With sorrow and repentance true,
Father, I trembling come to you.
SONG.
I arrived at the town where poor Eugenia had breathed her last, and near
to which was the cemetery in which her remains were deposited. I went
to the inn, whence, after having dismissed my post-boy and ordered my
luggage to be taken up to my room, I proceeded on foot towards the spot.
I was informed that the path lay between the church and the bishop's
palace. I soon reached it: and inquiring for the sexton, who lived in a
cottage hard by, requested he would lead me to a certain grave, which I
indicated by tokens too easily known.
"Oh, you mean the sweet young lady as died of grief for the loss of her
little boy. There it is," continued he, pointing with his finger; "the
white peacock is now sitting on the head-stone of the grave, and the
little boy is buried beside it."
I approached, while the humble sexton kindly withdrew, that I might,
without witnesses, indulge that grief which he saw was the burthen of my
aching heart. The bird remained, but without dressing its plumage,
without the usual air of surprise and vigilance evinced by domestic
fowls when disturbed in their haunts: this poor creature was moulting;
its feathers were rumpled and disordered; its tail ragged. There was no
beauty in the bird, which was probably only kept as a variety of the
species; and it appeared to me as if it had been placed there as a
lesson to myself, vain its modest attire, in its melancholy and pensive
attitude, it seemed, with its gaudy plumage, to have dismissed the world
and its vanities, while in mournful silence it surveyed the crowded
mementos of eternity.
"This is my office, not thine," said I, apostrophising the bird, which,
alarmed at my near approach, quitted its position, and disappeared among
the surrounding tombs, I sat down, and fixing my eyes on the name which
the tablet bore, ran over, in a hurried manner, all that part of my
career which had been more immediately connected with the history of
Eugenia. I remembered her many virtues; her self-devotion for my honour
and happiness; her concealing herself from me, that I might not blast my
prospects in life by continuing an intimacy which she saw would end in
my ruin; her firmness of character, her disinterested generosity, and
the refinement of attachment which made her prefer misery and solitude
to her own gratification in the society of the man she loved. She had,
alas! but one fault, and that fault was, loving me. I could not drive
from my thoughts, that it was through my unfortunate and illicit
connection with her that I had lost all that made life dear to me.
At this moment (and not once since the morning I awoke from it) my
singular dream recurred to my mind. The thoughts which never had once,
during my eventful voyage from the Bahamas to the Cape, and thence to
England, presented themselves in my waking hours, must certainly have
possessed my brain during sleep. Why else should it never have occurred
to my rational mind that the connection with Eugenia would certainly
endanger that intended with Emily? It was Eugenia that placed Emily in
mourning, out of my reach, and, as it were, on the top of the Nine-pin
Rock.
Here, then, my dream was explained; and I now felt all the horrors of
that reality which I thought at the time was no more than the effect of
a disordered imagination. Yet I could not blame Eugenia; the poor girl
had fallen a victim to that deplorable and sensual education which I had
received in the cockpit of a man-of-war. I--I alone was the culprit.
She was friendless, and without a parent to guide her youthful step; she
fell a victim to my ungoverned passions. Maddened with anguish of head
and heart, I threw myself violently on the grave; I beat my miserable
head against the tombstones; I called with frantic exclamation on the
name of Eugenia; and at length sank on the turf, between the two graves,
in a state of stupor and exhaustion, from which a copious flood of tears
in some measure relieved me.
I was aroused by the sound of wheels and the trampling of horses; and
looking up, I perceived the bishop's carriage and four, with outriders,
pass by. The livery and colour of the carriage were certainly what is
denominated quiet; but there was an appearance of state which indicated
that the owner had not entirely "renounced the pomps and vanities of
this wicked world," and my spleen was excited.
"Ah, sweep along," I bitterly muttered, "worthy type indeed of the
apostles! I like the pride that apes humility. Is that the way you
teach your flock to `leave all and follow me?'" I started up suddenly,
saying to myself, "I will seek this man in his palace, and see whether I
shall be kindly received and consoled, or be repulsed by a menial."
The thought was sudden, and, being conceived almost in a state of
frenzy, was instantly executed. "Let me try," said I, "whether a bishop
can administer to the mind diseased as well as a country curate."
I moved on with rapidity to the palace, more in a fit of desperation
than with a view of seeking peace of mind. I rang loudly and vehemently
at the gate, and asked whether the bishop was at home. An elderly
domestic, who seemed to regard me with astonishment, answered me in the
affirmative, and desired me to walk into an ante-room, while he
announced me to his master.
I now began to recall my scattered senses, which had been wandering, and
to perceive the absurdity of my conduct; I was therefore about to quit
the palace, into which I had so rudely intruded, without waiting for my
audience, when the servant opened the door and requested me to follow
him.
By what inscrutable means are the designs of Providence brought about!
While I thought I was blindly following the impulse of passion, I was,
in fact, guided by unerring Wisdom. A prey to desperate and irritated
feelings, I anticipated, with malignant pleasure, that I should detect
hypocrisy--that one who ought to set an example, should be weighed by
me, and found wanting; instead of which I stumbled on my own salvation!
Where I expected to meet with pride and scorn, I met humility and
kindness; when I had looked around on the great circle bounded by the
visible horizon, and could perceive no friendly port into which I might
lay my shattered vessel, behold it was close at hand!
I followed the servant with a kind of stupid indifference, and was
ushered into the presence of a benevolent-looking old man, between sixty
and seventy years of age. His whole external appearance, as well as his
white hairs, commanded respect amounting almost to admiration. I was
not prepared to speak, which he perceived, and kindly began:
"As you are a stranger to me, I fear, from your care-worn countenance,
that it is no common occurrence which has brought you here. Sit down:
you seem in distress; and if it is in my power to afford you relief, you
may be assured that I will do so."
There was in his manner and address an affectionate kindness which
overcame me. I could neither speak nor look at him; but, laying my head
on the table, and hiding my face with my hands, I wept bitterly. The
good bishop allowed me reasonable time to recover myself, and, with
extreme good-breeding, mildly requested that, if it were possible, I
would confide to him the cause of my affliction.
"Be not afraid or ashamed, my good lad," said he, "to tell me your
sorrows. If we have temporal blessings, we do not forget that we are
but the almoners of the Lord: we endeavour to follow his example; but,
if I may judge from appearance, it is not pecuniary aid you have come to
solicit."
"No, no," replied I; "it is not money that I want:" but, choked with
excess of feeling, I could say no more.
"This is indeed a more important case than one of mere bodily want,"
said the good man. "_That_ we might very soon supply; but there seems
something in your condition which requires our more serious attention.
I thank the Almighty for selecting me to this service; and, with His
blessing, we shall not fail of success."
Then, going to the door, he called to a young lady, who I afterwards
discovered was his daughter; and holding the door ajar as he spoke, that
I might not be seen in my distress, said, "Caroline, my dear, write to
the duke, and beg him to excuse my dining with him to-day. Tell him
that I am kept at home by business of importance; and give orders that I
be not interrupted on any account."
He then turned the key in the door, and, drawing a chair close to mine,
begged me, in the most persuasive manner, to tell him everything without
reserve, in order that he might apply such a remedy as the case seemed
to demand.
I first asked for a glass of wine, which was instantly brought; he
received it at the door, and gave it to me with his own hand.
Having drunk it, I commenced the history of my life in a brief outline,
and ultimately told him all; nearly as much in detail as I have related
to the reader. He listened to me with an intense and painful interest,
questioning me as to my feelings on many important occasions; and having
at length obtained from me an honest and candid confession, without any
extenuation--
"My young friend," said he, "your life has been one of peculiar
temptation and excess--much to deplore, much to blame, and much to
repent of; but the state of feeling which induced you to come to me is a
proof that you now only require that which, with God's help, I trust I
shall be able to supply. It is now late, and we both of us require some
refreshment, I will order in dinner, and you must send to the inn for
your portmanteau."
Perceiving that I was about to answer--"I must take no denial," resumed
he. "You have placed yourself under my care, as your physician, and you
must follow my prescriptions. My duty is as much more important,
compared to the doctor's, as the soul is to the body."
Dinner being served, he dismissed the servants as soon as possible, and
then asked me many questions relative to my family, all of which I
answered without reserve. He once mentioned Miss Somerville; but I was
so overcome, that he perceived my distress, and filling me a glass of
wine, changed the subject.
If I thought that any words of mine could do justice to the persuasive
discourses of this worthy bishop, I would have benefited the world by
making them public; but I could not do this; and I trust that none of my
readers will have so much need of them as I had myself. I shall
therefore briefly state, that I remained in the palace ten days, in the
most perfect seclusion.
Every morning the good bishop dedicated two or three hours to my
instruction and improvement; he put into my hands one or two books at a
time, with marks in them, indicating the pages which I ought to consult.
He would have introduced me to his family; but this I begged for a time
to decline, being too much depressed and out of spirits; and he indulged
me in my request of being allowed to continue in the apartments allotted
to me.
On the seventh morning, he came to me and after a short conversation,
informed me that business would require his absence for two or three
days, and that he would give me a task to employ me during the short
time he should be gone. He then put into my hand a work on the
Sacrament. "This," said he, "I am sure you will read with particular
attention, so that on my return I may invite you to the feast." I
trembled as I opened the book, "Fear not, Mr Mildmay," said he; "I tell
you, from what I see of your symptoms, that the cure will be complete."
Having said this, he gave me his blessing, and departed. He returned
exactly at the end of three days, and after a short examination, said he
would allow me to receive the Sacrament, and that the holy ceremony
should take place in his own room privately, well knowing how much
affected I should be. He brought in the bread and wine; and having
consecrated and partaken of them himself, agreeably to the forms
prescribed, he made a short extempore prayer in my behalf.
When he had done this, he advanced towards me, and presented the bread.
My blood curdled as I took it in my mouth; and when I had tasted the
wine, the type of the blood of that Saviour whose wounds I had so often
opened afresh in my guilty career, and yet upon the merits of which I
now relied for pardon, I felt a combined sensation of love, gratitude,
and joy a lightness and buoyancy of spirits, as if I could have left the
earth below me, disburthened of a weight that had, till then, crushed me
to the ground. I felt that I had faith--that I was a new man--and that
my sins were forgiven; and, dropping my head on the side of the table, I
remained some minutes in grateful and fervent prayer.
The service being ended, I hastened to express my acknowledgments to my
venerable friend.
"I am but the humble instrument, my dear young friend," said the bishop;
"let us both give thanks to the Almighty Searcher of hearts. Let us
hope that the work is perfect--for then you will be the occasion of `joy
in heaven.' And now," continued he, "let me ask you one question. Do
you feel in that state of mind that you could bear any affliction which
might befall you, without repining?"
"I trust, sir," answered I, "that I could bear it, not only cheerfully,
but thankfully; and I now acknowledge that it is good for me that I have
been in trouble."
"Then all is right," said he; "and with such feelings I may venture to
give you this letter, which I promised the writer to deliver with my own
hand."
As soon as my eye caught the superscription, "Gracious Heaven!"
exclaimed I, "it is from my Emily."
"Even so," said the bishop.