“----Whilst I remember
Her and her virtues, I cannot forget
My blemishes in them.”
SHAKSPEARE.
In pursuance of the promise made by old Mr. Martindale, Miss Isabella
Featherstone, and others of the party who had no other amusement in
view, went the following morning to the cottage to look over the prints
and drawings. The old gentleman had no light task to find and set in
order his dispersed treasures: for his pictures were, as his books, in
every part of the house, not even excepting the kitchen. He had risen
early in order to find them; and it had been to him a task not without
labour, though accompanied also with some powerful and interesting
feelings. He had been looking back to past times and to years long
gone by. He had been conversing with his former self, and had revived
the forms of old acquaintances long since dead. He saw them again, and
heard them again: their faces gleamed upon him through the lines of
many an old engraving. He saw again, after dust had long covered, and
darkness had long concealed them, drawings of many a palace in Rome, in
Naples, in Venice, from the contemplation of which he had imbibed his
love of architecture; and he began, as he looked back into the past,
to entertain some feelings of regret. Almost every body looks back to
the past with regret, especially old bachelors. By this employment the
feelings of the old gentleman were greatly excited, and he began to be
almost sentimental; so that when his visitors arrived at his cottage,
he received them, not as usual with the odd manners of a humorist, but
with a most courteous and old-fashioned politeness.
Isabella Featherstone observed his altered manner, and supposed that
he was endeavouring to make amends for his abrupt and uncourteous
manner of the preceding day. All the party, indeed, thought that a
remarkable change had taken place in Mr. Martindale, but no one thought
of attributing the change to any thing else than a little caprice.
Isabella took great pains to show how ready she was to accept the
practical apology, which she conceived was thus offered by the old
gentleman. She talked therefore with more than her usual fluency, and
exclaimed with more than usual rapture at every thing which could
at all vindicate or allow of rapturous exclamation. The remains of
antiquity, the works of modern art, the heathen temple or Christian
church, were in their turns all complimented to the utmost of the young
lady’s power of eloquence. Unmeaning compliments are inexhaustible; and
well it is that they are so, or the great abundance and almost infinite
variety which was drawn forth from Mr. Martindale’s portfolios would
have puzzled and perplexed the flatterer. To all this commendatory
language the old gentleman was silent; and the party, who could not
but notice the fluency of Isabella’s compliments, began to tremble
for her, thinking that the old gentleman was silently meditating some
keen satirical retort; the usual coin in which such geniuses as he
repay the volubility of superabundant compliment. But their fears and
apprehensions were unfounded. The young lady continued unexhausted and
unreproved.
To examine a very large collection of prints and drawings, especially
when an interest is felt or affected, occupies no inconsiderable
portion of time. So the morning was rapidly passing away, and might
have been entirely consumed by this amusement, had it not been for an
interruption which put a stop to their employment.
A servant announced that the Rev. Mr. Denver and another gentleman
wished to speak with Mr. Martindale on particular business. The old
gentleman was not best pleased with the interruption. Impatiently
asking the servant into which room he had introduced the gentlemen, he
immediately followed the man out of the apartment; and such was his
haste, that he never thought to put out of his hand an engraving which
he was just about to show to his party, but carried the print with him.
Mr. Denver introduced to Mr. Martindale with great parade Colonel
Rivolta, whom he described as having recently made his escape from
the continent, where he was exposed to persecution, if not to death,
on account of his political opinions. The reverend gentleman then
proceeded to state, that the Colonel had previously to his own arrival
in England sent over his wife and daughter, whom he had committed to
the care of Richard Smith; that with them he had also transmitted some
property, which old Richard had invested for their use and benefit;
that unfortunately the very first night of the Colonel’s arrival at
Brigland, the cottage in which Richard Smith dwelt had been entered by
the gipsey, of whom mention has been already made; that in consequence
of that event the poor old man had been so seriously alarmed, that
he had been totally unable to attend to any thing, and that he had
died, leaving this poor foreigner in a strange land, not knowing how
to proceed as to the recovery of his little property. Under these
circumstances, Mr. Denver had taken the liberty of introducing the poor
man to Mr. Martindale; knowing from the general benevolence of his
disposition, and from his acquaintance with practical affairs, that he
would be best able to counsel and assist the foreigner in his present
difficulties.
This appeal to the vanity and virtues of the old gentleman compensated
for the interruption which had taken him from his company. And, indeed,
we must do Mr. Martindale the justice to acknowledge that there really
was a considerable share of benevolent feeling in the constitution of
his mind, though that benevolence was attended, as it not unfrequently
happens, by a very competent share of conceit. He was indeed very
happy in performing acts of kindness, and also very happy in enjoying
the reputation of those acts. This is a failing which moralists ought
to treat with much gentleness and consideration; for it does a great
deal for those countless and useful institutions which are supported
by voluntary contributions. Forgetting then the company which he had
left, the old gentleman began to enter very freely and fully into the
concerns of the foreigner, and to offer his best services to assist
him in his difficulties. He soon found, however, upon inquiry, that
there was not really so much difficulty as Mr. Denver had imagined or
represented; and he was not altogether displeased at the opportunity
thus afforded to him of ridiculing the clergyman for his ignorance of
matters of business. It is indeed a sad fact, that so many of this
order are quite ignorant of the affairs of common life in those points
where they might often be of essential service to their parishioners.
One should imagine that some little knowledge of this kind might be
advantageously acquired even by the sacrifice, were it necessary, of
some of that energy and time devoted to dactyls and spondees, or to
hares and partridges. But we must take the world as we find it, and be
thankful that it is no worse.
The information and direction which the stranger sought were soon
communicated to him, and most thankfully received by him. He then was
rising to take leave and repeat his grateful acknowledgments, when
his eye was arrested by the print which Mr. Martindale held in his
hand, and which he had unrolled while he was talking. As soon as the
Colonel saw the picture, he recognised the scene which it represented,
and uttered an ejaculation, indicative of surprise and pleasure. Mr.
Martindale then, for the first time, observed the print, and noticed
its subject: he also looked upon it with surprise, but not with
pleasure; and then he asked the stranger if that scene were familiar to
him. With very great emotion the Colonel replied:
“That scene brings to my recollection the happiest day of my life.”
For a few seconds the party were totally silent; for the clergyman
and the foreigner were struck dumb with astonishment at the altered
looks of the old gentleman, and were surprised to see him crushing
the picture in both his hands. He then, as if with an effort of great
resolution, exclaimed:
“And it brings to my recollection the most miserable day of my life.”
Mr. Denver was not used to emotions; he was quite perplexed what to do,
whether he should sympathise or retire. He very wisely and very calmly
begged Mr. Martindale not to be agitated. That was a very rational
request; but, unfortunately, when persons are in a state of agitation,
they are not in a condition to attend to rational requests. Colonel
Rivolta was more accustomed to the sight and expression of strong
emotions, and he did not make any rational request; but turning towards
the old gentleman, with a look of kindness and sympathy, he said:
“Ah, sir! I am sorry, very sorry, that I have caused you to think again
of your miseries. But your lot is now in prosperity. Ah, sir! we are
all liable to calamity: it is sad to think of the many pains of life;
but your sorrow, sir, is no doubt without reproach to yourself.”
The agitation of the old gentleman abated, and he replied: “I thank you
for your kindness, sir, but my sorrow arises from self-reproach. I have
inflicted injuries which can never be redressed.”
He hesitated, as if wishing, but dreading to say more. Then changing
the tone of his voice, as if he were about to speak on some totally
different subject, he continued addressing himself to Colonel Rivolta:
“I presume, sir, you are a native of Genoa, or you are very familiar
with that city.”
“I was born,” replied the foreigner, “at Naples; but very early in life
I was removed to Genoa, that I might be engaged in merchandise; for my
patrimony was very small, and my relations would have despised me, had
I endeavoured by any occupation to gain a livelihood in my native city.”
“Then you were not originally destined for the army.”
“I was not; but after I had been some few years in Genoa, I began to
grow weary of the pursuits of merchandise, and indeed to feel some
of that pride of which I had accused my relations, and I thought
that I should be satisfied with very little if I might be free from
the occupation of the merchant; and while I was so thinking, I met
by chance an old acquaintance who persuaded me to undertake the
profession of arms, to which I was indeed not reluctant. And so I left
my merchandise, and did not see Genoa again for nearly two years. It
was then that I was so much interested in that scene which the picture
portrays; for in a very small house which is in the same street, and
directly opposite to that palace, there lived an old woman, whose name
was.…”
The attention of the old gentleman had been powerfully arrested by the
commencement of the Italian’s narrative; and he listened very calmly
till the narrator arrived at the point when he was about to mention the
name of the old woman who lived opposite to the palace in question:
then was Mr. Martindale again excited, and without waiting for the
conclusion of the sentence, interrupted it by exclaiming:
“Ah! what! do you know that old woman? Is she living? Where is
she?--Stop--no--let me see--impossible!--Why I must be nearly
seventy--yes--Are you sure? Is not her name Bianchi?”
To this hurried and confused mass of interrogation, the Colonel replied
that her name was Bianchi; but that she had died nearly twenty years
ago, at a very advanced age, being at the time of her death nearly
ninety years of age. Hearing this, the old gentleman assumed a great
calmness and composure of manner, though he trembled as if in an ague;
and turning to the astonished clergyman, who was pleasing himself with
the anticipation of some catastrophe or anecdote which might form a
fine subject for town-talk, he very deliberately said:
“Mr. Denver, I beg I may not intrude any longer on your valuable time.
This gentleman, I find, can give me some account of an old acquaintance
of mine. The inquiries may not be interesting to you. Make my best
compliments to Mrs. Denver.”
Mr. Denver was so much in the habit of being dismissed at short
notice from his audiences with Mr. Martindale, that he did not think
any thing of this kind of language; but he was sadly disappointed at
being sent away just at the moment that some important discovery
seemed about to be made; for it was very obvious from the manner in
which Mr. Martindale had interrogated the foreigner, and from the
very great emotion which he had manifested, that the old gentleman
had something more to inquire about than merely an old acquaintance.
Mr. Denver, indeed, had little doubt, whatever might be the object of
the disclosure about to be made, that he should ultimately come into
possession of a knowledge of the fact; but it was painful to be put off
to a future period, it was a suffering to have his curiosity strongly
excited and not immediately gratified. In order, however, to insure as
early a relief as possible, he had no sooner taken his leave of Mr.
Martindale, than he dropped a hint to Colonel Rivolta, that he should
be happy to see him again at the parsonage as soon as possible.
When this good man was withdrawn, Mr. Martindale requested the stranger
to be seated; and unmindful of the guests whom he had left to amuse
themselves and each other, he commenced very deliberately to examine
the foreigner concerning those matters which had so strongly excited
his feelings.
“You tell me,” said Mr. Martindale, “that the old woman Bianchi has
been dead nearly twenty years. Now, my good friend, can you inform me
how long you were acquainted with this old woman before her death.”
“I knew her,” replied the Colonel, “only for about four years before
she died.”
“And had you much intimacy with her, so as to hear her talk about
former days.”
“Very often, indeed,” replied the foreigner, “did she talk about the
past; for as her age was very great, and her memory was very good, it
was great interest to hear her tell of ancient things; and she was
a woman of most excellent understanding, and very benevolent in her
disposition. Indeed, I can say that I loved the old woman much, very
much indeed. I was sorry at her death.”
“But tell me,” said Mr. Martindale impatiently, “did you ever hear her
say any thing of an infant--an orphan that was committed to her care
nearly forty years ago?”
At this question, the eyes of the stranger brightened, and his face
was overspread with a smile of delight, when he replied: “Oh yes, much
indeed, much indeed! that orphan is my wife.”
This rapidity of explanation was almost too much for the old
gentleman’s feelings. His limbs had been trembling with the agitation
arising from thus reverting to days and events long passed; and he
had entertained some hope from the language of the foreigner, that he
might gain some intelligence concerning one that had been forgotten,
but whose image was again revived in his memory. He had thought but
lightly in the days of his youth of that which he then called folly,
but more seriously in the days of his age of that same conduct which
then he called vice. It would have been happiness to his soul, could
an opportunity have been afforded him of making something like amends
to the representatives of the injured, even though the injured had
been long asleep in the grave. When all at once, therefore, the
intelligence burst upon him, that one was living in whom he possessed
an interest, and over whose destiny he should have watched, but whom
he had neglected and forgotten, he felt his soul melt within him; and
well it was for him that he found relief in tears. Surprised beyond
measure was Colonel Rivolta, when he observed the effect produced on
Mr. Martindale, and heard the old gentleman say with trembling voice:
“And that orphan, sir, is my daughter.” He paused for a minute or two,
and his companion was too much astonished and interested to interrupt
him: recovering himself, he continued: “For many years after that
child was born, I had not the means of making any other provision for
it than placing it under the care of the old woman of whom we have
been speaking. I gave her such compensation as my circumstances then
allowed; and as the mother of the child died soon after the birth of
the infant, I thought myself freed from all farther responsibility when
I had made provision for the infant. I endeavoured, indeed, to forget
the event altogether; and as I wished to form a respectable connexion
in marriage, I took especial care to conceal this transgression.
However, various circumstances prevented me from time to time from
entering into the married state; and having within the last twelve
years come into the possession of larger property than I had ever
anticipated, it occurred to me that there should be living at Genoa a
child of mine, then indeed long past childhood. I wrote to Genoa, and
had no answer; I went to Genoa, and could find no trace either of my
child or of the old woman to whose care I had entrusted her; and I was
grieved not so much for the loss of my child, as for the lack of an
opportunity of making some amends for my crime. I am delighted to hear
that she lives. To-morrow I will see her.”
Colonel Rivolta scarcely believed his senses. He was indeed very sure
that the person whom he had married was described as an orphan of
English parents, and he had no reason to imagine that Mr. Martindale
was attempting to deceive him. It was, indeed, a great discovery to
him that he had married the daughter of an English gentleman of great
fortune; and perhaps under all circumstances the foreigner was most
delighted of the two at the discovery: for thereby he had insured to
himself a friend and protector when he most needed one; and he was
happy at the thought that his own child would thus have a powerful
friend, and be preserved from the dangers and snares with which he
might think that she would be otherwise surrounded; and with whatever
sentiments Mr. Martindale might regard the discovery of his daughter,
it may be easily imagined that Colonel Rivolta’s child, over whom
he had constantly watched with the utmost care and anxiety, was far
more affectionately interesting to him than was the daughter of Mr.
Martindale to her parent, who had never seen her since her infancy,
and who had never paid her any attention, but had almost endeavoured
to forget her. It appeared indeed very singular to the Colonel, that
Mr. Martindale should so patiently wait till the following day before
he would see his newly-discovered daughter. But the old gentleman was
a great oddity, and a most unaccountable being; and so any one would
have thought who had seen him after this interview with the foreigner
calmly return to his company, and amuse himself with looking over his
portfolios of pictures. So however he did; and when this agitation was
over, he was more cheerful than before, and quite as full as ever of
whims and humours.