The next day (proceeds my patron) I went to make my visit to the family.
I had nothing to reproach myself with; and therefore had no other concern
upon me but what arose from the unhappiness of the noble Clementina: that
indeed was enough. I thought I should have some difficulty to manage my
own spirit, if I were to find myself insulted, especially by the general.
Soldiers are so apt to value themselves on their knowledge of what, after
all, one may call but their trade, that a private gentleman is often
thought too slightly of by them. Insolence in a great man, a rich man,
or a soldier, is a call upon a man of spirit to exert himself. But I
hope, thought I, I shall not have this call from any one of a family I so
greatly respect.
I was received by the bishop; who politely, after I had paid my
compliments to the marquis and his lady, presented me to those of the
Urbino family to whom I was a stranger. Every one of those named by
Signor Jeronymo, in his last letter, was present.
The marquis, after he had returned my compliment, looked another way, to
hide his emotion: the marchioness put her handkerchief to her eyes, and
looked upon me with tenderness; and I read in them her concern for her
Clementina.
I paid my respects to the general with an air of freedom, yet of regard;
to my Jeronymo, with the tenderness due to our friendship, and
congratulated him on seeing him out of his chamber. His kind eyes
glistened with pleasure; yet it was easy to read a mixture of pain in
them; which grew stronger as the first emotions at seeing me enter, gave
way to reflection.
The Conte della Porretta seemed to measure me with his eye.
I addressed myself to Father Marescotti, and made my particular
acknowledgments to him for the favour of his visit, and what had passed
in it. He looked upon me with pleasure; probably with the more, as this
was a farewell visit.
The two ladies whispered, and looked upon me, and seemed to bespeak each
other's attention to what passed.
Signor Sebastiano placed himself next to Jeronymo, and often whispered
him, and as often cast his eye upon me. He was partial to me, I believe,
because my generous friend seemed pleased with what he said.
His brother, Signor Juliano, sat on the other hand of me. They are
agreeable and polite young gentlemen.
A profound silence succeeded the general compliments.
I addressed myself to the marquis: Your lordship, and you, madam, turning
to the marchioness, I hope will excuse me for having requested of you the
honour of being once more admitted to your presence, and to that of three
brothers, for whom I shall ever retain the most respectful affection. I
could not think of leaving a city, where one of the first families in it
has done me the highest honour, without taking such a leave as might shew
my gratitude.--Accept, my lords, bowing to each; accept, madam, more
profoundly bowing to the marchioness, my respectful thanks for all your
goodness to me. I shall, to the end of my life, number most of the days
that I have passed at Bologna among its happiest, even were the remainder
to be as happy as man ever knew.
The marquis said, We wish you, chevalier, very happy; happier than--He
sighed, and was silent.
His lady only bowed. Her face spoke distress. Her voice was lost in
sighs, though she struggled to suppress them.
Chevalier, said the bishop, with an air of solemnity, you have given us
many happy hours: for them we thank you. Jeronymo, for himself, will say
more: he is the most grateful of men. We thank you also for what you
have done for him.
I cannot, said Jeronymo, express suitably my gratitude: my prayers, my
vows, shall follow you whithersoever you go, best of friends, and best of
men!
The general, with an air and a smile that might have been dispensed with,
oddly said, High pleasure and high pain are very near neighbours: they
are often guilty of excesses, and then are apt to mistake each other's
house. I am one of those who think our whole house obliged to the
chevalier for the seasonable assistance he gave to our Jeronymo. But--
Dear general, said Lady Juliana, bear with an interruption: the intent of
this meeting is amicable. The chevalier is a man of honour. Things may
have fallen out unhappily; yet nobody to blame.
As to blame, or otherwise, said the Conte della Porretta, that is not now
to be talked of; else, I know where it lies: in short, among ourselves.
The chevalier acted greatly by Signor Jeronymo: we were all obliged to
him: but to let such a man as this have free admission to our daughter--
She ought to have had no eyes.
Pray, my lord, pray, brother, said the marquis, are we not enough
sufferers?
The chevalier, said the general, cannot but be gratified by so high a
compliment; and smiled indignantly.
My lord, replied I to the general, you know very little of the man before
you, if you don't believe him to be the most afflicted man present.
Impossible! said the marquis, with a sigh.
The marchioness arose from her seat, motioning to go; and turning round
to the two ladies, and the count, I have resigned my will to the will of
you all, my dearest friends, and shall be permitted to withdraw. This
testimony, however, before I go, I cannot but bear: Wherever the fault
lay, it lay not with the chevalier. He has, from the first to the last,
acted with the nicest honour. He is entitled to our respect. The
unhappiness lies nowhere but in the difference of religion.
Well, and that now is absolutely out of the question, said the general:
it is indeed, chevalier.
I hope, my lord, from a descendant of a family so illustrious, to find an
equal exemption from wounding words, and wounding looks; and that, sir,
as well from your generosity, as from your justice.
My looks give you offence, chevalier!--Do they?
I attended to the marchioness. She came towards me. I arose, and
respectfully took her hand.--Chevalier, said she, I could not withdraw
without bearing the testimony I have borne to your merits. I wish you
happy.--God protect you, whithersoever you go. Adieu.
She wept. I bowed on her hand with profound respect. She retired with
precipitation. It was with difficulty that I suppressed the rising tear.
I took my seat.
I made no answer to the general's last question, though it was spoken in
such a way (I saw by their eyes) as took every other person's notice.
Lady Sforza, when her sister was retired, hinted, that the last interview
between the young lady and me was an unadvised permission, though
intended for the best.
I then took upon me to defend that step. Lady Clementina, said I, had
declared, that if she were allowed to speak her whole mind to me, she
should be easy. I had for some time given myself up to absolute despair.
The marchioness intended not favour to me in allowing of the interview:
it was the most affecting one to me I had ever known. But let me say,
that, far from having bad effects on the young lady's mind, it had good
ones. I hardly knew how to talk upon a subject so very interesting to
every one present, but not more so to any one than to myself. I thought
of avoiding it; and have been led into it, but did not lead. And since
it is before us, let me recommend, as the most effectual way to restore
every one to peace and happiness, gentle treatment. The most generous of
human minds, the most meek, the most dutiful, requires not harsh
methods.
How do you know, sir, said the general, and looked at Jeronymo, the
methods now taken--
And are they then harsh, my lord? said I.
He was offended.
I had heard, proceeded I, that a change of measures was resolved on. I
knew that the treatment before had been all gentle, condescending,
indulgent. I received but yesterday letters from my father, signifying
his intention of speedily recalling me to my native country. I shall set
out very soon for Paris, where I hope to meet with his more direct
commands for this long-desired end. What may be my destiny, I know not;
but I shall carry with me a heart burdened with the woes of this family,
and distressed for the beloved daughter of it. But let me bespeak you
all, for your own sakes, (mine is out of the question: I presume not upon
any hope on my own account,) that you will treat this angelic-minded lady
with tenderness. I pretend to say, that I know that harsh or severe
methods will not do.
The general arose from his seat, and, with a countenance of fervor, next
to fierceness--Let me tell you, Grandison, said he--
I arose from mine, and going to Lady Sforza, who sat next him, he stopt,
supposing me going to him, and seemed surprised, and attentive to my
motions: but, disregarding him, I addressed myself to that lady. You,
madam, are the aunt of Lady Clementina: the tender, the indulgent mother
is absent, and has declared, that she resigns her will to the will of her
friends present--Allow me to supplicate, that former measures may not be
changed with her. Great dawnings of returning reason did I discover in
our last interview. Her delicacy (never was there a more delicate mind)
wanted but to be satisfied. It was satisfied, and she began to be easy.
Were her mind but once composed, the sense she has of her duty, and what
she owes to her religion, would restore her to your wishes: but if she
should be treated harshly, (though I am sure, if she should, it would be
with the best intention,) Clementina will be lost.
The general sat down. They all looked upon one another. The two ladies
dried their eyes. The starting tear would accompany my fervor. And then
stepping to Jeronymo, who was extremely affected; My dear Jeronymo, said
I, my friend, my beloved friend, cherish in your noble heart the memory
of your Grandison: would to God I could attend you to England! We have
baths there of sovereign efficacy. The balm of a friendly and grateful
heart would promote the cure. I have urged it before. Consider of it.
My Grandison, my dear Grandison, my friend, my preserver! You are not
going!--