with us till that time, since it was rather an unusual thing for a fine
young man, unless he was a relation, to be the guest of a widow lady and
her daughter for so long a period. I was therefore certain that my
mother must have some particular point to carry, and that point was, I
believed, the alienation of my heart from Seymour Pendarves. These
suspicions certainly made me regard Ferdinand the two first days of his
arrival with prejudiced eyes, not unmixed with fear of his keenness of
penetration. But, in spite of myself, my fear of him vanished, and much
of my prejudice with it, when I found that this grave sententious
personage, who talked theology with my mother, and tried, poor man! to
explain to us some new German philosophy, could laugh as heartily as if
he never read and never thought, and had a sense of the ridiculous,
which he found sometimes dangerous and troublesome to his good-breeding.
This welcome discovery happened to me at breakfast, while he was reading
to us aloud some amusing extracts from a kind of periodical paper,
published in France by the Baron De Grimm, one of which was so
ludicrous, that he laid down the book to laugh at his ease, while I
exclaimed, "Is it possible?"
"Is what possible, my dear?" said my mother.
"That Mr. De Walden," I repeated rather uncivilly, "can laugh so very
heartily."
"_N'est-il pas permis en Angleterre, Mademoiselle?_"[2] was his answer.
[Footnote 2: Is it not permitted in England?]
"Oh, yes!" said I, blushing, and looking very foolish, "only--"
"Oh! Je comprends: apparemment c'est Mademoiselle qui ne veut pas qu'on
rit devant elle. Hélas, belle Helène! il faut rire tant qu'on le peut,
quand on a le bonheur de jouir souvent de votre aimable société; car il
me semble qu'en ce cas là, on pourroit bien avoir raison de pleurer
bientôt, et peut-être pour la vie."[3]
[Footnote 3: Oh! I comprehend: you do not like any should laugh in your
presence. Alas! beautiful Helen, one must laugh while one can, when one
has the happiness of being in your society; for one runs the risk of
crying very soon, and perhaps for life.]
Here was _gallantry_ too, and returning good for evil; though I was
rude, he was polite. I was humbled and ashamed, while he with increasing
archness said, "_Mais qu'est-ce que vous voulez dire avec votre_--'Is it
possible?'[4] What! you think me a disciple of Crassus, and fancy me
never laugh till I see an ass eat a thistle?" he added in his foreign
English.
[Footnote 4: But what did you mean with your 'Is it possible?']
"Shall I tell you what I take you for now?" replied I, venturing to look
up in his face, which, for the first time, animated as it now was by
pleasantry and the consciousness of appearing to advantage, struck me
with the conviction of its excessive physiognomical beauty; and I ceased
to wonder at my mother's regard for him, not because he was possessed of
great personal attractions, but because beauty of physiognomy cannot
exist without corresponding beauty of mind, if not of heart.
"Well," he replied, "and what do you take me for?" speaking with that
accent which in him I have often thought an additional charm.
"A kind-hearted man and a good Christian; for you returned good for
evil, and repaid impertinence by making it the foundation of a
compliment. Still, I must presume again, and tell you that I believe
your laughs are like _jours de fête_; they do not come _every_ day."
"Pour les jours de fête, non; ils ne me sont point venus tous les jours
que depuis mon arrivée ici; mais à présent, Mademoiselle, tous les jours
sont pour moi des jours de fête, et ma sainte est Sainte Helène."[5]
[Footnote 5: For holidays, no: they never came to me every day, till I
came hither; but now, all days are holidays to me, and my saint is Saint
Helen.]
I was not yet old enough to know how to receive compliments like these
without embarrassment; and to hide my awkwardness I exclaimed, "Why,
what can have become of them? I have lost them; they are quite gone."
"_Qu'avez-vous perdu, Mademoiselle? Permettez-moi de le chercher. Dites
donc._"[6]
[Footnote 6: But what are you seeking? let me look for it. Tell me.]
"My fear and awe of you."
"Fear and awe of me! _Oh! qu'ils s'en aillent tout de bon. Ce ne sont
pas les sentiments que je voudrais vous inspirer pour moi._"[7] As he
said this, there was an expression in his dark eyes which made me turn
mine away; and addressing my mother, I told her that our guest reminded
me of a little French paper toy which I had seen, called _deux têtes
sous un bonnet_; that at first view, it was a monk with a cowl on, but
that when the cowl was thrown off, there was a gay and smiling young
man. So it was with Mr. De Walden: when he first came, he seemed a grave
philosopher, and now he is an absolute lover of fun, and a laugher of
the first order.
[Footnote 7: Oh, let them go away entirely! These are not the sentiments
with which I wish to inspire you.]
"De grâce, Mademoiselle, dites-moi lequel des deux caractères vous plait
le plus; mais, ne me dites pas, je vous le demande en grâce, que je vous
offense le moins dans mon rôle de philosophe; Hélas! auprès de vous qui
pourroit rester philosophe?"[8]
[Footnote 8: In pity tell me, which of these two characters pleases you
the most; but pray do not tell me that I offend you less as a
philosopher, for who that is near you can long remain a philosopher?]
"I wish you," said I, "to resemble Democritus, who united the two
characters of laugher and philosopher; and you, if you please, shall be
the latter with my mother; you shall talk wisely and gravely with her,
but laugh and talk nonsense now and then with me."
"Vous convenez donc de la justice de ma proposition, qu'auprès de vous
on ne peut être philosophe?"[9]
[Footnote 9: You agree then to the justice of my proposition, that near
you no one can remain a philosopher?]
I shook my head and held up my hand at him, not knowing exactly how to
answer: he seized it, and pressed it fervently to his lips. My mother,
I saw, enjoyed this dialogue; but my own heart reproached me for having
allowed myself to be amused and flattered into a sort of infidelity to
Seymour, by a man too who would be, I foresaw, warmly encouraged by my
mother.
By this conversation, which has never been effaced from my memory, you
will suspect that my flippancy and the evident pleasure with which I
kept it up, were proofs that nothing but a prior attachment could have
preserved my affections from the power of De Walden, when he once
displayed to me all the variety of his talents, and the graces of his
mind. Even as it was, they would have had a more certain effect, but for
the injudicious eagerness with which my mother tried to force a
conviction of them upon me; for then my alarmed feelings took the part
of Seymour, and I was piqued into underrating her idol, because she
seemed to _overrate_ him. How very rarely is it that one can obtain or
give an opinion uninfluenced by temper, prejudice, or interest!
"Is he not very handsome?" she used to say.
"Yes, but I have seen a handsomer man."
"Oh, you mean Seymour; he is handsomer certainly, but then he is not
near so tall."
"No, but he is better made."
"That _I_ never remarked; and I hope you will only impart the result of
your observation to _me_: others might think it indelicate. What a fine
countenance he has!"
"Yes, _sometimes_, but not always; and I prefer one that is always so: I
like _perpetual_ rather than _occasional_ sun-shine.--It is disagreeable
to have to watch the sun peeping out from behind clouds."
"Helen, Helen!" replied my mother, "weak, foolish girl! to like what no
one can on earth obtain--perpetual sun-shine in the moral world! And
after all, when one considers what this life is, its _long pains_ and
its _short pleasures_, the _riches_ of _one_ day succeeded by the
_poverty_ of the _next_, the ties which are _firmly knit_ only to be
_severed_ in _a moment_, and our _capacity_ and _cause_ for _enjoyment_
never equal to our _capability_ and _cause_ of suffering; my child, what
a _poor, thoughtless, frivolous_ being must that be, whose _lip_ can
always _smile_, and whose _eye_ can always _sparkle_, whom fears for
_himself_ can never _depress_, nor fears for _time_ or for _eternity_,
or anxiety for the welfare or the peace of others, can alarm into
_self-government_!"
You know that when my mother was roused into any mental emotion, she did
not talk, she harangued, she spoke as if she read out of a book; it was,
as you perceive, the case now.
"My dear mother," replied I, "such a being as you describe would be as
odious to me as he could be to you; and his vivacity either of manner or
countenance must be the result of want of feelings, affections, or
intellect. To _such_ perpetual sun-shine, I, like you, should object.
But then the _clouds_ must not be occasioned by the absence of
good-humour, or by the presence of sulkiness and ill-humour, or by
hypochondriacal tendencies."
"You do not suppose, Helen," she cried, with quickness, "that De Walden
is grave only because he is cross, and thoughtful only because he is
hypochondriacal?"
"Were we talking of individuals, mamma?"
"If not, you know we were thinking of them, Helen; and I feel only too
sensible that the pique with which you answer when I praise Ferdinand,
springs from your still powerful attachment to Seymour."
I could not deny it: but my conscience reproached me for having, from a
feeling of jealousy on poor Seymour's account, not only seemed to
insinuate an ill-opinion of Ferdinand, which I did not entertain, but
for having also given unnecessary pain to my mother. Oh, my dear friend!
how often since I lost her have I reproached myself with these little
offences! and what I suffered for the more painful trials which I
inflicted on her, no words can describe, no regret can atone. Sad state
of human blindness, and human infirmity, when one seems conscious of the
duties which one owes to a parent, only after one is utterly deprived of
the means to atone for the neglect of them!
By what I have said of my jealousy of my mother's admiration of
Ferdinand, you will see how much I had forgiven Seymour's imputed
ill-conduct, and how little I adhered to my resolution of forgetting
him. His letter and his new prize had much contributed to this. The
latter was a proof that he had been leading a regular and studious life;
and the former declared that my mother and myself were dearer to him
than _any one else_ in existence, and that our approbation was what he
most coveted.--Alas! when one loves, one easily believes what the
beloved object asserts.
Still, however, spite of my constancy, De Walden, by his varied talents,
his rational pursuits, his instructive conversation, and his active
benevolence, gained on my esteem every day. He was constantly occupied
himself, and his example stimulated us to equal industry.--Weeks,
therefore, fled as if they were days; and I felt raised in my own
estimation, by seeing myself the constant object of interest to such a
man, and also by feeling myself able to appreciate him.
If Seymour had not been able to write elegant prose, and gain prizes, my
constancy would have been in great danger. But as it was, there was
intellectuality on both sides; and I had only to weigh talent against
strength of mind and extensive information, throwing a great many
pleasant make-weights beside into the scale with the first.
My feelings toward Seymour were now called into fresh vigour by a
letter from him, informing my mother that instead of having a monument
made on purpose for his beloved parent, which would not have been ready
for a considerable time, he had purchased one which had been nearly
finished for a gentleman who died before it was completed, and who had
intended it for his wife, and which the sculptor had been desired by the
heir-at-law not to trouble himself to complete.
This monument Pendarves said had met all his ideas of simple and
classical beauty, and it would soon be ready for the inscription. This,
he added, he had also enclosed for the approbation of my mother and "his
cousin Helen," as he called me; considering the former as the
representative of his mother, and _me_ as the only woman after her whom
he wished to consult on any of his plans.
We were excessively affected at the receipt of this letter; and De
Walden, who was present, appeared distressed at the sight of our
emotion. "What do you think of the inscription, my dear!" asked my
mother.
"Ask Mr. De Walden what he thinks of it," I replied.
It was as follows:
HERE LIETH ALL THAT WAS MORTAL
OF
THE LADY HELEN PENDARVES.
READER,
PITY ONLY HER SURVIVORS.
On the reverse side were to be the following words:--
THIS MONUMENT
IS ERECTED TO HER MEMORY
AS A TOKEN OF LOVE AND GRATITUDE,
BY HER ONLY CHILD,
WHOSE PROUDEST BOAST IT WILL ALWAYS BE,
THAT HE WAS
THE SON OF SUCH A WOMAN.
As I expected, he exclaimed in its praise; and as he was a great
_theorizer_, he added much that delighted me, and much that consequently
made my mother uncomfortable.
"It is," cried he, "simple and comprehensive. Oh! I must know him:
simple virtues, simple manners, and simple heart. Pompous writers not
much real feeling--not _true_. I must know Pendarves; a good son makes a
good friend, good every thing. When shall I see him?"
My mother looked grave, and I saw that the observant eye of De Walden
remarked our contrary emotions with surprise, if not with uneasiness.
"Then, I may tell Pendarves that you like the inscription; may I,
Helen?" said my mother.
"Oh yes, that it is every thing I could wish;" and she retired to write.
When she returned, it was evident that she had been weeping violently;
and De Walden, without saying a word, took her hand and pressed it
respectfully to his lips.
This action, though it was at once feeling and affectionate, displeased
me; for it seemed to my oblique manner of viewing such things, an injury
to Pendarves, and in no very pleasant disposition of mind I left the
room. Nor can I doubt but that my absence gave my mother an opportunity
of telling De Walden all the circumstances of our situation with
Seymour; for on my rejoining them I found my mother looking agitated,
though also much pleased, and De Walden dejected, abstracted, and
silent. Need I add that I had long since had the pain of discovering
that he had conceived an attachment for me?
You may easily believe that this letter from Seymour, and my mother's
assurance that he would certainly come to see the monument put up, did
not tend to further the suit which I foresaw in process of time would be
urged to me by De Walden. But the monument was sent down and erected,
and yet Pendarves did not arrive. Consequently we thought he would not
come at all; still, as precaution is wisdom, my mother with much
earnestness conjured me to pledge my solemn word to her, that if he came
I would not converse with him alone, should he be ever so desirous of an
interview, and that I would avoid him when he called at our house. This
was a trial of my filial duty for which I was not prepared, but my
mother was so bent on carrying her point, and she so solemnly expressed
her conviction that his conduct when in London was not amended, that I
gave at last the promise which she requested.
"Now then," said I to myself, "I hope poor Seymour will _not_ come
down."
Lady Helen's monument was placed next that of her husband, on which, by
desire of Lord Seymour, an account of the two families and of the manner
of his death, had been engraved in an ostentatious manner. Consequently
it had not been necessary for Seymour to give any additional details. My
mother likewise had found herself at liberty, when she hung up a
beautiful tablet to the memory of her husband, to confine herself to the
simplicity which she loved, and these last furnished a curious contrast
to the pompous copiousness of the first.
Still it was not to enjoy the superiority of my mother's and Seymour's
taste, that I now so often visited the church, and resumed the custom
which I had adopted in America, of strewing the graves I honoured with
flowers. Oh no! it was because the _mother of Seymour Pendarves_ and the
_dearest friend of my youth_ slept beneath that spotless marble; and I
not only gratified my own feelings, but was sure my tribute would be
gratifying to those of Pendarves.
Of _his_ father I had _no_ recollection, and of _my own_ not sufficient
to make such a tribute, had I paid it to him, more than an act of coldly
remembered duty; but my whole heart was interested when I performed it
in honour of Lady Helen; and the chill and colourless marble looked warm
and glowing, from the profusion of blooming flowers which I loved to
scatter on it.
One morning, after offering, as usual, my tribute on this precious
monument, and while kneeling beside it, a deep sigh startled me, and I
beheld Seymour Pendarves, who had entered at another door, standing in
pleased contemplation of me; but the view which I allowed myself of him
was short indeed; my promise to my mother forcibly recurred to my mind,
and the shriek of surprise and even of alarm which I uttered on
beholding him so unexpectedly, was succeeded by my flying with the speed
of phrensy to the door behind me, before Seymour, thunder-struck,
mortified, and overcome by my seeming terror on observing him, could
recover himself sufficiently to prevent or overtake me.
Alas! by the beating of my heart, and the trembling of my whole frame, I
knew too well that on hiding myself from him depended my only chance of
keeping my promise. I therefore took refuge in a cottage, the owner of
which was well known to me, instead of hastening home along the park,
where he must with ease have overtaken me. Accordingly, I followed a
sharp turning which led through a little lane to the cottage, and making
my way through the first room into the back one, I threw myself on a
bed, trembling and breathless.
"What is the matter, my dear young lady?" cried the cottager.
"Ask no questions, but shut the door," was my answer.
She obeyed me, and I listened for several minutes for the sound of rapid
footsteps, but in vain. I felt mortified at finding that Seymour did not
trouble himself to pursue me; still I dared not go home, lest I should
meet him on my road. I was therefore obliged to tell the cottager that I
had a particular reason for wishing to avoid seeing Mr. Pendarves, and I
would thank her to watch, if she could do it unsuspected, for his
quitting the church, and inform me which way he went.
"Yes, yes," replied the woman, shaking her head, "he shall not see you
if I can help it; for though to be sure I hear he is very good to the
poor, folks say he is but a wild one, and they do say--"
Here, with an agonizing heart, and a gesture of indignant impatience, I
bade her begone and do as I desired. When she had disappeared, I clasped
my hands together convulsively. I sobbed aloud in the anguish of a
wounded spirit; "And can it be," I cried, "that he whose sweet and
pensive countenance so full of mournful tenderness I have just gazed
upon for a moment, and shall never be able to forget again; can he be a
man whose notoriously profligate habits make him the theme of abuse to
a person like this?" No; there is not one pang in the catalogue of human
suffering so acute as that which the heart feels from the consciousness
of the decided depravity of a being tenderly beloved.
The woman on her return told me, "Mr. Pendarves was certainly seeking
me; that he had, on leaving the church, looked round, and then ran
several yards at full speed down the park, after which he stopped and
she thought it probable that he would soon be past the front window, but
she would look out and see." She did so, and having told me in a
whisper, adding that "through a hole in the little muslin curtain I
could see him without being seen," I was weak enough to take advantage
of the opportunity. He walked dejectedly and with folded arms; the glow
on his cheek, which the sight of me had deepened, was now succeeded by a
deadly paleness; and I felt a bitterness which not even my sense of his
errors could assuage, that he was wretched, and that I had made him so.
My spy watched him into his own house, and only then I ventured to
return to mine. I must say that I look back on this morning, spite of
the sufferings which I endured, with much self-satisfaction, as I had
completely acted up to the dictates of filial duty under the strongest
temptation of disobeying them, as my mother was gone with De Walden to
spend the day from home; and had I not conscientiously avoided Seymour,
I might even without any positive infringement of duty, have exposed
myself to the risk of seeing him undisturbed by her presence. Happily,
however, my principles were too firm to allow me to be satisfied with
this subterfuge, and, as I before said, I recall this day with
satisfaction.
Every hour I expected that Seymour would call, but he did not come:
however, I saw his servant ride up to the gate, deliver a note, and wait
for an answer. I gave it verbally to my own maid. It was, that Mrs.
Pendarves was gone out for the whole day. Shall I confess that I _hoped_
Seymour would, on hearing this, make an attempt to see me, though I was
resolved to refuse him attendance; and I was _mortified_ that he did
not? Just before I expected my mother and De Walden would return, I saw
Seymour's servant come to the door again, and deliver another note, as
it seemed; but when it was brought into the room, I found it was a
letter to me! I was at once relieved, agitated, miserable and delighted;
yet my hand trembled so much I thought I should never be able to open
the letter. The following were its contents:--
"When this letter reaches you, Miss Pendarves, I shall be at a
distance from that scene which to me can now never again be a home,
but which is endeared to me by such tender recollections, that not
even by the miserable ones which now must succeed to them can they
be ever effaced.
"Oh, my beloved mother! could you have believed that your son could
be refused admittance within the doors of your dearest friend, and
forbidden even to speak to the playfellow and companion of his
childhood, and the once appointed sharer of his heart and his
fortunes? Could you have thought that the friend who adored you
would have gone from home purposely to avoid him, and to avoid his
just reproaches; because, without any _new_ offence on his part,
she had not only resolved never to allow him to address her
daughter, but had pledged that daughter's hand, as he is informed,
to another? And yet her parting words were, 'Your marriage with
Helen depends wholly on yourself!' These words I never have
forgotten; they regulated my conduct, they gave strength to my
resolutions; I came hither full of hope, and I go hence overwhelmed
with despair. For my claims, claims which I have _never resigned_,
have been disregarded, and Helen will be the wife of a stranger,
the acquaintance of yesterday!
"Nay more, at sight of me, Helen herself, the conscious Helen, fled
as from a pestilence! And at what a moment too, when I had
surprised her in an office the most flattering to your memory, and
the most precious to my heart!
"Cruel Helen! what have you done? and what have _I_ done to be so
treated? Surely it was from your mother herself that I should first
have heard of your intended marriage. But no: I refused to believe
it till your flight and your countenance of terror on seeing me
confirmed the horrible truth.
"But though you might not be able to tell it me yourself, why did
Mrs. Pendarves avoid me? why, when I wrote to tell her I was coming
for a single day, did she not make a point of seeing me either at
her own house or at mine? But I will not detain you much longer
from your attention to the happy stranger.
"Oh, Helen! had you continued to encourage my hopes, I might have
been a happiness to myself and an ornament to society. But
now--yes, now, it will be well if I am not a disgrace to it. But
why do I continue to write? Shall I tell you, Helen? It is because
I feel that I am addressing you for the _last time_; for the wife
of the Count De Walden must not, I know, receive letters from
"SEYMOUR PENDARVES."