"Oh Jealousy! thou bane of pleasing friendship,
Thou worst invader of our tender bosoms;
How does thy rancor poison all our softness,
And turn our gentle natures into bitterness."
A few hours of repose restored Luciè's exhausted strength; though the
appalling danger from which she had been so providentially rescued, left
a far more enduring impression on her mind. The evening of that day was
serene and cloudless, and the breeze which floated from the river had
nothing of the chilliness so usual at that season. Luciè sat at an open
window, her eyes fixed on the curling waves, which glanced brightly
beneath the moon, whose silver beams were blended with the lingering
rays of twilight. An expression of deep and quiet thought marked her
countenance, though the mental suffering she had so recently endured
might still be traced in her pale cheek, which was half shaded by the
ringlets of jetty hair, that fell profusely around it. Her forehead was
reclined on one hand, the other rested on the head of Hero, who sat
erect beside her, as if conscious that his late intrepid conduct
entitled him to peculiar privileges.
Madame de la Tour was seated at a little distance, removed from the
current of evening air which her delicate health would not permit her to
inhale, and evidently suffering that extreme lassitude, which usually
follows any strong excitement. Both remained silent: each apparently
engrossed by thoughts which she cared not to communicate to the other.
The silence was at length abruptly broken, by an exclamation from Luciè,
of "Father Gilbert!" uttered in an accent so quick and startling, that
Mad. de la Tour sprang involuntarily from her musing posture, and even
the dog leaped on his feet, and looked inquiringly in her face.
"Poor Hero! I did not mean to disturb you," said Luciè, patting her dumb
favorite, and rather embarrassed, that she had unwarily produced so much
excitement.
"Father Gilbert!" repeated Mad. de la Tour; "and is he coming hither
again?"
"No, I saw him but an instant," said Luciè; "and he has now disappeared
behind the wall."
She hesitated, and still kept her eyes fixed on her aunt's face, as if
wishing to ask some question, which she yet feared might not be well
received.
"What would you say, Luciè?" asked Mad. de la Tour, with a faint smile;
"I perceive there is something on your mind, which you would fain
unburthen; and why should you hesitate to speak it to me?"
"Perhaps it is an idle curiosity, dear aunt," she replied; "but you
asked if father Gilbert was coming hither _again_, as though he had
already been here; and, I confess, I am anxious to learn if I understood
you correctly?"
"You did, Luciè; and you will be more surprised when I assure you, that
I held a long conference with him this morning: one too, in which _you_
are particularly concerned."
"_I_ concerned! _you_ hold a conference with father Gilbert!" said
Luciè, in unfeigned astonishment; "dearest aunt, I entreat you to
explain yourself."
"The explanation must necessarily be long, Luciè," she replied; "and as
I know your feelings will be deeply excited, I fear the agitating events
of this day have scarcely left you strength and spirits, to bear the
recital. To-morrow"--
"Oh, now, dear aunt!" interrupted Luciè; "I am well, indeed, and can
bear any thing better than suspense. I too, have seen the priest to-day,
and his look,--his manner was so changed, yet still so unaccountable,
that he has not been since one instant from my mind."
"Where did you see him, Luciè?" asked Mad. de la Tour; "and why should
you conceal the interview from me?"
Luciè, who, till this incidental recurrence to father Gilbert, had
avoided mentioning even his name, since she found the subject so
embarrassing to her aunt, gladly relieved her mind, by relating the
particulars of her rencontre with him in the morning, and described the
deep interest with which he seemed to be watching her recovery. Madame
de la Tour listened attentively to her recital, but apparently without
surprise; and after a short pause, which was evidently employed in
painful reflection, she said,
"It is time that all this mystery should be explained to you, Luciè;
for, what I have so long attributed to the influence of your
imagination, is now more rationally accounted for, though until a few
hours since, I was, myself, ignorant of many facts, which I am about to
relate to you. But I must first beg you to close the window; the air
grows cool, and I should also be loath to have our discourse reach the
ears of any loiterer."
Luciè obeyed in silence; and drawing her chair closer to her aunt, she
prepared to listen, with almost breathless attention.
"I must revert to the period of your mother's marriage, Luciè," said
Madame de la Tour, "and, as briefly as possible, detail those unhappy
circumstances which so soon deprived you of her protecting love. You
will no longer be surprised that I have repressed your natural curiosity
on this subject; for it must excite many painful feelings, which I would
still spare you, had not a recent discovery rendered the disclosure
unavoidable."
"The subject agitates you, my dear aunt," said Luciè, observing her
changing complexion with anxiety; "you are indeed too ill, this evening,
to make so great an exertion, and I had far rather wait till another
day, when you will probably be better able to bear it."
"No, I am well now," she replied; "and will not keep you any longer in
suspense." She then resumed,
"Your mother, Luciè, had the innocence and purity of an angel; she was
gay, beautiful, and accomplished,--the idol of her friends, the
admiration of all who saw her. That picture, which you so often gaze on
with delight, is but a faint resemblance of what she was. The lineaments
are indeed true to nature, but no artist could catch the ever varying
expression, or imbody that unrivalled grace, which threw a charm around
her, more captivating even than her faultless beauty. She was just four
years older than myself, but this difference of age did not prevent the
closest union of sentiment and feeling between us; and, as she was
almost my only companion, I early renounced my childish amusements for
the more mature employments, which engaged her attention. We lived much
in retirement; my father was attached to literary pursuits, and devoted
himself to our education; a task which he shared with my eldest sister,
who was many years our senior, and affectionately supplied the place of
our mother, who died a few months after my birth.
"Your mother, Luciè, was scarcely sixteen when she first saw Mons. de
Courcy. Chance introduced him to our acquaintance, as he was travelling
through the province where we then resided; her loveliness attracted his
admiration, and he soon avowed a deeper and more impassioned sentiment.
Till then she had never dreamed of love; it was reserved for him to
awaken its first emotions in a heart susceptible of the most generous
and devoted constancy, the most fervent and confiding tenderness,
exalted by a delicacy and refinement, which could only emanate from a
mind as virtuous and noble as her own.
"De Courcy had already passed the season of early youth, and his
disposition and feelings were, in many respects, extremely opposite to
your mother's. His figure was commanding, his features regular and
expressive; though, on the whole, he was remarked rather for the
uncommon grace and elegance of his deportment, than for any of the
peculiar attributes of manly beauty. His manners were cold, and even
haughty, in his general intercourse with society; but, with those whom
he loved and wished to please, he was gentle and insinuating; and when
he chose to open the resources of his highly gifted mind, his
conversational talents were more versatile and fascinating, than those
of any individual whom I have ever known. There was a cast of deep
thought, almost of melancholy, in his countenance, which was ascribed, I
know not if correctly, to an early disappointment; but it was seldom
banished, even from his smiles, and often increased when all around him
seemed most gay and happy. His feelings, indeed, were never expended in
light and trifling emotions; they were strong, silent, and indelible;
and those who viewed the calmness of his exterior, little dreamed of the
impetuous passions which slumbered beneath, and which he was accustomed
to restrain by the most rigid and habitual self-command. Some of these
traits excited my father's solicitude for the future happiness of his
daughter; but they were overbalanced by so many noble qualities and
shining virtues, that no other eye detected their blemishes. Your mother
believed him faultless; she had given him her affections, with all the
enthusiasm of her guileless heart; and he regarded her with a devotion,
that almost bordered on idolatry."
Madame de la Tour paused, and Luciè, raising her head from the attitude
of profound attention with which she listened, asked, in an accent which
seemed to deprecate an affirmative answer,
"You are not weary, I hope, dearest aunt?"
"Not weary, Luciè," she replied; "but you must sometimes allow me a
moment's respite, to collect and arrange my thoughts. More than twenty
years have passed since these events, yet, child as I then was, they
made too deep an impression on my mind to be effaced by time; and I
cannot, even now, reflect on them without emotion.
"I have dwelt thus minutely on your father's character," she continued,
"that you may be prepared for"--
"For what?" interrupted Luciè; "surely all these happy prospects were
not soon darkened by clouds!"
"We will not anticipate," said Mad. de la Tour, in a voice slightly
tremulous. She again resumed,
"De Courcy was the younger son of an ancient and honorable family. My
sister's rank and fortune equalled his expectations, her beauty
gratified the pride of his connexions, and the endearing qualities of
her mind and heart won their entire approbation and regard. Their
marriage was solemnized; and never was there a day of greater happiness,
or one which opened more brilliant prospects for futurity. De Courcy
conveyed his bride immediately to a favorite estate, which he possessed
in Provence, whither I was permitted to accompany them; and six months
glided away, in the full enjoyment of that felicity which their romantic
hopes had anticipated. Winter approached, and your father was importuned
to visit the metropolis, and introduce his young and beautiful wife to
the gay and elevated station which she was expected to fill.
"Your mother, accustomed to retirement, and completely happy in the
participation of its rational pleasures, with one whose taste and
feelings harmonized entirely with her own, yielded, with secret
reluctance, to her husband's wishes, and exchanged that peaceful
retreat, for the brilliant, but heartless scenes of fashionable life.
The world was new to her, and no wonder if her unpractised eye was
dazzled by the splendor of its pageantry. She entered a magic circle,
and was borne round the ceaseless course with a rapidity which threw a
deceitful lustre on every object, and concealed the falseness of its
colors. She became the idol of a courtly throng; poets sung her praises,
and admirers sighed around her. Her heart remained uncorrupted by
flattery; but, young and inexperienced, buoyant with health and spirits,
no wonder that she yielded to the fascinations which surrounded her, or
that her thoughts reverted less frequently, and less fondly, to those
calm pleasures which had once constituted her only happiness. Her
affection for her husband was undiminished; but the world now claimed
that time and attention, which, in retirement, had been devoted to him;
and, engrossed by amusements, every intellectual pursuit was abandoned;
and domestic privacy, with its attendant sympathies and united
interests, was, at length, entirely banished.
"De Courcy, chagrined by a change, which his experience in life should
have enabled him to foresee, became melancholy and abstracted; he often
secluded himself from society, entrusting his wife to some other
protection, or, when induced to enter scenes which had become irksome to
him, he watched, with jealousy, even the most trifling attentions that
were offered her. He, who possessed such a heart, should never have
doubted its truth, or wounded her affection by distrusting its fervor
and sincerity. He had led her into the fatal vortex, and one word from
him could have dissolved the spell; the slightest expression of his
wishes, would, at any moment, have drawn her from pleasures of which she
already wearied; and, amid the sweet tranquillity of nature, they might
have regained that happiness, which had withered in the ungenial
atmosphere of artificial life. But he was too proud to acknowledge the
weakness he indulged; and when she besought him, even with tears, to
explain the cause of his altered conduct, he answered her evasively, or
repulsed her with a coldness, which she felt more keenly than the
bitterest reproaches. Confidence, the strongest link of affection, was
broken, and the golden chain trembled with the shock.
"Nothing is more galling to an ingenuous mind, than a consciousness,
that the actions and feelings are misconstrued by those to whom the
heart has been opened with that perfect trust and unreserve, which ought
to place them beyond the shadow of suspicion. Your mother deeply felt
the injustice of those doubts; and perhaps, a little natural resentment
mingled with and augmented the pain, which rankled in her inmost soul.
But, satisfied of her innate rectitude, and of that true and constant
love, which even unkindness could not weaken, she left her innocence to
vindicate itself, and made no farther attempt to penetrate the reserve
which her husband had assumed, and which opposed a fatal barrier to
returning harmony. Experience in the world, or a thorough knowledge of
your father's peculiar disposition, might have suggested a different,
and, perhaps, a more successful course. But she judged and acted from
the impulse of a sensitive and ardent mind, which had freely bestowed
the whole treasure of its warm and generous affections, and could ill
brook a return of such unmerited coldness and distrust. Her conduct
towards him was marked by the most unvarying sweetness, and a studious
deference to his wishes; they, however, seldom met, but in a crowd; for
she sought society with an eagerness, which seemed the result of choice,
while it was, in reality, a vain attempt to relieve the restlessness and
melancholy that oppressed her. In public, her spirits were supported by
an artificial excitement, and her gaiety seemed unimpaired; but, when
alone with me, the constant companion of her solitary hours, and the
sole confidant of her thoughts, she yielded to the most alarming
depression. Her health evidently suffered from this disordered state of
mind; but she uttered no complaint, and from her husband, particularly,
concealed every symptom of illness, and appeared with her accustomed
cheerfulness. Strange as it may seem, her gaiety chagrined him; he
fancied her trifling with, or indifferent to, his happiness, and
satisfied with the pleasures which courted her, without a wish for his
participation. He little knew,--for his better feelings were warped by a
morbid imagination,--how gladly she would have exchanged every other
blessing for one assurance of returning confidence and affection.
"Your mother's spirits faintly revived, on the approach of spring. She
was weary of dissipation: the glittering bubble, which at first charmed
her eye, had burst, and betrayed its emptiness. She had a mind which
panted for the noblest attainments, a heart formed for the enjoyment of
every pure and rational pursuit. Her thoughts continually reverted to
the first happy months of her union with De Courcy; and she impatiently
anticipated the moment, when they should return to those quiet scenes;
fondly believing that she might there recover her husband's love, and
that a new and most endearing tie would bind him more strongly to her.
These soothing hopes beguiled many an heavy hour; and, but for one fatal
error, one deadly passion, they might have been fully realized!"
Madame de la Tour abruptly stopped, overcome by the painful
recollections which crowded on her mind; Luciè looked at her with
tearful eyes, but offered no remark; and both remained silent for
several minutes.