_Mother._ What I dazzled by a flash from Cupid's mirror, With which
the boy, as mortal urchins wont, Flings back the sunbeam in the eye of
passengers--Then laughs to see them stumble!
_Daughter._ Mother! no--It was a lightning-flash which dazzled me, And
never shall these eyes see true again. _Beef and Pudding.-An Old English
Comedy._
It is necessary that we should leave our hero Nigel for a time, although
in a situation neither safe, comfortable, nor creditable, in order
to detail some particulars which have immediate connexion with his
fortunes.
It was but the third day after he had been forced to take refuge in the
house of old Trapbois, the noted usurer of Whitefriars, commonly called
Golden Trapbois, when the pretty daughter of old Ramsay, the watchmaker,
after having piously seen her father finish his breakfast, (from
the fear that he might, in an abstruse fit of thought, swallow the
salt-cellar instead of a crust of the brown loaf,) set forth from the
house as soon as he was again plunged into the depth of calculation,
and, accompanied only by that faithful old drudge, Janet, the Scots
laundress, to whom her whims were laws, made her way to Lombard Street,
and disturbed, at the unusual hour of eight in the morning, Aunt Judith,
the sister of her worthy godfather.
The venerable maiden received her young visitor with no great
complacency; for, naturally enough, she had neither the same admiration
of her very pretty countenance, nor allowance for her foolish and
girlish impatience of temper, which Master George Heriot entertained.
Still Mistress Margaret was a favourite of her brother's, whose will was
to Aunt Judith a supreme law; and she contented herself with asking her
untimely visitor, "what she made so early with her pale, chitty face, in
the streets of London?"
"I would speak with the Lady Hermione," answered the almost breathless
girl, while the blood ran so fast to her face as totally to remove the
objection of paleness which Aunt Judith had made to her complexion.
"With the Lady Hermione?" said Aunt Judith--"with the Lady Hermione? and
at this time in the morning, when she will scarce see any of the family,
even at seasonable hours? You are crazy, you silly wench, or you abuse
the indulgence which my brother and the lady have shown to you."
"Indeed, indeed I have not," repeated Margaret, struggling to retain the
unbidden tear which seemed ready to burst out on the slightest occasion.
"Do but say to the lady that your brother's god-daughter desires
earnestly to speak to her, and I know she will not refuse to see me."
Aunt Judith bent an earnest, suspicious, and inquisitive glance on her
young visitor, "You might make me your secretary, my lassie," she said,
"as well as the Lady Hermione. I am older, and better skilled to advise.
I live more in the world than one who shuts herself up within four
rooms, and I have the better means to assist you."
"O! no--no--no," said Margaret, eagerly, and with more earnest sincerity
than complaisance; "there are some things to which you cannot advise me,
Aunt Judith. It is a case--pardon me, my dear aunt--a case beyond your
counsel."
"I am glad on't, maiden," said Aunt Judith, somewhat angrily; "for I
think the follies of the young people of this generation would drive mad
an old brain like mine. Here you come on the viretot, through the whole
streets of London, to talk some nonsense to a lady, who scarce sees
God's sun, but when he shines on a brick wall. But I will tell her you
are here."
She went away, and shortly returned with a dry--"Miss Marget, the lady
will be glad to see you; and that's more, my young madam, than you had a
right to count upon."
Mistress Margaret hung her head in silence, too much perplexed by
the train of her own embarrassed thoughts, for attempting either to
conciliate Aunt Judith's kindness, or, which on other occasions
would have been as congenial to her own humour, to retaliate on her
cross-tempered remarks and manner. She followed Aunt Judith, therefore,
in silence and dejection, to the strong oaken door which divided the
Lady Hermione's apartments from the rest of George Heriot's spacious
house.
At the door of this sanctuary it is necessary to pause, in order to
correct the reports with which Richie Moniplies had filled his master's
ear, respecting the singular appearance of that lady's attendance at
prayers, whom we now own to be by name the Lady Hermione. Some part
of these exaggerations had been communicated to the worthy Scotsman by
Jenkin Vincent, who was well experienced in the species of wit which
has been long a favourite in the city, under the names of cross-biting,
giving the dor, bamboozling, cramming, hoaxing, humbugging, and
quizzing; for which sport Richie Moniplies, with his solemn gravity,
totally unapprehensive of a joke, and his natural propensity to the
marvellous, formed an admirable subject. Farther ornaments the tale had
received from Richie himself, whose tongue, especially when oiled with
good liquor, had a considerable tendency to amplification, and
who failed not, while he retailed to his master all the wonderful
circumstances narrated by Vincent, to add to them many conjectures of
his own, which his imagination had over-hastily converted into facts.
Yet the life which the Lady Hermione had led for two years, during which
she had been the inmate of George Heriot's house, was so singular, as
almost to sanction many of the wild reports which went abroad. The house
which the worthy goldsmith inhabited, had in former times belonged to a
powerful and wealthy baronial family, which, during the reign of Henry
VIII., terminated in a dowager lady, very wealthy, very devout, and most
unalienably attached to the Catholic faith. The chosen friend of the
Honourable Lady Foljambe was the Abbess of Saint Roque's Nunnery, like
herself a conscientious, rigid, and devoted Papist. When the house of
Saint Roque was despotically dissolved by the fiat of the impetuous
monarch, the Lady Foljambe received her friend into her spacious
mansion, together with two vestal sisters, who, like their Abbess, were
determined to follow the tenor of their vows, instead of embracing the
profane liberty which the Monarch's will had thrown in their choice.
For their residence, the Lady Foljambe contrived, with all secrecy--for
Henry might not have relished her interference--to set apart a suite of
four rooms, with a little closet fitted up as an oratory, or chapel; the
whole apartments fenced by a stout oaken door to exclude strangers, and
accommodated with a turning wheel to receive necessaries, according
to the practice of all nunneries. In this retreat, the Abbess of Saint
Roque and her attendants passed many years, communicating only with the
Lady Foljambe, who, in virtue of their prayers, and of the support she
afforded them, accounted herself little less than a saint on earth. The
Abbess, fortunately for herself, died before her munificent patroness,
who lived deep in Queen Elizabeth's time, ere she was summoned by fate.
The Lady Foljambe was succeeded in this mansion by a sour fanatic
knight, a distant and collateral relation, who claimed the same merit
for expelling the priestess of Baal, which his predecessor had founded
on maintaining the votaresses of Heaven. Of the two unhappy nuns, driven
from their ancient refuge, one went beyond sea; the other, unable from
old age to undertake such a journey, died under the roof of a faithful
Catholic widow of low degree. Sir Paul Crambagge, having got rid of
the nuns, spoiled the chapel of its ornaments, and had thoughts of
altogether destroying the apartments, until checked by the reflection
that the operation would be an unnecessary expense, since he only
inhabited three rooms of the large mansion, and had not therefore the
slightest occasion for any addition to its accommodations. His son
proved a waster and a prodigal, and from him the house was bought by our
friend George Heriot, who, finding, like Sir Paul, the house more than
sufficiently ample for his accommodation, left the Foljambe apartments,
or Saint Roque's rooms, as they were called, in the state in which he
found them.
About two years and a half before our history opened, when Heriot was
absent upon an expedition to the Continent, he sent special orders to
his sister and his cash-keeper, directing that the Foljambe apartments
should be fitted up handsomely, though plainly, for the reception of
a lady, who would make them her residence for some time; and who would
live more or less with his own family according to her pleasure. He also
directed, that the necessary repairs should be made with secrecy,
and that as little should be said as possible upon the subject of his
letter.
When the time of his return came nigh, Aunt Judith and the household
were on the tenter-hooks of impatience. Master George came, as he had
intimated, accompanied by a lady, so eminently beautiful, that, had
it not been for her extreme and uniform paleness, she might have been
reckoned one of the loveliest creatures on earth. She had with her an
attendant, or humble companion, whose business seemed only to wait upon
her. This person, a reserved woman, and by her dialect a foreigner, aged
about fifty, was called by the lady Monna Paula, and by Master Heriot,
and others, Mademoiselle Pauline. She slept in the same room with
her patroness at night, ate in her apartment, and was scarcely ever
separated from her during the day.
These females took possession of the nunnery of the devout Abbess, and,
without observing the same rigorous seclusion, according to the letter,
seemed wellnigh to restore the apartments to the use to which they had
been originally designed. The new inmates lived and took their meals
apart from the rest of the family. With the domestics Lady Hermione, for
so she was termed, held no communication, and Mademoiselle Pauline only
such as was indispensable, which she dispatched as briefly as possible.
Frequent and liberal largesses reconciled the servants to this conduct;
and they were in the habit of observing to each other, that to do a
service for Mademoiselle Pauline, was like finding a fairy treasure.
To Aunt Judith the Lady Hermione was kind and civil, but their
intercourse was rare; on which account the elder lady felt some pangs
both of curiosity and injured dignity. But she knew her brother so well,
and loved him so dearly, that his will, once expressed, might be truly
said to become her own. The worthy citizen was not without a spice of
the dogmatism which grows on the best disposition, when a word is a
law to all around. Master George did not endure to be questioned by his
family, and, when he had generally expressed his will, that the Lady
Hermione should live in the way most agreeable to her, and that no
inquiries should be made concerning their history, or her motives for
observing such strict seclusion, his sister well knew that he would have
been seriously displeased with any attempt to pry into the secret.
But, though Heriot's servants were bribed, and his sister awed into
silent acquiescence in these arrangements, they were not of a nature to
escape the critical observation of the neighbourhood. Some opined that
the wealthy goldsmith was about to turn papist, and re-establish Lady
Foljambe's nunnery--others that he was going mad--others that he
was either going to marry, or to do worse. Master George's constant
appearance at church, and the knowledge that the supposed votaress
always attended when the prayers of the English ritual were read in the
family, liberated him from the first of these suspicions; those who
had to transact business with him upon 'Change, could not doubt the
soundness of Master Heriot's mind; and, to confute the other rumours,
it was credibly reported by such as made the matter their particular
interest, that Master George Heriot never visited his guest but in
presence of Mademoiselle Pauline, who sat with her work in a remote part
of the same room in which they conversed. It was also ascertained that
these visits scarcely ever exceeded an hour in length, and were usually
only repeated once a week, an intercourse too brief and too long
interrupted, to render it probable that love was the bond of their
union.
The inquirers were, therefore, at fault, and compelled to relinquish
the pursuit of Master Heriot's secret, while a thousand ridiculous
tales were circulated amongst the ignorant and superstitious, with some
specimens of which our friend Richie Moniplies had been _crammed_, as we
have seen, by the malicious apprentice of worthy David Ramsay.
There was one person in the world who, it was thought, could (if she
would) have said more of the Lady Hermione than any one in London,
except George Heriot himself; and that was the said David Ramsay's only
child, Margaret.
This girl was not much past the age of fifteen when the Lady Hermione
first came to England, and was a very frequent visitor at her
godfather's, who was much amused by her childish sallies, and by the
wild and natural beauty with which she sung the airs of her native
country. Spoilt she was on all hands; by the indulgence of her
godfather, the absent habits and indifference of her father, and the
deference of all around to her caprices, as a beauty and as an heiress.
But though, from these circumstances, the city-beauty had become as
wilful, as capricious, and as affected, as unlimited indulgence seldom
fails to render those to whom it is extended; and although she exhibited
upon many occasions that affectation of extreme shyness, silence, and
reserve, which misses in their teens are apt to take for an amiable
modesty; and, upon others, a considerable portion of that flippancy,
which youth sometimes confounds with wit, Mistress Margaret had much
real shrewdness and judgment, which wanted only opportunities of
observation to refine it--a lively, good-humoured, playful disposition,
and an excellent heart. Her acquired follies were much increased by
reading plays and romances, to which she devoted a great deal of her
time, and from which she adopted ideas as different as possible from
those which she might have obtained from the invaluable and affectionate
instructions of an excellent mother; and the freaks of which she was
sometimes guilty, rendered her not unjustly liable to the charge of
affectation and coquetry. But the little lass had sense and shrewdness
enough to keep her failings out of sight of her godfather, to whom she
was sincerely attached; and so high she stood in his favour, that, at
his recommendation, she obtained permission to visit the recluse Lady
Hermione.
The singular mode of life which that lady observed; her great beauty,
rendered even more interesting by her extreme paleness; the conscious
pride of being admitted farther than the rest of the world into the
society of a person who was wrapped in so much mystery, made a
deep impression on the mind of Margaret Ramsay; and though their
conversations were at no time either long or confidential, yet, proud of
the trust reposed in her, Margaret was as secret respecting their tenor
as if every word repeated had been to cost her life. No inquiry, however
artfully backed by flattery and insinuation, whether on the part of Dame
Ursula, or any other person equally inquisitive, could wring from the
little maiden one word of what she heard or saw, after she entered these
mysterious and secluded apartments. The slightest question concerning
Master Heriot's ghost, was sufficient, at her gayest moment, to check
the current of her communicative prattle, and render her silent.
We mention this, chiefly to illustrate the early strength of Margaret's
character--a strength concealed under a hundred freakish whims and
humours, as an ancient and massive buttress is disguised by its
fantastic covering of ivy and wildflowers. In truth, if the damsel had
told all she heard or saw within the Foljambe apartments, she would have
said but little to gratify the curiosity of inquirers.
At the earlier period of their acquaintance, the Lady Hermione was wont
to reward the attentions of her little friend with small but elegant
presents, and entertain her by a display of foreign rarities and
curiosities, many of them of considerable value. Sometimes the time
was passed in a way much less agreeable to Margaret, by her receiving
lessons from Pauline in the use of the needle. But, although her
preceptress practised these arts with a dexterity then only known in
foreign convents, the pupil proved so incorrigibly idle and awkward,
that the task of needlework was at length given up, and lessons of music
substituted in their stead. Here also Pauline was excellently qualified
as an instructress, and Margaret, more successful in a science for which
Nature had gifted her, made proficiency both in vocal and instrumental
music. These lessons passed in presence of the Lady Hermione, to whom
they seemed to give pleasure. She sometimes added her own voice to the
performance, in a pure, clear stream of liquid melody; but this was only
when the music was of a devotional cast. As Margaret became older, her
communications with the recluse assumed a different character. She was
allowed, if not encouraged, to tell whatever she had remarked out of
doors, and the Lady Hermione, while she remarked the quick, sharp, and
retentive powers of observation possessed by her young friend, often
found sufficient reason to caution her against rashness in forming
opinions, and giddy petulance in expressing them.
The habitual awe with which she regarded this singular personage,
induced Mistress Margaret, though by no means delighting in
contradiction or reproof, to listen with patience to her admonitions,
and to make full allowance for the good intentions of the patroness by
whom they were bestowed; although in her heart she could hardly conceive
how Madame Hermione, who never stirred from the Foljambe apartments,
should think of teaching knowledge of the world to one who walked twice
a-week between Temple Bar and Lombard Street, besides parading in
the Park every Sunday that proved to be fair weather. Indeed, pretty
Mistress Margaret was so little inclined to endure such remonstrances,
that her intercourse with the inhabitants of the Foljambe apartments
would have probably slackened as her circle of acquaintance increased
in the external world, had she not, on the one hand, entertained an
habitual reverence for her monitress, of which she could not divest
herself, and been flattered, on the other, by being to a certain degree
the depository of a confidence for which others thirsted in vain.
Besides, although the conversation of Hermione was uniformly serious, it
was not in general either formal or severe; nor was the lady offended by
flights of levity which Mistress Margaret sometimes ventured on in her
presence, even when they were such as made Monna Paula cast her eyes
upwards, and sigh with that compassion which a devotee extends towards
the votaries of a trivial and profane world. Thus, upon the whole, the
little maiden was disposed to submit, though not without some wincing,
to the grave admonitions of the Lady Hermione; and the rather that the
mystery annexed to the person of her monitress was in her mind early
associated with a vague idea of wealth and importance, which had been
rather confirmed than lessened by many accidental circumstances which
she had noticed since she was more capable of observation.
It frequently happens, that the counsel which we reckon intrusive when
offered to us unasked, becomes precious in our eyes when the pressure of
difficulties renders us more diffident of our own judgment than we are
apt to find ourselves in the hours of ease and indifference; and this is
more especially the case if we suppose that our adviser may also possess
power and inclination to back his counsel with effectual assistance.
Mistress Margaret was now in that situation. She was, or believed
herself to be, in a condition where both advice and assistance might be
necessary; and it was therefore, after an anxious and sleepless night,
that she resolved to have recourse to the Lady Hermione, who she knew
would readily afford her the one, and, as she hoped, might also possess
means of giving her the other. The conversation between them will best
explain the purport of the visit.