When time had somewhat mitigated the memory of the late disaster, the
intercourse between Ormond and Constantia was renewed. The lady did not
overlook her obligations to her friend. It was to him that she was
indebted for her father's restoration to sight, and to whom both owed,
essentially, though indirectly, their present affluence. In her mind,
gratitude was no perverse or ignoble principle. She viewed this man as
the author of extensive benefits, of which her situation enabled her to
judge with more accuracy than others. It created no bias on her
judgement, or, at least, none of which she was sensible. Her equity was
perfectly unfettered; and she decided in a way contrary to his
inclination, with as little scruple as if the benefits had been
received, not by herself, but by him. She indeed intended his benefit,
though she thwarted his inclinations.
She had few visitants beside himself. Their interviews were daily and
unformal. The fate of Helena never produced any reproaches on her part.
She saw the uselessness of recrimination, not only because she desired
to produce emotions different from those which infective is adapted to
excite, but because it was more just to soothe than to exasperate the
inquietudes which haunted him.
She now enjoyed leisure. She had always been solicitous for mental
improvement. Any means subservient to this end were valuable. The
conversation of Ormond was an inexhaustible fund. By the variety of
topics and the excitement to reflection it supplied, a more plenteous
influx of knowledge was produced than could have flowed from any other
source. There was no end to the detailing of facts, and the canvassing
of theories.
I have already said that Ormond was engaged in schemes of an arduous and
elevated nature. These were the topics of epistolary discussion between
him and a certain number of coadjutors, in different parts of the world.
In general discourse, it was proper to maintain a uniform silence
respecting these, not only because they involved principles and views
remote from vulgar apprehension, but because their success, in some
measure, depended on their secrecy. He could not give a stronger proof
of his confidence in the sagacity and steadiness of Constantia than he
now gave, by imparting to her his schemes, and requesting her advice and
assistance in the progress of them.
His disclosures, however, were imperfect. What knowledge was imparted,
instead of appeasing, only tended to inflame her curiosity. His answers
to her inquiries were prompt, and, at first sight, sufficiently
explicit; but upon reconsideration, an obscurity seemed to gather round
them, to be dispelled by new interrogatories. These, in like manner,
effected a momentary purpose, but were sure speedily to lead into new
conjectures, and reimmerse her in doubts. The task was always new, was
always on the point of being finished, and always to be recommenced.
Ormond aspired to nothing more ardently than to hold the reins of
opinion,--to exercise absolute power over the conduct of others, not by
constraining their limbs, or by exacting obedience to his authority, but
in a way of which his subjects should be scarcely conscious. He desired
that his guidance should control their steps, but that his agency, when
most effectual, should be least suspected.
If he were solicitous to govern the thoughts of Constantia, or to
regulate her condition, the mode which he pursued had hitherto been
admirably conducive to that end. To have found her friendless and
indigent, accorded, with the most fortunate exactness, with his views.
That she should have descended to this depth, from a prosperous height,
and therefore be a stranger to the torpor which attends hereditary
poverty, and be qualified rightly to estimate and use the competence to
which, by this means, she was now restored, was all that his providence
would have prescribed.
Her thoughts were equally obsequious to his direction. The novelty and
grandeur of his schemes could not fail to transport a mind ardent and
capacious as that of Constantia. Here his fortune had been no less
propitious. He did not fail to discover, and was not slow to seize, the
advantages flowing thence. By explaining his plans, opportunity was
furnished to lead and to confine her meditations to the desirable tract.
By adding fictitious embellishments, he adapted it with more exactness
to his purpose. By piecemeal and imperfect disclosures her curiosity
was kept alive.
I have described Ormond at having contracted a passion for Constantia.
This passion certainly existed in his heart, but it must not be
conceived to be immutable, or to operate independently of all those
impulses and habits which time had interwoven in his character. The
person and affections of this woman were the objects sought by him, and
which it was the dearest purpose of his existence to gain. This was his
supreme good, though the motives to which it was indebted for its
pre-eminence in his imagination were numerous and complex.
I have enumerated his opinions on the subject of wedlock. The question
will obviously occur, whether Constantia was sought by him with upright
or flagitious views. His sentiments and resolution on this head had for
a time fluctuated, but were now steadfast. Marriage was, in his eyes,
hateful and absurd as ever. Constantia was to be obtained by any means.
If other terms were rejected, he was willing, for the sake of this good,
to accept her as a wife; but this was a choice to be made only when
every expedient was exhausted for reconciling her to a compact of a
different kind.
For this end he, prescribed to himself a path suited to the character of
this lady. He made no secret of his sentiments and views. He avowed his
love, and described, without scruple, the scope of his wishes. He
challenged her to confute his principles, and promised a candid audience
and profound consideration to her arguments. Her present opinions he
knew to be adverse to his own, but he hoped to change them by subtlety
and perseverance. His further hopes and designs he concealed from her.
She was unaware that if he were unable to effect a change in her creed,
he was determined to adopt a system of imposture,--to assume the guise
of a convert to her doctrines, and appear as devout as herself in his
notions of the sanctity of marriage.
Perhaps it was not difficult to have foreseen the consequence of these
projects. Constantia's peril was imminent. This arose not only from the
talents and address of Ormond, but from the community of sentiment which
already existed between them. She was unguarded in a point where, if not
her whole yet doubtless her principal security and strongest bulwark
would have existed. She was unacquainted with religion. She was
unhabituated to conform herself to any standard but that connected with
the present life. Matrimonial as well as every other human duty, was
disconnected in her mind with any awful or divine sanction. She formed
her estimate of good and evil on nothing but terrestrial and visible
consequences.
This defect in her character she owed to her father's system of
education. Mr. Dudley was an adherent to what he conceived to be true
religion. No man was more passionate in his eulogy of his own form of
devotion and belief, or in his invectives against atheistical dogmas;
but he reflected that religion assumed many forms, one only of which is
salutary or true, and that truth in this respect is incompatible with
infantile and premature instruction.
To this subject it was requisite to apply the force of a mature and
unfettered understanding. For this end he laboured to lead away the
juvenile reflections of Constantia from religious topics, to detain them
in the paths of history and eloquence,--to accustom her to the accuracy
of geometrical deduction, and to the view of those evils that have
flowed in all ages, from mistaken piety.
In consequence of this scheme, her habits rather than her opinions, were
undevout. Religion was regarded by her not with disbelief, but with
absolute indifference. Her good sense forbade her to decide before
inquiry, but her modes of study and reflection were foreign to, and
unfitted her for this species of discussion. Her mind was seldom called
to meditate on this subject, and when it occurred, her perceptions were
vague and obscure. No objects, in the sphere which she occupied, were
calculated to suggest to her the importance of investigation and
certainty.
It becomes me to confess, however reluctantly, thus much concerning my
friend. However abundantly endowed in other respects, she was a stranger
to the felicity and excellence flowing from religion. In her struggles
with misfortune, she was supported and cheered by the sense of no
approbation but her own. A defect of this nature will perhaps be
regarded as of less moment when her extreme youth is remembered. All
opinion in her mind were mutable, inasmuch as the progress of her
understanding was incessant.
It was otherwise with Ormond. His disbelief was at once unchangeable and
strenuous. The universe was to him a series of events, connected by an
undesigning and inscrutable necessity, and an assemblage of forms, to
which no beginning or end can be conceived. Instead of transient views
and vague ideas, his meditations, on religious points, had been intense.
Enthusiasm was added to disbelief, and he not only dissented but
abhorred.
He deemed it prudent, however, to disguise sentiments which, if unfolded
in their full force, would wear to her the appearance of insanity. But
he saw and was eager to improve the advantage which his anti-nuptial
creed derived from the unsettled state of her opinions. He was not
unaware, likewise, of the auspicious and indispensable co-operation of
love. If this advocate were wanting in her bosom, all his efforts would
be in vain. If this pleader were engaged in his behalf, he entertained
no doubts of his ultimate success. He conceived that her present
situation, all whose comforts were the fruits of his beneficence, and
which afforded her no other subject of contemplation than himself, was
as favourable as possible to the growth of this passion.
Constantia was acquainted with his wishes. She could not fail to see
that she might speedily be called upon to determine a momentous
question. Her own sensations, and the character of Ormond were,
therefore, scrutinized with suspicious attention. Marriage could be
justified in her eyes only by community of affections and opinions. She
might love without the sanction of her judgement; but, while destitute
of that sanction, she would never suffer it to sway her conduct.
Ormond was imperfectly known. What knowledge she had gained flowed
chiefly from his own lips, and was therefore unattended with certainty.
What portion of deceit or disguise was mixed with his conversation could
be known only by witnessing his actions with her own eyes and comparing
his testimony with that of others. He had embraced a multitude of
opinions which appeared to her erroneous. Till these were rectified, and
their conclusions were made to correspond, wedlock was improper. Some of
these obscurities might be dispelled, and some of these discords be
resolved into harmony by time. Meanwhile it was proper to guard the
avenues to her heart, and screen herself from self-delusion.
There was no motive to conceal her reflections on this topic from her
father. Mr. Dudley discovered, without her assistance, the views of
Ormond. His daughter's happiness was blended with his own. He lived but
in the consciousness of her tranquillity. Her image was seldom absent
from his eyes, and never from his thoughts. The emotions which it
excited sprung but in part from the relationship of father. It was
gratitude and veneration which she claimed from him, and which filled
him with rapture.
He ruminated deeply on the character of Ormond. The political and
anti-theological tenets of this man were regarded, not merely with
disapprobation, but antipathy. He was not ungrateful for the benefits
which had been conferred upon him. Ormond's peculiarities of sentiment
excited no impatience, as long as he was regarded merely as a visitant.
It was only as one claiming to possess his daughter that his presence
excited, in Mr. Dudley, trepidation and loathing.
Ormond was unacquainted with what was passing in the mind of Mr. Dudley.
The latter conceived his own benefactor and his daughter's friend to be
entitled to the most scrupulous and affable urbanity. His objections to
a nearer alliance were urged with frequent and pathetic vehemence only
in his private interviews with Constantia. Ormond and he seldom met. Mr.
Dudley, as soon as his sight was perfectly retrieved, betook himself
with eagerness to painting,--an amusement which his late privations had
only contributed to endear to him.
Things remained nearly on their present footing for some months. At the
end of this period some engagement obliged Ormond to leave the city. He
promised to return with as much speed as circumstances would admit.
Meanwhile, his letters supplied her with topics of reflection. These
were frequently received, and were models of that energy of style which
results from simplicity of structure, from picturesque epithets, and
from the compression of much meaning into few words. His arguments
seldom imparted conviction, but delight never failed to flow from their
lucid order and cogent brevity. His narratives were unequalled for
rapidity and comprehensiveness. Every sentence was a treasury to
moralists and painters.