CHAPTER XXXII.Lord Avondale was desirous of passing the winter with his family at Monteith, and in the spring he had promised the Duke of Altamonte to accompany Lady Avondale to Castle Delaval. Lady Mandeville and Lady Augusta Selwyn were invited to meet them there at that time. The wish of pleasing Calantha, of indulging even her very weaknesses, seemed to be the general failing of all who surrounded her:—yet what return did she make?—each day new follies engrossed her thoughts;—her levity and extravagance continually increased; and whilst with all the ostentation of generosity she wasted the fortune of her husband upon the worthless and the base,—he denied himself every amusement, secretly and kindly to repair theruin—the misery—the injustice her imprudence and wanton prodigality had caused.During a long and melancholy journey, and after her arrival at Monteith, Calantha, with some astonishment, considered the difference of Lord Avondale’s views, character and even talents for society and conversation, as compared with those of her former companions. Lord Avondale had no love of ostentation—no effort—a perfect manliness of conduct and character, a real, and not feigned, indifference to the opinion and applause of the vain and the foolish; yet with all this, he was happy, cheerful, ready to enter into every amusement or occupation which gave others pleasure. He had not one selfish feeling. It was impossible not to be forcibly struck with the comparison.Calantha, with her usual inconsistency, now made all those sensible and judicious remarks which people always make, when they have lived a life of folly, and suddenlyreturn to a more tranquil course. She compared the false gaiety which arises from incessant hurry and vanity, with that which is produced by nature and health. She looked upon the blue sky and the green fields; watched the first peeping snow-drop and crocus; and entered with delight into all the little innocent pleasures of a rural life: nor did even a slight restlessness prevail, nor any erring thoughts steal back to revisit the gay scenes she had left. In very truth she was more adapted, she said, to her present course of life than to any other; and, however guilty of imprudence, she thanked God she had not heavier sins to answer for; nor was there a thought of her heart, she would not have wished her husband to know, unless from the fear of either giving him pain or betraying others.At length, however, and by degrees, something of disquiet began to steal in upon the serenity of her thoughts:—her mind became agitated, and sought an object:—study,nay, labour she had preferred to this total want of interest. While politics and military movements engaged Lord Avondale almost wholly, and the rest of the family seemed to exist happily enough in the usual course, she longed for she knew not what. There was a change in her sentiments, but she could not define it. It was not as it had been once: yet there was no cause for complaint. She was happy, but her heart seemed not to partake of her happiness: regret mingled at times with her enjoyments.Lady Mowbray spoke with some asperity of her late conduct; Lady Elizabeth enquired laughingly if all she heard were true; for every folly, every fault, exaggerated and misrepresented, had flown before her: she found that all which she had considered as merely harmless, now appeared in a new and more unpleasing light. Censures at home and flattery abroad are a severe trial to the vain and the proud. She thoughther real friends austere; and cast one longing glance back upon the scene which had been so lately illumined by the gaiety, the smiles, the kindness and courtesy of her new acquaintance.Whilst the first and only care of Lord Avondale, every place was alike delightful to Calantha; for in his society she enjoyed all that she desired; but now that she saw him estranged, absent, involved in deeper interests, she considered, with some feelings of alarm, the loneliness of her own situation. In the midst of hundreds, she had no real friends:—those of her childhood were estranged from her by her marriage; and those her marriage had united her with, seemed to perceive only her faults, nor appreciated the merits she possessed. To dress well, to talk well, to write with ease and perspicuity, had never been her turn. Unused to the arts and amusements of social intercourse, she had formerly felt interest in poetry, in music, in what had ceased tobe, or never had existed; but now the same amusements, the same books, had lost their charm: she knew more of the world, and saw and felt their emptiness and fallacy. In the society of the generality of women and men she could find amusement when any amusement was to be found; but, day after day, to hear sentiments she could not think just, and to lose sight of all for which she once had felt reverence and enthusiasm, was hard. If she named one she loved, that one was instantly considered as worthless: if she expressed much eagerness for the success of any project, that eagerness was the subject of ridicule.Oh I am changed, she continually thought; I have repressed and conquered every warm and eager feeling; I love and admire nothing; yet am I not heartless and cold enough for the world in which I live. What is it that makes me miserable? There is a fire burns within my soul; and all those whom I see and hearare insensible. Avondale alone feels as I do; but alas! it is no longer for me. Were I dead, what difference would it make to any one? I am the object of momentary amusement or censure to thousands; but, of love, to none. I am as a child, as a mistress to my husband; but never his friend, his companion. Oh for a heart’s friend, in whom I could confide every thought and feeling; who would share and sympathize with my joy or sorrow; to whom I could say, “you love me—you require my presence;” and for whom in return I would give up every other enjoyment. Such friend was once Lord Avondale. By what means have I lost him?Often when in tears she thus expressed herself. Her husband would suddenly enter; laugh with her without penetrating her feelings; or, deeply interested in the cares of business, seek her only as a momentary solace and amusement. Such, however, he seldom now found her;for she cherished a discontented spirit within her; and though too proud and stubborn to complain, she lived but on the memory of the past.Calantha’s principles had received a shock, the force and effect of which was greatly augmented by a year of vanity and folly; her health too was impaired from late hours and an enervating life; she could not walk or ride as formerly; and her great occupation was the indulgence of a useless and visionary train of thinking. She imagined that which was not, and lost sight of reality;—pictured ideal virtues, and saw not the world as it is. Her heart beat with all the fervour of enthusiasm; but the turn it took was erroneous. She heard the conversation of others; took a mistaken survey of society; and withdrew herself imperceptibly from all just and reasonable views. Ill motives were imputed to her, for what she considered harmless imprudence; she felt the injustice of these opinions;and, instead of endeavouring to correct those appearances which had caused such severe animadversion, in absolute disgust she steeled herself against all remonstrances. Every one smiles on me and seems to love me—the world befriends me—she continually thought; yet I am censured and misrepresented. My relations—the only enemies I have—are those who profess to be my friends. Convinced of this, she became lonely. She had thoughts which once she would have mentioned as they occurred, but which she now concealed and kept solely to herself. She became dearer in her own estimation, as she detached herself from others, and began to feel coldly, even towards those whom she had once loved.
Lord Avondale was desirous of passing the winter with his family at Monteith, and in the spring he had promised the Duke of Altamonte to accompany Lady Avondale to Castle Delaval. Lady Mandeville and Lady Augusta Selwyn were invited to meet them there at that time. The wish of pleasing Calantha, of indulging even her very weaknesses, seemed to be the general failing of all who surrounded her:—yet what return did she make?—each day new follies engrossed her thoughts;—her levity and extravagance continually increased; and whilst with all the ostentation of generosity she wasted the fortune of her husband upon the worthless and the base,—he denied himself every amusement, secretly and kindly to repair theruin—the misery—the injustice her imprudence and wanton prodigality had caused.
During a long and melancholy journey, and after her arrival at Monteith, Calantha, with some astonishment, considered the difference of Lord Avondale’s views, character and even talents for society and conversation, as compared with those of her former companions. Lord Avondale had no love of ostentation—no effort—a perfect manliness of conduct and character, a real, and not feigned, indifference to the opinion and applause of the vain and the foolish; yet with all this, he was happy, cheerful, ready to enter into every amusement or occupation which gave others pleasure. He had not one selfish feeling. It was impossible not to be forcibly struck with the comparison.
Calantha, with her usual inconsistency, now made all those sensible and judicious remarks which people always make, when they have lived a life of folly, and suddenlyreturn to a more tranquil course. She compared the false gaiety which arises from incessant hurry and vanity, with that which is produced by nature and health. She looked upon the blue sky and the green fields; watched the first peeping snow-drop and crocus; and entered with delight into all the little innocent pleasures of a rural life: nor did even a slight restlessness prevail, nor any erring thoughts steal back to revisit the gay scenes she had left. In very truth she was more adapted, she said, to her present course of life than to any other; and, however guilty of imprudence, she thanked God she had not heavier sins to answer for; nor was there a thought of her heart, she would not have wished her husband to know, unless from the fear of either giving him pain or betraying others.
At length, however, and by degrees, something of disquiet began to steal in upon the serenity of her thoughts:—her mind became agitated, and sought an object:—study,nay, labour she had preferred to this total want of interest. While politics and military movements engaged Lord Avondale almost wholly, and the rest of the family seemed to exist happily enough in the usual course, she longed for she knew not what. There was a change in her sentiments, but she could not define it. It was not as it had been once: yet there was no cause for complaint. She was happy, but her heart seemed not to partake of her happiness: regret mingled at times with her enjoyments.
Lady Mowbray spoke with some asperity of her late conduct; Lady Elizabeth enquired laughingly if all she heard were true; for every folly, every fault, exaggerated and misrepresented, had flown before her: she found that all which she had considered as merely harmless, now appeared in a new and more unpleasing light. Censures at home and flattery abroad are a severe trial to the vain and the proud. She thoughther real friends austere; and cast one longing glance back upon the scene which had been so lately illumined by the gaiety, the smiles, the kindness and courtesy of her new acquaintance.
Whilst the first and only care of Lord Avondale, every place was alike delightful to Calantha; for in his society she enjoyed all that she desired; but now that she saw him estranged, absent, involved in deeper interests, she considered, with some feelings of alarm, the loneliness of her own situation. In the midst of hundreds, she had no real friends:—those of her childhood were estranged from her by her marriage; and those her marriage had united her with, seemed to perceive only her faults, nor appreciated the merits she possessed. To dress well, to talk well, to write with ease and perspicuity, had never been her turn. Unused to the arts and amusements of social intercourse, she had formerly felt interest in poetry, in music, in what had ceased tobe, or never had existed; but now the same amusements, the same books, had lost their charm: she knew more of the world, and saw and felt their emptiness and fallacy. In the society of the generality of women and men she could find amusement when any amusement was to be found; but, day after day, to hear sentiments she could not think just, and to lose sight of all for which she once had felt reverence and enthusiasm, was hard. If she named one she loved, that one was instantly considered as worthless: if she expressed much eagerness for the success of any project, that eagerness was the subject of ridicule.
Oh I am changed, she continually thought; I have repressed and conquered every warm and eager feeling; I love and admire nothing; yet am I not heartless and cold enough for the world in which I live. What is it that makes me miserable? There is a fire burns within my soul; and all those whom I see and hearare insensible. Avondale alone feels as I do; but alas! it is no longer for me. Were I dead, what difference would it make to any one? I am the object of momentary amusement or censure to thousands; but, of love, to none. I am as a child, as a mistress to my husband; but never his friend, his companion. Oh for a heart’s friend, in whom I could confide every thought and feeling; who would share and sympathize with my joy or sorrow; to whom I could say, “you love me—you require my presence;” and for whom in return I would give up every other enjoyment. Such friend was once Lord Avondale. By what means have I lost him?
Often when in tears she thus expressed herself. Her husband would suddenly enter; laugh with her without penetrating her feelings; or, deeply interested in the cares of business, seek her only as a momentary solace and amusement. Such, however, he seldom now found her;for she cherished a discontented spirit within her; and though too proud and stubborn to complain, she lived but on the memory of the past.
Calantha’s principles had received a shock, the force and effect of which was greatly augmented by a year of vanity and folly; her health too was impaired from late hours and an enervating life; she could not walk or ride as formerly; and her great occupation was the indulgence of a useless and visionary train of thinking. She imagined that which was not, and lost sight of reality;—pictured ideal virtues, and saw not the world as it is. Her heart beat with all the fervour of enthusiasm; but the turn it took was erroneous. She heard the conversation of others; took a mistaken survey of society; and withdrew herself imperceptibly from all just and reasonable views. Ill motives were imputed to her, for what she considered harmless imprudence; she felt the injustice of these opinions;and, instead of endeavouring to correct those appearances which had caused such severe animadversion, in absolute disgust she steeled herself against all remonstrances. Every one smiles on me and seems to love me—the world befriends me—she continually thought; yet I am censured and misrepresented. My relations—the only enemies I have—are those who profess to be my friends. Convinced of this, she became lonely. She had thoughts which once she would have mentioned as they occurred, but which she now concealed and kept solely to herself. She became dearer in her own estimation, as she detached herself from others, and began to feel coldly, even towards those whom she had once loved.