University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

Osborn.

HISTORY OF THE BERGHER
FAMILY.

My father was the Baron Du Ruyter, a German
nobleman of the first distinction, and
high in favour with the Emperor. Of four
children, a son and three daughters, I was
the youngest. Both my sisters married noblemen
at an early age. Before I was fifteen
years old I had the misfortune to lose a very
tender and affectionate mother, whose death I
ever had the greatest reason to deplore.

In the gay and populous city of Vienna,
where my father resided, it was impossible but
that I must have been early introduced into
fashionable society; even during the life of
my mother, I became acquainted with the various
amusements of parties, balls, theatres,
and drawing-rooms, and having been introduced

at court, numerous were the gilded
triflers who fluttered around me, with real or
affected professions of respect and admiration.

Shrounded in sables by the melancholy event
I have mentioned, we were, for a season, relieved
from the incessant bustle of company;
but no sooner were the days of formal mourning
ended, than we were, again, hurried the
giddy rounds of fashion. Plays, operas, assemblies,
levees, masquerades; visiting and
receiving visits, followed each other in constant
succession; these, however pleasing
at first, became tiresome by continual repetition—I
may say, disgusting, at least, they
were so to me; sick of their tedious uniformity,
I have frequently stolen away from
the most brilliant circles, when pleasure and
joy danced lightest among them, to indulge in
a solitary ramble on some favourite spot, where
my deceased mother once delighted to wander.
The flower-bed, the arbour, the alcove,
the cascade, were rendered doubly dear to
me, for having been valued by her. Languidly
pensive, would I return to the haunts of
gaiety, the rattling of coaches, and the tumultuous
scenes of convivial grandeur.

Of those who professed themselves my
most ardent admirers, the Count Hubert stood
foremost. His age was several years in advance
of mine. He was very rich, and nearly
related to the reigning prince, by whom he
was held in high estimation. I cannot say
but that I was flattered by this nobleman's attention.
As to wealth, and family eminence,
he had few superiors; not only these, but his
manners and demeanour, commanded respect,
as he was more the original than the
copyist of what is esteemed elegance and refinement
in the most elevated circles. His
address, I considered, neither winning nor
repulsive, but his particularity to me was sufficient
to excite envy in the bosoms of other
ladies, who evinced it by arts of rivalship.
My vanity, perhaps, took alarm, but I retaliated
in no other way than by enjoying
their chagrin and vexation.

Soon after I entered my eighteenth year,
my father married a second wife, the daughter
of a reduced nobleman. She brought him
no property, but she possessed a disposition
to expend his fortune, though it was considered
splendid. She entered into almost every
kind of courtly extravagance, and was,

besides, passionately fond of deep play. She
was young and beautiful; my father, who
tenderly loved her, thought not of restraining
her propensities; consequently, in about two
years after his marriage, he found his pecuniary
affairs in rapid decline.

Considering her my stepmother, I endeavoured
to yield her the respect that station demanded,
and to render myself agreeable to
her; but she generally received my advances
and attentions with reserve and coolness.
She wished to shine, unobstructed by shade.
I was considered as crossing her purposes. I
had the advantage of her in the acquirements
and improvements of education; flattery had,
perhaps, taught me to suppose I possessed personal
accomplishments, and that even beauty
was among them. At any rate, she wished
me disposed of by marriage, and would frequently
teaze the Baron on the subject.

These, however, were my days of bliss.
I was young, inspired with animation, honoured
and esteemed. Free from undue restraint,
I knew nothing of care, and had
but on one occasion in my life been acquainted
with sorrow. The anguish inflicted by

the death of my mother subsided with time,
and left my affections in harmony with a calm,
pensive serenity, which impressed pleasing
sensations on the heart. I could now reflect
on her tender cares, her parental solicitudes
and anxieties, and her last advice, without
experiencing those keen pangs of distress
the bereavement at first excited.

I was particularly delighted when, retiring
from town, we passed a few weeks, in the
summer season, at the Baron's villa in the
country. There could I wander over the
fields, gay with flowers and rich in verdure;
trace the course of some winding brook, as it
slid smoothly through willowy meadows, then
rushed a torrent down precipitate declivities;
or ramble along the verge of woodlands,
while the sprightly notes of a thousand various
birds, animated the scene with a brilliant
luxuriance of life and cheerfulness.

In the city, I could have access to these
pleasures but in miniature. The greens, the
groves, the fountains, were confined to a
narrow tract of ground adjoining my father's
mansion; still these, with my aviary, my
drawing apparatus, and my library, served as

a welcome relief to the monotonous rotation
of courtly splendour.

One day, as I was watering some flowers in
the garden, my father came to me—“These
are beautiful flowers, Selina,” said he.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, “such as my angel
mother was extremely fond of.”

The Baron sighed—“Your mother was
an excellent woman, Selina; she is now, indeed,
an angel.”

“I hope so, Sir; I believe so.—She is now
in Heaven.”

He paused; and walked from me. After
strolling for some time around the garden,
he returned. I had gathered a bunch of
flowers, and was assorting them as fancy dictated—“Are
you preparing a boquette for
Count Hubert?” said he, gaily.

“For my flower-vase, Sir,” I replied
smiling.

“How do you like the Count?” he asked
carelessly.

“Very well, Sir,” I answered, “I believe
he is a worthy man.”

“Speak frankly, my daughter,” said my
father with more earnestness, “do you love
Hubert?”

“Oh, no, Sir,” I returned, “I have never
loved any person, except you, Sir, my lamented
mother, my brother, and my sisters.”

“Do you not, then, esteem the Count?”
said he, fixing upon me an inquisitive eye.

“Certainly I do;” I replied, “there are
few, if any, I more highly esteem, except
those I have mentioned.”

“You have ever been a dutiful daughter,
Selina,” said the Baron, tenderly, “and my
wish is to see you happily settled in life, as
are your sisters. You have lost an affectionate
mother; the time may come when you
will also be deprived of your father. Left
parentless, you know not, you cannot anticipate

what difficulties, what dangers, you may
have to encounter. The Count Hubert honours
us by offering you his hand; with a
person of his rank and accomplishments, his
wealth and eminence, you can scarcely fail of
being happy. You regard him, perhaps love
him, as he does you, with most sincere affection;
at any rate, if nothing more, he is,
as you have acknowledged, high in your estimation,
and esteem will increase to love,
when you become his wife. That romantic
passion you read of in novels, seldom exists;
and when experienced tends only to render its
subjects miserable. Real love, as your favourite
Gesner tells you, is founded, not in
fancy, but in reason. I leave you to contemplate
on what I have proposed; I demand no
hasty decision, but at some short future day,
shall expect your answer. In the mean time
reflect,” he continued, with more ardency
and emotion, “that in receiving the Count for
your husband, you confer the highest felicity
on him, ensure your own happiness and respectability,
and in a very particular manner
oblige an affectionate father.” Thus saying,
he left me, and walked into the house.

On retiring to my room I sat down, seriously
to consider the Baron's observations. The
proposition was as unexpected as sudden.
Hubert had said many tender things to me;
so had others; I esteemed them as nothing
more than the effusions of gallantry and politeness.
If he had been more expressive
than others, I had scarcely noticed it, or, at
least, not so as to have retained the impression.

My father's remarks carried conviction.
One parent I had lost; should the other be
taken from me, where, then, would be my
guide, my adviser, my protector? Count
Hubert, I believed, was all my father had
said of him. But I, then, knew not why, yet
I shuddered at the thoughts of marriage. In
some degree, it appeared synonimous with
death. Both, to me, were future and untried
states, which could be realized only by experience.
True, we saw people marrying daily,
and daily we saw people die; but until
we, ourselves, marry or die, we cannot be
certain that we have any correct ideas of the
events produced by the change.

Then I felt an extreme reluctance to leave
the place of my nativity; I wished, a little

longer, to linger among the scenes of my
childhood, where mementos, dear to my remembrance,
presented at every winding of an
alley, every turning of an avenue.

But did I really love Count Hubert? Not as
I loved my parents, sisters, or my brother;
but no man I had seen stood higher in my estimation.
Esteem, my father said, would
ripen into love, after we were joined in wed-lock.

I placed no reliance on the extravagant tales
I had read in romances, where love is depicted
as pressing into its service, and often annihilating,
every other passion of the soul.
They were, I supposed, only the fictions of
a luxuriant fancy, and existed nowhere but
in the imagination.

Then did not my sentiments respecting Hubert
comprise all the affection necessary for
the married state? I had been taught to love
God for his goodness to me. Hubert had
ever been good to me, and now, more particularly,
manifested his tenderness by desiring
to make me his own. I loved God—
I loved Hubert. Pardon the comparison;

such were then the crratic wanderings of my
unsophisticated mind.

I therefore came to the resolution of informing
the Baron, whenever he should again
mention the subject, that I would accept
Count Hubert for a husband. I experienced
a peculiar pleasure in this, as my father's last
emphatic words still sounded in my ears, that
thereby I should in a very particular manner
oblige an affectionate parent. He had
placed strong emphasis on the words “very
particular manner,” but why he had done
so, I knew not. Having formed this decision,
I determined to carry it into effect; still
the similarity between marriage and death
would often strike me, and, at times, I
thought I would as willingly have become a
ghost as a bride.

Count Hubert continued his addresses, and
situated as I considered myself, I believed it
not amiss to let him discover that I gave them
preference. With this, my father I perceived,
was highly pleased, and the Count
did not confine his gratitude to silence.

My brother having received a military education,
entered the army while young. A vigourous
war, at that time existing, the field
was his theatre, where he was advanced to
the head of a regiment; but peace being concluded,
he, about this time, returned to Vienna.
He was a few years older than I, and
between us had ever existed the tenderest affection.
To him I related my situation respecting
Hubert; he heard me with attention,
and after pausing, replied, “I hope, Selina,
you have critically examined your heart before
you concluded to alter, for life, your
condition.” The remark was impressive, but
I could not tell why; I only answered that I
thought I had.

Several officers of the army were now introduced
into our circle; among them was one of
the same rank, about the same age, and a particular
friend and intimate, of my brother. His
father was an Englishman, who, on account of
some troubles experienced in his own country,
came over to try his fortune at Vienna, where
he married a German lady, by whom he had
but one child, who, being a son, he designed
for an extensive liberal education. The
boy was, therefore, put to school, accordingly,

but before he attained the age of sixteen
years, his mother died. The disconsolate
father, soon after, entered the Austrian service,
taking the youth with him; he, finally,
fell in battle, leaving his son a soldier of
fortune, without other patrimony than a
sword and a lieutenancy, from which, by
merit alone, he had risen to the rank of colonel.
His name was Barker, which, to accommodate
the German pronunciation, he had
changed to Bergher.

The manners and address of Bergher were
pleasing and attractive; and as the officers of
his grade were admitted, in the first circles,
on equal grounds with the nobility, he was
seldom absent from our parties; this, with
the intimacy subsisting between him and my
brother, gave him free access to my father's
house.

I did not consider it improper to treat my
brother's friend, and a gentleman of Col.
Bergher's character and standing, with particular
politeness; he was, therefore, generally
my escort and attendant, in the absence
of the Count, to whom, however, he always
gave place. But my mind soon began to discriminate,

and draw comparisons between
them. In the society of Bergher, my spirits
were all cheerfulness and gaiety; the presence
of Hubert cast a melancholy gloom over my
feelings. If the former was away, I felt an
uneasiness and an anxiety for his return; involuntarily
I took an interest in his welfare;
while the attentions of the latter became insipid
and oppressive. Though I knew not
the occasion of these impressions, yet I tried,
but in vain, to resist them; still, I could not
perceive that I was wrong in thus deducing
inferences and forming conclusions from
objects spontaneously forced upon my judgment
and understanding, as my will could
have no agency in the matter; yet I endeavoured
to conceal the real state of my mind,
and, for the first time in my life, experienced
those painful sensations ever attending duplicity.

The jealousy, however, of my stepmother,
and the steady vigilance of the Count,
did not permit me long to remain in my fancied
security, the bitter consequences of
which I soon encountered, with unusual severity.

Du Ruyter, my brother, came to my chamber
one day, and, with a soldier's frankness,
thus accosted me:

“Selina,” said he, “Bergher loves you,
and if I am not mistaken, you do not feel
perfectly indifferent towards him. If this be
the case, neither Hubert's riches, nor his title,
can make you happy. Does the Baron still
continue to press the Count's suit?”

“He has never spoken to me but once on
the subject,” I answered.

“Then possibly,” resumed Du Ruyter,
“he may have relinquished his preference.
The only advantage the Count can possess
over Bergher, is property; with the Baron,
this may be an important consideration, but
so it ought not to be with you, when apprised
that it is in my power to place you in independent
circumstances, which, with great
pleasure, I will do, should you be inclined
to give your hand to my friend. I think I
can readily perceive that, to Hubert, you
have no tender attachments; nor is it surprising;
if nothing else, the disparity of age
is a sufficient objection to your union: you

are not yet twenty years old; he is bordering
on forty. There are other considerations,
perhaps, more important: he is a man of a
haughty and unyielding spirit. If my information
be correct, he has not, at all times,
treated your sex with suitable dignity, I believe,
I might say, with proper delicacy; and
if I understand his character and temper,
they are not very happily cast, nor calculated
to increase the felicity of the married state.
Such are my sentiments; but should I have
formed erroneous opinions, you will be candid
enough to tell me so, and the matter shall
end here. My desire is to see you happy,
Selina; I will, therefore, only repeat my advice,
that you consult well your own heart,
and whatever may be your decision, I doubt
not but our father may be persuaded to acquiesce
in it. What says my sister; shall I await
your answer?”

While Du Ruyter was speaking, my blood
circled with accelerated motion; I felt my
cheeks glow, and with stammering embarrassment
replied:

“Does my brother act, in this affair, as the
agent and by the request of his friend, or
merely from motives of his own?”

“In concert with all these,” he archly rejoined,
“and, I cannot but hope, in unison
with the feelings and sentiments, also, of
another person.”

Without raising my eyes from the floor,
and glad to dismiss the subject, “Call again,”
said I, “this evening, when, possibly, I may
be better prepared to give an answer.”

“And must I come alone?” he asked,
quickly.

“Alone, or not renew the subject,” I, as
hastily, replied.

“It shall be so,” he said, and departed.

It was not until this moment that a true
conviction of my real situation flashed upon
me. I now perceived, and was surprised
that I had not discovered before, the real difference
of my sentiments, respecting the
Count and Bergher. I rejoiced that the

Baron had not, again, spoken to me on the
subject of marriage, at a time, too, when
my resolution was formed to comply with
his wishes, and I deeply regretted having
even tacitly given to the addresses of Hubert,
the least encouragement.

I reflected on Du Ruyter's generous proposal
of sharing, with me, his fortune. I knew
that, separate from patrimonial expectations,
a large estate had devolved upon him by the
death of an uncle, so that, should events
render it necessary, it would be in his power
to fulfil his benevolent intentions. But yet, I
shuddered at the idea of acting counter to
the will, or even the expectations of my father,
and I much doubted whether he, or rather
his lady, who now appeared, entirely,
to govern him, would consent to relinquish
prospects of grandeur and wealth, for what
they would esteem plebeianism and poverty.

The ensuing evening I was disappointed in
the prospect of a private conversation with
my brother, a large party calling in, unexpectedly
upon us, and not retiring until a very
late hour. Hubert was among them, and
paid me, as I thought, attentions more than

usually particular. It was impossible for me
to receive them but with considerable coolness.
Lady Du Ruyter was present, and I
perceived my conduct did not escape her
marked disapprobation.

The next morning, soon after breakfast, I
received a summons to attend the Baron in his
closet, whither I immediately repaired. He
received me cheerfully, and with accustomed
tenderness. After some common conversation,
he thus introduced the subject to which
he had called my attention.

“Hitherto,” said he, “Selina, I have forborne
to renew a conversation I held with you
some time since, respecting your alliance with
the Count Hubert, because, if I have not
mistaken appearances, your own inclinations
preclude the necessity of my making use of
any arguments in his favour; but as the
Count is anxious for the completion of his
joyful expectations, and experiencing a delicacy
as to urging the matter himself, he has
desired me to request your fixing the day of
marriage, for which purpose I have sent for
you here this morning.”

My father paused—I was silent.

“If,” he continued, “you are not already
prepared to name the day, you may give me
your answer this evening.”

“In conformity to your choice, Sir,” said
I, “I have admitted the Count's attentions;
the same motives would induce me to receive
him as my companion through life, could I
do so consistent with my peace of mind.”

“And is, then, a union with Hubert calculated
to destroy your peace?” he inquired.

“Most certainly it is,” I returned, “or I
would not refuse him, since he is selected by
you, Sir.”

“This is strange,” he resumed, “strange
indeed, that you should so soon have changed
your mind, or rather, so suddenly discovered
its versatility. You have gone too far to retract,
Selina.”

“How, gone too far, Sir?” I asked.

“In actions, I mean,” he replied, “which
are generally considered the most expressive
language of the heart. By actions you have
encouraged the Count's addresses; by actions
you have declared that you preferred them
to those of any other; by actions you have
raised hopes and expectations, which, now,
to defeat and disappoint, would be an insult
of the most glaring nature, and involve your
family in deep and dishonourable embarrassments.
You must marry the Count, Selina.”

“Would you, willingly, render your daughter
for ever unhappy, Sir?”

“No,” he answered, sighing; “and, therefore,
I say, you must marry the Count. It
is by following the wildfires of fancy that we
render ourselves unhappy. You have said
that you esteemed Hubert; I have told you
that, in the married state, love will succeed
esteem.”

“My dear father,” I exclaimed, and my
tears flowed, “I can never love the Count.”

“Have you not tender attachments to some
other person?” inquired he, hastily, and fixing
a scrutinizing eye upon me.

“I hope, Sir,” I rejoined, I may never be
so unfortunate as to place my regards on one
unworthy my father's approbation.

“This is disingenuously evading my question,
Selina,” he returned; “it is suspected
that Col. Bergher has rivalled the Count in
your affections, and that he has the presumption
to aspire to your hand. I trust, you too
highly value the honour and dignity of your
family, ever to think of connecting yourself
with a person of his station in life; but
should you be so imprudent, remember that
you never will obtain your father's consent to
so degrading a union. Go now to your chamber;
consider the matter well, and reflect
on the consequences to be expected from disobedience
to a parent, on whom rests all your
earthly dependence.” I retired, not to deliberate
reflection, but to weep. And now I
firstly perceived the gloomy clouds of sorrow
and affliction fast gathering over my future
prospects.

That day I had an interview with Du Ruyter,
to whom I related all that had passed. He
seemed not surprised, but appeared affected.
After pausing, “This,” said he, “is the work

of our new mother; I will have a conversation
with the Baron relative to the subject.” On
the effect of this conference, rested my hopes,
as I knew my father placed great reliance on
my brother's opinion.

The next day, as I sat embroidering a tiara,
Lady Du Ruyter came into the room, and,
with more seeming complacency than she
usually manifested towards me—“Selina,”
she said, “that is a very beautiful head-dress;
is it intended as a bridal ornament?”

“It is for myself, Madam,” I replied.

“So I supposed,” she returned; “and
when is your marriage with Count Hubert to
be celebrated?”

“I did not know as that event had been determined.”

“Not determined!” she exclaimed; “your
marriage with Count Hubert not determined!”

“Certainly not,” said I, “unless it be
without my knowledge or consent.”

“Then I must have been misinformed by
the Baron, your father.”

“Did he inform you otherwise, Madam?”
I asked.

“Surely he did,” she answered, “and
told me, too, that the wedding was soon to
take place. I understand, also, that the
Count considers you as his affianced bride.”

“I have entered into no such affiances.”

“But suppose your father has?”

“He must, if he please, perform them.”

“I should think,” she continued, “that
however you may esteem the Baron's counsel
and advice, you would scarcely have the confidence
to resist his commands.”

“I never have resisted them,” I returned,
“and trust he will not give me occasion to
dispute them, at least, if left to decide for
himself.”

“And he, only, ought to decide, in so momentous
an affair as your establishment for
life.”

“When you married the Baron,” said I,
“did you consult your own interests and feelings,
or leave others to do it for you?”

She reddened, bit her lips, and was for
some time silent—“I, thereby, neither disappointed
the expectations of my friends,
nor dishonoured the name of my family,”
she, tartly, replied.

“I trust not,” I coolly rejoined, “and yet
if all parties concerned had not approved the
procedure, would you have acted differently?”

The words “all parties,” I could perceive,
galled her; for she well knew that the connexions
of my father were decidedly opposed
to the match.

“I shall not condescend to dispute points
with you,” returned she; “I am no stranger
to your romantic predilection for Col. Bergher;

but I presume the Baron will never permit
you to disgrace his family, by casting
yourself away on an untitled and moneyless
adventurer.”

“Then, I presume, the Baron is the fittest
person to tell me so.”

“You grow insolent, Miss.”

“I hope not. I would wish to treat every
person with due respect, whom my father
may suppose entitled to it.”

“Impudence! And by language like this-do
you evince your respect to me?”

“I sought neither this interview, Madam,
nor the conversation resulting from it.”

“But I did, Miss impertinence, and for
the express purpose of apprising you, that
unless you instantly consent to become the
wife of Count Hubert, speedy measures will
be taken to correct your taste, and to convince
you that there is some little difference between
a nobleman and a beggar.”

With this keen faunt she left me, fury
flashing from her eyes.

Though my spirits, from irritation, perhaps,
had been kept up, in the presence of
Lady Du Ruyter, yes they sank the moment
she retired, and a flood of tears burst from
my eyes. I knew that this woman held unlimited
influence over my father; that me
she hated, and that from her I had nothing
to expect but persecution; and as now
she was extremely exasperated, I had reason
to dread the consequences. I, therefore, anxiously
waited the result of Du Ruyter's interview
with the Baron. If my father's determination
could, possibly, be changed, his
son only could effect it. On this point rested
my hopes; if it failed, then must I be dreadfully
and irretrievably lost.