You will proceed in pleasure and in pride.
Beloved, and loving: all is o'er
For me on earth, except some years to hide
My shame and sorrow deep in my heart's core.
"DON JUAN."
I paid little attention to the performance, for the moment I came to the
house, my eyes were riveted on an object from which I found it
impossible to remove them. "It is," said I, "and yet it cannot be; and
yet why should it not?" A young lady sat in one of the boxes; she was
elegantly attired, and seemed to occupy the united attentions of many
Frenchmen, who eagerly caught her smiles.
"Either that is Eugenia," thought I, "or I have fallen asleep in the
ruins of St. Jago, and am dreaming of her. That is Eugenia, or I am not
Frank. It is she, or it is her ghost!" Still I had not that moral
certainty of the identity, as to enable me to go at once to her and
address her. Indeed, had I been certain, all things considered, the
situation we were in would have rendered such a step highly improper.
"If that be Eugenia," thought I again, "she has improved both in manner
and person. She has a becoming _embonpoint_, and an air _de bonne
societe_, which when we parted she had not."
The more intensely I gazed, the more convinced was I that I was right;
the immovable devotion of my eyes attracted the attention of a French
officer, who sat near me.
"_C'est une jolie femme, n'est-ce pas; monsieur_?"
"_Vraiment_," said I. "Do you know her name?"
"_Elle s'appelle Madame de Rosenberg_."
"Then I am wrong after all," said I to myself. "Has she a husband,
sir?"
"_Pardonnez-moi, elle est veuve, mais elle a un petit garcon de cinq
ans, beau comme un ange_."
"That is she," said I, again reviving. "Is she a French woman?"
"_Du tout, monsieur, elle est une de vos compatriotes; et en est un fort
joli exemplaire_."
She had only been three months at Bordeaux, and had refused many very
good offers in marriage. Such was the information I obtained from my
obliging neighbour; and I was now convinced that Madame de Rosenberg
could be no other than Eugenia. Every endeavour to catch her eye proved
abortive. My only hope was to follow the carriage.
When the play was over, I waited with an impatience like that of a
spirited hunter who hears the hounds. At last, the infernal squalling
of the vocalists ceased, but not before I had devoutly wished that all
the wax candles in the house were down their throats and burning there.
I saw one of the gentlemen in the box placing the shawl over her
shoulders with the most careful attention, while the bystanders seemed
ready to tear him in pieces from envy. I hurried to the door, and saw
her handed into her carriage, which drove off at a great pace. I ran
after it, jumped up behind, and took my station by the side of the
footman.
"_Descendez donc, monsieur_!" said the man.
"I'll be damned if I do," said I.
"_Comment donc_?" said the man.
"_Tais-toi, bete_," said I, "_ou je te brulerai la cervelle_."
"_Vous foutez_," said the man, who behaved very well, and instantly
began to remove me _vi et armis_; but I planted a stomacher in his fifth
button, which I knew would put him _hors de combat_ for a few minutes,
and by that time, at the rate the carriage was driving, my purpose would
have been answered. The fellow lost his breath--could not hold on or
speak--so tumbled off and lay in the middle of the road.
As he fell upon dry ground and was not an English sailor, I did not jump
after him, but left him to his own ease, and we saw no more of him, for
we were going ten knots, while he lay becalmed without a breath of wind.
This was one of the most successful acts of usurpation recorded in
modern history. It has its parallels, I know; but I cannot now stop to
comment on them, or on my own folly and precipitation. I was as firmly
fixed behind the carriage, as Buonaparte was on the throne of France
after the battle of Eylau.
We stopped at a large _porte cochere_, being the entrance to a very
grand house, with lamps at the door, within a spacious courtyard; we
drove in and drew up. I was down in a moment, opened the carriage door,
and let down the steps. The lady descended, laid her hand on my arm
without perceiving that she had changed her footman, and tripped lightly
up the stairs. I followed her into a handsome saloon, where another
servant in livery had placed lights on the table. She turned round, saw
me, and fainted in my arms.
It was, indeed, Eugenia herself; and with all due respect to my dear
Emily, I borrowed a thousand kisses while she lay in a state of torpor,
on a fauteuil to which I carried her. It was some few minutes before
she opened her eyes; the man-servant who had brought the lights, very
properly never quitted the room, but was perfectly respectful in his
manner, rightly conceiving that I had some authority for my proceedings.
"My dearest Frank," said Eugenia, "what an unexpected meeting. What, in
the name of fortune, could have brought you here?"
"That," said I, "is a story too long, Eugenia, for a moment so
interesting as this. I also might ask you the same question; but it is
now one o'clock in the morning, and, therefore, too late to begin with
inquiry. This one question, however, I must ask--are you a mother?"
"I am," said Eugenia, "of the most lovely boy that ever blessed the eyes
of a parent; he is now in perfect health, and fast asleep--come
to-morrow, at ten o'clock, and you shall see him."
"To-morrow," said I, with surprise; "to-morrow, Eugenia? why am I to
quit your house?"
"That also you shall know to-morrow," said she; "but now you must do as
you are desired. To-morrow, I will be at home to no one but you."
Knowing Eugenia as I did, it was sufficient that she had decided. There
was no appeal; so, kissing her again, I wished her a good night, quitted
her, and retired to my hotel. What a night of tumult did I pass! I was
tossed from Emily to Eugenia, like a shuttlecock between two
battledores. The latter never looked so lovely; and to the natural
loveliness of her person was added a grace and a polish which gave a
lustre to her charms, which almost served Emily as I had served the
footman I never once closed my eyes during the night--dressed early the
next morning, walked about, looked at Chateau Trompette and the Roman
ruins--thought the hour of ten would never strike, and when it did, I
struck the same moment at her door.
The man who opened it to me was the same whom I had treated so ill the
night before; the moment he saw me, he put himself into an attitude at
once of attack, defence, remonstrance, and revenge, all connected with
the affair of the preceding evening.
"_Ah, ah, vous voila donc! ce n'etait pas bien fait, monsieur_."
"_Oui_," said I, "_tres nettement fait, et voila encore_," slipping a
Napoleon into his hand.
"_Ca s'arrange tres joliment, monsieur_," said the man, grinning from
ear to ear, and bowing to the ground. "_C'est madame que vous voulez
donc_?"
"_Oui_," said I.
He led, I followed; he opened the door of a breakfast parlour--"_Tenez,
madame, voici le monsieur qui m'a renverse hier au soir_."
Eugenia was seated on a sofa, with her boy by her side, the loveliest
little fellow I had ever beheld. His face was one often described, but
rarely seen; it was shaded with dark curling ringlets, his mouth, eyes,
and complexion had much of his mother, and vanity whispered me, much
more of myself. I took a seat on the sofa, and with the boy on my knee,
and Eugenia by my side, held her hand, while she narrated the events of
her life since the time of our separation.
"A few days," said she, "after your departure for the Flushing
expedition, I read in the public prints, that `if the nearest relations
of my mother would call at, in London, they would hear of something to
their advantage.' I wrote to the agent, from whom I learned, after
proving my identity, that the two sisters of my mother, who, you may
remember, had like sums left them by the will of their relative, had
continued to live in a state of single blessedness; that, about four
years previously, one of them had died, leaving everything to the other,
and that the other had died only two months before, bequeathing all her
property to my mother or her next heir; or, in default of that, to some
distant relation. I therefore immediately came into a fortune of ten
thousand pounds, with interest; and I was further informed that a great
uncle of mine was still living, without heirs, and was most anxious that
my mother or her heirs should be discovered. An invitation was
therefore sent to me to go down to him, and to make his house my future
residence.
"At that time the effects of my indiscretion were but too apparent, and
rendered, as I thought, deception justifiable. I put on widow's weeds,
and gave out that my husband was a young officer, who had fallen a
victim to the fatal Walcheren fever; that our marriage had been
clandestine, and unknown to any of his friends: such was my story and
appearance before the agent, who believed me. The same fabrication was
put upon my grand-uncle, with equal success. I was received into his
house with parental affection; and in that house I gave birth to the
dear child you now hold in your arms--to your child, my Frank--to the
only child I shall ever have. Yes, dear Eugenia," continued she,
pressing her rosy lips on the broad white neck of the child, "you shall
be my only care, my solace, my comfort, and my joy. Heaven, in its
mercy, sent the cherub to console its wretched mother in the double
pangs of guilt and separation from all she loved; and Heaven shall be
repaid, by my return to its slighted, its insulted laws. I feel that my
sin is forgiven; for I have besought forgiveness night and day, with
bitter tears, and Heaven has heard my prayer. `Go and sin no more,' was
said to me: and upon these terms I have received forgiveness.
"You will no doubt ask why did I not let you know all this, and why I so
carefully secreted myself from you. My reasons were founded on the
known impetuosity of your character. You, my beloved, who could brave
death, and all the military consequences of desertion from a ship lying
at Spithead, were not likely to listen to the suggestions of prudence
when Eugenia was to be found; and, having once given out that I was a
widow, I resolved to preserve the consistency of my character for my own
sake--for your sake, and for the sake of this blessed child, the only
drop that has sweetened my cup of affliction. Had you by any means
discovered my place of abode, the peace of my uncle's house, and the
prospects of my child, had been for ever blasted.
"Now then, say, Frank, have I, or have I not, acted the part of a Roman
mother? My grand-uncle having declared his intention of making me heir
to his property, for his sake, and yours, and for my child, I have
preserved the strict line of duty, from which God, in his infinite
mercy, grant that I may never depart!
"I first resolved upon not seeing you until I could be more my own
mistress; and when, at the death of my respected relative, I was not
only released from any restraint on account of his feelings, but also
became still more independent in my circumstances, you might be
surprised that I did not immediately impart to you the change of fortune
which would have enabled us to have enjoyed the comfort of unrestricted
communication. But time, reflection, the conversation and society of my
uncle and his select friends, the care of my infant, and the reading of
many excellent books had wrought a great change in my sentiments.
Having once tasted the pleasures of society among virtuous women, I
vowed to Heaven that no future act of mine should ever drive me from it.
The past could not be recalled; but the future was my own.
"I took the sacrament after a long and serious course of reading; and,
having made my vows at the altar, with the help of God, they are
unchangeable. Dramatic works, the pernicious study and poison of my
youthful ardent mind, I have long since discarded; and I had resolved
never to see you again, until after your marriage with Miss Somerville
had been solemnised. Start not! By the simplest and easiest means I
have known all your movements--your dangers, your escapes, your
undaunted acts of bravery and self-devotion for the sake of others.
"`Shall I then,' said I to myself, `blast the prospects of the man I
love--the father of my boy? Shall I, to gratify the poor, pitiful
ambition of becoming the wife of him to whom I once was the mistress,
sacrifice thus the hopes and fortune of himself and family, the reward
of a virtuous maiden?' In all this I hope you will perceive a proper
share of self-denial. Many, many floods of bitter tears of repentance
and regret have I shed over my past conduct; and I trust, that what I
have suffered and what I shall suffer, will be received as my atonement
at the Throne of Grace. True, I once looked forward to the happy period
of our union, when I might have offered myself to you, not as a
portionless bride; but I was checked by one maddening, burning,
inextinguishable thought. I could not be received into that society to
which you were entitled. I felt that I loved you, Frank,--loved you too
well to betray you. The woman that had so little respect for herself
was unfit to be the wife of Francis Mildmay.
"Besides, how could I do my sweet boy the injustice to allow him to have
brothers and sisters possessing legitimate advantages over him? I felt
that our union never could be one of happiness, even if you consented to
take me as your wife, of which I had my doubts; and when I discovered,
through my emissaries, that you were on the point of marriage with Miss
Somerville, I felt that it was all for the best; that I had no right to
complain; the more so as it was I who (I blush to say it) had seduced
you.
"But Frank, if I cannot be your wife--and, alas! I know too well that
that is impossible--will you allow me to be your friend, your dear
friend, as the mother of your child, or, if you please, as your sister?
But there the sacred line is drawn; it is a compact between my God and
myself. You know my firmness and decision; once maturely deliberated,
my resolution formed, it is not, I think, in man to turn me. Do not,
therefore, make the attempt; it will only end in your certain defeat and
shame, and in my withdrawing from your sight for ever. You will not, I
am sure, pay me so bad a compliment as to wish me to renew the follies
of my youth. If you love me, respect me, promise by the love you bear
to Miss Somerville, and your affection for this poor boy, that you will
do as I wish you. Your honour and peace of mind, as well as mine,
demand it."
This severe rebuke from a quarter whence I least expected it, threw me
back with shame and confusion. As if a mirror had been held up to me, I
saw my own deformity. I saw that Eugenia was not only the guardian of
her own honour, but of mine, and of the happiness of Miss Somerville,
against whom I now stood convicted of foul deceit and shameful wrong. I
acknowledged my fault; I assured Eugenia that I was bound to her by
every tie of honour, esteem, and love; and that her boy and mine should
be our mutual care.
"Thank you, dearest," said she; "you have taken a heavy load from my
mind: henceforth remember we are brother and sister. I shall now be
able to enjoy the pleasure of your society; and now as that point is
settled, let me know what has occurred to you since we parted--the
particulars, I mean, for the outline I have heard before."
I related to her everything which had happened to me, from the hour of
our separation to the moment I saw her so unexpectedly in the theatre.
She was alternately affected with terror, surprise, and laughter. She
took a hearty crying spell over the motionless bodies of Clara and
Emily, as they lay on the floor; but recovered from that, and went into
hysterics of laughter, when I described the footman's mistake, and the
slap on the face bestowed on him by the housemaid.
My mind was not naturally corrupt; it was only so at times, and from
peculiar circumstances; but I was always generous, and easily recalled
to a sense of my duty when reminded of my fault. Not for an empire
would I have persuaded Eugenia to break her vow. I loved and respected
the mother of my child; the more when I reflected that she had been the
means of preserving my fidelity to Emily. I rejoiced to think that my
friendship for the one, and love for the other, were not incompatible.
I wrote immediately to Emily, announcing my speedy return to England.
"Having the most perfect reliance on your honour, I shall now," said
Eugenia, "accept your escort to London, where my presence is required.
Pierre shall accompany us--he is a faithful creature, though you have
used him so ill."
"That," said I, "is all made up, and Pierre will be heartily glad of
another tumble for the same price."
All our arrangements were speedily made. The house was given up--a
roomy travelling-barouche received all our trunks and, seated by the
side of Eugenia, with the child between us we crossed the Gironde, and
took our way through Poictiers, Tours, and Orleans, to Paris; here we
remained but a short time. Neither of us was pleased with the manners
and habits of the French; but as they have been so fully described by
the swarms of English travellers who have infested that country with
their presence, and this with the fruits of their labours, I shall pass
as quietly through France, as I hope to do through the Thames Tunnel,
when it is completed, but not before.
Eugenia consulted me as to her future residence; and here I own I
committed a great error, but, I declare to Heaven, without any criminal
intention. I ventured to suggest that she should live in a very pretty
village a few miles from --- Hall, the residence of Mr Somerville, and
where, after my marriage, it was intended I should continue to reside
with Emily. To this village, then, I directed her to go assuring her
that I should often ride over and visit her.
"Much as I should enjoy your company, Frank," said Eugenia, "this is a
measure fraught with evil to all parties; nor is it fair dealing towards
your future wife."
Unhappily for me, that turn for duplicity which I had imbibed in early
life had not forsaken me, notwithstanding the warnings I had received
and the promises of amendment which I had made. Flattering myself that
I intended no harm, I overruled all the scruples of the excellent
Eugenia. She despatched a confidential person to the village; on the
outskirts of which he procured for her a commodious, and even elegant
cottage _orne_, ready furnished. She went down with her child and
Pierre to take possession; and I to my father's house, where my
appearance was hailed as a signal for a grand jubilee.
Clara, I found, had entirely changed her unfavourable opinion of
sea-officers induced thereto by the engaging manners of my friend
Talbot, on whom I was delighted to learn she was about to bestow her
very pretty little white hand at the altar. This was a great triumph to
the navy, for I always told Clara, laughingly, that I never would
forgive her if she quitted the service; and as I entertained the highest
respect for Talbot, I considered the prospects of my sister were very
bright and flattering, and that she had made a choice very likely to
secure her happiness.
"Rule Britannia," said I to Clara; "Blue for ever!"
The next morning I started for Mr Somerville's, where I was, of course,
received with open arms; and the party, a few days after, having been
increased by the arrival of my father, with Clara and Talbot, I was as
happy as a human being could be. Six weeks was the period assigned by
my fair one as the very shortest in which she could get rigged, bend new
sails, and prepare for the long and sometimes tedious voyage of
matrimony. I remonstrated at the unconscionable delay.
"Long as it may appear," said she, "it is much less time than you took
to fit out your fine frigate for North America."
"That frigate was not got ready even then by any hurry of mine," said I;
"and if ever I come to be First Lord of the Admiralty, I shall have a
bright eye on the young lieutenants and their sweethearts at Blackheath,
particularly when a ship is fitting in a hurry at Woolwich."
Much of this kind of sparring went on, to the great amusement of all
parties; meanwhile the ladies employed themselves in running up
milliners' bills, and their papas employed themselves in discharging
them. My father was particularly liberal to Emily in the articles of
plate and jewellery, and Mr Somerville equally kind to Clara. Emily
received a trinket-box, so beautifully fitted and so well filled, that
it required a cheque of no trifling magnitude to cry quits with the
jeweller; indeed, my father's kindness was so great that I was forced to
beg he would set some bounds to his liberality.
I was so busy and so happy that I had let three weeks pass over my head
without seeing Eugenia. I dreamed of her at last, and thought she
upbraided me; and the next day, full of my dream, as soon as breakfast
was over, I recommended the young ladies to the care of Talbot, and,
mounting my horse, rode over to see Eugenia. She received me kindly,
but she had suffered in her health, and was much out of spirits. I
inquired the reason, and she burst into tears. "I shall be better,
Frank," said she, "when all is over, but I must suffer now; and I suffer
the more acutely from a conviction that I am only paying the penalty of
my own crime. Perhaps," continued she, "had I never departed from
virtue, I might at this moment have held in your heart the envied place
of Miss Somerville; but as the righteous decrees of Providence have
provided punishment to tread fast in the footsteps of guilt, I am now
expiating my faults, and I have a presentiment that although the
struggle is bitter, it will soon be over. God's will be done; and may
you, my dear Frank, have many, many happy years in the society of one
you are bound to love before the unhappy Eugenia."
Here she sank on a sofa, and again wept bitterly.
"I feel," said she, "now, but it is too late--I feel that I have acted
wrongly in quitting Bordeaux. There I was loved and respected; and if
not happy, at least I was composed. Too much dependence on my
resolution, and the vanity of supposing myself superior in magnanimity
to the rest of my sex, induced me to trust myself in your society.
Dearly, alas! have I paid for it. My only chance of victory over myself
was flight from you, after I had given the irrevocable sentence; by not
doing so, the poison has found its way to my heart. I feel that I love
you; that I cannot have you; and that death very shortly must terminate
my intolerable sufferings."
This affecting address pierced me to the soul; and now the consequences
of my guilt and duplicity rushed upon me like a torrent through a
bursting flood gate. I would have resigned Emily--I would have fled
with Eugenia to some distant country, and buried our sorrows in each
other's bosoms; and, in a state of irrepressible emotion, I proposed
this step to her.
"What do I hear, my beloved?" said she, starting up with horror from the
couch on which she was sitting with her face between her knees; "what!
is it you that would resign home, friends, character, the possession of
a virtuous woman, all for the polluted smiles of an--"
"Hold! hold! my Eugenia," said I; "do not, I beseech you, shock my ears
with an epithet which you do not deserve! Mine, mine, is all the guilt;
forget me, and you will still be happy."
She looked at me, then at her sweet boy, who was playing on the carpet--
but she made no answer; and then a flood of tears succeeded.
It was, indeed, a case of singular calamity for a beautiful young
creature to be placed in. She was only in her three-and-twentieth
year--and lovely as she was, nature had scarcely had time to finish the
picture. The regrets which subdued my mind on that fatal morning may
only be conceived by those who, like me, have led a licentious life--
have, for a time, buried all moral and religious feeling, and have been
suddenly called to a full sense of their guilt, and the misery they have
entailed on the innocent. I sat down and groaned. I cannot say I wept,
for I could not weep; but my forehead burned, and my heart was full of
bitterness.
While I thus meditated, Eugenia sat with her hand on her forehead in a
musing attitude. Had she been reverting to her former studies and
thrown herself into the finest conceivable posture of the tragic muse,
her appearance would not have been half so beautiful and affecting. I
thought she was praying, and I think so still. The tears ran in silence
down her face; I kissed them off, and almost forgot Emily.
"I am better, now, Frank," said the poor, sorrowful woman; "do not come
again until after the wedding. When will it take place?" she inquired,
with a trembling and faltering voice.
My heart almost burst within me as I told her, for I felt as if I was
signing a warrant for her execution. I took her in my arms, and
tenderly embracing her, endeavoured to divert her thoughts from the
mournful fate that too evidently hung over her; she became tranquil, and
I proposed taking a stroll in the adjoining park. I thought the fresh
air would revive her.
She agreed to this; and going to her room, returned in a few minutes.
To her natural beauty was added on that fatal day a morning dress, which
more than any other became her; it was white, richly trimmed, and
fashionably made up by a celebrated French _artiste_. Her bonnet was
white muslin, trimmed with light blue ribbons, and a sash of the same
colour confined her slender waist. The little Eugenio ran before us,
now at my side, and now at his mother's. We rambled about for some
time, the burthen of our conversation being the future plans and mode of
education to be adopted for the child: this was a subject on which she
always dwelt with peculiar pleasure.
Tired with our walk, we sat down under a clump of beech-trees near a
grassy ascent, winding among the thick foliage, contrived by the opulent
owner to extend and diversify the rides in his noble domain. Eugenio
was playing around us, picking the wild flowers, and running up to me to
inquire their names.
The boy was close by my side, when, startled at a noise, he turned round
and exclaimed--"Oh! look, mamma; look, papa; there are a lady and a
gentleman a-riding."
I turned round, and saw Mr Somerville and Emily on horseback, within
six paces of me; so still they stood, so mute, I could have fancied
Emily a wax-work figure. They neither breathed nor moved; even their
very horses seemed to be of bronze, or perhaps, the unfortunate
situation in which I found myself made me think them so. They had come
as unexpectedly on us as we had discovered them. The soft turf had
received the impression of their horses' feet, and returned no sound;
and if they snorted, we had either not attended to them, in the warmth
of our conversation, or we had never heard them.
I rose up hastily--coloured deeply--stammered, and was about to speak.
Perhaps it was better that I did not; but I had no opportunity. Like
apparitions they came, and like apparitions they vanished. The avenue
from whence they had so silently issued, received them again, and they
were gone before Eugenia was sensible of their presence.