For such high-reaching thought, and port superb,Could ne'er be native with the grov'ling crewThat sunk in raging Phlegethon!"
For such high-reaching thought, and port superb,Could ne'er be native with the grov'ling crewThat sunk in raging Phlegethon!"
The Pastor shook his head with another smile; and Louis ran on, talking of the Duke's lofty demeanor at one season; of its playful condescension at another: and in the guileless exhilaration of his own heart, described the air with which Wharton drank his Burgundy; how he graced each draught with a brilliant song, adapted by himself to words of Horace or Anacreon, in their original language. Then he spoke of the Duke's eloquent criticisms on the classics; of his wit in apt referencesto them, and to the best writers of France and Italy; and of the sportive manner with which he trifled, with the foibles of the company around him;—"seeming," continued Louis, "to stoop from his native height, merely' to skim the grosser element, in condescending fellowship with those heavy sons of earth. And the Duke tells me the change is pleasant; for it is only burrowing a little amongst the gnomes, to enjoy with keener relish the etherial joys of the upper regions!"
"Here, my Lord," continued the Pastor, in his narrative to the Marquis, "was the snare I had dreaded. When we were alone, I declared my apprehensions to my nephew; but he combated my suspicions with all the pleadings of ingenuous enthusiasm. Louis had never felt more than general kindliness for any of the young men of his acquaintance. For, I am sorry to say that education is not a principle of these times: and my boyfound few to understand any part of his intellectual pursuits, till he met this highly-gifted nobleman. Wharton is also master of every avenue to an unsuspecting heart. This, too, was the first time that any thing like his own ideas of friendship had come before my nephew; and when they were proffered by so specious a character, it was hardly surprising that even the short intimacy of a fortnight should bewilder his imagination and captivate his heart. When I became aware of the depth of the impression, I took up the subject in the serious light it demanded. I narrated several instances of the Duke's ill-conduct in various relations of life; and shewed at once to Louis the deleterious cup he was so tenaciously holding, since it had already induced him to confound right and wrong, by denominating the ruffian violence he had received in his helpless childhood,mere folly and frolic! His countenance betrayed there was a powerful contention in his mind.I conjured him to reflect on what I had said; to hearken to my warning voice, as he would to that of his distant father, or to the last admonitions of his departed mother. Tears burst from his eyes; and kissing my hands, he solemnly pledged himself never again to be a willing resident in the same house with the Duke of Wharton. His Grace had separated from the travelling party, and was gone to Ireland. But that did not prevent me calling on Sir Anthony; and though he did not see the reasonableness of my alarm, he was prevailed on to make me a promise that he would not again be instrumental in bringing his nephew into the society of the Duke.
"From that period until now, this dangerous man has been too much engaged in cajoling and thwarting the British ministry, to think of obscurer triumphs in Northumberland. But now that he is come, and his mischievous spirit has not only persuaded Sir Anthony tobreak his honour with me, but that Louis has been wrought upon to forfeit the verity of his word; I must assume the authority of a guardian; and at once wrest the infatuated boy from the favour of his uncle, and the perverting powers of his friend."
"Venerable Mr. Athelstone!" cried the Marquis, with an emotion of reverence; "this resolution is worthy of a minister of Christ!" But the words were no sooner uttered, than, dropping the hand he had emphatically seized, he quitted the room in disorder.
Unconscious of the anxieties which had been aroused respecting him at his tranquil home, Louis found himself engaged in scenes he little expected in the dull routine of his uncle's castle.
The first day of his present visit to Bamborough, passed according to the usual journal of the whole year; a plenteous dinner, with abundance of wine, and three or four country squires around the table. After the feast, Louis played at backgammon with his uncle; while three of the other guests, with the assistance of Dumby, dozed through half a dozen rubbers of whist. The senses of the fourth had not sufficiently survived the dinner's last potation, to be even a silent spectator. He took his stationin an easy chair, near some snoring dogs on the hearth-rug, and soon shewed audible fellowship with their slumbers. At ten o'clock the butler announced supper. The whole party started from their chairs; and rubbing their eyes and hands in the joy of renewed impulse, crowded into the eating-room. Louis, who could say no with as much good humour as most people say yes, declined accompanying them, and went to his own apartments; where he passed the moon-light hours in making a drawing of their effect on the opposite tower of Lindisfarne, and the misty ruins of its abbey.
The next morning being ushered in by a fierce equinoctial tempest, the guests of the castle gazed despairingly at the floods of rain which swept before the furious wind; and when they found it impossible to animate the drowsy hours by lingering out a breakfast they had already prolonged to loathing, they dashed through the pouring torrents, to kill time amongsthorses and grooms, dogs and whippers-in. But these employments too found satiety; and at the first blast of the letter-carrier's horn, the whole party rushed into the house, to see what his bag contained, and to snatch the welcome newspapers. The sleeper of the night before, who was also high-sheriff of the county, in right of his dignity, mumbledThe Postmanto himself; while Sir Anthony, with many bursts of applause, readThe True Britonaloud to the rest of the company.
As soon as Louis found the badness of the weather likely to prevent his uncle's guests from taking their usual excursions, he retreated from their noisy pastimes to the large solitary library. There he knew he should be as safe from invasion, as if he had hid himself in the vaults of the chapel. A few minutes absorbed his whole attention in the black-letter annalists of Great Britain; comparing their details with the chronicles of France; andlosing himself in admiration of the Condés and Montmorencies of the one country, and the Talbots and Percies of the other. He dwelt with particular delight on the chivalric characters of Froissart, feeling as if he conversed with them as friends; while the heroes of Cressy and Poictiers divided his heart between the triumph of conquest, and the god-like moderation of their victories. While thus engaged, he was at times wrested from his fancied presence in the scenes he read, by the smacking of whips, and the halloos of his uncle's guests as they passed through the hall in their visits to the stables.
"What descendants of the Mowbrays, the Percies, and the Nevilles!" cried Louis to himself. The uproar rose and fell in gusts, like the tempest; and at last dying away behind the friendly interposition of long passages and distant rooms, he forgot the existence of the noisy rout; and again found himself in the pavilions of heroes.
Towards four o'clock the clouds had exhausted themselves; and a bright sun, tempering the chilly freshness of the air, he looked from the library window over the woods and glades of his uncle's park; and felt inclined to steal out unobserved, and take an exhilarating race towards its boundary. The deer were coming from their covert, to enjoy the beam; and the rooks, speeding home in glad multitudes, were cooing and wheeling, and flapping their wings, as they hovered over or settled on the tall elms of the ancient avenue. These sounds of grateful nature, rather soothed than disturbed the tranquillity of the scene; and Louis lingered at the window, reciprocating the happiness of these creatures, free, careless, innocent, and full of blameless enjoyment.
In the midst of these musings, a new, and an uncommon noise in his uncle's house, startled his ear; opening and banging doors along the adjoining gallery,the rumbling of trunks, the calling of servants, and a variety of female voices in constant command. Louis stood amazed. He had not heard that his uncle expected any unusual company, and least of all women; for owing to the convivial character of Sir Anthony's meetings, none of the country ladies had honoured the Castle with a visit, since the departure of Mrs. Coningsby.
In a few minutes Louis heard his name loudly vociferated by Sir Anthony himself.—"Louis—Louis de Montemar!—Where the devil have you hid yourself?"—and with the boisterous interrogation the baronet burst into the library.—His eyes sparkled with jovial intelligence, as he advanced to his nephew: "Come Louis, my boy! Here is metal more attractive to your taste than chess and backgammon!—Leave this musty place, and I will introduce you to lillies and roses!"
Louis guessed, from these extraordinarytransports, that some accident had brought ladies to the Castle; and while he allowed Sir Anthony to hurry him down a back-stair to the drawing-room, he tried to learn something of the matter. But the Baronet was in too great an ecstacy to speak common sense:—he broke into extravagant thanks to the storm, and eulogies on fine eyes and blooming complexions; and did not give Louis time to ask another question before he ushered him into the presence of several elegantly dressed women. With manifest pride in the fine person of his nephew, Sir Anthony introduced him to the fair group; and they received him with compliments to the uncle, which, being new to the young man from female lips, deepened to crimson the colour on his glowing complexion.
A little observation convinced him that these were neither his county ladies, nor the ladies of any other county in England. They were handsome, theirhabits costly; and their deportment something like high fashion, though it wanted that ineffable grace of delicate reserve, which is the indispensable mark of a true English gentlewoman. As he looked on their careless movements and familiar ease, he could not but think how like the last harmonizing hue which a skilful painter casts over his picture, is the veil of modesty to a lovely woman. In short, he soon gathered from the rapid discourse of these unexpected visitors, that they were natives of different countries, and belonging to the stage; which profession, he thought, might necessarily free their manners from the usual restraints of their sex, without in reality impairing their virtue.[A]Two of theparty were of the opera, the one, an Italianprimadona, with a singularly beautiful figure; the other, a French dancer, young, pretty and full of life: the rest, English actresses of various degrees of personal charms.
It was the voices of these ladies' respective maids, which had surprized Louis from the gallery; and he now stood contemplating the persons and manners of their mistresses, with the amused curiosity of youth.—The pretty French dancer had just enquired whether he spoke her language; and was expressing her delight at being answered in the affirmative, when Sir Anthony (who had quitted the room soon after the introduction of his nephew,) re-entered withthe Duke of Wharton and the remainder of his guests.
Louis started at sight of the Duke, instantly remembering his promise to his guardian. Wharton wore the same careless, animated air, as when he first fascinated the imagination of his young admirer; and springing directly from the dull mass which surrounded him, seemed to Louis like a sun-beam shot from a heavy cloud. The next moment he found himself in the Duke's arms.
"My dear de Montemar! This is unexpected pleasure! I thought only of refreshing my horses, little dreaming your uncle had provided this feast for their master!"
Louis trembled and was silent. He wished his guardian had not exacted the promise, which, even at this moment, whispered he must not hearken to the captivating Wharton, but tear himself away. Louis did not reply; for he felt unable to say (what he was determinedto do:) that he must instantly return to Lindisfarne.
The Duke took his arm, and drew him to a distant part of the room. "De Montemar, I could sacrifice a hecatomb of my best Cumberland steers, for this blessed meeting! I have not seen any thing so after my own heart, since we parted; and yet I have been lamp in hand, day and night, in search of one of your stamp. I know you have a brave soul; and that it spurns a sleepy life, though your dreams should be of paradise!—When all are gone to bed, meet me to-night in the old library.—I have that to say to you, I would not have even a listening spider whisper to some of this herd."
"Not even myself must listen to it!" replied Louis, making a strong effort to declare at once his intention; "Your Grace must pardon me, but I am this instant leaving the Castle."
"Impossible!" cried the Duke, "youwould not go for the wealth of Mexico, if you knew the matter I have to communicate."
"No temptation must detain me!" replied Louis, with a smile that spoke of sacrifice; "I am under an engagement that cannot be broken."
"That countenance," returned Wharton, laughing; "tells a different story!—You know the old proverb!where there is a will, &c.; and I cannot doubt yours, since we pledged ourselves heart to heart on the bonnie braes of Glen Rannock!—Besides, I am here accidentally, and only for a short time. Under these circumstances, what engagement can be so serious, as ought to separate us at such a moment?"
The Duke paused, and Louis blushed. It was almost for his venerable uncle; for he thought him severe against this resistless pleader.—Wharton resumed. "Come, de Montemar; let me writemanupon that candid brow. Notas your uncle Anthony would stamp it, in lees; nor as another uncle, perhaps, would mark it, with Saint Cuthbert's tonsure! My signet is of other impression."
"Your signet is too true a one," returned Louis, "to obliterate aword of honour! and I have given mine to my uncle of Lindisfarne to——," he hesitated.—Could he tell the noble Wharton, that he had solemnly promised never to remain willingly under the same roof with him?
Wharton observed the painful confusion of his too well-inclined friend.
"To what," said he, "have you pledged yourself to Mr. Athelstone?—To return to him to-night?—But the promise was given under ordinary circumstances. I know your uncle does not like the usual orgies of Sir Anthony. And as neither you, nor the good old gentleman, could guess that my happy stars would bring me to Bamboroughto-day, you must allow me, as agood knight, andgrand-masterin thecourts of honour, to give both of you acquittal on this head; and to pronounce, that change of circumstances releases you from your engagement, and him from the necessity of demanding its fulfilment!"
Louis's heightening colour overspread his face, as the Duke concluded; but collecting all his powers of self-denial, "My Lord," said he, "You are very good; but I must go!—The tide now serves, and delay——"
Wharton released his arm with an air of pique.—The resolution of Louis to depart, and without assigning his guardian's reason for insisting on his return, was enough for the ready apprehension of the Duke. He at once comprehended that Mr. Athelstone foresaw a change in his nephew's moral and political principles, should he be permitted to cultivate an intimacy, which, it was evident, was the secret wish of that nephew'sheart.—The Duke saw the struggle between inclination and duty. He saw, that persuasions to stay, by causing Louis to summon more of his moral strength to oppose his own desire to stay, only ensured his departure; and therefore the moment Wharton perceived the real position of the enemy, he made arusse de guerre, and drew off.
"I shall not withstand your own inclination, Mr. de Montemar," said he, as he turned away with assumed coldness. The words smote on the heart of Louis. Sir Anthony, who had caught their unusual tone, looked towards the Duke and his nephew. He saw the former walk with a grave demeanor towards a window, and the latter gaze after him with an agitated countenance. The baronet approached Louis, and in a whisper asked what had happened.
"I must obey my uncle's command to return to Lindisfarne."
This reply re-called to Sir Anthonyhis own promise to the same effect. He reddened angrily: "and you have told the Duke, Mr. Athelstone's monkish antipathy to his gaiety and good humour?"
"No, dear Sir, but I have told him, I must go; that I am pledged to go. And though he injures me by supposing that I am such an Insensible as to obey without reluctance; yet I respect my word too much, and hold my uncle's command too sacred, to hesitate about what I ought to do."
With a hurrying step, he was moving towards the door; when the baronet made one angry stride, and stretching forth his athletic arm, grasped his nephew's; and with an enraged countenance drew him into an anti-room, waving his other hand to the Duke to follow. Wharton was too good a general to comply immediately; and Sir Anthony, as soon as he could speak without the observation of strangers, burst into a loudand violent invective on his uncle's unjustifiable prejudices against the Duke.
"What can he charge him with?" cried the baronet,—"That he is young? The fitter to be your companion!—That he is gay? And if a man be not gay in his youth, when is he to be gay?—That he is married, and does not live with his wife? What man of spirit would keep any terms with a woman, who wheedled him into wedlock, before he was out of his teens!—That he is fond of wine? His thirst does not make you drink!—That he is liked by women; and not ungrateful to their kindness? Why Louis, your old uncle had best shut you up at once with the dead bones in the abbey vaults! And then he calls him a rebel to his King! What of that? If the King himself does not fear him, but lets him go at large amongst his subjects; why should the Pastor of Lindisfarne take more care for His Majesty, than His Majesty thinks proper to take for himself! I tell you,Louis, the cloven-foot is under the surplice. It is resentment of an old affront, that excites all this animosity in the mind of Mr. Athelstone."
There was much in this speech, and more in the manner of it, that offended the best feelings of Louis. "Sir," said he, "I thank you for having recalled to me my uncle's arguments on this subject. He may be mistaken as to the extent of the facts; but till he is so far convinced of his error, as to release me from the promise I gave him, to avoid the Duke; I must consider myself bound to abide by it."
The baronet's face now became purple. "Louis! am not I your uncle, as well as this domineering priest? I am your mother's brother; and from her, I have rights, he cannot claim. You respect his commands! By what authority will you disobey mine? I therefore order you, on your peril, not to stir fromthis house, till it is my pleasure to let you go."
He turned, with a look of defiance, to leave the room; but the voice of Louis arrested him. "Sir Anthony," cried he, "when you command me as becomes my mother's brother, I have ever been eager to shew you obedience; but there is no authority on earth shall compel me to stay where I am to hear words of disrespect coupled with the name of my most revered guardian."
"We will look to that!" said the baronet fiercely; and opening an opposite door, he disappeared, banging it furiously after him. The Duke entered at the same instant, by the one from the drawing-room. He stood for a moment, observing the countenance of Louis; then approaching him with his usual frank air: "De Montemar," said he, "unintentionally, I have overheard something of what has passed between you and your uncle; and I have learnt enough, to be ashamedof the fool's part I have played just now, when I turned from you like a jealous girl!"
Wharton laid his hand on the arm of Louis, and with a gay smile, which was rendered enchanting by the affectionate seriousness of his eyes, he gently added, "but friendship being the sister of love, we must forgive her sharing a little of her brother's infirmities."
Louis could not guess how much of the recent offensive discussion had been overheard by its subject; but he was glad to be cleared in the mind of the Duke from the implied charge of quitting him capriciously. "Chance," said he, "has communicated to your Grace, what I could never have brought myself to utter."
"And therefore," returned the Duke, "I suppose you leave me to guess the good Pastor's reason for excluding me from his fold? I see it in the sin of my youth. You have forgotten it; but in my beardless days, I offended Mr. Athelstone in a way that deserved a cat-o-nine-tails. Had he laid his horse-whip over my shoulders at that time, it would have been wholesome chastisement: but this interdict—"
"It is not for that!" exclaimed Louis, "but could my guardian know the generous character he so misjudges; I feel he would court that friendship for me, he now so fearfully deprecates."
The Duke shook his head: "thanks, dear Montemar, for that profession of your faith! But when prejudice gets possession of an old head, neither argument norauto de fécan dislodge the evil spirit."
"Indeed," cried Louis, "my excellent uncle is not fuller of years than of candour! It is not one prejudice, but reports—slanders—"
"Aye," interrupted the Duke, "Dan Bacon warns us thatEnvy, like the sun, beats hottest on the highest grounds!But I could have spared this proof of my merit.—de Montemar," added he, in a graver and more earnest tone; "shall I tell you, that you;—with that guileless heart, that ingenuous soul, that maiden reputation; will one day bereported! slandered!made a pest, as I am, to be avoided!"
Clouds collected over the Duke's brow as he proceeded. He walked a few paces towards the opposite side of the room, and then turned round with his usual bright countenance.—"De Montemar, my life has been a comet's track; and therefore may astonish and alarm. It is not given to every man to know whither my eccentric course tends:—but I tell you, its aim is to the sun!"
Louis's heart glowed, as the Duke thus animatedly delivered himself. "Oh, my Lord," cried he, "why are you thus misapprehended? Or rather, why will that noble spirit give any licence to slander, by stooping to such associates as——" he paused.
"We will not name them!" repliedWharton laughing; "But such things are my toys, or my tools. Did men of our sort keep only with our likes, we should prove but useless animals. The world is a multitude, where every creature must partake the fellowship of poor dependent human nature; or at once claim kindred with the gods by doffing his clay, and ascending post-haste to the regions above!"
The castle bell rang for dinner; and with its last peal, Sir Anthony presented himself at the drawing-room door.—He came haughtily forward. "My Lord Duke, the ladies await your hand to lead them down stairs.—Louis, you are come to your senses, I see, and will follow his Grace."
The manner with which the baronet said this, shewed he rather expected to intimidate his nephew into compliance; than really thought he had made up his mind to obey. Louis answered withfirmness, "I cannot, Sir, transgress what I know to be my duty."
Sir Anthony's eyes flashed fire: "That is to say," cried he, "you know it is your duty to obey me!—and you will obey me!—or abide by the consequence." "Nay, Athelstone," interrupted the Duke, "this is shot and bounce with a vengeance! What man, with the spirit of a weazel, but would grub through your very towers, to shew you he despised such threatenings? Open your gates to the uncontrouled egress and regress of your nephew; or my free pinions will spurn them in a moment!" "I am no jailor, Duke Wharton," replied the angry baronet, "But that boy should know his uncle is not to be insulted with impunity. He presumes on my avowed affection for him, to affront my company before my face; and then mocks me with an apology still more galling, by declaring that he must prefer the caprices of a selfish oldpriest, to all the gratitude he owes an uncle who indulges his every wish; and has already made him heir to this castle and its estates."
"Athelstone! Athelstone!" exclaimed the Duke, "am I to tell youthat boyis one exception to Walpole's theory of mankind? You cannot bribe Louis de Montemar to act against his conscience. Open your gates, and let him go."
Sir Anthony looked from the playful remonstrance of the Duke, to the perturbed countenance of his nephew.—"Louis," said he, in a more temperate tone, "You know how this has been wrung from me. Is there no terms to be kept with my affection for you? No middle way between outraging all respect to me, and breaking your extorted promise to this lord of penance?"
"How can I listen, Sir, to such epithets attached to the idea of the most venerable of men?"
"He may indulge the boy's-play!"cried the Duke, "Ill names stick only to such sorry fellows as I."
"Oh, Sir," rejoined Louis, "I have only to represent to my guardian the candour with which the Duke of Wharton has just treated his unhappy prejudice; and I am sure he will instantly permit me to return to the castle."
"Then you persist in going to-night?"
"Now, Sir," replied Louis, "the tide serves: and if I delay, I must remain till midnight."
Sir Anthony walked the room in great agitation. Wharton looked at his young friend with a persuasion in his eyes, to which he did not give words; and their beset object, unable to give a favourable answer to such pleading, bent his to the ground.
At last the baronet stopped opposite to him. "Louis, you are not a generous adversary. You deal hardly with the heart you so well know is all your own. And there you stand, so silent, so stern,to compel your uncle—the man whose life you saved,—to beg your pardon for his violence; and to entreat you, even with prayers, not to leave his roof in anger!" Sir Anthony caught his nephew's hand, and sobbed out the last words. Louis threw himself on his uncle's neck; and quite overcome, hardly articulated, "I will stay to-night, but to-morrow morning—Oh, my dear Sir, do not urge me to forfeit my own esteem!"
Wharton took the arm of the baronet, who covered his face with his handkerchief, while he obeyed the impulse which drew him away through the gallery-door. The Duke bent back, and whispered to Louis, "You will follow us to the dining-room?" He bowed his head in troubled silence; and the baronet and his friend turned down the gallery.
"A few hours yielded to my uncle's feelings," said Louis to himself, "will, I trust, make no essential difference in the performance of my word to Mr. Athelstone. And indeed I am true to its spirit, for I stay not willingly. And yet, were it not for my pledged word, what delight should I have in the society of this amiable, this ingenuous, this generous Wharton!"
When Louis joined the party at dinner, the flush of his hardly-subsided agitation was still on his cheek; but his manner was composed, and his looks cheerful. The company were all seated; and the place left for him was between the lively Frenchwoman and the Earl of Warwick. The ruddy face of the baronet was burnished with smiles from his recent victory, which he hoped was a final one over the future influence of the Pastor with his nephew: and the pride of triumph did not a little inspirit the vivacity with which he did the honours of his table; challenging Louis to pledge the ladies in sparkling Champagne, while he drank to their ruby lips in glowing Burgundy.
For a little time the Duke appearedthoughtful; and frequently turned his eyes upon Louis, rather as if he were the object of his thoughts, than of his sight: but the actress who sat next him, rallying him once or twice on his portentous abstraction, he suddenly shook off a mood so little according with the company; and replying with answering badinage, warned her dramatic majesty to beware of forcing Eneas from his cloud. The lady dared his threats; and a dialogue of wit, and playful gallantry, passed between the two, that delighted the sportive fancy of Louis, and set the grosser spirits of the party in a roar.
In the first pause of this noisy mirth, the black-eyed Italian challenged the Duke to bear his part with her in a new duetto of Apostola Zero. It was from the opera of Sappho and Phaon, and described the lover's last interview in the Lesbian shades. Louis loved music; and always listened with pleasure to his cousins chanting their border-legends,or giving utterance to the sweeter ballads of Scotland: but he had never heard Italian singing until now; and he was in so wrapt an ecstacy, that, lost to the objects around him, he sat during the performance with his hands clasped, and his eyes rivetted alternately on the Duke and on the Signora, as they severally took up the thrilling melody; but when their voices mingled at the close with all the harmonious interchange of height, and depth, faultless execution, and exquisite pathos, the heart of Louis seemed dissolving within him; and as the last notes trembled, and died on his ear, he leaned back in his chair and covered his face with his hand.
The momentary pause that followed, and which his throbbing heart would fain have prolonged, was rudely broken by an universal clapping of hands, and cries of bravo! By a side glance, Wharton had observed Louis's attention to the singing; and now seeing the disgust with which he pushed his chair back from the discordant uproar, he bent behind the Frenchwoman, and tapping his young friend on the shoulder, whispered—
"This universal shout, and shrill applause,Seem to the outraged ear of listening Silence,Strange as the hiss of hell, whose sound perverseWent forth to hail its sovereign's victory!"
"This universal shout, and shrill applause,Seem to the outraged ear of listening Silence,Strange as the hiss of hell, whose sound perverseWent forth to hail its sovereign's victory!"
As the Duke spoke, the cadence with which he repeated the lines recalled the strains which yet vibrated on the entranced sense of his auditor; and Louis, turning his eyes on him who had charmed him out of himself, expressed, in broken but energetic language, the delight he had felt, the wonder that such powers could belong to the human voice: "I have heard fine singing, before;" said he, "but this is more than singing!—It is the voice of the soul—or, shall I say, it is the very ineffable language which love breathed into the heart of Psyché?"
"Say what you please, my own DeMontemar!" cried the Duke, his face radiant with animation; "you have the soul I want!—meet me to-night in the old library."
His friend the actress heard the last words; and gaily protesting against any appointment which tended to break up the present festivity; the rest of the ladies rapturously seconded her motion to close the night with a dance. Sir Anthony rubbed his hands with glee at the proposal: and when the ladies soon after ascended to their tea-table, he ordered the band, which usually travelled in the retinue of the magnificent Duke, to take its station in the great drawing-room.
The healths of the fair dames being drank on their departure, the native topics of the chace, races, justice-meetings, and county-politics, gradually gave way before the ascendancy of high spirits in men of wit and genius. Louis had insensibly drank more wine at dinner, than was his custom. Its fumes, andthe entrancing power of the music, united with the charms of the Duke's ever-varying discourse, had thrown his faculties into a kind of enchanted mist, where all that is pleasurable played on the surface; all that was alarming, remained behind the cloud.
At a late hour they joined the ladies, who were seated at ombre and piquet; but the moment the men appeared, the tables were pushed aside; and the leading actress, rising from her chair, invited the Duke to a minuet. He presented her his hand, while the violins obeyed the nod of his head; and then moved through the elegant evolvements of the dance, with a grace the more charming from the air of gay indifference with which he approached, and retreated from her gliding steps.
The pretty Frenchwoman shewed the agile varieties of her art, in apas seul, which filled the northern squires with a wonder and satisfaction more level totheir apprehensions, than had been the science of the fair Italian. Louis stood, leaning over the back of a chair, smiling, and nodding his approbation to the exhilarating time of the music. As soon as Mam'selle Violante had made her concluding whirl in the air, she tripped lightly forward, and gaily demanded his hand for the country-dance. He bowed delightedly; and obeyed her volant motion, as she bounded with him down the room to join Wharton and his fair partner at the head of the set. The ball became general; and the jouissance so intoxicating; that the whole scene swam in delicious, delirious pleasure, with the newly-initiated sons of rough Northumberland.
When the party broke up as the sun rose, and Louis retired to his chamber, he hardly knew himself to be the same man who had left it the morning before. In that very chamber, four centuries ago, the gay and profligate Piers Gavestonhad been a prisoner! and Louis had issued from it, only the preceding day, censuring in his mind the vices of its ancient possessor; and marvelling how any temptation addressed to the mere senses of rational man, could betray his virtue.
With a whirling brain he now threw himself upon his pillow.—The music still sounded in his ears; he yet wound with airy step through the mazes of the dance; the familiar pressure of the laughing Violante was still warm on his hand; and he yet thrilled under the soft glances of the fair Italian. Till that day, he had never seen the manners of women so unzoned. He had never thought it possible, that any behaviour, freer than what he saw in the behaviour of his aunt and cousins, could excite other emotions in him, than those of dislike and disgust. He had admired the magic painting of Homer, Tasso, and Spenser, in their Circé, Armida, and Adessa; and he had trembled for the constancy oftheir respective heroes, before the allurements of such sorcery:—but he never expected to find similar trials in real life. He believed the fair tempters in romance, were indebted for the beautiful mask with which they concealed their mental deformity, entirely to the spells of the poet's genius. Vice, in living woman, he expected to find as odious in outward shape, as it is loathsome within.
In short, in meditation, nothing is beautiful without goodness. The unbiassed heart, speculating upon these subjects, never unites admiration with any thing foreign to that character; and mistaking taste for principle, when it comes to the proof, too often substitutes the approbation of virtue for virtue itself. The discourses of Mrs. Coningsby fostered in the mind of her nephew this natural idea of the indivisibility of goodness and beauty. She described the empire of vice to be absolute, when it takes possession of a woman; and that its immediate effects were to obliterate every feminine grace, and transmute her at once into a monster of sin and disgust. Believing this, Louis was not prepared for the scene he had just witnessed. The pit, he expected to behold yawning like the mouth of hell, and so warning him from its approach, he saw overlaid with a verdure, brighter than all around: and no wonder his unwary feet trod the tempting spot, and found it treacherous.
FOOTNOTE:[A]The reader is requested to call to mind, that this is the description of the Theatrical Profession, at that period of its history in this country, when the plays of Farquhar, and others of the same taste, occupied the stage; and were performed by persons who too nearly resembled in reality the characters they represented.—With Garrick and revived Shakspeare, morals and propriety were restored:—and at the head of our present British actresses who possess the "grace of delicate reserve, which is the indispensable work of a true English gentlewoman;" no one can fail to respect Mrs. Siddons.
[A]The reader is requested to call to mind, that this is the description of the Theatrical Profession, at that period of its history in this country, when the plays of Farquhar, and others of the same taste, occupied the stage; and were performed by persons who too nearly resembled in reality the characters they represented.—With Garrick and revived Shakspeare, morals and propriety were restored:—and at the head of our present British actresses who possess the "grace of delicate reserve, which is the indispensable work of a true English gentlewoman;" no one can fail to respect Mrs. Siddons.
He slept, and the scene was renewed with a thousand strange varieties. Imagination recalled, in fantastic vision, all that he had read of enchanted pleasures, or of descending goddesses mingling their immortal nature with favoured man. He now lost his own identity in the person of Rogero, slumbering away life in the arms of Alcina; and then became the indignant Rinaldo, cutting his way through the entangling thickets of Armida's wood.—He awoke heated, and unrefreshed. His heart panted with his imaginary contest; and his fevered temples beat to agony as he sprung from his disordered bed, and throwing open the window towards the breezes of the sea, inhaled their cooling freshness. Histremulous frame gradually recovered a braced tone; and wrapping his dressing-gown around him, he stood gazing on the opposite rocks of Lindisfarne, with feelings as new to him as had been the spectacle of the night before. He blushed as he thought of rejoining the dear inhabitants of that sacred spot.—A strange faintness seized on his heart—a sense of shame!
"For what?" cried he, "what have I done, to cause this self-accusation?—I have not broken my word with my uncle; I did not consent willingly, to stay till this morning: I made the sacrifice to Sir Anthony's feelings."
Thus far, his conscience acquitted him; and he breathed freer: but still he could not say, my heart is lightened of its load.
"I feel myself polluted!" cried he; "I know not what was said and done last night, to change me thus; but the wine I drank, and those women's looks andwords; and my very dreams, seem to have contaminated my soul and body!—Oh, holy Lindisfarne!—My uncle, my sweet cousins, why did I ever leave your innocent presence!"
With this agonized invocation, he hastened to dress himself; that he might fly from the castle, and all its present mischiefs.
Violante had informed him the preceding night, how so strange a party came together; and why they had intruded themselves on the hospitality of his uncle. She described, with satirical pleasantry, a week's visit, which she and her Thespian sisters had been making to a nobleamateurin Teviotdale.—Lord Warwick was there; and soon after, Duke Wharton came in his way from the Highlands. At the time of his arrival, the whole company were on the eve of departure; but as he was coming southward, and they were to travel in the same direction, he complied with Warwick's entreaties to join the party.—The storm caught them on the moors; and as it was attended with thunder, the women became so frightened, it was necessary to take them to some place of shelter.—A minute's thought brought to Wharton's recollection that Bamborough was in the neighbourhood; and without hesitation he ordered the horses heads of half a dozen carriages to be turned towards the mansion of the convivial baronet.
As Louis ran over these circumstances in his mind, and recalled the lively indifference with which the Duke seemed to dally with all this youth and beauty, and female witchery; turning from one to the other with the gay caprice of the frolic butterfly, which flies from flower to flower, hovering and touching, and straight to flight again:—"Happy Wharton!" exclaimed he, "yours is indeed the spirit whichskims the earth, and does not soil its wings! while mine,has only to approach its surface, and be made but too sensible, that dust I am, and would to dust return!"
In this mood he descended to the court yard; and gave orders for a boat to be ready at the castle-cove, to row him across to Lindisfarne as soon as the tide should serve. But in returning along the terrace, he encountered the object of his meditation and his envy; the object which still made his heart linger about the spot he was so determined to leave.
"Ha, de Montemar!" cried the Duke, "Well met; before the constellations of last night arise to put yon saucy, upbraiding sun out of countenance!—But how long have you been making morn hideous with those rueful looks?—Why, you are a different man, from the etherial son of joy, who moved amongst us last night like Ganymede dispensing the draughts of Olympus!"
Louis saw in this gay hyperbole, only the spectre of a folly he was ashamed of.His disturbed countenance spoke what was passing in his mind; but trying to smile, "Indeed, my Lord," said he, "you are right to laugh at my inebriated senses.—I assure you, I despise myself."
"For what, de Montemar? That you have eyes, and ears, and are a man?"
Louis coloured; "Perhaps, that I own too much of his worst part!"
"How?"
He did not answer, but quickened his steps. The Duke looked archly in his face, and laughed:—"I will answer myself. That fond little devil Violante has driven Saint Cuthbert out of your head, and you are hastening to exorcise the strange possession at the shrine of the holy woman-hater!"
Louis started at this insinuation: it offended him, though so lightly uttered. Perplexed, and every way displeased with himself and his companions, he however tried to answer composedly.—"Your Grace is mistaken. I carry away withme no image from last night's revelry, but that of my own weakness. I despise the facility with which I fell in with the fashion of the hour, to drink wine till I unsettled my reason; and I detest myself for feeling that I existed from that time until I awoke this morning, without other consciousness than that which my besotted senses afforded." He stopped, then raising his before bent head, smiled scornfully, and added, "The garden of the Hourii is not my paradise!"
Wharton gazed on him a moment in fixed astonishment.—Louis did not perceive the amazement he had created, but walked on with a steadier pace and a calmer countenance.
"Well," thought the Duke, as he put his arm through that of Louis; "Anteas rose the stronger, after he had touched his mother earth! But Hercules will try another throw!"
"De Montemar," said he, "let us leave these unlucky Hourii to their slumbers, and resume the subject which they charmed to silence last night?—An eve's dropper might be dangerous; so, let us turn towards the wood, where we may converse undisturbed."
Louis looked at his watch, and seeing that the tide would not be at full for yet half an hour, he allowed Wharton to turn his steps through the inner-court into the park.
"Louis de Montemar, I am going to unlock my heart to you.—I am going to put my life into your hands."
"My Lord?"
"I am.—But I have weighed the trust.—You do not know yourself.—I do; and,—laugh at me for a coxcomb, if you please! But I affirm, your character and mine are composed of the same materials. I recognize my brother's soul in your breast; and the same will be your pursuits, the same your destiny."
"Oh, my Lord," cried Louis, "if emulation could transform its subject, youmight not prophesy in vain!—But I will not think you mock me! Your own luminous nature surrounds you; and seeing through that, you fancy objects bright, which only reflect your beams."
"Prettily said, my ingenious friend," answered the Duke, "but my position shall be proved by the fact.—Let us compare circumstances.—You are not yet of age?"
"Just twenty."
"Young enough to be catechised!—Will you answer me fairly?"
Louis smiled: "as my godfathers did promise and vow?"
"Have you ambition?"
"As much as ever budded the brow of young Ammon."
"Have you enterprize?"
"Else my ambition had never been avowed."
"Can you dare the world's obloquy?"
"In a noble cause, I would risk its hisses."The Duke caught him in his arms.—"By all the host of heaven," exclaimed he, "Yours is a spirit, with which mine shall have no disguises!—You know I amreported,slandered! But, on your own principle, I exult in the hooting of the mob; and I would direct your flight to the point whereon I stand, and laugh triumphant on the fools below! Mark my progress, de Montemar.—You see in Warwick, what nine-tenths of nobility are; distinguished from the crowd by nothing but their titles and extravagance. I would sooner hang like Absalom on a tree, than so pass away amongst the herd of my cotemporaries!
"My father did not understand my character; and when he died, bequeathed me doctors of law and doctors of divinity, to teach me the way I should go. They tried to break the spirit they could not bend; and often hard words, and harder usage, shook their heads as well as their canes, and pronounced me an unmanagable colt. In the very heat and tempest of my rebellion, I told them I was a Bucephalus they could not tame! And so, breaking from their bridle, wonder not I scoured the field in the very wantonness of liberty!"
Louis joined in the gay laugh of his friend, and Wharton proceeded.
"I was then hardly nineteen, but I spurned the tedious tutelage of schools and colleges, and threw myself at once into the university of nature; the wide and populous world. I went to the continent.—But not to visit thegarden of the Hourii! At Geneva, I became the friend of philosophers; at Paris, the companion of wits; in Italy, the counsellor of princes.—Do you mark me?"
"I do, with wonder and admiration."
"What I then dared to advise, I am now come to execute." He paused a moment, then resumed, "De Montemar, there are objects at Avignon, of more interest than Vaucluse!"—again hepaused, and looked at Louis, expecting a reply.
"I do not understand you, my Lord."
"Expound my riddle, and you shall have a better fate than Œdipus."
"I should deserve a worse, were I to waste the time in guesses; when I may profit by its exposition from yourself."
The Duke did not like this dullness, but he proceeded.—"De Montemar, what is your opinion of the Marquis of Montrose? He who Cromwell sent to the scaffold for attachment to the house of Stuart."
"I consider his gallant patriotism," replied Louis, "as hardly second to that of his immortal country-man William Wallace; and could almost envy him his feelings, when the executioner bound to his neck the catalogue of his battles against the regicides. What a consciousness of true greatness must have been in the smile with which he welcomed this intended badge of disgrace, as a brightertestimony to his honour, than the star of Saint George which they tore from his breast!"
"Well answered, my promising catechumen!" cried the Duke, "now for another question, and I have done.—In what respect do you hold honest George Monk, who deserted the blockhead chief of the Roundheads, and recalled the son of his murdered sovereign to the throne of his ancestors?"
"Monk does not fire my heart, like Montrose," replied Louis, "I love the direct path; andhonestGeorge was most inclined to crooked ones.—However, he walked straight at last, and for that I honour him."
"Then you love the Stuarts?"
"Their line is of mingled yarn!—I revere, love, blame, pity them."
"De Montemar, you must know the Chevalier de Saint George!"
"How?—where?""At Avignon.—Now, do you read me?"
Louis met the powerful glance of Wharton's eye, and it shot into his soul. At the same instant the words of his guardian seemed to ring in his ear:—The wily Duke will teach you to be a traitor!—Hot and cold damps burst from every pore of his body.
"You do not answer me, de Montemar?—I see you are discomposed,—you are agitated;—and it is a cause to stir up every vital spring in the breast of free-born man! My blood is ready to follow the course of Derwentwater and Kenmuir; or to purchase, in some happy field of victory, the re-establishment of my lawful king!"
Louis had been taken unawares, and was still incapable of reply. He verified the remark, that no history is so little understood by young persons as that of their country near their own times. The false lights of party have not sufficientlysubsided, to allow the regular historian a clear view of events; and the prejudiced memoirs of the day are too numerous and contradictory to be put into the hands of youth, without making a waste of that time which ought to be devoted to building up a future judgement on the well-founded basis of the history of past ages. The subject proposed by the Duke, was therefore new to the reflections of Louis. He had never questioned, nor confirmed his loyalty to the House of Hanover, by considering the change of succession with any reference to his own peculiar opinions. He had never seen any thing at the parsonage but peaceful submission to authority,not for wrath, but conscience sake. At the castle, another sentiment was often agitated; but the speakers were usually violent, unreflecting characters, whose praise or blame were equally worthless. However, he could not deny to himself that he had shrunk in horror from recitals of what passed ten years ago,with regard to the rebel lords; and he also could not forget that his uncle of Lindisfarne had often lamented the severe policy of their execution, and wished the State had thought it possible to unite mercy with judgement. "Had His Majesty pardoned them," said Mr. Athelstone, "rebellion would have perished in their stead; for the honour of a British heart is stronger than death."
All this rushed confusedly to the recollection of Louis. His partialities, romantic associations, and generous enthusiam, were all on the side of the suffering party; but his habits of submission had been directed by his best friends to the reigning family. He felt his own indecision he saw the Duke's advantage; and repeating to himself his uncle's warning, again determined not to linger another hour near the dangerous contagion.
Wharton's observing eye perceived fluctuation in the mind of his friend; andas therewasfluctuation on so portentous a subject, he boded a favourable issue to his side of the argument, could he detain him a little longer from the island. Should Louis return thither before his faith were actually pledged to the Stuart cause, it could not be doubted he would impart his scruples to the Pastor; and that true minister of the reformation, would keep him firm to the House of Hanover. Full of this apprehension, and aware that his proselyte must soon be summoned to the boat, unless he could prevent it by some unsuspected manœuvre, Wharton was not sorry when he saw Sir Anthony and several of the party advancing fast upon them from the house.—The tongues of the ladies proclaimed their vicinity.
"Gird your loins, my friend!" cried the Duke, resuming his usual merriment; and laughing at the stern air with which Louis turned to their voices:—"Dalilah and the Philistines are upon you!""And if every hair on my head were a rope by which they held me," replied Louis, "I would escape them!" As he spoke, he suddenly turned on his heel, and darted down a vista of firs towards the sea-beach. Wharton did no more than wave his hand to the light-footed Violante. She shot by a cross path through the shrubbery, and at a curve in the avenue met the flying object of her pursuit with such force, that she was struck to the ground. The rest of the party soon hastened forward, by the cries of Louis for help; for on raising her, and finding her insensible, he thought she was killed by the violence of the shock.
When they came up he was on one knee, with her head leaning on the other, and gazing with horror on her pale face. The pallid hue of his own, told all that he feared, to the Duke and Sir Anthony. But the ladies found the case not so desperate; and by the helpof essences soon restored the fair sufferer to animation.
Sir Anthony proposed her being taken into the house. But on attempting to rise, she sunk back, almost fainting a second time from the excessive pain of a sprained ancle. Wharton called for a sofa, which being brought, the invalid was carefully placed in it on cushions; and the gentlemen present, insisted on being its bearers into the castle. As the sofa was raised from the ground, Violante turned to Louis with a languid smile; "you will not leave me, Mr. de Montemar?" said she, and stretched out her hand to him, with a look more persuasive than her words.
To disappoint the wish and expectation these words and action implied, he found impossible.—He had no suspicion that she was running to intercept him, when the accident happened; and now, turning with a respectful bow to her summons, he silently followed the sofa intothe breakfast-room. Her gallant bearers placed it by the fire, at a small distance from the table. The Duke offered his services to the reclining beauty; but she would accept of no hand to bring her coffee and toast, but that of Louis: saying, that he who wounded, was in duty bound to administer the restoratives. Recovered from his dismay at what might have been the fatal effect of the accident he had so unintentionally occasioned, he gladly took the opportunity to make theamende honourable, and express his concern at what had happened.
Time rolled away, and he heard no tidings of the boat. It was an unusual inattention in his uncle's servants, who always vied with each other who should be most prompt in obeying every wish of their beloved Mr. de Montemar. But Wharton had contrived to have the little vessel countermanded, without appearing in the orders. Ignorant of this, Louis seized the first moment the invalid addressed herself to another person; and in a low voice asked the butler whether the boat were in waiting. The man, not aware of the commands which had been given one way or the other, simply answered the tide had been at ebb two hours. Stung with vexation, Louis started from his chair. Violante observed his disorder, and softly enquired the cause.—It was no sooner explained, than casting on him a reproachful look, she burst into tears and turned her head silently away. Louis felt himself in a very embarrassing situation; and almost unconsciously resuming his seat beside her, he drew a vexatious sigh as he said to himself,—"I am caught, and coiled in spite of myself!"
Violante mistook its meaning; and withdrawing her hand from her eyes, gave him a glance that mantled his face with crimson. Though apparently engaged in gay badinage with the other ladies, Wharton did not lose an expression of his friend's countenance, as the alluring Frenchwoman continued to converse with him in a tone of mingled tenderness and raillery. "If he stand this," thought the Duke, "he has even more ice, of a certain kind, in his composition, than he forced me this morning to believe!"
Sir Anthony entered from the hall, calling aloud, "Who rides this morning? I have ordered horses round to the court."
"De Montemar, what are you for?" said the Duke, "I see victory is in the hands where I would always have it; but as the ladies may not wish to have their captive in their way all day;—are you inclined for a steeple-hunt this morning?"
Louis eagerly embraced the proposal.—Violante coloured, touched his arm; and pressing it with strong emotion, whispered something in his ear. Wharton laughed, and turned on his heel. Louisbelieved himself turned idiot. Abandoned of his usual presence of mind, he knew not what to say, or how to look; though he felt perfectly resolved not to sleep another night in the castle, while it contained its present extraordinary inmates. The seductive scenes of the preceding night, seemed disenchanted before him; men and women, all were divested of their magic garments, excepting Wharton, and he still wore the vesture of light.
"Why will he mingle his noble nature with creatures base as these?" again he said to himself; "are they his toys? his tools?—To what purpose?"
He was gazing on the Duke, as these thoughts occurred to him, and deepened his reflections. Wharton caught the look; its expression went through him: but waving his hand, as if that would glance it aside, he shook his head sportively and exclaimed; "You want me to pledge my guarantee to Violante, thatthere shall be no more desertions!—Believe me, pretty one! For the bright Pleiades are not more inseparable above, than are your swain and humble servant below."
"—— We rise and set together."
"—— We rise and set together."
He spoke the last sentence without any reference to the subject which had first suggested the idea; and having in the utterance as much forgotten Violante, as though she had never existed, he put his arm through Louis's, and turned with him out of the room.
"De Montemar," said he, as they crossed the hall; "the conversation which was interrupted this morning, must be finished. I have put a packet open into your hand, which must be sealed this evening; else the vagrant leaves may follow the sybil's trick; and I know nothing of the gatherer, till that doughty Lictor, Jack Ketch, makes me his bow on Tower-Hill.""Surely, my Lord, you cannot doubt my honour, if you could my heart?"
"I will doubt every thing, till that heart is laid open to me.—I vowed to have no disguises with you.—Repay me in kind.—Heart for heart, De Montemar, is the only true exchange!"
Louis did not immediately answer; for he felt what he would not fairly acknowledge to himself, that a mist did sometime appear to rise over this professed frankness of the Duke, which often made it uncertain whether he had really shewn his heart at all.—In the midst of a sentiment that seemed direct from the soul, a sudden quirk of fancy would present itself, that turned all athwart into whim and laughter. And the freest disclosure would as frequently start aside, to appear nothing more than a fantastic figure of speech, or break off into irreconcilable fragments, without apparent aim or connexion. But for all this, an apology came to the breast of hisfriend. "He has embraced the desperate fortunes of a dethroned prince.—And perhaps it depends upon the caution of this, that prince's ablest confident, whether they are to be redeemed, or finally consigned to despair!"
The horses were at the hall door; and Sir Anthony, and his other male guests, mounted. On sight of the friends, he called to them, and the grooms bringing forward more horses, the Duke vaulted into his seat, and Louis, with a sensation of a double release, gladly followed his example.—As they turned merrily down the rocky path-way which led by the ancient fosse to the open country, every man had something to say according to his own humour, of the pleasures of the preceding night; but all concurred in so overcharging their anticipations of the coming evening, that it was easily to be foreseen the revelry of the past, would be encreased to an excess in the future,which would destroy all, by drowning pleasure and consciousness in the same stream.
Sir Anthony appeared to take it for granted, his nephew had completely surrendered himself to the impulse which governed them all; but with redoubling disgust, Louis tried to make his uncle comprehend, that so far from intending to partake the projected festivity, he would not go back to the castle, but return to Lindisfarne immediately after their ride. Astonishment, remonstrance, raillery, entreaties, reproaches; all were successively and successlessly brought forward: Louis found his spirit rise with the clamour of opposition. He was now steadily doing, what he always knew was his only proper conduct; the padlock which had seemed to chain down his faculties under a sense of committing wrong, now burst asunder, and he was all himself again.—Sir Anthony affected not to believe him serious; talked ofViolante, then declared, it was his belief, he only wanted to be forced to do the thing he liked; and whispering the noisy sheriff and others, a loud laugh peeled through the party, and they instantly drew around Louis.
"What do you mean, gentlemen?" cried he, glad to be manually opposed by others beside his uncle.
"To bear you, as the Loves bore Adonis"—cried Wharton gaily, and planting his steed also, before that of his friend.
"Et tu Brute?" cried Louis; and striking his spurs into the sides of his horse, the high mettled animal sprang through the foremost rank, dispersed the rest; and speeding forward with the wings of the wind, was plunged by his determined rider into the receding waters of the tide.