Mr. Grandison proceeds thus:
The next morning I employed myself in visiting and taking leave of
several worthy members of the university, with whom I had passed many
very agreeable and improving hours, during my residence in this noble
city. In my Literary Journal you have an account of those worthy
persons, and of some of our conversations. I paid my duty to the
cardinal legate, and the gonfaloniere, and to three of his counsellors,
by whom, you know, I had been likewise greatly honoured. My mind was not
free enough to enjoy their conversation: such a weight upon my heart, how
could it? But the debt of gratitude and civility was not to be left
unpaid.
On my return to my lodgings, which was not till the evening, I found, the
general had been there to inquire after me.
I sent one of my servants to the palace of Porretta, with my compliments
to the general, to the bishop, and Jeronymo; and with particular
inquiries after the health of the ladies, and the marquis; but had only a
general answer, that they were much as I left them.
The two young lords, Sebastiano and Juliano, made me a visit of ceremony.
They talked of visiting England in a year or two. I assured them of my
best services, and urged them to go thither. I asked them after the
healths of the marquis, the marchioness, and their beloved cousin
Clementina. Signor Sebastiano shook his head: very, very indifferent,
were his words. We parted with great civilities.
I will now turn my thoughts to Florence, and to the affairs there that
have lain upon me, from the death of my good friend Mr. Jervois, and from
my wardship. I told you in their course, the steps I took in those
affairs; and how happy I had been in some parts of management. There I
hope soon to see you, my dear Dr. Bartlett, from the Levant, to whose
care I can so safely consign my precious trust, while I go to Paris, and
attend the wished-for call of my father to my native country, from which
I have been for so many years an exile.
There also, I hope to have some opportunities of conversing with my good
Mrs. Beaumont; resolving to make another effort to get so valuable a
person to restore herself to my beloved England.
Thus, my dear Dr. Bartlett, do I endeavour to console myself, in order to
lighten that load of grief which I labour under on the distresses of the
dear Clementina. If I can leave her happy, I shall be sooner so, than I
could have been in the same circumstances, had I, from the first of my
acquaintance with the family, (to the breach of all the laws of
hospitality,) indulged a passion for her.
Yet is the unhappy Olivia a damp upon my endeavours after consolation.
When she made her unseasonable visit to me at Bologna, she refused to
return to Florence without me, till I assured her, that as my affairs
would soon call me thither, I would visit her at her own palace, as often
as those affairs would permit. Her pretence for coming to Bologna was,
to induce me to place Emily with her, till I had settled every thing for
my carrying the child to England; but I was obliged to be peremptory in
my denial, though she had wrought so with Emily, as to induce her to be
an earnest petitioner to me, to permit her to live with Lady Olivia,
whose equipages, and the glare in which she lives, had dazzled the eyes
of the young lady.
***
I was impatient to hear again from Jeronymo; and just as I was setting
out for Florence, in despair of that favour, it being the second day
after my farewell visit, I had the following letter from him:
I have not been well, my dear Grandison. I am afraid the wound in my
shoulder must be laid open again. God give me patience! But my life is
a burden to me.
We are driving here at a strange rate. They promised to keep measures
with the dear creature; but she has heard that you are leaving Bologna,
and raves to see you.
Poor soul! She endeavoured to prevail upon her father, mother, aunt, to
permit her to see you, but for five minutes: that was the petition which
was denied her, as I mentioned in my last.
Camilla was afraid that she would go into a gloomy fit upon it, as I told
you--She did; but it lasted not long: for she made an effort, soon after,
to go out of the house by way of the garden. The gardener refused his
key, and brought Camilla to her, whom she had, by an innocent piece of
art, but just before, sent to bring her something from her toilette.
The general went with Camilla to her. They found her just setting a
ladder against the wall. She heard them, and screamed, and, leaving the
ladder, ran, to avoid them, till she came in sight of the great cascade;
into which, had she not by a cross alley been intercepted by the general,
it is feared she would have thrown herself.
This has terrified us all: she begs but for one interview; one parting
interview; and she promises to make herself easy: but it is not thought
advisable. Yet Father Marescotti himself thought it best to indulge her.
Had my mother been earnest, I believe it had been granted: but she is so
much concerned at the blame she met with on permitting the last
interview, that she will not contend, though she has let them know, that
she did not oppose the request.
The unhappy girl ran into my chamber this morning --Jeronymo; he will be
gone! said she: I know he will. All I want, is but to see him! To wish
him happy! And to know, if he will remember me when he is gone, as I
shall him!--Have you no interest, Jeronymo? Cannot I once see him? Not
once?
The bishop, before I could answer, came in quest of her, followed by
Laurana, from whom she had forcibly disengaged herself, to come to me.
Let me have but one parting interview, my lord, said she, looking to him,
and clinging about my neck. He will be gone: gone for ever. Is there so
much in being allowed to say, Farewell, and be happy, Grandison! and
excuse all the trouble I have given you?--What has my brother's preserver
done, what have I done, that I must not see him, nor he me, for one
quarter of an hour only?
Indeed, my lord, said I, she should be complied with. Indeed she should.
My father thinks otherwise, said the bishop: the count thinks otherwise:
I think otherwise. Were the chevalier a common man, she might. But she
dwells upon what passed in the last interview, and his behaviour to her.
That, it is plain, did her harm.
The next may drive the thoughts of that out of her head, returned I.
Dear Jeronymo, replied he, a little peevishly, you will always think
differently from every body else! Mrs. Beaumont comes to-morrow.
What do I care for Mrs. Beaumont? said she.--I don't love her: she tells
every thing I say.
Come, my dear love, said Laurana, you afflict your brother Jeronymo. Let
us go up to your own chamber.
I afflict every body, and every body afflicts me; and you are all cruel.
Why, he will be gone, I tell you! That makes me so impatient: and I have
something to say to him. My father won't see me: my mother renounces me.
I have been looking for her, and she hides herself from me!--And I am a
prisoner, and watched, and used ill!
Here comes my mother! said Laurana. You now must go up to your chamber,
cousin Clementina.
So she does, said she; now I must go, indeed!--Ah, Jeronymo! Now there
is no saying nay.--But it is hard! very hard!--And she burst into tears.
I won't speak though, said she, to my aunt. Remember, I will be silent,
madam!--Then whispering me, My aunt, brother, is not the aunt she used to
be to me!--But hush, I don't complain, you know!
By this I saw that Lady Sforza was severe with her.
She addressed herself to her aunt: You are not my mamma, are you, madam?
No, child.
No, child, indeed! I know that too well. But my brother Giacomo is as
cruel to me as any body. But hush, Jeronymo!--Don't you betray me!--Now
my aunt is come, I must go!--I wish I could run away from you all!
She was yesterday detected writing a letter to you. My mother was shewn
what she had written, and wept over it. My aunt took it out of my
sister's bosom, where she had thrust it, on her coming in. This she
resented highly.
When she was led into her own chamber, she refused to speak; but in great
hurry went to her closet, and, taking down her bible, turned over one
leaf and another very quick. Lady Sforza had a book in her hand, and sat
over-against the closet-door to observe her motions. She came to a
place--Pretty! said she.
The bishop had formerly given her a smattering of Latin--She took pen and
ink, and wrote. You'll see, chevalier, the very great purity of her
thoughts, by what she omitted, and what she chose, from the Canticles.
Velut unguentum diffunditur nomen tuum &c.
[In the English translation, thus: Thy name is as ointment poured forth;
therefore do the virgins love thee. Draw me; we will run after thee: the
upright love thee.
Look not upon me because I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me.
My mother's children were angry with me: they made me the keeper of the
vineyards, but mine own vineyard have I not kept.
Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth! where thou feedest, where thou
makest thy flock to rest at noon: for why should I be as one that turneth
aside by the flocks of thy companions?]
She laid down her pen, and was thoughtful; her elbow resting on the
escritoire she wrote upon, her hand supporting her head.
May I look over you, my dear? said her aunt, stepping to her; and, taking
up the paper, read it, and took it out of the closet with her, unopposed;
her gentle bosom only heaving sighs.
I will write no more, so minutely, on this affecting subject, my
Grandison.
They are all of opinion that she will be easy, when she knows that you
have actually left Bologna; and they strengthen their opinion by these
words of hers, above-recited; 'Why he will be gone, I tell you; and this
makes me so impatient.'--At least, they are resolved to try the
experiment. And so, my dear Grandison, you must be permitted to leave
us!