to expect and desire his confidence. From this time forward he behaved to him with a coldness which was sufficient to convince the other of the motive, especially as he found mademoiselle de Coigney took all opportunities of throwing the most picquant reflections on him. It is certain that lady was so full of spight at the indignity she thought her family had received, that she could not help whispering the attachment of Horatio and Charlotta, not only at St. Germains, but at Paris also, with inunendo's little less cruel than those her brother had made use of to his companions; so that between them, the amour was talked of among all who were acquainted with either of them.

At length the report reached the ears of the baron de Palfoy, who, tho' he did not immediately give an entire credit to it, thought it became him to do every thing in his power to silence it.

Accordingly he called his daughter to him one day, and having told her the liberty which the world took in censuring her conduct on Horatio's account, commanded her to avoid all occasions of it for the future, by seeing him no more.

The confusion she was in, and which she had not artifice wholly to conceal from the penetrating baron, more convinced him, than all he had been told, that there was in reality some tender intercourse between them; but resolving to be fully ascertained, he said no more to her at that time, but dispatched a messenger immediately to St. Germains, desiring Horatio to come to him the same day.

The lover readily obeyed this summons, but not without some apprehensions of the motive: the hints daily given him, joined to the alteration, not only in the behaviour of mademoiselle de Coigney, but likewise of the baron de la Valiere, gave him but too just room to fear his passion was no longer a secret.

The father of Charlotta received him with great courtesy, but nothing of that pleasantness with which he had looked on him ever since he had defended him from the robbers. Horatio, said he, I am indebted to you for my life, and would willingly make what recompence is in my power for the obligation I have to you:--think therefore what I can do for you; and if your demands exceed not what is fit for you to ask, or would become me to grant, you may be assured of my compliance.

The astonishment Horatio was in at these words is impossible to be expressed; but having an admirable presence of mind, my lord, answered he, I should be unworthy of the favours you do me, could I be capable of presuming on them so far as to make any requests beyond the continuance of them.

No, Horatio, resumed the baron, I acknowledge my gratitude has been too deficient, since it has extended only to those civilities which are due to your merit, exclusive of any obligation; the conversation we have had together has hitherto afforded a pleasure to myself, and it is with a good deal of mortification I now find a necessity to break it off:--I would therefore have the satisfaction of doing something that might convince you of my esteem, at the same time that I desire you to refrain your visits.

Not all Horatio's courage could enable him to stand this shock, without testifying some part of what passed in his mind:--he was utterly incapable of making any reply, tho' the silence of the other shewed he expected it, but stood like one confounded, and conscious of deserving the banishment he heard pronounced against him.--At last recollecting himself a little,--my lord, said he, I see not how I can be happy enough to preserve any part of your esteem, since looked upon as unworthy an honour you were once pleased to confer upon me.

You affect, said the baron, a slowness of apprehension, which is far from being natural to you, and perhaps imagine, that by not seeming to understand me, I should believe there were no grounds for me to forbid you my house; but, young man, I am not so easily deceived; and since you oblige me to speak plain, must tell you, I am sorry to find you have entertained any projects, which, if you had the least consulted your reason, you would have known could never be accomplished.--In fine, Horatio, what you make so great a mystery of, may be explained in three words:--I wish you well as a friend, but cannot think of making you my son:--I would recompence what you have done for me with any thing but my daughter, and as a proof of my concern for your happiness, I exclude you from all society with her, in order to prevent so unavailing a passion from taking too deep a root.

Ah, my lord, cried Horatio, perceiving all dissimulation would be vain, the man who once adored mademoiselle de Palfoy can never cease to do so. He ought therefore, replied the baron, without being moved, to consider the consequences well before he begins to adore:--if I had been consulted in the matter I should have advised you better; but it is now too late, and all I can do is to prevent your ever meeting more:--this, Horatio, is all I have to say, and that if in any other affair I can be serviceable to you, communicate your request in writing, and depend on its being granted.

In speaking these last words he withdrew, and left Horatio in a situation of mind not easy to be conceived.--He was once about to entreat him to turn back, but had nothing to offer which could make him hope would prevail on him to alter his resolution.--He never had been insensible of the vast disparity there was at present between him and the noble family of de Palfoy: he could expect no other, or rather worse treatment than what he had now received, if his passion was ever discovered, and had no excuse to make for what himself allowed so great a presumption.

With a countenance dejected, and a heart oppressed with various agitations, did he quit the house which contained what was most valuable to him in the world, while poor Charlotta endured, if possible, a greater shock.

The baron de Palfoy, now convinced that all he had been informed of was true, was more incensed against her than he had been on the mistaken supposition of her being influenced in favour of monsieur de Coigney: he had no sooner left Horatio than he flew to her apartment, and reproached her in terms the most severe that words could form.--It was in vain she protested that she never had any design of giving herself to Horatio without having first received his permission.--He looked on all she said as an augmentation of her crime, and soon came to a determination to put it past her power to give him more than she had already done.

Early next morning he sent her, under the conduct of a person he could confide in, to a monastry about thirty miles from Paris, without even letting her know whither she was about being carried, or giving her the least notice of her departure till the coach was at the door, into which he put, her himself with these words,--adeiu Charlotta, expect not to see Paris, or me again, till you desire no more to see Horatio.

CHAP. X.

_The reasons that induced Horatio to leave France; with the chevalier St. George's behaviour on knowing his resolution. He receives an unexpected favour from the baron de Palfoy._

While Charlotta, under the displeasure of her father, and divided, as she believed, for ever from her lover, was pursuing her melancholy journey, Horatio was giving way to a grief which knew no bounds, and which preyed with the greater feirceness on his soul, as he had no friend to whom he could disburden it. The baron's estrang'd behaviour was no small addition to his other discontents, and he lamented the cruel necessity which had enforced him to disoblige a person to whom he owed so many favours, and whose advice would now have been the greatest consolation.

He could not now hope Charlotta would be permitted to come to St. Germains, and doubted not but her father would take effectual methods to prevent her visiting at any place where even accident might occasion a meeting between them: he knew the watch had been set over her on the account of monsieur de Coigney, and might be assured it would not now be less strict, and that it would be equally impossible for either to communicate their thoughts by writing as it was to see each other.

He was in the midst of these reflections when he heard, by some people who were acquainted with the baron de Palfoy, that he had sent his daughter away, but none knew where: this, instead of lessening his despair, was a very great aggravation of it:--he imagined she was confined in some monastry, and was not insensible of the difficulties that attend seeing a young lady who is sent there purposely to avoid the world; yet, said he to himself, could I be happy enough to discover even to what province she was carried, I would go from convent to convent till I had found which of them contained her.

It was in vain that he made all possible enquiry: every one he asked was in reality as ignorant as himself.--The baron de Palfoy had trusted none, so could not be deceived but by those persons who had the charge of conducting her, and of their fidelity he had many proofs. Yet how impossible is it for human prudence to resist the decrees of fate.--The secret was betrayed, without any one being guilty of accusing the confidence reposed in them, and by the strangest accident that perhaps ever was, Horatio learned all he wished to know when he had given over all his endeavours for that purpose, and was totally despairing of it.

He came one day to Paris, in order to alleviate his melancholy, in the company of some young gentlemen, who had expressed a very great regard for him; but his mind being taken up with various and perplexed thoughts on his entrance into that city, he mistook his way, and turned into the rue St. Dennis instead of the rue St. Honore, where he had been accustomed to leave his horses and servant.--He found his error just as he was passing by a large inn, and it being a matter of indifference to him where he put up, would not turn back, but ordered his man to alight here.--I forgot where I was going, said he, but I suppose the horses will be taken as much care of at this house as where we used to go. I shall see to that, replied the fellow. Horatio stepped into a room to take some refreshment while his servant went to the stable, but had not been there above a minute before he heard very high words between some people in the yard; and as he turned towards the window, saw a man in the livery of the baron de Palfoy, and whom he presently knew to be the coachman of that nobleman. He was hot in dispute with the innkeeper concerning a horse which he had hired of him, and, as the other insisted, drove so hard that he had killed him. The coachman denied the accusation; but the innkeeper told him he had witnesses to prove the horse died two hours after he was brought home, and declared, that if he had not satisfaction for his beast, he would complain to the baron, and if he did not do him justice, have recourse to law.--There was a long argument between them concerning the number of miles, the hours they drove, and the weight of the carriage.--Among other things the innkeeper alledged, that he saw them as he passed his corner, and there were so many trunks, boxes, and other luggage behind and before the coach, besides the company that was in it, that it required eight horses instead of six to draw it. Why then, said the coachman, did it not kill our horses as well as yours; if they had been equally good, they would have held out equally.--I do not pretend mine was as good, replied the innkeeper, I cannot afford to feed my horses as my lord does; but yet he was a stout gelding, and if he had not been drove so very hard, and perhaps otherwise ill used into the bargain, he would have been alive now.

All this was sufficient to make Horatio imagine it was for the journey which deprived him of his dear Charlotta, that this horse had been hired, so tarried in the place where he was till the debate was over, which ended not to the satisfaction of the innkeeper, who swore he would not be fooled out of his money. As soon as the coachman was gone, Horatio called him in, and asked what was the matter, and who it was that endeavoured to impose upon him? on which the innkeeper readily told him, that on such a day this coachman came to him and hired a horse in order to make up a set to go to Rheines in Champaigne, my lord-baron having three or four sick in the stable at that time.--Two days after, said he, my horse was brought home all in a foam, and fell down dead in less than three hours, and yet this rascally coachman refuses to pay me for him.

Horatio humoured him in all he said, and let him go on his own way till he had vented his whole stock of railing, and then asked him what company were in the coach. The innkeeper replied, that there was one man and two women, but did not know who they were, for their faces were muffled up in their hoods. This was sufficient for him to be assured it was no other than Charlotta, with her woman, and some friend whom the baron had sent with them. The day mentioned, being the very same he had been informed she was carried away, was also another confirmation; and he had not only the happiness of knowing where his mistress was, but of knowing it by such means as could give the baron no suspicion of his being acquainted with it, and therefore make him think it necessary to remove her.