Passage in the Secret History of an Irish Countess

"Passage in the Secret History of an Irish Countess" is a novella by Joseph Thomas Sheridan Le Fanu that delves into themes of love, obsession, and the supernatural. Set against the backdrop of 19th-century Ireland, the story unfolds the mysterious life of a noblewoman who becomes entangled in a web of intrigue and secrecy. Le Fanu's masterful storytelling combines elements of Gothic fiction with psychological depth, exploring the darker aspects of human desire and the societal constraints of the time. As the narrative progresses, the countess grapples with her past and the consequences of her choices, leading to a haunting and thought-provoking conclusion.

• Fiction
• Novel

								
     Being a Fifth Extract from the Legacy of the late Francis
     Purcell, P.P. of Drumcoolagh.

The following paper is written in a female hand, and was no doubt
communicated to my much-regretted friend by the lady whose early history
it serves to illustrate, the Countess D----. She is no more--she long
since died, a childless and a widowed wife, and, as her letter sadly
predicts, none survive to whom the publication of this narrative can
prove 'injurious, or even painful.' Strange! two powerful and wealthy
families, that in which she was born, and that into which she had
married, have ceased to be--they are utterly extinct.

To those who know anything of the history of Irish families, as they
were less than a century ago, the facts which immediately follow will
at once suggest THE NAMES of the principal actors; and to others
their publication would be useless--to us, possibly, if not probably,
injurious. I have, therefore, altered such of the names as might, if
stated, get us into difficulty; others, belonging to minor characters in
the strange story, I have left untouched.

My dear friend,--You have asked me to furnish you with a detail of
the strange events which marked my early history, and I have, without
hesitation, applied myself to the task, knowing that, while I live, a
kind consideration for my feelings will prevent your giving publicity
to the statement; and conscious that, when I am no more, there will not
survive one to whom the narrative can prove injurious, or even painful.

My mother died when I was quite an infant, and of her I have no
recollection, even the faintest. By her death, my education and habits
were left solely to the guidance of my surviving parent; and, as far
as a stern attention to my religious instruction, and an active anxiety
evinced by his procuring for me the best masters to perfect me in those
accomplishments which my station and wealth might seem to require, could
avail, he amply discharged the task.

My father was what is called an oddity, and his treatment of me, though
uniformly kind, flowed less from affection and tenderness than from a
sense of obligation and duty. Indeed, I seldom even spoke to him except
at meal-times, and then his manner was silent and abrupt; his leisure
hours, which were many, were passed either in his study or in solitary
walks; in short, he seemed to take no further interest in my happiness
or improvement than a conscientious regard to the discharge of his own
duty would seem to claim.

Shortly before my birth a circumstance had occurred which had
contributed much to form and to confirm my father's secluded habits--it
was the fact that a suspicion of MURDER had fallen upon his younger
brother, though not sufficiently definite to lead to an indictment, yet
strong enough to ruin him in public opinion.

This disgraceful and dreadful doubt cast upon the family name, my
father felt deeply and bitterly, and not the less so that he himself
was thoroughly convinced of his brother's innocence. The sincerity and
strength of this impression he shortly afterwards proved in a manner
which produced the dark events which follow. Before, however, I enter
upon the statement of them, I ought to relate the circumstances which
had awakened the suspicion; inasmuch as they are in themselves somewhat
curious, and, in their effects, most intimately connected with my
after-history.

My uncle, Sir Arthur T----n, was a gay and extravagant man, and,
among other vices, was ruinously addicted to gaming; this unfortunate
propensity, even after his fortune had suffered so severely as to render
inevitable a reduction in his expenses by no means inconsiderable,
nevertheless continued to actuate him, nearly to the exclusion of all
other pursuits; he was, however, a proud, or rather a vain man,
and could not bear to make the diminution of his income a matter of
gratulation and triumph to those with whom he had hitherto competed, and
the consequence was, that he frequented no longer the expensive haunts
of dissipation, and retired from the gay world, leaving his coterie to
discover his reasons as best they might.

He did not, however, forego his favourite vice, for, though he could not
worship his great divinity in the costly temples where it was formerly
his wont to take his stand, yet he found it very possible to bring about
him a sufficient number of the votaries of chance to answer all his
ends. The consequence was, that Carrickleigh, which was the name of my
uncle's residence, was never without one or more of such visitors as I
have described.

It happened that upon one occasion he was visited by one Hugh Tisdall,
a gentleman of loose habits, but of considerable wealth, and who had, in
early youth, travelled with my uncle upon the Continent; the period of
his visit was winter, and, consequently, the house was nearly deserted
excepting by its regular inmates; it was therefore highly acceptable,
particularly as my uncle was aware that his visitor's tastes accorded
exactly with his own.

Both parties seemed determined to avail themselves of their suitability
during the brief stay which Mr. Tisdall had promised; the consequence
was, that they shut themselves up in Sir Arthur's private room for
nearly all the day and the greater part of the night, during the space
of nearly a week, at the end of which the servant having one morning,
as usual, knocked at Mr. Tisdall's bedroom door repeatedly, received no
answer, and, upon attempting to enter, found that it was locked; this
appeared suspicious, and, the inmates of the house having been alarmed,
the door was forced open, and, on proceeding to the bed, they found the
body of its occupant perfectly lifeless, and hanging half-way out, the
head downwards, and near the floor. One deep wound had been inflicted
upon the temple, apparently with some blunt instrument which had
penetrated the brain; and another blow, less effective, probably the
first aimed, had grazed the head, removing some of the scalp, but
leaving the skull untouched. The door had been double-locked upon the
INSIDE, in evidence of which the key still lay where it had been placed
in the lock.

The window, though not secured on the interior, was closed--a
circumstance not a little puzzling, as it afforded the only other mode
of escape from the room; it looked out, too, upon a kind of courtyard,
round which the old buildings stood, formerly accessible by a narrow
doorway and passage lying in the oldest side of the quadrangle, but
which had since been built up, so as to preclude all ingress or egress;
the room was also upon the second story, and the height of the window
considerable. Near the bed were found a pair of razors belonging to the
murdered man, one of them upon the ground, and both of them open. The
weapon which had inflicted the mortal wound was not to be found in
the room, nor were any footsteps or other traces of the murderer

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