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UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 (1)
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University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875[X]
University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection (1)
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expand1997 (1)
1Author:  Fay Theodore S. (Theodore Sedgwick) 1807-1898Add
 Title:  The Countess Ida  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: It was six when Claude returned to his hotel. He was met at the door by his friend Denham, who had just arrived from London. Of all men, he was the one he most esteemed and loved. He was, in some respects, the antithesis of Claude, and it was, perhaps, this very difference which made them more attached to each other. He was totally without Claude's contemplative habits, but usually acted from impulses which, if not always prudent or wise, were always noble. He was frank, generous, and bold; full of strong affections and quick passions; a faithful friend, and a good hater. In one respect he differed widely from his friend. He held duelling to be a custom, under certain circumstances, sanctioned by necessity, and useful in its effects upon society. Without any particularly serious views of religion, he professed to believe that, in the present state of the world, the meek doctrines of Christianity were permitted at times to give way to other considerations bearing upon individual character and the general harmony of society; in short, he was also a duellist, though in a far different way from the debauched, vindictive, and cruel Elkington. The latter adopted the principle as a mode of shielding himself in a course of profligacy, and of acquiring a notoriety of which a purer mind or a more generous heart would have been ashamed; the former as a means of protecting his person from insult and his name from calumny, and of redressing all unjust injuries directed either against himself or his friends. He thought the world was thronged with persons who might be regarded as beasts of prey, ready to attack those not prepared with means of physical defence, and that the same principle which permitted a traveller to use a pistol against a highwayman, allowed a resort to the same weapon against those who, by force or fraud, encroached too far on the rights and feelings of a gentleman. This subject had often been discussed between these two young men, who each respected, while he opposed the opinion of the other. “This will only be put into your hands in case of my death. You will, before then, be informed on the circumstances which produce it. I saw you struck last night, and I lost all prudence; I interfered, and received a blow myself. I have always been brought up to think a blow ought not to be borne. Death is preferable to dishonour. I know Elkington is a shot, but I can't help it. The custom of society must be complied with. Do not blame me, my wiser and more thoughtful friend. You have your opinion, I mine. I am determined to kill Elkington if I can, unless he make me the humblest apology. This is not to be expected, and I am prepared to fall. I need not say that I have not called on you to arrange the thing for me, as I know you would have taken measures to prevent it; otherwise there is no man on earth I should so readily have chosen. Beaufort I had a slight acquaintance with, and he consented at once. “I am about leaving Berlin, but cannot do so without performing a certain duty to myself, the necessity of which imboldens me to address this request to you. It is also proper that your generous confidence in me should be confirmed; and I beg therefore to enclose to you the accompanying letter from the Marquis of E—; a gentleman, I believe, whom Count Carolan corresponds with, and whose opinions may have some weight. I have a kind of right to press this letter on Count Carolan, who has openly exhibited an acquiescence in the misstatements of Elkington. I leave to his own sense of right the task of protecting my name hereafter. As to my courage—a suspicion of it can only be removed by those occasions which Providence sends, enough to try the temper of our souls on earth, and to furnish us an opportunity to display it to the world when vanity requires. If circumstances have raised a doubt of mine, it is a misfortune which, like shipwreck or pestilence, every man is liable to, and which, if chance does not remedy it, patience must endure. Having deliberately adopted a principle upon this point, I shall adhere to it and abide the consequences. From all other doubts the letter of the Marquis of E— rescues me; and, after perusing it, Count Carolan will at least do me the justice to express himself satisfied, and to acknowledge that my past life has been as irreproachable as it has been unfortunate. “I enclose the letter of the Marquis of E—, as well as your own, without any other reply to the `demand' you make for an acknowledgment of `error' than that men's opinions are their own, and differ in many points more doubtful and important. There is an account at my banker's of £50, which I will thank you to settle. “We beg to inform you, for your government, that the sum hitherto deposited in our hands on your account has been withheld for the ensuing year, and we are instructed that it will not hereafter be continued. “I have been now in prison two months. I am ill —without money, without food—reduced to the common fare of the unhappy inmates of this mournful dwelling. I have to inform you, also, that a fatal pestilence has broken out in the building, and carried off three victims in two days. I request you, in the name of humanity, to release me. I offer you my word of honour not to leave Berlin without paying you. If your object is to get the money, you can never succeed by keeping me here. If your object is to humble my pride, it is humbled as far as a man's should be. If you desire my life—unless I can breathe the air and take a little exercise, your desire will speedily be gratified. My freedom—if you grant it—I shall employ in honourable labour, of which you shall have the first fruits. Believe me, sir, incapable of falsehood. “I have committed the account against you to my lawyer, who has already received his instructions, and I cannot interfere with what now belongs entirely to him. “At the request of the Marquis of E—, and for his account, we hereby open a credit with you in favour of Mr. Claude Wyndham, for £1000 sterling, say one thousand pounds sterling, which you will please to supply him with, as he may require the same, on his presenting to you this letter. “You, who have borne adversity with greatness, will, I trust, meet prosperity with dignity. I have at length succeeded in throwing back the veil which Heaven in its wisdom had allowed to fall over us. You are, as from the first moment my secret presentiment might have taught me, the child of my bosom. Enclosed is a package which I have prepared for you. It reveals your history and mine. I would give you no intimation of my convictions till they were confirmed. Not from my hand should you receive a new disappointment. The bill which accompanies this is your own. Do not hesitate to use it. It is but a small part of the inheritance of which you are now the master. Your father was the Earl of Beverly. That title is now yours. He has just expired, having previously completed all the arrangements essential to your undisputed assumption of his titles and estates. This great blessing of Providence I am fain to receive as a reward for a life spent in the path of right; but, in receiving it, let us not forget that all earthly blessings come mixed with calamity, and that there is no state of steady happiness but beyond the grave. I write to you calmly, my beloved son, from the very intensity of my feelings. I did not put pen to paper till I had calmed them by prayer, and sought from Him who gives and takes away the strength necessary to support me in this mixed hour of joy and sorrow. I have much to tell you, and my bosom yearns to hold you again, my son! Come to me as soon as you can, without neglecting duties more imperative. I have seen you sorely tried, and I know you to be equal to your own guidance; but remember that life is short, and the greatest happiness I can now know is your society. Everything is arranged for you without trouble. On reaching London you will drive to your own mansion in Grosvenor Square, lately occupied by your father, and just as he left it. The Marquis of E— acts as your agent till your arrival, and begs me to say how profoundly he rejoices at this important change in your prospects. Come, my son! I would repeat the sacred name, and I would repeat ever, to the Disposer of human events, my prayer of grateful thanks for being permitted to write myself—your affectionate, “Having just despatched a line to your father, I avail myself of a last moment to tell you I am in London, well and happy. I have heard all by the attentive care of Mr. Wyndham. I know that your father's and uncle's splendid fortunes are entirely sacrificed, but I know also that you are safe, and that makes me happy. Yes, my child, we are beggars—we have nothing; but we shall meet in an hour, and this thought makes all misfortunes supportable.
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