I charge you, Sibella, by the value you affix to my friendship, that you remain at present passive. It is a term of probation for Clement on which the colouring of your future days depends.—More of this hereafter. I write now with a kind of restless eagerness. Images, apprehensions, and even hopes, all finally resting on you, fill the place of soberer judgment.—This wood wanderer! This spirit—'part mortal and part etherial,'—fascinates my attention. I see him gliding through the paths you had trodden. The tree which screened him from your view cannot conceal him from mine. I see him listen almost breathless to your prayer. The new-born colour on his cheek hangs trembling, daring not then to depart; and the throbbings of his agonized bosom collect themselves while restrained, and give force to that sign whose utterance has echoed a thousand times in my imagination. I see him dart the ball forward to meet your feet; and then he rushes into the thickest gloom to hide himself, if possible, even from himself.
This is no spirit of your uncle's choosing, Sibella. No: it is one who has refined upon romance; who can give, I perceive, as much enthusiasm to the affections, and carve misery for himself as ingeniously, as though he had passed his days under the safeguard of Mr. Valmont's walls and draw-bridges. 'He will protect, but cannot harm thee.' In truth, I believe it. Go to the wood then, Sibella. See him, if possible; and tell me, did symmetry ever mould a statue in finer proportions than his form can boast? His eye in its passive state is a clear grey, its shape long; and the finest eye-brow and eye-lash that ever adorned mortal face, not excepting even your's Sibella, belong to his. Hold him in conversation and you will see that eye almost emit fire; it will dazzle you with its rays; or, if a softer subject engage him, it can speak so submissively to the heart that words become but the secondary medium of his theme. Observe how his hair, bursting from confinement into natural ringlets around his temples, contrasts itself with the fairness of his complexion—fair without effeminacy. His colour is of a doubtful kind; for it retires as you perceive it, or suffuses the whole of his fine countenance, just as you had begun to lament that he was too pale. His nose and mouth, though somewhat large, and perhaps irregular, yet admirably correspond with the harmony of the whole face. You probably will think Clement's glowing face handsomer: I do not. Chase but by one smile and dissatisfaction of your spirit, and there will a radiance, if I may so call it, beam upon you, that my best art fails to delineate.
I shall not underwrite the name till you have judged of my painting. Cease your astonishment, my friend, for I am no sorceress, and the spright is too etherial, too imaginative, to hold counsel with a mere mortal like me. To the means of his being with you I confess I have no clue; but if you read my former letters you will perhaps find mention of some few of the reasons and circumstances which incline me to infer I have discovered him.
You will find though what I am now about to tell you; for my heart only transmitted it to my understanding, where it remained to have its justice and propriety closely investigated.—Yes, Sibella, wild, variable, and inconsistent, as is this spirit of your woods,Icould have loved him if—'he would have let me.' But 'tis past: 'twas a trace on the sands. Love shall never write its lasting characters on my mind, till my reason invites it: and where hopes rests not, reason cannot abide.
Clement's eagerness to cultivate our acquaintance is by no means flattering. I have known him but a week. It was at the opera that I observed Laundy's eye stealing to the adjoining box with something more than mere inquisitiveness. Mine followed. A party of young men occupied the box, all known to me except one: and from the position in which the stranger sat neither Laundy nor I could gain more than an oblique view of his face. Now I do acknowledge that even this oblique view gave promise of the whole being worthy of observation; yet my curiosity lulled itself to repose till the Dutchess de N—— (constantly of our parties) arose at the end of another act, to gaze around with that confidence which women of a certain rank deem infinitely becoming in themselves, though if perceived in a shopkeeper's wife or daughter downright impudence alone would be called its proper description.
'Ah!' screamed the Dutchess, 'Le Chevalier Montgomery!'
Clement, (for it was your Clement) starting from his former posture, bowed hastily; and having carelessly looked on the rest of the party returned to his seat.
Poor I, all flutter and palpitation, eager to know if this Montgomery was the identical Montgomery, was almost in despair that he should not avail himself of the Dutchess's recognition; but she was not to be so baffled. With some trouble, on account of the nabob's gouty toe, she displaced Sir Thomas and Lady Barlowe, and got close to the box. Already had she raised her fan to accost him with the tap of familiarity, when I heard Mr. Hanway his companion say—'Mrs. and Miss Ashburn.' Clement's eye instantly met mine. A smile gathered round his mouth; and in two seconds he was in our box, regularly introduced by Mr. Hanway.
For the first minute, I was sure he resembled you; in the next, the likeness became indistinct; and in two more, I lost it entirely. His face, with all its advantages of complexion, colour, brilliant eyes, and exquisite teeth, has not the variety which your's possesses; though to say here that he is less handsome than any creature upon earth is almost a crime, and the ladies scruple as little to tell him he is a Phoenix as to think him one.
We had scarcely any conversation that evening; for my mother and the Dutchess vied with each other in their attention to Montgomery. Lady Barlowe could not claim a share of him, though Sir Thomas immediately recollected Clement and renewed their acquaintance with apparent pleasure.
'Don't you remember, Mr. Montgomery,' said the nabob, 'the day you and Arthur set out for the continent you dined with me? How much every body was delighted with my nephew's vivacity! That very day a gentleman said to me, Sir Thomas,—and a very great judge he was I assure you—Sir Thomas, said he, your nephew will make a figure in the world. If you bring him into parliament, what with his abilities and his relationship to you, Sir Thomas, he may stand almost any where in this country. Well, Mr. Montgomery, when I sent for him home so much sooner than I first intended, it was because this gentleman's advice appeared to me very good, and because he further told me no time was to be lost. Home Arthur came, and I could have bought him a borough the next day.'—'No, indeed,' he said, he would neither buy votes or sell votes; nor did the conduct of parliament please him; nor could he—in short, he had so many faults to find and objections to make, that he out-talked me, and I couldn't tell what to say to him. But, thought I, he will think better of it; and I let the matter rest a while; and made another proposal in the mean time, and had he done as I wished he would now have been one of the richest men perhaps in the kingdom. Yet, upon my soul, he point blank refuses this too; and talked as much of principle and integrity and I know not what, as in t'other case! 'Twas damned insolent! and so I told him.—No, nor had he ever the modesty to ask my pardon; but took it all as coolly as you can imagine.—Well, and when I forgave him of my own accord, and behaved to him more kindly than ever, he has taken some new freak into his brain, and playing so many odd tricks of late that I am actually afraid of him.'
'Oh never was such an unaccountable!' said Lady Barlowe.
'The ball-night at Bath!' added my mother laughing.
'His letters are algebra to me;' said Clement, 'and I have been half tempted to forswear his correspondence.'
'Last winter,' said Mr. Hanway; 'he made conquests by dozens. Some cruel fair one is revenging, I suppose, her slighted sex.—In love, no doubt!'
'I believe not,' replied Clement; and the conversation ended: for the Dutchess now chose to talk; and, never having seen this incomprehensible irresistible Murden, she could not talk of him, you know.
The party adjourned to sup at Sir Thomas Barlowe's: we and the Dutchess de N——, by a previous engagement, Clement and Mr. Hanway in consequence of the baronet's pressing invitations. Mademoiselle Laundy complained of indisposition, and returned home immediately from the opera. She, as well as her friend the Dutchess, had been acquainted with Clement in Paris; but, after the first cold bow, Mademoiselle Laundy remained unnoticed by him.
No man could be more gallant, more gay, or unrestrained, than your chevalier, as the Dutchess persists in calling him. At the nabob's table we met several persons of fashion, to whom he was already known, and by whom he was treated with attention. His person and manners are no trivial recommendation; and the belief which every where prevails of his being heir to Mr. Valmont supports his consequence with its due proportion of power.
I debated with myself to determine, whether or not this belief ought to pass without contradiction; and, foreseeing many injurious consequences that might arise to Clement from the expences and dissipation which it encouraged, I resolved to seek an early opportunity of conversing with and encouraging him to disown the supposition. No opportunity occurred during that evening; but, ere we separated, Clement was engaged to dine on the succeeding day in one of my mother's private parties.
I very seldom breakfast with my mother, our hours of rising and morning avocations are so different; however, I went to her dressing room that morning, purposely to talk of your Clement. I spoke much of your attachment to each other; and Mrs. Ashburn immediately declared she would take his constancy under her protection, as such elegance and accomplishments, she said, as those possessed by Mr. Montgomery would be assailed with more temptation than such charming candour and simplicity might be able to withstand. To Miss Laundy my mother appealed for her confirmation of Clement's praise; and she either did, or I fancied she did, give her assent with a languor and inattention not usual to her. I had no reason, however, to accuse her of inattention when I hinted at the change in Clement's expectations; for, although my mother suffered it to pass unnoticed, Mademoiselle Laundy thought proper to press questions on me relative to this subject. I resented her inquisitive curiosity on a point which could not in any way concern her; and, declining to answer her questions, I quitted the room.
To joina private party, my mother had invited Clement: that was fifteen visitors, placed at a table covered with the most luxurious delicacies served in gilt plate, and surrounded with attendants as numerous as the company. Mrs. Ashburn, less splendid, but more tasty than usual in her dress and ornaments, was studiously attentive to Clement; declared herself his guardian; and spoke with rapturous admiration of you, Sibella, but without naming you, Clement blushed, bowed, returned compliment for compliment; and, graceful in all his changes, assumed an air and mien of exultation. Sometimes he turned his eye toward Mademoiselle Laundy.
The evening had far advanced before I could engage him in any conversation. He then showed me a letter from your uncle, wherein to my very great surprise Mr. Valmont desires Clement to be cautious in confiding his prospects or intentions to any one; bids him study mankind and despise them; tells him he does not mean to limit him to the sum he has already in his possession if more should be necessary; and advises him to be speedy in his choice of a profession; talks of the value of disappointment, the blessings of solitude, the duty of obedience, of his own wisdom, his own prudence and power; begins with the kind of appellation of—'My dear adopted son;' concludes with the stern Valmont-like phrase of—'Your friend as you conduct yourself.'
Here my interference ends. Henceforward, Mr. Valmont plans and Clement executes each in his own way. Your uncle has quite an original genius, Sibella; following no common track, he labours only to make a glare by strong opposition of colours, and to surprise by contrariety of images.
To Clement's murmurs against Mr. Valmont, succeeded a little species of delirium: for I named you, and no impassioned lover-like epithet was omitted in the recital of your charms.—Whatever, Sibella, may be my own vanity and pretensions I could hear praises of your beauty from a thousand tongues without envy or weariness. Yet, from Clement, a slighter mention would have pleased me better. He is the chosen of your heart; and should prize the mind you possess equal to heaven. An Angel's beauty might be forgotten, when the present and future contemplation of such a mind could be brought in view.
Alas, your lover is no philosopher! He laments the energy which I idolize.—Allow me to indulge the percipient quality I suppose myself to possess, and sketch Montgomery when my messenger, presents him the letter you inclosed to me. No sooner does he behold that writing, than Sibella rises to his view in all her grace and loveliness. Could he give existence to the vision, that moment would be too rich in transport. He trembles with an exquisite unsatisfied delight: and, while the senseless paper receives his eager kisses, he could fight dragons, or rush through fire to obtain you.—At length he reads.—Well: the same Sibella is there—she whom he calls the most perfect and lovely of all God's creatures!—the same Sibella whose enchantments cast a magic illusion around the horror-nodding woods of Valmont!—The same Sibella, but poor and dependent, is now quitting those woods for ever and ever—she leaves behind her even the trace of wealth; and flies an outcast to Clement, who, involved in the same ruin, has neither fortune, fame nor friend!—Delightful expectations vanish. Torture succeeds. And the agony of this prospect to Clement could in no one instance be equalled, except perchance by the knowledge of your being in the possession of a rival and lost to him for ever.
I suspect there are some latent shades in this picture which will displease you: but remember, my ever dear girl, that early, even at the commencement of our intimacy, we reciprocally laid it down as a solemn truth that without full and entire confidence friendship is of no value. I have said that Clement and you love from habit. Nor let it wound you that I say so still; for I am willing to seek conviction, and though I cannot be more candid than now, nor ever more worthy of your affection than while I am offending your heart to inform your judgment, yet if conviction meet me, I shall be more joyful by millions of degrees in owning I had mistaken.
At all events, whether Clement approves or disapproves the intention, your leaving your uncle and his castle now would be decidedly wrong. Your education, constantly in opposition to that which a dependent should have had, unfits you for entering the world without protection. You have so much to learn of the manners of society, that perhaps any plan you might form would turn out the very reverse of your expectations.—Stay, patiently if you can: at any rate, stay, till Clement makes his final determination, and then I'll tell you more of my mind.
Be happy, my sweet my beloved friend! You have it largely in your power; and surely 'tis better to summons fortitude and walk boldly over a few thorns, than creep through miserable paths to avoid them, or sit down idly to bemoan their situation.
CAROLINE ASHBURN
P.S.I have opened my letter, in consequence of a visit from Clement Montgomery. He came to me, Sibella, agitated and trembling. Your letter had conjured up a horrible train of fears and suppositions, and he was scarcely assured the evil he most dreaded had not already arrived. 'Rash, cruel Sibella!' he exclaimed, 'even now, perhaps, your have for ever undone me with Mr. Valmont!' I reminded him that you had said in the concluding lines of your letter to me that you waited, though unwillingly, for Clement's determination. 'O that is true!' cried he—'and 'tis my salvation! Dear Miss Ashburn, conjure her, by your love and my own, to guard our secret faithfully from her uncle. Tell her, she cannot judge of the destruction she would hurl upon my head if she were now to betray me. Tell her, I intreat, I insist, that she make not one attempt to quit the castle.—Will you, dear Miss Ashburn, undertake this kind office? Will you turn the adorable romantic girl from her mad enterprise?'
'Certainly Mr. Montgomery,' I replied, 'I will deliver your own message exactly in your own words. As to my opinion, I have given it to Sibella already: it is against her quitting the castle.'
I should also have told Clement what were my motives for wishing you to remain with your uncle, had not my mother and Mademoiselle Laundy, at that instant, entered the room. Their presence, however, did not prevent Clement from thanking me with great warmth; and, the worst of his fears being now removed, his countenance again brightened into smiles, and he readily acquiesced in my mother's wish of his attending her to convey him to his lodgings to dress, and, as he quitted us, I bade him remember the purpose for which he came to London. Blushes covered his face, and he departed without speaking. Once more, adieu! Forget not the wood-haunter.
Wounded pride bids me forget the cold, cruel Montgomery; but fatally for the peace of Janetta, her love, betrayed injured and neglected as it is, still is more powerful than her pride. I have seen my family stripped of their honours and possessions by a band of ruffians. I have been left a destitute orphan: and compelled to seek subsistence in a strange country: compelled to descend even to a species of servitude! Yet how trivial such misfortunes, compared with the loss of thee, Montgomery! How could you leave me unjustified and unheard? How could you meet me as you did this night? Do you never remember, Montgomery, the sacrifices made to you by the undone Janetta? Do you never remember the hours of your solicitations, vows, and promises? and if you do remember them, can you thus kill with scorn and aversion her who solicits your return to your vows with tears of passion, love, and anguish?
I did not feign when I pleaded indisposition to excuse my attendance on Mrs. Ashburn to Sir Thomas Barlowe's; for, which in your presence and restrained by the presence of others from giving freedom to my emotions, I suffered indescribable torture. What dangers do I not incur by setting the messenger who shall give you this to watch your quitting the party? But you will not, Montgomery, dear adored Montgomery, if you do hate and despise me, you will not give me up to the contempt of others! My reputation is still sacred: and, but for you, the peace within my bosom had now been inviolate.
I must see you, I will see you, Montgomery! Do not drive me to desperation! I have woes enough already. Let me but once have an interview to explain that cruel mistake of your's, concerning the Duke de N——; and, when I have proved my innocence, if you still bid me languish under your hatred, I will then suffer in silence. No complaint shall ever reach you. Should you again smile on me—oh heavens! the rapture of that thought!
Be assured I can prove my innocence. Be assured you were utterly mistaken. It was a scheme, a stratagem for purposes I can easily explain if you will but give me an interview. The Dutchess de N—— is to this hour my very best friend; it was she who brought me to England. Alas, what a sad reverse of situation is mine! thus to sue with tears and intreaty for one short hour's conversation to him who, but a few months past, languished for the slightest of my favours! Think what a preference I gave you over the many who followed me with their sighs; think what I was; what I have endured; and drive not to rage and despair her who is ever your's and your's alone:
JANETTA LAUNDY
Last night I obeyed the impulses of an unfortunate passion, renewed in its utmost violence and weakness by the unexpected sight of you. I now obey the dictates of prudence and reflection, and decline the interview I last night solicited.
Yes, Montgomery! I see evidently that I am sacrificed to some rival. Be it so. I am content to resign you. Content to endure this penance for my past mistakes. We will henceforward meet only as strangers. I am resolved. Never will I again trouble you in any way; nor ever again yield to that delusion which has brought upon me so much misfortune and misery.
I have but one request to make; and that, Sir, is a last request. Remember that I am friendless and dependent. Be generously silent. You are likely to be on terms of intimacy in this family, and Miss Ashburn is as severe as penetrating. Guard carefully a secret that would ruin me in my situation; and every service that gratitude can inspire shall by your's from
JANETTA LAUNDY
Mr. Valmont, dear Arthur, has sent me to London with 500l. in my pocket to choose a profession. 'Be not rash nor hasty in your determination, Clement,' said he when we parted. 'Associate with such persons as have already made their choice; and have from practice, from success, or disappointment, learned the exact value of their several professions. But associate with them as an independent man, one who seeks a variety of knowledge rather from inclination than necessity; and under these appearances, Clement, they will court you to receive their confidence, even their envy of your independence will increase the freedom of their communications.'
And do you dream, Arthur, that I am practicing these grave maxims, and hearkening to the jargon of law, physic and divinity? No indeed, not I. The variety of knowledge I seek is variety in pleasures. My teachers are divinities whose oracles, more precious than wisdom, can lead the senses captive and enchain the will.
'Be secret,' said Mr. Valmont. Most readily can I be secret. I would have it remain a profound and everlasting secret, never to interrupt the delicious enjoyments which now again hover within my reach, which I must seize on. I have not the cold ability to chase from me the present smiling hour of offered delight, because a future hour may frown. Pleasure beckons, and I follow. I tread the mazy round of her varieties. Youth, vigour, and fancy conduct me to her shrine, the most indefatigable of her votaries. Alike, I abjure retrospect and foreboding. As long as I can find means, will I elude the horrible change; and, if the fatal hour of darkness must arrive, why, Arthur, it is but to exert a little manhood, it is but to remember that all the charms of life are passed by, and boldly to plunge into everlasting darkness.
Imagine not, dear Arthur, by that doleful conclusion that I at all dread the possibility of its arrival; for, on the contrary, I believe my dismission is a mere farce, a something with Mr. Valmont to vary project and prolong inconsistency. I have compared his letters and his speeches; combined circumstances; and find them, though so various and contradictory, yet full of hope and promise.
One cause of dread, indeed, will assail me. I dread the rashness of Sibella. Could you suppose, Murden, that she has even talked of explaining the nature of our intimacy to her uncle, and of quitting his castle? Was ever any thing so violent, so absurd, so pregnant with evil at this scheme? When I had read her letter, I thought every chair in my apartment was stuffed with thorns. Nay, I endured for a time the torments of the rack. Thank heaven! Miss Ashburn adopted my sense of the extravagant proposition, undertook to dissuade Sibella, and restored me once more to gaiety, courage, and happiness.
Yes, Arthur, established in my former lodgings, courted, surrounded, congratulated by my former friends, I want but your society and the embraces of my divine girl to be the happiest of the happy. Thanks, Murden, for your silence on the subject of Mr. Valmont's threatened disposal of me. I am every where received like my former self. Oh! had I met one repulsive look, or supercilious brow, with—your servant, Mr. Montgomery—I surely should have run mad!
Miss Ashburn knows it all, and I hate her most righteously. I allow that she is a fine woman, but her beauty is spoiled by her discernment. I wish Mr. Valmont would refuse Sibella Miss Ashburn's correspondence. The dear girl is already too eccentric. Yet could I now gaze on that lovely face, could I now clasp that enchanting unresisting form to my bosom! Had she ten thousand faults, I should swear they were all perfections. Murden! you never saw any one who can equal Sibella Valmont! Her charms cannot pall in possession. Ever a source of new desire, of fresh delight, adoration must ever be her lover's tribute!—Arthur, I will make her my wife.
Whom would you suppose I have, to my very great astonishment, found here, in Mrs. Ashburn's family? No other than Janetta Laundy! I first saw her at the opera, where I overlooked her with the most studied neglect. She quitted the party abruptly; and then the Dutchess de N—— informed me of the cruel reverse of fortune in the Laundy family. Janetta, with so much beauty, she, who lately shone conspicuous in fashion, taste, and elegance, is now absolutely reduced to the mortifying state of a humble companion. Upon my soul I was shocked; and, notwithstanding certain recollections, I could not help feeling a strong degree of interest and pity for her. A brilliant party, whom we joined at the supper table of your uncle Sir Thomas Barlowe, banished Janetta and her misfortunes from my thoughts; but, as I was stepping into a chair to return home, after I had handed the Dutchess and Mrs. Ashburn to their carriages, a man put a letter into my hand. The letter was from Janetta, written in the true spirit of complaint and fondness. She implored that I would see her; asserted her innocence with respect to the Duke de N——; and, recollecting the continued attachment of the Dutchess to her, I was inclined to doubt the evidence of my senses, and half resolved to give her an opportunity of justifying herself. Again the circumstances came rushing into my memory, and brought conviction with them. I determined to contemn and despise her; and steadily to refuse the interview. She spared me the trouble; for, on the next morning, while I was dressing to dine at Mrs. Ashburn's, a second letter was given me, in which Janetta, with mingled love and resentment, bids me a final adieu.
At Mrs. Ashburn's table Janetta Laundy had no rival in beauty. She enforced the homage of many eyes; but she received it with so graceful a reserve, that those who would otherwise have been jealous of her attractions were irresistibly impelled to own her worthy of admiration. Toward me, her countenance expressed nothing but a frigid restraint. Once I approached her seat, and she found an immediate pretence for withdrawing; and, shall I confess it to you, Arthur, I was in a small degree mortified.
It has not been merely one day, or two, or three, that Janetta has upheld her determination. I have been astonished at her inflexibility and perseverance. I have almost doubted that she could really love me and be so firm. Scarce a day passes in which we are not together, for Mr. Ashburn is extravagantly fond of Janetta, and never moves without her. Mrs. Ashburn selects her parties as I best approve, and consults me on all her engagements. I attend her every where, and thus Janetta and I are frequently in the same apartment, in the same carriage, side by side; and, considering former circumstances, you will not imagine these can be very desirable situations.
It occurred to me one morning that I ought in justice to make Janetta a present, notwithstanding her allowance from Mrs. Ashburn is really splendid. Accordingly, I sent her a 50l. note, inclosed in a letter, written as I think with delicacy and propriety. The note was accepted, but the letter remained unanswered.
Two evenings after this, we were at Ranelagh, where Mrs. Ashburn joining the Ulson family, Janetta and I walked a round or two alone. She then, with more coldness than I could have thought possible, thanked me for my present, and hoped my generosity would prove no inconvenience under the alteration of my affairs.
By heaven, Arthur, her speech was a thunderbolt! I was dumb for the space of many minutes; and then stammering, incoherent, blushing with shame, and anger, I protested her meaning was an enigma that I could not unravel. Hanway at that instant came up, and every opportunity of further conversation was at an end.
And how do you suppose I aimed to settle the business, to prevent the cruel supposition from being whispered from one to another around the circles of my friends? Thus I did it. I took another bank note of 50l. and wrote another card, in which I alledged that I could only understand Mademoiselle Laundy's hint as a reproof for the smallness of the sum I had before sent her, and intreated she would now receive this as an atonement. I acknowledged the whole was scarcely worthy her acceptance, but I hoped she would consider I had less at command than in expectation. I added my fervent wishes for her happiness, but said not one word of love.
Still I have no answer. How wantonly cruel it is of Miss Ashburn to throw me thus in the way of torment and contempt! No one but herself could have told Janetta of the alteration in my affairs. 'Tis false! there is no alteration: for have I not four hundred pounds in my possession?
Where are you, and what are you doing, Arthur? By heaven, I never think of you without astonishment! You whom fortune favours, you so highly gifted to charm, to be sacrificing the age of delights, in a barbarous solitude! What, upon earth, can be your inducement? Your uncle pines for you. Certainly you must be either immoderately sure of your power over him, or desperately careless of your interest. All who concern themselves in your fate, apply to me for the explanation of your mysterious conduct; and, finding I am no more informed than themselves, they teaze me with their conjectures. Come, Arthur! come! banish melancholy and misanthropy till age shall have cramped your vigour and palsied your faculties! Then cast your dim sight upon the flying pleasures which you are no longer able to pursue, and rail, and be welcome! But now, while the power is your's, hasten to partake, to enjoy! The wealth of a nabob gilds the path before you! Beauty spreads her allurements for you! Come, insensible marble-hearted as you are, to the inticements of beauty—at least come to interest, if you cannot be interested; excite the sigh, the languor which you will not return! Be again as formidable as you once were; and let the meaner candidates, who triumph in your absence, sink back to insignificance and neglect!
Does not the prospect fire you? I know it does—or, you are unfit to be the friend of
CLEMENT MONTGOMERY
One, two, three, or four pages, by Jupiter! cried I, as I opened your packet, Walter; and I ran over the first ten lines with a devouring greediness: for, would not any man have expected, as I expected when I had so lately written you two letters upon the projects and hopes that dance in gay attire before me, that your epistle must have contained comments innumerable, hints useful, and cautions sage. Neither comment, hint, nor caution, could I find. Nothing but four sides of paper covered with rhapsodies which have neither connection with nor likeness of any thing in heaven above, in the earth beneath, nor in the waters under the earth.
Yet, negligent as thou art, still must I write on. My fancy is overcharged with matter, for I have done wonders: wonders, Walter! Yesterday at ten o'clock I talked with Lady Monkton's housekeeper; who once was Mrs. Valmont's housekeeper; and yesterday at four o'clock I talked with Mr. Valmont himself. Turn back to yesterday; and observe me, in Sir Gilbert's post coach, arrived with due state and precision before the venerable doors of Valmont castle, accompanied only by my father, and attended by Griffiths armed as all outward points like a beau valet, and like a skilful engineer within laying wait to spring a mine for his commanding officer.
With measured steps, Mr. Valmont approached us three paces without the drawing room door. He conducted us to his lady; who, on a rich heavy and gilded sopha, sat in melancholy grandeur to receive us.
'But the niece,' I hear you cry, 'Not a single glimpse of her, I suppose?'
'Yes, Sir Walter Boyer, I have seen her.'
'Seen her! Why, I thought——.'
Psha! what can a Baronet have to do with thought?
Mark'd you her eye of heavenly blue!Mark'd you her cheek of roseate hue!
Mark'd you her eye of heavenly blue!Mark'd you her cheek of roseate hue!
Do you still doubt? Then shall I proceed, and fire your imagination with the graces of my goddess.All enchanting! nothing wanting!for I have gazed my fill—yes—on her picture.—Why look you so, Walter?—Am I not her predestined lover, and has she not 6000l. per annum?
'Pray, Madam, by what artist was this portrait done?' said I, to Mrs. Valmont, while the 'Squire and Earl were gone to visit the nymph of the south wing, with my imagination stealing after them on tiptoe.
'Not by any artist, Sir,' replied the lady. 'It was the performance of Clement Montgomery. It is drawn for my niece—.'
'Then she must have the honour greatly to resemble you, Madam. Upon my soul the likeness is astonishing.'
Up rose Mrs. Valmont. 'Why indeed, Lord Filmar, though I never observed it before, there is something of me in the turn of these features; but indisposition, Sir, the cruel hand of sickness, has made sad havock with my face.'—And she pushed a little backward the hood which had almost hid her remnant of beauty.
In short, dear Walter, I dined at the castle. My father saw the lady and I saw her picture. My father says, and so says the picture, that she is very handsome. By the answers to a few questions artfully arranged to Mrs. Valmont, but more certainly from the result of Griffiths' steady enquiries among the household, I learn that she is a mere savage, and loves her fellow savage Clement as she ought only to love me.
Loves her fellow savage Clement! you exclaim. Not less strange than true, Walter; and, if you would know more, listen as I did to the aforementioned housekeeper.
'Of all the youths my eyes ever beheld,' said Mrs. Luxmere, 'I think Master Clement Montgomery was the handsomest; and so affable, my Lord!—He used to steal into my room once or twice every day to eat sweetmeats, when Miss Valmont or his tutor did not watch him.'
'But who does this Master Clement Montgomery belong to?' said I.
'To Mr. Valmont, my Lord. I'll tell you exactly how it was. Nobody, as far as I know, had ever heard of this young gentleman till just after the 'Squire's niece came to the castle; and then the 'Squire took a journey, and brought home with him a fine handsome boy. And he gave a great entertainment; all the rooms were filled with company; and after dinner he led in Clement Montgomery, and bade every body look on him as his adopted son. Some people think, indeed, that he is the 'Squire's ——.'
Mrs. Luxmere affected to titter. 'You are of that opinion?' said I.—
'Certainly,' replied Mrs. Luxmere. 'Nothing can be more certain. Old Andrew has lived five and twenty years with Mr. Valmont; and he can't deny it. Beside, if you were to see Master Clement, my Lord, you would swear it. He is so handsome and so genteel!'
'And is Miss Valmont handsome, and genteel, and affable, Mrs. Luxmere?'
'I know very little about her, my Lord, although I lived in the castle nine years,' said the housekeeper, with much abatement of her warmth. 'Mr. Valmont ordered both her and Master Clement not to speak to any one of the household, and she never came into my room in her life. Master Clement used to come so slily!—and many a nice bit has he been eating beside me, when Miss Valmont has been roaming the house and grounds in search of him! She has a suite of rooms entirely to herself in the south wing, and is waited on by silent Andrew and his deaf daughter—'
'Where is Montgomery now?' said I.
'Oh dear, my Lord, you can't think what strange things have happened to him! The 'Squire sent him abroad and he staid two years and he came home they say so grown and so improved, it was charming to think of it! Yet that tyger-hearted Mr. Valmont has disinherited him, and sent him to London to work for his bread! Poor dear youth! I know it's true, my Lord.'
Enough of Mrs. Luxmere. It is true, Walter, that this dear and handsome youth was brought up in the castle with Miss Valmont. Every creature in it bears testimony to his good nature, for he would not only eat sweetmeats slily with Mrs. Luxmere, but he would slily ride with the grooms, tell stories with the butler, and so completely elude the vigilance of the 'Squire and his tutor, that his contrivances are still a famous topic in the servants' hall. Not so Miss Valmont. She never tempted the domestics from their obedience, nor invited them to familiarity, by that sacrifice of her integrity. I like this part of her character, nor am I at all inclined to give credit to the supposition which prevails among the servants of her being deranged in intellect. A little too hardy of nerve for a Countess, I confess, she roams, they tell me, in defiance of storm or tempest, in the woods, nay even in the echoing galleries of the terrific castle, at and after midnight. Some say she has conversed with apparitions, others only fear that she will one day or other encounter them; but all agree that, while he was here, she adored Clement. And since he has been gone she, to an old oak, for his sake, pays her adorations.
We talked of this Montgomery yesterday, at dinner. His being disinherited is all stuff. He is Valmont's idol. Valmont praised him to the skies, not what he is, but what he is to be when all the 'Squire's plans respecting him shall be completed. Yet he has faults, it seems. Wonderful! And cast in Mr. Valmont's mould too! What are his faults, think you, Boyer? Why, he admires the world. Lack a day!—at one and twenty! But he is to be cured of this defect. Oh, yes; Mr. Valmont possesses the grand secret! He is quack-royal to the human race; and possesses the only specific in nature to make a perfect man. Were I in Montgomery's place, I would wind Valmont round and round my finger.
Care I for the nymph's loving her Clement, think you? ne'er a whit! Did he win her by caresses, I'll not be behind hand. Or were sighs and flattery his engine, I can sigh and flatter too. Aye, surely the practice-taught Filmar may stand a competitorship with Valmont's pupil. In two months or less, she shall herself decide upon our merits, and acknowledge me the victor. None of your croakings, Walter. When did I fail of success where I chose to attempt it, even among beauties armed with cunning and caution? How then shall I fail with this unadvised, this inexperienced damsel, whom doubtless a man of less might than I could draw round the world after him in a cobweb. Should Uncle Valmont rave when I have secured the prize, I'll send him among the tombs of my ancestors for consolation. He loves family; and there he may nose out a long list of worm-eaten rotten heroes, whose noble scent can inform him that even the blood of the Valmonts may be enriched by uniting with the offspring of the dust of the Filmars.
My necessities are urgent, Walter. The day of sealing my last mortgage draws near; and, if my invention is not more fertile on that account, at least my resolution is more undaunted. Were time less pressing, I might grow coy with expedient. As it is, I must snatch at bare probabilities; and, in faith, be it the wildness of the design, be it ambition, avarice, or be the motive what it may, I grow more and more enamoured of the heiress of Valmont castle, and more and more fearless of whatever risks I may encounter to obtain her.
Congratulate me, Walter, on my firmness; and believe me, in a very considerable degree, thine,
FILMAR
I write again and again to you, Arthur, and you remain silent. Yet a fate so various as mine makes even communication enjoyment. Various, did I say? no, it was but my apprehensions that were various. The fate was certain, established beyond the reach of change. Mr. Valmont ever designed to make me his heir, and designs it still. Yesterday brought me a welcome letter, and a more welcome remittance. 'I am known to be your protector, Clement,' says Mr. Valmont in his letter; 'and it is necessary for my honour that you should preserve a degree of consequence among men. Moreover, money is the master key to the confidence of men. Use it as such. Gratify their wants, real or artificial; and they, in return, will soon display the sordidness the ingratitude of their hearts.' Precious doctrines, these! And, Arthur, I being wiser than the sender, have dismissed them, to keep their fellow maxims company in a close shut drawer in my secretary, where they shall rest in peace until I turn snarling cynic also.
But the intimation, Arthur!—the cash, Arthur! I have not hoarded those in a drawer! you hear that it is necessary for Mr. Valmont's honor that I preserve consequence among men. Ah! dear Sir! leave me ever thus to the support of your honor among men! I will not complain though you preserve wholly to yourself the felicity of being locked within the walls of Valmont's castle! I yield the building, and am content alone to aim at preserving your honour and dignity with the valued produce of its rich acres.
This is the first time that Mr. Valmont's letters to me have failed to mention Sibella. Heaven avert the omen, if it be one! Yet surely, for Miss Ashburn advised and I commanded, surely she will be silent. Murden, 'twas one of the blind mistakes of fortune that Sibella and I should love each other, directly in the teeth of Mr. Valmont's designs, and both so absolutely within his power. Heigh-ho! I have been just taking a view of her picture.—What a divine face! Some day I will make another copy of this miniature. The hair, beautiful as it is, falls too forward, and hides the exquisite turn of her neck. How can I endure to conceal the greater beauty, and display the less! Ah! Should those lips, lips promising eternal sweets, ever move to the destruction of my hopes, should they betray me to Mr. Valmont, then Arthur, must they never again give joy to mine; for, however Sibella's wild energy might inspire me, while reclined at the foot of a tree, to vow this and to promise that of fortitude and forbearance, here, in the centre of delights, I feel that Sibella is as much a dreamer as her uncle. A thousand wants occur, that I knew not in her arms—wants which possibly her refinements might call artificial; yet, to me, is their gratification so endeared, as to become necessary to my existence. Sooner would I quit life, than live unknown and unknowing. Misled by the power of beauty, methought Sibella spoke oracles while she talked to me of contentment and independence. Whither might not the thraldom of her enslaving charms have led me! 'twas wonderful I escaped ruin! Wonderful that I had strength to persevere in opposing her intent of declaring to her uncle the secret of that contract which crowned me with happiness, while it laid the foundation of a world of fears. Could you see her, and could you taste the enticements of her caresses, you would wonder too. Heavens! how will my happy years roll on, should I become securely the inheritor of the Valmont estates, for then will I reward my fairest, then will I make her my wife! Oh, that I could find some magic spell to charm her to silence, to deaden in her the memory of the past, so that I might peaceably enjoy the present without torturing apprehensions to assail me of Mr. Valmont's discoveries, of Mr. Valmont's resentments!
But enough of the name of Valmont. Faith, Murden, my thoughts are never so near the castle as when I write to you; and the reason is plain—I fly to my pen only when a cessation from pleasure threatens me with lassitude; and to such a cause, I am frank enough to tell you, you owe this my letter.
It is now one hour past noon, and I went to bed at nine this morning. My limbs acknowledged a most unusual portion of weariness; but the gay shadows of the night's diversions flitted before me in tumultuous rotation. I had moments of insensibility on my pillow, but not of rest; and, after making a vain attempt of two hours to find sleep, I rose and ordered my breakfast. A thought of writing to you succeeded, for tempestuous weather will not let me ride, and haggard looks forbid me to visit.
Mrs. Ashburn's fortune must be immense; and, on my soul, I adore her spirit. She does not suffer time to steal by her unnoticed; nor wealth to sleep in her possession. I believe her very dreams are occupied in forming variety of pleasures. Their succession is endless and perpetual.
Yesterday and last night, I made one of a brilliant crowd of visitors who thronged to Mrs. Ashburn's. Her new house was purposely prepared for this occasion; and no ornament that taste could devise and wealth approve was wanting to render it complete in elegant splendour.—A suite of rich apartments were yesterday morning thrown open for the reception of near 300 persons. It was a breakfast worthy to be recorded among the enchantments of a Persian tale; and every mouth was filled with applause; and still would the breakfast and concert have been the universal theme, had not the more novel and splendid entertainment of the evening deservedly claimed the superior praise.
Mrs. Ashburn's cards had also invited the company of the morning to a masqued ball for the night. The masques began to assemble about eleven. Mrs. Ashburn had laid her commands on me not to appear till I judged the company would be assembled. No small tribute this her command to the vanity of your friend, Arthur. She had chosen my habit. She had added to it some brilliant ornaments. I will be honest enough to confess that to the utmost it displayed my advantages of person, and Mrs. Ashburn believed the effect of the whole would be striking. I represented a winged Mercury. My habit of pale blue sattin was fastened close around me with loops, buttons, and tassels of orient pearls, these, amounting to a value I dare hardly guess at, Mrs. Ashburn absolutely forced upon me for the occasion.
Thus resplendent I joined the throng. Buzzing whispers of—the Mercury! the Mercury! Splendid! charming!&c. &c. ran round the walls; but, if the Mercury excited their astonishment, his own surprise and delight was doubly triply excited by the enchantments which seemed to take his senses prisoner. Methought in the morning I had quitted a palace. What name then could I devise to express the fanciful grandeur of the present scene? Every thing was new. Such dispositions had been made that the form of the apartments appeared changed. How the pillars, lights, music, refreshments were disposed, you may amuse yourself, if taste will so far aid you, in imagining. As for me, I have no power of description; my brain whirls from one dazzling object to another, and leaves me but an indistinct crowded recollection of the various beauties.
Mrs. Ashburn was unmasked. Janetta Laundy had shone a bright star of the morning, but what cloud had now dimmed her rays I could not with the best of my endeavours discover. I detected the Dutchess de D——; and essayed to gain some tidings of the recreant star, but she laughed me off without a tittle of information.
Suddenly the bands of music make an abrupt pause. Every one looks round, silent, and surprised. A pair of folding doors fly open. Streams of light burst upon the eye. The rich perfumes of the east pour forth their fragrance to the sense. The altar of taste appears, raised like a throne at the upper end of the temple. Rows of silvered cupids present offerings, and point to the goddess, who presides at her own altar.
I knew her form well: 'twas worthy of the goddess. Her robe fell gracefully behind, loose from her shape, which a white vest sprinkled with golden stars admirably fitted. Her plumes waved high over a coronet, of budding myrtle and the half blown rose. Her cestus glittered of the diamond. Diamond clasps confined the fulness of her robe sleeves a little above the elbow, and her fine arm borrowed no ornament beyond its own inestimable fairness. In short, Arthur, who could look on unmoved. 'Twas Mrs. Ashburn's triumph of wealth, but Janetta Laundy's uncontrollable triumph of beauty. I have many times wondered by what charm Janetta could arrive at such unbounded influence over her benefactress, for certainly Mrs. Ashburn has a plentiful share of vanity, and is ever aiming to excite admiration. How then can she forgive the youth and charms of her companion?
In vain Janetta last night assumed a double portion of that cold haughtiness of demeanour with which she now receives my advances to familiarity. She personated the goddess of taste; and men would pay their loud and daring homage to the divinity. Mrs. Ashburn became piqued. She spoke pettishly to Janetta, and endeavoured to disperse her admirers. At length she beckoned me from a distant seat, to which I had retired somewhat fatigued and dispirited, and delivered the goddess to my protection.
We danced together. We did not separate during the rest of the entertainment. 'This is as it used to be,' whispered the Dutchess de N—— coming up to the sopha on which we sat. 'But you, Chevalier, are so faithless,' added she.
'Oh,' said I, fixing my eyes on Janetta, 'your Grace misplaces that accusation! I am constancy itself. You ladies, indeed, who know the power of your charms, are not to be satisfied with the homage of a single lover.'
'Your insinuation, sir,' replied Janetta, 'is easily understood; and if I am happy enough to escape interruption from the company, I shall take the present opportunity of freeing myself from your charges. The Dutchess will condescend to aid me. I believe Mr. Montgomery will scarcely doubt of the testimony of the Dutchess de N——.'
'Ah,' replied the Dutchess, 'defend me from lovers' quarrels! For heaven's sake, my dear, do you suppose that you engross all the charms of to-night, and that poor I have no better employment than to shake my head, look grave, and bear a solemn burden to your serious speeches. Tell the story yourself, child; and, if the Chevalier can look on your face and mistrust you, make him a gay curtsy and follow me, my dear, into yonder circle.'
When the Dutchess was gone, Janetta relapsed into her reserve; and, had I not become extremely urgent, would have deferred the explanation.
Yes, indeed, Arthur, I have wronged her most shamefully in my suspicions, but the story is too long for me to relate in my present record. I drag through one heavy sentence after another, intending that each shall be the last. Now, having by this effort brought on an increase of weariness, I'll e'en try what repose a couch will afford me; and then away to Mrs. Ashburn and Janetta.
CLEMENT MONTGOMERY
Say, dear Sir Walter, to which of the gods shall my hecatomb blaze a burnt offering? Behold, entering within those gates, I see the Valmont coach!——I fly to greet the welcome visitants—more welcome to me than gold to the miser, than conquest to the warrior.——Lie still, thou throbbing mischief, down, down, ye struggling expectations! And let the for once spiritless countenance of Filmar conceal his hopes.
Say, dear Sir Walter, to which of the gods shall my hecatomb blaze a burnt offering? Behold, entering within those gates, I see the Valmont coach!——I fly to greet the welcome visitants—more welcome to me than gold to the miser, than conquest to the warrior.——Lie still, thou throbbing mischief, down, down, ye struggling expectations! And let the for once spiritless countenance of Filmar conceal his hopes.
Tis true, Boyer, as—as—as any thing that's most true. Here, in this very Monkton Hall, is Mr. Valmont, ay, and Mrs. Valmont too; and here I mean to keep them:—only to-morrow though.——To-morrow! Walter!——Hail the dawn of to morrow!—Whips cracking, horses flying, and thy friend driving as fast as four can carry him into 6000l. a-year!
If you want cash, call on me any day next week. You, being aparticularfriend, I'll oblige. But to any one else—Somerville now for instance or Nugent—'It will be curst unfortunate, but I shall have had a hard run of late—or, I shall be building, and want to borrow myself—or, there will be great arrears on my estates not yet paid up.'—But see, here comes a bowing cringing tradesman, who in my days of worse fortune has buffeted me with his purse-proud looks many a time and often. 'Really Mr.——a—a—the amount of your bill seems a little enormous, but I can't fatigue myself with looking into these matters——the steward pays you,—Ay, ay, be not troublesome, and (throwing myself along the sopha) I may probably still deal with you.—Sibella, my dear, raise these cushions under my head—Psha, child, you are devilishly awkward—there—. Pooh!—throw that gauze shade of your's over me.——Sit down, and watch, lest Ponto or Rosetta should leap upon or disturb me.'
By the bye, Walter, as I am determined to reform when I'm married, and become an obedient hopeful son and nephew, if uncle Valmont should think (and pray heaven he may) my wife's——
Oh, lord, what a shudder!——There! 'tis a radical cure, I assure you.—I seized a square piece of paper; and, writing thereon in large characters 6000l.per annum, placed it exactly opposite me, and the qualm vanished.—Walter, you shall see wife written on my page—my wife!—Oh, I declare this scrap of paper is a charm of infinite value!—
If uncle Valmont, I say, should deem my wife's education incomplete, and desires to have her longer under his tuition, I will yield her up for one year, or two, or twenty, if he pleases.—There's forbearance, there's magnanimity! Dub me a hero, sir knight! and place me among the foremost!—Talk of conquering a world, indeed! Why philosophers of all ages have agreed that the truest heroism is to conquer self.—Dub me a hero, I say!
I grant you, this is all rattle (that is the manner not the matter, upon my honor), and poor forced rattle too; but I must be mad, for I cannot be merry, nor yet serious. My gadding spirits are whirling this enterprise round and round without ceasing. Sometimes tossing the dark side toward me; and then, ere I can make one retracting reflection, smilingly presenting to me its advantages.—At that still time of night (if my plan fail not) when graves yield up the semblance of their dead, my courtship is to begin.—Once begun, it must go on; and the second setting sun beholds me a bridegroom.—Close your door, Boyer; stir up your fire; and I'll tell you.——Not now though, for—enter Griffiths.
'The gentlemen have walked out to the grounds, my lord. Mrs. Valmont and Lady Monkton are alone.'
'Right Griffiths, I understand your hint.'
'My Lord, it will certainly take,' returning shrugging his shoulders and laughing. 'The butler hates squire Valmont, and enjoys the thought of playing him such a trick. The lads will have to strip and turn out to-morrow, I doubt not, for this day's frolic.'
'Then, I must provide for them! 'Tis our frolic, and not theirs, Griffiths. 'Should our plain fail——'
'It cannot fail, my lord,'
'Well, well—go—mind you give me more water than wine at dinner.'
And now, I steal from a back door, make a circuit round the house, and crossing the lawn join the dear good kindinformingsouls in the drawing room.——You shall hear from me again presently, Walter.
I am gone, in reputation I mean, to seek the earl, the baronet, and the simple squire, but, in propria persona, returned to my chamber to tell you a story—a story of stories. The ladies were in the very heart of it when I entered. Luckily, I had waited a sentence or two outside the door, or I should have had no clue to bespeak a continuance of the subject. Mrs. Valmont was suspicious of me, but having persuaded her than I am a sober sort of youth, not at all given to hard-heartedness and infidelity, she proceeded, and I had the good fortune to listen with wondering eyes and gaping mouth to the particular account of how, where, and when, Miss Valmont (my wife that is to be) saw a—ghost.—Stay, let me recollect—a ghost, is I believe a terrific animal, dressed in chains, howling, shrieking, and always withdrawing in a flash of fire; yes, that's a ghost. This was something more gentle and complacent. Mrs. Valmont makes nice distinctions. I remember she called it an apparition, of a spirit—first appearing in the shape of an old hermit—then in that of a young handsome beau—first walking, manlike, into a wood—next bouncing up, fiend-like, on a sudden in an armoury.—Ay, it was a spirit Sibella saw.—She, poor little barbarian, is no better acquainted with the qualities of an apparition than of a man; for, simply enough, she complained to Mrs. Valmont of the disturbance given by this said shifting phantom to her meditations.
'To be sure, Lady Monkton,' said Mrs. Valmont, 'one must laugh at most of these stories; but we all know from good authority such things have been seen. Indeed, I did not altogether credit the very extraordinary accounts I had heard of the disturbance, the Valmont family had many years ago received from some thing that they say inhabits the Ruin on the Rock; and even when my niece, who, in such affairs is ignorance itself, told me her story, I would not be convinced till I had sent three men servants to search the wood and the Ruin. If any thing human had been there, it must have been discovered. The affair of the armoury I only mentioned to my own woman, for I well knew it was impossible that any substance of flesh and blood out of our own household could get into the armoury. What can be said Lady Monkton, but that it is to answer some wise purpose or other?
'Does, Mr. Valmont know?' said I.
'Surely, Lord Filmar, you must judge poorly of my discretion, to suppose that I would tell Mr. Valmont such an affair; for, besides that there is a shocking degree of impiety in people's disbelief when the thing is indisputably true, he would torment the servants incessantly, by sending them at night into those places, and perhaps he might abridge the poor child of her rambles around the park.'
'Isn't Miss Valmont afraid of being alone?' asked Lady Monkton.
'Afraid!—Ha! ha! ha!—why, she has not one idea, Lady Monkton, belonging to a rational being I assure you: She is not afraid of any thing. Well, really her want of understanding is not at all marvellous. Shut up in that horrid abode.—I preserve a part of mine, only by reflecting on former days.'
'The young lady's conversation, then, is not much relief to you, Madam?' said I.
'No, indeed, 'tis her absence is the relief, my lord. Mr. Valmont was much more kind than he intended, when he ordered his niece not to frequent my apartments.—It is a thousand pities; for the child has a fine person, and is—that is, had she any thing like manners, and were not such an absolute idiot, I do think she would be very handsome, &c. &c. &c.'
Some frolic of master Clement Montgomery's, I presume this apparition to be, Walter. Yet, surely she is not idiot enough to tell of herself in such a case!——Ha!—woman! woman still! whether in solitude or society!—I well remember the fellow I saw tripping near Valmont's moat.—Yes, yes. He—Montgomery contrives to find secret admittance into that well defended place; and she contrives a rare finely imagined tale to turn the people's wits the seamy-side without, and throw a veil impervious as darkness around themselves and their pleasures.——Yet, hang it!—no!—Montgomery, said Mrs. Valmont, was abroad on his travels when this affair happened. Beside, there is a degree of invention in the story which must have been beyond the capacity of so ignorant a girl.—Heyday!—Why I am anticipating eight and forty hours, and already beginning to feel myself accountable for my wife's adventures!
Peace be, then, to the apparition's ashes!—After the knot is tied, and I and my bride are travelling homewards to receive forgiveness andgoldenblessings, I shall probably want something to keep me awake, and the child must tell me the story in her own way.
Hark!—the dinner bell.—My part in the plot will soon commence.—Be content, Walter, to trace it in its several progressive steps toward the catastrophe. I have not patience to detail what is to be, and then sit down to relate what is.——Adieu, for a few hours. So far, so good.—Nay, better than good, the very elements have conspired to my success.—Such a storm of hail, rain, and thunder, I never beheld at this season of the year. The darkness was tremendous, and Mrs. Valmont's shattered nerves felt its effects most powerfully, notwithstanding the pompous harangue delivered by her caro sposo against such terrors.—In the midst of this scene entered Mr. Valmont's gentleman; who, bowing reverently, in a low tone of voice begged to know if his lordly master would vouchsafe to be drawn home by one pair of horses, (he came, Walter with six) for that unfortunately the postilion was very drunk.
'Drunk!' exclaimed Mr. Valmont. 'Did you say, drunk?'
The man bowed and looked sorry; then ventured slowly to insinuate that he did not deem the coachman perfectly sober, though not absolutely drunk. He might be able to drive a pair of horses perhaps.
'I shall have my neck broken,' cried Mrs. Valmont, 'then all my sorrows will be at an end together; and you, sir, may be for once satisfied.'
'Madam! What mean you?' said the frowningdignitary.
The remedy was obvious. To remain at Monkton Hall for the night was proposed to Mr. Valmont with great earnestness by Sir Gilbert and my lady; and, at length, acceded to by him with due reluctant solemnity.——Mrs. Valmont smiled through her terrors.
To you, Walter, I give a sober straight forward history; but, in the opinions of my friends below stairs, I am fast approaching towards the honours which the squire's postilion and coachman have already purchased. I affected to grow very frolicksome, early after dinner; and am, at length, become, with the help of claret and burgundy, as properly intoxicated to all appearance as I find necessary to the carrying on of my plan. However, I am not yet retired for the night:—presently, I mean to descend, and give them such another specimen of my ability as shall make my departure so essential to their repose, that they will not attempt to recal or disturb me.
A messenger, Boyer, is gone to the castle, to give notice of its master's absence for the night. He carries other tidings there also:—tidings to me of great joy.
The servants of Valmont castle are held in such constraint by their proud master, that to enjoy the pleasures which are permitted in other households they are ever scheming. The squire's absence is a festive holiday; and Griffiths was invited by the butler, with whom he has purposely scraped an intimacy, to partake of the joy of to day. Why the invitation was neglected you may divine. By the messenger now sent to the castle, Griffiths informs the butler that, as Mr. Valmont is safe at the hall, and Lord Filmar is safe in bed, the night is their own. He begs they will prepare for mirth and gaiety, bids the housekeeper and her damsels put on their dancing shoes, and promises to join them early, accompanied by his brother, who plays an excellent fiddle, and is the merriest fellow alive.
Such is the substance of Griffiths' message to the domestics. Doubt them not, Walter; they will jump at the opportunity, and swallow my bait with all the greediness I can desire.
It is now past nine. My pulse begins to beat riotously, as if I were drunk in earnest.—Poor undiscerning souls!—I have looked in the glass, Boyer.—All the uncertainty of my success trembles in my eye—all the tumult of hopes and fears sits on my countenance:—yet these animals cannot perceive it.——Would it were over!
The scene is almost prepared to shift. I am dismissed from the parlour; and, as Griffiths tells them, am at rest. Now, I wait but his summons. He is gone to hint among the servants here the advantage he is about to take of his master's infirmity, and hypocritically to request some one will make an excuse for him shouldI by chance awake and ring my bell before he returns.—The coast securely clear, I quit the house; join Griffiths at the lodge; and, at the corner of a little town, only a quarter of a mile from Sir Gilbert's, we are to find Griffiths' brother waiting in a chaise. This brother, who would not have been here if we hadn't sent for him, was only a common footman a week ago, but the two days he has passed at the inn in our neighbourhood has transformed him into a man of property; and he does not choose to go four miles in the rain without a covered carriage. Had it not rained, he would probably have received a sprain in his ancle, or his knee. The grand business over, for which his assistance is required, he puts on the Filmar livery, and becomes my footman. I was going to say my wife's, but there's hazard in that. Gratitude may beget love; and violently grateful will she be, no doubt, to the man that has helped to make—her fortune.——Walter, I am no coward: yet, I say again, would it were over!
I will put this paper in my pocket.——Should I get undetected into the castle, I shall have many hours of waiting; and to write my thoughts will certainly relieve me during the tedious interval.
I hear Griffiths' signal.——I come.——Adieu.——Safe in the castle!——'Tis just eleven o'clock.—Two will be the earliest I dare attempt to seize my prize.——Three hours! three ages, I may say, to undergo all the misery of expecting, in every blast of wind, the destruction of my project!——Wind enough!——how it rolls!—Floods of rain too!—A horrid and tempestuous night, this!——We must procure some covering, to shield her from the storm till we reach the chaise. I will mention it to Griffiths, that he may be quite in readiness. I should be sorry were she to suffer by the storm's inclemency. Does she go unwillingly, she suffers enough in going; goes she willingly, still she deserves not to suffer.——Why, thou cold whining Filmar, where is thy manhood?—Only the last stroke wanting, and that the easiest to accomplish, and thy scheme—thy darling scheme is—perfect.—Thy very valet claps the wings of exultation, and sings the song of triumph! Shame! shame! Rouse thyself! cast a look forward, Filmar!——
Yes, Walter, I am here happily supplied with a lighted taper by the dexterity and contrivance of Griffiths.—Securely stationed in one of the best apartments where even the mirth of the servants cannot reach me in a buzzing murmur, there is no hazard that any one of them should quit his diversions to wander among the mazy recesses of this mansion; and I do rejoice abundantly in my security.—Yet, Walter, I may rejoice, and feel the benumbing effects of this cold gloomy dwellings, too.—These old buildings are admirably contrived to fix odd impressions on the mind.—I do not at all wonder that every ancient castle is haunted in report.—Another such night, in another such place, and I could swear I perceived shapeless forms gliding around me.——I listen one minute to the variety of sound produced by the gathering winds; and, the next, find it hushed to so dead a calm, that the sound of my breathings alone interrupts the silence. Such—think of it, think of it, Walter—such are my employments!
I wonder whereabouts this armoury lays. Griffiths could tell.—The castle is amazing large, yet Griffiths is perfectly skilled in its geography.—He described to me, as we came hither, the situation of Miss Valmont's apartments.—They are nearer to where I am now stationed than to any other habitable part of the building.
The spacious gallery into which this room opens, runs the length of the whole front, excepting the wings and the towers. Narrow long passages connect the wings with the main building; and the passage nearest my side of the gallery, conducts you by a short flight of steps immediately up to Miss Valmont's abode. But this is not the road we are to take, because in a little room within that passage sleeps her attendant, silent Andrew; and we choose not to pass so near him, lest perhaps these resounding walls tell him of our footsteps.—Our's is a more intricate path. The adjoining antichamber will lead us to a narrower stair-case; descending this, we shall cross some of the lower apartments; and, making a circuit, gain the bottom of the West Tower; from whence, alleys and winding stone stairs will introduce us to the end of Miss Valmont's gallery, opposite to that we must have entered had we gone in the straight forward direction. We deem it advisable to descend with our charge the same way, and to leave the castle by a little door in the West Tower. It is, to be sure, on the wrong side, and will oblige us to carry our burthen, if the young lady should not be disposed just then to make use of her limbs, so much the further.
Griffiths' brother is a strong, bony, dark-looking fellow. Strength will be necessary, if persuasion should fail; and I cannot spare more than ten minutes to try the effects of my rhetoric. I will enter first; and, should a shriek of surprise or shriek of rapture (remember my person, Walter) escape her, the closed doors, distance of situation, and sleep of security, will prevent Andrew from hearing. Indeed, should he, mal-a-propos, interfere, it is only the extra trouble ofbindinghim to good behaviour. It did once enter my thoughts to bribe this old fellow to our purposes, but the attempt might have wrought a discovery. Fearing nothing, he suspects nothing; absence of all care and a warm night-cap lull him to repose:—and pleasant be his dreams.—Ours all the hazard! Ours the reward! I have promised 500l. to Griffiths, and 100l. to his brother. My share of the plunder is to them a secret.
Now, though I allow the damsel one squall, yet I positively interdict any repetitions of the sort; and as, you know, I immediately became the arbiter of her fate, the sooner I accustom her to implicit obedience, the easier it will be to both in future.
Walter, I mend! My flagging spirits begin to bound and curvet. Oh! when we are once seated in that chaise and four, which now waits our coming in a retired corner, not above a hundred yards from the other side of the moat, how will my imagination outstrip the speed of the horses!
Dost thou talk of pursuit, Walter.—No! no! I mock pursuit! Supposing we get not away till three or four, we still shall have six or seven hours advantage in point of time. Then the old dons won't dream which way we are gone.—They do not know, what you and I do know, the great reward attendant on my deed; and, sorrowfully remembering the wickedness and sinfulness of their own youthful hearts, they will unrighteously judge of me, and sit down piteously to lament the loss of the lady's honour, whilst I, like a good Christian and worthy member of society, so far from diminishing am increasing her stock of honour, for the honour of a virgin is but a single portion, whereas, according to wise institutions, the honour of a wife is twofold—she bearing her husband's honour and her own. Pray heaven the cargo be not too mighty!
'Where is Lord Filmar?' says one of the party assembled at ten to-morrow morning to breakfast in Monkton Hall parlour.
'Tell Griffiths to let his lordship know we expect him at breakfast,'—says the earl.
'I told Mr. Griffiths, my lord,' replies the footman (one servant will always lie for another), 'but he says his lordship is asleep.'
This produces many pleasant allusions to last night's intemperance among the good souls; and they go to breakfast without me. Now, in the steward's room, one wonders Mr. Griffiths is not come home, a second wonders at my good nature and his faults, and a fourth wonders I do not awake. Amidst all this wit and wonder, another hour or two passes; and then two or three more probably in the surmises occasioned by the discovery of my absence.
The servants of the castle in the mean time are employed in their usual occupations, not at all surprised that their visitors had quitted them early unseen, because it had been so intended by them. Andrew, indeed, waits Miss Valmont's summons for breakfast, and deems it somewhat tardy. He concludes her walk to be unusually pleasing, and eats his own repast in peace and quietness. At length, his thoughts verge towards the extraordinary, and he inclines to seek further.