CHAPTER XXXIII.It is dangerous to begin life by surrendering every feeling of the mind and the heart to any violent passion—Calantha had loved and been loved to such an excess, that all which followed it appeared insipid. Vanity might fill the space for a moment, or friendship, or charity, or benevolence; but still there was something gone which, had it never existed, had never been missed and required. Lord Avondale was perhaps more indulgent and more affectionate now, than at first; for a lover ever plays the tyrant; but even this indulgence was different; and that look of adoration—that blind devotion—that ardent, constant solitude, when, without a single profession, one may feel certain of being the first objectin life to the person thus attached,—all this was past.Such love is not depravity. To have felt it, and to feel it no more, is like being deprived of the light of the sun, and seeing the same scenes, which we once viewed brilliant beneath its beams, dark, clouded and cheerless.—Calantha had given up her heart too entirely to its power, ever more to endure existence without it. Her home was a desert; her thoughts were heavy and dull; her spirits and her health were gone; and even the desire of pleasing, so natural to the vain, had ceased. Whom was she to wish to please, since Avondale was indifferent? or what to her was the same, absent and preoccupied.Such depression continued during the gloomy wintry months; but with the first warm breeze of spring, they left her; and in the month of May, she prepared to join the splendid party which was expectedat Castle Delaval—as gay in heart herself as if she had never moralized upon the perishableness of all human happiness.Upon a cool and somewhat dreary morning in the month of May, Calantha left Monteith, and, sleeping one night at Allenwater, hastened to Castle Delaval, where blazing hearths and joyous countenances, gave her a cheering welcome. Lady Mandeville and Lady Augusta had, according to promise, arrived there a week before, to the utter consternation of Mrs. Seymour. Calantha perceived in one moment, that she was not extremely well with her or with her cousins upon this account. Indeed the former scarcely offered her her hand, such a long detail of petty offences had been registered against her, since they had last parted. It was also justly imputed to Calantha that Lady Mandeville had been invited to the Castle. A stately dignity was therefore assumed by Sophia and Mrs. Seymour on this occasion: they scarcepermitted themselves to smile during the whole time Lady Mandeville remained, for fear, as Calantha concluded, that Satan, taking advantage of a moment of levity, should lead them into further evil. The being compelled to live in company with one of her character, was more than enough.“I am enraptured at your arrival,†said Lady Augusta, flying towards Calantha, the moment she perceived her. “You are come at the happiest time: you will be diverted here in no ordinary manner: the days of romance, are once again displayed to our wondering view.†“Yes,†said Lady Trelawney, “not a day passes without an adventure.†Before Calantha enquired into the meaning of this, she advanced to Lady Mandeville, who, languidly reclining upon a couch, smiled sweetly on seeing her. Secure of the impression she had made, she waited to be sought, and throwing her arm around her, gave her kisses so soft and so tender, thatshe could not immediately extricate herself from her embrace.Lady Augusta, eager to talk, exclaimed—“Did you meet any of the patrole?†“I was reading the address to the united Irishmen,†said Calantha, who could hear and think of nothing else. “Are you aware who is the author?†“No; but it is so eloquent, so animated, I was quite alarmed when I thought how it must affect the people.†“You shock me, Calantha,†said Mrs. Seymour. “The absurd rhapsody you mean, is neither eloquent nor animating: it is a despicable attempt to subvert the government, a libel upon the English, and a poor piece of flattery to delude the infatuated malcontents in Ireland.†Lady Augusta winked at Calantha, as if informing her that she touched upon a sore subject. “The author,†said Lady Trelawney, who affected to be an enthusiast, “is Lord Glenarvon.â€â€œI wish Frances,†said Mrs. Seymour, “you would call people by their rightnames. The young man you call Lord Glenarvon, has no claim to that title; his grandfather was a traitor; his father was a poor miserable exile, who was obliged to enter the Navy by way of gaining a livelihood; his mother was a woman of very doubtful character (as she said this she looked towards Lady Mandeville); and this young man, educated nobody knows how, having passed his time in a foreign country, nobody knows where, from whence he was driven it seems by his crimes, is now unfortunately arrived here to pervert and mislead others, to disseminate his wicked doctrines amongst an innocent but weak people, and to spread the flames of rebellion, already kindled in other parts of the Island. Oh, he is a dishonour to his sex; and it makes me mad to see how you all run after him, and forget both dignity and modesty, to catch a glimpse of him.â€â€œWhat sort of looking man is he, dear aunt?†said Calantha. “Frightful—mean,â€said Mrs. Seymour. “His stature is small,†said Lady Mandeville; “but his eye is keen and his voice is sweet and tunable. Lady Avondale believe me, he is possessed of that persuasive language, which never fails to gain upon its hearers. Take heed to your heart: remember my words,—beware of the young Glenarvon.†Gondimar, after the first salutation upon entering the room, joined in the conversation; but he spoke with bitterness of the young Lord; and upon Lady Trelawney’s attempting to say a few words in his favour, “Hear Sir Everard on this subject,†said the Count—“only hear what he thinks of him.†“I fear,†said Sophia, “that all these animadversions will prevent our going to-morrow, as we proposed, to see the Priory.†“Nothing shall prevent me,†replied Lady Augusta. “I only beg,†said Mrs. Seymour “that I may not be of the party, as the tales of horror I have heard concerning the inhabitants of St. Alvin Priory, fromold Lord de Ruthven, at Belfont Abbey, prevent my having the smallest wish or curiosity to enter its gates.â€Count Gondimar, now coming towards Calantha, enquired after Zerbellini. At the request of every one present, he was sent for. Calantha saw a visible change in Lady Margaret’s countenance, as he entered the room. “He is the living imagesâ€â€”she murmured, in a low hollow tone—“Of whom?†said Calantha eagerly.—She seemed agitated and retired. Gondimar in the evening, took Calantha apart, and said these extraordinary words to her, “Zerbellini is Lady Margaret and Lord Dartford’s son: treat him according to his birth; but remember, she would see him a slave sooner than betray herself: she abhors, yet loves him. Mark her; but never disclose the secret with which I entrust you.†Astonished, confounded, Calantha now looked upon the boy with different eyes. Immediately his resemblance to the family of Delaval struckher—his likeness to herself—his manner so superior to that of a child in his situation. The long concealed truth, at once flashed upon her. A thousand times she was tempted to speak upon the subject. She had not promised to conceal it from Lord Avondale: she was in the habit of telling him every thing: however she was now for the first time silent, and there is no more fatal symptom than when an open communicative disposition grows reserved.
It is dangerous to begin life by surrendering every feeling of the mind and the heart to any violent passion—Calantha had loved and been loved to such an excess, that all which followed it appeared insipid. Vanity might fill the space for a moment, or friendship, or charity, or benevolence; but still there was something gone which, had it never existed, had never been missed and required. Lord Avondale was perhaps more indulgent and more affectionate now, than at first; for a lover ever plays the tyrant; but even this indulgence was different; and that look of adoration—that blind devotion—that ardent, constant solitude, when, without a single profession, one may feel certain of being the first objectin life to the person thus attached,—all this was past.
Such love is not depravity. To have felt it, and to feel it no more, is like being deprived of the light of the sun, and seeing the same scenes, which we once viewed brilliant beneath its beams, dark, clouded and cheerless.—Calantha had given up her heart too entirely to its power, ever more to endure existence without it. Her home was a desert; her thoughts were heavy and dull; her spirits and her health were gone; and even the desire of pleasing, so natural to the vain, had ceased. Whom was she to wish to please, since Avondale was indifferent? or what to her was the same, absent and preoccupied.
Such depression continued during the gloomy wintry months; but with the first warm breeze of spring, they left her; and in the month of May, she prepared to join the splendid party which was expectedat Castle Delaval—as gay in heart herself as if she had never moralized upon the perishableness of all human happiness.
Upon a cool and somewhat dreary morning in the month of May, Calantha left Monteith, and, sleeping one night at Allenwater, hastened to Castle Delaval, where blazing hearths and joyous countenances, gave her a cheering welcome. Lady Mandeville and Lady Augusta had, according to promise, arrived there a week before, to the utter consternation of Mrs. Seymour. Calantha perceived in one moment, that she was not extremely well with her or with her cousins upon this account. Indeed the former scarcely offered her her hand, such a long detail of petty offences had been registered against her, since they had last parted. It was also justly imputed to Calantha that Lady Mandeville had been invited to the Castle. A stately dignity was therefore assumed by Sophia and Mrs. Seymour on this occasion: they scarcepermitted themselves to smile during the whole time Lady Mandeville remained, for fear, as Calantha concluded, that Satan, taking advantage of a moment of levity, should lead them into further evil. The being compelled to live in company with one of her character, was more than enough.
“I am enraptured at your arrival,†said Lady Augusta, flying towards Calantha, the moment she perceived her. “You are come at the happiest time: you will be diverted here in no ordinary manner: the days of romance, are once again displayed to our wondering view.†“Yes,†said Lady Trelawney, “not a day passes without an adventure.†Before Calantha enquired into the meaning of this, she advanced to Lady Mandeville, who, languidly reclining upon a couch, smiled sweetly on seeing her. Secure of the impression she had made, she waited to be sought, and throwing her arm around her, gave her kisses so soft and so tender, thatshe could not immediately extricate herself from her embrace.
Lady Augusta, eager to talk, exclaimed—“Did you meet any of the patrole?†“I was reading the address to the united Irishmen,†said Calantha, who could hear and think of nothing else. “Are you aware who is the author?†“No; but it is so eloquent, so animated, I was quite alarmed when I thought how it must affect the people.†“You shock me, Calantha,†said Mrs. Seymour. “The absurd rhapsody you mean, is neither eloquent nor animating: it is a despicable attempt to subvert the government, a libel upon the English, and a poor piece of flattery to delude the infatuated malcontents in Ireland.†Lady Augusta winked at Calantha, as if informing her that she touched upon a sore subject. “The author,†said Lady Trelawney, who affected to be an enthusiast, “is Lord Glenarvon.â€
“I wish Frances,†said Mrs. Seymour, “you would call people by their rightnames. The young man you call Lord Glenarvon, has no claim to that title; his grandfather was a traitor; his father was a poor miserable exile, who was obliged to enter the Navy by way of gaining a livelihood; his mother was a woman of very doubtful character (as she said this she looked towards Lady Mandeville); and this young man, educated nobody knows how, having passed his time in a foreign country, nobody knows where, from whence he was driven it seems by his crimes, is now unfortunately arrived here to pervert and mislead others, to disseminate his wicked doctrines amongst an innocent but weak people, and to spread the flames of rebellion, already kindled in other parts of the Island. Oh, he is a dishonour to his sex; and it makes me mad to see how you all run after him, and forget both dignity and modesty, to catch a glimpse of him.â€
“What sort of looking man is he, dear aunt?†said Calantha. “Frightful—mean,â€said Mrs. Seymour. “His stature is small,†said Lady Mandeville; “but his eye is keen and his voice is sweet and tunable. Lady Avondale believe me, he is possessed of that persuasive language, which never fails to gain upon its hearers. Take heed to your heart: remember my words,—beware of the young Glenarvon.†Gondimar, after the first salutation upon entering the room, joined in the conversation; but he spoke with bitterness of the young Lord; and upon Lady Trelawney’s attempting to say a few words in his favour, “Hear Sir Everard on this subject,†said the Count—“only hear what he thinks of him.†“I fear,†said Sophia, “that all these animadversions will prevent our going to-morrow, as we proposed, to see the Priory.†“Nothing shall prevent me,†replied Lady Augusta. “I only beg,†said Mrs. Seymour “that I may not be of the party, as the tales of horror I have heard concerning the inhabitants of St. Alvin Priory, fromold Lord de Ruthven, at Belfont Abbey, prevent my having the smallest wish or curiosity to enter its gates.â€
Count Gondimar, now coming towards Calantha, enquired after Zerbellini. At the request of every one present, he was sent for. Calantha saw a visible change in Lady Margaret’s countenance, as he entered the room. “He is the living imagesâ€â€”she murmured, in a low hollow tone—“Of whom?†said Calantha eagerly.—She seemed agitated and retired. Gondimar in the evening, took Calantha apart, and said these extraordinary words to her, “Zerbellini is Lady Margaret and Lord Dartford’s son: treat him according to his birth; but remember, she would see him a slave sooner than betray herself: she abhors, yet loves him. Mark her; but never disclose the secret with which I entrust you.†Astonished, confounded, Calantha now looked upon the boy with different eyes. Immediately his resemblance to the family of Delaval struckher—his likeness to herself—his manner so superior to that of a child in his situation. The long concealed truth, at once flashed upon her. A thousand times she was tempted to speak upon the subject. She had not promised to conceal it from Lord Avondale: she was in the habit of telling him every thing: however she was now for the first time silent, and there is no more fatal symptom than when an open communicative disposition grows reserved.
END OF VOL. I.
LONDON: PRINTED BY SCHULZE AND DEAN,13, POLAND STREET.