Chapter III: The Castle of Hohenstein

Among the subjects which Aunt Jane, for my own sake, encouraged me to talk about at this time, was that of the character and adventures of my remarkable relation, Countess Rossi, and of her beautiful cousin Dorina, the first betrothed of Count Rossi, who had disappeared the night before her marriage.

In order to make the sequel of my story intelligible, I will here relate what I told Aunt Jane, at that time, in various conversations.

Not far from the celebrated Caves of Adelberg may still be seen one of those ancient castles that remind the traveller of days and customs long passed away. Hohenstein is, or was some twenty years ago, inhabited by the then representative of the ancient family whose name it bears. The Graf von Hohenstein had an only child, Dorina, a young girl who, at the time I was taken by my guardian to Paris, had lately come from the convent at Udine, where she had been educated. Her mother was a Venetian, of the noble family of Rossi, and died a year or two before Dorina had been betrothed to her second cousin, Count Rossi. The young couple were, at the express wish of Dorina’s mother, betrothed a year before she left the convent; but as soon as she attained her seventeenth year, the marriage was to take place at Hohenstein, with great splendour.

While I was at my convent in Paris, I heard all about the projected fêtes from my mother, who, as a near relation of Count Rossi, had been asked to stay at Hohenstein for a couple of months, to be present at the marriage.

The Count Hohenstein’s mother was English, the Countess Bianca (the Lady Blanche Roland, of Castle Hall, the only daughter, and, after her brother’s death, sole heir of the Earl of Roland). Dorina’s great friend and constant companion was Cunigunda, the only child of the Count’s younger brother, consequently her first cousin, and, after Dorina, next heiress to the possessions of the Hohenstein family. She was more than a year older than Dorina, but her parents had arranged that she should remain in the convent until Dorina’s education should be finished.

The brilliant and beautiful Cunigunda was by no means so fond of the convent, or its inmates, as her more gentle and loving cousin, and the extra year of bondage, as she called it, annoyed her so much that she gave vent to her spleen by many practical jokes, to the scandal of the good nuns, and dismay of her confessor. Few women liked Cunigunda except Dorina, who always endeavoured to screen her wild and mischievous cousin from disgrace. Dorina had inherited her mother’s delicate constitution, and although her form and features were lovely, yet her paleness formed a contrast to her more brilliant cousin.

My mother told me that Cunigunda’s greatest amusement--in fact, passion--seemed to be to make conquests; and she more than suspected that the object of her ambition was to captivate Count Rossi before the ceremony should take place--to make him give up the heiress, and propose to herself.

From the first day of my mother’s arrival at Hohenstein she began to suspect the game that the dazzling creature was playing, but discarded--at first--the idea as something too dreadful; for Count Rossi was evidently deeply attached to his gentle _fiancée_, and her changing colour--the joy that seemed to tremble in her eyes whenever he addressed her--gave full evidence of her affection for him.

The chase in the morning was generally succeeded by dancing in the evening; and these dances ended with a polonaise, in which guests of all ages joined, and paraded the long suites of rooms, up and down stairs, and into the old gallery, which extended all over the upper story. Sometimes these were headed by the young _fiancés_, but more often by Cunigunda and some grandee; and when this was the case, she was sure to lead the procession into all kinds of out-of-the-way and unexpected places.

One night she led them down a remote turret stairs, into a place which had formerly been a prison under the Castle, which she had secretly contrived to make the good seneschal illuminate with brilliant-coloured lamps. Then, to the surprise of even the Count himself, who had forgotten the existence of this entrance into the caves, Cunigunda tapped with a theatrically mysterious air at a small door at the further end, and beckoning to those behind, she bade them follow her into what she laughingly called an enchanted palace. It was at once opened, but the doorway was so small and low that only one person could enter by stooping.

An exclamation of wonder and delight was heard from the numerous guests who followed Cunigunda and her partner. It really looked like a scene of enchantment, for a portion of the celebrated Adelsberg caves, with their brilliant stalactites, was disclosed to the view of the guests, illumined with many torches, held up by people at intervals, who had been stationed there.

The coolness too of the place on that hot Summer night was delicious, and the Count von Hohenstein was so pleased that he determined to give a regular ball to all the neighbourhood in the caves, and said he would light them with coloured lamps, and put down a temporary floor to dance upon.