SONGHow bright this summer's sun appear'd!How blue to me this summer's sky!While all I saw and all I heardCould charm my ear, could bless my eye.The lonely bower, the splendid crowd,Alike a joy for me possess'd;My heart a charm on all bestow'd,For that confiding heart wasbless'd.But thou art changed!—and now no moreThe sun is bright, or blue the sky;Now in the throng, or in the bower,I only mark thyalter'd eye.And though midst crowds I still appear,And seem to list the minstrel's strain,I heed it not—I only hearMyown deep sighthat mourns in vain.
My carriage was announced soon afterwards; and I saw by the manner of both, that Lady Martindale was trying to persuade my husband to stay all night: but as De Walden came with us, propriety, if not inclination, forbade him to comply, and he sullenly enough followed De Walden and me to the carriage. When there, that considerate friend refused to enter it—declaring as it was moon-light he preferred walking home.
What a relief was this to my mind! for I dreaded some unpleasant altercation, especially if De Walden expressed the belief which he evidently entertained, that Lady Martindale and Annette Beauvais were the same person.
When he entered the carriage my husband threw himself into one corner of it, and remained silent. I expected this: still I did not know how to bear it; for I could not help contrasting the past with the present. Is there—no, there is not—so agonizing a feeling in the catalogue of human suffering, as the first conviction that the heart of the being whom we most tenderly love, is estranged from us? In vain could I pretend to doubt this overwhelming fact. Seymour had resented for another woman, and to me! He had even joined in, and enjoyed, the mean revenge that woman took, though that revenge was a public affront to me! And now in sullen silence, and in still rankling resentment, he was sitting as far from me as he possibly could sit, and the attachment of years seemed in one hour destroyed!
All this I felt and thought during the first mile of our drive home: but so closely does hope ever tread on the heels of despair, that one word from Pendarves banished the worst part of my misery; for in an angry tone he at length observed, "So, madam, your champion would not go with us: I think it is a pity you did not walk with him—I think you ought to have done no less, after his public gallantry in your service."
"Ha!" thought I immediately, "this is pique, this is jealousy; and perhaps he loves me still!" What a revulsion of feeling I now experienced! and never in his fondest moments did I value an expression of tenderness from him more, than I did this weak and churlish observation; for he was not silent and sullen on account of Lady Martindale's fancied injuries; but from resentment of De Walden's interference. In one moment therefore the face of nature itself seemed changed to me; and I eagerly replied, "I was certainly much obliged to De Walden—I needed a champion, and who so proper to be it as himself, the only old friend I had in the room, yourself excepted, and the only person in it probably who now (here my voice faltered) has a real regard and affection for me!"
"Helen!" cried Pendarves, starting up, "you cannot mean what you say! You do not, cannot believe that De Walden loves you better thanIdo."
"If I had not believed it I should not have said it."
"But how could you believe it? Has he dared to talk to you of love?"
"Do you think he could forget himself so far as to do such a thing? or if he did, do you think I could forget myself so far as to listen to him? Surely, sir, you forget of whom and to whom you are speaking."
"Forgive me: I spoke from pique. And so, Helen, you think I do not love you?"
"Not as you did, certainly: but I excuse you. I know grief has changed me; and it had been better for me to have died, if it had so pleased God, when my poor child died."
"Helen! dearest! do not talk thus, I cannot bear it!" he exclaimed, clasping me to his heart; and though I then wept even more abundantly than before, I wept on his bosom, and all my sorrows were for awhile forgotten.
The next morning Pendarves told me he should certainly breakfast with me; but he must leave me soon to partake of a late breakfast at Oswald Lodge, as he had promised to go with the party to call on a family, with whom they were to arrange some private theatricals.
"And are you to engage in them?"
"Oh! to be sure: it will not be the first time of my acting."
"And will Lady Martindale act?"
"Yes: but not with us. We shall act in English: she will favour us with a mono-drame,aballet of action, and perhaps read a French play, which she reads to perfection."
"Not better than she dances, I dare say; for dancing, I suspect, was once one of her professions."
"What nonsense is this Helen? and who has dared to give such an erroneous and false impression of this admirable woman?"
"Surely you must have perceived that De Walden meant to insinuate that she and Annette Beauvais are the same person?"
"Then he is a vile calumniator."
"Not so: he is only a mistaken man."
"But it seems you think he cannot be mistaken: he is an oracle!"
"My love," replied I, "we had better not talk of De Walden."
"You are right, Helen, quite right; for I am conscious of great irritation when I think of him: for I feel, I cannot but feel, how much more worthy of you he is than I am; and yet, foolish girl, you gave him up for me. O Helen! when I saw him, impatient of affront to you, step forward with that flashing eye, that commanding air, to seize the offending brute, though I could have stabbed him, I could also have embraced him; and I said within myself, 'And to this man Helen preferred me! How she must repent her folly now!'"
"She never has repented, she never can repent it," said I, throwing myself upon his neck. "You know I took you with all your faults open to my view."
"Yes: but you fancied love and you would reform them!"
"I did—and I think we may do so still: but you must not let me fancy you do not love me, Seymour; if you do, I shall pine and mope, and become the object of your aversion."
"Impossible! do you think I can ever dislike you, Helen?"
"Is thy servant a dog that he should do this thing?" said I, returning his embrace.
"I will hear no more of such horrible surmises: I have now outstaid my time."
Then mounting his horse, he was out of sight in a moment.
Soon after my mother appeared, and, to my surprise, unaccompanied by De Walden.
"Where is our friend?" was my first salutation.
"On the road to London."
"London! And why?"
"He had his reasons for going; and, as usual, they do honour both to his head and heart."
"May I not know them?"
"I would not tell them to all women under your circumstances; but I can trust you. He finds that he has not conquered his attachment; and that he cannot behold the affecting change in your appearance, and reflect on the cause, without feeling what his principles disapprove. Besides, he is afraid of getting involved in a quarrel with Pendarves, as, I suppose, you guess who this Lady Martindale is."
"I do. Well, I am glad De Walden is gone; for I know Pendarves will rejoice."
I then related to her my conversation with my husband; and I did it with so much cheerfulness, and such an evident revival of hope, that I imparted some of the feelings which I experienced; and my mother's heart was visibly softened towards Seymour, while she uttered, "Poor fellow! he does indeed justly judge himself: you did prefer the brilliant to the diamond. But where is he?"
"Gone out with the party at the lodge on particular business; and will not return till night."
On hearing this my mother's countenance fell; and kissing my cheek, she shook her head mournfully, and changed the conversation.
Pendarves came home that evening in great spirits. Every thing was arranged for the theatricals, and the play fixed upon. It was to be the Belle's Stratagem, and he was to play Doricourt, a part he had often played before. The part of Letitia Hardy, was given to a young lady who was an actress on private theatres; and every part was filled but that of Lady Frances Touchwood.
"Oh, Helen!" cried he, "how happy should I be if you would give over all your dismals, lay aside your scruples, and make me your slave for life, by undertaking this mild and modest part!"
"You bribe high," I replied (turning pale at the apprehension of any thing so contrary to my habits and my sense of right): "but you know my aversion to things of the sort."
"I do: but I also know your high sense of a wife's duty; and that you cannot but own a wife ought to obey her husband's will, when not contrary to the will of God."
"You seem to have high though just ideas of a wife's duty," said I, smiling; "now, perhaps, you will favour me with your opinion of a husband's duty."
"Willingly. It is to wean a beloved wife, if possible, from gloomy thoughts; to keep amusing company himself, and to make her join it: in short, when he has engaged in private theatricals, it is hisdutyto get his wife to engage in them also: and if you think such things dangerous to good morals, you are the more bound to engage in them, in order to watch overmine."
I suspected he was right, and that the general duty should, in this instance, give way to the particular one; but I shrunk with aversion from the long and intimate association with these disagreeable if not disreputable people, to which it would oblige me; and after expressing this dislike I begged time to consider of his request.
The next day I went to consult my mother, who at first would not hear the plan named, and declared that her child should not so far degrade herself as to allow her person to be profaned by such familiarities as acting must induce and she must suffer. But when I told her Mr. Oswald was to act Sir George Touchwood, a quiet, elderly married man, she was more reconciled to it on that score, but she disliked it as much as I did on other grounds. However, having convinced myself, I at length convinced her, that it was my duty to make myself as dear and as agreeable to my husband as I could, and not leave him thus exposed to the every day increasing fascinations of another woman.
"But can you, my dear child," said she, "have fortitude enough to bear for days together the sight of his attentions to your rival? Will it not make you pettish, grave, and unamiable, and cloud your eyes in tears, which will incense and not affect, because they will seem a reproach?"
"It will be a difficult task, and a severe trial, I own; but I humbly hope to be supported under it: and though the risk is great, the ultimate success is worth the venture."
"Helen," said my mother, "till now I thought my trials as a wife great, and my duties severe; but I am convinced that they were easy to bear and easy to perform, compared to what a fond wife feels, who is forced to mask misery with smiles; to substitute undeserved kindness for just reproach; and to submit even her own superior judgement, and her own sense of right and wrong, to the will of her husband."
"But, dear mother! I shall be repaid and rewarded at last!"
"Repaid, rewarded, Helen! how? Who or what is to repay you? As well canassignatsrepay bullion, as the love of a being who has grossly erred can reward that of one to whom error is unknown."
"But he has not grossly erred; and if he had, I love him," cried I, deeply wounded and appalled at the truth of what she said.
"Ah! there it is," she replied; "and thus does love level all in their turns; the weak with the strong, the sensible with the foolish. One thing more, Helen, before you go—You shall have your mother's countenance and presence to support you under your new trials: I will condescend to invite myself to attend rehearsals, and I will be at the representation."
I received this offer with gratitude, and then returned to tell my husband that I would perform the part of Lady Frances Touchwood.
He was delighted with my compliance; and on making me read the part aloud directly he declared that I should perform to admiration.
"I should have played Letitia Hardy better," said I.
"You! how conceited!"
"I got that part by heart once, and I have often acted it quite through for my own amusement when I was quite alone. But I prefer playing Lady Frances now, for the days of my vanity are pretty well over."
"No, no, child, they are only now beginning, according to this; and little did I think I had married a great actress."
Pendarves then departed in high spirits to his friends, and I sat down to study my part. But bitter were the tears I shed over it. And was I, so lately the mourner over a dying and a dead child, was I about to engage in dissipations like these?—But humbly hoping my motive sanctified my deed, I shook off overwhelming recollections, and resolved to persevere in my new task.
For some days, and till all was ready for rehearsals, Pendarves rehearsed his part to me, and I to him; but at length he found it pleasanter to have Lady Martindale hear him, he said, for her broken English was so amusing.
I could not oppose to this excellent reason my being a better judge of his performance, but I was forced to submit in silence. Now, however, I was soon called to rehearsals, and my mother was allowed to accompany me.
My first performance was wretched, and I thought Seymour looked ashamed of me; but my mother said she should have been mortified if I had done better the first time. The next I gained credit; but on the third day I found the party in great distress. The Letitia Hardy had been sent for to a dying father, and there was no one to undertake her part. You may easily guess that Seymour immediately told tales of me, and I undertook that prominent character: but I did not shrink from it, for my husband was to act with me; and Letitia Hardy was not more eager to charm Doricourt, than I to charm my husband.
You know there is a minuet to be danced, and a song to be sung; and as Le Piq and Madame Rossi were the first dancers when I was young, I had taken lessons of both in London, and was said to dance a minuet well. Pendarves was equally celebrated in that dance; and as we rehearsed our minuet often at home, each declared the other perfect; nor was the little song less warmly applauded, which I substituted for the original, and adapted to a Scotch air. It applied to my own situation and feelings as well as to those of the heroine, and was as follows:
SONG.If now before this splendid throngWith timid voice, but daring aim,I strive to wake my pensive songAnd urge the minstrel's tuneful claim;One wish alone the anxious task can move,The wish to charm the ear ofhim I love.If in the dance with eager feetI seek a grace before unknown,And dare the critic eye to meet,Nor heed though scornful numbers frown;This wish to fear superior bids me prove,The wish to charm the eye ofhim I love.And if, my woman's fears resign'd,I thus my loved retirement leave,My humble vest with roses bind,And jewels in my tresses weave;One wish alone could such vast efforts move,The wish tofix the heartofhim I love.
The rehearsals meanwhile were pleasanter than I expected. My husband was forced to be a great deal with me, as he had to rehearse so much with me; and Lady Martindale chose to practise her ballet in her own apartment, in sight of a long glass. Therefore I had not to bear, as I expected, my husband's complete neglect; and I could smile at the meanness which led her to come in while I was rehearsing, and lament, as she looked on, loud enough for Seymour and me to hear, that thecharmanteHenrietta Goodwin was summoned away, and could not perform the heroine, because she did ità ravir. I saw Pendarves change colour often when she said this, and she said it daily; but as he thought I much excelled Miss Goodwin, he attributed it to female envy, and perhaps to jealousy of me as his wife.
At length the first day of our theatricals took place, and a company far more select and less numerous than I expected was assembled. My mother had insisted on defraying my expenses, and both my dresses were elegant. You must forgive my vanity when I say, that with rouge replacing my natural bloom, and clad in a most becoming manner, I looked as young and as well as when I married; while to my grateful joy my husband seemed to admire me more than any one. Indeed he pronounced my whole performance beyond praise, and I know not what any one else said. I made one alteration, however, in the text on the night of representation, which called down thunders of applause. The Author makes Letitia Hardy say, that if her husband was unfaithful she would elope with the first pretty fellow that asked her, while her feelings preyed on her life. I could not make my lips utter such words as these; I therefore said, "I would not elope like some women, &c. but would patiently endure my sufferings, though my feelings preyed on my life."
Seymour was so surprised, so confounded, and so affected, that he seized my hand and pressed it to his heart and his lips before he could reply: and my mother told me afterwards that she could scarcely controul her emotions at a change so worthy of me, and so well-timed. The next representation was deferred for a week; and, whatever was the reason, Lady Martindale deferred any exhibition of herself to that future opportunity.
But the comfort and the joy of all to me was, that during this intermediate week I recovered my husband; and with him some of my good looks; while that odious lord would very fain have bestowed on me equal attention to what Seymour had bestowed on his wife, and of a less equivocal nature.
Lord Charles Belmour at this period paid us an unexpected visit, having entirely recovered from his late indisposition. I certainly was not glad to see him, though I believed he regarded me with more kindness than formerly, and he was evidently solicitous, by the most respectful attentions, to conciliate the regard of my beloved mother.
Out of compliment to Lord Charles, Seymour dined at home two days; but on the third, he insisted on taking his friend to call at Oswald Lodge, whose hospitable master had called on him, as soon as he heard of his arrival, and was anxious to have the honour of his acquaintance. Lord Charles thought the honour would be all on Mr. Oswald's side, and probably the pleasure also; but he was at length prevailed on to return the call, and to my great joy he returned wondering at Seymour's infatuation in living so much with such a vulgar set; declaring, that even the Lady Martindale had more the air of a Frenchpetite maîtressethan of any thing akin to quality. He said this in my mother's presence and mine, and he could not have made, I own, better court to either.
"My daughter and I always thought so; and I am glad to have our judgement confirmed by your lordship," answered my mother. "But my son thinks differently."
"I do indeed," said Pendarves blushing; "and when Lord Charles sees her to advantage,—which he did not to-day,—he will not, I am sure, wonder at my admiration."
"Well, we shall see," said he; "but I trust I shall not change my mind, if the future exhibitions of her exquisite ladyship be like that of to-day. You were not there, ladies; therefore, for your amusement, allow me to open my show-box and give you portraits of the inhabitants of Oswald Lodge."
He then stood up, and Mr. and Mrs. Oswald lived before us: air, voice, attitude—all perfectly given. Then came Lord Martindale; and at these pictures Pendarves laughed heartily: but when Lord Charles exhibited the dog and lady by turns dancing, and sometimes barking for the one, and throwing himself into attitudes and smiling for the other, my husband looked much disconcerted, and said it was a gross caricature. But we did not think it so; and though neither my mother nor myself approved such exhibitions, and on principle discouraged them, still on this occasion I must own they were very gratifying to me. But the feeling was an unworthy one, and it was soon punished; for Seymour said with a look of reproach, "You have mortified me, Helen: I had given you credit for more generosity: I did not think you would thus enjoy a laugh at any one's expense; especially that of one whose graces and talents you have yourself acknowledged."
I felt humbled and ashamed at the just reproof, though I thought he should not thus have reproved me, and I was silent; but my mother haughtily replied, "I am glad to hear you own you are mortified to find your wife has some leaven of human frailty; as I am now for the first time convinced that you appreciate her justly."
"I have many faults," he replied; "but that of not valuing Helen as she deserves was never one of them; and oh! how deeply do I feel and bitterly lament that I am not more worthy of her and you!"
My mother instantly held out her hand to him; while Lord Charles exclaimed, "What a graceful and candid avowal! No wonder the offender is so soon forgiven! But believe me, dear madam, there is no hope of amendment from persons who are so ready to own their faults; for they consider that candour makes amends for all their errors, and throws such a charm over them, that they have no motive to improve, especially if they are young and handsome like my friend here; for really he looked so pretty, and modest and pathetic, that I wondered you only gave him your hand to kiss."
"Be quiet, Lord Charles; you are not a kind commentator."
"But I am a just one. Oh! believe me, there is more hope of an ugly dog like me, who can't look affecting, than of such a man as Seymour. I cannot make error look engaging if I would, and therefore must reform in good earnest when I wish to please."
That night Seymour, who sat up with Lord Charles, did not come to bed till some hours after me. I was awake when he entered the room, and could not help asking him what had kept them up so late, anticipating his answer only too well. "We sat up playing piquet," said he in a cheerful voice; "and I am a great winner, Helen. If Lord Charles stays some days, and plays as he did to-night, I am a made man: only think of my winning a hundred pounds since you left us!"
"But if Lord Charles should not always play as he did to-night, and you should lose a hundred pounds, what is to become of you then?"
"Psha, Helen! you are always so wise and cautious: there, there, go to sleep, and do not alarm yourself concerning what may never happen."
But I could not go to sleep, though I said no more; and I saw that our guest would probably upset those resolutions to which Pendarves had for some time adhered. True, he had not been tempted to break them; but had his desire for play been strong, he could have sought means to indulge it. He had not done so, and therefore I thought him cured; though, as most persons have recourse to gaming merely to produce excitement, and the stimulus of alternate hope and fear, I could not but see that Oswald Lodge and Lady Martindale amply supplied to my husband the place of play; and so that he was interested and amused, it mattered not whence that feeling was derived. And this was he who had declared himself the votary of domestic habits, home amusements and literary pursuits! But now he was most unexpectedly and unnecessarily assailed; for he had not gone to temptation, but it was come to him,—and my resolution was taken.
The next morning, while we were at breakfast, a chaise stopped at our door. It was sent from Oswald Lodge, to convey my husband thither immediately; as a note from Lady Martindale informed him, that she could not make arrangements for the next evening's exhibition without his advice and assistance: for nobody, she added, had any taste but himself.
This note Lord Charles playfully snatched from him, and would read aloud, much to Seymour's annoyance; as, though the language was elegant, there was not a word spelt right, and every rule of grammar was violated.
"The education of this well born lady was much neglected, I see," said Lord Charles: "would she could spell as well as she can flatter!"
He then read the concluding compliment aloud.
"C'est un peu fort,"he observed, returning the note; which Seymour angrily observed he ought not to have allowed him to read.
"Well; but you obey the summons, I suppose?"
"Certainly."
"And when may we hope to see you again?"
"As soon as I can get away."
"That may not be till bed-time."
"Impossible! have I not promised to give you your revenge this evening?"
"Yes; but when a lady's in the case—"
"Nonsense! I shall return to dinner."
"And not before? How mortifying it is to me to see that you are not afraid of leaving me so many hours at liberty to pay court to your wife,—with whom, you know, I am desperately in love!"
"If my wife were not what she is, I should be so; and my confidence, I assure you, is not in you, but in her."
"Besides, we shall not be alone, my lord, for I am going to challenge you," said I, "to call on my mother."
"Agreed! And now I am flattered. Your lady, you see, thinks me a more formidable person than you do. Suppose, my dear lady, that we go off together, only to punish him for his weak confidence?"
"We will consider of it," said I, laughing; "and in the meanwhile we will visit my mother."
My husband then drove off and I prepared for my walk.—When I returned, I found Lord Charles walking up and down the room, and with a thoughtful disturbed countenance.
"Mrs. Pendarves," cried he, "I have no patience with that infatuated husband of yours! Here am I come on purpose to see him and for a short time only, and yet, at the call of this equivocal French peeress, he leaves me, and has the indecorum, too, to go away and leave me with his beautiful wife! Tell me, do you not believe in love-powders and philters? for surely some must have been administered to him."
"Not necessarily: my ill-health, the consequence of sorrow, and that sorrow itself made poor Seymour's home uncomfortable to him; he did not like to see me suffer, therefore he acquired a habit of seeking amusement elsewhere; and the flatteries and invitations of these gay and agreeable people have at last obtained a complete ascendency over him."
"That I see; and such people too! And to think of what the foolish man leaves! Mrs. Pendarves, I think that if I had had such a wife as his, I could not have left my home as he does."
"Lord Charles," replied I, "this is language which I will not listen to; but I laugh at your self-deception. The habits of all men of the world are similar, and alike powerful, and your wife would be left as I am: but I assure you that I am convinced my husband loves me tenderly notwithstanding; and I am trying, by conforming to his habits, to make myself as agreeable to him as others are."
Lord Charles seemed about to break into violent exclamations of some kind or other; but I stopped him, and begged to lead the way to my mother's. He bowed respectfully, and followed me: then taking his arm, I tried to begin the conversation I meditated; and luckily he made my task easy by saying, "I conclude Pendarves told you how completely he beat me at cards last night? But he has promised to give me my revenge to-night. The truth is, I have not played picquet these two years; but before I leave you, I expect to recover my knowledge, and to turn my visit to account: for I have been very unsuccessful at Brookes's lately."
I now stopped, and said, "Hear me, Lord Charles! I believe that you can be a kind and honourable man, and that you are really disposed to be a friend to me."
"To be sure—to be sure I am."
"I feel, I own, your power to be my foe in many essential points, but I am equally sure that you can be my friend if you choose; and I request you, if you value my peace of mind, not to tempt my husband to renew that habit and fondness for play, which he had lost, which he cannot afford to indulge, and which, I assure you, has impoverished and distressed us."
"You amaze me! Impoverished!"
"Yes; we have been forced to part with our horses and dismiss servants. Surely, therefore, it would not be the part of a friend to lure Pendarves to the risk of losing a hundred pounds a-night. My lord, I throw myself on your generosity, and say no more."
"You have said enough; and the admirable wife's prudence shall make amends for the rashness of her husband. Besides, I am so flattered by your confidence in me! At last to find you considering me as a friend, and asking assistance from me as a friend! I protest I am more flattered by your friendship than I should be by the love of twenty other women.—Take my revenge! No, indeed. He shall keep his hundred pounds: 'I will none of it.'"
"Hold; not so: play with him this evening; but whether you win or lose, declare you will play no more. I would rather you should win back the money, and even more; for it may be dangerous to Seymour to feel himself enriched by play, and he may go on, though not with you: but after this evening, forbear."
"Excellent! excellent! O that ever I should come hither! I shall be a lost man: for I shall fancy it so charming a thing to have a wife to take care of me, that I shall marry, and find too late there is only one Helen Pendarves!—But tell me, do you wish me to go away to-day, to-morrow, or when—in order to put you out of your pain?"
"By no means: I rely implicitly on your promise; and I owe it to you to assure you, Lord Charles, that your company is most welcome to me, and that I shall not forget your kindness."
I now offered him my hand, which he was going to kiss; but suddenly dropping it, he said, "No—no; take it away.—You must not be too good to me: I am not a man to be trusted with much flattery and kindness: for, ugly as I am, the women have so spoiled me, that I may fancy even you are kind to me'pour l'amour des mes beaux yeux',"6opening his gooseberry eyes as wide as he could, and in a manner so irresistibly comic, that I gave way to that laughter which he delighted to excite. I therefore entered my mother's parlour looking more animated than usual, and she looked most graciously on my companion as the cause: but she seemed displeased when she found Pendarves was gone to Oswald Lodge, and had left me to entertain his noble guest.
6: For the love of my fine eyes.
I now took my departure, having some poor cottagers to visit. When I came back, I saw by the thoughtful brow and flushed cheek of both, that their conversation had been of a very interesting nature; and I also saw that there was an air of confiding intimacy between them, which I never expected to see between two persons so little accordant in habits and sentiments.
But every human being has a capacity for good as well as evil, and the great difference in us all results chiefly, I believe, from the favourable or unfavourable circumstances in which we are placed. Lord Charles had been so circumstanced, that his capacity for evil alone had been cultivated; and till he knew my mother and myself, he had never met in women any other description of companions than those whom he courted, conquered, and despised,—and those whose rigid morals and disagreeable manners threw him haughtily at a distance, and made him hate virtue for their sakes. But now, trusted, noticed, liked by women of a different kind, his good feelings were awakened; and while with us, he really was the amiable being which he might, differently situated, have always been.
"I love to be with you," said he to us: "your influence is so beneficial over me, and you wrap me in such a pleasing illusion! for while I am with you I fancy myself as good as you are: but when I go away, I shall be just as bad again.—Well; have you nothing to say in reply? How disappointed I am! for I thought you would in mercy have exclaimed, 'Then stay here for ever!' Would I could!"
And indeed, when he did go, I missed him.—But to return to the place whence I digressed. Pendarves came home time enough to take a ride with Lord Charles, but he took care to let him see that he expected more attention from him. That evening he challenged my husband to picquet; and having won back nearly the whole of what he had lost, positively declined playing any more: and, much to Seymour's vexation, he would not play again while he staid. The second night's performances at Oswald Lodge now took place; but though Lord Charles staid to be present at them, he could not help expressing his astonishment to me, when alone, that a modest, respectable gentlewoman like myself should ever have joined in them, and that my husband should have permitted it.
"It is very well for these fiddling, frolicking, fun-hunting Oswalds," said he, "to fill their house with persons and things of this sort, and rant and roar, and kick and jump, and make fools and tumblers of themselves and such of their guests as like it: but never did I expect to see the dignified and retiring Helen Pendarves exhibiting her person on a stage, and levelling herself to a Lady Martindale. As your friend, your adoring friend, I tell you, that such an exhibition degrades you."
"It would do so were it my choice, but it is my necessity; and the fulfilment of a painful duty exalts rather than degrades."
"Duty!"
"Yes; my husband required me to act, and I obeyed."
"I understand you. Oh! what a rash, ill-judging being he is! But I beg your pardon, and will say no more. Yet I must add, you are justified; but alas! what can justify him?"
This conversation did not give me any additional courage to undertake and execute my task; especially as I had no reputation as an actress to lose, and other circumstances increased my timidity.—Lady Martindale had purposely reserved all her powers for this evening, and, as she herself said, she was very glad to have her performance witnessed by such a judge as Lord Charles Belmour—a man whose opinion, she knew, was looked up to in all circles as decisive, with regard to beauty, grace, and talents. No wonder, therefore, that to throw her spells round him was become the object of her ambition. Hitherto he had avoided her, and she seemed conscious that he did not admire her. Her only hope was, I believe, therefore, to charm him at once by acoup de théâtre; and while she convinced Pendarves that for him alone she should exert her various powers, her fascinating graces were in reality aimed at Lord Charles: so I thought and suspected,—and though jealousy blinds, it also very often enlightens.
She was to begin the entertainments by acting a French proverb with a French gentleman, anemigré, who was staying at the house; and having no doubt of her transcendent powers, I felt very reluctant to enter into competition with her. Yet, was not the prize for which I strove my husband's admiration? But then was I not degrading myself from the dignity of a wife and a private gentlewoman, by putting myself into a competition like this? The question was difficult to answer, and while I was thus ruminating, the curtain drew up.
I shall not describe her performance: suffice, that the exhibition was perfect. The dialogue was epigrammatic, and the scenes too short to let the attention flag. Every word, every gesture, every look told; and the curtain dropped amidst the loudest applauses.
I could only see from the side-scene; but I saw enough to make me feel my own inferiority, and I went on for Letitia Hardy in a tremor of spirits of which I was quite ashamed; nor could the kindest of the audience applaud me, except from pity and the wish to encourage me; while I saw that Lord Charles could not even do that, and sat silent, and, I thought, uneasy. However, I recovered myself in the masquerade scene, though my voice when I sung still trembled with emotion; and now I was overwhelmed with plaudits, and even Lord Charles seemed pleased; for, as I was masked, I could examine the audience.
Still the play went off languidly after the lively petite piece, and I saw I had mortified my husband's vanity, which my first performance had gratified.
Much impatience was expressed for the next entertainment, which was Rouseau's Pygmalion. Pygmalion by the French Marquis; the Statue, by Lady Martindale. This was received with delight; and I saw that the beautiful statue, whose exquisite proportions were any thing but concealed by the dress she wore, absorbed completely the attention of Pendarves; and when she left the stage apparently exhausted, how different were the look and manner with which he led her to her dressing-room, to those with which he had so handed me!
"Why, why," said I to myself, "did I attempt a comparison, in which I was sure to fail?" But if I had erred, I had meant well, and my mother had approved my conduct, and that must console me under my want of success; for, instead of winning Seymour back, I now saw that, feeling my rival's superiority over me, he would be more her slave than ever.
The whole concluded with a ballet of action, a monodrame, by Lady Martindale, to which I was too uncomfortable to attend; but what I saw I thought admirable. She pretended to be overcome with fatigue when it was ended, and fell into my husband's arms, who in his alarm called me to her assistance. I went; but her lip retained its glowing hue, and I saw in her illness nothing but a new attitude, and that the statue was now recumbent. Having been long enough contemplated in this posture, she opened her eyes, fixed them with a dying look on Pendarves, and then desired him to lead her to her apartment: whence she returned attired in a splendid mantle, which seemed in modesty thrown over her statue dress, but which coquettishly displayed occasionally the form it seemed intended to hide.
I never saw Lord Charles so disconcerted as he was during the whole of the time. He could not bear to praise the heroine of the evening, yet he felt that praise was her due. Nor could he bear either to find fault with or to praiseme. In this dilemma, he seemed to think it was best to be silent; and drawing himself up, he entrenched himself in the consciousness that he was Lord Charles Belmour. But while Lady Martindale leaned on Seymour on one side and I on the other, as we were awaiting the summons to supper, surrounded by our flatterers, one glance at my dejected countenance brought back his kinder feelings; and turning to my mother, who held his arm, he said, "Shall I tell your fair daughter how enchanted I was with the masquerade scene?"
"I assure you," said Seymour, "Helen did not do herself justice to-night: she did not act as well as she can act."
"I should have been very sorry, so much do I esteem her, to have seen her act better," was his cold reply. "Would you have your wife, Pendarves, perform as well as a professional person, and as if she had been brought up on the stage?"
"I would wish my wife to do well whatever she undertakes," replied Seymour.
"And so she does, and so shedid; but if you do not love her the better (as I am sure you do) for the graceful timidity which she displayed, I could not esteem you."
Lady Martindale, who watched his very look, now bit her lip, and Seymour did not look pleased. My mother owned afterwards, that what with pinching Lord Charles's arm, to see how Lord and Lady Martindale both were confused by the first part of his speech, and squeezing it affectionately from delight at the last, she is very sure Lord Charles carried her marks with him to London.Itoo could scarcely keep the grateful tears from flowing down my cheeks, which his well timed kindness brought into my eyes: but I saw that my expression was not lost upon him.
Seymour led Lady Martindale to the head of the supper table, and Lord Charles on account of his rank was forced to sit next her.
"Painful pre-eminence!" he whispered to my mother, who, as I was one of the queens of the night, insisted on my taking her place on the other side. Lord Martindale seated himself next me; and Seymour took the seat vacant by Lady Martindale. As Lord Charles scarcely noticed her, except as far as civility commanded, Lady Martindale soon turned her back on him, and Seymour and she seemed to forget any one else was present.
Lord Charles endeavoured by the most unremitting attentions to conceal from me what must, he knew, distress me. But he could not do it: I heard every whisper of their softened voices, and I dare say my uneasy countenance was a complete and whimsical contrast to that of Lord Martindale, who seemed perfectly easy under circumstances which would have distressed most men, and talked and laughed with every one in his turn.
The Lord and Lady of the feast, who were never tired of exhibitions, now began their usual demands on the talents of their guests, and were importunate in soliciting several of them to sing, a custom which I usually think "more honoured in the breach than the observance;" but on this occasion it was welcome to me, especially as I knew that it must for a time interrupt Seymour's attention to Lady Martindale. But as the hypochondriac, when he reads a book on diseases, always finds his own symptoms in every case before him, so I in the then existing state of my feelings always brought home every thing I heard or read to my own heart; and two of the songs which were sung that night accorded so well with my own state of mind, that I felt the tears come into my eyes as I listened; and during the following one Pendarves sighed so audibly, that I imagined he felt great sympathy with the sentiments; and that idea increased my suffering:—
SONG.O that I could recall the dayWhen all my hours to thee were given,And, as I gazed my soul away,Thou wert my treasure, world, and heaven!Then time on noiseless pinions flew,And life like one bright morning beam'd:Then love around us roses threw,Which ever fresh and fragrant seem'd.And are these moments gone for ever?And can they ne'er return?No never.For oh! that cruel traitor Time,Although he might unheeded move,Bore off ouryouth'sluxuriant prime,Andalsostole thebloom oflove.Yet still the thought of raptures pastShall gild life's dull remaining store,As sinking suns asplendourcastOn scenes theirpresence lightsno more.But are those raptures gone for ever?And will they ne'er return?No never.
The other song was only in unison with my feelings in the last lines of the last verse. Still, while my morbid fancy made me consider them as the expression of my own sentiments, I listened with such a tell-tale countenance, that my delicacy was wounded; for I saw that my emotion was visible to those who sat opposite to me.
The song was as follows:—