To the Lady Cherubina.'Your mother lives! and is confined in one of the subterranean vaults belonging to the villa. At midnight you will hear a tapping at your door. Open it, and two men in masks will appear outside. They will blindfold, and conduct you to her. You will know her by her striking likeness to her picture in the gallery. Be silent, courageous, and circumspect.'An unknown Friend.'
To the Lady Cherubina.
'Your mother lives! and is confined in one of the subterranean vaults belonging to the villa. At midnight you will hear a tapping at your door. Open it, and two men in masks will appear outside. They will blindfold, and conduct you to her. You will know her by her striking likeness to her picture in the gallery. Be silent, courageous, and circumspect.
'An unknown Friend.'
What a flood of new feelings gushed upon my soul, as I laid down the billet, and lifted my filial eyes to heaven! I was about to behold my mother. Mother—endearing name! I pictured to myself, that unfortunate lady, stretched on a mattrass of straw, her eyes sunken in their sockets, yet still retaining a portion of their wonted fire; her frame emaciated, her voice feeble, her hand damp and chill. Fondly did I depict our meeting—our embrace; she gently pushing me from her, to gaze on all the lineaments of my countenance, and then baring my temple to search for the mole. All, all is convincing; and she calls me the softened image of my noble father!
Two tedious hours I waited in extreme anxiety, till at length the clock struck twelve. My heart beat responsive, and in a few moments after, I heard the promised signal at my door. I unbolted it, and beheld two men in masks and cloaks. They blindfolded me, and each taking an arm, led me along. Not a word passed. We traversed several suites of apartments, ascended flights of stairs, descended others; now went this way, now that; obliquely, circularly, angularly; till I began actually to imagine we were all the time in one spot.
At length my conductors stopped.
'Unlock the postern gate,' whispered one, 'while I light a torch.'
'We are betrayed!' said the other, 'for this is the wrong key.'
'Then thou beest the traitor,' cried the first.
'Thou liest, dost lie, and art lying!' cried the second.
'Take that!' exclaimed the first. A groan followed, and the wretch dropped to the ground.
'You have murdered him!' cried I, sickening with horror.
'I have only hamstrung him, my lady,' said the fellow. 'He will be lame for life.'
'Treason!' shouted the wounded man.
His companion burst open the gate; a sudden current of wind met us, and we fled along with incredible speed, while low moans and smothered shrieks were heard at either side of us.
'Gracious heaven, where are we?' cried I.
'In the cavern of death!' said my conductor, 'famous for rats and banditti.'
On a sudden innumerable footsteps echoed behind us. We ran swifter.
'Fire!' cried a ferocious accent, almost at my ear; and in a moment several pistols were discharged.
I stopped, unable to move, breathe, or speak.
'I am wounded all over, right and left, fore and aft!' cried my conductor.
'Am I bleeding?' said I, feeling myself with my hands.
'No, blessed St. Anthony be praised!' answered he; 'and now all is safe, for we are at the cell, and the banditti have turned into the wrong passage.'
He stopped, and unlocked a door.
'Enter,' said he, 'and behold your unhappy mother!'
He led me forward, took the bandage from my eyes, and retiring, locked the door upon me.
Agitated already by the terrors of my dangerous expedition, I felt additional horror on finding myself in a dismal cell, lighted with a lantern; where, at a small table, sat a woman suffering under a corpulency unparalleled in the memoirs of human monsters. She was clad in sackcloth, her head was swathed in linen, and had grey locks on it, like horses' tails. Hundreds of frogs were leaping about the floor; a piece of mouldy bread, a mug of water, and a manuscript, lay on the table; some straw, strewn with dead snakes and skulls, occupied one corner, and the farther side of the cell was concealed behind a black curtain.
I stood at the door, doubtful, and afraid to advance; while the prodigious prisoner sat examining me from head to foot.
At last I summoned courage to say, 'I fear, Madam, I am an intruder here. I have certainly been shewn into the wrong room.'
'It is, it is my own, my only daughter, my Cherubina!' cried she, with a tremendous voice. 'Come to my maternal arms, thou living picture of the departed Theodore!'
'Why, Ma'am,' said I, 'I would with great pleasure, but I am afraid that—— Oh, Madam, indeed, indeed, I am quite sure you cannot be my mother!'
'For shame!' cried she. 'Why not?'
'Why, Madam,' answered I, 'my mother was of a thin habit; as her picture proves.'
'And so was I once,' said she. 'This deplorable plumpness is owing to want of exercise. You see, however, that I retain all my former paleness.'
'Pardon me,' said I, 'for I must say that your face is a rich scarlet.'
'And is this our tender meeting?' cried she. 'After ten years' imprisonment, to be disowned by my daughter, and taunted with sarcastic insinuations against my face? Here is a pretty joke! Tell me, girl, will you embrace me, or will you not?'
'Indeed, Madam,' answered I, 'I will embrace you presently.'
'Presently!' cried she.
'Yes,' said I, 'depend upon it I will. Only let me get over the first shock.'
'Shock!' vociferated she.
Dreading her violence, and feeling myself bound to do the duties of a daughter, I kneeled at her feet, and said:
'Ever excellent, ever exalted author of my being, I beg thy maternal blessing!'
My mother raised me from the ground, and hugged me to her heart, with such cruel vigour, that almost crushed, I cried out stoutly, and struggled for release.
'And now,' said she, relaxing her grasp, 'let us talk over our wrongs. This manuscript is a faithful narrative of my life, previous to my marriage. It was written by my female confidant, to divert her grief, during the long and alarming illness of her Dutch pug. Take it to your chamber, and blot it with your tears, my love.'
I put the scroll in my bosom.
'Need I shock your gentle feelings,' continued she, 'by relating my subsequent story? Suffice it, that as soon as you were stolen, I went mad about the woods, till I was caught; and on recovering my senses, I found myself in this infernal dungeon. Look at that calendar of small sticks, notched all over with my dismal days and nights. Ten long years I have eaten nothing but bread. Oh, ye favourite pullets, oh ye inimitable apple-pies, shall I never, never, taste you more? Oft too, my reason wanders. Oft I see figures that rise like furies, to torment me. I see them when asleep; I see them now—now!'
She sat in a fixed attitude of horror, while her straining eyes moved slowly round, as if they followed something. I stood shuddering, and hating her more and more every moment.
'Gentle companion of my confinement!' cried she, apostrophizing a huge toad that she pulled out of her bosom; 'dear, spotted fondling; thou, next to my Cherubina, art worthy of my love. Embrace each other, my friends.' And she put the hideous pet into my hand. I screamed and dropped it.
'Oh!' cried I, in a passion of despair, 'what madness possessed me to undertake this execrable enterprize!' and I began beating with my hand against the door.
'Do you want to leave your poor mother?' said she, in a whimpering tone.
'Oh! I am so frightened!' said I.
'You will spend the night here, however,' cried she; 'and probably your whole life too; for no doubt the ruffian who brought you hither was employed by Lady Gwyn to entrap you.'
When I heard this terrible suggestion, my blood ran cold, and I began crying bitterly.
'Come, my love!' said my mother, 'and let me lull thee to repose on my soft bosom. What is the world to us? Here in each other's society, we will enjoy all that affection, all that virtue can confer. Come, my daughter, and let me clasp thee to my heart once more!'
'Ah,' cried I, 'spare me!'
'What!' exclaimed she, 'do you spurn my proffered embrace?'
'Dear, no, Madam,' answered I. 'But—but you squeeze one so!'
My mother made a huge stride towards me; then stood groaning and rolling her eyes.
'Help!' cried I, half frantic; 'help! help!'
I was stopped by a suppressed titter of infernal laughter, as if from many demons; and on looking towards the black curtain, whence the sound came, I saw it agitated; and about twenty terrific faces appeared peeping through slits in it, and making grins of a most diabolical nature. I hid my face in my hands.
''Tis the banditti!' cried my mother.
As she spoke, the door opened, a bandage was flung over my eyes, and I was hurried off, almost senseless, in some one's arms; till at length, I found myself alone in my own chamber.
Such was the detestable adventure of to-night. Oh, Biddy, that I should have lived to meet this mother of mine! How different from the mothers that other heroines contrive to rummage out in northern turrets and ruined chapels! I am out of all patience. Liberate her I will, of course, and make a suitable provision for her, when I get possession of my property, but positively, never will I sleep under the same roof with—(ye powers of filial love forgive me!) such a living mountain of human horror.
Adieu.
While her ladyship is busied in preparing for the ball of to-morrow night, I find time to copy my mother's memoirs for your perusal. Were she herself elegant and interesting, perhaps I might think them so too; and if I dislike them, it must be because I dislike her; for the plot, sentiment, diction, and pictures of nature, differ little from what we find in other novels.
Il Castello di Grimgothico,ORMEMOIRS OF LADY HYSTERICA BELAMOUR.A NOVEL.By Anna Maria Marianne Matilda Pottingen,Author of the Bloody Bodkin, Sonnets on most of the Planets, &c. &c. &c.Oh, Sophonisba, Sophonisba, oh!Thompson.CHAPTER IBlow, blow, thou wintry wind.—Shakespeare.Blow, breezes, blow.—Moore.A Storm. — A rustic Repast. — An Alarm. — Uncommon readiness in a Child. — An inundated Stranger. — A Castle out of repair. — An impaired Character.It was on a nocturnal night in autumnal October; the wet rain fell in liquid quantities, and the thunder rolled in an awful and Ossianly manner. The lowly, but peaceful inhabitants of a small, but decent cottage, were just sitting down to their homely, but wholesome supper, when a loud knocking at the door alarmed them. Bertram armed himself with a ladle. 'Lackadaisy!' cried old Margueritone, and little Billy seized the favourable moment to fill his mouth with meat. Innocent fraud! happy childhood!The father's lustre and the mother's bloom.—Thompson.Bertram then opened the door; when lo! pale, breathless, dripping, and with a look that would have shocked the Humane Society, a beautiful female tottered into the room.'Lackadaisy, Ma'am,' said Margueritone, 'are you wet?''Wet!' exclaimed the fair unknown, wringing a rivulet of rain from the corner of her robe; 'O ye gods, wet!'Margueritone felt the justice, the gentleness of the reproof, and turned the subject, by recommending a glass of spirits.Spirit of my sainted sire.The stranger sipped, shook her head, and fainted. Her hair was long and dark, and the bed was ready; so since she seems in distress, we will leave her there awhile; lest we should betray an ignorance of the world, in appearing not to know the proper time for deserting people.On the rocky summit of a beetling precipice, whose base was lashed by the angry Atlantic, stood a moated, and turreted structure, called Il Castello di Grimgothico.As the northern tower had remained uninhabited since the death of its late lord, Henriques De Violenci, lights and figures were,par consequence, observed in it at midnight. Besides, the black eyebrows of the present baron had a habit of meeting for several years, andquelquefois, he paced the picture-gallery with a hurried step. These circumstances combined, there could be no doubt of his having committed murder. Accordingly, all avoided him, except the Count Stiletto, and the hectic, but heavenly Hysterica. The former, he knew, was the most pale-faced, flagitious character in the world. But birds of a plume associate. The latter shall be presented to the reader in the next chapter.CHAPTER II'Oh!'—Milton.'Ah!'—Pope.A History. — a Mystery. — An original Reflection on Death. — The Heroine described. — The Landscape not described. — An awful Reason given.One evening, the Baroness De Violenci, having sprained her left leg in the composition of an ecstatic ode, resolved not to go to Lady Penthesilea Rouge's rout. While she was sitting alone, at a plate of prawns, the footman entered with a basket, which had just been left for her.'Lay it down, John,' said she, touching his forehead with her fork.That gay-hearted young fellow did as he was desired, and capered out of the room.Judge of her astonishment, when she found, on opening it, a little cherub of a baby sleeping within.An oaken cross, with 'Hysterica,' inscribed in chalk, was appended at its neck, and a mark, like a bruised gooseberry, added interest to its elbow.As she and her lord never had children (at least she could answer for herself), she determined,sur le champ, on adopting the pretty Hysterica.Fifteen years did this worthy woman dedicate to the progress of her little charge; and in that time, taught her every mortal accomplishment. Her sigh, particularly, was esteemed the softest in Europe.But the stroke of death is inevitable; come it must at last, and neither virtue nor wisdom can avoid it. In a word, the good old Baroness died, and our heroine fell senseless on her body.O what a fall was there, my countrymen!But it is now time to describe our heroine. As Milton tells us, that Eve was 'more lovely than Pandora' (an imaginary lady, who never existed but in the brains of poets), so do we declare, and are ready to stake our lives, that our heroine excelled in her form the Timinitilidi, whom no man ever saw; and, in her voice, the music of the spheres, which no man ever heard. Perhaps her face was not perfect; but it was more—it was interesting—it was oval. Her eyes were of the real, original old blue; and her eyelashes of the best silk. You forget the thickness of her lips, in the casket of pearls which they enshrined; and the roses of York and Lancaster were united in her cheek. A nose of the Grecian order surmounted the whole. Such was Hysterica.But alas! misfortunes are often gregarious, like sheep. For one night, when our heroine had repaired to the chapel, intending to drop her customary tear on the tomb of her sainted benefactress, she heard on a sudden,Oh, horrid, horrible, and horridest horror!the distant organ peal a solemn voluntary. While she was preparing, in much terror and astonishment, to accompany it with her voice, four men in masks rushed from among some tombs, and bore her to a carriage, which instantly drove off with the whole party. In vain she sought to soften them by swoons, tears, and a simple little ballad: they sat counting murders, and not minding her.As the blinds of the carriage were closed the whole way, we wave a description of the country which they traversed. Besides, the prospect within the carriage will occupy the reader enough; for in one of the villains, Hysterica discovered—Count Stiletto! She fainted.On the second day, the carriage stopped at an old castle, and she was conveyed into a tapestried apartment, where the delicate creature instantly fell ill of an inverted eyelash, caused by continual weeping. She then drew upon the contemplation of future sorrows, for a supply of that melancholy which her immediate exigencies demanded.CHAPTER IIIBe thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd?—Shakespeare.Fresh Embarrassments. — An Insult from a Spectre. — Grand Discoveries. — A Shriek. — A Tear. — A Sigh. — A Blush. — A Swoon.It is a remark founded upon the nature of man, and universally credited by the thinking part of the world, that to suffer is an attribute of mortality.Impressed with a due conviction of this important precept, our heroine but smiled as she heard Stiletto lock her door. It was now midnight, and she took up her lamp to examine the chamber. Rusty daggers, mouldering bones, and ragged palls, lay scattered in all the profusion of feudal plenty.Several horrors now made their appearance; but the most uncommon was a winged eyeball that fluttered before her face.Say, little, foolish, fluttering thing?She began shrieking and adjusting her hair at a mirror, when lo! she beheld the reflection of a ghastly visage peeping over her shoulder! Much disconcerted, the trembling girl approached the bed. An impertinent apparition, with a peculiar nose, stood there, and made faces at her. She felt offended at the freedom, to say nothing of her being half dead with fright.'Is it not enough,' thought she, 'to be harassed by beings of this world, but those of the next too must think proper to interfere? I am sure,' said she, as she raised her voice in a taunting manner, 'En verité, I have no desire to meddle withtheiraffairs.Sur ma vie, I have no taste for brim-stone. So let me just advise acertaininhabitant of acertainworld (not thebest, I believe,) to think less ofmyconcerns, and more ofhis own.'Having thus asserted her dignity, without being too personal, she walked to the casement in tears, and sang these simple lines, which she graced with intermittent sobs.SONGAlas, well-a-day, woe to me,Singing willow, willow, willow;My lover is far, far at sea.On a billow, billow, billow.Ah, Theodore, would thou could'st be,On my pillow, pillow, pillow!Here she heaved a deep sigh, when, to her utter astonishment, a voice, as if from a chamber underneath; took up the tune with these words:SONGAlas, well-a-day, woe to me,Singing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow;A ducat would soon make me free,Could I borrow, borrow, borrow;And then I would pillow with thee,To-morrow, morrow, morrow!Was it?—It was!—Yes, itwasthe voice of her love, her life, her long-lost Theodore De Willoughby!!! How should she reach him? Forty times she ran round and round her chamber, with agitated eyes and distracted tresses.Here we must pause a moment, and express our surprise at the negligence of the sylphs and sylphids, in permitting the ringlets of heroines to be so frequently dishevelled. O ye fat-cheeked little cherubims, who flap your innocent wings, and fly through oceans of air in a minute, without having a hair of your heads discomposed,—no wonder that such stiff ringlets should be made of gold!At length Hysterica found a sliding pannel. She likewise found a moth-eaten parchment, which she sat down to peruse. But, gentle reader, imagine her emotions, on decyphering these wonderful words.MANUSCRIPT—— Six tedious years —— —— and all for what? —— —— —— —— —— —— No sun, no moon. —— —— Murd —— —— Adul —— —— because I am the wife of Lord Belamour. —— —— then tore me from him, and my little Hysterica —— —— —— —— —— Cruel Stiletto! —— —— He confesses that he put the sleeping babe into a basket —— —— sent her to the Baroness de Violenci —— —— oaken cross —— —— Chalk —— —— bruised gooseberry —— —— —— —— —— I am poisoned —— —— a great pain across my back —— —— i —— j —— k —— —— Oh! —— Ah! —— Oh! —— —— —— ——Fascinante Peggina Belamour.This then was the mother of our heroine; and the MS. elucidated, beyond dispute, the mysteries which had hitherto hung over the birth of that unfortunate orphan.We need not add that she fainted, recovered, passed through the pannel, discovered the dungeon of her Theodore; and having asked him how he did,'Comment vous portez vous?'fell into unsophisticated hysterics.CHAPTER IVSure such a pair were never seen,So justly formed to meet by nature.—Sheridan.A tender Dialogue. — An interesting Flight. — A mischievous Cloud. — Our Hero hits upon a singular Expedient. — Fails. — Takes a trip to the Metropolis.'And is this you?' cried the delighted youth, as she revived.'Indeed, indeed it is,' said she.'Are you quite, quite sure?' cried he.'Indeed, indeed I am,' said she.'Well, how do you do?' cried he.'Pretty well I thank you,' said she.They then separated, after fixing to meet again.One night, as they were indulging each other in innocent endearments, and filling up each finer pause with lemonade, a sudden thought struck Lord Theodore.'Let us escape,' said he.'Let us,' said she.'Gods, what a thought was there!'They then contrived this ingenious mode of accomplishing their object. In one of the galleries which lay between their chambers, there was a window. Having opened it, they found that they had nothing to do but get out at it. They therefore fled into the neighbouring forest.Happy, happy, happy pair!—Dryden.But it is an incontrovertible truism, thatles genres humainsare liable to disaster; for in consequence of a cloud that obscured the moon, Hysterica fell into a snow-pit. What could Theodore do? To save her was impossible; to perish with her would be suicide. In this emergency, he formed a bold project, and ran two miles for assistance. But alas! on his return, not a trace of her could be found. He was quiteau desespoir; so, having called her long enough, he called a chaise, and set off for London.CHAPTER V'Tis she!—Pope.O Vous!—Telemachus.All hail!—Macbeth.An Extraordinary Rencontre. — Pathetic Repartees. — Natural Consequences resulting from an Excess in Spirituous Liquors. — Terrific Nonsense talked by two Maniacs.One night as Lord Theodore, on his return from the theatre, was passing along a dark alley, he perceived a candle lighting in a small window, on the ground-floor of a deciduous hovel.An indescribable sensation, an unaccountable something, whispered to him, in still, small accents, 'peep through the pane.' He did so; but what were his emotions, when he beheld—whom? Why the very young lady that he had left for dead in the forest—his Hysterica!!!She was clearstarching in a dimity bedgown.He sleeked his eyebrows with his finger, then flung open the sash, and stood before her.'Ah, ma belle Amie!' cried he. 'So I have caught you at last. I really thought you were dead.''I am dead to love and to hope!' said she.'O ye powers!' cried he, making a blow at his forehead.'There are many kinds of powers,' said she carelessly: 'perhaps you now mean the powers of impudence, Mr.—I beg pardon—Lord Theodore De Willoughby, I believe.''I believe so,' retorted he, 'Mrs.—or rather Lady Hys—Hys—Hys.'—'Hiss away, my lord!' exclaimed the sensitive girl, and fainted.Lord Theodore rushed at a bottle that stood on the dresser, and poured half a pint of it into her mouth; but perceiving by the colour that it was not water, he put it to his lips;—it was brandy. In a paroxysm of despair he swallowed the contents; and at the same moment Hysterica woke from her fainting-fit, in a high delirium.'What have you done to me?' stammered she. 'Oh! I am lost.' 'What!' exclaimed the youth, who had also got a brain-fever; 'after my preserving you in brandy?' 'I am happy to hear it,' lisped she; 'and every thing round me seems to be happy, for every thing round me seems to be dancing!'Both now began singing, with dreadful facetiousness; he, 'fill the bowl,' and she, 'drink to me only.'At length they sang themselves asleep.CHAPTER VITake him for all in all,We ne'er shall look upon his like again.—Shakespeare.Birth, Parentage, and Education of our Hero. — An aspiring Porter. — Eclaircissement.Lord Theodore De Willoughby was the son of Lord De Willoughby, of De Willoughby Castle. After having graduated at Oxford, he took, not alone a tour of the Orkney Islands, but an opportunity of saving our heroine's life. Hence their mutual attachment. About the same time, Count Stiletto had conceived a design against that poor orphan; and dreading Lord Theodore as a rival, waylaid and imprisoned him.But to return.Next morning, the lovers woke in full possession of their faculties, when the happiestdenouementtook place. Hysterica told Theodore that she had extricated herself from the snow, at the risk of her life. In fact, she was obliged to pelt it away in balls, and Theodore now recollected having been hit with one, during his search for her. Fearful of returning to the castle, she walkedà Londres; and officiated there in the respective capacities of cook, milliner, own woman, and washerwoman. Her honour too, was untarnished, though a hulking porter had paid her the most delicate attentions, and assured her that Theodore was married to cruel Barbara Allen.Theodore called down several stars to witness his unalterable love; and, as a farther proof of the fact, offered to marry her the next day.Her former scruples (the mysterious circumstances of her birth) being now removed, she beamed an inflammatory glance, and consented. He deposited a kiss on her cheek, and a blush was the rosy result. He therefore repeated the application.CHAPTER VIISure such a day as this was never seen!—Thomas Thumb.The day, th' important day!—Addison.O giorno felice!—Italian.Rural Scenery. — The Bridal Costume. — Old Friends. — Little Billy greatly grown. — The Marriage. — A Scene of Mortality. — Conclusion.The morning of the happy day destined to unite our lovers was ushered into the world with a blue sky, and the ringing of bells. Maidens, united in bonds of amity and artificial roses, come dancing to the pipe and tabor; while groups of children and chickens add hilarity to the unison of congenial minds. On the left of the village are seen plantations of tufted turnips; on the right a dilapidated dog-kennel,With venerable grandeur marks the scene;while every where the delighted eye catches monstrous mountains and minute daisies. In a word,All nature wears one universal grin.The procession now set forward to the church. The bride was habited in white drapery. Ten signs of the Zodiac, worked in spangles, sparkled round its edge, but Virgo was omitted at her own desire; and the bridegroom proposed to dispense with Capricorn. Sweet delicacy! She held a pot of myrtle in her hand, and wore on her head a small lighted torch, emblematical of Hymen. The boys and girls bounded about her, and old Margueritone begged the favour of lighting her pipe at her la'ship's head.'Aha, I remember you!' said little Billy, pointing his plump and dimpled finger at her. She remarked how tall he was grown, and took him in her arms; while he playfully beat her with an infinitude of small thumps.The marriage ceremony passed off with great spirit; and the fond bridegroom, as he pressed her to his heart, felt how pure, how delicious are the joys of virtue.That evening, he gave afête champetreto the peasantry; and, afterwards, a magnificent supper to his friends.The company consisted of Lord Lilliput, Sir James Brobdignag, little Billy, Anacharsis Clootz, and Joe Miller.Nothing, they thought, could add to their happiness; but they were miserably mistaken. A messenger, pale as Priam's, rushed into the room, and proclaimed Lord Theodore a peer of Great Britain, as his father had died the night before.All present congratulated Lord De Willoughby on this prosperous turn of affairs; while himself and his charming bride exchanged a look that spoke volumes.Little Billy then pledged him in a goblet of Falernian; but he very properly refused, alleging, that as the dear child was in love with Hysterica, he had probably poisoned the wine, in a fit of jealousy. The whole party were in raptures at this mark of his lordship's discretion.After supper, little Billy rose, and bowing gracefully to the bride, stabbed himself to the heart.Our readers may now wish to learn what became of the remaining personages in this narrative.Count Stiletto is dead; Lord Lilliput is no more; Sir James Brobdignag has departed this life; Anacharsis Clootz is in his grave; and Mr. J. Miller is in another, and we trust, a better world.Old Margueritone expired with the bible in her hand, and the coroner's inquest brought in a verdict of lunacy.Having thus conducted our lovers to the summit of human happiness, we shall take leave of our readers with this moral reflection:—THE FALLING OUT OF LOVERS IS THE RENEWAL OF LOVE.THE END.
Il Castello di Grimgothico,
OR
MEMOIRS OF LADY HYSTERICA BELAMOUR.
A NOVEL.
By Anna Maria Marianne Matilda Pottingen,
Author of the Bloody Bodkin, Sonnets on most of the Planets, &c. &c. &c.
Oh, Sophonisba, Sophonisba, oh!
Thompson.
CHAPTER I
Blow, blow, thou wintry wind.—Shakespeare.
Blow, breezes, blow.—Moore.
A Storm. — A rustic Repast. — An Alarm. — Uncommon readiness in a Child. — An inundated Stranger. — A Castle out of repair. — An impaired Character.
It was on a nocturnal night in autumnal October; the wet rain fell in liquid quantities, and the thunder rolled in an awful and Ossianly manner. The lowly, but peaceful inhabitants of a small, but decent cottage, were just sitting down to their homely, but wholesome supper, when a loud knocking at the door alarmed them. Bertram armed himself with a ladle. 'Lackadaisy!' cried old Margueritone, and little Billy seized the favourable moment to fill his mouth with meat. Innocent fraud! happy childhood!
The father's lustre and the mother's bloom.—Thompson.
Bertram then opened the door; when lo! pale, breathless, dripping, and with a look that would have shocked the Humane Society, a beautiful female tottered into the room.
'Lackadaisy, Ma'am,' said Margueritone, 'are you wet?'
'Wet!' exclaimed the fair unknown, wringing a rivulet of rain from the corner of her robe; 'O ye gods, wet!'
Margueritone felt the justice, the gentleness of the reproof, and turned the subject, by recommending a glass of spirits.
Spirit of my sainted sire.
The stranger sipped, shook her head, and fainted. Her hair was long and dark, and the bed was ready; so since she seems in distress, we will leave her there awhile; lest we should betray an ignorance of the world, in appearing not to know the proper time for deserting people.
On the rocky summit of a beetling precipice, whose base was lashed by the angry Atlantic, stood a moated, and turreted structure, called Il Castello di Grimgothico.
As the northern tower had remained uninhabited since the death of its late lord, Henriques De Violenci, lights and figures were,par consequence, observed in it at midnight. Besides, the black eyebrows of the present baron had a habit of meeting for several years, andquelquefois, he paced the picture-gallery with a hurried step. These circumstances combined, there could be no doubt of his having committed murder. Accordingly, all avoided him, except the Count Stiletto, and the hectic, but heavenly Hysterica. The former, he knew, was the most pale-faced, flagitious character in the world. But birds of a plume associate. The latter shall be presented to the reader in the next chapter.
CHAPTER II
'Oh!'—Milton.
'Ah!'—Pope.
A History. — a Mystery. — An original Reflection on Death. — The Heroine described. — The Landscape not described. — An awful Reason given.
One evening, the Baroness De Violenci, having sprained her left leg in the composition of an ecstatic ode, resolved not to go to Lady Penthesilea Rouge's rout. While she was sitting alone, at a plate of prawns, the footman entered with a basket, which had just been left for her.
'Lay it down, John,' said she, touching his forehead with her fork.
That gay-hearted young fellow did as he was desired, and capered out of the room.
Judge of her astonishment, when she found, on opening it, a little cherub of a baby sleeping within.
An oaken cross, with 'Hysterica,' inscribed in chalk, was appended at its neck, and a mark, like a bruised gooseberry, added interest to its elbow.
As she and her lord never had children (at least she could answer for herself), she determined,sur le champ, on adopting the pretty Hysterica.
Fifteen years did this worthy woman dedicate to the progress of her little charge; and in that time, taught her every mortal accomplishment. Her sigh, particularly, was esteemed the softest in Europe.
But the stroke of death is inevitable; come it must at last, and neither virtue nor wisdom can avoid it. In a word, the good old Baroness died, and our heroine fell senseless on her body.
O what a fall was there, my countrymen!
But it is now time to describe our heroine. As Milton tells us, that Eve was 'more lovely than Pandora' (an imaginary lady, who never existed but in the brains of poets), so do we declare, and are ready to stake our lives, that our heroine excelled in her form the Timinitilidi, whom no man ever saw; and, in her voice, the music of the spheres, which no man ever heard. Perhaps her face was not perfect; but it was more—it was interesting—it was oval. Her eyes were of the real, original old blue; and her eyelashes of the best silk. You forget the thickness of her lips, in the casket of pearls which they enshrined; and the roses of York and Lancaster were united in her cheek. A nose of the Grecian order surmounted the whole. Such was Hysterica.
But alas! misfortunes are often gregarious, like sheep. For one night, when our heroine had repaired to the chapel, intending to drop her customary tear on the tomb of her sainted benefactress, she heard on a sudden,
Oh, horrid, horrible, and horridest horror!
the distant organ peal a solemn voluntary. While she was preparing, in much terror and astonishment, to accompany it with her voice, four men in masks rushed from among some tombs, and bore her to a carriage, which instantly drove off with the whole party. In vain she sought to soften them by swoons, tears, and a simple little ballad: they sat counting murders, and not minding her.
As the blinds of the carriage were closed the whole way, we wave a description of the country which they traversed. Besides, the prospect within the carriage will occupy the reader enough; for in one of the villains, Hysterica discovered—Count Stiletto! She fainted.
On the second day, the carriage stopped at an old castle, and she was conveyed into a tapestried apartment, where the delicate creature instantly fell ill of an inverted eyelash, caused by continual weeping. She then drew upon the contemplation of future sorrows, for a supply of that melancholy which her immediate exigencies demanded.
CHAPTER III
Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd?—Shakespeare.
Fresh Embarrassments. — An Insult from a Spectre. — Grand Discoveries. — A Shriek. — A Tear. — A Sigh. — A Blush. — A Swoon.
It is a remark founded upon the nature of man, and universally credited by the thinking part of the world, that to suffer is an attribute of mortality.
Impressed with a due conviction of this important precept, our heroine but smiled as she heard Stiletto lock her door. It was now midnight, and she took up her lamp to examine the chamber. Rusty daggers, mouldering bones, and ragged palls, lay scattered in all the profusion of feudal plenty.
Several horrors now made their appearance; but the most uncommon was a winged eyeball that fluttered before her face.
Say, little, foolish, fluttering thing?
She began shrieking and adjusting her hair at a mirror, when lo! she beheld the reflection of a ghastly visage peeping over her shoulder! Much disconcerted, the trembling girl approached the bed. An impertinent apparition, with a peculiar nose, stood there, and made faces at her. She felt offended at the freedom, to say nothing of her being half dead with fright.
'Is it not enough,' thought she, 'to be harassed by beings of this world, but those of the next too must think proper to interfere? I am sure,' said she, as she raised her voice in a taunting manner, 'En verité, I have no desire to meddle withtheiraffairs.Sur ma vie, I have no taste for brim-stone. So let me just advise acertaininhabitant of acertainworld (not thebest, I believe,) to think less ofmyconcerns, and more ofhis own.'
Having thus asserted her dignity, without being too personal, she walked to the casement in tears, and sang these simple lines, which she graced with intermittent sobs.
SONG
Alas, well-a-day, woe to me,Singing willow, willow, willow;My lover is far, far at sea.On a billow, billow, billow.Ah, Theodore, would thou could'st be,On my pillow, pillow, pillow!
Alas, well-a-day, woe to me,Singing willow, willow, willow;My lover is far, far at sea.On a billow, billow, billow.Ah, Theodore, would thou could'st be,On my pillow, pillow, pillow!
Alas, well-a-day, woe to me,
Singing willow, willow, willow;
My lover is far, far at sea.
On a billow, billow, billow.
Ah, Theodore, would thou could'st be,
On my pillow, pillow, pillow!
Here she heaved a deep sigh, when, to her utter astonishment, a voice, as if from a chamber underneath; took up the tune with these words:
SONG
Alas, well-a-day, woe to me,Singing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow;A ducat would soon make me free,Could I borrow, borrow, borrow;And then I would pillow with thee,To-morrow, morrow, morrow!
Alas, well-a-day, woe to me,Singing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow;A ducat would soon make me free,Could I borrow, borrow, borrow;And then I would pillow with thee,To-morrow, morrow, morrow!
Alas, well-a-day, woe to me,
Singing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow;
A ducat would soon make me free,
Could I borrow, borrow, borrow;
And then I would pillow with thee,
To-morrow, morrow, morrow!
Was it?—It was!—Yes, itwasthe voice of her love, her life, her long-lost Theodore De Willoughby!!! How should she reach him? Forty times she ran round and round her chamber, with agitated eyes and distracted tresses.
Here we must pause a moment, and express our surprise at the negligence of the sylphs and sylphids, in permitting the ringlets of heroines to be so frequently dishevelled. O ye fat-cheeked little cherubims, who flap your innocent wings, and fly through oceans of air in a minute, without having a hair of your heads discomposed,—no wonder that such stiff ringlets should be made of gold!
At length Hysterica found a sliding pannel. She likewise found a moth-eaten parchment, which she sat down to peruse. But, gentle reader, imagine her emotions, on decyphering these wonderful words.
MANUSCRIPT—— Six tedious years —— —— and all for what? —— —— —— —— —— —— No sun, no moon. —— —— Murd —— —— Adul —— —— because I am the wife of Lord Belamour. —— —— then tore me from him, and my little Hysterica —— —— —— —— —— Cruel Stiletto! —— —— He confesses that he put the sleeping babe into a basket —— —— sent her to the Baroness de Violenci —— —— oaken cross —— —— Chalk —— —— bruised gooseberry —— —— —— —— —— I am poisoned —— —— a great pain across my back —— —— i —— j —— k —— —— Oh! —— Ah! —— Oh! —— —— —— ——Fascinante Peggina Belamour.
MANUSCRIPT
—— Six tedious years —— —— and all for what? —— —— —— —— —— —— No sun, no moon. —— —— Murd —— —— Adul —— —— because I am the wife of Lord Belamour. —— —— then tore me from him, and my little Hysterica —— —— —— —— —— Cruel Stiletto! —— —— He confesses that he put the sleeping babe into a basket —— —— sent her to the Baroness de Violenci —— —— oaken cross —— —— Chalk —— —— bruised gooseberry —— —— —— —— —— I am poisoned —— —— a great pain across my back —— —— i —— j —— k —— —— Oh! —— Ah! —— Oh! —— —— —— ——
Fascinante Peggina Belamour.
This then was the mother of our heroine; and the MS. elucidated, beyond dispute, the mysteries which had hitherto hung over the birth of that unfortunate orphan.
We need not add that she fainted, recovered, passed through the pannel, discovered the dungeon of her Theodore; and having asked him how he did,
'Comment vous portez vous?'
fell into unsophisticated hysterics.
CHAPTER IV
Sure such a pair were never seen,So justly formed to meet by nature.—Sheridan.
Sure such a pair were never seen,So justly formed to meet by nature.—Sheridan.
Sure such a pair were never seen,
So justly formed to meet by nature.—Sheridan.
A tender Dialogue. — An interesting Flight. — A mischievous Cloud. — Our Hero hits upon a singular Expedient. — Fails. — Takes a trip to the Metropolis.
'And is this you?' cried the delighted youth, as she revived.
'Indeed, indeed it is,' said she.
'Are you quite, quite sure?' cried he.
'Indeed, indeed I am,' said she.
'Well, how do you do?' cried he.
'Pretty well I thank you,' said she.
They then separated, after fixing to meet again.
One night, as they were indulging each other in innocent endearments, and filling up each finer pause with lemonade, a sudden thought struck Lord Theodore.
'Let us escape,' said he.
'Let us,' said she.
'Gods, what a thought was there!'
They then contrived this ingenious mode of accomplishing their object. In one of the galleries which lay between their chambers, there was a window. Having opened it, they found that they had nothing to do but get out at it. They therefore fled into the neighbouring forest.
Happy, happy, happy pair!—Dryden.
But it is an incontrovertible truism, thatles genres humainsare liable to disaster; for in consequence of a cloud that obscured the moon, Hysterica fell into a snow-pit. What could Theodore do? To save her was impossible; to perish with her would be suicide. In this emergency, he formed a bold project, and ran two miles for assistance. But alas! on his return, not a trace of her could be found. He was quiteau desespoir; so, having called her long enough, he called a chaise, and set off for London.
CHAPTER V
'Tis she!—Pope.
O Vous!—Telemachus.
All hail!—Macbeth.
An Extraordinary Rencontre. — Pathetic Repartees. — Natural Consequences resulting from an Excess in Spirituous Liquors. — Terrific Nonsense talked by two Maniacs.
One night as Lord Theodore, on his return from the theatre, was passing along a dark alley, he perceived a candle lighting in a small window, on the ground-floor of a deciduous hovel.
An indescribable sensation, an unaccountable something, whispered to him, in still, small accents, 'peep through the pane.' He did so; but what were his emotions, when he beheld—whom? Why the very young lady that he had left for dead in the forest—his Hysterica!!!
She was clearstarching in a dimity bedgown.
He sleeked his eyebrows with his finger, then flung open the sash, and stood before her.
'Ah, ma belle Amie!' cried he. 'So I have caught you at last. I really thought you were dead.'
'I am dead to love and to hope!' said she.
'O ye powers!' cried he, making a blow at his forehead.
'There are many kinds of powers,' said she carelessly: 'perhaps you now mean the powers of impudence, Mr.—I beg pardon—Lord Theodore De Willoughby, I believe.'
'I believe so,' retorted he, 'Mrs.—or rather Lady Hys—Hys—Hys.'—
'Hiss away, my lord!' exclaimed the sensitive girl, and fainted.
Lord Theodore rushed at a bottle that stood on the dresser, and poured half a pint of it into her mouth; but perceiving by the colour that it was not water, he put it to his lips;—it was brandy. In a paroxysm of despair he swallowed the contents; and at the same moment Hysterica woke from her fainting-fit, in a high delirium.
'What have you done to me?' stammered she. 'Oh! I am lost.' 'What!' exclaimed the youth, who had also got a brain-fever; 'after my preserving you in brandy?' 'I am happy to hear it,' lisped she; 'and every thing round me seems to be happy, for every thing round me seems to be dancing!'
Both now began singing, with dreadful facetiousness; he, 'fill the bowl,' and she, 'drink to me only.'
At length they sang themselves asleep.
CHAPTER VI
Take him for all in all,We ne'er shall look upon his like again.—Shakespeare.
Take him for all in all,We ne'er shall look upon his like again.—Shakespeare.
Take him for all in all,
We ne'er shall look upon his like again.—Shakespeare.
Birth, Parentage, and Education of our Hero. — An aspiring Porter. — Eclaircissement.
Lord Theodore De Willoughby was the son of Lord De Willoughby, of De Willoughby Castle. After having graduated at Oxford, he took, not alone a tour of the Orkney Islands, but an opportunity of saving our heroine's life. Hence their mutual attachment. About the same time, Count Stiletto had conceived a design against that poor orphan; and dreading Lord Theodore as a rival, waylaid and imprisoned him.
But to return.
Next morning, the lovers woke in full possession of their faculties, when the happiestdenouementtook place. Hysterica told Theodore that she had extricated herself from the snow, at the risk of her life. In fact, she was obliged to pelt it away in balls, and Theodore now recollected having been hit with one, during his search for her. Fearful of returning to the castle, she walkedà Londres; and officiated there in the respective capacities of cook, milliner, own woman, and washerwoman. Her honour too, was untarnished, though a hulking porter had paid her the most delicate attentions, and assured her that Theodore was married to cruel Barbara Allen.
Theodore called down several stars to witness his unalterable love; and, as a farther proof of the fact, offered to marry her the next day.
Her former scruples (the mysterious circumstances of her birth) being now removed, she beamed an inflammatory glance, and consented. He deposited a kiss on her cheek, and a blush was the rosy result. He therefore repeated the application.
CHAPTER VII
Sure such a day as this was never seen!—Thomas Thumb.
The day, th' important day!—Addison.
O giorno felice!—Italian.
Rural Scenery. — The Bridal Costume. — Old Friends. — Little Billy greatly grown. — The Marriage. — A Scene of Mortality. — Conclusion.
The morning of the happy day destined to unite our lovers was ushered into the world with a blue sky, and the ringing of bells. Maidens, united in bonds of amity and artificial roses, come dancing to the pipe and tabor; while groups of children and chickens add hilarity to the unison of congenial minds. On the left of the village are seen plantations of tufted turnips; on the right a dilapidated dog-kennel,
With venerable grandeur marks the scene;
while every where the delighted eye catches monstrous mountains and minute daisies. In a word,
All nature wears one universal grin.
The procession now set forward to the church. The bride was habited in white drapery. Ten signs of the Zodiac, worked in spangles, sparkled round its edge, but Virgo was omitted at her own desire; and the bridegroom proposed to dispense with Capricorn. Sweet delicacy! She held a pot of myrtle in her hand, and wore on her head a small lighted torch, emblematical of Hymen. The boys and girls bounded about her, and old Margueritone begged the favour of lighting her pipe at her la'ship's head.
'Aha, I remember you!' said little Billy, pointing his plump and dimpled finger at her. She remarked how tall he was grown, and took him in her arms; while he playfully beat her with an infinitude of small thumps.
The marriage ceremony passed off with great spirit; and the fond bridegroom, as he pressed her to his heart, felt how pure, how delicious are the joys of virtue.
That evening, he gave afête champetreto the peasantry; and, afterwards, a magnificent supper to his friends.
The company consisted of Lord Lilliput, Sir James Brobdignag, little Billy, Anacharsis Clootz, and Joe Miller.
Nothing, they thought, could add to their happiness; but they were miserably mistaken. A messenger, pale as Priam's, rushed into the room, and proclaimed Lord Theodore a peer of Great Britain, as his father had died the night before.
All present congratulated Lord De Willoughby on this prosperous turn of affairs; while himself and his charming bride exchanged a look that spoke volumes.
Little Billy then pledged him in a goblet of Falernian; but he very properly refused, alleging, that as the dear child was in love with Hysterica, he had probably poisoned the wine, in a fit of jealousy. The whole party were in raptures at this mark of his lordship's discretion.
After supper, little Billy rose, and bowing gracefully to the bride, stabbed himself to the heart.
Our readers may now wish to learn what became of the remaining personages in this narrative.
Count Stiletto is dead; Lord Lilliput is no more; Sir James Brobdignag has departed this life; Anacharsis Clootz is in his grave; and Mr. J. Miller is in another, and we trust, a better world.
Old Margueritone expired with the bible in her hand, and the coroner's inquest brought in a verdict of lunacy.
Having thus conducted our lovers to the summit of human happiness, we shall take leave of our readers with this moral reflection:—
THE FALLING OUT OF LOVERS IS THE RENEWAL OF LOVE.
THE END.
I must now leave you to prepare my dress for the ball. The ball-room, which occupies an entire wing of the house, is full of artists and workmen; but her ladyship will not permit me to see it till the night of the dance; as, she says, she means to surprise me with its splendour. Cynics may say what they will against expensive decorations; but in my opinion, whatever tends to promote taste in the fine arts (and a mental is in some degree productive of a moral taste); whatever furnishes artizans with employment, and excites their emulation, must improve the condition of society.
Adieu.
The morning of the ball, I awoke without any remains of my late indisposition, except that captivating paleness, that sprinkling of lilies, which adds to interest without detracting from beauty.
I rose with the sun, and taking a small china vase in my hand, tripped into the parterre, to collect the fresh and fragrant dew that glistened on the blossoms. I filled the piece of painted earth with the nectar of the sky, and returned.
During the day, I took nothing but honey, milk, and dried conserves; a repast the most likely to promote that ethereal character which I purposed adopting at night.
Towards evening, I laved my limbs in a tepid bath; and as soon as the sun had waved his last crimson banner in the west, I began my toilette.
So variable is fashion, that I determined not to dress according to its existing laws; since they might be completely exploded in a month; and, at all events, by the time my life is written, they will have become quite antiquated. For instance, do we not already abhor Evelina's and Harriet Byron's powdered, pomatumed, and frizzled hair? It was, therefore, my plan to dress in imitation of classical models, and to copy the immortal toilette of Greece.
Having first divested myself from head to foot of every habiliment, I took a long piece of the finest cambric, and twice wound it gracefully round my shoulders and bosom, and twice enveloped my form in its folds; which, while they delineated the outline of my shape, veiled the tincture of my skin. I then flung over it a drapery of embroidered gauze, and its unimplicated simplicity gave to my perfect figure the spirit of an antique statue. An apparent tissue of woven air, it fell like a vapour round me. A zone of gold and a clasp prettily imprisoned my waist; and my graceful arms, undegraded by gloves, were bare to the shoulder. Part of my hair was confined by a bodkin, and part floated over my neck in native ringlets. As I could not well wear my leg naked, I drew on it a texture of woven silk; and laced a pair of sandals over my little foot; which resembled that of a youthful Thetis, or of a fugitive Atalanta.
I then bathed my face with the dew which I had gathered in the morning, poured on my hair and bosom the balmy waters of the distilled rose, and sprinkled my drapery with fragrant floods of lavender; so that I might be said to move in an ambient atmosphere of odours.
Behold me now, dressed to a charm, to a criticism. Here was no sloping, or goring, or seaming, or frilling, or flouncing. Detestable mechanism of millinery! No tedious papillotes, or unpoetical pins were here. All was done, in a few minutes, with a clasp, a zone, and a bodkin.
As I surveyed my form in the mirror, I was enraptured at its Sylphic delicacy; but I trembled to reflect, that the fairest flowers are the most fragile. You would imagine that a maiden's sigh could dissipate the drapery; and its aerial effect was as if a fairy were to lift the filmy gossamer on her spear, and lightly fling it over a rose-bud.
Resolving not to make myself visible till all the guests had arrived, I sat down and read Ossian, to store my mind with ideas for conversation. I love Ossian, it is so sublime, so bewildered, so full of a blue and white melancholy; of ghosts, and the four elements. I likewise turned over other books; for, as I had never mixed in fashionable society, I could not talk that nothingness, which is every thing in high life. Nor, indeed, if I could, would I; because, as a heroine, it was my part to converse with point, flowers, and sublimation.
About to appear in a world where all was new to me; ignorant of its forms, inexperienced in its rules; fair, young, and original, I resolved on adopting such manners as should not be subject to place, time, accident, or fashion. In short, to copy universal, generalized, unsophisticated nature, and Grecian statues.
As I had studied elegance of attitude before I knew the world, my graces were original, and all my own creation; so that if I had not the temporary mannerisms of a marchioness, I had, at least, the immortal movements of a seraph. Words may become obsolete, but the language of gesture is universal and eternal.
As for smiles, I felt myself perfect mistress of all that were ever ascribed to heroines;—the fatal smile, the smile such as precedes the dissolution of sainted goodness, the fragment of a broken smile, and the sly smile that creates the little dimple on the left side of the little mouth.
At length the most interesting moment of my life arrived; the moment when I was to burst, like a new planet, on the fashionable hemisphere. I descended the stairs, and pausing at the door, tried to tranquillize my fluttered spirits. I then assumed an air-lifted figure, scarcely touching the ground, and glided into the room.
The company were walking in groups, or sitting.
'That is she;—there she is;—look, look!' was whispered on all sides. Every eye fixed itself upon me, while I felt at once elevated and opprest.
Lady Gwyn advanced, took my hand, and paying me the highest compliments on my appearance, led me to a sofa, at the upper end of the room. A semicircle of astonished admirers, head over head, ranged itself in my front, and a smile of glowing approbation illuminated the faces of all. There I sat, in all the bashful diffidence of a simple and inexperienced recluse, trembling for myself, fearing for others, systematically suppressing my feelings, impulsively betraying them; while, with an expression of sweet wildness, and retiring consciousness, was observable a degree of susceptibility too exquisite to admit of lasting peace.
At last a spruce and puny fop stepped from amidst the group, and seated himself beside me.
'This was a fine day, Ma'am,' said he, as he admired the accurate turn of his ankle.
'Yes,' answered I, 'halcyon was the morn, when I strayed into the garden, to gather flowery dew; and it seemed as if the twins of Latona had met to propitiate their rites. Blushes, like their own roses, coloured the vapours; and rays, pure as their thoughts, silvered the foliage.'
The company murmured applause.
'What a pity,' said he, 'that this evening was wet; as in consequence of it, we have probably lost another beautiful description from you.'
'Ah, my good friend,' cried I, wreathing my favourite smile; and laying the rosy tip of my finger on his arm; 'such is the state of man. His morning rises in sunshine, and his evening sets in rain.'
While the company were again expressing their approbation, I overheard one of them whisper to the fop:
'Come, play the girl off, and let her have your best nonsense.'
The fop winked at him, and then turned to me; while I sat shocked and astonished, but collecting all my powers.
'See,' said he, 'how you have fascinated every eye. Actually you are the queen-bee; with all your swarm about you.'
'And with my drone too,' said I, bowing slightly.
'Happy in being a drone,' said he, 'so he but sips of your honey.'
'Rather say,' cried I, 'that he deserves my sting.'
'Ah,' said he, laying his hand on his heart; 'your eyes have fixed a sting here.'
'Then your tongue,' returned I, 'is rather more innocent; for though it may have the venom of a sting, it wants the point.'
The company laughed, and he coloured.
'Do I tease you?' said he, trying to rally. 'How cruel! Actually I am so abashed, as you may see, that my modesty flies into my face.'
'Then,' said I, 'your modesty must be very hard run for a refuge.'
Here the room echoed with acclamations.
'I am not at a loss for an answer,' said he, looking round him, and forcing a smile. 'I am not indeed.'
'Then pray let me have it,' said I, 'for folly never becomes truly ludicrous till it tries to be pert.'
'Bravo! Bravo!' cried an hundred voices at once, and away the little drone flew from my hive. I tossed back my ringlets with an infantine shake of the head, and sat as if unconscious of my triumph.
The best of it is, that every word he said will one day appear in print. Men who converse with a heroine ought to talk for the press, or they will make but a silly figure in her memoirs.
'I thank you for your spirit, my dear,' said Lady Gwyn, sitting down beside me. 'That little puppy deserves every severity. Think of his always sitting in his dressing-gown, a full hour after he has shaved, that the blood may subside from his face. He protests his surprise how men can find pleasure in running after a nasty fox; cuts out half his own coat at his tailor's; has a smile, and a "pretty!" for every one and every thing; sits silent till one of his four only topics is introduced, and then lisping a descant on the last opera, the last boxing-match, the last race, or the last play, he drains his last idea, and has nothing at your service, for the remainder of the night, but an assenting bow. Such insects should never come out but at butterfly-season; and even then, only in a four-wheeled bandbox, while monkeys strew the way with mignionette. No, I can never forgive him for having gone to Lady Bontein's last rout in preference to mine; though he knew that she gave her's on the same evening purposely to thin my party.'
'And pray,' said I, 'who is Lady Bontein?'
'That tall personage yonder, with sorrel hair,' answered her ladyship; 'and with one shoulder of the gothic order, and the other of the corinthian. She has now been forty years endeavouring to look handsome, and she still thinks, that by diligent perseverance she will succeed at last. See how she freshens her smiles, and labours to look at ease; though she has all the awkwardness of a milkmaid, without any of the simplicity. You must know she has pored over Latin, till her mind has become as dead as the language itself. Then she writes well-bred sonnets about a tear, or a primrose, or a daisy; but nothing larger than a lark; and talks botany with the men, as she thinks that science is a sufficient excuse for indecency. Nay, the meek creature affects the bible too; but it is whispered, that she has often thrown it at her footman's head, without any affectation at all. But the magnificence of to-night will put all competition out of her power; and I have also planned a littleScena, classical, appropriate, and almost unique; not alone in order to complete my triumph over her, but to grace your entrance into life, by conferring a peculiar mark of distinction on you.'
'On me!' cried I. 'What mark? I deserve no mark, I am sure.'
'Indeed you do,' said she. 'All the world knows that you are the first heroine in it; and the fact is, I mean to celebrate your merits to-night, by crowning you, just as Corinne was crowned in the capitol.'
'Dear Lady Gwyn,' cried I, panting with joy; 'sure you are not—— Ah, are you serious?'
'Most serious, my love,' answered she, 'and in a short time the ceremony will commence. You may perceive that the young men and girls have left the room. It is to prepare for the procession; and now excuse me, as I must assist them.'
She then hurried out, and I remained half an hour, in an agony of anxious expectation.
At last, I heard a confused murmur at the door, and a gentleman ran forward from it, to clear a passage. A lane was soon formed of the guests; and fancy my feelings, when I beheld the promised procession entering!
First appeared several little children, who came tripping towards me; some with baskets of flowers, and others with vases of odorous waters, or censers of fragrant fire. After them advanced a tall youth of noble port, conspicuous in a scarlet robe, that trailed behind him with graceful dignity. On his head was a plat of palm, in his left hand he held a long wand, and in his right the destined wreath of laurel and myrtle. Behind him came maidens, two by two, and hand in hand. They had each a drapery of white muslin flung negligently round them, and knotted just under the shoulder; while their luxuriant hair floated over their bosoms. The youths came next, habited in flowing vestments of white linen.
The leader approached, and making profound obeisance, took my hand. I rose, bowed, and we proceeded with a slow step out of the room; while the children ran before us, tossing their little censers, scattering pansies, and sprinkling liquid sweets. The nymphs and youths followed in couples, and the company closed the procession. We crossed the hall, ascended the winding staircase, and passed along the corridor, till we reached the ball-room. The folding doors then flew open, as if with wings; and a scene presented itself, which almost baffles description.
It was a spacious apartment, oval in its form, and walled all round with a luxuriant texture of interwoven foliage, kept compact by green lattice-work. Branches of the broad chesnut and arbutus were relieved with lauristinas, acacias, and mountain-ash; while here and there, within the branches, appeared clusters of lamps, that mingled their coloured rays, and poured a flood of lustre on the leaves. The floor was chalked into circular compartments, and each depicted some gentle scene of romance. There I saw Mortimer and his Amanda, Delville and his Cecilia, Valencourt and his Emily. The ceiling was of moss, illuminated with large circles of lamps; and from the centre of each circle, a basket was seen peeping, and half inverted, as if about to shower its ripe fruits and chaplets upon our heads.
At the upper end of the room I beheld a large arbour, elevated on a gradual slope of turf. Its outside was intertwined with jessamines, honeysuckles, and eglantines, tufted with clumps of sunflowers, lilies, hollyhocks, and a thousand other blossoms, and hung with clusters of grapes, and trails of intricate ivy; while all its interior was so studded with innumerable lamps, that it formed a resplendent arch of variegated fire. The seat was a grassy bank, strewn with a profusion of aromatic herbs; and the footstool was a heap of roses. Just from under this footstool, and through the turf, came gushing a little rill, that first tumbled its warbling waters down some rugged stones, and then separating itself to the right and left, ran along a pebbled channel, bordered with flowery banks, till it was lost, at either side, amidst overshadowing branches.
The moment I set foot in the room, a stream of invisible music, as if from above, and softened by distance, came swelling on my enraptured ear. Thrice we circled this enchanted chamber, and trod to the solemn measure. I was amazed, entranced; I felt elevated to the empyrean. I moved with the grandeur of a goddess, and the grace of a vision.
At length my conductor led me across the little rill, into the bower. I sat down, and he stood beside me. The children lay in groups on the grass, while the youths and virgins ranged themselves along the opposite side of the streamlet, and the rest of the company stood behind them.
The master of this august ceremony now waved his wand: the music ceased, all was silent, and he thus began.
'My countrymen and countrywomen.
'Behold your Cherubina; behold the most celebrated woman in our island. Need I recount to you all her accomplishments? Her impassioned sensibility, her exquisite art in depicting the delicate and affecting relations between the beauties of nature, and the deep emotions of the soul? Need I dwell on those elegant adventures, those sorrows, and those horrors, which she has experienced; I might almost say, sought? Oh! no. The whole globe already resounds with them, and their fame will descend to the most remote posterity.
'Need I portray her eloquence, the purity of her style, and the smoothness of her periods? Are not her ancestors illustrious? Are not her manners fascinating? Alas! to this question, some of our hearts beat audible response. Her's is the head of a Sappho, deficient alone in the voluptuous languor, which should characterize the countenance of that enamoured Lesbian.
'Tocrownher, therefore, as the patroness of arts, the paragon of charms, and the first of heroines, is to gratify our feelings, more than her own; by enabling us to pay a just homage to beauty and to virtue.'
He ceased amidst thunders of applause. I rose;—and in an instant, it was the stillness of death. Then with a timorous, yet ardent air, I thus addressed the assembly.
'My countrymen, my countrywomen!
'I will not thank you, for I cannot. In giving me cause to be grateful, you have taken from me the means of expressing my gratitude, for you have overpowered me.
'How I happen to deserve the beautiful eulogium just pronounced, I am sure I cannot conceive. Till this flattering moment, I never knew that the grove resounds with my praises, that my style is pure, and my head a Sappho's. But unconsciousness of merit is the characteristic of a heroine.
'The gratitude, however, which my words cannot express, my deeds shall evince; and I now pledge myself, that neither rank nor riches (which, from my pursuits, I am peculiarly liable to) shall ever make me unmindful of what I owe to adversity. For, from her, I have acquired all my knowledge of the world, my sympathy, my pensiveness, and my sensibility. Yes, since adversity thus adds to virtue, it must be a virtue to seek adversity.
'England, my friends, is now the depository of all that remains of virtue;—the ark that floats upon the waters of the deluge. But what preserves her virtuous? Her women. And whence arises their purity? From education.
'To you, then, my fair auditory, I would enjoin a diligent cultivation of learning. But oh! beware what books you peruse; for, trust me, some are as injurious as others are salutary. I cannot point out to you the mischievous class, because I have never read them; but indubitably, the most useful are novels and romances. Such as I am, these, these alone have made me. These, by depicting heroines sublimated almost to immateriality, teach the common class of womankind to reach what is uncommon, by striving at what is unattainable; to despise the grovelling follies and idlenesses of the mere worker of samplers, and to contract a taste for that sensibility, whose tear is the dissolution of pearls, whose blush is the sunbeam of the cheek, and whose sigh is more costly than the breeze, that comes laden with oriental frankincense.'
I spoke, and peals of acclamation shook the bower.
The priest of the ceremony now raises the crown on high, then lowers it by slow degrees, and holds it suspended over my head. Letting down my tresses, and folding my hands on my bosom, I throw myself upon my knees, and incline forward to receive it.
I am crowned.
At the same moment, drums, and trumpets, and shouts, burst upon my ear, in a hurricane of triumph. The youths and maidens make obeisance; I rise, press my hand to my heart, and bow deeply. Tears start into my eyes. I feel far above mortality.
Hardly had the tumult subsided when a harp was brought to the bower; and they requested that I would sing and play an improvisatore, like Corinne. What was I to do? for I knew nothing of the harp, but a few chords! In this difficulty, I luckily recollected a heroine, who was educated only by an old steward, and his old wife, in an old castle, with an old lute; and who, notwithstanding, as soon as she stepped into society, played and sang, like angels, by intuition.
I therefore felt quite reassured, and sat to the harp. I struck a few low Lydian notes, and cast a timid glance around me. At first my voice was scarcely louder than a sigh; and my accompaniment was a harmonic chord, swept at intervals. The words came from the moment.
'Where is my blue-eyed chief? said the white-bosomed daughter of Erin, as the wave kissed her foot; and wherefore went he from his weeping maid, to the fight of heroes? She saw a dim form rise before her, like a mist from the valley. Pale grew her cheek, as the blighted leaf in autumn. Your lover, it shrilly shrieked, sleeps among the dead, like a broken thistle amidst dandelions; but his spirit, like the thistly down, has ascended into the skies. The maiden heard; she ran, she flew, she sprang from a rock. The waves closed over her. Peace to the daughter of Erin!'
As I sang 'she ran, she flew,' the workings and tremblings of the minstrel were in unison; while my winged fingers fluttered along the chords, light as a swallow over a little lake, when he touches it with the utmost feather of his pinion. But while I sang, 'peace to the daughter of Erin!' my voice, as it died over the faint vibration of the strings, had all the heart-breaking softness of an Eolian lyre; so woeful was it, so wistful, so wildered. 'Viva! viva!' resounded through the room. At the last cadence, I dropped one arm gently down, and hanging the other on the harp, leaned my languishing head upon it, while my moistened eyes were half closed.
A sudden disturbance at the door roused me from my trance. I looked up, and beheld—what?—Can you imagine what? No, my friend, you could not to the day of judgment. I saw, in short, my great mother come striding towards me, with outspread arms, and calling, 'my daughter, my daughter!' in a voice that might waken the dead.
My heart died within me: down I darted from the bower, and ran for shelter behind Lady Gwyn.
'Give me back my daughter!' vociferated the dreadful woman, advancing close to her ladyship.
'Oh! do no such thing!' whispered I, pulling her ladyship by the sleeve. 'Take half—all my property; but do not be the death of me!'
'What are you muttering there, Miss?' cried my mother, espying me. 'What makes you stand peeping over that wretch's shoulder?'
'Indeed, Ma'am,' stammered I, 'I am—I am taking your part.'
'Who could have presumed to liberate this woman?' cried Lady Gwyn.
'The Condottieri,' said my mother, 'headed by the great Damno Sulphureo Volcanoni.'
'Then you must return to your prison, this moment,' cried Lady Gwyn.
My mother fell on her knees, and began blubbering; while the guests got round, and interceded for her being restored to liberty. I too thought it my duty to say something (my mother all the time sobbing horribly); till, at length, Lady Gwyn consented—for my sake, she said,—to set the poor wretch free; but on this special condition, that there should be no prosecution for false imprisonment.
All matters being amicably adjusted, my mother begged a morsel of meat, as she had not eaten any these ten years. In a few minutes, a small table, furnished with a cold turkey and a decanter of wine, was laid for her in the bower. The moment she perceived it, she ran, and seating herself in the scene of my recent triumph, began devouring with such avidity, that I was thunderstruck. One wing soon went; the second shared the fate of its companion, and now she set about a large slice of the breast.
'What a charming appetite your dear mother has got!' said several of the guests to me. I confessed it, but assured them that inordinate hunger did not run in our family. Her appetite being at last satiated, she next assailed the wine. Glass after glass disappeared with inconceivable rapidity, and every glass went to my heart. 'She will be quite intoxicated!' thought I; while my fears for the hereditary honour of our house overcoming my personal terrors, I had the resolution to steal across, and whisper:
'Mother, if you have any regard for your daughter, and respect for your ancestors, drink no more.'
'No more than this decanter, upon my honour!' said she, applying it to her lips.
At this moment the violins struck up.
'And now,' cried my mother, running down from the bower, 'who is for a dance?'
'I am,' said my friend, the little fop, advancing, and taking her hand.
'Then,' said she, 'we will waltz, if you please.'
Santa Maria!—Waltz!
A circle was cleared, and they began whirling each other round at a frightful rate,—or rather she him; for he was like a plaything in her hands; and had he let go his grasp, I am sure he would have been flung up among the branches, and have stuck there, like King Charles in the oak.
At last, while I was standing, a statue of shame, and wondering how any human being, endowed with a common portion of reason, could act so ridiculous a part, this miserable woman, overcome with wine and waltzing, fell flat upon the floor; and was carried out of the room by four grinning footmen.
I could hold no longer: the character of my family demanded a prompt explanation, and with tears in my eyes, I desired to be heard. Silence was obtained.
'I beseech of this assembly,' said I, 'to acquit me of having hand, act, or part, in the conduct of that unfortunate person. I never even saw her, till I came to this house; and that I may never see her again, I pray heaven. I hate her, I dread her; and I now protest, in the most unequivocal manner, that I do not believe her to be my mother at all. She has no resemblance to the portrait in the gallery; and as she was stark mad, when found in the woods, she perhaps imagined herself my mother; for I am told that mad persons are apt to fancy themselves great people. No, my malignant star ordained us to meet, that she might place me in awkward situations by her vulgarity; just as Mrs. Garnet, the supposed mother of the Beggar Girl, used to place that heroine. I am sure this is the case; nothing can convince me to the contrary; and therefore, I thus publicly renounce, disown, and wash my hands of her, now and for ever.'
The company coincided in my sentiments, and applauded my determination.
Country dancing was then proposed: the men sauntered about the room for partners; the mothers walked their daughters up and down, to shew their paces; and their daughters turned away their heads when they saw their favourites approaching to ask them. Ugliness and diamonds occupied the top of the set; the beauties stood in the centre, and the motley couples came last;—old bachelors with misses of fifteen; and boys, who were glad to be thought men, with antiques, who were sorry to be called maids. Other unfortunates, drest to a pin, yet noticed by nobody, sat protruding the supercilious lip at a distance.
And now the merry maze commenced. But what mutilated steps, what grotesque graces! One girl sprang and sprawled to the terror of every ankle; and with a clear idea of space, shewed that she had no notion of time. Another, not deigning to dance, only moved; while her poor partner was seen helping her in, like a tired jade to the distance post. This bartered elegance for a flicflac; that swam down the set; a third cut her way through it; and a fourth, who, by her longevity, could not be dancing for a husband, appeared, by her earnestness, to be dancing for her life.
All this delighted me highly, for it would shew my graces to the greater advantage. My partner was the gentleman who had crowned me; and now, when our turn to dance down came, a general whisper among the spectators, and their sudden hurry towards me, proved that much was expected from my performance. I would not disappoint them for worlds; besides, it was incumbent on me to stamp a marked dissimilarity between my supposed mother, and myself, in every thing; and to call forth respect and admiration, as much as she had excited derision and contempt.
And now, with my right foot behind, and the point of it but just touching the ground, I leaned forward on my left, and stood as if in act to ascend from this vale of tears to regions of interminable beatitude.
The next moment the music gave the signal, and I began. Despising the figure of the common country-dance, I meandered through all the intricacies of the dance of Ariadne; imitating in my circular and oblique motions the harmonious movement of the spheres; and resembling, in my light and playful form, the Horœ of Bathycles, as they appeared in the Temple of Amycla. Sometimes with a rapid flight, and glowing smile, I darted, like a herald Iris, through the mazes of the set; sometimes assuming the dignity of a young Diana, I floated in a swimming languishment; and sometimes, like a pastoral nymph of Languedoc, capriciously did I bend my head on one side, and dance up insidious. What a Hebe!
I happened not to see my partner from the time I began till I had ended; but when panting and playful, I flew like a lapwing, to my seat, he followed, and requested that I would accept the assurances of his high admiration.
Soon afterwards, waltzing was introduced.
'You have already imitated Ida's dancing,' said he. 'Will you now imitate Charlotte's, and allow me, like Werter, to hold in my arms the most lovely of women; to fly with her, like the wind, and lose sight of every other object?'
I consented; he led me forth, and clasping my waist, began the circuitous exercise of waltzing. Round and round we flew, and swifter and swifter; till my head grew quite giddy. Lamps, trees, dresses, faces, all seemed to be shattered and huddled together, and sent whisking round the room in a vortex.
But, oh, my friend, how shall I find language to describe the calamitous termination of an evening so propitious in its commencement? I blush as I write it, till the reflected crimson dyes my paper. For in the midst of my rotatory motion, while heaven seemed earth, and earth seemed heaven; the zone, on which all my attire depended, and by which it was all confined, on a sudden burst asunder, and in the next whirl, more than half of my dress dropped at my feet! Another revolution and I had acted Diana to fifty Acteons; but I shrieked, and extricating myself from my partner, sank on the floor, amidst the wreck of my drapery. The ladies ran, ranged themselves round me, and cast a mantle over my half-revealed charms. I was too much shocked, and indeed too giddy to move; so they lifted me between them, and bore me, in slow procession, out of the room. It was the funeral of modesty; but the pall was supported by tittering malice.
I hurried into bed, and cried myself asleep.
I cannot think, much less write of this disaster, with common fortitude. I wonder whether Thompson's Musidora could be considered a sufficient precedent, or at least a palliative parallel? If not, and that my biographer records it, I am undone.
Adieu.
Yesterday Lady Gwyn took me, at my particular request, to visit Monkton Castle, an old ruin, within three miles of us; and as it forms part of that property which she holds at present, it is mine to all intents and purposes.
The door-way was stopped up with stones, so that I could not take a survey of its interior; but outside it looked desolate enough. I mean, at some future period, to furnish it like Udolpho, and other castles of romance, and to reside there during the howling months.
After dinner her ladyship went to superintend the unpacking of some beautiful china, which had just arrived from London; and I was left alone on the sofa. Evening had already begun to close: a delicious indolence thrilled through my limbs, and I felt all that lassitude and vacuity which the want of incident ever creates.
'Were there even some youth in the house,' thought I, 'who would conceive an unhappy attachment for me;—had her ladyship but a persecuting son, what scenes might happen! Suppose at this moment the door were to be thrown open, and he to enter, with a quick step, and booted and spurred. He starts on seeing me. Never had I looked so lovely. 'Heavens!' murmurs he, ''tis a divinity!' then suddenly recollecting himself, he advances with a respectful bow. 'Pardon this intrusion,' says he; 'but I—really I—.' I rise, and colouring violently, mutter, without looking at him: 'I wonder where her ladyship can be?' But as I am about to pass him, he snatches my hand, and leading me back to the sofa, says:—'Suffer me to detain you a moment. This occasion, so long desired, I cannot bring myself to relinquish. Prevented by the jealous care of a too fond mother, from appearing before you, I have sought and found a thousand opportunities, on the stairs—in the garden—in the shrubbery—to behold those charms. Fatal opportunities! for they have robbed me of my peace for ever! Yes, charming Cherubina, you have undone me. That airy, yet dignified form; those mild, yet sparkling eyes; those lips, more delicious than the banquet of the gods——' 'Really, Signor,' says I, in all the pleasing simplicity of maiden embarrassment, 'this language is as improper for me to hear as for you to express.' 'It is, it is improper,' cries he, with animation, 'for it is inadequate.' 'Yes,' says I 'inadequate to the respect I deserve as the guest of your mother.' 'Ah!' exclaims he, 'why should the guest imitate the harshness of the hostess?' 'That she may not,' says I, 'countenance the follies of the son. Signor, I desire you will unhand me.' 'Never!' cries he; 'never, till you say you pity me. O, my Cherubina; O, my soul's idol!' and he drops upon his knee, and grasps my hand; when behold, the door opens, and Lady Gwyn appears at it! Never were astonishment and dismay equal to her's. 'Godfrey, Godfrey,' says she, 'is this the conduct that I requested of you? This, to seek clandestine interviews, where I had prohibited even an open acquaintance? And for thee, fair unfortunate,' turning towards me, with that mild look, which cuts more than a thousand sarcasms; 'for thee, lovely frail one, thou must seek some other asylum.' Her sweet eyes swim in tears. I fling myself at her feet. 'I am innocent,' I cry, 'innocent as the little fawn that frisks itself to repose by the bubbling fountain.' She smiles incredulous. 'Come,' says she, taking my hand, 'let me lead you to your apartment.' 'Stay, in mercy stay!' cries Godfrey, rushing between us and the door. She waves him aside. I reach my room. Nothing can console me. I am all despair. In a few minutes the maid taps at my door, with a slip of paper from Godfrey. 'Oh, Cherubina,' it says, 'how my heart is torn for you! As you value your fame, perhaps your life, meet me to-night, at twelve, in the shrubbery.' After a long struggle, I resolve to meet him. 'Tis twelve, the winds are abroad, the shower descends. I fling on something, and steal into the shrubbery. I find him there before me. He thanks me ten thousand, thousand times for my kindness, my condescension; and by degrees, leads me into the avenue, where I see a chaise in waiting. I shrink back; he prays, implores; and at length, snatching me in his arms, is about to force me into the vehicle, when on a sudden—'Hold, villain!' cries a voice. It is the voice of Stuart! I shriek, and drop to the ground. The clashing of swords resounds over my contested body, and I faint. On recovering, I find myself in a small, but decent chamber, with an old woman and a beautiful girl watching over me. 'St. Catherine be praised,' exclaims the young peasant, 'she comes to herself.' 'Tell me,' I cry, 'is he murdered?' 'The gentleman is dead, sure enough, miss,' says the woman. I laugh frantic, and point my finger. 'Ha! look yonder,' I cry; 'see his mangled corpse, mildly smiling, even in death. See, they fight; he falls.—Barbarous Godfrey! valiant, generous, unfortunate Stuart! And hark, hear you that! 'Tis the bell tolling, tolling, tolling!' During six weeks I continue in this dreadful brain-fever. Slowly I recover. A low melancholy preys upon me, and I am in the last stage of a consumption. But though I lose my bloom, illness touches my features with something more than human. One evening, I had got my chair on the green before the door, and was watching the sun as he set in a blaze of gold. 'And oh!' exclaimed I, 'soon must I set like thee, fair luminary;—when I am interrupted by a stifled sigh, just behind me. I turn. Heaven and earth! who should be leaning over me, with looks of unutterable love, but—Stuart! In an instant, I see him, I shriek, I run, I leap into his arms.——
Unfortunate leap; for it wakened me from a delicious reverie, and I found myself in the arms,—not of Stuart,—but of the old butler! Down we both came, and broke in pieces a superb china vase, which he was just bringing into the room.
'What will my lady say to this?' cried he, rising and collecting the fragments.
'She will smile with ineffable grace,' answered I, 'and make a moral reflection on the instability of sublunary things.'
He shook his head, and went on with his work of affliction; while I hastened to the glass, where I found my face flushed from my reverie, my hair dishevelled, and my long eyelashes wet with tears. I perceived too that my dress had got a terrible rent by my fall.
Hardly had I recomposed myself, when her ladyship returned, and called for tea.
'How did you tear your robe, my love?' said she.
'By a fall that I got just now,' replied I. 'Sure never was such an unfortunate fall!'
'Nay, child,' said she, rallying me, 'though a martyr to the tender sensibilities, you must not be a victim to torn muslin.'
'I am extremely distressed, however,' said I.
'But why so?' cried she. 'It was an accident, and all of us are awkward at times. Life has too many serious miseries to admit of vexation about trifles.'
'There now!' cried I, with delight. 'I declare I told the butler, when I broke the china vase, that you would make a moral reflection.'
'Broke the—— Oh! mercy, have you broken my beautiful china vase?'
'Smashed it to atoms,' answered I, in a tone of the most assuasive sweetness.
'You did?' exclaimed she, in a voice that stunned me. 'And pray, how dared you go near it? How dared you even look at it? You, who are not fit company for crockery, much less china;—a crazed creature, that I brought into my house to divert my guests. You a title? You a beauty?'
'Dear Lady Gwyn,' said I, 'do be calm under this calamity. Trust me life has too many serious miseries to admit of vexation about trifles.'
Her ladyship rose, with her cheeks inflamed, and her eyes glittering.
I ran out of the room, in much terror; then up stairs, and into the nearest bed-chamber. It happened to be her ladyship's; and this circumstance struck me as most providential; for, in her present mood, she would probably compel me to quit the house; so that I could never have another opportunity of ransacking her caskets and cabinets, for memorials of my birth.
I therefore began the search; but in the midst of it was interrupted by hearing a small voice cry, 'get out!'
Much amazed, I looked up, and perceived her ladyship's favourite parrot in its cage.
'Get out!' said the parrot.
'I will let thee out, cost what it will,' cried I.
So with much sensibility, and indeed, very little spleen, I took the bird, and put it out at the window.
After having accurately examined several drawers, I found a casket in one of them; opened it, and beheld within (O delightful sight!) a miniature set round with inestimable diamonds, and bearing a perfect resemblance to the portrait in the gallery,—face, attitude, attire, every thing!
'Relic of my much injured house!' exclaimed I, depositing the picture in my bosom.' Image of my sainted mother, never will I part with thee!'
'What are you doing in my room?' cried Lady Gwyn, as she burst into it. 'How is this? All my dresses about the floor! my drawers, my casket open!—And, as I live, here is the miniature gone! Why you graceless little thing, are you robbing me?'
'Madam,' answered I, 'that miniature belongs to my family; I have recovered it at last; and let me see who will dare take it from me.'
'You are more knave than fool,' said her ladyship: 'give it back this instant, or, on my honour, I will expose you to the servants.'