Heaven first, in its mercy, taught mortals their letters,
For ladies in limbo, and lovers in fetters,
Or some author, who, placing his persons before ye,
Ungallantly leaves them to write their own story.
POPE, imitated.
When Mannering returned to England, his first object had been to place
his daughter in a seminary for female education, of established
character. Not, however, finding her progress in the accomplishments
which he wished her to acquire so rapid as his impatience expected, he
had withdrawn Miss Mannering from the school at the end of the first
quarter. So she had only time to form an eternal friendship with Miss
Matilda Marchmont, a young lady about her own age, which was nearly
eighteen. To her faithful eye were addressed those formidable quires
which issued forth from Mervyn Hall on the wings of the post while Miss
Mannering was a guest there. The perusal of a few short extracts from
these may be necessary to render our story intelligible.
FIRST EXTRACT
'Alas! my dearest Matilda, what a tale is mine to tell! Misfortune from
the cradle has set her seal upon your unhappy friend. That we should be
severed for so slight a cause--an ungrammatical phrase in my Italian
exercise, and three false notes in one of Paisiello's sonatas! But it
is a part of my father's character, of whom it is impossible to say
whether I love, admire, or fear him the most. His success in life and
in war, his habit of making every obstacle yield before the energy of
his exertions, even where they seemed insurmountable--all these have
given a hasty and peremptory cast to his character, which can neither
endure contradiction nor make allowance for deficiencies. Then he is
himself so very accomplished. Do you know, there was a murmur, half
confirmed too by some mysterious words which dropped from my poor
mother, that he possesses other sciences, now lost to the world, which
enable the possessor to summon up before him the dark and shadowy forms
of future events! Does not the very idea of such a power, or even of
the high talent and commanding intellect which the world may mistake
for it,--does it not, dear Matilda, throw a mysterious grandeur about
its possessor? You will call this romantic; but consider I was born in
the land of talisman and spell, and my childhood lulled by tales which
you can only enjoy through the gauzy frippery of a French translation.
O, Matilda, I wish you could have seen the dusky visages of my Indian
attendants, bending in earnest devotion round the magic narrative, that
flowed, half poetry, half prose, from the lips of the tale-teller! No
wonder that European fiction sounds cold and meagre, after the
wonderful effects which I have seen the romances of the East produce
upon their hearers.'
SECOND EXTRACT
'You are possessed, my dear Matilda, of my bosom-secret, in those
sentiments with which I regard Brown. I will not say his memory; I am
convinced he lives, and is faithful. His addresses to me were
countenanced by my deceased parent, imprudently countenanced perhaps,
considering the prejudices of my father in favour of birth and rank.
But I, then almost a girl, could not be expected surely to be wiser
than her under whose charge nature had placed me. My father, constantly
engaged in military duty, I saw but at rare intervals, and was taught
to look up to him with more awe than confidence. Would to Heaven it had
been otherwise! It might have been better for us all at this day!'
THIRD EXTRACT
'You ask me why I do not make known to my father that Brown yet lives,
at least that he survived the wound he received in that unhappy duel,
and had written to my mother expressing his entire convalescence, and
his hope of speedily escaping from captivity. A soldier, that "in the
trade of war has oft slain men," feels probably no uneasiness at
reflecting upon the supposed catastrophe which almost turned me into
stone. And should I show him that letter, does it not follow that
Brown, alive and maintaining with pertinacity the pretensions to the
affections of your poor friend for which my father formerly sought his
life, would be a more formidable disturber of Colonel Mannering's peace
of mind than in his supposed grave? If he escapes from the hands of
these marauders, I am convinced he will soon be in England, and it will
be then time to consider how his existence is to be disclosed to my
father. But if, alas! my earnest and confident hope should betray me,
what would it avail to tear open a mystery fraught with so many painful
recollections? My dear mother had such dread of its being known, that I
think she even suffered my father to suspect that Brown's attentions
were directed towards herself, rather than permit him to discover their
real object; and O, Matilda, whatever respect I owe to the memory of a
deceased parent, let me do justice to a living one. I cannot but
condemn the dubious policy which she adopted, as unjust to my father,
and highly perilous to herself and me. But peace be with her ashes! her
actions were guided by the heart rather than the head; and shall her
daughter, who inherits all her weakness, be the first to withdraw the
veil from her defects?'
FOURTH EXTRACT 'MERVYN HALL.
'If India be the land of magic, this, my dearest Matilda, is the
country of romance. The scenery is such as nature brings together in
her sublimest moods-sounding cataracts--hills which rear their scathed
heads to the sky--lakes that, winding up the shadowy valleys, lead at
every turn to yet more romantic recesses--rocks which catch the clouds
of heaven. All the wildness of Salvator here, and there the fairy
scenes of Claude. I am happy too in finding at least one object upon
which my father can share my enthusiasm. An admirer of nature, both as
an artist and a poet, I have experienced the utmost pleasure from the
observations by which he explains the character and the effect of these
brilliant specimens of her power. I wish he would settle in this
enchanting land. But his views lie still farther north, and he is at
present absent on a tour in Scotland, looking, I believe, for some
purchase of land which may suit him as a residence. He is partial, from
early recollections, to that country. So, my dearest Matilda, I must be
yet farther removed from you before I am established in a home. And O
how delighted shall I be when I can say, Come, Matilda, and be the
guest of your faithful Julia!
'I am at present the inmate of Mr. and Mrs. Mervyn, old friends of my
father. The latter is precisely a good sort of woman, ladylike and
housewifely; but for accomplishments or fancy--good lack, my dearest
Matilda, your friend might as well seek sympathy from Mrs.
Teach'em;--you see I have not forgot school nicknames. Mervyn is a
different--quite a different being from my father, yet he amuses and
endures me. He is fat and good-natured, gifted with strong shrewd sense
and some powers of humour; but having been handsome, I suppose, in his
youth, has still some pretension to be a beau garcon, as well as an
enthusiastic agriculturist. I delight to make him scramble to the tops
of eminences and to the foot of waterfalls, and am obliged in turn to
admire his turnips, his lucerne, and his timothy grass. He thinks me, I
fancy, a simple romantic Miss, with some--the word will be out--beauty
and some good-nature; and I hold that the gentleman has good taste for
the female outside, and do not expect he should comprehend my
sentiments farther. So he rallies, hands, and hobbles (for the dear
creature has got the gout too), and tells old stories of high life, of
which he has seen a great deal; and I listen, and smile, and look as
pretty, as pleasant, and as simple as I can, and we do very well.
'But, alas! my dearest Matilda, how would time pass away, even in this
paradise of romance, tenanted as it is by a pair assorting so ill with
the scenes around them, were it not for your fidelity in replying to my
uninteresting details? Pray do not fail to write three times a week at
least; you can be at no loss what to say.'
FIFTH EXTRACT
'How shall I communicate what I have now to tell! My hand and heart
still flutter so much, that the task of writing is almost impossible!
Did I not say that he lived? did I not say I would not despair? How
could you suggest, my dear Matilda, that my feelings, considering I had
parted from him so young, rather arose from the warmth of my
imagination than of my heart? O I was sure that they were genuine,
deceitful as the dictates of our bosom so frequently are. But to my
tale--let it be, my friend, the most sacred, as it is the most sincere,
pledge of our friendship.
'Our hours here are early--earlier than my heart, with its load of
care, can compose itself to rest. I therefore usually take a book for
an hour or two after retiring to my own room, which I think I have told
you opens to a small balcony, looking down upon that beautiful lake of
which I attempted to give you a slight sketch. Mervyn Hall, being
partly an ancient building, and constructed with a view to defence, is
situated on the verge of the lake. A stone dropped from the projecting
balcony plunges into water deep enough to float a skiff. I had left my
window partly unbarred, that, before I went to bed, I might, according
to my custom, look out and see the moonlight shining upon the lake. I
was deeply engaged with that beautiful scene in the "Merchant of
Venice" where two lovers, describing the stillness of a summer night,
enhance on each other its charms, and was lost in the associations of
story and of feeling which it awakens, when I heard upon the lake the
sound of a flageolet. I have told you it was Brown's favourite
instrument. Who could touch it in a night which, though still and
serene, was too cold, and too late in the year, to invite forth any
wanderer for mere pleasure? I drew yet nearer the window, and hearkened
with breathless attention; the sounds paused a space, were then
resumed, paused again, and again reached my ear, ever coming nearer and
nearer. At length I distinguished plainly that little Hindu air which
you called my favourite. I have told you by whom it was taught me; the
instrument, the tones, were his own! Was it earthly music, or notes
passing on the wind, to warn me of his death?
'It was some time ere I could summon courage to step on the balcony;
nothing could have emboldened me to do so but the strong conviction of
my mind that he was still alive, and that we should again meet; but
that conviction did embolden me, and I ventured, though with a
throbbing heart. There was a small skiff with a single person. O,
Matilda, it was himself! I knew his appearance after so long an
absence, and through the shadow of the night, as perfectly as if we had
parted yesterday, and met again in the broad sunshine! He guided his
boat under the balcony, and spoke to me; I hardly knew what he said, or
what I replied. Indeed, I could scarcely speak for weeping, but they
were joyful tears. We were disturbed by the barking of a dog at some
distance, and parted, but not before he had conjured me to prepare to
meet him at the same place and hour this evening.
'But where and to what is all this tending? Can I answer this question?
I cannot. Heaven, that saved him from death and delivered him from
captivity, that saved my father, too, from shedding the blood of one
who would not have blemished a hair of his head, that Heaven must guide
me out of this labyrinth. Enough for me the firm resolution that
Matilda shall not blush for her friend, my father for his daughter, nor
my lover for her on whom he has fixed his affection.'